“We did, your honor,” said the Bo’s’n’s mate, “square in the eye; only, Commodore, it ain’t a her this time—it’s a him. It’s the Don Juan de—”
“Never mind the sex,” I cried. “Has she sank?”
“No, sir,” replied the Bo’s’n’s mate, “she ’ain’t sank yet. She’s a-waiting orders.”
“Fly signals to sink,” said I, sternly, for I had resolved that she should go down.
They did so, and the Don Juan de Austria immediately disappeared beneath the waves. Her commander evidently realized that I meant what I signalled.
“Are there any more of the enemy afloat?” I demanded, jumping from the deck of the Baltimore to that of the Concord.
“No, Commodore,” replied the captain of the latter.
“Then signal the enemy to charter two more gunboats and have ’em sent out. I can’t be put off with two boats when I’m ready to sink four,” I replied.
