And he does. He is rowed out over the blazing sea by a sun-cured barquero and climbs to the deck of the Semiramis.
“Mr. Van Zandt?” repeats Capt. Beals, in response to Ashley’s inquiry. “Left yesterday, sir: Where? Havana, I believe the destination was.”
“And his passengers?” ventures Ashley. “I am a friend of theirs,” he explains to Mr. Beals.
“His passengers went with him,” the latter tells him.
Ashley is about to return to shore when he hears an exclamation and he sees coming toward him Don Rafael Manada, the distinguished member of the Cuban revolutionary society.
“Dios mio! Senor Ashley, I am delighted to see you,” exclaims the volatile Manada, embracing him warmly. “What brings you here?”
“Business, my dear Don Manada, I am at present officiating as a war correspondent. Will you not come ashore and take dinner with me?”
“A thousand thanks, Senor Ashley; but,” with a smile intended to be significant, “I believe it would be wise for me to remain here for the present.”
“By the way,” says Ashley, “you recollect that interview at the Fifth Avenue hotel a week or so ago?” Manada nods smilingly. “Well, I met a gentleman to-day who spoke rather slightingly of the views which you therein expressed. Perhaps you know him. Gen. Murillo.”
“Murillo!” cries the Cuban. “Ha! Is he in Santiago?”