The girl sat between the two midshipmen, her small brother innocently unconscious of the tragedy being enacted about him, playing joyfully about the decks. Phil watched the child as a relief to his overanxious mind. He had dislodged a wedge-shaped block of wood from under the quarter boat, and was using it to frighten a large monkey which was eying him grotesquely from on top of the tattered awning. The monkey apparently did not enjoy the game, for he suddenly flew screeching at the boy, his mouth opened viciously. The boy in his haste to escape dropped the block of wood almost on Phil’s foot and the midshipman determinedly placed his foot upon it. In that instant an idea had occurred to him. His pulse beat faster, as the thought flashed into his mind. He would use it as a last resort, even though it would bring the howling mob of natives vengefully about their heads. “Now she’s talking,” O’Neil exclaimed grimly, as a flash and a puff of brownish smoke belched from the bow of the distant cruiser. The Americans arose to their feet, their eyes held fascinatingly on the cruiser. They knew that a hundred-pound shell was speeding toward them at a speed of a mile in three seconds. The Filipino girl sat unconcernedly sipping her coffee. She was as yet ignorant of the meaning of that flash from a vessel nearly five miles away. Far astern a column of water arose in the air and the distant shock of the discharge came to their expectant ears. Phil saw with sinking heart that the “Negros” had entered the discolored water from the river. Ahead less than two miles the ever-present bamboo fish weirs showed the commencement of the shallows of the Davao River. His hopes died within him. The cruiser was not making the speed he had hoped. She would hardly be in range before the “Negros” had put the high spur of land between her and the enemy. The cruiser, apparently seeing the quarry was about to escape, opened a rapid fire in hopes of intimidating or crippling its prey; but the range was too great. The shells hissed close to the stern of the fleeing vessel; the boasted accuracy of American gunners was lacking. “If she was only a thousand yards closer,” O’Neil cried in bitter disappointment. “It’s only a matter of luck at this distance. Look out,” he yelled as a shell struck the water with the noise of an express train, within fifty feet of the fleeing “Negros.”