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diff --git a/1762-0.txt b/1762-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa399c9 --- /dev/null +++ b/1762-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1222 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Consul, by Richard Harding Davis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Consul + +Author: Richard Harding Davis + +Release Date: May, 1999 [eBook #1762] +[Most recently updated: March 20, 2023] + +Language: English + +Produced by: Aaron Cannon and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONSUL *** + + + + +THE CONSUL + +by Richard Harding Davis + + + + +For over forty years, in one part of the world or another, old man +Marshall had, served his country as a United States consul. He had been +appointed by Lincoln. For a quarter of a century that fact was his +distinction. It was now his epitaph. But in former years, as each new +administration succeeded the old, it had again and again saved his +official head. When victorious and voracious place-hunters, searching +the map of the world for spoils, dug out his hiding-place and demanded +his consular sign as a reward for a younger and more aggressive party +worker, the ghost of the dead President protected him. In the State +Department, Marshall had become a tradition. “You can’t touch Him!” the +State Department would say; “why, HE was appointed by Lincoln!” +Secretly, for this weapon against the hungry headhunters, the +department was infinitely grateful. Old man Marshall was a consul after +its own heart. Like a soldier, he was obedient, disciplined; wherever +he was sent, there, without question, he would go. Never against exile, +against ill-health, against climate did he make complaint. Nor when he +was moved on and down to make way for some ne’er-do-well with +influence, with a brother-in-law in the Senate, with a cousin owning a +newspaper, with rich relatives who desired him to drink himself to +death at the expense of the government rather than at their own, did +old man Marshall point to his record as a claim for more just +treatment. + +And it had been an excellent record. His official reports, in a quaint, +stately hand, were models of English; full of information, intelligent, +valuable, well observed. And those few of his countrymen, who stumbled +upon him in the out-of-the-world places to which of late he had been +banished, wrote of him to the department in terms of admiration and +awe. Never had he or his friends petitioned for promotion, until it was +at last apparent that, save for his record and the memory of his dead +patron, he had no friends. But, still in the department the tradition +held and, though he was not advanced, he was not dismissed. + +“If that old man’s been feeding from the public trough ever since the +Civil War,” protested a “practical” politician, “it seems to me, Mr. +Secretary, that he’s about had his share. Ain’t it time he give some +one else a bite? Some of us that has, done the work, that has borne the +brunt——” + +“This place he now holds,” interrupted the Secretary of State suavely, +“is one hardly commensurate with services like yours. I can’t pronounce +the name of it, and I’m not sure just where it is, but I see that, of +the last six consuls we sent there, three resigned within a month and +the other three died of yellow-fever. Still, if you insist——” + +The practical politician reconsidered hastily. “I’m not the sort,” he +protested, “to turn out a man appointed by our martyred President. +Besides, he’s so old now, if the fever don’t catch him, he’ll die of +old age, anyway.” + +The Secretary coughed uncomfortably. “And they say,” he murmured, +“republics are ungrateful.” + +“I don’t quite get that,” said the practical politician. + +Of Porto Banos, of the Republic of Colombia, where as consul Mr. +Marshall was upholding the dignity of the United States, little could +be said except that it possessed a sure harbor. When driven from the +Caribbean Sea by stress of weather, the largest of ocean tramps, and +even battle-ships, could find in its protecting arms of coral a safe +shelter. But, as young Mr. Aiken, the wireless operator, pointed out, +unless driven by a hurricane and the fear of death, no one ever visited +it. Back of the ancient wharfs, that dated from the days when Porto +Banos was a receiver of stolen goods for buccaneers and pirates, were +rows of thatched huts, streets, according to the season, of dust or +mud, a few iron-barred, jail-like barracks, customhouses, municipal +buildings, and the whitewashed adobe houses of the consuls. The +backyard of the town was a swamp. Through this at five each morning a +rusty engine pulled a train of flat cars to the base of the mountains, +and, if meanwhile the rails had not disappeared into the swamp, at five +in the evening brought back the flat cars laden with odorous +coffee-sacks. + +In the daily life of Porto Banos, waiting for the return of the train, +and betting if it would return, was the chief interest. Each night the +consuls, the foreign residents, the wireless operator, the manager of +the rusty railroad met for dinner. There at the head of the long table, +by virtue of his years, of his courtesy and distinguished manner, of +his office, Mr. Marshall presided. Of the little band of exiles he was +the chosen ruler. His rule was gentle. By force of example he had made +existence in Porto Banos more possible. For women and children Porto +Banos was a death-trap, and before “old man Marshall” came there had +been no influence to remind the enforced bachelors of other days. + +They had lost interest, had grown lax, irritable, morose. Their white +duck was seldom white. Their cheeks were unshaven. When the sun sank +into the swamp and the heat still turned Porto Banos into a Turkish +bath, they threw dice on the greasy tables of the Café Bolivar for +drinks. The petty gambling led to petty quarrels; the drinks to fever. +The coming of Mr. Marshall changed that. His standard of life, his +tact, his worldly wisdom, his cheerful courtesy, his fastidious +personal neatness shamed the younger men; the desire to please him, to, +stand well in his good opinion, brought back pride and self-esteem. + +The lieutenant of her Majesty’s gun-boat _Plover_ noted the change. + +“Used to be,” he exclaimed, “you couldn’t get out of the Café Bolivar +without some one sticking a knife in you; now it’s a debating club. +They all sit round a table and listen to an old gentleman talk world +politics.” + +If Henry Marshall brought content to the exiles of Porto Banos, there +was little in return that Porto Banos could give to him. Magazines and +correspondents in six languages kept him in touch with those foreign +lands in which he had represented his country, but of the country he +had represented, newspapers and periodicals showed him only too clearly +that in forty years it had grown away from him, had changed beyond +recognition. + +When last he had called at the State Department, he had been made to +feel he was a man without a country, and when he visited his home town +in Vermont, he was looked upon as a Rip Van Winkle. Those of his +boyhood friends who were not dead had long thought of him as dead. And +the sleepy, pretty village had become a bustling commercial centre. In +the lanes where, as a young man, he had walked among wheatfields, +trolley-cars whirled between rows of mills and factories. The children +had grown to manhood, with children of their own. + +Like a ghost, he searched for house after house, where once he had been +made welcome, only to find in its place a towering office building. +“All had gone, the old familiar faces.” In vain he scanned even the +shop fronts for a friendly, homelike name. Whether the fault was his, +whether he would better have served his own interests than those of his +government, it now was too late to determine. In his own home, he was a +stranger among strangers. In the service he had so faithfully followed, +rank by rank, he had been dropped, until now he, who twice had been a +consul-general, was an exile, banished to a fever swamp. The great Ship +of State had dropped him overside, had “marooned” him, and sailed away. + +Twice a day he walked along the shell road to the Café Bolivar, and +back again to the consulate. There, as he entered the outer office, +José, the Colombian clerk, would rise and bow profoundly. + +“Any papers for me to sign, José?” the consul would ask. + +“Not to-day, Excellency,” the clerk would reply. Then José would return +to writing a letter to his lady-love; not that there was any-thing to +tell her, but because writing on the official paper of the consulate +gave him importance in his eyes, and in hers. And in the inner office +the consul would continue to gaze at the empty harbor, the empty coral +reefs, the empty, burning sky. + +The little band of exiles were at second break fast when the wireless +man came in late to announce that a Red D. boat and the island of +Curaçao had both reported a hurricane coming north. Also, that much +concern was felt for the safety of the yacht _Serapis_. Three days +before, in advance of her coming, she had sent a wireless to +Wilhelmstad, asking the captain of the port to reserve a berth for her. +She expected to arrive the following morning. + +But for forty-eight hours nothing had been heard from her, and it was +believed she had been overhauled by the hurricane. Owing to the +presence on board of Senator Hanley, the closest friend of the new +President, the man who had made him president, much concern was felt at +Washington. To try to pick her up by wireless, the gun-boat _Newark_ +had been ordered from Culebra, the cruiser _Raleigh_, with Admiral +Hardy on board, from Colon. It was possible she would seek shelter at +Porto Banos. The consul was ordered to report. + +As Marshall wrote out his answer, the French consul exclaimed with +interest: + +“He is of importance, then, this senator?” he asked. “Is it that in +your country ships of war are at the service of a senator?” + +Aiken, the wireless operator, grinned derisively. + +“At the service of _this_ senator, they are!” he answered. “They call +him the ‘king-maker,’ the man behind the throne.” + +“But in your country,” protested the Frenchman, “there is no throne. I +thought your president was elected by the people?” + +“That’s what the people think,” answered Aiken. “In God’s country,” he +explained, “the trusts want a rich man in the Senate, with the same +interests as their own, to represent them. They chose Hanley. He picked +out of the candidates for the presidency the man he thought would help +the interests. He nominated him, and the people voted for him. Hanley +is what we call a ‘boss.’” + +The Frenchman looked inquiringly at Marshall. + +“The position of the boss is the more dangerous,” said Marshall +gravely, “because it is unofficial, because there are no laws to +curtail his powers. Men like Senator Hanley are a menace to good +government. They see in public office only a reward for party workers.” + +“That’s right,” assented Aiken. “Your forty years’ service, Mr. Consul, +wouldn’t count with Hanley. If he wanted your job, he’d throw you out +as quick as he would a drunken cook.” + +Mr. Marshall flushed painfully, and the French consul hastened to +interrupt. + +“Then, let us pray,” he exclaimed, with fervor, “that the hurricane has +sunk the _Serapis_, and all on board.” + +Two hours later, the _Serapis_, showing she had met the hurricane and +had come out second best, steamed into the harbor. + +Her owner was young Herbert Livingstone, of Washington. He once had +been in the diplomatic service, and, as minister to The Hague, wished +to return to it. In order to bring this about he had subscribed +liberally to the party campaign fund. + +With him, among other distinguished persons, was the all-powerful +Hanley. The kidnapping of Hanley for the cruise, in itself, +demonstrated the ability of Livingstone as a diplomat. It was the +opinion of many that it would surely lead to his appointment as a +minister plenipotentiary. Livingstone was of the same opinion. He had +not lived long in the nation’s capital without observing the value of +propinquity. How many men he knew were now paymasters, and secretaries +of legation, solely because those high in the government met them daily +at the Metropolitan Club, and preferred them in almost any other place. +And if, after three weeks as his guest on board what the newspapers +called his floating palace, the senator could refuse him even the +prize, legation of Europe, there was no value in modest merit. As yet, +Livingstone had not hinted at his ambition. There was no need. To a +statesman of Hanley’s astuteness, the largeness of Livingstone’s +contribution to the campaign fund was self-explanatory. + +After her wrestling-match with the hurricane, all those on board the +_Serapis_ seemed to find in land, even in the swamp land of Porto +Banos, a compelling attraction. Before the anchors hit the water, they +were in the launch. On reaching shore, they made at once for the +consulate. There were many cables they wished to start on their way by +wireless; cables to friends, to newspapers, to the government. + +José, the Colombian clerk, appalled by the unprecedented invasion of +visitors, of visitors so distinguished, and Marshall, grateful for a +chance to serve his fellow-countrymen, and especially his countrywomen, +were ubiquitous, eager, indispensable. At José’s desk the great +senator, rolling his cigar between his teeth, was using, to José’s +ecstasy, José’s own pen to write a reassuring message to the White +House. At the consul’s desk a beautiful creature, all in lace and +pearls, was struggling to compress the very low opinion she held of a +hurricane into ten words. On his knee, Henry Cairns, the banker, was +inditing instructions to his Wall Street office, and upon himself +Livingstone had taken the responsibility of replying to the inquiries +heaped upon Marshall’s desk, from many newspapers. + +It was just before sunset, and Marshall produced his tea things, and +the young person in pearls and lace, who was Miss Cairns, made tea for +the women, and the men mixed gin and limes with tepid water. The consul +apologized for proposing a toast in which they could not join. He +begged to drink to those who had escaped the perils of the sea. Had +they been his oldest and nearest friends, his little speech could not +have been more heart-felt and sincere. To his distress, it moved one of +the ladies to tears, and in embarrassment he turned to the men. + +“I regret there is no ice,” he said, “but you know the rule of the +tropics; as soon as a ship enters port, the ice-machine bursts.” + +“I’ll tell the steward to send you some, sir,” said Livingstone, “and +as long as we’re here.” + +The senator showed his concern. + +“As long as we’re here?” he gasped. + +“Not over two days,” answered the owner nervously. “The chief says it +will take all of that to get her in shape. As you ought to know, +Senator, she was pretty badly mauled.” + +The senator gazed blankly out of the window. Beyond it lay the naked +coral reefs, the empty sky, and the ragged palms of Porto Banos. + +Livingstone felt that his legation was slipping from him. + +“That wireless operator,” he continued hastily, “tells me there is a +most amusing place a few miles down the coast, Las Bocas, a sort of +Coney Island, where the government people go for the summer. There’s +surf bathing and roulette and cafes chantants. He says there’s some +Spanish dancers——” + +The guests of the _Serapis_ exclaimed with interest; the senator +smiled. To Marshall the general enthusiasm over the thought of a ride +on a merry-go-round suggested that the friends of Mr. Livingstone had +found their own society far from satisfying. + +Greatly encouraged, Livingstone continued, with enthusiasm: + +“And that wireless man said,” he added, “that with the launch we can +get there in half an hour. We might run down after dinner.” He turned +to Marshall. + +“Will you join us, Mr. Consul?” he asked, “and dine with us, first?” + +Marshall accepted with genuine pleasure. It had been many months since +he had sat at table with his own people. But he shook his head +doubtfully. + +“I was wondering about Las Bocas,” he explained, “if your going there +might not get you in trouble at the next port. With a yacht, I think it +is different, but Las Bocas is under quarantine.” + +There was a chorus of exclamations. + +“It’s not serious,” Marshall explained. “There was bubonic plague +there, or something like it. You would be in no danger from that. It is +only that you might be held up by the regulations. Passenger steamers +can’t land any one who has been there at any other port of the West +Indies. The English are especially strict. The Royal Mail won’t even +receive any one on board here without a certificate from the English +consul saying he has not visited Las Bocas. For an American they would +require the same guarantee from me. But I don’t think the regulations +extend to yachts. I will inquire. I don’t wish to deprive you of any of +the many pleasures of Porto Banos,” he added, smiling, “but if you were +refused a landing at your next port I would blame myself.” + +“It’s all right,” declared Livingstone decidedly. “It’s just as you +say; yachts and warships are exempt. Besides, I carry my own doctor, +and if he won’t give us a clean bill of health, I’ll make him walk the +plank. At eight, then, at dinner. I’ll send the cutter for you. I can’t +give you a salute, Mr. Consul, but you shall have all the side boys I +can muster.” + +Those from the yacht parted from their consul in the most friendly +spirit. + +“I think he’s charming!” exclaimed Miss Cairns. “And did you notice his +novels? They were in every language. It must be terribly lonely down +here, for a man like that.” + +“He’s the first of our consuls we’ve met on this trip,” growled her +father, “that we’ve caught sober.” + +“Sober!” exclaimed his wife indignantly. + +“He’s one of the Marshalls of Vermont. I asked him.” + +“I wonder,” mused Hanley, “how much the place is worth? Hamilton, one +of the new senators, has been deviling the life out of me to send his +son somewhere. Says if he stays in Washington he’ll disgrace the +family. I should think this place would drive any man to drink himself +to death in three months, and young Hamilton, from what I’ve seen of +him, ought to be able to do it in a week. That would leave the place +open for the next man.” + +“There’s a postmaster in my State thinks he carried it.” The senator +smiled grimly. “He has consumption, and wants us to give him a +consulship in the tropics. I’ll tell him I’ve seen Porto Banos, and +that it’s just the place for him.” + +The senator’s pleasantry was not well received. But Miss Cairns alone +had the temerity to speak of what the others were thinking. + +“What would become of Mr. Marshall?” she asked. The senator smiled +tolerantly. + +“I don’t know that I was thinking of Mr. Marshall,” he said. “I can’t +recall anything he has done for this administration. You see, Miss +Cairns,” he explained, in the tone of one addressing a small child, +“Marshall has been abroad now for forty years, at the expense of the +taxpayers. Some of us think men who have lived that long on their +fellow-countrymen had better come home and get to work.” + +Livingstone nodded solemnly in assent. He did not wish a post abroad at +the expense of the taxpayers. He was willing to pay for it. And then, +with “ex-Minister” on his visiting cards, and a sense of duty well +performed, for the rest of his life he could join the other expatriates +in Paris. + +Just before dinner, the cruiser _Raleigh_ having discovered the +whereabouts of the _Serapis_ by wireless, entered the harbor, and +Admiral Hardy came to the yacht to call upon the senator, in whose +behalf he had been scouring the Caribbean Seas. Having paid his +respects to that personage, the admiral fell boisterously upon +Marshall. + +The two old gentlemen were friends of many years. They had met, +officially and unofficially, in many strange parts of the world. To +each the chance reunion was a piece of tremendous good fortune. And +throughout dinner the guests of Livingstone, already bored with each +other, found in them and their talk of former days new and delightful +entertainment. So much so that when, Marshall having assured them that +the local quarantine regulations did not extend to a yacht, the men +departed for Las Bocas, the women insisted that he and admiral remain +behind. + +It was for Marshall a wondrous evening. To foregather with his old +friend whom he had known since Hardy was a mad midshipman, to sit at +the feet of his own charming countrywomen, to listen to their soft, +modulated laughter, to note how quickly they saw that to him the +evening was a great event, and with what tact each contributed to make +it the more memorable; all served to wipe out the months of bitter +loneliness, the stigma of failure, the sense of undeserved neglect. In +the moonlight, on the cool quarter-deck, they sat, in a half-circle, +each of the two friends telling tales out of school, tales of which the +other was the hero or the victim, “inside” stories of great occasions, +ceremonies, bombardments, unrecorded “shirt-sleeve” diplomacy. + +Hardy had helped to open the Suez Canal. Marshall had assisted the +Queen of Madagascar to escape from the French invaders. On the Barbary +Coast Hardy had chased pirates. In Edinburgh Marshall had played chess +with Carlyle. He had seen Paris in mourning in the days of the siege, +Paris in terror in the days of the Commune; he had known Garibaldi, +Gambetta, the younger Dumas, the creator of Pickwick. + +“Do you remember that time in Tangier,” the admiral urged, “when I was +a midshipman, and got into the bashaw’s harem?” + +“Do you remember how I got you out?” Marshall replied grimly. + +“And,” demanded Hardy, “do you remember when Adelina Patti paid a visit +to the _Kearsarge_ at Marseilles in ’65—George Dewey was our second +officer—and you were bowing and backing away from her, and you backed +into an open hatch, and she said ‘my French isn’t up to it’ what was it +she said?” + +“I didn’t hear it,” said Marshall; “I was too far down the hatch.” + +“Do you mean the old _Kearsarge?_” asked Mrs. Cairns. “Were you in the +service then, Mr. Marshall?” + +With loyal pride in his friend, the admiral answered for him: + +“He was our consul-general at Marseilles!” + +There was an uncomfortable moment. Even those denied imagination could +not escape the contrast, could see in their mind’s eye the great harbor +of Marseilles, crowded with the shipping of the world, surrounding it +the beautiful city, the rival of Paris to the north, and on the +battleship the young consul-general making his bow to the young Empress +of Song. And now, before their actual eyes, they saw the village of +Porto Banos, a black streak in the night, a row of mud shacks, at the +end of the wharf a single lantern yellow in the clear moonlight. + +Later in the evening Miss Cairns led the admiral to one side. + +“Admiral,” she began eagerly, “tell me about your friend. Why is he +here? Why don’t they give him a place worthy of him? I’ve seen many of +our representatives abroad, and I know we cannot afford to waste men +like that.” The girl exclaimed indignantly: “He’s one of the most +interesting men I’ve ever met! He’s lived everywhere, known every one. +He’s a distinguished man, a cultivated man; even I can see he knows his +work, that he’s a diplomat, born, trained, that he’s——” The admiral +interrupted with a growl. + +“You don’t have to tell ME about Henry,” he protested. “I’ve known +Henry twenty-five years. If Henry got his deserts,” he exclaimed hotly, +“he wouldn’t be a consul on this coral reef; he’d be a minister in +Europe. Look at me! We’re the same age. We started together. When +Lincoln sent him to Morocco as consul, he signed my commission as a +midshipman. Now I’m an admiral. Henry has twice my brains and he’s been +a consul-general, and he’s _here_, back at the foot of the ladder!” + +“Why?” demanded the girl. + +“Because the navy is a service and the consular service isn’t a +service. Men like Senator Hanley use it to pay their debts. While +Henry’s been serving his country abroad, he’s lost his friends, lost +his ‘pull.’ Those politicians up at Washington have no use for him. +They don’t consider that a consul like Henry can make a million dollars +for his countrymen. He can keep them from shipping goods where there’s +no market, show them where there is a market.” The admiral snorted +contemptuously. “You don’t have to tell ME the value of a good consul. +But those politicians don’t consider that. They only see that he has a +job worth a few hundred dollars, and they want it, and if he hasn’t +other politicians to protect him, they’ll take it.” The girl raised her +head. + +“Why don’t you speak to the senator?” she asked. “Tell him you’ve known +him for years, that——” + +“Glad to do it!” exclaimed the admiral heartily. “It won’t be the first +time. But Henry mustn’t know. He’s too confoundedly touchy. He hates +the _idea_ of influence, hates men like Hanley, who abuse it. If he +thought anything was given to him except on his merits, he wouldn’t +take it.” + +“Then we won’t tell him,” said the girl. For a moment she hesitated. + +“If I spoke to Mr. Hanley,” she asked, “told him what I learned +to-night of Mr. Marshall, would it have any effect?” + +“Don’t know how it will affect Hanley,” said the sailor, “but if you +asked _me_ to make anybody a consul-general, I’d make him an +ambassador.” + +Later in the evening Hanley and Livingstone were seated alone on deck. +The visit to Las Bocas had not proved amusing, but, much to +Livingstone’s relief, his honored guest was now in good-humor. He took +his cigar from his lips, only to sip at a long cool drink. He was in a +mood flatteringly confidential and communicative. + +“People have the strangest idea of what I can do for them,” he laughed. +It was his pose to pretend he was without authority. “They believe I’ve +only to wave a wand, and get them anything they want. I thought I’d be +safe from them on board a yacht.” + +Livingstone, in ignorance of what was coming, squirmed apprehensively. + +“But it seems,” the senator went on, “I’m at the mercy of a conspiracy. +The women folk want me to do something for this fellow Marshall. If +they had their way, they’d send him to the Court of St. James. And old +Hardy, too, tackled me about him. So did Miss Cairns. And then Marshall +himself got me behind the wheel-house, and I thought he was going to +tell me how good he was, too! But he didn’t.” + +As though the joke were on himself, the senator laughed appreciatively. + +“Told me, instead, that Hardy ought to be a vice-admiral.” + +Livingstone, also, laughed, with the satisfied air of one who cannot be +tricked. + +“They fixed it up between them,” he explained, “each was to put in a +good word for the other.” He nodded eagerly. “That’s what _I_ think.” + +There were moments during the cruise when Senator Hanley would have +found relief in dropping his host overboard. With mock deference, the +older man inclined his head. + +“That’s what _you_ think, is it?” he asked. “Livingstone,” he added, +“you certainly are a great judge of men!” + +The next morning, old man Marshall woke with a lightness at his heart +that had been long absent. For a moment, conscious only that he was +happy, he lay between sleep and waking, frowning up at his canopy of +mosquito net, trying to realize what change had come to him. Then he +remembered. His old friend had returned. New friends had come into his +life and welcomed him kindly. He was no longer lonely. As eager as a +boy, he ran to the window. He had not been dreaming. In the harbor lay +the pretty yacht, the stately, white-hulled war-ship. The flag that +drooped from the stern of each caused his throat to tighten, brought +warm tears to his eyes, fresh resolve to his discouraged, troubled +spirit. When he knelt beside his bed, his heart poured out his thanks +in gratitude and gladness. + +While he was dressing, a blue-jacket brought a note from the admiral. +It invited him to tea on board the war-ship, with the guests of the +_Serapis_. His old friend added that he was coming to lunch with his +consul, and wanted time reserved for a long talk. The consul agreed +gladly. He was in holiday humor. The day promised to repeat the good +moments of the night previous. + +At nine o’clock, through the open door of the consulate, Marshall saw +Aiken, the wireless operator, signaling from the wharf excitedly to the +yacht, and a boat leave the ship and return. Almost immediately the +launch, carrying several passengers, again made the trip shoreward. + +Half an hour later, Senator Hanley, Miss Cairns, and Livingstone came +up the waterfront, and entering the consulate, seated themselves around +Marshall’s desk. Livingstone was sunk in melancholy. The senator, on +the contrary, was smiling broadly. His manner was one of distinct +relief. He greeted the consul with hearty good-humor. + +“I’m ordered home!” he announced gleefully. Then, remembering the +presence of Livingstone, he hastened to add: “I needn’t say how sorry I +am to give up my yachting trip, but orders are orders. The President,” +he explained to Marshall, “cables me this morning to come back and take +my coat off.” The prospect, as a change from playing bridge on a +pleasure boat, seemed far from depressing him. + +“Those filibusters in the Senate,” he continued genially, “are making +trouble again. They think they’ve got me out of the way for another +month, but they’ll find they’re wrong. When that bill comes up, they’ll +find me at the old stand and ready for business!” Marshall did not +attempt to conceal his personal disappointment. + +“I am so sorry you are leaving,” he said; “selfishly sorry, I mean. I’d +hoped you all would be here for several days.” He looked inquiringly +toward Livingstone. + +“I understood the _Serapis_ was disabled,” he explained. + +“She is,” answered Hanley. “So’s the _Raleigh_. At a pinch, the admiral +might have stretched the regulations and carried me to Jamaica, but the +_Raleigh’s_ engines are knocked about too. I’ve GOT to reach Kingston +Thursday. The German boat leaves there Thursday for New York. At first +it looked as though I couldn’t do it, but we find that the Royal Mail +is due to-day, and she can get to Kingston Wednesday night. It’s a +great piece of luck. I wouldn’t bother you with my troubles,” the +senator explained pleasantly, “but the agent of the Royal Mail here +won’t sell me a ticket until you’ve put your seal to this.” He extended +a piece of printed paper. + +As Hanley had been talking, the face of the consul had grown grave. He +accepted the paper, but did not look at it. Instead, he regarded the +senator with troubled eyes. When he spoke, his tone was one of genuine +concern. + +“It is most unfortunate,” he said. “But I am afraid the _Royal Mail_ +will not take you on board. Because of Las Bocas,” he explained. “If we +had only known!” he added remorsefully. “It is _most_ unfortunate.” + +“Because of Las Bocas?” echoed Hanley. + +“You don’t mean they’ll refuse to take me to Jamaica because I spent +half an hour at the end of a wharf listening to a squeaky gramophone?” + +“The trouble,” explained Marshall, “is this: if they carried you, all +the other passengers would be held in quarantine for ten days, and +there are fines to pay, and there would be difficulties over the mails. +But,” he added hopefully, “maybe the regulations have been altered. I +will see her captain, and tell him——” + +“See her captain!” objected Hanley. “Why see the captain? He doesn’t +know I’ve been to that place. Why tell _him?_ All I need is a clean +bill of health from you. That’s all HE wants. You have only to sign +that paper.” Marshall regarded the senator with surprise. + +“But I can’t,” he said. + +“You can’t? Why not?” + +“Because it certifies to the fact that you have not visited Las Bocas. +Unfortunately, you have visited Las Bocas.” + +The senator had been walking up and down the room. Now he seated +himself, and stared at Marshall curiously. + +“It’s like this, Mr. Marshall,” he began quietly. “The President +desires my presence in Washington, thinks I can be of some use to him +there in helping carry out certain party measures—measures to which he +pledged himself before his election. Down here, a British steamship +line has laid down local rules which, in my case anyway, are +ridiculous. The question is, are you going to be bound by the red tape +of a ha’penny British colony, or by your oath to the President of the +United States?” + +The sophistry amused Marshall. He smiled good-naturedly and shook his +head. + +“I’m afraid, Senator,” he said, “that way of putting it is hardly fair. +Unfortunately, the question is one of fact. I will explain to the +captain——” + +“You will explain nothing to the captain!” interrupted Hanley. “This is +a matter which concerns no one but our two selves. I am not asking +favors of steamboat captains. I am asking an American consul to assist +an American citizen in trouble, and,” he added, with heavy sarcasm, +“incidentally, to carry out the wishes of his President.” + +Marshall regarded the senator with an expression of both surprise and +disbelief. + +“Are you asking me to put my name to what is not so?” he said. “Are you +serious?” + +“That paper, Mr. Marshall,” returned Hanley steadily, “is a mere form, +a piece of red tape. There’s no more danger of my carrying the plague +to Jamaica than of my carrying a dynamite bomb. You _know_ that.” + +“I _do_ know that,” assented Marshall heartily. “I appreciate your +position, and I regret it exceedingly. You are the innocent victim of a +regulation which is a wise regulation, but which is most unfair to you. +My own position,” he added, “is not important, but you can believe me, +it is not easy. It is certainly no pleasure for me to be unable to help +you.” + +Hanley was leaning forward, his hands on his knees, his eyes watching +Marshall closely. “Then you refuse?” he said. “Why?” + +Marshall regarded the senator steadily. His manner was untroubled. The +look he turned upon Hanley was one of grave disapproval. + +“You know why,” he answered quietly. “It is impossible.” + +In sudden anger Hanley rose. Marshall, who had been seated behind his +desk, also rose. For a moment, in silence, the two men confronted each +other. Then Hanley spoke; his tone was harsh and threatening. + +“Then I am to understand,” he exclaimed, “that you refuse to carry out +the wishes of a United States Senator and of the President of the +United States?” + +[Illustration: “Then I am to understand,” he exclaimed, “that you +refuse to carry out the wishes of a United States Senator and of the +President of the United States?”] + + +In front of Marshall, on his desk, was the little iron stamp of the +consulate. Protectingly, almost caressingly, he laid his hand upon it. + +“I refuse,” he corrected, “to place the seal of this consulate on a +lie.” + +There was a moment’s pause. Miss Cairns, unwilling to remain, and +unable to withdraw, clasped her hands unhappily and stared at the +floor. Livingstone exclaimed in indignant protest. Hanley moved a step +nearer and, to emphasize what he said, tapped his knuckles on the desk. +With the air of one confident of his advantage, he spoke slowly and +softly. + +“Do you appreciate,” he asked, “that, while you may be of some +importance down here in this fever swamp, in Washington I am supposed +to carry some weight? Do you appreciate that I am a senator from a +State that numbers four millions of people, and that you are preventing +me from serving those people?” Marshall inclined his head gravely and +politely. + +“And I want you to appreciate,” he said, “that while I have no weight +at Washington, in this fever swamp I have the honor to represent eighty +millions of people, and as long as that consular sign is over my door I +don’t intend to prostitute it for _you_, or the President of the United +States, or any one of those eighty millions.” + +Of the two men, the first to lower his eyes was Hanley. He laughed +shortly, and walked to the door. There he turned, and indifferently, as +though the incident no longer interested him, drew out his watch. + +“Mr. Marshall,” he said, “if the cable is working, I’ll take your tin +sign away from you by sunset.” + +For one of Marshall’s traditions, to such a speech there was no answer +save silence. He bowed, and, apparently serene and undismayed, resumed +his seat. From the contest, judging from the manner of each, it was +Marshall, not Hanley, who had emerged victorious. + +But Miss Cairns was not deceived. Under the unexpected blow, Marshall +had turned older. His clear blue eyes had grown less alert, his broad +shoulders seemed to stoop. In sympathy, her own eyes filled with sudden +tears. + +“What will you do?” she whispered. + +“I don’t know what I shall do,” said Marshall simply. “I should have +liked to have resigned. It’s a prettier finish. After forty years—to be +dismissed by cable is—it’s a poor way of ending it.” + +Miss Cairns rose and walked to the door. There she turned and looked +back. + +“I am sorry,” she said. And both understood that in saying no more than +that she had best shown her sympathy. + +An hour later the sympathy of Admiral Hardy was expressed more +directly. + +“If he comes on board my ship,” roared that gentleman, “I’ll push him +down an ammunition hoist and break his damned neck!” + +Marshall laughed delightedly. The loyalty of his old friend was never +so welcome. + +“You’ll treat him with every courtesy,” he said. “The only satisfaction +he gets out of this is to see that he has hurt me. We will not give him +that satisfaction.” + +But Marshall found that to conceal his wound was more difficult than he +had anticipated. When, at tea time, on the deck of the war-ship, he +again met Senator Hanley and the guests of the _Serapis_, he could not +forget that his career had come to an end. There was much to remind him +that this was so. He was made aware of it by the sad, sympathetic +glances of the women; by their tactful courtesies; by the fact that +Livingstone, anxious to propitiate Hanley, treated him rudely; by the +sight of the young officers, each just starting upon a career of honor, +and possible glory, as his career ended in humiliation; and by the big +war-ship herself, that recalled certain crises when he had only to +press a button and war-ships had come at his bidding. + +At five o’clock there was an awkward moment. The Royal Mail boat, +having taken on her cargo, passed out of the harbor on her way to +Jamaica, and dipped her colors. Senator Hanley, abandoned to his fate, +observed her departure in silence. + +Livingstone, hovering at his side, asked sympathetically: “Have they +answered your cable, sir?” + +“They have,” said Hanley gruffly. + +“Was it—was it satisfactory?” pursued the diplomat. + +“It _was_,” said the senator, with emphasis. + +Far from discouraged, Livingstone continued his inquiries. + +“And when,” he asked eagerly, “are you going to tell him?” + +“Now!” said the senator. + +The guests were leaving the ship. When all were seated in the admiral’s +steam launch, the admiral descended the accommodation ladder and +himself picked up the tiller ropes. + +“Mr. Marshall,” he called, “when I bring the launch broadside to the +ship and stop her, you will stand ready to receive the consul’s +salute.” + +Involuntarily, Marshall uttered an exclamation of protest. He had +forgotten that on leaving the war-ship, as consul, he was entitled to +seven guns. Had he remembered, he would have insisted that the ceremony +be omitted. He knew that the admiral wished to show his loyalty, knew +that his old friend was now paying him this honor only as a rebuke to +Hanley. But the ceremony was no longer an honor. Hanley had made of it +a mockery. It served only to emphasize what had been taken from him. +But, without a scene, it now was too late to avoid it. The first of the +seven guns had roared from the bow, and, as often he had stood before, +as never he would so stand again, Marshall took his place at the +gangway of the launch. His eyes were fixed on the flag, his gray head +was uncovered, his hat was pressed above his heart. + +For the first time since Hanley had left the consulate, he fell into +sudden terror lest he might give way to his emotions. Indignant at the +thought, he held himself erect. His face was set like a mask, his eyes +were untroubled. He was determined they should not see that he was +suffering. + +Another gun spat out a burst of white smoke, a stab of flame. There was +an echoing roar. Another and another followed. Marshall counted seven, +and then, with a bow to the admiral, backed from the gangway. + +And then another gun shattered the hot, heavy silence. Marshall, +confused, embarrassed, assuming he had counted wrong, hastily returned +to his place. But again before he could leave it, in savage haste a +ninth gun roared out its greeting. He could not still be mistaken. He +turned appealingly to his friend. The eyes of the admiral were fixed +upon the war-ship. Again a gun shattered the silence. Was it a jest? +Were they laughing at him? Marshall flushed miserably. He gave a swift +glance toward the others. They were smiling. Then it _was_ a jest. +Behind his back, something of which they all were cognizant was going +forward. The face of Livingstone alone betrayed a like bewilderment to +his own. But the others, who knew, were mocking him. + +For the thirteenth time a gun shook the brooding swamp land of Porto +Banos. And then, and not until then, did the flag crawl slowly from the +mast-head. Mary Cairns broke the tenseness by bursting into tears. But +Marshall saw that every one else, save she and Livingstone, were still +smiling. Even the bluejackets in charge of the launch were grinning at +him. He was beset by smiling faces. And then from the war-ship, +unchecked, came, against all regulations, three long, splendid cheers. + +Marshall felt his lips quivering, the warm tears forcing their way to +his eyes. He turned beseechingly to his friend. His voice trembled. + +“Charles,” he begged, “are they laughing at me?” + +Eagerly, before the other would answer, Senator Hanley tossed his cigar +into the water and, scrambling forward, seized Marshall by the hand. + +“Mr. Marshall,” he cried, “our President has great faith in Abraham +Lincoln’s judgment of men. And this salute means that this morning he +appointed you our new minister to The Hague. I’m one of those +politicians who keeps his word. I _told_ you I’d take your tin sign +away from you by sunset. I’ve done it!” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONSUL *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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