CHAPTER IX
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.