He wanted, if possible, to quell the riot without taking life. A volley crashed out, and there came a return fire from the revolutionists. Several of the men from the Georgetown fell. Something like a shout of anger ran through the ranks.
“Fire low!” yelled the lieutenant. This time there was a different story. Ned and Frank could not see at whom they were shooting, because they were now in some of the water front streets of the capital and the buildings cast shadows. They could see, however, a dark mass of humanity before them, and at this they and the others fired. A number were seen to fall, and then the tide of battle suddenly turned.
With howls of fear in their foreign tongue the revolutionists turned and fled. They had had enough in one volley from the rifles of the battleship’s force. It was an easily won victory—for the time being.
“Come on! After ’em!” yelled Ned, eager for the fray.
“Halt! Hold on! No pursuit! We merely want to stop the riot, and have no wish to inflict punishment,” said the lieutenant. “We’ll hold the ground here for a time. Now, who are hurt?”
A number had received bullet wounds, it developed, though none was necessarily fatal. Some were incapacitated through wounds in legs or arms, and these were quickly sent to the rear to be transported to the ship for treatment. Sentries were posted, and a little later some of the Americans in whose interests the battleship force had been landed came up. They had guns, and had been fighting against the revolutionists with the friendly citizens. They reported that the revolutionary force had retreated to the hills back of the city.
“Is that where the revolutionists have their headquarters?” asked Frank of one American, who said he owned a large coffee warehouse in front of which the battleship boys were standing.
“Yes, in between those two hills.”
“So that’s why we fired at them,” said Frank in a low voice to Ned. “It was to scare them out.”
“Only it didn’t; or, rather, it brought them into town,” Ned replied.