Chapter Thirty Five.

Chapter Thirty Five.Fearful Fellow-Swimmers.The shipwrecked sailor, floating upon his frail raft, or some spar of his shattered vessel, could not be more at the mercy of wave and wind, than were the two men astride of the capsized canoe. Their situation was indeed desperate. The stroke of a strong sea would be sufficient to swamp their frail embarkation; and, should the tempest continue to increase in fury, then destruction appeared inevitable.Despite the imminent danger, Lantejas still indulged a hope that the intrepidity of the Zapoteque might rescue him from the present danger, as it had from many others. Sustained by this vague belief, he kept his eyes fixed upon the countenance of Costal, while endeavouring to read in its expression the condition of the Indian’s spirit.Up to that time the imperturbable coolness exhibited by theex-tigrerohad favoured the hopes of his companion. As the time passed, however, and nothing was seen of the whale-boats, even the features of Costal began to wear an expression of anxiety. There is a difference, however, between anxiety and despair. The spirit of the Indian had only succumbed to the former of these two phases.“Well, Costal, what think you?” demanded Lantejas, with a view of breaking the silence, which appeared to him of ill omen.“Por Dios!” replied the Indian, “I’m astonished that the barges have not moved up on hearing that shot. It’s not like the Marshal to hang back so. He don’t often need two such signals to advance—”A blast of wind sweeping past at the moment hindered Lantejas from hearing the last words of his companion’s speech. He saw, however, that the latter had relapsed into his ominous silence, and that the cloud of inquietude was growing darker over his countenance. It was almost an expression of fear that now betrayed itself upon the bronzed visage of the Indian.The Captain well knew that the least display of such a sentiment on the part of Costal, was evidence that the danger was extreme. Not that he needed any farther proof of this, than what he saw around him; but, so long as the Zapoteque showed no signs of fear, he had entertained a hope that the latter might still find some resource for their safety.He almost believed himself saved, when the voice of the Indian once more fell upon his ear, in a tone that seemed to betray an indifference to their present situation.“Well, Señor Don Cornelio,” said Costal, “what would you give now to be lying in a hammock, with a canopy of jaguars and rattlesnakes over you? Eh?”Costal smiled as he recalled the scene of the inundation. His gaiety was a good sign. Almost immediately after, however, he muttered to himself, in a tone of inquietude—“Can it be possible that the barges have gone back?”In situations of a frightful kind the smallest suspicion soon assumes the form of a reality; and the Captain did not doubt but that the barges had returned to the shore. Not that there was the slightest reason for this belief. On the contrary, it was more natural to suppose that they were still in the place where they had been left—awaiting the return of the canoe, and the news it might bring them. This was all the more likely: since they in the barges could not fail to have heard the shot from the schooner, and would be awaiting an explanation of it.The probability of all this—especially of the boats being still in the same place—did not fail to strike Costal, who for some seconds appeared to be reflecting profoundly.Meanwhile the waves had increased, and had all the appearance of soon becoming much larger. Already the frail embarkation was tossed about like an egg-shell.“Listen to me, Señor Don Cornelio Lantejas!” said Costal.“Ah!” woefully murmured the Captain, on hearing his patronymic pronounced; for ever since his proscription as Cornelio Lantejas, he had held his own name in horror. Never did it sound to him with a more lugubrious accent than now.“Listen!” said Costal, repeating himself with emphasis; “I know you are a man for whom death has no terrors. Well, then! I think it would not be right of me to conceal from you—a fact—”“What fact?”“That if we stay here one hour longer, we must both go to the bottom. The waves are constantly growing bigger, as you see—”“And what can we do?” demanded Lantejas, in a despairing tone.“One of two things,” replied Costal. “The barges are either waiting for us where we left them, or they are directing their course towards the isle. It is absurd to suppose they have returned to the town. When one receives an order from a great general to attack any particular point, one does not return without making an attempt. The boats, therefore, must still be where we parted from them.”“Well, what would you do?”“Why, since it is easy for me to swim to them—”“Swim to them!”“Certainly. Why not?”“What! through the midst of those monsters who have just devoured our comrades under our very eyes?”A flash of lightning at that instant lit up the countenance of Costal, which exhibited an expression of profound disdain.“Have I not just told you,” said he, “that I am perhaps the only man who could pass among these sharks without the least danger? I have done it a hundred times out of mere bravado. To-night I shall do it to save our lives.”The thought of being left alone caused the Captain a fresh alarm. He hesitated a moment before making a reply. Costal, taking his silence for consent, cried out—“As soon as I have reached one of the barges I shall cause a rocket to be sent up as a signal that I am aboard. Then you may expect us to come this way; and you must shout at the top of your voice, in order that we may find you.”Don Cornelio had not time to make answer. On finishing his speech theci-devantpearl-diver plunged head foremost into the water.The Captain could trace a luminous line as he swam for some seconds under the surface; and could also see that the fierce denizens of the deep—as if they recognised in him a superior power—had suddenly glided out of his way!Don Cornelio saw the intrepid swimmer rise to the surface, at some distance off, and then lost sight of him altogether behind the curling crests of the waves. He fancied, however, he could hear some indistinct words of encouragement borne back by the wind. After that, the only sounds that reached his ear were the hoarse moanings of the surf, and the ominous plashing of the waves against the quivering timbers of his canoe.

The shipwrecked sailor, floating upon his frail raft, or some spar of his shattered vessel, could not be more at the mercy of wave and wind, than were the two men astride of the capsized canoe. Their situation was indeed desperate. The stroke of a strong sea would be sufficient to swamp their frail embarkation; and, should the tempest continue to increase in fury, then destruction appeared inevitable.

Despite the imminent danger, Lantejas still indulged a hope that the intrepidity of the Zapoteque might rescue him from the present danger, as it had from many others. Sustained by this vague belief, he kept his eyes fixed upon the countenance of Costal, while endeavouring to read in its expression the condition of the Indian’s spirit.

Up to that time the imperturbable coolness exhibited by theex-tigrerohad favoured the hopes of his companion. As the time passed, however, and nothing was seen of the whale-boats, even the features of Costal began to wear an expression of anxiety. There is a difference, however, between anxiety and despair. The spirit of the Indian had only succumbed to the former of these two phases.

“Well, Costal, what think you?” demanded Lantejas, with a view of breaking the silence, which appeared to him of ill omen.

“Por Dios!” replied the Indian, “I’m astonished that the barges have not moved up on hearing that shot. It’s not like the Marshal to hang back so. He don’t often need two such signals to advance—”

A blast of wind sweeping past at the moment hindered Lantejas from hearing the last words of his companion’s speech. He saw, however, that the latter had relapsed into his ominous silence, and that the cloud of inquietude was growing darker over his countenance. It was almost an expression of fear that now betrayed itself upon the bronzed visage of the Indian.

The Captain well knew that the least display of such a sentiment on the part of Costal, was evidence that the danger was extreme. Not that he needed any farther proof of this, than what he saw around him; but, so long as the Zapoteque showed no signs of fear, he had entertained a hope that the latter might still find some resource for their safety.

He almost believed himself saved, when the voice of the Indian once more fell upon his ear, in a tone that seemed to betray an indifference to their present situation.

“Well, Señor Don Cornelio,” said Costal, “what would you give now to be lying in a hammock, with a canopy of jaguars and rattlesnakes over you? Eh?”

Costal smiled as he recalled the scene of the inundation. His gaiety was a good sign. Almost immediately after, however, he muttered to himself, in a tone of inquietude—

“Can it be possible that the barges have gone back?”

In situations of a frightful kind the smallest suspicion soon assumes the form of a reality; and the Captain did not doubt but that the barges had returned to the shore. Not that there was the slightest reason for this belief. On the contrary, it was more natural to suppose that they were still in the place where they had been left—awaiting the return of the canoe, and the news it might bring them. This was all the more likely: since they in the barges could not fail to have heard the shot from the schooner, and would be awaiting an explanation of it.

The probability of all this—especially of the boats being still in the same place—did not fail to strike Costal, who for some seconds appeared to be reflecting profoundly.

Meanwhile the waves had increased, and had all the appearance of soon becoming much larger. Already the frail embarkation was tossed about like an egg-shell.

“Listen to me, Señor Don Cornelio Lantejas!” said Costal.

“Ah!” woefully murmured the Captain, on hearing his patronymic pronounced; for ever since his proscription as Cornelio Lantejas, he had held his own name in horror. Never did it sound to him with a more lugubrious accent than now.

“Listen!” said Costal, repeating himself with emphasis; “I know you are a man for whom death has no terrors. Well, then! I think it would not be right of me to conceal from you—a fact—”

“What fact?”

“That if we stay here one hour longer, we must both go to the bottom. The waves are constantly growing bigger, as you see—”

“And what can we do?” demanded Lantejas, in a despairing tone.

“One of two things,” replied Costal. “The barges are either waiting for us where we left them, or they are directing their course towards the isle. It is absurd to suppose they have returned to the town. When one receives an order from a great general to attack any particular point, one does not return without making an attempt. The boats, therefore, must still be where we parted from them.”

“Well, what would you do?”

“Why, since it is easy for me to swim to them—”

“Swim to them!”

“Certainly. Why not?”

“What! through the midst of those monsters who have just devoured our comrades under our very eyes?”

A flash of lightning at that instant lit up the countenance of Costal, which exhibited an expression of profound disdain.

“Have I not just told you,” said he, “that I am perhaps the only man who could pass among these sharks without the least danger? I have done it a hundred times out of mere bravado. To-night I shall do it to save our lives.”

The thought of being left alone caused the Captain a fresh alarm. He hesitated a moment before making a reply. Costal, taking his silence for consent, cried out—

“As soon as I have reached one of the barges I shall cause a rocket to be sent up as a signal that I am aboard. Then you may expect us to come this way; and you must shout at the top of your voice, in order that we may find you.”

Don Cornelio had not time to make answer. On finishing his speech theci-devantpearl-diver plunged head foremost into the water.

The Captain could trace a luminous line as he swam for some seconds under the surface; and could also see that the fierce denizens of the deep—as if they recognised in him a superior power—had suddenly glided out of his way!

Don Cornelio saw the intrepid swimmer rise to the surface, at some distance off, and then lost sight of him altogether behind the curling crests of the waves. He fancied, however, he could hear some indistinct words of encouragement borne back by the wind. After that, the only sounds that reached his ear were the hoarse moanings of the surf, and the ominous plashing of the waves against the quivering timbers of his canoe.

Chapter Thirty Six.Unpleasant Swimming Companions.A shark may be driven off for a time by the efforts of a human enemy, but his natural voracity will soon impel him to return to the attack. When the Indian therefore rose to the surface of the water—remembering his old practice as a pearl-diver—he cast around him a glance of caution. Having shouted back to his companion in misfortune some words which the latter had indistinctly heard, he placed his knife between his teeth, and swam straight onward.It was not fear that caused him to take this precaution. It was merely an act of habitual prudence.As he struck out from the canoe, he perceived that two monsters of the deep, far more formidable than those of the forest, were proceeding in the same direction as himself. One was about twenty feet from him on the right; the other appeared at an equal distance on his left; and both were evidentlyattendingupon him!Unpleasant as two such companions might be deemed, the swimmer at first paid but slight attention to their movements. His mind was pre-occupied with a variety of other thoughts—especially with the doubt as to whether he might be able to find the barges. On the wide surface of the sea, and in the midst of the profound darkness, it would be but too easy to pass without perceiving them, and very difficult indeed to find them. This apprehension, combined with those fearless habits in the water, which he had contracted while following the life of a pearl-diver—and furthermore his belief in a positive fatalism—all united in rendering the Zapoteque indifferent to the presence of his two terrible attendants.Only at intervals, and then rather from prudence than fear, he turned his head to the right or left, and glanced in the direction of hiscompagnons du voyage. He could not help perceiving moreover that at each instant the sharks were drawing nearer to him!By a vigorous stroke on the water he now raised his body high over the surface; and, there balancing for a moment, glanced forward. It was an eager glance; for he was looking for that object on the finding of which his life must depend. He saw only the line of the horizon of dull sombre hue—no object visible upon it, except here and there the white crests of the waves.A sudden glance to the right, and another to the left, showed him the two fearful creatures, now nearer than ever. Neither was more than ten feet from his body!Still the swimmer was not dismayed by their presence. Far more was he daunted by the immense solitude of the watery surface that surrounded him.However bold a man may be, there are moments when danger must necessarily cause him fear. Costal was in a position sufficiently perilous to have unnerved most men. Swimming in the midst of a rising sea—beyond sight of land, or any other object—escorted by two voracious sharks—with a dark sky overhead, and no precise knowledge of the direction in which he was going—no wonder he began to feel something more than inquietude.However strong may be a swimmer, he cannot fail after long keeping up such vigorous action as it requires, to become fatigued, and worn out: the more so when, like Costal, he carries a knife between his teeth—thus impeding his free respiration. But the ex-pearl-diver did not think of parting with the weapon—his only resource, in case of being attacked by the sharks—and still keeping his lips closed upon it, he swam on.After a time, he felt his heart beating violently against his ribs. He attributed this circumstance less to fear than to the efforts he was making; and, taking the knife from his mouth, he carried it in one of his hands.The pulsations of his heart were not the less rapid: for it may be acknowledged, without much shame to him, that Costal now really felt fear. Moreover, swimming with one hand closed, it was necessary for him to strike more rapidly with the other.The precaution of holding his knife ready in hand, was not likely to prove an idle one. The two sharks appeared gradually converging upon the line which the swimmer must take, if he continued to swim directly onward.On observing this convergence of his silent and persevering pursuers, Costal suddenly obliqued to the right. The sharks imitated his movement on the instant, and swam on each side of him as before!For a few minutes—long and fearful minutes—he was forced to keep on in this new direction. He began to fancy he was swimming out of the way he should have taken; and was about to turn once more to the left, when an object came before his eyes that prompted him to utter an ejaculation of joy.In spite of himself, he had been guided into the right direction, by the very enemies from whom he was endeavouring to escape; and it was the sight of the barges that had drawn from him the joyful exclamation.The moment after, he uttered a louder cry, hailing the boats.He had the satisfaction of hearing a response; but as no one saw him through the darkness, it was necessary for him to continue swimming onwards.By this time the two sharks had closed on each side, and were gliding along so near, that only a narrow way was open between them. Costal felt that he had not sufficient strength to make a détour; and the only course left him, was to swim straight for the nearest boat. He kept on therefore, his heart beating against his ribs, and with his knife firmly held in his grasp—ready to bury the weapon in the throat of the first that should assail him. With the last efforts of his strength he lunged out right and left, by voice and gesture endeavouring to frighten off the two monsters that flanked him; and he proceeded onward in this way like some doomed ship, struggling between black masses of rocky breakers.By good fortune his efforts proved successful. The hideous creatures, glaring upon him with glassy eyeballs, were nevertheless frightened by his menacing gestures, and for the moment diverged a little out of his way.Costal took advantage of this precious moment; and, swimming rapidly forward, succeeded in clutching the side of one of the barges.A dozen friendly arms instantly drew him aboard; but as his comrades bent over him upon the deck, they perceived that he was unconscious. The effort had been too much for his strength. He had sunk into a syncope.The presence of Costal in such sad plight sufficiently revealed the fate of the canoe and its occupants. Words could not have made the history of their misfortune more clear.“It is no use remaining longer here,” said the soldier-admiral. “The canoe must have gone to the bottom. Now, my braves! we shall pull straight for the isle.”Then raising his sombrero in a reverential manner, he added—“Let us pray for the souls of our unfortunate comrades—above all, for Captain Lantejas. We have lost in him a most valiant officer.”And after this laconic oration over Don Cornelio, the barges were once more set in motion, and rowed directly towards the isle of Roqueta.Meanwhile the unhappy Lantejas sat upon the keel of the broken canoe, contemplating with horrible anxiety the waves of the ocean constantly surging around him, and gradually growing fiercer and higher. Now they appeared as dark as Erebus; anon like ridges of liquid fire, as the lightning flashed athwart the sky, furrowing the black clouds over his head.He listened attentively. He heard the wind whistling against the waves, and lashing them into fury—as a horseman rouses his steed with whip and spur; he heard the groaning of the surge, like an untamed horse rebelling against his rider.Fortunately for him, it was yet but the prologue of the storm to which he was listening; and he was still able to maintain his seat upon the frail embarkation.At short intervals he shouted with all his might, but the wind hurled back his cries, mingled with the spray that was dashed in his face.No succour appeared within sight or hearing. Costal had no doubt been either drowned or devoured; and the unhappy officer had arrived at the full conviction, that such was to be his own fate; when, all of a sudden, some object came under his eyes that caused him to quiver with joy. Under the glare of the lightning, the barges were visible mounted on the crest of a huge dark wave!Only a momentary glance did he obtain of them; for, after the flash had passed, the boats were again shrouded in the obscurity of the night.Do Cornelio raised a loud cry, and listened for the response. No voice reached him. His own was drowned; midst the roaring of the waters, and could not have been heard by the people on board the boats.He shouted repeatedly, but with the like result—no response.Once more was he plunged into the deepest anxiety—approaching almost to despair—when on the next flashing of lightning he once more beheld the barges at a little distance from him, but in a direction altogether opposite! They had passed him in the darkness, and were now rowing away!This was his reflection, though it was an erroneous one. The boats were still in the same direction as at first, but now appeared in the opposite quarter. This deception arose from Don Cornelio himself having turned round on the broken canoe, which kept constantly spinning about upon the waves.At this moment a rocket shooting up into the dark sky inspired the castaway with fresh hope; and he once more raised his voice, and shouted with all the concentrated power of throat and lungs. After delivering the cry, he remained in breathless expectation, equally concentrating all his strength in the act of listening.This time a responsive cry came back—a sound all the more joyful to his ears from his recognising it as the voice of Costal.Don Cornelio now repeated his cries, thick and fast after each other, until his throat and jaws almost refused to give out the slightest sound. Nevertheless he kept on shouting, until one of the barges, bounding over the waves, forged close up to the side of the canoe. Then he felt himself seized by strong arms—they were those of Costal and Galeana—and the moment after he was lifted into the boot, where, like the ex-pearl-diver, but from a very different cause, he fell fainting upon the deck.It was fortunate for Don Cornelio that Costal had remained only a short time under the influence of his syncope. Recovering from it, the Indian had, in a few words, revealed the situation of the canoe. The signal agreed upon was at once made; and led, as described, to the rescue of his companion from his perilous position.

A shark may be driven off for a time by the efforts of a human enemy, but his natural voracity will soon impel him to return to the attack. When the Indian therefore rose to the surface of the water—remembering his old practice as a pearl-diver—he cast around him a glance of caution. Having shouted back to his companion in misfortune some words which the latter had indistinctly heard, he placed his knife between his teeth, and swam straight onward.

It was not fear that caused him to take this precaution. It was merely an act of habitual prudence.

As he struck out from the canoe, he perceived that two monsters of the deep, far more formidable than those of the forest, were proceeding in the same direction as himself. One was about twenty feet from him on the right; the other appeared at an equal distance on his left; and both were evidentlyattendingupon him!

Unpleasant as two such companions might be deemed, the swimmer at first paid but slight attention to their movements. His mind was pre-occupied with a variety of other thoughts—especially with the doubt as to whether he might be able to find the barges. On the wide surface of the sea, and in the midst of the profound darkness, it would be but too easy to pass without perceiving them, and very difficult indeed to find them. This apprehension, combined with those fearless habits in the water, which he had contracted while following the life of a pearl-diver—and furthermore his belief in a positive fatalism—all united in rendering the Zapoteque indifferent to the presence of his two terrible attendants.

Only at intervals, and then rather from prudence than fear, he turned his head to the right or left, and glanced in the direction of hiscompagnons du voyage. He could not help perceiving moreover that at each instant the sharks were drawing nearer to him!

By a vigorous stroke on the water he now raised his body high over the surface; and, there balancing for a moment, glanced forward. It was an eager glance; for he was looking for that object on the finding of which his life must depend. He saw only the line of the horizon of dull sombre hue—no object visible upon it, except here and there the white crests of the waves.

A sudden glance to the right, and another to the left, showed him the two fearful creatures, now nearer than ever. Neither was more than ten feet from his body!

Still the swimmer was not dismayed by their presence. Far more was he daunted by the immense solitude of the watery surface that surrounded him.

However bold a man may be, there are moments when danger must necessarily cause him fear. Costal was in a position sufficiently perilous to have unnerved most men. Swimming in the midst of a rising sea—beyond sight of land, or any other object—escorted by two voracious sharks—with a dark sky overhead, and no precise knowledge of the direction in which he was going—no wonder he began to feel something more than inquietude.

However strong may be a swimmer, he cannot fail after long keeping up such vigorous action as it requires, to become fatigued, and worn out: the more so when, like Costal, he carries a knife between his teeth—thus impeding his free respiration. But the ex-pearl-diver did not think of parting with the weapon—his only resource, in case of being attacked by the sharks—and still keeping his lips closed upon it, he swam on.

After a time, he felt his heart beating violently against his ribs. He attributed this circumstance less to fear than to the efforts he was making; and, taking the knife from his mouth, he carried it in one of his hands.

The pulsations of his heart were not the less rapid: for it may be acknowledged, without much shame to him, that Costal now really felt fear. Moreover, swimming with one hand closed, it was necessary for him to strike more rapidly with the other.

The precaution of holding his knife ready in hand, was not likely to prove an idle one. The two sharks appeared gradually converging upon the line which the swimmer must take, if he continued to swim directly onward.

On observing this convergence of his silent and persevering pursuers, Costal suddenly obliqued to the right. The sharks imitated his movement on the instant, and swam on each side of him as before!

For a few minutes—long and fearful minutes—he was forced to keep on in this new direction. He began to fancy he was swimming out of the way he should have taken; and was about to turn once more to the left, when an object came before his eyes that prompted him to utter an ejaculation of joy.

In spite of himself, he had been guided into the right direction, by the very enemies from whom he was endeavouring to escape; and it was the sight of the barges that had drawn from him the joyful exclamation.

The moment after, he uttered a louder cry, hailing the boats.

He had the satisfaction of hearing a response; but as no one saw him through the darkness, it was necessary for him to continue swimming onwards.

By this time the two sharks had closed on each side, and were gliding along so near, that only a narrow way was open between them. Costal felt that he had not sufficient strength to make a détour; and the only course left him, was to swim straight for the nearest boat. He kept on therefore, his heart beating against his ribs, and with his knife firmly held in his grasp—ready to bury the weapon in the throat of the first that should assail him. With the last efforts of his strength he lunged out right and left, by voice and gesture endeavouring to frighten off the two monsters that flanked him; and he proceeded onward in this way like some doomed ship, struggling between black masses of rocky breakers.

By good fortune his efforts proved successful. The hideous creatures, glaring upon him with glassy eyeballs, were nevertheless frightened by his menacing gestures, and for the moment diverged a little out of his way.

Costal took advantage of this precious moment; and, swimming rapidly forward, succeeded in clutching the side of one of the barges.

A dozen friendly arms instantly drew him aboard; but as his comrades bent over him upon the deck, they perceived that he was unconscious. The effort had been too much for his strength. He had sunk into a syncope.

The presence of Costal in such sad plight sufficiently revealed the fate of the canoe and its occupants. Words could not have made the history of their misfortune more clear.

“It is no use remaining longer here,” said the soldier-admiral. “The canoe must have gone to the bottom. Now, my braves! we shall pull straight for the isle.”

Then raising his sombrero in a reverential manner, he added—

“Let us pray for the souls of our unfortunate comrades—above all, for Captain Lantejas. We have lost in him a most valiant officer.”

And after this laconic oration over Don Cornelio, the barges were once more set in motion, and rowed directly towards the isle of Roqueta.

Meanwhile the unhappy Lantejas sat upon the keel of the broken canoe, contemplating with horrible anxiety the waves of the ocean constantly surging around him, and gradually growing fiercer and higher. Now they appeared as dark as Erebus; anon like ridges of liquid fire, as the lightning flashed athwart the sky, furrowing the black clouds over his head.

He listened attentively. He heard the wind whistling against the waves, and lashing them into fury—as a horseman rouses his steed with whip and spur; he heard the groaning of the surge, like an untamed horse rebelling against his rider.

Fortunately for him, it was yet but the prologue of the storm to which he was listening; and he was still able to maintain his seat upon the frail embarkation.

At short intervals he shouted with all his might, but the wind hurled back his cries, mingled with the spray that was dashed in his face.

No succour appeared within sight or hearing. Costal had no doubt been either drowned or devoured; and the unhappy officer had arrived at the full conviction, that such was to be his own fate; when, all of a sudden, some object came under his eyes that caused him to quiver with joy. Under the glare of the lightning, the barges were visible mounted on the crest of a huge dark wave!

Only a momentary glance did he obtain of them; for, after the flash had passed, the boats were again shrouded in the obscurity of the night.

Do Cornelio raised a loud cry, and listened for the response. No voice reached him. His own was drowned; midst the roaring of the waters, and could not have been heard by the people on board the boats.

He shouted repeatedly, but with the like result—no response.

Once more was he plunged into the deepest anxiety—approaching almost to despair—when on the next flashing of lightning he once more beheld the barges at a little distance from him, but in a direction altogether opposite! They had passed him in the darkness, and were now rowing away!

This was his reflection, though it was an erroneous one. The boats were still in the same direction as at first, but now appeared in the opposite quarter. This deception arose from Don Cornelio himself having turned round on the broken canoe, which kept constantly spinning about upon the waves.

At this moment a rocket shooting up into the dark sky inspired the castaway with fresh hope; and he once more raised his voice, and shouted with all the concentrated power of throat and lungs. After delivering the cry, he remained in breathless expectation, equally concentrating all his strength in the act of listening.

This time a responsive cry came back—a sound all the more joyful to his ears from his recognising it as the voice of Costal.

Don Cornelio now repeated his cries, thick and fast after each other, until his throat and jaws almost refused to give out the slightest sound. Nevertheless he kept on shouting, until one of the barges, bounding over the waves, forged close up to the side of the canoe. Then he felt himself seized by strong arms—they were those of Costal and Galeana—and the moment after he was lifted into the boot, where, like the ex-pearl-diver, but from a very different cause, he fell fainting upon the deck.

It was fortunate for Don Cornelio that Costal had remained only a short time under the influence of his syncope. Recovering from it, the Indian had, in a few words, revealed the situation of the canoe. The signal agreed upon was at once made; and led, as described, to the rescue of his companion from his perilous position.

Chapter Thirty Seven.A Deed à la Cortez.Notwithstanding the alarm given by the schooner, the barges of Galeana found no difficulty in effecting a landing upon the isle—but on the opposite side to that where the war vessel lay. The stormy night favoured the attempt; the garrison of La Roqueta not dreaming that on such a night any attack would be made upon the fort.Lantejas still remained unconscious; and, when at last he came to his senses, he found himself on land, the branches of tall trees extending over him, through which the wind was whistling with all the fury of a tempest. The rustling of the leaves was the sweetest melody he had ever heard: since it told him he was once more onterra firma—though at the same time the thunder rolling around appeared to shake the foundations of the isle.On awakening to consciousness, he looked around him. He saw men reclining, or sitting in groups—most of them with arms in their hands. He recognised them as the people of the expedition.Costal, asleep, was lying upon the ground close at hand.“Where are we, Costal?” inquired Lantejas, after rousing the Indian from his slumber.“Where?Por Dios! where should we be, but on the isle of Roqueta?”“But how did we get ashore?”“Easily enough, Señor Capitan. We had no opposition to contend against. Not one of the Spanish garrison suspects our presence here; for who would think of sixty men venturing to sea on such a night as this? We shall take the enemy completely by surprise.”“And what hinders the Marshal from attacking them now?”“We have not yet found them. We neither know where the fort is, nor where we are ourselves. Don’t you see that the night is as dark as the inside of a cannon, and one can’t make out his finger before him? They’re safe enough while this storm lasts; and, by good luck, so are we.”It was in truth to the storm that the Mexicans owed their present security. Few in numbers, and ignorant of the locality in which they had landed, an attack by the troops of the garrison might have proved fatal to them. Thanks to the tempestuous character of the night, they had not only found an opportunity of debarking on the isle, but time to mature their plans for assaulting the fort.It was now about four in the morning, and the wind, still blowing with all its fury, was causing the large waves to roll up against the beach, threatening to break the cables by which the barges were moored to the shore. Don Cornelio cast glances of fear upon that mighty ocean that, but a few hours before, had come so near engulfing him within its dark depths.While he sat with his face turned seaward, his eye fell upon the figure of a man who was passing from the spot where the groups were scattered downward to the beach. This man having approached the place where the barges were moored, for some moments appeared to be occupied with them, as if looking to their security. This was Don Cornelio’s first impression on seeing the figure bending over the cables; but the moment after, the blade of a knife glancing in the man’s fingers, was revealed by a flash of lightning; and this gave a sudden turn to the captain’s thoughts.“What is he about to do?” inquired he of Costal, at the same time pointing out the individual so mysteriously occupied about the barges.“Carrambo! he is cutting the cables!” cried the Indian, springing to his feet, and rushing towards the boats, followed by Don Cornelio.On drawing nearer the beach, both recognised, under the pale reflection of the foaming waves, the Marshal himself—Don Hermenegildo Galeana!“Ah! Captain Lantejas, it is you!” cried the Marshal as they approached. “Good. I want you to lend me a hand here in cutting these hawsers: they are hard as iron chains.”“Cut the hawsers!” echoed the astonished captain. “And what, General, if we are compelled to retreat before a superior force?”“That’s just what I wish to provide against,” replied Don Hermenegildo, laughing. “Some people fight but poorly when they know they may run away; and I wish our people to fight well.”Don Cornelio saw it was no use to attempt remonstrance with the chivalric Galeana, and both he and Costal went to work to assist the Marshal in his daring design.“All right, comrades!” cried Don Hermenegildo, as soon as the three hawsers were parted; “it only remains for us to get the signal rockets out of the boats, and then let them go to sea of themselves.”So saying, the energetic leader stepped aboard one of the barges, seized hold of the rocket case, and, assisted by Costal and Don Cornelio, carried it on shore. Then, giving each of the boats a shove from the beach, the Marshal had the satisfaction—not shared by the Captain, however—of seeing all three of them the next moment carried far away from the shore, and still tossing seaward on the crests of the foaming waves! Retreat was no longer possible. The people of the expedition must either conquer or succumb.“Now, Captain Lantejas,” said the Marshal, addressing Don Cornelio, “you had better go and get some sleep. You have need of rest, after what you have passed through. I shall cause you to be awakened in good time. Meanwhile Costal will make a reconnaissance, to discover, if possible, the whereabouts of our enemy. By daybreak both the fort and schooner must be ours.”With this finish to the conversation, Don Hermenegildo folded his cloak around him and walked away. Costal and the captain returned to the temporary encampment among the trees. There the Indian, without communicating his thoughts to his companion, silently divested himself of the little remnant of clothing that remained to him, and glided off among the bushes—like a jaguar advancing through the underwood to surprise the gaunt alligator on the bank of some solitary lagoon.

Notwithstanding the alarm given by the schooner, the barges of Galeana found no difficulty in effecting a landing upon the isle—but on the opposite side to that where the war vessel lay. The stormy night favoured the attempt; the garrison of La Roqueta not dreaming that on such a night any attack would be made upon the fort.

Lantejas still remained unconscious; and, when at last he came to his senses, he found himself on land, the branches of tall trees extending over him, through which the wind was whistling with all the fury of a tempest. The rustling of the leaves was the sweetest melody he had ever heard: since it told him he was once more onterra firma—though at the same time the thunder rolling around appeared to shake the foundations of the isle.

On awakening to consciousness, he looked around him. He saw men reclining, or sitting in groups—most of them with arms in their hands. He recognised them as the people of the expedition.

Costal, asleep, was lying upon the ground close at hand.

“Where are we, Costal?” inquired Lantejas, after rousing the Indian from his slumber.

“Where?Por Dios! where should we be, but on the isle of Roqueta?”

“But how did we get ashore?”

“Easily enough, Señor Capitan. We had no opposition to contend against. Not one of the Spanish garrison suspects our presence here; for who would think of sixty men venturing to sea on such a night as this? We shall take the enemy completely by surprise.”

“And what hinders the Marshal from attacking them now?”

“We have not yet found them. We neither know where the fort is, nor where we are ourselves. Don’t you see that the night is as dark as the inside of a cannon, and one can’t make out his finger before him? They’re safe enough while this storm lasts; and, by good luck, so are we.”

It was in truth to the storm that the Mexicans owed their present security. Few in numbers, and ignorant of the locality in which they had landed, an attack by the troops of the garrison might have proved fatal to them. Thanks to the tempestuous character of the night, they had not only found an opportunity of debarking on the isle, but time to mature their plans for assaulting the fort.

It was now about four in the morning, and the wind, still blowing with all its fury, was causing the large waves to roll up against the beach, threatening to break the cables by which the barges were moored to the shore. Don Cornelio cast glances of fear upon that mighty ocean that, but a few hours before, had come so near engulfing him within its dark depths.

While he sat with his face turned seaward, his eye fell upon the figure of a man who was passing from the spot where the groups were scattered downward to the beach. This man having approached the place where the barges were moored, for some moments appeared to be occupied with them, as if looking to their security. This was Don Cornelio’s first impression on seeing the figure bending over the cables; but the moment after, the blade of a knife glancing in the man’s fingers, was revealed by a flash of lightning; and this gave a sudden turn to the captain’s thoughts.

“What is he about to do?” inquired he of Costal, at the same time pointing out the individual so mysteriously occupied about the barges.

“Carrambo! he is cutting the cables!” cried the Indian, springing to his feet, and rushing towards the boats, followed by Don Cornelio.

On drawing nearer the beach, both recognised, under the pale reflection of the foaming waves, the Marshal himself—Don Hermenegildo Galeana!

“Ah! Captain Lantejas, it is you!” cried the Marshal as they approached. “Good. I want you to lend me a hand here in cutting these hawsers: they are hard as iron chains.”

“Cut the hawsers!” echoed the astonished captain. “And what, General, if we are compelled to retreat before a superior force?”

“That’s just what I wish to provide against,” replied Don Hermenegildo, laughing. “Some people fight but poorly when they know they may run away; and I wish our people to fight well.”

Don Cornelio saw it was no use to attempt remonstrance with the chivalric Galeana, and both he and Costal went to work to assist the Marshal in his daring design.

“All right, comrades!” cried Don Hermenegildo, as soon as the three hawsers were parted; “it only remains for us to get the signal rockets out of the boats, and then let them go to sea of themselves.”

So saying, the energetic leader stepped aboard one of the barges, seized hold of the rocket case, and, assisted by Costal and Don Cornelio, carried it on shore. Then, giving each of the boats a shove from the beach, the Marshal had the satisfaction—not shared by the Captain, however—of seeing all three of them the next moment carried far away from the shore, and still tossing seaward on the crests of the foaming waves! Retreat was no longer possible. The people of the expedition must either conquer or succumb.

“Now, Captain Lantejas,” said the Marshal, addressing Don Cornelio, “you had better go and get some sleep. You have need of rest, after what you have passed through. I shall cause you to be awakened in good time. Meanwhile Costal will make a reconnaissance, to discover, if possible, the whereabouts of our enemy. By daybreak both the fort and schooner must be ours.”

With this finish to the conversation, Don Hermenegildo folded his cloak around him and walked away. Costal and the captain returned to the temporary encampment among the trees. There the Indian, without communicating his thoughts to his companion, silently divested himself of the little remnant of clothing that remained to him, and glided off among the bushes—like a jaguar advancing through the underwood to surprise the gaunt alligator on the bank of some solitary lagoon.

Chapter Thirty Eight.The Capture of La Roqueta.It was in vain that Don Cornelio attempted to sleep. Although more than a year of campaigning and the experience of many sanguinary engagements had inured him to danger, there was something in the peril to which he was now exposed that was altogether novel and unpleasant.Their leader had provided against retreat, and to conquer or die had become a positive obligation of the expeditionary force. This was sufficient to keep the involuntary soldier awake for the remainder of the night.He passed the time in reflecting upon the singularcontretempsthat had so interfered with his plans of life, and changed, as it were, his very destiny. He could now only entertain but one hope and wish, and that was that the fortress of Acapulco should be taken as soon as possible: since upon that event being completed, Morelos had promised to grant him leave of absence from the army.In about an hour afterwards, Costal returned from his scout, and reported to him the result of his explorations, which he had already detailed to the Marshal.According to the information collected by the Indian, the Spanish garrison consisted of about two hundred men; who were entrenched in a small earthwork on the southern side of the isle, and not more than cannon-shot distance from the Mexican encampment. Two field pieces, set in battery, defended the work; and the schooner, whose unlucky shot had swamped the canoe, lay at a cable’s length from the land, in a little bay that ran up to the fort.The Mexican leader now knew the position of his enemy, their numbers, and means of defence; and, as soon as the dawn began to appear, he summoned his little band, and formed them into rank. At the same time he caused the signal rockets to be carried to an eminence that was near their encampment.“Now,muchachos!” said he, addressing his soldiers in an undertone, “whatever point we attack, may be considered as taken. We are about to assault the enemy. We may therefore at once announce to our general-in-chief, without fear of disappointment, that the isle and fortress of La Roqueta are in our hands. I have promised it.”And without awaiting a reply from any one, the Marshal took the cigar from his lips, and held the burning end of it to the fuse of one of the rockets.The piece of hemp became kindled at the touch, and the moment after the rocket rose hissing into the air, and described a circle of vivid red against the grey background of the sky. A second rocket was sent up, which traced an ellipse of white light; and then a third, whose reflection was a brilliant green.“Red, white, and green!” cried Galeana, “our national colour. It is the signal I agreed upon with our General, to announce to him the capture of the isle. Our comrades in the Mexican camp have by this time seen the signal. They believe we have triumphed, and we must not deceive them. Forward to victory!”On issuing the command, Galeana bounded lightly forward and placed himself at the head of his men; and the whole troop, guided by Costal, advanced at a rapid pace towards the enemy.As they approached the fort, cries of distress were heard in that direction, which at first filled the assailants with surprise. The cause, however, was soon apparent. The cries came not from the fort, but from the schooner, which was now seen through an opening between the trees struggling against the storm, and fast drifting among breakers! A row of jagged rocks stretched along to leeward; and from driving upon these rocks, the sailors aboard of her were vainly endeavouring to restrain the ill-fated vessel.The latter, during the violence of the wind, had dragged her anchors, and was now fast hastening to destruction.“Jesus Maria!” exclaimed Galeana at the sight. “Comrades, what a pity! She will undoubtedly be lost, and I had counted upon this magnificent bounty.Carrambo! we shall get nothing but a wreck.”The dangerous situation of the schooner was of course known in the fort, where it had already created considerable confusion. This was now changed into consternation by the approach of the insurgents; and the wild war-cry of Galeana, as he sprang forward to the walls, echoed by his followers, and accompanied as it was by loud peals of thunder, produced something like a panic among the ranks of the Spanish garrison. So sudden was the attack, and so completely unexpected, that it could scarcely fail of success; and indeed, after a short hand-to-hand combat, one portion of the garrison fled, while the other surrendered without conditions to the triumphant Galeana.Scarcely had the last shot been fired, and the fort delivered up to the victors, when the schooner, striking violently upon a sharp reef, leant over to one side, and, like a steed gored by the horns of the bull, the sides of the vessel were opened, and she began to sink among the foaming waves. The victors on shore thought no more of enemies, but now bent all their energies towards saving the unfortunate mariners, whose lives were thus placed in peril. By means of lazoes flung from the beach, most of the latter were rescued from the death that threatened them.The sun soon after cast his yellow beams over the agitated bosom of the ocean, but his rising had no effect in calming the tempest. The storm continued to rage as furiously as ever.Just as the last of the shipwrecked sailors had been got safely on shore, a flag running up to the signal-staff of the fort announced that a new sail was seen in the offing. In a few minutes after a vessel was perceived in the roadstead of the bay, struggling against the storm, and endeavouring to stand outward to sea.This intention the adverse winds seemed trying to prevent; and driven by these out of her course, the strange ship passed so near the isle of Roqueta that those in the fort could see the people on board, and even distinguish the uniforms and faces of the officers upon the quarterdeck. It was evident that the vessel thus coasting past Acapulco was a man-of-war; and the uniforms of the officers aboard of her could plainly be distinguished as that of the Spanish navy. One was dressed somewhat differently from the rest. His costume was military, not naval. It was that of an officer of dragoons. Costal, Clara, and Captain Lantejas were standing on the parapet of the fort, observing the manoeuvres of the strange ship, when the keen eyes of the Indian became fixed on this officer.He was a man in the full vigour of youth and strength—as was testified by his erect and graceful figure, and by the rich masses of dark hair that clustered under his laced cap; but an air of profound melancholy seemed resting upon his features, and it was evident that some secret care was occupying his thoughts far more than the storm or its dangers!“Do you recognise the officer, yonder?” inquired Costal pointing him out to Clara and Don Cornelio.“No,” replied Lantejas, “I don’t remember ever having seen him before.”“He is the same,” rejoined Costal, “whom we three formerly knew as a captain of the Queen’s dragoons—Don Rafael Tres-Villas. He is nowColonelTres-Villas.”“Por Dios!” interposed a soldier who was standing near, and who had come from the state of Oajaca. “Colonel Tres-Villas! That is he who nailed the head of Antonio Valdez to the gate of his hacienda!”“The same,” assented Costal.“Carrambo!” cried another soldier, “that is the officer who, after capturing the town of Aguas Calientes, caused the hair to be cropped from the heads of three hundred women who were his prisoners!”“It is said that he had his reasons for doing so,” muttered Costal, in reply.“Whether or no,” said the soldier, “if he comes this way, he’ll get punished for it.”Just as the soldier spoke, the ship became enveloped in a mass of fog—at that moment spreading over the water—and was lost to the view of the people on the isle. When she became visible again, it was seen that she was standing out to sea. By a favourable turn which the wind had taken, she was enabled to gain the offing, and was soon receding from view upon the distant horizon.Costal was correct in his identification. The officer thus accidentally seen, and who was a passenger on board the man-of-war, was indeed Don Rafael Tres-Villas, who from one of the northern ports was now on his return to Oajaca, bearing with him to the shores of Tehuantepec a profound and incurable melancholy.The capture of the isle of La Roqueta was an important step towards the taking of Acapulco. The town itself had fallen into the hands of the insurgents, almost at the same instant; for Morelos, according to agreement, on perceiving the signals of Hermenegildo, had directed his attack upon the town, and so brusquely that the place was carried by acoup de main.The possession of La Roqueta enabled the insurgent general to intercept the supplies of the citadel garrison; and shortly after the fortress itself was compelled to surrender.This conquest, with which the humblecurahad been derisively entrusted, rendered him master of the whole southern part of Mexico—from the shores of the Pacific Ocean, almost to the gates of the capital of New Spain. Twenty-two battles had he gained from that day, when, accompanied by his two domestics, he rode forth from the village of Caracuaro to raise in Oajaca the banner of the insurrection. To that province, after the taking of Acapulco, it was necessary for him to proceed with his victorious army—in order to assist the insurgents then besieged in the town of Huajapam. Thither, but some days preceding him, shall we conduct the reader, in order that we may once more return to the hero of our predilection.

It was in vain that Don Cornelio attempted to sleep. Although more than a year of campaigning and the experience of many sanguinary engagements had inured him to danger, there was something in the peril to which he was now exposed that was altogether novel and unpleasant.

Their leader had provided against retreat, and to conquer or die had become a positive obligation of the expeditionary force. This was sufficient to keep the involuntary soldier awake for the remainder of the night.

He passed the time in reflecting upon the singularcontretempsthat had so interfered with his plans of life, and changed, as it were, his very destiny. He could now only entertain but one hope and wish, and that was that the fortress of Acapulco should be taken as soon as possible: since upon that event being completed, Morelos had promised to grant him leave of absence from the army.

In about an hour afterwards, Costal returned from his scout, and reported to him the result of his explorations, which he had already detailed to the Marshal.

According to the information collected by the Indian, the Spanish garrison consisted of about two hundred men; who were entrenched in a small earthwork on the southern side of the isle, and not more than cannon-shot distance from the Mexican encampment. Two field pieces, set in battery, defended the work; and the schooner, whose unlucky shot had swamped the canoe, lay at a cable’s length from the land, in a little bay that ran up to the fort.

The Mexican leader now knew the position of his enemy, their numbers, and means of defence; and, as soon as the dawn began to appear, he summoned his little band, and formed them into rank. At the same time he caused the signal rockets to be carried to an eminence that was near their encampment.

“Now,muchachos!” said he, addressing his soldiers in an undertone, “whatever point we attack, may be considered as taken. We are about to assault the enemy. We may therefore at once announce to our general-in-chief, without fear of disappointment, that the isle and fortress of La Roqueta are in our hands. I have promised it.”

And without awaiting a reply from any one, the Marshal took the cigar from his lips, and held the burning end of it to the fuse of one of the rockets.

The piece of hemp became kindled at the touch, and the moment after the rocket rose hissing into the air, and described a circle of vivid red against the grey background of the sky. A second rocket was sent up, which traced an ellipse of white light; and then a third, whose reflection was a brilliant green.

“Red, white, and green!” cried Galeana, “our national colour. It is the signal I agreed upon with our General, to announce to him the capture of the isle. Our comrades in the Mexican camp have by this time seen the signal. They believe we have triumphed, and we must not deceive them. Forward to victory!”

On issuing the command, Galeana bounded lightly forward and placed himself at the head of his men; and the whole troop, guided by Costal, advanced at a rapid pace towards the enemy.

As they approached the fort, cries of distress were heard in that direction, which at first filled the assailants with surprise. The cause, however, was soon apparent. The cries came not from the fort, but from the schooner, which was now seen through an opening between the trees struggling against the storm, and fast drifting among breakers! A row of jagged rocks stretched along to leeward; and from driving upon these rocks, the sailors aboard of her were vainly endeavouring to restrain the ill-fated vessel.

The latter, during the violence of the wind, had dragged her anchors, and was now fast hastening to destruction.

“Jesus Maria!” exclaimed Galeana at the sight. “Comrades, what a pity! She will undoubtedly be lost, and I had counted upon this magnificent bounty.Carrambo! we shall get nothing but a wreck.”

The dangerous situation of the schooner was of course known in the fort, where it had already created considerable confusion. This was now changed into consternation by the approach of the insurgents; and the wild war-cry of Galeana, as he sprang forward to the walls, echoed by his followers, and accompanied as it was by loud peals of thunder, produced something like a panic among the ranks of the Spanish garrison. So sudden was the attack, and so completely unexpected, that it could scarcely fail of success; and indeed, after a short hand-to-hand combat, one portion of the garrison fled, while the other surrendered without conditions to the triumphant Galeana.

Scarcely had the last shot been fired, and the fort delivered up to the victors, when the schooner, striking violently upon a sharp reef, leant over to one side, and, like a steed gored by the horns of the bull, the sides of the vessel were opened, and she began to sink among the foaming waves. The victors on shore thought no more of enemies, but now bent all their energies towards saving the unfortunate mariners, whose lives were thus placed in peril. By means of lazoes flung from the beach, most of the latter were rescued from the death that threatened them.

The sun soon after cast his yellow beams over the agitated bosom of the ocean, but his rising had no effect in calming the tempest. The storm continued to rage as furiously as ever.

Just as the last of the shipwrecked sailors had been got safely on shore, a flag running up to the signal-staff of the fort announced that a new sail was seen in the offing. In a few minutes after a vessel was perceived in the roadstead of the bay, struggling against the storm, and endeavouring to stand outward to sea.

This intention the adverse winds seemed trying to prevent; and driven by these out of her course, the strange ship passed so near the isle of Roqueta that those in the fort could see the people on board, and even distinguish the uniforms and faces of the officers upon the quarterdeck. It was evident that the vessel thus coasting past Acapulco was a man-of-war; and the uniforms of the officers aboard of her could plainly be distinguished as that of the Spanish navy. One was dressed somewhat differently from the rest. His costume was military, not naval. It was that of an officer of dragoons. Costal, Clara, and Captain Lantejas were standing on the parapet of the fort, observing the manoeuvres of the strange ship, when the keen eyes of the Indian became fixed on this officer.

He was a man in the full vigour of youth and strength—as was testified by his erect and graceful figure, and by the rich masses of dark hair that clustered under his laced cap; but an air of profound melancholy seemed resting upon his features, and it was evident that some secret care was occupying his thoughts far more than the storm or its dangers!

“Do you recognise the officer, yonder?” inquired Costal pointing him out to Clara and Don Cornelio.

“No,” replied Lantejas, “I don’t remember ever having seen him before.”

“He is the same,” rejoined Costal, “whom we three formerly knew as a captain of the Queen’s dragoons—Don Rafael Tres-Villas. He is nowColonelTres-Villas.”

“Por Dios!” interposed a soldier who was standing near, and who had come from the state of Oajaca. “Colonel Tres-Villas! That is he who nailed the head of Antonio Valdez to the gate of his hacienda!”

“The same,” assented Costal.

“Carrambo!” cried another soldier, “that is the officer who, after capturing the town of Aguas Calientes, caused the hair to be cropped from the heads of three hundred women who were his prisoners!”

“It is said that he had his reasons for doing so,” muttered Costal, in reply.

“Whether or no,” said the soldier, “if he comes this way, he’ll get punished for it.”

Just as the soldier spoke, the ship became enveloped in a mass of fog—at that moment spreading over the water—and was lost to the view of the people on the isle. When she became visible again, it was seen that she was standing out to sea. By a favourable turn which the wind had taken, she was enabled to gain the offing, and was soon receding from view upon the distant horizon.

Costal was correct in his identification. The officer thus accidentally seen, and who was a passenger on board the man-of-war, was indeed Don Rafael Tres-Villas, who from one of the northern ports was now on his return to Oajaca, bearing with him to the shores of Tehuantepec a profound and incurable melancholy.

The capture of the isle of La Roqueta was an important step towards the taking of Acapulco. The town itself had fallen into the hands of the insurgents, almost at the same instant; for Morelos, according to agreement, on perceiving the signals of Hermenegildo, had directed his attack upon the town, and so brusquely that the place was carried by acoup de main.

The possession of La Roqueta enabled the insurgent general to intercept the supplies of the citadel garrison; and shortly after the fortress itself was compelled to surrender.

This conquest, with which the humblecurahad been derisively entrusted, rendered him master of the whole southern part of Mexico—from the shores of the Pacific Ocean, almost to the gates of the capital of New Spain. Twenty-two battles had he gained from that day, when, accompanied by his two domestics, he rode forth from the village of Caracuaro to raise in Oajaca the banner of the insurrection. To that province, after the taking of Acapulco, it was necessary for him to proceed with his victorious army—in order to assist the insurgents then besieged in the town of Huajapam. Thither, but some days preceding him, shall we conduct the reader, in order that we may once more return to the hero of our predilection.

Chapter Thirty Nine.The Plain of Huajapam.It was a morning of June, just before the commencement of the rainy season—at that period of the day and year when the tropic sun of Southern Mexico is least endurable. His fervid rays, striking perpendicularly downward, had heated like smouldering ashes the dusty plain of Huajapam, which lay like a vast amphitheatre surrounded by hills—so distant that their blue outlines were almost confounded with the azure sky above them. On this plain was presented a tableau of sadness and desolation, such as the destructive genius of man often composes with demoniac skill.On one side, as far as the eye could reach, horsemen could be seen hurrying about the plain in the midst of pillaged houses—some of which had been given to the flames. Under the hoofs of these horses, as they dashed recklessly to and fro, were crushed rich treasures that had been sacked from the deserted dwellings, and now lay scattered upon the ground, tempting only the hand of the thievish camp-follower. The soil, defiled in every way, presented only a scanty growth of bruised herbage, upon which the horseman disdained to pasture his steed.Here and there groups of black vultures told where some dead body of horse or rider had been abandoned to their voracity; while thecoyotestrotted in troops far out from the mountain ridge, going to or returning from their hideous repast.Looking over the plain in another direction, the standard of Spain could be seen floating over the tents of the royalist camp, whose night-fires still sent up their lines of bluish smoke; while from the same quarter could be heard the neighing of horses, the rolling of drums, and the startling calls of the cavalry bugles.Farther off in the same direction—above the low, flat-shapedazotéasof a village—could be seen the domes and belfries of several churches, all breached with bombs or riddled with round shot. This village lay at the distance of a few hundred yards from the lines of the royalist camp, and was evidently besieged by the latter. Rude earthworks could be perceived extending between the scattered suburbs, upon which a few pieces of cannon were mounted, and pointing towards the entrenchments of the Spanish encampment. Between the hostile lines the plain was unoccupied, save by the dead bodies of men and horses that lay unburied on the dusty surface of the soil.The village in question—or town it might rather be called—was the famous Huajapam, that now for more than three months had been defended by a body of three hundred insurgents against a royalist force of five times their number! The heroic leader of this gallant resistance was Colonel Don Valerio Trujano.At mention of this name the reader will call to mind the noble muleteer Trujano, whose firm voice he has heard intoning theDe profundisandIn manuswhile struggling against the inundation. Beyond a doubt his religious zeal had inspired the besieged of Huajapam: for, every now and then, from out the sad and desolate town may be heard the voices of his men, chanting in chorus some sacred song or prayer to the God of battles!In that moment when the priests of Huajapam have left the altar to take part in the defence of their town, there will be observed, neither in their acts nor words, aught to recall their former profession. At such a time Don Valerio Trujano may be said to reproduce one of those ascetic heroes of the old religious wars—great repeaters ofpaternosters, whose blows always fell without mercy, and who marched into battle reciting quotations from Scripture. Perhaps he might be more happily likened to one of the old Templars, careless of personal renown, kneeling to pray in front of the foe, and charging upon the Saracen to the accompaniment of that famous psalm, “Quare fremuerunt gentes?”Such was the appearance which the plain of Huajapam presented on the morning in question: houses smoking and in ruins—dead bodies scattered over the ground—vultures wheeling above—the royalist banner face to face with the banner of the insurrection.We shall first enter the camp of the besiegers, where the Brigadier Bonavia, governor of Oajaca, held command—assisted by the Spanish generals, Caldelas and Regules.At an early hour of the morning two dragoons, who had been scouring the distant plain, were seen returning to the lines of the encampment, conducting with them a third horseman, evidently a stranger to the camp. This was on the side, opposite to that on which lay the town of Huajapam. The horseman, guided by these dragoons, was costumed as a vaquero—that is, he wore a jacket and wide calzoneros of brick-coloured deerskin, with a huge sombrero of black glaze on his head, and a speckled blanket folded over the croup of his saddle. He had already reported himself to the dragoons as the bearer of a message to the colonel—Don Rafael Tres-Villas. Furthermore, in addition to the horse on which he rode, he was leading another—a noble steed of a bay-brown colour.This animal, startled at the sight and smell of the dead bodies among which they were passing, gave out from time to time a snorting of a peculiar character, which had drawn the attention of the dragoons.These, after conducting the vaquero through a portion of the camp, halted in front of one of the largest tents. There a groom was saddling another steed, in strength and beauty but little inferior to that led by the vaquero. It was the war-horse of Colonel Tres-Villas, of whom the groom in question was theassistente.“What is your name,amigo?” demanded the latter, addressing himself to the vaquero.“Julian,” replied the stranger. “I am one of the servitors of the hacienda Del Valle. Colonel Tres-Villas is its proprietor, and I have a message for him of great importance.”“Very well,” responded the other, “I shall tell the Colonel you are here.”So saying, theassistenteentered the tent.On that day the besieging army was about to make the fifteenth attack upon the town, defended by Colonel Trujano, and Don Rafael was dressing himself in full uniform to assist at the council of war, called together to deliberate on the plan of assault.At the word “messenger” pronounced by his military servant, a slight trembling was seen to agitate the frame of Colonel Tres-Villas, while his countenance became suddenly overspread with pallor.“Very well,” stammered he, after a moment’s hesitation, and in a voice that betrayed emotion. “I know the messenger; you may leave him free; I shall answer for him. Presently let him come him in.”Theassistentestepped out of the tent and delivered this response of the Colonel. The dragoons rode off, leaving the vaquero free to communicate to his master the message of which he was the bearer.It is here necessary for us to detail some portion of the history of Don Rafael, from the time when he took his departure at full gallop from the hacienda Del Valle, up to that hour when we again encounter him in the royalist camp before Huajapam.When the first shock of grief, caused by the murder of his father—when that terrible struggle betwixt love and duty, had passed, and his spirit become a little calmer—the only line of conduct that appeared possible for him, was to repair at once to Oajaca; and, having found its governor, Don Bernardino Bonavia, obtain from him a detachment of troops, with which he might return and punish the insurgent assassins.Unfortunately for Don Rafael, notwithstanding the distinguished reception accorded to him by the governor, the latter could not place at his disposal a single soldier. The province was already in such a state of fermentation, that all the men under his command were required to keep in check the revolt that threatened to break out in the provincial capital itself. Don Rafael therefore could not prevail upon the governor to enfeeble the garrison of Oajaca, by detaching any portion of it on so distant a service as an expedition to the hacienda Del Valle.While negotiating, however, word reached him of a royalist corps that was being raised at no great distance from Oajaca, by a Spanish officer, Don Juan Antonio Caldelas. Don Rafael, urged on by a thirst for vengeance, hastened to join the band of Caldelas, who on his part at once agreed to place his handful of men at the disposal of the dragoon captain for the pursuit of Valdez. Of course Caldelas had himself no personal animosity against the insurgent leader; but believing that the destruction of his band would crush the insurrection in the province, he was the more ready to co-operate with Don Rafael.Both together marched against Valdez, and encountered him and his followers at thecerroof Chacahua, where the ex-vaquero had entrenched himself. An action was fought, which resulted in Valdez being driven from his entrenchments, but without Don Rafael being able to possess himself of his person, a thing he desired even more than a victory over his band.A fortnight was spent in vain searches, and still the guerilla chief continued to escape the vengeance of his unrelenting pursuer. At the end of that period, however, the insurgents were once more tempted to try a battle with the followers of Don Rafael and Caldelas. It proved a sanguinary action, in which the royalists were victorious. The scattered followers of Valdez, when reunited at the rendezvous agreed upon in the event of their being defeated, perceived that their leader was missing from among them.Alive they never saw him again. His dead body was found some distance from the field of battle, and around it the traces of a struggle which had ended in his death. The body was headless, but the head was afterwards discovered, nailed to the gate of the hacienda Del Valle, with the features so disfigured that his most devoted adherents would not have recognised them but for an inscription underneath. It was the name of the insurgent, with that of the man who had beheaded him, Don Rafael Tres-Villas.Valdez had fled from the field after the defeat of his followers. Before proceeding far, he heard behind him the hoarse snorting of a steed. It was the bay-brown of Don Rafael.In a few bounds the insurgent was overtaken. A short struggle took place between the two horsemen; but the ex-vaquero, notwithstanding his equestrian skill, was seized in the powerful grasp of the dragoon officer, lifted clear out of his saddle, and dashed with violence to the earth. Before he could recover himself, the lasso of Don Rafael—equally skilled in the use of this singular weapon—was coiled around him; and his body, after being dragged for some distance at the tail of the officer’s horse, lay lifeless and mutilated along the ground. Such was the end of Antonio Valdez.

It was a morning of June, just before the commencement of the rainy season—at that period of the day and year when the tropic sun of Southern Mexico is least endurable. His fervid rays, striking perpendicularly downward, had heated like smouldering ashes the dusty plain of Huajapam, which lay like a vast amphitheatre surrounded by hills—so distant that their blue outlines were almost confounded with the azure sky above them. On this plain was presented a tableau of sadness and desolation, such as the destructive genius of man often composes with demoniac skill.

On one side, as far as the eye could reach, horsemen could be seen hurrying about the plain in the midst of pillaged houses—some of which had been given to the flames. Under the hoofs of these horses, as they dashed recklessly to and fro, were crushed rich treasures that had been sacked from the deserted dwellings, and now lay scattered upon the ground, tempting only the hand of the thievish camp-follower. The soil, defiled in every way, presented only a scanty growth of bruised herbage, upon which the horseman disdained to pasture his steed.

Here and there groups of black vultures told where some dead body of horse or rider had been abandoned to their voracity; while thecoyotestrotted in troops far out from the mountain ridge, going to or returning from their hideous repast.

Looking over the plain in another direction, the standard of Spain could be seen floating over the tents of the royalist camp, whose night-fires still sent up their lines of bluish smoke; while from the same quarter could be heard the neighing of horses, the rolling of drums, and the startling calls of the cavalry bugles.

Farther off in the same direction—above the low, flat-shapedazotéasof a village—could be seen the domes and belfries of several churches, all breached with bombs or riddled with round shot. This village lay at the distance of a few hundred yards from the lines of the royalist camp, and was evidently besieged by the latter. Rude earthworks could be perceived extending between the scattered suburbs, upon which a few pieces of cannon were mounted, and pointing towards the entrenchments of the Spanish encampment. Between the hostile lines the plain was unoccupied, save by the dead bodies of men and horses that lay unburied on the dusty surface of the soil.

The village in question—or town it might rather be called—was the famous Huajapam, that now for more than three months had been defended by a body of three hundred insurgents against a royalist force of five times their number! The heroic leader of this gallant resistance was Colonel Don Valerio Trujano.

At mention of this name the reader will call to mind the noble muleteer Trujano, whose firm voice he has heard intoning theDe profundisandIn manuswhile struggling against the inundation. Beyond a doubt his religious zeal had inspired the besieged of Huajapam: for, every now and then, from out the sad and desolate town may be heard the voices of his men, chanting in chorus some sacred song or prayer to the God of battles!

In that moment when the priests of Huajapam have left the altar to take part in the defence of their town, there will be observed, neither in their acts nor words, aught to recall their former profession. At such a time Don Valerio Trujano may be said to reproduce one of those ascetic heroes of the old religious wars—great repeaters ofpaternosters, whose blows always fell without mercy, and who marched into battle reciting quotations from Scripture. Perhaps he might be more happily likened to one of the old Templars, careless of personal renown, kneeling to pray in front of the foe, and charging upon the Saracen to the accompaniment of that famous psalm, “Quare fremuerunt gentes?”

Such was the appearance which the plain of Huajapam presented on the morning in question: houses smoking and in ruins—dead bodies scattered over the ground—vultures wheeling above—the royalist banner face to face with the banner of the insurrection.

We shall first enter the camp of the besiegers, where the Brigadier Bonavia, governor of Oajaca, held command—assisted by the Spanish generals, Caldelas and Regules.

At an early hour of the morning two dragoons, who had been scouring the distant plain, were seen returning to the lines of the encampment, conducting with them a third horseman, evidently a stranger to the camp. This was on the side, opposite to that on which lay the town of Huajapam. The horseman, guided by these dragoons, was costumed as a vaquero—that is, he wore a jacket and wide calzoneros of brick-coloured deerskin, with a huge sombrero of black glaze on his head, and a speckled blanket folded over the croup of his saddle. He had already reported himself to the dragoons as the bearer of a message to the colonel—Don Rafael Tres-Villas. Furthermore, in addition to the horse on which he rode, he was leading another—a noble steed of a bay-brown colour.

This animal, startled at the sight and smell of the dead bodies among which they were passing, gave out from time to time a snorting of a peculiar character, which had drawn the attention of the dragoons.

These, after conducting the vaquero through a portion of the camp, halted in front of one of the largest tents. There a groom was saddling another steed, in strength and beauty but little inferior to that led by the vaquero. It was the war-horse of Colonel Tres-Villas, of whom the groom in question was theassistente.

“What is your name,amigo?” demanded the latter, addressing himself to the vaquero.

“Julian,” replied the stranger. “I am one of the servitors of the hacienda Del Valle. Colonel Tres-Villas is its proprietor, and I have a message for him of great importance.”

“Very well,” responded the other, “I shall tell the Colonel you are here.”

So saying, theassistenteentered the tent.

On that day the besieging army was about to make the fifteenth attack upon the town, defended by Colonel Trujano, and Don Rafael was dressing himself in full uniform to assist at the council of war, called together to deliberate on the plan of assault.

At the word “messenger” pronounced by his military servant, a slight trembling was seen to agitate the frame of Colonel Tres-Villas, while his countenance became suddenly overspread with pallor.

“Very well,” stammered he, after a moment’s hesitation, and in a voice that betrayed emotion. “I know the messenger; you may leave him free; I shall answer for him. Presently let him come him in.”

Theassistentestepped out of the tent and delivered this response of the Colonel. The dragoons rode off, leaving the vaquero free to communicate to his master the message of which he was the bearer.

It is here necessary for us to detail some portion of the history of Don Rafael, from the time when he took his departure at full gallop from the hacienda Del Valle, up to that hour when we again encounter him in the royalist camp before Huajapam.

When the first shock of grief, caused by the murder of his father—when that terrible struggle betwixt love and duty, had passed, and his spirit become a little calmer—the only line of conduct that appeared possible for him, was to repair at once to Oajaca; and, having found its governor, Don Bernardino Bonavia, obtain from him a detachment of troops, with which he might return and punish the insurgent assassins.

Unfortunately for Don Rafael, notwithstanding the distinguished reception accorded to him by the governor, the latter could not place at his disposal a single soldier. The province was already in such a state of fermentation, that all the men under his command were required to keep in check the revolt that threatened to break out in the provincial capital itself. Don Rafael therefore could not prevail upon the governor to enfeeble the garrison of Oajaca, by detaching any portion of it on so distant a service as an expedition to the hacienda Del Valle.

While negotiating, however, word reached him of a royalist corps that was being raised at no great distance from Oajaca, by a Spanish officer, Don Juan Antonio Caldelas. Don Rafael, urged on by a thirst for vengeance, hastened to join the band of Caldelas, who on his part at once agreed to place his handful of men at the disposal of the dragoon captain for the pursuit of Valdez. Of course Caldelas had himself no personal animosity against the insurgent leader; but believing that the destruction of his band would crush the insurrection in the province, he was the more ready to co-operate with Don Rafael.

Both together marched against Valdez, and encountered him and his followers at thecerroof Chacahua, where the ex-vaquero had entrenched himself. An action was fought, which resulted in Valdez being driven from his entrenchments, but without Don Rafael being able to possess himself of his person, a thing he desired even more than a victory over his band.

A fortnight was spent in vain searches, and still the guerilla chief continued to escape the vengeance of his unrelenting pursuer. At the end of that period, however, the insurgents were once more tempted to try a battle with the followers of Don Rafael and Caldelas. It proved a sanguinary action, in which the royalists were victorious. The scattered followers of Valdez, when reunited at the rendezvous agreed upon in the event of their being defeated, perceived that their leader was missing from among them.

Alive they never saw him again. His dead body was found some distance from the field of battle, and around it the traces of a struggle which had ended in his death. The body was headless, but the head was afterwards discovered, nailed to the gate of the hacienda Del Valle, with the features so disfigured that his most devoted adherents would not have recognised them but for an inscription underneath. It was the name of the insurgent, with that of the man who had beheaded him, Don Rafael Tres-Villas.

Valdez had fled from the field after the defeat of his followers. Before proceeding far, he heard behind him the hoarse snorting of a steed. It was the bay-brown of Don Rafael.

In a few bounds the insurgent was overtaken. A short struggle took place between the two horsemen; but the ex-vaquero, notwithstanding his equestrian skill, was seized in the powerful grasp of the dragoon officer, lifted clear out of his saddle, and dashed with violence to the earth. Before he could recover himself, the lasso of Don Rafael—equally skilled in the use of this singular weapon—was coiled around him; and his body, after being dragged for some distance at the tail of the officer’s horse, lay lifeless and mutilated along the ground. Such was the end of Antonio Valdez.

Chapter Forty.Fatal Misunderstandings.The death of this first victim, offered to the manes of his murdered father, had to some extent the effect of appeasing the vengeful passion of Don Rafael. At all events his spirit became calmer; and other sentiments long slumbering at the bottom of his heart began to usurp their sway. He perceived the necessity of justifying his conduct—which he knew must appear inexplicable—to the inhabitants of the hacienda Las Palmas. Had he done so at that moment all would have been well; but unfortunately a certain spirit of pride interfered to hinder him. A son who had punished the murderer of his father, ought he to excuse himself for what he felt to be a holy duty? Moreover, could he expect pardon for becoming the enemy of a cause he could no longer call his own?This haughty silence on the part of Don Rafael could not do otherwise than complete the ruin of his hopes, and render still more impassable the gulf that had been so suddenly and unexpectedly opened up between his love and his duty.The news of Valdez’ death—brought to the hacienda of Las Palmas by a passing messenger—together with the tenour of the inscription that revealed the author of it, had fallen like a bomb-shell into the family circle of Don Mariano de Silva. Unfortunately the same messenger had failed to report the assassination of Don Luis Tres-Villas—for the simple reason that he had not heard of it. His hosts, therefore, remained ignorant of the cause of this terrible reprisal.From that moment, therefore, the family of Las Palmas could not do otherwise than regard the dragoon captain as a traitor, who, under the pretence of the purest patriotism, had concealed the most ardent sympathies for the oppressors of his country. Nevertheless the love of Gertrudis essayed that justification, which the pride of Don Rafael had restrained him from making.“O my father!” exclaimed she, overwhelmed with grief, “do not judge him too hastily. It is impossible he can be a traitor to his country’s cause. One day—I am sure of it—one day, he will send a message to explain what has occurred.”“And when he does explain,” responded Don Mariano, with bitterness, “will he be less a traitor to his country? No—we need not hope. He will not even attempt to justify his unworthy conduct.”In fine, the message came not; and Gertrudis was compelled to devour her grief in silence.Nevertheless the audacious defiance to the insurrection implied in the act of Don Rafael, and the inscription that announced it, had something in it of a chivalric character, which was not displeasing to the spirit of Gertrudis. It did not fail to plead the cause of the absent lover; and at one time her affection was even reconquered—that is, when it came to be known that the head of the insurgent chief had replaced that of Don Rafael’s father, and that it was blood that had been paid for blood.If in that crisis the captain had presented himself, Don Mariano, it is true, might not have consented to his daughter forming an alliance with a renegade to the Mexican cause. The profound patriotism of the haciendado might have revolted at such a connection; but an explanation, frank and sincere, would have expelled from the thoughts both of himself and his daughter all idea of treason or disloyalty on the part of Don Rafael. The latter, ignorant of the fact that the news of his father’s death had not reached Las Palmas—until a period posterior to the report of that of Valdez—very naturally neglected the favourable moment for anéclaircissement.How many irreparable misfortunes spring from that same cause—misunderstanding!The two captains, Caldelas and Tres-Villas, soon transformed the hacienda of Del Valle into a species of fortress, which some species of cannon, received from the governor of the province, enabled them to do. In strength the place might defy any attack which the insurgent bands of the neighbourhood could direct against it.During the constant excursions which he made against the other two assassins of his father, Arroyo and Bocardo, Don Rafael left the charge of their citadel to the Captain Caldelas.Listening only to the whisperings of his heart, he had finished by making a compromise between his love and his pride. Repelling the idea of communicating by a messenger, he had at one time resolved to present himself in person at the hacienda of Las Palmas; but, carried forward by the ardour of his vengeance, he dreaded that an interview with Gertrudis might have the effect of weakening his resolution; and for this reason he deferred seeking the interview, until he should complete the accomplishment of that rash vow made over the grave of his murdered parent.Notwithstanding the almost superhuman efforts which he daily made in the pursuit of the insurgents, the result was not such as to appease his spirit of vengeance. Man by man did he accomplish the destruction of their band; but both the leaders still contrived to escape. In fine, after more than two months had passed since the death of Valdez, the rumour became spread throughout the neighbourhood that Arroyo and Bocardo had quitted the province of Oajaca, and gone northward with the remnant of their guerilla to offer their services to General Hidalgo.On receiving this news Don Rafael, who had been absent on a protracted scout, returned to the hacienda Del Valle. During his absence, an order had arrived from the general-in-chief of the vice-regal army, commanding him to return to duty with his regiment—the Queen’s dragoons.Before obeying this order, however, he resolved on devoting one day to the affairs of his heart; and, permitting his love to conquer his pride, he determined on presenting himself at the hacienda of Las Palmas.Alas! it might now be too late. A justification in the eyes of Don Mariano would now be more difficult than it might have been two months before. During that time appearances had been converted into realities, suspicions into certainties, and Don Rafael was for him no longer aught but a common renegade. Certain words which he was in the habit of repeating to his daughter, told too plainly his opinion of the dragoon captain; and these words rang in the ears of Gertrudis as a sad presentiment which she almost believed already accomplished.“Do not weep for the defection of Don Rafael,” said the haciendado, endeavouring to dry his daughter’s tears. “He will be false to his mistress, as he has been to his country.”What appeared a strange circumstance in the eyes of the father—these words only caused Gertrudis to weep the more abundantly and bitterly!Nevertheless, such had been the former friendship of Don Mariano for the young officer—such the tender passion kindled in the heart of Gertrudis—that it is possible, had Don Rafael even then presented himself before them—his countenance open and beaming with the manly pride of accomplished duty—the frankness of his bearing, and the loyalty of his speech, might have still dissipated the clouds that hung over the heads of all.Unfortunately destiny had decided otherwise. It was not decreed by fate that at that hour Don Rafael should enter, as a friend, the hospitable gates of the hacienda Las Palmas.

The death of this first victim, offered to the manes of his murdered father, had to some extent the effect of appeasing the vengeful passion of Don Rafael. At all events his spirit became calmer; and other sentiments long slumbering at the bottom of his heart began to usurp their sway. He perceived the necessity of justifying his conduct—which he knew must appear inexplicable—to the inhabitants of the hacienda Las Palmas. Had he done so at that moment all would have been well; but unfortunately a certain spirit of pride interfered to hinder him. A son who had punished the murderer of his father, ought he to excuse himself for what he felt to be a holy duty? Moreover, could he expect pardon for becoming the enemy of a cause he could no longer call his own?

This haughty silence on the part of Don Rafael could not do otherwise than complete the ruin of his hopes, and render still more impassable the gulf that had been so suddenly and unexpectedly opened up between his love and his duty.

The news of Valdez’ death—brought to the hacienda of Las Palmas by a passing messenger—together with the tenour of the inscription that revealed the author of it, had fallen like a bomb-shell into the family circle of Don Mariano de Silva. Unfortunately the same messenger had failed to report the assassination of Don Luis Tres-Villas—for the simple reason that he had not heard of it. His hosts, therefore, remained ignorant of the cause of this terrible reprisal.

From that moment, therefore, the family of Las Palmas could not do otherwise than regard the dragoon captain as a traitor, who, under the pretence of the purest patriotism, had concealed the most ardent sympathies for the oppressors of his country. Nevertheless the love of Gertrudis essayed that justification, which the pride of Don Rafael had restrained him from making.

“O my father!” exclaimed she, overwhelmed with grief, “do not judge him too hastily. It is impossible he can be a traitor to his country’s cause. One day—I am sure of it—one day, he will send a message to explain what has occurred.”

“And when he does explain,” responded Don Mariano, with bitterness, “will he be less a traitor to his country? No—we need not hope. He will not even attempt to justify his unworthy conduct.”

In fine, the message came not; and Gertrudis was compelled to devour her grief in silence.

Nevertheless the audacious defiance to the insurrection implied in the act of Don Rafael, and the inscription that announced it, had something in it of a chivalric character, which was not displeasing to the spirit of Gertrudis. It did not fail to plead the cause of the absent lover; and at one time her affection was even reconquered—that is, when it came to be known that the head of the insurgent chief had replaced that of Don Rafael’s father, and that it was blood that had been paid for blood.

If in that crisis the captain had presented himself, Don Mariano, it is true, might not have consented to his daughter forming an alliance with a renegade to the Mexican cause. The profound patriotism of the haciendado might have revolted at such a connection; but an explanation, frank and sincere, would have expelled from the thoughts both of himself and his daughter all idea of treason or disloyalty on the part of Don Rafael. The latter, ignorant of the fact that the news of his father’s death had not reached Las Palmas—until a period posterior to the report of that of Valdez—very naturally neglected the favourable moment for anéclaircissement.

How many irreparable misfortunes spring from that same cause—misunderstanding!

The two captains, Caldelas and Tres-Villas, soon transformed the hacienda of Del Valle into a species of fortress, which some species of cannon, received from the governor of the province, enabled them to do. In strength the place might defy any attack which the insurgent bands of the neighbourhood could direct against it.

During the constant excursions which he made against the other two assassins of his father, Arroyo and Bocardo, Don Rafael left the charge of their citadel to the Captain Caldelas.

Listening only to the whisperings of his heart, he had finished by making a compromise between his love and his pride. Repelling the idea of communicating by a messenger, he had at one time resolved to present himself in person at the hacienda of Las Palmas; but, carried forward by the ardour of his vengeance, he dreaded that an interview with Gertrudis might have the effect of weakening his resolution; and for this reason he deferred seeking the interview, until he should complete the accomplishment of that rash vow made over the grave of his murdered parent.

Notwithstanding the almost superhuman efforts which he daily made in the pursuit of the insurgents, the result was not such as to appease his spirit of vengeance. Man by man did he accomplish the destruction of their band; but both the leaders still contrived to escape. In fine, after more than two months had passed since the death of Valdez, the rumour became spread throughout the neighbourhood that Arroyo and Bocardo had quitted the province of Oajaca, and gone northward with the remnant of their guerilla to offer their services to General Hidalgo.

On receiving this news Don Rafael, who had been absent on a protracted scout, returned to the hacienda Del Valle. During his absence, an order had arrived from the general-in-chief of the vice-regal army, commanding him to return to duty with his regiment—the Queen’s dragoons.

Before obeying this order, however, he resolved on devoting one day to the affairs of his heart; and, permitting his love to conquer his pride, he determined on presenting himself at the hacienda of Las Palmas.

Alas! it might now be too late. A justification in the eyes of Don Mariano would now be more difficult than it might have been two months before. During that time appearances had been converted into realities, suspicions into certainties, and Don Rafael was for him no longer aught but a common renegade. Certain words which he was in the habit of repeating to his daughter, told too plainly his opinion of the dragoon captain; and these words rang in the ears of Gertrudis as a sad presentiment which she almost believed already accomplished.

“Do not weep for the defection of Don Rafael,” said the haciendado, endeavouring to dry his daughter’s tears. “He will be false to his mistress, as he has been to his country.”

What appeared a strange circumstance in the eyes of the father—these words only caused Gertrudis to weep the more abundantly and bitterly!

Nevertheless, such had been the former friendship of Don Mariano for the young officer—such the tender passion kindled in the heart of Gertrudis—that it is possible, had Don Rafael even then presented himself before them—his countenance open and beaming with the manly pride of accomplished duty—the frankness of his bearing, and the loyalty of his speech, might have still dissipated the clouds that hung over the heads of all.

Unfortunately destiny had decided otherwise. It was not decreed by fate that at that hour Don Rafael should enter, as a friend, the hospitable gates of the hacienda Las Palmas.

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