A TERRIBLE PREDICAMENT
The rash act of the sailor placed the lives of the three men in
jeopardy. The soldiers snatched up their rifles and closed in
menacingly.
At this moment, however, a cavalcade appeared suddenly, and the cry of
“Viva General Ruiz,” filled the air. The soldiers near the Americans
fell back sullenly, leaving their captives alone in the middle of the
road.
“What does this mean?” cried an officer, spurring ahead and drawing
in his spirited animal between the Americans and the natives. “I gave
these Englishmen safe conduct. Who dares disobey my orders?”
Juarez had cautiously stepped aside at the approach of the horseman; he
now advanced boldly, wearing the air of one who has news of the utmost
importance to divulge.
“Your Excellency,” for the officer was none other than General Ruiz
himself, “these men are Americans and spies. I am lucky to have
recognized them before they were able to reënter the city and report
our strength to the enemy.”
The general looked incredulous. He was about to speak, when Juarez
dropped a veritable bombshell at his feet by hastily adding:
“These two young men are the American midshipmen who captured your
machine guns at Mariel, so you see I have reason to know them.”
The general turned fiercely on the bewildered Americans, a dark scowl
on his sallow face.
“So these are the men who captured my guns under my very eyes,” he
cried in rage.
His face was livid with passion. His hand sought his saber as if he
would cut them down on the spot.
“Arrest them immediately,” he ordered in a choking voice; “I shall make
an example of these meddling Americans. Colonel Juarez, I appoint you
their jailer. I know it is unnecessary to caution you to guard them
well.”
“Will they shoot us, sir?” whispered O’Neil anxiously to Phil, his hand
resting grimly on his revolver handle, “for if they will, I have six
bullets here I’d like to get rid of first.”
The boatswain’s mate was so much in earnest that in spite of the
gravity of the situation, Phil could not repress a smile. He suddenly
paled, as the thought came to him of what the effects of O’Neil’s rough
and ready diplomacy might be. He knew him for an unerring shot, and
the leader of the insurrection would be the first to fall. Then their
chance for life would indeed vanish.
He grasped the sailor’s hand and breathed:
“For your life take your hand from your revolver. They would shoot us
down like dogs if we should give them half a chance.”
Securely bound the three captives were led back the way they had come,
through inquisitive crowds of jeering soldiers. The news of the capture
and the reasons for it spread rapidly before them. The guards commanded
by the vice-consul had great difficulty in bringing them alive to their
prison in Mariel. The infuriated soldiers would have torn them limb
from limb.
The squalid prison was a relief after this nerve-racking ordeal. The
guards, although saving them from fatal bodily injury, could not shield
them from the vicious blows, taunts and insults showered on them from
all sides. If it had not been for the fear Juarez had for General Ruiz,
he would gladly have given them up to these wild beasts.
They were indeed in a sorry plight as they were roughly pushed into a
cell of the prison and the heavy oaken door closed loudly behind them.
The lads were stunned. But a half hour ago, they were free men,
enjoying their precious liberty in the bright world outside; full of
boyish enthusiasm for their discoveries. Now they were held captive by
a cruel tyrant who hated their race and to whom they had given good
cause. He might, without a qualm of feeling, have them shot as spies.
Their country was powerless to help them. In undertaking this duty they
had relinquished their claim upon the protection of the United States.
O’Neil was the first to recover from these despondent thoughts. He
glanced about their narrow prison, but his gaze failed to discover
aught encouraging, so it returned and rested compassionately on the two
lads.
They had thrown themselves full length on the rude benches that lined
the walls of their cell and had given themselves up to melancholy
reflections.
“It won’t do, sir,” O’Neil said, appealingly, to Phil, as the young
man looked up with an expression of utter dejection; “you mustn’t give
in, Mr. Perry; we ain’t dead yet, and what’s more, sir, we ain’t a
going to be, either. Mrs. O’Neil’s son John has been in as tight places
before and has come out with a whole hide---- Which is more than he is
going to do this time,” he added with a grin, showing a deep cut in
his thigh. “That little dago that I knocked down poked his bayonet in
there.”
In a moment the boys were all interest, forgetting their own troubles
in their anxiety for their wounded companion.
Phil pulled a first-aid bandage from his pocket and held it up in
triumph.
“They took everything else from me,” he exclaimed; “your new revolver,
too, Syd.”
“Yes, and the first time we carried them,” Sydney answered ruefully, as
they made the boatswain’s mate bare his wound, which they washed and
dressed carefully.
They had hardly finished their solicitous attentions when the door of
the cell was unlocked and flung open: Colonel Juarez appeared.
He stood in the doorway, his arms folded, a cruel smile curling his
weak mouth.
“You defeated me once,” he jeered, “but I shall see that you will never
get a chance again.”
The crestfallen lads only stared. They could find no voice to answer.
The hatred in his eyes appalled them.
“No doubt you believed yourselves very clever,” he continued, irritated
at the silence of his hearers, “but if it will make you feel any
better, I can tell you that your brilliant work has but delayed us. We
shall possess the arms soon enough.”
Both lads were startled at this intelligence. Could it be true? Phil
could not conceive how Lazar would have the audacity to deliberately
allow the arms to be taken. Where were Marshall and Morrison? Then he
realized that they were in ignorance of the true character of their
superior officer. They would suspect nothing. Why had he not put them
on their guard?
“I tell you this,” Juarez added, after a pause to permit them to
grasp the full meaning of his words, and to gloat over the lad’s
discomfiture, “because dead men tell no tales. To-morrow you will be
tried by drum-head court martial,” and shrugging his shoulders, “I am
the president of the court.”
Phil was about to reply when he saw how futile speech would be. The man
had come to taunt them. Silence was their best course.
Seeing that his victims could not be moved, he turned and left them.
They heard his voice in the hallway loudly instructing the guards:
“If the Americans attempt to escape, shoot to kill.”
“Do you believe Lazar has given up the guns?” Sydney questioned as
Juarez’s steps died away, forgetting the dire threat in his anxiety for
their cause.
“I fear Juarez speaks the truth,” Phil answered dejectedly; “I blame
myself for not having cautioned Marshall.”
“No, you shouldn’t do that,” said Sydney; “as things have turned out,
it would have been wiser. But how were you to know? It seems incredible
that a naval officer, even if he is a scoundrel, would take such a
risk.”
“A man of Lazar’s character will stoop to any depths for money,”
exclaimed Phil, “and you can be sure that the sum promised him by
Juarez is large.”
“But his commission in the navy,” Sydney persisted, unconvinced. “If
this crime is discovered he will at least be dismissed the service.”
“A man of his unnatural talents and intriguing nature soon finds
but little scope for himself in the service, where all are poor but
honorable,” he answered. “No doubt he has contemplated leaving the
service and the fear of detection, therefore, has no influence with
him. As for dismissal, that would be out of the question; the crime of
which we know he is guilty would be nearly impossible to prove before
a naval court martial. Our evidence is only hearsay, and might not
convict him.”
“Our evidence,” Sydney commenced; then the life died out of his voice
as he added, “we may never be able to give it.”
The failing light of day, entering the solitary window above their
heads, soon left the prisoners in darkness. The lamp used by their
guards outside their cell door shed a faint glimmer through the cracks
of the stout oaken panel.
The terrible mental strain which the Americans were enduring gave
them scant desire to sleep, and as they tossed restlessly on the damp
floor of their cell their predicament gradually dawned upon them with
startling force.
O’Neil alone was cheerful; his indomitable spirit saved the lads from
sinking too deep in the slough of despond.
Phil lay awake long after his companions had forgotten their troubles
in sleep. The bitter thought of failure was even keener to him than
the dread of death. The watch-word of his profession was “death with
honor.” Why should he fear to die in his country’s service? It was the
end that all true naval men sought. Yet, it was hard to die so young
and when there was so much to live for. Then the thought of his two
companions filled his cup of sorrow brimful. He cried out against a
fate so cruel. If they all could but die fighting, but to be shot down
by these miserable half-civilized soldiers, as they might shoot so many
dogs, was more than his youthful spirit could bear. He dropped off
finally into a profound sleep, and when he awakened the next morning,
he found the door of their cell open and the guards ready to take them
before the military tribunal.
Hands bound behind their backs, they were marched through the streets
of the town. The natives taunted them with vile epithets, but kept
themselves at a distance, for which favor the captives were grateful.
After a short march they were led into a courtroom. Here they were
unbound and told roughly to sit down.
A few moments elapsed, then three officers, led by Colonel Juarez,
appeared and took seats at a table in front of the Americans.
The room was empty save for the court, the guard and the prisoners.
Colonel Juarez arose and read in a monotonous voice from a paper in
his hand. Phil understood it to be the order of General Ruiz, convening
the court for their trial as spies. Juarez sat down in silence.
“What have you to say in your behalf before we pass sentence?” he asked
coldly, turning to Phil as spokesman.
Phil’s throat was dry. He tried to speak but could not find voice.
Juarez turned hastily to his companions. Each nodded his head in
assent; the trial was finished and the accused men found guilty.
Hot blood rushed to Phil’s face as he comprehended the awful import of
this hasty verdict.
“You dare not carry out this sentence,” he cried wildly, jumping to
his feet. “It will be murder. We are not spies. Our country is not at
war with yours. True, we are here to find out the strength of your
forces, but it is not to take this information to your enemy. If you
do this monstrous deed you will place yourself beyond the pale of
civilization”--his indignation choked him. “I claim my right of appeal
to General Ruiz,” he demanded fiercely.
The court sat unmoved. On Juarez’s features was a grim expression of
enjoyment.
“Take them away,” he ordered, rising to dismiss the court.
As the guards advanced upon the prisoners, a voice from the door
stilled the room. The officers of the court clicked their heels
together at “attention,” and the guards brought their rifles quickly
to the “present.” Turning, Phil’s gaze encountered the steely eyes of
General Ruiz.
The insurgent commander walked calmly forward, motioning the guards
away.
“Your verdict, Colonel Juarez?” he demanded.
“Guilty. To be shot to-morrow at sunrise,” the colonel replied grimly.
Then turning toward the Americans, he surveyed them critically, a
cunning gleam in his sharp black eyes.
“You may speak,” he said condescendingly, dismissing the court with an
eloquent gesture, and waving back peremptorily the awaiting guards.
Phil endeavored to collect his scattered wits. He knew that his appeal
would be their last chance for life.
“Well,” the general demanded impatiently, “be quick, I have but little
time.”
Phil felt his body break into a cold perspiration. His heart sank
within him. He saw his words must fall on barren soil. The whole
attitude of this powerful, cruel leader was unfriendly.
“General Ruiz,” he commenced, intense earnestness in his young face,
“you must not do this terrible deed. We have not intentionally done you
harm. Our mission in your camp is not one of war, but only diplomatic
in character. I cannot tell you its nature. Believe me when I say we
are innocent of crime against the laws of war. We are not your enemies.”
“You are not my enemies!” exclaimed the leader savagely, his voice
rising in anger. “Then why did you capture my machine guns? Explain
that, if you can?”
Phil was silent. He could not tell this man the reason; to do so would
betray his country’s policy.
“Ah, you see your arguments are not convincing,” he cried
triumphantly. “Must I allow those who are not my enemies to capture my
property, then spy on my military movements? Shall I be powerless to
lay by the heels such fellows, and shoot them as they richly deserve?”
Then a thought seemed to strike him; he led Phil away out of ear-shot
of his companions.
“I shall grant a reprieve under one condition.”
“And that is?” exclaimed the boy, his hopes rising.
“That you cause my guns to be delivered inside my lines,” he answered.
The lad’s hopes vanished. That he could not do. He had rather die
first. He shook his head determinedly.
“I can’t do that,” he replied, “even if I would.”
The general, misinterpreting the meaning implied in the boy’s words,
hastily explained:
“The arms are this minute in La Boca, but the government and your ship
are so vigilant that I dare not risk attempting to bring them here by
water, and by land is quite out of the question. If I release you, you
could find a safe way to evade detection under the protection of your
flag.”
The price was tempting to the despairing American youth: three lives
for a cargo of arms, but the vileness of the act which he must commit
to obtain this reward was repulsively horrible. Phil tried hard to
control his indignation. He felt that to show this man how much he
despised him and his clemency would only hasten their end.
Ruiz believed the lad was wavering.
“If I release you now, by to-night you will be on board the
‘Connecticut’ and by to-morrow I shall receive the guns and enter the
city at the head of my victorious army.”
Phil thought quickly. Here might be an opportunity to gain for America
the gratitude of this insurgent leader. If Ruiz was to win the city and
set himself up as dictator, this act could be used with great force to
defeat the intrigues of Juarez and La Fitte and Company. But could he
depend upon earning this man’s gratitude? Would he not forget and vent
his venom on the Americans notwithstanding? The more he thought the
more complex the situation appeared. What did he know of the strength
of Ruiz’s enemies? Phil had heard rumors that they were negotiating for
war vessels; with these against them, the insurgents could only hope to
win by gaining the crews of the ships to their side by golden bribes;
if they remained loyal to the government, Ruiz would not dare enter the
city. The war-ships could train their guns on his army and force him to
evacuate.
“I shall give you until sunrise to-morrow,” the general added sternly,
“then if you agree, I shall have you set free, but shall retain your
companions as hostages for your good faith until the arms are in my
hands. If not”--a sinister smile and an expressive shrug of his thin
shoulders completed his meaning.
The Americans were led back to their cell and as the door closed upon
them again, Sydney turned anxiously to Phil.
“What did he say?” he questioned.
Phil told his eager companions the one chance of escape from the fate
awaiting them.
“We can’t accept it,” Phil concluded. “It will look as if we were
afraid to die, and to do this we shall become Lazar’s accomplices, for
I feel assured he has allowed the arms to be stolen from the legation.”
“Mr. Perry,” O’Neil interrupted, “I know these dagos, having shipped
with them both afloat and ashore. They ain’t going to shoot us. It’s a
bluff--stage acting. You stand pat to-morrow morning. They may line us
up against a wall and point their guns at us, but they ain’t a going to
shoot. They know if they did the United States government would blow
the whole blamed country out of existence.”
The ring of truth in the sailor’s words forcibly impressed the two
lads. Could this be true? Had they been tortured to make them betray
themselves? But the cruel look in the face of Ruiz when he turned
and left them only a short time before, surely did not bear out this
interpretation of their position.
“I hope you are right, O’Neil,” Phil said, looking gratefully at the
cheerful sailorman, “but I fear these men are capable of carrying out
their threat.”
Escape was impossible--they were as secure in this prison as if they
were in the old Bastile. The footfall of their guards told of their
vigilance. The heavy oaken door was doubly barred and locked on the
outside.
Their midday meal lay upon the floor untasted by the two lads. Food
would have choked them; but O’Neil ate as calmly as if he were aboard
ship.
The sounds of life outside came faintly to their ears. They heard the
laughter of children playing in the streets, and the rattle of military
accoutrements, as soldiers marched along. The heat of their dungeon was
almost unbearable and they suffered from lack of water to wash their
bruised bodies.
Suddenly they heard the sounds of alarmed humanity; startled cries, a
hurrying of many feet, and the clang of iron shod hoofs upon the hard
earth.
O’Neil listened intently. Then he sprang to the window near the ceiling
of their cell, catching the sill with his fingers and drawing himself
up until he could peer through the iron bars.
“What is it?” cried both lads in alarm.
“There’s something going on to seaward,” he answered; “the people are
running about like chickens without heads, and the soldiers are moving
inland. I wish we could get a sight----”
His next word was lost in a heavy crash and sharp explosion that seemed
to shake the building to its foundation.
“Is it an earthquake?” cried Phil, excitedly.
“It sounded to me like a six-inch shell,” exclaimed O’Neil. “I ain’t
heard one so close since Santiago, but I recognize the tune.”
Explosion after explosion followed in rapid succession.
“The streets are deserted,” shouted O’Neil above the roar of crashing
buildings and exploding shells. “It’s a bombardment. There’s a ship or
two pumping shell into the town from the sea.”
The sailor slid down from his position of vantage and pointed to the
door.
“Our guards have run for it. We must break down that door.”
The three Americans, simultaneously, flung themselves against the stout
oak, but it held firmly despite their united efforts. They stood in the
middle of their cell, the perspiration pouring from their exhausted
bodies.
A crash louder and sharper rang in their ears. Then an explosion
that threw them violently to the floor. The suffocating fumes of the
exploded shell filled their nostrils.
But yet another and more sinister smell reached them, which froze the
hot blood in their veins; it was the smoke of a burning building.
Their prison was afire. If the door held they would all be burned
alive.