CHAPTER XVI.

THE INVASION OF SAN JUAN.

Upon a stormy night, when the moon was utterly concealed by dark ragged masses of clouds that rolled up from the south in serried columns like an army advancing to battle, Roderic viewed the prospect from the deck of the Dreadnaught with the philosophical coolness that seemed a part of his nature; and yet he knew what one of these summer storms in the tropics meant as well as any man.

It came in an unfortunate time, just when they prayed for fair weather, since it was Roderic's design to be put ashore on the coast of Porto Rico not many miles from San Juan, before the little steam yacht entered the fortified harbor.

The situation had been carefully studied by Owen, and his plans altered to conform to the new arrangement of affairs.

There was a pretty good chance that the Sterling Castle would put into San Juan ere attempting to run the Havana blockade.

In fact this was almost a certainty, since she carried as passengers those who were desirous of landing on Porto Rico soil.

This being the case it was reasonable to suppose that Jerome and his Spanish allies would take advantage of the first opportunity to warn the officials at the capital regarding the presence of a Yankee secret agent on board Cleo's yacht; and that the entry of the Dreadnaught into the fortified harbor where Admiral Sampson's guns had played havoc earlier in the game would open a system of annoying espionage, even if it did not result in a bold search for the spy.

There was one way to avoid this.

He must go ashore secretly and enter San Juan by the backdoor.

His acquaintance with the city and its surroundings would serve him in good stead, as must also his knowledge of the Spanish character and language.

Roderic had his bold plans all arranged and was therefore a little annoyed when fickle Nature threatened to interfere with their smooth sailing. If the tropical storm had only held off another hour all would have been serene.

They had had glimpses of Porto Rico's fair shores during the last few hours, and Roderic might have landed in comfort.

Two things restrained him--the lack of suitable transportation facilities to the capital, and the presence of Spanish soldiers scattered along the shore, and revealed through the glasses.

Night was absolutely necessary for the successful carrying out of his plans, and even then there had been danger from discovery on account of the moon.

The storm obviated this, while it bred new perils of its own.

Roderic decided to risk it.

Delay meant more danger for Cleo, since every hour spent upon that coast in a gale of wind, during the hurricane season of the year was tempting Providence.

Once he was off their hands he could run away from the coast or else make for the shelter of San Juan harbor, which would surely not be refused any friendly craft on such a wretched night.

So Roderic made all his preparations and transformed himself into a dark visaged Spaniard.

Cleo looked him over carefully, and tried her best to appear satisfied, though there was a haunting gleam of dread in her blue eyes, and her lips trembled, despite all attempts to show a resolute front.

She knew what risks he was taking for his country.

The same bold spirit that influenced Hobson and Blue and Wainwright in their desperate ventures grew rampant in Roderic Owen's breast--a strong desire to strike a blow for his beloved flag, to cripple the power of the proud Spaniard and hasten the day of his final departure from the Western Hemisphere.

Captain Beven had anchored his craft and now came to announce the boat in readiness that was to take him ashore.

Roderic took his cousin's hand in both his own.

"Your pure heart will pray for me I know. It is a greater satisfaction to me than words can tell. Remember what I promised of San Juan. We will, God willing, soon meet again. As your cousin, your brother, dear Cleo, allow me a brother's loving privilege."

He kissed her farewell.

Nor as he turned hastily to follow Beven to the waiting boat, did he see the glowing flush that instantly suffused her face, to as rapidly vanish, leaving her deathly pale and trembling like an aspen leaf.

The ride ashore was exhilarating to say the least.

Great waves rolled on the beach, and none but practical, experienced seamen could have managed so light a yawl without disaster.

But Roderic had no fear--he knew what these trained muscles could do.

Several times they seemed threatened with dire disaster, but on each occasion the second officer's judgment in manipulating the boat averted destruction.

Thus the cockle shell craft entered the white crested breakers, where they surged upon the shore with a roar like unto that of thunder.

This was the most interesting moment of all, as riding one of the rollers they rushed in like a race horse on the home stretch.

Then Roderic saw the palm trees against the sky line almost overhead, and he knew they were almost ashore.

A grating sound under their keel announced the receding of the billow.

Instantly every sailor leaped overboard, up to his knees in salt water, and the boat thus lightened was run ashore.

And in this manner Roderic Owen once again found himself on Spanish soil--two years had passed since in anger he had kicked the dust of Porto Rico from his shoes, and registered a solemn vow never to tread its shores again while his good sense remained.

This occurred to him now as a very grim joke, for here he was once more landed on that same fated soil; and what was even more singular as fully bent as ever upon his chase after beauty.

Time alters many cases, resolutions fade with age, and circumstances govern our actions to a remarkable degree.

Of course it was absolutely necessary that the second officer and his men should return to the yacht without delay.

Roderic squeezed the bold fellows by the hand and watched them launch their boat through the surf.

Twice they were driven back.

It was a ticklish job.

Such men could not be daunted by difficulties, even when out of the common, so they made a still more resolute attempt.

The third trial was a grand success--sturdy British muscle had conquered over the forces of Nature, and Roderic knew they were off.

He waited and watched until he saw a light flash up three times far out on the stormy waters, which was the signal agreed upon to announce the safe return of the yawl.

Then with a sigh he turned away.

His business was now to enter San Juan.

It must prove one that would necessitate great caution and considerable endurance on his part, for since the bombardment of the ports by the American fleet as a bluff intended to disclose the presence of Cervera's squadron in West India waters the Spanish authorities had taken extraordinary precautions to guard every avenue of approach to the capital.

Roderic did not doubt his ability to enter without discovery--he had not frequented the cafes, the Spanish Club, and taken many horseback rides through the suburbs of San Juan in company with Georgia without gaining a thorough knowledge of the ground that promised to be of great advantage to him now.

Putting his best foot forward he soon struck a military road over which he had spun many times behind a good horse.

He could in an hour's time catch glimpses of the many lights that marked the city.

The sight caused him considerable satisfaction, for he knew destiny had in store for him events of considerable importance connected with San Juan.

And doubtless _she_ was there--that simple fact had in it the elements calculated to thrill his very heart to its core.

About this time there arose features connected with the case that temporarily drove these sweet reflections out of his head.

They were of a most disagreeable nature.

It began to rain.

This might signify a drizzle in a more northern clime, but such a thing is almost unknown in Porto Rico.

When the clouds open there it means a deluge.

The boys in blue who were in the trenches at Santiago could tell some pretty tall stories of tropical downpours, and how in the rainy season a cloud appearing no larger than one's hat can spread over all the sky and fairly soak the earth.

Roderic had anticipated this--indeed, his preparations had been made with just such a ducking in prospect.

He took his medicine in a philosophical spirit such as only a traveler in many strange lands learns to cultivate.

Every step brought him nearer the city, and once he was soaked through it was impossible to become any wetter, so why complain?

Besides, this deluge might serve to his advantage, since in all probability the guards stationed along the military road would naturally seek refuge in their shelter huts, and leave the way clear.

This was what actually occurred.

Spanish system lacks many sterling elements that make the German and British armies so thorough in their duties.

Roderic after a miserable tramp through mud and water finally brought up at the city gates an hour before midnight.

There he met with an apparent obstacle, since in Moorish fashion no one was allowed to find ingress or egress during the period between sunset and sunrise.

This he had been aware of ere landing, and all his plans were shaped with an utter disregard for the edict of the governor-general.

Avoiding the gates discreetly he made his way along the dilapidated wall that marked what had once been the land defense of the city.

It was now in decay, like many other antiquated battlements connected with Spain's possessions throughout the world--relics of bygone days when muzzle loading guns marked the highest epoch in the art of war.

Of course this guarding of the gates was more or less of a big sham, since the people of San Juan could go and come in scores of other places.

And Roderic remembered this fact.

When by turning this way and that he finally surmounted the difficulty, and found himself among the houses near the barracks of the troops in the eastern end of the city, he felt as though he deserved congratulations on account of his good generalship.

Still this was but a beginning, one step in the long and difficult ladder he had laid out to climb. It could only be ascended a single round at a time, but he had really made a good start.

He found himself in a portion of San Juan which he had really never looked upon under similar conditions, the quarter where the poorer element herded, where houses were thronged with black and white, Spaniards, and reconcentradoes of Porto Rico who endeavored to remain neutral, negroes from Jamaica and Hayti and a mongrel population.

Seldom even in the rainy season does such a downpour come at night--they look for it in the afternoon, when it cools the sultry atmosphere and with the sea breeze renders the evening delightfully refreshing.

Just then the streets were swimming in water, and almost practically deserted--even the dolorous cry of the "dulce" vendors had ceased to echo along the narrow thoroughfares.

But the cafes and concert halls and shops appeared to be doing a land office business to judge from the crowds that had collected.

Roderic's one desire now was to reach a little den just off the breathing place for the poor, known as the Plaza Cristobal Colon in honor of Columbus.

Here he believed he would find the opportunity he craved for rest, and a chance to dry his reeking garments, under the humble roof of a devoted friend.

Two years had passed since last he had seen this party, and two years is a long time--much may occur during such a period--people change their residence mayhap their country, and sometimes even die.

Still he was ready to take the chances.

No one halted him as he pushed on, and yet these narrow, illy lighted streets could not be reckoned the safest places in the city for respectable people to walk after a certain hour.

One thing he noticed--San Juan was full of Spanish soldiers. He could see them prowling everywhere, and each crowd within the cafes and halls had its quota of these small sized swarthy faced, boyish looking exiles from sunny Spain.

"They evidently mean to give the Yankees a warm reception when the time comes," was what he concluded upon noting this important fact.

The point was well taken--it was one that would prove of considerable importance to General Miles, who had already landed on the southern coast with his army of Americans, and was beginning to advance upon Ponce and the neighboring towns.

After being compelled to retrace his steps several times, on account of getting off the track, confused by the narrow _calles_ that seemed to have no beginning and ended nowhere, Roderic at length broke out upon an open place where the rain beat upon stone flagging, and trees moaned dolefully in the fierce gusts of wind.

Despite its funereal aspect now he recognized this as the Plaza Cristobal Colon, and was able to take his bearings afresh.

"Thank Heaven, I am near the end of my night's pilgrimage," he muttered in Spanish, for he had determined to even do his thinking in that language while within the enemy's lines, so that the danger of discovery might be reduced to a minimum, for if Jerome, Roblado _et al._ were in San Juan he was well aware of the fact that hundreds of keen eyes belonging to the Guardia Civil would be on the lookout for one Roderic Owen, and that discovery would be a serious matter for him.

It was really time his wanderings ceased for this night at least--he had covered miles of ground, he had faced a raging storm that at times almost brought him to his knees, he was soaked through and through, and beginning to feel weak in his limbs.

But relief was close at hand.

The hardest part of his mission he believed had already been passed over.

At least, in all probability he would be able to conduct the remainder of his work with a dry skin--he might not see another deluge in the early night during his whole stay in San Juan.

He fervently hoped so, at least.

Crossing the public square he dodged into a certain dingy and crooked lane that took him to the most desolate and God forsaken locality within the city walls.

There are such places in Paris, London, New York--why not in San Juan?

All cities, whether of ancient Babylonian days or of the present enlightened age have had their plague spots as well as their palatial quarters, and so it must be while rich and poor go hand in hand, down to the end of time.

Only in San Juan the squalor seemed to be a little more pronounced than anything Roderic could imagine outside of Havana, where the wretched reconcentradoes were dying of hunger by thousands.

The war was partly to blame, he knew--that and the natural savage instinct which prevails so strongly among Spanish speaking people, and induces them to always go to extremes, whether in love or conflict.

Picking his way along in this delectable neighborhood Roderic finally gave utterance to an eager exclamation--his eyes had fallen upon the little whitewashed cabin for which he had been on the _qui vive_.

Another moment and his fist was beating a tattoo upon the door, a summons that was loud enough to arouse the dead--from within a movement was heard, and then the door opened cautiously a few inches. Roderic uttered some talismanic words in Spanish that brought a delighted exclamation from the hut's occupant--a brown hand reached out and when the door closed it shut out the awful clamor of the storm, for the Yankee had found a warm reception within the walls of old San Juan.