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The Consul
by Richard Harding Davis
For over forty years； in one part of the world or another； old man
Marshall had； served his country as a United States consul。 He had
been appointed by Lincoln。 For a quarter of a century that fact was
his distinction。 It was now his epitaph。 But in former years； as
each new administration succeeded the old； it had again and again
saved his official head。 When victorious and voracious
place…hunters； searching the map of the world for spoils； dug out
his hiding…place and demanded his consular sign as a reward for a
younger and more aggressive party worker； the ghost of the dead
President protected him。 In the State Department； Marshall had
become a tradition。 〃You can't touch Him！〃 the State Department
would say； 〃why； HE was appointed by Lincoln！〃 Secretly； for this
weapon against the hungry headhunters； the department was
infinitely grateful。 Old man Marshall was a consul after its own
heart。 Like a soldier； he was obedient； disciplined； wherever he
was sent； there； without question； he would go。 Never against
exile； against ill…health； against climate did he make complaint。
Nor when he was moved on and down to make way for some
ne'er…do…well with influence； with a brother…in… law in the Senate；
with a cousin owning a newspaper； with rich relatives who desired
him to drink himself to death at the expense of the government
rather than at their own； did old man Marshall point to his record
as a claim for more just treatment。
And it had been an excellent record。 His official reports； in a
quaint； stately hand； were models of English； full of information；
intelligent； valuable； well observed。 And those few of his
countrymen； who stumbled upon him in the out…of… the…world places
to which of late he had been banished； wrote of him to the
department in terms of admiration and awe。 Never had he or his
friends petitioned for promotion； until it was at last apparent
that； save for his record and the memory of his dead patron； he had
no friends。 But； still in the department the tradition held and；
though he was not advanced； he was not dismissed。
〃If that old man's been feeding from the public trough ever since
the Civil War；〃 protested a 〃practical〃 politician； 〃it seems to
me； Mr。 Secretary； that he's about had his share。 Ain't it time he
give some one else a bite？ Some of us that has； done the work； that
has borne the brunt〃
〃This place he now holds；〃 interrupted the Secretary of State
suavely； 〃is one hardly commensurate with services like yours。 I
can't pronounce the name of it； and I'm not sure just where it is；
but I see that； of the last six consuls we sent there； three
resigned within a month and the other three died of yellow…fever。
Still； if you。 insist〃
The practical politician reconsidered hastily。 〃I'm not the sort；〃
he protested； 〃to turn out a man appointed by our martyred
President。 Besides； he's so old now； if the fever don't catch him；
he'll die of old age； anyway。〃
The Secretary coughed uncomfortably。 〃And they say；〃 he murmured；
〃republics are ungrateful。〃
〃I don't quite get that；〃 said the practical politician。
Of Porto Banos； of the Republic of Colombia； where as consul Mr。
Marshall was upholding the dignity of the United States； little
could be said except that it possessed a sure harbor。 When driven
from the Caribbean Sea by stress of weather； the largest of ocean
tramps； and even battle…ships； could find in its protecting arms of
coral a safe shelter。 But； as young Mr。 Aiken； the wireless
operator； pointed out； unless driven by a hurricane and the fear of
death； no one ever visited it。 Back of the ancient wharfs； that
dated from the days when Porto Banos was a receiver of stolen goods
for buccaneers and pirates； were rows of thatched huts； streets；
according to the season； of dust or mud； a few iron…barred；
jail…like barracks； customhouses； municipal buildings； and the
whitewashed adobe houses of the consuls。 The backyard of the town
was a swamp。 Through this at five each morning a rusty engine
pulled a train of flat cars to the base of the mountains； and； if
meanwhile the rails had not disappeared into the swamp； at five in
the evening brought back the flat cars laden with odorous
coffeesacks。
In the daily life of Porto Banos； waiting for the return of the
train； and betting if it would return； was the chief interest。 Each
night the consuls； the foreign residents； the wireless operator；
the manager of the rusty railroad met for dinner。 There at the head
of the long table； by virtue of his years； of his courtesy and
distinguished manner； of his office； Mr。 Marshall presided。 Of the
little band of exiles he was the chosen ruler。 His rule was gentle。
By force of example he had made existence in Porto Banos more
possible。 For women and children Porto Banos was a death…trap； and
before 〃old man Marshall〃 came there had been no influence to
remind the enforced bachelors of other days。
They had lost interest； had grown lax； irritable； morose。 Their
white duck was seldom white。 Their cheeks were unshaven。 When the
sun sank into the swamp and the heat still turned Porto Banos into
a Turkish bath； they threw dice on the greasy tables of the Cafe
Bolivar for drinks。 The petty gambling led to petty quarrels； the
drinks to fever。 The coming of Mr。 Marshall changed that。 His
standard of life； his tact； his worldly wisdom； his cheerful
courtesy； his fastidious personal neatness shamed the younger men；
the desire to please him； to； stand well in his good opinion；
brought back pride and self…esteem。
The lieutenant of her Majesty's gun…boat PLOVER noted the change。
〃Used to be；〃 he exclaimed； 〃you couldn't get out of the Cafe
Bolivar without some one sticking a knife in you； now it's a
debating club。 They all sit round a table and listen to an old
gentleman talk world politics。〃
If Henry Marshall brought content to the exiles of Porto Banos；
there was little in return that Porto Banos could give to him。
Magazines and correspondents in six languages kept him in touch
with those foreign lands in which he had represented his country；
but of the country he had represented； newspapers and periodicals
showed him only too clearly that in forty years it had grown away
from him； had changed beyond recognition。
When last he had called at the State Department； he had been made
to feel he was a man without a country； and when he visited his
home town in Vermont； he was looked upon as a Rip Van Winkle。 Those
of his boyhood friends who were not dead had long thought of him as
dead。 And the sleepy； pretty village had become a bustling
commercial centre。 In the lanes where； as a young man； he had
walked among wheatfields； trolley…cars whirled between rows of
mills and factories。 The children had grown to manhood； with
children of their own。
Like a ghost； he searched for house after house； where once he had
been made welcome； only to find in its place a towering office
building。 〃All had gone； the old familiar faces。〃 In vain he
scanned even the shop fronts for a friendly； homelike name。 Whether
the fault was his； whether he would better have served his own
interests than those of his government； it now was too late to
determine。 In his own home； he was a stranger among strangers。 In
the service he had so faithfully followed； rank by rank； he had
been dropped； until now he； who twice had been a consul…general；
was an exile； banished to a fever swamp。 The great Ship of State
had dropped him overside； had 〃marooned〃 him； and sailed away。
Twice a day he walked along the shell road to the Cafe Bolivar； and
back again to the consulate。 There； as he entered the outer office；
Jose〃 the Colombian clerk； would rise and bow profoundly。
〃Any papers for me to sign； Jose？ 〃 the consul would ask。
〃Not to…day； Excellency； 〃the clerk would reply。 Then Jose would
return to writing a letter to his lady…love； not that there was
any…thing to tell her； but because writing on the official paper of
the consulate gave him importance in his eyes； and in hers。 And in
the inner office the consul would continue to gaze at the empty
harbor； the empty coral reefs； the empty； burning sky。
The little band of exiles were at second break fast when the
wireless man came in late to announce that a Red D。 boat and the
island of Curacao had both reported a hurricane coming north。 Also；
that much concern was felt for the safety of the yacht SERAPIS。
Three days before； in advance of her coming； she had sent a
wireless to Wilhelmstad； asking the captain of the port to reserve
a berth for her。 She expected to arrive the following morning。 But
for forty…eight hours nothing had been heard from her； and it was
believed she had been overhauled by the hurricane。 Owing to the
presence on board of Senator Hanley； the closest friend of the new
President； the man who had made him president； much concern was
felt at Washington。 To try to pick her up by wireless； the gun…boat
NEWARK had been ordered from Culebra； the cruiser RALEIGH； with
Admiral Hardy on board； from Colon。 It was possible she would seek
shelter at Porto Banos。 The consul was ordered to report。
As Marshal