DON MIGUEL IS COMMUNICATIVE.
Why, look you, Señor, thus the matter stands:
When one is in a country dangerous,
And night is round him everywhere--'tis wise
To venture nothing till the morning's light,
Lest, in the dark, some hidden pitfall lurk.
Thus stands our fortune. Traitors full of guile
Are in our midst--yet, keeping quiet their plans,
Would gull us into false security.
We know not where to strike--for here, and here,
Danger may lurk, and yet we dare not strike.
The house of Don Miguel Maraquando was situate on one side of the Plaza
de los Hombres Ilustres, opposite to the Cathedral, and near the Calle
Otumba. Like the generality of Mexican mansions, it was built in the
Hispano-Moriscan fashion--a style of architecture peculiarly adapted to
this equatorial climate. Walls of massive stone, impenetrable to heat,
surrounded a patio paved with variegated tiles and brilliant with
tropical flowers. From this patio doors opened into the various rooms
of the house, while above were ranges of sleeping-chambers fronted by a
light iron-railed balcony running round all four sides of the
courtyard. The roof--generally called the azotea--was flat, and in many
houses is used for family gatherings in the warm nights or during a
temperate day. In this case, however, the Maraquando family made use of
the patio, where the heat, particularly at noon, was not so great.
It was a charming spot, cool, bright and airy, with plenty of
brilliant-blossomed flowers standing round the sides in red, porous
jars, and vividly green creepers which twisted round the squat pillars
and clambered to the sunlight by the ladder of the balconies. An old
Aztec sacrificial stone carved with ugly gods occupied the centre of
the court, and here and there appeared misshapen statues of the same
grotesque deities. A light awning, gaily striped with red and white,
made the patio shady, and beneath this were cane chairs for the
accommodation of the lazy, and small tables on which to place
refreshments. It was a veritable castle of indolence, grateful to
day-dreamers, and, as such, peculiarly acceptable to the Cholacacans,
who are the least industrious people on this planet.
Outside, the mansion, with its massive doors and iron rejas, presented
a gloomy and forbidding appearance, more like a prison than a dwelling
house. On entering the door, however, and passing through the dim
zaguan, the internal cheerfulness of the patio was accentuated by the
dullness without. Indeed, the sudden emergence into the light was
somewhat bewildering, as with blue sky above and flower-decorated patio
below, it was some time before the eye became accustomed to the
blinding brilliance of the whole. Graceful architecture, hideous idols,
the splendour of floral treasures, and silver glitter of the walls, the
patio was a most charming spot, and eminently calculated to make life
in this tropical zone remarkably pleasant.
Into this city paradise, created by the hand of man, Jack introduced
his friends, and formally presented them to Don Miguel, Jefe Politico
of Tlatonac, who, having been informed of their arrival, awaited them
in his patio according to the etiquette of the country. He was tall and
lean and dry, with a most astonishing resemblance to Don Quixote as
delineated by the pencil of Doré. For coolness, he wore a white linen
suit, and shaded his austere face with a broad-brimed sombrero, which
latter he removed with infinite grace on the appearance of the
Englishman.
"Welcome, gentlemen, to Tlatonac," he said majestically, in Spanish;
"my house and all therein is at your disposal."
After this hospitable greeting, he insisted that they should seat
themselves in order to partake of some light refreshment. They had the
greatest difficulty in assuring him that they were not hungry; as,
indeed, they had just finished breakfast before leaving the yacht.
Ultimately, in order not to offend their courteous host, they accepted
some pulque, the national beverage of Mexico, and were sorry for the
concession. Jack was used to the drink, and professed to like it; but
the others pronounced it beastly. Those who have tried pulque for the
first time will heartily endorse this opinion.
"Oh, oh!" spluttered Peter, trying to conceal his distaste from their
host; "it's like bad butter-milk."
"What would I not give for a glass of whisky! 'Tis pig-wash, this
same."
"It is certainly not the milk of Paradise," said Philip, in disgust.
Don Miguel had retired for a moment in search of cigars for the party,
so they could express themselves freely to Jack. They took full
advantage of the opportunity.
"The Mexicans say the angels in heaven prefer it to wine," said Jack,
who had finished his glass with great gusto. "They have a proverb:
"'Lo beben, los angeles
En vez de vino.'"
"I can't say much for the angels' taste, then," retorted Philip,
crossly. "Nastier stuff I never drank. Raki is bad enough, but it's
nectar compared with pulque."
Jack laughed heartily at the wry faces made by his friends, and
comforted them after the manner of Job's acquaintances.
"You'll have to drink it, however. Don Miguel will be offended if you
do not."
They all promptly poured the liquor into some of the flower-bearing
jars which happened, fortunately enough, to be handy.
"There," said Peter, triumphantly; "he'll think we have finished it."
"I'll bring a pocket-pistol next time," said Tim, gloomily. "I'll be
having the cholera with this stuff."
"Hush! here is Don Miguel."
Their host returned with a good supply of cigars, which proved to be
more acceptable than the pulque. Maraquando expressed great surprise
that Peter did not smoke.
"What does he say?" asked Peter, woefully ignorant of Spanish.
"That you ought to smoke."
Peter shook his head in disgust.
"Tell Don Miguel tobacco is slow poison."
Maraquando laughed when this was translated to him.
"It must be very slow, Señor," he said, smiling. "I have smoked for
forty years, and yet the poison has not overtaken me as yet."
All laughed at this speech save Peter, who could not appreciate jokes
in the tongue of Castille. Indeed, he began to find his ignorance of
Spanish somewhat annoying, as his friends, who acted as interpreters,
played tricks on him. He became proficient in the tongue when Doña
Serafina took him in hand; but that was many weeks later.
All this time Jack was wondering why Dolores did not appear to welcome
him back. As it was not etiquette to ask directly for the ladies of the
family, he made the inquiry in a roundabout way.
"Your family I trust are well, Señor?"
"They are in excellent health, I thank you, Señor Juan. At present I
have but my daughter with me. Doña Serafina and Dolores are staying for
a few days at my estancio."
This was bad news for Jack; but as Don Miguel's eyes were fixed
inquiringly on his face, he was forced to dissemble his sorrow.
"And Don Rafael?"
"Is at present with his ship at Acauhtzin."
"What! with Don Hypolito?"
The expression on Maraquando's face changed, and he seemed about to
burst out into a furious speech; but, out of courtesy, restrained
himself for the present.
"We will talk of this again," he said, gravely. "I am sure you do not
care about our politics."
"Indeed we do," replied Jack, emphatically. "This
gentleman"--indicating Tim--"is a special correspondent, sent here by a
great English paper, to report on your war."
"Our war!" echoed the Spaniard, with some surprise. "How do you know
there is to be a war?"
"The telegrams to Europe say as much!" interposed Tim, speaking in
Spanish.
"Telegrams sent by Don Hypolito, I have no doubt," responded
Maraquando, grimly. "There will be no war, gentlemen."
"_Carambo! Sacré!_ Damn!" ejaculated Tim, who swore fluently in all
three languages. "I have been tricked, then?"
"Wait a moment, Señor Corresponsal. You will have plenty to write
about; I will tell you some astonishing news shortly. Meanwhile, I must
present you to my daughter, Doña Eulalia."
The girl who appeared at this moment caused them all to rise to their
feet, and assuredly a more beautiful vision could not be seen anywhere.
She was a little sparkling brunette, all eyes and smiles (as Tim
afterwards phrased it), and when she beheld Jack, came forward eagerly
to greet him with outstretched hands.
"Señor Juan," she said, in a deliciously sweet voice, "you have
returned. Ah, how sorry Dol--Doña Serafina will be that she is not here
to greet you."
She gave a side glance at her father on pronouncing the name of Doña
Serafina; and, by that diplomatic substitution, Philip guessed that she
was in the secret of the lovers.
"I trust Doña Serafina will return soon, Señora," said Jack,
significantly, after exchanging courtesies. "I am anxious to see Doña
Serafina."
Eulalia put her black fan up to hide the smile on her lips, and
intimated that she expected her aunt back on the morrow. Nothing was
said of Dolores; but Jack was not so dull a lover as not to know that,
in this case, the lesser Serafina included the greater Dolores.
Meanwhile, neither Tim nor Philip could keep their eyes off this
Spanish beauty, and Don Miguel graciously presented them to his
daughter. As for Peter, he was examining an ugly clay god at the other
end of the court, which showed that he had no eye for beauty.
"At your feet, lady," said Philip, in his best Castillian.
"My hands for your kisses, Señor," she responded, coquettishly, whereat
the baronet felt a strange feeling about the region of his heart.
"Oh, Lord, Lord!" he muttered, as Tim was executing court bows to the
lady. "Great Heaven! this cannot be love at first sight. It must be the
pulque."
He caught Jack's eye at this moment, and saw a derisive smile on that
young man's lips, whereat he smiled also, as if to intimate that he
thought but little of the dainty beauty. Jack knew better, however.
Then Peter was torn away from his Aztec deity, and presented in due
form, making use, at the introduction, of all the Spanish of which he
was master.
"Bueno! Bueno!" quoth Peter, in perplexity, when Philip came to his
rescue.
"Say 'a los pies de usted,' Señora," he whispered quickly.
"I can't remember all that," protested the doctor.
"Try."
"A los pres ud worsted!"
Doña Eulalia put up her fan at the sound of Peter's Spanish; but
understanding the drift of his remark, replied gravely enough:
"Bése usted los manos, Señor."
"What's that, Philip?"
"My hands for your kisses, Señor."
"Will I have to kiss them?" asked Peter, in dismay.
"No; it's only a matter of form."
At this assurance, the doctor was much relieved, and not feeling any
profound interest in a dialogue carried on completely in a foreign
tongue, returned to his examination of the Aztec gods. Maraquando was
already deep in conversation with Jack and Tim, so Philip had Doña
Eulalia all to himself, and made good use of this solitude of two. He
was glad he knew Spanish. 'Tis a pleasant language in which to talk gay
nonsense.
On her side, Eulalia had no strong objection to the company of this
eccentric American--all foreigners are Americans with the
Cholacacans--and though he was a heretic, yet he spoke Spanish
beautifully, and had no lack of pretty sayings at his command. Doña
Eulalia would have flirted with a lepero in default of anything better;
and as Don Felipe was a most desirable young man from every point of
view, she lost no time in making herself agreeable. Philip, the cynic,
enjoyed it greatly, thereby proving that a considerable portion of his
misogamy was humbug. With the hour comes the eternal feminine. This was
the hour--Eulalia the woman. It flashed across Philip's mind at that
moment that he was playing with fire. Confident in his own
imperviousness to fire, he went on playing. Then he burnt himself, and
great was his outcry.
"I always understood," said Cassim to his charming companion, "that
Cholacacan ladies were shut up like nuns."
"A great many of them are, Señor," replied Eulalia, demurely; "but my
father is more liberal in his ideas. He delights in presenting us to
his friends."
"How charming--for the friends."
"And how delightful--for us poor women. I assure you, Señor, that I
would not care to be shut up at all; neither would my cousin Dolores!"
"I have heard of Doña Dolores from Jack!"
Eulalia flashed a glance at him from her glorious dark eyes, bit the
top of her fan, and made an irrelevant observation.
"My cousin admires fair people."
"And Don Juan is fair. Oh, never fear, Señora, I know all."
"All what, Don Filipe?"
"All about fair people!" replied Philip, skilfully, "though, for my
part, I prefer dark ladies."
This last remark was too much even for the audacious coquetry of
Eulalia, and she, glancing uneasily at her father, turned the
conversation with a dexterity begotten by long practice.
"My aunt, Doña Serafina, is dark. She is our duenna, you know. I am
sure you will find her very charming."
"Oh, certainly, Señora, on your recommendation I----"
"And Tlatonac is charming, also," interposed the lady, smartly. "Do you
stay long here, Señor?"
"That depends on--shall we say--Señor Duval."
His intention was to hint Dolores; but Doña Eulalia evidently thought
the acquaintanceship was becoming too intimate, and entrenched herself
behind her fan and a smile.
"Rather does it depend on Don Hypolito."
"Ah! Is there, then, to be a war?"
"I do not know, Señor. My father thinks it likely. If there is, of
course you will go?"
"No! Why should I? Tlatonac has many attractions for me."
"My father will show you all over it to-morrow," rejoined Eulalia, with
a mischievous smile. She knew quite well what he meant, but was not
going to betray such knowledge at such an early period of her
acquaintance. The proprieties must be observed--even in Cholacaca. Mrs.
Grundy is not indigenous to Britain only. She flourished at Tlatonac
under the name of Doña Serafina.
"You came in a steamer, did you not, Señor?"
"Yes; in my yacht, _The Bohemian_."
"Your vessel, Señor?"
"Yes."
Eulalia opened her eyes. This Americano must be very rich to own the
boat she had seen steaming into the harbour. But, then, all Americanos
were rich; though not all so nice as this one.
"You must do me the honour of coming on board, Señora," said Philip,
eagerly. Then, seeing her draw back in alarm at this audacious
proposal, "Of course, with Don Miguel and Doña Serafina. Likewise your
cousin. My friend Don Juan is anxious to see Doña Dolores."
"Hush, Señor!" said Eulalia, quickly, glancing towards her father; "it
is a secret. Do not speak of it now; but let us talk to the Señor
yonder with the spectacles."
"He cannot talk Spanish."
"Oh yes, he can, Señor, I heard him."
She burst out into a merry laugh, and went towards Peter, followed by
the reluctant Cassim. Philip was getting on excellently well, and
rather resented the introduction of a third person into the
conversation, even though it was but harmless Peter. That gentleman
would much rather have been left alone to potter about the patio by
himself; but Doña Eulalia, who saw his embarrassment, wickedly made him
attempt Spanish, much to his discomfiture. Philip translated his
compliments to Eulalia, whereon she smiled so graciously on the little
man that the baronet grew restless, and Peter began to think there were
other things in the world besides butterflies.
Meanwhile Don Miguel was having an interesting conversation with Tim
and Jack concerning the state of affairs prevalent at Tlatonac. He was
much flattered at the idea that a "gran'-diario" of England should take
such an interest in Central American politics, and paid Tim, as the
Señor Corresponsal, such attention, that Jack began to wish he were in
the Irishman's shoes. He would then have a better chance of Dolores. As
for Tim he discoursed blandly, quite unaware of the honours being
showered on him, and when his Spanish failed, took refuge in French;
when that gave out, he supplied his wants with Italian, so that his
conversation savoured of the Tower of Babel and the confusion of
tongues. However, with Jack's assistance, he managed to get along
capitally, and gained a good deal of useful information from the Jefe
Politico. Don Miguel himself was most eloquent on the subject, and
particularly rabid against Xuarez, whom he seemed to hate as only a
Spaniard can hate. Dr. Johnson liked a good hater. He should have met
Don Miguel.
"Don Hypolito is a dangerous man, gentlemen," he said, with cold
malignity; "he wishes to become President of the Republic."
"And why should he not become President?" asked Tim, calmly.
"Because he would use his position to destroy the Constitution of
Cholacaca. We have not forgotten Iturbide and Dr. Francia. Cholacaca
shall never lie at the mercy of a tyrant, as did Mexico and Paraguay.
No, gentlemen. It was not for such an end that we threw off the yoke of
Spain. Republicans we are, Republicans we remain. If Don Hypolito
succeeds, he will find Tlatonac in ruins."
"I don't think that will stop him, Señor," said Jack, lightly. "If he
ruins the old Tlatonac, he can build up a new one."
"Not with peons and Indians," retorted Maraquando, fiercely. "We,
Señor, are Spaniards, and will submit to the tyranny of no man, much
less this Mestizo of a Xuarez."
"What do you propose to do, Don Miguel?"
"The Junta has already decided that. Don Hypolito is to be arrested,
brought here for trial, and banished from the country."
"I don't see how you are going to capture him at Acauhtzin. It is the
headquarters of his party."
Maraquando smiled grimly, and waved his hand contemptuously.
"Xuarez has no party. A few unimportant estancieros believe in him,
certainly; but the whole population of Tlatonac is in favour of the
Government."
"But not the whole population of Cholacaca," said Duval, significantly.
"That is no matter. The Government hold Tlatonac, and, therefore, has
all the power in its own hands. Acauhtzin! a mere village, whose
adherence can do Xuarez no good."
"But if it comes to war?"
"It will not come to war, Señor Corresponsal. The fleet have gone to
Acauhtzin to arrest Xuarez, and bring him here for trial."
"They won't do that easily."
Don Miguel laughed in a saturnine sort of manner, and pulled his
moustache savagely.
"And why not, Señor?" said he slowly. "I think three war-ships, manned
by brave men, are more than sufficient to arrest one traitor."
"That's so," replied Jack, dropping into Americanese, "if you can trust
their crews."
"My son, Don Rafael, commands _The Pizarro_," he said, gravely. "The
Government can trust him and his crew, if no others."
"'One swallow doesn't make a summer,' Don Miguel. That's an English
proverb."
"And a very true one. Where did you hear that our navy was not to be
trusted, Don Juan?"
"Here, and yonder!" said Jack, waving his hand all round the compass.
"I hear this and that, Señor, and think over things. The general
opinion, I find, is that there will be a civil war."
"It needs no prophet to tell that. And afterwards?"
"Señor, it is said the army will support the Junta, but the navy will
strike for Xuarez."
"If I thought so!" growled Maraquando, savagely, under his breath. "If
I--but no, Señor, you are mistaken. My son, Don Rafael, is in the navy,
and many of the officers are his personal friends. He only consorts
with men of honour, Señor. I swear that there is no fear of the navy
revolting. In a few days, our three ships will come back with Don
Hypolito."
Jack shrugged his shoulders. He was a youth of few words, and saw no
reason to waste breath on such obstinacy. All the same, he held to his
opinion. Don Rafael or no Don Rafael, the three war-ships and their
crews were not to be trusted. In spite of his refusal to believe in
such treachery, it seemed as though Don Miguel also had his doubts on
the subject.
"I will see the President about this you speak of, Señor. It is as well
that all things should be guarded against."
"There is one other thing that should be guarded against," said Jack,
gravely. "Doña Serafina and your niece are some distance from the city,
at your estancia. As there may be a war, the country will not be safe.
I suggest that you, Señor, should ride out and escort them back."
"I am afraid I cannot leave the city at this juncture."
"Then let me go, Señor," said Jack, eagerly. "In any event, I will have
to see the railway works; they are near your estancia, you know. Let me
ride over to-morrow, and I will bring them back with me."
"It is too much honour, Señor," replied Maraquando politely. "Still, if
you can spare the time----"
"Oh, that will be all right, Señor. It is settled, then, I will go
to-morrow."
"I am your debtor, Don Juan, and accept the offer with a thousand
thanks. But your friends----"
"Oh, we will look round Tlatonac," said Tim, putting up his
pocket-book, wherein he had been making notes; "and if you will but
introduce me to the President, Señor Maraquando, I shall take it as a
favour. It will be useful to me in my letters to Europe."
"I am at your service, Señor Corresponsal. His Excellency will have
much pleasure in receiving you, I am sure. Bueno!"
"That settles you, Tim," said Duval, in English "Philip can go with
you, unless he prefers to remain with Doña Eulalia. But Peter?"
"Oh, send him after butterflies!"
Duval thought this a good idea, and, turning to Don Miguel, explained
how anxious Peter was in pursuit of insects. Could Don Miguel send him
beyond the city in charge of some one, to hunt for beetles? Maraquando
reflected for a moment, and thought that he could do so. There was an
Indian named Cocom, who would attend to Don Pedro. Unfortunately, he
spoke no English.
"Never mind," said Jack, easily, "when my friend is hunting the wily
butterfly, he speaks to no one. All I desire is that he should have a
guide, so that he be not lost."
"Bueno! I will see that Cocom goes with Don Pedro to-morrow."
Jack called Peter from his interesting conversation with Eulalia, and
explained matters. The doctor was quite agreeable, and wanted to go at
once to the yacht, in order to get his paraphernalia ashore. This
ardent desire, however, was not gratified at the moment, as they could
scarcely take leave of their courteous host in so cavalier a fashion.
"By the way, Jack," said Philip, at this moment, "are we to stay on
board the yacht during our stay here?"
"By no means. We will go to my house."
"What! are you a landed proprietor, Jack?"
"I have a rough kind of diggings, but it's big enough for the lot of
us. Don Miguel," he added, turning to their host, "I must now take my
leave, with my friends, as we want to see about our house."
"My house is at the disposal of your friends, Señor."
"A thousand thanks. I kiss your hands, Señor Miguel; but for the
present we will stay at my residence in the Calle Huascar."
It not being etiquette to press the invitation, Don Miguel gravely
bowed, and wished them good-bye for the present. He had to go to a
meeting of the Junta in order to confer about the fleet which had
remained away from Tlatonac a long time.
"And it will remain a longer time," said Jack, as they emerged on to
the street. "The navy is going to revolt to Don Hypolito."
"I believe that's true, but the old chap doesn't think so. He'll have
his eyes open soon, or my name's not Tim. Where's Philip?"
"Saying good-bye to Doña Eulalia," replied Jack, smiling. "Ah, by the
way, here he is! Well, Sir Philip Cassim, Baronet, I see you are
stabbed by a wench's black eye!"
"A little harmless conversation," protested Philip, guiltily; "don't
make a mountain out of a mole-hill, Jack. I can take care of my heart;
but your charming brunette friend has fascinated Peter."
"I don't see how that can be," said the doctor, dryly, "seeing I
couldn't understand a word she was saying."
"The language of the eye, Peter. You must learn that. It is more
interesting than butterflies."
"So you seem to think."
"Jack," said Tim, suddenly, "before we go to your cabin, take us to the
telegraph-office, if there is one here."
"Of course there is one here. You want to wire to your editor?"
"Not yet! I want to arrange matters with the officials. There's going
to be trouble here in a week, anyhow."
"So soon as that?" said Philip, starting. He had not heard the
conversation with Don Miguel.
"Aye, and sooner," replied Duval, prophetically. "Gather ye rosebuds
while ye may, Philip; for, as sure as I stand here, news is now on its
way to Tlatonac of the loss of the navy."
"In that case," said the baronet, quietly, "it was a good thing I
brought all those arms with me. You'll have to learn how to shoot,
Peter."
"Butterflies and beetles," said Peter, absently. He was thinking of the
morrow's sport.