"That would certainly be the correct thing to do," answered Farlow,
adding, "for when we do have our reckoning with the yellow...."

Here the telephone bell in the cabin rang madly and Captain Farlow
jumped up to answer it; but in his excitement he had forgotten all about
the rolling of the ship, and consequently stumbled and slipped along the
floor to the telephone. The admiral could not help smiling, but at once
transformed the smile into a frown when the door opened to admit an
orderly, who was thus also a witness of Captain Farlow's sliding party.
The latter picked himself up with a muttered oath and went to the
telephone.

"What," he shouted, "what's that, Higgins? You must be crazy, man!
Admiral Crane's fleet, the yellow fleet? It's impossible, we've got our
scouts out on all sides!"

Then he turned halfway round to the admiral, saying: "The navigator is
seeing ghosts, sir; he reports that Admiral Crane with the yellow fleet
has been sighted to windward three knots off!" He hurried towards the
door and there ran plumb against the orderly, whom he asked sharply:
"What are you doing here?"

"The navigator, Lieutenant Higgins, reports that several ships have been
sighted to starboard three miles ahead. Lieutenant Higgins thinks...."

"Lieutenant Higgins thinks, of course, that it is Admiral Crane's yellow
fleet," snarled Farlow.

"Yes, sir," answered the orderly, "the yellow fleet," and stared in
astonishment at the commander of the _Connecticut_, who, followed by
Admiral Perry, rushed up the stairs.

"Oh, my oilskins!..." With this exclamation the commander reached the
top of the staircase leading to the bridge deck, where a violent rush of
greenish-gray water from a particularly enormous wave drenched him from
head to foot.

"Now, then, Mr. Higgins," he called, wiping the water from his eyes and
mustache, "where is the yellow fleet?"

The navigator was staring out to sea through his glass trying to
penetrate the thick veil of rain. The storm howled and showers of foam
burst over the decks of the _Connecticut_, the water washing over
everything with a dull roar.

Captain Farlow had no need to inquire further. That was Admiral Crane
and his yellow fleet sure enough!

The silhouettes of six large battleships looking like phantom-ships
rising from the depths of the boiling ocean could be plainly seen
through the rain and waves about six thousand yards to starboard of the
_Connecticut_.

"Clear ships f