opped 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.

It would be hard to imagine a vessel in a much greater predicament than
the Uncas was at that moment. Everything was in confusion in an instant.

That is everything except one thing. Lieutenant Raymond was too busy to
notice the coolness of one person on board; but he remembered it
afterward, and with satisfaction.

It was Clif Faraday; he picked himself up from the deck where he had
been flung and took one glance about him. Then he turned to the guns.

Whatever the position of the tug his duty just then remained the same.
He could not free her, and so he did not waste any time rushing about.
There was that Spanish merchantman calmly walking off to safety.

And there was a gleam of vengeance in the cadet's eye as he went to the
gun again.

Those on board of the fleeing vessel had seen the success of their
clever plan and they gave a wild cheer. It was answered from the shore
batteries.

The steamer turned at once and headed out to sea; that put her broadside
to the Uncas, and instantly the six-pounder blazed away.

That was the time to do the work, too. The vessel was quite near, and a
fair mark. The Uncas was now steady, too, Clif thought grimly to
himself.

One of the sailors saw what he was doing, and sprang to aid him. They
banged away as fast as they could load.

At the same time the Spanish batteries opened. They had a fair mark,
likewise, and plenty of time to aim. It was a race to see who could
smash up their prey the quickest.

Clif would certainly have disabled the fleeing vessel if it had not been
for an unfortunate accident. What the accident was may be told in a few
words. It spoiled his chance.

He turned away to get more cartridges. And at that instant a shell
struck the six-pounder gun.

It was a miracle that Clif was not hit; his uniform was torn in three
places and his cap knocked off. The sailor next to him got a nasty wound
in the arm, made by a flying fragment.

And that of course made the merchantman safe--she steamed off in
triumph.

It was bad for the tug, too, for it showed the batteries were getting
the range.

The plight of the Uncas was a desperate