It was a dilemma. Our own safety rested upon secrecy and speed, and we were in no sort of position to stop for crews of shipwrecked natives. At the same time, to leave them unhelped would be to give them the alternative of a horrible death by fire or the very slim chance of swimming ashore across a mile of strong current either way. We could see no sign of a smaller boat--apparently the junk hadn't one. Philipson stood staring at the lurid picture. 'Nothing for it,' he said suddenly. 'Yellow or white, it is all human life. I will take them off, and put ashore at the first opportunity.' Poyning had run forward and was kneeling behind the dummy wash-streaks, boathook in hand. The next instant he had dropped flat to the deck. 'Down, everybody!' he yelled. 'That fire's a fake!' Three or four shots crashed out, and Lo Eng slid into the well with a short gasping cough. We had all ducked at Poyning's cry, and Philipson put the tiller hard down, but too late. The way on the launch took us right alongside before she could be turned, and two figures leapt up rifle in hand from behind the junk's house and dashed for us, firing as they ran. Poyning sprang to meet the first, grappled, and thudded with him down on to the deck; the other came on, took these two in his stride like a hurdler, and rushed aft for our engine. For an instant I saw the fellow outlined against the fire on the junk. Then came a deafening report, something scorched my cheek, and I felt a sting like an exaggerated pinprick in my shoulder. I fell forward, but in the very act of falling I instinctively clutched at his knees as he stood on the cabin roof, and heaved with the last ounce of strength left in me. I think the fellow must have gone overboard, but I don't rightly know. Everything round me became a spongy grey mist. The flashes and reports mingled in a sort of wild, hell-begotten dream. I must have fainted then, for when I next remember, there was a marked change in the aspect of the fight. I myself lay sprawling across the cabin roof--apparently just as I had collapsed. When I lifted my head I realised that we were backing away from the junk and that somebody in our bows was crouching behind a thing that spat fire with a stuttering roar. I saw the great mainmast of the junk totter and fall, dashing the remains of the fire into the water with a smoky hiss, and heard, or thought I heard, a shrill scream of agony and terror from many throats. I rested on my elbows, staring stupidly, while the flame from our bows played over the junk like a hose; then I must have lost my senses for a second time.... When I came to, I was lying on a locker in the cabin, while Philipson leaned over me and dabbed something cool on my bare shoulder, which was aching and stinging abominably. 'A nasty jag, Mirlees,' he said as he dressed the wound. 'That bullet was in two minds whether to expand or not. Luckily it has left the bones alone.' 'Who else is hurt?' I queried. 'I saw Lo Eng go down.'