“Bo-o-om!”
As if some subtle dissolvent chemical had been suddenly applied to
them, the stern works of the _Bolivar_ appeared to melt away as the
torpedo struck her. For an instant she floated on the surface--half a
ship--steam and smoke pouring from her as the water rushed into her
engine rooms. Then, with a wallowing motion, like a stricken bull
sinking to its knees, she staggered and heeled partially over, exposing
her keel.
Then, with the utmost deliberation--as if she were making up her mind
to it, in fact--the _Bolivar_ righted herself and began to crawl, like
a stricken animal, toward the shore.
“They’ve closed her watertight bulkhead, sir!” called up the
smoke-begrimed, half-naked Stanley. “They’re making for the shore to
beach her. Shall I fire and finish her, sir?”
The captain’s eyes were filled with tears. Now that the strain of the
fight against such odds was over, his emotional nature asserted itself.
Ned saw that it was with great difficulty that he framed his words when
he finally spoke.
“No, let them go,” he said, in a voice he strove in vain to render
steady. “My unfortunate countrymen! how many of you have gone to your
last accounting to-day?”
Ned could not help but respect Captain Gomez’s grief. It was the
sorrowing of a brave man over a fallen enemy. He was glad that no
order to complete the annihilation of the _Bolivar_ had come. If the
insurgents could beach her, they--those who were left alive--would have
a chance to gain the shore. Ned felt sure that the ends of the republic
had been met when they inflicted such a crushing blow on the mutinous
vessels.
The first thing the Americans hastened to do, after cheering their
victory in ringing tones, was to hasten below and see how the injured
were faring. They found that Midshipman Stark, with a bandage about
his head, was practically as well as ever, and bitterly disappointed
over missing the “cream of the shindy,” as he expressed it. The other
wounded were all doing well. Their dead numbered twenty--not a heavy
loss, considering the sharp work they had been engaged in. But the poor
_Barrill_ was a melancholy sight. Her jury funnel was, of course, gone,
and lay, a shapeless mass, on the decks. Her other stacks were riddled
through and through with shells till they almost wobbled. Her conning
tower was sadly battered and punctured, and her superstructure forward
showed a great, gaping wound, received when Stanley’s two bow-chasers
had fired their last shot.
While her officers stood amidships, soberly regarding the havoc, the
chief engineer emerged from below, hastened up to the captain and drew
him aside. In a low voice he imparted what was evidently grave news.
What this information was the Dreadnought Boys soon learned. One of his
aides had that moment reported to him that the condenser of the vessel
had been so badly damaged by a shell that it was doubtful if she could
proceed much farther. He could tinker it up for a few hours, he thought.
“Do so,” ordered the captain, a troubled look coming over his face. “In
the meantime, my comrades--for such I must call you--let us have some
luncheon, and discuss our next steps.”
“We do not wish to interfere with your plans, sir,” spoke up Midshipman
Stark, who had been conferring with his men, “but if it is all the same
to you, we should like to be put ashore as soon as possible.”
The captain looked disappointed.
“I was hoping to have you with me longer,” he said, “but I would not
for the world thwart your inclinations.”
“It is not our inclination, sir, but our duty,” rejoined the middy.
“We left our ship on an errand of confidence. We have so far been
unavoidably detained, but now we wish to get back with all the speed
possible.”
“I have it!” exclaimed the captain suddenly, “I will put you ashore at
Los Olivos. It is not far from here. I do not know if the rebels have
infested it, but even if they have I have powerful friends there who
will provide you with horses and a means of getting safely into Boca
del Sierras.”
This was good news for the young man-of-war’s men, who felt it
incumbent on them to rejoin their ship as soon as possible. Even as
things were, it was likely that news of their continued absence had
been cabled home.
Luncheon was a peculiar meal. It was served from the scant stores of
the _Barrill_, and the already depleted menu was not improved by the
addition of the insurgent officers. They bore the news of their defeat
with long countenances, but bravely enough put the best face possible
on matters, and did not let their gloom interfere with the merriment of
the others.
“I am going to propose the health of you four brave Americans,”
whispered the captain, as the meal drew to a close.
“For Heaven’s sake, sir, do nothing of the sort, I beg,” whispered the
middy, who sat next to him, and who, fortunately, had been the only
one to catch his remark. “It might mean the loss of my commission and
the ruin of the others.”
“What!” exclaimed the captain in amazement, but in a low voice, “you
are never going to acknowledge the magnificent part you played to-day?”
“No, sir. We had much rather it would never be mentioned. These
insurgent officers do not know who we are. The matter need never go
further.”
“By the saints, you Americans are beyond me!” exclaimed the captain,
“but, my dear young friend, of course the wishes of yourself or of your
friends are sacred to me, and shall be obeyed.”
“Thank you,” said the middy simply.
The damaged condenser was repaired by the engine-room force
sufficiently to allow the American party to be landed at Los Olivos
that night. They were rowed ashore in plain clothes, borrowed from
the friendly officers of the destroyer. Under the captain’s guidance
they soon reached the home of his friends, a villa set back in
magnificent grounds, on the outskirts of the little town. The officer’s
acquaintances willingly agreed to aid the Americans.
A native guide was provided, and as soon as courtesy would permit,
the Americans, who could ill conceal their impatience, started on
their perilous journey. Owing to the wires being cut, no news of
developments near to Boca del Sierras had filtered into the northern
country. For all Midshipman Stark and his companions knew, they might
find the insurgents in possession of the place. In that case they faced
possibilities it was not pleasant to consider.
At last they were mounted, and, with their horses impatiently pawing
the ground, as if as anxious to go forward as they were, they bade
farewell to their emotional Latin friend, who almost broke down as the
hour for parting came. He controlled himself bravely, however, although
the squeeze of his hand he bestowed on each of the Americans bespoke
his high regard for them.
“Good-by, sir, and good luck!” called back all of them, as they
cantered out into darkness with their guide.
“Don’t forget to smash the _De Barros_ if she pokes her nose out!”
called Ned.
The _De Barros_, it will be recollected, was the only remaining vessel
at Santa Anna, a small converted yacht. It was not likely that she
would venture to try conclusions with the destroyer, which had proved
herself such a terrible opponent, but if she did Captain Gomez meant to
be ready for her.
On and on into the darkness cantered the Americans and their silent
guide. About midnight the moon arose and showed them that they were
traversing a rough, hilly country near the seacoast.
“We are not far from Miraflores,” said their guide, as he turned in his
saddle.
Miraflores!
What memories the name recalled! How much had happened to each of them
in the brief interval since their escape from the prison there! How
much older each of them felt!
Villas began to appear now at long intervals, dotted back in the
dense greenery clothing the hillsides. Coffee and banana plantations
surrounded many of them, with the great, flat “barbecues” showing white
in the moonlight.
Suddenly, as they rode along, Ned halted abruptly. The others drew rein
as they noticed this.
“What’s the trouble?” asked the middy, “horse gone lame?”
“No, sir, but I thought I heard something.”
“An owl, most likely. Come on, we must be pressing forward.”
“No, sir, this wasn’t an owl. Hark! there it is again!”
From a villa some distance back from the road was the apparent source
of the cries.
“It’s a call for help, sir!” exclaimed Stanley.
“A woman’s voice!” added Ned.
“Come on, boys,” shouted Stark, wheeling from the roadway, “we must see
what is going forward up there.”