WALTER SQUARES AN ACCOUNT
Locked in a room of General Quesada's house, Walter Goodwin felt
acutely sorry that he had not minded his own business. He ought to have
reported his suspicions to the American officials of the Canal Zone.
In his rash eagerness to play a man's part he had undertaken a task
too big for him. He was badly frightened, and yet he could not bring
himself to realize that serious danger threatened him.
Waiting in the darkened room, he heard the boat's crew make a landing
at the sea-wall near by. Instead of passing into the street, they
turned and began to climb the stone staircase, in the rear of the
house. Their talk had ceased. One of them laughed and another hushed
him with a low command. There was something sinister in this approach.
Walter surmised that their errand might concern him. Into his mind came
the tales he had read of wild, cruel deeds done in this Bay of Panama
in days gone by.
The men from the boat halted on the staircase, and presently Walter
heard the rumbling undertones of General Quesada. A door was opened,
and the swarthy sailors from the _Juan Lopez_ filed into the room.
They closed around Walter as if intending to take him with them. He
wanted to motion them away, to show them that he was an American, that
he could take his medicine like a man, but, alas! the brave, boyish
impulse came to naught. He could only stare stupidly at one and the
other, as if beseeching them to reveal their purpose. The mate in
charge of the party, a sprightly, shock-headed fellow with gold rings
in his ears, liked the lad because he made no foolish outcry, and tried
to cheer him with a friendly grin.
They escorted him to the sea-wall and thrust him into the boat. If he
shouted for help, only the Panamanian sentries posted along the ancient
fortification would hear him. It was no business of theirs if a sailor
was being carried off to his ship. In the stern loomed the broad,
shapeless figure of General Quesada. The oars made bright flashes in
the phosphorescent waters of the bay, and the boat moved out into the
silent night.
Walter comprehended that he was being carried on board the _Juan
Lopez_, because General Quesada was afraid to leave him behind as a
witness of his misdeeds. It was a most alarming situation, but Walter
was comforted by the hope that Captain Brincker would befriend him
during the filibustering voyage. The soldier of fortune was the most
masterful man of the rascally company and was likely to hold the upper
hand.
At length the low hull of the laden steamer was discernible in the
star-lit darkness. A gangway had been lowered, and after General
Quesada had clumsily clambered to the deck, Walter followed with the
help of the good-natured mate. He was promptly shoved into a small
deck-house and left to wonder miserably what would happen next. There
was much commotion in the steamer. From the loud talk, Walter gathered
that she was ready to sail as soon as Captain Brincker should come on
board. The forlorn lad anxiously listened for the strong voice of the
soldier of fortune.
A sailor entered the deck-house on some hasty errand and left the door
unfastened. Walter ventured outside and was unnoticed in the confusion.
Leaning over the rail, he gazed at the lights of Ancon and thought of
his stanch friends Jack Devlin and Alfaro. They would not know what had
become of him. They were powerless to aid him.
A gasolene launch was coming toward the steamer from the direction of
Panama. The filibustering crew was more noisily excited than ever.
Captain Brincker was expected to come off from shore in a row-boat.
This sputtering launch was instantly suspected. The _Juan Lopez_ was a
steamer with an uneasy conscience, quick to take alarm. Her hull began
to vibrate to the clangorous beat of her engines as she prepared to
take flight.
The launch swung in a wide arc to pass close alongside. General Quesada
was hailed in Spanish and told to wait for an important interview.
He was not inclined to parley. All he could think of was that the
American authorities wished to overhaul and search the steamer, and he
frantically ordered her to make for the open sea at top speed.
The voice from the launch had sounded familiar to Walter Goodwin. Hope
leaped in his heart. His friends were trying to rescue him. Before he
could call out, Fernandez Garcia Alfaro was shouting to him in English:
"Ho, there, Goodwin! We are wide awake. Keep your courage. We will not
give you up!"
Walter tried to yell a glad response, but a hand was clapped over his
mouth, and he was roughly dragged back into the deck-house. For the
moment disappointment overwhelmed him, but he found consolation in the
fact that his friends had traced and followed him. Otherwise he would
have felt quite hopeless, for the _Juan Lopez_ had sailed without
Captain Brincker and there was no one to stand between him and the
ruffianly vengeance of General Quesada.
The general was too busy during the night to pay heed to his prisoner.
He sorely needed the seasoned soldier of fortune to handle the lawless
crew. The encounter with the launch had made him fear pursuit, and his
martial spirit was considerably harassed. He blamed Walter Goodwin
as the source of his woes, and yearned to knock the meddlesome young
passenger on the head and toss him overboard. This was not feasible,
however, because although the ship's company was ripe for revolution,
rebellion, or piracy on the high seas, they would draw the line at
cold-blooded murder. It seemed an easier solution of the problem to
take Goodwin ashore with the expedition and conveniently lose him in
the jungle of San Salvador.
"He looks at me like the cat that swallowed the canary," sighed Walter
next morning. "Oh, if my right arm was only well and sound, I might
fight my way out of this fix somehow. But I just can't believe that
things won't come my way."
There were several English-speaking adventurers on board, recruited
from the ranks of the "tropical tramps" of Colon and Panama, and
General Quesada was unwilling to have Walter make their acquaintance.
His story might enlist their sympathy. He was therefore removed from
the deck-house and put in a small state-room below. A sentry was posted
outside the door, and a boy from the galley brought the rough rations
served out to the crew.
It was a tedious imprisonment, with nothing to do but lie in the bunk,
or walk to and fro three steps each way, or gaze through the round
port-hole at the shining, monotonous expanse of ocean. Now and then
the deck above his head resounded to the measured tramp of many feet
and the cadenced rattle of breech-blocks and bayonets. Rifles had been
broken out of the cargo, and the landing party was being drilled.
The boldly romantic character of the voyage made Walter's blood tingle.
To be afloat with these modern buccaneers who were bound out to raid
the Spanish Main was like a dream come true. But he had no part in
it. He was something to be got rid of. Youth is not easily dismayed,
however, and the whole experience was too fantastic, too incredible,
for Walter to regard his plight as gravely as the facts warranted.
On the second day at sea, he was staring through the open port, sadly
thinking about the fond household in Wolverton. There was a sudden
shouting on deck. The engines of the _Juan Lopez_ clanked and groaned
as if they were being driven beyond the limit of safety, and every beam
and plate and rivet of the rusty hull protested loudly. Some one ran
through the cabin shouting:
"They are after us, all right. This blighted old hooker can't get away."
Walter cheered and jubilantly pounded the door with his undamaged
fist. A faster steamer was chasing the _Juan Lopez_. It must have been
sent out from the Canal Zone. Poking his head through the port, he
squirmed as far as his shoulders would let him. Far astern he caught a
glimpse of a black, sea-going tug of large tonnage, whose tall prow was
flinging aside the foam in snowy clouds.
Soon the _Juan Lopez_ sharply altered her course and began to edge in
toward the coast. From this new angle Walter was able to watch the tug
draw nearer and nearer until he could make out the khaki uniforms of
the marines massed forward.
"Here is where General Quesada gets what is coming to him," he cried
exultantly.
He wiped his eyes and blubbered for joy. He was proud of his country.
There was no taking liberties with Uncle Sam on the high seas! A little
later he became alarmed at discovering that the _Juan Lopez_ was
heading straight for the beach. He comprehended the purpose of General
Quesada. The steamer was to be rammed ashore and the crew would escape
into the jungle. They might take Walter with them, beyond all reach of
rescue.
Now the bullets from the tug began to rattle against the fleeing
steamer or to buzz overhead. Walter dodged away from the port-hole and
tried to kick the state-room door from its hinges. He could hear the
crew working in wild haste to cast loose and lower the boats. From the
hold came a tremendous roar of steam. The _Juan Lopez_ was in danger of
blowing up before she stranded.
Then there came a rending shock as she struck the beach. Walter was
thrown from his feet and dazed, but he managed to scramble to the
port-hole, where he could see the crew diving overboard and fleeing
through the surf. Others were tumbling pell-mell into the boats. In any
other circumstances the flight of these bold revolutionists would have
been vastly amusing.
Walter began to hope that he had been forgotten in the panic. As soon
as the ship was deserted he would smash the flimsy door and gain the
deck, where he could signal the other vessel and let his friends know
that he was alive and well.
Before he could break his way out, the door was hastily unlocked, and
there stood General Quesada, perspiring freely and greatly excited.
He had delayed to get his precious prisoner who knew too much.
Carelessly assuming that in his disabled condition Walter could make
no resistance, he proposed to take him from the ship single-handed. In
expecting meek obedience he was guilty of a serious error of judgment.
With rescue so near, the robust youth was in no mood to obey the
beckoning gesture.
He objected to being led into the jungle, and his objection was sudden
and violent. His wits were working as nimbly as if he were pitching
a championship game of base-ball. This was his first chance to meet
the enemy on anything like even terms. And he had a large-sized score
to settle with General Quesada. Walter would have preferred a hickory
broom-handle and plenty of room to swing it, but without weapons of
any kind and only one good arm he must choose new tactics.
General Quesada stood in the doorway and growled impatiently at him.
Stepping back to gain momentum, Walter lowered his head and lunged
forward like a human battering-ram. He smote the corpulent general in
the region of his belt. The impact was terrific. The amazed warrior
doubled up and sat down with a thump and a grunt, clasping his fat
hands to his stomach. His appearance was that of a man who had collided
with a pile-driver.
Walter climbed over his mountainous bulk and the general was too
breathless to utter his emotions. His face expressed the most painful
bewilderment. He had ceased to take interest in his very urgent
affairs. Walter had no time to pity him. He had resolved to assist the
stern course of justice to the best of his ability.
Using his left arm and shoulder, he sturdily shoved at the collapsed
general until he had moved him inside the state-room. It was like
trying to shift a bale of cotton. The door opened outward into the main
cabin, so that Walter was able to close and lock it. Then he pushed
and dragged a table, a bench, and several chairs to build a barricade
against the door as an extra precaution. This accomplished, the weary
and panting youth said to himself:
"I think that will hold him for a while. It was about time the worm
turned. Now I'm willing to call it quits. And his crew isn't going to
bother to look for him."
This was a sound conclusion. It was a case of every man for himself.
They were entirely too busy trying to outrun the bullets of the marines
to concern themselves about the fate of General Quesada. He could not
even yell to them to wait for him, because the collision with Walter's
hard head made it necessary for him to remain seated on the floor,
still pensively clasping his belt and wondering what had happened to
him.
Walter was for taking no chances with his prize. Perching himself upon
the barricade, he waited for the boarding-party from the tug to find
him. The ship became silent except for the shriek of the steam from the
safety-valves. Walter was left in sole command to enjoy the situation.
Presently General Quesada showed symptoms of reviving. He lifted his
voice in a quavering appeal to his comrades in arms, but they had
disappeared beyond the green curtain of the jungle. Walter listened to
the plaintive wail and gloated. He was not vindictive by nature, but
there was such a thing as righteous retribution. When General Quesada
became more vigorous and began to kick the door, Walter addressed him
soothingly and advised him to be calm.
When the party of marines reached the steamer, Jack Devlin was one of
the first to scramble on deck. The voice of this faithful friend came
down the companion-way to Walter.
"He is not in the ship, you can take my word for it. He would have
surely shown himself by now."
"Oh, don't look so sad-eyed and hopeless until we make a search,"
replied the captain of marines. "I can't believe that he was put out of
the way during the voyage. And we didn't see him taken ashore."
Walter kept silent. This was the most delightful moment of his life.
Presently Devlin came downstairs into the cabin. The place was
gloomy after the dazzling sunshine above, and he halted to get his
bearings. Then moving forward, he almost stumbled into the barricade
of furniture. Walter leaned over, grasped him by the shoulder, and
exclaimed:
"I'm glad to see you aboard. Did you have a pleasant trip?"
The steam-shovel man jumped back, and emitted a yell which could have
been no louder if he had been clutched by a ghost.
"Are you honestly alive?" he gasped. "You blessed young rascal, you!
You scared me out of a year's growth."
"Of course I am alive, and doing very nicely, thank you. How in the
world did you happen to get on my trail? And what about the tug and the
rest of the outfit?"
Walter tried to make his voice sound as if this were a commonplace
meeting, but his eyes twinkled with mischief as he thought of the
second surprise in store for the steam-shovel man.
"I'll tell you all about it when you are safe aboard the _Dauntless_
yonder," said Devlin. "And what are you doing roosting on that heap of
furniture like a crazy hen? Oh my, but I'm sorry General Quesada got
away from you. We surely did pine to lug him back to Panama with us."
The hapless general in the state-room had become silent, for he was
reluctant to draw the attention of the American party. Walter chuckled
as he replied:
"I have a present for you. It is a big one. If you really want General
Quesada, you can have him with my compliments."
"You're joking, boy. He is boring a large hole in the jungle by this
time."
"He wishes he was. Open this door behind me and see what you find."
Devlin tossed the furniture aside and entered the state-room. General
Quesada was sitting on the edge of the bunk and appeared very
low-spirited. Just then the captain of the marines came below with a
dozen privates at his heels. The steam-shovel man loudly summoned them,
adding with tremendous gusto:
"Didn't I tell you that Goodwin was the finest lad that ever happened?
All he needed was a chance to get into action."
They cheered for Goodwin, and cordially invited General Quesada to
surrender and end the war.
"You _would_ steal Uncle Sam's groceries and go skylarking off to
start trouble in the cute little republic of San Salvador, would you?"
playfully remarked a sergeant of marines. "I never had a chance to talk
plain to a real live general. Step lively, now. No impudence."
The general was permitted to get his personal baggage, after which the
marines escorted him to the _Dauntless_, where his fallen fortunes met
with little sympathy. He was a sullen, despondent figure and not a
trace of his pompous bearing was left.
The sea was so smooth and the weather indications so favorable that
it was decided to salvage the cargo of the _Juan Lopez_. Her arms and
munitions and supplies were valuable and would be confiscated by the
American government after due process of the law. The transfer had to
be made in small boats, and was a task requiring two or three days. The
_Juan Lopez_ was hopelessly stranded. She would soon go to pieces, a
melancholy memorial of a Spanish-American revolution that was nipped
in the bud.
Walter Goodwin was in danger of being spoiled by the marines who petted
and pampered him, and were never tired of hearing him spin the yarn
of his adventures which began with the episode of the parrot and the
broomstick. Their surgeon attended to the injured arm, and found that
it was little the worse for the rough usage of the voyage. His verdict
was so encouraging that Walter could hope to play base-ball before the
Isthmian League finished its winter season.
This aroused violent argument on board the _Dauntless_. A war of words
raged over Walter's services as a pitcher. Jack Devlin set up a claim
in behalf of Culebra, because he had engineered the rescue.
"All obligations to Naughton and those other Cristobal robbers are
wiped out," cried he. "If I hadn't set out to find you and stuck to it
like a terrier at a rat-hole, where would you be now?"
"Camp Elliot has a pretty fast nine," chimed in the captain of marines,
"and Goodwin fairly belongs to us. Didn't we have a lot to do with
getting him back?"
"I really belong to Cristobal--" Walter tried to explain, but Devlin
cut the discussion short by declaring:
"We'll put it up to Colonel Gunther for a decision."
After one of these good-natured altercations, Walter called the
steam-shovel man aside and anxiously told him:
"It is all very fine to be called a hero and to be in such demand as a
pitcher, but it doesn't make me very happy. I came to the Isthmus to
look for a job on the gold roll and I seem to be getting farther away
from it all the time. I am broke and my folks at home don't know where
I am, and I don't seem to be giving them a lift very fast."
Devlin was instantly attentive and serious. It seemed to strike him
for the first time that being rescued was not a part of Walter's real
programme.
"Of course, I thought you ought to be pretty well satisfied with
yourself," said he. "You have kicked up a most amazing rumpus for a
lad of your tender years. Now, about a job----"
"Don't think me ungrateful," broke in Walter. "I don't deserve all this
wonderful friendship and kindness. I am just worried about things,
that's all, and I want your advice."
"You are perfectly right, my boy. You are keeping your eye on the
ball. In the first place, the colonel himself is interested in you. He
ought to be. You made trouble enough for him. And Major Glendinning
will forgive you for trying to stop that landslide in the cut. You
have recovered a good many dollars' worth of commissary supplies for
him, and that thief of a checker has been gotten rid of. You can take
it from me that he hasn't been seen since. Your stock ought to be way
above par by now."
"Do you really think there will be something for me to do?" asked
Walter.
"If there isn't, I'll recommend you to the colonel for the job of
suppressing Spanish-American revolutions with neatness and despatch.
The Panama republic and San Salvador between them ought to reward you
handsomely for putting the lid on General Quesada."
"Maybe my luck has turned," was Walter's hopeful comment.
"If it hasn't, my son, you can set me down as a mighty poor guesser."