Barely fifty minutes had elapsed from the time of sending out the first wireless call, and already the two seaplanes attached to the _Basilikon_ were in sight. They were manned by officers and petty-officers of the newly reconstituted Royal Naval Air Service. The Royal Air Force, although admirable in its conception, had failed in actual practice. The fusion of the Naval and Military branches had left much to be desired. Apart from mutual jealousy--a very different thing from healthy rivalry--the two branches were not readily interchangeable. It was soon realized that an airman working with a fleet must not only be an aviator--he must have had a naval training. It could not reasonably be expected that a man with little knowledge of ships and the sea could be of much use in an air squadron operating under the orders of an admiral. He might be, and possibly was, an excellent airman, but something more was required. Hence, after prolonged and heated arguments, the Admiralty got their way, and the purely naval airman again came into his own, unhampered by well-meaning but blundering Air Ministry officials. The two seaplanes, flying at two thousand feet, passed almost immediately above the bunch of motionless boats. From each a hand waved over the coaming of the cockpit a distant tribute to the cheers of the late crew of the _Complex_. A few minutes later, the seaplanes were lost to view. Already they had received a report of the course taken by the fleeing _Cerro Algarrobo_, for that information had been embodied in the _Complex's_ wireless for aid. Like vengeful wraiths they were hard in pursuit, with the object of bombing the pirate vessel and crippling her sufficiently to allow the destroyers either to capture or destroy the mysterious cause of the disappearance of so many British merchantmen. Alone on the deep, the boats' crews became boisterous. They sang, cheered, and yelled, confident in the assurance that they would shortly find themselves on board a British warship. Their Old Man allowed them to "work off steam". It was a natural outlet for their pent-up feelings, after days and nights of ceaseless watch and ward, followed by a glorious climax of self-sacrifice. It was not long before two trailing clouds of smoke appeared over the eastern horizon. "Hurrah! here come the destroyers, lads," exclaimed Captain Meredith. "Give them a cheer as they pass and then sit tight for the old _Basilikon_ to roll up. You'll be sleeping in hammocks to-night all right." Quickly the approaching vessels materialized into two very business-looking destroyers, each armed with five guns--four 4.7-inch, one 3-inch--and six 21-inch torpedo tubes, and credited with a speed of 35 knots. At the present moment they were doing a good 5 knots more than their designed speed, flinging showers of spray on both sides of their pronounced flare and emitting flame-tinged smoke from their glowing funnels.