Up the Forked River: or, Adventures in South America

CHAPTER XXXIII

The tropical night wore away and the growing light in the east showed that day was dawning. With the exception of the men who wrought below, Miss Starland was the only one who slept during those monotonous hours, but she was astir early, and with the help of Martella set about preparing the morning meal for the crew and passengers. General Yozarro could be counted upon to carry a well stocked larder, and little solid food is required in so warm a country. Many of the fish in the bifurcated river are of delicious flavor, but rice and fruit form the principal diet. She prepared coffee and the first food that was ready was taken below by Martella for the men who did the hardest work.

“The Captain must not be forgotten, Martella; will you carry a tray to him?”

“Not for all the gold in the Rubio Mountains; you told me you allowed him to keep his pistol.”

“True, as you said, it isn’t best to tempt him too far; I will take his food to him.”

“Permit me to do so,” interposed Captain Guzman, who thereupon performed the pleasing task. Ortega was first invited to come to the cabin to join them, but he replied that his duties required him to remain in the pilot house. The delicate feeling that prompted his refusal was understood by the brother and sister.

Just as the meal was finished, all were startled by the hoarse, tremulous whistle overhead. Two long blasts sounded, and the clink of the little brass lever was heard as it dropped back to its resting place against the sounding tube.

“What does that mean?” asked Major Starland, who the next moment bounded to his feet and hurried to the Captain, with Guzman at his heels.

“Captain, what is the cause of that signal; have you so soon forgotten your neutrality?”

“It is a salutation to the steamer just coming round the bend. Listen!”

A sepulchral tremolo rumbled across the water, and the topmast of a craft was discerned gliding along over the stunted tops of the timber growing on the projecting point of land which for the moment shut the hull from view. From the highest point fluttered the most beautiful flag ever bathed in the sunlight of heaven. It seemed to be bounding forward as if borne at the head of a charging regiment.

“By heavens!” exclaimed the happy American, to whom the answering signal was one of the most familiar sounds on earth; “that’s the Warrenia, my own yacht!”

“I am pleased to know it,” said Captain Ortega.

Miss Starland was scarcely behind the others in climbing to the upper deck. The Captain lifted his hat, they smiled at each other, but there was no other sign of recognition.

First the clean cut prow, with the pretty flag of the Triton Navy dallying from the staff, then the graceful hull and the peak with the flag of our country streaming in the gale created by its own motion, and the whole magnificent craft steamed round the bend and headed toward the tugboat. With dancing eyes centered upon the thrilling picture, our friends saw a snowy puff shoot upward from the brass cylinder and the old welcome signal shuddered across the water.

“Will the Señorita oblige me by replying?” asked Captain Ortega. The radiant young woman, with a smile and inclination of her head, but with no further evidence that they were acquaintances, stepped into the door that the Captain opened for her, and grasping the cord answered the boat named for herself. Then, thanking the courteous officer, she passed out again and excitedly waved her handkerchief at a lady who was seen standing in front of the others at the bow.

“That’s Aunt Cynthia! There! she has raised her glass! She knows me! Bless her dear heart!”

The woman had recognized her niece and her handkerchief was also a-flutter. An understanding was had through the signalling of the whistles and the two craft rapidly approached each other. Major Starland swung his hat in greeting, again the whistles bellowed across the decreasing space and all was gladness and joy.

While they were yet too far apart to converse readily, the Major had noted another form near the pilot house, a little to one side of Aunt Cynthia. It was bulky and broad, was in gorgeous uniform of blue and gilt, with the golden sash high up in front and low at the back, and the point of his scabbard touching the deck.

“What the mischief is General Bambos doing there?”

“Probably he is a self-invited guest,” suggested Captain Guzman.

“True, and I can afford to welcome him; it is fortunate that the yacht took aboard new supplies at San Luis.”

The tinkling of signal bells and the reversing of screws and the shifting over of wheels brought the two boats so nearly alongside that conversation became facile among all parties. Holding off the General Yozarro, Captain Ortega waited to know the wishes of his chief passenger, who now became the supreme authority on both crafts.

Under the manipulation of the adepts at the respective wheels, the boats were laid beside each other and the gangplank of the yacht connected the two. Miss Starland was the first to run across and was clasped in the arms of her delighted relative. Then her brother, Captain Guzman and Martella followed. General Bambos bowed as nearly to the deck as he could, with his plumed hat sweeping the air, and expressed his happiness at meeting the charming young American Señorita again. Then, while the boats remained lashed, he asked an explanation of the situation, which was a mystery to him as it was to nearly all the others.

Major Starland took it upon himself to enlighten him and his friends, doing so with a succinctness that left no doubt in the mind of any one. The broad face grew solemn, when he succeeded at last in comprehending the remarkable story.

“You will permit me to say, Major, that you have committed a serious international offence.”

“And I am prepared to bear all the consequences of my crime.”

“They are likely to be graver than you seem to think; it is your duty, first of all, to apologize – ”

“Apologize to that scoundrel of a Yozarro! I’ll see him hanged first!”

“You will not deny that it is your honorable duty to restore the Atlamalcan navy to my excellent compatriot, General Yozarro.”

“You seem to be concerned for the brother with whom, only a day or two ago, you were eager to go to war. I don’t want that old tub which he calls a gunboat; he is welcome to it; Atlamalco holds a single solitary gentleman, Captain Ramon Ortega, who is up there at the wheel, and he is at liberty to take the boat back to his chief with my compliments, and that chief may go hang.”

“But that will hardly do; you took it by force from him and should return it in person. It is the only way by which an international complication can be prevented.”

Yielding to an impulse inspired by the humor of the situation, Major Starland said:

“Very well; I’ll take it upon myself to deliver the General Yozarro to its owner with my own hands.”

CHAPTER XXXIV

Major Jack Starland carried out his thoughtlessly formed plan. I fear it must be conceded that his motive was not a wholly chivalrous one. He saw the chance for humiliating the man for whom he felt only unmitigated contempt. He had not a whit of respect for the pompous Bambos, but the ponderous nuisance had not insulted him and his unpardonably. No doubt had the opportunity come to the President of the Zalapatan Republic, he would have acted with similar dishonor, but in the affairs of this world, men are judged by their deeds instead of their motives. Only One can be unerring in his judgments.

“General Bambos and I will go aboard the tugboat and steam up the river till we find Yozarro. We may have to go to Atlamalco, but it makes no difference; the Warrenia will act as our escort, and I shall make sure the affair is conducted in the highest style of the art. I don’t wish to involve my government in the broil.”

Accordingly, after everything had been explained to Captain Winton of the yacht, the American officer and the General walked beside each other across the gangplank, which bowed threateningly under the unusual weight, the support was drawn in, and both craft began moving at moderate speed up the bifurcated river. The Warrenia dropped a little way to the rear, and held thus while the two ascended the stream.

Excusing himself for a few minutes, the Major left the General in the cabin and went forward for a few words with Captain Ortega, who, cigarette in mouth, smilingly saluted and welcomed him.

“You understand, Captain, the arrangement that has been made?”

“I heard what was said; you have agreed to turn over this boat in person to General Yozarro.”

The American nodded.

“You will permit me to say, Major, that you have done a foolish thing. When you left the gunboat as you did, I was free to pick up the General and that should have been the end of the affair.”

“True, but I am quite willing to feed his vanity to the extent demanded by General Bambos; but I wish to say, Captain, that I am in the dark as to where we shall find your President. He sailed down the river ahead of us, but the yacht saw nothing of him, when it seems he should have been met, and we have not observed him on our way.”

“Pardon me, Major, you should say ‘I,’ not ‘we.’”

“Do you know where General Yozarro is?”

“I have known for several hours; I believe my status has been changed by the late occurrences and I may speak freely.”

“Unquestionably; no cause remains for further secrets between us.”

“Then I may say that some hours ago, when you stood where you are now standing, discussing this question with me, my eyes were resting on General Yozarro.”

“You astonish me, Captain; be more explicit.”

“I knew when he sailed out of sight around the bend in the river, that he would not go far. He did not. He ran to the southern bank, lowered his sail, and pulled the boat so far under the overhanging vegetation that neither you nor your friends noted it. Knowing where to look, I was more fortunate. The General signalled to me to come to land, so that he and his men could attack you.”

“Why did you not do so? Yet it would have been your death warrant to have made the attempt.”

“That was not the reason why I did not go to him; I had given the General one opportunity, and was too impatient with him to provide a second. But, more than that, you had my parole.”

“True; I had forgotten that. May I ask what you think General Yozarro’s plan is?”

“He does not understand why I refused to obey his signal, and there will be a hot quarrel over it when we meet. He expects me to return, sooner or later, for he must know that the purpose of yourself is to reach Zalapata with the Señorita, after which I shall be at liberty to return to Atlamalco. I shall, therefore, find him not far from where I saw him a few hours ago.”

“I beg to renew the assurances of my distinguished consideration, Captain,” said the American, saluting and passing back to the cabin.

The massive Dictator of the Zalapatan Republic was puffing and striding to and fro over the short length of the cabin, the point of his scabbard titillating against the floor, for his steps, though of moderate length for an ordinary man, were long for a person of his build. His face was redder than ever, and it was clear that he was agitated over some great question that was wriggling through his brain.

When he wheeled and faced the American, he whipped off his plumed hat and sagged down upon the lounge at the side of the cabin. It creaked but held.

“Pardon me, General, you seem disturbed in mind,” remarked the young officer, drawing up a stool and seating himself opposite.

“I am disturbed, Major; nothing in all the world could have happened to cause me greater regret.”

“You refer to the affair of last night; I cannot see that you have any concern with that.”

“Captain Guzman was involved with you.”

“If you are so afraid of offending General Yozarro, you can easily disavow the act of your officer, though he deserves all praise for what he did.”

“Be assured that I shall disavow his crime in the strongest terms, and, if General Yozarro demands it, the Captain shall be severely punished.”

“The other day, when you were talking with him and me, you were hot for war against Atlamalco.”

“True, but since then I have received a great light.”

The amazed American waited to catch a ray himself, but it came not and he said:

“I delivered your message to General Yozarro yesterday.”

“And he received it graciously?”

“Most graciously; there was no hint about sending me back to you from the muzzle of one of his cannon; he begged me to assure you he would have your complaint investigated and would do his utmost to meet your demands.”

“What I might have expected from my noble compatriot!” exclaimed the Dictator with greasy unctuosity; “I was sure of it.”

“But you did not look for such magnanimity, when in council with Captain Guzman and me. May I ask to what is due this marked change of sentiment on your part?”

General Bambos lifted himself to his feet and swung across the cabin several times, finally crashing back to his former seat on the vexed lounge.

“You have heard of General Simon Bolivar?” was his unexpected question.

“Who has not? He was the great Liberator, born in Venezuela in 1783, who freed Peru, which then became Bolivia, and was rejected by Colombia, because she did not know how to appreciate his greatness. His was the finest character ever produced by South America.”

“I am glad to hear that you appreciate him,” said General Bambos, his small black eyes glowing.

“The greatest compliment ever paid General Bolivar was when he was called the South American Washington. He is the standard by which the world’s heroes are measured.”

“You have many heroes in the United States; I have read of Abraham Lincoln: how does he compare with Washington?”

“The two stand side by side, and sometimes it is hard to see which is foremost. One was the creator and the other the preserver of his nation.”

“How do I compare with Washington and Lincoln?”

CHAPTER XXXV

The question for the moment took away the breath of the American. He looked into the crimson, flabby countenance and wondered if the man was in earnest. He was. By great effort, Major Starland held back the laugh tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Well,” said he, pulling himself together and speaking slowly, “perhaps you come, say within a thousand miles of each. I don’t see how the distance can be shortened.”

“That depends upon the place you give others,” blandly observed the Dictator, who accepted the rating as a compliment; “where do you place General Bolivar?”

“I should have to make careful calculation; he might come within a mile or two, but remember that the modern world has not yet produced the peer of George Washington or Abraham Lincoln, nor do I see any signs that she is likely to do so. Have you been figuring on a comparison yourself?”

“I am too modest to claim to stand on the same plane with either of your great heroes, but reflection convinces me that I have been selected by heaven to be the successor of General Simon Bolivar.”

“Inasmuch as to when?” said the Major gravely.

“I beg pardon; I do not understand your question, Major.”

“I wait for you to explain your meaning: what is your ambition?”

“It is to form a grand confederation of South American states; as you know, our continent is divided into no end of petty republics. Why should they not unite into one powerful, resistless whole?”

“The only obstacle is themselves; each country is so jealous of every other that it prefers to fight rather than to fuse. Zalapata and Atlamalco are illustrations; they are continually quarreling and at war over trifles that would shame a couple of schoolboys.”

“All that is ended; henceforth General Yozarro and I are brothers, and the two republics will join hands in the path of progress. Our example will be quickly followed by Venezuela, by Colombia, by Ecuador, by Bolivia, by Brazil and all the states down to and including Patagonia. Will not that be the grandest confederation the world ever saw?”

“Undoubtedly – when it is formed. Is the conception your own, General?”

“It is; it has been forming in my mind for weeks and months; more than once I was in despair, and not until last evening did the splendor of the scheme burst upon me in all its fulness.”

“You are dreaming what others dreamed before you, but the only one who made a fair start toward its realization was Simon Bolivar, and he died disappointed and brokenhearted. I suppose the first step will be to send ambassadors, or whatever you choose to call them, to the different republics of South America, proposing a meeting of representatives to consider the great scheme?”

“That will be the first step. It will take some time for a full exchange of views, and a committee will be named from each government to draw up the plan for confederation.”

“Your scheme contemplates that this union shall be a republic, like my own country?”

“No other form can flourish in the clear sunlight of liberty of South America.”

“Not the least important step, after the plan has been formulated, will be the choice of the Chief Magistrate; who should he be?”

The American knew what was coming, but the enjoyment of prodding the bulky ignoramus was none the less exquisite.

“The thoughts of all would naturally turn to the man who originated the grand scheme; they would feel profound gratitude, and inquire whether he is competent to carry out the plan and make the dream a realization; an immense majority will insist that the responsibility and honor shall go to him.”

“And in that case you would be the man?”

The little head wabbled forward on the short neck.

“There can be no forecasting the whims of the public; the hero of today is the traitor of tomorrow, and vice versa; suppose some one other than you should be fixed upon; suppose General Yozarro should be called to the head of the confederation?”

The crimson countenance became more crimson; the breaths shifted to pants, and the tiny eyes twinkled with a sinister light.

“Impossible! Such an outrage can never be.”

“Let us assume that it does come about; it is best, you know, to consider all sides of an important question.”

“I would never consent! I would withdraw from the union! I would shatter the whole scheme, if I were treated with such shameless ingratitude.”

“You forget that each republic would bring forth its own particular crop of favorite sons, and you would stand no more chance of selection than I. You declare yourself warmly in favor of the confederation; which do you place the higher, – the beneficent scheme itself or your own ambition?”

“It is not ambition, sir, but simple justice that I demand and will have!”

“Do you consider yourself the only man on the South American continent qualified to be the president of such a union?”

“By no means; there are plenty beside me, but none with such paramount claims to the honor.”

“Admitting this, our own Washington or Lincoln, or any one of our leaders, was ready at all times to lay down his office for the good of his country; that, and only that spirit, is true patriotism; I don’t believe there are ten native men between Nicaragua and the Straits of Magellan, who have ever experienced the feeling. Your strongest republics refuse to pay their just debts, and when England, Germany and some of the European Powers try to compel them to be honest, they bellow over the Monroe Doctrine and are ready to fight the United States because she won’t come down and help them play the defaulter.

“No, General; the first step toward the success of your scheme is an impossible one; that is, the reconstruction and making over of the genus South American. When somewhere a so-called republic is set up, and a President elected for a term strictly defined by its Constitution, the President refuses to go out of office at the close of that term and starts a revolution. Several others with a similar ambition do the same, and there you have the normal republic in this part of the world. Atlamalco, Zalapata and most of your governments are simply world’s nuisances.”

“Your statements, sir, are not only false but insulting; I have more faith in my patriotic countrymen than you, for I know them better; they are brave, unselfish, long suffering – ”

General Bambos had progressed thus far in his speech, when he emitted a rasping shriek, clapped his hand behind him and made so tremendous a leap that his crown bumped against the ceiling of the cabin. At the same time, the tenor of his remarks abruptly changed, and he danced and rubbed with pain. One of the pestilent “fire ants” of his country had managed to snuggle among the crevices of the lounge, and its nip was like that of a red hot pair of pincers.