"I guess that's about as sharp a thing as we could do," replied the captain. "Guert, pick out those white rockets. Hand 'em over."
Guert was having the fireworks under his especial charge, for he was found able to read the somewhat roughly written tabs.
"Here they are, sir," he said in half a minute. "There's plenty more of that kind."
Vine Avery had the lanterns, and he had already made use of them in mocking replies to more than one swinging, dancing signal.
Now, as the captain lighted the rockets, up into the gloom went fizzing and flashing the prescribed announcement of danger. Each rocket let out, as it exploded, a pretty large ball of red flame, as if to emphasize its message. War-ship after war-ship told her character by responding with a similar rocket, the merchantmen keeping quiet, and then from the flag-ship of the fleet came the boom of a heavy gun.
"Heavens!" suddenly exclaimed Captain Avery, as he watched for those responses. "One o' their cruisers is nigher'n I'd counted on! Starboard your helm, Sanders! All ready to go about!"
"Ship ahoy!" came out of the gloom beyond them. "Amphitrite! What ship's that? Where are the enemy? What is she?"
"Kr-g-h-um-n, of Liverpool," sang out Captain Avery huskily, indistinctly, through his trumpet.
"They won't make much out of that," Guert was thinking, but the British officer angrily shouted back:—
"Kraken, of Liverpool? You blockhead! What do I care for that? Where away's the Yankee?"