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 some one 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 every one 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 flag-pole 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 you understand?
What do _we_ amount to? They have fired on the American flag! Don't
you see what that means? It means war. A great international war. And
I am a war correspondent at last!" He ran up to Stedman and seized him
by the arm so tightly that it hurt.
"By three o'clock," he said, "they will know in the office what has
happened. The country will know it to-morrow when the paper is on the
street; people will read it all over the world.
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