The Sportsman's Club Afloat

by Harry Castlemon

Tomlinson waited to hear no more. Resigning the wheel into Pierre’s hands, he ran forward, and the latter, as soon as the men had been stationed at the fore and main sheets, changed the yacht’s course, heading her across a bar at the entrance to the harbor, and standing close along shore. The wisdom of this manœuvre was very soon made apparent. In less than ten minutes afterward, there was a bright flash behind them, accompanied by a shrieking sound in the air, and a twelve pound shell went skipping along the waves and burst far in advance of the yacht. Had she been in the channel, which vessels of large size were obliged to follow in going in and out of the harbor, she would have been directly in range of it. Another and another followed, and finally every gun on the seaward side of the fort was sending its missiles in the direction the Banner was supposed to have gone. The deserters looked and listened in amazement; but finding that they were out of reach of the shells, their alarm began to abate.

“Now, this is like old times,” exclaimed Bob, placing his left hand behind his back, extending his right, and glancing along the yacht’s rail, in the attitude of the captain of a gun when about to pull the lock-string. “Don’t I wish this craft was the old Indianola, as good as she was the day she ran the batteries at Vicksburg, and I had one of those eleven-inch guns under my eye, loaded with a five-second shell?”

“You’ll wish for her many a time to-night, for the fun isn’t over yet,” observed Pierre. “It is only just beginning. Now keep silence, fore and aft, so that I can hear what Tom has to say about the water.”

For an hour Tomlinson kept heaving the lead, passing the word back to Pierre with every throw, and all this while the Banner, with every inch of her canvas spread, bounded along as close to the shore as her captain dared to go. For fifteen minutes of this time the fort continued to send its shots and shells along the channel, and then the firing ceased and all was still again. Pierre kept close watch of the shore as the yacht flew along, and finally turning into a little bay, sailed up within sight of a stone jetty that put out from the shore, and came to anchor. This was Don Casper’s wharf Pierre knew it, for he had often been there; and he knew too that a short distance away, among the negro quarters, was a storehouse containing an abundance of corn-meal, flour and bacon. This was the place to secure the provisions.

“There!” exclaimed the captain, as the Banner swung around with her head to the waves, “we’re so far on our way to Havana, and we haven’t been long getting here, either. Now we’ve no time to lose. Who’s the best swimmer in the party?”

“I am,” said Tomlinson confidently.

“Well, then, come here. Do you see that wharf out there, and the yawls lying alongside of it? Just swim out and bring one of ’em back, and we’ll go ashore and get the grub. Be in a hurry, for we want to get our business done and put to sea again before that man-o’-war comes up and blockades us.”

Tomlinson at once divested himself of his pea-jacket, overshirt and shoes, and plunging fearlessly into the waves made his way to the shore. While there, notwithstanding Pierre’s suggestion that haste was desirable, he took it into his head to reconnoitre the plantation. He found the storehouse, and saw the overseer—the same man who liberated Chase and Wilson from the wine-cellar—serving out provisions to the negroes. After noting the position of the building, so that he could easily find it again, he secured one of the yawls, hoisted a sail in it, and returning to the yacht brought off his companions. Pierre knowing more than the deserters, and believing that it might not be quite safe to trust himself too far away from the yacht, remained at the wharf, while Tomlinson and the rest of the deserters, armed with handspikes which they had brought from the vessel, went to the storehouse after the provisions.

And what were the boys in the hold doing all this while? They would not have believed that a full hour and a half had elapsed since they discovered and liberated Bab, for they were busy and the time flew quickly by. In the first place, each boy crammed his pockets full of cartridges and took possession of one of the carbines, and the rest were carefully hidden among the ballast, for fear that they might by some accident fall into the hands of the deserters. When this had been done, Eugene, with his usual impetuosity and lack of prudence, began to urge an immediate attack upon the captors of the yacht; but Walter and Perk thought it best to adhere to the original plan, and keep themselves concealed until the yacht was well out to sea, or, at all events, until she was clear of the harbor. They argued that when the attack was made it would produce something of a commotion on deck, which might attract the attention of the crews of some of the neighboring vessels, and perhaps of the Spanish officials; and, although the Banner was their own property, and they had as good a right in Cuba as any of their countrymen, they did not wish to be called upon to make any explanations. Bab sided with Walter and Perk, and Eugene was obliged to yield. It was well that he did not carry his point, for had the lawful captain of the yacht been in command when she was hailed by the revenue officer, he would have obeyed the order to lie to, and he and his crew would have been carried back to town and thrown into jail as smugglers. The officer would have found proof against them too; and such proof as Walter knew nothing about.