DOM CLEMENTE STRIKES
There was a chill in the air and the white mist crept in and out among
the shadowy trunks when the foremost of the rebels went slipping and
floundering down the side of a river gorge just before the dawn.
Ormsgill marching, well guarded, with his carriers and the six boys he
had liberated in the rear could just discern the dim figures flitting
on in front of him, and wondered if the next hour would see them
safely across the river. He had been subjected to no ill usage though
he had been carefully watched, and he fancied that the rebel leader
expected to find him useful when the time to make terms with the
authorities came, but that was a point he was never quite clear about.
In the meanwhile he was worn-out and badly jaded, for his leg still
pained him, and the rebels had pushed on as fast as possible after the
sacking of San Roque.
Ormsgill fancied he understood the reasons for this. The body was not
a very strong one, and though there were petty Headmen on the inland
plateau who had long cherished grievances against the white men, they
were no doubt prudently waiting to see what their friends were likely
to accomplish before they joined them. In an affair of that kind a
prompt success counts for everything, since it brings the waverers
flocking in, and while the seizing of San Roque was scarcely
sufficient to do this in itself, the first of the white men's
plantations was now not so very far away. There was another fact that
made delay inadvisable. The river flowed rapidly between steep banks
just there, and Ormsgill felt it was just the place he would have
chosen had it been his business to dispute the rebels' passage. He
fancied their leader was anxious to get across before the news of the
fall of San Roque brought troops up from the coast.
In the meanwhile he plodded onwards wearily, aching all over and wet
with the dew, while the sound of sliding water grew steadily louder.
Now and then the long straggling column stopped for a minute or two,
and there was a hoarse clamor which he fancied indicated that a scout
had come in, but the men promptly went on again, and his guards, who
carried flintlock guns, saw that he did not linger. The path grew
steadily steeper, and he stumbled in loose sand while the half-seen
trees went by until at last a sharp crackling mingled with the patter
of naked feet as the head of the column smashed through the thick
undergrowth and tall reeds in the river hollow. Then his guards made
it evident that he was to stay where he was, and he sat down among his
boys in the loose sand where he could look down on the men in front of
him. There was now a faint light, though the mist lay in thick white
belts in the hollow, and the air was very still. He could dimly see
dusky figures moving amidst the grass and reeds, and here and there a
faint gleam of water in front of them, while now and then a confused
clamor rose out of the haze. The rebels, he fancied, were disputing
about their orders, or urging some course upon their leaders, and he
wondered vaguely whether they were likely to do more than involve
themselves in disaster, and where Dom Clemente was.
This was, however, as he recognized, no concern of his. He was a
prisoner, and he could see only difficulties in front of him. Had he
been free at that moment and the boys he had liberated safely sent
away, the outlook would not have been much brighter, for he would
still have to face a duty he shrank from. That Ada Ratcliffe had no
great love for him he now felt reasonably sure, but it was clear that
she and her mother expected him to marry her, and, since she had kept
faith with him, he could not break the pledge he had given her. After
all, he reflected grimly, she would probably not expect too much from
him, and be content with the material advantages he could offer her.
Then he thought of Benicia Figuera, and set his lips tight as he once
more strove to fix his attention on the men below.
At last there was a soft splashing and he could dimly see them wade
into the river. Their disputes were over, and they were going across
in haste. Then the foremost of them plunged into a belt of mist, and
for several minutes he watched their comrades press onwards from the
tall grass and reeds. The water was gleaming faintly now, and they
looked like a long black snake crawling through the midst of it until
the filmy haze shut them in. At times a shouting came up through the
splashing and crackle of undergrowth. In the meanwhile the tail of the
straggling column still winding down the side of the gorge was
steadily growing plainer, and the haze commenced to slide and curl
upwards in long filmy wisps, until at last Ormsgill scrambled to his
feet with every nerve in him thrilling. The ringing of a bugle rose
from beyond the river and was answered by another blast apparently
from the rise behind him.
Then the splashing ceased suddenly, and there was for a few moments a
tense and almost intolerable silence, during which he stood still with
one hand clenched until a clamor rose from the midst of the river, and
he heard the dull thud of a flintlock gun. It was answered by a clear
ringing crash of riflery, and then while the flintlocks and Sniders
joined in, thin pale flashes blazed amidst the reeds and in the
sliding mist. This lasted for, perhaps, a minute or two, until it
became evident that the rebels were splashing back again. Ormsgill
could see them streaming out of the mist, and as he watched them
another patter of riflery broke out upon the higher ground behind him.
A bugle rang shrilly, and he fancied he heard a white man's voice
calling in the bush. Then looking round as one of the boys touched
him, he saw that his guards were no longer there. They had evidently
fled and left him to shift for himself. He stood a minute considering,
with the boys clamoring about him, and then made up his mind. The
rebels were streaming back up the gorge, and it seemed to him just
possible that if he separated himself from them he might slip away
unobserved in the press of the pursuit. Once across the river he might
still reach the coast.
Calling to the boys he set out at a stumbling run, and for awhile
skirted the ridge of bluff. The rebels were too intent on their own
affairs to trouble about him, even if any of them noticed him, which
appeared very doubtful. He struck the river half a mile below the spot
where the negroes had attempted the crossing, and plunged in with the
boys still about him. He could see them clearly now, and the bush
showed sharp and black against the sky. There was a desultory patter
of riflery behind him, but except for that he could hear very little,
and he pushed on with the water rising rapidly to his waist. It was as
much as he could do to keep his feet, for the stream ran strong. Then
one of the boys clutched him and held him up, and for the next few
minutes they struggled desperately in a swifter swirl of current until
the water sank again suddenly, and he stood, gasping, knee-deep in the
yellow stream, looking about him.
It was broad daylight now, and he could see a steep bank clothed with
thick bush and brushwood close by. There was a little hollow in it up
which the mist that still drifted about the river was flowing, and
calling to his boys he headed for it. Nothing seemed to indicate that
there were any troops in the vicinity. They floundered dripping
through a belt of tall grass, and were clambering up the slope when
one of the boys laid a wet hand upon his arm and the rest stood still
suddenly. Ormsgill felt his heart beating a good deal faster than
usual, though he could see nothing but trees in front of him. He was
on the point of pushing on again when a voice came out of the sliding
haze.
"Stand still," it said sharply in Portuguese. "We will shoot the first
who stirs."
Ormsgill made a sign to the boys, and in another moment several black
soldiers appeared among the trees. A white sergeant in very soiled
uniform moved out from among them and stood surveying him with a
little sardonic grin.
"There are half a dozen rifles here," he said. "You surrender
yourselves?"
Ormsgill made a little gesture. "Señor," he said, "it is evident that
we are in your hands."
The man beckoned him to come forward with the boys, and a few more
black soldiers who rose out of the undergrowth closed in on them.
Ormsgill turned quietly to the sergeant.
"You have been too much for the bushmen," he said. "Who is commanding
you?"
"Dom Clemente," said the sergeant. "He has trapped those pigs of the
forest. That is a wonderful man. You will wait here until I can send
you to him. Whether he will have you shot I do not know."
In spite of this observation he appeared a good-humored person, and
presently offered Ormsgill a cigarette. The latter, who sat down near
the sergeant and smoked it, waited until a patrol came along, when the
black soldier in command marched him and the boys through the
undergrowth, and at length led him into the presence of Dom Clemente.
He sat in state at a little table, immaculate in trim white uniform,
with two black men with rifles standing behind him. Another white
officer and a dusky interpreter who stood close by had apparently been
interrogating a couple of rebel prisoners. They squatted upon the
ground gazing at the white men with apprehension in their eyes. Dom
Clemente made Ormsgill a little formal salutation, and then leaned
back in his chair.
"This meeting reminds me of another occasion when you were brought
before me, Señor and you were then frank with me," he said. "I might
suggest that candor would be equally advisable just now. I hear that
San Roque has fallen, and it appears that you were there. I must ask
you to tell me in what capacity."
"As a prisoner in the hands of the rebels," said Ormsgill.
Dom Clemente nodded. "It is on the whole fortunate that I think one
could take your word for it," he said. "You are desired to tell us
what happened at San Roque."
Ormsgill did so quietly, though he said as little as possible about
his own share in the proceedings, and afterwards answered the
questions the other officer asked him until Dom Clemente turned to him
again.
"It seems that Dom Erminio has, at least, acquitted himself creditably
in this affair," he observed. "All things considered, I do not know
that one has much occasion to be sorry for him. Dom Luiz, too, went
down beside his gun. Well, that is, after all, what one would have
expected from him."
Then he made a little gesture. "You will understand that there are
matters which demand my attention, and I may have something more to
say later. In the meanwhile you will give me your parole. The boys
will be looked after."
Ormsgill pledged himself to make no attempt at escape, and was led
away to a little tent where food was brought him and he was told he
was to stay. He realized that Dom Clemente had struck the rebels a
crushing blow, one from which there was little probability of their
recovering, but what was being done about the pursuit he did not know,
though he fancied that a body of troops had crossed the river. Still,
that did not greatly concern him, and worn-out and dejected as he was
he was glad to fall asleep. It was evening when he awakened as a black
soldier looked into the tent, and a few minutes later Dom Clemente
came in and sat down in the camp chair the soldier had brought.
Ormsgill sat on the ground sheet, heavy-eyed, tattered, and haggard,
and waited for him to speak.
"I shall go on to-morrow when more troops come up, and you will come
with us. There are matters that require attention yonder," he said.
"In the meanwhile I have had the boys you brought down interrogated,
and the story they tell me is in some respects a fantastic one. It is,
I fancy, fortunate for your sake that I am acquainted with several
facts which seem to bear it out."
Ormsgill was a trifle astonished, but Dom Clemente smiled. "It is," he
said, "advisable that one in authority should hear of everything, but
it is not always wise that he should make that fact apparent. One
waits until the time comes--and then, as was the case this morning,
one acts."
He spread out one slender, faintly olive-tinted hand and then brought
it down upon the table closed with an unexpected sharpness that was
very expressive.
"Señor," he said, "though I have heard a little from the boys, you
have not told me yet exactly how you came to fall into those bushmen's
hands."
Ormsgill, who did not think that reticence was likely to be of much
service, briefly related what had befallen him, and his companion
nodded.
"I have the honor of your acquaintance, and it is perhaps, permissible
to point out that you have a troublesome fondness for meddling with
other people's business," he said. "Further, you are a trifle
impulsive and precipitate."
"There was nobody else who seemed anxious to undertake the affair in
question," said Ormsgill dryly.
Dom Clemente made a little gesture. "It is generally wiser to wait
until one is certain. Well, I think I may venture to take you into my
confidence to some extent. The doings of the trader Herrero--who has
lodged complaints against you--and his friend Domingo have long been
known to me. They were merely being permitted to involve themselves in
difficulties while we waited until the time was ripe. It is now very
probable that I shall suppress both of them."
"One can sometimes wait longer than is advisable," said Ormsgill with
a little dry laugh. "Herrero and his friend are dead."
Then for the first time he narrated all that had been done in the
inland village, and Dom Clemente, who listened carefully, smiled.
"It only proves my point," he said. "One waits and the affair
regulates itself. Well, they are dead, and I do not think there is
anybody who will greatly regret them. It will clear the ground for
what we mean to do up yonder. There is, you understand, to be a change
in our native policy, and I"--he straightened himself a trifle--"have
been entrusted with its inauguration. From now we shall, at least,
endeavor to modify some of the difficulties which are, perhaps, not
inseparably connected with this question of the labor supply."
"The whole system should be done away with."
Dom Clemente spread his hands out. "In this country one is content
with accomplishing a little now and then. But there is another matter.
Certain complaints have been made against your friend the American,
and we have decided that there is nothing against him. I bring him
permission to go back to his station."
"Nares," said Ormsgill quietly, "will not profit by it. He has been
promoted. He was killed endeavoring to make peace at San Roque."
"Ah," said Dom Clemente, "that is a matter of regret to me. Perhaps,
he was a little imprudent. Some of these missionaries are sadly
deficient in diplomacy, and that may have been the case with him. I do
not know. Still, when all is said, he was a brave man, and I
think"--he made a little grave gesture--"what he has done for these
black men will be remembered where he is now."
It was not a great deal, but Ormsgill who noticed the quick change in
the little soldier's voice was satisfied with it. After all, one can
not say much more of any man than that he has done what he could for
his fellow men. Then Dom Clemente turned to him again.
"I have not asked you yet what you did during the attack on San
Roque," he said.
"If you fancy I have done anything for which I could be held
accountable it is for you to establish it. It seems to me that would
be a little difficult since I believe every man in the fort is dead."
"Still--if the thing appeared advisable--it might be possible."
Ormsgill made no attempt to dispute this, but changed the subject.
"There is a thing I don't quite understand," he said. "I almost fancy
the man who led the rebels must have known you held the bank when he
pushed his men across."
"Yes," said Dom Clemente, "I believe he did. Still, there are men who
can recognize when they must fight or fail ignominiously. One has a
certain respect for them. I do not think it was that negro's fault
that he was driven back. Flintlocks and matchets are not much use
against our rifles."
Then he rose. "In the meanwhile you will be detained. My instructions
were to arrest you, and, as you know, I only hold subordinate
authority. Still, so far as my duty permits it, I think you can
regard me as a friend."
He went out of the tent, and an hour or two later Ormsgill contrived
to go to sleep again. He was roused by the bugles at daylight, and
went back with the rear guard into the forests he had lately left, and
in due time marched with them into sight of the ruins of San Roque. It
was early morning when they reached the fort, but before the sun was
high the three white men who had fallen there were laid to rest in
state. The black troops who had with reversed rifles swung into hollow
square stood listening vacantly round the bank of raw steaming soil
where Father Tiebout recited words of ponderous import in the sonorous
Latin tongue. Then there was a crashing volley, and as the patter of
marching feet commenced again Ormsgill and the priest and Dom Clemente
stood looking on while a few black soldiers raised the three rude
crosses. On one of them a dusky armorer had under Ormsgill's
supervision cut the words, "_In hoc signo._"
Father Tiebout glanced at them and nodded gravely. "It is fitting," he
said. "He did what he could--and we others do not know how much it
was. After all, it is only a grain of understanding that is now
vouchsafed us, but"--and he once more broke into the sonorous Latin,
"I look for the resurrection of the dead."
Dom Clemente smiled. "There are men of your profession, Father, who
would not have ventured to do what you have done," he said. "Still, I
think when that day comes some of us may, perhaps, have cause to envy
this heretic."
Then they turned away, and in another hour once more pushed on into
the forest.