Up the Forked River: or, Adventures in South America

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.

CHAPTER XXXVI

The fire ant of the tropics does not merely bite into the animal or person who disturbs it, but bites out, as may be said. It abstracts a fragment of one’s anatomy, so that, had General Bambos been placed on a delicate pair of scales immediately before and after his nipping, there would have been an appreciable difference in his weight. Since Major Starland himself had suffered from the fierce little pest, he understood what had befallen the other. He tried to express his sympathy, but instead, threw back his head and gave way to merriment.

The victim was suffering too much from his hurt to pay heed to the laughter which must have struck him as untimely, but no doubt he would have turned on the American, had not the hoarse whistle of the tugboat sounded, and brought him hurrying from the cabin. They were nearing the bend of the river around which the Major had seen the catboat containing General Yozarro and his friends disappear. That Captain Ortega was right in what he said was proved by the emergence of the smaller craft from under the heavy foliage along shore. In answer to the signal of the tug, it glided out from shelter, propelled by two of the men with poles. The sail was not hoisted, for the wind had fallen to a calm. The Captain turned to meet the catboat, for he knew the depth of the water permitted him to run close to the bank, but he halted when a few rods away and waited for the other to come up.

General Yozarro could not be expected fully to understand the changed conditions, with the American yacht steaming forward a short way behind his own boat. Captain Ortega called out a brief explanation, and the men continued poling until the smaller craft lay alongside the larger one. General Bambos, holding to a stanchion with one hand, reached down with the other and helped his illustrious compatriot to climb upon his own property, the others following more nimbly, until all had transferred themselves, and the catboat was made fast by one of the crew.

The President of Zalapata, saluting and bowing low, conducted the other dignitary to the cabin, with the officers trailing after them. For the moment, Major Starland found his situation a trifle embarrassing. General Yozarro scowled savagely at him, but the others paid scant attention. There was some crowding, for it will be remembered that the apartment was of slight size. The American waited till a lull came in the conversation and then, with an elaborate military salute, said:

“General Yozarro, I have the honor of returning to you the boat which necessity compelled me to borrow last night.”

The General had seated himself on the lounge, at the risk of suffering the same mishap which had befallen his neighbor and still kept him slyly rubbing the injured part. He was too overflowing with rage to make any pretence to the courtesy which marked their previous chats. His prodigious mustache bristled, his thick lips trembled and his black eyes gleamed threateningly. He glared at the American, standing among his own officers, who made what room they could for him in the restricted space, and when he could command his tumultuous feelings, he spoke:

“You come to surrender the boat! You surrender yourself also, el Americano!”

“Well, hardly; I stayed aboard at the suggestion of my friend, General Bambos, that this thing might be done in due and ancient form. American citizens are not in the habit of surrendering at the demand or whim of any South American nobody.”

Removing his hat, the Major bowed low and smiled.

“Does he speak the truth?” bluntly asked General Yozarro, turning to Bambos. The face of the American flushed at the slur, but he held himself in hand.

“He does; he remained at my request,” said General Bambos with a nod.

“There were others who took part in this crime; one of them was Captain Guzman of your staff, General.”

“I need not assure you, General, that it was without my knowledge; I disavow what he did and will reprimand him; if Your Excellency demands it, I will have him shot.”

“Not much!” muttered Major Starland, loud enough for all to hear; “is that the way you reward one of your bravest officers, General Bambos?”

“I rule in Zalapata without the aid of los Americanos,” was the freezing reply.

“And without the aid of common gratitude and decency, —that is evident.”

“I will take the matter into consideration,” said General Yozarro, whose brain was not nimble enough to decide the simplest question off-hand. “At present, I do not demand the death of Captain Guzman, but I thank you for your words, General, which is only one of the many proofs I have received of your disinterested friendship.”

If the countenance of General Bambos had not already been as crimson as it could well be, he would have blushed. He saluted and muttered something about the pleasure he felt in deserving the regard of his distinguished compatriot.

General Yozarro strove to restrain his anger, but it was plain to every one that he was seething with rage. While Major Starland was wondering what could be the cause, the explosion came:

“One of my men, the basest of wretches, deserted my service yesterday and allied himself to Captain Guzman and to you. He sent me the most shockingly insulting of messages; since he is not on this boat, he must be on the other.”

“Such is the fact, General,” replied the Major, compressing his lips, but looking straight into the eyes of the other.

“He must be surrendered to me.”

“I receive no orders from you; you murdered the brother of Martella, though he had done nothing wrong; the message he sent to you was not respectful perhaps, but it was better than you deserved; Martella has done me and mine the best of service, and he shall never be surrendered to you.”

The fury of General Yozarro threatened to suffocate him. He rose to his feet and the others glanced apprehensively at the face of the man who had dared to defy the terrible Dictator, and who folded his arms and still looked him calmly in the eye.

“El Americano, you are here on my boat and here you will stay till that deserter takes your place. I give you the choice; if he is not turned over to me to be shot, you shall be shot in his stead.”

With all his contempt for this man, Jack Starland had never dreamed of anything like this. The words of Captain Ortega came back to him. There was a certain shadowy strength in the position of General Yozarro. No flag of truce had been called into use, and the American, after having forcibly captured the boat of the other, had voluntarily placed himself in his power, following the suggestion of General Bambos and his own impulses.

It was Bambos who broke the oppressive hush by saying to him:

“The words of General Yozarro are just; comply with what he demands, and he will be glad to restore you to your friends; am I not correct, General?”

“I suppose so,” was the sour response.

“Then my answer is that I’ll see the whole gang of you hanged first! You don’t get Martella without the biggest fight of your lives, and you don’t keep me on this old tub without a bigger fight; I’m not afraid of the whole pack of jail birds of you!”

CHAPTER XXXVII

Arrest him!” commanded General Yozarro, speaking directly to Colonel Carlos Del Valle, his chief of staff, standing next to the American; “put him in irons.”

The officer addressed reached out his hand to lay on the shoulder of Jack Starland, who, at that instant, recalled the knockout blow he had given Cadet Hillman of the First Class, one memorable spring morning at old Fort Putnam, West Point. It was the same lightning-like stroke which crashed into the face of the colonel and sent him staggering and toppling back to the opposite side of the cabin. Then, whipping out his revolver, Starland backed from the cabin, ran down the steps to the bow of the boat, and before any one suspected his purpose, shouted to his own executive officer:

“Captain Winton, I am betrayed! Open fire, and sink this tug!”

Then he wheeled about and with leveled weapon, added:

“I will kill the first man who attempts to lay a finger on me!”

General Yozarro and his officers showed more promptitude than would have been expected. Seeing that a conflict was inevitable, they set out to win by their own quickness. Their armament was heavier than that of the American yacht, – that is to say, though his pieces carried smaller missiles, he had two of them, while that of the Warrenia was a brass saluting twelve-pounder.

The port gun was slewed around and pointed at the other craft, now within twenty-five yards, and in a twinkling it bore fairly.

“Fire!” shouted the excited General, too savage to regard the usual preliminaries.

Major Starland shuddered, for he saw the gun seemingly directed true and knew it must do great destruction on his yacht. The gunner snapped the lanyard, but a dull click followed and there was no discharge.

General Yozarro uttered an oath and Captain Ortega called from the pilot house:

“That is the one which was not loaded!”

Jack Starland had forgotten the fact in the flurry of the moment. He smiled and looked across at his own boat. Captain Winton did not throw away a second. He signalled to the engine room, quickly veered, and the brass twelve-pounder was pointed fairly at the tug. Meantime, by working frantically, the gunners quickly loaded the piece on the Atlamalcan craft and swung it around to bear on the other.

“Look out for the Major!” called Captain Winton; “he is standing at the front.”

While the native gunners were awaiting the critical second, there was a white puff, a red belch of flame, and a thunderous report rolled over the river and against the shores. A smashing sound, the splintering of wood and a number of yells followed, the ball having torn its way through the cabin and splashed into the river beyond.

In this crisis, General Yozarro displayed unexpected coolness. General Bambos hurriedly sagged down behind the pile of wood at the front, as if mortally hurt, but he was merely taking precautions against becoming so.

“Quick!” roared General Yozarro; “sink their boat!”

The haste was unwise, for the gunners were not wholly lacking in skill, but they were flustered by the furious orders of their brutal chief, and fired sooner than they intended. It would have seemed that with so brief a distance separating the combatants a miss was impossible; but the heavy missile only grazed the foremast, dropping somewhere among the trees on the southern shore.

“Hurrah!” shouted the delighted Major, swinging his hat; “let the good work go on! Keep it up! The Stars and Stripes forever!”

Colonel Del Valle had recovered from the fierce blow that sent him spinning across the cabin and was aflame with anger. He, too, had a revolver, and, heedless of the wild turmoil and confusion, in which a half dozen were injured by the flying splinters, he sneaked forward toward the hurrahing American. He raised his hand tremulous with fury, and sighting as well as he could through his watery, bloody eyes, let fly.

The crack of the weapon amid the tumult caused Major Starland to turn like a flash. He saw he had forgotten himself, and that in all probability he had a fight on his hands.

“I don’t want to kill you, Colonel, but you need a lesson.”

The officer was backing away, when at the flash of the other weapon, he uttered a howl and skurried into the cabin with his right arm dangling useless. The American saw his pistol fall, and darting forward, picked it up. He now had two revolvers, and with only a single empty chamber in each. He backed against the pile of wood, to prevent any one getting behind him, and confronted the mob. Moreover, it was necessary that his friends should see where he was in order to avoid harming him.

A gun on each boat had been fired, and it now became a race as to which could reload and fire again. The American won, because of a slight advantage at the start. No attempt was made on the tugboat to bring the second piece into action. The captains of each craft displayed admirable skill. Captain Winton tried to keep out of range of his enemy, but Captain Ortega swung around so as to hold him in direct line all the time.

Starland’s mate and one of his seamen were handling the cannon on the yacht. The latter had served at Manila and knew his business. As cool as if taking part in the naval maneuvers, he waited until sure the second shot would do the business. Without giving heed to the crew striving desperately to bring the other gun to bear, he crouched till the gun was pointed exactly right and then blazed away.

He had aimed at the screw of the tugboat and he struck it so fairly that the stem snapped off and the blades dropped to the bottom of the river. This was at the suggestion of the mate, who, not wishing to kill any one, only sought to put the other craft out of action.

It was done. The tug was as helpless as a log, but not until Captain Ortega called from the pilot house, making known the nature of the disaster, did General Yozarro understand the mortal injury his navy had received.

“Bully!” shouted the Major; “put the next shot through her boiler! Don’t mind me! I can swim and don’t care for a little thing like being blown up!”

General Bambos heard the terrifying news and climbed tremblingly to his feet.

“Don’t let them fire again! We shall all be killed!”

“Only one thing can save you,” replied the Major aglow with the light of triumphant battle; “run up the white flag! The next shot will send you to kingdom come!”

It was General Yozarro, who, catching the panic, whipped out his white silken handkerchief, and standing within arm’s length of his prisoner, excitedly fluttered it aloft.

“Cease firing!” commanded Major Starland; “they have surrendered!”

CHAPTER XXXVIII

The notice was in the nick of time. The gun on the yacht was loaded and trained again, and, had it been fired, would have played the mischief on the Atlamalcan boat.

Captain Winton began edging the Warrenia toward the other, with the purpose of running alongside and receiving its submission. Reading his intention, Major Starland called:

“Don’t do that! You can’t trust these scoundrels! They will board!”

“That’s what we want ’em to do!” called back the captain.

“I’d like it too, but we have ladies to look after; send a boat to take off General Yozarro and me.”

In the midst of the hubbub and confusion, Captain Ortega was seen to lean out of the window of the pilot house, quickly level his revolver and fire in the direction of the American. It looked like a deliberate attempt to assassinate the unsuspecting officer before anyone could interfere. Jack Starland did not observe the act, but the cry of a man alongside of him caused him to turn his head. Taking advantage of the confusion, one of General Yozarro’s officers had slipped behind the American unnoticed by him, and was stealing upon him with drawn knife. The two Generals could not have failed to see him, but neither interposed. A few seconds more and the weapon would have been driven into the back of Starland. Captain Ortega, however, sent his bullet straight and true, the miscreant falling dead in his tracks.