A lost American : a tale of Cuba

Front matter

EMI u

BY r

ARCHIBALD CLAVERING GUMTER

Book II. The Burning Plantation

" IV. A Cuban Wild Flower 54

" V. " Strange, he escaped so long " 69

" VI. " This will be a glorious night ! " 85

" VII. *' Diablo ! he'll never walk down Fifth

Avenue again ! " 96

Book III. The Fort On Cayo Toro

" VIII. On the Deck of the Hermes 112

" IX. " Happy Ortiz ! " 128

" X. The Unknown Prisoner 137

" XI. "To-morrow morning they shoot me".... 145

VI A LOST AMERICAN.

Chapter I. A Night At The Opera

It is the evening of Wednesday, the fourth of November, in the year of our Lord 1873.

Capoul has been singing his sweetest and tenderest notes.

The wonderful dramatic timbre of Nilsson's voice joining his in the finale of that soft love song which always goes to the hearts of man and woman, "The Last Rose of Summer," has rippled through the Academy, its closing melody drowned by the enthusiastic plaudits of an over-packed house, when Miss Blanche Grayson, in her parterre box, clapping her hands languidly, as most Americans do, turns suddenly to her half-sister and whispers: "My goodness ! You are crying, Laura ? "

"Why should not I give tears to a love song, as well as laughter ? " whispers Senorita Morales, turning a pair of deep, black, romantic eyes on to the bright, vivid blue ones of her half-sister, and adding falteringly : " You know "

"Yes; I can guess. But, goodness gracious ! Don't let him see. Sefior Luis Vidal may guess also ! " interjects Miss Blanche nervously, as she glances significantly over her white shoulder at a handsome young gentleman of slightly foreign appearance who is standing, mingled with the usual crowd of dilettanti at the entrance of the parterre circle, his dark eyes directed, not upon the stage, but upon the two young ladies who are whispering together.

And Sefior Luis Vidal has good reason for turning his glance where he does, for there are no prettier girls than Miss Blanche Grayson, aged nineteen, and her half-sister, Sefiorita Laura Morales, celalis twenty-two, in the galaxy of beauty that used to make the parterre boxes of the old Academy look like bouquets of gorgeous American flowers in the brave days of old when, under Max Strakosch, Campanini, Capoul and Maurel, made feminine New York utter ecstatic sighs, and Nilsson, Lucca and Duval caused the Italian colony in the gallery overhead to shriek, "Brava! Bravissima ! " with all the force of Latin lungs and with all the power and vivacity of Continental expression.

Apparently Sefior Vidal would join the ladies in their box — which, curiously, for the moment is bereft of gentlemen, though generally filled to repletion and much clustered about by the male biped — did he not see signs of polite dispute between the two fair ones.

For the elder has whispered : " How dare you mention his name ! "

"Pooh! you think of it often enough, Miss Romantic," laughs the other. "When not occupied in freeing Cuba, Luis Vidal is engaged in besieging your susceptible heart," the last playfully. Then Blanche goes on in earnest inquiry: "Laura, has he ever spoken ? "

" Of course not ; he is too noble," whispers the dark-eyed one. "An exile, cut off from family and fortune, with death staring him in the face should he visit his native isle, Luis is too generous "

"Ah, yes. To ask an heiress to join her life to his uncertain lot," interjects the younger, a little sentiment coming into her voice. Then she goes on, with American common sense : " Generous and romantic ! But a generosity and a romance which /should not appreciate. If Miss Blanche Grayson were her half-sister, Miss Laura Morales, she would help Sefior Luis Vidal on a bit." This is emphasized by a little playful sisterly pinch of white-gloved fingers on the delicate arm that is next to her, as she gets the riposte quick as lightning :

"Then why does not Miss Blanche Grayson help Mr. Howard Temple on a bit ? "

" Miss Blanche Grayson is proud enough to like to be asked. Mr. Temple is no Cuban exile, and his fortune is assured him. No false delicacy need prevent his asking," murmurs the American beauty quite haughtily, though her face flushes delightfully and her exquisite lips tremble.

" He has asked," says the elder, pointedly.

"Forme? Oh no, he has not !" And Blanche conceals agitation by languidly burying her nose in a magnificent bouquet of red roses that lies in front of her on the velvet rail of the loge.

" But he has. I accidentally overheard Howard Temple speaking to your father," replies Laura, earnestly, hoping to do the young New York broker and banker, whose devotion to business has not destroyed his romance in life, — a good turn, but doing him a very bad one.

"Asking my father for me?" whispers Blanche, indignantly, as she drops the flowers with a start. Then drawing herself up, she mutters : "I am an American girl, not a French one, and propose to be consulted on that point myself. Where is papa ? I must speak to him," and, looking eagerly about, adds disappointedly, "Oh! gone out of the box again. At the buffet, I suppose. He prefers drinks, business and politics to music ! ''

" Don't lose your temper and make a mistake," implores Laura hurriedly. "Mr. Temple will probably come to-night for his answer."

" And I will give him my answer."

"Blanche, I am your older sister."

"Yes; venerable twenty-two is well able to guide adolescent nineteen," sneers the younger beauty.

"Sit down ; people will notice you. Capoul is commencing to sing again ? "

"Oh, is he? Well, I could listen to Capoul during an earthquake," says the other, and sinks into her chair with a languid sigh. Then she whispers : " I am sorry you told me, Laura."

But she isn't ; for the girl's heart is bounding joyously yet haughtily, and in her mind she is voicing : "Howard! Howard!" Though with the foolishness of youth she soliloquizes : "But he shan't win me too easily ! "

So, the curtain falling on the act, Miss Blanche Grayson simulates the opera craze, and astonishes her sister by applauding with all the force of her pretty little hands, and excitedly throwing her gorgeous bouquet of red roses to Monsieur Capoul, who, with Nilsson, is recalled and is bowing before the footlights.

" Mercy, Blanche ! I never saw you so excited before," laughs the elder sister, "and you have thrown away those magnificent flowers on a tenor."

"Pooh ! they were only Senor Ortiz' flowers, and I had no particular use for them," returns the young lady, playfully.

A LOST AMERICAN. g

"But Ortiz, in his foreign way, will be distracted if he knows you slighted his gift," says Miss Morales, adding very seriously : " He is beginning to love you too much."

" Fiddle-de-dee ! No man can love me too much."

At this, an anxious look coming into Laura's eyes, she murmurs : "Blanche, you never think of him as a — as a lover ?

"I think of all men as lovers," laughs the girl, "but don't love all men," adding: "Why did you ask ? "

"Because," remarks the elder sister, earnestly, "were not Sefior Ignacio Ortiz such an intimate friend and trusted companion of Luis Vidal, there is something behind his extremely white teeth that would almost make me fear him."

"Pshaw! Your Spanish blood makes you an impressionist, my sister ! " laughs the younger ; then goes on with a pretty little pout as the applause has died away : "Where can papa be? I wish he would not always enjoy an opera from the bar."

But Papa Grayson is not enjoying the opera from the bar. That gentleman is in the foyer just outside the box, speaking eagerly and earnestly to a fine-looking young American, who has that peculiar New York knack of mixing the manners of a club lounger and society exquisite with the directness of speech of a Wall Street business man.

" Howard, you will have to go to Cuba again to look after Laura's estates," remarks Mr. Grayson, who has clean-cut Yankee features, and bears his sixty years well and sturdily.

"But how can I leave?" answers his junior partner, Mr. Howard Temple. "Stocks going to smash; panic everywhere ; thousands of workmen out of a place ; New York Central dropped within the week

IO A LOST AMERICAN.

from 95 to 80 ; Western Union from 73 to 45, and Lake Shore down to 60 "

"Don't go on with the catalogue of our financial misfortunes," laughs the elder. "That is the very reason I can spare you, my boy. Stocks have gone as low as they can go, and, as we are on the right side of bankruptcy by a million or two, that need not bother us. But this other matter is pressing. The estates willed Laura by her father, I have guarded even more carefully than my own fortune, ever since her mother left the little girl to my care, when she died. You, Howard, know better than any one, how I, in my capacity of step-father and guardian, have kept very much in touch with Cuban affairs. "

"Yes, the whole Cuban colony is intimate at your house. Ortiz, Vidal, Quesada, Marti, and every other patriot of the Ever-faithful Isle."

"I don't mean that. I mean with regard to all news from the island ; and I have just heard from Mr. Dennison, a young newspaper man, who keeps me posted on such matters — " here the elder gentleman sinks his voice to a whisper — "that information has certainly come that on October 31st, the fillibuster steamer Virginius, flying the American flag, was captured off the Island of Jamaica by a Spanish war ship. That is the reason I want you to go to Cuba quick."

" I hope not," says the other impressively. " I hope your news is not true."

"For your friend Luis Vidal's sake? I believe he has a brother on board."

" For the sake of every Cuban on board. The Spaniards will probably butcher them."

" What P Taken under the American flag?" says the older man. "They daren't do it."

"There is no telling what a Spaniard will do,"

A LOST AMERICAN. II

mutters the younger. " He acts first and thinks afterward. You are sure the news is true ? "

"Yes; it will be in the Herald to-morrow morning. But be careful you say nothing of it to Luis Vidal. Let his friend Senor Ortiz break the matter to him after our supper-party this evening. Don't make the young Cuban's champagne bitter to him. But this increases my anxiety for my step-daughter's estate. Laura's interests on the island are so enormous, I don't dare to trust them to a clerk. Howard, will you go ? "

"I will give you my answer this evening. I don't care particularly to leave New York if — "

"If everything is right with you in there with Blanche," chuckles the father, looking toward the closed doors of his parterre box, and giving the young man a playful nudge in the ribs.

"Yes ! I will tell you after supper."

"Then you are sure not to go, my boy," answers Grayson, confidently. "You know you have my good wishes in the matter." I shall have to get Martin to take your place in Cuba — though in any event you need not stay there more than a month or two."

"I pray God you are right," remarks Mr. Howard Temple. "I hope I shall not go. I will tell you after supper."

And with an anxious face, which does not come from the panic in Wall Street, the young American business man goes in to meet the young lady to whom he has given his whole heart, and thinks Miss Blanche Grayson rather cold and slightly haughty to him. Though perhaps she may not be really cold to him, she may be only elusive, for the girl glances furtively once or twice with almost the pride of possession at the earnest face and manly figure that is beside her. She has good cause for self-congratulation, as the strong features show character and truth, and the hazel Saxon eyes display love and tenderness to the fair girl whose beauty the light evening dress makes ethereal and fairylike.

So it may be only that inherent diffidence in all maids' minds that causes them to play on the edge of the precipice before they jump into the chasm of matrimony, even where they love, even where they know they are loved, that makes Howard Temple think that Miss Blanche Grayson wilfully misunderstands some rather pointed sentences he whispers into her ear, as he sits behind her shining shoulders.

The opera gives her every opportunity for playful badinage, and it is not pleasant for that gentleman to have his whispered "You received my bouquet this afternoon?" greeted with "Oh, yes — certainly. It was too pretty to bring with me ; I was afraid I might throw it to Capoul when he sang ' M'appari.' You know he is perfectly divine when he gets crazy. Do you love crazy men ? I do."

"Not absolute maniacs," mutters Temple, surlily.

"All tenors, I think, have something of the lunatic in them. Perhaps all men have, " says the young lady, lightly. "Capoul, I presume, is a maniac on high notes and the ut de poitrine, and you, I suppose, on stocks, bonds, New York Central, Lake Shore and Michigan Southern, eh ? Papa said the market had busted all to flinders this afternoon — but seemed in a good humor. Short, isn't he ? "

"No, long I No man of sense goes short at the bottom of a panic," replies Howard savagely.

"Oh, well, then I judged right. I bought three new dresses this afternoon, after papa came home ; one of them bright red. Senor Ortiz, you know, likes crimson ; nearly all Spaniards do — it reminds them of bullfights ! " remarks the young lady laughingly. "And here he is. Isn't it awful, I'm dressed in white this evening ! "

This last is uttered as a gentleman of dark eyes, and that beautiful pink and white complexion peculiar to pure Castilian blood, enters the box. He is apparently about thirty years of age and has a well-knit frame, covered by an irreproachable dress-suit, embellished at the buttonhole by a bunch of bright red carnations. This, with the extremely low cut collar of his immaculate white shirt, gives Senor Ortiz a foreign tone, to which his vivid gesticulations and excitable intense Spanish manner add color.

Bowing with Iberian suaveness before the young ladies, he murmurs : "Ah, delighted! Senorita Laura and Miss Blanche. Was not that last morceau exquisite ? Did you hear Capoul's high C? Between ourselves, it is B ; but Capoul insists it is high C. And no bouquets ? "

"We threw them both to Capoul when he finished his aria," cries Laura excitedly.

"Did you throw mine?" whispers Temple sternly, into Miss Blanche's ear.

"Certainly. I was so excited, I couldn't help it," laughs the girl. Then she murmurs pathetically : " Come back," and, half repenting her fib, almost starts after him, as the gentleman with a muttered anathema leaves the box.

But she is cut off from any further words by the entrance of Senor Luis Vidal. This young Cuban, who has lingered about, outside of the box, talking to Mr. Grayson, now comes in, and after greeting both ladies, seats himself behind Miss Morales' white shoulders and admires the brunette beauty of the girl in front of him ; for Laura has the dark eyes and black tresses of the tropics, and is as perfect a brune as her step-sister is a blonde.

Miss Morales is half Spanish by blood. Her mother, a very pretty American girl, had married in the early "Fifties," when very young, Don Ramon de Morales, a Cuban planter. But one year after his child's birth, during the great yellow fever epidemic in Havana, the great sugar planter had passed away, and her mother had returned to her home in New York, an extremely engaging young widow.

Quite shortly after this, she had been espoused by Alfred Carter Grayson, the banker of Wall Street, who was just commencing to lift his head among the leading financiers of New York. To him she had borne one daughter, Blanche, and dying soon after, had left the big-hearted and cool-headed American business man to care for her other daughter Laura, who had no blood of his in her veins, but to whom he gave the love of a father, scarcely making a distinction between her and Blanche, his own offspring.

So the two half-sisters have grown up devoted to each other ; one element that oft destroys sisterly love being eliminated from this happy family — money ! For Sefiorita Laura Morales' estates in Cuba are magnificent in their extent and income, permitting Mr. Grayson to give his own ample fortune to his child, Blanche, knowing that his step-daughter, with her own money can purchase any earthly happiness to be bought by a long purse. Thus, the two girls have grown up together, loving each other very dearly ; and now, when the younger has just come out into the gay world, they find themselves not only very popular with general metropolitan society, but also quite the belles of the little Cuban coterie that has naturally been drawn to Mr. Grayson's hospitable Fifth Avenue house by his step-daughter's interests and friends in Cuba.

Among the gentlemen who have become quite amis de la maison, are the two now leaning over the shoulders of the young- ladies, Sefior Ignacio Pasquale Ortiz and Sefior Luis Vidal.

Vidal, a dashing young fellow of about twenty-five, is a Cuban patriot, and has already forwarded or accompanied several expeditions to the island. He is a man of mark in. the insurgent ranks, being a relation of Carlos Manuel de Cespedes, President of the so-called "Cuban Republic," and an intimate of Vincente Garcia and General Quesada.

He has probably but two passions in this world as he bends over the beautiful girl in front of him, and looks at her as only Cubans look, with his soft, romantic, yet pleading eyes : one is to free his native land ; the other, to make his own the beautiful being whose eyes tell him in reply : "You may dare ! Though you are an exile ; though you are an outcast, a price on your head; though you are poor; still you may love me, an heiress, for I love you ! "

The other gentleman, the one who has taken Temple's place beside pretty Miss Blanche, is, though a Spaniard, known to be of strong Cuban sympathies. For, from the time of Sefior Ignacio Ortiz' arrival in New York, some few years before, no one has been more engrossed in the Cuban cause, nor apparently more willing to sacrifice himself for it.

At first, perchance, looked upon with suspicion by some of the adherents of "The Ever Faithful Isle" that cluster about that well-known cigar store in Fifth Avenue below Twenty-Third Street, or the headquarters of the Cuban Junta in Beaver Street, as time elapsed, Sefior Ortiz had blown all suspicion from him by joining an expedition that took arms and munitions of war to the insurgents. And, though the affair had come to a bad end, the landing being frustrated by a Spanish gunboat, Sefior Ignacio Pasquale Ortiz had shown such eallantry, twice risking capture by Spanish

B l6 A LOST AMERICAN.

troops in his endeavors to enter the Cuban lines, that no one stands higher in the esteem of the Cuban colony than the gentleman bending over Miss Blanche Grayson this night at the opera, and whispering to her : "I am so glad you did not throw my bouquet to the tenor. Poor Temple ! Dios mio I if I thought that Capoul grasped the flowers I had given to you, I should go behind the scenes and tear them from the Frenchman's hand."

"Would you?" says the girl, biting her lips, then bursts into an irrepressible flood of mellow laughter, in which her sister, despite herself, joins.

So the conversation runs along, — though quite disconnectedly, for they all love music, — though once or twice Senor Ortiz' whispers make Miss Blanche Grayson grow very red, and sometimes the ardent eyes of Luis Vidal bring roses to Laura Morales' cheeks, and happiness to her eyes till the curtain is descending, and Mr. Grayson makes his appearance with Mr. Temple.

" You hardly greeted me as you passed me going out, Howard," remarks the young Cuban, rising.

" Didn't I ? Then, Luis, I greet you again, and remember, I mean it," and Howard Temple grasps young Vidal by the hand, and gives it a warm-hearted squeeze, that shows that the Wall Street man has not forgotten his college athletics, though there is something in his eye that makes the Cuban say: "You have some intelligence for me?"

" I was afraid you had bad news. Your face is not' as bright as it generally is."

"Oh, yes, bad news," says Blanche, lightly. "Lake Shore down to 60. That is bad news enough. That always makes Wall Street men look sad." Then turning her eyes to a lady near her, for the party is now in the crowd of the foyer, Miss Volatile remarks

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" Good evening, Mrs. Livingston ! Didn't Capoul sing romantically? He almost made me susceptible."

"Of whom, Blanche?" laughs the society leader ; Miss Grayson has already achieved the reputation of being something of a flirt.

"Of the man nearest me, of course!" returns the young lady, archly, and the two, laughing together, pass down the broad stairs of the Academy. By this Miss Blanche artfully avoids the offer of escort either from Ortiz or Temple, the arm of the first she not caring to take, and foolishly wishing to punish the other for his having asked her father for her before he dared to petition her for her love.

So Temple and Ortiz come walking after her, chatting to each other, for they are very fair friends ; the young American conjuring his brain how to best break the news to Luis Vidal, who is just now taking care of the dark-eyed girl that he loves, in the crush of the vestibule.

For Howard has talked to Dennison, the young newspaper man, and he is satisfied that the Virginius has been captured, and furthermore, knows that Vidal's younger brother, Pedro, a boy of only seventeen, is on board the ship.

In fact, he has heard the same news discussed by one or two gentlemen in the corridors, though no one seems to pay particular attention to it ; the general public not at this time guessing the tremendous butchery that was to follow the capture — a tragedy that thrilled America to its center, both from the arrogant insult to the United States that was shown in taking a vessel bearing its flag upon the high seas, and, furthermore, the horrible assassinations, without legal trial, that succeeded it. An affair that, had not gold been poured out in Washington by the Spanish government with the same liberality that American blood was shed by it at. Santiago, and the outspoken apologies for Spain of one well-known member of the United States Cabinet, there was indignation enough and there was power enough in America in that day to have given Spain its quietus in the Western world, and spared a later generation another and greater horror, that of the "Maine," and a grander revenge and a nobler justice, the one that has now come !

But, unthinking of this, the great audience of this November night of 1873 sweeps out of the Academy of Music, and apparently, no happier party strolls under the great porte-cochere on Fourteenth Street to their carriages than Mr. Grayson's, for they are all going to have a pretty little supper at Delmonico's, at that time located on Fourteenth Street and Fifth Avenue.

Apparently, Miss Blanche Grayson is as light-hearted as any of them. Pausing in front of her carriage door, one delicate hand draping up her trailing skirts about as pretty feet as have ever tripped out of the Academy, she extends the other, and says, coquettishly : " Senor Ortiz, won't you assist me ? "

"Caspila! Will not I!" and brushing the footman aside, the gentleman steps hurriedly forward, and with facile Spanish grace places the young lady in her carriage.

Luis Vidal has already played the cavalier to Miss Morales, and Mr. Grayson, accepting precedence by age, having stepped in, Ortiz, with Spanish common sense, takes the fourth place in the vehicle.

"Just tell the footman Delmonico's ; we'll meet you there ! " cries Blanche blithely to Temple, as he stands biting his lips, not altogether pleased at seeing the lady of his heart ask attentions from others.

These directions being given, and the carriage being rapidly driven away, for many other vehicles are in the waiting line, Mr. Temple turns to Vidal, who is standing beside him, and suggests: " Suppose we walk along Fourteenth Street, — the night is very fine, and enjoy a cigar ? "

' ' Gracias ! I prefer "

"Oh, yes, I had forgotten, " interjects the American, lightly, "your ever-present cigarette, Luis." So the two young men light up and stroll along Fourteenth Street towards Fifth Avenue, the night being a very pleasant one, Temple glancing about sharply, as he fears newsboys and extras may break the Virginius intelligence too suddenly to his young Cuban friend, for the two are intimates, and once or twice Howard Temple has been able to do substantial favors for the young gentleman who walks at his side. Fortunately, no extras are about, the great newspapers of 1873 n°t having got into the habit of issuing twenty editions on days of excitement.

As the two stroll along, chatting together, the young men are not so unlike ; though the Anglo-Saxon has hazel eyes and the Cuban very black ones, both have long moustaches, after the manner of that time, and their figures are not so dissimilar, being about the same height, though the American is more strongly built than the lithe native of the tropics. Curiously, both chat in Spanish, Mr. Temple having been for several years the superintendent of Miss Morales' estates in Cuba, and speaking the language like a native of the island.

A few minutes afterward they walk up-stairs and stroll into that pretty little Chinese room of old Delmonico's, where the party is reunited, and over oysters, terrapin, cold partridge, mayonnaise and champagne they apparently pass an hour very pleasantly. Though Miss Grayson puts one or two more arrows into the heart of Howard Temple, for the girl has got thinking to herself, "I'll teach him to ask my father for my hand before he pleaded to me for my love ! I'll show him that my preference is more important in such a matter than papa's permission ! I suppose they were bargaining about me, French fashion ! Ough! Did Howard dare to ask him what my dot would be?"

Yet all the time she guesses she is doing an injustice to a man she is very well aware loves her for herself, as has been shown on half a hundred occasions ever since she, as a little girl of fourteen, ran into her father's parlor where he was talking business with a handsome young fellow of twenty-four, and even in her short skirts got very close to the heart of a gentleman she at that time regarded as venerable.

And now a few unfortunate remarks of her father add to her chagrin ; for the party having by this time broken up into little groups, she overhears Mr. Grayson whisper to Temple, "You'll give me your answer to-night?"

"Certainly ! " replies Howard, "as soon as I have spoken to her."

"Ugh! bargaining about me again!" thinks the girl, who has quick ears. With this, she looks very engagingly at and talks most vivaciously to Senor Ortiz who is languidly manipulating a paper cigar between his cigarette-stained fingers, and gazing at her exquisite beauty in a way that makes the girl say to herself : "At least the Spaniard is romantic ; no questions to papa about me first. Howard will speak to me to-night, will he ? Not until I wish him to speak ! "

Thereupon she proceeds to give Mr. Temple a very bad half hour of it, accepting attentions from anybody but him, eating philopenas with both Ortiz and Vidal, and telling these gentlemen they don't know what pretty presents she may give them, if they win.

Finally getting back to the matter of the bouquet which she knows is a sore spot with Howard, and perchance not daring to tell him of her fib, especially in the presence of Ortiz, whose posies she has sacrificed to Capoul, Miss Blanche remarks, "That was an exquisite bunch of flowers you sent me, Mr. Temple ! I never shall forget the appearance of Mr. Pompey Smith, your colored factotum, as he delivered it to me. Talk about dandies ! Sixth Avenue beats Fifth Avenue in gorgeous attire ! Check suit, red necktie, exquisite lavender gloves and gorgeous quartz watch-chain ! You must pay Pomp a good salary ! And then the ineffable darky grace with which he remarked to me, ' Mistah Temple's compliments to Miss Blanche Grayson, and requests the pleasure that she will receive the accompanying do-sewer with his compliments and all the regards of the autumnal season in high society.'"