THE WRECK OF THE ALBATROSS It was then twenty minutes after midnight.

Five or six shots had been fired from the aeronef.

Uncle Prudent and Frycollin, supporting Phil Evans, had taken shelter among the rocks.

They had not been hit.

For the moment there was nothing to fear.
As the "Albatross" drifted off from Pitt Island she rose obliquely to nearly three thousand feet.