THE DEFENSE
The lads dared not move. Even their breathing might attract the
attention of their enemies, ready to open fire at the first sound;
their number they could but conjecture; O’Neil had not been overpowered
by only one man, they felt sure.
Down on their hands and knees in darkness so intense that they could
not see an inch before their eyes they waited, with bated breath, for
they knew not what.
Suddenly a noise in front of them awakened their failing hopes. A faint
glimmer of light, only enough to penetrate the inky veil of night,
came through an opening beyond the fallen door. An excited whisper in
Spanish caught their ears.
“The houses are surrounded by those miserable soldiers; they haven’t
the courage to attack us themselves, but these meddling Americans fear
nothing.”
“They seem to fear something, judging by their hasty retreat just now
in face of my revolver,” another voice replied in a louder tone. “We
have cut the claws of one of them at least and if the Americans return
down the tunnel they’ll find us prepared to give them a hot reception.”
Phil’s heart leaped to his throat; it was the voice of Colonel Juarez.
How badly had O’Neil been injured? This man was quite capable of making
away with him entirely if it would serve his ends.
“You must not stay here,” the first speaker declared; “you should go at
once to General Ruiz’s lines and tell him how I am situated. He must
attack immediately; if he delays the arms may fall into our enemy’s
hands through the aid of these Americans.”
“How can I escape capture?” Juarez asked; “even if I could avoid
the soldiers, I could not pass through the government lines without
challenge; if it were night it might be possible, but by sunset the
attack will have begun.”
“It is now but two o’clock,” urged the other, “and if I am captured
here I shall be killed. The president would have me shot immediately
as a traitor.”
“You could readily explain your mission here,” replied Juarez’s voice,
“you, who have been so loyal to the government cause.”
“It would be impossible,” said the first speaker, anxiously; “if the
arms are found here and afterward the plan of battle shows that Ruiz
massed his attacking column on this hill when I have informed the
American minister that Tortuga Hill was the real objective, you see how
black a case they would have against me. One small seed of suspicion
sown at this time and I am lost.”
“But the president doesn’t know that you gave this information to the
minister,” retorted Juarez.
“But,” said the other voice promptly, “the minister would be quick to
clear himself by informing on me. The arms must not be taken. You must
go at once.”
“So I must risk my life to save yours; is that it?” questioned Juarez
bitterly.
“You are in my pay; why shouldn’t you take this risk? If I lose, the
money for your work can never be paid.”
There was silence for some minutes. Phil had almost made up his mind to
crawl back down the tunnel, but he realized instantly that the noise
they could not avoid making would draw their enemies’ fire and defeat
his design of getting the soldiers to again enter the tunnel and charge
room beyond.
His better course was to remain where he was. If they attacked they
might injure their companion who was there with these two scheming
villains.
The first speaker’s voice sounded again after the pause.
“I came here in my automobile. Can you run it?”
“Yes,” answered Juarez promptly.
“My chauffeur is awaiting me at the foot of La Mesa near Sanchez’s
Villa,” continued the other. “If you could reach the car you could run
the guards on the El Poso road. Just before you get to the outpost slow
the machine as if you were stopping; then throw in the high gear and
advance the spark to the limit. The soldiers will be too astonished to
hit you even if they fire, and you will be in safety before they can
fire more than one shot each.”
“Where is Pedro?” asked Juarez. “You and he must remain here and guard
the arms. As long as you fire down the tunnel the soldiers will be
afraid to enter the cellar. The American midshipmen will urge them to
return, but your shots will prevent their courage from returning into
their yellow hearts. I am sick of these natives; they must be driven
like sheep. The more I see of their valor the more I am convinced that
the city is ours if we can gain and mount these machine guns.”
“Pedro and I shall remain here,” the other answered; “he is not badly
wounded; it is but a flesh wound on the arm. He is now above in the
other house watching the soldiers from one of the windows.”
“Help me with this American pig,” Juarez’s voice said cruelly. “I’ll
put on his uniform, and if I am fortunate enough not to meet one of the
Americans I can deceive the soldiers; they do not know me.”
The lads heard O’Neil’s unresisting body dragged about and knew that
Juarez was divesting the sailor of his uniform.
“I’d like to finish him,” said Juarez savagely, but the other objected.
“No, don’t waste your time on him, every second is precious; they may
return any moment. He’s thoroughly stunned, and I can take care of him
if he comes to.”
As the speaker’s voice was stilled, the lads heard footsteps. The faint
light died into blackness. They were glad to know that O’Neil was not
seriously hurt, but the thought that Juarez might escape and hasten
the attack before the machine guns could be rescued stirred them to
the highest pitch of anxiety. They listened intently, but could hear
nothing save the beating of their own hearts. Undoubtedly Juarez had
gone, but the other man was surely there on guard, and soon the man
called Pedro would join him.
Phil dared not speak; he felt immediate action was needed. Suddenly an
inspiration came to him. He slowly and cautiously moved his hand toward
where he knew his companion must be, until it rested over Sydney’s
fingers. Then pressing firmly as if his friend’s hand were a telegraph
key, he signaled the one word in the naval code:
“Forward.”
His companion understood and answered by a steady pressure of the
hand, then followed Phil slowly and painfully over the fallen door.
They dared not breathe; they must now be within arm’s length of their
enemy. Sydney’s hand touched Phil. The shock of his cold touch made the
overwrought lad spring to his feet, pointing his revolver menacingly. A
second and the situation was grasped. They were alone in the tunnel.
“We must get O’Neil and hurry. The men may return any moment and we
must avoid a fight,” whispered Phil.
By the sound of the sailor’s breathing they located his prostrate body.
They lifted him carefully and picked their way back over the fallen
door. They reached the opening in the cellar, thankful at saving their
shipmate from the hands of these men, who would have killed him without
pity if it served their ends.
“Go up first, Syd,” commanded Phil. Sydney hesitated, casting an
apprehensive glance down the dark tunnel. If the men came back they
could see Phil by the light from the opening above.
“Stand back,” Sydney urged, “until I am ready to help you up.”
Sydney ascended quickly. Phil made the rope fast around the body of the
unconscious man, and Sydney slowly hauled O’Neil to safety.
Phil was alone in the blackness of the cellar. He strove against the
fear of an unknown danger. It seemed an age before the rope was free
and came swiftly back to him.
In but a moment they emerged from the house with their burden into the
warm sunshine.
“Where are the soldiers?” questioned Sydney anxiously. They placed the
unconscious sailor on the soft earth and looked quickly about them.
There was not a soldier in sight.
“Some of Juarez’s work, you can be sure of that,” replied Phil
uneasily. “He took a desperate risk impersonating O’Neil, and probably
told the soldiers they were no longer needed, and the lieutenant was
glad enough to get back to the security of his camp.”
“I wish we had a half a dozen of our own men,” Sydney declared; “we’d
have those guns safely out of that cellar in a jiffy.”
Phil dropped down on his knees beside the prostrate sailor.
“See,” he cried pointing to an ugly lump on his head, “they stunned him
by a blow on the head. If we could get a doctor we’d soon have him back
to his senses.”
Sydney had walked over to the brow of the hill and peered below at the
soldiers’ camp. He rushed back and caught Phil’s arm.
“See, Phil, there he goes toward that group of trees. He will reach
the automobile and once in it he can run the government lines. Ruiz
will attack immediately and the guns will fall into his hands without a
struggle. How can we stop him?”
Phil had been too engrossed with the injuries to O’Neil to think
about the consequences of Juarez’s escape. The ominous meaning in his
companion’s words brought him back with a start to their dangerous
position.
Casting an anxious glance at the unfortunate sailor he started down the
hill, then compassion for O’Neil made him return quickly to his side.
“We must not abandon him here,” he cried. “Go, Syd, quick. You must
get down there and prevent Juarez’s escape.”
Sydney needed no further urging and Phil saw him dart down the hill,
but he also saw the white figure of Juarez hastening toward the waiting
automobile.
Phil raised the stalwart form of O’Neil to his shoulder and carried
him slowly down the hill. His burden was great, but he bore it easily;
thanks to his athletic training. Sydney was now almost among the
soldiers; he saw them turn toward the approaching midshipman, then go
scurrying away after the figure in O’Neil’s uniform.
Phil put forth his young strength and redoubled his speed; a cry of
despair escaped him. A dark shape darted out of the grove of trees and
sped away along the road, leaving a thick cloud of dust behind it.
“The automobile. Shoot!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. Yet he knew
his voice could not be heard by the pursuing soldiers. He fairly ran
down the hill with the sailor’s body securely on his shoulders. The
sharp crack of rifle shots came up to him from below. The firing spread
along the lines of the defending army, but the lad saw with bitterness
that Juarez would not be stopped; the machine was running at top speed
down the military road straight for the outpost at El Poso.
Reaching the camp Phil laid his burden on the soft grass. He was
breathless with his great exertions of the last few minutes. His lungs
seemed unable to get enough air.
The soldiers were returning from their futile chase after Juarez.
“Quick, a doctor,” Phil ordered, his voice betraying his great anxiety.
La Mesa and the arms now would surely be captured, and Ruiz would take
the city.
“A medico, señor?” questioned an officer, eying the prostrate figure on
the grass. Phil caught him roughly by the arm.
“Are you a doctor?” he cried excitedly. “This man has been stunned by a
blow in the head. Can you bring him to?”
“I have no time to attend to the wounded of the enemy,” the doctor
replied, shaking him off.
“He is not an enemy,” Phil cried, tearing off the insurgent coat of
Juarez from the scantily clad sailor; “he is an American, one of my
companions. We need his services badly,” the lad begged, throwing a
glance up toward La Mesa.
“An American,” the doctor exclaimed in genuine surprise, bending at
once over the senseless body. He then stood up and called for his
assistants and together they carried him inside the hospital tent near
by.
Phil, relieved of his charge, looked anxiously about for the
lieutenant. He saw him returning with Sydney from their race after the
automobile.
“Come quick, Syd, we want all these soldiers,” he shouted, turning back
up the hill. The lieutenant waved his hand and gave rapid orders to his
men.
Side by side the midshipmen raced back up the steep slope of La Mesa.
Once at the top they stopped and waited impatiently for the soldiers.
“Have you told him of the machine guns?” Phil questioned his companion
breathlessly.
Sydney nodded his head in the affirmative.
“Yes, he has orders to go immediately to Tortuga Hill with his
company, but he wished to see the arms first.”
They were soon in the house peering down into the dark cellar. The lads
knew that at least two of their enemy were guarding the tunnel and
would open fire at the first man who descended the rope.
Sydney would have pushed his companion aside but Phil anticipated him
and grasping the rope firmly he slid down until his feet struck the
earth floor.
A fusillade of shots came from the guarding enemy; he felt the rush of
air from a bullet that grazed his cheek. He jumped backward hastily
against the wall and glanced anxiously up at his companions. Sydney was
descending rapidly and was soon by his side. Another volley came from
down the tunnel.
“Come down,” Phil urged the hesitating soldiers; “don’t desert us, the
arms are here, see!” He grasped a gun from under the canvas cover and
dragged it out until the light from above disclosed its character to
the wavering men above.
The enemy in the tunnel opened a rapid fire; the soldiers ready to
descend drew back in fear. In desperation Phil drew his revolver and
faced squarely down the dark tunnel; six shots from his Colt rang out.
“We are coming, señor,” the lieutenant cried, forcing some of his men
before him down the rope and following them quickly, while the lads
silenced the fire of the enemy with their revolvers.
The soldiers once in the cellar opened fire with their rifles down the
tunnel.
“The guns, now,” cried Phil; “two soldiers must keep up the fire,” he
directed turning to the lieutenant.
The canvas cover was removed and a great store of ordnance material was
revealed to the astonished eyes of the lieutenant and his men.
They needed no further urging, but with willing hands carried the
machine guns from the end of the cellar to the hole in the floor above;
the lads quickly knotted the rope about their steel barrels and thirty
guns were soon safely landed on the floor of the hallway of the house.
Then the ammunition, box after box, each containing six hundred
rounds, was brought out by the men and passed up to their companions
above.
This task completed, the lads, ordering the soldiers up the rope, fired
a few parting shots down the tunnel.
“We must watch for the other man,” Phil said, turning to Sydney as they
emerged from the house. “We know now that he is the member of the firm
of La Fitte and Company who has been financiering this revolution;
and that it was he who confided the supposed plan of attack to our
minister; if we can lay hands on him the end of the rebellion will be
in sight.”
The astonishment on the soldiers’ faces upon seeing the machine guns
which their ten companions had passed out to them from the house
was almost ludicrous, but our lads could give no thought now to the
drollness of the situation. Juarez had undoubtedly reached the rebel
lines in safety; by now orders were being sent from Ruiz’s headquarters
to attack immediately instead of waiting for sunset. The government,
acting upon the information from the minister, given in good faith, had
strengthened Tortuga Hill to the disadvantage of all other points of
the defense. La Mesa was almost deserted. Before the lads’ bewildered
eyes a mounted aide rode at full gallop up to the battery on the hill
above them, shouting hurried orders. They saw the battery limber up and
charge down the slope, disappearing along the military road below them.
“Syd, you must intercept that horseman,” Phil cried pointing to
the solitary figure but a scant five hundred yards from them. “He
has ordered that battery away; he must be told the seriousness of
abandoning this hill.”
Sydney bounded away in pursuit. The aide walked his horse down the
slope, away from La Mesa, surveying the scene about him. He stopped and
cast an enquiring glance at those on the hill. Catching sight of the
approaching midshipman he wheeled about to meet him. A moment later he
had dismounted at Phil’s side and with eyes full of astonishment saw
the machine guns and the great store of ammunition.
Phil explained in a breath. The aide’s swarthy face betrayed his fear
for the results of the expected assault.
“You say the rebels will attack at once,” he cried after the lad had
finished his story; “then this hill is lost. It will take an hour to
get sufficient force here to hold it.”
“We can hold it ourselves, if these men will remain,” Phil declared
stoutly. “But the lieutenant has orders to leave us.”
“I don’t understand,” exclaimed the aide incredulously; “how can you
expect to hold this hill with but a company of soldiers? You have just
said that General Ruiz will concentrate his entire force here to obtain
these guns. We must retreat carrying these guns with us.”
He opened his mouth to give the order, but Phil raised his hand
desperately to be heard.
“That would be unwise,” he cried earnestly. “My companion and I can
mount these guns. We have ammunition here in abundance. These thirty
guns can hold La Mesa against the rebel army.”
The aide’s face was a study. He knew nothing about machine guns; and
like all ignorant men he believed the Americans were deceiving him.
Phil thought quickly. If they retreated carrying the guns with them,
the government forces would be reënforced by their addition but the
rebel army was a match for them even with this powerful acquisition.
If they could mount the guns and allow the rebel army to assault La
Mesa in ignorance of what was awaiting them on the top, the rebel
forces would receive a check which would be a terrible blow to their
cause; the murderous stream of lead would strike terror to the simple
unsuspecting hearts of their soldiers. If he could but show the aide
how important it was to his cause to retain these men and hold the hill!
Motioning Sydney, Phil bent over a gun, raising it quickly to its
tripod; adjusted the firing mechanism deftly and wiped off the heavy
coating of preservative grease from its intricate working parts.
Sydney was busy at a second gun. Phil stripped the cover from a box
of ammunition. His heart beat joyfully. It was already loaded in the
belts ready to be run through the automatic mechanism of the Colt gun’s
breech. He held up a long string of cartridges closely laid within the
“feed-tape.” He took the end and with skilful fingers fed the first
cartridge to the steel maw of the gun; a string of others trailed away
along the tape to the box beneath the breech of the gun.
“This gun is ready for action,” he cried, turning anxiously to the
surprised and delighted aide. “This is worth a whole company of
soldiers and there are thirty more waiting to be made ready.”
“Stay with these guns,” the aide ordered as he precipitously dashed
away. “I shall send reënforcements.”
The lads worked with trembling fingers. Their anxiety nearly stifled
them. The attack might begin at any moment. They knew that their
soldier allies could not be depended upon if the attack began before
the guns were ready.
They had just raised the last gun to its tripod when the silence was
disturbed by a sullen boom of warning from Tortuga Hill: the rebels
were advancing.