Kitabı oku: «The Dust of Conflict», sayfa 19
XXV – MORALES SITS STILL
IT was late at night when Appleby, who felt no inclination for sleep, looked out into the soft darkness from a window of the cuartel where he had now passed six anxious days Here and there a light blinked dimly in the gulf of blacker shadow that marked the narrow street beneath him, for there was no moon that night, and the steamy dampness the faint warm wind drove before it obscured the stars. A hot, musky smell rose from the silent town.
Still, Appleby, who had keen eyes, fancied he had seen a shadowy form pass twice beneath the nearest light, and then turn as though looking up at the cuartel, and he called Harper softly when it appeared again.
“Can you make out that man?” he said. “This is the third time I have seen him. It is noticeable that he shows himself just under the lamp.”
“Well,” said Harper reflectively, “I guess you wouldn’t have seen him anywhere else.”
The shadowy form slipped away into the obscurity, and there was silence for at least five minutes while the pair stood very still, wondering with a vague sense of expectation what it meant, until Appleby said sharply, “There he is again.”
“No,” said Harper. “That’s another one. He’s taller, and, so far as I can make out, dressed quite different. Still, he’s looking up. It seems to me he means us or somebody else to see him.”
Appleby felt his heart throb, and his voice was not quite steady as he said, “Morales has, at least, a half-company in the cuartel.”
“Well,” said Harper, “I don’t quite know. He sent most of the Barremedas away – though there’s a section or two here still. They are the men that showed signs of kicking in the plaza, and it’s quite likely he figures they’d be safer with Vincente’s Peninsular battalion. Then counting up the pickets, outposts, and patrols he’ll have on the carretera, there’ll scarcely be forty men in this barracks now.”
Appleby nodded. “Perhaps you are right,” he said. “I have been wondering why nothing has apparently happened to the section which ordered arms. Morales is not the man to let a thing of that kind pass.”
Harper was quite aware that his comrade had little interest in the question, and surmised that he desired to conceal the fact that the appearance of the man below had stirred him to a state of tense expectancy.
“No,” he said. “Still, I guess he has quite a good reason for holding his hand, and those cazadores will be sorry for themselves when he’s through with them. He’ll keep them wondering where he’s going to hit them until it grinds all the grit out of them, and then start in.”
He stopped somewhat abruptly at the sound of feet on the stairway, and had his hand on the lattice when a soldier came in. It was evident that he noticed the half-closed window, and he looked at them curiously.
“The Colonel Morales sends for you,” he said, and though there was apparently nobody within hearing dropped his voice a little. “If he asks you questions let him wait for your answer. It is necessary that you should keep him talking at least ten minutes.”
Appleby felt a little quiver run through him, and saw that Harper’s face had grown suddenly intent.
“Why?” he asked.
The man made a little gesture expressive of indecision. “The guard is changed then – and who knows what may happen? The men who come on duty are my comrades of the Barremedas – and they are afraid. This Morales is most terrible in his quietness. There is also below a merchant of tobacco.”
Appleby saw the sudden sparkle in Harper’s eyes, but he put a strong constraint upon himself, for he dared not hope too much. He knew Maccario’s daring, but it was difficult to believe that he would venture into the cuartel where there were men who could scarcely fail to recognize him. Still, he remembered the signs of disaffection among the troops, and that Cuba was steeped in intrigue.
“We are ready,” he said very quietly.
The soldier signed to them, and they followed him – down the outer stairway, and up another, along a corridor where two guards were stationed, and into a room where their guide, who raised his hand and swung round, left them. The room was small, with one lattice in it that apparently opened on to the street and not the patio, and Morales sat alone, with his sword and kepi on the table before him, which was littered with papers. He looked up with expressionless eyes, and then while they stood quivering a little with suspense went on writing for the space of four minutes by the clock behind him. Appleby, who understood his purpose, felt that this would count for a good deal if ever there was a reckoning between them, but seeing the flush of passion in Harper’s lean face he once more put a grim constraint upon himself. Knowing the Castilian temperament he also fancied that at this game he could hold his own with Morales. At last the soldier shook a little sand over what he had written, and carefully cleaned his pen before he turned to them.
“It seemed to me you might have concluded that the decision you made was a trifle hasty, Senor Appleby,” he said.
“You gave me no opportunity of changing it,” said Appleby as quietly as he could, though he realized that his voice was not quite his usual one. “In any case I do not see what I gain. We are under sentence, and one has usually a motive for what he does in Cuba.”
Morales glanced at him steadily with keen dark eyes, and Appleby wondered whether he had assumed too great an eagerness by suggesting that he might be willing to treat with a man who had hitherto found him obdurate. Then the officer smiled.
“It is evident that the man who passed the sentence could commute it,” he said.
Appleby appeared to reflect. He did not know what was going on below, but he desired at least to hold Morales’ attention until the change of the guard.
“Of course!” he said. “Still, he had apparently no intention of doing so. It seems to me we are under no obligation to Colonel Morales in one respect.”
“No?” and Morales’ smile was sardonic.
Appleby shook his head. “I fancy that we owe rather more to certain disaffected cazadores,” he said. “That little display was, of course, unexpected.”
He saw the dark eyes flash, but next moment the officer’s face was once more expressionless.
“One cannot foresee everything, but I think there will not be another display of the kind,” he said. “Well, I will make an admission. Would it astonish you to hear that, in spite of the sentence, it was not intended that you should face the firing party?”
Appleby, who heard a soft crunching under his comrade’s foot, glanced at him warningly. Harper’s eyes were glowing, and the fingers of one hand were tightly clenched, but meeting Appleby’s gaze he controlled himself.
“One would not presume to question the word of Colonel Morales,” said Appleby with rather more than a trace of irony. “In this case there was also the fact that your distinguished countrymen have already incurred a serious responsibility. Spain cannot afford to offer any unnecessary provocation to two other nations just now.”
The contempt in Morales’ little laugh was not assumed. “Pshaw! It is evident you do not understand the Castilians, Señor Appleby. One would almost fancy that you were trifling with me.”
“I am afraid you rate my courage too high,” said Appleby, who glanced at the clock. “It is, however, difficult to decide. The thing suggested was unpleasant, and you understand that one has prejudices. Perhaps that is because I have not lived very long in Cuba. Still, I admit that what we saw in the plaza was suggestive, but there is the difficulty that I cannot commit my comrade, who may have different notions.”
Once more Morales fixed his dark eyes upon him, and Appleby, who could feel his heart throbbing, wondered if he had blundered in not assuming at least a trace of anxiety. He fancied that Morales must suspect that there was something behind his indifferent attitude, but, tingling with suspense as he was, the role was very difficult to play. It was essential that he should lead the officer on with the hope of making terms until the guard was changed. The minute finger of the little clock scarcely seemed to move, while he could feel that the damp was beaded on his forehead.
Morales, however, laughed. “I fancy he could be left you. Still, I wished him to hear – that he should know whom he was indebted to in case we did not arrive at an understanding. Well, I will be frank. We will assume that the offer I made you is open still.”
Appleby stood silent for almost half a minute, which appeared interminable, feeling that Morales’ eyes never left his face. Then there was a tramp of feet in the patio, followed by a tread on the stairway, and it was only by strenuous effort that he retained his immobility. The guard was being changed a minute or two earlier than he had expected.
A voice rose from outside, somebody tapped at the door and Morales appeared to check an exclamation of impatience when a man came in. He was dressed immaculately in white linen and spotless duck, and carried a costly Panama hat in his hand.
“With many excuses, señor, I venture to do myself this honor,” he said. “You may remember you were once pleased to express your approbation of my poor tobacco.”
Appleby contrived to smile, though it cost him an effort, but Harper gasped, and there was for a moment a silence they both found it difficult to bear. Appleby in the meanwhile saw the gleam in Morales’ eyes, but was quite aware that a Castilian gentleman rates his own dignity too highly to consider it necessary to impress it upon every stranger.
“It is an intrusion,” he said quietly. “I do not understand why the sentries admitted you.”
The tobacco merchant made a little deprecatory gesture, and Appleby felt his hands tremble as he watched the man move a step nearer the officer’s chair.
“It was not their fault. I slipped by when the guard was changed,” he said. “One would make excuses for such boldness, but you understand the necessities of business. Now, I have here examples of a most excellent tobacco.”
Morales turned, apparently to summon one of the guards. “Still, the man who let you pass will be sorry!”
Then there was a little click-clack that sounded horribly distinct, and as he swung round again a pistol glinted in the tobacco merchant’s hand.
“Señor,” said the latter, “it would be advisable to sit very still.”
Morales became suddenly rigid, but his eyes were very steady as he glanced at the stranger. “One begins to understand,” he said. “Are you not, however, a little indiscreet, señor? There is a guard scarcely thirty feet away. A sound also travels far in this building.”
The tobacco merchant laughed. “Will you open the door, Señor Harper, that Colonel Morales may see his guard?”
Harper rose, and when he flung the door open the sentry was revealed. He stood in the corridor gazing into the lighted room, but though the situation must have been evident to him, his face was expressionless, and his erect figure showed motionless against the shadow behind him. Then for just a moment a flush of darker color swept into Morales’ olive cheek, and Appleby fancied that he winced.
“That man is taking a heavy risk,” he said. “There is a half-company of his comrades in the cuartel.”
The tobacco merchant smiled. “Then one would fancy, señor, that some of them had mutinied.”
Morales said nothing for a moment, and Appleby surmised that he was wondering how many of his men had remained loyal. Then he made a little impatient gesture.
“Well,” he said, “what do you want from me?”
“A very little thing, señor. No more than the liberty of a certain peon, Domingo Pereira. I do not ask the freedom of these friends of mine. That, as you can comprehend, is unnecessary.”
A little gleam crept into the officer’s dark eyes. “It is a trifle difficult to understand why you place yourself under an obligation to me in respect to the peon Pereira. If there is a mutiny in the cuartel, why not take him?”
“It is simple. The affair is one that we wish to arrange quietly, but there are one or two sections who will take no part with us, and the Sergeant Suarez is an obdurate loyalist. All we ask is an order for the handing over of the prisoner to the guard. That, since it will not be known when they mutinied, will cast no discredit upon the Colonel Morales.”
“And if I should not think fit to sign it?”
The tobacco merchant shrugged his shoulders. “One would recommend you to reflect,” he said. “Between two Spanish gentlemen who have no wish for unpleasantness that should be sufficient. Still, you see before you three determined men and you have proof that your guard has mutinied. It is convenient that you write the order.”
“You want nothing more?”
“No, señor. To be frank, my friends have no intention of seizing the cuartel. We are not in a position to hold it just now.”
Morales tore a strip of paper from a pad, scribbled upon it and flung it across the table to the tobacco merchant, who passed it to Appleby.
“You will hand that to the soldier outside,” he said. “He will come back and report when he has delivered the prisoner to the guard.”
Appleby went out, and the tobacco merchant laid the pistol down. “It was an unpleasant necessity,” he said. “Still, one can dispense with it now we have arrived at an understanding.”
Harper laughed as he clenched his big hands on the back of the chair he leaned upon.
“If the distinguished gentleman tries to get up something will happen to him,” he said. “I have been figuring just where I could get him with the leg of this.”
Morales made a little gesture of disgust. “The Señor Harper does not understand us. One has objections to anything unseemly, señor. I have a fancy that I have seen you in other places than the hacienda San Cristoval.”
“In Alturas Pass – and elsewhere,” said the tobacco merchant with a smile. “I once had the honor of meeting the Colonel Morales in the street below us. At that time he had a sword in his hand.”
Morales’ face grew very grim, but he held himself in hand. “Yes. I remember now,” he said. “The leader of the Sin Verguenza – Don Maccario?”
The tobacco merchant made him a little half-ironical inclination. “Colonel Morales will appreciate the consideration I have shown him in coming myself,” he said. “The affair might have been arranged differently had I sent one or two of my men who have a little account with him.”
Morales said nothing, and there was silence for a space of minutes. What he thought was not apparent, for though his color was a trifle darker now, he sat rigidly still, but Appleby felt himself quivering a little, and saw that Harper’s lips were grimly set, while Maccario moved the fingers of one hand in a curious nervous fashion. Appleby scarcely dared wonder what was happening in the patio, though he surmised that if the Sergeant Suarez questioned the order it would go very hard with all of them, for there were, he remembered, fifty men in the cuartel, and only a handful of them had mutinied. He could feel his heart beating, and anathematized the loquaciousness of Maccario and his deference to Castilian decorum which had kept them so long. It was evident to him that any trifling unexpected difficulty would result in their destruction. At last, when every nerve in him was tingling, a man came hastily up the stairway.
“We have Domingo Pereira,” he said. “The others are getting impatient, señor!”
Maccario rose and turned to Morales. “Take warning, señor. No one is safe from the Sin Verguenza, and we may not extend you as much consideration when we next meet,” he said. “In the meanwhile I ask your word on the faith of a soldier of Spain that you will sit here silent for the next ten minutes.”
Again Morales’ eyes gleamed. “Now,” he said ironically, “comes your difficulty. I will promise nothing – and a pistol is noisy. I am not sure about the extent of the mutiny.”
Maccario very suggestively shook his sleeve. “In this country one carries a little implement which is silent and effective, but there is another means of obviating the difficulty. This sash of mine is of ample length and spun from the finest silk, though one would not care to subject a distinguished officer to an indignity.”
“Take it off,” said Harper. “I’ll fix him so half his cazadores couldn’t untie him. You’re not going to take his word he’ll sit there.”
Maccario stopped him with a gesture, and turned to Morales. “It would, it seems, be wiser to promise, señor. We ask no more than ten minutes.”
For a moment the officer’s olive face became suffused, but the blood ebbed from it, leaving it almost pale, and it was very quietly he pledged himself. Then they turned and left him, and Harper gasped when they went out into the corridor.
“Well,” he said shortly, “I don’t want to go through an thing like that again. It was ’most as hard as what happened in the plaza, and it seems to me the sooner we light out of this place the better.”
In another minute they reached the great patio, where a handful of men in uniform were eagerly waiting them. They formed about the released prisoners, and one of them ironically saluted the loyalist sentry who sat in his box with a cloth bound about his head as they passed out into the silent street. The hot walls flung back the tramp of their feet with a horrible distinctness, but the citizen of Santa Marta had grown accustomed to the passing of the rounds, and when Maccario, stopping beneath a light, pulled out his watch they were close to the outside of the town.
“Haste would be advisable, I think,” he said.
Then they broke into a run, but Maccario swung round as they sped down a street and flung himself into a shadowy patio. They swept through it into an open door, and out through one at the back of the building, while Appleby gasped with relief as he found himself in a garden with the town at last behind him.
Maccario laughed a little as he touched his shoulder. “There is a path here,” he said. “The Sin Verguenza have friends everywhere.”
They were quickly clear of the garden, and as they blundered through a grove of trees shadowy objects clustered about them, while when Maccario stopped again there appeared to be a swarm of them. A growing clamor, through which the ringing of the bugles came stridently, rose from the town.
“We will stop and adopt a convenient formation,” he said. “You will, I think, find a few of your friends here, Don Bernardino. It is scarcely likely that Morales will risk a pursuit in the darkness.”
“If anybody had told me he would have sat there because he promised I guess I wouldn’t have believed him,” said Harper.
Maccario laughed. “There is apparently still a little you do not understand,” he said. “That is a great rascal, but he is also a brave soldier and a Castilian gentleman. Had he not known his own value to Spain it is conceivable that – ”
He stopped with a little expressive gesture, and Harper felt something very like a shiver run through him. He, however, said nothing further, but took his place among the rest, for already Appleby was forming the men. Then marching silently they swung through the tobacco fields until they came out upon the carretera that led to San Cristoval.
XXVI – THE SEIZING OF SAN CRISTOVAL
FOR a time the tramp of marching feet throbbed softly along the carretera that wound, a black thread of shadow, through the dusky cane. The dust was clogged with moisture and deadened the sound, while the Sin Verguenza were not shod after the fashion of British infantry. Some of them, indeed, wore no shoes at all, and as he watched the dim, half-seen figures flit almost silently through the night Appleby could have fancied he was marching with a company of shadows through a land of dreams.
The sensation was, however, by no means new to him. He had felt it now and then before on a long night march when the mind, as it were, released itself from the domination of the worn-out, but it was plainer now than it had ever been. He had during the last few days been living under a heavy strain, and now there crowded upon him vague perplexing fancies and elusive memories which he could almost believe had been transmitted him by the soldiers whose blood was in his veins. It was only by an effort that, plodding along with half-closed eyes, he shook them off and roused himself to attention. Shadowy men moved on into the blackness in front of him, and more were winding out of the gloom behind. Now and then a clump of palms went by, showing a mere patch of obscurity against the clouded sky, and where the road was harder the beat of weary feet rang through the silence hollowly. He did not feel drowsy, but wondered if he was wholly awake when he heard Harper’s voice beside him.
“You seem kind of quiet. I guess you’re thinking hard,” he said.
“No,” said Appleby, with a little laugh. “I could scarcely remember clearly what happened yesterday. I don’t know, however, that I want to especially.”
“Well,” said Harper reflectively, “it must be the same kind of thing that is wrong with me. My thoughts keep going round in rings, and bring up at the same place every time, as though somebody had put a peg in. I can see that peon in the plaza clawing at the stones, and the cazadores standing still with ordered rifles. That seems to slide away, and it’s the ‘Maine’ going under, bows down. I wasn’t there, but the big swirl in the water is quite plain to me, and I can see the bodies coming up through the green heave by twos and threes. Then I wonder how I came away from the cuartel and left Morales sitting there, and I want to live until I meet him, when he isn’t alone, again.”
His voice sank into a faint hoarse murmur that was more significant than any declamation, but Appleby, who had his own score against Morales, said nothing. He felt that a time would come when he and the Spanish soldier would once more stand face to face, and that to let his vindictive passions run riot in the meanwhile would be puerile. Then Maccario’s voice came sharply across the wavering rifles, and the shuffle of feet grew still. There was a murmur of voices until the head of the column moved again, and the men who left the carretera plodded along a narrow pathway and then flung themselves down among the cane, while Appleby, who did not quite know how he got there, found himself sitting in a little open space with Maccario and two or three of the leaders. There was blackness and silence about them.
“Morales will wait until the dawn,” said Maccario. “We have taught him that one gains little by chasing the Sin Verguenza at night, and the men have marched a long way. We will seize the hacienda when the light is just creeping into the sky.”
“There are troops there?” asked Appleby.
“A section or two. Morales is a clever man, but one is apt to believe what one wishes to, and it is some little time since he drove out the Sin Verguenza.”
“He has spies,” said Appleby.
Maccario laughed softly. “It is dangerous to spy upon the Sin Verguenza, and there are men who go out and are not seen again. One also brings a tale of what he has not seen now and then, and when one has friends everywhere it is not difficult to contrive that the cazadores shall find reasons Morales should believe him.”
“Pancho brought you my message?” said Appleby.
“Next day. He came in staggering. It was a long way and a mule could scarcely have made the journey faster. Another man came, but where the rest are I do not know. Perhaps the pickets saw them, and they are lying among the cane. It was, however, morning when I had gathered thirty men, and I knew you were in Santa Marta then. We moved slowly until another thirty came up with me, but one could not assault the cuartel with sixty men. So we scattered, and the Sin Verguenza hid where the patrols would not find them, while a merchant of tobacco who has friends there came into Santa Marta. He saw what was happening, and how one might profit by Morales’ little blunder.”
“I don’t quite understand,” said Appleby. “Only a handful of men had actually mutinied.”
“Morales would have shot them, only he is cunning, and had seen the temper of the people. A dead man cannot feel, but one can hold fear over a living one until he crushes him, and those cazadores knew what to expect. One can, however, be too cunning, my friend.”
“The men could have deserted.”
“It is also conceivable that, in spite of the pickets, you could have got out of San Cristoval, but what then? There is only the cane to hide in, starving, until the patrols find one. It was when they heard the Sin Verguenza were coming the affair became simple.”
“Still, they shot three of your friends.”
Maccario’s voice sank a little. “That is counted to Morales, and they will have the opportunity of doing a good deal for us in an hour or two. There will be no fighting when we occupy San Cristoval. Comes a patrol with an order from Morales, and no one is very alert at that hour. The patrol is admitted, there is a seizing of rifles, and the Sin Verguenza, who have crept up behind, are in. With a little contrivance there is no difficulty.”
“One could hold the hacienda with sixty men.”
Maccario laughed. “With six hundred one could be sure; and in a few weeks we shall have a battalion, for our time is coming soon. When the American troops have landed there will be work for those of Spain. You have our felicitations on your clear sight, Don Bernardino. A little thing makes a quarrel when the suspicion and the dislike are there.”
There was a murmur from the rest, and Harper stood up among the cane.
“A little thing!” he said hoarsely. “The devils sunk the ‘Maine’!”
Appleby said nothing. He was worn out and limp from the strain, and fancied he must have gone to sleep, for when he was next conscious of anything the men about him had risen to their feet. It was a little lighter, and a faint cool breeze was blowing, while he shivered as he stood up with his thin damp garments clinging to his limbs.
Maccario spoke sharply, there was a shuffling of feet, and before Appleby quite realized what was happening the Sin Verguenza were once more plodding down the road to San Cristoval. Then he shook the stiffness and lassitude from him, and braced himself to face the work on hand. Maccario’s plan might fail, and he knew it would in that case be no easy task to drive Morales’ cazadores out of the hacienda. The sleep had, however, refreshed him, the vague memories had vanished, and his head was clear, while a faint sense of exhilaration came upon him. There was something inspiriting in the tramp of feet that grew brisker now, and in the thin musical jingle of steel. He had, for what seemed a very long time, played a risky game alone, and it was a relief to face actual visible peril with trusty comrades about him and a good rifle in his hand.
By and by there was another brief stoppage, and the handful of cazadores went on alone when the rest plunged into a path among the cane. Maccario, it was evident, did not care to take the risk of blundering upon a picket, and a man led them by twisting paths until at last the hacienda rose blackly before them. Appleby could see it dimly, a blur of shadowy buildings with the ridge of roof parapet alone cutting hard and sharp against the clearing sky. Beyond it rose the gaunt chimney of the sugar mill, a vague spire of blackness that ran up into the night, but though a few lights blinked in the lower windows there was no sound from the house. The men were standing silent and impassively still, so that he could scarcely distinguish them from the cane, but he made out Maccario few paces away from him.
“We will have to wait. It is farther by the road,” he said “Can you trust the cazadores? They have already deserted one leader.”
Maccario seemed to laugh. “They know what to expect from Morales. It would, of course, not be difficult to warn their comrades, but what then? Comes a sergeant to Morales with a tale that they have led the Sin Verguenza into a trap. Morales is not likely to be grateful, or place much value on the men who change their masters twice in one night. Still, one takes precautions in Cuba, and while they trample down the road a few men who wear no shoes follow close behind them. Then if there is to be another change it is not the cazadores who will walk into the trap.”
Appleby said nothing. He had been afforded another glimpse of the complex Spanish character, which is marked by an intellectual astuteness and a swift cunning that is beyond the attainment of the average Englishman or American, and yet rarely avails the Castilian much when pitted against them. He had seen enough in Cuba to realize that it was seldom shortsighted folly and never lack of valor that had blighted the hopes of Spain, but the apathy and indecision when the eventful moment came, and the instability which when the consummation was almost brought about not infrequently changed the plan. Nor were there many Iberians or Cubans like Maccario who seldom overlooked the trifles that make the difference.
The latter made a little sign with his lifted hand, there was a low rustling, and the Sin Verguenza had vanished among the cane. Appleby smiled as he flung himself down, and realized that a battalion of cazadores might march past without seeing one of them. Then the soft rustling and crackling died away, and it became very still. There was no sound yet from the tram-line which ran between them and the hacienda, and he began to wonder how long the cazadores sent on would be, or if they had after all deceived their new friends and eluded the vigilance of those who watched them. The latter, however, appeared very improbable. In the meanwhile the sky was growing a little lighter, the buildings blacker and sharper in outline, while there was a faint illusory brightness in the east. Still, no sound rose from the hacienda, and there was only silence upon the unseen carretera.
Then he started as a faint rhythmic throbbing came out of it. It suggested marching feet, and grew louder while he listened, until he heard the men stumbling among the sleepers of the tram-line. Maccario said something, and the Sin Verguenza moved in nearer the building by little paths among the cane, while when they stopped again Appleby found himself on the verge of the tram-line with the outer wall of the hacienda close in front of him. A few shadowy objects that stumbled among the sleepers were growing into visibility a little farther along the line. They stopped and stood still a moment when a hoarse shout rose from the building, and then moved on again when somebody flung them a low warning from amidst the cane. Then they stopped close in front of the gate of the patio, and Appleby felt a little quiver run through him as he heard the question of the sentry.
