"Are they Spanish gunboats, Captain? Are they, Captain?"
After a profound pause, he said: "Yes." The four correspondents hastily and in perfect time presented their backs to him and fastened their gaze on the pursuing foe. They saw a dull grey curve of sea going to the feet of the high green and blue coast-line of north-eastern Cuba, and on this sea were two miniature ships with clouds of iron-coloured smoke pouring from their funnels.
One of the correspondents strolled elaborately to the pilot-house. "Aw—Captain," he drawled, "do you think they can catch us?"
The captain's glance was still aligned over the bow of his ship. Ultimately he answered: "I don't know."
From the top of the little Adolphus' stack, thick dark smoke swept level for a few yards and then went rolling to leaward in great hot obscuring clouds. From time to time the grimy head was thrust through the deck, the eyes took the quick look astern and then the head vanished. The cook was trying to get somebody to listen to him. "Well, you know, damn it all, it won't be no fun to be ketched by them Spaniards. Be-Gawd, it won't. Look here, what do you think they'll do to us, hey? Say, I don't like this, you know. I'm damned if I do." The sea, cut by the hurried bow of the Adolphus, flung its waters astern in the formation of a wide angle and the lines of the angle ruffled and hissed as they fled, while the thumping screw tormented the water at the stern. The frame of the steamer underwent regular convulsions as in the strenuous sobbing of a child.
The mate was standing near the pilot-house. Without looking at him, the captain spoke his name. "Ed!"
"Yes, sir," cried the mate with alacrity.
The captain reflected for a moment. Then he said: "Are they gainin' on us?"
The mate took another anxious survey of the race. "No—o—yes, I think they are—a little."
After a pause the captain said: "Tell the chief to shake her up more."