A Prisoner of Morro Part 42

Clif and his gallant band were compelled to drop back from tree to tree.

It began to look as though the Spaniards would in the end become victorious.

But with the Americans it was do or die. There was no hope of help or succor from any source. No reinforcements were at hand, and none could be sent in time from the flagship, even did those on board suspect the plight in which that boat's crew found itself.

But desperate cases require desperate measures, and Clif was equal to the emergency. When it became evident that the Spaniards would indeed fight, Clif's busy brain thought of a means to turn the tide of conflict.

It was a slight hope, to be sure, but the only one that presented itself. He smiled in spite of himself, in view of his meagre forces at the thought that the only way to achieve victory was by a flank movement.

"I'll take two men," he said hurriedly, "and slip around behind those fellows. The rest of you keep up your fire here, and if our lungs hold out we'll make them think we have reinforcements."

It was a very risky move, but with two companions Clif put it into execution at once. They hurried through the woods so as to flank the enemy, an easy task, as the latter were now well up to the little grove.

As they reached the edge of the woods which would bring them in the enemy's rear, they set up a mighty shout.

"At them, boys!" Clif yelled at his imaginary forces. "Come on! we've got 'em!"

Then in Spanish he cried, so that the enemy could hear:

"Surrender, you Spaniards! Twelve men have held you, and now we'll take you!"

He had reached the edge of the clearing, and paused a moment, facing around and beckoning to his imaginary reinforcements.

The Spaniards were completely bewildered. The fire from those that Clif had left behind continued without intermission, and the Spaniards could not but think that the vociferous sailors in their rear were new arrivals.

They could not in the first place conceive of the daring and hardihood that would lead a dozen men to oppose their forces unless reserves were near at hand. And now, thought they, these reinforcements had arrived.

Clif and his companions made noise enough to give color to this belief, and without stopping to see what there was behind the demonstration, the Spaniards took to their heels.

"They are not men, but devils!" Clif heard some one say in Spanish, as they dropped their rifles and start on the run.

Even the officer who had succeeded once in holding a remnant of his panic-stricken forces together, now gave up the fight and sprinted away as fast as the rest.

Every man seemed to be looking for his own safety, and they did not pause to see what was behind them. Here and there, it is true, one of the fleeing Spaniards could be seen helping a wounded companion in his flight. But as for further resistance, there was none.

Clif could not forbear to laugh at the odd sight of an army in a foot race to escape a few American sailors.

"American bluff has won the day," he laughed. "Our Cuban friend's death has been avenged, and that without the loss of a man on our side."

"The Spanish are good sprinters, at any rate," said one of the men, as they started with Clif to rejoin their companions.

Here Clif had all he could do to restrain his followers from continuing in pursuit of the enemy.

"No," said he in response to the earnest pleading. "We had better leave well enough alone. These Spaniards say we are not men, but devils, and I guess they don't care for another interview. The New York no doubt is waiting for us, and these dispatches are yet to be delivered."

There was no use to grumble, so the party set out on the return to their boat. They were highly enthusiastic over the good work done under Clif's leadership, and were proud of his pluck as well as the good generalship he had shown.

The tide of battle had carried them some distance from the spot where they had met the Cuban courier, and further still from where they had concealed their boat.

But they picked their way expeditiously through the woods, and reached the beach without further incident.

They were near the clump of trees which they recognized as that behind which they had hidden the boat when Clif stopped with a sudden exclamation.

"Gorry!" he said, "I have forgotten that sh.e.l.l. It won't take but a minute to return for it."

"What's the use, sir?" ventured one of the men. "As you said, we'd better let well enough alone, and not run any further risk for a sh.e.l.l that don't even explode."

"That's just the reason I want it," said Clif. "That sh.e.l.l is more important than you might think. I'll----"

But here occurred an interruption that opened up more startling possibilities, and drove the unexploded sh.e.l.l from the attention of all.

It was in the shape of an exclamation of surprise and alarm from one of the men who had gone a few steps in advance of the others, and had reached the boat's hiding-place as Clif spoke.

It arrested Clif's attention at once.

"What's the matter?" he called, sharply.

"The boat, sir," cried the marine, appearing from behind the bushes.

"What of it?"

"It's gone!"

"Gone?"

"Yes, sir."

Clif, followed by the others, hastened to the spot.

The man had spoken the truth. The boat, which was now their sole dependence, was no longer there.

They looked in blank amazement at one another and at the spot where they had fastened it in fancied security.

What could it mean?

CHAPTER XXVII.

IN WHICH CLIF MEETS WITH A SURPRISE.

They were now in a perilous position.

They could not return to the flagship, and at any moment the Spaniards, finding they were not pursued, might pluck up courage to seek them out and try conclusions with them once more. If they should find them on that narrow strip of beach the story of the conflict might be a different one.

And then the disappearance of the boat itself pointed to enemies they had not counted upon. Who could have found and taken it?