Off Santiago with Sampson

"Do you suppose they've all been killed?" Teddy asked in a whisper, for it was much like speaking in the presence of the dead.

"There's little doubt of it, lad. Think you a craft like the Merrimac could stand the storm of shot and shell that was poured on her from the time we saw the first flash? Just bear in mind that every puff of flame betokened a chunk of iron large enough to sink this 'ere battle-ship, if it struck her fairly, an' you can have a fair idee of how much chance those poor fellows stood."

Among all the crew there was hardly one who did not share this opinion with Bill Jones. To them, the heroes who went smilingly to their death had left this world for ever, and yet the men continued to overhang the rail, awaiting the return of the launch, with the idea that when she arrived they might hear something of importance.

Not until three hours later did the little craft show herself, and then she came out from under the shadow of the land followed by a shower of missiles from the big guns ashore.

The men on the Texas were forced to wait some time before learning what information she brought, for the launch went directly to the New York, as a matter of course, and several hours elapsed before the crew heard all that could then be told.

This was to the effect that the tiny boat followed the collier until fire was opened upon the doomed steamer, and she was so enshrouded by smoke as to be lost from view. Then the launch was headed in under the batteries, where she remained until daylight on the lookout for a swimmer.

At five o'clock in the morning no sign of life had been seen, and the little craft made for the fleet, followed by a rain of shot from the shore batteries.

While crossing the harbour entrance one spar of the Merrimac was seen sticking out of the water, and thus it was known that the little band of braves had done their work faithfully, at whatever cost to themselves.

There was neither jest nor careless word among the crew of the battle-ship during this forenoon; even Bill Jones remained almost absolutely silent. It seemed that they stood in the presence of death, and more than one acted as if believing he was taking part in the funeral services of those who had so lately been among them.

Teddy had seen every man who went to make up that devoted crew, and to him it was as if his personal friends had met their death; but in such a brave fashion that it would have been almost a crime to mourn their taking off.

Then, like a flash of lightning from a clear sky, came the joyful news that every man among that band who had devoted themselves to death, was yet among the living, and comparatively uninjured.

It was almost incredible information, and yet, because of its source, no one could doubt it.

At two hours past noon, while the men of the Texas were sheltering themselves from the burning rays of the sun and discussing for the hundredth time the last probable moments of their shipmates, a steam-launch, carrying a white flag, put out from the harbour, making directly for the flag-ship New York.

At the time no one fancied for a single moment that the coming of this craft could have any connection with those who had left the station to wreck the Merrimac, but there were some who suggested that the Spaniards were ready to surrender, and, in support of this theory, cited the fact that the royal squadron was bottled up so tightly it could never be used against the United States.

Others declared that the Spanish admiral was about to make an offer of compromise, and not a few believed the flag of truce had to do with the capitulation of the city of Santiago de Cuba.

Not a man was prepared for the news which floated from ship to ship, no one could say exactly how; but in less than an hour from the time the launch made fast alongside the New York, it was known that she brought a message from Admiral Cervera, commander of the Spanish fleet, to the effect that the crew of the Merrimac had been captured, and were held as prisoners of war.

Lieutenant Hobson was uninjured, and only two of the party had been wounded slightly.

It seemed too good to be true, but when the men realised that this information must be correct, that it had been sent by a generous enemy, they spent a good five minutes cheering alternately for those who had escaped after having gone down into the very jaws of death, and for that gallant Spaniard who, recognising bravery even in his foe, had taken the trouble to announce the safety of those who were battling against him.

"It's what I call a mighty fine thing for the old admiral to do," Bill Jones said, as he held forth to a gun's crew with whom he and Teddy messed. "It ain't every officer as would go out of his way to send such news as that, an' if Admiral Cervera should ever fall into my hands as a prisoner of war, he can count on bein' treated like a white man."

There was a roar from Bill's auditors at the intimation that the commander of the Spanish fleet might ever be captured by that sailor, for by this time all had come to know him as a "plain, every-day sailor, with not a fightin' timber in him;" but not a man within sound of his voice cared to contradict him.

On that night, after the subject of the venture and its sequel had been discussed until worn threadbare, the little sailor said to Teddy, as if telling him some important truth:

"You'll see great doin's now, lad, an' it wouldn't give me such a terrible surprise to know that the war was ended within the next twenty-four hours, for them bloomin' Spaniards in Santiago must understand by this time that the sooner they give in whipped, the less of a lickin' they're like to get."

And Teddy, thinking more of his own condition than the glory of the country, asked, with no slight distress of mind:

"If it should come to a stop as soon as that, how could I ever get word to father? Of course the Brooklyn would go right home, an' I'd be left here."

"I'll take care of that, lad," Bill Jones replied, in a tone of assurance. "Never you have a fear but that I'll see she don't leave this station till you've had a chance to go on board long enough to sort out the coal-passers."

CHAPTER V.

THE CHASE

Bill Jones found time to change his opinion as to the speedy termination of the war after the Merrimac had been sunk at the entrance of Santiago Bay.

Instead of displaying any anxiety to surrender, the Spaniards on the island appeared to be making every preparation for a stubborn defence, and the fleet of war-vessels had little opportunity to do much more than blockade duty.

Teddy Dunlap, looked upon by the crew of the Texas as a lad who had every right to be among them, might have enjoyed this cruising to and fro, keeping watch over the entrance to the harbour, now and then overhauling a suspicious-looking vessel that ventured too near, and at times throwing shells ashore from the big guns, but for the fact that he burned with impatience to be with his father.

The Brooklyn remained in view nearly all the time, now so close at hand that it seemed as if the two ships must immediately come within hailing distance, and again so far away that she appeared only as a tiny speck against the white sky, yet the stowaway was as completely separated from his father as if they were thousands of miles apart.

"If only the captains couldn't talk with those little flags, it might be that the ships would come side by side!" he said, with a long-drawn sigh, to Bill Jones. "There'll never be any need for them to sail nearer than within sight, an' I won't get a chance to speak to father, – perhaps not this year."

"The prospect don't look very encouragin' just at the present time, an' that's a fact," Bill said, thoughtfully, filling his pipe with unusual care. "Two or three days ago it seemed as if the war was mighty nigh at an end; but now there 'pears to be a good deal of fight left in the Dagoes."

"An' while we're loafin' 'round here, Captain Miller will come aboard some fine day. Then where'll I be?"

"Right here, my lad, an' there's no use lookin' ahead. He won't come the sooner, or stay away any longer, no matter how much you fuss, so why not save the wear an' tear of thinkin'?"

"See here," and Teddy leaned forward to look the little sailor full in the eyes, "do you believe I'll ever have a chance of lettin' daddy know where I am?"

"It stands to reason there must be a show for it in course of time."

"When?"

"Now you're askin' me a question I ain't in condition to answer. It may be two or three weeks, or, then again, the show might come sudden, within an hour. At sea you can't ever tell what's goin' to happen, Teddy Dunlap, an' there's nothin' for it but to keep your ears an' eyes open all the time, ready to jump on the first promisin' chance that comes your way."

There is no good reason why such a conversation as this should be set down, save that it is similar to a hundred others which were held between the two comrades during the weeks which followed the sinking of the Merrimac, when Teddy Dunlap, without effort on his part, was transformed from a stowaway to a lad apparently in the employ of Uncle Sam.

Never for a single moment did he lose sight of the possible fact that either the Brooklyn or the Texas might be ordered away from this particular station, in which case it was reasonable to suppose that many months must elapse before he could inform his father of his whereabouts.

There was grave danger the two might be separated so widely that months, perhaps years, would elapse before they could meet again, and Teddy was never comfortable in mind, but, despite all the good advice given by Bill Jones, continued to look out into the future, searching for trouble.

Meanwhile both he and the little sailor were kept at work on board the Texas exactly as if they had been regularly enlisted; but the duties were so light among such a large number, that he who complained of the work must indeed have been an indolent fellow.

And while Teddy worried over his own seeming troubles, the two nations continued at war, killing and wounding men at every opportunity, and ever striving to strike some decisive blow.

As a matter of course Teddy and Bill Jones took their small part in the bombardment of the batteries at the entrance to Santiago Harbour two days after the Merrimac had been sunk.

The Texas was the third vessel in the first column, headed by the Brooklyn, when, shortly after sunrise, the fleet steamed inshore and opened fire with the heavy guns.

It was to the boy as if he went into action almost by the side of his father, and he worked with a will at whatsoever was set him to do, although at times the terrific roar literally stunned him, while the heat was so great that it seemed as if he was on the verge of suffocation during every moment of the four hours the bombardment continued.

Then the squadron steamed back to its blockading station, and at no time had the Brooklyn and Texas been so near each other as to have rendered it possible for Teddy to see his father, even though the latter had stood on the battle-ship's deck every moment.

Again and again, as the days passed, did the Texas go into action, and at no time were the little stowaway and his small comrade remiss in their duties.

They did their full share of the work, despite Bill Jones's assertion that he was only a "plain, every-day sailor with no fightin' timber about him," and as the weeks wore on these two became more and more closely identified with the battle-ship to which chance had sent them.