Off Santiago with Sampson

"I ain't so certain 'bout that, for coal-passers don't have the choice of promenading a battle-ship's deck. The officers generally have somethin' to say about capers of that kind. Besides, you might yell yourself black in the face, even if the Merrimac was layin' close alongside the Brooklyn, an' he'd never be any the wiser. You seem to have the idee that one of Uncle Sam's vessels is built something after the pattern of a tugboat."

"But I've got to get at him somehow," Teddy said, in perplexity, the new and great joy which had sprung up in his heart dying away very suddenly.

"True for you, lad; but it ain't to be done in the way you're figgerin' on, an', besides, havin' come along so smooth this far, I'm not countin' on lettin' you run your nose against such a thistle as the captain is like to be. It ought'er be enough that we've struck into the very fleet you wanted to find, an' a boy what can't wait a spell after all the good fortune you've had, ain't fit to be scurryin' 'round here huntin' for his father."

"I'll go right back into the hole, an' wait till you tell me to come out," Teddy said, meekly, understanding full well what his plight would be should this friendly sailor turn against him.

"Now you're talkin' sense," Bill Jones said, approvingly. "I was countin' on cheerin' you up a bit, by tellin' of where the Merrimac had fetched up, an' didn't allow to set you off like a wild Injun. Hot down here, eh?"

"It's kind'er warm, an' that's a fact."

"So much the better, because the crew will stay on deck, an' you'll have more of a chance to move around. It's only a case of layin' low for three or four days, an' then we'll see what your father can do toward gettin' you out."

"How will you let him know where I am?"

"There'll be plenty of show for that if we come alongside the Brooklyn; I can manage to send him word, I reckon."

The conversation was brought to an abrupt close by the appearance of a sailor's feet as he descended from the deck, and Bill Jones turned quickly away, pretending to be overhauling his sea-chest, while Teddy made all haste to regain his "hole."

Now it was that the stowaway had every reason to congratulate himself upon the fair prospects which were his, when it had seemed positive that much trouble would come before the venture was ended, and yet the moments passed more slowly than at any time since he had voluntarily become a prisoner.

With each hour his impatience increased, until it was with difficulty he could force himself to remain in hiding.

While he believed his father was very far away, there appeared good reason for remaining hidden; but now, with the Brooklyn close at hand, it seemed as if he must make his whereabouts known without loss of time.

Fear as to what terrible punishment the captain of the Merrimac might inflict, however, kept him in his proper place, and before many hours passed Bill Jones brought him further intelligence.

"The New York is to take on the first of the coal," he said, leaning over the barricade of rope, and whispering to the impatient prisoner. "I'm thinkin' we'll get around to the Brooklyn before all the cargo is gone, an' then this game of hide will come to an end – if your father is a smarter man than the average of us."

The jolly little sailor had no time to say more, for one of the petty officers interrupted the stolen interview by calling loudly for "Bill Jones," and while obeying the summons the sailor muttered to himself, "I wish the boy was well clear of this steamer; it seems as if he was under my wing, so to speak, an' I can't make out how any man, lower in rank than a full-fledged captain, can take him aboard one of Uncle Sam's ships."

Fortunately Teddy had no misgivings as to the future, after his father had been made aware of his whereabouts.

He believed it would be the most natural thing in the world for him to step on board the Brooklyn as a guest, and the possibility that a coal-passer might not be allowed to invite his friends to visit him never entered the lad's mind.

Bill Jones, however, was seriously troubled as to the outcome of the affair, as has been seen.

He had promised to aid the stowaway, as he would have promised to aid any other lad in trouble, for the jolly little sailor was one ever ready to relieve the distress of others, no matter how great might be the cost to himself; and now, having taken the case in hand, his anxiety of mind was great, because he was by no means as certain of his ability to carry it through successfully as he would have Teddy believe.

Within four hours after the sailor reported that the Merrimac would speedily begin to take out her cargo, the prisoner in the forecastle became aware that the steamer was at a standstill.

For the first time since leaving port the screw was motionless, and the absence of that pounding which marked the revolutions of the shaft caused a silence that for a few moments seemed almost painful.

Shortly afterward, when Bill Jones came to bring a fresh supply of provisions and water, he reported that the New York was taking on coal.

"The other ships are certain to need a supply, an' we're bound to come alongside the Brooklyn sooner or later," he said, cheerily, and Teddy replied, with a sigh:

"It seems like a terribly long while to wait; but I s'pose I can stand it."

"I reckon it's a case of havin' to, lad, unless you're willin' to take the captain's medicine, an' that's what I wouldn't like to tackle."

"It's as if I'd been here a full month, an' accordin' to what you say I'm mighty lucky if I have to stay only two or three days more."

"You're lucky if you get out in a week, so don't go to countin' the minutes, or time will be long in passin'."

Twice during the next twenty-four hours did Teddy have an opportunity of speaking with his friend, and then he knew that the Merrimac was alongside the Massachusetts.

"You see we're goin' the rounds of the fleet, an' it's only a question of the coal holdin' out, to finally bring us to the Brooklyn," Bill Jones said, hurriedly, for there was no opportunity of lengthy conversations while the crew were engaged in transferring the fuel.

Another long time of waiting, and Bill Jones appeared at the entrance to the hiding-place in a state of the greatest excitement.

"Somethin's got to be done right away, lad, an' I'm clean beat as to how we'll figger it out. This 'ere steamer is goin' to be sunk!"

"Sunk!" Teddy cried in alarm, clutching Bill frantically by the arm, as if believing the Merrimac was even then on the point of going down.

"That's jest it, an' we're to be shifted to the other vessels, gettin' a berth wherever one can be found."

"What will make her sink?"

"She's to be blowed up! Wrecked in the harbour of Santiago de Cuba, so the Spaniards who are inside can't get out!"

Teddy looked around him in bewilderment and alarm, understanding not one word of the brief explanation.

"You see the Spanish fleet is inside the harbour, and the mouth of it ain't more'n three hundred feet wide. This steamer will be blowed up right across the channel, an' there the Spaniards are, bottled up tight till our fleet gets ready to knock 'em into splinters."

"But what'll become of me? I'll have to face the captain after all!"

"I reckon there's no help for it, lad, because it don't stand to reason that you want to go down with the ship."

"How long before you'll sink her?"

"We sha'n't have anything to do with it, lad. It's what you might call a precious fine job, an' 'cordin' to the way everybody looks at it, them who do the work ain't likely to come back again."

"Why not?"

"Look here, lad, if you was goin' on deck an' set off three or four torpedoes under your very feet, what do you think would be the show of gettin' ashore alive?"

Teddy made no effort to weigh the chances; his own affairs were in such a precarious condition that there was no room in his mind for anything else.

"I'd better have gone to the captain when I first made up my mind that it had to be done, an' it would be over by this time," he said, with a long-drawn sigh.

"It wouldn't have been over till you got ashore, because pretty nigh every sailor thinks it his bounden duty to make things lively for a stowaway. You've saved yourself from bein' kicked an' thumped jest so many days as I've been coddlin' you up, an' there's a good deal in that."

"Are we anywhere near the Brooklyn?"

"She was five or six miles away when I saw her last – "

"Five or six miles!"