The Complete Works of Stephen Crane (191 page)

“Well?” said Little Nell.

“Yes,” said Shackles, nodding.

Little Nell departed.

“That blanket you lent me,” Tailor called after him, “is back there somewhere with Point.”

Little Nell noted that many of the men who were wandering among the wounded seemed so spent with the toil and excitement of their first action that they could hardly drag one leg after the other. He found himself suddenly in the same condition, His face, his neck, even his mouth, felt dry as sun-baked bricks, and his legs were foreign to him. But he swung desperately into his five-mile task. On the way he passed many things: bleeding men carried by comrades; others making their way grimly, with encrimsoned arms; then the little settlement of the hospital squad; men on the ground everywhere, many in the path; one young captain dying, with great gasps, his body pale blue, and glistening, like the inside of a rabbit’s skin. But the voice of the Cuban wood-dove, soft, mellow, sweet, singing only of love, was no longer heard from the wealth of foliage.

Presently the hurrying correspondent met another regiment coming to assist — a line of a thousand men in single file through the jungle. “Well, how is it going, old man?” “How is it coming on?” “Are we doin’ ‘em?” Then, after an interval, came other regiments, moving out. He had to take to the bush to let these long lines pass him, and he was delayed, and had to flounder amid brambles. But at last, like a successful pilgrim, he arrived at the brow of the great hill overlooking Siboney. His practised eye scanned the fine broad brow of the sea with its clustering ships, but he saw thereon no
Eclipse
despatch boats. He zigzagged heavily down the hill, and arrived finally amid the dust and outcries of the base. He seemed to ask a thousand men if they had seen an
Eclipse
boat on the water, or an
Eclipse
correspondent on the shore. They all answered, “No.”

He was like a poverty-stricken and unknown suppliant at a foreign Court. Even his plea got only ill-hearings. He had expected the news of the serious wounding of Tailor to appal the other correspondents, but they took it quite calmly. It was as if their sense of an impending great battle between two large armies had quite got them out of focus for these minor tragedies. Tailor was hurt — yes? They looked at Little Nell, dazed. How curious that Tailor should be almost the first — how
very
curious — yes. But, as far as arousing them to any enthusiasm of active pity, it seemed impossible. He was lying up there in the grass, was he? Too bad, too bad, too bad!

Little Nell went alone and lay down in the sand with his back against a rock. Tailor was prostrate up there in the grass. Never mind. Nothing was to be done. The whole situation was too colossal. Then into his zone came Walkley the invincible.

“Walkley!” yelled Little Nell. Walkley came quickly, and Little Nell lay weakly against his rock and talked. In thirty seconds Walkley understood everything, had hurled a drink of whisky into Little Nell, had admonished him to lie quiet, and had gone to organise and manipulate. When he returned he was a trifle dubious and backward. Behind him was a singular squad of volunteers from the
Adolphus
, carrying among them a wire-woven bed.

“Look here, Nell!” said Walkley, in bashful accents; “I’ve collected a battalion here which is willing to go bring Tailor; but — they say — you — can’t you show them where he is?”

“Yes,” said Little Nell, arising.

When the party arrived at Siboney, and deposited Tailor in the best place, Walkley had found a house and stocked it with canned soups. Therein Shackles and Little Nell revelled for a time, and then rolled on the floor in their blankets. Little Nell tossed a great deal. “Oh, I’m so tired. Good God, I’m tired. I’m — tired.”

In the morning a voice aroused them. It was a swollen, important, circus voice saying, “Where is Mr. Nell? I wish to see him immediately.”

“Here I am, Rogers,” cried Little Nell.

“Oh, Nell,” said Rogers, “here’s a despatch to me which I thought you had better read.”

Little Nell took the despatch. It was: “Tell Nell can’t understand his inaction; tell him come home first steamer from Port Antonio, Jamaica.”

THE
REVENGE
OF
THE
ADOLPHUS

I

“Stand by.”

Shackles had come down from the bridge of the
Adolphus
and flung this command at three fellow-correspondents who in the galley were busy with pencils trying to write something exciting and interesting from four days quiet cruising. They looked up casually. “What for?” They did not intend to arouse for nothing. Ever since Shackles had heard the men of the navy directing each other to stand by for this thing and that thing, he had used the two words as his pet phrase and was continually telling his friends to stand by. Sometimes its portentous and emphatic reiteration became highly exasperating and men were apt to retort sharply. “Well, I
am
standing by, ain’t I?” On this occasion they detected that he was serious. “Well, what for?” they repeated. In his answer Shackles was reproachful as well as impressive. “Stand by? Stand by for a Spanish gunboat. A Spanish gunboat in chase! Stand by for
two
Spanish gunboats —
both
of them in chase!”

The others looked at him for a brief space and were almost certain that they saw truth written upon his countenance. Whereupon they tumbled out of the galley and galloped up to the bridge. The cook with a mere inkling of tragedy was now out on deck bawling, “What’s the matter? What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” Aft, the grimy head of a stoker was thrust suddenly up through the deck, so to speak. The eyes flashed in a quick look astern and then the head vanished. The correspondents were scrambling on the bridge. “Where’s my glasses, damn it? Here — let me take a look. Are they Spaniards, Captain? Are you sure?”

The skipper of the
Adolphus
was at the wheel. The pilot-house was so arranged that he could not see astern without hanging forth from one of the side windows, but apparently he had made early investigation. He did not reply at once. At sea, he never replied at once to questions. At the very first, Shackles had discovered the merits of this deliberate manner and had taken delight in it. He invariably detailed his talk with the captain to the other correspondents. “Look here. I’ve just been to see the skipper. I said ‘I would like to put into Cape Haytien.’ Then he took a little think. Finally he said: ‘All right.’ Then I said: ‘I suppose we’ll need to take on more coal there?’ He took another little think. I said: ‘Ever ran into that port before?’ He took another little think. Finally he said: ‘Yes.’ I said ‘Have a cigar?’ He took another little think. See? There’s where I fooled ‘im — —”

While the correspondents spun the hurried questions at him, the captain of the
Adolphus
stood with his brown hands on the wheel and his cold glance aligned straight over the bow of his ship.

“Are they Spanish gunboats, Captain? Are they, Captain?”

After a profound pause, he said: “Yes.” The four correspondents hastily and in perfect time presented their backs to him and fastened their gaze on the pursuing foe. They saw a dull grey curve of sea going to the feet of the high green and blue coast-line of north-eastern Cuba, and on this sea were two miniature ships with clouds of iron-coloured smoke pouring from their funnels.

One of the correspondents strolled elaborately to the pilot-house. “Aw — Captain,” he drawled, “do you think they can catch us?”

The captain’s glance was still aligned over the bow of his ship. Ultimately he answered: “I don’t know.”

From the top of the little
Adolphus’
stack, thick dark smoke swept level for a few yards and then went rolling to leaward in great hot obscuring clouds. From time to time the grimy head was thrust through the deck, the eyes took the quick look astern and then the head vanished. The cook was trying to get somebody to listen to him. “Well, you know, damn it all, it won’t be no fun to be ketched by them Spaniards. Be-Gawd, it won’t. Look here, what do you think they’ll do to us, hey? Say, I don’t like this, you know. I’m damned if I do.” The sea, cut by the hurried bow of the
Adolphus
, flung its waters astern in the formation of a wide angle and the lines of the angle ruffled and hissed as they fled, while the thumping screw tormented the water at the stern. The frame of the steamer underwent regular convulsions as in the strenuous sobbing of a child.

The mate was standing near the pilot-house. Without looking at him, the captain spoke his name. “Ed!”

“Yes, sir,” cried the mate with alacrity.

The captain reflected for a moment. Then he said: “Are they gainin’ on us?”

The mate took another anxious survey of the race. “No — o — yes, I think they are — a little.”

After a pause the captain said: “Tell the chief to shake her up more.”

The mate, glad of an occupation in these tense minutes, flew down to the engine-room door. “Skipper says shake ‘er up more!” he bawled. The head of the chief engineer appeared, a grizzly head now wet with oil and sweat. “What?” he shouted angrily. It was as if he had been propelling the ship with his own arms. Now he was told that his best was not good enough. “What? shake ‘er up more? Why she can’t carry another pound, I tell you! Not another ounce! We — —” Suddenly he ran forward and climbed to the bridge. “Captain,” he cried in the loud harsh voice of one who lived usually amid the thunder of machinery, “she can’t do it, sir! Be-Gawd, she can’t! She’s turning over now faster than she ever did in her life and we’ll all blow to hell — —”

The low-toned, impassive voice of the captain suddenly checked the chief’s clamour. “I’ll blow her up,” he said, “but I won’t git ketched if I kin help it.” Even then the listening correspondents found a second in which to marvel that the captain had actually explained his point of view to another human being.

The engineer stood blank. Then suddenly he cried: “All right, sir!” He threw a hurried look of despair at the correspondents, the deck of the
Adolphus
, the pursuing enemy, Cuba, the sky and the sea; he vanished in the direction of his post.

A correspondent was suddenly regifted with the power of prolonged speech. “Well, you see, the game is up, damn it. See? We can’t get out of it. The skipper will blow up the whole bunch before he’ll let his ship be taken, and the Spaniards are gaining. Well, that’s what comes from going to war in an eight-knot tub.” He bitterly accused himself, the others, and the dark, sightless, indifferent world.

This certainty of coming evil affected each one differently. One was made garrulous; one kept absent-mindedly snapping his fingers and gazing at the sea; another stepped nervously to and fro, looking everywhere as if for employment for his mind. As for Shackles he was silent and smiling, but it was a new smile that caused the lines about his mouth to betray quivering weakness. And each man looked at the others to discover their degree of fear and did his best to conceal his own, holding his crackling nerves with all his strength.

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.