It was a useless task. The sea was pouring in like a mill race, washing men and gear away like corks. The sunlight was streaming through the gaps into the smoke-laden compartment, giving Cavendish the impression that he was in a train about to emerge from a tunnel--only that the din was a hundred times greater. The only thing to be done was to abandon this compartment. [Illustration: "WEEDS! BEAR A HAND!" _Page_ 275] The water-tight doors and bulkhead were shored up with kit-bags, hammocks, and balks of timber. Cavendish stood by and watched as the bow compartment filled. The barricade bulged slightly. Streams of water oozed through the started rivet holes in the bulkhead. The steelwork groaned--but it stood the strain. So far so good. Telling off a hand to keep watch over the bulkhead and dismissing the rest of the party, Cavendish made his way to the trunk of the conning-tower, whence by means of a ladder and a manhole he could gain the conning-tower itself. Here he found the Captain and reported the damage. "All right; carry on," was the response. The _Rebound_ had stopped and was already losing way. She was so deep down by the bows that it would have been imprudent to continue to steam ahead. A destroyer, in obedience to a signal, was alongside for the purpose of transferring the admiral and his staff to another ship. From one of the officers in the conning-tower, Cavendish learnt something definite. The enemy were in flight. Three, possibly four, of their capital ships had been sunk. The rest had been badly mauled. The _Numancia_, which under a different name was at one time a crack ship of the Brazilian navy, and had recently been acquired by Rioguay, had been so severely punished that she had surrendered to the British destroyer _Audax_. The _Audax_ herself was in a sinking condition, so her commander promptly turned over his crew to the prize, secured the survivors of the Rioguayan under hatches, and compelled the republican engine-room ratings to carry on. The _Numancia_ was thus able to render considerable service to her new masters by finishing off a pair of hostile cruisers that, although disabled, were still capable of discharging their torpedoes. "And you're deucedly lucky, old top," continued Cavendish's informant. "I don't see how," rejoined the lieutenant. "Then have a look at B turret," suggested the other. "That was your action station, I believe." By this time the admiral's flag had been transferred. The Captain and the rest of the conning-tower staff were making their way to the after citadel, for the ship was gathering sternway. Although unable to keep her place in the line, she could still render good service with the guns of Q and X turrets.