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

Raymond of course could not tell. But he wouldn't have cared anyhow, for he had made up his mind to go in there no matter what was there, torpedoes or the very Old Nick himself.

      And he went; for perhaps five minutes more the Uncas dashed in at full speed, and the merchantman still never swerved.

      "They're within a quarter of a mile of the shore!" gasped Clif.

      He turned to his third box of cartridges with a grim smile on his face. For he knew that something must happen soon.

      It did, too—very soon.

      It began when the merchantman suddenly swung round to starboard.

      "Aha!" chuckled the cadet. "They're as close in as they dare. And now I suppose they'll run down shore awhile."

      Lieutenant Raymond was much puzzled to think why the vessel had risked going so close in that storm; but he wasted no time in speculating, but drove the wheel around with all his might.

      The Uncas swerved and sped over to shut the merchantman off; at that same instant the reason of the whole thing was seen.

      The Uncas was not a mile from shore, and as she turned her broadside to the land a masked battery in the sand let drive with a dozen guns at once.

      The whole thing was so sudden that for a moment it quite frightened the Americans. Clif even stopped firing long enough to stare.

      But the sudden alarm did not last very long; it left the men on the Uncas laughing. For they had quite forgotten the character of the Spanish gunners' aim.

      A shot tore through the tug's funnel, another chipped a piece from her bow, half a dozen shells whistled over her. And that was all.

      Clif turned calmly to his gun again.

      "If that's the best they can do," he thought, "they're welcome."

      But that was not the best.

      It wasn't that the batteries were aimed better next time. They were aimed far worse in their eager haste. They did not even touch the Uncas.

      But an instant later something happened that showed that the captain of the Spanish merchantman had one more string to his bow.

      He not only knew the location of the batteries, but he knew the location of the sand bars. While his own vessel sped on in safety, on board the Uncas there suddenly came a grinding thud, and an instant later the tug stopped short, so short it almost sent Clif flying over the top of the gun he was working.

      And at the same time a shout was heard from Lieutenant Raymond, one that made the sailors' hearts leap up into their throats: "We're aground! We're aground!"

      And in front of a Spanish battery!

CHAPTER III.

       Table of Contents

AN OLD ENEMY.

       Table of Contents

      It would be hard to imagine a vessel in a much greater predicament than the Uncas was at that moment. Everything was in confusion in an instant.

      That is everything except one thing. Lieutenant Raymond was too busy to notice the coolness of one person on board; but he remembered it afterward, and with satisfaction.

      It was Clif Faraday; he picked himself up from the deck where he had been flung and took one glance about him. Then he turned to the guns.

      Whatever the position of the tug his duty just then remained the same. He could not free her, and so he did not waste any time rushing about. There was that Spanish merchantman calmly walking off to safety.

      And there was a gleam of vengeance in the cadet's eye as he went to the gun again.

      Those on board of the fleeing vessel had seen the success of their clever plan and they gave a wild cheer. It was answered from the shore batteries.

      The steamer turned at once and headed out to sea; that put her broadside to the Uncas, and instantly the six-pounder blazed away.

      That was the time to do the work, too. The vessel was quite near, and a fair mark. The Uncas was now steady, too, Clif thought grimly to himself.

      One of the sailors saw what he was doing, and sprang to aid him. They banged away as fast as they could load.

      At the same time the Spanish batteries opened. They had a fair mark, likewise, and plenty of time to aim. It was a race to see who could smash up their prey the quickest.

      Clif would certainly have disabled the fleeing vessel if it had not been for an unfortunate accident. What the accident was may be told in a few words. It spoiled his chance.

      He turned away to get more cartridges. And at that instant a shell struck the six-pounder gun.

      It was a miracle that Clif was not hit; his uniform was torn in three places and his cap knocked off. The sailor next to him got a nasty wound in the arm, made by a flying fragment.

      And that of course made the merchantman safe—she steamed off in triumph.

      It was bad for the tug, too, for it showed the batteries were getting the range.

      The plight of the Uncas was a desperate one. She was being tossed about by a raging sea and cut up by the fire from the guns. Whether she had struck on rocks or sand or mud no one had any means of telling.

      But her engines were reversed the instant the accident occurred. And a hasty examination of the hold showed that whatever the danger was there was no leak.

      But that seemed cold comfort, for at the rate the heavy batteries were blazing away there was likely to be a number of leaks in a very short while. And even a steel tug will not hold together long with a sea pounding over her like this one was.

      Yet as it actually happened, that sea was the only thing that got the vessel out of her unfortunate predicament.

      They were a great deal luckier than they would have dared to hope to be. For when they realized they were aground there was not a man on board who did not think his last hour was at hand.

      But as it actually happened, the sand bar upon which the tug had driven lay some distance beneath the surface. And it had caught the vessel by the keel.

      The engines throbbed wildly, doing their noblest to pull the vessel off; and then one after another came the great waves, tossing her this way and that, wrenching and twisting, lifting and lifting again, while every one on deck clung for his life.

      There was a minute or two of agonizing suspense, while the shore batteries kept up a galling fire and the merchantman steamed out to sea, proud of her triumph.

      And then suddenly came a wild cheer from the imperiled Americans. Then men fairly shrieked in a transport of delight.

      "She's moving! She's started! She's safe!"

      And the men fairly hugged each other for joy. Slowly, then faster, then faster still, and finally at full speed backward. The gallant tug had torn herself loose from the grip of the sand—and was free!

      The baffled Spanish batteries redoubled their fire at that. One could almost imagine the gunners grinding their teeth with rage as they saw their prey escaping.

      But grinding their teeth did not seem to sharpen their eyes. Their aim was as bad as ever, and the Uncas seemed like the proverbial man in the rainstorm who keeps dry by "dodging the drops."

      The confusion on board of the "escaped" vessel may be imagined. How that triumphant captain must have sworn Spanish oaths.

      It was a ticklish task that Lieutenant Raymond had before him then. He knew there were sand bars about.