coupled up to the standing car, and drew it off upon another track.
Soon the "excursion party" was being rushed swiftly toward the coast,
some twenty miles away.
Major Ramos came down the aisle, laughing, and spoke to his American
protege's.
"Well, what do you think of that, eh? Imagine the feelings of those
good deputy-marshals when they wake up. I bet they'll rub their eyes."
Miss Evans bounced excitedly in her seat; she clapped her hands,
"You must have friends in high places," O'Reilly grinned, and the Cuban
agreed.
"Yes, I purposely drew attention to us in Charleston, while our ship
was loading. She's ready and waiting for us now; and by daylight we
ought to be safely out to sea. Meanwhile the Dauntless has weighed
anchor and is steaming north, followed, I hope, by all the revenue
cutters hereabouts."
It was the darkest time of the night when the special train came to a
stop at a bridge spanning one of the deep Southern rivers. In the
stream below, dimly outlined in the gloom, lay the Fair Play, a small
tramp steamer; her crew were up and awake. The new arrivals were
hurried aboard, and within a half-hour she was feeling her way seaward.
With daylight, caution gave way to haste, and the rusty little tramp
began to drive forward for all she was worth. She cleared the
three-mile limit safely and then turned south. Not a craft was in
sight; not a smudge of smoke discolored the sky-line.
It had been a trying night for the filibusters, and when the low
coast-line was dropped astern they began to think of sleep. Breakfast
of a sort was served on deck, after which those favored ones who had
berths sought them, while their less fortunate companions stretched out
wherever they could find a place.
Johnnie O'Reilly was not one of those who slept; he was too much
elated. Already he could see the hills of Cuba dozing behind their
purple veils; in fancy he felt the fierce white heat from close-walled
streets, and scented the odors of "mangly" swamps. He heard the
ceaseless sighing of royal palms. How he had hungered for it all; how
he had raged at his delays! Cuba's spell was upon him; he knew now that
he loved the island, and that he would never feel at rest on other soil.
It had seemed so small a matter to return; it had seemed so easy to
seek out Rosa and to save her! Yet the days had grown into weeks; the
weeks had aged into months. Well, he had done his best; he had never
rested from the moment of Rosa's first appeal. Her enemies had foiled
him once, but there would be no turning back this time--rather a
firing-squad or a dungeon in Cabanas than that.
O'Reilly had taken his bitter medicine as becomes a man--he had
maintained a calm, if not a cheerful, front; but now that every throb
of the propeller bore him closer to his heart's desire he felt a
growing jubilation, a mounting restlessness that was hard to master.
His pulse was pounding; his breath swelled in his lungs. Sleep? That
was for those who merely risked their lives for Cuba. Hunger? No food
could satisfy a starving soul. Rest? He would never rest until he held
Rosa Varona in his arms. This rusty, sluggish tub was standing still!
Into the midst of his preoccupation Norine Evans forced herself,
announcing, breathlessly:
"Oh, but I'm excited! They're hoisting a cannon out of the hold and
putting it together, so that we can fight if we have to."
"Now don't you wish you'd stayed at home?" O'Reilly smiled at her.
"Good heavens, no! I'm having the time of my life. I nearly died of
curiosity at first--until I found Major Ramos's tongue."
"Hm-m! You found it, all right. He appears to be completely conquered."
"I-I'm afraid so," the girl acknowledged, with a little grimace. "You'd
think he'd never seen a woman before. He's very--intense. Very!"
"You don't expect me, as your chaperon, to approve of your behavior?
Why, you've been flirting outrageously."
"I had to flirt a little: I simply had to know what was going on.
But--I fixed him."
"Indeed?"
"I couldn't let him spoil my fun, could I? Of course not. Well, I put a
damper on him. I told him about you--about us."
O'Reilly was puzzled. "What do you mean?" he inquired.
"You won't be angry, will you? When he waxed romantic I told him he had
come into my life too late. I confessed that I was in love with another
man--with you." As her hearer drew back in dismay Miss Evans added,
quickly, "Oh, don't be frightened; that isn't half--"
"Of course you're joking," Johnnie stammered.
"Indeed I'm not. I thought it would discourage him, but--it didn't. So
I told him a whopper. I said we were engaged." The speaker tittered.
She was delighted with herself.
"Engaged? To be MARRIED?"
"Certainly! People aren't engaged to--to go fishing, are they? I had to
tell him something; he was getting positively feverish. If he'd kept it
up I'd have told him we were secretly married."
"This may be funny," the young man said, stiffly, "but I don't see it."
"Oh, don't look so glum! I'm not going to hold you to it, you know.
Why"--Miss Evans's bantering manner ceased, and she said, earnestly:
"Doctor Alvarado told me your story, and I think it is splendid. I'm
going to help you find that little Rosa, if you'll let me. You were
thinking about her when I came up, weren't you?"
Johnnie nodded.
"You--might talk to me about her, if you care to."
O'Reilly's voice was husky and low as he said: "I daren't trust myself.
I'm afraid. She's so young, so sweet, so beautiful--and these are
war-times. I'm almost afraid to think--"
Norine saw her companion's cheeks blanch slowly, saw his laughing eyes
grow grave, saw the muscular brown hand upon the rail tighten until the
knuckles were white; impulsively she laid her palm over his.
"Don't let yourself worry," she said. "If money would buy her safety
you could have all that I have. Just be brave and true and patient, and
you'll find her. I'm sure you will. And in the mean time don't mind my
frivolity; it's just my way. You see this is my first taste of life,
and it has gone to my head."
XVI
THE CITY AMONG THE LEAVES
The night was moonless and warm. An impalpable haze dimmed the
star-glow, only the diffused illumination of the open sea enabled the
passengers of the Fair Play to identify that blacker darkness on the
horizon ahead of them as land. The ship herself was no more than a
formless blot stealing through the gloom, and save for the
phosphorescence at bow and stern no light betrayed her presence, not
even so much as the flare of a match or the coal from a cigar or
cigarette. Orders of the strictest had been issued and the
expedicionarios, gathered along the rails, were not inclined to
disregard them, for only two nights before the Fair Play, in spite of
every precaution, had shoved her nose fairly into a hornets' nest and
had managed to escape only by virtue of the darkness and the speed of
her engines.
She had approached within a mile or two of the pre-arranged
landing-place when over the mangroves had flared the blinding white
light of a Spanish patrol-boat; like a thief surprised at his work the
tramp had turned tail and fled, never pausing until she lay safe among
the Bahama Banks.
Now she was feeling her way back, some distance to the westward. Major
Ramos was on the bridge with the captain. Two men were taking soundings
in a blind search for that steep wall which forms the side of the old
Bahama Channel. When the lead finally gave them warning, the Fair Play
lost her headway and came to a stop, rolling lazily; in the silence
that ensued Leslie Branch's recurrent cough barked loudly.
"They're afraid to go closer, on account of the reef," O'Reilly
explained to his companions.
"That must be it that I hear," Norine ventured. "Or maybe it's just the
roaring in my ears."
"Probably the latter," said Branch. "I'm scared stiff. I don't like
reefs. Are there any sharks in these waters?"
"Plenty."
"Well, I'm glad I'm thin," the sick man murmured.
Major Ramos spoke in a low tone from the darkness above, calling for a
volunteer boat's crew to reconnoiter and to look for an opening through
the reef. Before the words were out of his mouth O'Reilly had offered
himself.
Ten minutes later he found himself at the steering-oar of one of the
ship's life-boats, heading shoreward. A hundred yards, and the Fair
Play was lost to view; but, keeping his face set toward that inky
horizon, O'Reilly guided his boat perhaps a half-mile nearer before
ordering his crew to cease rowing. Now through the stillness came a
low, slow, pulsating whisper, the voice of the barrier reef.
The trade-winds had died with the sun, and only the gentlest
ground-swell was running; nevertheless, when the boat drew farther in
the sound increased alarmingly, and soon a white breaker streak showed
dimly where the coral teeth of the reef bit through.
There was a long night's work ahead; time pressed, and so O'Reilly
altered his course and cruised along outside the white water, urging
his crew to lustier strokes. It was haphazard work, this search for an
opening, and every hour of delay increased the danger of discovery.
A mile--two miles--it seemed like ten to the taut oars-men, and then a
black hiatus of still water showed in the phosphorescent foam. O'Reilly
explored it briefly; then he turned back toward the ship. When he had
gone as far as he dared, he lit a lantern and, shielding its rays from
the shore with, his coat, flashed it seaward. After a short interval a
dim red eye winked once out of the blackness. O'Reilly steered for it.
Soon he and his crew were aboard and the ship was groping her way
toward the break in the reef. Meanwhile, her deck became a scene of
feverish activity; out from her hold came cases of ammunition and
medical supplies; the field-piece on the bow was hurriedly dismounted;
the small boats, of which there were an extra number, were swung out,
with the result that when the Fair Play had manoeuvered as close as she
dared everything was in readiness.
Many of these expedicionarios were professional men, clerks,
cigar-makers, and the like; few of them had ever done hard manual
labor; yet they fell to their tasks willingly enough. While they worked
a close watch with night glasses was maintained from the bridge.
O'Reilly took the first load through the reef, and discharged it upon a
sandy beach. No one seemed to know positively whether this was the
mainland or some key; and there was no time for exploration; in either
event, there was no choice of action. Every man tumbled overboard and
waded ashore with a packing-case; he dropped this in the sand above
high-tide mark, and then ran back for another. It was swift, hot work.
From the darkness on each side came the sounds of other boat crews
similarly engaged.
Johnnie was back alongside the ship and ready for a second cargo before
the last tender had set out upon its first trip, and then for several
hours this slavish activity continued. Some crews lost themselves in
the gloom, fetched up on the reef, and were forced to dump their
freight into the foam, trusting to salvage it when daylight came. Every
one was wet to the skin; bodies steamed in the heat; men who had pulled
at oars until their hands were raw and bleeding cursed and groaned at
their own fatigue. But there was little shirking; those whose strength
completely failed them dropped in the sand and rested until they could
resume their labors.
Daylight was coming when the last boat cast off and the Fair Play, with
a hoarse triumphant blast of her whistle, faded into the north, her
part in the expedition at an end.
O'Reilly bore Norine Evans ashore in his arms, and when he placed her
feet upon Cuban soil she hugged him, crying:
"We fooled them, Johnnie! But if it hadn't been for you we'd have
turned back. The captain was afraid of the reef."
"I don't mind telling you I was afraid, too," he sighed, wearily. "Now
then, about all we have to fear are Spanish coast-guards."
Dawn showed the voyagers that they were indeed fortunate, for they were
upon the mainland of Cuba, and as far as they could see, both east and
west, the reef was unbroken. There was still some uncertainty as to
their precise position, for the jungle at their backs shut off their
view of the interior; but that gave them little concern. Men were
lolling about, exhausted, but Major Ramos allowed them no time for
rest; he roused them, and kept them on the go until the priceless
supplies had been collected within the shelter of the brush. Then he
broke open certain packages, and distributed arms among his followers.
Even while this was going on there came an alarm; over the low
promontory that cut off the eastern coastline a streamer of smoke was
seen. There was a scurry for cover; the little band lay low and watched
while a Spanish cruiser stole past not more than a mile outside the
line of froth.
The three Americans, who were munching a tasteless breakfast of
pilot-bread, were joined by Major Ramos. He was no longer the
immaculate personage he had been: he was barefooted; his clothes were
torn; his trousers were rolled up to the knee and whitened by
sea-water, while the revolver at his hip and the bandolier of
cartridges over his shoulder lent him an incongruously ferocious
appearance. Ever since Norine had so rudely shattered his romantic
fancies the major had treated both her and O'Reilly with a stiff and
distant formality. He began now by saying:
"I am despatching a message to General Gomez's headquarters, asking him
to send a pack-train and an escort for these supplies. There is danger
here; perhaps you would like to go on with the couriers."
O'Reilly accepted eagerly; then thinking of the girl, he said,
doubtfully:
"I'm afraid Miss Evans isn't equal to the trip."
"Nonsense! I'm equal to anything," Norine declared. And indeed she
looked capable enough as she stood there in her short walking-suit and
stout boots.
Branch alone declined the invitation, vowing that he was too weak to
budge. If there was the faintest prospect of riding to the interior he
infinitely preferred to await the opportunity, he said, even at the
risk of an attack by Spanish soldiers in the mean time.
It took O'Reilly but a short time to collect the few articles necessary
for the trip; indeed, his bundle was so small that Norine was dismayed.
"Can't I take any clothes?" she inquired in a panic. "I can't live
without a change."
"It is something you'll have to learn," he told her. "An Insurrecto
with two shirts is wealthy. Some of them haven't any."
"Isn't it likely to rain on us?"
"It's almost sure to."
Miss Evans pondered this prospect; then she laughed. "It must feel
funny," she said.
There were three other members of the traveling-party, men who knew
something of the country round about; they were good fighters,
doubtless, but in spite of their shiny new weapons they resembled
soldiers even less than did their major. All were dressed as they had
been when they left New York; one even wore a derby hat and pointed
patent-leather shoes. Nevertheless, Norine Evans thought the little
cavalcade presented quite a martial appearance as it filed away into
the jungle.
The first few miles were trying, for the coast was swampy and thickly
grown up to underbrush; but in time the jungle gave place to higher
timber and to open savannas deep in guinea-grass. Soon after noon the
travelers came to a farm, the owner of which was known to one of the
guides, and here a stop was made in order to secure horses and food.
It was a charming little rancho. The palm-thatched house was set in a
grove of mamey and mango trees, all heavily burdened with fruit; there
was a vianda-patch, and, wonder of wonders, there were a half-dozen
cows dozing in the shade. Spying these animals, Norine promptly
demanded a glass of milk, and O'Reilly translated her request to the
farmer.
The man was obliging until he learned that the American lady purposed
drinking the milk fresh and warm; then he refused positively. Fresh
milk was full of fever, he explained: it was alive with germs. He would
bring her, instead, some which had been boiled and salted in the usual
Cuban manner. This he did, but after one bitter mouthful Norine
insisted upon her original request. With a dubious shake of his head
and a further warning the farmer directed his son to oblige the pretty
lady by milking one of the cows; he made it plain, however, that he
disclaimed all responsibility for the result.
Johnnie, who was badly fagged from the previous night's work, found a
shady spot and stretched himself out for a nap. He inquired idly if
there were any Spaniards in the vicinity, and learned that there were,
but that they seldom came this way.
"We'd never see them here, if it were not for these sin verguenzas--may
a bad lightning split them!--who take money to show them the
bridle-paths," the country-man explained. "I'd like to guide them once.
I'd lead them into a swamp and leave them to sink in the mud, then I'd
go back and cut off their heads. Ha! That would be a satisfaction, now,
wouldn't it?"
O'Reilly agreed sleepily that it would doubtless be a very great
satisfaction indeed.
"I'm as good a patriot as God ever made," the fellow ran on. "You can
see that, eh? But what do you think? I have a brother, a very blood
brother, who would sell himself for a peseta. He passed here the other
day at the head of a whole Spanish guerrillero." The speaker bared his
teeth and spat viciously. "Christ! How I would like to cut his throat!"
The shade was grateful. O'Reilly dozed. He was awakened by being
roughly shaken, and he found the man with the derby hat bending over
him. The fellow was excited; his eyes were ringed with white; his
expression bespoke the liveliest alarm. Loud voices came from the rear
of the bohio.
"What's the matter? Spaniards?" Johnnie was on his feet in an instant.
"No, no! Your senorita!" the man gasped, "For the love of God come
quickly." He set off at a run, and Johnnie followed, a prey to sudden
sick misgivings.
Around the house they dashed, and into a group the center of which was
Norine herself, a gourdful of milk in one hand, a partially devoured
mango in the other. At first glance there seemed to be nothing amiss;
but the owner of the farm was dancing; he was trying to seize first the
mango, then the drinking-vessel. His wife was wringing her hands and
crying, shrilly:
"God have mercy! So young--so beautiful! What a pity!"
The two filibusters and the farmer's eldest son, all visibly perturbed,
likewise joined in the commotion, while the smaller children looked on
from the background and whimpered.
"What's happened?" O'Reilly demanded, breathlessly.
Norine turned a puzzled face to him, meanwhile warding off the farmer's
attack. "I can't quite make out," she said. "They all talk at once.
Please ask them what I've done." Mechanically she raised the ripe mango
to her lips, whereupon the ranchero, with a yell, leaped upon her and
violently wrenched it out of her fingers.
Facing O'Reilly, the man panted: "There! You saw her! She wouldn't
listen to my wife--"
"Oh, I warned her!" wailed the woman. "But it was too late."
"You must tell her what she has done," said the fellow, in the stiff
hat.
"Well, what has she done?" Johnnie managed to inquire, whereupon every
one began a separate explanation:
"She will never become your wife. ... Look! That's not her first mango.
... Enough to destroy an army. ... You can see for yourself. ... Wait!
Ask her how many she ate. Ask her, senor, I implore you!"
There was a silence while Johnnie translated the question and repeated
the answer:
"She says she doesn't remember, they are so nice and ripe--"
"'So nice and ripe'!" shouted the owner of the farm, tearing his hair.
"'So nice and ripe'!" echoed his wife.
'"So nice and ripe'!" groaned the man who had awakened O'Reilly. "Major
Ramos told me to guard her with my life because she is the guest of
Cuba. Well, I shall kill myself."
The country woman laid a trembling hand upon Norine's arm, inquiring,
gently: "How are you feeling, my beautiful dove? Sick, eh?"
"What on earth ails these people?" inquired the object of all this
solicitude. "I haven't made away with a baby. Maybe they're afraid I
won't pay for my food?"
Light came to O'Reilly. "I remember now," said he. "Mangoes and milk
are supposed to be poisonous. The woman wants to know how you feel."
"Poisonous! Nonsense! They taste splendid. Tell her I'm still half
starved."
It proved now that one of the three members of the landing-party
possessed an unsuspected knowledge of English, which modesty alone had
prevented him from revealing. Under the stress of his emotion he broke
out:
"Oh, missy! Those fruit is skill you."
"I don't believe it," Miss Evans declared.
"It skill you, all right. Maybe you got a headache here, eh?" The
speaker laid a hand upon his abdomen and leaned forward expectantly.
"Nothing but an aching void."
This confession, or a garbled translation of it, was enough for the
others; it confirmed their worst fears. The farmer volunteered to ride
for the nearest priest, but hesitated, declaring it a waste of time,
inasmuch as the lady would be dead in half an hour. His wife ran to the
house for her crucifix and rosary, which latter she insisted upon
hanging around Norine's neck. After that she directed the men to carry
the sufferer indoors, her intention being to make her guest's last
moments as comfortable as possible. When Norine refused to be carried
she was warned that the least exertion would but hasten the end, which
was, alas! all too near.
O'Reilly was impressed, in spite of himself, by this weight of
conviction, especially when the Cubans ridiculed his suggestion that
the combination of milk and mango might not prove altogether fatal to
an American. Nothing, they assured him, could possibly be deadlier than
this abominable mixture.
The victim herself, however, remained skeptical; she alone treated the
matter lightly, and although she did finally consent to lie down, it
was merely to please the others and because she was tired.
"They have set their minds on seeing me expire, and they're such nice
people I'm almost ashamed to disappoint them," she confided to
O'Reilly. "But really I'm too hungry to die. Now don't forget to call
me when dinner is ready."
"Honestly, do you feel all right?" he asked of her.
"Never better."
The meal was slow in coming, for not only were the cooking arrangements
primitive, but the apprehensive housewife could not long remain away
from the sick-room. She made frequent visits thereto, and after each
she reported in a whisper the condition of the patient. The lady looked
very white. ... Her breathing was becoming slower. ... She was
unconscious. ... All would soon be over. ... It was better to let her
pass painlessly to paradise than to torture her with useless remedies.
Realizing that the poison had at last begun to work, the men tip-toed
to the door and peered in compassionately, whereupon the sufferer
roused herself sufficiently to call them "a lot of rubber-necks" and
bid them begone.
"Her mind wanders," explained the man of the house; and then to cheer
O'Reilly he added, "She is young and strong; she may linger until
evening."
The meal was set at last, however; the men were stealthily attacking
it. Suddenly the sick woman swept out from her retreat and sat down
among them.
"Senorita! This is suicide!" they implored.
Then, as she ignored them and helped herself liberally to the food,
their own appetites vanished and they pushed themselves away from the
table.
With a twinkle in his eye O'Reilly said, gravely, "Dying people have
strange fancies. Pray don't thwart her."
Indifference so callous on the part of a lover shocked the Cubans. They
rebuked O'Reilly silently; it was plain that they considered Americans
a barbarously cold-blooded race. Meanwhile they apprehensively watched
Norine's every mouthful.
When, after a time, no ill effects having appeared, she suggested
departing, they whispered together. They agreed at last that it was
perhaps the course of wisdom to humor her. She was the guest of their
Government; it would not do to displease her. Inasmuch as her end was
inevitable, it could matter little whether she died here or elsewhere.
Accordingly they saddled their borrowed horses and set out.