"What are those seaplane fellows doing?" exclaimed Trehallow. "They're bombing us, by Jove! Switch on our recognition lights. Be sharp there!" But before the order could be carried out, bombs were descending close to both destroyers. Against the faint luminosity of the starless sky could be discerned the outlines of half a dozen aircraft, wheeling in squadron formation, preparatory to returning to the attack. "Hostile aircraft!" ejaculated the Lieutenant-Commander, hardly able to credit his senses. "The sky's stiff with 'em." The position of the destroyers was now an unusual one. With their boats still away picking up survivors, they could not manoeuvre at high speed. Their only means of offence was a solitary "A A" gun each. They were taken by surprise and had no means of finding out the actual nature of the aerial attack. Ordering the searchlights to be screened and all lights visible from without to be masked, Trehallow next telegraphed for "easy ahead", at the same time warning the engine-room staff against the danger of allowing flames to issue from the funnels. Then he steamed slowly in the direction of the destroyer's boats, the crews of which were still busy with the work of rescue, despite the danger to which the latest development of enemy activity so cruelly subjected them. Doubtless the _Armentières_ was similarly engaged. There was no sign of her in the darkness; added to the complicated business was the possibility of the two destroyers colliding. Whether the _Armentières_ was successful in her quest those on board the _Messines_ were in ignorance. On her part, the _Messines_ was fortunate to pick up her boats in quick time, including two survivors of the _Cerro Algarrobo_. The others sighted clinging to the raft had perforce to be abandoned to their fate; the coxswain of the _Messines_' whaler afterwards reported that a bomb had fallen close to the raft and had probably sent the luckless pirates to share the fate of the bulk of their comrades. The boats had only just been hastily hoisted in and secured, when the loud drone of a dozen aeroplane engines announced the return of the aerial attackers. It would be no exaggeration to state frankly that the crews of the two destroyers had--to use a pithy expression--"cold feet". On board a lightly-built craft, with little or no protection--for the decks were only of three-sixteenths steel--the crews were practically helpless. All they could do was to "stick it "; for, with the exception of the three hands manning the anti-aircraft gun, they had no means of offence against the almost invisible menace from the darkened sky.