IN THE THICK OF THE SNIPING
Upon the landing of the first men, the Mexican custom house had
been seized.
The seizure of the post-office and the cable station quickly followed.
Lieutenant Trent did not halt on the dock. Forming his men even
while moving forward, Trent kept his command moving fast.
Dave was near the head of the little column, on the right flank.
Dan was near the rear.
For some distance Trent marched his men, hundreds of curious Mexicans
parting to make way for the advance of the little detachment.
Finally Trent halted his men not far from the gray walls of the
Castle of San Juan de Ulloa.
"I wonder if our job is to take that fortress?" murmured Dalzell,
dryly.
"If that's our job," smiled Darrin, "we'll have fighting enough
to suit even your hot young blood. But I don't believe we're
cut out to take the castle. Look at the transport '_Prairie_.'
Her guns are but five hundred yards away, and trained on the fort.
If anyone in San Juan opens on us the '_Prairie_' will be able
to blow the old fort clean off the map."
"What can we be waiting for?" asked Dan, fidgeting.
"I've an idea that we shall find out soon enough," Dave replied.
Dalzell glanced appealingly at Lieutenant Trent, who stepped over
to say:
"I see you both want to know what we're to do. My orders are
only general, and rather vague. Our work won't be cut out for
us until the Mexican garrison starts something."
"But will the Mexicans start anything?" Danny wanted to know.
"So far they seem as patient as camels about fighting."
Another landing party, from the "_Florida_," moved up to position
about a block away from Trent's small command.
"I don't mind fighting," sighed Dan, ten minutes later, "but waiting
gets on my nerves."
All the time small detachments of sailors and marines were moving
gradually through the lower part of Vera Cruz, moving from one
point to another, and always the leading detachments went further
from the water front.
At last Trent, receiving his signal from a distance, marched his
men up the street, away from the fortress of San Juan de Ulloa.
Only a quarter of a mile did they march, then halted. Fully three
hundred Mexicans followed them, and stood looking on curiously.
"I wonder if any one ashore knows the answer to the riddle of what
we're doing," sighed Danny Grin.
"We're waiting orders, like real fighting men," Dave answered, with
a smile.
"But there isn't going to be any fighting!"
"Where did you get that information?" Dave asked.
Noon came; no fighting had been started. By this time nearly
every officer and man ashore believed that the Mexican general
at Vera Cruz had decided not to offer resistance. If so, he had
undoubtedly received his instructions from Mexico City.
More minutes dragged by. At about fifteen minutes past noon, shots
rang out ahead.
"The engagement is starting," Dan exclaimed eagerly to his chum.
"The shots are so few in number, and come so irregularly, that
probably only a few Mexican hotheads are shooting," Dave hinted,
quietly. "Troops, going into action, don't fire in that fashion."
"I wonder of any of our men are firing back."
"All I know," smiled Darrin, "is that we are not doing any shooting."
Pss-seu! sang a stray bullet over their heads. Only that brief
hiss as the deadly leaden messenger sang past.
Pss-chug! That bullet caught Dalzell's uniform cap, carrying
it from his head to a distance some forty feet rearward.
"Whew! That gives some idea of the spitefulness of a bullet,
doesn't it?" muttered Danny Grin, as a seaman ran for the ensign's
cap and returned with it.
"It must be that I didn't get iron-rust enough on this white uniform,"
commented Dalzell, coolly, gazing down at the once white uniform
that he had yellowed by a free application of iron rust. "My
clothing must still be white enough to attract the attention of
a sharpshooter so distant that I don't know where he is."
Still Trent held his command in waiting, for no orders had come to
move it forward.
"The barracks are over there," said Dave, pointing. "So far as
I have been able to judge, none of the bullets come from that
direction."
Still the desultory firing continued. The occasional shots that
rang out showed, however, that the Americans were not firing in
force.
"There they go!" called Lieutenant Trent, drawing attention to
the nearest barracks. From the parade ground in front, small
detachments of Mexicans could be seen running toward different
parts of the town.
"Are you going to fire on them?" asked Darrin.
"Not unless the Mexicans fire on us, or I receive orders to fire,"
the lieutenant answered. "I don't want to do anything to disarrange
the admiral's plans for the day, and at present I know no more
than you do of what is expected of us."
Suddenly the air became alive with the hiss of bullets.
"I see the rascals," cried Dave pointing upward. "They're on
the top of that building ahead."
Trent saw the sharpshooters, too. Perhaps twenty Mexican infantrymen
occupied the roof of a building a few hundred yards ahead. Some
were lying flat, showing only their heads at the edge of the roof.
Others were kneeling, but all were firing industriously.
"Forward, a few steps at a time," ordered the lieutenant. "Don't
waste any shots, men, but pot any sharpshooter you can get on
that roof, or any men who show themselves on other roofs as we
advance."
"This work is a lot better than getting into boats and trying
to take Castle San Juan," muttered Dalzell, as he drew his sword.
All three of the officers now had their blades in their hands,
for the swords would be useful if they were obliged to fight at
close quarters.
Crack! crack! crack! rang out the rifles of Trent's detachment.
But every shot told. Whenever any one of the three officers
saw a man firing too rapidly that seaman was cautioned against
wasting cartridges.
One of Trent's men was already wounded in the left hand, though
he still persisted in firing.
At the first street crossing Trent shouted:
"Half of you men go down the street on that side, the rest of
you over here. Ensign Dalzell, take command over there. Ensign
Darrin, you will command here."
The street was swiftly emptied of blue-jackets. Hidden from the
fire of the sharpshooters ahead, the sailors were out of immediate
danger. But both Dan and Dave stationed a couple of good shots
at either corner, in the shelter of the buildings and took pot
shots at the snipers ahead.
"Darrin, pick out two of your best men, and send them to lie down
in the middle of the street, facing that roof-top," Trent ordered,
then shouted the order across the open street to Dalzell.
Thus, with four jackies lying flat in the middle of the street,
and offering no very good targets to the roof snipers, and with
two men behind each protecting corner, the Mexicans on the roof
were subjected to the sharpshooting fire of the eight best shots
in Trent's command.
"Darley, you stand here on the sidewalk, and watch the roof-top
across the street," Dave ordered. "Hemingway, you get over on
the other side and keep your eyes on the roof on this side of
the street. If you see any one on a rooftop, let him have it
as fast as you can fire."
Dan Dalzell, seeing that manoeuvre from across the street, stationed
two roof-watchers similarly on his side.
"We'll stick to this sharpshooting stunt," Lieutenant Trent called
in Darrin's ear, over the crackling of the rifles, "until we get
a few of the Mexicans ahead. Then we'll rush their position and
try to drive them from it. The only way-----"
That was as far as Lieutenant Trent got, for Dave, making a sudden
leap at his superior, seized him by the collar, jerking him backward
a few feet and landing him on his back.
"What the-----" sputtered Lieutenant Trent. That was as far as
he got, for there was a crash, the sidewalk shook, and then Darrin
quickly pulled his superior to his feet.
The report of Hemingway's rifle was not heard, but a tiny cloud
of thin vapor curled from the muzzle of his uplifted weapon.
"I think I got one of the pair, sir!" called the sailor, gleefully.
"He threw up his hands and pitched backward out of sight."
Lieutenant Trent looked at the sidewalk astounded, for, where
he had stood hay the broken pieces of a cookstove that had been
hurled from the roof two stories above.
"That mass of iron fell right where I was standing," muttered Trent.
"Darrin, I wondered why on earth you should jerk me back and
lay me out in that unceremonious fashion. If you hadn't done
it the cookstove would have crushed my bones to powder."
"It shows the temper of the kind of people we're fighting," muttered
Darrin, compressing his lips tightly. "We'll soon have the whole
city full trying to wipe us out!"
"We may as well rush that building ahead," muttered the lieutenant.
"I'd rather have my men killed in open fighting than demolished
by all the heavy hardware on these two blocks."
Raising his voice, Trent ordered:
"Cease firing! Load magazines and hold your fire. We're going
to charge!"
From the sailormen a half-suppressed cheer arose. Hand-to-hand
fighting was much more to their liking than tedious sharpshooting.
"Keep close to the building on either side of the street!" Lieutenant
Trent ordered. "No man is to run in the middle of the road and
make an unnecessary target of himself. Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell
will run behind their men, to see that no man exposes himself
uselessly."
"Fall in! Ready to charge. In single file---charge!"
Heading the line on Darrin's side of the street, Trent dashed
around the corner, leading his sailormen at a run.
Dalzell's men rushed into the fray at the same moment, Dave amid
Dan, as ordered, bringing up the rear of the two files.
On the instant that the two lines of charging, cheering sailormen
came into sight, the Mexicans on the roof-top redoubled their
fire. It is difficult, however, to fire with accuracy at men
who are running close to the buildings. Either the bullet falls
short, or else goes wide of its mark and hits a wall behind the
line. So Lieutenant Trent's men dashed down the street for a
short distance, and pausing in the shelter of a building cheered
jubilantly.
Now the Mexican soldiers above no longer had the advantage. Whenever
one of their number showed his head over the edge of the roof
he became a handy target for the jackies below.
Heavy shutters covered the windows on the ground floor of the
building. The heavy wooden door was tightly locked.
"Ensign Darrin," sounded Trent's voice, "take enough men and batter
that door down."
It took a combined rush to effect that. Several times Dave led his
seamen against that barrier. Under repeated assaults it gave way.
"Through the house and to the roof!" shouted Trent. "We'll wind
up the snipers!"
What a yell went up from two score of throats as the sailormen
piled after their officers and thronged the stairs!
It was a free-for-all race to the top of the second flight of
stairs. Over the skylight opening lay a wooden covering tightly
secured in place.
"Come on, my hearties! Smash it!" yelled Trent, heaving his own
broad shoulders against the obstruction.
After the skylight cover was smashed the Mexican soldiers would
once more have the advantage. Only a man at a time could reach
the roof. It ought not to be difficult for the defenders to pick
off a Navy man at a time as the Americans sprang up.
At last the covering gave way.
"Pile up, all hands, as rapidly as you can come!" yelled Lieutenant
Trent. "Officers first!"
"Officers first!" echoed Dave and Dan in a breath, all the military
longing in their hearts leaping to the surface.
Then up they went, into the jaws of massacre!