The Crusade of the Excelsior

B >> Bret Harte >> The Crusade of the Excelsior


"Well," said Mrs. Markham, when the two women were alone again. "I don't
pretend to fathom the befogged brains of Todos Santos; but as far as I
can understand their grown-up child's play, they are making believe this
unfortunate Mr. Hurlstone, who may be dead for all we know, is in
revolt against the United States Government, which is supposed to be
represented by Senor Perkins and the Excelsior--think of that!"

"But Perkins signed himself of the Quinquinambo navy!" said Miss Keene
wonderingly.

"That is firmly believed by those idiots to be one of OUR States.
Remember they know nothing of what has happened anywhere in the last
fifty years. I dare say they never heard of filibusters like Perkins,
and they couldn't comprehend him if they had. I've given up trying to
enlighten them, and I think they're grateful for it. It makes their poor
dear heads ache."

"And it is turning mine! But, for Heaven's sake, tell me what part I am
supposed to act in this farce!" said Miss Keene.

"You are the friend and colleague of Hurlstone, don't you see?" said
Mrs. Markham. "You are two beautiful young patriots--don't blush, my
dear!--endeared to each other and a common cause, and ready to die for
your country in opposition to Perkins, and the faint-heartedness of such
neutrals as Mrs. Brimmer, Miss Chubb, the poor Captain, and all the men
whom they have packed off to San Antonio."

"Impossible!" said Miss Keene, yet with an uneasy feeling that it not
only was possible, but that she herself had contributed something to the
delusion. "But how do they account for my friendship with YOU--you, who
are supposed to be a correspondent--an accomplice of Perkins?"

"No, no," returned Mrs. Markham, with a half serious smile, "I am not
allowed that honor. I am presumed to be only the disconsolate Dulcinea
of Perkins, abandoned by HIM, pitied by you, and converted to the true
faith--at least, that is what I make out from the broken English of that
little secretary of the Commander."

Miss Keene winced.

"That's all my fault, dear," she said, suddenly entwining her arms round
Mrs. Markham, and hiding her half embarrassed smile on the shoulder of
her strong-minded friend; "they suggested it to me, and I half assented,
to save you. Please forgive me."

"Don't think I am blaming you, my dear Eleanor," said Mrs. Markham. "For
Heaven's sake assent to the wildest and most extravagant hypothesis they
can offer, if it will leave us free to arrange our own plans for getting
away. I begin to think we were not a very harmonious party on the
Excelsior, and most of our troubles here are owing to that. We forget
we have fallen among a lot of original saints, as guileless and as
unsophisticated as our first parents, who know nothing of our customs
and antecedents. They have accepted us on what they believe to be our
own showing. From first to last we've underrated them, forgetting they
are in the majority. We can't expect to correct the ignorance of fifty
years in twenty-four hours, and I, for one, sha'n't attempt it. I'd much
rather trust to the character those people would conceive of me from
their own consciousness than to one Mrs. Brimmer or Mr. Winslow would
give of me. From this moment I've taken a firm resolve to leave my
reputation and the reputation of my friends entirely in their hands.
If you are wise you will do the same. They are inclined to worship
you--don't hinder them. My belief is, if we only take things quietly,
we might find worse places to be stranded on than Todos Santos. If Mrs.
Brimmer and those men of ours, who, I dare say, have acted as silly as
the Mexicans themselves, will only be quiet, we can have our own way
here yet."

"And poor Captain Bunker?" said Miss Keene.

"It seems hard to say it, but, in my opinion, he is better under lock
and key, for everybody's good, at present. He'd be a firebrand in the
town if he got away. Meantime, let us go to our room. It is about the
time when everybody is taking a siesta, and for two hours, thank Heaven!
we're certain nothing more can happen."

"I'll join you in a moment," said Miss Keene.

Her quick ear had caught the sound of voices approaching. As Mrs.
Markham disappeared in the passage, the Commander and his party
reappeared from the guard-room, taking leave of Padre Esteban. The
secretary, as he passed Miss Keene, managed to add to his formal
salutation the whispered words,--"When the Angelus rings I will await
you before the grating of his prison."

Padre Esteban was too preoccupied to observe this incident. As soon as
he quitted the Presidio, he hastened to the Mission with a disquieting
fear that his strange guest might have vanished. But, crossing the
silent refectory, and opening the door of the little apartment, he was
relieved to find him stretched on the pallet in a profound slumber.
The peacefulness of the venerable walls had laid a gentle finger on his
weary eyelids.

The Padre glanced round the little cell, and back again at the handsome
suffering face that seemed to have found surcease and rest in the narrow
walls, with a stirring of regret. But the next moment he awakened the
sleeper, and in the briefest, almost frigid, sentences, related the
events of the morning.

The young man rose to his feet with a bitter laugh.

"You see," he said, "God is against me! And yet a few hours ago I dared
to think that He had guided me to a haven of rest and forgetfulness!

"Have you told the truth to him and to me?" said the priest sternly,
"or have you--a mere political refugee--taken advantage of an old man's
weakness to forge a foolish lie of sentimental passion?"

"What do you mean?" said Hurlstone, turning upon him almost fiercely.

The priest rose, and drawing a folded paper from his bosom, opened it
before the eyes of his indignant guest.

"Remember what you told me last night in the sacred confidences of
yonder holy church, and hear what you really are from the lips of the
Council of Todos Santos."

Smoothing out the paper, he read slowly as follows:--


"Whereas, it being presented to an Emergency Council, held at the
Presidio of Todos Santos, that the foreign barque Excelsior had
mutinied, discharged her captain and passengers, and escaped from the
waters of the bay, it was, on examination, found and decreed that the
said barque was a vessel primarily owned by a foreign Power, then and
there confessed and admitted to be at war with Mexico and equipped to
invade one of her northern provinces. But that the God of Liberty and
Justice awakening in the breasts of certain patriots--to wit, the heroic
Senor Diego Hurlstone and the invincible Dona Leonor--the courage and
discretion to resist the tyranny and injustice of their oppressors,
caused them to mutiny and abandon the vessel rather than become
accomplices, in the company of certain neutral and non-combatant traders
and artisans, severally known as Brace, Banks, Winslow, and Crosby;
and certain aristocrats, known as Senoras Brimmer and Chubb. In
consideration thereof, it is decreed by the Council of Todos Santos that
asylum, refuge, hospitality, protection, amity, and alliance be offered
and extended to the patriots, Senor Diego Hurlstone, Dona Leonor, and
a certain Duenna Susana Markham, particularly attached to Dona Leonor's
person; and that war, reprisal, banishment, and death be declared
against Senor Perkins, his unknown aiders and abettors. And that for
the purposes of probation, and in the interests of clemency, provisional
parole shall be extended to the alleged neutrals--Brace, Banks, Crosby,
and Winslow--within the limits and boundaries of the lazaretto of San
Antonio, until their neutrality shall be established, and pending the
further pleasure of the Council. And it is further decreed and declared
that one Capitano Bunker, formerly of the Excelsior, but now a maniac
and lunatic--being irresponsible and visited of God, shall be exempted
from the ordinances of this decree until his reason shall be restored;
and during that interval subjected to the ordinary remedial and
beneficent restraint of civilization and humanity. By order of the
Council,--

"The signatures and rubrics of--

"DON MIGUEL BRIONES,

Comandante.

"PADRE ESTEBAN,

of the Order of San Francisco d'Assisis.

"DON RAMON RAMIREZ,

Alcalde of the Pueblo of Todos Santos."




CHAPTER XI.

THE CAPTAIN FOLLOWS HIS SHIP.


When Padre Esteban had finished reading the document he laid it down and
fixed his eyes on the young man. Hurlstone met his look with a glance of
impatient disdain.

"What have you to say to this?" asked the ecclesiastic, a little
impressed by his manner.

"That as far as it concerns myself it is a farrago of absurdity. If I
were the person described there, why should I have sought you with
what you call a lie of 'sentimental passion,' when I could have claimed
protection openly with my SISTER PATRIOT," he added, with a bitter
laugh.

"Because you did not know THEN the sympathy of the people nor the
decision of the Council," said the priest.

"But I know it NOW, and I refuse to accept it."

"You refuse--to--to accept it?" echoed the priest.

"I do." He walked towards the door. "Before I go, let me thank you for
the few hours' rest and security that you have given to one who may be a
cursed man, yet is no impostor. But I do not blame you for doubting one
who talks like a desperate man, yet lacks the courage of desperation.
Good-by!"

"Where are you going?"

"What matters? There is a safer protection and security to be found than
even that offered by the Council of Todos Santos."

His eyes were averted, but not before the priest had seen them glaze
again with the same gloomy absorption that had horrified him in the
church the evening before. Father Esteban stepped forward and placed his
soft hand on Hurlstone's shoulder.

"Look at me. Don't turn your face aside, but hear me; for I believe your
story."

Without raising his eyes, the young man lifted Father Esteban's hand
from his shoulder, pressed it lightly, and put it quietly aside.

"I thank you," he said, "for keeping at least that unstained memory of
me. But it matters little now. Good-by!"

He had his hand upon the door, but the priest again withheld him.

"When I tell you I believe your story, it is only to tell you more. I
believe that God has directed your wayward, wandering feet here to
His house, that you may lay down the burden of your weak and suffering
manhood before His altar, and become once more a child of His. I stand
here to offer you, not a refuge of a day or a night, but for all
time; not a hiding-place from man or woman, but from yourself, my
son--yourself, your weak and mortal self, more fatal to you than all.
I stand here to open for you not only the door of this humble cell, but
that of His yonder blessed mansion. You shall share my life with me; you
shall be one of my disciples; you shall help me strive for other souls
as I have striven for yours; the protection of the Church, which is
all-powerful, shall be around you if you wish to be known; you shall
hide yourself in its mysteries if you wish to be forgotten. You shall be
my child, my companion, my friend; all that my age can give you shall
be yours while I live, and it shall be your place one day to take up my
unfinished work when it falls from these palsied hands forever."

"You are mistaken," said the young man coldly. "I came to you for
human aid, and thank you for what you have granted me: I have not been
presumptuous enough to ask more, nor to believe myself a fitting subject
for conversion. I am weak, but not weak enough to take advantage of the
mistaken kindness of either the temporal Council of Todos Santos or its
spiritual head." He opened the door leading into the garden. "Forget and
forgive me, Father Esteban, and let me say farewell."

"Stop!" said the ecclesiastic, raising himself to his full height and
stepping before Hurlstone. "Then if you will not hear me in the name of
your Father who lives, in the name of your father who is dead I command
you to stay! I stand here to-day in the place of that man I never
knew--to hold back his son from madness and crime. Think of me as of him
whom you loved, and grant to an old man who might have had a son as old
as you the right of throwing a father's protecting arm around you."

There was a moment's silence.

"What do you want me to do?" said Hurlstone, suddenly lifting his now
moist and glistening eyes upon the old man.

"Give me your word of honor that for twenty-four hours you will remain
as you are--pledging yourself to nothing--only promising to commit no
act, take no step, without consulting me. You will not be sought here,
nor yet need you keep yourself a prisoner in these gloomy walls--except
that, by exposing yourself to the people now, you might be compromised
to some course that you are not ready to take."

"I promise," said Hurlstone.

He turned and held out both his hands; but Father Esteban anticipated
him with a paternal gesture of uplifted and opened arms, and for an
instant the young man's forehead was bowed on the priest's shoulder.

Father Esteban gently raised the young man's head.

"You will take a pasear in the garden until the Angelus rings, my son,
while the air is sweet and wholesome, and think this over. Remember that
you may accept the hospitality of the Council without sin of deception.
You were not in sympathy with either the captors of the Excelsior or
their defeated party; for you would have flown from both. You, of all
your party now in Todos Santos, are most in sympathy with us. You have
no cause to love your own people; you have abandoned them for us. Go, my
son; and meditate upon my words. I will fetch you from yonder slope in
time for the evening refection."

Hurlstone bowed his head and turned his irresolute feet towards the
upper extremity of the garden, indicated by the priest, which seemed to
offer more seclusion and security than the avenue of pear-trees. He was
dazed and benumbed. The old dogged impulses of self-destruction--revived
by the priest's reproaches, but checked by the vision of his dead and
forgotten father, which the priest's words had called up--gave way, in
turn, to his former despair. With it came a craving for peace and rest
so insidious that in some vague fear of yielding to it he quickened his
pace, as if to increase his distance from the church and its apostle. He
was almost out of breath when he reached the summit, and turned to look
back upon the Mission buildings and the straggling street of the pueblo,
which now for the first time he saw skirted the wall of the garden in
its descent towards the sea. He had not known the full extent of Todos
Santos before; when he swam ashore he had landed under a crumbling
outwork of the fort; he gazed now with curious interest over the hamlet
that might have been his home. He looked over the red-tiled roofs, and
further on to the shining bay, shut in by the impenetrable rampart of
fog. He might have found rest and oblivion here but for the intrusion of
those fellow-passengers to share his exile and make it intolerable.
How he hated and loathed them all! Yet the next moment he found himself
scrutinizing the street and plaza below him for a glimpse of his
countrywomen, whom he knew were still in the town or vainly endeavoring
to locate their habitation among the red-tiled roofs. And that frank,
clear-eyed girl--Miss Keene!--she who had seemed to vaguely pity
him--she was somewhere here too--selected by the irony of fate to be his
confederate! He could not help thinking of her beauty and kindness now,
with a vague curiosity that was half an uneasiness. It had not struck
him before, but if he were to accept the ridiculous attitude forced upon
him by Todos Santos, its absurdity, as well as its responsibility, would
become less odious by sharing it with another. Perhaps it might be
to HER advantage--and if so, would he be justified in exposing its
absurdity? He would have to see her first--and if he did, how would he
explain his real position? A returning wave of bitterness threw him back
into his old despair.

The twilight had slowly gathered over the view as he gazed--or, rather
a luminous concentration above the pueblo and bay had left the outer
circle of fog denser and darker. Emboldened by the apparent desertion of
the Embarcadero, he began to retrace his steps down the slope, keeping
close to the wall so as to avoid passing before the church again, or a
closer contact with the gardener among the vines. In this way he reached
the path he had skirted the night before, and stopped almost under
the shadow of the Alcalde's house. It was here he had rested and
hidden,--here he had tasted the first sweets of isolation and oblivion
in the dreamy garden,--here he had looked forward to peace with the
passing of the ship,--and now? The sound of voices and laughter
suddenly grated upon his ear. He had heard those voices before. Their
distinctness startled him until he became aware that he was standing
before a broken, half-rotting door that permitted a glimpse of the
courtyard of the neighboring house. He glided quickly past it without
pausing, but in that glimpse beheld Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb half
reclining in the corridor--in the attitude he had often seen them on the
deck of the ship--talking and laughing with a group of Mexican gallants.
A feeling of inconceivable loathing and aversion took possession of
him. Was it to THIS he was returning after his despairing search for
oblivion? Their empty, idle laughter seemed to ring mockingly in his
ears as he hurried on, scarce knowing whither, until he paused before
the broken cactus hedge and crumbling wall that faced the Embarcadero.
A glance over the hedge showed him that the strip of beach was deserted.
He looked up the narrow street; it was empty. A few rapid strides across
it gained him the shadow of the sea-wall of the Presidio, unchecked and
unhindered. The ebbing tide had left a foot or two of narrow shingle
between the sea and the wall. He crept along this until, a hundred yards
distant, the sea-wall reentered inland around a bastion at the entrance
of a moat half filled at high tide by the waters of the bay, but now a
ditch of shallow pools, sand, and debris. He leaned against the bastion,
and looked over the softly darkening water.

How quiet it looked, and, under that vaporous veil, how profound and
inscrutable! How easy to slip into its all-embracing arms, and sink into
its yielding bosom, leaving behind no stain, trace, or record! A
surer oblivion than the Church, which could not absolve memory, grant
forgetfulness, nor even hide the ghastly footprints of its occupants.
Here was obliteration. But was he sure of that? He thought of the body
of the murdered Peruvian, laid out at the feet of the Council by this
same fickle and uncertain sea; he thought of his own distorted face
subjected to the cold curiosity of these aliens or the contemptuous pity
of his countrymen. But that could be avoided. It was easy for him--a
good swimmer--to reach a point far enough out in the channel for the
ebbing tides to carry him past that barrier of fog into the open and
obliterating ocean. And then, at least, it might seem as if he had
attempted to ESCAPE--indeed, if he cared, he might be able to keep
afloat until he was picked up by some passing vessel, bound to a distant
land! The self-delusion pleased him, and seemed to add the clinching
argument to his resolution. It was not suicide; it was escape--certainly
no more than escape--he intended! And this miserable sophism of
self-apology, the last flashes of expiring conscience, helped to light
up his pale, determined face with satisfaction. He began coolly to
divest himself of his coat.

What was that?--the sound of some dislodged stones splashing in one
of the pools further up! He glanced hurriedly round the wall of the
bastion. A figure crouching against the side of the ditch, as if
concealing itself from observation on the glacis above, was slowly
approaching the sea. Suddenly, when within a hundred yards of Hurlstone,
it turned, crossed the ditch, rapidly mounted its crumbling sides,
and disappeared over the crest. But in that hurried glimpse he had
recognized Captain Bunker!

The sudden and mysterious apparition of this man produced on Hurlstone
an effect that the most violent opposition could not have created.
Without a thought of the terrible purpose it had interrupted, and
obeying some stronger instinct that had seized him, he dashed down into
the ditch and up to the crest again after Captain Bunker. But he had
completely disappeared. A little lagoon, making in from the bay, on
which a small fishing-boat was riding, and a solitary fisherman mending
his nets on the muddy shore a few feet from it, were all that was to be
seen.

He was turning back, when he saw the object of his search creeping from
some reeds, on all fours, with a stealthy, panther-like movement towards
the unconscious fisherman. Before Hurlstone could utter a cry, Bunker
had sprung upon the unfortunate man, thrown him to the earth, rapidly
rolled him over and over, enwrapping him hand and foot in his own
net, and involving him hopelessly in its meshes. Tossing the helpless
victim--who was apparently too stupefied to call out--to one side,
he was rushing towards the boat when, with a single bound, Hurlstone
reached his side and laid his hand upon his shoulder.

"Captain Bunker, for God's sake! what are you doing?"

Captain Bunker turned slowly and without apparent concern towards his
captor. Hurlstone fell back before the vacant, lack-lustre eyes that
were fixed upon him.

"Captain Bunker's my name," said the madman, in a whisper. "Lemuel
Bunker, of Nantucket! Hush! don't waken him," pointing to the prostrate
fisherman; "I've put him to sleep. I'm Captain Bunker--old drunken
Bunker--who stole one ship from her owners, and disgraced himself, and
now is going to steal another--ha, ha! Let me go."

"Captain Bunker," said Hurlstone, recovering himself in time to prevent
the maniac from dashing into the water. "Look at me. Don't you know me?"

"Yes, yes; you're one of old Bunker's dogs kicked overboard by Perkins.
I'm one of Perkins' dogs gone mad, and locked up by Perkins! Ha, ha! But
I got out! Hush! SHE let me out. SHE thought I was going to see the boys
at San Antonio. But I'm going off to see the old barque out there in the
fog. I'm going to chuck Perkins overboard and the two mates. Let me go."

He struggled violently. Hurlstone, fearful of quitting his hold to
release the fisherman, whom Captain Bunker no longer noticed, and not
daring to increase the Captain's fury by openly calling to him, beckoned
the pinioned man to make an effort. But, paralyzed by fear, the wretched
captive remained immovable, staring at the struggling men. With the
strength of desperation Hurlstone at last forced the Captain down upon
his knees.

"Listen, Captain! We'll go together--you understand. I'll help you--but
we must get a larger boat first--you know."

"But they won't give it," said Captain Bunker mysteriously. "Didn't you
hear the Council--the owners--the underwriters say: 'He lost his ship,
he's ruined and disgraced, for rum, all for rum!' And we want rum, you
know, and it's all over there, in the Excelsior's locker!"

"Yes, yes," said Hurlstone soothingly; "but there's more in the bigger
boat. Come with me. We'll let the man loose, and we'll make him show us
his bigger boat."

It was an unfortunate suggestion; for the Captain, who had listened with
an insane chuckle, and allowed himself to be taken lightly by the
hand, again caught sight of the prostrate fisherman. A yell broke from
him--his former frenzy returned. With a cry of "Treachery! all hands on
deck!" he threw off Hurlstone and rushed into the water.

"Help!" cried the young man, springing after him, "It is madness. He
will kill himself!"

The water was shallow, they were both wading, they both reached the boat
at the same time; but the Captain had scrambled into the stern-sheets,
and cast loose the painter, as Hurlstone once more threw his arms about
him.

"Hear me, Captain. I'll go with you. Listen! I know the way through the
fog. You understand: I'll pilot you!" He was desperate, but no longer
from despair of himself, but of another; he was reckless, but only to
save a madman from the fate that but a moment before he had chosen for
himself.

Captain Bunker seemed to soften. "Get in for'ard," he said, in a lower
voice. Hurlstone released his grasp, but still clinging to the boat,
which had now drifted into deeper water, made his way to the bow. He was
climbing over the thwarts when a horrified cry from the fisherman ashore
and a jarring laugh in his ear caused him to look up. But not in time to
save himself! The treacherous maniac had suddenly launched a blow from
an oar at the unsuspecting man as he was rising to his knees. It
missed his head, but fell upon his arm and shoulder, precipitating him
violently into the sea.

Stunned by the shock, he sank at first like lead to the bottom. When he
rose again, with his returning consciousness, he could see that Captain
Bunker had already hoisted sail, and, with the assistance of his oars,
was rapidly increasing his distance from the shore. With his returning
desperation he turned to strike out after him, but groaned as his one
arm sank powerless to his side. A few strokes showed him the madness
of the attempt; a few more convinced him that he himself could barely
return to the shore. A sudden torpor had taken possession of him--he was
sinking!