every one of us."

For they would probably call the shooting of that officer a murder; it
did not trouble Clif's conscience, for he knew that a merchant vessel
has the same right to resist the enemy that a warship has. It was not as
if they had surrendered and then imitated the example of the treacherous
Ignacio.

"I wonder how Ignacio likes this anyhow," thought Clif.

But he had no time to inquire the Spaniard's views on the struggle; Clif
was too busily waiting and counting the seconds.

He did not think it would be very long before the enemy's ship would be
after them again; and yet several minutes passed before any sign of the
pursuit was given.

Clif began to think that possibly they had eluded their would-be
captors. But his hopes were dashed, for suddenly there came the dreaded
warning shot.

And it was fired from so close that, though the Americans had been
listening for it, it made them start. It was evident that the enemy's
vessel had come close to do the business; her first shot seemed fairly
to tear the big merchantman to pieces.

And Clif shut his teeth together with a snap.

"We're in for it now," he muttered. "That settles it."

There was no longer the last hope of escape. There was no longer even
any use of keeping on. There were but two things to be considered, sink
or surrender.

There was a grim smile on the cadet's face as he turned away from the
wheel.

"Tell the two men to come up from below," he said to one of the sailors.

And then he went out on deck, staring in the direction of the pursuing
vessel. There was no difficulty in telling where she was now, for a
continuous flashing of her guns kept her in view.

Clif was cool, singularly cool, as he stood in his exposed position. He
was no longer anxious, for he had no longer any hope. There was nothing
on board the Maria that could cope with the enemy's guns. There was only
the inevitable to be faced.

The cadet soon guessed the nature of the pursuer from the way she
behaved. Her guns were all low down and close together. They were about
three-pounders, and rapid-firing.

"It's a gunboat like the Uncas," he muttered. "Gorry! how I wish the
Uncas would come back!"

But the Uncas was then near Havana, far from any possibility of giving
aid. And Clif knew it, so he wasted no time in vain regrets.

By that time the Spanish vessel had gotten the range, and her three or
four guns were blazing away furiously. The gunboat was alight