“Don’t hit her, O’Neil,” Phil answered excitedly; “put a shell as close as you can. She’s nearly up to the reefs.”
A roar and a blinding flash was O’Neil’s answer to his captain’s words.
Shell after shell was hurled after the fleeing boat but the Americans could see no inclination to obey the order of the challenge. Now silhouetted against the eastern sky, with a great spread of sail, Espinosa was straining everything to escape. From out the sea ahead a fiery sun arose, throwing its brilliant light into the eyes of those on the gunboat.
“Be careful, O’Neil,” Phil urged earnestly. “Señorita Rodriguez may be in that boat.”
“She’s safe with our soldiers,” Sydney called from the deck below, at hearing his friend’s caution. “I’ve just talked with Martinez astern.”
“Put a shot in that boat,” Phil cried, and the roar of the three-pounder echoed his words.
Then suddenly a gentle tremble of the “Mindinao” made her young captain turn pale, as he rang for full speed astern.
“We’re on the reef,” he cried in anguish. “What shall we do? Hit her, O’Neil,” he called beside himself; “he must not escape.”
Sydney had rushed aft with several sailors close at his heels and taking the tow-line of the native boat astern, they hauled it up clear of the backing screws until the outrigger was alongside the gangway.
“Make room for ten of our sailors,” he shouted to Martinez. “We want men who know how to shoot.”