"You
are a man of many novel adventures and varied enterprises," I said
to Captain Patricio Malone. "Do
you believe that the possible element of good luck or bad luck - if
there is such a thing as luck - has influenced your career or persisted
for or against you to such an extent that you were forced to attribute
results to the operation of the aforesaid good luck or bad luck?"
This
question (of almost the dull insolence of legal phraseology) was put
while we sat in Rousselin's little red-tiled cafe near Congo Square in
New Orleans.
Brown-faced,
white-hatted, finger-ringed captains of adventure came often to
Rousselin's for the cognac. They
came from sea and land, and were chary of relating the things they had
seen - not because they were more wonderful than the fantasies of the
Ananiases of print, but because they were so different.
And I was a perpetual wedding-guest, always striving to cast my
buttonhole over the finger of one of these mariners of fortune.
This Captain Malone was a Hiberno-lberian creole who had gone to
and fro in the earth and walked up and down in it.
He looked like any other well-dressed man of thirty-five whom you
might meet, except that he was hopelessly weather-tanned, and wore on
his chain an ancient ivory-and gold Peruvian charm against evil, which
has nothing at all to do with his story.
"My answer to your question,”
said the captain, smiling, "will be to tell you the story of
Bad-Luck Kearny. That is,
if you don't mind hearing it."
My
reply was to pound on the table for Rousselin.
"Strolling
along Tchoupitoulas Street one night," began Captain Malone,
"I noticed, without especially taxing my interest, a small man
walking rapidly toward me. He
stepped upon a wooden cellar door, crashed through it, and disappeared. I rescued him from a heap of soft coal below.
He dusted himself briskly, swearing fluently in a mechanical
tone, as an underpaid actor recites the gypsy's curse.
Gratitude and the dust in his throat seemed to call for fluids to
clear them away. His desire
for liquidation was expressed so heartily that I went with him to a cafe
down the street where we had some vile vermouth and bitters.
"Looking across that little table I had my first clear sight of
Francis Kearny. He was
about five feet seven, but as tough as a cypress knee.
His hair was darkest red, his mouth such a mere slit that you
wondered how the flood of his words came rushing from it.
His eyes were the brightest and lightest blue and the hopefullest
that I ever saw. He gave
the double impression that he was at bay and that you had better not
crowd him further.
"
'Just in from a gold-hunting expedition on the coast of Costa Rica,' he
explained. 'Second mate of
a banana steamer told me the natives were panning out enough from the
beach sands to buy all the rum, red calico, and parlor melodeons in the
world. The day I got there
a syndicate named Incorporated Jones gets a government concession to all
minerals from a given point. For
the next choice I take coast fever and count green and blue lizards for
six weeks in a grass hut. I
had to be notified when I was well, for the reptiles were actually
there. Then I shipped back
as third cook on a Norwegian tramp that blew up her boiler two miles
below Quarantine. I was due
to bust through that cellar door here to-night, so I hurried the rest of
the way up the river, roustabouting on a lower coast packet that made a
landing for every fisherman that wanted a plug of tobacco.
And now I'm here for what comes next.
And it'll be along, it'll be along,' said this queer Mr. Kearny;
'it'll be along on the beams of my bright but not very particular star.'
"From
the first the personality of Kearny charmed me. I saw in him the
bold heart, the restless nature, and the valiant front against the
buffets of fate that make his countrymen such valuable comrades in
adventure. And just then I
was wanting such men. Moored
at a fruit company's pier I had a 500-ton steamer ready to sail the with
a cargo of sugar, lumber, and corrugated iron for a port in - well, let
us call the country Esperando - it has not been long ago, and the name of Patricio Malone is still spoken there when
its politics are discussed. Beneath
the sugar and iron were packed a thousand Winchester rifles.
In Aguas Frias, the capital, Don Rafael Valdevia, Minister of
War, Esperando's greatest-hearted and most able patriot, awaited my
coming. No doubt you have
heard, of
the insignificant wars and uprisings in those little tropic republics.
They make but a faint clamor against the din of great nations'
battles; but down there,
under all the ridiculous uniforms and petty diplomacy and senseless
countermarching and intrigue, are to be found statesmen and patriots.
Don Rafael Valdevia was one. His great
ambition was to raise Esperando into peace and honest prosperity, and
the respect of the serious nations.
So he waited for my
rifles in Aguas Frias. But
one would think I am trying to win a recruit in you!
No; it was Francis Kearny I wanted.
And so I told him, speaking long over our execrable vermouth,
breathing the stifling odor from garlic and tarpaulins, which, as you
know, is the distinctive flavor of cafes in the lower slant of our city.
I spoke of the tyrant President Cruz,
and the burdens that his greed and insolent cruelty laid upon the
people. And at that
Kearny's tears flowed. And
then I dried them with a picture of the fat rewards that would be ours
when the oppressor should be overthrown and the wise and generous
Valdevia in his seat. Then
Kearny leaped to his feet and rung my hand with the strength of a
roustabout. He was mine, he said, till the last minion of the hated
despot was hurled from the highest peaks of the Cordilleras into the
sea.
"I
paid the score and we went out. Near
the door Kearny's elbow overturned an upright glass showcase, smashing
it into little bits. I paid
the storekeeper the price he asked.
“
'Come to my hotel for the night,' I said to Kearny. 'We sail tomorrow at noon.' “
“He
agreed; but on the sidewalk he fell to cursing again in the dull,
monotonous, glib way that he had done when I pulled him out of the coal
cellar.”
“
'Captain,' said he, 'before we go any further, it's no more than fair to
tell you that I'm known from Baffin's Bay to Tierra del Fuego as
"Bad-Luck" Kearny. And
I'm It. Everything I get
into goes up in the air except a balloon.
Every bet I ever made I lost except when I coppered it.
Every boat I ever sailed on sank except the submarines.
Everything I was ever interested in went to pieces except a
patent bombshell that I invented. Everything I ever took hold of and tried to run I ran into
the ground except when I tried to plough.
And that's why they call me Bad-Luck Kearny. I thought I'd tell you.' “
“Bad-luck,” said I, “or what goes by the name, may now and
then tangle the affairs of any man. But if it persists beyond the estimate of what we may call
the "averages" there must be a cause for it.'”
“ 'There is,' said Kearny, emphatically, 'and when we walk
another square I will show it to you.' “
"Surprised, I kept by his side until we came to Canal Street
and out into the middle of its great width.
"Kearny seized me by an arm and pointed a tragic fore-finger
at a rather brilliant star that shone steadily about thirty degrees
above the horizon.
“ 'That's Saturn,' said he, 'the star that presides over bad
luck and evil and disappointment and nothing doing and trouble.
I was born under that star.
Every move I make, up bobs Saturn and blocks it.
He's the hoodoo planet of the heavens.
They say he's 73,000 miles in diameter and no solider body than
split-pea soup, and he's got as many disreputable and malignant rings as
Chicago. Now, what kind of
a star is that to be born under?' “
"I asked Kearny where he had obtained all this astonishing
knowledge.”
" 'From Azrath, the great astrologer of Cleveland, Ohio,'
said he. 'That man looked
at a glass ball and told me my name before I'd taken a chair.
He prophesied the date of my birth and death before I'd said a
word. And then he cast my
horoscope, and the sidereal system socked me in the solar plexus.
It was bad luck for Francis Kearny from A to Izard and for his
friends that were implicated with him.
For that I gave up ten dollars.
This Azrath was sorry, but he respected his profession too much
to read the heavens wrong for any man.
It was night time, and he showed me which Saturn was, and how to
find it in different balconies and longitudes.
" 'But Saturn wasn't all.
He was only the man higher up.
He furnishes so much bad luck that they allow him a gang of
deputy sparklers to help hand it out.
They're circulating and revolving and hanging around the main
supply all the time, each one throwing the hoodoo on his own particular
district.
“
'You see that ugly little red star about eight inches above and to the
right of Saturn?' Kearny asked me.
'Well, that's her. That's Phoebe. She's
got me in charge. "By
the day of your birth," says Azrath to me, "your life is
subjected to the influence of Saturn.
By the hour and minute of it you must dwell under the sway and
direct authority of Phoebe, the
ninth satellite." So said this Azrath.' Kearny shook his fist
viciously skyward. 'Curse her, she's done her work well,' said he. 'Ever since I
was astrologized, bad luck has followed me like my shadow, as I told
you. And for many years
before. Now, Captain, I've told
you my handicap as a man should. If
you're afraid this evil star of mine might cripple your scheme, leave me
out of it.'
"I
reassured Kearny as well as I could.
I told him that for the time we would banish both astrology and
astronomy from our heads. The
manifest valor and enthusiasm of the man drew me.
'Let us see what a little courage and diligence will do against
bad luck,' I said. 'We will
sail to-morrow for Esperando.'
"Fifty
miles down the Mississippi our steamer broke her rudder.
We sent for a tug to tow us back and lost three days.
When we struck the blue waters of the Gulf, all the storm clouds
of the Atlantic seemed to have concentrated above us.
We thought surely to sweeten those leaping waves with our sugar,
and to stack our arms and lumber on the floor of the Mexican Gulf.
"Kearny
did not seek to cast off one iota of the burden of our danger from the
shoulders of his fatal horoscope. He
weathered every storm on deck, smoking a black pipe, to keep which
alight rain and sea-water seemed but as oil.
And he shook his fist at the black clouds behind which his
baleful star winked its unseen eye.
When the skies cleared one evening, he reviled his malignant
guardian with grim humor.
“
'On watch, aren't you, you red-headed vixen?
Out making it hot for little Francis Kearny and his friends,
according to Hoyle. Twinkle, twinkle, little devil!
You're a lady, aren't you? - dogging a man with bad luck just
because he happened to be born while your boss was floorwalker. Get busy and sink the ship, you one-eyed banshee.
Phoebe! H'm!
Sounds as mild as a milkmaid.
You can't judge a woman by her name.
Why couldn't I have had a man star?
I can't make the remarks to Phoebe that I could to a man.
Oh, Phoebe, you be - blasted!'
"For
eight days gales and squalls and water-spouts beat us from our course.
Five days only should have landed us in Esperando.
Our Jonah swallowed the bad credit of it with appealing
frankness; but that scarcely lessened the hardships our cause was made
to suffer.
"At
last one afternoon we steamed into the calm estuary of the little Rio
Escondido. Three miles up
this we crept, feeling for the shallow channel between the low banks
that were crowded to the edge with gigantic trees and riotous
vegetation. Then our
whistle gave a little toot, and in five minutes we heard a shout and
Carlos - my brave Carlos Quintana - crashed through the tangled vines
waving his cap madly for joy.
"A
hundred yards away was his camp, where three hundred chosen patriots of
Esperando were awaiting our coming.
For a month Carlos had been drilling them there in the tactics of
war, and filling them with the spirit of revolution and liberty.
"
'My Captain-compadre mio!' shouted Carlos, while yet my boat was being
lowered. 'You should see
them in the drill by companies - in
the column wheel - in the march by fours - they are superb! Also in the manual of arms - but, alas! performed only with
sticks of bamboo. The guns,
captain - say that you have
brought the guns!'
"
'A thousand Winchesters, Carlos,' I called to him. 'And two Gatlings.'
“ 'Valgame Dios!' he
cried, throwing his cap in the air.
'We shall sweep the world!'
"At that moment Kearny tumbled from the steamer's side into the
river. He could not swim,
so the crew threw him a rope and drew him back aboard.
I caught his eye and his look of pathetic but still bright and
undaunted consciousness of his guilty luck.
I told myself that although he might be a man to shun, he was
also one to be admired.
"I gave orders to the sailing-master that the arms, ammunition, and
provisions were to be landed at once.
That was easy in the steamer's boats, except for the two Gatling
guns. For their
transportation ashore we carried a stout flatboat, brought for the
purpose in the steamer's hold.
"In the meantime I walked with Carlos to the camp and made the
soldiers a little speech in Spanish, which they received with
enthusiasm; and then I had some wine and a cigarette in Carlos's tent.
Later we walked back to the river to see how the unloading was
being conducted.
"The small arms and provisions were already ashore, and the petty
officers had squads of men conveying them to camp.
One Gatling had been safely landed; the other was just being
hoisted over the side of the vessel as we arrived.
I noticed Kearny darting about on board, seeming to have the
ambition of ten men, and to be doing the work of five.
I think his zeal bubbled over when he saw Carlos and me.
A rope's end was swinging loose from some part of the tackle.
Kearny leaped impetuously and caught it.
There was a crackle and a hiss and a smoke of scorching hemp, and
the Gatling dropped straight as a plummet through the bottom of the
flatboat and buried itself in twenty feet of water and five feet of
river mud.
"I
turned my back on the scene. I
heard Carlos's loud cries as if from
some extreme grief too poignant for words.
I heard the complaining murmur of the crew and the maledictions
of Torres, the sailing-master - I could not bear to look.
"By night some degree of order had been restored in camp. Military rules were not drawn strictly, and the men were
grouped about the fires of their several messes, playing games of
chance, singing their native songs, or discussing with voluble animation
the contingencies of our march upon the capital.
"To
my tent, which had been pitched for me close to that of my chief
lieutenant, came Kearny, indomitable, smiling, bright-eyed, bearing no
traces of the buffets of his evil star.
Rather was his aspect that of a heroic martyr whose tribulations
were so high-sourced and glorious that he even took a splendor and a
prestige from them.
“
'Well, Captain,' said he, 'I guess you realize that Bad-Luck Kearny is
still on deck. It was a
shame, now, about that gun. She
only needed to be slewed two inches to clear the rail; and that's why I
grabbed that rope's end. Who'd
have thought that a sailor - even a Sicilian lubber on a banana coaster
- would have fastened a line in a bow-knot?
Don't think I'm trying to dodge the responsibility, Captain.
It's my luck.'
“
'There are men, Kearny,' said 1, gravely, 'who pass through life blaming
upon luck and chance the mistakes that result from their own faults and
incompetency. I do not say
that you are such a man. But
if all your mishaps are traceable to that tiny star, the sooner we endow
our colleges with chairs of moral astronomy, the better.'
“
'It isn't the size of the star that counts,' said Kearny; 'it's the
quality. Just the way it is
with women. That's why they
gave the biggest planets masculine names, and the little stars feminine
ones to even things up when it comes to getting their work in.
Suppose they had called my star Agamemnon or Bill McCarty or
something like that instead of Phoebe.
Every time one of those old boys touched their calamity button
and sent me down one of their wireless pieces of bad luck, I could talk
back and tell 'em what I thought of ‘em in suitable terms.
But you can't address such remarks to a Phoebe.'
"
'It pleases you to make a joke of it, Kearny,' said I, without smiling.
'But it is no joke to me to think of my Gatling mired in the
river ooze.'
"
'As to that,' said Kearny, abandoning his light mood at once, 'I have
already done what I could. I
have had some experience in hoisting stone in quarries.
Torres and I have already spliced three hawsers and stretched
them from the steamer's stem to a tree on shore.
We will rig a tackle and have the gun on terra firma before noon
to-morrow.'
"One
could not remain long at outs with Bad-Luck Kearny.
"
'Once more,' said I to him, 'we will waive this question of luck.
Have you ever had experience in drilling raw troops?'
"
'I was first sergeant and drill-master,' said Kearny, 'in the Chilean
army for one year. And
Captain of artillery for another.'
"
'What became of your command?' I asked.
" 'Shot down to a man,' said Kearny, 'during the revolutions
against Balmaceda.'
"Somehow the misfortunes of the evil-starred one seemed to turn to
me their comedy side. I lay
back upon my goat's-hide cot and laughed until the woods echoed.
Kearny grinned. 'I
told you how it was,' he said.
" 'To-morrow,'
I said, 'I shall detail one hundred men under your command for
manual-of-arms drill and company evolutions.
You will rank as lieutenant.
Now, for God's sake, Kearny,' I urged him, try to combat this
superstition if it is one. Bad
luck may be like any other visitor-preferring to stop where it is
expected. Get your mind off stars.
Look upon Esperando as your planet of good fortune.'
"
'I thank you, Captain,' said Kearny quietly.
'I will try to make it the best handicap I ever ran.'
"By noon the
next day the submerged Gatling was rescued, as Kearny had promised.
Then Carlos and Manuel Ortiz and Kearny (my lieutenants)
distributed Winchesters among the troops and put them through an
incessant rifle drill. We
fired no shots, blank or solid, for of all coasts Esperando is the
stillest; and we had no desire to sound any warnings in the ear of that
corrupt government until they should carry with them the message of
Liberty and the downfall of Oppression.
"In the
afternoon came a mule-rider bearing a written message to me from Don
Rafael Valdevia in the capital, Aguas Frias.
"Whenever that man's name comes to my lips, words of tribute to his
greatness, his noble simplicity, and his conspicuous genius follow
irrepressibly. He was a
traveler, a student of peoples and governments, a master of sciences, a
poet, an orator, a leader, a soldier, a critic of the world's campaigns
and the idol of the people of Esperando.
I had been honored by his friendship for years.
It was I who first turned his mind to the thought that he should
leave for his monument a new Esperando-a country freed from the rule of
unscrupulous tyrants, and a people made happy and prosperous by wise and
impartial legislation. When he had consented he threw himself into the cause with
the undivided zeal with which he endowed all of his acts. The coffers of his fortune were opened to those of us to whom
were entrusted the secret moves of the game.
His popularity was already so great that he had practically
forced President Cruz to offer him the portfolio of Minister of War.
"The
time, Don Rafael said in his letter, was ripe.
Success, he prophesied, was certain.
The people were beginning to clamor publicly against Cruz's
misrule.
Bands of citizens in the capital were even going about of nights
hurling stones at public buildings and expressing their dissatisfaction.
A bronze statue of President Cruz in the Botanical Gardens had
been lassoed about the neck and overthrown.
It only remained for me to arrive with my force and my thousand
rifles, and for himself to come forward and proclaim himself the
people's savior, to overthrow Cruz in a single day.
There would be but a half-hearted resistance from the six hundred
government troops stationed in the capital.
The country was ours.
He presumed that by this time my steamer had arrived at
Quintana's camp.
He proposed the eighteenth of July for the attack.
That would give us six days in which to strike camp and march to
Aguas Frias.
In the meantime Don Rafael remained my good friend and compadre
en la causa de la
libertad.
"On
the morning of the 14th we began our march toward the sea - following
the range of mountains, over the sixty-mile trail to the capital.
Our small arms and provisions were laden on pack mules.
Twenty men harnessed to each Gatling gun rolled them smoothly
along the flat, alluvial lowlands.
Our troops, well shod and well fed, moved with alacrity and
heartiness. I and my three
lieutenants were mounted on the tough mountain ponies of the country.
"A
mile out of camp one of the pack mules, becoming stubborn, broke away
from the train and plunged from the path into the thicket. The alert Kearny spurred quickly after it and intercepted its
flight. Rising in his
stirrups, he released one foot and bestowed upon the mutinous animal a
hearty kick. The mule
tottered and fell with a crash broadside upon the ground.
As we gathered around it, it walled its great eyes almost humanly
toward Kearny and expired. That
was bad; but worse, to our minds, was the concomitant disaster.
Part of the mule's burden had been one hundred pounds of the
finest coffee to be had in the tropics.
The bag burst and spilled the priceless brown mass of the ground
berries among the dense vines and weeds of the swampy land.
Mala suerte!
When you take away from an Esperandan his coffee, you
abstract his patriotism and 50 per cent of his value as a soldier.
The men began to rake up the precious stuff; but I beckoned
Kearny back along the trail where they would not hear.
The limit had been reached.
"I took from my pocket a wallet of money and drew out some
bills.
'Mr. Kearny,' said I, 'here
are some funds belonging to Don Rafael Valdevia, which I am expending in
his cause. I know of no
better service it can buy for him than this.
Here is one hundred dollars.
Luck or no luck, we part company here.
Star or no star, calamity seems to travel by your side.
You will return to the steamer.
She touches at Amotapa to discharge her lumber and iron, and then
puts back to New Orleans. Hand
this note to the sailing-master, who will give you passage.' I wrote on
a leaf torn from my book, and placed it and the money in Kearny's hand.
"
'Good-bye,' I said, extending my own.
'It is not that I am displeased with you; but there is no place
in this expedition for - let us say, the Senorita Phoebe.'
I said this with a smile, trying to smooth the thing for him.
'May you have better luck, companero.'
"
Kearny
took the money and the paper.
" 'It was just a little touch,' said he, 'just a little lift
with the toe of my boot-but what's the odds? - that blamed mule would
have died if I had only dusted his ribs with a powder puff.
It was my luck. Well, Captain, I would have liked to be in that little fight
with you over in Aguas Frias. Success
to the cause. Adios!'
"He
turned around and set off down the trail without looking back.
The unfortunate mule's pack-saddle was transferred to Kearny's
Pony, and we again took up the march.
"Four
days we journeyed over the foot-hills and mountains, fording icy
torrents, winding around the crumbling brows of ragged peaks, creeping
along the rocky flanges that overlooked awful precipices, crawling
breathlessly over tottering bridges that crossed bottomless chasms.
"On
the evening of the seventeenth we camped by a little stream on the bare
hills five miles from Aguas Frias.
At daybreak we were to take up the march again.
"At
midnight I was standing outside my tent inhaling the fresh cold air.
The stars were shining bright in the cloudless sky, giving the
heavens their proper aspect of illimitable depth in distance when viewed
from the vague darkness of the blotted earth.
Almost at its zenith was the planet Saturn; and with a half-smile
I observed the sinister red sparkle of his malignant attendant-the demon
star of Kearny's ill luck. And
then my thoughts strayed across the hills to the scene of our coming
triumph where the heroic and noble Don Rafael awaited our coming to set
a new and shining star in the firmament of nations.
"I
heard a slight rustling in the deep grass to my right.
I turned and saw Kearny coming toward me.
He was ragged and dew-drenched and limping.
His hat and one boot were gone.
About one foot he had tied some makeshift of cloth and grass.
But his manner as he approached was that of a man who knows his
own virtues well enough to be superior to rebuffs.
"
'Well, Sir,' I said, staring at him coldly, 'if there is anything in
persistence, I see no reason why you should not succeed in wrecking and
ruining us yet.'
"
'I kept half a day's journey behind,' said Kearny, fishing out a stone
from the covering of his lame foot, so the bad luck wouldn't touch you.
I couldn't help it, Captain; I wanted to be in on this game. It was a pretty tough trip, especially in the department of
the commissary. In the low
grounds there were always bananas and oranges.
Higher, up it was worse; but your men left a good deal of goat
meat hanging on the bushes in the camps.
Here's your hundred dollars.
You're nearly there now, Captain.
Let me in on the scrapping tomorrow.’
“
'Not for a hundred times a hundred would I have the tiniest thing go
wrong with my plans now,' I said, 'whether caused by evil planets or the
blunders of mere man. But
yonder is Aguas Frias, five miles away, and a clear road.
I am of the mind to defy Saturn and all his satellites to spoil
our success now. At any
rate, I will not turn away to-night as weary a traveler and as good a
soldier as you are, Lieutenant Kearny.
Manuel Ortiz's tent is there by the brightest fire.
Rout him out and tell him to supply you with food and blankets
and clothes. We march again
at daybreak.'
"Kearny
thanked me briefly but with feeling and moved away.
"He
had gone scarcely a dozen steps when a sudden flash of bright light
illumined the surrounding hills; a sinister, growing, hissing sound like
escaping steam filled my ears. Then
followed a roar as of distant thunder, which grew louder every instant. This terrifying noise culminated in a tremendous explosion,
which seemed to rock the hills as an earthquake would; the illumination
waxed to a glare so fierce that I clapped my hands to my eyes to save
them. I thought the end of
the world had come. I could
think of no natural phenomenon that would explain it.
My wits were staggering. The
deafening explosion trailed off into the rumbling roar that had preceded
it; and through this I heard the frightened shouts of my troops as they
stumbled from their resting places and rushed wildly about.
Also I heard the harsh tones of Kearny's voice crying:
'They'll blame it on me, of course, and what the devil it is,
it's not Francis Kearny that can give you an answer.’
"I opened my eyes. The
hills were still there, dark and solid.
It had not been, then, a volcano or an earthquake.
I looked up at the sky and saw a comet-like trail crossing the
zenith and extending westwards fiery trail waning fainter and narrower
each moment.
"
'A meteor!' I called aloud. 'A
meteor has fallen. There is
no danger.'
"And
then all other sounds were drowned by a great shout from Kearny's
throat. He had raised both
hands above his head and was standing tiptoe.
"
'PHOEBE'S GONE!' he cried, with all his lungs.
'She's busted and gone to hell.
Look, Captain, the little red-headed hoodoo has blown herself to
smithereens. She found Kearny too tough to handle, and she puffed up with
spite and meanness till her boiler blew up.
It'll be Bad-Luck Kearny no more.
Oh, let us be joyful!
"Humpty Dumpty sat on a
wall;
Humpty
busted, and that'll be all!
"I
looked up, wondering, and picked out Saturn in his place.
But the small red twinkling luminary in his vicinity, which
Kearny had pointed out to me as his evil star, had vanished.
I had seen it there but half an hour before; there was no doubt
that one of those awful and mysterious spasms of nature had hurled it
from the heavens.
"I
clapped Kearny on the shoulder.
"
'Little man,' said I, 'let this clear the way for you.
It appears that astrology has failed to subdue you.
Your horoscope must be cast anew with pluck and loyalty for
controlling stars. I play
you to win. Now, get to
your tent, and sleep. Daybreak
is the word.'
"At
nine o'clock on the morning of the eighteenth of July I rode into Aguas
Frias with Kearny at my side. In
his clean linen suit and with his military poise and keen eye he was a
model of a fighting adventurer. I
had visions of him riding as commander of President Valdevia's bodyguard
when the plums of the new republic should begin to fall.
"Carlos
followed with the troops and supplies.
He was to halt in a wood outside the town and remain concealed
there until he received the word to advance.
"Kearny
and I rode down the Calle Ancha toward the residencia
of Don Rafael at the other side of the town. As we passed the superb white buildings of the University of
Esperando, I saw at an open window the gleaming spectacles and bald head
of Herr Bergowitz, professor of the natural sciences and friend of Don
Rafael and of me and of the cause.
He waved his hand to me, with his broad, bland smile.
"There
was no excitement apparent in Aguas Frias.
The people went about leisurely as at all times; the market was
thronged with bareheaded women buying fruit and carne;
we heard the twang and
tinkle of string bands in
the patios of the cantinas.
We could see that it was a waiting game that Don Rafael was
playing.
“His
residencia
was a large but low building around a great courtyard in
grounds crowded with ornamental trees and tropic shrubs.
At his door an old woman who came informed us that Don Rafael had
not yet risen.
"
'Tell him,' said I, 'that Captain Malone and a friend wish to see him at
once. Perhaps he has
overslept.'
"She
came back looking frightened.
“
'I have called,' she said, 'and rung his bell many times, but he does
not answer.'
"I
knew where his sleeping-room was. Kearny
and I pushed by her and went to it.
I put my shoulder against the thin door and forced it open.
"In an armchair by a great table covered with maps and books
sat Don Rafael with his eyes closed.
I touched his hand. He
had been dead many hours. On
his head above one ear was a wound caused by a heavy blow.
It had ceased to bleed long before.
"I
made the old woman call a mozo,
and dispatched him in haste to fetch Herr Bergowitz.
"He came, and we stood about as if we were half stunned by the
awful shock. Thus can the
letting of a few drops of blood from one man's veins drain the life of a
nation.
"Presently
Herr Bergowitz stooped and picked
up a darkish stone the size of an orange which he saw under the table.
He examined it closely through his great glasses with the eye of
science.
" 'A fragment,' said he, 'of a detonating meteor. The most remarkable one in twenty years exploded above this
city a little after midnight this morning.'
The professor looked quickly up at the ceiling.
We saw the blue sky through a hole the size of an orange nearly
above Don Rafael's chair.
"I heard a familiar sound, and turned.
Kearny had thrown himself on the floor and was babbling his
compendium of bitter, blood-freezing curses against the star of his evil
luck.
"Undoubtedly
Pheebe had been feminine. Even
when hurtling on her way to fiery dissolution and everlasting doom, the
last word had been hers."
Captain Malone was not unskilled in narrative.
He knew the point where a story should end. I sat reveling in his effective conclusion when he aroused me
by continuing:
"Of course," said he, "our schemes were at an end.
There was no one to take Don Rafael's place.
Our little army melted away like dew before the sun.
"One day after I had returned to New Orleans I related this story
to a friend who holds a professorship in Tulane University.
"When
I had finished he laughed and asked whether I had any knowledge of
Kearny's luck afterward. I
told him no, that I had seen him no more; but that when he left me, he
had expressed confidence that his future would be successful now that
his unlucky star had been overthrown.
" 'No doubt,' said the professor, 'he is happier not to know one
fact. If he derives his bad
luck from Phoebe, the ninth satellite of Saturn, that malicious lady is
still engaged in overlooking his career.
The star close to Saturn that he imagined to be her was near that
planet simply by the chance of its orbit - probably at different times
he has regarded many other stars that happened to be in Saturn's
neighborhood as his evil one. The
real Phoebe is visible only through a very good telescope.'
"About a year afterward," continued Captain Malone,
"I was walking down a street that crossed the Poydras Market.
An immensely stout, pink-faced lady in black satin crowded me
from the narrow sidewalk with a frown.
Behind her trailed a little man laden to the gunwhales with
bundles and bags of goods and vegetables.
"It
was Kearny - but changed. I
stopped and shook one of his hands, which still clung to a bag of garlic
and red peppers.
"
'How is the luck old companero?'
I asked him. I had not the heart to tell him the truth about his star.
" 'Well,' he said, 'I am married, as you may guess.'
"
'Francis!' called the big lady, in deep tones, 'are you going to stop in
the street talking all day?'
" 'I am coming, Phoebe dear,' said Kearny hastening after
her."
Captain
Malone ceased again.
"After all, do you believe in luck?" I asked.
"Do you?" answered the captain, with his ambiguous
smile shaded by the brim of his soft straw hat.
------------------------------------
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Phoebe
(Commentary)
Porter’s
detractors, while he lived, as well as later, often justified their
low-esteem of the man as a writer on a glib and baseless charge that he
only knew how to write “simple, little stories.”
To some extent the criticism is superficially accurate, even if
unfair. Especially if
Porter is being compared to
Bocaccio, Chaucer, Melville or J. D. Salinger.
But any artist deserves to be appraised in the frame of his own
contemporary setting.
When Will Porter was writing his “yarns” for the New York
“World” newspaper, among others, he was writing into stringent space
limitations, as well as writing for an audience whose reading skills and
intellectual interests didn’t afford all of the latitudes the author
in him might have wanted. So he made the best of a situation much less than optimal:
He wrote “tight” - and he wrote simply.
A further consideration involved the time restrictions against
which he labored. When a
newspaper reporter comes up against a deadline, there is no reprieve.
There is no extra hour for “polishing “ the prose, or
otherwise tidying up the piece. There is no more time! When the presses
start rolling, you’re either in
the edition, or out of the edition!
In view of these inflexibly pragmatic demands, it is not
surprising that some of the worst writing Will Porter
(or anybody else!) ever did, was printed in newspapers.
A lot of newspaper writing is
writing that gets set into type too fast - when it really
isn’t/wasn’t ready to go.
Will Porter’s best
writing, as should be expected, will be found in stories written at a
much more leisurely pace. With
more time available, he was
able to take more care with plot and structure, and to exercise greater
linguistic exactitude. Will
Porter was not only a great story-teller; he was also a highly skillful
semanticist, and possessed of a “remarkable” vocabulary.
These talents complicate, rather than simplify, the writing
function.
Another
criticism often leveled at Porter was his (sometimes excessive) use of
“contrived” language: invented
words, the “right” word in the “wrong” application, plays on
words, puns, etc., and that can quickly become tiresome if overdone.
Porter
didn’t write “jokes’ as such.
He made his readers smile and laugh by his clever, comic, or
ironical descriptions of situations with which his readers could (and
still can) identify. O.Henry
was not a “humorist” like Mark Twain.
Fundamentally, Bill Porter was a reporter.
He wrote like a reporter. He
told stories that seemed like real stories, in real settings,
about real people, to those who read them. These real stories, like real life, contained their own
admixtures of humor, pathos, tragedy, cupidity, absurdity and sheer
foolishness.
This is a
large measure of the genius in his storytelling.
In a way (fictionally) he is reporting on the world in which he
lived.
“Phoebe”
shows us a Bill Porter at “the top of his game.
When he wrote this story (circa 1906), largely drawn from his exposures
and experiences in Honduras, some ten years earlier, his skills were
mature; his sense of
story-line was solid; and
his confidence as a narrator comes through with authority.
Having had some ten years to “age this story in the wood,” as
Ernest Hemingway once
described the process, it
was “ready to be told.” When
Porter sat down to write this story, all he had to do was “type” it.
It was already “written” in his mind.
“Phoebe”
is one of your editor’s favorite O.Henry stories.
When
you read one of his character’s herein, describing
the celestial routes of
“Phoebe” and the other eight satellites that
orbit Saturn, remember that the author was a high-school
drop-out. Most of what he knew was self-taught. He learned because he wanted to know! But
what a tremendous fund of knowledge he managed to acquire!
How can we not be impressed by such an intellect?
William
Sidney Porter is, among other things, a remarkable example of
scholarship accomplished without schooling.
Indeed, a paradigm for what we often choose to
label "a natural".
L.D.B. |