A DASH FOR THE SHORE.
Strange to say, Clif was not much excited at the terrific moment. The
peril was so great that he was quite gay as he faced it. He had risen to
the occasion.
He picked himself up and stepped out to the deck.
There he found a scene of confusion indescribable. Above the noise of
the breakers on the shore and the waves that were flinging themselves
against the exposed side of the ship rang the wild shrieks and cries of
the terrified Spanish prisoners.
The vessel after she had struck had been flung around and was being
turned farther over every minute. The violence of the storm that was
struggling with her was quite inconceivable.
The waves were pouring over her in great masses, sweeping everything
before them; and the spray was leaping so high and the flying storm
clouds driving past so low that there was no telling where the surface
of the sea ended and the air began.
The big ship had landed among rocks, and every wave was lifting her up
and flinging her down upon them with dull, grinding crashes that could
be both heard and felt.
A moment after she struck a man came dashing up the ladder to the deck;
it was one of the sailors, and behind were the terrified firemen.
"She's leaking in a dozen places!" the man shouted.
He clung to railing as he spoke, and a great wave half drowned him; but
he managed to salute, and Clif saw a look of wild delight on his face,
one that just corresponded with his own eager mood.
"She'll split in about half a minute, I fancy," the cadet answered, "and
the Spaniards are welcome to what's left. We've done our duty."
And with that he turned to the pilot house, where the rest of the men
were grouped. They were gazing at him eagerly.
"Are you ready, boys?" Clif shouted.
Every one knew what he meant by "ready"--ready to make the wild attempt
to land and reach the shore through all those wildly surging breakers.
The very thought of it was enough to stir one's blood.
And the answer came with a vengeance.
"Ay, ay, sir!"
"Then get out one of the boats," shouted Clif.
As he saw the men struggling forward to reach the nearest rowboat he
turned suddenly on his heel. He had something else to attend to for a
moment.
It was an errand of mercy. Those shrieking wretches were all bound to
the railing of the doomed ship, and Clif would never have forgiven
himself if he had left them there. Their faces would have haunted him.
And he drew his sword and set swiftly to work.
He cut the captain loose and put a knife into his hand.
"Get to work!" he cried. "Get to work!"
Clif took the risk of trusting the man, and went on, leaving him with
the weapon. The cadet believed that he would be grateful for his
release.
And besides they were fellow sufferers then, threatened with the same
peril.
And Clif was not mistaken. The man set hastily to work releasing his
comrades, and in less time than it takes to tell it the terrified men
were huddled together on the deck.
The cadet wasted no more time upon them.
"There are three boats left for you," he cried. "Save yourselves."
And with that he turned and made his way down to where his own men were
struggling with one of the small boats.
There was one other thing which in the wild confusion of that moment
Clif managed to remember needed to be attended to. There was Ignacio!
The treacherous Spaniard had nearly been swept off, and he was half
drowned by the floods of water that poured over the deck. But his hatred
of the Americans was too great for him to shout to them for aid.
What to do with that murderous villain was a problem that worried Clif.
Undoubtedly the wisest thing would be to kill him, then and there; death
was the fate he certainly deserved.
And Clif half drew his sword; but it was no use. He could not bring
himself to do such an act. And he flung the weapon back into the
scabbard.
To attempt to carry him away was equally useless; the Americans did not
expect to reach the shore themselves.
"I'll leave him to his fate," Clif muttered. "The Spaniards may help him
if they choose."
And with that he turned toward the sailors again; the men had by that
time nearly succeeded in getting the boat away. They were working like
Trojans.
Every wave that struck the ship helped to fill the boat, even before it
touched the water; the spray poured down over the slanting deck upon it
and the sailors had to empty it several times.
While they were wrestling thus the wind and water and rocks had been
getting in their work upon the doomed vessel. Lower and lower she sank,
harder and harder she pounded.
And then suddenly a great billow heaved itself with a thud against the
bow and fairly hammered it around. One of the sailors gave a yell.
"She's split!"
And sure enough, a great seam had opened amidships and the water surged
in with a roar.
The vessel seemed fairly falling to pieces.
And such being the case the sailors had no time to delay. The frail boat
was lowered into the seething waters; the men tumbled in and seized the
oars. Clif made a wild leap and caught the stern just as one mighty wave
raced by and whirled the boat away from the vessel.
And in one instant it was lost to sight and sound. What was done by the
Spaniards no one could see a thing. The Americans were fighting for
their own lives.
There was but one thing for them to do----
"Pull for the shore, sailors, pull for the shore."
And the great sweeping breakers to aid them. In fact they were flung in
so fast that they could hardly row.
It was a thrilling struggle, that race with the giant waves. The sailors
struggled with all their might, keeping the frail craft straight. And
Clif, with a bucket he had thought to bring, was bailing frantically,
and shouting to encourage the men.
In, in they swept, nearer, with the speed of a whirlwind, toward the
shore.
"If it's rocks, Heaven help us!" Clif gasped.
It seemed an age to him, that brief struggle. Breathless and eager, he
watched the great white caps breaking, smiting against the stern,
struggling to turn that boat but a few inches so that they might catch
it on the side and fling it over.
And meanwhile the wind and waves and oars all helping, on swept the
boat--bounding over the foamy crests, sinking into the great hollows,
leaping and straining, but still shooting on in the darkness.
And every second was precious, for the shore was not far away; the roar
of the surf grew louder--louder almost upon them.
And then suddenly one great seething billow came rushing up behind. Clif
saw it, and shouted to the men. In a second more its white crest towered
over them.
It was just on the point of breaking in a giant cataract of foam; it
would have buried the little boat and its occupants beneath tons of
foaming water.
But it was just a second too late. The little boat's stern shot up; for
a moment it was almost on end, and then it rose to the top of the wave
and a moment later as the crash came and the sweep in toward shore began
the frail craft was flung forward as if from a catapult.
And in it shot with speed that simply dazed the Americans; but it was
toward shore--toward shore!
They had passed the breakers!
And Clif gave a gasp of delight as he felt the wild leap forward. It
seemed but a second more before the rush ended.
The bow of the rowboat struck and the frail object was whirled round and
flung over, its occupants being fairly hurled into the air.
When they struck the water it was to find themselves within a few feet
of dry land. They staggered to a standing position to find that they
were in water only up to their waists. And the great wave was tugging
them out to sea again.
They struggled forward wildly, clutching at each other. A minute later,
breathless, exhausted and half drowned, but wild with joy, they
staggered out upon a sandy beach and sank down to gasp for breath.
"We're safe!" panted Clif. "Safe!"
Safe! And on the island of Cuba, the stronghold of their deadly enemies!