"She's stopped firing, sir. And what's more, she's dropping behind."

Clif stared at the man in amazement.

"Dropping behind!"

And then suddenly he sprang out to the deck.

"Take the wheel a moment," he cried to the sailor.

And he himself bounded down the deck toward the stern.

He stared out over the railing, clinging to it tightly to prevent himself from being flung off his feet.

He found that what the sailor had said was literally true. The Spaniard was now firing only an occasional shot, and she was at least a hundred yards behind.

What that could mean Clif had not the faintest idea. Could it be that her engines had met with an accident? Or that she fancied the merchantman was sinking?

The cadet gazed down into the surging water below him; he could see the white track of the big steamer and knew that she was fairly flying along.

He took one more glance in the direction of the now invisible Spaniard.

The firing had ceased altogether.

And like a flash the thought occurred to Clif that whatever the reason for the strange act might be, now was the time to save the merchantman.

"We can turn off to one side!" he gasped, "and lose her!"

And with a bound he started for the pilot house.

"Hard a-port!" he shouted to the man at the wheel.

But before the man had a chance to obey Clif chanced to glance out ahead, into the darkness toward which the vessel was blindly rushing.

And the cadet staggered back with a gasp.

"A light!" he cried. "A light!"

Yes, there was a dim flickering point of light directly in front of them. Where it came from Clif could not tell, but he realized the significance in an instant.

And at the same time there was another sound that broke upon his ear and confirmed the guess. It was a dull, booming roar.

The man at the wheel heard it, too.

"It's breakers, sir!" he shouted. "Breakers ahead!"

They were nearing the land!

And then the significance of the Spaniard's act became only too apparent. The men who were running her had seen the light, and they had no idea of being led to destruction by their eagerness to follow that reckless merchantman.

And so they were slowing up and keeping off the sh.o.r.e.

There was a faint hope in that; the Maria might be able to steal away if she were quick enough in turning.

Clif's order had been obeyed by the sailor the instant he heard it. Clif sprang in to help him, and they whirled the wheel around with all their might.

But alas! they were too late! When a steamer waits until she hears breakers in a storm like that it is all up with her, for she must be near the sh.o.r.e indeed.

And plunging as the Maria was, urged on by wind and waves and her own powerful engines, it was but an instant before the crisis came.

Clif had half braced himself for the shock; but when it came it was far greater than he had expected. There was a crash that was simply deafening. The huge ship plunged into the rocky sh.o.r.e with a force that almost doubled her up, and made her shake from stem to stern. And she stopped so abruptly that Clif was flung through the window of the pilot house.

The deed was done!

CHAPTER VIII.

A DASH FOR THE Sh.o.r.e.

Strange to say, Clif was not much excited at the terrific moment. The peril was so great that he was quite gay as he faced it. He had risen to the occasion.

He picked himself up and stepped out to the deck.

There he found a scene of confusion indescribable. Above the noise of the breakers on the sh.o.r.e and the waves that were flinging themselves against the exposed side of the ship rang the wild shrieks and cries of the terrified Spanish prisoners.

The vessel after she had struck had been flung around and was being turned farther over every minute. The violence of the storm that was struggling with her was quite inconceivable.

The waves were pouring over her in great ma.s.ses, sweeping everything before them; and the spray was leaping so high and the flying storm clouds driving past so low that there was no telling where the surface of the sea ended and the air began.

The big ship had landed among rocks, and every wave was lifting her up and flinging her down upon them with dull, grinding crashes that could be both heard and felt.

A moment after she struck a man came dashing up the ladder to the deck; it was one of the sailors, and behind were the terrified firemen.

"She's leaking in a dozen places!" the man shouted.

He clung to railing as he spoke, and a great wave half drowned him; but he managed to salute, and Clif saw a look of wild delight on his face, one that just corresponded with his own eager mood.

"She'll split in about half a minute, I fancy," the cadet answered, "and the Spaniards are welcome to what's left. We've done our duty."

And with that he turned to the pilot house, where the rest of the men were grouped. They were gazing at him eagerly.

"Are you ready, boys?" Clif shouted.

Every one knew what he meant by "ready"--ready to make the wild attempt to land and reach the sh.o.r.e through all those wildly surging breakers.

The very thought of it was enough to stir one's blood.

And the answer came with a vengeance.