ing towards the
leading warship.

Ker Karraje and Captain Spade are awaiting them.

As far as I am able to judge, Roch is calm. He knows what he is going
to do. No hesitation troubles the soul of the hapless man whom hatred
has led astray.

Between his fingers shines the glass phial containing the deflagrator
liquid.

He then gazes towards the nearest ship, which is about five miles'
distant.

She is a cruiser of about two thousand five hundred tons--not more.

She flies no flag, but from her build I take her to belong to a nation
for which no Frenchman can entertain any particular regard.

The four other warships remain behind.

It is this cruiser which is to begin the attack.

Let her use her guns, then, since the pirates allow her to approach,
and may the first of her projectiles strike Thomas Roch!

While Engineer Serko is estimating the distance, Roch places himself
behind the trestle. Three engines are resting on it, charged with
the explosive, and which are assured a long trajectory by the fusing
matter without it being necessary to impart a gyratory movement to
them--as in the case of Inventor Turpin's gyroscopic projectiles.
Besides, if they drop within a few hundred yards of the vessel, they
will be quite near enough to utterly destroy it.

The time has come.

"Thomas Roch!" Engineer Serko cries, and points to the cruiser.

The latter is steaming slowly towards the northwestern point of the
island and is between four and five miles off.

Roch nods assent, and waves them back from the trestle.

Ker Karraje, Captain Spade and the others draw back about fifty paces.

Thomas Roch then takes the stopper from the phial which he holds in
his right hand, and successively pours into a hole in the rear-end of
each engine a few drops of the liquid, which mixes with the fusing
matter.

Forty-five seconds elapse--the time necessary for the combination to
be effected--forty-five seconds during which it seems to me that my
heart ceases to beat.

A frightful whistling is then heard, and the three engines tear
through the air, describing a prolonged curve at a height of three
hundred feet, and pass the cruiser.

Have they missed it? Is the danger over?

No! the engines, after the manner of Artillery Captain Chapel's
discoid projectile, return towards the doomed vessel like an
Australian boomerang.

The next instant the air is shaken with a violence comparable to that
which would be caused by the ex