In the meantime the engines had been called on for full speed, and the ship throbbed and swayed with the increased power.  Extra men were presently sent below to the fire room, and it soon became evident that we were in actual chase of the suspicious vessel.  From my station at the after port gun I was enabled to catch an occasional glimpse of the sea through the open port.

The squall had passed in part and the night was growing lighter.  The rain still fell, though fitfully, and at times a dash of water entered the port, besprinkling gun and crew and fighting tackle, leaving great drops that glistened like dew in the waning light of the lanterns.  Alongside, white-capped waves raced with the ship.

As the gloom lightened, the horizon spread, and presently, away in the distance, a dark spot, like a smudge upon a gray background, became visible.  “Long Tommy,” attached to my gun, leaned far out of the port with an exclamation of excitement.

“By George! it’s another ship,” he added.

“We are in a nest of the Dagoes,” cried young Potter, rather wildly.  “We have run into an ambuscade.”

“You’ve got a great chance to become a dead hero,” remarked the first gun captain dryly.

Word was passed from above to break out more shell, and presently the navigator slipped down the ladder and made a close inspection of the different five-inch guns.  As he went from crew to crew he gave whispered instructions to the officers in charge.

“The old man expects trouble this trip,” whispered Tommy.  He coolly stripped off his shirt and stood, half-naked, the muscles of his athletic chest and arms gleaming like white marble in the uncertain light.  Most of us followed his example, and the spectacle of the swaying groups of men, bared for action, added a dramatic tinge to the scene.

Below, the powerful engines throbbed with a pulsation that set every bolt and joint creaking, the strident echoes of the firemen’s shovels could he heard scraping against the iron floor, and little whistlings of steam came like higher notes in the general tune.  Even the noises of the ship were strange and weird and impressive.

The crews had been standing in readiness at their stations for almost an hour when it suddenly became noticeable that the darkness of night was giving way before a gradual dawn.  The glimmering flame in the lanterns faded and waned, objects buried in gloom began to assume shape, and the edges of the open ports grew sharp and more defined.  Constant waiting brought a relaxation of discipline, and the members of the different crews grouped about the ports and eagerly searched for the chase.

The smudge on the horizon had long since disappeared, but directly ahead could be seen the faint outlines of a steamer.  A dense cloud of smoke was pouring from her funnel, and it was plainly apparent that she was making every effort to escape.  This in itself was enough to stamp her identity, and we shook our clenched fists exultantly after her.