“Excellent,” cried Captain Garcia. “It will spoil the enemy’s aim, and it places me in an advantageous position to head them off if they attempt to escape me.”
Phil’s nerves had become quieter, although the long strain of the stern chase had been heavy. He glanced below him on the gun deck to observe the behavior of the crew. Silence was ponderous over the ship. The men at first had talked in low excited tones to each other, but as they saw the enemy draw nearer, they stood quietly, dreading the first screech of their enemy’s shell. Sydney and O’Neil seemed cool and collected as they stood with their officer assistants. Sydney glanced anxiously through the gun-port, frequently judging the distance of the enemy, but O’Neil appeared to give the enemy but scant thought. He seemed to be as calm as if he were at target practice. To him the excitement of battle was not new; he had served in Admiral Sampson’s fleet during the Cuban campaign, and the sound of shells screeching about him gave him no fears.
“There she goes,” Phil exclaimed loudly in excitement, as a flash of fire sprang from the leading ship.
A tremor ran through the crew. Their evident nervousness showed on their faces and in the muscular twitching of their hands.
The first shell struck short, but from the bow guns of the two chasers flash after flash appeared. The screech and hiss of steel missiles filled the air.
Phil looked at the captain anxiously. The latter stood surveying the scene, nervously, with his hand on the wheel rim.
The menace of the enemy’s fire was becoming more intense. The geyser-like splashes threw water on to the decks of the fleeing cruiser. Then a crash below him on the battery deck sent the hot blood pulsating through the lad’s veins. He looked, a terrible fear in his eyes. He saw fresh blood on the clean white decks amid the suffocating smell of an explosion. The swarthy faces below him had paled with an unknown, unreasonable terror—men scrambled over the mutilated bodies of their stricken comrades, then stopped, wild-eyed and frenzied, for they saw no escape. He glanced appealingly at Captain Garcia; the latter’s face had blanched but his voice rang out true:
“Hard astarboard! Full speed!” Then he turned to Phil:
“We are ready to open fire.”
The lad, with hands trembling with agitation, read the range and transmitted it by his electrical instrument to the guns. The notes of the bugle rang out clear on the battery deck: “Commence firing.”