"There's work for us there, boys," cried the commander. "Those poor fellows are roasting, so let us do what we can for them. Mr. Morton, tell off a party to land in the cutter. Some of the Dons may swim ashore, and I can see a crowd of those sneakin' Cubans there. Just pitch into them if there's trouble."
"Aye, aye, sir," was the hearty response. "You boys from the for'ard gun 'll come with me."
"I'd like to be one of the party, too, sir," said Hal, stepping forward.
"And I also," Gerald chimed in.
"What! you two wounded troopers? What would be the use?"
"Wounded! I'd forgotten all about it," cried Hal.
"So you had, and I believe you," the officer answered. "You've both been working with our boys like bricks. You can take it that you are to come."
Highly delighted at the prospect, Hal and Gerald quickly provided themselves with cutlasses. Meanwhile, the Gloucester had been steaming at half speed towards the unfortunate Maria Teresa. Already the Spaniard was close in shore, but the gunboat drew very little water. Steaming alongside the blazing war vessel, she lowered a boat and sent a party aboard, while another went ashore. On the beach a number of ragged Cubans were standing, and as the exhausted Spanish sailors swam to the land, they fired at them or threw them back into the waves. Dashing through the surf, the American sailors swept the insurgents on one side.
"Back, yer black-skinned murderers!" cried one of the men, rushing at a Cuban who was in the very act of dashing a poor Spaniard's brains out. Then his fist shot out in truly British fashion, and next moment the native went crashing to the ground. "Thur; lie still, yer sweep," he exclaimed, standing over the man. "If yer just so much as lift yer skinny finger, I'll smash you."
He looked it, too, every bit of it, and the Cuban cowered, not even daring to move.