e she does bust a stay,
Gates! We can huddle in the cockpit and fire her with a long
lanyard--then let her bust!"

"That's easy, sir," he still remonstrated, "but suppose Miss Sylvia's
looking out a porthole and stops one of the sinkers!"

The thought of it made me shiver. Tommy, however, his enthusiasm
undampened, acquiesced at once, saying:

"Righto, Gates! Blank it is! Cartridge, Bilkins! I'm ready--say when!"

"Wait! Let's get a bit closer, sir," Gates urged.

Several minutes passed. We were only four hundred yards from the
_Orchid_ now and cutting down the space. She stood off our starboard
quarter and, although a great deal more obscure in the gathering dusk,
her cabin lights came on changing the portholes to a line of golden
disks. Then another solitary light appeared, being carried aft by a
sailor who fastened it to the taffrail. It was the stern lantern being
swung out for the night, and I could not help smiling at this delightful
display of audacity, deliberately to put up that tell-tale beacon, right
in our faces, as it were.

"It's a good bluff," Gates chuckled, "but they don't intend leaving it
there for long, sir. I'd say we'd better fire now, Mr. Thomas, and when
they stop we'll have a little chat with 'em."

Tommy sprang up and pulled the string, and our eyes were dazzled, our
ears jarred, with a perfectly glorious explosion that lighted up the sea
for a hundred yards.

"Whiz-bang!" Tommy yelled. "I wish I had this thing in Kentucky! It'd
work wonders for the Democrats!"

Nothing happened aboard the _Orchid_. She did not vary her course an
inch. The sailor at the helm had given a frantic jump when Miss Nancy
went off, but resumed his place evidently aware that no missiles had
been fired.

"Load her up again," I urged. "Let's keep on till they get mad!"

Bilkins passed out the shells and the piece was loaded and fired, loaded
and fired, till we seemed surely to have waked old Nep himself. I do not
know how many rounds we shot but it must have continued for some time,
thoroughly engrossing us. Now suddenly the stern light went out, and
immediately afterwards the portholes, losing their glow, became as
nothing. The tropical night, always swift in coming, had fallen more
stealthily than we realized, and the yacht melted into darkness.

"_Sacre bleu!_" Monsieur raged--for the night was overcast and as black
as sin.

But Gates was already stripping the searchlight of its cover. When he
had swu