Rope's End Page #4

"Rope's End" by Rex Ellingwood Beach is a gripping adventure novel set in the rugged landscape of the American West. The story follows the life of a resourceful and determined protagonist as he navigates the challenges of survival and the complexities of human relationships amidst the backdrop of a harsh and unforgiving environment. With themes of resilience, loyalty, and the quest for identity, Beach's vivid prose brings to life the struggles and triumphs of those who inhabit this wild frontier. The novel captures the spirit of adventure and the human condition, making it a compelling read for fans of classic Western literature.

• Short story

								

at the time of the French fiasco, when De Lesseps's name was powerful,
and when Colon was the wickedest, sickest city of the Western
Hemisphere.

Into the harbor came Inocencio's schooner, pelting ahead of the stiff
trade-winds that blew like the draught from an electric fan, and there
the Haytian stayed, for in Colon he found work that suited him. There he
heard the echo of tremendous undertakings; there he learned new
rascalities, and met men from other lands who were homeless, like
himself; there he tasted of the white man's wickedness, and beheld forms
of corruption that were strange to him. The nights were ribald and the
days were drear, for fever stalked the streets, but Inocencio was
immune, and for the first time he enjoyed himself.

But he was solitary in his habits; the festering town, with its
green-slimed sewers and its filthy streets, did not appeal to him, so he
took up his abode on the shore of a little bay close behind, where a
grove of palm-trees overhung a sandy beach. Just across a mangrove swamp
at his back was the city; before him lay his schooner, her bowsprit
pointing seaward. Day and night it pointed seaward, like a resolute
finger; pointed toward Hayti and--Pierrine.

In time the mulatto acquired a reputation and gathered a crew of
ruffians over whom he tyrannized. There were women in his camp, too,
'Bajans, Sant' Lucians, and wenches from the other isles, but neither
they nor their powdered sisters along the back streets of Colon appealed
to Inocencio very long, for sooner or later there always came to him the
memory of a yellow girl with a scar beneath her eye, and thoughts of her
brought pictures of a blue-and-gold negro colonel and an old man hanging
by the wrists. Then it was that he felt a slow flame licking at his
tendons, and his hatred blazed up so suddenly that the women fled from
him, bearing marks of his fingers on their flesh.

Sometimes he sailed away and was gone for weeks. When he returned his
crew told stories of aimless visits to the Haytian coast in which there
appeared to be neither reason nor profit, since they neither took nor
fetched a cargo. These journeys came at regular intervals, as if there
arrived upon the hurrying trades a call that took him northward, just
before the seasons changed.

His helpers retailed other gossip also, rumors of a coming revolution in
the Republic, tales of the great general, Petithomme Laguerre, who had
aims upon the Presidency. Inocencio's ears were open, and what he heard
stirred his rage, but he was not a brilliant man, and his brain, unused
to strategy, refused to counsel him. For five years he had studied the
matter incessantly, nursing his hate and searching for a means to
satisfy it. Then, as if born of the lightning, he saw his way.

He consulted a French clerk in the Canal offices, and between them they
contrived a letter which ran as follows:

     To His Excellency, General Petithomme Laguerre, Commandant of the
     Arrondissement of the South, Jacmel, Republic of Hayti.

     GENERAL,--The bearer, Inocencio Ruiz, of Cartagena, master of the
     schooner Stella, will consult you upon a matter of extreme
     delicacy which concerns the sale of two hundred rifles. These arms,
     of latest model, were consigned to this port, but under the
     existing relations of amity between the French and Colombian
     governments they cannot be used. Knowing your patriotism and the
     zeal with which you safeguard the welfare of your country, the
     writer makes bold to offer these arms to you, as agent of the
     Haytian government, at a low figure. Captain Ruiz, a man of
     discretion, is empowered to discuss the matter with you at greater
     length.

     In full appreciation of your supreme qualities as a soldier and
     statesman, it is with admiration that I salute you.

     Respectfully,
     ANTOINE LEBLANC.

When the letter was finally read to Inocencio he nodded; but the French
clerk said, doubtfully:

"This Laguerre is a man of force, I believe. I should not care to trifle
with him in this way."

"I, too, am a man of force," said the mulatto.

"He is your enemy?"

"To the death."

The white man shook his head. "Danger lurks along the Haytian coast;
many things happen there, for the people are barbarians. I should prefer
to forgive this Petithomme rather than oppose him, even though he were
my enemy."

Inocencio scowled. "When I die I shall have no enemies to forgive, for I
shall have killed them all," he said, simply.

       *       *       *       *       *

Jacmel lay white in the blazing sun as the Stella dropped anchor. The
trades were failing, and the schooner drifted slowly under a full spread
of canvas. Near where she came to rest lay a Haytian gunboat,
ill-painted, ill-manned, ill-disciplined, and Inocencio regarded her
with some concern, for her presence was a thing he had not counted upon.
It argued either that Laguerre had won the support of her commander or
that she had been sent by the government as a check upon his activities.
In either event she was a menace.

A band was playing in the square, and there were many soldiers.
Inocencio did not go ashore. Instead he sent the letter by a member of
his crew, a giant 'Bajan whom he trusted, and with it he sent word that
he hoped to meet His Excellency, General Laguerre, that evening at a
certain drinking-place near the water-front.

The sailor returned at dusk with news that set his captain's eyes aglow.
Jacmel was alive with troops; there had been a review that very
afternoon and the populace had hailed the commandant as President. On
all sides there was talk of revolution; the whole south country had
enrolled beneath the banner of revolt. The gunboat was Laguerre's; all
Hayti craved a change; the old familiar race cry had been raised and the
mulattoes were in terror of another massacre. But the regular troops
were badly armed and the perusal of Inocencio's letter had filled the
general with joy.

Captain Ruiz was early at the meeting-place, but he waited patiently,
drinking rum and listening to the chatter of the street. His Spanish
accent, his identity as the master of the schooner in the offing, and,
above all, his threatening eyes, won him a tolerance which the warlike
blacks did not accord to Haytians of his color; therefore he was not
molested. He soon confirmed his sailor's story; revolution was indeed in
the air; the country was seething with unrest. Many houses already had
been burned--sure token of an uprising. The soldiers had had a taste of
pillage and persecution. The streets were thronged with them now;
merchants were on guard before their shops; from every side came the
sounds of revelry and quarreling.

Laguerre arrived, finally, a huge, forbidding man of martial bearing,
and he was heralded by cheers. He was much older and infinitely prouder
than when Inocencio had seen him. His uniform had been blue at that
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