"Why don't you cheer, Stedman?" he shouted. "Tell those
people to cheer for all they are worth. What sort of an
American consul are you?"

Stedman raised his arm half-heartedly to give the time, and
opened his mouth; but his arm remained fixed and his mouth
open, while his eyes stared at the retreating boat of the
German man-of-war. In the stern sheets of this boat the stout
German captain was struggling unsteadily to his feet; he
raised his arm and waved it to someone on the great
man-of-war, as though giving an order. The natives looked
from Stedman to the boat, and even Gordon stopped in his
cheering, and stood motionless, watching. They had not very
long to wait. There was a puff of white smoke, and a flash,
and then a loud report, and across the water came a great
black ball skipping lightly through and over the waves, as
easily as a flat stone thrown by a boy. It seemed to come
very slowly. At least it came slowly enough for everyone to
see that it was coming directly toward the brass cannon. The
Bradleys certainly saw this, for they ran as fast as they
could, and kept on running. The ball caught the cannon under
its mouth and tossed it in the air, knocking the flagpole into
a dozen pieces, and passing on through two of the palm-covered
huts.

"Great Heavens, Gordon!" cried Stedman; "they are firing on us."

But Gordon's face was radiant and wild.

"Firing on US!" he cried. "On us! Don't you see? Don't