on the iron, and awaited the shock. A
hundred yards from him the ball dipped into the water and disappeared.
He found that he had ineffectually tried to drive his nails into the
boiler plate, until his fingers' ends were sore. He stood up and waved
his arms, but the first vessel fired again, and the ball came shrieking
over him so low that he intuitively ducked his head. Like a pang of
physical pain, the thought darted through his brain that he had
instigated a censure on the bad firing of these very boats. Doubtless
they saw a man on the buoy, but as no man had any business there, the
knocking of him off by a cannon ball would be good proof of accuracy of
aim. The investigation which followed would be a feather in the cap of
the officer in charge, whatever the verdict. De Plonville, with
something like a sigh, more than suspected that his untimely death
would not cast irretrievable gloom over the fleet.

Well, a man has to die but once, and there is little use in making a
fuss over the inevitable. He would meet his fate calmly and as a
Frenchman should, with his face to the guns. There was a tinge of
regret that there would be no one to witness his heroism. It is always
pleasant on such occasions to have a war correspondent, or at least a
reporter, present. It is best to be as comfortable as possible under
any circumstances, so De Plonville sat down on the spheroid and let his
feet dangle toward the water. The great buoy for some reason floated
around until it presented its side to the ships. None of the balls came
so near as those first fired--perhaps because of the accumulated smoke.
New features of the situation continued to present themselves to De
Plonville as he sat there. The firing had been going on for some time
before he reflected that if a shot punctured the buoy it would fill and
sink. Perhaps their orders were to fire until the buoy disappeared.
There was little comfort in this suggestion.

Firing had ceased for some minutes before he noticed the fact. A bank
of thinning smoke rested on the water between the buoy and the ships.
He saw the ironclads move ponderously around and steam through this
bank turning broadside on again in one, two, three, order. He watched
the evolution with his chin resting on his hands, not realizing that
the moment for signalling had come. When the idea penetrated his
somewhat dazed mind, he sprang to his feet, but his opportunity had
gone. The smoke of the first gun rose in the