Sydney and O’Neil drove the men to their guns at the point of the revolver.
“If any of you fellows shoot when you ain’t pointing at that leading ship,” O’Neil sang out in Spanish, in a voice that could be heard above the crash of exploding shell and the frightened prayers of the sailors, “I am going to pitch you to the sharks with my own hands,” and he looked as if he meant every word. No doubt the little brown sailormen thought he would carry out his dire threat, for they moved slowly back to their stations.
The next moment the situation was relieved. The “Aquadores” swung her port broadside to the enemy and the sharp detonating discharge of her guns made her crew forget their fear of the enemy’s shells.
Phil with glasses to his eyes watched their shells wing their way toward the enemy. The roar of discharges now grew incessant. The leading cruiser was fairly blotted out by the splashing of steel all about her.
The “Aquadores” was not escaping unscathed; the dead and dying littered the decks, but the crew, with desperation born of their dread for their officers’ revolvers, worked like madmen.
Phil saw a heavy pall of smoke rising from the leading cruiser, now heading about in an endeavor to seek the shelter of their fort’s guns. It was the “Barcelo.” The “Soledad” was yet unharmed and stood boldly on, using her guns with terrific effect. He rushed down to the battery deck. He found his companions drawing their men back to reload the guns.
“One enemy is disabled,” he cried desperately. “Back to your guns. If you desert now it means death. Shoot at the other ship!”
The men went once more to their guns, a sullen scowl on their terrified faces.
“For our lives, keep them at it,” he shouted to O’Neil as he swung himself up the ladder to the bridge.
The “Soledad” was heading directly for the “Aquadores.” The white foam under the bow of the former showed she was making a rush to close with her enemy.