Under the Star-Spangled Banner: A Tale of the Spanish-American War

"That is just about what has happened, my lad, and very fortunate it was for me that you awoke when you did; though for you, poor lad, it has meant trouble. Those Spanish scoundrels did make a second attempt, but, in their endeavor to get possession of the bag, they pitched upon the wrong compartment. I can tell you that it was a ticklish moment for me. As I lay there, not daring to move, I saw you come in. The only wonder to me is that the gentleman called Pedro did not have his revenge at once by shooting me. At any rate, he managed to put a bullet into your shoulder, and then he escaped from the car. The other rascal, whom you tackled so gamely, and who will have a splendid black eye for his pains, also got clear away, leaving some of his property behind him. Here it is."

He held up a mass of black hair, which had formerly covered the chin of the Spaniard.

"Now, Hal, you have the whole story," he continued. "You were wounded and fainted from loss of blood. A fellow passenger, who happens to be a doctor, has already examined and dressed the shoulder, and reports most favorably. A week will see you up and about, so he says, for the bullet was of very small caliber."

"What? A week in bed, Mr. Brindle!" exclaimed Hal, aghast. "Why, I am fit to get up now. See here, I feel quite myself again."

He struggled to his feet, but next moment he was glad to sit down again, and was forced, though much against his inclination, to confess that he was shaken. However, with his old dogged determination, he resolved not to give way, and not to submit to being put ignominiously to bed.

"I am a bit groggy," he admitted. "My legs don't seem quite to belong to me; but it's only a temporary matter. Thank you, I will have another sip."

The tumbler was raised to his lips, and he drank deeply, for the loss of blood had induced a violent thirst.

"There you see for yourself how fit you are," said Mr. Brindle. "And now, as the thieves have escaped, and your wound has been seen to, you will lie down and sleep till morning."

There was no gainsaying this direct order, for Mr. Brindle waited to see that Hal lay full length on the bunk. Then he left the section, and entered his own. As for Hal, though badly shaken, he suffered little pain. The injured shoulder felt numbed, but nothing more. After lying awake for half an hour, thinking over the little adventure through which he had passed, he, too, dozed off, and finally sank into a deep sleep, from which he was awakened by the opening of his door.

"Breakfast in half an hour," said Mr. Brindle, putting his head into the compartment. "How goes it with you this morning, old boy?"

"I feel quite myself," said Hal briskly, sitting up in his bunk. Then, to demonstrate the truth of his words, he stood up. "Yes," he continued, "I feel ever so much stronger than I did last night. I suppose the excitement and the shock had unnerved me, but now I am perfectly steady."

"That's good, Hal, and I am glad to see you making an effort. After all, there is no reason why a bullet wound in the shoulder should lay you up. Last night, as you say, the shock and suddenness of the injury had upset you, and no doubt you felt the rapid loss of blood. A few hours' sleep have made that good, so that you will quickly mend. I have no fear of the wound going wrong, for it was skillfully treated from the first. Now, let me lend a hand, and help to put your clothes on."

Half an hour later, with his left arm in a sling, and his empty sleeve pinned to the coat, arm in arm with Mr. Brindle, Hal entered the breakfast saloon, where they took their places at one of the many small tables. Numbers of other passengers were already there, and they looked at our hero with curiosity and admiration.

An hour later the engine steamed into a large station, and the passengers descended from the cars.

"Just look out for the youngsters, Hal," said Mr. Brindle. "They'll be coming to meet their dad."

"Youngsters? Your youngsters?" asked Hal, in surprise; for Mr. Brindle had never mentioned that he was married and had a family.

"Why, mine to be sure! There's Dora, the dearest blue-eyed girl that ever breathed; and Gerald, the biggest and most mischievous monkey that ever wore clothes. You'll know them at once. Ah, there they are, or I am mistaken."

"Hallo! There you are, dad!" cried the boy, a sturdy young fellow of some sixteen years. "Hi! Come along, Dora! Here he is, looking as fat and jolly as possible."

Breathless, and with hat tossed to the back of his head, the lad rushed at Mr. Brindle and embraced him, a graceful and pretty girl, looking charming and dainty in a white frock, following suit quickly.

"There, there, how glad I am to see you both again, my dears!" exclaimed Mr. Brindle. "Both of you looking as well as ever too. But I am forgetting my duties. Dora – Gerald – come here and let me introduce you a very great friend, who is to be my overseer. Steady now, shake hands gently, for he has been in the wars. Hal, my dear boy, let me present you to my dear children."

Each in turn shook Hal heartily by the hand, Dora looking sympathetically, and, at first, somewhat shyly at him; while Gerald, boy-like, took good stock of the new overseer, not fearing to look well into his face.

"What has happened to your arm, Mr. Marchant? What war have you been in? And are you very much hurt?" Dora asked these questions in rapid succession.

"Dora," said her father, "this young gentleman was shot by a ruffian who attempted to steal my bag. He has risked his life for me, and he is helpless. I place him in your charge. You have had some experience of nursing and will do your best. Now, let us get to the carriage."

Dora was a young lady about whom there was no nonsense. Here was a fellow-being who was obviously suffering; somehow he had come by his injury in protecting her father. That was enough for any daughter. For his sake she would look after Hal. So she marched our hero from the platform, chuckling secretly at the blush which had now changed his cheeks from dullest white to brilliant red. They stepped into the comfortable carriage, and at a crack of the whip, the team of mules set forward at a hand-gallop.

What thoughts were Hal's as he was driven to his new home? It seemed like a dream, for, a few weeks back, he was an orphan, with few friends. Then he had decided to start to America, where he would be entirely unknown. But what had happened? Friends seemed to have risen up on every side. Yes, it was good fortune. At least, that was what he thought as his eyes wandered from Mr. Brindle and Gerald to Dora. Never before had Hal taken notice of any girl.

And here he found himself unconsciously glancing at Dora, and listening eagerly to every word she said. It was sense too. Indeed, she discussed everyday matters with her father in a manner which opened Hal's eyes.

"She's clever," thought Hal, "and she's a pretty girl. How kind she was to me!"

And what of Dora? She, on her part, was taking stock of the overseer. Beneath her lashes she stole many a glance at him, always to meet his steady eyes, and turn away in confusion. But still, she was able to come to a conclusion. She saw a stalwart young man, who had yet an inch or more to grow. He had an open face, and eyes which never flinched or turned away.

"I like the new overseer," she said to herself. "He looks honest, brave, and kind. But how pale he is!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE LOSS OF THE "MAINE"

Thanks to a healthy constitution, and to the fact that, though painful, his wound was really a simple one, Hal Marchant was very soon off the sick-list, and in the stage of convalescence.

From the railway station at which the train had set them down, he and Mr. Brindle, together with Dora and Gerald, were driven into the country, along dusty roads which were fenced in on every side by luxuriant vegetation of every description and hue. Sometimes a long, flat, and unsightly marsh came into view, and at the sound of the wheels thousands of wild-fowl rose, screaming, into the air. But they soon began to ascend, though at a gentle slope, which the mules galloped up, still at the same steady pace.

Up and up the road mounted, curved suddenly to the left, and then quickly disappeared into a dense jungle of trees and growth, from which the delicious perfume of orange blossom was wafted.

"Here we are, and very thankful we ought to be, my lad," said Mr. Brindle, addressing Hal. "Look over there. Welcome to the 'Barn.' This is our winter residence, and here I guarantee that you will soon get back that color which you have lost."

He pointed with his cane to a fine bungalow which appeared at that moment at the end of an open glade, nestling beneath a wreath of foliage.

It was, indeed, a perfect place for an invalid. Perched high up on sandy soil, and surrounded by a forest of gorgeous orange trees, the house peeped over the top of the leaves at a scene beautiful beyond description. In the veranda, arm in sling, and with legs lazily stretched along the sides of a big cane chair, Hal could lie the whole day long, gazing across a sea of green shrubs and leaves – a sea which rustled musically, and was ever changing from brightest green to shimmering blue in the rays of the southern sun. And if he but lifted his eyes an inch or two, a rocky, irregular coast, and an ocean beyond, looking for all the world like a strip of brightly burnished steel, filled him with a sort of rapture, so that to lie there was no hardship, and the hours never dragged, but flew by almost too rapidly for his liking.

"You are an exceedingly good patient," said Dora one day, more than two weeks later, coming on to the veranda and taking a seat which stood vacant by his side; "but I suppose this obedience will not continue for long. The doctor who has been attending you says that your wound is merely a pin-prick – how he can be so very unfeeling I do not know! Still, he is convinced that it is now so far healed that it requires very little attention or dressing. That means, I suppose, that you will throw off my authority, and do your best to get into trouble again at the very first opportunity. What have you to say to that, sir?"

"Pin-prick! Quite so, Dora," Hal answered, with a smile. "The wound is, of course, quite a simple affair, and I am really fit for anything. As to more trouble, I can only say that, if it comes, I hope you will be there to nurse me again."

It was an unusual thing for Hal to indulge in pretty speeches, and it was as much as he could do to get the words out. His bashfulness made them stick in his throat, though he meant every syllable.

"I'm sure you've been awfully good to me, Dora," he said. "How can I repay you?"

"Oh, nonsense! Good, indeed! I have only done what any other girl would gladly have undertaken; and you forget, Hal, that you were wounded in helping my father. There, we are evens! We owe nothing to each other, though, if you ever have an opportunity, I am sure you will do your utmost for us."

"Hallo! What's this? Pretty speeches, and from my Dora, too! Who would have thought it!"

Mr. Brindle stepped on to the veranda just in time to overhear the end of the conversation between the young people, and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

"There, it is only my chaff," he added with a smile. "A little gratitude on either side is what one would have expected. But how are you, Hal? When do you think you could travel?"

"Now; as soon as you like, Mr. Brindle," exclaimed Hal, springing to his feet. "Take a look at me. I am as well as ever; and as for the arm, beyond a little stiffness, which will soon pass away, I have no trouble with it."

"Then, we'll clear for the ever-faithful island of Cuba, and for our gay little hacienda, Eldorado. Hal, you shall see a spot which compares favorably with this. I built this house in which we are living more than fifteen years ago, but the hacienda not for some time later. To my eyes the latter is perfect. It is a gentleman's country residence, and, with its grounds, is a beautiful oasis in a desert of impenetrable jungle and burnt-out plantations – not to mention swamps innumerable, for which the eastern end of the island is notorious. But you shall judge for yourself. To-morrow we will make our preparations, and on the following day the steamer will sail with us from Tampa for Havana."

Accordingly, all at the "Barn" were extremely busy, Hal even taking his arm from the sling to lend a hand on occasion. By the second morning their packing was completed, and, leaving the house in possession of a negro caretaker, the party was driven away in the mule cart to the harbor at Tampa. Three days later they sighted the coast of Cuba, the biggest and one of the oldest of Spanish colonies in the West which remained at that moment in the hands of Spain.

"It is at once the finest and the most unfortunate island in these seas," remarked Mr. Brindle to Hal and Gerald, as they gazed towards the distant shore. "For years – I cannot at the moment recollect how many – the bulk of the inhabitants have been in rebellion. Fighting has taken place almost incessantly between the Spanish rulers and the native population; and things have come to such a pass that ruin stares everyone in the face. Planters and their laborers have had hard times indeed, but I trust a brighter future is in store for us. America has intervened between insurgents and Spaniards, and it seems that her influence will avert further bloodshed, and peace and prosperity will then return to this smiling land. I am sure I hope it will be so. Personally I have not lost, though others have. But it is a long story, lads, and I will reserve it for another time. Take a look through my glasses, Hal, and tell me what you see."

Mr. Brindle suddenly handed his field-glasses to Hal, and pointed towards the harbor.

"I see a big passenger boat in there," the latter said, after taking a long and steady look. "She is lying against the quay, and close beside her are two ships, which look like men-of-war – one flying Spanish colors, and the other the Stars and Stripes of America."

"Good! I thought so," Mr. Brindle exclaimed. "That vessel sailing beneath the colors of Yankee land is the battleship Maine, and she is here on a special visit, which it is hoped will cement a long friendship between the two countries. Now, I fancy we had better go below and prepare for dinner. The gong sounds in half an hour."

By half-past eight that night, the ever-memorable 15th of February, 1898, the ship upon which Hal and his friends were passengers had anchored in the harbor of Havana. On the upper deck, beneath the glare of the electric light, they made a group that was interesting and pleasing to the eye.

Stretched in hammock chairs, Mr. Brindle cigar in mouth, and all dressed in white, relieved in Dora's case by a sash of palest blue, they chatted in low voices, now and again lapsing into silence and listening to the sounds that came from other ships across the placid water and from the dimly lit streets of the town. Some sailor lad aboard the Maine was delighting his fellows with banjo and song, and our hero and his friends listened as if enchanted.

"Ah, honey, my honey" – the words came clear and strong; then they died down and became merged with the notes of the banjo, only to burst forth again as the audience took up the chorus, and sent it swelling across the harbor.

"How nice it sounds! How peaceful!" exclaimed Mr. Brindle, thoughtfully. "God grant that this visit from America to a Spanish port may settle every squabble. I am sure braver and more agreeable fellows could not have been sent; and if only the Dons are as friendly, all will be well. Listen! How those lads love that song! They would sing it by the hour if they were able. But there sounds the bugle, and away they go to their hammocks. I think, Dora dear, that it is time you and Gerald also went to your bunks. Remember, we have a long and tiring day before us to-morrow, and you will be in need of all your energies. Now, off with you! Hal and I will stay on deck a little longer, as I wish to speak to him."

The two young people looked somewhat disappointed, but strict obedience being amongst their virtues, they said "good-night" and retired.

"Now for a stroll, Hal," commenced Mr. Brindle. "I have much to say to you, and you have a great deal before you, for which a little advice given now will prepare you. Within three days we shall be at Eldorado, and new duties and new faces will confront you. I want you to have some knowledge of them beforehand, for it will be better if my overseer can come to the plantation ready for any emergency. You will thus make a better start, and will be held in higher estimation by the men. That is the secret of plantation work. Respect yourself, show that you are capable, fair, and strong, and the negro hands will be ready to obey you in every particular."

Mr. Brindle took Hal by the arm, and walked him up and down beneath the awning. At length, having communicated to him all the information he wished, he led the way aft, and the two leaned against the rails at the stern of the ship.

Havana, one of the oldest harbors in the West, lay wrapped in the black mantle of night, dotted here and there by the riding light of some small fishing schooner, bobbing gently to the swell which ran through the harbor channel. Closer at hand were other lights, flashing, tier above tier, from the state cabins of the City of Washington– a leviathan which was filled to overflowing with passengers. She was a contrast to the Maine, aboard which all those who had been so merry and lighthearted seemed now fast asleep. But for her riding lights, and the reflection from her gunroom, she was enveloped in darkness, into which a flicker from her smoke-stacks sometimes flew, to disappear in a moment. Not a sound came from her deck. All was still, and every soul beneath her armor-plates, save the few who kept the watch, lay wrapped in sleep – sleep, alas! to extend forever and ever, to hold them in its cold embrace till the end of everything.

What was that? Crash! A second or two's interval, and then a nerve-shaking boom, an appalling explosion, a rush of flame into the night, that lights up the surroundings for miles. And then? Ah, Heavens! shriek upon shriek, the clatter of scattered wreckage and rent iron upon quay and neighboring ships, and the hissing of flaming woodwork falling into the sea. A minute before there floated as fine a vessel as ever sailed from the shores of America, carrying, too, as gallant a crew as ever shipped under the famous star-spangled banner. Where were they now?

Clinging to the rail, stunned by the roar of the explosion, and dazed by the suddenness of it all, Hal and Mr. Brindle looked at a heap of flaring wreckage, and wondered what had happened. Then the explanation burst upon them with a shock and a rush which almost unmanned them.

"She has blown up! The Maine has been smashed to pieces! How dreadful!" exclaimed Mr. Brindle, in a breath.

"Yes, something awful has happened," Hal answered. "Quick, sir; there may be men to be saved. Let us help; everyone will be required, and we may be of use. Come; I see them manning one of the boats."

Without waiting for further conversation, he sprang towards the gangway, followed closely by Mr. Brindle.

"That's it! More lads for the work. Slip along down that 'ere gangway, and get fixed up to your places," sang out a quartermaster, who stood on the deck close to the ladder leading to the boat below.

As cool as if nothing unusual had happened, he waited a few moments to collect more men, and then hurried down to the boat in which Hal and Mr. Brindle had taken their places.

"Get hold of them there oars," he cried hoarsely. "Some of yer aer new at the game, but yer can pull for what we want. There, shove her off, my lad, and out oars all of yer. Bust me! aer some of yer goin' ter take two weeks about it? Bustle yourselves! Aer yer ready? Then fetch hold of your time from me. Now – pull – again – once more, my hearties – pull – at it, lads – we are nearer – good boys – with a will; – pull ho – all together – ah, steady there all."

Never could an amateur crew have had a better coxswain. There was no confusion, and no desperate hurry. Instead, coached by the quartermaster, they sent the boat flying through the water, and before they could have expected it, were close beside the Maine.

"She's down by the head," cried Mr. Brindle, who sat next to Hal. "Keep a look-out for any man in the water."

"Aye, she's down, and will go more too," the quartermaster shouted. "She's flaring like a torch, so I reckon we ought ter see any poor feller who happens ter be about in need of help."

Indeed, the bows of the Maine were crushed into shapeless wreckage, which was burning fiercely, the flames lighting up the whole of the harbor. By this time, too, the death-like silence, which had fallen immediately after the first cries for help, was broken by a roar of frightened voices from the town. People rushed from their houses demanding what had happened. Bells clanged the alarm, and the fire-brigade turned out, ready for any emergency. And, meanwhile, every ship in the harbor sent her boats on an errand of mercy, and soon the sailors, who but a few short minutes before had been sleeping peacefully, were being lifted from the water. But not all were there to be helped; numbers of the poor fellows had sunk, others still slept – the everlasting sleep – beneath the shattered plates of the Maine.

"Look, there is one sailor," cried Mr. Brindle suddenly, pointing to a figure struggling close beside the Maine, and seeming to be almost enveloped in flame. "Quick, quartermaster; let us row in and rescue him."

"No; can't be done. It's hard ter say it, but it can't," was the curt answer, given with a sad shake of the head. "That 'ere chap don't scorch, because he's under water. We should, though. We'd be blistered and dried like so many herrings. It's hard, sir, but it's out o' the question."

"Not quite," muttered Hal. "Hold on to my oar, Mr. Brindle. I'm going for him."

Next moment there was a splash, and he was overboard, swimming towards the flaming wreck as strongly as though he had never suffered a wound on his shoulder. A few lusty strokes took him close to the man, who by this was spinning round and round in the water, wholly unconscious, and on the point of sinking. His hand shot in the air, his fingers clutching desperately, while his eyes seemed on the point of bursting from their sockets. A sudden flare from the burning woodwork lit up the ghastly scene, and showed the poor fellow's mouth wide open in the act of giving vent to a cry for help. But just then the water swirled about him, overflowing his face, and hiding all but the pair of hands, which still grasped despairingly at the air.

"I'll save him whatever happens," said Hal to himself, sinking for a moment to escape the fierce heat of the flames, which burst forth furiously from the deck and sides of the unfortunate Maine. He swam beneath the water, and rising a minute later beside the man, grasped him by the shoulders, and easily turned him upon his back. From that moment all was plain sailing, for it was not for nothing that Hal had learned to swim. Floating beside the drowning sailor, he kicked out with his legs, and towed him towards the boat. Before he thought it possible they were alongside, and were being hauled on board.

"Good lad! You're one of the right sort!" sang out the quartermaster. "There, sit right down and get hold of your wind. Perhaps yer'll be wanting it again in a minute. Hillo! aint that another poor feller?"

He shielded his eyes from the glare by placing his hand to his forehead, and looked towards the Maine once more. A piece of wreckage floated into the light, and on it was seen another poor sailor, clinging for his life.

"Ah, there he aer! Can't yer see him, boys? He's right under the ship, and she's scorching the life out of him."

"Yes, he's too close to the fire again; and if we row in there we should all be shriveled," remarked Hal, very quietly. "Here, I'm for it again, so keep a look-out for me, quartermaster."

Once more he slipped overboard, and, pursuing the same tactics, escaped the heat by diving beneath the water. When he reached the plank upon which the sailor was lying, it was to find him, like the other, unconscious, and almost dead from the combined results of heat and smoke. He did not trouble to take the man from the float, but pushed it towards the boat, and in due time had the satisfaction of seeing him lifted from the water with the aid of many willing hands. Then the boat pulled round the flaming wreck, and, finding no one else in the water, went beneath the stern, which was free of flames, and made fast to a rope.