British -- Cuba -- Fiction; Cuba -- History -- Revolution, 1895-1898 -- Fiction
Maccario, however, had work waiting him, and the day dragged through,
though Appleby never remembered clearly all that happened during it. It
was noon when they had cleared the town of the last of the cazadores,
and bestowed those who had the wisdom to yield themselves in the
cuartel. The rest leapt to destruction from windows and roofs, or went
down, grimly clenching their hot rifles, in barricaded patios and on
slippery stairways. Appleby was thankful when the work was done, though
he had taken no part in it for Maccario, with a wisdom his comrade had
not expected, bade him organize a guard, and see that there was no
purposeless destruction of property. It was not, he said, a foray the
Sin Verguenza had made, but an occupation they had effected, and there
was nothing to be gained by pushing the wealthy loyalists to
desperation. He also observed dryly that their dollars might fail to
reach the insurgent treasury at all if collected independently by the
rank and file.
The task was more to Appleby’s liking than the one he had anticipated,
and it was necessary, since the smaller merchants in Cuba and also in
parts of Peninsular Spain have no great confidence in bankers, and
prefer a packet of golden onzas or a bag of pesetas to the best
accredited check. He also contrived to accomplish it with success,
somewhat to the astonishment of those whose property he secured to them,
when they found he demanded nothing for himself, while he fancied there
was reason in his companion’s observation as they went back to report to
Maccario when there was quietness in the town. Harper sighed as they
came out of the last loyalist’s house.
“I guess Maccario knew what he was about when he sent you to see this
contract through,” he said.
“Well,” said Appleby, “it was a trifle more pleasant than turning out
the cazadores.”
Harper grinned somewhat ruefully. “That’s not quite what I mean. Any one
else with our opportunities would have been rich for life. Now, you
didn’t seem to notice the diamond brooch the señora took out from her
laces when she asked you to keep the rabble out of the house. It would
have brought two hundred dollars in New York.”
Appleby looked at him with a little dry smile. “I have asked you no
questions, but your pockets are suspiciously bulky.”
“Cigars,” said Harper disgustedly, pulling out a handful.
“Worth a dollar a piece in my country by the smell of them, but I’m not
setting up a tobacco store! If I ever get hold of another contract of
this kind I’ll take somebody else along.”
Appleby laughed a little, but his face grew grave again as they turned
towards the banker’s house to inquire how Tony was progressing. There
was no change, they were told, but the doctor, who was busy elsewhere,
had left imperative instructions that no one was to see him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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