AT THE BULL FIGHT
Austin was writing in the saloon, which was a little cooler than his
room, at about eight o'clock that night, while Jacinta and Mrs. Hatherly
made ineffectual attempts to read in the ladies' cabin, for the
_Estremedura_ was on her way south again, with the trade-wind combers
tumbling after her. She rolled with a long, rhythmic swing, and now and
then shook and trembled with the jar of her lifted propeller. Muriel
Gascoyne was accordingly alone with her father on the deck above. She
sat in a canvas chair, while Gascoyne leaned upon the rails in front of
her. There was a full moon overhead, and a fantastic panorama of
fire-blackened hills, wastes of ash and lava, whirling clouds of sand,
black rocks lapped by spouting surf, and bays of deepest indigo,
unrolled itself upon one hand. It is, however, probable that neither of
the pair saw much of it, for their thoughts were not concerned with the
volcanic desolation.
"It is a pity I did not come a few weeks earlier," said Gascoyne with a
sigh.
Muriel's eyes were a trifle hazy, but her voice was even. "If you had
come then, and insisted upon it, I might have given him up," she said.
"That means it is irrevocable now? I want you to make quite sure, my
dear. This man does not belong to our world. Even his thoughts must be
different from ours. You cannot know anything of his past life--I
scarcely think he could explain it to you. He would regard nothing from
the same standpoint as we do."
"Still, it cannot have been a bad one. I can't tell you why I am sure of
that, but I know."
Gascoyne made a little, hopeless gesture. "Muriel," he said, a trifle
hoarsely, "it is a terrible risk--and if you marry him you must
inevitably drift away from me. You are all I have, and I am getting old
and lonely, but that is not of the greatest moment. It would be horrible
to think of you drifting away from all you have been taught to believe
in and hold sacred."
It was a strong appeal, perhaps the strongest he could have made, for
the girl had been without breadth of view when she left home, and the
boundaries of her outlook had coincided with those of the little rural
parish. Still, in some strange fashion she had gained enlightenment, and
she was resolute, though her blue eyes slowly brimmed with moisture. It
was true that he would be very lonely.
"Ah," she said, and it was a significant sign that she questioned the
comprehension of the man whom she had regarded as almost infallible a
few weeks earlier, "how can I make you understand? There are, perhaps,
many worlds, and we know there are many kinds of men. They must think
differently, but does that matter so very much, after all? There is the
same humanity in all of us."
"Undoubtedly! In Turks, idolaters, and unbelievers. Humanity in itself
is fallen and evil."
Muriel smiled. "Father," she said, "you don't believe that there is no
good in all those who have not been taught to believe as we do."
Gascoyne did not answer her, though it is possible that there were
circumstances under which he would have returned a very slightly
qualified affirmative.
"There is a perilous optimism abroad," he said.
"Still," said Muriel, unconscious of the irony of her deprecatory
answer, "Mr. Jefferson is neither a Turk nor an idolater. He is only an
American sailor."
Gascoyne sighed dejectedly, for there was, it seemed, nothing left for
him to appeal to. The girl's beliefs had gone. The simple, iron-fast
rules of life she had once acknowledged were now apparently discredited;
but even in his concern he was vaguely sensible that an indefinite
something which he did not recognise as the charity that love teaches
was growing up in place of them. Still, he felt its presence as he
watched her, and knew that it could not be altogether born of evil.
"My dear," he said, "how shall I implore you to consider?"
Muriel smiled out of hazy eyes. "It is too late. He has my promise, and
I belong to him. Nothing that you could say would change that now. He
has gone out--to Africa--believing in me, and I know that he may never
come back again."
Gascoyne appeared a trifle startled, and remembered a curious remark
that Austin had made to the effect that there was a heavy responsibility
upon his daughter. He could not altogether understand why this should
be, but he almost fancied that she recognised it now. There was also a
finality and decision in the girl's tone which was new to him.
"I think you know how hard it was for me to get away, but it seemed
necessary. I came out to implore you to give this stranger up," he said.
The girl rose, and stood looking at him gravely, with one hand on the
chair arm to steady herself as the steamer rolled, and the moonlight
upon her face. It was almost reposeful in its resolution.
"Father," she said, "you must try to understand. Perhaps I did wrong
when I gave him my promise without consulting you, but it is given, and
irrevocable. He has gone out to Africa--and may die there--believing in
me. I don't think I could make you realise how he believes in me, but,
though, of course, he is wrong, I grow frightened now and then, and
almost hope he may never see me as I really am. That is why
I--daren't--fail him. If there was no other reason I must keep faith
with him."
"Then," said Gascoyne, very slowly, "I must, at least, try to resign
myself--and perhaps, my apprehensions may turn out to be not quite
warranted, after all. I was horribly afraid a little while ago, but this
man seems to have the faculty of inspiring confidence in those who know
him. They cannot all be mistaken, and the man who is purser on this
steamer seems to believe in him firmly. His views are peculiar, but
there was sense in what he said, and he made me think a little less
hardly of Mr. Jefferson."
Muriel only smiled. She realised what this admission, insufficient and
grudging as it was, must have cost her father, and--for she had regarded
everything from his point of view until a few weeks ago--she could
sympathise with him. Still, she was glad when she saw Jacinta and Mrs.
Hatherly coming towards them along the deck.
It was an hour later when Jacinta met Austin at the head of the ladder,
and stopped him with a sign.
"I have had a long talk with Mr. Gascoyne, and found him a little less
disturbed in mind than I had expected," she said. "I want to know what
you said to him."
"Well," said Austin, reflectively, "I really can't remember, and if I
could it wouldn't be worth while. Of course, I knew what I wanted to
say, but I'm almost afraid I made as great a mess of it as I usually
do."
"Still, I think Miss Gascoyne is grateful to you."
"That," said Austin, "affords me very little satisfaction, after all.
You see, I didn't exactly do it to please Miss Gascoyne."
"Then I wonder what motive really influenced you?"
Austin pursed his lips, as if thinking hard. "I don't quite know. For
one thing, very orthodox people of the Reverend Gascoyne's description
occasionally have an irritating effect upon me. I feel impelled to
readjust their point of view, or, at least to allow them an opportunity
of recognising the advantages of mine, which, however, isn't necessarily
the correct one. I hope this explanation contents you."
Jacinta smiled. "I think I shall remember it," she said. "I believe I
generally do when anybody does a thing to please me. Still, Miss
Gascoyne's gratitude will not hurt you."
Then she swept away, and left him standing meditatively at the head of
the ladder. He saw no more of her that night, and he was busy when the
_Estremedura_ steamed into Las Palmas early next morning, while it was
nearly three weeks later when he met her again at a corrida de toros in
the bull ring at Santa Cruz, Teneriffe, which was, perhaps, the last
place where one would have expected to find an English lady.
The spacious amphitheatre was open to the sky, and all its tiers of
stone benches packed with excited humanity, for half the inhabitants of
the island had apparently gathered to enjoy the sanguinary spectacle.
Black is the colour affected by men who can afford it on a Spanish
holiday, but the white cotton the bare-legged hillmen wore, and the pink
and chrome of their wives' and daughters' dresses, flecked with luminous
colour the sombre ranks of the close-packed multitude. Blazing sunlight
beat down upon them, for it is only the richer citizens who sit in the
shadow, and the topmost row was projected, a filagree of black and
motley, against the hard glaring blue. Below, the arena shone dazzlingly
yellow, and the smell of blood and fresh sawdust came up from it through
the many-toned murmur of the crowd. When this sank a little one could
hear the deep boom of the Atlantic swell crumbling on the lava beach.
The revolting picador scene was over. Two or three worn-out and
blindfolded horses had been gored or trampled to death, and one
picador's arm had been broken. The tawny, long-horned bull, which had
shown unusual courage, stood panting in the middle of the arena, with a
crimson smear on one shoulder where a lance had scored it deep, and
while the bugles rang, the vast assembly waited for the banderillero
scene in high good humour. Just then a little party descended one of the
avenues on the shady side, and Austin, who had a note from Pancho Brown
in his pocket, with some difficulty made his way to meet them. He was
quite aware that Brown was probably the only Englishman in those islands
who would have been able to reserve desirable places at a corrida de
toros.
Jacinta, who accompanied him, was attended by his Spanish housekeeper
and two sunburnt English naval officers, but she made room for Austin on
one side of her, and appeared in no way displeased by his indifferently
veiled approbation. Miss Brown had been dressed by a Castilian modeste,
mostly in black lace, that day, and her clustering brown hair was
ornamented by a little mantilla of the same material. It was not a dress
which would have suited every Englishwoman, especially of substantial
type, but Jacinta was slight, and delicately round, and altogether
sylph-like.
"You venture to approve of this get-up?" she said. "The tourists were a
little horrified at the hotel."
Austin, who wore white duck, noticed that she smiled at the Governor,
who sat above them amidst his glittering staff, and that almost sufficed
to spoil his satisfaction, though it was only one of the many little
things that emphasised the difference between them. Still, he contrived
to laugh.
"I expect they were envious. It's bewilderingly effective, and I am a
bit of an artist, as you know," he said. "I was wondering whether you
would have the courage to come."
"Jacinta," said Pancho Brown, "has courage enough for anything. Still,
she came because I asked her. I make my living out of these people, and,
perhaps, a little more. It was policy."
Jacinta laughed. "Well," she said, "I rather like it, and I have been
before. Of course, I mean after they have killed the horses and smashed
the picadores. That part is not only cruel, but ineffective. It's not
inspiriting to see a man padded with leather sit quite still to be
knocked over. They should either wipe it out or give them stuffed
horses. By the way, you don't know my companions."
The two naval officers acknowledged the introduction with characteristic
brevity. Their eyes were fixed on the arena, and the scene was probably
worth their attention, for there are parts of a bull fight which cannot
be termed revolting, at least, by those who have actually witnessed
them.
A lithe, well-favoured man, picturesquely attired, skipped into the
ring, holding a crimson cape in one hand, and a couple of little
decorated darts in the other. It was his business to strike them into
the neck or shoulder of the bull, but nowhere else, while their points
were calculated to do no more than exasperate it. The beast watched him
savagely, pawing up the sand, and the chances appeared somewhat against
the man, since to reach its neck he must approach his silk-covered
breast within an inch or two of the gleaming horns, one of which was
suspiciously reddened.
Austin could not quite see how he did it, for his motions were
bewilderingly rapid, but he saw the wave of the gaudy cloak and heard
its crisp rustle that was lost in the roar. Then the man was running
round the ring for his life, and the bull thundering along with lowered
head and a dart bristling in its neck, a yard or two behind him. He had
no time to swing himself over the barricade, as hard pressed
banderilleros now and then did, for the deadly horns were almost in the
small of his back. It was a frantic test of speed, highly trained human
agility and endurance against the strength of the beast, and there was
dead silence while they went round the arena once, the man running
desperately, with tense, set face, while Austin fancied he could hear
his gasping breath through the roar of the hoofs. Then, with a splendid
bound, he drew a yard ahead, and another man with a green cape hurled
himself through the opening. Somehow he escaped destruction, and the
bull slid onward with hoofs ploughing up the sand, and the gaudy silk
fluttering about its head. There was a roar of plaudits that could have
been heard miles away at sea, and while from tiers of benches the hats
came sailing down, the bull, which shook the cape off, tore the coloured
rags to fragments.
"That fellow has good nerves," said one of the navy men. "I don't see
anything very brutal in it, after all. They both start level, and take
their chances, you know."
Jacinta looked at Austin over her fan, and there was a faint flush in as
much of her face as he could see, as well as a little gleam in her
eyes.
"I'm afraid it--is--a little barbarous," she said. "Everybody says so.
Still, wasn't that banderillero splendid! You see, I have put on
Castilian notions with my clothes. Of course, as an Englishwoman, I
could never venture here."
Austin was a little annoyed to feel that he was smiling sardonically.
"Well," he said, "I should almost have fancied that you were too
super-refined and ethereal to admire that kind of thing, but I really
believe you do."
Jacinta waved her fan. "Do not be deceived, my friend. There is a good
deal of the primitive in us all, and it shows up now and then." Then she
laughed. "I wonder how they all get their right hats back again."
Austin could not tell her, for it was a thing he could never understand;
but while the attendants were still flinging the black sombreros into
the air another banderillero approached the bull. He planted one dart
and then dashed across the ring, but either his nerve failed him, or he
could not trust his speed, for he grasped the top of the barricade and
swung himself over. In another moment the bull struck it with a crash,
and then stood still, half stunned, apparently endeavouring to make out
where the man had gone. There was a storm of hisses and opprobrious
cries.
"That banderillero," said Jacinta, sweetly, "should have been driven out
of the ring. He ought never to have undertaken a thing that was too big
for him."
"Isn't that a little hard upon the man?" said Austin. "He probably
didn't know it was too big until he had undertaken it."
"That's sensible, Miss Brown," said one of the navy men. "When he found
he couldn't run as fast as the bull could what was he to do?"
"What did a certain gunboat's men do when they found themselves quite
unexpectedly in front of the African headman's battery?"
The navy man flushed a little, for he was young. "Oh," he said, "that
was different. They set their lips and went in, though I don't suppose
any of them liked it. Still, you see, that was what they were there to
do."
"Exactly!" and Jacinta laughed a little, though there was still a gleam
in her eyes, and it was Austin she looked at. "They did the obvious, as
well as the most artistic thing. It fortunately happens that they're
often very much the same."
"I'm not quite sure I understand you," said the young officer. "People
who want me to have to talk plain. Still, I suppose one has always a
certain sympathy for the fellow who gets himself killed decently."
Then, for a time, they became absorbed in the play of the banderilleros,
who, flashing here and there, with cloaks of red, and gold, and green,
passed the bull from one to another up and down the trampled arena. Now,
one of them escaped annihilation by a hairsbreadth, while the thundering
vivas went up to the glaring sky, and a comrade turned the tormented
beast again. Now, a silk-clad athlete swept through the two-foot gap
between deadly horns and flying man, and the bull swung round with a
bellow to pursue him, or stood still, temporarily blinded with the gaudy
cloak about its horns. It was a fascinating exhibition of human nerve
and skill, and Austin saw that Jacinta watched it with slightly parted
lips and a gleam in her eyes, until at last the bugles rang, and most of
the men withdrew, leaving the bull alone in the middle of the arena,
with the foam flakes dripping from its muzzle and its brawny neck
bristling with the little darts. Then there was a general movement and a
great hum of voices rose from the close-packed benches. Jacinta waved
her fan, and touched Austin's arm as she looked about her.
"Surely that is Macallister. But whatever is he doing there?" she said.
Austin looked up across the long rows of faces, and saw his comrade
sitting, spick and span in the blue Spanish mail uniform, among the
brilliant officers of the Governor's staff. Macallister was a big man,
with a commanding appearance, when he had for the time being done with
the engine room, and Austin, who knew that he could make friends with
anybody, was not astonished to notice that he seemed very much at home.
"It is rather more than I know," he said. "Still, I should fancy he was
telling them something amusing in execrable Castilian, by the way they
are laughing. I believe Macallister could get anywhere he wanted. He
has, as a matter of fact, dragged me into somewhat astonishing places."
"I shouldn't wonder," said one of the navy men. "George, isn't that big
fellow in the uniform yonder the one we saw the other night at the
opera?"
"It is," said his comrade, with a little soft laugh, as though he
remembered something that had afforded him considerable pleasure.
Jacinta touched Austin with her fan. "I presume you know what he is
referring to?"
"Well," said Austin, "what I do know is this. Mack and I went to see the
Italian company the other night, and because he, of course, knew
everybody about the place, we went behind the scenes. He, unfortunately,
became interested in the stage machinery, and when he had made spirited
attempts to pull some of it to pieces, I and the improvisatore beguiled
him to a chair in the wings. We gave him a cigar to keep him quiet, as
well as the libretto, which he could not read, and, as he seemed
somewhat sleepy, I was thankful to leave him there. I didn't care about
that opera. He never told me what happened after."
The young officer laughed again. "I daresay I can enlighten you. In the
middle of the last act one of the wings collapsed, and everybody saw a
big Englishman, who had apparently just kicked it over, sitting, half
asleep, in a folding chair. He didn't appear to have any legitimate
connection with the drama, but he brought the house down when he got up
in a hurry and fell over his chair."
Then the shrill call of the bugles rang through the great building, and
a tall man, with a scarred face, gorgeously dressed, walked into the
arena, holding a three-cornered hat and a long, straight sword. He stood
still a moment, an imposing and curiously graceful figure, with bright
blade lowered, while a tumultuous shout of "MA|stro!" filled the
building; and then, taking a cloak from an attendant, approached the
bull. It was freely smeared with blood, and as it stood, bellowing, and
pawing the sand in murderous rage, it was evident that the MA|stro's task
was not a particularly pleasant one. There was only one way in which he
could kill the bull, and that was to pass his sword over the horns and
down into the brawny chest, near the base of the neck. Should he strike
elsewhere it was probable that the vast assembly would descend and
trample on him, for this was a duel to the death between man and beast,
in which the latter was secured what seemed an even chance by
punctilious etiquette. The Spaniard displays a good deal of sympathy
with a gallant bull.
The beast seemed to understand that this man was different from the
banderilleros who had previously tormented it, and backed away from him
until he smote it lightly on the nostrils. Then it swept forward in a
savage rush but though the man's movements were so quick that one
scarcely noticed them, he was not quite where he had been a moment
earlier, when the bull thundered past him. Still, one horn had ripped a
strip of silk from him. He followed the beast, and struck it with his
hand, and for five or six frenzied minutes the vast audience roared.
This man never ran. He stepped backwards, or twisted, always with grave
gracefulness, in the nick of time, until at last the bull stood still,
as though stupefied with rage or uncertain how to attack its elusive
persecutor.
Then, as the man walked up to it very quietly and unconcernedly, it
seemed to hump itself together for a furious bound and rush with lowered
head, and there was no sound in the great building until the bright
steel flashed. Man's breast and gleaming horns seemed to meet, but
apparently in the same second the gorgeously clad figure had stepped
aside, and in the next the bull plunged forward and came down upon its
knees.
There was another roar, and once more from all the close-packed benches
came the rain of hats, cigars, and bundles of cigarettes.
"Ah," said Jacinta, with a little gasp, "I think I have seen enough.
There will be another bull and more picadores now. I never could stand
that part of it. Besides, I have done my duty, and patronised the show."
They made their way out while the audience waited for another bull, and
certain leather-swathed picadores rode in on decrepit, blindfolded
horses, brought there to be killed; and it was an hour later when, as
they stood beneath the oleanders in a fonda garden looking down upon the
white-walled town, Jacinta mentioned the affair again.
"Of course, it is a little cruel; but, after all, it appeals to rather
more than the lower passions and lust of slaughter, don't you think?"
she said.
"I never saw anything to equal that MA|stro's play in my life," said one
of the young officers. "It was cool daring in the superlative degree."
"I fancy," said Austin, "you want us to make excuses for your being
there."
Jacinta laughed. "Not exactly! I am rather proud of being a law to
myself--and others--you know. Now, I really think that the qualities the
MA|stro possessed appealed to me, though I naturally mean some and not
all of them. I am, after all, as I admitted, a little primitive in some
respects."
"You mean that you like a man to be daring?" asked the other officer.
"Of course!" and once more it was Austin Jacinta looked at. "Still, I
don't necessarily mean that everybody should go bull-fighting. There are
other things more worth while."
"Even than sailing round the Canaries and painting little pictures?"
said Austin.
Jacinta glanced at him with a curious smile. "Well," she said, "since
you ask me, I almost think there are." Then she stopped a moment, and
stood looking out from among the oleanders towards the glittering heave
of the Atlantic across the white-walled town. Once more a faint gleam
crept into her eyes.
"I wonder," she added, "what Jefferson is doing--out yonder in Africa."