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Title: Under Dewey at Manila
or, The war fortunes of a castaway
Author: Edward Stratemeyer
Illustrator: A. B. Shute
Release date: June 23, 2026 [eBook #78934]
Language: English
Original publication: Boston: Lee and Shepard Publishers, 1898
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78934
Credits: Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net.
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA ***
EDWARD STRATEMEYER’S BOOKS
Old Glory Series
_Cloth Illustrated Price per volume $1.25._
UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA Or the War Fortunes of a Castaway.
A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA Or Fighting for the Single Star.
FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS Or Under Schley on the Brooklyn.
UNDER OTIS IN THE PHILIPPINES Or A Young Officer in the Tropics. (_In
Press._)
The Bound to Succeed Series
_Three volumes Cloth Illustrated Price per volume $1.00._
RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE Or Striking Out for Himself.
OLIVER BRIGHT’S SEARCH Or The Mystery of a Mine.
TO ALASKA FOR GOLD Or The Fortune Hunters of the Yukon.
The Ship and Shore Series
_Three volumes Cloth Illustrated Price per volume $1.00._
THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SPITFIRE Or Larry Foster’s Strange Voyage.
REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY Or The Young Miller of Torrent Bend.
TRUE TO HIMSELF Or Roger Strong’s Struggle for Place. (_In Press._)
[Illustration: OH, LUKE! SEE THE STARS AND STRIPES!]
Old Glory Series
UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA
OR
THE WAR FORTUNES OF A CASTAWAY
BY
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
AUTHOR OF “A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA” “FIGHTING IN CUBAN
WATERS” “RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE” “OLIVER BRIGHT’S
SEARCH” “TO ALASKA FOR GOLD” ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED BY_
A. B. SHUTE
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY LEE AND SHEPARD.
_All Rights Reserved._
UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.――Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
PREFACE
“Under Dewey at Manila,” the first of the “Old Glory Series,” was
written with a twofold object. The first was, to present to young
readers a simple and straightforward statement concerning the several
causes leading up to the war with Spain; to give a brief view of
the conditions prevailing in the ill-fated islands of Cuba and the
Philippines; and to trace, incident by incident, just as they actually
occurred, the progress of that wonderful battle of Manila Bay, which
has no parallel in either ancient or modern history, from the fact that
complete defeat upon one side was entirely outbalanced by almost total
exemption from harm upon the other. In this battle Commodore Dewey,
since made Admiral, and his gallant officers and men, fought a fight
ever to be remembered with pride by the American people, for it placed
the United States Navy in its proper place, among the leading navies of
the world.
The other object of the story was to tell, in as interesting a fashion
as the writer could command, the haps and mishaps of a sturdy,
conscientious American lad, of good moral character and honest
Christian aim, who, compelled through the force of circumstances to
make his own way in the world, becomes a sailor boy, a castaway, and
then a gunner’s assistant on the flagship _Olympia_. While it is true
that Larry Russell has some hazardous adventures, the author believes
that they are no more hazardous than might fall to the lot of another
situated as Larry was; and if at times the boy escapes some grave
perils, it must be borne in mind that “the Lord helps those who help
themselves,” and that he had an abiding trust in an all-wise and
all-powerful Providence.
The author cannot refrain from saying a word regarding the historical
portions of this work. What has been said concerning Cuba and the
Philippines are simply matters of fact, known to all students of
history. The sketch of Admiral Dewey is drawn from the narratives of
several people who knew him well at his home in Montpelier, Vermont, at
the Annapolis Naval Academy, and in the Navy itself. The record of the
battle of Manila Bay has been furnished by over fifty officers and men
who took part in the contest and wrote the details, for publication,
and in private letters to relatives at home, and this record has been
supplemented by Admiral Dewey’s own reports to the authorities at
Washington.
EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
NEWARK, N.J., August 1, 1898.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LARRY AND HIS TRIALS 1
II. AN ADVENTURE ON PALI 11
III. A FRUITLESS CHASE 23
IV. LARRY RECEIVES TWO INTERESTING LETTERS 33
V. SOMETHING ABOUT THE DESTRUCTION OF THE “MAINE” 44
VI. A BRUSH WITH TWO KANAKAS 52
VII. GOOD-BY TO HONOLULU 63
VIII. AN UNWELCOME SHIPMATE 73
IX. A TALK ABOUT THE TROUBLES IN CUBA 81
X. ATTACKED IN A STORM 92
XI. A RACE AND AN INTERRUPTION 102
XII. THE CAPTURE OF A SAWFISH 112
XIII. AN ISLAND NOT ALTOGETHER DESERTED 123
XIV. THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS AND THE REBELS 133
XV. ALONE ON THE CHINA SEA 145
XVI. CAST ASHORE ON AN ISLAND 154
XVII. THE STORY OF A LONG TRAMP 164
XVIII. THE ASIATIC SQUADRON TO THE RESCUE 174
XIX. THE MISSION OF THE SQUADRON 184
XX. ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP “OLYMPIA” 195
XXI. SOMETHING ABOUT COMMODORE DEWEY 204
XXII. IN WHICH LARRY AND STRIKER ARE ADDED TO THE
“OLYMPIA’S” MUSTER-ROLL 214
XXIII. GUN DRILLS AND LIFE ON A MAN-O’-WAR 223
XXIV. “CLEAR SHIP FOR ACTION!” 232
XXV. THE SPANISH FLEET IS DISCOVERED OFF FORT CAVITE 243
XXVI. THE BATTLE OF MANILA BAY 252
XXVII. ADDITIONAL INCIDENTS OF THE GREAT BATTLE 262
XXVIII. ON TO HONG KONG――CONCLUSION 271
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
“‘Oh, Luke! See the Stars and Stripes!’” _Frontispiece_
PAGE
“‘It ain’t the Cubans I’m talking about now’” 44
“‘Don’t!’ gasped the boy. ‘Oh, you villain! Don’t!’” 95
“The boatswain opened fire with the shotgun” 130
“The life-preserver floated but a short distance away” 152
“The boat lay on her side, half in and half out of the water” 174
“‘Commodore, it’s jest come into my mind to ask ye a favor’” 215
“‘Don’t fire! Don’t fire!’” 263
UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA
CHAPTER I
LARRY AND HIS TRIALS
“Well, my boy, what is it?”
“I stopped in to see if there was any opening, sir, that I might fill.
I’m willing to work hard for small wages.”
The man addressed shook his head slowly. “There is no opening. Times
are bad, and it is all I can do to keep my regular help employed.
Better try your luck down in Honolulu.”
“I’ve been through the city from end to end. It’s the same story
everywhere,” answered the youth, soberly. “I thought there might be a
chance up here at the Pali; so many carriages coming and going. I’m
used to horses, too.”
“Do you belong in Honolulu?”
“Hardly; although I’ve been there for nearly a month now. I came in on
the bark _Rescue_, Captain Morgan, from San Francisco.”
“As a passenger?”
“Oh, no; as a foremast hand. Didn’t have money to pay my passage.”
“Why didn’t you stay on the bark?”
“She has been condemned and is laid up for repairs. She’ll not be able
to go to sea for two or three months.”
“And you’ve got to hustle in the mean time, eh? It’s hard luck for a
boy of your age, sure enough. Can’t you get another berth?”
“I haven’t tried yet. Captain Morgan was a very nice man to sail under,
and I’ll stick to him if I can. Besides, I thought I should like to
stay in the Hawaiian Islands for a bit and look around. They tell me
there is nothing like looking around.”
“That’s true; although it’s also true that a rover never gets a pocket
full of money.” The man hesitated and glanced sharply at the boy, who
looked hot and tired. “Did you tramp from down in town?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s a good six miles, and all up hill at that. Come in and have a
bit to eat. It won’t cost you anything.”
The invitation was well meant, but the boy shook his curly head
decidedly. “I’m not that kind――thank you just the same. If you’ve got
any work――”
“I’ll let you work it out. Come.”
The boy and the man had been standing in front of a long, low one-story
building, set close to a broad highway, and surrounded by tall palm and
other tropical trees. On one side of the structure were accommodations
for a dozen or more horses, and on the other a small restaurant where
light refreshments of various kinds were to be had.
The spot was an ideal one, near the brow of a lofty precipice standing
out twelve hundred feet above sea-level, and overlooking a vast expanse
of the mighty Pacific Ocean. Here the island of Oahu, upon which
Honolulu, the principal city of the Hawaiian Islands, is situated,
seemed to split in two, and the sun, glaring down upon that afternoon,
lit up one side and cast the other into the deepest of shades.
“You’ve been in Honolulu a month, eh?” went on the man, as he motioned
the lad to a seat by a side-table, and brought him several dishes which
were already prepared. “Then you’ve been up here before?”
“No, sir, I haven’t been anywhere but to Hilo and to the great volcano.
I had a chance to take the trip to Hilo on a lumber boat, and I took
it, just to take a run up to Kilauea. My, but that volcano is a grand
sight!” and the boy shook his head enthusiastically.
“It’s the greatest volcano in the world. Evidently you like to travel
around.”
“I do.”
“You’re an American, I take it?”
“Yes, sir, and I guess you are, too.”
“Yes, but I’m not from the States. I came from Canada. I’ve been in
the Sandwich Islands eight years now, doing one thing and another. I
used to have a restaurant down in Honolulu, but the Chinese cut me out
of my trade, and so I thought I’d try my luck up here. But business is
awfully dull. Everybody said it would be better after the monarchy was
overthrown and we had set up our own republic, but I don’t find it so.”
“I guess they are going to annex Hawaii to the United States――at least,
I heard them talk about it in San Francisco, and down in Honolulu.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. I don’t care, one way or the other, if only
times pick up. I’m alone in the world, but I want to make my living and
a little besides, if I can. Last month we had quite a few excursion
parties up here,――folks from the Australian steamers and others,――but
this month there hasn’t been anybody but city folks, and they either
don’t want anything or else bring it along.”
“The Pali ought to be a big attraction, to my notion,” answered the
boy, as he fell to eating, with more good manners than the average ship
hand, as Ralph Harmon noticed. “Captain Morgan was telling me about
it――how King Kamehameha the First gathered his fellow-tribesmen around
him in the valley and fought the savage hosts of the mighty Oahu and
literally drove them over the edge of the precipice. That must have
been a battle worth looking at.”
“There was nobody here to look at it but those that took part――and it
happened a good many years ago. Here, have another cup of coffee; it
will do you good.” The coffee was served; Ralph Harmon looked out of
the doorway, to find the broad highway still deserted, and dropped into
a nearby rustic chair. “So you’re from San Francisco?” he continued.
“I shipped from San Francisco, but I’m not from there originally. I
came from Buffalo, New York.”
“You’re a good distance from home.”
“I haven’t any home there, any more.” The boy stopped eating and drew
a deep breath. “No, I haven’t any home anywhere,” he added, in a lower
tone. “I’m what they call a rolling stone.”
“What is your name? Mine is Ralph Harmon, as you probably know by the
sign over the door.”
“My name is Lawrence Russell――although everyone that knows me calls me
Larry. I used to have as nice a home as anybody in Buffalo, but that’s
some years ago.”
“I’ll wager you have quite a story to tell――if you’ve a mind to spin
the yarn, as you sailors call it.”
“Yes, I have a story; but whether it would interest a stranger or not I
don’t know, Mr. Harmon. I ran away from home, or rather, from what was
supposed to be my home, after my mother died.”
“Running away isn’t, generally speaking, a good business, Larry.”
“I know it, and I wouldn’t have gone only I was forced to it. You see,
I never knew what it was to have a father. My father died when I was a
baby, and I lived with my mother until I was thirteen years old, when
she was killed in a railroad accident, and then I was turned over to
my uncle, Job Dowling, my mother’s half-brother. He was a very queer
man,――the neighbors called him a crank,――and he was so miserly that
living with him was entirely out of the question.”
“So you cut sticks, to use another of your sailor sayings.”
“Yes, I cut sticks, and so did my two brothers, Ben and Walter. None of
us could stand his――his infernal meanness――I can’t find any other word
to describe it. We had money coming to us, but he didn’t half clothe
us, nor feed us; and whenever the least thing went wrong he had his
cane ready, and would strike at one or the other with all his might.
Once he hit Ben in the arm and nearly broke it. But I went for him
then, and threw him down, and Ben got away. That capped the climax, and
he was in for having us all arrested, but before he could do it, Ben
and Walter ran away, and I left about three months later.”
“And where are your brothers?”
“I don’t know exactly, excepting that Ben said he was going to try his
luck in New York, and Walter said he was going to Boston. I wanted to
follow Ben to New York, but when I ran away, my uncle came after me,
and I hid in a freight car partly filled with boxes of mineral water,
and before I knew it I was locked in and rolling westward at the rate
of thirty miles an hour. Try my best, I couldn’t get out nor make
anybody hear me, and I should have starved to death if it hadn’t been
for the mineral water and a lot of eating that I had along, for I had
expected to tramp to New York.”
“And when you reached San Francisco, you shipped on the _Rescue_?”
“Not right away. I worked at several odd jobs, hoping to earn enough to
pay my way to New York. Then one day I fell in with Captain Morgan, and
took the notion to ship to Honolulu and back, and here I am――and likely
to stay for a while,” concluded Larry.
“How did you like the water?”
“First rate. You see, I was rather used to it――for I was around the
lake at home a good deal. But I should like to hear from my brothers.”
“Have you tried to reach them by letters?”
“Yes; I wrote to New York and Boston from San Francisco, and also from
Honolulu, as soon as I arrived. Before they left we arranged between
us to write. I wish we had all remained together.” The youth finished
his meal, then arose, and began to gather up the dishes. “I’m much
obliged, Mr. Harmon. Now I’ll wash the things up, and then you can let
me do that work we spoke of.”
“There isn’t much to do. I was going to split up some of the logs in
the back for firewood. You might do a little of that.” The proprietor
of the wayside resort arose and stretched himself. “To tell the truth,
I never supposed it could get so dull. If it keeps so――Hullo, here
comes a carriage-load of folks now! By George, look!”
He ran to the doorway and pointed with his finger. Larry Russell
followed, and through the dust saw a large carriage containing three
men approaching at a breakneck speed. It was moving to one side of the
highway, and two of the wheels were constantly bumping over the rocks
in a fashion calculated to overturn the vehicle.
“Those horses are running away!” gasped the boy. “See, the reins are
dangling on the ground!” And he ran out into the road in front of the
building.
“Help! stop the hosses!” sang out a voice full of terror from the
carriage. “Whoa, there, whoa, consarn ye! Whoa!”
“They are making for yonder gully!” burst out the keeper of the resort.
“If the carriage goes into that, they’ll all be smashed up! The gully
is fifty feet deep!”
“I’ll stop them if I can!” came from Larry Russell’s lips, and with a
sudden determination he bounded off in the direction of the runaway
team.
CHAPTER II
AN ADVENTURE ON PALI
Larry Russell was a youth of sixteen, tall, broad-shouldered, and of
good weight. His curly hair was of deep brown, as was also the color
of his eyes, and his handsome, manly face was thoroughly tanned by
constant exposure to the sun.
As the youth had said, he was one of three brothers, of whom Ben was
the oldest and Walter next. The boys had never known what it was to
have a sister, and now they were entirely alone in the world, saving
for the step-uncle Larry had mentioned.
The boys had been brought up in a home which was comfortable if not
elegant, and during her life Mrs. Russell had been all that a devoted
mother can be, giving the lads a good education and a strict moral and
religious training as well. Taking after their father, who had been a
great traveller, the boys were inclined to be of a roving nature, but
this spirit had been constantly curbed by the mother, who dreaded to
think of having any one of them leave her.
At Mrs. Russell’s untimely death, life had changed for her sons as a
summer sky changes when a cold and wild thunder storm rushes on. The
pleasant home had been broken up by the harsh and dictatorial Job
Dowling, a man who thought of nothing but to make money and save it.
He took charge of everything, sold off the household treasures at the
highest possible prices, placed the cash in the best of the Buffalo
banks, and took the boys to live with him in a tumble-down cottage on
a side street, presided over by an old Irishwoman, for Dowling was a
bachelor.
The first strife had arisen from the selling of some little articles
which had belonged to Mrs. Russell’s personal effects, and which the
boys wished to save as keepsakes. “It’s all foolishness, a-keepin’ of
’em,” Job Dowling had cried. “I won’t cater to no such softheartedness.
I’ll sell the things and put the money in the bank, where it will be
a-drawin’ interest;” and this he did with the majority of the articles.
A few the boys hid, and these were all that were left to them when the
final break-up came.
Larry had told but a small portion of the particulars concerning that
quarrel――leaving out how Job Dowling had struck him senseless with his
cane, and how he had recovered to find himself a prisoner in the garret
of the cottage, with his step-uncle gone off to swear out a warrant for
his arrest. It had been an easy matter for the lad to escape from the
garret by dropping from the window to the roof of the kitchen addition,
and with the housekeeper also gone, to the market, the boy had had
matters his own way in supplying himself with food. The chase to the
freight yard had been a close one, and he had been all but exhausted
when the door was shut and locked and the long train rolled on its way.
The train had taken him only as far as Oakland, and there he had
remained for several days, with not enough money to take him across the
bay to the metropolis of the Golden Gate. Hard times had followed,――for
runaways do not always fare so well as boys imagine they do,――and more
than once Larry had crept away to some secluded corner, to go to sleep
whenever the pangs of hunger would allow. It was hunger as much as
anything else which had driven him to accept the offer to ship with
Captain Morgan, and the first square meal he had had for ten days had
been eaten in the dingy forecastle of the _Rescue_.
Yet life on shipboard had pleased him greatly, and with the knowledge
derived from days spent upon Lake Erie he had soon learned to do his
full duty as a foremast hand, and as he was both strong and fearless,
the climbing of the shrouds and the taking in of sail in the teeth of a
storm had no terrors for him.
The calculation had been that the _Rescue_ would not remain at Honolulu
more than two weeks, before starting on the return to San Francisco,
but a fierce gale had opened some of her seams, and after unloading,
an inspection had showed that she must undergo a thorough overhauling
before putting to sea again, or else run the risk of sinking in mid
ocean. Upon learning this, Captain Morgan had put her into the basin
at the ship-yard, and told the crew that they could either wait until
repairs were finished or ship elsewhere, just as they chose.
The first few days spent in and around the capital city of the
Hawaiian, or Sandwich, Islands had pleased Larry greatly, for there
was so much to see that was new and strange. In San Francisco he had
met many Chinese and Japanese, but here in addition were the Kanakas,
the natives of the Islands, a race quite distinct in itself, although
allied to the Maoris of New Zealand. He had seen them first in the
bay, hundreds of them swimming about,――for the native Hawaiian takes
to the sea like a fish,――their heads bobbing up and down like so many
cocoanuts.
The city itself was also of interest, with its broad, smooth streets,
lined with stately palms, and dotted everywhere with broad, low villas
and huts, each in a veritable bower of green. Down in the business
portion the stores were very much like those in a small American
city, excepting that they were kept by all sorts of people,――Kanakas,
Americans, Germans, Frenchmen, and numerous Chinese and Japanese. It
was not an uncommon thing to hear two men talking, each in a different
language, yet each understanding the other. On his first trips around
he had visited the Royal Palace, now the abode of royalty no longer,
the Government Buildings on Palace Square and King Street, and also
the quaint Kawhaiahoa church, a structure composed entirely of coral,
and erected by the natives shortly after the missionaries arrived and
prevailed upon them to give up idolatry.
Then had come the chance to sail to Hilo, a town situated upon the
eastern coast of Hawaii, the largest of the group of islands. Arriving
there, he had had time enough to travel on horseback with a small party
to the great volcano. It was a two days’ journey, and at night the
party slept in a native hut, under _kapas_, or bark cloths, and in the
morning Larry had his first taste of the great national dish, _poi_,
which did not suit him at all, although the natives and some others eat
it with great relish.
The journey to the volcano was a hard one, but once arriving at the
top, the youth felt himself well repaid for his trouble. He was nearly
forty-five hundred feet above sea-level, and before him was stretched
the grand crater of Kilauea, nine miles in diameter, with the active
portion, called Hale-mau-mau, or House of Everlasting Fire, occupying
one portion of it. Nearly a day was spent here, and Larry went down
into the silent depths of the crater, approaching so closely to the
terrible fires that his shoes were burnt from the heat of the lava beds
upon which he trod.
The youth had sought to obtain work at the Volcano House, a hostelry
situated upon the brink of the volcano, but here it was the same tale
that was told to him at Pali――the season was dull and no extra help was
wanted. So he went back to Hilo, a little place set in a wilderness of
tropical growth, and returned to Honolulu on the lumber boat.
The trip to Hilo had brought him in nothing in cash, for he had offered
his services in return for the passage, and when he reached Honolulu
again he found that all he had left out of his ship’s wages was six
dollars and a half. “I’ll have to economize,” he thought, and sought
out the cheapest boarding-house he could find. The place was full of
sailors, and the next morning he awoke to find that he had been robbed
and that his room-mate, a burly foreigner, was missing. He had at once
reported his loss, but it did no good; and he found himself out in the
streets penniless.
Larry might have applied to Captain Morgan for a loan, but such was
not his habit, and he set to work manfully to make the best of the
situation. For several days he tramped here, there, and everywhere,
doing what he could to pick up a living, until at last he came to the
resort kept by Ralph Harmon, as already described. And here we will
rejoin him, at the moment he resolved to stop the runaway horses, did
it lie in his power.
“Look out for yourself,” cried Ralph Harmon, as he came after Larry.
“If you don’t, those beasts will trample you under foot.”
“Whoa! whoa!” went on the excited man on the front seat of the
carriage. “Consarn ye, whoa!”
He was evidently a nautical fellow, for he was dressed like a son of
the sea. He was standing up, waving his hands frantically. On the rear
seat of the carriage crouched his two companions, evidently too scared
to speak or move.
To Ralph Harmon’s words, and to the yells from the turnout, Larry
answered not a word, knowing that it would be a sheer waste of breath.
But he continued to cover the ground at a lively gait, and as he ran he
pulled off his coat.
“You’ll be killed!” screamed Harmon, as the boy stepped almost directly
in front of the team. Then the man saw the coat sail up in the air and
land over the head of the nearest horse. As the animal paused at having
the light so suddenly shut from his view, Larry leaped upon his back.
“Good for you, boy! Now stop ’em!” shouted the nautical fellow on the
front seat. “Stop ’em, and I’ll give you a five-dollar gold piece, as
sure as my name is Captain Nat Ponsberry!”
“I’ll stop them if there is any stop to them!” panted Larry, for the
run and the leap had somewhat winded him. “Whoa, now, my beauties,
whoa!” he went on, soothingly, at the same time reaching for the reins.
“We’re going into yonder gully!” suddenly shouted one of the men on the
back seat. “We must jump, or we will be killed!”
“No, no, don’t jump,” answered his companion, a man dressed in clerical
black. “The boy will stop the horses; see, he has the reins already;”
and he added a half-audible prayer for their safe deliverance.
It was true that Larry had the lines, but the coat had fallen to the
ground, the horses still held their bits between their teeth, and it
looked as if they did not intend to give in just then. The brink of the
gully swept closer and closer. Now it was a hundred feet away――now but
fifty――and now twenty-five. The boy’s face paled, and he gave an extra
pull upon the reins of one horse, and the carriage swerved just a bit
to the left, but not enough――and they swept nearer.
“Get over there!” he yelled, and hit the horse on the side of the
head with all the force of his naked fist. It was a cruel blow, and
it skinned his knuckles, while the animal staggered as though struck
with a club. But the blow told, the team turned,――the punished beast
dragging his mate,――and the turnout swept past the edge of the gully
with less than two feet to spare! A hundred feet further on the
runaways came to a standstill, and Larry slid to the ground.
“Young man, you have saved our lives,” cried the nautical fellow, as
soon as he could speak, and lumbering out of the carriage he ran up
and assisted Larry in holding the team, which were all a-quiver with
excitement, and covered with foam.
“I reckon they are about run out, sir,” answered the youth, as coolly
as he could. “How did they happen to break away?”
“I guess it was my fault,” answered Captain Nat Ponsberry, somewhat
sheepishly. “You see, I ain’t much used to hosses, and the steerin’
of ’em rather bothered me, and I worried ’em until they jest wouldn’t
stand it no longer. Parson, I ought to have let you drive, or Tom
Grandon,” he continued to the others, who had also alighted.
“I don’t know any more about horses than you do, Nat,” said the man
addressed as Grandon, also a sailor, by his general appearance. “Don’t
catch me riding out behind such a mettlesome team again! What do you
think, Mr. Wells?”
“I think the boy has done us all a great service,” answered the Rev.
Martin Wells, soberly. “Were it not for his bravery, and the kindness
of an all-wise Providence, we should at this moment be lying at the
bottom of yonder gully suffering severe injuries, if not lifeless. I
for one thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have done,”
he added, taking Larry’s hand warmly. “I shall remember you as long as
I live.”
He was so earnest that Larry blushed, although he knew not exactly why.
The others also took him by the hand, while Ralph Harmon came forward,
and, directed by Captain Ponsberry, turned the team and carriage into
his stables.
A few minutes later found the party inside the little wayside resort,
where for some time they discussed the adventure and the part each one
had played in it. They had come up to look over the precipice, but a
good deal of their interest in sight-seeing was now gone.
“I don’t know as I care to drive those horses back to Honolulu,”
remarked Captain Ponsberry, after he had insisted upon rewarding Larry
by literally jamming a five-dollar gold piece down in his trousers
pocket. “Have you got a man around here as can do it for us?” he asked
of Ralph Harmon.
“I will drive them down, if you’ll allow me,” put in Larry. “I am going
down, and I’ll be glad of the ride. I’ll give you my word they won’t
get away from me,” he added confidently.
“There is no one around here now,” answered Harmon. “I have a native
driver somewhere, but I am sorry to say he drinks and is not reliable.”
“I shall feel safe with the boy,” put in the Rev. Martin Wells. “Don’t
you say the same, Grandon?”
“Why not, seeing how well he handled them before? Give the lad the job,
Nat, and let us have the best to eat that the house affords;” the last
words to the keeper of the resort, who at once bustled off to stir up
his fire and his sleepy native cook at the same time.
CHAPTER III
A FRUITLESS CHASE
While the party of three ate the meal prepared for them, Larry worked
at the rear of the wayside resort, chopping the wood Harmon had pointed
out.
With five dollars in his pocket the youth felt easy again. In Honolulu,
where accommodations were cheap, five dollars would last a long while,
and he felt that his luck was bound to change before the money was
entirely gone.
Close to where he worked was an open window, and from the conversation
of the three he learned that Captain Nat Ponsberry was the commander
and part owner of the _Columbia_, a three-masted schooner, which had
just come into Honolulu from Panama, and was to leave the following
week for Hong Kong, China. Tom Grandon was first mate of the schooner,
and evidently he and the captain were old friends, both hailing from
Gloucester, the original home of the schooner build of sea-going
vessels. The Rev. Martin Wells was to be a passenger, bound also
for Hong Kong. He had been picked up in Honolulu, where he had been
attached to the English missions. He was in no hurry to get to Hong
Kong and had chosen the sailing-vessel because it was cheaper than the
regular steamer, although, of course, not nearly so fast.
The three made a pleasant party, both the captain and Tom Grandon being
full of fun, and the clergyman not being above a joke himself, although
never forgetting his cloth. More than once Larry found himself laughing
at what was said, as each quizzed the others about being scared to
death.
“I’ll wager life on the _Columbia_ isn’t as dull as it is on some
vessels,” thought Larry, as he finished cutting the wood and hung up
the axe. “I wish she was bound for San Francisco――I’d give the _Rescue_
the go-by and strike Captain Ponsberry for a position. Even as it is
I may strike him, if nothing better turns up, although I’ve no great
hankering to visit the land of the heathen Chinee.”
“Well, Larry Russell, if that’s your name, I reckon as how it’s
about time we boarded ship and sailed for Honolulu!” cried Captain
Ponsberry, after he and his companions had made a brief tour of the
Pali. “I promised to be back to the _Columbia_ by seven o’clock, and
I’m a man as never breaks my word.”
“I’ll have the team out in a jiffy,” answered the youth, and rushed
around to the stable. The horses had been left in harness, and it was
an easy task to hook them up. He drove around to the front of the
resort, the three clambered in, and with a farewell to Ralph Harmon,
and a rather unnecessary crack of the whip upon Larry’s part, they
bowled off down the sweep of the road across which the stately palms
were now casting long, wavering shadows.
It was a beautiful drive, that down the Nuuanu Valley and into Nuuanu
avenue, past lovely homes that have a perpetual summer, homes hedged in
by palms and cacti, and here and there a field of bamboo, with vines
clustering everywhere. In two places they passed large cemeteries,
surrounded by tall, gray walls, overgrown with moss and guarded by long
rows of solemn-looking cypresses; and then they came whirling down
into the town proper, now silent and almost deserted, for the time for
business was over, and the workers had hied themselves to their homes,
to the bathing-beach at Waikiki, or to some other place of amusement.
“Oh, had we some bright little isle of our own,
In the blue summer ocean, far off and alone,”
quoted the Rev. Martin Wells, and then, as if fearing he was getting
too sentimental, he quickly changed the subject. “Larry, you drive like
a veteran. Do you own a horse?”
“A horse? I? Hardly. Why, I’m――I’m――that is, I don’t own much of
anything in this world――just now,” stammered the youth. “Steady, boys,
steady; you’ve behaved well so far; don’t spoil your record,” he went
on, to the team.
“Do your family live here?” went on the inquisitive man in black.
“No, sir, I have no family, only two brothers, who are miles and miles
away from here. I am a sailor boy, but my boat is laid up for repairs,
and so I’m knocking about earning a living as best I can.”
“A sailor boy, eh?” put in Captain Ponsberry. “Why didn’t you say so
afore, youngster? A sailor boy, and stopped those hosses that way!
Well, I never! Reckon you’re a putty good hand afore the mast. What
ship did you sail in?”
“The _Rescue_――Captain Morgan.”
“Oh, yes, I heard tell she was laid up here――got knocked out in a
southeaster――they’re putty bad around these parts, though they be wuss
off the coast of Chili. So you’re one of his boys? Well, if you ain’t
got much to do, come down and see me. We’re loading and unloading, you
know.”
“If you can give me work at that, I’ll jump at the job,” answered
Larry, quickly. “I’d like to work out that five dollars, if nothing
else.”
“Now jess you stow it about the gold, lad; ye earned that fair and
square, an’ more, too――eh, Parson? eh, Tom? Don’t you think our lives
was worth――let me see――less’n two dollars each?”
This was said so drolly Larry was compelled to laugh. “I wasn’t looking
at it that way――it was a big price for stopping a team――I’d like to
stop ’em every day in the week at that figure.”
“God forbid!” murmured Mr. Wells. “You might slip down, and then――” he
shook his head seriously. “Yes, yes, Captain Ponsberry, give him work
by all means, if he wants it, and you have room for an extra hand.”
“We’ll make room,” put in the mate of the _Columbia_. “There is one
Kanaka in the gang isn’t worth his salt. I’ll discharge him and Larry
can come on first thing in the morning.”
So it was arranged; and at the livery stable where the turnout had been
hired the boy left the three men, feeling lighter in heart than he had
for a long while. A week’s work would mean at least six to nine dollars
in addition to the five given him, and who knew but that his newly
made friends would put in a good word for him elsewhere, or Captain
Ponsberry might even ask him to go on the Hong Kong trip. The more he
thought of the trip, the more strongly did it appeal to him.
“I might just as well see all of the world I can while I am at it,” he
argued mentally. “It won’t do me much good to go back to San Francisco
right away; for I can’t help Ben or Walter, and none of us can bring
Uncle Job to terms until we are of age and can apply for a legal
settlement of mother’s estate. If I went to Hong Kong with Captain
Ponsberry, and he promised to bring me back here or to San Francisco, I
know he would do it.”
As I have mentioned, the business streets of the thriving seaport
city were practically deserted, but up at Emma Square, a few blocks
off, the native brass band was giving its weekly evening concert.
Although not a musician himself, Larry loved to hear a band play, and
he wandered off in the direction, to join the crowd that stood close
to the performers. They were playing a popular air, which had drifted
hither from London by way of New York, Chicago, and San Francisco, as
such airs are bound to do. Larry had heard the same tune in Buffalo,
ground out on a mechanical piano, and for a brief instant a spasm of
homesickness passed over him.
“Music seems to be the same, no matter where a fellow goes,” he
thought. “What a conglomeration of people and what a lot of native
children! The Kanakas must love music. Well, it’s nice enough for
most――ha!”
Larry broke off short, and pushed his way through the crowd to the
other side of the bandstand. He had seen a face that he recognized
only too well. It was the face of the foreign sailor who had been his
room-mate on the night he had been robbed.
“See here, I want to talk to you,” he said, catching the fellow by the
sleeve of his pea-jacket.
The man turned and cast a heavy pair of eyes upon him, eyes which
peered from under bushy eyebrows. He was a Norwegian, Olan Oleson by
name, and his reputation well fitted that which Larry had given him.
“What you want?” asked Olan Oleson, grimly, evidently well understanding
what was coming.
“I want my money, that’s what I want,” demanded the youth, firmly.
“Your money? I know notank about your money,” and the Norwegian
shrugged his huge shoulders and attempted to turn away.
“I say you do know,” cried Larry. “You just give it back to me, or I’ll
have you locked up.”
At this Olan Oleson scowled darkly. “You mak one mistak; I no tak your
money,” he growled. “Let go!”
He jerked himself free, and slipped through the crowd. But Larry was
not to be shaken off thus easily, and he quickly followed, to catch the
Norwegian again by the jacket just as the crowd was cleared.
“You’ve got over six dollars belonging to me, and I’m bound to have it,
you rascal,” he said. “Come, now, no more fooling. I’m not in the humor
for it.”
“You go way, boy, or maybe you get hurt,” returned the Norwegian. “You
mak big mistak――I never see you before.”
“That isn’t true. You slept in the same room with me,――down to the
Traveller’s Rest,――and you went through my clothes while I was asleep,
and then got out. I’m going to have my money, or have the first
policeman we meet lock you up.”
The last words had scarcely left Larry’s lips when Olan Oleson drew
back, at the same time putting forth one of his broad feet behind the
youth. Then came a sudden and heavy shove, and Larry tripped over
backwards, to fall with great force at full length.
As the youth went down, his head struck the ground, and for a few
seconds he was stunned and bewildered. Then he leaped up and gazed
around him. The Norwegian was running down the highway as rapidly as
his heavy weight and natural awkwardness would permit. He was off in
the direction of the shipping.
“He’s going to get aboard of his boat and hide, if he can,” thought
Larry, and made after the man.
Several squares were passed, and Larry was slowly gaining in his
pursuit, when Olan Oleson turned and darted into a side street which
was but little better than an alleyway. In a few seconds more the boy
reached the spot, to find the fellow had disappeared as completely as
though the earth had swallowed him up.
The side street was filled with little shops, kept by Chinese and
the poorer class of Kanakas. It was a foul-smelling and vile-looking
district, and Larry went in but the distance of a block.
“I’ll not run any more risks,” he reasoned, as he retraced his steps.
“Some of those chaps look evil enough to knock a fellow down on the
slightest provocation. I might be robbed again, and that wouldn’t pay.”
Nevertheless, as he walked away, and sought a respectable lodging-house
in another part of the city, he determined to keep his eyes open for
the Norwegian so long as he should remain in Honolulu. But never once
did Larry dream of the important part Olan Oleson was to play in his
future life, causing him some amazing adventures, and placing him in
a position to take part in one of the greatest naval engagements of
modern history.
CHAPTER IV
LARRY RECEIVES TWO INTERESTING LETTERS
“Hurrah! Here’s luck at last! Two letters, and from Ben and Walter, by
the handwriting!”
Larry was standing in the handsome structure occupied by the Honolulu
post-office department. He had just asked for letters, and the
gentlemanly clerk had handed him two, each of goodly thickness, one
marked New York and the other Boston. Both had come in on the mail
steamer from San Francisco, which had arrived the evening previous.
Hurrying to a secluded corner of the building, he tore open the letter
from his oldest brother Ben; for both Larry and Walter had looked up to
Ben ever since they could remember. The letter ran as follows:――
“MY DEAR BROTHER LARRY: After what seemed a long wait, I
received your letter from San Francisco, telling how you had
run away, and what trials and troubles you were having. I
guess we are all having our hands full. I know I am.
“Getting to New York was no picnic. I tramped as far as
Middletown, where I found work in an auction store, working
four days and earning my fare to the metropolis and a dollar
over. When I reached New York I tramped around for three days
without so much as a smell of an opening. By that time I was
out of money, and I can tell you I was pretty well discouraged,
too, when who should I meet on Broadway but Mr. Snodgrass, the
man who used to have the hardware store in Buffalo. He asked me
what I was doing in New York, and I told him I had come to seek
my luck, but didn’t tell him how badly off I was. He told me he
was in the wholesale hardware business, on Canal Street, and
I could come and see him. I went, and am now working for him
for six dollars per week, with some chance of a rise sooner or
later. My boarding-house address is at the foot of this letter.
The lady is very nice, and she cooks a good deal better than
Mrs. Rafferty did.
“I haven’t heard from Uncle Job since I left, and don’t want
to at present. But some day I’ll go back and tell him what I
think of him for treating us like so many dogs.
“I suppose this letter will find you in Honolulu, or some other
out-of-the-way place. What possessed you to turn sailor? In a
letter I received from Walter he seems to have pretty much the
same fever.
“I see by the papers here that Hawaii may be annexed shortly to
the United States, so if it is, you’ll still be somewhere in
the Union, won’t you? The papers are also full of our trouble
with Spain. Wouldn’t it be queer if the two nations should go
to war? If they did, I think I’d drop my job and turn soldier.
“I don’t know when we three will ever get together again, but
I trust it will not be long, and in the mean time I intend to
write to you often, and I want you to write also, both to me
and to Walter. Write again as soon as you get this.
Your loving brother BEN.”
Larry drew a long sigh when he had finished the letter. It was written
just as Ben usually talked, and in his mind’s eye he could imagine his
elder brother standing before him. So Ben was settled in the great
metropolis, with no notion of a change, excepting he might be called
upon to turn soldier. Well, there was small fear of there being any war
with Spain, or any other country. So thought Larry, and his thoughts
were not much different from those of many others until the thunderbolt
broke.
The letter from Walter took longer to peruse, for Walter always had so
much to say, and wrote such a twisted hand, and Larry was compelled to
laugh outright ere he was done. Certainly Walter had had his full share
of adventures.
“What in creation made you ship to Honolulu?” he wrote. “Why,
it’s almost half around the world, and you’ll make me a beggar
with buying such high-priced postage stamps when I’m writing
to you. I shouldn’t know where Honolulu was, only we’re all
reading so much about the Hawaiian Islands these days. Why
didn’t you ship to Alaska, or the North Pole, while you were at
it? Better strike Peary for an opening on his next expedition
to the land of ice.
“Perhaps I didn’t have it as hard as you, or Ben? After I left
Ben,――I got a ride on the train from Middletown to Albany,――I
just struck the worst luck a boy could imagine. My hat was the
first thing that went――the wind blew it from the train――and on
the outskirts of Albany I encountered a bull-dog that tore my
clothing nearly to bits. A tramp saved me from the bull-dog,
and I travelled with the tramp two days, when he obligingly
walked off with my coat and all my money――forty-seven cents.
“How I got to Boston at last would fill a volume. I have been a
farmhand, a glazier (put in two panes of glass for an old lady,
who had the glass, but not the skill), a blacksmith (helped at
a country smithy two days, when the regular helper came back),
a florist (worked three days in a greenhouse, and got no pay,
because I knocked a lot of pots down with a step-ladder), and
a deckhand on a river steamboat. Now, at last, I am here in
Boston, helping an old sailor, with one leg, that has a large
news-stand (the sailor, not the leg). The sailor’s name is
Phil Newell, and he was all through the Civil War. You just
ought to hear him tell about fighting and narrow escapes from
the enemy! He knows all about the war between Spain and the
Cuban insurgents, and he’s certain the United States will get
mixed up in the row sooner or later. If we do, he says I ought
to go as a sailor on a man-o’-war, and I don’t know but that I
will; for, according to Newell, it’s the most glorious life on
the face of the earth. Who knows but that I might come out a
captain or a commodore, eh?
“I know there is no use in speaking of Uncle Job, for Ben will
write about that, and I can’t think of the mean old fellow
without getting mad clear to my finger-tips. Perhaps that isn’t
just Christian-like; but really, isn’t he the worst that ever
was? And to think he was going to have you arrested! He ought
to be arrested himself――for breaking up our home, putting all
the money in the bank, and making us live as though we were
next door to beggars. But never mind; a day of reckoning will
come.
“But I must close up now,――the stand, I mean,――and I’ll close
up the letter, too. Good-by, and take care of yourself, and
write often, above all things, for it’s mighty lonely being by
one’s self, isn’t it?”
“Dear old Walter, that sounds like him,” murmured Larry, as he stuck
the epistle back into its envelope. There was something very much like
a tear in his brown eyes. “It would be awfully nice if we were together
again, and mother was alive!”
Larry had stopped at the post-office as soon as it was open in the
morning, just as he had stopped every morning since he had been in
Honolulu. Now, putting his letters away, he hurried on, bound for the
dock at which the _Columbia_ lay.
“Well, I see you’re on hand,” was Tom Grandon’s greeting when he
appeared. “You can get right to work, if you will. I’ve sent that
good-for-nothing Kanaka about his business.”
“Me take Kuola’s place,” said a thick voice at Grandon’s elbow, and
both Larry and the mate of the _Columbia_ turned, to find a dusky, fat,
and ill-smelling native standing before them.
“What’s that, man?”
“You send Kuola away――me take his place.”
“I don’t want you. I’ve hired this lad to fill Kuola’s place.”
“Dat boy?”
“Yes.”
“He no strong as Wakari――Wakari werry strong. You try um.”
“I told you I didn’t want you,” answered Tom Grandon, half angrily,
for the foul-smelling native had come up closer, and caught him by the
shoulder. “You go and look for work elsewhere.”
The face of the native fell, and he muttered something under his breath
in his own language. He still wanted to argue; but Grandon threw his
hand off and turned him around, and then he glided away, noiselessly,
like some beast of the forest.
“You’ll get into trouble with those boys, Tom,” laughed Captain
Ponsberry, who stood near. “Consarn ’em! Give me a white man for
stevedore work, every time. The wust of ’em are wuth three niggers! How
are you to-day?” the last to Larry.
“Very well, sir, and ready to pitch in,” was the answer. “I should have
been here earlier, only I received two letters,――one from each of my
brothers,――and I couldn’t help stopping to read them.”
“Don’t blame you for that, for letters are scarce when you get away
as far as this. I was looking for letters and papers myself; but Jack
Dodger, who went after ’em, ain’t back yet.”
The captain turned to another part of the dock, and Larry followed
Tom Grandon on board of the _Columbia_. Although he had been a sailor
but a short time, the youth knew how to take in many of the good
points of a vessel, and his quick eye told him that the _Columbia_
was in every respect an A 1 schooner, to use the Lloyds’ method of
classification, and that all on board was in perfect order and as clean
as a boatswain’s whistle.
“She’s a good one,” he observed, as he saw Tom Grandon look at him
questioningly.
“None better, lad,” responded the mate, “and I expected you to say
it. Now come up to the forward hatch. Do you think you could manage
yonder block and fall without getting a finger taken off or dropping a
valuable case of goods?”
“I think I can. I did just such work on the _Rescue_ about a month ago.”
“Then pitch in, and if you do a man’s work it’s a man’s wages that will
be coming to you when the job’s at an end. Come, Hobson, Striker, bend
to it now and no fooling, or the _Columbia_ will never be unloaded, to
say nothing of getting our Hong Kong cargo aboard. Where is Oleson,
that new fellow that shipped day before yesterday?”
“He hasn’t shown up this morning, sir,” answered the man addressed as
Hobson, a ruddy faced Englishman. “Was he to work with us?”
“We didn’t hire him for it, but still he might take a hand――the sooner
we’re unloaded and loaded again, the better. There you are, boy,
steady now and let her go! Up, up! a leetle more! That will do. It’s
all right――couldn’t have done it better myself. Hobson, this is Larry
Russell, the brave lad that stopped the team yesterday. He’ll help here
as long as there is anything to do,” and with a cheerful wave of his
hand Tom Grandon moved to another part of the schooner, leaving Larry
to continue the task which had been assigned to him.
It is needless to say that the youth went to work with a will, not only
because that was his usual way of doing things, but because he wanted
to show Captain Ponsberry and the mate that he was capable of taking a
man’s place, should it come to a question of shipping for the cruise to
Hong Kong――something that was more in his mind than ever before, now
that he had seen what a good craft the _Columbia_ was.
As Larry worked, the eyes of two natives secreted behind a high pile of
lumber on the dock beyond were riveted upon him. One of the natives was
Kuola, the fellow who had been discharged, the other was Wakari, the
foul-smelling chap who had come to take his place. Both were dissolute,
only working in order to obtain a little cash with which to buy liquor.
They watched Larry for a long time, then both shook their clenched
fists at the boy and sneaked off.
CHAPTER V
SOMETHING ABOUT THE DESTRUCTION OF THE “MAINE”
About an hour had been passed by Larry in steady work, when, on looking
towards the companionway of the _Columbia_, he saw Captain Ponsberry
rush up, newspaper in hand, and so excited that he could scarcely speak.
“Tom Grandon, look here!” he cried. “Consarn the Spaniards, anyhow!
Here’s news for all to listen to, and news that ought to set the
whole United States on fire with indignation. We ought to drown every
mother’s son of ’em at the bottom of the sea.”
“What is it, Nat?” returned Grandon, rushing forward, while Larry and
the others paused in their work. “What have the Spaniards been doing to
the poor Cubans now?”
“Cubans!” fairly roared the master of the _Columbia_. “It ain’t the
Cubans I’m talking about now. It’s the teetotal busting up of the
battleship _Maine_ and the killing of I don’t know how many of our
gallant jack-tars! See here, the newspaper from San Francisco is full
of it, with type six inches long!”
[Illustration: IT AIN’T THE CUBANS I’M TALKING ABOUT NOW]
And Captain Ponsberry held up the sheet in question, so that not only
Grandon but all the others might see the flaring head-lines.
THE MAINE BLOWN UP!
Total Destruction of Our Battleship in the
Harbor of Havana!
OVER TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY OFFICERS
AND SAILORS KILLED!
The Shock Comes at Night, and Without Warning. Captain
Sigsbee Safe, but Several Officers Known to be Lost.
A Partial List of the Saved Ones――How the
News Was Received at Washington.
THOUGHT TO BE THE WORK OF SPANISH
AGENTS.
Captain Sigsbee Telegraphs to Withhold Judgment――He Says,
“It is best not to think, it is best to know.”
A whole page of reading followed, in smaller type, which Larry could
not catch. The youth stared at the head-lines, with mouth agape, and
instantly he thought of Ben and Walter, and what they had said about
going to war. If this awful news was true, and the Spaniards were
guilty, would war follow?
There was a second of silence, as the sailors read the lines, a silence
broken by Tom Grandon. “Tell you what, this is awful, simply awful,
Nat! And they say the Spaniards did it? If that’s so, there will be war
in a jiffy, and don’t you forget it――and Cuba will be free.”
“Yes, Cuba will be free, and Spain will get knocked into six million
pieces,” blazed away Captain Ponsberry, who was wont to talk very
extravagantly when warmed up. “The cowards! to blow ’em up when they
were sleeping.”
“Does it say that?” questioned Hobson. “No fair-minded nation would do
such a dastardly bit o’ work, cap’n.”
“I don’t say the nation did it,――as a nation,――but their officers did
it, and that’s the same thing――the sneaks! I see some think it was an
explosion from the inside, but I know that couldn’t happen in our navy;
the rules aboard a warship are too strict.”
“That’s right,” piped up a thin, nasal voice,――that belonged to
Luke Striker, a sailor who had been working beside Larry. “Didn’t
I put in five years aboard a warship, cruising the Atlantic? There
couldn’t be no explosion from inside, not with the daily inspections
of the magazines, and the wetting of the guncotton, and the keys and
electrical connections in the captain’s cabin; no, sir. That explosion
came from the outside, and――and――but, captain, won’t you read the full
account?”
“Yes, Nat, read it out; all of the boys will want to hear it, especially
those who claim the stars and stripes as their flag,” added Tom Grandon.
And so the captain of the _Columbia_ read the account which, stripped
of its newspaper sensationalism, was as follows; the special report
being dated at Havana, Cuba, Feb. 16, 1898.
“At quarter to ten o’clock last evening a terrible explosion
occurred on board or under the United States battleship
_Maine_, lying in the harbor of Havana. The battleship has been
completely destroyed, and over two hundred and fifty sailors
and two officers have lost their lives.
“The explosion was so heavy that many of the houses in Havana
were shaken, and people ran outside, thinking it was an
earthquake shock. It was soon learned that the great battleship
had gone up, and the docks were lined with people, while
rescue boats put out from all directions.
“The shock came without an instant’s warning. Captain Sigsbee
was seated in his cabin, writing a letter to his wife, while
many of the officers and sailors had retired for the night,
when there came a deafening report, followed by thick volumes
of smoke and a shower of iron piping and splinters, and then
the vessel began to sink, her heavy structure and armor plate
twisted, bent, and broken like a battered wash-boiler.
“The officers who were below, and who had escaped serious
injury, rushed or rather swam on deck, only to find themselves
in a mass of wreckage from which it was almost impossible to
extricate themselves. The explosion occurred close to the men’s
quarters, and but few of the gallant jackies got out alive. One
ladder leading from the rear torpedo compartment was literally
jammed with men struggling for life.
“Fortunately the _Alfonso XII._ was lying close by, and a
powerful searchlight was speedily turned upon the scene. The
steamer _City of Washington_, also close at hand, sent out
all her boats and brought in a great number of those swimming
about, many of whom were wounded and on the point of drowning.
“So far but few of the dead bodies have been recovered,
everybody being on the lookout for the injured. Many have been
taken to the hospitals in Havana, while some are lying at
death’s door on the steamships which were in the vicinity of
the explosion.
“A dozen theories have started up as to the cause of the
explosion. One is that the guncotton on board went off by
spontaneous combustion; another is that the plating between
the engine rooms and one of the magazines became too hot
and ignited the powder; and still another that the electric
lighting system is responsible. The general opinion among those
on board, however, is that the _Maine_ was blown up from the
outside, either by a torpedo or by a sunken mine, most likely
the latter.
“There is fearful though suppressed excitement in Havana, and
the Americans here look blackly at the Spanish soldiers as
they move from place to place. Spanish officers declare the
explosion must have come from the interior of the ship, and
profess to be deeply concerned over the disaster. Certainly
a majority of them are sincere in their condolence. But in
the back quarters of the town the Spanish sympathizers do not
hesitate to declare that it serves the Yankees right, that they
had no right to send a big warship here at this time, and that
they hope every warship that may come from the United States
will be served the same way.”
“Is that all?” queried the mate of the _Columbia_, as Captain Ponsberry
paused in his reading of the newspaper account.
“That’s all the news there is of the explosion. I reckon everything was
upset, and they couldn’t get details,” answered the captain.
“The _Maine_ must have been a big boat,” said Hobson.
“She was a big boat,” answered Luke Striker. “I know something about
her. She was what they call a battleship of the second class――although
I allow as how she was fust class all over. She came out of the
Brooklyn Navy Yard and she was over three hundred feet long, nearly
sixty feet broad and drew about twenty-seven feet of water. Her hull
was of steel, and she was put down as about sixty-seven hundred tons’
displacement.”
“Who is this Captain Sigsbee?” asked Larry.
“I don’t know much about him, exceptin’ that he came from the Naval
Academy, and he used to be in charge of the Hydrographic Office, and
I’ve heard he made a big thing of that.”
“I see in another part of this paper that there were three hundred and
fifty men on the pay-roll,” said Captain Ponsberry. “If that’s so, then
only about a hundred of ’em escaped. It’s the wust accident I’ve heard
of since the sinking of that British warship the _Victoria_, which went
down by being struck by one of her own fleet while off the coast of
Tripoli. She carried about four hundred poor sailors down with her, and
Vice-Admiral Tryon in the bargain.”
A lively discussion lasting several minutes followed. The news was such
that it would furnish talk, especially for sailors, for a long time to
come.
But the work aboard the _Columbia_ was not to be forgotten, and soon
Larry was back at his post, trying to make up for lost time.
CHAPTER VI
A BRUSH WITH TWO KANAKAS
Larry went back to his work with his head filled with what he had
heard. The news was truly terrible. To think of those poor jackies who
had been summoned before their Maker without an instant’s warning made
him shudder, and half unconsciously he breathed a prayer that such a
fate might never overtake himself.
“None of the navy for me,” remarked Hobson, as he, too, resumed his
labor. “I’ve sailed upon merchantmen going on twenty-six years, and
they are good enough for me.”
“I can’t say as much,” put in Luke Striker, who, as Larry soon
discovered, was a typical Yankee, hailing from Bangor, Maine. “O’
course the rules are strict, and you have to pay strict attention to
all commands; but the jackies are a jolly crowd with it all, and then,
if war comes, think of all the glory to be won!”
“If a shell or a shot don’t finish you,” interrupted Hobson. “No,” he
added, as Striker muttered something about being afraid, “I’m as brave,
I think, as most men, but I’m peaceably inclined, and I say, let them
as makes the quarrel go and fight it out.”
“But the poor lads at the bottom of Havana harbor can’t fight any more,
matey,” said Striker.
“No, they can’t, an’ more the pity. But then they didn’t make the fight
at the start. It’s those in high authority do that.” And Hobson turned
to shore with a case of goods he was trucking; and the discussion, for
the time being, came to an end.
Although it was still early in the year, it was hot in these latitudes,
and when the noonday whistles blew, Larry was glad enough to knock
off for his dinner and a rest. He was about to go ashore when Grandon
hailed him.
“Have you paid for your dinner in advance?” he asked.
“Why, what do you mean?” returned Larry, somewhat mystified.
“I mean have you a regular boarding-place to go to for dinner? If not,
you can have your dinner with the crew, and welcome.”
“Thank you; that will just suit me, sir.”
“You seem to be a good lad, and I like to see such get along. We had
one young fellow on our last trip, but he wasn’t worth his salt. Tell
Jeff I said you could mess with the rest.”
Larry soon learned that Jeff was the ship’s cook,――a tall, fat mulatto,
much given to singing and dancing whenever the occasion allowed. Jeff
smiled broadly when the boy told him what Grandon had said.
“All right, sah, jess git Hobson or one ob de rest to make room fo’
yo’, an’ yo’ kin hab’ all yo’ wants, includin’ plum duff an’ a slice o’
mutton. We is livin’ high in dis port.”
“Mutton and plum duff will just strike me right,” smiled Larry. “When I
was on the bark _Rescue_, it was salt horse almost every day.”
“Well, I ain’t sayin’ wot de boys gits on a long trip,” answered the
cook. “We runs putty close to de wind sometimes.”
“Avast there, Jeff!” cried Luke Striker. “Don’t give the captain
a black eye when he don’t deserve it. The eatin’ on board of the
_Columbia_ is all it should be, an’ more, without thanking the cook,
either. Ain’t that so, Hobson?”
“You’ve spoken the truth, Striker,” rejoined the Englishman. “A man as
would go thin on such grub has no right to live. If you want to ship,
lad, just you strike Captain Nat Ponsberry for a berth, and you’ll be
safe.”
“Do you think he would take me?” questioned Larry, not stopping to
think twice.
“Hullo, do you want to go to Hong Kong?” put in Luke Striker. “I
thought you said something this forenoon about getting back to the
States.”
“I do think of going back, but I might take this trip first. I haven’t
seen much of the vessel, but what I have seen has pleased me, and
I took to Captain Ponsberry and Mr. Grandon the very hour I became
acquainted with them.”
“Which was nateral lad, quite nateral,” said Striker. “I did the
same――and I’ve never regretted it. But about taking you――that’s another
question. Do you know the ropes?”
“I think I do.”
“How about doing your duty aloft when there’s a storm on and the ship
is pitching an’ creakin’ an’ groanin’ like she was going to Davy Jones’
locker? Would you pull in and clew up for all you was worth then?”
“I’d try to do my duty.”
“Douse my toplights if I don’t think you would; eh, Hobson?”
“I should hope so. But there’s no telling what’s in man or boy until
he’s put to the test. However, if the lad thinks to ship on the
_Columbia_, it would do no harm to broach the subject to the captain,”
concluded the English sailor.
Once having spoken of the matter on his mind, Larry was now quite
anxious to speak to the master of the _Columbia_ concerning the trip.
But during the afternoon neither Captain Ponsberry nor the mate showed
themselves, having gone up to the Custom House to see about clearance
papers.
“He can use one more hand,” said Hobson. “But I heard Grandon speak of
a German who wanted to go, a fellow who used to be a sailor but is now
working on one of the Oahu sugar plantations. If he’s shipped him, I
don’t see how they will be room for another.”
At this Larry’s hopes fell somewhat, but they rose again when Luke
Striker said he would speak to the captain as soon as he came back.
With this he had to be content, and at the end of the day’s work he
bade the others good-night, picked up his coat, and left the vessel.
His boarding-house was quite a distance from the shipping, and Larry
had not covered many squares before he noticed that he was being
followed. The persons after him were the two natives who had watched
him, and each was armed with a stout club.
“It’s queer that they should follow me,” thought Larry. “What can they
be up to?”
The youth was not kept long in doubt. Having passed from the main
street into one of less pretensions, he was on the point of entering
the shady grounds surrounding the new boarding-house he had selected,
when both natives ran up, each catching him by an arm.
“Want to speak to American boy,” said the one named Wakari.
“Well, what do you want?” demanded Larry, at the same time trying in
vain to pull himself free.
“American boy take work away from Kuola,” answered the second native.
“Must pay for doing dat.”
“Took work away from you? What do you mean?”
“Kuola work down at dock, on boat _Columbia_. American boy get captain
to send Kuola off, and American boy take Kuola’s place.”
“I didn’t get them to send you off,” returned Larry, a light dawning
upon him. “He sent you off because you drink.” He mentioned the last
fact for Kuola’s breath smelt strongly of rum, as did also the breath
of Wakari.
Both of the natives scowled until their faces assumed a most ferocious
appearance.
“American boy pay Kuola for loss of work――must pay,” insisted the
discharged one.
“What do you want?” asked Larry, not that he intended to pay anything,
but in order to gain time to think over what was best to be done. The
boarding-house stood fifty feet back among the trees; it was dark at
the entrance to the grounds, and the road was practically deserted.
“Pay Kuola and Wakari each two dollars,” came the quick reply.
“And will you let me go unharmed if I do that?”
“Yes,” and the natives’ eyes gleamed, for they felt certain by the
worried look upon Larry’s face that their demand would be satisfied.
“Let me see what money I have in my pockets,” went on the youth,
and shook Kuola off, at the same time putting one hand down into his
trousers pocket.
Satisfied that all was going well for them, Wakari also released his
hold. Hardly had he done so than Larry snatched the club from his hand
and sprang into the gateway.
“Now clear out, both of you!” he cried sternly. “If you don’t, one or
the other will get a cracked head. You can’t play any such game as this
on an American boy!”
The natives were dumbfounded at the sudden turn of affairs. Unarmed,
Wakari lost no time in retreating, for he had no taste for a blow from
the weapon he had carried, while Kuola stood still, not knowing what to
do.
“Skip!” went on Larry, advancing upon Kuola. “Help, somebody! Thieves!”
“Be still!” fairly hissed the native, and now his club was raised.
He aimed a savage crack at Larry’s head, but the boy was alert, and
quick at dodging, and the weapon merely struck resoundingly upon the
gate-post.
Footsteps were now heard approaching, and once again Larry raised his
cry for help, at the same time making a pass at Kuola, striking him
a glancing blow upon the bare shoulder. Then Wakari gave a cry of
warning. “Somebody comes; we must run,” he said, in his native tongue.
“What is the matter here?” came in a voice which sounded familiar to
Larry, and in a second more the Rev. Martin Wells appeared from out of
the darkness.
“Help! they want to rob me!” answered the boy. “Oh, Mr. Wells, is that
you?”
“Lawrence Russell!” came from the missionary. He turned to the natives.
“So you would rob this lad? Are you not ashamed of yourselves? Begone!”
But his words were not heard; for seeing the newcomer was a man, and
one carrying a heavy cane, the pair of rascals turned, uttered a few
words under their breath, and sped away in the darkness. At first Larry
was for following them, but he quickly gave up the thought.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, as soon as the excitement was over. “I
don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t chanced along.”
“‘One good turn deserves another,’ Lawrence,” quoted Mr. Wells. “You
saved me from one peril, and now I’ve saved you from another, so we
are quits――not but that I shall remember your brave deed,” he added
hastily. “But it is odd they singled you out for an attack.”
In a few words the state of the situation was explained, the missionary
listening with much interest. “The savage blood is in them,” he said,
with a grave shake of his head. “There is still much church work to do
here. I would remain in this field of labor were it not that I have
explicit orders from our home board to go to Hong Kong.”
“I understand that you are to be a passenger on the _Columbia_,” said
Larry, hastily, struck with a sudden idea.
“Yes, my lad, I have picked out that vessel, for it seems to be a good
one, and Captain Ponsberry is very much to my liking, too.”
“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind putting in a good word for me, sir. I
want to ship in her for the Hong Kong trip.”
“I’ll willingly speak to the captain about it, if you desire it,”
returned the missionary.
A few words more followed, Larry explaining the situation, and the
Rev. Mr. Wells promising to do all he could towards securing the boy
the desired berth; and then the two parted, the best of friends.
CHAPTER VII
GOOD-BY TO HONOLULU
“So you want to ship on board of the _Columbia_, lad? Well, I don’t
know. I’ve never had quite such a young hand as you, and the trip to
Hong Kong is a long one, and, at this time of the year, it may be
mighty rough.”
“I am willing to take what comes,” answered Larry. “I think I am nearly
as strong as the average man.”
Larry and Captain Ponsberry were standing near the companionway of
the schooner. Luke Striker had just spoken to the captain of Larry’s
desire, and Hobson had put in a good word, and the skipper had called
the youth from his labors.
“He works as good as any of us, cap’n,” said Striker. “He’s a likely
lad, an’――excuse me for a-sayin’ of it――but I don’t think you can do
better.”
At this instant the Rev. Martin Wells joined the group, having come
aboard to see that proper care was taken of a box of books he desired
shipped.
“Captain Ponsberry, this young man would like to ship with you, and I
promised to say a good word in his favor. If you――”
“No use to say more, parson,” was the good-natured interruption. “All
seem to be in favor of it, and the lad can go if he’s set on it. But,
Russell, remember what I told you about its being a rough trip, and
remember, too, you ship as a regular foremast hand, working as they
work and living as they live.”
“I understand it all, sir,” answered Larry, with a happy smile,
which was increased when he beheld a good-natured twinkle in Captain
Ponsberry’s eye. He knew he was making no mistake, and that the captain
would prove as good a man to sail under as there was to be found. “I’ll
do my level best, and you won’t find me skulking when I’m wanted.”
“If I do, I’ll rope-end you,” was the answer, but the threat only made
Striker and Hobson laugh. “I never seen the old man with a rope-end
yet,” whispered the Yankee into Larry’s ear.
So it was all settled, and that noon Larry signed articles to sail
under Captain Ponsberry in an immediate trip to Hong Kong, China, and
back, said round trip to last not longer than seven months, barring
accident, the lad to receive twelve dollars per month and found.
“And now I’m booked to visit the heathen Chinee, after all,” murmured
the youth, as he turned away to continue his work on the cargo; but
never for an instant did he dream of all that was to happen before his
eyes beheld the coast of China.
Larry had told his newly made friends all about Kuola and Wakari, and
they, especially Striker and Hobson, had promised to keep a weather
eye open for the two rascals. “I’ll pitch into ’em fust sight, douse
my toplight if I don’t,” was the manner in which the Yankee expressed
himself. “Ain’t nothin’ so healthy fur these furiners as to teach ’em a
wholesome lesson.”
But keeping a “weather eye open” was quite useless; not but that
Kuola and Wakari would have been only too glad to visit harm upon
Larry’s head. The fact of the matter was, after beating a retreat upon
the appearance of the Rev. Martin Wells, the two rascals had sought
consolation in drink, with the result that both had swallowed more than
was good for them, engaged in a free fight with others in the resort
they visited, and Kuola was now laid up in bed with a broken head,
while Wakari was in the local jail, serving out a sentence of sixty
days.
Larry was looking out not merely for the natives. He had the Norwegian
who had robbed him still in mind, and several idle hours in the evening
were spent in trying to hunt this fellow down, but without result. He
had told Striker, Hobson, and the others of the affair, and they were
justly indignant.
“Such a fellow is no better nor them Kanakas,” growled Luke Striker.
“It’s a pity they couldn’t ship in some craft as was bound for Davy
Jones’ locker. Now the cap’n’s took one furiner aboard as I don’t like
the looks of, but he’s signed, an’ that’s an end on it, I reckon.
Hobson, have you heard anything of this Oleson?”
“Tom Grandon said he wasn’t coming aboard till the day we sailed,”
responded the English sailor. “No, I didn’t like his looks either. Wish
the captain had taken an Englishman or an American instead. I can’t
bear those Norwegians nor Poles nor Russians.”
In another day the cargo was entirely removed, and then the _Columbia_
lost no time in taking on her new load for Hong Kong,――a miscellaneous
collection of articles, some of them rather heavy. This work was very
laborious, and Larry and the other workers perspired freely under the
tropical sun.
“Oh! but it’s hot!” he said once, as he stopped to run the perspiration
from his forehead with the side of his finger. “We don’t catch anything
like this in the States, at least not up North.”
“This is nothing,” answered Hobson. “Wait till we get down just to the
north of the Philippine Islands, right in the China Sea; you’ll find it
hot enough to boil eggs in a dipper on deck, and you won’t dare to go
barefooted, for fear the hot tar will burn you up.”
“I’ll agree with Hobson on that,” answered Luke Striker. “I once
shipped to the Philippines, and we spent four weeks at Aparri, on the
northeast coast of Luzon, the main island, and in Manila Bay, on the
southwest coast, and, phew! but wasn’t it a corker! We were in Manila
Bay right in August, and a man didn’t hardly dare to walk across the
deck at midday for fear of getting sunstruck.”
“If that’s true, then I don’t want much of Manila Bay,” laughed Larry;
and then they resumed their work with all the energy that was left in
them, for Captain Ponsberry had promised them a holiday at his expense
if they finished up one day before the time set for sailing.
On a Tuesday night the work came to an end, and hatches were closed
with a will. The _Columbia_ was to sail at nine o’clock Thursday
morning, so the crew would have all day Wednesday to themselves. What
to do was solved by Captain Ponsberry, who hired a big stage and took
all hands down to the dazzling white beach at Waikiki, but a few miles
outside of Honolulu. Here there is the best of surf bathing, just
inside of the reefs, with all the proper accommodations, and there is
likewise a beautiful park, where the society of the seaport city takes
its afternoon drives. Larry enjoyed a dip in the surf very much, having
Striker with him, and the bath gave both a tremendous appetite for the
seashore dinner, which Captain Ponsberry kind-heartedly provided at the
casino nearby.
“Good-by to Honolulu,” cried Larry, as the party started on its return.
“Take it all in all, it’s a pretty place, and one might do much worse
than to settle here for the remainder of one’s life. It won’t be a bad
job done if the United States annexes the islands.”
“Just what I say,” said Tom Grandon, who sat beside the boy. “Folks
talk about the place being half-civilized and all that sort of thing,
but they seem to forget that it’s more civilized than Texas and New
Mexico were when we took hold of them, or Alaska.”
That night was the first Larry spent on board of the _Columbia_, for
he had removed his chest to the craft before starting on the day’s
outing. To be sure, the forecastle of the schooner was dark and dingy,
as forecastles usually are, but the apartment was clean and in order,
and did not smell half so strongly of tar and oakum, tobacco and
bilge-water, as other places like it of which he knew. Moreover, his
berth was near to the door, so he was likely to get the full benefit of
all cool and fresh air which was stirring.
Hobson’s berth was next to Larry’s, with Luke Striker’s just opposite.
Then came the berths of Cal Vincent, Maurice Roddmann, and several
other sailors, for the _Columbia_ carried all the men she required. In
the rear was the berth of the Norwegian, who was not to come on board
until the last moment, on account of the sickness of one of his former
messmates, so he had explained.
Thursday dawned clear and bright, with a stiff breeze blowing from
just the quarter Captain Ponsberry wanted it. The Rev. Martin Wells and
two other passengers came aboard directly after breakfast, a score of
friends with them to see them off. Larry had already informed Captain
Morgan of the change he had made and bidden his former sailing-master
good-by, and there was no one else to see.
At nine o’clock sharp the lines were unloosed and Larry flew with the
rest to set first one sail and then another. Everything was, of course,
strange to the boy, for ships are not built alike, and he paid strict
attention to business, feeling that the eyes of Captain Ponsberry and
Tom Grandon must be on him. He heard Grandon speak to a newcomer, and
knew it must be the belated Norwegian sailor, but did not just then
catch sight of the man. If he had, there might have been a row then and
there, and Larry’s future adventures would have had a vastly different
cast.
Only the jib and mainsail were set as the _Columbia_ crept down through
the coral channel leading from Honolulu harbor to the mighty ocean
beyond. The lighthouse was soon passed, and then the schooner pointed
almost westward, passing Barber’s Point on her starboard, the last
point of land to be sighted for many days to come. Once clear of the
reefs, top and foresail went up, along with every other available
stitch of canvas, and the _Columbia_ bowled along gayly, sending the
spray flying in every direction.
Previous to sailing, every rope and every inch of canvas had been
thoroughly overhauled, while the _Columbia_ had been cleaned as neat
as “my lady’s parlor,” to use Hobson’s words, so now there was little
to do but to arrange matters in the forecastle, and once the Point had
faded away in the blue-gray haze, Larry turned to what was to be his
“house” during the voyage.
Yet even here there was very little to occupy his mind. He had arranged
his berth the night before. He pulled out his chest, unlocked it, and
began to sort over and shake out his clothing, hanging on a nearby hook
those for which he might have an early call.
He was thus engaged when a shadow fell beside him, and a bulky form
in the doorway shut out much of the light entering the forecastle. He
looked up, expecting to see Striker or some one of the other sailors
with whom he had become acquainted. But the newcomer was a stranger, a
sour-looking, clean-shaven man of foreign birth.
“Ah!” came in a rough voice, and Larry leaped to his feet. Then, as the
newcomer came closer, the boy recognized him, in spite of the fact that
he had shaved off his beard. It was Olan Oleson, the man who had robbed
him.
CHAPTER VIII
AN UNWELCOME SHIPMATE
“You!” gasped Larry. For the moment he could scarcely speak.
For reply Olan Oleson stared at him in what was meant to be total
surprise. But the Norwegian had seen and recognized Larry before, and
now he was merely acting a part previously determined upon.
“What are you doing here?” continued the youth, slamming the chest shut
and shoving it out of sight.
“I am a sailor here,” answered Oleson. “You sailor, too?” The last
words with great innocence.
“You’re a sailor here! Do you belong on the _Columbia_? I didn’t see
you here before.”
“I just come before we sail. My name Olan Oleson. What your name?”
And the Norwegian held out his brown and dirty hand.
“Why, you――you rascal!” burst from Larry’s lips. “You want me to shake
hands? Don’t you think I know you, even if you have cut off your
beard? You’re the man who robbed me. You think you got away from me
mighty slick, the other night, don’t you? Well, I guess we’ll settle
accounts now.”
Olan Oleson drew a deep breath and stared hard at the boy. “What you
talk about me robbin’ you?” he said. “I know notank about you. You say
I rob you, I knock you down!” and he doubled up his big fists.
His attitude was so fierce and menacing that he thought Larry would
cower before him. But he was mistaken. The American lad was not thus
easily daunted. Instead of taking a step backward, Larry took two
forward.
“This buncombe won’t work with me,” he said as coolly as he could,
although he was much excited. “You are the thief, and I intend to
expose you and get my money back.”
“I no thief――I honest man. You say me a thief, I――I throw you into the
sea. Boy, you tak a care, you hear? tak a care!” and Oleson grabbed
Larry by the shoulder.
At this juncture Luke Striker entered the forecastle, to stare in
astonishment at the pair, for Oleson continued to hold Larry, while
the latter sought to push his antagonist away.
“Hullo, what’s the row?” queried Striker. “’Pears to me you two are
gettin’ at it early-like.”
“This man is the thief who robbed me at the Travellers’ Rest in
Honolulu.”
“The boy lie――I nefer see him before,” came from the Norwegian, and now
he hurled Larry from him. “You speak lie of me again, I show you what I
do!” and again his clenched fist came up.
“He has shaved off his beard, but he is the man; I can swear to it,
Striker. I wish I had seen him before we left Honolulu. I could bring
witnesses and have him arrested.”
“Wish you _had_ seen him in Honolulu, if your story is true,” returned
the Yankee, who had taken to Larry and felt bound to side with him.
“Captain Ponsberry won’t want no thief aboard this craft, not by a
jugful!”
“We go to de captain,” growled Olan Oleson. “The boy mak a mistak. I am
honest man――maybe he a thief,” and he shook his head to emphasize his
words.
By this time Hobson and several others had entered behind Luke Striker,
and a hubbub arose, as one and another began to question first Larry
and then the Norwegian. Most of the sailors had heard the tale of the
missing money before, and as between Larry’s open, honest face and
Oleson’s sullen, crafty visage, it was plain to see whom they were
inclined to believe.
The discussion waxed so warm that Tom Grandon’s attention was
attracted. He listened to both sides patiently, then brought the
matter to a close by demanding that Larry and Oleson follow him to the
Captain’s cabin.
Captain Ponsberry was found in conversation with Rev. Martin Wells and
his other passengers. He looked up in surprise at seeing his mate enter
with two of the foremast hands.
“This is a serious matter,” he said, after Grandon had explained the
situation, while the missionary shook his head sorrowfully. “Russell,
how do you know this is the man who robbed you?”
“I know him by his voice and by his looks. He has shaved off his beard,
but that doesn’t count with me.”
“You saw him before you retired that night――I mean you talked to him?”
“Yes, sir; for ten or fifteen minutes. He asked me about the _Rescue_
and Captain Morgan, and if I knew where he might get a chance to
ship――and he asked me if I had got my pay, too.”
“And he is the man that you met at the band concert in Honolulu?”
“Yes, sir, I am willing to take my affidavit on it.”
“You had a quarrel there?”
“We did. He knocked me down and ran away.”
Olan Oleson had listened patiently. Now he raised both hands in
protestation. “The boy tell a lie. I no the man――I an honest man,
captain.” He touched his forelock. “If we no be on de ship, I knock him
down for what he say. But I good sailor; I know sailor’s place.”
“Yes, I won’t allow any fighting on board ship,” responded Captain
Ponsberry, firmly. Then he rubbed his chin in perplexity. “But I hardly
know what to say to this. It’s one man’s word against another’s, and
there you are. Parson, what do you think in a case like this?”
“Let us pray there is some mistake,” were the missionary’s words,
although he, too, was inclined to side with Larry. “You know,” he added
to the youth, “there are many cases on record of mistaken identity.”
“How much he say he lose?” questioned Oleson.
“I lost six dollars and a few cents,” returned Larry.
The big Norwegian shrugged his shoulders. “I no be thief for seex
dollars,” he murmured. “If de boy want money so much, he can have out
of my wages when trip is done,” and he put on a look of disdain.
“I only want my own,” cried Larry, the hot blood rushing into his face.
“I’d not touch a cent of your dirty cash, you――you――” he broke off as
the Rev. Martin Wells caught him gently by the arm. “I don’t care――he
has no right to talk to me in that fashion,” he finished, in a lower
tone.
“The only thing to do is to let the matter drop right where it is,”
said Captain Ponsberry, and spoke so decidedly that all felt he was
laying down the law. “I am sorry that you lost your money, Russell,
but you can see yourself you have no clear case against Oleson. Now,
I won’t have any quarrelling on the _Columbia_, mind that, both of
you. You can each think as you please, but don’t go for to put it into
words. And remember, too, I expect each of you to do his full duty――not
one to hold back, expecting the other to do the work. I’m tremendously
sorry that there is any ill-feeling on this craft, especially so early
in a long voyage, but it can’t be helped, and we’ll have to make the
best of it. Now forward, both of you, and hearken well to what I have
told you. Tom, tell the other hands how matters stand, and warn ’em
against siding one way or the other in this little unpleasantness.”
And so Larry and Oleson were dismissed, while the mate went forward
with them to do as the captain had ordered. What Grandon had to say was
listened to silently and with great interest, for a sailor thinks theft
one of the greatest crimes in the calendar, as it really is.
At first Larry was inclined to rebel at Captain Ponsberry’s decision,
especially as he had counted upon the captain’s friendship. But when
he cooled off and reviewed the situation carefully, he saw that the
captain had done no more than what could be considered fair under the
circumstances. “He is right; in the absence of other evidence, one
man’s word is as good as another’s,” thought the boy. “I may as well
let the matter drop,――it was only six dollars, after all. But I shall
keep my eyes open for Olan Oleson in the future!”
At first the others of the crew heeded Grandon’s warning not to take
sides in the matter, but this rule was broken that night by Luke
Striker as he and Larry were turning in, having been on the same watch
together.
“It ain’t for me to say much, Larry,” said the Yankee sailor. “But I
like your way,――took to you when fust I clapped eyes on you,――and I’ll
back your word up against that furiner every clip. If he tries any
underhanded game on you, jest don’t hesitate to let Luke Striker know,
and we’ll send him on the rocks in a jiffy. Now, promise me, will you?”
And Larry promised with all his heart. He felt he had a true friend in
the whole-souled Yankee sailor, but how much of a friend time was still
to show.
CHAPTER IX
A TALK ABOUT THE TROUBLES IN CUBA
Hong Kong is due west from Honolulu, and the distance, in round
figures, is five thousand miles, so it was quite true that Larry had a
long voyage before him.
Captain Ponsberry did not calculate to make the entire trip without
stopping. In his almost direct course westward were to be found Wake
Island and the Farallon de Pajaros, dividing the trip into fairly
equal thirds, and it was calculated that the _Columbia_ would put into
both places for fresh water, and possibly a bit of fresh meat and
vegetables, for the kind-hearted captain saw no need of going without
these comforts when they might be had with but little trouble.
For over a week the weather proved all that could be desired. It was
true that it was hot, but the stiff breeze was comforting, while it
made the gallant _Columbia_ fully represent her name so far as build
was concerned, for she readily “scooned” over the long swells of the
rolling Pacific.
There had been no occasion for Larry and Oleson to speak to one
another, and thus far neither had uttered a word. As the days went by,
Larry, naturally light-hearted, was inclined to forgive his enemy. But
not so the burly Norwegian. Whenever the eyes of the two met, Oleson
scowled ominously, and more than once Larry found himself shivering
from some nameless dread, he could not tell what.
“I’d give half a month’s salary if he wasn’t on board,” he said to Luke
Striker, his one confidant. “If he keeps on looking at me like that,
he’ll give me the nightmare.”
“You look out for yourself whenever you’re on night watch with the
furiner,” answered the Yankee tar. “If you don’t watch out――maybe an
accident might happen, see?” and he closed one eye suggestively, and
then Larry had another shiver.
The looks finally became so threatening that Striker spoke to Oleson
about them. “The boy is treating you square enough,” he said. “You just
leave him alone, and we won’t have no trouble.”
“I no touch the boy――no spak to him,” growled the Norwegian. “You let
me alone, like captain say you should.”
There the talk ended, and instead of anything being gained by it,
matters were made worse, for Oleson became an enemy of Striker as well
as of Larry. He no longer looked at either when their eyes were turned
in his direction, yet they felt intuitively that he had them constantly
in his mind.
Taken at its best, life on a sailing-vessel on an extended trip is
bound to grow more or less monotonous, and were it not for a number of
reasons Larry would have found time growing dull on his hands, during
the hours when there was absolutely nothing to do, and when he was too
wide-awake to think of going to sleep, as many of his messmates did.
But besides Striker, he had made a good friend of the Rev. Martin
Wells, and the missionary was not above coming forward to chat with
Larry and the others, and in addition to this he loaned the youth
several books, which Larry devoured with keen relish,――histories and
biographies, books which were rather dry when compared with what the
boy had read when at home, but which did him far more good.
As we know, Larry had been very much interested in the blowing up of
the _Maine_. Before leaving Honolulu he had heard a later report than
the first from the United States, by which it was stated that the
Spanish authorities denied any knowledge of the explosion, and that
the United States naval authorities were going to take matters in hand
immediately by appointing a Board of Inquiry to fix the responsibility.
“This Cuban matter is something of a mystery to me,” he said to the
missionary one day, after the blowing up of the battleship had been
discussed. “What is the real trouble down there; can you tell me?”
“I can tell you something, Lawrence, if not everything,” replied Mr.
Wells; “but in order to get at a proper understanding of the case I’ll
have to go pretty well back into history.”
“I won’t mind that, sir, so long as I’ve got the time to listen.”
The two were seated under the shadow of one of the small boats, and
after a second of thought the missionary began:――
“The story of Cuba from the very start has been one of persecution
and intense suffering――persecution so terrible that it can hardly be
believed, and suffering in many cases beyond endurance.
“When Columbus discovered the New World, there were but two powers,
Spain and Portugal, that disputed for the possession of the new
territories, which embraced not only the West Indies, but also a large
portion of the southern part of North America, and the northern and
eastern portions of South America. The dispute was referred to the
Pope, as head of the states, and he granted to Portugal that part of
South America which is now Brazil and gave to Spain all the rest.
“Such a vast and valuable possession could not be left alone long,
especially as it was known to be inhabited only by savages, and was
suspected to be rich in minerals, and before long Spain sent out
numerous colonies, commanded by her own noblemen, to conquer the whole
of the West Indies, including Hayti, San Domingo, Jamaica, and Porto
Rico, as well as Cuba, the largest of all the islands, and the richest.
“When the Spanish colonists arrived they found the islands settled by
peaceful Indians and Caribs. Without delay they set about conquering
these people, and this done, they made slaves of the Caribs and also
of the Indians, when they could catch them, which was not often, for
the Indians would take to the water rather than risk capture. To the
Caribs were added slaves from Africa, and all these poor people were
treated so shamefully that the Caribs died off like sheep, and even
the Africans could not stand it. The one thought of the Spaniards was
to make money, and they cared nothing for their slaves’ bodies though
professing a desire to save their souls.”
“It’s a wonder they didn’t rebel?”
“They did rebel, but they had no arms and were unskilled in warfare,
and each time they were put down with greater cruelty. Old writers have
left us many accounts of those fearful times,――accounts the reading of
which makes one’s heart ache.”
“But now Spain doesn’t own all of the islands, nor any of North
America?”
“She owns nothing now but Cuba and Porto Rico, and a few small places
of no importance. Her cruelty and rapacity has had its reward. The
gold and silver and other riches sent by noblemen from the islands to
Spain lured the buccaneers of the world to that locality, and many were
the ships which were taken and plundered. Then other nations heard of
the wealth which was there, and of the great cruelty, and took upon
themselves the task of setting matters right. The least interference
enraged the Spaniards, and numerous fights followed, and in the end,
as I have stated, Spain was stripped of nearly everything. And she has
lost more than I spoke of before, too, for she once controlled Mexico,
Texas, and what is now New Mexico, California, and Nevada.”
“But what has brought about this present trouble?”
“I am coming to that. As years went by, the colonists in Cuba and other
islands increased, until the home government had a new element to deal
with, for slavery was now a thing of the past. These colonists became
tired of paying their heavy taxes to the mother country, especially
as they derived no benefits, and so other rebellions broke out, until
Cuba was in a state of perpetual war. The hand of Spain was an iron
one, however, and could not be shaken off. The colonists were allowed
nothing, not even to run their own internal affairs, for every office
was filled from Spain, and the taxes became heavier and heavier.
“At last, about three years ago, the Cubans, or a large portion of
them, resolved to stand it no longer. They withdrew from Havana and
some of the other large cities, and set about establishing a government
of their own. They formed an army, the watchword of which was ‘Cuba
Libre!’ meaning Free Cuba, and swore to hold no communication with the
Spanish authorities until their freedom was acknowledged.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of that, and how they have been fighting the Spanish
soldiery ever since. But still I don’t see where _we_ come in,” said
Larry, earnestly.
“Don’t be impatient, Lawrence, and you will see. Yes, the Cubans have
been fighting for three years with varying success. They were poorly
equipped and scarcely organized, and the most they could do was to
stick to the forests and mountains, and wage a sort of guerilla warfare
against the trained regiments from Spain sent over to annihilate them.
As the situation now stands, the Spanish hold all of the large towns
and the seacoast, while the insurgents, as they are called, hold the
interior and many small villages.
“Of course such a condition of affairs so close to the United States
could not help but arouse sympathy for those who had been so illy
treated, and expeditions were sent out secretly to help the rebels;
but this was against international law, and Spain promptly called
upon the United States government to put down the practice. Then the
insurgents, through their Junta, or representatives in our country,
asked for recognition before the world, so that they might be free
to use the ports of the United States and do many other things they
otherwise could not do, but recognition has not yet been obtained,
although it is being considered by Congress.
“But now comes another view of the present situation, and this is
worse than the fighting that is going on. Under the guise of wishing
to protect the weak and helpless in the country and in villages,
the Spanish authorities in Cuba have been driving all of the women,
children, and old men into the big cities and holding them there. The
young and middle-aged men, of course, cannot be thus driven, for they
are in the ranks of the insurgents. But when the women and children and
old men get into the cities there is nothing for them to do, and, as
most of them are poor, they are actually compelled to starve, unless
some kind-hearted soul will feed them.”
“If that’s the case, we ought to help the poor people, war or no war!”
cried Larry, heartily.
“That thought is exactly the thought of those who have lately taken
hold, to send supplies to Cuba and to aid in every way possible the
poor, sick, and dying. Up to date several hundreds of thousands of the
poor people have died from exposure and the want of nourishment, and
the whole Christian nation is crying out that such inhumanity must
cease. But Spain wants no one to interfere, stating that to give succor
to the rebels will only prolong the disturbance which she will soon
end.”
“Never mind; we ought to help, whether Spain likes it or not, that is
my idea of it, Mr. Wells.”
“The efforts of the Americans in Havana and elsewhere have stirred up
much bad blood, and it was to protect those Americans that the _Maine_
was sent into Havana harbor. Now that the _Maine_ has met with such
a sad fate I presume the feeling upon both sides is more bitter than
ever. I should not be surprised to hear of a riot in Havana, in which
many Americans might be slain.”
“But if that court of inquiry finds that the _Maine_ was blown up by
some Spanish agents, won’t that mean war?” concluded Larry, as a
shrill pipe from the boatswain’s whistle caused him to arise.
“It will mean another step in the direction of war,” was the grave
response.
CHAPTER X
ATTACKED IN A STORM
“Come, boys, tumble up lively now, unless you want to spend the
next week in sail-sewing!” cried Cal Vincent, the boatswain of the
_Columbia_. “There’s a storm a-brewing, and the old man reckons as how
it will be best to take in a little sail to onct!”
While listening to the interesting talk of the missionary, Larry had
noticed the sky growing darker, and he leaped up with alacrity, for he
remembered that it was the neglect to shorten sail in time on board of
the _Rescue_ which had caused the bark to strain and open some of her
seams. Besides, if there was one thing he detested on shipboard, it was
to sit down with a heavy sailor’s needle and assist at sail-mending.
“I don’t reckon it’s going to be much, but still one can’t allers
tell,” remarked Luke Striker, as he came tumbling out of his berth,
where he had been dozing upon that hot afternoon and dreaming of his
far-away down-east home. He had spent many years on the ocean, yet that
spot of his boyhood was as dear to him as ever.
Captain Ponsberry himself was on deck, giving orders at the top of
his voice, and everybody was scurrying here and there, for orders to
shorten sail are always obeyed quicker than any others on shipboard,
the reason for which is obvious.
“Lay aloft there now, men, and don’t stop to think about it,” cried the
captain. “Come now, Hobson, show your heels up those ratlines, and,
Oleson, don’t move as though you had chunks of lead in your boots.
See, Russell is ahead of all of you, and he’s but a boy. Now then, all
ready?”
“All ready, sir,” came from various quarters.
And then came a rapid succession of orders, each followed by a creaking
of halyard blocks, as the topsails came down, followed by the jib and
flying-jib. The fore-course, main-course, and mizzen-course were left
standing, but the men were kept on deck, to reef or take in entirely,
should it become necessary to do so.
Oleson had followed Larry up to the foretop, with an extra sour look
upon his swarthy face, for he did not like the remark the captain had
cast at him, nor the compliment paid to the boy. “Get ofer dare!” he
growled, pushing up against Larry. “You want all de room to yourself.
How I tak in sail if you under my feet?”
“You’ve got as much room as I have,” answered Larry, firmly. “Keep your
distance,” he added, as Oleson continued to crowd him. “Mind now what I
say!”
To this the Norwegian made some uncomplimentary answer, which was,
however, swallowed up in the noise of the flapping sail as it came down
on the run.
The _Columbia_ was rolling and pitching upon the heavy swells under
her, and Larry found it no easy task to keep his balance as he helped
furl and fasten. It was blowing lively, too, and the wind whistled
almost a gale into his ears.
Again Olan Oleson crowded him, until there was but little left to
stand upon. The boy shouted another warning, but the Norwegian paid no
attention.
Suddenly a fearful dread took possession of the lad. Olan Oleson meant
to shove him over into the sea.
“Keep your distance!” he cried, at the top of his lungs. “Keep your
distance. Below there! help!”
“You be still!” growled the Norwegian. “I no hurt you. You go――”
A gust of wind swallowed up the words which followed. Again the
_Columbia_ went over, caught short in the swell under her. The topmast
dipped thirty feet or more to leeward, and Larry made a tight clutch on
the cross-tree, only to find himself shoved rudely off.
His right hand held the gasket he had been tying up, and that was all.
Over rolled the ship again, and now his body swung clear into the air,
supported only by that slender, plaited rope, which was old and not
above snapping without warning. Beneath him was the churning sea, above
him the slender topmast and the dark and angry sky. He shuddered and
was tempted to close his eyes, but could not.
“You let go!” came from Olan Oleson, and he caught hold of the gasket
as if to shake Larry from it.
“Don’t!” gasped the boy. “Oh, you villain! don’t!”
[Illustration: DON’T! GASPED THE BOY. OH, YOU VILLAIN! DON’T!]
He continued to cling fast despite the fact that Olan Oleson’s hand
was over his own, pressing the knuckles to make the fingers relax and
slip. But now the _Columbia_ swung over to the other side, and he felt
his feet touch the rigging below. The gasket slipped; but legs and
arms were on the alert, and in a second more he found himself safe,
on a level with Olan Oleson’s feet. Fearing a kick, he lost no time
in descending still further, until, finding himself at Luke Striker’s
side, he deemed himself comparatively safe.
The storm had evidently reached its height, and as the _Columbia_
carried her lower sails well, there was nothing for the sailors to do
but to stand around and wait until the wind should either increase or
decrease. The spray was flying everywhere, and Larry followed Striker
into the forecastle for his oilskin coat.
“’Pears to me I heard somebody cry for help when I was aloft,” remarked
the Yankee sailor. “Must have been the wind, but it did sound very much
like a human voice.”
“It was a human voice,” answered Larry. “I yelled just as loud as I
could.”
“And what for? Were you afraid of falling?”
“I was afraid of being pushed off.”
“Gee shoo!” Striker stared at the lad a second. “Say, that furiner was
up there with ye? Did he try――”
“Yes, he did. If I hadn’t clung fast for all I was worth, and dropped
to the lower cross-tree when I got the chance, I would at this minute
be out on the ocean a mile astern,” and Larry shuddered.
“The Norwegian ought to be put into irons! Why don’t you go to the old
man and report?”
“What good would it do? It would only be another case of my word
against Oleson’s, for of course the fellow would deny everything.”
“Yes, but have you got to stand this a-havin’ a chap around as is
achin’ to do sech a dirty trick as that? I don’t think you have, not by
a jugful!”
“I certainly wish Oleson hadn’t shipped on the _Columbia_. If it wasn’t
for him, this trip would just suit me, for every one of the others is a
good messmate,” responded Larry.
He had procured his oilskin and was putting it on, when there was a
heavy tramping near the doorway, and Olan Oleson came in. He was about
to withdraw upon seeing the boy and his companion, but with a quick
leap, Luke Striker caught him by the arm and pulled him inside.
“You good-fer-nuthin’ rascal!” he cried, catching the Norwegian by the
collar and running him up against a back berth. “What right have you
to attack this boy up in the top, eh? You jess let that lad alone or
I’ll――I’ll wipe up the deck with ye, by the jumpin’ Christopher I will!”
And he shook the burly sailor until the man’s teeth fairly rattled.
Striker was not as tall as Oleson by several inches, and his weight
was considerably less, but his muscles were tough and his bravery
unequalled, and there was nothing he would not tackle when aroused. In
vain the Norwegian struggled; that grip could not be broken.
“You let go me!” spluttered the swarthy fellow. “You let go! I no mak
quarrel with you. Let go, or I tell captain.”
“Tell the captain, and that’s all the good it will do you. He won’t
allow sech a rascal as you aboard one minit longer nor he can help, and
I know it. Tell him, and take that! and that! and that!”
Each “that” was followed by a bump of Oleson’s head upon the edge of
the berth, blows hard enough to crack an ordinary man’s skull. After
the last bump Striker threw the man to one side, motioned to Larry, and
both walked outside.
“Maybe that will teach him a lesson,” muttered the Yankee sailor. “Hang
those furiners, anyhow!”
“You have made an enemy of him for life, Luke,” returned the boy.
“Hereafter he’ll try to do as bad by you as he has tried to do by me.”
“Let him; we’ll both be on our guard. But don’t you go aloft with him
again.”
“I won’t.”
“And on second thought I don’t know but what it will be jest as well
not to speak to Captain Ponsberry about it. Let Oleson see that we can
take care of ourselves, and he’ll have more respect for us.”
They were now called upon to shorten sail still more, and consequently
the conversation had to come to an end. While taking in the fore-course
and the mizzen-course Oleson came out to assist, but did not look at
either of them.
Although it blew strongly all night, the storm was but an ordinary one,
and by sunrise the next day the wind had fallen sufficiently to allow
the _Columbia_ to proceed upon her way again under full sail. Olan
Oleson kept his distance, nor did he even look at Larry or Striker.
“He’s learned his lesson,” said the Yankee tar, but how grievously he
was mistaken the chapters which follow will show.
They were now reaching the vicinity of Wake Island, and a constant
lookout was kept, that they might not pass the spot, which is
low-lying, rather barren, and of small territory. Larry was up in the
cross-trees one afternoon, when he saw the island far to the north of
the _Columbia_.
“Land O!” he sang out, and the cry soon rang through the ship, speedily
bringing the captain, Mr. Wells, and everybody else on deck.
“Where away?”
“On our starboard quarter, captain. I can just see a bit of rocks and
trees.”
A marine glass was brought into use, and after a brief survey Captain
Ponsberry decided that it was Wake Island. The course of the _Columbia_
was immediately changed, and an hour later they were moving slowly into
a small but safe harbor, surrounded by coral reefs upon which the sea
pounded incessantly.
Larry had expected Wake Island to be a spot where a fine run ashore
might be indulged in, and was somewhat surprised and disappointed to
find the place so barren. However, there was a good spring close at
hand, and as they wanted fresh water more than anything else there was
little over which to grumble. A whole day was spent in filling the
_Columbia’s_ water-casks, and then off they sailed again, bound as
before, due west.
CHAPTER XI
A RACE AND AN INTERRUPTION
The days and the weeks passed, and the gallant _Columbia_ kept steadily
upon her course. They had now passed longitude 150° east of Greenwich,
and were but a short distance north of the Ladrones, while the Farallon
de Pajaros, Captain Ponsberry calculated, would be sighted within the
next forty-eight hours, providing the wind did not fall.
The _Columbia_, up to this time, had been making a quick passage, but
now, with the going down of that heavy and hot sun, the wind died out
utterly, and on the following day the sails flapped idly against the
masts, and everything came to a standstill.
“We are in for a calm now,” remarked Striker. “I knowed we was bound to
come next to it sooner or later.”
“Never mind,” replied Larry, ever ready to look upon the cheerful side.
“When it does blow, it will come so much the stronger.”
“Yes, and then we’ll run the risk of having a mast taken out,” grumbled
Hobson, who could endure almost anything but standing still. “Give me a
good steady breeze every trip.”
The men hung around here and there, or lay in the coolest spots they
could find, dozing or sleeping. The only sound that broke the stillness
was the voice of Jeff, as he prepared meals and sang his plantation
melodies. He had one song in particular, relating the mishaps of “My
Gal Susannah!” which he seemed to be never weary of repeating. The
darky was the only one satisfied to let the calm take care of itself.
Olan Oleson had kept his distance, and it really began to look as
though the lesson Striker had given the fellow had done some good. But
the burly Norwegian had not forgotten, for such was not his nature.
Secretly he was plotting to strike both Larry and his Yankee friend a
most dastardly blow.
Striker sat in front of the forecastle, his legs under him, in the
fashion of a tailor. He had a score of bits of wood about him, and
was engaged in whittling out the model of a boat with his jack-knife.
Not far away rested Larry, a big book on his lap, which the boy was
reading with great eagerness. The book was entitled “Naval Heroes of
History,” and contained accounts of the stirring battles fought by
Nelson, Perry, Jones, and other celebrities. The Rev. Martin Wells had
loaned him the volume, and he was reading aloud to Striker.
“My, but I wish I had been there!” he cried, as he finished the account
of the famous fight between the _Serapis_ and the _Bonhomme Richard_.
“How proud Paul Jones must have felt at that victory. And at such close
quarters!”
“We’ll have no such fighting any more,” answered Luke Striker. “The old
wooden vessels are gone, and with ships built of steel, and armed with
guns that can hit the enemy six or seven miles off, it’s not likely
there will be any hand-to-hand, rough and tumble work. It’s reduced to
a science, as the parson would call it.”
“Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar was the greatest victory known to naval
history,” put in Hobson, who had come up in time to hear the talk. “No,
I don’t say it because I’m an Englishman, but because it’s a fact. He
had a splendid fleet of ships, it is true, but he had the combined
fleets of France and Spain against him, and the way he went at them
and smashed them up from the very start of the fight is something for
every sailor to remember as long as the world goes round. The only bad
thing about it was that he was shot down in the very thick of it and
killed.”
“Yes, this book tells about that, and how England has honored Nelson,
too,” said Larry. “And such a man deserves to be honored.”
“There ain’t no telling how our modern battleships are going to pull
through in a fight,” said Striker. “Although England and America and
France and Germany and Spain and some of the other countries have ’em,
they ain’t been put into active use. I’ve been told the Chinese and
Japanese used some of ’em during their late war, but them heathens
don’t count――not alongside o’ Anglo-Saxon blood; eh, Hobson?”
“I grant you that, every time, Striker,――Anglo-Saxon blood every
trip,――against the world,” cried the Englishman, heartily. “Now you
take it among ourselves,” he went on, after a pause. “The Americans and
English and Germans, and even the French, can get along together; but
put a Spaniard or a Portuguese or an Italian, or one of that kind of
fellows aboard and there’s trouble right away――I’ve seen it a hundred
times.”
“You might add the Norwegians to the off crowd,” put in Larry, glancing
to where Olan Oleson sat sullenly chewing his quid of plug-cut.
Hobson laughed and tossed his head. “I would willingly if they were all
like yonder chap. But they are not――I’ve known Norwegians as fair and
square as any of us.”
“We’ll let him alone, so long as he lets us alone,” rejoined Striker.
“What’s up, Cal?” he added, as the boatswain approached.
“The captain says as how if any of you want to take a swim now is your
chance,” said the boatswain of the _Columbia_. “We’ll put the jollyboat
out and lower the sails, and them as wants to can stay out till
sundown.”
“Hurrah!” cried Larry, closing his book and springing up. “A swim will
just suit me. Come on, Striker, and let’s get at the sails at once.”
The majority of the crew were willing to do anything to break the
monotony, and soon the sails were furled and the yawl swung over and
allowed to drift astern, with a couple of pairs of oars placed athwart
the seats, in case it should prove necessary to row out to anybody
seized with a cramp. There were a number of old bathing-suits aboard,
and soon Larry had donned one of these.
“Here goes!” he cried, rushing to the rail. For a moment he stood
erect, his hands over his head. Then with a graceful curve he went
down, cutting the water like a knife, and disappearing with hardly
a splash beneath the bluish-green surface. A few seconds later Luke
Striker followed, and then came half a dozen others in a bunch,
shrieking, laughing and sporting like so many overgrown boys; for when
your true sailor is out for a lark, he never thinks of his age, no
matter how old he may be.
The water was warm and refreshing, and never had Larry enjoyed a swim
more. He dived half a dozen times, from the yawl, and then challenged
Striker to a race around the _Columbia_, which lay nearly stationary in
the swells of the ocean.
“All right, I’ll beat ye out of your butes!” cried the Yankee, and
splash! splash! both left the yawl at the same instant, and the race
began. Captain Ponsberry, standing at the stern, saw what was going on
and shouted in approval.
“Go on, both of ye!” he cried. “A prize to the fellow as wins! Striker,
the boy will beat ye unless you use your long arms better than that.
Now then, both do your level best, and remember to swim clear o’ the
bow!”
“It’s Striker’s race,” cried the boatswain, who was also in the water.
“It stands to reason the man will win.”
“I’ll wager you a plug of tobacco the boy comes out ahead,” answered
Hobson. “See what a splendid stroke he’s making――I never saw a better,
even on the Thames!”
“Let us follow!” cried another, and this all did, but keeping at a safe
distance, so as not to interfere with the racers. Mr. Wells had come
upon deck and was as much interested as anybody. He shouted loudly to
Larry, and the boy heard him, looked up a brief instant, and smiled.
For the first quarter of the distance Larry took the lead and kept it.
His stroke was not so long as that of Striker, but it was quicker, and
he was, moreover, using his feet to the best possible advantage. But
now, as the pair neared the bow of the _Columbia_, the Yankee sailor
began to pull up.
“I’m a-comin’, lad!” he puffed. “It’s a pity I’ve got to beat ye, but
it can’t be helped――I can’t afford to lose my reputation as a swimmer
among the boys.”
“I’m not beaten yet, and I don’t mean to be,” laughed Larry, “and I’m
not going to lose my wind talking,” he added, and became silent.
On and on they went, each riding lightly over swell after swell, until
the bow was gained. Heeding the captain’s warning, Larry gave it a
berth of several feet, and Striker did the same. But the man was now
close at hand, and a few additional strokes put him several feet in
advance.
“Striker’s ahead!”
“Go it, Larry; don’t let him beat you!”
“The best man wins, and it’s a new pair of pants he gets as a reward!”
cried Captain Ponsberry, and held up the garment mentioned――a pair
picked up on the ship many months before with no owner coming forward
to claim them. “I think they’ll most fit ye, Larry, so put in your best
licks for ’em!”
“Stretch ’em out to fit me, cap’n!” cried Striker, “for they’ll be mine
when this race is over; stretch ’em out!” And a laugh went up at the
Yankee’s words.
The lank sailor was now two yards ahead, and the yawl was less than
thirty yards off. In vain Larry tried to increase his stroke, the
distance between him and his opponent remained the same.
“Go it, Larry, go!” cried Hobson. “Give me your foot, and I’ll give you
a shove!”
“Hi! hi! no foul play back there!” roared Striker. “This race is to
be won on its merits. Now, then, for the wind up!” and he renewed his
efforts.
But he was almost winded, for the race had been a stiff one from the
start, and he was not used to exerting himself in the water. On the
other hand, Larry was still fresh, and had taken part in several
swimming matches before. The boy renewed his efforts to overtake his
opponent, and now, as the yawl drew closer, he slowly but surely crept
up.
“See, see! Russell is gaining!” cried Tom Grandon, from the taffrail.
“He’ll win out, after all!” echoed the Rev. Martin Wells, who was quite
excited. The race made him think of his college days, ten years gone by.
On and on the pair in the water continued to go, until the yawl, rising
and falling with the swell, was less than fifteen feet away. Striker
was still a yard ahead and pushing forward like a blown porpoise. Larry
continued to diminish the distance between them.
“Hurry up, Larry, and you’ll make it yet!” cried Grandon.
And Larry did hurry, putting forth every ounce of muscle that remained.
His head was now up to Striker’s knees, and now he made a last
desperate plunge and drew up alongside of the Yankee. A yell arose on
every side.
“They are even!”
“Go it, both of you!”
And go it they did; but Striker was doing his best, and Larry also, and
neither could increase his speed. Up they shot to the yawl, and two
hands went up to the gunwale simultaneously.
“It’s a tie!”
“Both have won!”
“That’s the best race I’ve seen in a good――”
Bang! crash! the words of the last speaker were drowned in a noise as
unexpected as it was dismaying. The yawl was seen to rise in the air,
which was instantly filled with flying splinters, and Larry and Striker
disappeared like a flash from view.
CHAPTER XII
THE CAPTURE OF A SAWFISH
“A sawfish, sure as you’re born!”
It was Tom Grandon who uttered the cry, and as the words left his lips,
he pointed excitedly to the rear of the yawl, through which was thrust
a dark, bony substance very much resembling the blade of a double
whip-saw. Back of the yawl a big fish was floundering,――the sawfish
itself,――churning the water into a white foam.
“Russell! Striker! where are they?” shouted Captain Ponsberry, and then
turning, he darted towards his cabin, to bring up a harpoon hanging
upon the hooks below.
“A sawfish! A shark!” yelled those who had been following the racers;
and at once there was a wild scramble to gain the side of the
_Columbia_. Ropes were thrown over by Tom Grandon and several others,
and the men lost no time in clambering up to the deck. Then came a rush
to the taffrail.
All this while the sawfish was doing its best to extricate its saw from
the wreck of the boat. This was not easy, and the splinters continued
to fly in all directions, while the flying spray reached even to those
who watched the struggle. The fish was at least eight feet long, while
the saw was a yard more, and it looked as if the yawl would be pounded
and cut into bits before the conflict came to an end.
“Where in the world are Larry and Striker?” cried Hobson. “They can’t
be tangled up under that fish, can they?”
“God forbid!” murmured the Rev. Martin Wells. “Yet I see nothing of
them,” he added sorrowfully.
Captain Ponsberry now reappeared, harpoon in hand. In years gone by the
captain had been a whaler, and the harpoon was one with which he had
struck many a monster of the deep. A light line was attached to it,
which he rapidly uncoiled.
“Now, then, make room, and I’ll give the rascal a taste of this!” cried
the master of the _Columbia_; and standing on the taffrail, he took
careful aim and let drive. There was a short whiz; the harpoon was seen
to pierce the sawfish’s side, and instantly the struggles grew more
violent, while the sea was dyed a deep crimson.
“Good! he’s struck!” cried several of the crew. “Shall we haul him in,
captain?”
“No; hold the line, that’s enough――he’s not dead yet, and we don’t want
him to smash anything more,” was the answer. “Ah, he’s free of the yawl
now! There he goes! Hold hard, all of you, or he’ll pull you overboard!”
The men held “hard” as ordered, and the sawfish left the stern of the
_Columbia_ only to dart forward towards the bow. Then it went back and
forth, hitting the line with its saw, but failing to break it. But the
movements grew weaker and weaker, and at last ceased utterly, and then
the great fish turned over on its back, and the fight was over.
“He’s dead,” muttered Tom Grandon. “But where are Russell and Striker?”
“Perhaps the sawfish struck ’em and killed ’em,” suggested the
boatswain.
As he spoke he caught sight of Olan Oleson, who had not gone swimming,
but had continued to chew his quid in sullen silence. An evil smile
of satisfaction lit up the Norwegian’s face, much to Cal Vincent’s
disgust. “He wouldn’t like anything better than to see poor Striker
and the boy sent to Davy Jones’ locker,” he muttered.
And now let us find out what really had become of Larry and his friend.
As has been told, the hands of both went up to the gunwale of the yawl
simultaneously; then came the shock and the flying splinters, and Larry
felt himself drawn under, his feet caught in the curl of something cold
and slippery.
“A shark――I am lost!” was his agonizing thought, and he bumped up
against Striker. The tail of the sawfish slapped first one and then the
other, and it was a fortunate thing that the creature had its saw fast
in the boat, otherwise one of them might have been killed.
Larry was now out of breath, yet he kept his mouth closed, knowing
that if he swallowed any of the ocean’s brine his senses would surely
forsake him and he would be drowned. He felt for Striker, who also felt
for the lad, and each clutched the other by the arm.
It was at this juncture that Captain Ponsberry came on the scene with
the harpoon, and the sawfish was struck just as Larry and Striker
managed to get their feet against the yawl’s bottom and send themselves
several yards off, although deeper below the surface than ever.
Instinctively both struck out, and a distance equal to that already
from the enemy was covered ere either dared to come up, to get a breath
of much-needed air.
“Are you safe?” was Striker’s first question, and seeing that Larry
was, he continued, “What was it?”
“I――I――don’t know!” gasped the boy. “It’s pretty big, whatever it is.
Oh, see, they have a line attached to it and are hauling it round to
the starboard!”
They had floated to the port side of the _Columbia_, and now swam as
rapidly for the ship as their exhausted condition would permit.
“On deck there! Throw us a line, if ye want us aboard!” piped up
Striker.
“Gee shoo! it’s the boys!” ejaculated Tom Grandon, and a rush was made
by those who were not holding the sawfish. Several lines were cast
overboard, and in a twinkle Larry and the tall Yankee were once more
safe on board.
“God be praised for His mercies!” murmured Mr. Wells, as he helped
Larry over the rail and noticed how weak the lad was. “You have had a
narrow escape, Lawrence, and you, too, Striker.”
“I guess it was narrow!” returned the boy, as he wiped the water from
his eyes. “But what is it?”
“A sawfish, and a big one, too, according to Captain Ponsberry.”
“I was afraid it was a shark,” put in Striker. “Phew! the way he hit
the jolly-boat was a caution! I’m afraid the boat is about done for.”
But he was mistaken. During the week following, the boatswain, who was
also the ship’s carpenter, put several new planks and ribs into the
yawl, as well as tarred and calked her, and then the small craft was as
good as ever.
It was no small task to get the sawfish on board, yet by means of loops
around the head and tail, made of strong ropes, it was accomplished,
and the creature was laid out on the deck for the inspection of
passengers and crew alike. The body was long and thin, and of a gray
and white color, ending in a double fan-shaped tail. The saw, so
styled, was a horny protrusion extending from the snout of the fish,
several inches in diameter, and furnished along its length with long
but somewhat blunt teeth, the teeth being quite close together near the
point. It was not a fierce fish to look at, neither was it a handsome
creature.
“He goes pretty well armed,” remarked the missionary, as he looked the
fish over with much interest.
“You’d think so if you’d see him attack a whale, as I’ve seen,” replied
Captain Ponsberry. “He makes a dive and a swish! and the first thing
the whale knows he’s got that saw right through his belly, and then
the chances are he’ll lose all interest in living; for if the first
strike don’t kill, the sawfish will be off before the whale can strike
back, and he’ll come on again, and there will be another ripping time.
He’s a fearful fighter, for all of his meek looks. When he gets into a
school of small fish, he strikes out right and left with that saw, and
after it’s all over there will be dead fish everywhere. I once heard
a learned professor say he was first cousin to the shark, and second
cousin to the skate, a kind o’ binding link betwixt the two.”
“Is he good to eat?” questioned another of the passengers.
“Every fish is good to eat――if you like the taste of the meat,”
returned the captain, sagely. “As for me, I don’t want any sawfish
steaks, although I have tried ’em.”
“I’m sure I don’t want anything to eat from him,” half whispered Larry,
at which Striker laughed.
“Won’t you now, Larry? Now that ain’t me―― I’d much rather eat my enemy
nor have my enemy eat me; hang me if I wouldn’t!”
Yet, later on, when Jeff came along to get some of the sawfish’s meat
to bake over the galley fire, he was told nobody wanted any, and after
preserving the saw, Captain Ponsberry had the body hove overboard.
Larry was tired out by the swimming race and by the adventure with
the sawfish, and he was glad enough, after examining the fish, to lie
down in his berth and take a rest and, later on, a good night’s sleep.
Striker also slept soundly, and when early in the morning a breeze
sprang up and the sails were hoisted, Captain Ponsberry gave orders not
to disturb them, but to let the others do the necessary work.
“They’ve earned the rest, poor chaps,” he said, “so let ’em have it.”
The prediction that an island of the Farallon de Pajaros group would
be sighted inside of two days was fulfilled. At noon on the second day
Captain Ponsberry, sweeping the northwestern horizon with his glass,
sighted a long, low shore backed up by a hill of rocks, and at once had
the course of the _Columbia_ changed to that direction. The island
kept growing larger and larger, and before sunset they came close up to
it, and the yawl put out to find a safe entrance to what looked like
a secure harbor. The coral reefs were numerous, but after an hour’s
soundings Tom Grandon found a safe channel, and the _Columbia_ swept in
and came to an anchor.
“What a sweet smell!” were Larry’s first words, as he stood at the
rail, gazing at the shore, overgrown with brush, with here and there a
stately cocoanut or other palm tree. “I wonder what it is.”
“That is cinnamon you smell,” answered Mr. Wells. “You must know that
we are now approaching those islands which grow the larger part of
the spices which are used throughout the world. Oceanica, as these
islands are termed taken together, produces cinnamon, pepper, nutmeg,
and numerous other spices. As a rule the cinnamon comes from Ceylon,
but single trees of that variety are to be found elsewhere, as in the
present case.”
“I trust we get a chance to run ashore,” said the boy, eagerly. “That
looks like quite a large island. I wonder if it is inhabited?”
“That is hard to say. Certainly there are no evidences in sight to
prove there are inhabitants, yet there may be some natives on the
northern shore. There are many thousands of islands situated in this
portion of the Pacific and Indian oceans, and the population is
constantly shifting. You may visit an island one year and find there
a considerable settlement; go there the next year and you will find
not a soul. An earthquake has come, or a dreadful storm, or an enemy,
or, mayhap, the inhabitants have heard of a better place and become
emigrants.”
“And what are the natives――Kanakas, like those at Honolulu?”
“Hardly, although you will find Maoris here, similar to the people of
New Zealand, from whom the Kanakas are supposed to be descendants. The
majority of the natives are Malays, but there are also millions of
black, woolly-headed people, known as Papuan negroes, and, of course,
there are on the larger islands many whites, from Europe principally,
as well as Chinese and Japanese.”
“It’s a strange land.”
“Taken as a whole it is fairly well known, but there are many islands
that have never been explored, and there are many spots that no
sea-captain would care to visit, for fear his ship would fall into
the hands of pirates. But, thanks be to God, who watches over us all,
this great, unknown world is slowly but surely giving itself over to
Christianity, and with Christianity will come civilization in its best
form. I do not fear for the future, although at present the horizon is
sometimes dark,” concluded the missionary, reverently.
CHAPTER XIII
AN ISLAND NOT ALTOGETHER DESERTED
“Hurrah! here we are on land once more! How good it feels to put one’s
foot on old Mother Earth after being on shipboard so long!”
It was Larry who uttered the words. He and a number of others had
received permission to go ashore, to take a tramp around previous to
filling the water-casks. In the party were Tom Grandon and Cal Vincent,
and both were armed, the one with a rifle, and the other with a
shotgun, ready to bring down anything in the shape of game which might
appear.
“I enjoy the shore myself, Larry,” answered Luke Striker, who was
trudging along beside the boy, up the beach strewn high with shells and
bits of broken coral. “But the cap’n says as how we must keep our eyes
peeled for natives. Some of ’em ain’t none too friendly in these parts.”
“It looks as if there wasn’t a human soul in sight or hearing outside
of our own party, Luke. Just listen; there is nothing to be heard but
the booming of the surf and the cries of the tropical birds.”
“You don’t reckon that a native who was an enemy would come on to you
blowing a fish-horn, do you?” answered the Yankee sailor, disdainfully.
“No, sirree; he would come as sly as a cat figurin’ on catchin’ a
mouse. It’s their way, so I’ve heard, although I allow as I never yet
met an enemy out in these parts, and I spent several years here.”
The sun had come out strong and hot, and the whole party were glad
enough to avail themselves of the shade that the tall bushes and
stately palms afforded. Soon the strip of beach came to an end. Beyond
was a series of rocks, one apparently toppled upon another, and all
thickly overgrown with trailing vines. The boatswain, who was in front,
came to a halt.
“This channel ends here,” he said. “I don’t know about cuttin’ through
yonder reefs!” and he pointed to the rising rocks.
“Oh, let us go ahead,” cried Larry. “See, the rocks seem to lead to the
top of the island. If we once get up there, we’ll be able to look all
around and down on the other side. Come on.”
The boatswain demurred, but Striker, Vincent, and the others were with
Larry, and so they began to mount the rocks,――a difficult undertaking,
as they realized long before the top of the elevation was gained. One
had to push the other, holding on to the vines in the mean time, and
Hobson suffered a slip and a tumble which for several minutes deprived
him of his breath. His clothing was much torn, especially his trousers,
and at this the Englishman grumbled not a little.
“It’s just my luck!” he said. “If I had a wife to sew ’em up, it would
not be so bad, but when we get back to the _Columbia_, it will be
myself who can set down with the wearisome needle, and nobody else.”
“Never mind, Hobson,” laughed Larry. “I won half of those trousers at
the swimming match, and I’ll give you my leg if Striker will give you
his.”
“Since one leg will do me small good, seeing I’m not stumping on a cork
yet, he can have the leg,” answered the Yankee. “It’s a heap sight
better nor cuttin’ ’em in half with the shears, as Captain Ponsberry
suggested, when the parson wanted to know who was to get the prize.”
At the remembrance of this bit of pleasantry on Captain Ponsberry’s
part, the whole party laughed, and on they went again in improved
humor. Larry and Striker were slightly in advance, and seeing the end
of the elevation just ahead, the boy made a dash to reach it first.
“Here we are, and well worth the climb!” he exclaimed, as he gazed
around. “What a beautiful view! I wish one of us had borrowed the
captain’s spyglass.”
A grand panorama was spread before and around them. On the opposite
side of the elevation the slope was more gradual, and here tall grass,
wild flowers, and shrubs grew in endless profusion, the flowers in all
the gorgeous colors of the rainbow, and giving forth such a rich scent
that it was almost sickening. Half way down the hill a large spring
gushed from under a heavy rock, forming a tiny stream leading into the
ocean beyond. On the left and the right were thick forests, principally
of teak wood, ending in a series of coral reefs stretching forth from
the island proper for the distance of quarter of a mile.
“Don’t see any natives,” remarked Vincent, who had followed Larry and
Striker. “Do you?”
Striker was staring at a small clearing to the northwest. “Am I
mistaken or is that a hut over there?” he questioned, pointing with his
long forefinger in the direction.
All of the party took a long look. Larry and Striker were of the
opinion that it was a hut, while the others thought it must be nothing
but a peculiar formation of brush.
“Certainly there are no natives in sight,” said Hobson. “Now we have
come so far we might as well go down, and sample that spring as we
pass.”
This was agreed to, and after a brief breathing spell they set off,
Larry and Striker again in the front. Going down had looked easy, but
they got many a tumble and were glad enough to rest again when the
spring was gained.
“It’s mighty good water, but we can’t bring the casks up here,”
remarked Vincent, as he swallowed a goodly portion of the cooling
liquid. “The cap’n or some one of us will have to locate another spring
nearer the ship.”
In a few minutes they resumed the journey. The object Striker had
pointed out was now in plain view, and they saw that it was indeed a
hut, and no small one either. The shelter was at least eight feet
wide by fifteen feet long, and seven feet high at its lowest end. It
contained a window on the side towards them, and beneath this was a
rude bench made of a tree slab set upon flat stones. More than this,
as they came closer, they discovered a stone fireplace in front of the
hut, upon which rested an iron pot and several very rusty tin dishes.
“Somebody’s camp!” cried Striker. “And a white man’s――I’ll wager a
month’s pay. But he ain’t been here for a long while, not by the
general look of things.”
“No, I don’t believe a soul has been near this place in a year,” said
Hobson. “Why, look at the spider webs; they tell the tale without
anything else. Hullo, look there!”
He pointed to the side of the hut, where, on a projection, hung a
dilapidated sailor’s jacket, much the worse for exposure to the wind
and weather. Beneath the jacket, half buried in the mud, rested a
sailor’s hat.
“That settles it,” muttered Striker. “Whoever lived here is either
dead, or else some friendly ship chanced along and took him off.”
“I wonder if he left anything behind him?” put in Larry, after a
pause. “Let us take a look into the hut.”
“Beware of spiders and centipedes,” said Vincent, warningly. “Those
creatures in these parts are not to be trifled with.” And he broke off
a bush branch with which to clear the doorway.
“Oh! Look out!”
Several uttered the words simultaneously, and on the instant there was
a wild scattering in every direction. Bang! went Tom Grandon’s rifle,
but the shot failed to hit its mark. The weapon was hurled to the
ground, and the mate of the _Columbia_ did not stop running until he
was knee-deep in the surf before the hut――to which all of the others
had led the way.
For from the interior of the shelter had glided a huge snake, brown
in color, with black spots and yellow rings, and a long oval head, in
which were set a pair of beady, angry eyes. The reptile was all of
twelve feet in length, and thicker than a man’s arm, and it came forth
so rapidly and unexpectedly that for the moment every one in the party
was paralyzed with fear. It reached to within a yard of Larry before
the lad saw it, and the backward leap the youth made would have done
credit to a skilled acrobat.
“That must be a boa constrictor!” cried Striker, who had been the first
to lead the way into the water.
“I wonder if he can swim?” queried another of the sailors. “If he can,
we aren’t safe here.”
“Of course he can swim,” answered Grandon. “I tried my best to hit him,
but I guess I didn’t make it. Cal, why don’t you go at him?”
The last words had scarcely left the mate’s mouth when the boatswain
opened fire with the shotgun, aiming directly at the upraised head
of the snake, that had paused on the rim of the sea, as if undecided
whether or not to undertake an aquatic pursuit. Vincent was very
nervous, and the shot, instead of hitting its object, scattered on the
sands a yard away.
[Illustration: THE BOATSWAIN OPENED FIRE WITH THE SHOTGUN]
“Missed!” grunted Hobson. “Reckon, Cal, you couldn’t hit the broad side
of a house with a Gatling gun.”
“He is moving away, anyhow,” returned Vincent, as the great snake
turned and slowly glided towards the brush behind the hut.
“Give him another shot!” cried Striker. “Load up and let me do the
trick. Tom, where’s your rifle?”
“I――I let it fall,” answered the mate of the _Columbia_, sheepishly.
“There it is near the fireplace.”
“Better go in and get it,” went on the Yankee sailor, facetiously.
“Well――I――I’ll wait a bit. I don’t want to be bit or hugged to death.
Give him a dose of shot, if you can hit him.”
By this time the shotgun was loaded again, and now Striker took it.
The great snake had reached the bushes and was lying with its head
concealed, but the lower half of its shiny body exposed. Taking careful
aim, the Yankee sailor fired, and an instant later the reptile was seen
to turn and twist in every direction, slashing the bushes as with a
flail. It had been struck fairly, but the shot was by no means a fatal
one. It remained in view fully half a minute, then crawled further into
the brush, where they heard it continue its thrashing.
“There, I don’t think he’ll bother us much more,” remarked Striker, as
he handed the shotgun back to Vincent. “Tom, you can get your rifle
now, if you want it.”
The mate hated very much to make the move, but not willing to show
too much cowardice, he waded ashore slowly and with extreme caution.
Securing the weapon, he rushed back to the others, but the snake did
not show itself again.
“Well, this looks as if we were in a pickle,” remarked Larry, who, it
must be said, was as cool as any of them――although this is not saying a
great deal. “Here we are, and our ship on the other side of the island,
and nothing to do but to tramp through that brush and over those rocks,
and perhaps stir up another of those snakes. I’ve heard they often
travel in pairs.”
“No! no! you don’t catch me cutting through the brush again!”
ejaculated Hobson. “That bloody reptile was too much for me. Ugh! my
blood is running cold yet. If I was to meet him in the bushes, I’d die,
I know I should, and I’m no more of a coward than most men at that.”
At these words each of the little party looked at the others. It was
truly an uncomfortable situation in which to be placed. What was best
to be done?
CHAPTER XIV
THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS AND THE REBELS
“Well, there are only two ways of getting back,” remarked the mate of
the _Columbia_, after a long pause. “One is to climb the hill, and the
other is to skirt either the east or the west shore. It’s a close mile
across, and I reckon it’s three miles around, one way or the other.”
“Yes, I reckon it is three miles by way of the shore,” answered Hobson.
“But there is a beach most of the way, if not all of the way, and it
will be easier walking on that than it will be a-climbing the rocks.”
“I say let us try the shore,” put in Vincent, who was as scared as any
one. “We won’t be worried about snakes, and we’ll see more than if we
went back by the way we came. The question is, which shore, east or
west?”
The question was debated for a few minutes, and it was decided that,
according to the view from the top of the hill, the eastern shore
route must be the shorter, and would, consequently, be the best to
take, for all felt that they must now be getting back to the ship. Both
the rifle and shotgun were loaded, and off they started, the two armed
men in advance, on the alert to fire at the first enemy which might
appear.
For the first mile nothing came to view but the ocean upon one side,
and a stretch of beach and brush upon the other, backed up by the
forests previously mentioned. In the brush and trees could be heard
great numbers of birds, and both Grandon and Vincent would have gone in
for game had it not been that the remembrance of the snake held them
back. Yet they managed, by keeping wide awake, to bring down several
cockatoos and a species of wild turkey, and of these they were very
proud.
After the turkey was killed and slung over the mate’s shoulder, another
mile was covered, and then they came to a small bay, or inlet, on the
other side of which was a hump of rocks, hiding the south shore, where
they knew the _Columbia_ must be at anchor. Striker was now again in
advance, with Larry beside him.
“Avast!” cried the Yankee sailor, suddenly plucking the boy by the
sleeve. “Get back there, out of sight, all of you, and I’ll capture a
prize wuth havin’!”
He motioned to the others, who came to an immediate halt. Looking
ahead, they saw at the back of the sunny inlet several large turtles
basking on the beach, their necks and legs stretched out to the fullest
extent.
“Can you do the trick?” whispered Hobson. “I’ve heard tell it’s got to
be managed cleverly or the turtle will get away.”
“Trust me――I’ve done it before――when I was ashore on Luzon!” answered
the Yankee sailor. “Watch me, Larry; it’s a trick worth knowing――in
case ye are cast ashore some day with no food and no gun to bring it
down with.”
While the rest of the party retreated to the shelter of some nearby
bushes, having by this time gotten over the greater part of the fright
occasioned by the snake, Luke Striker crawled stealthily along the
beach and entered the shallow waters of the inlet, pursuing a course
which presently brought him up directly in front of the turtles, who
still lay unconscious of their danger.
In a few minutes Striker had gained the edge of the beach, and here he
paused, to decide the question of which turtle to attack first. There
were three in a bunch, two nearly side by side and the third a few
yards to the rear, while a fourth turtle lay still further back, but
somewhat to the left of its mates.
Having fixed his plan of attack, the Yankee rushed forward as nimbly as
his long legs would carry him, and, catching the nearest turtle by the
side edge of the shell gave it a scoop which immediately placed it upon
its back, with its legs squirming harmlessly in the air.
Instantly there was a commotion, and with a great flapping the
remaining turtles started up, and, seeing their enemy, made a rush
towards the nearest water, that beside the one turned over uttering a
savage hiss at Striker as it darted by, just escaping his reach.
With the next nearest turtle gone, the Yankee leaped for the one behind
the pair, which started for the water, then on seeing the sailor
directly in the way, turned to move to one side. Another dexterous
scoop, and this one was also helpless, and away went Striker for the
fourth, now ten yards off and making for the water at the height of
its clumsy speed. It was a nip-and-tuck race, in more ways than one;
for as the sailor reached the turtle, it suddenly turned, gave him a
vicious nip in the leg, and before Striker could recover tumbled into
the water and was gone.
“Wuow!” came from the Yankee, and for the time being his captures were
forgotten, as he danced around in pain. Soon the wound was uncovered,
and was found to be not unlike what an angry cat might have made.
Striker lost no time in bathing it with salt water, and then with some
brandy Grandon carried in a flask, doing this to avoid the possibility
of blood poisoning.
The two turtles lying upon their backs were each over a foot and a
half in diameter, with shells of unusual beauty, as Larry could see at
a glance. They were soon put to death, and turned over, and the boy
examined them with interest.
“They are hawk’s-bill turtles,” said Vincent. “A good catch. Do you
know what this shell is used for?” he went on, to Larry.
“It looks a little like tortoise-shell.”
“It is tortoise-shell, although it will need a deal of polishing
before it will show up as beautiful as it does in combs and ladies’
pocket-knives, and the like. The natives take the shell off by turning
the poor creatures over and making a fire under ’em while they are
still alive; but that is the wust kind of cruelty.”
No time was lost, after Striker’s wound had been dressed, in fastening
several bits of cord to the two turtles, and while Larry and the
Yankee carried one between them, the others of the party took care
of the second. Crossing the hump of rocks, they came in sight of the
_Columbia_ as anticipated, and soon after entered the yawl and rowed
out to the schooner.
“I was calculating you had got lost,” cried Captain Ponsberry, when
they appeared. “Humph! A couple o’ good hawk’s-bills, but not much to
eat.”
“Aren’t the turtles good eating?” asked Larry.
“About as good as that sawfish, lad. Green turtles are the thing; these
are poor stuff, although we might try one, just for a change.”
The story they had to tell about the snake was listened to with much
interest. “I do not blame you for trying to keep out of the reach of
those reptiles,” said Mr. Wells. “If one of them caught any of the
party, the unfortunate would be crushed to a jelly and then slowly
devoured. Perhaps that is what happened to the former inhabitant of the
solitary hut you visited.”
In coming over the hump of rocks near Turtle Cove, as Larry named the
spot, they had located another spring, less than a hundred yards from
shore. Upon learning of this, the schooner was towed around to the
inlet, and the task of filling the water-casks began that afternoon and
was completed the next day. Then up went the anchor once more, every
sail was set, and the trip to Hong Kong was resumed.
Again the days lengthened into weeks, and as nothing occurred in the
way of storms the voyage became as monotonous as before. The only
break was on Sunday, when the Rev. Martin Wells held a regular church
service, morning and evening, which all were glad to attend, some,
among whom was Larry, because they thought it the proper thing to do,
and the others because the missionary was a good speaker and it helped
to pass the time. Even Olan Oleson attended, but it is doubtful if
the sermons and prayers affected the wicked-minded Norwegian, who was
plotting continually to revenge himself upon Larry and Striker.
Mr. Wells was much pleased to see what an interest Larry took in his
work, and how ready the lad was to lead in the singing of the hymns,
and the two became better friends than ever. The missionary had long
since heard the story of the boy’s trouble at home, and while he did
not exactly approve of what had been done, yet he felt it a hard task
to offer any censure, considering how Larry and his brothers must have
suffered through the loss of their mother and the breaking up of the
home. He advised Larry to write a plain straightforward letter to Job
Dowling from Hong Kong, telling of what he had done, and then to hope
for the best.
“You’ll feel better for having written, mark my words,” he concluded.
“And your uncle ought to know where you are, in case anything happens
to you.” And Larry promised that the letter should be written.
As the time sped by, the vast Pacific Ocean was left behind, and they
began to crawl slowly but surely into the South China Sea, at a point
directly below the most southerly extremity of the island of Formosa.
“It won’t be many days now before our trip comes to an end,” remarked
the missionary to Larry, one hot, starlit evening, as the two lounged
along the starboard rail, wondering when the coast of Formosa would be
sighted. “The distance from South Point on Formosa to Hong Kong is not
much over four hundred miles.”
“This is the island from which the famous Formosa teas come, I
suppose?” said Larry.
“Yes, the island is famous for its teas, and tea-growing is its main
industry, although, I believe, rice is also raised to some extent.”
“Striker was telling me that the Philippines are directly south of us,”
went on the boy. “He has visited Luzon, which he says is the largest of
the group.”
“Yes, Luzon is the largest island, and upon that is situated Manila,
the principal city. There are a great number of islands, some
navigators placing the figure at thirteen hundred, but many of these
are mere bits of coral formation and uninhabited. The islands of any
consequence, and which are peopled, number in the neighborhood of four
hundred.”
“Four hundred! Well, that is enough, I’m sure.”
The missionary smiled. “Yes, that is enough, yet you must remember that
the Philippines are only one group of islands out of many in Oceanica.
How many islands there really are will, perhaps, never be known; for
many of them are of volcanic origin, and rise and sink as volcanoes
burst forth or earthquakes occur.”
“That wouldn’t be very nice, if a fellow should happen to be around at
the time.”
“Thousands of the natives have lost their lives through the actions
of the volcanoes and the earthquakes, as well as by the tidal waves
which very often accompany such phenomena. But there are millions more
to take the places of the lost ones, and so, poor creatures, they are
never missed. I presume the Philippines will be of unusual interest to
the Americans in case the blowing up of the _Maine_ should lead to a
war with Spain.”
“Why should they be?”
“Outside of Cuba and Porto Rico, the Philippines are Spain’s only
colonial possessions of value, and I have heard it stated that the
Philippines are among the richest islands in the world, being, on
account of their volcanic origin, full of precious minerals. Besides
this, large quantities of hemp are grown here, out of which manila rope
and manila paper are made.”
“And does Spain rule the natives here as badly as she rules the Cubans?”
“Yes, every bit, if not worse. Uprisings are frequent, and Spain has
a regular standing army quartered in and around Manila, Bulacano, and
other cities. Even now the natives are in a state of revolt, under the
leadership of a General Aguinaldo. The natives have put up with the
iron hand of tyranny for years, and should they ever win what they
are fighting for, it is likely every Spaniard on the islands will be
butchered.”
Larry shuddered. “Coming from the States, one would scarcely dream of
such horrors, Mr. Wells.”
“That is true, Lawrence; but, as I told you in a previous talk, Spain
has only herself to blame for all this. She has misused these people
for centuries, and now must take the consequence. I can scarcely
believe it, yet only a short while ago I received several letters from
Manila and Hong Kong giving the details of a fearful slaughter of
rebels whom the Spanish troops in Luzon had captured. There were over
a hundred of them, and the poor fellows were taken to the Lunetta,
a favorite concourse outside of Manila, where in the presence of
thousands of people, including women,――I cannot call such immodest
creatures ladies,――the victims were bound, drawn up in a long line with
the Spanish details behind them, and, at a given signal, were shot
down like so many dogs. Our missionary at Manila mentioned one of the
number in particular, a young fellow not over eighteen years of age,
in whom he had become greatly interested. The poor boy was drawn up in
line with the rest, but was not killed at the first volley, nor at the
second, and at last a Spanish surgeon who was on duty there ordered one
of the soldiers to come up close with his gun and finish the poor lad,
and this was done in a manner I would not care to put into words. When
such things occur, is it any wonder that those who are oppressed rise
up determined to either throw off the yoke of tyranny or give up their
lives in the effort?”
CHAPTER XV
ALONE ON THE CHINA SEA
South Point, the lowest extremity of Formosa, was passed on the
following day, a mere speck upon the horizon, and then the bow of the
gallant _Columbia_ was turned directly for Hong Kong.
As one day after another went by, the weather, which had heretofore
been nearly all that could be desired, changed with great suddenness.
One day it would be blazing hot, so hot that no one could stand it on
the deck during midday; the next it would be cold, with high winds and
a driving rain from the northward, which sent the schooner scudding
southward under bare poles, and caused every stick of timber to creak
and groan in a manner new to Larry’s ears.
“I knowed we would pay up for all that niceness,” grumbled Luke
Striker, as he came into the forecastle one afternoon drenched to the
skin. “We’re going to have a spell of the dirtiest weather you ever
saw; mark my words.”
“It can’t be any worse than it is just now,” answered Larry, who was
holding on to the edge of his berth to keep himself from sliding to
the floor. “My gracious! I thought a while ago the _Columbia_ would go
clean over! It wouldn’t take much sail to pull a stick out of her just
now.”
“We won’t fly a rag for forty-eight hours,” put in Hobson, who had
followed Striker in. “It’s a regular hurricane, and we can be thankful
if we keep right side up.”
At that moment Olan Oleson approached the doorway from outside. The big
Norwegian was as wet as any of them and in a worse humor than usual. In
his arms he carried his great-coat, which for some reason he had just
taken off. As Larry looked up at him, he swung the dripping garment
around and hit the boy fairly across the face with it.
“You tak dat!” he cried. “You no laugh at me for nothank!”
“What do you mean by that, Oleson?” spluttered Larry, as soon as he
could speak. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I just looked up to see who was
coming in.”
“I know better――you shut your mouth,” blustered Oleson, and then out
of pure ugliness of temper he attempted to hit Larry again.
But now the boy was on his guard and dodged. Then he caught hold of the
great-coat and attempted to pull it from Oleson’s grasp. The Norwegian
held fast, and a sharp but short tug-of-war ensued, coming to a sudden
termination when a ripping sound was heard and the coat began to tear
up the back.
“Now see what you do!” fumed Oleson, as Larry released his hold. “You
spoil dat coat. I mak you pay for him!”
“It’s your own fault,” was the quick answer, as Larry wiped the water
from his face. “You had no business to hit me.”
“That’s right, Oleson; it wasn’t fair,” broke in Striker.
“You kap out of dis, or I mak you!” shouted the Norwegian, almost
beside himself with rage. “He tear de coat and he pay for him. I show
you!”
He dashed the garment on his berth and leaped upon Larry. The boy tried
to escape, but there was no room in the narrow forecastle, and down he
went over a stool, with Oleson on top of him. The fall was a bad one,
and Larry’s back might have been broken had not both Striker and Hobson
interfered and hauled Oleson off.
“Lat go me!” screamed the Norwegian. “Lat go!”
“I will――when you promise to behave yourself,” returned Striker.
“You’re a nice brute to tackle a mere boy like Larry.”
“Lat go! I report you to de captain.”
“Do it, and welcome,” were Striker’s words, and giving a sudden twist,
he threw Oleson down and sat upon him. The Norwegian squirmed and
fumed, but all to no purpose.
How far the quarrel might have gone there is no telling. But now an
interruption came――an interruption so terrible that for the time being
all else was forgotten.
As I have mentioned, the rain and wind were both high, but up to
this time the electrical disturbances in the sky――so common to this
locality――had been comparatively insignificant. Now, however, there
came without an instant’s warning a blinding flash of lightning which
blazed upon every part of the _Columbia_, followed instantly by a crack
of thunder which to Larry sounded like the crack of doom.
“Oh!” cried the boy, and fell back a few paces into the arms of Hobson.
He could say no more, nor could any of the rest. Silently Striker
leaped from Oleson, who scrambled to his feet, and then came another
crash, which set Larry’s every nerve into a quiver.
“We’re struck!” screamed a voice from outside. “On deck, men! on deck!”
“Struck!” gasped Larry. “Oh, I hope not!”
“Gosh, but that was a corker!” burst out Striker, regaining his breath.
“Never heard quite sech a hard crack afore.”
He darted out of the forecastle, and the others followed him. The
lightning had left all behind it almost as dark as pitch, and no one
could see where to go.
“Hold tight, or you’ll be blowed overboard!” came from Hobson. “Where
are we struck?” he yelled as hard as he could, in order to make himself
heard above the whistling of the wind.
“The foremast is hit, and the bow’s afire!” came in Tom Grandon’s
voice. “Quick, boys, out with the fire-hose and start up the pump.
Remember, the oil pantry is close to the blaze!”
“The oil pantry! God be with us!” The words came from the Rev. Martin
Wells. “Let me help at the work, mate; the sooner we put the fire out,
the better.”
“All right, sir,” answered Grandon. “But have a care, or you’ll roll
overboard. See, men,” he went on, “the mast is afire; that is, what
is left of it. Hobson, Roddy, get the axes and chop it away. Striker,
bring the hose around the mizzenmast and over to larboard. It’s a
wonder some of you men forward weren’t knocked out. The poor captain’s
senseless. Oleson, help Striker with that hose, and you, too, Larry.
Vincent, cut the ropes with a knife, or an axe, if you’ve got one. The
rest of you screw the hose to the pump and turn on the water. I’ll chop
this woodwork away so you can get at the fire below.” And crash! crash!
went Tom Grandon’s axe, as he worked away manfully, while the crew
scurried off in all directions, to do as ordered.
Striker had already run for the hose, and soon several lengths were
unreeled, and not only Larry and Oleson, but also the missionary, took
hold to drag it forward. The larboard rail was just gained when the
_Columbia_ gave a sharp lurch, and down went the three men and the
boy in the scupper-hole. Oleson came on top of Larry, and took grim
delight in planting the heel of his rough boot on the lad’s neck.
“Get off of my neck, Oleson!” cried Larry, and then Striker hurled the
Norwegian back and scrambled up. He had just reached for the rail,
when, muttering some fierce imprecation in his native tongue, Oleson
caught Striker by the leg and flung him over the side! For one second
the Yankee sailor seemed to hang in mid-air, then with a wild cry he
disappeared into the boiling waters beside the vessel.
“Striker!” gasped Larry. “He will be drowned! Hobson! Vincent! Mr.
Grandon! Come here! Oleson has thrown――”
He was permitted to go no further, for the Norwegian had now turned and
caught him by the throat. “You can a-go wid him!” hissed the infuriated
rascal, and forced the alarmed boy over the rail. In vain Larry tried
to cling fast; Oleson beat off his hold, and down he went into that
same tempest-tossed element, out of sight and hearing of those who were
hurrying to answer his call.
How far down into the depths of the China Sea Larry descended he never
knew, but it was to him a long distance. Instinctively he closed his
mouth and held his breath as he felt the warm currents shift and swirl
around him. Was he being drawn down under the _Columbia_? Fervently he
prayed not.
When he did come up, to puff and blow like a porpoise, all was dark
around him. He was on the top of a huge wave; a second later he went
down into a great hollow, the waves before and behind him seeming like
hills ready to tumble in and plunge him out of existence. Again he
prayed a silent prayer――yet none the less heard――that his life might be
spared to him.
A minute later came another flash of lightning, revealing two things
apart from the waste of water around him. One was the _Columbia_
fast receding in the distance; the second was a life-preserver some
thoughtful friend had thrown overboard after him.
“Gone!” he murmured, with a sinking heart. “Will they come back? Oh,
they must come back! They won’t desert Striker and me like this!”
The life-preserver floated but a short distance away, yet it was
no easy task to secure it amid those mountainous waves. He struck out
valiantly, guided by the flashes of lightning which followed. He was
all but exhausted when he finally gained the article and adjusted it
under his arms. With the preserver, floating was easy.
[Illustration: THE LIFE-PRESERVER FLOATED BUT A SHORT DISTANCE AWAY]
The seconds lengthened into minutes after that, and the minutes into
hours, and still he floated aimlessly about, the sport of the wind and
the waves. Sometimes a wave would break over his head, almost knocking
out of him the little breath that remained. The rain came down as
hard as ever, but the lightning and thunder became less frequent, and
finally died away altogether, leaving him to the utter blackness of the
night.
It was a time never to be forgotten, a time stamped indelibly upon
Larry Russell’s memory, that lonely night on the China Sea, floating
he knew not where, fearing that even if he kept afloat until daybreak
no one would come to his rescue, but that he should continue to drift
until hunger and thirst should claim him as their own. “Oh, God, help
me!” he cried, not once but many times; yet only the whistling wind
seemed to answer in mockery.
CHAPTER XVI
CAST ASHORE ON AN ISLAND
“Not a bit of land nor a sail in sight!”
Such were the disheartening words which escaped Larry’s lips when the
morning had dawned, and he had taken a long and careful look around,
as one wave and another lifted him up to the level of the dark green
mountains shifting around him.
The long stretches of the night, coupled with the fury of the elements,
had thoroughly exhausted him, and it took all the little will-power
left to keep from dropping over into a sleep which would surely have
ended in death.
The morning sun glinted over the waves, flashing and flaring in his
eyes, and then began to mount the skies and pour down those scorching
rays upon his uncovered head. Soon this brought to him the first of the
added perils of which he had thought――that of thirst. Never was he so
dry before――with millions of tons of water around him! He was almost
tempted to drink of the salty water, but resisted, knowing full well
that if he did so, his thirst would be tenfold increased.
Where would it end?
Over and over again he asked himself that question without being able
to devise an answer. Would not some friendly sail appear, or some tiny
coral island――one of those many of which the missionary had spoken?
Thinking of Mr. Wells made him think of the _Columbia_. Surely, surely,
his friends on board of her would not desert him. But then his cheeks
blanched as he thought of the storm and the fire. Had the gallant craft
fallen a prey to one or the other, after all? It might be, for ships
had been struck by lightning and gone down before.
Towards noon, with the fierce sun directly overhead, he felt that the
end must be near. His mind was in a whirl, and fearful visions came to
him: now he was battling with the sawfish, then the great snake was
coming through the water after him, and anon Oleson had him by the
throat and was choking him. The last vision seemed so real that he
cried out as loudly as his parched throat would permit, “Help! help!
somebody help me!”
What was that? an answering call? No, no, it must be another
hallucination. Yet he strained his ears eagerly, and screamed again.
No, it was no deception; the call was returned, and the voice sounded
sweetly familiar. He was down in a hollow, and waited eagerly to mount
the coming wave. Up he went, and still up, to come in contact with a
bit of wreckage――the fore-topmast of the _Columbia_, with its trailing
ropes. As he caught the end of the mast, he saw that the centre
supported a sailor’s body.
“Luke Striker!”
“Larry Russell! Is it possible!” came from the Yankee tar. For the
moment he could scarcely believe his eyesight. “How did this happen?
Did the _Columbia_ go down?”
“I don’t know about that,” answered Larry, moving closer to his friend.
“Oh, how glad I am that we have come together!” he exclaimed, his wet
face beaming with pleasure. “It’s awful to be alone.”
“So it is, Larry, and I was thinking just that same when I heard your
call. But how is it you are here if you don’t know about the fate of
the _Columbia_?”
“Oleson pitched me overboard. When you went over, I started to call for
help, and he turned on me like a flash; and here I am.”
“And you don’t know about the craft――if she is O. K. or not?”
“I am afraid something must have happened, for Captain Ponsberry
wouldn’t desert us like this, would he?”
“Cap’n Ponsberry was knocked out by the lightning――don’t you remember
Tom Grandon sayin’ so? But Tom wouldn’t desert us; I know him too well.
Yes, I’m afraid the ship has had a tough time of it, and maybe she’s at
the bottom of the China Sea this minit.” Striker drew a deep breath.
“We’re in a pickle, lad, jest about as deep as we can git!”
“I know I am dying for a drink. Oh, if only we could sight land
somewhere! Are we far from Formosa?”
“Formosa? Why, lad, we’ve been driving south’ard as fast as we could
for forty-eight hours. We are closer to some o’ the Philippines nor
anything――though I allow as they must be miles an’ miles away. Yet I’m
prayin’ myself we may strike some land afore we see Davy Jones’ locker.”
With some of the dangling ropes Striker had made himself a sort of seat
beside the mast, and now Larry went to work, on the opposite side,
to do the same for himself. This accomplished, he rested far more
comfortably than before. While he was at work, the Yankee sailor took
another rope which was slender, and began to twist and braid it into
a shell-like head covering, similar to one he had already made for
himself. The dampness and shade of the improvised hat made Larry’s head
feel much better.
Slowly the afternoon wore away. Towards evening the sun went behind a
dense mass of angry clouds, and it began to rain as before, while the
distant rumble of thunder crept closer and closer. An hour later the
storm was on them in all of its fury, and they found themselves driving
to the southwestward, over and through the boiling and lashing waves
which threatened to engulf them forever.
“I can’t stand much of this!” panted poor Larry, at about midnight. “My
chest is pounded so sore I can hardly breathe. Every time a wave breaks
over me I―― Oh, Luke, look!”
A broad spread of lightning had lit up the scene around them, causing
Larry to suddenly change his talk.
“What is it, Larry?”
“Land! just ahead of us! We are getting into the breakers already!”
He spoke the truth, and a second later another flash of lightning gave
Striker an opportunity to take in the situation.
“You’re right, my lad. Quick! unfasten yourself from that rope and
hold ready to let go, or you may be smashed to jelly between the mast
and the rocks. See, we are already passing over an outer reef. Look
out, and if your feet touch the beach run as hard as you can from the
undertow!”
Striker fairly screamed the last words, in order to make himself
heard, for the pounding of the surf was like the booming of cannons
around them. Up they went to the top of the last wave, and then down
and down until the feet of both touched some hard substance. The spray
was flying in every direction, while the brine was lashed into a thick
foam. Larry tried to keep his feet, but failed utterly, and rolled over
and over, he knew not whither. The mast, which had slipped from him,
bumped his arm, and, without thinking of what he was doing, he clutched
the tangled-up ropes. Then came a second rise, and he was swept in
closer than before. The receding waves left him but knee-deep in the
element. A flash of lightning showed him in what direction safety lay,
and he ran with all the power left to his legs. Once he went down on
his hands, and the next wave nearly caught him, but he was up again
in a trice, and in a moment more was safe on the rocks which arose
directly behind the storm-beaten beach.
“Luke! are you safe?” were the first words he uttered, as soon as he
could catch his breath.
“I am, and thank God for it!” came from the Yankee sailor, and
presently he appeared out of the darkness. “That was a close shave,
lad, wasn’t it? I came near to striking on my head.”
“It was a close shave,” answered Larry, and added reverently: “We have
much to thank Heaven for, haven’t we?” Somehow, that time of extreme
peril was deeply impressed upon his youthful mind.
“Yes, lad, God has been with us this night, no doubt of it. We couldn’t
have stood it much longer drifting in that sea. Let us get a little
further back, under the shelter of yonder overhanging cliff; and there
we can take it easy until morning.”
Both had dropped upon the rocks, too exhausted to stand, but now they
managed to reach the base of the cliff Striker had mentioned, and here
they found a sheltered nook. Close at hand was a pool of rain-water,
of which both partook eagerly.
Half an hour later found the pair asleep――sleeping the heavy sleep of
the over-tired,――undisturbed by the thunder in the skies or on the
beach. They knew not where they had landed, nor did they care. It was
enough to know they had struck land, and an island that was not barren,
but covered with tropical growth, as the flashes of lightning had
revealed.
Striker was the first to awaken in the morning. He opened his eyes to
find the storm cleared away and the sun shining brightly. Larry lay at
his side, the boy’s curly head resting upon his wet arm, slumbering as
soundly as ever.
“I’ll let him sleep until he wakes up――no use to ’rouse him,” thought
the Yankee sailor, and got up himself. He was stiff and sore, and it
was several seconds before he felt in the humor to set off on a tour
of inspection. Before going, he brought from one of his pockets a
water-proof match-safe, and was delighted to find therein eight matches
all in perfect condition.
A short walk along the cliff, below and above,――for the rocky shelf
was irregular, and not over twenty feet high,――convinced Striker that
no human beings were in the vicinity, to become their friends or their
enemies; and then the sailor set about obtaining some food, for he was
now nearly starved.
He felt certain that the storm had cast up upon the irregular beach
more or less fish, and in this he was not mistaken, for hardly had he
covered a distance of half a dozen rods than he heard a flapping, and
saw a winged coryphene trying vainly to reach the ocean, from which it
had been hurled.
“A dolphin!” he cried, making a mistake common to many sailors, who do
not distinguish the difference between the two creatures. In a second
he had the coryphene by the tail, and a blow upon the rocks ended the
wounded one’s misery and made the prize his own. The fish was over two
feet long, and weighed all of seven pounds. It was at first black and
brown, but its colors soon changed to olive and azure,――a peculiarity
which it shares with the true dolphin of other waters.
Fish in hand, Striker returned to where he had left Larry, and
commenced to gather such brush as he could find which was dry or
drying. It was no easy matter to discover wood dry enough to burn at
once; but the shelter under the cliff afforded a little, and with this
he started a blaze, and soon had a roaring fire, upon one edge of which
he erected a flat stone, which soon became hot enough to use for a rude
pan for his fish.
It was the welcome smell of something to eat which aroused Larry quite
as much as anything else. He sat up, rubbed his eyes in astonishment,
and leaped to his feet.
“A fire, and a fish frying!” he cried. “That is a welcome sight to a
fellow as hungry as I am! How did you catch him, Luke?”
“It was pure luck, Larry,” answered the sailor, and told his story.
“The fish will be done to a turn in a few minutes, and then we can
eat our fill; and I’ll warrant you’ll find it fine eating, and not
altogether because you’re so hungry, either.”
“I could eat anything,” was the reply. And when they sat down in the
shade,――for the sun was growing hot,――Larry declared he had never
tasted anything better. The flesh of the coryphene was as sweet as a
nut, and they ate and ate, until little more than the bones was left.
CHAPTER XVII
THE STORY OF A LONG TRAMP
They had hung their jackets by the fire to dry, and by the time
breakfast was finished――a breakfast that Larry declared was breakfast,
dinner, supper, and lunch all rolled into one――the garments were ready
to put on again. Their improvised hats were gone, but seaweed was
plentiful along the beach, and soon they had fixed up a pair of rude
head coverings which gave them ample protection from the tropical sun,
even if they were far from handsome in appearance.
“We ain’t travellin’ on looks, lad,” said Striker, when Larry poked fun
at the bonnets, as he dubbed them. “I’d rather wear this contrivance
than be sunstruck.”
“Of course, Luke――I was only fooling. The question is, now we are ready
to move, where are we to go to?”
“I’ve thought that over, lad, and I don’t know as we can do better nor
to climb up to the highest top of this place and git our bearings, so
to speak, same as we did at that other island we were on.”
“And supposing we strike another snake?” and Larry could scarcely
repress a shiver.
“We’ll have to chance it. But I don’t believe we will. Come, we’ll cut
ourselves a couple of good clubs, and then mount the cliff and the hill
back of it. What I am worried about more than snakes is our chance of
picking up the next meal. Fish ain’t layin’ around all over, ye see.”
“Let us run along shore then and pick up what we can,” answered Larry,
“or I can do so while you are cutting the clubs;” and so it was
arranged.
The beach was strewn with seaweed and shells, but, as Striker had
intimated, fish were scarce, and Larry picked up but one small creature
of an unknown variety, and not weighing over a pound and a half. It was
full of spines which stuck his fingers until they bled, and he carried
the fish back very gingerly.
“Humph, not much, but better nor nuthin’,” was Striker’s comment. “I’ll
wrap it in wet seaweed and sling it over my back. Here is your club,
lad, and use it as best you can, if anything attacks you, be it snake,
wild animal, or a blood-thirsty savage.”
“Do you think this island inhabited?”
“That depends a good deal on the size. If it’s large, yes; if it’s
small, no.”
“Is it one of the Philippines?”
“I reckon it is; some small place directly to the north of Luzon. But
come on; we want to make the most of the forenoon, because by eleven
o’clock it will be too hot to travel.”
In a moment more they were on the way, climbing the cliff and pushing
up a gradual slope covered with rank tropical growth, steaming from the
rain which had fallen upon it. For the greater part, the growth was of
coarse grass, knee-high and more, but here and there were thick clumps
of bushes, gorgeous with colored flowers and odd-looking berries, not a
few of a poisonous nature. Still farther on was a heavy belt of stunted
palms, with vines training in every direction, and here flitted, in
surprise and terror at their appearance, wild pigeons, hornbills, as
well as parrakeets, cockatoos, and other varieties of parrots.
“My, but it’s hot!” murmured Larry, as they came to a rest under the
palms. “And how everything does grow in these hot places!”
“Yes, it grows, but a good bit of it is mighty coarse,” responded
Striker. “Take that grass we’ve just come through, for instance. I
don’t believe a horse or a cow would touch it any more than it would a
lot of old chair canings.”
“And just look at the bugs, and beetles, and ants, and lizards!” went
on the boy, pointing to the ground and the rocks about them. “I don’t
believe a fellow could pass a night here very comfortably.”
“Not unless he slept in a tree, Larry――although I allow as it wouldn’t
be no wuss nor some sailors’ boarding-houses I have put up at,” and
Striker laughed heartily. “Come.” And on they went again.
Before the top of the hill was gained they had to pass over a rocky
stretch of lava formation. Here Striker pointed out the different
strata of the flow.
“This island is of volcanic origin, as the parson would put it,” he
said, “but I reckon the last eruption was a long while ago, judgin’ by
the trees. Perhaps we’ll run across the volcano crater somewhere up
there at the top.”
The top of the hill was not as regular as that upon the other island
visited, and in order to get a view of their surroundings they were
compelled to climb a palm tree. From here they could get a fair
view of the ocean, and saw that the island was about three miles in
diameter. The crater of the volcano lay just in front of them,――a
ragged depression, its centre depths covered with thickly matted vines.
“Looks like a big, round cake that went away up in the baking and then
split just one side of the middle,” remarked Larry. “Do you suppose
there is any bottom to that crater?”
“To be sure, though there’s no telling how far down it is. I ain’t
calkerlatin’ to investigate――not jest yet. Do you see anything of a hut
or a village?”
“Not a sign of any habitation.”
“Neither do I.” The face of the sailor fell. “We might as well go round
the crater and down behind it, and then, if we want to, we can walk
along the shore.”
The walk down the hill was easy, and they continued their progress even
during the midday hour, although stopping numerous times to rest. They
had almost gained the water’s edge again when Striker pulled Larry by
the arm to attract his attention.
“We’ll want something to eat soon, and I’m goin’ to have something
besides fish if I can get it. Yonder is a flock of wild pigeons. We
might take a shy at them with our clubs. Come on, as quietly as you
can, and when I whistle let drive.”
They crept forward side by side, to the spot the Yankee tar had pointed
out. When within fifty feet of the birds Striker uttered a low whistle,
at the same time letting his club whiz through the air. Both sticks
flew true to the mark, and a tremendous fluttering followed. One of the
pigeons was knocked dead and three others injured. Of the three, two
were readily caught; the third got away among the trees.
“Three birds; not half so bad,” cried Striker. The prizes were slung on
a string over Larry’s back, and on they went again.
Evening found the pair down at the seashore. They had skirted one half
of the island without seeing the first sign of a human being. They
were utterly worn out, and were only too glad to take it easy, kindle
a fire, and cook the fish and the pigeons. The latter proved of rather
a rank flavor, judged by the flesh of those eaten at home, yet neither
complained.
“I’ll have to be careful of my matches,” observed Striker, as they
proceeded to make themselves comfortable for the night. “The six I
have left won’t last forever. Let us see if we can’t keep the fire;”
and he banked it up with some thick brushwood in such a fashion that it
might burn slowly.
The night was spent under the shelter of several dwarf palms which
grew close to a rocky elevation overlooking the sea. All went well
until nearly dawn, when Larry was suddenly awakened by the movement of
something around him.
“Hullo, Luke, what’s up?” he cried, when he caught sight of something
between himself and the Yankee sailor. He made a savage kick, hitting
some small animal in the side, and a shrill squeak followed. Striker
was by this time awake, and both leaped to their feet.
“A monkey, that’s all!” cried the tar. “Get out of here!” and he made
a useless pass with his foot, for the monkey was already hopping off
as fast as he was able. In the dim light they made out a score of the
animals sitting around them in a circle. With a wild chatter the whole
tribe rushed into the trees of the forest behind them and were lost to
view, although their chatterings could be heard for a long while after.
“They’ll come back sooner or later; their curiosity won’t let them
keep away,” said Striker, after the excitement was over. “Reckon he
scared you a bit, didn’t he?”
“He did,” answered Larry. “I wonder if there are any very dangerous
animals round?” he continued anxiously.
“It’s not likely, on an island of this size. But you’ll find plenty of
wildcats in the Philippines, and wild boars and buffalo――a different
sort from those in our Western States. And then there are civets, an
animal something like a cat, that some of the natives domesticate, and
the wild parts are full of jackals, so I’ve heard, though I never seen
none of ’em.”
What to do was the next question. They had explored the island as
thoroughly as they cared to do it, with but scant satisfaction. Not a
single trace of human beings had come to light. They looked at each
other soberly.
“We are Crusoes, Luke,” said Larry, soberly, “and I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I like it, lad. But what can we do? If we had tools, I
might go in for rigging up a boat, or a raft, and setting some sort of
sail for Luzon, but one can’t do much with a jack-knife.”
Larry heaved a long sigh. “If only we could climb the tallest tree on
the island and hang up a flag of distress,” he ventured. “I’d hang up
the very shirt I’m wearing if I thought it would do any good.”
“So would I, lad, but it’s only one chance in a thousand that any one
would come along to see it. Let us look at it in a business light, as
shore folks call it. Here we are and likely to stay for a good bit.
Let us fix us up a shelter and fill our larder, if we can, and talk of
what’s best to do afterwards.”
So it was arranged, and the next morning they set to work to build a
hut in the best spot to be found. Of course they could cut down no
trees, so they built the hut among a clump of five palms, making the
sides and top of brushwood, bound together with strong vines which grew
in profusion close at hand.
The finishing up of this place was entrusted to Larry, while Striker
went off a whole day to “fill up the larder,” as he had expressed it.
The Yankee tar was very successful, having brought down several birds
with his club and caught a dozen fish with a line made of a string he
was fortunate enough to find in his pocket. For a hook for this line
he had used a sharp thorn tied, end up, to a tough twig, baiting the
whole with a dazzling blue and yellow butterfly, butterflies being as
numerous as were the ants and fireflies in the woods. In addition to
this he had turned over one immense turtle he had found in the sun, not
a tortoise-shell this time, but a more common looking creature which
was, however, of good eating flavor.
“The turtle I’ll put in a mud-hole somewhere,” he said. “And as long as
we have him there will be no danger of our starving. I’d put some of
the fish into another hole, only they are all dead. However, I’m sure
we can get fish at any time.”
CHAPTER XVIII
THE ASIATIC SQUADRON TO THE RESCUE
Two days had passed, and they had made themselves fairly comfortable
on the island, when, on chancing to walk some distance up the shore in
search of dry driftwood, Larry saw a sight that fairly made his heart
stop beating.
“Luke! Luke! come here, quick!” he cried, as soon as he could catch his
breath. “Oh, what a find!”
“What is it, Larry?” called back the Yankee sailor, and came running
from the hut on the double-quick. “A boat, as sure as you’re born! Now
ain’t we the lucky ones, though!”
He was right; Larry had discovered a boat,――a heavy, cumbersome craft,
such as old-time merchantmen were in the habit of carrying for trading
purposes among the natives. The boat lay on her side, half in and half
out of the water, and had evidently washed up on the beach the night
before.
[Illustration: THE BOAT LAY ON HER SIDE, HALF IN AND HALF OUT OF THE
WATER]
“It’s a godsend to us, lad,” went on Striker. “Come, let us pull her
high and dry, before the waves have a chance to send her adrift. Why,
look, she’s got a small mast, and hang me if the sail ain’t set! I
reckon if she could spin her yarn it would be an interesting one.
More than likely the men who manned her went down in one of those
hurricanes, although she looks as if she’s been water-logged this many
a day.”
It was no easy matter to pull the boat in, but the find had raised
their spirits wonderfully, and they worked with a will, and once the
_Treasure_, as Larry christened her, was clear of the waves, Striker
took the extra precaution to tie her soaked painter to the nearest palm.
“We can’t afford to lose her nohow,” he said. “See, the sail seems to
be in good condition, so is the stumpy mast, and I don’t believe she
leaks in the least. With a stock of eatables on board we can sail in
her to Luzon without half trying.”
“Yes, but the eatables, Luke; how can we get them? Fish and birds won’t
keep, and we’ll have to take some water along, and――”
“You leave that to me, Larry. We know we can get all the fish and birds
we want, and we can salt ’em, and cook ’em, and perhaps we can take
some of the fish along alive, by putting them in some water in the
bottom of the boat. As for the other eatables, we’ll skirmish around
the island for cocoanuts,――which will give us eating and drinking,――and
I think I saw a banana tree yesterday, and some wild onions; while as
for water, I saw some bamboo on the hill, which is big and hollow, and
one piece will hold at least half a pint of water, and can easily be
corked up.”
Larry could not help but gaze in admiration at the fellow, whose head
was so full of resources. “You’re a real Yankee, and no mistake, Luke,”
he laughed. “I believe if nothing but a plank had drifted in, you would
have had a boat out of it by sundown. All right; I’m with you, and the
sooner we are ready to set sail, the better it will suit me; for even
if we have the luck to reach Luzon, we’ll still have the job of getting
to Manila or some other big town and finding a ship to take us to Hong
Kong.”
From that moment on work went forward briskly, and while Larry spent
his time in fishing and in hunting turtles, Striker hunted up the
cocoanuts and other eatables he had mentioned. Yet the preparations
for the trip took some time, and it was not until several days later
that they were ready to embark.
“Good-by to Lonely Island!” cried Larry, taking off the seaweed cap he
still wore. “It served us well, yet I can’t say that I care to see its
shores again.”
“You’re right, lad; a Robinson Crusoe life is all well enough in books.
Give me the deck of a stanch vessel, every time.”
The _Treasure_ was run out across the reefs without great difficulty,
and as soon as the single sail was hoisted, Striker set the course as
he thought due south, although in reality, as it afterwards proved, his
course was to the southwest, just a variation sufficient for him to
miss the northwest extremity of Luzon.
Two days and a night were passed upon the somewhat clumsy craft without
anything of special interest happening. The weather and wind remained
fair, and the only thing which bothered them was the fierce sun, which
beat down as pitilessly as ever. Striker had thoughtfully thrown into
the boat a number of broad palm leaves, and during the middle of the
day they were glad enough to wet these and throw themselves under the
shade to be had by setting the leaves up in the form of an inverted
letter V――thus Λ――in the stern.
As the sun went down upon the second day, Larry noticed Striker looking
anxiously to the eastward. “Yes, I’m afraid we’re in for another
storm,” said the Yankee, in reply to a question on that point. “How
soon it will come there’s no telling. But it ain’t far off, and we’ll
have to make the best of it.”
The hurricane――for it was nothing less――came upon them at midnight,
striking the _Treasure_ heavily and sending her prow into a very
torrent of water. A large amount of the water was shipped, and both
fell to bailing vigorously, knowing their very lives depended upon it.
The storm lasted until daybreak, then cleared off as rapidly as it had
come. But, alas! that storm had been the unmaking of the _Treasure_.
The sail with its half-rotted ropes was gone, the boat had sprung a bad
if not dangerous leak, and more than half of the drinking-water and
eatables were gone.
“It’s a sorry pickle, truly, Larry,” said Striker, soberly, as he
surveyed the mischief, “and I don’t know which is the wust,――the leak
or the loss of the provender,――but both are bad enough.”
“The loss of the sail is the worst, I imagine,” answered the boy. “How
are we to keep sailing without a sheet?”
“That’s true; we’ll have to see what we can do with our shirts. But
first let us go to work on that leak,” concluded Striker, and they
started in before either had a mouthful of breakfast.
Quarter of an hour later found them thoroughly alarmed. The leak was
growing worse. In vain they tried to mend it. The _Treasure_ had been
so strained by the storm she was scarcely able to hold together.
Suddenly there was a cracking, and out went a plank of the bottom, and
Larry found himself dropping down into the ocean. Then the clumsy craft
turned over, carrying Striker with it.
For several minutes there was a splutter and a struggle upon the part
of man and boy to save themselves. At length Larry caught hold of the
keel of the upturned boat and drew himself up. Soon Striker followed.
“We’re in for it now, lad,” cried the Yankee, dolefully. “We made a
bad miss when we left that island and trusted to such a rotten craft as
this.”
“I’d like to know how far we are from shore now,” said Larry. “All of
our provisions have gone to the bottom.”
“All but these,” answered the tar, holding up half a dozen of the
bamboo stems filled with fresh water. “It’s not much to save, but a
single drink of water may save our lives before we are done with this
adventure.”
There was but little to add in the way of talk after this. Both were
too down-hearted to say much, and clung on in silence as the upturned
boat drifted onward, and the rising sun mounted higher and higher in
the tropical sky. Larry’s head was entirely unprotected, and by noon
the sun’s rays seemed unbearable.
“I must have a bit of water,” he said. “My tongue is like cotton, and
my head feels as if it was ready to split open.”
“We’ll divide the water in one of the sticks between us,” answered
Striker; and this was done, and once again they relapsed into a moody,
distressing silence. The glare of the sun on the water nearly blinded
Larry, and often he closed his eyes.
It was getting towards sundown when Striker uttered a sudden shout.
“A boat! a steamship!”
“Where?” ejaculated Larry, rousing up. “I can’t see anything,” he went
on, as Striker pointed with his finger. “I see a bit of smoke, though.”
“She is well down in the water and painted dark. I can see her quite
plainly.”
“Oh, yes, I see her now. Do you think she is coming this way?” was the
boy’s next anxious question; then, before Striker could answer, he
continued: “There is another steamer, over to the left! And there is
another――or am I dreaming?”
He pointed this way and that, and the Yankee sailor followed the
indications eagerly.
“There ain’t no mistake, Larry, they’re all there; and see, there’s
another bit of smoke off to the north’ard. We must be right in the
track o’ some reg’lar line, though what line I can’t imagine, nor
why so many of the steamships should be out here at one time,” added
Striker, in much perplexity.
“I don’t care about that, if only one of them will come this way and
pick us up.”
“They are coming this way――as straight as a string,” cried Striker,
after five minutes of painful suspense. “I can see all four of the
vessels as plain as day, and――yes, there’s another! What in the world
can this mean? Larry, if I was a drinking man, I would say I had ’em
bad,” concluded the Yankee sailor, as he raised himself up as high as
possible, his eyes meanwhile almost starting from his head.
Another five minutes passed, and the vessels came closer, until they
could readily see the black smoke pouring from their funnels. The five
vessels were sweeping along in almost a semicircle, and now Striker
declared he could see more smoke to the rear.
“If only they see us!” cried Larry, in almost a pleading tone. “Can’t
we wave something? I’ll try my jacket.” And he slipped the garment
off, and proceeded to bestride the keel of the upturned _Treasure_. In
a moment more Striker was beside him, and both waved their hands like
demons.
Boom! loud and clear over the sea sounded the dull discharge of a
ship’s gun, and they saw the smoke float away from the nearest of the
oncoming vessels.
“It’s a man-o’-war, that’s what it is!” burst from Striker’s lips. “And
it’s a whole fleet of ’em!”
“Yes! yes! and we are saved!” cried Larry, hysterically. “That gun
was surely meant for us.” They watched on for a few more minutes in
silence. “Oh, Luke! see the stars and stripes! They are United States
vessels, every one of them!”
“You’re right, lad; they are our own Yankee ships, and we have fallen
among friends. See, that big fellow is heading directly for us and
intends to pick us up. This must be Commodore Dewey’s Asiatic Squadron.
Hurrah for Uncle Sam! Hurrah!” And Striker cheered so lustily that the
men on the approaching cruiser heard him quite plainly.
CHAPTER XIX
THE MISSION OF THE SQUADRON
Striker was right; the war vessels approaching were the Asiatic
Squadron of the United States Navy, and while the vessels are drawing
closer to Larry and the Yankee tar, we will take a brief look at the
noble craft which were so soon to engage in a battle to become world
famous in history.
The fighting ships were seven in number, consisting of four cruisers,
the _Olympia_, _Baltimore_, _Boston_, and _Raleigh_, and three
gunboats, the _Concord_, _Petrel_, and _McCulloch_. Added to these were
two large vessels, the _Nanshan_ and the _Zafiro_, carrying between
them 10,000 tons of coal for the fleet’s use.
The largest of the ships was the _Olympia_, which was also the
flagship. She was a fine specimen of the protected cruiser, of 5800
tons, and carrying twenty-eight guns of good size. Her commander was
Captain C. V. Gridley, and her executive officer Lieutenant C. P.
Rees. It may be worth remembering that the _Olympia_ was the only ship
which was protected by armor, and that armor was merely a band of
four-inch steel around her turret guns――quite in contrast to numerous
other armored vessels that carry steel plates about them from twelve to
twenty inches thick.
Next in size to the flagship came the cruiser _Baltimore_, of 4400
tons, and carrying fourteen guns. She was commanded by Captain M. N.
Dyer, with Lieutenant-Commander J. B. Biggs as executive officer.
The third on the list of cruisers was the long and low-lying _Boston_,
of 3000 tons, and ready to fight with ten splendid guns. Captain Frank
Wildes was her commander, and Lieutenant J. A. Norris her executive
officer.
The quartette of cruisers came to an end with the _Raleigh_, of about
the same tonnage as the _Boston_, and mounting eleven guns, only one of
large size. The _Raleigh_ had just come all the way from New York to
join the squadron, and was commanded by Captain J. B. Coughlan, with
Lieutenant Frederic Singer as executive officer.
Of the gunboats, the _Concord_ took the lead. She was a stanch
three-master of 1700 tons, carrying eight guns and rifles, and was
commanded by Captain Asa Walker.
Next to the _Concord_ came the tiny but sprightly _Petrel_, of only
900 tons, and carrying but four guns. Her commander was Captain E. P.
Wood. The _Petrel_ looked almost too small to take part in a great
battle, yet later on we will see her giving the best possible account
of herself.
The last on the list of the fleet was the gunboat _McCulloch_, which
was not, strictly speaking, a fighting craft, but a revenue cutter,
used for carrying despatches from one boat to another and to shore. The
_McCulloch_ carried four light pieces, principally for defence, and was
commanded by Captain Hobson, of the Revenue Marine Service.
And now what had brought this squadron out in the middle of the
South China Sea, to the great wonder and astonishment――not to say
thankfulness――of Larry and his down-east friend? In order to answer
that question we shall have to take a dip into history――a brief dip,
and one that I trust will not tire even such of my boy readers as
desire a story to move along “lively like.”
We have already learned how the battleship _Maine_ was blown up in the
harbor of Havana, Cuba, and also something of the condition of affairs
in that ill-fated isle at that time: how the Spanish authorities had
tried in vain for three years to put down the rebellion which was
raging in every quarter, and how many American citizens were suffering
because of this conflict. American capital amounting to millions of
dollars was invested in Cuba, and this was rapidly being lost through
the confiscation and destruction of property.
Yet the American nation could stand the loss of property without waging
war, hopeful that in the end Spain would make matters right. What
worried the people was the cruelty practised by the Spanish authorities
against the insurgents, and when in the halls of Congress it was openly
declared that through Spanish misrule tens of thousands of Cuban
men, women, and children were actually starving to death, the people
everywhere cried out that this must stop, and if no other civilized
nation would take a hand, the United States must step in alone and do
the work.
The climax of resentment against Spain came when the _Maine_ went
down carrying two hundred and fifty-three of our gallant officers and
sailors with her. The harbor of Havana was still supposed to be a
friendly one, yet the vessel had gone to her total destruction there,
although Spain denied that she was in any way to blame. I may as well
add here that the _Maine_ and her equipment cost the nation four
millions of dollars.
The cry for war against Spain came from every quarter, yet the wiser
heads said that we must go slowly, must be perfectly sure of what we
were doing, so that other nations might have no cause to find fault
with us when the opening blow was struck. A court of inquiry was
organized to learn the absolute truth concerning the _Maine_, and at
the same time Congress took up the question of assisting the Cubans by
sending them relief ships loaded with food and clothing.
While Larry was sailing the dreary wastes of the mighty Pacific, the
climax was reached. The court of inquiry found that the _Maine_ had
been blown up from the outside, probably by some sunken mine, fired by
electricity. As the battleship had been given her place in the harbor
by the Spanish harbor-master, the fact was evident that this official
had placed her directly over the mine in question; so that Spain was
responsible for the loss of our ship and our sailors, no matter if the
mine had been fired without direct orders from headquarters.
The way was now clear for what was to follow. Directly after the
findings of the court of inquiry had been made public, President
McKinley sent an address to Congress citing the condition of affairs in
Cuba, adding that Spain had lost control, and that not even the ships
of a friendly nation were safe in her harbors, and recommending that
immediate action be taken.
Action was taken by our Congress declaring that the people of Cuba
were, and of a right ought to be, free and independent, and Spain was
given a certain length of time in which to withdraw all her military
and other forces from the island. At the same time it was avowed that
the United States had no thought of taking Cuba for her own, but
that she would protect the Cubans until they were capable of doing
for themselves. Spain was given a set time in which to answer our
ultimatum, as it was called, but instead of sending an answer she gave
to our minister his passport, a virtual order to leave her domains, and
this was equivalent to a declaration of war.
In the mean time, in anticipation of a conflict, the navy had been
active, adding a number of vessels to the list, and getting everything
in readiness for a struggle, which people felt must take place largely
upon the water. On April 21, when negotiations were broken off,
the first of our fleets sailed for Cuba, and Havana was blockaded,
the first aggressive movement of the war. Following this came the
President’s call for 125,000 men to serve as volunteers in the United
States Army, and later still, another call for 75,000 additional
soldiers. All became bustle and excitement at once, and from every
city, town, and village the brave soldier lads marched away, to gather
at their respective State camps until mustered into the regular service
of Uncle Sam.
When the news of the destruction of the _Maine_ was flashed around the
world by cable and telegraph, Commodore George Dewey, commanding the
Asiatic Squadron, felt that war was close at hand, and to be prepared
for whatever might come he began to gather around him in the bay of
Hong Kong all his available vessels, and have them put in proper
fighting trim. The men under him numbered not quite 1700, all brave and
hardy to the core, as representative a lot of fighting seamen as could
be found anywhere, as later events proved.
Immediately after the war broke out the squadron was asked to leave
Hong Kong, that being a neutral port, and took its way to Mirs
Bay, some thirty miles away. At this place word was received by
the commodore that he must find a Spanish fleet which was located
somewhere in the Philippines and engage it. This meant a big battle,
providing the Spanish ships could be found, not an easy task when it is
considered that the islands number over a thousand, and that sheltered
harbors are even more numerous. To find the fleet, and to be fully
prepared to give it battle wherever and whenever found, was a task
requiring a large amount of sagacity and wisdom.
The ships left Mirs Bay on the afternoon of Wednesday, the 27th day of
April, the _Olympia_ leading the van, with Commodore Dewey and Captain
Gridley upon the bridge, the former viewing with a pleased eye his
small but solid-looking squadron, every vessel of which shone forth
stern and threatening in her war-paint of dark color.
“They ought to win out in a battle, captain,” remarked the commodore,
quietly. He was not a man of many words.
“They will win out, commodore,” answered the captain of the _Olympia_,
emphatically, “if only we can catch sight of Admiral Montojo and his
ships. It’s my opinion the Spaniards will keep out of sight if it’s
possible for them to do so. Montojo will live in hope that matters will
be squared up at home before we have a chance to smash him.”
“Don’t be too sure of it, Gridley; Montojo is as honest a fighter as
the Spanish navy possesses. If we do come to an engagement, make up
your mind that he will fight to the last deck.”
The destination of the fleet was the island of Luzon, that being the
most important of the Spanish holdings in the Philippines. It was the
commodore’s determination to search all the bays and harbors of this
island first, and if the Spanish warships were not found, to then
proceed to the next territory.
Once out into the China Sea, the squadron proceeded slowly; for while
the larger ships could breast the waves with impunity, the tiny
_Petrel_ was nearly engulfed, and the two coal-boats labored along
under a strain that was actually perilous.
Ever since the ships had been called together, gun and other drills had
kept the men in perfect condition, but now, on the first night out, the
commodore resolved to put his command to another test. The majority of
the hands had retired for the night when the flagship signalled forth
the command, “Prepare for action!”
What a hurry and bustle ensued! Men came rolling from their hammocks
and ran, but partly dressed, to their stations, bugles sounded over
the waters, there came the rattle of chains and the rumble of heavy
machinery, and in two minutes could be seen the dancing red and white
light signals from this and that boat: “We are ready for action.”
“That is as it should be,” said the commodore. He was greatly pleased,
and felt more confident than ever of the men under him.
It was on the day following that the lookout in the foretop announced a
strange object in sight.
“It looks like an upturned boat with two men clinging to it,” he called
down to the officer of the deck. “It’s almost dead ahead.”
Powerful glasses were turned upon the object, and Larry and Striker
were made out long before they themselves knew that they were seen.
As the _Olympia_ was steaming for the unfortunates there was no need to
give directions to change her course. When it was seen that they were
waving frantically with their hands and with a jacket, the commodore
turned to the captain and ordered that a small gun be fired, “Just to
let the poor chaps know we intend to pick them up,” he said.
And that is how Larry Russell chanced to fall in with the Asiatic
Squadron of the United States Navy, just previous to the wonderful
engagement of which I am about to relate.
CHAPTER XX
ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP “OLYMPIA”
It was not long before the great engines of the _Olympia_ came to a
stop, the flagship slowed up, and from the starboard side a small boat
was lowered, manned by a petty officer and a dozen bronzed jackies, as
man-o’-war men are familiarly termed. The oars were straight up in the
air, but at the word of command they fell into the ocean’s brine, and
the boat set off for the unfortunates.
“Boat ahoy!” shouted Striker, feebly, for previous cries had exhausted
his wind. “You jest about come in the nick o’ time. We was thinkin’
very seriously o’ engagin’ rooms in Davy Jones’ locker afore ye hove in
sight.”
A smile went the rounds of the sailors, but not a word was said, as
it would have been against the rule. “Steady, men! a stroke more,”
commanded the petty officer, and the small boat slowed up and sheered
alongside of the upturned _Treasure_. “Are you two able to climb in?”
he went on.
“I reckon I am,” answered the Yankee sailor. “Larry, how is it?”
For answer the youth slid from the keel of the _Treasure_, and grasped
the gunwale of the _Olympia’s_ small boat. Willing hands helped him on
board, and Striker followed.
“You have done us a great service,” murmured Larry. “I was afraid we
were gone.”
“You look played out,” smiled the officer detailed to bring the pair
in. “How did you chance to be wrecked?”
“It’s a long story, sir. We were on board of the _Columbia_, a
three-master bound from Honolulu to Hong Kong, and went overboard
during a storm. We struck an island first and found that boat, and then
set out to make Luzon――”
“And the plagued craft went to pieces on us,” finished up Striker. “Am
I right? is that the Asiatic Squadron under Commodore Dewey?”
“It is.”
“Then I reckon as two Americans, born and bred, we’ve fallen into jest
about the right hands. It was a welcome sight to see the glorious
stars and stripes, I can tell you that, sir. When I made you out to be
warships, I was afraid we had run next to a lot of Chinese or Japanese
craft. I ain’t got no use for thet sort o’ critter, sir.”
“You might have done worse, man, than to fall in with the Chinese or
Japanese,” laughed the petty officer, after he had given the necessary
orders to take the small boat back to the warship. “Supposing you had
fallen in with Admiral Montojo’s fleet?”
“Montojo? Who is he?”
“The Spanish admiral, in command of their men-o’-war in these waters.”
Both Striker and Larry looked puzzled for a moment, then a quick flash
lit up the boy’s dark eyes.
“Has war been declared between the United States and Spain, sir?” he
ejaculated.
“It has.”
“By the jumpin’ Christopher, ye don’t tell me!” roared Striker, his
mouth open in amazement. “Real, genuine, live war?”
“Well, we calculate to make it real, genuine, live war, if we can find
Montojo’s fleet,” laughed the officer, much amused by the tall Yankee’s
manner.
“And are ye on his trail?”
“I presume that is what you would call it, my man. And I don’t know but
that you’ll have to go with us, under the circumstances,” went on the
officer.
There was no time to say more, for the small boat was now once more
beside the flagship. The craft was attached to the davit-ropes and
swung up and in, and a moment later Larry and Striker stood upon the
main deck, confronted by Commodore Dewey and Captain Gridley. Finding
themselves in the presence of the two commanders, Striker immediately
saluted in true naval style, and Larry followed suit, not a little awed
by finding himself confronted by so much marine pomp, for the commodore
believed in thoroughness in naval appearance as well as in efficacy. On
looking at the Yankee, the commodore’s face showed a slight trace of
surprise.
“Hullo, my man! I think I’ve seen you before,” he said.
“That you have, commodore,” replied the Yankee tar, much pleased at
even a partial recognition. “I was sayin’ to myself, in coming over in
the gig, that if this was Commodore Dewey’s squadron, an’ the commodore
himself was with the fleet, he wouldn’t forget Luke Striker, as served
under him on board of the _Pensacola_, in European waters, about twelve
years ago. I was gunner’s mate at that time, and when coal bunker No. 3
took fire――” Striker paused.
“Yes, yes, I remember you now, Striker. You took the place of the
hoseman who was off duty, and crawled into the bunker at the risk of
your life. I haven’t forgotten that brave deed, and I’m glad, at this
late day, to do you a service,” and the commodore took the tar’s hand
and shook it heartily. “So you’ve been wrecked, and this lad with you?
You both look worn, and those wet clothes are not as comfortable as dry
ones will be.” The commodore turned to Captain Gridley: “Captain, will
you have them taken care of? and then I’ll talk to them in my cabin. We
will resume our course,” and the commodore turned away.
In a minute more Larry and Striker had been turned over to a sergeant
of marines, who took them below to the clothing lockers, and managed to
fit them out in the uniforms of ordinary seamen. While this was going
on, word was passed to the big galley, and by the time the pair were
ready for it a steaming dinner awaited them in the mess-room. It is
doubtless unnecessary to say that to the repast thus afforded, the boy
and his down-east friend did ample justice. Indeed, Striker declared
that never had victuals tasted better, and ate so much of the rice
pudding and drank such a quantity of the black coffee that he found it
necessary to let out one catch in the belt about his waist.
The officer of marines detailed to look after them was a whole-souled
fellow, and as they ate, he readily gave them all the information at
his command respecting the cruiser and her destination. Both Larry and
Striker listened with keen interest.
“You see,” went on the sergeant, in the course of his talk, “we are
really going to do more than smash the Spanish fleet, or take a try at
it. Spain owns the Philippines, and as she has chosen to go to war,
why, it’s no more than right that we should endeavor to capture the
islands.”
“But will that be fair?” questioned Larry. “I thought the trouble was
all on account of Cuba.”
“So it is; but in war one side lays hands on everything it can find
belonging to the other,” laughed the sergeant, who rejoiced in the
peculiar name of Joe Joster. “If we can do the trick, we’ll bottle up
that Spanish fleet first, then capture the Philippines, and then go for
the Caroline Islands.”
“Bottling up that fleet may not be sech an easy task,” observed
Striker, helping himself to another bowl of coffee, the fourth. “How
many ships do ye calculate this here Admiral What’s-his-name has?”
“Montojo has not less than eight or ten.”
“And we have how many?”
“Seven, all told.”
Striker shook his head. “That don’t figure right――exceptin’ our ships
outclass ’em. Everything else being ekel, it stands to reason the side
with the most ships has got the best show. Ain’t that accordin’ to
’rithmetic, Larry?”
“I suppose it is, Luke; but then our brave American tars――”
“Will do the trick,” finished Sergeant Joster. “That is what we are
playing on. Roughly estimated, I think the two fleets carry about the
same number of guns and the same number of men, although some think
the Dons have more men than we have. But if we Americans keep up our
reputation, we have nothing to fear, though, of course, the scrap won’t
be exactly a picnic.”
“That officer in the small boat said we might have to remain on board
of the _Olympia_,” said Larry. “If that is so, we are bound to take
part in whatever occurs, whether we want to or not.”
“I should think any American lad would be glad to take part,” rejoined
the sergeant, quickly. “If we defeat that fleet, it will be a great
glory to us, and if we don’t――well, a man can die but once, you know.”
“I am willing enough to stay,” answered the boy. “But I should like
to know what has become of the _Columbia_,” he added soberly, as he
thought of the sturdy schooner staggering under the hurricane and
struck by lightning, with Captain Ponsberry, Grandon, Mr. Wells, and
his other friends aboard.
“Yes, lad, I’d like to know that myself,” put in Striker. “And I should
like to meet that furiner again. It’s a pity he ain’t a Spaniard, and
on board one of them ships we’re after.”
Sergeant Joster was curious to hear their story, and as they had been
treated so well by the marine, they did not hesitate to tell him.
“You are lucky dogs to escape being drowned,” he said, when they had
concluded. “Ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have gone down. That
Olan Oleson ought to be strung up on a yard-arm, and he would be on
most vessels. In the navy a man would be shot for a good deal less than
he’s done.”
“The _Columbia_ is going to remain in Hong Kong for several weeks――that
is, if she got there at all,” said Larry. “Perhaps the fleet will go
back before that time.”
“There is no telling where we are to go to, lad. The Spaniards may lead
us a long chase, and the commodore is not one to give up until he has
accomplished his mission.”
“You are right there,” said Striker, nodding vigorously, as he
swallowed his last mouthful of pudding. “I knowed him as a captain
before he came out here, and he is just the commander for the work they
cut out for him in these parts.” He turned to Larry. “How is it――full?”
“Yes, and waiting for you.”
“Then we won’t keep the commodore waitin’――’tain’t manners nohow. Jest
show the way, sergeant, and we’ll be on your heels.”
In a few minutes more they were at the after-cabin of the _Olympia_.
Here they had to wait a quarter of an hour, for Commodore Dewey was in
consultation with several other officers. At length the officers took
their departure, and they were told to go in.
CHAPTER XXI
SOMETHING ABOUT COMMODORE DEWEY
Larry found Commodore Dewey a well-built and well-preserved man of
sixty, with black, piercing eyes, and hair and mustache which had once
been dark but which were now tinged with gray. The face was a stern but
kind one, and the boy had not been in the commander’s presence more
than a few minutes before he felt at home in spite of the difference in
their respective positions.
As the commodore, afterwards admiral, is to play such an important part
in the future course of our story, it will not be amiss to ascertain a
few facts concerning his past career,――a career full of dash, fire, “I
will,” and patriotism.
The future commander of the seas was born in the town of Montpelier,
Vermont, on December 26, 1837. He was the son of Doctor Julius Dewey, a
man who fought his own way into the world, first by teaching school to
earn enough to take a course in medicine, and then by earnest efforts
to help not only himself but those around him. The doctor was the
founder of the Christ Episcopal Church of Montpelier, and a man of deep
religious convictions.
When George Dewey was but five years old he lost his mother, as tender
and true a parent as ever boy had, and henceforth his companions of
the household were his sister Mary, two years his junior, and his
father. He lived in a modest cottage on a side street, and the Onion
River swept through the fields in the back. It is on record that George
Dewey, barefooted and ofttimes hatless, loved to play in and around
that stream, and who knows but that there his first naval battles were
fought, with rude wooden boats of his own jack-knife designing?
When the proper time came the boy was sent to the village school, a
bare enough place, with stiff wooden benches and rough desks, upon
more than one of which he surreptitiously carved the initials G. D.,
and received for this what was considered, in those days of the
ever-present birch rod, his just reward.
Whether it be a good or bad trait, it is said that the schoolboy
was of rather a quick temper, and if anything went wrong he was for
settling the dispute with his fists, and it is further related that he
was generally victorious in his battles. Thus was the man’s natural
fighting nature shown from the start, but lest some of my young
readers take this as a justification to “pitch in” at the slightest
provocation, let me add that George Dewey was never known to fight
unless he was positive in his own mind that he was in the right.
From his home school, the lad was sent, at the age of fifteen, to a
Military Academy at Norwich, in his native State. Here he was for the
first time brought into contact with things military, and he had not
been at the Academy long before he wrote home that he should like to
go to either West Point or Annapolis, with a preference for Annapolis.
This communication caused his father much worry, for the doctor had
hoped that the boy would take up the study of either medicine, the law,
or the ministry. But the parent believed in letting his son choose his
own future, and so he consented to George’s wishes.
To get into either West Point or Annapolis is, as most boys must know,
no easy matter, appointments being made either by United States
senators or by the President. For a long while the lad tried in vain,
but at last he was chosen as alternate to another boy. The other boy,
when the time came, failed to appear for examination, and George Dewey
was duly appointed.
At the Naval Academy it was found that the boy made a bright student,
but that he had brought his old-time quickness of temper with him.
There was a line drawn between the boys from the South and those from
the North, and George was singled out as a butt for the Southern boys’
jokes. It can be imagined that he stood this only for a short while.
The battles that followed were short, sharp, and decisive, and after
that the newcomer was left alone, although before the class graduated
many of those who had been his enemies became Dewey’s warmest friends.
The graduation at the Naval Academy was a trying affair, how trying my
young readers will understand when I state that only fourteen out of a
class of over sixty received their diplomas. Of those who passed George
Dewey stood fifth――showing that he could do something else besides
taking his own part.
As a midshipman the young man was assigned to the _Wabash_, and spent
two years cruising in the Mediterranean, visiting at the same time many
places of interest, including the Holy Land. He returned to Annapolis,
to receive his final examination, in which he won third place, and then
returned to his native home.
When Dewey was twenty-three years old the great Civil War broke
out, and he was assigned a lieutenancy on board of the steam sloop
_Mississippi_, of the West Gulf Squadron, a noble fleet of vessels
commanded by Admiral Farragut. The first work of the fleet was to
attempt to reach New Orleans by running past the formidable batteries
near the entrance to the Mississippi River, and then by engaging the
fleet beyond. This was a tremendous task, and for seven days our young
lieutenant was subjected to the hottest kind of fire, which, as it was
afterwards stated, he endured like a veteran. He himself is reported
to have told a fellow-officer that he never enjoyed anything so much
in his life. It was during this engagement that, as executive officer,
he gave the quick commands which enabled the _Mississippi_ to fire a
broadside into the ram _Manassas_ and sink her. A year later found
Dewey again on the great river, and this time his craft ran aground
directly in front of the Port Hudson battery and had to be abandoned.
The task of getting the sailors off in safety under a galling fire was
a perilous one, but the brave lieutenant commander remained aboard
until no one but his captain and himself were left.
After the loss of the _Mississippi_, the future admiral was assigned
to one of Farragut’s gunboats, and fought at Donaldsonville, and
from there he took part in the bombardment of Fort Fisher, acting
as lieutenant on the _Colorado_, and it was here that he aided so
vigorously in a rush in shore to silence a part of the enemy’s works
that he gained a special mention for bravery.
It was in 1870 that he received his first command as captain of the
_Narragansett_. He was now a married man, having one son; and two years
later the one great cloud of his life came, in the loss of his beloved
wife. From the _Narragansett_ the captain was transferred to serve on
the United States Lighthouse Board, an exacting office which he filled
to the satisfaction of all. From here he went to the Asiatic Squadron,
and received full command of the _Dolphin_, one of the first vessels
belonging to what has since been known as the famous White Squadron,
because during the times of peace these great ships are all painted
pure white. When war is declared, every warship is painted some dark
color, usually a brown-green or gray or black.
Leaving the _Dolphin_, the energetic captain next took charge of the
_Pensacola_, the flagship of the European Squadron, and it was on this
vessel that Striker served under him. Never was a captain more beloved
by his men than was Dewey, although he was strict and made every one
under him “toe the mark.” One thing he could not abide, and that was
sullenness. An anecdote which is vouched for will not come amiss,
to show the character of the commander as well as to illustrate the
strictness of discipline on board of a man-o’-war.
While in command of the _Dolphin_, the lieutenant came to Dewey and
told him that there was a paymaster’s assistant on board who had
refused to obey a certain order given to him, his reason being that
it was outside of his line of duty. The black eyes of the commander
snapped fire.
“Where is he?” he asked.
“On the main-deck, sir.”
“Have you tried argument with him?”
“I have, sir, for ten minutes.”
The commander said no more, but stalked to the quarter mentioned, where
he found the man sulking against the mast. Going up quietly, he caught
the fellow by the shoulder.
“You have refused to obey such-and-such an order,” he said, mentioning
the order in question.
“It ain’t in my line of duty,” grumbled the paymaster’s assistant.
Again the eyes of the commander flashed fire, but he kept his temper.
“I have been in the navy for twenty-six years, and have made naval
affairs the study of my life. I tell you that it is the duty of every
man to obey the orders of his superior officers. Do you intend to obey?”
The eyes of the man dropped, and he shifted his feet uneasily. “It
ain’t in the line of my duty――I didn’t enlist for it,” he muttered
doggedly.
Without waiting a moment, Captain Dewey turned to the corporal standing
by.
“Call the guard,” he said briefly. “Order them to load with ball.”
The necessary orders were given, there was a scurry of feet and a
clicking of rifles, and a line of marines were drawn up on one side of
the deck, while the man who would not obey orders was marched to the
other.
“In refusing to obey orders you are guilty of mutiny,” said the
commander, sternly. “The penalty of mutiny on the high seas is death.
If that order is not obeyed inside of five minutes, I will order the
marines to fire upon you.”
The man turned white and began to tremble. Dewey calmly took out his
watch and counted off the minutes, “One――two――three――four――”
“Stop――don’t shoot――I’ll obey!” cried the sullen one, and rushed off to
do as bidden. It took him a week to get over his fright, but in the end
there was no better hand on board of that ship, nor one that thought
any more of the “old man,” as a commander is familiarly termed.
After a term upon the _Dolphin_, Dewey returned to the Lighthouse Board
and was connected with the Pacific Coast Survey. It was at this time
that he was promoted to be a commodore. On the first of the year which
was to see the breaking out of our war with Spain, the commodore was
assigned once more to the Asiatic Squadron, and he made, as my readers
already know, the _Olympia_ his flagship.
And now, with this rather long, but, I trust, interesting introduction,
we will join him in his cabin, where he is interviewing Larry and our
down-east friend, Striker.
CHAPTER XXII
IN WHICH LARRY AND STRIKER ARE ADDED TO THE “OLYMPIA’S” MUSTER-ROLL
“Now tell me your tale, but you must be brief,” said the commodore,
after surveying the pair critically, to see if his order to fit them
out properly had been obeyed.
The cabin table before him was piled high with charts, over which he
and the other officers that had just left had been poring, and as Larry
and Striker told their story, Commodore Dewey continued to examine the
big sheets and make notes on a pad at hand. It was one of the Yankee
“knacks” of the commander to be able to do several things at the same
time. Larry was at first afraid that he was not listening, but he soon
found out his mistake, as the officer asked him several questions
bearing on points he had omitted or not made sufficiently plain.
“You have both had a hard time of it, no doubt,” said Commodore Dewey,
when the recital was brought to a close. “I should like to aid you in
getting back to your ship if she has managed to reach Hong Kong,
which seems doubtful, but I don’t see what I can do unless we speak
some vessel bound for that port. Do you know our mission in these
waters?”
“Yes, commodore, we jest larned it,” answered Striker, with a knowing
nod of his lean head. “And, commodore, it’s jest come into my mind to
ask ye a favor,” he went on, earnestly.
[Illustration: COMMODORE, IT’S JEST COME INTO MY MIND TO ASK YE A FAVOR]
“Well?”
“Ye know how I stood in the rank o’ gunners――leas’wise ye can soon find
out by the record. Let me stay aboard this ship with ye an’ help wipe
them Spanish garlic-eaters off the face of the earth! Maybe ye ain’t
got no opening aboard now, but I reckon there will be openings enough
after the fightin’ begins.”
At this earnest and original speech the commodore smiled. “You can stay
if you wish, Striker, and I was going to offer you the chance, seeing
that we are short a few men. I remember you were among the gunners,
and it is such a position you shall fill, if you can arrange it with
Captain Gridley. But what of you, my lad?” and the commander of the
squadron turned to Larry.
For the past half hour the boy’s thoughts had been similar to those of
his down-east friend. Everything about the warship pleased him, and to
behold the glorious stars and stripes floating over such a well-trained
body of American tars filled his heart with patriotism. Then, too,
he remembered what his brothers had written, that if war came, one
intended to enter the navy and the other the army. Here was his chance
to jump into active duty for his beloved country. Should he let such a
chance slip by?
“I, too, will remain on board, if you will have me,” he said, his clear
eyes gazing fully into those which were turned upon him as if to read
his very thoughts. “I have two brothers in the States who said they
would go into service if there was a call to arms. I have never been on
a man-o’-war before, but I am willing to learn my duty, and I’ll fight
for all I am worth, if I’m called on to do it.”
“Good! That’s the kind of talk I like to hear, Russell. The man who is
willing to do his whole duty――to do exactly as he is told to do――is the
man we are after. To be sure, you are rather young for regular service,
but, considering the manner in which you came on board, we’ll not
let that count against you. I suppose you would like to remain with
Striker.”
“Yes, sir――everybody else on board being a stranger.”
“We’ll try to fix it up. And that being settled, we’ll not be on the
lookout for any ship to take you to Hong Kong for the present.” The
commodore raised his voice and called the guard at the companionway.
“Ask Captain Gridley to step in,” he continued.
The word was passed, and soon the captain of the _Olympia_ appeared,
and the situation was explained to him. Being short of a few men, as
Commodore Dewey had said, he gladly accepted Larry and Striker, and
added their names to the muster-roll, to serve until discharged or
until the end of the trip. This finished, the pair were turned over to
the officer of the deck, who in his turn passed them to the chief of
the gunners.
“Well, you’re a full-fledged son o’ Uncle Sam now, Larry,” remarked
Striker, after the pair had been assigned to their positions at one
of the side guns, and been put through a strict drill lasting over an
hour. “How do you feel?”
“I feel a good deal like the cat that strayed in a strange garret,”
laughed the boy, just a bit nervously, for the sight of such big guns,
and so much powder and shell awed him. “Not much woodwork around here.”
“Woodwork wouldn’t do, if it came to a real battle,” answered the
Yankee, “for a good shot would fill every man around with splinters.
When we clear the ship for action, you’ll see ’most everything that’s
made of wood and movable heaved overboard. Even the men’s ditty boxes
will have to go, and then they’ll be no richer than we are,” he added;
the ditty boxes being, let me add, the chests in which the tars keep
their odds-and-ends of belongings.
Larry was tired, but scarcely hungry again when the call sounded for
supper. Yet he and Striker joined the gunners’ mess, to which they
received a warm welcome, for Uncle Sam’s Jack Tars are at all times a
“hail-and-well-met” sort of men.
Even “mess gear,” as it is termed, was a good deal of a revelation to
Larry, so different was it from the eating hour on a merchantman. He
learned that all the meals from that of the commodore down were cooked
in the one big galley, presided over by a dozen or more cooks, but that
separate messes were numerous, the commodore and the captain being
entitled by rule to dine alone, and the senior and junior officers
also dining separately, in the ward-room. Of the others on the warship,
the boatswain, gunners, carpenters, and sail-makers had an apartment to
themselves, and so had the marines and the firemen and engineers.
The queerest part of the proceedings, to the boy, was the fact that
the jackies furnished most of their own eatables and chose their own
cook, sometimes one of their own number. Uncle Sam allowed them the sum
of thirty cents per day for food, and this amount had been put to the
best possible use through money advanced before leaving port. In the
American navy even an admiral pays for his own meals, although, to be
sure, his salary is such that he can well afford to do so.
Larry found his mess-room on the _Olympia_ a long, narrow place,
ventilated as freely as the construction of the warship allowed. The
table had been swung to the ceiling, but was now let down, and a
“striker,” that is, a cook’s helper, attached the benches. The boy was
furnished with a porcelain plate and cup, and an iron fork, knife, and
spoon. For supper that evening the bill of fare was coffee, bread and
butter, stewed fruit, and a bit of fresh meat.
“It’s a mistake to think the jackies don’t live well,” observed
Striker, when they were finishing up and some of the men had already
drawn their pipes, for the hour after the last meal of the day was
“smoking lamp” time. “The lads know how to make their allowance go as
far as anybody, and they make the cooks do the best possible with all
victuals as comes aboard. To be sure, on a long trip we’ll git salt
hoss and pilot crackers putty often, but that can’t be helped on any
ship, as ye know.”
The “smoking lamp” just mentioned is a peculiarity of the navy. On
account of the explosives aboard it is strictly prohibited to carry
matches. So to light their pipes during the time they are allowed to
smoke the men have a covered lamp lit for them, the cover having a
small hole in it through which pipes can be lit.
Usually, the time after supper belongs to the men, to do with as they
please. Some read, if they are fortunate enough to have any literature
with them, others play banjos and accordions, some dance jigs, and
not a few gather in groups to talk and spin yarns. At half-past seven
“hammocks” is sounded, and then the men can retire if they desire. If
they wish to remain up, they can do so for two hours longer, when
“pipe down” echoes through the warship, all the lights excepting those
which must be kept lit are turned off, and the official day comes to an
end.
But this night was Thursday, and the _Olympia_ was the flagship of the
fleet, carrying the marine band of about twenty pieces. Thursday had
always been concert night, and now, to put his men in good spirits,
Commodore Dewey ordered the bandmaster to give them nothing but
patriotic airs, and this Bandmaster Valifuoco did, starting with those
songs which were particularly popular during the Civil War, and ending
up with Yankee Doodle and the Star-Spangled Banner. As the latter song
rolled out upon the balmy evening air, the men could not resist the
temptation to join in with their lusty and deep voices, and the sound
wafted across the sea to the other ships, until the sailors everywhere
were singing as never before.
“That’s the song of all songs,” cried Larry, when it was all over. “I
never heard anything so grand before. Why, that ought to make a brave
man of the worst coward on board! Hurrah for Old Glory!”
Utterly worn out with all that had occurred, Larry and Striker sought
the hammocks assigned to them immediately after the concert was over
and slept “like logs,” to use the lad’s way of expressing it. So tired
was the boy that he did not even dream, nor hear the many noises around
him, such as the pounding of the water against the warship’s prow as
she kept steadily on her course, or the rattle of the heavy chains as
the _Olympia_ rose and fell on the long swells.
On deck there was a busy time among the petty officers, for a
signal-light and a search-light drill were in progress. The great
search-light flashed hither and thither over the dark green waters and
over the other ships of the squadron. A sharp lookout was kept for the
possible appearance of the enemy, the men in the tops having their
night glasses continually in use. But the Spanish fleet did not show
itself, and for the time being all went well.
CHAPTER XXIII
GUN DRILLS AND LIFE ON A MAN-O’-WAR
Toot, toot! Toot, toot! Toot, toot-a-root toot!
It was the loud blare of a bugle which aroused Larry at exactly five
o’clock on the following morning. For the moment on awakening he
opened his eyes and stared around him. Where was he? Surely not on the
deserted island, nor even in the dingy forecastle of the _Columbia_.
“Lively, lad!” shouted Striker, leaping from his hammock. “Lively,
I say, or you’ll hear from the master-at-arms! You’ve got jest six
minutes in which to dress yourself, roll up your hammock, and stow it
away in the netting.”
“All right, Luke, I’m with you!” answered the youth, now wide awake.
With a turn he was out on the floor. “Dressing won’t take me long, with
nothing but a shirt and a pair of trousers to take care of. My, but I
feel quite like myself again, don’t you?”
“Aye, aye, Larry; the sleep did us both a power of good, I guess.
Watch me put my hammock up, and you’ll have the trick in a jiffy. Now,
then, there you are. Now roll up your trousers, for washing down decks
on a man-o’-war is no play-work.”
The officer of the deck was on hand, himself in bare feet like the men,
and now the word was passed to the boatswain’s mate that all was ready.
The word travelled to the engineer below, and presently the pumps
began to work, sending heavy streams of sea-water through the various
stretches of hose lying about, and then commenced the daily task of
washing down.
Had it not been for Striker, Larry would have been bewildered, but the
tall Yankee knew exactly where to take hold, and made Larry go with
him. “Everything is divided up,” said Striker. “We’ll have to attend
to our corner of the ship and nothing else. It’s jest like you had an
apartment in one of them big flat houses ashore. Don’t bother your
neighbor, an’ don’t let him bother you, and you’ll get along fust-rate.”
The washing-down process lasted an hour, and by that time the _Olympia_
was as clean as a whistle from stem to stern. After this, half an hour
was allowed in which to prepare for breakfast.
“You can spruce up now, or after you have had your grub,” said Striker.
“I’d rather spruce up afterwards, for you might have an accident at the
table if the _Olympia_ should happen to give an extra heavy roll, and
you want to keep that new suit mighty clean, or the division officer
will be after you, especially on a ship that is carryin’ Commodore
Dewey. You can go it a bit slack on some other craft, but it won’t do
on a flagship――which is the model for all.”
It was nearly nine o’clock when quarters sounded throughout the big
ship. Again Larry looked at Striker inquiringly.
“Roll call, my lad――what I told you to spruce up for. Come ahead,” and
with this reply Striker led the way to the main deck, where sailors,
gunners, marines, and others were arranging themselves in long lines,
to answer to their names, and to pass inspection by their captain,
while Commodore Dewey stood on the bridge above, looking on.
After quarters had reached an end, and while Larry was wondering what
would come next, it was announced that a gun drill would be had, and
for nearly two hours they were kept at it below decks, working the
monster to which they had been attached, going through the motions of
loading, sighting, and firing. Larry went through all these movements
with the rest; for although it was not likely that he would be called
on to sight the piece, a delicate operation, or to fire it, yet it was
deemed necessary that he should know something of how these things were
done, in case those on the gun who were his superiors should be killed
or disabled.
“Gracious, but it’s hot work!” exclaimed Larry, when the arduous drill
had come to an end. “It seems to me the gunners get the worst of it.”
“We don’t get any more of a dose than do the other men, lad,” returned
Striker. “Away down under us, where it’s hotter twice over nor here,
the engineers are a-workin’ over their boilers to keep up steam, and
the firemen and coal-heavers are workin’ harder than ever you dreamed
on, shovellin’ coal and rakin’ down the fires, and if you’ll take a
peep on deck you’ll find the marines hard at it, with their monkey
drill, or sword exercise, or something like that. It’s one of the
rules aboard a warship to keep Jack a-going, and the rule gets broken
precious seldom.”
“But how can they keep us going all the time, if there is no fight on?”
persisted Larry.
“You’re green, lad, even if ye have sailed in a merchantman and know
all the ropes from the fore-royal-stay to the topping-lift,” answered
the down-east sailor, with a good-natured laugh, for with the deck
of a warship once more beneath him he was in his element. “There are
drills enough alone to keep a man hustling from sunrise to sunset, as
you’ll find out if you remain on the _Olympia_ long enough. Fust comes
the drills on the guns, big and little――one of which we have just had.
Then comes the sinking ship drill, with closing up the water-tight
compartments, and afterwards provisioning the small boats and leaving
the ship in a big haste but in perfect order. Another drill is the fire
drill, with the hose and the hooked poles and sech; and another the
‘repel boarders,’ though they don’t have boarders to repel like they
use to; and another is the target practice with pistols and rifles; and
then there is hospital work, and learning how to tie knots as they are
tied in the navy, and a lot more which I can’t remember jest now, but
which will drift along some day or another when you least expect it.”
“Well, it’s certainly a wonderful life,――a good deal different from
what I expected, Luke. The _Olympia_ doesn’t seem like a ship to me;
she is more of a floating fort.”
“And that is what all naval vessels are now, lad――floating forts, or
fighting machines, as some call ’em. They don’t float because they have
the wood to keep ’em up, but because their metal sides keep out jest so
much water. Make a good hole in a warship’s side, and she’ll drop to
Davy Jones’ locker as quick as a lump o’ lead――that is, unless some of
the water-tight compartments that are closed keep her afloat.”
Striker was right; there was plenty to do, even with no enemy in sight,
and as the fleet swept on straight for the island of Luzon, Larry found
the time passing swiftly. He was one, as we know, to make friends
quickly, and soon he was on the best of terms with half a dozen members
of the gun crews.
“You’ll get into it, my boy, and make a good one,” said Barrow, the
head gunner of the piece to which he and Striker had been assigned. “I
can see it by the cut of your jib. You’re no land-lubber, even if you
are a bit green around here.” And he willingly gave both Striker and
Larry “points” about the gun, which was as new to the down-east tar
as it was to the boy, for guns are being improved constantly, and the
present piece was of a different pattern from that which Striker had
helped to manage on the _Pensacola_.
By the talk of several petty officers Larry learned that it was
expected they would sight the western coast of Luzon inside of the next
twenty-four hours, and one of the officers added, that, if the Spanish
fleet was where it was supposed to be, there would be hot fighting
before the week was out.
“I imagine it will be rather hot fighting,” said the boy to Striker.
“Phew! the thermometer must be over a hundred in the shade, already!”
“We’ve struck a calm, and that is what makes it so uncomfortable,”
answered the down-easter. “We’re sure to have smooth weather after sech
a lot o’ hurricanes as we had afore we were picked up.”
It was indeed hot, and during the middle of the day the men were
permitted to take it rather more easily than usual. After the drill at
the guns Larry took the chance to bathe and felt much better for it.
The remainder of the day passed without special incident, although it
was easy to observe as the warship drew closer to the land under the
flag of the enemy that the officers and some of the men were under a
strong mental tension. Heretofore the vessels had been sailing somewhat
far apart, but as night came on they bunched up, and a closer watch
than ever was kept.
“You see,” explained Striker, when he and Larry were discussing the
closing up of the squadron, “we haven’t but one small boat――the
_Petrel_――to do the scouting for us, and it may be the Spaniards are on
the watch for us, and if they catch sight of us, they may send out a
torpedo boat after dark to blow one of our vessels sky-high. A torpedo
boat is a pesky little thing that is hard to spot in the dark and still
harder to get out of the way of. The only thing to do is to spot it in
time and give it a few good, heavy shots.”
It was on Saturday morning that land was sighted dead ahead――a long,
low coast line, backed up by an indefinite series of hills. At once the
fleet was signalled to halt, and each vessel began the preparations for
that battle which every man felt was bound to come sooner or later.
To a landsman the preparations would have looked very much like
the frantic efforts of a lot of crazy men. Everything in the way
of a possible detriment during a battle was pitched overboard. The
articles thus disposed of consisted of mess tables and benches, wooden
partitions and rails, heavy chests and ditty boxes, and a hundred and
one other things of value――all went sailing upon the rolling waters of
the China Sea.
“It’s like cleaning out a house on fire,” remarked Larry. “By the time
the sailors get done throwing their things away I reckon we’ll be as
rich as any of them and no mistake.”
“Well, they can’t be too careful,” answered Striker. “Splinters are
awful things. I’ve heard tell that during the times they used to fight
in nothing but wooden ships the men were worse wounded by flying bits
of woodwork than they were by the shots themselves. If this stuff
floats ashore, what a harvest them natives will reap!”
The woodwork disposed of, strong nettings of rope were stretched under
the small boats on deck, also to keep possible splinters off, and then
the deck was cleared of everything movable. The heavy chain cables were
likewise coiled around the ammunition hoists, to give them additional
protection, for a coiled chain cable will ward off a shot or shell just
as well as will a moderately thick sheet of armor plate.
CHAPTER XXIV
“CLEAR SHIP FOR ACTION!”
“Do you know much about this island of Luzon?” asked Larry of Striker,
after the two had been at the gun again, seeing that everything was
oiled and in perfect order, and after Larry had taken an additional
lesson in handling the stout canvas bags containing fifty and a hundred
pounds of brown prismatic powder.
“Well, I know a little,” answered the tall down-easter, as he took a
long look ashore, for now the coast line loomed up quite plainly to
his trained eye. “The island is by far the largest of the Philippines,
and is one of the most northern. Away to the south of the group is
Mindanao, and, as you know, there are any quantity of islands, big an’
little, betwixt the two. I once heard say that Luzon was about the size
of all of our down-east states combined.”
“It’s larger then than I thought it was,” cried Larry, somewhat
astonished. “And what about the cities?”
“The biggest city is Manila, on the east shore of Manila Bay, a big
harbor shaped like a camel’s head, with the opening at the neck of the
animal, and Manila sittin’ like a wart on the critter’s nose. Years an’
years ago the city was only a Spanish military post, but it grew an’
grew, until I reckon there are several hundred thousand folks――Chinese
and Japanese and all――in and around Manila. A good many of the people
are what they call Tagals, a branch of the Malay race――a good enough
set if the Spanish would only treat ’em half decently.”
“Something was said about their being in rebellion,” went on the boy.
“I wonder if they are fighting now.”
“To be sure they are fighting,” put in Barrow, the gunner. “I heard
the lieutenant say, and I guess he got it straight from headquarters,
that there are between thirty and forty thousand Tagals and others in
revolt, under General Emilio Aguinaldo and other leaders. Oh, they’ll
make it as hot on land in these quarters as we’ll make it on the sea,
if we can catch sight of those will-o-the-wisp Dons.”
There had been a vigorous signalling going on between the vessels of
the squadron, and now all but the _Concord_ and the _Boston_ slowed up.
The two craft mentioned put on extra steam, and in a short while were
lost to sight in the distance.
“They are out on a scout,” announced Striker. “Nothing like being
careful, you know. There’s a bay ahead, and they are no doubt under
orders to search it.”
Striker’s surmise was correct. The opening ahead was that of Subic Bay,
a number of miles west of the bay of Manila. The _Boston_ and _Concord_
were to examine every corner and shelter of it carefully, and hurry
back at the first sign of the enemy. Later on the _Baltimore_ joined
her two sister ships.
“If the Spanish fleet is in Subic Bay, we’ll have some fun getting at
them,” Larry heard one of the sailors say. “The water there is mighty
shallow in spots, and rocks are there a-plenty.”
“Yes, and it’s likely if the Dons are there they’ll plant some shore
batteries, and give us the hottest kind of a plunging fire,” added
another. “Splice the anchor chain, but I hate a plunging fire,” was
added with a growl. All sailors hate such a fire, coming from an
elevated battery capable of throwing shot and shell directly down upon
a vessel’s deck.
The hours passed slowly, until, towards evening, the three warships
sent out on the scout were seen coming back “empty handed,” as Striker
expressed it. No vessels but a few fishing and merchant craft had been
seen.
The warships were now called closer together, and the various
commanders were summoned by Commodore Dewey to the flagship, to hold a
council of war. The coming of so many small boats to the _Olympia_ was
an event of interest to Larry, and he viewed each captain with combined
curiosity and respect. The council of war was held in the after-cabin
of the flagship, and, of course, the sailors heard nothing of what was
going on. But we will take a peep behind the curtain.
Having satisfied himself that Admiral Montojo’s ships were not in Subic
Bay, Commodore Dewey was strongly of the impression that the Spanish
officer had taken his fleet into Manila Bay. There were a number of
reasons for this, the principal one of which was that it seemed likely
that the admiral would think it his duty to remain close to Manila, to
protect it both from American attack and from the fiercer and fiercer
attacks of the insurgents.
The whole question was, then, Should the American warships risk a run
into Manila Bay? That was a question to be carefully considered, and
why my young readers will soon learn.
As Striker had mentioned, the bay was shaped somewhat like the head
of a camel, with the neck of the animal forming the entrance to the
waters. Manila was situated twenty-nine miles from this entrance, and
eight miles out from the city was a long, low neck of land, at the
extremity of which stood Fort Cavite, an old but massive stronghold,
mounting sufficient pieces to cover the shipping in front of Manila
proper.
Almost in the centre of the entrance to Manila Bay lay Corregidor
Island, with a smaller island beside it. Corregidor Island was also
fortified, with guns well able to sweep the channels on both sides.
More than this, it was reported that the entrance to the bay was
strongly mined by what are known as contact mines; that is, mines which
will explode the moment a ship comes into contact with them. What a
marine mine can do has already been only too well illustrated in the
case of the ill-fated _Maine_.
The question then was, Should the squadron risk an attempt to slip into
the bay, past Corregidor Island, and past the hidden mines? It took
brave men to decide to do this, but the commodore and his captains
voted to a man that this should be done, and furthermore, that the
attempt should be made that very night.
In less than half an hour after the council of war broke up, what was
proposed to be done under cover of darkness was known to every one on
the warships. Perhaps some of the jackies turned pale at the news,
but if so they were lost among the numbers of those who gave their
commodore and their captains “three times three” with a will. Your true
American man-o’-war’s man would rather fight than cruise around, any
day.
In order not to appear off the entrance to Manila Bay while it was
yet light, the squadron steamed slowly southeastward, keeping a good
distance from shore. The extreme heat almost made eating out of the
question, yet supper was served at the usual time,――the last meal to be
had for some hours to come.
The sun went down as in a veritable sea of molten lead, and as the
night drew on, the pale southern moon came up, accompanied by hundreds
of twinkling stars. Perhaps those in command would have preferred
greater darkness, yet it was necessary to have some light, that the
channel might be seen without the aid of search or other lights.
As it grew darker each warship put out a single hooded light, showing
from behind only; this precaution being taken to keep one vessel from
running up into that before her. All the other exposed lights were cut
off, and officers and men were alike warned that no noise that was not
absolutely necessary should be made. If it was possible, Commodore
Dewey intended to run by the batteries on Corregidor Island, and any
other batteries in the vicinity, without being discovered. In naval
warfare, and in military warfare, too, for the matter of that, to come
upon the enemy when he least expects it, and thus throw him into more
or less confusion, often constitutes a large element of success.
On and on went the squadron, looking like dim phantoms of the night,
moving in an irregular line, the _Olympia_ in the lead, and the tiny
_Petrel_ and despatch boat _McCulloch_ bringing up together in the
rear. Corregidor Island was not yet visible, yet the men knew it might
appear in the dim distance at any moment.
“Clear ship for action!”
The command was given quietly, and instead of blowing their bugles
and whistles, and ringing their bells, the under-officers passed the
commands along by word of mouth. Silently the men obeyed, but what a
rushing around ensued! To an outsider the men might have appeared in
helpless confusion, yet nothing could have been more orderly.
As mentioned before, all unnecessary woodwork had already been disposed
of, but now the decks were cleared of even the ventilator pipes
wherever they interfered with the range of the big guns, and chains
were run out, to help work guns from the outside as well as from the
inside. Added to this, a gangway that had been kept until the last
minute was slid into the sea, and then the various hatchways were
fitted with steel covers, to protect those below from the explosion of
a stray shell or the plunging fire of small arms.
In the bowels of the warships the engineers and others had also been
busy, coupling the various engines so that they might work one for
another, attaching the power to the machinery that worked the big guns
and to the electric circuit, for my young readers must remember that
many modern guns are fired by electricity. The pumping-engines were
also connected with the fire-hose, which was laid in every part of the
ship, and final tests were made of the appliances designed to flood
with water any magazine that was in danger of explosion.
Firemen and stokers were at the fires, bringing the heat up to the
highest possible point, and putting tons and tons of coal where it
would be handiest, and also testing the forced draughts and blowers.
They knew only too well that while in action a modern battleship must
keep moving lively, or the enemy will blow her up as soon as guns can
be properly pointed. And they knew, too, that if the battle went the
wrong way, it would be steam alone that might save them from capture.
And while this was going on, Larry, Striker, and those working with
them had not been idle. The magazines had been opened and the work
of delivering powder and projectiles to the various guns started.
Ammunition, too, had been sent to the men in the fighting tops. Each
gun was carefully swabbed out and loaded, and the range-finders tested
by the head gunners. The actual loading of the big gun to which he
had been assigned filled Larry with interest. He wondered how it would
sound when the charge went off, and if they would hit anything on the
first trial.
In the conning tower, a round, steel structure, stood Captain Gridley,
ready to do or die, as the occasion might require. The captain was not
well, but had begged to be allowed to take charge of his vessel upon
this trip, confident that he should come out of any contest with colors
flying. Close behind the captain was the man at the wheel, and half a
dozen others, on duty at the speaking-tubes and ready to carry commands
to any portion of the warship.
The commodore was on the bridge, that curious structure set sidewise
above the deck of every modern battleship. With him, too, were petty
officers, to carry his commands or send them to the other vessels by
the use of night signals. And all was as silent as death, even the big
engines doing their work with nothing more than an indefinite rumble,
and the big fires blazing away without a spark soaring skyward.
A bit of land came out of the distance. Slowly but surely the _Olympia_
crept closer to it, keeping it upon the port side. It was Corregidor
Island. Soon appeared the small island of Pulo Caballo. They were
approaching the entrance to the harbor at last. Would they be able to
pass into the waters beyond in safety?
CHAPTER XXV
THE SPANISH FLEET IS DISCOVERED OFF FORT CAVITE
“We’re off the island!” whispered Striker to Larry, as both peered
through the opening beside their gun.
“It’s as dark on the island as it is on the ships,” returned the boy.
His heart was thumping so violently that he could scarcely speak.
“Silence, men!” came the low command from out of the semi-darkness of
the gun-deck. And then, for the time being, nothing more was said.
On swept the flagship at a speed of eight knots an hour. Corregidor
Island was now directly abeam, and every glass on the big warship was
trained on those dark and frowning works, while a sharp lookout was
kept ahead and the “mine catchers” were out in force. In a minute more
the _Olympia_ would sweep into Boca Grande, the main channel, supposed
to be fairly thick with hidden mines. What if their ship should strike?
The thought sent a cold shiver down Larry’s back. All in an instant
he thought of his former home, of his two brothers, perhaps already in
Uncle Sam’s service, of the _Columbia_, of Olan Oleson, and a score of
other persons and things. He had turned away from the opening, but now,
as Striker caught his arm, he turned back once more.
The _Olympia_ had passed the fort on the island, and still no alarm
had sounded forth. Next came the _Baltimore_, and still the silence
remained unbroken. The men on both warships almost felt like giving a
cheer.
Suddenly all was changed. Sizz! a colored rocket went sailing up into
the darkness of the night, fired from Corregidor Island. Immediately an
answering rocket came from the distant shore. The American ships had
been discovered!
“The game is up!” cried Striker, and the hum of a dozen voices broke
the stillness as the men began again to talk in whispers. “There, they
have opened the ball! Now may the best men win, an’ thet means us
Yankees, every trip!”
While Striker was speaking, a dull boom had sounded over the night
waters, and now an eight-inch shell whistled over the deck of the
_Raleigh_, the third ship in the line. The shell had scarcely struck
the sea beyond when it exploded with a loud noise, scattering the
spray in all directions.
“I wonder if we have got to take this in silence,” muttered Barrow,
when a boom from the _Raleigh_ told that she had answered the enemy’s
fire. Soon came a shot from the _Boston_, as that ship passed close to
the fort. In the mean time the other vessels were out of range. Not to
be outdone by her companions, the _Concord_ sent a six-inch shell into
a shore battery that began firing. At that time the damage done was
not known, but later on it was ascertained that the shell had landed
directly in the battery, and one Spanish soldier was killed and several
gunners injured; and thus was the first blood of the war spilt in this
part of the world.
But the Americans had suffered a loss too, although not through the
illy aimed shots of their enemy. Signalled to run alongside of the
big _Olympia_ for protection, the _McCulloch_ reported the death of
her chief engineer, a highly esteemed man named Randall, who had been
overcome by the terrific heat in the despatch boat’s engine-room. This
was the first, and, in fact, the only life lost by our side during the
world-famous battle now so close at hand.
“We’re out of that,” said the chief of the gunners, when Corregidor
Island had been left in the distance. “And I don’t believe they even
touched us.”
“We’re not over the mines yet,” said Barrow. “I take it we’ve got good
cause to remember the _Maine_ just now. If we strike anything like
that――”
“Don’t go for to speak of it!” cried Striker. “It’s bad enough to have
your nerves up like the string o’ a bow, without spittin’ out your
tongue about it.” And several nodded so vigorously at this that the
word “mine” was not mentioned again. The lazy ones stretched themselves
beside their “big brothers,” as they called their guns, but the
majority were in no humor to do aught but peer through the portholes,
trying vainly to pierce the darkness of the night as the moon scurried
beneath some fleeting clouds.
“Four hundred pairs of eyes on the watch and nothing to see but water
and sky,” mused Striker. “I hope we don’t feel anything more either,”
he added, and that was the last reference the down-easter made to the
mines.
However, by one o’clock in the morning the bugbear was a thing of the
past, for all the warships were standing out into the middle of Manila
Bay, where it was not likely a mine would be encountered. That they
had actually passed through a field of mines, though, is a matter of
history, and this being so, their complete escape from injury seems
little short of a miracle. Some naval experts have said that running
the mines was as much to the Americans’ credit as what came after.
There now remained nothing to do but to wait for daylight, since
Commodore Dewey did not deem it advisable to go in shore in the
darkness. The vessels consequently sailed on slowly towards the outer
anchorage off Manila. A great many more men turned in to snatch a nap
previous to engaging in a battle that was likely to be not far off.
From what they had seen off Corregidor Island, those in command felt
almost certain that Admiral Montojo’s fleet must be in the vicinity.
“It will either be a case of meeting that fleet or bombarding Manila,
see if it ain’t,” remarked Striker, as he and Larry turned in near the
gun. Getting into one’s hammock under the circumstances was out of the
question.
At four o’clock, just as the first streaks of dawn were beginning
to show over the distant mountains of Luzon, there was a call for
something with which to arouse the men, and strong coffee was served,
to which were added hardtack for any one who cared for them. As Larry
sipped his steaming coffee and munched a soaked-up hardtack, he looked
occasionally through the port and over the distant waters, and beheld
what looked like a mass of shipping backed up by a solidly built-up
town. This was Manila itself.
“It looks exactly as it did when I was here years ago,” remarked
Striker. “That part over to the right is old Manila, where the military
post used to be. The main shipping is dead ahead of us, in the new
territory. There is a river running between the two portions.”
“I don’t see anything like a warship,” said Larry, “though, to be sure,
it’s too dark yet to see much.”
“They’ll see all they want to see when the sun is a bit higher, lad,
and they get out their best glasses. But I don’t think the Spaniards
would put their battleships in the midst o’ that shipping――it wouldn’t
be fair, if they were expecting us.”
The squadron now began to move along the front of Manila harbor, with
glasses trained on the shipping, from which, as the sun came up, could
be seen floating the flags of various nations. Some of the flags were
Spanish, but these were on merchantmen and fishing craft.
“We haven’t catched the Spanish admiral yet,” sighed the tall
down-easter, as word drifted below that Manila harbor did not hold the
fleet they were after. “I wonder what the commodore will do now?”
No one on the _Olympia_ was kept long in suspense over this point. The
squadron was moving southward, in the direction of the long neck of
land upon which was located, as previously mentioned, Fort Cavite, or,
as it is locally termed, the Cavite Arsenal.
“They have found the Spanish fleet!” The cry ran from one ship to
another, and soon it was on the lips of everybody, from the men in the
tops to the stokers in the depths of the coal bunkers. The warships
of the enemy had been discovered lying in the little bay formed by
the curving shore of old Manila and the neck of land supporting Fort
Cavite. The distance from Fort Cavite to Manila is almost eight miles
in a straight line. Along such an imaginary line, and back of it,
was Admiral Montojo’s fleet, flanked on the right by Manila’s shore
batteries, and on the left by the powerful guns of the fort.
The Spanish fleet was a formidable one. If their individual ships were
not the equal of the American vessels, they had more of them, and they
had, moreover, the assistance of the shore batteries and the powerful
fort. A glance at their vessels will not come amiss to the reader who
wishes to know some of the particulars of this stirring encounter.
The real flagship of the Spanish fleet was the cruiser _Reina
Cristina_, of 3100 tons, carrying twenty guns of small and large
caliber, including six rapid-firing guns supposed to be of first-class
pattern and efficacy. Like the _Olympia_, she carried about four
hundred officers and men.
Next in size to the flagship came the cruiser _Castilla_, the temporary
flagship, of 3300 tons, carrying a mixed battery of eighteen guns, and
manned by three hundred well-trained Spanish tars. Two other cruisers
were the _Don Antonio de Ulloa_ and the _Don Juan de Austria_, of about
1100 tons burden each, and each carrying nine guns and manned by a crew
of one hundred and seventy-three. There was another cruiser at hand,
the _Velasco_, but she was out of repair, and her best guns had been
placed near the fort, for use from shore.
Of the gunboats, of which there were quite a number, the principal ones
were the _Isla de Luzon_ and the _Isla de Cuba_, each of a thousand
tons, carrying a mixed battery of ten guns, and manned by a hundred and
sixty officers and men. There were also the _General Lezo_, mounting
half a dozen guns, the _Del Dueroe_, and also the Spanish mail steamer,
_Mindanao_, which had been hastily pressed into service as an auxiliary
cruiser, with a battery of no mean proportions. Added to these vessels
were four torpedo boats and the transport _Manila_. The total number
of officers and men on the various vessels was estimated to be between
eighteen and nineteen hundred――about a hundred more than in the
American forces.
A word may be added concerning Admiral Patricio Montojo y Pasaron. He
was not only the commander of the fleet, but also the commander at
Cavite. He was an old and trained naval officer, known to be brave to
the degree of rashness, and even by Americans it was felt that he was
a foe fully worthy of Commodore Dewey’s steel. The men beneath the
Spanish admiral were as bold and hard fighters as himself. All in all,
the coming contest was to be a battle of giants, and what the outcome
of that mighty contest was to be no person at the outset could tell.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE BATTLE OF MANILA BAY
Boom! bang! crack! boom! boom! boom!
Loud and clear came the reports over the waters of the inner bay, and
over and around the American warships whistled and screamed a dozen
balls and shells ere they plunged into the briny element. The shore
battery near old Manila had “opened the ball,” as Striker declared,
and, though not a shot took effect, the firing thoroughly aroused Uncle
Sam’s jackies to the fact that “the real thing” was on them.
“Now, boys, roll up your sleeves and be prepared to pitch in!”
exclaimed Barrow. “It’s no loafing allowed for the next few hours, I’ll
warrant you! Larry, you must do the double-quick now if you never did
it before.”
“I’m more than willing to pitch in,” answered the youth, with a nervous
little laugh. “Anything is better than this waiting around.”
“That’s true,” put in Striker. “I know I won’t get my nerves settled
until we’re in the thick on it――kind o’ like your second wind in a fist
fight, you know.”
The men were crowded together at the ports, watching eagerly whatever
might be seen, which just then was not much, for they were getting
away from the shore batteries, and the first of the battleships of
the enemy was still some distance off. Barrow’s reference to shirt
sleeves was entirely superfluous, since the shirts worn were altogether
of the short-sleeved variety, revealing full many a tough and brawny
arm, ready to do battle as long as the breath of life remained in its
owner’s body.
“We’re getting closer to ’em,” said Striker, a few minutes later. “If
only the commodore――”
The tall Yankee did not finish, but stared before him in open-mouthed
amazement. About a thousand yards away the waters of the bay had
suddenly gone up into a gigantic fountain. A rumble followed, felt
quite distinctly by all on board.
“Gracious, what’s that, an earthquake?” ejaculated Larry.
“Sort of one, lad,” answered Barrow. “That was a connection mine going
up. They’ve got ’em out here, it would seem, but they made a bad miss
of it that trip――about half a mile, I calculate. It’s lucky we weren’t
sailing closer in, eh?”
“I should say so.” Larry drew a long breath. “I think I’d rather fight
with the guns, any day.”
“So would all of us, lad; but we have to take what comes, and so does
the enemy. We’ve got a whole lot of warships against us, but the
_Olympia’s_ all right, and so are the others, and we’ll knock the spots
off those Spaniards. Hurrah for Uncle Sam and remember the _Maine_!” he
added loudly.
“Remember the _Maine_!” came back from a hundred voices, in heavy
unison. That was the battle-cry, uttered thousands of times during
those trying hours, just as during the Mexican War the cry was,
“Remember the Alamo!” and during the Revolutionary War, “Remember
Concord and Lexington!” Soldiers and sailors must have some cry to
stir up their blood, and what cry was better for that purpose than
one calling upon them to remember the martyrdom of two hundred and
fifty-three of their comrades in arms?
The signal was now displayed from the American flagship to close up and
prepare for general action, and the vessels fell into a single column,
four hundred yards apart, and went ahead at a speed of six knots an
hour. The _Olympia_, as usual, led, and from each masthead and gaff
floated Old Glory, whipping out a breezy defiance to the enemy as the
line swept on.
Commodore Dewey’s plan of battle was exceedingly simple. Unless
something unusual occurred, the ships were to make a number of courses
in front of the enemy’s line, the vessels taking part to be the six
cruisers and gunboats. The despatch boat and the boats with coal and
stores were to lie just out of range of the Spanish guns. The first
course was to be at forty-five hundred yards, and each circuit was to
come in a little closer, the tide of battle permitting. It was Dewey’s
plan, just as it was Nelson’s plan at the famous battle of Trafalgar,
to give the enemy no rest, but to go at him with all vigor from the
start.
The commodore was on the bridge of the _Olympia_ with his powerful
field-glasses in his hand. When about five thousand yards away from the
_Castilla_, which was seen to be flying the Spanish admiral’s pennant
for the time being, he turned to Captain Gridley, who stood watching
him eagerly.
“You can open up as soon as you please, Gridley,” he said. “And give it
to them good and strong.”
“I’ll train the forward turret gun myself,” Captain Gridley is reported
to have answered, as he made off, to later on command his ship from the
conning tower.
“Ready there!” the cry running along the larboard guns made everybody
jump. “Prepare to fire.”
“Don’t hold your ears shut!” screamed Striker at Larry. “They are
better off open, and throw your arms out like this, and open your
mouth,” he went through the motions himself. “Now, then!”
Larry had scarcely time to follow directions than the final signal was
given, and with what seemed little short of a thunderclap to the youth,
the _Olympia_ let drive with her four eight-inch turret guns. The aim
was directed at the _Castilla_, and when the smoke cleared away the
Spanish flagship was seen to be struck in one, if not two, places.
“Come, lad, pick yourself up and hustle!” cried Barrow, for Larry had
gone down with the unusual roll caused by the discharge. “Lively now,
for there’s no time to waste before the next shot.”
The man at the breech, a good-natured chap named Castleton, was already
opening the gun. As the breech fell back a cloud of smoke and soot
entered the gun-room, nearly choking Larry. When the boy had cleared
his eyes and throat he saw to his astonishment that all the highly
polished brass-work on the cannon had turned a sickly green.
The soot cleared away, Striker began to swab out the gun, which
contained a quantity of matter looking like red chalk. This was what
was left of the burnt powder. Barrow felt of the piece, to find it cool
enough to do without a washing with cold water, and then the process of
reloading began.
During this time the other ships in the line began to fire at the
enemy, and now the Spanish warships fired in return. The noise was
something fearful, and in a short while every ship in the harbor was
enveloped in a dense cloud of smoke.
As was natural, the opening fire on the American side was directed
principally to the ship flying the Spanish admiral’s colors, and by the
time one course had been taken down the line, and the _Olympia_ was
sweeping closer to try it again, the _Castilla_, as well as the _Reina
Cristina_, was seen to be struck in a dozen places, and on fire.
“It’s first blood for us!” yelled Striker, enthusiastically. “I don’t
believe we’ve been struck once.”
He had hardly spoken when the whining shriek of a hundred and fifty
pound shell was heard, coming straight at the _Olympia_. “We’re struck
now!” cried Barrow, when, as shells sometimes do, the unwelcome missile
took a turn in the air and went sailing through the flagship’s upper
works, doing damage that was but trifling.
In less than half an hour Larry felt at home at his work. He now knew
what real fighting meant, and was getting used to the noise and smoke.
Strange to say, he did not feel in the least alarmed. Perhaps this
was because some awful shot had not yet brought home to him the true
horrors of the dreadful combat. He was working like a Trojan, with the
perspiration pouring from his whole body, and the smoke and soot had
made him the color of a true African.
The _Olympia’s_ gunners had now obtained the correct range of the
Spanish ships, and in addition to the smaller shots were pouring in a
number of two hundred and fifty pound shells. As the flagship came down
the second course, these shells struck fairly and squarely upon the
deck of the _Castilla_, doing fearful damage.
“She’ll be out of it in a few minutes more!” cried Striker. “See,
she is burning in two places. Her crew had better leave before the
magazines blow up, if they want to save their lives.”
“Their other ships are catching it, too,” said Barrow, as a sudden
breeze sent the smoke flying. “I wonder how the rest of our squadron
are making it?”
That was a question which could not be answered just then, but, later
on, word drifted into the gun-room that the _Baltimore_ had been hit
rather heavily and some of the men injured. The _Raleigh_ had had her
largest whaleboat smashed, and the splinters had caught some of the men
on deck, but the injuries were trifling.
As the smoke went up, the _Castilla_ was seen to be turning, as if
to retire to a small inlet partly behind Fort Cavite. She was now in
flames in every part. Quick orders were given, and just as the Spanish
flagship showed her stern fully, a big shot from the _Olympia_ went
crashing straight through her. It is said this shot killed over fifty
of her crew, and exploded one of her boilers. However that was, it is
a fact that she sank immediately afterwards, the majority of her crew
going with her.
“The game is up with ’em!” cried Striker. “I reckon the Dons will give
it up now!”
But the tall Yankee was mistaken, not knowing the stern fighting
qualities of Admiral Montojo. Scarcely had the _Castilla_ gone down
when the admiral’s flag was hoisted on the _Reina Cristina_, and the
fire on board of that boat was put out.
“Their flag is up again!” said Barrow. “Now to give the new flagship
the same dose that we gave the other! Come, Castleton, clean out the
gun good.”
Castleton, very much exhausted, staggered forward and did as bidden.
The terrible heat was beginning to tell upon all sides. Larry brought
some powder, and then turned to get a drink from the hose pipe, his
mouth feeling as though it was filled with cotton. Striker had obtained
permission to take a peep on deck, and the other men were working along
as well as the smoke and exhaustion would permit.
How it all happened it was impossible, afterward, for Larry to tell.
He had obtained all the powder necessary and was getting his drink
as before mentioned. A fall beside him made him turn, and through the
smoke he saw Castleton lying beside him. The gunner’s mate had been
overcome by the heat.
“Poor chap!” thought the boy, and turned the hose upon the prostrate
man’s head, as the best available means of restoring him to
consciousness.
Then, while still working over Castleton, Larry happened to glance
towards the gun, which Barrow was on the point of firing. A sight
met his gaze which nearly paralyzed him. The gun breech was closed
but still unlocked! Should Barrow discharge the gun while in that
condition, every one of them would be blown to atoms!
CHAPTER XXVII
ADDITIONAL INCIDENTS OF THE GREAT BATTLE
As he made his awful discovery, Larry dropped the hose pipe and fell
back a few steps. To get out of danger is, instinctively, the first
thought of every one, and in a vague way it flashed over his mind that
he must flee or be annihilated.
Then another thought came, swift on the track of the first. If the
gun was discharged with the breech unlocked, all his companions, and
perhaps many others, would be killed, while there was no telling how
much the _Olympia_ would suffer.
All this passed through his mind with the rapidity of a lightning
flash. As he thought, he tried to yell to Barrow, but the words would
not come. His very jaws were set in horror, while his eyes bulged from
their sockets. His hands went up, and he shook them appealingly at the
head gunner.
But Barrow was looking another way, as was natural when the piece was
to be discharged. Larry felt it was all over. In that moment he
virtually suffered the pang of being killed.
But now came a chance to stop the impending catastrophe. Prompted by
curiosity, Barrow turned, to take another squint at the enemy before
letting drive. But his hand still retained its hold on the connection
used for firing purposes.
“Oh, God, help me!” was the thought which forced its way to Larry’s
lips, and he made one wild, agonizing leap to the head gunner’s side.
“Don’t fire! don’t fire!”
[Illustration: DON’T FIRE! DON’T FIRE!]
“What’s that?” asked Barrow, coolly, as he turned. Then as he caught
sight of the boy’s set face and staring eyes, he added, “Why, lad, what
ails you? Got a fit?”
“Don’t fire! don’t fire!” repeated Larry, and with rigid finger pointed
to the unlocked breech.
It was now Barrow’s turn to be struck dumb. He still held the
connection, and threatened in his consternation to set off the gun
anyway. But suddenly he realized the situation more fully, and dropped
the connection as though it were a coal of fire.
“Where is Castleton?” he thundered. “Does he want to blow us all to
kingdom come?”
For answer, Larry pointed to the prostrate man. “He’s knocked out by
the heat,” he answered, in a voice that did not sound in the least like
his own.
“Humph! he ought to have given us some warning!” grumbled Barrow, doing
what he could to steady his own tones. “Why, if the gun had gone off
standing like that, the whole gun-room would have been knocked out of
sight, to say nothing of the rest of the ship.”
He began to lock up the breech, and Larry turned again to poor
Castleton. The fellow soon regained his consciousness, but could not
continue his work, and was sent to the hospital quarters, while an
extra man from another gun came to take his place.
“I must give you credit for what you did, Larry,” said Barrow, when the
excitement was over. “Many a boy, and man, too, for that matter, would
have thought of nothing but getting away. You saved us all, and I, for
one, sha’n’t forget it,” and he cracked the youth good-naturedly upon
the shoulder.
Striker now came back, but the work was getting so vigorous that he
was not told of the incident until some time after. From the bridge,
the commodore had discovered a torpedo boat sneaking out from below
the fort, with the evident intention of making a circuit and coming up
back of the American ships. Captain Gridley was ordered to train the
guns of the _Olympia_ upon this craft, and the gunners went at it with
a will, each vying with the others in making the best shot. The gun
our friends were at hit the torpedo boat on the stern, disabling her
steering gear, and two other shots sent her scurrying for land. When
close to shore a final shot fairly lifted her out of the water and cast
her on the sands, a total wreck.
By the time the _Olympia_ was coming along on her third course before
the line of the enemy, it was found that the new flagship, the _Reina
Cristina_, was again in flames, while the other ships were suffering
more or less in the same way. The new flagship fought desperately, and
two shots whizzed through the _Olympia’s_ upper rigging again, while
a third fairly clipped the American flagship’s stern. But the _Reina
Cristina_ could not hold out, and retired in a thick cloud of smoke,
burning fiercely.
In the mean time, however, the _Don Antonio de Ulloa_ came to the
front with a heavy fire, directed principally at the _Olympia_ and
the _Baltimore_. Her captain, E. Robino, was known to be one of the
greatest fighters in the Spanish navy, and he kept his guns at it so
long as it was possible for him to do so.
“He is hot as pepper,” said Striker, as they drew closer to the
_Ulloa_. “But we’ll down him, see if we don’t.” And Striker was right,
for it was not long after this that the _Ulloa_ went down, many of her
men with her, but with her colors nailed to her mast. It was now seen
that nearly all the other ships were burning. A few more shots from
the _Olympia_ were delivered, and the flagship drew off, signalling
the others to follow. To go close in shore after the enemy was an
impossibility for the large members of the squadron, the water being
too shallow.
The terrific heat of the day, and the forced fighting, had almost
exhausted every man on the ships, and seeing the fight was his own,
Commodore Dewey wisely decided to give his men a breathing spell and
something to eat. Accordingly, as soon as they were out of range,
orders came to quit the guns and get breakfast. The battle had now
raged for about three hours.
“We’ve got ’em on the run!” shouted Striker, enthusiastically. “I hope
the commodore sends us back to finish ’em up.”
“He’ll do that all right enough,” replied a brawny marine standing by.
“You never saw Commodore Dewey doing things by halves.”
“Three cheers for our commodore!” suddenly shouted somebody, and the
cheers were given with a will.
“Three cheers for Captain Gridley and our other officers!” was added.
“What’s the matter with three cheers for the _Olympia_ and the other
ships of this squadron?” asked Larry, half laughing, and up went the
cheers as loudly as the rest. No one on board had been injured, the
enemy was all but defeated, and it was a joyous if a tired time all
around.
“We’ve got five shots in the upper works, that’s all,” was the report
which went around. “The only man injured is Casey. Hautermann stepped
on his toe-corn, and they had a set-to.” And a roar went up; for Casey
was known as a pugnacious Irishman, and Hautermann as an equally
belligerent German, and the two were continually at swords’ points.
Breakfast and a well-earned rest put every man again on his feet, and
Castleton came back to his gun. “I remember the breech,” he said. “I
was just starting to lock it when I went down as if a weight had hit me
on the head. I couldn’t have helped it if I was to hang for it.”
“I believe you,” growled Barrow. “But after this I reckon I’ll take a
squint at the breech myself before I touch her off.”
During the time that the men were having breakfast a council of war was
held by the commodore and his captains, and it was decided to run in
as close as possible to Fort Cavite and silence it, as well as to go
at what was left of the Spanish fleet. The order to return to battle
sounded at a little before eleven, and this time the _Baltimore_ was
allowed to lead, the _Olympia_ and others following.
Again the storm of shot and shell broke forth, fiercely upon the
American side, and but feebly upon the part of their enemy. All the big
ships of the Spaniards were now either burnt or sunk, and the little
craft were fast getting into the same condition.
“The _Raleigh_, _Concord_, and _Petrel_ will go inside and destroy
shipping,” was the next order signalled from the flagship, and those
warships hastened to obey. But the _Raleigh_ drew too much water, and
after getting aground twice was forced to give up the task assigned to
her. The _Concord_ and _Petrel_, however, crossed the shoals in safety,
and began a fierce bombardment from the rear, while the big ships
shelled the Arsenal from the front. In the mean time, the batteries
near Manila had been silenced by Commodore Dewey, who sent word that
the city’s guns must cease firing or he would shell the town.
The tide of battle had swept along into the afternoon when suddenly a
loud hurrahing was heard, coming from where the _Concord_ and _Petrel_
lay. A minute later, as the smoke lifted, a flag of truce could be seen
flying from the Arsenal. Then the _Petrel_ signalled:――
“The enemy has surrendered!”
What a storm of cheers went up. It was as if pandemonium had suddenly
broken loose upon all sides. Officers joined the men in shouting,
and the deck and rigging swarmed with jackies waving their caps and
handkerchiefs. Larry shouted as loudly as the rest, and it must be
acknowledged that the plucky boy thought it the proudest moment of his
life.
It was a victory without a parallel in history. Six American fighting
ships had attacked eight large Spanish vessels, besides a number of
small craft, a shore battery, and a fairly-well equipped fort. The
Spanish had had all their ships either sunk, blown up, or burnt, the
battery had been shattered to pieces and the fort silenced. The Spanish
had lost in killed and wounded over five hundred men, and those that
were able, were fleeing to Manila by the inland roads, and with them
Admiral Montojo, who was slightly wounded.
And the loss to the Americans? Strange, nay, astonishing as it may
appear, there was none worth mentioning, if we except the death of the
engineer overcome by the heat. On the _Baltimore_ six men had been
wounded by the bursting of a shell, but the surgeons said all would
speedily recover. The _Olympia_ had received five shots in her upper
works, of no consequence, as viewed from the standpoint of war, and the
_Raleigh’s_ whaleboat would need the services of the ship’s carpenter.
Three shots in her upper works was the damage on the _Baltimore_, and
the _Boston_, _Concord_, and _Petrel_ had escaped with practically no
injury at all.
Small wonder, then, that the officers and men of the squadron were
the happiest set on the face of the earth, and small wonder that they
thought their gallant commodore the greatest naval hero living. As for
Commodore Dewey, he was equally happy. That day’s work had placed his
name high up on the brightest page in American history.
CHAPTER XXVIII
ON TO HONG KONG――CONCLUSION
“I feel like a fellow who has been rolling in a coal hole,” remarked
Larry, when the excitement had somewhat subsided. “And my ears are in a
regular buzz.”
“That buzzing will go away by morning,” said Striker. “Ah, lad, but it
was a great victory, wasn’t it now?” and he slapped Larry heartily on
the back. When the news of the surrender came in, Striker had insisted
upon dancing an impromptu jig, and several had joined in. There was
likely to be a “high time” on the _Olympia_ for some days to come, now
that the terrible strain under which the men had been laboring had been
removed.
For it is no easy thing to face death, even at something of a distance.
Everybody knew that only the wretched aiming of the Spanish gunners
had saved them from shots of a more or less serious nature. Had those
five balls which had struck in the upper works been aimed lower, there
would, without question, have been great havoc.
It was drawing towards Sunday evening, and the _Olympia_ had taken up
a position outside of Manila, leaving several of the other vessels to
guard around Fort Cavite. At this place, the Spaniards were engaged in
carrying off their dead and wounded and were not molested. Commodore
Dewey might have taken a large number of prisoners, had he forced a
fight on land, but he had no accommodations for such a purpose. He had
been sent out to find the Spanish fleet and “engage” it, and he had
engaged it most effectually. He must now await additional orders from
Washington.
It was some little time before Larry himself felt like quieting down,
but a good washing up and changing of garments made him feel more like
himself.
“This isn’t much of a Sunday,” he observed to Barrow, when they were
eating supper. “The chaplain hasn’t had a chance to say a word.”
Nevertheless, the chaplain did hold a brief “church,” although the
sailors prepared no “rig” for it. This was during the smoking hour, and
men attended or not, just as they pleased. Larry felt it his duty to
go, and took Striker with him.
Utterly worn out, the boy slept soundly that night, although once or
twice some ugly dreams chased each other across his mind――cannon shots
aimed directly for his head and that unlocked breech, which he never
would forget.
The following day was a busy one for the separate vessels of the
Asiatic Squadron. While the _Concord_ and _Petrel_ received the
surrender of the fort and arsenal at Cavite, and also took possession
of the navy yard, the _Raleigh_ and _Baltimore_ were sent down to
Corregidor Island to silence all the batteries at the entrance of
Manila Bay. A flag of truce was sent in to the commandant at the
island, and, on learning the truth of what had occurred, he agreed to
surrender if the men should be allowed their liberty. As no prisoners
were desired, this was satisfactory, and the men were placed under
parole not to take up arms against the Americans nor to allow a gun to
be fired at any American ship going in or out of the harbor.
Although the majority of the Spanish vessels had been destroyed, three
steam tugs had been captured, along with the _Manila_, the ship fitted
up for fighting purposes. During the three days following, a number
of other vessels were taken, and, later still, a large Spanish war
vessel, the _Callao_. The taking of the _Callao_ was full of the grim
humor that all sailors enjoy. She had been among the southern islands
for many months, and knew nothing of any war having been declared. She
steamed straight for Cavite, expecting to meet sister ships there,
when, without warning, the _Olympia_ fired upon her. The Spanish
commander thought the American ship was indulging in target practice,
and turned to steam out of range, when several other vessels came to
the _Olympia’s_ aid, and then the Spaniard saw that the whole matter
was no joke, counted the American vessels through his glass, caught
sight of the wrecks in Cavite harbor, and lost no time in surrendering.
The _Callao_ was a gunboat of two hundred tons, carrying four modern
guns and a crew of forty. Sailors were speedily sent to take charge of
the prize; the commander and his crew were sent ashore, and an hour
later the stars and stripes floating above the _Callao_ indicated that
she had been added to the American squadron.
It was, of course, desirable that news of the victory should be sent
to the United States by way of cable and telegraph without delay. But
the only cable from Manila was that to Hong Kong, and that the Spanish
held. As he could not send his own messages, Commodore Dewey promptly
resolved that the Spanish should not send theirs, and he had one of
his ships pick up the cable lying on the bottom of the bay and cut it.
Then he prepared his despatches, and sent them to Hong Kong on the
_McCulloch_.
Larry felt that the despatch boat would soon leave, and anxious,
now that the big battle was over, to learn something concerning the
_Columbia_, he asked for permission to take the trip across the China
Sea.
“You can go, my lad,” said Commodore Dewey, for the boy had gone
directly to him. “I understand you did very well at the gun to which
you were assigned. When you get to Hong Kong you can then make up your
mind as to whether or not you care to return. If not, you may consider
yourself as honorably discharged from the service,” and then he shook
hands and smiled.
Larry had expected that Striker would accompany him on the trip, but
the tall down-easter declined. “This jest suits me to death, Larry,”
he said. “I wouldn’t miss a day of it for a fortune. Don’t you forget
to come back; I’ll be a-watchin’ for you.” And an affectionate parting
followed, for both had grown to think a great deal of each other.
The trip on the _McCulloch_ to Hong Kong occupied several days, but
with nothing happening out of the ordinary. As the stanch despatch boat
came in sight of the numerous shipping at the Chinese-English port,
Larry kept his eyes wide open for a possible sight of the _Columbia_.
He had just about given up hope, when he caught a glimpse of a hull
which looked strangely familiar.
“Will you lend me your glass for just a moment?” he asked of a news
correspondent standing by. “I think that’s my ship over to our port.”
The glasses were cheerfully loaned, and one look convinced Larry that
he was right. There was the _Columbia_, somewhat battered around the
bow and with her foremast still missing, and there, yes, there were
Captain Ponsberry and Tom Grandon on her deck!
“_Columbia_, ahoy!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, but he was too
far off to be heard, and had to content himself with locating the craft
as best he could, while the despatch boat steamed up to the regular
landing.
“What’s the news?” was the first question asked by a hundred throats,
for the vessel had been seen from afar.
“Complete victory for the Americans――Spanish fleet utterly wiped out!”
was the answer that started a rapid flow of conversation upon every
hand. Soon the news was known everywhere, and scores of telegrams were
speeding in every direction. When the news reached the United States,
everybody was jubilant, and Congress voted thanks to the men who had
taken part in the glorious contest, while Commodore Dewey was made Rear
Admiral.
Once on shore, Larry lost no time in making his way along the busy
street skirting the harbor, until he came to the quay at which the
_Columbia_ was tied up. A rope ladder was out, and soon he was climbing
on board.
“Bless my soul! Is it really Larry Russell?” ejaculated Captain
Ponsberry, when confronted. “Why, I thought you were at the bottom of
the China Sea!” And he caught the boy by both hands.
“Larry Russell, as sure as fate!” cried Grandon, rushing forward.
“Well, this is the most wonderful thing I ever heard of. How on earth
did you escape drowning and get here?” And he, too, nearly wrung
Larry’s hand off.
“It’s a long story,” was the boy’s answer to both. “I and Luke Striker
floated about until we struck an island, and――”
“Then Luke is safe, too!” broke in Captain Ponsberry. “The Lord be
praised, as the parson would say. It’s wonderful! simply wonderful! So
ye got on an island, and some ship picked ye off, I calkerlate?”
“No, we found an old boat, and set sail in it. But the boat went to
pieces, and we floundered around until the Asiatic Squadron came along
and Commodore Dewey picked us up, and――”
“The fleet that set sail to fight the Spaniards?” interrupted Grandon.
“Yes.”
“Then the fleet’s come back here?”
“No, only the despatch boat. The warships are at Manila. I was with
them up to a few days ago, and we sunk or burned every one of the Dons’
vessels,” added Larry, proudly.
Taken together, the news was so marvellous that Captain Ponsberry
could scarcely believe it, and soon he was asking Larry for all the
particulars, which the boy was only too willing to give.
“I reckon you would like to know what has become of Olan Oleson,”
remarked Grandon, during a brief pause.
“I would. He pushed Luke and myself overboard.”
“The parson thought he did, and we put him in irons for the rest of
the trip. When we got here we were on the point of making a complaint
to the authorities against him, when the captain of another vessel had
him locked up for atrocious assault. He is in prison now, and likely to
stay there for some time to come.”
“He deserves it,” was Larry’s reply. “I intended to make some charge
against him, if I could locate him. I hope his term in prison does him
good. I never want to see him again.”
Hobson and several others now came forward, and were equally glad
to find that the lad was safe. During the talk which followed Larry
learned that the _Columbia_ had had a good deal of trouble during the
hurricanes, but had finally reached Hong Kong with only the loss of
the foremast and a battered bow, due to the falling of the heavy stick.
She had sprung several small leaks, but her pumps had easily kept her
free of water.
“And the parson――where is he?” asked Larry of the captain.
“He is still in Hong Kong,” was the reply, and, receiving the Rev.
Martin Wells’ address, the boy took the privilege of calling upon the
missionary, and was very warmly received.
“Truly you have had some wonderful adventures,” said Mr. Wells, after
listening to the youth’s recital. “But I take it you are rather proud
of them――especially of your work on the _Olympia_ at Manila.”
And Larry, frank to the last, admitted that this was so.
* * * * *
Here properly ends the tale of Larry Russell’s adventures “Under
Dewey at Manila.” We have seen how fortune, by a curious combination
of circumstances, threw him in with the Asiatic Squadron, and how
gallantly he fought during that battle which, with the exception of our
second great naval victory near Santiago Bay, has no equal in history.
That Larry was proud at having participated in the glorious conquest
was but natural. What American boy would not have been proud?
The _McCulloch_ was to return to Manila Bay with despatches almost
immediately, and the boy was strongly tempted to go back in her. But he
wished first to hear from his brothers, and so resolved to stay in Hong
Kong until the despatch boat might make a second trip to that port. Of
his future adventures we shall hear later on.
In the mean time, however, I would ask my young readers who have
followed me through the foregoing pages, to transfer their attention
for a while to Ben Russell, Larry’s oldest brother. As Ben had written
in his letter, he had preferred the soldiery, and on the President’s
first call for 125,000 volunteers, he had given up his position in New
York, and joined the army. The haps and mishaps of the youth will be
related in another volume, to be entitled “A Young Volunteer in Cuba;
or, Fighting for the Single Star.” In this book we shall not only
become intimately acquainted with Ben, but we shall also catch glimpses
of Larry and of the other brother, Walter, who had gone into the navy
stationed in Atlantic waters. We shall likewise learn something more
of Job Dowling, and of what was done by the boys toward getting that
which was justly due them from their miserly step-uncle.
And now, for the time being, good-by to Larry Russell, the American
sailor boy who served so gallantly “Under Dewey at Manila.”
THE OLD GLORY SERIES.
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER,
_Author of “The Bound to Succeed Series,”
“The Ship and Shore Series,” etc._
Three Volumes. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.25.
UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA Or the War Fortunes of a Castaway.
A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA Or Fighting for the Single Star.
FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS Or Under Schley on the Brooklyn.
PRESS NOTICES.
“‘Under Dewey at Manila’ is a thoroughly timely book, in perfect
sympathy with the patriotism of the day. Its title is conducive to
its perusing, and its reading to anticipation. For the volume is but
the first of the Old Glory Series, and the imprint is that of the
famed firm of Lee and Shepard, whose name has been for so many years
linked with the publications of Oliver Optic. As a matter of fact,
the story is right in line with the productions of that gifted and
most fascinating of authors, and certainly there is every cause for
congratulation that the stirring events of our recent war are not to
lose their value for instruction through that valuable school which the
late William T. Adams made so individually distinctive.
“Edward Stratemeyer, who is the author of the present work, has proved
an extraordinarily apt scholar, and had the book appeared anonymously
there could hardly have failed of a unanimous opinion that a miracle
had enabled the writer of the famous Army and Navy and other series to
resume his pen for the volume in hand. Mr. Stratemeyer has acquired in
a wonderfully successful degree the knack of writing an interesting
educational story which will appeal to the young people, and the plan
of his trio of books as outlined cannot fail to prove both interesting
and valuable.”――_Boston Ideas._
“Stratemeyer’s style suits the boys.”――JOHN TERHUNE, _Supt. of Public
Instruction, Bergen Co., New Jersey_.
“‘The Young Volunteer in Cuba,’ the second of the Old Glory Series,
is better than the first; perhaps it traverses more familiar ground.
Ben Russell, the brother of Larry, who was ‘with Dewey,’ enlists with
the volunteers and goes to Cuba, where he shares in the abundance
of adventure and has a chance to show his courage and honesty and
manliness, which win their reward. A good book for boys, giving a good
deal of information in a most attractive form.”――_Universalist Leader._
_For sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by_
LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers,
BOSTON.
THE SHIP AND SHORE SERIES
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
Three Volumes. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.00.
THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SPITFIRE Or Luke Foster’s Strange Voyage.
REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY Or The Young Miller of Torrent Bend.
TRUE TO HIMSELF Or Roger Strong’s Struggle for Place. (_In press._)
PRESS OPINIONS OF EDWARD STRATEMEYER’S BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
“Mr. Edward Stratemeyer is in danger of becoming very popular among the
young people of the country.”――_Burlington_ (Iowa) _Hawk-eye_.
“‘The Last Cruise of the Spitfire’ is of deep interest to the bounding
heart of an enthusiastic boy. The book leaves a good impression on
a boy’s mind, as it teaches the triumph of noble deeds and true
heroism.”――_Kansas City_ (Mo.) _Times_.
“Let us mention in passing two admirable books for boys, ‘Reuben Stone’s
Discovery’ and ‘Oliver Bright’s Search,’ by Edward Stratemeyer, with
whom we are all acquainted. This last bit of his work is especially
good, and the boy who gets one of these volumes will become very popular
among his fellows until the book is worn threadbare.”――_N. Y. Herald._
“A good sea-tale for boys is ‘The Last Cruise of the Spitfire,’ by
Edward Stratemeyer. There is plenty of adventure in it, a shipwreck, a
cruise on a raft, and other stirring perils of the deep.”――_Detroit_
(Mich.) _Journal_.
“In a simple, plain, straightforward manner, Mr. Edward Stratemeyer
endeavors to show his boy readers what persistency, honesty, and
willingness to work have accomplished for his young hero, and his
moral is evident. Mr. Stratemeyer is very earnest and sincere in his
portraiture of young character beginning to shape itself to weather
against the future. A book of this sort is calculated to interest boys,
to feed their ambition with hope, and to indicate how they must fortify
themselves against the wiles of vice.”――_Boston Herald._
_For sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by_
LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers,
BOSTON.
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
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