第77章

Six of the native officers had approached as the lieutenant was speaking and saluted Clay gravely.``We have followed your instructions,'' one of them said, ``and the regiments are ready to march with the prisoners.Have you any further orders for us--can we deliver any messages to General Rojas?''

``Present my congratulations to General Rojas, and best wishes,''

said Clay.``And tell him for me, that it would please me greatly if he would liberate an American citizen named Burke, who is at present in the cuartel.And that I wish him to promote all of you gentlemen one grade and give each of you the Star of Olancho.Tell him that in my opinion you have deserved even higher reward and honor at his hands.''

The boy-lieutenants broke out into a chorus of delighted thanks.

They assured Clay that he was most gracious; that he overwhelmed them, and that it was honor enough for them that they had served under him.But Clay laughed, and drove them off with a paternal wave of the hand.

The officer from the man-of-war listened with an uncomfortable sense of having blundered in his manner toward this powder-splashed young man who set American citizens at liberty, and created captains by the half-dozen at a time.

``Are you from the States?'' he asked as they moved toward the man-of-war's men.

``I am, thank God.Why not?''

``I thought you were, but you saluted like an Englishman.''

``I was an officer in the English army once in the Soudan, when they were short of officers.'' Clay shook his head and looked wistfully at the ranks of the blue-jackets drawn up on either side of them.The horses had been brought out and Langham and MacWilliams were waiting for him to mount.``I have worn several uniforms since I was a boy,'' said Clay.``But never that of my own country.''

The people were cheering him from every part of the square.

Women waved their hands from balconies and housetops, and men climbed to awnings and lampposts and shouted his name.The officers and men of the landing party took note of him and of this reception out of the corner of their eyes, and wondered.

``And what had I better do?'' asked the commanding officer.

``Oh, I would police the Palace grounds, if I were you, and picket that street at the right, where there are so many wine shops, and preserve order generally until Rojas gets here.

He won't be more than an hour, now.We shall be coming over to pay our respects to your captain to-morrow.Glad to have met you.''

``Well, I'm glad to have met you,'' answered the officer, heartily.``Hold on a minute.Even if you haven't worn our uniform, you're as good, and better, than some I've seen that have, and you're a sort of a commander-in-chief, anyway, and I'm damned if I don't give you a sort of salute.''

Clay laughed like a boy as he swung himself into the saddle.The officer stepped back and gave the command; the middies raised their swords and Clay passed between massed rows of his countrymen with their muskets held rigidly toward him.The housetops rocked again at the sight, and as he rode out into the brilliant sunshine, his eyes were wet and winking.

The two boys had drawn up at his side, but MacWilliams had turned in the saddle and was still looking toward the Palace, with his hand resting on the hindquarters of his pony.

``Look back, Clay,'' he said.``Take a last look at it, you'll never see it after to-day.Turn again, turn again, Dictator of Olancho.''

The men laughed and drew rein as he bade them, and looked back up the narrow street.They saw the green and white flag of Olancho creeping to the top of the mast before the Palace, the blue-jackets driving back the crowd, the gashes in the walls of the houses, where Mendoza's cannonballs had dug their way through the stucco, and the silk curtains, riddled with bullets, flapping from the balconies of the opera-house.

``You had it all your own way an hour ago,'' MacWilliams said, mockingly.``You could have sent Rojas into exile, and made us all Cabinet Ministers--and you gave it up for a girl.Now, you're Dictator of Olancho.What will you be to-morrow? To-morrow you will be Andrew Langham's son-in-law--Benedict, the married man.Andrew Langham's son-in-law cannot ask his wife to live in such a hole as this, so--Goodbye, Mr.Clay.We have been long together.''

Clay and Langham looked curiously at the boy to see if he were in earnest, but MacWilliams would not meet their eyes.

``There were three of us,'' he said, ``and one got shot, and one got married, and the third--? You will grow fat, Clay, and live on Fifth Avenue and wear a high silk hat, and some day when you're sitting in your club you'll read a paragraph in a newspaper with a queer Spanish date-line to it, and this will all come back to you,--this heat, and the palms, and the fever, and the days when you lived on plantains and we watched our trestles grow out across the canons, and you'll be willing to give your hand to sleep in a hammock again, and to feel the sweat running down your back, and you'll want to chuck your gun up against your chin and shoot into a line of men, and the policemen won't let you, and your wife won't let you.That's what you're giving up.There it is.Take a good look at it.You'll never see it again.''