the island grew very quiet. Days--yes, weeks--seemed
to crowd themselves into those long hours. Would he ever come?

Presently she heard the sentry's shrill cry on the brow of the hill,
"Twelve o'clock! All's well!" The echo of his repeated call had
scarcely died away when Marie thought she saw something dark on the
water near the center of the channel, perhaps three miles away. She
whispered to a member of the artillery corps, who sat near her watching
the shadow of his pipe on the rock near the base of the cannon. They
both looked. Surely! it's Dewey! The artilleryman sent up a rocket as
a warning. Marie took hurried aim. "Boom!" went her cannon, and from
its mouth a seven-inch shot was hurled over the "Concord," between
its main and mizzen masts. It went a trifle high and did no harm.

"Bang!" went one of the port batteries on the "Raleigh" and before
its flash was gone a shudder shot through every vein, every nerve
and every fiber of Marie's body. Such a crash she had never heard
before. "War is hell" to be sure. She sniffed the smoke from her own
gun, and looked around to see what had happened. The stone precipice
behind her was torn into fragments. A man's hand protruded from the
debris. "My God!" she murmured. Yes, there was the evidence. The
man who had sat by her side and who sent up the rocket, lay cold in
death. His head was torn off and his body was mangled among the pieces
of broken rock. The gunner on the "Raleigh" had done his work well;
and Marie's dream of American cowardice, of their poor marksmanship
and of her ability to sink Dewey's flag ship, were shattered in an
instant. She had fired the FIRST gun of the war, but not the LAST!

CHAPTER III.

AVENGED HER LOVER'S DEATH

After Dewey's fleet had passed the island and entered the bay, proper,
Marie crept up to the top of the cliff and awaited the results. As she
sat there shivering with fright, day began to dawn. Presently she heard
the Spanish batteries on Point Cavite fire a heavy shot--then a second
one; and a few minutes later she saw flames of fire and smoke belching
forth from the starboard sides of Dewey's entire squadron. Then the
Spanish fleet, lying off of Point Cavite, commenced a united and
simultaneous action.

Shells rent the air; the men on both fleets cheered as they beheld
the effect on the enemy of a well-directed shot; smoke-begrimed
gunners, with the perspiration washing light-colored furrows down
their manly che