University of Virginia Library

VII

PENT took his little bloodstained towboat out to the Holy Moses. The yacht was already under way for the bay entrance. As they

were passing out of range, the Spaniards heroically redoubled their fire—which is their custom. Pent, moving busily about the decks, stopped suddenly at the door of the engine-room. His face was set and his eyes were steely. He spoke to one of the engineers. "During the action I saw you firing at the enemy with a rifle. I told you once to stop, and then I saw you at it again. Pegging away with a rifle is no part of your business. I want you to understand that you are in trouble." The humbled man did not raise his eyes from the deck. Presently the Holy Moses displayed an anxiety for the Chicken's health.

"One killed and four wounded, sir."

"Have you enough men left to work your ship?"

After deliberation Pent answered, "No, sir."

"Shall I send you assistance?"

"No, sir. I can get to sea all right."

As they neared the point they were edified by the sudden appearance of a serio-comic ally. The Chancellorville at last had been unable to stand the strain, and sent in her launch with an ensign, five seamen, and a number of marksmen marines. She swept hotfoot around the point, bent on terrible slaughter; the 1-pounder of her bow presented a formidable appearance. The Holy Moses and the Chicken laughed until they brought indignation to the brow of the young ensign. But he forgot it when with some of his men he boarded the Chicken to do what was possible for the wounded. The nearest surgeon was aboard the Chancellorville. There was absolute silence on board the cruiser as the Holy Moses steamed up to report. The blue-jackets listened with all their ears. The commander of the yacht spoke slowly into his megaphone: "We have—destroyed—the two— gunboats—sir."

There was a burst of confused cheering on the forecastle of the Chancellorville, but an officer's cry quelled it.

"Very—good. Will—you—come aboard?"

Correspondents were already on the deck of the cruiser, and although for a time they learned only that the navy can preserve a classic silence, they in the end received the story which is here told. Before the last of the wounded were hoisted aboard the cruiser the Adolphus was on her way to Key West. When she arrived at that port of desolation, Shackles fled to file the telegrams and the other correspondents fled to the hotel for clothes, good clothes, clean clothes; and food, good food, much food; and drink, much drink, any kind of drink.

Days afterward, when the officers of the noble squadron received the newspapers containing an account of their performance they looked at each other somewhat dejectedly: "Heroic assault— grand daring of Boatswain Pent—superb accuracy of the Holy Moses' fire—gallant tars of the Chicken—their names should be remembered as long as America stands—terrible losses of the enemy—"

When the Secretary of the Navy ultimately read the report of Lieutenant-Commander Surrey he had to prick himself with a dagger in order to remember that anything at all out of the ordinary had occurred.

THE END