THRASHING through the chaos of broken water on the bar, the spindrift flying in blinding showers over her knife-like bows, the _Olive Branch_ held swiftly yet steadily on her course, steered by her impassive, automaton-like captain. Every man was at his post, for the cruiser was cleared for action, although it was an understood thing that not a shot would be fired under any circumstances. Yet Gerald wondered, as he stood in the darkened conning-tower, whether the mental strain might prove too great, and whether the temptation to touch one of the deadly levers that were within arm's length might overcome the captain's iron nerve. Could any human being run the gauntlet, receive the fire of four cruisers armed with modern quick-firing guns, and yet withhold the means of offence at his command? Not a word did Captain Brookes utter. With his hands steadily grasping the electrical steering-gear, his eyes peering through the narrow slit in the armoured walls into the intense blackness of the night, he stood as rigid as a marble statue, save for an occasional slight movement of his hand as he altered the vessel's helm. To Tregarthen, looking through his aperture in the conning-tower, the task of steering through that mirk of blinding rain and spray seemed an impossibility; but, without a bearing to fix his course, and ignoring the presence of the compass, Captain Brookes seemed to feel his way by a supernatural instinct. Exactly at four minutes from the time of getting under way a bright flash, followed almost instantaneously by a crash that out-voiced the roaring of the wind and sea, burst from the darkness away on the starboard bow. Then with a long-drawn shriek a 4.7in. shell screamed overhead. Then another missile, coming from right ahead, struck the sea a bare twenty yards to port, knocking up a cascade of spray that rose high above the foam-flecked waves as it ricochetted into the darkness astern. Still the _Olive Branch_ held on, steering straight for the yet invisible cruiser that had fired the second shot. The firing now became general from the British cruisers, for the luminosity of the spray churned up by the swiftly moving blockade-runner gave the gunners some knowledge of the position of the on-coming craft. _Crash!_ A 6in., striking the bow of the _Olive Branch_ in an oblique direction, exploded with a deafening report, the flash throwing the outlines of the ship into strong relief. Then, with a concussion that shook the massive conning-tower to its foundations, a heavy missile landed fairly on the base of the armoured citadel. Gerald could not refrain from closing his eyes, though the danger of that particular shell had passed, yet he did not move from his position at the look-out slit. The experience gained in the action with the _Independencia_ was beginning to assert itself.