The White Mice

by Richard Harding Davis

With the return of the exiles to Porto Cabello, that picturesque seaport became a place of gay reunions, of banquets, of welcome and rejoicing. The cafés again sprang to life. The Alameda was crowded with loitering figures and smart carriages, whilst the vigilance and activity of the government secret police increased. Roddy found himself an object of universal interest. As the son of his father, and as one who had prevented the assassination of Pino Vega, the members of the government party suspected him. While the fact that in defense of Alvarez he had quarrelled with Vega puzzled them greatly.

“If I can’t persuade them I am with the government,” said Roddy, “I can at least keep them guessing.”

A week passed before Peter and Roddy were able, without arousing suspicion, and without being followed, to visit El Morro. They approached it apparently by accident, at the end of a long walk through the suburbs, and so timed their progress that, just as the sun set, they reached the base of the hill on which the fortress stood. They found that on one side the hill sloped gently toward the city, and on the other toward the sea. The face toward the city, except for some venturesome goats grazing on its scant herbage, was bare and deserted. The side that sloped to the sea was closely overgrown with hardy mesquite bushes and wild laurel, which would effectually conceal any one approaching from that direction. What had been the fortress was now only a broken wall, a few feet in height. It was covered with moss, and hidden by naked bushes with bristling thorns. Inside the circumference of the wall was a broken pavement of flat stones. Between these, trailing vines had forced their way, their roots creeping like snakes over the stones and through their interstices, while giant, ill-smelling weeds had turned the once open court-yard into a maze. These weeds were sufficiently high to conceal any one who did not walk upright, and while Peter kept watch outside the walled ring, Roddy, on his hands and knees, forced his way painfully from stone to stone. After a quarter of an hour of this slow progress he came upon what once had been the mouth of the tunnel. It was an opening in the pavement corresponding to a trap in a roof, or to a hatch in the deck of a ship. The combings were of stone, and were still intact, as were also the upper stones of a flight of steps that led down to the tunnel. But below the level of the upper steps, blocking further descent, were two great slabs of stone. They were buried deep in a bed of cement, and riveted together and to the walls of the tunnel by bands of iron. Roddy signalled for Peter to join him, and in dismay they gazed at the formidable mass of rusty iron, cement and stone.

“We might as well try to break into the Rock of Gibraltar!” gasped Peter.

“Don’t think of the difficulties,” begged Roddy. “Think that on the other side of that barrier an old man is slowly dying. I admit it’s going to be a tough job. It will take months. But whatever a man has put together, a man can pull to pieces.”

“I also try to see the bright side of life,” returned Peter coldly, “but I can’t resist pointing out that the other end of your tunnel opens into a prison. Breaking into a bank I can understand, but breaking into a prison seems almost like looking for trouble.”

The dinner that followed under the stars in their own court-yard did much to dispel Peter’s misgivings, and by midnight, so assured was he of their final success, that he declared it now was time that General Rojas should share in their confidence.

“To a man placed as he is,” he argued, “hope is everything; hope is health, life. He must know that his message has reached the outside. He must feel that some one is working toward him. He is the entombed miner, and, to keep heart in him, we must let him hear the picks of the rescuing party.”

“Fine!” cried Roddy, “I am for that, too. I’ll get my friend Vicenti, the prison doctor, to show you over the fortress to-morrow. And we’ll try to think of some way to give Rojas warning.”

They at once departed for the café of the Dos Hermanos, where the gay youth of Porto Cabello were wont to congregate, and where they found the doctor. During the evening he had been lucky at baccarat, and had been investing his winnings in sweet champagne. He was in a genial mood. He would be delighted to escort the friend of Señor Roddy over the fortress, or to any other of the historical places of interest for which Porto Cabello was celebrated.