The Fleet Surgeon and he talked French to each other for some minutes,
and I could see that our doctor didn't like the idea of an operation,
but the fat chap was evidently talking him round to his own way of
thinking.
'Well, what's the verdict?' Gerald asked, looking from one to the other
rather anxiously, and the Fleet Surgeon said, in a low voice, 'We must
give you a little ether and have a look at you.'
'All right, doctor, I'm ready,' Gerald answered quite quietly; thank
goodness, he was in hardly any pain.
Then the 'Gnome' came in to fetch Gerald for the procession, thought for
a second that I, in his things, was he, but then saw him lying on the
bed. He nearly broke down when Gerald spoke to him.
'You go with him, Billums,' Gerald said.
Dr. Robson followed us out of the room. 'We're going to operate almost
immediately; that fat chap thinks it necessary, and as he's the best
surgeon anywhere here, we must take his advice.'
I darted back, 'Good-bye, old chap! good luck!--there won't be any
pain.' I tried to say it cheerfully, but I had to dart out again, for
there was a lump in my throat and I was afraid it would burst.
'Good-bye, Billums!' Gerald sang out after me. 'Don't be conceited when
they cheer you. I'm thankful you're to be in my place.'
Well, I don't mind saying, honestly, that, if I could, I would have
changed places with him then, because old Gerald was such a splendid
chap and had done such grand things and I was only a rotter.
The 'Gnome' led me down through the Club, but I seemed half dazed and
didn't notice a soul there; one of Gerald's horses was waiting for me
outside the arched gateway where I had first seen that little beast, I
got on his back, and then heard Ginger's voice singing out, 'Buck up,
old Billums! Bob and I will hang round till you come back.'
Buck up? I could have blubbed more easily as I rode after the 'Gnome'
with a couple of nigger orderlies trotting behind me.
'Senor! Senor!' I heard the 'Gnome' mutter imploringly, and saw him
pushing up his own chin with his finger and then pointing to mine, so I
sat more upright and held my head higher.
Directly we got into the main street, the place was one seething mass of
waving arms and flags, people pressed round my horse and even kissed my
gaiters, and the whole air was alive with shouts of '_Viva Don
Geraldio!_' I tried to do what Gerald would have done and smiled, and
by the time we'd managed to force a way through into the great square,
the shouting was really extraordinary. The people stopped my horse, and
if a very officious young cavalry officer had not brought up a
half-squadron of his men, I do believe they would have pulled me off my
saddle in their excitement.
However, we got through them all right and cantered up the road to San
Sebastian, round which the little brown forest-men were camped.
My aunt! miserable as I was, it made my blood dance to hear their shouts
and to know how keen they were on my brother.
As I entered the fort across the drawbridge, General Zorilla was waiting
for me, clicked his heels and saluted gravely as I dismounted. Then he
took me by the arm and led me away to an upper part of the wall, where
it was just broad enough for two to walk abreast, and talked all the
time--in Spanish, of course--and, though I could not understand a word,
I guessed quickly that he'd taken me up there, where no one else could
come and try to talk to me, and where all the people, both inside and
outside the fort, could see me.
I thought that probably a rumour of Gerald's having been shot by an
assassin had spread, and that old Zorilla feared what the forest-men
would do if they believed it.
We walked solemnly up and down for, I should think, quite twenty
minutes, and then the President drove up in a carriage, drawn by six
white horses, and it was time for the procession to start.
General Zorilla gave some orders, and immediately there was a stir among
the little brown chaps. A great column of them, quite two thousand I
should imagine by the time they took to pass beneath us, wound round the
fort and began marching down into the town.
They had cleaned themselves for the occasion, looking quite spruce as
they surged along that road, their officers trying to make them keep
some military formation--with very little success. A few were wearing
those brown boots which they'd looted, but most of them were barefooted,
so made very little noise on the hard ground, but, for all their lack of
uniform and discipline, their eyes were flashing under their white hats
and they bore themselves very bravely. After them came another mob--men
only armed with _machetes_--the terrible little _machetos_, immediately
in front of the six white horses and the President's carriage. Behind
it was a space of about fifty yards, where I was to go, and then came
more carriages with the Provisional Government, another mob of wild
_machetos_, two companies of sailors from the ships, and those two
hundred regulars who'd helped me bring little Navarro and those guns
into San Fernando. I didn't know that they had come along, and was
jolly glad to see them.
They had been given the honour of dragging the two pom-poms through the
city--those two pom-poms we had landed at San Fernando with the rest of
the 'hydraulic machinery'--and seemed very proud of the privilege.
To me, of course, they were the most interesting part of the procession,
and I wondered what they would think if they knew that it was I who had
untied their arms that morning and brought them along through the
forest; but every one took it for granted that I was Gerald, so it was
no use wondering or pretending to be myself.
Behind them another huge column of riflemen began to defile down into
the road, but by this time we had climbed down from the top of the wall,
Zorilla had mounted his black horse, I had got on to mine, and we waited
in the shade of the weather-beaten walls of San Sebastian, with the
muzzles of their saluting guns sticking out above our heads, till the
last of Gerald's army had marched past, doing their best to look like
real soldiers whether they had brown boots on or not, their eyes
flashing fiercely, and their shoulders well thrown back.
Thank God! they had hardly a cartridge among them.
Zorilla motioned for me to ride on, so I cantered away to my place
behind the President's carriage, the 'Gnome' close to me, and the two
orderlies coming after.
We got into the city just as the saluting guns began firing, and the
great cracked bell in the cathedral began to set my nerves on edge--I
hated the sound of it. We got through the first appallingly hot streets
comfortably enough, but I scarcely noticed anything, because I was
thinking all the time of poor old Gerald and how I could possibly write
home to tell the mater. I was getting intensely miserable, wondering
how the operation was going on, and imagining those fat tobacco-stained
fingers, with the gold rings on them, cutting up old Gerald, when the
'Gnome' startled me by riding up alongside, saluting, and pointing to
his chin, so I tried to buck up and look like a victorious General. The
'Gnome' smiled and dropped back again. I wonder what the people thought
he had said to me.
As we got nearer the square, the massed bands were making a terrific
noise, and what with that and the cheering, my little horse began to
play the ass--he knew I wasn't Gerald if no one else did and took
liberties. I got him in hand quickly enough, but I must say that the
cheering was sufficient to make any animal lose his head.
The people were rather quiet when they saw the little forest-men leading
the procession, they rather feared them and their terrible _machetes_,
but began cheering loudly when the President's carriage rolled along,
and then, as I passed, it was one continuous roar of '_Viva Don
Geraldio!_' from the dense sea of heads and waving arms, on both sides
of the streets, behind the lines of regular troops, and from the windows
and even the roofs of the houses.
I saw the President shift rather uneasily in his seat as the shouting of
Gerald's name drowned his altogether, but he kept raising his hat and
bowing to left and right as if he was still the popular hero, doing it
so vigorously that I saw his collar getting limp and the perspiration
rolling down his neck.
The little Secretary's face was a picture. I don't know whether he knew
whom I was, but I'm certain that, even now, he was worrying lest I
should suddenly call on Gerald's army, seize the palace, and become
Dictator, and I'm perfectly sure that I could have done it, or rather
that Gerald could have done it, without the least trouble.
Almost before I knew it, we were passing the Hotel de l'Europe, and I
looked up at that window again. It was full of Europeans, and one of
them sang out, 'Three cheers for Gerald Wilson!' and they waved their
hats and gave three grand cheers--a jolly homely sound it was, and I did
wish that dear old Gerald could have heard it. Then--well, I did sit
upright and tingled right down to Gerald's boots, because one of them
yelled, 'One more for his brother!' that was for me, and they shouted,
'The two Wilsons!' and gave three grand cheers. I wonder how the
President enjoyed them!
I took Gerald's polo helmet off, waved it to them, and saw them look
puzzled, stretching their necks over the balcony to have another look.
The 'Gnome' darted to my side, touching his hat and shaking his head.
I knew well enough what he meant. My face and hair showed just
sufficiently under the polo helmet, but I wasn't so much like Gerald
without it.
Still, it was grand to be myself for half a second and hear those
cheers.
The carriage had stopped in front of the cathedral, with its guard of
insurgents, so I dismounted and followed the President up the steps, at
the top of which the old Archbishop was waiting to receive him--with
uplifted hands, just as he had stood when the coffin, with _La Buena
Presidente_ in it, had been borne up those steps three months before.
By his side stood General Zorilla, grim and fierce-looking, and I did so
wish that I knew enough Spanish to ask him, as a joke, whether he had
any more of those blue warrants knocking about him. I wondered if he
would have smiled.
In we all went, the Provisional Government trooping after us, and jolly
glad I was to take off Gerald's polo helmet and get into the cool for a
few minutes.
The cathedral was crowded with people, who stood up as we entered and
turned their faces towards us. I saw some of them look surprised, and
heard a murmur of '_No! Don Geraldio!_' when they saw me, and just as I
was thinking what I ought to do, old Zorilla put his hand on my
shoulder, whispered something in Spanish, and beckoned me out again.
I guessed what was wrong, and clapped the helmet on, but that wasn't
it--Gerald's people were already giving trouble. They were to have
marched out to some barracks, on the other side of the town, where a
huge meal had been prepared for them, but they were still pouring into
the square, pushing the regulars and the people back against the
railings on the other side, and didn't show any inclination to leave it,
although I could see their officers, going in among them, pointing away
to where they should have marched. They were calling out for Gerald;
all over the square I could hear his name being called--it was most
extraordinary; I could feel that trouble was brewing; they looked like
wild cattle driven into a strange place, very nervous and suspicious and
liable at the least thing to stampede, and I knew what would happen if
they once got into a panic. The regulars, too, looked 'jumpy,'
uncertain what they should do, and I saw some artillery men stealthily
opening an ammunition limber. The townspeople were streaming out of the
square as fast as they could, and I knew that if a single shot was
fired, there'd be an awful massacre.
Zorilla made me get on my horse and we rode in among them.
Immediately they saw me they broke out into wild huzzahs, and a fierce
roar of '_Don Geraldio! Don Geraldio! Viva Don Geraldio!_' simply
filled the square. Zorilla, smiling grimly, rode away, evidently
thinking that he was better out of it.
I knew what I was expected to do, the 'Gnome' was at my side looking
anxiously at me, so I nodded to him, pointed across the square, and
began forcing my way among them in the direction they ought to go. The
'Gnome' sang out half-a-dozen orders in a stentorian voice, and the
whole, huge, half-terrified, half fierce-looking mob came along after
us, as good as gold.
Well, that was simply another triumphal procession for Gerald; the
little _machetos_ were all round me, they fought for the honour of
leading my horse, and, thank goodness, I got them out of the square and
the city without anything going wrong.
Old Zorilla had evidently gone ahead of me and hidden away all the
regulars, for there wasn't one to be seen. We marched through
absolutely deserted streets, and though the little brown men hesitated a
moment, and began to look troubled and suspicious, when, at last, we
came to the barracks, the smell of the food was so tempting that they
poured in after me. It was a huge rambling barracks, with an enormous
parade-ground, crowded with tables, and an army of timid-looking people
was waiting to serve food. I stayed there half an hour till the little
brown chaps had forgotten all their grievances and suspicions, and then
I bolted back to the palace, where the official banquet was to be held,
and got through that all right, being placed among the foreign
Ministers, who, of course, knew whom I was, and had heard of Gerald
having been shot.
Mr. Arnstein, in his gorgeous uniform, bent over to tell me that he'd
heard that the operation was going on all right, so that I was quite
happy.
Every one was awfully nice to me about Gerald, and about my having taken
his place successfully, but after lunch I wanted to get away, though I
could not do so, for some time, because of every one wanting to
congratulate me. Captain Roger Hill actually came up, too, but I'd been
Gerald all the morning, I still had his clothes on, and, somehow or
other, I felt like him and was very 'stand off the grass' when he tried
to patronise me.
Fortunately, old Zorilla came to the rescue, his eyes gleaming very
curiously, and he led me away to where a closed carriage was waiting.
We drove away from the palace, and when we'd got some distance off, he
put his hand inside his tunic and pulled out--what do you think?--a blue
packet--another of those warrants--and handed it to me.
It was the exact counterpart of the one which I had torn up that day in
the Hotel de l'Europe, with Gerald's name written in among the printing,
only this had Alvarez de Costa scrawled across the bottom instead of
Jose Canilla.
Phew! my heart began thumping and I caught my breath for a moment, but
Zorilla took it out of my hands, shrugged his shoulders, and began
tearing it into little bits and throwing them out of the carriage
window, one by one.