PRISONERS OF WAR.
As Frank and Harry found themselves confronted with the row of leveled
rifles the officer who had addressed them placed a small silver whistle
to his lips and blew twice. At the signal a score of men came rushing
out of the mangroves, all armed and as villainous looking as the men who
had first surprised the boys. The officer gave them a brief order in
Spanish, the purport of which the boys did not get.
They were not long to be left in doubt as to its significance however.
Two of the men advanced with a rope and motioned to the boys to place
their hands together in front of them. The boys’ reply was emphatic and
startling. Frank’s fist shot out, at almost the same moment as Harry’s,
and in a second both the Nicaraguan worthies were lying flat on the
ground, wondering what had struck them. Far from irritating the officer
and his men the boys’ act seemed to amuse them. They shouted with
laughter as their injured countrymen picked themselves up and slunk away
with black looks at the boys. They muttered something as they went.
“They are saying, señors,” said the polite young officer, “that they
hope to form part of the firing squad at your execution.”
In spite of themselves both boys gave a gasp of horror.
“Ah, I see I have shocked you,” went on their persecutor, “is it
possible that you did not know that Rogero has been particularly anxious
to find you, ever since you so cleverly rescued your young journalistic
friend. In fact I expect to get a very handsome reward for your capture.
I can assure you that when our scouts reported two American boys in
league with the insurgent troops that I lost no time in taking steps to
make sure your capture. I must thank you for the charming manner in
which you have walked into my trap. What is it you Americans say ‘Will
you walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly?’—ah, yes, that is
it. Well, Señors Fly, you see I have you trapped and you might as well
submit gracefully to capture.”
Like a flash both boys realized the serious position they were in. “In
league with insurgents” their sneering captor had said. It would be a
difficult matter to prove that they were not and, as non-combatants, of
course, they had no business to be on active service for either army.
Both boys knew Rogero too well to expect any mercy from him. Brave as
they were their hearts sank but only for a moment.
“Come on, Frank, let’s make a dash for it,” exclaimed Harry. “They can
only shoot us.”
Frank put out a detaining hand.
“It would be of no use Harry,” he said, “we are in their power and had
better submit. We will find a way out yet,—never fear.”
The boys had carried on this conversation in snatches. This seemed to
irritate their captor.
“Do you intend to submit to being bound or shall I have to order my men
to club you down,” he demanded.
The cold brutality of his tone struck into both the boys like a lash
across the face.
“We will be bound, if you think that is necessary,” replied Frank
contemptuously.
“Yes, I do,” replied the officer, “you see you are very slippery
customers and we don’t want you to fly away, señors flies;” and he
laughed at his abominable joke in a way that made both boys long to
hammer him into insensibility.
Two men—not the two the boys had knocked down, these could not be
persuaded to go near them regarding them as “diabolos,”—quickly bound
their wrists with green hide thongs and then, at a sharp command from
the officer, the men marched off through the jungle. Frank and Harry
well guarded by a dozen men with fixed bayonets marched in the middle.
No wonder their spirits fell to zero.
There was not a chance of escape.
Rapidly the boys’ brains reviewed the situation. Resourceful as they
were they could see no way out of their dilemma. They were fairly
trapped. Again and again they bitterly blamed their recklessness in
taking any part in the revolutionist’s cause, for the fact that they had
been caught red handed in the very act of transferring ammunition from
the ship to the shore, would be exactly the circumstance Rogero would
seize upon to order their execution. They both realized that. Had it not
been for that they could have demanded to see their consul and probably
Rogero would not have dared to refuse their request—as it was, however,
they were to all intents and purposes revolutionists and their fate at
Rogero’s hands they could anticipate all too clearly.
At dawn they were on the march once more, after a brief encampment at
about midnight. From this hurry they gathered that the force that had
attacked Ruiz was not the main branch of the army but a marauding force
sent out by Rogero. They did not question that they were on their way to
the latter’s headquarters. What would become of them there they had
already guessed. They had little time to act if they were to formulate a
plan of escape,—but it seemed maddeningly impossible to frame any
scheme, that would hold water when it was conned over.
All day they marched through the steaming jungle. Sometimes they forded
chocolate-colored sluggish streams and waded through vile
morasses,—where huge alligators slipped from rotting logs into the slimy
waters,—or blue herons stood in solemn rows, like an army of ghostly
soldiers,—seen among the trees. Then again they issued onto savannahs,
on which the sun beat down with a heat that seemed to penetrate the
skull. All about them the boys could not help noticing the ravages of
the earthquake. Once at an early stage of the march they had asked one
of their guards what had uprooted so many trees and caused such
widespread damage:
“Terremoto,” he replied with a grunt.
At the word Ben Stubbs and Billy flashed across their minds and the
night, that seemed now so long ago, on which they had set out from
Plateau Camp. As they passed through villages and noticed the havoc all
about,—the masses of ruins and the wretched families huddled upon them,
picking over the debris for their buried possessions, Frank’s mind
reverted to the Treasure Cliff.
How much was left of the passage, after what had evidently been a
terrific upheaval of the land. As he thought of this, and communicated
his fears that it was completely blocked to Harry, his hand
abstractedly—or perhaps through some association of thought—slipped into
his pocket and his fingers encountered the rubies they had wrenched from
the sculptured quesals beside the gulf of the White Serpents.
If the worst came to the worst he determined to get them to his father
somehow and ask him to give Billy Barnes his share. He did not mention
his resolution to Harry for the younger boy was deeply depressed and
Frank did not want to add to his troubles by obtruding on his mind any
of his fears of what their destiny was to be.
All day they marched on; the half-fed looking soldiers seeming as
tireless as mountain mules. With the boys the situation was far
different; they were not used to forced marches under a tropic sun, and
their legs felt like so many pounds of lead long before late afternoon
found them advancing over a broad savannah, at the further side of which
they could make out a row of palm trees, and gray-iron roofs beyond
them, that somehow looked strangely familiar. Before they had gone many
yards further they realized why the place seemed as if they had seen it
before. The young officer, who had diverted himself over their capture
to such a degree, had strode at the head of the column while they were
on the march. Now however he fell back and pointed at the scene in front
of them with his sword.
“Greytown,” he said.
“We are to camp there?” asked Frank.
The officer replied with a short laugh.
“No; we shall stay there for some time—particularly some of us,” he
added with a sneering emphasis, and looking hard at the boys. “General
Rogero took possession of the town two days ago,” he added.
This was serious news indeed to the boys whose only hope now lay in an
attack by revolutionists which, while it might not do them any good
would at least divert attention from their case for several days during
which some opportunity to escape or communicate with their friends might
present itself. But with Greytown,—a strong strategic point,—in the
hands of Rogero and the government forces the outlook was black indeed.
A short time later they entered the town and marched up the well
remembered main street, by the hotel where Rogero had shot down poor
Jose and into the dusty barracks, from whence they had seen the troops
issue, as it seemed to them years before. With their guard pressing
closely about them they were about to pass under the gate when a strange
thing happened. A bearded man was pressing through the crowd that had
surrounded the barracks to see the soldiers and their prisoners march
in. Of all that ragged crowd he was the raggedest; but if Frank and
Harry had seen an angel they could not have welcomed the sight more than
they did the vision of that tattered, bearded man,—for, under the dust
and dirt that covered his face, and his wild gestures,—which seemed to
redouble as soon as their eyes met,—the boys had recognized Ben Stubbs!
How he had got there they had of course not the remotest idea nor did
they know that his errand in town was to buy food for Billy who was
played out by the long trip down the San Juan. It was enough for them
that he was there near at hand—the first friend they had seen since they
left Plateau Camp. Ben on his part seemed equally rejoiced to see them
as, it will be remembered, that neither of the two members of the party,
left behind at Plateau Camp, had any idea of whether the boys had ridden
out the storm in safety or not.
But Ben was typically cautious. With the cunning of an old adventurer he
realized that the present was no time to claim acquaintance. Frank and
Harry were about to give vent to a loud exclamation when he silenced
them by putting a long, brown finger to his lips. The next minute Ben
Stubbs was the most active and the loudest of all the crowd, who tried
to curry favor with the government troops by reviling the Americans at
the top of their voices. To hear Ben Stubbs talk—of course in
Spanish—which he spoke like a native, to see his gestures of hatred and
contempt a bystander would have thought that the boys had no worse enemy
in the world than this scarecrow tatterdemalion whom the crowd jeered at
as “loco” (crazy).
It took some time, in the confusion of arrival at the barracks, to get
the troops assigned to their quarters in an orderly manner and, during
this interval, Frank and Harry, their faces burning with indignation,
had to stand, surrounded by their armed guards, in the center of the
court and listen to the imprecations of the crowd against Americans,
most of which they fortunately could not understand—or they might have
been tempted to risk their lives in one dash at the contemptible
ruffians who from a safe distance baited them.
While this was going on Ben Stubbs had disappeared and the boys were at
a loss to understand and a little angry at his non-appearance. They were
not left long to puzzle over it, however, for, after about ten minutes’
wait in the barrack-yard, the crazy figure came dancing in once more
amid the shouts of laughter of the disreputable mob that thronged the
open space, and came straight up to where Frank and Harry stood guarded
by the soldiers. He had in his hand a roll of Spanish bread and, amid
the jeers of the crowd he held it high above his head.
“Maybe the Americans are hungry?” he shouted, “perhaps they want bread.
Here is some for the procos (pigs) may it poison them and all such
perros (dogs).”
With that he hurled the roll at them and the boys,—divining that some
meaning lay behind all this rigmarole,—signed to one of the soldiers to
pick it up and indicated that they were ravenously hungry, as indeed
they were, not having been given anything to eat since early morning.
The soldier sullenly thrust the roll into Frank’s pocket and a few
minutes later the boys were pushed into a noisome cell and an iron door
clanged to. As the key rasped in the lock they felt that it was like the
closing of the world’s doors on them and that they were extremely
unlikely ever to see another sunset—unless a miracle intervened.
One thing, however, had been done for which they were thankful before
the cell door was shut. The thongs that bound their wrists had been cut.
This was an unspeakable relief as the green hide of which they were
formed had contracted during the day and they had actually cut into the
flesh,—causing excruciating agony.
As soon as their guard had paced away from the cell-door Frank eagerly
brought the roll out of his pocket. He broke it open, after first
carefully examining it for any signs of writing, and then uttered a cry
of delight. Imbedded in the soggy crumb of the roll was a neatly folded
bit of paper. With trembling hands Frank opened the screed and, with
Harry looking over his shoulder, read as follows:
“Deer buoys:
Noe tyme 2 rite mutch wil say bili & mee is cum
down thee rivver in a canoo. Thank heving u air save
an soun. Now don u wurri ship matz bili and mee
wil see noe harm cums to u. benn Stubbs A. B. (able
seeman.)”
It was with difficulty the boys kept back their tears as they read this
ill-spelled but true-hearted document. As they sank into a troubled
sleep on the bare benches of their cell that night both boys felt that
they had a friend at work for them who would die himself rather than not
use every effort in his power to help them escape from what seemed to be
a helplessly locked steel-trap.