Part 8

“We will stick it out as we are till sunset,” he said abruptly. “Nothing more can happen before then. How are the ladies, Johnny?”

“I’m afraid they’ll go under if we have many days like this, Cap’n Mike. This is an infernal place to be cooped up in.”

“I am ashamed to face them, Johnny. ’Tis all my fault that they are in this mess with us. I should have put them ashore when I had the chance. But a sailor will think of his ship when he can save her, and ’tis his chronic notion that he is safer at sea than anywhere else.”

Through the long, long day the sun poured wickedly into the fortification. The cruiser rolled lazily at her anchorage and made no sign of renewing the attack. O’Shea lay flat behind a small embrasure and vainly searched the sea for the sight of a merchant-steamer which might intervene in behalf of the castaways. This was his last hope.

With a weary sigh he watched the red sun slant lower and lower. His lucky star had failed him. He made his decision. Presently he beckoned Gerald Van Steen and asked him to go outside the fortification, where they could have speech in private. The young man was sullen, but O’Shea smiled with engaging friendliness and said:

“’Tis no time to nurse grudges, me lad. Let us shake hands and forget it.”

“Oh, I’m not thinking of that row of ours,” wearily muttered Van Steen. “It’s of no consequence now. I’m not such a howling cad as to consider myself in any way. What do you propose to do with Miss Forbes and Miss Hollister? I have kept my mouth shut all day, waiting for the great Captain Mike O’Shea to do what would have occurred to any man with his wits about him.”

“May I ask what it is that ye would call so plain to see?” patiently queried the shipmaster.

“Signal to the cruiser that you have in your company three persons who were picked up from their yacht. Or you could have sent us off on the life-raft, and given me a chance to explain matters to the commander and show him my credentials. I don’t want to be a quitter, you know, but really this is none of my affair, and my first duty is to get these ladies home in safety.”

“I grant ye that,” slowly replied O’Shea. “And I think no less of you for wishing to leave us to stew in our own juice. You have behaved very well, barring the one flare-up with me. Now I will explain why what ye suggest is not so easy. The cruiser would pay no heed to signals about you. ’Twould be looked at as some kind of a trick. Can ye not realize that the master of the navy vessel yonder is wild with rage to exterminate me and the rest of the _Fearless_ company? He sees red, man. As for sending ye on the life-raft, it means that several of me own men must go with you to handle the lubberly thing. And they would be dragged aboard the cruiser and held there. I was willing to go meself, but I could not navigate the raft so short-handed. And I hoped the luck might turn before night.”

Van Steen had lost his hostile expression. He regretted his hasty words of condemnation. The intonations of O’Shea’s voice strangely moved him. And the sailor’s face, no longer bold and reckless, held a certain quality of gentleness, one might almost call it sweetness.

“Oh, confound it!” cried Van Steen. “You put me in the wrong, as usual. And I’m damned if I can feel square in trying to quit you and leaving you to take your medicine. I am one of the crowd, don’t you see, and proud of it. They are a bully sort.”

“I have never been crowded into such a tight corner,” said O’Shea with a smile, “but ’tis the way of life that when a man is young and strong, and used to long chances, he thinks he will not be tripped. This is my affair, not yours, so trouble yourself no more.”

“What do you propose to do, Captain O’Shea? You have made up your mind, I can see that.”

“The cruiser will be in a mood to hold communication with us now. ’Twould have been useless to try it this morning. But they have discovered that ’tis not easy to smoke us out of our hole.”

Presently he unrolled a bundle of signal-flags saved from the _Fearless_, and selected those he wished to use. Knotting them together, he hoisted the string on the spar beneath the American ensign. The commander of the cruiser read the message requesting that a boat be sent ashore in order to discuss terms of surrender. He was in no mood to discuss terms of any kind, but it appeared necessary to parley with these unspeakable scoundrels on the key. Perhaps they realized the hopelessness of their obstinacy and their spirit was broken.

A cutter was manned, and as it skimmed over the calm sea and drew near the breakers Captain O’Shea walked to the beach, Colonel Calvo accompanying him as interpreter. Van Steen followed as a rightful participant in the conference. The ladies were requested to remain within the fortification. It was not to be taken for granted that the cruiser would respect a truce. The seamen and the Cubans behind the banks of sand were savage and desperate, as was to be expected of men for whom surrender meant the firing-squad.

The crew of the cutter held her off the beach as the part of caution. They were ready to pull out to sea at a moment’s notice. O’Shea and Colonel Calvo splashed into the water and stood beside the boat. The commander himself was in the stern-sheets, a corpulent, black-bearded man of an explosive temper. He waited, glowering, for O’Shea to speak. He would waste no courtesy on pirates.

“You will play fair with me,” said the shipmaster, and Colonel Calvo translated as well as he was able. “I have ye covered with fifty rifles. I am Captain Michael O’Shea. Ye may have heard tell of me.”

The commander nodded and profanely replied that he knew nothing good of Captain O’Shea or the _Fearless_. It was an act of God that they would make no more voyages.

“Much obliged for your kind wishes,” resumed O’Shea. “I am sorry to have put you to so much trouble. I will waste no more words. I have in me party the young man standing yonder on the beach and two ladies that I picked up adrift from a stranded American yacht. ’Tis not right for them to suffer any longer. I want ye to carry them to port.”

The commander had heard of no wrecked yacht in these waters. As for the women, it was most unfortunate for them. Captain O’Shea had only to surrender his force and the women would be taken on board the cruiser and properly provided for. Then the story could be investigated.

O’Shea broke in angrily to say to Colonel Calvo:

“He is like a mad bull. There is no reason in him at all. He will make us surrender sooner, he thinks, to save the ladies. He will use any weapon that comes to hand.”

The Spanish commander raised an arm in an impassioned gesture. As if unable longer to restrain himself, he shouted:

“My brother was the captain of the gun-boat that perished in Santa Marta Bay, and he died with his vessel. By the blood of God, shall I parley with you?”

Gerald Van Steen waded out to the boat. He would speak for himself. That there should be any question of rescuing Nora Forbes and Miss Hollister fairly stunned him. His bearing was intrepid, but his lip quivered as he imploringly exclaimed to Colonel Calvo:

“Tell him that I don’t care a hang about what happens to me if he will take the women off. And if money will tempt him, I’ll pay down my last dollar to save the lives of the whole party. He will be a rich man.”

The Spanish officer laughed with a contemptuous shrug. His heavy visage was inflamed. He was of that type of his race which regarded Americans as “Yankee pigs.” Personal hatred and the desire of private vengeance made him proof against bribery. Moreover, he had no faith in the protestations of Van Steen. As O’Shea had put it, he was a man who saw red. The futility of appealing to him was so obvious that O’Shea interfered to play his trump card.

“If you land your sailors to-night and try to take us,” said he, and his voice was hard and deliberate, “’twill be the toughest job ye ever tackled. We have nothing to lose, and we will be behind the earthworks yonder. You can gamble that there will be two dead Spaniards for every one of us ye wipe out. As for starving us, I have thought it over, and ye will not try it. You would be laughed at from Havana to Madrid for not daring to attack a handful of shipwrecked men. Ye have a dilemma by the horns. And your rage has made ye blind as a bat. You are all for giving us a short shrift, and no doubt your hot-headed officials in Havana have egged ye on to it. But it will make a big diplomatic row, and when the smoke clears ye will be sorry. It will sound very rotten that ye had no mercy on a crew of castaways. And I will say, for your own information, that Uncle Sam has been very touchy about these quick-action executions ever since the _Virginius_ affair.”

The commander had ceased to fume. He was doing O’Shea the favor of listening to him. The stronger personality had made an impression. O’Shea perceived this and he went on to say:

“What I am leading up to is this:--I am ready to surrender meself and face the consequences if you will take my guests aboard and leave my men and the Cubans on the key. They will take chances of being found by a friendly vessel. You will lose no lives. I am the man your government wants. You will win the big reward offered for the capture of Captain Michael O’Shea. And there will be no complications between your government and mine. ’Tis me own fault that the party is stranded here. I will pay the price. ’Twill be easy enough for ye to explain it. You can keep your crew quiet, and the story will go out that ye took me off the wreck of my steamer and the others got away.”

This was a proposal which took the commander all aback. He considered it in silence and his gaze was less unfriendly. O’Shea concluded with dogged vehemence:

“You can take it or leave it. If you refuse, you must come and take us, and, so help me, as I tell ye, it will cost you a slather of men before ye wipe out my outfit.”

Here was a lawless castaway, a man beyond the pale, who insolently defied the arms and majesty of Spain. But there was a certain plausible method in his madness which caused the commander to waver. His implacable hostility had sensibly diminished. It would, without doubt, win him great distinction to return to Havana with the redoubtable Captain Michael O’Shea a prisoner. As for the men of the outlawed party, most of them had been invisible from the cruiser, and their number was a mere matter of conjecture. It was therefore possible for the commander to inform his officers that in accepting the surrender of Captain O’Shea he had captured all of the expedition that was worth while seizing. He had served thirty years in the Spanish navy without seeing a man slain by bullet or shell. The prospect of a fierce and bloody engagement with men who would fight like wolves failed to arouse his enthusiasm.

“I will signal my answer in one hour,” said he. “What you propose has surprised me. It is most unusual. It was not expected.”

O’Shea waded ashore and Colonel Calvo offered his hand as they stood on the beach and watched the cutter dip its flashing oars in the ground-swell.

“I have dislike’ you sometimes,” said the colonel. “But now I tell you I have been much wrong. I will be ver’ proud to go with you to Havana if it will save the lives of my braves’ of soldiers.”

“You are a good man yourself when ye have terra firma under you,” was the hearty response.

Johnny Kent came trotting to meet them, exclaiming beseechingly:

“What was it all about, Cap’n Mike? Why couldn’t you put me next before you flew the signals?”

O’Shea painstakingly retold the argument which he had unfolded to the Spanish commander, and the chief engineer listened with his chin propped in his hand. He breathed heavily and grunted disapproval.

“But what else was I to do?” impatiently demanded O’Shea. “I got you all into this, and I must get you out. And maybe I have found a way.”

“That ain’t what I’m growlin’ about,” strenuously protested Johnny Kent. “Why didn’t you let me in on this deal? Why not let me surrender with you? Doggone it, I’m no slouch of a pirate myself, with considerable of a reputation. Perhaps the Spaniards might think I was worth bargainin’ for, too.”

“I want to go it alone, Johnny. ’Tis the only square thing to do.”

“But you and me have been playin’ the game together, Cap’n Mike. And you don’t ketch me layin’ down on you just because you’ve come to the end of your rope.”

“Not this time, Johnny. ’Tis only making us feel bad to wrangle about it.”

The castaways had ceased to gaze at the encircling horizon for sight of smoke or sail. It came, therefore, as an incredible thing when a sentry at an embrasure yelled and capered like a lunatic. Every one rushed out and beheld the black hull and towering upper-works of a huge passenger steamer. She was coming up from the westward and had altered her track as though curious to discover why the Spanish cruiser should be at anchor near the key. Would she halt or pass on her way? Captain O’Shea, unable to credit his vision, told his men to fire volleys, and ran up the signal-flags to read:

“_Stand by. We need assistance._”

It was more than he dared hope that the steamer would read his call for help, but she drew nearer and nearer the key, slowed speed, and rounded to within a few hundred yards of the Spanish cruiser.

“It’s a British vessel, a White Star liner,” bawled Johnny Kent. “What is she doin’ in these waters?”

“One of those winter-excursion cruisers out of New York, I take it,” replied O’Shea. “She is making a short cut across from the Leeward Islands or somewhere below us, running from port to port. I hope she will realize that this is no holiday excursion for us.”

The refugees made little noise. They were no longer actors but spectators. They saw the liner exchange signals with the cruiser. Apparently this method of communication was unsatisfactory, for soon a boat passed between the two vessels. There followed a heart-breaking delay. Dusk was obscuring the sea when a yawl pulled by a dozen British seamen moved from the liner’s side and danced toward the key. The ramparts of sand were instantly deserted. O’Shea’s men and the Cubans ran wildly to the beach, no longer afraid, confident that salvation had come to them. They rushed into the water and dragged the stout yawl high and dry.

There stepped ashore a stalwart, energetic man in the smart uniform of a captain in the White Star service. The crowd fell back as he brusquely demanded:

“What kind of a queer business is this? Where is the chief pirate?”

“O’Shea is me name,” acknowledged the leader. “’Tis quite a yarn, if ye have time and patience to hear it.”

“So you are O’Shea,” and the skipper of the _Caronic_ chuckled. “Take me inside that extraordinary sand-heap of yours, if you please, and talk as long as you like.”

He grasped O’Shea’s arm and they vanished within the empty defences.

“I have come ashore to get at the bottom of this fantastical situation,” said Captain Henderson of the _Caronic_, whose smile was both friendly and humorous. “The commander of the Spanish cruiser told me to keep my hands off and to go about my business. Cheeky, wasn’t it? He swore he had a nest of bloody pirates cornered on this key, and he expected to capture them to-night.”

“So he decided to turn down my proposition,” muttered O’Shea.

“He referred to it. But his officers were keen to win a bit of glory for themselves, and they argued him the other way round, as I figured it from his heated remarks. He didn’t relish the job of sailing into you chaps. In fact, the black-whiskered don was in a state of mind. Are you, by any chance, a British subject?”

“No, Captain Henderson, but I might find ye a Britisher or two among me crew. I have an assorted company of gentlemen of fortune.”

O’Shea explained matters at some length, and Captain Henderson vehemently interrupted to say:

“I don’t know that it makes a lot of difference whether you are British subjects or not. Blood is thicker than water. Shall I steam away and leave you to be shot on the say-so of a raving Spanish skipper?”

“I should be disappointed in you if ye did,” gravely answered O’Shea. “’Tis not what I would do for you.”

The master of the _Caronic_ permitted O’Shea to finish his narrative.

“So you picked up the Van Steen party?” he rapped out. “We heard of the loss of the _Morning Star_. The Spanish skipper out yonder said I might take them off in my ship before he attacked you.”

“And what do ye propose to do about us?” wistfully asked O’Shea. “Of course this is none of your row, and your ship is not a British navy vessel----”

“But I am a British seaman,” snapped Captain Henderson. “And you are shipwrecked people who have asked me for assistance. That is all I have to know. And, by George, it’s all I want to know.”

“And ye will take us off?”

“At once. And I imagine I had better land you in a British port. What about Jamaica?”

“Jamaica will suit us, Captain Henderson. The United States will not be salubrious for us until this piracy charge blows over. And the Cubans can dodge across to their native land. But what will ye do if the Spanish cruiser objects?”

“She will not fire on my flag,” thundered the master of the _Caronic_, “nor will she dare to take shipwrecked men from my decks. Tell your people to be ready to go aboard. I will signal my chief officer to send more boats.”

Cheering and weeping, the company of the _Fearless_ abandoned their stronghold. It was an evacuation with the honors of war, and the American ensign was left flying above the huge heap of sand.

Disinclined to join the jubilation, Captain Michael O’Shea wandered away from his seamen and stood gazing at the liner whose lights were blazing like a great hotel. Nora Forbes walked along the beach until she came to him. He waited for her to speak.

“I saw you leave the crowd,” said she, “and I followed you. I wanted to talk to you this afternoon--to tell you--to try to tell you--what I thought of the sacrifice you were prepared to make. Were you going away, to your death, without saying good-by to me?”

He took her hand in his as he answered:

“It was hard enough to face my finish without bidding farewell to you, Nora Forbes. But this is our good-by, here on the beach to-night.”

“What do you mean?” she exclaimed unsteadily. “Must I say it all--must I tell you in so many words--are you afraid to--oh, can’t you understand what I want you to know?”

“Yes, I think I understand,” and his voice was very gentle. “Look at the liner yonder.” He raised his arm in an eloquent gesture. “You will be aboard soon, and ye will be among hundreds of people that belong to your own world. And ye will sit at dinner with them in the grand saloon, and they will talk to you about the things you have known and lived with all your life. And ye will find out that you belong with them.

“As the days go by, Nora Forbes, you will wonder more and more if this voyage of ours ever really happened. ’Twill be like a dream of romance and adventure, and moonshine, that could not have been at all.”

“But this is real and all the rest of my life has been just make-believe,” she mournfully whispered.

“’Tis the magic of the sea and the strong winds, and the free life, but it will pass and you will be grateful to me that I could see clearly.”

“Why are you so sure? Why do you speak for me?”

“Because I would have ye happy, Nora Forbes. ’Tis what God made you for. Look at me, a rover and a rough one, and never will I be anything else. I am not fit to be in your company at all. You have talked very plain to me, for a girl like yourself. You thought to yourself that I was afraid of your social station and your money and your friends, and so you would be telling me that I had a chance with you because I would not say it for meself. ’Tis wonderful to have you step down from your throne and be kind to the likes of me. And it will make your memory sweet and fair to me as long as the breath is in me. But you are dreaming dreams, and you will awake when the liner has carried ye back to your own people.”

“But I can never again be happy there,” she faltered.

“Ah, yes, you can, and you will. And you will thank me.”

She stayed to hear no more, but turned and hastened back to her friends, angry, humiliated, unreconciled. The master of the _Fearless_ pulled his straw hat over his eyes and turned in the direction of his hilarious sailors. He hated himself, but he had no regrets.

“I had sooner be shot,” he said to himself, “than to talk to her like that. But every word of it was true. And maybe she will find it out. ’Tis a strange, queer world, full of surprisin’ things, and ’tis hard to steer a course that will not fetch you on the rocks. But I held true to me compass bearings this night, and the light that guided me was the right one.”

He mustered his men and held them ready for the boats from the liner. An hour later the defenders were welcomed on board the _Caronic_, which promptly sailed without consulting the Spanish cruiser. They were received as heroes and nothing was too good for them. But O’Shea refused to accept the first-cabin state-room offered him.

“You have an officers’ mess-room,” he told Captain Henderson, “and if ye don’t mind, I will stay with them and find a spare bunk for’ard.”