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A Prisoner of Morro: In the Hands of the Enemy, a fiction by Upton Sinclair |
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Chapter 30. The Battle In The Brush |
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_ CHAPTER XXX. THE BATTLE IN THE BRUSH Was it a foolhardy venture, he thought, as with steady stroke he forged ahead away from the flagship, and toward the shore he had so recently left amid the clatter of hostile bullets. The enemy now must be on the alert, and he might be detected and captured the instant his boat touched shore. And he was not blind to the dangers that might confront him on land. "I'm in for it now, at any rate," he thought, "and I've got to succeed. This mystery must be solved, and I believe the result will show that it is worth all the risk." Darkness favored him, and besides he was alone; and for that very reason could move around with less risk of discovery once he reached land. He knew exactly where he had dropped the shell, and it would not take long to get it. It was therefore with confidence that he urged the boat forward. It was a long pull, for the flagship lay well out to sea, but Clif did not seem to feel the strain. He drew near the shore without detecting any hostile movement or hearing any sound that would lead him to think that the enemy were on the lookout. He decided that it would be prudent not to land at the same spot as previously. He therefore steered for a clump of trees a little further down the coast, and still not a great distance from the hill where the shell lay. Not a sound from the enemy reached his ears as his boat grated upon the sandy beach, and he sprang out to secure the painter to a bush. Then, feeling that his revolver was ready and handy for business, he cautiously began to steal his way through the shrubbery that fringed the shore. These screened his advance and soon he was ascending the steep bank in the direction of the previous encounter. He was getting further away from his boat and nearer and near to his destination. "All serene, so far," he muttered, as he advanced steadily without any adventure. "The Spaniards must have gone." But suddenly, as he was about to step from the concealment of the trees into a slight clearing that lay in his path, he heard a sound that caused him to dodge quickly back. Looking out he saw a figure close at hand and slowly approaching. A step further and Clif would have brought himself directly within the other's view. It was not Clif's purpose to invite an encounter, although he grasped his revolver in readiness for an emergency. He desired, rather, to avoid it, and to quietly make his way to the spot where the shell lay. That once secured, he felt that he could in the same way return to his boat and to the flagship. He therefore silently waited in his place of concealment to see what the enemy would do. The latter evidently had not heard Clif's movements, and continued slowly to advance, stooping occasionally and peering from side to side. "I think I know what you're after," muttered Clif below his breath. "But you won't find it here; nor me, either," he added, as he began to edge away from the position he held. As he did so, the other turned and slowly continued his course in the opposite direction. The coast was again clear, and Clif lost no time in putting what distance he could between himself and the unwelcome visitor. His course, too, led him toward the mound of earth behind which lay the object of his coming. When he reached the spot where he had met the Cuban courier he found it deserted. The Spaniards, after the escape of Clif and his men, had evidently withdrawn. With a light heart he sprang toward the rampart of earth and began to ascend its side. "In one minute it is mine," he thought exultingly, "and then back to the flagship and the test!" But a surprise was in store for him. As he vaulted over the top of the mound on to the other side, he landed almost into the arms of a man who was just ascending that side. The man was unmistakably a Spaniard, and from his hands there fell a round shell, that rolled away across the ground. The encounter was startling to both, but Clif was the first to recover his wits. His quick eye detected the fallen shell, and he divined the fellow's purpose. Before the other could recover from his evident fright, Clif sprang upon him. "So you have found it!" he muttered, as he closed in upon the Spaniard, "but finding's not keeping's this time." Clif's attack brought the Spaniard quickly to his senses, and he was not slow to defend himself. In a flash he drew his revolver, but Clif was too quick for him. The latter knocked the weapon from the fellow's grasp before he had a chance to fire it. Clif's own weapon was within easy reach, but for several reasons he did not care to use it. He wanted, among other things, to avoid a pistol shot which might attract others to the spot. The contest must be one of muscle against muscle; and to unusual strength Clif added a surprising agility that came in good stead in such a struggle. They grappled, and there in that enclosure formed by the mounds of earth on several sides the two began a furious hand to hand battle, the result of which long hung in doubt. The Spaniard was no mean opponent, and fought with enraged fury. Clif's astounding exertions during the past hours had been enough to exhaust the strongest and sturdiest, and he was compelled to acknowledge to himself, as the battle progressed, that it had made inroads upon his strength. Back and forth across the little enclosure the pair fought fiercely. Once Clif slipped and fell beneath his opponent; but an instant after he was upon his feet. His keen eye followed his antagonist's every move. He was watching for a chance to deliver one blow that would settle the combat. Several times he had landed upon the Spaniard's head and face, inflicting severe punishment, but not enough. At last the moment came. The opening presented itself in the Spaniard's guard, and with all the strength that was in him, Clif shot out his right hand. It went home. With a force that seemed to lift the fellow high into the air, his fist met the Spaniard's chin, and the latter fell backward to the ground. It was a clean knockout. Breathing heavily, the fellow lay where he had fallen, unconscious of his surroundings. Clif was panting from the exertion. He had received some punishment, and the wound in his arm was throbbing fiercely. But he paused only long enough to see that the fellow would not give him further trouble, and then hurried toward the spot where the shell had rolled. "I guess that'll hold you for a while," he muttered, looking at his fallen foe as he started away. "But he'll come out of it after a time," he added. "Gorry! how my arm aches all the way up to the elbow." It took but a moment for him to find the shell, for he had seen it roll from the other's hand. "That's it," he exclaimed, as he picked it up. "I'd know it in a minute by its shape and weight. Rather light for a cannon ball." But he did not wait to examine it there. There would be time enough for that when he reached the flagship. With a parting look at his unconscious antagonist he started away. "I'm sorry, my dear sir," he exclaimed, sarcastically, as he looked back on reaching the top of the rampart. "You seemed so attached to this shell, I'd like to take you along with it. But as I can only take one at a time, I'll content myself with this." Then he turned his back upon the scene of his contest, and started for his boat as expeditiously as due caution would allow. He met with no obstacle in the way, and found the boat just as he had left it. He threw the shell in the stern, and with a feeling of exultation sprang in after it and seized the oars. A few steady strokes and he was on the way toward the flagship. But there had been a change in those quiet waters while he was on the land. He had not gone many boat lengths from shore before he discovered looming up before him a slowly moving steamer. It was apparently hugging the coast and proceeding with as little noise as possible. "A boat trying to run the blockade!" exclaimed Clif, as he backed water and rested upon his oars. "She'll succeed, too, unless one of our ships should happen to discover her with its searchlight." And then his responsibility, in view of the discovery he had made, flashed upon him. "I must warn the flagship at once," he exclaimed, seizing the oars and sending the boat forward with a spurt. But after a couple of strokes he suddenly stopped again. "What a fool I am!" he exclaimed. "By the time I can row out to the flagship, it will be too late. They must be warned instantly, and there is only one way of doing it." He reached for the signal rockets he had brought at the rear admiral's order. Should he fire them? Those on board the strange boat that was nearly abreast of him did not know that he was there. If he gave the signal it would betray his presence, and no doubt lead to an attack upon himself in his open boat. Clif looked far out to sea for a moment, half hoping to see the flash of the searchlight play upon the water, and lead to the detection of the strange craft. But the delay was only momentary. "It is my duty to warn the ships," he exclaimed, as he set a rocket up in the stern, and drawing a match from his pocket, struck it upon the seat of the boat. "Here goes!" A moment later, with a sharp whirr and a flash of light, the rocket shot up into the air. A second and third followed; then Clif sprang back upon his seat and seized the oars. The signal had been given. He had done his duty at whatever risk there might be to his own safety. _ |
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