Although the arrival of the _Kearsarge_ was news to Virginia, the
visit of the huge gray fighting machine was no surprise to Minister
Throgmorton. For some reason he had failed to mention the matter to his
daughter, but a few days previously he had been officially notified by
the state department at Washington that the warship was due to arrive
in Baracoan waters on a “friendly visit.”
This information he had formally conveyed to President Portiforo. The
latter was profuse in his expressions of appreciation of this courtesy.
He bade the representative of the United States assure his government
that a cordial welcome would be given to the _Kearsarge’s_ officers and
crew.
“But what does it mean?” he demanded informally of his friend
Throgmorton. “What purpose has Washington in view? United States
warships have visited us before, of course, for the reason stated; but
I cannot help entertaining a suspicion that your government has some
special motive in sending a battleship here at this time.”
To this the United States minister had shrugged his shoulders. “If
there is any such motive, my government has not seen fit to take
me into its confidence concerning it,” he answered. “However, Mr.
President, if the presence of the _Kearsarge_ in Puerto Cabero harbor
is objectionable to you, I am confident that I have only to notify the
state department to that effect, and Captain Cortrell will receive
orders to sail before the vessel weighs anchor.”
Portiforo, who, with a few exceptions, entertained a cordial dislike
for gringos in general, and the citizens of the United States in
particular, felt a strong inclination to have this brought about,
but he was diplomat enough not to follow his wishes in the matter.
“I wouldn’t think of being so discourteous to our sister republic,”
he said. “Besides, I have no objection to the _Kearsarge’s_ visit,
provided she does nothing to disrupt the amity existing between our two
nations. Have you any idea how long she is to stay here?”
Throgmorton shook his head. “My advices do not state that,” he said.
“If you wish, I can cable Washington that you would like to be
enlightened on that point.”
“Certainly not,” the other rejoined hastily. “It is quite immaterial to
me, my dear Throgmorton, how long she remains. Besides, no doubt her
commander will be able to tell us what his orders are in that respect.”
An anxious expression came to his face. “What kind of a man is this
Captain Cortrell?” he inquired. “Can you tell me anything about him?”
“He’s one of the most competent officers in the United States navy,”
the minister informed him. “He was graduated from Annapolis at the head
of his class, and----”
“But his personality?” Portiforo interrupted impatiently. “I don’t
care anything about his naval record. Does he impress you as being
a conservative man, or--to use an expression, of your country--the
kind that would take chances? If you will pardon me for saying so, I
believe that some of your naval officers have in past instances proved
themselves to be somewhat lacking in discretion and a proper regard for
the niceties of international law.”
“Captain Cortrell is not that kind,” Minister Throgmorton replied, with
a smile. “He has a reputation for being one of the most cautious and
conservative commanders in our navy, and he knows more international
law than half our statesmen. You need have no fear, Mr. President,
that he will commit any indiscretion which would disrupt the pleasant
relations existing between our respective governments.”
Somewhat reassured, the President of Baracoa made preparations to
receive the visiting warship with fitting honors, and the guns of El
Torro fortress thundered a vociferous welcome as the big gray ironclad
steamed up the bay.
The Camera Chap was cruising in the harbor in his motor boat when
the _Kearsarge_ arrived. With keen interest he watched the colossal
fighting machine come to anchor. A thrill of joy and pride shot through
him as his eyes feasted on her grim gray outline, and there came to his
ears the strains of the ship’s band crashing out “The Star-spangled
Banner.”
Remembering his conversation with the president, in which the latter
had given him clearly to understand that, win or lose, he could expect
no help from the United States government, he felt that he had no
reason to believe that the arrival of the battleship had anything to do
with himself and his mission; yet he could not help hoping that such
was the case--that something had occurred to change the presidential
mind as to the impossibility of governmental succor being extended
to him. Not that he craved such protection for himself; he was quite
willing to take his chances, and abide by the consequences of the
adventure; but he was in hopes that the arrival of the _Kearsarge_ at
Puerto Cabero might have something to do with a plan to protect Felix
from Portiforo’s vengeance. This desire caused him to seek admission to
the battleship almost as soon as she had dropped anchor.
As he climbed the starboard gangway, a natty young officer stared hard
at him, and exclaimed:
“I beg your pardon, but isn’t your name Hawley?”
“It is,” the Camera Chap replied, with a smile. “And you are Ensign
Ridder, unless I am very much mistaken.”
“Lieutenant Ridder,” the other corrected pleasantly, with some pride.
“But I was an ensign the last time we met. That was three years ago,
when I was attached to the Brooklyn Navy Yard.” His face broke into a
broad grin. “I shall never forget, old man, how you came to my rescue
that night down in Chinatown, when that gang had me backed up against
the wall, and was----” He stopped short, suddenly realizing that this
was scarcely the time or place to indulge in personal reminiscences. “I
beg your pardon,” he said soberly. “Perhaps you wish to see somebody
on board?”
“I’d like to have a talk with the captain, if he isn’t too busy,” the
Camera Chap answered.
“He’s pretty busy, but I think he’ll see you,” said Lieutenant Ridder,
emphasizing the pronoun. “As a matter of fact,” he added, “he’s
expecting you.”
“Expecting me!” Hawley echoed, thrilling with joy as he realized the
significance of this announcement.
“He’s given orders that if a man named Hawley should happen to come
aboard, he’s to be taken to his cabin at once,” the naval officer
confided in a whisper.
“Great!” exclaimed the Camera Chap. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in
a long while.”
Thanks to his acquaintance with Lieutenant Ridder, the visitor had
no trouble in establishing his identity to the satisfaction of the
battleship’s commander.
“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Hawley,” the latter said. Then, abruptly:
“I believe you were to bring a photograph. Have you got it?”
“Not yet, captain,” the Camera Chap replied, “but I expect to get it
soon, and----”
The commander of the battleship cut him short with an impatient
gesture. It may have been his imagination, but Hawley fancied that the
expression on his weather-beaten face was one of keen disappointment.
“My orders say nothing about expectations, sir,” he said gruffly.
“Whenever you get that snapshot, Mr. Hawley,” he added, “I shall be
glad to see you again.”
The Camera Chap did not attempt to ask any questions. He could tell
from the taciturn old sea dog’s manner that they would not be answered.
Besides, he had found out what he wished to know. From the reference
the captain had made to his orders, he felt absolutely sure, now,
that the arrival of the warship was more than a coincidence--that the
huge mass of steel, manned by as sturdy a crew as ever trod a deck,
and bristling with guns powerful enough to smash El Torro fortress to
smithereens, and reduce Puerto Cabero to ruins, was there to help in
some way to right a great wrong.
It was then that he had made up his mind to carry out that same
night the daring plan which he had afterward described to Virginia
Throgmorton. But he did not tell his fair ally of his visit to the
battleship. There were reasons why he deemed it wise to keep that
incident a secret even from her.
As his visitor walked out of his cabin, Captain Cortrell took from a
drawer of his desk a bulky envelope, and regarded it with speculative
interest.
This envelope was sealed, and Captain Cortrell himself had never seen
its contents. His verbal instructions were to anchor in Puerto Cabero
harbor, and to remain there until further orders. The sealed envelope
was not to be opened unless he should receive a visit from a man
who could identify himself as a New York newspaper man named Frank
Hawley. In the event of such an identification being established, the
commander was to demand of his visitor whether he had brought a certain
photograph. If the reply was in the affirmative, and the photograph
forthcoming, Captain Cortrell was then to open the sealed envelope
immediately, and compare the photograph it contained with the snapshot
which his visitor had brought. If he was satisfied that the original of
both pictures was the same, he was to proceed to carry out forthwith
the written instructions which accompanied the picture.
What these secret orders were, the commander of the battleship had
not the remotest idea; nor was he aware whose photograph was inside
the envelope. It was felt by his superiors that there was no need for
him to know these things until the time to act arrived. He did know,
however, that the contents of the envelope had been placed there by the
President of the United States himself.
Captain Cortrell was not naturally a curious man. It was largely
because the bump of inquisitiveness was missing from his cranium that
he had been selected for this mysterious mission; but when he had told
his visitor that he was glad to meet him, he had never in his life
spoken more earnestly, for his fingers were just itching to open that
envelope. He had been wondering greatly, too, what manner of chap this
young man named Hawley must be, that the head of the nation was willing
to go to so much trouble on his account. It was the first time in
his experience that he had heard of a United States battleship being
dispatched under sealed orders to foreign waters to aid a newspaper
photographer in his work. He had looked forward with eagerness to the
time when the president’s photographic envoy should choose to put in
an appearance. For his instructions did not permit him to seek the
latter out. He must wait until he came aboard of his own initiative.
Evidently it had been taken for granted at the White House that the
Camera Chap would come to the battleship without an invitation being
extended to him. The logical mind responsible for these arrangements
had foreseen that in the event of his landing the photographic evidence
of Portiforo’s rascality, it would naturally occur to him to seek
refuge immediately in the safest place for him within a thousand miles
of San Cristobal--the deck of a ship of war flying the Stars and
Stripes.