"Don't waste any shots, men, but pot any sharpshooter you can get on that roof, or any men who show themselves on other roofs as we advance." "This work is a lot better than getting into boats and trying to take Castle San Juan," muttered Dalzell, as he drew his sword.
All three of the officers now had their blades in their hands, for the swords would be useful if they were obliged to fight at close quarters.
Crack! crack! crack! rang out the rifles of Trent's detachment.
But every shot told.

Whenever any one of the three officers saw a man firing too rapidly that seaman was cautioned against wasting cartridges.
One of Trent's men was already wounded in the left hand, though he still persisted in firing.
At the first street crossing Trent shouted: "Half of you men go down the street on that side, the rest of you over here.

Ensign Dalzell, take command over there.

Ensign Darrin, you will command here." The street was swiftly emptied of blue-jackets.

Hidden from the fire of the sharpshooters ahead, the sailors were out of immediate danger.