That night we anchored off Babylon, Long Island, in the stillest of waters. The crew spent the evening lounging in their bunks and reading, while the remaining pilots amused themselves as usual. Two of them engaged for a time in a half-hearted game of cards. One told stories, but with the departure of so many the spirits of the company drooped. There was no breeze. The flap-flap of the sails went on monotonously. Breakfast came, and then nine o’clock, and still we rocked in one spot. Then a steamer appeared. As usual, it was announced long before my untrained eyes could discern it. But, with the first word, the remaining valiant pinochler went below to pack. He was back in a few minutes, very much improved in spirits and appearance. “Does she starboard any?” he asked the man at the wheel. The latter used the telescope and then said: “Don’t seem to, sir.” “Think she sees us?” “Can’t tell, sir,” said the boatman gravely. “Spec’ we’d better fire the gun, eh?” “Yes, sir.” “You strip the gun. I’ll take the wheel.” So a little gun--a tiny cannon, no less--was made ready and while it was being put in place at the lee rail, Germond, the oldest of the pilots, came on deck and took the wheel. “Going to fire the gun, eh?” he observed, in deep bass tones. “Yes,” said the pinochler. “Well, that’s right. Blaze away.” The boatman, who had superintended the charging of the gun, now pulled a wire attached to a cap and the little cannon spat out a flame with a roar that shook the boat. “Do they do this often?” I asked the footman. “Not very. When fogs are on and boats can’t find us it comes in handy. There’s hardly any use in this case. I guess she sees us.” Germond, at the wheel, seemed to enjoy playing warship, for he called out: “Fire again, Johnnie!” “Won’t she turn?” asked the restless pinochler. “Don’t seem to.” “Then,” said he, and cast a droll look of derision upon the midget cannon and the immense steamer, “sink her!” With the third shot, however, we could see the steamer begin to turn, and in a little while she was headed toward us. We could not move and so we waited, while the anxious pinochler walked the deck. Long before she was near he ordered the yawl ready, and when she was yet three-quarters of a mile off, cast over and jumped aboard. He seemed somewhat afraid the yawl would not be seen, and so took along with him a pilot flag, which was a square of blue cloth fastened to a long bamboo pole. This he held aloft as the men rowed, and away they went far over the green sea. The cook served coffee at three, and was preparing supper when another steamer was sighted. She came up rapidly, a great liner from Gibraltar, with a large company of Italians looking over the rail. “No supper for you,” said Germond. “You’ll have to eat with the Dagos.” “Oh, I don’t mind,” returned the other, smiling. “I want to get back to New York.”