General de Guzman had been completely taken by surprise by the sudden move of the government troops. He had been depending on his guns to prevent communication between the two bodies, and thus hamper them till the expected ships arrived in the harbor below. The booming of their guns he intended to make the signal for his advance. Suddenly, from the harbor, there sounded a loud report. Boom! Its echoes clashed back against the hills. Ned and Herc looked seaward surprised. They were still more surprised when they saw, making for the harbor entrance, two vessels. One of them they recognized even at that distance as the _Barrill_. The other they guessed to be the _De Barros_. “Hooray! Captain Gomez made good!” exclaimed Ned. “I’ll bet he’s got a prize crew on the _De Barros_ now.” And so it afterward proved. The plucky captain had made a night sortie on Santa Anna, lured the _De Barros_ seaward, and, after a brief engagement, forced her surrender. Then, placing a prize crew on board, he started for Boca del Sierras. The gun they had heard was his salute of triumph. But de Guzman mistook the report for the approach of the insurgent navy, and at once gave orders to advance. His position was screened from a sight of the sea, so that his eyes had not fallen on the same spectacle as had the boys. Otherwise the command might never have been given. Under a raking fire from the advancing insurgents, the hill was gained at last. The guns were soon rushed to the summit. As they gained it, to the westward of the town firing began. Another small hill in that direction burst into smoke and flame. The heavy booming of the guns was distinctly borne to their ears. The other section of the insurgent army was taking up the attack at that point. A short distance from the hill, de Guzman, seeing that it was impossible for him to cut off the government artillery, halted his troops. As a means of harassing the enemy by every means possible, he ordered a raking fire on the gunners, as they began to operate the machine guns. Man after man was mowed down as he worked at the guns. It began to look as if, after all, the Hill of the Ten Saints might become the scene of a disastrous rout. The native troopers, easily influenced by a turn of luck one way or the other, began to waver. Ned could see that it only needed a little more to throw them into a complete panic. Revolver in hand, he rushed up to the gunners, urging them to their work. From the boxes he seized, with his own hands, the long bands of ammunition--six hundred shots to a band--and fed them into the breeches of the guns. “Now, pull the triggers,” he shouted. From one or two of the guns a raking fire opened, but even as it started it was stopped by de Guzman’s sharpshooters. “We’ve got to dislodge those fellows from that position!” exclaimed Ned to the native commander. The other nodded. “But our guns, senor. We must protect them. If the insurgents seize them, we should be powerless.”