“Over this way!” a voice shouted in English. “Over this way, battleship boys! They’re beating us back!”
It was a cry for help from those being attacked by the rioters.
Ned and Frank found themselves in a division that was being led off to one side for a flank attack. The hearts of both lads were beating violently. It was the first time they had ever been under fire, and for the first time they were about to fire a shot at a human being. It was a strange feeling, but they felt that right was on their side. And they were going to save the lives of fellow citizens who were being attacked by a foreign mob.
“It’s just like a football rush!” cried Ned in Frank’s ear. He had to shout to be heard above the crack of the rifles.
“Come on! Come on!” yelled back Frank, just as he might have done had he and Ned been carrying the ball down the field.
As yet, though the hum and whine of bullets was almost constant in the air, none of the battleship force had been hit, as far as was known. But suddenly a lad in the ranks behind Frank and Ned gave a convulsive cry and fell to the ground.
“They got me!” he cried. “It’s only in the leg, though,” he added an instant later. “Go on, boys, and give ’em one for me!”
“Three cheers for Wright!” some one called. And they were heartily given, but the advance did not halt.
On rushed the battleship boys toward the mass of rioting revolutionists. They had swung around now, to attack them in the rear and to one side.
“Halt!” came the order from the lieutenant leading the advance. “Ready! Aim! Fire over their heads!”