A PRISONER OF WAR.
THE noise of the explosion and the clang of the gate caused Zaypuru
to rein in his horse and give a hasty glance over his shoulder. Then,
still unsuspicious, he advanced towards the officer he took to be the
commandante, Alonzo da Costa, till shouts of "Treason" from his men
outside the gates gave warning that something was amiss.
With a snarl of rage Zaypuru drew his horse almost on its haunches
and tugging violently at the reins caused the animal to swerve. In so
doing it came into violent contact with the animal ridden by one of
his staff. Both chargers reared, and had their riders been anything
but expert horsemen they would have been dismounted. Forcing his way
between his attendants Zaypuru made for the gate, to find his
progress barred by a line of glistening bayonets.
"Surrender, Zaypuru!" shouted General Galento in stentorian tones.
"We will spare your life."
Two members of the president's staff alone showed any determined
resistance. Drawing their revolvers and using their sharp rowelled
spurs unmercifully they rode straight towards the impersonator of Don
Alonzo da Costa.
Before they had covered half that distance an irregular volley of
musketry burst from the men supporting General Galento. The two
horses, riddled with bullets, dropped to the ground, rolled
completely over and then lay feebly kicking in their death agonies.
Their riders, fortunately thrown clear, were too dazed to offer
further resistance to the men, who left the ranks and seized them.
"Surrender, Zaypuru!" repeated Galento.
"Is my life guaranteed?" asked the president, who was trembling like
a leaf.
"You will not die a violent death at our hands," replied the general
urbanely.
"You mean to murder me," howled the wretched man.
"I would have you shot by a platoon with the greatest pleasure, I
assure you," remarked Galento with well-assumed indifference.
"Unfortunately, as far as my inclination is concerned, I have given a
promise to the English commandante of the Cavarale."
"They are referring to you, Dacres," said Gerald Whittinghame, who,
unseen by the president and his followers, had followed the whole of
the conversation. "There is no further need for concealment. That
rascal Zaypuru will surrender to you."
Although Zaypuru had not hesitated to treat his British captives with
indignity, he had a certain amount of respect for the word of an
Englishman. Directly Dacres crossed over to where Galento was
standing, the President got down from his horse, and unbuckling his
sword, tendered it to the Englishman.
Just then a rattle of musketry was heard without. Those of the
President's escort who had been left on the remote side of the dry
ditch had taken cover behind the outer wall and were firing at the
Valderians who held the roof of the prison. The latter briskly
replied, and the exchange of shots was rapidly maintained.
"Where are you, Whittinghame?" shouted Dacres. "Tell some of these
men to take the prisoner to the Commandante's quarters. I'll have to
direct operations against those fellows who are kicking up a dust
outside."
Directly Gerald Whittinghame appeared on the scene Zaypuru's terrors
returned. The sight of the man whom he had treated with uncalled for
severity filled him with the most abject fright. He fell on his
knees, and, upraising his clasped hands, implored his former captive
to have pity.
"Get up, and don't make a fool of yourself," exclaimed Gerald
sternly. "You won't be hurt unless you give trouble."
"I never meant to do you an injury, señor," persisted Zaypuru; "it
was my adviser Durango who urged it."
"The less you say about it the better," interrupted Whittinghame. "I
want to hear no excuses. Party!" he ordered, addressing a file of
men. "Escort the prisoner to the Commandante's quarters."
Trembling like a leaf the President was taken away and lodged in the
same room as his henchman, Alonzo da Costa, while the rest of his men
who had followed him into the _patio_ surrendered at discretion.
Meanwhile, Dacres was directing the fire of the defenders. Although
the aim of the Valderians on both sides was erratic, several of the
bullets whistled unpleasantly close. The President's escort, fearing
to retire, since in their retreat they would be fully exposed to the
fire of the garrison, stuck tenaciously to the cover afforded by the
outer wall, hoping that additional troops would be sent from
Naocuanha to their support.
"Man that machine gun," ordered Dacres to those of the crew of the
"Meteor" who had remained with him.
The ammunition was soon forthcoming, and a hail of small projectiles
directed upon the adobe wall. This was more than the enemy could
swallow, and a white flag soon appeared above the crumbling outer
wall.
Keeping the defenders well under control, Gerald Whittinghame shouted
to the President's men that they were at liberty to retire to the
capital. For some moments there was no indication of this offer being
accepted. At length, one or two plucked up courage to make a dash
towards Naocuanha, and finding that they were not fired upon the rest
of the escort promptly took to their heels, amid the jeers of the
released prisoners.
Dacres looked at his watch. It was ten minutes past nine.
"Nearly an hour to wait," he remarked as Gerald Whittinghame came up.
"If Zaypuru hadn't been so inconsiderate as to arrive an hour earlier
he might have saved us some trouble."
"What do you mean?" asked Gerald.
"Unless I am very much mistaken Fort Volador will be opening fire on
us."
"With Zaypuru in our hands?"
"That won't count with them, I fancy," said Dacres, as he bent the
blue and white flag to the halliards in readiness for hoisting at the
approach of the "Meteor."
Just then General Galento hurried up.
"Señor Whittinghame," said he, "a message has just been sent by
telephone from Fort Volador. The men belonging to Zaypuru's escort
whom you allowed to go without hindrance have reported the situation.
The Commandante of the fort has called upon us to surrender at
discretion, otherwise he will bombard the Cavarale."
"Then let him," replied Whittinghame. "That is, if he wants to murder
his President. As a matter of fact I don't believe there are guns
mounted on Fort Volador that are capable of doing much damage. All
the heavy ordnance have been taken to the Zandovar side of the city."
"Then how shall I answer, señor?"
"Tell him to go to Jericho," replied Whittinghame, shrugging his
shoulders.
"That's the way to talk to these gentry," remarked Dacres when Gerald
told him of the conversation. "Treat the matter lightly and it will
give our Valderian allies confidence. Ha! There's the first shot."
With a peculiar, throbbing screech a twelve-pounder shell flew
handsomely over the Cavarale, bursting quite eight hundred yards
beyond the building.
"Bad shot!" ejaculated Dacres coolly. "All the same I think we will
withdraw our men from the wall. Order them to lie down as far apart
as possible. I'll be with you in a moment."
Deliberately hoisting the blue and white flag Dacres took a final
survey of the horizon. Seeing no sign of the Dreadnought of the Air
he descended to the _patio_.
Another shell screeched overhead, missing the parapet of the
furthermost wall by a bare five feet. Fort Volador's gunners were
getting the correct range, yet the rate of firing was painfully slow.
The third shot struck that part of the prison in which the British
officers had been incarcerated. With a crash that shook the place the
missile burst, blowing a gap in the outer and inner walls large
enough for a horse and cart to pass.
"Señor," exclaimed a Valderian breathlessly, "Zaypuru has asked me to
be allowed to speak with the Commandante of Fort Volador. He says he
will order the battery to cease fire."
"It will be useless," replied Whittinghame.
"It is surely worth trying," urged General Galento, who was beginning
to show signs of "jumpiness."
"Very good," assented Gerald. "You might accompany Zaypuru to the
orderly-room, General, and repeat to me what he says."
Catching up his long sword, Galento, still resplendent in his
borrowed plumes, ran across the _patio_, his movements hastened by a
shell that struck the ground within ten yards of him--happily without
bursting.
He found Zaypuru ashen with fear. Both Valderians, their enmity
vanishing before a common danger, hurried to the orderly-room.
With trembling fingers the President lifted the receiver, and held it
to his ear.
"Is that Commandante Vilano?" he asked. "It is I, Diego Zaypuru, your
President. My life is in danger from the fire of the fort. I order
you to desist immediately."
He waited to listen to a jeering reply.
"I order you. I beg of you," he continued.
Galento, equally agitated, anxiously watched the face of his former
persecutor.
With a gesture of despair the President threw the receiver against
the wall, where it struck with disastrous results to the instrument;
then burying his face in his hands he burst into tears.
"Is there no place where I can hide in safety?" he whined. In his
utter selfishness he gave no thought to the members of his staff, who
were in an equally hazardous predicament.
Ten minutes later Gerald Whittinghame, finding that General Galento
had not returned, took two of the "Meteor's" men to look for him. The
orderly-room was empty.
A muffled groan from the adjoining barrack-room attracted his
attention.
Lying side by side on the bare floor and covered by a heap of straw
mattresses were the President of Valderia and General Galento.
"White-livered rascals; fear, like adversity, makes strange
bedfellows," he exclaimed contemptuously.
By this time the shells from Fort Volador were coming quicker and
with better aim. Already the front of the Cavarale facing Naocuanha
was little better than a heap of ruins, but the debris formed such an
effective breastwork that Dacres ordered the garrison to take shelter
behind it. The two angle-towers had disappeared, tearing away heaps
of brick and stone and leaving a mound twenty feet in height. Their
destruction had resulted in the removal of the recognized signal to
the "Meteor" that all was well.
Even Dacres began to be anxious, although he kept his doubts to
himself. The fact of being under fire without being able to return an
effective shot told heavily upon the Valderian members of the
garrison. He began to consider the possibilities of a retirement.
"Getting pretty hot," he said to Gerald Whittinghame.
"Yes; three men down with that last shell," replied Vaughan's
brother, flicking some dust from his coat. "That makes sixteen, I
believe."
"Any of the 'Meteor's' men?"
"No, thank heavens! unless one or two of them have received slight
hurts. They are splendid fellows. How goes the time? My watch was
stolen before I was brought here as a prisoner."
"Nine minutes to ten," replied Dacres.
"Hurrah, there she is!" shouted one of the "Meteor's" men at that
moment.
Flying high and at her greatest speed the huge airship was
approaching from the direction of the Sierras.
Heedless of the risk he ran, one of the British defenders of the
Cavarale dashed across the heap of brickwork and recovered the blue
and white flag. The bunting was torn, the staff severed, but the
daring fellow waved the remains of the flag above his head.
"Come down, Jones; they've seen us!" ordered Dacres.
Two minutes later the "Meteor" passed immediately overhead and at an
elevation of ten thousand feet. She made no attempt to descend.
"By Jove! I have it!" ejaculated Gerald Whittinghame. "She's going to
settle with Fort Volador."
The garrison of the Valderian fort saw the danger. Their fire upon
the Cavarale ceased. An attempt was made to train the quick-firers
upon the airship, but the weapons were not on suitable mountings.
Panic seized the artillerymen. Abandoning the fort they fled
pell-mell towards Naocuanha.
The "Meteor's" motors stopped. Rapidly she lost way, bringing up
immediately above the doomed fort.
Through his binoculars Dacres observed a small black object drop from
the airship. Sixty-five seconds later, having fallen vertically
through a distance of nearly three thousand five hundred yards, the
bomb struck the ground.
The aim was superb. Alighting fairly in the centre of the deserted
fort it exploded. A burst of lurid flame was followed by a dense
cloud of yellow smoke, mingled with fragments of earth, stones and
bricks. The missile of destruction, powerful enough in itself to
knock the defences of the fort out of action, had caused the main
magazine to explode. When the smoke dispersed sufficiently for the
observers on the ruins of the Cavarale to see what had taken place,
Fort Volador was no more.
Apparently content with this act of vengeance the "Meteor," gliding
vertically downwards, flew slowly over the four-square mass of rubble
that marked the position of the state prison of the Republic of
Valderia.
"All right, below there?" came a hail from the "Meteor."
"All right, sir," replied Dacres. "We've close on fifty Valderians we
found in the cells. We must stand by them."
"Quite right," replied Vaughan Whittinghame. "What have you done with
the Commandante and the rest of the garrison?"
"Safe in the underground cellars, sir."
"You might detain the Commandante as a hostage."
"We've a better hostage than the Commandante."
"Who, then?"
"President Zaypuru is a prisoner of war."