But the _Helen Mar_ had a consignment promised her. The pack
mules were due by agreement a week before, so they naturally wouldn't
come for a week after. "Manana" is a word said to mean "tomorrow,"
but if you took it to mean "next month" you'd have a better sight on
the intentions of it. That's the way of it in South America with all
but the politics and the climate. The politics and the climate are
like this; when they're quiet, they're asleep; and when they're not,
politics are revolutions and guns, and the climate is letting off
stray volcanoes and shaking up earthquakes.
But it was pleasant to be in the harbour of Portate. Everything
there seemed lazy. You could lie on a bunch of sail cloth, and see
the city, the sand, and the bluffs, and the valley of the Jiron up to
the nearer Andes. You could look up the level river to some low
hills, but what happened to the Jiron there you couldn't tell from
the _Helen Mar_. Beyond were six peaks of the Andes, and four of
them were white, and two blue-black in the distance, with little
white caps of smoke over them. The biggest of the black ones was
named "Sarasara," which was a nasty volcano, so a little old boatman
told us.
Pages:
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38