of her a solid shell, she
raced in pursuit, and as The Three Friends leaped to full speed there
came from the gun-boat the sharp dry crackle of Mausers.

With an explosion of terrifying oaths Lighthouse Harry thrust a shell
into the breech of the quick-firing gun. Without waiting to aim it, he
tugged at the trigger. Nothing happened! He threw open the breech and
gazed impotently at the base of the shell. It was untouched. The ship
was ringing with cries of anger, of hate, with rat-like squeaks of fear.

Above the heads of the filibusters a shell screamed and within a hundred
feet splashed into a wave.

From his mat in the lee scupper David groaned miserably. He was far
removed from any of the greater emotions.

"It's no use!" he protested. "They can't do! It's not connected!"

"WHAT'S not connected?" yelled Carr. He fell upon David. He half-lifted,
half-dragged him to his feet.

"If you know what's wrong with that gun, you fix it! Fix it," he
shouted, "or I'll--"

David was not concerned with the vengeance Carr threatened. For, on
the instant a miracle had taken place. With the swift insidiousness
of morphine, peace ran through his veins, soothed his racked body, his
jangled nerves. The Three Friends had made the harbor, and was gliding
through water flat as a pond. But David did not know why the change had
come. He knew only that his soul and body were at rest, that the sun was
shining, that he had passed through the valley of the shadow, and once
more was a sane, sound young man.

With a savage thrust of the shoulder he sent Lighthouse Harry sprawling
from the gun. With swift, practised fingers he fell upon its mechanism.
He wrenched it apart. He lifted it, reset, readjusted it.

Ignorant themselves, those about him saw that he understood, saw that
his work was good.

They raised a joyous, defiant cheer. But a shower of bullets drove them
to cover, bullets that ripped the deck, splintered the superstructure,
smashed the glass in the air ports, like angry wasps sang in a
continuous whining chorus. Intent only on the gun, David worked
feverishly. He swung to the breech, locked it, and dragged it open,
pulled on the trigger and found it gave before his forefinger.

He shouted with delight.

"I've got it working," he yelled.

He turned to his audience, but his audience had fled. From beneath one
of the life-boats protruded the riding-boots of Colonel Beamish, the
tall form of Lighthouse Harry was doubled b