“She will be married to-morrow midnight,” he thought, “and he will have

her till she dies. If she could be chained to a rock by a dragon we

could prove who loves her best.”

* * * * * * *

When the visitor had gone, Rosa returned to him. “I knew that there

would be trouble,” she said. “Chacon has let the murderer escape. The

Reds are warned now and all Manuel’s plan will miscarry. He’ll be

furious.”

“How did he let him escape?”

“Somebody betrayed it, and the Reds rescued him. I’ve sent Chacon to

tell General Chavez; but nothing will be done now that Manuel is away:

Chavez is an idler.

“Of course,” she added, “he may act because Manuel is away. These

soldiers and politicians are as jealous of each other as prime donne.”

“Surely,” Hi said, “this isn’t a matter for politicians, but for the

police? Surely the police will take the murderer?”

“The police?” she said. “Why, Hi, they’re married men, with families,

most of them. Do you think they’d risk their pensions by arresting a Red

on a White warrant? They’re not philanthropists.”

“What are they, then?”

“Paid partisans.”

“Golly.”

“Well may you say golly. However, that is a little thing, compared with

this marriage. I’m used to the police. I’m not used to the thought of

that man with . . .”

She had paused at the little fountain, where she gazed down into the

basin and let the fingers of one hand open and close in the water.

“But I’m not going to talk in this beastly way,” she said. “Forget what

I said, will you?

“Of course, Hi, you’ll come here whenever you like. Mother told me to

tell you that a place will be here for you at lunch on every Tuesday,

Thursday and Sunday; when you can come, we’ll be glad, and when you

can’t you needn’t write or send word. You needn’t think it’s decent of

us. We’re only too glad. You were all lovely to me at your home, and

your father simply saved us from beggary. Besides, it will be a charity

to two lorn females.”

“Thank you,” Hi said, “you’re a jolly good friend.”

“There’s my hand on that,” she said. “And when you’re settled out here,

we can always put you up. Now would you care to swim? We have a bathing

pond here. It was made in the days of our glory, but, being made, it is

easy to keep up.”

She led the way through a gap in a rose-hedge to a terrace of white

marble, in the midst of which was a swimming pool, full of clear water.

“There you are,” she said, “if ever you want a swim. A plunge now would

do us both good; but before we plunge, shall we just walk back to the

house, to see if Carlotta has returned?”

“Yes, certainly,” Hi said; “but I haven’t heard her horses.”

“Nor I,” she said. “But she ought to be back. She is the swimmer amongst

us. She does all things well, but she swims like a sea-bird.”

They found that Carlotta had not returned.

“She ought to be back by this time,” Rosa said. “But in this country

trains are sometimes late in starting, as you will find. Let us walk to

the gates, to see if she be on the road.”

They saw no one on the road, save three men with a handcart who were

coming slowly from the direction of the city and pausing at intervals to

paste handbills on walls and palings. They paused to paste a bill upon a

ruinous wall opposite the Piranhas’ gate; Rosa and Hi watched them.

“Bill-stickers,” Hi said. “I did not know that you had them here.”

“Oh, yes,” Rosa said. “We are civilised here; bills, drains and only one

wife, just like Europe. But we keep them for great occasions like

bull-fights, these bills, I mean.”

“Bull-fights,” Hi said. “Do you still have them?”

“This is the season for them; probably this is an announcement of them.”

“I’d love to see a bull-fight; it must be frightfully exciting. Do let

us wait to see what it is.”

The bill-sticker, with a few deft thrusts of his brush, set the poster

in its place. It was a yellow poster, printed in blunt black type with a

tall red heading:

“Proclamation of the Government.”

“It is only a pronunciamento,” Rosa said; “not bulls after all. Can you

read it from here? I cannot see anything without my glasses.”

“Something about religion, as far as I can make it out,” Hi said. “Dios

is God, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what it is, then; all about religion.”

“There are rather a lot of Dioses,” Hi said after a pause; “but then I

suppose it’s Lent.”

“Yes,” Rosa said, a little snappily. “In my Church it is the season for

Dioses.”

Donna Emilia met them on their way back through the house to the pond.

“Carlotta not yet back?” she said. “She has probably driven to one of

the stores. Come in, then, to drink maté. Tea here is never good,

Highworth; we drink maté amargo, a bitter drink; not unlike your

camomile tea, they tell me; we think it refreshing.”

Hi did not find it refreshing, but drank one little silver pipkin for

the experience and a second for politeness.

V

“Is anyone coming here this afternoon?” Rosa asked. “No one, so far as I

can tell,” her mother answered. “I am not asking people, because I want

you to see Carlotta while you can. Besides, it is Lent; one should be

quiet in Lent.”

“They are putting placards in the road,” Rosa said. “We could not read

them; but they seemed to be about quiet at Easter.”

“I am glad,” Donna Emilia said. “The last exhibition of disorder

disgraced our country.”

The old butler entered. “Señora,” he said, “Don Inocencio desires to

speak with you, if it be your pleasure.”

“Let him come in,” she answered. “Don Inocencio, Highworth, is one of

the Senators of the White party, to which we belong. He was an old

friend of my husband’s.”

“Shall I not go?” Hi asked.

“No, stay, it’s very good for you,” Rosa said.

Don Inocencio was a little pale man with a habit of inflating his

cheeks; when he did this, he looked more important than at other times.

He held a roll of paper in his left hand; he had very nice manners and

spoke in English on finding Hi there. He was in a state of some

agitation.

“My dear lady,” he said, “I have come all this way, in a great hurry,

because of the importance of the occasion. The man has been permitted

and permitted till he has presumed and presumed; but now he has

outstepped all bounds; he has, if I may say so, without inelegance,

burst, like the frog in the fable.”

“Who has burst without inelegance?” Rosa asked. “Do tell us. Could he do

it again, publicly?”

“He has done it publicly,” Don Inocencio said, “It cannot be done twice

in a civilised country.”

“Who is this?” Donna Emilia asked. “I do not quite understand? Has there

been some accident?”

“I thought that at first,” Don Inocencio answered. “I thought at first,

this is not genuine; this is a ruse or trick, designed by an enemy. It

would be a skilled thrust, though that of a devil, to lead people to

suppose that this came from our enemy. Then I thought, no, this thing is

too mad to be anything but genuine; no counterfeit would be so crazy.”

“But what is it, Don Inocencio?”

“Have you not read the proclamation?”

“A proclamation; which; what proclamation?”

“There is at present only one, which will be historical. This is it,

this scroll. They started to put this upon the walls at the time of the

siesta; it is now everywhere; can it be that you have not seen it?”

“No; no, indeed.”

“Then I am a bringer of news. When I read it, I thought, this, if

genuine, will be a landmark in our story. I must have copies of this; so

must Donna Emilia; therefore I procured copies from the bill-stickers.

“You know that I am a collector of documents, which will go to my

nephew; all things, especially documents, if old enough, have romance;

this will have much more than romance, being the cause, if I am not much

mistaken, of great events in the near future. We live in stirring times,

Miss Rosa. You, Mr. Ridden, will see great events, really great events,

as the Blanco party reasserts its ideals. Wait, now; for this big

document; I will display my wares upon this chair.”

He pulled a chair towards him so that he could spread the paper upon the

back: it was a yellow paper, printed in blunt, black type with a tall

red heading:

“PROCLAMATION OF THE GOVERNMENT.”

He glanced at the faces of his audience for some expression, which he

did not find.

“What,” he said, “no comment?”

“None,” Rosa said. “Mother and I cannot read well without our glasses.”

“And I,” Hi said, “cannot read Spanish very fluently yet. In fact, I can

only get as far as ‘Government.’”

“Perhaps, Inocencio,” Donna Emilia said, “you will be so kind as to read

it for us.”

“Certainly,” he said, “I will read it aloud: only I must warn you, that

its contents are not such as are usual, I will not say in a

proclamation, but in print of any kind. To begin with, it is, I must

warn you, from first to last a print of the last blasphemy of madness.”

The listeners did not answer this, but looked and felt uncomfortable.

“Will you not read, then?” Donna Emilia said at last. Don Inocencio

began to read aloud. He bent a little over the paper, so that he might

read; he beat time with his left hand, in a pumping stroke, to mark his

cadence. He began as follows:—

“This,” he said, “is his preludium or exordium.

PROCLAMATION OF THE GOVERNMENT.

Forasmuch as I, Don Lopez de Meruel, King, Emperor and Dictator

of Santa Barbara, am convinced of my divinity and of my oneness

with God. Know all men, that henceforth, throughout this my

heaven of Santa Barbara, I assume the style and name of God,

with the titles of Thrice Holy, Thrice Blessed, Thrice Glorious.

“What do you make of that?” he said, “for a beginning?”

“The man is mad,” Rosa said.

“It is blasphemy unspeakable,” Donna Emilia said. “I tremble lest fire

descend on us.”

“This is nothing to what follows,” Don Inocencio said. “I will read on.

The rest is incredibly much worse. But the rest, I, for one, rejoice at.

It continues thus:

I therefore, thy God, decree, that henceforth my mortals worship

and sacrifice to me in all churches, chapels and places of

worship whatsoever; that all prayer, praise, worship and

adoration, with all hymns, psalms and spiritual ejaculations of

whatever kind, be henceforth addressed to me, whether in public

or in private, I, thy God Lopez, decree it.

Likewise thy God decrees (and in reading this, Donna Emilia, I

ask pardon of my Maker) thy God decrees, that all other Gods,

saints and suchlike, hitherto worshipped in this my Heaven, such

as (here he writes in a way that cannot be quoted) shall be cast

aside, their images defaced, their altars denied and their

rituals omitted, upon pain of death.

Furthermore, thy God decrees that my image be placed in all

churches and in all chapels of churches, wheresoever there be an

altar; and that instead of the services hitherto used at such

places, a service to me only shall be used, with the title the

Red Mass to God Lopez, the Thrice Holy.

And thy God decrees, that at the mention of thy God, at His

passing, at His coming, upon His feast days, as at the passing

of His priests and in the presence of His decrees, all My

people, without exception, shall cry, Blessed be God Lopez, and

shall sign the mark of thy God, a circle and a dot, upon breast

and head.

Lopez, Thrice Glorious, Thrice Blessed, Thrice Holy.

All who infringe This My Decree, in Thought or Word or Deed,

shall suffer Death.

From My Heaven in Plaza Verde,

⊙ LOPEZ GOD LOPEZ. ⊙

“That,” Don Inocencio said, “is our ruler’s proclamation in this year of

grace. What do you think of it?”

Rosa went to the paper to read some printing at the foot.

“It is genuine,” she said. “It is printed at the palace press.”

“I believe it to be genuine,” Don Inocencio said.

Donna Emilia crossed herself for the third time: she spoke with some

difficulty.

“Did you say, Inocencio, that you rejoice at this proclamation?”

“I do,” he said, “sincerely, Emilia, I do. We have been for far too long

apathetic: now this outrage will rouse us from sleep: it may be our

salvation as a nation. We ourselves are in some measure responsible for

this madness. We have connived at madness in the palace too long: he

takes advantage of our supineness to seize us by the throats. Now there

can be but one answer.”

“Surely,” Donna Emilia said, “a vengeance of Heaven will fall upon a man

like that.”

“Our Caligula will not long survive his decree,” Don Inocencio said.

“Our old days of the Blancos will begin again.”

“What will people do?” Hi asked.

“They will do much,” Don Inocencio said. “For a beginning, the priests

are already leading their young men to tear down these placards. In the

New Town, a priest known to me was gathering the fraternity of his

parish as I passed by on my way here. The week will see Don Lopez out of

his palace.”

“I wonder,” Rosa said.

“Wonder what, dear?” her mother asked.

“Whether this follows on what Chacon told me half an hour ago. The

Hinestrosa creature escaped in some way. The Reds must know by this time

that the Whites are planning something. This is their counter-stroke.”

“Let us at least be thankful that General Chavez must be in the city by

this time.”

“I think he must be,” Don Inocencio said. “Perhaps it is too early for

General Chavez to be here, or indeed to be already on his way, but

preparing to be on his way, that, yes, we might declare with confidence.

Undoubtedly, he is preparing to be on his way, to, how shall we put it?

to draw the sword of outraged religion.”

“Thank God that we may think that,” Donna Emilia said. “We know, that

however indolent Luis may be, he is great enough to overcome his

indolence when his country calls.”

“I don’t think so, mother,” Rosa said. “I don’t think he is. His country

has called ever since the last election. What has he done? He has been

at home distilling liqueurs and trying to grow Pommard grapes.”

“And why not?” Don Inocencio said. “Thus the great Roman patriots were

employed when their country cried to them. They were on their farms,

pruning their vines, or ‘binding faggots,’ as I think Horace puts it,

‘at the bidding of a Sabine grandmother.’ But when their country called,

they arose; exchanging, as someone says, the service of the rustic god,

whose name I forget, for that of Mars. Besides, Luis Chavez is a

soldier. He needs the opportunities of the soldier, attack or defence,

rather than those of the debater and intriguer.”

“I do not think that he is a soldier any more than he is a statesman,”

Rosa said. “He is a self-indulgent, indolent country gentleman, who

loves his garden and his book.”

“I have known Luis Chavez for a great many years, Rosa,” her mother

said. “You are not just to him. He is a good man. If he be not hasty, it

is because he is wise. He weighs situations before he decides. He asks

God’s direction before he acts. I think that we ought all now to pray

that he may be directed to act wisely now.”

“Before we do that, mother,” Rosa said, “we really ought to send into

the town for Carlotta. She has not yet returned. There is a good deal of

noise in the town; listen to that. There may be rioting or shooting.”

“Let me go,” Hi said.

“I thought I heard the horses,” Donna Emilia said.

“There are no horses.”

“There is a noise though,” Hi said. “There is shouting. Someone is

shouting and coming along the road.”

Rosa was sitting beside Hi. She clutched his arm as though she wished to

crush it. He felt her tremble or thrill like a taut guy suddenly

stricken.

“Hi,” she whispered, “is it rioters in the road, mobbing her?”

“No, no,” Hi said, “it sounds like a man crying news.”

“Listen,” Don Inocencio said.

“It is only one voice,” Hi said.

“Yes, it is only one voice.”

“Have you town-criers here?” Hi asked.

“It is a newspaper seller crying some special edition,” Don Inocencio

said. Pablo, the major domo appeared, with maté for Don Inocencio.

“Pablo, is this shouter in the road a newspaper seller?” Donna Emilia

asked.

“Yes, Señora. He announces some murder.”

“Cause Felipe to procure a copy of the paper for me, will you, Pablo?”

Don Inocencio asked.

“I will, Señor.”

When Pablo had gone, Don Inocencio rose, with a look of great

importance.

“It is quite clear to me,” he said. “Judgment has overtaken the

blasphemer already. Some deliverer has stricken Lopez in the moment of

his blasphemy. I knew that our nation did but sleep.”

“I trust that no such thing as that has happened,” Donna Emilia said.

“Of all the terrible things, to be flung suddenly into death is the most

terrible; and for one to die in the very utterance of blasphemy is what

no enemy could wish.”

“One cannot think of him as a blasphemer, mother,” Rosa said, “but as a

poor madman. And if some other poor madman has mak’d him siccar, I don’t

think one should examine the ways of Providence too critically.”

“It would be like the slaying of the Philistine,” Don Inocencio said.

“Another David has arisen.”

“Carlotta has not returned, mother,” Rosa said. “I think Felipe ought to

go to enquire what is happening.”

“May I go?” Hi asked.

“She has Manuel with her,” Donna Emilia said. “It may well be that the

trains are stopped. In these crises they often put embargo on the

trains. Manuel will have taken her to her brother’s at Medinas.”

“Well, won’t you let me go, to make sure for you?” Hi asked.

Pablo entered with the newspaper, which he gave to Don Inocencio. Hi

noticed that Pablo looked much shaken and that he said something in a

very low voice as he gave the paper. Plainly something terrible had

happened. Don Inocencio opened the paper, with a trembling pair of

hands; he looked suddenly deflated. Pablo left the room softly closing

the door. Don Inocencio turned very white, sat down hurriedly and

dropped the paper.

“What is it, Inocencio?” Emilia said.

“Not Carlotta?”

“No, no, no, no,” Inocencio said. “Chavez. General Chavez has been

murdered.”

“My God. Luis? But how?”

“It tells little. ‘We grieve to announce the terrible news, that General

Luis Chavez was assassinated by a ruffian, at the station of Aguas

Dulces, at half-past two this afternoon, while waiting for the train to

Santa Barbara, where he was expected to speak in Congress to-night. The

murderer has been arrested.’”

“My God.”

“And where is Carlotta?” Rosa cried. “She is in the city all this while.

Is she, too, in the hands of the Red murderers?”

“God in Heaven forbid, child.”

“There are her horses,” Hi said. “That is the jingle of their silver;

they are almost at the door.”

“Let us come down, then, to meet her.”

They found her chaise and horses at the door: Carlotta was not there.

“Were you in time for the Meruel train?” Donna Emilia asked the driver.

“Yes, Señora, in good time,” the man said. “Afterwards, the train being

gone, on hearing of rumours, the Señorita drove to Medinas, whence she

sends this letter.”

“Thank you,” Donna Emilia said. “You had better stable your horses,

then.” As the man drove to the stables. Donna Emilia opened the letter,

and dropped the envelope, which Hi picked up (and kept). “She has gone

to Miguel’s,” Donna Emilia said. “Miguel is her brother, Highworth.

Miguel thinks she had better stay there for the present.”

“Wisely decided,” Don Inocencio said. “And I will now take my leave,

since I must go to the Circle, to see Hermengildo before the House

to-night. Let me drive you, Mr. Ridden, since I pass your hotel.”

* * * * * * *

While they waited in the drive for the caleche a party of Pitubas, under

a negro who wore a green feather in his hat, rode up to them. He saluted

Rosa, and presented a warrant. Rosa read it, called Pablo, and gave him

some directions. Pablo led the troops to the stables, from which they

removed all the horses, including Carlotta’s team. The Senator’s horse,

being old, they left. When they had secured these horses, they rode off

with them to another White house further down the bay.

“They’re taking the horses,” Rosa explained. “They always begin by

taking our horses. That’s the first danger sign.”

“But good heaven,” Hi said. “Why?”

“‘Military reasons,’ they say in their warrant; but they really mean, so

that the Whites shall not communicate with each other.”

“Will you get them back?”

“No, probably not. You see, they’ve only gone to the White house down

the bay; not to those two Red houses. This may make you understand our

local politics a little. It shows you Santa Barbara as she is. It isn’t

the Paradise it looks, is it?”

“It’s got angels in it,” he said.

“Hi,” she said, “I’m so anxious about her.”

“She is safe at her brother’s, surely?”

“She ought not to have gone there.”

“Why ever not?”

“I don’t know, but she ought not. I knew it when I saw the chaise had

not brought her. She has done the wrong thing.”

“I will take a note to her if you like,” Hi said, “and bring her back

here, too, if she wishes.”

“She won’t come back here,” Rosa said. “Nor could she, after dark, with

these patrols in the streets; but if you will take a letter for me, I

shall be grateful. The de Leyvas live outside the West Gate, off the

Anselmo Road, in a part called Medinas.”

“Medinas Close is where my old murderer lives,” Hi said.

“There are fearful rookeries close to the palace,” Rosa said. “They are

all owned by the de Leyvas.”

She wrote a letter, which she gave to Hi to take.

“If she wants to send any message,” Hi said, “of course, I will bring it

back at once.”

“Hi,” she said, “you really are a dear.” She caught him by the neck and

kissed his forehead.

“Somewhat rougey,” Hi thought, as he mopped his brow, while he drove

with Don Inocencio. “But an awfully good-hearted sort, Rosa.”

* * * * * * *

The drive to the hotel was interesting; Hi had never before seen a city

in a state of excitement. The newsboys were crying special editions;

parties of men and boys were marching to drums and fifes under Red

banners; certain shops, which did not display Red colours, were having

their windows broken. On the water-front a guardia warned Don Inocencio

and his driver that the Martial Law was proclaimed, and that all

carriages were to be off the streets by eight o’clock. “Bad, bad,” Don

Inocencio muttered. “I know not which of us will escape such nets.” He

left Hi at his hotel.

Here Hi found two envelopes waiting for him. The first contained a

printed card from Roger Weycock, asking him to attend a special meeting

of the English in Santa Barbara, at the Club, at seven o’clock that

evening; the second contained a similar card, with a few words written

in pencil by Allan Winter: “Don’t go to this. Keep clear of politics

here.—A. W.” The cards had been hurriedly printed, probably as soon as

the proclamation had appeared, the ink on them was still moist.

“Winter was right,” Hi thought. “Weycock is in with the Reds, trying to

turn English opinion that way, He’s organising this meeting for that

end. But Winter’s right; we ought to keep clear of politics here; I

won’t go. But all the same, I am jolly well a White in this business,

and I’ll help the Whites all I can. By George, I suppose those devils,

the Reds, could arrest me for carrying letters.”

* * * * * * *

The sun was setting when he drove off in a caleche for the de Leyva

house at Medinas. On his way, he saw scenes between parties of Reds and

Whites which made him wonder at the strength of the feelings between

them. “Killing Chavez and claiming to be God did not rouse this,” he

thought. “This hate has been simmering for years; this is only the

boiling over.”

At the West Gate, a Red patrol was stopping the traffic for examination

before permitting it to pass; its officer turned back a carriage which

had been trundling in front of Hi for some minutes. He then came forward

to question Hi, found that he was English and allowed him to proceed. He

did this, as Hi thought, grudgingly, in a way which made him wonder,

whether the English were as much loved as his father had always said.

Beyond the gate, the Anselmo road was a narrow street from which narrow

courts opened. Street and courts swarmed with people, all talking at the

tops of their voices, but above all the talking the harsh bellow of

public orators in praise of violence sounded. The place stank of mice,

sweat, fried fish and damp washing. Hi called to the driver: “Is this

Medinas?”

“Medinas, si,” the driver said.

Little boys clambered on to the caleche, asking for “Frencha penny.

Ingles penny.” A fat, pale-faced young man hopped on to the step and

poised there while he made his proposals.

“You want to see the sights?” he said. “I be your guide. I show you very

funny sights. I show you not the usual sort of thing. You like a nice

cock-fight, no? You like a quail-fight, no? See now, I take you to a

special thing, not many knows about, a good dog-fight. There now, only

three dollar. Well, I take you to a special thing to-night; something

you never see, perhaps ever again. No? Well, you go to dam

prayer-meeting, see? dam prayer-meeting.”

He swung off to seek for a client elsewhere. The caleche passed from the

narrows into a broader space, went under an old archway of withering red

and yellow plaster and came out into an avenue of palms lit by electric

light. Turning from this through an ilex grove it stopped at the de

Leyva palace.

Hi was admitted into a great cool hall built of white Otorin marble. All

round it and against its columns were the stands of the de Leyva armour,

some of which had marched in the Conquest. Carlotta joined him almost at

once; he gave her the letter.

“I thought that perhaps you would bring a letter,” she said. “I suppose

Rosa wants me to go back to her? My brother is against that.”

“I hope,” Hi said, “I do hope that Don Manuel will not be attacked by

these Reds.”

“He is far away by this time.”

Hi felt that he had said a tactless thing, even to suggest that Don

Manuel might be attacked, so he added:

“I should pity the man who attacked Don Manuel.”

“It is nice of you to say that, Hi,” she said.

“Did he see the proclamation, or hear of the murder, before he started?”

Hi asked.

“No. Rosa tells me that his captive, the Hinestrosa, has been rescued.”

“Yes.”

“What do you think of my country?”

“It’s produced you and Don Manuel and Donna Emilia,” he said. “I think

it’s a marvellous country.”

“It may be marvellous, if it turn now.”

“It will turn,” he said. “No nation will stand that proclamation.”

“If a nation be only mad enough, it will stand anything,” she said.

“I hope,” Hi said, “that Don Manuel will find his mother better, when he

gets there.”

“I fear that there is little hope of that,” she said. “A telegram came

here . . . he can hardly see his mother alive again.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Others are not so sorry,” she said, in a strange voice. He looked at

her with a rush of understanding that she was standing alone, through

her love of Don Manuel.

“Oh, but they must be,” he said.

“Sorry?” she said. “Alas, they are thanking God that my lover is out of

the way at this time. You do not know the Whites: how broken we are into

cliques. My brother, a great man in so many ways, dreads and hates my

lover: he thinks him too dangerous: he wants Bazan to lead the party. If

Manuel were here now, Bazan would not stand for five minutes. Then, I

suppose, my brother would challenge Manuel to a duel. So, if I bring

Manuel back, I break with all I have loved in the past.”

“But you will bring him back,” Hi said.

She looked at him in a way which he never forgot; but she did not

answer.

“Let me go and bring him back for you,” Hi pleaded. “Of course, I’m only

a boy, but I’ll go like a shot. I’ll take any message you like. Do let

me. I’ll never be anything again all my life, probably, except just a

planter. But just this once let me ride for you. I only saw you for the

first time this morning; but you don’t know what you are to me . . . in

my life, I mean . . . you I mean, just there being such a person. Of

course, you’re sick of men saying this to you. Miss de Leyva, will you

let me go?”

“Carlotta will not let you go,” she said, “I’m sure Miss de Leyva won’t.

But I cannot bring Manuel here, against my brother’s prayers, even if I

would, from his mother’s death-bed. But there is one thing which I wish

you would do for me: take a note from me to Rosa.”

“Of course, I’ll gladly take a note,” he said, “and bring back an

answer.”

“There will be no answer. You will just have time to leave the note and

get back to your hotel before the streets are cleared.”

While she wrote the note, Hi thought of a suggestion.

“I say,” he said. “Quite apart from calling Don Manuel here, there is

some point in letting him know the news and telling him not to come.

Couldn’t you let me do that for you?”

“You’re very determined, Hi,” she said. “But you must stay in Santa

Barbara and keep out of our politics.”

“But why? You will have to send someone.”

“I will not send you, Hi.”

“Why not? Have you anybody better?”

“There could not be anybody better, nor as good; but this is not a thing

I could let you attempt. Do you know, that if the Reds were to find you

doing this you might be expelled the country, or even shot.”

“For taking a message?”

“That counts as spying in time of war.”

“Who would know that I was taking a message? I should just be an English

tourist. That settles it. I’ll go off and get a horse and start at once

and find him and tell him.”

“No, no,” she said. “It is impossible.”

“Because I’m a boy and don’t know Spanish?”

“No, no, indeed,” she said, “but because we want you to settle here.

Become a citizen later, if you wish, but, until then, you must avoid our

troubles. Now here is my note to Rosa, if you will deliver it.”

It was very dim in the hall away from the tapers on the writing table.

There were amphoræ full of sweet-smelling shrubs. He could see her face

and hands against the darkness of the leaves: her head seemed crowned by

white flowers. She switched on some lights so that the hall seemed

suddenly full of armed men.

“Will you give me a sprig of those flowers?” he asked.

“Willingly.” She broke a spray for him.

“What is the flower?”

“Hermosita.”

“May I ever see you again?”

“Of course. Come to-morrow to lunch: you must meet my brother.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll bring back an answer from Rosa, if she sends one.

Anything that I can ever do for you will always be absolute happiness;

you know that, don’t you?”

“Thank you, Hi.”

She gave him her hand, in the foreign fashion, to kiss: he was grateful

for this. A clock chimed for half-past seven. “You must go,” she said,

“you haven’t much time.”

* * * * * * *

His caleche jolted him back through Medinas, which was now lit for the

night from its many windows. He saw it as a darting of children and a

slinking of men, amid a noise of babies squalling, men singing and women

screaming. A gas-lamp at a corner of a lane lit the words on a wooden

direction post, To Medinas Close; he could just see a lit space

surrounded by decaying old black houses, seven or nine storeys high. “So

that is where ’Zeke lives,” he thought. “I’ll go to see the old man as I

come back to-morrow.”

There was delay in getting through the gates, in spite of his pleading

that he was English. He delivered his letter to Rosa, learned that there

was to be no answer, and then drove off (his driver in a hurry) to reach

the hotel before eight o’clock. On coming to the gate on his way back,

he had some trouble with the guard. Unfortunately it was not the guard

which had passed him through ten minutes before. The sergeant of this

guard was a mulatto (with an Irish accent), who was very rude and smelt

of aniseed.

“You damned English,” he said. “What’s stopping ye staying in your

homes? I suppose ye’re ate up by your lice, and think ye can scrape them

off on us. Well, get through and be damned to ye and obey the

proclamation another time.”

The hotel people opened their doors grudgingly to him. They gave him a

tasteless supper in the ill-lit, frowsy dining-room, from which all the

life had gone; everybody seemed to have gone to bed. He hurried through

the meal and then went up to his bedroom.

Here, in bed, he went over the events of the day with a great deal of

relish.

“I have had a day,” he thought. “I have never enjoyed a day so much. She

is beautiful, she is marvellous, and to-morrow I shall see her again.

Oh, my God, she is beautiful.”

He kept repeating this as he thought of her image with praise and

blessing: he could not sleep at first because of her. At a little before

midnight some rifles were fired in the streets.

“By George, rifles,” he thought. “I say, this is the heart of life.” The

firing, whatever it was, stopped after a couple of minutes. In the quiet

which followed, perhaps not long after twelve, he fell asleep.

VI

When he had slept for nearly a watch, he was wakened by a ticking as

though the wind were shaking a slat in a Venetian blind. As the noise

continued, he sat up, thinking, “Here is the breeze. I’ll have to shut

my window.”

He realised, then, that the noise was from the door. It was a little

light ticking noise, not unlike the gnawing of a mouse, except that it

never varied nor grated.

“It’s only a death-watch,” he said. “No, it’s the breeze, rattling the

door. I’ll jam it up with a piece of paper.” He turned out of bed and

groped in the dark for the cover of his paper-backed novel. “I’ll wedge

it up with this,” he thought. He tore off the cover and folded it into a

wedge.

“By George,” he thought, suddenly, with a leaping heart. “It isn’t the

door rattling, it’s somebody knocking.”

It was no doubt somebody knocking, but with a special secret midnight

knock which might awaken him but alarm no other person on the corridor.

“By George,” he thought, “somebody’s tapping with finger-nails. This is

romance, by George. I’ll have to be jolly careful now, or very likely

I’ll have my throat cut. Who can be knocking?”

He could not think who would be knocking, but he did not for one moment

think that it was a woman come for love of him. He was not frightened.

The knocking was of a piece with the romance of the day before. It gave

him a thrill of delight to think that the knocker might be in peril and

the knock a warning to himself.

“Why not?” he thought. “I’m a foreigner here, as well as a heretic. Why

shouldn’t there be a sort of Bartholomew massacre beginning?”

He crept to the door. The key was in the keyhole; he could see nothing

there but darkness. By the fanlight, he could tell that the corridor

beyond was almost pitch dark. The knocker paused, as though he had heard

the creak of his approach.

“Who is there?” Hi whispered. “Who is there?”

To his amazement, Rosa answered him.

“It is I, Rosa. Rosa Piranha. Open, Hi; open quick.”

He opened the door swiftly yet silently; Rosa glided in.

“It’s only me, Hi,” she whispered. “I thought I’d never make you hear.

Lock the door, lock it, but don’t make a sound. Oh, my God, my God.”

“I’ll strike a light,” he said. “Whatever is the matter? I’ll have a

light in a minute.”

“No light,” she said. “Don’t strike a light. We might be seen from

outside.”

“I must get you a light,” he whispered, “or you’ll be falling over

things, and rousing the house.”

He struck a match: he had a glimpse of Rosa dressed as a peon with a

sombrero jammed over her eyes.

“I’ll sit on the bed,” she whispered. “Put the match out, Hi.”

He put out the match; she sat on the bed and began to shudder till the

bed quaked. As he did not know what to do, he did nothing. He stood well

away from Rosa, waiting for her to speak.

“Good old Rosa,” he said at last.

“Yes, good old Rosa,” she said with a giggle; then she trembled until

she began to sob.

“Good Lord, Rosa,” he said, “pull yourself together. Good Lord, what is

it? What has happened?”

“Those devils, Hi. They’ve got Carlotta.”

“What devils? The Pitubas?”

“Yes. At least, I don’t know if they were Pitubas. Anyhow the Reds have

got her.”

“But I saw her after seven o’clock.”

“They arrested her at ten. They got her brother, too. They’re rounding

up all the Whites. A peon of the de Leyvas came to us to tell us. They

shot at him, but he got away. Hi, they’ve put her into prison. The Reds

have put Carlotta into prison.”

“Good Lord. But, hang it, Rosa, they’ve got no case against her. They’ll

certainly let her out in the morning.”

“But Lopez has gone mad, Hi. We don’t know what is happening.”

“But . . . good Lord. It’s four o’clock in the morning; more. How on

earth did you get in? Look here, is there anything that I can do?”

“They’ve got her in their prison on a charge of resisting authority, or

being deemed to be the associate of those planning to resist authority.

The peon heard her deny the first charge. The officer said that he

should arrest her on the other. And they may shoot her, Hi.”

“Shoot Carlotta? Never.”

“They may.”

“Oh, hang it, Rosa.”

“This isn’t England, Hi, but a place where we hate; you don’t know how

we hate. Mother cannot stand these shocks, but I had to wake her and

tell her. She said at once, ‘We must get word through to Manuel.’”

Here she stopped at a horrible memory.

“Go ahead,” Hi said.

“This isn’t like England, Hi,” she said. “Twice, even in my life-time,

Whites and Reds have made it dangerous for each other. So we make

arrangements and codes for messages. We had one of our boys, Estevan

Osmeña, sworn to take a message in case of need. We roused him up. Our

horses were gone, as you saw; the horses are always the first thing they

take, but we sent him off to where he could get a horse. I thought

nobody saw him go.”

Here she stopped to tremble till the bed seemed to giggle at her.

“Go on,” Hi said, “cheer up and go on.”

“About two hours ago,” she said, “when we had all gone back to bed, a

patrol rode up to the house and summoned mother to open the door. I said

that she was too ill, but that I would open. So I lit up and opened.

There was the mulatto, Zarzas, with some Pitubas. He said, ‘This is for

you.’ He gave me Estevan’s hand, cut off at the wrist, with mother’s

letter pinned to it. He said, ‘This is the Dead Letter Post; the White

letter comes back Red. I would recommend you send no more.’

“Then I had to serve him and his men with drinks, of course; he called

it ‘postage for midnight delivery.’”

“Then they had killed your groom?”

“Yes.”

“I say,” Hi said. “But hold on a minute, I’ll just dress, if you’ll

excuse me. But tell me, how did you pass the patrols and the gates?”

“Market people can always pass in the early mornings. I brought in a

basket of flowers like a gardener’s peon. You remember Manuel said at

lunch that there was a way into this hotel at the back. I came in by

that. I knew your floor and room. But I nearly died of terror when I

heard the negroes at their gambling.”

“I don’t wonder. But I say you have got some pluck.”

“Oh, Hi, forgive me,” she said, “but you’re the only person I can think

of. Will you take the news to Manuel?”

“Why, of course I will, Rosa. I wanted to last night but Carlotta

wouldn’t let me. I’ll go like a shot.”

She fell upon her knees and kissed his hands, calling upon God and the

saints to bless him.

“That’s all right, Rosa,” he said. “That’s all right. We’ll save her.”

“This devil, Lopez, is going to wipe out the Whites,” she said.

“Not he,” Hi said. “Don’t you think it, Rosa.”

“What is to stop him? We’re all in his power.”

“Not you,” Hi said. “He’s done something wicked and stupid, which won’t

prosper; you’ll see it won’t. Now about getting to Manuel. I don’t know

a word of Spanish, except Dios and si and the oaths those sailors told

me. Where can I get a horse, to begin with? I suppose all the livery

stables will be closed?”

“You’ll get no horse here.”

“Even though I’m English?”

“No. This city is isolated. No trains, no horses. You’ll have to walk to

a place called Anselmo, about fifteen miles from here.”

“You mean, out past the de Leyvas’ place? That Anselmo?”

“Yes. There are two White brothers there, the Elenas, George and

William, horse-breeders. They will give you horses and put you in the

way to get relays further west. There are two ways of getting to

Anselmo; one, by the road, past the de Leyvas’ place, which you’d have

to walk; the other is, to take a boat down the bay, nine or ten miles,

to the place La Boca, where you could probably hire a horse or trap and

ride or drive there.”

“How would I take a boat?”

“At the pier there are scores of market-boats. Ask for Pedro Ruiz and

ask him to take you to La Boca. If Pedro isn’t there, dozens of others

will be; they’re mostly Italians.”

“I’ll make them understand,” Hi said. “Will they let me down the pier?”

“Yes, if you aren’t stopped beforehand.”

“The boat way seems the quicker,” he said. “I’ll try the boat way. But

look here, Rosa, they’ll surely watch the boats for people trying to get

away.”

“They may, but that and the road are the only ways to Anselmo.”

“Well, we’d better try both. Why not send my old English murderer from

Medinas? He’d go like a shot and you could trust him absolutely.”

“That is an idea, Hi. I suppose he can ride?”

“He was a stable-lad in his youth. He was even a jockey once, of sorts,

I think they said, but he was warned off for something or other. I know

he sounds awful; so he is, as well as a little mad, but I know that you

could trust him.”

“You say that he is mad? Could he remember a message?”

“Yes.”

“All he’ll have to remember is, ‘Reds have seized Carlotta: come at

once’; that and the address, ‘Don Manuel, Encinitas.’”

“He’ll have to know more than that,” Hi said. “He’ll have to get the

horses out of these Elena people, at Anselmo.”

“Our code word, _Dorothea_, will do that.”

“And suppose the Elenas aren’t there?”

“George or William must be there.”

“Right, then; between us we’ll fix it. I say, this is exciting. You are

a brick to come to me for this.”

“If you knew what I think of you for taking it as you do.”

“I suppose,” Hi said, “I suppose there’s no means of telegraphing from

Anselmo to Don Manuel.”

“None. We’ve no telegraphs here, except along the railways, and no

railway at all across the central provinces. You’ll have to ride.”

“No means of telegraphing to anyone, in code, or something of that sort?

It would save so much time.”

“The telegraphs are all under censorship, no message would be sent.

There’s no telegraph within seventy miles of Encinitas, anyway.”

“It’ll be a long ride,” Hi said. “I wish I were more in trim for a long

ride. It will take three days.”

“Oh, Hi.”

“I might do it in two, with luck.”

“Oh, if you only can,” she said.

“Now how about you.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“I’m blest if you will be. I’ll see you home.”

“Oh, Hi; no.”

“Yes, I will.”

“No, no, Hi. I shan’t be stopped with my market basket and in this

dress. And by the Farola there is a short cut through the waste to our

garden.”

“I’ll see you there, then. I must. I’ve got to ask you scores of things

which I must know. When you’re reasonably safe, I’ll get to Medinas, see

my murderer off, and then come back to the pier and yell for Pedro

Ruiz.”

“Please God, the boats will be late this morning,” she said.

“Why?”

“If they come early, they go early; there may be no boat for you.”

“Golly.”

“There’s a lot to say ‘Golly’ about in this Republic.”

“There’s more in it than meets the eye,” he said. “I suppose you’ve got

no map of this city?”

“No. Why?”

“Can I get to Medinas from the pier without going back through the

city?”

“Yes, easily. There’s a road from the Farola to Medinas, on the line of

the old city ditch.”

“All right, then; that’s a weight off my chest. Our main task is to get

out of this hotel to the pier: if we can do that, we shall be fairly

clear. Will there be patrols on the roads outside the walls, or people

on the watch at La Boca and Anselmo?”

“Probably.”

“All right,” he said, to cheer her. “We’ll fix them. I suppose the

Elenas will know some English?”

“Not much; but if you say _Dorothea_ to them, they’ll make your next

course clear, even if they have to send a guide with you.”

“Good. I think I’ve got it all pretty straight. All right. I’m ready.

We’ll start, then. Oh, but wait one minute. I must get something out of

my trunk.”

Some hours before, when he had returned from Carlotta, he had pressed

her spray of hermosita between two sheets of the hotel blotting-paper,

which he had then laid away in the trunk. He now opened this precious

packet, broke off a leaf from the spray, and placed it in his

pocket-book; the rest he put back into the trunk. He then wrote a few

words to the hotel proprietor.

“I’m ready now,” he said. “I’ll leave this note to say that I’m coming

back, and want my room kept.”

“Oh, Hi,” she said, “I’ve brought no money.”

“I have got money enough,” Hi said, “but I have not got a revolver.

Father wouldn’t let me take one. I knew he knew nothing about it. Now we

had better have a story in case we’re stopped. We had better say that

your mother wanted me and that you had come to fetch me. They couldn’t

object to that. Where is your market basket? In the cellar?”

“No, in the hall.”

“We had better go out by the hall,” he said. “And I had better take no

baggage. Then they would ask no questions. If I were caught going out

with a bag, they would think I was shooting the moon. I have got some

handkerchiefs. That’s enough.”

“What will they think of my market basket?” she said. “They will think I

have come to steal the linen.”

“Leave it here,” Hi said.

“But I must have it to pass the gates.”

“Well, you can show that it’s empty,” he said. “We must chance it. Come

on.”

They crept out into the deserted corridor, where all was silent save for

a snorer in one of the near-by rooms. They crept to the stairs. All

seemed silent on the landing below. On the next floor they heard a child

wake up with a whimper. The coarse voice of a nurse from one of the

French-speaking islands called “Chocolat” to quiet it. As this failed

she made a testy reproof and turned grunting out of bed.

All seemed silent on the floor below. Rosa touched Hi’s arm at the

stairs.

“There’s a night porter asleep there,” she said, “on that sofa on the

landing.”

“He’s sound asleep,” Hi said. “Come on.”

On the third step from the bottom the porter had left a small tray with

glasses and a soda-water bottle. Hi trod upon this, so that both he and

it fell. The glasses broke, the soda-water bottle rolled on to the broad

uncarpeted steps which led to the ground floor. It fell on to the first

step, then on to the second, then on, step by step, making a noise like

“Keblonk, Keblonk” at each step. Hi sat on the mat at the stair-foot in

fits of laughter. Rosa stood beside him, giggling hysterically.

“Hark at the beastly thing going ‘Keblonk,’” he said.

With a little tinkle the bottle rolled itself still. The porter on the

sofa sneezed suddenly and sat up.

“Oh, for de Lord,” he said.

“For de Lord,” Hi said.

He and Rosa clutched each other, shaking with laughter.

“Oh, you lovely angels, keep away the flies,” said the porter and

settled himself to sleep again.

“Come along,” Hi whispered. “He’s asleep. We must slide down the

banisters of this flight. Don’t kick old Keblonk as you pass.”

All was dark on the ground floor, but far away some servant was already

sweeping. This was the only sound save the occasional crackle in the

wicker chairs, as though some ghost had sat down or arisen. In front of

them was the main entrance of the hotel, a glass barrier, broad steps

with deserted offices at each side, then the front doors. A light was

burning in the office to the left. Hi stole forward upon tip-toe.

“The night porter’s asleep in the office,” he whispered.

He stole through the glass doors and tried the front doors, which were

locked and the key not there.

“The key’s gone,” he whispered.

“It’s in the office, I expect,” she said.

He looked, but could not see it on the key hooks nor on the table.

“It must be somewhere here,” she said.

“I expect he’s got it in his pocket,” he whispered.

There came a little flop upon the floor. Rosa had knocked off a

time-table from the edge of the table. The man stirred in his sleep but

did not wake.

“If he’s got it in his trouser pocket,” Hi whispered, “or even in his

side pocket, we’re done.”

“Well, Hi,” she whispered, “come on down the back way through the

cellar. Besides, I have got to get my flower basket.”

“Oh, dash, I had forgotten the flower basket.”

“Hi,” Rosa said, “there’s someone coming.”

They edged out into the hall as some of the hall lights went up. A woman

with a broom came along the corridor. She took a good look at them, and

Hi said, “It’s all right, thanks. I’m English.”

She seemed to think that it was not quite all right. She made a gesture

to show Hi that he could rouse the porter.

“Si, si,” Hi said, “but it’s absolutely all right, thanks.”

“Are you looking for the key?” she asked in English. “The key is here on

this palm.”

She unhooked a key from one of the stubs of the palm tree, fitted it to

the lock and opened the door. She gave a searching glance at Rosa. She

closed the door behind them on the instant.

The breeze was coming in from the sea bitterly cold. They looked up and

down the deserted street. They saw no sign of life except a cat on the

other side of the road.

“Come on,” Hi said, “down to the water-front.”

In the darkness of the cross roads a mounted policeman, drawn into the

shadows, watched them approach without making a sign. When they were

within a few yards of him he put his horse suddenly across their path.

“It’s all right. I’m English,” Hi said.

The man seemed to have orders not to molest foreigners. He drew his

horse back and jerked with his hand for them to pass. Perhaps it was a

guilty conscience which made them think that he stared hard at Rosa.

Anyhow he let them pass.

On the water-front the tide of life had begun to flow to the quays. Men

and women were going to work that had to be done, whatever rebellion

came. They saw the bright light at the pier end.

“It’s there,” Rosa whispered, “that the market-boats come.”

Two men who were slouching in front of them paused to light cigarettes.

They watched Hi and Rosa as they passed and made remarks evidently very

offensive, which made Rosa catch her breath.

“Come on. Don’t stop,” Rosa whispered.

Colour was all over the eastern heaven and touching the upper roofs and

spires.

“Hi,” Rosa said, when they had gone a little distance, “we shall never

be able to do it. I am seen to be a woman and there is a patrol in the

streets stopping people.”

“Where?”

“There in front.”

About a hundred yards in front of them there was an interruption in the

flow of people. They could see the gleam of helmets beyond the blackness

of the crowd, which grew greater as men and women flocked up to it.

Plainly the police or troops were examining all who were going that way.

“Hi,” Rosa said, “I can’t face the police in this dress. It’s very

silly, but I shall faint.”

“Hold up,” Hi said. “It will be perfectly all right. We will get down to

that barge on the beach there and you can pin your cloak round you for a

skirt.”

Within a stone’s throw from the water-front was a green barge, which Hi

had noticed on the day of his landing. She was lying on her bilge with

the butts of her timbers sticking out like bones. In the shelter of this

wreck Rosa pinned her cloak as a skirt and made her hat look less manly.

After this they marched into the crowd, which closed up behind them as

others arrived. It was a silent crowd of men and women not fully awake.

One or two voices asked, “What are they stopping us for?” Some said,

“Dogana,” or “Search of suspects,” or “Search of the accursed Whites,

the murderers.”

The light grew upon the faces at each instant, the crowd gathered and

the delay continued.

“What are they stopping us for?”

“Close up, brothers.”

“Who are you shoving?”

“It’s not me that’s shoving.”

“This way for the harem. Get your money ready.”

“The whistle will be gone. We shall be fined half a peseta.”

“What are they stopping us for?”

No one could answer that question.

Hi could make out that several times a minute one or two people in front

were allowed to pass on. At every such passing the crowd surged forward

till they were all jammed up together, feeling breathless and inclined

to faint. They could hear a kind of catechism going on at the barrier,

voices bullying and voices submissive.

“Why can’t they let us pass? What are they asking?”

The crowd was not to know why they were stopped. After they had annoyed

some hundreds of people with it, the police suddenly removed the barrier

and told the people that they might get along out of it. The crowd

slowly surged forward among growls of “Keeping us waiting all this time

and in the end they didn’t want us. Now we shall be fined a peseta for

being late.”

They passed through the city gates, to the open space where the market

folk had cheered the Piranhas the day before.

“There is the pier, Hi,” Rosa said. “I can get home through that waste

piece, the old graveyard. You go up that gully to the right, to

Medinas.”

“All right. Good luck. I’ll fetch Manuel.”

“God bless you, Hi.”

“You, too. My love to your mother. And good luck. And cheer up.”

She nodded, not having more words; she turned out of the stream of

workers into the old graveyard of the town and did not look back.

As Hi set off for Medinas, he looked back several times after her, till

she had disappeared.

“She’s got some pluck,” he thought. “I don’t think she’ll be stopped

now, going that way.”

His own way led through a road which having once been the city ditch,

was still a city dump and refuse pit under the walls. On the left hand

of the refuse were shacks and sties of wood, for pigs, cows, horses and

fowls; though men lived in them, too. The road was an unpaven track in a

kind of gulley between the dump and the sheds. It was in a mucky state

at that time from the recent rains and the habits of the market people.

It stank, it was littered with tins and stalks, rats were rummaging

among the garbage, and pariah dogs with the mange were scraping against

the sides of the sties. However, no men were abroad in it nor any sign

of a patrol. In about twelve minutes he was in Medinas.

For some minutes he had noticed a glow upon the city buildings, which he

had thought to be the dawn. He now found that it came from the red-hot

shell of what had been the de Leyva palace, which had been burnt since

midnight. A good many Medinas people were grubbing in the embers for

what they could find. Others were carrying away what they had already

found. A heap of things of all sorts, armour, pictures, marbles,

bronzes, furniture, porcelain, curtains, clothes, cushions, musical

instruments, antiques, books, and portfolios, which had been looted

before the fire took hold, were being sold to all comers by a ruffian

with a big voice, who bellowed aloud his bargains, joked, tossed the

money received to a guard of Reds, and often gave away what he could not

readily sell. He was in the act of selling a bronze female torso when Hi

came up. Hi noticed among the crowd the broad-faced picture-dealer who

had been rude two days before on the water-front. This man winked at the

auctioneer that the bronze should be set aside for him. The auctioneer

stopped his obscene remarks and laid it aside.

* * * * * * *

Medinas Close looked marvellous in that light of nearly dawn, helped out

by dying lamps. Its well of tall, mean, narrow tenements, built on a

slope, about a triangle of grassless earth, needed some murderous

half-light to give it its quality. At the entrance to the Close an

imbecile woman, with the face of a corpse, held her hand for alms. At

the entrance of No. 41, black as the mouth of a cave, two little boys,

who talked through their noses as though their throats were rotted away,

were sharing what they had stolen from the burning. Most of the Medinas

tenants had been picking plums from that same snapdragon. In the well of

the Close were some chairs and other furniture which had been pitched

down and smashed, because they would not readily go through the narrow

doors.

“On the third floor,” Hi said to himself, “the middle room of the three,

if I don’t have my throat cut on the way.” He went into that black cave,

which stank of rat and mouse; he struck himself a light so that he might

see the stairs, and came at once on a woman and a man clasped at the

stair-foot. He saw the woman’s eyes, like the eyes in a skull. The man

detached himself from her; he stank of wine, she of musk. “You like to

see my sister?” he said, thickly to Hi.

“No.”

“Three pesetas.”

“No.”

“Two pesetas.”

“No.”

“You like to buy a nice watch, very cheap, very good?” The woman, who

had caught some glimpse of Hi, said something in a low voice, which made

the man stand aside to let Hi pass to the next floor, where a man was

beating his wife in the intervals of a sermon. The morning light gleamed

a little on to this landing from a room which had no door. Up above was

the third floor, much darker, being lit only with a taper.

Some weeks before this a man had been murdered at the head of the stairs

there. The dwellers of 41, having scruples about the murder, had placed

upon the wall a coloured print of the Virgin, to whom they lit a taper

each night. This taper now showed Hi the three doors of the landing; he

knocked gently on the middle door.

After knocking a second time, he was aware of a tenseness in the room

within, though no one answered. At a third knock, he felt, rather than

heard, other doors in the tenement softly opened, while unseen eyes took

stock of him. Someone inside the room was moving something: “putting

something under the bed,” he thought. A board dropped with a clatter,

then a chair (so it seemed) was jammed against the door from within,

then a woman’s cautious voice asked, “Who is it?”

“Señor Rust,” Hi said, in a low voice, “Señor Rust.”

She did not let him in. He heard her moving about inside, with queer

little clicking noises as though she were snapping on some pairs of

stays (which indeed she was).

“Señor Rust,” he repeated, “Señor Rust.”

The lamp in the room, which had been turned down, now turned up; the

door opened a little; a short, sharp, elderly dwarf of a woman stared at

him, and motioned him to come in. He went into a hot little lamp-lit

room, where ’Zeke stood stock still, fumbling with his hat, beside the

bed. The woman bolted the door carefully behind him. She had a skin like

parchment, coloured like old ivory. She looked at him out of sharp,

black, beady eyes which missed nothing. Her head trembled a little; her

long green ear-rings waggled and clicked. She looked like a gimlet about

to pierce. Hi knew, without any telling, that he had come at a ticklish

time, when the two were appraising loot from the burning. His knock had

been mistaken for the knock of the police. Something had been stuffed

under the floor and a mat drawn over the place: ’Zeke was now standing

on the mat.

The woman asked him in Spanish about his health, adding that for her own

part she asked nothing better from God, since she was ever better after

the rains, which, as it was well known, drew away from the air we

breathe many most pestilential vapours. Hi replied in English that he

was afraid that he came at a very inconvenient time.

“Rust,” he said, “could you take a message for me, and be away, perhaps,

for some days?”

“Yes, Master Highworth,” ’Zeke said, “I daresay.”

“Starting at once?”

“Where would it be to, Master Highworth?”

“Could we speak out of doors somewhere?”

“It’s a bit unsettled out of doors, sir. We could slip into the church

for a bit.”

“Let us go there, then.”

’Zeke said something with gestures to Isabella, who seemed suspicious

and not well pleased. She questioned ’Zeke several times before she let

them out. She then followed him to the stair-head with questions, which

’Zeke put from him with gestures and ejaculations. She was not satisfied

with these replies, because she went back to the room, growling.

Glancing upwards as he entered the Close, Hi saw her head and shoulders

craned from the window to see where they were going.

In the almost complete darkness of the church, Hi told ’Zeke what was

wanted.

“I been to ’Carnacion,” he said. “It was there I went with my bull,

where the rabbits were. It was this Don Manuel owned my bull; only I

didn’t go so much by land, as by sea, to Port ’Toche. I know the way to

Anselmo; it’s by the Foxes Inn. And I know the Mr. Elenas at Anselmo,

Mr. George and Mr. William, only they don’t pronounce it like that. They

breed horses, the Mr. Elenas.

“I did a job of work for the Misters Elenas one time. You see, Mr.

Highworth, they got a stallion one time; my word, he were a horse, only

he wasn’t what we would call a stallion, you understand, being for

draught. Not a shire horse, neither, but one of they French sort,

really. ‘Whicker,’ he went, and ‘Whicker,’ he went, oh, it was a treat

to hear him: down he would go and up he come; and all in play, really:

only he hate his grooms, Mr. Highworth, one after the other. It was all

in play, really, only they didn’t understand him, that was what it was,

really. You know he couldn’t abide velvet, this velvet stuff the grooms

wear. You’ve heard of the red rag to a bull? Well, it was the same with

him, only velvet. That was all it was. When I showed ’em, they left off

this velvet, then he didn’t eat them, except, maybe, now and then a

pinch and that. And is that all I’m to say to the Misters Elenas and to

Mr. Manuel, just _Dorothea_, and he’s to come at once?”

“Yes, that’s all. How soon could you reach Anselmo?”

“Three hours and that. But I’ll get a horse out along the road, maybe.”

“It’s a long way to Encarnacion,” Hi said.

“I like a bit of sport, when I get a horse like these country ones

that’s got meat on the ribs.”

“You’ll hurry all you can, won’t you? People’s lives depend on it.”

“Dammy, Mr. Highworth, I’ll go like your old grandfather, and like what

the old gentleman, old Mr. Ridden done.”

“Thank you.”

“I suppose it’s all right, Master Highworth?”

“Yes, it’s all right.”

“These foreigners aren’t like us, most of the time. They got this

devil-worship and all sorts. Now a man likes to know what’s what and

that. That’s only fair. But it’s these yellow devils makes them not go

above board. They brought in the yellows to rule the whites; it’s that

causes all the trouble.”

“That’s the cause of the trouble.”

“Well, I’ll do my best, Mr. Highworth.”

“Thank you. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Nothing I like better, really, than a bit of sport. I was having

difficulty, if you understand me, Master Highworth; but then first I met

you and now comes this other job. I never had so much luck at one time

before, except that once at the races; and then I was cheated of it.”

Hi gave him some money for expenses, thanked him and urged him to go.

“Not by the door we came in by, Mr. Highworth,” he said. “That would

never do. Them that see you go in may watch for you out.”

They were near the High Altar as he spoke. The door by which they had

entered the church was opened: someone crept into the church. Hi saw the

snub-nosed profile of Isabella motionless for an instant, while she

sought in the darkness for her prey. ’Zeke on the instant plucked him

through a curtain to a swing-door and thence to a lane.

“We dodge the Close this way,” he said, “and I’ll be back in a week or a

bit better. And that will be all right, Mr. Highworth; and I thank you,

sir, I’m sure, very kindly. And I wish you a happy Christmas, sir,

though I know it’s a long time to wait.”

He set off as he finished speaking, in the shambling run with much

bending of the leg which old Bill Ridden called “the poachers’ trot.” Hi

had often seen old men of the ’Zeke kind running in that way on winter

mornings when the hounds moved off to covert. He himself set off at once

by the old city ditch to the pier: it was almost full morning. He

wondered whether there would be any boat for him.

He also wondered, with some misgivings, about poor old Ezekiel. The

phrase, “He never had so much luck at one time before,” smote him to the

heart. It might not be much luck; it might be deadly; it certainly would

be dangerous, to go off on this errand when the Reds were out. “I’ve

taken him from his wife, too,” he thought. “However, she’s no chicken.”

As he went on, he wondered whether Isabella might not have seen, chased

and caught her husband: in which case the message would not go. Or

suppose the Foxes Inn proved too much for him? “I must chance all that,”

he thought. “He’s as likely to get through as I am.”

Thinking these things, he came out of the ditch into the colour and life

of the racing of the carts to market from the Farola, with fish and

fruit. These carts were light, open lorries, each drawn by two horses,

driven by natives, who stood bare-armed, cloaked with coloured serapes,

singeing their lips with the sucked stubs of cigarettes across which

they cursed their horses. The workers scattered from before them as they

raced. The horses’ hooves struck fire, the drivers leaned on the reins,

beat with their sticks, and screamed:—

“Ar-re. Ar-re, sons of malediction.”

“Accursed be thy fool mare of a mother.”

“Dog of a Pablo, give room.”

“Ay, ay, ay, we bring fish into the city.”

All the carts swayed into each other yet did not touch. They swerved

together as the road narrowed for the gate and so disappeared. Hi turned

from the open plaza on to the pier. It was then a few minutes after six

o’clock.

VII

On the pier, Hi found a scene of confusion and shouting, men and boys

staggering with boxes and baskets to carts; women urging them to hurry,

or screaming at their children, or cursing at the mules and horses:

carts were being backed and baskets dropped: everybody was violent and

abusive, not from ill-temper but excitement, for this race to market was

the event of the day.

Hi thrust into the midst of the crowd, treading on a litter of leaves,

upon which the beasts had browsed. All that part of the pier was heaped

with things for the market, bundles of living fowls tied five and five

by the legs, baskets of pigeons, geese from the sea marsh, musk melons,

water melons, pumpkins, gourds and vegetables of every sort and shape,

oranges, limes, bananas in crates and gaily painted earthenware jars

packed in the paper-like streamers of corn sheathes. Hi came upon an

Englishman, who was superintending the lading of some big red clay jars

into a lorry.

“Where shall I find the fish boats?” he asked.

“At the upper end of the pier,” the man said. “That’s where they auction

the fish. You may find the fish boats gone by this, though.”

At the end of the pier was a wooden building, above which was a pharos

or pier light, which made a big, rosy star against the dawn. Underneath

this light the fish market was being held. Hi heard a jabber and chatter

of bargaining.

“Look you, I will tell you what I will do. I will do it for you, because

I like you. I would not do it for anyone else on earth, may St. James be

my witness. I will give you 3.75 the tierce.”

“By God, I had rather fling them back into the sea. By God, I will fling

them back into the sea. Here go some back into the sea. The rest shall

follow. 4.30 the tierce or back they go.”

“Now look here, I will tell you what I will do. I will do it for you

because I like you. I wouldn’t do it for anyone else on earth,” etc.,

etc.

Beside the bidders lay heaps of fish, many of them still gasping. Small,

black, slimy things, which looked like pickles, crawled over their

bodies. The fish lay in heaps of shining paleness with odd jags of fins

and prickles, vacuous eyes, and mouths which bulged out and then

collapsed in.

Hi stopped a fisherman with the question:

“Are you Pedro Ruiz?”

“How?”

“Are you Pedro Ruiz?”

“Who knows?”

“Pedro Ruiz?”

“Ruiz?”

“Yes, Pedro Ruiz?”

“Not know,” the man answered.

“Pedro Ruiz of La Boca?”

“How?”

“Of La Boca.”

“Ayla Poca?”

“Yes. Si.”

“Not know Ayla Poca.”

“No; not Ayla Poca,” Hi explained, “but of La Boca. Of, that is, de, La

Boca, a place, a sort of a ciudad, sabe? in the bay par la; La Boca.”

“I do not know at all,” the man answered.

“What does the Englishman want?” another man asked.

“Pedro Ruiz of La Boca,” Hi said.

“Ayla Poca?”

“No, not Ayla Poca. Of La Boca. De la Boca.”

“Boca?”

“Yes. Si.”

“La Boca?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, La Boca?”

“Yes, yes. La Boca.”

“The poblacion beside the bay, La Boca?”

“Yes, that is it.”

“Oh, La Boca. Hear you, Enrique, the gentleman wants La Boca.”

“Oh, La Boca. Ah, yes, indeed. Truly, it is that. Oh, yes, La Boca,”

Enrique repeated.

“It is there, La Boca,” the man said, pointing south along the bay. “La

Boca is there.”

“I want Pedro Ruiz of La Boca.”

“How?”

“Pedro Ruiz.”

“Pedro?”

“Si. Yes. Pedro Ruiz,” Hi said. “R-u-i-z.” The men looked at him in

bewilderment yet with courtesy. They smiled and shook their heads. Hi

thanked them and turned from them. He did not much relish shouting aloud

in that crowd of foreigners; but he shouted:

“Pedro Ruiz. Pedro Ruiz.”

A couple of lads mimicked his method with some success. He repeated his

cry.

“Ah, ha,” Enrique said to him full of pride. “You want Pedro Ruiz?”

“Yes, si.”

“Ah, yes, indeed, Pedro Ruiz.”

“Is he here?” Hi asked.

“No,” Enrique said.

Enrique began a long harangue in Spanish, of which Hi understood not one

word. Hi could not make out from the gestures whether Pedro Ruiz had

been disembowelled or had been drinking soda water.

“See you,” he said, “can I get a boat to La Boca? A boat to La Boca by

the sea?”

He made signs of going by boat in the direction of La Boca. Three other

men had gathered about them to give counsel. Some of them suggested

Giordano.

Hi turned to these men and asked, “Is Pedro Ruiz here? Pedro Ruiz?”

They did not understand what he meant. They repeated the syllables. All

were courteous and eager to help, but they were puzzled by the words.

Enrique asked, “You want go La Boca?”

“Yes please, si,” Hi answered.

“Giordano,” the men repeated. “Giordano.”

Hi had a suspicion that “Giordano” meant to-morrow. There was, he knew,

some foreign word like “Giordano” which meant either yesterday or

to-morrow. It was “oggi” or “aujourd’hui” or some other word with “jour”

in it. What would he do if there were to be no boat till to-morrow?

“This way Giordano,” Enrique said.

He led him to the end of the pier. Some birds were wheeling about the

rosy light. From time to time they swerved down with exquisite white

grace, which glowed into rose colour in the beam of the lamp, to snatch

some fish from the pile. Enrique looked over the rail at the edge of the

pier.

“Giordano,” he called.

“Si,” a voice answered.

Enrique explained that here was a gentleman eager to go to La Boca; he

displayed Hi. Giordano was a very tall, thin, melancholy man, dark and

distinguished.

“Can you take me to La Boca, please?” Hi asked.

“La Boca? Si.”

“It is so,” Enrique exclaimed. “Giordano can take you to La Boca.”

“There,” another man said. “Giordano will convey you.”

Giordano spread a boat rug for Hi. When Hi was seated in the boat, he

bent over a job of fitting two pieces of wood together. He explained

what he was doing, but Hi could not understand. He sat in the boat,

which bobbed and rocked at the side of the steps. Giordano went on with

his work, whittling a piece of wood with his knife and trying if the

pieces would fit, then whittling some more. Presently a boat shoved off

from the pier beside them and stood away for La Boca. Then another boat

pushed off and presently a third. But Giordano still went on with his

carpentry with no apparent thought of starting. Hi thought that perhaps

there had been some mistake.

“I say,” he said, “you are going to La Boca, aren’t you? You go La

Boca?”

“Si,” Giordano answered.

He went on trying to fit the pieces of wood. After some time, with a

gesture of triumph, he showed that at last they fitted.

“Bueno,” he said.

Yet even now he made no effort to start. He rummaged in the after locker

and presently produced some nails, which were bent, and a hammer with a

broken handle. Then he set himself to repair the hammer handle by

lashing another piece of wood to it. Next he rummaged among the bottom

boards of the boat for a pig of ballast. He placed this on the stern

sheets thwart as an anvil. Then with great deliberation he began to

straighten his nails. Time seemed to have no meaning for him.

“You go La Boca soon?” Hi asked. “La Boca pronto?”

“Si, si.”

But he made no attempt to start. He hammered his nails straight with

great skill, then very neatly he straightened the heads, which had been

bent. Then he rummaged for a file and touched up the points with it.

Another boat stood away from the pier towards La Boca. Her helmsman

called out something to Giordano, which Giordano answered reflectively.

After the boat had gone he fitted the two pieces of wood together and

with great care drove his nails so as to clinch them.

“You start La Boca?” Hi asked.

“Si, si. La Boca.”

“I believe the brute isn’t going to La Boca at all,” Hi thought. “There,

they’ve put out the pier light now. I might have been at La Boca an hour

ago. If there’s another boat going, I would go in that.”

He clambered up the stairs of the pier to look for someone who could

speak English. The rush of the market was now over. He found Enrique and

his friends in a corner among the baskets.

“I want to go at once, pronto, to La Boca,” he said.

“Giordano go pronto,” they said.

“But I want to go now.”

“Si, si,” they said, “La Boca.”

“Yes, but now.”

“Si, si.”

He took off his hat to them and hurried along the pier to the

Englishman, who was still there, superintending the packing of the jars.

“You want to go to La Boca?” he asked. “Oh well, I wish I’d known. I

thought you wanted one of the fish hands. I could have sent you to La

Boca an hour ago. What do you want at La Boca?”

“I have an appointment there.”

“Oh, who is your appointment with?”

“A friend,” Hi said.

The man paused to say something to one of the packers, then turned again

to Hi.

“Who was your appointment with, did you say?”

“A friend.”

“Ah,” said the man, “what’s your friend’s name? I only ask because I

know La Boca, and it might be a question of putting you ashore either to

the north or to the south.”

“He will be at the inn,” Hi said.

“Which inn?” the man said.

“Is there more than one?” Hi asked.

“Is your friend an Englishman? What’s his name?”

“Excuse me,” Hi said, “but can you get me to La Boca?”

“Let me see,” the man said, “did you mention your name and your friend’s

name?”

“Jones,” Hi said in desperation.

“Well, Mr. Jones,” the man said, “if you’ll step along with me, I’ll see

if that boat’s gone that was here. Is it your brother that you’re going

to see in La Boca?”

“No.”

“Oh, I see. Not a brother, only a friend. I don’t remember the name of

Jones in La Boca. What’s he doing there?”

“He’s only just gone there,” Hi said.

“Oh, a newcomer, like yourself. Well, this is the La Boca boat.”

He spoke to the master of the boat, who was putting what is called a

fish in the yard of his sail.

“That man will take you to La Boca,” the man said. “He’s just going to

start. If you had come to me on your way, I could have sent you off in

one of the vegetable boats hours ago. Don’t give him more than two

pesetas. By the way, where will you be staying at La Boca, Mr. Jones? If

you or your friend should want any of these earthenware jars, I am in a

position to get them as cheap as anybody. What initial did you say yours

was?”

“H,” Hi said.

“And your friend’s?”

“R,” Hi answered.

“Mr. H. and Mr. R. Jones,” the man said. “Where are you stopping, did

you say? Because I can get you nice rooms in a boarding-house, which

would be cheaper for you than any hotel.”

Here the boatman invited Hi into the boat.

“Where are you stopping?” the man called. “Where did you say you were

stopping? I should like to call round in the evening and see you, if

you’re not doing anything. They always say that Englishmen ought to

stick together.”

Hi was about to answer, but the boom gybed at that instant and knocked

his hat into the well. The boat had shoved off.

“Inquisitive beast,” Hi thought. “I never knew a man ask questions like

that before. I shouldn’t wonder if he’s a detective put there to stop

passengers leaving the city. If that’s the case, I’ll very likely be

stopped at La Boca. If that devil telegraphs, I shall very likely be met

at the pier and shadowed. However, for the moment I am off. That’s the

main thing. But I’ve wasted simply hours.”

His boat passed close beside Giordano. He was bent over his carpentry in

deep attention, putting a whipping over the join.

“He doesn’t mean to start for another hour,” Hi thought. “I am glad I

tried to find someone starting sooner.”

The master of the boat, Chigo, the boatman, and Luigi, the boy, ran up

their new striped sails, so that the boat leaned down and sheered the

water. Then they brought out bread, onions, wine and water and some

little transparent fish, which were meant to be eaten raw. They invited

Hi to their feast and all breakfasted together. After breakfast, while

the boat was still moving swiftly to the south, Hi amused himself by

looking into the shallow water at the fish and the weeds of all the

colours of the rainbow. Presently something, which seemed like a piece

of the bottom of the bay, blundered up alongside, turned over and

seethed out of the water into a whiteish blunt thing, which had a kind

of cat’s mouth that clicked. The click missed by at least two feet, as

the thing did not aim very well. It blundered over, rubbed against the

side of the boat with a slow rasping movement and disappeared.

“A shark, by George,” Hi said.

The boatman laughed at his scare and the master signed to him not to

lean over the side. Soon after this Hi noticed that La Boca did not seem

to be getting any nearer. The wind, before falling, had drawn ahead, so

that they had to make a short board out to sea.

“This is a bore,” he thought. “I may not be at La Boca till mid-day, if

this goes on. But I’ll do it yet.”

The wind, which had drawn ahead, now chopped round a few points to the

west and failed altogether.

“What’s the matter?” Hi asked.

“Wait for de breeze,” the master said.

“Shall we have to wait long?”

“Sometimes half hour, sometimes hour.”

“Would it be possible to row in to the shore?” Hi asked.

“Not got oars,” the boatman said. “Only one oar and a boat hook.”

There was nothing for it but to wait while the sun climbed up out of the

sea and became hotter. Hi tried to judge the distance from La Boca. It

seemed so near across that fore-shortened glitter of sea. Three miles,

possibly four miles, he thought. The sea and the boat seemed to settle

down to sleep.

“We shall be hours at it like this,” Hi thought. And they were.

What was hardest to bear came an hour later, as they lay becalmed. Hi

saw a boat further inshore creeping down to La Boca under sweeps.

Something in her helmsman’s figure seemed familiar to Hi, who was

watching her with envy.

“Is that Giordano?” he asked.

“Giordano, si,” they answered.

She was helped by more than the sweeps. She was a better boat in light

airs and, being much further inshore, she missed the northward current

then moving across the outward bay.

“Why, we are further from La Boca than we were before,” he thought. “We

are drifting back. She will be in hours before us and I might have been

in her, if I had had a little patience. I was an ass,” he thought. “If I

had only stuck to Giordano, I might have been almost there now.”

There was no remedy but patience, which is no remedy but a substitute.

Hi watched Giordano’s boat edge on and on. After what seemed to be hours

he noticed that the men in Giordano’s boat laid in their sweeps and

tended sails. Chigo, who had been watching for something of the sort,

laid aside his fender making.

“Here is the breeze,” he said.

The breeze came down to them with a darkening of the water. Very gently

the boat began to steal southward again. At a little after ten o’clock

they began to draw in to the settlement of fishermen and market

gardeners at the mouth of the Miamia river. It was an array of little

lime-washed houses, roofed with red tiles. It had a mission church of

three bells. At the mouth of the river there was a harbour made by

baulks of green-heart timber, which had been steeped in a red enamel as

a defence against the worm. Hi had been intent upon his thoughts,

planning his ride. Looking up, he saw that Giordano’s boat had not

entered the harbour, but had stood on down the coast towards the south.

Looking up at the dock in front of him, he saw some Pituba soldiers

watching the approach of the boat. Among them was a white man, who

seemed to be an officer.

“Just as I thought,” Hi said to himself. “That man on the pier in the

city was a detective. Now here I am being shadowed and am going to be

questioned.”

He looked at this officer. He didn’t like his looks at all. He looked

too snappish and ill-tempered.

“A bite from that lipless mouth would be worse than its bark,” he

thought, “though the bark has a curse in it.”

This man called out something to the master of the boat, who stood up

and answered with a question, which Hi thought civilly put. It brought

down a storm of oaths from the officer, who repeated his original remark

in the tone of an order. Very politely the master again objected,

pointing to Hi.

“What is it?” Hi whispered to Chigo.

“He tells us not to land,” Chigo whispered. “The padron ask if you may

land.”

“Sir,” Hi called to him, “I am English. May I not land here?”

“What you say?” the officer asked.

“I am English. May I land here?”

“You are Inglays?”

“Si.”

“Inglays?”

“Si.”

“Inglays with cat’s tripes?”

“No.”

“But I say, yes. Meester Inglays with cat’s tripes, I say, yes. Take

your baboon-face hence lest I mistake it for your stern and kick it. And

tell your Inglays brothers that this is not their land, but a land of

men. It is not for Inglays Miss, no tank you, nor for Meester Aow and

Pipe Tooth. You come here you be shot.”

“You’d get into pretty hot water, if you shot me,” Hi said.

“You say?”

“You’d get into pretty hot water, if you shot me.”

“What the pretty mouth say? I no catch?”

“You’ll get into pretty hot water, if you shoot me.”

“Oh, dear, the Inglays Meester threaten me.” He came a step or two

nearer to the edge of the pier, so as to read the number on the boat’s

bows. “Padron,” he said, “your boat, number B 71, is suspect. You will

take your boat down to Carpinche and report to the commandant there. If

you try to land anywhere nearer, you shall be arrest, you and cat’s

tripes; yes, and shot. To Carpinche: go.”

The padron civilly asked whether there were any warrant upon which he

could be ordered to Carpinche.

“Yes,” the officer said, “a very good warrant. The proclamation of

martial law.” Here he drew out a revolver. “I command here for the

Republic, which now scrapes off the foreign lice that cling to her. You

rebel, I shoot. To Carpinche.”

“One moment, please,” Hi said. “I want to see the English Consul here.”

“No, no,” the padron said. “No consul here.”

“Well, anyway, I’ve a right to land.”

“No, no,” Chigo whispered. “You get into trouble.”

“What does Miss tank you, the Inglays, say?” the officer asked.

“I want to see the English Consul,” Hi said.

“Oh, he wants to see the Inglays Consul?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The Inglays Consul, you say?”

“Yes, please.”

“Tank you, but I not please. I tell you to go to Carpinche. You know

your Consul live in Santa Barbara, where you just come from. Why you lie

to me you want him here? To Carpinche, or I send you back to your

Consul, on my ordnance mule, by phê, with your feet tied under his

belly.”

The boat had by this time drifted across the mouth of the harbour, where

she caught a gust which drove her a few yards out. The padron, who was

in that land only to make a living, shook his head, as he let the sails

fill on the new course. “We must to Carpinche,” he said. When the boat

was some lengths from the pier, he took a stiletto from his boot and

snicked it to and fro, passionately, on his boot-leg.

“Ise kill-a that man,” he said.

Hi hesitated. If he tried to land there, he might be shot: if he did

land, he might be sent back to Santa Barbara.

“Where is this Carpinche?” he asked.

“South, ten miles.”

“Could I get a horse there?”

“Si.”

“Is it far from Anselmo? A place called San Anselmo? San An-selm-o?”

“San Anselmo?” Chigo suddenly said. “Si, si. There.” He pointed inland

to the west.

“Can I get there from Carpinche?”

“To San Anselmo from Carpinche?”

“Yes,” he said. “Can I get there?”

“Si, si.”

“How far is it?”

“How far?”

“Yes, how far?”

Chigo debated with the padron; the boy made some suggestions. They

thought it might be forty kilometres, thirty kilometres; perhaps not so

much.

“Twenty kilometres, we going there,” the padron said.

Twenty kilometres was about eleven miles, Hi thought. He tried to figure

it out, how it could be so little, but thought that these men might

know. All the time the boat was moving away from the pierhead.

“Say that it is twenty miles,” Hi thought, “and this ten miles more

sailing added on to it, I shall not be there till the afternoon.”

“See,” the padron said, to Hi, with reproach, “you should not have

angered the commandant.”

“No,” Chigo added. “If you not speak at all, if you leave it to the

padron, he let you land all right.”

“I’m blest if he would,” Hi said.

“Si, si.”

“He would not have: he had refused.”

“No, see,” Chigo explained, “the padron he explain: he say what, that

man not go any sense, he let you land all right.”

“Then you ask, then he stop you.”

Hi could not see it as they saw it; but their point of view, however,

imperfectly grasped by him, added to his trouble. What if they were

right? What if he had been hasty? What if he might have landed at the

pier, had he left it all to the padron?

“Won’t you turn back, then, and let me try him again?” he asked. The

padron shook his head.

“Not turn back,” he said.

“He angry now,” Chigo said. “He shoot you now.”

“Well, can you put me ashore somewhere near here, at one of the little

landing places?”

“Ashore here?”

“Si.”

“Not now,” they said. “The commandant angry now.”

“But he would never know. He is not following the boat, and cannot see.”

The padron shook his head with a gesture which meant that it would be

well not to think of any such thing.

“Besides,” he said, “look, we are past the landing places. We cannot

take the boat in to the shore here.”

This was true; a short way to the south from La Boca the beach changed

character from sandy to boulder-strewn. The boulders were packed

together almost like a paving of cobbles, and as it were cemented with

the broken shell of the beach. It looked a bad beach to beach on.

“The boat is made only of very thin wood,” the patron said, mainly by

signs; “she bump and bump and bump and knock herself all to pieces.”

“When we get to Carpinche,” Chigo said, “another officer will say, ‘Back

to La Boca.’ Then, when we come back, Yellow Face will say, ‘Back to

Carpinche.’ Thus we shall pass our day.”

“Such are soldiers,” the padron said.

It was not a cheerful prospect to Hi, but it seemed possible and likely.

“I may not be started before dark,” he thought.

“If we have another commandant at Carpinche,” he thought, “I’ll say

nothing.”

Carpinche lay in the south-west angle of the bay, among wooded

foothills. A dark, romantic glen of trees, marking a water course,

sloped inland from it in the easy places of the hill. Great trees grew

about Carpinche. The hill to the south of the bay lay like a lioness

crouched to drink with her head between her paws. As they drew nearer to

this hill the wind failed them. “See,” Chigo said, “we too near the

shore: see? The shore stop the wind.”

“Blanketed,” Hi said.

“How?”

“The shore stops the wind.”

Gusts of it came in a baffling way; then these, too, ceased. They

drifted rather than sailed into a place of shelter, where the trees

looked down into a water like glass. The blackness of the rock near the

shore made the water seem deep as the pit. Chigo and the boy helped the

boat forward by paddling with her bottom boards. Hi also took a bottom

board and paddled, with thoughts of that machine of which he had talked

to Carlotta only the day before. All four of them stared ahead for some

sign of soldiers: they could see none.

“No commandant here,” Hi said.

“Siesta,” the padron said.

The boat edged slowly into the Carpinche river towards a village among

the trees, which towered up there to a vast height. The forest made the

place dark, though glaring light fell beyond. Giordano’s boat lay tied

to the pier in front of them. She had lain there for perhaps a couple of

hours. “Oh, if I had only stayed in her,” Hi thought, “I might have been

in Anselmo by this time.”

They edged alongside the pier and made fast.

“No commandant here to report to,” Hi said.

“Ah, the commandant,” the padron answered. “That man a bad man. He know

there no commandant.”

“Is there an inn here where I could get a horse?”

“Si, si, in the village.”

“Perhaps,” Hi said, “since you have all been kind and are here partly

through me, you will all come with me to the inn for some refreshment?”

They all accepted this: they set out along a track of red earth which

had recently been mud. The raised wooden ways on each side of the track

had lately been washed out of position, so that they lay all poked up,

like stretchers on a battlefield. The village seemed dead save for a

yellow dog, who came out and howled at them.

“The people here get up very early,” the boatman explained, “so they

have siesta early.”

In the inn, half a dozen men, including Giordano, were lying asleep on

the benches or leaning over the table. The boat-master called out to the

hostess that here was a gentleman who wished to hire a horse.

“Alas,” the hostess said, “the horses are all gone with the men to the

fiesta. There will be no horses till to-morrow.”

“What then can the gentleman do?”

“Who knows?” she said.

One of the sleepers at the table roused.

“There are horses at the house at the cross roads,” he said. “If he will

ask there, he might have a horse.”

“How far are the cross roads?”

“Four miles.”

“Are there no horses nearer?”

“Not here. All went early this morning to the fiesta. At five or even at

six you might have had your pick of horses, but now there are none.”

It occurred to Hi that, when he had paid for some drinks, the hostess

might be more helpful.

“Ask her to serve some wine,” Hi said. “You deserve the best wine after

your morning.”

The hostess was pleased to serve wine, but the order did not make her

more forthcoming about horses. Plainly there were none.

“I must go on to the cross roads then,” Hi said, “if you will point out

the road. I will try for a horse there.”

By his watch it was a quarter to two when he stepped across the bridge,

which led out of the village.

“Nearly ten hours,” he thought, “since Rosa called me.”

His track led uphill into the forest. “Now best foot foremost,” he said

to himself. “Never mind the heat or anything else. You’ve got to save

Carlotta and every minute is precious.”

Very soon the trees closed over the road, so that he walked in the cool

twilight of a tunnel. He saw nothing remarkable for the first couple of

miles. Then he came upon a hare sitting upon its hind legs, seeming to

be praying, while a big snake sat opposite, swaying a little, making up

its mind to strike. Hi flung some stones at the snake, which ducked its

head and turned towards him with an ugly raising of the crest. With a

few more stones he drove it away. He then walked to the hare and stroked

it and spoke to it. Its fur was sick and staring. Presently it fell over

on one side, recovered and went shambling away.

“What an ass my father is,” Hi thought. “He knew that I might meet

things like this, yet said that I should never need a revolver. I shall

need one twenty times a day. If I came on one of these snakes asleep, I

should never see it until I trod on it. I had better have a stick.”

Unfortunately there was no stick nearer than forty feet from the ground.

He was in a place which grew nothing but feathery thorn and gigantic

timber in a solitude which might have been thousands of miles from men.

Giving up the stick, he went on for half an hour without seeing a soul.

The only living things he saw, apart from the flies, were deer, moving

like shadows among the trees, and very bright things, which he supposed

to be parrots against the sky, when the sky showed. After he had walked

for an hour he saw a gleam of water below him; soon he came to a wooden

bridge at which some tracks converged. There had been a ford or drinking

place for cattle above the bridge. This was now a collection of pockets

of red mud full of little snakes: beyond the bridge were houses; a farm,

somewhat old and untidy, built of wood in need of paint, with stabling

beside and behind it. Nearer to the river were two very ramshackle sheds

or cottages of wood, which had once been tarred but were now

rust-coloured. Dirty bedding hung from the windows of these sheds. Over

the door of one of them was a tiling shingle on which someone had drawn

in tar, with his forefinger, the word

CAMAS

(with the final S reversed). To the left of these, well away from the

river, and on the other side of the road, was a trim, white, prosperous

looking house, with a tiled stable. A cornfield of red earth strewn with

the shocks of young maize, stretched uphill behind this house. A

fair-haired, blue-eyed white man was hoeing among these maize shocks,

although it was the heat of the day. He was a South German, who spoke a

little English. He said that it was fine vetter and that Hi might tank

Gott for such fine vetter. As for a horse, his brother had gone with the

horse to the fiesta, but the old frau in the house opposite might lend

her colt.

He was a friendly, helpful young man. He took Hi across the tracks to

the old untidy farm where everybody seemed to be asleep. Here, after

they had both knocked and called for some minutes, a negress appeared,

rubbing her eyes with her skirt. This girl took them through a darkness,

which stank, into a hot shuttered room, where she called several times

by whistling like a kite. When something between a snarl and a gurgle

answered to her call, she opened the southward shutters so that Hi could

see.

He found himself near the door of a bare room, the floor of which was

trodden earth. A table, with fragments of fruit upon it, stood against

one wall. Against the end wall, opposite the window, was a tall-backed

red chair or throne, in which an enormously fat old woman, swathed in

folds of black, sat blinking as she roused from sleep. She was mopping

her brow with the handkerchief which had kept the flies from her face

while she slept. Hi had the feeling that she lived and slept in the

chair. She had a book of hours upon her lap; its marker, hanging from a

red ribbon, dangled from her knee. She soon checked her gurglings: she

woke up with great completeness. A pair of sharp and very cold grey eyes

shone out of her vast pale face with that narrowed glimmer which made Hi

think of the snake.

“You want a horse?” she said, in fair English, in a guttural voice that

was half a cough.

“Yes, please, Señora.”

“Where will you go with the horse?”

“To Anselmo?”

“Where to in Anselmo?”

“George Elena’s house.”

“When you bring him back?”

“How far is it?”

“Thirty kilometre: twenty kilometre. When you bring my horse back?”

“I’ll send him back to-morrow.”

“Send? Eh?”

“Yes.”

“Why not bring him back yourself?”

“I may not be coming back.”

“Who will bring him back?”

“One of Elena’s men will bring him.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know.”

“What you do?” she asked after a pause. “Why you go this way to Anselmo?

Where you from?”