"Capitan, you must be satisfied. We are
poor men like yourself."

In an instant the captain was out of the charthouse _with his money_,
and went on to the upper bridge and called out to his officers to see
the gentlemen into their boat. They pleaded to him to come into the
charthouse again, and every cent due to him would be handed over
according to agreement.

"I did not mean what I said to be taken seriously," said the financial
agent.

"But I did," replied the captain. "And take notice that if you
wriggle again I will make short work of this business."

The balance of freight was handed over without further demur, and the
craft taken in tow as arranged. It was urged that the heaviest laden
of the three lighters should tow astern of the others. The engines
were set easy ahead. The two scorpions were asked to get into their
boat quickly. They wished the captain good luck, and gave him
instructions to steer over to the African side of the gut, as the
current was easier there. He was warned in true Levantine eloquence,
and with an accent and tone that indicated anxiety for the success of
the project, to look sharply after the "wolves" when they got off
Tarifa, for this is the narrowest part of the entrance to the
Mediterranean. It was clear that this traffic welcomed no publicity.

The _C----_ was soon plunging into a strong westerly swell, though
there was as yet but little wind. They had got Tarifa abeam, when the
look-out man reported a small vessel three points on the starboard
bow. In a few more minutes the "wolves" announced themselves by a few
small shot rattled against the smoke stack. Orders were given to the
second officer to go aft with a hatchet, and when the signal was given
he had to snap the tow-rope of the last felucca. All hands were
ordered to lie low--_i.e._, lie under shelter of the bulwarks. The
captain and chief officer took shelter on the port side of the
charthouse. The vessel's course was altered, but being so far over on
the African coast there was not much room to play on. The firing was
still directed at the funnel, though at times it was erratic. One of
the seamen shouted, "I'm hit!" In an instant the captain blew his
whistle, and the tow-line of No. 3 craft was cut. The steamer's speed
increased, though it did not much matter so far as getting out of the
fire zone was concerned, as the Spanish _Costaguardia's_ attention
became fixed on the abandoned craft.

"My God!" soliloquized the