CHAPTER XVII.
THE BOLERO DANCER WITH THE GYPSY BLOOD.
Porto Rico as a territory of the progressive American republic willsoon be transformed--while advancing with giant strides along thematerial road that may lead to statehood, the island must graduallylose those picturesque and distinctly national features that havemarked Spanish rule for centuries.
Never again will San Juan be the same gay, careless, pleasure seekingcapital of the past--the business loving, bustling Yankee shopkeeperbanishes such folly, or at best makes it play second fiddle to histrading.
San Juan will be swept and garnished, her streets paved, her narrowest_calles_ lighted, and within a few years she may vie even with Bostonin regard to the conditions that make life worth living to the averageAmerican.
But the halo of romance and the worship of military heroes that hasbeen her portion during these long centuries--alas! they have fled, toreturn no more.
Many will sigh as they raise the curtain of the past, and take one morepeep at the gay bright scene stamped upon memory's tablets.
There is a peculiar fascination about Spanish and Oriental cities, abarbaric splendor that attracts the eye, even while our common sensetells us of its tawdry nature.
Many have described the San Juan of the past, and as a picture thathas been turned to the wall, let us for the last time see the PortoRican capital through the glasses of a clever newspaperman, whosepen paints its colors just as might the faithful camera. This was asRoderic saw it the day after his safe entry into the town:
San Juan wakes early.
By seven o'clock the shops are open, and a stirring of wide shutters inthe upper stories of the houses shows that even the women are about.Hundreds of men are having their coffee in the _cafés_. Probably a bandis playing somewhere, which means a detachment of troops returning fromearly mass in the Cathedral.
By ten o'clock this early activity has worn itself out. The sun has gotwell up into the sky, white and hot. It falls in the narrow, unshadedstreets, and the cobblestones begin to scorch through thin shoe soles.It is a time to seek the shade and quaff cooling drinks. Businesslanguishes. About eleven shop shutters begin to go up, and soon thestreets are as deserted as at midnight.
This is breakfast hour, and until well after noon not a shop or publicbuilding will be found open. About one or two, whether the _siesta_ islong or short, people begin to reappear and the shops reopen. Graduallytraffic revives. By four o'clock, when the Palais de Justice has castits cooling shadow over half the blazing plaza, loungers begin toappear to occupy the numerous benches and blink idly at the guardsabout the gloomy Palais entrance. With each passing hour the citypresents a livelier appearance, until at six o'clock it is fully awakeand ready for dinner, the principal meal of the day.
In the evening is when the inhabitants of San Juan really live. Theseare the pleasant hours of the day. From the sea comes a breeze, cooland fresh, to whisper to the few shade trees in the plazas and reviveenervated humanity. Twice a week one of the military bands plays in theprincipal plaza. Then it is worth while to go, hire a comfortable armchair from a _muchacho_ for ten _centavos_ in Puerto Rican silver andsit and observe and listen.
These military bands--there are three stationed in San Juan--areequal to Sousa or Herbert on a considerably smaller scale. They playbeautifully voluptuous airs of sunny Spain, the strains swellingand quickening until they entice an answer in the livened step andunconsciously swaying bodies of hundreds of promenaders; then slowlydying to a sweet, soft breath, borne to the ear from distant guitarsand mandolins. Italian, French and German composers are not neglected,while occasionally there will come a spirited bit from some modernlight opera, or even a snatch from a topical song of the day.
On band nights San Juan may be seen at her best. The concerts begin ateight o'clock. Prior to that hour the private soldiers are permittedthe liberty of the plaza, and hundreds avail themselves of theopportunity for an airing. At eight they must retire to their barracks,leaving the plaza to the officers.
The music racks are set at one end of the plaza, and the musiciansstand during the two hours of the concert. By the time the secondnumber on the programme is reached the plaza is thronged with thewealth, beauty and fashion of the Puerto Rican capital. A row of gasstreet lamps, thickly set, encircles the Plaza, while at each end riseiron towers, upon which are supported electric arc lights.
All the houses surrounding the plaza are illuminated, their brightcoloring and Eastern architecture giving an Oriental effect. Thebalconies--every house has a balcony--are filled with gaily dressedwomen and officers, and through open windows glimpses of richlyfurnished interiors can be obtained. On the street level, the GrandCentral and other _cafés_, the Spanish Club and a dozen brilliantlylighted drug stores and shops help flood the plaza with light and lendlife and gayety to the scene.
The throng is characteristic of San Juan of to-day--of the San Juanwhich will soon cease to exist. There are Spanish officers, hundredsof them, clad in an immense variety of uniform--to use a perfectlytruthful paradox.
There are officers of the Guardia Civil, in dark blue suits and caps,their cuffs red and gold, the rank indicated by eight pointed stars,and with small spurs sticking out from under the long trousers.
There are officers of the line, usually in light or indigo blue,sometimes with broad stripes along the trousers and with cuffs andfacings of green, red, blue or black, according to the branch of theservice, their rank indicated by gold and silver stars on the sleeveabove the cuff. These wear tall white caps, with gilt bands. There arenaval officers, in dark blue uniforms of distinctly seafaring cut andwithout colored facings.
All the officers wear some kind of sword invariably, usually during theday the regulation sabre, and at night substituting a slender rapierwith a cross hilt. They also carry walking sticks with silver and goldheads, according to rank.
As they mingle with the crowd, walking together in groups, now bowingto some passing female acquaintance or turning to promenade with her,they unconsciously dominate the entire assemblage and give to it anindelible imprint of Spain. Plainly they are favorites with the women,who receive their polite attentions graciously.
And the women. They are out in force, dressed in the latest fashionsof Madrid and Paris. Here and there some gentleman walks with his wifeand family, but usually the women promenade alone until joined by maleacquaintances. A group of girls will be accompanied by a duenna, whokeeps discreetly in the background if any men approach. Often, however,two or more senoritas will promenade entirely alone, with a freedomwhich would be considered unbecoming in the United States.
This is one of the occasions when rigorous Spanish etiquette issomewhat relaxed and the unmarried women enjoy a fleeting glimpse ofsocial freedom. So the crowd, constantly swelling, until progress isalmost impossible, moves in a circle back and forth along the lengthof the plaza. Mingling with it are scores of police, in their brightuniforms, who seem to have no business there except to accentuate thecrush, and hundreds of civilians in their best dress. And so it goes,until the concert ends. The band, preceded by an escort of cavalry,marches away to a wonderfully quick quickstep, the lights fade andslowly the crowd disperses through the shadowy streets.
Not all San Juan, however, is to be seen in the grand plaza. Onlyfashionable and official life centralizes there. In other sectionsof the city the evenings pass differently. Take a stroll from thebrilliantly lighted plaza into the eastern part of the town, near thebarracks.
There the whole lower strata will be found in the narrow, badly lightedstreets, or in the plaza Cristobal Colon and the smaller breathingplaces of the densely populated city.
Here hand organs and dirty wandering minstrels, who performsemi-barbaric music upon cracked guitars and raspy mandolins,accompanied by the "guero"--a native instrument made of agourd--furnish the music.
Venders of _dulce_ squat beside their trays of sweetmeat, dolorouslycrying their wares. Non-commissioned officers and privates mingle withthe pe
ople and chat with the women. Everybody smokes cigarettes, evenchildren hardly able to toddle. The shops and meaner _cafés_ are openand crowded.
Further no one can wander through streets more narrow and darker thanalleys to where the massive gray battlements of the ancient city wallslift their sombre, jagged towers to greet the moon.
Inquisitive sentinels, Mauser rifle in hand, walk here to turnintruders back, but by exercising discretion glimpses may be obtainedof tiny balconies ensconced in nooks and crannies high up in the walland overlooking the sea and the twinkling city. Perhaps a peep may behad into the odd habitations within, with dusky senoritas gazing outthrough a curtain of flowers and vines. This is a different San Juanfrom that which promenades in the plaza: but not less interesting.
All this Roderic Owen saw, nor was it the first time he had wanderedthrough the streets and byways of the strange old city.
How vividly these scenes brought back to his mind the days and nightsof the past, when he had lived in a glow of love's young dream--still,why need he sigh--the experience through which he had passed, bitterthough it had been, must have taught him a lesson, and since Love hadagain taken up an abode in his heart, he could profit by it to foreverdebar the little demon Jealousy from entering this holiest of holies.
He wandered over the whole city.
He even found means to enter some of the forts that frowned soferociously, and yet were but hollow mockeries, mounting few modernguns.
Here were evidences still of the damage inflicted by Sampson's fleetmany weeks before--Spanish dilatory tactics had allowed dismounted gunsto lie where they had fallen, and Roderic was of the opinion that itmust have been rather warm around those regions at the time.
There was something of a bustle of preparation in the city, since ithad become known that General Miles and an American army had landed onthe south shore of the island.
Still the Spaniards did not expect to make a desperate resistance likeBlanco had declared Havana would show.
When the Yankee army reached San Juan and the terrible battle shipsappeared again in the offing doubtless they would gracefully submit tothe inevitable and yield up their arms.
Meanwhile there was the usual bluster and braggadocio as to what theymeant to do with the Yankee pigs once they were induced to enter thetrap which the Spanish commander had so cunningly spread.
They would be extravagantly comical, these bold soldiers of Spain, ifthey were not so very serious in what they declared.
Roderic laughed in his sleeve at the awful threats so openly madein street and cafe, wherever two or more soldiers came together--inimagination he pictured the overwhelming rush of regulars andvolunteers in blue, just as they had gone into the Spaniards at Caneyand San Juan hill--one such mad swoop and he was ready to swear to itthat the Porto Rican capital would be carried.
Brag is a good dog, but Holdfast a better.
Roderic did not use his whole time in tramping about the city.
He made several visits to people who had been in communication withthe Washington authorities, influential English residents or evennative Porto Ricans who knew what was written by Destiny upon the wall,and longed for the blessed day to dawn when Liberty would descend uponthe sons and daughters of the Antilles.
His object was not to get information concerning the resources of thegarrison.
All those points he was able to pick up for himself in his round of thecity and forts.
As a government official he had come to San Juan, and it was in thiscapacity he conferred with these influential citizens.
When he had finally accomplished all that was expected of him in thisdirection, Roderic threw off the burden of responsibility.
He was now free to think once more of his own personal affairs, to letthe vision of Georgia's lovely face occupy his mind as it had his heart.
How he longed to see her.
How fitting it seemed that the romance of his life, that had obtainedits first lease in San Juan, should complete the circuit there, amidthese well remembered scenes.
It was concert night.
Even with a hostile army marching against the capital these Spanishsoldiers, who, as old campaigners laughed at fate, did not mean to becheated out of their usual pleasure.
Among the throngs on the plaza Roderic sauntered, looking eagerly forthe face his heart yearned to see.
Some few discreet people had left the capital and gone away, pendingthe anticipated bombardment; but the grand rush of panic strickenfugitives would not begin until the first shell from the Yankee fleetcame screaming into town.
It had been so on the previous occasion, and those who for five hoursthat morning saw the steady, jostling, excited, almost demoralizedstream of humanity that poured along the one road leading out of SanJuan, many carrying their most cherished household possessions upontheir backs, would never forget the remarkable spectacle.
Roderic's search was however, not without some result, for he hadseveral glimpses of his cousin Cleo in the crowd.
She hung upon the arm of Captain Beven, and Miss Becky was of coursealong.
Having heard so much of the gaiety to be found in Porto Rico's capitalthe ladies had had curiosity enough to come ashore.
Who could blame them, when listening to the delightful strains ofmelody, and amid such enchanting and romantic surroundings as the manytinted houses fronting the grand plaza afforded!
Not Roderic, surely.
He thought it wise not to make his presence known, as it mightseriously compromise his safety in this hostile city.
Nevertheless his eyes were frequently drawn toward the trio, andsomehow rested upon the face of his Virginia cousin with a peculiarsatisfaction.
If Cleo was not divinely handsome like Georgia she had a fine figureand carried her head like an American queen, so that any man might feelproud to claim kinship with her.
Roderic noticed how eagerly she looked around.
At first he had the assurance to wonder whether she could be seekinghim in the crowd, and man-like was beginning to even feel flattered atthe idea when he noticed that those whom she scrutinized so eagerlywere of the gentler sex, wives and daughters of San Juan's better classof citizens.
Then it flashed upon him that she hoped to discover Georgia in themidst of the throng.
He dared not follow out this thought to its legitimate conclusion, lestit make him appear egotistical even in his own eyes.
That Georgia must have reached the city he knew full well, for with hisown eyes he had seen the Sterling Castle in the harbor.
If that were not evidence quite sufficient here was Jerome as big aslife, sauntering about the plaza, the object of adoration on the partof the whole female population, and of malice, envy and black hatredon the part of the military beaux who saw in this Adonis a rival to befeared.
Roderic mentally pictured the inevitable outcome and in anticipationenjoyed Jerome's downfall.
"He will discover it a different matter flirting with the daughters ofPorto Rico. I am ready to swear my dandy Lord High Admiral will erelong find himself ducked in some fragrant frog pond, if no greater evilbefalls him," was what Owen concluded.
Nor was he a particle sorry, since Jerome had long played the heartlessrole of an adventurer, and many had suffered because of his belief thatthe world owed him a living.
The evening wore on, and Roderic began to imagine he was doomed todisappointment.
Lovely faces he had seen, but not the one for which his heart yearned.
Some of the ladies wore veils, their exceeding modesty preventing themfrom showing their faces in such a mixed assemblage, a custom thatundoubtedly descended from royal blood desirous of being distinguishedfrom the plebeian.
Still Roderic had full assurance that his eyes could discoverthe girl he loved, even though she stood among a score of veiledcompanions--there is an individuality in the carriage, littlepeculiarities about the movement of hands and head that appeal to thekeen eye of Love, and cannot be mistaken.
So Roderic, wise man, reasoned, as with a single glance he decided thatthis one or that was not Georgia.
So others of his sex have decided in times past, and mayhap paid thepenalty of their folly.
As the secret agent was cruising around that side of the plaza wherethe band had taken up its quarters, while making a last selection, hereceived a shock without the least warning by suddenly coming face toface with a dashing looking Spaniard whose gay dress proclaimed himsome public performer.
Roderic gritted his teeth at sight of his yellow skinned adversary ofthe past, for this was no other than Julio, the handsome dancer of the_bolero_, a man whose life had been one long succession of conquests inthe arena of Love, and over whom half the town had at times gone wild.
He had _gitano_ or gypsy blood in his veins, through his mother, whichdoubtless accounted in a measure for the _diablerie_ of his appearance,and his success among the fair sex, for there is to many women afascination in anything bordering upon the tempestuous, the wild andeerie.
It was only natural that Roderic, coming thus upon the man he hadhated so bitterly in the past, should grind his teeth and feel a maddesire to plant his fist square between those black dare devil eyesthat had wrought such accursed mischief for years back.
Then he remembered that it was all a mistake--that he had no validreason for assaulting the idol of San Juan save in the capacity of ageneral defender of the weaker sex, a modern Don Quixote, and thatwould hardly be politic.
Drawn by an attraction he could never explain, he sauntered after the_bolero_ dancer, who had evidently come out of some casino near by,after his performance was done, in order to enjoy the music of themilitary band--come out without changing his garments, which gave himthe picturesque swagger so admired among those of his blood; and thered silk sash that was knotted at his left hip, the ends trailingalmost to the knee, did not Roderic remember it well, and had he notonce vowed to some day use the same in strangling the gipsy dancer withthe devilish handsome face?
Pshaw! that was long ago, when he was a poor fool, whom love had madeinsane.
Now he had learned his lesson well, and never again would he allow suchmiserable suspicions to find lodgment in his breast.
Georgia was as faithful as the stars, and the only reason he felt alittle bitterness toward this fellow was in sympathy with the past.
As to jealousy, thank Heaven that evil weed had been forever pluckedout by the roots from the garden of his heart, and--
But there was Julio, up to his old tricks, flirting with one of Eve'sdaughters.
Roderic, still remembering the past, found himself indulging in a wildhope that some indignant lover would set upon the gypsy dancer and givehim a taste of Spanish vengeance.
Such however, did not happen.
The girl who had answered his signal with a wave of her snowy kerchiefsoon joined him, and together they pushed through the crowd as thoughheading for a street that broke away from the plaza.
Roderic had been close at hand, and his eyes were not closed--indeed,just about this time they seemed to be unusually wide open, as though asudden avalanche of jealousy had swept over him.
It was not because the companion of Julio was veiled that he watchedher so eagerly, so breathlessly--other women wore mantillas, and choseto conceal their patrician faces from the common herd when walking theplaza.
What then?
Love is not blind--Roderic had just now been declaring to himself thathe would easily be able to pick Georgia out from among a score of girlswhose features were hidden from view--and it was on this very accountthat he shook from head to foot as though with the palsy.
Dead--that old demon Jealousy once planted in the human breast is hardindeed to slay.
And Roderic again ground his teeth in fury, and followed in the wakeof Julio the _bolero_ dancer of San Juan because this veiled senoritawho took his arm and clung so confidingly there as they dodged throughthe crowd had apparently the familiar figure and actions of the girl heloved, the girl he had once jilted on account of this self same Spanishheart smasher--Georgia de Brabant, maid of San Juan!