CHAPTER XXII.

TO THE OLD FORTRESS.

There was one remarkably good trait about Owen--he had a powerful will, and when he chose could concentrate all his abilities upon a certain subject, to the exclusion of everything else.

It pleased him to nurse his grievances for a time--what badly used biped would not be addicted to the same luxury.

Then, with a mighty upheaval he cast the whole load from him.

The public weal demanded his full attention and private woes must take a back seat.

For the present, therefore, he effaced cruel Georgia from his mind, and resolutely set his shoulder to the wheel.

Roderic was himself again, calm, shrewd and with a contempt for danger that might take him to the border land of reckless endeavor, though he usually knew how to check this in good time to make it a servant rather than a master.

The day had gone.

Alas! he had thought to mark it down with a white cross as one that would take him a long step nearer Elysium; but instead it was to be distinguished by a red mark.

Was there a fatality in his love for Georgia?

Were they doomed never to know happiness?

That was the last uneasy thought that came to him ere he shut the whole scene out of his mind, as a rain squall envelopes the landscape.

It was no ordinary affair which Roderic now took up; at least it promised to afford considerable danger, and would call for a display of energy on his part, of no mean calibre.

He went into it with a grim feeling such as he could not remember experiencing on any previous occasion.

Perhaps this was caused in part by the dead weight upon his mind, for it was singular that he should be placing his life in jeopardy in order to please a girl who had jilted him, cast him aside like a worn-out glove.

It added to the piquancy of the thing, but Roderic could not say he hoped for a repetition.

The governor's daughter had given him strange information about Leon.

This brother of Georgia seemed fated to see the inside of more than one Spanish prison. His experience in Morro Castle, from whence he escaped through the assistance of the girl who had fallen in love with him, one would think must have been quite enough in that line; but he had somehow or other again fallen into the hands of his foes.

Thus it happened that he had been in the San Juan prison, condemned to exile, on the morning of the memorable twelfth of May, when about daybreak Sampson's powerful fleet opened on the forts and were in turn barked at by the bold Spanish gunners, who showed their bravery if they did no damage.

It happened that the prison was probably the most exposed building in the city, lying as it did between the fleet and the pulverine, the gallery of it fronting on the harbor.

Without warning a shell exploded in the wall, and that side of the building became a wreck.

Bricks and _debris_ flew in every direction, and all who were in the apartment with Leon found themselves on their backs.

Such a chorus of frightened shouts went up--demoralization reigned supreme.

But Leon, who had not been seriously injured, was quick to see that once again the Providence that seemed to watch over his fortunes had interposed in a miraculous manner to save him--the Yankee shell in its inquisitive search for the most available Spanish property to destroy had torn out almost one side of the prison, and through the gaping aperture freedom beckoned.

So he had crawled out, covered with dust and bearing several wounds where the flying bricks had come in contact with his person.

Two days later he had been again seized, being betrayed by a negro in whom he and his lovely wife had unwisely placed confidence.

From that day on he had been kept in close confinement, and finally again brought to trial. This time conviction was followed with a still more severe penalty--he was doomed to be shot.

Roderic learned the whole story--it would not pay to take time to give the details--one who had sought the governor's daughter's hand and been coldly received had been elevated to a high military position in Porto Rico, and found himself in a way to visit his miserable displeasure upon the man who succeeded where he failed.

Perhaps he hoped to win the widow--Heaven only knows, for some knaves have assurance enough to offer a hand red with a husband's blood to the heart-broken beauty who mourns his loss.

At any rate this was the situation that demanded Roderic's attention.

It was serious enough to call for determined effort on his part.

True, he had never as yet met Leon, but somehow a deep interest in the young Porto Rican's fate had taken possession of him--when a man has supped many times with adventure, he experiences a sympathetic feeling for one who had also rubbed up against the hard side of life.

Besides, Leon was _her_ brother, and anything that was in the remotest degree connected with Georgia appealed to his chivalrous nature.

Last of all he had promised, aye, taken a solemn vow, that he would find Leon, and this being interpreted meant that should the young man be in a predicament of any sort it would be his business and his pleasure to succor him if such a thing lay in the bounds of human possibility.

Roderic had means of communication abroad.

A cablegram sent from Europe to a certain correspondent in New York would be immediately transmitted to another point in the West Indies, possibly San Domingo, where the message would be put in the form of a letter and sent to an imaginary Spaniard at San Juan.

Thus it happened that when he returned to the humble roof that sheltered him, when evening drew on apace, he found there a well thumbed missive which upon being hastily opened contained this sanguine message:

"Have broken the bank at Monte Carlo. Will sail to join you to-morrow."

Roderic laughed--he could not help it.

Darby had longed for a chance to try some peculiar combination he had hatched up upon the great gambling centre, and this opportunity had appeared a wonderful favor.

The chance was one in a million, yet it had actually come to pass.

"I've heard the song about the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo, but never dreamed I would in any way be instrumental in sending a representative there who would do that same thing. Good for Darby, lucky fellow. By the way, I wonder does that charming adventuress sail with him--if so the chances are ten to one the fortune he has won will not be in his possession long. Well, it must be some time before he can join me, unless he manages to board some Spanish steamer, taking the guise of a don; and such vessels are exceedingly scarce on the high seas now."

With that he lighted the paper and destroyed every trace of Spanish chirography.

Once again he turned his full attention toward the rescue of Leon.

Other elements were working toward that same end, yet of this fact Roderic was of course profoundly ignorant, and he labored on as though only through his endeavors could the man condemned to be shot find a chance for safety.

He had laid out his plans after the manner of a general who goes to war.

Every little detail had to be looked into, and arrangements made whereby a secondary battery could be brought to bear, should the first fail to prove effective.

It was perhaps unfortunate that he would have to work single handed, because he knew of no one in all San Juan whom he could thoroughly trust in this matter of life and death.

How he missed Darby--what a tower of strength the man would have been to him just now.

Roderic however, never sighed for the moon; when he could not have what he wanted he was philosophical enough to drop the subject and content himself with what he had.

The man with whom he had taken up his temporary abode in San Juan was a faithful fellow, but lacked the ability to serve him in this emergency when so much depended on the move of a hand or the exact carrying out of prearranged plans.

Roderic had indeed asked numerous questions, and the information received, added to what he already knew from personal experience, placed him in a position to "carry the war into Africa."

Leon was confined in an old fortress that presented a most picturesque appearance by moonlight, and would have made an excellent subject for amateur photographers, yet possessed few elements of modern strength.

Like St. John's church, it had received a few compliments from Sampson's fleet, which gaping apertures, together with accumulated _debris_, only served to add to the picturesque confusion.

Roderic had prowled about this neighborhood considerably during the day, careful not to attract attention, yet with the desire to learn the actual lay of the land, so that even under cover of darkness he would be able to move with at least a fair degree of certainty.

It presented a good view of the bay and harbor, the governor general's palace on the point and the few vessels in the harbor, chief of which was the Spanish torpedo boat destroyer Terror.

Roderic had cast longing looks toward the trim steam yacht anchored there, from the stern of which whipped the Union Jack of England--he would have given much for an opportunity to interest Cleo in his daring scheme, and in Captain Beven he knew he could have had an able coadjutor, for the sailor liked nothing better than adventure.

Still, Roderic had believed it was best not to seek an audience with his cousin--he did not wish to drag her into the risky game if he could help it.

Perhaps--who can tell--some peculiar sense of honor held him back--perhaps he reasoned that as this desperate move on his part, this contemplated rescue of Leon from a Spanish dungeon and death at sunrise, was but a link in the chain of his suit for the love of Georgia, it would be adding insult to injury did he endeavor to enlist Cleo's services in behalf of the venture.

One thing he had determined to do--it was really forced upon him as a _dernier ressort_, since there was no other means of getting Leon out of the country after his escape from prison had been effected, if he were so fortunate as to accomplish this.

He had a note written to Cleo in his pocket and this he meant that Leon and his wife should deliver in person aboard the yacht.

That Cleo would find means of hiding them on board until the Dreadnaught sailed for Jamaica he never once doubted.

With some anxiety he studied the heavens and the conditions of the weather, for what this August night brought in its train was a matter of considerable importance to him.

There would be a moon, very near the full, but clouds promised to shut it from view, at least the major portion of the time.

Roderic counted this as an especial favor in his direction.

He meant to take advantage of it.

All minor matters had been positively arranged, even to the boat in which they were to be carried to the English yacht, and this was in itself a very important factor in the game, one that by any neglect in making up the programme might have proved a fatal error.

He killed time in the early evening by loitering around the coffee houses and hearing the various opinions expressed by Spanish soldiers and San Juan citizens regarding the immediate future of the city, for it was generally known that Ponce had fallen into the hands of the aggressive Yankees, and that the "thin blue line" was advancing across the country in the direction of the north coast, capturing everything _en route_, even to the hearts of the people, who hailed the Americans as their deliverers.

It was a distinct pleasure to Roderic to know that the army of occupation had landed on the soil of Spain's finest colony, for he realized that the glorious flag of liberty once planted would never be taken down again.

San Juan did not worry.

Indeed, the city probably never looked more gay than on this August night, when, after an unusually torrid day the cool ocean breeze, following the rain, invited every one to loiter out of doors, and join in the characteristic Spanish holiday season.

To Roderic these light hearted people were the greatest of all mysteries.

If New York city were threatened by a hostile army, and its speedy capture as good as insured, he could imagine the fearful panic that must take place, how white faced women, and men too, would throng the streets laden with precious household goods, seeking some avenue of escape.

Yet here was a city that had already experienced some of the horrors of a bombardment and with another in prospect, probably of a more drastic nature, giving itself up to pleasure as wholly as though peace ruled the camp, the fleet and the grove.

It was astonishing, marvelous!

Roderic of course knew the reason--he had made a close study of Spanish character, and found that like the Southern plantation negro these sons and daughters of Iberia never worry save over the troubles of the immediate present.

Let the future take care of itself--on with the dance--what if trouble does come, that will be "_manana_," to-morrow, and why should they worry until the time arrives?

Bah! when the first shell from the monitors and battle ships goes shrieking over the forts to explode perhaps among the houses of the town--that will be time enough to show anxiety, and once started they can make up for wasted opportunities.

Such is the settled policy of these people, no matter where found, and it is the main reason why they are outstripped in the race by such energetic, wide awake, ever ready to seize an open opportunity nations as the Anglo Saxons and Teutons.

Spain has accomplished her work on the earth, a savage and cruel one in many respects, yet fraught with much daring--she it was who centuries back sent her bold navigators to the ends of the little known world to plant the yellow and crimson banner there--her barbarous methods of government led each of her numerous colonies in turn to revolt and declare the shackles broken from their limbs, but Spain never changed her policy as did Great Britain after losing the United States.

With the end of her late war Spain found herself virtually stripped of colonial possessions, and from this time forward she must live within herself--her cruel but in one sense necessary work in opening the world to light has been finished and she will never again know the glory that has been hers in the past.

Roderic often thought over these things, for they were very pertinent to the subject, and every true blue Yankee must at times consider the future of these glorious islands thus coming into possession of the great republic.

Thus he killed time while waiting for the night to move on.

It was best that he delay his desperate work until San Juan had at least in a measure quieted down, since there was more chance of the sentries being careless, and less fear of running against citizens in the street after the rescue should have been effected.

The minutes dragged, for he was eager to get to work--like a war horse that paws the ground and tugs at his halter when the distant booming of guns and the pungent scent of burnt powder announce the battle to have begun.

At length his patience gave out.

By stretching a point the time had come for him to advance on the outer works, for which he was extremely grateful; with a sigh of genuine relief he threw off the incubus that had borne so heavily upon him during this delay, and set his face toward the ancient fortress that had seen almost every event of interest happening in San Juan from the days of that gallant adventurer and seeker after the Fountain of Youth, Ponce de Leon.