A GAME OF BLUFF.
Clif urged his little band of avengers forward with no thought of danger
or of the consequences. The inhuman scene he had witnessed drove from
his mind all thoughts of the flagship or the important papers he carried
upon his person.
Such barbarity called for vengeance, and that brave American handful of
American tars meant to wreak it on their treacherous foes, or die in the
attempt.
"Come on!" shouted Clif, wildly. "Give it to 'em! Don't let a man
escape!"
A well directed volley was the answer to his command, that sent
death-dealing bullets among the frightened soldiers just before them.
But, unfortunately for the heroic little band, they were now fighting in
the open, and their strength was known to the enemy.
A little further ahead Clif could see that a Spanish officer had
succeeded in rallying some of his men, and they were now forming in
solid line to repulse the charge of the Americans.
The first result of this was a shower of bullets from the Spanish rifles
that fortunately for the most part went wide of the mark. But one
slightly wounded a sailor at Clif's side, as a sharp exclamation of pain
quickly told him.
It also aroused his native caution. What was the use, he quickly
thought, of holding his men there in the full glare of the moonlight as
a target for the enemy's guns, when a more certain conflict could be
carried on from the shelter of the trees just behind him? He had too few
men to risk losing any on those uneven terms.
He quickly ordered his men to drop back into the woods. But it was with
great difficulty at first that he could inforce his commands upon the
now thoroughly aroused sailors. They wanted to continue their impetuous
charge.
But a second volley from the remaining troops showed them the wisdom of
Clif's decision, and with a return volley they fell back into the
darkness and shelter of the trees.
"Now, boys," cried Clif, "every man behind a tree and fight for all you
are worth. Let every shot tell."
The wisdom of Clif's stand became at once apparent. From the ambush of
the woods they could fire with little fear of stopping a Spanish bullet
with their own bodies.
And they did fire, and that to good purpose.
The Spaniards were now bolder and bore down upon the ambushed Americans
with some semblance of order. But at each volley from the sailors there
was a wavering in the ranks of the foe, and Clif could see that more
than one dropped wounded from the ranks.
"We'll lick 'em yet!" cried Clif, with enthusiasm. "Keep it up, boys!"
But the Spaniards advanced steadily in spite of their losses. They, too,
were fully aroused at the thought that they had been so roughly handled
by such a small number of men.
Clif and his gallant band were compelled to drop back from tree to tree.
It began to look as though the Spaniards would in the end become
victorious.
But with the Americans it was do or die. There was no hope of help or
succor from any source. No reinforcements were at hand, and none could
be sent in time from the flagship, even did those on board suspect the
plight in which that boat's crew found itself.
But desperate cases require desperate measures, and Clif was equal to
the emergency. When it became evident that the Spaniards would indeed
fight, Clif's busy brain thought of a means to turn the tide of
conflict.
It was a slight hope, to be sure, but the only one that presented
itself. He smiled in spite of himself, in view of his meagre forces at
the thought that the only way to achieve victory was by a flank
movement.
"I'll take two men," he said hurriedly, "and slip around behind those
fellows. The rest of you keep up your fire here, and if our lungs hold
out we'll make them think we have reinforcements."
It was a very risky move, but with two companions Clif put it into
execution at once. They hurried through the woods so as to flank the
enemy, an easy task, as the latter were now well up to the little grove.
As they reached the edge of the woods which would bring them in the
enemy's rear, they set up a mighty shout.
"At them, boys!" Clif yelled at his imaginary forces. "Come on! we've
got 'em!"
Then in Spanish he cried, so that the enemy could hear:
"Surrender, you Spaniards! Twelve men have held you, and now we'll take
you!"
He had reached the edge of the clearing, and paused a moment, facing
around and beckoning to his imaginary reinforcements.
The Spaniards were completely bewildered. The fire from those that Clif
had left behind continued without intermission, and the Spaniards could
not but think that the vociferous sailors in their rear were new
arrivals.
They could not in the first place conceive of the daring and hardihood
that would lead a dozen men to oppose their forces unless reserves were
near at hand. And now, thought they, these reinforcements had arrived.
Clif and his companions made noise enough to give color to this belief,
and without stopping to see what there was behind the demonstration, the
Spaniards took to their heels.
"They are not men, but devils!" Clif heard some one say in Spanish, as
they dropped their rifles and start on the run.
Even the officer who had succeeded once in holding a remnant of his
panic-stricken forces together, now gave up the fight and sprinted away
as fast as the rest.
Every man seemed to be looking for his own safety, and they did not
pause to see what was behind them. Here and there, it is true, one of
the fleeing Spaniards could be seen helping a wounded companion in his
flight. But as for further resistance, there was none.
Clif could not forbear to laugh at the odd sight of an army in a foot
race to escape a few American sailors.
"American bluff has won the day," he laughed. "Our Cuban friend's death
has been avenged, and that without the loss of a man on our side."
"The Spanish are good sprinters, at any rate," said one of the men, as
they started with Clif to rejoin their companions.
Here Clif had all he could do to restrain his followers from continuing
in pursuit of the enemy.
"No," said he in response to the earnest pleading. "We had better leave
well enough alone. These Spaniards say we are not men, but devils, and
I guess they don't care for another interview. The New York no doubt is
waiting for us, and these dispatches are yet to be delivered."
There was no use to grumble, so the party set out on the return to their
boat. They were highly enthusiastic over the good work done under Clif's
leadership, and were proud of his pluck as well as the good generalship
he had shown.
The tide of battle had carried them some distance from the spot where
they had met the Cuban courier, and further still from where they had
concealed their boat.
But they picked their way expeditiously through the woods, and reached
the beach without further incident.
They were near the clump of trees which they recognized as that behind
which they had hidden the boat when Clif stopped with a sudden
exclamation.
"Gorry!" he said, "I have forgotten that shell. It won't take but a
minute to return for it."
"What's the use, sir?" ventured one of the men. "As you said, we'd
better let well enough alone, and not run any further risk for a shell
that don't even explode."
"That's just the reason I want it," said Clif. "That shell is more
important than you might think. I'll----"
But here occurred an interruption that opened up more startling
possibilities, and drove the unexploded shell from the attention of all.
It was in the shape of an exclamation of surprise and alarm from one of
the men who had gone a few steps in advance of the others, and had
reached the boat's hiding-place as Clif spoke.
It arrested Clif's attention at once.
"What's the matter?" he called, sharply.
"The boat, sir," cried the marine, appearing from behind the bushes.
"What of it?"
"It's gone!"
"Gone?"
"Yes, sir."
Clif, followed by the others, hastened to the spot.
The man had spoken the truth. The boat, which was now their sole
dependence, was no longer there.
They looked in blank amazement at one another and at the spot where they
had fastened it in fancied security.
What could it mean?