Through the hot pulsing of the tropical midnight, with its myriad
throbbings of animal life, came the sound of husky coughing, steadily
growing more distinct, until the two men seated on the outside of the
native hut, on a fallen tree, smoking and listening, identified it as
the voice of the Atlamalcan tugboat, named for its owner, _General
Yozarro_. In the vivid moonlight, a dim mass assumed form up the
river, the sparks tumbling from its small smokestack helping to locate
the craft, which constituted the navy of the little Tabascan republic.
The puffing grew louder, the throbbing of the screw, and the rush of
the foamy water from the bow struck the ear more clearly, and the
outlines of the craft were marked as it rushed past, near the middle
of the river, with the starred, triangular flag of Atlamalco wiggling
from the staff which upreared itself like a needle from the stern.
In the flood of illumination every part of the vessel was plainly
seen: the wheelhouse and even the outlines of the captain at the
wheel, the upper deck, the gleam of the one cannon at the front near
the pile of wood, and the other at the rear, as well as the forms of
several men in sombreros lounging here and there, as if playing the
part of sentinels, though there was no earthly call for any service of
that nature.
So distinct was everything, that Major Starland saw the Captain reach
upward, grasp a cord and pull down. The hoarse throb of the steam
whistle awoke the echoes along shore and as it rolled through the
forests and jungles caused hundreds of denizens of the solitude to
wonder what sort of new beast was coming among them.
Gradually the boat grew hazy and indistinct, but the throbbing of the
engine and the soft wash of the current lingered long after the craft
itself had faded from view.
"It may be that President Yozarro is afraid President Bambos will
forget he has a navy," suggested the American.
"He does not mean to attack him, I am sure."
"He has no cause for doing so, which is generally the reason why these
wasps sting their neighbors. If they waited for a just cause there
would be eternal peace. Ah, my yacht is not due for several days! I
would it were here."
"What would you do, Major?"
"Declare on the side of General Bambos; I shouldn't ask better sport
than to blow that crab out of the water."
"Is General Bambos a better friend of yours, Major, than General
Yozarro?"
"I count neither as a friend, but Yozarro has my sister as his guest,
though she has overstayed her time. I may be wrong, but I am not
convinced that she is a willing visitor."
"He holds also the gunboat that we saw pass but a short time ago."
"And I have a yacht with a single gun; with that my crew would make as
short work of the _General Yozarro_ as we did with the Spanish fleets
at Manila and Santiago."
Captain Guzman shrugged his shoulders and smoked in silence.
"My boat will be here in two or three days. Then I shall ask no help
from Bambos or any one else in this part of the world."
"Why not wait, Major? Who knows that if your sister is restored to you
through the help of General Bambos, you may not have to ask General
Yozarro to help you make _him_ give her up?"
It was a contingency of which Major Starland had not thought. Prudence
told him to be patient till the coming of the _Warrenia_, with her
crew of a dozen men, beside the captain. Three of the crew had fought
against Spain and would welcome a scrap with the Atlamalcan navy.
But the American was restless. He carried a pretext for calling upon
General Yozarro, and his anxiety would not allow him to remain
quiescent. That night as he slept in the hammock which he had brought
from his boat and swung in front of the native hut, he heard as in a
dream, the puffing of the tug on its return to Atlamalco. He did not
rouse himself to look at her, as she glided past in the moonlight, but
it was a great relief to know that she had gone back. President
Yozarro was so proud of his navy that most of the voyages up and down
the Rio Rubio were taken for his personal pleasure. He would be at
home, therefore, on the morrow when his American visitor presented
himself.
And such was the case. The forenoon was no more than half gone, when
the small sailing craft rounded to at the wharf in front of the native
town, and Major Starland leaped ashore. It was agreed that Captain
Guzman should await his return to the pier. The alert American noted
everything. The tug seemed to be crouching beside the wharf, a hundred
feet distant, like a bull dog waiting for some one to venture nigh
enough for him to leap forward and bury his fangs in his throat. But
no steam was up, and the war craft, like everything else, was adrowse
and sleeping.
The city of Atlamalco sprawled over half a square mile, the most
ancient dwellings being made of adobe, squat of form and with only a
single story. The more pretentious were of a species of bamboo, of
large proportions, and, although divided into a number of apartments,
they too consisted of but a single story, like most houses in an
earthquake country. They were of flimsy make, for the climate was
generally oppressive, and the narrow streets were fitted only for the
passage of footmen and animals with their burdens. The swarthy, untidy
inhabitants are among the laziest on earth, for, where nature is so
lavish, the necessity for laborious toil is wanting. The avenues
leading to the wharf slope gently upward, winding in and out, and
mingling in seemingly inextricable confusion.
Pen cannot describe the vegetable exuberance of this portion of South
America. Sugar, coffee, cocoa, rice, tobacco, maize, wheat, ginger,
mandioc, yams, sarsaparilla, and tropical fruits beyond enumeration
smother one another in the fierce fight for life. The chief dependence
of the people is upon mandioc, manioc, or cassava, which the natives
accept as a direct gift from the prophet Sune. This, however, is not
the place to dwell upon the endless variety of trees and the fauna and
flora of that extraordinary country.
Major Starland left his rifle in charge of Captain Guzman, and, with
his revolver at command, strolled up the main street. The hottest part
of the day being near, few of the people were astir or visible. Most
of them were asleep within doors, their siesta beginning before the
mid-day meal and lasting long afterward.
A single pony came stumbling forward at the first turn of the street,
so heaped over with bundles that little more than his head, ears and
front legs below the knees were in sight. His driver, swarthy,
long-haired, and in sombrero, slouched at the side of the animal,
whacking his haunches now and then, swearing at him in mongrel
Spanish, to both of which the brute paid no more heed than to the tiny
flies that nipped in vain at his armor-like hide.