A STRUGGLE AGAINST ODDS.
The position in which Clif found himself was so startlingly unexpected
and so full of peril that for a brief instant it almost unnerved him.
Had he suspected the possibility of the boat being manned by Spaniards,
he would have given up the thought as soon as he recognized it as one
belonging to the flagship. It seemed natural that a boat should be sent
to look for them after their protracted absence, and it was a decided
shock to find that he had fallen, alone and unarmed, in the way of his
enemies.
But his surprise affected him but for an instant. He did not propose to
be shot down if he could help it.
The report of the pistol that met Clif's gaze rang out upon the air, but
the bullet did not reach its intended mark.
Like a flash Clif had released his hold upon the boat, and dropped
beneath the water, just in the nick of time.
The Spaniard peered over the side of the boat in the darkness, expecting
to see Clif's form appear on the surface, and hoping to see his life's
blood staining the waters, a testimony to his marksmanship.
How could he have failed to send that bullet crashing through the
American's brain? thought he.
But nothing of the sort happened. Clif not only was not wounded, but was
chipper as a lark. When he disappeared, he dove under the boat and rose
again on the opposite side. The Spaniard would look in vain in that spot
for his intended victim.
But the Spaniard in the bow discovered Clif's head as it appeared for an
instant above the water. With an imprecation of wrath he called his
companion's attention to the spot. But one of them was armed, it seemed.
The other rushed to that side, but when he looked in the direction
indicated, revolver in hand, Clif had again disappeared.
The American lad was as lively as a cricket, and busy thoughts surged
through his brain.
In the first place, he did not propose being a target for a Spanish
bullet. But, above all, he wanted that boat, and, like the cowboy when
he wants a revolver, wanted it "bad."
"How can I get it?" he thought, as his dive brought him up near the bow
of the boat. Help came from an unexpected source, for a few moments
after, he was driven by a new peril to attempt the only plan that could
accomplish it.
The agency that led to his delivery was a shark. That was not the
every-day business of his shark-ship--that of saving an imperiled life
for those inhabitating those waters are especially hungry and voracious.
But it happened this way: As Clif was quietly keeping himself afloat at
the bow of the boat, confident that in that position he ran little risk
of immediate discovery by his enemies, the plans and schemes revolving
in his mind were brought to a sudden standstill by a sight that filled
him with horror. A sharp triangular fin cutting the water like a knife,
flashed past him.
"Merciful Heaven!" he muttered under his breath. "A shark!"
Death faced him on every side. To be sure he might frighten the shark by
churning the surface of the water, but that very act would betray him to
a no less certain death at the hands of his enemies.
His resolve, a desperate one that caused him to shudder as he formed it,
was reached on the instant. The broad back of his enemy, who sat in the
stern, was within easy reach, and inspired his action.
Quick as a flash Clif grasped the stern of the boat with one hand and
with one mighty effort raised himself high out of the water. Before the
Spaniard could divine what was happening, Clif's free arm was thrown
around the fellow's neck, and he was drawn back into the water behind
him.
An instant after Clif clambered over the stern into the boat. With a
shudder at the thought of the fate that awaited the luckless Spaniard,
he addressed himself to the work that lay before him.
And there was plenty of it, and lively, too, while it lasted.
The other Spaniard, who had been peering into the water ahead, turned
sharply around when he heard the noise made by the splash of his
companion, and in the act involuntarily dropped the revolver.
What must have been his feelings upon beholding the lithe and dripping
form of the plucky young American emerging from the sea, may well be
imagined.
But Clif did not pause to study the effects. He seized an oar and sprang
toward his remaining foe.
"Surrender, you villain!" he cried in Spanish as he advanced.
The Spaniard seized an oar and with an oath sprang toward the American.
And there, on the quiet bosom of the water in the dim light of night,
ensued a stubbornly contested duel, in which oars took the place of
broadsword and sabre.
Clif fought savagely and desperately. His blood was up, and he knew that
now, if ever, he was, fighting for his life.
But in the end it was fortune that favored him. A chance blow upon his
antagonist's head rendered the latter unconscious, and victory again
perched upon the young American's banner.
There was no time for exultation, even if he had felt that way. The work
had been too serious, and necessity for action was too imperative.
Satisfied that he had nothing to fear from his enemy, now lying helpless
in the bottom of the Boat, Clif seized the oars and turned the boat
toward shore.
It was trying work for one man to row that boat even the short distance
that lay between him and shore--especially after the ordeal through
which he had passed. But excitement buoyed him up and he made good
progress.
His companions in the shade of the bushes where he had left them had
witnessed his exciting duel and were wrought up to tense excitement. How
they bemoaned the fact that they were not there to help him!
It became evident that there were other spectators, too; for no sooner
had Clif seized the oars and began to row for the shore than a volley of
bullets rattled out across the water from the hill that had witnessed
such thrilling scenes earlier in the night. The Spanish soldiers had
discovered Clif!
In the face of this, Clif redoubled his efforts to reach the beach and
rescue his companions, who might any moment be attacked by the soldiers
in their rear.
But the enemy's attention was concentrated upon Clif and his boat, and
he shot through the waters in a perfect hail of missiles. They spattered
into the waters all around him, but wide of their mark.
He reached the shore, and as he sprang upon the ground his faithful
little band could not repress a cheer at his bravery and pluck.
But he urged them on. Not a moment could now be lost. The enemy, shut
off temporarily by the overhanging hill, might be down upon them any
second.
Clif gathered up his clothing and at a word they all sprang to their
places and the boat leaped through the water with a bound, and was away.
"To the flagship!" Clif cried, and then uttered an exclamation of alarm.
"The dispatches!" he cried, as he felt among his clothes. "They have
been left behind!"
At a word the boat was turned round and shot swiftly toward the beach.
Yelling Spaniards could be heard racing down the hillside. They had
discovered the landing-place, and bullets began again to rain about the
water.
It seemed sure death to return in the face of that fire, but the
intrepid crew sped on. The dispatches must not fall into Spanish hands!
The boat grated on the sands, and Clif sprang out. One instant brought
him to the spot where his clothes had lain. Fortune favored him. As he
felt along the ground, his hand touched a package of papers.
"The dispatches!" he cried, as he sprang to his place in the stern of
the boat, which had been turned ready for the start. He gave the word
and away they sped, this time with the flagship as the goal. Spanish
bullets flew after them, but they were safe. It was only when they were
for a moment brought out into bold relief by the searchlight that again
began to play from the flagship that the bullets of the enemy came near
their mark.
And then the firing ceased and the boat sped on. An enthusiastic and
jubilant crew it was. Only Clif seemed in a dissatisfied mood.
"Gorry!" he suddenly exclaimed, "I came off without that shell after
all!"
"You seem to lay great store by that, sir," said one of the men.
"I do," said Clif. "But will not return for it just now. To the
flagship!"
Not many minutes later they were safe aboard, the captured Spaniard in
proper custody, and, best of all, the dispatches were personally
delivered by Clif to the rear admiral.
But still Clif was not entirely satisfied.