He only feared for the devoted girl who clung so closely to him--on her account he was like a lion aroused, and all thought of pity for those against whom they must come in battle array vanished from his heart. Beven knew the advantage that must accrue from a hot fire delivered before the others thought of opening the engagement. "Altogether--make it warm for the dagoes!" he said, swinging his right arm on a level. Then flashes of fire leaped out, and the rattle of revolvers sounded like giant hail stones beating on an enormous kettle. It was a perfect cyclone of lead that whipped along that narrow street leading to the bay. Hardly a shot was wasted. Confusion and consternation seemed to overwhelm the Spaniards. Brave men they may have been, but there is a limit to endurance, a time when panic sweeps irresistibly through the mind, and each individual feels that he is the only one remaining alive of many. So it was no doubt here. The hurricane of missiles had done considerable damage, but the abruptness and violence with which the storm burst upon them was of even more value in completing the utter demoralization of the Spaniards. Jerome and Shackelford were the only ones left standing in the street when the fusillade ceased, and the captain had but one leg left upon which he could rely. Wellington had thrown both arms into the air as a token that his teeth were drawn and that he surrendered. "To the boat!" said Captain Beven, knowing that a thousand Spanish soldiers would be on the spot ere ten minutes had passed. Although this round had been so gloriously won he knew they still had a hard row to hoe ere success could be assured. Still, when were brave hearts of the Saxon race dismayed by even overwhelming odds--the record of many a fierce battle fought on European, Asian, African and American fields bears testimony of their dauntless grit. Jerome's attitude would have been ludicrous at any other time--he seemed desirous of raising his arms to their highest possible level. "You have won--you deserve success--I have had enough--count me out, and good luck go with the whole of you!" was what he bawled as they passed him by. The tiger's claws had been trimmed. Shackelford was not so magnanimous--he had a game leg that would trouble him no doubt for the rest of his life, and his benediction was in the shape of some hot blasphemy that doubtless eased his soul more or less. It was a strange parting from the villain of the play--but then Jerome was after all only an adventurer whose maxim it was to sip honey from the beautiful flowers, and leave dangerous briars alone. CHAPTER XXVII. WHEN THE SPANISH FLAG LEFT PORTO RICO FOREVER. Another short run would take them to the water's edge where a boat awaited, and sturdy English muscles were eager to row them to safety.