Part 30 (1/2)

”Cogan saw the Panamanian army at dress parade one day--after the Revolution that was. About two hundred darkies, mostly boys of thirteen or fourteen, barefooted with high-water pants on. Cogan's notion of it was that a dozen good huskies with baseball bats could've landed on their peninsula any fine, sunny afternoon and in ten minutes rushed the whole Panamanian army into the Pacific Ocean--that is, if our wars.h.i.+ps would let them. If we'd only let the Colombians alone they'd soon've wound up the Revolution--so Cogan thought, and told Martin so. 'But I s'pose they've had hundreds of revolutions in South America?' he says to Martin.

”'Hundreds,' says Martin, and blows more smoke toward the sky. Out in front of the saloon they were sitting, both of 'em balancing between the sidewalk and the wall on the hind legs of their chairs.

”'Anybody ever killed?'

”'Oh, not more than maybe a few hundred to a time--sometimes a few thousand--'

”'Hundreds? Thousands?' says Cogan. 'We hadn't any more than three hundred killed--that is, killed fighting--in the whole Santiago campaign.' Cogan had been there.

”'And you have written a library of books about it,' says Martin. 'But of course when a few hundred are killed down this way--'tis a great joke. And those little black and tan lads of thirteen or fourteen having to go off shouldering a rifle and kill or get killed--they're jokes, too. But if a grown man up in your country does it--the band plays when he goes and comes, and he makes speeches about it at banquets--and sometimes he will draw a pension for the next sixty years after it--'

says Martin and said it in his easy way, as if he didn't care much about it one way or the other; and maybe he didn't.

”Cogan didn't find much doing on the streets of Colon after the Revolution was over, so he got in the way of dropping into a place just around the corner from Martin's, a joint where they sold you drinks to tables in the front room and ran faro layouts in two rooms in back--one for whites and one for blacks.

”Cogan drifted in there with a man who looked like the pictures of grand dukes he'd seen--tall, fine broad shoulders, and dressed in white ducks, and wore a long, well-trimmed dark beard, and swung a gold-headed cane, and had a big ring on one finger. Cogan heard him on the wharf that day--he talked pretty good English--helping out a Chinese merchant who was kicking about the freight charges on some cases he wanted to s.h.i.+p across the peninsula. The American gang running the railroad down there used to charge what they pleased in those days, and Cogan had a sympathy for anybody that bucked them--he'd had to pay eight dollars gold for a run to Panama and back himself--and he and the grand duke got chummy and looked the town over together; but not much to look at, and this evening they drifted into this place--the Russian taking a high-ball and Cogan another ginger ale--to have an excuse to hang around and see what was doing.

”There wasn't much doing. Half a dozen discouraged looking girls were sitting to tables in the place. From California, Mexico, Jamaica they were, and had come on just as soon as they could when they heard about the Revolution, thinking that with the crowd of Americans who were sure to rush down to the peninsula, there ought to be a living for a few clever ladies like themselves. But up to this time the rush hadn't got beyond war correspondents and navy people, and now the poor things were sitting to tables and looking as if they wished somebody would loosen up and buy a drink--even if it was no more than a gla.s.s of moxie.

”Cogan's grand duke turned out to be a Peruvian, a dealer in Panama hats from Lima, and he told Cogan a lot about Panama hats, which weren't Panama hats at all, and other interesting things--South America politics and bull fighting especially. He had a brother Juan, who was a famous mounted capeador, he said--that's the man who sits with a red cloak on a horse in the first part of the bull fight and Cogan could see that he was very proud of him.

”Cogan and his Peruvian friend were getting on fine, when a tremendous old Indian woman filled up the doorway, and said something in Spanish to the Peruvian, and he got up, explaining to Cogan that his daughter Valera, who had come with him on this trip to see the strange peoples, had sent to say that he must not forget his good-night before she fell asleep. 'She never allows me to forget that,' said the Peruvian. 'Also possibly she knows,' he smiled, 'that if I am at home I shall not be in mis-cheef,' and he said he hoped they'd meet again next day and bowed himself out.

”Cogan went off later to his hotel. That's the same hotel which had been the George Was.h.i.+ngton Hotel, later the Cleveland House, and at this time was the Hotel McKinley, but with an intention soon to call it the Roosevelt House. If it's there now, it must be the Hotel Taft.

”Cogan had the end room of the lower floor of the hotel wing which ran down toward the beach. The ocean rolled almost up to the window of his room. It was a calm night with no sea on, and lying there, listening, Cogan could just catch the low swish of the surf.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He said he hoped they'd meet again next day and bowed himself out]

”It was a hot, close night, and Cogan's bed no cooler for being wrapped four times around with mosquito netting, so after he had tossed around an hour or two, he guessed he might as well get up and have a swim. He had only to step through a window, take a hop, step, and jump, and he would be at the edge of the surf; but as he opened up his shutters softly, so as not to disturb anybody else in that wing of the house, he saw that it was already near dawn, and then wh-s-s-t, quick as that, the top edge of the sun popped up.

”Cogan looking out saw a young girl of maybe fourteen years with long black hair hanging loose behind her. It was a smooth, silver-like sea, with hardly surf enough to raise a white edge on the beach, and the girl, ankle deep in the water, was kicking her feet ahead of her, making a great splas.h.i.+ng as she marched along. Her legs below her knees were bare, and she was gurgling with joy. By the time she was abreast of Cogan's window, it was full dawn.

”Suddenly she turned, ran in waist deep, and plunged seaward. Cogan, seeing her over her head and alone, began to worry; but he might have saved himself the worry--she came tumbling back like a young dolphin, found her feet on the beach, and flew to where was a cloak and a pair of Chinese slippers piled on the sand. The long rays of the just rising sun were now flas.h.i.+ng level atop of the sea, and the sea-water clinging to her in a million twinkling drops as she ran. Cogan remembered a marble nymph he had once seen under a fountain in a square on a sunny morning in Rome, only the figure in Rome was a couple of hundred, or perhaps a couple of thousand, years old and needed was.h.i.+ng, and being marble the water didn't cling so lingeringly.

”Her bare young legs, as they twinkled on the beach, were like a pair of moving poems to Cogan, and then the long cloak enveloped her. An instant later the little feet slipped out from beneath the cloak and into the sandals, and then a big woman came running down the beach. Cogan recognized her--the same big Indian who had come after his Peruvian friend the night before. He decided she must be a descendant of the old Incas that Pizarro conquered, and of course that didn't make it any less interesting. She began to scold the girl, peering distressfully around while she was talking as if to see if any early hotel riser had seen them. But the girl only made a face up at her, and that gave Cogan his first sight of her teeth. He thought her the most delightful looking creature he had ever seen. They disappeared between a row of trees further up the beach--a row of palms which guarded a line of cottages from the wash of the surf.

”'That,' said Cogan to himself, when his eyes couldn't make out the fluttering of her cloak any more--'that must be Valera.' And he sat down to the hotel breakfast with a great appet.i.te, thinking happily that by and by he would see her father again.

”But Cogan, who was off a cruiser in Colon harbor, had to be back aboard for quarters that morning; and after quarters it was up the coast to Chiriqui Lagoon to coal s.h.i.+p, and it was three days more before he was back in Colon. His Peruvian friend he could not find, but he looked up the Chinese trader that he'd first seen him with and who had a shop on the corner between Martin Jackson's and the faro joint.

”The Chinaman could tell him. Senor Roca had taken the choo-choo back to Callao--si, si--Oh, yes, for Lima.

”Cogan asked for the name and address and got it. 'Senor Luis Roca,' he repeated. 'I'll remember that--and the street and number. And some day I'll take a run down to Peru--to Lima.'

”'Si, si--fine cit-ee. And bull fight--granda, senor,' said the Chinaman, who, like Martin Jackson, had also a Spanish accent.”

The pump-man had come to a full stop. The third officer was standing near. A regurgitating and ruminating little animal was the third officer, who always after a meal came up on deck to lean over the after-rail, and spend a few enjoyable minutes in picking his teeth, and rechewing the lumps of food as they welled regularly into his throat; but otherwise a polite little man, plainly waiting for a chance to say a word to Kieran, but too well-bred to break in on any intimate conversation. However, Kieran remained silent so very long that the third officer turned and ventured: ”'Adn't you better go below and have your bit o' dinner afore it's gone, mate?” And Kieran came out of his dream and said perhaps he'd better and stood up to go below; but on the top step of the ladder he paused and over his shoulder threw back to the pa.s.senger: ”It was a long time, though, before Cogan saw Peru.”

II

When Kieran came on deck again the third officer had gone forward, but the pa.s.senger was still on one of the towing bitts and still smoking.