“We are surely going to win,” cried Phil. “Your men can shoot each of their guns eight times in a minute; we shall overwhelm them with that fire. Your crew loads in the American method; our enemy know nothing of its advantages. We can depend upon my companions to keep their gun’s crews at work.” “What is the range?” inquired the captain in a tense voice. “Four thousand yards,” Phil answered, measuring deliberately with his instrument, “and gaining rapidly. Your stern guns can open fire now.” The captain shook his head. “I know my countrymen better than you do, lad,” he said lowering his voice, so as not to be heard by the officers and men near him. “If we should open fire now they would come no further, but remain under the protecting wing of the fort guns.” “I see,” cried Phil delightedly; “you are making them believe you are afraid of them and are running away.” “Quite right,” replied the captain proudly, pleased at the compliment to his ability. “We shall draw them far out to sea and then turn on them and force a fight. I know their speed; it is but seventeen knots; while with the ‘Aquadores,’ I am sure of twenty-one at any time. So you see they cannot then escape me.” “Thirty-eight hundred yards,” Phil reported, taking his eyes from the instrument and looking at his watch. “What speed are you making, captain?” “Fifteen knots,” was the prompt answer. “Then they are going almost seventeen knots now,” Phil vouched, as he put his watch away; “they have gained two hundred yards in three minutes.” “If that is so, I must go faster,” cried Captain Garcia, signaling to the engine room to increase the speed. “I wish them to gain slowly in order that we may be well out from the harbor when they reach an effective range with their guns.” “Do you see that sun?” cried Phil, pointing toward the red disk but an hour high. “That’s a bad thing to have in your gun sights. Get between your enemy and the sun and you have the advantage at the start.” “Excellent,” cried Captain Garcia. “It will spoil the enemy’s aim, and it places me in an advantageous position to head them off if they attempt to escape me.” Phil’s nerves had become quieter, although the long strain of the stern chase had been heavy. He glanced below him on the gun deck to observe the behavior of the crew. Silence was ponderous over the ship. The men at first had talked in low excited tones to each other, but as they saw the enemy draw nearer, they stood quietly, dreading the first screech of their enemy’s shell. Sydney and O’Neil seemed cool and collected as they stood with their officer assistants. Sydney glanced anxiously through the gun-port, frequently judging the distance of the enemy, but O’Neil appeared to give the enemy but scant thought. He seemed to be as calm as if he were at target practice. To him the excitement of battle was not new; he had served in Admiral Sampson’s fleet during the Cuban campaign, and the sound of shells screeching about him gave him no fears.