It was the _Oregon_ and the _Iowa_ that first came to the converted yacht's assistance, and as the destroyers turned, first one way and then another, as if to ram or to run, a perfect hailstorm of shot and shell landed on their sides and decks, churning up the water into a milk-white froth, and causing the destroyers to look like gigantic whales lashing themselves in their death throes. The noise was even greater than it had been before, and the smoke made the heavens above look as if a violent thunderstorm was at hand. Finding they could not withstand such a combined attack, and with the _Texas_ hurrying to the scene, the destroyers turned tail, as if to make for the shore. As the turn was made a huge shell, flying over the masts of the _Gloucester_, hit the _Pluton_ directly amidship, and with a crash and a splutter she broke and sank, leaving the still living members of her crew struggling in the boiling waters for their lives. Left to herself, the _Furor_ again paused, like some wild animal seeking in vain for cover. She started to get behind the _Oquendo_, but, in spite of the fire from the shore batteries, the _Gloucester_ went in after her, with every available gun doing its utmost, and fairly filling her with small holes. At last the destroyer could stand it no longer, and with a lurch she struck on a reef and began to break. In a moment more the water poured over her sides, and her crew was compelled to surrender. The instant the surrender was made, the converted yacht, from being an angel of vengeance, became an angel of mercy, and to gallant Lieutenant-commander Wainwright fell the honor of rescuing hundreds of wounded and drowning Spaniards who must otherwise have perished. Such was the close of this running fight. At the front, the four big warships were still trying to push on, with the _Brooklyn_, _Oregon_, _Iowa_, _Texas_, and _Indiana_ in the chase. With a full head of steam the noble _Oregon_ reached a position between Commodore Schley's flagship and the _Texas_, and every vessel in the line belched forth its messengers of death and destruction. Presently a cry echoed throughout the squadron regarding the _Oquendo_. "She is on fire! See, she is burning in three places!" The report was true. A shell had burst near the quarterdeck of the warship, and now high to the sky arose a column of yellowish red smoke. Then the flames burst out of her bow. In vain the Spaniards tried to man their fire-hose. A shower of projectiles from the fighting-tops of our own ships assailed them and drove them to shelter, while the big guns continued to "pump up" shot and shell as never before. But the _Oquendo_ was no worse off than the _Maria Teresa_, if as badly. She staggered on, and a few minutes later passed her sister ship as if looking for aid, when aid could not be given. "The _Maria Teresa_ is on fire!" was the next cry, but a few minutes later. "Down goes Cervera's flag! Hurrah, boys, we've got em 'on the run! Give it to 'em hot!"