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It would be hard to imagine a vessel in a much greater predicament than the Uncas was at that moment. Everything was in confusion in an instant.
That is everything except one thing. Lieutenant Raymond was too busy to notice the coolness of one person on board; but he remembered it afterward, and with satisfaction.
It was Clif Faraday; he picked himself up from the deck where he had been flung and took one glance about him. Then he turned to the guns.
Whatever the position of the tug his duty just then remained the same. He could not free her, and so he did not waste any time rushing about. There was that Spanish merchantman calmly walking off to safety.
And there was a gleam of vengeance in the cadet's eye as he went to the gun again.
Those on board of the fleeing vessel had seen the success of their clever plan and they gave a wild cheer. It was answered from the shore batteries.
The steamer turned at once and headed out to sea; that put her broadside to the Uncas, and instantly the six-pounder blazed away.
That was the time to do the work, too. The vessel was quite near, and a fair mark. The Uncas was now steady, too, Clif thought grimly to himself.
One of the sailors saw what he was doing, and sprang to aid him. They banged away as fast as they could load.
At the same time the Spanish batteries opened. They had a fair mark, likewise, and plenty of time to aim. It was a race to see who could smash up their prey the quickest.
Clif would certainly have disabled the fleeing vessel if it had not been for an unfortunate accident. What the accident was may be told in a few words. It spoiled his chance.
He turned away to get more cartridges. And at that instant a shell struck the six-pounder gun.
It was a miracle that Clif was not hit; his uniform was torn in three places and his cap knocked off. The sailor next to him got a nasty wound in the arm, made by a flying fragment.
And that of course made the merchantman safe—she steamed off in triumph.
It was bad for the tug, too, for it showed the batteries were getting the range.
The plight of the Uncas was a desperate one. She was being tossed about by a raging sea and cut up by the fire from the guns. Whether she had struck on rocks or sand or mud no one had any means of telling.
But her engines were reversed the instant the accident occurred. And a hasty examination of the hold showed that whatever the danger was there was no leak.
But that seemed cold comfort, for at the rate the heavy batteries were blazing away there was likely to be a number of leaks in a very short while. And even a steel tug will not hold together long with a sea pounding over her like this one was.
Yet as it actually happened, that sea was the only thing that got the vessel out of her unfortunate predicament.
They were a great deal luckier than they would have dared to hope to be. For when they realized they were aground there was not a man on board who did not think his last hour was at hand.
But as it actually happened, the sand bar upon which the tug had driven lay some distance beneath the surface. And it had caught the vessel by the keel.
The engines throbbed wildly, doing their noblest to pull the vessel off; and then one after another came the great waves, tossing her this way and that, wrenching and twisting, lifting and lifting again, while every one on deck clung for his life.
There was a minute or two of agonizing suspense, while the shore batteries kept up a galling fire and the merchantman steamed out to sea, proud of her triumph.
And then suddenly came a wild cheer from the imperiled Americans. Then men fairly shrieked in a transport of delight.
"She's moving! She's started! She's safe!"
And the men fairly hugged each other for joy. Slowly, then faster, then faster still, and finally at full speed backward. The gallant tug had torn herself loose from the grip of the sand—and was free!
The baffled Spanish batteries redoubled their fire at that. One could almost imagine the gunners grinding their teeth with rage as they saw their prey escaping.
But grinding their teeth did not seem to sharpen their eyes. Their aim was as bad as ever, and the Uncas seemed like the proverbial man in the rainstorm who keeps dry by "dodging the drops."
The confusion on board of the "escaped" vessel may be imagined. How that triumphant captain must have sworn Spanish oaths.
It was a ticklish task that Lieutenant Raymond had before him then. He knew there were sand bars about. But he did not know where they were. And the task was to avoid them.
He did it by creeping along very slowly, in absolute indifference to the galling fire from the shore guns. He knew that there must be a channel, for he and the Spaniard had come in by it.
He had only a vague idea where it was. But the Uncas stopped and then crept slowly forward, heading north.
And after five minutes of torment they knew that they were safe. They were far enough from shore to start up again and get away from those Spanish guns. The gallant tug was quite battered by that time, but nobody cared for that in the wild rejoicing that prevailed.
The vessel swung around to port.
"And now for that prize!" muttered the lieutenant.
And he went for her, too, full speed ahead. He was mad now.
The vessel had gotten a start of about two miles. She had apparently exhausted her resources in the neighborhood of Cuba, for she was heading north, out to sea again.
"And so it's only a question of time," chuckled Clif. "We've got her!"
And so they had. The Spaniards must have realized it, too.
"Mr. Faraday," said the lieutenant, "try a shot from the starboard gun."
The shot was fired; and it did the work.
The merchantman had evidently had enough, and saw that there was no further hope.
For in full view of the shore batteries she swung round and came slowly to a halt, a signal that she surrendered. It made the Americans give another cheer, and it must have made the Spaniards on shore fairly yell.
For they began banging away, even at that distance, though they couldn't come anywhere near the tug.
As for the Americans, they sighed with relief. They had worked hard for that victory. And they felt that they had earned it. The race was over then, and they were happy.
Clif was so wearied by his heroic labor at that gun (he must have lifted and rammed some two hundred six-pounder cartridges) that he sat down on the wreck of the machine to wait until the two vessels drew near.
And the lieutenant gave up the wheel to one of the
