“There she goes,” Phil exclaimed loudly in excitement, as a flash of fire sprang from the leading ship. A tremor ran through the crew. Their evident nervousness showed on their faces and in the muscular twitching of their hands. The first shell struck short, but from the bow guns of the two chasers flash after flash appeared. The screech and hiss of steel missiles filled the air. Phil looked at the captain anxiously. The latter stood surveying the scene, nervously, with his hand on the wheel rim. The menace of the enemy’s fire was becoming more intense. The geyser-like splashes threw water on to the decks of the fleeing cruiser. Then a crash below him on the battery deck sent the hot blood pulsating through the lad’s veins. He looked, a terrible fear in his eyes. He saw fresh blood on the clean white decks amid the suffocating smell of an explosion. The swarthy faces below him had paled with an unknown, unreasonable terror--men scrambled over the mutilated bodies of their stricken comrades, then stopped, wild-eyed and frenzied, for they saw no escape. He glanced appealingly at Captain Garcia; the latter’s face had blanched but his voice rang out true: “Hard astarboard! Full speed!” Then he turned to Phil: “We are ready to open fire.” The lad, with hands trembling with agitation, read the range and transmitted it by his electrical instrument to the guns. The notes of the bugle rang out clear on the battery deck: “Commence firing.” Sydney and O’Neil drove the men to their guns at the point of the revolver. “If any of you fellows shoot when you ain’t pointing at that leading ship,” O’Neil sang out in Spanish, in a voice that could be heard above the crash of exploding shell and the frightened prayers of the sailors, “I am going to pitch you to the sharks with my own hands,” and he looked as if he meant every word. No doubt the little brown sailormen thought he would carry out his dire threat, for they moved slowly back to their stations. The next moment the situation was relieved. The “Aquadores” swung her port broadside to the enemy and the sharp detonating discharge of her guns made her crew forget their fear of the enemy’s shells. Phil with glasses to his eyes watched their shells wing their way toward the enemy. The roar of discharges now grew incessant. The leading cruiser was fairly blotted out by the splashing of steel all about her. The “Aquadores” was not escaping unscathed; the dead and dying littered the decks, but the crew, with desperation born of their dread for their officers’ revolvers, worked like madmen. Phil saw a heavy pall of smoke rising from the leading cruiser, now heading about in an endeavor to seek the shelter of their fort’s guns. It was the “Barcelo.” The “Soledad” was yet unharmed and stood boldly on, using her guns with terrific effect. He rushed down to the battery deck. He found his companions drawing their men back to reload the guns.