by Bret Harte
CHAPTER VI.
"HAIL AND FAREWELL."
Supper was served in the inner room opening from the corridor lit bya few swinging lanterns of polished horn and a dozen wax candles ofsacerdotal size and suggestion. The apartment, though spacious, was lowand crypt-like, and was not relieved by the two deep oven-like hearthsthat warmed it without the play of firelight. But when the company hadassembled it was evident that the velvet jackets, gold lace, silverbuttons, and red sashes of the entertainers not only lost their tawdryand theatrical appearance in the half decorous and thoughtful gloom, butactually seemed more in harmony with it than the modern dresses of theguests. It was the Excelsior party who looked strange and bizarre inthese surroundings; to the sensitive fancy of Miss Keene, Mrs. Brimmer'sParisian toilet had an air of provincial assumption; her own prettyZouave jacket and black silk skirt horrified her with its apparentostentatious eccentricity; and Mrs. Markham and Miss Chubb seemeddowdy and overdressed beside the satin mantillas and black lace of theSenoritas. Nor were the gentlemen less outres: the stiff correctnessof Mr. Banks, and the lighter foppishness of Winslow and Crosby, not tomention Senor Perkins' more pronounced unconventionality, appeared asburlesques of their own characters in a play. The crowning contrast wasreached by Captain Bunker, who, in accordance with the habits of themercantile marine of that period when in port, wore a shore-going suitof black broadcloth, with a tall hat, high shirt collar, and diamondpin. Seated next to the Commander, it was no longer Don Miguel wholooked old-fashioned, it was Captain Bunker who appeared impossible.
Nevertheless, as the meal progressed, lightened by a sweet native winemade from the Mission grape, and stimulated by champagne--a present ofCaptain Bunker from the cabin lockers of the Excelsior--this contrast,and much of the restraint that it occasioned, seemed to melt away. Thepassengers became talkative; the Commander and his friends unbent, andgrew sympathetic and inquiring. The temptation to recite the news of thelast half century, and to recount the wonderful strides of civilizationin that time, was too great to be resisted by the Excelsior party. Thatsome of them--notwithstanding the caution of Senor Perkins--approacheddangerously near the subject of the late war between the United Statesand Mexico, of which Todos Santos was supposed to be still ignorant,or that Crosby in particular seized upon this opportunity for humorousexaggeration, may be readily imagined. But as the translation of thehumorist's speech, as well as the indiscretions of his companions, wereleft to the Senor, in Spanish, and to Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Keene, inFrench, any imminent danger to the harmony of the evening was averted.Don Ramon Ramirez, the Alcalde, a youngish man of evident distinction,sat next to Miss Keene, and monopolized her conversation with a certaincuriosity that was both grave and childish in its frank trustfulness.Some of his questions were so simple and incompatible with his apparentintelligence that she unconsciously lowered her voice in answering them,in dread of the ridicule of her companions. She could not resist theimpression, which repeatedly obtruded upon her imagination, thatthe entire population of Todos Santos were a party of lost children,forgotten by their parents, and grown to man and womanhood in utterignorance of the world.
The Commander had, half informally, drunk the health of Captain Bunker,without rising from his seat, when, to Miss Keene's alarm, CaptainBunker staggered to his feet. He had been drinking freely, as usual; buthe was bent on indulging a loquacity which his discipline on shipboardhad hitherto precluded, and which had, perhaps, strengthened hissolitary habit. His speech was voluble and incoherent, complimentary andtactless, kindly and aggressive, courteous and dogmatic. It was leftto Senor Perkins to translate it to the eye and ear of his host withoutincongruity or offense. This he did so admirably as to elicit not onlythe applause of the foreigners who did not understand English, but ofhis own countrymen who did not understand Spanish.
"I feel," said Senor Perkins, in graceful peroration, "that I havedone poor justice to the eloquence of this gallant sailor. My unhappytranslation cannot offer you that voice, at times trembling withgenerous emotion, and again inaudible from excessive modesty in thepresence of this illustrious assembly--those limbs that waver and bendunder the undulations of the chivalrous sentiment which carries him awayas if he were still on that powerful element he daily battles with andconquers."
But when coffee and sweets were reached, the crowning triumph of SenorPerkins' oratory was achieved. After an impassioned burst of enthusiasmtowards his hosts in their own tongue, he turned towards his own partywith bland felicity.
"And how is it with us, dear friends? We find ourselves not in theport we were seeking; not in the goal of our ambition, the haven of ourhopes; but on the shores of the decaying past. 'Ever drifting' on one ofthose--
'Shifting Currents of the restless main,'
if our fascinating friend Mrs. Brimmer will permit us to use the wordsof her accomplished fellow-townsman, H. W. Longfellow, of Boston--wefind ourselves borne not to the busy hum and clatter of modernprogress, but to the soft cadences of a dying crusade, and the hush ofecclesiastical repose. In place of the busy marts of commerce andthe towering chimneys of labor, we have the ruined embattlements of awarlike age, and the crumbling church of an ancient Mission. Towardsthe close of an eventful voyage, during which we have been guided by theskillful hand and watchful eye of that gallant navigator Captain Bunker,we have turned aside from our onward course of progress to look back fora moment upon the faded footprints of those who have so long precededus, who have lived according to their lights, and whose record is nowbefore us. As I have just stated, our journey is near its end, andwe may, in some sense, look upon this occasion, with its sumptuousentertainment, and its goodly company of gallant men and fair women, asa parting banquet. Our voyage has been a successful one. I do not nowespecially speak of the daring speculations of the distinguished husbandof a beautiful lady whose delightful society is known to us all--need Isay I refer to Quincy Brimmer, Esq., of Boston" (loud applause)--"whosesuccessful fulfillment of a contract with the Peruvian Government, andthe landing of munitions of war at Callao, has checked the uprisingof the Quinquinambo insurgents? I do not refer especially to ourkeen-sighted business friend Mr. Banks" (applause), "who, by buying upall the flour in Callao, and shipping it to California, has virtuallystarved into submission the revolutionary party of Ariquipa--I do notrefer to these admirable illustrations of the relations of commerce andpolitics, for this, my friends--this is history, and beyond my feeblepraise. Let me rather speak of the social and literary triumphs of ourlittle community, of our floating Arcadia--may I say Olympus? Whereshall we find another Minerva like Mrs. Markham, another Thalia likeMiss Chubb, another Juno like Mrs. Brimmer, worthy of the Jove-likeQuincy Brimmer; another Queen of Love and Beauty like--like"--continuedthe gallant Senor, with an effective oratorical pause, and a profoundobeisance to Miss Keene, "like one whose mantling maiden blushes forbidme to name?" (Prolonged applause.) "Where shall we find more worthymortals to worship them than our young friends, the handsome Brace,the energetic Winslow, the humorous Crosby? When we look back upon ourconcerts and plays, our minstrel entertainments, with the incomparableperformances of our friend Crosby as Brother Bones; our recitations,to which the genius of Mrs. M'Corkle, of Peoria, Illinois, has lent hercharm and her manuscript" (a burlesque start of terror from Crosby),"I am forcibly impelled to quote the impassioned words from that giftedwoman,--
'When idly Life's barque on the billows of Time, Drifts hither and yon by eternity's sea; On the swift feet of verse and the pinions of rhyme My thoughts, Ulricardo, fly ever to thee!'"
"Who's Ulricardo?" interrupted Crosby, with assumed eagerness, followedby a "hush!" from the ladies.
"Perhaps I should have anticipated our friend's humorous question," saidSenor Perkins, with unassailable good-humor. "Ulricardo, though notmy own name, is a poetical substitute for it, and a mere figure ofapostrophe. The poem is personal to myself," he continued, with a slightincrease of color in his smooth cheek which did not escape th
e attentionof the ladies,--"purely as an exigency of verse, and that the inspiredauthoress might more easily express herself to a friend. My acquaintancewith Mrs. M'Corkle has been only epistolary. Pardon this digression, myfriends, but an allusion to the muse of poetry did not seem to me to beinconsistent with our gathering here. Let me briefly conclude by sayingthat the occasion is a happy and memorable one; I think I echo thesentiment of all present when I add that it is one which will not beeasily forgotten by either the grateful guests, whose feelings I havetried to express, or the chivalrous hosts, whose kindness I have alreadyso feebly translated."
In the applause that followed, and the clicking of glasses, SenorPerkins slipped away. He mingled a moment with some of the other guestswho had already withdrawn to the corridor, lit a cigar, and then passedthrough a narrow doorway on to the ramparts. Here he strolled to somedistance, as if in deep thought, until he reached a spot where thecrumbling wall and its fallen debris afforded an easy descent into theditch. Following the ditch, he turned an angle, and came upon the beach,and the low sound of oars in the invisible offing. A whistle brought theboat to his feet, and without a word he stepped into the stern sheets. Afew strokes of the oars showed him that the fog had lifted slightlyfrom the water, and a green light hanging from the side of the Excelsiorcould be plainly seen. Ten minutes' more steady pulling placed him onher deck, where the second officer stood with a number of the sailorslistlessly grouped around him.
"The landing has been completed?" said Senor Perkins interrogatively.
"All except one boat-load more, which waits to take your finalinstructions," said the mate. "The men have growled a little about it,"he added, in a lower tone. "They don't want to lose anything, it seems,"he continued, with a half sarcastic laugh.
Senor Perkins smiled peculiarly.
"I am sorry to disappoint them. Who's that in the boat?" he askedsuddenly.
The mate followed the Senor's glance.
"It is Yoto. He says he is going ashore, and you will not forbid him."
Senor Perkins approached the ship's side.
"Come here," he said to the man.
The Peruvian sailor rose, but did not make the slightest movement toobey the command.
"You say you are going ashore?" said Perkins blandly.
"Yes, Patrono."
"What for?"
"To follow him--the thief, the assassin--who struck me here;" he pointedto his head. "He has escaped again with his booty."
"You are very foolish, my Yoto; he is no thief, and has no booty. Theywill put YOU in prison, not him."
"YOU say so," said the man surlily. "Perhaps they will hear me--forother things," he added significantly.
"And for this you would abandon the cause?"
The man shrugged his shoulders.
"Why not?" he glanced meaningly at two of his companions, who hadapproached the side; "perhaps others would. Who is sending the bootyashore, eh?"
"Come out of that boat," said the Senor, leaning over the bulwarks withfolded arms, and his eyes firmly fixed on the man.
The man did not move. But the Senor's hand suddenly flew to the backof his neck, smote violently downwards, and sent eighteen inches ofglittering steel hurtling through the air. The bowie-knife enteredthe upturned throat of the man and buried itself halfway to the hilt.Without a gasp or groan he staggered forward, caught wildly at the sideof the ship, and disappeared between the boat and the vessel.
"My lads," said Senor Perkins, turning with a gentle smile towards thefaces that in the light of the swinging lantern formed a ghastly circlearound him, "when I boarded this ship that had brought aid and succorto our oppressors at Callao, I determined to take possession of itpeacefully, without imperiling the peace and property of the innocentpassengers who were intrusted to its care, and without endangering yourown lives or freedom. But I made no allowance for TRAITORS. The bloodthat has been shed to-night has not been spilt in obedience to myorders, nor to the cause that we serve; it was from DEFIANCE of it; andthe real and only culprit has just atoned for it."
He stopped, and then stepped back from the gangway, as if to leave itopen to the men.
"What I have done," he continued calmly, "I do not ask you to considereither as an example or a warning. You are free to do what HE would havedone," he repeated, with a wave of his hand towards the open gangway andthe empty boat. "You are free to break your contract and leave the ship,and I give you my word that I will not lift a hand to prevent it. But ifyou stay with me," he said, suddenly turning upon them a face as lividas their own, "I swear by the living God, that, if between this and theaccomplishment of my design, you as much as shirk or question any ordergiven by me, you shall die the death of that dog who went before you.Choose as you please--but quickly."
The mate was the first to move. Without a word, he crossed over tothe Senor's side. The men hesitated a moment longer, until one, witha strange foreign cry, threw himself on his knees before the Senor,ejaculating, "Pardon! pardon!" The others followed, some impulsivelycatching at the hand that had just slain their comrade, and covering itwith kisses!
"Pardon, Patrono--we are yours."
"You are the State's," said Senor Perkins coldly, with every vestige ofhis former urbanity gone from his colorless face. "Enough! Go back toyour duty." He watched them slink away, and then turned to the mate."Get the last boat-load ready, and report to me."
From that moment another power seemed to dominate the ship. The men nolonger moved listlessly, or slunk along the deck with perfunctory limbs;a feverish haste and eagerness possessed them; the boat was quicklyloaded, and the mysterious debarkation completed in rapidity andsilence. This done, the fog once more appeared to rise from the waterand softly encompass the ship, until she seemed to be obliterated fromits face. In this vague obscurity, from time to time, the faint rattlingof chains was heard, the soft creaking of blocks, and later on, theregular rise and fall of oars. And then the darkness fell heavier, thesounds became more and more indistinct and were utterly lost.
Ashore, however, the lanterns still glittered brightly in the courtyardof the Presidio; the noise of laughter and revel still came from thesupper-room, and, later, the tinkling of guitars and rhythmicalclapping hands showed that the festivities were being wound up by acharacteristic fandango. Captain Bunker succumbed early to his potationsof fiery aguardiente, and was put to bed in the room of the Commander,to whom he had sworn eternal friendship and alliance. It was longpast midnight before the other guests were disposed of in the variousquarters of the Presidio; but to the ladies were reserved the moreostentatious hospitalities of the Alcalde himself, the walls of whoseambitious hacienda raised themselves across the plaza and overlooked thegardens of the Mission.
It was from one of the deep, quaintly barred windows of the haciendathat Miss Keene gazed thoughtfully on the night, unable to composeherself to sleep. An antique guest-chamber had been assigned to her indeference to her wish to be alone, for which she had declined the couchand vivacious prattle of her new friend, Dona Isabel. The events of theday had impressed her more deeply than they had her companions, partlyfrom her peculiar inexperience of the world, and partly from hersingular sensitiveness to external causes. The whole quaint story ofthe forgotten and isolated settlement, which had seemed to the otherpassengers as a trivial and half humorous incident, affected herimagination profoundly. When she could escape the attentions of herentertainers, or the frivolities of her companions, she tried to touchthe far-off past on the wings of her fancy; she tried to imagine thelife of those people, forgetting the world and forgotten by it; sheendeavored to picture the fifty years of solitude amidst these decayingruins, over which even ambition had crumbled and fallen. It seemed toher the true conventual seclusion from the world without the loss ofkinship or home influences; she contrasted it with her boarding-schoollife in the fashionable seminary; she wondered what she would havebecome had she been brought up here; she thought of the happy ignoranceof Dona Isabel, and--shuddered; and yet she felt herself examiningth
e odd furniture of the room with an equally childlike and admiringcuriosity. And these people looked upon HER as a superior being!
From the deep embrasure of the window she could see the tops of the pearand olive trees, in the misty light of an invisible moon that suffusedthe old Mission garden with an ineffable and angelic radiance. To herreligious fancy it seemed to be a spiritual effusion of the churchitself, enveloping the two gray dome-shaped towers with an atmosphereand repose of its own, until it became the incarnate mystery and passionwhere it stood.
She was suddenly startled by a moving shadow beside the wall, almostimmediately below her--the figure of a man! He was stealing cautiouslytowards the church, as if to gain the concealment of the shrubberythat grew beside it, and, furtively glancing from side to side, lookedtowards her window. She unconsciously drew back, forgetting at themoment that her light was extinguished, and that it was impossiblefor the stranger to see her. But she had seen HIM, and in that instantrecognized Mr. Hurlstone!
Then he HAD come ashore, and secretly, for the other passengers believedhim still on the ship! But what was he doing there?--and why had he notappeared with the others at the entertainment? She could understandhis avoidance of them from what she knew of his reserved and unsocialhabits; but when he could so naturally have remained on shipboard, shecould not, at first, conceive why he should wish to prowl around thetown at the risk of detection. The idea suddenly occurred to her thathe had had another attack of his infirmity and was walking in his sleep,and for an instant she thought of alarming the house, that some onemight go to his assistance. But his furtive movements had not the sereneimpassibility of the somnambulist. Another thought withheld her; he hadlooked up at her window! Did he know she was there? A faint stirring ofshame and pleasure sent a slight color to her cheek. But he had gainedthe corner of the shrubbery and was lost in the shadow. She turned fromthe window. A gentle sense of vague and half maternal pity suffused hersoft eyes as she at last sought her couch and fell into a deep slumber.
Towards daybreak a wind arose over the sleeping town and far outlyingwaters. It breathed through the leaves of the Mission garden, brushedaway the clinging mists from the angles of the towers, and restoredthe sharp outlines of the ruined fortifications. It swept across theunruffled sea to where the Excelsior, cradled in the softly heaving bay,had peacefully swung at anchor on the previous night, and lifted thesnowy curtain of the fog to seaward as far as the fringe of surf, aleague away.
But the cradle of the deep was empty--the ship was gone!
