The man was brought to the boat. He was one of the _Pelikan's_ firemen. Questioned in German he replied without hesitation. The fire had been started, he declared, not by the raider's crew, but by bombs dropped by British sea-planes. There was an action, but he and half a dozen more worked round by the two banks until they were almost cut off by the flames. He had reason to suppose that both the British and the German forces had been overwhelmed by the onrushing flames. Throughout the afternoon Denbigh lay in torment in spite of the first-aid remedies applied by the only sick-berth attendant left with the base party. Hardly ever before had he felt the sweltering heat so acutely. The air under the awning was close and oppressive. It reeked both of the odour of the river and of the fumes of the smouldering grass. There was one compensation. The fire had effectually driven off the swarms of mosquitoes that otherwise would have increased his torments. He would have given almost anything to be back on board ship, with the sea breezes flung in through the open scuttle and the electric fans cooling the air. But stop he must until he had obtained definite information as to the fate of the landing-party. "I doubt after all if there's much to grumble at," he soliloquized. "I might have been born to become a Tommy, and I might be stuck up to my thighs in mud and water in a trench somewhere in France. It's all part of one big business, and we're keeping our end up all right." Then his thoughts took a turn in another direction. He was no longer a prisoner of war. In another few months he hoped to be back in England. What plans he would make to spin out that long-deferred leave! For the time being he was no longer in a vile African river, but in a pretty old-world garden in the homeland. Suddenly his train of thought was rudely interrupted by a hoarse, almost frenzied burst of cheering. The boat-keeper, thrusting his head below the curtains to ascertain whether the sub was awake or otherwise, answered Denbigh's mute appeal. "It's orl right, sir," he announced. "They've romped home; the whole bloomin' crush." Following the downward course of the river was the landing-party, bringing with them forty-three German prisoners, including Kapitan von Riesser. Their own losses had been insignificant, for during the long-drawn-out action that was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the fire, one British officer and seven seamen had been slightly wounded. These were brought in by the stretcher-bearers. The escape of the little expedition was due to their resourcefulness in fighting fire by fire. Finding that their retreat was not speedy enough to outpace the flames, Lieutenant-commander Bourne had given orders to set alight the long grass to leeward. By this means, though suffering agonies from thirst and heat, the British and their prisoners escaped.