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Clif had been watching the flagship which was astern, but now, looking forward, he saw a beam of light in that direction. It was several miles out to sea, and shot across their path. "That must be the Wilmington," he exclaimed, cheered by a suddenly revived hope. "She can cut across our path, and all may yet be well."
It was a waiting game that Clif had set out to play, and it seemed the only thing that could help them under the circumstances. It was out of the question to think of attacking the Spaniards, superior at least in numbers. There was other work for the night. Silently the American crew waited, listening for every sound.
He could make out the shape of the boat tossing about below; he could even distinguish the figures of the men in the boat. And then he made out a man climbing hastily up. He stepped back to wait for him. He saw a blue uniform as the officer clambered up to the deck. And then suddenly he stood erect, facing Clif. The cadet took one glance at him and gave a gasp of horror. It was a Spanish officer!
There was a heavy iron door in front of it that opened slowly. "March in," said the sergeant. And the prisoners, with bayonets at their backs, were forced up the steps and into the building. The door shut again with a dull iron clang that sounded like a death knell to Clif. Ignacio entered, too.
The lieutenant said them as calmly as if he were telling the time of day. "You don't seem very much excited," the cadet thought. And yet the lieutenant's statement proved to be true. It was several minutes before Clif got a favorable view; but he kept his eyes fixed on the smoke and he finally caught a glimpse of the hull.
I had been kind to him because he was ill. He swore that he would die for me and, Clif, I think he has nearly carried out his promise." Bessie Stuart choked down a sob. "I refused him," she said again. "And then came the horrible Ignacio. He saw me on the street. That was three days ago; and that same day I was placed under arrest." "What for?"
Then, while he fairly fumed with rage and hatred, his hands were made fast and he was left lying there, shrieking curses in his native Spanish. Clif turned to the captain of the vessel; the man was frightened nearly to death, and began protesting volubly. "I did not know it, senor!" he cried. "Indeed, I did not know it! Santa Maria! "I don't suppose you did," said Clif, calmly.
But a short time before Clif had left the shore for the second time, the blockade runner had slowed down, and a boat, manned by half a dozen sailors, had been sent ashore. An officer in the Spanish army, with important dispatches, was to be taken aboard at a point not far from where Clif had landed.
The remark required no answer, and got none. Clif did not mean to bandy words with the officer; if he wanted to taunt him he was welcome to do so. "We treat our prisoners more politely," he thought, "but I suppose this is the Spanish way." Meanwhile the officer went on. "You will be less impudent later on," he snarled, "when you learn what is in store for you. You've no idea, I presume."
"It is an Americano! Death to the American pigs!" The occupants of the boats were Spaniards. The position in which Clif found himself was so startlingly unexpected and so full of peril that for a brief instant it almost unnerved him.
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