_Good News and Bad_
Though Wilson had listened with interest enough to the plans of the
present campaign as outlined to him by Danbury, it must be confessed
that he was still a bit hazy about the details. He understood that
three interests were involved; those of the Revolutionary party, who
under General Otaballo were inspired by purely patriotic motives in
their desire to see the present government overthrown; those of
Danbury, who was governed by more sentimental considerations, and,
finally, those of the priest, who was prompted by revenge. General
Otaballo was the last of one of those old families of Carlina who had
spent their lives in the service of the family of Montferaldo. His
grandfather, to go back no further, had died defending the last
reigning queen, his father had been shot for leading a conspiracy to
restore the family, and now the grandson was following in the old way.
He was an old man now and had missed death a hundred times by narrow
margins owing to his connection with just such enterprises as this.
This was to be his last stand and into it he was throwing his heart
and soul and to his standard gathering whatever forces he could win by
hook or crook. It was he who had heard of Danbury and it was he who
had prompted him to bargain with the priest. With a record of past
defeats he himself had lost prestige with the hill people. And yet
both the priest and Danbury turned to him now to manage the campaign.
He knew the people, he knew every detail of the Republican army, every
particular of the forts and other defenses, and every traitor in their
ranks.
To take Carlina it was necessary only to capture Bogova, its capital.
This city of some 20,000 inhabitants lay about the inner port and some
eight miles from the bay where Danbury's yacht now rode at anchor,
safely, because of the treachery of the harbor patrol, who to a man
were with the Revolutionists. Danbury had been instructed by Otaballo,
through the priest, to make this harbor and remain until receiving
further instructions. The latter came within three hours in the form
of two letters; one from the General, and the other, enclosed, from
the princess herself. Danbury tore open the letter before glancing at
the official communication. He read it through and then stood with it
in his hand looking dreamily out across the blue waters. He whistled
to himself. Then handing it to Wilson, he asked,
"What do you think of that?"
Wilson read,
"DEAR DICK:
I hope you have thought over what I said to you and haven't
planned to do anything foolish. Because, honestly, it can't do
any good. The old people are gone and with them the old
cause. But I have heard rumors on all sides until I am nearly
frightened to death about what you may have stirred up. When
General Otaballo stole in this morning and showed me beneath
his coat that old uniform I knew something serious was meant.
And, Dicky, I don't want to be a queen--even to get revenge
upon the cads who haven't been nice. I don't want to rule;
it's more bother than it's worth; I'm afraid the royal blood
has got pretty well thinned out in me, for I don't feel any
thrill stirring within at the war-cry,--only trembles. I want
to jog along the same old peaceful path and I want you to come
and see me like the dear good friend you've always been. And
if you've got your pockets full of pistols, and your hands
full of swords, throw them away, Dicky, and just jump into a
carriage and come up and have supper with me. I've really been
lonesome for you,--more, to be honest, than I thought I'd be
or than I like to be. It's the woman and not the queen who has
been lonesome, too. So be a good boy and don't get either of
us into trouble, but bring the general to tea with you. We can
fight it all out just as well over the cakes and no one the
wiser.
Yours,
BEATRICE."
Wilson smiled.
"I should think," he said, "that it might be pleasant to--take supper
with her."
Danbury spoke earnestly.
"But a man can't sit and eat cakes while such as she is insulted on
her own streets. A man can't drink tea with her--he must be up and
doing for her. I shall take supper with her when she is a queen in her
own kingdom."
"She doesn't seem to want to be queen."
"But she shall," he exclaimed, "by the grace of God, she shall, within
two days!"
He tore open the missive from General Otaballo, and read aloud the
instructions. But not until the last paragraph did Wilson learn
anything of moment. Then, in a second his whole attitude towards the
campaign was changed.
"In addition to your present interest in this movement, I have news
that ought to spur your men on to added effort; the dogs of
Republicans have arrested and imprisoned an American young lady, who
reached here on the Columba in company with Dr. Sorez. The latter,
though formerly a loyal Republican, has for some reason been thought
in league with us, though, as far as I know, he is not. But the girl
is the victim of the arbitrary and unjust persecution which has always
been meted out to foreigners."
Wilson was left dumb for a moment. But his mind soon grasped the
urgency of the situation. He placed his hand upon Danbury's arm.
"Danbury," he said quietly, "I've got to get to her."
"You don't mean to say that this is----"
"The same one. Evidently Sorez has got her into trouble."
"But this is serious--this imprisonment. The dungeons aren't fit for a
dog."
"I know," answered Wilson; "but we'll get her out."
"We can't, until we batter down the old prison. _They_ won't let her
out--not for us."
"But why should they shut her up? What possible excuse can they have?
It's outrageous. If we can reach the authorities----"
"We'll be locked up too. The authorities would be glad to have you
come within reach. No, their suspicions are aroused, and to make a
move towards her release would be only to excite them to do worse.
You'll have to wait----"
"That's impossible. Wait, with her in the hands of those ruffians!"
"Wait until we get the ruffians in our hands. Otaballo plans the
attack for early to-morrow; we ought to be in the city by noon. Once
the place is ours you can take a force of men and go through the jail;
I imagine that it is in the old palace. That is where I was locked up
overnight, at any rate; and if it is like that----"
Wilson glanced up swiftly, his face pale.
"It was bad?"
"It was worse than that. But maybe they have a better place for the
women."
The remainder of the day was a nightmare to Wilson. He paced the decks
until in weariness he dropped into his bunk. Both Danbury and Stubbs
kept a watch upon him for fear that he might attempt to go ashore on
some wild project for reaching the city. He scarcely slept an hour
that night and went with the first boat load to leave the ship.
A full moon lighted the beach like a colorless sun. He stood with the
silent group handling their Winchesters. There was not one of them,
even though he peered somewhat anxiously into the deep shadows by the
roadside, who did not feel more of a man now that he was on shore;
this, even with the prospect of danger ahead. They were essentially
landsmen--a thing which Stubbs had not understood. They looked upon
the ship only as a prison. Now, with their feet on firm ground, they
were a different lot of men. Few of them were actual cowards, and
still fewer of them objected to the prospective fight, even though
they had been drawn into it in what they considered an underhanded
way. But the real reason for their good humor lay deeper, so deep that
not one man had dared as yet whisper it to another, although each knew
the other to be of the same mind. This was the prospect of loot.
Whichever side won, there would be a fine confusion in a lawless city,
with opportunities galore for plunder.
Most of them had vague notions that these South American cities were
fabulously rich in gold. Consequently, if they could not be depended
upon afterwards, they could be trusted to do their best to make the
city, and to fight so long as their own security was in jeopardy. To
rebel before they got there would only place them between two fires,
and they feared Stubbs too well to attempt it even if there was a
chance. So, take them all in all as they stood there upon dry land,
they were about as fair a fighting lot as mercenaries ever average.
The last thing to be brought from the boat was the ammunition, and
this was not distributed until the only method left of reaching the
ship was by swimming. Wilson sat upon the boxes with a revolver in
each hand until the last boat left the shore. Then Stubbs broke open
the boxes and made his final speech to the men who in a way he was now
placing without his authority.
"Afore I gives you these," he began, "I wants to remind yer of the
little talk we had t' other night. Each man of yer gits fifty
cartridges and with them either he makes Bogova er Hell. There ain't
no other stoppin' places. Ye may have thought, some of ye, that once
yer rifles was loaded ye could do 'bout as ye pleased. But t'ain't so.
Jus' behin' you there'll march one hundred men from the hills. They
don't know much, but they obey orders, an' their orders is to shoot
anybody what ain't goin' our way. Ye've got a chance, marchin'
straight on an' takin' the city; ye ain't gut the ghost of a chance,
if ye don't take the city er if ye fergits the way and starts back
towards the ship. 'Nother thing; hold tergether. It ain't pleasant fer
a man caught by hisself in Bogova. Thet's all, gents, an' I hopes it
will be my pleasant duty to hand ye soon a five-dollar gold piece fer
everyone of these here things I now hands ye."
Wilson suppressed a shout, and soon there was the confused clicking of
the locks as they closed over the full chambers of the rifles. It was
music to the ears of Danbury, who from the moment his feet had touched
shore was impatient to take the road without further delay. Wilson was
just as bad, if not worse, which left Stubbs really the only man of
them all able to think calmly and somewhat rationally.
He formed the men into columns of two, hastily inspected each one of
them, and finally got them started with Danbury and the guide leading,
Wilson, on the right side, and himself on the left and well to the
rear where he could watch for possible desertions until the hill men
took their place behind them. It was a new world for them all; the
strange tropical foliage silhouetted against the vivid night sky,
the piercing perfume of new flowers, and the shadow jungle either
side made it seem almost unreal. At the junction of this forest
path and the main road the hill men fell in behind like ghosts. They
were brown, medium-sized men, dressed in cotton trousers and blouses.
They were without shoes or hats and were armed with a medley of
weapons, from modern rifles to the big, two-edged sword with which
their ancestors fought. Save under the leadership of the priest,
they were said not to be good fighters, but with him to spur them on
they became veritable demons, hurling themselves upon the enemy
with a recklessness only possible to religious fanatics. So
fiercely had they resisted the attack made upon them in the
expedition of the hills that it was said that not within ten years
would it be possible to organize again sufficient men with courage
to venture to cross the Andes.
The road turned and twisted, wandered up hill and down, beckoning them
on through this phantasmal world which but for them would have slept
on in aromatic peace. To Wilson this all seemed part of a dream. It
was one of those strange visions he had seen between the stars that
night after the crash when he had gazed from his study window. Somehow
it did not seem to belong in his life at all. The girl did, but
nothing else did. It was meant for him to have her, but in the usual
ruts of men.
This was some other self which, with holsters and cartridge belt, was
marching in the dark with this group of uncouth men. The only thing
that made it real was the fact that he was moving towards her. Once he
had found her he would go back again and seek his place in the vast
machine which weaved cloths of more sober fabric. Then he thought of
the map which he had taken from the chest and put into his pocket.
That, too, was a part of this dream. It was fitting that in such an
atmosphere as this there should be hidden gold and jewels; fitting,
too, that this new self of his should be in search of them. But if
only he could reach her, if only he could have her fairly within his
arms, he would give this up to others who had more need of it. She had
said that if ever she were in need of him, she would call and he would
come to her. That seemed like an idle phrase at the time, and yet it
had come true. She had called and he was now on his way to give her
aid. He could not imagine her in the dungeon.
At the end of two hours, a rifle shot spat through the dark branches
by the roadside. Then silence--a silence so unbroken that it seemed in
a minute as though the noise had never been. Then Otaballo rode up at
a gallop and gave a few orders. His men, who led the forces, divided
silently and disappeared each side of the road into the dark timber.
Then for another half hour the remainder of the men marched on as
before. The sky began to brighten in the east. A grayish pink stole
from the horizon line and grew ever brighter and brighter as though a
breeze were blowing into the embers of an ash-covered fire. The pink
grew to crimson and with it the shadows sought their deeper haunts. As
the first real beams of the sun shot above the distant hills the
angular jumble of distant roof-tops became silhouetted against the
clear, blue sky.
A messenger came galloping down the road with orders for Danbury.
"You are to enter by the East Road. Follow your guide."
The sputtering report of distant rifles came to their ears.
"But, see here," protested Danbury, "the fighting is straight ahead."
"Take your orders," advised Wilson. "There will be enough of that to
go around, I guess."
The rattle directly ahead acted like wine upon Danbury. Wilson heard
him shout.
"All right, men. Let's take it at double-quick."
But the men could not stand the pace he cut out and so he was forced
to fall back to stubborn marching. Their path swung to the right, and
past many straggling houses where the good housewives were just up
and kindling their fires, with no inkling of what was about. To them
nothing was ahead but the meagre routine of another day. Occasionally
they caught a glimpse of the passing men and returned, startled, to
drag out their sleepy spouses and all the children. The sun had warmed
the whole of this little world now and trees and houses stood out
clean and distinct as though freshly washed. To the left the dry
crackle of the rifles still sounded. It was evident that Otaballo had
met with a good-sized force and one evidently prepared. It was not
long before the road took them into the city proper. Before they had
reached the first paved street Danbury turned to his men.
"Now, come on at a jump. There is a five-hundred-dollar bonus to the
first man in the palace."
He drew a revolver from his holster and, spurring on the guide,
encouraged the men to a double-quick. Wilson kept by his side. They
ran through the silent streets like phantom ghouls in a deserted city.
Every window was tight shut and every door double-barred. The rumor
had spread fast and entered the city an hour before them. They made a
great rattling as they ran heavily down the narrow alleys and through
the silent squares, but they received no more attention than a party
of merry-makers returning in the small hours from some country dance.
Then they rounded a corner and--a blinding flash from a red line of
rifles checked their brisk progress. Wilson staggered back a few steps
with his hand over his eyes like a man hit beneath the chin. The
noise was deafening. Then he turned slowly in a daze and looked to see
what the men were doing. A half dozen of them had lain down as though
to sleep, sprawled out in curiously uncomfortable attitudes. The
others had paused a moment as if in doubt.
Their frightened eyes brought him to himself.
"Come on," he growled. "Shoot low and fast."
A group of the real fighters swept past to the accompaniment of biting
snaps like the explosion of firecrackers. Then he fought his way to
the front again, elbowing men to one side.
The thing that seemed remarkable to him was that he could face that
spitting red line of rifles and yet keep his feet. They must be poor
shots, he thought. He himself began to shoot rather deliberately. He
did not see the faces of the men at whom he shot, for he always aimed
at their breasts. Once, however, he took careful aim at a white face
which lay against the breech of a rifle leveled at him. He aimed for
the white space between the eyes quite as coolly as though he were
facing a target. Yet he jumped a little in surprise as, following his
report, he saw a blotch of red appear where he had aimed--saw it for
just a second before the man reeled forward heavily and sunk as though
he had no backbone.
The powder smoke choked him, but he loved it. He liked the smell of it
and the taste of it, because it led to her. He lost all sense of
personalities. The forms before him were not men. He forgot all about
his comrades; forgot even what it was all about, except that he was
hewing a path to her. It was just a noisy medley in which he had but
one part to play,--shoot and press on to the dungeon which confined
her.