An American
by Belle Willey Gue · English · Gutenberg #36679 · 367,090 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: An American
Author: Belle Willey Gue
Release date: July 10, 2011 [eBook #36679]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36679
Credits: Produced by Roberta Staehlin, David Garcia, Charlene Taylor,
Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN AMERICAN ***
Produced by Roberta Staehlin, David Garcia, Charlene Taylor,
Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
AN AMERICAN
BY BELLE WILLEY GUE
BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
THE GORHAM PRESS
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY BELLE WILLEY GUE
All Rights Reserved
Made in the United States of America
The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.
TO THE MEMORY OF HIM WHOM WE ALL DELIGHT
TO HONOR AS FIRST IN PEACE ... FIRST IN
WAR ... AND FIRST IN THE HEARTS
OF HIS COUNTRYMEN ...
GEORGE WASHINGTON
AN AMERICAN
INTRODUCTION
There are many characteristics that are essential to true Americanism;
among these, none is more prominent than an inborn desire, not only to
obtain personal liberty, but, also, to see justice done to others.
We, as Americans, say, with loving pride, that we are citizens of that
_one fair land whose single boast has always been that it was free_.
Oppression of the weak and ignorant, by those who are wiser and stronger
than they, has, always, aroused in us pronounced, and, often, openly
expressed, indignation. More than once, have we, as a nation, arrayed
ourselves upon the side of the down-trodden and pitiful, and, in every
such instance, we have greatly increased and enhanced the well-being of
those whose cause we have espoused.
We have never gone out of our way to look for trouble, being more
inclined to attend to our own affairs than to oversee those of our
neighbors, and, yet, when, repeatedly, gross acts of injustice and
cruelty have been forced under our observation, we have, at times, been
aroused to a state of what we have honestly believed to be righteous
indignation, and, in these circumstances, we have conducted ourselves
in accordance with our ability and the fervor of our convictions.
Prior to the evening of February fifteenth, eighteen hundred and
ninety-eight, our relations with the government of Spain were amicable;
while we, as a people, sympathized, to some extent, with the uprisings
of native Cubans, yet, those who were at the head of our national
affairs did not, in any instance, uphold or palliate the unlawful acts
of the insurrectionists; but, during the hours of darkness of that
never-to-be-forgotten night, a dastardly and totally inexcusable deed,
in spite of the recent renewal of our friendly intercourse with the
Spanish government, made of that nation a foe to be contended against
with all the might that was in us.
While our only object, in the beginning of the Spanish-American war, was
to teach the Spaniard the lesson he had so richly deserved to learn, at
the same time, as the results of autocratic misrule were brought, more
and more closely, under our direct observation, we took much honest
pride in the reflection that we were not only resenting, as became free
and enlightened men and women, an injury to our own well-beloved
country, but that we were, at the same time, giving to a people, whose
necks were raw and bleeding from the yoke of a tyrannical exercise of
absolute power, an opportunity to throw off that yoke, and become, in
due time, a self-governed and a self-respecting and an independent
nation.
Our short and fiery encounter with Spain demonstrated, as many years of
unbroken peace and prosperity had not done and never could do, the
invincibility of American arms, and the unexampled superiority of
American daring, devotion, inventive genius and self-adjusting prowess;
it was supposed that we had a very inadequate naval equipment, and that
our standing army was very small, besides being poorly trained; in spite
of this widely spread supposition, our troops won many brilliant
victories upon the sea as well as on the land.
The same spirit that saved the day for freedom and the right at Bunker
Hill and Bennington animated the descendants of those gallant and
intrepid warriors, who, soon after the heroic birth of our Republic,
defended the cause they deemed to be a sacred one with all that they
held dear, when they, too, went to meet the carefully trained and richly
caparisoned phalanxes of those who bowed their heads and bent their
suppliant knees unto an earthly king.
An American volunteer is as nearly unconquerable as any merely human
being can ever really be; his whole being is entirely devoted to the
principle for the vindication of which he is about to enter into bodily
combat; he is not hampered or bound down by anything that does not meet
with the approval of his own conscience; physically, mentally, and
morally, he is the equal of any enemy against whom he may be pitted;
above him there floats a flag that has never been defeated, behind him
are glorious deeds of valor that are well worthy of emulation, and
before him are the hopes and aspirations of those who, with their feet
firmly planted upon solid ground, practical, energetic and capable, yet,
always, move among their fellows, seeing visions, dreaming dreams.
Shortly before the beginning of the Spanish-American war, there were
some, across the water, who dared to complacently imagine that the
glowing spark of patriotism, implanted in the breast of every true
American at the time of his birth, had lost its kindling power; those
who were depending upon this erroneous idea must have had their
complacency somewhat rudely shaken when it became known, all over the
world, that, within ten days after President McKinley issued a call for
one hundred and twenty-five thousand volunteers, seven hundred and fifty
thousand eager patriots answered to that call, offering their energies
and, if needs be, their lives, to the service of the land they loved and
honored.
After thirty-three years of peace, the fighting men of America buckled
on their armor, bade a tearful farewell to their homes and families,
and, determined, enthusiastic and buoyant, went, blithely, forward to
meet, and conquer, a foreign foe; there was not one among these who did
not realize and consider the seriousness of the enterprise he had
started out upon, yet neither was there one who did not add, in every
way within his power, to the light-hearted joyousness, and gentle,
childish humor, with which our fearless and devoted "boys" undertook to
secure the freedom and general well-being of the Island people, as well
as to resent the insult that had been offered to our own country.
The central figure of the Spanish-American war, from its hasty inception
until its brilliant and triumphant close, was that of a gallant
gentleman, mounted on a high-lifed horse ... as sternly devoted to
principle and duty as any Puritan had ever been, as full of the bounding
joy of life as any boy who followed him, leader, comrade, friend and
brother, fearless, resourceful, primitive, refined, highly educated, yet
as simple-hearted as an innocent child, bold, yet cautious and careful,
unselfish, yet richly endowed with worldly wisdom, respected almost to
the height of reverence, yet looked upon as a cheery, helpful companion,
by those with whom he was most closely associated ... THEODORE
ROOSEVELT ... a typical American, using that word in its widest and
loftiest sense.
After the close of our struggle with Spain, we discovered that we had
not only given, but, also, derived, many benefits as the results of that
short, but decisive, conflict; we had acquired considerable territory
over which to extend the advantages to be gained from our educational
and commercial institutions; we had come into such close contact with
the people of these, and adjacent, territories that we were enabled to
understand their needs and their desires, more fully than we could,
otherwise, have done; we had presented to the powers ruling the Old
World an object lesson as to the people of the United States of America
being, at any and all times, and under every possible circumstance,
fully able to take care of themselves, as well as all that,
intrinsically, belongs to them; we had set before the mighty nations of
Europe an example of the proper attitude of the strong toward the weak;
we had bound together, in a common, just and righteous cause, all
factions, all clans, all religions, and all parties, in short, we had
bound together the entire population of our well-beloved country, and in
such a way that the bonds were indissoluble, unbreakable, and permanent.
While we are, above all things, a peaceful and a law-abiding people, yet
we not only can, but always will, defend our altars and our homes
against any harm that may be threatened to them; while we do not seek an
encounter with any government other than our own, yet at the same time,
we are not afraid to meet any nation on the face of the earth, in open
combat, giving our enemy the privilege of selecting his own weapons and
following out his own ideas as to legitimate warfare.
The blood of the sturdy and militant Anglo-Saxon, flowing, now, in
Yankee veins, is richer and more life-supporting than it was before the
Mayflower landed her precious freight of human strength and more than
human aspiration upon Plymouth Rock.
All the fond hopes and all the high ambitions, all the daring and all
the deep devotion, all the practical achievements and all the airy
dreams, of their revered forefathers, are, now, alive and potent,
although, it may be, hidden, in the breasts of all my fellow-countrymen.
If all the titles that have ever been bestowed by human beings upon each
other ... all the names that indicate the possession of wealth or fame
or place or power upon the earth ... should be displayed before my eyes,
and I be asked to select but one among them all to be the one by which I
would be known, I would without a moment's hesitation, choose AN
AMERICAN.
PLOT
Ruth Wakefield, as the daughter of the United States Consul to Cuba, has
lived in a beautiful home which her father prepared for his family on a
height above Havana harbor since early childhood. Having lost both her
natural protectors ... her parents ... through earthly death, she has
been much alone with trusty servants, as she has found little
companionship among the natives of Cuba. However, she has found a highly
respected friend in Father Felix, Priest of the village of San Domingo;
to him she has confided her great anxiety concerning some prisoners
confined, ex communicado, in the village jail, at the end of the prado,
or central park of the village.
"The Lady of the mansion on the hill," as she is known among the
villagers, has not, though, told the Priest her real reason for wishing
the freedom of the political prisoners. Victorio Colenzo is a handsome
but unscrupulous fellow of mixed blood, being part Spanish and part
Cuban; he has found the lonely American girl and has courted her with
such dash and apparent sincerity that she has married him secretly, not
even informing Father Felix of her union with the attractive stranger.
This man is among the political prisoners and it is to free him from
bondage that Ruth Wakefield has furnished Father Felix with means with
which to overpower and overawe those who have him in charge. Ruth
Wakefield is herself deceived, for in the village is a girl, named
Estrella, whose lover Victorio Colenzo is known to be by her associates,
among whom is another of her lovers ... Manuello ... a native Cuban.
This man is also in the San Domingo bastile. Father Felix, at the head
of a procession of his followers, breaks into the jail and confronts the
keepers with a crucifix which he holds before them, commanding them to
release the prisoners; superstitious terror finally induces them to
yield to his demands; in the confusion, Manuello contrives to sever the
handsome head of Victorio Colenzo from his strong and manly body, so
that his corpse is found when the doors are finally thrown open to the
people; Estrella finds this body and weeps above it. Father Felix meets
Ruth Wakefield by appointment to report as to what he has done, and, in
this manner, she discovers the perfidy of her so-called husband. She
confesses the truth to Father Felix who sympathizes deeply with her as
he knows her to be innocent. She visits the morgue and meets Estrella
whom she befriends and, eventually, adds to her household. She has among
her servants, a unique character, named Mage, who has been her nurse in
babyhood and who is always faithful to her in her own strange way; this
old woman, throughout the entire twenty-one chapters of this story,
continues to perform unexpected and startling deeds.
Old Mage accompanies her dear young lady when she goes to San Juan and
is stationed not far from the battle-field of San Juan Hill. Here, as
elsewhere, she continues to exhibit her own individual characteristics
as her central and almost sole idea is to protect and assist Ruth
Wakefield, whom, although she regards her with unlimited respect and is
entirely devoted to her interests, she still thinks of as the small
child she loved before they landed upon the Island of Cuba; realizing
how different she is from those around her, only increases the worship
of her faithful attendant, who, on the other hand, does not hesitate to
use language that will express what she wishes those whom she is
addressing to fully understand.
Manuello has a primitive, passionate, unbridled and selfish nature; he
is wildly in love with Estrella and because she has selected another
lover he has committed murder; with this man out of his way, he hopes to
succeed with Estrella and goes to her intimate friend, Tessa, to find
out how she actually feels about the death of her lover, Victorio
Colenzo; Tessa secretly adores Manuello; she is, also, a native Cuban,
but her nature is more sluggish than that of Manuello and she has a
dog-like affection for Estrella, who has become separated from her own
family as a child and is a member of the household of Manuello, being
known as his half-sister among the villagers; the handsome peon makes
love to little Tessa but she is loyal to Estrella and does what she can
to contribute to her happiness, although, when Manuello becomes a
fugitive and has been wounded, she ministers to him in a deserted cabin
up among the hills where it is almost entirely hidden in a jungle of
weeds and rank vegetation. This cabin is the scene of many pitiful
endeavors on the part of little Tessa who resists the desires of
Manuello to make her his mistress although she dearly and devotedly
loves him. Here, at one time, she is secretly followed by Estrella who
is led to suspect some secret by Tessa's actions; Estrella informs
Father Felix of the situation. Tessa, in one of her struggles with
Manuello, has wounded him in one cheek with a knife which she happened
to have in her hand. Father Felix visits the hut and Manuello, after
severely wounding poor little Tessa, so that she is unable to leave the
place, disappears, but turns up again, after the battle of Camp McCalla
in a temporary hospital where Ruth Wakefield and Estrella are acting as
nurses. Old Mage takes a hand in this affair and so frightens Manuello
that he escapes from the hospital although he is wearing many bandages,
and, painfully, but determinedly, reaches the deserted hut where he
hopes to hide until he has recovered from his wounds. As he approaches
the hut he realizes that someone is within it and looks through a small
window, seeing Tessa lying on the rude bed she originally prepared for
him, and, beside her, kneeling on the floor, Father Felix who has found
the weak and suffering girl and is engaged in prayer; Manuello breaks
into the cabin and attempts to thrust the Priest aside so that he may
wreak his vengeance on the helpless woman. Father Felix, however, proves
to be a worthy antagonist and does not hesitate to use his strength in
the defense of the innocent, even though it becomes necessary for him to
seriously injure the young man who is like a wild beast foiled of its
prey. This struggle in the deserted hut, with the wounded girl looking
on, continues for some time, but the younger man is finally overpowered,
and, seeing himself to be at the mercy of his antagonist, becomes the
penitent sinner and confesses to the Priest who labors with him lovingly
and ministers to his spiritual condition. The two men then improvise a
stretcher and place Tessa upon it, after which they carry the girl to
the door of her own home in the village. Here, the Priest dismisses
Manuello and tells him to go in peace. The young man then limps back to
the deserted hut and remains there unmolested for some time when he
disappears again from the neighborhood.
The Americanism of Ruth Wakefield is pronounced. Father Felix is
equally devoted to their common country. These two often confer as to
possible complications connected with international affairs; at one of
these consultations, Estrella happens to be present and declares that
she believes that she, also, is an American and that she wishes to serve
under the same flag as that to which the other two have so often
pronounced themselves to be devoted. She offers to assist Ruth in every
way she can should there be an occasion that would demand their help.
Ruth Wakefield is awake in her own room and looking down upon Havana
harbor on the night of February 15th, 1898 and sees the blowing up of
the Maine with her own eyes; Father Felix also sees this and hurries up
the hill to talk matters over with Ruth; they form plans as to what they
can do for their own country and in the service of the down-trodden
people of Cuba whose sufferings under Spanish tyranny they have so often
witnessed. Ruth opens her home and offers it as a refuge to all those
who wish to escape from Spanish oppression.
Father Felix keeps Ruth well informed as to military matters and, when,
on June 10th, 1898, our stars and stripes are waving, for the first
time, over Cuban soil, Ruth Wakefield is standing beside Father Felix,
who has become an army chaplain, at the window of a temporary hospital
which her wealth has made possible. This hospital is situated near
Santiago and many American soldiers as well as many Cuban scouts are
cared for within its shadowy rooms.
After the battle of San Juan Hill on July 1st 1898, Ruth Wakefield is
one among many volunteer nurses who went to the assistance of a
righteous cause. She stands beside a little cot and meets a man who
speaks to her of "Teddy" and of the grand and glorious work that he had
done that day; with this bond between them, they soon become friends.
Ruth, as one who has authority, moves from cot to cot and, so, comes to
stand beside the murderer of her husband or him whom she had called so,
for Manuello evened up some of his wickedness by serving nobly in the
battle of San Juan Hill and died in consequence of that day's dreadful
harvest of human forms. Estrella, too, and Father Felix, come to stand
beside his cot, but Ruth is all alone when his soul leaves the clay that
it has been inhabiting for awhile, and, so, she realizes as never
before, that the man she knew as husband was beneath her in every way
and in that terrible and heart-rending moment, she begins to learn the
way to forget the first wild love of her young womanhood and find the
steps that lead to saner, quieter and happier hours and days and years.
Ruth is given privileges that are not accorded to many near a bloody
battle-field, and, when she leaves the hospital for the night on July
1st, 1898, she drives her team along a lonely road, hoping to leave
behind her, not only the scenes she has just been among, but, also, the
thoughts that those scenes have awakened in her mind. She thinks she is
going directly away from the recent battle-field. Her team is startled
by the sudden rising of a man near the road and runs away, throwing her
out upon the ground; she climbs over a low embankment beside the road
and finds herself among the dead; she is almost stupefied by this
knowledge, but, soon, her instincts for helping those who are in trouble
rise above her fears and she cries aloud and calls ... asking if any
there are in need of help that she can give to them. A faint voice
answers her and she seeks it out and finds an officer who has been
stricken down at the head of his squad of men; they are all lying in a
disordered heap and Ruth is obliged to lift one dead body off of the man
who seems to be alive. Having found him, she proceeds, from her
knowledge as a nurse, to aid him ... finds a wound from which his
life-blood is flowing fast and forms a tourniquet with a silken scarf
she happens to be wearing. He revives enough to whisper to her, naming
her, on the instant "Tender Heart" by which title he afterwards
addresses her.
Having rendered all the aid she can, she speeds away, without fear, now,
as she has an object in her flight, until she secures help when she
returns and removes the one whom she has found among the dead to the
hospital, where, after a long period of suffering and faithful nursing,
he recovers sufficiently to accompany her when she returns to her home.
Here he proves himself to be worthy of her love which is bestowed upon
him with the approval of Father Felix and even of old Mage. Ruth's home
has been destroyed by fire and her entire estate has suffered much from
vandalism and from enemies of Cuba and of her own country as well, but
she still has plenty with which to rebuild her home and to assist many
in the village of San Domingo who require aid and comfort from those who
are stronger than they are.
Among other patients in her temporary hospital near Santiago, Ruth
discovers one who is a Spanish spy, for she remembers meeting him when
he was a Spanish officer under most distressing circumstances, when it
had been his great desire to do a grievous wrong to a young, ignorant
girl whom Ruth rescued from his vile clutches. Ruth hesitates to report
this case to the authorities as she is well aware of the fate meted out
to spies, and she compromises by telling the facts to Father Felix, who,
while he is very tender of the innocent, is just and stern where
hypocrites and liars are concerned. The good Priest soon disposes of the
Spanish spy.
Father Felix distinguishes himself in many ways during the hostilities
between the opposing forces in the Spanish-American war and does much
good, for he does not hesitate to do anything that he finds to do
regardless of whether it is in the line of his profession or not. He has
many experiences as thrilling as the one in the deserted hut with
Manuello. He throws himself into many a breach ... wins many a
hard-fought battle, and, through it all maintains not only his religious
attitude toward all mankind, but manifests a gracious and uplifting love
for all who dwell upon the earth, and, at the end of his activities,
resumes the humble station he occupied at first, for, as he believes, he
can do more good right there in the little village of San Domingo than
in a wider and more elevated station.
Many refugees leave Santiago during, and directly after, the naval
battle of Santiago; among these are very many wealthy women who are
forced to leave their splendid homes and flee, in silken garments, with
the riff-raff of the city.
Some among these wealthy women sought to help in temporary hospitals,
and one of them, at least, came to that which Ruth Wakefield had
endowed; this woman was noticeable in many ways, being of superior
intelligence as well as birth and breeding; she, soon, became proficient
as a nurse, and when Ruth sees her standing close beside Estrella in the
hospital, she suddenly recognizes a subtle resemblance between the two
young women and calls their attention to the fact. And, so, it develops
that Estrella finds her own blood-kin ... her own loving sister ...
there in that shadowy hospital, for it is proven beyond a shadow of a
doubt by a little trinket that the girl has always worn about her
neck ... a little cross of golden memories, through which, and through
the girl herself, her lineage is traced, so that she remains with her
own kin, and does not return to the little village where she suffered so
much sorrow.
Tessa, with the stolidity of the Cuban peasant, seems to entirely
recover both from her wounded leg and her wounded heart, for she marries
a sturdy workman who supplies the earthly wants of Tessa and her
numerous progeny. If she ever remembers the romantic days through which
she has passed, her appearance belies the fact, for she becomes,
apparently, contented with her lot in life.
AN AMERICAN
CHAPTER I
About the beginning of the year eighteen hundred and ninety-eight, there
had been aroused in the hearts of the people of the United States a
strong feeling of pity and compassion toward the inhabitants of the
Island of Cuba who were under the ironshod heel of Spain and who had
made many appeals for help to our own government in one way and in
another.
The time was ripe for a revolution among the dark-skinned populace of
the large cities of the Island Empire and many confusing circumstances
combined to add to the confusion of sentiments entertained toward the
government by those who suffered from its rulings.
Many indignities had been heaped upon the Cubans by those who claimed to
represent the young King Alfonso XIII, who, in his far-away palace in
old Madrid was as unconscious of what was done in his name, very many
times, as he would have disapproved of it had he known it.
The young King and his mother, the Queen _regent_, tried, in every way
within their power, to adjust matters amicably between their rebellious
subjects and those whom they had sent across the sea to govern them, but
they found this a very difficult matter indeed, and between the fiery
tempers of the natives and the over-bearing arrogance of the officers
who represented them, the poor crowned heads of sunny Spain certainly
had a pretty hard time of it.
The Queen mother was naturally a gentle and a very highly educated and
studious woman, while the boy King was as far from being the typical
idea of a reigning tyrant as a handsome, well-trained young fellow could
well be.
But those who represented these two crowned heads were of quite another
pattern as to character and disposition and many were the cruelties
charged to the account of certain ones among their number due to the
opportunities afforded them of gratifying their lowest impulses and
following along the paths that led, for the time being, into what seemed
to them to be very pleasant pastures and beside very still waters,
which, as is well known, often, besides being still, run deep.
One evening, just as dusk was falling over the little town of San
Domingo, there appeared, passing along one of the quiet, shadowy narrow
streets, a rather strange procession ... well in advance of the rest of
the motley company appeared a village Priest bearing in his hand a
crucifix which he held before him as if to fend off something evil ...
he was dressed, as is the custom of the Catholic Priests of Cuba, in the
flowing vestments of his office and the long cord that was knotted round
his ample waist had a huge cross dangling from the end of it which
struck against his well-formed legs as he strode along with head held
high as if he saw beyond the things of earth and gazed upon some
beatific vision which upheld him and lifted him above his immediate
environment.
Indeed, there was one who walked beside him though he, himself, was
unaware of it, except subconsciously, for Father Felix, as this Priest
was known, was wandering among strange thoughts as he passed along that
almost silent little street, that one sad evening.
He had been, for many peaceful years, the Priest who had officiated at
almost all the public meetings of the village, but, never in his life
devoted, as it was to the consideration of holy, high and spiritual
matters, had he been called upon to conduct so weird a service as he
was, then, about to do.
He wondered, as he marched along, whether he was doing just exactly
right in leading these, his simple-minded followers, into what it seemed
to them they must do, that night ... he wondered whether, even now, he
would not better turn to those who followed after him and call to them
to halt and to consider well before they took another single step that
might, each one of them, be an irrevocable and a much-to-be-regretted
step, for it might lead to what they could not know of ways that might,
as well as not, prove very winding and even thorn-strewn ways for those
who followed along them. And Father Felix knew that he, alone of all
that little company, was gifted with the power to reason out a fair and
just conclusion from the premises presented to them all; he knew that he
alone had enough of education to even understand the meaning of the
words that had been spoken to them all ... he knew that those who came
along that little street behind him had trusted to him most implicitly,
for many years, in matters that required thought, and, although they had
been the ones to beg him to take the step that they were then about to
take, he knew that, even then, right at the last, had he been minded to,
he might, yet, turn their minds away from what they seemed to be so set
upon.
He knew that, if he wished to do so, he could make them see the matter
under their consideration in quite another light from what they saw it
in at that time ... he knew that he could bend their wills to make them
match with his own will for he had done this very many times before ...
he was a natural leader, and being well equipped for leadership, he
took that place as if it were his natural right ... and so it seemed to
be.
Any stranger, glancing along the line of human beings that followed
Father Felix and his upheld crucifix, would have noticed many weak and
vacillating faces ... many weak and vacillating wills as evidenced by
the expressions on those weak and vacillating faces ... many wills that
could be bent by anyone who had a strong and capable and domineering
mind, and Father Felix had a mind like that ... a natural leader's most
commanding mind ... he was a man to win respect wherever he might go ...
a man to dominate the wills of those about him ... a man to lead the
crowd ... a man to guide the minds of those he met, and, after having
occupied the one place in the village that commanded the respect of all,
for long, of course they looked to him for guidance and followed where
he led as little children follow after the one full-grown human being in
their midst.
But, as they marched along, full many whispers ran along that motley
little company and gave some prescience of the clamor that would come if
all their bridled tongues should really become loose again, for, now,
they only spoke in whispers dreading discovery of what they were about
to do by some of those against whose orders they were doing it.
"I wonder what the Governor would say if he could know the thing that
we're about to do," a beardless youth began, as he edged a little nearer
to his mother's side, "I wonder what would happen to us, now, if he
discovered our intention."
The mother only put her finger on her lips and shook her head at him,
but, later on, when they had gone a little further on their journey, she
whispered to him:
"I hope the Governor will never know who did what we're about to do, at
least, for, if he should discover which of us accomplished the purpose
that all the villagers are interested in, we would suffer for our
temerity in doing this ... I almost wish we had not joined this mob, my
boy ... I almost wish, at least, that I had left you home to mind the
house while I will be away from it," and, then, she ended, sadly, "God
knows if we shall ever be allowed to see our home again."
There was one who walked among that little company, that evening, who
was not as the rest in very many ways, and, yet, her lot was cast in
with the rest for she had lived in that small village since her infancy,
and, so, it seemed to her and them as well, that she was one of them
and, so, must be among them even then, when they were casting in their
lots, at Father Felix' instigation, with the ones who so violently
opposed the reigning powers that they were held, then, and had been so
held, for many weary months, as _incommunicado_ in the village jail or
prison in the wide and beautiful and picturesque great prado in the very
centre of the town.
The girl who, in very many ways, was different from all the rest was
walking in the very centre of the little crowd and, as the others
jostled against her, her great blue eyes stared almost vacantly, as it
seemed, around her like a startled fawn's when something unknown
ventures near to its retreat within its native forest.
She drew her slender figure up to its full height, and she was taller
than the rest of those who walked beside her, when someone whispered to
her:
"What think you of all this, Estrella? Is it to your taste to be a part
of those who, in their puny strength, contend against the strong? Do you
think that you'll enjoy the future that we are advancing to? What do you
think will happen to us when we reach the prado, anyway? Do you think
the Governor has found out what we are going to do and if he does what
action will he take? I'm more than half afraid myself ... I don't deny
that I'm afraid ... how do you feel about it all?"
"I don't believe I know just how I _do_ feel, Tessa," said the taller
girl, "I think that I'm afraid, too ... I know my knees are trembling a
very little, so I must be scared the same as you say you are. Let us
keep as close together as we can, so, if anything happens to one it will
be sure to happen to us both ... it seems to me ..." she ended,
dreamily, "that even death itself could not be much worse than the
things that we've endured just lately, here."
And then the two young creatures shuddered at the very thought of death
and huddled just as close together as they could and marched along among
the rest as quietly as if they had not been afraid of anything at all.
At last they reached the prado and Father Felix paused and held his
crucifix even a little higher than he had done all along and waited for
the little company to assemble directly in front of him, when he
stretched his arms out wide in silent blessing on their undertaking, and
proceeded toward the little prison that stood at one end of the prado
facing the great public square where games were held when _fiestas_ were
in order.
But it was for no festal undertaking that they had gathered there, that
evening; silent preparations were making as they halted ... battering
rams were being raised and carried forward by the men and tears and
flowers seemed to be the offering of the women in the crowd to the ones
they hoped to liberate from the dark, forbidding precincts of the
edifice before them.
Father Felix motioned those who held the battering rams to hold them in
their hands in readiness for instant action at a word from him ... then
he called aloud to him who kept the keys to bring them forth and give
them to him, or he would be, in case that his request should be
refused, compelled, in spite of his strong desire to avoid all violence
if possible, to use force in effecting the object for which the
multitude surrounding him, outside, had gathered there.
He waited, patiently, for several minutes, but, as he received no answer
to his demand, he called again:
"Bring forth the keys at once!" he cried raising his voice so that it
carried far beyond the limits of the building that stood there before
him, "bring them forth unless you wish to force me to use violence for I
am determined to liberate the prisoners you hold within, and, if you do
not bring to me the keys so that I may open the strong doors with them,
why, then, I'll be obliged to break down the barriers that are between
the ones you hold within that prison and the freedom that is their
natural right. Once more do I command you ..." he cried in a stentorian
voice, using the quality of voice that he employed when he intoned with
due solemnity, the holy mass, "bring forth to me the keys that I may
liberate my children that you hold without the right to hold them, or,
if you refuse to do my bidding, then may the consequences of what will
follow that refusal be upon your own head...."
As, still there was no answer from the dark and gloomy precincts of the
edifice before him, he prepared to carry out the threats that he had
made.
First, he commanded those who held the battering rams in readiness to
advance until they were the proper distance from the doors for the use
of their rude weapons, then he told the others to await his word but to
be in readiness, each one, to follow where he led, then, holding high
his crucifix and calling most devoutly, on the name of God, he came as
near to those who were about to use the battering rams as he could do
and not impede their movements, then he cried:
"Advance and give no quarter! Do your duty as I have instructed you to
the full extent of it! Follow me, my little children, God is good and He
will care for us in this our desperate undertaking."
As the heavy detonation of the strokes of those who held the battering
rams rang through the building, cries were heard as if of those who were
in agony and many shuddered at the sound for well they thought they knew
its cause ... it seemed to them that they would be too late ... that
those they sought to rescue were even at that moment being foully
murdered in their cells because they were about to save them from the
fate that they had been condemned to undergo.
The fair Estrella clung to her dark little friend and whispered to her:
"Tessa, it is more terrible than we imagined it would be ... what shall
we do? How can we bear to go yet nearer to the horror that the prison
hides from us? Tessa ... little Friend ..." she ended, "I'm awfully
afraid ... are you?"
"I'm almost scared to death myself, Estrella," Tessa whispered back, "I
know I'll die of fright alone if this keeps on much longer ... hear that
scream! It's very terrible!"
But, then, all sounds were hushed, for prison doors that had been locked
as tight as any prison doors could be had yielded to the heavy blows
that had been rained upon them and, as they opened, they could plainly
see, in the dim light that fell within that prison's entrance, that they
had been, indeed, too late for him who lay at his full length across the
entrance to the prison, for his body had been twisted in its fall so
that his head that had been almost severed from it lay askew as if its
eyes, that stared as wildly and as full of earthly horror as dead eyes
could, had been trying to discover something strange about the figure
that, but only lately, was as full of life and vigor as was any figure
standing there without that prison door.
Estrella gazed at that still figure ... then she screamed in almost more
than human agony and darted forward till she crouched beside it as it
lay there at the entrance to the prison ... straightening the handsome
head, she lifted it until it rested in her lap, and, then, she softly
smoothed the dark and clustering curls that hung above the broad, full
brow, and looked within the great brown eyes that stared at her, or so
it seemed, as if the owner of them had been walking in his sleep, and
then she pressed her virgin lips upon the full, be-whiskered mouth of
him whose head she held within her lap.
She fainted, then, and fell across the body of the man who lay across
the entrance to that prison, and Father Felix lifted her and laid the
senseless, almost severed head upon the floor again, and supported her
until he left her with her little friend, outside, among the crowd.
And then the village Priest came back and led the men who held the
battering rams within the prison to the cells of those they wished to
liberate and commanded them to break down those doors as they had broken
down the other ones, but, here, he found his way was barred, for, just
as soon as blows began to fall upon the doors of those narrow cells
those within those cells began to call to them and caution them that, if
the doors were broken down, they'd find the prison-guards behind them
with their loaded guns and the prisoners told their friends that those
loaded guns were pointed at their breasts and would be fired at them
just as soon as their cell-doors gave way.
When Father Felix heard this ultimatum he thought that all his efforts
had been useless and his deep-laid plans of no avail until he heard a
voice behind him softly whisper ... a voice that he had never heard
before:
"Be not weary in well-doing. The cell-doors will open and the prisoners
come forth alive if you but use the proper means to bring about that
end. Call out to those you wish to succor, now, and tell them to be of
good cheer for deliverance is at hand."
The soft voice drifted away into silence, then, but the village Priest
obeyed its mandates and reassured the ones within those narrow cells and
gave them courage to withstand the threats of instant death that faced
them there.
And, then, he turned to those who waited his commands and told them
that help was very near ... that, waiting there within the corridors of
that small prison were those who'd come from far to bring to them
assistance ... the kind of help that loaded guns would not affect. Then,
he told them of the punishment that would await the ones who disobeyed
the orders he was just about to give ... a punishment that would not
only last through earthly life but would go on into eternity ... a
punishment that would not only blast the earthly tenements but would
condemn the souls of those who chose to act in opposition to his orders
to everlasting torment.
And, then, he turned to those who, breathlessly, were waiting for the
orders he was just about to give, and said to them:
"When I have counted up to three, prepare to break the doors down ...
when I have counted up to six, if so be they remain unopened, go on and
break them in!" he stopped a moment, then, to ascertain whether his
followers fully understood the instructions he was giving to them ...
seeing all of them alert, he continued, "to you who are within, I make
this unalterable statement. Choose between a longer lease of earthly
life and instant death! Choose between forgiveness for your past sins or
everlasting punishment! Open these doors from within or we will break
them down and those whose human bodies we will find, lying stark and
cold in earthly death, will not be those of our dear friends who are
your prisoners, for there are those within those cells of whose presence
you are unaware but who are potent in the cause of right and truth and
justice. I will now proceed to count ... one ... two ... three ..." at
that, he heard a key thrust rapidly within a lock, but, as it was
unturned, he went on counting, "four ..." he heard another key inserted
in a lock, "five ..." he waited just a second longer, then, than he had
done before, hoping that the keys would turn before the final number had
to come, but, as they did not do that, he opened his mouth to pronounce
the fatal word and was about to utter it, when, suddenly, all the
cell-doors opened and the prison-guards within had fallen on their knees
in superstitious terror of what they did not know, and, so, instead of
uttering the fatal number, good Father Felix said, "Thank God!" and
raised his crucifix and pronounced a blessing on them all, both
prisoners and those who'd guarded them.
CHAPTER II
When Father Felix ceased to be engaged in silent prayer he lowered the
crucifix he held in his right hand and placed it in the bosom of the
robe he wore and welcomed those who came from out that gloomy
prison-cell with praises and with prayers upon their trembling lips; he
took their hands in his and held them for a moment as they passed in
slow procession, for they were very weak from fasting and from long
confinement, on their way out into the open light of day.
The first of all who passed from out those gloomy cells was he who'd
called to Father Felix to stay the hands of those who sought to liberate
the prisoners ... he was taller than the rest of those who crowded out
into the corridor and they seemed to follow him as if he were their
natural leader.
He only paused a moment when he reached the side of the Priest and
hurried on as if he sought someone whom he hoped to find among the
motley multitude who surged around the broken doors that led into the
prado where most of the women were assembled waiting for the more
desperate action of the men who'd gone inside the prison.
The liberated prisoner, although he, too, was weak and worn as all of
his companions were, yet rushed with rapid strides from side to side of
the excited mob whose clamor, now released, quite filled the prado with
vociferous shouts of joy, until he seemed to find the object of his
hasty search, for, when he came to where Estrella lay supported by her
little friend upon a hastily constructed bed of straw and grass, he
stooped above her anxiously and leaned to look within her face, but,
when her wide and terror-stricken eyes looked into his, he turned away
as if he had not found the one he was in search of after all.
Estrella raised herself upon one elbow and rested on the ready shoulder
of her little friend while she gazed after his retreating form with an
eagerness not unmixed with sudden fear; it seemed as if the girl were
fascinated by him, and, yet, dreaded his approach, for she did not even
speak to him although she knew that he had been one of those whom they
had come to liberate and had looked forward to greeting him when he
should be released.
But the horror that had been thrust upon her at the very entrance of
that dark and gloomy prison had quite unnerved her and had made her
shrink from any contact with the prisoners who, now, came trooping out
and mingled with the crowd by which they were soon, as it seemed,
absorbed.
Then, suddenly, a trumpet blast rang through the wide and spacious
prado and a company of mounted cavalry, with naked swords uplifted, rode
madly in among the crowd and scattered it as chaff is scattered by a
furious wind ... cries of agony were heard as some were trampled by the
horses, tortured by the cruel spurs which their infuriated riders were
driving into their tender skins, and many men and women fell into
disordered heaps of human misery in wildly scrambling toward a place of
temporary safety.
The soldiers gave no quarter to the fleeing masses of the people but
kept driving all of them who stood upon their feet at all toward the
open streets of the little village that led out of the prado, ordering
them to cease from disturbing the peace and calling upon them in the
name of the young King, Alfonso XIII, to disperse at once and to return
to their homes in the village without delay.
The most of those within the prado had been driven out before the
commanding officer of the soldiers noticed that the prison doors were
open, even then, at first he did not perceive just what the crowd had
been collected for, or he might have given other orders than he had.
When he beheld the broken doors he marvelled greatly, for this was an
unlooked-for and unprecedented method of liberating political prisoners
in San Domingo and the commanding officer did not know just what action
to take in the matter but felt that he must wait for further orders
from his superiors in command before taking any drastic steps to quell
the evident uprising of public opinion.
Father Felix had seen the soldiers as they dashed into the prado and he
hastened outside the prison intending to meet them and hold some
colloquy with their leader, but, when he had reached the centre of the
prado the soldiers were driving the crowd out at the farther end of the
enclosure, so that, instead of meeting the leader of the soldiery he
came upon his own people as they lay in disordered heaps or staggered to
their feet.
Observing Estrella and Tessa crouched back against a wall as far away
from the soldiers as they could manage to put themselves, he approached
them and asked them what they knew about this new phase of the
tumultuous doings of the day.
The two girls greeted him joyfully for they had had their fill of horror
and welcomed the Priest who represented to them the sanctity of the
church:
"Father Felix," cried the little Tessa, "tell us what we are to do next
and where we are to go and what we are to do when we get there, for we
are dreadfully upset and poor Estrella has had a terrible shock and is
still weakened from her fainting fit, while I am just as I have been
right along ... scared half to death."
The good Priest stopped beside the girls long enough to tell them to
quietly go to their own homes and stay indoors until morning, then he
passed on to the other groups, and, where he could do so, assisted them
to leave the prado, preparatory to seeking their own places of abode
where he advised them all to remain if possible without molestation from
the authorities.
When Father Felix had reached the little cluster of people surrounding
the liberated prisoner whom we have mentioned before, he came to a halt,
and, beckoning the young man referred to to follow him, he passed on out
of ear-shot of the rest and said to him:
"I wish that you would explain to me how it happens that Estrella is in
need of help and you, although free, are not by her side. How does it
happen, Manuello, that your half-sister has only her little friend,
Tessa, to lean upon, while your strong arms are without a burden?"
The young fellow hung his head as if ashamed, for a moment, before he
answered Father Felix, and seemed to ponder deeply over his reply to the
good Priest's intimate question:
"I can tell you about that in a very few words, Father," he at length
summoned courage to say, "I have only within the past few most
delightful moments been freed from a loathesome dungeon and have been
receiving the felicitations of some of my friends on my fortunate
escape. I did not realize that Estrella needed my services ... if so,
of course I will at once offer them to her."
Bowing low before Father Felix, he put his right hand to his head as if
to doff its covering, but, finding it bare except for his thick mop of
dishevelled brown hair, he smiled, instead, and, suiting his actions to
his words, approached the two girls who still remained where Father
Felix had left them as if afraid to move:
"Allow me!" he cried, gayly, extending one strong arm to each of the
maidens, "Accept my escort to whatever place you desire to go!"
Estrella seemed to take no notice of the offered arm, but Tessa eagerly
laid hold of the proffered protection and snuggled her small person
against the tall figure of the young fellow who turned to her companion
as if to discover the cause of her apparent coolness.
"Why so silent, fair Lady?" he inquired, "Have you no congratulations to
offer me upon my recent harrowing experience and subsequent and most
fortunate escape?"
Estrella did not answer him at first, but gazed intently into his eager
face as if to read there the inner motives that prompted his
lightly-spoken words.
After she had looked into his face for a few seconds of earnest
scrutiny, she said to him:
"Manuello, why did you not speak to me when we first met after your
liberation from the prison? Why have you spent the time since then among
the others instead of looking after my interests? Have you ceased to
care for me during your incarceration? What have I done to deserve such
treatment from you? Have I not treated you as a sister should? In what
way have I offended you, Manuello?"
As she uttered these words her fair face flushed with the tide of deep
emotion that swept over it and her blue eyes grew dark and full of
feeling. She placed one of her hands on his arm, lightly, but held
herself aloof from contact with his person.
He recognized this attitude of hers by standing a little more erectly
and holding the arm on which her hand had been laid, stiffly extended a
little from his body:
"How suddenly affectionate you have become, my soft and yielding sister!
It seems to me that I remember how earnestly you plead with me to cease
embracing you whenever opportunity was afforded to me, before I went to
prison for my sins.... I think you are the girl who used to say to me
'please, Manuello, don't hold my hand so tightly! You are too rough!' I
do not wish to be considered rough by any woman, and, so, I am more
cautious in approaching your sacred person, now that I have had time to
reflect upon your many words."
"How can you speak so to her, Manuello," exclaimed the dark-skinned
Tessa, "now that you are free once more? Poor Estrella has had a most
terrible experience, here, tonight ... you ought to comfort instead of
scolding her."
The tender-hearted little girl looked up at the big man reproachfully
and reached around his back to pat Estrella's shoulder, but he only
stalked along between the two girls, sullenly and almost silently.
At length, they reached the little cottage where Estrella and her family
lived and Tessa ran along a little further to her own home while
Manuello and his half-sister entered their own dwelling.
It happened that they were alone, at first, as the other members of the
little family had not yet returned from the prado, and, in that interval
of time, considerable was said and done by both of them.
"Manuello," said the girl, putting one hand on each of his broad
shoulders, "have you no pity for me, now that Victorio is dead? You must
have seen his poor, mangled body lying there at the entrance of the
prison, Manuello ... can you tell how he came to die just as he and all
the rest were about to be released from prison?"
Her tear-stained face was very near to his and his own lips began to
tremble before he mustered courage to answer her:
"Of course, I'm sorry for you, Estrella," he began haltingly and slow,
"of course I pity you as well as any other woman whose lover's newly
dead. As to how he happened to be killed ... why, I guess you will
never know just what did happen in that prison when those battering rams
began to rock it by their impact ... I am certain that I cannot give you
much explanation as I, myself, was one of those who suffered, although
you do not seem concerned as to that in any way."
"You escaped alive, Manuello, and poor Victorio did not for his poor
head was almost severed from his body ..." said Estrella, weeping
violently, with deep-drawn sobs of agony, "I lifted him and tried to
hold his head upon my lap ... oh, Manuello," she continued, clinging to
him involuntarily, "it was very terrible!"
Her sufferings seemed to move him for he put his arms about her
shoulders and drew her head forward until it rested on his broad and
palpitating breast:
"Poor little girl!" he murmured, softly, stroking her fair hair, "Poor
little Estrella! I _am_ sorry for you ... I _do_ pity you, though why
you chose Victorio for your lover was always beyond my comprehension."
CHAPTER III
When Father Felix left the prado he went directly to the church where he
officiated, and, thence, into the small refectory behind it; here, he
removed the flowing vestments he had worn when engaged in the enterprise
which we have described in a previous chapter of this book, and assumed
a more conventional and handy garb for he had work to do that would
require all the strength of his arms and all the muscles of his broad
back; he had set himself a task that was never meant for priestly hands
to do, and, in the doing of it, he would need all the strength that
years of careful living and an inherited and bounding health had
bestowed upon him.
He, at once, began preparations for the work he had to do, and, to begin
with, he adjusted the heavy cross which he always wore about his neck so
that it would hang exactly in front of him and not over-balance his body
by being on one side or the other; this cross had been a relic much
prized by him of an old Priest with whom he had studied and whose
sainted memory he revered almost as much as that of the saints whom he
had been taught to worship along with the Virgin Mary and The Babe of
Bethlehem; then, he put on next to his skin a hair-cloth shirt so
constructed as not to scratch and yet to be very warm; over this he
placed a heavy riding-coat which had been given to him by one of those
who attended the services he conducted in the church; these garments,
together with heavy breeches and warm, woolen stockings worn under heavy
boots, completed, with the addition of a broad-brimmed hat, a disguise
that would deceive almost any person who was acquainted with his
ordinary appearance.
Having clothed himself to his own satisfaction, he took a heavy stick he
had handy in his strong right hand and proceeded to leave the vicinity
where he was accustomed, at all hours, to be found, and, stealthily and
quietly, exercising all the precaution of which he was capable, he
proceeded up the street that ran behind the little church with as much
of haste as was consistent with the object of his journey.
When he had gone about two blocks from the church he turned sharply to
his left and proceeded about as far again up the street that led away
from the village, then, turning again to his left, he walked briskly for
another block or two, when he came to a sharp turn and paused as if in
doubt as to just which turn to take, when, suddenly, as if from the
ground at his feet, he heard a low voice addressing him in no uncertain
language:
"Turn toward the right side of this street," whispered the voice, "take
the right-hand side of this street and then turn again toward the left
when you have gone for two more blocks toward the right. You will find
the object of your search has been in waiting for you for some hours and
is now growing impatient ... so make all possible haste, good Father
Felix ... make all possible haste for she is sore pressed with fatigue
and fear."
When the voice had ceased speaking to him, Father Felix followed the
direction it gave him, implicitly, and found, indeed, as it had assured
him, the object of the night-journey he had just made, waiting for him
with great impatience, coupled with much fear and dread of consequences;
he hastened to reassure her as soon as he reached her side by saying
softly to her:
"Be of good cheer, dear Madam. The work that you commissioned me to do
has been well done and all of the prisoners excepting one are now at
liberty. Unfortunately, one of our friends lost his life just before the
wide doors of the prison were burst open ... no one seems to know how
this came about, but we found his dead body across the very entrance as
if, indeed, he had been about to join our ranks outside when death
overtook and stopped him."
"Which of the prisoners was killed?" asked the woman who had been
waiting there for his coming, eagerly and apprehensively.
"I do not suppose that you were acquainted with the young fellow ..."
answered the good Father Felix, soothingly, "he was called Victorio
Colenzo ... he was the lover of a girl I know very well and she was with
the crowd, who followed me; she dashed into the entrance of the prison
and held his head, which had been almost severed from its body, in her
lap until she fainted and became mercifully unconscious of her horrible
surroundings ... the poor girl was almost crazed with agony and regret,
for she had flouted him to some extent because of his revolutionary
sentiments...."
He had gotten that far in his narrative little thinking of the intense
interest it had for the woman listening to it, until he happened to look
earnestly at her when he saw, in an instant, that it held for her great
personal appeal; he stopped at that knowledge and waited for her to
explain the situation if so be she wished to do so; at length, between
low-drawn sobs, she said, falteringly:
"You say Victorio Colenzo was the lover of some light girl you know?
Indeed, you are much mistaken. Instead of being any girl's lover, he
belonged solely to me. He was my own dearly beloved husband, Father
Felix. I had not yet told you of our marriage for I wanted you to think
of me only in my own personal right, but I am the widow of the man whose
shameful and horrible death you have just been describing to me ... I am
the weeping widow of Victorio Colenzo, Father Felix, and, if it be in my
power, his death shall be avenged in blood!"
As she ceased speaking she put her hands before her face and gave way,
utterly, to her great sorrow, for she had but spoken the solemn truth
although no one of her many acquaintances suspected that she was a
married woman at all.
Father Felix was dumbfounded by the intelligence the young woman had
just given to him and pitied her from the very bottom of his tender
heart and he blamed his blundering tongue for giving to her such a shock
as he had just been the cause of; at the same time he could not blame
himself as much as he might have done had he not known of the marriage
contract of Estrella and this same man of whom he had been speaking; he
hastened to place this young girl in the right light before his
companion by saying:
"My dear Madam, as to the girl of whom I was just speaking, she is in
every sense of the word a good girl and innocent of any wrong intention;
if there is a sinner in this matter it was he who is now not to be
condemned by any human being, for he has gone before his Maker Who will
mete out to him whatever is his just dessert. I am deeply grieved that I
should have caused you this deep grief at this time, but, as the
circumstances are, you would have been obliged to know it very soon in
any case."
The young woman who had been waiting for the Priest to come to her to
make his report as to how he had done the work that she had set for him
to do, was beautiful as any dream of womanhood could ever be.
Her great gray eyes, that shone like stars upon a misty night, were
lifted to his face and questioned him as to the truth of his last
statement while they plainly showed the almost holy faith she had in all
he did:
"Dear Father Felix," she said, finally, stifling as best she could the
sobs that shook her slender figure, "dear Father Felix, I know you speak
the truth, and, yet, it does not seem to me that he could have ever been
a hypocrite such as a man would have to be to be what you infer he was.
He was my darling husband ... if he, also, was the lover of a trusting
girl, then he sinned most grievously ... it breaks my heart," she ended,
clasping her soft, white hands together spasmodically, "it breaks my
heart to think he could be such a villain as you say he was. Dear Father
Felix," she began again, for hope will sometimes come upon the very
heels of wild despair, "dear Father Felix, are you sure that this man
who is newly dead can be the Victorio Colenzo that I know ... the man
who is ... I hope he is ... my own dear husband? The one I mean was a
prisoner with the others you have liberated ... it was for his sake
alone that I arranged to have you do the work you've done ... might it
not be that you have been mistaken in the man? Might there not have
even been two men bearing the same name within that prison?"
Eagerly and hopefully, she questioned the good Priest. He sadly shook
his head and said to her:
"The young man whose body lay within the entrance to the prison when we
had battered down the door, was tall and very dark ... his hair was like
a raven's wing for blackness ... his eyes were like the falcon's in
their keenness ... he was a handsome fellow in every possible way and
the girl, Estrella, of whom I spoke, fairly worshipped him although her
own family flouted her for doing so, as he only came to see her at long
intervals and seemed ashamed to be seen with her ... seldom ever went
out anywhere with her, but they were plighted lovers ... that I know ...
they came to me together, one evening, in the church, and I blessed
their future union, believing him to be an honest man and knowing her to
be a gentle, true and loving girl."
"I fear he was my husband, Father Felix.... I fear the very one I hoped
to liberate has lost his life and lost his honor, too. Father Felix,
tell me how to bear this great and hopeless sorrow! _Is_ there any way
to bear a sorrow such as this one is? _Can_ I shut my Husband's memory
from my heart because I can no longer have respect for him? _Is_ there
any way," she wailed, pleadingly, "_is_ there any way to bear a sorrow
such as this one is? _Tell_ me, good Father, _tell_ me, is there any
way of escape for me who am as innocent as is this young girl of whom
you have just spoken? Is there some way in which I can assist her,
Father Felix? Perhaps it is my duty, under these circumstances, to hunt
her up and try to help her, who is, also, as it were, a widow of my
darling Husband. Must I do this, Father? Would it be my duty, as the
wife of Victorio Colenzo, to look this girl up and try to help her bear
her sorrow on account of his death?"
The good Priest looked at her in deep amazement, but he answered her as
calmly as he could command his voice to speak:
"No, my Daughter, no ... that would be going beyond reason as to duty.
It might be right for you to send her something if she were in need of
monetary assistance.... I do not think she is, however, I do not think
Estrella is in need of anything to live upon ... they had not been
married, you understand ... she was not his wife as you were ... only
just he'd promised he would marry her, sometime. No, you owe her nothing
more than womanly sympathy in her bereavement and you do not need to see
her at all, for that matter. It would give you unnecessary pain, it
seems to me. As for her, if we can, we will let her remain in ignorance
of the character of him she loved ... she would the sooner repair the
injury, it seems to me, if she could still respect his memory. It must
be doubly hard for you, my Daughter, to lose him and respect for him at
the same time ... yet, it would have been a terrible knowledge for you
to have gained ... that he had misled this innocent girl ... even during
his life. A man has little thought of the women who love him when he
plays fast and loose with more than one of them at a time, anyway. I
wish I knew what words to say to you to make you strong to bear this
misery, dear Daughter ... you must bear it all alone, I know that
much ... only God in His great Mercy, can assist you in this matter ...
only He can tell you what to do or how to endure your agony of spirit,
for only He can understand your heart. I am but a feeble instrument in
God's Own Hands, my dear, afflicted Daughter.... I am but a very feeble
instrument.... I wish I knew the way to help you bear this thing. I wish
that I could say the fitting word to turn your mind to other thoughts,
for only in the mind can fitting help be found ... only the spiritual
side of your strong nature can uphold you now."
He'd kept on talking to her hoping to alleviate her pain in some
degree ... hoping that her fits of violent and heart-breaking weeping
would grow farther and farther apart until they would cease altogether
so that, being calmer, she could better face this heavy burden that was
hers, and hers alone, to bear. Seeing no cessation of her sobs and moans
of agony of spirit, he began to speak of other matters, hoping to
distract her mind and turn her thoughts to other things, thereby giving
her an opportunity to face the sorrow that had come upon her so suddenly
with more strength than she would have if she continued to dwell on it
alone. So he bethought him of the soldiery and of their coming riding
into the prado and he began to tell her of this phase of the adventure
he had on her account, mainly. She listened calmly to this narrative and
even asked some questions, haltingly, but, just as soon as that account
was ended, she began again to ask concerning poor Victorio:
"Where have they taken his remains, good Father? Where can I find my
darling Husband's body? How can I bear to have to see his face which has
always to my knowledge been so full of life and youth and perfect health
lying stark and still with no expression in his glorious dark eyes that
always looked so lovingly at me? Father Felix, even now, it seems to me
that there must be some mistake about my Husband's being the same man
who was the lover of this girl you know about.... I think that I will
see her ... there ... beside my darling Husband's body and decide the
matter for myself instead of listening to the tales that have been told
to me. That is how I think I will proceed," she ended, then, quite
calmly, as it seemed, for secretly she then began to hope that it was
not her husband, after all, "That is how I will proceed about this
terrible calamity, Father Felix. I will see this girl beside the body
of the man she says has been her lover ... he may not be my darling
Husband, after all."
And so their conference ended, he giving her explicit directions as to
where Victorio's body had been placed, and she thanking him for carrying
out her wishes even though, as it seemed then, the very thing she had
him do the work for had failed her utterly.
Father Felix went back, then, to the refectory, with this complicated
matter bearing hard upon his heart. He pitied both the suffering women
very much and wished to help them both if so be he could find the proper
way to do the task in.
He pondered deeply on the various situations he'd surprised in carrying
out the project of the woman he had met, that night; she had not told
him of her plans in their entirety, and, so, it seemed, the very plans
she doted on the most had very far miscarried and the work, so far as
she had been concerned, had not only been as futile as any work could
ever be, but, also, it had brought to her a new and horrible calamity
besides the failure of her plans and loss of him she evidently deeply
loved as tender women love but only once in all their human lives,
perhaps, for Victorio Colenzo had been a man to claim the love of tender
women ... he was very tall and very handsome, too; his deep, dark eyes
were very full of loving expression and his strong arms, folded close
about a tender woman's yielding form, would lift her spirit up and make
her almost wild with joy and gladness.
And, as it looked now, those strong arms had been folded, not only round
his own wife's tender form, but, also, about, at least, one other
woman's, too. Good Father Felix reflected on the fraility of man and
pondered deeply on the tenderness of women, but he did not, even then,
reach the very root of the whole matter, for he, being what he was,
would not be very likely ever to know the heights and depths, as well,
of human love, for he had always been a religious devotee in spite of
his great strength of limb ... he'd only used his bodily powers to
forward the work to which his whole life was devoted utterly, and, so,
good Father Felix could not fully understand a man such as Victorio
Colenzo must have been to leave the record that he'd left behind him
when he died, there, in the entrance to that dark and gloomy prison,
just as he had been about to come again, a free man, into the glorious
light of day.
CHAPTER IV
Father Felix had prepared the widow of Victorio Colenzo for the sight
she would behold when she went to the rude dwelling where they had laid
the form of the prisoner whose dead body had been found lying in the
entrance to the prison on the day the people battered down the doors and
set at liberty several political prisoners confined therein, but no one
could, really, prepare a woman for the vision presented to her eyes when
she entered the cottage that had been turned into a temporary morgue,
for more than one of those engaged in the deadly strife with the
soldiery in the prado after the deliverance of the prisoners had given
up his earthly life, either at the time of the attack or afterwards from
wounds inflicted either intentionally or inadvertently by those who had
been sent to the prado to quell an uprising of the Cuban populace.
As the woman we have before described entered the rude shelter where the
dead bodies of several of the residents of the little village lay, she
was surprised and grieved by the number of the dead and, also, by the
many mourners who crowded among the slabs on which the bodies lay, for
there was little of orderly array there, everything being of the rudest
and most primitive pattern as the reigning government did not wish to
dignify those who had opposed it even after death had taken from their
limbs the power to oppose anything in the world of men and women.
The woman, who was of a higher class than most of those assembled there,
was treated with marked deference as became her superior position both
as to wealth and education, for the widow of Victorio Colenzo occupied a
proud place in her own right, having been, for a long time, the occupant
of a large and beautiful residence that commanded a wide view of the
harbor of Havana and was situated on an elevation above the little
village of San Domingo; this home had been hers long before she had ever
met the handsome peon whom she had acknowledged as her husband to Father
Felix after having learned of his death.
It was through her own instigation that the man had taken the position
which had, subsequently, placed him among the prisoners for offenses
against the reigning government who had been liberated under her direct
orders and with her pronounced sanction, although she had not actually
taken part in the work which she had directed.
This woman was of another type entirely as compared with the others in
that small dwelling and walked among them almost haughtily in spite of
her eagerness in the search after evidence that would convince her that
she had not been utterly mistaken in the man she had secretly married,
believing him to represent the finest and highest example of patriotic
courage and devotion that she had met during the whole of her long
residence in the Island of Cuba.
She had come to the Island, in her first youth, as the daughter of the
American Consul who represented the United States in the council
chambers where were gathered those who discussed affairs of state with
the ruling Spanish powers; her father had purchased the beautiful site
on which he had built the home that was still hers, although both of her
parents had died, there in Cuba, within the past few years; the girl had
been left practically without living relatives, and, so, loving her
Island home, she had remained there in spite of the solicitations of
many American friends who had visited her in Cuba and urged her to
return to the United States with them; she was of a reticent and
retiring disposition, loving a good book more than almost anything else
in the world, and being surrounded by a splendid library, her time was
fully and pleasantly occupied, as she had trustworthy retainers who
followed her mandates because they loved to fulfill them and pitied her
loneliness while they almost worshiped her superior manners and style of
speech as well as of living; Father Felix, alone, understood her mental
attainments and was greatly bewildered when she told him that she had
married Victorio Colenzo as he considered her far removed from the peons
who were the regular inhabitants of the Island and among whom he labored
as a missionary rather than as an equal, although his deep humility of
manner always led them to believe that he was on their own level of
intelligence, while the aloofness of this one woman set her apart from
all of her neighbors and made her seem to them like a being from another
and a higher world.
As she walked among the slabs on which the dead bodies had been laid,
that morning, for she had come down from her home early, having slept,
during the past night, only the few hours preceding her meeting with
Father Felix, as she hoped to have her doubts set at rest and to be
assured that the man she had secretly united to herself by marriage was
still worthy of her respect and love which she had given to him without
further knowledge of his character than what he chose to exhibit to her
in their infrequent meetings prior to his declaration of undying worship
and deep and overpowering love for herself as well as of patriotic zeal
which latter emotion she fully sympathized with, as she regarded it as
similar in many ways to her own feeling for her much-beloved land which
was all the more powerful because of her isolation from others of her
own nation, she representing, to herself at least, the whole of the
entire broad expanse of the United States; it was this sympathy with
the ardent patriotism of Victorio Colenzo that had led to her present
plight for, believing him to possess the strong feelings for his native
land which he had professed to her to have, she had urged his
participation in the plot which, on its discovery by the Spanish
authorities, had plunged him, with others, into the prison from which,
through her own earnest efforts, they had just been liberated, or, at
least, a part of them.
Now, she reached the side of the farthest slab in that small room, and
noticed, at once, crouching down beside it, a fair-haired girl who
seemed, beyond all doubt, the one bereft by the condition of the body
lying there, so straight and still, beneath the rude pall that had been
thrown over it so that even its face was hidden from sight. She softly
touched the mourner on the shoulder nearest to her and whispered:
"My poor Girl, for whom do you mourn? Is it the body of your brother
lying here, or, yet," she went on, hesitatingly, for a horrible
suspicion began to thrust its ugly head before her vision, "can he who
lies here so quietly have been, maybe, your husband? You are young but I
know well that the girls, here, marry very young...."
She ended haltingly, for the girl had raised her lovely face,
tear-stained and drawn by sorrow, and looked up into the face that bent
so near to her own:
"He was my plighted husband, Lady; he _would_ have been my husband had
death not intervened to take him from me! I _love_ him so ..." she
suddenly screamed in agony, "I _love_ him so ... Victorio! Why have you
left me all alone in a cruel world to be a widow before I was a wife?
Victorio...."
And, then, she rose, as one who had that right, and turned the pall back
from the countenance of him who lay there on that senseless slab.
The other woman did not scream, as poor Estrella had ... she did not
even move, indeed, but stood as if she had been carved from marble, for
her face was almost just as pale as death itself ... the pulsing blood
receded from her cheeks and from her trembling lips ... she stood so
tall and still that the poor girl became conscious of her in spite of
her own grief and wondered if she, also, sought to find some one she
loved among the dead; with that thought in her mind, she stepped back
from the corpse she had been leaning over, and said to her who stood
there silently as if her interest in the affairs of life had, suddenly,
ceased:
"I beg your pardon for my selfishness. Are you, too, one of those who
lost some loved one yesterday? Do you seek, here, in this sad place, the
body of one whom you've loved as I have loved the man who lies here ...
dead ... before me?"
The older girl was silent, for she could not talk to poor Estrella as
she wished to do ... as she had meant to do in case her worst fears had
to be realized; she did not wish to add a single hair's weight to the
sorrow that the poor girl felt for him who had been false to both of
those trusting women who stood there beside his corpse; she did not wish
to harm the innocent girl, for she could see how true and loving she had
been by gazing, only for a moment, in her wide, blue eyes, and, yet, it
was her right and, perhaps, it was also her duty, to the man who had
been her earthly husband, to claim his body and to bury it as would
become the husband of a woman such as she had, always, been; but, as
he'd always begged her to keep secret their marriage which had taken
place in Havana instead of having Father Felix marry them at his
request, for political reasons, he had told her, with the thought that
she, being an American, might complicate his position with the Spanish
government, as he had occupied a place of trust under the Governor,
until the proper time would come to expose his actual feelings for his
native land.
And, so, she had to think of this side of the complicated problem
presented to her by her strange position while she stood there with that
weeping, loving, sympathetic, untaught girl clinging to her hand and
questioning her. At length, having collected a little of her usual
unselfish consideration for the people living on the Island, she turned
to poor Estrella and said to her, softly, and, yet, without
condescension in her manner:
"Yes, my poor Girl, I, also, seek someone I love among the newly
dead.... I, also, wish to find the man I loved as you have loved the man
who lies here on this slab.... I, also...."
Then, her courage failed her utterly and she fainted dead away, even as
poor Estrella, herself, had, when she had first beheld the body of the
man who had made love to both of them.
The fair-haired girl bent over the older woman and lifted her in her
strong arms and carried her into the outer air and found the carriage
where it waited for its mistress and placed her in the care of those who
served her; then, for the first time, she realized who the lady was
who'd found her there beside her dead, as she supposed, for Victorio had
no family in San Domingo, having only come there recently, and having
held himself as somewhat superior to the most of his own countrymen whom
he met, so poor Estrella claimed his body as having been his sweetheart,
since he had, as she believed, no wife in all the world, for he had
often told her he had never found a woman he could love before he met
her.
Now, she helped to chafe the hands of her who lay there in that costly
carriage with her brown hair making a soft frame for her pale face which
lay upon the lap of one who loved her with the kind of love an ignorant,
older woman gives to one she much admires and who is far superior to her
in every possible way; this woman smoothed the fluffy hair back from
the high white brow, now, and spoke to her as if she were her baby
instead of one whom she looked up to and respected:
"There ... there! My Pretty! Open your sweet eyes and look at your own
loving Mage!" she said, as the long, brown lashes that fringed the
delicate white lids still brushed the rounded cheeks that were almost as
white as the smooth brow. "Look up at me and let me see your shining
eyes, again!"
"Her heart is beating, now, more regularly," said Estrella, for her hand
had sought the other's bosom to see if she still lived at all. "She
breathes more easily, too. I think she will recover very soon ... poor
Lady! She sympathized with me in my great sorrow so deeply that she
fainted. How sweet and dear she is!" she added, softly, as a shudder
shook the form before her. "How very sweet and dear she is. You _must_
love her very much indeed.... I never happened to see her before today,
but I know who she is, now, and how very kind she has been to so many of
our people."
"I wish the color would creep back into her cheeks ..." moaned Mage.
"Her cheeks are almost always rosy as the dawn ... it seems so strange
to see them white ... she don't look natural to me this way ... you
should see her when she thinks her husband's coming to the house ...
_then_ her cheeks are like a flame of light ... her eyes are just as
bright as stars at midnight ... there! They've opening, now ... my
Pretty ... my own pretty Dear ... Mage is here ... I'm right here by you
Dearie ... there! I'm afraid she's fainted away, again. She seemed to
look at you, Estrella, stand farther back so, when she opens her eyes
next time, she'll see just me ... she knows old Mage loves her
always ... she knows her own old Mage would take good care of her no
matter what would come.... Dearie ... I am right here ... old Mage is
close beside you...."
At that, the woman lying there within her faithful arms, stirred softly,
and, once again, her glorious gray eyes opened, and she looked at poor
old Mage whose face was all distraught with many wrinkles and with deep
anxiety for her. Then she raised herself to a sitting posture and put
her hands before her eyes as if to hide some horrible spectre from her
sight, and, then, she looked at poor Estrella standing there not knowing
what to do, for Mage would not allow her, even now, to come a single
step nearer to her mistress, and then she spoke:
"My poor Girl," she said, "My poor Girl, I too, sought to find the man I
loved, but his body is not here. I pity you with all my heart and wish
that I could help you bear your sorrow. Come to me and I will try to
help you ... come this evening, just at sunset, to my house. I think you
know which one it is.... Mage, you tell her where to come."
For she had reached the limit of her endurance, for the moment, and old
Mage, seeing her evident distress, hurriedly told Estrella where to come
to find her mistress, and gave the orders to the coachman to drive home
at once.
And, then, Estrella went again into the habitation of the dead and the
other woman, with her heart like lead within her breast, went back to
her own place and left the body of the man she'd called her husband for
a few short months lying there upon that senseless slab with the weeping
girl beside it.
CHAPTER V
When the evening shadows were falling over the almost palatial home of
Ruth Wakefield, the young girl whom she had begged to come to her
climbed the rugged height upon which the former United States Consul had
erected his residence hoping to occupy it long after his term of office
should expire as he had found the climate very beneficial to the health
of his entire family, as it seemed, and desired to have a fitting place
of abode during the childhood of his only and much-loved child, who,
now, a sorrowing widow and a humiliated wife, was sitting idly waiting
to receive poor Estrella, not knowing, certainly, just what she would do
or say when she had to really face the situation into which she had been
forced by untoward circumstances.
As Estrella reached the rear door, to which she had gone by an almost
unerring instinct, feeling strange and unnatural among the rich
surroundings, old Mage appeared to welcome her, as she had been directed
by her mistress to do; the old woman was greatly in doubt as to the
condition of affairs in the home she loved to be a part of and had
longed to get hold of the peon girl alone.
There was something about Ruth Wakefield that commanded the respect of
even the lowest among those who knew her ... her natural refinement had
been accentuated by her seclusion from the outer world and by her almost
constant thought of higher and better matters than the gross and humdrum
affairs of the daily life by which she was surrounded. Yet, she always
entered into practical affairs with vigor and entire understanding, so
that, while she was counted as a dreamer of dreams beyond the earth, yet
she was acknowledged to be eminently practical and able to attend to her
own business affairs with no danger of being over-reached by those with
whom she dealt as to monetary matters, as her natural acumen in such
matters had been sharpened by various experiences of a more or less
unpleasant character, such as the loss of certain sums of money through
trusting to the honor of some of those with whom she had had sympathy in
their need, for she had discovered that, when it comes to money, people
are very apt to forget their obligations entirely, only attending to
that part of life when in need themselves and not considering the fact
that, unless one gets what is one's due, at least to some extent, one
cannot, on the other hand, meet one's own obligations, so that the
lonely girl had learned some hard lessons by practical knowledge of
human nature gained in the only school where such knowledge can be
gained ... experience.
But old Mage was of a far different type of womankind ... true as steel
to her beloved young lady as she always called her in her thoughts,
although she often found verbal fault with her to her fair and tender
face ... fond of gossip and garrulous to an almost alarming extent yet
she could keep a secret as inviolate as even Ruth Wakefield herself.
At this moment, her great desire was to worm out of poor Estrella
whatever it was that had made her own young lady faint that morning ...
she was not worried about the poor girl's loss of him she had called her
lover except in so far as it affected her own people as she was fond of
distinguishing them, for old Mage, although uneducated and almost
unaware of her own nationality as her mother had died at her birth and
her father had immediately deserted her, yet prided herself on being far
superior to the natives among whom she dwelt, for she had come to Cuba
with the Wakefield family, having been employed by them as nurse for the
small Ruth and having stuck tightly to her charge from that time on.
So that, when she faced the poor, ignorant, as she secretly considered
Estrella, girl, it was with an air of superiority as belonging to a
higher race than she, for it is a fact that uneducated persons feel any
elevation above their fellows much more strongly than those who have had
more insight into the humble attainments of even the wisest of human
beings, for those who have been permitted to climb the heights of
thought have had a glimpse of the vastness and unattainable grandeur of
which even the highest human intellect must only be a spectator ... an
humble and admiring witness of the matchless beauty and majestic
splendor that dwell beyond and yet beyond the vision of the keenest
human imagination.
But old Mage seldom allowed herself even to wonder about what she could
not understand, being content with the plane of existence upon which she
found herself and finding amusement and profit as well in attending to
the various small duties of her daily life as she performed those duties
through love and pride. Having seated the girl who was almost
overpowered, already, by the unknown glamour of wealthy surroundings,
she proceeded to follow out her own ideas and to attempt to satisfy her
own curiosity before apprising Ruth of the arrival of her invited guest.
She began by commiserating the girl upon her recent loss, little
dreaming that, in this way, she would find out far more than had been
her own desire, for old Mage, while she had never liked the young man
who, for the past few months, had been an almost daily visitor at the
home she dearly loved, yet had tried to think that her young lady had
chosen wisely, even if unconventionally, when she had married him, as it
was very hard for her ever to really question any object upon which
Ruth had set her heart, it having been one of the criticisms of the
parents of the little girl that old Mage had always indulged her
slightest whim and always satisfied at least her own conscience by
finding some good reason for the indulgence; in the present instance,
she had often said to herself:
"My poor child is alone so much with her own thoughts and what she gets
out of all those big books," for what anyone could find in the way of
company in a book which required so much labor, in her own case, to
decipher at all was a mystery to her, "and she needs company ... a woman
needs a man around to make love to her and this fellow is good at that
what with his guitar and his mandolin and his fine voice, not to speak
of his wonderful dark eyes and his curly black hair and his strong,
powerful figure ... it is too bad that he is only a native Cuban instead
of an American ... that is too bad ... but..." she would end, brightly,
"he can be naturalized if we ever go back to the States."
So, now, when she turned to Estrella with the conventional question as
to the identity of her lover on her ready tongue, she little dreamed of
the consequences:
"My poor girl," she began, "you were to have been married, they tell me,
to the man who was found dead at the entrance to the prison, last
night.... I wonder if I happened to know him ... what was his name?"
She had asked the question idly, wishing only to engage the girl in
conversation to find out whatever she could.
"My lover was a wonderful man ..." declared Estrella; "he was not a
common man at all ... he was superior to all the men I know or ever have
known ... he was the handsomest as well as the most intelligent man
among the whole people of this Island, I think.... I know I never saw
anyone either so handsome or so smart as was my dear Victorio.... I
don't suppose you would ever have met him for he was not a servant and
yet he was a Cuban ... he was a wonderful man and I was to have been his
wife and he was most foully murdered there in that hateful prison."
And the poor bereft creature began to moan and sob and wring her hands
in agony of spirit.
This was not at all what Mage desired to do ... to get the girl all
wrought up before her young lady even saw her, so she tried to comfort
and calm her by speaking rather sharply to her as she knew hysteria can
only be overcome by the application of fierce remedies, or, at least,
that is what she had been taught, so, in order to cauterize the wound
her words seemed to have made, she said:
"You say your lover was a superior man ... was he, then, a leader among
the political prisoners who were liberated?"
"Indeed he was ..." proudly answered the bereaved girl. "Victorio
Colenzo was a leader where-ever he went ... why ..."
But even her pride in her dead lover did not hide from her the effect
his name had had on poor old Mage for she had crumpled down in her chair
as if she had received a stroke of some kind and seemed as if paralyzed,
for her poor old mouth fell open, revealing its entire innocence of
teeth; she gasped for breath for a moment and then demanded:
"Say that name again! What kind of looking man was he?"
Hastening to comply with the demand made on her, the girl proceeded,
proudly:
"His name was Victorio Colenzo and he was the handsomest man in the
whole of Cuba, I believe ... his eyes were very dark and expressive and
his hair was the very most beautiful curly hair that ever grew on any
human head ... he was tall and strong and handsome in every way and,
yet," she ended dreamily, "and, yet, he never loved a woman in his life
before he found me."
Old Mage had other words upon her lips than those which she said after
having hauled herself up sharply, remembering how unprotected her dear
young lady was and wishing, above all else, even her own almost
insatiable curiosity, to shield her from any harm:
"It must be a great comfort to you to know that, now that he is dead and
gone," she said to the girl, though what she added in her own mind may
as well not be recorded here, for, with all the fierceness of the
far-famed tiger with her young, old Mage, in her own primitive mind, was
wishing several distinct kinds of punishment would fall, in its
immediate future, upon the soul of the man who had brought sorrow to her
dear, innocent lamb. As far as the girl was concerned she felt that she
had had more than her just deserts already and wished to relieve her
young lady of any further torture regarding the mixed matter, for old
Mage, though an ignorant woman in many ways, had lived a great many
observant years among human men and women, and, now, that her experience
might serve to protect Ruth in this hard crisis of her young womanhood,
she threw herself and all her previous knowledge of the world right into
the breach. She reflected only for a few moments after having made the
diplomatic speech referred to above, before she decided on a course of
immediate action.
To begin with, she decided to clear the decks, as it were, of the
obstruction of the girl's presence in the home of the wronged wife; she
went about this with precision and dispatch, for, once she had settled
on any certain course, old Mage was like a mild whirlwind, scattering
everything before her:
"Well," she began, eyeing the girl suspiciously, wondering whether she
had any inkling of the exact situation, "I suppose you have folks to
live with and are not in need of anything much?"
"I am alone in this wide world," declared Estrella, "for I am but a
foster child among the people who have brought me up ... my parents I
know nothing of but believe that I am not of Cuban blood.... I
think ..." she hesitated, "I think ... I am ... an American, the same as
the sweet young lady who lives here with you."
The last few words almost undid old Mage's stern resolve, but she kept
her one idea of saving her young lady from further annoyance in view and
answered this appeal:
"It don't make much difference in this world _who_ you are but it does
matter _what_ you are ... now, I take it, you are a good girl and will
marry some good man when you have recovered from this loss ... you are
too young to feel this as deeply as you might ... I hope so, anyway ..."
she temporized, seeing the look of despair that settled on Estrella's
really beautiful and innocent features, "and my young lady wanted me to
help you if you needed any help for she feels so sorry that your lover
happened to be killed just as he was about to get free ... she wanted me
to tell you ..." but at that point in her benevolent intention she was
interrupted by the appearance of the mistress of the place, and ended,
rather lamely, "she wanted me to tell you to come to her as soon as you
got here."
"Why, Mage," said Ruth in her usual sweet, low voice, "you had not told
me that Estrella had come ... have you been waiting for me very long?"
she kindly asked the girl.
"No, Madam," said Estrella feeling the immense difference in their
positions in spite of the evident indisposition and tender youth of the
other woman, "I have only rested for a few moments after my climb to the
top of the hill. It was very kind," she added, "of you to ask me to come
and the cool air of the evening has refreshed my head for it has been
aching terribly, all day."
"Can't you find some sort of refreshments for her, Mage?" asked Ruth,
feeling sorry for the other's plight. "Maybe a good cup of tea would
give you added strength to bear your great sorrow ... we women," she
said while her sweet, low voice trembled, "we women are but weak and yet
often the very heaviest of sorrows is laid upon us.... I do not know the
reason for this ... I do not understand ... but I believe that we are
all but a part of a very great plan which is beyond our comprehension
while we are here in this finite world, and I hope ..." she had the look
of one of God's good angels on her face as she said it, "and I hope to
know more about this great plan when I have passed beyond this world
and all its many disappointments. You have had a terrific blow, my poor
Girl," she went on, kindly. "You alone must bear this grief but God has
sent other human beings into this human life so that we may help each
other, if only by our mutual sympathy, when we must meet what it seems
almost impossible for us to bear alone ... so," she ended, "so, maybe I
have been sent to try to give you courage to go on in life when your
future must look dreadfully black to you."
"It surely does look black ..." moaned poor Estrella, "Victorio was all
I had to lean upon in this wide world for I don't belong to the people
where I live and Manuello persists in making love to me and I can't bear
to have him touch me after having known the love of a man who never even
looked at any other woman but me, and who was," her pride in her dead
lover again taking the ascendency in her emotions, "the handsomest and
smartest man who ever came to Cuba."
"The low-lived pup!" said old Mage, who had just come in with the
tea-tray in her hands and heard the last few words, but she made this
remark to herself alone and would have ground her teeth in making it had
it not happened that she had mislaid those triumphs of the dentist's
art, for old Mage was the proud possessor of two entire sets of teeth,
although she seldom could lay her hands on them as she invariably
removed them from her mouth each time she wished to eat anything, having
grown so accustomed to gumming her food that the teeth were dreadfully
in her way.
She set the tea-tray with its array of cups and saucers down and added
several little concoctions of her own making to the little feast before
she began, thinking to change the subject:
"Dear Miss Ruth, I wish you could have seen little Tid-i-wats a few
minutes ago; she was out in the big yard and I wanted her to come back
in her own place so as to be safe and so instead of going to pick her up
as you know very well she won't allow anyone to do except yourself, I
just got one of her saucers and a silver spoon and pounded on the edge
of the saucer with the spoon, and here she came fairly bounding along
the driveway; she galloped, Miss Ruth, just like a little colt out in
one of our own big pastures, back home."
"The dear little Dadditts!" exclaimed her young lady, using a pet name
of her own making. "How cute she must have looked ... she is so little,"
she explained to Estrella, "she is so very small and so very cute ... I
have had her with me, now, for ... how long is it, Mage?" for she knew
the old woman enjoyed being asked for information, "since we came from
America the last time?"
"Let me see ..." answered Mage, deliberating, "it must be anyway twelve
years and Tid-i-wats was not a young cat, even then, for she had raised
one family of kittens at least ... she must be thirteen or more years
old, my Dear," she said to the young girl, hoping to attract her
attention to herself and so leave Ruth free from her immediate scrutiny,
"just think of that! You must come with me, when you have had your tea,
and see the cute little yard we have for her and then you must look over
the grounds with me. Miss Ruth is not feeling very well, today, although
she has such a healthy-looking, rosy face, and, so, I'll entertain you
while you're here; Miss Ruth is a great reader and her eyes are not very
strong ... sometimes the sun hurts them awfully."
And Ruth let here have her way, that time, as she found that she could
scarcely endure the calm, blue, staring eyes of the girl and listen to
her innocent gabble concerning her own husband; so she called old Mage
into another room and cautioned her to be very kind to poor Estrella and
gave her quite a sum of money to hand to her, thinking, in this manner
to defray the funeral expenses of the man whom she had believed to be
the very soul of honor fired with an almost holy patriotism.
Old Mage received her directions quietly enough and used her own good
judgment as to carrying them all out; her main idea was to relieve her
mistress and this she did by assuring her that she would look after the
girl and would ask her to come to see them again when she had in some
measure recovered from her sorrow.
What she was saying to her own self we will not record but she relieved
her own feelings, while attempting to help Estrella who was as innocent
as her own young lady was, as she could see, for old Mage was seldom
mistaken in her estimate of women, although men, as she expressed it,
quite often "pulled the wool over her eyes."
CHAPTER VI
As the young girl descended the hill to the little village she reflected
upon the splendor of the home she had just quitted and wondered if such
wealth as was displayed there could take the place of the companionship
of a loved and loving human being; she remembered the very sad
expression of the great gray eyes into which she had peered for a few
fleeting moments and she marveled at the memory, for, as it seemed to
the inexperience of Estrella, Ruth Wakefield should have been as happy
as a queen indeed for she had the proud position, almost, of Royalty
among the peons to whose constant society she, herself, had had to be
accustomed from her earliest recollection of society at all.
In spite of her own great sorrow on account of the sudden death of
Victorio Colenzo she felt comforted, somehow, by the memory of the vital
nearness of the woman who was so much her superior, as it seemed to her,
in every possible way; she could not know that in Ruth Wakefield's
gentle bosom there throbbed a deeper and more lasting agony than any
that she, herself, had ever experienced ... she only saw her own
position among those who had little sympathy for her, as all the girls
she knew well, except little Tessa, envied her as having been the
sweetheart of a man they all admired, and the young men, feeling that
she was superior, in many ways, to the girls of their own type, were
jealous of the handsome Colenzo who had won so easily what they had
failed to even attract.
Chief among these latter was Manuello who called himself her
half-brother, half in derision and half in rough sport, for well he knew
that no similar blood flowed through their veins as Estrella had been
taken care of by his own mother simply from motives of pity for a
deserted and helpless orphan; this loving and unselfish mother had
passed away some time before the opening of this tale and Estrella had
taken full charge of the household affairs of the family among whom she
had grown up, as being the eldest of the girls, having always been of a
domestic turn of mind and wishing to repay the kindness of those who had
cared for her when she was unable to do so.
As she walked along she remembered several little duties for her to
perform yet that night, although she felt that she wished to devote her
entire attention to the funeral arrangements that she had made for poor
Victorio whose mangled remains still lay at the improvised morgue in the
village.
Reflecting on these arrangements, she remembered the money that old Mage
had given to her which was yet clutched in the hand that had received
it; hearing a slight noise in the path ahead of her, she hastily thrust
the money into the bosom of her gown and advanced, cautiously, for there
was much unrest all over the Island of Cuba at this time and no one was
really safe, either at home or abroad, as the Governor-General had
issued positive orders to arrest without question all those who were, in
any manner, detrimental to the ruling powers.
Estrella was aware, in a dim and uncertain way, of existing conditions,
and, having been a participant in the recent uprising, she was afraid
that she might be detained by the government, in which case, how she
could attend to the sorrowful duty of the morrow was a problem too big
for her to solve on the spur of the moment; with the thought of this
danger in her mind, she stepped carefully to one side of the narrow
path, hoping that whoever or whatever had made the noise she had heard
would pass on up the hill without observing her; she was standing as
still as possible, fairly holding her breath and involuntarily clutching
at the bundle of money in her dress, when she became conscious of the
approach of someone or something from behind her and jumped, like a
startled fawn, back into the path and down the hill at top speed; she
knew that she was followed but did not stop until she had reached the
door of the little cottage where she made her home; as she pushed madly
at the door it yielded to her touch too quickly to have been moved by
herself alone, and, hurridly entering, she found herself face to face
with Manuello who pulled her hastily inside and barred the simple door,
saying testily:
"Why did you startle me so? Had I not known your step, I would have kept
you out until you had told me who you were ... don't you know that we,
who have made ourselves conspicuous in the recent uprising, are being
closely watched by the authorities and are liable to arrest at any
moment? Why do you expose us in this manner by staying out after
nightfall and perhaps bringing the soldiers who are stationed in the
block-houses upon us? Is it not enough that you are marked as being the
sweetheart of our dead leader? Must you even stray about the
country-side after dark?"
"Manuello ..." panted the poor girl, "I was so frightened ... someone
was in the path and I jumped to one side and then someone came behind me
and I ran! I did not mean to do wrong ... I went to see the lady at the
mansion on the hill ... she asked me to come for she pitied me because
of Victorio's death.... I am sorry if I did wrong by going, Manuello ...
I hope you will forgive me ..." she ended, pleadingly, leaning against
the door with one hand over her fluttering heart and looking up into his
angry eyes.
His countenance softened in a moment as he gazed upon her delicate
beauty, and stretching out his arms he said to her:
"Rest, little Sister, here, here upon my breast. All the others are
asleep and you and I are alone. I would not scold you for the world, but
we must all be as cautious as we can for we are living in very dangerous
times."
Estrella evaded his offered embrace and hastened into her own little
room after bidding him a short goodnight; she wondered, vaguely, what it
was that had startled her in the path, but, in spite of everything, her
healthy youth soon asserted itself and she was lost to her little world
upon the earth with all its many disappointments and unknown turnings.
The day upon which Estrella made her visit to the mansion on the hill,
as the residence of Ruth Wakefield was popularly known in the village of
San Domingo, was a memorable one in the history of the Spanish-American
war for it happened to be the fifteenth day of February in the year of
our Lord and Master 1898.
Upon that fateful day secret preparations had been made by the agents of
some of those who were then in power over the people of Cuba ... secret
mines had been laid and large quantities of explosives had been placed
in Havana Harbor with a set purpose in view; many of those who had been
incarcerated in political prisons had been kept in total ignorance of
the movements of Spanish troops in Cuba but most of the inhabitants of
the Island had known that, for some time, some definite object with
reference to our own United States was being considered by those who
directed the Spanish soldiery.
Among those who had been apprised of what had been going on during the
confinement of those who had been liberated the night before in San
Domingo was Manuello; during the absence of Estrella from their home,
that evening, this redoubtable warrior had been hobnobbing with the
Spanish soldiers in the block-house nearest to the village and had
discovered something of the plot to blow up a United States battleship
in Havana Harbor; as it was known that the _Maine_, an armored cruiser
of the second-class, had been lying in the harbor for some weeks, the
young fellow was especially nervous, and, hearing Estrella's flying feet
approaching their dwelling, he dreaded some new horror.
The little village of San Domingo was wrapped in the first sound slumber
of the night. Good Father Felix had been dreaming, for some hours, of
the heavenly home he hoped, sometime, to reach; old Mage had long ago
forgotten all about her defense of her dear young lady, that day, and
Estrella was far away from every human care.
But Ruth Wakefield was one of those who never sleep right through the
dark hours of any night; from her earliest recollection, she had been
wide awake, with a clarified vision of the affairs of daily life as well
as of those that were quite beyond the world of men and women who were
yet embodied, about the hour of two A.M., and, when she had some
especially knotty problem to solve, she seldom slept for more than an
hour or so at a time, but would waken to a consciousness of the facts of
her human existence with a shock that would almost always cause her to
jump as if struck a blow, which, indeed, was the exact state of affairs,
only the blow was a mental one.
On this one night, having lost the most of the sleep she should have had
upon the previous one, her bodily strength was almost entirely exhausted
so that she sunk into a deep and dreamless sleep during the first part
of the evening and woke, with a start, about nine P.M.
Rising from her bed, as was her custom upon awakening in the night, she
approached one of the large windows of her own room facing Havana
Harbor; she could see the lights from the various vessels lying at
anchor and imagined that she could make out those of the _Maine_, which,
as it represented her own native land to her, was, naturally, of deep
interest to her; she fell to imagining how it would seem to return to
the United States on that great ship lying so peacefully and appearing
to be so stanch and strong in the harbor below her window ... she
wondered if it might not be better for her, now that she no longer had
the keen interest in Cuba that she had only recently had, to go back to
her own country and so possibly forget the dark eyes and lying lips of
the man to whom she had given her virginity only to find it flouted and
treated with disdain; for, try as she would to vindicate Victorio
Colenzo, she was too just and reasonable to deny to herself that he had
acted the part of a sneaking villain both to her and to poor, trusting
Estrella, who had not had to see her dream of him lying in fragments at
her feet, but who still believed that he had spoken the truth to her
when he had told her that she was the only woman he had ever loved; she
was too young to know that this statement is a regular trite and tried
prevarication, common to almost all male lovers.
But Ruth, at present, was laboring under no delusions with regard to the
man she had married, although his dead body was still unburied and she
had not so much as said a prayer over his remains ... she knew beyond
all shadow of doubt that he had been untrue to both of the women he had
professed to love in San Domingo, and her mind was much distraught as
she sat at her window and, gazed down upon Havana Harbor upon that
memorable evening of February fifteenth, eighteen hundred and
ninety-eight.
She had been watching a little boat plying back and forth between the
wharf and the battleship which she had picked out among the other black
hulks in the harbor as being the _Maine_, and was speculating, idly,
what it could be about, as it seemed busily engaged in something of
importance, when, all at once, a mighty detonation shook the entire
harbor and the adjacent shore, making even her own stout residence
tremble, and, where the majestic battleship had, only just a moment
before, been a thing of beauty and power, there was nothing but a wild
mass of flying debris and a raging furnace of belching, flaming fire.
Ruth Wakefield realized, even as the terrific explosion occurred, that
here was a turning point in the affairs of state and that, in all
probability, her own country would, after this, become involved in the
war that had been raging in Cuba, then, for about three years; it was
with mingled feelings of dismay and dread that she surveyed the activity
that very soon became apparent both in the harbor and in the city of
Havana; she could see the lights of the rescuing boats as they circled
about the scene of the wreck and even hear the groans and supplications
of some of the severely wounded survivors, for the night was clear and
the light wind carried the sounds from the harbor up to her window so
that her very acute hearing told her that this was no casual accident,
but, in all probability, a carefully planned holocaust in which her own
much-loved native land would, inevitably be involved.
Manuello was one of the first to rush out upon the streets of the little
village after the terrific noise of the explosion had rolled away; he
passed hastily from cottage to cottage asking the inmates if they were
aware of the cause of it, for, being a little below the level of Havana
Harbor, the inhabitants of San Domingo could not command a view of it.
As no one seemed able to give him any explanation of the disturbing
detonation, he even dared to approach one of the block houses held by
the Spanish soldiery; here, he found everything in confusion and
excitement ... men were hastily arming themselves so as to be in
readiness for whatever orders might come from their superiors, and
Manuello found no one among them who seemed much better informed than
he, himself, was; he imagined that what he had heard had been the result
of the consummation of the plans upon which he had stumbled earlier in
the evening and started to climb to the top of the hill upon which Ruth
Wakefield's residence was located in order to gain a view of Havana
Harbor.
Manuello had almost reached the very top of the hill before he realized
that he had come out into the night without a weapon of any kind, and,
no sooner had he made this disconcerting discovery than he became aware
of some sort of movement directly in his rear; wishing to avoid whatever
it might be, he hastily concealed himself and waited for the approach of
his unseen companion in the darkness; the steps he had heard came along
the path hastily, yet steadily, and the owner of them soon appeared; as
he passed Manuello, the young fellow made out that the new-comer was
none other than the village Priest who, as it seemed likely, was bent
upon the same errand as the hidden peon; Father Felix kept on, sturdily,
climbing the grade to the mansion on the hill; having reached the house
he at once disappeared inside it and Manuello was again alone upon the
hillside.
Gaining a point of vantage, Manuello looked down upon Havana Harbor,
and, at once, decided upon the course that he must pursue to cover
himself from danger of suspicion as to the possibility of his having
participated in the terrible calamity that had befallen the United
States battleship, for Manuello knew the exact location of the different
ships then anchored in Havana Harbor as he had in his possession a map
of it upon which he had drawn certain black crosses which indicated the
positions of different vessels, also certain ingenious little flourishes
told him the nationality of the various ships, so that he felt as sure
as if he were right upon the scene that the battleship _Maine_ had been
blown up in Havana Harbor, that fateful evening, and he knew that there
would be a searching investigation made as to what had caused the
explosion, so that Manuello had this little problem to consider as well
as the one concerning the sudden and mysterious death of Victorio
Colenzo just as he was about to be liberated from the prison at San
Domingo; for Manuello knew far more concerning that casualty than he
had imparted to Estrella when she had so diligently inquired of him
about it.
Father Felix found Ruth Wakefield and her little, frightened household
fully awake as well as fully aware of the nature of the episode that had
startled him to such an extent that he had climbed the hill to ascertain
the safety of the inhabitants of the mansion on the hill, for the good
Priest pitied the mistress of the mansion far more than he did the poor
girl in the cottage, knowing that added refinement often makes more
poignant a sorrow that would inevitably be hard for any human heart to
bear.
CHAPTER VII
All over the little village of San Domingo, on the morning of February
sixteenth, 1898, the news spread like wild-fire that the United States
battleship, _Maine_, had been blown up in Havana Harbor.
Manuello, having secreted his map in what he considered to be a safe
place, and having remained quietly inside his own domicile during the
balance of the night preceding the general acceptance of the the salient
facts concerned in the great disaster, ventured forth at daylight,
hoping to discover the condition of the public mind with regard to it.
The first place he visited was one of the block-houses where he had
hob-nobbed with the soldiers before the news of the explosion had
reached them; here he found closely shut mouths and stern countenances
meeting him on every side, as he was known to be engaged in stirring up
strife and dissatisfaction among the peons of whom, to some extent, now
that Victorio Colenzo was dead, he was an acknowledged leader; the
soldiers, knowing nothing of what action would be taken by their own
government, much less of how far the resentment of the powerful nation
involved in the disaster would carry them, thought that discretion was,
by all means, the better part of valor, in this instance, and,
accordingly, had no private conversation with Manuello at all, being
careful to have several of their number within ear-shot of every word he
uttered; he, realizing the situation, after some few moments, went
quietly away, glad, indeed, to escape so easily from among the armed
hosts of Spain, for his own native country had been under the heel of
Spanish oppressors for more than three years, at this time.
From the block-house, the young fellow proceeded to the dwelling of
little Tessa for he had a sort of mild affection for her, knowing how
profoundly she admired him and being flattered by her preference, while
his own heart was set on Estrella, to win whom he had, indeed, committed
a most terrible crime, for it had been his hand that had almost severed
the handsome head of Victorio Colenzo from his strong and agile body, he
having taken advantage of the confusion in the prison at the time of the
liberation of the political offenders to vent his own jealous spite upon
the natural leader of them all, little dreaming that he had cut off in
his prime the husband of the lady of the mansion on the hill, but only
congratulating himself on having removed from his own path a dangerous
rival in the affections, not only of Estrella, but also of all of those
with whom he, Manuello, hoped to advance his own interests; for Victorio
Colenzo was a man to be feared by all those who opposed him as Manuello
knew very well; now that his dead body was lying there in the little
improvised morgue, it seemed to the young Cuban that his great influence
would soon die away, and, so far as Estrella was concerned, he felt
pretty sure of her as she was so near to him and would, naturally, lean
upon him in trouble.
So that, he felt quite complacent as to the recent turns in his affairs,
when he entered the rude home of little Tessa; he found that small, dark
young woman standing quietly beside a window watching his approach; she
turned to him, when another member of the family had admitted him,
eagerly and expectantly:
"What do you think, Manuello?" she inquired. "What will be the result of
last night's terrible disaster? Shall we, now, have the Americans to
fight as well as the Spanish? Will the great United States hold us
responsible for this crime? I wondered, right away, what you would think
about it all and am so glad you have come over early. Is dear Estrella
as well as we could expect under her distressing circumstances? Will the
body of her lover be buried, today? Will this new trouble make any
difference with the burial of the bodies in the morgue? Tell me
everything you know, Manuello. Don't pay any attention to my
questions ... just go ahead and tell me!"
She had come near to him as she kept asking questions, and was now
beside him and had grasped the collar of his short jacket, for Manuello
was something of a dude among his associates and was very particular as
to his appearance, being proud of his straight, strong figure and broad
shoulders which towered above many of the heads of his companions, so
that little Tessa had to stretch her small, dark hands well above her
smooth, black head in order to cling as closely as she desired to him.
The young fellow looked down into the eager face lifted toward his own
and hesitated a little while before he answered her; diplomacy had
become so much a part of his acquired habit that, even when it was
unnecessary, as in the present instance, for Tessa trusted him
implicitly, he still employed it:
"To begin with," he said, as if issuing a decree from a judgment-seat,
"I do not think that the blowing up of the battleship, last night, will
make our case in Cuba much harder than it already is ... in fact, it
might be that the American government would resent the loss of their
property and the murder of their sailors sufficiently to induce them to
assist us in our struggle for independence from the tyranny of Spain."
He looked about him anxiously, as he made this last statement, for he
knew that agents of the government might be in hiding almost anywhere.
"As to the burial of Victorio Colenzo," he pronounced the name with some
braggadocio, "and the rest, this disaster should make no difference as
to that, for when human beings die they have to be buried somehow, no
matter what happens." It was with secret satisfaction that he explained
this last matter, for, so far as he was concerned, the sooner the body
of his victim was under the ground the better he, himself, would feel,
"and as to Estrella, as soon as she recovers from the loss of her
handsome lover, I think she will listen to reason again and be the same
nice girl she was before she ever met this stranger who came among us
like a whirlwind and who has left us as suddenly as he appeared among
us. Now, little Tessa," he ended, "I think that I have answered all of
your questions ... suppose you answer some of mine ... for example," and
he bent his bold eyes on her little face, "why are you growing to be so
beautiful? Whom do you love more than anything else in the world? When
will you be a married woman? Do you like me as well as you did when we
were little children? Do you think that Estrella will ever marry me, now
that she has lost her new lover? Are you my little friend in this matter
and will you assist my cause with Estrella?" seeing a look of
consternation spread over her countenance, he ended his category with,
"Who is _your_ lover, little Tessa? I know you must have one for you
have grown to be very fair and winsome since we were shut up in that
hateful prison."
"Manuello," said the girl, "I don't believe that I will ever marry....
I have no lover and I am not beautiful. Estrella does not love you, now,
but she may learn to do so. I wish her to be very happy and if being
your wife would make her so, and I see no reason why a girl could not be
happy as your wife, Manuello, then I will do what I can to further your
cause with her. I know she is in deep sorrow, today, and I intend to do
all that I can to help her. Of course you know what arrangements have
already been made. Father Felix will take charge of the ceremonies, I
understand. I will accompany poor Estrella to the burial place. You may
tell her that I will soon be with her."
The simplicity and truth of the young and innocent girl affected even
the hardened heart of the murderer and the evident adoration with which
she regarded him also had its effect upon him, so that Manuello
trembled, inwardly, in spite of all his hardihood and determination to
force his passionate love upon Estrella, as he intended only to use poor
little Tessa's admiration for him to influence the older and fairer
woman; the very fact that Estrella was, very evidently, not of his own
race had a powerful attraction for his untutored imagination and, in
secret, he often dwelt upon her difference from all the other women of
his acquaintance, while he assumed toward herself an air of superiority,
hoping thereby to attract her to himself as being above all of the
others of their acquaintance; now that his successful rival was out of
his way the young fellow looked forward to an early conquest of the
heart and hand of Estrella, and, now that the Americans had become
involved in the Cuban war, he hoped for the defeat of the Spaniards as
he never had before. Therefore, he could well afford to be a little
condescending to the young girl who still clung to his hands as if to
her only hope of happiness and looked up adoringly into his smiling
eyes.
Stooping toward her a little, he suddenly raised her in his strong arms
and lifted her small, eager face to a level with his own; her lips were
very near to his and were trembling for that very reason, so he stilled
them by holding them for a passionate moment against his virile mouth.
Tessa yielded to his embrace without thinking of its import for Manuello
was a strong and healthy man, full of the electrical attraction that
goes with those of his build, and, like many uneducated human beings,
the animal side of his nature was more fully developed than any other
part of it so that almost any healthy young woman appealed to him in
some degree and Tessa's evident affection for himself added to her power
in this respect.
The two young beings were placed in the situation in which we have
described them for only a very short space of earthly time, but it was
sufficient to build up a barrier around Manuello that separated him from
all the rest of the young men known to the simple-minded girl with whom
he was only playing at making love, for all of that sacred emotion of
which he was capable had been laid at the feet of the girl who had
scoffed at his advances, for some years.
When he had set her, gently, upon her small feet again, Manuello
addressed the small maiden in an almost wheedling tone, for he thought
that he could, now, better control her feelings than before the episode
of the past few moments:
"You _do_ like me as much as before I was put away in prison, don't you,
little Tessa? Estrella's aloofness from me on account of her crazy
notions about Victorio Colenzo has not affected you with regard to me,
has it? I can depend upon you as upon a faithful little friend, I
believe I can, anyway ... how about that, little Girl?"
He bent his black eyes upon her as he asked the question, and, with his
picturesque costume, dark face, up-tilted _mustachio_, as black as his
heavy, curling hair, and his strong and agile figure, in many ways, he
was as handsome as anyone upon whom Tessa's eyes had ever rested, for,
to her simple mind, Victorio had been too much inclined toward
intellectual pursuits to really appeal very strongly to her untutored
mind and she had never been able to understand why Estrella preferred
him to Manuello; now, she answered the latter in no uncertain language:
"Of _course_ you can depend on my friendship ... of _course_ I would
always do anything I could to help you ... even ..." her voice shook
over the words, "even with the woman whom you love and prefer to all the
other women whom you know ... Estrella," she said this firmly as if to
convince even herself of the truth of the statement. "Estrella _is_
superior to the rest of us girls around here ... she is of another race
of people, I believe ... a superior race, I guess ... anyway," she ended
naively, "I love her and do not blame _you_, Manuello, for doing the
same thing."
It took a good deal of courage and loyalty combined for the girl to make
the remarks we have just recorded here with her small mouth yet tingling
from the kisses, for Manuello had not been chary of their number while
he had the opportunity to bestow them, of the man whom she almost
worshiped as earthly women adore merely human men, but she had waded
through the above sentences, bravely, and felt better after having
passed through what was an ordeal for her to undergo.
Manuello scarcely knew how to meet this plain exposition of the matter
under consideration and quickly changed the subject of conversation, not
wishing to go too far, all at once, with Tessa, as that might complicate
his relations with Estrella, and, yet, feeling the need of some stanch
friend, in case he should have need of one, for he realized, dimly, that
he might easily be in danger, at any time, for various good reasons,
for he had been implicated in many of the plots of the revolutionists as
well as having secrets of his own to cover up; he was naturally cautious
as far as his own safety was concerned and did not wish to involve
himself any farther than seemed best for his own interests with Tessa,
and, yet, he desired to have her assistance ready at hand in case he
should have need of anything so feeble.
He had now fixed her previous regard for him upon a vital memory,
so that she would not soon forget the few moments she had passed
encircled by his arms, and this was all he cared to do in that line,
at present.... Later on, in case Estrella still remained obdurate ...
why ... that would be a far different matter; he had now arranged for
himself a secret harbor in the simple heart of this uneducated girl, so
that, if pursued too closely by cruel storms, out on the open sea, he
could retire to it at will.
As for Tessa, after she had made her declaration of love for Estrella,
she felt that she had performed her full duty in that matter, and went
about her preparations for the affairs of that day, with an even lighter
heart than before Manuello's short visit, for, after all, she had
discovered that she was not at least repulsive to the man she had
secretly loved for almost as long as she could remember anything, for
they had grown up in San Domingo together and he had always been
identified with her daily life; the beauty of her personal dream
regarding the tall Cuban had been her motive in assisting in the
liberation of the prisoners, mentioned in the beginning of this
narrative, as she had small sympathy with Estrella's adoration of
Victorio Colenzo, although she was willing to have her intimate
girl-friend feel exactly as she had felt and pitied her with all her
loving heart, now that she had lost, in such a terrible manner, the man
she loved and who, as they both had believed, loved her.
CHAPTER VIII
When Manuello left the dwelling of the little woman of whose affection
he was certain he hastened home to find out what attitude the woman he
loved would take toward the new conditions in Cuba, as well as to
ascertain what preparations she was making for the burial of the man
whose earthly life he had, himself, taken, although she was far from
imagining anything of the kind concerning either her dead lover or her
so-called half-brother.
He found Estrella much perturbed as was to have been expected under the
circumstances for he knew that she had been deeply enamored of the
handsome stranger whose dead body was now being prepared for interment
by the village undertaker to whom Estrella had given the money presented
to her by old Mage, so that the man's body was being taken care of
through the charity of his wife which had been bestowed upon his
sweetheart neither of whom had been known to him at all a few months
before.
As the hour for the funeral exercises drew near, a handsome carriage
drew up in front of the humble door where Estrella made her home; from
within it emerged no less a person than old Mage herself who had been
sent by Ruth Wakefield to escort the sorrowing girl to and from the rude
graveyard where the body of her own husband would be placed, that day;
she had told good Father Felix what to do as to the simple services but
had decided to absent herself from them, not being sure as to how much
endurance she would have and being determined not to add to the grief of
the innocent girl who had been deceived by the man whose name she had
assumed but never been known by in her own family, even, as, at his
especial request, she had kept the marriage hidden from all of her
acquaintances except the few members of her own little household who
were devoted to her and her interests and went about among the villagers
very little, as what business they had was transacted in Havana instead
of San Domingo.
Estrella was pleased and flattered by this attention from the lady of
the mansion on the hill and entered the carriage to find Father Felix
already there, for the carriage had been sent to the refectory before it
came to her own home; she remembered the message little Tessa had sent
to her so she asked old Mage to go to her dwelling for her, which was
done, and completed the sad little group that rode directly behind the
rude wagon which took the place of a hearse and which carried the body
of Victorio Colenzo to its last earthly resting-place.
The grief of the young girl was very pitiful and, as they turned away
from the narrow grave, old Mage felt moved to try to comfort her a
little by distracting her attention from her sorrow; seeing Manuello
lurking in the background as the funeral party were about to leave the
cemetery, she said to Estrella:
"Will your brother ride home with us? I remember his face for he has
brought fruit to our door and he told me, once, that you were his
half-sister."
The poor girl stifled her sobs long enough to listen to the old woman's
remark but made no other answer to it than to shake her head; little
Tessa turned her face in the direction indicated by old Mage and saw
Manuello with a look of diabolical triumph mingled with fear and hatred
on his dark face so that, in spite of her love for him, his expression
frightened her and made even her turn away from the sight of the great
change in his countenance from what she had seen resting there only that
morning.
Ruth Wakefield had spend the hour devoted to the funeral exercises of
her own husband very quietly and in entire solitude; she was accustomed
to the latter condition and there was no one among her acquaintances in
whom she cared to confide except the good Priest who had done what he
could to console and sustain her spirit through this trial that had been
forced upon her by untoward circumstances and her own faith in humanity;
she watched her own carriage descend the hill and pass into the little
village ... she saw the small funeral procession as it wended its way
along the palm-lined street ... she watched it enter the gate of the
little cemetery and even saw poor Estrella as she alighted from the
vehicle and leaned upon the arm of her small friend as she approached
the open grave that was to contain the mortal remains of the man who had
been, if only for a short space of time, her own husband ... and yet she
did not faint ... she did not cry out ... she had had her fight with her
own nature and she had won out after a hard struggle; all that was left
of the love she had entertained for the handsome Cuban who had entered
into her life so disastrously, was an open wound which time alone could
ever heal.
When old Mage returned to the mansion on the hill she sought out her
young lady and would have, in her usual garrulous manner, reported
everything that she had noticed during her absence had she received
encouragement to do so; on the contrary, she found Ruth, apparently,
deeply interested in a large volume which she had placed on a table
before her chair; she rested her head on her hands, from time to time,
and only looked up to welcome her old nurse, then resumed the perusal of
the page she happened to have open at the time of her entrance into the
library.
Ruth Wakefield had always found her chief delight among her many good
books; she browsed among them for mental sustenance and for spiritual
solace and found rich pasturage; it had been said of her, while she was
yet a small child, that, in case it ever became necessary to perform a
surgical operation upon any part of her delicate body, an anaesthetic
would not be essential, as all that she would need would be to have
someone read aloud to her from some fine piece of literature.
So, in the terrible affliction that had so recently befallen her, it was
as natural for her to go to her books for comfort as it would have been
for another woman to go to some understanding friend, for that was what
Ruth Wakefield found among her books ... understanding and safe friends
who would never betray her secrets or her confidence in them ... who
would never deceive and torture her and who represented to her the
finest and best impulses in human nature as well as those higher
sentiments to which she always clung and which, now, in this crisis of
her life, carried her safely over what might have crazed a mind less
well poised than hers.
The morning after the funeral exercises of Victorio Colenzo, Father
Felix ascended the hill upon which Ruth Wakefield's home was located and
sought her out, for the good Priest was much perturbed because of her
present condition and went to see her with the intention of advising her
to leave Cuba, at least for a time, as the situation with regard to her
own country was almost certain to become acute, after the disaster of a
few nights previous, and it seemed to him to be imprudent for a young
woman to remain alone with only retainers about her among the wild
people among whom he labored; for Father Felix knew far more of the
nature of these people than many others possibly could and he realized
that the wealth surrounding the Wakefield residence was in itself a
menace to the fair owner of it; although he, himself, intended to remain
among his parishioners under all circumstances, it did not seem to be a
wise procedure for an unprotected woman to do so.
He had studied the situation over from many view-points and had settled
on the best course, according to his judgment and knowledge of the
situation, for her to pursue, and he, now, laid this course before her
with the benevolent intention of assisting her to follow it in every way
within his limited power:
"My dear Miss Ruth," he began, hesitatingly, for he was not sure of just
what effect either her husband's violent death or the recent explosion
in the harbor would have on her sensitive nature, "I wish that you would
consider your own situation very carefully; you are now alone here
except for those who are under your employ, and the people of the
surrounding country are in a high state of excitement. At almost any
moment, now, your own native land, to which you are devoted, may declare
itself to be in a state of war with Spain, following the blowing up of
the battleship; in that case, your situation, here, would be even more
precarious than it is at present and it is far from being secure, even
now; what I had thought of proposing to you is that you, at once, gather
together what you consider to be the most precious of your worldly
possession, here, and place them in some storage building in Havana,
leaving the house, here, with as few valuables as possible inside of it,
then, with probably your old nurse as a companion and charge, return at
once to your own country, anyway, until the war-cloud that is now
hanging over Cuba has been lifted; it looks to me," he ended, "as if
that would not be for some years yet ... of course America is a powerful
country and if she takes this matter up in earnest, it may be that it
will come to an end more quickly than I fear it may."
He waited, quietly, then, for Ruth to think over his remarks; she had
regarded him earnestly while he had been speaking, and, now, sat with
her hands folded in her lap for a few minutes before she spoke:
"Father Felix," she began, at length, "Father Felix, I appreciate the
reasons that prompted you to come to me and advise me as you have just
been doing; I understand that you consider me unfit to cope with the
present situation under my circumstances and I wish to inform you that I
do not intend to run away from my duty any more than you do. I take it
for granted, Father, that you expect to remain with your people no
matter what may come to them? I believe that the more need they may
have of you, the more anxious you will be to serve them. Now I," she
continued, earnestly and unwaveringly, "I have not done my full duty, up
to now, among these people to whom you have devoted all of your
energies; I feel that I owe my fellow-beings more than I have given to
them in many ways, for I have been very much of a recluse, as you know,
loving my books and enjoying my home and the natural beauties I have
delighted in all around me; it may be, that, in the crisis that seems
imminent, I may find some good work that will wholly absorb my
energies ... it may be ..." she said, while a high resolve settled over
her sensitive features, "it may be, good Father Felix, that I may be
permitted to do almost as much good in our little world as you,
yourself, are doing and have already done. Would you bar me from the
proud privilege of sharing your labor and of receiving some measure of
the rich reward which is awaiting you?"
Father Felix gazed upon her as if upon a being already translated beyond
the common things of earth, and, realizing the firmness of her evident
resolve, he extended his hands toward her in blessing. As she bowed her
head to receive it there was a rapt look upon her face such as the holy
angels who welcome the souls of the newly dead must have upon their
features ... the inner consciousness of Ruth Wakefield shone through her
earthly lineaments and transfigured them so that they were even more
fair than they had been before.
"My Daughter," said the good Priest, "forgive me for proposing what I
did; I did not fully understand you; from this time on, I hope that we
may find much good work that we can do in common, for I would be proud
and glad to be engaged with you upon our Father's business. Let us
consult with each other in our plans for the betterment of the poor
people among whom our lot in life has been cast. I was going to speak to
you about the girl, Estrella," he went on, watching her face while he
talked; "she is in need of different surroundings than she has at
present, for she is not of the race of those with whom she has been
staying; the young man who calls her his half-sister knows very well
that she has none of his blood in her veins, and he is almost constantly
tormenting her with offers of his heart and hand, when the poor girl is
really a mourner for the man whom she believed, as you did, to be worthy
of a good woman's love. The girl is strong and willing and capable
beyond the common run of the people among whom she has spent her life
thus far. I believe she would fully appreciate kindness and would repay
it in every way in her power. What I have just thought of is, perhaps,
impossible for you to do, at present, but it may be that, in the future,
you may consider it. If you could bring yourself to have her in your
home she would be safe from harm and might be a very great help to you
if you carry on the work that is now in your mind to do. For," he rose
to his feet and walked rapidly from one end of the room to the other,
"if America declares war on Spain with a view to the independence of
Cuba, there will be much heroic work for you and me to do, my dear
Daughter ... there will be much work for us two to perform."
Ruth Wakefield also rose ... it seemed to her that the situation
demanded that she meet it on her feet....
"Father Felix," she said calmly and softly, "Father Felix, have Estrella
brought to me, today; let us begin our good work at once. There is
nothing that my beloved country can demand of me that I would not be
glad to give to its sacred cause. I believe that I can do more for my
native land, here, in Cuba, at the present time, than if I should return
to it, now. It may be that an American, with some degree of wealth and
intelligence, can be of service, here, at this critical juncture in her
country's history."
"Our native land could not have a better representative, my Daughter. As
you know, I, also, am an American and I am proud, indeed, to claim you
as a fellow-countryman. From now on we will more fully understand each
other and I shall be glad to consult with you about many important
matters. I will proceed at once to carry out your instructions with
regard to the young girl of whom we have been speaking, for I feel that
her case is one of peculiar importance, since I fully believe that she,
also, is an American, although I have been unable, up to this time, to
trace her parentage beyond the fact that a man, presumably her father,
left her in the care of the woman who brought her up as one of her own
children, in the little village below here. The poor girl has had a
sorry life so far and really deserves better treatment than she has
received, or so it seems to me from my finite stand-point. I do not
presume to question the wisdom or justice of God, but, often, I am
puzzled when I see the innocent suffer and the guilty escape punishment
here in this world; I always trust in our heavenly Father implicitly,
and, yet, at times, I am sorely put to it to furnish reasons for certain
people having been placed in certain environments. I believe that all
this will be explained to us in good time, but many things are hard to
understand while we remain finite beings with only the intelligence that
has been bestowed upon humanity to reason with. Conscience," he went on
almost as if talking to himself, "conscience is our infallible guide and
was given to us so that we would never be without direction in whatever
circumstances we may be placed. Now, in this instance ... I honestly
thought that I was doing right to come here this morning and advise you
as I did, and, yet, God, in His great Wisdom, guided you, at once, into
the only path that you were ever meant to walk in ... the path that
will lead you on to the peace that passeth human understanding."
After a little rather desultory conversation, with which he hoped to
lighten the outlook of the lonely woman, the good Priest wended his
solitary way down the hill and back to the scene of most of his labors
among the ignorant people whom he hoped to help toward a better
enlightenment, and, as he walked slowly down the path leading to the
village, he turned and looked back at the mansion on the hill, crossed
himself, and murmured:
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven."
CHAPTER IX
When Estrella reached the mansion on the hill she found its mistress
quietly awaiting her outside the dwelling; she welcomed the young girl
with out-stretched hands, saying:
"Father Felix has done well, indeed, to send you to me so quickly,
Estrella. I want you to feel perfectly at home, here. Old Mage will take
you to your own room and tell you what little duties you may assume if
you wish to do so. When you have arranged these little domestic matters,
come to me in the library and we will talk over some plans I have in
which I think you will be interested when you have somewhat recovered
from your recent loss. I know, from my own experience, that there is but
one way to carry sorrow through one's daily life and that is to be busy.
If one has enough physical energy and nervous strength, one can
accomplish a great deal of good in the world in spite of personal
sorrow. You are young and have not had an easy life so far ... it may be
that I can assist you so that, from now on, you and I may be able to
help each other in doing good work among those who are weaker than we
are."
Old Mage was only too willing to take charge of the girl, for, while she
did not really like the idea of having her in the family, yet, she was
aware that Ruth needed companionship and she enjoyed having a goodly
number of people around her as her life consisted, mainly, of what each
day brought into it, for old Mage, while she was a good woman and a
faithful friend, was not a thinker and made few plans for the future.
She led Estrella to the room that Ruth had arranged to have her occupy,
and, having explained certain little matters to her concerning the daily
round of life in the house, she began to question her as to what she had
learned regarding the explosion in Havana Harbor and what she thought as
to the probability of the United States declaring war on Spain on
account of it.
The girl had little information to give to the old woman for she had
been too much absorbed by her own recent grief to even think of any of
the consequences that might follow the accident ... it seemed to her
that if the whole United States navy were blown up, it would make small
difference to her now that she had lost Victorio for he had represented
to her everything that meant happiness for her in the future; she had
yet to learn many things that would, eventually, bring to her the kind
of happiness that is lasting and to be depended upon when all that is
transitory and ephemeral has passed beyond knowledge and memory.
At length, old Mage wearied of quizzing Estrella and left her to her own
thoughts which were confused and uncertain; she did not understand why
the lady of the mansion had condescended to ask her to come to her for
Father Felix had left her in doubt as to any reason, only telling her
that Miss Ruth desired her to come to her, at least for a time, to act
as a sort of companion as she was alone a great deal; he did not explain
to her that there might be work for her to do in the near future,
leaving that part to Ruth, very wisely.
Father Felix led his little flock into fresh pastures when he felt that
they were ready for such a change but he reflected deeply before doing
this and hoped, in the case of the girl under consideration, that
companionship with one as unselfish and intrinsically good and noble as
Ruth Wakefield would do more for her character than any counsel he could
give to her; the good Priest was well aware that the handsome, young,
dashing Cuban had fascinated both the women and he felt sure that, had
he lived long enough in the same world with them, he would have broken
both their hearts, for it was his nature, evidently, to gather flowers
wherever he found them and throw them away to wither and die; Father
Felix was a normal human being as well as a spiritual leader and he
recognized facts with regard to human nature as he found them, not being
deceived by appearances as a less intellectual person would have been,
or as a man possessed of weaker masculine traits than those that had
been bestowed upon him.
There was one among his parishioners of whose case he was doubtful ...
he was very anxious concerning Manuello for he knew that the young man
had some sort of guilty secret that he had confessed to no one and this
was one reason influencing him in his endeavor to extricate the innocent
Estrella from her immediate surroundings; he knew that, in the troubled
condition of the country, Manuello would be almost certain, with his
wild and untutored nature, to get into some sort of tangle with
authorities and supposed that the trouble he was well aware of as being
on the young fellow's conscience had something to do with existing
Spanish laws; he, himself, in breaking down the doors of the prison in
order to liberate this man among the rest of the prisoners, had been
guilty of violating a strict mandate and knew that he was liable to
arrest at any time, but, now that America might come into the struggle
on her own account, instead of simply through sympathy with the wrongs
of the people of Cuba, he realized that his own case had taken on a new
color, for, as he had told Ruth Wakefield, Father Felix was a native
American and loved his own country devotedly, although he had been
acting as a missionary in Cuba for some years of his active life in the
priesthood; he was dwelling on the state of mind of Manuello, sitting
quietly in his own place in the refectory, the evening after the events
related in the preceding chapter, when he heard a hasty knock at his
door and immediately opened it to admit the subject of his thoughts.
The young man entered as if upon a desperate errand and sat down in the
first chair he found without waiting for the invitation of the Priest, a
proceeding that, alone, showed the condition of his mind:
"Good Father," he began without introduction, "where is Estrella? She
has not been home for some hours and none of the family seem to know
much about her; all they told me was that I was to come to you for
information ... and here I am."
The Priest looked into his eager face and pitied while he condemned him,
for he could see that he greatly mourned the absence of the girl whom he
had decided in his own heart to have for his own.
"Manuello," said Father Felix, at length, having regarded him with a
sympathetic smile, "you must accept the situation as calmly as you can.
I have to tell you that Estrella has found another home than yours and
will, from this on, be under good care and will, I hope, find happiness
later on in her career ... she is a good girl and deserves to be happy,"
he concluded, benevolently.
"Do you mean," demanded Manuello, "that I am not to see her any more?
That I am to be shut out from her life? I want to know," he rose to his
feet, "I demand to know what you have done with her? Have you placed her
in some convent?"
His voice had risen as he added question to question and he faced the
Priest with a fierce expression on his dark and lowering features. His
attitude had no effect on Father Felix who was without bodily fear and
knew that, in the present instance, at least, he stood upon safe ground,
having, as he well knew, removed the girl from danger from the very
being who, now, glared at him:
"My Son," he said, "my Son, compose yourself. I will brook no
demonstration of vile anger from you. Estrella has been put beyond your
power. I do not know," he went on, coolly, "just what it is that is upon
your conscience at present, but I do know there is something that will
not bear a close investigation by the authorities, and I advise you to
have a care how you conduct yourself in the future. Cuba will have need
of your strong arm and I hope that you will use it in her service."
Cowed by the sternness of the tone of voice in which he had been
addressed as well as by his own guilty knowledge, Manuello, silently,
and without thanks or regrets of any kind, left the refectory, slamming
the door after him ... an indignity that few would dare to place upon
their record; giving vent, inwardly, to the curses he did not dare to
utter, he retraced his steps to his own home, intending to get what
information he could from the other members of his family as to how
Estrella went away; reaching his domicile, he, at once, began to ply his
father, who had returned from his daily toil, with various inquiries,
but found him not only uncommunicative but, apparently, also uninformed
as to what had taken place during his absence; all that the other
members of the family knew was that Father Felix had come hurriedly to
the house and had a short conversation with Estrella when she had packed
a few personal effects, of which, indeed, the poor girl had but few, and
left the place, telling them she would see them again from time to time
and leaving kind farewells for both himself and his father.
Then he remembered how intimate Estrella had always been with Tessa and
decided his best course would be to go to her little friend, being well
aware that any information she might have she would gladly give to him;
he was hurrying along, intent upon this new hope of relief from his
anxiety regarding the woman he imagined himself to be deeply in love
with, when, all at once, he became aware that someone was following his
footsteps, guardedly and yet with determination; immediately upon this
knowledge, there stalked into the foreground of his consciousness the
fear of discovery of his recent crime; the intimation of the Priest that
he had suspected it had stirred within him the instinct of
self-protection and he hastened his progress along the familiar and
narrow street, hoping to out-distance his pursuer, whoever he might
happen to be.
It seemed to him that he was succeeding in this last effort and he was
congratulating himself upon his own celerity, when a hand was laid
rather heavily upon his shoulder and a loud and insistent voice declared
him to be the prisoner of the owner of it.
Instantly, Manuello became a beast of prey, cornered in its lair, and
furious with all the animal instincts of self-preservation. He squirmed
away from the heavy hand and whirled around to face his would-be captor
and looked directly into the muzzle of a very capable gun held in steady
hands that seemed well accustomed to its use.
"Up wid ye'er fists, ye dirty spalpeen ye!" commanded the man behind the
gun, using his own rich native brogue in the excitement of the moment.
"Hould 'em right there ..." he went on, as Manuello, instinctively,
though sullenly, obeyed him, "til I snap these putty bracelets on ye'er
wrists!" fumbling in his pocket with one hand while he held the gun in
the other, steadying it against his shoulder, for he had come prepared,
knowing his prospective prisoner to be a desperate character. "There,
now!" having completed his search and placed a handcuff on one of
Manuello's wrists. "Up wid that one and over to its mate!"
But his prisoner was indeed a desperate man and did not intend to yield
to arrest as easily as it had appeared, at first; raising the manacled
wrist, he brought the steel bracelets down on the red head of the
Irishman, felling him to the ground; then it was but the work of a
moment to secure the loaded gun, and, after that, the tables were
completely turned for Manuello immediately became the master of the
situation; looking hastily about him to be sure that he was unobserved,
he was about to complete the utter defeat of the man who had given him
such a terrific fright by beating his brains out with the clubbed gun,
when he heard his own name spoken in a soft, low, scared voice; turning,
he beheld little Tessa standing behind him.
"Oh, Manuello," she cried, breathing pantingly, "what has happened here?
Are you hurt? There is blood on your wrist ... and ..." here she stopped
in consternation, "what else have you here?" for the Irishman had done,
at least, a part of his work well, having locked the handcuff which the
young man had almost forgotten he was wearing, "Take the hateful thing
off, dear Manuello ... do take it off ... I don't like to see it on your
wrist."
"Easier said than done, my dear little Girl!" declared the victim,
smilingly. "But we can fix that somehow; in the meantime, we will let
this fellow lay where he has fallen. Someone of his tribe will, likely,
be along, soon, and they can take care of each other. Come along, Tessa,
we will see what we can do with this piece of jewelry ... it is rather
unwieldy ... I don't like the look of it."
The home of the young girl was not far distant and thither they
repaired; after repeated efforts to file through or break the manacles,
Tessa bethought herself of one possible method of releasing Manuello and
acted upon her idea at once; running out upon the street she approached
the place where the soldier had fallen, for he wore the uniform of the
Spanish army, intending to feel in all of his pockets for a key that
would unlock the handcuffs.
As she drew near to the spot she heard low voices and crept along in the
shadow of the shrubbery that lined the narrow street until she was
within ear-shot; then she realized that two more soldiers had joined
their fallen comrade whom they had resuscitated, so that he was relating
to them something of the circumstances that had led to his present
plight:
"Ye see, b'ys," he was saying, "I wanted to arrist the spalpeen
myself becase I think he is not only a revolutionist, but, also, a
mhurderer ... a fella we arristed yesterday tould me that he thinks
_this_ wan killed the leader of thim all ... seems he was jealous of
him ... they both wanted the same ghirl...."
Tessa, realizing that her errand was useless, turned to go back
silently, but the words she had heard had burned themselves into her
brain, and when she was again beside Manuello he seemed far different
to her than he had before; she found him almost crazy from fear of
discovery as he had failed in all of his efforts to free himself from
the device that had been placed upon his wrist.
"Did you get the key?" he demanded, almost fiercely. "Where is it? This
cursed thing is almost killing me!"
Frightened at his expression and regretting her inability to help him,
the girl began to cry, lifting her apron to her eyes to wipe away her
tears; as she did so, the young man said to her, angrily:
"Well ... _stand_ there and cry while I am suffering ... you'll do a lot
of good that way ... hustle out and see if you can't find some tool to
get this thing off of me ... go to the village blacksmith and tell him
some lie or other ... ask him how you can get an iron off your little
sister's leg ... do something ... someone will come in and find me this
way!"
"Even if they did, Manuello ... you are not under arrest ... the man
don't know where you are, now; but I'll go and try to find some way to
help you ... of course I will ..." said the generous-hearted girl, "I am
_so_ sorry for you, and, now, that Estrella is gone...."
She hurried out, then, leaving the young fellow in no pleasant mood, for
he had much to reflect upon and a pair of heavy handcuffs hanging to one
wrist is not conducive to a man's happiness.
Tessa soon returned and had to report that her efforts in his behalf
were, again, unsuccessful, for the blacksmith had only said:
"Bring the child to me and I will do what I can for her."
Manuello was, now, almost in despair and he was wise enough to know that
cursing, while it might relieve his feelings to some extent, would not
really help the situation, so he pulled his sleeve down as far as he
could over the manacled wrist and proceeded to find out what he could
concerning Estrella.
Tessa would have felt much freer than she did had she not remembered the
words of the soldiers concerning the crime of which they suspected the
young man, and only told him that Estrella had come running to her, that
morning, and had told her that she was going away for a while but that
she would see her again, soon.
Manuello had to content himself with this, hoping to find out more from
Tessa within a day or so, and went away, divided between a desire to
revenge himself upon the man who had tried to arrest him and
self-congratulation upon his escape, but most of all he pondered how to
get the hateful handcuffs from his wrist, for, besides being painful and
unwieldly, he knew that they would attract attention to him.
CHAPTER X
Manuello was almost desperate regarding the manacles still clamped
firmly on his wrist; it left his right hand free and he could use the
fingers of the left hand, so he bound the wrist, placing the second
handcuff above the one that was locked and laying it as close to the
wrist as possible; he left his hand free as he could and simply told his
family that he had cut the arm when engaged in practicing with the
machete in the use of which weapon the Cuban insurgents were especially
accomplished; this explanation of his supposed wound was sufficient and
no one had any idea of the actual facts except Tessa and she was both
too loyal to the young man and too frightened because of the reported
crime he had committed to do anything but keep his secret inviolate; he
depended upon her acknowledged affection for him and had no doubt that
she would defend him if occasion required such a proceeding; his chief
anxiety, at present, was to find out the where-abouts of Estrella, for
he was of a fiery and passionate nature and the disappearance of the
girl but added to his desire for her.
On the morning after the accident he had sustained he started out with
the determination to discover where Estrella had gone, for, as she had
said that she would soon see his own family as well as little Tessa, he
reasoned that she could not have gone very far away; so he began his
search by climbing to the top of the hill behind the village, intending
to try to locate her hiding-place by the simple method of checking off
in his own mind impossible localities for concealment and then deciding
which of the probable ones to investigate; having reached the point of
vantage he wished, he began by cutting out the refectory ... then his
own home ... then Tessa's dwelling-place ... then numerous small houses
where he knew it would be practically impossible for another human being
to be entertained in.
Just as he had reached this point in his revery, his attention was
attracted to the mansion on the hill, and he began to observe, closely,
the movements of every one who came to or went from the house; he did
not really suspect that Estrella was there, but his mind wandered idly
over the residences within his view and lighted upon the mansion on the
hill as something different from the other dwellings he could see.
As he watched the gateway of Ruth Wakefield's residence, he noticed,
emerging from it, old Mage whom he remembered as being there, in what he
considered to be the capacity of an upper servant; he looked at the old
woman because she happened to be in his line of vision and not because
he had any curiosity concerning her movements; but the nature of the
errand upon which she seemed to be bound not only surprised, but amused,
him, for she carried in her hand a large basket of choice cut flowers,
and, from time to time, as she walked along, she stooped to gather dried
leaves that had fallen in the pathway with which she seemed trying to
conceal the contents of her basket; she seemed satisfied, at last, and
ceased to gather leaves, while she quickened her pace to a sort of slow
amble which gait she maintained until she had passed beyond Manuello's
view; he wondered, idly, why she covered the flowers, and was about to
move to a point which commanded a more perfect view of the pathway, when
his attention was again attracted to the gateway of the Wakefield
residence.
This time, it was quite a different person who appeared between the high
stone pillars ... a tall woman, evidently young and active, plainly but
serviceably dressed, stood, for a moment, shading her eyes with her hand
from the glaring sunlight, peering down the pathway along which old Mage
had just been walking; she remained in this position but a very short
time, however, for she was, soon, joined by another woman who seemed as
much interested as she had been in watching the pathway; as the two
young creatures stood there, side by side, Manuello could not but remark
upon the similarity of their forms and general appearance ... both were
evidently strong and agile ... both seemed possessed of bounding health
and youthful vigor; it seemed to him that one of the women looked more
sturdy than the other one did, but, as she was wearing a wide and
drooping hat, such as many of the natives of the Island were accustomed
to wear, he could not see her face; as she approached the woman who had
first appeared in the gateway, there was something in her manner that
seemed familiar to the young fellow, and, as she put one hand, gently,
on the other's shoulder, he, again, seemed to recognize something
familiar in the movement; then she spoke, and, although he was too far
away to hear her words, he knew the tones of her voice, and realized
that his search for Estrella was ended.
As this knowledge was fully impressed upon him he cast about in his mind
as to what method of procedure to take to bring about his desired end
which was to see and talk with the girl, himself, as soon as possible;
first, he thought to approach the house as a fruit-peddler, but put that
thought aside as unlikely to attain his object ... then, he decided to
spy around the place until he located Estrella's own room, intending to
bring his guitar and sing under her window some native love-songs,
hoping to impress upon her his undying affection and imagining that, now
that Victorio was out of the way, his cause would be more likely to
succeed than before.
He had started out to carry this intention into practice, leaving his
original position among the heavy timber that skirted the hill, and
going more into the open than before in order to more closely approach
the house, when he became aware of another presence in the wooded
section that he had just left; he could not make out just what this
presence was ... his ideas concerning it were hazy and uncertain, but he
felt sure that he was not alone and, now that he had left the timber, it
seemed to him that the unknown presence was following close behind him;
he turned sharply around but discovered nothing behind him and kept on
in the direction he had been proceeding in, although his nerves were
keyed up and ready to jump at the slightest sound; suddenly, directly in
front of him, he heard a voice saying:
"Do not approach any nearer to her. If you insist upon doing so you must
take the consequences which are freighted with bitter pain for you."
It seemed to Manuello that this voice was within himself and came from
his own thoughts and, yet, it seemed, also, to be in the pathway ahead
of him, separated from him and yet a part of him; he hesitated, as above
everything else, the natives of Cuba are superstitious and Manuello was
no exception to this rule; his own criminal record, naturally, made him
timid; besides, Estrella's evidently favored position as a member of the
household of Ruth Wakefield elevated the girl in his estimation, for
everyone in that neighborhood had great respect, amounting almost to
veneration, for the inmates of the mansion on the hill.
The young man stopped in his progress toward the house and turned his
attention, for an anxious moment, to his manacled wrist, which gave him
a great deal of uneasiness and some suffering as well; as he held this
wrist with his free right hand, he had his back toward the path that led
down into the village, and was unaware of the nearness of Father Felix
until the good Priest touched him on the elbow; wheeling round,
instantly, he faced the only man he was not afraid to meet among his
neighbors; for, although the Priest had told him he knew that he
possessed a guilty secret, yet he, also was aware of Father Felix' usual
kindness and protection exercised over his people, so that it was with a
feeling of relief that he discovered who the new-comer was.
"My Son," said the Priest, "you are abroad early ... what news have you
heard in the village, this morning?"
Manuello looked at him searchingly as if to discover why he asked him
this question, wondering if he had heard of his own encounter of the
evening before, but failing to gain any knowledge of the secret thoughts
of the Priest, he said at random:
"Everything is about as usual, I guess ... nothing startling seems to
have happened during the night."
"I heard," began Father Felix, "I heard that a soldier had been struck
down by some marauder shortly after the time of your leaving my society,
last night, and I thought you might have happened to be in the vicinity
of the crime. By-the-way," he went on, solicitously, "what has happened
to your left wrist?"
"Oh ... that!" said Manuello, carelessly. "That is simply a love token
from the machete of a friend of mine while we were sparring for
practice; as you said, last night, Cuba may have need of us fighting-men
soon, and we wish to be ready to take our proper place when the time for
action comes."
"Well, be careful of your weapons, my Son ... save your steel for your
enemies and those of your native land."
Speaking in this manner, the good Priest pursued his journey up the hill
and disappeared within the gateway where Manuello had, only very
recently, seen Estrella standing with the mistress of the mansion; he
decided, under the existing circumstances, to retrace his steps toward
the village, contenting himself with the thought that he now knew where
Estrella was; he thought that he might as well impart this information
to little Tessa, and, also, he wanted to find out whether she had heard
anything more about his encounter with the soldier on the street, also
if she had thought of any way whereby he might be freed from the
manacles which became more and more distressing and uncomfortable.
With this thought in his mind, he was approaching Tessa's home when he
was intercepted by the very individual he meant to inquire about.
"What the divil!" exclaimed the Irishman. "Sky-larking by daylight
_this_ toime, me foine high-way-mon?"
Manuello had drawn back, prepared to again bring the hated handcuffs
down upon the poll of the man before him, if he offered any indignities,
when he was surprised to notice a wheedling tone in the voice of his
opponent of the evening before.
"Indade, mon," began the soldier, "I am in need of those putty bracelets
I gave ye, last night; a prisint like them is not bestowed ivry day, I
tell yees. The only thanks ye give me was a crack on me head wid em
which took away but little of me sinse as I had but little in the
beginning.... I might have known betther than to have tackled a foine,
up-standin' fella like yees, single-handed. Yer a foine figure of a mon,
me Frind, and I'd like mighty well to serve be the side of ye ... how
would it _do_, now, fer ye to enlist in the arrmy and give me back me
bracelets if I spake a good worrd fer ye wid me Captain?"
Manuello looked at him in surprise, but, seeing a chance to get rid of
the hateful manacles, decided to agree to the proposition of the other,
at least for the time being.
"All right," he acquiesced, "go ahead and take these cursed thing off
me, first, and then tell me where you want me to go."
The wary Irishman watched the face of the Cuban, doubtfully, but, as he
really wished to be able to account for the handcuffs, he took the key
from his pocket and stepped a little closer to the young fellow in order
to use it, being careful to keep a firm hold on his gun the while; just
as he was about to unlock the manacles, he heard a slight noise behind
him and looked out of the tail of his eye to be horrified by the near
proximity of one of his superior officers; instantly, he changed his
attitude toward Manuello, dropped the key, and pointed his Mauser rifle
straight at the heart of his prisoner.
"Ye will ... will yees?" he cried out. "Oi'll see about that, ye
Spalpeen! Shtand shtill unless ye want a bullet in yer gullet! Now,
Sir," he said politely to the officer, "ef ye'll be ahfter clicking the
other bracelet on his right wrist whilst I kape him covered, Oi'll be
much obleeged to ye. He's a nasty customer, Sir," he explained, kindly,
"and Oi've been havin' a rough toime wid 'em."
The Spanish officer stepped gingerly up to the prisoner, seized hold of
the manacled wrist and reached for the other uplifted hand; but
Manuello had had enough of their society and proceeded to rid himself
of it by striking at the officer with his left wrist while he made a
grab at the rifle of the Irishman with his right hand; the young Cuban
was wiry and his muscles were like taut steel; the officer went down
like an ox before the slaughterer but the Irishman discharged his gun
regardless of the aim which had been destroyed by the action of the
living target; the result was disastrous to all parties for Manuello
felt a sharp, stinging pain in one of his legs, but, in spite of this,
he clubbed the rifle and brought it down over the skull of the Spanish
soldier, limping away, again a conqueror, but sorely wounded, for the
bullet had passed clear through the injured limb, tearing through the
flesh and bone as is the manner of the long and slender Mauser missile.
In this emergency, the young fellow, knowing that he would be hunted
after the last encounter, not only because of the crime of which he had
tacitly been accused by the soldier but because he had struck down a
Spanish officer, and realizing that, with the manacles still locked upon
his wrist, he was a marked man, bethought him of a deserted hut far back
among the palms that grew all over the Island in tropical profusion; if
he could but reach this hut, he thought, and first apprise Tessa of his
new mishap, he might hide there while he recovered from his wound which
was beginning to give him great pain as it recovered from its first
numbness.
Walking as erectly as he could under the circumstances and keeping his
left wrist well covered by the wide cuff of his jacket-sleeve, he was
proceeding along the familiar street, when he met the girl he was in
search of, strolling placidly along, little dreaming of the imminent
peril in which he had just been placed, for the discharge of the Mauser
rifle had been almost as silent as smokeless; telling her in a few
hurried sentences of his great need and describing to her the location
of the ruined hut he had in mind, Manuello retired from the scene.
CHAPTER XI
Tessa was very much distressed as to the condition of Manuello and,
feeling that he depended upon her alone, cast about in her mind as to
how she could assist him; to begin with, she was anxious about the heavy
handcuffs hanging to his poor wrist, as she put it in her gentle
thoughts of the man whom she suspected of being a murderer; if, however,
the charge against him were true, she felt that the crime was committed
in the heat of a jealous passion, and being what she was, herself, she
excused it for that reason, for a Cuban girl is apt to love as madly
and as unreasonably as any man ... to her, Manuello was almost a
demi-god ... it had been a hard trial for the little woman to give him
up to Estrella, even, and, now that he was in dire need and the girl of
his first choice had deliberately deserted him, it seemed to her as if
she had the right to let her own wild love guide her in all that she did
with regard to him.
She was slowly retracing her steps to her own home with the intention of
getting some supplies and managing to evade the vigilance of the rest of
her family sufficiently to carry them to the man she loved ... her eyes
were directed to the path along which she walked, idly, yet, all at
once, those dark eyes lighted up with sudden joy and she hastily swooped
down, like a fluffy little bird upon a morsel of food, and took into her
hand a small and intricate-patterned key; she hoped that this was the
key that would unlock the hated manacles from Manuello's wrist and,
regarding this as a good omen, she concealed the little deliverer in her
bosom, tying it in the corner of the kerchief that was crossed upon her
breast.
When Tessa had secured what necessities she found available on the spur
of the moment, she at once concealed them as far as possible and
prepared to ascend the side of the hill toward the ruined hut where
Manuello had directed her to come; her heart was fluttering wildly for
this was her first secret mission, as she had always had someone near
her during her short life on earth: she wound her way among the cactus
plants that covered the ground in almost all directions, with an
unerring instinct that was of more value to her than any education could
have been for the moment, for one unaccustomed to the wild cacti in Cuba
might, easily, become bewildered, as it is necessary to walk almost in
circles among the thick clumps of prickly foliage.
Tessa was young, but the women of Cuba, like those of most tropical
countries, mature early in life, and she already had the strong maternal
instinct that is a part of normal womanhood; this instinct now directed
her to watch over Manuello as if he were, indeed, her child, instead of
the man to whom she had given the first wild love of her fiery nature;
for women are made that way ... no matter what their own body may demand
of them, it is as natural for them to put all personal feeling aside and
allow a higher, more unselfish love to rule them entirely, as it is for
a man to, first gratify his own desires, and, then, if so be he can
without inconvenience to himself in any way, minister to the wants of
the woman in the case, all well and good, but if, on the contrary, to
care for the woman would, in any way, cause him to exercise self-control
and self-sacrifice, why, of course, he seeks another woman as soon as he
can well rid himself of the one who has flouted him; I am now speaking
of the general run of men ... there are exceptions to this rule, of
course, just as there are exceptions to the rule just stated regarding
women ... not all women are as little Tessa was, but most of them are
and it is indeed fortunate for the world of men and women that this is
as it is ... wonderful beyond the ways of human beings is the love of a
pure woman ... wonderful and worthy of the highest respect and devotion
of any man is the almost angelic love that women often bestow on most
unworthy objects.
It was so in this case, for, while the girl was winding among the cacti
that hindered her advance up the hill, the man was lying in a miserable
heap in the corner of the deserted hut, cursing not only his own hard
luck, but even the girl on whom he depended for sustenance and care;
with maledictions on his tongue and the heavy manacles on his wrist, and
with the increasing pain and torment of his undressed wound, the poor
fellow was far from appearing much as had the gay peasant who had
congratulated himself on having escaped from prison, and, at the same
time, having rid himself of his rival in the affections of Estrella,
who, now, seemed lost to him.
When the girl reached the ruined hut she found the object of her loving
care under the circumstances described above, and it took all of her
courage to face the situation alone and unaided by surgical skill for
they both realized that discovery would be almost certain to be fatal to
the man who now lay groaning and cursing by turns, even while his
ministering angel in human form knelt at his side and unlocked the
handcuffs from his wrist, for, luckily, she had happened upon the very
means of deliverance from the manacles for which they had both longed;
then Tessa gathered dead palm branches with which she fashioned a rude
bed for the sufferer, after which she raised his head upon a small
pillow which she had thoughtfully brought with her, for she was a sturdy
little peasant and could act as a beast of burden without harm to
herself; having fixed him up as comfortably as she could, under the hard
circumstances, she insisted upon his eating and drinking some of the
refreshments she had carried up the hill for him; she had used what
skill she had in bathing and binding the wounded leg, and, as the bullet
had gone clear through, there was little else to do so far as that was
concerned; then they began to consult as to what method of procedure
would be best for them to take; in this, of course, Manuello thought
only of himself, as was natural to a man of his type, while little
Tessa, as was also natural to one of her trusting and loving
disposition, also thought only of his comfort and safety.
"I must come to you each day until the wound heals, my dear Friend,"
said the earnest little woman. "I must bring you what you will need and
I must be very careful not to be detected in doing this. I wish ..." she
ended, earnestly, "I wish that dear Estrella could come and see you for
it would do you more good than anything that I can do for you."
"You are a darling little girl, Tessa," said her turbulent patient. "You
ought to satisfy any reasonable man; Estrella don't care anything at all
about me, and I am beginning to think that I can get along without her
as long as I can have you."
The adoring look in his dark eyes as he said these words was like manna
in the wilderness to little Tessa, for she could not help being pleased
to think that, after all, maybe Manuello would fix his affections upon
her small person, since Estrella had so often flouted him and shown him
plainly by her great preference for Victorio that she did not love him;
the name she had just used in her thoughts brought up the hateful
suspicion aroused in her by the remarks of the Irishman who had seemed,
at first glance, to be a Spaniard, but who, as soon as he opened his
mouth to speak, proved his nationality beyond the shadow of a doubt.
But the loving girl put her thought aside almost at once ... she did not
wish to believe the suspicion to be true and she did not intend to
believe it--until she had to, if such a sad time could ever come to her;
just at present all the strength of her being was concentrated upon the
desire to aid Manuello in whatever manner she could.
To further this desire, she arranged a signal whereby he might know that
she was coming up the hill and concealed, as well as she could the
approach to the hiding-place as well as the hut itself, by throwing, in
apparent disorder, as if blown by a strong wind, such branches and twigs
as she could find by a hurried search.
She did not stay any longer than she thought was necessary for the
comfort of her patient for she was determined to continue her care of
him if possible and realized that a prolonged absence from her own home
might bring suspicion upon them both; as she was leaving, she looked
pitifully weak and small to cope with such a complicated situation
alone; even Manuello realized, for a moment, the devotion of the girl,
and called her over to his side to say a word or two at parting.
"Dear little Tessa," he began, "this is going to be a hard task that you
have undertaken. I wonder if I am worth all this trouble. Perhaps you
would just better turn me over to the soldiers and let them work their
will on me; it may be that I will never be able to reward you for all
your care; of course, it may, on the other hand, be possible for me to
offer you help and comfort when you, yourself, may be in need of it. Now
that you have freed me from those shackles, I begin to feel my old
strength and courage coming back, and if I ever am again as I was before
this last mishap, I will surely reward you somehow for all this
sacrifice that you are making for me."
This speech, coming from a man in the condition of Manuello, appealed to
the little woman so forcibly that she knelt beside his rude couch and
laid both her small, dark hands on his brow as she looked deeply into
his eyes; this position, being very favorable to the impulse that came
over the man as he lay there, made it easy for him to draw her head,
with its great mass of black hair, down upon his shoulder; as her cheek
was laid against his own, Manuello held her small face closely with both
his hands while he kissed first her trembling lips, then each of her
eye-lids, for she had closed her eyes in a sort of blind ecstasy, then
her low forehead, then the top of her small head and, finally, her
quivering chin.
The impulse that prompted him to give these welcome caresses lasted only
a moment for the pain in his leg was beginning to be very insistent and
a groan of agony took the place of the loving words that had been upon
his eager tongue during the moment when he forgot his wound, but the
effect of those few wild moments of unbridled passion went with the
little woman down the hill and covered her small body with a delicious
glow that took away much of the terror and apprehension with which she
viewed the situation in which she found herself.
Ruth Wakefield found Estrella to be much more of a companion than she
had thought she would, and found that, in the innocence and naturally
responsive disposition of the girl, she could almost forget the tie that
had brought them together; had the girl suspected the truth as to
Victorio's relations with the mistress of the mansion on the hill, the
situation might have been strained or even acute, but, as it was, Ruth
only pitied, while she almost envied, the sorrow of the sweetheart of
her own husband.
On the morning when Manuello had discovered the where-abouts of
Estrella, the two women had been watching for Father Felix, intending to
consult with him concerning something that they both wished to do and
yet were not sure of the wisdom of; when he came, they both waited,
anxiously, for his first words, for they depended upon them for
enlightenment regarding a question in which they were both much
interested.
"Miss Ruth and Estrella," he began, addressing both women, "I have great
news for you but we must be cautious in discussing what I have to impart
to you; if, through our carelessness, the information I am about to give
you, should miscarry, it might mean almost as great a disaster as the
recent explosion in Havana Harbor. We must be sure that we are not
overheard. I think we would better repair to the library, Miss Ruth, if
that would meet with your approval. I think we would be more secure from
eaves-droppers inside the house than here. I just met Manuello, my
Dear," he said speaking to Estrella, "as I came up the path. I do not
like to have him lurking around your dwelling-place. I am sure that he
is in some sort of hiding from the authorities and I dread to have him
near you, for he has an evil look in his eyes, lately. Be very careful,
my Daughter, as you go about the place or into the village ... it might
even be well for you to remain away from your former home for some time
to come. I can carry any news of you that will be necessary for them to
know or do any little errands that you may think should be done.
By-the-way," he ended, turning his attention, once more, to Ruth, "I met
your old nurse hurrying along down toward the village as if in great
haste; as she does not often walk down the hill I noticed the
circumstances."
"Old Mage!" exclaimed Ruth. "Why, I did not know that she had gone out.
Do you know anything of this, Estrella? Did she tell you that she had
work to do in the village? Was there something that had to be secured
for the larder, at once, that would not brook delay? Dear me, I hope she
will not over-tire herself. She is not very strong any more and I try to
have her, always, take very good care of herself. As you may know, good
Father," she went on, "old Mage is almost the only living human friend
on whom I can rely and her fealty to me is beyond question. If I should
find old Mage untrue to me," she declared, "I would not expect the sun
to rise the following morning. I must look into this, and, if you will
excuse me for a few moments, I will do so at once."
"Now, my Daughter," said the Priest when Estrella and he were left
alone, "I wish to say to you, privately, that you must, from this time
on, avoid meeting Manuello in any way, both for yourself and also for
the well-being of your good friend, Miss Ruth; the fellow is
evil-minded, lately, and I believe would not stop at robbery or even,
though I greatly regret to think so, _murder_," he uttered the dreadful
word softly but emphatically, "if he believed that he would benefit by
either crime and I must urge you not to allow him to come here to see
you under any possible circumstances. As I said before, I can do what
must be done as between your former family and yourself."
Estrella gladly acquiesced in this good judgment of Father Felix and
agreed to do all in her power to avoid meeting Manuello which she had no
desire, personally, to do, as she dreaded his protestations of love as
much as she would have dreaded his anger for any other reason in the
common affairs of daily life.
In a short time, Ruth returned, explaining that old Mage had, indeed,
gone down to the village, though for what purpose she had been unable,
so far, to discover: they, then, repaired to the library and carefully
closed all doors and windows before Father Felix began to tell them what
they were so anxious to hear.
"My dear Friends," he began, "the information that I have to impart to
you is of a very delicate as well as secret nature and must be so
regarded by both of you. Estrella, to you, especially, I wish to say
that you must not, under any circumstances, breathe a single word of
what I will say to you for it is of vital importance to the native land,
as I believe, of all three of us. For I have reason to think that you,
as well as Miss Ruth and myself, are an American. I know that all of
your sympathies are with our native land, at least, and, in trusting you
with this information, I am, in a measure, making you one of us in deed
and in truth, whether you are so by reason of your birth or not. Before
I go any further, I want your assurance of what I believe to be true."
He waited a moment for the girl to speak, then, seeing her evident
embarrassment, he added, kindly:
"You need have no fear of either of us, Estrella. If you have friends in
this wide world, you are with two of them at this moment."
At these earnest words, the expression of the girl's face changed
somewhat and she replied to the implied interrogatory of the Priest:
"I, also, believe that I am an American, although I do not know anything
of my own parentage beyond what my foster parents have told me. I do not
even know," she blushed while she made the statement, "whether my father
and mother had been married before my birth.... I have no means of
finding out anything more of myself than that I am an honest girl and
that I am deeply grateful to both you and Miss Ruth for your great
kindness to me in my great sorrow. As far as my fealty to America is
concerned," she ended, proudly, "I am as true to that great country as
anyone who knows himself to be a citizen of it. I would, gladly, lay my
feeble life upon the altar of what I believe to be my native land ...
the United States of America."
She pronounced the words with reverence and bowed her head as if in
prayer, so that Father Felix no longer hesitated, but proceeded, at
once:
"At this moment, an American squadron is in Asiatic waters, ready to
move, at the moment its Commander receives the cablegram from the
President of our own country, against the Spaniard, almost on his own
territory. By this move it is hoped to so cripple him that we, here, in
Cuba, may, with the help of our soldiers and sailors, conquer and drive
from the Island those who have so long usurped the places of great power
among us."
When the good Priest had pronounced these fateful words, he found his
two auditors sitting erect, as if at attention, with hands folded in
their laps, and eyes fixed upon his face in breathless eagerness. Ruth
was the first to break the silence.
"I pray the good God," she said, softly and reverently, "I pray God to
strengthen the hands of those who are to do this great, good work! I
trust that those who will be engaged in battle may be prepared to meet
their Maker with clean hearts, if with bloody hands. War," she cried,
suddenly, losing her attitude of prayer in the violence of her emotions,
"war is a terrible calamity but it seems that, only through war can a
nation be purged of such foul crimes as have been committed right here
in Cuba."
Estrella watched her with flashing eyes and sympathetic expression and
the good Priest crossed himself and clenched his fists at the same
time
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