Ham had violated him in some way, Gen. Noah's curse puts Ham's youngest son Canaan in a position of servitude, Gen. Noah's other two sons Shem, Gen. Answer: It is generally believed that the curse which Noah pronounced upon Canaan was the origin of the Black race. He used a pseudonym to hide the fact that he'd been the speech writer for Gov. The import of this movie seems to be that the federal government, i. This particular emphasis in this western makes eminent sense once we consider the pedigree of the original author, to say nothing of the biblical material he echoes.
The film was rated PG. This is kind of a brooding man's western where we hope for some kind of resolution for a hurting hombre who starts with nothing to lose but ends up in a rewarding social circle anyway. Great western vistas punctuated with sudden violence. Lots of spitting. Action factor: Edge of your seat action-packed. Suitability for children: Suitable for children.
Special effects: Average special effects. They pass through this city going and coming--through this hotel often--perhaps we may see some of them to-night. They are strange folk who do not mix freely with us of Olifa. I am told they are growing as wealthy as Rockefeller. There are no English among them, I think--Slavs mostly, with some Italians and now and then a German, so I do not come across them in the way of business, and it would appear that they have no time for pleasure May I ask, Sir Archibald, for what purpose especially you honour us with a visit? I want to know how best I can serve you.
Archie wrinkled his brow. The fact is we're here mainly for the fun of it. This is a sort of belated honeymoon trip. Also, I'd like to know something about the politics of Olifa and South America generally. You see, I'm a Member of Parliament, and I've an idea that this part of the globe may soon become rather important.
I have brought several introductions. Your Minister is on leave, and the Embassy has left you in my hands.
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Without doubt you will be received by our President. I myself will take you to our Minister for External Affairs, who is my second cousin. Our Minister of Finance will expound to you our extravagant prosperity. But of politics in the old sense you will find little. We are too rich and too busy.
When we were poor we talked government all the day. And we had revolutions--dictatorships tempered by revolutions. My father more than once saved his neck by the good blood of his racing stable. But now we are very tame and virtuous. Our Government is rich enough to be enlightened, and our people, being also rich, do not trouble their heads about theories. Even the peons on the estancias and the vaqueros in the hills are content. Olifa is--how do you say? Once it was a battered little packet-boat, now it is a great liner careless of weather and tides.
It has no problems, this fortunate country. What do you advise? Don Alejandro became lyrical. There you will see such orange groves as the world cannot match, and nearer the mountains the savannahs which are the richest pasture on earth. I will write to my cousin at Veiro, and he will entertain you at the stud farm which was once my father's. It will not be like an English Sunday afternoon in the country, where a fat stud groom with a bunch of carrots takes the guests round the stables.
It is a wild place between the knees of the hills, but there is some pretty horseflesh there. Cardanio has now four to five hundred thousand souls. That is the port from which our fruits and hides and frozen beef are shipped. And there is Alcorta in the hinterland, which is our little Birmingham. But madame will weary of these commercial glories. She will be happier, I think, among the horses at Veiro, or in some pretty hacienda Janet Roylance had paid little heed to the conversation, being engaged in studying the slowly increasing number of diners. None of your green Swiss valleys with snow-peaks rising from meadows.
It is all dusty and bare and cruel. Take my advice and be content with our sunny estancias". Don Alejandro fixed his eyeglass and regarded four men who had taken their seats at a table a little way off. It was a curious quartet. There was a tall man with hair so pale that at first sight he looked like an albino; he had a bony face and skin like old parchment, but from his bearing it was clear that he was still young.
Two were small and dark and Jewish, and the fourth was a short burly fellow, with the prognathous jaw of a negro but the luminous eyes of a Latin. All were dressed in well-cut evening clothes, and each wore in his buttonhole a yellow flower--to Archie it looked like a carnation. The notable things about them were their extreme pallor and their quiet. They sat almost motionless, speaking very little and showing that they were alive by only the tiniest gestures. A waiter brought them caviare, and poured champagne into their glasses, and as they moved their arms to eat and drink they had an odd suggestion of automata.
Don Alejandro dropped his eyeglass. European, I think--the tall man might be a Swede--going from or returning to their place of work. I do not know any one of them. Olifa is full of these birds of passage, who linger only for a day. They do not mix with our society. They are civil and inoffensive, but they keep to themselves. Observe the chic of their clothes, and the yellow buttonholes. That is the fashion of the copper magnates. Those who go to that uncouth place speedily lose their complexions.
It may be the copper fumes or some fever of the hills. That is like an Englishman.
He must be for ever hunting romance. No doubt a visit to the Gran Seco can be accomplished, but it must first be arranged. The railway beyond Santa Ana is not for the public. It is owned by the company, and their permission is necessary to travel on it. Also there must be a permit from the Gobernador of the province, who is also the Company's president, for the workers in the mines are a brutal race and the rule of the Gran Seco must be like the rule of a country in war-time If you wish, I will put the matter in train.
But I do not think it is quite the place for a lady. Such cheeks as madame's are not for the withering airs of the hills. The restaurant was filling up. It appeared that many Oliferos were dining, for large lustrous women's eyes looked out of dead-white faces. At the far end of the room, close to the band, a noisy party took their seats at a table. They were all young, and, since they had not troubled to change, their clothes made a startling blotch of colour among the sober black and white of the other guests.
All looked as if they had just left a golf-course, the men in knickerbockers of white flannel and both sexes in outrageous jumpers. But I know where they come from. They are from the big Yanqui yacht now in the harbour. It is called the Corinna. That was Mike Burminster's boat. I didn't know he had sold it. The guests I should judge from their appearance to have sprung from Hollywood. There was a girl among them that I thought I must have seen before I don't see her here to-night I rather like the look of them, Don Alejandro.
They are fresh, and jolly, and young. That is what they call 'having a good time. The three had their coffee in the spacious arcade which adjoined the restaurant. It was Don Alejandro's turn to ask questions, and he became for a little the English exile, seeking eagerly for news--who had married whom, what was thought in London of this and that--till Olifa dropped from him like a mantle and he felt himself once more a European. Presently their retreat was invaded by other diners, the band moved thither from the restaurant, and dancing began in a cleared space.
The young Americans had not lingered over their meal, and had soon annexed the dancing-floor. Fragments of shrill badinage and endearments were heard in the pauses of the music. Don Alejandro advised against liqueurs, and commended what he called the Olifa Tokay, which proved to be a light sweet wine of the colour of sloe-gin. Holding his glass to the corona of light in the centre of the patio, he passed from reminiscence to philosophy. No doubt, Sir Archibald, you have been led to believe that we Latin Americans are all desperadoes, and our countries a volcanic territory sputtering with little fires of revolution.
You find instead the typical bourgeois republic, as bourgeois as the United States. We do not worry about liberty, for we have learned that wealth is a better and less troublesome thing. In the old days we were always quarrelling with our neighbours, and because we conscripted our youth for our armies there was discontent and presently revolution.
Now we are secure, and do not give occasion for discontent. As for our army, it is good, no doubt, but it is small. For what should we use our army? We have no ambition of conquest, and no enemy against whom we need defence. And is there not the Monroe Doctrine, invented by the great-grandfathers of those depraved children who are dancing yonder? But what would you have, my dear Sir Archibald? We have chosen prosperity, and the price we pay for it is our pride.
Olifa is a well-nourished body without a soul. Life and property are as safe here as in England, and what more can the heart of man desire? We have a stable Government because our people have lost interest in being governed. Therefore I say, do not propose to study our politics, for there is nothing to study. To you in England, with a bankrupt Europe at your door and the poison of Communism trickling into your poverty, politics are life and death.
To us, in our sheltered Hesperides, they are only a bad dream of the past. There is no mystery left in Olifa As Don Alejandro spoke, the four men from the Gran Seco were moving through the arcade. They held themselves stiffly, but walked as lightly as cats, deftly steering their way among the tables and at the same time keeping close together.
They looked neither to right nor left, but, as they passed, Janet and Archie had a good view of their waxen faces. The eyes of all--the pale eyes of the tall man, the beady eyes of the Jews, and the fine eyes of the Latin--had the same look of unnatural composure, as if the exterior world did not exist for them and they were all the time looking inward in a profound absorption. They had something of the eery detachment of sleepwalkers. Think of us as a little enclave of colour between the glooms of the great sea and the clouds of the great mountains.
Here man has made a paradise for himself, where during his short day of life he can live happily without questioning. Archie left Janet writing letters and started out next morning to explore the city.
The first taste of a foreign town was always to him an intoxication, and, in the hot aromatic sunshine of that month which for Olifa is the sweet of the year, the place seemed a riot of coloured and exultant life. He descended the broad terraced road which by easy gradients led from the hotel to the twisted streets of the old city. Some of the calles were only narrow ravines of shade, where between high windowless walls country mule-carts struggled towards the market-place.
Others were unhappily provided with screeching electric tramways, so that the passer-by on foot or on a horse had to mount high on the ill-paved side-walk to avoid destruction. Presently he came into a hot market-place, where around an old Spanish fountain were massed stalls laden with glowing flowers and fruit, and strange unwholesome fishes, and coarse pottery, and garish fabrics, and country-woven straw hats.
Through this medley Archie limped happily, testing his Spanish on the vendors, or trying with most inadequate knowledge to disentangle the racial mixture. The town Oliferos were a small race, in which he thought there must be considerable negro blood, but the countryfolk were well-made and up-standing, often with a classic and melancholy dignity in their faces. There were lean, wild-looking people, too, whose speech was not any kind of Spanish, with an odd angle to their foreheads and the shyness of an animal in their small anxious eyes, who squatted in their dark ponchos beside their mules and spoke only to each other.
An Indian breed, thought Archie--perhaps from the foothills. A maze of calles took him to the main Plaza, where a great baroque cathedral raised its sculptured front above a medley of beggars and vendors of holy medals. Here it was very quiet, as if the city hushed itself in the environs of the house of God. To Archie it seemed that he was looking upon that ancient Olifa, before the hustling modern world was born, Olifa as it had appeared to the eyes of Captain Cook's sailors when they landed, a city which kept the manners and faith of sixteenth-century Spain.
He entered the church, and found a vast, cavernous darkness like the inside of a mountain, candles twinkling like distant glow-worms, echoes of muttered prayers and the heavy sweetness of incense.
After it the Plaza seemed as bright as a mountain-top. Another labyrinth brought him into a different world. The great Avenida de la Paz is a creation of the last twenty years, and runs straight as a ruler from the villas of the most fashionable suburb to the old harbour of the city. In its making it has swallowed up much ancient derelict architecture, and many nests of squalid huts, but, since it was built with a clear purpose by a good architect, it is in itself a splendid thing, in which Olifa takes a fitting pride.
Where Archie struck it, it was still residential, the home of the rank and fashion of the city, with the white mass of the Government buildings and the copper dome of the Parliament House rising beyond it. But as he walked westward it gradually changed. Soon it was all huge blocks of flats and shops, with here and there the arrogant palace of a bank or shipping company. One of these caught Archie's attention. It was an immense square edifice built of the local marble, with a flight of steps running up to doors like those of the Baptistry in Florence.
Two sentries with fixed bayonets were on guard, and at first he thought it a Government office. The name had stuck in his memory from last night's talk--linked with the sight of the four copper magnates and Don Alejandro's aloofness. The Gran Seco was a strange and comfortless place, and it was perched far up in the mountains. This gorgeous building was at variance with the atmosphere with which the name was invested for him, and he stared with lively curiosity at its magnificence. Suddenly the great doors opened and a man came out, escorted by two bowing porters.
The sentries saluted, a big limousine drew up, and he was borne away. Archie had a glimpse of a tall figure in dark grey clothes, and, what seemed out of keeping with the weather, a bowler hat. The face was middle-aged and bearded--a trim black beard like a naval officer's. As he passed, the man had glanced at him, and, even in that short second of time, there was something in those eyes which startled him.
They seemed so furiously alive. There was nothing inquisitive in them, but they were searching, all-embracing. Archie felt that this was one who missed nothing and forgot nothing; he had had an impression of supreme competence which was as vivid as an electric shock. No wonder the Gran Seco was a success, he thought, if it had men of that quality in its management. The broad pavements, the double line of trams, the shop-windows as soberly rich as those of the Rue de la Paix, the high white buildings narrowing in the distance to enfold a blue gleam of the sea, made an impressive picture of wealth and enlightenment.
There was a curious absence of colour, for the people he passed seemed all to be wearing dark clothes; they were a quiet people, too, who spoke without the southern vehemence. Emancipation had come to the ladies of Olifa, for there were many abroad, walking delicately on the pavement, or showing their powdered prettiness in motor-cars.
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Here was none of the riotous life of the old quarter, and Archie had an impression of the city as elaborately civilised and of its richer inhabitants as decorous to the point of inanity. There were no peasants to be seen, nor a single beggar; the Avenida de la Paz seemed to be kept as a promenade for big business and cultivated leisure. Archie grinned when he remembered the picture he had formed of Olifa, as a decadent blend of ancient Spain and second-rate modern Europe, with a vast wild hinterland pressing in upon its streets.
The reality was as polished and secure as Paris--a reticent Paris, with a dash of Wall Street. One splash of colour caught his eye. It came from a big touring car, which had drawn up at the pavement's edge and had disgorged its occupants. The driver was a young man strangely clad in starched linen knickerbockers, a golf-jumper designed in a willow-plate pattern of blue and white, pale blue stockings, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. He sat negligently at the wheel, and as Archie stared at him he tilted his hat over his brow.
Presently there emerged from the shop two girls and a second youth--the youth in snowy white flannels with a scarlet sash, and the girls in clothes the like of which Archie had never seen, but which in his own mind he classed as the kind of thing for a tropical garden-party. He noticed, since the extreme shortness of their skirts made their legs their most notable feature, that they had black patent-leather shoes with silver buckles, and wonderful shot-silver stockings.
Then an argument arose between the two girls and the other youth, an argument conducted in a dialect unintelligible to Archie, and in voices which forcibly reminded him of the converse of a basket of kittens. The four in that discreet monochrome place were indecently conspicuous, but they were without modesty, and among the stares and whispers of the crowded pavement conducted their private dispute with the freedom of children.
The driver at last grew bored. They obeyed him, and the car presently slid into the traffic, the driver's hat still tilted over his brows. Archie believed that he recognised one of the young women as a member of the party from the American yacht who had been dining in the hotel restaurant the night before. He rather resented their presence in Olifa.
These half-witted children of pleasure were out of the picture which he had made for himself; they even conflicted with Olifa's conception of herself. At last the Avenida passed from shops and offices into a broad belt of garden, flanked on one side by the Customs House and on the other by the building which housed the Port authorities.
Beyond them lay the green waters of the old harbour, and the very spot where the first Conquistadors had landed. The new harbour, where the copper from the Gran Seco was shipped, lay farther south, close to the railway-stations; the old one was now almost unused except for fishing-boats, and as a landing-place for the yachts which berthed in the outer basin behind the great breakwater. To the north was a little plaza which was all that remained of the first port of Olifa.
Archie sniffed the salt breeze from the west, and limped cheerfully along the water-front, for he loved to be near the sea. In the outer basin he saw the funnels and top-gear of the yacht Corinna , on which he had aforetime enjoyed the Duke of Burminster's hospitality. It annoyed him that his friend should have sold or chartered it to the kind of people he had seen in the motor-car.
A launch from the yacht was even then approaching the landing-stage. Archie could read the name on a sailor's jersey. Two men were landed, one who looked like a steward, and the other a thick-set fellow in an engineer's overalls. They separated at once, and the second of the two walked in Archie's direction. Archie had a bad memory for faces, but there was something in this figure which woke recollection. As they came abreast and their eyes met, both came half unconsciously to a halt.
The man seemed to stiffen and his right hand to rise in a salute which he promptly checked. He had a rugged face which might have been hewn out of mahogany, and honest, sullen, blue eyes. The man gave him no assistance, but stood regarding him in a sulky embarrassment. He sniffed, and in lieu of a handkerchief drew his hand across his nose, and the movement stirred some chord in Archie's memory.
You were with General Hannay. I remember you in that black time before Amiens. Hamilton's your name, isn't it? Corporal Hamilton? Like an automaton the figure stiffened. It was as if Archie's words had recalled it for a moment to a military discipline which it hastened to repudiate. I think the occasion demands a drink. I want to hear how you've been getting on and what landed you here. Hang it, you and I and the General went through some pretty stiff times together.
We can't part on this foreign strand with a how-d'ye-do. Bottled beer? Or rum? Or can you face aguardiente, which is the local whisky? Certainly--I never drink myself in the morning. Now, about yourself? You're a Glasgow man, aren't you? Pretty warm place, Glasgow. Are you and the other soldier-lads keeping the Bolshies in order? Hamilton's mahogany face moved convulsively, and his blue eyes wandered embarrassedly to the door.
I'm thinkin' of anither kind of war nowadays. I'm for the prolytawriat. What exactly do you mean? The man's embarrassment increased. Us worrkers maun stick thegither and brek our chains. I've been fechtin' for the rights o' man. Embarrassment had gone, and the man seemed to be speaking a part which he had already rehearsed. You're lying. Very likely you had trouble with the police, but I bet it wasn't over politics.
More likely a public-house scrap, or a girl. Why on earth you should want to make yourself out a Bolshie? You got into some kind of row and cleared out. That's intelligible enough, though I'm sorry to hear it. What's your present job? Are you in the Corinna? Afore the war I wrocht at Clydebank And now, if ye'll excuse me, I maun be off, for I've a heap o' jobs ashore.
Thank ye for your kindness. What am I to say to General Hannay when I meet him? That you have become a blithering foreign communist? Ye maunna say that. The young man walked back to the hotel in a reflective mood, and at luncheon gave Janet a summary of the events of the morning. He had been storing up his impressions of Olifa for her, and had meant to descant upon the old city and the market and the Cathedral Square, but he found these pictures obscured by his later experiences. I ran up against a fellow who used to be Dick Hannay's batman--regular chunky Scots Fusilier and brave as a badger--Hamilton they call him.
Well, he had the cheek to tell me that he had changed his views and become a Bolshie and had consequently had to clear out of Glasgow. I swear the chap was lying--could see it in his face--but I'm puzzled why he should want to lie to me He says he has some kind of engineer's job on the Corinna More by token, I saw a selection of the Corinna party in a motor-car in the Avenida. Dressed up like nothing on earth, and chattering like jays! I've christened them the Moplahs. Janet shook her head. I can't quite make them out. They behave like demented trippers, and are always pawing and ragging each other, but I came on the young man suddenly when I went to the bureau to ask about postage, and when the clerk couldn't tell me he answered my question.
His whole voice and manner seemed to change, and he became startlingly well-bred I want to explore the Moplahs. And I would rather like to see again the tall girl I had a glimpse of yesterday. I can't get it out of my head that I've seen her before. The club, situated in one of the squares to the north of the Avenida, was a proof of Olifa's wealth and her cosmopolitanism.
In the broad cool patio a fountain tinkled, and between it and the adjoining arcades tropical plants in green tubs made the air fragrant. The building was for the most part a copy of an old Spanish town house, but the billiard-room was panelled in oak with a Tudor ceiling, the card-room was Flemish, and the big dining-room Italian Renaissance. The night was freshly warm, with light airs stirring the oleanders, and, from the table which Don Alejandro had selected, the patio was a velvet dusk shot with gold and silver gleams like tiny searchlights.
The only other guest was the American Consul. Mr Roderick Wilbur was a heavy man, with the smooth pale face of eupeptic but sedentary middle-age. His years in Olifa had not mellowed his dry, high-pitched New England voice, or endowed him with a single Latin grace. He looked upon the other diners with the disapproving air of a Scots elder of the kirk surveying a travelling theatrical company, and the humour which now and then entered his eye was like the frosty twinkle of a very distant star.
Don Alejandro was in a vivacious mood. He was the showman of his beloved city, but he was no less a representative of his beloved Europe; he wished the strangers to praise Olifa but to recognise him as a cosmopolitan. Archie and Janet satisfied his patriotism, for, having hired a car that afternoon and driven round the city, they overflowed in admiration. It is all as smooth and polished as a cabochon emerald, and, like a cabochon, you can't see far inside it. Your people have the satisfied look of London suburbanites on a Sunday up the river. Janet and I prefer the old quarter.
Some day, Don Alejandro, we want you to take us round it and tell us who the people are. They look like samples of every South American brand since the Aztecs. For the true country life you must go to the estancias and the savannahs. I have arranged by telegraph for your visit to my cousin at Veiro.
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There is the Gran Seco. It seems to be as difficult to get into it as into a munition factory. Have you been there, Mr. The American Consul had been devoting serious attention to his food, stopping now and then to regard Janet with benevolent attention. I've no great call to go there, for Americans don't frequent it to any considerable extent.
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But I can't say I care for that salubrious plateau. I don't like being shepherded at every turn as if I was a crook, and I reckon the Montana sage-brush is more picturesque. Also they haven't much notion up there of laying out a township. They'd be the better of some honest-to-God Americans to look after the plumbing. We prefer dullness to microbes.
All the same, there's things about the Gran Seco which you can see with half an eye aren't right. I didn't like the look of the miners. You never in your days saw such a hang-dog, miserable bunch, just like some of our old Indian reservations, where big chief Wet Blanket and his wives used to drink themselves silly on cheap bourbon. And how in thunder does Castor get his labour? He's got a mighty graft somewhere, but when I first came here the Gran Seco Indians were a difficult folk to drive.
I've heard that in old times the Olifa Government had trouble with them over the conscription. Castor has doubtless the art of dealing with them, for he himself is on the grand scale a savage. You are fortunate, Sir Archibald, for you, a new arrival, have already seen Olifa's great man, and that is a privilege but rarely granted to us Oliferos. He descends upon us and vanishes as suddenly as a river mist.
Mr Wilbur, who is a man of hasty judgments, will say that he is a Jew. He is certainly a European, but not a Spaniard, though he speaks our tongue. I can only say that he emerged out of nothing five years ago, and became at once a prince. He rules the Gran Seco, and its officials are altogether his creation.
And since he rules the Gran Seco he rules Olifa. He has, as Mr Wilbur would say, this country of mine by the short hairs. Don Alejandro, too, had lowered his voice. Once we Latins of America were a great race. We were Europeans, with minds enlarged and spirits braced by a new continent. You are a soldier, Sir Archibald, and will remember that the bloodiest battles of last century were fought in La Plata and on the Uruguay.
Our plains were the nursery of the liberties of Italy. But now we have but the one goddess. We are rich and nothing more. Soon we shall be richer, and then, my dear Wilbur, we shall be the devotees of your great country, which is the high-priest of riches. But quit talking about politics. We're out to give you a good time, Lady Roylance, and we want to know just how you'd like us to set about it.
Janet was of a patient and philosophical temper, but Archie liked to take his sensations in gulps. So far Olifa, he admitted to himself, had been a little boring. The place, for all its beauty, had a deadly commonplaceness--it was the typical bourgeois State, as Don Alejandro had declared the first night. And yet he was conscious that this judgment did not exhaust the matter.
There were moments when he felt that Olifa was a strange woman in a mask of cheap silk, a volcano overspread with suburban gardens. Behind even the decorousness of the Avenida he savoured a mystery. Into the pleasant monotony of the days had come wafts of air from some other sphere--a peasant's face in the market, the bearded Gobernador, the pallid men in the hotel, even the preposterous figure of Dick Hannay's former batman.
These things had stirred in him an irrational interest Perhaps if he went into the hinterland he would find the glamour of Olifa, of whose existence he was convinced, but which had hitherto contrived to evade him. The club dining-room was full, and when they left it for coffee on the terrace beside the patio they had difficulty in finding chairs. It was apparently the practice to dine elsewhere and come to the club to dance, for a band was pounding out ragtime, and a dozen couples were on the floor. It was beyond doubt the American party from the yacht, and in that place they were as exotic as a tuberose in a bed of wallflowers.
They had conformed to convention in their dress, for the four men wore dinner-jackets, and the four girls bright, short-skirted, silk-taffeta gowns and long pearl necklaces. Among the powdered Olifero ladies and the sallow Olifero cavaliers their fresh skins made a startling contrast, and not less startling were their shrill, toneless voices. They chattered incessantly, crying badinage to each other and to the band, as they danced the half-savage dances with an abandon which now suggested wild children and now the lunatic waltzing of hares in an April moonlight.
Janet laughed aloud, the picture was so crazily fantastic. A Spanish girl, in a frock with wide flounces and with blue-black hair dressed high and surmounted by a gold comb, was suddenly cannoned into by a fluffy-headed minx, who apologised in a voice like a vindictive kitten's, and was rewarded by a stony stare. Just so, Janet remembered, she had seen a greyhound repel the impudence of a Skye terrier. Who are they, Mr Wilbur? The American's eyes were hard with disapproval. They're in Burton Rawlinson's party. Mr Rawlinson isn't on board himself, and there can't be much of a restraining hand to shepherd the bunch.
Some of them have been to my office, and I judge I'm going to hear of trouble with them before they quit these shores. They want this city to stop still and take notice of them. I've nothing against Burton. He's rich, and he's public-spirited, and he's gotten a mighty fine collection of pictures. I can't say I take to his offspring and their friends. There's more dollars than sense in that outfit. Archie, who was a connoisseur of dancing, observed that the men danced better than the women, a thing he had noticed before with Americans.
Mr Wilbur shook his head. All their garments struck me as curious. Heaven knows what's going to become of our youth, Sir Archibald. They've quit behaving like ladies and gentlemen--running wild like bronchos, and their parents can't do the lassooing. They're hard cases at seventeen. Overall, The Rebel Pirate is a well researched, adventurous tale that keeps Thorland an absolute favorite in historical fiction. I'm in love View all 14 comments. Feb 21, Cheryl rated it really liked it. The Rebel Pirate is the second book in the Renegades of the Revolution. This book can be read as a stand alone novel.
Right away I liked Sarah. I found her to be a strong heroine. James may be a pirate but he does not have a true-hearted pirate soul. He is kind. They were meant for each other. So at the back of the book are discussion qu The Rebel Pirate is the second book in the Renegades of the Revolution. So at the back of the book are discussion questions to ask if you are in a book club or you could ask yourself or a fellow reader. I picked this question to answer. James Sparhawk and Sarah Ward are drawn to each other right from the start. Does Donna Thorland convince you that their attraction goes deeper than mere lust?
How does she accomplish that? Do you find their romance satisfying? What future do you envision for them? Yes, the author does convince me that James and Sarah's attraction is more than just lust.
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- Material Ethics of Value: Max Scheler and Nicolai Hartmann (Phaenomenologica, Volume 203);
They share a deeper connection that involves true love, family, and acceptance. Their romance is satisfying as again it is not built just upon lust. In fact, they don't get physical until a good way into the story. I envision a future filled with a long, happy life for James and Sarah that includes several children, who will turn out to have salt water in their veins like their parents. See, "The Turncoat". Set against the backdrop of the American Revolution.
Filled with Red Coats, Rebels, intrigue, pirates, smuggling, conflict, romance, and a wonderful romantic adventure. Fast paced and action filled from the first page to the last page, you will not be able to put this intriguing adventure down. Well done!! Received for an honest review from the publisher. Feb 25, Samantha rated it it was amazing. After having the ship she was on invaded by British naval officers, she kidnaps one of them in order to save her younger brother from being taken. What she doesn't realize is the man she kidnapped, James Sparhawk, might be the one man that can help her and maybe even love her.
Mar 06, Alex Myers rated it really liked it. You can see my blurb on the inside pages of this novel It is equal parts thoroughly enjoyable and delectably historical. Of course, I'm a sucker for the era and setting. Thorland does a wonderful job with capturing the costume and custom of the times. Mar 01, Max Von rated it it was amazing. I liked this even more than the Turncoat.
Wouldn't have minded another book with Kate Grey, but the new protagonist is at least as fun and interesting. I guess these are all going to be stand alines with some common historical and invented supporting characters. Apr 01, Andrea Catsos Person is a Compulsive eBook Hoarder rated it really liked it Shelves: heroine-has-balls-o-steel , seafarers-or-vikings , library-hoopla , hero-emotionally-is-tortured , hero-aaangsty , hr-suspense , secretly-an-aristo , heroine-notta-virgin , locale-america , era-revolutionary-war. These books are very exciting, lots of twist and turns.
View 1 comment. Feb 16, Heather C rated it it was amazing Shelves: revolution , 17th-c , arc , historical-fiction , united-states , romance. Thorland knows how to keep a plot moving forward and to keep the reader just off balance enough to not see the twists and turns coming. It is a great feeling when you can get that into the story being told. I have never really thought about pirates when thinking about American history, and beyond that, I have never thought of pirates being involved in the Revolution.
The impact of ships during the Revolution is not a subject that has been much explored in fiction, but Thorland certainly did some research here and represents it well. I found that there were some very new angles to the Revolution that I had not previously considered. I loved the characters — they are multi-layered and standout, while still fitting into the historical expectations of the time period.
I loved Sparhawk and Sarah. I really appreciated the sort of confusion amongst the populace of Boston about what was happening and who was on what side — people seemed to blend across the lines of rebel and loyalists at this point. I can really imagine this being a time of great confusion. I recommend this book to anyone who enjoys reading about the American Revolution. This review was previously posted The Maiden's Court.
Was received from the publisher in exchange for an honest review. View all 3 comments. Apr 24, Summer rated it did not like it Shelves: historical-romance , pirates-life-for-me , historical , romance , fiction , historical-fiction , 18th-century , american-revolution , united-states.
I really enjoyed the first book in this series but this second book was disappointing. I liked that these books are just right in the middle of historical romance and historical fiction. The author clearly has done her research on the time period and the plot has more substance than a typical HR. The Rebel Pirate started off interesting but just fizzled out after the first chapter. It begins interesting enough with the introduction to James Sparhawk, the lead male character who's working with th I really enjoyed the first book in this series but this second book was disappointing.
It begins interesting enough with the introduction to James Sparhawk, the lead male character who's working with the British government to stop smuggling off the American east coast. There's quite a bit of info-dumping but it wasn't so much that I felt like it hindered the plot. The introduction of the lead female character Sarah Ward started out fun with her dressed as a man to hide her gender from the British troops, including James, who've just stolen her father's ship.
She manages to hide long enough to point a gun to James' head and negotiate for her, her brother's, and the ships's crew escape. However once the negotiations are over she suddenly does this weird degree reverse and turns into this weak and feeble character. Literally four pages ago the author describes her as this intelligent, educated, and resourceful woman who clearly knows her way around a ship. Suddenly Sarah places herself in the cabin where James is confined to and she's bouncing around the ship having no sense of balance and she's flirting with James to the point where they're ready to take their clothes off.
I would like to read the next book in the series as I enjoyed the first book enough to give the author a second chance. I'm just hoping the characters stay consistent. Sarah Ward, daughter of an infamous pirate, wants nothing to do with piracy or the rebels. James Sparhawk, established British naval captain, wants only to get revenge on his father. When their paths collide amid the beginnings of a revolution, they find themselves reassessing their priorities and which side of the oncoming war they will be on.
Unlike some romance novels, this one is actually fleshed out with a complex story, interesting characters, and descriptions that make the historical setting come alive. The only thing I initially had trouble getting on board with no pun intended was the romance. The attraction between the two main characters is instantaneous, before we even really know enough about each character to understand why they are so attracted to one another. I prefer to see a romance grow as two people bond and get to know each other.
It seemed a little unrealistic that two people who just met days ago would be risking so much to help one another. I really enjoyed the atmosphere of a building rebellion and reading about the characters who got caught up in it. Jul 21, Ashley Marsh rated it really liked it Shelves: , owned. I really enjoyed this, but a few parts, including the ending, felt rushed. I was hoping for a bit more piracy, but I still liked the storyline and the characters. Sarah is a great, strong female lead, and I admire her greatly. I also enjoyed the political intrigue and getting to know more about the complicated inner workings of the American Revolution.
I loved that the characters all had their morals, but would switch sides in order to fight for each other. I'm also a huge fan of the fact t 4. I'm also a huge fan of the fact that everyone who knew seemed completely accepting of Benji's relationship with another man.
Overall, it was a solid novel that I didn't really want to put down. There's some room for improvement, but I'll gladly read the rest of Thorland's books. Mar 26, Donna rated it liked it. I fell hard for the first sentence: "The gold was Spanish, the chest was French, the ship was American, and the captain was dead. I was less crazy about how talky the backstory reveals were, which got more and more noticeable every time they went back through the same subjects. The author did a great job at bringing the setting to life, but it sometimes felt as if a few too many research details wormed their way into the background and de I fell hard for the first sentence: "The gold was Spanish, the chest was French, the ship was American, and the captain was dead.
The author did a great job at bringing the setting to life, but it sometimes felt as if a few too many research details wormed their way into the background and descriptions, almost tempting me to skim to get back to the good stuff. Jul 31, Megan rated it did not like it Shelves: 18th-century , bored , did-not-finish , people-i-want-to-bitch-slap , historical-fiction , pirates , never-again , read-in , 1-star , usa-historical.