Clouds And Change

: The Crusade Of The Excelsior

The earthquake shock, although the first experienced by the Americans,

had been a yearly phenomenon to the people of Todos Santos, and was so

slight as to leave little impression upon either the low adobe walls of

the pueblo or the indolent population. "If it's a provision of Nature

for shaking up these Rip Van Winkle Latin races now and then, it's a

dead failure, as far as Todos Santos is concerned," Crosby had said,

ith a yawn. "Brace, who's got geology on the brain ever since he

struck cinnabar ore, says he isn't sure the Injins ain't right when they

believe that the Pacific Ocean used to roll straight up to the Presidio,

and there wasn't any channel--and that reef of rocks was upheaved in

their time. But what's the use of it? it never really waked them up."

"Perhaps they're waiting for another kind of earthquake," Winslow had

responded sententiously.

In six weeks it had been forgotten, except by three people--Miss Keene,

James Hurlstone, and Padre Esteban. Since Hurlstone had parted with

Miss Keene on that memorable afternoon he had apparently lapsed into his

former reserve. Without seeming to avoid her timid advances, he met

her seldom, and then only in the presence of the Padre or Mrs. Markham.

Although uneasy at the deprivation of his society, his present shyness

did not affect her as it had done at first: she knew it was no longer

indifference; she even fancied she understood it from what had been her

own feelings. If he no longer raised his eyes to hers as frankly as he

had that day, she felt a more delicate pleasure in the consciousness of

his lowered eyelids when they met, and the instinct that told her

when his melancholy glance followed her unobserved. The sex of these

lovers--if we may call them so who had never exchanged a word of

love--seemed to be changed. It was Miss Keene who now sought him with a

respectful and frank admiration; it was Hurlstone who now tried to

avoid it with a feminine dread of reciprocal display. Once she had even

adverted to the episode of the cross. They were standing under the arch

of the refectory door, waiting for Padre Esteban, and looking towards

the sea.

"Do you think we were ever in any real danger, down there, on the

shore--that day?" she said timidly.

"No; not from the sea," he replied, looking at her with a half defiant


"From what then?" she asked, with a naivete that was yet a little


"Do you remember the children giving you their offerings that day?" he

asked abruptly.

"I do," she replied, with smiling eyes.

"Well, it appears that it is the custom for the betrothed couples to

come to the cross to exchange their vows. They mistook us for lovers."

All the instinctive delicacy of Miss Keene's womanhood resented the rude

infelicity of this speech and the flippant manner of its utterance. She

did not blush, but lifted her clear eyes calmly to his.

"It was an unfortunate mistake," she said coldly, "the more so as they

were your pupils. Ah! here is Father Esteban," she added, with a marked

tone of relief, as she crossed over to the priest's side.

When Father Esteban returned to the refectory that evening, Hurlstone

was absent. When it grew later, becoming uneasy, the good Father sought

him in the garden. At the end of the avenue of pear-trees there was a

break in the sea-wall, and here, with his face to the sea, Hurlstone was

leaning gloomily. Father Esteban's tread was noiseless, and he had laid

his soft hand on the young man's shoulder before Hurlstone was aware

of his presence. He started slightly, his gloomy eyes fell before the


"My son," said the old man gravely, "this must go on no longer."

"I don't understand you," Hurlstone replied coldly.

"Do not try to deceive yourself, nor me. Above all, do not try to

deceive HER. Either you are or are not in love with this countrywoman

of yours. If you are not, my respect for her and my friendship for you

prompts me to save you both from a foolish intimacy that may ripen into

a misplaced affection; if you are already in love with her"--

"I have never spoken a word of love to her!" interrupted Hurlstone

quickly. "I have even tried to avoid her since"--

"Since you found that you loved her! Ah, foolish boy! and you think that

because the lips speak not, the passions of the heart are stilled! Do

you think your silence in her presence is not a protestation that she,

even she, child as she is, can read, with the cunning of her sex?"

"Well--if I am in love with her, what then?" said Hurlstone doggedly.

"It is no crime to love a pure and simple girl. Am I not free? You

yourself, in yonder church, told me"--

"Silence, Diego," said the priest sternly. "Silence, before you utter

the thought that shall disgrace you to speak and me to hear!"

"Forgive me, Father Esteban," said the young man hurriedly, grasping

both hands of the priest. "Forgive me--I am mad--distracted--but I swear

to you I only meant"--

"Hush!" interrupted the priest more gently. "So; that will do." He

stopped, drew out his snuff-box, rapped the lid, and took a pinch of

snuff slowly. "We will not recur to that point. Then you have told her

the story of your life?"

"No; but I will, She shall know all--everything--before I utter a word

of love to her."

"Ah! bueno! muy bueno!" said the Padre, wiping his nose ostentatiously.

"Ah! let me see! Then, when we have shown her that we cannot possibly

marry her, we will begin to make love to her! Eh, eh! that is the

American fashion. Ah, pardon!" he continued, in response to a gesture

of protestation from Hurlstone; "I am wrong. It is when we have told her

that we cannot marry her as a Protestant, that we will make love as a

Catholic. Is that it?"

"Hear me," said Hurlstone passionately. "You have saved me from madness

and, perhaps, death. Your care--your kindness--your teachings have given

me life again. Don't blame me, Father Esteban, if, in casting off my old

self, you have given me hopes of a new and fresher life--of"--

"A newer and fresher love, you would say," said the Padre, with a sad

smile. "Be it so. You will at least do justice to the old priest, when

you remember that he never pressed you to take vows that would have

prevented this forever."

"I know it," said Hurlstone, taking the old man's hand. "And you will

remember, too, that I was happy and contented before this came upon me.

Tell me what I shall do. Be my guide--my friend, Father Esteban. Put me

where I was a few months ago--before I learned to love her."

"Do you mean it, Diego?" said the old man, grasping his hand tightly,

and fixing his eyes upon him.

"I do."

"Then listen to me, for it is my turn to speak. When, eight months ago,

you sought the shelter of that blessed roof, it was for refuge from a

woman that had cursed your life. It was given you. You would leave it

now to commit an act that would bring another woman, as mad as yourself,

clamoring at its doors for protection from YOU. For what you are

proposing to this innocent girl is what you accepted from the older and

wickeder woman. You have been cursed because a woman divided for you

what was before God an indivisible right; and you, Diego, would now

redivide that with another, whom you dare to say you LOVE! You would use

the opportunity of her helplessness and loneliness here to convince

her; you would tempt her with sympathy, for she is unhappy; with

companionship, for she has no longer the world to choose from--with

everything that should make her sacred from your pursuit."

"Enough," said Hurlstone hoarsely; "say no more. Only I implore you tell

me what to do now to save her. I will--if you tell me to do it--leave

her forever."

"Why should YOU go?" said the priest quietly. "HER absence will be


"HER absence?" echoed Hurlstone.

"Hers alone. The conditions that brought YOU here are unchanged. You

are still in need of an asylum from the world and the wife you have

repudiated. Why should you abandon it? For the girl, there is no cause

why she should remain--beyond yourself. She has a brother whom she

loves--who wants her--who has the right to claim her at any time. She

will go to him."

"But how?"

"That has been my secret, and will be my sacrifice to you, Diego, my

son. I have foreseen all this; I have expected it from the day that

girl sent you her woman's message, that was half a challenge, from

her school--I have known it from the day you walked together on the

sea-shore. I was blind before that--for I am weak in my way, too, and

I had dreamed of other things. God has willed it otherwise." He paused,

and returning the pressure of Hurlstone's hand, went on. "My secret and

my sacrifice for you is this. For the last two hundred years the Church

has had a secret and trusty messenger from the See at Guadalajara--in

a ship that touches here for a few hours only every three years. Her

arrival and departure is known only to myself and my brothers of the

Council. By this wisdom and the provision of God, the integrity of

the Holy Church and the conversion of the heathen have been maintained

without interruption and interference. You know now, my son, why your

comrades were placed under surveillance; why it was necessary that the

people should believe in a political conspiracy among yourselves,

rather than the facts as they existed, which might have bred a dangerous

curiosity among them. I have given you our secret, Diego--that is but a

part of my sacrifice. When that ship arrives, and she is expected

daily, I will secretly place Miss Keene and her friend on board, with

explanatory letters to the Archbishop, and she will be assisted to

rejoin her brother. It will be against the wishes of the Council; but my

will," continued the old man, with a gesture of imperiousness, "is the

will of the Church, and the law that overrides all."

He had stopped, with a strange fire in his eyes. It still continued to

burn as he went on rapidly,--

"You will understand the sacrifice I am making in telling you this, when

you know that I could have done all that I propose without your leave or

hindrance. Yes, Diego; I had but to stretch out my hand thus, and that

foolish fire-brand of a heretic muchacha would have vanished from Todos

Santos forever. I could have left you in your fool's paradise, and one

morning you would have found her gone. I should have condoled with you,

and consoled you, and you would have forgotten her as you did the other.

I should not have hesitated; it is the right of the Church through all

time to break through those carnal ties without heed of the suffering

flesh, and I ought to have done so. This, and this alone, would have

been worthy of Las Casas and Junipero Serra! But I am weak and old--I

am no longer fit for His work. Far better that the ship which takes her

away should bring back my successor and one more worthy Todos Santos

than I."

He stopped, his eyes dimmed, he buried his face in his hands.

"You have done right, Father Esteban," said Hurlstone, gently putting

his arm round the priest's shoulders, "and I swear to you your secret is

as safe as if you had never revealed it to me. Perhaps," he added, with

a sigh, "I should have been happier if I had not known it--if she had

passed out of my life as mysteriously as she had entered it; but you

will try to accept my sacrifice as some return for yours. I shall see

her no more."

"But will you swear it?" said the priest eagerly. "Will you swear that

you will not even seek her to say farewell; for in that moment the

wretched girl may shake your resolution?"

"I shall not see her," repeated the young man slowly.

"But if she asks an interview," persisted the priest, "on the pretense

of having your advice?"

"She will not," returned Hurlstone, with a half bitter recollection of

their last parting. "You do not know her pride."

"Perhaps," said the priest musingly. "But I have YOUR word, Diego. And

now let us return to the Mission, for there is much to prepare, and you

shall assist me."

Meantime, Hurlstone was only half right in his estimate of Miss Keene's

feelings, although the result was the same. The first shock to her

delicacy in his abrupt speech had been succeeded by a renewal of her

uneasiness concerning his past life or history. While she would, in her

unselfish attachment for him, have undoubtingly accepted any explanation

he might have chosen to give her, his continued reserve and avoidance of

her left full scope to her imaginings. Rejecting any hypothesis of his

history except that of some unfortunate love episode, she began to think

that perhaps he still loved this nameless woman. Had anything occurred

to renew his affection? It was impossible, in their isolated condition,

that he would hear from her. But perhaps the priest might have been a

confidant of his past, and had recalled the old affection in rivalry of

her? Or had she herself been unfortunate through any idle word to reopen

the wound? Had there been any suggestion?--she checked herself suddenly

at a thought that benumbed and chilled her!--perhaps that happy hour at

the cross might have reminded him of some episode with another? That was

the real significance of his rude speech. With this first taste of the

poison of jealousy upon her virgin lips, she seized the cup and drank it

eagerly. Ah, well--he should keep his blissful recollections of the

past undisturbed by her. Perhaps he might even see--though SHE had no

past--that her present life might be as disturbing to him! She recalled,

with a foolish pleasure, his solitary faint sneer at the devotion of

the Commander's Secretary. Why shouldn't she, hereafter, encourage

that devotion as well as that sneer from this complacently beloved Mr.

Hurlstone? Why should he be so assured of her past? The fair and

gentle reader who may be shocked at this revelation of Eleanor Keene's

character will remember that she has not been recorded as an angel in

these pages--but as a very human, honest, inexperienced girl, for the

first time struggling with the most diplomatic, Machiavellian, and

hypocritical of all the passions.

In pursuance of this new resolution, she determined to accept an

invitation from Mrs. Markham to accompany her and the Commander to

a reception at the Alcalde's house--the happy Secretary being of the

party. Mrs. Markham, who was under promise to the Comandante not to

reveal his plan for the escape of herself and Miss Keene until the

arrival of the expected transport, had paid little attention to the late

vagaries of her friend, and had contented herself by once saying, with

a marked emphasis, that the more free they kept themselves from any

entanglements with other people, the more prepared they would be for A


"Perhaps it's just as well not to be too free, even with those Jesuits

over at the Mission. Your brother, you know, might not like it."

"THOSE JESUITS!" repeated Miss Keene indignantly. "Father Esteban, to

begin with, is a Franciscan, and Mr. Hurlstone is as orthodox as you or


"Don't be too sure of that, my dear," returned Mrs. Markham

sententiously. "Heaven only knows what disguises they assume. Why,

Hurlstone and the priest are already as thick as two peas; and you can't

make me believe they didn't know of each other before we came here. He

was the first one ashore, you remember, before the mutiny; and where

did he turn up?--at the Mission, of course! And have you forgotten that

sleepwalking affair--all Jesuitical! Why, poor dear Markham used to say

we were surrounded by ramifications of that society--everywhere. The

very waiter at your hotel table might belong to the Order."

The hour of the siesta was just past, and the corridor and gardens of

the Alcalde's house were grouped with friends and acquaintances as

the party from the Presidio entered. Mrs. Brimmer, who had apparently

effected a temporary compromise with her late instincts of propriety,

was still doing the honors of the Alcalde's house, and had once more

assumed the Mexican dishabille, even to the slight exposure of her

small feet, stockingless, in white satin slippers. The presence of the

Comandante and his Secretary guaranteed the two ladies of their party a

reception at least faultless in form and respect, whatever may have been

the secret feelings of the hostess and her friends. The Alcalde received

Mrs. Markham and Miss Keene with unruffled courtesy, and conducted them

to the place of honor beside him.

As Eleanor Keene, slightly flushed and beautiful in her unwonted nervous

excitement, took her seat, a flutter went around the corridor, and, with

the single exception of Dona Isabel, an almost imperceptible drawing

together of the other ladies, in offensive alliance. Miss Keene had

never abandoned her own style of dress; and that afternoon her delicate

and closely-fitting white muslin, gathered in at the waist with a broad

blue belt of ribbon, seemed to accentuate somewhat unflatteringly the

tropical neglige of Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb. Brace, who was in

attendance, with Crosby, on the two Ramirez girls, could not help being

uneasily conscious of this, in addition to the awkwardness of meeting

Miss Keene after the transfer of his affections elsewhere. Nor was his

embarrassment relieved by Crosby's confidences to him, in a half audible


"I say, old man, after all, the regular straight-out American style lays

over all their foreign flops and fandoodles. I wonder what old Brimmer

would say to his wife's full-dress nightgown--eh?"

But at this moment the long-drawn, slightly stridulous utterances of

Mrs. Brimmer rose through the other greetings like a lazy east wind.

"I shall never forgive the Commander for making the Presidio so

attractive to you, dear Miss Keene, that you cannot really find time to

see your own countrymen. Though, of course, you're not to blame for not

coming to see two frights as we must look--not having been educated to

be able to do up our dresses in that faultless style--and perhaps not

having the entire control over an establishment like you; yet, I suppose

that, even if the Alcalde did give us carte blanche of the laundry HERE,

we couldn't do it, unaided even by Mrs. Markham. Yes, dear; you must let

me compliment you on your skill, and the way you make things last. As

for me and Miss Chubb, we've only found our things fit to be given away

to the poor of the Mission. But I suppose even that charity would look

as shabby to you as our clothes, in comparison with the really good

missionary work you and Mr. Hurlstone--or is it Mr. Brace?--I always

confound your admirers, my dear--are doing now. At least, so says that

good Father Esteban."

But with the exception of the Alcalde and Miss Chubb, Mrs. Brimmer's

words fell on unheeding ears, and Miss Keene did not prejudice the

triumph of her own superior attractions by seeming to notice Mrs.

Brimmer's innuendo. She answered briefly, and entered into lively

conversation with Crosby and the Secretary, holding the hand of Dona

Isabel in her own, as if to assure her that she was guiltless of any

design against her former admirer. This was quite unnecessary, as the

gentle Isabel, after bidding Brace, with a rap on the knuckles, to "go

and play," contented herself with curling up like a kitten beside Miss

Keene, and left that gentleman to wander somewhat aimlessly in the


Nevertheless, Miss Keene, whose eyes and ears were nervously alert, and

who had indulged a faint hope of meeting Padre Esteban and hearing news

of Hurlstone, glanced from time to time towards the entrance of the

patio. A singular presentiment that some outcome of this present visit

would determine her relations with Hurlstone had already possessed her.

Consequently she was conscious, before it had attracted the attention

of the others, of some vague stirring in the plaza beyond. Suddenly

the clatter of hoofs was heard before the gateway. There was a moment's

pause of dismounting, a gruff order given in Spanish, and the next

moment three strangers entered the patio.

They were dressed in red shirts, their white trousers tucked in high

boots, and wore slouched hats. They were so travel-stained, dusty, and

unshaven, that their features were barely distinguishable. One, who

appeared to be the spokesman of the party, cast a perfunctory glance

around the corridor, and, in fluent Spanish, began with the mechanical

air of a man repeating some formula,--

"We are the bearers of a despatch to the Comandante of Todos Santos from

the Governor of Mazatlan. The officer and the escort who came with us

are outside the gate. We have been told that the Comandante is in this

house. The case is urgent, or we would not intrude"--

He was stopped by the voice of Mrs. Markham from the corridor. "Well,

I don't understand Spanish much--I may be a fool, or crazy, or perhaps

both--but if that isn't James Markham's VOICE, I'll bet a cooky!"

The three strangers turned quickly toward the corridor. The next moment

the youngest of their party advanced eagerly towards Miss Keene, who had

arisen with a half frightened joy, and with the cry of "Why, it's Nell!"

ran towards her. The third man came slowly forward as Mrs. Brimmer

slipped hastily from the hammock and stood erect.

"In the name of goodness, Barbara," said Mr. Brimmer, closing upon her,

in a slow, portentous whisper, "where ARE your stockings?"