He did it by creeping along very slowly, in absolute indifference to the galling fire from the shore guns. He knew that there must be a channel, for he and the Spaniard had come in by it.
He had only a vague idea where it was. But the Uncas stopped and then crept slowly forward, heading north.
And after five minutes of torment they knew that they were safe. They were far enough from shore to start up again and get away from those Spanish guns. The gallant tug was quite battered by that time, but nobody cared for that in the wild rejoicing that prevailed.
The vessel swung around to port.
"And now for that prize!" muttered the lieutenant.
And he went for her, too, full speed ahead. He was mad now.
The vessel had gotten a start of about two miles. She had apparently exhausted her resources in the neighborhood of Cuba, for she was heading north, out to sea again.
"And so it's only a question of time," chuckled Clif. "We've got her!"
And so they had. The Spaniards must have realized it, too.
"Mr. Faraday," said the lieutenant, "try a shot from the starboard gun."