ed binnacle, watching our course by the
faint glow of a tiny lamp. The bulldog engines, which I was working,
were speeding us at 17 knots an hour and we were headed for Mollendo.
We had no armament. That was sent to the Peruvian government by other
means and our only defense against the Chilean cruiser was a clean
pair of heels.

Suddenly, the eye of a search-light opened, and sent a long gleam of
yellow into the fog. It swung around and rested for a moment on the
column of smoke trailing from our funnels and changed its color from a
black to a fiery red. It rested there a moment, then closed and all
was darkness. The tumult was deafening. The hissing rush of
projectiles, as they struck the water and exploded by impact, or
shrieked in ricochet overhead.

The brave officer at the binnacle fell to the deck, his mangled body a
quivering mass. One funnel was struck midway and cut in twain as
though by a sharpened blade. Fire darted up from the half funnel, and
showed the cruiser's gunners the correctness of their aim. It lit our
deck with its glare and showed the bodies of two others on the forward
deck bathed in blood. Another officer coolly took his place at the
binnacle and directed a change in the course of the boat.

The spurting jets of fire from our broken funnel gleamed in the fog,
like a beacon light to those on board the gaunt black monster of the
seas, in pursuit of his prey. A hunted thing on the black waves, we
crowded on every ounce of steam throughout the watches of the night.

With the morning came the blaze of the tropic sun. It drove the fog
off the sea and showed us the hull of the cruiser, looming up out of
the purple mist. Steadily, we held our course, with steam up to the
danger line. By noon we had gained a little, and again, with the
approach of night, the fog began to rise and soon enveloped us in its
grey cloak. But that beacon light from our funnel shone hateful as its
spurting jets flashed signals to the enemy in pursuit.

Another night passed, and, when the fog lifted again, there was the
vampire even nearer than before.

The nervous strain was telling on our crew. The day before we joked
and laughed--we would outrun him yet in the night. We would have; but
for the glare from that funnel. We might have stolen into some cove
and let him pass us in the dark, but for that. He did not waste shot
anymore, we were going his way. He could afford to wait. The third day
the crew was worn and silen