"IN THE NAME OF HUMANITY AND THE SAILORS OF THE MAINE!"
"They must have followed the courier in spite of his cleverness,"
exclaimed Clif. "And if they have tracked him, they know we are here.
The question is, shall we meet them here or take to the boat and run the
risk of being shot down without a chance to defend ourselves? The danger
is yours as well as mine. What do you say?"
But before the men could make reply a rousing cheer from the Spanish
soldiers rang out upon the air.
The little band of Americans expected to see the forms of their enemies
appear among the trees at every second in an impetuous charge upon them.
They had no doubt that the cheers were the signal for the attack.
But to their amazement the sounds of approaching steps died out. Clif's
practiced ear told him that the enemy had halted; but at the same time
he recognized marks of enthusiasm among the Spanish forces.
What could it mean?
"Do they think they can scare us off by yelling at us?" exclaimed Clif,
contemptuously. "They don't know us, if they think so--that's all!"
The group of Americans listened intently. There was no doubt of it, the
Spaniards had halted after their vociferous cheers.
Clif decided to find out what it meant. If the Spaniards were preparing
a surprise for him, he intended finding it out.
Cautiously he climbed upon the little rampart of earth and looked away
beyond the trees where he had first seen the approach of the enemy. In
the moonlight he could plainly distinguish the forms of the soldiers.
There were not as many as he had at first supposed--they numbered not
more than fifty.
In the midst of them he recognized a figure that explained the cause of
their mysterious conduct, and at the same time aroused his fighting
instinct.
He quickly rejoined his companions, his eyes ablaze with the fire of
combat.
"They have captured the courier," he explained to his waiting
companions. "That was why they cheered so lustily. A lot of jubilation
over the capture of one man!"
"They don't have such good luck very often," exclaimed one of the men.
"They fired enough shots to repulse a whole regiment of insurgents,"
exclaimed Clif, "but it was all for the benefit of this one mambesi. I
don't believe they saw me at all, but that bullet through my cap was one
of their stray shots."
"But they must know we are here," exclaimed the men.
"I doubt it," replied Clif, "else why do they halt so near and not
charge on us? Shall we force the fight and go to the rescue of our Cuban
friend?"
"How many are there of them?" asked one of the men.
"Only about fifty."
"And there are eleven of us here! We can set them on the run! Let's do
it."
"We have done almost as much on other occasions," said Clif, "but now we
are armed with only our revolvers. They are five to one."
"We have plenty of ammunition," spoke up the men, eagerly. "You know we
took an extra supply."
"But there is another thing we must bear in mind," said Clif, who had
been doing some quick thinking. "I'd like nothing better than to give
them a lively tussle. But here are these important dispatches. They must
not fall into Spanish hands. The New York will soon be due. If we delay
we might miss her."
"That's so," exclaimed the men. "But we can fire one volley at them
anyhow."
"One volley would do no good. It would simply betray our presence.
Either we must fight to the end, or else sneak off to our boat before
they discover us."
The idea of having a lot of the enemy so near at hand and not offering
them battle, went against the grain of all of them. They were not
deterred by the superior numbers of the Spaniards, but Clif's words
about the importance of seeing the dispatches safely in the rear
admiral's hand had some restraining effect upon their ardor.
Clif, with all his bravery, was naturally prudent, but was strongly
tempted to make one effort to release the captive Cuban. He was their
friend and ally, and in his heart Clif felt that if the captive were one
of his own men, there would be no thought of hesitancy or delay.
"One minute," he said, after weighing both sides of the question, "I'll
take a look and see what they are doing."
He sprang upon the embankment and peered off toward the enemy. The main
body of the troops were resting on their arms, apparently satisfied with
the capture of the solitary Cuban.
Clif, however, could see that several of the soldiers were moving about
from side to side, close to the ground, as though hunting for some
object among the grass. Clif was puzzled to think what they could be
seeking, but he felt convinced that the Spaniards had no idea of the
near proximity of the Americans.
Everything seemed to prove that, and Clif was not slow to make up his
mind. There was time yet for some quick action.
"They don't know we are here, men," he exclaimed, when he rejoined the
others. "The Cuban will not betray us. We can surprise them, and if we
sweep down on them with a rush and create noise enough about it we can
make them think the whole ship's crew is after them."
"We'll do it!" chorused the men, eagerly.
"Then, forward to the rescue!" cried Clif, leading the way. "But quietly
through these trees until we reach the other side."
It would seem a foolhardy thing to do--to invite battle with such an
overwhelming force, when they might quietly reach their boat and make
away without detection. But their blood was up, and there was a friend
and ally in peril of a Spanish dungeon or death.
Without a moment's hesitation or further thought, they advanced silently
through the sparse woods, revolvers in hand. They were few in numbers,
but determination was written on every face.
They reached the further edge of the clump of trees without giving a
sound that would betray their presence to the enemy. Here they formed in
line under Clif's leadership, shoulder to shoulder, ready for the
charge.
The moon had gone behind a cloud, but here and there they could detect
the glistening of a hostile bayonet, and the sound of Spanish voices.
They did not pause to contemplate the scene. The time for action had
come.
"The stars are fighting with us!" exclaimed Clif. "The Spaniards will
never know how few we are in this darkness. Now, all together. A rousing
cheer and at them!"
At the signal a shout as of a hundred voices startled the unsuspecting
Spaniards.
"Fire!" cried Clif and a volley from their revolvers carried
consternation into the Spanish ranks.
The shots had told. Groans of the wounded mingled with the hoarse,
startled commands of the officers.
A moment later a return volley rang out upon the air, but the bullets
flew harmlessly among the trees. The Spaniards in their fright were
firing wildly.
The Americans returned the fire and kept it up as rapidly as possible,
yelling for all they were worth. This noisy charge had the effect Clif
had reckoned upon. The Spaniards were thoroughly frightened and Clif's
sharp ear told him that some of the soldiers were already on the run,
and that the officers had difficulty in keeping them all from
retreating.
Clif knew very well that if the enemy had any idea of how meagre were
his forces they would be bolder, and instead of trying to get away would
sweep down upon him with overwhelming force. He, however, was too shrewd
to give them a chance of finding that out. A bold dash would keep up his
"bluff," and now was the time to put it into execution.
Drawing his sword, he started toward them, shouting at the top of his
voice:
"Up and at 'em, boys!" he roared. "Charge!"
Then facing about for an instant, he added in a lower tone:
"Yell like sixty!"
With a wild shout, the little band rushed forward, firing their
revolvers as they advanced in compact line.
This bold dash had the desired effect. The enemy could be heard
retreating in disorder before them.
With redoubled clamor the Americans pressed forward, spurred on by the
excitement of the chase. The moon at this point emerged from its
retirement and showed them the demoralized ranks of the fleeing
Spaniards.
But, unfortunately, it also showed to such of the enemy as looked back
at their pursuers, what a handful of men had caused such terror and
havoc. Clif felt that his "bluff" would now be called.
But the beams of the moon also showed another scene that aroused all the
Americans' indignation and fairly made their blood boil with rage.
In spite of the panic the Spaniards had retained hold of their prisoner.
But the first sight that Clif saw as the moon shone out clear once more,
was one of the Spanish soldiers deliberately placing his revolver
against the unfortunate Cuban's head and sent a bullet crashing into his
brain.
"Treachery! base treachery!" cried Clif, beside himself with indignation
and horror at the scene. "Assassination of a prisoner of war! Boys,
shall we allow such a vile deed to go unavenged?"
The others had also seen, and there was no need to ask the question. But
the answer came prompt and without a dissenting voice:
"No, by thunder! Never!"
"Then at them to the death!" cried Clif, leading them on. "In the name
of humanity and the sailors of the Maine!"
The blood-curdling atrocity had made demons of them all, and with a
hoarse shout they sprang to the charge.