Here, in bed, he went over the events of the day with a great deal of relish.
“I have had a day,” he thought. “I have never enjoyed a day so much. She is beautiful, she is marvellous, and to-morrow I shall see her again. Oh, my God, she is beautiful.”
He kept repeating this as he thought of her image with praise and blessing: he could not sleep at first because of her. At a little before midnight some rifles were fired in the streets.
“By George, rifles,” he thought. “I say, this is the heart of life.” The firing, whatever it was, stopped after a couple of minutes. In the quiet which followed, perhaps not long after twelve, he fell asleep.
VI
Whenhe had slept for nearly a watch, he was wakened by a ticking as though the wind were shaking a slat in a Venetian blind. As the noise continued, he sat up, thinking, “Here is the breeze. I’ll have to shut my window.”
He realised, then, that the noise was from the door. It was a little light ticking noise, not unlike the gnawing of a mouse, except that it never varied nor grated.
“It’s only a death-watch,” he said. “No, it’s the breeze, rattling the door. I’ll jam it up with a piece of paper.” He turned out of bed and groped in the dark for the cover of his paper-backed novel. “I’ll wedge it up with this,” he thought. He tore off the cover and folded it into a wedge.
“By George,” he thought, suddenly, with a leaping heart. “It isn’t the door rattling, it’s somebody knocking.”
It was no doubt somebody knocking, but with a special secret midnight knock which might awaken him but alarm no other person on the corridor.
“By George,” he thought, “somebody’s tapping with finger-nails. This is romance, by George. I’ll have to be jolly careful now, or very likely I’ll have my throat cut. Who can be knocking?”
He could not think who would be knocking, but he did not for one moment think that it was a woman come for love of him. He was not frightened. The knocking was of a piece with the romance of the day before. It gave him a thrill of delight to think that the knocker might be in peril and the knock a warning to himself.
“Why not?” he thought. “I’m a foreigner here, as well as a heretic. Why shouldn’t there be a sort of Bartholomew massacre beginning?”
He crept to the door. The key was in the keyhole; he could see nothing there but darkness. By the fanlight, he could tell that the corridor beyond was almost pitch dark. The knocker paused, as though he had heard the creak of his approach.
“Who is there?” Hi whispered. “Who is there?”
To his amazement, Rosa answered him.
“It is I, Rosa. Rosa Piranha. Open, Hi; open quick.”
He opened the door swiftly yet silently; Rosa glided in.
“It’s only me, Hi,” she whispered. “I thought I’d never make you hear. Lock the door, lock it, but don’t make a sound. Oh, my God, my God.”
“I’ll strike a light,” he said. “Whatever is the matter? I’ll have a light in a minute.”
“No light,” she said. “Don’t strike a light. We might be seen from outside.”
“I must get you a light,” he whispered, “or you’ll be falling over things, and rousing the house.”
He struck a match: he had a glimpse of Rosa dressed as a peon with a sombrero jammed over her eyes.
“I’ll sit on the bed,” she whispered. “Put the match out, Hi.”
He put out the match; she sat on the bed and began to shudder till the bed quaked. As he did not know what to do, he did nothing. He stood well away from Rosa, waiting for her to speak.
“Good old Rosa,” he said at last.
“Yes, good old Rosa,” she said with a giggle; then she trembled until she began to sob.
“Good Lord, Rosa,” he said, “pull yourself together. Good Lord, what is it? What has happened?”
“Those devils, Hi. They’ve got Carlotta.”
“What devils? The Pitubas?”
“Yes. At least, I don’t know if they were Pitubas. Anyhow the Reds have got her.”
“But I saw her after seven o’clock.”
“They arrested her at ten. They got her brother, too. They’re rounding up all the Whites. A peon of the de Leyvas came to us to tell us. They shot at him, but he got away. Hi, they’ve put her into prison. The Reds have put Carlotta into prison.”
“Good Lord. But, hang it, Rosa, they’ve got no case against her. They’ll certainly let her out in the morning.”
“But Lopez has gone mad, Hi. We don’t know what is happening.”
“But . . . good Lord. It’s four o’clock in the morning; more. How on earth did you get in? Look here, is there anything that I can do?”
“They’ve got her in their prison on a charge of resisting authority, or being deemed to be the associate of those planning to resist authority. The peon heard her deny the first charge. The officer said that he should arrest her on the other. And they may shoot her, Hi.”
“Shoot Carlotta? Never.”
“They may.”
“Oh, hang it, Rosa.”
“This isn’t England, Hi, but a place where we hate; you don’t know how we hate. Mother cannot stand these shocks, but I had to wake her and tell her. She said at once, ‘We must get word through to Manuel.’ ”
Here she stopped at a horrible memory.
“Go ahead,” Hi said.
“This isn’t like England, Hi,” she said. “Twice, even in my life-time, Whites and Reds have made it dangerous for each other. So we make arrangements and codes for messages. We had one of our boys, Estevan Osmeña, sworn to take a message in case of need. We roused him up. Our horses were gone, as you saw; the horses are always the first thing they take, but we sent him off to where he could get a horse. I thought nobody saw him go.”
Here she stopped to tremble till the bed seemed to giggle at her.
“Go on,” Hi said, “cheer up and go on.”
“About two hours ago,” she said, “when we had all gone back to bed, a patrol rode up to the house and summoned mother to open the door. I said that she was too ill, but that I would open. So I lit up and opened. There was the mulatto, Zarzas, with some Pitubas. He said, ‘This is for you.’ He gave me Estevan’s hand, cut off at the wrist, with mother’s letter pinned to it. He said, ‘This is the Dead Letter Post; the White letter comes back Red. I would recommend you send no more.’
“Then I had to serve him and his men with drinks, of course; he called it ‘postage for midnight delivery.’ ”
“Then they had killed your groom?”
“Yes.”
“I say,” Hi said. “But hold on a minute, I’ll just dress, if you’ll excuse me. But tell me, how did you pass the patrols and the gates?”
“Market people can always pass in the early mornings. I brought in a basket of flowers like a gardener’s peon. You remember Manuel said at lunch that there was a way into this hotel at the back. I came in by that. I knew your floor and room. But I nearly died of terror when I heard the negroes at their gambling.”
“I don’t wonder. But I say you have got some pluck.”
“Oh, Hi, forgive me,” she said, “but you’re the only person I can think of. Will you take the news to Manuel?”
“Why, of course I will, Rosa. I wanted to last night but Carlotta wouldn’t let me. I’ll go like a shot.”
She fell upon her knees and kissed his hands, calling upon God and the saints to bless him.
“That’s all right, Rosa,” he said. “That’s all right. We’ll save her.”
“This devil, Lopez, is going to wipe out the Whites,” she said.
“Not he,” Hi said. “Don’t you think it, Rosa.”
“What is to stop him? We’re all in his power.”
“Not you,” Hi said. “He’s done something wicked and stupid, which won’t prosper; you’ll see it won’t. Now about getting to Manuel. I don’t know a word of Spanish, except Dios and si and the oaths those sailors told me. Where can I get a horse, to begin with? I suppose all the livery stables will be closed?”
“You’ll get no horse here.”
“Even though I’m English?”
“No. This city is isolated. No trains, no horses. You’ll have to walk to a place called Anselmo, about fifteen miles from here.”
“You mean, out past the de Leyvas’ place? That Anselmo?”
“Yes. There are two White brothers there, the Elenas, George and William, horse-breeders. They will give you horses and put you in the way to get relays further west. There are two ways of getting to Anselmo; one, by the road, past the de Leyvas’ place, which you’d have to walk; the other is, to take a boat down the bay, nine or ten miles, to the place La Boca, where you could probably hire a horse or trap and ride or drive there.”
“How would I take a boat?”
“At the pier there are scores of market-boats. Ask for Pedro Ruiz and ask him to take you to La Boca. If Pedro isn’t there, dozens of others will be; they’re mostly Italians.”
“I’ll make them understand,” Hi said. “Will they let me down the pier?”
“Yes, if you aren’t stopped beforehand.”
“The boat way seems the quicker,” he said. “I’ll try the boat way. But look here, Rosa, they’ll surely watch the boats for people trying to get away.”
“They may, but that and the road are the only ways to Anselmo.”
“Well, we’d better try both. Why not send my old English murderer from Medinas? He’d go like a shot and you could trust him absolutely.”
“That is an idea, Hi. I suppose he can ride?”
“He was a stable-lad in his youth. He was even a jockey once, of sorts, I think they said, but he was warned off for something or other. I know he sounds awful; so he is, as well as a little mad, but I know that you could trust him.”
“You say that he is mad? Could he remember a message?”
“Yes.”
“All he’ll have to remember is, ‘Reds have seized Carlotta: come at once’; that and the address, ‘Don Manuel, Encinitas.’ ”
“He’ll have to know more than that,” Hi said. “He’ll have to get the horses out of these Elena people, at Anselmo.”
“Our code word,Dorothea, will do that.”
“And suppose the Elenas aren’t there?”
“George or William must be there.”
“Right, then; between us we’ll fix it. I say, this is exciting. You are a brick to come to me for this.”
“If you knew what I think of you for taking it as you do.”
“I suppose,” Hi said, “I suppose there’s no means of telegraphing from Anselmo to Don Manuel.”
“None. We’ve no telegraphs here, except along the railways, and no railway at all across the central provinces. You’ll have to ride.”
“No means of telegraphing to anyone, in code, or something of that sort? It would save so much time.”
“The telegraphs are all under censorship, no message would be sent. There’s no telegraph within seventy miles of Encinitas, anyway.”
“It’ll be a long ride,” Hi said. “I wish I were more in trim for a long ride. It will take three days.”
“Oh, Hi.”
“I might do it in two, with luck.”
“Oh, if you only can,” she said.
“Now how about you.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“I’m blest if you will be. I’ll see you home.”
“Oh, Hi; no.”
“Yes, I will.”
“No, no, Hi. I shan’t be stopped with my market basket and in this dress. And by the Farola there is a short cut through the waste to our garden.”
“I’ll see you there, then. I must. I’ve got to ask you scores of things which I must know. When you’re reasonably safe, I’ll get to Medinas, see my murderer off, and then come back to the pier and yell for Pedro Ruiz.”
“Please God, the boats will be late this morning,” she said.
“Why?”
“If they come early, they go early; there may be no boat for you.”
“Golly.”
“There’s a lot to say ‘Golly’ about in this Republic.”
“There’s more in it than meets the eye,” he said. “I suppose you’ve got no map of this city?”
“No. Why?”
“Can I get to Medinas from the pier without going back through the city?”
“Yes, easily. There’s a road from the Farola to Medinas, on the line of the old city ditch.”
“All right, then; that’s a weight off my chest. Our main task is to get out of this hotel to the pier: if we can do that, we shall be fairly clear. Will there be patrols on the roads outside the walls, or people on the watch at La Boca and Anselmo?”
“Probably.”
“All right,” he said, to cheer her. “We’ll fix them. I suppose the Elenas will know some English?”
“Not much; but if you sayDorotheato them, they’ll make your next course clear, even if they have to send a guide with you.”
“Good. I think I’ve got it all pretty straight. All right. I’m ready. We’ll start, then. Oh, but wait one minute. I must get something out of my trunk.”
Some hours before, when he had returned from Carlotta, he had pressed her spray of hermosita between two sheets of the hotel blotting-paper, which he had then laid away in the trunk. He now opened this precious packet, broke off a leaf from the spray, and placed it in his pocket-book; the rest he put back into the trunk. He then wrote a few words to the hotel proprietor.
“I’m ready now,” he said. “I’ll leave this note to say that I’m coming back, and want my room kept.”
“Oh, Hi,” she said, “I’ve brought no money.”
“I have got money enough,” Hi said, “but I have not got a revolver. Father wouldn’t let me take one. I knew he knew nothing about it. Now we had better have a story in case we’re stopped. We had better say that your mother wanted me and that you had come to fetch me. They couldn’t object to that. Where is your market basket? In the cellar?”
“No, in the hall.”
“We had better go out by the hall,” he said. “And I had better take no baggage. Then they would ask no questions. If I were caught going out with a bag, they would think I was shooting the moon. I have got some handkerchiefs. That’s enough.”
“What will they think of my market basket?” she said. “They will think I have come to steal the linen.”
“Leave it here,” Hi said.
“But I must have it to pass the gates.”
“Well, you can show that it’s empty,” he said. “We must chance it. Come on.”
They crept out into the deserted corridor, where all was silent save for a snorer in one of the near-by rooms. They crept to the stairs. All seemed silent on the landing below. On the next floor they heard a child wake up with a whimper. The coarse voice of a nurse from one of the French-speaking islands called “Chocolat” to quiet it. As this failed she made a testy reproof and turned grunting out of bed.
All seemed silent on the floor below. Rosa touched Hi’s arm at the stairs.
“There’s a night porter asleep there,” she said, “on that sofa on the landing.”
“He’s sound asleep,” Hi said. “Come on.”
On the third step from the bottom the porter had left a small tray with glasses and a soda-water bottle. Hi trod upon this, so that both he and it fell. The glasses broke, the soda-water bottle rolled on to the broad uncarpeted steps which led to the ground floor. It fell on to the first step, then on to the second, then on, step by step, making a noise like “Keblonk, Keblonk” at each step. Hi sat on the mat at the stair-foot in fits of laughter. Rosa stood beside him, giggling hysterically.
“Hark at the beastly thing going ‘Keblonk,’ ” he said.
With a little tinkle the bottle rolled itself still. The porter on the sofa sneezed suddenly and sat up.
“Oh, for de Lord,” he said.
“For de Lord,” Hi said.
He and Rosa clutched each other, shaking with laughter.
“Oh, you lovely angels, keep away the flies,” said the porter and settled himself to sleep again.
“Come along,” Hi whispered. “He’s asleep. We must slide down the banisters of this flight. Don’t kick old Keblonk as you pass.”
All was dark on the ground floor, but far away some servant was already sweeping. This was the only sound save the occasional crackle in the wicker chairs, as though some ghost had sat down or arisen. In front of them was the main entrance of the hotel, a glass barrier, broad steps with deserted offices at each side, then the front doors. A light was burning in the office to the left. Hi stole forward upon tip-toe.
“The night porter’s asleep in the office,” he whispered.
He stole through the glass doors and tried the front doors, which were locked and the key not there.
“The key’s gone,” he whispered.
“It’s in the office, I expect,” she said.
He looked, but could not see it on the key hooks nor on the table.
“It must be somewhere here,” she said.
“I expect he’s got it in his pocket,” he whispered.
There came a little flop upon the floor. Rosa had knocked off a time-table from the edge of the table. The man stirred in his sleep but did not wake.
“If he’s got it in his trouser pocket,” Hi whispered, “or even in his side pocket, we’re done.”
“Well, Hi,” she whispered, “come on down the back way through the cellar. Besides, I have got to get my flower basket.”
“Oh, dash, I had forgotten the flower basket.”
“Hi,” Rosa said, “there’s someone coming.”
They edged out into the hall as some of the hall lights went up. A woman with a broom came along the corridor. She took a good look at them, and Hi said, “It’s all right, thanks. I’m English.”
She seemed to think that it was not quite all right. She made a gesture to show Hi that he could rouse the porter.
“Si, si,” Hi said, “but it’s absolutely all right, thanks.”
“Are you looking for the key?” she asked in English. “The key is here on this palm.”
She unhooked a key from one of the stubs of the palm tree, fitted it to the lock and opened the door. She gave a searching glance at Rosa. She closed the door behind them on the instant.
The breeze was coming in from the sea bitterly cold. They looked up and down the deserted street. They saw no sign of life except a cat on the other side of the road.
“Come on,” Hi said, “down to the water-front.”
In the darkness of the cross roads a mounted policeman, drawn into the shadows, watched them approach without making a sign. When they were within a few yards of him he put his horse suddenly across their path.
“It’s all right. I’m English,” Hi said.
The man seemed to have orders not to molest foreigners. He drew his horse back and jerked with his hand for them to pass. Perhaps it was a guilty conscience which made them think that he stared hard at Rosa. Anyhow he let them pass.
On the water-front the tide of life had begun to flow to the quays. Men and women were going to work that had to be done, whatever rebellion came. They saw the bright light at the pier end.
“It’s there,” Rosa whispered, “that the market-boats come.”
Two men who were slouching in front of them paused to light cigarettes. They watched Hi and Rosa as they passed and made remarks evidently very offensive, which made Rosa catch her breath.
“Come on. Don’t stop,” Rosa whispered.
Colour was all over the eastern heaven and touching the upper roofs and spires.
“Hi,” Rosa said, when they had gone a little distance, “we shall never be able to do it. I am seen to be a woman and there is a patrol in the streets stopping people.”
“Where?”
“There in front.”
About a hundred yards in front of them there was an interruption in the flow of people. They could see the gleam of helmets beyond the blackness of the crowd, which grew greater as men and women flocked up to it. Plainly the police or troops were examining all who were going that way.
“Hi,” Rosa said, “I can’t face the police in this dress. It’s very silly, but I shall faint.”
“Hold up,” Hi said. “It will be perfectly all right. We will get down to that barge on the beach there and you can pin your cloak round you for a skirt.”
Within a stone’s throw from the water-front was a green barge, which Hi had noticed on the day of his landing. She was lying on her bilge with the butts of her timbers sticking out like bones. In the shelter of this wreck Rosa pinned her cloak as a skirt and made her hat look less manly. After this they marched into the crowd, which closed up behind them as others arrived. It was a silent crowd of men and women not fully awake. One or two voices asked, “What are they stopping us for?” Some said, “Dogana,” or “Search of suspects,” or “Search of the accursed Whites, the murderers.”
The light grew upon the faces at each instant, the crowd gathered and the delay continued.
“What are they stopping us for?”
“Close up, brothers.”
“Who are you shoving?”
“It’s not me that’s shoving.”
“This way for the harem. Get your money ready.”
“The whistle will be gone. We shall be fined half a peseta.”
“What are they stopping us for?”
No one could answer that question.
Hi could make out that several times a minute one or two people in front were allowed to pass on. At every such passing the crowd surged forward till they were all jammed up together, feeling breathless and inclined to faint. They could hear a kind of catechism going on at the barrier, voices bullying and voices submissive.
“Why can’t they let us pass? What are they asking?”
The crowd was not to know why they were stopped. After they had annoyed some hundreds of people with it, the police suddenly removed the barrier and told the people that they might get along out of it. The crowd slowly surged forward among growls of “Keeping us waiting all this time and in the end they didn’t want us. Now we shall be fined a peseta for being late.”
They passed through the city gates, to the open space where the market folk had cheered the Piranhas the day before.
“There is the pier, Hi,” Rosa said. “I can get home through that waste piece, the old graveyard. You go up that gully to the right, to Medinas.”
“All right. Good luck. I’ll fetch Manuel.”
“God bless you, Hi.”
“You, too. My love to your mother. And good luck. And cheer up.”
She nodded, not having more words; she turned out of the stream of workers into the old graveyard of the town and did not look back.
As Hi set off for Medinas, he looked back several times after her, till she had disappeared.
“She’s got some pluck,” he thought. “I don’t think she’ll be stopped now, going that way.”
His own way led through a road which having once been the city ditch, was still a city dump and refuse pit under the walls. On the left hand of the refuse were shacks and sties of wood, for pigs, cows, horses and fowls; though men lived in them, too. The road was an unpaven track in a kind of gulley between the dump and the sheds. It was in a mucky state at that time from the recent rains and the habits of the market people. It stank, it was littered with tins and stalks, rats were rummaging among the garbage, and pariah dogs with the mange were scraping against the sides of the sties. However, no men were abroad in it nor any sign of a patrol. In about twelve minutes he was in Medinas.
For some minutes he had noticed a glow upon the city buildings, which he had thought to be the dawn. He now found that it came from the red-hot shell of what had been the de Leyva palace, which had been burnt since midnight. A good many Medinas people were grubbing in the embers for what they could find. Others were carrying away what they had already found. A heap of things of all sorts, armour, pictures, marbles, bronzes, furniture, porcelain, curtains, clothes, cushions, musical instruments, antiques, books, and portfolios, which had been looted before the fire took hold, were being sold to all comers by a ruffian with a big voice, who bellowed aloud his bargains, joked, tossed the money received to a guard of Reds, and often gave away what he could not readily sell. He was in the act of selling a bronze female torso when Hi came up. Hi noticed among the crowd the broad-faced picture-dealer who had been rude two days before on the water-front. This man winked at the auctioneer that the bronze should be set aside for him. The auctioneer stopped his obscene remarks and laid it aside.
* * * * * * *
Medinas Close looked marvellous in that light of nearly dawn, helped out by dying lamps. Its well of tall, mean, narrow tenements, built on a slope, about a triangle of grassless earth, needed some murderous half-light to give it its quality. At the entrance to the Close an imbecile woman, with the face of a corpse, held her hand for alms. At the entrance of No. 41, black as the mouth of a cave, two little boys, who talked through their noses as though their throats were rotted away, were sharing what they had stolen from the burning. Most of the Medinas tenants had been picking plums from that same snapdragon. In the well of the Close were some chairs and other furniture which had been pitched down and smashed, because they would not readily go through the narrow doors.
“On the third floor,” Hi said to himself, “the middle room of the three, if I don’t have my throat cut on the way.” He went into that black cave, which stank of rat and mouse; he struck himself a light so that he might see the stairs, and came at once on a woman and a man clasped at the stair-foot. He saw the woman’s eyes, like the eyes in a skull. The man detached himself from her; he stank of wine, she of musk. “You like to see my sister?” he said, thickly to Hi.
“No.”
“Three pesetas.”
“No.”
“Two pesetas.”
“No.”
“You like to buy a nice watch, very cheap, very good?” The woman, who had caught some glimpse of Hi, said something in a low voice, which made the man stand aside to let Hi pass to the next floor, where a man was beating his wife in the intervals of a sermon. The morning light gleamed a little on to this landing from a room which had no door. Up above was the third floor, much darker, being lit only with a taper.
Some weeks before this a man had been murdered at the head of the stairs there. The dwellers of 41, having scruples about the murder, had placed upon the wall a coloured print of the Virgin, to whom they lit a taper each night. This taper now showed Hi the three doors of the landing; he knocked gently on the middle door.
After knocking a second time, he was aware of a tenseness in the room within, though no one answered. At a third knock, he felt, rather than heard, other doors in the tenement softly opened, while unseen eyes took stock of him. Someone inside the room was moving something: “putting something under the bed,” he thought. A board dropped with a clatter, then a chair (so it seemed) was jammed against the door from within, then a woman’s cautious voice asked, “Who is it?”
“Señor Rust,” Hi said, in a low voice, “Señor Rust.”
She did not let him in. He heard her moving about inside, with queer little clicking noises as though she were snapping on some pairs of stays (which indeed she was).
“Señor Rust,” he repeated, “Señor Rust.”
The lamp in the room, which had been turned down, now turned up; the door opened a little; a short, sharp, elderly dwarf of a woman stared at him, and motioned him to come in. He went into a hot little lamp-lit room, where ’Zeke stood stock still, fumbling with his hat, beside the bed. The woman bolted the door carefully behind him. She had a skin like parchment, coloured like old ivory. She looked at him out of sharp, black, beady eyes which missed nothing. Her head trembled a little; her long green ear-rings waggled and clicked. She looked like a gimlet about to pierce. Hi knew, without any telling, that he had come at a ticklish time, when the two were appraising loot from the burning. His knock had been mistaken for the knock of the police. Something had been stuffed under the floor and a mat drawn over the place: ’Zeke was now standing on the mat.
The woman asked him in Spanish about his health, adding that for her own part she asked nothing better from God, since she was ever better after the rains, which, as it was well known, drew away from the air we breathe many most pestilential vapours. Hi replied in English that he was afraid that he came at a very inconvenient time.
“Rust,” he said, “could you take a message for me, and be away, perhaps, for some days?”
“Yes, Master Highworth,” ’Zeke said, “I daresay.”
“Starting at once?”
“Where would it be to, Master Highworth?”
“Could we speak out of doors somewhere?”
“It’s a bit unsettled out of doors, sir. We could slip into the church for a bit.”
“Let us go there, then.”
’Zeke said something with gestures to Isabella, who seemed suspicious and not well pleased. She questioned ’Zeke several times before she let them out. She then followed him to the stair-head with questions, which ’Zeke put from him with gestures and ejaculations. She was not satisfied with these replies, because she went back to the room, growling. Glancing upwards as he entered the Close, Hi saw her head and shoulders craned from the window to see where they were going.
In the almost complete darkness of the church, Hi told ’Zeke what was wanted.
“I been to ’Carnacion,” he said. “It was there I went with my bull, where the rabbits were. It was this Don Manuel owned my bull; only I didn’t go so much by land, as by sea, to Port ’Toche. I know the way to Anselmo; it’s by the Foxes Inn. And I know the Mr. Elenas at Anselmo, Mr. George and Mr. William, only they don’t pronounce it like that. They breed horses, the Mr. Elenas.
“I did a job of work for the Misters Elenas one time. You see, Mr. Highworth, they got a stallion one time; my word, he were a horse, only he wasn’t what we would call a stallion, you understand, being for draught. Not a shire horse, neither, but one of they French sort, really. ‘Whicker,’ he went, and ‘Whicker,’ he went, oh, it was a treat to hear him: down he would go and up he come; and all in play, really: only he hate his grooms, Mr. Highworth, one after the other. It was all in play, really, only they didn’t understand him, that was what it was, really. You know he couldn’t abide velvet, this velvet stuff the grooms wear. You’ve heard of the red rag to a bull? Well, it was the same with him, only velvet. That was all it was. When I showed ’em, they left off this velvet, then he didn’t eat them, except, maybe, now and then a pinch and that. And is that all I’m to say to the Misters Elenas and to Mr. Manuel, justDorothea, and he’s to come at once?”
“Yes, that’s all. How soon could you reach Anselmo?”
“Three hours and that. But I’ll get a horse out along the road, maybe.”
“It’s a long way to Encarnacion,” Hi said.
“I like a bit of sport, when I get a horse like these country ones that’s got meat on the ribs.”
“You’ll hurry all you can, won’t you? People’s lives depend on it.”
“Dammy, Mr. Highworth, I’ll go like your old grandfather, and like what the old gentleman, old Mr. Ridden done.”
“Thank you.”
“I suppose it’s all right, Master Highworth?”
“Yes, it’s all right.”
“These foreigners aren’t like us, most of the time. They got this devil-worship and all sorts. Now a man likes to know what’s what and that. That’s only fair. But it’s these yellow devils makes them not go above board. They brought in the yellows to rule the whites; it’s that causes all the trouble.”
“That’s the cause of the trouble.”
“Well, I’ll do my best, Mr. Highworth.”
“Thank you. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Nothing I like better, really, than a bit of sport. I was having difficulty, if you understand me, Master Highworth; but then first I met you and now comes this other job. I never had so much luck at one time before, except that once at the races; and then I was cheated of it.”
Hi gave him some money for expenses, thanked him and urged him to go.
“Not by the door we came in by, Mr. Highworth,” he said. “That would never do. Them that see you go in may watch for you out.”
They were near the High Altar as he spoke. The door by which they had entered the church was opened: someone crept into the church. Hi saw the snub-nosed profile of Isabella motionless for an instant, while she sought in the darkness for her prey. ’Zeke on the instant plucked him through a curtain to a swing-door and thence to a lane.
“We dodge the Close this way,” he said, “and I’ll be back in a week or a bit better. And that will be all right, Mr. Highworth; and I thank you, sir, I’m sure, very kindly. And I wish you a happy Christmas, sir, though I know it’s a long time to wait.”
He set off as he finished speaking, in the shambling run with much bending of the leg which old Bill Ridden called “the poachers’ trot.” Hi had often seen old men of the ’Zeke kind running in that way on winter mornings when the hounds moved off to covert. He himself set off at once by the old city ditch to the pier: it was almost full morning. He wondered whether there would be any boat for him.
He also wondered, with some misgivings, about poor old Ezekiel. The phrase, “He never had so much luck at one time before,” smote him to the heart. It might not be much luck; it might be deadly; it certainly would be dangerous, to go off on this errand when the Reds were out. “I’ve taken him from his wife, too,” he thought. “However, she’s no chicken.” As he went on, he wondered whether Isabella might not have seen, chased and caught her husband: in which case the message would not go. Or suppose the Foxes Inn proved too much for him? “I must chance all that,” he thought. “He’s as likely to get through as I am.”
Thinking these things, he came out of the ditch into the colour and life of the racing of the carts to market from the Farola, with fish and fruit. These carts were light, open lorries, each drawn by two horses, driven by natives, who stood bare-armed, cloaked with coloured serapes, singeing their lips with the sucked stubs of cigarettes across which they cursed their horses. The workers scattered from before them as they raced. The horses’ hooves struck fire, the drivers leaned on the reins, beat with their sticks, and screamed:—
“Ar-re. Ar-re, sons of malediction.”
“Accursed be thy fool mare of a mother.”
“Dog of a Pablo, give room.”
“Ay, ay, ay, we bring fish into the city.”
All the carts swayed into each other yet did not touch. They swerved together as the road narrowed for the gate and so disappeared. Hi turned from the open plaza on to the pier. It was then a few minutes after six o’clock.
VII
Onthe pier, Hi found a scene of confusion and shouting, men and boys staggering with boxes and baskets to carts; women urging them to hurry, or screaming at their children, or cursing at the mules and horses: carts were being backed and baskets dropped: everybody was violent and abusive, not from ill-temper but excitement, for this race to market was the event of the day.
Hi thrust into the midst of the crowd, treading on a litter of leaves, upon which the beasts had browsed. All that part of the pier was heaped with things for the market, bundles of living fowls tied five and five by the legs, baskets of pigeons, geese from the sea marsh, musk melons, water melons, pumpkins, gourds and vegetables of every sort and shape, oranges, limes, bananas in crates and gaily painted earthenware jars packed in the paper-like streamers of corn sheathes. Hi came upon an Englishman, who was superintending the lading of some big red clay jars into a lorry.
“Where shall I find the fish boats?” he asked.
“At the upper end of the pier,” the man said. “That’s where they auction the fish. You may find the fish boats gone by this, though.”
At the end of the pier was a wooden building, above which was a pharos or pier light, which made a big, rosy star against the dawn. Underneath this light the fish market was being held. Hi heard a jabber and chatter of bargaining.
“Look you, I will tell you what I will do. I will do it for you, because I like you. I would not do it for anyone else on earth, may St. James be my witness. I will give you 3.75 the tierce.”
“By God, I had rather fling them back into the sea. By God, I will fling them back into the sea. Here go some back into the sea. The rest shall follow. 4.30 the tierce or back they go.”
“Now look here, I will tell you what I will do. I will do it for you because I like you. I wouldn’t do it for anyone else on earth,” etc., etc.
Beside the bidders lay heaps of fish, many of them still gasping. Small, black, slimy things, which looked like pickles, crawled over their bodies. The fish lay in heaps of shining paleness with odd jags of fins and prickles, vacuous eyes, and mouths which bulged out and then collapsed in.
Hi stopped a fisherman with the question:
“Are you Pedro Ruiz?”
“How?”
“Are you Pedro Ruiz?”
“Who knows?”
“Pedro Ruiz?”
“Ruiz?”
“Yes, Pedro Ruiz?”
“Not know,” the man answered.
“Pedro Ruiz of La Boca?”
“How?”
“Of La Boca.”
“Ayla Poca?”
“Yes. Si.”
“Not know Ayla Poca.”
“No; not Ayla Poca,” Hi explained, “but of La Boca. Of, that is, de, La Boca, a place, a sort of a ciudad, sabe? in the bay par la; La Boca.”
“I do not know at all,” the man answered.
“What does the Englishman want?” another man asked.
“Pedro Ruiz of La Boca,” Hi said.
“Ayla Poca?”
“No, not Ayla Poca. Of La Boca. De la Boca.”
“Boca?”
“Yes. Si.”
“La Boca?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, La Boca?”
“Yes, yes. La Boca.”
“The poblacion beside the bay, La Boca?”
“Yes, that is it.”
“Oh, La Boca. Hear you, Enrique, the gentleman wants La Boca.”
“Oh, La Boca. Ah, yes, indeed. Truly, it is that. Oh, yes, La Boca,” Enrique repeated.
“It is there, La Boca,” the man said, pointing south along the bay. “La Boca is there.”
“I want Pedro Ruiz of La Boca.”
“How?”
“Pedro Ruiz.”
“Pedro?”
“Si. Yes. Pedro Ruiz,” Hi said. “R-u-i-z.” The men looked at him in bewilderment yet with courtesy. They smiled and shook their heads. Hi thanked them and turned from them. He did not much relish shouting aloud in that crowd of foreigners; but he shouted:
“Pedro Ruiz. Pedro Ruiz.”
A couple of lads mimicked his method with some success. He repeated his cry.
“Ah, ha,” Enrique said to him full of pride. “You want Pedro Ruiz?”
“Yes, si.”
“Ah, yes, indeed, Pedro Ruiz.”
“Is he here?” Hi asked.
“No,” Enrique said.
Enrique began a long harangue in Spanish, of which Hi understood not one word. Hi could not make out from the gestures whether Pedro Ruiz had been disembowelled or had been drinking soda water.
“See you,” he said, “can I get a boat to La Boca? A boat to La Boca by the sea?”
He made signs of going by boat in the direction of La Boca. Three other men had gathered about them to give counsel. Some of them suggested Giordano.
Hi turned to these men and asked, “Is Pedro Ruiz here? Pedro Ruiz?”
They did not understand what he meant. They repeated the syllables. All were courteous and eager to help, but they were puzzled by the words.
Enrique asked, “You want go La Boca?”
“Yes please, si,” Hi answered.
“Giordano,” the men repeated. “Giordano.”
Hi had a suspicion that “Giordano” meant to-morrow. There was, he knew, some foreign word like “Giordano” which meant either yesterday or to-morrow. It was “oggi” or “aujourd’hui” or some other word with “jour” in it. What would he do if there were to be no boat till to-morrow?
“This way Giordano,” Enrique said.
He led him to the end of the pier. Some birds were wheeling about the rosy light. From time to time they swerved down with exquisite white grace, which glowed into rose colour in the beam of the lamp, to snatch some fish from the pile. Enrique looked over the rail at the edge of the pier.
“Giordano,” he called.
“Si,” a voice answered.
Enrique explained that here was a gentleman eager to go to La Boca; he displayed Hi. Giordano was a very tall, thin, melancholy man, dark and distinguished.
“Can you take me to La Boca, please?” Hi asked.
“La Boca? Si.”
“It is so,” Enrique exclaimed. “Giordano can take you to La Boca.”
“There,” another man said. “Giordano will convey you.”
Giordano spread a boat rug for Hi. When Hi was seated in the boat, he bent over a job of fitting two pieces of wood together. He explained what he was doing, but Hi could not understand. He sat in the boat, which bobbed and rocked at the side of the steps. Giordano went on with his work, whittling a piece of wood with his knife and trying if the pieces would fit, then whittling some more. Presently a boat shoved off from the pier beside them and stood away for La Boca. Then another boat pushed off and presently a third. But Giordano still went on with his carpentry with no apparent thought of starting. Hi thought that perhaps there had been some mistake.
“I say,” he said, “you are going to La Boca, aren’t you? You go La Boca?”
“Si,” Giordano answered.
He went on trying to fit the pieces of wood. After some time, with a gesture of triumph, he showed that at last they fitted.
“Bueno,” he said.
Yet even now he made no effort to start. He rummaged in the after locker and presently produced some nails, which were bent, and a hammer with a broken handle. Then he set himself to repair the hammer handle by lashing another piece of wood to it. Next he rummaged among the bottom boards of the boat for a pig of ballast. He placed this on the stern sheets thwart as an anvil. Then with great deliberation he began to straighten his nails. Time seemed to have no meaning for him.
“You go La Boca soon?” Hi asked. “La Boca pronto?”
“Si, si.”
But he made no attempt to start. He hammered his nails straight with great skill, then very neatly he straightened the heads, which had been bent. Then he rummaged for a file and touched up the points with it. Another boat stood away from the pier towards La Boca. Her helmsman called out something to Giordano, which Giordano answered reflectively. After the boat had gone he fitted the two pieces of wood together and with great care drove his nails so as to clinch them.
“You start La Boca?” Hi asked.
“Si, si. La Boca.”
“I believe the brute isn’t going to La Boca at all,” Hi thought. “There, they’ve put out the pier light now. I might have been at La Boca an hour ago. If there’s another boat going, I would go in that.”
He clambered up the stairs of the pier to look for someone who could speak English. The rush of the market was now over. He found Enrique and his friends in a corner among the baskets.
“I want to go at once, pronto, to La Boca,” he said.
“Giordano go pronto,” they said.
“But I want to go now.”
“Si, si,” they said, “La Boca.”
“Yes, but now.”
“Si, si.”
He took off his hat to them and hurried along the pier to the Englishman, who was still there, superintending the packing of the jars.
“You want to go to La Boca?” he asked. “Oh well, I wish I’d known. I thought you wanted one of the fish hands. I could have sent you to La Boca an hour ago. What do you want at La Boca?”
“I have an appointment there.”
“Oh, who is your appointment with?”
“A friend,” Hi said.
The man paused to say something to one of the packers, then turned again to Hi.
“Who was your appointment with, did you say?”
“A friend.”
“Ah,” said the man, “what’s your friend’s name? I only ask because I know La Boca, and it might be a question of putting you ashore either to the north or to the south.”
“He will be at the inn,” Hi said.
“Which inn?” the man said.
“Is there more than one?” Hi asked.
“Is your friend an Englishman? What’s his name?”
“Excuse me,” Hi said, “but can you get me to La Boca?”
“Let me see,” the man said, “did you mention your name and your friend’s name?”
“Jones,” Hi said in desperation.
“Well, Mr. Jones,” the man said, “if you’ll step along with me, I’ll see if that boat’s gone that was here. Is it your brother that you’re going to see in La Boca?”
“No.”
“Oh, I see. Not a brother, only a friend. I don’t remember the name of Jones in La Boca. What’s he doing there?”
“He’s only just gone there,” Hi said.
“Oh, a newcomer, like yourself. Well, this is the La Boca boat.”
He spoke to the master of the boat, who was putting what is called a fish in the yard of his sail.
“That man will take you to La Boca,” the man said. “He’s just going to start. If you had come to me on your way, I could have sent you off in one of the vegetable boats hours ago. Don’t give him more than two pesetas. By the way, where will you be staying at La Boca, Mr. Jones? If you or your friend should want any of these earthenware jars, I am in a position to get them as cheap as anybody. What initial did you say yours was?”
“H,” Hi said.
“And your friend’s?”
“R,” Hi answered.
“Mr. H. and Mr. R. Jones,” the man said. “Where are you stopping, did you say? Because I can get you nice rooms in a boarding-house, which would be cheaper for you than any hotel.”
Here the boatman invited Hi into the boat.
“Where are you stopping?” the man called. “Where did you say you were stopping? I should like to call round in the evening and see you, if you’re not doing anything. They always say that Englishmen ought to stick together.”
Hi was about to answer, but the boom gybed at that instant and knocked his hat into the well. The boat had shoved off.
“Inquisitive beast,” Hi thought. “I never knew a man ask questions like that before. I shouldn’t wonder if he’s a detective put there to stop passengers leaving the city. If that’s the case, I’ll very likely be stopped at La Boca. If that devil telegraphs, I shall very likely be met at the pier and shadowed. However, for the moment I am off. That’s the main thing. But I’ve wasted simply hours.”
His boat passed close beside Giordano. He was bent over his carpentry in deep attention, putting a whipping over the join.
“He doesn’t mean to start for another hour,” Hi thought. “I am glad I tried to find someone starting sooner.”
The master of the boat, Chigo, the boatman, and Luigi, the boy, ran up their new striped sails, so that the boat leaned down and sheered the water. Then they brought out bread, onions, wine and water and some little transparent fish, which were meant to be eaten raw. They invited Hi to their feast and all breakfasted together. After breakfast, while the boat was still moving swiftly to the south, Hi amused himself by looking into the shallow water at the fish and the weeds of all the colours of the rainbow. Presently something, which seemed like a piece of the bottom of the bay, blundered up alongside, turned over and seethed out of the water into a whiteish blunt thing, which had a kind of cat’s mouth that clicked. The click missed by at least two feet, as the thing did not aim very well. It blundered over, rubbed against the side of the boat with a slow rasping movement and disappeared.
“A shark, by George,” Hi said.
The boatman laughed at his scare and the master signed to him not to lean over the side. Soon after this Hi noticed that La Boca did not seem to be getting any nearer. The wind, before falling, had drawn ahead, so that they had to make a short board out to sea.
“This is a bore,” he thought. “I may not be at La Boca till mid-day, if this goes on. But I’ll do it yet.”
The wind, which had drawn ahead, now chopped round a few points to the west and failed altogether.
“What’s the matter?” Hi asked.
“Wait for de breeze,” the master said.
“Shall we have to wait long?”
“Sometimes half hour, sometimes hour.”
“Would it be possible to row in to the shore?” Hi asked.
“Not got oars,” the boatman said. “Only one oar and a boat hook.”
There was nothing for it but to wait while the sun climbed up out of the sea and became hotter. Hi tried to judge the distance from La Boca. It seemed so near across that fore-shortened glitter of sea. Three miles, possibly four miles, he thought. The sea and the boat seemed to settle down to sleep.
“We shall be hours at it like this,” Hi thought. And they were.
What was hardest to bear came an hour later, as they lay becalmed. Hi saw a boat further inshore creeping down to La Boca under sweeps. Something in her helmsman’s figure seemed familiar to Hi, who was watching her with envy.
“Is that Giordano?” he asked.
“Giordano, si,” they answered.
She was helped by more than the sweeps. She was a better boat in light airs and, being much further inshore, she missed the northward current then moving across the outward bay.
“Why, we are further from La Boca than we were before,” he thought. “We are drifting back. She will be in hours before us and I might have been in her, if I had had a little patience. I was an ass,” he thought. “If I had only stuck to Giordano, I might have been almost there now.”
There was no remedy but patience, which is no remedy but a substitute. Hi watched Giordano’s boat edge on and on. After what seemed to be hours he noticed that the men in Giordano’s boat laid in their sweeps and tended sails. Chigo, who had been watching for something of the sort, laid aside his fender making.
“Here is the breeze,” he said.
The breeze came down to them with a darkening of the water. Very gently the boat began to steal southward again. At a little after ten o’clock they began to draw in to the settlement of fishermen and market gardeners at the mouth of the Miamia river. It was an array of little lime-washed houses, roofed with red tiles. It had a mission church of three bells. At the mouth of the river there was a harbour made by baulks of green-heart timber, which had been steeped in a red enamel as a defence against the worm. Hi had been intent upon his thoughts, planning his ride. Looking up, he saw that Giordano’s boat had not entered the harbour, but had stood on down the coast towards the south. Looking up at the dock in front of him, he saw some Pituba soldiers watching the approach of the boat. Among them was a white man, who seemed to be an officer.
“Just as I thought,” Hi said to himself. “That man on the pier in the city was a detective. Now here I am being shadowed and am going to be questioned.”
He looked at this officer. He didn’t like his looks at all. He looked too snappish and ill-tempered.
“A bite from that lipless mouth would be worse than its bark,” he thought, “though the bark has a curse in it.”
This man called out something to the master of the boat, who stood up and answered with a question, which Hi thought civilly put. It brought down a storm of oaths from the officer, who repeated his original remark in the tone of an order. Very politely the master again objected, pointing to Hi.
“What is it?” Hi whispered to Chigo.
“He tells us not to land,” Chigo whispered. “The padron ask if you may land.”
“Sir,” Hi called to him, “I am English. May I not land here?”
“What you say?” the officer asked.
“I am English. May I land here?”
“You are Inglays?”
“Si.”
“Inglays?”
“Si.”
“Inglays with cat’s tripes?”
“No.”
“But I say, yes. Meester Inglays with cat’s tripes, I say, yes. Take your baboon-face hence lest I mistake it for your stern and kick it. And tell your Inglays brothers that this is not their land, but a land of men. It is not for Inglays Miss, no tank you, nor for Meester Aow and Pipe Tooth. You come here you be shot.”
“You’d get into pretty hot water, if you shot me,” Hi said.
“You say?”
“You’d get into pretty hot water, if you shot me.”
“What the pretty mouth say? I no catch?”
“You’ll get into pretty hot water, if you shoot me.”
“Oh, dear, the Inglays Meester threaten me.” He came a step or two nearer to the edge of the pier, so as to read the number on the boat’s bows. “Padron,” he said, “your boat, number B 71, is suspect. You will take your boat down to Carpinche and report to the commandant there. If you try to land anywhere nearer, you shall be arrest, you and cat’s tripes; yes, and shot. To Carpinche: go.”
The padron civilly asked whether there were any warrant upon which he could be ordered to Carpinche.
“Yes,” the officer said, “a very good warrant. The proclamation of martial law.” Here he drew out a revolver. “I command here for the Republic, which now scrapes off the foreign lice that cling to her. You rebel, I shoot. To Carpinche.”
“One moment, please,” Hi said. “I want to see the English Consul here.”
“No, no,” the padron said. “No consul here.”
“Well, anyway, I’ve a right to land.”
“No, no,” Chigo whispered. “You get into trouble.”
“What does Miss tank you, the Inglays, say?” the officer asked.
“I want to see the English Consul,” Hi said.
“Oh, he wants to see the Inglays Consul?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The Inglays Consul, you say?”
“Yes, please.”
“Tank you, but I not please. I tell you to go to Carpinche. You know your Consul live in Santa Barbara, where you just come from. Why you lie to me you want him here? To Carpinche, or I send you back to your Consul, on my ordnance mule, by phê, with your feet tied under his belly.”
The boat had by this time drifted across the mouth of the harbour, where she caught a gust which drove her a few yards out. The padron, who was in that land only to make a living, shook his head, as he let the sails fill on the new course. “We must to Carpinche,” he said. When the boat was some lengths from the pier, he took a stiletto from his boot and snicked it to and fro, passionately, on his boot-leg.
“Ise kill-a that man,” he said.
Hi hesitated. If he tried to land there, he might be shot: if he did land, he might be sent back to Santa Barbara.
“Where is this Carpinche?” he asked.
“South, ten miles.”
“Could I get a horse there?”
“Si.”
“Is it far from Anselmo? A place called San Anselmo? San An-selm-o?”
“San Anselmo?” Chigo suddenly said. “Si, si. There.” He pointed inland to the west.
“Can I get there from Carpinche?”
“To San Anselmo from Carpinche?”
“Yes,” he said. “Can I get there?”
“Si, si.”
“How far is it?”
“How far?”
“Yes, how far?”
Chigo debated with the padron; the boy made some suggestions. They thought it might be forty kilometres, thirty kilometres; perhaps not so much.
“Twenty kilometres, we going there,” the padron said.
Twenty kilometres was about eleven miles, Hi thought. He tried to figure it out, how it could be so little, but thought that these men might know. All the time the boat was moving away from the pierhead.