Dick had the satisfaction of watching the gunboat as it slowed down and sent a boat to his four-footed messenger struggling in the sea. The Chinese, as he had expected, were angry at the loss of the dog, but did not dare risking a visit from the United States war-ship by throwing their boat up into the wind and rescuing the black swimmer. "They'll know where I am, anyhow, if they only read that collar," said poor Dick to himself, as the junk rapidly drew away. He was now forced down on the deck behind the rail lest he should be made out through the glasses of his officers, which the Chinese knew must be scrutinising the craft which had left behind such a peculiar bit of jetsam. The _Osprey_ quivered from stem to stern, under the pressure upon her engines. The firemen guessed that something unusual was in the wind, and, stripped to the waist, kept the furnace doors clanging and the fires roaring under her boilers. "We're walking right up on her!" said Staples excitedly, as he and Dave watched the chase. "Is it any use to signal to them to stop? Do they understand the signals?" "We'll signal in a way they _will_ understand," exclaimed Rexdale, "if they don't obey the flags. Call the signal-men!" In response to a shrill whistle two men came clambering up to the bridge and stood ready to execute orders. "Set 'Stop at once,'" commanded Dave, "General Merchant Code." A string of gay little flags mounted to the signal yard. They produced not the slightest effect on the flying junk, which was plunging its nose into the waves and scurrying eastward before the wind at not less than nine or ten knots an hour. "Pass the word for the crew of the forward port three-pounder, Mr. Staples! Stations! Cast loose and provide!" The orders were repeated, and four gunners sprang to their places. In a twinkling the captain of the crew had removed the gun-cover and tompion and cast adrift the gun-lashings; Number Two had gone over all the mechanism of the mount and provided revolvers and ammunition for all four; Numbers Three and Four brought cartridges and swabs, and took positions in rear of the breech of the gun. "Load!" The breech was opened, a cartridge inserted, and the block swung back into place and clamped. The junk was now only about one thousand yards distant. The _Osprey_, closing up from the south, held a course at an acute angle with that of the fugitive, to head her off. The best marksman of the gun-crew now stood at the breech, and, with his shoulder against the padded crutch, slowly and carefully brought the Chinaman within the sighting line. "Drop a shot across her forefoot," ordered the commander. "Commence firing!" The gun roared, and a big splash just in front of the junk testified to the correct aim of the pointer, and at the same time spoke in a language that could not be misunderstood. The vessel veered round, spilling the wind out of her great, oddly-shaped sail, which hung flapping from its huge yard.