It brought in clear relief the form of the waiting steamer, and the two boats racing so desperately near at hand.
What a thrilling scene it must have been to the officers on the bridge of the flagship as with glass in hand they watched the exciting race. But it was not given to them long to note the cadet's desperate struggle for freedom, or to marvel at his great endurance.
The race was a short one, and the result a foregone conclusion. There was no hope of Clif's escaping from the pursuing boat, with its crew of fresh and eager oarsmen. The latter closed in upon him with a leap and a bound, and soon were within oar's length of him.
He recognized the uselessness of trying to escape from them, but was determined not to surrender without a struggle even in the face of great numbers.
He dropped his oars and sprang to his feet, facing his enemies. He drew his revolver, but before he could use it one of the Spanish sailors, who had risen in the boat, knocked it from his grasp with his oar.
The boats were now side by side, almost touching, and the dark hulk of the steamer was not many feet away.
From the latter arose aloud cheer as they saw that Clif had been disarmed, and above the noise Clif could hear a few words of command from the Spanish army officer who sat in the stern of the boat at his side. It was to the sailor who had sprung up to attack Clif.
"Don't shoot!" he said. "Take him alive!"
Clif had seized an oar when his revolver fell with a splash into the water, and there was no doubt that he intended using it.
But two can play at that game, and the Spanish sailor, forbidden to shoot, attacked Clif furiously with the oar, which he still held in his hand.