SECRET SERVICE
Three days of steady steaming brought the “Connecticut” within the
tropics.
The sea was as peaceful as the waters of a lake and the sun overhead
shone down with pitiless severity.
“All hands” were now dressed in white uniforms, which made them
comfortable enough on deck under the cool shade of an awning, but below
decks the heat from the engines and boilers was stifling.
The two friends spent most of their leisure hours in the open air and
at night rolled themselves in their blankets on the clean white deck.
One evening they had made themselves comfortable for the night and were
both speculating upon what was in store for them in the land of turmoil
to which they were journeying.
“Did you notice the sailorman,” asked Sydney, “who has been walking
past here as if he were trying to find out who we are?”
“I didn’t notice,” replied Phil sleepily; “it’s probably one of the
messengers searching for some officer who is avoiding the heat as we
are doing by sleeping on deck.”
“Maybe so,” Sydney answered, “but it appeared to me he scrutinized us
very closely, although he must have seen immediately who we were. That
light behind us makes us plainly visible.”
“We are accustomed to the darkness,” answered Phil, with a yawn, “while
he has probably just come out of the light.”
Sydney was not at all satisfied with the explanation and would have
continued the argument, but Phil’s even breathing showed his companion
was perfectly satisfied with the solution.
They had been asleep but a short time when one of the heavy tropical
rain-storms, which seem to be ever present on the horizon in these
waters, burst upon the ship, surprising the boys, who had not noticed
the gathering clouds earlier in the night. They saw with regret that
they must seek other shelter or else sleep the remainder of the night
below in their heated stateroom.
“I am going below, Syd. I am sleepy enough to sleep even in the heat,”
said Phil, gathering his bedding and disappearing down the hatchway.
He groped his way across the dark passageway, sleepily feeling for the
door of his stateroom.
Suddenly he collided heavily with a figure which sent him reeling
across the deck. His hand struck the side of the bulkhead and he saved
himself a fall.
In the dark he could just distinguish a white figure as it dashed
through the door of the mess room and disappeared under the multitude
of sleeping-hammocks on the berth deck.
What could it mean? What was this man doing in his room?
Sydney came in after Phil had turned on the light and was told of the
experience.
“See if any of your valuables are missing?” he suggested. “Mine are
here on the bureau all in plain sight.”
Phil had been rummaging through his desk. He now turned a smiling face
to Sydney.
“You were right, Syd,” he laughed, “the locket is gone. He did risk
detection to gain possession of it. But it doesn’t matter, I can never
forget the girl’s face. I have looked at it a hundred times in the last
few days.”
“The man of the locket and the fellow who was watching us on deck are
one and the same,” Sydney exclaimed, proud of his perception.
“Probably so,” answered Phil, “but that doesn’t help us; he was clever
enough not to be recognized.”
The boys, in spite of the incident, soon fell asleep, and when they
awakened the “Connecticut” had anchored inside the break-water at La
Boca.
It was but a short time after sunrise when they stood together at the
rail gazing intently on their surroundings.
“So this is South America,” said Sydney finally; “it looks just like
any other country, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but there is a difference,” answered Phil, meditatively; “for
instance, see that native boatman sculling along as if he had a week
to reach his destination; then look over there at the coal pile on the
mole. There are nearly enough men to actually eat the coal, yet they
are not doing as much work as ten good Americans. We are in the land
of ‘Mañana’ (to-morrow). No one wishes to work too hard to-day, for he
wishes to save enough to do to-morrow.”
“We are not the first nation to send a war-ship here, I see,” said
Captain Taylor, joining the boys in their study of the harbor. “There
is a German cruiser over yonder and a Frenchman is anchored just astern
of us, and our wireless operator has been in communication with a
British ship for some hours. She is on her way from Barbadoes. It seems
we are to have an interesting time.”
Phil was impatient to ask the captain when their work would commence,
but he desisted. It were better the captain should broach the subject.
“I hope you lads have the ‘lingo’ at your tongue’s tip,” the captain
remarked smilingly. “You won’t find much English spoken here, and a
little Spanish is a necessity.”
“Yes, sir,” they both agreed.
Phil could not contain himself longer.
“When can we start on our work, sir?” he asked.
“Such zeal I have never seen before,” answered the captain, a merry
twinkle in his eyes. “Soon enough, lad,” he added gravely. “I hope
nothing happens to you youngsters. I almost fear I am wrong in not
sending older and maybe wiser heads to do this work.”
“Oh, no, sir,” Phil and Sydney cried together; then Phil added, “We are
old enough, sir; we are nearly twenty.”
“Nearly twenty,” roared the skipper in merriment. “You are both mere
infants in the wicked ways of these people here, but it will be an
excellent lesson for you. When I was your age,” he added, “it was
during the Civil War, many times I did work that in these days of peace
never comes to men of your age.”
The captain left them to receive the foreign officers who were coming
alongside to pay the customary visit of courtesy to a senior commanding
officer.
Some hours later Phil and Sydney received orders to prepare themselves
to accompany Captain Taylor ashore to pay his respects to the United
States Minister to Verazala.
As they left the ship in the speedy “Vidette,” our lads felt that a new
and interesting life was opening before them. Were they not to have a
hand in the affairs of their great nation?
They found the minister’s carriage awaiting them at the landing, and
were driven rapidly amid staring crowds of natives through the narrow
streets of the city.
The carriage drew up at a large house on a hill overlooking the harbor.
The coat of arms, emblazoned on the door, was enough evidence that
inside was the inviolable territory of the United States of America.
“Ah, captain,” cried the Honorable Robert Henderson, as he grasped the
hands of the three officers in turn, “your fine ship carrying that
grand old flag was a welcome sight when we awoke this morning. A great
weight has been lifted from my mind.”
“We came down at full speed, sir,” replied Captain Taylor, courteously,
“and now we are at your service, every man of us. You have but to
command me.”
The old diplomat swallowed a lump in his throat before replying.
“Captain Taylor, you cannot imagine the delight it gives us exiles to
feel that we have so many brave American hearts so near at hand. I pray
there will be no need to resort to force, but affairs appear to be
more serious than I should wish. The rebel army is but a league from
the city, and awaits an opportunity to attack. Their leader, General
Ruiz, is a cutthroat and unfit for the high office of president of
the republic. My most trustworthy informant tells me the rebels are
losing strength daily and so I have informed the State Department, but
affairs lately have led me to believe that their strength has been
underestimated. I should greatly deplore the city being taken by these
brigands, for I fear much valuable property will be destroyed by their
undisciplined followers.”
“There seems nothing for us to do, save await developments?” asked the
captain, having followed closely the minister’s explanation of the
situation.
“No, there is nothing,” he answered promptly. “I have a faithful
vice-consul, who keeps me well informed of the movements on both sides.
He is a naturalized American citizen. His name is Isidro Juarez. He has
lived here many years and seems to have friends in both armies. I trust
him implicitly. I shall keep you daily informed so that we may act
promptly in an emergency.”
“Does the minister know that arms for the insurgents are coming from
the United States?” asked Phil of the captain as they drove back to the
boat landing.
“He made no mention of it,” he answered. “If his information is really
trustworthy, he must know it.”
On arriving on board ship, Phil was called upon to make a boarding call
to the American mail steamer, just arrived from New York.
Buckling on his sword, the badge of official duty, he descended the
gangway. As he was about to step into the “Vidette” alongside, he
glanced up and saw O’Neil was at the helm.
“Well,” he cried with pleasure, “so you have had a promotion too; I am
mighty glad to see you in my boat. This is going to be my boat while
here,” he confided in a lower tone, “and I know of no one whom I would
rather have than you, O’Neil.”
The coxswain beamed with pleasure.
“Thank you, Mr. Perry,” he answered abashed. “It’s a great honor you
are paying me, sir.”
After getting alongside the anchored merchantman, Phil mounted the
gangway ladder to the main deck.
There he was received cordially by her captain.
“Glad to be acquainted with you,” he said, shaking the lad’s hand. “It
does me good to see our fine big ships in foreign ports. These dagos
here are a hundred per cent. more civil already.”
He led the way to his cabin and gave Phil the information which the
custom of the naval service requires be obtained upon visiting American
merchantmen in foreign ports.
“No, you cannot be of any assistance to me,” answered the captain to
Phil’s inquiry; “but it’s great to see her over there. Why, she could
blow this whole town into pieces in a half hour, and she would, too, if
it were necessary, wouldn’t she?” the captain interrogated, warmed to
his theme.
A uniformed official appeared at this moment to speak to him.
“Come in, Baldwin. This is a young officer from the battle-ship,” the
captain announced; “Mr. Baldwin is our purser.”
“The legation steam launch is alongside for the minister’s freight,”
the purser reported. “Mr. Juarez is in her to sign the receipts for the
bills of lading. Shall I deliver it at once? There are about twenty
heavy packages.”
“Very well, Baldwin, go right ahead,” replied the captain. Then turning
to Phil, as the purser withdrew: “A diplomatic officer has a privilege
which no one else has; his freight can be landed direct; everything
else must go through the custom-house ashore and be inspected.”
The captain excused himself shortly but insisted that Phil should make
himself at home.
“Take a look about the ship,” he said proudly; “she’s not as big as
yours yonder, but she is a stanch one for this trade.”
Phil was glad to have an excuse to remain. He had heard something to
arouse his curiosity.
“I shall have a look at this Juarez and his boxes,” he mused as he
followed the captain on deck.
Stepping to the high rail, he glanced down on a large launch, lying
alongside the ship abreast her forward cargo hatch. Big boxes were
being hoisted out of the hold by the ship’s derrick and landed on the
smaller vessel’s deck. Phil saw a short heavily built man, dressed in
white clothes, with a wide brimmed panama set over a massive head. He
was superintending the landing of the boxes.
This man Phil knew must be Juarez, the minister’s confidential
vice-consul.
Phil descended to the lower deck in order to be nearer the work of
landing the cargo. He also wanted to have a better look at this man.
He found a convenient air port not ten feet from the launch, where he
could see unobserved by those on board it.
There were a number of very heavy packages and the small natives on the
deck of the launch strained and pulled to find deck space for them all.
[Illustration: _HE FOUND A CONVENIENT AIR PORT_]
Phil saw a small native fishing-boat, her sail flapping idly in the
gentle breeze, move slowly and with deliberation over the tranquil
water, edging in toward the launch.
The vice-consul seemed not to observe it, but Phil saw the eagerness on
the fisherman’s face. He watched the scene with rising pulse.
The boat drifted foot by foot to within ten feet of the launch.
Juarez busied himself at the strap of a large box in the stern of the
launch nearest the fisherman.
Phil saw the fisherman make a swift move with his hand, and saw a white
object fall on the launch’s deck at Juarez’s feet. Juarez lifted one
foot carelessly and placed it fairly on the object.
The fisherman put his helm over and hauled taut his sheet. The sails
quickly filled and the boat glided swiftly toward the harbor’s mouth.
Juarez stooped down and rising, thrust his hands in his pockets.
Phil felt every nerve thrill. His secret service had begun under a
lucky star.