“Look out for the Major!” called Captain Winton; “he is standing at the front.”
While the native gunners were awaiting the critical second, there was a white puff, a red belch of flame, and a thunderous report rolled over the river and against the shores. A smashing sound, the splintering of wood and a number of yells followed, the ball having torn its way through the cabin and splashed into the river beyond.
In this crisis, General Yozarro displayed unexpected coolness. General Bambos hurriedly sagged down behind the pile of wood at the front, as if mortally hurt, but he was merely taking precautions against becoming so.
“Quick!” roared General Yozarro; “sink their boat!”
The haste was unwise, for the gunners were not wholly lacking in skill, but they were flustered by the furious orders of their brutal chief, and fired sooner than they intended. It would have seemed that with so brief a distance separating the combatants a miss was impossible; but the heavy missile only grazed the foremast, dropping somewhere among the trees on the southern shore.
“Hurrah!” shouted the delighted Major, swinging his hat; “let the good work go on! Keep it up! The Stars and Stripes forever!”
Colonel Del Valle had recovered from the fierce blow that sent him spinning across the cabin and was aflame with anger. He, too, had a revolver, and, heedless of the wild turmoil and confusion, in which a half dozen were injured by the flying splinters, he sneaked forward toward the hurrahing American. He raised his hand tremulous with fury, and sighting as well as he could through his watery, bloody eyes, let fly.
The crack of the weapon amid the tumult caused Major Starland to turn like a flash. He saw he had forgotten himself, and that in all probability he had a fight on his hands.