A Prisoner of Morro by Upton Sinclair

Author:Upton Sinclair
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Upton Sinclair, muckraking, satire, injustice, investigative journalism, American, political, social, justice, corruption, capitalism, socialism, society, historical, American classic
Publisher: Sovereign Classic
Published: 2016-05-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XVIII.

CLIF FARADAY’S SACRIFICE.

It is needless to say that Clif stared at the man in amazement. But an instant before he had heard him state that he was willing to assume responsibility for them as prisoners.

And now he was saying that they were free!

But there was no time to ask any questions. Bessie Stuart was clinging to Clif’s arm and urging him on.

“Have you got some place to hide us?” she inquired anxiously of the officer.

“It is hardly likely that I would leave you here,” was the other’s quiet answer. “Come.”

He led them away from the prison. A short distance off there was standing a small closed carriage.

“Here it is,” said the Spaniard. “Step in.”

Clif helped the girl inside; and then entered himself. He expected the officer to follow, but he did not; he clambered up with the driver.

And the carriage rattled off down the road.

Clif saw his chance then. He turned eagerly toward the girl.

“Bessie!” he cried, “for Heaven’s sake, tell me what this all means. Who is this man? And why is he setting us at liberty?”

The girl sank back weakly in the seat.

“I will tell you the story, Clif,” she said. “There is plenty of time, for we have a long ways to go.”

“He is ruining himself for us!” Clif exclaimed. “For you! Why he will be court-martialed and shot if he lets us get away.”

“I know it,” groaned the girl, choking down a sob. “I know it. We talked it all over beforehand. But it was a question of his life or mine.”

“Are you sure he is not tricking us?” gasped Clif—”kidnapping us?”

The girl smiled sadly.

“You do not understand the circumstances,” she said. “Wait, and let me tell you.”

Clif missed in his friend the old self-reliant manner that she had always had; she was nervous and weak, and it was plain that she was not well.

And Clif was trembling all over with anxiety as he watched her.

“Go on!” he cried. “Tell me. How did you get here, in the first place?”

“You left me with Gomez,” began the girl, taking a deep breath. “I did not stay very long, for he was marching about, and I could not stand the strain. He wanted me to go to one of the Cuban villages in the interior where his family was; but I was anxious to get back to the United States. And so I came here to Havana——”

“To Havana!”

“Yes, for I thought no one would know me.”

“And Ignacio saw you?”

“Yes, and recognized me. But that was only the other day.”

“Where were you meanwhile?”

“I had a letter to the British consul, and I stayed at his home. There was so much suffering in this city that I couldn’t stay idle. I used to go to the hospitals to take care of the poor people, the Cubans. And that was how I met Lieutenant Hernandez.”

“Who is he?”

“He is the man who has rescued us. He had been hurt in the Matanzas bombardment, and one of his arms was terribly cut. I took care of him—he was there because the military hospitals were crowded.

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