The Spanish ensign on the "Arapiles" had been lowered. In a few minutes after it rose again, but this time surmounted by the Chilian flag.
Then the four vessels stood in toward the Hook.
The watchers on the signal station now waited in breathless suspense.
The "Arapiles," with a prize crew from the other vessels to work her guns, was to be made to attack her former consort, the stranded "El Cid;" and that vessel, aware of her danger, was now firing rapidly at her approaching enemies.
It was not reserved, however, for the Chilians to complete their victory by the capture of the great ironclad.
The giant was to be killed by a pigmy scarce larger than one of his own huge weapons. A smaller steam-launch slowly crept out from the Staten Island shore. But two men could be seen on board of her—one in the bow, the other at the helm.
"They don't see us yet, Ned," said the man in the bow.
"No; they have all they can do to take care of the other fellows. Look out! Are you hurt?"
A shell from the Chilians just then came over the Hook, and, bursting under the water near the launch, deluged the boat with spray.
"Not a bit," said the other.