The Complete Works of Stephen Crane (193 page)

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 two 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.

VI

The
Chicken
was doing her best. Pent’s posture at the wheel seemed to indicate that her best was about thirty-four knots. In his eagerness he was braced as if he alone was taking in a 10,000 ton battleship through Hell Gate.

But the
Chicken
was not too far in the rear and Pent could see clearly that he was to have no minor part to play. Some of the antique shells had struck the
Holy Moses
and he could see the escaped steam shooting up from her. She lay close inshore and was lashing out with four six-pounders as if this was the last opportunity she would have to fire them. She had made the Spanish gunboats very sick. A solitary gun on the one moored to the wharf was from time to time firing wildly; otherwise the gunboats were silent. But the beach in front of the town was a line of fire. The
Chicken
headed for the
Holy Moses
and, as soon as possible, the six-pounder in her bow began to crack at the gunboat moored to the wharf.

In the meantime, the
Chancellorville
prowled off the bar, listening to the firing, anxious, acutely anxious, and feeling her impotency in every inch of her smart steel frame. And in the meantime, the
Adolphus
squatted on the waves and brazenly waited for news. One could thoughtfully count the seconds and reckon that, in this second and that second, a man had died — if one chose. But no one did it. Undoubtedly, the spirit was that the flag should come away with honour, honour complete, perfect, leaving no loose unfinished end over which the Spaniards could erect a monument of satisfaction, glorification. The distant guns boomed to the ears of the silent blue-jackets at their stations on the cruiser.

The
Chicken
steamed up to the
Holy Moses
and took into her nostrils the odour of steam, gunpowder and burnt things. Rifle bullets simply steamed over them both. In the merest flash of time, Pent took into his remembrance the body of a dead quartermaster on the bridge of his consort. The two megaphones uplifted together, but Pent’s eager voice cried out first. “Are you injured, sir?”

“No, not completely. My engines can get me out after — after we have sunk those gunboats.” The voice had been utterly conventional but it changed to sharpness. “Go in and sink that gunboat at anchor.”