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
His eyes gleamed. ’What! Captain Pelayo! That’s Captain don Martin de
Pelayo—our man—a de Costa man—he’s managed to get hold of her after
all,’ and he sang out some gibberish to the natives standing round. In
a moment they had leapt in the air, shouting and waving their hats, and
hugging each other, bolting away towards the town screaming shrilly,
’_La Buena Presidente! La Buena Presidente! Viva Capitaine Pelayo!_’
I had some inkling of what had happened.
’Don Martin was the best captain in the Navy,’ Wilson told me; ’chucked
out because he demanded ammunition for his ships. We sent him to
England, and if that telegram is correct, he has managed to get hold of
the big cruiser. In three months de Costa should be President of Santa
Cruz.’
I could not help telling him—not officially, of course—how glad I was;
and as my lazy crew pulled us aboard, the town seemed to be buzzing like
a bee-hive, the bells in the cathedral ringing joyously, and green and
black flags hanging over every building.
’Your brother wants you to ride out to the front with him to-night,’ I
told my Sub. ’You can go when you like.’
As usual, the most beautifully cool crisp night followed the terrible
heat of the day, and the town of San Fernando looked extremely
picturesque, a mass of white roofs and clear-cut shadows, bathed in the
light of a full moon. The road leading up the ridge behind the town
stood out a silvery streak, and the mere thought of it, plunging into
the appalling shadows of that grim forest beyond, made me shiver as I
held my breath and listened for sounds of the struggle I knew must still
be going on twenty miles away. Huddled together in some clearing of the
forest, or strung wearily along the road, brave old Zorilla and his
half-fed men were still surrounded by those fierce, silent, little
forest-men with their terrible _machetes_, their bags of cartridges, and
their rusty rifles. I turned in feeling rather creepy, and hoped that
my Sub wouldn’t do anything foolhardy.
What he did he will tell you himself.
*CHAPTER VII*
*General Zorilla falls back*
_Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account