Part 20

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.