A sheet of white flame burst from the muzzle of the six-pounder, a thunderous, reverberating report assaulted the ears of everybody, and hardly had this been experienced when the same thing was repeated, over and over again. The grim statues at the gun had burst into reckless life. At the first shot, the recoil of the gun had thrown down the breech-block and so had opened the gun, ejecting the used cartridge case. The gun was ready for loading, and Glassfell lost no time. Hardly had the empty cartridge case been ejected than into the chamber he threw a fresh shell. A spring was automatically released, throwing the breech-block into place, and the gun was ready for firing. Almost instantly it was discharged, for Robert never allowed the sights to leave the target. And so a thunderous bang! bang! bang! was kept up from the gun. Commander Brice, on top of the pilot house, with his glasses leveled on the target, was in an ecstasy of delight. "A bull's-eye," he cried, "another bull's-eye, a beautiful shot, wonderful shooting." While this was going on, a wild-eyed enlisted man, scantily clad in working trousers and undershirt, and evidently under intense excitement, came tumbling up on the superstructure deck, screaming, "Captain, captain." He ran into half a dozen midshipmen, fell down twice, reached the ladder leading to the pilot house top, still continuing his wild cry of "Captain." He bumped into Captain Brice, and when the latter turned angrily around to him, he thrust a paper into the captain's hands. Commander Brice read the paper, and then in a stentorian voice cried out: "Cease firing." At the same instant Commander Shaw touched Robert on the shoulder and called "time." "Cease firing," repeated Commander Brice. "Keep Mr. Drake and his crew at the gun! Hard a starboard the helm! Call away the life-boat. Gunner's mate, get up twelve rifles and rifle ammunition, double time! Captain Shaw, detail Lieutenant Joynes to take charge of the life-boat; have two midshipmen crews, armed with rifles, prepared to go in the life-boat when it is lowered. Ease the helm, amidships with it--steady so." Many pairs of surprised eyes were upon Commander Brice. With glasses up to his eyes, he was now looking at a yacht on the starboard bow, recognized by everybody to be the "Robert Centre" which, some distance away, was careening far to one side and was bowling along at a furious speed. "Mr. Drake!" called out Commander Brice. "Sir?" "Do you see the 'Robert Centre'?" "Yes, sir." "Drop a shell under her bows. Don't hit her. The range is about fifteen hundred yards." CHAPTER XXI A GOOD SHOT WITH THE SIX-POUNDER "Bang," went the six-pounder, and four seconds later a heavy column of water rose up under the bow of the "Robert Centre," three quarters of a mile away.