And Clif shut his teeth together with a snap.
"We're in for it now," he muttered. "That settles it."
There was no longer the last hope of escape. There was no longer even any use of keeping on. There were but two things to be considered, sink or surrender.
There was a grim smile on the cadet's face as he turned away from the wheel.
"Tell the two men to come up from below," he said to one of the sailors.
And then he went out on deck, staring in the direction of the pursuing vessel. There was no difficulty in telling where she was now, for a continuous flashing of her guns kept her in view.
Clif was cool, singularly cool, as he stood in his exposed position. He was no longer anxious, for he had no longer any hope. There was nothing on board the Maria that could cope with the enemy's guns. There was only the inevitable to be faced.
The cadet soon guessed the nature of the pursuer from the way she behaved. Her guns were all low down and close together. They were about three-pounders, and rapid-firing.
"It's a gunboat like the Uncas," he muttered. "Gorry! how I wish the Uncas would come back!"
But the Uncas was then near Havana, far from any possibility of giving aid. And Clif knew it, so he wasted no time in vain regrets.