Through his glass Phil watched the fast approaching tube of steel. It was running but a few feet under the clear blue water, leaving behind it a trail of bubbles from the air exhausted through its tiny engines. It seemed to the lad that the torpedo could not miss. He grasped the hand-rail near him to brace himself against the terrific impact of the explosion he knew would come with the speed of light when the deadly point of the tube plowed into the “Aquadores’” steel plates. He could not withdraw his fascinated gaze from the approaching menace; yet he heard ominous sounds on the deck below him that showed him the awful plight of the cruiser. The torpedo was now very near, pointing directly for the bow of the “Aquadores,” ever swinging toward its small enemy. A flash of steel across the cruiser’s bow; a whir of tiny propellers; a white streak of foam, and the danger had passed. Death had brushed close by and gone beyond on a futile errand. “Back to your guns,” Captain Garcia cried, steering his vessel toward the now retreating enemy. “If you don’t put them out of business now,” Phil heard O’Neil shout to the uncertain men, “they’ll let loose another one of them torpedoes, and they’ll hit us sure next time.” As the gunners returned to the battery, the roar of discharges brought confidence to the panic-stricken crew. It was soon the “Aquadores’” turn to be joyful. The demoralized enemy were running for cover. Their fire had almost ceased, but the deck of the cruiser, strewn with dead and dying, told of the havoc while it had lasted. Those on the bridge had, by a miracle, escaped unharmed. Phil had felt many a shell pass him, scorching him with its hot blast. “Concentrate on the nearest vessel,” Phil shouted to his companions below him. The range was but scant two thousand yards. The “Aquadores’” shell went true to their aim. The smoke of explosions on the deck of the nearer vessel rose in clouds, almost concealing her from view. She had fired a few shots with a stern gun as she turned to follow her fleeing mate; this now ceased. She was bending all efforts to escape. Once under the cover of their shore batteries they could refit the ships and again be ready for battle. Captain Garcia’s face wore a look of determination as he took in his hand the flexible speaking-tube to the engine room. “Make all speed possible,” he ordered. “Cripple her,” he cried to his gunners below. “Let neither escape us.” The intense excitement was fairly stifling. Both vessels of the enemy were making more speed than Captain Garcia had given them credit for being able to do. The distance was not increasing but they were persistently holding their own, and the “Aquadores’” shooting had not, despite the volume of fire, succeeded in reducing their speed by even the fraction of a knot. “Aim at her water line,” Phil shouted to his companions, pointing at the “Soledad.”