PASSING THE FORT.
It was not very strange that while under the spell of Hildegarde’s
presence I should forget all about my poor, banged head; when a
fellow’s heart is thumping tumultuously against his ribs, as though
laboring under an attack of fever, he cannot be expected to remember
such trifles as a few bruises.
Of one thing I had suddenly become firmly convinced, and it gave me a
spasm of joy such as had been a stranger to me for two long years.
She loved me still; Hildegarde loved me in spite of all that had
passed, of my desertion, and the long interval of silence that had
elapsed.
What, though there were obstacles, surely they could be hurled aside. I
felt just then as though I might defy the world, if need be, since my
claim was founded on justice; she had been in the past, and, if Heaven
were kind, might once more be my Hildegarde.
So it was in almost a merry frame of mind I made my way out of the
cabin again.
My spirits were lighter than they had been these many moons; much
remained to be explained, and difficulties to be overcome, but oh, the
ecstasy of believing that the old love still burned within her heart.
Once on deck, I looked for the girl.
Already they were getting the anchor up, and raising the launch aboard
by means of block and tackle attached to the davits.
Carmencita I easily found; the child was shrinking against the cabin
bulkhead, and seemed overwhelmed with shyness in the presence of Diana.
I imagined the latter might have been endeavoring to extract some
information from her, but from my own experience, I knew how hopeless
this must be without a knowledge of Spanish, which, I felt sure, she
did not possess.
“Come with me, Carmencita, to your mistress. What is that you have
there? Oh, her bag. Let me carry it for you.”
I saw Diana’s eyes fastened curiously upon the little article as I took
hold of it; but thought no more about the matter, or what she might
weave from the fact of my initials being on the bag.
It gave me a queer feeling to take hold of the thing again--that
photograph, you know. After all, was there anything so strange about
that? Suppose some one would point out a very handsome fellow on the
street and say confidentially to you: “Two years from now that chap
will be your wife’s husband?” I suppose it would give you a start, and
every time you saw him after that you would be certain to have a bad
feeling.
Well, that covered my case, only it was even more aggravated, since I
had some reason to suspect the two years had already flown, and the
prophecy was an accomplished fact.
I stalked into the cabin, and knocked at the door of Hildegarde’s
stateroom, which she at once opened.
“I’ve brought him--I mean the bag, to you, and here’s Carmencita, too,”
I said, extending my burden, which she eagerly pounced upon.
“Oh! I wouldn’t have lost that for worlds!”
“H’m! I suppose not,” I said, disconsolately.
“For it contains something I value very highly,” she continued, looking
straight at me, and smiling in a mysterious way.
I bowed and retreated.
Now, what did she mean? Was it her jewels, that infernal photo, or was
there something even more valuable in the bag, something which I had
not seen?
And why should she look at me in that way if she were referring to the
picture of my successor? Did she actually rejoice in this opportunity
to give me pain? Women could be so mercilessly cruel when they chose.
I was not feeling so merry now; indeed, my face must have been very
long, if the doubts that assailed me had much to do with my looks.
Remembering what an awful condition I must be in after this series of
adventures, I sought my own stateroom, and proceeded to remove all
traces of wear and tear.
The wound on my head had ceased to bleed, though there was a lump there
the size of a hen’s egg, that felt very sore to the touch.
I bathed it with witch hazel, and managed to make myself fairly
presentable.
Then my duties as a host forced me to seek my guests.
I had anticipated a pleasant cruise in the society of these old
friends, and had hoped their genial company would help to dissipate the
fog that hovered about my spirits.
Now, strange to say, I deeply regretted their presence aboard, nor
could I give a plausible reason for such a complete change in my
feelings, save that the strange events of this evening had revealed
my own soul to my astonished gaze, and a mad hope had sprung up in my
heart.
My guests awaited me on deck.
Already we were beginning to move through the water, and soon the light
of gay old Bolivar would be lost over the expanse of sea.
I rejoiced that far, and saw nothing to regret in leaving the place; it
was a little too hot a town for my blood.
We chatted for a time on various matters.
I knew both of my guests were just dying to question me about the
mysterious lady who had come aboard in such a strange way, and with
whose arrival my affair on the bay must certainly have had close
connection.
But I was in no hurry to speak--they could pique their curiosity until
I had arranged in my mind just how much I wanted to tell them now.
One thing I meant to keep quiet, remembering my promise to Hildegarde,
and this concerned her identity; I really enjoyed having a secret from
Diana, usually so quick to read the meaning of all signs, and mentally
pictured her astonishment when, later, she would learn who my passenger
was.
Finally, she demanded that I redeem my promise, and tell what brought
me into conflict with the people of Bolivar.
Just then the steward came to tell me the little repast I had ordered
was ready in the cabin, so I insisted that they go in.
“Afterward, while we sit on deck, and we gentlemen have the privilege
of a good cigar, I promise to a tale unfold that will harrow up your
soul and make your blood run cold.”
With that promise, they had to be content.
I knew Hildegarde would not join us; she had said as much, and the
steward could serve her later with anything she might wish.
We did not tarry long at the table.
Gustavus Thorpe was the only one who seemed to have any appetite, and
nothing ever appeared to disturb his equanimity.
Diana was her old self--marriage with her cousin had not changed
her merry flow of spirits an iota, and I wondered whether constant
association with so gay a creature would thaw out the icicle any.
Despite his foppish ways, Gustavus was a good fellow; I had seen him
dead in earnest a few times, and once when we were sore beset by a
mob of fanatics in Tehera, Persia, he did yeoman work with those
lily-white hands that ordinarily seemed only fit to twist the ends of
his straw-colored mustache, or hold a monocle up to his left optic.
Then we once more went on deck.
“Excuse me for five minutes,” I said.
“Certainly, my dear boy,” answered Thorpe, while Diana, more vicious,
said:
“Don’t let her keep you any longer than that, Morgan; remember, I am
dying from curiosity.”
“Ah, but in this case it is a man, the friend who came aboard with me,
Milos Robbins, with whom I once sailed, and whom I met by the rarest
accident this very night.”
I reproached myself for having neglected him so long, but I found he
had made himself at home on board, as seamen will.
“Come, you don’t belong in here with the men--your place is with
us. I told you I had a position in my eye for you. To-morrow I am
going to offer you charge of this yacht; my captain was left sick at
New Orleans, and I’m bound to have no other than you. Not a word of
refusal, Milos--we are old comrades, and this pleases me more than I
can tell you.”
He took my hand, and squeezed it.
“God bless you, Morgan; there’s no one I’d sooner serve; but this sort
of cruising is hardly in my line. I’m at home on any sailing craft,
from an old hooker to the finest clipper that ever plowed the seas, but
there is much for me to learn about a steam yacht.”
“Oh! you’ll pick it up soon enough, with the help of Cummings. And
we’ll consider it settled, Captain Robbins.”
He was almost overcome.
“Please let me bunk here to-night with the men. We’ll arrange it
all in the morning, sir. It’s dazzled me a bit, you see, coming so
unexpectedly. But I’m deeply grateful, all the same.”
“Nonsense! it’s all on my part, the luck. And we’re comrades,
too--think what we’ve gone through together, and who knows what
wonderful adventures the near future may have in store for you and me,
Robbins?”
I spoke lightly, never once dreaming of the tragedies that lay in wait
for us beyond; for who can lift that impenetrable veil by which the
future, near or remote, is shrouded?
As it was his wish, and I saw no good reason for insisting on his
changing quarters until we had arranged our plans definitely in the
morning, I left him there, and once more sought the company of my two
guests.
The fresh sea air was invigorating, indeed, as we began to leave the
harbor and strike for the open.
“Look there!” exclaimed Gustavus, pointing to the headland we were
passing.
There was a sudden flash of light, and presently we heard a deep boom.
“They’re firing upon us!” cried Diana, excited.
“Yes, but there is no danger whatever. Those fellows couldn’t hit a
mountain. I heard the ball strike away behind. And in a short time
we’ll be entirely out of range.”
“How very exciting to be under fire,” said Diana, as a second shot
rolled over the water.
Then the lights went out temporarily aboard, and the firing ceased,
since the gunners knew not where to aim.
“That episode is concluded,” remarked the lady, and I really believe
she was sorry.
Gustavus and I lighted cigars, and then found comfortable easy-chairs
at a point where the sea air would not be too strong.
“Now, please begin at the beginning,” pleaded my feminine auditor, and
I could remember the time when I thought Diana the fairest of her sex,
for she had been an old flame of mine until I met Hildegarde.
So, feeling very comfortable after my experience ashore and afloat, and
with the yacht dancing over the starlit waves of the Caribbean Sea, I
began my story of a night in Bolivar’s gay metropolis.