those who were handling the merchant ship saw it, too; they would have been soon headed off. So they turned in another direction quite sharply, making straight in toward shore again.
Under ordinary circumstances with the short range that he had by that time, Clif could have riddled the vessel in short order; but aiming in that sea was so far a matter of luck that comparatively little damage could be done.
No one knew what the enemy's last move could mean.
"But we can go in any water that's deep enough for them," thought Clif, grimly, as he blazed away.
And so thought the lieutenant, too, for he was soon racing in. For perhaps ten minutes pursuer and pursued kept straight on, the firing never ceasing for a moment.
"Perhaps she may run on shore on purpose," said the lieutenant, coming out of the pilot house for a moment.
"On purpose?" echoed Clif.
"Yes; so that we can't get the cargo."
"But she'll be beaten to pieces on the rocks," Clif objected.
"They may chance it anyhow; you see they aren't more than a mile or two from the shore now, and they're running in still."
"If that's the trick they try," Clif thought to himself, "we can stay out and pepper her to our heart's content—and help the waves to wreck her."
But the Spaniard had a far better plan than that, as her pursuers learned some time later.
Clif studied the coast in front of them, as well as he could see without a glass; there was simply a long line of sandy shore without a bay or an inlet of any kind. And there were no towns or batteries visible.
"I don't see what she can be hoping for there," he muttered.
But he had no time to speculate in the matter, for it was his business to keep firing. By that time the range was short and he was beginning to do damage.
It took an expert to fire at the instant when the tossing ship was level, but Clif had time to practice, and he soon got the knack of it.
And then it must have been exceedingly unpleasant living on that ship. One after another the heavy six-pound shots crashed through her stern; and even at that distance it began to exhibit a ragged appearance.
The cadet expected at any moment to reach the engines or the rudder of the fleeing ship, and so render her helpless. But probably her cargo served to protect the former, and the rudder was very hard to hit.
"She must have something important in view to stand all this," Clif thought to himself. "But I can't see what it is."
The chase at that time was a very exciting one. The Spanish merchantman was dashing in shore at the top of his speed. And a mile or two beyond it was the Uncas tearing up the water, plunging along at her fastest pace and banging away half a dozen times a minute with her bow gun.
Lieutenant Raymond's eyes were dancing then; he had taken the wheel himself and was hard at work. And as for Clif, he was so busily engaged that he seemed to see nothing except the high stern of that runaway.
"But she's a fool," he growled to himself. "She'll be so torn to pieces she won't be worth capturing. I wish I could kill the captain."
But the captain of that vessel knew his business, as those on the Uncas found later on. He was a Spaniard, and simply gifted with Spanish cunning.
He had no idea of running his ship aground; but he knew that coast perfectly, and he used his knowledge.
When he neared the land the tug was still some distance astern. As that did not suit the Spaniard's purposes, he very calmly slowed up.
And that in spite of the fact that the tug was so close that the rapid-firing gun was hitting him every other shot!
That the vessel had slowed up, Lieutenant Raymond of course could not tell. But he wouldn't have cared anyhow, for he had made up his mind to go in there no matter what was there, torpedoes or the very Old Nick himself.
And he went; for perhaps five minutes more the Uncas dashed in at full speed, and the merchantman still never swerved.
"They're within a quarter of a mile of the shore!" gasped Clif.
He turned to his third box of cartridges with a grim smile on his face. For he knew that something must happen soon.
It did, too—very soon.
It began when the merchantman suddenly swung round to starboard.
"Aha!" chuckled the cadet. "They're as close in as they dare. And now I suppose they'll run down shore awhile."
Lieutenant Raymond was much puzzled to think why the vessel had risked going so close in that storm; but he wasted no time in speculating, but drove the wheel around with all his might.
The Uncas swerved and sped over to shut the merchantman off; at that same instant the reason of the whole thing was seen.
The Uncas was not a mile from shore, and as she turned her broadside to the land a masked battery in the sand let drive with a dozen guns at once.
The whole thing was so sudden that for a moment it quite frightened the Americans. Clif even stopped firing long enough to stare.
But the sudden alarm did not last very long; it left the men on the Uncas laughing. For they had quite forgotten the character of the Spanish gunners' aim.
A shot tore through the tug's funnel, another chipped a piece from her bow, half a dozen shells whistled over her. And that was all.
Clif turned calmly to his gun again.
"If that's the best they can do," he thought, "they're welcome."
But that was not the best.
It wasn't that the batteries were aimed better next time. They were aimed far worse in their eager haste. They did not even touch the Uncas.
But an instant later something happened that showed that the captain of the Spanish merchantman had one more string to his bow.
He not only knew the location of the batteries, but he knew the location of the sand bars. While his own vessel sped on in safety, on board the Uncas there suddenly came a grinding thud, and an instant later the tug stopped short, so short it almost sent Clif flying over the top of the gun he was working.
And at the same time a shout was heard from Lieutenant Raymond, one that made the sailors' hearts leap up into their throats: "We're aground! We're aground!"
And in front of a Spanish battery!
CHAPTER III.
AN OLD ENEMY.
