“We’ve signaled we’re attacked,” he told her. He had both her hands free; and he bound her arms to her body with his arms. “We’ve an answer, and destroyers are coming. But they can’t get up before an hour or two; so we’ve a long fight on. You must come below.” He was half carrying her, ignominiously; and it came to Ruth that, before seeking her, he had gone to Agnes Ertyle; but she had not delayed him because she was used to being under fire, used to seeing those slain by fellow-men; used to knowing what she could and could not do. “I’ll go where--I should,” Ruth promised, looking up at him; and he released her. He pointed her toward a companionway where steps had led downward a few minutes before; but now they were broken and smoke at that moment was beginning to pour up. He turned and led her off to the right; but a shell struck before them there and hurled them back with the shock of its detonation. It skewed around a sheet of steel which had been a partition wall between two cabins; it blew down doors and strewed débris of all sorts down upon them. Another shell, striking aft, choked and closed escape in the other direction. Gerry Hull threw himself against the sheet of thin steel which the shell so swiftly and easily had spread over the passage; but all his strength could not budge it. He turned back to Ruth and looked her over. “All right?” he asked her. “You are too?” He turned from her and gazed through the side of the ship. “They’ve got our range pretty well, I should say. They’re still firing both their guns, and we don’t seem to be hitting much.” He tried again to bend back the sheet of steel which penned them in the passage, but with effort as vain as before. “I guess we stay here for a while,” he said when he desisted. “If we don’t get help and it looks like we’re going to sink, we can always dive through there into the sea.” A shell smashed in below and a few rods forward and burst with terrific detonation. “Huns seem to like this part of the ship,” he said when the shock was past. “That started something burning just below,” Ruth said. Throughout the ship again, between the concussion of the striking shells and the firing of the _Ribot’s_ guns, alarm gongs were going. A woman screamed; men’s shouts came in answer. The rush of the _Ribot_ through the water, which had been swift and steady since the start of the fight, suddenly swerved and the ship veered off to the right. “What’s that?” Ruth said. “We may be zigzagging to dodge torpedoes,” Gerry Hull said. “Or it may be that our helm is shot away and we can’t steer; or we may be changing course to charge a sub in close.” A detonation closer than any before quite stunned Ruth for seconds or minutes or longer--she did not know. Only when she came to herself slowly, she was alone behind the sheet of steel. Gerry Hull was gone. CHAPTER VII: “ONE OF OUR OWN!”