"Capito San Benavides," announced the officer, and the man stood to attention.

"Enter, my friend," said San Benavides to his ragged companion. The latter stepped within; the wicket was locked, and the click of the bolt was suggestive of the rattle of the dice with which Dom Corria De Sylva was throwing a main with fortune. Perhaps some thought of the kind occurred to him, but he was calm as if he were so poor that he had naught more to lose.

"Who is the officer of the guard?" San Benavides asked the soldier.

"Senhor Tenente [Lieutenant] Regis de Pereira, senhor capito."

"Tell him, with my compliments, that I shall be glad to meet him at the colonel's quarters in fifteen minutes."

The queerly-a.s.sorted pair moved off across the barrack square. The sentry looked after them.

"My excellent captain seems to have been brawling," he grinned. "But what of the _mendigo_?"

What, indeed? A most pertinent question for Brazil, and one that would be loudly answered.

The colonel's house was in darkness, yet San Benavides rapped imperatively. An upper window was raised. A voice was heard, using profane language. A head appeared. Its owner cried, "Who is it?"--with additions.

"San Benavides."

"Christo! And the other?"

"One whom you expect."

The head popped in. Soon there was a light on the ground floor. The door opened. A very stout man, barefooted, who had struggled into a pair of abnormally tight riding-breeches, faced them.

"Can it be possible?" he exclaimed, striking an att.i.tude.

Dom Corria spoke not a word. He knew the value of effect, and could bide his time. The three pa.s.sed into a lighted apartment. De Sylva placed himself under a chandelier, and took off a frayed straw hat which he had borrowed from someone on board the _Unser Fritz_. The colonel, a grotesque figure in his present _deshabille_, bowed low before him.

"My President!--I salute you," he murmured.

"Thank you, General," said Dom Corria, smiling graciously. "I knew I could depend on you. How soon can you muster the regiment?"

"In half an hour, Excellency."

"See that there is plenty of ammunition for the machine guns. What of the artillery?"

"The three batteries stationed here are with us heart and soul."

"Colonel San Benavides, as chief of the staff, is acquainted with every detail. You, General, will a.s.sume command of the Army of Liberation.

Some trunks were sent to you from Paris, I believe?"

"They are in the room prepared for your Excellency."

"Let me go there at once and change my clothing. I must appear before the troops as their President, not as a jail-bird. For the moment I leave everything to you and San Benavides. Let Senhor Pondillo be summoned. He will attend to the civil side of affairs. You have my unqualified approval of the military scheme drawn up by you and my other friends. There is one thing--a gunboat lies in the harbor. Is she the _Andorinha_?"

The newly-promoted general smote his huge stomach with both hands--"beating the drum," he called it--and the rat-tat signified instant readiness for action.

"The guns will soon scare that bird," he exclaimed. As _Andorinha_ means "swallow" in English there was some point to the remark. Nor was he making a vain boast. The most astounding feature of every revolution in a South American republic is the alacrity with which the army will fire on the navy, _et vice versa_. The two services seem to be everlastingly at feud. If politicians fail to engineer a quarrel, the soldiers and sailors will indulge in one on their own account.

It was so now at Maceio. Dawn was about to peep up over the sea when twelve guns lumbered through the narrow streets, waking many startled citizens. A few daring souls, who guessed what had happened, rushed off on horseback or bicycle to remote telegraph offices. These adventurers were too late. Every railway station and post-office within twenty miles was already held by troops. Revolts are conducted scientifically in that region. Their stage management is perfect, and the c.u.mbrous methods of effete civilizations might well take note of the speed, thoroughness, and efficiency with which a change of government is effected.

For instance, what could be more admirable than the scaring of the bird by General Russo? He drew up his three batteries on the wharf opposite the unsuspecting _Andorinha_, and endeavored to plant twelve sh.e.l.ls in the locality of her engine-room without the least hesitation. There was no thought of demanding her surrender, or any quixotic nonsense of that sort. In the first place, no man would act as herald, since he would be shot or stabbed the instant his errand became known; in the second, as Hozier had explained to Iris, the gunboat could slip her cable very quickly, and Russo's artillerists might miss a moving object.

As it was, every gun scored, though the elevation was rather high. The sh.e.l.ls made a sad mess of the superstructure, but left the engines intact. The sailors, on their part, knew exactly what had happened.

Every man who escaped death or serious injury from the bursting missiles ran to his post. A wire hawser and mooring rope were severed with axes, the screw revolved, and the _Andorinha_ was in motion.

Though winged, she still could fly. The second salvo of projectiles was less damaging; again the gunners failed to reach the warship's vitals. Her commander got his own armament into action, and managed to demolish a warehouse and a grain elevator. Then he made off down the coast toward Rio de Janeiro.

The sudden uproar stirred Maceio from roof to bas.e.m.e.nt. Its inhabitants poured into the Plaza. Every man vied with his neighbor in yelling: "The revolution is here! _Viva Dom Corria_! _Abajo So Paulo_!"

That last cry explained a good deal. The State of So Paulo had long maintained a "corner" in Brazilian Presidents. De Sylva, a native of Alagoas, was the first to break down the monopoly. Hence the cabal against him; hence, too, the readiness of Maceio, together with many of the smaller ports and the whole of the vast interior, to espouse his cause.

For the purposes of this story, which is mainly concerned with the lives and fortunes of a few insignificant people unknown to history, it is not necessary to follow in detail the trumpetings, proclamations, carousals, and arrests that followed Dom Corria's first success. It is a truism that in events of international importance the very names of the chief actors ofttimes go unrecorded. Future generations will ask, perhaps:--Who blew up the _Maine_? Who persuaded the Tsar to break his word anent Port Arthur? Who told Paul Kruger that the Continent of Europe would support the Boers against Great Britain? Such instances could be multiplied indefinitely, and the rule held good now in Brazil.

If any polite Pernambucano, Maceio-ite, or merchant of Bahia were informed that President De Sylva's raid was alone rendered possible by the help of a truculent British master-mariner and a dozen or so of his hard-bitten crew, he (the said Brasileiro) might be skeptical, or, at best, indifferent. But let the name of some puppet politician hailing from So Paulo be mentioned, and his eyes would flash with angry recognition; yet the _Andromeda's_ small contingent achieved more than a whole army of conspirators.

The one incident, then, of a political nature, in which the victors of the tussle on Fernando Noronha were publicly concerned, was the outcome of a message cabled by Dom Corria while the smoke of Russo's cannon still clung about the quay.

It was written in German, addressed to a Hamburg shipping firm, and ran as follows: "Have sold _Unser Fritz_ to Senhor Pondillo of this port as from September 1st, for 175,000 marks. If approved, cable confirmation, and draw on Paris branch Deutsche Bank at sight. Franz Schmidt, care German Consul, Maceio."

This harmless commercial item was read by many officials hostile to De Sylva, yet it evoked no comment. Its first real effect was observable in the counting-house of the Hamburg owners. There it was believed that Captain Schmidt had either become a lunatic himself or was in touch with a rich one. Schmidt was so well known to them that they acted on the latter hypothesis. They cabled him their hearty commendation, "drew" on the Paris bank by the next post, and awaited developments. To their profound amazement, the money was paid. As they had obtained 8,750 pounds for a vessel worth about one-quarter of the sum, they had good reason to be satisfied. It mattered not a jot to them that the sale was made "as from September 1st," or any other date. They signed the desired quittance, cabled Schmidt again to ask if Senhor Pondillo was in need of other ships of the _Unser Fritz_ cla.s.s, and the members of the firm indulged that evening in the best dinner that the tip-top restaurant of Hamburg could supply.

They were puzzled next day by certain statements in the newspapers, and were called on to explain to a number of journalists that the ship had left their ownership. She was at Maceio. Where was Maceio? Somewhere in South America.

"_Es ist nicht von Bedeutung_," said the senior partner to his a.s.sociates. "Schmidt will write full particulars; when all is said and done, we have the money."

Yet it did matter very greatly, as shall be seen. Here, again, was an instance of an humble individual becoming a cog in the wheel of world politics. Within less than a month Schmidt was vituperated by half the chancelleries of Europe. A newspaper war raged over him. He became the object of an Emperor's Jovian wrath. "What's the matter with Schmidt? He's--all--right!" thundered the whole press of the United States. And all because he had made a good bargain at a critical moment!

But no one on board the _Unser Fritz_ was vexed by aught save present tribulations when De Sylva and his _aide_ quitted the ship. Be sure that not a soul thought of sleep. Every man, and the one woman whom chance had thrown in their midst, remained on deck and watched the slumbering town. It was only a small place. The _Andorinha_ lay at one end of the harbor, the _Unser Fritz_ at the other. They were barely half a mile apart, and Maceio climbed the sloping sh.o.r.e between the two points.

Hozier, of course, had forgiven Iris for her aloofness, and Iris, with that delightful inconsistency which ranks high among the many charms of her s.e.x, found that "Philip dear," though she might not marry him, was her only possible companion. He, having acquired an experience previously lacking, took care to fall in with her mood. She, weary of a painful self-repression, cheated the frowning G.o.ds of "just this one night." So they looked at the twinkling lights, spoke in whispers lest they should miss any tokens of disturbance on sh.o.r.e, elbowed each other comfortably on the rails of the bridge, and uttered no word of love or future purpose.

They were discussing nothing more important than the sufferings of Watts--whom c.o.ke would not allow to go out of his sight--when a lightning blaze leaped from the somber shadows of some buildings on the quay lower down the river. Again, and many times again, the sudden jets of flame started out across the black water. Iris, or Hozier, for that matter, had never seen a field-piece fired by night, but before the girl could do other than grip Philip's arm in a spasm of fear, the thunder of the artillery rolled across the harbor, and the worn plates of the _Unser Fritz_ quivered under the mere concussion.

"By jove, they're at it!" cried Philip.

Iris felt the thrill that shook him. She could not see his face, but she knew that his blue eyes were shining like bright steel. She was horrified at the thought of red war being so near, yet she was proud of her lover. At these mortal crises, the woman demands courage in the man.

"Oh!" she gasped, and clung to him more tightly.

Under such circ.u.mstances it was only to be expected that his arm would clasp her round the waist; Disraeli's famous epigram was coined for diplomacy, not for love-making.

Hozier strained his eyes through the gloom to try and discover the effect of the cannonade on the gunboat. He was quickly alive to the significance of the answering broadside. Then the black hull grew dim and vanished. His sailor's sympathies went with the escaping ship.

"She has got away! I am jolly glad of it," he cried. "It was a dirty trick to open fire on her in that fashion. Just how they served the _Andromeda_, the hounds, only we had never a gun to tickle them up in return."

"Do you think that many of the poor creatures have been killed?" asked Iris tremulously. The din of ordnance and bursting sh.e.l.ls had ceased as suddenly as it began. Lights appeared in nearly every house.

Shouting men were running along the neighboring wharf. Maceio, never a heavy sleeper in bulk, dreamed for a second of earthquakes, leaped out of bed, and ran into the streets in the negligent costume which the Italians describe by the delightful word, _confidenza_.