"I'd rather have my men killed in open fighting than demolished by all the heavy hardware on these two blocks."

Raising his voice, Trent ordered:

"Cease firing! Load magazines and hold your fire. We're going to charge!"

From the sailormen a half-suppressed cheer arose. Hand-to-hand fighting was much more to their liking than tedious sharpshooting.

"Keep close to the building on either side of the street!" Lieutenant Trent ordered. "No man is to run in the middle of the road and make an unnecessary target of himself. Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell will run behind their men, to see that no man exposes himself uselessly."

"Fall in! Ready to charge. In single file---charge!"

Heading the line on Darrin's side of the street, Trent dashed around the corner, leading his sailormen at a run.

Dalzell's men rushed into the fray at the same moment, Dave amid Dan, as ordered, bringing up the rear of the two files.

On the instant that the two lines of charging, cheering sailormen came into sight, the Mexicans on the roof-top redoubled their fire. It is difficult, however, to fire with accuracy at men who are running close to the buildings. Either the bullet falls short, or else goes wide of its mark and hits a wall behind the line. So Lieutenant Trent's men dashed down the street for a short distance, and pausing in the shelter of a building cheered jubilantly.

Now the Mexican soldiers above no longer had the advantage. Whenever one of their number showed his head over the edge of the roof he became a handy target for the jackies below.

Heavy shutters covered the windows on the ground floor of the building. The heavy wooden door was tightly locked.

"Ensign Darrin," sounded Trent's voice, "take enough men and batter that door down."

It took a combined rush to effect that. Several times Dave led his seamen against that barrier. Under repeated a.s.saults it gave way.

"Through the house and to the roof!" shouted Trent. "We'll wind up the snipers!"

What a yell went up from two score of throats as the sailormen piled after their officers and thronged the stairs!

It was a free-for-all race to the top of the second flight of stairs. Over the skylight opening lay a wooden covering tightly secured in place.

"Come on, my hearties! Smash it!" yelled Trent, heaving his own broad shoulders against the obstruction.

After the skylight cover was smashed the Mexican soldiers would once more have the advantage. Only a man at a time could reach the roof. It ought not to be difficult for the defenders to pick off a Navy man at a time as the Americans sprang up.

At last the covering gave way.

"Pile up, all hands, as rapidly as you can come!" yelled Lieutenant Trent. "Officers first!"

"Officers first!" echoed Dave and Dan in a breath, all the military longing in their hearts leaping to the surface.

Then up they went, into the jaws of ma.s.sacre!

CHAPTER XVII

MEXICANS BECOME SUDDENLY MEEK

Trent leaped to the roof. With his left arm he warded off a blow aimed at his head with the b.u.t.t of a rifle.

Then his sword flashed, its point going clean through the body of the Mexican soldier who barred his way.

"Death to the Gringos! Death to the Gringos!" yelled the Mexicans.

But Trent drove back two men with his flashing sword. After him Dave heaped to the roof, his revolver barking fast and true.

Danny Grin followed, and he darted around to the other side of the skylight, turning loose his revolver.

The fire was returned briskly by the enemy, all of whom wore the uniform of the Mexican regular infantry.

In the footsteps of the officers came, swiftly, four stalwart young sailormen, and now the American force had a footing on the roof.

At first none of the Mexicans thought of asking for quarter.

One of the infantrymen, retreating before Dalzell's deftly handled sword, and fighting back with his rifle b.u.t.t, retreated so close to the edge of the roof that, in another instant, he had fallen to the street below, breaking his neck.

Ere the last dozen Americans had succeeded in reaching the roof the fight was over, for the few Mexicans still able to fight suddenly threw down their rifles, shouting pleadingly:

"_Piedad!_ _piedad!_" (pity).

"Accept all surrenders!" shouted Lieutenant Trent at the top of his voice.

Four quivering, frightened Mexicans accepted this mercy, standing huddled together, their eyes eloquent with fear.

The fight had been a short, but savage one. A glance at the roof's late defenders showed, including the man lying in the street below, eight dead Mexicans, one of whom was the boyish lieutenant of infantry who had commanded this detachment. Nine more were badly wounded. The four prisoners were the only able-bodied Mexicans left on the roof.

"Pardon, but shall we have time for our prayers?" asked one of the surrendered Mexicans, approaching Lieutenant Trent.

"Time for your prayers?" Trout repeated. "Take all the time you want."

"But when do you shoot us?" persisted the fellow, humbly.

"Shoot you?" repeated Trent, in amazement, speaking rapidly in the Spanish he had acquired at Annapolis and practiced in many a South American port. Then it dawned upon this American officer that, in the fighting between Mexican regulars and rebels it had been always the custom of the victors to execute the survivors of the vanquished foe.

"My poor fellow," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Trent, "we Americans always pride ourselves on our civilization. We don't shoot prisoners of war.

You will be treated humanely, and we shall exchange you with your government."

"What did that chap say?" Dalzell demanded, in an undertone, as Darrin laughed.

"The Mexican said," Dave explained, "that he hoped he wouldn't be exchanged until the war is over."

"There is a hospital detachment signaling from down the street, sir," reported a seaman from the edge of the roof.

Trent stepped quickly over to where he could get a view of the hospital party. Then he signaled to the hospital men, four in number, carrying stretchers, and commanded by a petty officer, that they were to advance.

"Any of our men need attention, sir?" asked the petty officer, as he reached the roof.