The Boy Aviators in Nicaragua; or, In League with the Insurgents

CHAPTER XXVIII.

FACING DEATH

The boys were roughly awakened the next morning, – at what hour they could not judge but estimated that it must be early by the pale light – and a jug of water and a dark brown mess of badly cooked beans, in an earthenware pot, shoved through their bars by the same ill favored guard who had been on duty the night before. Unpalatable as the stuff looked they nevertheless fell on it hungrily, being actually half-starved and seriously weakened by their march of the day before. The momentary exultation caused by the receipt of Ben Stubbs’ letter had evaporated when they awakened and both felt that their prospects were gloomy indeed.

After breakfast they were left in their cell for some time, – the monotony being enlivened by an incident that struck a chill to the already flagging spirits of both boys. The interruption began with a ruffle of drums and then a bugle call. After this there intervened a march and then all was silent for possibly fifteen minutes. Then there boomed out the solemn tolling of a bell and a few seconds later the boys heard, with horrified ears, a sharp command – and then the rattle of a volley. Of course they could see nothing of this, – a blank wall facing their cells and shutting out all view of the barrack-yard, – but from what they heard they could conjure up the ghastly details of the execution as vividly as if they had been present.

It was not long after this, while they were busy with their gloomy thoughts, that a petty officer of some kind, at the head of a file of men came to their cell. The door was thrown open and the boys were handcuffed, – in spite of their protests against the ignominy. With a soldier on either side of them they were then marched across the barrack ground where a depressing sight met their eyes.

A number of soldiers were carrying an oblong box draped in black across the quadrangle. Behind them followed two weeping women and a bent old man. Two children, wide-eyed at what it all meant, – formed the rest of the sad little party. Both boys realized at once with a keen start of repulsion that they were witnessing the last act of the drama whose action they had heard in their cell.

They were marched across the quadrangle, their escort paying no more attention to the sad scene than if it had been an every day occurrence, and up a flight of steep, bare stairs into a long, low room, – down the center of which ran a long table. The table was covered with cheap oilcloth and was littered with pens and paper.

Half-a-dozen men, who were officers to judge by their uniforms, sat at either side of it and at the head was a man whom the boys recognized at once as General Rogero.

His evil eyes gleamed with a sinister glint as they fell on the two boys.

“So, – here we have the young revolutionists, – gentlemen,” he said, turning to the other officers, who all regarded the boys with curiosity but with no more compassion than if they had been gazing at the tortured victims of a bull fight.

Rogero leaned back. He was evidently in no hurry to shorten his triumph. He seemed fairly to gloat over his two prisoners. Frank and Harry returned his gaze fearlessly and after a while the leader of the Nicaraguan forces dropped his basilisk eyes with a shamed and embarrassed expression. The next moment he made up for his temporary lapse by striking the table with his fist and informing the boys that they were before a court-martial.

“By what right do you bring us here?” demanded Frank.

“By the right that we offer every man to get a chance for his life,” was the startling reply.

“What have we done that puts us within the pale of military law?” again demanded the elder of the brothers.

“I presumed you were intelligent enough to know that citizens of a neutral power, interfering in another government’s suppression of sedition, place themselves beyond the protection of their own country,” rejoined Rogero.

“We have not interfered in any quarrel you may have with your unfortunate dependents,” was Frank’s reply, “we are American citizens and I demand the right; if we are to be tried at all, – of a hearing before a civil court.”

Rogero smiled his evil smile once more.

“My dear young man,” he remarked casually, “in the present unsettled state of the country we have no civil courts. The army is the law and the law is vested in the army.”

The other officers chorused their assent. The boys looked desperately about them. No, – there was no means of escape. The windows were guarded and at each door stood a sentry, stiffly at attention.

Rogero instantly divined the purpose of their anxious looks.

“No, Señors, there is no escape,” he sneered, “you see, with two such resourceful young men as you have proved to be, we are taking no chances, – as you say in your country. I am much too anxious to keep you here to think of allowing you to slip through my fingers, as did young Barnes – by your cursed tricks,” he ended furiously, the passion that underlay his suave exterior glaring suddenly on his face.

The next minute he was the same sneering, smiling snake they had always known him.

“But we are wasting time, gentlemen,” he said. “I find there are three charges on the indictment against these unfortunate and imprudent young men, First: – that they conspired with revolutionists against the peace of the Nicaraguan republic; Second: – that they illegally removed a military prisoner from the lines of the Government’s army, and, Third: – that they assisted the revolutionists in their landing on the coast, both actively and by furnishing them with contraband-of-war. The last clause, gentlemen of the court, refers to the possession by these young Americanos of a so-called air-ship, which their father – a well-known conspirer against the Government, – induced them to bring to this country so that it might be used against us on behalf of the revolutionists.”

“That’s a lie,” burst out Frank.

“Save your breath, Señor,” sneered Rogero, with a threatening glance, “you may not have much more left of it.”

“The father of these boys,” continued Rogero, “like all other Americanos in this country, has objected to the taxes that our noble president Zelaya, has wisely put on all articles they export or bring in and naturally therefore is in sympathy with any revolutionary movement. I do not know, gentlemen, what your verdict will be; but, for myself, I must vote for their immediate execution as a solemn duty to my country.”

The boys’ cheeks blanched in spite of themselves. This man then actually meant to put them to death.

“Courage, Harry;” whispered Frank, and he added his slogan of “while there’s life there’s hope!”

“There is one alternative,” went on Rogero, “and that is this, – that these young men at once agree to sign a document assigning to the government of Nicaragua all their father’s property and forward it to him for his signature by a messenger I have waiting. If Señor Chester the elder will pay this ransom these foolish boys may go free, otherwise – ” he gave an expressive gesture the meaning of which was only too plain to need translating into words.

There was a hurried consultation, of what was called, by a ludicrous travesty, the “court-martial,” and then the members reconvened. One of them arose and, addressing Rogero who had assumed his seat at the head of the long table, said:

“What you have proposed is agreeable to the other members of this court-martial, General.”

“Then your verdict, gentlemen, is?” demanded Rogero.

“Death by shooting,” was the reply that sent an involuntary shudder through the boys.

Rogero smiled his evil smile again – twice as menacing in his triumph. “You, however, agree to offering them my alternative,” asked Rogero anxiously, “La Merced is a rich plantation and so is that of Don Pachecho adjoining it; which I don’t doubt we can easily acquire when we have established headquarters at La Merced.”

“Of course we agree to your alternative, General,” replied the other officer, “as to what you say about Don Pachecho’s estancia, however, we can doubtless assimilate that with little difficulty. General Ruiz, his son-in-law, is dead – ”

“And he left a remarkably pretty widow,” put in Rogero, “really I am in quite a hurry to establish headquarters near such a charming neighbor.”

“I was going to say,” resumed the other, “that as General Ruiz is dead we can naturally claim his property for the government as that of a revolutionist.”

This cool proposal met with great applause, induced, in a large measure, by the fact that each officer saw in his mind’s eye himself being awarded the property. Rogero, more comprehensive, had already mentally claimed it all for himself.

“You have heard the alternative, prisoners?” snapped Rogero, who had now quite dropped his mask of sardonic politeness, “What do you say?”

“I say that if we are to die we will die as American boys should, and accept no such disgraceful terms,” proudly replied Frank.

“And I, that we should be as bad sons as we would be unworthy citizens if we even considered your dastardly proposal,” exclaimed Harry.

“Very well, you have signed your own death warrants,” bitterly replied Rogero. “In a few days we shall have captured La Merced in any event, and I shall have much pleasure in informing your father of how his two promising youngsters died.”

It was well for Rogero at that moment that the boys’ hands were manacled. It was perhaps as well for every one in the room that they could not strike a blow. For to such a pitch of fury had the sneering words of the dark-skinned man before them aroused them that had they been free it would have cost him dear.

“For the last time I ask you?” demanded Rogero, “will you accede to my proposal?”

“For the last time no – not if it was to save our lives ten times over,” replied Frank.

Rogero moved over to a window that overlooked the quadrangle of the barracks.

“I shall have an excellent view of your deaths from this window,” he remarked, “and I assure you that nothing I have seen for a long time will give me more pleasure.”

“Not even your murder of Dr. Moneague in New York,” – quietly retorted Frank.

The effect the boy’s remark on Rogero was electric. His brown face seemed to turn a sickly green.

“You American dog – for that, if I could inflict a thousand deaths upon you, you should die them all, one by one,” he fairly shouted.