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Updated: June 4, 2025
"They are not men, but devils!" Clif heard some one say in Spanish, as they dropped their rifles and start on the run. Even the officer who had succeeded once in holding a remnant of his panic-stricken forces together, now gave up the fight and sprinted away as fast as the rest. Every man seemed to be looking for his own safety, and they did not pause to see what was behind them.
Clif glanced out at them several times; their presence was the only thing that made him hesitate to do what he had resolved. "For they haven't done anything, poor devils," he thought to himself, "I wish I knew what to do with them." But there was only one thing that could be done; that was to put them off in a small boat, and that would be practically murdering them.
It seemed to stand a good chance of doing it, too; for it was evidently a very swift boat, and the pursuing vessel was still far away. "That's the queerest thing that ever happened," exclaimed Clif, when a sufficient time had elapsed to enable the shell to explode if it was ever going to. "What possessed them to fire over here, and what's the matter with the shell?
And the lieutenant turned toward the two Americans. "You are free," he said, quietly. "Fly for your lives!" It is needless to say that Clif stared at the man in amazement. But an instant before he had heard him state that he was willing to assume responsibility for them as prisoners. And now he was saying that they were free! But there was no time to ask any questions.
"What's the matter with those fellows?" exclaimed Clif. "Are they afraid to land?" "Hadn't we better signal them, sir?" suggested the man. "They don't know where we are." The boat had again turned and was apparently patroling up and down, seemingly waiting for just such assistance in locating the position of the waiting sailors.
And moreover, he was aiding Clif, his rival, the one who was robbing him of his heart's desire; he was helping him to freedom so that the cadet, when his work in the war was done, might claim the woman he loved as his reward. That was heroism; not the noisy kind in the battle, which every one sees and applauds, but the quiet kind that knows it is right and cares for no one else.
For a while after that nothing more was said, and the tug plowed its way through the tossing water. When the lieutenant spoke again it was to point to the gun. "Try it again," he said. And Clif did try it. The two ships were then not over three or four miles apart, and when the cadet fired again he heard the lieutenant give a pleased exclamation. "They're within range!"
The work of the Spanish boat's crew had been expeditiously performed, and when Clif sent up his signal, they were returning to the ship. Unnoticed by Clif in his excitement at the time, they were close to one side of his boat at that fateful moment. A pistol shot suddenly ringing out in the air and a bullet flying not far from his head apprised the cadet of danger from that quarter.
The papers were evidently written in Spanish, and though the American officers could not read them, they now had conceived sufficient confidence in Clif to believe that they were indeed of importance. The shell, whose quest had caused Clif so much peril and danger, was a curious affair. It had been cunningly contrived for the purpose it had so admirably fulfilled.
There were wild rumors concerning Spanish fleets, Cadiz squadrons and Cape Verde squadrons and Mediterranean squadrons, which were continually being sighted or heard of nearby; and for all Clif knew the decisive battle of the war might be fought at any time. And he felt that if it took place while he was absent he would never cease to regret it as long as he lived.
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