"I shall stay, also," announced the Colonel's wife.
"Señoras, I insist that you go below—and at once! Orderly, take these ladies down immediately. As for you," turning to the men, "you can suit yourselves. Stay, if you will—if your noses itch for powder smoke."
Farquharson glowered at the Colonel, but did not speak. The surprised civilians hurriedly grouped themselves against a parapet.
The flagship stood in to the sheltered lea of the harbor. As a thing alive she ran. At each onward bound she raised her forefoot clear, then plunged nose-deep into the churning spray. Her bulging canvas gleamed against the distant background.
The Admiral and his officers were on the quarterdeck. Marines and man-o'-war's men swarmed aft.
"Make ready!" called Barcelo.
Each cannoneer stood by the priming of his piece, a lighted fuse spluttering in his hand.
"Fire!" shouted the Colonel, in voice so carrying that it reached the city square.
The old cannon mouths belched response.
Sheets of flame and smoke darted into the empty air. Over town and rolling land awoke a thousand echoes.