Viva Panama Pobre Colombia
"Viva Panama! Pobre Colombia! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
Walter jumped from his chair. His cheek was quite pale. He had heard this parrot before. It belonged to General Quesada, who must be the mysterious employer. Standing in a door-way opening from another part of the house was the gross, shapeless figure of General Quesada himself, the parrot cage in his hand. With him was the slouchy young man from Balboa wharf. Before crossing thepatiothey had halted in time to hear Walter's unfortunate question.
The checker repeated it in Spanish, and General Quesada comprehended that the young seaman of theSaragossawho hammered him with a broom-stick had now discovered the plot to rob the American government of supplies for the filibustering expedition.
The Panamanian glared wickedly at Walter and bellowed in Spanish a volley of questions aimed at Captain Brincker. The latter answered reluctantly. The scene was evidently distasteful to him. It was in his mind to temper the storm of wrath and hatred. But General Quesada knew that he had been found out. The checker, snarling and vindictive, was rapidly explaining that Walter had been spying at the wharf and on the train, and had followed him into Panama. Captain Brincker turned to the hapless Walter and said with a shrug:
"It is a worse fix for you than I thought. General Quesada has a terrible hatred for you because you struck him and disgraced him on the ship from New York. I had not heard of it until now. And he knows that you know too much about the business at the wharf."
"Why don't you help me get out of the house?" implored Walter. "You don't seem like a coward. He looks as if he wanted to murder me. I can't put up a fight. I am crippled."
The soldier of fortune looked confused andashamed. He had never earned his wages more unpleasantly, but he made no aggressive movement. Remembering his errand, General Quesada waddled across thepatiointo the hallway and dismissed the checker. The street door slammed shut with a rattle of bolts.
"What did he say he was going to do with me?" Walter besought Captain Brincker.
"He seems very much pleased to get hold of you. I will try to cool his anger."
General Quesada returned, grunting and swearing to himself. After hanging the precious parrot cage in a tree, he dropped heavily into a wicker chair and sat staring at Walter with the most malicious satisfaction. Occasionally he chuckled as if here was a jest very much to his liking. Walter yearned for his broom-handle. He looked about for something which might serve as a weapon. Regardless of consequences, he would put his mark on the fat, ugly countenance once more.
General Quesada read his purpose and gave an order to Captain Brincker. The two captors roughly hustled Walter into a large, empty room overlooking the bay, and so close to thewater that the flooding tide could be heard lapping against the foundation walls.
"You just wait until my government hears of this performance," cried Walter. "General Quesada will be chucked in jail, where he belongs."
Captain Brincker replied in kindly tones:
"Take my advice and do what you are told. It is the best policy."
Left alone, Walter tried to persuade himself that no serious danger could menace him. The Isthmus was almost a part of the United States, and he was no more than a few minutes' drive from the Canal Zone, and the protection of his own people. General Quesada wished to frighten him into silence.
Walter went to one of the long windows, which was barred against harbor thieves by ornamental iron grillwork. Misty and golden in the effulgence of sunset lay the fishing-boats, the wide bay, the scattered islands, and the steamers anchored off the quarantine station. The brief tropical twilight fled, and the night came down.
After a long while a boat scraped against thesea-wall. He could discern it as a slow-moving shadow. Voices murmured in Spanish, an order was sharply uttered, and an oar rattled against the masonry. It did not occur to Walter that the coming of the boat had anything to do with him. He supposed that a crew of fishermen was making a belated landing.
Señor Fernandez Garcia Alfaro waited in the lobby of the Tivoli Hotel at Ancon until considerably after seven o'clock and no telephone message had come from his friend Walter Goodwin. Disappointed at having to dine alone, the Colombian diplomat wandered to the desk and again asked a clerk to make sure that no tidings had been sent him. He was possessed of an uneasy feeling that something might be wrong. He had not found time to make inquiries concerning Captain Brincker, but he wished Walter had not been so interested in keeping track of that hardened adventurer. Intrigue and mystery are native to the air of Spanish-American countries. One suspects whatever he does not understand.
Finally Alfaro drifted into the dining-room of this excellent hotel, conducted by the paternal government of the Zone, where people meetfrom all corners of the world. Soon there entered a dapper, black-eyed young dandy in evening clothes of white serge, whom Alfaro recognized as a partner of a shipping-firm in Panama, and an old acquaintance of his. Beckoning him to his own table, the Colombian warmly exclaimed:
"It is a great pleasure, Antonio. Where have you been? I have suffered a thousand disappointments not to find you."
"Business took me to Costa Rica for two weeks," replied the other. "Are you now going home or are you returning?"
"I go to see my father and mother, Antonio. I have been waiting for an American friend to dine with me. He has not arrived. I am anxious. You know everything that goes on in Panama. Tell me, what is Captain Brincker doing here? You are aware of him, of course."
"Who is not? He is a famous character. Before I went to Costa Rica the story was going around that his fortunes had picked up. He has been down at the heel for some time, you know, loafing in Panama."
"There is to be a revolution somewhere?"
"Politics are very much upset in San Salvador. Who knows? By the way, my firm has just sold the oldJuan Lopez. We were glad to get her off our hands, I tell you, before she sunk at her moorings. A wretched tin pot of a steamer! You are interested, because she one time figured in Colombian affairs."
"Who purchased theJuan Lopez?" asked Alfaro. "I saw her loading at Balboa to-day, and Captain Brincker was on board."
"The new owner is General Quesada. I wish the fat rascal no good luck with her."
"The owner is General Quesada?" loudly exclaimed Alfaro. "I am startled. And what does Captain Brincker do on board?"
"He is in the service of General Quesada, so I am told. You may put two and two together, if you like. I have learned to mind my own affairs in the shipping business of Panama. Perhaps General Quesada imagines himself to be the next president of San Salvador. He does not buy a steamer and hire a man like Captain Brincker for a pleasure excursion. Is it not so?"
Alfaro had lost his appetite. The process ofputting two and two together filled him with alarm. His young friend Goodwin was entangling himself unawares in the concerns of General Quesada, who bore him a violent grudge. Alas, that he could not have been warned to steer clear of Captain Brincker and theJuan Lopez! Alfaro was a poor dinner companion for the dapper Antonio. He asked other questions and the answers were not reassuring. Quesada was said to have been gambling heavily in the disreputable resorts of Panama. Where had he found funds to finance a Central American revolution? He had stolen his provisions and theJuan Lopezhad been sold him for a song. But guns and munitions cost a pot of money, and there were wages to pay. Probably some shady concession hunter had backed the enterprise.
All this Alfaro moodily considered until he could no longer curb his impatience.
"You will be so good as to excuse me, Antonio," said he. "I have something to attend to. The address of General Quesada's house in Panama? I wish to write it down. And you say that Captain Brincker has been living with him?"
"Something diplomatic in the wind?" smiled the shipping merchant. "You fear theJuan Lopezmay again annoy the politics of your fair country of Colombia?"
"No, Antonio. It has to do with a friend. He saved my life. It is better to be too anxious for such a one than too little."
"You have my approval. Command me if I can aid you.Adios."
Hastening from the hotel, Alfaro took the shortest road to the Ancon hospital, for Goodwin had told him that he was staying there for the present as a guest. After considerable trouble, he found the young surgeon of the accident ward, who was off duty in his quarters.
"Yes," said he, "the base-ball pitcher with a game wing is supposed to be bunking with me, but he flew the coop this afternoon and I haven't seen him since. He said he was going to Balboa to sniff the breezes. You look worried. Anything wrong?"
"I am a little afraid for him," answered Alfaro. "He was to dine with me. I think he may have gone into Panama and got himself into trouble. He has mixed himself up withsome people who would be very glad to do him harm."
The surgeon looked perturbed in his turn.
"I am fond of the youngster," said he. "He is not in fit condition to take care of himself. If you have reason to fret about him, suppose we try to look him up. Shall I telephone the Zone police department? Have you any clews?"
A solid foot-fall sounded on the screened porch, and the big frame of Jack Devlin, the steam-shovel man, loomed at the door. His pugnacious, redly tanned face beamed good-naturedly as he said in greeting:
"Howdy, Doc! I dropped in to see my young pal Goodwin, but he's not in the ward. What have you done with him? Is he all mended?"
"We have sort of mislaid him. This is his friend, Señor Alfaro. He can explain the circumstances."
Devlin gripped the slim fingers of the Colombian in his calloused paw and exclaimed:
"Glad to meet you. Goodwin told me how you played a star part in the one-act piece of the parrot and the broomstick. What's on your mind?"
"Goodwin has not come back, and we think General Quesada may have caught him in Panama."
"Quesada, eh?" and Devlin scowled ferociously. "I wouldn't mind taking a crack at that fat crook myself. What's the evidence? Put me next."
Alfaro explained in his vehement, impassioned manner, and at the mention of Captain Brincker the steam-shovel man raised a hand and interrupted:
"Stop a minute. You say you saw this gray-headed beach-comber in Guayaquil one time? So did I, my son. I know him. He is bad medicine for young Goodwin to interfere with, but he has a decent streak in him. Quesada sounds a good deal worse to me. He's a yellow pup all the way through. Come along, Señor Alfaro. Grab your hat and follow me. I need you to sling the Spanish language."
"You are going to consult with the police?" queried the Colombian.
"Not on your life. I'll round up this Quesada-Brincker outfit all by myself. I am kind of responsible for Goodwin. I feel like a godfatherby brevet to him. It will do no harm to look into this thing. I am just naturally suspicious of Panamanians in general and of Quesada in particular. Good-by, Doc. I'll keep you posted."
They were lucky enough to find a cab in the hospital grounds and, as thecocheroplied the whip, Alfaro added the details of his meeting with Goodwin on the wharf. Devlin listened grimly. He had become taciturn. He was no longer the jovial, swaggering steam-shovel man bragging of the prowess of "old Twenty-six" but a two-fisted American of the frontier breed, schooled to think and to act in tight places.
"I intend to get into General Quesada's house and look his game over," said he.
"But he has a revolver. He tried to kill me with it," cried Alfaro.
"Pshaw, I never found one of you Spanish-Americans that could shoot straight," was the impolite comment.
They left the cab at the nearest corner. Devlin strode ahead, Alfaro peering warily about for unfriendly policemen of the Panamaforce. In front of the house Devlin halted and said:
"You are a professional diplomat. Better stay outside and jolly the Spiggoty police if a row breaks loose inside. They will try to help Quesada. If I need you I'll sing out good and loud."
"But I am not a coward," earnestly protested the Colombian. "I am not afraid to go in with you. Goodwin saved my life. I will do anything for him."
"You do as you're told, young man, or I may get peevish with you," was the decisive reply.
Devlin rang the bell. When the door was opened by some one dimly visible in the unlighted vestibule, he demanded in very bad Spanish:
"I wish to see General Quesada. It is important."
A strong voice answered in excellent English:
"The general will not be home to-night. What is your business?"
Devlin shoved the other man aside and advanced into the hallway, at the further end of which an electric bulb was aglow.
The other man quickly followed and locked the door behind him.
"Pretty exclusive, aren't you?" said Devlin. "Why, hello, Captain Brincker. I'm looking for a young friend of mine named Goodwin. What have you done with him?"
Gazing hard at the bold intruder, the soldier of fortune answered:
"There is no young man in the house. You are Jack Devlin."
"Sure I am, and my belief is that you are a liar. Do you recall the night when you broke jail ahead of the government troops that were going to shoot you next morning, and swam aboard my dredge in Guayaquil harbor?"
"That revolution in Ecuador was unlucky for me," returned Captain Brincker, in a matter-of-fact way, as if this meeting were not at all extraordinary. "I was on the losing side. You hid me on your dredge and kept me there until I could slip away in a German tramp steamer. I have not forgotten it."
Devlin stood alertly poised, his mind intent on the main issue. If there was to be a truce it must be on his own terms. There was contempt in his eyes as he said:
"You have fallen pretty low since then, Captain Brincker, to play jackal to this cheap bully of a General Quesada. I'm sorry I hauled you aboard my dredge. I have called you a liar. Are you man enough to resent it?"
As if his degradation had been brought home to him, Captain Brincker's deeply lined cheek turned a dull red. He had his own misguided sense of duty, however, and he was thinking of his employer's interests as he rejoined:
"That is a personal matter. You and I will settle it later. I cannot let you come into this house, do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand," growled Devlin. "You're bound to earn your dirty wages. Now, what about young Goodwin? He's a friend of mine, and you know what that means."
"I can tell you nothing——"
"I'm sick of all this conversation. I can see it in your eye that you're guilty," was Devlin's quick retort. His fist shot out and collided with the jaw of Captain Brincker, who staggered back as Devlin clinched with him. Their feet scuffled furiously upon the stone floor. The struggle was waged in silence. The steam-shovel man was the younger and moreactive, and he was a seasoned rough-and-tumble fighter. A hip-lock, a tremendous heave and twist, and Captain Brincker went down like a falling tree.
Devlin sat upon his chest and searched his clothing for weapons. Finding a loaded revolver, he cocked it and allowed the vanquished soldier of fortune to rise to his feet. The victor's nose was bleeding, but he looked pleased as he gustily observed:
"Too speedy for you, eh? I hope I jolted some decency into you. I'm the boss and you'll tell me what I want to know."
Without a word, Captain Brincker walked to thepatioand sat down with his head in his hands. The violent fall had dazed him. Devlin looked at him and said with a pitying laugh:
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You used to be a good deal of a man. A bit too old for the strenuous life! Getting the best of you was like taking candy from a child. Now, I mean business. Tell me the truth, or I'll bend this gun over your head."
Like a good strategist, Devlin had taken hisstand where he could command a view of all the entrances into thepatio. If surprised by numbers, he intended to shoot his way out of the house.
Captain Brincker hated himself beyond words. He had wavered when he might have protected Walter Goodwin against the wrath of General Quesada. And now Devlin had made him feel utterly unmanly and despicable. It had not been a part of his trade to protect a thief and betray an honest, courageous American lad. He was in a mood to try to make amends. He was ready to haul down his colors.
"I owe you a favor, Devlin," said he, speaking with an effort. "You did me a good turn in Guayaquil harbor. And you have the upper hand. I cannot stomach this Goodwin affair. Yes, the boy came here. I meant him no harm. I was afraid he knew too much about theJuan Lopezexpedition. I wanted to keep him quiet for a little while. But he had caught General Quesada at something worse. There was a scheme between him and an American at Balboa, a young man who had been knocking about the west coast and found a job on thewharf. He had gambled with Quesada and lost. The general put the screws on him."
"I heard about that to-night," impatiently broke in Devlin. "Then Quesada took Goodwin out of your hands. What has he done with him?"
"Carried him aboard theJuan Lopez. She is ready to sail. They are only waiting for me to come on board."
"How long will Quesada wait for you? The steamer is anchored in the bay, I suppose."
"He will not wait too long. He is afraid and suspicious. He will think the expedition has been discovered and I am in trouble. He will expect me to get away in a sail-boat and meet him at a rendezvous on the coast."
"I believe you are honest with me," said Devlin. "I can't go aboard and take Goodwin off single-handed. And neither can I trust you to see that no harm comes to him on the voyage."
"You are not fair to me," protested Captain Brincker. "I am very sorry that General Quesada got hold of him."
Devlin laughed incredulously and made an emphatic gesture with the revolver.
"You are a desperate, broken man," he cried. "You are playing for a stake against big odds. Quesada is your boss. Once you get to sea with a ship-load of guns and cut-throat recruits and you will not let the boy stand between you and your business. You are too old a dog to learn new tricks. You mean well, but you are hard as nails. And I cannot trust you to stand up against Quesada and the rest of them to save the lad."
Captain Brincker chewed his gray mustache in silence. At length he grumbled:
"What are you going to do about it?"
Devlin was perplexed, and he cogitated at some length before declaring:
"I have the bright idea. I will hold you as a hostage. When I think of that poor crippled lad out yonder, with Quesada cooking it up in his wicked heart how he can easiest make way with him, it's a wonder I'm not mad enough to blow the head off you, Captain Brincker. You may be thankful that I'm not a violent man."
Devlin glanced into the hallway. He dared not leave his prisoner, so he gruffly ordered himto march in front of him. Halting inside the front door, he sang out in a tremendous voice:
"Oh, you Alfaro! Get a jump on yourself."
The faithful Colombian heard the summons and dashed in as the door was unbolted.
"Are you killed?" he gasped.
"Not by a considerable majority, my son. Captain Brincker and I had an argument. I win. Here, don't step between him and the gun in my fist. Do you know where to find a launch in a hurry and a man to run it?"
"Yes. My friend Antonio Varilla, who dined with me to-night, has a fast gasolene boat."
"Can you find him to-night?"
"He was going from the hotel to the University Club of Panama to play a match at billiards. He will be there now. Tell me, where is Goodwin?"
"I'm going to send you to find him, Alfaro. My Spanish is very rocky or I'd do the trick myself and leave you on sentry duty with the prisoner. You get that launch and you look for theJuan Lopez, understand? She is in the bay, between here and Balboa. And you put it up to General Quesada that his right-handman, Captain Brincker, is too busy looking into the muzzle of a gun to join the expedition. If Goodwin comes back with you, Captain Brincker goes free. Otherwise I'll march this gray-headed reprobate to the Ancon jail as a filibuster caught in the act. And he'll get about five years. Uncle Sam is mighty hostile to anybody who tries to touch off a revolution in these little Central American republics."
Alfaro nodded with eager approval. Here was a crafty, resourceful stratagem after his own heart. Devlin was a most admirable leader.
"I will find the launch in a hurry," said he, "and I will enjoy making a speech to General Quesada. Trust me to do my share. Shall I come back to this house?"
"Yes. I will not deprive Captain Brincker of my society. And you may tell General Quesada that I intend to camp on his trail till I get his scalp, too."
Alfaro vanished at top speed and Devlin prodded his captive back to thepatio. Under the circumstances, the soldier of fortune was not the most entertaining company. They satfacing each other in the wicker chairs while the hours dragged their slow length along. The house was otherwise deserted. The servants had been dismissed earlier in the day. The thick stone walls shut out the street sounds, but the open windows overlooking the bay admitted the murmuring noise of the waves on the beach.
At length Devlin heard the staccato explosions of a launch's engine, diminishing in the distance. He hoped that Alfaro was on his way. The tense excitement of the situation had slackened. Devlin was feeling the nervous strain, and with a yawn he suggested:
"What about making some black coffee, Captain Brincker? You and I are in for a late session to-night. Shall I convoy you into the kitchen? I will poke the gun at you no more than I can help."
The prisoner complied rather grumpily. His sense of humor was in eclipse. For a compulsory cook, he brewed a most excellent pot of coffee which Devlin complimented in friendly terms. As an experienced judge of men and their motives, he observed, after reflection:
"I do not think so harshly of you as I did. War is a cruel game, and you are too old a dog to learn new tricks, I suppose. You ought to have been caught young and tamed. I believe you had a notion of befriending the Goodwin lad."
"Thank you, Devlin. It has been a good many years since any man said as decent a thing as that about me." The fallen soldier of fortune looked his gratitude, and his face was more eloquent than his words.
A long silence fell between them. Each man was busy with his own thoughts. It was broken by Devlin.
"Quesada will not dare to knock Goodwin on the head and throw him into the bay, will he? He thinks he has kidnapped the lad without anybody's knowledge. And he has reason enough for getting rid of him."
"No. You need have no fear of that. He may plan nothing worse than to maroon him in the jungle of San Salvador."
"It would be as bad as death for the boy, and his right arm is useless."
Through the seaward windows they heard thedistant throb of a steamer's engines, fluttering, irregular. The sound carried far across the quiet water. The two men gazed at each other.
"She makes a clatter like a mowing-machine. You could hear her for miles," said Devlin. He leaped to his feet and menaced his prisoner with the revolver. "'Tis an old, worn-out boat that makes a noise like that."
"It is theJuan Lopez," exclaimed Captain Brincker, and he did not flinch. "I know those engines of hers. She is outward bound. She has sailed without me."
"Who cares about you?" roared Devlin. "Alfaro failed to turn the trick. Quesada has carried young Goodwin to sea, and precious little show the lad will have for his life."
When Jack Devlin learned that theJuan Lopezhad gone to sea, he forgot his threat of putting the soldier of fortune in a Canal Zone jail. His one concern was to rescue Walter Goodwin. The steam-shovel man had that rugged, indomitable temperament which refuses to quit as long as there is a fighting chance. Fiercely turning upon the disconsolate Captain Brincker, he shouted:
"I have no time to bother with you. You could have saved the lad, and you stood by and let Quesada carry him away. Many a man has stretched hemp for a deed less cruel. I will wait here for Alfaro. Get out of my sight. The house is not big enough for the two of us."
Without a word Captain Brincker, sorry, ashamed, and perhaps repentant, went into the street. Devlin paced the hallway like a cagedlion, hoping against hope that Alfaro might be bringing Walter Goodwin ashore in the launch. It was after midnight when the Colombian came running into the house with only breath enough to gasp:
"The launch was a big one—General Quesada was frightened when he saw it—he thought it was from the American government, sent to catch him. They would not listen to me. TheJuan Lopezslipped her cable and ran to sea as hard as she could."
Grasping him by the shoulders, Devlin hoarsely demanded:
"Could you tell if Goodwin was on board?"
"I called to him in English. I told him his friends would find him. I thought I heard him try to holler something, but there was much noise, the engines, and the men giving orders. They yelled to me to keep away or they would shoot."
"I guess we had better get busy and plan our campaign," said Devlin.
"What will you do? Wake up the American minister in Panama? It is now a diplomatic matter. It is an international outrage. It isa Panama steamer that has stolen Goodwin, and General Quesada belongs to the republic."
"Oh, shucks!" drawled the steam-shovel man. "Do you know what that means? Cabling to Washington and enough red tape in the State Department to choke a cow. And delay to drive you crazy. And what becomes of Goodwin in the meantime?"
Rather chagrined to hear diplomacy dismissed so scornfully, Alfaro timidly ventured:
"The civil administration of the Canal Zone?"
Devlin hauled the young man into the street and hustled him in the direction of Ancon, as he confidently declared:
"Your theories are too complicated, my son. Diplomacy has killed your speed. There is only one boss on the Isthmus, one man who can do things right on the jump without consulting anybody in the world. I'm going to put this up to the colonel."
"To Colonel Gunther?" Alfaro was dum-founded. "Will he let you talk to him? Will he bother himself with this affair of ours?"
"You bet he will. And let me tell you, asteam-shovel man with the high record for excavating in the Cut can go straight to the colonel on business a whole lot less important than this."
"Can we see him to-night?"
"No. There is no train to Culebra. But, lucky for us, to-morrow is Sunday, and he holds open court in his office, early in the morning. It is then that any man on the job with a kick, growl, or grievance can talk it over with the colonel. I will go to your hotel with you, Alfaro, and we will hop aboard the first train out. It will be only a few hours lost and that condemned old junk-heap of aJuan Lopezwill not be many miles on her way to San Salvador."
Greatly comforted, the Colombian exclaimed with much feeling: "Next to the colonel, I think you are the biggest man on the Isthmus, Señor Devlin."
"I can handle a steam-shovel with any of them, and I aim to stand by my friends," was the self-satisfied reply.
Before eight o'clock next morning they were waiting in a large, plainly furnished room of a barn-like office building perched on thehill-side of Culebra. The walls were covered with maps and blue prints. At a desk heaped with papers sat the soldierly, white-haired ruler of forty thousand men, the supreme director of a four-hundred-million-dollar undertaking. His cheek was ruddy, his smile boyish, and he appeared to be at peace with all the world.
He had come to listen to complaints, no matter how trivial, to pass judgment, to give advice, like a modern Caliph of Bagdad. It was a cog in the machinery of his wonderful organization. Dissatisfaction had been checked as soon as the colonel set apart the one forenoon of the week in which his men were not at work in order that they might "talk it over with him." As Jack Devlin entered the office he was humming under his breath the refrain of a popular song composed by an Isthmian bard:
"Don't hesitate to state your case,The boss will hear you through,It's true he's sometimes busyAnd has other things to do;But come on Sunday morningAnd line up with the rest,You'll maybe feel some betterWith that grievance off your chest."
"Don't hesitate to state your case,The boss will hear you through,It's true he's sometimes busyAnd has other things to do;But come on Sunday morningAnd line up with the rest,You'll maybe feel some betterWith that grievance off your chest."
"Don't hesitate to state your case,The boss will hear you through,It's true he's sometimes busyAnd has other things to do;But come on Sunday morningAnd line up with the rest,You'll maybe feel some betterWith that grievance off your chest."
"Don't hesitate to state your case,
The boss will hear you through,
It's true he's sometimes busy
And has other things to do;
But come on Sunday morning
And line up with the rest,
You'll maybe feel some better
With that grievance off your chest."
The colonel was listening gravely to a difference of opinion between a black Jamaican laborer and his buxom wife, touching the ownership of seventeen dollars which she had earned by washing and ironing. The wise judge ruled that the money belonged to her and ordered the husband to return it. He muttered:
"I'se a British subjeck, sah, an' mah property rights is protected by de British laws, sah."
"All right," and the colonel's blue eyes snapped. "If you like, I'll deport you. You can get all the English law you want in Jamaica."
A perplexed young man informed the colonel that he was the secretary of the Halcyon Social and Literary Club of Gorgona, which desired to give a dance in the ballroom of the Tivoli Hotel. The request had been denied because of a clash of dates with another organization. Would the colonel help straighten it out? Certainly he would, and he sent the young man away satisfied, after investigating the difficulty with as scrupulous attention as if the fate of the Gatun dam had been involved.
A brawny blacksmith's helper had beendischarged by his foreman. He thought himself unfairly treated. The colonel pressed a button, and inside three minutes the man's record, neatly documented, was on the desk.
"You deserved what you got," crisply declared the colonel. "You were drunk and insolent, and I am surprised that the foreman did not tap you over the head with a crow-bar."
Jack Devlin restlessly awaited his turn, while Alfaro looked on with comical wonderment that so great a man should busy himself with matters so trifling. At length the colonel swung his chair around and affably observed:
"Hello, Devlin. Have you dug Twenty-six out of the slide? And when will she make another high record?"
"She is some bunged up, colonel, but still in the ring. The old girl will be going strong in another week."
"What can I do for you?"
"It's not myself that has any kick, colonel. I want your help for a friend of mine. He's not on the job, but I hope it will make no difference with you. He worked for Mr. Naughton on the dynamite ship, and then MajorGlendinning half-way promised him a place on the gold roll because he can pitch ball like a streak of greased lightning."
Devlin halted and grinned at his own frankness. The colonel smiled back at him.
"Base-ball is irrelevant, Devlin, but I am sure Major Glendinning would make your young man earn his salary. So he wanted him to pitch for Cristobal? But you are the catcher of the Culebra nine. You show an unselfish interest, I'm sure."
"I'm a fierce rooter on the ball field, colonel, but I can't let it come between friends. This young chap, Walter Goodwin, got General Quesada down on him. He whaled the fat scoundrel with a broomstick on board theSaragossa. Quesada was trying to perforate Señor Alfaro here with a gun."
The colonel appeared keenly interested and interrupted to say: "Why, I was on the ship and I remember the youngster quite well. He was a seaman. The skipper told me about the row. I liked Goodwin's pluck. Between us, Devlin, the Panamanian gentleman had provoked a drubbing."
"Yes, sir. Goodwin was working his passage to the Isthmus to look for a job and——"
"Why didn't he let me know it on shipboard?" queried the colonel. "I was interested in him."
"He didn't have the nerve. You looked too big to him. To cut it short, he was tipped over by the same landslide that left me and poor old Twenty-six all spraddled out. He came out of Ancon hospital yesterday with no job and his arm tied up. And he wandered down to Balboa and caught General Quesada's steamer, theJuan Lopez, stealing commissary stores from the wharf to outfit a filibustering expedition. Quesada got hold of him and lugged him off to sea last night. It's surely a bad fix for Goodwin."
The colonel no longer smiled. His resolute mouth tightened beneath the short, white mustache. The blue eyes flashed. He listened to Alfaro's detailed confirmation of the story. With winning courtesy the colonel said to him:
"Your father, the Colombian minister of foreign affairs, has no love for the United States, I am told. Will you tell him, with mycompliments, that I greatly admire the behavior of his son?"
Turning to Devlin he added, crisply, decisively:
"I have no reason to doubt your story. You have a fine record. I shall act first and investigate later. Goodwin was kidnapped from the Zone, from American soil, as I understand it. He was living with one of the surgeons at Ancon?"
"Yes, colonel. You can find out by telephone easy enough."
"How many men were there on theJuan Lopez? And how fast is she?"
Alfaro answered:
"There were fifty or sixty men on board when I saw her at Balboa yesterday. Perhaps more were taken on in the bay last night. I know something about filibustering expeditions. She would carry not less than a hundred men. And of course there are plenty of guns in her. Her speed is slow. She will go eight or nine knots, I think."
"Will General Quesada fight?" The colonel asked the question with distinctly cheerfulintonation, as if for the moment he was more soldier than engineer.
"He may fight for his neck," said Devlin, "and if he has a chance to get away. He knows that he is caught with the goods. But without Captain Brincker, he is a lame duck."
"And you are sure that young Goodwin is in serious danger?"
"Why not?" and Devlin pounded the desk with his hard fist. "Quesada has motives enough for losing him somewhere."
"I agree with you. And, besides, I should like to recover those commissary stores."
The colonel gazed at the opposite wall, composed and thoughtful. Devlin eyed him wistfully, afraid that he might consider the case as beyond his jurisdiction. Then with a quick glow of heat, the anger of a strong man righteously provoked, the colonel said sharply:
"It is a rotten, abominable performance, clear through. We are wasting time."
Summoning a clerk, he told him:
"Get Captain Brett, the superintendent at Balboa, on the telephone. Tell him that I wish the biggest, fastest tug of the fleet, theDauntless,if possible, to be coaled and ready for sea in two hours. Please ask him to call me up and report."
The colonel hesitated as if a question of authority perplexed him, but when the clerk returned he was ready with another command.
"I want to talk with Major Frazier of the marine battalion at Camp Elliot personally. Please connect his house with my desk."
Devlin nudged Alfaro. The face of the steam-shovel man lighted with the joy of battle. The colonel was a man with his two feet under him. They heard him say to the commander of the force of United States marines:
"It is an emergency detail, Major. I will forward the formal request and explanation to you in writing, but the documents can wait. An officer and a half company of men will be enough. Yes, equipped for active service. Thank you, very much. I will have a special train at your station in an hour from now, ready to take them to Balboa. It is a bit of sea duty. Your men will enjoy it."
Other orders issued rapidly from the colonel'sdesk. The Panama Railroad was notified to despatch a special train and give it a clear track through to the Pacific. The Department of Justice of the Canal Zone was requested to prepare the papers in due form for the arrest of General Quesada, and the seizure of his vessel. The splendidly organized system of administration moved as swiftly and smoothly in behalf of that humble, forlorn young wanderer, Walter Goodwin, as if he had been a person of the greatest consequence. As a final detail, the colonel made out passes permitting Devlin to go in the special train and on board of the government tug.
"You will want to see the fun, I suppose," said he, and his blue eyes twinkled again. "I should enjoy it myself."
"Indeed you would, sir," frankly replied Devlin.
"I think the capture of theJuan Lopezis in capable hands, with you and the marines as the fighting force. Report to me as soon as you come back. And bring Goodwin with you. I want to congratulate him on the kind of friends he has made on the Isthmus."
Report to me as soon as you come back
"Report to me as soon as you come back. And bring Goodwin with you."
They stepped aside and made way for a committee from the machinists' union with a grievance concerning pay for over-time. The colonel settled back in his chair to give the problem his judicial attention. As Devlin left the office he said to Alfaro:
"What did I tell you, my son? When you want quick action there is no boss like a benevolent despot. That man will finish the Panama Canal two years ahead of time because the people at home have sense enough to let him alone."
"If he had ambitions like General Quesada he would rule all of South America," was the tribute of Fernandez Garcia Alfaro.
A little after ten o'clock of this same morning the sea-going tugDauntless, of the dredging flotilla, swung away from the coaling wharf at Balboa. Beneath her awnings lounged thirty marines in khaki who welcomed Jack Devlin as a friendly foe. Several of them had played on the Camp Elliot nine of the Isthmian League, and the stalwart Culebra catcher had more than once routed them by hammering out a home-run or a three-bagger at a critical moment.
"It's comical that we should be chasing aftera pitcher that will try to trim both of us, Jack," said a clean-built sergeant.
"Maybe he will ease up and let us hit the ball occasionally," replied Devlin. "He is a good-hearted lad and he will be grateful for a small favor like this."
TheDauntlesswas faster than theJuan Lopezby two or three knots an hour. General Quesada had about ten hours' start in his flight up the coast. The pursuers could not hope to overtake him until the morning of the second day at sea. The excitement of the chase kept all hands alert and in high spirits. From the captain of marines in command of the detachment to the stokers in the torrid fire-room ran the fervent hope that General Quesada, outlawed and desperate, would make a fight of it. The marines regretted that cutlasses had not been included in their equipment. The proper climax of such an adventure was an old-fashioned boarding-party.
The long, hot day and the sweet, star-lit night passed by and the powerful tug steadily tore through the uneasy swells of the Pacific, holding her course within sight of the CentralAmerican coast lest the quarry might double and slip into bay or river.
The whole ship's company crowded forward when the master of theDauntlessshouted from the wheel-house that he could make out a smudge of smoke to the northward.
Slowly the tell-tale smoke increased until it became a dense black streamer wind-blown along the blue horizon. Whatever the steamer might be, she was lavishly burning coal as if in urgent haste.
The captain of marines sternly addressed his hilarious men, threatening all sorts of punishment if they so much as cocked a rifle before the order was given. Shading their eyes with their hands, they stood and watched the funnel of the distant steamer lift above the rolling waste of ocean. Slowly her hull climbed into view, and the skipper of the tug recognized that rusty, dissolute vagabond of the high seas, theJuan Lopez.
Shortly after this, the fleeing filibuster must have recognized theDauntlessas hailing from the Canal Zone. The funnel of theJuan Lopezbelched heavier clouds of smoke from her funnel and an extra revolution or two was coaxedfrom her decrepit engines. TheDauntlessgained on her more slowly. Now the cheerful marines dived below to handle shovels instead of rifles, and they mightily reinforced the sweating stokers.
"I can juggle coal pretty fast myself," said Jack Devlin, as he stripped off his shirt and followed the other volunteers.
This frenzied exertion was needless. An hour or two and theDauntlessmust certainly overtake the laboringJuan Lopez. Sympathy for Walter Goodwin, anxiety to know what had become of him, made them wild with impatience. He was an American, one of their own breed, and he was in trouble.
The vessels were perhaps three miles apart when theJuan Lopezveered from her course and swept at a long slant toward the green and hilly coast.
"There is no harbor hereabouts," shouted the skipper of theDauntless. "They are going to beach her and take to the woods."
The alarm on deck reached the ears of Jack Devlin, who popped out of the stoke-hole and viewed the manœuvre with blank dismay.
"I don't blame Quesada for beating it to thetall timber," he muttered disgustedly. "But what about Goodwin?"
TheDauntlessturned to follow, but her master was unfamiliar with the shoals and reefs lying close to the land. He reluctantly slackened speed to feel his way inshore. TheJuan Lopez, handled by one who knew where he was going, made straight for a small bight of the coast where the jungle crept, tall and dense, to the beach.
The marines opened fire when the converging courses of the two vessels brought them within extreme rifle-range of each other. TheJuan Lopezshowed no intention of heaving to. Her crew could be seen running to and fro, working furiously at the tackle of the boats, making ready to drop them overside. The volleys from theDauntlessseemed only to quicken their industry.
"Oh, for a Maxim or a Colt's automatic!" sighed the captain of marines. "I'd make that wicked old tub look like a porous plaster. Who ever dreamed the beggars would do anything but surrender?"
General Quesada had obviously concludedthat it was better to try to find another ship and more guns and rascals than to cool his heels in an American jail. The flight of theJuan Lopezceased abruptly and at full-tilt. She grounded close to the beach, and the shock was so great that her ancient funnel was jerked overside as if it had been plucked out by the roots.
Many of her crew tarried not for the boats, but jumped overboard, bobbed up like so many corks, and scrambled through the surf to scuttle headlong into the jungle.
The disappointed marines were within effective shooting distance, and they merrily peppered the vanishing rogues. TheDauntlessswung her boats out and a landing-party was swiftly organized. The boats of the fugitive filibusters were more or less screened from view by the intervening hull of theJuan Lopez. A sharp lookout was kept for the bulky figure of General Quesada himself. Somehow he escaped observation. Before the marines had set out for the shore, the last runaway from theJuan Lopezhad fled across the beach and buried himself in the jungle. The stranded ship had emptied herself as by magic. It was concludedthat General Quesada had been among the crowd which filled the boats and floundered pell-mell through the surf.
"The boss pirate got away from us," disgustedly exclaimed Jack Devlin.
"There is no use chasing them through the jungle," said the captain of marines. "They will scatter like a bunch of fire-crackers, and we should be tangled up and lost in no time."
"I did not see Goodwin anywhere," replied Devlin, looking very anxious.
"The hull of theJuan Lopezwas between us and the boats, so that we couldn't see all of them go ashore. Goodwin may have been taken into the jungle. If he had been left behind on the ship, he would be making signals to us by now."
"He would if he were alive," dolefully muttered the steam-shovel man.
Locked in a room of General Quesada's house, Walter Goodwin felt acutely sorry that he had not minded his own business. He ought to have reported his suspicions to the American officials of the Canal Zone. In his rash eagerness to play a man's part he had undertaken a task too big for him. He was badly frightened, and yet he could not bring himself to realize that serious danger threatened him.
Waiting in the darkened room, he heard the boat's crew make a landing at the sea-wall near by. Instead of passing into the street, they turned and began to climb the stone staircase, in the rear of the house. Their talk had ceased. One of them laughed and another hushed him with a low command. There was something sinister in this approach. Walter surmised that their errand might concern him. Into his mind came the tales he had read of wild,cruel deeds done in this Bay of Panama in days gone by.
The men from the boat halted on the staircase, and presently Walter heard the rumbling undertones of General Quesada. A door was opened, and the swarthy sailors from theJuan Lopezfiled into the room. They closed around Walter as if intending to take him with them. He wanted to motion them away, to show them that he was an American, that he could take his medicine like a man, but, alas! the brave, boyish impulse came to naught. He could only stare stupidly at one and the other, as if beseeching them to reveal their purpose. The mate in charge of the party, a sprightly, shock-headed fellow with gold rings in his ears, liked the lad because he made no foolish outcry, and tried to cheer him with a friendly grin.
They escorted him to the sea-wall and thrust him into the boat. If he shouted for help, only the Panamanian sentries posted along the ancient fortification would hear him. It was no business of theirs if a sailor was being carried off to his ship. In the stern loomed the broad, shapeless figure of General Quesada. The oars made bright flashes in the phosphorescentwaters of the bay, and the boat moved out into the silent night.
Walter comprehended that he was being carried on board theJuan Lopez, because General Quesada was afraid to leave him behind as a witness of his misdeeds. It was a most alarming situation, but Walter was comforted by the hope that Captain Brincker would befriend him during the filibustering voyage. The soldier of fortune was the most masterful man of the rascally company and was likely to hold the upper hand.
At length the low hull of the laden steamer was discernible in the star-lit darkness. A gangway had been lowered, and after General Quesada had clumsily clambered to the deck, Walter followed with the help of the good-natured mate. He was promptly shoved into a small deck-house and left to wonder miserably what would happen next. There was much commotion in the steamer. From the loud talk, Walter gathered that she was ready to sail as soon as Captain Brincker should come on board. The forlorn lad anxiously listened for the strong voice of the soldier of fortune.
A sailor entered the deck-house on some hastyerrand and left the door unfastened. Walter ventured outside and was unnoticed in the confusion. Leaning over the rail, he gazed at the lights of Ancon and thought of his stanch friends Jack Devlin and Alfaro. They would not know what had become of him. They were powerless to aid him.
A gasolene launch was coming toward the steamer from the direction of Panama. The filibustering crew was more noisily excited than ever. Captain Brincker was expected to come off from shore in a row-boat. This sputtering launch was instantly suspected. TheJuan Lopezwas a steamer with an uneasy conscience, quick to take alarm. Her hull began to vibrate to the clangorous beat of her engines as she prepared to take flight.
The launch swung in a wide arc to pass close alongside. General Quesada was hailed in Spanish and told to wait for an important interview. He was not inclined to parley. All he could think of was that the American authorities wished to overhaul and search the steamer, and he frantically ordered her to make for the open sea at top speed.
The voice from the launch had sounded familiar to Walter Goodwin. Hope leaped in his heart. His friends were trying to rescue him. Before he could call out, Fernandez Garcia Alfaro was shouting to him in English:
"Ho, there, Goodwin! We are wide awake. Keep your courage. We will not give you up!"
Walter tried to yell a glad response, but a hand was clapped over his mouth, and he was roughly dragged back into the deck-house. For the moment disappointment overwhelmed him, but he found consolation in the fact that his friends had traced and followed him. Otherwise he would have felt quite hopeless, for theJuan Lopezhad sailed without Captain Brincker and there was no one to stand between him and the ruffianly vengeance of General Quesada.
The general was too busy during the night to pay heed to his prisoner. He sorely needed the seasoned soldier of fortune to handle the lawless crew. The encounter with the launch had made him fear pursuit, and his martial spirit was considerably harassed. He blamed Walter Goodwin as the source of his woes, and yearned to knock the meddlesome young passenger on thehead and toss him overboard. This was not feasible, however, because although the ship's company was ripe for revolution, rebellion, or piracy on the high seas, they would draw the line at cold-blooded murder. It seemed an easier solution of the problem to take Goodwin ashore with the expedition and conveniently lose him in the jungle of San Salvador.
"He looks at me like the cat that swallowed the canary," sighed Walter next morning. "Oh, if my right arm was only well and sound, I might fight my way out of this fix somehow. But I just can't believe that things won't come my way."
There were several English-speaking adventurers on board, recruited from the ranks of the "tropical tramps" of Colon and Panama, and General Quesada was unwilling to have Walter make their acquaintance. His story might enlist their sympathy. He was therefore removed from the deck-house and put in a small state-room below. A sentry was posted outside the door, and a boy from the galley brought the rough rations served out to the crew.
It was a tedious imprisonment, with nothingto do but lie in the bunk, or walk to and fro three steps each way, or gaze through the round port-hole at the shining, monotonous expanse of ocean. Now and then the deck above his head resounded to the measured tramp of many feet and the cadenced rattle of breech-blocks and bayonets. Rifles had been broken out of the cargo, and the landing party was being drilled.
The boldly romantic character of the voyage made Walter's blood tingle. To be afloat with these modern buccaneers who were bound out to raid the Spanish Main was like a dream come true. But he had no part in it. He was something to be got rid of. Youth is not easily dismayed, however, and the whole experience was too fantastic, too incredible, for Walter to regard his plight as gravely as the facts warranted.
On the second day at sea, he was staring through the open port, sadly thinking about the fond household in Wolverton. There was a sudden shouting on deck. The engines of theJuan Lopezclanked and groaned as if they were being driven beyond the limit of safety, and every beam and plate and rivet of the rusty hullprotested loudly. Some one ran through the cabin shouting:
"They are after us, all right. This blighted old hooker can't get away."
Walter cheered and jubilantly pounded the door with his undamaged fist. A faster steamer was chasing theJuan Lopez. It must have been sent out from the Canal Zone. Poking his head through the port, he squirmed as far as his shoulders would let him. Far astern he caught a glimpse of a black, sea-going tug of large tonnage, whose tall prow was flinging aside the foam in snowy clouds.
Soon theJuan Lopezsharply altered her course and began to edge in toward the coast. From this new angle Walter was able to watch the tug draw nearer and nearer until he could make out the khaki uniforms of the marines massed forward.
"Here is where General Quesada gets what is coming to him," he cried exultantly.
He wiped his eyes and blubbered for joy. He was proud of his country. There was no taking liberties with Uncle Sam on the high seas! A little later he became alarmed at discoveringthat theJuan Lopezwas heading straight for the beach. He comprehended the purpose of General Quesada. The steamer was to be rammed ashore and the crew would escape into the jungle. They might take Walter with them, beyond all reach of rescue.
Now the bullets from the tug began to rattle against the fleeing steamer or to buzz overhead. Walter dodged away from the port-hole and tried to kick the state-room door from its hinges. He could hear the crew working in wild haste to cast loose and lower the boats. From the hold came a tremendous roar of steam. TheJuan Lopezwas in danger of blowing up before she stranded.
Then there came a rending shock as she struck the beach. Walter was thrown from his feet and dazed, but he managed to scramble to the port-hole, where he could see the crew diving overboard and fleeing through the surf. Others were tumbling pell-mell into the boats. In any other circumstances the flight of these bold revolutionists would have been vastly amusing.
Walter began to hope that he had been forgotten in the panic. As soon as the ship wasdeserted he would smash the flimsy door and gain the deck, where he could signal the other vessel and let his friends know that he was alive and well.
Before he could break his way out, the door was hastily unlocked, and there stood General Quesada, perspiring freely and greatly excited. He had delayed to get his precious prisoner who knew too much. Carelessly assuming that in his disabled condition Walter could make no resistance, he proposed to take him from the ship single-handed. In expecting meek obedience he was guilty of a serious error of judgment. With rescue so near, the robust youth was in no mood to obey the beckoning gesture.
He objected to being led into the jungle, and his objection was sudden and violent. His wits were working as nimbly as if he were pitching a championship game of base-ball. This was his first chance to meet the enemy on anything like even terms. And he had a large-sized score to settle with General Quesada. Walter would have preferred a hickory broom-handle and plenty of room to swing it, but withoutweapons of any kind and only one good arm he must choose new tactics.
General Quesada stood in the doorway and growled impatiently at him. Stepping back to gain momentum, Walter lowered his head and lunged forward like a human battering-ram. He smote the corpulent general in the region of his belt. The impact was terrific. The amazed warrior doubled up and sat down with a thump and a grunt, clasping his fat hands to his stomach. His appearance was that of a man who had collided with a pile-driver.
Walter climbed over his mountainous bulk and the general was too breathless to utter his emotions. His face expressed the most painful bewilderment. He had ceased to take interest in his very urgent affairs. Walter had no time to pity him. He had resolved to assist the stern course of justice to the best of his ability.
Using his left arm and shoulder, he sturdily shoved at the collapsed general until he had moved him inside the state-room. It was like trying to shift a bale of cotton. The door opened outward into the main cabin, so that Walter was able to close and lock it. Then hepushed and dragged a table, a bench, and several chairs to build a barricade against the door as an extra precaution. This accomplished, the weary and panting youth said to himself:
"I think that will hold him for a while. It was about time the worm turned. Now I'm willing to call it quits. And his crew isn't going to bother to look for him."
This was a sound conclusion. It was a case of every man for himself. They were entirely too busy trying to outrun the bullets of the marines to concern themselves about the fate of General Quesada. He could not even yell to them to wait for him, because the collision with Walter's hard head made it necessary for him to remain seated on the floor, still pensively clasping his belt and wondering what had happened to him.
Walter was for taking no chances with his prize. Perching himself upon the barricade, he waited for the boarding-party from the tug to find him. The ship became silent except for the shriek of the steam from the safety-valves. Walter was left in sole command to enjoy the situation. Presently General Quesada showedsymptoms of reviving. He lifted his voice in a quavering appeal to his comrades in arms, but they had disappeared beyond the green curtain of the jungle. Walter listened to the plaintive wail and gloated. He was not vindictive by nature, but there was such a thing as righteous retribution. When General Quesada became more vigorous and began to kick the door, Walter addressed him soothingly and advised him to be calm.
When the party of marines reached the steamer, Jack Devlin was one of the first to scramble on deck. The voice of this faithful friend came down the companion-way to Walter.
"He is not in the ship, you can take my word for it. He would have surely shown himself by now."
"Oh, don't look so sad-eyed and hopeless until we make a search," replied the captain of marines. "I can't believe that he was put out of the way during the voyage. And we didn't see him taken ashore."
Walter kept silent. This was the most delightful moment of his life. Presently Devlin came downstairs into the cabin. The placewas gloomy after the dazzling sunshine above, and he halted to get his bearings. Then moving forward, he almost stumbled into the barricade of furniture. Walter leaned over, grasped him by the shoulder, and exclaimed:
"I'm glad to see you aboard. Did you have a pleasant trip?"
The steam-shovel man jumped back, and emitted a yell which could have been no louder if he had been clutched by a ghost.
"Are you honestly alive?" he gasped. "You blessed young rascal, you! You scared me out of a year's growth."
"Of course I am alive, and doing very nicely, thank you. How in the world did you happen to get on my trail? And what about the tug and the rest of the outfit?"
Walter tried to make his voice sound as if this were a commonplace meeting, but his eyes twinkled with mischief as he thought of the second surprise in store for the steam-shovel man.
"I'll tell you all about it when you are safe aboard theDauntlessyonder," said Devlin. "And what are you doing roosting on that heapof furniture like a crazy hen? Oh my, but I'm sorry General Quesada got away from you. We surely did pine to lug him back to Panama with us."
The hapless general in the state-room had become silent, for he was reluctant to draw the attention of the American party. Walter chuckled as he replied:
"I have a present for you. It is a big one. If you really want General Quesada, you can have him with my compliments."
"You're joking, boy. He is boring a large hole in the jungle by this time."
"He wishes he was. Open this door behind me and see what you find."
Devlin tossed the furniture aside and entered the state-room. General Quesada was sitting on the edge of the bunk and appeared very low-spirited. Just then the captain of the marines came below with a dozen privates at his heels. The steam-shovel man loudly summoned them, adding with tremendous gusto:
"Didn't I tell you that Goodwin was the finest lad that ever happened? All he needed was a chance to get into action."
They cheered for Goodwin, and cordially invited General Quesada to surrender and end the war.
"Youwouldsteal Uncle Sam's groceries and go skylarking off to start trouble in the cute little republic of San Salvador, would you?" playfully remarked a sergeant of marines. "I never had a chance to talk plain to a real live general. Step lively, now. No impudence."
The general was permitted to get his personal baggage, after which the marines escorted him to theDauntless, where his fallen fortunes met with little sympathy. He was a sullen, despondent figure and not a trace of his pompous bearing was left.
The sea was so smooth and the weather indications so favorable that it was decided to salvage the cargo of theJuan Lopez. Her arms and munitions and supplies were valuable and would be confiscated by the American government after due process of the law. The transfer had to be made in small boats, and was a task requiring two or three days. TheJuan Lopezwas hopelessly stranded. She would soon go to pieces, a melancholy memorial of a Spanish-Americanrevolution that was nipped in the bud.