``You'll proclaim yourself an idiot, if you don't get down from there,'' Clay said, laughing.``I thank you for permitting me to serve with you, gentlemen.I shall have great pleasure in telling our President how well you acquitted yourself in this row--battle, I mean.And now I would suggest that you store the prisoners' weapons in the Palace and put a guard over them, and then conduct the men themselves to the military prison, where you can release General Rojas and escort him back to the city in a triumphal procession.You'd like that, wouldn't you?''
But the natives protested that that honor was for him alone.
Clay declined it, pleading that he must look after his wounded.
``I can hardly believe there are any dead,'' he said to Kirkland.
``For, if it takes two thousand bullets to kill a man in European warfare, it must require about two hundred thousand to kill a man in South America.''
He told Kirkland to march his men back to the mines and to see that there were no stragglers.``If they want to celebrate, let them celebrate when they get to the mines, but not here.They have made a good record to-day and I won't have it spoiled by rioting.They shall have their reward later.Between Rojas and Mr.Langham they should all be rich men.''
The cheering from the housetops since the firing ceased had changed suddenly into hand-clappings, and the cries, though still undistinguishable, were of a different sound.Clay saw that the Americans on the balconies of the club and of the theatre had thrown themselves far over the railings and were all looking in the same direction and waving their hats and cheering loudly, and he heard above the shouts of the people the regular tramp of men's feet marching in step, and the rattle of a machine gun as it bumped and shook over the rough stones.He gave a shout of pleasure, and Kirkland and the two boys ran with him up the slope, crowding each other to get a better view.The mob parted at the Palace gates, and they saw two lines of blue-jackets, spread out like the sticks of a fan, dragging the gun between them, the middies in their tight-buttoned tunics and gaiters, and behind them more blue-jackets with bare, bronzed throats, and with the swagger and roll of the sea in their legs and shoulders.An American flag floated above the white helmets of the marines.Its presence and the sense of pride which the sight of these men from home awoke in them made the fight just over seem mean and petty, and they took off their hats and cheered with the others.