THE APPEARANCE OF THE SERPENT.
Half a dozen hours from the time that Jack Ashley mounts his newly
acquired Rozinante and rides forth from Santiago on his journey into the
west, a visitor arrives at Le Quinta de Quesada.
The Don and his daughter are seated on the veranda, the former dreaming
of the day when Cuba shall be free, the latter of the blue-eyed young
man who at the moment is many miles on his journey toward Havana and is
expressing his opinion of Cuban roads in comical apostrophes, rivaling
the natural extravagance of Spanish conversation.
“A visitor,” remarks Quesada, as the crunching of carriage wheels sounds
in the driveway, and Juanita’s day dreams are abruptly terminated by the
appearance of a vehicle, not a Cuban every-day volante, but a
four-wheeled affair, the best that Santiago can provide.
The carriage draws up before the quinta, the driver opens the door with
a profound obeisance, and out steps a lady whose radiant beauty rather
dazzles the Cuban gentleman, who advances with easy grace to meet her.
For Don Quesada, though well past the meridian of life, is not without
susceptibility to feminine charms.
“I have the pleasure of addressing Don Manuel de Quesada, I believe?”
says the fair visitor in English.
“The pleasure is mine, madam.”
“I am under the embarrassment of introducing myself,” with a smile and a
glance from a pair of liquid black eyes that instantly win for her the
good-will of the master of the quinta. She tenders a bit of cardboard,
and as the Don receives it with a bow, she explains: “When I left New
York I had a letter of introduction from a gentleman who has the honor
of your acquaintance”—she glances at the coachman standing near, and
lowers her voice—“Don Rafael Manada.”
“Ah!” murmurs Quesada, regarding his visitor with new interest.
“But I must have left it among my effects at Santiago. I certainly have
not lost it, as I was too thoroughly instructed as to the importance of
keeping its contents a secret,” the lady finishes, with a meaning smile.
Quesada extends his hand and presses slightly the dainty palm laid
therein. “Any of Don Manada’s friends are welcome here,” he says. “I am
happy to place the quinta at your disposition, and its occupants are
yours to command, madam.”
Quesada leads the way into the house, whither Juanita has retired to add
a few touches to her toilet.
“You are an American, Mrs. Harding,” ventures the Don, as they pass
through the long, wide corridor to the gallery at the rear of the quinta
and the lady is provided with the easiest of chairs.
“My accent told you that immediately,” is the smiling response. “Yes; I
am the widow of an American ship-owner, who left to me, among other
possessions, a sugar plantation somewhere in this fair isle. I had the
pleasure of Don Manada’s acquaintance in New York, and when he heard
that I purposed visiting Cuba to view my possessions, he desired that I
seek you, giving me at the same time the letter of introduction which,
as I have said, I have unfortunately left at my hotel in Santiago. But
perhaps the password which he whispered to me, ‘Cuba Libre,’ will do as
well. For the cause of Cuban liberty has no warmer sympathizer than
myself, Don Quesada,” she adds, earnestly, and the Don’s countenance
lights with pleasure.
“Don Manada could have conferred no greater pleasure,” he replies, “and
I trust that you will honor my daughter and myself by becoming our
guest, for a few days at least.”
Isabel’s dark orbs snap with triumph not easily repressed, but she
answers hesitatingly: “Thank you, but I do not see how I can trespass
upon your kindness. I have not the pleasure of an acquaintance with the
senorita, and—”
“Permit me to remove that objection at once,” interposes Quesada, as
Juanita at the moment stands in the doorway. “Juanita, mi querida, this
is Mrs. Isabel Harding, an American lady and a friend of Don Manada,
whom you met in New York. I have invited her to remain with us for a few
days, or as long as our hospitality may prove attractive. Will you not
add your request to mine?”
The more mature and voluptuous beauty of the older woman attracts the
impulsive Cuban girl, and she seconds her father’s invitation with a
sincerity that would have won even a lady who had not come to the quinta
with the deliberate purpose of securing such a proffer of hospitality.
And so the carriage is sent back to Santiago and Isabel Harding is
installed at the quinta, the surroundings of which she finds much to her
liking. Juanita is much charmed with her American friend, who fascinates
the impressionable Cuban girl with her brilliant beauty, her wit and her
knowledge of the great world amid whose pleasures and palaces Juanita
lived for two years, and which she hopes some day to see again. The two
women quickly become inseparable and naturally Juanita tells Mrs.
Harding of her other recent New York friend, Jack Ashley. But Isabel,
although she enjoys, or otherwise, an acquaintance with that industrious
young man, does not know his name, and the adventuress has not even the
fear of his reappearance to disturb her present serenity.
But if the Don and his daughter are charmed by their guest, not so Don
Carlos, and it is with difficulty that that gentle youth conceals his
dislike. An instinctive distrust of the beautiful American takes
possession of him, and to avoid exhibiting this distrust, which he
admits to himself is unfounded, he spends most of his time in solitary
walks about the vast pueblo or in long rides upon the back of his
favorite pony.
Late in the afternoon of the 7th of April, two days after the arrival of
Mrs. Harding at the quinta, that lady, her elderly host and his daughter
are seated on the veranda, enjoying the light breeze from the gulf which
renders life in Cuba endurable and even attractive for a few hours.
An interruption to the conversation comes in the person of a courier,
who rides up to the quinta, delivers to Quesada a small packet of
papers, and, after a glass of wine, departs as hastily as he came.
The Don excuses himself and retires to his study. A few moments later he
reappears and calls to Carlos, who is coming up the lawn. Young Navarro
bows to Mrs. Harding and follows the Don into the study.
“I have just received important news,” says the latter. “Capt. Guerra
sends word that a big supply train was dispatched by the captain-general
from Havana for Santiago this morning or last night. Is it not to-day or
to-morrow that Navarro was to be at or near Jibana?”
Carlos nods. “He should certainly be there now.”
Quesada paces the room, his brow knitted in thought. “If word could be
got to him at once,” he says, “Dios! The train might be captured. But
how to send him word—there is the obstacle.”
“How far is Jibana from Santiago?” asks Carlos, into whose mind has come
a sudden thought that causes his cheeks to alternately flush and pale.
“A full day’s journey by rail. No; I fear word could not be sent him in
time.”
“But if a courier were to leave on the early morning train, could he not
reach Jibana in season to find Emilio?”
“Perhaps. It will take several days for the supply train to make the
trip, but it will also take us too long to find a trustworthy
messenger.”
“Do you not consider me trustworthy?”
“You!” cries Quesada, looking at the slender youth in astonishment.
“Yes, Don Manuel; I will be the courier.”
“No, no; I cannot permit it. What would Emilio say?”
“He will be too overjoyed to see me to think of scolding you. There is
no danger. Simply the discomfort of the journey. I will start in the
morning.”
Against his better judgment, Quesada consents, and as Carlos throws open
the study door the vision of Mrs. Harding flits by.
Over the teacups half an hour later Isabel tells Don Quesada that, if
there is a conveyance to be easily procured at Santos, she believes she
will run into Santiago for a day’s shopping. And Quesada informs her
smilingly that if she cares to arise with the sun she may find a
conveyance in waiting, as Carlos is going to the city on business and
will undoubtedly be charmed with her society on the short journey.
* * * * *
At Havana on the morning of the 8th of April.
With contracted brows and frowning face, the captain-general of Cuba
scans a mass of official documents that lie upon his desk. Gen. Truenos
is plainly displeased with the condition of affairs on the island. When
he sailed from Cadiz it was to “put down the rebellion in three months,”
as the Spanish press boastfully asserted, but Truenos realizes that it
is not now a matter of weeks or months, but of years, ere the red and
yellow of Spain will wave again unchallenged over the gem of the
Antilles.
In the meantime, Gen. Truenos gathers from the papers before him that
some of the matured plans of the Spanish have been checkmated through
treachery in some quarter, and he is not enchanted with the glimpses he
has obtained of the manner in which his subordinates conduct a campaign.
An officer enters the room with a dispatch and the captain-general
reaches impatiently for the missive.
“Caspita!” he growls, as he glances over the contents. “Murillo at least
is alive to what is transpiring under the very noses of my generals. I
wish that I had more like him.” Then to the officer: “Send Gen.
Velasquez to me at once.”
As the latter answers the summons, Truenos hands him the dispatch, with
the query: “Has the supply train left for Santiago?”
“It left last night, your excellency.”
“It must be stopped. As you will see by Murillo’s dispatch, the rebels
have learned of the train’s departure and a courier is now en route from
Santiago to notify that infernal El Terredo. If that courier is not
intercepted, the supply train must be recalled or held. The dispatch
contains a description of the rebel messenger. Now, then, to action.”
Truenos unfolds a large map of the island, and as he runs his finger
along the line which indicates the railroad, another dispatch is handed
in. The captain-general tears it open and reads:
“Reported that El Terredo is encamped near Jibana, with a large
force of insurgents.
Alvarez.”
“Ah,” remarks Truenos. “This is dated Cadoza. And Cadoza,” he consults
the map, “is less than a dozen miles from Jibana. Bueno! For once
matters are dovetailing to my wishes. The courier cannot reach Jibana
before nightfall, and when he does Alvarez shall arrest him. Let the
supply train proceed, Velasquez, and immediately wire Alvarez to arrest
the rebel messenger at or below Jibana. Send the description of the
young man given in Murillo’s dispatch and have Alvarez wire back that he
understands. Quick! There is no time to be wasted.”
It is to be an exciting night at Jibana.
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