Lieutenant Raymond's eyes were dancing then; he had taken the wheel himself and was hard at work. And as for Clif, he was so busily engaged that he seemed to see nothing except the high stern of that runaway.
"But she's a fool," he growled to himself. "She'll be so torn to pieces she won't be worth capturing. I wish I could kill the captain."
But the captain of that vessel knew his business, as those on the Uncas found later on. He was a Spaniard, and simply gifted with Spanish cunning.
He had no idea of running his ship aground; but he knew that coast perfectly, and he used his knowledge.
When he neared the land the tug was still some distance astern. As that did not suit the Spaniard's purposes, he very calmly slowed up.
And that in spite of the fact that the tug was so close that the rapid-firing gun was hitting him every other shot!
That the vessel had slowed up, Lieutenant Raymond of course could not tell. But he wouldn't have cared anyhow, for he had made up his mind to go in there no matter what was there, torpedoes or the very Old Nick himself.
And he went; for perhaps five minutes more the Uncas dashed in at full speed, and the merchantman still never swerved.
"They're within a quarter of a mile of the shore!" gasped Clif.
He turned to his third box of cartridges with a grim smile on his face. For he knew that something must happen soon.