The Cruise of the Thetis

The Cruise of the Thetis
A Tale of the Cuban Insurrection
By Harry Collingwood
CHAPTER ONE.
A FRIEND--AND A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.
"Hillo, Singleton, old chap, how are you?" exclaimed a young fellow of
about eighteen years of age, as he laid his hand upon the shoulder of a
lad about his own age, who, on a certain fine July day in the year of
grace 1894, was standing gazing into the window of a shop in
Piccadilly.
The speaker was a somewhat slightly-built youth, rather tall and slim,
by no means ill-looking, of sallow complexion and a cast of features
that betrayed his foreign origin, although his English was faultless. The
young man whom he had addressed was, on the other hand, a typical
Englishman, tall, broad, with "athlete" written large all over him; fair of
skin, with a thick crop of close-cut, ruddy-golden locks that curled
crisply on his well-shaped head, and a pair of clear, grey-blue eyes that
had a trick of seeming to look right into the very soul of anyone with
whom their owner happened to engage in conversation. Just now,
however, there was a somewhat languid look in those same eyes that,
coupled with an extreme pallor of complexion and gauntness of frame,
seemed to tell a tale of ill health. The singularly handsome face,
however, lighted up with an expression of delighted surprise as its
owner turned sharply round and answered heartily:
"Why, Carlos, my dear old chap, this is indeed an unexpected pleasure!
We were talking about you only last night--Letchmere, Woolaston,
Poltimore, and I, all old Alleynians who had foregathered to dine at the
Holborn. Where in the world have you sprung from?"

"Plymouth last, where I arrived yesterday, en route to London from
Cuba," was the answer. "And you are the second old Alleynian whom I
have already met. Lancaster--you remember him, of course--came up in
the same compartment with me all the way. He is an engineer now in
the dockyard at Devonport, and was on his way to join his people, who
are off to Switzerland, I think he said."
"Yes, of course I remember him," was the answer, "but I have not seen
him since we all left Dulwich together. And what are you doing over
here, now--if it is not an indiscreet question to ask; and how long do
you propose to stay?"
The sallow-complexioned, foreign-looking youth glanced keenly about
him before replying, looked at his watch, and then remarked:
"Close upon half-past one--lunch-time; and this London air of yours
has given me a most voracious appetite. Suppose we go in somewhere
and get some lunch, to start with; afterwards we can take a stroll in the
Park, and have a yarn together--that is to say, if you are not otherwise
engaged."
"Right you are, my boy; that will suit me admirably, for I have no other
engagement, and, truth to tell, was feeling somewhat at a loss as to how
to dispose of myself for the next hour or two. Here you are, let us go
into Prince's," answered Singleton. The two young men entered the
restaurant, found a table, called a waiter, and ordered lunch; and while
they are taking the meal the opportunity may be seized to make the
reader somewhat better acquainted with them.
There is not much that need be said by way of introduction to either of
them. Carlos Montijo was the only son of Don Hermoso Montijo, a
native of Cuba, and the most extensive and wealthy tobacco planter in
the Vuelta de Abajo district of that island. He was also intensely
patriotic, and was very strongly suspected by the Spanish rulers of
Cuba of regarding with something more than mere passive sympathy
the efforts that had been made by the Cubans from time to time, ever
since '68, to throw off the Spanish yoke. He was a great admirer of
England, English institutions, and the English form of government,

which, despite all its imperfections, he considered to be the most
admirable form of government in existence. It was this predilection for
things English that had induced him to send his son Carlos over to
England, some nine years prior to the date of the opening of this story,
to be educated at Dulwich, first of all in the preparatory school and
afterwards in the College. And it was during the latter period that
Carlos Montijo became the especial chum of Jack Singleton, a lad of
the same age as himself, and the only son of Edward Singleton, the
senior partner in the eminent Tyneside firm of Singleton, Murdock, and
Company, shipbuilders and engineers. The two lads had left Dulwich at
the same time, Carlos to return to Cuba to master the mysteries of
tobacco-growing, and Singleton to learn all that was