A Prisoner of Morro; Or, In the Hands of the EnemySinclair, Upton
History
A Prisoner of Morro; Or, In the Hands of the Enemy
Sinclair, Upton
Spanish-American War, 1898 -- Fiction
It was a long pull, for the flagship lay well out to sea, but Clif did
not seem to feel the strain. He drew near the shore without detecting
any hostile movement or hearing any sound that would lead him to think
that the enemy were on the lookout.
He decided that it would be prudent not to land at the same spot as
previously. He therefore steered for a clump of trees a little further
down the coast, and still not a great distance from the hill where the
shell lay.
Not a sound from the enemy reached his ears as his boat grated upon the
sandy beach, and he sprang out to secure the painter to a bush.
Then, feeling that his revolver was ready and handy for business, he
cautiously began to steal his way through the shrubbery that fringed the
shore.
These screened his advance and soon he was ascending the steep bank in
the direction of the previous encounter. He was getting further away
from his boat and nearer and near to his destination.
"All serene, so far," he muttered, as he advanced steadily without any
adventure. "The Spaniards must have gone."
But suddenly, as he was about to step from the concealment of the trees
into a slight clearing that lay in his path, he heard a sound that
caused him to dodge quickly back. Looking out he saw a figure close at
hand and slowly approaching.
A step further and Clif would have brought himself directly within the
other's view.
It was not Clif's purpose to invite an encounter, although he grasped
his revolver in readiness for an emergency. He desired, rather, to avoid
it, and to quietly make his way to the spot where the shell lay. That
once secured, he felt that he could in the same way return to his boat
and to the flagship.
He therefore silently waited in his place of concealment to see what the
enemy would do. The latter evidently had not heard Clif's movements, and
continued slowly to advance, stooping occasionally and peering from side
to side.
"I think I know what you're after," muttered Clif below his breath. "But
you won't find it here; nor me, either," he added, as he began to edge
away from the position he held.
As he did so, the other turned and slowly continued his course in the
opposite direction.
The coast was again clear, and Clif lost no time in putting what
distance he could between himself and the unwelcome visitor. His course,
too, led him toward the mound of earth behind which lay the object of
his coming.
When he reached the spot where he had met the Cuban courier he found it
deserted. The Spaniards, after the escape of Clif and his men, had
evidently withdrawn.
With a light heart he sprang toward the rampart of earth and began to
ascend its side.
"In one minute it is mine," he thought exultingly, "and then back to the
flagship and the test!"
But a surprise was in store for him. As he vaulted over the top of the
mound on to the other side, he landed almost into the arms of a man who
was just ascending that side.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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