'All right, old chap, I'll think about it.'
There was too great a crush in the narrow streets to do much talking,
and we had a lot of trouble to push our way along. There were quite a
lot of people wearing the horizontal black and green stripes in these
streets, and you could tell they were strangers by their weird-looking
clothes and by the way they flocked along with their eyes and mouths
open.
We presently passed a lot of officers standing outside a doorway.
'That's the Officers' Club,' Gerald told me, as he took his hat off, and
they all clicked their heels and saluted, looking from Gerald to myself
with that same puzzled look--they seemed very unfriendly. We waited a
minute or two to let a battery of field artillery rumble past--the guns
were 'horsed' with mules--turned down another side street, and entered a
cool courtyard with more fountains splashing. There were any number of
people in it; they nearly all had black and green rosettes with
horizontal stripes, and all bowed very cordially to Gerald. He spoke to
several, looked as if he had heard bad news, and took us into the back
of the Hotel de L'Europe, up some narrow wooden stairs, opened a door on
a narrow landing, and there we were in a corner room with a large French
window opening on to an iron balcony and overlooking the great square.
The cathedral tower, with its arched entrance and broad steps, wasn't
fifty yards away.
'You'll get a grand view here--it's cool too--you'd get sunstroke
outside--stay where you are--I'll be back presently--I've just had some
important news,' Gerald jerked out, and left us to watch the people and
the soldiers pouring into the square--'Plaza' every one called it.
These soldiers were jolly smart-looking chaps, well dressed and well set
up, very different to those we had seen at Los Angelos. They all had
the vertical green and yellow stripes in their white helmets, and even
we could see that they were pretty rough in dealing with the people. We
saw several of the ward-room fellows hunting about for a good place to
see the procession, and the two Skippers drove up to the cathedral, in
uniform, the soldiers making a way for their carriage, and driving the
people back by prodding them in the stomach with the butt-ends of their
rifles.
Gerald came in again looking worried.
'Everything all right?' I asked.
He nodded, and sat down in a corner.
'The soldiers don't treat the people very gently,' I said, and he told
me that they were all Presidential troops in the city that day, and that
there was no love lost between them and the country people, who had
poured into the city to pay respect to the President's wife. 'If you
look closely, you'll see that a great many of these are wearing the
badge of the de Costas--the horizontal green and black stripes.'
'I heard to-day,' he went on, 'that the President's wife, just before
she died, made her brother, de Costa, and her husband, Jose Canilla,
shake hands and promise to keep the peace after she was gone.'
'Will they?' Bob asked, with his mouth open.
He only smiled and shrugged his shoulders--quite like a Spaniard. 'They
called her _La Buena Presidente_, and she was a good old lady and kept
the peace, but she's kept back progress and reform for years. There's
no such thing as freedom in the country. There will soon be a change
now.'
'They named that ship which Armstrong's building after her, I suppose?'
I asked him, and he nodded.
I tried to pump him about her, but he'd tell me nothing, except that she
would be ready very soon, and was strong enough to blow the rest of the
Santa Cruz Navy out of the water. I knew that well enough.
I wanted to ask him if there was any chance of her new crew favouring
the Vice-President's party--as Mr. Macdonald had suggested--and a whole
lot of other things, but a frightful din started in the 'Plaza.'
Bob, pointing down below, yelled for us to look, and we saw a
drunken-looking countryman waving his broad-brimmed felt hat, with an
enormous black and green rosette fastened to it, in the face of one of
the officers with the troops. He tried to take no notice of it, but in
a second or two lost his temper, seized the rosette, tore it off, threw
it on the ground, and stamped it into the white dust with his
patent-leather boots.
There was a roar of anger at this, booing and hissing from people
crowding in the windows of a house close by, and the mob beneath us
began pushing and shouting; knives were drawn, the few women there began
screaming, and the soldiers, standing in line, turned round to drive the
people back. Some cavalry came galloping up, and began hitting at the
people with the flat of their swords. One of them was pulled off his
horse and disappeared in the struggle, people were pressing in from all
sides of the Plaza, and things began to look jolly ugly, when we heard a
pistol fired, and a very smart-looking young cavalry officer, who was
trying to get his men together, reeled in his saddle and fell on the
ground, his fiery little horse plunging away down the swaying lines of
soldiers.
Women screamed, every one stopped struggling and drew back, leaving him
lying there, by himself, all doubled up in a heap, in the dust, blood
trickling from his mouth. Almost before we'd realised what had
happened, a young priest, in black cassock, dashed across from the
cathedral steps, knelt down, and lifted the officer's head on his knee.
We saw him press a little black crucifix to his lips, but it was too
late, the poor chap was as dead as a door-nail.
Then there was another wild burst of shouting and hooting from the mob
and from the people at the windows.
'They've got the man who fired the shot,' Bob squeaked--he was so
excited--and we could see a lot of soldiers struggling with a very tall
man. He wrested himself free, knocked down one or two, burst through
the line of troops, and went running away from the cathedral, the crowd
trying to prevent the soldiers following. I'd never seen anything so
exciting. He dodged, and doubled, and got clear again for a second,
running towards one corner, but there were soldiers everywhere, one of
them tripped him with the butt-end of his rifle, and he fell sprawling
on the pavement right under our window. Before you could say a word, a
couple of soldiers had driven their bayonets through him--we could
actually hear the points knocking against the pavement. In a moment the
mob were on them, and a fierce fight commenced. What would have happened
I don't know, but then the loud crashing music of the Dead March in
'Saul' sounded from the opposite side of the square.
'Thank God,' I heard Gerald mutter, 'here comes the procession.'
Officers dashed up again, shouting and cursing, the soldiers fell back
into line, the mob hid their knives and took up their places, the space
in front of the cathedral was cleared in a twinkling-, Bob, leaning out
of the window, told us that they'd brought the body of the officer into
the hotel, and that the other body had disappeared, the purple velvet
hangings which hid the cathedral entrance from us were drawn apart, and,
right in the middle, on the top step, a tall old priest, gorgeously
dressed, was standing with his arms lifted up. He must have been a
bishop at the very least, because directly the people saw him, they fell
on their knees in the dust, leaving only the soldiers standing erect.
This really was a most extraordinary effect after the noise, and
yelling, and struggling of a few moments before. Now nothing could be
heard, except, some way off, the funeral march, the clatter of cavalry
horses, and the grating of the wheels of the funeral car, a dark mass we
could see just entering the square.
Behind the cavalry marched a couple of companies of sailors from the
ships at Los Angelos, their white uniforms stained with sweat; then came
eight horses, with velvet cloths flowing almost to the ground, dragging
the great state funeral car covered with more purple velvet, the troops
reversing arms and the kneeling people crossing themselves as it passed
in front of them.
Walking two or three yards behind the car were two men, and then a gap
in the procession.
'There they are,' Gerald said excitedly. 'The little wizened chap in
uniform, with the grey moustaches, is the President, and the fat man in
plain clothes the Vice-President.'
The two walked slowly past under our window, and we got a jolly good
view of them. The little chap was covered with orders and medals, and
looked a grand little soldier and jolly fierce, whilst the big chap,
clumsily built, slouched along, one step behind the President, and
didn't seem at all at ease. He was perspiring very much too--his collar
was all limp--and he kept on looking from side to side as if he didn't
much care for his job.
'You wouldn't if you were he,' Gerald half shouted. He had to shout,
because the massed bands were now passing beneath us kicking up the most
appalling din.
After the bands had gone by, long rows of people, some in uniform,
others in plain clothes--notable people of sorts, I suppose--went
shuffling past, looking hot and uncomfortable.
We saw the cavalry and seamen halt, forming a guard on each side of the
cathedral steps, and then, as the big hearse drew up at the foot of
them, a great discordant bell clanged out from the tower above, and a
second later there was the loud boom of a gun.
'That's the first minute-gun from San Sebastian,' Gerald said.
The bands suddenly ceased, from the open cathedral doors we heard the
grand rolling sound of an organ, and, as the coffin was borne up the
steps, choristers broke out into a shrill anthem--an awfully melancholy
sound, which made me catch my breath for a second.
The little President and the lumbering great Vice-President, mopping his
forehead, walked after the coffin side by side, and disappeared into the
gloom of the cathedral, followed by all the untidy string of notables,
who scrambled in after them in a very undignified manner, as though they
wanted to get out of the heat.
As the last one crowded in, the velvet curtains were drawn across the
door again and shut out the noise of the singing.
'That's the last time any one will see those two together again in
peace,' Gerald muttered, and turning round I saw that he was looking
fearfully worried and anxious.
'What's the matter?' I asked.
'There's hardly a Vice-President's man among that lot,' he whispered.
'What's that mean?'
'They've cleared out, Billums--fled to the country--it's the beginning.
Something's gone wrong. It's beginning too soon.' He was very excited,
and could hardly sit still. In a minute or two he jumped up, sang out
that he must find out how the land 'lay,' and told us to stay where we
were.
'If there's any shooting, lie down on the floor--there may be some.'
'Let me come with you?' I asked, awfully keen to go, but he shook his
head, and went out.