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A Prisoner of Morro: In the Hands of the Enemy, a fiction by Upton Sinclair |
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Chapter 6. Repelling Boarders |
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_ CHAPTER VI. REPELLING BOARDERS That had been a cleverly managed stroke, and it left the young officer simply paralyzed. All he could do was to stare into the muzzle of that weapon. He realized of course in a flash how he had been duped. And he was in a trap! Half dazed he looked and saw a Spanish sailor in the act of lifting himself up to the deck to join his superior. And Clif had no doubt there were half a dozen others following. There was of course nothing that Clif could do; a movement on his part would have been sheer suicide. He thought the case was hopeless; he had let himself be caught napping. But the cadet had forgotten that there were other Americans on that vessel besides himself. And there were no revolvers threatening the others. The rage of the Yankee tars at what seemed to them a cowardly and sneaking way to capture the ship was too great for them to control. Prudence would have directed surrender, for the Maria had not a gun on board and the Spaniard might blow her out of the water. But nobody thought of that; the same instant the Spanish officer presented his weapon and disclosed his real nationality, there were two sharp cracks in instant succession from the bow of the imperiled ship. And the officer staggered back with a gasp. He dropped his weapon to the deck, reeled for an instant and then vanished over the side in the darkness. There was a moment of horror, and then Clif heard him strike with a thud on the small boat below. At the same time there was a bright flash just in front of Clif, and a bullet whistled past his ear. The Spanish sailor, who had only half reached the deck, had fired at him. By that time there was no longer any hesitation as to what course to pursue. The sailors had decided it by their fatal shots. It was resistance to the death. And Clif whipped out his own weapons and sent the sailor tumbling backward to follow his officer. Then he drew his sword and with two slashing strokes severed the ladder. From the yells and confusion that followed there must have been quite a number clinging to the rope. But where they were or what their fate was nobody had any time to learn. Everything was moving like lightning on the merchantman. Clif leaped into the pilot house and signaled full speed. There was no further need of lookouts and so the two sailors rushed down into the engine-room to see that the order was obeyed. The big vessel started slowly forward. The cadet sprang to the wheel, his mind in a wild tumult as he strove to think what he should do. As if there were not confusion enough at that instant there were several loud reports in quick succession, followed by deafening crashes as shots tore through the vessel. The Spaniards had opened fire! "But they'll have to stop to pick up that boat's crew!" gasped Clif. "We may get away!" And that being the case every minute was precious; the vessel had swung round, but there was no time to turn--she must run as she was for a while. And from the way the vessel trembled and shook it could be told that the irate tars down below were making things hum. "They may burst the boilers if they can," thought Clif, grimly. The new course they were taking was south, exactly the opposite of the way they had been going. But Clif did not care about that. "The storm will drive us faster!" he gasped. "And every yard counts." The Spanish gunboat (nobody on the Maria, of course, knew but what she was a big cruiser) fired only about half a dozen shots at her daring enemy; then the yells of the crew of the small boat must have attracted her attention and forced her to desist for a moment. "And now's our chance," was the thought of the Americans. They were making the most of it, that was certain; they were fairly flying along with the great waves. Clif himself was at the wheel, seeing that not an inch was lost by steering wrongly. "We'll know soon," he muttered. "Very soon, for she'll chase us." The scene at this time was intensely dramatic; for the big ship had glided out into the darkness and those on board of her could not see their pursuer. They had no means of telling where she was, or whether they had escaped or not. They could only keep on listening anxiously, tremblingly, counting the seconds and waiting, almost holding their breath. They knew what the signal would be. The signal of their failure. If the Spaniard succeeded in finding them, he would open fire and soon let them know. Clif tried to guess how long it would take them to pick up the unfortunate occupants of that small boat. "They'll be raging mad when they do," he thought. "Gorry! they'll murder every one of us." For they would probably call the shooting of that officer a murder; it did not trouble Clif's conscience, for he knew that a merchant vessel has the same right to resist the enemy that a warship has. It was not as if they had surrendered and then imitated the example of the treacherous Ignacio. "I wonder how Ignacio likes this anyhow," thought Clif. But he had no time to inquire the Spaniard's views on the struggle; Clif was too busily waiting and counting the seconds. He did not think it would be very long before the enemy's ship would be after them again; and yet several minutes passed before any sign of the pursuit was given. Clif began to think that possibly they had eluded their would-be captors. But his hopes were dashed, for suddenly there came the dreaded warning shot. And it was fired from so close that, though the Americans had been listening for it, it made them start. It was evident that the enemy's vessel had come close to do the business; her first shot seemed fairly to tear the big merchantman to pieces. And Clif shut his teeth together with a snap. "We're in for it now," he muttered. "That settles it." There was no longer the last hope of escape. There was no longer even any use of keeping on. There were but two things to be considered, sink or surrender. There was a grim smile on the cadet's face as he turned away from the wheel. "Tell the two men to come up from below," he said to one of the sailors. And then he went out on deck, staring in the direction of the pursuing vessel. There was no difficulty in telling where she was now, for a continuous flashing of her guns kept her in view. Clif was cool, singularly cool, as he stood in his exposed position. He was no longer anxious, for he had no longer any hope. There was nothing on board the Maria that could cope with the enemy's guns. There was only the inevitable to be faced. The cadet soon guessed the nature of the pursuer from the way she behaved. Her guns were all low down and close together. They were about three-pounders, and rapid-firing. "It's a gunboat like the Uncas," he muttered. "Gorry! how I wish the Uncas would come back!" But the Uncas was then near Havana, far from any possibility of giving aid. And Clif knew it, so he wasted no time in vain regrets. By that time the Spanish vessel had gotten the range, and her three or four guns were blazing away furiously. The gunboat was alight with the flames of the quick reports, and the sound was continuous. "They aren't doing as well as I did," Clif said. "But still, they'll manage to do the work." And so it seemed, for shot after shot crashed through the hull of the already battered vessel. The Spaniards were mad, evidently. There was no hail this time and proposal to surrender. But only a calm setting to work to finish that reckless ship. The sailors came on deck and Clif, when he saw them, turned and pointed to the Spaniard. "There she is, men," he said. "Look her over." For a moment nobody said anything; the little group stood motionless on the deck. They were in no great danger for the firing was all directed at the hull. Then suddenly Clif began again. "I guess this vessel is about done for," he said. "She will be either sunk or captured. The only question is about us--what's to become of us. I leave it to you." None of the men spoke for a moment. "I suppose," Clif said, "that we can manage to let her know we surrender if we choose. We can scuttle the ship before we do it. But you know what we may expect; after our shooting those two men they'll probably murder us, or do things that are a thousand times worse." Clif stopped for a moment and then he turned. "Think, for instance," he said, "of being at the mercy of that man." He was pointing toward Ignacio, who lay near them, glowering in his hate, and the sailors looked and understood. "It's better to drown, sir," said one. And the rest thought so, too, and declared it promptly. "Very well, then," was the cadet's quiet answer, "we will stay on board. We have faced death before." That resolution made there was little else left to be determined. "We can sink the ship, or wait and let them sink it," the cadet said. "Or else--there's one thing more. We are headed in the right direction. We can smash her upon the rocks of the Cuban coast." And the sailors stared at him for a moment eagerly. "And stand a chance of getting ashore in safety!" they cried. At which the cadet smiled. "I'm afraid there's very little chance," he said. "But it's as good as anything else. We'll try it." "Yes, sir." "You two go down to the engine room again, and keep things moving. And the others stay on deck and make sure those Spaniards don't try to board us again. I can handle the wheel myself." And with that the brave cadet turned away and sprang toward the pilot house. _ |
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