A Prisoner of Morro Part 44

He began divesting himself of his blouse and trousers as he spoke.

"What do you mean to do, sir?" asked the men, wonderingly.

"Swim for it," replied Clif. "That's the only way."

"But, sir----"

"Don't delay me," said Clif. "Every moment is precious now."

With this he quietly slid into the water and with quick, powerful strokes shot through the waves toward the boat.

Clif was in his element.

In the whole s.h.i.+p's crew none excelled him in swimming and diving, and it was with a feeling of confidence that he forced his way through the water.

He made not a sound as he went along--for it was to avoid alarming the Spaniards that he had hit upon this plan.

The boat was not far from sh.o.r.e and he reached it in a few moments. He was overjoyed to recognize that it was, as he expected, one of the boats from the flags.h.i.+p.

There were two occupants of the boat, one at the oars and the other in the stern. Clif did not recognize them, but he did not pause on that account. Time was precious, and the boat must be gotten to sh.o.r.e and the balance of the party taken aboard without delay.

"Boat ahoy!" he exclaimed joyously, as he reached the side without having been seen by the occupants. "Take me aboard, men, and then pull for the sh.o.r.e for all you are worth."

Clif's sudden appearance and the words he spoke had a startling effect upon the oarsman by whose side Clif made his appearance.

The latter started with an oath, and as Clif seized the side of the boat and raised himself partly from the water, his gaze fell upon the glistening barrel of a revolver and back of it he saw a face distorted with rage and hate.

"Carramba!" fell upon Clif's ear. "It is an Americano! Death to the American pigs!"

The occupants of the boats were Spaniards.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A STRUGGLE AGAINST ODDS.

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.

Had he suspected the possibility of the boat being manned by Spaniards, he would have given up the thought as soon as he recognized it as one belonging to the flags.h.i.+p. It seemed natural that a boat should be sent to look for them after their protracted absence, and it was a decided shock to find that he had fallen, alone and unarmed, in the way of his enemies.

But his surprise affected him but for an instant. He did not propose to be shot down if he could help it.

The report of the pistol that met Clif's gaze rang out upon the air, but the bullet did not reach its intended mark.

Like a flash Clif had released his hold upon the boat, and dropped beneath the water, just in the nick of time.

The Spaniard peered over the side of the boat in the darkness, expecting to see Clif's form appear on the surface, and hoping to see his life's blood staining the waters, a testimony to his marksmans.h.i.+p.

How could he have failed to send that bullet cras.h.i.+ng through the American's brain? thought he.

But nothing of the sort happened. Clif not only was not wounded, but was chipper as a lark. When he disappeared, he dove under the boat and rose again on the opposite side. The Spaniard would look in vain in that spot for his intended victim.

But the Spaniard in the bow discovered Clif's head as it appeared for an instant above the water. With an imprecation of wrath he called his companion's attention to the spot. But one of them was armed, it seemed.

The other rushed to that side, but when he looked in the direction indicated, revolver in hand, Clif had again disappeared.

The American lad was as lively as a cricket, and busy thoughts surged through his brain.

In the first place, he did not propose being a target for a Spanish bullet. But, above all, he wanted that boat, and, like the cowboy when he wants a revolver, wanted it "bad."

"How can I get it?" he thought, as his dive brought him up near the bow of the boat. Help came from an unexpected source, for a few moments after, he was driven by a new peril to attempt the only plan that could accomplish it.

The agency that led to his delivery was a shark. That was not the every-day business of his shark-s.h.i.+p--that of saving an imperiled life for those inhabitating those waters are especially hungry and voracious.

But it happened this way: As Clif was quietly keeping himself afloat at the bow of the boat, confident that in that position he ran little risk of immediate discovery by his enemies, the plans and schemes revolving in his mind were brought to a sudden standstill by a sight that filled him with horror. A sharp triangular fin cutting the water like a knife, flashed past him.

"Merciful Heaven!" he muttered under his breath. "A shark!"

Death faced him on every side. To be sure he might frighten the shark by churning the surface of the water, but that very act would betray him to a no less certain death at the hands of his enemies.

His resolve, a desperate one that caused him to shudder as he formed it, was reached on the instant. The broad back of his enemy, who sat in the stern, was within easy reach, and inspired his action.

Quick as a flash Clif grasped the stern of the boat with one hand and with one mighty effort raised himself high out of the water. Before the Spaniard could divine what was happening, Clif's free arm was thrown around the fellow's neck, and he was drawn back into the water behind him.

An instant after Clif clambered over the stern into the boat. With a shudder at the thought of the fate that awaited the luckless Spaniard, he addressed himself to the work that lay before him.

And there was plenty of it, and lively, too, while it lasted.

The other Spaniard, who had been peering into the water ahead, turned sharply around when he heard the noise made by the splash of his companion, and in the act involuntarily dropped the revolver.

What must have been his feelings upon beholding the lithe and dripping form of the plucky young American emerging from the sea, may well be imagined.

But Clif did not pause to study the effects. He seized an oar and sprang toward his remaining foe.

"Surrender, you villain!" he cried in Spanish as he advanced.

The Spaniard seized an oar and with an oath sprang toward the American.

And there, on the quiet bosom of the water in the dim light of night, ensued a stubbornly contested duel, in which oars took the place of broadsword and sabre.

Clif fought savagely and desperately. His blood was up, and he knew that now, if ever, he was, fighting for his life.

But in the end it was fortune that favored him. A chance blow upon his antagonist's head rendered the latter unconscious, and victory again perched upon the young American's banner.

There was no time for exultation, even if he had felt that way. The work had been too serious, and necessity for action was too imperative.