The little girl's face portraying unalloyed joy suddenly changed to apprehension.

"Why, there is a big boat heading directly for the _Sprite_. I wonder what they want? It is very fast, too!" The child grasped the wheel firmly, glanced again at the motor, which seemed to throb with increased eagerness as it dashed into calmer waters on the lee side of the island.

"Why--why--that looks like the boat that came to our wharf when I was alone, and I had to shoot--oh, Mr. Wood, it is the same!" exclaimed the girl. "What can they want?--I can't see Daddy anywhere. He must be diving and may not come up until after they get there. I can see them plainly now; there are several men on deck, all looking at the _Sprite_!" she exclaimed, with a little cry of pain so foreign to her, a cry of the wounded--soul-depressing, pleading.

She glanced at the motor behind her, as if to urge it on to greater effort. As we came up I could see now why the _Sprite_ was speedy. The little girl and Scotty both had said she was very fast. She was built like a scimiter, her graceful lines showing above the water, as she bowed, queenlike, to the slightly undulating sea, tugging gently at her anchor.

We were now within half a mile of our goal, and the Boche boat had stopped short like a rearing pair. They were now within a few hundred feet of the Canby craft and swung broadside, coming to a standstill with reversed engine. This was instantly followed by a puff of smoke that bespoke tragedy.

"It is the same boat, and they are shooting at the _Sprite_ with a big gun!--they are trying to sink it!--Daddy must be diving!--I cannot see him!--He would shoot them all if he were there!--Oh! Oh!"--and she beat the wheel of the _t.i.tian_ frantically with her delicate hands as if to drive it faster. As they drew closer another cannon shot boomed above the quiet sea like a knell of death.

At that instant the little girl's face changed to that of a raging woman of fearful determination. Her eyes burned and glittered, a wild fierceness unseated her gentle youth and femininity.

I don't care to witness such fierceness often--it's terrible to see in human beings. The delicate, innate, refined child disappeared, and the calm, stolid determination of a maddened woman came to view. I shall never forget this picture--it was sublime. She instantly planned.

She steered past the bow of the _Sprite_, scanning futilely for signs of her father, then brought up with reversed engine within fifty feet of the Boche boat, and asked me to hold steady there. In an instant she had lifted one of the seats, grasped something, and disappeared over the side as smoothly as a seal.

Two men on the Boche boat came to its bow to see what was going on, but, being unarmed, I made no move, divining what she was doing. I could hear three jubilant voices; a shot hole in Canby's _Sprite_ was visible just above the water line. They knew it had pa.s.sed out below on the other side. One of the men shouted, "She is sinking!" then added, "Better give her another shot to make sure." Then came another order to get the rifles ready for Canby "when he comes up." As if suddenly realizing there might be danger in a launch stopping so near them, three or four men faced about to look us over.

I recognized among them at once the thick waistband and heavy jowl of the leader--and, yes, there was the bandaged hand just as Scotty had described.

"What's this?" he said in perfect English. "We can't leave anyone to tell tales. We'll take no chances. Better swing around and give this one a shot, too--the rifles will not sink her.

"What do you want here?" he asked insolently, when he saw me trying to shrink up to invisibility under the cowl of the _t.i.tian_.

I did not have time to answer, for a thin hand grasped the other side of the boat and the little girl came over the side holding the ends of a double insulated wire. With the savage gleam in her eyes she then without hesitation applied the two ends to separate poles of the battery. This done, she looked directly at the Boche with the bandaged hand, not more than fifty feet away, who stood much puzzled by her appearance from nowhere.

A fearful explosion immediately followed that carried the bow of the enemy ten feet in the air, falling back instantly as though seeking the quickest route to oblivion.

This, then, was the effect of the "terror" her father had invented!

Her face gave no sign as she started the motor and drew alongside the _Sprite_, now but a short distance away. It was taking water in the c.o.c.kpit aft as it gently rolled in the sea.

She jumped on board, went to the half-inch down line over its side which she knew led to her father working below. She tried it for weight, as he might be coming up. Not being rea.s.sured by this, she stood up in the boat and began filling her lungs. Her wonderful chest expanded to deformity before she went over the side with the down line as a guide. I knew she was bound for the bottom of the sea to rescue her father, and such terrible determination would get him, dead or alive. To one underneath water a cannon shot above is a stunning blow.

After she was over I watched the Boche boat that was surely sinking, bow down. The Huns were all below, evidently to determine the extent of the damage. Not being anch.o.r.ed, their wreck seemed likely to drift away.

I jumped from the little _t.i.tian_ into the _Sprite_, to note the damage of their shots. One had evidently missed, but the other entered above the water line, and being deflected, pa.s.sed out on the other side, at the water line. I thrust a piece of waste in the jagged hole and noted she had so far taken but little water.

When I looked again for the Boches they were out on deck working frantically over the single lifeboat and were swinging it out on its davits. Craven fear had now replaced the jubilant insolence of a moment before.

I sprang back into the _t.i.tian_ and took the girl's rifle. At a short distance I am fairly accurate and I sent three bullets through the bottom of the light metal lifeboat. I wanted these men, they having actually committed a crime in the territorial waters of the United States. By getting them and their boat I might have the key to a violation of international law.

I called upon them to surrender or I would shoot to kill. The man with the bandaged hand and great paunch was an easy target. Dazed and chagrined at the turn of things, they stood for a moment in silence.

Then followed loud talking and swinging of arms, as if accusing each other.

A panic seemed imminent among the trapped fiends, three of them went below; the cook, still clothed in white, and the engineer in greasy overalls, ran to the lifeboat, shoved it off into the sea and tumbled and plunged in after it. One began to row frantically while the other railed at those left in the sinking boat. I did not need them so bad, and without this lifeboat I was sure of the rest.

Evidently attracted by the dropping boat, the remaining three rushed back on deck, shouting curses, and shaking their fists with rage at the two in the boat making frantically for the coral island.

Their boat, with bow under, stopped sinking, evidently held up by water-tight compartments amidship and aft. Without a small boat or an engineer, I felt sure they were mine, though I knew there were rifles aboard, and the five-pounder might be brought into action if the escaping engineer was not the gunner.

As the three went below again I jumped back into the _Sprite_. The down line evidenced life and big air bubbles coming to the surface a.s.sured me that the little girl, at least, was safe. But the least neglect in watching the movements on the Boche boat was very dangerous. I knew that deviltry was certainly being planned.

CHAPTER XVII

Those few minutes seemed hours. I was vitally anxious to see that close-cropped little head above the water. I stood on the deck of the _Sprite_, with rifle in hand, ready to fire.

I was conscious that the down line slightly moved, but did not dare look too closely. The tide was bringing the Huns a little closer, and all depended upon vigilance.

I was right in expecting a rifle barrel to show over the edge of their boat. It came cautiously to view. I drew down on the spot, and the instant a hatless head was raised enough to aim at me I got it. The rifle fell back, discharging in midair. I knew that one Boche was done for. The rest might be deterred for a time, but they were bad men in desperate straits. Instantly I brought another cartridge forward. I knew I was an easy mark standing there in the open. However, there was no other attempt. They evidently had enough. I glanced at the down line. It was still moving; and I knew there was life in the sea below.

Then I saw a small hand grasp the boat's side and heard a long gasp for air. With one hand I helped her drag a heavy-bearded man aboard, to all appearance dead, then with rifle in both hands I resumed crucial watch of the Boche boat. I noticed her as she detached a heavy cord from his belt, fastening it deftly to a cleet. Spongers fasten their baskets to themselves that way. I knew the little girl, though painfully struggling for air, was working rapidly. The Boches were cowed enough for the time being. I glanced at her. She had a big cushion under her father's stomach, and was putting her whole weight on his back and chest at regular periods.

She soon seemed satisfied and placed the oxygen mask upon his face, after taking several long drafts herself, and she then continued to bear her weight upon his chest between breathing intervals. She had told me that both she and her father had been resuscitated in that way many times, and as soon as she had regained somewhat normal breathing she began murmuring words of endearment, a sort of an incantation, hypnotic in its effect.

"Daddy--Daddy, dear, can't you hear me? You are coming to now. You will be back with me in a moment. Can't you hear me?" She would lean over and speak into his inert ear, softly at first, then pleadingly.

In a moment there was an exclamation of joy that made my heart jump.

It was from the child. She was almost hysterical, now that her father showed signs of regaining consciousness.

"I knew you would come back, Daddy. I am here. Don't you know me? This is little Jim. I came to get you. Daddy, you know me now, don't you?"

she pleaded joyfully, her face lighting as victory neared, her movements quick as a sparrow. The determined fierceness of a few minutes before I could hardly comprehend.

The name, "Little Jim," gave me another distinct thrill. Somehow she had never told me her name and I had never asked. I was contented to know her as "little girl." But when she mentioned "Little Jim,"

evidently a pet name, as a charm to bring her father back to life, the name of Canby took on a new significance. It was as though a window in my memory flew open as I recalled that the schooner on which Howard Byng used to ship paper to New York was named _Canby_, and probably was the old wreck thrown up on the coral reef just outside their little bay.

I could not tell in hours what happened in minutes then. At best I can give but a poor impression of the fierce intensity of the situation.

Suddenly a new question arose in my mind. Where did Canby get those ingots of lead or copper, wrapped in sharkskins? The fact that Bulow and Company wanted to destroy him flashed through my mind. That I had caught the Huns "with the goods" was all I could really think of then.

My theory was working out. It moved me to instant action. I must get those men--the bulky man with a bandaged hand and the two others--alive. Stupendous things depended on it. Danger meant nothing to me then.

The Huns still kept out of sight, with no attempt at gunnery. I heard a deep moan in the bottom of our boat, as of one coming out of an anesthetic, augmented by the delightful endearments of the little girl.

"Oh, Daddy, I knew you would come back. Don't you know little Jim now?

I am here to take care of you. Now you know me, don't you?" I glanced to see that he was on his back and she was kissing his forehead above the mask in frantic joy, a most remarkable filial demonstration.

"Is your father out of danger?" I called to her.

"Oh, yes--he is breathing the oxygen regular now and knows me; he will be all right soon. Can I help you?" she replied joyfully. "He has been that way often. So have I, when sponging."

"I must examine that boat yonder before it sinks. I want some heavy cord."

She looked about for a moment and spied the cord she had taken from her father's belt and tied to the cleet. She unfastened it and began pulling it in, but she could raise it only part way. I took the rifle in my right hand and a.s.sisted her with my left. In a moment we brought up an ingot of copper.