"Starboard! Meet her at that!" ordered the lieutenant-commander, telegraphing for speed to be still further reduced. "Any signs of armed resistance?"
"No, sir," replied Broadmayne; for now that the Alerte had swung through eight points, her quickfirer could be seen from the bridge of the Canvey. "The poor bounders have got the wind up badly," he added.
"They'll get it worse, if they don't chuck up the sponge," rejoined Raxworthy. "By Jove! If they don't strike that Jolly Roger there'll be trouble. For'ard starboard gun, there! One round at the enemy's bows!"
The shell, a seven-pounder, shrieked as it sped on its errand of destruction. A flash, a cloud of black smoke and a shower of pieces of metal announced that the missile had accomplished its work. Practically the whole of the for'ard superstructure of the pirate submarine had vanished.
"Black flag's struck, sir!" announced the gunnery-lieutenant.
"They're doing the 'arms up' stunt," supplemented another of the group of officers on the Canvey's bridge.
The Alerte was losing way rapidly. A solitary figure appeared on the hitherto deserted bridge.
"We—surrender," came the semaphored message.
"Wise men," commented Raxworthy, as he faced aft to order away the boats containing the prize-crew.
"She's submerging, sir!" exclaimed Broadmayne.