COLONEL GUERRA’S RUBRICA.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXI, Issue I, 2 July 1898, Page 27

COLONEL GUERRA’S RUBRICA.

(By

Harold Martin.)

During the enforced idleness of the Inst few weeks of Bartlett’s stay in San Juan Laguna as sole representative of the Rio Animas Navigation and Improvement Company, of New York. Newark, and San Juan, he had amused himself and helped the colonel of the State troops by acting as the colonel’s scribe in matters military. A revolution was progressing in the interior at that time, and the colonel’s reports, jiassports and correspondence appeared in the business-like hand of his American friend, the colonel only reserving the right to place under his name the rubriea or elaborate flourish that marked the documents as really emanating from himself. And the colonel had another interest in the presence of his friend the American. For some mpnths the Rio Animas Navigation and Improvement Company had steadily fallen deeper and deeper into financial difficulties. The northern bondholders were averse to sinking money in a country that day after day figured in the New York papers as being in the throes of civil war. and all the persuasive powers of the company's promoter could not raise money to pay the employees and keep one steamer in fuel and its crew in provisions. So one by one the men had quit, as rats leave a sinking ship, and they were now shifting for themselves on the cold charity of a tropical country. Only Bartlett had remained. He had had faith in the promoter, and he had hoped to reap the reward of constancy when the good times came. But now even Bartlett had serious

doubts, and he bad almost decided that he would better leave. Now during the days of the company’s extremity the colonel, with an eye to stock interests and faith in the magnetic promoter, had advanced certain bills of provisions from the army stores, likewise eash for labour, until his interest was represented, according to his own figures, by £l2O currency of the. country. And at the same time that Bartlett was considering the wisdom of finally severing his connection with the Rio Animas Company the colonel’s shrewd mind was torn by doubts as to the safety of his investment. As the colonel’s cash and provisions had been delivered to Bartlett, and receipted for by him in the company’s name, for Bartlett acted as commissary and cashier, the colonel had grown to look upon Bartlett’s continued presence in the land as a security and hostage for his £ 120, and he was accordingly much interested in Bartlett’s movements. The colonel had even resolved, if need be, to bring to his aid the law of the land that prevented the departure of a debtor. This law could not hold Bartlett in the country, he not being the actual debtor, yet its application and a trial would cause delay and bother, and the colonel thought thereby to force the company to a settlement. All this was shrewdly surmised by Bartlett-, and for the furtherance of his own plans he always reflected, when with the colonel, the same merry and fatuous faith in a rosy outcome of the company’s affairs that was so conspicuous a feature with the promoter. This latter was at that time absent in the capital on ‘most important business.’ He was in reality held there by an unpaid hotel bill. Bartlett, now fully resolved to leave, planned carefully, and the colonel watched, until one day Bartlett bethought himself of the dusty bicycle in the American Consul’s office, left there some months previously in exchange for a second-class ticket to New York by the leading comedian of the Compania Internacional de Variedades. when that organisation went to pieces along the coast. Bartlett borrowed the bicycle from the Consul, and in his room at night put the machine in good order. Then early one morning, just after the coast-guard had staggled back into the town past his windows. Bartlett mounted the wheel and dashed out of town along the hard sand at the edge of the waves.

He headed for port, fifteen miles away. He could not have had a better road than that beach at low tide. He paid scant attention to the consternation of the trudging natives as he flew past them. Then he turned inland and took the burro road from San Felipe. Here were fords, but he carried his machine over them and was up and away again. He scattered sleepy burro trains, just starting their day’s work, and even now the drivers, with many expletives and waving of hands, tell cf the flying apparition that drove their mules with frightened haste to the woods and unsaddled many a bag of coffee. Bartlett rode down the streets of the port at about eight o’clock. He was warm and wet. and the bicycle attracted much wondering attention. In front of the police station two officers stopped him. and he was brought to the chief, who decided, first, that he and his bicycle were a suspicious combination. and secondly, that he must be a messenger from the revolutionists. So, notwithstanding his expostulations, he was placed under surveillance; in an ante-room adjacent to the chief's room, there to remain until his statements could be verified.

Now it so happened that two of Bartlett's native friends, Antonio, the bread man, and Feliz, the canoe captain from San Juan, had seen his arrest, and they now appeared to condole with him and explain matters to the chief; but their assurances were insufficient, and they departed, bearing, however, certain messages to Bartlett’s friends in town, whose influence the American; deemed sufficient to secure his release by noon time, when the steamer that he wanted to take for Curacoa was advertised to sail. But once outside the station, Antonio and Feliz, not knowing that Bartlett wanted to make that steamer, decided that the I>est man to secure the release of their captive friend was Colonel Guerra of the State t-coops at San Juan. So Feliz, with the best of intentions. saddled his fine mule, and in half :ui hour was speeding along the hot highway to San Juan in quest, of the colonel’s aid. Then Antonio

stepped in at the police station to tell Bartlett what had been done. 'H’s too bad,’ commented Antonio, slowly, ‘that you did not ask the colonel for a passport before you came in. The police here wouldn’t trouble you if you had a passport. They have to l>e rather particular now because of the revolution. Well, the colonel will be here at one, and then you will lie all right.’ And Antonio departed.

Bartlett thought quickly. If he missed that steamer the colonel would make it hard for him to catch another until the £l2O had been paid. The steamer was to leave at noon, but would probably lie late. The colonel could get there by one; but Bartlett saw his way now. The furniture of the ante-room consisted of two chairs and a desk. The guard sat in the outer room. The American watched his opportunity, and unobserved walked to the desk. There was the same paper, ruled in little pale blue squares, that the colonel used. He sat down and wrote hurriedly. He dated his sheet San Juan, the day before. Then he put down the Nos. 84-34 that headed all military passports issued that month. Continuing, he wrote himself a passport, such as he had done many

times for others. He closed it with 'ltios y Federacion (God and the Federation), and signed the colonel's name. After a moment's hesitation he boldly imitated the rubriea after the colonel's signature—the flourish that marked the document as emanating from the colonel himself. The Passport was hurriedly thrust into a damp pocket, and fifteen minutes later Bartlett was before the chief's desk demanding his liberty on the strength of Colonel Guerra's passport, then in the chief's hands. The chief was suspicious. ‘Hand me Guerra’s docket,’ he said to a clerk. He took from it a buneh of passports issued at various times by the colonel, and compared their handwriting with that of the one spread before him. They were identical, even to the rubriea. The chief was satisfied and Bartlett was liberated. The steamer for Curacoa had swung away from the stone docks and was slowly backing out of the narrow harbour when the crowd of stevedores and gayly attired townspeople quickly made way for the plunging entrance of a foam-covered horse and its rider. It was Colonel Guerra and his famous war horse. The colonel saw he was well beaten, and he gayly called goodby, while the crowd wondered at the strange proceedings. Then what looked like a letter came sailing from the steamer's deck to the shore. It was passed to the colonel, who examined it hurriedly. ‘Look at the rubriea,' called Bartlett from the steamer. ‘lt is well done,' answered the colonel.