just a little too long in the power of the San Tome mine. The
seized correspondence had confirmed his previous information of a
large amount of silver ingots lying in the Sulaco Custom House. To gain
possession of it would be a clear Monterist move; a sort of service that
would have to be rewarded. With the silver in his hands he could make
terms for himself and his soldiers. He was aware neither of the riots,
nor of the President's escape to Sulaco and the close pursuit led by
Montero's brother, the guerrillero. The game seemed in his own hands.
The initial moves were the seizure of the cable telegraph office and the
securing of the Government steamer lying in the narrow creek which is
the harbour of Esmeralda. The last was effected without difficulty by
a company of soldiers swarming with a rush over the gangways as she
lay alongside the quay; but the lieutenant charged with the duty of
arresting the telegraphist halted on the way before the only cafe in
Esmeralda, where he distributed some brandy to his men, and refreshed
himself at the expense of the owner, a known Ribierist. The whole party
became intoxicated, and proceeded on their mission up the street yelling
and firing random shots at the windows. This little festivity, which
might have turned out dangerous to the telegraphist's life, enabled him
in the end to send his warning to Sulaco. The lieutenant, staggering
upstairs with a drawn sabre, was before long kissing him on both
cheeks in one of those swift changes of mood peculiar to a state of
drunkenness. He clasped the telegraphist close round the neck, assuring
him that all the officers of the Esmeralda garrison were going to be
made colonels, while tears of happiness streamed down his sodden face.
Thus it came about that the town major, coming along later, found the
whole party sleeping on the stairs and in passages, and the telegraphist
(who scorned this chance of escape) very busy clicking the key of the
transmitter. The major led him away bareheaded, with his hands tied
behind his back, but concealed the truth from Sotillo, who remained in
ignorance of the warning despatched to Sulaco.

The colonel was not the man to let any sort of darkness stand in the way
of the planned surprise. It appeared to him a dead certainty; his heart
was set upon his object with an ungovernable, childlike impatience. Ever
since the steamer had rounded Punta Mala, to enter the deeper shadow
of the gulf, he had remained on the