"It's first blood for us!" yelled Striker, enthusiastically. "I don't believe we've been struck once."
He had hardly spoken when the whining shriek of a hundred and fifty pound shell was heard, coming straight at the Olympia. "We're struck now!" cried Barrow, when, as shells sometimes do, the unwelcome missile took a turn in the air and went sailing through the flagship's upper works, doing damage that was but trifling.
In less than half an hour Larry felt at home at his work. He now knew what real fighting meant, and was getting used to the noise and smoke. Strange to say, he did not feel in the least alarmed. Perhaps this was because some awful shot had not yet brought home to him the true horrors of the dreadful combat. He was working like a Trojan, with the perspiration pouring from his whole body, and the smoke and soot had made him the color of a true African.
The Olympia's gunners had now obtained the correct range of the Spanish ships, and in addition to the smaller shots were pouring in a number of two hundred and fifty pound shells. As the flagship came down the second course, these shells
