I went up upon the bridge with him for a better view, and immediately discerned the spectacle which had so excited him. Many miles away, as I judged, upon our port-bow, a light flashed out brilliantly above a sleeping ocean; a blinking, hovering, mad-cap light, now turning its glowing face to a fleecy sky, now making lakes of golden fire upon the glassy water, now revolving as in some mighty omnivorous circle which should embrace all things near and far and reveal their presence to watching eyes. Plainly directed by a skilful hand, I said that a trained officer worked the lantern as they work it on board a man-of-war; but as though to deny that the unknown ship was a man-of-war, the monster searchlight began anon to answer as though to a dancing, drunken measure of some hand that wearied of duty and made a jest of it. Not for one minute would this have been permitted upon the deck of a battleship. I could doubt no longer that Captain Larry spoke the truth. “We are carrying no lights ourselves, Larry?” I exclaimed presently, and added apologetically, “that goes without saying.” “It goes without saying, doctor. I ordered lights out at eight bells.” “We shall show a haze of red light above our funnels?” “Not with those guards to port Mr. Benson has fitted up.” “Do you think we dare run up to her, Larry?” “There would be little risk when they get tired of their fireworks, doctor.” “We’ll do it, Larry. Don’t forget Joan Fordibras is aboard there. I would give much for one spoken word that she could understand.” He nodded significantly, and as he rang down his orders to the engine-room I perceived that McShanus had come up from the saloon. He did not speak to me, as he told me afterwards, being under the ridiculous apprehension, which comes to men in danger, that any speech above a whisper is a peril. The men themselves were all grouped about the fo’castle like children for a stage-play to be given on the water. We carried no lights. From stem to stern of the ship not so much as a single electric lamp broke in upon the darkness. The clash of our engines remained the only sound. I turned to Timothy and astonished him by my greeting. “A steady hand now, is it that, Timothy?” “Take a grip of it yourself, me bhoy.” “It certainly is not the cold hand of the poets. Would it help with the machine guns if need be, Timothy?” “Whist!—could it not! Are ye not speaking over-loud, doctor, me bhoy?” “Oh, come, you think they can hear us five miles away, Timothy. Shout if you like, old boy. I hope to God there will be silence enough by-and-by. We are going to have a look at them, Timothy. ’Tis to learn the colour of their coats, as you would say.” “Ye are not going within shot of their guns?” “Timothy,” I said, speaking in that low tone he had desired. “I am going to learn how it fares with Joan Fordibras.” “Ah, bad cess to it, when a woman holds the lantern—there goes Jack the Giant-killer. ’Twill help her to be sunk, Ean.”