By that time there was no longer any hesitation as to what course to pursue. The sailors had decided it by their fatal shots. It was resistance to the death.
And Clif whipped out his own weapons and sent the sailor tumbling backward to follow his officer.
Then he drew his sword and with two slashing strokes severed the ladder. From the yells and confusion that followed there must have been quite a number clinging to the rope.
But where they were or what their fate was nobody had any time to learn. Everything was moving like lightning on the merchantman.
Clif leaped into the pilot house and signaled full speed. There was no further need of lookouts and so the two sailors rushed down into the engine-room to see that the order was obeyed.
The big vessel started slowly forward. The cadet sprang to the wheel, his mind in a wild tumult as he strove to think what he should do.
As if there were not confusion enough at that instant there were several loud reports in quick succession, followed by deafening crashes as shots tore through the vessel.
The Spaniards had opened fire!
"But they'll have to stop to pick up that boat's crew!" gasped Clif. "We may get away!"
And that being the case every minute was precious; the vessel had swung round, but there was no time to turn—she must run as she was for a while.