“There will be much speculation regarding this visit,” suggested an American at the Legation.
The Minister smiled.
“I think there will be no speculation at all.”
Honduras apparently had taken the hint. Just how the election difficulties were to be solved, no one knew, but every one agreed that they would be solved peacefully. Wherefore I caught the daily passenger truck down to Amapala to continue my journey to Nicaragua.
But, as always in these countries, the unexpected happened. The American warship, as soon as peace had settled upon Honduras, steamed away. And a few days later the whole Republic was in flames. Cable dispatches informed the world that Carías had slipped out of Tegucigalpa, joined forces awaiting him near the Nicaraguan border, and started back to the capital, that President Gutierrez had fled to Amapala and died there from nervous strain, that the other candidates were leading troops in other sections of the country, that machine-guns were sweeping the streets of the cities, that American citizens were taking refuge in the Legation, that the Rosario mines were calling for protection, and that American marines were landing at the banana plantations of the East Coast.
Such is life in Honduras!
CHAPTER XV
WHERE MARINES MAKE PRESIDENTS
I
To journey from one Central-American republic to another, the traveler should equip himself with a private yacht.
Having neglected this precaution, he must resort to patience. There is a steamship service along the Pacific Coast which advertises regular sailing dates. But since its vessels are quite apt to be ahead of their schedules, one usually repairs to the seaport a day or two in advance. And since they are far more apt to be behind their schedules, one usually waits there for a period varying from one to three weeks, at a shabby hotel in a blazing hot town whose inhabitants earn their living by overcharging such travelers as fate has thus thrown into their grasp.