The Missourian
Page 5
CHAPTER II
A FRA DIAVOLO IN THE LAND OF ROSES
"A haunter of marshes, a holder of moors."--_Beowulf._
The torpid, sordid and sun-baked port of Tampico gave little promise ofaught so romantic and rare and exotic as the young French woman'scoveted thrill of ecstasy. There was first the sand bar, which keptships from coming up the deep Panuco to the town. Beyond there werelagoons and swamps mottling the flat, dreary, moisture-sodden,fever-scourged land. There were solemn pelicans, and such kind ofgrotesque bird as use only one leg, it being long enough for two, andnever that to walk upon, so far as anybody had ever noticed. Such an oldfellow would outline himself against the yellow loneliness, like a lumpof pessimistic philosopher impaled on the end of his own hobblingcrutch. Tarpons and sharks and sword-fish, monstrous, sinister, movedslothfully in the viscid waters. From scrubby growth on the banks ahundred or a hundred thousand crows had much ado with rebuking theinvaders of their solitude.
Next, clusters of thatch roofs appeared, and in an hour the party fromthe _Imperatrice Eugenie_ gained the wharf of the port. The sailorsmanaged to steer through a tangle of shipping and dugout scows, thelatter heaped high with fruits and flowers of many colors, or hides orfish of many aromas. Before the small boat could touch the worm-eatenquay, Jacqueline had poised herself on its edge, caught her skirts, andhopped lightly over the stretch of water yet remaining. Then she gazedcuriously around on Mexico.
And Mexico was there in various forms to greet her, though in no formanimated. Sluggish creatures under peaked sombreros of muddied strawseemed to be growing against the foreground of wharf and dingywarehouses, and fastened to the background of sallow blazing streets andsallow reflecting walls there were still the same human barnacles. Butno creature seemed ever to move. They all looked a part of the decay, ofputrefying vegetable and flesh and fish everywhere, which grew so rankin life that in death their rotting could never keep pace.
A lazy town stretched up a lazy street. On a hill farther up the river afortress basked in peace, and had no desire to be disturbed. In the townthe buildings were of warped timber, and a few of stone. Parasitictumors, like loathsome black ulcers, swelled abundantly on the roofs.They were the buzzards, the only form of life held sacred. To clean upnature's and man's spendthrift killing was a blessed service in Tampico.It saved exertion.
A strange region, by all odds! But at least one could walk thereon, andJacqueline thought it droll. An outlandish corner of the earth such asthis was something never experienced before. But as to that, theoutlandish corner might have said the same about Jacqueline. Men staredlike dazed sheep on the astounding apparition of a lady. Some among themwere entirely clothed, in sun-yellowed white. There was a merchant orso, a coffee exporter or so, a ranchero or so, and hacendados from theinterior. But they were all hard, typical, and often darkly scowling,which seemed an habitual expression inspired by the thought of a foreignHapsburg emperor so mighty and proud, far off in their capital. Therewas not an officer among them; nor, quite likely, a gentleman. Never abit of red was to be seen from the garrison on the hill. The Frenchinvaders up there, with pardonable taste, kept to themselves. Theirpolicing ended with the smothering of revolt. So against the stain oftainted mankind, the vision of delicate femininity contrasted as a fleckof spotless white on a besmeared palette. But crows, scavengers, men,they were all so many "creatures" to Jacqueline--the setting of a verynovel scene, and she would not have had it otherwise.
She turned to her maid, who shrank hesitating in the boat. "Berthe, youpitiful little ninny, are you coming? Then do, and do not forget thesatchel." For a promenade of an hour the inhabitants of two imperialcourts must needs have a satchel, filled of course with mysteries of thetoilet. The maid obeyed, and followed her mistress up the lazy ascendingstreet. They passed through the Alameda of dense cypresses, an inky blotas on glaring manila paper, while the shade overhead was profane withjackdaws. The lady tripped on, and into the street again. Ney and asailor hurried to overtake her. The other sailors meantime went on theirerrand for fresh meat, but Michel had said to the steward in charge, "Ifthere should be any need, I'll send this man to you. Then you come, allof you, quick!"
Jacqueline pushed on her voyage of discovery, and her retinue troopedbehind, single file, over the narrow, burning sidewalks of patchedflagstone. The word "Cafe" on a corner building caught her eye. It was anative fonda, overflowing with straw-bottomed chairs and rusty irontables half-way across the street, making carts and burros find theirway round. Mexico's outward signs at least were being done over intoFrench. Hence the dignity of "Cafe."
"Here is Paris," the explorer announced. "And this is the Boulevard."She seated herself before one of the iron tables that rocked on theegg-like cobblestones. She made Ney sit down also, and included Bertheand the sailor. An olive barefoot boy took their order for black coffee.Jacqueline's elbows were on the table and her chin on two finger tips,and she disposed herself placidly, as though this were the Maison Doreeand Tout Paris sauntering by. The town was beginning to stretch afterits siesta. That is to say, divers natives manifested symptoms of goingto move in the course of time.
"Look!" exclaimed Jacqueline. "Only give yourself the trouble to look!"
She was pointing to a man, of course. The Chasseur stirred uneasily. Onecould never see to the end of Jacqueline's slender finger. "There,Berthe," she cried, "it's Fra Diavolo, just strayed from the Opera."
The stranger she meant was talking darkly to another man in the door ofthe Cafe. If a Fra Diavolo, he was at least not disguised in his monk'scowl, either because the April day was too hot or because he had neverowned one. But he stood appareled in his banditti role, very picturesqueand barbaric and malevolent. And though he posed heavily, he yet hadthat Satanic fascination which the beautiful of the masculine and thesinister of the devil cannot help having. His battered magnificence of acharro garb fitted well the diabolic character which Jacqueline assignedhim. Spurs as bright as dollars jangled on high russet heels. Hisbreeches closed to the flesh like a glove, so that his limbs were assleek as some glossy forest animal's. The cloth was of Robin-Hood green,foxed over in bright yellow leather. From hip to ankle undulated a seamof silver clasps. More silver, in braided scrolls, adorned his jacket,and wrapped twice around the waist was a red banda. Jacqueline wouldhave preferred the ends dangling, like a Neapolitan's. The ranchero, forsuch he appeared, wore two belts. One was a vibora, or serpent, forcarrying money; the other held his weapons, a long hunting knife and arevolver, each in a scabbard of stamped leather embroidered with goldthread. His sombrero was high pointed and heavy, of chocolate-coloredbeaver encircled by a silver rope as thick as a garden hose.
"Now there's realism in those properties," Jacqueline noted with anartist's critical eye. "See, there's dry mud on his shoes, and hisbright colors are faded by weather. That man sleeps among the rocks,I'll wager, and he's in the saddle almost constantly too. My faith, ourFra Diavolo is exquisite!"
The other of the two men was a withered, diminutive, gaunt and hollowold Mexican. He quailed like a frightened miser before Fra Diavolo.
"The risk? Coming to this town a risk!" Fra Diavolo was echoing theancient man. "Bah, Murguia, you would haggle over a little risk asthough it were some poor Confederate's last bale of cotton. But I--porDios, I get tired of the mountains. And then I come to Tampico. Yet youask why I come? Bien, senor mio, this is why." A gesture explained. FraDiavolo unctuously rubbed his thumb over his fingers. The meaning of thegesture was, "Money!"
The old man recognized the pantomime and shivered. He shrank into hislong black coat as though right willingly he would shrink awayaltogether. His parsimony extended even to speech. He pursued hisfugitive voice into the depths of the voluminous coat and there clutchedit as a coin in a chest. Then he paid it out as though it were a coinindeed.
"But----" he stammered.
"No buts," the fierce ranchero growled thunderously. "Not one, DonAnastasio, not while our country bleeds under the Austrian tyrant'sheel, not wh
ile there yet breathes a patriot to scorn peril and death,so only that he get the sinews of war."
The curiously unctuous gesture grew menacing, brutal. Don Anastasiotwitched and trembled before it. Under the towering and prismatic FraDiavolo he cowered, an insignificant figure. The unrelieved black of hisattire accorded with his meagre frame. It was secretive, miserly. Ablack stock covered a withered collar. A dingy silk tile was tightlypacked over a rusted black wig. Boots hid their tops under the skirts ofhis coat, and the coat in turn was partly concealed under a black shawl.But there was one incongruous item. Boots, coat, hat and all werecrusted with brine. He had evidently passed through salty spray, hadbraved the deep, this shrinking old man in frayed black. Just now hiseyes, normally moist and avaricious, were parched dry by fear, as thougha flame had passed over them. They might have rattled in their gapingsockets. Fear also helped him clutch his voice, which he paid outregardless of expense.
"You know, Don----" But Fra Diavolo scowled, and the name died on hislips. "You know," he went on, "why you haven't seen me for so long. It'sthe blockade up there. It's closer than ever now. This time I waitedmany nights for a chance to run in, and as many more to run out again."
"And you squeezed the poor devils all the harder for your weevily cornand shoddy boots?"
Jacqueline, who could not hear a word, told her companions with achild's expectancy only to wait and they would see Fra Diavolo eat upthe poor little crow.
The crow, meantime, was trying to oust the notion that had alighted inthe brain of Fra Diavolo. "Of course I ought to ask the Confederateshigher prices as the risks increase," he said, then paused and shook hishead and wig and hat like a mournful pendulum. "But how can I? The Southhardly grows any more cotton. It cannot pay high, and----"
"And that's not my affair, but----" Again the business of thumb andfingers--"but this is. Quick now!"
"Senor, I--Your Mercy knows that I always pay at--at the usualplace--near the forest."
"MURGUIA""He had evidently passed through salty spray, had braved the deep,this shrinking old man in frayed black"]
"You mean that you won't pay here, because I am the one in danger here,and not you? Bien, you want a money-getting man for your daughter, eh,Don Anastasio, though you'll deny that you would give her to any man?Bien, bonissimo, I am going to prove myself an eligible suitor. Inanother minute Your Mercy will be frightened enough to pay. Attentionnow!"
So saying he drew a reed whistle from his jacket. It was no thicker thana pencil, and not half so long.
Murguia gripped his arm. "My daughter?" he cried. "It has been weekssince I--but you must have seen her lately. Oh tell me, senor, there isno bad news of her?" He had forgotten the threatened extortion. Hisvoice was open too, generous in its anxiety.
"News of her, yes. But it is vague news. There's a mystery about yourdaughter, Don Anastasio."
But at this point Fra Diavolo dismissed mystery and daughter both withan ugly grimace. Nor would he say another word, for all the father'spleading. Instead, he remembered the little reed whistle in his hand,and swung round to blow upon it, in spite of the palsied hand clutchingat his arm. But in turning, he became aware of the amused Parisiennewatching him. His jaw fell, whereat Don Anastasio's hand slipped fromhis arm, and Don Anastasio himself began to slip away.
"Stop!" roared Fra Diavolo. "No, go ahead. Wait at the meson, though,until I come. Wait until I give you your passports."
Then he turned again to stare at the girl who all unconsciously hadwrought the poor little crow's release.