"If that's the trick they try," Clif thought to himself, "we can stay out and pepper her to our heart's content—and help the waves to wreck her."
But the Spaniard had a far better plan than that, as her pursuers learned some time later.
Clif studied the coast in front of them, as well as he could see without a glass; there was simply a long line of sandy shore without a bay or an inlet of any kind. And there were no towns or batteries visible.
"I don't see what she can be hoping for there," he muttered.
But he had no time to speculate in the matter, for it was his business to keep firing. By that time the range was short and he was beginning to do damage.
It took an expert to fire at the instant when the tossing ship was level, but Clif had time to practice, and he soon got the knack of it.
And then it must have been exceedingly unpleasant living on that ship. One after another the heavy six-pound shots crashed through her stern; and even at that distance it began to exhibit a ragged appearance.
The cadet expected at any moment to reach the engines or the rudder of the fleeing ship, and so render her helpless. But probably her cargo served to protect the former, and the rudder was very hard to hit.
"She must have something important in view to stand all this," Clif thought to himself. "But I can't see what it is."
The chase at that time was a very exciting one. The Spanish merchantman was dashing in shore at the top of his speed. And a mile or two beyond it was the Uncas tearing up the water, plunging along at her fastest pace and banging away half a dozen times a minute with her bow gun.