The Irishman, however, had no opportunity of putting his plan into effect, for at that moment a petty-officer informed the subs that it was the kapitan's pleasure they should go below. They found the port-hole closed and locked. Von Riesser was not a man to take needless risks. A hoist of bunting fluttered from the cruiser's signal yard-arm. It was a message in the International Code: "E C--what ship is that?" Promptly the Dutch ensign was hoisted, while simultaneously the "number" of the real _Zwaan_ was made. From the cruiser came another signal. Von Riesser had no occasion to consult the code-book. It was "I D--Heave-to, or I fire." "Hard a-port!" he shouted, and telegraphed for full speed ahead. Round swung the _Pelikan_, listing until five feet of her underbody showed clear. Even as she did so a couple of 12-pounders spat venomously, the shells passing perilously close to the towering hull. Down fluttered the Dutch ensign. The British cruiser ceased firing. Ahead lay a bank of fog. Von Riesser knew that he was in a tight corner, and it was in tight corners that the better qualities of the man showed themselves. For a few moments he stood motionless. Every second the _Pelikan_ was slipping farther and farther away from the cruiser, which, hampered by her tow, was unable to stand in pursuit. Her skipper was somewhat mystified. According to the rules of the game the _Pelikan_ had struck, yet he knew that of necessity the immense bulk must carry considerable way. The British cruiser had no doubts of the blue liner with the broad black band, for the survivors of the _Nichi Maru_ had been picked up by one of the patrolling vessels. Once more that mixed blessing, wireless telegraphy, had been brought into service, and a description of the raider sent far and wide. Already a number of light cruisers were on their way from Simon's Bay to intercept the _Pelikan_, while the blockading squadron off the east coast of Africa had been warned of the likely attempt on the part of the fugitive to gain one of the little-known and unfrequented rivers of the last of Germany's overseas possessions. Von Riesser alternately kept glancing ahead and astern. The haze was beginning to envelop the monitor and her escort. He shouted an order to a petty officer. The man doubled aft, bawling as he ran. Then from the ensign staff fluttered the Black Cross of the Imperial German Navy.