CHASE RISES TO EXPLAIN.
Wilson knew, as well as Chase, that the latter had not overestimated the
dangers of their situation. Cuba was in a state of insurrection, having
declared her independence of Spain. Several battles had been fought
between the rebels and the Spanish troops, and deeds of violence were
daily enacted in every part of the island. Wilson knew all this before
the voyage for Cuba was commenced, but he had never dreamed that he and
the rest of the crew of the yacht could in any way become mixed up in the
troubles. He had set out simply with the intention of assisting to rescue
Fred Craven from the power of the smugglers, and here he was suspected
of being a smuggler himself, and of having in his possession cases of
arms to be delivered to the agents of the Cuban government. Don Casper,
to whose house he had been brought in so strange a manner, thought that
such was his occupation and character, for he had said so; and he had
also hinted that the Spanish troopers suspected them, and that it would
be dangerous to fall into their hands. This was certainly an unlooked
for termination to the expedition upon which he and the members of the
Sportsman’s Club had entered with so much eagerness, and it was enough to
awaken in his mind the most serious misgivings. But he was a courageous
fellow, and knowing that much depended upon keeping up the spirits of
his desponding friend, he affected an indifference that he was very far
from feeling. He slept because he was utterly exhausted by the labor and
excitement he had undergone during the last few days.
Chase was equally wearied by his nights of watching and exposure, but his
fears effectually banished sleep from his eyes. For three long hours, as
we have said, he sat motionless on the dry-goods box, listening intently
and wondering how his captivity was to end, and at the expiration of that
time, he was frightened almost out of his senses by hearing a stealthy
footfall outside the door of the wine-cellar, and the noise of a key
grating in the lock. Utterly unable to speak, he sprang to his feet, and
seizing his slumbering companion by the shoulders, shook him roughly.
“Ay! ay!” replied Wilson, drowsily. “I will be on deck in five minutes.
Is Cuba in sight yet?”
“You are not on board the yacht,” whispered Chase, recovering the use of
his tongue by an effort, “but in the cellar of that old Creole’s house;
and here come the Spaniards to arrest us.”
These words aroused Wilson, who rubbed his eyes and sat up on the
dry-goods box just as the door opened, admitting a muffled figure in
slouch hat and cloak, who carried a lighted lantern in his hand. Chase
looked over the man’s shoulder into the cellar beyond, expecting to see
the troopers of whom he stood so much in fear; but their visitor was
alone, and, if any faith was to be put in his actions, he had come there
with anything but hostile intentions. He held his lantern aloft, and
after gazing at the boys a moment, nodded his head and motioned to them
to follow him. Wilson promptly obeyed, but Chase hung back.
“I am not sure that it will be safe,” said he, doubtfully. “Perhaps we
had better ask him to tell who sent him here, and what he intends to do
with us.”
“Let’s follow him now and listen to his explanation afterward,” replied
Wilson. “I don’t care much what he does with us, so long as he leads us
into the open air. Anything is better than being shut up in this dark
prison.”
Chase was not fully satisfied on that point, but he was not allowed even
a second to consider it. Wilson and their visitor moved off, and finding
that he was about to be left alone in the dark, Chase stepped quickly
out of the wine-cellar and followed them. The man led the way to the
stairs, which he ascended with noiseless footsteps, stopping now and then
to listen, his every movement being imitated by the anxious captives.
They reached the hall, and moved on tiptoe toward the door, which opened
upon the back verandah; but just before they reached it their guide
paused, and after giving each of the boys a warning gesture, raised his
hand and stood pointing silently before him. The young sailors looked,
and their hearts seemed to stop beating when they discovered, stretched
out directly in front of the door, the burly form of one of the Spanish
troopers. He slumbered heavily upon his blanket, one arm thrown over
his head, and the other resting upon his carbine which lay across his
breast. What was to be done now? was the question each of the boys asked
himself, and which was quickly answered by their guide, who, with another
warning gesture, moved forward, and stepping nimbly over the prostrated
sentinel, beckoned to them to follow. Wilson at once responded and
reached the verandah without arousing the sleeper; but it seemed as if
Chase could not muster up courage enough to make the attempt.
“I can’t do it,” he whispered, in reply to Wilson’s gestures of
impatience. “Tell that man to come back and lead me out of the house by
some other door.”
“What good will it do to talk to him?” replied Wilson, in the same
cautious whisper. “It is very evident from his actions that he can’t talk
English; and, besides, if there were any other way to get out, it isn’t
likely that he would have brought us here. I’d show a little pluck, if I
were you. Come on.”
“But what if that soldier should awake and spring up just as I was about
to step over him?” continued Chase, in an ecstasy of alarm. “He’d catch
me, sure.”
“He will catch you if you stay there—you may depend upon that.”
Chase might still have continued to argue the point, had not the actions
of the guide aroused him to a full sense of his situation. The man, who
had been beckoning vehemently to him, suddenly faced about, and tapping
Wilson on the shoulder, started down the steps that led from the verandah
to the ground. Then Chase saw that he must follow or remain a prisoner
in the house. He started and passed the sleeping sentinel in safety; but
his mind was in such a whirl of excitement and terror that to save his
life he could not have told how he did it. When he came to himself he and
Wilson were following close at the heels of their guide, who was leading
the way at a rapid run along the lane that led to the negro quarters.
“I wish I had never seen or heard of the Sportsman’s Club,” panted Chase,
drawing his handkerchief across his forehead, for the exciting ordeal
through which he had just passed, had brought the cold perspiration from
every pore of his body; “I never was in a scrape like this before, and if
I once get out of it you’ll never see me in another. Fred Craven can take
care of himself now; I am going home.”
“When are you going to start?” asked Wilson.
“Just as soon as I reach the village.”
“How are you going?”
“I don’t know, and what’s more, I don’t care. I’ll float there on a plank
before I’ll stay here twenty-four hours longer. There’s another sentry.
He’s awake too, and coming toward us. Which way shall we run now?”
While Chase was speaking a man stepped into view from behind the fence
and hurried toward them; but they soon found that there was no cause for
alarm, for the new-comer was Don Casper himself.
“My lads,” he exclaimed, gleefully, “I am overjoyed to see you once
more, and in possession of your liberty too.” And as he threw aside his
cloak and extended a hand to each of them, the boys saw that he wore a
sword by his side, and that his belt contained a brace of pistols. “This
afternoon’s work has ruined me,” continued the Don, hurriedly. “It was
very wrong in Captain Conway to send you out here in broad daylight,
knowing as he does that I have long been suspected of being a rebel, and
that the patrol were only waiting for some proof against me to arrest me.
They’ve got that proof now, and my property will all be confiscated.”
And now something happened which Wilson had feared and was on the lookout
for—something which came very near placing him and his friend in a
much worse predicament than they had yet got into. It was nothing more
nor less than an effort on the part of Chase to explain matters to the
Don. Wilson had thought over their situation since his release from
the wine-cellar, and he had come to the conclusion that, in the event
of again meeting with their host, it would not be policy to attempt
to correct the wrong impressions he had received concerning them, for
the reason that it might prove a dangerous piece of business. He was
afraid that the Don might not believe their story. In order to make
him understand it, it would be necessary to go back to the day of the
panther hunt, and describe what had then taken place between Bayard Bell
and the members of the Sportsman’s Club. That would consume a good deal
of time, and there would be some things to tell that would look very
unreasonable; and perhaps the Don would do as the captain of the revenue
cutter had done—declare that it was all false. He would very likely think
that the boys were trying to deceive him, and he might even go so far
as to believe that they were in sympathy with the Spaniards, and that
they had been employed by them to come to his house in the character of
smugglers, on purpose to give the patrol an excuse for arresting him.
This thought was enough to cause even the plucky Wilson some anxiety, and
the longer he pondered upon it the more alarmed he became.
“We haven’t seen the worst of it yet, I am afraid,” he soliloquized. “We
are in a much worse predicament than I thought. There will certainly be
an explosion if the Don finds out that we are not the fellows he takes
us for, and perhaps he’ll he mad enough to smash things. He’s got a good
opinion of us now, and it would be foolish to say anything to change it.
Our best plan will be to keep our mouths closed, and to get away from him
without loss of time. If I only knew who wrote the note that negro gave
him and what was in it, I would know just how to act.”
Wilson waited for an opportunity to talk this plan over with Chase, but
did not find it, for the reason that the Don made his appearance too
quickly. The only course then left for him to pursue was to do all the
talking himself, and allow his companion no chance to speak; but the
latter was too smart for him, and with a dozen words brought about the
very state of affairs that Wilson had hoped to guard against.
“You must not blame us for your misfortune,” said Chase.
“I do not. It is Captain Conway’s fault.”
“He did not send us here—that is, we did not come by his orders. We are
not smugglers, and neither have we any arms for you.”
“Eh?” exclaimed the Don.
“We don’t belong to the Stella, either. We came here in a private yacht,
on our own private business, and know nothing about your transactions
with Captain Conway.”
“Gracias á Dios!” cried the Cuban; and the words came out from between
his clenched teeth in a way that Chase did not like.
“Hold easy. Don’t get angry until you hear my explanation. Remember that
we have not tried to sail under false colors, since we have been here at
your house. You did not ask us who we were, did you? If you had given us
the opportunity, we should have been glad to have appeared before you in
our true characters, and to have explained the reason for our visit.”
Having thus introduced his subject, Chase cleared his throat, thrust
his hands into his pockets, and began a hurried and rather disconnected
account of the events which had brought them to Cuba. The Don stood like
a man in a dream. He was not listening to what the young sailor said,
but was pondering upon some words he had uttered a few moments before.
Suddenly he interrupted him.
“Your true character!” he exclaimed furiously. “Enough! That is all I
wish to hear from you. I suspected you from the first. You have told me
who you are _not_, and now I shall ascertain for myself who you _are_.
The Stella is at the village, I know, for one of my negroes saw her
there. I shall introduce you into the presence of Captain Conway before
you are an hour older; and when he sees you, he will probably be able to
tell me whether or not you came here by his orders. If he cannot vouch
for you, you will find yourselves in serious trouble, I can tell you. I
am now going to the stable after some horses, and you and your companion
will move up into the shadow of this storehouse and remain there, until I
return, under the eye of my overseer, whom I shall instruct to shoot you
down if you make the least attempt at escape.”
Chase listened to this speech in utter amazement. His under jaw dropped
down, and for a few seconds he stood gazing stupidly at the Don, who
turned and began an earnest conversation in Spanish with his overseer—the
man who had released the boys from the wine-cellar. At last he recovered
himself in some measure, and made a bungling attempt to repair the damage
he had done.
“I say, Don!” he exclaimed, “now you are laboring under another mistake,
quite as bad as the first. You take us for Spanish sympathizers—I know
you do, but we are not. We’ve got no interest in this fight, and we don’t
care which whips. I mean—you know—of course you Cubans are in the right,
and we hope you will succeed in establishing your independence. I wish we
had a whole cargo of arms for you, but we haven’t. I wish the Banner was
loaded so deep with them that she was on the point of sinking, but she
isn’t. O dear! I wish he would stop talking to that man and listen to me.
I could set everything right in a few minutes. Speak to him, Wilson.”
But his friend paid as little attention to him as the Don did. He stood
narrowly watching the two men, and although he could not understand a
word of their conversation, he knew pretty nearly what they were talking
about. It was plain enough to him, too, that the overseer was as angry at
them as his master was. He raised his lantern to allow its beams to fall
full in their faces, scowled fiercely at each of them in turn, and then
throwing aside his cloak and laying his hand on the butt of one of his
pistols, motioned to them to follow him to the storehouse. As they obeyed
the gesture, the Don hurried down the lane, not however without stopping
long enough to tell the captives that the overseer was a good shot, and
that an attempt to run away from him would be dangerous.
Never was a boy more astounded and alarmed than Chase was at that moment.
Reaching the storehouse, he flung himself on the ground beside it in a
state of utter dejection and misery. He looked at Wilson, who seated
himself by his side, but even had there been light enough for him to see
the expression that rested on the face of his friend, he would have found
no encouragement there. Wilson was almost disheartened himself. Things
looked even darker now than when they were confined in the wine-cellar—a
state of affairs for which his companion was alone to blame. But Wilson
had no fault to find. The mischief was done and could not be undone; and
like a sensible fellow, he determined to make the best of it, and say
nothing about it.
“Don’t I wish I had never seen or heard of the Sportsman’s Club!” said
Chase, feebly. “I wonder if that overseer understands English? Try him,
Wilson. I want to say something to you.”
Wilson, for want of something better to do, addressed a few words to
their guard, who stood close at their side, keeping a sharp eye on their
movements, but he only shook his head, and threw aside his cloak to show
his pistols.
“I think you may speak freely,” said Wilson. “What were you going to say?”
“We’re in trouble again,” replied Chase.
“O! Is that all? It’s no news.”
“I wish I had not tried to explain matters.”
“So do I.”
“Is there nothing we can do? Let’s jump up and take to our heels. I’ll
risk the bullets in the overseer’s pistols, if you will.”
“What’s the use? Where shall we run to?”
“To town, of course. We want to go back to the yacht, don’t we?”
“Certainly. But if we wait a few minutes, the Don will bring us some
horses, and then we can ride there. That will be much easier than
walking, and safer too; for not knowing the way, we might get lost in the
darkness, or run against some of the patrols on the road.”
“Do you intend to go to town with the Don?” asked Chase, in great
amazement.
“I do.”
“Well, if you don’t beat all the fellows I ever heard of! You have
certainly taken leave of your senses. Don’t you know that Captain Conway
and Mr. Bell will do all they can to strengthen the Don’s suspicions?”
“You didn’t hear me through. We don’t want to see either of those worthy
gentlemen, if we can avoid it. We will go with the Don, simply because we
can’t help ourselves, and perhaps during the ride he will get over his
mad fit, so that we can talk to him. If he does, we will tell him our
story from beginning to end, and ask him to go aboard the Banner with us.
Walter and the other fellows must have returned by this time, and when
the Don finds that their story agrees with ours, and sees the yacht’s
papers, perhaps he will believe us. If he don’t, let’s see him help
himself. We’ll be on board our vessel then, and we’ll stay there.”
“Yes. That’s all very nice. But suppose the Banner isn’t there? What
then?”
“Eh?” exclaimed Wilson.
“Those deserters may have returned and run off with her during our
absence. What would you do in that case?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t calculating on that.”
“And what will the Don do?” continued Chase. “If we tell him that we
shall find our yacht at the wharf and she happens to be gone, he will
have more reason to suspect us than he does now.”
Wilson looked at his companion, and then settling back against the
storehouse, went off into a brown study; while Chase, after waiting a few
minutes for him to say something, sprang to his feet, and began pacing
nervously back and forth. Just then, an incident happened which created
a diversion in favor of the two boys, and which they were prompt to take
advantage of, only in different ways.