A RUNNING FIGHT.
That cry seemed the death knell of the Americans, and their hearts
leaped up in their throats when they heard it. For a moment Clif thought
of stopping and giving battle then and there.
But he realized the hopelessness of that; it was hopeless too, to run,
with no place to run to. But the sailors were already dashing away
through the woods. And the cadet soon caught up with them and urged them
on.
The Spaniards broke into a run the moment they heard Ignacio's cry; a
minute later they fired a volley into the bushes, probably in order to
alarm the country.
It would have been hard for those five fugitives to go any faster than
they did during the first few moments of that chase. They heard their
enemies banging away and yelling in their rear, and they fairly flew
over the ground.
"Keep together," panted Clif. "We may find some place to make a stand."
The ground over which they were traveling was ill adapted for speed, for
it was rough and the bushes were thick.
But it was as fair for one as the other, and the Americans tore their
way through and sped on.
The Spaniards in the rear apparently knew of other troops in the
neighborhood from the way they kept yelling; Clif groaned as he realized
the hopelessness of their flight.
For even if they succeeded in shaking off their pursuers the whole
country was alarmed and hunting for them. And they had no food and no
one to guide them.
But the present evil was great enough, for the furious Spaniards were
hot on the trail.
"Surrender! Surrender!" Clif heard the officer shouting a short way
back.
The chase would have ended in no time had it not been for the woods,
which kept the fugitives out of sight so that they could not be shot.
But that was a protection that would not last forever. Clif gave a
sudden gasp as he saw a clearing ahead of them.
But it was only a small one, and the Americans sped across it at the
very top of their speed. They hoped to reach the woods before their foes
sighted them.
And they did. Then suddenly a new idea flashed over Clif.
"Stop a minute!" he cried. "Ready!"
The sailors saw him draw his revolver, and they knew what it meant. They
crouched in the bushes, waiting.
"We'll show them it isn't all play," Clif whispered.
And, a second later, half a dozen Spaniards dashed out of the woods.
"Fire!" roared Clif.
There was a quick volley, and then instantly the fugitives sprang up
again and sped on. They left several of their enemies lying on the
ground.
That unexpected move had evidently disconcerted the pursuers, who hadn't
looked for a reception of that kind.
They were not heard on the trail again for fully a minute, while the
Americans made the best possible use of their time. But the pursuers did
not mean to give up as easily as that, and they soon set out once more,
firing away as if a whole army were in sight.
Their little success raised the spirits of the gallant tars
considerably; they seemed to forget they were in the enemy's country.
And they chuckled gleefully to themselves as they raced on through the
woods; they were a pretty small army of invasion, but they had lots of
courage.
But there is a limit to what courage can do, and the unfortunate sailors
soon learned it.
They came to a second clearing, a broad savanna this time.
"We'll have to run for our very lives," gasped Clif.
For if they failed to reach shelter before the Spaniards came up the
former situation would be just reversed and the Spaniards could hide and
fire in safety.
And so the men set out at breakneck speed, as if they were in a hundred
yard's dash.
"I think we can make it," thought Clif. "They seem to be a long ways
behind."
The shouts of the enemy indicated it; Clif's volley had seemed to
deprive them of their former confidence and rashness.
But unfortunately, they were not the only Spaniards in Cuba. The firing
had not failed to attract attention.
The Americans had reached about the centre of the broad plain. There was
high grass and cane upon it, and that made even walking hard. But the
men still plunged on bravely, though they were gasping for breath.
But then something happened that made them gasp still more.
For the shouts of the enemy in the rear were suddenly answered.
And the answer came from in front.
The sailors halted and stared at each other in consternation.
"Do you see anything?" cried Clif.
All that could be made out was a line of bushes and undergrowth, marking
the beginning of the woods.
But out of it came a confused babel of shouts, as if a whole army were
there and had been suddenly alarmed.
"They'll head us off!" gasped the sailor.
But they stood still for only a second; now was no time to delay.
The pursuers in the rear were drawing closer every instant.
There was only one thing left. They were shut off in two directions, but
off to each side----
"Come!" gasped Clif.
And the sailors whirled about and followed him in the new direction. It
was a hopeless hope, but it was not yet time to give up.
And so for perhaps a hundred yards they raced on. They had heard a shout
behind them, and saw the Spaniards running out from the woods, both in
front and behind.
"Turn and fight them!" shouted Clif.
Like wild animals at bay the sailors faced about and jerked out their
revolvers again. They were on the point of opening fire, when suddenly,
as if they were not in trouble enough, there came a new development.
There was a yell behind them, and a crashing sound. Out upon the broad
savanna galloped a whole troop of Spanish cavalry, their carbines in
their hands.
And at their head rode a brightly uniformed captain waving his sword and
galloping down upon the fugitives.
"Surrender!" he yelled. "Lay down your arms."
And that was the last straw; the sailors looked at Clif, and Clif looked
at the sailors. The troopers were not a hundred yards away, and there
were fifty of them.
"I guess we may as well give up," said Clif, grimly. "We've done our
best, I think."
And he turned toward the galloping men, dropped his sword and revolver,
and then folded his arms.
"We surrender," he called. "Come on."
And a minute later the gallant five were surrounded by the cavalrymen,
who stared at them eagerly.
"Who are you?" demanded the gruff captain.
"An officer in the United States Navy," said Clif, promptly. "From the
gunboat Uncas."
"And what are you doing here?"
"We were wrecked on the coast last night. We surrender, and we expect to
be decently treated."
"You are prisoners of war," was the officer's stern response, "and you
will be treated as such. Forward, march!"