The Mosquito was still ascending, but in her rear, and towering many feet above her, rose the dense pillar of vapour that formed the funeral pyre of the ill-fated Serena.
Describing a sharp downward curve, the Mosquito descended till she floated on the surface of the agitated water. Just beyond the fringe of the smoke were the boats of the Cerberus, tossing aimlessly upon the angry waves, the oars either trailing listlessly over the side, or else projecting at different angles over the gunwales. Their crew, although unharmed by the explosion, had literally been beaten to the bottom of their respective craft, and were still too dazed to realise what had happened. But of the Serena and her lawless gang no trace was to be seen, save a few pieces of timber floating on the surface. Juan Cervillo and his piratical companions had avoided capture, but no more would the modern buccaneer take toll on the high seas. He had vowed that he would never be taken alive. Unscrupulous though he was, this vow he had faithfully performed.
CHAPTER XXIII
FORESTALLED
"Steady on your helm!" exclaimed Drake. "There's a man in the water—two, by Jove!"
The Mosquito was moving slowly under the action of her aerial propeller towards the scene of the catastrophe. The lieutenant decided to make a search for any possible survivors, then take the boats of the Cerberus back to their parent. Should there be any members of the pirate crew still alive they might be able to give valuable information respecting the fate of Fielding and Cardyke —and here they were: two scorched and blackened men, clinging in a half-dazed manner to a fragment of wreckage.
"Steady on your helm," repeated Drake. "Stand by with a boathook, there. Well done, Jenkins!"
