Even as he spoke, the loud report of a solitary Martini was heard, half-way down towards the sea, quickly followed by more shots, and then a rattle of sharper reports—Mausers, evidently, by their short, sharp cracks. "I must go back for them; you carry on here;" and Captain Hunter sang out for his marine officer, a dapper little subaltern, to follow him with thirty men, and, with a cheery shout of "Come along, lads," went striding down the hill he had just climbed. Cummins now knew why bullets had almost ceased to whistle past either from Bush Hill or the trees below him. The little party painfully toiling up with its oil-drums had been sighted, and the pirate leaders, knowing probably for what purpose the oil was being brought, had sent most of their people to creep round under cover and intercept it. * * * * * Parker, from the unsteady platform of his destroyer’s bridge, had heard the first few rifle shots from the party which he had just landed to rush those precious drums of oil to the top of the hill, and knew that they were being attacked. He could see them, too, lying in a small circle round their drums, and attempted, as best as he could, to shell the dense cover from which they were apparently being attacked. The Commander now semaphored from the top of the hill an urgent message for him to do his utmost to protect them. He could do nothing with his guns. A heavy sea was driving in and pounding itself against the foot of the hill, smashing to match-wood the boats which had been left on the beach. The violent motion of "No. 3" herself made accurate shooting from any gun absolutely impossible, and though Pat Jones crawled out of his hammock down on the mess-deck to fire his beloved 12-pounder, even he, splendid old gunner that he was, could do no better. The little shells were as dangerous to his own men as to the Chinese, and, not only had Parker to cease firing, but the necessity for immediately steaming out to sea became completely obvious. He had already hugged a lee shore too long, and must push away from these treacherous rocks. His feelings can be imagined when he was compelled to signal, "Cannot maintain an accurate fire, and must haul out from the land". "Hunter and Cummins will know I hung out to the last," was his only consolation as he turned "No. 3" into the fierce rain squalls which drove into his face, and plunged her bows into the heavy seas. Cummins smiled grimly as the signal was reported to him, and anxiously watched the destroyer fighting her way into safety. With Parker unable to remain inshore, he knew that it was only a question of minutes before Bannerman would be compelled to follow his example, and expected momentarily to find himself once again under shell fire from these two field-guns. Another danger was also imminent—a much more serious danger.