FACING DEATH.
The boys were roughly awakened the next morning,—at what hour they could
not judge but estimated that it must be early by the pale light—and a
jug of water and a dark brown mess of badly cooked beans, in an
earthenware pot, shoved through their bars by the same ill favored guard
who had been on duty the night before. Unpalatable as the stuff looked
they nevertheless fell on it hungrily, being actually half-starved and
seriously weakened by their march of the day before. The momentary
exultation caused by the receipt of Ben Stubbs’ letter had evaporated
when they awakened and both felt that their prospects were gloomy
indeed.
After breakfast they were left in their cell for some time,—the monotony
being enlivened by an incident that struck a chill to the already
flagging spirits of both boys. The interruption began with a ruffle of
drums and then a bugle call. After this there intervened a march and
then all was silent for possibly fifteen minutes. Then there boomed out
the solemn tolling of a bell and a few seconds later the boys heard,
with horrified ears, a sharp command—and then the rattle of a volley. Of
course they could see nothing of this,—a blank wall facing their cells
and shutting out all view of the barrack-yard,—but from what they heard
they could conjure up the ghastly details of the execution as vividly as
if they had been present.
It was not long after this, while they were busy with their gloomy
thoughts, that a petty officer of some kind, at the head of a file of
men came to their cell. The door was thrown open and the boys were
handcuffed,—in spite of their protests against the ignominy. With a
soldier on either side of them they were then marched across the barrack
ground where a depressing sight met their eyes.
A number of soldiers were carrying an oblong box draped in black across
the quadrangle. Behind them followed two weeping women and a bent old
man. Two children, wide-eyed at what it all meant,—formed the rest of
the sad little party. Both boys realized at once with a keen start of
repulsion that they were witnessing the last act of the drama whose
action they had heard in their cell.
They were marched across the quadrangle, their escort paying no more
attention to the sad scene than if it had been an every day occurrence,
and up a flight of steep, bare stairs into a long, low room,—down the
center of which ran a long table. The table was covered with cheap
oilcloth and was littered with pens and paper.
Half-a-dozen men, who were officers to judge by their uniforms, sat at
either side of it and at the head was a man whom the boys recognized at
once as General Rogero.
His evil eyes gleamed with a sinister glint as they fell on the two
boys.
“So,—here we have the young revolutionists,—gentlemen,” he said, turning
to the other officers, who all regarded the boys with curiosity but with
no more compassion than if they had been gazing at the tortured victims
of a bull fight.
Rogero leaned back. He was evidently in no hurry to shorten his triumph.
He seemed fairly to gloat over his two prisoners. Frank and Harry
returned his gaze fearlessly and after a while the leader of the
Nicaraguan forces dropped his basilisk eyes with a shamed and
embarrassed expression. The next moment he made up for his temporary
lapse by striking the table with his fist and informing the boys that
they were before a court-martial.
“By what right do you bring us here?” demanded Frank.
“By the right that we offer every man to get a chance for his life,” was
the startling reply.
“What have we done that puts us within the pale of military law?” again
demanded the elder of the brothers.
“I presumed you were intelligent enough to know that citizens of a
neutral power, interfering in another government’s suppression of
sedition, place themselves beyond the protection of their own country,”
rejoined Rogero.
“We have not interfered in any quarrel you may have with your
unfortunate dependents,” was Frank’s reply, “we are American citizens
and I demand the right; if we are to be tried at all,—of a hearing
before a civil court.”
Rogero smiled his evil smile once more.
“My dear young man,” he remarked casually, “in the present unsettled
state of the country we have no civil courts. The army is the law and
the law is vested in the army.”
The other officers chorused their assent. The boys looked desperately
about them. No,—there was no means of escape. The windows were guarded
and at each door stood a sentry, stiffly at attention.
Rogero instantly divined the purpose of their anxious looks.
“No, Señors, there is no escape,” he sneered, “you see, with two such
resourceful young men as you have proved to be, we are taking no
chances,—as you say in your country. I am much too anxious to keep you
here to think of allowing you to slip through my fingers, as did young
Barnes—by your cursed tricks,” he ended furiously, the passion that
underlay his suave exterior glaring suddenly on his face.
The next minute he was the same sneering, smiling snake they had always
known him.
“But we are wasting time, gentlemen,” he said. “I find there are three
charges on the indictment against these unfortunate and imprudent young
men, First:—that they conspired with revolutionists against the peace of
the Nicaraguan republic; Second:—that they illegally removed a military
prisoner from the lines of the Government’s army, and, Third:—that they
assisted the revolutionists in their landing on the coast, both actively
and by furnishing them with contraband-of-war. The last clause,
gentlemen of the court, refers to the possession by these young
Americanos of a so-called air-ship, which their father—a well-known
conspirer against the Government,—induced them to bring to this country
so that it might be used against us on behalf of the revolutionists.”
“That’s a lie,” burst out Frank.
“Save your breath, Señor,” sneered Rogero, with a threatening glance,
“you may not have much more left of it.”
“The father of these boys,” continued Rogero, “like all other Americanos
in this country, has objected to the taxes that our noble president
Zelaya, has wisely put on all articles they export or bring in and
naturally therefore is in sympathy with any revolutionary movement. I do
not know, gentlemen, what your verdict will be; but, for myself, I must
vote for their immediate execution as a solemn duty to my country.”
The boys’ cheeks blanched in spite of themselves. This man then actually
meant to put them to death.
“Courage, Harry;” whispered Frank, and he added his slogan of “while
there’s life there’s hope!”
“There is one alternative,” went on Rogero, “and that is this,—that
these young men at once agree to sign a document assigning to the
government of Nicaragua all their father’s property and forward it to
him for his signature by a messenger I have waiting. If Señor Chester
the elder will pay this ransom these foolish boys may go free,
otherwise—” he gave an expressive gesture the meaning of which was only
too plain to need translating into words.
There was a hurried consultation, of what was called, by a ludicrous
travesty, the “court-martial,” and then the members reconvened. One of
them arose and, addressing Rogero who had assumed his seat at the head
of the long table, said:
“What you have proposed is agreeable to the other members of this
court-martial, General.”
“Then your verdict, gentlemen, is?” demanded Rogero.
“Death by shooting,” was the reply that sent an involuntary shudder
through the boys.
Rogero smiled his evil smile again—twice as menacing in his triumph.
“You, however, agree to offering them my alternative,” asked Rogero
anxiously, “La Merced is a rich plantation and so is that of Don
Pachecho adjoining it; which I don’t doubt we can easily acquire when we
have established headquarters at La Merced.”
“Of course we agree to your alternative, General,” replied the other
officer, “as to what you say about Don Pachecho’s estancia, however, we
can doubtless assimilate that with little difficulty. General Ruiz, his
son-in-law, is dead——”
“And he left a remarkably pretty widow,” put in Rogero, “really I am in
quite a hurry to establish headquarters near such a charming neighbor.”
“I was going to say,” resumed the other, “that as General Ruiz is dead
we can naturally claim his property for the government as that of a
revolutionist.”
This cool proposal met with great applause, induced, in a large measure,
by the fact that each officer saw in his mind’s eye himself being
awarded the property. Rogero, more comprehensive, had already mentally
claimed it all for himself.
“You have heard the alternative, prisoners?” snapped Rogero, who had now
quite dropped his mask of sardonic politeness, “What do you say?”
“I say that if we are to die we will die as American boys should, and
accept no such disgraceful terms,” proudly replied Frank.
“And I, that we should be as bad sons as we would be unworthy citizens
if we even considered your dastardly proposal,” exclaimed Harry.
“Very well, you have signed your own death warrants,” bitterly replied
Rogero. “In a few days we shall have captured La Merced in any event,
and I shall have much pleasure in informing your father of how his two
promising youngsters died.”
It was well for Rogero at that moment that the boys’ hands were
manacled. It was perhaps as well for every one in the room that they
could not strike a blow. For to such a pitch of fury had the sneering
words of the dark-skinned man before them aroused them that had they
been free it would have cost him dear.
“For the last time I ask you?” demanded Rogero, “will you accede to my
proposal?”
“For the last time no—not if it was to save our lives ten times over,”
replied Frank.
Rogero moved over to a window that overlooked the quadrangle of the
barracks.
“I shall have an excellent view of your deaths from this window,” he
remarked, “and I assure you that nothing I have seen for a long time
will give me more pleasure.”
“_Not even your murder of Dr. Moneague in New York_,”—quietly retorted
Frank.
The effect the boy’s remark on Rogero was electric. His brown face
seemed to turn a sickly green.
“You American dog—for that, if I could inflict a thousand deaths upon
you, you should die them all, one by one,” he fairly shouted.
“Take them away,” he bawled to the soldiers, who stood staring
open-mouthed at the sight of his maniacal fury. “Take them away and
shoot them down, before I run them through with my sword.”
Frank smiled with a bitter contempt. If he had ever felt any doubt as to
Rogero’s guilt he was convinced of it now. He was beyond a question the
murderer of Dr. Moneague. His own fury and consternation at Frank’s
quiet remark had convinced the boy. As the boys were led out Rogero
stood at the window. They could see that he was shaking and muttering to
himself as if in terror. At that moment a huge bat, that had been
hanging to one of the rafters of the room, which was unceiled, flopped
heavily down and nearly struck him in the face. Rogero reeled back with
what was almost a scream of horror.
“Vampiro,” the boys heard the soldiers say, showing almost as much
horror as had Rogero at the sudden apparition of the animal,—which had
now flopped heavily off again into some other recess. They did not know
then that in most Central American countries the vampire is regarded as
an evil spirit and carries the menace of death on its leathern wings, as
well as its reputation as a blood-sucker.