“One enemy is disabled,” he cried desperately. “Back to your guns. If you desert now it means death. Shoot at the other ship!” The men went once more to their guns, a sullen scowl on their terrified faces. “For our lives, keep them at it,” he shouted to O’Neil as he swung himself up the ladder to the bridge. The “Soledad” was heading directly for the “Aquadores.” The white foam under the bow of the former showed she was making a rush to close with her enemy. Captain Garcia was undecided. He stood with his hand ready to clutch the wheel to retreat. The “Soledad,” a blaze of destruction, came on with a speed that seemed well-nigh incredible. At the shorter range her shots were falling thickly about their decks, and the cries of the wounded were heartrending. Phil saw with consternation that she was approaching on a converging course, and if the “Aquadores” stood on the two vessels must meet in but a few minutes. What would Captain Garcia do? Sydney and O’Neil were nowhere in sight. The battery fire had been reduced alarmingly; but four guns were now firing against ten of their enemy. What could have happened to his companions? Then a sudden wave of joy filled his heart. O’Neil and Sydney were both shooting guns themselves and the officer assistants had taken two others. The excited sailors were working as hard as their limited strength allowed them, and from the guns of the Americans, Phil saw with delight, the one hundred pound shells in a perfect stream were hurled, true to their aim against the side of the advancing ship. Phil read his range finder. “Two thousand yards,” he cried, then he froze with sudden fear. “Have they torpedoes?” he questioned anxiously. There was no time for an answer. A puff of white smoke, low down on the “Soledad’s” leaden side; a flash of bright metal in the sunlight, and a silent splash in the water, told our lad only too plainly that five hundred pounds of high explosive had been launched on its deadly errand against their ship. Phil’s voice refused obedience. The “Aquadores” stood on at full speed, while he saw a white wake of air bubbles in a straight line, ever extending, marking the path of the Whitehead torpedo. Captain Garcia hesitated but a moment; then he grasped the spokes of the wheel and spun it around, swinging the bow of the cruiser toward the approaching destroyer. The men below, intuitively, knew that some new danger threatened. An ominous murmur arose from the guns. The dread of an unknown danger had put the fear of death into their simple minds. The “Aquadores” turned swiftly, yet it seemed to the anxious watchers that she must place herself directly in the path of the torpedo. Our lad knew that the captain had now made the only correct maneuver; by presenting his bow to the torpedo, it would give less surface to the steely fish, and a glancing blow on the curved under-water side of the cruiser might not explode its death-dealing head.