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AN AMERICAN
BY BELLE WILLEY GUE
BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
THE GORHAM PRESS
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY BELLE WILLEY GUE
All Rights Reserved
Made in the United States of America
The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.
TO THE MEMORY OF HIM WHOM WE ALL DELIGHT
TO HONOR AS FIRST IN PEACE ... FIRST IN
WAR ... AND FIRST IN THE HEARTS
OF HIS COUNTRYMEN ...
GEORGE WASHINGTON
AN AMERICAN
INTRODUCTION
There are many characteristics that are essential to true Americanism;
among these, none is more prominent than an inborn desire, not only to
obtain personal liberty, but, also, to see justice done to others.
We, as Americans, say, with loving pride, that we are citizens of that
_one fair land whose single boast has always been that it was free_.
Oppression of the weak and ignorant, by those who are wiser and stronger
than they, has, always, aroused in us pronounced, and, often, openly
expressed, indignation. More than once, have we, as a nation, arrayed
ourselves upon the side of the down-trodden and pitiful, and, in every
such instance, we have greatly increased and enhanced the well-being of
those whose cause we have espoused.
We have never gone out of our way to look for trouble, being more
inclined to attend to our own affairs than to oversee those of our
neighbors, and, yet, when, repeatedly, gross acts of injustice and
cruelty have been forced under our observation, we have, at times, been
aroused to a state of what we have honestly believed to be righteous
indignation, and, in these circumstances, we have conducted ourselves
in accordance with our ability and the fervor of our convictions.
Prior to the evening of February fifteenth, eighteen hundred and
ninety-eight, our relations with the government of Spain were amicable;
while we, as a people, sympathized, to some extent, with the uprisings
of native Cubans, yet, those who were at the head of our national
affairs did not, in any instance, uphold or palliate the unlawful acts
of the insurrectionists; but, during the hours of darkness of that
never-to-be-forgotten night, a dastardly and totally inexcusable deed,
in spite of the recent renewal of our friendly intercourse with the
Spanish government, made of that nation a foe to be contended against
with all the might that was in us.
While our only object, in the beginning of the Spanish-American war, was
to teach the Spaniard the lesson he had so richly deserved to learn, at
the same time, as the results of autocratic misrule were brought, more
and more closely, under our direct observation, we took much honest
pride in the reflection that we were not only resenting, as became free
and enlightened men and women, an injury to our own well-beloved
country, but that we were, at the same time, giving to a people, whose
necks were raw and bleeding from the yoke of a tyrannical exercise of
absolute power, an opportunity to throw off that yoke, and become, in
due time, a self-governed and a self-respecting and an independent
nation.
Our short and fiery encounter with Spain demonstrated, as many years of
unbroken peace and prosperity had not done and never could do, the
invincibility of American arms, and the unexampled superiority of
American daring, devotion, inventive genius and self-adjusting prowess;
it was supposed that we had a very inadequate naval equipment, and that
our standing army was very small, besides being poorly trained; in spite
of this widely spread supposition, our troops won many brilliant
victories upon the sea as well as on the land.
The same spirit that saved the day for freedom and the right at Bunker
Hill and Bennington animated the descendants of those gallant and
intrepid warriors, who, soon after the heroic birth of our Republic,
defended the cause they deemed to be a sacred one with all that they
held dear, when they, too, went to meet the carefully trained and richly
caparisoned phalanxes of those who bowed their heads and bent their
suppliant knees unto an earthly king.
An American volunteer is as nearly unconquerable as any merely human
being can ever really be; his whole being is entirely devoted to the
principle for the vindication of which he is about to enter into bodily
combat; he is not hampered or bound down by anything that does not meet
with the approval of his own conscience; physically, mentally, and
morally, he is the equal of any enemy against whom he may be pitted;
above him there floats a flag that has never been defeated, behind him
are glorious deeds of valor that are well worthy of emulation, and
before him are the hopes and aspirations of those who, with their feet
firmly planted upon solid ground, practical, energetic and capable, yet,
always, move among their fellows, seeing visions, dreaming dreams.
Shortly before the beginning of the Spanish-American war, there were
some, across the water, who dared to complacently imagine that the
glowing spark of patriotism, implanted in the breast of every true
American at the time of his birth, had lost its kindling power; those
who were depending upon this erroneous idea must have had their
complacency somewhat rudely shaken when it became known, all over the
world, that, within ten days after President McKinley issued a call for
one hundred and twenty-five thousand volunteers, seven hundred and fifty
thousand eager patriots answered to that call, offering their energies
and, if needs be, their lives, to the service of the land they loved and
honored.
After thirty-three years of peace, the fighting men of America buckled
on their armor, bade a tearful farewell to their homes and families,
and, determined, enthusiastic and buoyant, went, blithely, forward to
meet, and conquer, a foreign foe; there was not one among these who did
not realize and consider the seriousness of the enterprise he had
started out upon, yet neither was there one who did not add, in every
way within his power, to the light-hearted joyousness, and gentle,
childish humor, with which our fearless and devoted "boys" undertook to
secure the freedom and general well-being of the Island people, as well
as to resent the insult that had been offered to our own country.
The central figure of the Spanish-American war, from its hasty inception
until its brilliant and triumphant close, was that of a gallant
gentleman, mounted on a high-lifed horse ... as sternly devoted to
principle and duty as any Puritan had ever been, as full of the bounding
joy of life as any boy who followed him, leader, comrade, friend and
brother, fearless, resourceful, primitive, refined, highly educated, yet
as simple-hearted as an innocent child, bold, yet cautious and careful,
unselfish, yet richly endowed with worldly wisdom, respected almost to
the height of reverence, yet looked upon as a cheery, helpful companion,
by those with whom he was most closely associated ... THEODORE
ROOSEVELT ... a typical American, using that word in its widest and
loftiest sense.
After the close of our struggle with Spain, we discovered that we had
not only given, but, also, derived, many benefits as the results of that
short, but decisive, conflict; we had acquired considerable territory
over which to extend the advantages to be gained from our educational
and commercial institutions; we had come into such close contact with
the people of these, and adjacent, territories that we were enabled to
understand their needs and their desires, more fully than we could,
otherwise, have done; we had presented to the powers ruling the Old
World an object lesson as to the people of the United States of America
being, at any and all times, and under every possible circumstance,
fully able to take care of themselves, as well as all that,
intrinsically, belongs to them; we had set before the mighty nations of
Europe an example of the proper attitude of the strong toward the weak;
we had bound together, in a common, just and righteous cause, all
factions, all clans, all religions, and all parties, in short, we had
bound together the entire population of our well-beloved country, and in
such a way that the bonds were indissoluble, unbreakable, and permanent.
While we are, above all things, a peaceful and a law-abiding people, yet
we not only can, but always will, defend our altars and our homes
against any harm that may be threatened to them; while we do not seek an
encounter with any government other than our own, yet at the same time,
we are not afraid to meet any nation on the face of the earth, in open
combat, giving our enemy the privilege of selecting his own weapons and
following out his own ideas as to legitimate warfare.
The blood of the sturdy and militant Anglo-Saxon, flowing, now, in
Yankee veins, is richer and more life-supporting than it was before the
Mayflower landed her precious freight of human strength and more than
human aspiration upon Plymouth Rock.
All the fond hopes and all the high ambitions, all the daring and all
the deep devotion, all the practical achievements and all the airy
dreams, of their revered forefathers, are, now, alive and potent,
although, it may be, hidden, in the breasts of all my fellow-countrymen.
If all the titles that have ever been bestowed by human beings upon each
other ... all the names that indicate the possession of wealth or fame
or place or power upon the earth ... should be displayed before my eyes,
and I be asked to select but one among them all to be the one by which I
would be known, I would without a moment's hesitation, choose AN
AMERICAN.
PLOT
Ruth Wakefield, as the daughter of the United States Consul to Cuba, has
lived in a beautiful home which her father prepared for his family on a
height above Havana harbor since early childhood. Having lost both her
natural protectors ... her parents ... through earthly death, she has
been much alone with trusty servants, as she has found little
companionship among the natives of Cuba. However, she has found a highly
respected friend in Father Felix, Priest of the village of San Domingo;
to him she has confided her great anxiety concerning some prisoners
confined, ex communicado, in the village jail, at the end of the prado,
or central park of the village.
"The Lady of the mansion on the hill," as she is known among the
villagers, has not, though, told the Priest her real reason for wishing
the freedom of the political prisoners. Victorio Colenzo is a handsome
but unscrupulous fellow of mixed blood, being part Spanish and part
Cuban; he has found the lonely American girl and has courted her with
such dash and apparent sincerity that she has married him secretly, not
even informing Father Felix of her union with the attractive stranger.
This man is among the political prisoners and it is to free him from
bondage that Ruth Wakefield has furnished Father Felix with means with
which to overpower and overawe those who have him in charge. Ruth
Wakefield is herself deceived, for in the village is a girl, named
Estrella, whose lover Victorio Colenzo is known to be by her associates,
among whom is another of her lovers ... Manuello ... a native Cuban.
This man is also in the San Domingo bastile. Father Felix, at the head
of a procession of his followers, breaks into the jail and confronts the
keepers with a crucifix which he holds before them, commanding them to
release the prisoners; superstitious terror finally induces them to
yield to his demands; in the confusion, Manuello contrives to sever the
handsome head of Victorio Colenzo from his strong and manly body, so
that his corpse is found when the doors are finally thrown open to the
people; Estrella finds this body and weeps above it. Father Felix meets
Ruth Wakefield by appointment to report as to what he has done, and, in
this manner, she discovers the perfidy of her so-called husband. She
confesses the truth to Father Felix who sympathizes deeply with her as
he knows her to be innocent. She visits the morgue and meets Estrella
whom she befriends and, eventually, adds to her household. She has among
her servants, a unique character, named Mage, who has been her nurse in
babyhood and who is always faithful to her in her own strange way; this
old woman, throughout the entire twenty-one chapters of this story,
continues to perform unexpected and startling deeds.
Old Mage accompanies her dear young lady when she goes to San Juan and
is stationed not far from the battle-field of San Juan Hill. Here, as
elsewhere, she continues to exhibit her own individual characteristics
as her central and almost sole idea is to protect and assist Ruth
Wakefield, whom, although she regards her with unlimited respect and is
entirely devoted to her interests, she still thinks of as the small
child she loved before they landed upon the Island of Cuba; realizing
how different she is from those around her, only increases the worship
of her faithful attendant, who, on the other hand, does not hesitate to
use language that will express what she wishes those whom she is
addressing to fully understand.
Manuello has a primitive, passionate, unbridled and selfish nature; he
is wildly in love with Estrella and because she has selected another
lover he has committed murder; with this man out of his way, he hopes to
succeed with Estrella and goes to her intimate friend, Tessa, to find
out how she actually feels about the death of her lover, Victorio
Colenzo; Tessa secretly adores Manuello; she is, also, a native Cuban,
but her nature is more sluggish than that of Manuello and she has a
dog-like affection for Estrella, who has become separated from her own
family as a child and is a member of the household of Manuello, being
known as his half-sister among the villagers; the handsome peon makes
love to little Tessa but she is loyal to Estrella and does what she can
to contribute to her happiness, although, when Manuello becomes a
fugitive and has been wounded, she ministers to him in a deserted cabin
up among the hills where it is almost entirely hidden in a jungle of
weeds and rank vegetation. This cabin is the scene of many pitiful
endeavors on the part of little Tessa who resists the desires of
Manuello to make her his mistress although she dearly and devotedly
loves him. Here, at one time, she is secretly followed by Estrella who
is led to suspect some secret by Tessa's actions; Estrella informs
Father Felix of the situation. Tessa, in one of her struggles with
Manuello, has wounded him in one cheek with a knife which she happened
to have in her hand. Father Felix visits the hut and Manuello, after
severely wounding poor little Tessa, so that she is unable to leave the
place, disappears, but turns up again, after the battle of Camp McCalla
in a temporary hospital where Ruth Wakefield and Estrella are acting as
nurses. Old Mage takes a hand in this affair and so frightens Manuello
that he escapes from the hospital although he is wearing many bandages,
and, painfully, but determinedly, reaches the deserted hut where he
hopes to hide until he has recovered from his wounds. As he approaches
the hut he realizes that someone is within it and looks through a small
window, seeing Tessa lying on the rude bed she originally prepared for
him, and, beside her, kneeling on the floor, Father Felix who has found
the weak and suffering girl and is engaged in prayer; Manuello breaks
into the cabin and attempts to thrust the Priest aside so that he may
wreak his vengeance on the helpless woman. Father Felix, however, proves
to be a worthy antagonist and does not hesitate to use his strength in
the defense of the innocent, even though it becomes necessary for him to
seriously injure the young man who is like a wild beast foiled of its
prey. This struggle in the deserted hut, with the wounded girl looking
on, continues for some time, but the younger man is finally overpowered,
and, seeing himself to be at the mercy of his antagonist, becomes the
penitent sinner and confesses to the Priest who labors with him lovingly
and ministers to his spiritual condition. The two men then improvise a
stretcher and place Tessa upon it, after which they carry the girl to
the door of her own home in the village. Here, the Priest dismisses
Manuello and tells him to go in peace. The young man then limps back to
the deserted hut and remains there unmolested for some time when he
disappears again from the neighborhood.
The Americanism of Ruth Wakefield is pronounced. Father Felix is
equally devoted to their common country. These two often confer as to
possible complications connected with international affairs; at one of
these consultations, Estrella happens to be present and declares that
she believes that she, also, is an American and that she wishes to serve
under the same flag as that to which the other two have so often
pronounced themselves to be devoted. She offers to assist Ruth in every
way she can should there be an occasion that would demand their help.
Ruth Wakefield is awake in her own room and looking down upon Havana
harbor on the night of February 15th, 1898 and sees the blowing up of
the Maine with her own eyes; Father Felix also sees this and hurries up
the hill to talk matters over with Ruth; they form plans as to what they
can do for their own country and in the service of the down-trodden
people of Cuba whose sufferings under Spanish tyranny they have so often
witnessed. Ruth opens her home and offers it as a refuge to all those
who wish to escape from Spanish oppression.
Father Felix keeps Ruth well informed as to military matters and, when,
on June 10th, 1898, our stars and stripes are waving, for the first
time, over Cuban soil, Ruth Wakefield is standing beside Father Felix,
who has become an army chaplain, at the window of a temporary hospital
which her wealth has made possible. This hospital is situated near
Santiago and many American soldiers as well as many Cuban scouts are
cared for within its shadowy rooms.
After the battle of San Juan Hill on July 1st 1898, Ruth Wakefield is
one among many volunteer nurses who went to the assistance of a
righteous cause. She stands beside a little cot and meets a man who
speaks to her of "Teddy" and of the grand and glorious work that he had
done that day; with this bond between them, they soon become friends.
Ruth, as one who has authority, moves from cot to cot and, so, comes to
stand beside the murderer of her husband or him whom she had called so,
for Manuello evened up some of his wickedness by serving nobly in the
battle of San Juan Hill and died in consequence of that day's dreadful
harvest of human forms. Estrella, too, and Father Felix, come to stand
beside his cot, but Ruth is all alone when his soul leaves the clay that
it has been inhabiting for awhile, and, so, she realizes as never
before, that the man she knew as husband was beneath her in every way
and in that terrible and heart-rending moment, she begins to learn the
way to forget the first wild love of her young womanhood and find the
steps that lead to saner, quieter and happier hours and days and years.
Ruth is given privileges that are not accorded to many near a bloody
battle-field, and, when she leaves the hospital for the night on July
1st, 1898, she drives her team along a lonely road, hoping to leave
behind her, not only the scenes she has just been among, but, also, the
thoughts that those scenes have awakened in her mind. She thinks she is
going directly away from the recent battle-field. Her team is startled
by the sudden rising of a man near the road and runs away, throwing her
out upon the ground; she climbs over a low embankment beside the road
and finds herself among the dead; she is almost stupefied by this
knowledge, but, soon, her instincts for helping those who are in trouble
rise above her fears and she cries aloud and calls ... asking if any
there are in need of help that she can give to them. A faint voice
answers her and she seeks it out and finds an officer who has been
stricken down at the head of his squad of men; they are all lying in a
disordered heap and Ruth is obliged to lift one dead body off of the man
who seems to be alive. Having found him, she proceeds, from her
knowledge as a nurse, to aid him ... finds a wound from which his
life-blood is flowing fast and forms a tourniquet with a silken scarf
she happens to be wearing. He revives enough to whisper to her, naming
her, on the instant "Tender Heart" by which title he afterwards
addresses her.
Having rendered all the aid she can, she speeds away, without fear, now,
as she has an object in her flight, until she secures help when she
returns and removes the one whom she has found among the dead to the
hospital, where, after a long period of suffering and faithful nursing,
he recovers sufficiently to accompany her when she returns to her home.
Here he proves himself to be worthy of her love which is bestowed upon
him with the approval of Father Felix and even of old Mage. Ruth's home
has been destroyed by fire and her entire estate has suffered much from
vandalism and from enemies of Cuba and of her own country as well, but
she still has plenty with which to rebuild her home and to assist many
in the village of San Domingo who require aid and comfort from those who
are stronger than they are.
Among other patients in her temporary hospital near Santiago, Ruth
discovers one who is a Spanish spy, for she remembers meeting him when
he was a Spanish officer under most distressing circumstances, when it
had been his great desire to do a grievous wrong to a young, ignorant
girl whom Ruth rescued from his vile clutches. Ruth hesitates to report
this case to the authorities as she is well aware of the fate meted out
to spies, and she compromises by telling the facts to Father Felix, who,
while he is very tender of the innocent, is just and stern where
hypocrites and liars are concerned. The good Priest soon disposes of the
Spanish spy.
Father Felix distinguishes himself in many ways during the hostilities
between the opposing forces in the Spanish-American war and does much
good, for he does not hesitate to do anything that he finds to do
regardless of whether it is in the line of his profession or not. He has
many experiences as thrilling as the one in the deserted hut with
Manuello. He throws himself into many a breach ... wins many a
hard-fought battle, and, through it all maintains not only his religious
attitude toward all mankind, but manifests a gracious and uplifting love
for all who dwell upon the earth, and, at the end of his activities,
resumes the humble station he occupied at first, for, as he believes, he
can do more good right there in the little village of San Domingo than
in a wider and more elevated station.
Many refugees leave Santiago during, and directly after, the naval
battle of Santiago; among these are very many wealthy women who are
forced to leave their splendid homes and flee, in silken garments, with
the riff-raff of the city.
Some among these wealthy women sought to help in temporary hospitals,
and one of them, at least, came to that which Ruth Wakefield had
endowed; this woman was noticeable in many ways, being of superior
intelligence as well as birth and breeding; she, soon, became proficient
as a nurse, and when Ruth sees her standing close beside Estrella in the
hospital, she suddenly recognizes a subtle resemblance between the two
young women and calls their attention to the fact. And, so, it develops
that Estrella finds her own blood-kin ... her own loving sister ...
there in that shadowy hospital, for it is proven beyond a shadow of a
doubt by a little trinket that the girl has always worn about her
neck ... a little cross of golden memories, through which, and through
the girl herself, her lineage is traced, so that she remains with her
own kin, and does not return to the little village where she suffered so
much sorrow.
Tessa, with the stolidity of the Cuban peasant, seems to entirely
recover both from her wounded leg and her wounded heart, for she marries
a sturdy workman who supplies the earthly wants of Tessa and her
numerous progeny. If she ever remembers the romantic days through which
she has passed, her appearance belies the fact, for she becomes,
apparently, contented with her lot in life.
AN AMERICAN
CHAPTER I
About the beginning of the year eighteen hundred and ninety-eight, there
had been aroused in the hearts of the people of the United States a
strong feeling of pity and compassion toward the inhabitants of the
Island of Cuba who were under the ironshod heel of Spain and who had
made many appeals for help to our own government in one way and in
another.
The time was ripe for a revolution among the dark-skinned populace of
the large cities of the Island Empire and many confusing circumstances
combined to add to the confusion of sentiments entertained toward the
government by those who suffered from its rulings.
Many indignities had been heaped upon the Cubans by those who claimed to
represent the young King Alfonso XIII, who, in his far-away palace in
old Madrid was as unconscious of what was done in his name, very many
times, as he would have disapproved of it had he known it.
The young King and his mother, the Queen _regent_, tried, in every way
within their power, to adjust matters amicably between their rebellious
subjects and those whom they had sent across the sea to govern them, but
they found this a very difficult matter indeed, and between the fiery
tempers of the natives and the over-bearing arrogance of the officers
who represented them, the poor crowned heads of sunny Spain certainly
had a pretty hard time of it.
The Queen mother was naturally a gentle and a very highly educated and
studious woman, while the boy King was as far from being the typical
idea of a reigning tyrant as a handsome, well-trained young fellow could
well be.
But those who represented these two crowned heads were of quite another
pattern as to character and disposition and many were the cruelties
charged to the account of certain ones among their number due to the
opportunities afforded them of gratifying their lowest impulses and
following along the paths that led, for the time being, into what seemed
to them to be very pleasant pastures and beside very still waters,
which, as is well known, often, besides being still, run deep.
One evening, just as dusk was falling over the little town of San
Domingo, there appeared, passing along one of the quiet, shadowy narrow
streets, a rather strange procession ... well in advance of the rest of
the motley company appeared a village Priest bearing in his hand a
crucifix which he held before him as if to fend off something evil ...
he was dressed, as is the custom of the Catholic Priests of Cuba, in the
flowing vestments of his office and the long cord that was knotted round
his ample waist had a huge cross dangling from the end of it which
struck against his well-formed legs as he strode along with head held
high as if he saw beyond the things of earth and gazed upon some
beatific vision which upheld him and lifted him above his immediate
environment.
Indeed, there was one who walked beside him though he, himself, was
unaware of it, except subconsciously, for Father Felix, as this Priest
was known, was wandering among strange thoughts as he passed along that
almost silent little street, that one sad evening.
He had been, for many peaceful years, the Priest who had officiated at
almost all the public meetings of the village, but, never in his life
devoted, as it was to the consideration of holy, high and spiritual
matters, had he been called upon to conduct so weird a service as he
was, then, about to do.
He wondered, as he marched along, whether he was doing just exactly
right in leading these, his simple-minded followers, into what it seemed
to them they must do, that night ... he wondered whether, even now, he
would not better turn to those who followed after him and call to them
to halt and to consider well before they took another single step that
might, each one of them, be an irrevocable and a much-to-be-regretted
step, for it might lead to what they could not know of ways that might,
as well as not, prove very winding and even thorn-strewn ways for those
who followed along them. And Father Felix knew that he, alone of all
that little company, was gifted with the power to reason out a fair and
just conclusion from the premises presented to them all; he knew that he
alone had enough of education to even understand the meaning of the
words that had been spoken to them all ... he knew that those who came
along that little street behind him had trusted to him most implicitly,
for many years, in matters that required thought, and, although they had
been the ones to beg him to take the step that they were then about to
take, he knew that, even then, right at the last, had he been minded to,
he might, yet, turn their minds away from what they seemed to be so set
upon.
He knew that, if he wished to do so, he could make them see the matter
under their consideration in quite another light from what they saw it
in at that time ... he knew that he could bend their wills to make them
match with his own will for he had done this very many times before ...
he was a natural leader, and being well equipped for leadership, he
took that place as if it were his natural right ... and so it seemed to
be.
Any stranger, glancing along the line of human beings that followed
Father Felix and his upheld crucifix, would have noticed many weak and
vacillating faces ... many weak and vacillating wills as evidenced by
the expressions on those weak and vacillating faces ... many wills that
could be bent by anyone who had a strong and capable and domineering
mind, and Father Felix had a mind like that ... a natural leader's most
commanding mind ... he was a man to win respect wherever he might go ...
a man to dominate the wills of those about him ... a man to lead the
crowd ... a man to guide the minds of those he met, and, after having
occupied the one place in the village that commanded the respect of all,
for long, of course they looked to him for guidance and followed where
he led as little children follow after the one full-grown human being in
their midst.
But, as they marched along, full many whispers ran along that motley
little company and gave some prescience of the clamor that would come if
all their bridled tongues should really become loose again, for, now,
they only spoke in whispers dreading discovery of what they were about
to do by some of those against whose orders they were doing it.
"I wonder what the Governor would say if he could know the thing that
we're about to do," a beardless youth began, as he edged a little nearer
to his mother's side, "I wonder what would happen to us, now, if he
discovered our intention."
The mother only put her finger on her lips and shook her head at him,
but, later on, when they had gone a little further on their journey, she
whispered to him:
"I hope the Governor will never know who did what we're about to do, at
least, for, if he should discover which of us accomplished the purpose
that all the villagers are interested in, we would suffer for our
temerity in doing this ... I almost wish we had not joined this mob, my
boy ... I almost wish, at least, that I had left you home to mind the
house while I will be away from it," and, then, she ended, sadly, "God
knows if we shall ever be allowed to see our home again."
There was one who walked among that little company, that evening, who
was not as the rest in very many ways, and, yet, her lot was cast in
with the rest for she had lived in that small village since her infancy,
and, so, it seemed to her and them as well, that she was one of them
and, so, must be among them even then, when they were casting in their
lots, at Father Felix' instigation, with the ones who so violently
opposed the reigning powers that they were held, then, and had been so
held, for many weary months, as _incommunicado_ in the village jail or
prison in the wide and beautiful and picturesque great prado in the very
centre of the town.
The girl who, in very many ways, was different from all the rest was
walking in the very centre of the little crowd and, as the others
jostled against her, her great blue eyes stared almost vacantly, as it
seemed, around her like a startled fawn's when something unknown
ventures near to its retreat within its native forest.
She drew her slender figure up to its full height, and she was taller
than the rest of those who walked beside her, when someone whispered to
her:
"What think you of all this, Estrella? Is it to your taste to be a part
of those who, in their puny strength, contend against the strong? Do you
think that you'll enjoy the future that we are advancing to? What do you
think will happen to us when we reach the prado, anyway? Do you think
the Governor has found out what we are going to do and if he does what
action will he take? I'm more than half afraid myself ... I don't deny
that I'm afraid ... how do you feel about it all?"
"I don't believe I know just how I _do_ feel, Tessa," said the taller
girl, "I think that I'm afraid, too ... I know my knees are trembling a
very little, so I must be scared the same as you say you are. Let us
keep as close together as we can, so, if anything happens to one it will
be sure to happen to us both ... it seems to me ..." she ended,
dreamily, "that even death itself could not be much worse than the
things that we've endured just lately, here."
And then the two young creatures shuddered at the very thought of death
and huddled just as close together as they could and marched along among
the rest as quietly as if they had not been afraid of anything at all.
At last they reached the prado and Father Felix paused and held his
crucifix even a little higher than he had done all along and waited for
the little company to assemble directly in front of him, when he
stretched his arms out wide in silent blessing on their undertaking, and
proceeded toward the little prison that stood at one end of the prado
facing the great public square where games were held when _fiestas_ were
in order.
But it was for no festal undertaking that they had gathered there, that
evening; silent preparations were making as they halted ... battering
rams were being raised and carried forward by the men and tears and
flowers seemed to be the offering of the women in the crowd to the ones
they hoped to liberate from the dark, forbidding precincts of the
edifice before them.
Father Felix motioned those who held the battering rams to hold them in
their hands in readiness for instant action at a word from him ... then
he called aloud to him who kept the keys to bring them forth and give
them to him, or he would be, in case that his request should be
refused, compelled, in spite of his strong desire to avoid all violence
if possible, to use force in effecting the object for which the
multitude surrounding him, outside, had gathered there.
He waited, patiently, for several minutes, but, as he received no answer
to his demand, he called again:
"Bring forth the keys at once!" he cried raising his voice so that it
carried far beyond the limits of the building that stood there before
him, "bring them forth unless you wish to force me to use violence for I
am determined to liberate the prisoners you hold within, and, if you do
not bring to me the keys so that I may open the strong doors with them,
why, then, I'll be obliged to break down the barriers that are between
the ones you hold within that prison and the freedom that is their
natural right. Once more do I command you ..." he cried in a stentorian
voice, using the quality of voice that he employed when he intoned with
due solemnity, the holy mass, "bring forth to me the keys that I may
liberate my children that you hold without the right to hold them, or,
if you refuse to do my bidding, then may the consequences of what will
follow that refusal be upon your own head...."
As, still there was no answer from the dark and gloomy precincts of the
edifice before him, he prepared to carry out the threats that he had
made.
First, he commanded those who held the battering rams in readiness to
advance until they were the proper distance from the doors for the use
of their rude weapons, then he told the others to await his word but to
be in readiness, each one, to follow where he led, then, holding high
his crucifix and calling most devoutly, on the name of God, he came as
near to those who were about to use the battering rams as he could do
and not impede their movements, then he cried:
"Advance and give no quarter! Do your duty as I have instructed you to
the full extent of it! Follow me, my little children, God is good and He
will care for us in this our desperate undertaking."
As the heavy detonation of the strokes of those who held the battering
rams rang through the building, cries were heard as if of those who were
in agony and many shuddered at the sound for well they thought they knew
its cause ... it seemed to them that they would be too late ... that
those they sought to rescue were even at that moment being foully
murdered in their cells because they were about to save them from the
fate that they had been condemned to undergo.
The fair Estrella clung to her dark little friend and whispered to her:
"Tessa, it is more terrible than we imagined it would be ... what shall
we do? How can we bear to go yet nearer to the horror that the prison
hides from us? Tessa ... little Friend ..." she ended, "I'm awfully
afraid ... are you?"
"I'm almost scared to death myself, Estrella," Tessa whispered back, "I
know I'll die of fright alone if this keeps on much longer ... hear that
scream! It's very terrible!"
But, then, all sounds were hushed, for prison doors that had been locked
as tight as any prison doors could be had yielded to the heavy blows
that had been rained upon them and, as they opened, they could plainly
see, in the dim light that fell within that prison's entrance, that they
had been, indeed, too late for him who lay at his full length across the
entrance to the prison, for his body had been twisted in its fall so
that his head that had been almost severed from it lay askew as if its
eyes, that stared as wildly and as full of earthly horror as dead eyes
could, had been trying to discover something strange about the figure
that, but only lately, was as full of life and vigor as was any figure
standing there without that prison door.
Estrella gazed at that still figure ... then she screamed in almost more
than human agony and darted forward till she crouched beside it as it
lay there at the entrance to the prison ... straightening the handsome
head, she lifted it until it rested in her lap, and, then, she softly
smoothed the dark and clustering curls that hung above the broad, full
brow, and looked within the great brown eyes that stared at her, or so
it seemed, as if the owner of them had been walking in his sleep, and
then she pressed her virgin lips upon the full, be-whiskered mouth of
him whose head she held within her lap.
She fainted, then, and fell across the body of the man who lay across
the entrance to that prison, and Father Felix lifted her and laid the
senseless, almost severed head upon the floor again, and supported her
until he left her with her little friend, outside, among the crowd.
And then the village Priest came back and led the men who held the
battering rams within the prison to the cells of those they wished to
liberate and commanded them to break down those doors as they had broken
down the other ones, but, here, he found his way was barred, for, just
as soon as blows began to fall upon the doors of those narrow cells
those within those cells began to call to them and caution them that, if
the doors were broken down, they'd find the prison-guards behind them
with their loaded guns and the prisoners told their friends that those
loaded guns were pointed at their breasts and would be fired at them
just as soon as their cell-doors gave way.
When Father Felix heard this ultimatum he thought that all his efforts
had been useless and his deep-laid plans of no avail until he heard a
voice behind him softly whisper ... a voice that he had never heard
before:
"Be not weary in well-doing. The cell-doors will open and the prisoners
come forth alive if you but use the proper means to bring about that
end. Call out to those you wish to succor, now, and tell them to be of
good cheer for deliverance is at hand."
The soft voice drifted away into silence, then, but the village Priest
obeyed its mandates and reassured the ones within those narrow cells and
gave them courage to withstand the threats of instant death that faced
them there.
And, then, he turned to those who waited his commands and told them
that help was very near ... that, waiting there within the corridors of
that small prison were those who'd come from far to bring to them
assistance ... the kind of help that loaded guns would not affect. Then,
he told them of the punishment that would await the ones who disobeyed
the orders he was just about to give ... a punishment that would not
only last through earthly life but would go on into eternity ... a
punishment that would not only blast the earthly tenements but would
condemn the souls of those who chose to act in opposition to his orders
to everlasting torment.
And, then, he turned to those who, breathlessly, were waiting for the
orders he was just about to give, and said to them:
"When I have counted up to three, prepare to break the doors down ...
when I have counted up to six, if so be they remain unopened, go on and
break them in!" he stopped a moment, then, to ascertain whether his
followers fully understood the instructions he was giving to them ...
seeing all of them alert, he continued, "to you who are within, I make
this unalterable statement. Choose between a longer lease of earthly
life and instant death! Choose between forgiveness for your past sins or
everlasting punishment! Open these doors from within or we will break
them down and those whose human bodies we will find, lying stark and
cold in earthly death, will not be those of our dear friends who are
your prisoners, for there are those within those cells of whose presence
you are unaware but who are potent in the cause of right and truth and
justice. I will now proceed to count ... one ... two ... three ..." at
that, he heard a key thrust rapidly within a lock, but, as it was
unturned, he went on counting, "four ..." he heard another key inserted
in a lock, "five ..." he waited just a second longer, then, than he had
done before, hoping that the keys would turn before the final number had
to come, but, as they did not do that, he opened his mouth to pronounce
the fatal word and was about to utter it, when, suddenly, all the
cell-doors opened and the prison-guards within had fallen on their knees
in superstitious terror of what they did not know, and, so, instead of
uttering the fatal number, good Father Felix said, "Thank God!" and
raised his crucifix and pronounced a blessing on them all, both
prisoners and those who'd guarded them.