The Dust of Conflict

XXXII – APPLEBY LEAVES SANTA MARTA

THE sun was low, and the town lay in grateful shadow when Appleby walked slowly down the calle that leads out of Santa Marta. He was dressed plainly in white duck, and no longer carried a rifle, while he scarcely seemed to hear the observations of Harper, who walked at his side. His brown face was a trifle grave, and Maccario, who went with them, smiled dryly when he noticed that once or twice he sighed.

Stone pavements and white walls were hot still, but the dazzling glare had faded, and the street was thronged with citizens enjoying the faint coolness of the evening. Here and there one of them greeted the little group with signs of respect, but Appleby scarcely noticed them. Looking straight before him he saw the shattered lattices, and the scars and stains of smoke on the white walls which marked the scene of the last grim struggle with Morales. Morales lay at rest in the little campo santo, and in a few more minutes Appleby would in all probability have turned his back forever on Santa Marta. It was with confused feelings, through which there ran a keen regret, he remembered what had befallen him there.

Then, as they approached the strip of uneven pavement hastily flung down on the spot where the Sin Verguenza had only a few days ago swept over the barricade, he stopped a moment as brown-faced men with rifles, regardless of discipline – which was, however, seldom much in evidence among the Sin Verguenza – thronged about him. Amidst cries and gesticulations they thumped his shoulders and wrung his hands, while once more Appleby wondered whether he had decided wisely as he recognized the sincerity of the good will in their dark eyes. He had fought with them, faced imminent peril, borne with anxiety and short-comings, and feasted riotously, in their company, and now he found it harder to part from them than it would have been from more estimable men.

Maccario, it seemed, understood what he was thinking, for his face was sympathetic as he glanced at his companion.

“One would fancy that they were sorry to let you go,” he said. “It is a good life, a man’s life, the one you are leaving. Will you find better comrades in your smoky cities?”

Appleby smiled a trifle wistfully, and did not answer for a moment. The vivid, untrammelled life appealed to him, and for a time he had found delight in it, but he was wise, and knew that once peace was established there would be no room in Cuba for the Sin Verguenza. They must once more become toilers, or descend to intrigue and conspiracy, and he knew the Castilian jealousy of the alien, and that past services are lightly remembered in the day of prosperity. He and his comrades had borne the stress and the strain, and it seemed wiser to leave them now before the distrust and dissension came.

“None better to face peril or adversity with, but a change is coming, and one cannot always wear the bandolier,” he said. “If I go now they will only think well of me.”

A little gleam of comprehension came into Maccario’s dark eyes. “Still,” he said slowly, “the Sin Verguenza will be remembered, and you with them.”

Then a man leading two mules on which their baggage was strapped came up, and Maccario held out his hand.

“Good-bye,” said Appleby simply. “I shall hope for your prosperity.”

He laid his foot in the stirrup, and Maccario swept off his hat.

“While there is one of the Sin Verguenza left you will never be without a friend in Cuba,” he said.

Appleby swung himself to the saddle, Harper mounted clumsily, and there was a beat of hoofs; but in a minute or two Appleby drew bridle, and twisted himself round in his saddle. With the two church towers rising high above it against the paling sky Santa Marta lay, still gleaming faintly white, upon the dusky plain behind him, and he fancied he could see Maccario standing motionless in the gap between the houses where the last fight had been. A cheerful hum of voices and a tinkle of guitars drifted out with a hot and musky smell from the close-packed town, and he turned his eyes away and glanced at the tall black cross on a rise outside the walls. Anthony Palliser of Northrop slept beneath it among the Sin Verguenza.

Then the crash of the sunset gun rose from the cuartel, and there was a roll of drums, the drums of the cazadores beaten by insurgent hands, and with a little sigh Appleby shook his bridle. He could picture his comrades laughing over their wine in the cafés, or mingling with the light-hearted crowd in the plaza, but he would never meet their badinage or see them sweeping through the smoke and dust again.

“It was pleasant while it lasted, and who knows what is in front of us now?” he said.

Harper, lurching in his saddle, laughed a little. “Well,” he said, “one gets accustomed to changes in this country, and I can hear the sea.”

“Then you have good ears. We may have trouble before we reach it,” said Appleby dryly.

They pushed on through the coolness of the night until the stars were growing dim in the eastern sky, and then rested in a little aldea until dusk came round again. The Sin Verguenza were masters of the country round Santa Marta, but sympathies were as yet divided in the region between it and the sea, and Appleby decided that it was advisable to travel circumspectly. Events proved him right, for two days later they narrowly avoided an encounter with a company of loyalist troops, and spent the next week lying close by day, and plodding by bypaths through the cane at night, while it became evident to both of them that they would never have reached the coast without the credentials with which Maccario had supplied them.

They found it was watched by gunboats when at last they reached a lagoon among the mangrove swamps, and were assured that it would be perilous to attempt to get on board a steamer in any of the ports. A small vessel with arms was expected, but when Appleby heard that she might not arrive for a month, and perhaps land her freight somewhere else, he decided to buy a fishing barquillo and put to sea at once. Harper concurred in this, and said there was little doubt that they would intercept one of the steamers from Havana.

The night was clearer than they cared about when with the big latine set they slipped out of the lagoon, but the land breeze which was blowing fresh, drove steamy vapors across the moon and it was almost dark when they reeled into the white surf on the bar. They went through it shipping water at every plunge, Harper sitting high on the boat’s quarter with his hand on the tiller and the sheet of the latine round his other wrist, while Appleby crouched among the ballast and bailed. Then the sea grew smooth again, save for the little white ripples made by the hot breeze, and Appleby, standing up ankle-deep in water, looked about him.

The mangroves lay behind him, a dusky blur streaked with a thick white steam which trailed out in long wisps across the sea that heaved blackly beneath the boat. Then the trees were blotted out as she ran into a denser belt of mist that was heavy with a hot, sour smell, and there was nothing to be seen but a strip of shining water shut in by sliding haze when she came out again. Appleby glanced at the froth that swirled past the gunwale, and turned to Harper.

“She is travelling fast, and we should be clear of the land by sunrise,” he said.

Harper glanced up at the moon. “If it had been darker it would have suited me just as well,” he said. “The trouble is that if a gunboat came along you wouldn’t see her in the mist.”

“Still, that should cut both ways.”

Harper shook his head. “It’s not easy to make a boat out until you’re close up with her, but you can see a steamer quite a long way off,” he said.

Appleby said nothing further for a while, and the boat’s gunwale became level with the froth that splashed about it, for the breeze freshened as they drew out from the land. A thin wisp of haze had stretched across the moon and dimmed the silvery light, but there was a wide strip of faintly shining water in front of them when he fancied he caught a faint, pulsating sound.

“You hear it?” he said.

“Oh yes,” said Harper dryly. “It’s a steamer’s engines. I kind of fancy she’s outside of us.”

They strained their ears to listen, but it is difficult to locate a sound among belts of haze, and when at last the measured throbbing was unpleasantly distinct Harper held up his hand.

“They’re shoving her along, and she’s not far away, but that’s ’bout all I know,” he said. “Get forward, and drop the latine.”

Appleby did as he was bidden, and stood staring forward in the bows when the sail came down. The boat lay plunging on the heave that was streaked with flecks of froth, and there was a long trail of sliding haze not far away from them. From out of it came the sound of water parting under iron bows. Then two tall spars that swung a little rose out of the vapor, and next moment a blur of shadowy hull grew into visibility. It lengthened rapidly, a smear of smoke streamed across the sea, but there was no blink of light beneath it, and with the froth piled up at her bows the vessel came down upon them, portentous in her blackness and silence.

“A gunboat sure!” said Harper. “Lie down.”

Appleby crouched at the foot of the mast with straining eyes. He could see the long black strip of hull swing with the heave until all the deck, which caught a flash of the dim moonlight, was visible. Then it swung back with slanted spars and funnel, and there was a white frothing about the tip of the lifted screw. It was evident that the gunboat would pass them unpleasantly close, and already the black shape of the man upon her forecastle was discernible against the sky, while hazy figures upon her slanting bridge grew into sharper form, and it seemed to Appleby that they could scarcely escape observation. Still, a boat lying low on the dusky water is difficult to see, and while he held his breath the war vessel drew abreast of them.

The roar of flung-up water and the pounding of engines throbbed about him, he could see a man upon the inclined deck clutch at something as she rolled, and now the funnel was level with him and a strip of streaming plates was lifted from the brine. It swept by, there was a swirl and a thudding beneath the lifted stern, and then the steamer grew dimmer while the boat lurched on the wake of throbbing screw.

“Now,” said Harper with a little gasp, “when you can get the latine up we’ll go on again.”

It cost Appleby an effort to hoist the thrashing sail, but when it was set and the sheet hauled aft Harper laughed softly as the boat swung away buoyantly with her gunwales dipping in the foam.

“We’ll be in the steamboat track by sun-up, and there’ll be no wind then,” he said. “Considering that each time you see a trail of smoke you may have to pull two or three miles, it would be kind of sensible to sleep when you can.”

Appleby lay down on the wet floorings with an old sail over him, and for a time felt the swift swing of the little craft, and heard the gurgling swirl of brine, for the breeze she sped before was now breaking the heave into splashing seas. Then he became oblivious to everything save when a little shower of spray blew into his face. At last he fancied that Harper was trying to stir him with his foot, and blinked at him vacantly, until Harper kicked him harder.

“Get up!” he said.

There was a tone in his voice which roused Appleby suddenly, and standing up he stared about him.

“Another gunboat?” he said.

“Look!” said Harper, pointing with his hand. “It can’t do much good, but you may as well get the sail off her.”

Appleby swung round, and saw that the moon was dim and low, though a faint light still shone down upon the white-flecked sea. Then he made out a black smear that moved across it amidst a turmoil of foam and a haze of smoke. It grew larger while he watched it, and there was a red streak of flame from one of the two funnels that took shape rapidly, but he could see no masts or hull, and the speed with which the smoke haze was coming on appeared incredible. Then he sprang forward, and lowered the latine into the boat.

“A big torpedo boat, or a destroyer,” said Harper. “She’ll pass ’bout quarter of a mile off, and we’re going to make nothing by running away from her. It’s just a question whether they see us or not.”

The dim shape had grown clearer while he spoke, and a strip of something black appeared between the smoke cloud and the piled-up froth. Then a slender whip of mast stood out against the sky, and from the crown of the after funnel there poured another gush of flame. The craft was almost level with them now, but it was evident that in another minute or two she would have passed and be fading again, and Appleby felt his heart throb painfully as he watched her. Then the white wash about her seemed to swirl higher, funnels and mast slanted sharply, and the half-seen hull shortened. Appleby looked at Harper, who made a little gesture of resignation.

“Yes,” he said. “They’ve seen us. She’s coming round.”

A moment later a whistle rang out, and while Appleby sat down grim in face the white wave that frothed about the stranger’s hull grew less noticeable. The smoke cloud also sank a little, and in a minute or two more a strip of lean black hull slid smoothly past them. Then he gasped as a voice came down across the waters.

“Boat ahoy? Get your oars out, and pull up alongside,” it said.

They had the balanced sweeps out in a moment, and pulled with a will, while when they reached the craft that lay waiting them an officer stood by an opening in her rail. He spoke to them in Castilian, but Harper laughed, for he had recognized his uniform.

“I’ve no use for that talk,” he said. “Get your ladder over!”

It was done, and in another moment he and Appleby stood on the torpedo boat’s deck, where a couple of officers stared at them.

“Since you’re not Cubans, where were you going in that boat?” said one.

“I guess you’d better take us right along to your commander,” said Harper. “Aren’t you going to shake hands with a countryman, anyway?”

The officer laughed. “I’ll wait,” he said dryly, “until I’ve heard what you have to say. Didn’t you make your boat fast before you left her?”

“No, sir,” said Harper. “We have no more use for her. We’re coming along with you.”

“Well, I guess we can pick her up again if that doesn’t suit our commander,” said the officer.

He led them aft to a little cabin, and left them there until a young officer came in. He sat down on the opposite side of the little table and looked at them.

“You haven’t the appearance of Cubans, in spite of your clothes,” he said. “Now, I’ll ask you for a straight tale. What brought you off the land in a boat of that kind?”

“A wish to get as far away from Cuba by sunrise as we could,” said Appleby.

“What did you want to get out of Cuba for?”

“Is there any special reason why I should tell you?” asked Appleby, who was a trifle nettled.

“It seems to me there is. Anyway, back you go into your boat unless you satisfy me.”

Appleby looked at the man a moment, and was pleasantly impressed, in spite of the abruptness of his manner. He had a quiet bronzed face and steady eyes, while the faint ring of command in his voice did not seem out of keeping with them.

“Then if you will listen for a minute or two I will try to tell you,” he said.

“Quick as you can!”

Appleby spoke rapidly, disregarding Harper, who seemed anxious to tell the story too, and the commander nodded.

“Who is the American that employed you?” he said.

“Cyrus P. Harding.”

The commander, who started, cast a swift glance at him, and then rising abruptly signed to a man at the door.

“Tell Lieutenant Stalker he may go ahead, as we were steering, full speed,” he said.

The man went away, and in another moment or two the frail hull quivered until the deck beams rattled above them. Then while the splash of flung-off water swelled into a deep pulsating sound it seemed to leap onward under them, and the commander sat down again, looking at Appleby with a curious little smile in his eyes.

“I haven’t asked your name yet, and scarcely think it’s necessary,” he said. “So far as my duty permits, you can count upon my doing everything I can to meet your wishes, Mr. Appleby.”

Appleby stared at him. “I appreciate your offer, though I don’t quite understand it yet,” he said.

“Well,” said the commander with a pleasant laugh, “my name is Julian Savine, and I have been hoping that I should come across you for a long while. It is quite likely you have heard Miss Harding mention me.”

Appleby felt the blood creep into his face, and recognized that this was the last thing he could have wished for, but he met Savine’s gaze steadily.

“I have,” he said slowly. “I fancy Miss Harding has shown herself a good friend to me.”

Savine stretched out a brown hand. “Well,” he said, “I hope you will also count me in. And now, if you will excuse me, I have something to tell my lieutenant. In the meanwhile I’ll send the steward along.”

He went out, and Harper grinned at Appleby. “That,” he said reflectively, “is the kind of man we raise in my country. He has heard about the night you took her in. The question is how much did Miss Harding know or think fit to tell him?”

“Yes,” said Appleby grimly, “it is just that point which is worrying me.”

The steward brought them in a meal, but it was a little while before Savine appeared again. He opened a box of cigars, and though he said nothing that seemed to indicate that Harper’s company was not altogether necessary the latter rose.

“I guess I’ll go out and see how she’s getting along,” he said.

Then there was a little silence, until Appleby glanced at the commander.

“I have been thinking hard during the last half-hour, and I am now going to tell you exactly what happened on the night I met Miss Harding in Santa Marta,” he said. “I scarcely think you have heard it in quite the same shape before, and I was not sure that it would have been altogether advisable a little while ago.”

“I don’t know that it is necessary. Still, you might go on.”

Appleby told his story with almost brutal frankness, and then looked the commander in the eyes.

“If you have the slightest doubt on any point you may never have such an opportunity of getting rid of it again,” he said.

Savine smiled a little, though there was the faintest tinge of darker color in his bronzed cheek.

“I never had any, and now there is nothing I could do which would quite wipe out the obligation I feel I am under to you,” he said.

He stopped with a curious little gleam in his eyes, and Appleby felt that he had made another friend who would not fail him. Then he turned the conversation, and Savine told him that he was engaged on special service on the Cuban coast when he saw the boat and decided to intercept her in the hope of acquiring information. Hostilities were certain, but he hoped to put his guests on board a steamer he expected to fall in with on the morrow.

XXXIII – VIOLET REGAINS HER LIBERTY

THE light was fading when Violet Wayne lay in a low chair by the fire in Hester Earle’s drawing-room. A bitter wind wailed dolefully outside among the swaying trees, and the room was growing dusky, but now and then a flickering blaze from the hearth forced up the girl’s face out of the shadow. It was, so Hester who sat opposite her fancied, curiously weary, and there was a suggestive listlessness in her attitude. She had, though few of those who met her would have suspected it, been living under a constant strain during the last two or three months, and it was a relief to feel that for the time at least she could relax her efforts to preserve her customary serenity. Hester evidently understood this, for she was a young woman of discernment, and the two were close friends.

“I am glad you have asked the Cochrane girls to stay with you, Violet,” she said. “I think you need stirring up, and though there is not a great deal in Lily Cochrane or her sister, nobody could accuse them of undue quietness. They are coming?”

“I believe so, but Lily seemed uncertain whether she could get away, and was to telegraph us to-night. Still, I almost fancy I would rather be without them. There are times when one scarcely feels equal to entertaining anybody.”

Hester nodded sympathetically. “Of course, but it is in just such cases the effort is most likely to prove beneficial,” she said. “Have you had any word from Tony since he left?”

“Two or three lines written in pencil from Havana. He was going into the country to find Mr. Appleby.”

Hester gazed thoughtfully at the fire for awhile, and then suddenly fixed her eyes upon her companion’s face.

“We have been friends since the time we wore short frocks, and that implies a good deal,” she said. “Now, it is a little more difficult to deceive me than the rest – and I have been concerned about you lately. I wonder if I dare ask you if you have quite forgiven Tony?”

“I don’t know”; and Violet’s voice was a trifle strained. “I feel that I should – but it is difficult, and I can’t convince myself. It may be a little easier by and by.”

Hester made a little sympathetic gesture, though she was almost astonished, for it was seldom that Violet Wayne revealed her feelings.