A Prisoner of Morro; Or, In the Hands of the Enemy. Upton Sinclair

hour passed away, and mile after mile of the storm-tossed waters.

      By that time the hull of the vessel was plainly visible on the horizon; and the Spanish flag was still waving from her stern.

      Clif had been gazing every once in a while at the lieutenant with an inquiring look upon his face, but the officer had only shaken his head.

      "Not yet," he said. "Wait a little."

      And Clif would then take another stroll across the deck.

      But at last his inquiring look brought another answer.

      "Go ahead," said the lieutenant.

      And the cadet made a leap at the gun.

      It was already loaded, and he sighted it himself. He was no longer nervous and hurried; it was at least a minute before he rose.

      And then at his signal the sailor pulled the firing trigger.

      There was a flash and a loud report, and every one looked anxiously to see the effect.

      Lieutenant Raymond, who had the glass, was the only one who could tell; for the sea was so wild that the slight splash could not be noticed.

      The shot of course fell short, for the vessel was still out of range; but it hit right in line, and the officer nodded approvingly.

      "Now we'll wait," he said. "She may give up."

      But she didn't; so far as those on the Uncas could tell the shot had no effect whatever. The vessel kept straight on in her course.

      "She's counting on the darkness coming," said the lieutenant.

      But that was not the only reason why the Spaniard did not give up; those upon the Uncas discovered another shortly afterward.

      "The Cuban coast," exclaimed the officer.

      Yes, the long, faint line of the shore was at last visible just on the horizon's edge. It lay to the southward, directly ahead.

      "What good will that do her?" asked Clif.

      "If she finds she can't get away," answered the other, "she may make a run for one of the ports or try to get under the shelter of the batteries."

      For a while after that nothing more was said, and the tug plowed its way through the tossing water. When the lieutenant spoke again it was to point to the gun.

      "Try it again," he said.

      And Clif did try it. The two ships were then not over three or four miles apart, and when the cadet fired again he heard the lieutenant give a pleased exclamation.

      "They're within range!"

      And then Clif got to work with all his might.

      Had he had a calm sea he could have raked that vessel without missing a shot. He had only to experiment and get the aim just right and then leave the gun to stay in that one position while he blazed away.

      But the Uncas in climbing over the waves was now up and now down, so that sometimes the shots fell short and sometimes they went high.

      But every once in a while he had the satisfaction of hearing that he had landed one.

      After that the chase was a lively one, for the Uncas kept blazing away merrily. The people on board that fleeing vessel must have had a very large time of it that afternoon.

      It was just what Clif Faraday liked; he was beginning to be quite an expert in target practice, and he was willing to experiment with that ship just as long as the ammunition held out.

      But his opportunity did not last very long, for the land in front was neared very rapidly, and after that there was less fun and more work.

      The stranger headed round gradually to the west. She evidently had no idea of being driven toward Havana.

      The Uncas swerved more sharply, in order to head her off. Lieutenant Raymond was in the pilot house, and Clif soon saw by the way he managed things that he was an expert in all the tricks of dodging.

      And those who were handling the merchant ship saw it, too; they would have been soon headed off. So they turned in another direction quite sharply, making straight in toward shore again.

      Under ordinary circumstances with the short range that he had by that time, Clif could have riddled the vessel in short order; but aiming in that sea was so far a matter of luck that comparatively little damage could be done.

      No one knew what the enemy's last move could mean.

      "But we can go in any water that's deep enough for them," thought Clif, grimly, as he blazed away.

      And so thought the lieutenant, too, for he was soon racing in. For perhaps ten minutes pursuer and pursued kept straight on, the firing never ceasing for a moment.

      "Perhaps she may run on shore on purpose," said the lieutenant, coming out of the pilot house for a moment.

      "On purpose?" echoed Clif.

      "Yes; so that we can't get the cargo."

      "But she'll be beaten to pieces on the rocks," Clif objected.

      "They may chance it anyhow; you see they aren't more than a mile or two from the shore now, and they're running in still."

      "If that's the trick they try," Clif thought to himself, "we can stay out and pepper her to our heart's content—and help the waves to wreck her."

      But the Spaniard had a far better plan than that, as her pursuers learned some time later.

      Clif studied the coast in front of them, as well as he could see without a glass; there was simply a long line of sandy shore without a bay or an inlet of any kind. And there were no towns or batteries visible.

      "I don't see what she can be hoping for there," he muttered.

      But he had no time to speculate in the matter, for it was his business to keep firing. By that time the range was short and he was beginning to do damage.

      It took an expert to fire at the instant when the tossing ship was level, but Clif had time to practice, and he soon got the knack of it.

      And then it must have been exceedingly unpleasant living on that ship. One after another the heavy six-pound shots crashed through her stern; and even at that distance it began to exhibit a ragged appearance.

      The cadet expected at any moment to reach the engines or the rudder of the fleeing ship, and so render her helpless. But probably her cargo served to protect the former, and the rudder was very hard to hit.

      "She must have something important in view to stand all this," Clif thought to himself. "But I can't see what it is."

      The chase at that time was a very exciting one. The Spanish merchantman was dashing in shore at the top of his speed. And a mile or two beyond it was the Uncas tearing up the water, plunging along at her fastest pace and banging away half a dozen times a minute with her bow gun.

      Lieutenant Raymond's eyes were dancing then; he had taken the wheel himself and was hard at work. And as for Clif, he was so busily engaged that he seemed to see nothing except the high stern of that runaway.

      "But she's a fool," he growled to himself. "She'll be so torn to pieces she won't be worth capturing. I wish I could kill the captain."

      But the captain of that vessel knew his business, as those on the Uncas found later on. He was a Spaniard, and simply gifted with Spanish cunning.

      He had no idea of running his ship aground; but he knew that coast perfectly, and he used his knowledge.

      When he neared the land the tug was still some distance astern. As that did not suit the Spaniard's purposes, he very calmly slowed up.

      And that in spite of the fact that the tug was so close that the rapid-firing gun was hitting him every other shot!

      That the vessel had slowed