By that time the Spanish vessel had gotten the range, and her three or four guns were blazing away furiously. The gunboat was alight with the flames of the quick reports, and the sound was continuous.
"They aren't doing as well as I did," Clif said. "But still, they'll manage to do the work."
And so it seemed, for shot after shot crashed through the hull of the already battered vessel. The Spaniards were mad, evidently. There was no hail this time and proposal to surrender. But only a calm setting to work to finish that reckless ship.
The sailors came on deck and Clif, when he saw them, turned and pointed to the Spaniard.
"There she is, men," he said. "Look her over."
For a moment nobody said anything; the little group stood motionless on the deck. They were in no great danger for the firing was all directed at the hull.
Then suddenly Clif began again.
"I guess this vessel is about done for," he said. "She will be either sunk or captured. The only question is about us—what's to become of us. I leave it to you."
None of the men spoke for a moment.
"I suppose," Clif said, "that we can manage to let her know we surrender if we choose. We can scuttle the ship before we do it. But you know what we may expect; after our shooting those two men they'll probably murder us, or do things that are a thousand times worse."