The chart showed Santa Anna to be a harbor not unlike in formation that
of Boca del Sierras. Instead of the town lying on a flat, however, it
actually climbed up the sides of the steep range which sloped down
to the water’s edge. Geographers have termed Costaveza a country set
on edge. On no part of it was this characteristic more marked than
at Santa Anna. But this feature interested the two persons in the
captain’s cabin of the _General Barrill_ less than certain red-inked
portions of the coast line, marked “Forts.” These forts, the captain
informed Midshipman Stark, were built in the rock above Santa Anna, and
rendered the place practically impregnable from the sea.
“Then how are we to get in after the insurgent ships?” asked Stark,
who had been informed that the captured vessels were lying inside the
landlocked harbor, under the very guns of the forts, awaiting word to
set out for Boca del Sierras. This, of course, would not be till the
two armies had effected a juncture.
As the young officer asked the question, the captain smiled somewhat
grimly.
“They will come out to us,” was his reply.
“Come out to us!” The boy’s voice held a note of astonishment, as well
it might.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he went on, “but did I understand you
correctly?”
“Perfectly, my boy. The _General Barrill_ is capable of twenty-five
knots. The fastest of the vessels lying in that harbor is the _Manueal
Calvo_. She can make, under forced draught, about eighteen knots. The
_Bolivar_ and the _Migueal de Barros_ are rebuilt steam yachts, and can
almost come up to this pace, but I don’t imagine that they’ll want to
burn coal at that rate unless they have to.”
The midshipman looked puzzled.
“I see that you have some plan, sir, but for the life of me I cannot
comprehend it.”
“Well,” smiled the South American seaman, “you have seen in your
country a retriever follow and make desperate efforts to capture a lame
duck?”
“Why, yes, but I don’t see----”
“The _General Barrill_ will be a lame duck,” said the veteran, with one
of his grim smiles. “It is the only way we can draw the vessels lying
in that harbor from under the protection of those guns of the forts.”
“I see, sir,” cried the midshipman, in a burst of comprehension. “You
mean to play ’possum and drag them out to sea, and then pick their
bones at your leisure.”
“Well, I don’t know about the latter part of it. But I am pretty
certain we can lure them out. But recollect, young man, that it will
be no child’s play. The _Manueal Calvo_, the flagship, mounts three
six-inch guns and a secondary battery of rapid fires. The other two
carry bow-chasers and stern guns of the same caliber, besides a battery
of small rapid-fire rifles.”
“Phew!” whistled the middy. “Your country had money to spend on
armament, sir.”
“I was minister of the marine for a time,” rejoined the other, with a
mild sort of pride beaming on his weather-beaten countenance. “I saw
to it that we were as well equipped as possible. Little did I dream,
however, that one day my own guns would be turned against me.”
He sank his grizzled head in his hands, his impressible Latin
temperament overcome for a moment at the bitterness of his thoughts. To
create a diversion the middy struck in with another question.
“Have they torpedoes, sir?”
“Only the _Bolivar_. She is, in fact, a semi-torpedo boat. The others
were being equipped with tubes when the revolution broke out, and the
crews mutinied.”
“The _Bolivar_, then, is the only one that can plump a Whitehead at us?”
“That’s it, but she carries a good supply.”
“And so do we, don’t we?”
“I am sorry to say not. The last shipment of Whiteheads from your
country was delayed. We have on board now not more than four.”
“Hum, that’s bad,” mused the middy. “However, captain, we have a
first-rate armament, and I guess we’ll be able to give a good account
of ourselves.”
“I sincerely hope so,” rejoined the other, with a dubious intonation
that, in spite of his courage, made cold chills run down the middy’s
spine, “but it is three against one----”
“Lame duck!” laughed Stark, throwing off his nervousness with an
effort. “Do you intend to put your strategy into effect at once?”
“No, I think the best plan would be to cruise off here for a time.
There is always a chance that they may send out one of the vessels
alone to reconnoiter. In that case we could cut her off and have her at
our mercy.”
“That is right,” agreed Stark, “but there is one serious objection.”
“And that is?”
“They are likely to see us from the shore and report our presence along
the coast. That might precipitate a night attack or some sort of
sortie that might put us in an awkward hole.”
“By the great bells of Sevilla, you are right. What do you suggest? You
see, already I am beginning to lean on you Americans.”
The brave old captain smiled wanly as he spoke.
“Why, sir, I have a plan in my mind. It came to me while we were
talking. The _Barrill_ is exactly like the _Beale_, is she not?”
“They were built at the same yards. The _Beale_ is slightly longer, and
more modern, and heavily engined. But why?”
“Well, you have an American flag on board?”
“Yes,” rejoined the captain, still puzzled, “of course we carry
saluting flags of every nation.”
“Then why can’t we masquerade as the _Beale_?”
“But how? The deception would soon be discovered.”
“Not at all. How?”
“Why, to begin with, the _Beale_ has four funnels and we have but
three.”
“That difficulty is easily surmounted.” The middy was beginning to warm
to his subject now. “You have on board canvas, some spare lumber, and
‘war color’ paint?”
“Of course.”
“Then we’ll soon have a fourth funnel rigged, and then, with the Stars
and Stripes flying, we’ll cruise up and down as we please, without
exciting any attention.”
“But, senor, we cannot use the American flag in an action with the
insurgents.”
“Good heavens, no. As it is, I must swear you to secrecy over our part
in the whole affair. No, I only suggested the flag as an additional
means of throwing them off the trail. If we go into action, of course,
we’ll have to come out in our true colors.”
“By the saints, sir, you have indeed been sent by Heaven in the hour
of my need!” cried the captain, springing up impulsively and, much to
the lad’s embarrassment, flinging his arms about the middy. “I feel
new fire in my veins, new hope, new ambitions. Give us good luck, and
we’ll beat them yet.”
“But there’s a lot to be done,” admonished the practical middy. “And
now, if you don’t mind, I would like to call into council my men,
Strong and Taylor and the invaluable Stanley.”
So it came about that for two days following a four-funneled
torpedo-boat destroyer, flying the American colors, was observed by
the outposts at Santa Anna, leisurely cruising up and down the coast.
The presence of the _Beale_, and her description was, however, known
to them, and so they took it for granted--as who would not--that the
four-funneled destroyer was the Yankee. Her presence gave them no
uneasiness, as the American government, it was known, had only sent
the vessel down into tropic waters to safeguard the interests of
her citizens. Had the wires to Boca del Sierras not been cut in the
engagement to the south of Santa Anna, the insurgents in the latter
place might have put themselves in possession of some information which
would have been valuable to them. To wit, that while the supposed
_Beale_ was cruising about seaward the real _Beale_ lay snugly at Boca
del Sierras. But this, of course, owing to the broken communication,
they had no means of knowing.
During this interval, life on board the masquerading destroyer was
one long round of practice drills in the American loading and firing
methods. Ned and Herc, too, alternated in making test readings with the
range-finder, till they became almost as expert as any gunnery officer
in reading off the exact range. In the meantime Stanley, stripped to
a singlet and trousers, toiled and sweated with his yellow pupils,
who grew to like this rough-and-ready Americano very much. With their
liking grew up a feeling of confidence. The bracing effect of the
presence of the clean-cut Americans, who always went at a thing as
if they meant it, had a great effect on the vacillating, hesitating
Latins, both officers and men.
During this period, too, the Dreadnought Boys and their companions came
to have a sincere respect and regard for Captain Gomez. Not one word
of complaint or timidity had they heard him utter since they had been
on board. They came to regard him as a man in a thousand. Courageous,
yet gentle and courteous, he was a fine specimen of sea fighter. In
this respect, it may be said in parenthesis, he differed widely from
most of his race. Possibly his American education had something to do
with it.
But whether it was her remarkable pertinacity in sticking to that one
portion of the coast, or the fact that from her forward funnel no
smoke was ever seen to issue, the commandant of the fortress of Santa
Anna became suspicious on the morning of the third day and ordered
the _Manueal Calvo_ to stick her nose outside the harbor and look the
supposed American over. Of course, her commander was ordered to make
absolutely no move that could be construed into a hostile intention.
His instructions, however, were to make a complete investigation of the
mysterious craft.
And so it came about that when Stark emerged from his cabin before
breakfast that day he found considerable excitement to greet him.
The lookout had just sighted a moving column of black smoke above the
promontory to the south of the town of Santa Anna.
Taking his place with the others on the bridge, the middy eagerly
watched the dark pillar moving seaward, till presently the sharp,
black nose of a yachtlike-looking vessel emerged from behind the green
barrier.
“The _Manueal Calvo_!” exclaimed Captain Gomez, as his eyes fell on her.
At any other time the boys would have admired the picture she made.
The water was spumed into a creamy bow wave by her sharp forefoot. Her
yellow funnels poured clouds of black smoke against the blue heavens as
she came on. Every line and stay showed sharp, as if etched, and the
rising sun occasionally glinted on a bright gun or bit of brasswork.
But just now the approach of the _Calvo_ meant a lot more to them than
a pretty picture. Their whole fate, their lives, in fact, might hang
upon the events of the next few minutes.
Suddenly a string of bright flags broke out on the _Calvo’s_ signal
halliards between the fore and main masts.
At the same instant a bright flash showed at her quarter, followed by a
sharp explosion. Captain Gomez, in his faded old uniform, trembled with
excitement as he raised his glasses to his eyes and scanned the signal.
“They want us to heave to,” he announced.