Clif dodged, but as he did so another sailor aimed a blow at his head. The aim was good.
A sharp pain shot through the young cadet's head, he reeled and all became dark before him. With a faint moan he fell senseless into the bottom of his boat.
The contest had been short, and well it was for the Spaniards that such was the case. Already the flickering of the searchlight told that the flagship was hurrying to the scene.
The Spaniards realized the importance of quick action. They had, on the impulse of the moment, retaliated upon Clif because it could take but a few minutes and because they felt that the chase would end not far from their waiting vessel.
They congratulated themselves that it had, indeed, brought them almost to the ship's side, and now they lost no time in getting themselves and their prisoner aboard. Willing hands assisted from above.
A couple of strokes of the oars had brought them to the ship's side, with Clif's boat in tow. In obedience to a command, Clif's boat with its unconscious burden was raised bodily to the deck. The captain thought he could use it in his business.
A moment later the Spaniards with the army officer reached the deck, and the ship's captain signaled to go ahead.
All now was excitement on board the Spaniard. Beyond securely fastening the arms and legs of their unconscious captive where he lay, they paid but little attention to Clif. They were all too wrapped up in thoughts of escape from the cruiser whose piercing searchlight was streaming upon them.
Among the crew there was, here and there, a murmur against the delay that had been caused by stopping to take on the army officer, and with this was coupled a note of resentment against the young cadet whose appearance on the scene promised to spoil all their plans.
But the captain's orders were carried out promptly, the more so as their own safety depended upon it.