CHAPTER XXXI.
A REVOLUTIONIST.
The attachments of home did not appeal to me in this instance; to tell the honest truth, I was extremely well pleased to escape from the place in which my person had been confined for the space of more than twenty-five hours, nearer thirty, I think.
Robbins had come to me like an angel of light, an angel with a flaming sword, who would lead me to fields of glory, and to Hildegarde—hence, I followed him with an eagerness no words of mine could describe.
He had his bearings all right, and went at the business with the air of a man who knew just what he wanted and meant to get it.
Naturally, I was not a little curious to understand how he came to be in the house of the alcalde.
I might have fancied, from his dress, that he had obtained some sort of position in thehaciendaof the mayor, but that seemed too absurd for belief, considering that he possessed so wretched a command of the Spanish language.
Had it been myself, now, there might have seemed some reason for it—although I could even remember a few instances where my lack of proficiency in that respect had given me more or less trouble.
In good time all would be made clear.
I made a shrewd guess that Carmencita and her revolutionary friends had a goodly share in the enterprise; Robbins had saved the child from the sea, and his reward came in the shape of assistance.
Thus we reap what we sow.
My emotions while traversing the gloomy corridor were of a more lively character than when last I tramped its length, in the custody of the soldiers.
Indeed, so positive was I that the upheaval in my fortunes so patiently awaited had arrived, and that it was my turn to kick those who had held me down, that I chuckled audibly while thinking of the alcalde.
His goose was cooked—the goose which he expected to lay the golden eggs.
Poor mayor!
It was an evil day for him and his fortunes when Yankee blood landed in Bolivar. Still, by a quick turn, when the success of the revolution seemed assured, he could save his head; these things are constantly done in South and Central American lands, where one meets the veterans of a dozen revolutions.
Then, my sweet cherubim, the silent, scowling, piratical jailer—what of him?
Really, the fellow had been such a striking stage character one might have thought him to be in training for anew comic opera, and he had appealed to the humorous element in my peculiar composition.
So much did I think of Cerberus that I touched good Robbins on the shoulder and begged, as a particular favor, that he would grant me the privilege of a last farewell glimpse of the surly dog, that is, if it were convenient.
Accordingly, he presently led me to a door, which he kicked open, and bade me look in.
The lantern showed me another den similar to that luxurious abode in which I had spent a day and a night, only this one lacked the kingly couch on which I had rested my weary limbs.
But my old friend was there, lying like a mummy on the damp and moldy floor.
He seemed almost swathed in rope that had been coiled around him from head to feet, and secured with many a half hitch, and similar sailor’s knots; while he appeared to have stopped short in the act of swallowing a pine knot, a portion of which projected from between his teeth.
I had heard of alligators doing that sort of thing, but never a human being; but then I had my doubts as to whether Cerberus were not half or wholly buccaneer.
Perhaps I should have felt sorry for the poor devil, but, somehow, I could not; he had seemed so churlish and hateful that it looked as though he were only getting his rightful reward while he lay there.
And, possessed by a spirit of deviltry, I could not resist the temptation of approaching the fellow with mysterious movements; doubtless, he fully anticipated that I was about to repay the debt I owed him by introducing a keen-edged knife between his fifth and sixth ribs, for his black eyes fairly scintillated with terror.
My revenge was even more sinister.
I bent down and whispered, hoarsely:
“Tortillas, frijoles, aqua—aqua, tortillas, frijoles,” andvaried themenua few more times. It was enough—the torture, or something else, caused him to utter a groan; but I have often thought since that Cerberus never fully appreciated the terrible nature of my revenge.
Some men are invulnerable to a joke.
Having satisfied my curiosity, and looked upon the pirate in adversity, I signified to Robbins that now I was willing to go on.
Other things awaited my attention; there seemed to be tremendous events trembling in the balance, in which I was to have a share, but just what these were, or what my interest in them might amount to, I could not yet understand.
We now proceeded to leave the subterranean quarters of the alcalde’s place, nor was I overcome by any serious regrets.
The upper world always had more charms in my eyes—I was never intended to work in a colliery or the salt mines in Siberia, to which political offenders were wont to be sent; one survey of these latter under official guidance had been quite enough for me.
How vividly I remembered my former escapade in these ancestral halls, and how we had carried the fort by storm; would the same good fortune attend our present venture?
The chances were fair—Robbins had made some powerful friends, and this time we might rely upon it that the whole of Bolivar would not have to be reckoned with in our flight.
I was really glad Robbins assumed charge of the expedition; he was a born leader, whom opportunity had as yet failed to seek out with sufficient frequency.
That was all done away with now, for I was fully determined he should from this hour never lack for a berth where he could hold command.
There were other steam yachts, and I could, if I chose,invest a cool hundred thousand in one, for that Mediterranean trip, with Hildegarde at my side, held out fascinations to my hungry soul.
The golden eggs the alcalde did not get could be put to this good service.
“Is it Hildegarde, now?” I whispered, hoarsely, in Robbins’ ear, for a vague fear had arisen to give me disquiet, a fear lest he might have become so wrapped up in the schemes of the revolutionists that he would feel compelled to employ the first of his time to their cause.
In that event I would have gone it alone.
Now his ready answer reassured me.
“Hildegarde first, my lad, and all the time. My work depends wholly on her safety; if they find her a refuge, I’ve promised that both of us are with them, heart and soul,” he said.
That meant, of course, that I was to become a revolutionist.
Well, I would have done much more to insure her safety—adopted the calling of acontrabandistaor smuggler—yes, even that of a pirate, if by so doing I could serve that little woman.
My re-entrance into Paradise had apparently loosened the screws of my brain box a trifle, which must be the excuse for any trace of extravagance of which I appeared guilty.
Why, not to be a revolutionist down in this country meant not to exist—at one time or another everybody was that.
So I rested content.
At the most, I supposed it only meant joining a howling mob, shouting wildly for the new president, Gen. Toreado, and making all the racket possible, until, finally, the alarmed government, fearful lest their lives might be in peril, fled across the border to a neighboring republic,where they, in turn, might sow the seeds of the next popular uprising.
Why, that would only be fun, after all, and I could look on it as compensation for the abject manner in which I had chased through these same streets on a former occasion.
Yes, I would be a revolutionist, and experience the wild exhilaration that possesses a Central American free state in the throes of an upheaval.
I had done more than that for mere love of adventure in the past—surely, I could endure what came my way now, since it was for a higher and far more worthy cause—love of a woman.
I wondered if she were confined in the same suite of rooms where Carmencita had led us on the night we defied all Bolivar.
Robbins must be growing quite familiar with the alcalde’s home quarters by this time, he had prowled about it so extensively.
I could not but admire the positive ease with which he led me to the little court where the fountain flashed, and the scent of flowers hung heavy in the night air; he never hesitated as though at a loss to tell where his course lay. There was a flight of stairs leading to the long balcony or porch fronting the upper story, allowing the occupants of those chambers an opportunity to sit where they could look down upon the enchanting scene below.
Twice we had met servants hurrying about their business, but Robbins was warned in time, and hustled me out of sight.
I would not have been astonished if he had made a gesture that would bring these fellows to their knees, for the spirit of a budding revolution appears to permeate even the households of the head officials.
Nothing could surprise me after this, for was I not inthe land of enchantment, where one knows not what a day or hour may bring forth?
Once we reached the long porch I began to get my bearings.
There was a passage that led to that wing of thehaciendanot fronting on the court of the fountain—the wing that had been the scene of our former adventure.
Where was our worthy alcalde and his household?
Could they be lingering over their wine, unconscious of the volcano that was arranged to burst forth upon Bolivar this night?
Now we plunged into the passage, and were heading, as before, straight to Hildegarde’s rooms.
My heart beat like the ticking of a watch, and a glow ran through my whole frame.
The wizard even knew how to unfasten the door after he had knocked, and as he threw it open, my eyes fell upon the expectant face of my darling.