THE LOSS OF THE "MAINE"
Thanks to a healthy constitution, and to the fact that, though painful,
his wound was really a simple one, Hal Marchant was very soon off the
sick-list, and in the stage of convalescence.
From the railway station at which the train had set them down, he and
Mr. Brindle, together with Dora and Gerald, were driven into the
country, along dusty roads which were fenced in on every side by
luxuriant vegetation of every description and hue. Sometimes a long,
flat, and unsightly marsh came into view, and at the sound of the wheels
thousands of wild-fowl rose, screaming, into the air. But they soon
began to ascend, though at a gentle slope, which the mules galloped up,
still at the same steady pace.
Up and up the road mounted, curved suddenly to the left, and then
quickly disappeared into a dense jungle of trees and growth, from which
the delicious perfume of orange blossom was wafted.
"Here we are, and very thankful we ought to be, my lad," said Mr.
Brindle, addressing Hal. "Look over there. Welcome to the 'Barn.' This
is our winter residence, and here I guarantee that you will soon get
back that color which you have lost."
He pointed with his cane to a fine bungalow which appeared at that
moment at the end of an open glade, nestling beneath a wreath of
foliage.
It was, indeed, a perfect place for an invalid. Perched high up on
sandy soil, and surrounded by a forest of gorgeous orange trees, the
house peeped over the top of the leaves at a scene beautiful beyond
description. In the veranda, arm in sling, and with legs lazily
stretched along the sides of a big cane chair, Hal could lie the whole
day long, gazing across a sea of green shrubs and leaves--a sea which
rustled musically, and was ever changing from brightest green to
shimmering blue in the rays of the southern sun. And if he but lifted
his eyes an inch or two, a rocky, irregular coast, and an ocean beyond,
looking for all the world like a strip of brightly burnished steel,
filled him with a sort of rapture, so that to lie there was no hardship,
and the hours never dragged, but flew by almost too rapidly for his
liking.
"You are an exceedingly good patient," said Dora one day, more than two
weeks later, coming on to the veranda and taking a seat which stood
vacant by his side; "but I suppose this obedience will not continue for
long. The doctor who has been attending you says that your wound is
merely a pin-prick--how he can be so very unfeeling I do not know!
Still, he is convinced that it is now so far healed that it requires
very little attention or dressing. That means, I suppose, that you will
throw off my authority, and do your best to get into trouble again at
the very first opportunity. What have you to say to that, sir?"
"Pin-prick! Quite so, Dora," Hal answered, with a smile. "The wound is,
of course, quite a simple affair, and I am really fit for anything. As
to more trouble, I can only say that, if it comes, I hope you will be
there to nurse me again."
It was an unusual thing for Hal to indulge in pretty speeches, and it
was as much as he could do to get the words out. His bashfulness made
them stick in his throat, though he meant every syllable.
"I'm sure you've been awfully good to me, Dora," he said. "How can I
repay you?"
"Oh, nonsense! Good, indeed! I have only done what any other girl would
gladly have undertaken; and you forget, Hal, that you were wounded in
helping my father. There, we are evens! We owe nothing to each other,
though, if you ever have an opportunity, I am sure you will do your
utmost for us."
"Hallo! What's this? Pretty speeches, and from my Dora, too! Who would
have thought it!"
Mr. Brindle stepped on to the veranda just in time to overhear the end
of the conversation between the young people, and burst into a hearty
fit of laughter.
"There, it is only my chaff," he added with a smile. "A little gratitude
on either side is what one would have expected. But how are you, Hal?
When do you think you could travel?"
"Now; as soon as you like, Mr. Brindle," exclaimed Hal, springing to his
feet. "Take a look at me. I am as well as ever; and as for the arm,
beyond a little stiffness, which will soon pass away, I have no trouble
with it."
"Then, we'll clear for the ever-faithful island of Cuba, and for our gay
little hacienda, Eldorado. Hal, you shall see a spot which compares
favorably with this. I built this house in which we are living more than
fifteen years ago, but the hacienda not for some time later. To my eyes
the latter is perfect. It is a gentleman's country residence, and, with
its grounds, is a beautiful oasis in a desert of impenetrable jungle and
burnt-out plantations--not to mention swamps innumerable, for which the
eastern end of the island is notorious. But you shall judge for
yourself. To-morrow we will make our preparations, and on the following
day the steamer will sail with us from Tampa for Havana."
Accordingly, all at the "Barn" were extremely busy, Hal even taking his
arm from the sling to lend a hand on occasion. By the second morning
their packing was completed, and, leaving the house in possession of a
negro caretaker, the party was driven away in the mule cart to the
harbor at Tampa. Three days later they sighted the coast of Cuba, the
biggest and one of the oldest of Spanish colonies in the West which
remained at that moment in the hands of Spain.
"It is at once the finest and the most unfortunate island in these
seas," remarked Mr. Brindle to Hal and Gerald, as they gazed towards the
distant shore. "For years--I cannot at the moment recollect how
many--the bulk of the inhabitants have been in rebellion. Fighting has
taken place almost incessantly between the Spanish rulers and the native
population; and things have come to such a pass that ruin stares
everyone in the face. Planters and their laborers have had hard times
indeed, but I trust a brighter future is in store for us. America has
intervened between insurgents and Spaniards, and it seems that her
influence will avert further bloodshed, and peace and prosperity will
then return to this smiling land. I am sure I hope it will be so.
Personally I have not lost, though others have. But it is a long story,
lads, and I will reserve it for another time. Take a look through my
glasses, Hal, and tell me what you see."
Mr. Brindle suddenly handed his field-glasses to Hal, and pointed
towards the harbor.
"I see a big passenger boat in there," the latter said, after taking a
long and steady look. "She is lying against the quay, and close beside
her are two ships, which look like men-of-war--one flying Spanish
colors, and the other the Stars and Stripes of America."
"Good! I thought so," Mr. Brindle exclaimed. "That vessel sailing
beneath the colors of Yankee land is the battleship _Maine_, and she is
here on a special visit, which it is hoped will cement a long friendship
between the two countries. Now, I fancy we had better go below and
prepare for dinner. The gong sounds in half an hour."
By half-past eight that night, the ever-memorable 15th of February,
1898, the ship upon which Hal and his friends were passengers had
anchored in the harbor of Havana. On the upper deck, beneath the glare
of the electric light, they made a group that was interesting and
pleasing to the eye.
Stretched in hammock chairs, Mr. Brindle cigar in mouth, and all dressed
in white, relieved in Dora's case by a sash of palest blue, they chatted
in low voices, now and again lapsing into silence and listening to the
sounds that came from other ships across the placid water and from the
dimly lit streets of the town. Some sailor lad aboard the _Maine_ was
delighting his fellows with banjo and song, and our hero and his friends
listened as if enchanted.
"Ah, honey, my honey"--the words came clear and strong; then they died
down and became merged with the notes of the banjo, only to burst forth
again as the audience took up the chorus, and sent it swelling across
the harbor.
"How nice it sounds! How peaceful!" exclaimed Mr. Brindle, thoughtfully.
"God grant that this visit from America to a Spanish port may settle
every squabble. I am sure braver and more agreeable fellows could not
have been sent; and if only the Dons are as friendly, all will be well.
Listen! How those lads love that song! They would sing it by the hour if
they were able. But there sounds the bugle, and away they go to their
hammocks. I think, Dora dear, that it is time you and Gerald also went
to your bunks. Remember, we have a long and tiring day before us
to-morrow, and you will be in need of all your energies. Now, off with
you! Hal and I will stay on deck a little longer, as I wish to speak to
him."
The two young people looked somewhat disappointed, but strict obedience
being amongst their virtues, they said "good-night" and retired.
"Now for a stroll, Hal," commenced Mr. Brindle. "I have much to say to
you, and you have a great deal before you, for which a little advice
given now will prepare you. Within three days we shall be at Eldorado,
and new duties and new faces will confront you. I want you to have some
knowledge of them beforehand, for it will be better if my overseer can
come to the plantation ready for any emergency. You will thus make a
better start, and will be held in higher estimation by the men. That is
the secret of plantation work. Respect yourself, show that you are
capable, fair, and strong, and the negro hands will be ready to obey you
in every particular."
Mr. Brindle took Hal by the arm, and walked him up and down beneath the
awning. At length, having communicated to him all the information he
wished, he led the way aft, and the two leaned against the rails at the
stern of the ship.
Havana, one of the oldest harbors in the West, lay wrapped in the black
mantle of night, dotted here and there by the riding light of some small
fishing schooner, bobbing gently to the swell which ran through the
harbor channel. Closer at hand were other lights, flashing, tier above
tier, from the state cabins of the _City of Washington_--a leviathan
which was filled to overflowing with passengers. She was a contrast to
the _Maine_, aboard which all those who had been so merry and
lighthearted seemed now fast asleep. But for her riding lights, and the
reflection from her gunroom, she was enveloped in darkness, into which a
flicker from her smoke-stacks sometimes flew, to disappear in a moment.
Not a sound came from her deck. All was still, and every soul beneath
her armor-plates, save the few who kept the watch, lay wrapped in
sleep--sleep, alas! to extend forever and ever, to hold them in its cold
embrace till the end of everything.
What was that? Crash! A second or two's interval, and then a
nerve-shaking boom, an appalling explosion, a rush of flame into the
night, that lights up the surroundings for miles. And then? Ah, Heavens!
shriek upon shriek, the clatter of scattered wreckage and rent iron upon
quay and neighboring ships, and the hissing of flaming woodwork falling
into the sea. A minute before there floated as fine a vessel as ever
sailed from the shores of America, carrying, too, as gallant a crew as
ever shipped under the famous star-spangled banner. Where were they now?
Clinging to the rail, stunned by the roar of the explosion, and dazed by
the suddenness of it all, Hal and Mr. Brindle looked at a heap of
flaring wreckage, and wondered what had happened. Then the explanation
burst upon them with a shock and a rush which almost unmanned them.
"She has blown up! The _Maine_ has been smashed to pieces! How
dreadful!" exclaimed Mr. Brindle, in a breath.
"Yes, something awful has happened," Hal answered. "Quick, sir; there
may be men to be saved. Let us help; everyone will be required, and we
may be of use. Come; I see them manning one of the boats."
Without waiting for further conversation, he sprang towards the gangway,
followed closely by Mr. Brindle.
"That's it! More lads for the work. Slip along down that 'ere gangway,
and get fixed up to your places," sang out a quartermaster, who stood on
the deck close to the ladder leading to the boat below.
As cool as if nothing unusual had happened, he waited a few moments to
collect more men, and then hurried down to the boat in which Hal and Mr.
Brindle had taken their places.
"Get hold of them there oars," he cried hoarsely. "Some of yer aer new
at the game, but yer can pull for what we want. There, shove her off, my
lad, and out oars all of yer. Bust me! aer some of yer goin' ter take
two weeks about it? Bustle yourselves! Aer yer ready? Then fetch hold of
your time from me. Now--pull--again--once more, my hearties--pull--at
it, lads--we are nearer--good boys--with a will;--pull ho--all
together--ah, steady there all."
Never could an amateur crew have had a better coxswain. There was no
confusion, and no desperate hurry. Instead, coached by the
quartermaster, they sent the boat flying through the water, and before
they could have expected it, were close beside the _Maine_.
"She's down by the head," cried Mr. Brindle, who sat next to Hal. "Keep
a look-out for any man in the water."
"Aye, she's down, and will go more too," the quartermaster shouted.
"She's flaring like a torch, so I reckon we ought ter see any poor
feller who happens ter be about in need of help."
Indeed, the bows of the _Maine_ were crushed into shapeless wreckage,
which was burning fiercely, the flames lighting up the whole of the
harbor. By this time, too, the death-like silence, which had fallen
immediately after the first cries for help, was broken by a roar of
frightened voices from the town. People rushed from their houses
demanding what had happened. Bells clanged the alarm, and the
fire-brigade turned out, ready for any emergency. And, meanwhile, every
ship in the harbor sent her boats on an errand of mercy, and soon the
sailors, who but a few short minutes before had been sleeping
peacefully, were being lifted from the water. But not all were there to
be helped; numbers of the poor fellows had sunk, others still slept--the
everlasting sleep--beneath the shattered plates of the _Maine_.
"Look, there is one sailor," cried Mr. Brindle suddenly, pointing to a
figure struggling close beside the _Maine_, and seeming to be almost
enveloped in flame. "Quick, quartermaster; let us row in and rescue
him."
"No; can't be done. It's hard ter say it, but it can't," was the curt
answer, given with a sad shake of the head. "That 'ere chap don't
scorch, because he's under water. We should, though. We'd be blistered
and dried like so many herrings. It's hard, sir, but it's out o' the
question."
"Not quite," muttered Hal. "Hold on to my oar, Mr. Brindle. I'm going
for him."
Next moment there was a splash, and he was overboard, swimming towards
the flaming wreck as strongly as though he had never suffered a wound on
his shoulder. A few lusty strokes took him close to the man, who by this
was spinning round and round in the water, wholly unconscious, and on
the point of sinking. His hand shot in the air, his fingers clutching
desperately, while his eyes seemed on the point of bursting from their
sockets. A sudden flare from the burning woodwork lit up the ghastly
scene, and showed the poor fellow's mouth wide open in the act of giving
vent to a cry for help. But just then the water swirled about him,
overflowing his face, and hiding all but the pair of hands, which still
grasped despairingly at the air.
"I'll save him whatever happens," said Hal to himself, sinking for a
moment to escape the fierce heat of the flames, which burst forth
furiously from the deck and sides of the unfortunate _Maine_. He swam
beneath the water, and rising a minute later beside the man, grasped him
by the shoulders, and easily turned him upon his back. From that moment
all was plain sailing, for it was not for nothing that Hal had learned
to swim. Floating beside the drowning sailor, he kicked out with his
legs, and towed him towards the boat. Before he thought it possible they
were alongside, and were being hauled on board.
"Good lad! You're one of the right sort!" sang out the quartermaster.
"There, sit right down and get hold of your wind. Perhaps yer'll be
wanting it again in a minute. Hillo! aint that another poor feller?"
He shielded his eyes from the glare by placing his hand to his forehead,
and looked towards the _Maine_ once more. A piece of wreckage floated
into the light, and on it was seen another poor sailor, clinging for his
life.
"Ah, there he aer! Can't yer see him, boys? He's right under the ship,
and she's scorching the life out of him."
"Yes, he's too close to the fire again; and if we row in there we should
all be shriveled," remarked Hal, very quietly. "Here, I'm for it again,
so keep a look-out for me, quartermaster."
Once more he slipped overboard, and, pursuing the same tactics, escaped
the heat by diving beneath the water. When he reached the plank upon
which the sailor was lying, it was to find him, like the other,
unconscious, and almost dead from the combined results of heat and
smoke. He did not trouble to take the man from the float, but pushed it
towards the boat, and in due time had the satisfaction of seeing him
lifted from the water with the aid of many willing hands. Then the boat
pulled round the flaming wreck, and, finding no one else in the water,
went beneath the stern, which was free of flames, and made fast to a
rope.
"Now, right aboard, my hearties!" cried the quartermaster. "If there's
chaps blown into the sea, there's safe ter be a tidy few knocked silly
between the decks, and they'll want helping. Aer there any man aboard
this boat as feels like coming up? It's ticklish business, for this
craft has tons of powder in her magazines, and I reckon the fire'll soon
find it out. Aer anyone following?"
He sprang at the rope ladder which dangled overboard, and swarmed up it,
followed by everyone who had accompanied him in the boat, save, of
course, those who had been rescued from the sea.
"What, aer the whole crew of yer coming?" exclaimed the quartermaster.
"George, but yer aer the finest set of pards I ever come across! Every
blessed soul of yer itchin' ter get blow sky-high!"
He waved to them, motioning to them to scatter in all directions, which
they did at once, diving below, and penetrating as far forward as the
heat would allow.
"There is danger of the magazines exploding right aft here," Hal heard
someone exclaim in the calmest tones. "Say, men, who is for it? I want
six of the boldest and best."
The voice, which was that of a young man, came from an officer standing
beside him. At the words a number of dark figures sprang forward from a
group occupied in lowering a boat, and Hal promptly pushed his way in
amongst them.
"That's the way; and now for the buckets, boys," the officer who had
spoken first exclaimed. "Fill 'em up, and follow down below. Quick's the
word, for there isn't much time to lose."
Grasping the rope attached to a wooden bucket, one sturdy sailor flung
it overboard, and soon filled a couple of others, which stood at his
feet, while four more were taken to a sea-cock close at hand. Hal
quickly possessed himself of one, and at once hurried below to the
magazine.
"Hillo! and who's this?" the officer asked, stepping up to him and
lifting a lantern to his face.
"I'm a volunteer from a ship alongside," Hal answered.
"And a Britisher?"
"Yes."
"Good! Put it right there." The lieutenant shook him heartily by the
hand.
A moment later the men threw open the magazine, in spite of the terrible
risk they ran, and flung the contents of their buckets upon the
explosives. Then they raced to the deck again for a fresh supply of
water, and did not cease from their arduous labors till all danger of
another explosion was at an end.
Flinging his bucket away, Hal now made a tour of that part of the ship
which was not in flames. Then, having helped to lift three injured men
into the boat, he descended himself, and at the quartermaster's order
they returned to their own ship. A few minutes later, Captain Sigsbee,
the commander of the _Maine_, stepped sadly from her deck, and was rowed
away, the last living man to leave the terrible scene.
As for Hal, he slipped into a fresh suit of clothes, and for hours
worked with the other passengers endeavoring to alleviate the sufferings
of the poor fellows brought aboard the ship. Then, tired out with his
labors, for he had taken a prominent and a large share in the work of
rescue, he retired to the upper deck, with Mr. Brindle, Gerald, and
Dora, and flung himself into a chair. But though utterly fatigued, he
was too horrified by the ghastly tragedy he had witnessed, and too
shaken by all that had happened in the past few hours, to be able to get
to sleep. It was out of the question, so that instead of going straight
to his bunk, he felt that he must stay in the open air, where he could
rest, and at the same time talk over the occurrence with his friends.
"I've a weight here," he cried peevishly, striking himself on the chest.
"The horror of it all distresses me. What a terrible calamity!"
"Aye, what a misfortune! What an inhuman deed!" replied Mr. Brindle, in
a voice which faltered in spite of himself. "Think of it; try to realize
the cruelty of it all. In the times of peace, in the cause of good-will,
and in the earnest attempt to bring alleviation of suffering to a
long-stricken people, the poor lads of my adopted country are cruelly
blown to pieces, sent into eternity at the very door of those who have
invited them. They came with nothing but friendship in their hearts,
expecting to meet with the same. The shock of the news will be felt from
east to west, and from north to south, and everywhere will be received
at first with incredulity, and later with loathing and scorn, for never
was such a dastardly deed committed."
"Committed by whom? What do you mean?" asked Hal, in astonishment. "Do
you really think that the explosion was arranged--that it was not a pure
accident?"
"I do; unhappily, I do," answered Mr. Brindle sternly. "How could it
have been otherwise? It is sad, far too sad for words, and I shall be
mistaken if to-night's work does not prove the cause of a war between
Spain and America."
"But why war, Mr. Brindle? Had matters come to such a pass that the
destruction of the _Maine_ would set the countries at each other's
throats?"
"Perhaps not that, Hal, for the aspect of affairs of late was distinctly
brighter. Still, I think I am right in saying that the wrath of the
American people will be so great when the news is known, that serious
trouble will be inevitable. But come, let us to our bunks. To-morrow we
will talk the matter over."
"To our bunks, dad! I could not possibly sleep!" exclaimed Dora.
"Nor I," chimed in Gerald.
"And I must confess that I am too troubled and too disturbed to sleep,"
said Mr. Brindle.
"Then why not fill the time in till morning dawns by telling us about
this affair?" cried Hal. "We are all agreed that we cannot sleep; we
have done our utmost for those who suffered during or after the
explosion, and now we have nothing to do but to lounge here, and fume
and fret till to-morrow. Be kind to us, Mr. Brindle. Stir your memory,
and let us know the ins and outs of the whole story."
"Well, I will; and if I try your patience, bear with me a little,"
replied Mr. Brindle. "The quarrel is not of a day's making, nor does it
turn upon one single point. Cuba is the cause of it all, and as we are
here, perhaps no more fitting spot could be selected for a description
of the rebellion and bloodshed which have caused trouble between Spain
and America."