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UNDER THE SOUTHERN CROSS
by
Elizabeth Robins
Author of "The Magnetic North,"
"The Open Question" etc.
Illustrated & Decorated by John Rae
[Illustration: "FRUITS AND FLOWERS WERE SHOWERED UPON US"--_Page 3_]
New York
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1907, by
Frederick A. Stokes Company
October, 1907
_Contents_
PAGE
I. OUR AGREEABLE FELLOW PASSENGER 1
II. MY INTERPRETER AT MAZATLAN 39
III. I AM LECTURED 65
IV. I DRINK COCOANUT MILK AND GO FISHING FOR PEARLS 101
V. THE BARON IS CRAZY WITH MADNESS 133
VI. THE BARANCA 165
VII. THE INCA EYE 199
_Illustrations_
"FRUITS AND FLOWERS WERE SHOWERED UPON US" _Frontispiece_
"LOOK, SEÑORITA!" _Facing page_ 48
"THE BARON HAS FOUND A PEARL!" " " 112
"YOU MUST TAKE ME BACK!" " " 210
CHAPTER I
[Illustration: Chapter One]
OUR AGREEABLE FELLOW PASSENGER
In the same spirit in which a solicitous mamma or benevolent
middle-aged friend will sometimes draw forth from the misty past some
youthful misdeed, and set the faded picture up before a girl's eyes,
framed in fiery retribution--for an object lesson and a terrible
example--so will I, benevolent, if not middle-aged, put before the
eyes of my sisters a certain experience of mine. I expect my little
act of self-abasement for the instruction of my sex to have this
merit: the picture I will show you is not dim with age, and not cut
and cramped to fit the frame of a special case. The colours are hardly
dry, and both picture and tale are quite unvarnished.
I am a plain American girl of twenty. I am not so plain, as I come to
think of it, as one or two others I know--not being distinguished even
by unusual or commanding ugliness. I spent last winter in San
Francisco with relatives, and intended returning home as I
came--overland. But the invalid friend who was asked to chaperon me
back to New York, was advised by her physicians to take the trip by
sea _via_ Panama, for health's sake, and I was easily induced to
change my arrangements and bear her company.
It was on a sunny April morning that our friends met us at the wharf
of the Pacific Mail Steamship Company to bid us God-speed on our
month's voyage from the Golden Gate to the harbour of New York.
Fruits and flowers, boxes of salted almonds and Maskey's best bonbons,
as well as books, from Prescott's "Conquest of Mexico" to the latest
novels, were showered upon us, with the understanding that it was to
be a long and tedious voyage, and we should need all the comfort
obtainable to support existence, with the knowledge that if we
survived, we might be the better for the journey. The signal for
visitors to leave the ship had been given, and Major Sanford, turning
to go, stood face to face with a tall, foreign-looking young man, who
smiled with quick recognition, showing small white teeth like a
woman's.
"You raimembair me, Major?"
Major Sanford did "raimembair," and, turning to me, presented "Baron
de Bach."
"--he knows all our good friends, was here four years ago on his way
round the world in his steam yacht--glad to think you'll have such
good company. Good-bye!" And Major Sanford was the last to run down
the gangway. How little he knew what entertainment he was providing in
coupling my farewell to him with "hail" to Baron de Bach!
Slowly we moved away from the dense crowd that covered the wharf. In
the cloud of fluttering handkerchiefs, our friends' faces grew dim and
slowly faded; the fair city at our Western portal looked like
dreamland in a haze.
"You air not sorry dthat you go?" says a voice over my shoulder.
"No," I say, without turning; "I'm always glad of a change. You must
have had a good time in that yacht of yours, going where you liked,
and getting up steam the moment you had seen enough."
"Yes," says the new acquaintance meditatively, coming forward to the
side of the vessel where I can see his face, "_Mais je suis très
fatigué._ I am glad dthat I now go home."
"You are young to be tired." I look sideways at the boyish face. He is
German, I think to myself, making a mental note of his complexion,
strangely fair for a yachtsman the eyes--heavily fringed blue
eyes--the full-lipped, sensuous mouth, shapely of its kind, shadowed
by a curling blond moustache.
"You are going home round Robin Hood's barn, aren't you?"
"Robeen Hoohd? Pardon, vill you tell me who is he _en français_?"
"No, I'm not proud of my French, and if mistakes must be made I would
rather you made them. I meant isn't this a curious way to go to
Germany, if you are tired of travel and in haste to get home?"
"I lif not in Jhermany, how could you dthink----"
"Oh, I fancied the name was German, and----"
"Yes--yes, dthe name, but----"
"And you look a little German."
"Ah, mademoiselle, look at me more, I am in nodthing like Jhermans."
I could see the tall young stranger was a bit distressed that his
Teutonic cast betrayed him.
"My fadthur was Jherman--my modthur is Castilian, my home is Lima, I
am Peruvian, but I am educate in France. I am _cosmopolite_. And
you--air Frainch?"
"I wonder where Mrs. Steele is?" I say, and turn away to find my
friend standing at the stern, with the tears streaming down her
handsome, care-worn face, and her great hollow eyes fixed on the
fading outlines of the San Franciscan harbour. The Baron has followed,
but I turn my back and devote myself to diverting Mrs. Steele.
"We must arrange our stateroom before we are ill," she says presently,
in a state of hopeful anticipation, and we retire to No. 49 in the
Steamship _San Miguel_, which all who have taken this journey know to
be the best double room on the "crack" steamer of the line. We put up
hangers, divide pockets and racks, and prepare for a three weeks'
occupancy. Having finished our work, we go to the stern to get a whiff
of the stiff breeze blowing from the southeast. The air is sweet and
sun-laden, the rhythmic rise and fall of the little steamer seems a
bit of caressing pastime between ship and sea--"the whole world is
shining and exultant," think I, "and the contagion reaches me."
"Mademoiselle ees fery happy for somedthing," says the Baron's deep,
low voice.
"Yes, I'm always happy, but especially just now. Mrs. Steele--Baron
de Bach, a friend of Major Sanford."
For half an hour the young Peruvian devotes himself making a good
impression on Mrs. Steele. He carries her chair about until a place is
discovered sufficiently sheltered from the sun and yet not too cold;
he puts all our wraps and rugs on and about "Madame," who watches him
with quiet amusement until I ask:
"And now, pray, what am I to do for a rug?"
"You need not a rug; you vill valk dthe deck, vill you not?"
To tell the truth, walking the deck is much more in my line than being
swathed and pinioned in a chair, but----
"Yes, my dear, it will do you good--bring me a book, and then you may
explore if you like."
So Madame is left with her French romance, and up and down in the
sunshine I walk with our new acquaintance at my side.
"You air not Frainch?" he asks with a scrutinising side glance out of
his fine eyes.
"I am happy to say that I am an American, and so are my ancestors for
three hundred years."
"Naixt to dthe Frainch, dthe American ladies air most beautiful,
charmante and clevair, but you haf chic, and more dthings; you might
be angry I vould say. Vhen I stood at dthe ship and see you coming
_abord du San Miguel_ I vas so happy, for I haf fear for a dull
voyage."
"H'm! You fancy then I may entertain you?"
"_Mademoiselle!_"
Very reproachful is the droop of the long lashes.
"It ess my gude hope ve may be friends, and if I succeed to amuse
_you_, I am content _à présent_."
"And what office do you aspire to in the future? Shall you instruct,
perhaps?"
"Dthat ees more your rôle, for if you pairmeet me to listen to your so
beautiful Eenglish, I must learn much. But you will let me spik to you
a leedle in Frainch, mademoiselle? Dthere air zome dthings I cannot
say in Eenglish."
We stop at the vessel's side, and in a glance across to Mrs. Steele I
see her looking with wide-eyed amusement and a dash of concern at my
companion. I turn in time to catch a queer, earnest look in the boyish
face, as he stands with one hand grasping the rope ladder and his head
bent down to mine.
"Anything clever or graceful that occurs to you in French, you may say
to Madame Steele if you like, but you must speak English to me.
There's the gong for dinner."
At the table I am placed at the Captain's right. My friends had given
him special charges about me, and in a rough, kind-hearted way he
shows me every attention. On my right sits a Guatemalan, Señor José
Noma, then Mrs. Steele, and beside her, Baron de Bach. Opposite is an
army officer, Captain Ball, and his wife, and several Mexicans. I feel
a little unsteady and disinclined to eat, but the Baron sends me, by
the Chinese waiter, a glass of champagne frappé--and my courage and
interest in life return.
The Guatemalan proves to be a rich coffee planter exiled from home for
political reasons, and returning now after an absence of several years
to make his peace with the government. Señor José Noma is a clever,
entertaining person, and one thing about him I am not likely to
forget. He ate more chili-peppers, more mustard, more pickled
chow-chow, more curry, and more cayenne pepper than I would have
believed any mortal could dispose of and live.
I used to wonder whether his diet had any share in making him such a
flaming firebrand of rebellion that he must needs be sent North to
cool off! I am convinced, at least, that had he not drunk a generous
amount of wine he must inevitably have been scorched to a cinder. He
was always passing me his favourite dainties and urging upon me
garlic, and some particularly awful and populous cheese. I was
especially impressed in this, my first intercourse with a
Spanish-speaking race, by their invincible habit of paying
compliments, and yet their inability to convince even an
unsophisticated person like myself that they meant one word they were
saying.
The afternoon I devote to Mrs. Steele in our airy, pleasant stateroom.
She is not exactly ill, but wants to lie down and to be read to. So we
begin the "Conquest of Mexico." Towards evening I emerge from
retirement, and Baron de Bach drops from somewhere at my side.
"Gude-efening, Mademoiselle. You haf us long deserted."
I explain that my friend is not well.
"But she vill make you ill vhen you stay inside. I vill tell her."
"In French it may be safe, but don't attempt it in English."
He looks mystified.
"Pardon, Mademoiselle, you look efer as if you laugh at me, but I am
not sure."
"No, it's only my natural buoyancy that gives me a smiling aspect,"
and I turn the conversation to Mexico. "We shall go ashore at Mazatlan
and dine at a native hotel and see the people."
"May I accompany you?" says the Baron.
"Mrs. Steele makes all the arrangements; you must see her about
that."
"Ah, but you spik not Spanish, and you must haf intairpretair. Madame
Steele!" he says, as my friend appears, looking refreshed from her
long rest, "desire you not an intairpretair at Mazatlan, or spik you
Spanish?"
Mrs. Steele does not "spik Spanish," and accepts his offices. In some
way the Peruvian has secured the confidence and goodwill of my friend
in a very brief acquaintance. He is decidedly agreeable, but his
slight knowledge of English puts him at constant and amusing
disadvantage.
The next evening as we stand at the vessel's side, watching the
marvellous display of phosphorescence that plays about the prow of the
_San Miguel_, Mrs. Steele is joined by Señor Noma, and the Baron
urges me to come a little further away from the light--"ve can see
dthe yelly fishes viel besser." I move away unsuspectingly out of the
shine of the ship's lanterns, and the Baron, folding his arms on the
railing beside me, begins quite low to recite a Spanish sonnet,
liquid, musical, impassioned. I look out over the waters well-named
Pacific, and yield my luxurious sense a moment to the charm of the
dusky beauty stretching away endless in the night, listening half in a
dream to the lapping of the weirdly lit water against the side of the
_San Miguel_, and to the sweet, low music of the Spanish tongue. The
spell is broken when the Peruvian begins in a rapid, excited French a
sentimental declaration.
"I'm afraid I don't quite follow you," I interrupt. "Are you telling
me about jelly fish or the Peruvians?"
"_Sacre!..._"
A low, repressed volley of Castilian followed by a few words in
German.
"_Seit jenem Tage wo ich zum ersten Male in deinen schönen Augen
geblickt habe, habe ich dich grenzenlos geliebt._"
"I'm sorry I can understand nothing but English," I say, turning to
see if I can catch a glimpse of Mrs. Steele.
"Señorita!"
The Peruvian holds my finger tips fast to the rail with a hand that
trembles a little.
"Señorita, I must gif you anodther proof dthat I am not Jherman, and
am unlike your--how you say--practi_cal_ countrymen. I haf know you
two days, yust so long haf I loaf you, and being Peruvian, I must die
if I tell you not."
"Blanche, where are you?" It is Mrs. Steele's voice, and I call out:
"Do come here, the jelly fish are simply resplendent on this side."
The Peruvian moves out of range of recognition, into the darkness
beyond, while Mrs. Steele joins me on the other side.
"Where is Baron de Bach? I thought he was with you."
"So he was, but he's just gone daft--I mean aft."
"What is the matter?" says my friend; "have you disagreed about
something?"
"Yes," I say, "we've disagreed, and he has the best of it, for he can
argue his point with four tongues and I've only one."
Mrs. Steele is curious; she slips her arm through mine.
"Has he been overpolite to you, my dear?"
"Mrs. Steele," I say, thoughtfully, "I'm a little amused and still
more perplexed by this man. Will you allow me the American girl's
privilege of taking care of herself and promise not to interfere if I
tell you how matters go?"
"Yes," says Mrs. Steele quickly, "I need no convincing that you can
take care of yourself, but I rather like that big Peruvian with all
his worldly experience and boyish heart. I hope he hasn't been
translating into broken English the eloquence of his face. If you're
wise, you'll keep him on friendly ground till near the end of the
voyage at least; he will make an agreeable third in our excursions on
shore. His knowledge of Spanish and Mexican customs will be useful,
but if you allow him to make a goose of himself, there's an end to all
friendly intercourse."
She pauses a moment and then adds hopefully:
"But still we've known him only two days; I merely warn you in time
for future need."
"It's too late," I say, leaning far over the railing to watch the
phosphorescence gleam and darken. "He has just been making furious
love in four languages. Let's go in, dear."
That night I wake out of some unpleasant dream to hear Mrs. Steele
saying:
"You sleep like the dead; we shall all go to the bottom and you will
never find it out till the fish begin to nibble."
I realise sleepily there's a great commotion without; hurried feet
fly about the decks; loud orders are shouted under our window, and
with a mighty trembling and throbbing, the ship's engine seems to stop
suddenly. Mrs. Steele is scrambling into her _robe de chambre_, and
has her head out of the porthole, while I, hardly awake even yet, lean
in a bewildered way over the side of my berth to listen.
"What has happened?" Mrs. Steele calls out.
"Man overboard," answers one of the sailors; "we're lowering a boat."
"Dthere ees no fear, Madame," says the Peruvian's voice outside.
I am so sleepy I gladly take his word for it, and am off again to the
Land of Nod. Mrs. Steele's voice comes to me from afar off, with some
question about a pistol, but the real soon mixes with a dream, and I
know no more.
The next morning I hear that for two hours the whole ship was in a
commotion. A drunken passenger of the intermediate class had tumbled
overboard, been sobered by his bath, and swam valiantly till the
ship's engine could be reversed and a boat lowered to his rescue. This
occupied so much time that he was sinking from exhaustion when finally
the sailors pulled him in. The passengers were in a panic during the
outcry and subsequent stoppage of the machinery. Many believed the
last hour was at hand, and appeared on deck in ascension robes, and
faces by no means expressive of joy at the immediate prospect of
Heaven. It was great fun hearing the various experiences at breakfast.
Every one had some joke on his neighbour--only the Peruvian was quiet
and rather pale. As we sat on deck in the later morning sunshine, he
said to me in German:
"You face danger bravely. I heard Madame Steele cry out last night,
but no word from you."
"Good reason for that; I was asleep nearly all the time."
"Asleep!" he repeats. "Impossible!"
"But quite true; I only heard you say there was no fear, and then I
turned over and went on with my dream."
"Ah!" he says, making the German words rumble and bristle with
emphasis, "I am happy that assurance from me could so calm and comfort
you."
"Yes," I say hypocritically, "the effect was magical; but were you
frightened?"
"Yes, I admit it. Very much. But not for myself, I hardly need
say----"
"What was that I heard about a pistol?" I interrupt, "or did I dream
it?" A faint flush passes over the Peruvian's face.
"Did you hear? I was looking to see if it was in order when Madame
Steele opened her window. I was waked very suddenly, you see, and my
neighbour was shrieking that the boiler had broken and in a moment we
would all be in Eternity. I thought of you, Fräulein----"
"In English, please," I say, "I can't follow you in German."
He stops an instant, eying me doubtfully; a moment longer he
hesitates, and then, seeing that Mrs. Steele is busily talking of the
terrors of the night to a group of passengers, he continues in a lower
tone:
"I dthought about you, it is needless dthat I zay. I hurry on mit my
long ofercoat and hold mine pistol deep in mine--mine--how you zay?"
"Pocket."
"Yes, in mine pawket, and I come dthree steps by a time up here to
your door."
"Heavens!" I say, "did you want to shoot me?"
"No, I vould safe you!"
"What was the pistol for?"
"You zee a Peruvian vill dthink qvick by a time like zo--he vill zay:
'I must safe dthe life of Señorita--dthere vill be boats, but dthere
vill be many to crowd in and all vill be lost. So I vill take von
leedle boat and I put dtherein Madame Steele and Señorita; if any
people try to growd in, I hold dthem back; if any inseest, I shoot
dthem dead, and safe Señorita.'"
"Very humane of you.--Señor Noma," I call out suddenly, as that fiery
gentleman is passing by, "I want to hear how heroic _you_ were last
night."
"Ah, mees," says the Guatemalan deprecatingly, as he stops before us,
"I did sit one meeserable quarter-hour by the rail with two life
presairvairs and try to raimember _one_ Ave Maria."
Acting on Mrs. Steele's wise suggestion, I keep the Peruvian at bay as
much as possible; but this is not so easy as it might seem, and my
best safeguard is to stay with Mrs. Steele every moment and insist I
understand only English. Baron de Bach observes a day or two after
this:
"Señorita's knowledge of French and Jherman ees better zome days dthan
odthers. But it ees gude for me that I vill learn spik zo beautiful
Eenglish."
"Forgif me, Señorita," he says, beginning afresh after a pause, "but
_vhat_ blue eyes you haf!"
"You are colour blind, Baron," observes Mrs. Steele, with a quiet
smile. The Peruvian starts slightly. Had he forgotten her?
"Madame----" he begins.
"Hush!" I say, with uplifted finger, "I hear the bells of San Blas."
Mrs. Steele shades her eyes with one little grey-gloved hand, and
looks intently towards the undulating outline of the coast. The flood
of sunshine that bathes the world is flung back ceaselessly from the
shimmering sea, till the poor eyes of mortals are dazed and blinded
with the shifting splendour.
Beyond, the rugged coast of misty purple has rest and charm for the
dazzled vision. There is a sympathetic interest in Mrs. Steele's
beautiful face, and I knew her fancy, like my own, had restored the
ancient Jesuit mission to the far-off headland, and the legend of
consecrated bells--that still ring out from a tower long since
crumbled--is fresh and vivid in her memory.
"I really believe I hear the bells, don't you, Mrs. Steele?" She puts
the grey-gloved hand over her eyes as if she were tired.
"I could hear them, dear, if I were twenty."
"Vhat bells ees dthat?" The Peruvian turns away his fine head to
listen. "I hear nodthing."
"You are the only one that hears them, Blanche; tell us what they
say."
"Even Longfellow can't do that," I answer, "and his sense was so acute
and fine he heard them half across the world."
I look out to the misty coast line and repeat:
"What say the Bells of San Blas
To the ships that outward pass
To the harbour of Mazatlan?
To them it is nothing more
Than the sound of surf on the shore--
Nothing more to master or man.
But to me, a dreamer of dreams,
To whom what is and what seems
Are often one and the same,
The Bells of San Blas to me
Have a strange wild melody,
And are something more than a name."
"Ah, vas I not right, Madame Steele? I vill learn zo beautiful
Eenglish on dthis voyage."