Father and son (and a cargo of more supplies than either had hoped for; old Kielor would not accept money, which he in fact called by many harsh names; but he agreed to accept agricultural tools, seeds, and nursery stock, fishing lines and hooks, gunpowder, lead, cartridges, and a nice new shotgun) returned presently to their far-distant Island Home. Quite a throng saw them off at the mole. And the Ministry of Correction and Justice quietly put away its plans to locate a penal colony somewhere in the Islands.
When the newspapers said (as say they did) that the President of Ereguay, Eduardo Gaspar de la Vara, D.D.S., had promised that he would visit the pioneering family when he could manage to find the time to escape from the cares of state, they said but the truth. Dr. de la Vara was then in his forty-second year, he had attained to office entirely by constitutional means and he was determined to leave office in the same manner. His physician, Dr. Cipriano Madariaga, said to him one day after the routine examination, “Previous holders of your august office have been either soldiers or attorneys; you are unique in having a scientific degree, therefore may I speak with you, not as citizen to president, but as one scientist to another?”
“Securely you may,” said el doctor don Eduardo. “Proceed.”
“If I were to work too hard,” said Madariago, “my assistant could
always assume my duties—for a limited period of time, of course. (”Of course.”) Only … the lay person scarcely appreciates that the corpus and the spiritus are entirely intertwined; do you agree?”
“Agreement the most absolute.”
“We say of a garment made of good sound cloth, that ‘it wears like iron,’ do we not? and yet even iron may eventually wear out, so—”
Here the president interrupted. He was a small man. But he was courageous. “Are you about to tell me, Sir Medicin Doctore, that I am about to wear out?”
The physician crossed himself three times. “I beg of you, my friend, do not jump to conclusions. Any man who works hard may require a rest in order to recuperate his powers. But if, unlike, say,
me
, you should require a rest, is there someone who could assume your duties until—”
Perhaps Gaspar de la Vara rapidly considered the political state of affairs in Ereguay. “Sir Medical Doctor, you have reason!” he exclaimed. “No, there is not … save, perhaps for the very shortest period of time.”
Dr. Madariaga nodded. “How short a period of time? Could you not take a rest for … say … two weeks? Only two weeks? As your friend, I implore you. As your physician, I order you!”
Gaspar de la Vara came to a, perhaps, rapid decision. “And what sort of a rest?” he enquired. “For two weeks, not more.”
“Alas,” said the physician, “we have here not healing springs, spas, they are called in Europe. How they invigorate! How they juvenescate! But … facts are facts … and in the absence of any such in our own country, and as it is impossible to go to Europe right now, I have no hesitation to recommend …” He hesitated. “ … a short sea-voyage,” he concluded. And watched the other’s face.
Immediately the President exclaimed, “I shall make a cruise of our overseas territories!”
“You will sail around the Enchanted Islands in the national yacht?”
“No, I shall go via the steam vessel—and I shall keep well in
mind the maritime wisdom of the Liberator!” His friend the medical doctor slapped him on the back, and they embraced.
From a contemporary statement in
La Voz:
“The President will make a voyage of inspection beyond the seas in keeping with the famous maritime maxim of the Liberator. Did not the Liberator himself declare that, ‘Whoso controls the sea, controls the coast; and whoso controls the coast controls the interior. Therefore, whoso controls the sea, paradoxical as it may seem, he controls the interior’? Indeed. It is not necessary to explicate the reference to the Liberator Ignacio Gomez de la Cedilla, often called the San Martin (or the Bolivar) of Central Coastal South America, East; of whom the whole world has heard. Almost.”
In fact, the Republic of Ereguay was the current owner of the locomotive vessel
La Victoria
(formerly Her Britannic Majesty’s Steam Ram
Sink
); and this at a time when the adjacent Republic of Bobadilla y Las Bonitas had only recently recognized that the gallery was obsolete, and the adjacent Republic of Nueva Andorra had acquired the former Confederate privateer
Arkansas
(it had been engaged, in the interim, in the corned-mutton trade out of Port Bangalong, Eastern Australia). This exemplum of “the fleet in being” had struck terror into the hearts of all would-be invaders of the Ereguayan littoral (not even do we exempt Brazil). Commanding the
Victoria
was the capitan da Costa, and also present was the learned and unpredictable Dr. Hector Macvitty.
Capitan da Costa made up for his Brazilian birth by voicing objections whenever the Emperor’s name was mentioned; “a tawdry fellow,” he called him, “a freemason, a yanqui-lover, a friend of the Negroes, and an imperialista.” The capitan da Costa had visited the not-often-visited Islands, and so knew anyway something about them, besides the fact that they were there. (That was something. It was often reported and often denied that Nueva Andorra had once sent
La Desiderata
[formerly the
Arkansas
], under a politicallyappointed and inexperienced commander, on a voyage to Brazil; asked, upon his return, how were things in Brazil, he had replied,
with a shrug, “Brazil isn’t there.”) Dr. Macvitty did not engage in much conversation, but all the while he made sketches, of the sort for which he was almost famous. And it is indeed from these sketches, and from letters to his brother Sawney (the Rev. Alexander Macvitty), that a number of the details of this voyage have been supplied. (The letters and sketches mostly repose in the Lord Marechal’s Library and Museum in Edinburgh, to the learned Curators of which we express our thanks; their charges have been, considering inflation and rates of exchange, almost modest.)
Nevertheless, we will not bore readers—at any rate, I hope I am not boring mine—with many details. Though the South Atlantic seas can be very rough indeed, one reason no doubt why the Islas had been so seldom visited the voyage of
La Victoria
was fairly untroubled. She anchored in the windward of Encantada Grana and several times a day people put ashore in her small boat, or “launch”; and of course the shore visits of the passengers were more frequent than those of most of the crew, who, truth to tell, were not much inclined to land on these Isles containing none of the amenities which sailors prefer to encounter whilst ashore. And a very wild and rocky shore it was, too, though little did this seem to disarrange the famous Great Tortoises.
“See these great tortoises, Your Excellency!”
“Never mind such titles, Capitan; call me simply ‘Doctor’; but where are they all going? So very, very slowly?”
“Either to crunch the flesh of the prickly-pear cactus between their horny jaws, or in search of those hidden springs which they alone, mostly, know about.”
Consider, then, at this time, the President of the Republic—no silk hat, no frock coat, no sash of office, no: clad in simple costume borrowed from the third mate, and with the same well-worn
sombrero de jipijapa
which he wore (almost one wishes to say,
wears,
so strong is habit!) at home, how eagerly he traverses the rocky landscape of the largest of the Islands which never before had been trodded by presidential foot; observe the slight flush of pleasure and the quick degree of impatience, he brushes aside all offers of “helping
hands,” and soon, with only a single guard to accompany him, he vanishes into the brush, or bush, or however one wishes to describe it; those trees of which the sound of an axe has seldom menaced, the dense thicketry, the—
“Come, follow me!” exclaims the capitan da Costa in a tone of command which never he would have used to the President himself; “I know of a short-cut, we will soon encounter them!” Everybody obeys; sure enough, a trail is found, all follow it, birds call out, the small animalitos or insectivos also appear, what glorious and one may accurately say, gorgeous, butterflies: but what care, momentarily, the visitors, save for the taciturn Dr. Macvitty, who, almost as he moves, he sketches, sketches—behold! the party has reached at last the small plantation which the pioneer settler family, those profugitives from the scurrying and unhealthy throngs of European city-dwellers, has cleared, with great labor, from the bosque: there is the Family Kielor, almost as though they had gathered for the Purpose of welcoming the President. The father Kielor greets his civic leader with a warm handshake and an embrace, the mother Kielor leaves for a moment the home-made frame on which she embroiders, so to speak, textiles made from the wild flax with threads spun from a local fibre and dyed with local dies-stuff, representations of the autochthonous flora and fauna, and waves her hand at the great chief magistrate; several small boys of various sizes at first stand off shyly, then slowly creep forward and are greeted with paternal pats upon their heads. A delicious odor fills the air—to be specific, a “lunch” was cooking, of goatsflesh and several sorts of names and patatas, as well as the famous wild spinaches so good against the dreaded scurvy. After some few minutes the President says, “But I do not see here your oldest son, whom always we fondly remember by the name of
el vilvoy,
forever will we remember with what bravery he bit off the ear of that savage fellow, a foreigner I need not say, whilst defending the sweet mis Ohara, la bertita chica; where is he?”
Scarcely has [The above account, transposed from the holographic, seems rather confused: on the one hand the President has vanished into the woods with one single naval guardsman, and yet
here he is described as being already present at the Kielor house and farm, with no explanation or transition. Well, we must take history as we find it, and, as the almost fabulous capitan ser Juan Smiht so aptly puts it, History without Geography is a wandering carcase, or perhaps it is the other way around; the capitan ser Juhan Esmiss, rescuer of las pocahontas, was not a literary man] scarcely has the initial burst of enthusiasm subsided sufficiently for the babble of voices to terminate for a moment, when distinctly are heard some distant shots, securely of firearms. Exclaims the elder Kielor, “That is not my son, he took with him this morning only a machete when he left to examine some traps and snares; let us go at once in that direction!” And, directly he trots off in another direction. Navy officers cry commands to their few men and they begin to run in a more direct direction; but the doctor Macvitty calls out to warn them of the dangers of the hedge of prickly-pears which they are about to charge through: of their large thorns which draw blood—and, much more dangerous, their tiny and usually at first glance unseen spines, those which break off in the flesh, and fester, causing more infection and sores of great pain, often indeed leaving scars. In a moment prevail the heads more cooler, it is realized the patriarco Kielor doubtless knows best the paths of his “own” island; if he runs off in a certain direction, doubtless it is to find a passable lane through the wilderness which will presently change its direction according to the contures of nature. (It is not to be thought that these considerations are the results of subsequent meditations.) And the reader already knows that the shots had been fired by certain troops of the Counter-Claimant Nation for the sovereignty of las Islas: in other words, not to cavil at the truth, the Republic of Bobadilla and Las Bonitas, as it is commonly and simply called. El B & B only in the vulgate.
When the Intelligent Semaphore on the well-sited Goat’s Head Hill, overlooking la Ciudad de Ereguay and the circumjacent waters had signaled with both its arms out straight that (in other words) a sidewheel steamer was approaching—the black ball hoisted at the same moment indicating that it was one of our Naval vessels, and next
went up the Presidential flag; at once a crowd began to gather at the mole, for it was realized that this meant the return of the steam Ram
La Victoria,
with the President on board. Meanwhile, of course, as the semaphore continued working while the ship drew nearer, and both were sending and transcribing messages to each other; but little heeded this the throng, most of whom naturally could not read the Semaphore letters, nor had they telescopes to see what the Ship was saying. But those who had the knowledge and the means, including of course several people in the Department of Naval Affairs; as well, naturally, one need hardly say, the journalists: they were transfixed, electrified, by what these messages implied. And as word of this spread so rapidly through the City, of course the crowd grew vast.
The Questions at the “Interview”
Q. Mr. Dr. President, is it indeed true that you had been as it were lost in the jungle on Encantada Grande and that the Vilvoy himself then rescued you?
A. With the frankness which characterizes my nature, I answer, simply, Almost I might have become alarmed, but the Vilvoy heard my calls, and fairly at once he rescued me.
Q. Ah, thank God! You seem to be in entire good health, in fact one might say, in better, is it not true?
A. Yes.
Q. And is it also true that this is because the Vilvoy led you to some medicinal springs of the sort called
spa
?
A. Perceiving that I was very hot and somewhat fatigued, he did indeed lead me to some springs in an obscure place, in which certainly I bathed. As to its medical qualities, Dr. Macvitty regrets that I did not carry away with me a sample of the spring water, but I had no thought of that. As for my health, it may be that the exercise and the sea breezes had something to do with it. But there are more important matters, and if you will excuse me, I observe that my carriage is over there, and—