"Altogether—make it warm for the dagoes!" he said, swinging his right arm on a level.
Then flashes of fire leaped out, and the rattle of revolvers sounded like giant hail stones beating on an enormous kettle.
It was a perfect cyclone of lead that whipped along that narrow street leading to the bay.
Hardly a shot was wasted.
Confusion and consternation seemed to overwhelm the Spaniards.
Brave men they may have been, but there is a limit to endurance, a time when panic sweeps irresistibly through the mind, and each individual feels that he is the only one remaining alive of many.
So it was no doubt here.
The hurricane of missiles had done considerable damage, but the abruptness and violence with which the storm burst upon them was of even more value in completing the utter demoralization of the Spaniards.
Jerome and Shackelford were the only ones left standing in the street when the fusillade ceased, and the captain had but one leg left upon which he could rely.