ON THE CUBAN BLOCKADE
Twelve hours after leaving Tampa Bay the swift despatch-boat on which
Ridge Norris was a passenger entered the northwest passage of Key West
Harbor, and was headed towards the quaint island city that had been
brought into such sudden prominence by the war. The port was filled
with United States cruisers, gun-boats, yachts converted into
torpedo-boat destroyers, Government hospital-ships, and others flying
the flag of the Red Cross Society, transports, colliers, supply-ships,
water-boats, and a huddle of prizes--steamers and sailing-vessels
captured off the Cuban coast. Amid these the _Speedy_ slowly threaded
her devious way to the Government dock.
The hot tropical-looking city, with palm-trees towering above its
low-roofed houses, was filled to overflowing with soldiers, sailors,
newspaper correspondents, refugees from Cuba, and a multitude of other
persons, all attracted by its proximity to the seat of war. From every
mast-head and prominent building the stars and stripes were flung to
the breeze that swept in from the sea; while from more humble
positions, but in even greater numbers, fluttered the flag of free
Cuba. On every point commanding the harbor mouth batteries were being
erected and great guns mounted. Bands played national airs, and one
man-of-war enveloped in a cloud of white smoke was engaged in
target-practice with her secondary battery. Every Government vessel in
the harbor had on war paint of invisible lead color, not pretty, but
most business-like in appearance. All were also in fighting-trim, with
topmasts lowered and every superfluity removed from their decks. The
whole scene was of exciting interest, and Ridge gazed eagerly upon it
as Ensign Comly pointed out its various features, with explanatory
remarks.
There were several reasons why the _Speedy_ should stop at Key West.
One was that she might receive mail and despatches for the blockading
fleet. Another was to procure a bale of hay and some corn for
Señorita, since, in their hurried departure from Tampa, these had been
forgotten, and thus far she had been fed on sea-biscuit. A third
reason was that Ridge might procure a saddle and bridle, besides a few
other necessary articles of outfit for his proposed trip.
He had already been furnished with his bogus despatches to Spanish
commanders, every word of which he had carefully read, to see that they
contained no compromising errors, and with a supply of money. Now he
provided himself with a repeating-rifle in a water-proof case, a
revolver, fifty rounds of ammunition for each, an India-rubber poncho,
a small quantity of quinine, a phial of powerful cholera mixture, a
stout sheath-knife, and a tin cup.
Within an hour the _Speedy_ was again off, running out of the south
channel, past the grim walls of old Fort Taylor, and a few miles
farther on passing Sand Key light, which rises from a bit of coral reef
barely lifted above the wash of a tranquil sea. At that time this was
the most southerly point of United States territory. In the deep water
just beyond Sand Key lay a great battle-ship, tugging sullenly at her
pondrous anchors, and looking like some vast sea monster, uncouth and
relentless.
From here it was eighty-five miles in a straight line to Havana, and
within five hours Ridge was thrilled by the sight of a cloud-like speck
that he knew marked the highlands of Cuba. Gradually the coast was
revealed, then came the low-trailing smoke of ships on blockade as they
patrolled wearily before the entrance to Havana Harbor, and after
awhile the outlined cathedral spires of the city itself. There lay the
wreck of the _Maine_, and there waited the Spanish army that
Captain-General Blanco had sworn should yield its last drop of blood in
resisting an invasion by the hated Yankees. There also the guns of
time-blackened Morro sullenly faced the floating fortresses that only
awaited a signal to engage them in deadly conflict.
Running close to Commodore Watson's flag-ship, the _San Francisco_, the
_Speedy_ broke the tedious monotony of blockade by delivering an
eagerly welcomed mail, with its wealth of news from the outside world.
Then the saucy craft was off again, headed to the eastward. Matanzas
and Cardenas, both under blockade, were passed during the night, and
while off the latter place Dick Comly told Ridge the story of his
classmate, Ensign Worth Bagley, who lost his life on board the
torpedo-boat _Winslow_, in Cardenas Bay, on May 11th, or less than one
month before, and who was the first American officer killed in the war.
"They only went in to find out who was there," began Comly, "the
_Wilmington_, _Hudson_, and _Winslow_. The last, being of least
draught, ran ahead, and got within range of some hidden batteries
before she discovered them. She was turning to go out when they opened
fire. In a minute the little ship was riddled by shot and shell. Her
commander was wounded, her steering-gear had gone wrong, her engines
were crippled, and she lay helpless. The _Hudson_ ran up to tow her
out of range, and poor old Bagley had just sung out for them to heave
him a line, as the situation was getting rather too warm for comfort,
when a bursting shell instantly killed him, together with four of the
crew. In spite of the hot fire, the _Hudson_ ran a line and brought
out what was left of the _Winslow_ and her company; but you'd better
believe the little craft was a mighty sad-looking wreck. Hello!
What's that?"
A string of colored signal-lights had flashed out for a moment directly
ahead of the _Speedy_, and then disappeared. The strangest thing about
them was that they had been shown just above the surface of the water,
instead of from a masthead, as would usually be the case on a war-ship.
The _Speedy_ had been slipping quietly along, showing her regular side
lights, which, as she was of low freeboard, must also have appeared
close to the water from a short distance, and might have been mistaken
for a signal. Now she quickly displayed the night-signal of the
American blockading fleet, as well as her own private number, but no
answer came to either. By the time the _Speedy's_ crew were at
quarters it was evident, from muffled sounds borne down the wind, that
the stranger was a steamer in full retreat.
"Give her a blank shot," ordered Captain Boldwood, and the words had
barely left his mouth before the forward six-pounder gun had roared out
its summons to halt; but the stranger paid no heed.
A solid shot, well elevated, had as little effect. By this time the
despatch-boat was rushing ahead at full speed in the direction the
unknown steamer was supposed to have taken. Suddenly her search-light,
sweeping the black waters with a broad arc of silver, disclosed a
shadowy bulk moving swiftly at right angles to the course they were
taking, and heading for a beacon blaze that had sprung up on the
starboard or in-shore hand.
"Port your helm!" cried Captain Boldwood. "Mr. Comly, try to disable
her. Make every shot tell if possible."
Again and again the six-pounder hurled its messenger of destruction,
but apparently without effect.
"Looks as though I couldn't hit the side of a barn at a hundred feet,"
muttered the Ensign to Ridge, who stood beside him, thrilled by the
novel experience. Then he sighted his gun for a third shot, sprang
back, and jerked the lanyard. A flash, a roar, a choking cloud of
smoke, and then a yell from the _Speedy's_ crew. In the glare of the
search-light the fugitive steamer was seen to take a sudden sheer, that
a minute later was followed by a crash, and then she remained
motionless.
Instantly the _Speedy_ was slowed down and moved cautiously towards the
wreck, with busy lead marking soundings every few seconds. The beacon
for which the chase had steered no longer blazed; but in a few minutes
the search-light disclosed a wooded shore.
"Have a boat ready, Mr. Comly, and prepare to go on board with half a
dozen men."
"Ay, ay, sir."
"May I go with you?" asked Ridge, eagerly.
"Certainly, if the Captain says so."
But, to the young trooper's disappointment, Captain Boldwood refused
permission. "Your business is of too important a nature for you to
assume any needless risks outside of it," he said.
So Ridge could only watch enviously the departure of the boat with its
crew of armed men. It had not been gone two minutes when a bright
flame shot from the steamer's deck.
"They have set her on fire and abandoned her!" exclaimed the Captain.
"I pray to God, Comly may be cautious. Quartermaster, show the recall."
The words were hardly spoken when there came a great blinding flash, an
awful roar, and the _Speedy_ listed to her beam ends. A vast pillar of
flame leaped a hundred feet into the air, a huge foam-crested wave
rolled out to sea, and then all space seemed full of flying fragments.
The wreck had been destroyed by an explosion of her own cargo.
"Lower away the yawl! Quick, men! There may be some left to pick up.
Yes, Mr. Norris, you may go now."
They rescued Comly, bleeding from a wound in the head, and three of his
crew, all more or less injured, but the others had gone down with their
boat, crushed beneath a hurtling deck beam.
The _Speedy_ stood off and on until daylight enabled her commander to
locate the scene of catastrophe and examine what was left of the
shattered steamer. He found that she had been run ashore on one of the
small outlying cays that are numerous off Cardenas Bay, and with other
floating wreckage he picked up a life-preserver on which was painted,
"_Manuel Ros_, Barcelona."
"How strangely and unexpectedly things turn out," he said to Ridge as
he turned from examining this telltale relic. "Our Government learned
some time ago that the _Manuel Ros_ was taking on board at Cadiz a
cargo of improved mines, submarine torpedoes, and high explosives for
use in Puerto-Rican harbors. It was positively stated that she would
not attempt to run the Cuban blockade. Nevertheless, we were all
notified to keep a sharp lookout for her, especially around Santiago
and Cienfuegos. She was reported to be very fast, and I can well
credit it, for there are few ships in these waters can show their heels
as she did to the _Speedy_. As it is, I am afraid she would have
gained Cardenas Harbor in safety if it had not been for Mr. Comly's
last lucky shot, which must have crippled her steering-gear. And to
think that a ship which would have been considered a handsome prize by
any cruiser should be destroyed by the little _Speedy_. I wonder,
though, where the _Wilmington_ that generally patrols this vicinity
could have been?"
This mystery was explained a little later when the cruiser in question
hove in sight, having been lured from her station by a small Spanish
gunboat the evening before.
After making his report of what happened, the commander of the _Speedy_
again headed his craft to the eastward, and ran all that day, together
with most of the following night, within sight of the Cuban coast.
It wanted but an hour of daylight, when Ridge, who was sleeping on
deck, was aroused and told that the place of his landing was at hand.
A pot of coffee together with a substantial lunch had been prepared for
him, and Ensign Comly, whose wound had proved to be slight, was waiting
in a boat manned by four sailors.
Señorita was hoisted in a sling and dropped overboard to swim ashore in
tow of the boat, and at the very last the _Speedy's_ commander
whispered the countersign of the Junta that was to open a way through
the Cuban lines.
Then the boat was noiselessly shoved off, and slipped away through the
chill darkness towards the denser shadow of the land that waited with
manifold perils to test the courage of our young trooper.