“They’re semaphoring us, sir.”
The petty officer, balancing himself on the stern bench, held a pair of hand-flags in the “acknowledgment” position.
From the destroyer’s bridge a signalman was sending out a message:
“Captain to whaler. Lay off and wait till we close with you. Keep outside range of rifle fire.”
“Acknowledge!” ordered the midshipman briefly; then, “Lay on your oars, lads!”
The whaler was now about a mile dead astern of the destroyer, and half as much again from the Supreme —near enough for the midshipman to see what was taking place by means of his binoculars, and yet beyond the range of a rifle.
He felt rather squashed over the signalled order. Why couldn’t Captain Maynebrace recall the whaler and give her a chance of taking an active part in the scrap? It seemed to him, too, that the sooner he got the two rescued Mercantile Marine officers on board, the better, for both were showing obvious signs of distress after the harrowing time through which they had passed.
All hands were now watching Buster and the tramp. The former was moving slowly on a course at right angles to the Supreme, which was now at a standstill and blowing off steam. Except for a few rounds from her quick-firers at the beginning of the scrap, the destroyer had remained silent, ignoring the furious and ineffectual rifle fire from the captured British tramp.
Raxworthy, too, realized that so far the position was a stalemate. The pirates would not surrender; and although Buster could have sunk the ship either by torpedo or gun-fire, the reason for his restraint was obvious. It was his duty to recapture the Supreme, so that she could be handed back to her lawful owners, and it was certainly not her commanding officer’s intention to sacrifice deliberately the lives of the prisoners in an attempt to regain possession of the pirates’ prize.
Even as Raxworthy looked, the destroyer turned fifteen points to starboard, and, rapidly increasing speed, bore down upon the stationary tramp.