Spring Breeze

Spring Breeze
Sweet Nothings
The Abduction of Psyche
The British Are Coming
'Better get your rifles, you fellows,' Wolf Larsen called to our hunters; and the five men lined the lee rail, guns in hand, and waited. ¡¡¡¡The Macedonia was now but a mile away, the black smoke pouring from her funnel at a right angle, so madly she raced, pounding through the sea at a seventeen-knot gait- '"sky-hooting through the brine,"' as Wolf Larsen quoted while gazing at her. We were not making more than nine knots, but the fog-bank was very near. ¡¡¡¡A puff of smoke broke from the Macedonia's deck, we heard a heavy report, and a round hole took form in the stretched canvas of our mainsail. They were shooting at us with one of the small cannon which rumor had said they carried on board. Our men, clustering amidships, waved their hats and raised a derisive cheer. Again there was a puff of smoke and a loud report, this time the cannonball striking not more than twenty feet astern and glancing twice from sea to sea to windward before it sank.