But how were they to be extracted from their refuge without sacrificing the lives of Spanish sailors and marines? _Carramba_, here was a tough problem! It might be feasible to starve them out by means of a siege, but the cruiser had no abundance of coal and stores. A storm would compel her to steam out to sea, or run for the coast. And if the key were left unguarded a merchant-vessel might happen along and rescue O’Shea and his men. And for all the commander knew, they had already sent a boat to summon help. The cruiser ceased firing. Thereupon Captain O’Shea convened a council of war within his defences. The enclosure had been deluged with flying sand, but there were no casualties. “There will be no more bombardment,” he told his people. “The cruiser will do one of two things. She will lay off the key and wait for us to give in, or she will send her boats ashore to-night and try to rush us in the dark.” “We’ll make it unhealthy for ’em,” stoutly declared Johnny Kent. “Me and my men will die for _Cuba Libre_,” said Colonel Calvo, his theatrical manner fled, his words spoken with a fine simplicity. “There don’t seem to be any way out,” observed Jack Gorham. O’Shea gazed at them in silence. There was no reproach in their speech or manner, no thought of blaming him for this tragic predicament. And yet it was his responsibility and his alone. He might have abandoned the _Fearless_ in the bay and taken these people ashore where they could find refuge with the Cuban army of Gomez. If he had been guilty of an error of judgment, then he should pay the price. There dawned upon him a clear conception of his own private duty. “We will stick it out as we are till sunset,” he said abruptly. “Nothing more can happen before then. How are the ladies, Johnny?” “I’m afraid they’ll go under if we have many days like this, Cap’n Mike. This is an infernal place to be cooped up in.” “I am ashamed to face them, Johnny. ’Tis all my fault that they are in this mess with us. I should have put them ashore when I had the chance. But a sailor will think of his ship when he can save her, and ’tis his chronic notion that he is safer at sea than anywhere else.” Through the long, long day the sun poured wickedly into the fortification. The cruiser rolled lazily at her anchorage and made no sign of renewing the attack. O’Shea lay flat behind a small embrasure and vainly searched the sea for the sight of a merchant-steamer which might intervene in behalf of the castaways. This was his last hope. With a weary sigh he watched the red sun slant lower and lower. His lucky star had failed him. He made his decision. Presently he beckoned Gerald Van Steen and asked him to go outside the fortification, where they could have speech in private. The young man was sullen, but O’Shea smiled with engaging friendliness and said: “’Tis no time to nurse grudges, me lad. Let us shake hands and forget it.”