IN WHICH, AMONG OTHER THINGS, LAWRENCE REFUSES AN INVITATION, AND BIDS A
FINAL FAREWELL TO MANUELA.
A jump of several hundreds of miles at one mighty bound may seem
difficult, perhaps impossible, but if the reader will kindly put on the
grasshopper legs of imagination which we now provide, such a jump will
be found not only possible, but, perchance, agreeable.
We pass at one fell spring, then, from the thick forests of Bolivia to
the wide rolling pampas, or plains, of South America.
You are still within sight of the Andes, good reader. You may travel
from north to south if you will--from the equatorial regions of the
Mexican Gulf to the cold and stormy cape at Tierra del Fuego--without
losing sight of that magnificent backbone of the grand continent.
We have reached a frontier town which lies among the undulating hills at
the base of the mountains, yet within sight of the outskirts of the
grassy pampas. A small town it is, with little white houses and a
church glittering in the sunshine. A busy town, too, with a mixed
population fluttering in the streets in the variegated trappings and
plumage of merchants, and priests, and muleteers, and adventurers, and
dark-eyed senhoras, enveloped in all the mysterious witchery that seems
inseparable from Spanish mantillas and fans.
It was evening when our travellers arrived at the town. They were on
horseback now, having, a considerable time previously, forsaken the
rivers for the roads--if we may call by such a name those unmade
highways which are merely marked out through the wilderness by the
passage of men. Bells were ringing in the steeple as they entered the
town, for some fete or holiday was in process of celebration, and the
presence of a considerable number of men in uniform gave to the place
the appearance of a garrison town.
There were so many odd-looking and striking characters in the streets
that the arrival of our party made no particular impression on the
people, save that Manuela's elegant little figure and pretty brown face
drew some attention--admiration on the part of the men, scorn on that of
a few--a very few--of the senhoras. You see, in all parts of the world
some people are found who seem to hold, (though they would find it
difficult to say why), that God's creatures with brown and black skins
ought to be looked down upon and held in contempt by His creatures who
chance to have white skins! You will generally find that the people who
think thus also hold the almost miraculous opinion that those who wear
superfine clothing, and possess much money, have a sort of indefinable,
but unquestionable, right to look down upon and lord it over those who
own little money and wear coarse garments!
You will carefully observe, unprejudiced reader, that we use the word
"some" in speaking of those people. We are very far from pitting the
poor against the rich. We are bound to recognise the fact that amongst
both classes there are gems of brightest lustre, irradiated by rays from
the celestial sun, while in both there are also found qualities worthy
of condemnation. But when we record the fact that some of the white
senhoras looked with jealousy and scorn upon our sweet little Indian
heroine, we ought to recognise the undeniable truth that they
themselves, (so long as actuated by such a spirit), were beneath
contempt--fit subjects only for pity.
As they passed along, much interested and somewhat excited by the
comparatively novel sights around them, Pedro rode up to a mounted
soldier and accosted him in Spanish.
He returned to his party with a gleam of stronger excitement in his eyes
than Lawrence had observed since they became acquainted. Riding
alongside of Manuela, who was in advance, he entered into earnest and
animated conversation with her. Then, reining back until he was abreast
of Lawrence, he said--
"Part of the object of my journey has been accomplished sooner than I
had expected, Senhor Armstrong."
"Indeed? I hope it has been satisfactorily accomplished."
"Well, yes, as far as it goes. The fact is, I find that there has been
a raid of the Indians into this part of the country, and a body of
troops has been sent to quell them under Colonel Marchbanks. Now this
colonel, as his name will suggest, is an Englishman, in the service of
the Argentine army, under whose orders I have been serving, and to
communicate with whom was one of my chief reasons for undertaking this
journey."
"Will that, then, render your journey to Buenos Ayres unnecessary?"
asked Lawrence, a slight feeling of anxiety creeping over him.
"No, it won't do that, but it will greatly modify my plans. Among other
things, it will oblige me to leave Manuela behind and push on alone as
fast as possible. I suppose you will have no objection to a tearing
gallop of several hundred miles over the Pampas?" said Pedro, while a
smile of peculiar meaning played for an instant on his handsome face.
"Objections!" exclaimed our hero, with great energy, "of course not. A
tearing gallop over the Pampas is--a--most--"
He stopped, for a strange, unaccountable feeling of dissatisfaction
which he could not understand began to overwhelm him. Was it that he
was really in love after all with this Indian girl, and that the thought
of final separation from her--impossible! No, he could not credit such
an idea for a moment. But he loved her spirit--her soul, as it were--
and he could not be blamed for being so sorry, so very sorry, to part
with _that_ thus suddenly--thus unexpectedly. Yes, he was _not_ in
love. It was a fraternal or paternal--a Platonic feeling of a strong
type. He would just see her once more, alone, before starting, say
good-bye, and give her a little, as it were, paternal, or fraternal, or
Platonic advice.
"Senhor Armstrong is in a meditative mood," said Pedro, breaking the
thread of his meditations.
"Yes, I was thinking--was wondering--that is--by the way, with whom will
you leave Manuela?"
"With a friend who lives in a villa in the suburbs."
"You seem to have friends wherever you go," said Lawrence.
"Ay, and enemies too," returned Pedro with a slight frown. "However,
with God's blessing, I shall circumvent the latter."
"When do you start?" asked Lawrence, with an air of assumed
indifference.
"To-morrow or next day, perhaps, but I cannot tell until I meet Colonel
Marchbanks. I am not, indeed, under his command--being what you may
call a sort of freelance--but I work with him chiefly, that is, under
his directions, for he and I hold much the same ideas in regard to most
things, and have a common desire to see something like solid peace in
the land. Look, do you see that villa with the rustic porch on the
cliff; just beyond the town?"
"Yes--it is so conspicuous and so beautifully situated that one cannot
help seeing and admiring it."
"That is where the friend lives with whom I shall leave Manuela."
"Indeed," said Lawrence, whose interest in the villa with the rustic
porch was suddenly intensified, "and shall we find her there on our
return?"
"I was not aware that Senhor Armstrong intended to return!" said Pedro,
with a look of surprise.
Lawrence felt somewhat confused and taken aback, but his countenance was
not prone to betray him.
"Of course I mean, will _you_ find her there when you return? Though,
as to my returning, the thing is not impossible, when one considers that
the wreck of part of my father's property lies on the western side of
the Andes."
"Ah! true. I forgot that for a moment. Well, I suppose she will remain
here till my return," said Pedro, "unless the Indians make a successful
raid and carry her off in the meantime!" he added, with a quick glance
at his companion.
"And are we to stay to-night at the same villa?"
"No, we shall stay at the inn to which we are now drawing near. I am
told that the Colonel has his headquarters there."
The conversation closed abruptly at this point, for they had reached the
inn referred to. At the door stood a tall, good-looking young man,
whose shaven chin, cut of whisker, and Tweed shooting costume, betokened
him an Englishman of the sporting class.
Addressing himself to this gentleman with a polite bow, Pedro asked
whether Colonel Marchbanks was staying there.
"Well--aw--I'm not quite sure, but there is--aw--I believe, a military
man of--aw--some sort staying in the place."
Without meaning to be idiotic, this sporting character was one of those
rich, plucky, languid, drawly-wauly men, who regard the world as their
special hunting-field, affect free-and-easy nonchalance, and interlard
their ideas with "aw" to an extent that is absolutely awful.
The same question, put to a waiter who immediately appeared, elicited
the fact that the Colonel did reside there, but was absent at the
moment.
"Well, then," said Pedro, turning quickly to Lawrence, "you had better
look after rooms and order supper, while I take Manuela to the villa."
For the first time since they met, Lawrence felt inclined to disobey his
friend. A gush of indignation seemed to surge through his bosom for a
moment, but before he could reply, Pedro, who did not expect a reply,
had turned away. He remounted his steed and rode off, meekly followed
by the Indian girl. Quashy took the bridles of his own and his master's
horse, and stood awaiting orders; while Spotted Tiger, who was not
altogether inexperienced in the ways of towns, led his animal and the
baggage-mules round to the stables.
"So," thought Lawrence, bitterly, "I am ordered to look after things
here, and Manuela goes quietly away without offering to say good-bye--
without even a friendly nod, although she probably knows I may have to
start by daybreak to-morrow, and shall never see her again. Bah! what
else could I expect from a squaw--a black girl! But no matter. It's
all over! It was _only_ her spirit I admired, and I don't care even for
that now."
It will be observed that our poor hero did not speak like himself here,
so grievous was the effect of his disappointment. Fortunately he did
not speak at all, but only muttered and looked savage, to the amusement
of the sportsman, who stood leaning against the door-post of the inn,
regarding him with much interest.
"Will you sup, senhor?" asked a waiter, coming up just then.
"Eh! no--that is--yes," replied Lawrence, savagely.
"How many, senhor?"
"How many? eh! How should I know? As many as you like. Come here."
He thundered off along a passage, clanking his heels and spurs like a
whole regiment of dragoons, and without an idea as to whither the
passage led or what he meant to do.
"Aw--quite a wemarkable cweature. A sort of--aw--long-legged curiosity
of the Andes. Mad, I suppose, or drunk."
These remarks were partly a soliloquy, partly addressed to a friend who
had joined the sportsman, but they were overheard by Quashy, who, with
the fire of a free negro and the enthusiasm of a faithful servant,
said--
"No more mad or drunk dan you'self--you whitefaced racoon!"
Being unable conveniently to commit an assault at the moment, our free
negro contented himself with making a stupendous face at the Englishman,
and glaring defiance as he led the cattle away. As the reader knows,
that must have been a powerful glare, but its only effect on the
sportsman was to produce a beaming smile of Anglo-Saxon good-will.
That night Lawrence Armstrong slept little. Next morning he found that
Pedro had to delay a day in order to have some further intercourse with
Colonel Marchbanks. Having nothing particular to do, and being still
very unhappy--though his temper had quite recovered--he resolved to take
a stroll alone. Just as he left the inn, a tall, powerfully-built,
soldierly man entered, and bestowed on him a quick, stern glance in
passing. He seemed to be between fifty and sixty, straight as a poplar,
and without any sign of abated strength, though his moustache and
whiskers were nearly white.
Lawrence would have at once recognised a countryman in this old officer,
even if the waiter had not addressed him by name as he presented him
with a note.
At any other time the sociable instincts of our hero would have led him
to seek the acquaintance both of the Colonel and the awful sportsman;
but he felt misanthropical just then, and passed on in silence.
Before he had been gone five minutes, Quashy came running after him.
"You no want _me_, massa?"
"No, Quash, I don't."
"P'r'aps," suggested the faithful man, with an excess of modesty and
some hesitation,--"P'r'aps you'd like me to go wid you for--for--
company?"
"You're very kind, Quash, and I should like to have you very much
indeed; but at present I'm very much out of sorts, and--"
"O massa!" interrupted the negro, assuming the sympathetic gaze
instantly, and speaking with intense feeling, "it's not in de stummik,
am it?" He placed his hand gently on the region referred to.
"No, Quash," Lawrence replied, with a laugh, "it is not the body at all
that affects me; it is the mind."
"Oh! is dat all?" said the negro, quite relieved. "Den you not need to
boder you'self. Nobody ebber troubled long wid dat complaint. Do you
know, massa, dat de bery best t'ing for dat is a little cheerful s'iety.
I t'ink you'll be de better ob me."
He said this with such self-satisfied gravity, and withal seemed to have
made up his mind so thoroughly to accompany his young master, that
Lawrence gave in, and they had not gone far when he began really to feel
the benefit of Quashy's light talk. We do not mean to inflict it all on
the reader, but a few sentences may, perhaps, be advantageous to the
development of our tale.
"Splendid place dis, massa," observed the negro, after they had walked
and chatted some distance beyond the town.
"Yes, Quash,--very beautiful."
"Lots ob nice shady trees an' bushes, and flowers, an' fruits, an' sweet
smells ob oranges, an'--"
He waved his arms around, as if to indicate a profusion of delights
which his tongue could not adequately describe.
"Quite true, Quash," replied Lawrence, who was content to play second
violin in the duet.
"Is you gwine," inquired Quashy, after a brief pause, "to de gubner's
ball to-night?"
"No. I did not know there was a governor, or that he intended to give a
ball."
The negro opened his eyes in astonishment.
"You not know ob it!" he exclaimed; "why eberybody knows ob it, an'
a'most eberybody's agwine--all de 'spectable peepil, I mean, an' some ob
dem what's not zactly as 'spectable as dey should be. But dey's all
agwine. He's a liberal gubner, you see, an' he's gwine to gib de ball
in de inn at de lan'lord's expense."
"Indeed; that's a curiously liberal arrangement."
"Yes, an' a bery clebber 'rangement for de lan'lord. He's a cute man de
lan'lord. I s'pose you's agwine?"
"_No_, I am not going. I have received no invitation; besides, I have
no evening dress."
"Bless you, massa, you don't need no invitation, nor evenin' dress
needer! You just go as you are, an' it's all right."
"But I have no wish to go. I would rather prepare for an early start
to-morrow."
"Das a prutty house we's a-comin' to, massa," said Quashy, not hearing,
or ignoring, the last remark.
Lawrence looked up with a start. Unwittingly, quite unwittingly, he had
rambled in the direction of the villa with the rustic porch!
"An' dere's de missis ob de villa, I suppose," said Quashy. "No, she's
on'y a redskin. Why, massa!" he continued, opening his eyes to their
widest, "it's Manuela--or her ghost!"
It was indeed our little Indian heroine, walking alone in the shrubbery.
She had not observed her late companions, who were partly concealed by
bushes.
"Quashy," said Lawrence, impressively, laying his hand on the negro's
shoulder, "get out of the way. I want to speak to her alone,--to say
good-bye, you know, for we start early to-morrow."
The negro promptly threw himself on the ground and nodded his head.
"You go ahead, massa. All right. When you comes dis way agin, you'll
find dis nigger am vanisht like a wreaf ob smoke."
A few seconds more, and Lawrence suddenly appeared before Manuela. She
met him without surprise, but with an embarrassed look. Instantly a
dark chilling cloud seemed to settle down on the poor youth's spirit.
Mingled with a host of other indescribable feelings, there was one, very
strong, of indignation; but with a violent effort he controlled his
features, so as to indicate no feeling at all.
"This is an unexpected meeting, Manuela. I had hardly hoped for it, as
we set off very early to-morrow; but I'm glad we have met, for I should
never have got over the feeling that I had been unkind in going off
without saying good-bye. Do you make out what I mean? I think you
understand English better than my bad Spanish."
"Yes--I understan'. I very sorry we part. Very, _very_ sorry.
Good-bye."
She put out her hand, and Lawrence mechanically took it. There was
something so ridiculous in this prompt and cool way of parting, after
having been so long together, that the youth could scarcely believe he
was awake. Had this pretty little Inca princess, then, no feeling
whatever--no touch of common tenderness, like other girls? Did the
well-known stoicism of her race require that she should part for the
last time from the man who had twice saved her life, with a simple "I'm
very sorry. Good-bye?"
He felt cured now, completely. Such a _spirit_, he thought, could not
command esteem, much less affection. As neither body nor spirit was now
left to him, he began to feel quite easy in his mind--almost desperately
easy--and that paternal, fraternal Platonic interest in the child which
we have before mentioned began to revive.
"Well, Manuela," he said at last, with a stupendous sigh, as though he
were heaving the entire Andes off his rugged old shoulders, yet with a
brotherly smile as he patted the little brown hand, "you and I have had
pleasant times together. I could have wished--oh! how I--well, hem! but
no matter. You will soon, no doubt be among your own people again. All
I would ask of you is sometimes, when far-away, to think of me; to think
of me as perhaps, the presumptuous young fellow who did his best to make
a long and rather trying journey agreeable to you. Think of me,
Manuela, as a father, and I will think of you as my little Indian girl!"
"I will fink," she said, dropping her grave eyes on the ground, and the
stoicism of all the Incas seemed to be concentrated in her look and
bearing at that moment, "t'ink of you as a fadder."
"Good-bye," he said again.
"Good-bye," she replied.
He had intended to print a fatherly kiss on the little brown hand, but
this parting was too much. He dropped her hand, and, turning abruptly
away with a final "Farewell--God bless you," quickly left the spot, in a
sort of bewildered amazement that a heartless Indian girl should ever
have been able to obtain, even for a time, so powerful an influence over
him.