UNDER THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE.
“You lie!” shouts Captain Raymon Huerta, white with rage.
Ashley retorts calmly. “I repeat, Captain Huerta, what I have asserted.
As my wife, this woman is an American citizen. An order from you to your
men to fire upon or seize us, will be the last words you will utter in
this world!”
“The marriage? Impossible! The proof? The proof?” cries Huerta, foaming
with passion.
Ashley points to Father Hilario. “The proof is the word of yonder man of
God, by whom we were wedded not an hour ago!”
Captain Huerta glowers upon the priest. “Speaks the Americano truly?” he
fumes.
Father Hilario is silent. His eyes wander from the lovers to the
rage-distorted countenance of the Spanish captain.
Ashley holds his breath. He has made a superb bluff. Will the priest
fail him at this supreme moment?
“Speak, vile dog of a priest!” snarls Huerta, the padre’s silence adding
fuel to his rage.
At the brutal epithet Father Hilario’s cheek flushes. Then he speaks,
slowly and deliberately:
“It is true. They are man and wife in the sight of God, and around them
are the protecting arms of the church of Rome.” He raises his arms as if
pronouncing a benediction, and murmurs under his breath a pious: “May
God forgive me the deception!”
Captain Huerta bites his lip till the blood comes. One word to his men
would mean the destruction of the heroic trio. But over the shining
barrel of Ashley’s revolver, pointed straight at his heart, the Spanish
captain reads, in a pair of flashing eyes, a grim resolution that means
his death if he but raises his sword.
The situation is critical. The strain is beginning to tell on even
Ashley’s steel nerves.
At this moment a commotion is noted in the throng of soldiery that bars
the entrance to the church.
Pushing them right and left, a tall, distinguished-looking military man
strides into the sanctuary.
Don Huerta dashes his sword back into its sheath and sullenly awaits
developments.
General Murillo, for the arrival is he, glances from one of the party to
the other, and then addresses himself to Ashley:
“Senor, may I ask the meaning of this warlike demonstration?”
Ashley lowers his revolver. “It means, general, that your arrival has
averted an international episode.”
General Murillo turns to Huerta. “Withdraw at once,” he commands. “I
will see you anon.”
When Captain Huerta and his men have left the church Murillo asks:
“And now, Senor Ashley, will you be good enough to explain this peculiar
affair?”
“Willingly. But first, general,” says Jack, with a faint grin, “allow me
to introduce you to the prettiest girl in Cuba.” And for the first time
since the storming of the church door he removes his arm from about the
waist of the Pearl of the Antilles.
Murillo bows with Spanish profundity. “I have the honor of the
acquaintance of the Senorita de Quesada,” he remarks.
“Who is now plain Mrs. Jack Ashley,” corrects the newspaper man. “Pardon
me one moment, general,” and he whispers to Juanita:
“Father Hilario looks very disconsolate; go and comfort him. And now,
general,” to Murillo, “I am at your service.”
Ashley recounts briefly the exciting events that took place from the
hour he left the ball-room until the arrival of his auditor. He says
nothing of Mrs. Harding.
As the recital progresses Murillo’s face darkens.
“I am convinced,” declares Ashley, in conclusion, “that my arrest was
wholly the work of that scoundrel Huerta.”
“And what do you propose to do now?” asks Murillo.
“Well, I have no special plans beyond settling accounts with Captain
Huerta.”
“I will do the settling with Captain Huerta,” observes the general,
dryly. “As for you—you must leave Cuba.”
“My duty to my paper will not permit me to leave at present. And even
were I free, general, I should not desire to be understood as running
away.”
Murillo makes a gesture of impatience. “Just like you Americans. You
would all want to fiddle like Caesar while Rome was burning.”
“Your pardon; but I believe Nero was the soloist on that red-letter
occasion.”
The general frowns. “Come with me,” he says; “I will furnish to you the
necessary papers and you may proceed without interruption to Santiago.
The cruiser America sails for Key West to-morrow. You must take passage
on her. I do you a service, Senor Ashley, and I do it gladly, as I have
a friendship for you. But I warn you that any delay in leaving Cuba may
subject you to much annoyance, to use no harsher term. The government
suspects you of secretly aiding the insurrection.”
“The government is mistaken.”
Murillo glances at Juanita, and smiles ironically. “Senor Ashley,” he
says, “I am not so easily deceived. The instrumentality that saved the
senorita from annoyance is the same instrumentality that placed the
traitor Quesada in his present safe retreat. But what I as a man might
applaud, I cannot as a loyal adherent to Spain condone; nor would the
government take a sentimental view of the matter. You will see the
wisdom of my advice. Come.” And Murillo leads the way from the church.
Before he leaves the scene of his new-found happiness Jack Ashley
presses warmly the wrinkled hands of Father Hilario. “Father, you’re a
brick,” he says, and adds solicitously: “Will not Captain Huerta seek to
revenge himself upon you?”
“I fear him not,” replies the priest, raising his head proudly. Then,
placing the hand of Juanita within Ashley’s, he lays a hand on the head
of each, and in a voice choked with emotion says:
“My children, I have sinned for your sake, but I trust that God will
condone the offense. Heaven bless and keep you and when you are happily
sheltered in your northern home think sometimes of Father Hilario, of
the little church of San Pedro.”
Imprinting a kiss upon the brow of the Cuban girl, the aged priest turns
away and sinks upon his knees before the crucifix over the altar.
It requires but a few minutes for General Murillo to make out the
necessary passports and as he hands them to Ashley, he remarks: “You
will follow my advice?”
“I will follow it to Santiago, at least, general.”
The general shrugs his shoulders. “Do as you please. I have warned you,”
he says, and turns away.
Ten minutes later Ashley and Juanita are en route for Santiago in a
volante.
The young lady is sad. The natural reaction has set in.
“I am thinking of my father,” she replies to Jack’s attempt to rally
her.
“Your father is all right,” he confidently assures her. “In an hour or
two you will be in his arms, and I shall have the pleasure of asking him
for the hand of the dearest girl in the world. Or, stay, I am
progressing too rapidly,” he muses, in mock concern. “It has occurred to
me,” he goes on, “that—oh, well, of course a proposal of marriage must
naturally be regarded more conservatively now than—”
“Jack!”
“Yes, senorita.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Of you, senorita. Ah, something in your eyes tells me that I may be
presumptuous enough to hope.”
“What nonsense! There, I knew you were joking,” declares Juanita, as she
catches a stray twinkle in Jack’s eye. “You foolish boy, you know I love
you. I have loved you ever since—I met you.”
“Three whole weeks ago,” muses Ashley, as he draws the blushing face to
his and kisses it.
“Do you know, I have been insanely jealous of your friend Don Carlos all
along,” confesses Jack, after a long, happy silence, during which the
pair quite forget the volante driver.
“Jealous of Don Carlos? Oh!” cries Juanita, bursting into merry
laughter.
“I admit it is highly humorous, in the light of recent developments,”
says Jack, who sees nothing to laugh at in his remark. “What is there so
amusing in it all?”
“Oh, you dear, foolish Jack,” exclaims the girl, throwing her arms
around his neck. “To be jealous of Don Carlos! Why, Don Carlos is a
girl.”
“I am aware that, to the public gaze, Don Carlos is at present a young
lady,” returns Ashley, loftily, “but you must remember that I knew Don
Carlos before he exchanged his customary attire for his present feminine
toggery.”
“Oh, how superiorily wise you look,” banters Juanita. “But I tell you
that Don Carlos has always been, is now and always will be a girl!”
“What!”
“And you never suspected it—you who are so penetrating?” mocks the young
lady.
But Jack makes no reply. His mind is attempting to digest this
surprising bit of information. Then a light begins to break upon him.
“Her real name—what is it?” he asks, suddenly.
Juanita becomes serious again. “I must not divulge it, Jack, dear. I
should not have told you what I have, but you looked so comical when you
told me you had been jealous of Don Carlos. There, please don’t
catechise me further.”
“I shall not,” replies Ashley. “Besides, it will be unnecessary for you
to betray her identity.”
“Then you know—”
“I think I do. As I more than once remarked, I have an excellent memory
for faces, although I am sometimes a dev—a diablo of a while in
recalling the names that go with them.” And Ashley relapses into
meditation.
“Well, here we are at Santiago,” announces Jack. “In a short time you
can bid a temporary adieu to the soil of Cuba; and the sooner the
better.”
And indeed, the streets of Santiago are in apparent possession of a
riotous mob, swarming in and out of the cafes.
Ashley and Juanita find no obstacles in their path; half an hour later
they are aboard the America, under the red, white and blue, and Juanita
is in her father’s arms, relating breathlessly the thrilling incidents
of the last few hours.
Ashley leaves them to their exchange of confidence and affection, and
goes off to talk with Captain Meade. When he sees Don Quesada again that
gentleman takes his hand and assures him that he is honored by his
prospective entrance into the family.
“As for Cuba,” declares the Don, his eyes lighting with a trace of their
old-time fire, “the cause of the patriots was never brighter. To be
sure, I am a fugitive, and El Terredo yesterday suffered a severe
defeat, the Pearl of the Antilles having been destroyed in an unequal
engagement with three Spanish cruisers and gunboats. But General Masso
is advancing upon Santiago, with 10,000 revolutionists, and the fall of
the city is looked for within forty-eight hours. Already the Spanish
warships are gathering preparatory to shelling the place should it come
into the hands of the patriots, and foreign vessels are preparing to
leave the harbor.”
“I believe I will take Murillo’s advice for the present,” reflects
Ashley, “but I shall return to-morrow with the cruiser and be in at the
death.” Then he goes in search of Juanita.
“Now,” says that young lady, “if you have finished squeezing my hand
before all these officers and seamen, come below and I will introduce
you to—to ‘Miss Carlos’.”
“All right, sweetheart,” replies Jack, gayly. “Let me see. I believe you
remarked early this morning that you would never doubt me again.”
“Yes?” responds the young lady, inquiringly.
“Then, after you have introduced me to ‘Miss Carlos’ will you leave us
alone for a short time?”
“What a strange request! But it is granted.”
“Good. And now let us go below.”
The interview, whatever its nature, has a peculiar effect upon Ashley.
Upon returning from it he is saying to himself, sotto voce.
“By Jove! This case has taken a turn that I little looked for. I’d give
four dollars to see John Barker, detective, at this moment.”
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