“Ignacio’s launch!” Sydney exclaimed, aghast. Then the enemy dissolved into the night. The light moved over their own launch and then step by step approached the southern end of the island where, the lads knew, was the column of advancing gunboats.
An exclamation of relief escaped Phil as he saw the beam of light stop and then sweep back along the island. As yet, the gunboats were undiscovered.
A terrible anxiety filled the lad’s mind. By now Commander Hughes would know the meaning of the numerous fires. Would he turn back, believing the attempt to run the forts would be a useless sacrifice? Here was a situation from which there could be no protection. The channel ran close to the island; the grass was dry and burned like a prairie fire. After the great bonfire had once gained its head no living thing could remain in the channel. In a half hour the fire would have devoured the protecting screen and the gunboats would be in the direct view of the fort guns.
After the first alarm gun the forts had become silent, but the lads watched the search-light swing back toward the allied fleet. Then Phil’s heart seemed to stop beating, then beat faster for joy as the hull of the “Phœnix” appeared, standing out ghastly in the glow of the conflagration, steaming boldly onward; the white surge under the bow showed the effort Commander Hughes was making to take his fleet as soon as possible through the waters of the dangerous channel. Then the lads saw the terrible light sweep along the length of the following column; deliberately it moved, revealing one after another of the unprotected gunboats.
Then the sound of the fire so close at hand was drowned by a sullen roar as the guns of the forts hurled their great shells toward the daring gunboats, hastening forward silently to put the flames of the burning island between them and this irresistible menace.
“If they can get behind the fire before it gets too hot they’ll be safe,” Phil cried clutching Sydney’s arm in his excitement. “They can’t see through the fire; even the search-light will be useless.”
“How many guns have you?” O’Neil asked suddenly. The boatswain’s mate had in silence steered after the launch ahead, urging Emmons time and again to encourage his men to speed the gasoline engine up to its limit. “We can’t be no use to them gunboats,” he added in explanation; “our job is to catch the fellows that set this here island on fire.”
Phil withdrew his attention with difficulty from the terrible one-sided battle raging astern of them, to answer the sailor’s question.
“There are two stacks[3] and a thousand rounds of ammunition. Can we catch them?” he questioned eagerly.
“If we can’t, we can stop ’em with twelve rifles,” O’Neil replied grimly.