On Foreign Service; Or, The Santa Cruz RevolutionJeans, T. T. (Thomas Tendron)
General
On Foreign Service; Or, The Santa Cruz Revolution
Jeans, T. T. (Thomas Tendron)
Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Fiction; Seafaring life -- Fiction; South America -- Fiction
’He says the President is too busy to see me,’ the Minister told the
Captain, who was gradually getting angry at being treated like this.
Then there was another commotion, and in came the grand-looking old
Governor of Los Angelos and the black A.D.C. He seemed to be a friend
of the Minister, for he stopped and shook his hand, bowed and yarned
quite pleasantly. He too went into the other room.
’I’ve told him that I must see the President,’ the Minister said, and we
waited again, though even he wasn’t successful, and came back shrugging
his shoulders and spreading out his hands, his great sword clanking
along the floor.
The Minister’s face never altered the slightest bit. ’He refuses to see
me—will only receive the senior foreign Minister—that is the Comte de
Launy, the Frenchman. It’s no use waiting here any longer—we must go
and find him—it will take an hour.’
His voice never altered in the slightest degree, but the Captain was
’tut tutting’ and polishing his eye-glass, whilst Mr. Perkins was
bubbling over with wrath.
As we went out we saw the officers all sneering at us, but the Governor
sang out something very angrily, and they stood to attention and he
himself bowed us out. We were jolly glad to get out, I can tell you,
because it was such a horrid feeling to have all these strange
fierce-looking officers all round us without being able to understand a
word they said, and to feel certain that they’d like to murder us.
’Well, the old Governor’s a gent, isn’t he?’ the Angel whispered.
We drove back to the Residence—I was feeling awfully sick with funk
about Billums—and there we were left whilst the Captain and the Minister
drove away again to find the Frenchman.
It was long after four o’clock; Mr. Macdonald would be on his way down
to Los Angelos, and we hadn’t the least idea how we should get back; but
we didn’t want to go back so long as old Billums was shut up in San
Sebastian, and might be shot any minute.
There were only three ladies there now, the Minister’s wife and her two
daughters, and they did their very best to cheer us up. The Angel was
in great form—he always was when ladies were about—and sang his rotten
songs; but as I couldn’t sit still, I wandered out into the courtyard,
and fed some goldfish in one of the fountains. It was fairly cool
there, and every time I heard wheels I ran to the gateway, but they
didn’t come back till nearly six o’clock, and when I rushed out, hoping
to see Billums with them, there was only a dried-up little man in
another gorgeous uniform—the French Minister.
’No good, Temple,’ the Captain said, looking awfully serious.
’He won’t let him go till his brother surrenders—does it to humiliate
us.’
’What are you going to do now, sir?’ I asked him, but he didn’t answer.
They all three drove away again, and Mr. Perkins told me that they were
going to collect all the foreign Ministers, and intended to see him in a
body.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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