“Hold the light steady, sir,” said Jack Gorham as he dropped to one knee, shoved the barrel of the Springfield across the rail of the bridge, and laid his cheek against the stock. “It seems plumb ridiculous, but it’s worth tryin’.” His wonderfully keen eyes had distinguished a square wooden case which sat exposed and somewhat removed from the others on the gun-boat’s littered deck. He had bragged of his marksmanship. Now was the supreme opportunity to make good. The gun-boat was moving. Her shattered side would be hidden from him before he could shoot more than twice or thrice. As the sights of his beloved old rifle came true on the tiny target he pressed the trigger and the heavy bullet went singing on its way. “Missed, by Godfrey!” grunted Gorham as he reloaded. “If I score a bull’s-eye, you’ll know it all right.” Annoyed by this impertinence, the gun-boat let drive with a one-pounder which put a shell through the funnel of the _Fearless_ and showered the deck with soot. Gorham wiped his eyes and took aim for the second shot. Good luck and good marksmanship guided it. No need to wonder where this bullet struck. The case of nitro-glycerine exploded with a prodigious detonation that seemed to shake earth and sea and sky. The forward part of the gun-boat was enveloped in a great sheet of flame. The people of the _Fearless_ were stunned and deafened and the hull rocked violently against the reef. Burning fragments rained everywhere, and fell hissing into the bay. From the place where the gun-boat was rapidly sinking came cries for help. “She is gone entirely. God help their poor souls,” brokenly murmured Captain O’Shea. He turned to shout to the mate: “Pull yourself together and paddle over yonder with the life-raft. Pick up all ye find of the poor men in the water and set them ashore. The Cuban army will take care of them as prisoners of war. And maybe you can find some of our boats. ’Tis an awful sight to see a fine vessel snuffed out like a candle.” Jack Gorham sat on deck, his head in his hands, a disconsolate figure. “I made a wonderful shot,” he muttered, “but I hope I’ll never have to make another one like it.” “Bridge, ahoy!” roared Johnny Kent from the lower deck. “This is war. We beat ’em to it. Now let’s get this tug off the reef on the flood tide, if we rip the bottom out of her. This bay will be full of gun-boats and cruisers to-morrow.” Going below for the first time since the _Fearless_ had entered the bay, the skipper found the decks in chaotic confusion. Broken bulwarks, smashed doors and windows, parted funnel-stays, twisted deck-houses, and other signs of the collision were strewn from bow to stern. Some twenty of the patriots had dived overboard. Of those left on board, several had been hurt, and the crew of the _Fearless_ were badly cut, bruised, and banged about.