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The Crusade of the Excelsior
by Bret Harte
January, 2001 [Etext #2471]
Project Gutenberg Etext The Crusade of the Excelsior, by Harte
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THE CRUSADE OF THE EXCELSIOR
by Bret Harte
CONTENTS.
PART I.--IN BONDS.
CHAPTER I.
A CRUSADER AND A SIGN
CHAPTER II.
ANOTHER PORTENT
CHAPTER III.
"VIGILANCIA"
CHAPTER IV.
IN THE FOG
CHAPTER V.
TODOS SANTOS
CHAPTER VI.
"HAIL AND FAREWELL"
CHAPTER VII.
THE GENTLE CASTAWAYS
CHAPTER VIII.
IN SANCTUARY
CHAPTER IX.
AN OPEN-AIR PRISON
CHAPTER X.
TODOS SANTOS SOLVES THE MYSTERY
CHAPTER XI.
THE CAPTAIN FOLLOWS HIS SHIP
PART II.--FREED.
CHAPTER I.
THE MOURNERS AT SAN FRANCISCO
CHAPTER II.
THE MOURNERS AT TODOS SANTOS
CHAPTER III.
INTERNATIONAL COURTESIES
CHAPTER IV.
A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE
CHAPTER V.
CLOUDS AND CHANGE
CHAPTER VI.
A MORE IMPORTANT ARRIVAL
CHAPTER VII.
THE RETURN OF THE EXCELSIOR
CHAPTER VIII.
HOSTAGE
CHAPTER IX.
LIBERATED
THE CRUSADE OF THE EXCELSIOR
PART I. IN BONDS.
CHAPTER I.
A CRUSADER AND A SIGN.
It was the 4th of August, 1854, off Cape Corrientes. Morning was
breaking over a heavy sea, and the closely-reefed topsails of a
barque that ran before it bearing down upon the faint outline of
the Mexican coast. Already the white peak of Colima showed, ghost-
like, in the east; already the long sweep of the Pacific was
gathering strength and volume as it swept uninterruptedly into the
opening Gulf of California.
As the cold light increased, it could be seen that the vessel
showed evidence of a long voyage and stress of weather. She had
lost one of her spars, and her starboard davits rolled emptily.
Nevertheless, her rigging was taut and ship-shape, and her decks
scrupulously clean. Indeed, in that uncertain light, the only
moving figure besides the two motionless shadows at the wheel was
engaged in scrubbing the quarter-deck--which, with its grated
settees and stacked camp-chairs, seemed to indicate the presence of
cabin passengers. For the barque Excelsior, from New York to San
Francisco, had discharged the bulk of her cargo at Callao, and had
extended her liberal cabin accommodation to swell the feverish
Californian immigration, still in its height.
Suddenly there was a slight commotion on deck. An order, issued
from some invisible depth of the cabin, was so unexpected that it
had to be repeated sternly and peremptorily. A bustle forward
ensued, two or three other shadows sprang up by the bulwarks, then
the two men bent over the wheel, the Excelsior slowly swung round
on her heel, and, with a parting salutation to the coast, bore away
to the northwest and the open sea again.
"What's up now?" growled one of the men at the wheel to his
companion, as they slowly eased up on the helm.
"'Tain't the skipper's, for he's drunk as a biled owl, and ain't
stirred out of his bunk since eight bells," said the other. "It's
the first mate's orders; but, I reckon, it's the Senor's idea."
"Then we ain't goin' on to Mazatlan?"
"Not this trip, I reckon," said the third mate, joining them.
"Why?"
The third mate turned and pointed to leeward. The line of coast
had already sunk enough to permit the faint silhouette of a trail
of smoke to define the horizon line of sky.
"Steamer goin' in, eh?"
"Yes. D'ye see--it might be too hot, in there!"
"Then the jig's up?"
"No. Suthin's to be done--north of St. Lucas. Hush!"
He made a gesture of silence, although the conversation, since he
had joined them, had been carried on in a continuous whisper. A
figure, evidently a passenger, had appeared on deck. One or two of
the foreign-looking crew who had drawn near the group, with a
certain undue and irregular familiarity, now slunk away again.
The passenger was a shrewd, exact, rectangular-looking man, who had
evidently never entirely succumbed to the freedom of the sea either
in his appearance or habits. He had not even his sea legs yet; and
as the barque, with the full swell of the Pacific now on her
weather bow, was plunging uncomfortably, he was fain to cling to
the stanchions. This did not, however, prevent him from noticing
the change in her position, and captiously resenting it.
"Look here--you; I say! What have we turned round for? We're
going away from the land! Ain't we going on to Mazatlan?"
The two men at the wheel looked silently forward, with that
exasperating unconcern of any landsman's interest peculiar to
marine officials. The passenger turned impatiently to the third
mate.
"But this ain't right, you know. It was understood that we were
going into Mazatlan. I've got business there."
"My orders, sir," said the mate curtly, turning away.
The practical passenger had been observant enough of sea-going
rules to recognize that this reason was final, and that it was
equally futile to demand an interview with the captain when that
gentleman was not visibly on duty. He turned angrily to the cabin
again.
"You look disturbed, my dear Banks. I trust you haven't slept
badly," said a very gentle voice from the quarter-rail near him;
"or, perhaps, the ship's going about has upset you. It's a little
rougher on this tack."
"That's just it," returned Banks sharply. "We HAVE gone about, and
we're not going into Mazatlan at all. It's scandalous! I'll speak
to the captain--I'll complain to the consignees--I've got business
at Mazatlan--I expect letters--I"--
"Business, my dear fellow?" continued the voice, in gentle protest.
"You'll have time for business when you get to San Francisco. And
as for letters--they'll follow you there soon enough. Come over
here, my boy, and say hail and farewell to the Mexican coast--to
the land of Montezuma and Pizarro. Come here and see the mountain
range from which Balboa feasted his eyes on the broad Pacific.
Come!"
The speaker, though apparently more at his ease at sea, was in
dress and appearance fully as unnautical as Banks. As he leaned
over the railing, his white, close-fitting trousers and small
patent-leather boots gave him a jaunty, half-military air, which
continued up to the second button of his black frock-coat, and then
so utterly changed its character that it was doubtful if a greater
contrast could be conceived than that offered by the widely spread
lapels of his coat, his low turned-down collar, loosely knotted
silk handkerchief, and the round, smooth-shaven, gentle, pacific
face above them. His straight long black hair, shining as if from
recent immersion, was tucked carefully behind his ears, and hung in
a heavy, even, semicircular fringe around the back of his neck
where his tall hat usually rested, as if to leave his forehead
meekly exposed to celestial criticism. When he had joined the ship
at Callao, his fellow-passengers, rashly trusting to the momentary
suggestion of his legs on the gang-plank, had pronounced him
military; meeting him later at dinner, they had regarded the mild
Methodistic contour of his breast and shoulders above the table,
and entertained the wild idea of asking him to evoke a blessing.
To complete the confusion of his appearance, he was called "Senor"
Perkins, for no other reason, apparently, than his occasional, but
masterful, use of the Spanish vernacular.
Steadying himself by one of the quarter stanchions, he waved his
right hand oratorically towards the sinking coast.
"Look at it, sir. One of the finest countries that ever came from
the hand of the Creator; a land overflowing with milk and honey;
containing, sir, in that one mountain range, the products of the
three zones--and yet the abode of the oppressed and down-trodden;
the land of faction, superstition, tyranny, and political
revolution."
"That's all very well," said Banks irritably, "but Mazatlan is a
well-known commercial port, and has English and American
correspondents. There's a branch of that Boston firm--Potter,
Potts & Potter--there. The new line of steamers is going to stop
there regularly."
Senor Perkins' soft black eyes fell for an instant, as if
accidentally, on the third mate, but the next moment he laughed,
and, throwing back his head, inhaled, with evident relish, a long
breath of the sharp, salt air.
"Ah!" he said enthusiastically, "THAT'S better than all the
business you can pick up along a malarious coast. Open your mouth
and try to take in the free breath of the glorious North Pacific.
Ah! isn't it glorious?"
"Where's the captain?" said Banks, with despairing irritation. "I
want to see him."
"The captain," said Senor Perkins, with a bland, forgiving smile
and a slight lowering of his voice, "is, I fear, suffering from an
accident of hospitality, and keeps his state-room. The captain is
a good fellow," continued Perkins, with gentle enthusiasm; "a good
sailor and careful navigator, and exceedingly attentive to his
passengers. I shall certainly propose getting up some testimonial
for him."
"But if he's shut up in his state-room, who's giving the orders?"
began Banks angrily.
Senor Perkins put up a small, well-kept hand deprecatingly.
"Really, my dear boy, I suppose the captain cannot be omnipresent.
Some discretion must be left to the other officers. They probably
know his ideas and what is to be done better than we do. You
business men trouble yourselves too much about these things. You
should take them more philosophically. For my part I always
confide myself trustingly to these people. I enter a ship or
railroad car with perfect faith. I say to myself, 'This captain,
or this conductor, is a responsible man, selected with a view to my
safety and comfort; he understands how to procure that safety and
that comfort better than I do. He worries himself; he spends hours
and nights of vigil to look after me and carry me to my
destination. Why should I worry myself, who can only assist him by
passive obedience? Why'--" But here he was interrupted by a
headlong plunge of the Excelsior, a feminine shriek that was half a
laugh, the rapid patter of small feet and sweep of flying skirts
down the slanting deck, and the sudden and violent contact of a
pretty figure.
The next moment he had forgotten his philosophy, and his companion
his business. Both flew to the assistance of the fair intruder,
who, albeit the least injured of the trio, clung breathlessly to
the bulwarks.
"Miss Keene!" ejaculated both gentlemen.
"Oh dear! I beg your pardon," said the young lady, reddening, with
a naive mingling of hilarity and embarrassment. "But it seemed so
stuffy in the cabin, and it seemed so easy to get out on deck and
pull myself up by the railings; and just as I got up here, I
suddenly seemed to be sliding down the roof of a house."
"And now that you're here, your courage should be rewarded," said
the Senor, gallantly assisting her to a settee, which he lashed
securely. "You are perfectly safe now," he added, holding the end
of the rope in his hand to allow a slight sliding movement of the
seat as the vessel rolled. "And here is a glorious spectacle for
you. Look! the sun is just rising."
The young girl glanced over the vast expanse before her with
sparkling eyes and a suddenly awakened fancy that checked her
embarrassed smile, and fixed her pretty, parted lips with wonder.
The level rays of the rising sun striking the white crests of the
lifted waves had suffused the whole ocean with a pinkish opal
color: the darker parts of each wave seemed broken into facets
instead of curves, and glittered sharply. The sea seemed to have
lost its fluidity, and become vitreous; so much so, that it was
difficult to believe that the waves which splintered across the
Excelsior's bow did not fall upon her deck with the ring of
shattered glass.
"Sindbad's Valley of Diamonds!" said the young girl, in an awed
whisper.
"It's a cross sea in the Gulf of California, so the mate says,"
said Banks practically; "but I don't see why we" . . .
"The Gulf of California?" repeated the young girl, while a slight
shade of disappointment passed over her bright face; "are we then
so near"--
"Not the California you mean, my dear young lady," broke in Senor
Perkins, "but the old peninsula of California, which is still a
part of Mexico. It terminates in Cape St. Lucas, a hundred miles
from here, but it's still a far cry to San Francisco, which is in
Upper California. But I fancy you don't seem as anxious as our
friend Mr. Banks to get to your journey's end," he added, with
paternal blandness.
The look of relief which had passed over Miss Keene's truthful face
gave way to one of slight embarrassment.
"It hasn't seemed long," she said hastily; and then added, as if to
turn the conversation, "What is this peninsula? I remember it on
our map at school."
"It's not of much account," interrupted Banks positively. "There
ain't a place on it you ever heard of. It's a kind of wilderness."
"I differ from you," said Senor Perkins gravely. "There are, I
have been told, some old Mexican settlements along the coast, and
there is no reason why the country shouldn't be fruitful. But you
may have a chance to judge for yourself," he continued beamingly.
Since we are not going into Mazatlan, we may drop in at some of
those places for water. It's all on our way, and we shall save the
three days we would have lost had we touched Mazatlan. That," he
added, answering an impatient interrogation in Banks' eye, "at
least, is the captain's idea, I reckon." He laughed, and went on
still gayly,--"But what's the use of anticipating? Why should we
spoil any little surprise that our gallant captain may have in
store for us? I've been trying to convert this business man to my
easy philosophy, Miss Keene, but he is incorrigible; he is actually
lamenting his lost chance of hearing the latest news at Mazatlan,
and getting the latest market quotations, instead of offering a
thanksgiving for another uninterrupted day of freedom in this
glorious air."
With a half humorous extravagance he unloosed his already loose
necktie, turned his Byron collar still lower, and squared his
shoulders ostentatiously to the sea breeze. Accustomed as his two
companions were to his habitually extravagant speech, it did not at
that moment seem inconsistent with the intoxicating morning air and
the exhilaration of sky and wave. A breath of awakening and
resurrection moved over the face of the waters; recreation and new-
born life sparkled everywhere; the past night seemed forever buried
in the vast and exundating sea. The reefs had been shaken out, and
every sail set to catch the steadier breeze of the day; and as the
quickening sun shone upon the dazzling canvas that seemed to
envelop them, they felt as if wrapped in the purity of a baptismal
robe.
Nevertheless, Miss Keene's eyes occasionally wandered from the
charming prospect towards the companion-ladder. Presently she
became ominously and ostentatiously interested in the view again,
and at the same moment a young man's head and shoulders appeared
above the companionway. With a bound he was on the slanting deck,
moving with the agility and adaptability of youth, and approached
the group. He was quite surprised to find Miss Keene there so
early, and Miss Keene was equally surprised at his appearance,
notwithstanding the phenomenon had occurred with singular
regularity for the last three weeks. The two spectators of this
gentle comedy received it as they had often received it before,
with a mixture of apparent astonishment and patronizing
unconsciousness, and, after a decent interval, moved away together,
leaving the young people alone.
The hesitancy and awkwardness which usually followed the first
moments of their charming isolation were this morning more than
usually prolonged.
"It seems we are not going into Mazatlan, after all," said Miss
Keene at last, without lifting her conscious eyes from the sea.
"No," returned the young fellow quickly. "I heard all about it
down below, and we had quite an indignation meeting over it. I
believe Mrs. Markham wanted to head a deputation to wait upon the
captain in his berth. It seems that the first officer, or
whosoever is running the ship, has concluded we've lost too much
time already, and we're going to strike a bee-line for Cape St.
Lucas, and give Mazatlan the go-by. We'll save four days by it. I
suppose it don't make any difference to you, Miss Keene, does it?"
"I? Oh, no!" said the girl hastily.
"I'M rather sorry," he said hesitatingly.
"Indeed. Are you tired of the ship?" she asked saucily.
"No," he replied bluntly; "but it would have given us four more
days together--four more days before we separated."
He stopped, with a heightened color. There was a moment of
silence, and the voices of Senor Perkins and Mr. Banks in political
discussion on the other side of the deck came faintly. Miss Keene
laughed.
"We are a long way from San Francisco yet, and you may think
differently."
"Never!" he said, impulsively.
He had drawn closer to her, as if to emphasize his speech. She
cast a quick glance across the deck towards the two disputants, and
drew herself gently away.
"Do you know," she said suddenly, with a charming smile which
robbed the act of its sting, "I sometimes wonder if I am REALLY
going to San Francisco. I don't know how it is; but, somehow, I
never can SEE myself there."
"I wish you did, for I'M going there," he replied boldly.
Without appearing to notice the significance of his speech, she
continued gravely:
"I have been so strongly impressed with this feeling at times that
it makes me quite superstitious. When we had that terrible storm
after we left Callao, I thought it meant that--that we were all
going down, and we should never be heard of again."
"As long as we all went together," he said, "I don't know that it
would be the worst thing that could happen. I remember that storm,
Miss Keene. And I remember"--He stopped timidly.
"What?" she replied, raising her smiling eyes for the first time to
his earnest face.
"I remember sitting up all night near your state-room, with a cork
jacket and lots of things I'd fixed up for you, and thinking I'd
die before I trusted you alone in the boat to those rascally
Lascars of the crew."
"But how would you have prevented it?" asked Miss Keene, with a
compassionate and half-maternal amusement.
"I don't know exactly," he said, coloring; "but I'd have lashed you
to some spar, or made a raft, and got you ashore on some island."
"And poor Mrs. Markham and Mrs. Brimmer--you'd have left them to
the boats and the Lascars, I suppose?" smiled Miss Keene.
"Oh, somebody would have looked after Mrs. Markham; and Mrs.
Brimmer wouldn't have gone with anybody that wasn't well connected.
But what's the use of talking?" he added ruefully. "Nothing has
happened, and nothing is going to happen. You will see yourself in
San Francisco, even if you don't see ME there. You're going to a
rich brother, Miss Keene, who has friends of his own, and who won't
care to know a poor fellow whom you tolerated on the passage, but
who don't move in Mrs. Brimmer's set, and whom Mr. Banks wouldn't
indorse commercially."
"Ah, you don't know my brother, Mr. Brace."
"Nor do you, very well, Miss Keene. You were saying, only last
night, you hardly remembered him."
The young girl sighed.
"I was very young when he went West," she said explanatorily; "but
I dare say I shall recall him. What I meant is, that he will be
very glad to know that I have been so happy here, and he will like
all those who have made me so."
"Then you have been happy?"
"Yes; very." She had withdrawn her eyes, and was looking vaguely
towards the companion-way. "Everybody has been so kind to me."
"And you are grateful to all?"
"Yes."
"Equally?"
The ship gave a sudden forward plunge. Miss Keene involuntarily
clutched the air with her little hand, that had been resting on the
settee between them, and the young man caught it in his own.
"Equally?" he repeated, with an assumed playfulness that half
veiled his anxiety. "Equally--from the beaming Senor Perkins, who
smiles on all, to the gloomy Mr. Hurlstone, who smiles on no one?"
She quickly withdrew her hand, and rose. "I smell the breakfast,"
she said laughingly. "Don't be horrified, Mr. Brace, but I'm very
hungry." She laid the hand she had withdrawn lightly on his arm.
"Now help me down to the cabin."
CHAPTER II.
ANOTHER PORTENT.
The saloon of the Excelsior was spacious for the size of the
vessel, and was furnished in a style superior to most passenger-
ships of that epoch. The sun was shining through the sliding
windows upon the fresh and neatly arranged breakfast-table, but the
presence of the ominous "storm-racks," and partitions for glass and
china, and the absence of the more delicate passengers, still
testified to the potency of the Gulf of California. Even those
present wore an air of fatigued discontent, and the conversation
had that jerky interjectional quality which belonged to people with
a common grievance, but a different individual experience. Mr.
Winslow had been unable to shave. Mrs. Markham, incautiously and
surreptitiously opening a port-hole in her state-room for a whiff
of fresh air while dressing, had been shocked by the intrusion of
the Pacific Ocean, and was obliged to summon assistance and change
her dress. Jack Crosby, who had attired himself for tropical
shore-going in white ducks and patent leathers, shivered in the
keen northwest Trades, and bewailed the cheap cigars he had
expected to buy at Mazatlan. The entrance of Miss Keene, who
seemed to bring with her the freshness and purity of the dazzling
outer air, stirred the younger men into some gallant attention,
embarrassed, however, by a sense of self-reproach.
Senor Perkins alone retained his normal serenity. Already seated
at the table between the two fair-headed children of Mrs. Brimmer,
he was benevolently performing parental duties in her absence, and
gently supervising and preparing their victuals even while he
carried on an ethnological and political discussion with Mrs.
Markham.
"Ah, my dear lady," continued the Senor, as he spread a hot biscuit
with butter and currant jelly for the youngest Miss Brimmer, "I am
afraid that, with the fastidiousness of your sex, you allow your
refined instincts against a race who only mix with ours in a menial
capacity to prejudice your views of their ability for enlightened
self-government. That may be true of the aborigines of the Old
World--like our friends the Lascars among the crew"--
"They're so snaky, dark, and deceitful-looking," interrupted Mrs.
Markham.
"I might differ from you there, and say that the higher blonde
types like the Anglo-Saxon--to say nothing of the wily Greeks--were
the deceitful races: it might be difficult for any of us to say
what a sly and deceitful man should be like"--
"Oor not detheitful--oor a dood man," interpolated the youngest
Miss Brimmer, fondly regarding the biscuit.
"Thank you, Missie," beamed the Senor; "but to return: our Lascar
friends, Mrs. Markham, belong to an earlier Asiatic type of
civilization already decayed or relapsed to barbarism, while the
aborigines of the New World now existing have never known it--or,
like the Aztecs, have perished with it. The modern North American
aborigine has not yet got beyond the tribal condition; mingled with
Caucasian blood as he is in Mexico and Central America, he is
perfectly capable of self-government."
"Then why has he never obtained it?" asked Mrs. Markham.
"He has always been oppressed and kept down by colonists of the
Latin races; he has been little better than a slave to his
oppressor for the last two centuries," said Senor Perkins, with a
slight darkening of his soft eyes.
"Injins is pizen," whispered Mr. Winslow to Miss Keene.
"Who would be free, you know, the poet says, ought themselves to
light out from the shoulder, and all that sort of thing," suggested
Crosby, with cheerful vagueness.
"True; but a little assistance and encouragement from mankind
generally would help them," continued the Senor. "Ah! my dear Mrs.
Markham, if they could even count on the intelligent sympathy of
women like yourself, their independence would be assured. And
think what a proud privilege to have contributed to such a result,
to have assisted at the birth of the ideal American Republic, for
such it would be--a Republic of one blood, one faith, one history."
"What on earth, or sea, ever set the old man off again?" inquired
Crosby, in an aggrieved whisper. "It's two weeks since he's given
us any Central American independent flapdoodle--long enough for
those nigger injins to have had half a dozen revolutions. You know
that the vessels that put into San Juan have saluted one flag in
the morning, and have been fired at under another in the
afternoon."
"Hush!" said Miss Keene. "He's so kind! Look at him now, taking
off the pinafores of those children and tidying them. He is kinder
to them than their nurse, and more judicious than their mother.
And half his talk with Mrs. Markham now is only to please her,
because she thinks she knows politics. He's always trying to do
good to somebody."
"That's so," exclaimed Brace, eager to share Miss Keene's
sentiments; "and he's so good to those outlandish niggers in the
crew. I don't see how the captain could get on with the crew
without him; he's the only one who can talk their gibberish and
keep them quiet. I've seen him myself quietly drop down among them
when they were wrangling. In my opinion," continued the young
fellow, lowering his voice somewhat ostentatiously, "you'll find
out when we get to port that he's stopped the beginning of many a
mutiny among them."
"I reckon they'd make short work of a man like him," said Winslow,
whose superciliousness was by no means lessened by the community of
sentiment between Miss Keene and Brace. "I reckon, his political
reforms, and his poetical high-falutin' wouldn't go as far in the
forecastle among live men as it does in the cabin with a lot of
women. You'll more likely find that he's been some sort of steward
on a steamer, and he's working his passage with us. That's where
he gets that smooth, equally-attentive-to-anybody sort of style.
The way he skirmished around Mrs. Brimmer and Mrs. Markham with a
basin the other day when it was so rough convinced ME. It was a
little too professional to suit my style."
"I suppose that was the reason why you went below so suddenly,"
rejoined Brace, whose too sensitive blood was beginning to burn in
his cheeks and eyes.
"It's a shame to stay below this morning," said Miss Keene,
instinctively recognizing the cause of the discord and its remedy.
"I'm going on deck again--if I can manage to get there."
The three gentlemen sprang to accompany her; and, in their efforts
to keep their physical balance and hers equally, the social
equilibrium was restored.
By noon, however, the heavy cross-sea had abated, and the Excelsior
bore west. When she once more rose and fell regularly on the long
rhythmical swell of the Pacific, most of the passengers regained
the deck. Even Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb ventured from their
staterooms, and were conveyed to and installed in some state on a
temporary divan of cushions and shawls on the lee side. For even
in this small republic of equal cabin passengers the undemocratic
and distinction-loving sex had managed to create a sham
exclusiveness. Mrs. Brimmer, as the daughter of a rich Bostonian,
the sister of a prominent lawyer, and the wife of a successful San
Francisco merchant, who was popularly supposed to be part-owner of
the Excelsior, was recognized, and alternately caressed and hated
as their superior. A majority of the male passengers, owning no
actual or prospective matrimonial subjection to those charming
toad-eaters, I am afraid continued to enjoy a mild and debasing
equality among themselves, mitigated only by the concessions of
occasional gallantry. To them, Mrs. Brimmer was a rather pretty,
refined, well-dressed woman, whose languid pallor, aristocratic
spareness, and utter fastidiousness did not, however, preclude a
certain nervous intensity which occasionally lit up her weary eyes
with a dangerous phosphorescence, under their brown fringes.
Equally acceptable was Miss Chubb, her friend and traveling
companion; a tall, well-bred girl, with faint salmon-pink hair and
complexion, that darkened to a fiery brown in her shortsighted
eyes.
Between these ladies and Mrs. Markham and Miss Keene existed an
enthusiastic tolerance, which, however, could never be mistaken for
a generous rivalry. Of the greater popularity of Miss Keene as the
recognized belle of the Excelsior there could be no question; nor
was there any from Mrs. Brimmer and her friend. The intellectual
preeminence of Mrs. Markham was equally, and no less ostentatiously,
granted. "Mrs. Markham is so clever; I delight to hear you converse
together," Mrs. Brimmer would say to Senor Perkins, "though I'm sure
I hardly dare talk to her myself. She might easily go into the
lecture-field--perhaps she expects to do so in California. My dear
Clarissa"--to Miss Chubb--"don't she remind you a little of Aunt
Jane Winthrop's governess, whom we came so near taking to Paris with
us, but couldn't on account of her defective French?"
When "The Excelsior Banner and South Sea Bubble" was published in
lat. 15 N. and long. 105 W., to which Mrs. Markham contributed the
editorials and essays, and Senor Perkins three columns of
sentimental poetry, Mrs. Brimmer did not withhold her praise of the
fair editor. When the Excelsior "Recrossed the Line," with a
suitable tableau vivant and pageant, and Miss Keene as California,
in white and blue, welcomed from the hands of Neptune (Senor
Perkins) and Amphitrite (Mrs. Markham) her fair sister,
Massachusetts (Mrs. Brimmer), and New York (Miss Chubb), Mrs.
Brimmer was most enthusiastic of the beauty of Miss Keene.
On the present morning Mr. Banks found his disappointment at not
going into Mazatlan languidly shared by Mrs. Brimmer. That lady
even made a place for him on the cushions beside her, as she
pensively expressed her belief that her husband would be still more
disappointed.
"Mr. Brimmer, you know, has correspondents at Mazatlan, and no
doubt he has made particular arrangements for our reception and
entertainment while there. I should not wonder if he was very
indignant. And if, as I fear, the officials of the place, knowing
Mr. Brimmer's position--and my own connections--have prepared to
show us social courtesies, it may be a graver affair. I shouldn't
be surprised if our Government were obliged to take notice of it.
There is a Captain-General of port--isn't there? I think my
husband spoke of him."
"Oh, he's probably been shot long ago," broke in Mr. Crosby
cheerfully. "They put in a new man every revolution. If the wrong
party's got in, they've likely shipped your husband's correspondent
too, and might be waiting to get a reception for you with nigger
soldiers and ball cartridges. Shouldn't wonder if the skipper got
wind of something of the kind, and that's why he didn't put in. If
your husband hadn't been so well known, you see, we might have
slipped in all right."
Mrs. Brimmer received this speech with the languid obliviousness of
perception she usually meted out to this chartered jester.
"Do you really think so, Mr. Crosby? And would you have been
afraid to leave your cabin--or are you joking? You know I never
know when you are. It is very dreadful, either way."
But here Miss Chubb, with ready tact, interrupted any possible
retort from Mr. Crosby.
"Look," she said, pointing to some of the other passengers, who, at
a little distance, had grouped about the first mate in animated
discussion. "I wonder what those gentlemen are so interested
about. Do go and see."
Before he could reply, Mr. Winslow, detaching himself from the
group, hurried towards them.
"Here's a row: Hurlstone is missing! Can't be found anywhere!
They think he's fallen overboard!"
The two frightened exclamations from Miss Chubb and Mrs. Brimmer
diverted attention from the sudden paleness of Miss Keene, who had
impulsively approached them.
"Impossible!" she said hurriedly.
"I fear it is so," said Brace, who had followed Winslow; "although,"
he added in a lower tone, with an angry glance at the latter, "that
brute need not have blustered it out to frighten everybody. They're
searching the ship again, but there seems no hope. He hasn't been
seen since last night. He was supposed to be in his state-room--but
as nobody missed him--you know how odd and reserved he was--it was
only when the steward couldn't find him, and began to inquire, that
everybody remembered they hadn't seen him all day. You are
frightened, Miss Keene; pray sit down. That fellow Winslow ought to
have had more sense."
"It seems so horrible that nobody knew it," said the young girl,
shuddering; "that we sat here laughing and talking, while perhaps
he was-- Good heavens! what's that?"
A gruff order had been given: in the bustle that ensued the ship
began to fall off to leeward; a number of the crew had sprung to
the davits of the quarter boat.
"We're going about, and they're lowering a boat, that's all; but
it's as good as hopeless," said Brace. "The accident must have
happened before daylight, or it would have been seen by the watch.
It was probably long before we came on deck," he added gently; "so
comfort yourself, Miss Keene, you could have seen nothing."
"It seems so dreadful," murmured the young girl, "that he wasn't
even missed. Why," she said, suddenly raising her soft eyes to
Brace, "YOU must have noticed his absence; why, even I"-- She
stopped with a slight confusion, that was, however, luckily
diverted by the irrepressible Winslow.
"The skipper's been routed out at last, and is giving orders. He
don't look as if his hat fitted him any too comfortably this
morning, does he?" he laughed, as a stout, grizzled man, with
congested face and eyes, and a peremptory voice husky with
alcoholic irritation, suddenly appeared among the group by the
wheel. "I reckon he's cursing his luck at having to heave-to and
lose this wind."
"But for a human creature's life!" exclaimed Mrs. Markham in
horror.
"That's just it. Laying-to now ain't going to save anybody's life,
and he knows it. He's doin' it for show, just for a clean record
in the log, and to satisfy you people here, who'd kick up a row if
he didn't."
"Then you believe he's lost?" said Miss Keene, with glistening
eyes.
"There ain't a doubt of it," returned Winslow shortly.
"I don't agree with you," said a gentle voice.
They turned quickly towards the benevolent face of Senor Perkins,
who had just joined them.
"I differ from my young friend," continued the Senor courteously,
"because the accident must have happened at about daybreak, when we
were close inshore. It would not be impossible for a good swimmer
to reach the land, or even," continued Senor Perkins, in answer to
the ray of hope that gleamed in Miss Keene's soft eyes, "for him to
have been picked up by some passing vessel. The smoke of a large
steamer was sighted between us and the land at about that time."
"A steamer!" ejaculated Banks eagerly; "that was one of the new
line with the mails. How provoking!"
He was thinking of his lost letters. Miss Keene turned, heart-
sick, away. Worse than the ghastly interruption to their easy
idyllic life was this grim revelation of selfishness. She began to
doubt if even the hysterical excitement of her sister passengers
was not merely a pleasant titillation of their bored and inactive
nerves.
"I believe the Senor is right, Miss Keene," said Brace, taking her
aside, "and I'll tell you why." He stopped, looked around him, and
went on in a lower voice, "There are some circumstances about the
affair which look more like deliberation than an accident. He has
left nothing behind him of any value or that gives any clue. If it
was a suicide he would have left some letter behind for somebody--
people always do, you know, at such times--and he would have chosen
the open sea. It seems more probable that he threw himself
overboard with the intention of reaching the shore."
"But why should he want to leave the ship?" echoed the young girl
simply.
"Perhaps he found out that we were NOT going to Mazatlan, and this
was his only chance; it must have happened just as the ship went
about and stood off from shore again."
"But I don't understand," continued Miss Keene, with a pretty
knitting of her brows, "why he should be so dreadfully anxious to
get ashore now."
The young fellow looked at her with the superior smile of youthful
sagacity.
"Suppose he had particular reasons for not going to San Francisco,
where our laws could reach him! Suppose he had committed some
offense! Suppose he was afraid of being questioned or recognized!"
The young girl rose indignantly.
"This is really too shameful! Who dare talk like that?"
Brace colored quickly.
"Who? Why, everybody," he stammered, for a moment abandoning his
attitude of individual acumen; "it's the talk of the ship."
"Is it? And before they know whether he's alive or dead--perhaps
even while he is still struggling with death--all they can do is to
take his character away!" she repeated, with flashing eyes.
"And I'm even worse than they are," he returned, his temper rising
with his color. "I ought to have known I was talking to one of HIS
friends, instead of one whom I thought was MINE. I beg your
pardon."
He turned away as Miss Keene, apparently not heeding his pique,
crossed the deck, and entered into conversation with Mrs. Markham.
It is to be feared that she found little consolation among the
other passengers, or even those of her own sex, whom this profound
event had united in a certain freemasonry of sympathy and interest--
to the exclusion of their former cliques. She soon learned, as
the return of the boats to the ship and the ship to her course
might have clearly told her, that there was no chance of recovering
the missing passenger. She learned that the theory advanced by
Brace was the one generally held by them; but with an added romance
of detail, that excited at once their commiseration and admiration.
Mrs. Brimmer remembered to have heard him, the second or third
night out from Callao, groaning in his state-room; but having
mistakenly referred the emotion to ordinary seasickness, she had no
doubt lost an opportunity for confidential disclosure. "I am
sure," she added, "that had somebody as resolute and practical as
you, dear Mrs. Markham, approached him the next day, he would have
revealed his sorrow." Miss Chubb was quite certain that she had
seen him one night, in tears, by the quarter railing. "I saw his
eyes glistening under his slouched hat as I passed. I remember
thinking, at the time, that he oughtn't to have been left alone
with such a dreadful temptation before him to slip overboard and
end his sorrow or his crime." Mrs. Markham also remembered that it
was about five o'clock--or was it six?--that morning when she
distinctly thought she had heard a splash, and she was almost
impelled to get up and look out of the bull's-eye. She should
never forgive herself for resisting that impulse, for she was
positive now that she would have seen his ghastly face in the
water. Some indignation was felt that the captain, after a cursory
survey of his stateroom, had ordered it to be locked until his fate
was more positively known, and the usual seals placed on his
effects for their delivery to the authorities at San Francisco. It
was believed that some clue to his secret would be found among his
personal chattels, if only in the form of a keepsake, a locket, or
a bit of jewelry. Miss Chubb had noticed that he wore a seal ring,
but not on the engagement-finger. In some vague feminine way it
was admitted without discussion that one of their own sex was mixed
up in the affair, and, with the exception of Miss Keene, general
credence was given to the theory that Mazatlan contained his
loadstar--the fatal partner and accomplice of his crime, the siren
that allured him to his watery grave. I regret to say that the
facts gathered by the gentlemen were equally ineffective. The
steward who had attended the missing man was obliged to confess
that their most protracted and confidential conversation had been
on the comparative efficiency of ship biscuits and soda crackers.
Mr. Banks, who was known to have spoken to him, could only remember
that one warm evening, in reply to a casual remark about the
weather, the missing man, burying his ears further in the turned-up
collar of his pea-jacket, had stated, "'It was cold enough to
freeze the ears off a brass monkey,'--a remark, no doubt, sir,
intended to convey a reason for his hiding his own." Only Senor
Perkins retained his serene optimism unimpaired.
"Take my word for it, we shall yet hear good news of our missing
friend. Let us at least believe it until we know otherwise. Ah!
my dear Mrs. Markham, why should the Unknown always fill us with
apprehension? Its surprises are equally often agreeable."
"But we have all been so happy before this; and this seems such an
unnecessary and cruel awakening," said Miss Keene, lifting her sad
eyes to the speaker, "that I can't help thinking it's the beginning
of the end. Good heavens! what's that?"
She had started at the dark figure of one of the foreign-looking
sailors, who seemed to have suddenly risen out of the deck beside
them.
"The Senor Perkins," he said, with an apologetic gesture of his
hand to his hatless head.
"You want ME, my good man?" asked Senor Perkins paternally.
"Si, Senor; the mate wishes to see the Patrono," he said in
Spanish.
"I will come presently."
The sailor hesitated. Senor Perkins took a step nearer to him
benignantly. The man raised his eyes to Senor Perkins, and said,--
"Vigilancia."
"Bueno!" returned the Senor gently. "Excuse me, ladies, for a
moment."
"Perhaps it is some news of poor Mr. Hurlstone?" said Miss Keene,
with an instinctive girlish movement of hope.
"Who knows?" returned Senor Perkins, waving his hand as he gayly
tripped after his guide. "Let us believe in the best, dear young
lady, the best!"
CHAPTER III.
"VIGILANCIA."
Without exchanging another word with his escort, Senor Perkins
followed him to the main hatch, where they descended and groped
their way through the half obscurity of the lower deck. Here they
passed one or two shadows, that, recognizing the Senor, seemed to
draw aside in a half awed, half suppressed shyness, as of caged
animals in the presence of their trainer. At the fore-hatch they
again descended, passing a figure that appeared to be keeping watch
at the foot of the ladder, and almost instantly came upon a group
lit up by the glare of a bull's-eye lantern. It was composed of
the first and second mate, a vicious-looking Peruvian sailor with a
bandaged head, and, to the Senor's astonishment, the missing
passenger Hurlstone, seated on the deck, heavily ironed.
"Tell him what you know, Pedro," said the first mate to the
Peruvian sailor curtly.
"It was just daybreak, Patrono, before we put about," began the man
in Spanish, "that I thought I saw some one gliding along towards
the fore-hatch; but I lost sight of him. After we had tumbled up
to go on the other tack, I heard a noise in the fore-hold. I went
down and found HIM," pointing to Hurlstone, "hiding there. He had
some provisions stowed away beside him, and that package. I
grabbed him, Patrono. He broke away and struck me here"--he
pointed to his still wet bandage--"and would have got out overboard
through the port, but the second mate heard the row and came down
just in time to stop him."
"When was this?" asked Senor Perkins.
"Guardia di Diana."
"You were chattering, you fellows."
"Quien sabe?" said the Peruvian, lifting his shoulders.
"How does he explain himself?"
"He refuses to speak."
"Take off his irons," said Senor Perkins, in English.
"But"--expostulated the first mate, with a warning gesture.
"I said--take off his irons," repeated Senor Perkins in a dry and
unfamiliar voice.
The two mates released the shackles. The prisoner raised his eyes
to Senor Perkins. He was a slightly built man of about thirty,
fair-haired and hollow-cheeked. His short upper lip was lifted
over his teeth, as if from hurried or labored breathing; but his
features were regular and determined, and his large blue eyes shone
with a strange abstraction of courage and fatuity.
"That will do," continued the Senor, in the same tone. "Now leave
him with me."
The two mates looked at each other, and hesitated; but at a glance
from Perkins, turned, and ascended the ladder again. The Peruvian
alone remained.
"Go!" said the Senor sharply.
The man cast a vindictive look at the prisoner and retreated
sullenly.
"Did HE tell you," said the prisoner, looking after the sailor
grimly, "that I tried to bribe him to let me go, but that I
couldn't reach his figure? He wanted too much. He thought I had
some stolen money or valuables here," he added, with a bitter
laugh, pointing to the package that lay beside him.
"And you hadn't?" said Perkins shortly.
"No."
"I believe you. And now, my young friend," said Perkins, with a
singular return of his beaming gentleness, "since those two
efficient and competent officers and this energetic but
discourteous seaman are gone, would you mind telling me WHAT you
were hiding for?"
The prisoner raised his eyes on his questioner. For the last three
weeks he had lived in the small community of which the Senor was a
prominent member, but he scarcely recognized him now.
"What if I refuse?" he said.
The Senor shrugged his shoulders.
"Those two excellent men would feel it their duty to bring the
Peruvian to the captain, and I should be called to interpret to
him."
"And I should throw myself overboard the first chance I got. I
would have done so ten minutes ago, but the mate stopped me."
His eye glistened with the same fatuous determination he had shown
at first. There was no doubt he would do as he said.
"I believe you would," said the Senor benevolently; "but I see no
present necessity for that, nor for any trouble whatever, if you
will kindly tell me WHAT I am to say."
The young man's eyes fell.
"I DID try to conceal myself in the hold," he said bluntly. "I
intended to remain there hidden while the ship was at Mazatlan. I
did not know until now that the vessel had changed her course."
"And how did you believe your absence would be accounted for?"
asked the Senor blandly.
"I thought it would be supposed that I had fallen overboard before
we entered Mazatlan."
"So that anybody seeking you there would not find you, and you
would be believed to be dead?"
"Yes." He raised his eyes quickly to Senor Perkins again. "I am
neither a thief nor a murderer," he said almost savagely, "but I do
not choose to be recognized by any one who knows me on this side of
the grave."
Senor Perkins' eyes sought his, and for an instant seemed to burn
through the singular, fatuous mist that veiled them.
"My friend," he said cheerfully, after a moment's pause, "you have
just had a providential escape. I repeat it--a most providential
escape. Indeed, if I were inclined to prophesy, I would say you
were a man reserved for some special good fortune."
The prisoner stared at him with angry amazement.
"You are a confirmed somnambulist. Excuse me," continued the
Senor, with a soft, deprecating gesture; "you are, of course,
unaware of it--most victims of that singular complaint are, or at
least fail to recognize the extent of their aberration. In your
case it has only been indicated by a profound melancholy and
natural shunning of society. In a paroxysm of your disorder, you
rise in the night, fully dress yourself, and glide as unconsciously
along the deck in pursuance of some vague fancy. You pass the
honest but energetic sailor who has just left us, who thinks you
are a phantom, and fails to give the alarm; you are precipitated by
a lurch of the ship through an open hatchway: the shock renders you
insensible until you are discovered and restored."
"And who will believe this pretty story?" said the young man
scornfully.
"The honest sailor who picked you up, who has related it in his own
picturesque tongue to ME, who will in turn interpret it to the
captain and the other passengers," replied Senor Perkins blandly.
"And what of the two mates who were here?" said the prisoner
hesitatingly.
"They are two competent officers, who are quite content to carry
out the orders of their superiors, and who understand their duty
too well to interfere with the reports of their subordinates, on
which these orders are based. Mr. Brooks, the first officer,
though fairly intelligent and a good reader of history, is only
imperfectly acquainted with the languages, and Mr. M'Carthy's
knowledge of Spanish is confined to a few objurgations which
generally preclude extended conversation."
"And who are you," said Hurlstone, more calmly, "who are willing to
do this for a stranger?"
"A friend--equally of yours, the captain's, and the other
passengers'," replied Senor Perkins pleasantly. "A man who
believes you, my dear sir, and, even if he did not, sees no reason
to interrupt the harmony that has obtained in our little community
during our delightful passage. Were any scandal to occur, were you
to carry out your idea of throwing yourself overboard, it would, to
say nothing of my personal regret, produce a discord for which
there is no necessity, and from which no personal good can be
derived. Here at least your secret is secure, for even I do not
ask what it is; we meet here on an equality, based on our own
conduct and courtesy to each other, limited by no antecedent
prejudice, and restrained by no thought of the future. In a little
while we shall be separated--why should it not be as friends? Why
should we not look back upon our little world of this ship as a
happy one?"
Hurlstone gazed at the speaker with a troubled air. It was once
more the quaint benevolent figure whom he had vaguely noted among
the other passengers, and as vaguely despised. He hesitated a
moment, and then, half timidly, half reservedly, extended his hand.
"I thank you," he said, "at least for not asking my secret.
Perhaps, if it was only"--
"Your own--you might tell it," interrupted the Senor, gayly. "I
understand. I see you recognize my principle. There is no
necessity of your putting yourself to that pain, or another to that
risk. And now, my young friend, time presses. I must say a word
to our friends above, who are waiting, and I shall see that you are
taken privately to your state-room while most of the other
passengers are still on deck. If you would permit yourself the
weakness of allowing the steward to carry or assist you it would be
better. Let me advise you that the excitement of the last three
hours has not left you in your full strength. You must really give
ME the pleasure of spreading the glad tidings of your safety among
the passengers, who have been so terribly alarmed."
"They will undoubtedly be relieved," said Hurlstone, with ironical
bitterness.
"You wrong them," returned the Senor, with gentle reproach;
"especially the ladies."
The voice of the first mate from above here checked his further
speech, and, perhaps, prevented him, as he quickly reascended the
upper deck, from noticing the slight embarrassment of his prisoner.
The Senor's explanations to the mate were evidently explicit and
brief. In a few moments he reappeared with the steward and his
assistant.
"Lean on these men," he said to Hurlstone significantly, "and do
not overestimate your strength. Thank Heaven, no bones are broken,
and you are only bruised by the fall. With a little rest, I think
we can get along without laying the captain's medicine-chest under
contribution. Our kind friend Mr. Brooks has had the lower deck
cleared, so that you may gain your state-room without alarming the
passengers or fatiguing yourself."
He pressed Hurlstone's hand as the latter resigned himself to the
steward, and was half led, half supported, through the gloom of the
lower deck. Senor Perkins remained for an instant gazing after him
with even more than his usual benevolence. Suddenly his arm was
touched almost rudely. He turned, and encountered the lowering
eyes of the Peruvian sailor.
"And what is to be done for me?" said the man roughly, in Spanish.
"You?"
"Yes. Who's to pay for this?" he pointed to his bandaged head.
Without changing his bland expression, Senor Perkins apparently
allowed his soft black eyes to rest, as if fondly, on the angry
pupils of the Peruvian. The eyes of the latter presently sought
the ground.
"My dear Yoto," said Senor Perkins softly, "I scarcely think that
this question of personal damage can be referred to the State. I
will, however, look into it. Meantime, let me advise you to
control your enthusiasm. Too much zeal in a subordinate is even
more fatal than laxity. For the rest, son, be vigilant--and
peaceful. Thou hast meant well, much shall be--forgiven thee. For
the present, vamos!"
He turned on his heel, and ascended to the upper deck. Here he
found the passengers thrilling with a vague excitement. A few
brief orders, a few briefer explanations, dropped by the officers,
had already whetted curiosity to the keenest point. The Senor was
instantly beset with interrogations. Gentle, compassionate, with
well-rounded periods, he related the singular accident that had
befallen Mr. Hurlstone, and his providential escape from almost
certain death. "At the most, he has now only the exhaustion of the
shock, from which a day of perfect rest will recover him; but," he
added deprecatingly, "at present he ought not to be disturbed or
excited."
The story was received by those fellow-passengers who had been
strongest in their suspicions of Hurlstone's suicide or flight,
with a keen sense of discomfiture, only mitigated by a humorous
perception of the cause of the accident. It was agreed that a man
whose ludicrous infirmity had been the cause of putting the ship
out of her course, and the passengers out of their comfortable
security, could not be wronged by attributing to him manlier and
more criminal motives. A somnambulist on shipboard was clearly a
humorous object, who might, however, become a bore. "It all
accounts for his being so deuced quiet and reserved in the
daytime," said Crosby facetiously; "he couldn't keep it up the
whole twenty-four hours. If he'd only given us a little more of
his company when he was awake, he wouldn't have gallivanted round
at night, and we'd have been thirty miles nearer port." Equal
amusement was created by the humorous suggestion that the
unfortunate man had never been entirely awake during the voyage,
and that he would now, probably for the first time, really make the
acquaintance of his fellow-voyagers. Listening to this badinage
with bland tolerance, Senor Perkins no doubt felt that, for the
maintenance of that perfect amity he so ardently apostrophized, it
was just as well that Hurlstone was in his state-room, and out of
hearing.
He would have been more satisfied, however, had he been permitted
to hear the feminine comments on this incident. In the eyes of the
lady passengers Mr. Hurlstone was more a hero than ever; his
mysterious malady invested him with a vague and spiritual interest;
his escape from the awful fate reserved to him, in their excited
fancy, gave him the eclat of having ACTUALLY survived it; while the
supposed real incident of his fall through the hatchway lent him
the additional lustre of a wounded and crippled man. That
prostrate condition of active humanity, which so irresistibly
appeals to the feminine imagination as segregating their victim
from the distractions of his own sex, and, as it were, delivering
him helpless into their hands, was at once their opportunity, and
his. All the ladies volunteered to nurse him; it was with
difficulty that Mrs. Brimmer and Mrs. Markham, reinforced with
bandages, flannels, and liniments, and supported by different
theories, could be kept from the door of his state-room. Jellies,
potted meats, and delicacies from their private stores appeared on
trays at his bedside, to be courteously declined by the Senor
Perkins, in his new functions of a benevolent type of Sancho Panza
physician. To say that this pleased the gentle optimism of the
Senor is unnecessary. Even while his companion writhed under the
sting of this enforced compassion, the good man beamed philosophically
upon him.
"Take care, or I shall end this cursed farce in my own way," said
Hurlstone ominously, his eyes again filming with a vague
desperation.
"My dear boy," returned the Senor gently, "reflect upon the
situation. Your suffering, real or implied, produces in the hearts
of these gentle creatures a sympathy which not only exalts and
sustains their higher natures, but, I conscientiously believe,
gratifies and pleases their lower ones. Why should you deny them
this opportunity of indulging their twofold organisms, and
beguiling the tedium of the voyage, merely because of some
erroneous exhibition of fact?"
Later, Senor Perkins might have added to this exposition the
singularly stimulating effect which Hurlstone's supposed peculiarity
had upon the feminine imagination. But there were some secrets
which were not imparted even to him, and it was only to each other
that the ladies confided certain details and reminiscences. For it
now appeared that they had all heard strange noises and stealthy
steps at night; and Mrs. Brimmer was quite sure that on one occasion
the handle of her state-room door was softly turned. Mrs. Markham
also remembered distinctly that only a week before, being unable to
sleep, she had ventured out into the saloon in a dressing-gown to
get her diary, which she had left with a portfolio on a chair; that
she had a sudden consciousness of another presence in the saloon,
although she could distinguish nothing by the dim light of the
swinging lantern; and that, after quickly returning to her room, she
was quite positive she heard a door close. But the most surprising
reminiscence developed by the late incident was from Mrs. Brimmer's
nurse, Susan. As it, apparently, demonstrated the fact that Mr.
Hurlstone not only walked but TALKED in his sleep, it possessed a
more mysterious significance. It seemed that Susan was awakened one
night by the sound of voices, and, opening her door softly, saw a
figure which she at first supposed to be the Senor Perkins, but
which she now was satisfied was poor Mr. Hurlstone. As there was no
one else to be seen, the voices must have proceeded from that single
figure; and being in a strange and unknown tongue, were
inexpressibly weird and awful. When pressed to remember what was
said, she could only distinguish one word--a woman's name--Virgil--
Vigil--no: Virginescia!
"It must have been one of those creatures at Callao, whose pictures
you can buy for ten cents," said Mrs. Brimmer.
"If it is one of them, Susan must have made a mistake in the first
two syllables of the name," said Mrs. Markham grimly.
"But surely, Miss Keene," said Miss Chubb, turning to that young
lady, who had taken only the part of a passive listener to this
colloquy, and was gazing over the railing at the sinking sun,
"surely YOU can tell us something about this poor young man. If I
don't mistake, you are the only person he ever honored with his
conversation."
"And only once, I think," said the young girl, slightly coloring.
"He happened to be sitting next to me on deck, and I believe he
spoke only out of politeness. At least, he seemed very quiet and
reserved, and talked on general topics, and I thought very
intelligently. I--should have thought--I mean," she continued
hesitatingly--"I thought he was an educated gentleman."
"That isn't at all inconsistent with photographs or sleep-walking,"
said Mrs. Brimmer, with one of her vague simplicities. "Uncle
Quincey brought home a whole sheaf of those women whom he said he'd
met; and one of my cousins, who was educated at Heidelberg, used to
walk in his sleep, as it were, all over Europe."
"Did you notice anything queer in his eyes, Miss Keene?" asked Miss
Chubb vivaciously.
Miss Keene had noticed that his eyes were his best feature, albeit
somewhat abstracted and melancholy; but, for some vague reason she
could not explain herself, she answered hurriedly that she had seen
nothing very particular in them.
"Well," said Mrs. Markham positively, "when he's able to be out
again, I shall consider it my duty to look him up, and try to keep
him sufficiently awake in the daytime to ensure his resting better
at night."
"No one can do it, dear Mrs. Markham, better than you; and no one
would think of misunderstanding your motives," said Mrs. Brimmer
sweetly. "But it's getting late, and the air seems to be ever so
much colder. Captain Bunker says it's because we are really
nearing the Californian coast. It seems so odd! Mr. Brimmer wrote
to me that it was so hot in Sacramento that you could do something
with eggs in the sun--I forget what."
"Hatch them?" suggested Miss Chubb.
"I think so," returned Mrs. Brimmer, rising. "Let us go below."
The three ladies rustled away, but Miss Keene, throwing a wrap
around her shoulders, lingered by the railing. With one little
hand supporting her round chin, she leaned over the darkly heaving
water. She was thinking of her brief and only interview with that
lonely man whose name was now in everybody's mouth, but who, until
to-day, had been passed over by them with an unconcern equal to his
own. And yet to her refined and delicately feminine taste there
appeared no reason why he should not have mingled with his fellows,
and have accepted the homage from them that SHE was instinctively
ready to give. He seemed to her like a gentleman--and something
more. In her limited but joyous knowledge of the world--a
knowledge gathered in the happy school-life of an orphan who but
faintly remembered and never missed a parent's care--she knew
nothing of the mysterious dominance of passion, suffering, or
experience in fashioning the outward expression of men, and saw
only that Mr. Hurlstone was unlike any other. That unlikeness was
fascinating. He had said very little to her in that very brief
period. He had not talked to her with the general gallantry which
she already knew her prettiness elicited. Without knowing why, she
felt there was a subtle flattery in his tacit recognition of that
other self of which she, as yet, knew so little. She could not
remember what they had talked about--nor why. Nor was she offended
that he had never spoken to her since, nor gone beyond a grave
lifting of his hat to her when he passed.
CHAPTER IV.
IN THE FOG.
By noon of the following day the coast of the Peninsula of
California had been sighted to leeward. The lower temperature of
the northwest Trades had driven Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb into
their state-rooms to consult their wardrobes in view of an
impending change from the light muslins and easy languid toilets of
the Tropics. That momentous question for the moment held all other
topics in abeyance; and even Mrs. Markham and Miss Keene, though
they still kept the deck, in shawls and wraps, sighed over this
feminine evidence of the gentle passing of their summer holiday.
The gentlemen had already mounted their pea-jackets and overcoats,
with the single exception of Senor Perkins, who, in chivalrous
compliment to the elements, still bared his unfettered throat and
forehead to the breeze. The aspect of the coast, as seen from the
Excelsior's deck, seemed to bear out Mr. Banks' sweeping indictment
of the day before. A few low, dome-like hills, yellow and treeless
as sand dunes, scarcely raised themselves above the horizon. The
air, too, appeared to have taken upon itself a dry asperity; the
sun shone with a hard, practical brilliancy. Miss Keene raised her
eyes to Senor Perkins with a pretty impatience that she sometimes
indulged in, as one of the privileges of accepted beauty and petted
youth.
"I don't think much of your peninsula," she said poutingly. "It
looks dreadfully flat and uninteresting. It was a great deal nicer
on the other coast, or even at sea."
"Perhaps you are judging hastily, my dear young friend," said Senor
Perkins, with habitual tolerance. "I have heard that behind those
hills, and hidden from sight in some of the canyons, are perfect
little Edens of beauty and fruitfulness. They are like some ardent
natures that cover their approaches with the ashes of their burnt-
up fires, but only do it the better to keep intact their glowing,
vivifying, central heat."
"How very poetical, Mr. Perkins!" said Mrs. Markham, with blunt
admiration. "You ought to put that into verse."
"I have," returned Senor Perkins modestly. "They are some
reflections on--I hardly dare call them an apostrophe to--the
crater of Colima. If you will permit me to read them to you this
evening, I shall be charmed. I hope also to take that opportunity
of showing you the verses of a gifted woman, not yet known to fame,
Mrs. Euphemia M'Corkle, of Peoria, Illinois."
Mrs. Markham coughed slightly. The gifted M'Corkle was already
known to her through certain lines quoted by the Senor; and the
entire cabin had one evening fled before a larger and more
ambitious manuscript of the fair Illinoisian. Miss Keene, who
dreaded the reappearance of this poetical phantom that seemed to
haunt the Senor's fancy, could not, however, forget that she had
been touched on that occasion by a kindly moisture of eye and
tremulousness of voice in the reader; and, in spite of the hopeless
bathos of the composition, she had forgiven him. Though she did
not always understand Senor Perkins, she liked him too well to
allow him to become ridiculous to others; and at the present moment
she promptly interposed with a charming assumption of coquetry.
"You forget that you promised to let ME read the manuscript first,
and in private, and that you engaged to give me my revenge at chess
this evening. But do as you like. You are all fast becoming
faithless. I suppose it is because our holiday is drawing to a
close, and we shall soon forget we ever had any, or be ashamed we
ever played so long. Everybody seems to be getting nervous and
fidgety and preparing for civilization again. Mr. Banks, for the
last few days, has dressed himself regularly as if he were going
down town to his office, and writes letters in the corner of the
saloon as if it were a counting-house. Mr. Crosby and Mr. Winslow
do nothing but talk of their prospects, and I believe they are
drawing up articles of partnership together. Here is Mr. Brace
frightening me by telling me that my brother will lock me up, to
keep the rich miners from laying their bags of gold dust at my
feet; and Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb assure me that I haven't a
decent gown to go ashore in."
"You forget Mr. Hurlstone," said Brace, with ill-concealed
bitterness; "he seems to have time enough on his hands, and I dare
say would sympathize with you. You women like idle men."
"If we do, it's because only the idle men have the time to amuse
us," retorted Miss Keene. "But," she added, with a laugh, "I
suppose I'm getting nervous and fidgety myself; for I find myself
every now and then watching the officers and men, and listening to
the orders as if something were going to happen again. I never
felt so before; I never used to have the least concern in what you
call 'the working of the ship,' and now"--her voice, which had been
half playful, half pettish, suddenly became grave,--"and now--look
at the mate and those men forward. There certainly is something
going on, or is going to happen. What ARE they looking at?"
The mate had clambered halfway up the main ratlines, and was
looking earnestly to windward. Two or three of the crew on the
forecastle were gazing in the same direction. The group of cabin-
passengers on the quarterdeck, following their eyes, saw what
appeared to be another low shore on the opposite bow.
"Why, there's another coast there!" said Mrs. Markham.
"It's a fog-bank," said Senor Perkins gravely. He quickly crossed
the deck, exchanged a few words with the officer, and returned.
Miss Keene, who had felt a sense of relief, nevertheless questioned
his face as he again stood beside her. But he had recovered his
beaming cheerfulness. "It's nothing to alarm you," he said,
answering her glance, "but it may mean delay if we can't get out of
it. You don't mind that, I know."
"No," replied the young girl, smiling. "Besides, it would be a new
experience. We've had winds and calms--we only want fog now to
complete our adventures. Unless it's going to make everybody
cross," she continued, with a mischievous glance at Brace.
"You'll find it won't improve the temper of the officers," said
Crosby, who had joined the group. "There's nothing sailors hate
more than a fog. They can go to sleep in a hurricane between the
rolls of a ship, but a fog keeps them awake. It's the one thing
they can't shirk. There's the skipper tumbled up, too! The old
man looks wrathy, don't he? But it's no use now; we're going slap
into it, and the wind's failing!"
It was true. In the last few moments all that vast glistening
surface of metallic blue which stretched so far to windward
appeared to be slowly eaten away as if by some dull, corroding
acid; the distant horizon line of sea and sky was still distinct
and sharply cut, but the whole water between them had grown gray,
as if some invisible shadow had passed in mid-air across it. The
actual fog bank had suddenly lost its resemblance to the shore, had
lifted as a curtain, and now seemed suspended over the ship.
Gradually it descended; the top-gallant and top-sails were lost in
this mysterious vapor, yet the horizon line still glimmered
faintly. Then another mist seemed to rise from the sea and meet
it; in another instant the deck whereon they stood shrank to the
appearance of a raft adrift in a faint gray sea. With the complete
obliteration of all circumambient space, the wind fell. Their
isolation was complete.
It was notable that the first and most peculiar effect of this
misty environment was the absolute silence. The empty, invisible
sails above did not flap; the sheets and halyards hung limp; even
the faint creaking of an unseen block overhead was so startling as
to draw every eye upwards. Muffled orders from viewless figures
forward were obeyed by phantoms that moved noiselessly through the
gray sea that seemed to have invaded the deck. Even the passengers
spoke in whispers, or held their breath, in passive groups, as if
fearing to break a silence so replete with awe and anticipation.
It was next noticed that the vessel was subjected to some vague
motion; the resistance of the water had ceased, the waves no longer
hissed under her bows, or nestled and lapped under her counter; a
dreamy, irregular, and listless rocking had taken the place of the
regular undulations; at times, a faint and half delicious vertigo
seemed to overcome their senses; the ship was drifting.
Captain Bunker stood near the bitts, where his brief orders were
transmitted to the man at the almost useless wheel. At his side
Senor Perkins beamed with unshaken serenity, and hopefully replied
to the captain's half surly, half anxious queries.
"By the chart we should be well east of Los Lobos island, d'ye
see?" he said impatiently. "You don't happen to remember the
direction of the current off shore when you were running up here?"
"It's five years ago," said the Senor modestly; "but I remember we
kept well to the west to weather Cape St. Eugenio. My impression
is that there was a strong northwesterly current setting north of
Ballenos Bay."
"And we're in it now," said Captain Bunker shortly. "How near St.
Roque does it set?"
"Within a mile or two. I should keep away more to the west," said
Senor Perkins, "and clear"--
"I ain't asking you to run the ship," interrupted Captain Bunker
sharply. "How's her head now, Mr. Brooks?"
The seamen standing near cast a rapid glance at Senor Perkins, but
not a muscle of his bland face moved or betrayed a consciousness of
the insult. Whatever might have been the feeling towards him, at
that moment the sailors--after their fashion--admired their
captain; strong, masterful, and imperious. The danger that had
cleared his eye, throat, and brain, and left him once more the
daring and skillful navigator they knew, wiped out of their shallow
minds the vicious habit that had sunk him below their level.
It had now become perceptible to even the inexperienced eyes of the
passengers that the Excelsior was obeying some new and profound
impulse. The vague drifting had ceased, and in its place had come
a mysterious but regular movement, in which the surrounding mist
seemed to participate, until fog and vessel moved together towards
some unseen but well-defined bourne. In vain had the boats of the
Excelsior, manned by her crew, endeavored with a towing-line to
check or direct the inexplicable movement; in vain had Captain
Bunker struggled, with all the skilled weapons of seamanship,
against his invincible foe; wrapped in the impenetrable fog, the
ship moved ghost-like to what seemed to be her doom.
The anxiety of the officers had not as yet communicated itself to
the passengers; those who had been most nervous in the ordinary
onset of wind and wave looked upon the fog as a phenomenon whose
only disturbance might be delay. To Miss Keene this conveyed no
annoyance; rather that placid envelopment of cloud soothed her
fancy; she submitted herself to its soft embraces, and to the
mysterious onward movement of the ship, as if it were part of a
youthful dream. Once she thought of the ship of Sindbad, and that
fatal loadstone mountain, with an awe that was, however, half a
pleasure.
"You are not frightened, Miss Keene?" said a voice near her.
She started slightly. It was the voice of Mr. Hurlstone. So thick
was the fog that his face and figure appeared to come dimly out of
it, like a part of her dreaming fancy. Without replying to his
question, she said quickly,--
"You are better then, Mr. Hurlstone? We--we were all so frightened
for you."
An angry shadow crossed his thin face, and he hesitated. After a
pause he recovered himself, and said,--
"I was saying you were taking all this very quietly. I don't think
there's much danger myself. And if we should go ashore here"--
"Well?" suggested Miss Keene, ignoring this first intimation of
danger in her surprise at the man's manner.
"Well, we should all be separated only a few days earlier, that's
all!"
More frightened at the strange bitterness of his voice than by the
sense of physical peril, she was vaguely moving away towards the
dimly outlined figures of her companions when she was arrested by a
voice forward. There was a slight murmur among the passengers.
"What did he say?" asked Miss Keene, "What are 'Breakers ahead'?"
Hurlstone did not reply.
"Where away?" asked a second voice.
The murmur still continuing, Captain Bunker's hoarse voice pierced
the gloom,--"Silence fore and aft!"
The first voice repeated faintly,--
"On the larboard bow."
There was another silence. Again the voice repeated, as if
mechanically,--
"Breakers!"
"Where away?"
"On the starboard beam."
"We are in some passage or channel," said Hurlstone quietly.
The young girl glanced round her and saw for the first time that,
in one of those inexplicable movements she had not understood, the
other passengers had been withdrawn into a limited space of the
deck, as if through some authoritative orders, while she and her
companion had been evidently overlooked. A couple of sailors, who
had suddenly taken their positions by the quarter-boats, strengthened
the accidental separation.
"Is there some one taking care of you?" he asked, half hesitatingly;
"Mr. Brace--Perkins--or"--
"No," she replied quickly. "Why?"
"Well, we are very near the boat in an emergency, and you might
allow me to stay here and see you safe in it."
"But the other ladies? Mrs. Markham, and"--
"They'll take their turn after YOU," he said grimly, picking up a
wrap from the railing and throwing it over her shoulders.
"But--I don't understand!" she stammered, more embarrassed by the
situation than by any impending peril.
"There is very little danger, I think," he added impatiently.
"There is scarcely any sea; the ship has very little way on; and
these breakers are not over rocks. Listen."
She tried to listen. At first she heard nothing but the occasional
low voice of command near the wheel. Then she became conscious of
a gentle, soothing murmur through the fog to the right. She had
heard such a murmuring accompaniment to her girlish dreams at
Newport on a still summer night. There was nothing to frighten
her, but it increased her embarrassment.
"And you?" she said awkwardly, raising her soft eyes.
"Oh, if you are all going off in the boats, by Jove, I think I'll
stick to the ship!" he returned, with a frankness that would have
been rude but for its utter abstraction.
Miss Keene was silent. The ship moved gently onward. The
monotonous cry of the leadsman in the chains was the only sound
audible. The soundings were indicating shoaler water, although the
murmuring of the surf had been left far astern. The almost
imperceptible darkening of the mist on either beam seemed to show
that the Excelsior was entering some land-locked passage. The
movement of the vessel slackened, the tide was beginning to ebb.
Suddenly a wave of far-off clamor, faint but sonorous, broke across
the ship. There was an interval of breathless silence, and then it
broke again, and more distinctly. It was the sound of bells!
The thrill of awe which passed through passengers and crew at this
spiritual challenge from the vast and intangible void around them
had scarcely subsided when the captain turned to Senor Perkins with
a look of surly interrogation. The Senor brushed his hat further
back on his head, wiped his brow, and became thoughtful.
"It's too far south for Rosario," he said deprecatingly; "and the
only other mission I know of is San Carlos, and that's far inland.
But that is the Angelus, and those are mission bells, surely."
The captain turned to Mr. Brooks. The voice of invisible command
again passed along the deck, and, with a splash in the water and
the rattling of chains, the Excelsior swung slowly round on her
anchor on the bosom of what seemed a placid bay.
Miss Keene, who, in her complete absorption, had listened to the
phantom bells with an almost superstitious exaltation, had
forgotten the presence of her companion, and now turned towards
him. But he was gone. The imminent danger he had spoken of, half
slightingly, he evidently considered as past. He had taken the
opportunity offered by the slight bustle made by the lowering of
the quarter-boat and the departure of the mate on a voyage of
discovery to mingle with the crowd, and regain his state-room.
With the anchoring of the vessel, the momentary restraint was
relaxed, the passengers were allowed to pervade the deck, and Mrs.
Markham and Mr. Brace simultaneously rushed to Miss Keene's side.
"We were awfully alarmed for you, my dear," said Mrs. Markham,
"until we saw you had a protector. Do tell me--what DID he say?
He must have thought the danger great to have broken the Senor's
orders and come upon deck? What did he talk about?"
With a vivid recollection in her mind of Mr. Hurlstone's
contemptuous ignoring of the other ladies, Miss Keene became
slightly embarrassed. Her confusion was not removed by the
consciousness that the jealous eyes of Brace were fixed upon her.
"Perhaps he thought it was night, and walked upon deck in his
sleep," remarked Brace sarcastically. "He's probably gone back to
bed."
"He offered me his protection very politely, and begged to remain
to put me in the boat in case of danger," said Miss Keene,
recovering herself, and directing her reply to Mrs. Markham. "I
think that others have made me the same kind of offer--who were
wide awake," she added mischievously to Brace.
"I wouldn't be too sure that they were not foolishly dreaming too,"
returned Brace, in a lower voice.
"I should think we all were asleep or dreaming here," said Mrs.
Markham briskly. "Nobody seems to know where we are, and the only
man who might guess it--Senor Perkins--has gone off in the boat
with the mate."
"We're not a mile from shore and a Catholic church," said Crosby,
who had joined them. "I just left Mrs. Brimmer, who is very High
Church, you know, quite overcome by these Angelus bells. She's
been entreating the captain to let her go ashore for vespers. It
wouldn't be a bad idea, if we could only see what sort of a place
we've got to. It wouldn't do to go feeling round the settlement in
the dark--would it? Hallo! what's that? Oh, by Jove, that'll
finish Mrs. Brimmer, sure!"
"Hush!" said Miss Keene impulsively.
He stopped. The long-drawn cadence of a chant in thin clear
soprano voices swept through the fog from the invisible shore, rose
high above the ship, and then fell, dying away with immeasurable
sweetness and melancholy. Even when it had passed, a lingering
melody seemed to fill the deck. Two or three of the foreign
sailors crossed themselves devoutly; the other passengers withheld
their speech, and looked at each other. Afraid to break the charm
by speech, they listened again, but in vain an infinite repose
followed that seemed to pervade everything.
It was broken, at last, by the sound of oars in their rowlocks; the
boat was returning. But it was noticed that the fog had slightly
lifted from the surface of the water, for the boat was distinctly
visible two cables' length from the ship as she approached; and it
was seen that besides the first officer and Senor Perkins there
were two strangers in the boat. Everybody rushed to the side for a
nearer view of those strange inhabitants of the unknown shore; but
the boat's crew suddenly ceased rowing, and lay on their oars until
an indistinct hail and reply passed between the boat and ship.
There was a bustle forward, an unexpected thunder from the
Excelsior's eight-pounder at the bow port; Captain Bunker and the
second mate ranged themselves at the companionway, and the
passengers for the first time became aware that they were
participating at the reception of visitors of distinction, as two
strange and bizarre figures stepped upon the deck.
CHAPTER V.
TODOS SANTOS.
It was evident that the two strangers represented some exalted
military and ecclesiastical authority. This was shown in their
dress--a long-forgotten, half mediaeval costume, that to the
imaginative spectator was perfectly in keeping with their
mysterious advent, and to the more practical as startling as a
masquerade. The foremost figure wore a broad-brimmed hat of soft
felt, with tarnished gold lace, and a dark feather tucked in its
recurved flap; a short cloak of fine black cloth thrown over one
shoulder left a buff leathern jacket and breeches, ornamented with
large round silver buttons, exposed until they were met by high
boots of untanned yellow buckskin that reached halfway up the
thigh. A broad baldric of green silk hung from his shoulder across
his breast, and supported at his side a long sword with an enormous
basket hilt, through which somewhat coquettishly peeped a white
lace handkerchief. Tall and erect, in spite of the grizzled hair
and iron-gray moustaches and wrinkled face of a man of sixty, he
suddenly halted on the deck with a military precision that made the
jingling chains and bits of silver on his enormous spurs ring
again. He was followed by an ecclesiastic of apparently his own
age, but smoothly shaven, clad in a black silk sotana and sash, and
wearing the old-fashioned oblong, curl-brimmed hat sacred to "Don
Basilo," of the modern opera. Behind him appeared the genial face
of Senor Perkins, shining with the benignant courtesy of a master
of ceremonies.
"If this is a fair sample of the circus ashore, I'll take two
tickets," whispered Crosby, who had recovered his audacity.
"I have the inexpressible honor," said Senor Perkins to Captain
Bunker, with a gracious wave of his hand towards the extraordinary
figures, "to present you to the illustrious Don Miguel Briones,
Comandante of the Presidio of Todos Santos, at present hidden in
the fog, and the very reverend and pious Padre Esteban, of the
Mission of Todos Santos, likewise invisible. When I state to you,"
he continued, with a slight lifting of his voice, so as to include
the curious passengers in his explanation, "that, with very few
exceptions, this is the usual condition of the atmosphere at the
entrance to the Mission and Presidio of Todos Santos, and that the
last exception took place thirty-five years ago, when a ship
entered the harbor, you will understand why these distinguished
gentlemen have been willing to waive the formality of your waiting
upon them first, and have taken the initiative. The illustrious
Comandante has been generous to exempt you from the usual port
regulations, and to permit you to wood and to water"--
"What port regulation is he talking of?" asked Captain Bunker
testily.
"The Mexican regulations forbidding any foreign vessel to
communicate with the shore," returned Senor Perkins deprecatingly.
"Never heard of 'em. When were they given?"
The Senor turned and addressed a few words to the commander, who
stood apart in silent dignity.
"In 1792."
"In what?--Is he mad?" said Bunker. "Does he know what year this
is?"
"The illustrious commander believes it to be the year of grace
1854," answered Senor Perkins quietly. "In the case of the only
two vessels who have touched here since 1792 the order was not
carried out because they were Mexican coasters. The illustrious
Comandante explains that the order he speaks of as on record
distinctly referred to the ship 'Columbia, which belonged to the
General Washington.'"
"General Washington!" echoed Bunker, angrily staring at the Senor.
"What's this stuff? Do you mean to say they don't know any history
later than our old Revolutionary War? Haven't they heard of the
United States among them? Nor California--that we took from them
during the late war?"
"Nor how we licked 'em out of their boots, and that's saying a good
deal," whispered Crosby, glancing at the Comandante's feet.
Senor Perkins raised a gentle, deprecating hand.
"For fifty years the Presidio and the Mission of Todos Santos have
had but this communication with the outer world," he said blandly.
"Hidden by impenetrable fogs from the ocean pathway at their door,
cut off by burning and sterile deserts from the surrounding
country, they have preserved a trust and propagated a faith in
enforced but not unhappy seclusion. The wars that have shaken
mankind, the dissensions that have even disturbed the serenity of
their own nation on the mainland, have never reached them here.
Left to themselves, they have created a blameless Arcadia and an
ideal community within an extent of twenty square leagues. Why
should we disturb their innocent complacency and tranquil enjoyment
by information which cannot increase and might impair their present
felicity? Why should we dwell upon a late political and
international episode which, while it has been a benefit to us, has
been a humiliation to them as a nation, and which might not only
imperil our position as guests, but interrupt our practical
relations to the wood and water, with which the country abounds?"
He paused, and before the captain could speak, turned to the silent
Commander, addressed him in a dozen phrases of fluent and courteous
Spanish, and once more turned to Captain Bunker.
"I have told him you are touched to the heart with his courtesy,
which you recognize as coming from the fit representative of the
great Mexican nation. He reciprocates your fraternal emotion, and
begs you to consider the Presidio and all that it contains, at your
disposition and the disposition of your friends--the passengers,
particularly those fair ladies," said Senor Perkins, turning with
graceful promptitude towards the group of lady passengers, and
slightly elevating himself on the tips of his neat boots, "whose
white hands he kisses, and at whose feet he lays the devotion of a
Mexican caballero and officer."
He waved his hand towards the Comandante, who, stepping forward,
swept the deck with his plumed hat before each of the ladies in
solemn succession. Recovering himself, he bowed more stiffly to
the male passengers, picked his handkerchief out of the hilt of his
sword, gracefully wiped his lips, pulled the end of his long gray
moustache, and became again rigid.
"The reverend father," continued Senor Perkins, turning towards the
priest, "regrets that the rules of his order prevent his extending
the same courtesy to these ladies at the Mission. But he hopes to
meet them at the Presidio, and they will avail themselves of his
aid and counsel there and everywhere."
Father Esteban, following the speaker's words with a gracious and
ready smile, at once moved forward among the passengers, offering
an antique snuff-box to the gentlemen, or passing before the ladies
with slightly uplifted benedictory palms and a caressing paternal
gesture. Mrs. Brimmer, having essayed a French sentence, was
delighted and half frightened to receive a response from the
ecclesiastic, and speedily monopolized him until he was summoned by
the Commander to the returning boat.
"A most accomplished man, my dear," said Mrs. Brimmer, as the
Excelsior's cannon again thundered after the retiring oars, "like
all of his order. He says, although Don Miguel does not speak
French, that his secretary does; and we shall have no difficulty in
making ourselves understood."
"Then you really intend to go ashore?" said Miss Keene timidly.
"Decidedly," returned Mrs. Brimmer potentially. "It would be most
unpolite, not to say insulting, if we did not accept the
invitation. You have no idea of the strictness of Spanish
etiquette. Besides, he may have heard of Mr. Brimmer."
"As his last information was only up to 1792, he might have
forgotten it," said Crosby gravely. "So perhaps it would be safer
to go on the general invitation."
"As Mr. Brimmer's ancestors came over on the Mayflower, long before
1792, it doesn't seem so very impossible, if it comes to that,"
said Mrs. Brimmer, with her usual unanswerable naivete; "provided
always that you are not joking, Mr. Crosby. One never knows when
you are serious."
"Mrs. Brimmer is quite right; we must all go. This is no mere
formality," said Senor Perkins, who had returned to the ladies.
"Indeed, I have myself promised the Comandante to bring YOU," he
turned towards Miss Keene, "if you will permit Mrs. Markham and
myself to act as your escort. It was Don Miguel's express
request."
A slight flush of pride suffused the cheek of the young girl, but
the next moment she turned diffidently towards Mrs. Brimmer.
"We must all go together," she said; "shall we not?"
"You see your triumphs have begun already," said Brace, with a
nervous smile. "You need no longer laugh at me for predicting your
fate in San Francisco."
Miss Keene cast a hurried glance around her, in the faint hope--she
scarcely knew why--that Mr. Hurlstone had overheard the Senor's
invitation; nor could she tell why she was disappointed at not
seeing him. But he had not appeared on deck during the presence of
their strange visitors; nor was he in the boat which half an hour
later conveyed her to the shore. He must have either gone in one
of the other boats, or fulfilled his strange threat of remaining on
the ship.
The boats pulled away together towards the invisible shore, piloted
by Captain Bunker, the first officer, and Senor Perkins in the
foremost boat. It had grown warmer, and the fog that stole softly
over them touched their faces with the tenderness of caressing
fingers. Miss Keene, wrapped up in the stern sheets of the boat,
gave way to the dreamy influence of this weird procession through
the water, retaining only perception enough to be conscious of the
singular illusions of the mist that alternately thickened and
lightened before their bow. At times it seemed as if they were
driving full upon a vast pier or breakwater of cold gray granite,
that, opening to let the foremost boat pass, closed again before
them; at times it seemed as if they had diverged from their course,
and were once more upon the open sea, the horizon a far-off line of
vanishing color; at times, faint lights seemed to pierce the
gathering darkness, or to move like will-o'-wisps across the smooth
surface, when suddenly the keel grated on the sand. A narrow but
perfectly well defined strip of palpable strand appeared before
them; they could faintly discern the moving lower limbs of figures
whose bodies were still hidden in the mist; then they were lifted
from the boats; the first few steps on dry land carried them out of
the fog that seemed to rise like a sloping roof from the water's
edge, leaving them under its canopy in the full light of actual
torches held by a group of picturesquely dressed people before the
vista of a faintly lit, narrow, ascending street. The dim twilight
of the closing day lingered under this roof of fog, which seemed to
hang scarcely a hundred feet above them, and showed a wall or
rampart of brown adobe on their right that extended nearly to the
water; to the left, at the distance of a few hundred yards, another
low brown wall appeared; above it rose a fringe of foliage, and,
more distant and indistinct, two white towers, that were lost in
the nebulous gray.
One of the figures dressed in green jackets, who seemed to be in
authority, now advanced, and, after a moment's parley with Senor
Perkins while the Excelsior's passengers were being collected from
the different boats, courteously led the way along the wall of the
fortification. Presently a low opening or gateway appeared,
followed by the challenge of a green-jacketed sentry, and the
sentence, "Dios y Libertad" It was repeated in the interior of a
dusky courtyard, surrounded by a low corridor, where a dozen green-
jacketed men of aboriginal type and complexion, carrying antique
flintlocks, were drawn up as a guard of honor.
"The Comandante," said Senor Perkins, "directs me to extend his
apologies to the Senor Capitano Bunker for withholding the salute
which is due alike to his country, himself, and his fair company;
but fifty years of uninterrupted peace and fog have left his cannon
inadequate to polite emergencies, and firmly fixed the tampion of
his saluting gun. But he places the Presidio at your disposition;
you will be pleased to make its acquaintance while it is still
light; and he will await you in the guard-room."
Left to themselves, the party dispersed like dismissed school-
children through the courtyard and corridors, and in the enjoyment
of their release from a month's confinement on shipboard stretched
their cramped limbs over the ditches, walls, and parapets, to the
edge of the glacis.
Everywhere a ruin that was picturesque, a decay that was refined
and gentle, a neglect that was graceful, met the eye; the sharp
exterior and reentering angles were softly rounded and obliterated
by overgrowths of semitropical creepers; the abatis was filled by a
natural brake of scrub-oak and manzanita; the clematis flung its
long scaling ladders over the escarpment, until Nature, slowly but
securely investing the doomed fortress, had lifted a victorious
banner of palm from the conquered summit of the citadel! Some
strange convulsions of the earth had completed the victory; the
barbette guns of carved and antique bronze commemorating fruitless
and long-forgotten triumphs were dismounted; one turned in the
cheeks of its carriage had a trunnion raised piteously in the air
like an amputated stump; another, sinking through its rotting
chassis, had buried itself to its chase in the crumbling adobe
wall. But above and beyond this gentle chaos of defense stretched
the real ramparts and escarpments of Todos Santos--the impenetrable
and unassailable fog! Corroding its brass and iron with saline
breath, rotting its wood with unending shadow, sapping its adobe
walls with perpetual moisture, and nourishing the obliterating
vegetation with its quickening blood, as if laughing to scorn the
puny embattlements of men--it still bent around the crumbling ruins
the tender grace of an invisible but all-encompassing arm.
Senor Perkins, who had acted as cicerone to the party, pointed out
these various mutations with no change from his usual optimism.
"Protected by their peculiar isolation during the late war, there
was no necessity for any real fortification of the place.
Nevertheless, it affords some occupation and position for our kind
friend, Don Miguel, and so serves a beneficial purpose. This
little gun," he continued, stopping to attentively examine a small
but beautifully carved bronze six-pounder, which showed indications
of better care than the others, "seems to be the saluting-gun Don
Miguel spoke of. For the last fifty years it has spoken only the
language of politeness and courtesy, and yet through want of care
the tampion, as you see, has become swollen and choked in its
mouth."
"How true in a larger sense," murmured Mrs. Markham, "the habit of
courtesy alone preserves the fluency of the heart."
"I know you two are saying something very clever," said Mrs.
Brimmer, whose small French slippers and silk stockings were
beginning to show their inadequacy to a twilight ramble in the fog;
"but I am so slow, and I never catch the point. Do repeat it
slowly."
"The Senor was only showing us how they managed to shut up a smooth
bore in this country," said Crosby gravely. "I wonder when we're
going to have dinner. I suppose old Don Quixote will trot out some
of his Senoritas. I want to see those choir girls that sang so
stunningly a while ago."
"I suppose you mean the boys--for they're all boys in the Catholic
choirs--but then, perhaps you are joking again. Do tell me if you
are, for this is really amusing. I may laugh--mayn't I?" As the
discomfited humorist fell again to the rear amidst the laughter of
the others, Mrs. Brimmer continued naively to Senor Perkins,--"Of
course, as Don Miguel is a widower, there must be daughters or
sisters-in-law who will meet us. Why, the priest, you know--even
he--must have nieces. Really, it's a serious question--if we are
to accept his hospitality in a social way. Why don't you ask HIM?"
she said, pointing to the green-jacketed subaltern who was
accompanying them.
Senor Perkins looked half embarrassed.
"Repeat your question, my dear lady, and I will translate it."
"Ask him if there are any women at the Presidio."
Senor Perkins drew the subaltern aside. Presently he turned to
Mrs. Brimmer.
"He says there are four: the wife of the baker, the wife of the
saddler, the daughter of the trumpeter, and the niece of the cook."
"Good heavens! we can't meet THEM," said Mrs. Brimmer.
Senor Perkins hesitated.
"Perhaps I ought to have told you," he said blandly, "that the old
Spanish notions of etiquette are very strict. The wives of the
officials and higher classes do not meet strangers on a first
visit, unless they are well known."
"That isn't it," said Winslow, joining them excitedly. "I've heard
the whole story. It's a good joke. Banks has been bragging about
us all, and saying that these ladies had husbands who were great
merchants, and, as these chaps consider that all trade is vulgar,
you know, they believe we are not fit to associate with their
women, don't you see? All, except one--Miss Keene. She's
considered all right. She's to be introduced to the Commander's
women, and to the sister of the Alcalde."
"She will do nothing of the kind," said Miss Keene indignantly.
"If these ladies are not to be received with me, we'll all go back
to the ship together."
She spoke with a quick and perfectly unexpected resolution and
independence, so foreign to her usual childlike half dependent
character, that her hearers were astounded. Senor Perkins gazed at
her thoughtfully; Brace, Crosby, and Winslow admiringly; her sister
passengers with doubt and apprehension.
"There must he some mistake," said Senor Perkins gently. "I will
inquire."
He was absent but a few moments. When he returned, his face was
beaming.
"It's a ridiculous misapprehension. Our practical friend Banks, in
his zealous attempts to impress the Comandante's secretary, who
knows a little English, with the importance of Mr. Brimmer's
position as a large commission merchant, has, I fear, conveyed only
the idea that he was a kind of pawnbroker; while Mr. Markham's
trade in hides has established him as a tanner; and Mr. Banks' own
flour speculations, of which he is justly proud, have been
misinterpreted by him as the work of a successful baker!"
"And what idea did he convey about YOU?" asked Crosby audaciously;
"it might be interesting to us to know, for our own satisfaction."
"I fear they did not do me the honor to inquire," replied Senor
Perkins, with imperturbable good-humor; "there are some persons,
you know, who carry all their worldly possessions palpably about
with them. I am one of them. Call me a citizen of the world, with
a strong leniency towards young and struggling nationalities; a
traveler, at home anywhere; a delighted observer of all things, an
admirer of brave men, the devoted slave of charming women--and you
have, in one word, a passenger of the good ship Excelsior."
For the first time, Miss Keene noticed a slight irony in Senor
Perkins' superabundant fluency, and that he did not conceal his
preoccupation over the silent saluting gun he was still admiring.
The approach of Don Miguel and Padre Esteban with a small bevy of
ladies, however, quickly changed her thoughts, and detached the
Senor from her side. Her first swift feminine impression of the
fair strangers was that they were plain and dowdy, an impression
fully shared by the other lady passengers. But her second
observation, that they were more gentle, fascinating, child-like,
and feminine than her own countrywomen, was purely her own. Their
loose, undulating figures, guiltless of stays; their extravagance
of short, white, heavily flounced skirt, which looked like a
petticoat; their lightly wrapped, formless, and hooded shoulders
and heads, lent a suggestion of dishabille that Mrs. Brimmer at
once resented.
"They might, at least, have dressed themselves," she whispered to
Mrs. Markham.
"I really believe," returned Mrs. Markham, "they've got no bodices
on!"
The introductions over, a polyglot conversation ensued in French by
the Padre and Mrs. Brimmer, and in broken English by Miss Chubb,
Miss Keene, and the other passengers with the Commander's
secretary, varied by occasional scraps of college Latin from Mr.
Crosby, the whole aided by occasional appeals to Senor Perkins.
The darkness increasing, the party reentered the courtyard, and,
passing through the low-studded guard-room, entered another
corridor, which looked upon a second court, enclosed on three
sides, the fourth opening upon a broad plaza, evidently the public
resort of the little town. Encompassing this open space, a few
red-tiled roofs could be faintly seen in the gathering gloom.
Chocolate and thin spiced cakes were served in the veranda, pending
the preparations for a more formal banquet. Already Miss Keene had
been singled out from her companions for the special attentions of
her hosts, male and female, to her embarrassment and confusion.
Already Dona Isabel, the sister of the Alcalde, had drawn her
aside, and, with caressing frankness, had begun to question her in
broken English,--
"But Miss Keene is no name. The Dona Keene is of nothing."
"Well, you may call me Eleanor, if you like," said Miss Keene,
smiling.
"Dona Leonor--so; that is good," said Dona Isabel, clapping her
hands like a child. "But how are you?"
"I beg your pardon," said Miss Keene, greatly amused, "but I don't
understand."
"Ah, Caramba! What are you, little one?" Seeing that her guest
still looked puzzled, she continued,--"Ah! Mother of God! Why are
your friends so polite to you? Why does every one love you so?"
"Do they? Well," stammered Miss Keene, with one of her rare,
dazzling smiles, and her cheeks girlishly rosy with naive
embarrassment, "I suppose they think I am pretty."
"Pretty! Ah, yes, you are!" said Dona Isabel, gazing at her
curiously. "But it is not all that."
"What is it, then?" asked Miss Keene demurely.
"You are a--a--Dama de Grandeza!"
CHAPTER VI.
"HAIL AND FAREWELL."
Supper was served in the inner room opening from the corridor lit
by a few swinging lanterns of polished horn and a dozen wax candles
of sacerdotal size and suggestion. The apartment, though spacious,
was low and crypt-like, and was not relieved by the two deep oven-
like hearths that warmed it without the play of firelight. But
when the company had assembled it was evident that the velvet
jackets, gold lace, silver buttons, and red sashes of the
entertainers not only lost their tawdry and theatrical appearance
in the half decorous and thoughtful gloom, but actually seemed more
in harmony with it than the modern dresses of the guests. It was
the Excelsior party who looked strange and bizarre in these
surroundings; to the sensitive fancy of Miss Keene, Mrs. Brimmer's
Parisian toilet had an air of provincial assumption; her own pretty
Zouave jacket and black silk skirt horrified her with its apparent
ostentatious eccentricity; and Mrs. Markham and Miss Chubb seemed
dowdy and overdressed beside the satin mantillas and black lace of
the Senoritas. Nor were the gentlemen less outres: the stiff
correctness of Mr. Banks, and the lighter foppishness of Winslow
and Crosby, not to mention Senor Perkins' more pronounced
unconventionality, appeared as burlesques of their own characters
in a play. The crowning contrast was reached by Captain Bunker,
who, in accordance with the habits of the mercantile marine of that
period when in port, wore a shore-going suit of black broadcloth,
with a tall hat, high shirt collar, and diamond pin. Seated next
to the Commander, it was no longer Don Miguel who looked old-
fashioned, it was Captain Bunker who appeared impossible.
Nevertheless, as the meal progressed, lightened by a sweet native
wine made from the Mission grape, and stimulated by champagne--a
present of Captain Bunker from the cabin lockers of the Excelsior--
this contrast, and much of the restraint that it occasioned, seemed
to melt away. The passengers became talkative; the Commander and
his friends unbent, and grew sympathetic and inquiring. The
temptation to recite the news of the last half century, and to
recount the wonderful strides of civilization in that time, was too
great to be resisted by the Excelsior party. That some of them--
notwithstanding the caution of Senor Perkins--approached
dangerously near the subject of the late war between the United
States and Mexico, of which Todos Santos was supposed to be still
ignorant, or that Crosby in particular seized upon this opportunity
for humorous exaggeration, may be readily imagined. But as the
translation of the humorist's speech, as well as the indiscretions
of his companions, were left to the Senor, in Spanish, and to Mrs.
Brimmer and Miss Keene, in French, any imminent danger to the
harmony of the evening was averted. Don Ramon Ramirez, the
Alcalde, a youngish man of evident distinction, sat next to Miss
Keene, and monopolized her conversation with a certain curiosity
that was both grave and childish in its frank trustfulness. Some
of his questions were so simple and incompatible with his apparent
intelligence that she unconsciously lowered her voice in answering
them, in dread of the ridicule of her companions. She could not
resist the impression, which repeatedly obtruded upon her
imagination, that the entire population of Todos Santos were a
party of lost children, forgotten by their parents, and grown to
man and womanhood in utter ignorance of the world.
The Commander had, half informally, drunk the health of Captain
Bunker, without rising from his seat, when, to Miss Keene's alarm,
Captain Bunker staggered to his feet. He had been drinking freely,
as usual; but he was bent on indulging a loquacity which his
discipline on shipboard had hitherto precluded, and which had,
perhaps, strengthened his solitary habit. His speech was voluble
and incoherent, complimentary and tactless, kindly and aggressive,
courteous and dogmatic. It was left to Senor Perkins to translate
it to the eye and ear of his host without incongruity or offense.
This he did so admirably as to elicit not only the applause of the
foreigners who did not understand English, but of his own
countrymen who did not understand Spanish.
"I feel," said Senor Perkins, in graceful peroration, "that I have
done poor justice to the eloquence of this gallant sailor. My
unhappy translation cannot offer you that voice, at times trembling
with generous emotion, and again inaudible from excessive modesty
in the presence of this illustrious assembly--those limbs that
waver and bend under the undulations of the chivalrous sentiment
which carries him away as if he were still on that powerful element
he daily battles with and conquers."
But when coffee and sweets were reached, the crowning triumph of
Senor Perkins' oratory was achieved. After an impassioned burst of
enthusiasm towards his hosts in their own tongue, he turned towards
his own party with bland felicity.
"And how is it with us, dear friends? We find ourselves not in the
port we were seeking; not in the goal of our ambition, the haven of
our hopes; but on the shores of the decaying past. 'Ever drifting'
on one of those--
'Shifting
Currents of the restless main,'
if our fascinating friend Mrs. Brimmer will permit us to use the
words of her accomplished fellow-townsman, H. W. Longfellow, of
Boston--we find ourselves borne not to the busy hum and clatter of
modern progress, but to the soft cadences of a dying crusade, and
the hush of ecclesiastical repose. In place of the busy marts of
commerce and the towering chimneys of labor, we have the ruined
embattlements of a warlike age, and the crumbling church of an
ancient Mission. Towards the close of an eventful voyage, during
which we have been guided by the skillful hand and watchful eye of
that gallant navigator Captain Bunker, we have turned aside from
our onward course of progress to look back for a moment upon the
faded footprints of those who have so long preceded us, who have
lived according to their lights, and whose record is now before us.
As I have just stated, our journey is near its end, and we may, in
some sense, look upon this occasion, with its sumptuous
entertainment, and its goodly company of gallant men and fair
women, as a parting banquet. Our voyage has been a successful one.
I do not now especially speak of the daring speculations of the
distinguished husband of a beautiful lady whose delightful society
is known to us all--need I say I refer to Quincy Brimmer, Esq., of
Boston" (loud applause)--"whose successful fulfillment of a
contract with the Peruvian Government, and the landing of munitions
of war at Callao, has checked the uprising of the Quinquinambo
insurgents? I do not refer especially to our keen-sighted business
friend Mr. Banks" (applause), "who, by buying up all the flour in
Callao, and shipping it to California, has virtually starved into
submission the revolutionary party of Ariquipa--I do not refer to
these admirable illustrations of the relations of commerce and
politics, for this, my friends--this is history, and beyond my
feeble praise. Let me rather speak of the social and literary
triumphs of our little community, of our floating Arcadia--may I
say Olympus? Where shall we find another Minerva like Mrs.
Markham, another Thalia like Miss Chubb, another Juno like Mrs.
Brimmer, worthy of the Jove-like Quincy Brimmer; another Queen of
Love and Beauty like--like"--continued the gallant Senor, with an
effective oratorical pause, and a profound obeisance to Miss Keene,
"like one whose mantling maiden blushes forbid me to name?"
(Prolonged applause.) "Where shall we find more worthy mortals to
worship them than our young friends, the handsome Brace, the
energetic Winslow, the humorous Crosby? When we look back upon our
concerts and plays, our minstrel entertainments, with the
incomparable performances of our friend Crosby as Brother Bones;
our recitations, to which the genius of Mrs. M'Corkle, of Peoria,
Illinois, has lent her charm and her manuscript" (a burlesque start
of terror from Crosby), "I am forcibly impelled to quote the
impassioned words from that gifted woman,--
'When idly Life's barque on the billows of Time,
Drifts hither and yon by eternity's sea;
On the swift feet of verse and the pinions of rhyme
My thoughts, Ulricardo, fly ever to thee!'"
"Who's Ulricardo?" interrupted Crosby, with assumed eagerness,
followed by a "hush!" from the ladies.
"Perhaps I should have anticipated our friend's humorous question,"
said Senor Perkins, with unassailable good-humor. "Ulricardo,
though not my own name, is a poetical substitute for it, and a mere
figure of apostrophe. The poem is personal to myself," he
continued, with a slight increase of color in his smooth cheek
which did not escape the attention of the ladies,--"purely as an
exigency of verse, and that the inspired authoress might more
easily express herself to a friend. My acquaintance with Mrs.
M'Corkle has been only epistolary. Pardon this digression, my
friends, but an allusion to the muse of poetry did not seem to me
to be inconsistent with our gathering here. Let me briefly
conclude by saying that the occasion is a happy and memorable one;
I think I echo the sentiment of all present when I add that it is
one which will not be easily forgotten by either the grateful
guests, whose feelings I have tried to express, or the chivalrous
hosts, whose kindness I have already so feebly translated."
In the applause that followed, and the clicking of glasses, Senor
Perkins slipped away. He mingled a moment with some of the other
guests who had already withdrawn to the corridor, lit a cigar, and
then passed through a narrow doorway on to the ramparts. Here he
strolled to some distance, as if in deep thought, until he reached
a spot where the crumbling wall and its fallen debris afforded an
easy descent into the ditch. Following the ditch, he turned an
angle, and came upon the beach, and the low sound of oars in the
invisible offing. A whistle brought the boat to his feet, and
without a word he stepped into the stern sheets. A few strokes of
the oars showed him that the fog had lifted slightly from the
water, and a green light hanging from the side of the Excelsior
could be plainly seen. Ten minutes' more steady pulling placed him
on her deck, where the second officer stood with a number of the
sailors listlessly grouped around him.
"The landing has been completed?" said Senor Perkins interrogatively.
"All except one boat-load more, which waits to take your final
instructions," said the mate. "The men have growled a little about
it," he added, in a lower tone. "They don't want to lose anything,
it seems," he continued, with a half sarcastic laugh.
Senor Perkins smiled peculiarly.
"I am sorry to disappoint them. Who's that in the boat?" he asked
suddenly.
The mate followed the Senor's glance.
"It is Yoto. He says he is going ashore, and you will not forbid
him."
Senor Perkins approached the ship's side.
"Come here," he said to the man.
The Peruvian sailor rose, but did not make the slightest movement
to obey the command.
"You say you are going ashore?" said Perkins blandly.
"Yes, Patrono."
"What for?"
"To follow him--the thief, the assassin--who struck me here;" he
pointed to his head. "He has escaped again with his booty."
"You are very foolish, my Yoto; he is no thief, and has no booty.
They will put YOU in prison, not him."
"YOU say so," said the man surlily. "Perhaps they will hear me--
for other things," he added significantly.
"And for this you would abandon the cause?"
The man shrugged his shoulders.
"Why not?" he glanced meaningly at two of his companions, who had
approached the side; "perhaps others would. Who is sending the
booty ashore, eh?"
"Come out of that boat," said the Senor, leaning over the bulwarks
with folded arms, and his eyes firmly fixed on the man.
The man did not move. But the Senor's hand suddenly flew to the
back of his neck, smote violently downwards, and sent eighteen
inches of glittering steel hurtling through the air. The bowie-
knife entered the upturned throat of the man and buried itself
halfway to the hilt. Without a gasp or groan he staggered forward,
caught wildly at the side of the ship, and disappeared between the
boat and the vessel.
"My lads," said Senor Perkins, turning with a gentle smile towards
the faces that in the light of the swinging lantern formed a
ghastly circle around him, "when I boarded this ship that had
brought aid and succor to our oppressors at Callao, I determined to
take possession of it peacefully, without imperiling the peace and
property of the innocent passengers who were intrusted to its care,
and without endangering your own lives or freedom. But I made no
allowance for TRAITORS. The blood that has been shed to-night has
not been spilt in obedience to my orders, nor to the cause that we
serve; it was from DEFIANCE of it; and the real and only culprit
has just atoned for it."
He stopped, and then stepped back from the gangway, as if to leave
it open to the men.
"What I have done," he continued calmly, "I do not ask you to
consider either as an example or a warning. You are free to do
what HE would have done," he repeated, with a wave of his hand
towards the open gangway and the empty boat. "You are free to
break your contract and leave the ship, and I give you my word that
I will not lift a hand to prevent it. But if you stay with me," he
said, suddenly turning upon them a face as livid as their own, "I
swear by the living God, that, if between this and the
accomplishment of my design, you as much as shirk or question any
order given by me, you shall die the death of that dog who went
before you. Choose as you please--but quickly."
The mate was the first to move. Without a word, he crossed over to
the Senor's side. The men hesitated a moment longer, until one,
with a strange foreign cry, threw himself on his knees before the
Senor, ejaculating, "Pardon! pardon!" The others followed, some
impulsively catching at the hand that had just slain their comrade,
and covering it with kisses!
"Pardon, Patrono--we are yours."
"You are the State's," said Senor Perkins coldly, with every
vestige of his former urbanity gone from his colorless face.
"Enough! Go back to your duty." He watched them slink away, and
then turned to the mate. "Get the last boat-load ready, and report
to me."
From that moment another power seemed to dominate the ship. The
men no longer moved listlessly, or slunk along the deck with
perfunctory limbs; a feverish haste and eagerness possessed them;
the boat was quickly loaded, and the mysterious debarkation
completed in rapidity and silence. This done, the fog once more
appeared to rise from the water and softly encompass the ship,
until she seemed to be obliterated from its face. In this vague
obscurity, from time to time, the faint rattling of chains was
heard, the soft creaking of blocks, and later on, the regular rise
and fall of oars. And then the darkness fell heavier, the sounds
became more and more indistinct and were utterly lost.
Ashore, however, the lanterns still glittered brightly in the
courtyard of the Presidio; the noise of laughter and revel still
came from the supper-room, and, later, the tinkling of guitars and
rhythmical clapping hands showed that the festivities were being
wound up by a characteristic fandango. Captain Bunker succumbed
early to his potations of fiery aguardiente, and was put to bed in
the room of the Commander, to whom he had sworn eternal friendship
and alliance. It was long past midnight before the other guests
were disposed of in the various quarters of the Presidio; but to
the ladies were reserved the more ostentatious hospitalities of the
Alcalde himself, the walls of whose ambitious hacienda raised
themselves across the plaza and overlooked the gardens of the
Mission.
It was from one of the deep, quaintly barred windows of the
hacienda that Miss Keene gazed thoughtfully on the night, unable to
compose herself to sleep. An antique guest-chamber had been
assigned to her in deference to her wish to be alone, for which she
had declined the couch and vivacious prattle of her new friend,
Dona Isabel. The events of the day had impressed her more deeply
than they had her companions, partly from her peculiar inexperience
of the world, and partly from her singular sensitiveness to
external causes. The whole quaint story of the forgotten and
isolated settlement, which had seemed to the other passengers as a
trivial and half humorous incident, affected her imagination
profoundly. When she could escape the attentions of her
entertainers, or the frivolities of her companions, she tried to
touch the far-off past on the wings of her fancy; she tried to
imagine the life of those people, forgetting the world and
forgotten by it; she endeavored to picture the fifty years of
solitude amidst these decaying ruins, over which even ambition had
crumbled and fallen. It seemed to her the true conventual
seclusion from the world without the loss of kinship or home
influences; she contrasted it with her boarding-school life in the
fashionable seminary; she wondered what she would have become had
she been brought up here; she thought of the happy ignorance of
Dona Isabel, and--shuddered; and yet she felt herself examining the
odd furniture of the room with an equally childlike and admiring
curiosity. And these people looked upon HER as a superior being!
From the deep embrasure of the window she could see the tops of the
pear and olive trees, in the misty light of an invisible moon that
suffused the old Mission garden with an ineffable and angelic
radiance. To her religious fancy it seemed to be a spiritual
effusion of the church itself, enveloping the two gray dome-shaped
towers with an atmosphere and repose of its own, until it became
the incarnate mystery and passion where it stood.
She was suddenly startled by a moving shadow beside the wall,
almost immediately below her--the figure of a man! He was stealing
cautiously towards the church, as if to gain the concealment of the
shrubbery that grew beside it, and, furtively glancing from side to
side, looked towards her window. She unconsciously drew back,
forgetting at the moment that her light was extinguished, and that
it was impossible for the stranger to see her. But she had seen
HIM, and in that instant recognized Mr. Hurlstone!
Then he HAD come ashore, and secretly, for the other passengers
believed him still on the ship! But what was he doing there?--and
why had he not appeared with the others at the entertainment? She
could understand his avoidance of them from what she knew of his
reserved and unsocial habits; but when he could so naturally have
remained on shipboard, she could not, at first, conceive why he
should wish to prowl around the town at the risk of detection. The
idea suddenly occurred to her that he had had another attack of his
infirmity and was walking in his sleep, and for an instant she
thought of alarming the house, that some one might go to his
assistance. But his furtive movements had not the serene
impassibility of the somnambulist. Another thought withheld her;
he had looked up at her window! Did he know she was there? A
faint stirring of shame and pleasure sent a slight color to her
cheek. But he had gained the corner of the shrubbery and was lost
in the shadow. She turned from the window. A gentle sense of
vague and half maternal pity suffused her soft eyes as she at last
sought her couch and fell into a deep slumber.
Towards daybreak a wind arose over the sleeping town and far
outlying waters. It breathed through the leaves of the Mission
garden, brushed away the clinging mists from the angles of the
towers, and restored the sharp outlines of the ruined
fortifications. It swept across the unruffled sea to where the
Excelsior, cradled in the softly heaving bay, had peacefully swung
at anchor on the previous night, and lifted the snowy curtain of
the fog to seaward as far as the fringe of surf, a league away.
But the cradle of the deep was empty--the ship was gone!
CHAPTER VII.
THE GENTLE CASTAWAYS.
Miss Keene was awakened from a heavy sleep by a hurried shake of
her shoulder and an indefinite feeling of alarm. Opening her eyes,
she was momentarily dazed by the broad light of day, and the
spectacle of Mrs. Brimmer, pale and agitated, in a half-Spanish
dishabille, standing at her bedside.
"Get up and dress yourself, my dear, at once," she said hurriedly,
but at the same time attentively examining Miss Keene's clothes,
that were lying on the chair: "and thank Heaven you came here in an
afternoon dress, and not in an evening costume like mine! For
something awful has happened, and Heaven only knows whether we'll
ever see a stitch of our clothes again."
"WHAT has happened?" asked Miss Keene impatiently, sitting up in
bed, more alarmed at the unusual circumstance of Mrs. Brimmer's
unfinished toilet than at her incomplete speech.
"What, indeed! Nobody knows; but it's something awful--a mutiny,
or shipwreck, or piracy. But there's your friend, the Commander,
calling out the troops; and such a set of Christy Minstrels you
never saw before! There's the Alcalde summoning the Council;
there's Mr. Banks raving, and running round for a steamboat--as if
these people ever heard of such a thing!--and Captain Bunker, what
with rage and drink, gone off in a fit of delirium tremens, and
locked up in his room! And the Excelsior gone--the Lord knows
where!"
"Gone!" repeated Miss Keene, hurrying on her clothes. "Impossible!
What does Father Esteban tell you? What does Dona Isabel say?"
"That's the most horrible part of it! Do you know those wretched
idiots believe it's some political revolution among ourselves, like
their own miserable government. I believe that baby Isabel thinks
that King George and Washington have something to do with it; at
any rate, they're anxious to know to what side you belong! So; for
goodness' sake! if you have to humor them, say we're all on the
same side--I mean, don't you and Mrs. Markham go against Miss Chubb
and me."
Scarcely knowing whether to laugh or cry at Mrs. Brimmer's
incoherent statement, Miss Keene hastily finished dressing as the
door flew open to admit the impulsive Dona Isabel and her sister
Juanita. The two Mexican girls threw themselves in Miss Keene's
arms, and then suddenly drew back with a movement of bashful and
diffident respect.
"Do, pray, ask them, for I daren't," whispered Mrs. Brimmer, trying
to clasp a mantilla around her, "how this thing is worn, and if
they haven't got something like a decent bonnet to lend me for a
day or two?"
"The Senora has not then heard that her goods, and all the goods of
the Senores and Senoras, have been discovered safely put ashore at
the Embarcadero?"
"No?" said Mrs. Brimmer eagerly.
"Ah, yes!" responded Dona Isabel. "Since the Senora is not of the
revolutionary party."
Mrs. Brimmer cast a supplicatory look at Miss Keene, and hastily
quitted the room. Miss Keene would have as quickly followed her,
but the young Ramirez girls threw themselves again tragically upon
her breast, and, with a mysterious gesture of silence, whispered,--
"Fear nothing, Excellencia! We are yours--we will die for you, no
matter what Don Ramon, or the Comandante, or the Ayuntamiento,
shall decide. Trust us, little one!--pardon--Excellencia, we
mean."
"What IS the matter?" said Miss Keene, now thoroughly alarmed, and
releasing herself from the twining arms about her. "For Heaven's
sake let me go! I must see somebody! Where is--where is Mrs.
Markham?"
"The Markham? Is it the severe one?--as thus,"--said Dona Isabel,
striking an attitude of infantine portentousness.
"Yes," said Miss Keene, smiling in spite of her alarm.
"She is arrested."
"Arrested!" said Eleanor Keene, her cheeks aflame with indignation.
"For what? Who dare do this thing?"
"The Comandante. She has a missive--a despatch from the
insurrectionaries."
Without another word, and feeling that she could stand the suspense
no longer, Miss Keene forced her way past the young girls,
unheeding their cries of consternation and apology, and quickly
reached the patio. A single glance showed her that Mrs. Brimmer
was gone. With eyes and cheeks still burning, she swept past the
astounded peons, through the gateway, into the open plaza. Only
one idea filled her mind--to see the Commander, and demand the
release of her friend. How she should do it, with what arguments
she should enforce her demand, never occurred to her. She did not
even think of asking the assistance of Mr. Brace, Mr. Crosby, or
any of her fellow-passengers. The consciousness of some vague
crisis that she alone could meet possessed her completely.
The plaza was swarming with a strange rabble of peons and soldiery;
of dark, lowering faces, odd-looking weapons and costumes, mules,
mustangs, and cattle--a heterogeneous mass, swayed by some fierce
excitement. That she saw none of the Excelsior party among them
did not surprise her; an instinct of some catastrophe more serious
than Mrs. Brimmer's vague imaginings frightened but exalted her.
With head erect, leveled brows, and bright, determined eyes she
walked deliberately into the square. The crowd parted and gave way
before this beautiful girl, with her bared head and its invincible
crest of chestnut curls. Presently they began to follow her, with
a compressed murmur of admiration, until, before she was halfway
across the plaza, the sentries beside the gateway of the Presidio
were astonished at the vision of a fair-haired and triumphant
Pallas, who appeared to be leading the entire population of Todos
Santos to victorious attack. In vain a solitary bugle blew, in
vain the rolling drum beat an alarm, the sympathetic guard only
presented arms as Miss Keene, flushed and excited, her eyes darkly
humid with gratified pride, swept past them into the actual
presence of the bewildered and indignant Comandante.
The only feminine consciousness she retained was that she was more
relieved at her deliverance from the wild cattle and unbroken
horses of her progress than from the Indians and soldiers.
"I want to see Mrs. Markham, and to know by what authority she is
arrested," said Miss Keene boldly.
"The Senor Comandante can hold no conference with you until you
disperse your party," interpreted the secretary.
She was about to hurriedly reply that she knew nothing of the crowd
that had accompanied her; but she was withheld by a newly-born
instinct of tact.
"How do I know that I shall not be arrested, like my friend?" she
said quickly. "She is as innocent as myself."
"The Comandante pledges himself, as a hidalgo, that you shall not
be harmed."
Her first impulse was to advance to the nearest intruders at the
gate and say, "Do go away, please;" but she was doubtful of its
efficiency, and was already too exalted by the situation to be
satisfied with its prosaic weakness. But her newly developed
diplomacy again came to her aid. "You may tell them so, if you
choose, I cannot answer for them," she said, with apparent dark
significance.
The secretary advanced on the corridor and exchanged a few words
with her more impulsive followers. Miss Keene, goddess-like and
beautiful, remained erect behind him, and sent them a dazzling
smile and ravishing wave of her little hand. The crowd roared with
an effusive and bovine delight that half frightened her, and with a
dozen "Viva la Reyna Americanas!" she was hurried by the Comandante
into the guard-room.
"You ask to know of what the Senora Markham is accused," said the
Commander, more gently. "She has received correspondence from the
pirate--Perkins!"
"The pirate--Perkins?" said Miss Keene, with indignant incredulity.
"The buccaneer who wrote that letter. Read it to her, Manuel."
The secretary took his eyes from the young girl's glowing face,
coughed slightly, and then read as follows:--
"ON BOARD THE EXCELSIOR, of the Quinquinambo
Independent States Navy, August 8, 1854.
"To Captain Bunker.--Sir," . . .
"But this is not addressed to YOU!" interrupted Miss Keene
indignantly.
"The Captain Bunker is a raving madman," said the Commander
gravely. "Read on!"
The color gradually faded from the young girl's cheek as the
secretary continued, in a monotonous voice:--
"I have the honor to inform you that the barque Excelsior was, on
the 8th of July, 1854, and the first year of the Quinquinambo
Independence, formally condemned by the Federal Council of
Quinquinambo, for having aided and assisted the enemy with
munitions of war and supplies, against the law of nations, and the
tacit and implied good-will between the Republic of the United
States and the struggling Confederacies of South America; and that,
in pursuance thereof, and under the law of reprisals and letters of
marque, was taken possession of by me yesterday. The goods and
personal effects belonging to the passengers and yourself have been
safely landed at the Embarcadero of Todos Santos--a neutral port--
by my directions; my interpretation of the orders of the Federal
Council excepting innocent non-combatants and their official
protector from confiscation or amercement.
"I take the liberty of requesting you to hand the inclosed order on
the Treasury of the Quinquinambo Confederate States to Don Miguel
Briones, in payment of certain stores and provisions, and of a
piece of ordnance known as the saluting cannon of the Presidio of
Todos Santos. Vigilancia!
"Your obedient servant,
"LEONIDAS BOLIVAR PERKINS,
"Generalissimo Commanding Land and Sea Forces,
Quinquinambo Independent States."
In her consternation at this fuller realization of the vague
catastrophe, Miss Keene still clung to the idea that had brought
her there.
"But Mrs. Markham has nothing to do with all this?"
"Then why does she refuse to give up her secret correspondence with
the pirate Perkins?" returned the secretary.
Miss Keene hesitated. Had Mrs. Markham any previous knowledge of
the Senor's real character?
"Why don't you arrest the men?" she said scornfully. "There is Mr.
Banks, Mr. Crosby, Mr. Winslow, and Mr. Brace." She uttered the
last name more contemptuously, as she thought of that young
gentleman's protestations and her present unprotected isolation.
"They are already arrested and removed to San Antonio, a league
hence," returned the secretary. "It is fact enough that they have
confessed that their Government has seized the Mexican province of
California, and that they were on their way to take possession of
it."
Miss Keene's heart sank.
"But you knew all this yesterday," she faltered; "and our war with
Mexico is all over years ago."
"We did not know it last night at the banquet, Senora; nor would we
have known it but for this treason and division in your own party."
A sudden light flashed upon Miss Keene's mind. She now
comprehended the advances of Dona Isabel. Extravagant and
monstrous as it seemed, these people evidently believed that a
revolution had taken place in the United States; that the two
opposing parties had been represented by the passengers of the
Excelsior; and that one party had succeeded, headed by the
indomitable Perkins. If she could be able to convince them of
their blunder, would it be wise to do so? She thought of Mrs.
Brimmer's supplication to be ranged "on her side," and realized
with feminine quickness that the situation might be turned to her
countrymen's advantage. But which side had Todos Santos favored?
It was left to her woman's wit to discover this, and conceive a
plan to rescue her helpless companions.
Her suspense was quickly relieved. The Commander and his secretary
exchanged a few words.
"The Comandante will grant Dona Leonora's request," said the
secretary, "if she will answer a question."
"What is it?" responded Miss Keene, with inward trepidation.
"The Senora Markham is perhaps beloved by the Pirate Perkins?"
In spite of her danger, in spite of the uncertain fate hanging over
her party, Miss Keene could with difficulty repress a half
hysterical inclination to laugh. Even then, it escaped in a sudden
twinkle of her eye, which both the Commander and his subordinate
were quick to notice, as she replied demurely, "Perhaps."
It was enough for the Commander. A gleam of antique archness and
venerable raillery lit up his murky, tobacco-colored pupils; a
spasm of gallantry crossed the face of the secretary.
"Ah--what would you?--it is the way of the world," said the
Commander. "We comprehend. Come!"
He led the way across the corridor, and suddenly opened a small
barred door. Whatever preconceived idea Miss Keene may have had of
her unfortunate country-woman immured in a noisome cell, and
guarded by a stern jailer, was quite dissipated by the soft misty
sunshine that flowed in through the open door. The prison of Mrs.
Markham was a part of the old glacis which had been allowed to
lapse into a wild garden that stretched to the edge of the sea.
There was a summer-house built on--and partly from--a crumbling
bastion, and here, under the shade of tropical creepers, the
melancholy captive was comfortably writing, with her portable desk
on her knee, and a traveling-bag at her feet. A Saratoga trunk of
obtrusive proportions stood in the centre of the peaceful
vegetation, like a newly raised altar to an unknown deity. The
only suggestion of martial surveillance was an Indian soldier,
whose musket, reposing on the ground near Mrs. Markham, he had
exchanged for the rude mattock with which he was quietly digging.
The two women, with a cry of relief, flew into each other's arms.
The Commander and his secretary discreetly retired to an angle of
the wall.
"I find everything as I left it, my dear, even to my slipper-bag,"
said Mrs. Markham. "They've forgotten nothing."
"But you are a captive!" said Eleanor. "What does it mean?"
"Nothing, my dear. I gave them a piece of my mind," said Mrs.
Markham, looking, however, as if that mental offering had by no
means exhausted her capital, "and I have written six pages to the
Governor at Mazatlan, and a full account to Mr. Markham."
"And they won't get them in thirty years!" said Miss Keene
impetuously. "But where is this letter from Senor Perkins. And,
for Heaven's sake, tell me if you had the least suspicion before of
anything that has happened."
"Not in the least. The man is mad, my dear, and I really believe
driven so by that absurd Illinois woman's poetry. Did you ever see
anything so ridiculous--and shameful, too--as the 'Ulricardo'
business? I don't wonder he colored so."
Miss Keene winced with annoyance. Was everybody going crazy, or
was there anything more in this catastrophe that had only enfeebled
the minds of her countrywomen! For here was the severe, strong-
minded Mrs. Markham actually preoccupied, like Mrs. Brimmer, with
utterly irrelevant particulars, and apparently powerless to grasp
the fact that they were abandoned on a half hostile strand, and cut
off by half a century from the rest of the world.
"As to the letter," said Mrs. Markham, quietly, "there it is.
There's nothing in it that might not have been written by a
friend."
Miss Keene took the letter. It was written in a delicate, almost
feminine hand. She could not help noticing that in one or two
instances corrections had been made and blots carefully removed
with an eraser.
"Midnight, on the Excelsior.
"MY FRIEND: When you receive this I shall probably be once more on
the bosom of that mysterious and mighty element whose majesty has
impressed us, whose poetry we have loved, and whose moral lessons,
I trust, have not been entirely thrown away upon us. I go to the
deliverance of one of those oppressed nations whose history I have
often recited to you, and in whose destiny you have from time to
time expressed a womanly sympathy. While it is probable,
therefore, that my MOTIVES may not be misunderstood by you, or even
other dear friends of the Excelsior, it is by no means impossible
that the celerity and unexpectedness of my ACTION may not be
perfectly appreciated by the careless mind, and may seem to require
some explanation. Let me then briefly say that the idea of
debarking your goods and chattels, and parting from your delightful
company at Todos Santos, only occurred to me on our unexpected--
shall I say PROVIDENTIAL?--arrival at that spot; and the necessity
of expedition forbade me either inviting your cooperation or
soliciting your confidence. Human intelligence is variously
constituted--or, to use a more homely phrase, 'many men have many
minds'--and it is not impossible that a premature disclosure of my
plans might have jeopardized that harmony which you know it has
been my desire to promote. It was my original intention to have
landed you at Mazatlan, a place really inferior in climate and
natural attractions to Todo Santos, although, perhaps, more easy of
access and egress; but the presence of an American steamer in the
offing would have invested my enterprise with a certain publicity
foreign, I think, to all our tastes. Taking advantage, therefore,
of my knowledge of the peninsular coast, and the pardonable
ignorance of Captain Bunker, I endeavored, through my faithful
subordinates, to reach a less known port, and a coast rarely
frequented by reason of its prevailing fog. Here occurred one of
those dispensations of an overruling power which, dear friend, we
have so often discussed. We fell in with an unknown current, and
were guided by a mysterious hand into the bay of Todos Santos!
"You know of my belief in the infinite wisdom and benignity of
events; you have, dear friend, with certain feminine limitations,
shared it with me. Could there have been a more perfect
illustration of it than the power that led us here? On a shore,
historic in interest, beautiful in climate, hospitable in its
people, utterly freed from external influences, and absolutely
without a compromising future, you are landed, my dear friend, with
your youthful companions. From the crumbling ruins of a decaying
Past you are called to construct an Arcadia of your own; the
rudiments of a new civilization are within your grasp; the cost of
existence is comparatively trifling; the various sums you have with
you, which even in the chaos of revolution I have succeeded in
keeping intact, will more than suffice to your natural wants for
years to come. Were I not already devoted to the task of freeing
Quinquinambo, I should willingly share this Elysium with you all.
But, to use the glowing words of Mrs. M'Corkle, slightly altering
the refrain--
'Ah, stay me not! With flying feet
O'er desert sands, I rush to greet
My fate, my love, my life, my sweet
Quinquinambo!'
"I venture to intrust to your care two unpublished manuscripts of
that gifted woman. The dangers that may environ my present
mission, the vicissitudes of battle by sea or land, forbid my
imperiling their natural descent to posterity. You, my dear
friend, will preserve them for the ages to come, occasionally
refreshing yourself, from time to time, from that Parnassian
spring.
"Adieu! my friend. I look around the familiar cabin, and miss your
gentle faces. I feel as Jason might have felt, alone on the deck
of the Argo when his companions were ashore, except that I know of
no Circean influences to mar their destiny. In examining the
state-rooms to see if my orders for the complete restoration of
passengers' property had been carried out, I allowed myself to look
into yours. Lying alone, forgotten and overlooked, I saw a
peculiar jet hair-pin which I think I have observed in the coils of
your tresses. May I venture to keep this gentle instrument as a
reminder of the superior intellect it has so often crowned? Adieu,
my friend.
"Ever yours, LEONIDAS BOLIVAR PERKINS."
"Well?" said Mrs. Markham impatiently, as Miss Keene remained
motionless with the letter in her hand.
"It seems like a ridiculous nightmare! I can't understand it at
all. The man that wrote this letter may be mad--but he is neither
a pirate nor a thief--and yet"--
"He a pirate?" echoed Mrs. Markham indignantly; "He's nothing of
the kind! It's not even his FAULT!"
"Not his fault?" repeated Miss Keene; "are you mad, too?"
"No--nor a fool, my dear! Don't you see? It's all the fault of
Banks and Brimmer for compromising the vessel: of that stupid,
drunken captain for permitting it. Senor Perkins is a liberator, a
patriot, who has periled himself and his country to treat us
magnanimously. Don't you see it? It's like that Banks and that
Mrs. Brimmer to call HIM a pirate! I've a good mind to give the
Commander my opinion of THEM."
"Hush!" said Miss Keene, with a sudden recollection of the
Commander's suspicions, "for Heaven's sake; you do not know what
you are saying. Look! they were talking with that strange man, and
now they are coming this way."
The Commander and his secretary approached them. They were both
more than usually grave; but the look of inquiry and suspicion with
which they regarded the two women was gone from their eyes.
"The Senor Comandante says you are free, Senoras, and begs you will
only decide whether you will remain his guests or the guests of the
Alcalde. But for the present he cannot allow you any communication
with the prisoners of San Antonio."
"There is further news?" said Miss Keene faintly, with a presentiment
of worse complications.
"There is! A body from the Excelsior has been washed on shore."
The two women turned pale.
"In the pocket of the murdered man is an accusation against one
Senor Hurlstone, who was concealed on the ship; who came not ashore
openly with the other passengers, but who escaped in secret, and is
now hiding somewhere in Todos Santos."
"And you suspect him of this infamous act?" said Eleanor,
forgetting all prudence in her indignation. "You are deceiving
yourself. He is as innocent as I am!"
The Commander and the secretary smiled sapiently, but gently.
"The Senor Comandante believes you, Dona Leonora: the Senor
Hurlstone is innocent of the piracy. He is, of a surety, the
leader of the Opposition."
CHAPTER VIII.
IN SANCTUARY.
When James Hurlstone reached the shelter of the shrubbery he leaned
exhaustedly against the adobe wall, and looked back upon the garden
he had just traversed. At its lower extremity a tall hedge of
cactus reinforced the crumbling wall with a cheval de frise of
bristling thorns; it was through a gap in this green barrier that
he had found his way a few hours before, as his torn clothes still
testified. At one side ran the low wall of the Alcalde's casa, a
mere line of dark shadow in that strange diaphanous mist that
seemed to suffuse all objects. The gnarled and twisted branches of
pear-trees, gouty with old age, bent so low as to impede any
progress under their formal avenues; out of a tangled labyrinth of
figtrees, here and there a single plume of feathery palm swam in a
drowsy upper radiance. The shrubbery around him, of some unknown
variety, exhaled a faint perfume; he put out his hand to grasp what
appeared to be a young catalpa, and found it the trunk of an
enormous passion vine, that, creeping softly upward, had at last
invaded the very belfry of the dim tower above him; and touching
it, his soul seemed to be lifted with it out of the shadow.
The great hush and quiet that had fallen like a benediction on
every sleeping thing around him; the deep and passionless repose
that seemed to drop from the bending boughs of the venerable trees;
the cool, restful, earthy breath of the shadowed mold beneath him,
touched only by a faint jessamine-like perfume as of a dead
passion, lulled the hurried beatings of his heart and calmed the
feverish tremor of his limbs. He allowed himself to sink back
against the wall, his hands tightly clasped before him. Gradually,
the set, abstracted look of his eyes faded and became suffused, as
if moistened by that celestial mist. Then he rose quickly, drew
his sleeve hurriedly across his lashes, and began slowly to creep
along the wall again.
Either the obscurity of the shrubbery became greater or he was
growing preoccupied; but in steadying himself by the wall he had,
without perceiving it, put his hand upon a rude door that, yielding
to his pressure, opened noiselessly into a dark passage. Without
apparent reflection he entered, followed the passage a few steps
until it turned abruptly; turning with it, he found himself in the
body of the Mission Church of Todos Santos. A swinging-lamp, that
burned perpetually before an effigy of the Virgin Mother, threw a
faint light on the single rose-window behind the high altar;
another, suspended in a low archway, apparently lit the open door
of the passage towards the refectory. By the stronger light of the
latter Hurlstone could see the barbaric red and tarnished gold of
the rafters that formed the straight roof. The walls were striped
with equally bizarre coloring, half Moorish and half Indian. A few
hangings of dyed and painted cloths with heavy fringes were
disposed on either side of the chancel, like the flaps of a wigwam;
and the aboriginal suggestion was further repeated in a quantity of
colored beads and sea-shells that decked the communion-rails. The
Stations of the Cross, along the walls, were commemorated by
paintings, evidently by a native artist--to suit the same barbaric
taste; while a larger picture of San Francisco d'Assisis, under the
choir, seemed to belong to an older and more artistic civilization.
But the sombre half-light of the two lamps mellowed and softened
the harsh contrast of these details until the whole body of the
church appeared filled with a vague harmonious shadow. The air,
heavy with the odors of past incense, seemed to be a part of that
expression, as if the solemn and sympathetic twilight became
palpable in each deep, long-drawn inspiration.
Again overcome by the feeling of repose and peacefulness, Hurlstone
sank upon a rude settle, and bent his head and folded arms over a
low railing before him. How long he sat there, allowing the subtle
influence to transfuse and possess his entire being, he did not
know. The faint twitter of birds suddenly awoke him. Looking up,
he perceived that it came from the vacant square of the tower above
him, open to the night and suffused with its mysterious radiance.
In another moment the roof of the church was swiftly crossed and
recrossed with tiny and adventurous wings. The mysterious light
had taken an opaline color. Morning was breaking.
The slow rustling of a garment, accompanied by a soft but heavy
tread, sounded from the passage. He started to his feet as the
priest, whom he had seen on the deck of the Excelsior, entered the
church from the refectory. The Padre was alone. At the apparition
of a stranger, torn and disheveled, he stopped involuntarily and
cast a hasty look towards the heavy silver ornaments on the altar.
Hurlstone noticed it, and smiled bitterly.
"Don't alarm yourself. I only sought this place for shelter."
He spoke in French--the language he had heard Padre Esteban address
to Mrs. Brimmer. But the priest's quick eye had already detected
his own mistake. He lifted his hand with a sublime gesture towards
the altar, and said,--
"You are right! Where should you seek shelter but here?"
The reply was so unexpected that Hurlstone was silent. His lips
quivered slightly.
"And if it were SANCTUARY I was seeking?" he said.
"You would first tell me why you sought it," said Padre Esteban
gently.
Hurlstone looked at him irresolutely for a moment and then said,
with the hopeless desperation of a man anxious to anticipate his
fate,--
"I am a passenger on the ship you boarded yesterday. I came ashore
with the intention of concealing myself somewhere here until she
had sailed. When I tell you that I am not a fugitive from justice,
that I have committed no offense against the ship or her
passengers, nor have I any intention of doing so, but that I only
wish concealment from their knowledge for twenty-four hours, you
will know enough to understand that you run no risk in giving me
assistance. I can tell you no more."
"I did not see you with the other passengers, either on the ship or
ashore," said the priest. "How did you come here?"
"I swam ashore before they left. I did not know they had any idea
of landing here; I expected to be the only one, and there would
have been no need for concealment then. But I am not lucky," he
added, with a bitter laugh.
The priest glanced at his garments, which bore the traces of the
sea, but remained silent.
"Do you think I am lying?"
The old priest lifted his head with a gesture.
"Not to me--but to God!"
The young man followed the gesture, and glanced around the barbaric
church with a slight look of scorn. But the profound isolation,
the mystic seclusion, and, above all, the complete obliteration of
that world and civilization he shrank from and despised, again
subdued and overcame his rebellious spirit. He lifted his eyes to
the priest.
"Nor to God," he said gravely.
"Then why withhold anything from Him here?" said the priest gently.
"I am not a Catholic--I do not believe in confession," said
Hurlstone doggedly, turning aside.
But Padre Esteban laid his large brown hand on the young man's
shoulder. Touched by some occult suggestion in its soft contact,
he sank again into his seat.
"Yet you ask for the sanctuary of His house--a sanctuary bought by
that contrition whose first expression is the bared and open soul!
To the first worldly shelter you sought--the peon's hut or the
Alcalde's casa--you would have thought it necessary to bring a
story. You would not conceal from the physician whom you asked for
balsam either the wound, the symptoms, or the cause? Enough," he
said kindly, as Hurlstone was about to reply. "You shall have your
request. You shall stay here. I will be your physician, and will
salve your wounds; if any poison I know not of rankle there, you
will not blame me, son, but perhaps you will assist me to find it.
I will give you a secluded cell in the dormitory until the ship has
sailed. And then"--
He dropped quietly on the settle, took the young man's hand
paternally in his own, and gazed into his eyes as if he read his
soul.
And then . . . Ah, yes . . . What then? Hurlstone glanced once
more around him. He thought of the quiet night; of the great peace
that had fallen upon him since he had entered the garden, and the
promise of a greater peace that seemed to breathe with the incense
from those venerable walls. He thought of that crumbling barrier,
that even in its ruin seemed to shut out, more completely than
anything he had conceived, his bitter past, and the bitter world
that recalled it. He thought of the long days to come, when,
forgetting and forgotten, he might find a new life among these
simple aliens, themselves forgotten by the world. He had thought
of this once before in the garden; it occurred to him again in this
Lethe-like oblivion of the little church, in the kindly pressure of
the priest's hand. The ornaments no longer looked uncouth and
barbaric--rather they seemed full of some new spiritual
significance. He suddenly lifted his eyes to Padre Esteban, and,
half rising to his feet, said,--
"Are we alone?"
"We are; it is a half-hour yet before mass," said the priest.
"My story will not last so long," said the young man hurriedly, as
if fearing to change his mind. "Hear me, then--it is no crime nor
offense to any one; more than that, it concerns no one but myself--
it is of"--
"A woman," said the priest softly. "So! we will sit down, my son."
He lifted his hand with a soothing gesture--the movement of a
physician who has just arrived at an easy diagnosis of certain
uneasy symptoms. There was also a slight suggestion of an habitual
toleration, as if even the seclusion of Todos Santos had not been
entirely free from the invasion of the primal passion.
Hurlstone waited for an instant, but then went on rapidly.
"It is of a woman, who has cursed my life, blasted my prospects,
and ruined my youth; a woman who gained my early affection only to
blight and wither it; a woman who should be nearer to me and dearer
than all else, and yet who is further than the uttermost depths of
hell from me in sympathy or feeling; a woman that I should cleave
to, but from whom I have been flying, ready to face shame,
disgrace, oblivion, even that death which alone can part us: for
that woman is--my wife."
He stopped, out of breath, with fixed eyes and a rigid mouth.
Father Esteban drew a snuff-box from his pocket, and a large
handkerchief. After blowing his nose violently, he took a pinch of
snuff, wiped his lip, and replaced the box.
"A bad habit, my son," he said apologetically, "but an old man's
weakness. Go on."
"I met her first five years ago--the wife of another man. Don't
misjudge me, it was no lawless passion; it was a friendship, I
believed, due to her intellectual qualities as much as to her
womanly fascinations; for I was a young student, lodging in the
same house with her, in an academic town. Before I ever spoke to
her of love, she had confided to me her own unhappiness--the
uncongeniality of her married life, the harshness, and even
brutality, of her husband. Even a man less in love than I was
could have seen the truth of this--the contrast of the coarse,
sensual, and vulgar man with an apparently refined and intelligent
woman; but any one else except myself would have suspected that
such a union was not merely a sacrifice of the woman. I believed
her. It was not until long afterwards that I learned that her
marriage had been a condonation of her youthful errors by a
complaisant bridegroom; that her character had been saved by a
union that was a mutual concession. But I loved her madly; and
when she finally got a divorce from her uncongenial husband, I
believed it less an expression of her love for me than an act of
justice. I did not know at the time that they had arranged the
divorce together, as they had arranged their marriage, by equal
concessions.
"I was the only son of a widowed mother, whose instincts were from
the first opposed to my friendship with this woman, and what she
prophetically felt would be its result. Unfortunately, both she
and my friends were foolish enough to avow their belief that the
divorce was obtained solely with a view of securing me as a
successor; and it was this argument more than any other that
convinced me of my duty to protect her. Enough, I married, not
only in spite of all opposition--but BECAUSE of it.
"My mother would have reconciled herself to the marriage, but my
wife never forgave the opposition, and, by some hellish instinct
divining that her power over me might be weakened by maternal
influence, precipitated a quarrel which forever separated us. With
the little capital left by my father, divided between my mother and
myself, I took my wife to a western city. Our small income
speedily dwindled under the debts of her former husband, which she
had assumed to purchase her freedom. I endeavored to utilize a
good education and some accomplishments in music and the languages
by giving lessons and by contributing to the press. In this my
wife first made a show of assisting me, but I was not long in
discovering that her intelligence was superficial and shallow, and
that the audacity of expression, which I had believed to be
originality of conviction, was simply shamelessness, and a desire
for notoriety. She had a facility in writing sentimental poetry,
which had been efficacious in her matrimonial confidences, but
which editors of magazines and newspapers found to be shallow and
insincere. To my astonishment, she remained unaffected by this, as
she was equally impervious to the slights and sneers that
continually met us in society. At last the inability to pay one of
her former husband's claims brought to me a threat and an anonymous
letter. I laid them before her, when a scene ensued which revealed
the blindness of my folly in all its hideous hopelessness: she
accused me of complicity in her divorce, and deception in regard to
my own fortune. In a speech, whose language was a horrible
revelation of her early habits, she offered to arrange a divorce
from me as she had from her former husband. She gave as a reason
her preference for another, and her belief that the scandal of a
suit would lend her a certain advertisement and prestige. It was a
combination of Messalina and Mrs. Jarley"--
"Pardon! I remember not a Madame Jarley," said the priest.
"Of viciousness and commercial calculation," continued Hurlstone
hurriedly. "I don't remember what happened; she swore that I
struck her! Perhaps--God knows! But she failed, even before a
western jury, to convict me of cruelty. The judge that thought me
half insane would not believe me brutal, and her application for
divorce was lost.
"I need not tell you that the same friends who had opposed my
marriage now came forward to implore me to allow her to break our
chains. I refused. I swear to you it was from no lingering love
for her, for her presence drove me mad; it was from no instinct of
revenge or jealousy, for I should have welcomed the man who would
have taken her out of my life and memory. But I could not bear the
idea of taking her first husband's place in her hideous comedy; I
could not purchase my freedom at that price--at any price. I was
told that I could get a divorce against HER, and stand forth before
the world untrammeled and unstained. But I could not stand before
MYSELF in such an attitude. I knew that the shackles I had
deliberately forged could not be loosened except by death. I knew
that the stains of her would cling to me and become a part of my
own sin, even as the sea I plunged into yesterday to escape her,
though it has dried upon me, has left its bitter salt behind.
"When she knew my resolve, she took her revenge by dragging my name
through the successive levels to which she descended. Under the
plea that the hardly-earned sum I gave to her maintenance apart
from me was not sufficient, she utilized her undoubted beauty and
more doubtful talent in amateur entertainments--and, finally, on
the stage. She was openly accompanied by her lover, who acted as
her agent, in the hope of goading me to a divorce. Suddenly she
disappeared. I thought she had forgotten me. I obtained an
honorable position in New York. One night I entered a theater
devoted to burlesque opera and the exhibition of a popular actress,
known as the Western Thalia, whose beautiful and audaciously draped
figure was the talk of the town. I recognized my wife in this star
of nudity; more than that, she recognized me. The next day, in
addition to the usual notice, the real name of the actress was
given in the morning papers, with a sympathizing account of her
romantic and unfortunate marriage. I renounced my position, and,
taking advantage of an offer from an old friend in California,
resolved to join him secretly there. My mother had died broken-
hearted; I was alone in the world. But my wife discovered my
intention; and when I reached Callao, I heard that she had followed
me, by way of the Isthmus of Panama, and that probably she would
anticipate me in Mazatlan, where we were to stop. The thought of
suicide haunted me during the rest of that horrible voyage; only my
belief that she would make it appear as a tacit confession of my
guilt saved me from that last act of weakness."
He stopped and shuddered. Padre Esteban again laid his hand softly
upon him.
"It was God who spared you that sacrifice of soul and body," he
said gently.
"I thought it was God that suggested to me to take the SIMULATION
of that act the means of separating myself from her forever. When
we neared Mazatlan, I conceived the idea of hiding myself in the
hold of the Excelsior until she had left that port, in the hope
that it would be believed that I had fallen overboard. I succeeded
in secreting myself, but was discovered at the same time that the
unexpected change in the ship's destination rendered concealment
unnecessary. As we did not put in at Mazatlan, nobody suspected my
discovery in the hold to be anything but the accident that I gave
it out to be. I felt myself saved the confrontation of the woman
at Mazatlan; but I knew she would pursue me to San Francisco.
"The strange dispensation of Providence that brought us into this
unknown port gave me another hope of escape and oblivion. While
you and the Commander were boarding the Excelsior, I slipped from
the cabin-window into the water; I was a good swimmer, and reached
the shore in safety. I concealed myself in the ditch of the
Presidio until I saw the passengers' boats returning with them,
when I sought the safer shelter of this Mission. I made my way
through a gap in the hedge and lay under your olive-trees, hearing
the voices of my companions, beyond the walls, till past midnight.
I then groped my way along the avenue of pear-trees till I came to
another wall, and a door that opened to my accidental touch. I
entered, and found myself here. You know the rest."
He had spoken with the rapid and unpent fluency of a man who cared
more to relieve himself of an oppressive burden than to impress his
auditor; yet the restriction of a foreign tongue had checked
repetition or verbosity. Without imagination he had been eloquent;
without hopefulness he had been convincing. Father Esteban rose,
holding both his hands.
"My son, in the sanctuary which you have claimed there is no
divorce. The woman who has ruined your life could not be your
wife. As long as her first husband lives, she is forever his wife,
bound by a tie which no human law can sever!"
CHAPTER IX.
AN OPEN-AIR PRISON.
An hour after mass Father Esteban had quietly installed Hurlstone
in a small cell-like apartment off the refectory. The household of
the priest consisted of an old Indian woman of fabulous age and
miraculous propriety, two Indian boys who served at mass, a
gardener, and a muleteer. The first three, who were immediately in
attendance upon the priest, were cognizant of a stranger's
presence, but, under instructions from the reverend Padre, were
loyally and superstitiously silent; the vocations of the gardener
and muleteer made any intrusion from them impossible. A breakfast
of fruit, tortillas, chocolate, and red wine, of which Hurlstone
partook sparingly and only to please his entertainer, nevertheless
seemed to restore his strength, as it did the Padre's equanimity.
For the old man had been somewhat agitated during mass, and, except
that his early morning congregation was mainly composed of Indians,
muleteers, and small venders, his abstraction would have been
noticed. With ready tact he had not attempted, by further
questioning, to break the taciturnity into which Hurlstone had
relapsed after his emotional confession and the priest's abrupt
half-absolution. Was it possible he regretted his confidence, or
was it possible that his first free and untrammeled expression of
his wrongs had left him with a haunting doubt of their real
magnitude?
"Lie down here, my son," said the old ecclesiastic, pointing to a
small pallet in the corner, "and try to restore in the morning what
you have taken from the night. Manuela will bring your clothes
when they are dried and mended; meantime, shift for yourself in
Pepito's serape and calzas. I will betake me to the Comandante and
the Alcalde, to learn the dispositions of your party, when the ship
will sail, and if your absence is suspected. Peace be with you,
son! Manuela, attend to the caballero, and see you chatter not."
Without doubting the substantial truth of his guest's story, the
good Padre Esteban was not unwilling to have it corroborated by
such details as he thought he could collect among the Excelsior's
passengers. His own experience in the confessional had taught him
the unreliability of human evidence, and the vagaries of both
conscientious and unconscious suppression. That a young, good-
looking, and accomplished caballero should have been the victim of
not one, but even many, erotic episodes, did not strike the holy
father as being peculiar; but that he should have been brought by a
solitary unfortunate attachment to despair and renunciation of the
world appeared to him marvelous. He was not unfamiliar with the
remorse of certain gallants for peccadillos with other men's wives;
but this Americano's self-abasement for the sins of his own wife--
as he foolishly claimed her to be--whom he hated and despised,
struck Father Esteban as a miracle open to suspicion. Was there
anything else in these somewhat commonplace details of vulgar and
low intrigue than what he had told the priest? Were all these
Americano husbands as sensitive and as gloomily self-sacrificing
and expiating? It did not appear so from the manners and customs
of the others,--from those easy matrons whose complacent husbands
had abandoned them to the long companionship of youthful cavaliers
on adventurous voyages; from those audacious virgins, who had the
freedom of married women. Surely, this was not a pious and
sensitive race, passionately devoted to their domestic affections!
The young stranger must be either deceiving him--or an exception to
his countrymen!
And if he was that exception--what then? An idea which had sprung
up in Father Esteban's fancy that morning now took possession of it
with the tenacity of a growth on fertile virgin soil. The good
Father had been devoted to the conversion of the heathen with the
fervor of a one-ideaed man. But his successes had been among the
Indians--a guileless, harmless race, who too often confounded the
practical benefits of civilization with the abstract benefits of
the Church, and their instruction had been simple and coercive.
There had been no necessity for argument or controversy; the worthy
priest's skill in polemical warfare and disputation had never been
brought into play; the Comandante and Alcalde were as punctiliously
orthodox as himself, and the small traders and artisans were
hopelessly docile and submissive. The march of science, which had
been stopped by the local fogs of Todos Santos some fifty years,
had not disturbed the simple Aesculapius of the province with
heterodox theories: he still purged and bled like Sangrado, and met
the priest at the deathbed of his victims with a pious satisfaction
that had no trace of skeptical contention. In fact, the gentle
Mission of Todos Santos had hitherto presented no field for the
good Father's exalted ambition, nor the display of his powers as a
zealot. And here was a splendid opportunity.
The conversion of this dark, impulsive, hysterical stranger would
be a gain to the fold, and a triumph worthy of his steel. More
than that, if he had judged correctly of this young man's mind and
temperament, they seemed to contain those elements of courage and
sacrificial devotion that indicated the missionary priesthood.
With such a subaltern, what might not he, Father Esteban,
accomplish! Looking further into the future, what a glorious
successor might be left to his unfinished work on Todos Santos!
Buried in these reflections, Padre Esteban sauntered leisurely up
the garden, that gradually ascended the slight elevation on which
the greater part of the pueblo was built. Through a low gateway in
the wall he passed on to the crest of the one straggling street of
Todos Santos. On either side of him were ranged the low one-
storied, deep-windowed adobe fondas and artisans' dwellings, with
low-pitched roofs of dull red pipe-like tiles. Absorbed in his
fanciful dreams, he did not at first notice that those dwellings
appeared deserted, and that even the Posada opposite him, whose
courtyard was usually filled with lounging muleteers, was empty and
abandoned. Looking down the street towards the plaza, he became
presently aware of some undefined stirring in the peaceful hamlet.
There was an unusual throng in the square, and afar on that placid
surface of the bay from which the fog had lifted, the two or three
fishing-boats of Todos Santos were vaguely pulling. But the
strange ship was gone.
A feeling of intense relief and satisfaction followed. Father
Esteban pulled out his snuff-box and took a long and complacent
pinch. But his relief was quickly changed to consternation as an
armed cavalcade rapidly wheeled out of the plaza and cantered
towards him, with the unmistakable spectacle of the male passengers
of the Excelsior riding two and two, and guarded by double files of
dragoons on each side.
At a sign from the priest the subaltern reined in his mustang,
halted the convoy, and saluted respectfully, to the astonishment of
the prisoners. The clerical authority of Todos Santos evidently
dominated the military. Renewed hope sprang up in the hearts of
the Excelsior party.
"What have we here?" asked Padre Esteban.
"A revolution, your Reverence, among the Americanos, with robbery
of the Presidio saluting-gun; a grave affair. Your Reverence has
been sent for by the Comandante. I am taking these men to San
Antonio to await the decision of the Council."
"And the ship?"
"Gone, your Reverence. One of the parties has captured it."
"And these?"
"Are the Legitimists, your Reverence: at least they have confessed
to have warred with Mexico, and invaded California--the brigands."
The priest remained lost for a moment in blank and bitter
amazement. Banks took advantage of the pause to edge his way to
the front.
"Ask him, some of you," he said, turning to Brace and Crosby, "when
this d----d farce will be over, and where we can find the head man--
the boss idiot of this foolery."
"Let him put it milder," whispered Winslow. "You got us into
trouble enough with your tongue already."
Crosby hesitated a moment.
"Quand finira ce drole representation?--et--et--qui est ce qui est
l'entrepreneur?" he said dubiously.
The priest stared. These Americans were surely cooler and less
excitable than his strange guest. A thought struck him.
"How many are still in the ship?" he asked gently.
"Nobody but Perkins and that piratical crew of niggers."
"And that infernal Hurlstone," added Winslow.
The priest pricked up his ears.
"Hurlstone?" he repeated.
"Yes--a passenger like ourselves, as we supposed. But we are
satisfied now he was in the conspiracy from the beginning,"
translated Crosby painfully.
"Look at his strange disappearance--a regular put-up job," broke in
Brace, in English, without reference to the Padre's not
comprehending him; "so that he and Perkins could shut themselves up
together without suspicion."
"Never mind Hurlstone now; he's GONE, and we're HERE," said Banks
angrily. "Ask the parson, as a gentleman and a Christian, what
sort of a hole we've got into, anyhow. How far is the next
settlement?"
Crosby put the question. The subaltern lit a cigarette.
"There is no next settlement. The pueblo ends at San Antonio."
"And what's beyond that?"
"The ocean."
"And what's south?"
"The desert--one cannot pass it."
"And north?"
"The desert."
"And east?"
"The desert too."
"Then how do you get away from here?"
"We do not get away."
"And how do you communicate with Mexico--with your Government?"
"When a ship comes."
"And when does a ship come?"
"Quien sabe?"
The officer threw away his cigarette.
"I say, you'll tell the Commander that all this is illegal; and
that I'm going to complain to our Government," continued Banks
hurriedly.
"I go to speak to the Comandante," responded the priest gravely.
"And tell him that if he touches a hair of the ladies' heads we'll
have his own scalp," interrupted Brace impetuously.
Even Crosby's diplomatic modification of this speech did not appear
entirely successful.
"The Mexican soldier wars not with women," said the priest coldly.
"Adieu, messieurs!"
The cavalcade moved on. The Excelsior passengers at once resumed
their chorus of complaint, tirade, and aggressive suggestion,
heedless of the soldiers who rode stolidly on each side.
"To think we haven't got a single revolver among us," said Brace
despairingly.
"We might each grab a carbine from these nigger fellows," said
Crosby, eying them contemplatively.
"And if they didn't burst, and we weren't shot by the next patrol,
and if we'd calculated to be mean enough to run away from the
women--where would we escape to?" asked Banks curtly. "Hold on at
least until we get an ultimatum from that commodious ass at the
Presidio! Then we'll anticipate the fool-killer, if you like. My
opinion is, they aren't in any great hurry to try ANYTHING on us
just yet."
"And I say, lie low and keep dark until they show their hand,"
added Winslow, who had no relish for an indiscriminate scrimmage,
and had his own ideas of placating their captors.
Nevertheless, by degrees they fell into a silence, partly the
effect of the strangely enervating air. The fog had completely
risen from the landscape, and hung high in mid-air, through which
an intense sun, shorn of its fierceness, diffused a lambent warmth,
and a yellowish, unctuous light, as if it had passed through amber.
The bay gleamed clearly and distinctly; not a shadow flecked its
surface to the gray impenetrable rampart of fog that stretched like
a granite wall before its entrance. On one side of the narrow road
billows of monstrous grain undulated to the crest of the low hills,
that looked like larger undulations of the soil, furrowed by bosky
canadas or shining arroyos. Banks was startled into a burst of
professional admiration.
"There's enough grain there to feed a thousand Todos Santos; and
raised, too, with tools like that," he continued, pointing to a
primitive plow that lay on the wayside, formed by a single forked
root. A passing ox-cart, whose creaking wheels were made of a
solid circle of wood, apparently sawn from an ordinary log, again
plunged him into cogitation. Here and there little areas of the
rudest cultivation broke into a luxuriousness of orange, lime, and
fig trees. The joyous earth at the slightest provocation seemed to
smile and dimple with fruit and flowers. Everywhere the rare
beatitudes of Todos Santos revealed and repeated its simple story.
The fructifying influence of earth and sky; the intervention of a
vaporous veil between a fiery sun and fiery soil; the combination
of heat and moisture, purified of feverish exhalations, and made
sweet and wholesome by the saline breath of the mighty sea, had
been the beneficent legacy of their isolation, the munificent
compensation of their oblivion.
A gradual and gentle ascent at the end of two hours brought the
cavalcade to a halt upon a rugged upland with semi-tropical
shrubbery, and here and there larger trees from the tierra templada
in the evergreens or madrono. A few low huts and corrals, and a
rambling hacienda, were scattered along the crest, and in the midst
arose a little votive chapel, flanked by pear-trees. Near the
roadside were the crumbling edges of some long-forgotten excavation.
Crosby gazed at it curiously. Touching the arm of the officer, he
pointed to it.
"Una mina de plata," said the officer sententiously.
"A mine of some kind--silver, I bet!" said Crosby, turning to the
others. "Is it good--bueno--you know?" he continued to the
officer, with vague gesticulations.
"En tiempos pasados," returned the officer gravely.
"I wonder what that means?" said Winslow.
But before Crosby could question further, the subaltern signaled to
them to dismount. They did so, and their horses were led away to a
little declivity, whence came the sound of running water. Left to
themselves, the Americans looked around them. The cavalcade seemed
to have halted near the edge of a precipitous ridge, the evident
termination of the road. But the view that here met their eyes was
unexpected and startling.
The plateau on which they stood seemed to drop suddenly away,
leaving them on the rocky shore of a monotonous and far-stretching
sea of waste and glittering sand. Not a vestige nor trace of
vegetation could be seen, except an occasional ridge of straggling
pallid bushes, raised in hideous simulation of the broken crest of
a ghostly wave. On either side, as far as the eye could reach, the
hollow empty vision extended--the interminable desert stretched and
panted before them.
"It's the jumping-off place, I reckon," said Crosby, "and they've
brought us here to show us how small is our chance of getting away.
But," he added, turning towards the plateau again, "what are they
doing now? 'Pon my soul! I believe they're going off--and leaving
us."
The others turned as he spoke. It was true. The dragoons were
coolly galloping off the way they came, taking with them the horses
the Americans had just ridden.
"I call that cool," said Crosby. "It looks deuced like as if we
were to be left here to graze, like cattle."
"Perhaps that's their idea of a prison in this country," said
Banks. "There's certainly no chance of our breaking jail in that
direction," he added, pointing to the desert; "and we can't follow
them without horses."
"And I dare say they've guarded the pass in the road lower down,"
said Winslow.
"We ought to be able to hold our own here until night," said Brace,
"and then make a dash into Todos Santos, get hold of some arms, and
join the ladies."
"The women are all right," said Crosby impatiently, "and are better
treated than if we were with them. Suppose, instead of maundering
over them, we reconnoitre and see what WE can do here. I'm getting
devilishly hungry; they can't mean to starve us, and if they do, I
don't intend to be starved as long as there is anything to be had
by buying or stealing. Come along. There's sure to be fruit near
that old chapel, and I saw some chickens in the bush near those
huts. First, let's see if there's any one about. I don't see a
soul."
The little plateau, indeed, seemed deserted. In vain they shouted;
their voices were lost in the echoless air. They examined one by
one the few thatched huts: they were open, contained one or two
rude articles of furniture--a bed, a bench, and table--were
scrupulously clean--and empty. They next inspected the chapel; it
was tawdry and barbaric in ornament, but the candlesticks and
crucifix and the basin for holy water were of heavily beaten
silver. The same thought crossed their minds--the abandoned mine
at the roadside!
Bananas, oranges, and prickly-pears growing within the cactus-hedge
of the chapel partly mollified their thirst and hunger, and they
turned their steps towards the long, rambling, barrack-looking
building, with its low windows and red-tiled roof, which they had
first noticed. Here, too, the tenement was deserted and abandoned;
but there was evidence of some previous and more ambitious
preparation: in a long dormitory off the corridor a number of
scrupulously clean beds were ranged against the whitewashed walls,
with spotless benches and tables. To the complete astonishment and
bewilderment of the party another room, fitted up as a kitchen,
with the simpler appliances of housekeeping, revealed a larder
filled with provisions and meal. A shout from Winslow, who had
penetrated the inner courtyard, however, drew them to a more
remarkable spectacle. Their luggage and effects from the cabins of
the Excelsior were there, carefully piled in the antique ox-cart
that had evidently that morning brought them from Todos Santos!
"There's no mistake," said Brace, with a relieved look, after a
hurried survey of the trunks. "They have only brought our baggage.
The ladies have evidently had the opportunity of selecting their
own things."
"Crosby told you they'd be all right," said Banks; "and as for
ourselves, I don't see why we can't be pretty comfortable here, and
all the better for our being alone. I shall take an opportunity of
looking around a bit. It strikes me that there are some resources
in this country that might pay to develop."
"And I shall have a look at that played-out mine," said Crosby; "if
it's been worked as they work the land, they've left about as much
in it as they've taken out."
"That's all well enough," said Brace, drawing a dull vermilion-
colored stone from his pocket; "but here's something I picked up
just now that ain't 'played out,' nor even the value of it
suspected by those fellows. That's cinnabar--quicksilver ore--and
a big per cent. of it too; and if there's as much of it here as the
indications show, you could buy up all your SILVER mines in the
country with it."
"If I were you, I'd put up a notice on a post somewhere, as they do
in California, and claim discovery," said Banks seriously.
"There's no knowing how this thing may end. We may not get away
from here for some time yet, and if the Government will sell the
place cheap, it wouldn't be a bad spec' to buy it. Form a kind of
'Excelsior Company' among ourselves, you know, and go shares."
The four men looked earnestly at each other. Already the lost
Excelsior and her mutinous crew were forgotten; even the incidents
of the morning--their arrest, the uncertainty of their fate, and
the fact that they were in the hands of a hostile community--
appeared but as trivial preliminaries to the new life that opened
before them! They suddenly became graver than they had ever been--
even in the moment of peril.
"I don't see why we shouldn't," said Brace quickly. "We started
out to do that sort of thing in California, and I reckon if we'd
found such a spot as this on the Sacramento or American River we'd
have been content. We can take turns at housekeeping, prospect a
little, and enter into negotiations with the Government. I'm for
offering them a fair sum for this ridge and all it contains at
once."
"The only thing against that," said Crosby slowly, "is the
probability that it is already devoted to some other use by the
Government. Ever since we've been here I've been thinking--I don't
know why--that we've been put in a sort of quarantine. The
desertion of the place, the half hospital arrangements of this
building, and the means they have taken to isolate us from
themselves, must mean something. I've read somewhere that in these
out-of-the-way spots in the tropics they have a place where they
put the fellows with malarious or contagious diseases. I don't
want to frighten you boys: but I've an idea that we're in a sort of
lazaretto, and the people outside won't trouble us often."
CHAPTER X.
TODOS SANTOS SOLVES THE MYSTERY.
Notwithstanding his promise, and the summons of the Council, Father
Esteban, on parting with the Excelsior prisoners in the San Antonio
Road, did not proceed immediately to the presence of the
Comandante. Partly anxious to inform himself more thoroughly
regarding Hurlstone's antecedents before entering upon legislative
functions that might concern him, partly uneasy at Brace's allusion
to any possible ungentleness in the treatment of the fair
Americanas, and partly apprehensive that Mrs. Brimmer might seek
him at the Mission in the present emergency, the good Father turned
his steps towards the Alcalde's house.
Mrs. Brimmer, in a becoming morning wrapper, half reclining in an
Indian hammock in the corridor, supported by Miss Chubb, started at
his approach. So did the young Alcalde, sympathetically seated at
her side. Padre Esteban for an instant was himself embarrassed;
Mrs. Brimmer quickly recovered her usual bewildering naivete.
"I knew you would come; but if you hadn't, I should have mustered
courage enough to go with Miss Chubb to find you at the Mission,"
she said, half coquettishly. "Not but that Don Ramon has been all
kindness and consideration, but you know one always clings to one's
spiritual adviser in such an emergency; and although there are
differences of opinion between us, I think I may speak to you as
freely as I would speak to my dear friend Dr. Potts, of Trinity
Chapel. Of course you don't know HIM; but you couldn't have helped
liking him, he's so gentle, so tactful, so refined! But do tell me
the fullest particulars of this terrible calamity that has happened
so awkwardly. Tell me all! I fear that Don Ramon, out of
kindness, has not told me everything. I have been perfectly frank,
I told him everything--who I am, who Mr. Brimmer is, and given him
even the connections of my friend Miss Chubb. I can do no more;
but you will surely have no difficulty in finding some one in Todos
Santos who has heard of the Quincys and Brimmers. I've no doubt
that there are books in your library that mention them. Of course
I can say nothing of the other passengers, except that Mr. Brimmer
would not have probably permitted me to associate with any
notorious persons. I confess now--I think I told you once before,
Clarissa--that I greatly doubted Captain Bunker's ability"--
"Ah," murmured Don Ramon.
"--To make a social selection," continued Mrs. Brimmer. "He may
have been a good sailor, and boxed his compass, but he lacked a
knowledge of the world. Of the other passengers I can truly say I
know nothing; I cannot think that Mr. Crosby's sense of humor led
him into bad associations, or that he ever went beyond verbal
impropriety. Certainly nothing in Miss Keene's character has led
me to believe she could so far forget what was due to herself and
to us as to address a lawless mob in the streets as she did just
now; although her friend Mrs. Markham, as I just told Don Ramon, is
an advocate of Women's Rights and Female Suffrage, and I believe
she contemplates addressing the public from the lecturer's
platform."
"It isn't possible!" interrupted Don Ramon excitedly, in mingled
horror of the masculinely rampant Mrs. Markham and admiration of
the fascinatingly feminine Mrs. Brimmer; "a lady cannot be an
orator--a haranguer of men!"
"Not in society," responded Mrs. Brimmer, with a sigh, "and I do
not remember to have met the lady before. The fact is, she does
not move in our circle--in the upper classes."
The Alcalde exchanged a glance with the Padre.
"Ah! you have classes? and she is of a distinct class, perhaps?"
"Decidedly," said Mrs. Brimmer promptly.
"Pardon me," said Padre Esteban, with gentle persuasiveness, "but
you are speaking of your fellow-passengers. Know you not, then, of
one Hurlstone, who is believed to be still in the ship Excelsior,
and perhaps of the party who seized it?"
"Mr. Hurlstone?--it is possible; but I know really nothing of him,"
said Mrs. Brimmer carelessly. "I don't think Clarissa did, either--
did you, dear? Even in our enforced companionship we had to use
some reserve, and we may have drawn the line at him! He was a
friend of Miss Keene's; indeed, she was the only one who seemed to
know him."
"And she is now here?" asked the Padre eagerly.
"No. She is with her friend the Senora Markham, at the Presidio.
The Comandante has given her the disposition of his house," said
Don Ramon, with a glance of grave archness at Mrs. Brimmer; "it is
not known which is the most favored, the eloquent orator or the
beautiful and daring leader!"
"Mrs. Markham is a married woman," said Mrs. Brimmer severely,
"and, of course, she can do as she pleases; but it is far different
with Miss Keene. I should scarcely consider it proper to expose
Miss Chubb to the hospitality of a single man, without other women,
and I cannot understand how she could leave the companionship and
protection of your lovely sisters."
The priest here rose, and, with formal politeness, excused himself,
urging the peremptory summons of the Council.
"I scarcely expected, indeed, to have had the pleasure of seeing my
colleague here," he added with quiet suavity, turning to the
Alcalde.
"I have already expressed my views to the Comandante," said the
official, with some embarrassment, "and my attendance will hardly
be required."
The occasional misleading phosphorescence of Mrs. Brimmer's quiet
eyes, early alluded to in these pages, did not escape Father
Esteban's quick perception at that moment; however, he preferred to
leave his companion to follow its aberrations rather than to permit
that fair ignis fatuus to light him on his way by it.
"But my visit to you, Father Esteban," she began sweetly, "is only
postponed."
"Until I have the pleasure of anticipating it here," said the
priest, with paternal politeness bending before the two ladies;
"but for the present, au revoir!"
"It would be an easy victory to win this discreetly emotional
Americana to the Church," said Father Esteban to himself, as he
crossed the plaza; "but, if I mistake not, she would not cease to
be a disturbing element even there. However, she is not such as
would give this Hurlstone any trouble. It seems I must look
elsewhere for the brains of this party, and to find a solution of
this young man's mystery; and, if I judge correctly, it is with
this beautiful young agitator of revolutions and her oratorical
duenna I must deal."
He entered the low gateway of the Presidio unchallenged, and even
traversed the courtyard without meeting a soul. The guard and
sentries had evidently withdrawn to their habitual peaceful
vocations, and the former mediaeval repose of the venerable
building had returned. There was no one in the guard-room; but as
the priest turned back to the corridor, his quick ear was suddenly
startled by the unhallowed and inconsistent sounds of a guitar. A
monotonous voice also--the Comandante's evidently--was raised in a
thin, high recitative.
The Padre passed hastily through the guard-room, and opened the
door of the passage leading to the garden slope. Here an
extraordinary group presented itself to his astonished eyes. In
the shadow of a palm-tree, Mrs. Markham, seated on her Saratoga
trunk as on a throne, was gazing blandly down upon the earnest
features of the Commander, who, at her feet, guitar in hand, was
evidently repeating some musical composition. His subaltern sat
near him, divided in admiration of his chief and the guest. Miss
Keene, at a little distance, aided by the secretary, was holding an
animated conversation with a short, stout, Sancho Panza-looking
man, whom the Padre recognized as the doctor of Todos Santos.
At the apparition of the reverend Father, the Commander started,
the subaltern stared, and even the secretary and the doctor looked
discomposed.
"I am decidedly de trop this morning," soliloquized the
ecclesiastic; but Miss Keene cut short his reflection by running to
him frankly, with outstretched hand.
"I am so glad that you have come," she said, with a youthful,
unrestrained earnestness that was as convincing as it was
fascinating, "for you will help me to persuade this gentleman that
poor Captain Bunker is suffering more from excitement of mind than
body, and that bleeding him is more than folly."
"The man's veins are in a burning fever and delirium from
aguardiente," said the little doctor excitedly, "and the fire must
first be put out by the lancet."
"He is only crazy with remorse for having lost his ship through his
own carelessness and the treachery of others," said Miss Keene
doughtily.
"He is a maniac and will kill himself, unless his fever is
subdued," persisted the doctor.
"And you would surely kill him by your way of subduing it," said
the young girl boldly. "Better for him, a disgraced man of honor,
to die by his own hand, than to be bled like a calf into a feeble
and helpless dissolution. I would, if I were in his place--if I
had to do it by tearing off the bandages."
She made a swift, half unconscious gesture of her little hand, and
stopped, her beautiful eyes sparkling, her thin pink nostrils
dilated, her red lips parted, her round throat lifted in the air,
and one small foot advanced before her. The men glanced hurriedly
at each other, and then fixed their eyes upon her with a rapt yet
frightened admiration. To their simple minds it was Anarchy and
Revolution personified, beautiful, and victorious.
"Ah!" said the secretary to Padre Esteban, in Spanish, "it is true!
she knows not fear! She was in the room alone with the madman; he
would let none approach but her! She took a knife from him--else
the medico had suffered!"
"He recognized her, you see! Ah! they know her power," said the
Comandante, joining the group.
"You will help me, Father Esteban?" said the young girl, letting
the fire of her dark eyes soften to a look of almost childish
appeal--"you will help me to intercede for him? It is the
restraint only that is killing him--that is goading him to madness!
Think of him, Father--think of him: ruined and disgraced, dying to
retrieve himself by any reckless action, any desperate chance of
recovery, and yet locked up where he can do nothing--attempt
nothing--not even lift a hand to pursue the man who has helped to
bring him to this!"
"But he CAN do nothing! The ship is gone!" remonstrated the
Comandante.
"Yes, the ship is gone; but the ocean is still there," said Miss
Keene.
"But he has no boat."
"He will find or make one."
"And the fog conceals the channel."
"He can go where THEY have gone, or meet their fate. You do not
know my countrymen, Senor Comandante," she said proudly.
"Ah, yes--pardon! They are at San Antonio--the baker, the buffoon,
the two young men who dig. They are already baking and digging and
joking. We have it from my officer, who has just returned."
Miss Keene bit her pretty lips.
"They think it is a mistake; they cannot believe that any intentional
indignity is offered them," she said quietly. "Perhaps it is well
they do not."
"They desired me to express their condolences to the Senora," said
the Padre, with exasperating gentleness, "and were relieved to be
assured by me of your perfect security in the hands of these
gentlemen."
Miss Keene raised her clear eyes to the ecclesiastic. That
accomplished diplomat of Todos Santos absolutely felt confused
under the cool scrutiny of this girl's unbiased and unsophisticated
intelligence.
"Then you HAVE seen them," she said, "and you know their innocence,
and the utter absurdity of this surveillance?"
"I have not seen them ALL," said the priest softly. "There is
still another--a Senor Hurlstone--who is missing? Is he not?"
It was not in the possibility of Eleanor Keene's truthful blood to
do other than respond with a slight color to this question. She
had already concealed from every one the fact of having seen the
missing man in the Mission garden the evening before. It did not,
however, prevent her the next moment from calmly meeting the glance
of the priest as she answered gravely,--
"I believe so. But I cannot see what that has to do with the
detention of the others."
"Much, perhaps. It has been said that you alone, my child, were in
the confidence of this man."
"Who dared say that?" exclaimed Miss Keene in English, forgetting
herself in her indignation.
"If it's anything mean--it's Mrs. Brimmer, I'll bet a cooky," said
Mrs. Markham, whose linguistic deficiencies had debarred her from
the previous conversation.
"You have only," continued the priest, without noticing the
interruption, "to tell us what you know of this Hurlstone's plans,--
of his complicity with Senor Perkins, or," he added significantly,
"his opposition to them--to insure that perfect justice shall be
done to all."
Relieved that the question involved no disclosure of her only
secret regarding Hurlstone, Miss Keene was about to repeat the
truth that she had no confidential knowledge of him, or of his
absurd alleged connection with Senor Perkins, when, with an
instinct of tact, she hesitated. Might she not serve them all--
even Hurlstone himself--by saying nothing, and leaving the burden
of proof to their idiotic accusers? Was she altogether sure that
Hurlstone was entirely ignorant of Senor Perkins' plans, or might
he not have refused, at the last moment, to join in the conspiracy,
and so left the ship?
"I will not press you for your answer now," said the priest gently.
"But you will not, I know, keep back anything that may throw a
light on this sad affair, and perhaps help to reinstate your friend
Mr. Hurlstone in his REAL position."
"If you ask me if I believe that Mr. Hurlstone had anything to do
with this conspiracy, I should say, unhesitatingly, that I do NOT.
And more, I believe that he would have jumped overboard rather than
assent to so infamous an act," said the young girl boldly.
"Then you think he had no other motive for leaving the ship?" said
the priest slowly.
"Decidedly not." She stopped; a curious anxious look in the
Padre's persistent eyes both annoyed and frightened her. "What
other motive could he have?" she said coldly.
Father Esteban's face lightened.
"I only ask because I think you would have known it. Thank you for
the assurance all the same, and in return I promise you I will use
my best endeavors with the Comandante for your friend the Captain
Bunker. Adieu, my daughter. Adieu, Madame Markham," he said, as,
taking the arm of Don Miguel, he turned with him and the doctor
towards the guard-room. The secretary lingered behind for a
moment.
"Fear nothing," he said, in whispered English to Miss Keene. "I,
Ruy Sanchez, shall make you free of Capitano Bunker's cell," and
passed on.
"Well," said Mrs. Markham, when the two women were alone again. "I
don't pretend to fathom the befogged brains of Todos Santos; but as
far as I can understand their grown-up child's play, they are
making believe this unfortunate Mr. Hurlstone, who may be dead for
all we know, is in revolt against the United States Government,
which is supposed to be represented by Senor Perkins and the
Excelsior--think of that!"
"But Perkins signed himself of the Quinquinambo navy!" said Miss
Keene wonderingly.
"That is firmly believed by those idiots to be one of OUR States.
Remember they know nothing of what has happened anywhere in the
last fifty years. I dare say they never heard of filibusters like
Perkins, and they couldn't comprehend him if they had. I've given
up trying to enlighten them, and I think they're grateful for it.
It makes their poor dear heads ache."
"And it is turning mine! But, for Heaven's sake, tell me what part
I am supposed to act in this farce!" said Miss Keene.
"You are the friend and colleague of Hurlstone, don't you see?"
said Mrs. Markham. "You are two beautiful young patriots--don't
blush, my dear!--endeared to each other and a common cause, and
ready to die for your country in opposition to Perkins, and the
faint-heartedness of such neutrals as Mrs. Brimmer, Miss Chubb, the
poor Captain, and all the men whom they have packed off to San
Antonio."
"Impossible!" said Miss Keene, yet with an uneasy feeling that it
not only was possible, but that she herself had contributed
something to the delusion. "But how do they account for my
friendship with YOU--you, who are supposed to be a correspondent--
an accomplice of Perkins?"
"No, no," returned Mrs. Markham, with a half serious smile, "I am
not allowed that honor. I am presumed to be only the disconsolate
Dulcinea of Perkins, abandoned by HIM, pitied by you, and converted
to the true faith--at least, that is what I make out from the
broken English of that little secretary of the Commander."
Miss Keene winced.
"That's all my fault, dear," she said, suddenly entwining her arms
round Mrs. Markham, and hiding her half embarrassed smile on the
shoulder of her strong-minded friend; "they suggested it to me, and
I half assented, to save you. Please forgive me."
"Don't think I am blaming you, my dear Eleanor," said Mrs. Markham.
"For Heaven's sake assent to the wildest and most extravagant
hypothesis they can offer, if it will leave us free to arrange our
own plans for getting away. I begin to think we were not a very
harmonious party on the Excelsior, and most of our troubles here
are owing to that. We forget we have fallen among a lot of
original saints, as guileless and as unsophisticated as our first
parents, who know nothing of our customs and antecedents. They
have accepted us on what they believe to be our own showing. From
first to last we've underrated them, forgetting they are in the
majority. We can't expect to correct the ignorance of fifty years
in twenty-four hours, and I, for one, sha'n't attempt it. I'd much
rather trust to the character those people would conceive of me
from their own consciousness than to one Mrs. Brimmer or Mr.
Winslow would give of me. From this moment I've taken a firm
resolve to leave my reputation and the reputation of my friends
entirely in their hands. If you are wise you will do the same.
They are inclined to worship you--don't hinder them. My belief is,
if we only take things quietly, we might find worse places to be
stranded on than Todos Santos. If Mrs. Brimmer and those men of
ours, who, I dare say, have acted as silly as the Mexicans
themselves, will only be quiet, we can have our own way here yet."
"And poor Captain Bunker?" said Miss Keene.
"It seems hard to say it, but, in my opinion, he is better under
lock and key, for everybody's good, at present. He'd be a
firebrand in the town if he got away. Meantime, let us go to our
room. It is about the time when everybody is taking a siesta, and
for two hours, thank Heaven! we're certain nothing more can
happen."
"I'll join you in a moment," said Miss Keene.
Her quick ear had caught the sound of voices approaching. As Mrs.
Markham disappeared in the passage, the Commander and his party
reappeared from the guard-room, taking leave of Padre Esteban. The
secretary, as he passed Miss Keene, managed to add to his formal
salutation the whispered words,--"When the Angelus rings I will
await you before the grating of his prison."
Padre Esteban was too preoccupied to observe this incident. As
soon as he quitted the Presidio, he hastened to the Mission with a
disquieting fear that his strange guest might have vanished. But,
crossing the silent refectory, and opening the door of the little
apartment, he was relieved to find him stretched on the pallet in a
profound slumber. The peacefulness of the venerable walls had laid
a gentle finger on his weary eyelids.
The Padre glanced round the little cell, and back again at the
handsome suffering face that seemed to have found surcease and rest
in the narrow walls, with a stirring of regret. But the next
moment he awakened the sleeper, and in the briefest, almost frigid,
sentences, related the events of the morning.
The young man rose to his feet with a bitter laugh.
"You see," he said, "God is against me! And yet a few hours ago I
dared to think that He had guided me to a haven of rest and
forgetfulness!
"Have you told the truth to him and to me?" said the priest
sternly, "or have you--a mere political refugee--taken advantage of
an old man's weakness to forge a foolish lie of sentimental
passion?"
"What do you mean?" said Hurlstone, turning upon him almost
fiercely.
The priest rose, and drawing a folded paper from his bosom, opened
it before the eyes of his indignant guest.
"Remember what you told me last night in the sacred confidences of
yonder holy church, and hear what you really are from the lips of
the Council of Todos Santos."
Smoothing out the paper, he read slowly as follows:--
"Whereas, it being presented to an Emergency Council, held at the
Presidio of Todos Santos, that the foreign barque Excelsior had
mutinied, discharged her captain and passengers, and escaped from
the waters of the bay, it was, on examination, found and decreed
that the said barque was a vessel primarily owned by a foreign
Power, then and there confessed and admitted to be at war with
Mexico and equipped to invade one of her northern provinces. But
that the God of Liberty and Justice awakening in the breasts of
certain patriots--to wit, the heroic Senor Diego Hurlstone and the
invincible Dona Leonor--the courage and discretion to resist the
tyranny and injustice of their oppressors, caused them to mutiny
and abandon the vessel rather than become accomplices, in the
company of certain neutral and non-combatant traders and artisans,
severally known as Brace, Banks, Winslow, and Crosby; and certain
aristocrats, known as Senoras Brimmer and Chubb. In consideration
thereof, it is decreed by the Council of Todos Santos that asylum,
refuge, hospitality, protection, amity, and alliance be offered and
extended to the patriots, Senor Diego Hurlstone, Dona Leonor, and a
certain Duenna Susana Markham, particularly attached to Dona
Leonor's person; and that war, reprisal, banishment, and death be
declared against Senor Perkins, his unknown aiders and abettors.
And that for the purposes of probation, and in the interests of
clemency, provisional parole shall be extended to the alleged
neutrals--Brace, Banks, Crosby, and Winslow--within the limits and
boundaries of the lazaretto of San Antonio, until their neutrality
shall be established, and pending the further pleasure of the
Council. And it is further decreed and declared that one Capitano
Bunker, formerly of the Excelsior, but now a maniac and lunatic--
being irresponsible and visited of God, shall be exempted from the
ordinances of this decree until his reason shall be restored; and
during that interval subjected to the ordinary remedial and
beneficent restraint of civilization and humanity. By order of the
Council,--
"The signatures and rubrics of--
"DON MIGUEL BRIONES,
Comandante.
"PADRE ESTEBAN,
of the Order of San Francisco d'Assisis.
"DON RAMON RAMIREZ,
Alcalde of the Pueblo of Todos Santos."
CHAPTER XI.
THE CAPTAIN FOLLOWS HIS SHIP.
When Padre Esteban had finished reading the document he laid it
down and fixed his eyes on the young man. Hurlstone met his look
with a glance of impatient disdain.
"What have you to say to this?" asked the ecclesiastic, a little
impressed by his manner.
"That as far as it concerns myself it is a farrago of absurdity.
If I were the person described there, why should I have sought you
with what you call a lie of 'sentimental passion,' when I could
have claimed protection openly with my SISTER PATRIOT," he added,
with a bitter laugh.
"Because you did not know THEN the sympathy of the people nor the
decision of the Council," said the priest.
"But I know it NOW, and I refuse to accept it."
"You refuse--to--to accept it?" echoed the priest.
"I do." He walked towards the door. "Before I go, let me thank
you for the few hours' rest and security that you have given to one
who may be a cursed man, yet is no impostor. But I do not blame
you for doubting one who talks like a desperate man, yet lacks the
courage of desperation. Good-by!"
"Where are you going?"
"What matters? There is a safer protection and security to be
found than even that offered by the Council of Todos Santos."
His eyes were averted, but not before the priest had seen them
glaze again with the same gloomy absorption that had horrified him
in the church the evening before. Father Esteban stepped forward
and placed his soft hand on Hurlstone's shoulder.
"Look at me. Don't turn your face aside, but hear me; for I
believe your story."
Without raising his eyes, the young man lifted Father Esteban's
hand from his shoulder, pressed it lightly, and put it quietly
aside.
"I thank you," he said, "for keeping at least that unstained memory
of me. But it matters little now. Good-by!"
He had his hand upon the door, but the priest again withheld him.
"When I tell you I believe your story, it is only to tell you more.
I believe that God has directed your wayward, wandering feet here
to His house, that you may lay down the burden of your weak and
suffering manhood before His altar, and become once more a child of
His. I stand here to offer you, not a refuge of a day or a night,
but for all time; not a hiding-place from man or woman, but from
yourself, my son--yourself, your weak and mortal self, more fatal
to you than all. I stand here to open for you not only the door of
this humble cell, but that of His yonder blessed mansion. You
shall share my life with me; you shall be one of my disciples; you
shall help me strive for other souls as I have striven for yours;
the protection of the Church, which is all-powerful, shall be
around you if you wish to be known; you shall hide yourself in its
mysteries if you wish to be forgotten. You shall be my child, my
companion, my friend; all that my age can give you shall be yours
while I live, and it shall be your place one day to take up my
unfinished work when it falls from these palsied hands forever."
"You are mistaken," said the young man coldly. "I came to you for
human aid, and thank you for what you have granted me: I have not
been presumptuous enough to ask more, nor to believe myself a
fitting subject for conversion. I am weak, but not weak enough to
take advantage of the mistaken kindness of either the temporal
Council of Todos Santos or its spiritual head." He opened the door
leading into the garden. "Forget and forgive me, Father Esteban,
and let me say farewell."
"Stop!" said the ecclesiastic, raising himself to his full height
and stepping before Hurlstone. "Then if you will not hear me in
the name of your Father who lives, in the name of your father who
is dead I command you to stay! I stand here to-day in the place of
that man I never knew--to hold back his son from madness and crime.
Think of me as of him whom you loved, and grant to an old man who
might have had a son as old as you the right of throwing a father's
protecting arm around you."
There was a moment's silence.
"What do you want me to do?" said Hurlstone, suddenly lifting his
now moist and glistening eyes upon the old man.
"Give me your word of honor that for twenty-four hours you will
remain as you are--pledging yourself to nothing--only promising to
commit no act, take no step, without consulting me. You will not
be sought here, nor yet need you keep yourself a prisoner in these
gloomy walls--except that, by exposing yourself to the people now,
you might be compromised to some course that you are not ready to
take."
"I promise," said Hurlstone.
He turned and held out both his hands; but Father Esteban
anticipated him with a paternal gesture of uplifted and opened
arms, and for an instant the young man's forehead was bowed on the
priest's shoulder.
Father Esteban gently raised the young man's head.
"You will take a pasear in the garden until the Angelus rings, my
son, while the air is sweet and wholesome, and think this over.
Remember that you may accept the hospitality of the Council without
sin of deception. You were not in sympathy with either the captors
of the Excelsior or their defeated party; for you would have flown
from both. You, of all your party now in Todos Santos, are most in
sympathy with us. You have no cause to love your own people; you
have abandoned them for us. Go, my son; and meditate upon my
words. I will fetch you from yonder slope in time for the evening
refection."
Hurlstone bowed his head and turned his irresolute feet towards the
upper extremity of the garden, indicated by the priest, which
seemed to offer more seclusion and security than the avenue of
pear-trees. He was dazed and benumbed. The old dogged impulses of
self-destruction--revived by the priest's reproaches, but checked
by the vision of his dead and forgotten father, which the priest's
words had called up--gave way, in turn, to his former despair.
With it came a craving for peace and rest so insidious that in some
vague fear of yielding to it he quickened his pace, as if to
increase his distance from the church and its apostle. He was
almost out of breath when he reached the summit, and turned to look
back upon the Mission buildings and the straggling street of the
pueblo, which now for the first time he saw skirted the wall of the
garden in its descent towards the sea. He had not known the full
extent of Todos Santos before; when he swam ashore he had landed
under a crumbling outwork of the fort; he gazed now with curious
interest over the hamlet that might have been his home. He looked
over the red-tiled roofs, and further on to the shining bay, shut
in by the impenetrable rampart of fog. He might have found rest
and oblivion here but for the intrusion of those fellow-passengers
to share his exile and make it intolerable. How he hated and
loathed them all! Yet the next moment he found himself
scrutinizing the street and plaza below him for a glimpse of his
countrywomen, whom he knew were still in the town or vainly
endeavoring to locate their habitation among the red-tiled roofs.
And that frank, clear-eyed girl--Miss Keene!--she who had seemed to
vaguely pity him--she was somewhere here too--selected by the irony
of fate to be his confederate! He could not help thinking of her
beauty and kindness now, with a vague curiosity that was half an
uneasiness. It had not struck him before, but if he were to accept
the ridiculous attitude forced upon him by Todos Santos, its
absurdity, as well as its responsibility, would become less odious
by sharing it with another. Perhaps it might be to HER advantage--
and if so, would he be justified in exposing its absurdity? He
would have to see her first--and if he did, how would he explain
his real position? A returning wave of bitterness threw him back
into his old despair.
The twilight had slowly gathered over the view as he gazed--or,
rather a luminous concentration above the pueblo and bay had left
the outer circle of fog denser and darker. Emboldened by the
apparent desertion of the Embarcadero, he began to retrace his
steps down the slope, keeping close to the wall so as to avoid
passing before the church again, or a closer contact with the
gardener among the vines. In this way he reached the path he had
skirted the night before, and stopped almost under the shadow of
the Alcalde's house. It was here he had rested and hidden,--here
he had tasted the first sweets of isolation and oblivion in the
dreamy garden,--here he had looked forward to peace with the
passing of the ship,--and now? The sound of voices and laughter
suddenly grated upon his ear. He had heard those voices before.
Their distinctness startled him until he became aware that he was
standing before a broken, half-rotting door that permitted a
glimpse of the courtyard of the neighboring house. He glided
quickly past it without pausing, but in that glimpse beheld Mrs.
Brimmer and Miss Chubb half reclining in the corridor--in the
attitude he had often seen them on the deck of the ship--talking
and laughing with a group of Mexican gallants. A feeling of
inconceivable loathing and aversion took possession of him. Was it
to THIS he was returning after his despairing search for oblivion?
Their empty, idle laughter seemed to ring mockingly in his ears as
he hurried on, scarce knowing whither, until he paused before the
broken cactus hedge and crumbling wall that faced the Embarcadero.
A glance over the hedge showed him that the strip of beach was
deserted. He looked up the narrow street; it was empty. A few
rapid strides across it gained him the shadow of the sea-wall of
the Presidio, unchecked and unhindered. The ebbing tide had left a
foot or two of narrow shingle between the sea and the wall. He
crept along this until, a hundred yards distant, the sea-wall
reentered inland around a bastion at the entrance of a moat half
filled at high tide by the waters of the bay, but now a ditch of
shallow pools, sand, and debris. He leaned against the bastion,
and looked over the softly darkening water.
How quiet it looked, and, under that vaporous veil, how profound
and inscrutable! How easy to slip into its all-embracing arms, and
sink into its yielding bosom, leaving behind no stain, trace, or
record! A surer oblivion than the Church, which could not absolve
memory, grant forgetfulness, nor even hide the ghastly footprints
of its occupants. Here was obliteration. But was he sure of that?
He thought of the body of the murdered Peruvian, laid out at the
feet of the Council by this same fickle and uncertain sea; he
thought of his own distorted face subjected to the cold curiosity
of these aliens or the contemptuous pity of his countrymen. But
that could be avoided. It was easy for him--a good swimmer--to
reach a point far enough out in the channel for the ebbing tides to
carry him past that barrier of fog into the open and obliterating
ocean. And then, at least, it might seem as if he had attempted to
ESCAPE--indeed, if he cared, he might be able to keep afloat until
he was picked up by some passing vessel, bound to a distant land!
The self-delusion pleased him, and seemed to add the clinching
argument to his resolution. It was not suicide; it was escape--
certainly no more than escape--he intended! And this miserable
sophism of self-apology, the last flashes of expiring conscience,
helped to light up his pale, determined face with satisfaction. He
began coolly to divest himself of his coat.
What was that?--the sound of some dislodged stones splashing in one
of the pools further up! He glanced hurriedly round the wall of
the bastion. A figure crouching against the side of the ditch, as
if concealing itself from observation on the glacis above, was
slowly approaching the sea. Suddenly, when within a hundred yards
of Hurlstone, it turned, crossed the ditch, rapidly mounted its
crumbling sides, and disappeared over the crest. But in that
hurried glimpse he had recognized Captain Bunker!
The sudden and mysterious apparition of this man produced on
Hurlstone an effect that the most violent opposition could not have
created. Without a thought of the terrible purpose it had
interrupted, and obeying some stronger instinct that had seized
him, he dashed down into the ditch and up to the crest again after
Captain Bunker. But he had completely disappeared. A little
lagoon, making in from the bay, on which a small fishing-boat was
riding, and a solitary fisherman mending his nets on the muddy
shore a few feet from it, were all that was to be seen.
He was turning back, when he saw the object of his search creeping
from some reeds, on all fours, with a stealthy, panther-like
movement towards the unconscious fisherman. Before Hurlstone could
utter a cry, Bunker had sprung upon the unfortunate man, thrown him
to the earth, rapidly rolled him over and over, enwrapping him hand
and foot in his own net, and involving him hopelessly in its
meshes. Tossing the helpless victim--who was apparently too
stupefied to call out--to one side, he was rushing towards the boat
when, with a single bound, Hurlstone reached his side and laid his
hand upon his shoulder.
"Captain Bunker, for God's sake! what are you doing?"
Captain Bunker turned slowly and without apparent concern towards
his captor. Hurlstone fell back before the vacant, lack-lustre
eyes that were fixed upon him.
"Captain Bunker's my name," said the madman, in a whisper. "Lemuel
Bunker, of Nantucket! Hush! don't waken him," pointing to the
prostrate fisherman; "I've put him to sleep. I'm Captain Bunker--
old drunken Bunker--who stole one ship from her owners, and
disgraced himself, and now is going to steal another--ha, ha! Let
me go."
"Captain Bunker," said Hurlstone, recovering himself in time to
prevent the maniac from dashing into the water. "Look at me.
Don't you know me?"
"Yes, yes; you're one of old Bunker's dogs kicked overboard by
Perkins. I'm one of Perkins' dogs gone mad, and locked up by
Perkins! Ha, ha! But I got out! Hush! SHE let me out. SHE
thought I was going to see the boys at San Antonio. But I'm going
off to see the old barque out there in the fog. I'm going to chuck
Perkins overboard and the two mates. Let me go."
He struggled violently. Hurlstone, fearful of quitting his hold to
release the fisherman, whom Captain Bunker no longer noticed, and
not daring to increase the Captain's fury by openly calling to him,
beckoned the pinioned man to make an effort. But, paralyzed by
fear, the wretched captive remained immovable, staring at the
struggling men. With the strength of desperation Hurlstone at last
forced the Captain down upon his knees.
"Listen, Captain! We'll go together--you understand. I'll help
you--but we must get a larger boat first--you know."
"But they won't give it," said Captain Bunker mysteriously.
"Didn't you hear the Council--the owners--the underwriters say: 'He
lost his ship, he's ruined and disgraced, for rum, all for rum!'
And we want rum, you know, and it's all over there, in the
Excelsior's locker!"
"Yes, yes," said Hurlstone soothingly; "but there's more in the
bigger boat. Come with me. We'll let the man loose, and we'll
make him show us his bigger boat."
It was an unfortunate suggestion; for the Captain, who had listened
with an insane chuckle, and allowed himself to be taken lightly by
the hand, again caught sight of the prostrate fisherman. A yell
broke from him--his former frenzy returned. With a cry of
"Treachery! all hands on deck!" he threw off Hurlstone and rushed
into the water.
"Help!" cried the young man, springing after him, "It is madness.
He will kill himself!"
The water was shallow, they were both wading, they both reached the
boat at the same time; but the Captain had scrambled into the
stern-sheets, and cast loose the painter, as Hurlstone once more
threw his arms about him.
"Hear me, Captain. I'll go with you. Listen! I know the way
through the fog. You understand: I'll pilot you!" He was
desperate, but no longer from despair of himself, but of another;
he was reckless, but only to save a madman from the fate that but a
moment before he had chosen for himself.
Captain Bunker seemed to soften. "Get in for'ard," he said, in a
lower voice. Hurlstone released his grasp, but still clinging to
the boat, which had now drifted into deeper water, made his way to
the bow. He was climbing over the thwarts when a horrified cry
from the fisherman ashore and a jarring laugh in his ear caused him
to look up. But not in time to save himself! The treacherous
maniac had suddenly launched a blow from an oar at the unsuspecting
man as he was rising to his knees. It missed his head, but fell
upon his arm and shoulder, precipitating him violently into the sea.
Stunned by the shock, he sank at first like lead to the bottom.
When he rose again, with his returning consciousness, he could see
that Captain Bunker had already hoisted sail, and, with the
assistance of his oars, was rapidly increasing his distance from
the shore. With his returning desperation he turned to strike out
after him, but groaned as his one arm sank powerless to his side.
A few strokes showed him the madness of the attempt; a few more
convinced him that he himself could barely return to the shore. A
sudden torpor had taken possession of him--he was sinking!
With this thought, a struggle for life began; and this man who had
just now sought death so eagerly--with no feeling of inconsistency,
with no physical fear of dissolution, with only a vague, blind,
dogged determination to live for some unknown purpose--a
determination as vague and dogged as his former ideas of self-
destruction--summoned all his energies to reach the shore. He
struck out wildly, desperately; once or twice he thought he felt
his feet touch the bottom, only to find himself powerlessly dragged
back towards the sea. With a final superhuman effort he gained at
last a foothold on the muddy strand, and, half scrambling, half
crawling, sank exhaustedly beside the fisherman's net. But the
fisherman was gone! He attempted again to rise to his feet, but a
strange dizziness attacked him. The darkening landscape, with its
contracting wall of fog; the gloomy flat; the still, pale sea, as
yet unruffled by the faint land breeze that was slowly wafting the
escaping boat into the shadowy offing--all swam round him! Through
the roaring in his ears he thought he heard drumbeats, and the
fanfare of a trumpet, and voices. The next moment he had lost all
consciousness.
When he came to, he was lying in the guard-room of the Presidio.
Among the group of people who surrounded him he recognized the
gaunt features of the Commander, the sympathetic eyes of Father
Esteban, and the fisherman who had disappeared. When he rose on
his elbow, and attempted to lift himself feebly, the fisherman,
with a cry of gratitude, threw himself on his knees, and kissed his
helpless hand.
"He lives, he lives! your Excellencies! Saints be praised, he
lives! The hero--the brave Americano--the noble caballero who
delivered me from the madman."
"Who are you? and whence come you?" demanded the Commander of
Hurlstone, with grave austerity.
Hurlstone hesitated; the priest leaned forward with a half anxious,
half warning gesture. There was a sudden rustle in the passage;
the crowd gave way as Miss Keene, followed by Mrs. Markham,
entered. The young girl's eyes caught those of the prostrate man.
With an impulsive cry she ran towards him.
"Mr. Hurlstone!"
"Hurlstone," echoed the group, pressing nearer the astonished man.
The Comandante lifted his hand gravely with a gesture of silence,
and then slowly removed his plumed hat. Every head was instantly
uncovered.
"Long live our brave and noble ally, Don Diego! Long live the
beautiful Dona Leonor!"
A faint shade of sadness passed over the priest's face. He glanced
from Hurlstone to Miss Keene.
"Then you have consented?" he whispered.
Hurlstone cast a rapid glance at Eleanor Keene.
"I consent!"
PART II. FREED.
CHAPTER I.
THE MOURNERS AT SAN FRANCISCO.
The telegraph operator at the Golden Gate of San Francisco had long
since given up hope of the Excelsior. During the months of
September and October, 1854, stimulated by the promised reward, and
often by the actual presence of her owners, he had shown zeal and
hope in his scrutiny of the incoming ships. The gaunt arms of the
semaphore at Fort Point, turned against the sunset sky, had
regularly recorded the smallest vessel of the white-winged fleet
which sought the portal of the bay during that eventful year of
immigration; but the Excelsior was not amongst them. At the close
of the year 1854 she was a tradition; by the end of January, 1855,
she was forgotten. Had she been engulfed in her own element she
could not have been more completely swallowed up than in the
changes of that shore she never reached. Whatever interest or hope
was still kept alive in solitary breasts the world never knew. By
the significant irony of Fate, even the old-time semaphore that
should have signaled her was abandoned and forgotten.
The mention of her name--albeit in a quiet, unconcerned voice--in
the dress-circle of a San Francisco theatre, during the performance
of a popular female star, was therefore so peculiar that it could
only have come from the lips of some one personally interested in
the lost vessel. Yet the speaker was a youngish, feminine-looking
man of about thirty, notable for his beardlessness, in the crowded
circle of bearded and moustachioed Californians, and had been one
of the most absorbed of the enthusiastic audience. A weak smile of
vacillating satisfaction and uneasiness played on his face during
the plaudits of his fellow-admirers, as if he were alternately
gratified and annoyed. It might have passed for a discriminating
and truthful criticism of the performance, which was a classical
burlesque, wherein the star displayed an unconventional frankness
of shapely limbs and unrestrained gestures and glances; but he
applauded the more dubious parts equally with the audience. He was
evidently familiar with the performance, for a look of eager
expectation greeted most of the "business." Either he had not
come for the entire evening, or he did not wish to appear as if he
had, as he sat on one of the back benches near the passage, and
frequently changed his place. He was well, even foppishly, dressed
for the period, and appeared to be familiarly known to the loungers
in the passage as a man of some social popularity.
He had just been recognized by a man of apparently equal importance
and distinction, who had quietly and unconsciously taken a seat by
his side, and the recognition appeared equally unexpected and
awkward. The new-comer was the older and more decorous-looking,
with an added formality of manner and self-assertion that did not,
however, conceal a certain habitual shrewdness of eye and lip. He
wore a full beard, but the absence of a moustache left the upper
half of his handsome and rather satirical mouth uncovered. His
dress was less pronounced than his companion's, but of a type of
older and more established gentility.
"I was a little late coming from the office to-night," said the
younger man, with an embarrassed laugh, "and I thought I'd drop in
here on my way home. Pretty rough outside, ain't it?"
"Yes, it's raining and blowing; so I thought I wouldn't go up to
the plaza for a cab, but wait here for the first one that dropped a
fare at the door, and take it on to the hotel."
"Hold on, and I'll go with you," said the young man carelessly. "I
say, Brimmer," he added, after a pause, with a sudden assumption of
larger gayety, "there's nothing mean about Belle Montgomery, eh?
She's a whole team and the little dog under the wagon, ain't she?
Deuced pretty woman!--no make-up there, eh?"
"She certainly is a fine woman," said Brimmer gravely, borrowing
his companion's lorgnette. "By the way, Markham, do you usually
keep an opera-glass in your office in case of an emergency like
this?"
"I reckon it was forgotten in my overcoat pocket," said Markham,
with an embarrassed smile.
"Left over from the last time," said Brimmer, rising from his seat.
"Well, I'm going now--I suppose I'll have to try the plaza."
"Hold on a moment. She's coming on now--there she is!" He
stopped, his anxious eyes fixed upon the stage. Brimmer turned at
the same moment in no less interested absorption. A quick hush ran
through the theatre; the men bent eagerly forward as the Queen of
Olympus swept down to the footlights, and, with a ravishing smile,
seemed to envelop the whole theatre in a gracious caress.
"You know, 'pon my word, Brimmer, she's a very superior woman,"
gasped Markham excitedly, when the goddess had temporarily
withdrawn. "These fellows here," he said, indicating the audience
contemptuously, "don't know her,--think she's all that sort of
thing, you know,--and come here just to LOOK at her. But she's
very accomplished--in fact, a kind of literary woman. Writes
devilish good poetry--only took up the stage on account of domestic
trouble: drunken husband that beat her--regular affecting story,
you know. These sap-headed fools don't, of course, know THAT. No,
sir; she's a remarkable woman! I say, Brimmer, look here! I"--he
hesitated, and then went on more boldly, as if he had formed a
sudden resolution. "What have you got to do to-night?"
Brimmer, who had been lost in abstraction, started slightly, and
said,--
"I--oh! I've got an appointment with Keene. You know he's off by
the steamer--day after to-morrow?"
"What! He's not going off on that wild-goose chase, after all?
Why, the man's got Excelsior on the brain!" He stopped as he
looked at Brimmer's cold face, and suddenly colored. "I mean his
plan--his idea's all nonsense--you know that!"
"I certainly don't agree with him," began Brimmer gravely; "but"--
"The idea," interrupted Markham, encouraged by Brimmer's beginning,
"of his knocking around the Gulf of California, and getting up an
expedition to go inland, just because a mail-steamer saw a barque
like the Excelsior off Mazatlan last August. As if the Excelsior
wouldn't have gone into Mazatlan if it had been her! I tell you
what it is, Brimmer: it's mighty rough on you and me, and it ain't
the square thing at all--after all we've done, and the money we've
spent, and the nights we've sat up over the Excelsior--to have this
young fellow Keene always putting up the bluff of his lost sister
on us! His lost sister, indeed! as if WE hadn't any feelings."
The two men looked at each other, and each felt it incumbent to
look down and sigh deeply--not hypocritically, but perfunctorily,
as over a past grief, although anger had been the dominant
expression of the speaker.
"I was about to remark," said Brimmer practically, "that the
insurance on the Excelsior having been paid, her loss is a matter
of commercial record; and that, in a business point of view, this
plan of Keene's ain't worth looking at. As a private matter of our
own feelings--purely domestic--there's no question but that we must
sympathize with him, although he refuses to let us join in the
expenses."
"Oh, as to that," said Markham hurriedly, "I told him to draw on me
for a thousand dollars last time I saw him. No, sir; it ain't
that. What gets me is this darned nagging and simpering around,
and opening old sores, and putting on sentimental style, and doing
the bereaved business generally. I reckon he'd be even horrified
to see you and me here--though it was just a chance with both of us."
"I think not," said Brimmer dryly. "He knows Miss Montgomery
already. They're going by the same steamer."
Markham looked up quickly.
"Impossible! She's going by the other line to Panama; that is"--he
hesitated--"I heard it from the agent."
"She's changed her mind, so Keene says," returned Brimmer. "She's
going by way of Nicaragua. He stops at San Juan to reconnoitre the
coast up to Mazatlan. Good-night. It's no use waiting here for a
cab any longer, I'm off."
"Hold on!" said Markham, struggling out of a sudden uneasy
reflection. "I say, Brimmer," he resumed, with an enforced smile,
which he tried to make playful, "your engagement with Keene won't
keep you long. What do you say to having a little supper with Miss
Montgomery, eh?--perfectly proper, you know--at our hotel? Just a
few friends, eh?"
Brimmer's eyes and lips slightly contracted.
"I believe I am already invited," he said quietly. "Keene asked
me. In fact, that's the appointment. Strange he didn't speak of
you," he added dryly.
"I suppose it's some later arrangement," Markham replied, with
feigned carelessness. "Do you know her?"
"Slightly."
"You didn't say so!"
"You didn't ask me," said Brimmer. "She came to consult me about
South American affairs. It seems that filibuster General Leonidas,
alias Perkins, whose little game we stopped by that Peruvian
contract, actually landed in Quinquinambo and established a
government. It seems she knows him, has a great admiration for him
as a Liberator, as she calls him. I think they correspond!"
"She's a wonderful woman, by jingo, Brimmer! I'd like to hear whom
she don't know," said Markham, beaming with a patronizing vanity.
"There's you, and there's that filibuster, and old Governor Pico,
that she's just snatched bald-headed--I mean, you know, that he
recognizes her worth, don't you see? Not like this cattle you see
here."
"Are you coming with me?" said Brimmer, gravely buttoning up his
coat, as if encasing himself in a panoply of impervious
respectability.
"I'll join you at the hotel," said Markham hurriedly. "There's a
man over there in the parquet that I want to say a word to; don't
wait for me."
With a slight inclination of the head Mr. Brimmer passed out into
the lobby, erect, self-possessed, and impeccable. One or two of
his commercial colleagues of maturer age, who were loitering
leisurely by the wall, unwilling to compromise themselves by
actually sitting down, took heart of grace at this correct
apparition. Brimmer nodded to them coolly, as if on 'Change, and
made his way out of the theatre. He had scarcely taken a few steps
before a furious onset of wind and rain drove him into a doorway
for shelter. At the same moment a slouching figure, with a turned-
up coat-collar, slipped past him and disappeared in a passage at
his right. Partly hidden by his lowered umbrella, Mr. Brimmer
himself escaped notice, but he instantly recognized his late
companion, Markham. As he resumed his way up the street he glanced
into the passage. Halfway down, a light flashed upon the legend
"Stage Entrance." Quincy Brimmer, with a faint smile, passed on to
his hotel.
It was striking half-past eleven when Mr. Brimmer again issued from
his room in the Oriental and passed down a long corridor. Pausing
a moment before a side hall that opened from it, he cast a rapid
look up and down the corridor, and then knocked hastily at a door.
It was opened sharply by a lady's maid, who fell back respectfully
before Mr. Brimmer's all-correct presence.
Half reclining on a sofa in the parlor of an elaborate suite of
apartments was the woman whom Mr. Brimmer had a few hours before
beheld on the stage of the theatre. Lifting her eyes languidly
from a book that lay ostentatiously on her lap, she beckoned her
visitor to approach. She was a woman still young, whose statuesque
beauty had but slightly suffered from cosmetics, late hours, and
the habitual indulgence of certain hysterical emotions that were
not only inconsistent with the classical suggestions of her figure,
but had left traces not unlike the grosser excitement of alcoholic
stimulation. She looked like a tinted statue whose slight
mutations through stress of time and weather had been unwisely
repaired by freshness of color.
"I am such a creature of nerves," she said, raising a superb neck
and extending a goddess-like arm, "that I am always perfectly
exhausted after the performance. I fly, as you see, to my first
love--poetry--as soon as Rosina has changed my dress. It is not
generally known--but I don't mind telling YOU--that I often nerve
myself for the effort of acting by reading some well-remembered
passage from my favorite poets, as I stand by the wings. I quaff,
as one might say, a single draught of the Pierian spring before I
go on."
The exact relations between the humorous "walk round," in which
Miss Montgomery usually made her first entrance, and the volume of
Byron she held in her hand, did not trouble Mr. Brimmer so much as
the beautiful arm with which she emphasized it. Neither did it
strike him that the distinguishing indications of a poetic
exaltation were at all unlike the effects of a grosser stimulant
known as "Champagne cocktail" on the less sensitive organization of
her colleagues. Touched by her melancholy but fascinating smile,
he said gallantly that he had observed no sign of exhaustion, or
want of power in her performance that evening.
"Then you were there!" she said, fixing her eyes upon him with an
expression of mournful gratitude. "You actually left your business
and the calls of public duty to see the poor mountebank perform her
nightly task."
"I was there with a friend of yours," answered Brimmer soberly,
"who actually asked me to the supper to which Mr. Keene had already
invited me, and which YOU had been kind enough to suggest to me a
week ago."
"True, I had forgotten," said Miss Montgomery, with a large
goddess-like indifference that was more effective with the man
before her than the most elaborate explanation. "You don't mind
them--do you?--for we are all friends together. My position, you
know," she added sadly, "prevents my always following my own
inclinations or preferences. Poor Markham, I fear the world does
not do justice to his gentle, impressible nature. I sympathize
with him deeply; we have both had our afflictions, we have both--
lost. Good heavens!" she exclaimed, with a sudden exaggerated
start of horror, "what have I done? Forgive my want of tact, dear
friend; I had forgotten, wretched being that I am, that YOU, too"--
She caught his hand in both hers, and bowed her head over it as if
unable to finish her sentence.
Brimmer, who had been utterly mystified and amazed at this picture
of Markham's disconsolate attitude to the world, and particularly
to the woman before him, was completely finished by this later
tribute to his own affliction. His usually composed features,
however, easily took upon themselves a graver cast as he kept, and
pressed, the warm hands in his own.
"Fool that I was," continued Miss Montgomery; "in thinking of poor
Markham's childlike, open grief, I forgot the deeper sorrow that
the more manly heart experiences under an exterior that seems cold
and impassible. Yes," she said, raising her languid eyes to
Brimmer, "I ought to have felt the throb of that volcano under its
mask of snow. You have taught me a lesson."
Withdrawing her hands hastily, as if the volcano had shown some
signs of activity, she leaned back on the sofa again.
"You are not yet reconciled to Mr. Keene's expedition, then?" she
asked languidly.
"I believe that everything has been already done," said Brimmer,
somewhat stiffly; "all sources of sensible inquiry have been
exhausted by me. But I envy Keene the eminently practical
advantages his impractical journey gives him," he added, arresting
himself, gallantly; "he goes with you."
"Truly!" said Miss Montgomery, with the melancholy abstraction of a
stage soliloquy. "Beyond obeying the dictates of his brotherly
affection, he gains no real advantage in learning whether his
sister is alive or dead. The surety of her death would not make
him freer than he is now--freer to absolutely follow the dictates
of a new affection; free to make his own life again. It is a
sister, not a wife, he seeks."
Mr. Brimmer's forehead slightly contracted. He leaned back a
little more rigidly in his chair, and fixed a critical, half
supercilious look upon her. She did not seem to notice his almost
impertinent scrutiny, but sat silent, with her eyes bent on the
carpet, in gloomy abstraction.
"Can you keep a secret?" she said, as if with a sudden resolution.
"Yes," said Brimmer briefly, without changing his look.
"You know I am a married woman. You have heard the story of my
wrongs?"
"I have heard them," said Brimmer dryly.
"Well, the husband who abused and deserted me was, I have reason to
believe, a passenger on the Excelsior."
"M'Corkle!--impossible. There was no such name on the passenger
list."
"M'Corkle!" repeated Miss Montgomery, with a dissonant tone in her
voice and a slight flash in her eyes. "What are you thinking of?
There never was a Mr. M'Corkle; it was one of my noms de plume.
And where did YOU hear it?"
"I beg your pardon, I must have got it from the press notices of
your book of poetry. I knew that Montgomery was only a stage name,
and as it was necessary that I should have another in making the
business investments you were good enough to charge me with, I used
what I thought was your real name. It can be changed, or you can
sign M'Corkle."
"Let it go," said Miss Montgomery, resuming her former manner.
"What matters? I wish there was no such thing as business. Well,"
she resumed, after a pause, "my husband's name is Hurlstone."
"But there was no Hurlstone on the passenger list either," said
Brimmer. "I knew them all, and their friends."
"Not in the list from the States; but if he came on board at
Callao, you wouldn't have known it. I knew that he arrived there
on the Osprey a few days before the Excelsior sailed."
Mr. Brimmer's eyes changed their expression.
"And you want to find him?"
"No," she said, with an actress's gesture. "I want to know the
truth. I want to know if I am still tied to this man, or if I am
free to follow the dictates of my own conscience,--to make my life
anew,--to become--you see I am not ashamed to say it--to become the
honest wife of some honest man."
"A divorce would suit your purpose equally," said Brimmer coldly.
"It can be easily obtained."
"A divorce! Do you know what that means to a woman in my
profession? It is a badge of shame,--a certificate of disgrace,--
an advertisement to every miserable wretch who follows me with his
advances that I have no longer the sanctity of girlhood, nor the
protection of a wife."
There was tragic emotion in her voice, there were tears in her
eyes. Mr. Brimmer, gazing at her with what he firmly thought to be
absolute and incisive penetration, did not believe either. But
like most practical analysts of the half-motived sex, he was only
half right. The emotion and the tears were as real as anything
else in the woman under criticism, notwithstanding that they were
not as real as they would have been in the man who criticised. He,
however, did her full justice on a point where most men and all
women misjudged her: he believed that, through instinct and
calculation, she had been materially faithful to her husband; that
this large goddess-like physique had all the impeccability of a
goddess; that the hysterical dissipation in which she indulged
herself was purely mental, and usurped and preoccupied all other
emotions. In this public exposition of her beauty there was no
sense of shame, for there was no sense of the passion it evoked.
And he was right. But there he should have stopped. Unfortunately,
his masculine logic forced him to supply a reason for her coldness
in the existence of some more absorbing passion. He believed her
ambitious and calculating: she was neither. He believed she might
have made him an admirable copartner and practical helpmeet: he was
wrong.
"You know my secret now," she continued. "You know why I am
anxious to know my fate. You understand now why I sympathize
with"--she stopped, and made a half contemptuous gesture--"with
these men Markham and Keene. THEY do not know it; perhaps they
prefer to listen to their own vanity--that's the way of most men;
but you do know it, and you have no excuse for misjudging me, or
undeceiving them." She stopped and looked at the clock. "They
will be here in five minutes; do you wish them to find you already
here?"
"It is as YOU wish," stammered Brimmer, completely losing his self-
possession.
"I have no wish," she said, with a sublime gesture of indifference.
"If you wait you can entertain them here, while Rosina is dressing
me in the next room. We sup in the larger room across the hall."
As she disappeared, Quincy Brimmer rose irresolutely from his seat
and checked a half uttered exclamation. Then he turned nervously
to the parlor-door. What a senseless idiot he had become! He had
never for an instant conceived the idea of making this preliminary
confidential visit known to the others; he had no wish to suggest
the appearance of an assignation with the woman, who, rightly or
wrongly, was notorious; he had nothing to gain by this voluntary
assumption of a compromising attitude; yet here he was, he--Mr.
Brimmer--with the appearance of being installed in her parlor,
receiving her visitors, and dispensing her courtesies. Only a man
recklessly in love would be guilty of such an indiscretion--even
Markham's feebleness had never reached this absurdity. In the
midst of his uneasiness there was a knock at the door; he opened it
himself nervously and sharply. Markham's self-satisfied face drew
back in alarm and embarrassment at the unexpected apparition. The
sight restored Brimmer's coolness and satirical self-possession.
"I--I--didn't know you were here," stammered Markham. "I left
Keene in your room."
"Then why didn't you bring him along with you?" said Brimmer
maliciously. "Go and fetch him."
"Yes; but he said you were to meet him there," continued Markham,
glancing around the empty room with a slight expression of relief.
"My watch was twenty minutes fast, and I had given him up," said
Brimmer, with mendacious effrontery. "Miss Montgomery is dressing.
You can bring him here before she returns."
Markham flew uneasily down the corridor and quickly returned with a
handsome young fellow of five-and-twenty, whose frank face was
beaming with excitement and youthful energy. The two elder men
could not help regarding him with a mingled feeling of envy and
compassion.
"Did you tell Brimmer yet?" said Keene, with animation.
"I haven't had time," hesitated Markham. "The fact is, Brimmer, I
think of going with Keene on this expedition."
"Indeed!" said Brimmer superciliously.
"Yes," said Markham, coloring slightly. "You see, we've got news.
Tell him, Dick."
"The Storm Cloud got in yesterday from Valparaiso and Central
American ports," said Keene, with glowing cheeks. "I boarded her,
as usual, last night, for information. The mate says there is a
story of a man picked up crazy, in an open fishing-boat, somewhere
off the peninsula, and brought into hospital at San Juan last
August. He recovered enough lately to tell his story and claim to
be Captain Bunker of the Excelsior, whose crew mutinied and ran her
ashore in a fog. But the boat in which he was picked up was a
Mexican fishing-boat, and there was something revolutionary and
political about the story, so that the authorities detained him.
The consul has just been informed of the circumstances, and has
taken the matter in hand."
"It's a queer story," said Brimmer, gazing from the one to the
other, "and I will look into it also to-morrow. If it is true," he
added slowly, "I will go with you."
Richard Keene extended his hand impulsively to his two elders.
"You'll excuse me for saying it, Brimmer--and you, too, Markham--
but this is just what I've been looking forward to. Not but what
I'd have found Nell without your assistance; but you see, boys, it
DID look mighty mean in me to make more fuss about a sister than
you would for your wives! But now that it's all settled"--
"We'll go to supper," said Miss Montgomery theatrically, appearing
at the door. "Dick will give me his arm."
CHAPTER II.
THE MOURNERS AT TODOS SANTOS.
There was a breath of spring in the soft morning air of Todos
Santos--a breath so subtle and odorous that it penetrated the veil
of fog beyond the bay, and for a moment lingered on the deck of a
passing steamer like an arresting memory. But only for an instant;
the Ometepe, bound from San Francisco to San Juan del Norte, with
its four seekers of the Excelsior, rolled and plunged on its way
unconsciously.
Within the bay and over the restful pueblo still dwelt the golden
haze of its perpetual summer; the two towers of the old Mission
church seemed to dissolve softly into the mellow upper twilight,
and the undulating valleys rolled their green waves up to the
wooded heights of San Antonio, that still smiled down upon the
arid, pallid desert. But although Nature had not changed in the
months that had passed since the advent of the Excelsior, there
appeared some strange mutations in the town and its inhabitants.
On the beach below the Presidio was the unfinished skeleton of a
small sea-going vessel on rude stocks; on the plaza rose the framed
walls and roofless rafters of a wooden building; near the
Embarcadero was the tall adobe chimney of some inchoate manufactory
whose walls had half risen from their foundations; but all of these
objects had evidently succumbed to the drowsy influence of the
climate, and already had taken the appearances of later and less
picturesque ruins of the past. There were singular innovations in
the costumes: one or two umbrellas, used as sunshades, were seen
upon the square; a few small chip hats had taken the place of the
stiff sombreros, with an occasional tall white beaver; while linen
coat and nankeen trousers had, at times, usurped the short velvet
jacket and loose calzas of the national costume.
At San Antonio the change was still more perceptible. Beside the
yawning pit of the abandoned silver mine a straggling building
arose, filled with rude machinery, bearing the legend, painted in
glowing letters, "Excelsior Silver Mining Co., J. Crosby,
Superintendent;" and in the midst of certain excavations assailing
the integrity of the cliff itself was another small building,
scarcely larger than a sentry-box, with the inscription, "Office:
Eleanor Quicksilver Smelting Works."
Basking in that yellow morning sunlight, with his back against his
office, Mr. Brace was seated on the ground, rolling a cigarette. A
few feet from him Crosby, extended on his back on the ground, was
lazily puffing rings of smoke into the still air. Both of these
young gentlemen were dressed in exaggerated Mexican costumes; the
silver buttons fringing the edge of Crosby's calza, open from the
knee down to show a glimpse of the snowy under-trouser, were richer
and heavier than those usually worn; while Brace, in addition to
the crimson silk sash round his waist, wore a crimson handkerchief
around his head, under his sombrero.
"Pepe's falling off in his tobacco," said Brace. "I think I'll
have to try some other Fonda."
"How's Banks getting on with his crop?" asked Crosby. "You know he
was going to revolutionize the business, and cut out Cuba on that
hillside."
"Oh, the usual luck! He couldn't get proper cultivators, and the
Injins wouldn't work regular. I must try and get hold of some of
the Comandante's stock; but I'm out of favor with the old man since
Winslow and I wrecked that fishing-boat on the rocks off yonder.
He always believed we were trying to run off, like Captain Bunker.
That's why he stopped our shipbuilding, I really believe."
"All the same, we might have had it built and ready now but for our
laziness. We might have worked on it nights without their knowing
it, and slipped off some morning in the fog."
"And we wouldn't have got one of the women to go with us! If we
are getting shiftless here--and I don't say we're not--these women
have just planted themselves and have taken root. But that ain't
all: there's the influence of that infernal sneak Hurlstone! He's
set the Comandante against us, you know; he, and the priest, the
Comandante, and Nelly Keene make up the real Council of Todos
Santos. Between them they've shoved out the poor little Alcalde,
who's ready to give up everything to dance attendance on Mrs.
Brimmer. They run the whole concern, and they give out that it's
owing to them that we're given parole of the town, and the
privilege of spending our money and working these mines. Who'd
have thought that sneak Hurlstone would have played his cards so
well? It makes me regularly sick to hear him called 'Don Diego.'"
"Yet you're mightily tickled when that black-eyed sister of the
Alcalde calls you 'Don Carlos,'" said Crosby, yawning.
"Dona Isabel," said Brace, with some empressement, "is a lady of
position, and these are only her national courtesies."
"She just worships Miss Keene, and I reckon she knows by this time
all about your old attentions to her friend," said Crosby, with
lazy mischief.
"My attentions to Miss Keene were simply those of an ordinary
acquaintance, and were never as strongly marked as yours to Mrs.
Brimmer."
"Who has deserted ME as Miss Keene did YOU," rejoined Crosby.
Brace's quick color had risen again, and he would have made some
sharp retort, but the jingling of spurs caught his ear. They both
turned quickly, and saw Banks approaching. He was dressed as a
vaquero, but with his companions' like exaggeration of detail; yet,
while his spurs were enormous, and his sombrero unusually
expansive, he still clung to his high shirt-collars and accurately
tied check cravat.
"Well?" he said, approaching them.
"Well?" said Crosby.
"Well?" repeated Brace.
After this national salutation, the three Americans regarded each
other silently.
"Knocked off cultivating to-day?" queried Crosby, lighting a fresh
cigarette.
"The peons have," said Banks; "it's another saint's day. That's
the fourth in two weeks. Leaves about two clear working days in
each week, counting for the days off, when they're getting over the
effects of the others. I tell you what, sir, the Catholic religion
is not suited to a working civilization, or else the calendar ought
to be overhauled and a lot of these saints put on the retired list.
It's hard enough to have all the Apostles on your pay-roll, so to
speak, but to have a lot of fellows run in on you as saints, and
some of them not even men or women, but IDEAS, is piling up the
agony! I don't wonder they call the place 'All Saints.' The only
thing to do," continued Banks severely, "is to open communication
with the desert, and run in some of the heathen tribes outside.
I've made a proposition to the Council offering to take five
hundred of them in the raw, unregenerate state, and turn 'em over
after a year to the Church. If I could get Hurlstone to do some
log-rolling with that Padre, his friend, I might get the bill
through. But I'm always put off till to-morrow. Everything here
is 'Hasta manana; hasta manana,' always. I believe when the last
trump is sounded, they'll say, 'Hasta manana.' What are YOU
doing?" he said, after a pause.
"Waiting for your ship," answered Crosby sarcastically.
"Well, you can laugh, gentlemen--but you won't have to wait long.
According to my calculations that Mexican ship is about due now.
And I ain't basing my figures on anything the Mexican Government is
going to do, or any commercial speculation. I'm reckoning on the
Catholic Church."
The two men languidly looked towards him. Banks continued
gravely,--
"I made the proper inquiries, and I find that the stock of
rosaries, scapularies, blessed candles, and other ecclesiastical
goods, is running low. I find that just at the nick of time a
fresh supply always comes from the Bishop of Guadalajara, with
instructions from the Church. Now, gentlemen, my opinion is that
the Church, and the Church only, knows the secret of the passage
through the foggy channel, and keeps it to itself. I look at this
commercially, as a question of demand and supply. Well, sir; the
only real trader here at Todos Santos is the Church."
"Then you don't take in account the interests of Brimmer, Markham,
and Keene," said Brace. "Do you suppose they're doing nothing?"
"I don't say they're not; but you're confounding interests with
INSTINCTS. They haven't got the instinct to find this place, and
all that they've done and are doing is blind calculation. Just
look at the facts. As the filibuster who captured the Excelsior of
course changed her name, her rig-out, and her flag, and even got up
a false register for her, she's as good as lost, as far as the
world knows, until she lands at Quinquinambo. Then supposing she's
found out, and the whole story is known--although everything's
against such a proposition--the news has got to go back to San
Francisco before the real search will be begun. As to any clue
that might come from Captain Bunker, that's still more remote.
Allowing he crossed the bar and got out of the channel, he wasn't
at the right time for meeting a passing steamer; and the only
coasters are Mexican. If he didn't die of delirium tremens or
exposure, and was really picked up in his senses by some other
means, he would have been back with succor before this, if only to
get our evidence to prove the loss of the vessel. No, sir sooner
or later, of course, the San Francisco crowd are bound to find us
here. And if it wasn't for my crops and our mine, I wouldn't be in
a hurry for them; but our FIRST hold is the Church."
He stopped. Crosby was asleep. Brace arose lazily, lounged into
his office, and closed his desk.
"Going to shut for the day?" said Banks, yawning.
"I reckon," said Brace dubiously; "I don't know but I'd take a
little pasear into the town if I had my horse ready."
"Take mine, and I'll trapse over on foot to the Ranche with Crosby--
after a spell. You'll find him under that big madrono, if he has
not already wound himself up with his lariat by walking round it.
Those Mexican horses can't go straight even when they graze--they
must feed in a circle. He's a little fresh, so look out for him!"
"All the better. I'd like to get into town just after the siesta."
"Siesta!" echoed Banks, lying comfortably down in the shade just
vacated by Brace; "that's another of their shiftless practices.
Two hours out of every day--that's a day out of the week--spent in
a hammock; and during business hours too! It's disgraceful, sir,
simply disgraceful."
He turned over and closed his eyes, as if to reflect on its
enormity.
Brace had no difficulty in finding the mare, although some trouble
in mounting her. But, like his companions, having quickly adopted
the habits of the country, he had become a skillful and experienced
horseman, and the mustang, after a few springless jumps, which
failed to unseat him, submitted to his rider. The young man
galloped rapidly towards Todos Santos; but when within a few miles
of the pueblo he slackened his pace. From the smiles and greetings
of wayfarers--among whom were some pretty Indian girls and
mestizas--it was evident that the handsome young foreigner, who had
paid them the compliment of extravagantly adopting their national
costume, was neither an unfamiliar nor an unpleasing spectacle.
When he reached the posada at the top of the hilly street, he even
carried his simulation of the local customs to the point of
charging the veranda at full speed, and pulling up suddenly at the
threshold, after the usual fashion of vaqueros. The impetuous
apparition brought a short stout man to the door, who, welcoming
him with effusive politeness, conducted him to an inner room that
gave upon a green grass courtyard. Seated before a rude table,
sipping aguardiente, was his countryman Winslow and two traders of
the pueblo. They were evidently of the number already indicated
who had adopted the American fashions. Senor Ruiz wore a linen
"duster" in place of his embroidered jacket, and Senor Martinez had
an American beard, or "goatee," in imitation of Mr. Banks. The air
was yellow with the fumes of tobacco, through which the shrewd eyes
of Winslow gleamed murkily.
"This," he said to his countryman, in fluent if not elegant
Spanish, indicating the gentleman who had imitated Banks, "is a man
of ideas, and a power in Todos Santos. He would control all the
votes in his district if there were anything like popular suffrage
here, and he understands the American policy."
Senor Martinez here hastened to inform Mr. Brace that he had long
cherished a secret and enthusiastic admiration for that grand and
magnanimous nation of which his friend was such a noble
representative; that, indeed, he might say it was an inherited
taste, for had not his grandfather once talked with the American
whaling Capitano Coffino and partaken of a subtle spirit known as
"er-r-rum" on his ship at Acapulco?
"There's nothing mean about Martinez," said Winslow to Brace
confidentially, in English. "He's up to anything, and ready from
the word 'Go.' Don't you think he's a little like Banks, you know--
a sort of Mexican edition. And there is Ruiz, he's a cattle
dealer; he'd be a good friend of Banks if Banks wasn't so
infernally self-opinionated. But Ruiz ain't a fool, either. He's
picked up a little English--good American, I mean--from me already."
Senor Ruiz here smiled affably, to show his comprehension; and
added slowly, with great gravity,--
"It is of twenty-four year I have first time the Amencano of your
beautiful country known. He have buy the hides and horns of the
cattle--for his ship--here."
"Here?" echoed Brace. "I thought no American ship--no ship at all--
had been in here for fifty years."
Ruiz shrugged his shoulders, and cast a glance at his friend
Martinez, lowered his voice and lifted his eyelashes at the same
moment, and, jerking his yellow, tobacco-stained thumb over his
arm, said,--
"Ah--of a verity--on the beach--two leagues away."
"Do you hear that?" said Winslow, turning complacently to Brace and
rising to his feet. "Don't you see now what hogwash the Commander,
Alcalde, and the priest have been cramming down our throats about
this place being sealed up for fifty years. What he says is all
Gospel truth. That's what I wanted you fellows to hear, and you
might have heard before, only you were afraid of compromising
yourselves by talking with the people. You get it into your heads--
and the Comandante helped you to get it there--that Todos Santos
was a sort of Sleepy Hollow, and that no one knew anything of the
political changes for the last fifty years. Well, what's the fact?
Ask Ruiz there, and Martinez, and they'll both tell you they know
that Mexico got her independence in 1826, and that the Council keep
it dark that they may perpetuate themselves. They know," he
continued, lowering his voice, "that the Commander's commission
from the old Viceroy isn't worth the paper it is stamped upon."
"But what about the Church?" asked Brace hesitatingly, remembering
Banks' theory.
"The Church--caramba! the priests were ever with the Escossas, the
aristocrats, and against the Yorkenos, the men of the Republic--the
people," interrupted Martinez vehemently; "they will not accept,
they will not proclaim the Republic to the people. They shut their
eyes, so--. They fold their hands, so--. They say, 'Sicut era
principio et nunc et semper in secula seculorum!' Look you, Senor,
I am not of the Church--no, caramba! I snap my fingers at the
priests. Ah! what they give one is food for the bull's horns,
believe me--I have read 'Tompano,' the American 'Tompano.'"
"Who's he?" asked Brace.
"He means Tom Paine! 'The Age of Reason'--you know," said Winslow,
gazing with a mixture of delight and patronizing pride at the
Radicals of Todos Santos. "Oh! he's no fool--is Martinez, nor Ruiz
either! And while you've been flirting with Dona Isabel, and Banks
has been trying to log-roll the Padre, and Crosby going in for
siestas, I'VE found them out. And there are a few more--aren't
there, Ruiz?"
Ruiz darted a mysterious glance at Brace, and apparently not
trusting himself to speak, checked off his ten fingers dramatically
in the air thrice.
"As many of a surety! God and liberty!"
"But, if this is so, why haven't they DONE something?"
Senor Martinez glanced at Senor Ruiz.
"Hasta manana!" he said slowly.
"Oh, this is a case of 'Hasta manana!'" said Brace, somewhat
relieved.
"They can wait," returned Winslow hurriedly. "It's too big a thing
to rush into without looking round. You know what it means?
Either Todos Santos is in rebellion against the present Government
of Mexico, or she is independent of any. Her present Government,
in any event, don't represent either the Republic of Mexico or the
people of Todos Santos--don't you see? And in that case WE'VE got
as good a right here as any one."
"He speaks the truth," said Ruiz, grasping a hand of Brace and
Winslow each; "in this we are--as brothers."
"God and liberty!" ejaculated Martinez, in turn seizing the other
disengaged hands of the Americans, and completing the mystic
circle.
"God and liberty!" echoed a thin chorus from their host and a few
loungers who had entered unperceived.
Brace felt uneasy. He was not wanting in the courage or daring of
youth, but it struck him that his attitude was by no means
consistent with his attentions to Dona Isabel. He managed to get
Winslow aside.
"This is all very well as a 'free lunch' conspiracy; but you're
forgetting your parole," he said, in a low voice.
"We gave our parole to the present Government. When it no longer
exists, there will be no parole--don't you see?"
"Then these fellows prefer waiting"--
"Until we can get OUTSIDE help, you understand. The first American
ship that comes in here--eh?"
Brace felt relieved. After all, his position in regard to the
Alcalde's sister would not be compromised; he might even be able to
extend some protection over her; and it would be a magnanimous
revenge if he could even offer it to Miss Keene.
"I see you don't swear anybody to secrecy," he said, with a laugh;
"shall I speak to Crosby, or will you?"
"Not yet; he'll only see something to laugh at. And Banks and
Martinez would quarrel at once, and go back on each other. No; my
idea is to let some outsider do for Todos Santos what Perkins did
for Quinquinambo. Do you take?"
His long, thin, dyspeptic face lit up with a certain small
political cunning and shrewdness that struck Brace with a half-
respect.
"I say, Winslow; you'd have made a first-class caucus leader in San
Francisco."
Winslow smiled complacently. "There's something better to play on
here than ward politics," he replied. "There's a material here
that--like the mine and the soil--ain't half developed. I reckon I
can show Banks something that beats lobbying and log-rolling for
contracts. I've let you into this thing to show you a sample of my
prospecting. Keep it to yourself if you want it to pay. Dat's me,
George! Good-by! I'll be out to the office to-morrow!"
He turned back towards his brother politicians with an expression
of satisfied conceit that Brace for a moment envied. The latter
even lingered on the veranda, as if he would have asked Winslow
another question; but, looking at his watch, he suddenly
recollected himself, and, mounting his horse, cantered down towards
the plaza.
The hour of siesta was not yet over, and the streets were still
deserted--probably the reason why the politicians of Todos Santos
had chosen that hour for their half secret meeting. At the corner
of the plaza he dismounted and led his horse to the public
hitching-post--gnawn and nibbled by the teeth of generations of
mustangs--and turned into the narrow lane flanked by the walls of
the Alcalde's garden. Halfway down he stopped before a slight
breach in the upper part of the adobe barrier, and looked
cautiously around. The long, shadowed vista of the lane was
unobstructed by any moving figure as far as the yellow light of the
empty square beyond. With a quick leap he gained the top of the
wall and disappeared on the other aide.
CHAPTER III.
INTERNATIONAL COURTESIES.
The garden over whose wall Brace had mysteriously vanished was
apparently as deserted as the lane and plaza without. But its
solitude was one of graceful shadow and restful loveliness. A
tropical luxuriance, that had perpetuated itself year after year,
until it was half suffocated in its own overgrowth and strangled
with its own beauty, spread over a variegated expanse of starry
flowers, shimmering leaves, and slender inextricable branches,
pierced here and there by towering rigid cactus spikes or the
curved plumes of palms. The repose of ages lay in its hushed
groves, its drooping vines, its lifeless creepers; the dry dust of
its decaying leaves and branches mingled with the living perfumes
like the spiced embalmings of a forgotten past.
Nevertheless, this tranquillity, after a few moments, was
singularly disturbed. There was no breeze stirring, and yet the
long fronds of a large fan palm, that stood near the breach in the
wall, began to move gently from right to left, like the arms of
some graceful semaphore, and then as suddenly stopped. Almost at
the same moment a white curtain, listlessly hanging from a canopied
balcony of the Alcalde's house, began to exhibit a like rhythmical
and regular agitation. Then everything was motionless again; an
interval of perfect peace settled upon the garden. It was broken
by the apparition of Brace under the balcony, and the black-veiled
and flowered head of Dona Isabel from the curtain above.
"Crazy boy!"
"Senorita!"
"Hush! I am coming down!"
"You? But Dona Ursula!"
"There is no more Dona Ursula!"
"Well--your duenna, whoever she is!"
"There is no duenna!"
"What?"
"Hush up your tongue, idiot boy!" (this in English.)
The little black head and the rose on top of it disappeared. Brace
drew himself up against the wall and waited. The time seemed
interminable. Impatiently looking up and down, he at last saw Dona
Isabel at a distance, quietly and unconcernedly moving among the
roses, and occasionally stooping as if to pick them. In an instant
he was at her side.
"Let me help you," he said.
She opened her little brownish palm,--
"Look!" In her hand were a few leaves of some herb. "It is for
you."
Brace seized and kissed the hand.
"Is it some love-test?"
"It is for what you call a julep-cocktail," she replied gravely.
"He will remain in a glass with aguardiente; you shall drink him
with a straw. My sister has said that ever where the Americans go
they expect him to arrive."
"I prefer to take him straight," said Brace, laughing, as he
nibbled a limp leaf bruised by the hand of the young girl. "He's
pleasanter, and, on the whole, more wildly intoxicating this way!
But what about your duenna? and how comes this blessed privilege of
seeing you alone?"
Dona Isabel lifted her black eyes suddenly to Brace.
"You do not comprehend, then? Is it not, then, the custom of the
Americans? Is it not, then, that there is no duenna in your
country?"
"There are certainly no duennas in my country. But who has changed
the custom here?"
"Is it not true that in your country any married woman shall duenna
the young senorita?" continued Dona Isabel, without replying; "that
any caballero and senorita shall see each other in the patio, and
not under a balcony?--that they may speak with the lips, and not
the fan?"
"Well--yes," said Brace.
"Then my brother has arranged it as so. He have much hear the Dona
Barbara Brimmer when she make talk of these things frequently, and
he is informed and impressed much. He will truly have that you
will come of the corridor, and not the garden, for me, and that I
shall have no duenna but the Dona Barbara. This does not make you
happy, you American idiot boy!"
It did not. The thought of carrying on a flirtation under the
fastidious Boston eye of Mrs. Brimmer, instead of under the
discreet and mercenarily averted orbs of Dona Ursula, did not
commend itself pleasantly to Brace.
"Oh, yes," he returned quickly. "We will go into the corridor, in
the fashion of my country"--
"Yes," said Dona Isabel dubiously.
"AFTER we have walked in the garden in the fashion of YOURS.
That's only fair, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Dona Isabel gravely; "that's what the Comandante will
call 'internation-al courtesy.'"
The young man slipped his arm around the young diplomatist's waist,
and they walked on in decorous silence under the orange-trees.
"It seems to me," said Brace presently, "that Mrs. Brimmer has a
good deal to say up your way?"
"Ah, yes; but what will you? It is my brother who has love for
her."
"But," said Brace, stopping suddenly, "doesn't he know that she has
a husband living?"
Dona Isabel lifted her lashes in childlike wonder.
"Always! you idiot American boy. That is why. Ah, Mother of God!
my brother is discreet. He is not a maniac, like you, to come
after a silly muchacha like me."
The response which Brace saw fit to make to this statement elicited
a sharp tap upon the knuckles from Dona Isabel.
"Tell to me," she said suddenly, "is not that a custom of your
country?"
"What? THAT?"
"No, insensate. To attend a married senora?"
"Not openly."
"Ah, that is wrong," said Dona Isabel meditatively, moving the
point of her tiny slipper on the gravel. "Then it is the young
girl that shall come in the corridor and the married lady on the
balcony?"
"Well, yes."
"Good-by, ape!"
She ran swiftly down the avenue of palms to a small door at the
back of the house, turned, blew a kiss over the edge of her fan to
Brace, and disappeared. He hesitated a moment or two, then quickly
rescaling the wall, dropped into the lane outside, followed it to
the gateway of the casa, and entered the patio as Dona Isabel
decorously advanced from a darkened passage to the corridor.
Although the hour of siesta had passed, her sister, Miss Chubb, the
Alcalde, and Mrs. Brimmer were still lounging here on sofas and
hammocks.
It would have been difficult for a stranger at a first glance to
discover the nationality of the ladies. Mrs. Brimmer and her
friend Miss Chubb had entirely succumbed to the extreme dishabille
of the Spanish toilet--not without a certain languid grace on the
part of Mrs. Brimmer, whose easy contour lent itself to the
stayless bodice; or a certain bashful, youthful naivete on the part
of Miss Chubb, the rounded dazzling whiteness of whose neck and
shoulders half pleased and half frightened her in her low, white,
plain camisa--under the lace mantilla.
"It is SUCH a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Brace," said Mrs.
Brimmer, languidly observing the young man through the sticks of
her fan; "I was telling Don Ramon that I feared Dona Ursula had
frightened you away. I told him that your experience of American
society might have caused you to misinterpret the habitual reserve
of the Castilian," she continued with the air of being already an
alien of her own country, "and I should be only too happy to
undertake the chaperoning of both these young ladies in their
social relations with our friends. And how is dear Mr. Banks? and
Mr. Crosby? whom I so seldom see now. I suppose, however, business
has its superior attractions."
But Don Ramon, with impulsive gallantry, would not--nay, COULD not--
for a moment tolerate a heresy so alarming. It was simply wildly
impossible. For why? In the presence of Dona Barbara--it exists
not in the heart of man!
"YOU cannot, of course, conceive it, Don Ramon," said Mrs. Brimmer,
with an air of gentle suffering; "but I fear it is sadly true of
the American gentlemen. They become too absorbed in their
business. They forget their duty to our sex in their selfish
devotion to affairs in which we are debarred from joining them, and
yet they wonder that we prefer the society of men who are removed
by birth, tradition, and position from this degrading kind of
selfishness."
"But that was scarcely true of your own husband. HE was not only a
successful man in business, but we can see that he was equally
successful in his relations to at least one of the fastidious sex,"
said Brace, maliciously glancing at Don Ramon.
Mrs. Brimmer received the innuendo with invulnerable simplicity.
"Mr. Brimmer is, I am happy to say, NOT a business man. He entered
into certain contracts having more or less of a political
complexion, and carrying with them the genius but not the material
results of trade. That he is not a business man--and a successful
one--my position here at the present time is a sufficient proof,"
she said triumphantly. "And I must also protest," she added, with
a faint sigh, "against Mr. Brimmer being spoken of in the past
tense by anybody. It is painfully premature and ominous!"
She drew her mantilla across her shoulders with an expression of
shocked sensitiveness which completed the humiliation of Brace and
the subjugation of Don Ramon. But, unlike most of her sex, she was
wise in the moment of victory. She cast a glance over her fan at
Brace, and turned languidly to Dona Isabel.
"Mr. Brace must surely want some refreshment after his long ride.
Why don't you seize this opportunity to show him the garden and let
him select for himself the herbs he requires for that dreadful
American drink; Miss Chubb and your sister will remain with me to
receive the Comandante's secretary and the Doctor when they come."
"She's more than my match," whispered Brace to Dona Isabel, as they
left the corridor together. "I give in. I don't understand her:
she frightens me."
"That is of your conscience! It is that you would understand the
Dona Leonor--your dear Miss Keene--better! Ah! silence, imbecile!
this Dona Barbara is even as thou art--a talking parrot. She will
have that the Comandante's secretary, Manuel, shall marry Mees
Chubb, and that the Doctor shall marry my sister. But she knows
not that Manuel--listen so that you shall get sick at your heart
and swallow your moustachio!--that Manuel loves the beautiful
Leonor, and that Leonor loves not him, but Don Diego; and that my
sister loathes the little Doctor. And this Dona Barbara, that
makes your liver white, would be a feeder of chickens with such
barley as this! Ah! come along!"
The arrival of the Doctor and the Comandante's secretary created
another diversion, and the pairing off of the two couples indicated
by Dona Isabel for a stroll in the garden, which was now beginning
to recover from the still heat of mid-day. This left Don Ramon and
Mrs. Brimmer alone in the corridor; Mrs. Brimmer's indefinite
languor, generally accepted as some vague aristocratic condition of
mind and body, not permitting her to join them.
There was a moment of dangerous silence; the voices of the young
people were growing fainter in the distance. Mrs. Brimmer's eyes,
in the shadow of her fan, were becoming faintly phosphorescent.
Don Ramon's melancholy face, which had grown graver in the last few
moments, approached nearer to her own.
"You are unhappy, Dona Barbara. The coming of this young cavalier,
your countryman, revives your anxiety for your home. You are
thinking of this husband who comes not. Is it not so?"
"I am thinking," said Mrs. Brimmer, with a sudden revulsion of
solid Boston middle-class propriety, shown as much in the dry New
England asperity of voice that stung even through her drawling of
the Castilian speech, as in anything she said,--"I am thinking
that, unless Mr. Brimmer comes soon, I and Miss Chubb shall have to
abandon the hospitality of your house, Don Ramon. Without looking
upon myself as a widow, or as indefinitely separated from Mr.
Brimmer, the few words let fall by Mr. Brace show me what might be
the feelings of my countrymen on the subject. However charming and
considerate your hospitality has been--and I do not deny that it
has been MOST grateful to ME--I feel I cannot continue to accept it
in those equivocal circumstances. I am speaking to a gentleman
who, with the instincts and chivalrous obligations of his order,
must sympathize with my own delicacy in coming to this conclusion,
and who will not take advantage of my confession that I do it with
pain."
She spoke with a dry alacrity and precision so unlike her usual
languor and the suggestions of the costume, and even the fan she
still kept shading her faintly glowing eyes, that the man before
her was more troubled by her manner than her words, which he had
but imperfectly understood.
"You will leave here--this house?" he stammered.
"It is necessary," she returned.
"But you shall listen to me first!" he said hurriedly. "Hear me,
Dona Barbara--I have a secret--I will to you confess"--
"You must confess nothing," said Mrs. Brimmer, dropping her feet
from the hammock, and sitting up primly, "I mean--nothing I may not
hear."
The Alcalde cast a look upon her at once blank and imploring.
"Ah, but you will hear," he said, after a pause. "There is a ship
coming here. In two weeks she will arrive. None know it but
myself, the Comandante, and the Padre. It is a secret of the
Government. She will come at night; she will depart in the
morning, and no one else shall know. It has ever been that she
brings no one to Todos Santos, that she takes no one from Todos
Santos. That is the law. But I swear to you that she shall take
you, your children, and your friend to Acapulco in secret, where
you will be free. You will join your husband; you will be happy.
I will remain, and I will die."
It would have been impossible for any woman but Mrs. Brimmer to
have regarded the childlike earnestness and melancholy simplicity
of this grown-up man without a pang. Even this superior woman
experienced a sensible awkwardness as she slipped from the hammock
and regained an upright position.
"Of course," she, began, "your offer is exceedingly generous; and
although I should not, perhaps, take a step of this kind without
the sanction of Mr. Brimmer, and am not sure that he would not
regard it as rash and premature, I will talk it over with Miss
Chubb, for whom I am partially responsible. Nothing," she
continued, with a sudden access of feeling, "would induce me, for
any selfish consideration, to take any step that would imperil the
future of that child, towards whom I feel as a sister." A slight
suffusion glistened under her pretty brown lashes. "If anything
should happen to her, I would never forgive myself; if I should be
the unfortunate means of severing any ties that SHE may have
formed, I could never look her in the face again. Of course, I can
well understand that our presence here must be onerous to you, and
that you naturally look forward to any sacrifice--even that of the
interests of your country, and the defiance of its laws--to relieve
you from a position so embarrassing as yours has become. I only
trust, however, that the ill effects you allude to as likely to
occur to yourself after our departure may be exaggerated by your
sensitive nature. It would be an obligation added to the many that
we owe you, which Mr. Brimmer would naturally find he could not
return--and that, I can safely say, he would not hear of for a
single moment."
While speaking, she had unconsciously laid aside her fan, lifted
her mantilla from her head with both hands, and, drawing it around
her shoulders and under her lifted chin, had crossed it over her
bosom with a certain prim, automatic gesture, as if it had been the
starched kerchief of some remote Puritan ancestress. With her arms
still unconsciously crossed, she stooped rigidly, picked up her fan
with three fingers, as if it had been a prayer-book, and, with a
slight inclination of her bared head, with its accurately parted
brown hair, passed slowly out of the corridor.
Astounded, bewildered, yet conscious of some vague wound, Don Ramon
remained motionless, staring after her straight, retreating figure.
Unable to follow closely either the meaning of her words or the
logic of her reasoning, he nevertheless comprehended the sudden
change in her manner, her voice, and the frigid resurrection of a
nature he had neither known nor suspected. He looked blankly at
the collapsed hammock, as if he expected to find in its depths
those sinuous graces, languid fascinations, and the soft, half
sensuous contour cast off by this vanishing figure of propriety.
In the eight months of their enforced intimacy and platonic
seclusion he had learned to love this naive, insinuating woman,
whose frank simplicity seemed equal to his own, without thought of
reserve, secrecy, or deceit. He had gradually been led to think of
the absent husband with what he believed to be her own feelings--as
of some impalpable, fleshless ancestor from whose remote presence
she derived power, wealth, and importance, but to whom she owed
only respect and certain obligations of honor equal to his own. He
had never heard her speak of her husband with love, with sympathy,
with fellowship, with regret. She had barely spoken of him at all,
and then rather as an attractive factor in her own fascinations
than a bar to a free indulgence in them. He was as little in her
way as--his children. With what grace she had adapted herself to
his--Don Ramon's--life--she who frankly confessed she had no
sympathy with her husband's! With what languid enthusiasm she had
taken up the customs of HIS country, while deploring the habits of
her own! With what goddess-like indifference she had borne this
interval of waiting! And yet this woman--who had seemed the
embodiment of romance--had received the announcement of his
sacrifice--the only revelation he allowed himself to make of his
hopeless passion--with the frigidity of a duenna! Had he wounded
her in some other unknown way? Was she mortified that he had not
first declared his passion--he who had never dared to speak to her
of love before? Perhaps she even doubted it! In his ignorance of
the world he had, perhaps, committed some grave offense! He should
not have let her go! He should have questioned, implored her--
thrown himself at her feet! Was it too late yet?
He passed hurriedly into the formal little drawing-room, whose
bizarre coloring was still darkened by the closed blinds and
dropped awnings that had shut out the heat of day. She was not
there. He passed the open door of her room; it was empty. At the
end of the passage a faint light stole from a door opening into the
garden that was still ajar. She must have passed out that way. He
opened it, and stepped out into the garden.
The sound of voices beside a ruined fountain a hundred yards away
indicated the vicinity of the party; but a single glance showed him
that she was not among them. So much the better--he would find her
alone. Cautiously slipping beside the wall of the house, under the
shadow of a creeper, he gained the long avenue without attracting
attention. She was not there. Had she effectively evaded contact
with the others by leaving the garden through the little gate in
the wall that entered the Mission enclosure? It was partly open,
as if some one had just passed through. He followed, took a few
steps, and stopped abruptly. In the shadow of one of the old pear-
trees a man and woman were standing. An impulse of wild jealousy
seized him; he was about to leap forward, but the next moment the
measured voice of the Comandante, addressing Mrs. Markham, fell
upon his ear. He drew back with a sudden flush upon his face. The
Comandante of Todos Santos, in grave, earnest accents, was actually
offering to Mrs. Markham the same proposal that he, Don Ramon, had
made to Mrs. Brimmer but a moment ago!
"No one," said the Comandante sententiously, "will know it but
myself. You will leave the ship at Acapulco; you will rejoin your
husband in good time; you will be happy, my child; you will forget
the old man who drags out the few years of loneliness still left to
him in Todos Santos."
Forgetting himself, Don Ramon leaned breathlessly forward to hear
Mrs. Markham's reply. Would she answer the Comandante as Dona
Barbara had answered HIM? Her words rose distinctly in the evening
air.
"You're a gentleman, Don Miguel Briones; and the least respect I
can show a man of your kind is not to pretend that I don't
understand the sacrifice you're making. I shall always remember it
as about the biggest compliment I ever received, and the biggest
risk that any man--except one--ever ran for me. But as the man who
ran that bigger risk isn't here to speak for himself, and generally
trusts his wife, Susan Markham, to speak for him--it's all the same
as if HE thanked you. There's my hand, Don Miguel: shake it.
Well--if you prefer it--kiss it then. There--don't be a fool--but
let's go back to Miss Keene."
CHAPTER IV.
A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE.
While these various passions had been kindled by her compatriots in
the peaceful ashes of Todos Santos, Eleanor Keene had moved among
them indifferently and, at times, unconsciously. The stranding of
her young life on that unknown shore had not drawn her towards her
fellow-exiles, and the circumstances which afterwards separated her
from daily contact with them completed the social estrangement.
She found herself more in sympathy with the natives, to whom she
had shown no familiarity, than with her own people, who had mixed
with them more or less contemptuously. She found the naivete of
Dona Isabel more amusing than the doubtful simplicity of that
married ingenue Mrs. Brimmer, although she still met the young
girl's advances with a certain reserve. She found herself often
pained by the practical brusqueness with which Mrs. Markham put
aside the Comandante's delicate attentions, and she was moved with
a strange pity for his childlike trustfulness, which she knew was
hopeless. As the months passed, on the few occasions that she
still met the Excelsior's passengers she was surprised to find how
they had faded from her memory, and to discover in them the
existence of qualities that made her wonder how she could have ever
been familiar with them. She reproached herself with this
fickleness; she wondered if she would have felt thus if they had
completed their voyage to San Francisco together; and she recalled,
with a sad smile, the enthusiastic plans they had formed during the
passage to perpetuate their fellowship by anniversaries and
festivals. But she, at last, succumbed, and finally accepted their
open alienation as preferable to the growing awkwardness of their
chance encounters.
For a few weeks following the flight of Captain Bunker and her
acceptance of the hospitality and protection of the Council, she
became despondent. The courage that had sustained her, and the
energy she had shown in the first days of their abandonment,
suddenly gave way, for no apparent reason. She bitterly regretted
the brother whom she scarcely remembered; she imagined his suspense
and anguish on her account, and suffered for both; she felt the
dumb pain of homesickness for a home she had never known. Her
loneliness became intolerable. Her condition at last affected Mrs.
Markham, whose own idleness had been beguiled by writing to her
husband an exhaustive account of her captivity, which had finally
swelled to a volume on Todos Santos, its resources, inhabitants,
and customs. "Good heavens!" she said, "you must do something,
child, to occupy your mind--if it is only a flirtation with that
conceited Secretary." But this terrible alternative was happily
not required. The Comandante had still retained as part of the old
patriarchal government of the Mission the Presidio school, for the
primary instruction of the children of the soldiers,--dependants of
the garrison. Miss Keene, fascinated by several little pairs of
beady black eyes that had looked up trustingly to hers from the
playground on the glacis, offered to teach English to the
Comandante's flock. The offer was submitted to the spiritual head
of Todos Santos, and full permission given by Padre Esteban to the
fair heretic. Singing was added to the Instruction, and in a few
months the fame of the gracious Dona Leonor's pupils stirred to
emulation even the boy choristers of the Mission.
Her relations with James Hurlstone during this interval were at
first marked by a strange and unreasoning reserve. Whether she
resented the singular coalition forced upon them by the Council and
felt the awkwardness of their unintentional imposture when they
met, she did not know, but she generally avoided his society. This
was not difficult, as he himself had shown no desire to intrude his
confidences upon her; and even in her shyness she could not help
thinking that if he had treated the situation lightly or
humorously--as she felt sure Mr. Brace or Mr. Crosby would have
done--it would have been less awkward and unpleasant. But his
gloomy reserve seemed to the high-spirited girl to color their
innocent partnership with the darkness of conspiracy.
"If your conscience troubles you, Mr. Hurlstone, in regard to the
wretched infatuation of those people," she had once said,
"undeceive them, if you can, and I will assist you. And don't let
that affair of Captain Bunker worry you either. I have already
confessed to the Comandante that he escaped through my
carelessness."
"You could not have done otherwise without sacrificing the poor
Secretary, who must have helped you," Hurlstone returned quietly.
Miss Keene bit her lip and dropped the subject. At their next
meeting Hurlstone himself resumed it.
"I hope you don't allow that absurd decree of the Council to
disturb you; I imagine they're quite convinced of their folly. I
know that the Padre is; and I know that he thinks you've earned a
right to the gratitude of the Council in your gracious task at the
Presidio school that is far beyond any fancied political service."
"I really haven't thought about it at all," said Miss Keene coolly.
"I thought it was YOU who were annoyed."
"I? not at all," returned Hurlstone quickly. "I have been able to
assist the Padre in arranging the ecclesiastical archives of the
church, and in suggesting some improvement in codifying the
ordinances of the last forty years. No; I believe I'm earning my
living here, and I fancy they think so."
"Then it isn't THAT that troubles you?" said Miss Keene carelessly,
but glancing at him under the shade of her lashes.
"No," he said coldly, turning away.
Yet unsatisfactory as these brief interviews were, they revived in
Miss Keene the sympathizing curiosity and interest she had always
felt for this singular man, and which had been only held in
abeyance at the beginning of their exile; in fact, she found
herself thinking of him more during the interval when they seldom
saw each other, and apparently had few interests in common, than
when they were together on the Excelsior. Gradually she slipped
into three successive phases of feeling towards him, each of them
marked with an equal degree of peril to her peace of mind. She
began with a profound interest in the mystery of his secluded
habits, his strange abstraction, and a recognition of the evident
superiority of a nature capable of such deep feeling--uninfluenced
by those baser distractions which occupied Brace, Crosby, and
Winslow. This phase passed into a settled conviction that some
woman was at the root of his trouble, and responsible for it. With
an instinctive distrust of her own sex, she was satisfied that it
must be either a misplaced or unworthy attachment, and that the
unknown woman was to blame. This second phase--which hovered
between compassion and resentment--suddenly changed to the latter--
the third phase of her feelings. Miss Keene became convinced that
Mr. Hurlstone had a settled aversion to HERSELF. Why and
wherefore, she did not attempt to reason, yet she was satisfied
that from the first he disliked her. His studious reserve on the
Excelsior, compared with the attentions of the others, ought then
to have convinced her of the fact; and there was no doubt now that
his present discontent could be traced to the unfortunate
circumstances that brought them together. Having given herself up
to that idea, she vacillated between a strong impulse to inform him
that she knew his real feelings and an equally strong instinct to
avoid him hereafter entirely. The result was a feeble compromise.
On the ground that Mr. Hurlstone could "scarcely be expected to
admire her inferior performances," she declined to invite him with
Father Esteban to listen to her pupils. Father Esteban took a huge
pinch of snuff, examined Miss Keene attentively, and smiled a sad
smile. The next day he begged Hurlstone to take a volume of old
music to Miss Keene with his compliments. Hurlstone did so, and
for some reason exerted himself to be agreeable. As he made no
allusion to her rudeness, she presumed he did not know of it, and
speedily forgot it herself. When he suggested a return visit to
the boy choir, with whom he occasionally practiced, she blushed and
feared she had scarcely the time. But she came with Mrs. Markham,
some consciousness, and a visible color!
And then, almost without her knowing how or why, and entirely
unexpected and unheralded, came a day so strangely and
unconsciously happy, so innocently sweet and joyous, that it seemed
as if all the other days of her exile had only gone before to
create it, and as if it--and it alone--were a sufficient reason for
her being there. A day full of gentle intimations, laughing
suggestions, childlike surprises and awakenings; a day delicious
for the very incompleteness of its vague happiness. And this
remarkable day was simply marked in Mrs. Markham's diary as
follows:--"Went with E. to Indian village; met Padre and J. H.
J. H. actually left shell and crawled on beach with E. E. chatty."
The day itself had been singularly quiet and gracious, even for
that rare climate of balmy days and recuperating nights. At times
the slight breath of the sea which usually stirred the morning air
of Todos Santos was suspended, and a hush of expectation seemed to
arrest land and water. When Miss Keene and Mrs. Markham left the
Presidio, the tide was low, and their way lay along the beach past
the Mission walls. A walk of two or three miles brought them to
the Indian village--properly a suburban quarter of Todos Santos--a
collection of adobe huts and rudely cultivated fields. Padre
Esteban and Mr. Hurlstone were awaiting them in the palm-thatched
veranda of a more pretentious cabin, that served as a school-room.
"This is Don Diego's design," said the Padre, beaming with a
certain paternal pride on Hurlstone, "built by himself and helped
by the heathen; but look you: my gentleman is not satisfied with
it, and wishes now to bring his flock to the Mission school, and
have them mingle with the pure-blooded races on an equality. That
is the revolutionary idea of this sans culotte reformer," continued
the good Father, shaking his yellow finger with gentle archness at
the young man. "Ah, we shall yet have a revolution in Todos Santos
unless you ladies take him in hand. He has already brought the
half-breeds over to his side, and those heathens follow him like
dumb cattle anywhere. There, take him away and scold him, Dona
Leonor, while I speak to the Senora Markham of the work that her
good heart and skillful fingers may do for my poor muchachos."
Eleanor Keene lifted her beautiful eyes to Hurlstone with an
artless tribute in their depths that brought the blood faintly into
his cheek. She was not thinking of the priest's admonishing words;
she was thinking of the quiet, unselfish work that this gloomy
misanthrope had been doing while his companions had been engaged in
lower aims and listless pleasures, and while she herself had been
aimlessly fretting and diverting herself. What were her few hours
of applauded instruction with the pretty Murillo-like children of
the Fort compared to his silent and unrecognized labor! Yet even
at this moment an uneasy doubt crossed her mind.
"I suppose Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb interest themselves greatly
in your--in the Padre's charities?"
The first playful smile she had seen on Hurlstone's face lightened
in his eyes and lips, and was becoming.
"I am afraid my barbarians are too low and too near home for Mrs.
Brimmer's missionary zeal. She and Miss Chubb patronize the
Mexican school with cast-off dresses, old bonnets retrimmed,
flannel petticoats, some old novels and books of poetry--of which
the Padre makes an auto-da-fe--and their own patronizing presence
on fete days. Providence has given them the vague impression that
leprosy and contagious skin-disease are a peculiarity of the
southern aborigine, and they have left me severely alone."
"I wish you would prevail upon the Padre to let ME help you," said
Miss Keene, looking down.
"But you already have the Commander's chickens--which you are
bringing up as swans, by the way," said Hurlstone mischievously.
"You wouldn't surely abandon the nest again?"
"You are laughing at me," said Miss Keene, putting on a slight pout
to hide the vague pleasure that Hurlstone's gayer manner was giving
her. "But, really, I've been thinking that the Presidio children
are altogether too pretty and picturesque for me, and that I enjoy
them too much to do them any good. It's like playing with them,
you know!"
Hurlstone laughed, but suddenly looking down upon her face he was
struck with its youthfulness. She had always impressed him before--
through her reserve and independence--as older, and more matured
in character. He did not know how lately she was finding her lost
youth as he asked her, quite abruptly, if she ever had any little
brothers and sisters.
The answer to this question involved the simple story of Miss
Keene's life, which she gave with naive detail. She told him of
her early childhood, and the brother who was only an indistinct
memory; of her school days, and her friendships up to the moment of
her first step into the great world that was so strangely arrested
at Todos Santos. He was touched with the almost pathetic blankness
of this virgin page. Encouraged by his attention, and perhaps
feeling a sympathy she had lately been longing for, she confessed
to him the thousand little things which she had reserved from even
Mrs. Markham during her first apathetic weeks at Todos Santos.
"I'm sure I should have been much happier if I had had any one to
talk to," she added, looking up into his face with a naivete of
faint reproach; "it's very different for men, you know. They can
always distract themselves with something. Although," she
continued hesitatingly, "I've sometimes thought YOU would have been
happier if you had had somebody to tell your troubles to--I don't
mean the Padre; for, good as he is, he is a foreigner, you know,
and wouldn't look upon things as WE do--but some one in sympathy
with you."
She stopped, alarmed at the change of expression in his face. A
quick flush had crossed his cheek; for an instant he had looked
suspiciously into her questioning eyes. But the next moment the
idea of his quietly selecting this simple, unsophisticated girl as
the confidant of his miserable marriage, and the desperation that
had brought him there, struck him as being irresistibly ludicrous
and he smiled. It was the first time that the habitual morbid
intensity of his thoughts on that one subject had ever been
disturbed by reaction; it was the first time that a clear ray of
reason had pierced the gloom in which he had enwrapped it. Seeing
him smile, the young girl smiled too. Then they smiled together
vaguely and sympathetically, as over some unspoken confidence.
But, unknown and unsuspected by himself, that smile had completed
his emancipation and triumph. The next moment, when he sought with
a conscientious sigh to reenter his old mood, he was half shocked
to find it gone. Whatever gradual influence--the outcome of these
few months of rest and repose--may have already been at work to
dissipate his clouded fancy, he was only vaguely conscious that the
laughing breath of the young girl had blown it away forever.
The perilous point passed, unconsciously to both of them, they fell
into freer conversation, tacitly avoiding the subject of Mr.
Hurlstone's past reserve only as being less interesting. Hurlstone
did not return Miss Keene's confidences--not because he wished to
deceive her, but that he preferred to entertain her; while she did
not care to know his secret now that it no longer affected their
sympathy in other things. It was a pleasant, innocent selfishness,
that, however, led them along, step by step, to more uncertain and
difficult ground.
In their idle, happy walk they had strayed towards the beach, and
had come upon a large stone cross with its base half hidden in
sand, and covered with small tenacious, sweet-scented creepers,
bearing a pale lilac blossom that exhaled a mingled odor of sea and
shore. Hurlstone pointed out the cross as one of the earliest
outposts of the Church on the edge of the unclaimed heathen
wilderness. It was hung with strings of gaudy shells and feathers,
which Hurlstone explained were votive offerings in which their
pagan superstitions still mingled with their new faith.
"I don't like to worry that good old Padre," he continued, with a
light smile, "but I'm afraid that they prefer this cross to the
chapel for certain heathenish reasons of their own. I am quite
sure that they still hold some obscure rites here under the good
Father's very nose, and that, in the guise of this emblem of our
universal faith, they worship some deity we have no knowledge of."
"It's a shame," said Miss Keene quickly.
To her surprise, Hurlstone did not appear so shocked as she, in her
belief of his religious sympathy with the Padre, had imagined.
"They're a harmless race," he said carelessly. "The place is much
frequented by the children--especially the young girls; a good many
of these offerings came from them."
The better to examine these quaint tributes, Miss Keene had thrown
herself, with an impulsive, girlish abandonment, on the mound by
the cross, and Hurlstone sat down beside her. Their eyes met in an
innocent pleasure of each other's company. She thought him very
handsome in the dark, half official Mexican dress that necessity
alone had obliged him to assume, and much more distinguished-
looking than his companions in their extravagant foppery; he
thought her beauty more youthful and artless than he had imagined
it to be, and with his older and graver experiences felt a certain
protecting superiority that was pleasant and reassuring.
Nevertheless, seated so near each other, they were very quiet.
Hurlstone could not tell whether it was the sea or the flowers, but
the dress of the young girl seemed to exhale some subtle perfume of
her own freshness that half took away his breath. She had scraped
up a handful of sand, and was allowing it to escape through her
slim fingers in a slender rain on the ground. He was watching the
operation with what he began to fear was fatuous imbecility.
"Miss Keene?--I beg your pardon"--
"Mr. Hurlstone?--Excuse me, you were saying"--
They had both spoken at the same moment, and smiled forgivingly at
each other. Hurlstone gallantly insisted upon the precedence of
her thought--the scamp had doubted the coherency of his own.
"I used to think," she began--"you won't be angry, will you?"
"Decidedly not."
"I used to think you had an idea of becoming a priest."
"Why?"
"Because--you are sure you won't be angry--because I thought you
hated women!"
"Father Esteban is a priest," said Hurlstone, with a faint smile,
"and you know he thinks kindly of your sex."
"Yes; but perhaps HIS life was never spoiled by some wicked woman
like--like yours."
For an instant he gazed intently into her eyes.
"Who told you that?"
"No one."
She was evidently speaking the absolute truth. There was no deceit
or suppression in her clear gaze; if anything, only the faintest
look of wonder at his astonishment. And he--this jealously guarded
secret, the curse of his whole wretched life, had been guessed by
this simple girl, without comment, without reserve, without horror!
And there had been no scene, no convulsion of Nature, no tragedy;
he had not thrown himself into yonder sea; she had not fled from
him shrinking, but was sitting there opposite to him in gentle
smiling expectation, the golden light of Todos Santos around them,
a bit of bright ribbon shining in her dark hair, and he, miserable,
outcast, and recluse, had not even changed his position, but was
looking up without tremulousness or excitement, and smiling, too.
He raised himself suddenly on his knee.
"And what if it were all true?" he demanded.
"I should be very sorry for you, and glad it were all over now,"
she said softly.
A faint pink flush covered her cheek the next moment, as if she had
suddenly become aware of another meaning in her speech, and she
turned her head hastily towards the village. To her relief she
discerned that a number of Indian children had approached them from
behind and had halted a few paces from the cross. Their hands were
full of flowers and shells as they stood hesitatingly watching the
couple.
"They are some of the school-children," said Hurlstone, in answer
to her inquiring look; "but I can't understand why they come here
so openly."
"Oh, don't scold them!" said Eleanor, forgetting her previous
orthodox protest; "let us go away, and pretend we don't notice
them."
But as she was about to rise to her feet the hesitation of the
little creatures ended in a sudden advance of the whole body, and
before she comprehended what they were doing they had pressed the
whole of their floral tributes in her lap. The color rose again
quickly to her laughing face as she looked at Hurlstone.
"Do you usually get up this pretty surprise for visitors?" she said
hesitatingly.
"I assure you I have nothing to do with it," he answered, with
frank amazement; "it's quite spontaneous. And look--they are even
decorating ME."
It was true; they had thrown a half dozen strings of shells on
Hurlstone's unresisting shoulders, and, unheeding the few words he
laughingly addressed them in their own dialect, they ran off a few
paces, and remained standing, as if gravely contemplating their
work. Suddenly, with a little outcry of terror, they turned, fled
wildly past them, and disappeared in the bushes.
Miss Keene and Hurlstone rose at the same moment, but the young
girl, taking a step forward, suddenly staggered, and was obliged to
clasp one of the arms of the cross to keep herself from falling.
Hurlstone sprang to her side.
"Are you ill?" he asked hurriedly. "You are quite white. What is
the matter?"
A smile crossed her colorless face.
"I am certainly very giddy; everything seems to tremble."
"Perhaps it is the flowers," he said anxiously. "Their heavy
perfume in this close air affects you. Throw them away, for
Heaven's sake!"
But she clutched them tighter to her heart as she leaned for a
moment, pale yet smiling, against the cross.
"No, no!" she said earnestly; "it was not that. But the children
were frightened, and their alarm terrified me. There, it is over
now."
She let him help her to her seat again as he glanced hurriedly
around him. It must have been sympathy with her, for he was
conscious of a slight vertigo himself. The air was very close and
still. Even the pleasant murmur of the waves had ceased.
"How very low the tide is!" said Eleanor Keene, resting her elbow
on her knees and her round chin upon her hand. "I wonder if that
could have frightened those dear little midgets?" The tide, in
fact, had left the shore quite bare and muddy for nearly a quarter
of a mile to seaward.
Hurlstone arose, with grave eyes, but a voice that was unchanged.
"Suppose we inquire? Lean on my arm, and we'll go up the hill
towards the Mission garden. Bring your flowers with you."
The color had quite returned to her cheek as she leant on his
proffered arm. Yet perhaps she was really weaker than she knew,
for he felt the soft pressure of her hand and the gentle
abandonment of her figure against his own as they moved on. But
for some preoccupying thought, he might have yielded more
completely to the pleasure of that innocent contact and have drawn
her closer towards him; yet they moved steadily on, he contenting
himself from time to time with a hurried glance at the downcast
fringes of the eyes beside him. Presently he stopped, his
attention disturbed by what appeared to be the fluttering of a
black-winged, red-crested bird, in the bushes before him. The next
moment he discovered it to be the rose-covered head of Dona Isabel,
who was running towards them. Eleanor withdrew her arm from
Hurlstone's.
"Ah, imbecile!" said Dona Isabel, pouncing upon Eleanor Keene like
an affectionate panther. "They have said you were on the seashore,
and I fly for you as a bird. Tell to me quick," she whispered,
hastily putting her own little brown ear against Miss Keene's
mouth, "immediatamente, are you much happy?"
"Where is Mr. Brace?" said Miss Keene, trying to effect a
diversion, as she laughed and struggled to get free from her
tormentor.
"He, the idiot boy! Naturally, when he is for use, he comes not.
But as a maniac--ever! I would that I have him no more. You will
to me presently give your--brother! I have since to-day a
presentimiento that him I shall love! Ah!"
She pressed her little brown fist, still tightly clutching her fan,
against her low bodice, as if already transfixed with a secret and
absorbing passion.
"Well, you shall have Dick then," said Miss Keene, laughing; "but
was it for THAT you were seeking me?"
"Mother of God! you know not then what has happened? You are a
blind--a deaf--to but one thing all the time? Ah!" she said
quickly, unfolding her fan and modestly diving her little head
behind it, "I have ashamed for you, Miss Keene."
"But WHAT has happened?" said Hurlstone, interposing to relieve his
companion. "We fancied something"--
"Something! he says something!--ah, that something was a temblor!
An earthquake! The earth has shaken himself. Look!"
She pointed with her fan to the shore, where the sea had suddenly
returned in a turbulence of foam and billows that was breaking over
the base of the cross they had just quitted.
Miss Keene drew a quick sigh. Dona Isabel had ducked again
modestly behind her fan, but this time dragging with her other arm
Miss Keene's head down to share its discreet shadow as she
whispered,--
"And--infatuated one!--you two never noticed it!"
CHAPTER V.
CLOUDS AND CHANGE.
The earthquake shock, although the first experienced by the
Americans, had been a yearly phenomenon to the people of Todos
Santos, and was so slight as to leave little impression upon either
the low adobe walls of the pueblo or the indolent population. "If
it's a provision of Nature for shaking up these Rip Van Winkle
Latin races now and then, it's a dead failure, as far as Todos
Santos is concerned," Crosby had said, with a yawn. "Brace, who's
got geology on the brain ever since he struck cinnabar ore, says he
isn't sure the Injins ain't right when they believe that the
Pacific Ocean used to roll straight up to the Presidio, and there
wasn't any channel--and that reef of rocks was upheaved in their
time. But what's the use of it? it never really waked them up."
"Perhaps they're waiting for another kind of earthquake," Winslow
had responded sententiously.
In six weeks it had been forgotten, except by three people--Miss
Keene, James Hurlstone, and Padre Esteban. Since Hurlstone had
parted with Miss Keene on that memorable afternoon he had
apparently lapsed into his former reserve. Without seeming to
avoid her timid advances, he met her seldom, and then only in the
presence of the Padre or Mrs. Markham. Although uneasy at the
deprivation of his society, his present shyness did not affect her
as it had done at first: she knew it was no longer indifference;
she even fancied she understood it from what had been her own
feelings. If he no longer raised his eyes to hers as frankly as he
had that day, she felt a more delicate pleasure in the
consciousness of his lowered eyelids when they met, and the
instinct that told her when his melancholy glance followed her
unobserved. The sex of these lovers--if we may call them so who
had never exchanged a word of love--seemed to be changed. It was
Miss Keene who now sought him with a respectful and frank
admiration; it was Hurlstone who now tried to avoid it with a
feminine dread of reciprocal display. Once she had even adverted
to the episode of the cross. They were standing under the arch of
the refectory door, waiting for Padre Esteban, and looking towards
the sea.
"Do you think we were ever in any real danger, down there, on the
shore--that day?" she said timidly.
"No; not from the sea," he replied, looking at her with a half
defiant resolution.
"From what then?" she asked, with a naivete that was yet a little
conscious.
"Do you remember the children giving you their offerings that day?"
he asked abruptly.
"I do," she replied, with smiling eyes.
"Well, it appears that it is the custom for the betrothed couples
to come to the cross to exchange their vows. They mistook us for
lovers."
All the instinctive delicacy of Miss Keene's womanhood resented the
rude infelicity of this speech and the flippant manner of its
utterance. She did not blush, but lifted her clear eyes calmly to
his.
"It was an unfortunate mistake," she said coldly, "the more so as
they were your pupils. Ah! here is Father Esteban," she added,
with a marked tone of relief, as she crossed over to the priest's
side.
When Father Esteban returned to the refectory that evening,
Hurlstone was absent. When it grew later, becoming uneasy, the
good Father sought him in the garden. At the end of the avenue of
pear-trees there was a break in the sea-wall, and here, with his
face to the sea, Hurlstone was leaning gloomily. Father Esteban's
tread was noiseless, and he had laid his soft hand on the young
man's shoulder before Hurlstone was aware of his presence. He
started slightly, his gloomy eyes fell before the priest's.
"My son," said the old man gravely, "this must go on no longer."
"I don't understand you," Hurlstone replied coldly.
"Do not try to deceive yourself, nor me. Above all, do not try to
deceive HER. Either you are or are not in love with this
countrywoman of yours. If you are not, my respect for her and my
friendship for you prompts me to save you both from a foolish
intimacy that may ripen into a misplaced affection; if you are
already in love with her"--
"I have never spoken a word of love to her!" interrupted Hurlstone
quickly. "I have even tried to avoid her since"--
"Since you found that you loved her! Ah, foolish boy! and you
think that because the lips speak not, the passions of the heart
are stilled! Do you think your silence in her presence is not a
protestation that she, even she, child as she is, can read, with
the cunning of her sex?"
"Well--if I am in love with her, what then?" said Hurlstone
doggedly. "It is no crime to love a pure and simple girl. Am I
not free? You yourself, in yonder church, told me"--
"Silence, Diego," said the priest sternly. "Silence, before you
utter the thought that shall disgrace you to speak and me to hear!"
"Forgive me, Father Esteban," said the young man hurriedly,
grasping both hands of the priest. "Forgive me--I am mad--
distracted--but I swear to you I only meant"--
"Hush!" interrupted the priest more gently. "So; that will do."
He stopped, drew out his snuff-box, rapped the lid, and took a
pinch of snuff slowly. "We will not recur to that point. Then you
have told her the story of your life?"
"No; but I will, She shall know all--everything--before I utter a
word of love to her,"
"Ah! bueno! muy bueno!" said the Padre, wiping his nose
ostentatiously. "Ah! let me see! Then, when we have shown her
that we cannot possibly marry her, we will begin to make love to
her! Eh, eh! that is the American fashion. Ah, pardon!" he
continued, in response to a gesture of protestation from Hurlstone;
"I am wrong. It is when we have told her that we cannot marry her
as a Protestant, that we will make love as a Catholic. Is that
it?"
"Hear me," said Hurlstone passionately. "You have saved me from
madness and, perhaps, death. Your care--your kindness--your
teachings have given me life again. Don't blame me, Father
Esteban, if, in casting off my old self, you have given me hopes of
a new and fresher life--of"--
"A newer and fresher love, you would say," said the Padre, with a
sad smile. "Be it so. You will at least do justice to the old
priest, when you remember that he never pressed you to take vows
that would have prevented this forever."
"I know it," said Hurlstone, taking the old man's hand. "And you
will remember, too, that I was happy and contented before this came
upon me. Tell me what I shall do. Be my guide--my friend, Father
Esteban. Put me where I was a few months ago--before I learned to
love her."
"Do you mean it, Diego?" said the old man, grasping his hand
tightly, and fixing his eyes upon him.
"I do."
"Then listen to me, for it is my turn to speak. When, eight months
ago, you sought the shelter of that blessed roof, it was for refuge
from a woman that had cursed your life. It was given you. You
would leave it now to commit an act that would bring another woman,
as mad as yourself, clamoring at its doors for protection from YOU.
For what you are proposing to this innocent girl is what you
accepted from the older and wickeder woman. You have been cursed
because a woman divided for you what was before God an indivisible
right; and you, Diego, would now redivide that with another, whom
you dare to say you LOVE! You would use the opportunity of her
helplessness and loneliness here to convince her; you would tempt
her with sympathy, for she is unhappy; with companionship, for she
has no longer the world to choose from--with everything that should
make her sacred from your pursuit."
"Enough," said Hurlstone hoarsely; "say no more. Only I implore
you tell me what to do now to save her. I will--if you tell me to
do it--leave her forever."
"Why should YOU go?" said the priest quietly. "HER absence will be
sufficient."
"HER absence?" echoed Hurlstone.
"Hers alone. The conditions that brought YOU here are unchanged.
You are still in need of an asylum from the world and the wife you
have repudiated. Why should you abandon it? For the girl, there
is no cause why she should remain--beyond yourself. She has a
brother whom she loves--who wants her--who has the right to claim
her at any time. She will go to him."
"But how?"
"That has been my secret, and will be my sacrifice to you, Diego,
my son. I have foreseen all this; I have expected it from the day
that girl sent you her woman's message, that was half a challenge,
from her school--I have known it from the day you walked together
on the sea-shore. I was blind before that--for I am weak in my
way, too, and I had dreamed of other things. God has willed it
otherwise." He paused, and returning the pressure of Hurlstone's
hand, went on. "My secret and my sacrifice for you is this. For
the last two hundred years the Church has had a secret and trusty
messenger from the See at Guadalajara--in a ship that touches here
for a few hours only every three years. Her arrival and departure
is known only to myself and my brothers of the Council. By this
wisdom and the provision of God, the integrity of the Holy Church
and the conversion of the heathen have been maintained without
interruption and interference. You know now, my son, why your
comrades were placed under surveillance; why it was necessary that
the people should believe in a political conspiracy among
yourselves, rather than the facts as they existed, which might have
bred a dangerous curiosity among them. I have given you our
secret, Diego--that is but a part of my sacrifice. When that ship
arrives, and she is expected daily, I will secretly place Miss
Keene and her friend on board, with explanatory letters to the
Archbishop, and she will be assisted to rejoin her brother. It
will be against the wishes of the Council; but my will," continued
the old man, with a gesture of imperiousness, "is the will of the
Church, and the law that overrides all."
He had stopped, with a strange fire in his eyes. It still
continued to burn as he went on rapidly,--
"You will understand the sacrifice I am making in telling you this,
when you know that I could have done all that I propose without
your leave or hindrance. Yes, Diego; I had but to stretch out my
hand thus, and that foolish fire-brand of a heretic muchacha would
have vanished from Todos Santos forever. I could have left you in
your fool's paradise, and one morning you would have found her
gone. I should have condoled with you, and consoled you, and you
would have forgotten her as you did the other. I should not have
hesitated; it is the right of the Church through all time to break
through those carnal ties without heed of the suffering flesh, and
I ought to have done so. This, and this alone, would have been
worthy of Las Casas and Junipero Serra! But I am weak and old--I
am no longer fit for His work. Far better that the ship which
takes her away should bring back my successor and one more worthy
Todos Santos than I."
He stopped, his eyes dimmed, he buried his face in his hands.
"You have done right, Father Esteban," said Hurlstone, gently
putting his arm round the priest's shoulders, "and I swear to you
your secret is as safe as if you had never revealed it to me.
Perhaps," he added, with a sigh, "I should have been happier if I
had not known it--if she had passed out of my life as mysteriously
as she had entered it; but you will try to accept my sacrifice as
some return for yours. I shall see her no more."
"But will you swear it?" said the priest eagerly. "Will you swear
that you will not even seek her to say farewell; for in that moment
the wretched girl may shake your resolution?"
"I shall not see her," repeated the young man slowly.
"But if she asks an interview," persisted the priest, "on the
pretense of having your advice?"
"She will not," returned Hurlstone, with a half bitter recollection
of their last parting. "You do not know her pride."
"Perhaps," said the priest musingly. "But I have YOUR word, Diego.
And now let us return to the Mission, for there is much to prepare,
and you shall assist me."
Meantime, Hurlstone was only half right in his estimate of Miss
Keene's feelings, although the result was the same. The first
shock to her delicacy in his abrupt speech had been succeeded by a
renewal of her uneasiness concerning his past life or history.
While she would, in her unselfish attachment for him, have
undoubtingly accepted any explanation he might have chosen to give
her, his continued reserve and avoidance of her left full scope to
her imaginings. Rejecting any hypothesis of his history except
that of some unfortunate love episode, she began to think that
perhaps he still loved this nameless woman. Had anything occurred
to renew his affection? It was impossible, in their isolated
condition, that he would hear from her. But perhaps the priest
might have been a confidant of his past, and had recalled the old
affection in rivalry of her? Or had she herself been unfortunate
through any idle word to reopen the wound? Had there been any
suggestion?--she checked herself suddenly at a thought that
benumbed and chilled her!--perhaps that happy hour at the cross
might have reminded him of some episode with another? That was the
real significance of his rude speech. With this first taste of the
poison of jealousy upon her virgin lips, she seized the cup and
drank it eagerly. Ah, well--he should keep his blissful
recollections of the past undisturbed by her. Perhaps he might
even see--though SHE had no past--that her present life might be as
disturbing to him! She recalled, with a foolish pleasure, his
solitary faint sneer at the devotion of the Commander's Secretary.
Why shouldn't she, hereafter, encourage that devotion as well as
that sneer from this complacently beloved Mr. Hurlstone? Why
should he be so assured of her past? The fair and gentle reader
who may be shocked at this revelation of Eleanor Keene's character
will remember that she has not been recorded as an angel in these
pages--but as a very human, honest, inexperienced girl, for the
first time struggling with the most diplomatic, Machiavellian, and
hypocritical of all the passions.
In pursuance of this new resolution, she determined to accept an
invitation from Mrs. Markham to accompany her and the Commander to
a reception at the Alcalde's house--the happy Secretary being of
the party. Mrs. Markham, who was under promise to the Comandante
not to reveal his plan for the escape of herself and Miss Keene
until the arrival of the expected transport, had paid little
attention to the late vagaries of her friend, and had contented
herself by once saying, with a marked emphasis, that the more free
they kept themselves from any entanglements with other people, the
more prepared they would be for A CHANGE.
"Perhaps it's just as well not to be too free, even with those
Jesuits over at the Mission. Your brother, you know, might not
like it."
"THOSE JESUITS!" repeated Miss Keene indignantly. "Father Esteban,
to begin with, is a Franciscan, and Mr. Hurlstone is as orthodox as
you or I."
"Don't be too sure of that, my dear," returned Mrs. Markham
sententiously. "Heaven only knows what disguises they assume.
Why, Hurlstone and the priest are already as thick as two peas; and
you can't make me believe they didn't know of each other before we
came here. He was the first one ashore, you remember, before the
mutiny; and where did he turn up?--at the Mission, of course! And
have you forgotten that sleepwalking affair--all Jesuitical! Why,
poor dear Markham used to say we were surrounded by ramifications
of that society--everywhere. The very waiter at your hotel table
might belong to the Order."
The hour of the siesta was just past, and the corridor and gardens
of the Alcalde's house were grouped with friends and acquaintances
as the party from the Presidio entered. Mrs. Brimmer, who had
apparently effected a temporary compromise with her late instincts
of propriety, was still doing the honors of the Alcalde's house,
and had once more assumed the Mexican dishabille, even to the
slight exposure of her small feet, stockingless, in white satin
slippers. The presence of the Comandante and his Secretary
guaranteed the two ladies of their party a reception at least
faultless in form and respect, whatever may have been the secret
feelings of the hostess and her friends. The Alcalde received Mrs.
Markham and Miss Keene with unruffled courtesy, and conducted them
to the place of honor beside him.
As Eleanor Keene, slightly flushed and beautiful in her unwonted
nervous excitement, took her seat, a flutter went around the
corridor, and, with the single exception of Dona Isabel, an almost
imperceptible drawing together of the other ladies, in offensive
alliance. Miss Keene had never abandoned her own style of dress;
and that afternoon her delicate and closely-fitting white muslin,
gathered in at the waist with a broad blue belt of ribbon, seemed
to accentuate somewhat unflatteringly the tropical neglige of Mrs.
Brimmer and Miss Chubb. Brace, who was in attendance, with Crosby,
on the two Ramirez girls, could not help being uneasily conscious
of this, in addition to the awkwardness of meeting Miss Keene after
the transfer of his affections elsewhere. Nor was his embarrassment
relieved by Crosby's confidences to him, in a half audible whisper,--
"I say, old man, after all, the regular straight-out American style
lays over all their foreign flops and fandoodles. I wonder what
old Brimmer would say to his wife's full-dress nightgown--eh?"
But at this moment the long-drawn, slightly stridulous utterances
of Mrs. Brimmer rose through the other greetings like a lazy east
wind.
"I shall never forgive the Commander for making the Presidio so
attractive to you, dear Miss Keene, that you cannot really find
time to see your own countrymen. Though, of course, you're not to
blame for not coming to see two frights as we must look--not having
been educated to be able to do up our dresses in that faultless
style--and perhaps not having the entire control over an
establishment like you; yet, I suppose that, even if the Alcalde
did give us carte blanche of the laundry HERE, we couldn't do it,
unaided even by Mrs. Markham. Yes, dear; you must let me
compliment you on your skill, and the way you make things last. As
for me and Miss Chubb, we've only found our things fit to be given
away to the poor of the Mission. But I suppose even that charity
would look as shabby to you as our clothes, in comparison with the
really good missionary work you and Mr. Hurlstone--or is it Mr.
Brace?--I always confound your admirers, my dear--are doing now.
At least, so says that good Father Esteban."
But with the exception of the Alcalde and Miss Chubb, Mrs.
Brimmer's words fell on unheeding ears, and Miss Keene did not
prejudice the triumph of her own superior attractions by seeming to
notice Mrs. Brimmer's innuendo. She answered briefly, and entered
into lively conversation with Crosby and the Secretary, holding the
hand of Dona Isabel in her own, as if to assure her that she was
guiltless of any design against her former admirer. This was quite
unnecessary, as the gentle Isabel, after bidding Brace, with a rap
on the knuckles, to "go and play," contented herself with curling
up like a kitten beside Miss Keene, and left that gentleman to
wander somewhat aimlessly in the patio.
Nevertheless, Miss Keene, whose eyes and ears were nervously alert,
and who had indulged a faint hope of meeting Padre Esteban and
hearing news of Hurlstone, glanced from time to time towards the
entrance of the patio. A singular presentiment that some outcome
of this present visit would determine her relations with Hurlstone
had already possessed her. Consequently she was conscious, before
it had attracted the attention of the others, of some vague
stirring in the plaza beyond. Suddenly the clatter of hoofs was
heard before the gateway. There was a moment's pause of
dismounting, a gruff order given in Spanish, and the next moment
three strangers entered the patio.
They were dressed in red shirts, their white trousers tucked in
high boots, and wore slouched hats. They were so travel-stained,
dusty, and unshaven, that their features were barely
distinguishable. One, who appeared to be the spokesman of the
party, cast a perfunctory glance around the corridor, and, in
fluent Spanish, began with the mechanical air of a man repeating
some formula,--
"We are the bearers of a despatch to the Comandante of Todos Santos
from the Governor of Mazatlan. The officer and the escort who came
with us are outside the gate. We have been told that the
Comandante is in this house. The case is urgent, or we would not
intrude"--
He was stopped by the voice of Mrs. Markham from the corridor.
"Well, I don't understand Spanish much--I may be a fool, or crazy,
or perhaps both--but if that isn't James Markham's VOICE, I'll bet
a cooky!"
The three strangers turned quickly toward the corridor. The next
moment the youngest of their party advanced eagerly towards Miss
Keene, who had arisen with a half frightened joy, and with the cry
of "Why, it's Nell!" ran towards her. The third man came slowly
forward as Mrs. Brimmer slipped hastily from the hammock and stood
erect.
"In the name of goodness, Barbara," said Mr. Brimmer, closing upon
her, in a slow, portentous whisper, "where ARE your stockings?"
CHAPTER VI.
A MORE IMPORTANT ARRIVAL.
The Commander was the first to recover his presence of mind.
Taking the despatch from the hands of the unlooked-for husband of
the woman he loved, he opened it with an immovable face and
habitual precision. Then, turning with a military salute to the
strangers, he bade them join him in half an hour at the Presidio;
and, bowing gravely to the assembled company, stepped from the
corridor. But Mrs. Markham was before him, stopped him with a
gesture, and turned to her husband.
"James Markham--where's your hand?"
Markham, embarrassed but subjugated, disengaged it timidly from his
wife's waist.
"Give it to that gentleman--for a gentleman he is, from the crown
of his head to the soles of his boots! There! Shake his hand!
You don't get such a chance every day. You can thank him again,
later."
As the two men's hands parted, after this perfunctory grasp, and
the Commander passed on, she turned again to her husband.
"Now, James, I am ready to hear all about it. Perhaps you'll tell
me where you HAVE been?"
There was a moment of embarrassing silence. The Doctor and
Secretary had discreetly withdrawn; the Alcalde, after a brief
introduction to Mr. Brimmer, and an incomprehensible glance from
the wife, had retired with a colorless face. Dona Isabel had
lingered last to blow a kiss across her fan to Eleanor Keene that
half mischievously included her brother. The Americans were alone.
Thus appealed to, Mr. Markham hastily began his story. But, as he
progressed, a slight incoherency was noticeable: he occasionally
contradicted himself, and was obliged to be sustained, supplemented,
and, at times, corrected, by Keene and Brimmer. Substantially, it
appeared that they had come from San Francisco to Mazatlan, and,
through the influence of Mr. Brimmer on the Mexican authorities,
their party, with an escort of dragoons, had been transported across
the gulf and landed on the opposite shore, where they had made a
forced march across the desert to Todos Santos. Literally
interpreted, however, by the nervous Markham, it would seem that
they had conceived this expedition long ago, and yet had
difficulties because they only thought of it the day before the
steamer sailed; that they had embarked for the isthmus of Nicaragua,
and yet had stopped at Mazatlan; that their information was complete
in San Francisco, and only picked up at Mazatlan; that "friends"--
sometimes contradictorily known as "he" and "she"--had overpowering
influence with the Mexican Government, and alone had helped them,
and yet that they were utterly dependent upon the efforts of Senor
Perkins, who had compromised matters with the Mexican Government and
everybody.
"Do you mean to say, James Markham, that you've seen Perkins, and
it was he who told you we were here?"
"No--not HIM exactly."
"Let me explain," said Mr. Brimmer hastily. "It appears," he
corrected his haste with practical businesslike precision, "that
the filibuster Perkins, after debarking you here, and taking the
Excelsior to Quinquinambo, actually established the Quinquinambo
Government, and got Mexico and the other confederacies to recognize
its independence. Quinquinambo behaved very handsomely, and not
only allowed the Mexican Government indemnity for breaking the
neutrality of Todos Santos by the seizure, but even compromised
with our own Government their claim to confiscate the Excelsior for
treaty violation, and paid half the value of the vessel, besides
giving information to Mexico and Washington of your whereabouts.
We consequently represent a joint commission from both countries to
settle the matter and arrange for your return."
"But what I want to know is this: Is it to Senor Perkins that we
ought to be thankful for seeing you here at all?" asked Mrs.
Markham impatiently.
"No, no--not that, exactly," stammered Markham. "Oh, come now,
Susannah"--
"No," said Richard Keene earnestly; "by Jove! some thanks ought to
go to Belle Montgomery"--He checked himself in sudden consternation.
There was a chilly silence. Even Miss Keene looked anxiously at
her brother, as the voice of Mrs. Brimmer for the first time broke
the silence.
"May we be permitted to know who is this person to whom we owe so
great an obligation?"
"Certainly," said Brimmer, "She was--as I have already intimated--a
friend; possibly, you know," he added, turning lightly to his
companions, as if to corroborate an impression that had just struck
him, "perhaps a--a--a sweetheart of the Senor Perkins."
"And how was she so interested in us, pray?" said Mrs. Markham,
"Well, you see, she had an idea that a former husband was on board
of the Excelsior."
He stopped suddenly, remembering from the astonished faces of Keene
and Markham that the secret was not known to them, while they,
impressed with the belief that the story was a sudden invention of
Brimmer's, with difficulty preserved their composure. But the
women were quick to notice their confusion, and promptly
disbelieved Brimmer's explanation.
"Well, as there's no Mister Montgomery here, she's probably
mistaken," said Mrs. Markham, with decision, "though it strikes ME
that she's very likely had the same delusion on board of some other
ship. Come along, James; perhaps after you've had a bath and some
clean clothes, you may come out a little more like the man I once
knew. I don't know how Mrs. Brimmer feels, but I feel more as if I
required to be introduced to you--than your friend's friend, Mrs.
Montgomery. At any rate, try and look and behave a little more
decent when you go over to the Presidio."
With these words she dragged him away. Mr. Brimmer, after a futile
attempt to appear at his ease, promptly effected the usual marital
diversion of carrying the war into the enemy's camp.
"For heaven's sake, Barbara," he said, with ostentatious
indignation, "go and dress yourself properly. Had you neither
money nor credit to purchase clothes? I declare I didn't know you
at first; and when I did, I was shocked; before Mrs. Markham, too!"
"Mrs. Markham, I fear, has quite enough to occupy her now," said
Mrs. Brimmer shortly, as she turned away, with hysterically moist
eyes, leaving her husband to follow her.
Oblivious of this comedy, Richard Keene and Eleanor had already
wandered back, hand in hand, to their days of childhood. But even
in the joy that filled the young girl's heart in the presence of
her only kinsman, there was a strange reservation. The meeting
that she had looked forward to with eager longing had brought all
she expected; more than that, it seemed to have been providentially
anticipated at the moment of her greatest need, and yet it was
incomplete. She was ashamed that after the first recognition, a
wild desire to run to Hurlstone and tell HIM her happiness was her
only thought. She was shocked that the bright joyous face of this
handsome lovable boy could not shut out the melancholy austere
features of Hurlstone, which seemed to rise reproachfully between
them. When, for the third and fourth time, they had recounted
their past history, exchanged their confidences and feelings, Dick,
passing his arm around his sister's waist, looked down smilingly in
her eyes.
"And so, after all, little Nell, everybody has been good to you,
and you have been happy!"
"Everybody has been kind to me, Dick, far kinder than I deserved.
Even if I had really been the great lady that little Dona Isabel
thought I was, or the important person the Commander believed me to
be, I couldn't have been treated more kindly. I have met with
nothing but respect and attention. I have been very happy, Dick,
very happy."
And with a little cry she threw herself on her brother's neck and
burst into a childlike flood of inconsistent tears.
Meantime the news of the arrival of the relief-party had penetrated
even the peaceful cloisters of the Mission, and Father Esteban had
been summoned in haste to the Council. He returned with an eager
face to Hurlstone, who had been anxiously awaiting him. When the
Padre had imparted the full particulars of the event to his
companion, he added gravely,--
"You see, my son, how Providence, which has protected you since you
first claimed the Church's sanctuary, has again interfered to spare
me the sacrifice of using the power of the Church in purely mundane
passions. I weekly accept the rebuke of His better-ordained ways,
and you, Diego, may comfort yourself that this girl is restored
directly to her brother's care, without any deviousness of plan or
human responsibility. You do not speak, my son!" continued the
priest anxiously; "can it be possible that, in the face of this
gracious approval of Providence to your resolution, you are
regretting it?"
The young man replied, with a half reproachful gesture:
"Do you, then, think me still so weak? No, Father Esteban; I have
steeled myself against my selfishness for her sake. I could have
resigned her to the escape you had planned, believing her happier
for it, and ignorant of the real condition of the man she had
learnt to--to--pity. But," he added, turning suddenly and almost
rudely upon the priest, "do you know the meaning of this irruption
of the outer world to ME? Do you reflect that these men probably
know my miserable story?--that, as one of the passengers of the
Excelsior, they will be obliged to seek me and to restore me," he
added, with a bitter laugh, "to MY home, MY kindred--to the world I
loathe?"
"But you need not follow them. Remain here."
"Here!--with the door thrown open to any talebearer OR PERHAPS TO
MY WIFE HERSELF? Never! Hear me, Father," he went on hurriedly:
"these men have come from San Francisco--have been to Mazatlan.
Can you believe that it is possible that they have never heard of
this woman's search for me? No! The quest of hate is as strong as
the quest of love, and more merciless to the hunted."
"But if that were so, foolish boy, she would have accompanied
them."
"You are wrong! It would have been enough for her to have sent my
exposure by them--to have driven me from this refuge."
"This is but futile fancy, Diego," said Father Esteban, with a
simulated assurance he was far from feeling. "Nothing has yet been
said--nothing may be said. Wait, my child."
"Wait!" he echoed bitterly. "Ay, wait until the poor girl shall
hear--perhaps from her brother's lips--the story of my marriage as
bandied about by others; wait for her to know that the man who
would have made her love him was another's, and unworthy of her
respect? No! it is I who must leave this place, and at once."
"YOU?" echoed the Padre. "How?"
"By the same means you would have used for her departure. I must
take her place in that ship you are expecting. You will give ME
letters to your friends. Perhaps, when this is over, I may return--
if I still live."
Padre Esteban became thoughtful.
"You will not refuse me?" said the young man, taking the Padre's
hand. "It is for the best, believe me. I will remain secret here
until then. You will invent some excuse--illness, or what you
like--to keep them from penetrating here. Above all, to spare me
from the misery of ever reading my secret in her face."
Father Esteban remained still absorbed in thought.
"You will take a letter from me to the Archbishop, and put yourself
under his care?" he asked at last, after a long pause. "You will
promise me that?"
"I do!"
"Then we shall see what can be done. They talk, those Americanos,"
continued the priest, "of making their way up the coast to Punta
St. Jago, where the ship they have already sent for to take them
away can approach the shore; and the Comandante has orders to
furnish them escort and transport to that point. It is a foolish
indiscretion of the Government, and I warrant without the sanction
of the Church. Already there is curiosity, discontent, and wild
talk among the people. Ah! thou sayest truly, my son," said the
old man, gloomily; "the doors of Todos Santos are open. The
Comandante will speed these heretics quickly on their way; but the
doors by which they came and whence they go will never close again.
But God's will be done! And if the open doors bring thee back, my
son, I shall not question His will!"
It would seem, however, as if Hurlstone's fears had been groundless.
For in the excitement of the succeeding days, and the mingling of
the party from San Antonio with the new-comers, the recluse had been
forgotten. So habitual, had been his isolation from the others,
that, except for the words of praise and gratitude hesitatingly
dropped by Miss Keene to her brother, his name was not mentioned,
and it might have been possible for the relieving party to have left
him behind--unnoticed. Mr. Brimmer, for domestic reasons, was quite
willing to allow the episode of Miss Montgomery's connection with
their expedition to drop for the present. Her name was only
recalled once by Miss Keene. When Dick had professed a sudden and
violent admiration for the coquettish Dona Isabel, Eleanor had
looked up in her brother's face with a half troubled air.
"Who was this queer Montgomery woman, Dick?" she said.
Dick laughed--a frank, reassuring, heart-free laugh.
"Perfectly stunning, Nell. Such a figure in tights! You ought to
have seen her dance--my!"
"Hush! I dare say she was horrid!"
"Not at all! She wasn't such a bad fellow, if you left out her
poetry and gush, which I didn't go in for much,--though the other
fellows"--he stopped, from a sudden sense of loyalty to Brimmer and
Markham. "No; you see, Nell, she was regularly ridiculously struck
after that man Perkins,--whom she'd never seen,--a kind of
schoolgirl worship for a pirate. You know how you women go in for
those fellows with a mystery about 'em."
"No, I don't!" said Miss Keene sharply, with a slight rise of
color; "and I don't see what that's got to do with you and her."
"Everything! She was in correspondence with Perkins, and knows
about the Excelsior affair, and wants to help him get out of it
with clean hands, don't you see! That's why she made up to us.
There, Nell; she ain't your style, of course; but you owe a heap to
her for giving us points as to where you were. But that's all over
now; she left us at Mazatlan, and went on to Nicaragua to meet
Perkins somewhere there--for the fellow has always got some Central
American revolution on hand, it appears. Until they garrote or
shoot him some day, he'll go on in the liberating business forever."
"Then there wasn't any Mr. Montgomery, of course?" said Eleanor.
"Oh, Mr. Montgomery," said Dick, hesitating. "Well, you see, Nell,
I think that, knowing how correct and all that sort of thing
Brimmer is, she sort of invented the husband to make her interest
look more proper."
"It's shameful!" said Miss Keene indignantly.
"Come, Nell; one would think you had a personal dislike to her.
Let her go; she won't trouble you--nor, I reckon, ANYBODY, much
longer."
"What do you mean, Dick?"
"I mean she has regularly exhausted and burnt herself out with her
hysterics and excitements, and the drugs she's taken to subdue
them--to say nothing of the Panama fever she got last spring. If
she don't go regularly crazy at last she'll have another attack of
fever, hanging round the isthmus waiting for Perkins."
Meanwhile, undisturbed by excitement or intrusion of the outer
world, the days had passed quietly at the Mission. But one
evening, at twilight, a swift-footed, lightly-clad Indian glided
into the sacristy as if he had slipped from the outlying fog, and
almost immediately as quietly glided away again and disappeared.
The next moment Father Esteban's gaunt and agitated face appeared
at Hurlstone's door.
"My son, God has been merciful, and cut short your probation. The
signal of the ship has just been made. Her boat will be waiting on
the beach two leagues from here an hour hence. Are you ready? and
are you still resolved?"
"I am," said Hurlstone, rising. "I have been prepared since you
first assented."
The old man's lips quivered slightly, and the great brown hand laid
upon the table trembled for an instant; with a strong effort he
recovered himself, and said hurriedly,--
"Concho's mule is saddled and ready for you at the foot of the
garden. You will follow the beach a league beyond the Indians'
cross. In the boat will await you the trusty messenger of the
Church. You will say to him, 'Guadalajara,' and give him these
letters. One is to the captain. You will require no other
introduction." He laid the papers on the table, and, turning to
Hurlstone, lifted his tremulous hands in the air. "And now, my
son, may the grace of God"--
He faltered and stopped, his uplifted arms falling helplessly on
Hurlstone's shoulders. For an instant the young man supported him
in his arms, then placed him gently in the chair he had just
quitted, and for the first time in their intimacy dropped upon his
knee before him. The old man, with a faint smile, placed his hand
upon his companion's head. A breathless pause followed; Father
Esteban's lips moved silently. Suddenly the young man rose,
pressed his lips hurriedly to the Father's hand, and passed out
into the night.
The moon was already suffusing the dropping veil of fog above him
with that nebulous, mysterious radiance he had noticed the first
night he had approached the Mission. When he reached the cross he
dismounted, and gathering a few of the sweet-scented blossoms that
crept around its base, placed them in his breast. Then,
remounting, he continued his way until he came to the spot
designated by Concho as a fitting place to leave his tethered mule.
This done, he proceeded on foot about a mile further along the
hard, wet sand, his eyes fixed on the narrow strip of water and
shore before him that was yet uninvaded by the fog on either side.
The misty, nebulous light, the strange silence, broken only by the
occasional low hurried whisper of some spent wave that sent its
film of spume across his path, or filled his footprints behind him,
possessed him with vague presentiments and imaginings. At times he
fancied he heard voices at his side; at times indistinct figures
loomed through the mist before him. At last what seemed to be his
own shadow faintly impinged upon the mist at one side impressed him
so strongly that he stopped; the apparition stopped too.
Continuing a few hundred paces further, he stopped again; but this
time the ghostly figure passed on, and convinced him that it was no
shadow, but some one actually following him. With an angry
challenge he advanced towards it. It quickly retreated inland, and
was lost. Irritated and suspicious he turned back towards the
water, and was amazed to see before him, not twenty yards away, the
object of his quest--a boat, with two men in it, kept in position
by the occasional lazy dip of an oar. In the pursuit of his
mysterious shadow he had evidently overlooked it. As his own
figure emerged from the fog, the boat pulled towards him. The
priest's password was upon his lips, when he perceived that the TWO
men were common foreign sailors; the messenger of the Church was
evidently not there. Could it have been he who had haunted him?
He paused irresolutely. "Is there none other coming?" he asked.
The two men looked at each other. One said, "Quien sabe!" and
shrugged his shoulders. Hurlstone without further hesitation
leaped aboard.
The same dull wall of vapor--at times thickening to an almost
impenetrable barrier, and again half suffocating him in its soft
embrace--which he had breasted on the night he swam ashore, carried
back his thoughts to that time, now so remote and unreal. And
when, after a few moments' silent rowing, the boat approached a
black hulk that seemed to have started forward out of the gloom to
meet them, his vague recollection began to take a more definite
form. As he climbed up the companion-ladder and boarded the
vessel, an inexplicable memory came over him. A petty officer on
the gangway advanced silently and ushered him, half dazed and
bewildered, into the cabin. He glanced hurriedly around: the door
of a state-room opened, and disclosed the indomitable and affable
Senor Perkins! A slight expression of surprise, however, crossed
the features of the Liberator of Quinquinambo as he advanced with
outstretched hand.
"This is really a surprise, my dear fellow! I had no idea that YOU
were in this affair. But I am delighted to welcome you once more
to the Excelsior!"
CHAPTER VII.
THE RETURN OF THE EXCELSIOR.
Amazed and disconcerted, Hurlstone, nevertheless, retained his
presence of mind.
"There must be some mistake," he said coolly; "I am certainly not
the person you seem to be expecting."
"Were you not sent here by Winslow?" demanded Perkins.
"No. The person you are looking for is probably one I saw on the
shore. He no doubt became alarmed at my approach, and has allowed
me quite unwittingly to take his place in the boat."
Perkins examined Hurlstone keenly for a moment, stepped to the
door, gave a brief order, and returned.
"Then, if you did not intend the honor of this visit for me," he
resumed, with a smile, "may I ask, my dear fellow, whom you
expected to meet, and on what ship? There are not so many at Todos
Santos, if my memory serves me right, as to create confusion."
"I must decline to answer that question," said Hurlstone curtly.
The Senor smiled, with an accession of his old gentleness.
"My dear young friend," he said, "have you forgotten that on a far
more important occasion to YOU, I showed no desire to pry into your
secret?" Hurlstone made a movement of deprecation. "Nor have I
any such desire now. But for the sake of our coming to an
understanding as friends, let me answer the question for you. You
are here, my dear fellow, as a messenger from the Mission of Todos
Santos to the Ecclesiastical Commission from Guadalajara, whose
ship touches here every three years. It is now due. You have
mistaken this vessel for theirs."
Hurlstone remained silent.
"It is no secret," continued Senor Perkins blandly; "nor shall I
pretend to conceal MY purpose here, which is on the invitation of
certain distressed patriots of Todos Santos, to assist them in
their deliverance from the effete tyranny of the Church and its
Government. I have been fortunate enough to anticipate the arrival
of your vessel, as you were fortunate enough to anticipate the
arrival of my messenger. I am doubly fortunate, as it gives me the
pleasure of your company this evening, and necessitates no further
trouble than the return of the boat for the other gentleman--which
has already gone. Doubtless you may know him."
"I must warn you again, Senor Perkins," said Hurlstone sternly,
"that I have no connection with any political party; nor have I any
sympathy with your purpose against the constituted authorities."
"I am willing to believe that you have no political affinities at
all, my dear Mr. Hurlstone," returned Perkins, with unruffled
composure, "and, consequently, we will not argue as to what is the
constituted authority of Todos Santos. Perhaps to-morrow it may be
on board THIS SHIP, and I may still have the pleasure of making you
at home here!"
"Until then," said Hurlstone dryly, "at least you will allow me to
repair my error by returning to the shore."
"For the moment I hardly think it would be wise," replied Perkins
gently. "Allowing that you escaped the vigilance of my friends on
the shore, whose suspicions you have aroused, and who might do you
some injury, you would feel it your duty to inform those who sent
you of the presence of my ship, and thus precipitate a collision
between my friends and yours, which would be promotive of ill-
feeling, and perhaps bloodshed. You know my peaceful disposition,
Mr. Hurlstone; you can hardly expect me to countenance an act of
folly that would be in violation of it."
"In other words, having decoyed me here on board your ship, you
intend to detain me," said Hurlstone insultingly.
"'Decoy,'" said Perkins, in gentle deprecation, "'decoy' is hardly
the word I expected from a gentleman who has been so unfortunate as
to take, unsolicited and of his own free will, another person's
place in a boat. But," he continued, assuming an easy
argumentative attitude, "let us look at it from your view-point.
Let us imagine that YOUR ship had anticipated mine, and that MY
messenger had unwittingly gone on board of HER. What do you think
they would have done to him?"
"They would have hung him at the yard-arm, as he deserved," said
Hurlstone unflinchingly.
"You are wrong," said Perkins gently. "They would have given him
the alternative of betraying his trust, and confessing everything--
which he would probably have accepted. Pardon me!--this is no
insinuation against you," he interrupted,--"but I regret to say
that my experience with the effete Latin races of this continent
has not inspired me with confidence in their loyalty to trust. Let
me give you an instance," he continued, smiling: "the ship you are
expecting is supposed to be an inviolable secret of the Church, but
it is known to me--to my friends ashore--and even to you, my poor
friend, a heretic! More than that, I am told that the Comandante,
the Padre, and Alcalde are actually arranging to deport some of the
American women by this vessel, which has been hitherto sacred to
the emissaries of the Church alone. But you probably know this--it
is doubtless part of your errand. I only mention it to convince
you that I have certainly no need either to know your secrets, to
hang you from the yard-arm if you refused to give them up, or to
hold you as hostage for my messenger, who, as I have shown you, can
take care of himself. I shall not ask you for that secret despatch
you undoubtedly carry next your heart, because I don't want it.
You are at liberty to keep it until you can deliver it, or drop it
out of that port-hole into the sea--as you choose. But I hear the
boat returning," continued Perkins, rising gently from his seat as
the sound of oars came faintly alongside, "and no doubt with
Winslow's messenger. I am sorry you won't let me bring you
together. I dare say he knows all about you, and it really need
not alter your opinions."
"One moment," said Hurlstone, stunned, yet incredulous of Perkins's
revelations. "You said that both the Comandante and Alcalde had
arranged to send away certain ladies--are you not mistaken?"
"I think not," said Perkins quietly, looking over a pile of papers
on the table before him. "Yes, here it is," he continued, reading
from a memorandum: "'Don Ramon Ramirez arranged with Pepe for the
secret carrying off of Dona Barbara Brimmer.' Why, that was six
weeks ago, and here we have the Comandante suborning one Marcia, a
dragoon, to abduct Mrs. Markham--by Jove, my old friend!--and Dona
Leonor--our beauty, was she not? Yes, here it is: in black and
white. Read it, if you like,--and pardon me for one moment, while
I receive this unlucky messenger."
Left to himself, Hurlstone barely glanced at the memorandum, which
seemed to be the rough minutes of some society. He believed
Perkins; but was it possible that the Padre could be ignorant of
the designs of his fellow-councilors? And if he were not--if he
had long before been in complicity with them for the removal of
Eleanor, might he not also have duped him, Hurlstone, and sent him
on this mission as a mere blind; and--more infamously--perhaps even
thus decoyed him on board the wrong ship? No--it was impossible!
His honest blood quickly flew to his cheek at that momentary
disloyal suspicion.
Nevertheless, the Senor's bland revelations filled him with vague
uneasiness. SHE was safe with her brother now; but what if he and
the other Americans were engaged in this ridiculous conspiracy,
this pot-house rebellion that Father Esteban had spoken of, and
which he had always treated with such contempt? It seemed strange
that Perkins had said nothing of the arrival of the relieving party
from the Gulf, and its probable effect on the malcontents. Did he
know it? or was the news now being brought by this messenger whom
he, Hurlstone, had supplanted? If so, when and how had Perkins
received the intelligence that brought him to Todos Santos? The
young man could scarcely repress a bitter smile as he remembered
the accepted idea of Todos Santos' inviolability--that inaccessible
port that had within six weeks secretly summoned Perkins to its
assistance! And it was there he believed himself secure! What
security had he at all? Might not this strange, unimpassioned,
omniscient man already know HIS secret as he had known the others'?
The interview of Perkins with the messenger in the next cabin was a
long one, and apparently a stormy one on the part of the newcomer.
Hurlstone could hear his excited foreign voice, shrill with the
small vehemence of a shallow character; but there was no change in
the slow, measured tones of the Senor. He listlessly began to turn
over the papers on the table. Presently he paused. He had taken
up a sheet of paper on which Senor Perkins had evidently been
essaying some composition in verse. It seemed to have been of a
lugubrious character. The titular line at the top of the page,
"Dirge," had been crossed out for the substituted "In Memoriam."
He read carelessly:
"O Muse unmet--but not unwept--
I seek thy sacred haunt in vain.
Too late, alas! the tryst is kept--
We may not meet again!
"I sought thee 'midst the orange bloom,
To find that thou hadst grasped the palm
Of martyr, and the silent tomb
Had hid thee in its calm.
"By fever racked, thou languishest
On Nicaragua's"--
Hurlstone threw the paper aside. Although he had not forgotten the
Senor's reputation for sentimental extravagance, and on another
occasion might have laughed at it, there was something so monstrous
in this hysterical, morbid composition of the man who was even then
contemplating bloodshed and crime, that he was disgusted. Like
most sentimental egotists, Hurlstone was exceedingly intolerant of
that quality in others, and he turned for relief to his own
thoughts of Eleanor Keene and his own unfortunate passion. HE
could not have written poetry at such a moment!
But the cabin-door opened, and Senor Perkins appeared. Whatever
might have been the excited condition of his unknown visitor, the
Senor's round, clean-shaven face was smiling and undisturbed by
emotion. As his eye fell on the page of manuscript Hurlstone had
just cast down, a slight shadow crossed his beneficent expanse of
forehead, and deepened in his soft dark eyes; but the next moment
it was chased away by his quick recurring smile. Even thus
transient and superficial was his feeling, thought Hurlstone.
"I have some news for you," said Perkins affably, "which may alter
your decision about returning. My friends ashore," he continued,
"judging from the ingenuous specimen which has just visited me, are
more remarkable for their temporary zeal and spasmodic devotion
than for prudent reserve or lasting discretion. They have
submitted a list to me of those whom they consider dangerous to
Mexican liberty, and whom they are desirous of hanging. I regret
to say that the list is illogical, and the request inopportune.
Our friend Mr. Banks is put down as an ally of the Government and
an objectionable business rival of that eminent patriot and well-
known drover, Senor Martinez, who just called upon me. Mr.
Crosby's humor is considered subversive of a proper respect for all
patriotism; but I cannot understand why they have added YOUR name
as especially 'dangerous.'"
Hurlstone made a gesture of contempt.
"I suppose they pay me the respect of considering me a friend of
the old priest. So be it! I hope they will let the responsibility
fall on me alone."
"The Padre is already proscribed as one of the Council," said Senor
Perkins quietly.
"Do you mean to say," said Hurlstone impetuously, "that you will
permit a hair of that innocent old man's head to be harmed by those
wretches?"
"You are generous but hasty, my friend," said Senor Perkins, in
gentle deprecation. "Allow me to put your question in another way.
Ask me if I intend to perpetuate the Catholic Church in Todos
Santos by adding another martyr to its roll, and I will tell you--
No! I need not say that I am equally opposed to any proceedings
against Banks, Crosby, and yourself, for diplomatic reasons, apart
from the kindly memories of our old associations on this ship. I
have therefore been obliged to return to the excellent Martinez his
little list, with the remark that I should hold HIM personally
responsible if any of you are molested. There is, however, no
danger. Messrs. Banks and Crosby are with the other Americans,
whom we have guaranteed to protect, at the Mission, in the care of
your friend the Padre. You are surprised! Equally so was the
Padre. Had you delayed your departure an hour you would have met
them, and I should have been debarred the pleasure of your company.
"By to-morrow," continued Perkins, placing the tips of his fingers
together reflectively, "the Government of Todos Santos will have
changed hands, and without bloodshed. You look incredulous! My
dear young friend, it has been a part of my professional pride to
show the world that these revolutions can be accomplished as
peacefully as our own changes of administration. But for a few
infelicitous accidents, this would have been the case of the late
liberation of Quinquinambo. The only risk run is to myself--the
leader, and that is as it should be. But all this personal
explanation is, doubtless, uninteresting to you, my young friend.
I meant only to say that, if you prefer not to remain here, you can
accompany me when I leave the ship at nine o'clock with a small
reconnoitring party, and I will give you safe escort back to your
friends at the Mission."
This amicable proposition produced a sudden revulsion of feeling in
Hurlstone. To return to those people from whom he was fleeing, in
what was scarcely yet a serious emergency, was not to be thought
of! Yet, where could he go? How could he be near enough to assist
HER without again openly casting his lot among them? And would
they not consider his return an act of cowardice? He could not
restrain a gesture of irritation as he rose impatiently to his
feet.
"You are agitated, my dear fellow. It is not unworthy of your
youth; but, believe me, it is unnecessary," said Perkins, in his
most soothing manner. "Sit down. You have an hour yet to make
your decision. If you prefer to remain, you will accompany the
ship to Todos Santos and join me."
"I don't comprehend you," interrupted Hurlstone suspiciously.
"I forgot," said Perkins, with a bland smile, "that you are unaware
of our plan of campaign. After communicating with the insurgents,
I land here with a small force to assist them. I do this to
anticipate any action and prevent the interference of the Mexican
coaster, now due, which always touches here through ignorance of
the channel leading to the Bay of Todos Santos and the Presidio. I
then send the Excelsior, that does know the channel, to Todos
Santos, to appear before the Presidio, take the enemy in flank, and
cooperate with us. The arrival of the Excelsior there is the last
move of this little game, if I may so call it: it is 'checkmate to
the King,' the clerical Government of Todos Santos."
A little impressed, in spite of himself, with the calm forethought
and masterful security of the Senor, Hurlstone thanked him with a
greater show of respect than he had hitherto evinced. The Senor
looked gratified, but unfortunately placed that respect the next
moment in peril.
"You were possibly glancing over these verses," he said, with a
hesitating and almost awkward diffidence, indicating the manuscript
Hurlstone had just thrown aside. "It is merely the first rough
draft of a little tribute I had begun to a charming friend. I
sometimes," he interpolated, with an apologetic smile, "trifle with
the Muse. Perhaps I ought not to use the word 'trifle' in
connection with a composition of a threnodial and dirge-like
character," he continued deprecatingly. "Certainly not in the
presence of a gentleman as accomplished and educated as yourself,
to whom recreation of this kind is undoubtedly familiar. My
occupations have been, unfortunately, of a nature not favorable to
the indulgence of verse. As a college man yourself, my dear sir,
you will probably forgive the lucubrations of an old graduate of
William and Mary's, who has forgotten his 'ars poetica.' The
verses you have possibly glanced at are crude, I am aware, and
perhaps show the difficulty of expressing at once the dictates of
the heart and the brain. They refer to a dear friend now at peace.
You have perhaps, in happier and more careless hours, heard me
speak of Mrs. Euphemia M'Corkle, of Illinois?"
Hurlstone remembered indistinctly to have heard, even in his
reserved exclusiveness on the Excelsior, the current badinage of
the passengers concerning Senor Perkins' extravagant adulation of
this unknown poetess. As a part of the staple monotonous humor of
the voyage, it had only disgusted him. With a feeling that he was
unconsciously sharing the burlesque relief of the passengers, he
said, with a polite attempt at interest,
"Then the lady is--no more?"
"If that term can be applied to one whose work is immortal,"
corrected Senor Perkins gently. "All that was finite of this
gifted woman was lately forwarded by Adams's Express Company from
San Juan, to receive sepulture among her kindred at Keokuk, Iowa."
"Did she say she was from that place?" asked Hurlstone, with half
automatic interest.
"The Consul says she gave that request to the priest."
"Then you were not with her when she died?" said Hurlstone
absently.
"I was NEVER with her, neither then nor before," returned Senor
Perkins gravely. Seeing Hurlstone's momentary surprise, he went
on, "The late Mrs. M'Corkle and I never met--we were personally
unknown to each other. You may have observed the epithet 'unmet'
in the first line of the first stanza; you will then understand
that the privation of actual contact with this magnetic soul would
naturally impart more difficulty into elegiac expression."
"Then you never really saw the lady you admire?" said Hurlstone
vacantly.
"Never. The story is a romantic one," said Perkins, with a smile
that was half complacent and yet half embarrassed. "May I tell it
to you? Thanks. Some three years ago I contributed some verses to
the columns of a Western paper edited by a friend of mine. The
subject chosen was my favorite one, 'The Liberation of Mankind,' in
which I may possibly have expressed myself with some poetic fervor
on a theme so dear to my heart. I may remark without vanity, that
it received high encomiums--perhaps at some more opportune moment
you may be induced to cast your eyes over a copy I still retain--
but no praise touched me as deeply as a tribute in verse in another
journal from a gifted unknown, who signed herself 'Euphemia.' The
subject of the poem, which was dedicated to myself, was on the
liberation of women--from--er--I may say certain domestic shackles;
treated perhaps vaguely, but with grace and vigor. I replied a
week later in a larger poem, recording more fully my theories and
aspirations regarding a struggling Central American confederacy,
addressed to 'Euphemia.' She rejoined with equal elaboration and
detail, referring to a more definite form of tyranny in the
relations of marriage, and alluding with some feeling to
uncongenial experiences of her own. An instinct of natural
delicacy, veiled under the hyperbole of 'want of space,' prevented
my editorial friend from encouraging the repetition of this
charming interchange of thought and feeling. But I procured the
fair stranger's address; we began a correspondence, at once
imaginative and sympathetic in expression, if not always poetical
in form. I was called to South America by the Macedonian cry of
'Quinquinambo!' I still corresponded with her. When I returned to
Quinquinambo I received letters from her, dated from San Francisco.
I feel that my words could only fail, my dear Hurlstone, to convey
to you the strength and support I derived from those impassioned
breathings of aid and sympathy at that time. Enough for me to
confess that it was mainly due to the deep womanly interest that
SHE took in the fortunes of the passengers of the Excelsior that I
gave the Mexican authorities early notice of their whereabouts.
But, pardon me,"--he stopped hesitatingly, with a slight flush, as
he noticed the utterly inattentive face and attitude of Hurlstone,--
"I am boring you. I am forgetting that this is only important to
myself," he added, with a sigh. "I only intended to ask your
advice in regard to the disposition of certain manuscripts and
effects of hers, which are unconnected with our acquaintance. I
thought, perhaps, I might entrust them to your delicacy and
consideration. They are here, if you choose to look them over; and
here is also what I believe to be a daguerreotype of the lady
herself, but in which I fail to recognize her soul and genius."
He laid a bundle of letters and a morocco case on the table with a
carelessness that was intended to hide a slight shade of
disappointment in his face--and rose.
"I beg your pardon," said Hurlstone, in confused and remorseful
apology; "but I frankly confess that my thoughts WERE preoccupied.
Pray forgive me. If you will leave these papers with me, I promise
to devote myself to them another time."
"As you please," said the Senor, with a slight return of his old
affability. "But don't bore yourself now. Let us go on deck."
He passed out of the cabin as Hurlstone glanced, half mechanically,
at the package before him. Suddenly his cheek reddened; he
stopped, looked hurriedly at the retreating form of Perkins, and
picked up a manuscript from the packet. It was in his wife's
handwriting. A sudden idea flashed across his mind, and seemed to
illuminate the obscure monotony of the story he had just heard. He
turned hurriedly to the morocco case, and opened it with trembling
fingers. It was a daguerreotype, faded and silvered; but the
features were those of his wife!
CHAPTER VIII.
HOSTAGE.
The revolution of Todos Santos had to all appearances been effected
as peacefully as the gentle Liberator of Quinquinambo could have
wished. Two pronunciamientos, rudely printed and posted in the
Plaza, and saluted by the fickle garrison of one hundred men, who
had, however, immediately reappointed their old commander as
Generalissimo under the new regime, seemed to leave nothing to be
desired. A surging mob of vacant and wondering peons, bearing a
singular resemblance to the wild cattle and horses which
intermingled with them in blind and unceasing movement across the
Plaza and up the hilly street, and seemingly as incapable of self-
government, were alternately dispersed and stampeded or allowed to
gather again as occasion required. Some of these heterogeneous
bands were afterwards found--the revolution accomplished--gazing
stupidly on the sea, or ruminating in bovine wantonness on the
glacis before the Presidio.
Eleanor Keene, who with her countrywomen had been hurried to the
refuge of the Mission, was more disturbed and excited at the
prospect of meeting Hurlstone again than by any terror of the
insurrection. But Hurlstone was not there, and Father Esteban
received her with a coldness she could not attribute entirely to
her countrymen's supposed sympathy with the insurgents. When
Richard Keene, who would not leave his sister until he had seen her
safe under the Mission walls, ventured at her suggestion to ask
after the American recluse, Father Esteban replied dryly that,
being a Christian gentleman, Hurlstone was the only one who had the
boldness to seek out the American filibuster Perkins, on his own
ship, and remonstrate with him for his unholy crusade. For the old
priest had already become aware of Hurlstone's blunder, and he
hated Eleanor as the primary cause of the trouble. But for her,
Diego would be still with him in this emergency.
"Never mind, Nell," said Dick, noticing the disappointed eyes of
his sister as they parted, "you'll all be safe here until we
return. Between you and me, Banks, Brimmer, and I think that Brace
and Winslow have gone too far in this matter, and we're going to
stop it, unless the whole thing is over now, as they say."
"Don't believe that," said Crosby. "It's like their infernal
earthquakes; there's always a second shock, and a tidal wave to
follow. I pity Brace, Winslow, and Perkins if they get caught in
it."
There seemed to be some reason for his skepticism, for later the
calm of the Mission Garden was broken upon by the monotonous tread
of banded men on the shell-strewn walks, and the door of the
refectory opened to the figure of Senor Perkins. A green silk sash
across his breast, a gold-laced belt, supporting a light dress-
sword and a pair of pistols, buckled around the jaunty waist of his
ordinary black frock-coat, were his scant martial suggestions. But
his hat, albeit exchanged for a soft felt one, still reposed on the
back of his benevolent head, and seemed to accent more than ever
the contrast between his peaceful shoulders and the military
smartness of his lower figure. He bowed with easy politeness to
the assembled fugitives; but before he could address them, Father
Esteban had risen to his feet,--
"I thought that this house, at least, was free from the desecrating
footsteps of lawlessness and impiety," said the priest sternly.
"How dare YOU enter here?"
"Nothing but the desire to lend my assistance to the claims of
beauty, innocence, helplessness, and--if you will allow me to add,"
with a low bow to the priest--"sanctity, caused this intrusion.
For I regret to say that, through the ill-advised counsels of some
of my fellow-patriots, the Indian tribes attached to this Mission
are in revolt, and threaten even this sacred building."
"It is false!" said Father Esteban indignantly. "Even under the
accursed manipulation of your emissaries, the miserable heathen
would not dare to raise a parricidal hand against the Church that
fostered him!"
Senor Perkins smiled gently, but sadly.
"Your belief, reverend sir, does you infinite credit. But, to save
time, let me give way to a gentleman who, I believe, possesses your
confidence. He will confirm my statement."
He drew aside, and allowed Hurlstone, who had been standing
unperceived behind, to step forward. The Padre uttered an
exclamation of pleasure. Miss Keene colored quickly. Hurlstone
cast a long and lingering glance at her, which seemed to the
embarrassed girl full of a new, strange meaning, and then advanced
quickly with outstretched hands towards Father Esteban.
"He speaks truly," he said, hurriedly, "and in the interests of
humanity alone. The Indians have been tampered with treacherously,
against his knowledge and consent. He only seeks now to prevent
the consequences of this folly by placing you and these ladies out
of reach of harm aboard of the Excelsior."
"A very proper and excellent idea," broke in Mrs. Brimmer, with
genteel precision. "You see these people evidently recognize the
fact of Mr. Brimmer's previous ownership of the Excelsior, and the
respect that is due to him. I, for one, shall accept the offer,
and insist upon Miss Chubb accompanying me."
"I shall be charmed to extend the hospitality of the Excelsior to
you on any pretext," said the Senor gallantly, "and, indeed, should
insist upon personally accompanying you and my dear friends Mrs.
Markham and Miss Keene; but, alas! I am required elsewhere. I
leave," he continued, turning towards Hurlstone, who was already
absorbed in a whispered consultation with Padre Esteban--"I leave a
sufficient escort with you to protect your party to the boats which
have brought us here. You will take them to the Excelsior, and
join me with the ship off Todos Santos in the morning. Adieu, my
friends! Good-night, and farewell!"
The priest made a vehement movement of protestation, but he was
checked by Hurlstone, as, with a low bow, Senor Perkins passed out
into the darkness. The next moment his voice was heard raised in
command, and the measured tramp of his men gradually receded and
was lost in the distance.
"Does he think," said the priest indignantly, "that I, Padre
Esteban, would desert my sacred trust, and leave His Holy Temple a
prey to sacrilegious trespass? Never, while I live, Diego! Call
him back and tell him so!"
"Rather listen to me, Father Esteban," said the young man
earnestly. "I have a plan by which this may be avoided. From my
knowledge of these Indians, I am convinced that they have been
basely tricked and cajoled by some one. I believe that they are
still amenable to reason and argument, and I am so certain that I
am ready to go down among them and make the attempt. The old Chief
and part of his band are still encamped on the shore; we could hear
them as we passed in the boats. I will go and meet them. If I
succeed in bringing them to reason I will return; if I find them
intractable, I will at least divert their attention from the
Mission long enough for you to embark these ladies with their
escort, which you will do at the end of two hours if I do not
return."
"In two hours?" broke in Mrs. Brimmer, in sharp protest. "I
positively object. I certainly understood that Senor Perkins'
invitation, which, under the circumstances, I shall consider equal
to a command from Mr. Brimmer, was to be accepted at once and
without delay; and I certainly shall not leave Miss Chubb exposed
to imminent danger for two hours to meet the caprice of an entire
stranger to Mr. Brimmer."
"I am willing to stay with Father Esteban, if he will let me," said
Eleanor Keene quietly, "for I have faith in Mr. Hurlstone's
influence and courage, and believe he will be successful."
The young man thanked her with another demonstrative look that
brought the warm blood to her cheek.
"Well," said Mrs. Markham promptly; "I suppose if Nell stays I must
see the thing through and stay with her--even if I haven't orders
from Jimmy."
"There is no necessity that either Mr. or Mrs. Brimmer should be
disobeyed in their wishes," said Hurlstone grimly. "Luckily there
are two boats; Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb can take one of them
with half the escort, and proceed at once to the Excelsior. I will
ride with them as far as the boat. And now," he continued, turning
to the old priest, with sparkling eyes, "I have only to ask your
blessing, and the good wishes of these ladies, to go forth on my
mission of peace. If I am successful," he added, with a light
laugh, "confess that a layman and a heretic may do some service for
the Church." As the old man laid his half detaining, half
benedictory hands upon his shoulders, the young man seized the
opportunity to whisper in his ear, "Remember your promise to tell
her ALL I have told you," and, with an other glance at Miss Keene,
he marshalled Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb before him, and hurried
them to the boat.
Miss Keene looked after him with a vague felicity in the change
that seemed to have come on him, a change that she could as little
account for as her own happiness. Was it the excitement of danger
that had overcome his reserve, and set free his compressed will and
energy? She longed for her brother to see him thus--alert, strong,
and chivalrous. In her girlish faith, she had no fear for his
safety; he would conquer, he would succeed; he would come back to
them victorious! Looking up from her happy abstraction, at the
side of Mrs. Markham, who had calmly gone to sleep in an arm-chair,
she saw Father Esteban's eyes fixed upon her. With a warning
gesture of the hand towards Mrs. Markham, he rose, and, going to
the door of the sacristy, beckoned to her. The young girl
noiselessly crossed the room and followed him into the sanctuary.
Half an hour later, and while Mrs. Markham was still asleep, Father
Esteban appeared at the door of the sacristy ostentatiously taking
snuff, and using a large red handkerchief to wipe his more than
usually humid eyes. Eleanor Keene, with her chin resting on her
hand, remained sitting as he had left her, with her abstracted eyes
fixed vacantly on the lamp before the statue of the Virgin and the
half-lit gloom of the nave.
Padre Esteban had told her ALL! She now knew Hurlstone's history
even as he had hesitatingly imparted it to the old priest in this
very church--perhaps upon the very seat where she sat. She knew
the peace that he had sought for and found within these walls,
broken only by his passion for her! She knew his struggles against
the hopelessness of this new-born love, even the desperate remedy
that had been adopted against herself, and the later voluntary
exile of her lover. She knew the providential culmination of his
trouble in the news brought unconsciously by Perkins, which, but a
few hours ago, he had verified by the letters, records, and even
the certificate of death that had thus strangely been placed in his
hands! She knew all this so clearly now, that, with the instinct
of a sympathetic nature, she even fancied she had heard it before.
She knew that all the obstacles to an exchange of their affection
had been removed; that her lover only waited his opportunity to
hear from her own lips the answer that was even now struggling at
her heart. And yet she hesitated and drew back, half frightened in
the presence of her great happiness. How she longed, and yet
dreaded, to meet him! What if anything should have happened to
him?--what if he should be the victim of some treachery?--what if
he did not come?--what if?--"Good heavens! what was that?"
She was near the door of the sacristy, gazing into the dim and
shadowy church. Either she was going mad, or else the grotesque
Indian hangings of the walls were certainly moving towards her.
She rose in speechless terror, as what she had taken for an
uncouthly swathed and draped barbaric pillar suddenly glided to the
window. Crouching against the wall, she crept breathlessly towards
the entrance to the garden. Casting a hurried glance above her,
she saw the open belfry that was illuminated by the misty radiance
of the moon, darkly shadowed by hideously gibbering faces that
peered at her through the broken tracery. With a cry of horror she
threw open the garden-door; but the next moment was swallowed up in
the tumultuous tide of wild and half naked Indians who surged
against the walls of the church, and felt herself lifted from her
feet, with inarticulate cries, and borne along the garden. Even in
her mortal terror, she could recognize that the cries were not
those of rage, but of vacant satisfaction; that although she was
lifted on lithe shoulders, the grasp of her limbs was gentle, and
the few dark faces she could see around her were glistening in
childlike curiosity. Presently she felt herself placed upon the
back of a mule, that seemed to be swayed hither and thither in the
shifting mass, and the next moment the misty, tossing cortege moved
forward with a new and more definite purpose. She called aloud for
Father Esteban and Mrs. Markham; her voice appeared to flow back
upon her from the luminous wall of fog that closed around her.
Then the inarticulate, irregular outcries took upon themselves a
measured rhythm, the movement of the mass formed itself upon the
monotonous chant, the intervals grew shorter, the mule broke into a
trot, and then the whole vast multitude fell into a weird,
rhythmical, jogging quick step at her side.
Whatever was the intent of this invasion of the Mission and her own
strange abduction, she was relieved by noticing that they were
going in the same direction as that taken by Hurlstone an hour
before. Either he was cognizant of their movements, and, being
powerless to prevent their attack on the church, had stipulated
they were to bring her to him in safety, or else he was calculating
to intercept them on the way. The fog prevented her from forming
any estimation of the numbers that surrounded her, or if the Padre
and Mrs. Markham were possibly preceding her as captives in the
vanguard. She felt the breath of the sea, and knew they were
traveling along the shore; the monotonous chant and jogging motion
gradually dulled her active terror to an apathetic resignation, in
which occasionally her senses seemed to swoon and swim in the
dreamy radiance through which they passed; at times it seemed a
dream or nightmare with which she was hopelessly struggling; at
times she was taking part in an unhallowed pageant, or some heathen
sacrificial procession of which she was the destined victim.
She had no consciousness of how long the hideous journey lasted.
Her benumbed senses were suddenly awakened by a shock; the chant
had ceased, the moving mass in which she was imbedded rolled
forward once more as if by its own elasticity, and then receded
again with a jar that almost unseated her. Then the inarticulate
murmur was overborne by a voice. It was HIS! She turned blindly
towards it; but before she could utter the cry that rose to her
lips, she was again lifted from the saddle, carried forward, and
gently placed upon what seemed to be a moss-grown bank. Opening
her half swimming eyes she recognized the Indian cross. The crowd
seemed to recede before her. Her eyes closed again as a strong arm
passed around her waist.
"Speak to me, Miss Keene--Eleanor--my darling!" said Hurlstone's
voice. "O my God! they have killed her!"
With an effort she moved her head and tried to smile. Their eyes,
and then their lips met; she fainted.
When she struggled to her senses again, she was lying in the stern-
sheets of the Excelsior's boat, supported on Mrs. Markham's
shoulder. For an instant the floating veil of fog around her, and
the rhythmical movement of the boat, seemed a part of her
mysterious ride, and she raised her head with a faint cry for
Hurlstone.
"It's all right, my dear," said Mrs. Markham, soothingly; "he's
ashore with the Padre, and everything else is all right too. But
it's rather ridiculous to think that those idiotic Indians believed
the only way they could show Mr. Hurlstone that they meant us no
harm was to drag us all up to THEIR Mission, as they call that half
heathen cross of theirs--for safety against--who do you think,
dear?--the dreadful AMERICANS! And imagine all the while the Padre
and I were just behind you, bringing up the rear of the procession--
only they wouldn't let us join you because they wanted to show you
special honor as"--she sank her voice to a whisper in Eleanor's
ear--"as the future Mrs. Hurlstone! It appears they must have
noticed something about you two, the last time you were there, my
dear. And--to think--YOU never told me anything about it!"
When they reached the Excelsior, they found that Mrs. Brimmer,
having already settled herself in the best cabin, was inclined to
extend the hospitalities of the ship with the air of a hostess.
But the arrival of Hurlstone at midnight with some delegated
authority from Senor Perkins, and the unexpected getting under way
of the ship, disturbed her complacency.
"We are going through the channel into the bay of Todos Santos,"
was the brief reply vouchsafed her by Hurlstone.
"But why can't we remain here and wait for Mr. Brimmer?" she asked
indignantly.
"Because," responded Hurlstone grimly, "the Excelsior is expected
off the Presidio to-morrow morning to aid the insurgents."
"You don't mean to say that Miss Chubb and myself are to be put in
the attitude of arraying ourselves against the constituted
authorities--and, perhaps, Mr. Brimmer himself?" asked Mrs.
Brimmer, in genuine alarm.
"It looks so," said Hurlstone, a little maliciously; "but, no
doubt, your husband and the Senor will arrange it amicably."
To Mrs. Markham and Miss Keene he explained more satisfactorily
that the unexpected disaffection of the Indians had obliged Perkins
to so far change his plans as to disembark his entire force from
the Excelsior, and leave her with only the complement of men
necessary to navigate her through the channel of Todos Santos,
where she would peacefully await his orders, or receive his men in
case of defeat.
Nevertheless, as the night was nearly spent, Mrs. Markham and
Eleanor preferred to await the coming day on deck, and watch the
progress of the Excelsior through the mysterious channel. In a few
moments the barque began to feel the combined influence of the tide
and the slight morning breeze, and, after rounding an invisible
point, she presently rose and fell on the larger ocean swell. The
pilot, whom Hurlstone recognized as the former third mate of the
Excelsior, appeared to understand the passage perfectly; and even
Hurlstone and the ladies, who had through eight months' experience
become accustomed to the luminous obscurity of Todos Santos, could
detect the faint looming of the headland at the entrance. The same
soothing silence, even the same lulling of the unseen surf, which
broke in gentle undulations over the bar, and seemed to lift the
barque in rocking buoyancy over the slight obstruction, came back
to them as on the day of their fateful advent. The low orders of
the pilot, the cry of the leadsman in the chains, were but a part
of the restful past.
Under the combined influence of the hour and the climate, the
conversation fell into monosyllables, and Mrs. Markham dozed. The
lovers sat silently together, but the memory of a kiss was between
them. It spanned the gulf of the past with an airy bridge, over
which their secret thoughts and fancies passed and repassed with a
delicious security; henceforth they could not flee from that
memory, even if they wished; they read it in each other's lightest
glance; they felt it in the passing touch of each other's hands; it
lingered, with vague tenderness, on the most trivial interchange of
thought. Yet they spoke a little of the future. Eleanor believed
that her brother would not object to their union; he had spoken of
entering into business at Todos Santos, and perhaps when peace and
security were restored they might live together. Hurlstone did not
tell her that a brief examination of his wife's papers had shown
him that the property he had set aside for her maintenance, and
from which she had regularly drawn an income, had increased in
value, and left him a rich man. He only pressed her hand, and
whispered that her wishes should be his. They had become tenderly
silent again, as the Excelsior, now fairly in the bay, appeared to
be slowly drifting, with listless sails and idle helm, in languid
search of an anchorage. Suddenly they were startled by a cry from
the lookout.
"Sail ho!"
There was an incredulous start on the deck. The mate sprang into
the fore-rigging with an oath of protestation. But at the same
moment the tall masts and spars of a vessel suddenly rose like a
phantom out of the fog at their side. The half disciplined foreign
crew uttered a cry of rage and trepidation, and huddled like sheep
in the waist, with distracted gestures; even the two men at the
wheel forsook their post to run in dazed terror to the taffrail.
Before the mate could restore order to this chaos, the Excelsior
had drifted, with a scarcely perceptible concussion, against the
counter of the strange vessel. In an instant a dozen figures
appeared on its bulwarks, and dropped unimpeded upon the
Excelsior's deck. As the foremost one approached the mate, the
latter shrank back in consternation.
"Captain Bunker!"
"Yes," said the figure, advancing with a mocking laugh; "Captain
Bunker it is. Captain Bunker, formerly of this American barque
Excelsior, and now of the Mexican ship La Trinidad. Captain Bunker
ez larnt every foot of that passage in an open boat last August,
and didn't forget it yesterday in a big ship! Captain Bunker ez
has just landed a company of dragoons to relieve the Presidio.
What d'ye say to that, Mr. M'Carthy--eh?"
"I say," answered M'Carthy, raising his voice with a desperate
effort to recover his calmness, "I say that Perkins landed with
double that number of men yesterday around that point, and that
he'll be aboard here in half an hour to make you answer for this
insult to his ship and his Government."
"His Government!" echoed Bunker, with a hoarser laugh; "hear him!--
HIS Government! His Government died at four o'clock this morning,
when his own ringleaders gave him up to the authorities. Ha! Why,
this yer revolution is played out, old man; and Generalissimo
Leonidas Perkins is locked up in the Presidio."
CHAPTER IX.
LIBERATED.
The revolution was, indeed, ended. The unexpected arrival of a
relieving garrison in the bay of Todos Santos had completed what
the dissensions in the insurgents' councils had begun; the
discontents, led by Brace and Winslow, had united with the
Government against Perkins and his aliens; but a compromise had
been effected by the treacherous giving up of the Liberator himself
in return for an amnesty granted to his followers. The part that
Bunker had played in bringing about this moral catastrophe was,
however, purely adventitious. When he had recovered his health,
and subsequent events had corroborated the truth of his story, the
Mexican Government, who had compromised with Quinquinambo, was
obliged to recognize his claims by offering him command of the
missionary ship, and permission to rediscover the channel, the
secret of which had been lost for half a century to the Government.
He had arrived at the crucial moment when Perkins' command were
scattered along the seashore, and the dragoons had invested Todos
Santos without opposition.
Such was the story substantially told to Hurlstone and confirmed on
his debarkation with the ladies at Todos Santos, the Excelsior
being now in the hands of the authorities. Hurlstone did not
hesitate to express to Padre Esteban his disgust at the treachery
which had made a scapegoat of Senor Perkins. But to his surprise
the cautious priest only shrugged his shoulders as he took a
complacent pinch of snuff.
"Have a care, Diego! You are of necessity grateful to this man for
the news he has brought--nay, more, for possibly being the
instrument elected by Providence to precipitate the denouement of
that miserable woman's life--but let it not close your eyes to his
infamous political career. I admit that he was opposed to the
revolt of the heathen against us, but it was his emissaries and his
doctrines that poisoned with heresy the fountains from which they
drank. Enough! Be grateful! but do not expect ME to intercede for
Baal and Ashtaroth!"
"Intercede!" echoed Hurlstone, alarmed at the sudden sacerdotal
hardness that had overspread the old priest's face. "Surely the
Council will not be severe with the man who was betrayed into their
power by others equally guilty?"
Padre Esteban avoided Hurlstone's eyes as he answered with affected
coolness,--"Quien sabe? There will be expulsados, no doubt. The
Excelsior, which is confiscated, will be sent to Mexico with them."
"I must see Senor Perkins," said Hurlstone suddenly.
The priest hesitated.
"When?" he asked cautiously.
"At once."
"Good." He wrote a hurried line on a piece of paper, folded it,
sealed it, and gave it to Hurlstone. "You will hand that to the
Comandante. He will give you access to the prisoner."
In less than half an hour Hurlstone presented himself before the
Commander. The events of the last twenty-four hours had evidently
affected Don Miguel, for although he received Hurlstone courteously,
there was a singular reflection of the priest's harshness in his
face as he glanced over the missive. He took out his watch.
"I give you ten minutes with the prisoner, Don Diego. More, I
cannot."
A little awed by the manner of the Commander, Hurlstone bowed and
followed him across the courtyard. It was filled with soldiers,
and near the gateway a double file of dragoons, with loaded
carbines, were standing at ease. Two sentries were ranged on each
side of an open door which gave upon the courtyard. The Commander
paused before it, and with a gesture invited him to enter. It was
a large square apartment, lighted only by the open door and a
grated enclosure above it. Seated in his shirtsleeves, before a
rude table, Senor Perkins was quietly writing. The shadow of
Hurlstone's figure falling across his paper caused him to look up.
Whatever anxiety Hurlstone had begun to feel, it was quickly
dissipated by the hearty, affable, and even happy greeting of the
prisoner.
"Ah! what! my young friend Hurlstone! Again an unexpected
pleasure," he said, extending his white hands. "And again you find
me wooing the Muse, in, I fear, hesitating numbers." He pointed to
the sheet of paper before him, which showed some attempts at
versification. "But I confess to a singular fascination in the
exercise of poetic composition, in instants of leisure like this--a
fascination which, as a man of imagination yourself, you can
appreciate."
"And I am sorry to find you here, Senor Perkins," began Hurlstone
frankly; "but I believe it will not be for long."
"My opinion," said the Senor, with a glance of gentle contemplation
at the distant Comandante, "as far as I may express it, coincides
with your own."
"I have come," continued Hurlstone earnestly, "to offer you my
services. I am ready," he raised his voice, with a view of being
overheard, "to bear testimony that you had no complicity in the
baser part of the late conspiracy,--the revolt of the savages, and
that you did your best to counteract the evil, although in doing so
you have sacrificed yourself. I shall claim the right to speak
from my own knowledge of the Indians and from their admission to me
that they were led away by the vague representations of Martinez,
Brace, and Winslow."
"Pardon--pardon me," said Senor Perkins deprecatingly, "you are
mistaken. My general instructions, no doubt, justified these young
gentlemen in taking, I shall not say extreme, but injudicious
measures." He glanced meaningly in the direction of the Commander,
as if to warn Hurlstone from continuing, and said gently, "But let
us talk of something else. I thank you for your gracious
intentions, but you remember that we agreed only yesterday that you
knew nothing of politics, and did not concern yourself with them.
I do not know but you are wise. Politics and the science of self-
government, although dealing with general principles, are apt to be
defined by the individual limitations of the enthusiast. What is
good for HIMSELF he too often deems is applicable to the general
public, instead of wisely understanding that what is good for THEM
must be good for himself. But," said the Senor lightly, "we are
again transgressing. We were to choose another topic. Let it be
yourself, Mr. Hurlstone. You are looking well, sir; indeed, I may
say I never saw you looking so well! Let me congratulate you.
Health is the right of youth. May you keep both!"
He shook Hurlstone's hand again with singular fervor.
There was a slight bustle and commotion at the door of the guard-
room, and the Commander's attention was called in that direction.
Hurlstone profited by the opportunity to say in a hurried whisper:
"Tell me what I can do for you;" and he hesitated to voice his
renewed uneasiness--"tell me if--if--if your case is--urgent!"
Senor Perkins lifted his shoulders and smiled with grateful
benevolence.
"You have already promised me to deliver those papers and
manuscripts of my deceased friend, and to endeavor to find her
relations. I do not think it is urgent, however."
"I do not mean that," said Hurlstone eagerly. "I"--but Perkins
stopped him with a sign that the Commander was returning.
Don Miguel approached them with disturbed and anxious looks.
"I have yielded to the persuasions of two ladies, Dona Leonor and
the Senora Markham, to ask you to see them for a moment," he said
to Senor Perkins. "Shall it be so? I have told them the hour is
nearly spent."
"You have told them--NOTHING MORE?" asked the Senor, in a whisper
unheard by Hurlstone.
"No."
"Let them come, then."
The Commander made a gesture to the sentries at the guard-room, who
drew back to allow Mrs. Markham and Eleanor to pass. A little
child, one of Eleanor's old Presidio pupils, who, recognizing her,
had followed her into the guard-room, now emerged with her, and
momentarily disconcerted at the presence of the Commander, ran,
with the unerring instinct of childhood, to the Senor for
protection. The filibuster smiled, and lifting the child with a
paternal gesture to his shoulder by one hand, he extended the other
to the ladies.
"The Commander," said Mrs. Markham briskly, "says it's against the
rules; that visiting time is up; and you've already got a friend
with you, and all that sort of thing; but I told him that I was
bound to see you, if only to say that if there's any meanness going
on, Susannah and James Markham ain't in it! No! But we're going
to see you put right and square in the matter; and if we can't do
it here, we'll do it, if we have to follow you to Mexico!--that's
all!"
"And I," said Eleanor, grasping the Senor's hand, and half blushing
as she glanced at Hurlstone, "see that I have already a friend here
who will help me to put in action all the sympathy I feel."
Senor Perkins drew himself up, and cast a faint look of pride
towards the Commander.
"To HEAR such assurances from beautiful and eloquent lips like
those before me," he said, with his old oratorical wave of the
hand, but a passing shadow across his mild eyes, "is more than
sufficient. In my experience of life I have been favored, at
various emergencies, by the sympathy and outspoken counsel of your
noble sex; the last time by Mrs. Euphemia M'Corkle, of Peoria,
Illinois, a lady of whom you have heard me speak--alas! now lately
deceased. A few lines at present lying on yonder table--a tribute
to her genius--will be forwarded to you, dear Mrs. Markham. But
let us change the theme. You are looking well--and you, too, Miss
Keene. From the roses that bloom on your cheeks--nourished by the
humid air of Todos Santos--I am gratified in thinking you have
forgiven me your enforced detention here."
At a gesture from the Commander he ceased, stepped back, bowed
gravely, and the ladies recognized that their brief audience had
terminated. As they passed through the gateway, looking back they
saw Perkins still standing with the child on his shoulder and
smiling affably upon them. Then the two massive doors of the
gateway swung to with a crash, the bolts were shot, and the
courtyard was impenetrable.
. . . . . .
A few moments later, the three friends had passed the outermost
angle of the fortifications, and were descending towards the beach.
By the time they had reached the sands they had fallen into a vague
silence.
A noise like the cracking and fall of some slight scaffolding
behind them arrested their attention. Hurlstone turned quickly. A
light smoke, drifting from the courtyard, was mingling with the
fog. A faint cry of "Dios y Libertad!" rose with it.
With a hurried excuse to his companions, Hurlstone ran rapidly
back, and reached the gate as it slowly rolled upon its hinges to a
file of men that issued from the courtyard. The first object that
met his eyes was the hat of Senor Perkins lying on the ground near
the wall, with a terrible suggestion in its helpless and pathetic
vacuity. A few paces further lay its late owner, with twenty
Mexican bullets in his breast, his benevolent forehead bared meekly
to the sky, as if even then mutely appealing to the higher
judgment. He was dead! The soul of the Liberator of Quinquinambo,
and of various other peoples more or less distressed and more or
less ungrateful, was itself liberated!
. . . . . .
With the death of Senor Perkins ended the Crusade of the Excelsior.
Under charge of Captain Bunker the vessel was sent to Mazatlan by
the authorities, bearing the banished and proscribed Americans,
Banks, Brace, Winslow, and Crosby; and, by permission of the
Council, also their friends, Markham and Brimmer, and the ladies,
Mrs. Brimmer, Chubb, and Markham. Hurlstone and Miss Keene alone
were invited to remain, but, on later representations, the Council
graciously included Richard Keene in the invitation, with the
concession of the right to work the mines and control the ranches
he and Hurlstone had purchased from their proscribed countrymen.
The complacency of the Council of Todos Santos may be accounted for
when it is understood that on the day the firm of Hurlstone & Keene
was really begun under the title of Mr. and Mrs. Hurlstone, Richard
had prevailed upon the Alcalde to allow him to add the piquant Dona
Isabel also to the firm under the title of Mrs. Keene. Although
the port of Todos Santos was henceforth open to all commerce, the
firm of Hurlstone & Keene long retained the monopoly of trade, and
was a recognized power of intelligent civilization and honest
progress on the Pacific coast. And none contributed more to that
result than the clever and beautiful hostess of Excelsior Lodge,
the charming country home of James Hurlstone, Esq., senior partner
of the firm. Under the truly catholic shelter of its veranda Padre
Esteban and the heretic stranger mingled harmoniously, and the
dissensions of local and central Government were forgotten.
"I said that you were a dama de grandeza, you remember," said the
youthful Mrs. Keene to Mrs. Hurlstone, "and, you see, you are!"
End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Crusade of the Excelsior, by Harte