Complete Works of Stephen Crane

by Stephen Crane

  As the Adolphus rushed on, the sun suddenly emerged from behind grey clouds and its rays dealt titanic blows so that in a few minutes the sea was a glowing blue plain with the golden shine dancing at the tips of the waves. The coast of Cuba glowed with light. The pursuers displayed detail after detail in the new atmosphere. The voice of the cook was heard in high vexation. “Am I to git dinner as usual? How do I know? Nobody tells me what to do? Am I to git dinner as usual?”

  The mate answered ferociously. “Of course you are! What do you s’pose? Ain’t you the cook, you damn fool?”

  The cook retorted in a mutinous scream. “Well, how would I know? If this ship is goin’ to blow up — —”

  II

  The captain called from the pilot-house. “Mr. Shackles! Oh, Mr. Shackles!” The correspondent moved hastily to a window. “What is it, Captain?” The skipper of the Adolphus raised a battered finger and pointed over the bows. “See ‘er?” he asked, laconic but quietly jubilant. Another steamer was smoking at full speed over the sun-lit seas. A great billow of pure white was on her bows. “Great Scott!” cried Shackles. “Another Spaniard?”

  “No,” said the captain, “that there is a United States cruiser!”

  “What?” Shackles was dumfounded into muscular paralysis. “No! Are you sure?”

  The captain nodded. “Sure, take the glass. See her ensign? Two funnels, two masts with fighting tops. She ought to be the Chancellorville.”

  Shackles choked. “Well, I’m blowed!”

  “Ed!” said the captain.

  “Yessir!”

  “Tell the chief there is no hurry.”

  Shackles suddenly bethought him of his companions. He dashed to them and was full of quick scorn of their gloomy faces. “Hi, brace up there! Are you blind? Can’t you see her?”

  “See what?”

  “Why, the Chancellorville, you blind mice!” roared Shackles. “See ‘er? See ‘er? See ‘er?”

  The others sprang, saw, and collapsed. Shackles was a madman for the purpose of distributing the news. “Cook!” he shrieked. “Don’t you see ‘er, cook? Good Gawd, man, don’t you see ‘er?” He ran to the lower deck and howled his information everywhere. Suddenly the whole ship smiled. Men clapped each other on the shoulder and joyously shouted. The captain thrust his head from the pilot-house to look back at the Spanish ships. Then he looked at the American cruiser. “Now, we’ll see,” he said grimly and vindictively to the mate. “Guess somebody else will do some running,” the mate chuckled.

  The two gunboats were still headed hard for the Adolphus and she kept on her way. The American cruiser was coming swiftly. “It’s the Chancellorville!” cried Shackles. “I know her! We’ll see a fight at sea, my boys! A fight at sea!” The enthusiastic correspondents pranced in Indian revels.

  The Chancellorville — 2000 tons — 18.6 knots — 10 five-inch guns — came on tempestuously, sheering the water high with her sharp bow. From her funnels the smoke raced away in driven sheets. She loomed with extraordinary rapidity like a ship bulging and growing out of the sea. She swept by the Adolphus so close that one could have thrown a walnut on board. She was a glistening grey apparition with a blood-red water-line, with brown gun-muzzles and white-clothed motionless jack-tars; and in her rush she was silent, deadly silent. Probably there entered the mind of every man on board the Adolphus a feeling of almost idolatry for this living thing, stern but, to their thought, incomparably beautiful. They would have cheered but that each man seemed to feel that a cheer would be too puny a tribute.

  It was at first as if she did not see the Adolphus. She was going to pass without heeding this little vagabond of the high-seas. But suddenly a megaphone gaped over the rail of her bridge and a voice was heard measuredly, calmly intoning. “Hello — there! Keep — well — to — the — north’ard — and — out of my — way — and I’ll — go — in — and — see — what — those — people — want — —” Then nothing was heard but the swirl of water. In a moment the Adolphus was looking at a high grey stern. On the quarter-deck, sailors were poised about the breach of the after-pivot-gun.

  The correspondents were revelling. “Captain,” yelled Shackles, “we can’t miss this! We must see it!” But the skipper had already flung over the wheel. “Sure,” he answered almost at once. “We can’t miss it.”

  The cook was arrogantly, grossly triumphant. His voice rang along the deck. “There, now! How will the Spinachers like that? Now, it’s our turn! We’ve been doin’ the runnin’ away but now we’ll do the chasin’!” Apparently feeling some twinge of nerves from the former strain, he suddenly demanded: “Say, who’s got any whisky? I’m near dead for a drink.”

  When the Adolphus came about, she laid her course for a position to the northward of a coming battle, but the situation suddenly became complicated. When the Spanish ships discovered the identity of the ship that was steaming toward them, they did not hesitate over their plan of action. With one accord they turned and ran for port. Laughter arose from the Adolphus. The captain broke his orders, and, instead of keeping to the northward, he headed in the wake of the impetuous Chancellorville. The correspondents crowded on the bow.

  The Spaniards when their broadsides became visible were seen to be ships of no importance, mere little gunboats for work in the shallows back of the reefs, and it was certainly discreet to refuse encounter with the five-inch guns of the Chancellorville. But the joyful Adolphus took no account of this discretion. The pursuit of the Spaniards had been so ferocious that the quick change to heels-overhead flight filled that corner of the mind which is devoted to the spirit of revenge. It was this that moved Shackles to yell taunts futilely at the far-away ships. “Well, how do you like it, eh? How do you like it?” The Adolphus was drinking compensation for her previous agony.

  The mountains of the shore now shadowed high into the sky and the square white houses of a town could be seen near a vague cleft which seemed to mark the entrance to a port. The gunboats were now near to it.

  Suddenly white smoke streamed from the bow of the Chancellorville and developed swiftly into a great bulb which drifted in fragments down the wind. Presently the deep-throated boom of the gun came to the ears on board the Adolphus. The shot kicked up a high jet of water into the air astern of the last gunboat. The black smoke from the funnels of the cruiser made her look like a collier on fire, and in her desperation she tried many more long shots, but presently the Adolphus, murmuring disappointment, saw the Chancellorville sheer from the chase.

  In time they came up with her and she was an indignant ship. Gloom and wrath was on the forecastle and wrath and gloom was on the quarter-deck. A sad voice from the bridge said: “Just missed ‘em.” Shackles gained permission to board the cruiser, and in the cabin, he talked to Lieutenant-Commander Surrey, tall, bald-headed and angry. “Shoals,” said the captain of the Chancellorville. “I can’t go any nearer and those gunboats could steam along a stone sidewalk if only it was wet.” Then his bright eyes became brighter. “I tell you what! The Chicken, the Holy Moses and the Mongolian are on station off Nuevitas. If you will do me a favour — why, to-morrow I will give those people a game!”

  III

  The Chancellorville lay all night watching off the port of the two gunboats and, soon after daylight, the lookout descried three smokes to the westward and they were later made out to be the Chicken, the Holy Moses and the Adolphus, the latter tagging hurriedly after the United States vessels.

  The Chicken had been a harbour tug but she was now the U.S.S. Chicken, by your leave. She carried a six-pounder forward and a six-pounder aft and her main point was her conspicuous vulnerability. The Holy Moses had been the private yacht of a Philadelphia millionaire. She carried six six-pounders and her main point was the chaste beauty of the officer’s quarters.

  On the bridge of the Chancellorville, Lieutenant-Commander Surrey surveyed his squadron with considerable satisfaction. Presently he signalled to the lieutenant who commanded the Holy Moses and to the boatswain w
ho commanded the Chicken to come aboard the flag-ship. This was all very well for the captain of the yacht, but it was not so easy for the captain of the tug-boat who had two heavy lifeboats swung fifteen feet above the water. He had been accustomed to talking with senior officers from his own pilot house through the intercession of the blessed megaphone. However he got a lifeboat overside and was pulled to the Chancellorville by three men — which cut his crew almost into halves.

  In the cabin of the Chancellorville, Surrey disclosed to his two captains his desires concerning the Spanish gunboats and they were glad for being ordered down from the Nuevitas station where life was very dull. He also announced that there was a shore battery containing, he believed, four field guns — three-point-twos. His draught — he spoke of it as his draught — would enable him to go in close enough to engage the battery at moderate range, but he pointed out that the main parts of the attempt to destroy the Spanish gunboats must be left to the Holy Moses and the Chicken. His business, he thought, could only be to keep the air so singing about the ears of the battery that the men at the guns would be unable to take an interest in the dash of the smaller American craft into the bay.

  The officers spoke in their turns. The captain of the Chicken announced that he saw no difficulties. The squadron would follow the senior officer in line ahead, the S. O. would engage the batteries as soon as possible, she would turn to starboard when the depth of water forced her to do so and the Holy Moses and the Chicken would run past her into the bay and fight the Spanish ships wherever they were to be found. The captain of the Holy Moses after some moments of dignified thought said that he had no suggestions to make that would better this plan.

  Surrey pressed an electric bell; a marine orderly appeared; he was sent with a message. The message brought the navigating officer of the Chancellorville to the cabin and the four men nosed over a chart.

  In the end Surrey declared that he had made up his mind and the juniors remained in expectant silence for three minutes while he stared at the bulkhead. Then he said that the plan of the Chicken’s captain seemed to him correct in the main. He would make one change. It was that he should first steam in and engage the battery and the other vessels should remain in their present positions until he signalled them to run into the bay. If the squadron steamed ahead in line, the battery could, if it chose, divide its fire between the cruiser and the gunboats constituting the more important attack. He had no doubt, he said, that he could soon silence the battery by tumbling the earth-works on to the guns and driving away the men even if he did not succeed in hitting the pieces. Of course he had no doubt of being able to silence the battery in twenty minutes. Then he would signal for the Holy Moses and the Chicken to make their rush, and of course he would support them with his fire as much as conditions enabled him. He arose then indicating that the conference was at an end. In the few moments more that all four men remained in the cabin, the talk changed its character completely. It was now unofficial, and the sharp badinage concealed furtive affections, Academy friendships, the feelings of old-time ship-mates, hiding everything under a veil of jokes. “Well, good luck to you, old boy! Don’t get that valuable packet of yours sunk under you. Think how it would weaken the navy. Would you mind buying me three pairs of pajamas in the town yonder? If your engines get disabled, tote her under your arm. You can do it. Good-bye, old man, don’t forget to come out all right — —”

  When the captains of the Holy Moses and the Chicken emerged from the cabin, they strode the deck with a new step. They were proud men. The marine on duty above their boats looked at them curiously and with awe. He detected something which meant action, conflict, The boats’ crews saw it also. As they pulled their steady stroke, they studied fleetingly the face of the officer in the stern sheets. In both cases they perceived a glad man and yet a man filled with a profound consideration of the future.

  IV

  A bird-like whistle stirred the decks of the Chancellorville. It was followed by the hoarse bellowing of the boatswain’s mate. As the cruiser turned her bow toward the shore, she happened to steam near the Adolphus. The usual calm voice hailed the despatch boat. “Keep — that — gauze under-shirt of yours — well — out of the — line of fire.”

  “Ay, ay, sir!”

  The cruiser then moved slowly toward the shore, watched by every eye in the smaller American vessels. She was deliberate and steady, and this was reasonable even to the impatience of the other craft because the wooded shore was likely to suddenly develop new factors. Slowly she swung to starboard; smoke belched over her and the roar of a gun came along the water.

  The battery was indicated by a long thin streak of yellow earth. The first shot went high, ploughing the chaparral on the hillside. The Chancellorville wore an air for a moment of being deep in meditation. She flung another shell, which landed squarely on the earth-work, making a great dun cloud. Before the smoke had settled, there was a crimson flash from the battery. To the watchers at sea, it was smaller than a needle. The shot made a geyser of crystal water, four hundred yards from the Chancellorville.

  The cruiser, having made up her mind, suddenly went at the battery, hammer and tongs. She moved to and fro casually, but the thunder of her guns was gruff and angry. Sometimes she was quite hidden in her own smoke, but with exceeding regularity the earth of the battery spurted into the air. The Spanish shells, for the most part, went high and wide of the cruiser, jetting the water far away.

  Once a Spanish gunner took a festive side-show chance at the waiting group of the three nondescripts. It went like a flash over the Adolphus, singing a wistful metallic note. Whereupon the Adolphus broke hurriedly for the open sea, and men on the Holy Moses and the Chicken laughed hoarsely and cruelly. The correspondents had been standing excitedly on top of the pilot-house, but at the passing of the shell, they promptly eliminated themselves by dropping with a thud to the deck below. The cook again was giving tongue. “Oh, say, this won’t do! I’m damned if it will! We ain’t no armoured cruiser, you know. If one of them shells hits us — well, we finish right there. ‘Tain’t like as if it was our business, foolin’ ‘round within the range of them guns. There’s no sense in it. Them other fellows don’t seem to mind it, but it’s their business. If it’s your business, you go ahead and do it, but if it ain’t, you — look at that, would you!”

  The Chancellorville had sent up a spread of flags, and the Holy Moses and the Chicken were steaming in.

  V

  They, on the Chancellorville, sometimes could see into the bay, and they perceived the enemy’s gunboats moving out as if to give battle. Surrey feared that this impulse would not endure or that it was some mere pretence for the edification of the town’s people and the garrison, so he hastily signalled the Holy Moses and the Chicken to go in. Thankful for small favours, they came on like charging bantams. The battery had ceased firing. As the two auxiliaries passed under the stern of the cruiser, the megaphone hailed them. “You — will — see — the — en — em — y — soon — as — you — round — the — point. A — fine — chance. Good — luck.”

  As a matter of fact, the Spanish gunboats had not been informed of the presence of the Holy Moses and the Chicken off the bar, and they were just blustering down the bay over the protective shoals to make it appear that they scorned the Chancellorville. But suddenly, from around the point, there burst into view a steam yacht, closely followed by a harbour tug. The gunboats took one swift look at this horrible sight and fled screaming.

  Lieutenant Reigate, commanding the Holy Moses, had under his feet a craft that was capable of some speed, although before a solemn tribunal, one would have to admit that she conscientiously belied almost everything that the contractors had said of her, originally. Boatswain Pent, commanding the Chicken, was in possession of an utterly different kind. The Holy Moses was an antelope; the Chicken was a man who could carry a piano on his back. In this race Pent had the mortification of seeing his vessel outstripped badly.

  The entrance of the t
wo American craft had had a curious effect upon the shores of the bay. Apparently everyone had slept in the assurance that the Chancellorville could not cross the bar, and that the Chancellorville was the only hostile ship. Consequently, the appearance of the Holy Moses and the Chicken, created a curious and complete emotion. Reigate, on the bridge of the Holy Moses, laughed when he heard the bugles shrilling and saw through his glasses the wee figures of men running hither and thither on the shore. It was the panic of the china when the bull entered the shop. The whole bay was bright with sun. Every detail of the shore was plain. From a brown hut abeam of the Holy Moses, some little men ran out waving their arms and turning their tiny faces to look at the enemy. Directly ahead, some four miles, appeared the scattered white houses of a town with a wharf, and some schooners in front of it. The gunboats were making for the town. There was a stone fort on the hill overshadowing, but Reigate conjectured that there was no artillery in it.

  There was a sense of something intimate and impudent in the minds of the Americans. It was like climbing over a wall and fighting a man in his own garden. It was not that they could be in any wise shaken in their resolve; it was simply that the overwhelmingly Spanish aspect of things made them feel like gruff intruders. Like many of the emotions of war-time, this emotion had nothing at all to do with war.

  Reigate’s only commissioned subordinate called up from the bow gun. “May I open fire, sir? I think I can fetch that last one.”

  “Yes.” Immediately the six-pounder crashed, and in the air was the spinning-wire noise of the flying shot. It struck so close to the last gunboat that it appeared that the spray went aboard. The swift-handed men at the gun spoke of it. “Gave ‘m a bath that time anyhow. First one they’ve ever had. Dry ’em off this time, Jim.” The young ensign said: “Steady.” And so the Holy Moses raced in, firing, until the whole town, fort, waterfront, and shipping were as plain as if they had been done on paper by a mechanical draftsman. The gunboats were trying to hide in the bosom of the town. One was frantically tying up to the wharf and the other was anchoring within a hundred yards of the shore. The Spanish infantry, of course, had dug trenches along the beach, and suddenly the air over the Holy Moses sung with bullets. The shore-line thrummed with musketry. Also some antique shells screamed.