The rapid firing guns were at work now. Occasionally the deep boom of one of the great ten-inch rifles would be heard, but these latter guns can only be fired at long intervals. It takes time to clean them, load again and fire. What was Young Glory doing? He was at one of the bow guns of the Nashville, the largest she was carrying, an eight-inch breech-loader. Young Glory had for the time superseded the officer of this gun, for it was a critical moment, and Captain Long knew that if Young Glory could not do the required work, there was no one on board who could. The accuracy of the young hero had been proved in many a hard fight at sea. Coolly he directed operations, with Dan Daly assisting him. "An' faith, it's a poor mark," said the latter. "I have my orders." "Shure ye have, Young Glory, but it's meself would rather be afther firin' at the big ship herself." "Dan, you're a good fellow and I'm particularly fond of you, but you wouldn't make a great general. Now, see here, Dan, if I can manage to hit that turret I'll put one of their great guns out of action. That's a tremendous gain." "It's yerself knows best," said Dan, and he added to himself, "or ye'd prove to me ye knew best anyway." Dan was working like a hero. Two of his comrades at the gun had been carried below, badly wounded by some splinters from a shell. The sight of his comrades' blood infuriated the Irishman, and it animated the other men also. As for Young Glory, there was apparently no difference in him. He was as cool as ever. It was his work to sight and train the gun, and each time that it was fired, anxious eyes followed the shot to see whether it would be a success. "Bah! I'll never hit it!" cried Young Glory, in disgust, after his last unsuccessful shot. "It's the swell on the water. It's almost impossible to take aim; you can't do it with any accuracy." "Murther!" cried Dan, "but those spalpeens can!" As he spoke a shot had come from the enemy's ship, and it tore away one of the ship's boats, but doing no other damage. Several men had narrow escapes from the splinters of the shell. Boats are invariably a source of danger in naval fights, and it is the custom for battle ships to get rid of most of their boats before the action begins. Captain Long was very anxious now. The last few shots from the Spanish cruiser showed that her gunners were getting the range and elevation. At any moment a shot might come and sink the gun-boat. Several times he cast anxious eyes seaward, hoping that the noise of the fight might bring the Brooklyn to the port. Alas! this was not to be. The fine American cruiser was yet far away. The gun-boat had suffered a serious loss in men. A number of the seamen had been struck by shots fired from the machine guns, and Captain Long knew he could ill afford such losses. "Young Glory!" "Yes, sir." "One good shot from you may give us a fighting chance." "I am doing all I can, sir." "That I know." Boom!