His careful keeping away was to have an important consequence that he did not think of. All was confusion on board the _Leon_, after those broadsides came. Her crew were frantically striving to cut loose the towing wreckage and bring their craft once more to the wind, while, as fast as Up-na-tan and his fellow-gunners could load and fire, the destruction was increasing. "What's that?" screeched the pirate captain, in reply to one of his crew. "We are sinking, are we? Boats! To the boats! They shall never take us alive. Boats, and board the Spaniard!" Capture meant only death without mercy, as all of them knew, and some of the cooler miscreants had already begun to get ready the boats. Of these there were four, and the largest of them had been hanging at the davits, ready for lowering. "Sam," said Captain Avery, soberly, "not one of those fellows must git away. Mercy to them is cruelty to everybody else. If I spare a pirate, I'll feel as if I was murderin' the next man or woman he puts a knife into." "That's about the way I feel," said Sam; "but I ain't an executioner." The Spaniards themselves had been doing something with the guns of the _Santa Teresa_, such as they were, old-fashioned, clumsily mounted, short-range, light pieces. Only a few of her crew and none of her passengers had been killed or wounded. There had been no report of them made in the general excitement and despondency. It was almost too soon for any enthusiastic rejoicing, for hardly any one felt sure of deliverance. It was almost as if the wonderful Yankee privateer had fallen from the skies. She and her operations were calling forth tremendous admiration, however, and there was plenty of genuine piety in the fervent thanksgivings that were uttered. "Stop firing!" commanded Captain Avery, less than a quarter of an hour later. "That black flag feller is careenin'! She's fillin'! I declare, she must ha' been a mere shell. The _Noank's_ timbers'd ha' stood a heavier poundin' than that." "It was pretty heavy pounding, Lyme," replied Sam Prentice. "Our timbers are good, but we don't care to be struck at short range. Not by heavy shot, anyhow. You see, that redskin jest plugged her every time. Some of his hits must ha' gone clean through." "Used her up, anyhow," said the captain. "Guert," said Up-na-tan to his pupil in the science of gunnery, "good! Boy aim twice. No miss. Boy make good gunner some day." It was just so. The Manhattan had indulgently promised Guert to do some actual battle practice, and had made him as proud as a peacock. It was true that he had fired under close supervision and direction, but it had been a valuable teaching, and Guert almost believed that he could have done it all alone--with the right kind of men to handle the pivot-gun for him. "Boy good eye," said Up-na-tan. "Hold hand steady. Hit mark. Ugh!"