We were in the city itself by now, and the mules had steadied down on
the rough stone streets crowded with people on foot or riding horses or
mules. There were soldiers at every corner--quite smart chaps
these--and they all had the vertical green and yellow stripes in their
helmets or hats. The same colours, hoisted with the stripes vertical,
hung at half-mast from nearly every house, and the few women, we saw,
had the same colours too.
'There are some of de Costa's people,' Mr. Macdonald sung out, as we
passed a group of sunburnt men outside a cafe. I looked, and saw that
they had patches of green and black stripes worn horizontally.
'They call the two parties the Verticals and Horizontals,' Mr. Macdonald
told me. 'Those are countrymen; you can see that by their rig.'
'Hi!' he sung out; 'look up there, up to the left, that's San Sebastian,
where our chaps were put in "chokey" a fortnight ago.'
It was a crumbling old fort perched on a rocky hill just above the big
building, and we three looked at it jolly keenly.
Then we got into the better part of the town, dazzling big white houses
with gratings in front of every window, and women peering out from
behind the curtains in most of them. Everywhere were soldiers, and the
yellow and green flags drooping at half-mast.
Next we drove through a great open place, white with dust and dazzling
in the sun, with a grand old weather-beaten cathedral on one side, and
on the other some public garden with palms and huge tropical ferns. We
had to draw up to let a regiment march into the square, and then we
wedged our way out of it, into a side street, turned a corner, and
stopped in front of a big door with strong iron gates, sentries with
fixed bayonets on each side of it, and a whole jumble of French,
English, German, American, and Dutch ensigns hanging down from a
flagstaff above it. There was a wizened little black chap leaning up
against the wall; he started when he saw me, and let his cigarette drop
out of his mouth. He was an ugly-looking little beast.
'The European Club,' Mr. Macdonald said. 'Out you jump. I bet your
brother's in here.'
We followed him into a cool courtyard with a splashing fountain in the
middle of it, and through the open French windows I heard the click of
billiard balls--a jolly homely sound--and, looking in, there was Gerald,
with his coat off, watching the other chap making his stroke, his jolly
old lion head with the long yellow hair brushed back and his grand
square jaw--not a bit like me.
He didn't see me as I went in and touched him on the back. 'Hello,
Gerald!'
'Hello, Billums! What the dickens are you doing here? How's the mater?
Well played, Arnstein (this to his opponent). Wait till I've "knocked"
him. Won't be a second.'
He won quite easily, and then he stood us all lunch at the Club. I did
my best to pump him about the revolution, but he kicked me hard under
the table, so I didn't say any more about it. The mids. had a grand
time, hardly uttered a word, but simply ate steadily through course
after course, not even the excitement of hearing regiments of infantry
tramping past every now and again, with their bands playing, putting
them off their feed.
'Come along,' Gerald said presently, 'I've got a window from which we
can see everything; there'll be room for all of you.'
But Mr. Macdonald wasn't coming, so we left him.
'Be here by three o'clock,' he said, 'not a minute later, and I'll drive
you back.'
As we left the gate I noticed that the sentries looked rather puzzled at
Gerald and myself.
'I couldn't say anything in there,' Gerald began, when we'd got out into
the crowded street; 'you never know who may be listening. We're going
to have a revolution, and I'm rather mixed up in it. You saw that
little plain-clothes chap at the gate, he's one of the President's
secret police, and has been shadowing me for the last four days.'