“About time to begin on the goats!”
“That’s perfectly satisfactory,” said Stedman, handing his gun to old Bradley. “Ionly wanted to know why I was to be sacrificed, instead of one of the Bradleys. It’s because I know the language. Bradley, Sr., you see the evil results of a higher education. Wish me luck, please,” he said, “and for goodness’ sake,” he added impressively, “don’t waste much time shooting goats.”
The Hillmen had stopped about two hundred yards off, and were drawn up in two lines, shouting, and dancing, and hurling taunting remarks at their few adversaries. The stolen cattle were bunched together back of the King. As Stedman walked steadily forward with his handkerchief fluttering, and howling out something in their own tongue, they stopped and listened. As he advanced, his three companions followed him at about fifty yards in the rear. He was one hundred and fifty yards from the Hillmen, before they made out what he said, and then one of the young braves, resenting it as an insult to his chief, shot an arrow at him. Stedman dodged the arrow, and stood his ground without even taking a step backwards, only turning slightly to put his hands to his mouth, and to shout something which sounded to his companions like, “About time to begin on the goats.” But the instant the young man had fired, King Messenwah swung his club and knocked him down, and none of the others moved. Then Messenwah advanced before his men to meetStedman, and on Stedman’s opening and shutting his hands to show that he was unarmed, the King threw down his club and spears, and came forward as empty-handed as himself.
“Ah,” gasped Bradley, Jr., with his finger trembling on his lever, “let me take a shot at him now.” Gordon struck the man’s gun up, and walked forward in all the glory of his gold and blue uniform; for both he and Stedman saw now that Messenwah was more impressed by their appearance, and in the fact that they were white men, than with any threats of immediate war. So when he saluted Gordon haughtily, that young man gave him a haughty nod in return, and bade Stedman tell the King that he would permit him to sit down. The King did not quite appear to like this, but he sat down, nevertheless, and nodded his head gravely.
“Now tell him,” said Gordon, “that I come from the ruler of the greatest nation on earth, and that I recognize Ollypybus as the only King of this island, and that I come to this little three-penny King with either peace and presents, or bullets and war.”
“Have I got to tell him he’s a littlethree-penny King?” said Stedman, plaintively.
“No; you needn’t give a literal translation; it can be as free as you please.”
“Thanks,” said the secretary, humbly.
“And tell him,” continued Gordon, “that we will give presents to him and his warriors if he keeps away from Ollypybus, and agrees to keep away always. If he won’t do that, try to get him to agree to stay away for three months at least, and by that time we can get word to San Francisco, and have a dozen muskets over here in two months; and when our time of probation is up, and he and his merry men come dancing down the hillside, we will blow them up as high as his mountains. But you needn’t tell him that, either. And if he is proud and haughty, and would rather fight, ask him to restrain himself until we show what we can do with our weapons at two hundred yards.”
Stedman seated himself in the long grass in front of the King, and with many revolving gestures of his arms, and much pointing at Gordon, and profound nods and bows, retold what Gordon had dictated. When he had finished, the King looked at the bundleof presents, and at the guns, of which Stedman had given a very wonderful account, but answered nothing.
“I guess,” said Stedman, with a sigh, “that we will have to give him a little practical demonstration to help matters. I am sorry, but I think one of those goats has got to die. It’s like vivisection. The lower order of animals have to suffer for the good of the higher.”
“Oh,” said Bradley, Jr., cheerfully, “I’d just as soon shoot one of those niggers as one of the goats.”
So Stedman bade the King tell his men to drive a goat towards them, and the King did so, and one of the men struck one of the goats with his spear, and it ran clumsily across the plain.
“Take your time, Bradley,” said Gordon. “Aim low, and if you hit it, you can have it for supper.”
“And if you miss it,” said Stedman, gloomily, “Messenwah may have us for supper.”
The Hillmen had seated themselves a hundred yards off, while the leaders were debating, and they now rose curiously andwatched Bradley, as he sank upon one knee, and covered the goat with his rifle. When it was about one hundred and fifty yards off, he fired, and the goat fell over dead.
And then all the Hillmen, with the King himself, broke away on a run, towards the dead animal, with much shouting. The King came back alone, leaving his people standing about and examining the goat. He was much excited, and talked and gesticulated violently.
“He says—” said Stedman; “He says—”
“What? yes; go on.”
“He says—goodness me!—what do you think he says?”
“Well, what does he say?” cried Gordon, in a great state of nerves. “Don’t keep it all to yourself.”
“He says,” said Stedman, “that we are deceived. That he is no longer King of the Island of Opeki, that he is in great fear of us, and that he has got himself into no end of trouble. He says he sees that we are indeed mighty men, that to us he is as helpless as the wild boar before the javelin of the hunter.”
“Well, he’s right,” said Gordon. “Go on.”
“But that which we ask is no longer his to give. He has sold his kingship and his right to this island to another king, who came to him two days ago in a great canoe, and who made noises as we do,—with guns, I suppose he means,—and to whom he sold the island for a watch that he has in a bag around his neck. And that he signed a paper, and made marks on a piece of bark, to show that he gave up the island freely and forever.”
“What does he mean?” said Gordon. “How can he give up the island. Ollypybus is the king of half of it, anyway, and he knows it.”
“That’s just it,” said Stedman. “That’s what frightens him. He said he didn’t care about Ollypybus, and didn’t count him in when he made the treaty, because he is such a peaceful chap that he knew he could thrash him into doing anything he wanted him to do. And now that you have turned up and taken Ollypybus’s part, he wishes he hadn’t sold the island, and wishes to know if you are angry.”
“Angry? of course I’m angry,” said Gordon, glaring as grimly at the frightenedmonarch as he thought was safe. “Who wouldn’t be angry? Who do you think these people were who made a fool of him, Stedman? Ask him to let us see this watch.”
Stedman did so, and the King fumbled among his necklaces until he had brought out a leather bag tied round his neck with a cord, and containing a plain stem-winding silver watch marked on the inside “Munich.”
“That doesn’t tell anything,” said Gordon. “But it’s plain enough. Some foreign ship of war has settled on this place as a coaling-station, or has annexed it for colonization, and they’ve sent a boat ashore, and they’ve made a treaty with this old chap, and forced him to sell his birthright for a mess of porridge. Now, that’s just like those monarchical pirates; imposing upon a poor old black.”
Old Bradley looked at him impudently.
“Not at all,” said Gordon; “it’s quite different with us; we don’t want to rob him or Ollypybus, or to annex their land. All we want to do is to improve it, and have the fun of running it for them and meddling in their affairs of state. Well, Stedman,” he said, “what shall we do?”
Stedman said that the best and only thing to do was to threaten to take the watch away from Messenwah, but to give him a revolver instead, which would make a friend of him for life, and to keep him supplied with cartridges only as long as he behaved himself, and then to make him understand that as Ollypybus had not given his consent to the loss of the island, Messenwah’s agreement, or treaty, or whatever it was, did not stand, and that he had better come down the next day, early in the morning, and join in a general consultation. This was done, and Messenwah agreed willingly to their proposition, and was given his revolver and shown how to shoot it, while the other presents were distributed among the other men, who were as happy over them as girls with a full dance-card.
“And now, to-morrow,” said Stedman, “understand, you are all to come down unarmed, and sign a treaty with great Ollypybus, in which he will agree to keep to one half of the island, if you keep to yours, and there must be no more wars or goat stealing, or this gentleman on my right and I will come up and put holes in you just as the gentleman on the left did with the goat.”
Messenwah and his warriors promised to come early, and saluted reverently as Gordon and his three companions walked up together very proudly and stiffly.
“Do you know how I feel?” said Gordon.
“How?” asked Stedman.
“I feel as I used to do in the city, when the boys in the street were throwing snow-balls, and I had to go by with a high hat on my head and pretend not to know they were behind me. I always felt a cold chill down my spinal column, and I could feel that snow-ball, whether it came or not, right in the small of my back. And I can feel one of those men pulling his bow, now, and the arrow sticking out of my right shoulder.”
“Oh, no, you can’t,” said Stedman. “They are too afraid of those rifles. But I do feel sorry for any of those warriors whom old man Messenwah doesn’t like, now that he has that revolver. He isn’t the sort to practise on goats.”
There was great rejoicing when Stedman and Gordon told their story to the King, and the people learned they were not to have their huts burned and their cattle stolen. The armed Opekians formed a guard around theambassadors and escorted them to their homes with cheers and shouts, and the women ran at their side and tried to kiss Gordon’s hand.
“I’m sorry I can’t speak the language, Stedman,” said Gordon, “or I would tell them what a brave man you are. You are too modest to do it yourself, even if I dictated something for you to say. As for me,” he said, pulling off his uniform, “I am thoroughly disgusted and disappointed. It never occurred to me until it was all over, that this was my chance to be a war correspondent. It wouldn’t have been much of a war, but then I would have been the only one on the spot, and that counts for a great deal. Still, my time may come.”
“We have a great deal on hand for to-morrow,” said Gordon that evening, “and we had better turn in early.”
And so the people were still singing and rejoicing down in the village, when the two conspirators for the peace of the country went to sleep for the night. It seemed to Gordon as though he had hardly turned his pillow twice to get the coolest side, when some one touched him, and he saw, by the light of the dozen glowworms in the tumbler by his bedside, a tall figure at its foot.
“It’s me—Bradley,” said the figure.
“Yes,” said Gordon, with the haste of a man to show that sleep has no hold on him; “exactly; what is it?”
“There is a ship of war in the harbor,” said Bradley, in a whisper. “I heard her anchor chains rattle when she came to, and that woke me. I could hear that if I were dead. And then I made sure by her lights; she’s a great boat, sir, and I can know she’s a ship of war by the challenging, when they change the watch. I thought you’d like to know, sir.”
Gordon sat up and clutched his knees with his hands. “Yes, of course,” he said; “you are quite right. Still, I don’t see what there is to do.”
He did not wish to show too much youthful interest, but though fresh from civilization, he had learnt how far from it he was, and he was curious to see this sign of it that had come so much more quickly than he had anticipated.
“Wake Mr. Stedman, will you?” said he, “and we will go and take a look at her.”
“You can see nothing but the lights,” said Bradley, as he left the room; “it’s a black night, sir.”
Stedman was not new from the sight of men and ships of war, and came in half dressed and eager.
“Do you suppose it’s the big canoe Messenwah spoke of?” he said.
“I thought of that,” said Gordon.
The three men fumbled their way down the road to the plaza, and saw, as soon as they turned into it, the great outlines and the brilliant lights of an immense vessel, still more immense in the darkness, and glowing like a strange monster of the sea, with just a suggestion here and there, where the lights spread, of her cabins and bridges. As they stood on the shore, shivering in the cool night wind, they heard the bells strike over the water.
“It’s two o’clock,” said Bradley, counting.
“Well, we can do nothing, and they cannot mean to do much to-night,” Albert said. “We had better get some more sleep, and, Bradley, you keep watch and tell us as soon as day breaks.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said the sailor.
“If that’s the man-of-war that made the treaty with Messenwah, and Messenwahturns up to-morrow, it looks as if our day would be pretty well filled up,” said Albert, as they felt their way back to the darkness.
“What do you intend to do?” asked his secretary, with a voice of some concern.
“I don’t know,” Albert answered gravely, from the blackness of the night. “It looks as if we were getting ahead just a little too fast; doesn’t it? Well,” he added, as they reached the house, “let’s try to keep in step with the procession, even if we can’t be drum-majors and walk in front of it.” And with this cheering tone of confidence in their ears, the two diplomats went soundly asleep again.
The light of the rising sun filled the room, and the parrots were chattering outside, when Bradley woke him again.
“They are sending a boat ashore, sir,” he said excitedly, and filled with the importance of the occasion. “She’s a German man-of-war, and one of the new model. A beautiful boat, sir; for her lines were laid in Glasgow, and I can tell that, no matter what flag she flies. You had best be moving to meet them: the village isn’t awake yet.”
Albert took a cold bath and dressed leisurely; then he made Bradley, Jr., who hadslept through it all, get up breakfast, and the two young men ate it and drank their coffee comfortably and with an air of confidence that deceived their servants, if it did not deceive themselves. But when they came down the path, smoking and swinging their sticks, and turned into the plaza, their composure left them like a mask, and they stopped where they stood. The plaza was enclosed by the natives gathered in whispering groups, and depressed by fear and wonder. On one side were crowded all the Messenwah warriors, unarmed, and as silent and disturbed as the Opekians. In the middle of the plaza some twenty sailors were busily rearing and bracing a tall flag-staff that they had shaped from a royal palm, and they did this as unconcernedly and as contemptuously, and with as much indifference to the strange groups on either side of them, as though they were working on a barren coast, with nothing but the startled sea-gulls about them. As Albert and Stedman came upon the scene, the flag-pole was in place, and the halliards hung from it with a little bundle of bunting at the end of one of them.
“We must find the King at once,” said Gordon. He was terribly excited and angry. “It is easy enough to see what this means. They are going through the form of annexing this island to the other lands of the German government. They are robbing old Ollypybus of what is his. They have not even given him a silver watch for it.”
The King was in his bungalow, facing the plaza. Messenwah was with him, and an equal number of each of their councils. The common danger had made them lie down together in peace; but they gave a gasp of relief as Gordon strode into the room with no ceremony, and greeted them with a curt wave of the hand.
“Now then, Stedman, be quick,” he said. “Explain to them what this means; tell them that I will protect them; that I am anxious to see that Ollypybus is not cheated; that we will do all we can for them.”
Outside, on the shore, a second boat’s crew had landed a group of officers and a file of marines. They walked in all the dignity of full dress across the plaza to the flag-pole, and formed in line on the three sides of it, with the marines facing the sea. The officers,from the captain with a prayer book in his hand, to the youngest middy, were as indifferent to the frightened natives about them as the other men had been. The natives, awed and afraid, crouched back among their huts, the marines and the sailors kept their eyes front, and the German captain opened his prayer book. The debate in the bungalow was over.
“If you only had your uniform, sir,” said Bradley, Sr., miserably.
“This is a little bit too serious for uniforms and bicycle medals,” said Gordon. “And these men are used to gold lace.”
He pushed his way through the natives, and stepped confidently across the plaza. The youngest middy saw him coming, and nudged the one next him with his elbow, and he nudged the next, but none of the officers moved, because the captain had begun to read.
“One minute, please,” called Gordon.
He stepped out into the hollow square formed by the marines, and raised his helmet to the captain.
“Do you speak English or French?” Gordon said in French; “I do not understand German.”
The captain lowered the book in his hands and gazed reflectively at Gordon through his spectacles, and made no reply.
“If I understand this,” said the younger man, trying to be very impressive and polite, “you are laying claim to this land, in behalf of the German government.”
The captain continued to observe him thoughtfully, and then said, “That iss so,” and then asked, “Who are you?”
“I represent the King of this island, Ollypybus, whose people you see around you. I also represent the United States government that does not tolerate a foreign power near her coast, since the days of President Monroe and before. The treaty you have made with Messenwah is an absurdity. There is only one king with whom to treat, and he—”
The captain turned to one of his officers and said something, and then, after giving another curious glance at Gordon, raised his book and continued reading, in a deep, unruffled monotone. The officer whispered an order, and two of the marines stepped out of line, and dropping the muzzles of their muskets, pushed Gordon back out of the enclosure,and left him there with his lips white, and trembling all over with indignation. He would have liked to have rushed back into the lines and broken the captain’s spectacles over his sun-tanned nose and cheeks, but he was quite sure this would only result in his getting shot, or in his being made ridiculous before the natives, and that was almost as bad, so he stood still for a moment, with his blood choking him, and then turned and walked back where the King and Stedman were whispering together. Just as he turned, one of the men pulled the halliards, the ball of bunting ran up into the air, bobbed, twitched, and turned, and broke into the folds of the German flag. At the same moment the marines raised their muskets and fired a volley, and the officers saluted and the sailors cheered.
“Do you see that?” cried Stedman, catching Gordon’s humor, to Ollypybus; “that means that you are no longer king, that strange people are coming here to take your land, and to turn your people into servants, and to drive you back into the mountains. Are you going to submit? are you going to let that flag stay where it is?”
Messenwah and Ollypybus gazed at one another with fearful, helpless eyes. “We are afraid,” Ollypybus cried; “we do not know what we should do.”
“What do they say?” asked Gordon.
“They say they do not know what to do.”
“I know what I’d do,” cried Gordon. “If I were not an American consul, I’d pull down their old flag, and put a hole in their boat and sink her.”
“Well, I’d wait until they get under way, before you do either of those things,” said Stedman soothingly. “That captain seems to be a man of much determination of character.”
“But I will pull it down,” cried Gordon. “I will resign, as Travis did. I am no longer consul. You can be consul if you want to. I promote you. I am going up a step higher. I mean to be king. Tell those two,” he ran on excitedly, “that their only course and only hope is in me; that they must make me ruler of the island until this thing is over; that I will resign again as soon as it is settled, but that some one must act at once, and if they are afraid to, I am not, only they must give me authority to act for them. They must abdicate in my favor.”
“Are you in earnest?” gasped Stedman.
“Don’t I talk as if I was?” demanded Gordon, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.
“And can I be consul?” said Stedman, cheerfully.
“Of course. Tell them what I propose to do.”
Stedman turned and spoke rapidly to the two kings. The people gathered closer to hear.
The two rival monarchs looked at one another in silence for a moment, and then both began to speak at once, their consular interrupting them and mumbling their guttural comments with anxious earnestness. It did not take them very long to see that they were all of one mind, and then they both turned to Gordon and dropped on one knee, and placed his hands on their foreheads, and Stedman raised his cap.
“They agree,” he explained, for it was but pantomime to Albert. “They salute you as a ruler; they are calling you Tellaman, which means peacemaker. The Peacemaker, that is your title. I hope you will deserve it, but I think they might have chosen a more appropriate one.”
“Then I’m really King?” demanded Albert, decidedly, “and I can do what I please? They give me full power. Quick, do they?”
“Yes, but don’t do it,” begged Stedman, “and just remember I am American consul now, and that is a much superior being to a crowned monarch; you said so yourself.”
Albert did not reply to this, but ran across the plaza followed by the two Bradleys. The boats had gone.
“Hoist that flag beside the brass cannon,” he cried, “and stand ready to salute it when I drop this one.”
Bradley, Jr., grasped the halliards of the flag, which he had forgotten to raise and salute in the morning in all the excitement of the man-of-war’s arrival. Bradley, Sr., stood by the brass cannon, blowing gently on his lighted fuse. The Peacemaker took the halliards of the German flag in his two hands, gave a quick, sharp tug, and down came the red, white, and black piece of bunting, and the next moment young Bradley sent the stars and stripes up in their place. As it rose, Bradley’s brass cannon barked merrily like a little bull-dog, and the Peacemaker cheered.
“Why don’t you cheer, Stedman?” he shouted. “Tell those people to cheer for all they are worth. What sort of an American consul are you?”
Stedman raised his arm half-heartedly to give the time, and opened his mouth; but his arm remained fixed and his mouth open, while his eyes stared at the retreating boat of the German man-of-war. In the stern sheets of this boat, the stout German captain was struggling unsteadily to his feet; he raised his arm and waved it to some one on the great man-of-war, as though giving an order. The natives looked from Stedman to the boat, and even Gordon stopped in his cheering and stood motionless, watching. They had not very long to wait. There was a puff of white smoke, and a flash, and then a loud report, and across the water came a great black ball skipping lightly through and over the waves, as easily as a flat stone thrown by a boy. It seemed to come very slowly. At least it came slowly enough for every one to see that it was coming directly towards the brass cannon. The Bradleys saw this certainly, for they ran as fast as they could, and kept on running. The ball caught the cannon underits mouth, and tossed it in the air, knocking the flag-pole into a dozen pieces, and passing on through two of the palm-covered huts.
“Great Heavens, Gordon!” cried Stedman; “they are firing on us.”
But Gordon’s face was radiant and wild.
“Firing onus!” he cried. “Onus! Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? What doweamount to? They have fired on the American flag. Don’t you see what that means? It means war. A great international war. And I am a war correspondent at last!” He ran up to Stedman and seized him by the arm so tightly that it hurt.
“By three o’clock,” he said, “they will know in the office what has happened. The country will know it to-morrow when the paper is on the street; people will read it all over the world. The Emperor will hear of it at breakfast; the President will cable for further particulars. He will get them. It is the chance of a lifetime, and we are on the spot.”
Stedman did not hear this; he was watching the broadside of the ship to see another puff of white smoke, but there came no such sign. The two row-boats were raised, therewas a cloud of black smoke from the funnel, a creaking of chains sounding faintly across the water, and the ship started at half speed and moved out of the harbor. The Opekians and the Hillmen fell on their knees, or to dancing, as best suited their sense of relief, but Gordon shook his head.
“They are only going to land the marines,” he said; “perhaps they are going to the spot they stopped at before, or to take up another position further out at sea. They will land men and then shell the town, and the land forces will march here and co-operate with the vessel, and everybody will be taken prisoner or killed. We have the centre of the stage, and we are making history.”
“I’d rather read it than make it,” said Stedman. “You’ve got us in a senseless, silly position, Gordon, and a mighty unpleasant one. And for no reason that I can see, except to make copy for your paper.”
“Tell those people to get their things together,” said Gordon, “and march back out of danger into the woods. Tell Ollypybus I am going to fix things all right; I don’t know just how yet, but I will, and now come after me as quickly as you can to the cableoffice. I’ve got to tell the paper all about it.”
It was three o’clock before the “chap at Octavia” answered Stedman’s signalling. Then Stedman delivered Gordon’s message, and immediately shut off all connection, before the Octavia operator could question him. Gordon dictated his message in this way:—
“Begin with the date line, ‘Opeki, June 22.’
“At seven o’clock this morning, the captain and officers of the German man-of-warKaiser, went through the ceremony of annexing this island in the name of the German Emperor, basing their right to do so on an agreement made with a leader of a wandering tribe, known as the Hillmen. King Ollypybus, the present monarch of Opeki, delegated his authority, as also did the leader of the Hillmen, to King Tellaman, or the Peacemaker, who tore down the German flag, and raised that of the United States in its place. At the same moment the flag was saluted by the battery. This salute, being mistaken for an attack on theKaiser, was answered by that vessel. Her first shot took immediate effect, completely destroying theentire battery of the Opekians, cutting down the American flag, and destroying the houses of the people—”
“There was only one brass cannon and two huts,” expostulated Stedman.
“Well, that was the whole battery, wasn’t it?” asked Gordon, “and two huts is plural. I said houses of the people. I couldn’t say two house of the people. Just you send this as you get it. You are not an American consul at the present moment. You are an under-paid agent of a cable company, and you send my stuff as I write it. The American residents have taken refuge in the consulate—that’s us,” explained Gordon, “and the English residents have sought refuge in the woods—that’s the Bradleys. King Tellaman—that’s me—declares his intention of fighting against the annexation. The forces of the Opekians are under the command of Captain Thomas Bradley—I guess I might as well made him a colonel—of Colonel Thomas Bradley, of the English army.
“The American consul says—Now, what do you say, Stedman? Hurry up, please,” asked Gordon, “and say something good and strong.”
“You get me all mixed up,” complained Stedman, plaintively. “Which am I now, a cable operator or the American consul?”
“Consul, of course. Say something patriotic and about your determination to protect the interests of your government, and all that.” Gordon bit the end of his pencil impatiently, and waited.
“I won’t be anything of the sort, Gordon,” said Stedman; “you are getting me into an awful lot of trouble, and yourself too. I won’t say a word.”
“The American consul,” read Gordon, as his pencil wriggled across the paper, “refuses to say anything for publication until he has communicated with the authorities at Washington, but from all I can learn he sympathizes entirely with Tellaman. Your correspondent has just returned from an audience with King Tellaman, who asks him to inform the American people that the Monroe doctrine will be sustained as long as he rules this island. I guess that’s enough to begin with,” said Gordon. “Now send that off quick, and then get away from the instrument before the man in Octavia begins to ask questions. I am going out to precipitate matters.”
Gordon found the two kings sitting dejectedly side by side, and gazing grimly upon the disorder of the village, from which the people were taking their leave as quickly as they could get their few belongings piled upon the ox-carts. Gordon walked amongst them, helping them in every way he could, and tasting, in their subservience and gratitude, the sweets of sovereignty. When Stedman had locked up the cable office and rejoined him, he bade him tell Messenwah to send three of his youngest men and fastest runners back to the hills to watch for the German vessel and see where she was attempting to land her marines.
“This is a tremendous chance for descriptive writing, Stedman,” said Gordon, enthusiastically, “all this confusion and excitement, and the people leaving their homes and all that. It’s like the people getting out of Brussels before Waterloo, and then the scene at the foot of the mountains, while they are camping out there, until the Germans leave. I never had a chance like this before.”
It was quite dark by six o’clock, and none of the three messengers had as yet returned.Gordon walked up and down the empty plaza and looked now at the horizon for the man-of-war, and again down the road back of the village. But neither the vessel nor the messengers, bearing word of her, appeared. The night passed without any incident, and in the morning Gordon’s impatience became so great that he walked out to where the villagers were in camp and passed on half-way up the mountain, but he could see no sign of the man-of-war. He came back more restless than before, and keenly disappointed.
“If something don’t happen before three o’clock, Stedman,” he said, “our second cablegram will have to consist of glittering generalities and a lengthy interview with King Tellaman, by himself.”
Nothing did happen. Ollypybus and Messenwah began to breathe more freely. They believed the new king had succeeded in frightening the German vessel away forever. But the new king upset their hopes by telling them that the Germans had undoubtedly already landed, and had probably killed the three messengers.
“Now, then,” he said, with pleased expectation,as Stedman and he seated themselves in the cable office at three o’clock, “open it up and let’s find out what sort of an impression we have made.”
Stedman’s face, as the answer came in to his first message of greeting, was one of strangely marked disapproval.
“What does he say?” demanded Gordon, anxiously.
“He hasn’t done anything but swear yet,” answered Stedman, grimly.
“What is he swearing about?”
“He wants to know why I left the cable yesterday. He says he has been trying to call me up for the last twenty-four hours. Ever since I sent my message at three o’clock. The home office is jumping mad, and want me discharged. They won’t do that, though,” he said, in a cheerful aside, “because they haven’t paid me my salary for the last eight months. He says—great Scott! this will please you, Gordon—he says there have been over two hundred queries for matter from papers all over the United States, and from Europe. Your paper beat them on the news, and now the home office is packed with San Francisco reporters, and the telegrams arecoming in every minute, and they have been abusing him for not answering them, and he says that I’m a fool. He wants as much as you can send, and all the details. He says all the papers will have to put ‘By Yokohama Cable Company’ on the top of each message they print, and that that is advertising the company, and is sending the stock up. It rose fifteen points on ’change in San Francisco to-day, and the president and the other officers—”
“Oh, I don’t want to hear about their old company,” snapped out Gordon, pacing up and down in despair. “What am I to do? that’s what I want to know. Here I have the whole country stirred up and begging for news. On their knees for it, and a cable all to myself and the only man on the spot, and nothing to say. I’d just like to know how long that German idiot intends to wait before he begins shelling this town and killing people. He has put me in a most absurd position.”
“Here’s a message for you, Gordon,” said Stedman, with business-like calm. “Albert Gordon, Correspondent,” he read: “Try American consul. First message O.K.; beatthe country; can take all you send. Give names of foreign residents massacred, and fuller account blowing up palace. Dodge.”
The expression on Gordon’s face as this message was slowly read off to him, had changed from one of gratified pride to one of puzzled consternation.
“What’s he mean by foreign residents massacred, and blowing up of palace?” asked Stedman, looking over his shoulder anxiously. “Who is Dodge?”
“Dodge is the night editor,” said Gordon, nervously. “They must have read my message wrong. You sent just what I gave you, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Of course I did,” said Stedman, indignantly.
“I didn’t say anything about the massacre of anybody, did I?” asked Gordon. “I hope they are not improving on my account. WhatamI to do? This is getting awful. I’ll have to go out and kill a few people myself. Oh, why don’t that Dutch captain begin to do something! What sort of a fighter does he call himself? He wouldn’t shoot at a school of porpoises. He’s not—”
“Here comes a message to Leonard T.Travis, American consul, Opeki,” read Stedman. “It’s raining messages to-day. ‘Send full details of massacre of American citizens by German sailors.’ Secretary of—great Scott!” gasped Stedman, interrupting himself and gazing at his instrument with horrified fascination—“the Secretary of State.”
“That settles it,” roared Gordon, pulling at his hair and burying his face in his hands. “I havegotto kill some of them now.”
“Albert Gordon, Correspondent,” read Stedman, impressively, like the voice of Fate. “Is Colonel Thomas Bradley commanding native forces at Opeki, Colonel Sir Thomas Kent-Bradley of Crimean war fame? Correspondent LondonTimes, San Francisco Press Club.”
“Go on, go on!” said Gordon, desperately. “I’m getting used to it now. Go on!”
“American consul, Opeki,” read Stedman. “Home Secretary desires you to furnish list of names English residents killed during shelling of Opeki by ship of warKaiser, and estimate of amount property destroyed. Stoughton, Office of English consul, San Francisco.”
“Stedman!” cried Gordon, jumping to his feet, “there’s a mistake here somewhere. These people cannot all have made my message read like that. Some one has altered it, and now I have got to make these people here live up to that message, whether they like being massacred and blown up or not. Don’t answer any of those messages, except the one from Dodge; tell him things have quieted down a bit, and that I’ll send four thousand words on the flight of the natives from the village, and their encampment at the foot of the mountains, and of the exploring party we have sent out to look for the German vessel; and now I am going out to make something happen.”
Gordon said he would be gone for two hours at least, and as Stedman did not feel capable of receiving any more nerve-stirring messages, he cut off all connection with Octavia, by saying, “Good by for two hours,” and running away from the office. He sat down on a rock on the beach, and mopped his face with his handkerchief.
“After a man has taken nothing more exciting than weather reports from Octavia for a year,” he soliloquized, “it’s a bit disturbingto have all the crowned heads of Europe and their secretaries calling upon you for details of a massacre that never came off.”
At the end of two hours Gordon came back from the consulate with a mass of manuscript in his hand.
“Here’s three thousand words,” he said desperately. “I never wrote more and said less in my life. It will make them weep at the office. I had to pretend that they knew all that had happened so far; they apparently do know more than we do, and I have filled it full of prophesies of more trouble ahead, and with interviews with myself and the two ex-Kings. The only news element in it is, that the messengers have returned to report that the German vessel is not in sight, and that there is no news. They think she has gone for good. Suppose she has, Stedman,” he groaned, looking at him helplessly, “whatamI going to do?”
“Well, as for me,” said Stedman, “I’m afraid to go near that cable. It’s like playing with a live wire. My nervous system won’t stand many more such shocks as those they gave us this morning.”
Gordon threw himself down dejectedly ina chair in the office, and Stedman approached his instrument gingerly, as though it might explode.
“He’s swearing again,” he explained sadly, in answer to Gordon’s look of inquiry. “He wants to know when I am going to stop running away from the wire. He has a stack of messages to send, he says, but I guess he’d better wait and take your copy first; don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I do,” said Gordon. “I don’t want any more messages than I’ve had. That’s the best I can do,” he said, as he threw his manuscript down beside Stedman. “And they can keep on cabling until the wire burns red hot, and they won’t get any more.”
There was silence in the office for some time, while Stedman looked over Gordon’s copy, and Gordon stared dejectedly out at the ocean.
“This is pretty poor stuff, Gordon,” said Stedman. “It’s like giving people milk when they want brandy.”
“Don’t you suppose I know that?” growled Gordon. “It’s the best I can do, isn’t it? It’s not my fault that we are not all dead now. I can’t massacre foreign residentsif there are no foreign residents, but I can commit suicide though, and I’ll do it if something don’t happen.”
There was a long pause, in which the silence of the office was only broken by the sound of the waves beating on the coral reefs outside. Stedman raised his head wearily.
“He’s swearing again,” he said; “he says this stuff of yours is all nonsense. He says stock in the Y. C. C. has gone up to one hundred and two, and that owners are unloading and making their fortunes, and that this sort of descriptive writing is not what the company wants.”
“What’s he think I’m here for?” cried Gordon. “Does he think I pulled down the German flag and risked my neck half a dozen times and had myself made King just to boom his Yokohama cable stock? Confound him! You might at least swear back. Tell him just what the situation is in a few words. Here, stop that rigmarole to the paper, and explain to your home office that we are awaiting developments, and that, in the meanwhile, they must put up with the best we can send them. Wait; send this to Octavia.”
Gordon wrote rapidly, and read what he wrote as rapidly as it was written.
“Operator, Octavia. You seem to have misunderstood my first message. The facts in the case are these. A German man-of-war raised a flag on this island. It was pulled down and the American flag raised in its place and saluted by a brass cannon. The German man-of-war fired once at the flag and knocked it down, and then steamed away and has not been seen since. Two huts were upset, that is all the damage done; the battery consisted of the one brass cannon before mentioned. No one, either native or foreign, has been massacred. The English residents are two sailors. The American residents are the young man who is sending you this cable and myself. Our first message was quite true in substance, but perhaps misleading in detail. I made it so because I fully expected much more to happen immediately. Nothing has happened, or seems likely to happen, and that is the exact situation up to date. Albert Gordon.”
“Now,” he asked after a pause, “what does he say to that?”
“He doesn’t say anything,” said Stedman.“I guess he has fainted. Here it comes,” he added in the same breath. He bent toward his instrument, and Gordon raised himself from his chair and stood beside him as he read it off. The two young men hardly breathed in the intensity of their interest.
“Dear Stedman,” he slowly read aloud. “You and your young friend are a couple of fools. If you had allowed me to send you the messages awaiting transmission here to you, you would not have sent me such a confession of guilt as you have just done. You had better leave Opeki at once or hide in the hills. I am afraid I have placed you in a somewhat compromising position with the company, which is unfortunate, especially as, if I am not mistaken, they owe you some back pay. You should have been wiser in your day, and bought Y. C. C. stock when it was down to five cents, as yours truly did. You are not, Stedman, as bright a boy as some. And as for your friend, the war correspondent, he has queered himself for life. You see, my dear Stedman, after I had sent off your first message, and demands for further details came pouring in, and I could not getyou at the wire to supply them, I took the liberty of sending some on myself.”
“Great Heavens!” gasped Gordon.
Stedman grew very white under his tan, and the perspiration rolled on his cheeks.
“Your message was so general in its nature, that it allowed my imagination full play, and I sent on what I thought would please the papers, and what was much more important to me, would advertise the Y. C. C. stock. This I have been doing while waiting for material from you. Not having a clear idea of the dimensions or population of Opeki, it is possible that I have done you and your newspaper friend some injustice. I killed off about a hundred American residents, two hundred English, because I do not like the English, and a hundred French. I blew up old Ollypybus and his palace with dynamite, and shelled the city, destroying some hundred thousand dollars’ worth of property, and then I waited anxiously for your friend to substantiate what I had said. This he has most unkindly failed to do. I am very sorry, but much more so for him than for myself, for I, my dear friend, have cabled on toa man in San Francisco, who is one of the directors of the Y. C. C., to sell all my stock, which he has done at one hundred and two, and he is keeping the money until I come. And I leave Octavia this afternoon to reap my just reward. I am in about $20,000 on your little war, and I feel grateful. So much so that I will inform you that the ship of warKaiserhas arrived at San Francisco, for which port she sailed directly from Opeki. Her captain has explained the real situation, and offered to make every amend for the accidental indignity shown to our flag. He says he aimed at the cannon, which was trained on his vessel, and which had first fired on him. But you must know, my dear Stedman, that before his arrival, war vessels belonging to the several powers mentioned in my revised dispatches, had started for Opeki at full speed, to revenge the butchery of the foreign residents. A word, my dear young friend, to the wise is sufficient. I am indebted to you to the extent of $20,000, and in return I give you this kindly advice. Leave Opeki. If there is no other way, swim. But leave Opeki.”
The sun, that night, as it sank below the line where the clouds seemed to touch the sea, merged them both into a blazing, blood-red curtain, and colored the most wonderful spectacle that the natives of Opeki had ever seen. Six great ships of war, stretching out over a league of sea, stood blackly out against the red background, rolling and rising, and leaping forward, flinging back smoke and burning sparks up into the air behind them, and throbbing and panting like living creatures in their race for revenge. From the south, came a three-decked vessel, a great island of floating steel, with a flag as red as the angry sky behind it, snapping in the wind. To the south of it plunged two long low-lying torpedo boats, flying the French tri-color, and still further to the north towered three magnificent hulls of the White Squadron. Vengeance was written on every curve and line, on each straining engine rod, and on each polished gun muzzle.