Cutting A cable.

The cadet’s report was soon made.  Under ordinary circumstances he would have been ordered to report back to the Uncas, but that stanch little gunboat was then miles beyond the western horizon.  Moreover, the admiral had other work for the cadet.

As to Miss Stuart; there was a parting between her and Clif that was such as should be between acknowledged lovers, but it was a parting of the most decided kind, for his duty lay in the war, hers on land.  She was sent to Key West on a cruiser that was then leaving the squadron to recoal.

What the young man and the girl said to each other cannot concern us here, for we have now to do with Faraday’s experience as a sailor.  His love affair had to await the events of war, and so may the story of it.

Clif’s next service began on the morning following his escape.  A small boat left the flagship and headed for Point Rubalcava on the Cuban coast.  It was bent upon a dangerous mission; so hazardous, in fact, that volunteers had been called for to man the boat.

The first one to offer his services had been Clif Faraday.  There was no lack of followers among the brave American tars.  Fifty offered themselves a moment after the cadet stepped forward, and the task was to select from them twelve men to form the boat’s crew.

“It is necessary to cut the cable as a war measure,” said Rear Admiral Sampson, when the selection had been made.  “You will proceed cautiously toward shore and grapple for the cable.  If you find it, cut it.  If not, you must go ashore and locate the landing place of the wire.  Are you ready for the service?”

“Ay, ay, sir!” came the ready response.

Rear Admiral Sampson looked upon the brave, eager faces of the men for a moment with evident satisfaction.

“There is danger of discovery, and attack from the shore batteries,” he added.  “Success will depend upon your quickness and skill.”

The men well knew the danger that lay before them, but there was no sign of faltering upon their faces.  Rather, there was an eagerness for instant action that was not lost upon the commanding officer.

“Then go!” he exclaimed, heartily.

The boat was lowered, and quietly set out upon its mission.

It was in charge of a lieutenant, and Clif Faraday, in recognition of his being the first to volunteer, was placed beside him in the stern to steer the boat through the rough waters.

It was still dark, though the eastern sky gave promise of the near approach of day.  The time had been selected to enable the boat to near the shore without great danger of detection in the dim light.  But by the time they should succeed in grappling the cable there would be sufficient light to enable them to complete their task.

“All seems quiet on shore,” said Clif, after a time, to the lieutenant, as they both peered forward at the coast line now looming up before them.  “The Spaniards don’t seem to be looking for us.”

“True,” responded the lieutenant.  “It looks that way.  But you can’t sometimes always tell.  They may have a surprise for us.”

“If they don’t shoot any straighter than they have been doing,” said Clif with a laugh, “they’ll never touch us.”

“That’s true, too,” assented the lieutenant.  “But still you must remember ­”

“The Maine!” interrupted Clif.

“Yes, remember the Maine!  But, as I was saying, these fellows might possibly aim at something else beside our boat and hit us accidentally.  At any rate, I hope they don’t see us.  We are not out to capture a fort armed as we are with nothing but revolvers, and in this open boat we would be an easy prey to decent marksmanship.”

“Still, the boys like action,” said Clif.

“We may have plenty of it yet,” replied the lieutenant, with a suspicion of uneasiness in his tone.

Meanwhile the boat, guided by Clif’s hand, had drawn nearer the shore.  They could see plainly the outlines of the fortifications, which had been recently battered by shell from American gunboats, and which they knew the Spaniards had attempted to repair.  But as far as they could see all was quiet there.

The boat was following what was supposed to be the course of the cable, and the men were constantly seeking to secure it with their grappling irons.  The crew proceeded cautiously but expeditiously with its work, the boat passing to and fro across what they supposed was the line of the cable.

“How is it, Wilson?” at last said the lieutenant, speaking to one of the men who was leaning over the side of the boat.  “Struck anything yet?”

“Not yet, sir,” was the response.

Nearer and nearer to the shore came the boat, the men coolly continuing their labors, seemingly as unmindful of danger as though the coast was not lined by hostile forces.  The sun peeped above the face of the water to the eastward, and the darkness slowly receded before it.  Every detail of the frowning fortification ashore was now plainly visible to the boat’s crew.

Clif looked intently along the shore, but there was no hostile movement to be seen.  But he realized that the fast growing light of the rising sun must betray their presence to the enemy, if any such were on watch.

“What a fine target we would make for them, too,” he thought.  “And close range at that.”

His thoughts were interrupted by an exclamation from one of the men who had been previously addressed by the lieutenant.

“Hurrah!” cried the man.  “I’ve got it!”

The boat was quickly brought to a standstill, and willing hands assisted him.  In a few moments the heavy cable appeared above the surface of the water and was drawn up to the boat.

“Now, men, quick with the saws!” cried the lieutenant, excitedly.  “Quick work, and we’ll be done and away before the Spaniards discover us!”

It required quick work, indeed ­quicker than any of the brave boat’s crew then thought.

The lieutenant had no more than given his orders when an interruption, startling and unwelcome, occurred.  He had been anxiously scanning the outlines of the fortifications and congratulated himself that no movement was visible in that quarter.  The Spaniards were napping, he thought, and all was well.

But the reverse was the case, as he quickly discovered.  No sooner had one of the sailors began to saw away at the cable than suddenly and without warning a shower of bullets rained around them in the water and the ominous boom of a cannon from the shore told they had been discovered.

“A masked battery to the left!” cried Clif.  “They have ambushed us!”

This was true.  The fortifications which had alone received the lieutenant’s attention remained silent, while from the left a concealed battery kept up a raking fire upon the small boat and the intrepid crew.

The Spaniards had not yet gotten the range, it is true, but it was a tight place to be in ­in an open boat, unarmed, helpless and exposed to the raking fire from shore.

But the men in that boat were full of nerve.  Not once did they falter while shells and shot whistled and burst over their heads, beyond them and even among them.

“Hurry up, Wilson,” cried the lieutenant to the sailor sawing the cable.  “That cable must be cut before we leave the spot.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” responded the other.  “If it kills every man of us!”

It began to look as if that would be their fate.  The Spanish shot and shell, which at first fell harmlessly into the water, now dropped nearer and nearer.  Clif heard an awful buzzing and whizzing sound in the air, and seemed to feel something hit him in the face and head.  It was not his first time under fire, and he knew that a shell had passed near them.

The fire from shore increased in rapidity and with more accuracy.  From another quarter, a jut of land nearer to the boat, came a fusilade from Mauser rifles, and their bullets passed near the heads of the American crew.

It was a hot place, but the men worked coolly on, determined that their orders should be executed at all hazards.  By rapid work one piece of the cable was cut, but that was not enough.  Another cut must be made at least fifty feet away, so that the Spaniards could not repair it by splicing.  As the last strands parted and the free end of the cable fell back into the water, it was discovered that the sailor held the shore end in his grasp, and that to complete their work they must now draw closer to the fire of their enemies.

“Fifty feet nearer shore!” exclaimed the lieutenant, and the crew grasped the oars and unflinchingly began to carry out the order.

The shots of the Spaniards began to tell.  Bullets splintered the sides of the boat, and they had not moved but a few feet from the spot when another volley severely wounded two of the men.

Wilson, the man who had been so active, fell into the bottom of the boat severely wounded in the shoulder, and another sailor who was near where Clif sat, was shot in the thigh.  But the boat kept on, rowing nearer and nearer.

Clif resigned the tiller to the lieutenant, while he bound up the men’s wounds and comforted them as best he could.  Then he jumped back to the tiller.

This was an unfortunate move for him, for in that position he and the lieutenant were the most conspicuous figures in the boat, and the Spanish riflemen were making every effort to pick off the officer.  A bullet, intended for the lieutenant, struck Clif in the arm as he took his place.

“Are you wounded?” shouted the officer above the din, noticing that Clif momentarily paled.

“It is nothing,” replied Clif, resolutely clinching his teeth and continuing to guide the boat.

Just then the welcome sound of the firing of cannon to seaward reached their ears.

“It is the New York!” cried Clif.  “She is taking a hand in the scrimmage!”

It was true.  With deadly accuracy, the flagship was hurling shrapnel shell over the heads of the bluejackets into the battery on shore.

And thus between the two fires the little band in their frail boat continued coolly with their labors, Clif assisting those who became wounded wholly unmindful of the fact that he himself was bleeding freely.

But it was soon over.  The terrible havoc of the well-directed shrapnel shot from the New York quickly silenced the masked battery and dispersed the gunners and the cutting of the cable received no further interruption from the Spanish forces.

They were enthusiastically received upon their return to the flagship, bearing a section of the cable to be cut up as souvenirs.  The wounded were tenderly cared for, and Clif himself examined the nature of his own injury.  Fortunately, though it had bled freely, it was but a slight flesh wound, which gave him no uneasiness after being properly bandaged.

This operation was just completed, when a jaunty young ensign appeared, and turning to Clif, said: 

“Cadet Faraday, you are requested to report to the rear admiral at once.”

Clif saluted and promptly followed the officer.