The Shamrock and the Palm

by O. Henry

One night when there was no breeze, and Coralio seemed closer thanever to the gratings of Avernus, five men were grouped about the doorof the photograph establishment of Keogh and Clancy. Thus, in allthe scorched and exotic places of the earth, Caucasians meet whenthe day's work is done to preserve the fulness of their heritageby the aspersion of alien things.Johnny Atwood lay stretched upon the grass in the undress uniform ofa Carib, and prated feebly of cool water to be had in the cucumber-wood pumps of Dalesburg. Doctor Gregg, through the prestige ofhis whiskers and as a bribe against the relation of his imminentprofessional tales, was conceded the hammock that was swung betweenthe door jamb and a calabash-tree. Keogh had moved out upon the grassa little table that held the instrument for burnishing completedphotographs. He was the only busy one of the group. Industriouslyfrom between the cylinders of the burnisher rolled the finisheddepictments of Coralio's citizens. Blanchard, the French miningengineer, in his cool linen viewed the smoke of his cigarette throughhis calm glasses, impervious to the heat. Clancy sat on the steps,smoking his short pipe. His mood was the gossip's; the others werereduced, by the humidity, to the state of disability desirable inan audience.Clancy was an American with an Irish diathesis and cosmopolitanproclivities. Many businesses had claimed him, but not for long.The roadster's blood was in his veins. The voice of the tintype wasbut one of the many callings that had wooed him upon so many roads.Sometimes he could be persuaded to oral construction of his voyagesinto the informal and egregious. Tonight there were symptoms ofdivulgement in him."'Tis elegant weather for filibustering'," he volunteered. "Itreminds me of the time I struggled to liberate a nation from thepoisonous breath of a tyrant's clutch. 'Twas hard work. 'Tisstraining to the back and makes corns on the hands.""I didn't know you had ever lent your sword to an oppressed people,"murmured Atwood, from the grass."I did," said Clancy; "and they turned it into a plowshare.""What country was so fortunate as to secure your aid?" airily inquiredBlanchard."Where's Kamchatka?" asked Clancy, with seeming irrelevance."Why, off Siberia somewhere in the Arctic regions," somebody answered,doubtfully."I thought that was the cold one," said Clancy, with a satisfied nod."I'm always gettin' the two names mixed. 'Twas Guatemala, then--thehot one--I've been filibusterin' with. Ye'll find that country onthe map. 'Tis in the district known as the tropics. By the foresightof Providence, it lies on the coast so the geography men could run thenames of the towns off into the water. They're an inch long, smalltype, composed of Spanish dialects, and, 'tis my opinion, of the samesystem of syntax that blew up the ~Maine~. Yes, 'twas that countryI sailed against, single-handed, and endeavored to liberate it froma tyrannical government with a single-barrelled pickaxe, unloadedat that. Ye don't understand, of course. 'Tis a statement demandin'elucidation and apologies."'Twas in New Orleans one morning about the first ofJune; I wasstanding down on the wharf, looking about at the ships in the river.There was a little steamer moored right opposite me that seemed aboutready to sail. The funnels of it were throwing out smoke, and a gangof roustabouts were carrying aboard a pile of boxes that was stackedup on the wharf. The boxes were about two feet square, and somethinglike four feet long, and they seemed to be pretty heavy."I walked over, careless, to the stack of boxes. I saw one of themhad been broken in handlin'. 'Twas curiosity made me pull upthe loose top and look inside. The box was packed full of Winchesterrifles. 'So, so,' says I to myself; 'somebody's gettin' a twiston the neutrality laws. Somebody's aidin' with munitions of war.I wonder where the popguns are goin'?'"I heard somebody cough, and I turned around. There stood a little,round, fat man with a brown face and white clothes, a first-class-looking little man, with a four-karat diamond on his finger andhis eye full of interrogations and respects. I judged he was a kindof foreigner--may be from Russia or Japan or the archipelagoes."'Hist!' says the round man, full of concealments and confidences.'Will the senor respect the discoveryments he has made, that the manson the ship shall not be acquaint? The senor will be a gentlemanthat shall not expose one thing that by accident occur.'"'Monseer,' says I--for I judged him to be a kind of Frenchman--'receive my most exasperated assurances that your secret is safe withJames Clancy. Furthermore, I will go so far as to remark, Veev laLiberty--veev it good and strong. Whenever you hear of a Clancyobstructin' the abolishment of existin' governments you may notifyme by return mail.'"'The senor is good,' says the dark, fat man, smilin' under his blackmustache. 'Wish you to come aboard my ship and drink of wine a glass.'"Bein' a Clancy, in two minutes me and the foreigner man were seatedat a table in the cabin of the steamer, with a bottle between us. Icould hear the heavy boxes bein' dumped into the hold. I judged thatcargo must consist of at least 2,000 Winchesters. Me and the brownman drank the bottle of stuff, and he called the steward to bringanother. When you amalgamate a Clancy with the contents of a bottleyou practically instigate secession. I had heard a good deal aboutthese revolutions in them tropical localities, and I begun to wanta hand in it."'You goin' to stir things up in your country, ain't you, monseer?'says I, with a wink to let him know I was on."'Yes, yes,' said the little man, pounding his fist on the table.'A change of the greatest will occur. Too long have the people beenoppressed with the promises and the never-to-happen things to become.The great work it shall be carry on. Yes. Our forces shall in thecapital city strike of the soonest. ~Carrambos!~'"'~Carrambos~ is the word,' says I, beginning to invest myself withenthusiasm and more wine, 'likewise veeva, as I said before. May theshamrock of old--I mean the banana-vine or the pie-plant, or whateverthe imperial emblem may be of your down-trodden country, waveforever.'"'A thousand thank-yous,' says the round man, 'for your emission ofamicable utterances. What our cause needs of the very most is manswho will the work do, to lift it along. Oh, for one thousands strong,good mans to aid the General De Vega that he shall to his countrybring those success and glory! It is hard--oh, so hard to find goodmans to help in the work.'"'Monseer,' says I, leanin' over the table and graspin' his hand,I don't know where your country is, but me heart bleeds for it. Theheart of a Clancy was never deaf to the sight of an oppressed people.The family is filibusterers by birth, and foreigners by trade. If youcan use James Clancy's arms and his blood in denuding your shores ofthe tyrant's yoke they're yours to command.'"General De Vega was overcome with joy to confiscate my condolenceof his conspiracies and predicaments. He tried to embrace me acrossthe table, but his fatness, and the wine that had been in the bottles,prevented. Thus was I welcomed into the ranks of filibustery. Thenthe general man told me his country had the name of Guatemala, and wasthe greatest nation laved by any ocean whatever anywhere. He lookedat me with tears in his eyes, and from time to time he would emit theremark, 'Ah! big, strong, brave mans! That is what my country need.'"General De Vega, as was the name by which he denounced himself,brought out a document for me to sign, which I did, makin' a fineflourish and curlycue with the tail of the 'y.'"'Your passage-money,' says the general, business-like, 'shall fromyour pay be deduct.'"''Twill not,' says I, haughty. I'll pay my own passage.' A hundredand eighty dollars I had in my inside pocket, and 'twas no commonfilibuster I was goin' to be, filibusterin' for me board and clothes."The steamer was to sail in two hours, and I went ashore to get somethings together I'd need. When I came aboard I showed the generalwith pride the outfit. 'Twas a fine Chinchilla overcoat, Arcticovershoes, fur cap and earmuffs, with elegant fleece-lined glovesand woollen muffler."~'Carrambos!~ says the little general. 'What clothes are these thatshall go to the tropic?' And then the little spalpeen laughs, and hecalls the captain, and the captain calls the purser, and they pipe upthe chief engineer, and the whole gang leans against the cabin andlaughs at Clancy's wardrobe for Guatemala."I reflects a bit, serious, and asks the general again to denominatethe terms by which his country is called. He tells me, and I see thenthat 'twas the t'other one, Kamchatka, I had in mind. Since then I'vehad difficulty in separatin' the two nations in name, climate andgeographic disposition."I paid my passage--twenty-four dollars, first cabin--and ate attable with the officer crowd. Down on the lower deck was a gangof second-class passengers, about forty of them, seemin' to be Dagoesand the like. I wondered what so many of them were goin' along for."Well, then, in three days we sailed alongside that Guatemala. 'Twasa blue country, and not yellow as 'tis miscolored on the map. Welanded at a town on the coast, where a train of cars was waitin' forus on a dinky little railroad. The boxes on the steamer were broughtashore and loaded on the cars. The gang of Dagoes got aboard, too,the general and me in the front car. Yes, me and General De Vegaheaded the revolution, as it pulled out of the seaport town. Thattrain travelled about as fast as a policeman goin' to a riot. Itpenetrated the most conspicuous lot of fuzzy scenery ever seen outsidea geography. We run some forty miles in seven hours, and the trainstopped. There was no more railroad. 'Twas a sort of camp in a dampgorge full of wildness and melancholies. They was grading andchoppin' out the forests ahead to continue the road. 'Here,' saysI to myself, 'is the romantic haunt of the revolutionists. Here willClancy, by the virtue that is in a superior race and the inculcationof Fenian tactics, strike a tremendous blow for liberty.'"They unloaded the boxes from the train and begun to knock the topsoff. From the first one that was open I saw General De Vega take theWinchester rifles and pass them around to a squad of morbid soldiery.The other boxes was opened next, and, believe me or not, divil anothergun was to be seen. Every other box in the load was full of pickaxesand spades."And then--sorrow be upon them tropics--the proud Clancy andthe dishonored Dagoes, each one of them, had to shoulder a pick ora spade, and march away to work on that dirty little railroad. Yes;'twas that the Dagoes shipped for, and 'twas that the filibusterin'Clancy signed for, though unbeknownst to himself at the time. Inafter days I found out about it. It seems 'twas hard to get handsto work on that road. The intelligent natives of the country wastoo lazy to work. Indeed, the saints know, 'twas unnecessary. Bystretchin' out one hand, they could seize the most delicate and costlyfruits of the earth, and, by stretchin' out the other, they couldsleep for days at a time without hearin' a seven o'clock whistleor the footsteps of the rent man upon the stairs. So, regular, thesteamers travelled to the United States to seduce labor. Usually theimported spade-slingers died in two or three months from eatin' theover-ripe water and breathing the violent tropical scenery. Whereforethey made them sign contracts for a year, when they hired them, andput an armed guard over the poor devils to keep them from runnin'away."'Twas thus I was double-crossed by the tropics through a familyfailing of goin' out of the way to hunt disturbances."They gave me a pick, and I took it, meditating an insurrection onthe spot; but there was the guards handling the Winchesters careless,and I come to the conclusion that discretion was the best part offilibusterin'. There was about a hundred of us in the gang startingout to work, and the word was given to move. I steps out of the ranksand goes up to that General De Vega man, who was smokin' a cigar andgazin' upon the scene with satisfactions and glory. He smiles at mepolite and devilish. 'Plenty work,' says he, 'for big, strong mansin Guatemala. Yes. Thirty dollars in the month. Good pay. Ah, yes.You strong, brave man. Bimeby we push those railroad in the capitalvery quick. They want you go work now. ~Adios~, strong mans.'"'Monseer,' says I, lingerin', 'will you tell a poor little Irishmanthis: When I set foot on your cockroachy steamer, and breathedliberal and revolutionary sentiments into your sour wine, did youthink I was conspirin' to sling a pick on your contemptuous littlerailroad? And when you answered me with patriotic recitations,humping up the star-spangled cause of liberty, did you havemeditations of reducin' me to the ranks of the stump-grubbin' Dagoesin the chain-gangs of your vile and grovelin' country?''The general man expanded his rotundity and laughed considerable.Yes, he laughed very long and loud, and I, Clancy, stood and waited."'Comical mans!' he shouts, at last. 'So you will kill me from thelaughing. Yes; it is hard to find the brave, strong mans to aid mycountry. Revolutions? Did I speak of r-r-revolutions? Not oneword. I say, big, strong man is need in Guatemala. So. The mistakeis of you. You have looked in those one box containing those gunfor the guard. You think all boxes is contain gun? No."'There is not war in Guatemala. But work? Yes. Good. Thirty dollarin the month. You shall shoulder one pickaxe, senor, and dig forthe liberty and prosperity of Guatemala. Off to your work. The guardwaits for you.'"'Little, fat, poodle dog of a brown man,' says I, quiet, but full ofindignations and discomforts, 'things shall happen to you. Maybe notright away, but as soon as J. Clancy can formulate somethin' in theway of repartee.'"The boss of the gang orders us to work. I tramps off with theDagoes, and I hears the distinguished patriot and kidnapper laughin'hearty as we go."Tis a sorrowful fact, for eight weeks I built railroads for thatmisbehavin' country. I filibustered twelve hours a day with a heavypick and a spade, choppin' away the luxurious landscape that grewupon the right of way. We worked in swamps that smelled like therewas a leak in the gas mains, trampin' down a fine assortment ofthe most expensive hothouse plants and vegetables. The scene wastropical beyond the wildest imagination of the geography man. Thetrees was all sky-scrapers; the underbrush was full of needles andpins; there was monkeys jumpin' around and crocodiles and pink-tailedmockin'-birds, and ye stood knee-deep in the rotten water and grabbledroots for the liberation of Guatemala. Of nights we would buildsmudges in camp to discourage the mosquitoes, and sit in the smoke,with the guards pacin' all around us. There was two hundred menworking on the road--mostly Dagoes, nigger-men, Spanish-men andSwedes. Three or four were Irish."One old man named Halloran--a man of Hibernian entitlements anddiscretions, explained it to me. He had been working on the roada year. Most of them died in less than six months. He was dried upto gristle and bone, and shook with chills every third night. "'Whenyou first come,' says he, 'ye think ye'll leave right away. But theyhold out your first month's pay for your passage over, and by thattime the tropics has its grip on ye. Ye're surrounded by a ragin'forest full of disreputable beasts--lions and baboons and anacondas--waiting to devour ye. The sun strikes ye hard, and melts the marrowin your bones. Ye get similar to the lettuce--eaters the poetry-booksspeaks about. Ye forget the elevated sintiments of life, such aspatriotism, revenge, disturbances of the peace and the dacint love ofa clane shirt. Ye do your work, and ye swallow the kerosene ile andrubber pipestems dished up to ye by the Dago cook for food. Ye lightyour pipeful, and say to yourself, "Nixt week I'll break away," and yego to sleep and call yersilf a liar, for ye know yell never do it.''Who is this general man,' asks I, 'that calls himself De Vega?'"'Tis the man,' says Halloran, 'who is tryin' to complete thefinishin' of the railroad. 'Twas the project of a privatecorporation, but it busted, and then the government took it up.De Vegy is a big politician, and wants to be president. The peoplewant the railroad completed, as they're taxed mighty on account of it.The De Vegy man is pushing it along as a campaign move.'"''Tis not my way,' says I, 'to make threats against any man, butthere's an account to be settled between the railroad man and JamesO'Dowd Clancy.'"''Twas that way I thought, mesilf, at first,' Halloran says, witha big sigh, 'until I got to be a lettuce-eater. The fault's wid thesetropics. They rejuices a man's system. 'Tis a land, as the poetsays, "Where it always seems to be after dinner." I does me workand smokes me pipe and sleeps. There's little else in life, anyway.Ye'll get that way yersilf, mighty soon. Don't be harborin' anysentiments at all, Clancy.'"'I can't help it,' says I; I'm full of 'em. I enlisted in therevolutionary army of this dark country in good faith to fight forits liberty, honors, and silver candlesticks; instead of which I amset to amputatin' its scenery and grubbin' its roots. 'Tis thegeneral man will have to pay for it.'"Two months I worked on that railroad before I found a chance to getaway. One day a gang of us was sent back to the end of the completedline to fetch some picks that had been sent down to Port Barrios tobe sharpened. They were brought on a hand-car, and I noticed, whenI started away, that the car was left there on the track."That night, about twelve, I woke up Halloran and told him my scheme."'Run away?' says Halloran. 'Good Lord, Clancy, do ye mean it? Why,I ain't got the nerve. It's too chilly, and I ain't slept enough.Run away? I told you, Clancy, I've eat the lettuce. I've lost mygrip. 'Tis the tropics that's done it. 'Tis like the poet says:"Forgotten are our friends that we have left behind; in the hollowlettuce-land we will live and lay reclined." You better go on,Clancy. I'll stay, I guess. It's too early and cold, and I'msleepy.'"So I had to leave Halloran. I dressed quiet, and slipped outof the tent we were in. When the guard came along I knocked himover, like a ninepin, with a green coconut I had, and made for therailroad. I got on that hand-car and made it fly. 'Twas yet a whilebefore daybreak when I saw the lights of Port Barrios about a mileaway. I stopped the hand-car there and walked to the town. I steppedinside the corporations of that town with care and hesitations.I was not afraid of the army of Guatemala, but me soul quaked atthe prospect of a hand-to-hand struggle with its employment bureau.'Tis a country that hires its help easy and keeps 'em long. Sure Ican fancy Missis America and Missis Guatemala passin' a bit of gossipsome fine, still night across the mountains. 'Oh, dear,' says MissisAmerica, 'and it's a lot of trouble I'm havin' ag'in with the help,senora, ma'am.' 'Laws, now!' says Missis Guatemala, 'you don't sayso, ma'am! now, mine never think ofleavin me--te-he! ma'am,' snickersMissis Guatemala."I was wonderin' how I was goin' to move away from them tropicswithout bein' hired again. Dark as it was, I could see a steamerridin' in the harbor, with smoke emergin' from her stacks. I turneddown a little grass street that run down to the water. On the beachI found a little brown nigger-man just about to shove off in a skiff."'Hold on, Sambo,' says I, 'savve English?'"'Heap plenty, yes,' says he, with a pleasant grin."'What steamer is that?' I asks him, 'and where is it going? Andwhat's the news, and the good word and the time of day?'" 'That steamer the ~Conchita~,' said the brown man, affable and easy,rollin' a cigarette. 'Him come from New Orleans for load banana.Him got load last night. I think him sail in one, two hour. Verreenice day we shall be goin' have. You hear some talkee 'bout bigbattle, maybe so? You think catchee General De Vega, senor? Yes?No?'"'How's that, Sambo?' says I. 'Big battle? What battle? Who wantscatchee General De Vega? I've been up at my old gold mines in theinterior for a couple of months, and haven't heard any news.'"'Oh,' says the nigger-man, proud to speak the English, 'verree greatrevolution in Guatemala one week ago. General De Vega, him try bepresident. Him raise armee--one--five--ten thousand mans for fightat the government. Those one government send five--forty--hundredthousand soldier to suppress revolution. They fight big battleyesterday at Lomagrande--that about nineteen or fifty mile in themountain. That government soldier wheep General De Vega--oh, mostbad. Five hundred--nine hundred--two thousand of his mans is kill.That revolution is smash suppress--bust--very quick. General De Vega,him r-r-run away fast on one big mule. Yes, ~carrambos!~ Thegeneral, him r-r-run away, and his armee is kill. That governmentsoldier, they try find General De Vega verree much. They want catcheehim for shoot. You think they catchee that general, senor?'"'Saints grant it!' says I. ''Twould be the judgment of Providencefor settin' the warlike talent of a Clancy to gradin' the tropicswith a pick and shovel. But 'tis not so much a question ofinsurrections now, me little man, as 'tis of the hired-man problem.'Tis anxious I am to resign a situation of responsibility and trustwith the white wings department of your great and degraded country.Row me in your little boat out to that steamer, and I'll give ye fivedollars--sinker pacers--sinker pacers,' says I, reducing the offerto the language and denomination of the tropic dialects."'Cinco pesos,' repeats the little man. Five dollee, you give?'"'Twas not such a bad little man. He had hesitations at first,sayin' that passengers leavin' the country had to have papers andpassports, but at last he took me out alongside the steamer."Day was just breakin' as we struck her, and there wasn't a soul tobe seen on board. The water was very still, and the nigger-man gaveme a lift from the boat, and I climbed onto the steamer where her sidewas sliced to the deck for loadin' fruit. The hatches was open, andI looked down and saw the cargo of bananas that filled the hold towithin six feet of the top. I thinks to myself, 'Clancy, you bettergo as a stowaway. It's safer. The steamer men might hand you backto the employment bureau. The tropic'll get you, Clancy, if youdon't watch out.'"So I jumps down easy among the bananas, and digs out a hole to hidein among the bunches. In an hour or so I could hear the enginesgoin', and feel the steamer rockin', and I knew we were off to sea.They left the hatches open for ventilation, and pretty soon it waslight enough in the hold to see fairly well. I got to feelin'a bit hungry, and thought I'd have a light fruit lunch, by wayof refreshment. I creeped out of the hole I'd made and stood upstraight. Just then I saw another man crawl up about ten feet awayand reach out and skin a banana and stuff it into his mouth. 'Twasa dirty man, black-faced and ragged and disgraceful of aspect. Yes,the man was a ringer for the pictures of the fat Weary Willie in thefunny papers. I looked again, and saw it was my general man--De Vega,the great revolutionist, mule-rider and pickaxe importer. When hesaw me the general hesitated with his mouth filled with banana andhis eyes the size of coconuts."'Hist!' I says. 'Not a word, or they'll put us off and make us walk."Veev la Liberty!"' I adds, copperin' the sentiment by shovin' abanana into the source of it. I was certain the general wouldn'trecognize me. The nefarious work of the tropics had left me lookin'different. There was half an inch of roan whiskers coverin' me face,and me costume was a pair of blue overalls and a red shirt."'How you come in the ship, senor?' asked the general as soon as hecould speak."'By the back door--whist!' says I. ''Twas a glorious blow forliberty we struck,' I continues; 'but we was overpowered by numbers.Let us accept our defeat like brave men and eat another banana.'"'Were you in the cause of liberty fightin', senor?' says the general,sheddin' tears on the cargo."'To the last,' says I. ''Twas I led the last desperate chargeagainst the minions of the tyrant. But it made them mad, and we wasforced to retreat. 'Twas I, general, procured the mule upon whichyou escaped. Could you give that ripe bunch a little boost this way,general? It's a bit out of my reach. Thanks.'"'Say you so, brave patriot?' said the general, again weepin'. 'Ah,~Dios!~ And I have not the means to reward your devotion. Barelydid I my life bring away. ~Carrambos!~ what a devil's animal was thatmule, senor! Like ships in one storm was I dashed about. The skinon myself was ripped away with the thorns and vines. Upon the barkof a hundred trees did that beast of the infernal bump, and causeoutrage to the legs of mine. In the night to Port Barrios I came.I dispossess myself of that mountain of mule and hasten along thewater shore. I find a little boat to be tied. I launch myself androw to the steamer. I cannot see any mans on board, so I climbed onerope which hang at the side. I then myself hide in the bananas.Surely, I say, if the ship captains view me, they shall throw me againto those Guatemala. Those things are not good. Guatemala will shootGeneral De Vega. Therefore, I am hide and remain silent. Life itselfis glorious. Liberty, it is pretty good; but so good as life I do notthink.'"Three days, as I said, was the trip to New Orleans. The general manand me got to be cronies of the deepest dye. Bananas we ate untilthey were distasteful to the sight and an eyesore to the palate, butto bananas alone was the bill of fare reduced. At night I crawls out,careful, on the lower deck, and gets a bucketful of fresh water."That General De Vega was a man inhabited by an engorgement of wordsand sentences. He added to the monotony of the voyage by divestin'himself of conversation. He believed I was a revolutionist of hisown party, there bein' as he told me, a good many Americans and otherforeigners in its ranks. 'Twas a braggart and a conceited littlegabbler it was, though he considered himself a hero. 'Twas on himselfhe wasted all his regrets at the failing of his plot. Not a word didthe little balloon have to say about the other misbehaving idiots thathad been shot, or run themselves to death in his revolution."The second day out he was feelin' pretty braggy and uppish for astowed-away conspirator that owed his existence to a mule and stolenbananas. He was tellin' me about the great railroad he had beenbuildin', and he relates what he calls a comic incident about a foolIrishman he inveigled from New Orleans to sling a pick on his littlemorgue of a narrow-gauge line. 'Twas sorrowful to hear the little,dirty general tell the opprobrious story of how he put salt upon thetail of that reckless and silly bird, Clancy. Laugh, he did, heartyand long. He shook with laughin', the black-faced rebel and outcast,standing neck-deep in bananas, without friends or country."'Ah, senor,' he snickers, 'to death you would have laughed at thatdrollest Irish. I say to him: "Strong, big mans is need very muchin Guatemala." "I will blows strike for your down-pressed country,"he say. "That shall you do," I tell him. Ah! it was an Irish socomic. He sees one box break upon the wharf that contain for theguard a few gun. He think there is gun in all the box. But that isall pickaxe. Yes. Ah! senor, could you the face of that Irish haveseen when they set him to the work!'"'Twas thus the ex-boss of the employment bureau contributed to thetedium of the trip with merry jests and anecdote. But now and thenhe would weep upon the bananas and make oration about the lost causeof liberty and the mule."'Twas a pleasant sound when the steamer bumped against the pier inNew Orleans. Pretty soon we heard the pat-a-pat of hundreds of barefeet, and the Dago gang that unloads the fruit jumped on the deck anddown into the hold. Me and the general worked a while at passing upthe bunches, and they thought we were part of the gang. After aboutan hour we managed to slip off the steamer onto the wharf."'Twas a great honor on the hands of an obscure Clancy, havin' theentertainment of the representative of a great foreign filibusteringpower. I first bought for the general and myself many long drinksand things to eat that were not bananas. The general man trottedalong at my side, leaving all the arrangements to me. I led himup to Lafayette Square and set him on a bench in the little park.Cigarettes I had bought for him, and he humped himself down on theseat like a little, fat, contented hobo. I look him over as he setsthere, and what I see pleases me. Brown by nature and instinct, heis now brindled with dirt and dust. Praise to the mule, his clothesis mostly strings and flaps. Yes, the looks of the general man isagreeable to Clancy."I asks him, delicate, if, by any chance, he brought away anybody'smoney with him from Guatemala. He sighs and humps his shouldersagainst the bench. Not a cent. All right. Maybe, he tells me,some of his friends in the tropic outfit will send him funds later.The general was as clear a case of no visible means as I ever saw."I told him not to move from the bench, and then I went up to thecorner of Poydras and Carondelet. Along there is O'Hara's beat.In five minutes along comes O'Hara, a big, fine man, red-faced,with shinin' buttons, swinging his club. 'Twould be a fine thingfor Guatemala to move into O'Hara's precinct. 'Twould be a fine bitof recreation for Danny to suppress revolutions and uprisins once ortwice a week with his club."'Is 5046 workin' yet, Danny?' says I, walking up to him."'Overtime,' says O'Hara, looking over me suspicious. 'Want someof it?'"Fifty-forty-six is the celebrated city ordinance authorizing arrest,conviction and imprisonment of persons that succeed in concealingtheir crimes from the police."'Don't ye know Jimmy Clancy?' says I. 'Ye pink-gilled monster.'So, when O'Hara recognized me beneath the scandalous exterior bestowedupon me by the tropics, I backed him into a doorway and told him whatI wanted, and why I wanted it. 'All right, Jimmy,' says O'Hara. 'Goback and hold the bench. I'll be along in ten minutes.'"In that time O'Hara strolled through Lafayette Square and spied twoWeary Willies disgracin' one of the benches. In ten minutes moreJ. Clancy and General De Vega, late candidate for the presidency ofGuatemala, was in the station house. The general is badly frightened,and calls upon me to proclaim his distinguishments and rank."'The man,' says I to the police, 'used to be a railroad man. He'son the bum now. 'Tis a little bughouse he is, on account of losin'his job.'"'~Carrambos!~' says the general, fizzin' like a little soda-fountain,'you fought, senor, with my forces in my native country. Why do yousay the lies? You shall say I am the General De Vega, one soldier,one ~caballero~--'"'Railroader,' says I again. 'On the hog. No good. Been livin' forthree days on stolen bananas. Look at him. Ain't that enough?'"Twenty-five dollars or sixty days, was what the recorder gave thegeneral. He didn't have a cent, so he took the time. They let me go,as I knew they would, for I had money to show, and O'Hara spoke forme. Yes; sixty days he got. 'Twas just so long as I slung a pickfor the great country of Kam--Guatemala."Clancy paused. The bright starlight showed a reminiscent look ofhappy content on his seasoned features. Keogh leaned in his chairand gave his partner a slap on his thinly clad back that soundedlike the crack of the surf on the sands."Tell 'em, ye divil," he chuckled, "how you got even with the tropicalgeneral in the way of agricultural maneuverings.""'Having no money," concluded Clancy, with unction, "they set himto work his fine out with a gang from the parish prison clearingUrsulines Street. Around the corner was a saloon decorated geniallywith electric fans and cool merchandise. I made that me headquarters,and every fifteen minutes I'd walk around and take a look at thelittle man filibusterin' with a rake and shovel. 'Twas just sucha hot broth of a day as this has been. And I'd call at him 'Hey,monseer!' and he'd look at me black, with the damp showin' throughhis shirt in places."'Fat, strong mans,' says I to General De Vega, 'is needed in NewOrleans. Yes. To carry on the good work. Carrambos! Erin gobragh!"

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