one at one hundred and two, and he is keeping the
money until I come. And I leave Octavia this afternoon to reap my just
reward. I am in about twenty thousand dollars on your little war, and I
feel grateful. So much so that I will inform you that the ship of war
_Kaiser_ has arrived at San Francisco, for which port she sailed
directly from Opeki. Her captain has explained the real situation, and
offered to make every amend for the accidental indignity shown to our
flag. He says he aimed at the cannon, which was trained on his vessel,
and which had first fired on him. But you must know, my dear Stedman,
that before his arrival, war vessels belonging to the several powers
mentioned in my revised dispatches, had started for Opeki at full speed,
to revenge the butchery of the foreign residents. A word, my dear young
friend, to the wise is sufficient. I am indebted to you to the extent
of twenty thousand dollars, and in return I give you this kindly advice.
Leave Opeki. If there is no other way, swim. But leave Opeki."

The sun, that night, as it sank below the line where the clouds seemed
to touch the sea, merged them both into a blazing, blood-red curtain,
and colored the most wonderful spectacle that the natives of Opeki had
ever seen. Six great ships of war, stretching out over a league of sea,
stood blackly out against the red background, rolling and rising, and
leaping forward, flinging back smoke and burning sparks up into the air
behind them, and throbbing and panting like living creatures in their
race for revenge. From the south, came a three-decked vessel, a great
island of floating steel, with a flag as red as the angry sky behind it,
snapping in the wind. To the south of it plunged two long low-lying
torpedo boats, flying the French tri-color, and still further to the
north towered three magnificent hulls of the White Squadron. Vengeance
was written on every curve and line, on each straining engine rod, and
on each polished gun muzzle.

And in front of these, a clumsy fishing boat rose and fell on each
passing wave. Two sailors sat in the stern, holding the rope and tiller,
and in the bow, with their backs turned forever toward Opeki, stood two
young boys, their faces lit by the glow of the setting sun and stirred
by the sight of the great engines of war plunging past them on their
errand of vengeance.

"Stedman," said the elder boy, in an awestruck whisper, and with a wave
of his hand, "we have not lived in v