"You call yourselves men," she cried shrilly, "yet you leave one of your officers lying on deck to be shot at by those fiends!" "We didn't know he was there, miss," said one. "We'd ha' fetched him right enough if we did." Even in her present stress of mixed emotions, the sailor's words sounded reasonable. Every other person on board was just as greatly stunned by this monstrous attack as she herself, and the firing now appeared to increase in volume and accuracy. Several bullets clanged against the funnel or broke huge splinters off the boats. "Gord A'mighty, listen to that," growled a voice. "An' we cooped up here, blazed at by a lot of rotten Dagos, with not a gun to our name!" Iris was still supporting Hozier, whose head and shoulders were pillowed against her breast as she knelt behind him. "Can nothing be done?" she asked. "I believe Captain Coke has been killed. Mr. Hozier is badly injured, I fear. Bring some water, if possible." "Yes, yes, water. . . . Only a knock on the head. . . . How did it happen? And what is that noise of firing?" Hozier's scattered wits were returning, though neither he nor Iris remembered that the _Andromeda_ was waterless. He looked up at her, then at the men, and he smiled as his eyes met hers again. "Funny thing!" he said, with a natural tone that was reassuring. "I thought the windlass smashed itself into smithereens. But it couldn't. What was it that banged?" "A shell, fired from the island," said the girl. Hozier straightened himself a little. He was hearing marvels, though far from understanding them, as yet. "A shell!" he repeated vacantly. Had she said "a comet" it could not have sounded more incredible. "Yes. It might have killed you. Several of the men are dead. I myself saw three of them killed outright, and two others are badly wounded." "Here you are, sir--drink this," said a fireman, offering a pannikin of beer. It was unpalatable stuff, but it tasted like the nectar of the gods to one who had sustained a blow that would have felled an ox. Hozier had almost emptied the tin when an exclamation from an Irish stoker drew all eyes to the after part of the ship. "Holy war! Will ye look at that!" shouted the man. "Sure the skipper isn't dead, at all, at all."