LAZAR’S CUNNING
The next few moments were ones long to be remembered. The daring
torpedo-boat was making a desperate attempt to sink the “Aquadores,”
which stood between herself and safety. Her small dark hull stood out
as bright as day under the search-light beams. Hundred pound missiles
from her huge enemy were churning the water to foam about her; one
lucky hit and she would be no more.
With heart beating tumultuously and breath abated, Phil saw a group of
sailors at her forward torpedo-tube. Spellbound, fascinated as one who
gazes into the green spark-like eyes of the cobra, he could not take
his eyes from the ominous sight. The tube moved slowly around; those
moving it were apparently careless of the thunderbolts striking so near
them. Two of the men stepped back quickly, one remained at the tube.
The torpedo-boat was within short torpedo range of her enemy.
A flash of fire from her miniature bow; then a great geyser of water
shot high in the air from under her forefoot. At last a shell had
reached her. Her bow sank as she drove forward, until she was half
submerged. Then, all in a moment it seemed, her stern lifted in the
air, and the last of the rebel navy took a graceful dive to the bottom
of the ocean.
The incident came so suddenly that but few on board the “Aquadores”
could grasp the meaning of what had happened. The search-lights showed
a seething sea where the enemy had but a second before been visible.
The gunners of the “Aquadores” could see nothing through the sights;
the discharges ceased suddenly. The crew gazed about them in fear that
some new and more dangerous peril was at hand.
“It was her torpedo,” Phil cried in joyful relief. “She fired it,
and as it struck the water a six-inch shell must have hit the high
explosive head. It’s all over.”
“Cease firing,” cried O’Neil as he saw some of the gunners were about
to reopen fire. Phil’s words had been in English and had conveyed no
intelligence to the anxious sailors. “She’s gone to the bottom, now.”
Captain Garcia stood overcome with conflicting emotions. After his
first wild joy had died away his thoughts dwelt upon the fate of the
brave men who had a moment before with splendid courage aimed a deadly
blow at his vessel.
The “Aquadores” was brought to rest amid the whirling eddies, the
aftermath of the explosion of hundreds of pounds of gun-cotton; but
there was not a living shape on the surface of the sea: all had
perished gallantly and their torpedo-boat had furnished their bodies a
fitting sepulchre.
Four days brought the cruiser in sight of La Boca. To the three
Americans on her bridge, straining to catch the first glimpse of their
ship, it seemed an age since the day on which they had set out so
cheerfully to seek information within the rebel lines. The experiences
of the past ten days were like a bad dream from which they were fast
awakening.
Rounding the headland the harbor burst into view with its fleet of
vessels anchored therein.
“The whole battle-ship squadron is there,” exclaimed Phil in amazement.
“What does it mean?”
There was no reply. Captain Garcia’s face showed that he too was
surprised.
“There can be but one explanation,” he answered; “your government fears
the intervention of some foreign power. That array of fighters would
deter any open act.”
The “Aquadores” and the captured “Barcelo” steamed in between the
sentinel forts at the entrance and then between the lines of the
American war vessels.
Cheer after cheer arose from the mighty ships as the battle-scarred
veterans steamed swiftly past.
The lads’ nerves tingled and Captain Garcia’s eyes filled with tears.
He was touched beyond words at this enthusiastic greeting.
As soon as the “Aquadores” was anchored the Americans were ready to
leave the ship on board which they had been through so many thrilling
scenes.
“I am sorry to part,” Captain Garcia declared with genuine grief. “You
have all endeared yourselves to me in many ways.”
They expressed their thanks to the gallant captain and as they passed
through the motley crew the men broke out in excited cheers for “los
Americanos.” O’Neil was surrounded by an admiring crowd, all shouting
enthusiastically; they hugged him and cried over him and would have
forcibly detained him on board. O’Neil stood it like a stoic.
“Them dagos are like a lot of women at a wedding,” the boatswain’s mate
declared disgustedly, when they had left the ship and were being rowed
across the water to the “Connecticut.” “You’d thought I was the bride,
the way they embraced me.”
“I am glad we can talk our own tongue once more,” remarked Phil. “It
seems so long since I used it that I’ll be talking Spanish to everybody
I meet; I have the habit.”
A steam launch flying the American flag passed close by the Americans
in their boat flying the Verazala flag at the stern. An officer wearing
the uniform of an ensign saluted promptly.
“That’s the last salute we’ll get from an ensign for some years,”
chuckled Sydney as they returned the salute. “Wouldn’t that fellow feel
cheap if he knew we were only midshipmen.”
“I had quite forgotten how we are dressed,” Phil laughed, “but it was
these or nothing.”
A few moments afterward, they climbed the high gangway ladder and
passed through two lines of saluting sailors. The officer of the deck
of the “Connecticut,” a lieutenant, stood civilly by to receive the
foreign officers.
“Why, it’s Mr. Perry,” he gasped, wringing the lad’s hand gladly.
“Whatever are you doing in those togs? We had given all three of you
up for dead,” he added. “The admiral and Captain Taylor will be mighty
glad to see you. We are flag-ship now.”
The lads descended to their room, while O’Neil was escorted forward by
a worshiping crowd of shipmates.
The boys discarded their foreign uniforms and donning their simple
midshipman’s clothes were ready to report their return to their
commanding officer.
In a few minutes they entered the cabin. Captain Taylor’s face was
smiling with joy as he, almost embracing the midshipmen, introduced
them to the commander-in-chief, Admiral Spotts. The boys were abashed
in the presence of such an important personage.
“Gentlemen, this is indeed a happy moment,” Captain Taylor exclaimed.
“Before the cruisers were sighted entering the harbor we were about to
cable to the Navy Department the news of your deaths.”
“Our deaths, sir!” cried both lads aghast.
“Yes,” Captain Taylor explained. “We heard four days ago that the
‘Aquadores’ had been sunk with all on board. The leader of the
rebellion, General Ruiz, gave out the news as received by cable from
Rio Grande. We have tried to catch you by wireless but not receiving
any answer to our call, we feared the news was authentic. He also
issued an ultimatum that La Boca would be blockaded--Admiral Spotts
with his squadron was ordered here from the West Indies and arrived but
an hour ago.”
“‘Aquadores’ sunk!” exclaimed Phil. “Why should he give such
information?”
“What did happen? Tell us,” questioned the admiral eagerly.
“The ‘Aquadores’ sunk the ‘Soledad’ and torpedo-boat and captured
the ‘Barcelo,’” Phil replied proudly, then he described all that had
happened since they had left the “Connecticut.”
The two officers listened in silence at the lad’s story, told simply
and modestly. He bestowed unstinted praise on his two companions,
barely mentioning the important part that he himself had played, which
brought from Sydney an unselfish protest.
“Mr. Perry, sir, was everything to us,” Sydney interrupted, his face
flushed with joy at his companion’s praises for him.
When Phil had told of the part they had taken in the sea fights, the
admiral could contain himself no longer; he felt his boyhood blood once
more flowing through his veins; he had in his youth taken part in many
a fight during the long Civil War.
“Our only excuse,” Phil ended contritely, “is that we acted in
self-defense.”
The admiral chuckled gleefully.
“Self-defense,” he laughed. “You young rascals, you did it for the
love of fighting. Now own up to it! If you had done otherwise I’d have
had you all court-martialed.” He lowered his voice. “You have done a
great service to your country; when the news of the sinking of the
‘Aquadores’ reached Europe, three countries there acknowledged the
rebels as belligerents, which gave General Ruiz the temerity to declare
the blockade. If this is established our country’s commercial interests
will suffer to the extent of many millions of dollars a day. My orders
are if the rebel war-ships attempt to stop our merchantmen from
entering or leaving this port to put an end to the blockade by force,
and you see I have the force,” he added smiling. “But why did you not
send us a wireless instead of keeping us in this suspense?”
“We couldn’t, sir,” Phil explained; “our wireless was totally wrecked
in the first engagement.”
The lads were indeed happy. Instead of being punished for their acts,
the admiral was praising them. They dared not look at each other; they
feared they would shout out with excess of joy.
“For the present of course everything must be kept secret,” the admiral
cautioned, rising to depart, “but bear in mind, I shall not forget your
valuable services.”
He nodded to the captain and smiled at the joyous lads; then passed
into his own cabin, leaving the midshipmen alone with Captain Taylor.
Phil asked the question which had been trembling on his lips during all
the time the admiral was talking:
“Where are the arms, sir?”
“They are safe in the legation,” the captain replied gladly; “you were
grossly misinformed by that scoundrel Juarez. As soon as your cipher
message was translated, I took Mr. Penfield with me and we went ashore
to the legation. We saw Mr. Lazar and showed him your message. He took
us immediately to the cellar of the minister’s residence and pointed
out the boxes, all intact; he opened for us the box which you had half
opened on the launch the night of the capture; the arms were in plain
view. It was but a plot of the rebels to make you betray the arms to
them.”
“Where are the rebel lines?” Phil asked, unconvinced; “have they
approached nearer to the city?”
“Yes,” Captain Taylor answered, “the two armies are now intrenched with
but a scant one thousand yards between them. General Ruiz threatens to
assault the city momentarily. We believed he was awaiting his war-ships
to shell the government forces from inside the harbor; but your story
disproves that conjecture unless he himself has been misled.”
The lads soon left the cabin and went into their own mess room. Their
return was hailed with enthusiasm, but neither had ears for praise;
there was still work in hand.
“What do you think, Syd,” asked Phil, on reaching the quiet of their
room, “are the arms in the legation?”
“The captain says he saw them,” replied Sydney thoughtfully. “How could
he be mistaken?”
“It surely seems very strange,” declared the other, “why both Juarez
and General Ruiz should tell us they were not in the legation but safe
in the city ready to be brought into the rebel lines. Ruiz thought
himself safe in telling us this for he had no idea we could escape. It
was purely providential that the ‘Aquadores’ came along. Even if he
hadn’t shot us, he surely would have kept us close prisoners. We knew
too much to be set free.”
The next morning the lads went to see Captain Taylor. They had thought
the matter over during the evening and had lain awake thinking about it
a good part of the night; they were no nearer a solution of the vexing
problem.
Captain Taylor received them with his usual kindness.
“Captain,” Phil commenced as spokesman, “please do not believe us
incredulous always, but the idea that the guns are elsewhere than in
the legation has taken such a hold on us that we have come to ask you
to take us to the legation with you this morning.”
Captain Taylor looked puzzled. He realized the lads were in deadly
earnest.
“Bless me!” he exclaimed. “If it will ease your minds, of course I
shall take you.”
He ordered his boat and the boys found themselves shortly climbing
Legation Hill on the way to the residence of the American minister.
“I feel sure,” spoke Captain Taylor while they climbed the steep
streets, “that your doubts will soon be set at rest. Mr. Lazar is a
careful officer; he has shown me how he has placed his guards and it
seems impossible that the arms could be taken without detection. The
guns, I explained before, are in the cellar. There is but one exit, a
stairway leading up to the ground floor. At the top of the stairs is
a door and there two sentinels are posted night and day. Machinist’s
Mate Craig, the man who was wounded in your expedition, sleeps on a cot
in the cellar within reach of the boxes. So you see how well they have
been guarded? The full force of the guard are encamped on the grounds
of the legation and are ready for instant call.”
Phil and Sydney exchanged knowing glances. Craig--Lazar’s tool! The
arms were surely not in the legation!
Lazar met them at the gate and saluted the captain. He bowed to the
lads in mock courtesy.
“I am delighted,” he said, “to see you are safe.” He did not offer his
hand. He doubtless knew it would be ignored by the midshipmen.
“Mr. Lazar,” Captain Taylor began merrily, “Mr. Perry and Mr. Monroe
wish to be convinced that we still hold the guns securely, so I have
brought them to feast their eyes on their captured arms.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Lazar smartly, leading the way into the
legation.
The boys were welcomed by both Marshall and Morrison, who would have
plied them with many anxious questions, but the lads were too impatient
to see the boxes in the cellar of the legation.
The minister received the captain cordially. The latter explained his
mission.
“When you have had a look below there,” the minister said, “I would
like to see you in the office. I have news that may interest you.”
Reaching the cellar the lads saw Craig, looking pale and haggard,
standing beside the boxes. He gave them a quick glance in which Phil
thought he read terror. He had seen that same look on many human faces
in the last few weeks.
Lazar picked up a hatchet and bared the contents of a box.
The lads peered in. There were the Colt guns: two barrels, two tripods
and the accessory boxes.
Phil glanced up and caught Lazar’s eye. The latter smiled confidently.
“Are you satisfied?” he asked, a sneer in his voice.
Phil reached for the hatchet, but Lazar ignored the motion and stepping
away stood beside Captain Taylor.
“That man of yours, Lazar,” said the latter in a low voice, “should not
be made to sleep in this damp hole any longer. He seems to show the
effects greatly. I believe I shall order him back to the ship. You can
pick out another reliable man to take his place and change them often.”
“I shall relieve him immediately, sir, but, with your permission, I
would like to retain him with me. He is a valuable man to me.”
“Have it your own way,” the captain agreed, “but don’t let him sleep
there any longer; he appears a sick man.”
Phil watched Captain Taylor and Lazar move slowly up the steps. The
former threw an inquiring glance over his shoulder at the lads standing
determinedly in the cellar. The officers disappeared and the midshipmen
heard their footsteps enter the minister’s office above.
Phil turned a glance full of pity on Craig. The sailorman shook as if
with ague.
“Are you ill?” asked Phil in sympathy.
“Yes, sir. I don’t want to stay here any longer,” the miserable man
pleaded. “Can’t you, sir, get me back on board ship?”
Phil noticed the unhealthy pallor on the man’s cheeks.
“Have you a cough?” he asked.
“Only lately, sir, but it seems to get worse,” he answered.
Sydney had been rummaging about in the cellar; he now appeared with a
piece of bar steel pointed on the end.
“Let’s open another box, Phil,” he suggested.
After a few minutes the cover of a box was pried open. The lads gave a
gasp of surprise. It contained only rocks. Another and another lid was
forced, until the last box was opened to the light. Not one contained
arms but were piled to the top with rocks; only the one examined by
Lazar held arms.
Craig was stupefied with terror.
“If you wish to save yourself,” Phil whispered, turning upon the
frightened sailor, “tell us where the guns have been taken. We know you
have been forced to do this work.”
The man’s knees shook and his voice failed him.
“He’ll kill me if I tell,” he whined pitifully.
“No, he won’t,” Phil hastily assured him. “We shall tell him nothing.
We promise.”
“They were taken through this underground passageway to the next
house,” Craig replied in a terrified whisper, showing the cleverly
concealed opening to a secret tunnel underneath the cellar floor; “they
are now in Mr. Juarez’s house at La Mesa. I overheard the order given
to hide them there.”
The lads had discovered quite enough. They ascended the steps and
walked excitedly to the minister’s office.
[Illustration: _“YOU SEIZED ONLY A CARGO OF ROCKS”_]
Captain Taylor at once noticed the agitation on their faces.
“What’s the matter?” he inquired in alarm.
“Please come with us, sir,” Phil begged in as calm a voice as he could
muster.
The captain and Lazar followed the midshipmen back to the cellar.
A cry of surprise escaped from Captain Taylor when he saw the contents
of the remaining boxes.
Lazar’s face was a study. A cynical smile curled his mouth. His manner
was calm. He held himself perfectly under control.
“I fear the rebels were too cunning for you, Mr. Perry,” he said
casting a look, full of hatred, at the midshipman. “You thought you had
arms, but you seized only a cargo of rocks.”
“But the one box,” exclaimed Captain Taylor.
“Only a clever ruse, I presume,” Lazar explained promptly; “that one
was placed on the launch in just such a manner as a card trickster
forces on you a card from his pack. It was the logical one to open. The
remaining arms are probably by now in the hands of the insurgents.”
Both lads gasped at the scoundrel’s deceit, and hot words came in their
thoughts, but their promise to Craig held them unspoken.