Short Fiction by O. Henry (librera reader txt) 📕

“ ‘Well, Captain,’ said he, ‘I guess you realize that Bad-Luck Kearny is still on deck. It was a shame, now, about that gun. She only needed to be slewed two inches to clear the rail; and that’s why I grabbed that rope’s end. Who’d have thought that a sailor⁠—even a Sicilian lubber on a banana coaster⁠—would have fastened a line in a bowknot? Don’t think I’m trying to dodge the responsibility, Captain. It’s my luck.’

“ ‘There are men, Kearny,’ said I gravely, ‘who pass through life blaming upon luck and chance the mistakes that result from their own faults and incompetency. I do not say that you are such a man. But if all your mishaps are traceable to that tiny star, the sooner we endow our colleges with chairs of moral astronomy, the better.’

“ ‘It isn’t the size of the star that counts,’ said Kearny; ‘it’s the quality. Just the way it is with women. That’s why they give the biggest planets masculine names, and the little stars feminine ones⁠—to even things up when it comes to getting their work in. Suppose they had called my star Agamemnon or Bill McCarty or something like that instead of Phoebe. Every time one of those old boys touched their calamity button and sent me down one of their wireless pieces of bad luck, I could talk back and tell ’em what I thought of ’em in suitable terms. But you can’t address such remarks to a Phoebe.’

“ ‘It pleases you to make a joke of it, Kearny,’ said I, without smiling. ‘But it is no joke to me to think of my Gatling mired in the river ooze.’

“ ‘As to that,’ said Kearny, abandoning his light mood at once, ‘I have already done what I could. I have had some experience in hoisting stone in quarries. Torres and I have already spliced three hawsers and stretched them from the steamer’s stern to a tree on shore. We will rig a tackle and have the gun on terra firma before noon tomorrow.’

“One could not remain long at outs with Bad-Luck Kearny.

“ ‘Once more,’ said I to him, ‘we will waive this question of luck. Have you ever had experience in drilling raw troops?’

“ ‘I was first sergeant and drill-master,’ said Kearny, ‘in the Chilean army for one year. And captain of artillery for another.’

“ ‘What became of your command?’ I asked.

“ ‘Shot down to a man,’ said Kearny, ‘during the revolutions against Balmaceda.’

“Somehow the misfortunes of the evil-starred one seemed to turn to me their comedy side. I lay back upon my goat’s-hide cot and laughed until the woods echoed. Kearny grinned. ‘I told you how it was,’ he said.

“ ‘Tomorrow,’ I said, ‘I shall detail one hundred men under your command for manual-of-arms drill and company evolutions. You will rank as lieutenant. Now, for God’s sake, Kearny,’ I urged him, ‘try to combat this superstition if it is one. Bad luck may be like any other visitor⁠—preferring to stop where it is expected. Get your mind off stars. Look upon Esperando as your planet of good fortune.’

“ ‘I thank you, Captain,’ said Kearny quietly. ‘I will try to make it the best handicap I ever ran.’

“By noon the next day the submerged Gatling was rescued, as Kearny had promised. Then Carlos and Manuel Ortiz and Kearny (my lieutenants) distributed Winchesters among the troops and put them through an incessant rifle drill. We fired no shots, blank or solid, for of all coasts Esperando is the stillest; and we had no desire to sound any warnings in the ear of that corrupt government until they should carry with them the message of Liberty and the downfall of Oppression.

“In the afternoon came a mule-rider bearing a written message to me from Don Rafael Valdevia in the capital, Aguas Frias.

“Whenever that man’s name comes to my lips, words of tribute to his greatness, his noble simplicity, and his conspicuous genius follow irrepressibly. He was a traveller, a student of peoples and governments, a master of sciences, a poet, an orator, a leader, a soldier, a critic of the world’s campaigns and the idol of the people in Esperando. I had been honoured by his friendship for years. It was I who first turned his mind to the thought that he should leave for his monument a new Esperando⁠—a country freed from the rule of unscrupulous tyrants, and a people made happy and prosperous by wise and impartial legislation. When he had consented he threw himself into the cause with the undivided zeal with which he endowed all of his acts. The coffers of his great fortune were opened to those of us to whom were entrusted the secret moves of the game. His popularity was already so great that he had practically forced President Cruz to offer him the portfolio of Minister of War.

“The time, Don Rafael said in his letter, was ripe. Success, he prophesied, was certain. The people were beginning to clamour publicly against Cruz’s misrule. Bands of citizens in the capital were even going about of nights hurling stones at public buildings and expressing their dissatisfaction. A bronze statue of President Cruz in the Botanical Gardens had been lassoed about the neck and overthrown. It only remained for me to arrive with my force and my thousand rifles, and for himself to come forward and proclaim himself the people’s saviour, to overthrow Cruz in a single day. There would be but a halfhearted resistance from the six hundred government troops stationed in the capital. The country was ours. He presumed that by this time my steamer had arrived at Quintana’s camp. He proposed the eighteenth of July for the attack. That would give us six days in which to strike camp and march to Aguas Frias. In the meantime Don Rafael remained my good friend and compadre en la causa de la libertad.

“On the morning of the 14th we began our march toward the sea-following range of mountains, over the sixty-mile trail to the capital. Our small