THE ESCAPE FROM THE LAGOON

When the boys awoke it was dark again. They had slept through the day without a break. Mason, who had been hovering around restlessly all day, poked his head into the stateroom just as Harry was rubbing his eyes.

“O, say, you chaps, have you returned to life again? Do you know you have been pounding your ears for thirteen hours?”

“Where are we, Midget?” asked Harry, yawning.

“Still in the blooming lagoon.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now.” Harry sighed comfortably and turned over.

“Oh, say, you fellows; turn out. You have had sleep enough and I am as lonely as a cow in a strange pasture. You’ve had all the fun; now the least you can do is to get up and tell me about it.”

“Fun, eh?” said Bert, who had been awakened by the conversation. “I wish you had had my part of the enjoyment. More quiet amusement will do for me.”

“I am as hungry as a bear,” said Harry, jumping out of bed. “If you won’t let us sleep we must eat. Have you had supper yet?”

“No; Cap said he was going to wait until you waked up.”

“All right; if you’ll get a bucket of water we’ll be ready in short order. I’ve got to wash up. I’m as dirty as a digger Indian.”

When Harry turned out he found his own suit, carefully mended and pressed, laid out over a chair. He gladly discarded his badly fitting Spanish uniform, and after a good wash, donned his own clothing again and made quite a presentable appearance as he walked out on deck, where he found O’Connor and Miss Juanita and her mother lounging lazily in steamer chairs.

O’Connor jumped up and warmly welcomed the boys, and Miss Juanita insisted upon presenting them to her mother as “the brave American lads who had saved her from the vengeance of General Serano.”

“And now, youngsters,” said O’Connor, as soon as they had blushingly acknowledged the warmly expressed gratitude of Miss Juanita’s mother, “I know you are hungry and dinner waits. My Waldorf chef has done himself proud in honor of the occasion and George Wash Jenks, his assistant, has begged to be allowed to serve us. Let’s get busy.” He rose as he spoke and the boys saw that he had dressed himself with scrupulous care again, in a suit of light flannel, yachting cap, and immaculately white canvas shoes.

It was a merry party that gathered around the cabin table, which, with its elaborate setting of crystal and silver, would have been a credit to any domestic establishment. Washington, in a white coat and apron, his face wide ajar with a happy grin, served them skillfully. After dessert had been cleared away and O’Connor had secured permission from the ladies to smoke his cigarette, Mason, who had been for many hours impatiently waiting to hear the story of his comrades’ adventures, saw his opportunity, and rising and bowing to the company with his funny, grave expression, said:

“Ladies and gentlemen, and our distinguished host: Little as I am accustomed to public speaking, I wish right here to say that I consider that I have been very shabbily treated. Fickle fortune robbed me of an opportunity to become a hero, and it looks as if I would now be denied even the poor gratification of enjoying the thrilling adventures of my brave comrades by word of mouth. I know I’m little and perhaps my suit would not have fitted Miss Juanita as well as my friend Hamilton’s, but it was not because of my size that unkind fate singled him out for the hero part and left me not so much as an understudy. It was pure hard luck, and now I demand, as the slighted party, that the story of the rescue from the Spanish prison be told in the minutest detail for the benefit of the assembled company by those who acted the principal parts. Captain Dynamite, I leave it to you if it is not due to a disappointed, would-be hero?”

O’Connor laughed heartily at the boy, who kept a serious and sober face during his harangue.

“Your position is well taken, Master Mason,” he said. “I propose that Master Hamilton begin the story at the point where he and his companion fell into the hands of the Spaniards.”

After some urging Harry told in an easy narrative style the story of his and Bert’s adventures, to which Mason listened breathlessly, while Washington, who had been permitted to stand behind O’Connor’s chair, alternately grinned and stared in amazement. The story of the misfortune of Villamonte seemed to amuse him greatly, and as Harry described his expression as he lay bound and gagged in the prison, the negro slapped his leg in glee, and for a moment forgetting himself, cried out.

“Ah guess Misser Tree Card Monte not bother Massa Cap’n Dynamite no more. He, he, ha, ha.”

They all joined with Washington in his mirth, and in the midst of their hilarity the cabin door opened and Suarez, with a reproachful expression, looked in at O’Connor and waited for the noise to subside.

“Captain Morgan’s sentinels on the point report a light off shore, sir,” he said, as soon as he could make himself heard.

“What sort of a light, Suarez?” asked O’Connor, without showing any excitement.

“Probably a vessel’s light, sir.”

“Very well. Call me if it seems to be making in shore.”

Suarez cast another glance at O’Connor that seemed to say, “Petticoats are out of place on filibusters,” but he wisely refrained from expressing any such opinions aloud.

Harry continued his narrative and O’Connor appeared to listen with as great an interest as if he were not familiar with the details already. Harry noticed, however, that every now and then he cast a glance at the door as if he expected Suarez to return. He had reached that point in his story where they discover Villamonte riding madly after them on the plain and Washington’s eyes were bulging with excitement, when the door again opened and Suarez stepped in and saluted.

“I think you had better come on deck, sir,” he said, quietly.

“All right, Suarez,” said O’Connor, jumping up quickly. “Go on with your story, my boy, I will join you again shortly. Keep up the interest; you’ve got your audience in the proper mood now.” With a light laugh, intended to allay any anxiety Suarez’s words might have caused his guests, O’Connor left the cabin.

Harry realized that some danger threatened them, but catching a significant look in the eyes of the captain as he left the room, fell in with his purpose readily and continued his story as if nothing had happened.

“What is it, Suarez?” asked O’Connor, as soon as they were alone on deck.

“She’s headed in shore and directly for the inlet, sir.”

“Can you make her out yet?”

“I have not been ashore, sir, but Morgan’s men say they can only see her lights.”

“Lower a boat and let me take your glasses. I do not want to alarm the ladies by returning to the cabin for mine.”

“Women are a bit of a nuisance at such times, sir,” said Suarez, who could no longer refrain from expressing his views, however mildly.

“No, you are wrong there, Suarez,” said O’Connor, who understood the mate’s aversion to everyone and everything that was not working directly for the good of the cause. “They are only an incentive to extra caution, which you must admit is an admirable thing for me.” Suarez shook his head doubtfully as he went forward to get the boat in the water and O’Connor laughed at his officer’s crochet.

A boat was quickly lowered and manned, and O’Connor was rowed to the point of land that separated the lagoon from the ocean. He made his way to a group of men who, in the shelter of some palm trees, were watching the red and green lights of an approaching vessel.

“Can you make her out?” asked O’Connor, eagerly.

“No, sir. We have no glasses. Perhaps you can tell what she is.”

O’Connor took a long look at the lights, which were yet mere specks.

“I can’t make her out yet,” he said, as he lowered his glasses, “but whoever she is she must know the coast hereabouts pretty well to head in so close.”

He sat down with his back to one of the trees and his face to the sea and rolled a cigarette. He smoked calmly for ten minutes and then put his glasses to his eyes again.

“She’s a gunboat,” he said finally. “Let me know in fifteen minutes if she still holds her course.”

He turned back to his boat and was rowed rapidly back to the Mariella. Suarez met him at the gangway.

“Did you make her out, sir?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes, she’s a gunboat I think our old friend the Belair, and if it be she there is no significance in her presence here. She has probably been cruising up and down the coast since we left her trying to solve the mystery of our sudden disappearance. But in any event you better prepare for the worst; but quietly, Suarez, quietly. We do not want to alarm the ladies unnecessarily.”

“Bother the ladies,” grumbled Suarez to himself, as he went forward to carry out the captain’s orders. O’Connor leaned on the rail facing the black point of land that hid them from view. Presently a boat put out from the shore and as she came under the Mariella’s quarter, O’Connor whispered:

“Well?”

“Only the red light shows now, sir,” answered a man in the small boat.

“She has changed her course, then. Good. Keep a sharp lookout and let me know at once if she changes again.”

“It seems to be steady, sir. I think she has come to anchor.”

“Whew,” whistled O’Connor; “that’s bad.”

The little boat put back to shore and O’Connor stood leaning over the rail in deep thought. Meanwhile dark shapes moved quickly, but silently, across the deck as the men took their quarters. The mate aroused O’Connor from his reverie.

“All is ready, sir,” he said.

“Very good, Suarez. I think I know what her game is now. She’s beating the coast for just such hidden spots as this lagoon. Get word at once to the men on the point to watch carefully for the approach of a launch or small boat. There is to be no demonstration unless they find the inlet. In that case let them see that no one gets out again. And Suarez, the machete no guns. There must be no noise to tell the Belair what has happened.”

O’Connor rejoined the party in the cabin with a smile on his lips that belied the weight of anxiety on his mind.

“Now ladies,” he said cheerily, “if Harry has finished his tale of adventure we will bid you good night, as I have to make ready for sea. You will occupy my cabin, as I have no doubt the boys will be quite willing to bunk with me in a spare stateroom forward.”

The boys bade the ladies good night and retired to the deck with the captain.

“What’s up, Cap?” asked Harry, as soon as the door closed behind them.

“Can’t fool you, eh?” laughed O’Connor.

“I knew something had gone wrong, sir, as soon as you left the cabin.”

“Well, I suppose I might just as well tell you boys, for you will find out sooner or later, but I do not want a word of it to reach the ladies; you understand?”

“We’ll be as silent as clams at high water,” said Mason, “but I should like to have it thoroughly understood that I am next in line for any hero parts.”

“There is a Spanish gunboat the same one we had the little mix-up with coming down, I think lying just off the inlet. I believe that her commander suspects that we have hidden away in some such place as this and he is beating the shore with small boats in the hope of locating us.”

“But what chance would a small boat have if she did discover us?”

“If the boat crew discovered us and got away the gunboat could shell us out or sink us in the lagoon.”

“Another cheery outlook,” groaned Bert. “I thought we were safe on the Mariella and it seems that it is only a choice between Spanish guns ashore and Spanish shells at sea.”

“Oh, it’s not quite so bad as that, Master Wilson,” said O’Connor laughing, but with an anxious look in the direction of the cabin. “If they do not discover our hiding-place we shall sneak out all right under cover of darkness, and if they do discover it, we shall have to fight for it; but in either event we shall get out.” O’Connor’s mouth tightened into that straight line that indicated his desperate moods. He stepped over to the rail and fixed his eyes on the black shore of the lagoon. It was his usual abrupt method of closing a conversation, and the boys who were now familiar with his peculiarities, did not attempt to question him further.

The tide was running into the inlet and the Mariella had swung around on her anchor chains until she was pointed directly for the hidden opening to the sea. The boys left O’Connor to his thoughts and strolled forward. The sky was partially overcast and the moon, which had just risen, was almost obscured by heavy, slowly moving clouds. Now and then, however, it broke through a rift, flooding the lagoon with its silvery light and throwing the black sides of the Mariella into bold relief. Not a breath of air stirred leaf or twig.

“We are ready for action,” whispered Harry, as they passed the silent forms of the men standing quietly at their stations. “They won’t catch Captain Dynamite napping, any way.”

Near the fo’c’sle deck they found Washington at his post, a Mauser in his hand and machete and pistols in his belt.

“Hullo, Wash,” said Mason, “are we going to have another mix-up?”

The negro grinned and bobbed his head rapidly at the same time placing his finger on his lips.

“What’s the matter? Lost your tongue again?”

“‘Sh. George Wash Jenks can’t talk on fightin’ duty.”

“That’s right, Wash; obey orders,” said Harry, as they passed on.

The dark forms of the waiting men, the dead silence that hung over the steamer, and the tense air of anxiety and doubt that pervaded all began to have a disquieting effect upon the boys who, at first, full of confidence in the courage and experience of O’Connor, had regarded their situation as only remotely dangerous. For a long time they stood looking off at the screen of trees and vines that separated them from the sea, where the gunboat lay in wait for its prey.

A black cloud that had obscured the face of the moon slowly passed over it, and again the shores of the lagoon stood out in detail, almost as if the sun shone upon them. Harry placed a hand quickly on Bert’s shoulder and pointed ahead of them. There was a commotion in the leafy screen as if something was forcing its way through. The next moment the bow of a boat crept slowly out until its full length was visible within the lagoon. Another cloud began to draw a fleecy fringe across the moon, but before its darker center passed over the shining disc, the boys could see many black moving spots on the surface of the water, rapidly approaching the boat from behind.

“We must tell the captain,” said Harry, turning quickly, only to find O’Connor with folded arms standing silently behind them, watching the scene with contracted brow. He did not appear to notice the presence of the boys.

“Now, quick,” he hissed between his teeth, as if coaching someone in the distance, and at the same time the boys saw the black spots rise from the water, as many arms shot up and seized the gunwale of the boat. Then a veil of darkness shut out the dramatic scene as the cloud shut out the light of the moon.

There was a sound of splashing water, a low cry or two and then silence again. O’Connor turned away and joined the mate, who had watched the brief spectacle from the bridge.

“It was well done, Suarez,” said O’Connor.

“Aye, aye, sir; it was a neat job. Trust Morgan’s men for that.” The splash of oars alongside interrupted them and the sentries’ boat appeared again. O’Connor leaned over the bridge.

“Boat and four men captured at the inlet, sir,” called a voice from out of the darkness.

“Good; anyone hurt?”

“Not a soul, sir. We were two to one and they threw up their hands when we climbed over the stern of their boat. What shall we do with the prisoners?”

“Turn them over to Captain Morgan; and now, Suarez, when can we go to sea?”

“Whenever you please, sir. The cargo is all ashore.”

“Get up steam at once.”

“Are you going to take her out to-night, sir, in the face of the Belair?”

“If I don’t take her out to-night we shall have to run the gauntlet in a hail of solid shot. It will not be long before they will suspect that something has happened to that boat. By daybreak the Belair will move in. Our only chance is to get out under cover of darkness. She is well within range now, but we can get clear of the inlet with a bit of speed on before she discovers us, and if we’ve got to fight I prefer the open sea.”

“Very well, sir. Shall I heave the anchors?” asked Suarez.

“You can’t heave the anchors until you get up steam, man.”

“I told you we were ready for sea, sir,” said Suarez, in a reproachful tone. “The Mariella is always at your command.”

Fifteen minutes later O’Connor stood in the pilot house with his hand on the wheel. He looked back for a moment at the two sentinel palms and then he rang the bell for full speed ahead.

The engines throbbed, the screws churned the still water of the lagoon into a white froth and the Mariella, with rapidly increasing speed, poked her nose into the green foliage that barred her passage to the sea. Branches and vines scraped along her sides for a moment and then, released from their impeding embrace, she forged ahead with a tremble and start into the open sea. The red portlight of the waiting gunboat gleamed in the darkness a few points off her port bow. O’Connor swung her head around until the light was off the Mariella’s quarter. Then he turned the wheel over to the steersman who stood beside him.

“Keep her steady, now,” he said, as he left the pilot house and returned to the bridge, where Suarez stood with his glasses trained on the red light.

“No sign of movement, yet, sir,” he said.

“You have no lights burning?”

“Not a light aboard, sir, except in the binnacle.”

“All depends upon the moon then. She’ll hardly make us out against the shore. If the moon stays in for fifteen minutes we shall be out of range of her guns and we can outfoot her in a stern chase.”