"Nothing of the sort. I merely insist on the preservation of the rights of this province. You proclaim your intention of violating these rights, notwithstanding O'Donnell's pledged words."
The flame pointed its unsteady way higher.
"One minute more you have, Commodore Billings." Slowly Mendoza turned his hand. The taper slipped a little through his fingers. "Now, Señor Billings, or——"
The Commodore's voice shouted to his marines. His lips were framing a call for help.
The taper moved downward a little farther. "Commodore Billings, you thus cast the die? One—two—" a significant pause.
The Commodore's hollow voice ordered his men to the ships.
Mendoza extinguished the taper. In one hand he still held its end; in the other he meaningly grasped the flint. He did not speak.
Billings repeated his command, till every wondering marine had embarked.
Mendoza's peon riflemen filed into the castle; white gunners who had seen service in Manila, manned the cannon. The muzzle of the ordnance inclined until their lips opened threateningly over the boats teetering in the surf. Three hundred sharpshooters, lent Mendoza by Captain Sutter, of New Helvetia, thickened in the auxiliary battery.
A salvo would be echoed by a thousand small arms.