His reflections were interrupted by Lindbohm exclaiming: "Hello! What's that?" The Turk sprang to his feet and looked away toward Canea, as he realized that a cannon had been fired. It was the first gun of the "Hazard." "Perhaps Yanne has set up his flag on the blockhouse again," commented Curtis. "The Greek flag seems to act on those English like a red rag on a bull." "It is not in that direction," said Lindbohm; "it is toward Canea, is it not, Monsieur?" "Exactly," replied the Turk. "Perhaps it is a salute of some ship just arrived." For, even as he spoke, the sound was heard again. "Possibly," assented the Swede, "and yet the interval did not seem exactly right--no, by damn! It is a bombardment!" Two guns had spoken almost together. "Could they be bombarding Canea?" asked Curtis. "Let me see," replied the Swede. "Well, it is not probable, but possible. Suppose there was one grand uprising and one party had seized the forts and fired on the town. Then they might reduce the forts. Suppose there was one grand massacre--Turks kill all the Christians, or Christians kill all the Turks, or both kill each other; then they might drop a few shells yust to scare them." "But might not some innocent persons be killed by the shells?" "In times of massacre and war, innocent persons must yust take their chances." The sounds continued, irregular but frequent. Lindbohm stood gazing in the direction from whence they came, a dreamy look in his blue eyes. The dull detonations seemed to come from half way round the world. They were the heart-beats of war, throbbing fiercely in the far jungles of Cuba. He pulled the handkerchief from his brow and picked clumsily at the knot. "Let 'em yust go it," he muttered; "shoot, kill, burn, and then blow the island off the earth. It's too mixed up for me." Curtis was tired. He sat down beside the Major and listened. The Lieutenant stood looking at the sea, tying and untying the handkerchief, and, as the vision of scientific maneuvers, artillery duels and bayonet charges, took shape in his mind, the flush of excitement flooded the stubble on his unshaven cheek. "I will join the Americans," he mused. "I will draw my sword for liberty and progress," and again the imaginary sword leaped from the scabbard and his pliable wrist moved nervously in unison with his thoughts. Then, of a sudden, the flush fled from his cheek and he started bareheaded down the white road. "Hello!" cried Curtis, leaping to his feet, "what's the matter, old man? Wait for a chap, can't you?" and he ran after him. "My God!" said Lindbohm, "have we forgotten that she is there? It may be Canea!"