“Her torpedoes will be in the tubes,” he answered, “and probably primed ready to be fired, but she must first aim her tube at us and not suspecting that we are near, there should be a sufficient interval for us to sink her.”
Captain Garcia had been so fully occupied gazing to seaward that he had failed to notice that the tide entering the harbor was slowly setting the “Aquadores” in toward the forts. An exclamation from the lad at his side made him throw an apprehensive glance over his shoulder at the near-by shore. It seemed very close. He seized the engine room telegraph and signaled for full speed ahead. But a flash from the batteries and a sullen roar showed him their thoughtlessness had discovered them to the watchful enemy. The shells screeched over their heads and struck the water with a spiteful hiss.
“We have lost,” Captain Garcia exclaimed in bitter anguish; “if the torpedo-boat is out she can easily avoid us, knowing we are near. From her deck she can see us long before we can sight her. My hope was that they would not be watchful; now they have been warned and will run cautiously.”
The “Aquadores” slowly gathered speed and, turning, steamed out to sea in the direction taken by her consort.
Shell after shell followed her, but in the darkness the fort’s aim was bad; the gunners ashore could not know the range.
Suddenly Phil saw a flash far out on the ocean.
“See, a shot,” he cried breathlessly, grasping the captain’s arm in his excitement. A distant boom came to their ears.
Flash followed flash in rapid succession, as if a firefly were flying low above the horizon. Then a white shaft of light cut the blackness, swung undecidedly to and fro, and then held steadily on the water.
Phil’s glasses trembled as he gazed at the end of the light shaft.
Captain Garcia’s voice rang out joyfully when his keen eyes saw the small white object under the search-light’s ray, far out on the ocean.