CHAPTER XIV
CARMELA
Among the many words borrowed by the Brazilians from theirSpanish-speaking neighbors, that for "to-morrow" is perhaps the mostpopular. The Spaniard's _Manana_ is so elastic that it covers anyperiod of time between the next twenty-four hours and the indefinitefuture. When, therefore, Dom Sylva spoke of controlling Pernambucobefore the month of September was barely half sped, he was either toosanguine, or too literal in his translation of easy-going Portugueseinto vigorous English.
His _quinta_, or country house, was situated on the upper watershed ofthe river Moxoto. There he raised his standard, thither flocked rebelsgalore, and in that direction, with due caution, President Barracapushed columns of troops by road and rail from Bahia, from Pernambuco,and from Maceio itself. For Barraca held the sea, and the wealthy andenterprising south was strongly opposed to war, while Dom Corriatrusted to the mountains and drew his partisans from the less energeticnorth. This bald statement has an unconvincing sound in the ears ofraces which dwell north of the equator, but it must be remembered thatBrazil, in more respects than one, is the land of topsy-turveydom.Were it not that the mass of the people was heartily sick of a corruptregime, De Sylva would have been dead or in irons on his way back toFernando Noronha well within the time allotted for the consolidation ofhis rule. As it was, minor insurrections were breaking out in thesouthern provinces, the reigning President could trust only in thenavy, and the conservatism of commerce and society, as represented bythe great landowners of Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo, and Minas Geraes,alone stifled the upgrowth of an overwhelming national movement in DomCorria's favor.
In a word, De Sylva commanded public sympathy but small resources;Barraca was unpopular but controlled the navy and part of the army.Given such conditions--with the added absurdity that the troops on bothsides were most unwilling to face long-range rifle fire but wouldcheerfully hack each other to mince-meat with knives--and a tedious,indeterminate campaign is the certain outcome. De Sylva had said thatlocal conflicts were usually "short and fierce." Applied to suchupheavals as had taken place in the capital during recent years, thephrase was strictly accurate. He himself had been bundled out ofoffice between Mass and Vespers on a memorable Sunday. But a convicton a remote island cannot organize such a perfect example of asuccessful revolt. He had done much in gaining a good foothold; therest must be left to time and chance.
A few indecisive but sanguinary engagements were fought in theneighborhood of Pesqueira, a town in the hills about one hundred milesfrom the seaboard. These proved that General Russo was a valiantfighter but a poor tactician--and that was all. He was opposed by acommander of little courage but singular skill in strategy. To restorethe balance, Dom Corria took the field in person, and Dom MiguelBarraca hastened from Rio de Janeiro to witness the crushing of hisarch-enemy.
The position was complicated by the arrival at Pernambuco of a Germansquadron bearing a telegraphic cartel from the Emperor. A German shiphad been seized on the high seas. Why? And by whom? And how couldanybody dare? Then Brazil quivered, for every South American knows inhis heart that the great navy of Germany is being created not so muchto destroy England as to dispute the proud doctrine of the UnitedStates that no European power shall ever again be allowed to seizeterritory on the American continent.
So there were strenuous days and anxious nights at Las Flores, wherePresident De Sylva sought to equip and discipline his levies, and atCarugru, where President Barraca called on all the gods to witness thatDe Sylva was a double-dyed traitor.
Under such circumstances it is not surprising that a grand display ofmoney and audacity, backed by sundry distant roars of the British lion,should enable two elderly Britons and a young Brazilian lady to passthrough the lines of the Exercito Nacional, as Barraca had christenedhis following, in opposition to De Sylva's army of Liberation. Lesttoo many people should become interested, the adventure was essayed onthe night of October 2d. Early next day the travelers and their guidesreached the rebel outposts. The young lady, who seemed to be at homein this wild country, at once urged her horse into a pace wholly beyondthe equestrian powers of her staid companions. They protested vainly.She waved a farewell hand, cantered over several miles of a rough road,and dashed up to the Liberationist headquarters about eight o'clock.
There was no hesitancy about her movements. She drew rein in approvedGaucho style, bringing her mount to a dead stop from a gallop.
"Where is the President?" she asked breathlessly.
"There, senhora," said an orderly, pointing to a marquee, open on everyside, wherein De Sylva sat in conference with his staff.
So many officers and mounted soldiers were coming and going, so greatwas the bustle of preparation for some important movement then intrain, that no one specially noted her arrival. She dismounted, anddrew the reins across the horse's head ere she tied him to a tree. Shesaw a tall young man emerge from the tent, jump on a charger held by asoldier, and ride off at a fast pace toward the house of Las Flores,which stood in a large garden on the slope of a neighboring hill. Hisappearance seemed to puzzle her momentarily. His attire was that ofBrazil, but neither his manner nor horsemanship was typical of theBrasileiro. In walking, he moved with an air of purposefulconcentration that differed singularly from the languorous stroll ofthe average Brazilian officer, while his seat in the saddle, thoughconfident enough, could not be mistaken for that of a man who neverwalks a yard if there is an animal to bestride.
The new arrival was, however, at once too weary and too excited to givefurther heed to one who was an utter stranger. She pushed her waythrough knots of smoking loungers, entered the tent, and uttered alittle scream of delight when the President, who was writing at a bigtable, happened to glance at her. De Sylva rose hastily, with anamazed look on his usually unemotional face; forthwith the girl flungherself into his arms.
"Father!"
"Carmela!"
San Benavides, whose back was turned, heard the joyous cries of thereunited father and daughter. They were locked in each other'sembrace, and the eyes of every man present were drawn to a pathetic andunexpected meeting. For that reason, and because none gave a thoughtto him, the pallor that changed the bronze of his forehead and cheeksinto a particularly unhealthy-looking tint of olive green passedunnoticed. He swallowed something. It must have been a curse, for itseemed to taste bitter. But he managed to recover some shred ofself-control ere the Senhora De Sylva was able to answer her father'sfirst eager questions; then, with a charming timidity, she found breathto say:
"And what of Salvador--is he not here?"
Yes, Salvador was there--by her side--striving most desperately to looklover-like. They clasped hands. Brazilian etiquette forbade a moredemonstrative greeting, and Carmela attributed Salvador's manifestsallowness to the hardships of campaigning no less than the shock ofher sudden appearance.
But the business of red war gave little scope for the many confidencesthat a girl who had journeyed more than four thousand miles for thisreunion might naturally exchange with a father and a lover. Someimportant move was toward, and the President and his chief-of-staff hadno time to spare.
"You have come to bring me luck, Carmela meu," said De Sylva, strokinghis daughter's hair affectionately. "To-day we make our first realadvance. Salvador and I are going to the front now, almost thisinstant. But there will be no fighting--an affair of outposts at thebest--and when everything is in order we shall return here to sleep.Expect us, then, soon after sunset. Meanwhile, at the _quinta_ youwill find the young English lady of whose presence you are aware. Giveher your friendship. She is worthy of it."
"Adeos, senhora!" echoed San Benavides, bringing his heels togetherwith a click, and saluting. He gathered a number of papers from thetable with nervous haste, and at once began to issue instructions toseveral officers. De Sylva renewed the signing of documents. Russoand he conversed in low tones. A buzz of talk broke out in the tent.Carmela felt that she had no part in this activity,
that her merepresence was a positive hindrance to the work in hand. A trifledisappointed, yet not without a thrill of high resolve to create forherself an indispensable share in the movement of which her father wasthe central figure, she went out, unhitched her tired horse, and walkedto the house.
In Brazil, a _quinta_, or farm, may range from a palace to a hovel.Dom Corria was rich; consequently Las Flores attained the higher level.It was a straggling, roomy structure, planned for comfort andhospitality rather than display, and the gardens, to whose beauty andextent was due the Spanish name, used to be famous throughout theprovince. Carmela had not seen the place during five years; sheexpected to find changes, but was hardly prepared for the ravages madeby neglect, aided by unchecked tropical growth, as the outcome of herfather's two years in prison. The flowers were gone, the rarer shrubschoked by rank weeds, the trees disfigured by rampant climbers. But,in front of the long, deep veranda, even the attention of a month hadrestored much of its beauty to a widespread lawn. Here, at that earlyhour, the air was cool and the shade abundant; indeed, so embossed intowering trees was the wide greensward, that it seemed to flow abruptlyinto the veranda without ever a path or garden gate to break the solidwalls of foliage.
Filled with tumultuous memories, her heart all throbbing at theprospect of her father's fortunes being restored, the Senhora De Sylvawas entering a gate that led to the left front of the house, when theyoung man came out whom she had seen leaving the headquarters tent.Again he rode like one in a hurry, and she noted that he emerged from aside path which gave access to the lawn. He gave her a sharp glance ashe passed. She received an impression of a strong face, withstern-looking, bright, steel-blue eyes, a mouth tensely set, an aspectat once confident yet self-contained. She was sure now he was not aBrazilian, and he differed most materially from the mental picture ofCaptain James Coke created by the many conversations in which he hadfigured during her long voyage from Southampton in company with DavidVerity and Dickey Bulmer.
So Carmela wondered now who he could be, nor was her wonder lessenedwhen she peered through the screen of trees, and saw a girl, whom sherecognized instantly as Iris, furtively dabbing her tear-stained facewith a handkerchief.
Unhappily, the President's daughter was not attractive in appearance.She had fine eyes, and she moved with the natural elegance of her race,but her features were somewhat angular for one of pure-bloodedPortuguese descent, and a too well-defined chin was more effectual asan index of character than as an element of personal charm. Closeacquaintance with the cosmopolitan society of Paris and London hadfamiliarized her with many types of European and American beauty, andher surprise that such an uncommonly good-looking girl should be theniece of David Verity was not unmingled with pique at finding heralready installed in remote Las Flores.
The veranda seemed to be a hive of feminine industry. The DonaPondillo and her daughters, together with the female relatives ofseveral noted men among the insurgents, were cutting and stitching mostindustriously. Iris Yorke's advice, perhaps her assistance, wasevidently in demand. Assuming that the young man who rode thither sorapidly had gone to see her, she could not have been absent from thesewing party more than five minutes, yet half a dozen ladies wereclamoring for her already. The truth was that many of them had neverplied a needle before in their lives. They had to be taughteverything. One peasant woman would have accomplished more real workthan any five of the Librationist _grandes dames_.
Despite her firm chin, Carmela De Sylva did not contemn themeretricious aid of dress. Iris looked fresh and cool in soft muslin,whereas the newcomer was travel-stained and disheveled. The pack-muleswere lagging on the road, but a wash and general tidying ofdust-covered garments would help the President's daughter to regain theassurance, now sadly lacking, which would be necessary ere she won herrightful place in a community largely composed of strangers. As sheled her horse back into the main avenue, she was sorry that her fatheror Salvador could not spare even the few minutes that would havesufficed for an introduction. At any rate, she would probably find anold servant at the back of the house--some family retainer whosewelcome would charm away this displeasing sense of intrusion.
On the way to the stables she heard a man singing. The words were inEnglish. They were also quaint, for they dealt with life from a pointof view which differed widely from that presented by Dom Corria's_finca_.
"Oh, it's fine to be a sailor" [sang Watts], "an' to cross the ragin' main, From Hooghly bar to New Orleens to roam, But I 'ope that my old woman will put me on the chain Next time I want to quit my 'umble 'ome."
Possibly the verse was an original effort, because there followed amarked change in tune and meter.
"'Mid pleasures an' palaces----'" he began, when Senhora De Sylva cameupon him as he sat on a fence, pipe in hand, with his back bracedcomfortably against a magnificent rosewood tree. He stopped, grinnedsheepishly, and, not recognizing the lady, tried to cover his confusionby lighting the pipe.
"Are you one of the _Andromeda's_ men?" asked Carmela, speaking in theclear and accurate English used by her father.
It was well for Watts that the tree prevented him from fallingbackwards. He was quite sober, but cheerful withal, as he had nothingto do but sleep, smoke, eat, and drink the light wine of the district,of which his only complaint was that "one might mop up a barrel of itan' get no forrarder." Nevertheless, he received a positive shock whenaddressed in his own language by a young woman who was obviously ofBrazil. He stared at her so hard that he forgot the steady progress ofthe slow-burning tand-stikkor match recently ignited. Its sulphurousflame reached his fingers and reminded him.
"My godfather!" he howled, springing from the rail, and recovering hiswits instantly. "Beg pardon, mum, but you took me aback all standin'as the saying is. Christopher, didn't that match wake me up!"
"I am afraid it is my fault," said Carmela, who could look sympatheticwhere Iris would want to laugh. "I have just arrived here, andeverybody seems to be so full of troubles that I am glad to hear yousinging."
"Oh, that's just hummin', mum. If you're fond of music you ought to'ear Schmidt, Captain Schmidt of the _Unser Fritz_----"
Carmela struck an attitude.
"Wot, d'ye know 'im?" asked Watts.
"No, it is something--rather important. I must go back to my father.Ah, I ought to explain. I am the Senhora De Sylva, Dom Corria'sdaughter."
"Are you really, mum,--miss?" exclaimed Watts, highly interested. "'Owin the world did ye manage to come up from the coast? Accordin' to allaccounts----"
"Yes, what were you going to say?" for the man hesitated.
"Well, some of our chaps will 'ave it that we're runnin' close-hauledon a lee shore."
Carmela knit her brows. The Watts idioms were not those of hergoverness.
"We had no great difficulty in passing through Dom Barraca's lines, ifthat is what you mean," she said. "Mr. Verity and Mr. Bulmer hadobtained special permits, but in my case----"
"Mr. 'oo, did you say, miss?" demanded Watts, whose lower jaw actuallydropped from sheer amazement.
"Mr. Verity, the owner of the _Andromeda_. You are one of the crew, Isuppose?"
"I'm the chief officer. Watts is my name, miss. But d'you mean totell me that ole David Verity 'as come 'ere--to Brazil--to this rotten. . . Sorry, miss, but you gev' me a turn, you did. An' DickeyBulmer--is _'e_ 'ere too?"
"Yes, or he soon will be here. I rode on in advance of the others."
"Well--there--if that don't beat cock-fightin'!" cried Watts. "Wot'llCoke say? W'y, 'e'll 'ave a fit. An' Miss Iris! She's to marry oleDickey. Fancy 'im turnin' up! There'll be the deuce an' all to pay,now, wot between 'im an' Hozier an' the dashin' colonel."
The horse, trying to nibble some grass at Carmela's feet, suddenlythrew his head up, for the cruel South American bit had tightened undera jerk of the reins.
"Who is Mr. Hozier?" asked the girl calmly.
"He is, or was, our second mate, but since the c
olonel an' 'e got tologgerheads 'e took an' raised a corps of scouts. Some of our fellowsjoined, but not me. Killin' other folks don't agree with me a littlebit. I don't mind a shine in a snug or a friendly scrap over an extrydrink, but w'en it comes to them long knives----"
"And the colonel--what is _his_ name?" broke in Carmela, turning toloosen the surcingle. She could control her voice but not her eyes,and she did not wish to startle this open-mouthed gossip.
"San Benavides, miss. Captain 'e was on Fernando Noronha; 'e took amighty quick jump after we kem ashore. But I ax your pardon forramblin' on in this silly way. Won't you go inside? There's a usefulole party there, name of Maria----"
"Ah, Maria--dear, good Maria--she at least will not have forgotten me,"sobbed Carmela in her own tongue, and Watts afterwards informed Cokethat although the inhabitants of China were noted for their peculiarways, when it came to a show-down in that qualification, the averagewoman could beat any Chinky ever born. Had he but known more, Wattswas also in a position to state that he had squared accounts with thescornful President.
For the Senhora De Sylva might have been seized with mortal illness ifjudged solely by the manner in which she staggered into her father'shouse, threw her arms around the neck of an elderly woman whom shepetrified by her appearance, and almost fainted--not quite, but on theverge, much nearer than such a strong-minded young lady would havethought possible an hour earlier.
Maria screamed loudly. Tongue-tied at first, she was badly scared whenCarmela collapsed on her ample bosom. Restoratives and endearmentsfollowed. Carmela asked to be taken to a room where she might wash andshake the dust from her hair and clothes. Maria considered ways andmeans. Every room in the big house was crowded.
"Who is in my own apartment?" demanded Carmela.
Even before the answer was forthcoming she guessed the truth. TheSenhora Ingleza, of course. Those fine eyes of hers flasheddangerously.
"What, then? Does this woman come here and take all?" she cried.
"Ah, _pequinina_, do not be angry," said Maria. "Who save the good Godcould tell that you would come from Paris to-day? And the SenhoraIngleza will be glad to give place to you. She is so kind, sounselfish. All the men adore her."
"So I hear," murmured Carmela, trying to still the passion thatthrobbed in her heart, since she was aware that neither Maria nor anyother among the old domestics at Las Flores knew of her engagement, andpride was now coming to her aid.
"She will have no word to say to any of them," gabbled Maria. "Thereis a young Englishman--well, it is no affair of mine, but I am told sheloves him, yet is promised to another, an old man, too. _Santa Mae_!That would not suit me if I were her age!"
This home-coming of Carmela was quite an important event in its way.At first sight it bore the semblance of a mere disillusionment such asany girl might experience under like circumstances. She had been takenfrom Las Flores to occupy a palace at Rio de Janeiro, and was drivenfrom the palace to the hotel life of the Continent. During two yearsshe had not seen either father or lover; and lovers of the SanBenavides ilk are apt to console themselves during these prolongedintervals. Yet Carmela's shattered romance was the pivot on whichrested the future of Brazil.
Had she gone straight to Iris on leaving her father, and made known theastounding tidings that Verity and Bulmer were riding up the MoxotoValley barely three miles away, Iris would surely have devised somemeans of acquainting Philip Hozier with the fact. In that event,assuming that he awaited their arrival, the first march of an extendedreconnaissance which he thought desirable would necessarily bepostponed. And then--well, the recent history of Brazil would have tobe re-written, since there cannot be the slightest doubt that DomCorria De Sylva would never have occupied the Presidential chair asecond time.
It would be idle now to inquire too closely into the springs ofPhilip's resolve to take service under a foreign flag. Perhaps theirksome state of affairs at Las Flores, where there was no mean betweenloafing and soldiering, was intolerable to a spirited youngster.Perhaps San Benavides, constantly riding in from the front, irritatedhim beyond endurance by his superior airs. Or it may be that a growingbelief in Iris's determination to sacrifice herself by redeeming herbond made him careless as to what happened in the near future. Theoutcome of one or all of these influences was that he sought, and wasreadily given, a commission in the Army of Liberation. Like allsailors, he preferred the mounted arm, and De Sylva, having the highestopinion of his thoroughness, actually appointed him to command a branchof the Intelligence Department.
Philip, trained to pin his faith in maps and charts, came to theconclusion that Las Flores could be attacked from the rear, which layto the northwest. The Brazilians laughed at the notion. Where werethe troops to come from? Barraca must bring all his men by sea. Therewere none stationed in those wild mountains.
"Better go and make sure," quoth Philip.
He ascertained the President's intentions as to the next twenty-fourhours, assembled his little body of scouts, saw to their forage andequipment, took leave of Iris, and hurried off.
When two stout and elderly fellow-countrymen of his climbed the lastmile of the rough valley beneath the Las Flores slope, Philip and histroop were a league or more beyond the Moxoto's watershed.
Meanwhile, Carmela De Sylva proved that her resolute chin was notdeceptive as a guide to temperament. The Dona Pondillo deemed her aspirit when she appeared on the veranda, but Carmela's impetuous kisssoon disabused the worthy dame of her error.
Iris, wondering why the lively chatter of her Brazilian friends was sosuddenly stilled, to be succeeded by a hubbub of excited words as theolder ladies present gathered around the new-comer, asked one of thePondillo girls what had happened.
"It is Carmela, the President's daughter," giggled the other. "Mothersays she is engaged to San Benavides. What fun! But where has shecome from? When last I heard of her she was in Paris."
A month of close companionship with people who spoke Portuguese all daylong, and often far into the night, had familiarized Iris with many ofthe common phrases. Thus, she gathered one fact as to Carmela, andmore than suspected another. For a reason that every woman willunderstand, she felt a subtle thrill of fear. If San Benavides werereally Carmela's accepted lover, then, indeed, Iris had good cause forforeboding. Though the Brazilian had never directly avowed hispassion, since he knew quite well that she would refuse to listen, shecould not be blind to his infatuation. Only the threat of her diredispleasure had restrained Hozier from an open quarrel with him. Herposition, difficult enough already, would become intolerable if DeSylva's daughter became jealous, and she had no doubt whatsoever thatSan Benavides would seek to propitiate the woman he loved by callouslytelling the woman he had promised to marry that his affections werebestowed elsewhere.
Her heart sank when she discovered this new maelstrom in her sea oftroubles; but here was Carmela herself speaking to her, and in English:
"So you are Iris Yorke!" the girl was saying. "I have heard so much ofyou, yet you are so utterly different from what I imagined."
"You have heard of _me_?" repeated Iris, and surprise helped her tosmile with something of her wonted self-possession.
"Yes, on board the steamer. We sailed from Southampton, and had littleelse to talk of during the voyage. But, of course, you cannotunderstand. Among my fellow-passengers were your uncle and Mr. Bulmer."
Iris had long relinquished any hope of communicating with Bootle untilthe present deadlock in the operations of the two armies was a thing ofthe past. Completely mystified now by Carmela's glib reference to thetwo men whose names were so often in her thoughts though seldom on herlips, she could only gaze at the Senhora De Sylva in silentbewilderment.
Carmela, feeling that she was gaining ground rapidly, affected a noteof polite regret.
"Please forgive me for being so abrupt. Perhaps I ought to haveprepared you. But it is quite true. Mr. Verity and Mr. Bulmer camewith me from Europe. We all reached Pern
ambuco the day beforeyesterday. Indeed, if it were not for them, and the assistance theygave me, I would not be here now. No one recognized me, fortunately,and--I hope you will not be vexed--I passed as Mr. Verity's niece. Infact, I took your place for the time."
A notable feature of the De Sylva utterance was its clearness.Carmela's concluding words could not possibly be mistaken for anythingelse. Their meaning, on the other hand, was capable of varying shadesof significance; but Iris was far too amazed to seek depths beneaththeir literalness.
"If Mr. Verity and Mr. Bulmer are in Brazil----" she began tremulously,but Carmela broke in with a shrill laugh.
"There is no 'if.' Look below there, near my father's tent! They havearrived. They are asking for you. Come, let us meet them! I must seemy father before he departs."
Iris's swimming eyes could not discern the figures to which Carmela waspointing. But this strange girl's triumphant tone rang like a knell inher heart. She was not thinking now of the complications that mightarise between San Benavides and his discarded flame. She only knewthat, by some miracle, her uncle had come to bring her home, and withhim was the man to whom she was plighted, while Philip, only half anhour ago, had told her he would not see her again until the followingevening.
So this was the end of her dream. Bitter-sweet it had been, and longdrawn out, but forthwith she must awake to the gray actualities of life.
She felt Carmela dragging her onward, irresistibly, vindictively. Shesaw, as through a mist, David Verity's fiery-hued face, and heard hisharsh accents. Yes, there was no mistake. Here was Bootle transportedto Brazil, Linden House to Las Flores!
"By gum, lass," he was bellowing, with a touch of real sentiment in hisvoice, "you've given us a rare dance afore we caught up wi' you. But'ere you are, bright as a cherry, an' 'ere is Dickey an' meself come tofetch you. Dash my wig, there's life in the old dogs yet, or we'dnever ha' bin able to ride forty mile through this God-forgottencountry. An' damme if that isn't Coke, red as a lobster. Jimmie, meboy, put it there! Man, but you're a dashed long way from port!"
Happily, Iris was too stunned to betray herself. She extended a handto the sun-browned, white-haired old man standing by her uncle's side.
"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Bulmer," she said simply. And, in thathour of searing agony, she meant it, for it is easier to look back onsuffering than to await it, and she had been living in dread of thismeeting for many a weary day.