countenance. "It must have lain there ever since I left Matanzas, three
months ago."
"Ha! Matanzas!" fiercely ejaculated a colonel. "What were you doing in
Matanzas?"
It was unnecessary to prevaricate now. Johnnie told of his earlier
connection with the Carter Importing Company, gave names, dates, and
facts to bear out his statements, and challenged his accusers to verify
them.
Undoubtedly some of his hearers were impressed, but they were by no
means convinced of the innocence of his present purpose, and, in fact,
the ferocious colonel seemed to regard past residence in Cuba as proof
conclusive of a present connection with the rebels. Johnnie gathered
that he was suspected of being one of those American engineers who were
reported to have been engaged to instruct the enemy in the use of
explosives: his inquisitors did their best to wring such an admission
from him or to entrap him into the use of some technical phrase, some
slip of the tongue which would verify their suspicions. They even
examined his hands with minutest care, as if to find some telltale
callous or chemical discoloration which would convict him. Then
finally, to give him the lie absolute, the aggressive colonel seized a
nickel-plated atomizer from the table and brandished it triumphantly
before the young men's eyes.
"Enough of this pretense!" he cried. "What is this instrument, eh?"
"It is evidently an atomizer, a nasal syringe. I never saw it before."
"It's mine," said Leslie Branch; but the colonel did not heed the
interruption.
"Ha! And pray explain its use."
Johnnie undertook to do so, but it was plain that his words carried no
conviction, for his mocking inquisitor gave a loud snort and gestured
eloquently to his commander. "There you have it!" he declared, proudly.
"This impostor betrays himself."
The other officers were eying the unfamiliar article curiously; one of
them ventured gingerly to handle it; they exchanged whispers.
"What do you call it?" the general inquired, leaning forward.
This was the colonel's moment. "I will tell you!" he said, with a sneer
at O'Reilly. "I am something of a genius at mechanical inventions, and
therefore I am not for a moment deceived by this fellow's common lies.
This"--he paused dramatically and held his brother officers with a
burning glance--"this instrument, in my opinion, was devised for the
purpose of injecting fulminate of mercury into dynamite."
There was a breathless hush. The Spaniards stared at the little syringe
with amazement.
"And how does it operate?" queried one.
"It is one of those ingenious Yankee contrivances. I have never seen
one quite like it, but my intelligence makes its principle plain.
Evidently one inserts the tube into the dynamite, so, and presses the
bulb---"
There came a loud cry from General Antuna, who had bent closer; he
clapped his hands to his face and staggered from his chair, for in
suiting his action to his words the colonel had squeezed the bulb, with
the result that a spray of salt water had squirted fairly into his
superior officer's interested and attentive countenance.
"My eyes! Dios mio! I am blinded for life!" shouted the unhappy
general, and his subordinates looked on, frozen with consternation.
The author of this calamity blanched; he was stricken dumb with horror.
Some one cried: "A doctor, quickly. Jesus Cristo! Such carelessness!"
"This is terrible!" another stammered. "It will explode next."
There was a concerted scramble away from the table.
Leslie Branch laughed--it was the first time that O'Reilly had ever
heard him give audible evidence of amusement. His reedy frame was
shaken as by a painful spasm; his colorless face was distorted, and
from his lips issued queer, hysterical barks and chortles. "Tell 'em
it's nothing but brine," he said, chokingly.
When this welcome intelligence had been translated, and when the
general had proved it to be true, there was a great sigh of relief,
followed by a subdued titter at the colonel's expense. The latter was
chagrined. Having made himself and the comandante ridiculous, he took
refuge behind an assumption of somber and offended dignity. But it was
plain that he still considered these Americans dangerous people, and
that his suspicions were as keen as ever.
The interruption served to end O'Reilly's ordeal, for the moment at
least, and attention was now turned to his companion. It was evident
from the first that Branch's case was hopeless. He readily acknowledged
himself to be a newspaper writer, and admitted having sent articles for
publication through the mails. This was quite enough; from the attitude
of the military men it promised to go hard with him. But he sprung a
surprise by boldly proclaiming himself an English citizen and warning
his captors not to treat him with the contempt or with the severity
they reserved for Americans. Curiously his words had an effect.
Judgment for the moment was suspended, and the two prisoners were led
away, after which another delay ensued.
At last O'Reilly was recalled; but when he re-entered the big room he
found General Antuna awaiting him, alone.
"Permit me to apologize for the inconvenience we have put you to," the
comandante began.
"Then am I free?"
"You are."
"I thank you."
The general's hard eyes gleamed. "Personally I at no time put faith in
the idea that you are a powder expert," said he. "No. I had my own
suspicions and I regret to say this inquiry has not in the least served
to lessen them."
"Indeed? May I ask of what you suspect me?" Johnnie was genuinely
interested.
The general spoke with force and gravity: "Mr. O'Reilly, I believe you
to be a far greater menace to the interests of my country than--well,
than a score of dynamite experts. I believe you are a writer."
The American smiled. "Are writers such dangerous people?"
"That altogether depends upon circumstances. The United States is
inclined to recognize the belligerency of these Cuban rebels, and her
relations with Spain are becoming daily more strained; ill-feeling
grows, and all because of the exaggerations, the mendacities, that have
gone forth from here to your newspapers. We are determined to put down
this uprising in our own way; we will tolerate no foreign interference.
War is never a pleasant thing, but you journalists have magnified its
horrors and misrepresented the cause of Spain until you, threaten to
bring on another and a more horrible combat. Now then, you understand
what I mean when I say that you are more dangerous than a powder
expert; that your pen can do more injury, can cause the death of more
Spanish troops than could a regiment of Americans with dynamite. Your
English friend makes no secret of his business, so we shall escort him
to Neuvitas and see him safely out of the country, once for all."
"And yet you permit me to remain?" Johnnie was surprised.
"For the present, yes! That is my official message to you. Privately,
however"--the speaker eyed O'Reilly with a disconcerting expression--"I
would like to warn you. You are a bright fellow, and you have a way
with you--there's no denying it. Under other conditions it would be a
pleasure to know you better. It grieves me, therefore, to warn you that
your further stay in Cuba will not be--pleasant. I almost regret that
there is no conclusive evidence against you; it would so simplify
matters. Come now, hadn't you better acknowledge that I have guessed
your secret?"
O'Reilly's perplexity was, changing to dismay, for it seemed to him he
was being played with; nevertheless, he shook his head. "I would only
be deceiving you, sir," he said.
General Antuna sighed. "Then I see embarrassments ahead for both of us."
"More arrests?"
"Not necessarily. Understand me, I speak as one gentleman to another,
but--you must have noticed that Americans are unpopular with our
troops. Eh? They are impulsive, these troopers; accidents cannot be
prevented. Suppose something should happen to you? There is the
trouble. You came to Cuba to enjoy its climate; you cannot be expected
to remain indoors. Of course not. Well! Among our soldiers are many new
recruits, patriotic, enthusiastic young fellows, but--careless. They
are wretchedly unproficient marksmen, and they haven't learned the
dangers of promiscuous rifle fire. They are forever shooting at things,
merely to score a hit. Would you believe it? Oh, I have to discipline
them frequently. To think of you going abroad through the streets,
therefore, worries me intensely."
"Your solicitude is touching." O'Reilly bowed mockingly; but
disregarding his tone, General Antuna proceeded in the same false key:
"Suppose you should be found dead some day. Imagine my feelings." The
speaker's tone and expression were eloquent of concern. "How could I
fix the responsibility?"
"By having me followed, as usual, I dare say," O'Reilly said, bitterly.
"Oh, you will of course be shadowed day and night; in fact, to be quite
sure of your--er--safety I shall ask you to permit one of my men to
accompany you everywhere and even to share your room. We shall try
never to lose sight of you, depend upon it. But these detectives are
careless fellows at best; I don't trust them. Of course such
precautions would exonerate me from all blame and relieve my Government
from any responsibility for injury to you, but, nevertheless, it would
tend to complicate relations already strained. You see I am quite
honest with you." The general allowed time for his words to sink in;
then he sighed once more. "I wish you could find another climate
equally beneficial to your rheumatism. It would lift a great load from
my mind. I could offer you the hospitality of an escort to Neuvitas,
and your friend Mr. Branch is such good company he would so shorten
your trip to New York!" The speaker paused hopefully; that same
sardonic flicker was on his lips.
Johnme could not summon an answering smile, for his heart was like
lead. He realized now the utter futility of resistance; he knew that to
remain in Puerto Principe after this thinly veiled warning would be to
court destruction--and destruction of a shocking character against
which it would be impossible to guard. Even an espionage stricter than
that to which he had been subjected would utterly defeat his plans.
After a moment of thought he said, gravely:
"I appreciate the delicacy of your consideration, sir, and--I shall go."
General Antuna leaped to his feet, his grim face alight; striding to
O'Reilly, he pressed his hands--he seemed upon the point of embracing
him. "I thank you!" he cried. "You render me a supreme service. See, I
breathe easy. Permit me to offer you refreshment--one of our famous
Spanish wines. No? Then the best cigar in all Cuba!"
His expressions of gratitude were fulsome; he swore that O'Reilly had
done him the greatest favor of his life, but his words were like poison
to his hearer.
"You embarrass me," O'Reilly told him, endeavoring to carry off his
defeat with some show of grace. In his bitterness he could not refrain
from adding, "If my accursed affliction returns, perhaps we shall meet
again before long, either here or elsewhere."
"Oh, I have little hope for such a pleasure," the general quickly
replied. "But if we do meet, remember we Spaniards have a cure for
rheumatism. It is unpleasant, but efficacious. A little, nickel-plated
pill, that is all." General Antuna's teeth shone for an instant. "There
is another remedy, not quite so immediate in its effect, but a good
one. I have tried it and found it excellent. Drink plenty of
cocoanut-water! That is the Cuban remedy; the other I call the Spanish
cure. Cocoanuts are splendid. I shall see that a crate of the choicest
fruit is placed aboard your steamer. Accept them with my compliments,
and when you partake of them think of me."
O'Reilly did think of General Antuna, not only when he was escorted to
the railway station at daylight, but when he and Branch took their
seats and their guards filed in behind them. He assured himself moodily
that he would not cease to think of that sardonic old joker for a long
time to come. He cursed savagely; the memory of these wasted weeks, the
narrow margin of his failure, filled him with a sick feeling of dismay
and impotence. His mind quailed at the consequence of this new delay.
Where was Rosa now? How and when would he return? With difficulty he
resisted the impulse to fling himself from the moving train; but he
composed himself by the thought that Cuba was not fenced about with
bayonets. He would come back.
Leslie Branch broke in upon his gloomy preoccupation by asking, "How
much money have you?"
"Less than ten dollars."
"You're rich. My landlady cleaned me. Is it the practice of beneficent
monarchies to provide transportation for their departing guests?"
"Undoubtedly."
Branch coughed dismally. "It 'll be all right if they just buy me a
ticket to the first fog. One more hemorrhage and I'll wing my way
aloft. God! I'd hate to be buried at sea."
"Cheer up!" O'Reilly reassured him, irritably. "There may be ice
aboard."
"ICE!" Leslie gasped. "Oh, bullets!"
In marked contrast to the difficulties of entering Cuba was the ease of
leaving it. A ship was sailing from Neuvitas on the very afternoon when
the two Americans arrived, and they were hurried aboard. Not until the
anchor was up did their military escort depart from them.
With angry, brooding eyes O'Reilly watched the white houses along the
water-front dwindle away, the mangrove swamps slip past, and the hills
rise out of their purple haze. When the salt breath of the trades came
to his nostrils he turned into his state-room, and, taking the crate of
cocoanuts with which General Antuna had thoughtfully provided him, he
bore it to the rail and dropped it overboard.
"Rheumatism was a fool disease, anyhow," he muttered.
"Great news!" Esteban Varona announced one day as he dismounted after a
foraging trip into the Yumuri, "We met some of Lacret's men and they
told us that Spain has recalled Captain-General Campos. He acknowledges
himself powerless to stem the flood of Cuban revolution. What do you
say to that?"
"Does that mean the end of the war?" Rosa eagerly inquired.
"Oh no. They have sent a new man--he's in Havana now--a dark little,
old fellow who never smiles. He has a long nose and a big chin; he
dresses all in black--a very 'jew-bird' in appearance, from what I
hear. His name is Weyler--Valeriano Weyler, Marquis of Teneriffe."
Esteban laughed tolerantly, for as yet the name of Weyler meant nothing
to him.
"No wonder we knew nothing about it," said the girl. "We hide like
animals and we see no one for weeks at a time. I sometimes wonder how
O'Reilly will manage to find us."
"Oh, he'll manage it somehow," Esteban declared, cheerfully. Then he
ran an approving eye over the new bohio and the new garden plot which
Evangelina had courageously begun. "We're not so badly fixed, are we?
At least Colonel Cobo won't find us so readily this time."
"Cobo!" shuddered the girl. "I dream about him."
Esteban scowled. "I've seen him at a distance several times, but he
takes pains to guard himself well when he comes into the Yumuri. They
say he's trying to destroy the whole valley."
"He will never forget."
Esteban covertly appraised his sister's charms, but respecting her
terror of Cobo he did not speak his thoughts. He was certain, however,
that Rosa knew, as well as he, what motive lay behind the fellow's
tireless persecutions of the valley dwellers; for in spite of their
isolation stories of Cobo had reached the refugees--stories that had
rendered both the boy and the girl sick with apprehension. The colonel,
it seemed, had nearly died of his machete wound, and on recovering he
had sworn to exterminate the wasps that had stung him. He had sworn
other oaths, too, oaths that robbed Esteban of his sleep.
Esteban idolized his sister; her loyalty to him was the most precious
thing of his life, Therefore, the thought of that swarthy ruffian
hunting her down as a hound hangs to the trail of a doe awoke in him a
terrible anger. Second only to his hatred for the guerrilla chief was
his bitterness against the traitor, Pancho Cueto, who had capped his
villainy by setting this new peril upon them; and since Rosa's safety
and his own honor called for the death of both men, he had sworn that
somehow he would effect it. It was, of course, a difficult matter to
get at the Colonel of Volunteers, but Cueto still lived in the midst of
his blackened fields, and it was against him that the boy was now
planning to launch his first blow.
The mention of Cobo's name had momentarily distracted Esteban's
thoughts. Now he collected them and said:
"Wait! I am forgetting something. See what Lacret's men handed me; they
are posted from one end of the island to the other." He displayed a
printed bando, or proclamation, signed by the new captain-general, and
read as follows:
"All inhabitants of the country districts, or those who reside
outside the lines of fortifications of the towns, shall, within a
period of eight days, enter the towns which are occupied by the
troops. Any individual found outside the lines in the country at the
expiration of this period shall be considered a rebel and shall be
dealt with as such."
It was that inhuman order of concentration, the result of which proved
to be without parallel in military history--an order which gave its
savage author the name of being the arch-fiend of a nation reputed
peculiarly cruel. Neither Esteban nor Rosa, however, grasped the full
significance of the proclamation; no one could have done so. No eye
could have foreseen the merciless butchery of non-combatants, the
starvation and death by disease of hordes of helpless men, women, and
children herded into the cities. Four hundred thousand Cubans driven
from their homes into shelterless prison camps; more than two hundred
thousand dead from hunger and disease; a fruitful land laid bare of all
that could serve as food, and changed to an ash-gray desolation; gaunt
famine from Oriente to Pinar del Rio--that was the sequel to those
printed words of "Weyler the Butcher" which Esteban read.
"Eight days! When is the time up?" Rosa inquired.
"Bless you, this is already two weeks old!" her brother told her.
"Why, then, it means that we'll be shot if we're caught."
"Exactly! But we sha'n't be caught, eh? Let the timid ones take fright
at the squeaks of this old black-bird. Let them go into the cities: we
shall have the more to eat!" Esteban crumpled the paper in his hand and
dropped it. "Meanwhile I shall proceed toward my settlement with Pancho
Cueto." His very careless confidence gave Rosa courage.
XII
WHEN THE WORLD RAN BACKWARD
Esteban went about his plan of destroying Pancho Cueto with youthful
energy and zest. First he secured, at some pains, a half-stick of
dynamite, a cap and fuse, and a gallon or more of kerosene; then he
assembled his followers and led them once again into the San Juan.
This time the ride to La Joya was longer than before, and since every
member of the little band was proscribed, Esteban insisted upon the
greatest caution. But there was little need of especial care, for the
country was already depopulated, as a result of Weyler's proclamation.
Fields were empty, houses silent; no living creatures stirred, except
in the tree-tops, and the very birds seemed frightened, subdued. It
struck young Varona queerly. It was as if the whole land was in
mourning; he saw nothing but blackbirds, somber-hued vultures, dismal
Judea-birds with their ebony plumage and yellow beaks. Far up the
valley a funeral pall of smoke hung in the sky itself; that was where
the Spaniards were burning the houses of those too slow in obeying the
order of concentration.
La Joya, however, was still tenanted when early in the evening its
rightful owner arrived; the house and some of its outbuildings showed
lights. Esteban concealed his men. While the horses cropped and the
negroes rested he fitted fuse and cap to his precious piece of
dynamite. It was likely, he thought, that Cueto had provided himself
with a body-guard, and knowing the plantation house as he did, he had
no intention of battering weakly at its stout ironwood door while his
quarry took fright and slipped away.
Now while Esteban was thus busied, Pancho Cueto was entertaining an
unwelcome guest. In the late afternoon he had been surprised by the
visit of a dozen or more Volunteers, and inasmuch as his relations with
their colonel had been none of the friendliest since that ill-starred
expedition into the Yumuri, he had felt a chill of apprehension on
seeing the redoubtable Cobo himself at their head.
The colonel had explained that he was returning from a trip up the San
Juan, taken for the purpose of rounding up those inhabitants who had
been dilatory in obeying the new orders from Havana. That smoke to the
southward was from fires of his kindling: he had burned a good many
crops and houses and punished a good many people, and since this was
exactly the sort of task he liked he was in no unpleasant mood. He had
demanded of Cueto lodging for himself and his troop, announcing that a
part of his command was somewhere behind and would rejoin him later in
the night.
Cueto had welcomed his visitor in all humility; he put up the soldiers
in the bate of the sugar-mill, and then installed Cobo in his best
room, after which he ransacked the house for food and drink and tobacco.
Later he and the colonel sat long over their supper, for the latter's
exultant humor continued. Cobo, it transpired, was delighted with the
new captain-general, a man of blood and iron, a man after his own
heart. This Weyler, he predicted, would put an end to the insurrection;
there would be no more of Campos's weak, merciful methods, which were,
in reality, nothing less than encouragement to revolt. Cueto, of
course, agreed.
"We're sweeping the country as with a broom, and already Matanzas is
bulging with refugees," the officer told him. "They call themselves
pacificos, but they carry information and aid our enemies. We'll have
no more of that."
"Will it not be a great expense to feed so many people?" Cueto ventured.
"Let them feed themselves. Is it our fault that they make such measures
necessary? By no means. Once we have them safe, we shall exterminate
all whom we encounter in the country." The speaker drank deeply of
Cueto's good wine and smacked his lips. "It's the kind of work I like.
Extermination! They have had their warning. From now on we shall spare
neither man, woman, nor child. The men are traitors, the women breed,
and the children grow up."
Cueto nodded his complete approval of this program. "Oh, decidedly,"
said he. "This spirit of violence must be stamped out or none of us
will be safe. Let me tell you I myself live in constant dread of that
young villain, Varona. I--hope you haven't forgotten him."
"Forgotten him?" Colonel Cobo fingered a lately healed scar which
further disfigured his ugly face, then he cursed frightfully. "It's by
God's mercy alone that I'm alive to-night. And I haven't forgotten the
girl, either. She'll have to come in, along with the others. The boy
may stay out, but she can't." He licked his lips. "Wait until I have
finished with this valley. I'll drive the Yumuri next, as a hunter
drives a thicket for his game, and nothing will slip through."
His thoughts once turned upon Rosa, the colonel could talk of little
else, and Cueto realized that the girl had indeed made a deep
impression upon him. The overseer was well pleased, and when Cobo
finally took himself off to bed he followed in better spirits than he
had enjoyed for some time. For one thing, it was agreeable to look
forward to a night of undisturbed repose. Pancho's apprehensions had
fattened upon themselves, and he had been living of late in a nightmare
of terror.