O'hara's Choice - Leon Uris [22]
Wu thought for a moment, then went on. “The coolies are flung out to a world to work the most dangerous mines, building railroads over sun-scorched deserts, doing the filth and pity work for cruel overseers.”
The emperor scratched his signature on the document to approve Tobias’s departure, then held his hand on it for a moment.
“There are unusual beaches in Peru,” Wu Ling Chow said, “and unusual islands off Peru’s coast. For millennia, birds have deposited their guano, building up mountains of bird droppings. Coolies are entombed in these places and pick at the guano and sack it to be shipped to the European fields to fertilize them.” His voice quavered, a very rare occurrence. “Are those droppings not our people? Are we not treated by the world as bird shit from Peru? Few coolies survive on these islands and beaches for more than a year. Those who do survive have established colonies and the colonies have taken root and will prosper and they send for their families.
“We will eternally bear humiliation because of our treatment. In your Bible, Tobias, one of the ancient prophets said, ‘The survival of the human race depends on human dignity.’ Do not speak to me about compassion and democracy until we are granted human dignity. Until then, I shall rule as I shall rule.”
After two terms, Captain Storm petitioned to return to America. He and Matilda and crates of opulent possessions landed in San Francisco, where they entrained for the long and exhausting journey across the country.
1888—Prichard’s Inn
When Major Boone received the telegraph message of Captain Storm’s delay, he dispatched his orderly to the commandant with a letter requesting that he and the Gunny be allowed to remain at Prichard’s.
Colonel Ballard, fresh from another put-down at the hands of Secretary Culpeper and Commodore Harkleroad, quickly granted the request.
My Dear Major Boone,
By all means continue your leave. Master Gunnery Sergeant Kunkle is likewise authorized to remain.
You have argued your case splendidly for the formation of an Advanced Military Program. Our recent setback regarding sea duty aboard the new Vermont-class cruisers now makes adaptation of AMP our highest priority.
It seems fitting that this mission fall to the last remaining Wart-Hogs. One could surmise that Master Sergeant O’Hara saved your three asses over a quarter of a century ago for just this purpose.
I pray for your success.
Thomas Ballard
Lieutenant Colonel Commandant, USMC
• 9 •
IN THE GARDEN
1888—Baltimore—the Following Saturday
The grand, elegant mansion of Inverness crowned Butcher’s Hill. Grand, elegant carriages swept into the grand circle like ornate figures on a music-box carousel and deposited the finest gowns in Maryland at the door.
On this, her first post-debutante event, Amanda stood serenely in a stunning foyer leading directly into the great hall.
Horace Kerr puffed out like a proud blowfish, all toothy in a fixed smile. His wife, Daisy Kerr, carried her middle years grandly.
Amanda was taller and slimmer than the other young ladies, who tended to be plumpish and moonfaced from too much Maryland cooking and a lack of physical activity.
Most debutantes, and those mothers still able to do so, revealed the allowable amount of cleavage and a bosom held in place stiffly by the whalebone in their undergarments.
Not so Amanda Blanton Kerr, whose gown draped like Grecian gauze. Her breasts, fully but thinly covered, moved delicately with her handshakes and embraces.
God, Horace Kerr thought, she is a knockout!
Good Lord, Daisy thought, what brinkmanship!
The great hall was a wild and bright galaxy of tinkling crystal in the chandeliers above and tinkling crystal at the champagne bar. Amanda nodded to the orchestra leader to start and seemed annoyed for an instant as a thousand yards of brocaded flounce floated up and down to the beat of a waltz.
Private Zachary O’Hara might well have been a Habsburg prince as he approached the reception line with plumed