We did not have long to wait to learn where Scotty was. The murderous, devil ship had just disappeared into the night when in the silent midnight waters of the Gulf an ear-splitting report of a cannon came like a shout from heaven. I was sure now Scotty would follow all night to get them, sink them or get sunk. Howard and I turned our attention to actual damages. The lanterns by which we worked had all slid into the sea. By the wonderful phosphorescent effect of agitated Gulf waters we could see that the submarine still rolled violently and was taking water in the after-hold out of which we had been pumping for six hours. Of course, with hawsers parted, it began to drift away from us in the tide, accelerated by the tail wake of the big ship.

We heard two more shots from the five-pounder and my confidence in Scotty and the marine aboard the Sprite increased. I knew the little Scot was working to do his bit.

Both Howard and I turned together to the little Titian tied with liberal swinging room to the stern of the Anti-Kaiser. We pulled her alongside and Howard jumped in. "She is half full of water!" he shouted. "She had keeled over on her beam as the colliding ship shoved her out of the way!"

The loosened submarine had drifted out of sight. Howard finally found a lantern and lit it. We went to the lifeboat of the Anti-Kaiser, so securely lashed it would take minutes to free it, and the minutes now were more than hours at another time, and Howard knew it.

As though pre-arranged he plunged into the sea in the direction of the drifting prize, his life, his hope, his patriotic endeavor, his duty to little Jim, all in the balance.

I felt safer now as I knew he would get to her quicker that way even if she went to the bottom. Fifteen years of sponging had made water almost a natural element to him.

The Anti-Kaiser's three anchors were let out during the storm and had evidently held. After a rapid examination no damage was evidenced; she did not leak.

With the lantern I rushed into the hold. I must have kicked the old darkey Don pretty hard; he had disgustingly slept through it all. I then relit the red and green signal light the collision had put out. I stopped to listen, but the only sound was the faint lapping of the water against the sides of the Anti-Kaiser.

Straining my eyes to get some sign of the prize, I was haunted by the thought that Howard might not find it and perish. Don came up; I ordered him to help the marine man the lifeboat, and rushed to the boat's charts to make sure which way the tidal currents ran there and estimate in what direction the submarine would drift.

As a naked steel thrust, came the knowledge that it flowed about three miles per hour through a channel between coral islands less than three miles away, not navigable because of coral formation close to the surface, the tide that had been ebbing three hours making it still more dangerous.

I stood on the stern of the Anti-Kaiser and halloed, again and again, loud enough, it seemed, to reach the infernal regions. But no response came forth from the silent Gulf waters. Howard was lost or had drifted out of my voice's range.

I ordered the marine and Don to bail out the little Titian and see if he could start its motor. I then jumped into the lowered lifeboat, determined to find Howard. Scotty, I was sure, would take care of himself and the hell-bound ship that would run us down with murderous, destructive intent.

I would row, then get up and shout for Howard to answer, more rowing and yelling again at the top of my voice, without receiving a sound in response.

I came back to the Anti-Kaiser hoping Don and the marine had the Titian bailed out and the motor started; with that I could make more speed.

They had the water out, but, being flooded so long, the motor would not start. Again I went out to row, this time in a larger circle, shouting at regular intervals. I recalled that I had done the same thing for Howard twenty years ago on Alligator Island in Georgia. Obsessed by the anxiety and strain the past day's hellish influence suggested and haunted me with the thought that this time he was lost, the prize lost, and little Jim fatherless! I tell you it was torture any man would escape if he could. I recalled waiting for the break of day as I did on Alligator Island, and prayed that things would turn out the way they did that time. In this instance it was different, however. The prize submarine may have been injured and sunk so far away that Howard was unable to swim back.

Before dawn, after long and hard work, I cleared the Titian's motor of water and had her running. I knew then I could swiftly search in daylight, and when the first rays were showing in the horizon Don made coffee.

As I ate and drank I walked about scanning the water as far as the slowly advancing light would allow, with no results. At first a light fog obscured the coral islands, the direction in which I knew he must drift. The marine and I cursed it. But I stopped suddenly as I heard old Don in the cabin praying earnestly for the safety of his master. The sincere supplication moved and comforted.

He was right. It was no time to curse. He put plenty of food and water in the Titian before I started and looked to see if the rifle in the holster before me was all right, little Jim's rifle that always went with the Titian; then said as I was leaving that he would continue to pray for little Jim's father and me until we both returned, and, say what you will, it gave me a quiet strength.

"I know you gwine to find him," he called to me as the little propeller began to lash the water viciously as if it, too, knew what was at stake and gathered express speed like a greyhound with its quarry in sight.

It wasn't yet broad daylight and patches of fog hung in places, which I recall annoyed me to irritation, as the Titian shot out in the direction I thought the prize would drift. I had gone perhaps three miles before I saw a dark spot that I first thought was a denser fog, but as I drew near it I could discern the high stern of a merchant vessel. Yes, it was a vessel, and the Titian seemed to know and tightened its grip on the water until I came close enough to read on its stern, Monserat of Vera Cruz. I could recall an old English-built vessel by that name that sailed under the Mexican flag between Mexico and California ports, and bore a doubtful reputation with the custom-house officials on the Pacific Coast. As this flashed through my mind I changed my course to avoid coming too close. I saw she was at anchor, the same dirty black sides that seemed to rush by in their evident intent to run us down. She needed paint and was so old that she had been built of iron, before steel began to be used in ship construction.

Scotty wanted to explain why he didn't see her coming and head her off before she struck, and how he forced her to anchor by two shots into her upper works. As soon as he stopped I came alongside with him giving a broadside view of the Monserat.

"Have you seen anything of the submarine? This fellow cut us apart and it has been drifting."

"No—been sailing close around this fellow all night, so that he didn't play any more tricks until you go aboard," he replied, looking very haggard and hungry from his all-night patrol, eating the food I gave him ravenously.

"You did right, Scotty. Hold him at anchor until I return. I've got to locate the submarine first for she may be still floating into some dangerous position."

"I think this fellow has a gun aft, and may try something after it gets full daylight," said Scotty, viewing her with his glasses, and then, like any good sailor, swept the sea on each side and beyond.

"Circle him at a safe distance and if he tries any tricks give him the iron—sink the ship rather than allow him to get away," I ordered, quickly preparing to resume my search in an improved light, much hastened by Scotty's work.

Scotty did not reply, but continued with his binoculars to the left of the Monserat.

"What is it, Scotty?"

"The light is still bad, but unless the fog fools me I can make out something to the left of the Mexican. No—no; it's nothing——" he said, disappointedly and slow. "Yes, it is—surely it is something; look yourself!" he said excitedly, handing me the glasses.

Eagerly I raised them but at first could see nothing until I changed the adjustment on the lens, but it was so dim and nebulous I was afraid Scotty's imagination was working. However, I decided to wait a few minutes for the light to improve and then take in the surroundings. The Monserat had been halted and was at anchor about a half a mile from one of the barren coral groups of the Tortugas. If what Scotty saw was the prize it had not drifted in the direction indicated by the charts. But if it was by chance the submarine and if the Mexican's intent on us last night was deliberate he might attempt some more tricks as soon as he saw it. I scanned the Mexican Monserat. Yes, there was surely a gun of some size in the stern, covered with a dirty sail cloth.

When I looked again in the direction Scotty thought he saw something I was convinced it was not imagination, and decided to go to it at once.

"Scotty, I believe I can make out something over there, too; but it may be only a coral reef sticking out; you know these waters are full of them. Take a position well off the Monserat's bow and keep moving pretty fast back and forth so that he cannot reach you with his stern gun without weighing anchor. Give him the five-pound steel anywhere if he attempts to move, but keep out of his way, for that gun has you outclassed, and if he makes a hit you'll have breakfast with Davy Jones."

Scotty set his teeth hard and began to obey my instructions. "He's welcome to all he gets from me. All I wanted was an order from you."

"Be careful though, Scotty. So far we have no charge against her. All that happened last night could have been accidental, and that's the devil of it," I called to him as I gave the Titian her wings and started for the dim object three or four miles beyond.

Yes, it was Howard; he had managed, after tremendous effort, to let out the anchor of the prize and stood waiting for me, his long hair and beard reminding me of a sea-lion as he stood in the tower in water up to his knees. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked all the strain of his night's effort and days of sleepless endurance.

"I knew you would come at daylight," he said quietly as I came alongside.

"I tried to find you during the night, but was not successful."

"I thought so. It took me so long to swim to her that after getting aboard I guess I was unconscious for a time, but upon waking I finally got her hook out. I don't believe they have used the anchor since it was built," he said, after a long pull at the water I gave him.

As he ate almost savagely of the food, I told him what happened after he left, and if he was safe I must go and examine the Mexican and let him go if nothing irregular were found, as we had no right to hold him longer.

"Wood, that was not an accident."

"No, but knowing and proving is different. The flag is neutral on the surface and this farce must be suffered for a time."

"Well, you know best, but that fellow had murder in his heart, whoever he is. My anchor holds fine and plenty of water, perfectly safe unless it storms. We can pump her out here as well as anywhere," he added, somewhat softened, but yet terribly determined. What manner of man was this who could stand such punishment and exposure?

I could not hold the Mexican, though I was sure she carried Ramund and party. I never told Howard this until long after. They had picked her up at Vera Cruz for the deliberate purpose of running down and destroying us. The principal thing I wanted then was for her to proceed to the Nicaraguan port for which she was cleared and had Scotty trail her far past Key West to see that no one was set ashore here.

We pumped out the prize successfully. The Anti-Kaiser was able to tow her and I succeeded in getting a sub chaser to convoy it to a Northern port. I did not see Howard again until the case was about to be called for trial some months later.