Then in Spanish he cried, so that the enemy could hear:
"Surrender, you Spaniards! Twelve men have held you, and now we'll take you!"
He had reached the edge of the clearing, and paused a moment, facing around and beckoning to his imaginary reinforcements.
The Spaniards were completely bewildered. The fire from those that Clif had left behind continued without intermission, and the Spaniards could not but think that the vociferous sailors in their rear were new arrivals.
They could not in the first place conceive of the daring and hardihood that would lead a dozen men to oppose their forces unless reserves were near at hand. And now, thought they, these reinforcements had arrived.
Clif and his companions made noise enough to give color to this belief, and without stopping to see what there was behind the demonstration, the Spaniards took to their heels.
"They are not men, but devils!" Clif heard some one say in Spanish, as they dropped their rifles and start on the run.
Even the officer who had succeeded once in holding a remnant of his panic-stricken forces together, now gave up the fight and sprinted away as fast as the rest.
Every man seemed to be looking for his own safety, and they did not pause to see what was behind them. Here and there, it is true, one of the fleeing Spaniards could be seen helping a wounded companion in his flight. But as for further resistance, there was none.
Clif could not forbear to laugh at the odd sight of an army in a foot race to escape a few American sailors.