Up the Forked River: or, Adventures in South America

Still leaning out of the window, with smoking pistol in hand, Captain Ortega, as cool as ever, made himself heard above the din:

“You mustn’t forget down there that we have surrendered!”

The wheel being useless, he now came out of the pilot house and stood like a general overlooking and directing his forces.

It was begun and ended, as may be said, in the twinkling of an eye. Jack Starland did not forget the lesson. He was yet in the midst of as treacherous a lot of wretches as so many Apaches. He edged farther forward with his glances alternating between his own craft and the excited throng near him, and so alert that further interference in his behalf was unnecessary.

Looking up to Captain Ortega, he caught his eye and saluted:

“Thank you with all my heart!”

The other returned the salute but did not speak. His weapon was still in his hand and not a movement below eluded him. Generals Bambos and Yozarro were standing beside each other, the latter with his handkerchief still in his hand, though he ceased to flutter it, since the necessity had passed. Now and then the two spoke in low tones, for the turmoil was succeeded by a hush that was impressive.

The order of Major Jack was obeyed on board his own boat. Holding the yacht so that, like the other, it drifted with the current, the tender was lowered, and two seamen entered and began rowing toward the motionless tug. With slow, even strokes and without any sign of misgiving, they rounded to alongside. Major Starland shoved one revolver in his pocket, where it could be instantly drawn, and held the other ready for any emergency.

“You first, General,” he said bowing to the leader who had surrendered.

Holding back, he sullenly asked:

“Why should I go aboard your vessel?”

“In accordance with the rules of civilized warfare, of which, of course, you know nothing. For the first time in your life you will be among gentlemen, and, therefore, need feel no fear.”

With ill grace, the Dictator stepped carefully down and seated himself at the bow of the smaller boat.

“And now myself,” was the good natured remark of the American, as he lightly followed. It was a trying moment, for he half expected a shot in the back, even though it would have meant the death of General Yozarro and the destruction of the tugboat. Captain Ortega must have feared something of the kind, for he stepped to the edge of the upper deck, leaned forward with his revolver grasped and kept a keen watch upon every man. It is not impossible that his vigilance averted a tragedy.

With the same even stroke, the small boat was rowed across the brief, intervening space, and the mate, Dick Horton, reached down, took the hand of the General and gave so lusty a pull that he stumbled forward and barely saved himself from sprawling on his hands and knees. The next instant Jack sprang among his friends, who crowded around, grasped his hands and showered him with congratulations.

During the flurry, Aunt Cynthia and Miss Starland had been kept beyond reach of harm, but they were now among the group that welcomed the owner of the pretty craft.

“Had you wished to give them the safest place,” said he, “you should have let them stand at the bow in plain sight.”

“Only the fear of a possible accident prevented that being done,” replied the mate.

When General Yozarro saw the young woman in the laughing, happy company, he took off his hat, bowed low and said with his old-time obsequiousness:

“The pain of this meeting is turned to delight by the sight once more of your beauteous countenance and your charming self.”

Looking him in the eyes, she measured her words:

“Que V. se atreva á dirigirse á mi, es el mayor insulto de mi vida.”

The face crimsoned as if from the sting of a whiplash across the eyes, and those of the bystanders who understood the words, broke into a thrilling murmur of applause. General Yozarro tried to hide his repulse by turning to Major Starland:

“I have come aboard this vessel at your command; what do you desire of me?”

“Your sword.”

The Dictator meekly drew the blade from its scabbard and extended the hilt toward the American, who recoiled.

“I refuse it; keep it; and take with you the remembrance that the most dangerous thing mortal man can fool with is an American.”

“Are you through?”

“I am, and I hope never to look upon your face again.”

“Mal rayo te parta! Your wish is reciprocated; I will return to my boat.”

“Adios, General Yozarro!”

The sullen fellow made no reply, and was assisted over the side and rowed back to the crippled tug by the two sailors who had brought him away. During the unique interview, the crew and officers crowded the gunwale and watched proceedings with the keenest interest. Among them was the bulky General Bambos.

CHAPTER XXXIX

It may be thought that the most galling experience of General Yozarro was the scarifying repulse of Miss Starland, when he presumed to address her; but unknown to all except the author of the insult and himself, he was compelled to taste a deeper dreg in the cup of wormwood and gall. While he paused, facing the group of Americans, a man on the outer fringe succeeded in catching his eye and made the most taunting grimace conceivable. He repeated it several times, the last being accompanied by a flirt of the forefinger across the throat to signify that that was the way he would like to serve the murderous tyrant. The man who thus grossly insulted him was Martella, the deserter, who chuckled with delight when he heard the stinging answer given to General Yozarro by Miss Starland. The others were too interested in what was going on before them to observe the by-play. General Yozarro set his teeth, and took consolation in the thought:

“General Bambos will give him to me and I will punish him; I will do the same with Captain Guzman for aiding the foul ingrate.”

But the Dictator never did either. Jack Starland was not the one to forget the service of his friends. He had no trouble in persuading Martella to engage himself as one of the firemen on the Warrenia, for wages that were three-fold what he had received – when he did receive them which was not often – in his own country. Something in the nature of a compromise was made with Captain Guzman. He could not be induced to go so far as the great Republic of the North, but halted at Caracas.

“I am so accustomed to revolutions,” said he with a grin and shrug, “that I should die of weariness in your noble country, but here I shall have all that my heart craves.”

“It has much that look,” replied Major Starland, as he shook him by the hand, after compelling him to accept a generous douceur from himself and Miss Starland.

Returning from this digression, the small boat was kept under careful survey until it returned from the General Yozarro. Some feared that a musket shot might be fired at the seamen, for the Atlamalcan is hot-headed and reckless, and the fully loaded saluting gun was kept pointed.

“If I have to fire again,” grimly said the mate, “I shall send the ball through her boiler, and sink the whole gang.”

Fortunately the necessity did not arise. The most prominent form on the tug was that of Captain Ramon Ortega, standing in front of the pilot house on the upper deck. Pistol in hand, his watchfulness no doubt prevented any treacherous act, for all who knew him knew his unflinching sense of honor and his personal bravery. When the peril passed, he put away his weapon and stood with hands thrust in the side pockets of his light jacket.

Up went the hand of Miss Starland and she fluttered aloft her handkerchief.

“I see no reason why he should not recognize me as a friend now,” she explained to the Major at her side.

The other saw her and lifted his hat and bowed low. Jack Starland did the same and called a cheery good bye to him.

“He is the foremost gentleman of the Atlamalcan Republic, and Señorita Manuela will secure a prize in him.”

“No greater than he will secure in her; but what is to become of them?”

“Of whom?”

“Their boat is so injured that they are helpless.”

“No doubt General Yozarro will be able to float another loan big enough to provide his navy with a new screw; until then, he may limp along as best he can.”

At this moment, Mate Horton came forward with the same question.

“We might tow them down to Zalapata, even with General Bambos on board, but I am not impressed that it is my duty. Let them drift with the current and they will bump up somewhere. It is well that they should have a few hours for meditation. Besides, they have the tender and catboat and can send ashore for help, if they need it. No; I shall have nothing more to do with the gang; they must look out for themselves.”

Captain Winton emitted a resounding blast from the whistle, to which the tug responded, and steamed down the river. His intention was to maintain a moderate speed, passing Zalapata without stop, and to make the first halt at San Luis, which ought to be reached some time during the night.

The Captain did not forget one important fact. While he had been fortunate in ascending the forked river, he had the slightest possible knowledge of it. The utmost circumspection was necessary on his part. The stream was broad and deep, but it had its snags, its “sawyers” like the Mississippi, and its dangerous shoals and shallow places. An experienced pilot can generally locate such spots by the crinkling circles at the surface, but there was a certain risk which would baffle even Captain Ortega. Below San Luis, the river so broadened and deepened, and was so comparatively free from obstructions that practically all peril would be left behind.

Captain Winton strove unremittingly to keep the channel, though that was not always possible. His good fortune in coming up the stream gave him confidence of making the down trip in safety. Fifteen minutes after expressing this belief to Major Starland, the bow of the yacht suddenly rose several feet, there was a quick slackening of speed and the boat settled to rest. No one needed to be told what it meant: the Warrenia had run upon a mud bank and was fast.

“Captain Ortega’s performance over again!” said Major Starland, “with the exception that he did it on purpose and I don’t think you did.”

“I am somewhat of the same opinion myself,” growled the Captain, “but here we must stay for several hours at the least.”

An instant investigation showed that the yacht had suffered no injury. She was staunchly built, and the impact was like that of a solid body against yielding cotton. Had the mud been rock or compact earth the result must have been disastrous.

The screw was kept viciously going, but it could not drag the boat off. Then the crew toiled for an hour shifting what was movable to the stern, but without result. Next, an anchor was carried a hundred feet up stream and imbedded in the oozy bed of the river, while sturdy arms on board tugged at the connecting hawser by means of a windlass, with the screw desperately helping, but the hull would not yield an inch. Finally the efforts were given up. Nothing remained but to wait till the rising tide should lift the mountainous burden and swing it free.

When the accident occurred, the tug had been left far out of sight in the winding stream, but about the middle of the afternoon it slowly drifted into view around a sweeping bend. The fact of its coming sideways showed that it was swayed wholly by the current.

“That is curious,” remarked the puzzled Major to Mate Horton; “why don’t they anchor, or pole to land, or tow the tug ashore with the smaller boats? There is no need of letting the vessel become a derelict simply because she has lost her screw.”

The interest of those on the yacht naturally centred in the gradually approaching craft, which was closely scanned through the various glasses. Miss Starland stood beside her brother, her instrument leveled, while he used only his unaided eyes. After a time he remarked:

“That boat seems to be moving slowly.”

“It isn’t moving at all.”

She handed the binocular to him, and a moment after pointing it, he exclaimed:

“You are right; it looks as if they did not care for a closer acquaintance.”

Mate Horton joined them. He had noticed the same thing.

“What do you make of it, Major?”

He glanced at Miss Starland and then at his friend without speaking. She caught the by-play.

“Don’t be afraid to speak before me; you do not seem to have noticed something else about the boat yonder.”

“What is that?”

“It has a good many more men on board than when we parted company with it.”

CHAPTER XL

Major Jack Starland flashed up the glass and studied the other craft.

“By Jove! you are right; where do you suppose they came from, Dick?”

“The General must have established communication with his friends soon after we left him; he certainly has a strong crew.”

“That means he intends to attack us; it looks as if there is to be a naval battle between an American yacht and the navy of the Atlamalcan Republic.”

It was Miss Starland who said this without a trace of excitement, and as if the impending struggle was of only passing interest.

“She is right,” observed the mate; “it is hard to tell which has the advantage with one crippled and the other hard aground.”

“They will wait till night and then come at us in their small boats. As nearly as I can make out, they have all of twenty men on board. What is your opinion, Miss Starland?”

She pointed the glass again for several minutes before replying:

“There are nearer forty, for it is certain that some are keeping out of sight. I suppose they are well armed, and it seems to me we are in a bad situation.”

“There’s no denying it,” remarked her brother with a grave face; “they will wait till night and then dash upon us from several sides at the same time; the hour or two before the moon rises will be their opportunity.”

“But why,” was the natural feminine inquiry, “does General Yozarro molest us? He has always claimed to be your friend, and, until today, has treated us both with courtesy. What pretext can he offer for his course?”

“While there is little in his excuse, it will doubtless be that the owner of this yacht captured his flimsy tug which he persists in calling a gunboat, or rather that I stole it, for which offence he means to punish me.”

“Will he not in the end have to reckon with our government?”

“Yes, but he must first reckon with us; the affair is a ridiculous one in which to involve the United States, and I shall not feel proud of my part, if forced to make the appeal; but General Yozarro will find it is no child’s play in which he engages when he attacks us. We have not a very full supply of small arms on board, but we shall make things lively for him.”

When night closed in, the relative position of the two craft was unchanged. Every possible preparation was made on the yacht, for there could be no doubt of the hostile intentions of the Atlamalcans. A small boat was seen to leave its side and pass to the southern shore. Followed through the glasses, it disclosed two seamen swaying the oars, but when it returned after a brief absence, it held six passengers. The crew of the crippled tug was fast growing and General Yozarro had certainly made good use of his time.

The twelve-pounder of the Warrenia was loaded to the muzzle. Six rifles were distributed among the men, several of whom had revolvers and all knives. Lookouts were placed at all points. The conviction was that during the brief period of gloom before the rising of the moon, two or three or possibly more small boats, crowded with armed men, would dash simultaneously upon the grounded craft and strive desperately to board her.

The sanguinary fight that impended, with the certain loss of life on both sides, could be averted by a surrender, which calm judgment would have justified under the peculiar circumstances, but it was not strange that even Miss Starland and Aunt Cynthia hinted nothing of that nature. As for the officers and crew, they eagerly awaited the conflict with a band whom they despised. Although greatly outnumbered, not one doubted their ability to repel the attempt to board. There was only one condition that they would have changed; that was the presence of the ladies. They could be safeguarded during the fight, but it would have been better had they been far away. Such absence, however, was impossible and no one referred to it.

But the naval battle never took place. When all the defenders were alert and on edge, it was observed that the yacht was floating. The disappointment was felt keenly even by the bellicose cook. There was a general peering into the gloom in the hope of discerning the approaching boats, and a sigh when they failed to appear.

“It sometimes takes more courage to run away than to fight,” said Major Starland with a laugh; “therefore we shall run away.”

He called his orders to Captain Winton, who, having shaken off the clutch of the mud, turned the prow of the craft so as to flank the obstruction, and signalled the engineer to go ahead at moderate speed. At the same time, he sent out a reverberating blast from the whistle, which the Atlamalcans might accept as a parting salute.

The yacht steamed carefully down the river, and in the early hours of the morning passed Zalapata, where a few lights twinkled, and then proceeded toward the more pretentious town of San Luis. The only ones awake on the Warrenia were those whose duties required them to be alert, and Captain Winton, knowing that General Bambos was absent, held the whistle mute as he went by.

If the yacht Warrenia and its crew and passengers had been called upon to pass through a series of stirring incidents while in tropical America, a rare and most gratifying experience now came to them. The weather remained calm and the run to the southern extremity of the continent was as smooth and tranquil as it had been across the Caribbean Sea. When the neighborhood of Cape Horn was reached, Major Starland, in order to keep his pledge with his father, took the wheel. Captain Winton lit his pipe, sat down in the pilot house and grimly waited until his services were necessary.

But not for an hour were they required, except now and then, in the way of simple relief. He had passed that danger region more than once, but never had he seen it so free of storm and rough weather. There was not a single moment when the yacht was in the slightest danger. In fact, to emphasize the wonderful, summer-like calmness of those usually turbulent waters, which are the dread of veteran navigators, Miss Starland held the spokes of the wheel for several hours. Such good fortune is not likely to come to a navigator once in a score of times.

When the yacht steamed out of the wide mouth of the Amazon and headed southward, the assumed relationship between Major Starland and his “sister” was dropped. There was no call to keep it up, since every one on board knew the truth.

The Warrenia was well up the western coast of South America and steaming rapidly toward the city of the Golden Gate. Hardly a breath of air rippled the bright waters, and the sky overhead was brilliant with its myriads of stars, whose gleam was intensified in the soft crystalline atmosphere.

Major Starland was seated on a camp chair, where he and Miss Rowland were sheltered from the wind created by the motion of the yacht. She hardly needed the gaudily-colored zarape wrapped about her shoulders. They had been talking of their strange experiences, of Manuela Estacardo, of Captain Ortega and of those whose memories were much less pleasant.

You can imagine the trend of that low, delightful conversation, for the scene, the surroundings, the time, indeed all the circumstances tended to draw them closer. What was said was too sacred in its nature, for us to quote in full: the conclusion is enough.

“Warrenia, you have played the sister for some weeks to perfection. You must have become accustomed to hearing yourself called ‘Miss Starland;’ it certainly has a familiar sound by this time.”

“Yes,” she replied, ceasing her efforts to disengage her hand from the fingers that had made it prisoner; “it could not well be otherwise. You know there is quite a similarity in our names.”

“What I wish to ask, Sweetheart, is whether you will not agree to make a slight change in the term by which you were addressed so long.”

“In what way?” she asked, as if she did not know what was coming.

“Instead of being ‘Miss Starland,’ will you not consent that your correct name shall be ‘Mrs. Starland?’”

At first she begged for time in which to consider the proposition, but Jack was always headlong and presumptuous, as you know, and he insisted, and what could she do but consent? And among all the friends the two most pleased were “Teddy” Rowland and his partner, Tom Starland, when they heard the good news.