“For the reason that little dependence can be placed upon the statements of the opposition. In fact,” smiles Ashley, “the situation approximates somewhat the condition intimated in a joke now going the rounds of the press. A Spanish captain in surrendering to superior numbers or prowess, craves one boon at the hands of his conqueror. ‘What is it?’ asks the latter. ‘Please announce the fact,’ requests the Spanish captain, ‘that I have won an overwhelming victory.’”
The senor fails to see anything amusing in the jest. “Do you intend to remain at Santiago?” he asks.
“For the present. The fighting appears to be principally at this end of the island. Later I may push on to Havana.”
“There has been more than one instance of expulsion of foreign correspondents, senor.”
“So I am told. Well, I shall do my duty, as well as I know how. I naturally sympathize with the Cubans, but I shall not permit my sympathies to lead me to color any reports of the war’s progress. If a battle occurs to-morrow and the government forces are victorious, the simple facts in the case will be forwarded, without further comment than is required to make the story interesting. And if the Cubans win, the same impartiality will characterize my dispatch. I expect the same fair play that I extend. Is that not reasonable?”
“Well, at any rate, I like your frankness,” says the senor, with something approaching good humor. “I also like America and admire its people. Do your duty as you understand it, Senor Ashley, and should your zeal as a correspondent lead you into difficulty perhaps I may be of service to you.”
“Thank you,” acknowledges Jack. “But with my present limited means of identifying you, I should be more likely to be garroted or shot before I could send you word.”
The senor smiles. “I am Gen. Murillo,” he says. “Adios, Senor Ashley.” And with a courtly bow the Spanish gentleman takes himself off.
“So,” muses Ashley, looking after the retreating figure. “Gen. Juan Murillo, the chief of staff attached to the captain-general, is the patron of the beautiful Harding. I remember the Hemisphere noted his presence in New York. My lady’s services must be booked for something out of the ordinary spy business. Murillo is in Santiago; so probably is she, but if this city is her base of operations she is likely to sail pretty close to the wind.
“Now, where on earth is Barker?” wonders Ashley. “Probably at the other end of the island, while the objects of his quest are at this end. The Semiramis rests serenely on the bosom of the bay, and Miss Hathaway and Messrs. Felton and Van Zandt are either aboard of her or are somewhere about the city. I believe I’ll go out to the yacht and settle the question in my mind.”