THE COMING DAWN
It was getting dark when Cliffe wakened. The windows were open, and a
flickering red glow shone into the room. Footsteps and voices rose from
the street below, as if the city were astir, but this did not interest
him much. Evelyn was standing near, and a man whom he could not see well
sat in the shadow.
"You must have something to tell me," Cliffe said to the girl. "We seem
to be in safe quarters; but how did we get here?"
Evelyn knelt down beside his couch and put her hand on his hot forehead.
It felt pleasantly cool, and Cliffe lay still with a sigh of
satisfaction.
"Father Agustin brought you in here several hours ago," she explained;
"but that was before I arrived. I was worried, but the doctor says we
needn't be alarmed."
"That's a sure thing," Cliffe replied. "I'm feeling pretty well, but
thirsty. What's the matter with me, anyhow?"
"Exhaustion, and perhaps slight sunstroke and shock. You must have had a
bad fall, because you are bruised."
"I certainly fell, right down to the bottom of the trench; but that's
not what I want to talk about. It is a big relief to see you safe, but
where have you been?"
"It will take some time to tell." Evelyn bent closer over him as she
began an account of her adventures in a low voice, and Cliffe dully
imagined that she did not want the other occupant of the room to hear.
The fellow was no doubt a doctor.
"I had no difficulty after I reached Don Martin's camp," she finished.
"His daughter, the pretty girl we saw at the International, was with him
most of the time, and afterward her duenna treated me very well. When
the rebels advanced on Rio Frio, Don Martin thought it safer for Blanca
and me to go with them, but they left us outside with a guard until the
town was taken. Then I was told that a priest had picked you up badly
hurt and they brought me here. The house belongs to a merchant who took
some part in the revolution. You can imagine how anxious I was until
Father Agustin sent a doctor."
"I hate to think of the danger you were in," he said; "though you seem
to have shown surprising grit."
Evelyn laughed and patted his shoulder.
"Then I must have inherited it. I'm told that you and the others held
the barricade stubbornly for two hours. Don Martin admits that he might
not have taken Rio Frio if it hadn't been for the stand you made."
"He wouldn't have taken it, and there'd have been very few of us left,
if Grahame hadn't rushed the gun. But I've something else to thank him
for. It seems from your story that he got himself into trouble by going
to your help."
"Yes," said Evelyn quietly. "You can thank him now, if you like." She
beckoned the man across the room. "Come and join us, dear."
The red glow from outside fell on her face as Cliffe gave her a
surprised look, and he noticed that she blushed. Then he held out his
hand to Grahame, because he thought he understood.
"It seems I owe you a good deal," he said.
"Well," Grahame returned, smiling, "I suppose my intentions were good,
but I didn't accomplish much, and my partner had to run a serious risk
to get me out of trouble."
"The way you rushed that gun was great."
"It might have been better if we had taken the fellows in the rear, but
we were told that they were making things hot for you, and there was no
time to get round."
"When we met in Havana I'd no idea that you were up against me," Cliffe
said with a laugh. "Curious, isn't it, that we should make friends while
I was backing the President and you the rebels!" He turned to the
window. "What's the fire outside?"
"The _presidio_ burning. Gomez used it as headquarters and made his last
stand there."
"Ah! Then your friends have finished him?"
Grahame nodded.
"A rather grim business. He had much to answer for, but although half
his troops deserted, he made a gallant end."
"Where's your partner, and what are the rebel bosses doing now?"
"Walthew was patrolling the streets with a company of brigands when I
last saw him; he promised to meet me here as soon as he was relieved.
The others are busy forming a provisional government. Don Martin said
he'd call on you soon."
"I owe him some thanks, but I mean to cut my connection with this
country's affairs. No more political speculations; I've had enough."
Grahame laughed.
"I can imagine that. These people are an unstable lot, and it's not
certain that Don Martin, who's much the best man they have, will be the
next president.... But we were told to keep you quiet, and Evelyn is
tired. She had to follow the rebels' march all night, but wouldn't rest
until she was satisfied about you."
"How long have you called her Evelyn?" Cliffe demanded, looking hard at
him.
"He will tell you about that to-morrow," Evelyn answered with a blush.
"You must lie still and go to sleep again if you can, but if you give
trouble, we'll leave the senora Rocas, who is deaf and very clumsy, to
look after you."
When Cliffe fell asleep, Evelyn and Grahame went out on to the balcony
and watched the moonlight creep across the town. There were lights in
the cafes, and excited citizens gathered in the streets. Now and then a
few angry cries broke out, but for the most part the scraps of news that
spread among the crowd were received with exultant cheers.
The next day Cliffe was much better, and after breakfast Grahame found
him sitting in the shady _patio_. He listened to the younger man
quietly, and then held out his hand.
"I'm glad I can agree," he said. "I'll miss her, but I feel that she'll
be safe with you."
Ten minutes later Grahame met Walthew, who looked disturbed and
indignant.
"What are they doing at the council?" Grahame asked.
"Fooling!" said Walthew fiercely. "Seems to me they're mad! Last night
they were solid for Don Martin, but now a faction that means to make
Castillo president is gaining ground."
"A number of them must know he gave their plans away to save his skin."
"They know, all right. One fellow urged that Castillo did so as a matter
of policy, because he meant to force Altiera's hand. Guess the crowd who
want him would believe anything that suited them!"
"Well," Grahame said thoughtfully, "I've had my doubts whether they'd
get on with Don Martin. His code of political morality's rather high;
they want a man who won't expect too much. I dare say they feel that
after turning out Altiera they're entitled to a few opportunities for
graft themselves and for finding their friends official jobs. I'm sorry
for Sarmiento, though. What does he say?"
"Haven't seen him this morning. Father Agustin believes he'll respect
the wish of the majority, although the fellows who did the fighting are
all on his side."
Grahame went to look for Evelyn, and it was noon when Walthew met him
again.
"After a glorious row, they've chosen Castillo--and I wish them joy of
him!" he said. "Don Martin withdraws his claim, and wants to leave
to-morrow. He's going to live in Cuba, and if Cliffe's fit to travel, we
may as well all clear out. I'm sick of this place. Anyway, I'd like to
take Blanca and her father across in the _Enchantress_."
"There will be no difficulty about that. I think we can sell the boat at
New Orleans. Have you made any plans?"
"Sure. I'm going to marry Blanca at Havana and then take her home. She
seemed to think she ought to stay with her father, but Don Martin
convinced her this wasn't necessary. Guess it hurt him, but he told me
the girl had had a pretty rough time wandering about in exile, and he
means to give her a chance of a brighter life."
"Why did you fix on Havana for the wedding?"
Walthew laughed.
"My people will see there is no use in kicking when I take my wife home;
and they've only to give Blanca a fair show to get fond of her. Then
there are a number of Americans in Havana, and I can get the thing
properly registered and fixed up by our consul. Don Martin agreed." He
paused a minute and added: "Don Martin's going to address the citizens
in the plaza at six o'clock, and I think he'd like you and Cliffe to be
there."
Grahame promised to ask Cliffe; and soon after dinner he found that a
place had been kept for his party on the broad steps of the church of
San Sebastian. The air was cooling and dusk was near, but the light had
not gone, and the square was packed with an expectant crowd, except
where a space was kept. The lower steps were occupied by officials and
leading citizens, but the two highest were empty.
For a few minutes there was deep silence, and nobody moved in the
crowded plaza. Then a murmur rose as the leather curtain across the
door was drawn back and Don Martin came out, with three priests in their
robes behind him. He stood bareheaded on the second step, very straight
and soldierlike, but plainly dressed in white, with no sash or badge of
office; the priests standing above, with Father Agustin's tall figure in
the middle. As he turned his face toward the crowd a great shout went
up:
"_Viva Sarmiento! Viva el libertador!_"
Don Martin bowed, but did not speak; and a bugle call rang across the
square and was followed by a measured tramp of feet. Men marching in
loose fours swung out of a shadowy opening and advanced upon the church.
A red sash round the waist with the ends left hanging loose was the only
uniform they wore, and Grahame felt a curious, emotional quiver as he
recognized the detachment he had led. He understood that the best of
them had been enrolled for a time as a national guard. Their brown faces
were impassive as they filled the open space, but after they swung into
double line, instead of the conventional salute, they waved their ragged
hats, and a roar broke out:
"_Viva Sarmiento! Viva el maestro!_"
Then some of the group looked anxious, and there was a stir in the crowd
as an officer approached the steps. He had his pistol drawn, but he
lowered it, and stood opposite Don Martin with his hat off.
"Your comrades salute you, senor," he said. "You have led us to victory,
and if you have fresh orders for us, we obey you still."
He spoke clearly, in a meaning tone, and there was an applauding murmur
from the crowd that gathered strength and filled the square. Everybody
seemed to feel a sudden tension, and Grahame imagined that the
superseded leader had only to give the signal for a counter revolution
to begin; but he saw that Father Agustin wore a quiet smile.
Don Martin raised his hand.
"I thank you, and I know your loyalty; but it belongs to your country,
of which I am a private citizen. I can give no orders, but I ask you to
serve the new government as well as you have served me."
The officer went back to his men with a moody air, and Don Martin turned
to the crowd.
"In a national crisis, it is a citizen's duty to devote himself to his
country's service, and this I have done; but it is a duty that carries
no claim for reward. Many of you have helped me with effort and money,
and some have given their lives; but the rough work is done and the
crisis is past. Now that I am no longer needed, I lay down my authority,
and it is better in several ways that I should go. But you who remain
have still much to do. It is harder to build than to pull down, and your
task is to establish justice, freedom, and prosperity. The best
foundation is obedience to the new leader the nation has chosen."
He moved back into the gloom, for darkness was gathering fast, and after
a few words of grave advice Father Agustin blessed the people. Then the
national guard marched away and the crowd broke up; but Grahame and his
party waited, with Don Martin standing behind them by the door of the
church. A smell of incense floated out, and dim lights twinkled in the
building. No one spoke until the measured tramp of feet had died away.
Then Grahame put his hand on Don Martin's arm.
"The sacrifice you have made to-night must have cost you something," he
said in a sympathetic voice.
"It is seldom easy to do what is best," Don Martin answered, smiling
sadly. "And now, with your permission, I should like to be alone. We
will start for Valverde early to-morrow."
They left him in the deserted plaza.
"What a man that is!" Cliffe remarked. "If they were all like him in
Congress, there'd be a big improvement in our politics--and I guess
you'd have some use for a few of his kind at Westminster."
"That's true," Grahame agreed. "I can't say that such men are scarce,
but as a rule they don't come to the top. They do what's demanded of
them, and then quietly fall out of sight."
* * * * *
The next morning they set out for the coast. The _Enchantress_ was in
the roadstead when they reached the port, and they went straight on
board. Macallister met them at the gangway, and there was deep feeling
in his face as he shook hands with his comrades; but a few moments later
he surveyed the group with a grin. Walthew had helped Evelyn on board,
and Blanca stood near Grahame.
"I'm thinking ye're no' sorted right," he said; and when Evelyn blushed
he resumed with a chuckle: "Ye need no' tell me; I kenned what would
happen, and I wish ye all happiness."
He turned with a flourish to Don Martin.
"We'd ha' dressed the ship for ye, senor, only our flags are a bit
ragged, and I couldna' find the one ye have served so weel."
"Thank you," said Don Martin. "We hope our flag will be better known
before long."
Macallister hurried below to raise steam, but it was some time before
they got a working pressure, and dusk was falling when the windlass
hauled in the rattling cable and Grahame rang the telegraph. The
propeller churned the phosphorescent sea, the _Enchantress_ forged
ahead, and the white town began to fade into the haze astern.
Don Martin leaned upon the taffrail, watching the dim littoral, until it
melted from his sight and only the black cordillera in the background
cut against the sky. Then he joined the group about the deck-house and
lighted a cigarette.
"Another act finished and the curtain dropped, but one looks forward to
the next with confidence," he said.
"It might have opened better if you had kept the leading part," Grahame
replied, and added meaningly: "You could have kept it."
"That is possible," Don Martin agreed. "But it might not have been wise.
I fought for peace, and I was satisfied when it was secured."
"Still, I don't see why you left," Cliffe interposed. "Is Castillo
strong enough to rule your people?"
"We must give him an opportunity; if he has some failings, his
intentions are good. No rule is free from faults, and when it is
autocratic a possible claimant for the chief post is a danger to the
State. All who love change and turmoil fix their hopes on him."
"Do you mean to live in Cuba?"
"Yes. I have some skill in organization and a little money left, and
friends wish me to help in the development of a new sugar estate. It is
not very far from Valverde, and one hears what is going on." Don Martin
paused and spread out his hands. "If all goes well, I shall grow sugar,
but if it happens that my country needs me I will go back again."
Walthew changed the subject, and presently Evelyn and Grahame strolled
forward to the bow. There was moonlight on the water, and the
_Enchantress_ steamed smoothly up the glittering track while the foam
that curled about her stern shone with phosphorescent flame.
"I wonder where that path is leading us?" Evelyn said.
"Toward the dawn," Grahame answered. "There's glamour in moonlight and
mystery in the dark, but we're moving on to meet the sunshine."
THE END
Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the
original edition have been corrected.
In Chapter VII, "creeeping past invisible dangers" was changed to
"creeping past invisible dangers".
In Chapter XV, "ouside this there was only a dim glimmer of foam" was
changed to "outside this there was only a dim glimmer of foam".
Hyphenation of the words "deckhouse", "deckload", "rawhide", and
"sternsheets", and the use of an accent in the word "Bolivar", was
inconsistent in the original text.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Coast of Adventure, by Harold Bindloss