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Prisoner of Morro, A

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<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> <h3>RECAPTURED BY THE ENEMY.</h3> Clif was so heartbroken at that sudden ending of all his hopes, that he scarcely cared whether he was drowned or not. But he saw Bessie Stuart struggling in the seething waters, and toward her he struck out desperately. It took the cadet but a moment to reach her side. The shattered wreck of the wooden boat was floating near, and to that he struggled, helping her on. And they reached it, in what it sounds like mockery to call safety. The girl scarcely knew whether it were best to hold on or to drown. But instinctively she clung to the side as the great waves swept over them; and the two fixed their eyes upon the approaching vessel. She came on swiftly, sheering the water with her sharp bow. And Clif could see half a dozen men standing in the bow watching them. "Perhaps they have heard of our escape," he growled, "and come after us." The vessel was not coming from Havana, but the cadet knew that a telegram might have sent it out. At any rate, they were recaptured; and the horrors of Morro were before them again. Steadily the gunboat drew nearer; the two half-drowned Americans were reached in a minute or two. And the vessel slowed up and a rope was thrown to them. Clif desperate from despair, seized it and drew himself close. A couple of Spanish sailors leaned down from the low side and lifted first the half unconscious girl and then the cadet up to the deck. And then, weak and pale and dripping wet, they confronted a tall, ugly-looking Spaniard with an officer's chevrons. He stared at them curiously. "Who are you?" he demanded. And Clif, grim with desperation, looked him in the eye and answered boldly: "We are Americans," said he. "Prisoners?" "Yes." "From where?" "Morro Castle." The Spaniard looked the amazement he felt. "Morro Castle!" he echoed. "Humph! How did you get out?" "Take us back there and you'll find out," was Clif's defiant answer. And with that he turned toward the girl to wipe her dripping hair from her face. He expected that the man would continue questioning them. But he was mistaken. The Spanish gunboat had done a risky thing, running out as it had, and her officers were anxious to get back. The man turned away and hurried off. A sailor with a pair of handcuffs approached Clif, and the cadet quietly allowed his wrists to be secured. Bessie Stuart was fortunately spared that indignity. The sailor gruffly ordered them to go below. The vessel, meanwhile, had resumed her trip. She had been running along close to the coast under cover of the darkness of the previous night. And now she turned to steal back. Clif's heart was heavy, and he was miserable beyond description. But he turned and silently followed the sailor to the companionway. They did not go below at once, however, for just then something occurred that made the sailor stop. The man who had first spoke to Clif, the captain, apparently, had been sweeping the shore with his glass. And just then he gave a startled exclamation. Everybody heard him, and the Spanish sailor stopped and turned to look. Clif was so listless and despairing that he did not take the trouble to do likewise; but when he heard the exclamations of the men he felt his heart give a leap. They were staring at a man on the shore. "What in the world can be the matter with that fellow?" cried the captain. "Santa Maria! he is calling to us!" exclaimed another. "He must be crazy," declared a third. The captain, with his glass could see more plainly than the others, and his astonishment grew greater. "Why, he's a Spanish officer—a lieutenant, I think! And he is trying to hail us. What can it mean?" "Perhaps he's got dispatches!" suggested some one. It flashed over Clif in an instant what that meant, and Bessie Stuart heard him give a muffled exclamation of delight. For he could see a blue-uniformed figure running down the shore and waving its arms wildly. "It's Lieutenant Hernandez!" he panted. And there was a wild gleam of hope in his eyes as he realized what that meant. He might rescue them again! Feverishly Clif watched to see what the gunboat would do. The captain continued staring and muttering exclamations of astonishment. "I wonder if he does want us," he cried. "Por dios, I do think that's it." And a second later he made up his mind and whirled about. "Hard a port!" he roared. And Clif's heart leaped with joy as he heard that order. The sailor was so much interested in that strange incident that he let his prisoners remain on deck while he stood and stared. The Spanish vessel raced swiftly in toward shore. And the stranger as soon as he saw that stopped his frantic gesticulating and stood still to wait. The captain ran in as close as he dared, and then stopped. He stepped into the bow. "What do you want?" he roared. "Send a boat," the man shouted back. "I must come aboard. Quick!" The captain muttered an exclamation of astonishment under his breath; but his curiosity alone would have been sufficient to move him. The gunboat's wherry boat was quickly gotten away. As for Clif, he was simply wild with delight. For he could see that it was Lieutenant Hernandez after all. Bessie Stuart was so overcome by the sudden shock of the discovery that she was scarcely able to stand, breathlessly the two watched the rowboat speeding in. The lieutenant waded out as far as he could, and when the boat reached him he climbed into the bow. In a few moments he was speeding back to the gunboat. And when he stepped on board he found the captain staring at him. "Lieutenant Hernandez!" he gasped. "Yes," said the other with a bow. But he scarcely glanced at the man until his eager eyes had sought out Clif and Bessie. When he saw them alive and unhurt a look of relief swept over his face. And then he turned to the captain. "What in the world is the matter?" the man cried. The other nodded toward the two Americans. "It is about them," he said. "What about them?" "Why did you stop them?" "Stop them! Why they are Americans, and they were prisoners in Morro." "I know that," said the officer. "But they were released." "What!" "Yes. And I was charged with the duty of seeing them safe on board the American ships." The Spanish captain stared in amazement. "Carramba!" he muttered. "Why didn't they say so?" "I don't see that you gave them a chance," said the other. "You fired on them too soon." "But I had no idea of this!" cried the other. To doubt that story never once entered his head; he seemed to know who the lieutenant was. "What in the world am I to do?" he asked, after a moment. "I don't see that there is but one thing," said the other. "Take them back to Havana and let them be sent from there?" asked the captain. "No," said the lieutenant, quietly. "That will not do; for the government has pledged its word that they shall be on the ships by daybreak. To make haste is very important." "But what else?" "Give them your small boat." "Carramba! I haven't got but one! And how will I ever get it back?" The lieutenant was puzzled for a moment. But suddenly he hit on a daring scheme. "Captain," he said, "my orders are from General Blanco himself. He charged me above all things to see these people safe at once, even if I had to go out to the ships with them. I don't see that there is but one thing we can do." "What is it?" "We will have to hoist a flag of truce and take them out on this vessel." The captain started. "Can we trust the Americans?" he gasped. "They are expecting us," said the lieutenant quietly. And then for a minute the captain was silent; when he spoke it was to the man at the wheel. "Steer us out to the Yankee fleet," he said. "It will have to be done, and run up that white flag." <hr style='width: 45%;' /> Perhaps ten minutes after that the blockading squadron sighted a Spanish gunboat coming toward them with a flag of truce. The New York steamed to meet it; and the vessel came alongside and without a word of explanation the two prisoners were sent aboard. Clif and Bessie both gazed longingly at the noble-hearted lieutenant as he stood on the deck and watched them leave. Their look said plainer than words, "Come with us!" But he only shook his head; and when he saw the two disappear upon the deck of the big cruiser, and when the gunboat was well on her way back to shore he turned with a slight groan and went below. Clif and Bessie wondered with anxiety and sorrow what would be his fate. They dreaded for him the worst tortures of Castle Morro, but the heroic Spaniard escaped that—in a way that Clif learned a few days later. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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