"Ah! What's this?"
"You're getting your deserts, you wretch!" shouted Young Glory, seizing him instantly, and grappling with him.
"Help! Help!" cried the Spaniard.
Lieutenant Tyler heard the noise, and he had a suspicion what it meant. He rushed to the front through the men.
"Forward, lads," he shouted, waving his sword in the air, "or Young Glory will be killed, and the ship will be blown up!"
"Back! Back!" cried some of the Spanish officers, as the men were advancing. "You are sealing your own doom!"
Bang! Bang!
Shots were interchanged now, and undeterred by what they had heard the sailors pressed forward.
Meanwhile, Young Glory and Manuel were engaged in a deadly struggle. Each man had been trying, without success, to draw a pistol from his belt, and as they could not do so they reeled from one side to another, locked in each other's arms.
"You cannot avert your doom!" hissed Young Glory. "Listen! the sailors are rushing to the rescue."