THE shell from the fort struck the water some hundred yards ahead of the “Aquadores,” and showed Captain Garcia that unless he stopped his ship, he would draw the fire of the forts. This would place him at a decided disadvantage. His best course was to entice the ships of the enemy away from the protection of the fortifications. That the captain understood his proper tactics was soon evident.
“Hard astarboard,” he ordered, and the cruiser, obedient to her helm, quickly swung her bow around and headed directly away from the harbor’s mouth.
Phil thrilled with the excitement of the moment; he glanced at the captain’s face; it showed plainly the tremendous strain that he was undergoing, although he seemed outwardly calm and deliberate. The gravity of their position came home to the lad; they were on the eve of a battle between modern ships with modern guns and its outcome meant either life or death.
“There’s the ‘Barcelo,’ heading out,” cried Captain Garcia. “I believe she will give us battle; her mate must be behind the fort and we shall soon see what their intentions are. If they refuse to fight in the open, out from the protection of the fort guns, I shall be forced to enter the harbor regardless of the mines and heavy guns ashore.”
Phil paled at the thought of entering the enemy’s fortified harbor, strongly protected by mines. He knew that the “Aquadores” could have but little chance in such an undertaking. A single mine exploded within a few feet of her bottom would send her skyward. But a look at Captain Garcia’s face showed his intense earnestness; he would risk all in his endeavor to destroy the rebellious navy of his country.
The enemy’s vessels had now left the harbor. They were in plain sight, their battle flags waving from their trucks. They presented a noble appearance, cleared for action, the naked muzzles of their long high-powered guns pointing toward the apparently fleeing cruiser.
“What a beautiful sight!” Phil exclaimed.
“Yes, but deadly,” Captain Garcia replied, casting an apprehensive glance at the oncoming ships. “They are both nearly new and formidable. They doubtless hope for an easy victory, as they know of the half-heartedness of my men. But we are going to surprise them,” he added, his face brightening; “I believe they will catch a tartar.”
“We are surely going to win,” cried Phil. “Your men can shoot each of their guns eight times in a minute; we shall overwhelm them with that fire. Your crew loads in the American method; our enemy know nothing of its advantages. We can depend upon my companions to keep their gun’s crews at work.”
“What is the range?” inquired the captain in a tense voice.
“Four thousand yards,” Phil answered, measuring deliberately with his instrument, “and gaining rapidly. Your stern guns can open fire now.”
The captain shook his head.
“I know my countrymen better than you do, lad,” he said lowering his voice, so as not to be heard by the officers and men near him. “If we should open fire now they would come no further, but remain under the protecting wing of the fort guns.”
“I see,” cried Phil delightedly; “you are making them believe you are afraid of them and are running away.”
“Quite right,” replied the captain proudly, pleased at the compliment to his ability. “We shall draw them far out to sea and then turn on them and force a fight. I know their speed; it is but seventeen knots; while with the ‘Aquadores,’ I am sure of twenty-one at any time. So you see they cannot then escape me.”
“Thirty-eight hundred yards,” Phil reported, taking his eyes from the instrument and looking at his watch. “What speed are you making, captain?”
“Fifteen knots,” was the prompt answer.
“Then they are going almost seventeen knots now,” Phil vouched, as he put his watch away; “they have gained two hundred yards in three minutes.”
“If that is so, I must go faster,” cried Captain Garcia, signaling to the engine room to increase the speed. “I wish them to gain slowly in order that we may be well out from the harbor when they reach an effective range with their guns.”
“Do you see that sun?” cried Phil, pointing toward the red disk but an hour high. “That’s a bad thing to have in your gun sights. Get between your enemy and the sun and you have the advantage at the start.”
“Excellent,” cried Captain Garcia. “It will spoil the enemy’s aim, and it places me in an advantageous position to head them off if they attempt to escape me.”
Phil’s nerves had become quieter, although the long strain of the stern chase had been heavy. He glanced below him on the gun deck to observe the behavior of the crew. Silence was ponderous over the ship. The men at first had talked in low excited tones to each other, but as they saw the enemy draw nearer, they stood quietly, dreading the first screech of their enemy’s shell. Sydney and O’Neil seemed cool and collected as they stood with their officer assistants. Sydney glanced anxiously through the gun-port, frequently judging the distance of the enemy, but O’Neil appeared to give the enemy but scant thought. He seemed to be as calm as if he were at target practice. To him the excitement of battle was not new; he had served in Admiral Sampson’s fleet during the Cuban campaign, and the sound of shells screeching about him gave him no fears.
“There she goes,” Phil exclaimed loudly in excitement, as a flash of fire sprang from the leading ship.
A tremor ran through the crew. Their evident nervousness showed on their faces and in the muscular twitching of their hands.
The first shell struck short, but from the bow guns of the two chasers flash after flash appeared. The screech and hiss of steel missiles filled the air.
Phil looked at the captain anxiously. The latter stood surveying the scene, nervously, with his hand on the wheel rim.
The menace of the enemy’s fire was becoming more intense. The geyser-like splashes threw water on to the decks of the fleeing cruiser. Then a crash below him on the battery deck sent the hot blood pulsating through the lad’s veins. He looked, a terrible fear in his eyes. He saw fresh blood on the clean white decks amid the suffocating smell of an explosion. The swarthy faces below him had paled with an unknown, unreasonable terror—men scrambled over the mutilated bodies of their stricken comrades, then stopped, wild-eyed and frenzied, for they saw no escape. He glanced appealingly at Captain Garcia; the latter’s face had blanched but his voice rang out true:
“Hard astarboard! Full speed!” Then he turned to Phil:
“We are ready to open fire.”
The lad, with hands trembling with agitation, read the range and transmitted it by his electrical instrument to the guns. The notes of the bugle rang out clear on the battery deck: “Commence firing.”
Sydney and O’Neil drove the men to their guns at the point of the revolver.
“If any of you fellows shoot when you ain’t pointing at that leading ship,” O’Neil sang out in Spanish, in a voice that could be heard above the crash of exploding shell and the frightened prayers of the sailors, “I am going to pitch you to the sharks with my own hands,” and he looked as if he meant every word. No doubt the little brown sailormen thought he would carry out his dire threat, for they moved slowly back to their stations.
The next moment the situation was relieved. The “Aquadores” swung her port broadside to the enemy and the sharp detonating discharge of her guns made her crew forget their fear of the enemy’s shells.
Phil with glasses to his eyes watched their shells wing their way toward the enemy. The roar of discharges now grew incessant. The leading cruiser was fairly blotted out by the splashing of steel all about her.
The “Aquadores” was not escaping unscathed; the dead and dying littered the decks, but the crew, with desperation born of their dread for their officers’ revolvers, worked like madmen.
Phil saw a heavy pall of smoke rising from the leading cruiser, now heading about in an endeavor to seek the shelter of their fort’s guns. It was the “Barcelo.” The “Soledad” was yet unharmed and stood boldly on, using her guns with terrific effect. He rushed down to the battery deck. He found his companions drawing their men back to reload the guns.
“One enemy is disabled,” he cried desperately. “Back to your guns. If you desert now it means death. Shoot at the other ship!”
The men went once more to their guns, a sullen scowl on their terrified faces.
“For our lives, keep them at it,” he shouted to O’Neil as he swung himself up the ladder to the bridge.
The “Soledad” was heading directly for the “Aquadores.” The white foam under the bow of the former showed she was making a rush to close with her enemy.
Captain Garcia was undecided. He stood with his hand ready to clutch the wheel to retreat. The “Soledad,” a blaze of destruction, came on with a speed that seemed well-nigh incredible. At the shorter range her shots were falling thickly about their decks, and the cries of the wounded were heartrending.
Phil saw with consternation that she was approaching on a converging course, and if the “Aquadores” stood on the two vessels must meet in but a few minutes. What would Captain Garcia do? Sydney and O’Neil were nowhere in sight. The battery fire had been reduced alarmingly; but four guns were now firing against ten of their enemy. What could have happened to his companions? Then a sudden wave of joy filled his heart. O’Neil and Sydney were both shooting guns themselves and the officer assistants had taken two others. The excited sailors were working as hard as their limited strength allowed them, and from the guns of the Americans, Phil saw with delight, the one hundred pound shells in a perfect stream were hurled, true to their aim against the side of the advancing ship.
Phil read his range finder.
“Two thousand yards,” he cried, then he froze with sudden fear. “Have they torpedoes?” he questioned anxiously.
There was no time for an answer. A puff of white smoke, low down on the “Soledad’s” leaden side; a flash of bright metal in the sunlight, and a silent splash in the water, told our lad only too plainly that five hundred pounds of high explosive had been launched on its deadly errand against their ship.
Phil’s voice refused obedience. The “Aquadores” stood on at full speed, while he saw a white wake of air bubbles in a straight line, ever extending, marking the path of the Whitehead torpedo.
Captain Garcia hesitated but a moment; then he grasped the spokes of the wheel and spun it around, swinging the bow of the cruiser toward the approaching destroyer.
The men below, intuitively, knew that some new danger threatened. An ominous murmur arose from the guns. The dread of an unknown danger had put the fear of death into their simple minds.
The “Aquadores” turned swiftly, yet it seemed to the anxious watchers that she must place herself directly in the path of the torpedo. Our lad knew that the captain had now made the only correct maneuver; by presenting his bow to the torpedo, it would give less surface to the steely fish, and a glancing blow on the curved under-water side of the cruiser might not explode its death-dealing head.
Through his glass Phil watched the fast approaching tube of steel. It was running but a few feet under the clear blue water, leaving behind it a trail of bubbles from the air exhausted through its tiny engines.
It seemed to the lad that the torpedo could not miss. He grasped the hand-rail near him to brace himself against the terrific impact of the explosion he knew would come with the speed of light when the deadly point of the tube plowed into the “Aquadores’” steel plates. He could not withdraw his fascinated gaze from the approaching menace; yet he heard ominous sounds on the deck below him that showed him the awful plight of the cruiser.
The torpedo was now very near, pointing directly for the bow of the “Aquadores,” ever swinging toward its small enemy.
A flash of steel across the cruiser’s bow; a whir of tiny propellers; a white streak of foam, and the danger had passed. Death had brushed close by and gone beyond on a futile errand.
“Back to your guns,” Captain Garcia cried, steering his vessel toward the now retreating enemy.
“If you don’t put them out of business now,” Phil heard O’Neil shout to the uncertain men, “they’ll let loose another one of them torpedoes, and they’ll hit us sure next time.”
As the gunners returned to the battery, the roar of discharges brought confidence to the panic-stricken crew.
It was soon the “Aquadores’” turn to be joyful. The demoralized enemy were running for cover. Their fire had almost ceased, but the deck of the cruiser, strewn with dead and dying, told of the havoc while it had lasted.
Those on the bridge had, by a miracle, escaped unharmed. Phil had felt many a shell pass him, scorching him with its hot blast.
“Concentrate on the nearest vessel,” Phil shouted to his companions below him. The range was but scant two thousand yards. The “Aquadores’” shell went true to their aim. The smoke of explosions on the deck of the nearer vessel rose in clouds, almost concealing her from view. She had fired a few shots with a stern gun as she turned to follow her fleeing mate; this now ceased. She was bending all efforts to escape. Once under the cover of their shore batteries they could refit the ships and again be ready for battle.
Captain Garcia’s face wore a look of determination as he took in his hand the flexible speaking-tube to the engine room.
“Make all speed possible,” he ordered.
“Cripple her,” he cried to his gunners below. “Let neither escape us.”
The intense excitement was fairly stifling. Both vessels of the enemy were making more speed than Captain Garcia had given them credit for being able to do. The distance was not increasing but they were persistently holding their own, and the “Aquadores’” shooting had not, despite the volume of fire, succeeded in reducing their speed by even the fraction of a knot.
“Aim at her water line,” Phil shouted to his companions, pointing at the “Soledad.”
The next few shots from the “Aquadores” were fired singly by O’Neil. Phil sent him the exact range from his range finder, while Sydney saw the sight bar was accurately set.
The first shell struck only a few yards short, in her white wake. The next shot struck under her counter and exploded with an echoing report.
“You jammed her rudder,” Phil shouted jubilantly, as he saw the “Soledad” sheer widely to starboard and expose half of her broadside to the bow fire of the chaser. O’Neil saw his opportunity to plant a number of shells against her water line. Putting the cross wire of his telescope sight fairly and steadily on her water line amidships, he fired. The watchers on the bridge anxiously followed with their eyes the shell speeding toward the “Soledad.” Then the sound of a mighty explosion filled the air and the hindmost enemy was blotted out in a cloud of white, vapor-like smoke.
“Her boilers have exploded!” cried Phil, grasping Captain Garcia’s arm in his excitement.
The “Barcelo,” as if fearing the terrible punishment of her mate would be visited upon her, had stopped dead on the water.
Captain Garcia steamed his vessel cautiously up to the vanquished enemy.
The “Soledad” was a pitiful sight as she rolled a shattered hulk on the ocean swell; smoke-stacks gone; her decks blackened with the fire of explosions, and torn and rent by the terrific violence of the blown up boilers.
“She’s sinking,” cried Phil in horror, turning anxiously to Captain Garcia.
The captain nodded his head in the affirmative.
“I fear many of her crew have perished. We must save every life we can.”
The “Aquadores” was stopped near the sinking ship and boats were lowered promptly. But as Captain Garcia had feared, there were but a handful of survivors left on the surface after the “Soledad,” her colors still flying, sank beneath the surface of the sea.
In a half hour more a prize crew from the “Aquadores” had been sent on board the captured “Barcelo” and the two vessels, now no longer enemies, lay quietly awaiting the darkness to finish the work of destruction of the insurgent navy; a torpedo-boat must yet be accounted for before Captain Garcia could sail back to La Boca and report to his president that his work had been successfully accomplished.
“The ‘Barcelo’ is quite serviceable,” Captain Garcia informed the American lads, after his return on board the “Aquadores” from his visit to the captured vessel. “She suffered badly from our shells and has lost many men; fortunately her surgeons are uninjured, and are now attending to her wounded. Our losses have been heavy; I weep for my poor countrymen, fighting against their own flesh and blood.”
Captain Garcia burst into tears. The sight quite unmanned the youths. It was a new sight for them—a man, who had borne himself with so much bravery through the terrible trials of the last few hours, breaking down and crying like a child.
The lads tried to console the sorely tried man, but he was inconsolable. The reaction on his Latin nature was more than his nerve could stand.
“You have placed me under a heavy debt,” the captain said, his voice breaking with emotion. “I believe in my heart that without your superb assistance, my ship would now be beneath the waves instead of the ‘Soledad,’ or, which is far worse for an honorable man, lying there vanquished, my flag trailing in the dirt.” He pointed through the gun-port at the battle-scarred “Barcelo,” her lowered flag still trailing from her mast in sign of surrender.
“Don’t think of it in that way,” Phil hastily assured him. “We have served our own ends as well as yours.”
“But you have risked your lives many times for our sacred cause,” cried Captain Garcia. He took each by the hand, while tears of gratitude streamed down his face. “I take your hands as brothers; and that superb sailorman! if he would join our navy our president would make him a captain.”
Both lads were pleased and proud that their work had been appreciated so highly by their friend. Their short acquaintance with his noble character tended to change the opinion they had formed of the men of his race. This man was surely one of nature’s noblemen.
The boys thanked him warmly for his words.
“We have risked our lives, Captain Garcia, in your cause,” Phil replied earnestly, “because your cause happens to be our cause.”
Captain Garcia looked puzzled.
“However you put it,” he declared, “I shall always consider that you three Americans have given us this victory. We could never have won without your aid, and our president shall richly reward you.”
“That will be impossible, sir,” Phil explained quickly. “Do not believe us unappreciative, but you must not tell any one of the part we have played in this battle. I pray you will counsel secrecy to your officers and men. It will do us much harm if the truth were known.”
Captain Garcia was more perplexed than ever. He shrugged his shoulders as much as to say:
“Young man, your American ways are entirely too complicated for me to understand.”