[XXII — MORALES MAKES A PROPOSAL]
THE night was clear and hot when Appleby sat with Harper in the Café Salamanca looking out upon the plaza at Santa Marta. The big room was open-fronted, and only divided from the pavement by a row of wooden pillars and a balustrade. It was also, as usual, crowded with citizens who assembled there in the evening to discuss politics and the progress of the campaign, which accounted for the fact that Appleby sat quietly in a corner with a little glass of wine on the table in front of him. He realized it was highly desirable that he should obtain some insight into what was going on, for there was then a growing distrust of American imperialism which was perhaps not altogether unwarranted among the Cuban loyalists. Aliens were being watched with a jealous eye, and Appleby, who had already had difficulties with the petty officials, was aware that there was little the Administration contemplated that was not known in the cafés. Most men of Iberian extraction are apt at intrigue, and since the journals for excellent reasons usually maintained a discreet reticence popular discontent and factional bitterness found another vent.
It seemed to him that there was a vague expectancy and uneasiness upon everybody that evening, for the voices were lower than usual, and here and there a group sat silent turning over the latest journals from Spain, though at times a man would express himself with almost passionate vehemence and then stop abruptly, as though uncertain of his audience. It was known that American warships had been sighted on the Cuban coast, and one great vessel was even then lying in Havana harbor, and the men’s dark eyes grew suspicious as they asked what it foretided. Appleby heard enough to convince him that if he hoped to carry on the business of the hacienda considerable discretion would be necessary, and then turned his eyes upon the plaza.
The cazadores’ band was playing there, and the patter of feet, swish of light dresses, jingle of steel, and murmur of voices broke through the music, for the citizens were as usual taking their evening promenade with their wives and daughters. The plaza was well lighted, and the mixture of broadcloth, uniform, white duck, and diaphanous draperies caught the eye; and Appleby, who had artistic perceptions, found pleasure in watching the concourse stream through the light that shone out from the café. Grave merchant, portly señora draped in black, with powdered face, and slim, olive-cheeked señorita went by, smiling not infrequently over a lifted fan at an officer of cazadores with clinking sword, or a youthful exquisite from Havana in costly hat of Panama and toothpick-pointed shoes. Still, even where the press was thickest there was no jostling, for the assembly was good-humored and characterized by a distinguished courtesy. The men were Latins, and they could take their pleasure unconcernedly, though the land lay desolate and strewn with ashes only a few leagues away. Santa Marta was, for the most part, loyal, and, in spite of official corruption, and not infrequent abuse of authority, Spanish domination produced at least an outward decorum and sense of security in the tropics.
By and by the music stopped, and a murmur seemed to run round the plaza. It grew louder, and there was a clamor in one of the streets, then a shout and a bewildering hum of voices broke out. The men in the café rose to their feet, but Appleby, who laid his hand on Harper warningly, sat still. Something was evidently happening, and he knew the uncertain temper of the Latins. Then a man who pushed through the crowd sprang into the café flourishing what appeared to be a Havana journal and was seized by those about the door. A sudden tense silence, which was heightened by the clamor outside, followed the babel of questions, while one of the men who had grasped the paper opened it. Then he flung disjointed sentences at the rest in a voice which was hoarse with passion and apprehension.
“The American warship sunk at Havana with all her crew!” he said. “No, a few, it seems, were saved. American suggestions that she was destroyed by a torpedo insulting to Spain. It is believed to be an explosion in the magazine. There will be demands for compensation. Attitude of the Americans unreasonable.”
“THE BIG GAUNT AMERICAN AND SLIM LATIN REELED THROUGH THE CAFÉ.”
Harper rose up suddenly, a tall, commanding figure, with his face very grim, and brought a great fist crashing down upon the table.
“Good Lord!” he said hoarsely. “They’ve sunk the ‘Maine’!”