The Missourian

by Eugene P. Lyle

  CHAPTER IV

  LA LUZ, BLOCKADE RUNNER

  "For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring." --_Romeo and Juliet._

  "Meson" is Spanish for hostelry. In the ancient caravansaries, like theone at Bethlehem sacred to the Christ child, the same accommodationswere meted out to man and beast alike. More recently there are "hotels,"which distinguish a man from his beast, usually; though sometimesundeservedly. And so the word "meson" got left behind along with itsprimitive meaning. But in Mexico word and meaning still go together tothis day, and both described pretty well the four walls in Tampico whereAnastasio Murguia tarried. Excepting the porter's lodge at the entrance,the establishment's only roof formed an open corridor against one of thewalls, in which species of cloister the human guests were privileged tospread their blankets in case of rain or an icy norther. Otherwise theyslept in the sky-vaulted court among the four-footed transients, forwhat men on the torrid Gulf coast would allow his beast more fresh airthan himself?

  Don Anastasio's caravan filled the meson with an unflurried, hay-chewingpromise of bustle-to-be at some future date. Except for the camels andcostume lacking, the Mexican trader might have been a sheik in an oasiskhan. His bales littered the patio's stone pavement. They were of cottonmostly, which he had bought in the Confederate States, in exchange fornecessities of warfare and life. Complacent burros and horses werejuggling into their mouths some final grains from the sacks over theirnoses. Peon servants stolidly busied themselves around charcoalbraziers.

  An American leaned in the cavernous doorway. The tarnished insignia onhis collar indicated an officer of Confederate cavalry. He was smoking acob pipe, of which he seemed quite fond. And as a return for suchaffection, the venerable Missouri meerschaum lent to its young master anair that was comfortably domestic and peaceable. The trooper wore awoolen shirt. His boots were rough and heavy. Hard wear and weather hadsoftened his gray hat into a disreputable slouch affair. A broadblack-leather belt sagged about his middle from the weight ofcartridges. Under his ribs on either side protruded the butt of anavy-six, thrust in between shirt and trousers. He watched with dozinginterest the muleteers inside as they roped up straw, tightened straps,and otherwise got ready for departure. Then Anastasio Murguia appearedcoming up the street, just from his lately recorded interview with FraDiavolo. The weazened little old Mexican was in a fretful humor, and hisglance at the lounging Southerner was anything but cordial. He wouldhave passed on into the meson, but the other stopped him.

  "Well, Murgie, are we projecting to start to-night?" the trooperinquired in English. "Eh?--What say?"

  What Don Anastasio had said was nothing at all, but being thus urged, hemumbled a negative.

  "Not starting to-night?" his questioner repeated. "Now, why don'twe?--What?--Lordsake, man, dive! Bring up that voice there for once!"

  Murguia sank to the chin in his black coat. Glancing apprehensively atthe cavalryman's long arm, he edged away to the farther side of thedoorway. Experience had accustomed the ancient trader to despots, but inthis cheery youngster of a Gringo the regal title was not clear, whichsimply made tyranny the more irksome. The Gringo was the veriestusurper. He did not justify his sway by the least ferocity. He neveruttered a threat. Where, then, was his right to the sceptre he wieldedso nonchalantly? Were there only some tangible jeopardy to his pelt,Murguia would have been more resigned. But his latest autocrat was onlymatter-of-fact, blithely and aggravatingly matter-of-fact.

  By every rule governing man's attitude toward man, the Senor Don shouldhave been the bully, and the youngster the cringing sycophant. For sincetheir very odd meeting two weeks before, the tyrant had been in thepower of the tyrannized. It began on Murguia's own boat, where Murguiawas absolute. Any time after leaving Mobile he had merely to follow hisinclinations and order the fellow thrown overboard. Yet it was thesoldier boy who had assumed the ascendancy, and it could not have beenmore natural were the boat's owner a scullion and the intruder anadmiral.

  "And why _don't_ we start to-night?" the complacent usurperdemanded in that plaintive drawl which so irritated the other. "You wentfor your passports, didn't you get 'em?"

  "Si--si, senor."

  "Good! Then to-night it is, eh?--Can't you speak out, _my_gracious!"

  "_You_ might go to-night," the trader suggested timidly.

  "Alone?--N-o, parting isn't the sweet sorrow it's cracked up to be.Besides, I don't know the roads, but of course that's nothing to losinga jovial old mate like you, Murgie."

  Don Anastasio smirked at the pleasantry. "But _I_ can't goto-night, senor. I--I have to see--someone--first."

  The trooper betrayed the least impatience. "Now look here--usurer,viper, blanketed thief, honorable sir, you _know_ I'm in a hurry!"

  That his haste could be any concern of Murguia's was preposterous, andMurguia would have liked nothing better than to tell him so. But he didnot, and suffered inwardly because somehow he could not. He harbored adim but dreadful picture of what might happen should the amiablecavalryman actually lose his temper. Loss of patience had menace enough,though the Southerner had not stirred from his lazy posture in thedoorway nor overlooked a single contented puff from the Missourimeerschaum.

  "I'm sorry," Don Anastasio paid out the hard-found words through histeeth, "but possibly we can leave to-morrow. Will, will that suit YourMercy, Senor Coronel?"

  "Oh perhaps. Anyhow, don't go to forgetting, now, that I'm in a hurry."

  Don Anastasio breathed easier, and he even grew so bold as to recall acertain suspicion he had entertained. "Your errand down here must be ofconsiderable importance, Senor Coronel?" he ventured.

  "There you are again--crawling again." It was evident that the trooper'snormal condition was a great, hearty, calm good humor.

  But the Mexican's shriveled features grew sharper and his moist eyesmore prying. His suspicion had tormented him ever since fate had thrownthe Confederate in his way. This had happened one stormy night atMobile. The night in question was pitch dark. The tide was favorable,too, but a norther was blowing, the very same norther that had turnedthe _Imperatrice Eugenie_ off her course. Murguia's skipper hadchosen the hour of midnight for running the Federal blockade outside,and he had already given the order to cast off, when a horseman in acape overcoat rode to the edge of the wharf.

  "Wait there!" the horseman trumpeted through his hand.

  It was the first word Murguia had ever heard from his future tyrant, andeven then the cool tone of authority nettled him. But he reflected thathere might be a passenger, and a passenger through the blockade usuallymeant five hundred dollars in gold. He ordered the plank held for amoment.

  "They tell me--whoa, Demijohn!--you are going to Tampico?" hallooed thesame voice.

  "Yes," Murguia answered, and was going to name his price, when withoutmore ado the cavalier rode across, dismounted on the deck, and tossedhis bridle to the first sailor.

  "Ca-rai!" sneered the astonished Mexican, "one would think you'd justreached your own barnyard, senor."

  "My own barnyard?" echoed the stranger bitterly. "I haven't seen my ownbarnyard, or anything that is mine, during these four years past. Butyou were about to start?"

  "Not so fast, senor. Fare in advance, seven hundred dollars." Murguialooked for the haggling to come next, but somehow the sniff he heard wasnot promising.

  "Usurer, viper, blanketed thief, benevolent old rascal," the trooperenumerated as courteously as "Senor Don" or "Your Mercy," "you don'tsurprise me a bit, not when you charge us three thousand dollars goldfor freight on a trunk of quinine!"

  "G-g-get back on your horse! G-get off this boat!"

  But the intruder calmly drew off his great coat, and Murguia saw thebutts of pistols at his waist. Yet they had no reference to the removalof the cape. The latter was a simple act of making oneself at home.

  "I reckon," said the newcomer cheerily, "there's no question of fare.Here, I've got a pass."

  By a lantern Murguia read the paper handed h
im. It was signed:"Jefferson Davis, President C. S. A." Therein Mr. Anastasio Murguia orany other blockade runner was required on demand of the bearer, Lieut.Col. Jno. D. Driscoll, to transport the said Driscoll to that partoutside the Confederacy which might happen to be the blockade runner'sdestination.

  The peevish old man scowled, hesitated. He read the order again,hesitated again, and at last handed it back, his mind made up.

  "Have the goodness, senor, to remove yourself from my boat."

  But the lieutenant colonel placidly inquired, "Carry any governmentcotton this trip? No, I know you don't. Then you're in debt to thegovernment? Correct. So I reckon you'll carry me in place of thecotton."

  The demand was just. For their golden privileges the blockade runnerstook a portion of their cargo on government account. But Murguia knewthat the army of Northern Virginia must surrender soon. The Confederacywas really at an end, and this would be his last trip. Why, then, pay adying creditor?

  "The favor, senor! Or must I have you kicked off?"

  The senor, however, with his charger behind him, was foraging over thedeck to find a stall, and in a fury Murguia plucked at his sleeve. ButDriscoll wheeled of his own accord to inquire about horseaccommodations, and then the Mexican wondered in his timid soul at hisown boldness. It loomed before him as unutterably more preposterous thanthe lone wanderer's preposterous act of taking possession single handed.Yet the lone wanderer was only gazing down on him very benignly. Butwhat experience of violent life, of cool dealing in death, did poor DonAnastasio behold on those youthful features! In a panic he realizedcertain vital things. To evade his debt to a government that could neverclaim it was very seductive and business-like. But there were theConfederate batteries on the wharf, and a line of torpedoes across theentrance to the bay. There were the Federal cannon of Fort Morgan, justbeyond. His passenger, if rejected, had only to give the word, and therewould be some right eager shooting. And as the Southerners shot, intheir present mood, they would remember various matters. They wouldremember the treasure he had wrung from their distress; the cottonbought for ten cents and sold abroad for a dollar; the nitre, thegunpowder, the clothing and medicines, rated so mercilessly dear; theprofits boosted a thousand per cent., though an army was starving.

  And yet Murguia could not lift his soul from the few hundred dollars ofpassage money. He almost had his man by the sleeve again. But no, therewere four hundred odd bales on board. There was _La Luz_, his fleetL20,000 Clyde-built side-wheeler, bought out of the proceeds of a singleformer trip. Even if torpedoes and cannon missed, the Fort andblockaders outside would be thankful for the alarm, and make sure ofhim. A few hundred dollars was an amount, but the benignity inDriscoll's whimsical brown eyes meant a great deal more, such forinstance, as cotton and steamer and Don Anastasio plunging to the bottomof the bay.

  "Oh I s'y, sir," interrupted a voice in vigorous cockney, "this 'eretide ain't in the 'abit o' waitin'. If we go to-night, we go thisminute, sir!" It was the skipper, and the skipper's ultimatum.

  "W'y yes," drawled the lieutenant colonel, "let's be marching. I forgotto tell you, I'm in a hurry. Come on, Demijohn," and man and horse wentin search of beds.

  Murguia looked venomous, but the plank was drawn on board.