Hand in hand the three prisoners rushed through the scorching flames. The red tongues reached out on all sides toward their retreating forms.
A second afterward they were all buried in sand up to their necks in order to quench the smouldering fire in their clothes.
“I thought our numbers were made[1] that time,” exclaimed O’Neil when they had succeeded in extinguishing the flames. “It was that shell what done the business. I’d like to see the man who fired it. I’d give him my month’s pay. The shell exploded just on the outside of the door and splintered it so that I could get my hands on the pieces. But come, this is none too safe, we must get to the seashore.”
With shells exploding over their heads they ran pell-mell through the deserted town to the beach.
As a view of the sea flashed before the lads, they cried out in excitement.
The dark hull of a war vessel steamed a quarter of a mile off shore. They saw the bright flashes from her gun ports followed by a harsh screech of shell and then a crash and explosion which seemed to be at their very feet.
O’Neil looked about him.
“We must get to that fish trap,” he cried, pointing to a cluster of bamboo piles driven under the water, their ends appearing above the surface. “We’ll be safe there until we can signal the dago war-ship; do you see the flag of the republic flying from her trucks?”
Wading and swimming the Americans made their way to the fish trap. It was just at the end of the coral reef, and when the vessel had finished the bombardment they would surely be seen and rescued.
From the hills back of the town came a report of cannon and a shell struck the water near the cruiser.