They could only keep on listening anxiously, tremblingly, counting the seconds and waiting, almost holding their breath.
They knew what the signal would be. The signal of their failure. If the Spaniard succeeded in finding them, he would open fire and soon let them know.
Clif tried to guess how long it would take them to pick up the unfortunate occupants of that small boat.
"They'll be raging mad when they do," he thought. "Gorry! they'll murder every one of us."
For they would probably call the shooting of that officer a murder; it did not trouble Clif's conscience, for he knew that a merchant vessel has the same right to resist the enemy that a warship has. It was not as if they had surrendered and then imitated the example of the treacherous Ignacio.
"I wonder how Ignacio likes this anyhow," thought Clif.
But he had no time to inquire the Spaniard's views on the struggle; Clif was too busily waiting and counting the seconds.
He did not think it would be very long before the enemy's ship would be after them again; and yet several minutes passed before any sign of the pursuit was given.
Clif began to think that possibly they had eluded their would-be captors. But his hopes were dashed, for suddenly there came the dreaded warning shot.
And it was fired from so close that, though the Americans had been listening for it, it made them start. It was evident that the enemy's vessel had come close to do the business; her first shot seemed fairly to tear the big merchantman to pieces.