Chapter X: Part 10

Jose came back from the city, his eyes glittering with pride; he'd found Gerald's room at the Club quite undisturbed, and brought him a complete change of clothes and some shaving tackle. We went into one of the living rooms in the fort and made ourselves look more respectable, Jose coming with us and polishing Gerald's boots and gaiters till you could see your face in them.

All this time the men were round those carts stuffing themselves contentedly; but don't think that old Zorilla had forgotten us, rather not, he had sent us out some breakfast, and you may guess we were ready for it by the time we had cleaned.

'First meal in San Sebastian! I said so!' and I laughed.

'So it is! Well, here's luck to it!' Gerald answered; 'and thanks very much, Billums, for coming along with me.'

'My dear chap, don't be an ass!' was the only thing I could think to say.

'I wish I could make my little chaps give up their rifles,' he said, 'but I can't; they're too proud of them.'

'But surely if you disarmed them the regulars might attack them?' I asked, but Gerald only smiled.

'Of course not! My dear Billums, didn't I tell you that they are busy blacking out the yellow stripes; they'll obey my orders now as cheerfully as they'd have shot me an hour ago. Now Canilla has vanished Zorilla only takes orders from the New President--and that means me.'

'Oh!' I said, and, like the sailor's parrot, thought a good deal.

Then I gave him the mater's last letter, and, after he'd lighted his pipe, he sat back in a chair and read it, stretching his legs out in front of him whilst Jose knelt down buttoning up his gaiters and giving them a final polish. I did wish that the mater could have seen him.

Officers with green and black badges in their caps and helmets came backwards and forwards from the city for orders, and some of them, I saw, had done just as Gerald had said, simply turned the badges round and inked out the yellow stripe. It made me laugh, but he kept a face as sober as a judge, and sent them flying here, there, and everywhere, and they clicked their heels, saluted, and rushed off, as if he had always been their Commanding Officer. I don't expect they would have dared come among our little chaps without blacking out the yellow stripe, although now, with their stomachs full, they were quite peaceful and contented, and went to sleep on the slope below the fort or sat drying themselves in the sun, and forgot, for a time, about looting the city.

Mr. Arnstein, the German Minister, came out during the morning to arrange for the safety of European property, and as he was an old friend of my brother, was jolly pleasant. Whilst they were yarning together de Costa's Secretary drove hurriedly across the drawbridge, to say very excitedly that the New President and the Provisional Government were coming up the mountain road from Los Angelos, and wanted to see Gerald. Gerald sent him back again as quickly as he'd come.

'I'm hanged if I'm going down there,' he told me. 'For one thing, I daren't leave these chaps of mine. I've told him that it's simply impossible for me to leave San Sebastian, and told him to warn de Costa to bring along as many regulars as he can get hold of--as soon as they've shifted their badges.

'We shall have them here as soon as they can come,' he added, smiling. 'They'll be so frightened lest I seize the palace and become Dictator before they can get hold of it, that they'll come along like "one o'clock."'

He was right too. An hour later de Costa and the whole of the Provisional Government came rattling across the drawbridge, and simply threw themselves on old Gerald; they would have kissed him if he'd only taken his pipe out of his mouth, but as they'd got hold of both his hands he couldn't. They shook my hands, too, till they ached, and then went away to take up their quarters in the palace, feeling more easy in their minds, I expect, about that Dictatorship.

I wished that they had never come, for one of them had a note for me from the Commander of the _Hercules_, ordering me back on board as soon as possible.

I showed it to Gerald. 'Confound the ship, I'll have to go back at once.'

He got me a horse, and sent the 'Gnome' down with me in case there was any trouble on the road, shouting out, 'Good-bye! Hope to see you up again before long,' as we clattered out of San Sebastian. I shouted '_Buenos! Buenos!_' to the little brown chaps, a great number of them jumping up and giving me a fine 'send off' as we cantered down to the city.

Regular troops were at every corner--their badges twisted round and blackened--and it really was ludicrous to see the attempts the townspeople had made to show their loyalty to the New President; for at nearly every window there was some kind of an attempt at a black and green flag with the stripes horizontal.

A great number of people thought I was Gerald himself, so I came in for quite a royal reception, but we cantered rapidly through the square, field batteries at every corner, past the front of the cathedral, with that huge bell still jarring overhead, and as we passed the Hotel de l'Europe I looked up at the window from which Bob and I and the poor little 'Angel' had seen the funeral procession and tried to escape that beastly little ex-policeman. I wondered what had become of him, and whether the stumps of his fingers had healed.

It was a long and tedious journey down the road to Los Angelos, because at many places barricades, thrown up to prevent Gerald's troops advancing, were being lazily pulled down, and the litter on the road made it impossible to get along quickly.

However, I did not want to be caught in the dark, so we made our horses hurry whenever the road made it possible, and we managed to reach Los Angelos in two hours and a half. One of the boats belonging to the Santa Cruz flagship happened to be waiting alongside the wharf; the 'Gnome' said something to the coxswain, and off I went in her, in great style, to the _Hercules_. Good little 'Gnome,' he was pretty well worn out by the time I wished him good-bye, and he went away with our two horses.

*CHAPTER XVII*

*The Ex-policeman*

_Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._

As you can imagine, I wasn't half pleased to get back to the _Hercules_, and there I had to wait, not a soul being allowed ashore, for a whole week. We heard that order was being maintained in Santa Cruz, and as this was the chief thing Gerald worried about, I was very glad indeed. I never told you that, directly the English and United States Governments had recognised the insurgents, Canilla had sent every foreign Minister, except Mr. Arnstein, and every European merchant, out of the country. Now, however, they all came back from Princes' Town, and things seemed to be settling down peaceably, just as peaceably, indeed, as after a General Election and a change of Government at home. Canilla and a very small number of officials, who'd made themselves too obnoxious to stay, simply disappeared, finding their way down to some village farther along the coast, and taking refuge on board a Colombian gun-boat which happened to be there. No one seemed to worry about him or them--not in the least.

Then came a formal invitation for the Captain and Officers of H.M.S. _Hercules_ to attend the inauguration of the new Government. There was to be a triumphal entry of the former insurgent army into Santa Cruz, a full dress ceremony in the old cathedral, and a banquet afterwards at the palace. What made me so pleased was that they'd sent me a separate invitation, in recognition of my 'services to the Republic of Santa Cruz.' Just think of that! I've got the card now with a great spidery signature--Alvarez de Costa--across the bottom of it.

Captain Roger Hill couldn't possibly refuse to let me go, although I'm certain he would have done so if he could.

Gerald sent me a note telling me to meet him at the Club, and Mr. Macdonald, who had turned up again from Princes' Town, drove Ginger and Cousin Bob and myself up to Santa Cruz, just as he had done before.

We had to go in uniform, 'whites' with swords, and as mine was an old-fashioned helmet, which came down well over my eyes and the back of my neck, it hid my hair. The result was that hardly any one noticed me or mistook me for Gerald, though, wherever we went, there were shouts of '_Viva los Inglesas!_' from the crowds in the streets and at the windows. The English were tremendously popular, chiefly on account of Gerald, so Mr. Macdonald told us. 'Look up there!' he called out, as we came in sight of San Sebastian, and we saw that the slopes of the mountains, below and above it, were simply swarming with Gerald's little brown men in their white shirts.

It was just such another scorching hot day as the first time we'd been in Santa Cruz, and the whole place was a flutter of green and black, green and black flags in front of every house, green and black rosettes in every one's coats, and of course the regular troops were plastered with green and black badges.

Troops! Why, there were more regular troops than ever, cavalry, infantry, and artillery, and not a sign of the fierce little brown men in the streets or big square, except in front of the cathedral steps, where about two hundred of them formed a guard of honour, their ragged shirts and cotton drawers washed for the occasion, new cartridge-belts round their waists, and brown boots on their feet, but not looking particularly happy in their finery, although there was a great crowd watching them curiously. There was a funny feeling of tension in the air, and every one had the same worried expectant look on his face, just as I had noticed on that first day we drove through the city.

'Aren't there any women in the place?' Ginger asked. 'We never seem to see any,' and Mr. Macdonald shook his head. 'They know when there's danger. It's always a bad sign when they stay indoors. They're afraid of the insurgent troops from the forests down south and the plains away to the north. There's no knowing what they'll do when they enter the city. Every one's nervous about them.'

We drove to the Club, and there we found any number of fellows from the _Hercules_, and most of the European residents too. They had the same anxious look about them as we'd noticed outside, and one of them, turning to me, said that practically everything depended on my brother and his personal influence and popularity with the ragged armed mob who were going to march into Santa Cruz. He told me that Gerald had just gone up to his room, so Ginger and Bob and I went up and found him changing into clean things, Jose, with a huge black and green rosette in his coat, helping him. I introduced Ginger, and unbuckling our sword-belts we sat on his bed and yarned to him.

'How are your chaps going to behave?' I asked him.

'So long as I can keep my eye on them they'll be all right,' he said, 'but I don't like the idea of leaving them outside when I have to go into the cathedral, or to that banquet they talk so much about. I wish to goodness I hadn't to go through this tomfoolery; I have to ride immediately behind the President's carriage. (How the dickens can he expect to be popular if he don't ride a horse?) He won't let me off the job either, although he's jealous of me, and hates hearing people singing out my name, but he knows he can't keep my little brown chaps in hand himself, so he's going to keep me as close to him as possible.'

'But _must_ they come in?' Ginger asked.

'Yes!' he said; 'they must. They must have their triumphal entry. I've had bother enough keeping them out as long as this, but they won't go home till they can say that they've marched through Santa Cruz as victors. Thank goodness, they've hardly got a cartridge among them.'

'How many are there?' Ginger began to ask, when there was a gentle tap on the door, and one of the Club servants came in, handed Gerald a visiting card, and went out again.

'I don't know who the chap is,' Gerald said, looking at it; 'I wish people wouldn't bother me now.'

There was another tap at the door, and in came a man, dressed in a black frock-coat and grey trousers, holding a tall silk hat with the thumb and the stumps of the fingers of his right hand. For a second I seemed to feel frozen with fear, for it was the ex-policeman, the man whose fingers I'd cut off on the beach at San Fernando, and as I sprang at him, he drew a revolver from his breast with his left hand, dodged round me, and fired point-blank at Gerald. I heard Gerald catch his breath, and I'd caught the revolver, hurled it away, and got the brute by the neck in a second, Jose, with a scream, rushing across to help me. He reeled over the foot of Gerald's bed, and whether Jose choked him, or I broke his back in my rage, I don't know, but he gave a shudder, slipped out of our hands, and flopped down on the floor--dead. Oh! that I had killed him that day at San Fernando!

I turned to Gerald, who was standing where he'd been shot, with his hand over his stomach, Ginger and Bob holding his arms.

'He got me in the stomach, Billums,' he said quietly.

'Don't move a muscle,' I yelled, 'we'll lift you on the bed.'

As we laid him down very carefully, people came rushing up from down below to know what had happened.

'Get a doctor,' I shouted, and I know that I was blubbing like a child.

Dr. Robson of the _Hercules_ came rushing up, and I shall never forget how we three watched his face as he pulled down Gerald's riding breeches, very carefully, to examine the wound.

'When did you have food last?' he said, and when Gerald answered, 'Six hours ago,' he muttered, 'Thank God!'

'What size bullet was it? Show me the revolver.'

Bob brought it. It was a Mauser automatic pistol.

'Well, what's the verdict?' Gerald asked quite calmly.

'I can't say, must get some one else. Don't move till I come back--not a muscle,' and Dr. Robson went away.

Ginger went away too, some one dragged the body out of the room, and only Bob, white and trembling, with tears running down his face, Jose, crouching dumb with grief on the floor, and myself stayed with him.

Oh! that I'd killed the brute when I'd had that chance at San Fernando!

I saw that Gerald was thinking and worrying about something. Presently he said: 'Billums, old chap, you've often asked me why I left the rubber job; I wanted excitement, and I wanted to see how I could run a revolution. Well, I've run it; I'm the Commander-in-Chief, or whatever they call it, of the Republic, and this is a great day for Englishmen out here; we were rather going "under" before the revolution, but now our chaps are "top of the tree," and an Englishman must be behind de Costa's carriage to-day. It's up to you now, you must take my place.'

'I can't, Gerald; I can't really--I can't leave you,' I stuttered, half choking.

He thought a moment, and then went on. 'You must, Billums. You know the reason. They're afraid of my men. Once they get into the city with arms in their hands they may get out of hand at the least thing, they are so wild and excitable. I am the only one who can control them, and for them to sack Santa Cruz would spoil all I have done. In my rig, you will be as like me as two peas, and so long as they think I'm there, giving all the orders, they'll obey their officers. They won't otherwise.'

Just then there were some firm footsteps outside the door, and General Zorilla came gently in, in full uniform, covered with medals, his old war-worn face looking very sad, his thin lips very tightly pressed together. He smiled at me, and then gripped Gerald's hand, his stern old face working strangely. They talked together for a minute or two, and I knew somehow or other that they were not talking of Gerald himself.

'Yes, Billums! it's up to you now. You must get into my ordinary rig out. Zorilla wants you to do so, too--says it's the only thing that can save Santa Cruz.'

'But a great many people will know me!' I cried.

'Many more won't; the people of the city won't, and most of my men will think you are I. You've only got to ride behind that carriage and return salutes, and you've done it. You must do it, Billums; my horse is as quiet as a lamb, he doesn't even mind their atrocious bands or the guns firing.'

I'd never felt so utterly wretched in my life. 'All right, I'll try,' I said.

Zorilla bowed to me and went out, though, first of all, looking very sad, he clicked his heels and saluted poor old Gerald as he lay on the bed. Jose, with red eyes and trembling fingers, began unbuttoning Gerald's gaiters, while Bob and I held his legs above the knee to prevent any shaking. The only clean riding breeches Gerald had were the ones he was wearing, so he made us take them off. I stripped and got into them; I could not have felt more miserable if I was going to be hanged, and to make things more wretched, just below the inner left braces button was the small hole made by the bullet and a tiny stain of blood.

I dragged them on, Jose laced them at the knees, then I put on Gerald's brown boots, and Jose fastened on his gaiters, rubbing off his tear-marks with his sleeve. He helped me into one of Gerald's white duck 'Norfolk' jackets and handed me his newest polo helmet.

'You're the very thing,' Gerald said, looking at me, and even Jose appeared astonished, so I suppose I must have looked very much like my brother.

Then Dr. Robson came back with the Fleet Surgeon of the _Hercules_ and the swagger Santa Cruz surgeon, an extraordinarily fat man with fat, greasy, tobacco-stained fingers covered with rings. They examined the wound again, and the fat man shrugged his shoulders and I saw him draw one finger across the other hand and look at Robson very suggestively.

I knew he meant to cut Gerald open.

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.

I simply hugged his thin old hand.

What a beastly cad de Costa was. Riding behind him, two hours ago, I thought he meant mischief, and now I knew that he'd only been waiting till Gerald's men were safely outside the city again. I really don't know whether he had heard of Gerald's wound, and knew that I was only his brother or not, but if he had heard of it, I hated him all the more--the miserable ungrateful coward!

Presently the carriage stopped outside a big house, and Zorilla took me in through the courtyard. It turned out to be his own house, and Dr. Robson, Ginger, and Bob were there.

'How's Gerald?' I sang out, and gave a whoop of joy when Dr. Robson said, 'We found several holes to stitch up, I don't think we missed any, so I hope he'll do well.'

He stopped me making an ass of myself, 'Your brother is upstairs, you can't see him yet.'

Fancy Zorilla having taken him to his own house! Wasn't that just what you'd have expected of the dear old man?

I was so brimming over with anger about the warrant that, for a second or two, I had an insane idea of riding off to those barracks and bringing back Gerald's men, seizing the palace and the President, and proclaiming Gerald Dictator. I'm certain that if only I'd known a few words of Spanish I could have done it.

I don't know whether Zorilla guessed what I was thinking about, but I caught him watching my face, smiling very grimly, and then he said, 'Inglese Minister com',' and took me away in his carriage.

We found him, and Zorilla evidently explained what had happened, for he said, 'Don't bother your head about your brother; if Zorilla won't execute the warrant, no one else will, and no one will dare to disturb him while he's in the General's house.'

He drove back with us, and then the two of them went away to the palace and had a pretty stormy interview with the President, leaving me to potter about with Bob and Ginger till it was possible to see old Gerald. They came back again before I was allowed to go into his room.

'We reduced him to pulp,' the British Minister said; 'he caved in immediately, and apologised to both of us. Zorilla threatened to bring in the insurgent troops and his own regulars and make him a prisoner if he didn't immediately cancel the warrant and re-appoint your brother Commander-in-Chief. He was petrified with funk and wriggled out of it like the ungainly toad he is.'

Then Dr. Robson called out that Gerald was asking for me, so I went softly upstairs into a big bedroom, where he lay, his face very puffy, with a nun on each side of his bed, looking after him. They dropped their eyes as I bowed. Jose was crouched in a corner gleaming at me like a faithful dog.

'I _am_ so glad,' was all I could say, as I gripped Gerald's hand under the clothes.

'Everything go off well?' he asked.

'Yes, grand! the cheers for you made more noise than anything else.'

'De Costa will be getting jealous,' he smiled feebly. 'How did my chaps behave?'

'Had a little trouble getting them out of the city again,' I told him; 'but I went with them, and as soon as they smelt the grub in the barracks, they bolted for it.'

He smiled again, 'Good little chaps!'

Of course I did not tell him of that warrant.

'If he gets over the first three or four days safely he'll be all right,' Dr. Robson told me; and before the British Minister went away, I implored him to try and get leave for me to stay in Santa Cruz till then. He was awfully decent, drove straight away to the Club, found Captain Roger Hill, got leave not only for me but for Cousin Bob, and made us stay at his house too--which was jolly kind of him. As it was not far from General Zorilla's house we could very often run in to see Gerald for a few minutes at a time.

They sent our clothes up from the ship, and as Gerald went on very well indeed, we had quite a good time; but on the second day after he'd been shot, I had to get into my brother's things and lead his little brown chaps down to Los Angelos. They wouldn't go without him, were getting troublesome again, and the city was in deadly fear lest they should still take it into their heads to sack the place. The little chaps still took me for Gerald whilst I was on horseback, with his polo helmet jammed down over my head, but I don't imagine that most of the officers did so. They pretended that I was Gerald in order to keep their men under control, and were much too anxious to get back to their homes and plantations in the provinces to give the show away.

The 'Gnome' and Jose both came with me to help the deception, and I heard the 'Gnome' give a great sigh of relief when, eventually, the last of Gerald's men were put aboard those transports inside the breakwater. As each transport steamed out of the harbour, the little Santa Cruz ships cheered wildly and the men cheered back, '_Viva los Horizontals!' 'Viva de Costa!' 'Viva Don Geraldio!_' and as the last one steamed slowly round the lighthouse and passed the _Hercules_, I could still hear cries of '_Viva Don Geraldio!' 'Viva los Inglesas!_'

I stood on the wharf for some time, watching the transports steaming along the coast, some northwards, the others to the south, and I really felt very sorry to see the last of the little chaps with whom I had gone through so many exciting days. I could see that the 'Gnome,' however relieved he was for them to go away, felt as I did, and they seemed to have had so little reward for all they'd done in the last three months that you couldn't help feeling that, after all their pluck and hardships, they hadn't gained much for themselves.

We rode slowly up the mountain to Santa Cruz, and at that sharp turning, where we had seen the yellow and green flag last flying, we stopped and for a minute watched the transports, little smoky dots on the glistening sea, a thousand feet below us, as they carried the brave little chaps to their homes.

On the fifth morning after the operation, Bob and I had to wish Gerald good-bye, and go back to the _Hercules_. He was going on grandly.

'You'll have a pretty big job as Commander-in-Chief when you get well,' I said jokingly, but he shook his head. 'No, Billums! I shall chuck it and try and make some money on the estate again. I'm rather bored with revolutions and fighting just at present, and want to get away from here. I'll get that little chap you call the "Gnome" to come with me, and I'll see if I can't pay off some of my debts.'

No one had told Gerald about the warrant, so it wasn't funk which made him think of leaving Santa Cruz, and you can guess how pleased I was to hear him say this, and how jolly pleased the mater would be too.

'We've had an exciting three months of it, old chap, haven't we? but I'm going to take a rest. We've done all this fighting and killing, marching and starving, and we've only turned out one bad President to put another, just as bad, in his place. The game's not worth the candle.'

At the back of my mind I really thought the same, and I only hoped that he would still stick to his determination when he did get strong again. I had to leave him there, in Zorilla's house--with the two nuns and Jose to look after him--and Bob and I rode, for the last time, through that square.

Dear old Zorilla had lent us horses, and he and the 'Gnome' came with us along the road past San Sebastian and beyond the spot where Bob, the 'Angel,' and I had knocked over the carriage with the _Hercules_' midshipmen, right along till the road began to drop down towards Los Angelos.

I shook the old man's hand--I felt that Gerald would be safe with him--and I gripped the 'Gnome's' hand too; it was all I could do, for we could not speak each other's languages, and we rode away. At the next turning we looked back and they were still there, watching us, the General on his big black horse and the 'Gnome' on a little white one--showing up against the sky. We waved our hats, they gravely waved theirs, and that was the last we saw of them. We both felt intensely miserable, and didn't say a word for quite half an hour, when Bob at last said, 'Do you know what those two remind me of?--the picture of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.'

I smiled at him. No knight of old could have been a grander chap than was old Zorilla, and I thought of what the British Minister had told me just before we left him. 'The first time in his life that old Zorilla has ever been known to disobey an order was when he tore your brother's warrant into pieces.'

Funnily enough, the one thing that always makes me feel so glad, when I now think of this three months, was that I rescued his black horse, and was the means of him getting it back again.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*The *_*Hector*_* goes Home*

_Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._

I have not much more to tell you.

The _Hercules_ went off to Bermuda the morning after Bob and I had come back from Santa Cruz, and we waited on deck till the long lines of towering black mountains were lost to sight. I couldn't bear to leave Gerald up among them, although he was in Zorilla's house, and practically out of danger, as far as the wound was concerned, but I'd learnt enough about politics, and the way they were 'run' in the Republic, to feel sure that his greatest danger lay in the jealousy of the New President, and that he would never be safe in the country--not even if he did resign the Command of the forces.

We ran through the 'Narrows' five days later and anchored in Grassy Bay, off the naval dockyard of Ireland Island, Bermuda. It was rather a shock to see the poor old _Hector's_ two funnels and damaged foremast sticking up behind the dockyard wall, and I noticed that Bob and one or two of the others looked very white when they saw them.

As soon as the repairs to her ward-room had been completed the officers moved out of the gun-room, and I and my mids. were sent aboard her again. It didn't make much difference to me, but a good many of the mids. did not like going back a little bit. The still half-dismantled ship had too many sad memories for them, and I am sorry to say that Cousin Bob began to mope again--everything reminded him too much of his poor little chum.

Every morning, before breakfast, I made them all run round the dockyard to Moresby Plain, for a hockey practice, below the little Naval Club, and whilst we remained here we had two very pleasant games against the _Hercules'_ gun-room, but as we had none to fill, properly, the 'Angel's' place at 'centre-half,' or Barton's at 'outside-right,' were beaten both times.

'What a difference, Ginger, old chap,' I said, as we watched them scrambling into the tea-house together, after the match, just as chummy as they could be.

'Difference!' Perkins, who was standing near us, said, smiling, 'I should think it was a difference. They won't leave a thimbleful of tea or a bun in the place, and I shall have to go without any, I suppose.'

'It's taken a good deal to make 'em friends, hasn't it?' Ginger said sadly.

A fortnight later Gerald sent me a telegram, as he had promised, to say that he was allowed out of bed, and I knew that he had sent the same message home to the mater, and felt awfully glad.

Nothing more happened at Bermuda worth telling about; we had to work very hard indeed; in six weeks' time the ship was seaworthy enough to steam home, and one beautiful Sunday morning in May, the _Hercules_ and ourselves anchored behind Plymouth breakwater.

As you can imagine, the poor old _Hector_ was a great object of curiosity, and paddle-boats were bringing people off from shore, and steaming round her, all day long.

Next morning two dockyard tugs made fast alongside us, we slipped our moorings, and as their paddles began churning the water and we commenced to move up harbour, Captain Roger Hill unbent, for the first time in his life, and 'cheered ship.'

'Three cheers for the _Hector_,' we heard his Commander shout, and the whole crew swarmed on the upperworks and sent us three great cheers.

'Tut, tut, lad!' our Skipper stuttered, dropping his eyeglass, '"Old Spats" has forgotten himself. Look at him! He's actually waving his cap.'

He nodded to the Commander, whose great roaring voice bellowed out, 'Three cheers for Captain Roger Hill and the _Hercules_,' and we all shouted.

We were taken up harbour and put into dry dock immediately, and we heard that we should probably stay there for several months.

As soon as it could be arranged, we got up a subscription for a tablet to the memory of all our people who'd been killed in that fight with _La Buena Presidente_, and got permission to place it in Portsmouth Dockyard Chapel, where you can see it now.

There were, unfortunately, a great number of names to go on it--Montague, Clegg, Bigge, Pearson, the 'Forlorn Hope' and his chum the 'Shadow' (whose name was put there because he died as a result of the fight), Barton, the 'Angel,' Marchant (the Inkslinger), the cheery, good-tempered, little Captain's Clerk, and below these the names of fifty-four men--several had died of their wounds at Princes' Town Colonial Hospital.

Cousin Bob still moped and slept badly, often waking the whole of the gun-room flat by shrieking in his sleep, so that I worried very much about him. I told the Captain.

'Well, boy! What d'you want me to do? The Fleet Surgeon has been speaking about him too.'

'I think it would be best to send him home for as long as you can, sir,' I said.

'Right oh, lad! Tell him to leave his address and I'll wire for him when I want him. Have a bit of lunch?'

I stayed to lunch with him, and we talked about Gerald.

'Grand chap! grand chap! a little too haughty for me. Grand chap though--never thanked me for taking him that hydraulic machinery.'

'But he never thought you knew about it, sir,' I said, surprised.

He polished his eyeglass very carefully, screwed it into his eye, and then very deliberately winked at me.

I shipped Cousin Bob off home that very day and was jolly glad to get him away from the ship, although, as a matter of fact, I need not have been in such a hurry, because all the mids. were sent to other ships a few days later. Still he managed to get a little longer leave than the others, and I had a very grateful letter from his sister Daisy.

I had a long letter, too, from Gerald some time afterwards. He had gone back to the rubber plantation with Jose and the 'Gnome,' and said that he was jolly glad to get back there again, start rebuilding the house and planting more trees, but I feared that he was of much too restless a disposition to remain there for long.

Old Zorilla had taken on his job as Commander-in-Chief, and Gerald said that things were going on swimmingly, though what actual difference the change of President had made, he was hanged if he could tell. Little Navarro was limping about Santa Cruz as cheerful as ever, and every one wanted to be remembered to me.

Well, however long I live, I shall never forget them.