There was another puff of white smoke, and this time the projectile fell within a steamer's length of them, sending a great fountain of water into the air. "They are giving us plenty of warning," Jocelyn Thew observed coolly. "I suppose we shall get the next one amidships." "I find it most upsetting," his companion declared. "I am going down to the cabin to get my lifebelt." He turned away. Presently there was another line of signals, more shots, some across the bows of the steamer, some right over her, a few aft. Nevertheless, the _City of Boston_ stood on her course, and the distance between the two steamers gradually widened. Katharine, who had come up on deck, stood by Jocelyn Thew's side. "Is this really the way that they shoot," she asked, "or aren't they trying to hit us?" "They are not trying," he told her. "If they were, every shot they fired at this range would be sufficient to send us to the bottom." "Why aren't they trying?" she persisted. "There's a reason for that, which I can't at the moment explain," was the gloomy reply. "They want to capture us, not sink us! What I can't understand, though, is how the captain here found that out." "How is it that you are so well-informed?" Katharine asked curiously. "You had better not enquire, Miss Beverley. It's just as well not to know too much of these things. Here's Mr. Crawshay," he added. "Perhaps he'll tell you." Crawshay appeared, hugging his lifebelt, on which he seated himself gingerly. "Can't imagine what the captain's up to," he complained. "A chap who understands those little flags has just told me that they've threatened to blow us to pieces if we go on.--Here comes another shell!" he groaned. "Two to one they've got us this time!--Ugh!" They all ducked to avoid a shower of spray. When they stood upright again, Katharine studied the newcomer for a minute critically. There was a certain air of strain about most of the passengers. Even Jocelyn Thew's firm hand had trembled, a moment ago, as he had lowered his glasses. Crawshay, seated upon his lifebelt, with a mackintosh buttoned around him, his eyeglass firmly adjusted, his mouth querulous, was not exactly an impressive-looking object. Yet she wondered. "Give me your hand," she asked suddenly. He obeyed at once. The fingers were cool and firm. "Why do you pretend to be afraid?" she demanded. "You aren't in the least." "Amateur theatricals," he replied tersely, "coupled with a certain amount of self-control. I am a cool-tempered fellow at most times.--Jove, this one's meant for us, I believe!" They all ducked instinctively. The shell, however, fell short. Crawshay measured the distance between the two steamers with his eyes. "Dashed if I don't believe we're giving them the slip!" he exclaimed. "I wonder why in thunder they're letting us off like this! The captain must have known something."