The gun was brought up instantly, loaded, aimed and fired.
R-r-r-r-rip! Its volleys rang out.

A rain of bullets struck at the edge of the hotel roof, driving back the snipers amid yells of pain.
Yet the instant the machine gun ceased its leaden cyclone the snipers were back at work, firing in a way that showed their rage.
"We can keep 'em down with the machine gun," declared Trent, "But it might take all the ammunition of the fleet to keep it running long enough unless we can make more hits." In their recklessness the Mexicans exposed themselves so that four more of them fell before the seamen's rifles.
"Probably the Mexicans can get reinforcements," Dalzell muttered.
"Though we may hit a few in an hour's firing, they can replace every man we hit." "At least we can give those fellows something to think about between now and daylight," Dave returned, compressing his lips grimly.
"Grenfel is wounded, sir, and Penniman has just been killed," reported a petty officer, saluting.
Lieutenant Trent hastened back to confirm the death of Penniman, and also to see if anything could be done for the comfort of the wounded man.

He decided to send Grenfel back, two sailormen being detailed for that purpose.
"Look out for snipers," the officer warned the bearers of the wounded man.

"Carry your rifles slung and be ready for instant work.

If we hear you firing behind us I'll send men to help you through." Along the street, ahead of the detachment, a man came crawling from the direction of the hotel.
In an instant a dozen sailormen leveled their weapons.
"Hold up there, men!" Darrin called, sharply.
"Don't shoot at him." An instant later snipers on the hotel roof discovered the crawling man, opening fire on him so briskly that the endangered one rose to his feet and came sprinting toward the sailors with both hands uplifted.
"Lower your hands!" shouted Darrin.