l steamer. Forsythe, loudly
and profanely announcing their wants, and calling the yacht's attention
to two twelve-pounders aimed at her water line. She was of the standard
type, clipper-bowed, square-sterned, with one funnel and two masts; and
from the trucks of these masts stretched the three-wire grid of a
wireless outfit.

Forward was a crowd of blue-clad sailors, on the bridge an officer and a
helmsman, and aft, on the fantail, a number of guests; while amidships,
conversing earnestly, were two men, whose dress indicated that they were
the owner and sailing master.

In the door of a small deck house near them stood another man in
uniform, and to this man the owner turned and spoke a few words. The man
disappeared inside, and Denman, straining his ears, heard the rasping
sound of a wireless "sender," and simultaneously Casey's warning shout
to Forsythe:

"He's calling for help, Forsythe. Stop him."

Then came Forsythe's vibrant voice.

"Call that man out of the wireless room," he yelled, "or we'll send a
shell into it. Train that gun, Kelly, and stand by for the word. Call
him out," he continued. "Stop that message."

The rasping sound ceased, and the operator appeared; then, with their
eyes distended, the three ran forward.

"Any one else in that deck house?" called Forsythe.

"No," answered the sailing master. "What are you going to do?"

"Kelly," said Forsythe, "aim low, and send a shell into the house. Aim
low, so as to smash the instruments."

Kelly's reply was inarticulate, but in a moment the gun barked, and the
deck house disintegrated into a tangle of kindling from which oozed a
cloud of smoke. Women screamed, and, forward and aft, the yacht's
people crowded toward the ends of the craft.

"What in thunder are you trying to do?" roared the sailing master,
shaking his fist. "Are you going to sink us?"

"Not unless necessary," replied Forsythe; "but we want grub--good grub,
too--and water. We want water through your own hose, because ours is
full of oil. Do you agree?"

There was a short confab between the owner and the sailing master,
ending with the latter's calling out: "We'll give you water and grub,
but don't shoot any more hardware at us. Come closer and throw a heaving
line, and send your boat, if you like, for the grub. Our boats are all
lashed down."

"That's reasonable," answered Forsythe. "Hawkes, Davis, Daniels,
Billings--you fellows clear away that boat of ours, and stand by to go