THE SPY OF CARACAS.
Immediately after the victory at La Victoria our three Americans were
forced to part with Francisco, who was to return to the capital with
General Castro, while they were called to Don Isadora's estate, the
owner thinking he had got on the track of a clew to the whereabouts of
Mrs. Rand. The don received them with open arms, he having fully
recovered from the effects of his wounds, but the errand proved
fruitless, and they felt obliged to abandon the quest in this vicinity.
So they again found themselves in La Guayra. But their stay here was
short. Ronie was anxious to get to Caracas, that he might consult with
Mr. Bowen, to see if nothing could be done by him toward finding his
mother. General Castro was also to join with him, and altogether he
felt very hopeful, though aware that his mother might be beyond his
power of help before this. But he was a brave youth, and he resolved
to do all he could and hope for the best.
It has been said that the capital of Venezuela, while only five miles
inland from its port, La Guayra, is situated in the mountains, three
thousand feet above the seashore. The railroad which connects the two
coils about this rugged ascent like a steel lariat thrown by a dextrous
hand, now winding in and out where some bottomless abyss is encircled
like a huge letter U upon the landscape, or anon clinging upon the rim
of some sharp-pointed rock, where the same train creeps around the
angle, showing mortal fear by its snail-like pace. Another has aptly
compared it to a spider's thread strung from crag to crag. Time and
again the engineer can look back from his cab into the windows of the
rear coach, while between him and the object of his gaze yawns a
rock-walled well hundreds of feet in depth.
The young engineers were standing on the rear platform, watching with
admiring gaze the wild scene stretching away from their feet.
"Isn't it grand, magnificent!" exclaimed Harrie. "I never saw its
equal. Did ever you, Jack?"
"Nothing to surpass it, lad; not even the Alpine Pass of the Colorado.
Where can one find a grander combination of sea, plain, valley and
mountain? And whoever saw a greener plain on a bluer sea?"
"Or a sky quite as serene," added Harrie.
Ronie was fain to agree with his enthusiastic companions, while they
admired together the rugged panorama falling away from them to the
foothills trending from the base of the mountain like the huge roots of
some great tree which had burst from their imprisonment in the earth
and stood out as the bold supports of the mighty burden they upheld.
Between these ridges, or leaping from their gnarled sides in silvery
cascades, numerous streams of water made bright bands on the background
of gray and dark green. Below the mountains, groves of royal palms,
standing with park-like regularity and so far apart that their white
trunks shone like pillars cased in silver foil, were to be seen. Out
from among these gleamed the white and yellow roofs of the cottages of
the people. Beyond these glistened the white line of breakers, forever
coming and forever going, leaving only a chalk mark to tell where they
have been but will never be again. Outside of this lay old ocean,
throbbing under the hot, fierce tropical sun like a hunted creature
panting to get its breath, but never resting.
Still up, up, crept the iron conqueror, until it broke the veil of mist
in cloudland, up where the trees were jeweled with dewdrops and the
track reeked with the wine of the sky. At one place they could look
down into three thousand feet of space, and soon after their sight was
gladdened by the view of the valley on the other side and the thrice
welcome sight of Caracas. Again they were pleased by the happy
blending of art and nature, the beautiful country, the basin under its
stupendous rim, the city marked by the towers of its numerous churches,
the dazzling roofs of public buildings, the regular streets lined with
picturesque cottages, the gardens of white houses of the coffee
planters, and beyond more mountains.
Caracas was founded by Diego de Losada in 1567, and named the "City of
Santiago de Leon de Caracas." The picturesque valley which forms its
site was the capital of the heroic tribe of natives known as "the
people of Caracas," which name was very appropriately given to the
capital of the race which after two hundred years of warfare succeeded
in annihilating the original owners of the soil. This long struggle
against the stronger power by the weaker forms one of the most glorious
pages in South American history, and scintillates with deeds of heroism
and human sacrifice.
Now the ascent has been made, they find that the city is overlooked by
mountains smooth and bare of trees, but covered with a light-green
sward, except where some stream affords a band of a darker tint. The
clouds seem of more than northern fleeciness, and hang over the peaks
like smoke, or float lazily from valley to valley, giving varying hues
to the beautiful landscape. The climate is delightful; the first
impressions of the capital pleasing.
Caracas has a population of about eighty thousand, it being the usage
that only one family shall occupy a house. It is a city of culture and
fashion, of public statues to scholars and artists, as well as
warriors, for not all of the history of this interesting republic is
filled with war. While a land of hotheaded people, whose career has
been largely filled with riots and revolutions, here and there are to
be found evidences of a high civilization, producing marked contracts
of the rival forces of man.
What struck our energetic American as unexpected was the air of repose
which rested upon the scene, giving little hint of the excitement
reigning outside. Slowly along the streets, as if there was no
occasion for haste, moved trains of mules bearing on their backs bags
of coffee, or quite enveloped under huge bales of fodder, which had the
appearance at a distance of some huge, lifeless bulk upon legs. Then
there were bodies of foot soldiers, wearing blue uniforms with scarlet
trousers and facings, also moving with a deliberation which at least
bespoke their importance. This sight was enlivened by the appearance
of an open fiacre whirled along the street by a pair of small but fiery
horses, driven by a coachman from his high box seat, the gold trimmings
to his hat and coat rivaled for brightness by the ornaments on his top
boots. Evidently the carriage bore some person of importance in haste
to his destination.
The cause of this undue haste, as well as the disturbance of the
equanimity of this everyday sight, was explained by the sounds of
another party approaching. Then, as the travelers upon the streets
moved with unaccustomed celerity to one side, a body of men mounted
upon high-stepping horses, strikingly caparisoned and carefully
groomed, appeared in sight, the riders presenting a bold effect in
their uniforms of white duck and high black boots.
"The president's bodyguard," said Ronie. "General Castro and his
troops have returned, and we have got here just in the nick of time."
"There is the general riding in the center," declared Harrie. "How the
people are cheering him! It cannot be that they knew of his coming so
soon. Shall we follow them?"
"Perhaps we might as well," said Ronie. "I suppose Francisco is in the
train somewhere. Ay, look, boys! there he comes. Doesn't he look
fine? He has the natural military bearing of his race. Well, I am
glad of his good fortune."
With these words Ronie began to move along with the crowd which had
quickly collected, and cheering lustily began to surge ahead in the
direction taken by the martial train that now moved along the street
farther than they could look. It was not long before they found
themselves surrounded by a jostling, but good-natured, mob, each member
of which seemed determined to keep in sight of the marching column.
The band had now begun to play, and as the strains of martial music
filled the air, Ronie Rand was conscious of hearing a voice muttering
in a deep, sullen tone:
"Curses upon him! His triumph shall be short. Soon shall the sons
of----"
The rest, if spoken aloud, and the words given seemed to have been
uttered involuntarily, were lost to our hero, but he caught his breath
at what he had heard. It was not the import of the words, but the tone
of the speaker which caused such emotion that he could constrain
himself with difficulty from trying to break through the mob and find
him. It was the voice of Manuel Marlin, of San Carlos!
So satisfied was Ronie of this fact that he immediately tried to push
his way forward so as to reach the man, whispering for his companions
to follow. But people in a crowd like that give away slowly, when they
can, and when Ronie had reached the spot where the other must have been
at that time he was missing. Nor could he find any trace of him.
"I am sure it was he," he said to Harrie and Jack, as soon as he
explained his sudden action. "But he has slipped away from me."
"Let's keep along. He will doubtless follow the throng," said Harrie.
So they moved with the spectators toward the most notable building in
Caracas, the Federal Palace, which is built around a great square
overflowing with flowers and fountains, and lighted by swinging
electric lights. The palace is lightly built, and though painted in
imitation of stone, looks like an airy castle which might be blown over
at the next flaw of wind. It is profusely ornamented with statues made
either of plaster of Paris or of wood painted so as to imitate marble.
If this gives the building an unstable appearance and given over to
frivolous amusements, it is in keeping with its environments, the
high-colored walls and open fronts of the adjoining buildings that help
to fill this American Paris, and it is by all odds the handsomest
building in the city. And, rather than given over to scenes of
frivolity and mimic life, here are the chambers of the two branches of
legislature, the different offices of the department of state, and the
reception hall of the president, in which is the national portrait
gallery. The dome of this chamber, which is two hundred feet in
length, and bears many pictures of warlike scenes, is painted with a
panorama of life-size figures depicting the last battle of the
Venezuelans against the Spaniards. It is really a work of artistic
merit. So, altogether, the Federal Palace is a building of substantial
business, and it has played an important part in the shifting affairs
of the republic.
To Guzman Blanco, more than all others, does the city owe these public
buildings. These were originally convents or monasteries, until Guzman
overthrew the power of the church. The Federal Palace was one of these
church buildings, so was the present opera house and the university.
All of them seem well located for their new uses, and go to show that
the church must have had a strong hold on the wealth of the capital
before this daring adventurer overcame them.
Anxious to get sight of this spy, if possible, Ronie and Harrie did not
try to get in so as to witness the president's reception, though Jack
did so, in the hope that he might find the man if he should dare to
remain with the crowd. But the rest of the day passed, however,
without bringing success to them, and the two young engineers were
standing near the entrance to one of those cathedrals which form such
an important portion of the buildings of the capital. They had barely
gained a position where they could watch the comers and goers without
being noticed themselves, when they were glad to see Captain Francisco
de Caprian approaching, with their old-time friend, Jack Greenland.
Naturally, the countenance of the first was radiant with joyous
excitement.
"It has been a great day for Caracas," he said. "President Castro has
reason to be proud of it, as nothing has happened to mar its perfect
harmony. Yet there is a rumor afloat--I know not how it got
started--that there is a secret enemy in the capital, a spy, waiting
for a favorable chance to strike a deadly blow at the hero himself."
"I suppose efforts will be made to capture him?" said Ronie.
"Be assured of that. A handsome reward is offered. Oh, they will get
him, soon or late."
Then a sigh escaped the lips of the handsome young officer, and he
murmured to himself rather than to his companions:
"I would, dear father, you might have been spared to witness this day,
for I believe you would have rejoiced with the rest of us." Then,
suddenly remembering his companions, he said: "Forgive me, senors, but
to me these very shadows of this building are sacred. It was here, in
the last revolution, my dear father, with nine others, made their final
stand and fought so good a fight that it was found necessary to build a
fire in the tower and smoke them out with the fumes of sulphur. Ay, it
was a desperate test for the ten," said Francisco, while his dark eyes
lighted with an intense light and his thin hand quivered spasmodically.
"Did your father and his friends perish?" asked Harrie and Ronie, both
deeply interested in this simple narrative.
"It was their only alternative, senors, for to yield meant death and
torture. Father, let it be said to his credit, gave his companions
opportunity to surrender; but, let it be said to their credit, they
stood bravely together. Then, their last shot spent, and the fumes of
the drug rapidly overpowering them, they threw themselves from the
tower into the street. It is said they went downward to their fate
with clasped hands. I am glad I did not witness the sad sight. But I
believe a brighter day is dawning for poor Venezuela, and that her
brave defenders did not give their lives in vain."
Our three friends were deeply touched with this pathetic story, related
in such gentle tones as to make it seem like some sweet vision rather
than one of grim war's bitter sacrifices. Looking beyond their heroic
companion, they were struck with the peacefulness of their
environments, so well in accord with the manner of the speaker, all
tending to soften the tragic interest of the scene of warlike and
heroic action. Where the ill-fated band of patriots, the last to make
a stand at that time, must have fallen, ran the sunken rails of the
tram cars, and in sight were the notion shops and confectionery stores,
where laughing, prattling children were wont to come to find the simple
toys and playthings to amuse them. At nighttime electric lights
illuminated with their dazzling splendor the now peaceful scene, while
seekers of religious promises wended their way softly in and out of the
old cathedral.
"I am afraid I have made you sad, senors, when there is so much to make
one happy. But I forgot that this is not for you, and that your heart
is heavy, Senor Rand, over the fate of your poor mother. Let us hope
you, too, may soon find your cup of joy full to overflowing."
"Have you heard how Colonel Marchand is?" asked Harrie, seeing that
Ronie did not feel like replying to their friend.
"He is likely to recover, but his campaigning is doubtless over until
some time in the future. Come, senors, I shall insist that you stop
with me to-night, and it is time you seek rest."