'Pull yourself together, Bob,' he whispered, 'remember that you are an
officer. They felt no pain.'
I heard the Commander bellow at Billums; he roared my name too and
cursed me, sending me down to the Engineer Commander for as many stokers
as he could spare.
I was too absolutely frozen to care about anything, and when I met
'Blotchy' Smith, half blubbing, and he told me that Barton had been
killed in the after turret and the Forlorn Hope in his, I hardly heard
what he said--I felt quite silly and 'wobbly' in my head.
I really could not tell you what happened for the next five hours--I was
so dazed and numbed--but I found myself going down into a boat with a
lot more of our mids., and we crawled up a ladder on board the
_Hercules_. We huddled up in a corner of her gun-room, and they brought
us something to eat, but it nearly made me sick to look at it. The
_Hercules_ mids. let us alone and didn't ask any questions, and for
hours we sat there, covered with dirt and smoke, till some one led us
away and made us clean ourselves. Some one lent me a pair of pyjamas,
and I crawled into a hammock, but daren't shut my eyes, and had to get
out and sit close to a light. I don't know how long I sat there, but
one of the _Hercules'_ doctors found me, and lifted me back into my
hammock. He injected something into my arm, and was going away, but I
clutched his sleeve--I couldn't be left alone--and then cried till I
thought I should die.
*CHAPTER XV*
*The Santa Cruz Fleet again*
_Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._
For days after that awful morning we seemed half stunned. We had left
El Castellar the night before, as smart a ship and as cheery a lot of
officers and men as there were in the Navy, and fifteen minutes after
_La Buena Presidente_ fired her first broadside the _Hector_ was a
complete wreck above the waterline, and was so badly holed beneath it
that she only managed with difficulty to keep herself afloat and crawl
back into shallow water. Fortunately one anchor and cable had not been
destroyed, and we anchored under El Castellar, the _Hercules_ anchoring
as close as possible in case it should become necessary for us to
abandon the ship.
She sent working parties aboard at once, and we eventually managed to
make the _Hector_ fairly water-tight, pump her dry, and get her on an
even keel again. But that was not until the third day, and those three
days and nights have always been like a horrible nightmare.
We could not get away from things--the stump of the foretopmast and that
single copper voice-pipe, sticking out where the fore control had been,
to remind us that Montague, Pearson the A.P., Marchant the cheery little
Clerk, and the 'Angel' had simply disappeared--blown to pieces; the
stump of the after 9.2, inside the turret of which Barton had been
killed, and the wreckage of the bridge, on top of the starboard foremost
turret, which had crushed poor Bigge.
It was two days before it was possible to cut a way into the wreck of
the Forlorn Hope's turret and get out what remained of him and his crew,
and really I don't know what we should have done had we not had to work,
hour after hour, day after day, trying to make the _Hector_ seaworthy,
and ready to tackle _La Buena Presidente_ again.
Practically everything above the level of the armour had been either
completely destroyed, or so crumpled and twisted, as to be almost
unrecognisable. We had not one single boat left, and the _Hercules_ had
to lend us two of theirs. The foremost funnel had fallen during the
action, and the next one was so damaged that it fell overboard that same
night. The fo'c'stle mess-decks, the sick-bay, the whole of the lower
deck, the ward-room, and nearly all the upper cabins were now simply
great blackened spaces, filled with tangled and crumpled iron bulkheads,
deck plates and beams, from which every vestige of paint had been burnt
off.
Our galleys had been completely destroyed, and it was impossible to do
any cooking, so the _Hercules_ cooked food for us and sent it on board
till we could rig up temporary fittings.
Of Dr. Clegg and the poor little Padre, or of their stretcher party, not
a trace remained. We did find a foot in the wreckage of the after
magazine cooling-room, but we could not tell to whom it belonged, and it
was buried at sea by the _Hercules_ with the remains of Barton, the
Forlorn Hope, and what we thought were thirty-two bodies.
Twenty-four men were missing besides these, and we sent forty-one
wounded on board the _Hercules_ to be treated there.
To think that---- No! It's no use thinking.
Strangely enough the Captain's quarters had not been damaged, nor had
the gun-room and the gun-room flat; and when I first went below from
that scene of desolation above to where the midshipmen's chests stood in
four rows, their hammocks slung above them, and their blankets hanging
down untidily, just as they had been left when 'General Quarters' had
sounded, and the gun-room clock was still ticking cheerfully, I almost
imagined that I _had_ woke from some horrible dream.
I am thankful to say that the mids. were all sent on board the
_Hercules_ to get them away from the ship, and also to let the ward-room
officers come down into the gun-room. Their chests were sent after them
the following day, and it was the saddest thing in the world to see the
four belonging to Barton, the 'Angel,' the Assistant Paymaster, and
Marchant standing alone by themselves. We could not stand the sight of
them, and Mr. Perkins had them taken away somewhere.
The only bright spot in those dreary days was that Ginger and I told
each other that we were silly fools, and made up our stupid quarrel.
His mids., too, had behaved so jolly well to mine that there was every
chance of them also making friends.
The fact that _La Buena Presidente_ had escaped did not even give me any
pleasure, for Gerald's sake, because the Skipper was determined to sink
her as soon as he could steam to San Fernando, off which she had
anchored, and whatever she did, and however she damaged us above the
water-line, she could not, in the narrow Laguna, escape our torpedoes.
I had a long yarn with my chum Navarro, the fat little A.D.C. Strangely
enough he seemed quite pleased that the insurgent ship had escaped.
'It was a great fight,' he said, his eyes glistening, 'for Santa
Cruz--the Santa Cruz Navy have much honour to beat the great English
ship.'
'But if we'd captured or sunk her the Santa Cruz fleet would have been
safe,' I said, wondering why he was not sorry that she had got away.
He shrugged his shoulders: 'Captain Pelayo is the best officer in the
Navy of Santa Cruz--all men on board her belong to Santa Cruz Navy--it
has much honour to Santa Cruz.'
Nobody was allowed ashore, and no boats came off to the ship, so I never
heard from Gerald; but the green and black flag now flew over El
Castellar, and we knew that the Commandant had at last surrendered. I
thought of the 'Gnome' marching across that dirty red parade-ground with
the black and green bundle under his arm, and hoped that Gerald had
allowed him to hoist it himself.
In a week there was no danger of our sinking, and the _Hercules_ went
across to Princes' Town to land the wounded at the Colonial Hospital,
and to telegraph home news of the engagement and request orders. I got
Ginger to send a telegram to the pater to tell him that Bob and I were
all right, although, as a matter of fact, I was very worried about my
cousin. He had not 'bucked up' in the least. Ginger told me that he
hardly spoke a word to any one, and moped all day, so I very much hoped
that the change to Princes' Town, and getting away from the sight of the
_Hector_ and of that broken mast, would do him good.
Whilst the _Hercules_ was away the Skipper got out a kedge-anchor
astern, to keep us 'broadside on' to the narrow entrance, in case _La
Buena Presidente_ tried to put to sea, and each night we swept 'La
Laguna' with our searchlights, and stood ready to fire our torpedoes.
However, nothing happened, and when the _Hercules_ returned with orders
that _La Buena Presidente_ was to be sunk at all costs, if she would not
surrender, we almost immediately weighed anchor and steamed towards San
Fernando.
Captain Roger Hill wanted to lead the way in the _Hercules_--as we were
crippled--but the Skipper would not hear of this at any price, so with
our mutilated foremast, wrecked bridge and upper works, and our two
remaining funnels we started up the bay.
All our big guns, except the after 9.2 and two of the 7.5's, were fit
for action, Mr. Perkins took charge in the after fire-control position,
and I do not think we cared what happened to us so long as we sunk the
insurgent ship, and avenged our defeat.
The Skipper did not mean to stand off and plug at _La Buena Presidente_,
but to steer straight at her and torpedo her. In fact, if he found her
still at anchor, he intended to send everybody, even the guns' crews,
down below the water-line, only himself and enough people to transmit
orders and fire the submerged torpedo-tubes remaining above in the
conning-tower.
We went to 'General Quarters' before we were abreast Marina and the
Casino, and I sat on the top of my turret with the long 9.2 cocked up in
the air in front of me.
I soon spotted _La Buena Presidente's_ tripod mast, and as we gradually
drew nearer expected her to open fire any minute, but she didn't, and we
crept along for another ten minutes or so. She seemed to be very low in
the water, and I was wondering whether that would be due to the mirage,
when a signalman, perched on the wreck of the fore bridge, shouted that
she was sunk, and, sure enough, as we drew still nearer, we saw that her
upper deck was all awash, and only her tripod mast, funnels, and upper
works showed above water--the black and green flag hanging from her
gaff.
We were too astonished to feel relieved, and anchored within a couple of
cables of her.
Almost immediately the Provisional Government came off to make the most
abject apologies for what had happened--they wouldn't have come, I
suppose, if their ship had not sunk--and with them came Captain Don
Martin de Pelayo--just such another as General Zorilla, as Gerald had
told me. He wore eyeglasses, talked English, was awfully polite, and
genuinely sorry for the damage he had done.
'I had my orders--you had yours,' I heard him tell the Skipper, after
they had shaken hands very heartily. 'I am very sorry. We are not
enemies of the English. I try to run past you without firing,
but--_voila!_' (and he shrugged his shoulders) 'you shoot so fast and
you damage my ship so much, I fear that I shall never arrive at San
Fernando. Fifty times you fire--I do nothing--but then I had to
fire--it was necessaire, and my guns--_voila!_ they are very big.'
'Why did you sink her?' the Skipper asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. 'Treachery--the night after that we come
in--we land our wounded--they are many--and many killed--some traitor
open our valves, and in the middle of the night we sink in the mud.'
'We should have sunk you with our torpedoes, so it doesn't make any
difference,' the Skipper said.
Well, that was the end of _La Buena Presidente_ and the end to all the
hopes of the insurgents. The Santa Cruz fleet could come and go where
and when it pleased, land another army, and drive Gerald and the
Provisional Government into the forest again, beyond the reach of their
guns, and there was not the slightest chance either, whilst the fleet
controlled the coast, of joining forces with the insurgents in the north
and of attacking Santa Cruz itself.
That same evening our young red marine subaltern, the 'Shadow,' went
mad.
He'd been very peculiar ever since that awful morning when his chum, the
Forlorn Hope, had been killed, and the strain of the next few days,
followed by the prospect of fighting the insurgent ship again, was too
much for his brain. He went raving mad, and had to be shut up in his
cabin and his marine servant shut in with him, to see that he did not
hurt himself. For three days and nights, although the Fleet Surgeon
tried everything to make him sleep, he did not stop shouting and
knocking on the cabin bulkhead, and as his cabin was in the gun-room
flat we couldn't get away from his shouting, and it got on our nerves
most terribly, so much so that we were all beginning to feel jumpy
ourselves. On the fourth morning he was quiet, and the Fleet Surgeon
hoped he would recover, but he died early in the afternoon without
having ever regained intelligence.
This had a most awfully depressing effect on us all, and, in addition,
Cousin Bob was giving Ginger and me a lot of worry. Several times I had
been across to the _Hercules_ to see him, and I didn't like the look of
him at all. He could talk of nothing else but that awful fifteen
minutes, and of his poor little chum the 'Angel,' so that I feared that
his brain, too, might be affected.
'He's young,' the Fleet Surgeon said, 'he'll get over it;' and I only
prayed that he was right.
Gerald, I heard, was all this time busy mounting some of _La Buena
President's_ small guns on the walls of El Castellar and on that ridge
behind San Fernando, hoping to drive off the Santa Cruz fleet if it came
again and brought old Zorilla with another army. Still, even if he did
drive the fleet away, he had no possible chance of bringing the
revolution to a successful termination till he had destroyed it, and
there was not the slightest chance of his doing that.
There had been a good deal of trouble ashore since we left San Fernando,
because, as soon as the insurgent troops learnt that _La Buena
Presidente_ was to be captured by us and handed over to President
Canilla at Santa Cruz, and heard of the part we had played in delaying
the surrender of El Castellar, they were so bitter against the English
that they burnt the Club, and would have killed the Englishmen if the
Provisional Government had not, with much difficulty, prevented them
doing so. Now, however, that the big ship had been sunk by treachery
and El Castellar had surrendered, they, in some way or another, thought
that we would again help them, and were just as keen on us as ever. The
Provisional Government simply loaded us with fruit and fresh food whilst
we remained at San Fernando busy trying to make the poor old wrecked and
gutted _Hector_ seaworthy. No leave was given because of the trouble
ashore, so that I could not go and see Gerald, and of course, with that
warrant for his arrest still lying in the Skipper's knee-hole table, he
could not come and see me.
We heard that General Zorilla and the fleet were preparing for another
attack on San Fernando--now that _La Buena Presidente_ no longer could
prevent them--and every day we expected to hear the guns firing from El
Castellar and to see the ships steaming past it.
And one afternoon they did come; they were half-way between us and the
entrance before they were sighted, and we rushed on deck to see them,
very glad of any excitement to make us forget our own troubles, but we
couldn't understand why we hadn't heard any firing, and how it was that
Gerald had allowed the ships to slip by him without making an effort to
stop them. Poor old Gerald, he'd had a good many 'ups' and 'downs,' but
now it seemed to be all 'downs.'
I ran below to tell Navarro, and he was as puzzled as I was, shrugging
his shoulders as he always did when he couldn't understand, or didn't
care to tell what he thought.
I ran up on deck again, and on shore we could see the people running
about in a scared kind of way, and the small guns on that ridge being
manned. I only wished that our mids. could have fought them again.
The flagship was already abreast of El Casino, the three remaining
ships, the two torpedo-boats and one wretched transport, following her.
Why only one transport, we wondered!
As we watched and waited for the small guns to fire, the torpedo-boats
suddenly increased speed and came steaming quickly towards us.
'What can be their game?' we were all thinking, when there were shouts
from all over the ship, 'Look at their flags! Look at their flags! The
stripes are horizontal! It's the black and green flag! It's flying on
the flagship as well! Look!'
There wasn't a doubt about it. Each torpedo-boat had a huge black and
green flag at her masthead, and in ten minutes we could see the colour
and the horizontal stripes with the naked eye, as they dashed along
close to the shore. We heard hurrahing, and saw hundreds of the little
brown forest-men crowding down on the beach as they passed, jumping
about on the sand, wading into the sea up to their waists towards them,
and waving their rifles. The shouting and the hurrahs spread along the
road till the town itself was full of voices, all the bells in the place
began ringing, and hundreds of black and green flags were hoisted.
'I'm blowed if they haven't become insurgents themselves,' the Skipper
muttered, dropping his eyeglass in his surprise; and there couldn't be
the least doubt of it, for now we could see the crews of the
torpedo-boats waving their caps to the troops on the beach, and could
hear the crews of the ships cheering.
Well, that pretty nearly knocked us all 'flat aback,' and we realised at
once that now Gerald, with the Santa Cruz fleet to help him, would be
master at sea and could do anything he liked, join forces with the
insurgents in the northern province, and attack Santa Cruz itself
whenever he was ready. It was so grand and so jolly unexpected that I
hardly know what I felt, only awfully thankful that the revolution would
be over soon, and that Gerald wouldn't be worrying them all at home.
The two torpedo-boats slowed down as they came towards us. '_Viva los
Inglesas! Viva la Marina Inglesa!_' their crews shouted, and then they
were past and abreast the poor old _La Buena Presidente_, with the water
running through her upper works and the top of her foremost turret just
showing above the surface like the back of a whale.
They stopped, their crews stood to attention along their rails and
saluted the flag that drooped over her, and suddenly burst into cheers,
shouting, '_Viva El Capitaine Pelayo! Viva Pelayo! Viva la Marina
Santa Cruz! Viva Presidente de Costa! Viva los Horizontals! Viva Don
Geraldio!_'
The last shout made me warm up all over. Good old Gerald! they hadn't
forgotten him, didn't bear him any ill-will, and were proud of him too.
'I'll be able to ask him to dinner after all,' the Skipper said,
twinkling and rubbing his hands. 'The Government is almost certain to
recognise the Provisional Government now. Don't expect he'd come,
though--wouldn't care to dine with the poor Skipper of a beaten ship.'
The ships themselves came along now, and this time they _did_ notice us,
their crews crowding behind the hammock nettings and in the gun ports to
see the awful destruction _La Buena Presidente_ had done to us. The
flagship had only 'Presidente' on her stern--the 'Canilla' part had been
knocked off--and she slowed down and fired seventeen guns to salute the
sunken ship.
For the first time since that awful morning I felt happy, and rushed
down below to tell Navarro what had happened.
He did not seem in the least depressed, and shrugged his shoulders. 'I
make the guess. When you tell me El Castellar no fire guns when they
pass, I had the suspic--ion. De Costa will now be Presidente--Canilla
will fly.'
'What will become of General Zorilla?' I asked him. I didn't want to
see the old chap go to the wall.
He raised his eyebrows. 'He never change. If Canilla tell him "fight,"
he will fight till he killed; but when de Costa is _Presidente_ and tell
him to fight, he also fight till he killed.'
I knew what Navarro meant, and it was just what I thought the grand old
chap would do.
Well, that is what happened and how everything was changed in a single
hour; the Santa Cruz Admiral came to call on the Skipper and explain
matters, and the Provisional Government came off to renew their claims
for Recognition. It was just as Navarro had thought. The news that
their old comrades in _La Buena Presidente_ had beaten one of the finest
cruisers in the English Navy had come to the ships huddled under the
breakwater at Los Angelos, expecting every hour that she'd come along
and sink them, and they were so proud of her and her people, and so
enraged when they heard that she'd been treacherously sunk after her
glorious fight, that they hoisted the black and green flag and came
along to throw in their lot with the insurgents.
The Provisional Government, as a reward for his great services, made the
Admiral Vice-President and gave his job to Captain Pelayo.
This pleased the fleet even if it did not please the Admiral, who must
have known that it was only done so that there'd be no chance of his
altering his mind again. Gerald told me, long afterwards, that he'd
been given the choice either of becoming Vice-President or of being
shot.
The _Hercules_ went off to Princes' Town to renew the Provisional
Government's demand for Recognition, and came back again, two days
afterwards, with the welcome news that both the British and United
States Governments had granted it. This was like a weight off my chest,
because Gerald now could come and go wherever he liked without fear of
arrest.
The Skipper sent a private note to de Costa telling him the news, and
let me go with him when he and Captain Roger Hill went ashore to
communicate it officially. We could hardly get through the crowds that
blocked the streets and filled the square in front of the _Alcade's_[#]
offices, where the Provisional Government were installed; thousands of
the insurgent troops surged round us cheering for all they were worth,
but we got through them eventually and I spotted Gerald.
[#] Mayor.
'It's all splendid,' he said; 'won't the mater be glad? D'you know that
that transport they brought is "chock-a-block" with ammunition and
stores from Los Angelos?'
'I expect you'll be back at the rubber plantation soon,' I laughed, I
felt so jolly happy; but Gerald only smiled and shook his head, 'Not
exciting enough.'
'How about that little beast?' I asked. 'Is he safe in hospital?'
'You cruel brute!' he answered; 'you maimed him for life. He's cleared
out somewhere--they let him go--no one knew him.'
I felt awfully vexed and angry about that, and implored Gerald to be
careful, but he only smiled and knocked the ashes out of his pipe. He
was looking as fit as a fiddle, he'd done away with the sling for his
arm, and it did please me so to see him, in the same smart white riding
things and polo helmet, 'bossing' it among all the other fellows, who'd
put on their most gorgeous uniforms for the occasion, and were covered
with huge green and black sashes.
The Skipper came up to congratulate him, and I went off to shake hands
with the 'Gnome'--he hadn't put on any rotten sashes--and with Jose, who
was squatting outside, on the steps, holding Gerald's horse. Then we
went back to the _Hector_.
'Couldn't get your brother to dine with me,' the Skipper said, looking
as if he'd been snubbed, 'he's too busy and has no clothes.'
I was very sorry, because I had so looked forward to showing him off to
every one on board.
Next day we crawled across to Prince Rupert's Island, the _Hercules_
close by, in case we wanted assistance, and people came swarming off to
see us and the wreck we were. Navarro was sent ashore to the Colonial
Hospital, the mids. were still kept aboard the _Hercules_, and the local
ship-repairing yard commenced to patch us up and make it safe to find
our way to Bermuda for a more thorough repair.
The black 'washer' ladies came crowding aboard, as before, and were
struck all of a heap when they saw the mess we were in.
Arabella Montmorency had brought back some of the 'Angel's' washing--it
had been left behind--and when I told her that he'd been killed, she
burst out crying, sobbing out, 'De Good Lo'd take de pretty little boy;
why He no spare him for Arabella to vash his clo's. Oh, de pretty boy,
de pretty boy!' She was terribly upset about Perkins's washing too. A
shell had entirely destroyed his cabin and everything in it, so that he
had absolutely nothing to wear except what he stood up in.
She burst out into fresh sobs. 'Poor Massa Perkins! poor Massa
Perkins!--no clo's--no vash clo's--Arabella more sooner vash for him for
noddings than Massa Perkins have no clo's for Arabella to vash.'
For five weeks we remained anchored off Princes' Town, and everybody
began gradually to brighten 'up' as the memory of that awful fifteen
minutes and the next week of woe became less vivid, though we still had
not the heart to arrange any matches with the _Hercules_ or with
Princes' Town. At first the shore people were always saying, 'Couldn't
you arrange a cricket-match for this day or that?' and we'd answer, 'Ask
our doctor, ask Clegg. He runs the cricket,' and then remember that he
had disappeared, and that Bigge, our best bat and bowler, and Montague
and Pearson, two others of our team, had also been killed. It was very
difficult to forget about them.
We had plenty of news, all this time, from San Fernando, because those
local steamers, which had been lying idle for the last few months,
resumed their work and ran regularly up to La Laguna. Gerald even found
time to write a letter and let me know that preparations were being made
for the final attack on Los Angelos and Santa Cruz, but he wrote that
there would be some delay as the insurgents in the northern province
were not yet ready. They were exhausted, temporarily, by the effort of
driving Canilla's army into the mountains and wanted rest. I knew that
if Gerald was there they wouldn't get much rest, but he couldn't be in
two places at once. He didn't mention the ex-policeman, so I hoped that
the little brute had disappeared for good.
From Santa Cruz we heard very contradictory reports, but there was no
doubt that President Canilla was making desperate efforts to defend the
city, and that the batteries above Los Angelos were practising almost
daily. He was issuing fiery proclamations to encourage his troops, but,
in spite of them, and in spite of General Zorilla's popularity, his men
were deserting in great numbers.
It was known that directly the insurgents commenced to make their final
attack on the city, the _Hercules_ was to go across to Los Angelos, to
be there in case any trouble arose and she might be wanted to back up
the authority of the British Minister. As the _Hector_ was to go to
Bermuda you can imagine that every one on board her was rather sorry not
to be able to see the end of the revolution. Of course I was especially
sorry because of Gerald. You can therefore guess how jolly pleased I
was when the Skipper sent for me one morning and told me that he was
transferring me to the _Hercules_. One of her lieutenants had been
invalided home and I was to take his place.
'Tut, tut, boy!' he said; 'I chose you because I knew you'd like to keep
an eye on that haughty brother of yours.'
It was jolly good of him, and when the local repairs had been completed,
and the _Hector_ was fit to steam to Bermuda, I packed my gear, was
taken across to the _Hercules_, and, with Ginger and Cousin Bob, watched
her slowly crawl past us, out through the northern entrance. The band
struck up 'Rolling Home' and 'Auld Lang Syne,' and I felt rather
mournful to see my old ship steaming away without me, looking, even now,
very desolate and dreary with her jerry foretopmast, patched bridge and
upperworks, and only her two after funnels.
I had a very jolly time aboard the _Hercules_ with Ginger, found Cousin
Bob much brighter, and Ginger and I often chuckled to see how his mids.
and mine had become as thick as thieves.
*CHAPTER XVI*
*The Attack on Santa Cruz*
_Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._
Ten days after the crippled old _Hector_ had crawled away from Princes'
Town, we heard of her arrival at Bermuda, and very glad we all were to
know that she had reached there safely.
I heard from Gerald once or twice, and he wrote that the departure of
his expedition from San Fernando was still delayed, owing to the
difficulty of obtaining transports for the troops, but the Provisional
Government now had an Agent at Princes' Town, who was chartering any
steamer which would take the risks--a pretty penny they were
charging--and he hoped to be ready in a fortnight or so to put to sea
and effect a junction with the troops from the northern province in
front of Los Angelos.
It was rather monotonous waiting, all this time; but at last one of the
local steamers came in from San Fernando with the news that the
expedition was on the point of departure, and we immediately weighed
anchor and steamed across to Los Angelos, anchoring once more off the
white breakwater and lighthouse at the foot of the gloomy mountains of
Santa Cruz.
On shore they must have known of the imminent approach of the
insurgents, because we could see them working like ants on the
breakwater and wharves, piling up sand-bags to form breastworks for
rifle-fire and emplacements for field-guns. Once I felt sure that I
recognised Zorilla, tramping among the men and encouraging them.
That night half-a-dozen steamers, of sorts, came down the coast from the
northern province of San Juan, and anchored outside us, and outside the
range of the guns in the forts. How President Canilla must have raged
when he saw them, and cursed his Navy for having deserted him!
They waited there till morning, then got up their anchors and stood out
to sea. We guessed that they were waiting for Gerald, and, sure enough,
by mid-day, the four insurgent men-of-war and the two torpedo-boats
appeared from the south, escorting seven steamers; they joined forces
with the other transports and steamed towards us.
'There, lad!' the Skipper said, chuckling and pointing his telescope at
them. 'There's an illustration for you of the value of sea power. If
those four miserable cruisers still flew the yellow and green flag, not
one single transport could have moved.'
It really was a very striking example of how the possession of the
cruisers and the 'Command of the Sea' had entirely altered the chances
of the two sides.
If _La Buena Presidente_ had been allowed to destroy those cruisers,
whilst they flew the green and yellow flag, the same thing would, of
course, have happened, but if, after she had been sunk, they had not
revolted, Gerald would still be wandering about the forests, and the
insurgents from the northern province would still be confined to their
plains, and San Fernando and every town along the coast would still be
liable at any moment to bombardment or capture by any expedition
President Canilla chose to land there.
The transports anchored before they came within range of the guns above
Los Angelos, but the men-of-war and the two torpedo-boats stood boldly
inshore, and immediately came under a very heavy fire. We had to
'weigh' and steam off, so as not to interfere with it, but you can
imagine that we stayed as close as we could, in order to see all that
was going on.
The firing was very rapid, and very badly directed, the shells striking
the water anywhere but near the ships, and what we noticed chiefly was
the peculiar noise the long dynamite shells made--there were two
dynamite guns in the forts, you remember--hissing through the air like
enormous rockets, though they did not make much more noise when they
struck the water than the ordinary shells. I and the rest of my mids.
aboard the _Hercules_ were, of course, authorities on shell-fire now,
and most of them gave themselves tremendous airs, although Bob and one
or two others changed colour, and got very white every time a shell
burst anywhere near the ships--that wasn't often--and I knew pretty well
that they were still suffering from nerves, and hadn't recovered from
those fifteen minutes which wrecked the _Hector_.
The cruisers never took the trouble to reply; they knew the weak spot in
the defences of Los Angelos; steamed right inshore, where the big guns
in the forts, high up above their decks, couldn't touch them, and began
blowing the sand-bags about in fine style.
The torpedo-boats darted in along the wharves and inside the breakwater,
firing their machine guns, at point-blank range, into the crowds of
troops there, and the amount of ammunition expended was enormous.
A good many rifle-bullets and a few shells from field-guns came our way,
but no one was touched.
Late in the afternoon, when the firing was slacking down, one of the
torpedo-boats came buzzing along quite close to us. She was on her way
to the transports, and as she passed us, we saw that her funnel and some
boiler-plates she'd built up on deck, round her machine gun, were pitted
with bullet-marks. They looked, for all the world, like the inside of a
nutmeg grater. Two bodies were lying close to the machine gun, but the
rest of the crew were coiled down, resting, and not taking the least
notice of them.
She went alongside one of the transports and came hurrying back.
Standing just for'ard of the funnel was old Gerald, smoking his pipe.
He was still in the same rig--brown boots and gaiters, white duck riding
breeches, white duck Norfolk jacket, and white polo helmet--and Jose,
with his scarlet sash, was squatting on the deck at his feet. He looked
up as he went by, and nodded cheerfully as I waved to him, and he saw
who I was. He was then taken alongside the flagship.
Firing did not cease till dark, but none of us thought that the green
and yellow flags would be flying in the morning, and we were quite
right. Los Angelos itself was deserted, and white flags as big as
table-cloths were hoisted above the forts up the mountain-side.
The transports immediately went alongside the wharves and began to
disgorge their ragged little brown troops; the cruisers and gunboats
took up their old moorings behind the breakwater, and we anchored again
outside it and just clear of the lighthouse.
You can imagine how keen we were to go ashore and see what was
happening; but Captain Roger Hill was as strict as he was prim, and
refused to give any leave whatever.
'If we had your Skipper--"Old Tin Eye"--here, Billums, I bet every soul
would be ashore by now,' Ginger said; but I don't know, he had had a bit
of a fright when our mids. fought those 4.7's, and had been much
stricter ever since.
We could only hang about on deck with our telescopes and watch the
little insurgents pouring out of Los Angelos, and crowding along that
road, up the mountain-side, towards Santa Cruz. A long way up, at a
place where it curved sharply, the yellow and green flag was still
flying, and we could make out trenches and could see the wheels of some
field-guns half hidden among the trees. The trenches were continued up
the mountain-side, and it looked, from where we were, as if a hundred
brave men, behind them, could stop a thousand.
Before nightfall Gerald's people were swarming below this line of
trenches, and during the middle watch desultory firing went on
continuously, but in the morning the yellow and green flag still flew
there, and when we could see the little white-shirted insurgents dodging
in and out among the trees, they hadn't got any nearer to the guns.
Next night there was still more firing; the field-guns were booming
every few minutes, their shells bursting, with a vivid glare, lower down
on the mountain-side. It was most fascinating to watch, but, as Bob
said, gave us a 'crick in the neck' looking up all the time.
The flags and the field-guns were still there in the morning.
'Your brother will find that a pretty awkward road to Santa Cruz,'
Captain Roger Hill said, speaking to me, off duty, for the first time
since I joined the ship. I bridled up and got angry at once, for he said
it in such a tone as to imply, 'What the dickens can a mere
rubber-planter know about war?'
'He's beaten General Zorilla once, sir; I expect he'll manage it again
somehow,' I answered, as he stalked away, smiling in his superior way.
I'd jolly well like Gerald to meet him and take him down a peg. He'd
sized up Captain Grattan, my own Skipper ('Old Tin Eye'), and put him in
his place quick enough--good chap though he was--and he'd have an easy
job with Captain Roger Hill.
The Captain went over to the insurgent flagship that afternoon to see
about some complaint which our Consul at Los Angelos had made, and I
slipped a note for Gerald into his coxswain's hands, hoping it would get
to him.
'Hope things are going all right. For goodness' sake, get Bob and
myself ashore--I'm sick of this ship. Get my chum, Hood, ashore, too,
if you can.--BILLUMS.'
By a bit of luck he actually was aboard, and sent me back an answer
scribbled on the envelope.
'Will do my best--things are humming.--GERALD.'
The coxswain brought it back when the Captain returned, and I'd hardly
read it when I was sent for.
'Ha! Hum! Mr. Wilson, I met your brother on board the flagship. He
seems to be the head of the revolutionary army, and will--Hum! Ha!--be
a very important man in the country if it is successful. He's asked me
to let you accompany him in the advance. Ha! Hum! I've no objection.
If you want to get killed, you can.'
'Thank you very much, sir,' I answered, though I jolly well wanted to
kick him.
'Did he ask for Hood or my cousin, Bob Temple?' I asked, putting in a
word for them.
'Ha! Hum! he did, but Mr. Hood is a _valuable_ officer, and Mr. Temple
too young. Good-morning!'
He _was_ an irritating chap, if you like, and the amusing part of it was
that he thought every one was fearfully impressed with his importance.
And Gerald sent for me too-sent the same little harbour launch which had
brought me on board the _Hector_, after I'd been released from San
Sebastian--sent it fussing out from behind the breakwater, and it waited
alongside whilst I shifted into plain clothes.
'I've done my best for you both,' I said, as Ginger and Bob watched me
'change,' 'but it can't be done--very sorry--the Captain says you're a
valuable officer--meaning that I'm not--and that Bob is too young.'
I filled my baccy pouch, shoved the mater's last letter into my pocket
to show Gerald, and went ashore, feeling as happy as a bird and jolly
important.
How the chaps did envy me!
Jose was waiting for me on the wharf, smiling all over his honest ugly
face, and took me along with him, though it was pretty awkward 'going'
because of the sand-bags scattered everywhere. The shops and warehouses
along the front were simply riddled with bullets and shell marks, and
some men, with a mule-cart, were searching round for bodies and dumping
them into it.
We tramped along--it was so hot that the place was like an oven--and
found Gerald inside an office kind of place with the black and green
flag flying over it, and I knew he was happy by the way he puffed his
pipe. There were a great number of officers there, many of whom I had
seen before at San Fernando, and they bowed and smiled in the most
friendly way; I almost felt one of them.
'Hullo, Billums! Just in time! Go inside and get some grub--you'll get
no more till to-morrow,' Gerald sang out, looking up from some papers.
'Your next meal will be in Santa Cruz--with luck,' he said, coming in
when I'd got through a 'fid' of tinned meat.
'Not in San Sebastian, I hope!' I answered, stuffing down the last bit.
'Don't be an ass!'
'You're not making much headway along the road, are you?' I asked
presently.
'No, we aren't, and we don't mean to. That's not the main attack. I'm
going over the mountain to-night--hope to be above Santa Cruz at
daylight--you've got a pretty stiff climb before you.'
'But won't all the paths be defended?' I asked, jolly excited to think
of what was going to happen. 'Surely old Zorilla would do that?'
'He's left one open,' Gerald winked, 'one that chap you call the 'Gnome'
knows. He's going to lead us, but you'll have to wait here till it's
dark.'
'What became of that black horse?' I asked him, as he was going out of
the room.
'Brought it round from San Fernando, and sent it up to Zorilla
yesterday. He's awfully grateful. I can't stop any longer; I must go up
that road and show myself, below those trenches, before it gets too
dark, or Zorilla will begin to imagine we're not intending to attack
that way.'
Then I had to tramp up and down and wait for the sun to set, thinking of
Gerald riding up the mountain road towards Santa Cruz, till he was close
enough to those trenches we had seen to be recognised and be potted at.
At last it was dark--rather too dark, because a tremendously black
thunder-cloud came sweeping in from seawards--and Jose came for me and
took me away through narrow steep streets which were almost pitch-dark
because the electric light from Santa Cruz had been cut off. There were
bonfires at the street corners, but they only seemed to make the
darkness greater.
We got up past the houses, well above the town, and came to a flatter
piece of ground, and although it was pitch-dark, and I couldn't see
anything, I knew, by the smell and the murmur of voices and rattling of
rifles, that there were thousands of the little brown men all round me.
We found Gerald at last, the 'Gnome,' in a great state of excitement,
with him.
'We're just going on. We've a five-hour climb before us,' Gerald
said--he didn't seem excited.
'It's going to be a beastly night,' I whispered--I could not help
whispering, because I was so excited.
'So much the better,' he said cheerfully. 'We shan't be heard.'
Then he gave some orders very quietly, said, 'Come along;' and we four,
the 'Gnome' leading the way, began climbing. I was in pretty good
training, but it was all I could do to keep up with them; I hadn't nails
in my boots, either, which made climbing all the more difficult.
'Hold up, old chap; you can't afford to slip,' Gerald said, clutching me
as I stumbled, a few minutes after we had started, 'it's a long way to
the bottom.'