"Shake, me boy!" cried the enraptured Watts to the ship's captain. "I do'n' know wot it's all about, but it's reel fine. Something to do with a gal, I expect. Well, 'ere's one of the same kidney:
I know a maiden fair to see,Take care!She can both false and friendly be,Beware, beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!"
Mr. Watts was both charmed and surprised when the friendly skipper joined in the concluding lines in his own language. But his pleasure was short-lived. Coke's inflamed visage glowered into the mess room.
"Sink me if you ain't a daisy!" he roared, pouncing on a three-quarters filled bottle of rum. "D'you fancy we're goin' to land you at Maceio cryin' drunk? No, sir, not this time. Over it goes, an' if you ain't dam careful, over you go after it!"
Watts could have wept without the artificial stimulus of the rum. To see good liquor slung into the sea in that fashion—well, it was a sin, that's wot it was! But Coke's furious eye quelled him; and revel and song ceased.
Above, on the bridge, Hozier smiled sourly at the squall which had so suddenly beset the fair argosy of the convivial-minded Watts. He tried to invest the incident with an excess of humor. Any excuse would serve to still certain disquieting doubts that were springing into alarming activity. Had he gone the best way to work in allaying Iris's conscience-stricken qualms? Was he justified in adopting such a bold line with De Sylva? Could it be possible—no, he refused to harbor any mean thought of Iris. She loved him, he was sure; his love for her was at once a torment and an excruciating bliss, and both of these wearing sensations sadly detracted from the efficiency of the officer of the watch. So our distracted Philip pulled himself up sharply, paced back and forth between port and starboard, and surveyed ship, binnacle, and horizon with alert vigilance.
On the fore-deck groups of sailors and firemen belonging to both vessels were fraternizing. There could be little room for speculation as to the subject of their broken talk. It was of De Sylva, of Brazil's new dictator, of the gold he would control when he became President again. The slow-moving Teutonic mind was beginning to assimilate the notion that there was money in this escapade. That the tatterdemalion then closeted with theUnser Fritz'scaptain could obtain a certified check for a million sterling, and twenty-five times as many millions of francs, and even then remain a man of means, was unbelievable; but if he regained power, that was different.Ende gut, alles gut. There might be pickings in it.
Soon after sunset Iris reappeared. She walked on the after deck with San Benavides, and seemed to be listening with great attention to something he was telling her. Hozier was often compelled to look that way in order to make certain that theSao Geronimowas not overhauling the ship in one of her circling flights over the wide channel. He wondered what in the world San Benavides was saying that his chatter should be so interesting, and he acknowledged with a pang that Iris was deliberately avoiding his own occasional glances in her direction.
There is no saying what would have happened had he known that the Brazilian was relating the scene that took place on the bridge, suppressing its prime motive, and twisting it greatly to Hozier's detriment, though with an adroit touch that deprived Iris of any power to resent his words. Indeed, she read her own meaning into Philip's anxiety to reach Pernambuco, whereas San Benavides was striving to instill the belief that she would find excellent friends at Maceio. She was far too loyal-hearted to suspect Philip of a hidden purpose in urging that the voyage should end in one port rather than another. But she could not forget that he said repeatedly they would be married in Pernambuco. Indeed, the promise had a glamour of its own, even though it could never be fulfilled. More than once her cheeks glowed with a rush of color that San Benavides attributed to his own delightful personality, and, when she paled again, his voice sank to a deeply sympathetic note.
And here came Watts, rejuvenated, having imbibed many pints of the despised lager, and humming gaily:
Beware, Beware!Trust her not!She is foo-oo-ooling thee!
Confound the fellow. Why could he not chant the piratical doggerel that Coke abhorred? That, at least, would have been more appropriate to present surroundings? But would it? Ah, Philip felt a twinge then. "Touché!" chortled some unseen imp who plied a venomous rapier. Thank goodness, a sailor was standing by the ship's bell, with his hand on a bit of cord tied to the clapper. It would soon be seven o'clock. Even the companionship of the uncouth skipper was preferable to this brooding solitariness.
When Hozier was relieved, and summoned to a meal in the saloon with Norrie and some of the ship's own officers, Iris was nowhere visible. He went straight to her cabin, and knocked.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"I, Philip. Will you be on deck in a quarter of an hour?"
"No."
"But this timeIwant to tellyousomething."
"Philip, dear, I am weary. I must rest—and—I dare not meet you."
"Dare not?"
"I am afraid of myself. Please leave me."
He caught the sob in her voice, and it unmanned him; he stalked off, raging. He remembered how the fiend, in Gounod's incomparable opera, whispered in the lover's ear: "Thou fool, wait for night and the moon!" and he was wroth with himself for the memory. While off duty he kept strict watch and ward over the gangway in which Iris's cabin was situated. It was useless; she remained hidden.
TheUnser Fritzwas now heading southwest, and "reeling off her ten knots an hour like clockwork," as Norrie put it. The Recife, that enormous barrier reef which blockades hundreds of miles of the Brazilian coast, caused no anxiety to Coke. He was well acquainted with these waters, and he held on stoutly until the occulting light of Maceio showed low over the sea straight ahead. It was then after midnight, and the land was still ten miles distant, but the ship promptly resumed her role of lame duck, lest a prowling gunboat met and interrogated her.
As Coke had told Iris she might expect to be ashore about two o'clock, she waited until half-past one ere coming on deck. Despite her unalterable decision to abide by the hideous compact entered into with her uncle and Bulmer, her first thought now was to find Hozier. Though the sky was radiant with stars, a slight haze on the surface of the sea shrouded the ship's decks and passages in an uncanny darkness. Coke's orders forbade the display of any lights whatsoever, except those in the engine-room and the three essential lamps carried externally. So theUnser Fritzwas gloomy, and the plash of the sea against her worn plates had an ominous sound, while the glittering white eye of the lighthouse winked evilly across the black plain in front.
In a word Iris was thoroughly wretched, and not a little disturbed by the near prospect of landing in a foreign country, which would probably be plunged into civil war by the mere advent of De Sylva. It need hardly be said that, under these circumstances, Hozier was the one man in whose company she would feel reasonably safe. But she could not see him anywhere. Coke and Watts, with the Brazilians and a couple of Germans, were on the bridge, but Hozier was not to be found.
At last she hailed one of theAndromeda'smen whom she met in a gangway.
"Mr. Hozier, miss?" said he. "Oh, he's forrard, right up in the bows, keepin' a lookout. This is a ticklish place to enter without a pilot, an' we've passed two already."
This information added to her distress. She ought not to go to him. Full well she knew that her presence might distract him from an all-important task. So she sat forlornly on the fore-hatch, waiting there until he might leave his post, reviewing all the bizarre procession of events since she climbed an elm-tree in the garden of Linden House on a Sunday afternoon now so remote that it seemed to be the very beginning of life. The adventures to which that elm-tree conducted her were oddly reminiscent of the story of Jack and the Beanstalk. For once, the true had outrivaled the fabulous.
The steamer crept on lazily, and Iris fancied the hour must be nearer five o'clock than two when she heard Hozier's voice ring out clearly:
"Buoy on the port bow!"
There was a movement among the dim figures on the bridge. A minute later Hozier cried again:
"Buoy on the starboard bow!"
She understood then that they were in a marked channel. Already the road was narrowing. Soon they would be ashore. At last Hozier came. He saw her as he jumped down from the forecastle deck.
"Why are you here, Iris?" was all he said. She looked so bowed, so humbled, that he could not find it in his heart to reproach her for having avoided him earlier.
"I wanted to be near you," she whispered. "I—I am frightened, Philip. I am terrified by the unknown. Somehow, on the rock our dangers were measurable. Here, we shall soon be swallowed up among a whole lot of people."
They heard Coke's gruff order to the watch to clear the falls of the jolly-boat. TheUnser Fritzwas going dead slow. On the starboard side were the lights of a large town, but the opposite shore was somber and vague.
"Are we going to land at once, in a small boat?" said Iris timidly.
"I fancy there is a new move on foot. A gunboat is moored half a mile down stream. You missed her because your back was turned. She has steam up, and could slip her cables in a minute. They saw her from the bridge, of course, but I did not report her, as there was a chance that my hail might be heard, and we came in so confidently that we are looked on as a local trader. Come, let us buy a programme."
He took her by the arm with that masterful gentleness that is so comforting to a woman when danger is rife. Even his jesting allusion to their theatrical arrival in port was cheering. They reached the bridge. Some sailors were lowering a boat as quietly as possible.
Dom Corria approached with outstretched hand.
"Good-by, Miss Yorke," he said. "I am leaving you for a few hours, not longer. When next we meet I ought to have a sure grip of the Presidential ladder, and I shall climb quickly. Won't you wish me luck?"
"I wish you all good fortune, Dom Corria," said Iris. "May your plans succeed without bloodshed!"
"Ah, this is South America, remember. Our conflicts are usually short and fierce.Au revoir, Mr. Hozier. By daybreak we shall be better friends."
San Benavides also bade them farewell, with an easy grace not wholly devoid of melodramatic pathos. The dandy and the man of rags climbed down a rope ladder, the boat fell away from the ship's side, and the night took them.
"What did he mean by saying you would be 'better friends'?" whispered the girl. "Have you quarreled?"
"We had a small dispute as to the wisdom of landing you here," said Philip. "Perhaps I was wrong. He is a clever man, and he surely knows his own country."
"Mr. Hozier!" cried Coke.
"Yes, sir."
"Is all clear forrard to let go anchor?"
"Yes, sir."
"Give her thirty. You go and see to it, will you?"
Hozier made off at a run.
Iris recalled the last time she heard similar words. She shuddered. Would that placid foreshore blaze out into a roar of artillery, and the worn-outUnser Fritz, like the worn-outAndromeda, stagger and lurch into a watery grave.
But the only noise that jarred the peaceful night was the rattle of the cable and winch. The ship fell away a few feet, and was held. There was no moving light on the river. Not even a police boat or Customs launch had put off. Maceio was asleep; it was quite unprepared for the honor of a Presidential visit.
A swaggering officer and a man habited like a beggar landed unobserved at a coal wharf, moored a ship's boat to a bolt, and passed swiftly through a silent town till they reached the closed gates of an infantry barrack perched on a hill that rose steeply above the clustering roofs of Maceio.
Though the seeming mendicant limped slightly, his superior stature enabled him to keep pace with the officer. The pair neither lagged nor hesitated. The officer knocked loudly on a small door inset in the big gates. After some delay it was opened. A sentry challenged.
"Capitão San Benavides," announced the officer, and the man stood to attention.
"Enter, my friend," said San Benavides to his ragged companion. The latter stepped within; the wicket was locked, and the click of the bolt was suggestive of the rattle of the dice with which Dom Corria De Sylva was throwing a main with fortune. Perhaps some thought of the kind occurred to him, but he was calm as if he were so poor that he had naught more to lose.
"Who is the officer of the guard?" San Benavides asked the soldier.
"Senhor Tenente [Lieutenant] Regis de Pereira, senhor capitão."
"Tell him, with my compliments, that I shall be glad to meet him at the colonel's quarters in fifteen minutes."
The queerly-assorted pair moved off across the barrack square. The sentry looked after them.
"My excellent captain seems to have been brawling," he grinned. "But what of themendigo?"
What, indeed? A most pertinent question for Brazil, and one that would be loudly answered.
The colonel's house was in darkness, yet San Benavides rapped imperatively. An upper window was raised. A voice was heard, using profane language. A head appeared. Its owner cried, "Who is it?"—with additions.
"San Benavides."
"Christo! And the other?"
"One whom you expect."
The head popped in. Soon there was a light on the ground floor. The door opened. A very stout man, barefooted, who had struggled into a pair of abnormally tight riding-breeches, faced them.
"Can it be possible?" he exclaimed, striking an attitude.
Dom Corria spoke not a word. He knew the value of effect, and could bide his time. The three passed into a lighted apartment. De Sylva placed himself under a chandelier, and took off a frayed straw hat which he had borrowed from someone on board theUnser Fritz. The colonel, a grotesque figure in his presentdeshabillé, bowed low before him.
"My President!—I salute you," he murmured.
"Thank you, General," said Dom Corria, smiling graciously. "I knew I could depend on you. How soon can you muster the regiment?"
"In half an hour, Excellency."
"See that there is plenty of ammunition for the machine guns. What of the artillery?"
"The three batteries stationed here are with us heart and soul."
"Colonel San Benavides, as chief of the staff, is acquainted with every detail. You, General, will assume command of the Army of Liberation. Some trunks were sent to you from Paris, I believe?"
"They are in the room prepared for your Excellency."
"Let me go there at once and change my clothing. I must appear before the troops as their President, not as a jail-bird. For the moment I leave everything to you and San Benavides. Let Senhor Pondillo be summoned. He will attend to the civil side of affairs. You have my unqualified approval of the military scheme drawn up by you and my other friends. There is one thing—a gunboat lies in the harbor. Is she theAndorinha?"
The newly-promoted general smote his huge stomach with both hands—"beating the drum," he called it—and the rat-tat signified instant readiness for action.
"The guns will soon scare that bird," he exclaimed. AsAndorinhameans "swallow" in English there was some point to the remark. Nor was he making a vain boast. The most astounding feature of every revolution in a South American republic is the alacrity with which the army will fire on the navy,et vice versâ. The two services seem to be everlastingly at feud. If politicians fail to engineer a quarrel, the soldiers and sailors will indulge in one on their own account.
It was so now at Maceio. Dawn was about to peep up over the sea when twelve guns lumbered through the narrow streets, waking many startled citizens. A few daring souls, who guessed what had happened, rushed off on horseback or bicycle to remote telegraph offices. These adventurers were too late. Every railway station and post-office within twenty miles was already held by troops. Revolts are conducted scientifically in that region. Their stage management is perfect, and the cumbrous methods of effete civilizations might well take note of the speed, thoroughness, and efficiency with which a change of government is effected.
For instance, what could be more admirable than the scaring of the bird by General Russo? He drew up his three batteries on the wharf opposite the unsuspectingAndorinha, and endeavored to plant twelve shells in the locality of her engine-room without the least hesitation. There was no thought of demanding her surrender, or any quixotic nonsense of that sort. In the first place, no man would act as herald, since he would be shot or stabbed the instant his errand became known; in the second, as Hozier had explained to Iris, the gunboat could slip her cable very quickly, and Russo's artillerists might miss a moving object.
As it was, every gun scored, though the elevation was rather high. The shells made a sad mess of the superstructure, but left the engines intact. The sailors, on their part, knew exactly what had happened. Every man who escaped death or serious injury from the bursting missiles ran to his post. A wire hawser and mooring rope were severed with axes, the screw revolved, and theAndorinhawas in motion. Though winged, she still could fly. The second salvo of projectiles was less damaging; again the gunners failed to reach the warship's vitals. Her commander got his own armament into action, and managed to demolish a warehouse and a grain elevator. Then he made off down the coast toward Rio de Janeiro.
The sudden uproar stirred Maceio from roof to basement. Its inhabitants poured into the Plaza. Every man vied with his neighbor in yelling: "The revolution is here!Viva Dom Corria!Abajo São Paulo!"
That last cry explained a good deal. The State of São Paulo had long maintained a "corner" in Brazilian Presidents. De Sylva, a native of Alagoas, was the first to break down the monopoly. Hence the cabal against him; hence, too, the readiness of Maceio, together with many of the smaller ports and the whole of the vast interior, to espouse his cause.
For the purposes of this story, which is mainly concerned with the lives and fortunes of a few insignificant people unknown to history, it is not necessary to follow in detail the trumpetings, proclamations, carousals, and arrests that followed Dom Corria's first success. It is a truism that in events of international importance the very names of the chief actors ofttimes go unrecorded. Future generations will ask, perhaps:—Who blew up theMaine? Who persuaded the Tsar to break his word anent Port Arthur? Who told Paul Kruger that the Continent of Europe would support the Boers against Great Britain? Such instances could be multiplied indefinitely, and the rule held good now in Brazil.
If any polite Pernambucano, Maceio-ite, or merchant of Bahia were informed that President De Sylva's raid was alone rendered possible by the help of a truculent British master-mariner and a dozen or so of his hard-bitten crew, he (the said Brasileiro) might be skeptical, or, at best, indifferent. But let the name of some puppet politician hailing from São Paulo be mentioned, and his eyes would flash with angry recognition; yet theAndromeda'ssmall contingent achieved more than a whole army of conspirators.
The one incident, then, of a political nature, in which the victors of the tussle on Fernando Noronha were publicly concerned, was the outcome of a message cabled by Dom Corria while the smoke of Russo's cannon still clung about the quay.
It was written in German, addressed to a Hamburg shipping firm, and ran as follows: "Have soldUnser Fritzto Senhor Pondillo of this port as from September 1st, for 175,000 marks. If approved, cable confirmation, and draw on Paris branch Deutsche Bank at sight. Franz Schmidt, care German Consul, Maceio."
This harmless commercial item was read by many officials hostile to De Sylva, yet it evoked no comment. Its first real effect was observable in the counting-house of the Hamburg owners. There it was believed that Captain Schmidt had either become a lunatic himself or was in touch with a rich one. Schmidt was so well known to them that they acted on the latter hypothesis. They cabled him their hearty commendation, "drew" on the Paris bank by the next post, and awaited developments. To their profound amazement, the money was paid. As they had obtained 8,750 pounds for a vessel worth about one-quarter of the sum, they had good reason to be satisfied. It mattered not a jot to them that the sale was made "as from September 1st," or any other date. They signed the desired quittance, cabled Schmidt again to ask if Senhor Pondillo was in need of other ships of theUnser Fritzclass, and the members of the firm indulged that evening in the best dinner that the tip-top restaurant of Hamburg could supply.
They were puzzled next day by certain statements in the newspapers, and were called on to explain to a number of journalists that the ship had left their ownership. She was at Maceio. Where was Maceio? Somewhere in South America.
"Es ist nicht von Bedeutung," said the senior partner to his associates. "Schmidt will write full particulars; when all is said and done, we have the money."
Yet it did matter very greatly, as shall be seen. Here, again, was an instance of an humble individual becoming a cog in the wheel of world politics. Within less than a month Schmidt was vituperated by half the chancelleries of Europe. A newspaper war raged over him. He became the object of an Emperor's Jovian wrath. "What's the matter with Schmidt? He's—all—right!" thundered the whole press of the United States. And all because he had made a good bargain at a critical moment!
But no one on board theUnser Fritzwas vexed by aught save present tribulations when De Sylva and hisaidequitted the ship. Be sure that not a soul thought of sleep. Every man, and the one woman whom chance had thrown in their midst, remained on deck and watched the slumbering town. It was only a small place. TheAndorinhalay at one end of the harbor, theUnser Fritzat the other. They were barely half a mile apart, and Maceio climbed the sloping shore between the two points.
Hozier, of course, had forgiven Iris for her aloofness, and Iris, with that delightful inconsistency which ranks high among the many charms of her sex, found that "Philip dear," though she might not marry him, was her only possible companion. He, having acquired an experience previously lacking, took care to fall in with her mood. She, weary of a painful self-repression, cheated the frowning gods of "just this one night." So they looked at the twinkling lights, spoke in whispers lest they should miss any tokens of disturbance on shore, elbowed each other comfortably on the rails of the bridge, and uttered no word of love or future purpose.
They were discussing nothing more important than the sufferings of Watts—whom Coke would not allow to go out of his sight—when a lightning blaze leaped from the somber shadows of some buildings on the quay lower down the river. Again, and many times again, the sudden jets of flame started out across the black water. Iris, or Hozier, for that matter, had never seen a field-piece fired by night, but before the girl could do other than grip Philip's arm in a spasm of fear, the thunder of the artillery rolled across the harbor, and the worn plates of theUnser Fritzquivered under the mere concussion.
"By jove, they're at it!" cried Philip.
Iris felt the thrill that shook him. She could not see his face, but she knew that his blue eyes were shining like bright steel. She was horrified at the thought of red war being so near, yet she was proud of her lover. At these mortal crises, the woman demands courage in the man.
"Oh!" she gasped, and clung to him more tightly.
Under such circumstances it was only to be expected that his arm would clasp her round the waist; Disraeli's famous epigram was coined for diplomacy, not for love-making.
Hozier strained his eyes through the gloom to try and discover the effect of the cannonade on the gunboat. He was quickly alive to the significance of the answering broadside. Then the black hull grew dim and vanished. His sailor's sympathies went with the escaping ship.
"She has got away! I am jolly glad of it," he cried. "It was a dirty trick to open fire on her in that fashion. Just how they served theAndromeda, the hounds, only we had never a gun to tickle them up in return."
"Do you think that many of the poor creatures have been killed?" asked Iris tremulously. The din of ordnance and bursting shells had ceased as suddenly as it began. Lights appeared in nearly every house. Shouting men were running along the neighboring wharf. Maceio, never a heavy sleeper in bulk, dreamed for a second of earthquakes, leaped out of bed, and ran into the streets in the negligent costume which the Italians describe by the delightful word,confidenza.
"I don't suppose so," Hozier reassured her. "If the artillery had made good practice at that short range the gunboat must have sunk at her moorings. Her men naturally couldn't miss the town. There was a rare old rattle among the crockery behind the soldiers. Did you hear it? I wonder what went over?"
He was as excited as a schoolboy, almost jubilant. Poor Iris! Though she was now a veteran in scenes of death and disaster, she realized that fate had erred in choosing her as a heroine.
Coke and Watts drew near.
"Dom Wot's-'is-name wasn't long in gettin' busy," chuckled Coke. "Gev' her a dose of theAndromeda'sphysic, eh? I'm sorry the blighters managed to 'ook it."
Though he had just uttered an opinion directly contrary to his captain's, Hozier deemed it wise to be non-committal.
"The guns must have been laid badly," he said.
"Mebbe, an' wot's more, d—n 'em, they knew there was something in front that could shoot back."
So Coke was at least impartial. He cared not a jot how the Brazilians slaughtered each other so long as De Sylva established the new regime speedily.
"I never was a fightin' man meself," murmured Watts weakly. "That sort of thing gives me a sinkin' sensation in me innards."
"Wot you want is a drink, me boy," said Coke.
Watts brightened. He drew a deep breath.
"I reelly believe that's wot's wrong with me," he said.
"Then I'll just ax the cook to 'urry up with the corfee," guffawed the unfeeling skipper. "We'll all be the better for a snack an' somethink 'ot."
Iris managed to choke down an hysterical laugh. Coke was incorrigible, yet she was conscious of a growing appreciation of his crude chivalry. He boasted truly that he feared neither man nor devil. His chief defect lay in being born several centuries too late. Had he flourished during the Middle Ages, Coke would have carved out a kingdom.
Even while the men were thus callously discussing the tragedy that had been enacted before their eyes, the miracle of the dawn was transforming night into day. In the tropics there is no hesitancy about sunrise. The splendid imagery of Genesis is literally exact. "Let there be light; and there was light … and God divided the light from the darkness." Long before theAndorinhahad crept round the southern headland of the Macayo estuary she became visible again.
About six o'clock a grand review was held in the Plaza, or chief square. Dom Corria, a resplendent personage on horseback, made a fine speech. He was vociferously applauded, by both troops and populace. General Russo, also mounted, assured him that Brazil was pining for him. In effect, when he was firmly established in the Presidency, the people would be allowed to vote for him.
"We have borne two years of misrule," vociferated the commander-in-chief, "but it has vanished before the fiery breath of our guns. We hail your Excellency as our liberator. Long live Dom Corria! Down with——"
The fierce "Vivas" of the mob, combined with the general's weight, proved too much for his charger, which plunged violently. Russo was held on accidentally by his spurs. There was a lively interlude until an orderly seized the bridle, and the general was able to disengage the rowels from the animal's ribs. When tranquillity was restored, the soldiers marched off to their quarters, and Colonel San Benavides boarded theUnser Fritz. He invited Iris, Schmidt, Coke, and Hozier to breakfast with the President at the principal hotel.
Watts was not included in the list of guests. Being indignant, he expressed himself freely.
"Nice thing!" he said to Norrie. "We're not good enough to be axed. It was a bit of all right w'en we 'elped 'im out of quod, but now 'e's a bloomin' toff we're low-down sailormen—that's wot we are."
"Man, ye're fair daft," growled the Scot. "It's as plain as the neb on yer face that he canna dae wi' a', so he just picked the twa skippers and the lassie; he kent weel she wadna stir an inch withoot Hozier."
Norrie was right, as it happened, but Watts added another grudge to his score against De Sylva.
Now, though dynasties totter and empires crash, the first thing a woman thinks of when bidden to a public gathering is her attire. Iris declared most emphatically that to expect her to go ashore and meet certain military and civic dignitaries while she was wearing a costume originally purchased for mountaineering, which had endured the rough usage of the past two days, was "for to laugh." She was speaking French, and that was the literal phrase she used. The courteous San Benavides smiled away her protest. His Excellency had foreseen the difficulty. Those who knew Dom Corria best would not credit that he should forget anything. The Senhora Pondillo awaited Iris at the hotel with a supply of new clothing. Captain Schmidt, of course, could depend on his own wardrobe, but Captain Coke and the Senhor Hozier would find a tradesman in their rooms who had guaranteed to equip them suitably. Moreover, the same outfitter would visit the ship during the morning and make good the lost raiment and boots of the other officers and men of theAndromeda. San Benavides spoke like the ambassador of a prince, and, in the sequel, there was no stint of deeds to give effect to his promises.
On the way to the hotel Iris saw a large building labeled "Casa do Correio e Telegraphia." It was not surprising that she had not thought earlier of the necessity of cabling to Liverpool. She blushed, and looked involuntarily at Hozier.
"I must send a message to my uncle," she said.
Were Philip a professed spiritualist, the spectral shapes of David Verity and Dickey Bulmer could not have been more effectually "projected" into his astral plane at Maceio than they were at that instant. He had not set eyes on either of the men, but the girl's words conjured them into being, and the vision was vastly disagreeable.
San Benavides, of course, was anxious to oblige Iris in this as in every other respect. He procured the requisite form, told her the cost, which led to a condensed version of the original draft, smoothed away the slight hindrance of foreign money tendered in payment, and arranged the due delivery of a reply. Perhaps he smiled when he read what she had written. The words were comprehensible even to one who did not understand English:
"Andromedalost. Arrived here safely. Address, Yorke, Maceio."
There was a space at the foot of the form on which it was necessary to subscribe her name and local address. So she wrote, "Iris Yorke, steamshipUnser Fritz, Maceio harbor." Hozier was standing by her side as she printed the words legibly. She looked up at him with a curiously tense expression that he did not fathom immediately. They were in the busy main street again ere its meaning occurred to him. The cable committed her irrevocably. She felt that she was signing her own condemnation!
Among the four people, therefore, who entered the Hotel Grande in the Rua do Sul there were two whose feelings were the reverse of cheerful. But convention is stronger than the primal impulses—sometimes it triumphs over death itself—and convention was all-powerful now. It led Iris away captive in the train of the smiling and voluble Senhora Pondillo, and it immersed Hozier in a tangle of fearsome words which turned out to be the stock in trade of a clothier. The mere male of Maceio decks himself with gay plumage. Philip was hard put to it before he secured some garments which did not irresistibly recall the heroes of certain musical comedies popular in England.
Coke experienced worse vicissitudes. Even the variety and richness of a master mariner's vocabulary was taxed to its utmost resources when he was coaxed into "trying on" a short jacket apparently intended for a toreador. Such minor troubles, however, were overcome in time. A razor and a hot bath were by no means the least important items of the rejuvenating process, and when the two men entered the salon where Dom Corria was holding an impromptu reception they looked like a couple of coffee-planters from the Argentine. Schmidt was there already. For some reason, the new President seemed to be so fond of theUnser Fritz'scommander that he refused to be parted from him. It was not until long afterward that Hozier discovered the reason of this mushroom friendship. The German consul was in the room.
The appearance of Iris caused something akin to a sensation. The Dona Pondillo could not create English clothes, nor bad copies of French, but her own daughters dressed in the height of local fashion, and Dom Corria's earnest request had made them generous. The dark-eyed, olive-complexioned women of Alagoas are often exceedingly beautiful, but few of those present had ever seen a brown-haired, brown-eyed, fair-faced Englishwoman. Iris was remarkably good-looking, even among the pretty girls of her own county of Lancashire. Her large, limpid eyes, well-molded nose, and perfectly formed mouth were the dominant features of a face that had all the charm of youth and health. Her smooth skin, brown with exposure to sun and air, glowed into a rich crimson when she found herself in the midst of so many strangers. The slightly delicate semblance induced by the hardships and loss of rest which fell to her lot since theAndromedawent to pieces on the Grand-père rock in no wise detracted from her appearance. She wore the elegant costume of a Maceio belle with ease and distinction. If she was flurried by the undisguised murmur of admiration that greeted her, she did not show it beyond the first rush of color.
Dom Corria, dragging Schmidt with him, hurried to meet her. Surprise at his gala attire helped to conquer her natural timidity, for the President was gorgeous in blue and gold.
"My good wishes are soon changed into congratulations, Senhor," she said.
"Ah, my dear young lady, I am overjoyed that you should be here to witness my success," he cried. Then, as if he had waited for this moment, he turned to the assembled company and delivered an eloquent panegyric of theAndromeda'screw and theirdeusa deliciosa—for that is what he called Iris—a delightful goddess. He had made many speeches already that day, but none was more heartfelt than this. His eulogy was unstinted. Luckily for Iris, she was so conscious of the attention she attracted that she kept her eyes steadfastly fixed on the carpet. Otherwise, having a well-developed sense of humor, she must have laughed outright had she seen Coke's face.
He, of course, understood no word that was said. But De Sylva's animated gestures and flashing eyes were enough. Ever and anon, the excitable citizens of Maceio would turn and gaze at one or other of the three, while loud cries of "Bravo!" punctuated the President's oratory. When Coke's turn came for these demonstrations, he tried to grin, but was only able to scowl. For once in his stormy life he was nonplused. His brick-red countenance glowed with heat and embarrassment. At the close of the speech he muttered to Hozier:
"Wish I'd ha' known wot sort of beano I was comin' to. Dam if I ain't meltin'."
This ordeal ended, déjeuner was served. The President took in Iris and the Dona Pondillo. They were the only ladies present. The three sailors, some staff officers, and a few local celebrities, made up the rest of the company.
Hozier, though by no means indifferent to the good fare provided, was wondering how many hours would elapse before Iris's cablegram reached Verity's office, when some words caught his ear that drove all other considerations from his mind.
"I am sorry to say that, in my opinion, there is not the slightest chance of your message reaching England to-day, Miss Yorke," the President was saying.
"But why not?" she asked, with an astonishment that was not wholly the outcome of regret.
"The cable does not land here, and the transmitting stations will be closely watched, now that my arrival in Brazil is known. Even the simplest form of words will be twisted into a political significance. No, I think it best to be quite candid. Until I control Pernambuco, which should be within a week or ten days, you may rest assured that no private cablegrams will be forwarded."
"Oh, dear, I fully expected a reply to-day," she said, and now that she realized the effect of a further period of anxiety on the Bootle partnership she was genuinely dismayed.
"You may be sure it will not come," said Dom Corria. "Indeed I may as well take this opportunity of explaining to you—and to my other English friends"—with the interpolated sentence his glance dwelt quietly on Hozier and Coke—"the exact position locally. You see, Maceio is a small place, and easily approached from the sea. A hostile fleet could knock it to pieces in half an hour, and it would be a poor reward for my supporters' loyalty if my presence subjected them to a bombardment. I have no strong defenses or heavy guns to defy attack, and my troops are not more than a thousand men, all told. It is obvious that I must make for the interior. There, I gather strength as I advance, the warships cannot pursue, and I can choose my own positions to meet the half-hearted forces that Dom Miguel will collect to oppose me. In fact, I and every armed man in Maceio march up-country this afternoon."
Iris, by this time, was thoroughly frightened, and Hozier, who read more in De Sylva's words than was possible in her case, was watching the speaker's calm face with a fixity that might have disconcerted many men. Dom Corria seemed to be unaware of either the girl's distress or Philip's white anger.
"You naturally ask how I propose to safeguard the companions of my flight from Fernando Noronha," he went on. "I answer at once—by taking them with me. The Senhora Pondillo and her family will accompany her husband to myquintaat Las Flores. A special train will take all of us to the nearest railway station this afternoon. Thence my estate is but a day's march. You and my other friends from both ships will be quite safe and happy there until order is restored. You must come. The men's lives, at any rate, would not be worth an hour's purchase if my opponent's forces found them here, and I feel certain that one or more cruisers will arrive off Maceio to-night. For you, this excursion will be quite a pleasant experience, and you can absolutely rely on my promise to send news of your safety to England at the very first opportunity."
Iris could say nothing under the shock of this intelligence. She looked at Philip, and their eyes met. They both remembered the glance they had exchanged at the post-office. Preoccupied by their own thoughts, neither of them had noticed the smile San Benavides indulged in on that occasion, nor did they pay heed to the fact that he was smiling again now, apparently at some story told him by General Russo. But San Benavides was sharp-witted. He needed no interpreter to make clear the cause of the chill that had fallen on the President's end of the table.
"He has told them," he thought, perhaps. And, if further surmise were hazarded as to his views, they might well prove to be concerned with the wonderful things that can happen within a week or ten days—especially when things are happening at the rate taken by events just then in Brazil.
Of course, as a philosopher, San Benavides was right; it was in the role of prophet that he came to grief, this being the pre-ordained fate of all false prophets.
Among the many words borrowed by the Brazilians from their Spanish-speaking neighbors, that for "to-morrow" is perhaps the most popular. The Spaniard'sMañanais so elastic that it covers any period of time between the next twenty-four hours and the indefinite future. When, therefore, Dom Sylva spoke of controlling Pernambuco before the month of September was barely half sped, he was either too sanguine, or too literal in his translation of easy-going Portuguese into vigorous English.
Hisquinta, or country house, was situated on the upper watershed of the river Moxoto. There he raised his standard, thither flocked rebels galore, and in that direction, with due caution, President Barraca pushed columns of troops by road and rail from Bahia, from Pernambuco, and from Maceio itself. For Barraca held the sea, and the wealthy and enterprising south was strongly opposed to war, while Dom Corria trusted to the mountains and drew his partisans from the less energetic north. This bald statement has an unconvincing sound in the ears of races which dwell north of the equator, but it must be remembered that Brazil, in more respects than one, is the land of topsy-turveydom. Were it not that the mass of the people was heartily sick of a corrupt regime, De Sylva would have been dead or in irons on his way back to Fernando Noronha well within the time allotted for the consolidation of his rule. As it was, minor insurrections were breaking out in the southern provinces, the reigning President could trust only in the navy, and the conservatism of commerce and society, as represented by the great landowners of Rio de Janeiro, São Paulo, and Minas Geraes, alone stifled the upgrowth of an overwhelming national movement in Dom Corria's favor.
In a word, De Sylva commanded public sympathy but small resources; Barraca was unpopular but controlled the navy and part of the army. Given such conditions—with the added absurdity that the troops on both sides were most unwilling to face long-range rifle fire but would cheerfully hack each other to mince-meat with knives—and a tedious, indeterminate campaign is the certain outcome. De Sylva had said that local conflicts were usually "short and fierce." Applied to such upheavals as had taken place in the capital during recent years, the phrase was strictly accurate. He himself had been bundled out of office between Mass and Vespers on a memorable Sunday. But a convict on a remote island cannot organize such a perfect example of a successful revolt. He had done much in gaining a good foothold; the rest must be left to time and chance.
A few indecisive but sanguinary engagements were fought in the neighborhood of Pesqueira, a town in the hills about one hundred miles from the seaboard. These proved that General Russo was a valiant fighter but a poor tactician—and that was all. He was opposed by a commander of little courage but singular skill in strategy. To restore the balance, Dom Corria took the field in person, and Dom Miguel Barraca hastened from Rio de Janeiro to witness the crushing of his arch-enemy.
The position was complicated by the arrival at Pernambuco of a German squadron bearing a telegraphic cartel from the Emperor. A German ship had been seized on the high seas. Why? And by whom? And how could anybody dare? Then Brazil quivered, for every South American knows in his heart that the great navy of Germany is being created not so much to destroy England as to dispute the proud doctrine of the United States that no European power shall ever again be allowed to seize territory on the American continent.
So there were strenuous days and anxious nights at Las Flores, where President De Sylva sought to equip and discipline his levies, and at Carugru, where President Barraca called on all the gods to witness that De Sylva was a double-dyed traitor.
Under such circumstances it is not surprising that a grand display of money and audacity, backed by sundry distant roars of the British lion, should enable two elderly Britons and a young Brazilian lady to pass through the lines of the Exercito Nacional, as Barraca had christened his following, in opposition to De Sylva's army of Liberation. Lest too many people should become interested, the adventure was essayed on the night of October 2d. Early next day the travelers and their guides reached the rebel outposts. The young lady, who seemed to be at home in this wild country, at once urged her horse into a pace wholly beyond the equestrian powers of her staid companions. They protested vainly. She waved a farewell hand, cantered over several miles of a rough road, and dashed up to the Liberationist headquarters about eight o'clock.
There was no hesitancy about her movements. She drew rein in approved Gaucho style, bringing her mount to a dead stop from a gallop.
"Where is the President?" she asked breathlessly.
"There, senhora," said an orderly, pointing to a marquee, open on every side, wherein De Sylva sat in conference with his staff.
So many officers and mounted soldiers were coming and going, so great was the bustle of preparation for some important movement then in train, that no one specially noted her arrival. She dismounted, and drew the reins across the horse's head ere she tied him to a tree. She saw a tall young man emerge from the tent, jump on a charger held by a soldier, and ride off at a fast pace toward the house of Las Flores, which stood in a large garden on the slope of a neighboring hill. His appearance seemed to puzzle her momentarily. His attire was that of Brazil, but neither his manner nor horsemanship was typical of the Brasileiro. In walking, he moved with an air of purposeful concentration that differed singularly from the languorous stroll of the average Brazilian officer, while his seat in the saddle, though confident enough, could not be mistaken for that of a man who never walks a yard if there is an animal to bestride.
The new arrival was, however, at once too weary and too excited to give further heed to one who was an utter stranger. She pushed her way through knots of smoking loungers, entered the tent, and uttered a little scream of delight when the President, who was writing at a big table, happened to glance at her. De Sylva rose hastily, with an amazed look on his usually unemotional face; forthwith the girl flung herself into his arms.
"Father!"
"Carmela!"
San Benavides, whose back was turned, heard the joyous cries of the reunited father and daughter. They were locked in each other's embrace, and the eyes of every man present were drawn to a pathetic and unexpected meeting. For that reason, and because none gave a thought to him, the pallor that changed the bronze of his forehead and cheeks into a particularly unhealthy-looking tint of olive green passed unnoticed. He swallowed something. It must have been a curse, for it seemed to taste bitter. But he managed to recover some shred of self-control ere the Senhora De Sylva was able to answer her father's first eager questions; then, with a charming timidity, she found breath to say:
"And what of Salvador—is he not here?"
Yes, Salvador was there—by her side—striving most desperately to look lover-like. They clasped hands. Brazilian etiquette forbade a more demonstrative greeting, and Carmela attributed Salvador's manifest sallowness to the hardships of campaigning no less than the shock of her sudden appearance.
But the business of red war gave little scope for the many confidences that a girl who had journeyed more than four thousand miles for this reunion might naturally exchange with a father and a lover. Some important move was toward, and the President and his chief-of-staff had no time to spare.
"You have come to bring me luck, Carmela meu," said De Sylva, stroking his daughter's hair affectionately. "To-day we make our first real advance. Salvador and I are going to the front now, almost this instant. But there will be no fighting—an affair of outposts at the best—and when everything is in order we shall return here to sleep. Expect us, then, soon after sunset. Meanwhile, at thequintayou will find the young English lady of whose presence you are aware. Give her your friendship. She is worthy of it."
"Adeos, senhora!" echoed San Benavides, bringing his heels together with a click, and saluting. He gathered a number of papers from the table with nervous haste, and at once began to issue instructions to several officers. De Sylva renewed the signing of documents. Russo and he conversed in low tones. A buzz of talk broke out in the tent. Carmela felt that she had no part in this activity, that her mere presence was a positive hindrance to the work in hand. A trifle disappointed, yet not without a thrill of high resolve to create for herself an indispensable share in the movement of which her father was the central figure, she went out, unhitched her tired horse, and walked to the house.
In Brazil, aquinta, or farm, may range from a palace to a hovel. Dom Corria was rich; consequently Las Flores attained the higher level. It was a straggling, roomy structure, planned for comfort and hospitality rather than display, and the gardens, to whose beauty and extent was due the Spanish name, used to be famous throughout the province. Carmela had not seen the place during five years; she expected to find changes, but was hardly prepared for the ravages made by neglect, aided by unchecked tropical growth, as the outcome of her father's two years in prison. The flowers were gone, the rarer shrubs choked by rank weeds, the trees disfigured by rampant climbers. But, in front of the long, deep veranda, even the attention of a month had restored much of its beauty to a widespread lawn. Here, at that early hour, the air was cool and the shade abundant; indeed, so embossed in towering trees was the wide greensward, that it seemed to flow abruptly into the veranda without ever a path or garden gate to break the solid walls of foliage.
Filled with tumultuous memories, her heart all throbbing at the prospect of her father's fortunes being restored, the Senhora De Sylva was entering a gate that led to the left front of the house, when the young man came out whom she had seen leaving the headquarters tent. Again he rode like one in a hurry, and she noted that he emerged from a side path which gave access to the lawn. He gave her a sharp glance as he passed. She received an impression of a strong face, with stern-looking, bright, steel-blue eyes, a mouth tensely set, an aspect at once confident yet self-contained. She was sure now he was not a Brazilian, and he differed most materially from the mental picture of Captain James Coke created by the many conversations in which he had figured during her long voyage from Southampton in company with David Verity and Dickey Bulmer.
So Carmela wondered now who he could be, nor was her wonder lessened when she peered through the screen of trees, and saw a girl, whom she recognized instantly as Iris, furtively dabbing her tear-stained face with a handkerchief.
Unhappily, the President's daughter was not attractive in appearance. She had fine eyes, and she moved with the natural elegance of her race, but her features were somewhat angular for one of pure-blooded Portuguese descent, and a too well-defined chin was more effectual as an index of character than as an element of personal charm. Close acquaintance with the cosmopolitan society of Paris and London had familiarized her with many types of European and American beauty, and her surprise that such an uncommonly good-looking girl should be the niece of David Verity was not unmingled with pique at finding her already installed in remote Las Flores.
The veranda seemed to be a hive of feminine industry. The Dona Pondillo and her daughters, together with the female relatives of several noted men among the insurgents, were cutting and stitching most industriously. Iris Yorke's advice, perhaps her assistance, was evidently in demand. Assuming that the young man who rode thither so rapidly had gone to see her, she could not have been absent from the sewing party more than five minutes, yet half a dozen ladies were clamoring for her already. The truth was that many of them had never plied a needle before in their lives. They had to be taught everything. One peasant woman would have accomplished more real work than any five of the Librationistgrandes dames.
Despite her firm chin, Carmela De Sylva did not contemn the meretricious aid of dress. Iris looked fresh and cool in soft muslin, whereas the newcomer was travel-stained and disheveled. The pack-mules were lagging on the road, but a wash and general tidying of dust-covered garments would help the President's daughter to regain the assurance, now sadly lacking, which would be necessary ere she won her rightful place in a community largely composed of strangers. As she led her horse back into the main avenue, she was sorry that her father or Salvador could not spare even the few minutes that would have sufficed for an introduction. At any rate, she would probably find an old servant at the back of the house—some family retainer whose welcome would charm away this displeasing sense of intrusion.
On the way to the stables she heard a man singing. The words were in English. They were also quaint, for they dealt with life from a point of view which differed widely from that presented by Dom Corria'sfinca.
"Oh, it's fine to be a sailor" [sang Watts],"an' to cross the ragin' main,From Hooghly bar to New Orleens to roam,But I 'ope that my old woman will put me on the chainNext time I want to quit my 'umble 'ome."