FOR a time the tramp of marching feet throbbed softly along the
carretera that wound, a black thread of shadow, through the dusky cane.
The dust was clogged with moisture and deadened the sound, while the Sin
Verguenza were not shod after the fashion of British infantry. Some of
them, indeed, wore no shoes at all, and as he watched the dim, half-seen
figures flit almost silently through the night Appleby could have
fancied he was marching with a company of shadows through a land of
dreams.
The sensation was, however, by no means new to him. He had felt it now
and then before on a long night march when the mind, as it were,
released itself from the domination of the worn-out, but it was plainer
now than it had ever been. He had during the last few days been living
under a heavy strain, and now there crowded upon him vague perplexing
fancies and elusive memories which he could almost believe had been
transmitted him by the soldiers whose blood was in his veins. It was
only by an effort that, plodding along with half-closed eyes, he shook
them off and roused himself to attention. Shadowy men moved on into the
blackness in front of him, and more were winding out of the gloom
behind. Now and then a clump of palms went by, showing a mere patch of
obscurity against the clouded sky, and where the road was harder the
beat of weary feet rang through the silence hollowly. He did not feel
drowsy, but wondered if he was wholly awake when he heard Harper's voice
beside him.
"You seem kind of quiet. I guess you're thinking hard," he said.
"No," said Appleby, with a little laugh. "I could scarcely remember
clearly what happened yesterday. I don't know, however, that I want to
especially."
"Well," said Harper reflectively, "it must be the same kind of thing
that is wrong with me. My thoughts keep going round in rings, and bring
up at the same place every time, as though somebody had put a peg in. I
can see that peon in the plaza clawing at the stones, and the cazadores
standing still with ordered rifles. That seems to slide away, and it's
the 'Maine' going under, bows down. I wasn't there, but the big swirl in
the water is quite plain to me, and I can see the bodies coming up
through the green heave by twos and threes. Then I wonder how I came
away from the cuartel and left Morales sitting there, and I want to live
until I meet him, when he isn't alone, again."
His voice sank into a faint hoarse murmur that was more significant than
any declamation, but Appleby, who had his own score against Morales,
said nothing. He felt that a time would come when he and the Spanish
soldier would once more stand face to face, and that to let his
vindictive passions run riot in the meanwhile would be puerile. Then
Maccario's voice came sharply across the wavering rifles, and the
shuffle of feet grew still. There was a murmur of voices until the head
of the column moved again, and the men who left the carretera plodded
along a narrow pathway and then flung themselves down among the cane,
while Appleby, who did not quite know how he got there, found himself
sitting in a little open space with Maccario and two or three of the
leaders. There was blackness and silence about them.
"Morales will wait until the dawn," said Maccario. "We have taught him
that one gains little by chasing the Sin Verguenza at night, and the men
have marched a long way. We will seize the hacienda when the light is
just creeping into the sky."
"There are troops there?" asked Appleby.
"A section or two. Morales is a clever man, but one is apt to believe
what one wishes to, and it is some little time since he drove out the
Sin Verguenza."
"He has spies," said Appleby.
Maccario laughed softly. "It is dangerous to spy upon the Sin Verguenza,
and there are men who go out and are not seen again. One also brings a
tale of what he has not seen now and then, and when one has friends
everywhere it is not difficult to contrive that the cazadores shall find
reasons Morales should believe him."
"Pancho brought you my message?" said Appleby.
"Next day. He came in staggering. It was a long way and a mule could
scarcely have made the journey faster. Another man came, but where the
rest are I do not know. Perhaps the pickets saw them, and they are lying
among the cane. It was, however, morning when I had gathered thirty men,
and I knew you were in Santa Marta then. We moved slowly until another
thirty came up with me, but one could not assault the cuartel with sixty
men. So we scattered, and the Sin Verguenza hid where the patrols would
not find them, while a merchant of tobacco who has friends there came
into Santa Marta. He saw what was happening, and how one might profit by
Morales' little blunder."
"I don't quite understand," said Appleby. "Only a handful of men had
actually mutinied."
"Morales would have shot them, only he is cunning, and had seen the
temper of the people. A dead man cannot feel, but one can hold fear over
a living one until he crushes him, and those cazadores knew what to
expect. One can, however, be too cunning, my friend."
"The men could have deserted."
"It is also conceivable that, in spite of the pickets, you could have
got out of San Cristoval, but what then? There is only the cane to hide
in, starving, until the patrols find one. It was when they heard the Sin
Verguenza were coming the affair became simple."
"Still, they shot three of your friends."
Maccario's voice sank a little. "That is counted to Morales, and they
will have the opportunity of doing a good deal for us in an hour or two.
There will be no fighting when we occupy San Cristoval. Comes a patrol
with an order from Morales, and no one is very alert at that hour. The
patrol is admitted, there is a seizing of rifles, and the Sin Verguenza,
who have crept up behind, are in. With a little contrivance there is no
difficulty."
"One could hold the hacienda with sixty men."
Maccario laughed. "With six hundred one could be sure; and in a few
weeks we shall have a battalion, for our time is coming soon. When the
American troops have landed there will be work for those of Spain. You
have our felicitations on your clear sight, Don Bernardino. A little
thing makes a quarrel when the suspicion and the dislike are there."
There was a murmur from the rest, and Harper stood up among the cane.
"A little thing!" he said hoarsely. "The devils sunk the 'Maine'!"
Appleby said nothing. He was worn out and limp from the strain, and
fancied he must have gone to sleep, for when he was next conscious of
anything the men about him had risen to their feet. It was a little
lighter, and a faint cool breeze was blowing, while he shivered as he
stood up with his thin damp garments clinging to his limbs.
Maccario spoke sharply, there was a shuffling of feet, and before
Appleby quite realized what was happening the Sin Verguenza were once
more plodding down the road to San Cristoval. Then he shook the
stiffness and lassitude from him, and braced himself to face the work on
hand. Maccario's plan might fail, and he knew it would in that case be
no easy task to drive Morales' cazadores out of the hacienda. The sleep
had, however, refreshed him, the vague memories had vanished, and his
head was clear, while a faint sense of exhilaration came upon him. There
was something inspiriting in the tramp of feet that grew brisker now,
and in the thin musical jingle of steel. He had, for what seemed a very
long time, played a risky game alone, and it was a relief to face actual
visible peril with trusty comrades about him and a good rifle in his
hand.
By and by there was another brief stoppage, and the handful of cazadores
went on alone when the rest plunged into a path among the cane.
Maccario, it was evident, did not care to take the risk of blundering
upon a picket, and a man led them by twisting paths until at last the
hacienda rose blackly before them. Appleby could see it dimly, a blur of
shadowy buildings with the ridge of roof parapet alone cutting hard and
sharp against the clearing sky. Beyond it rose the gaunt chimney of the
sugar mill, a vague spire of blackness that ran up into the night, but
though a few lights blinked in the lower windows there was no sound from
the house. The men were standing silent and impassively still, so that
he could scarcely distinguish them from the cane, but he made out
Maccario few paces away from him.
"We will have to wait. It is farther by the road," he said "Can you
trust the cazadores? They have already deserted one leader."
Maccario seemed to laugh. "They know what to expect from Morales. It
would, of course, not be difficult to warn their comrades, but what
then? Comes a sergeant to Morales with a tale that they have led the Sin
Verguenza into a trap. Morales is not likely to be grateful, or place
much value on the men who change their masters twice in one night.
Still, one takes precautions in Cuba, and while they trample down the
road a few men who wear no shoes follow close behind them. Then if there
is to be another change it is not the cazadores who will walk into the
trap."
Appleby said nothing. He had been afforded another glimpse of the
complex Spanish character, which is marked by an intellectual astuteness
and a swift cunning that is beyond the attainment of the average
Englishman or American, and yet rarely avails the Castilian much when
pitted against them. He had seen enough in Cuba to realize that it was
seldom shortsighted folly and never lack of valor that had blighted the
hopes of Spain, but the apathy and indecision when the eventful moment
came, and the instability which when the consummation was almost brought
about not infrequently changed the plan. Nor were there many Iberians or
Cubans like Maccario who seldom overlooked the trifles that make the
difference.
The latter made a little sign with his lifted hand, there was a low
rustling, and the Sin Verguenza had vanished among the cane. Appleby
smiled as he flung himself down, and realized that a battalion of
cazadores might march past without seeing one of them. Then the soft
rustling and crackling died away, and it became very still. There was no
sound yet from the tram-line which ran between them and the hacienda,
and he began to wonder how long the cazadores sent on would be, or if
they had after all deceived their new friends and eluded the vigilance
of those who watched them. The latter, however, appeared very
improbable. In the meanwhile the sky was growing a little lighter, the
buildings blacker and sharper in outline, while there was a faint
illusory brightness in the east. Still, no sound rose from the hacienda,
and there was only silence upon the unseen carretera.
Then he started as a faint rhythmic throbbing came out of it. It
suggested marching feet, and grew louder while he listened, until he
heard the men stumbling among the sleepers of the tram-line. Maccario
said something, and the Sin Verguenza moved in nearer the building by
little paths among the cane, while when they stopped again Appleby found
himself on the verge of the tram-line with the outer wall of the
hacienda close in front of him. A few shadowy objects that stumbled
among the sleepers were growing into visibility a little farther along
the line. They stopped and stood still a moment when a hoarse shout rose
from the building, and then moved on again when somebody flung them a
low warning from amidst the cane. Then they stopped close in front of
the gate of the patio, and Appleby felt a little quiver run through him
as he heard the question of the sentry.
The voice of the man who answered reached him distinctly.
"Friends. Orders from the cuartel! We have come from Santa Marta, and it
is a long way. Let us in."
There was another question, and an answer. The big iron grille grated on
its hinges as it swung open, and Appleby fancied that one dim figure
detached itself from the rest as they disappeared into the patio.
Discipline is seldom unnecessarily rigid among the troops of Spain, and
it was not astonishing that a man should stop a moment and speak to the
sentry.
Then for a minute or two there was a silence. Now and then a man moved
amidst the cane, and the low rustling sounded horribly distinct, but
while Appleby wondered what was taking place within the hacienda
Maccario touched his shoulder, and rising softly he slipped across the
tram-line and into the gloom beneath the high wall, with Harper and a
cluster of crouching men close behind him. Moving circumspectly they
crept forward nearer the gate, until there was a shout from the sentry
followed by a struggle and the sound of a fall, and a man stood in the
opening shouting to them.
Then they went on at a run, and sprang through the gate, stumbling over
a man who crawled out from among their feet. There was a clamor in a
lighted room close by, and a pistol shot rang out. Then a rifle flashed,
and as they swept in through a doorway a wisp of acrid smoke met them in
the face. They had a brief glimpse of a few figures in uniform flying
through another door, and two men who stood alone in a corner with the
mutinous cazadores in front of them. One of the latter was by his
emphatic gestures apparently urging them to consider the recommendation
he was making.
The two men, however, stood grimly still, one, who was young and slim,
with delicate olive-tinted face and the blue eyes one finds now and then
among the Castilians, clenching a big pistol, while the dusky, grizzled
sergeant beside him held a rifle at his hip. A little blue smoke was
still curling from the muzzle, and a man with a red smear growing
broader down one leg sat looking at him stupidly in the middle of the
room. Appleby grasped the meaning of the scene at a glance, and then he
was driven forward as the Sin Verguenza poured into the room. Harper
sprang past him.
"It's the fellow I hove over the balustrade at the cafe," he said.
"You've got no use for that pistol, senor."
There was a bright flash, and a flake of plaster fell from the wall
close behind Appleby's shoulder, but even as the brown fingers tightened
on the trigger again Harper gripped the young officer. He hove him
bodily off his feet, and there was a yell from the Sin Verguenza as he
flung him upon the grizzled sergeant. The man staggered, and the pair
went down heavily in the corner. Then Harper, who tore one of his
comrade's rifles away from him, stood in front of them.
"I guess you had better keep moving in case the rest light out," he
said.
There was an angry murmur, and though some of the men had already swept
through the room the rest stared at Harper, who grinned at them.
"Well," he said, "it's not your fault you're not Americans. Rustle. Hay
prisa. Adelante! Tell them I'll put this contract through, Appleby."
Those of the Sin Verguenza who had remained appeared a trifle undecided,
until Appleby, who had no desire to witness a purposeless piece of
butchery, joined his comrade. Then, with the exception of two or three,
they turned and went out to head off any of the defenders who might
escape by an outer window from the tram-line. Appleby secured the
officer's pistol, while Harper, apparently with no great effort, dragged
him to his feet, and holding him by the shoulder gravely looked him
over.
"Well," he said in English, and his voice expressed approbation, "you
have grit in you. Now stand still a little. Nobody's going to hurt you."
The young officer's face was dark with passion, but he writhed futilely
in his captor's grasp, while the sergeant, who stood up, handed Appleby
his rifle.
"Tell him not to wriggle," said Harper, grinning. "Oh, let up, you
senseless devil!"
Then while the Sin Verguenza laughed he backed his captive against the
wall and gravely proceeded to pull his tunic straight and dust him. When
this had been accomplished to his satisfaction he stepped back a pace or
two, and surveyed his work smiling.
"There's not much harm done, senor," he said. "Now, I felt it would have
been a pleasure to shake the life out of you a minute or two ago."
The officer stared at him in blank astonishment, and then looked at the
sergeant, who gravely laid a finger on his forehead.
"They are born that way, these Americans," he said.
The officer made a curious little gesture, and would apparently have
unbuckled his sword, but while the men of the Sin Verguenza, unstable
even in their fierceness, laughed, Harper seized him by the shoulder,
and, signing to the sergeant, propelled him violently to the door.
"Out you go while you've got the chance!" he said in English.
The officer turned, and stood still a moment as though undecided, and
then vanished into the night, while in another second the sergeant
sprang after him. Appleby laughed as he turned to Harper.
"I scarcely fancy that was wise," he said. "We could have kept him to
play off against any of our men who fall into Morales' hands."
"Well," said Harper reflectively, "I don't quite know why I let him go,
but he had grit in him, and it seemed to me that if I hadn't let up on
taking a life or two after getting out of the plaza in Santa Marta it
would have been mean of me. Anyway, I don't figure we'd have kept him.
He has the kind of temper that would have stirred up the Sin Verguenza
into sticking knives in him."
Appleby nodded gravely, for he was astonished at very little that Harper
did, while though the big skipper's sentiment were crude there was
something in his vague notion of thank-offering that appealed to his
fancy. Then Maccario came in.
"The cazadores have left two men behind, but the rest got away, except a
few who submitted," he said. "We will find a place in the stables for
them. It will induce Morales to be more considerate with his prisoners."
Appleby told him about the officer. "It was perhaps a blunder, but we
can afford it just now," he said.
Maccario's face grew a trifle grim, but in another moment he made a
little gesture of resignation.
"If it was the wish of the Senor Harper! It is sometimes a trifle
difficult to understand an American," he said. "Now if we can find any
peons they shall cut the cane back from the hacienda. Morales will be
here in two or three hours with at least a company."