Let us sail eastward, where the sunSlow rises o'er the crimson wave,Our western toils at last are done,And rest, for ever, rest we crave.Oh, see the shore fades far away,A dim spot in the distant blue,And eastward breaks the coming dayWhich bids our life-day dawn anew.Old times are at an end,—our livesHave had their share of sighs and tears;Now, loyal friends, with loving wives,We hopeful look to coming years.
Let us sail eastward, where the sunSlow rises o'er the crimson wave,Our western toils at last are done,And rest, for ever, rest we crave.Oh, see the shore fades far away,A dim spot in the distant blue,And eastward breaks the coming dayWhich bids our life-day dawn anew.Old times are at an end,—our livesHave had their share of sighs and tears;Now, loyal friends, with loving wives,We hopeful look to coming years.
Let us sail eastward, where the sunSlow rises o'er the crimson wave,Our western toils at last are done,And rest, for ever, rest we crave.
Let us sail eastward, where the sun
Slow rises o'er the crimson wave,
Our western toils at last are done,
And rest, for ever, rest we crave.
Oh, see the shore fades far away,A dim spot in the distant blue,And eastward breaks the coming dayWhich bids our life-day dawn anew.
Oh, see the shore fades far away,
A dim spot in the distant blue,
And eastward breaks the coming day
Which bids our life-day dawn anew.
Old times are at an end,—our livesHave had their share of sighs and tears;Now, loyal friends, with loving wives,We hopeful look to coming years.
Old times are at an end,—our lives
Have had their share of sighs and tears;
Now, loyal friends, with loving wives,
We hopeful look to coming years.
A cheer arose from the crowd at the sea-gate, the warships dipped their flags in salutation, the guns thundered from the forts, andThe Bohemiansteamed slowly out of Tlatonac Harbour. At her mainmast fluttered the Union Jack, over her stern drooped the Opal flag, for the daughter and niece of His Excellency Don Miguel Maraquando were on board, on their way to England, with their husbands, Sir Philip Cassim and Jack Duval. That same day had they been married by Padre Ignatius, and were now departing for the honeymoon, therefore did the guns thunder, the people cheer, the flags dip.
Six weeks had elapsed since the fall of Totatzine, since the death of poor Tim, and many events had taken place during that interval. When the teocalli was captured and the priests slain, the Indians, deprived at one blow of gods and leaders, yielded in despair to their conquerors. Don Hypolito dead, Cocom sacrificed, the opal lost, nothing more could be obtained from the town, so Rafael withdrew his troops by the cañon road, and returned to announce to the Junta that they need no more fear the restless ambition of Xuarez.
Poor Tim's body was taken back to Tlatonac by his sorrowing friends. For a long time they could scarcely believe that he was dead. Tim, who was so light-hearted and full of spirits; but alas! there was no doubt that he had died almost instantaneously on the platform of the teocalli. The spear, thrown with vigorous hate by Xuarez, and intended for the breast of Jack, had dealt a fatal wound, and Tim had but time to grasp Philip's hand in faint farewell before he passed away. The three survivors were wild with grief at this loss, so cruel, so unexpected, and reverentially carried the body of their old schoolfellow to the capital for burial. In view of Tim's services during the war, and the regard entertained for him by the Cholacacans one and all, the Junta decreed a public funeral to the remains; so Tim's body, with much pomp, was consigned to the vaults of the cathedral, amid the firing of cannon, the knolling of bells.
It was some weeks before the three Englishmen could recover sufficiently from this cruel blow to attend to necessary matters. Now that the country was at peace, and Don Hypolito slain, the President gave his hearty consent to the marriages of Dolores, Eulalia, and Carmencita. The weddings were very quietly celebrated, as neither Jack nor Philip felt inclined for revelry now that Tim was dead; and, indeed, so many of the Tlatonacians had lost relatives in the late war, that public festivities would have been out of place. Therefore the weddings were celebrated by Padre Ignatius in a very quiet fashion, and afterwards Jack and Philip, with their respective brides, departed for England inThe Bohemian, while Don Rafael and Carmencita went north to Acauhtzin in a warship.
It was Philip's intention to establish himself and Eulalia in his ancestral home in Kent, and live the useful life of a country gentleman, varied by occasional voyages inThe Bohemian. He could not make up his mind to part with the yacht, nor did Eulalia wish him to do so, and having proved herself to be a capital sailor, she took as much interest in the boat as did Sir Philip himself. Eulalia, having been shut up all her life in Tlatonac, now showed a decided desire for rambling, so it seemed as though even marriage would not cure Philip of his gipsy proclivities. Still before such matters were decided upon, the baronet deemed it advisable to instal his Spanish wife in the family mansion, and introduce Lady Cassim to the country people.
As to Jack and Dolores, they were only paying a flying visit to the old country for a few weeks, as Duval had finally made up his mind to settle in Tlatonac, and become a naturalized citizen of that city. The life suited him; he was married to a native lady of the place, and, moreover, the Junta had given him full control of all engineering works connected with the country; so Jack, with the full approval of Peter and Philip, thought he could not do better than establish himself in this new land. The country was rich in natural productions, in timber, ores, and precious stones, so when Jack's railways opened it up throughout the whole length, there was no doubt but that Cholacaca would become one of the most flourishing Republics of the Americas.
Owing to the severe lesson at Totatzine, it was anticipated that the Indians would be too cowed to give the Government further trouble, and this proved to be the case. The last stronghold of the old gods had fallen, and the sacred city, which had been the centre of incessant conspiracy against the Republic was quite broken up. With the vanishing of the opal, it lost its character of a sacred town, and now being thrown open to the world by the discovery of the secret paths, no longer possessed any mysterious charm for the Indians. With no centre, with no crafty priesthood, the power of the tribes, instead of being concentrated, became scattered, and there is no doubt that in the near future, when the country is a network of railways, that the savage tribes will vanish before the advancing flood of civilisation.
Peter did not come inThe Bohemian, as he had accepted the invitation of a celebrated naturalist to visit him up Mexico way, and hunt beetles and butterflies in company. Faithless Peter, he refused to marry Doña Serafina, and fled the smiles of his elderly charmer, for they, to him, dearer delights of entomology. Baffled in one quarter, Doña Serafina was successful in another, for she turned her attention to Don Alfonso Cebrian, and succeeded, after some difficulty, in marrying the Intendante of Xicotencatl, who had for some years been a widower. Serafina found on marriage that she possessed a step-daughter, with whom she could not agree, but speedily settled her future by marrying her off to Captain Velez, who thus became the Intendante's son-in-law after all.
After leaving Tlatonac, the four people on boardThe Bohemianwere talking of these things on deck, in the warm sunshine. It was the afternoon of a perfect day, and the yacht steamed merrily along towards the distant ocean. To the surprise of Philip and Jack, the ladies proved to be excellent sailors, and were quite fascinated with the yacht, much to the gratification of old Benker, who, for the first time in his crusty old life, approved of the existence of the female sex.
When they were tired roaming about and making inquiries about this, that, and the other thing, they settled down in comfortable deck-chairs to talk about the future with their respective husbands. Dolores and Jack were returning to Tlatonac shortly, so had but the same life to look forward to; but Eulalia was secretly dismayed at the prospect of being an English lady.
"Querido!" she said to Philip, looking at him over the top of her big black fan, "I cannot talk your tongue. And your English ladies! I hear they are so cold. And your climate. Oh, Felipe, I fear your climate."
"Who told you all these nice things, Eulalia?" asked Philip, smiling.
"Don Pedro."
"My dear girl, you must not believe what Peter says. He doesn't know a thing, except what relates to beetles. You are learning to talk English very quickly, and as to the English ladies—they will all fall in love with you."
"And the climate of England," added Jack, wickedly, "is the best in the world."
"No!" replied Philip, laughing, "I cannot conscientiously say that. But neither Eulalia nor myself will stay much in England. We shall travel."
Eulalia clapped her hands with glee on hearing this delightful proposal, and Dolores settled the future course of such travelling.
"Wherever you may go, Señor Felipe," she said smiling, "forget not that Juan and myself dwell in Tlatonac, and shall expect you both once a year."
"More or less!" cried Jack, lazily. "Come in a year, Philip, and you will see how Cholacaca is going ahead. I will have that railway to Acauhtzin ready before you know where you are. All those little forest towns will soon be in communication with the outside world——"
"And Totatzine?"
"Ah, Totatzine has lost its mysterious charm of the unknown. I'll turn it into a resort for invalids, or a Central American Monte Carlo. Where Huitzilopochtli was worshipped, future generations will adore the goddess of play."
"At that rate, you will still have victims offered at the shrine," said Philip, grimly; "but, after all, Jack, it was a pity we lost the opal."
"Can it not be found again?" asked Dolores, who deeply regretted the vanished jewel.
Jack shook his head.
"I am afraid not. Xuarez threw it into the torrent. Heaven only knows in what profound depths it now lies. Perhaps it is best so. While it was on earth, it caused nothing but trouble, from the time it was in the possession of Montezuma, to the death of Xuarez."
"Now it is lost, I suppose the superstition will die out!"
"Superstition dies hard. All kinds of legends will grow up about that famous gem. It will still be remembered for many years, the more especially as Tlatonac is still, and ever shall be, the City of the Opal."
"And Dolores is still the guardian of the opal," said Eulalia, pensively.
"A guardian of a stone that has now no existence," replied Dolores, laughing; "but, after all, I had rather the jewel was lost than my Juan."
"Ah, Dolores!" said Jack, with a sad smile, "had it not been for the Señor Correspoñsal, your Juan would have been lost."
"Poor Tim," muttered Philip, softly, turning away to conceal his emotion.
The tears sprang to Dolores' eyes, and Eulalia was scarcely less affected. It seemed too terrible that they should all be so happy, when poor Tim, whom they loved so much, should be lying in the grave. The bitterest part of it was that the death had taken place just when the war was over. Tim had escaped the siege of Janjalla, the battle of Centeotl, only to fall in a skirmish at the obscure town of Totatzine. It was fate!
They remained silent for a few minutes, thinking of the dead man, and then Philip aroused himself with an effort.
"Come!" he said, with a smile. "We must not be melancholy on our wedding-day. Poor Tim himself would have been the last to countenance such folly. We can talk of other things. Of Rafael, for instance."
"There is not much to talk about Rafael," said his sister, lightly; "he is married to Doña Carmencita. He is now Governor of Acauhtzin, and when Cholacaca has a fleet, he shall be its almirante. I think Rafael is very fortunate, Felipe."
"Not so fortunate as I am," replied the baronet looking at her fondly.
"Nor as I!" cried Jack, slipping his arm round Dolores' waist. "Ah, Philip, how many things have taken place since we sailed over these waters! Did I not tell you you would bring home a bride?"
"You did, and I half believed you. For once, you have prophesied correctly. I am grateful to you, Jack, for having led me to secure this prize. When you came back to England, I was settling down into a crusty old bachelor; but now you will find me a devoted husband—all through your coming to England."
"Say, rather, all through the agreement we made at Bedford School, so many years ago. That boyish freak has brought us good fortune and charming wives."
"Yet Peter is still a bachelor."
"Oh, Peter will marry a beetle! I expect we shall see him in England shortly. For myself, I do not complain of Fate; nor does Dolores."
Jack bent down tenderly, and kissed Dolores, which example seemed so good to Philip that he at once followed suit.
The sun was setting in the west, and the sky was one blaze of colours. Pale rose, tawny-yellow, and high above, the delicate blue of the departing day. The sky, the sea were all glittering with rainbow hues of unexampled brilliancy. The yacht, leaving all this splendour behind, steamed steadily onward towards the coming night.
"It is like the Chalchuih Tlatonac," said Dolores, pointing to the sunset.
"And we are leaving it behind," replied Jack, taking her hand; "but I do not regret it, querida. If Fate has denied me the harlequin opal, she has given me a dearer and more precious gift—yourself."
THE END.
Transcriber's Note:Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed.The cover of this ebook was created by the transcriber and is hereby placed in the public domain.
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed.
The cover of this ebook was created by the transcriber and is hereby placed in the public domain.