"White-livered rascals; fear, like adversity, makes strange bedfellows," he exclaimed contemptuously.
By this time the shells from Fort Volador were coming quicker and with better aim. Already the front of the Cavarale facing Naocuanha was little better than a heap of ruins, but the debris formed such an effective breastwork that Dacres ordered the garrison to take shelter behind it. The two angle-towers had disappeared, tearing away heaps of brick and stone and leaving a mound twenty feet in height. Their destruction had resulted in the removal of the recognized signal to the "Meteor" that all was well.
Even Dacres began to be anxious, although he kept his doubts to himself. The fact of being under fire without being able to return an effective shot told heavily upon the Valderian members of the garrison. He began to consider the possibilities of a retirement.
"Getting pretty hot," he said to Gerald Whittinghame.
"Yes; three men down with that last shell," replied Vaughan's brother, flicking some dust from his coat. "That makes sixteen, I believe."
"Any of the 'Meteor's' men?"
"No, thank heavens! unless one or two of them have received slight hurts. They are splendid fellows. How goes the time? My watch was stolen before I was brought here as a prisoner."
"Nine minutes to ten," replied Dacres.
"Hurrah, there she is!" shouted one of the "Meteor's" men at that moment.
Flying high and at her greatest speed the huge airship was approaching from the direction of the Sierras.