It wasn't that the batteries were aimed better next time. They were aimed far worse in their eager haste. They did not even touch the Uncas. But an instant later something happened that showed that the captain of the Spanish merchantman had one more string to his bow. He not only knew the location of the batteries, but he knew the location of the sand bars. While his own vessel sped on in safety, on board the Uncas there suddenly came a grinding thud, and an instant later the tug stopped short, so short it almost sent Clif flying over the top of the gun he was working. And at the same time a shout was heard from Lieutenant Raymond, one that made the sailors' hearts leap up into their throats: "We're aground! We're aground!" And in front of a Spanish battery! CHAPTER III. AN OLD ENEMY. It would be hard to imagine a vessel in a much greater predicament than the Uncas was at that moment. Everything was in confusion in an instant. That is everything except one thing. Lieutenant Raymond was too busy to notice the coolness of one person on board; but he remembered it afterward, and with satisfaction. It was Clif Faraday; he picked himself up from the deck where he had been flung and took one glance about him. Then he turned to the guns. Whatever the position of the tug his duty just then remained the same. He could not free her, and so he did not waste any time rushing about. There was that Spanish merchantman calmly walking off to safety. And there was a gleam of vengeance in the cadet's eye as he went to the gun again. Those on board of the fleeing vessel had seen the success of their clever plan and they gave a wild cheer. It was answered from the shore batteries. The steamer turned at once and headed out to sea; that put her broadside to the Uncas, and instantly the six-pounder blazed away. That was the time to do the work, too. The vessel was quite near, and a fair mark. The Uncas was now steady, too, Clif thought grimly to himself. One of the sailors saw what he was doing, and sprang to aid him. They banged away as fast as they could load. At the same time the Spanish batteries opened. They had a fair mark, likewise, and plenty of time to aim. It was a race to see who could smash up their prey the quickest. Clif would certainly have disabled the fleeing vessel if it had not been for an unfortunate accident. What the accident was may be told in a few words. It spoiled his chance. He turned away to get more cartridges. And at that instant a shell struck the six-pounder gun. It was a miracle that Clif was not hit; his uniform was torn in three places and his cap knocked off. The sailor next to him got a nasty wound in the arm, made by a flying fragment. And that of course made the merchantman safe--she steamed off in triumph. It was bad for the tug, too, for it showed the batteries were getting the range.