“When we pick her up you’ll need all your prayers,” he cried, “if you don’t shoot.” Phil felt he was nearer a panic than he had ever been; he walked up and down, his eyes following one struggling beam and then the other; he almost resolved to go up to a search-light himself. Captain Garcia during the moments of uncertainty had turned his vessel toward the harbor’s entrance. He would brave the fire of the forts if that could prevent his prize from escaping. He was ready to sacrifice his ship in this last attempt. Suddenly through the black night Phil saw a darker shade on the surface of the water. It seemed but a stone’s throw away. His voice was paralyzed. He tried to speak but it was impossible. His lips gave out unintelligible sounds. Grasping Captain Garcia’s arm, he pointed a trembling finger at the dread object. “Port quarter, quick, your search-lights,” shouted the captain. The lights, before uncertain, now swung obediently to the assigned direction, and in the bright glare, the torpedo-boat flashed in sight heading bows on to the luckless cruiser. “Don’t look. Shoot,” cried O’Neil to the gunners fascinated, terrified; while he and Sydney stormed among them. It seemed ages before the tension was relieved by the discharges of their own guns. The torpedo-boat was so close that the range finder could not get her distance. She could not be over five hundred yards away and coming on with terrific speed. Even now a Whitehead torpedo might be speeding below the inky water on its mission of destruction. CHAPTER XIII LAZAR’S CUNNING The next few moments were ones long to be remembered. The daring torpedo-boat was making a desperate attempt to sink the “Aquadores,” which stood between herself and safety. Her small dark hull stood out as bright as day under the search-light beams. Hundred pound missiles from her huge enemy were churning the water to foam about her; one lucky hit and she would be no more. With heart beating tumultuously and breath abated, Phil saw a group of sailors at her forward torpedo-tube. Spellbound, fascinated as one who gazes into the green spark-like eyes of the cobra, he could not take his eyes from the ominous sight. The tube moved slowly around; those moving it were apparently careless of the thunderbolts striking so near them. Two of the men stepped back quickly, one remained at the tube. The torpedo-boat was within short torpedo range of her enemy. A flash of fire from her miniature bow; then a great geyser of water shot high in the air from under her forefoot. At last a shell had reached her. Her bow sank as she drove forward, until she was half submerged. Then, all in a moment it seemed, her stern lifted in the air, and the last of the rebel navy took a graceful dive to the bottom of the ocean.