A SIGNAL FROM MACEDONIA.
Van Zandt and Louise stand, hand in hand, gazing sorrowfully upon all
that is mortal of Cyrus Felton. A crash is heard below, as the front
door is burst from its hinges.
Van Zandt leaps to the head of the staircase just as the feet of a brace
of ruffians are on the lower step. Twice cracks his revolver and his aim
is true. One of the Spaniards falls and the second drops back with a cry
of pain. Then, as Van Zandt throws himself to one side, there is a flash
of fire below, and the bullets whistle harmlessly by.
As he judges, there is no immediate second rush by the attacking party,
so he proceeds to examine his surroundings and the result is far from
satisfactory. There is no serious danger of the besiegers attempting to
carry the staircase by storm. The Spaniard is not lacking in courage,
but it requires a considerable amount of sand to lead the way to certain
death. But the room to which they have retreated was not built for a
fortress and he realizes that the end must come when the enemy will gain
access to the second floor—by the veranda or by the rear entrance to the
building.
Suddenly his eyes rest upon a ladder at the other end of the short
hallway.
“Quick!” he whispers to Louise, as he points the way to temporary
safety.
A minute later and they are on the roof of the building, the ladder
pulled up, and the scuttle fastened down. Over them floats, from the
flagstaff, the glorious banner of their native land, and above that
bends a sky of heaven’s deepest blue.
“Fairly outwitted!” says Van Zandt. Suddenly he feels a weakness come
over him and he sinks upon the sun-baked roof. Then for the first time
Louise notices that he is wounded, and she kneels beside him with a very
white face.
“It is nothing,” he reassures her. With her assistance he removes his
coat, tears open the left sleeve of his shirt and discloses a bullet
hole in the fleshy part of the arm. It looks more serious than it really
is and Louise feels an inclination to faint. But she resists it and
proceeds to bind up the still bleeding wound with strips torn from her
own silken petticoat. The golden head is very close to the brown one,
and as the fair surgeon bends to tie a knot, the soft sweep of her hair
steals away all of Van Zandt’s well-guarded reserve, and his right arm
encircles her in a passionate embrace.
“I love you! I love you!” he whispers.
And Miss Hathaway, being a sensible young woman, who knows what she
wants, does not remark upon the “suddenness” of the declaration of love,
but presses her red lips to his and tells Phillip that she has loved him
ever since she knew him.
But the lovers are brought back to earth by a chorus of yells and
picturesque profanity sufficient to supply the captain of a whaling bark
for an entire voyage.
“They have discovered our retreat,” whispers Van Zandt, as he lifts the
scuttle and listens to the tumult below. But he drops it as a bullet
crashes through a few inches from his head, and moves out of such
dangerous range. Then, as his eyes rest upon the flag above him an idea
seizes him—a veritable inspiration. He steps to the flag-staff, detaches
the halyards and the stars and stripes come fluttering down to his feet.
“What are you doing with the flag?” asks Louise.
“Giving utterance to the old Macedonian cry,” he calls back, and up goes
old glory again, this time with the union jack down. “Pray that my crew
may see the signal,” he adds, fervently. And Providence assists his
effort, for a puff of wind streams the flag straight out upon the
breeze.
Capt. Beals is on the bridge of the Semiramis at this moment, looking
toward the shore, and his curiosity is excited.
He sweeps the roof top with one glance through his powerful glance and
then issues a command that echoes to the farthest corners of the
Semiramis.
A few moments later Van Zandt sees two boats cut shoreward through the
blue waters of the bay as fast as muscle can send them.
“Thank heaven!” he exclaims, as his heart bounds within him, and he
proceeds to hug Louise in a manner that vastly entertains Capt. Beals,
who is still an interested though distant spectator. And if the bluff
old sea dog could have made himself heard he would have shouted a
warning, for he discerns what Van Zandt cannot see—a ladder placed
against the side wall of the consul’s house and three men ascending it,
while back a short distance, with carbines raised, stand the rest of the
scoundrelly horde.
The attack bids fair to be successful, but suddenly rings out the cry of
“Santiago!” and the little band of patriots from the Cafe de Almendras
dashes upon the scene.
The Spaniards now have all the fighting they can attend to. Van Zandt
and Louise watch from the rooftop the progress of the battle royal. The
fight is won. No quarter is given, and those of the Spaniards who have
the ability to flee are in full retreat, and as they disappear down the
beach they shout:
“El Terredo! El Terredo!”
Van Zandt sees a strange transformation in the appearance of the leader
of the rescuing party. During a hand-to-hand struggle with one of the
troopers his fierce mustachios have been knocked off, and it is a
handsome, beardless youth, with flashing black eyes, who looks about him
and remarks: “Well, my merry men, the victory is ours, but where are the
Americans?”
“Coming,” sings out Van Zandt, from the upper air. “We will be with you
in a minute.” And as he turns to Louise that young lady proceeds to
faint in his arms. It is a logical reaction from the strain which she
has borne with wonderful fortitude.
By this time the boats from the Semiramis have arrived, and in them
enough fighting Yankees to handle twice their number of Spanish
soldiery. A ladder is placed against the consul’s house and the besieged
are assisted to earth, one unconscious and the other with an arm tied
up.
While revivifying operations are under way Van Zandt hears a startled
exclamation at his elbow. It comes from El Terredo, who is gazing upon
the marble countenance of Miss Hathaway with astonished and troubled
eyes.
Without replying to Van Zandt’s questioning look, El Terredo picks up
his mustachios from the sand and again affixes them to his face. Then he
turns calmly to Van Zandt.
“The third of your party? I was told there was an old gentleman.”
“He is dead. Killed at the first fire,” Van Zandt tells him, and he
leads the way into the house.
As the two men look upon the body, which has not been disturbed by the
troopers, El Terredo shudders, and murmurs: “My God, what does all this
mean?”
“It means much to me,” replies Van Zandt, gravely, as he takes from the
dead man’s person a packet of papers.
Without speaking El Terredo steps to the sofa and assists Van Zandt to
bear the remains from the house.
The body is laid in the bow of one of the boats, reverently covered, and
preparations are made for the return to the Semiramis. When all but
himself and the rescuing party from the cafe have embarked Van Zandt
turns to El Terredo, who, with folded arms, is gazing abstractedly
toward the law-and-order deserted city. “You are going with us, are you
not?” he asks.
“No; I shall remain here.”
“Your safety lies with yonder yacht.”
“Safety? Ah, senor, somewhere on this isle is one dearer to me than
personal security.” And the young man turns away to hide his emotion.
“But you can gain nothing by remaining here now. The survivors of the
late scrimmage have recognized you and in half an hour the whole town
will be at your heels. Aboard my yacht you will be safe and I will
gladly land you at any point on the island you may designate. Besides,
the papers—”
“Say no more, senor,” exclaims El Terredo, extending his hand. “I accept
your generous offer.”
Dismissing his faithful followers, with the assurance that he will be
with them again ere many days, the revolutionary leader steps into one
of the waiting boats.
As they are about to push off a soldier whose horse is flecked with foam
comes dashing down the beach, and as he leaps from his well-nigh broken
steed, he calls out cheerily:
“Got room for one more?”
“Ah! My friend of the cafe,” cries Van Zandt. “You are very welcome,
senor.”
“And just in time,” remarks John Barker, detective, as with a hearty
thwack he sends his horse riderless down the beach and clambers into the
boat.
------------------------------------------------------------------------