Chapter 7 ARRIVAL AT THE BROOKLYN-DISCOVERING A RAFT.

Not a man refused to obey.

Young Glory's actions had terrorized them.

Instantly they bent over their oars, and the boats once more began to move. Young Glory, torch in hand, still stood in the bow of one of the ammunition boats.

Jose Castro danced about like a maniac on the shore.

"You shall all be shot!" he cried. "The general will have you killed as traitors."

But the men rowed on, despite Jose's threats.

Dan Daly had started up when he heard the noise.

"Faith, an' I know the gentleman," he said, "though it's his name that's not in my mind now."

"It's Jose Castro."

"What?"

"True, Dan. There's no killing him."

"Shure, an' there's no tellin'."

The Irishman took up one of the rifles that lay at the bottom of the boat. It was loaded. He put it to his shoulder and fired.

Bang!

Then he took another and fired.

But by this time Jose had vanished. He had no desire to become a target for Dan Daly's rifle practice.

Meanwhile, the boats were rapidly nearing the shore behind, and fortunately the waves had fallen, or it would have gone hard with everybody.

Young Glory was keenly searching the water for the cruiser. He thought it possible that seeing the torch burning, he might show a light. This, of course was doubtful, for war ships in an enemy's waters, never display a light of any kind at night.

Boom!

"The cruiser!" shouted Young Glory, joyfully.

"Arrah! but it's sinkin' us she'll be."

"No, no, Dan. It's a shot across our bows. I'll wave the light again."

"An' faith it's little good that'll do."

"But it will. It shows we are not an enemy, for enemies don't give notice of their coming."

Young Glory continued to wave the torch, and the boats proceeded slowly.

"I see it!"

"What! Young Glory?"

"The cruiser. Look, Dan, you can just make it out in the darkness."

"Shure, an' ye're right."

"Give them a hail."

"Ahoy there! Ship ahoy!"

"Who are you?"

"Faith, an' it's Dan Daly's squadron arrivin'!"

From the cruiser came a burst of laughter. Evidently the people there had recognized the Irishman's voice.

The boats were nearer to the cruiser than they appeared to be, and a few minutes after this talk they were alongside the Brooklyn.

Instantly Dan Daly bounded up the gangway.

"Dan Daly!"

"Yes, sir," answered Dan, saluting. "It's back I'm glad to be."

"And I'm very glad to see you, Daly," answered Captain Miles, for it was he.

There was a crowd of officers standing around him. Late though it was, they were mostly on deck, for the light shown near the shore had excited their curiosity, and for a long time past they had been watching it, and discussing its meaning.

"It's some friends of mine below, sir. It's meself wants to ask 'em aboard."

"Do so."

"Arrah! an' ye'd betther be steppin' up lively, ye spalpeens. It's the skipper himself's waitin' to see ye."

Not a word of this speech did any of the Spaniards understand, but Young Glory instantly translated it for their benefit.

One after another they slowly filed up the gangway.

There were not less than forty of them, and it may be imagined that their appearance created a great sensation.

"Spaniards!" cried Captain Miles. "Why, it's a regular army."

"Widout arms, Yer Honor," said Dan. "It's meself has their guns and swords."

"This is most extraordinary, and what's this?"

"I report myself returned, sir."

"Young Glory!"

The skipper staggered back a few paces, he was so astounded.

"There are about forty rifles and as many cutlasses in the boats below, sir."

"They must be brought on board at once."

"That is not all, sir."

"Is there more, Young Glory?"

"Yes, sir. There are two large boats also filled with ammunition."

"That must be brought aboard, too."

The captain turned to the lieutenant-commander, and gave the necessary orders.

"Now, Young Glory, you and Dan Daly will come to my cabin at once. I want to hear all that's happened."

And he sat spellbound whilst Young Glory related the whole story, beginning with Dan's escape, and ending with the capture of the boats.

"It's a letter I had for you, sir," said Dan, "but faith, I couldn't get out to sea."

"The letter is no good now, Dan. Tear it up."

"No, no!" exclaimed Captain Miles, eagerly, taking possession of it. "This letter shall be preserved. It will be a memento of one of the bravest actions ever done by an American seaman."

It was little rest that Dan and Young Glory had that night.

Their comrades insisted on hearing every detail of their marvelous adventures, and the day had dawned before they sank to rest.

Each of them was indulged with an unusual allowance of sleep that night, on account of their great exertions, and when they awoke and went on deck, the shores of Cuba had faded from sight, and the gallant Cruiser Brooklyn was steaming through the Caribbean sea in an easterly direction.

"Where are we bound?" was the universal question now.

"Ask Young Glory. He knows everything," laughingly said one of the men.

"It's Porto Rico we're going to," cried one of the sailors. "I heard an officer say so."

"Porto Rico! That belongs to Spain, eh?" asked one of the sailors.

"Spain! Why, no! China, of course!"

"Ha, ha!"

The men were in the highest spirits now. They had not enjoyed the work of the past few days, cruising about off Valmosa and Monterey. Inaction is the last thing a blue jacket appreciates.

Now there was always something to do, and Captain Miles, a first-class officer, saw that everything was done to perfection.

"If we do go into action," he said, "it will not be our fault if we are beaten!"

The run to Porto Rico took some days.

The lookout men were on the alert, expecting to sight land every minute.

Suddenly there was a shout from one of them.

"Porto Rico at last!" cried one of the sailors, joyfully.

"A sail!" cried the lookout man.

"Where?"

"On the port bow!"

One of the officers instantly went to the top with his binocular, bringing it to bear on a small, far distant speck on the ocean.

"A sail, surely," he said, "but what is it?"

"Well, sir?" shouted Captain Miles.

"It is a sail, sir."

"What do you make of it, Mr. Robson?"

"Hard to say. Certainly not a battle ship, nor even a gun-boat."

"What, then?"

"Looks like a small boat, sir. Perhaps there may be people aboard, but at present it's impossible to say."

Mr. Robson was a lieutenant on the Brooklyn. He had been early in the war on the battle ship Indiana. There Young Glory had served under him, and had learned to appreciate the attention to duty and the bravery displayed by this gallant officer.

He and Captain Miles paced the deck now, talking over what should be done.

"I should send a boat, sir."

"We shall see in a minute or two what is best to be done, Mr. Robson. We're running directly for the sail."

"It's not a boat, sir!" cried Mr. Robson, after a while.

"Not a boat?"

"No."

"What, then?"

"A raft."

"You're right," said the captain, after another look. "A raft, sure enough, and what's more, is that there are people on it. Order out two boats."

"Yes, sir."

"They must start for the raft at once."

"Instantly, sir."

To lower the boats and man them does not take long on board a man-of-war. Every man knows his place, and the operation proceeds like clock work.

In a few minutes they were flying over the water towards the raft. Very soon they saw it was crowded with people. Some of them raised their hands as they saw the boats draw near.

"Poor souls!" said Dan Daly. "It's shipwrecked they are, an' starvin' too."

"Well, it won't take many minutes to remedy that, Dan."

"Pull hard, lads!" cried Mr. Robson. "Every minute counts in a case like this."

What a sight met the eyes of the blue jackets.

Half of the occupants of the raft were dead men. The survivors seemed to be, many of them, at the point of death. Very few had strength enough to rise even to a sitting position.

"No time for talking, lads," said Lieutenant Robson. "Get them back to the ship at once."

"And the dead, sir?"

"Throw them over. It's all that can be done."

Some stimulants had been taken with the boats, and by the time that the Brooklyn was reached one of the men had recovered sufficiently to talk. The others were carried below and given at once into the hands of the surgeon.

"You have suffered very much," said Captain Miles, kindly.

"Yes, but our troubles are over at last."

"You feel strong enough to talk?"

"Yes, captain. I'm the mate of the Mary Parker, a fruit ship bound from Rio Janeiro to New Orleans. We were attacked by the Spaniards, and our ship was captured."

"What was done with it?"

"The cargo-that is, the valuable part of it-was taken by the Spaniard, and our ship was sunk."

"And how came you on the water?"

"Oh, that is a terrible story. The Spaniards would not take us on board. The captain said that he had too many mouths to feed as it was."

"The wretch!"

"Wait. Many of the Spanish officers proposed that we should be sunk with the ship. It would save time, they said. Sometimes I think it would have been better if they had carried out their intention, for my poor comrades suffered torments before they died."

"It was merciless!"

"Then these men held a conference. After a lot of talk they came to a decision. It was decided that the carpenter should rig out a raft in a hasty fashion, and that we were to be put aboard it. And so we were. They sent us adrift on a few timbers without a bite to eat, or one drop of water."

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