THE DRAMA OF LITTLE THINGS.
Many things happen!
They are the daily events of our lives, we note them with
idle indifference.
The lover kisses his dear one, she sighs on his throbbing
bosom,
He springs on his waiting horse, and waving his hand at
parting,
Thinks that the morrow for certain, will bring her again
to his kisses,
Alas! he knows not that Fate is capricious!
That never again will the dear one respond to his welcome
caresses!
"Good-bye for an hour!" ah, sorrow. That good-bye means
"farewell for ever."
And yet they know not this future, and so, parting happy,
Go east and west gladly, to anguish apart till they perish.
"Quiere a fumar, Juan," said Dolores, holding out a small case to Jack,
with a coquettish smile.
"Campeacheanos!" replied her lover, selecting one carefully, "these are
for men only. I hope you don't smoke these, mi cara."
"No! I but use cigarros de papel. This case belongs to my cousin, Don
Rafael. Now it is yours."
"What will Don Rafael say?"
"Say! Why, nothing, of course. He made me a present of the
campeacheanos."
"Oh, did he?" exclaimed Jack, suspiciously. "You seem to be fond of
your cousin, Dolores!"
"Naturally! It is my duty," replied Dolores, demurely, and dropped her
eyes.
"Oh!" said Duval, briefly, and busied himself in lighting a cigarette.
It was late in the afternoon, and they were on the azotea of
Maraquando's house alone, save for the presence of Doña Serafina; but
she was asleep, and, therefore, did not trouble them. As before stated,
the Casa Maraquando was on the summit of the hill, and from the roof
they could look down into the valley below. Ring after ring of houses
encompassed the rise, and on the flat, trending towards the sea,
street, and house, and plaza, and wall, were laid out as in a map. To
the left, the vast space of the parade-ground; to the right, the
crowded quarter of the peons, a mass of huddled huts, red-roofed,
white-walled, and between the two the broad street leading from the
foot of the hill down to the sea-gate.
On the parade-ground companies of soldiers were manoeuvring. Here and
there the bright colours of uniforms could be seen in the streets.
Sometimes a distant trumpet rang out shrilly, or the muffled thunder of
drums came faintly to their ears. Within the walls of the city all was
bustle and military pomp, the place was one vast camp. Beyond, the
white line of the walls and the infinite stretch of azure sea
glittering in the sunshine.
Peter, in company with Cocom, had gone outside the inland walls for a
final butterfly hunt before the outbreak of war, when, in view of the
suburbs being deserted, he would have to abandon his favourite pursuit.
Down in the Plaza de San Jago, Sir Philip Cassim was assisting Don
Rafael to drill his men, and Tim was, as usual, haunting the
telegraph-office and the Palacio Nacional. He spent all his time
between these two places, collecting news, and despatching messages.
Only Jack was idle; Jack, who, decked out in the gaudy uniform of the
Regimient de los Caballeros, set on the azotea flirting with Dolores
and smoking innumerable cigarettes. With masculine vanity, he had come
there especially to show himself to the lady of his heart, in his new
uniform, and, finding Doña Serafina asleep, had waited to speak to
Dolores for a few minutes before joining Philip in the plaza below. The
few minutes had, by this time, lengthened into half-an-hour.
Without doubt Jack looked remarkably handsome in his uniform, and
Dolores acknowledged this to herself as she glanced at him from behind
the safe shelter of her fan. He was as fine as a humming-bird, and
tinted like a rainbow. The Mexican dress became him admirably, and in
that brilliant climate the bright colours did not look too pronounced.
The uniform consisted of calzoneros of dark green velvet split from the
thigh downward, slashed with braid, set with rows of silver buttons,
and filled with the calzoncillos of white muslin. A short,
tight-fitting jacket of yellow cloth embroidered with gold, over a full
white shirt, puffing out at the hips, open sleeves, a scarlet-silk sash
round the waist sustaining a brace of pistols and a Spanish knife.
Finally, boots of tanned leather with heavy spurs hanging with little
bells. Over all his finery, Jack wore a picturesque zarape of dark
blue, and a sombrero of the same colour encircled with a broad band of
gold. In this picturesque costume, his fine figure was seen to its best
advantage; but Jack was already regretting his plain English
riding-suit of unadorned grey.
At present, however, he was not thinking of his fine feathers, or of
the two men waiting for him in the Plaza de San Jago, but of the last
remark of Dolores.
Jack had no reason to be jealous of Don Rafael, as he, to all
appearances, cared more for war than for women; yet, because Dolores
admitted that she liked her cousin, this foolish young man began to
sulk. The girl watched him with great amusement for a few minutes, and
then made a malicious remark in reference to his uniform.
"Pajaro precoso!"
"Oh, I am a precious bird, am I?" said Jack, ungraciously; "but not
precious to you, Dolores. Don Rafael----"
"Is my cousin--nothing more."
"I don't like cousins," muttered Duval, obstinately, keeping his eyes
away from her face, whereat Dolores rapped him smartly on the fingers
with her closed fan.
"I will eat all the cousins of your killing, Juan. Turn your face to
me, child that you are. Santissima! What a cross face! Señor Caballero,
you are jealous!"
"Yes," admitted Jack, reluctantly.
Dolores glanced at her aunt, to make sure that she was asleep, then
bending towards this foolish lover, kissed him on the cheek.
"Are you jealous now, querido?"
"No," answered Jack, returning the kiss with interest; "I am a fool not
to trust you thoroughly."
"You are! Hush! Enough! My aunt may awake."
"Not she! So you love me only, Dolores? And Don Rafael----"
"Is betrothed to a lady of Acauhtzin."
"Oh, Dolores!" sighed Jack, much relieved, and kissed her again. In
fact, he would have saluted her several times, had not Dolores spread
her fan between their two faces as a shield.
"No, no! Doña Serafina may awaken, and then--'Dios de mi alma,' what
would my uncle say?"
"He must know sooner or later."
"Wait till the war is over, querido. Till Don Hypolito is slain, and
you return covered with glory. Then my uncle can refuse you nothing."
"Bueno! I will wait. And, after all, Dolores, I am not quite a
foreigner. I have dwelt so long in Mexico that I know all your manners
and customs. Now I have even assumed the dress of Cholacaca, so I am
quite one of your own people."
"And a heretic!"
"Ah! Padre Ignatius has been talking to you?"
"No, querido; my aunt----"
"Oh, never mind your aunt. If I mistake not, she admires a heretic
herself."
"El hombrecillo!"
"If by the little man you mean Don Pedro, yes. But oh, my soul, do not
let such things as this separate us. You love me, Dolores? You will be
true to me?"
"I swear it!" cried the girl, throwing herself on his breast; "I swear
it--by the opal!"
"No, no! not that. You surely don't believe in the devil stone?"
"Am I a child to believe?" laughed Dolores, scornfully. "No; I am a
true daughter of the Church; but I believe this opal to be mine, and if
I can get it I will do so."
"We will both try and obtain it, though I am afraid there is but little
chance of doing so. We know not where is the temple."
"Cocom knows."
"Yes; but Cocom will not tell. But enough of the opal. We will talk of
it again. Meanwhile, tell me to whom is Rafael engaged? He has told me
nothing about it."
"No; he has told no one save me, lest it should reach the ears of my
uncle, and thus anger him. The lady my cousin loves is Doña Carmencita
de Tejada----"
"What!" ejaculated Jack, in surprise. "The daughter of Xuarez's
right-hand man?"
"Yes, the daughter of Don José de Tejada, the rebel. So, you see, he
does not let his father know of his love, for Don Miguel would never
consent to his son becoming the husband of a traitor's child."
"True, true. Poor Rafael! The course of his love does not seem likely
to run smooth. Still, when the war is over, he may be more fortunate."
"Ah! the war," said Doña Dolores, sadly. "This terrible war. How I
tremble to think of what is before us. Should Don Hypolito conquer----"
She covered her face with her hands, shuddering violently.
"Don Hypolito will not conquer," replied Jack, soothingly taking her to
his breast. "We will humble him to the dust before three months are
ended. Besides, if the worst comes, we can fly to Europe."
"Ay, de mi. May it not come to that."
"Amen!" said Duval, solemnly; and they remained clasped in each others
arms, with hearts too full for speech.
Suddenly they heard the sound of a prolonged yawn, and had just time to
separate before Doña Serafina caught them in that close embrace.
Fortunately, they had been hidden by an angle of the azotea wall, so
the good lady, who had just awakened, and was still bemused with sleep,
saw nothing. When she was thoroughly awake, however, she espied Jack in
all the bravery of his uniform, and came forward with a light step and
an exclamation of delight.
"El Regimiento de los Caballeros!" she exclaimed, admiringly.
"Santissima! how the uniform does become you, Don Juan. I do so admire
handsome Americanos," added the lady, languidly. Dolores laughed at
this naïve confession, but Jack, modest Jack, blushed through the tan
of his skin.
"Really, Doña Serafina, I am much obliged, I kiss your hands," he
answered, confusedly. "I have just arrived"--he had been there half an
hour--"just arrived, Señora, and I had not the heart to disturb you."
"Has the child spoken?" said Doña Serafina, waving her fan towards
Dolores, who stood with downcast eyes, inwardly convulsed, outwardly
demure.
"Oh yes; a little. She has not the brilliant tongue of her aunt,"
replied Jack, artfully.
"Pobrecita! She is young; she is a kitten. She will yet improve. I was
the same at her age."
"The deuce you were," thought Jack, with secret apprehension, surveying
her portly form. "I hope Dolores won't be the same at your age."
"And Don Pedro?" asked the duenna, languidly.
"Will lay his heart at your feet this evening, Señora."
"It is his Don Juan," responded the lady, graciously. It was a mere
figure of speech; but Jack was secretly amused to think how alarmed
Peter would be hearing of such an offer.
"Oh, this war, Señor Americano; this terrible war! How I fear it."
"Do not be afraid, Señora. We will protect you."
"Oh yes; I am sure of that. But my nephew, Señor? Don Rafael! He is
much angered."
"At the war?"
"Santissima, no! At his ship, which still sails up and down in front of
Tlatonac. What does it mean, Señor?"
Jack turned in the direction indicated by her fan, and saw a large ship
far out on the wrinkled sea.
"Is that _The Pizarro_? I did not know," he said in some perplexity. "I
understood she had departed to Acauhtzin."
"My cousin says it is _The Pizarro_," interposed Dolores at this
moment; "and we know not why she stays."
"I notice she keeps well out of the range of the fort guns," muttered
Jack, anxiously. "Hum! it is curious. Perhaps she is sent by Don
Hypolito to carry off Doña Dolores."
The old lady made a gesture to avert the evil eye.
"Say not such things, Señor. That terrible man! He might carry me off
even here."
"So he might, Señora," replied Jack, trying to be serious. "I would
advise yourself and the young ladies to keep within doors."
"If Don Hypolito can carry us off from the middle of Tlatonac, he is
cleverer than I think," said Dolores, contemptuously; "but what can be
the reason of _The Pizarro_ thus guarding the town?"
"I have it!" cried Jack, suddenly enlightened. "She is watching for the
arrival of the torpedo-boats. Yes, that is her game. She wishes to meet
them before they know of the revolt, and thus seduce them to the cause
of Xuarez!"
"Impossible, Señor!" exclaimed both ladies at once.
"It is true! I am sure of it," responded Jack, hurriedly. "I must speak
to Don Rafael about this. 'Adios, señoritas! Con Dios vayan ustedes.'"
The young engineer kissed the hands of both ladies, and clattered down
the steps on his way to the patio. Just as he was passing through the
zaguan, he heard a light foot hasten after him, and before he reached
the door, Dolores was in his arms.
"I left my aunt on the azotea," she said, breathlessly. "One kiss,
querido, before you go! There;--and there! Oh, my soul! Be careful of
yourself. I go, at vespers, to pray for you at the shrine of our Lady."
"Angel! Such prayers will be my safeguard in all dangers!"
"Padre Ignatius has promised me a sacred relic which preserves the
wearer from harm. He gives it to me this evening. I will bring it to
you. To-night you will be here?"
"Yes, at the eighth hour. Adios, angelito!"
They embraced hurriedly, and Dolores returned to the azotea to explain
her sudden absence to Doña Serafina as best she could; while Jack,
filled with joy at these proofs of her love, gaily danced down the
street on his way to the Plaza de San Jago, where Philip waited him.
Everywhere soldiers, everywhere the beating of drums, the shrilling of
trumpets, the waving of flags, and oftentimes the martial strains of
the "Opal Fandango." The city of Tlatonac had awakened from its sleep
of years, and in every street, in every house, activity prevailed. It
was not a city; it was a camp. The inhabitants, almost to a man, had
become soldiers, and flattered by the women, dressed in gaudy uniforms,
excited by frequent draughts of aguardiente, they fancied themselves
invincible. Every evening fireworks were let off in the principal
squares, bands of soldiers marched nightly through the streets, singing
the national song of the opal; and at times the enthusiasm arose to
such a pitch that the whole city was convulsed with a delirium of joy.
In the opinion of Tlatonac, the rebel Xuarez was already conquered.
"I hope this enthusiasm is not born of Dutch courage," said Jack to
himself, as he elbowed his way through an excited throng; "but it seems
too violent to last. These howling wretches see Xuarez in chains,
pleading for his life; but they don't see the events which are bound to
occur before such a thing takes place."
"Abajo los Oposidores! Viva el Republica! Mueran a Xuarez!"
"Shout away, mis amigos," muttered Duval, grimly; "we'll see if you'll
shout as loudly when the bombs are cracking over the city. If _The
Pizarro_ sent one now, I guess you'd not be so lively."
In the Plaza de San Jago, soldiers were being drilled. A fine body of
men was El Regimient de los Caballeros, and a gallant show they made as
they wheeled their horses into line. Philip, arrayed in the same style
as Jack, was reining his steed beside Colonel Garibay, the commander of
the troop, and on the other side of him rode Don Rafael, late a captain
in the navy, now a captain on land. Don Rafael, a handsome, dark-eyed
young man, full of fiery earnestness, and not unlike his sister in
appearance, though lacking her softer feminine grace, had taken a great
fancy to Philip, with whom he had become very intimate. Jack Duval he
knew of old, and liked immensely; but Cassim's character was more in
accordance with his own, therefore they were comrades by the rule of
like drawing to like.
Colonel Garibay was greatly gratified that these two young Americanos
had joined his troop as volunteers, and made things as pleasant for
them as he possibly could. He commanded one of the crack regiments of
the Cholacacan army, and was determined that it should not belie its
reputation in the coming war. Hitherto it had but reaped laurels in
frontier wars against the Indians; but now it was for the first time to
combat with a civilised foe, and would have a good opportunity of
showing to the world of what stuff its men were made.
The regiment deployed into thin lines, massed into compact columns,
charged at the gallop, retired in good order, and proved themselves in
all the complicated evolutions of a cavalry corps to be thoroughly
disciplined soldiers. In the burning sun, with the grey dust whirling
up in clouds from the restless feet of the horses, the columns expanded
and contracted like the glittering lengths of a snake, and at every
sound of the bugle the lines changed their position with the utmost
military precision. For three hours Garibay kept his troop hard at
work. At length even his insatiable soul was satisfied at their state
of efficiency, and to the stirring strains of the "Zuloaga March" the
men filed off the ground.
In other parts of the plaza infantry regiments were drilling and, after
a time, these also dispersed, so that by the hour of sundown the great
square was almost deserted, save for scattered groups of soldiers
discussing the coming war. Jack, in company with Philip and the
Colonel, went off to the quarters of the latter in the sea-fort, and
there they proceeded to make themselves comfortable.
"I am pleased with my children, Señores," said Garibay, thoughtfully;
"but I would I commanded foot instead of horse."
"Wherefore so, Don Rodrigo?"
"For this reason, Señor Felipe. Our country is so mountainous that,
save on the plains, there is but little use for cavalry. The seat of
the war will be at Acauhtzin, and there the land is all mountains.
Consequently the infantry will be of most service up yonder. If,
however, the enemy come south to Tlatonac and Janjalla, our cavalry can
meet them in the open plains surrounding these towns."
"Don Hypolito will certainly come south," said Jack, sagely. "He will
not wait for the Republic to send troops up to Acauhtzin, but embark
his troops on the war-ships, and try his fortunes down in this
direction. Besides, Xuarez knows that the Republic has no transports
for the troops."
"No war-ships, Señor," replied the Colonel, gravely, "that is true. But
by order of his Excellency, all merchant-vessels of a certain tonnage
have been seized in the port of Tlatonac, and requisitioned for the
service of transporting troops to Acauhtzin."
"The deuce! And what say the owners to such high-handed proceedings?"
"The owners have been paid. So, you see, we can embark our men on these
ships, and sail north to----"
"To be knocked to pieces by the war-ships," finished Philip, coolly.
"Señor, you forget the torpederas will be here soon."
"That is if _The Pizarro_ will let them pass her," said Duval,
meaningly. "I see she is cruising constantly up and down."
"Do you think, Don Juan, she is waiting for the arrival of the
torpederas?" asked the Colonel, anxiously.
"I am sure of it, Colonel. Don Miguel informed me that the
torpedo-boats had started from England. Xuarez, who has his spies in
England, also knows this, and sent _The Pizarro_ south with a twofold
object: to dictate terms to the Republic, and intercept the torpederas."
"He failed in the first, however," observed Philip, hopefully.
"True! but he may not fail in the second."
"One moment, Señores," said the Colonel, earnestly, "_The Pizarro_
dare not stop the torpedo-boats--they could sink her in no time. She
has no defence against them--no nets, for those were left at Tlatonac
when the fleet went north."
"All the more reason that Xuarez should capture the torpedo-boats,"
retorted Jack, hotly. "_The Pizarro_ will not try force, mi Colonel!
No; the torpederas left England before war was proclaimed; therefore,
those in charge know nothing of the disaffection of the fleet, of the
rebellion of Xuarez. If they meet _The Pizarro_, they will stop when
she signals; their commanders will go on board in blissful ignorance,
and be either seduced to the cause of Xuarez, or retained as prisoners
of war. In either case, the torpederas, taken by surprise, will be
captured, and accompany _The Pizarro_ to the north."
"True! What you say is true, Señor! Santissima! What ill-fortune!"
"The torpederas must be warned!" exclaimed Philip, quickly. "I will
speak to His Excellency, and offer the services of my yacht to the
Republic. If my offer is accepted, I will get steam up on _The
Bohemian_, and stand out to sea at once. Cruise up and down till I
see the torpederas, and then warn them of their danger."
"Yes, and be chased all the time by _The Pizarro_."
"She can't catch _The Bohemian_. I'd back my boat against the combined
speed of the whole rebel navy. It is the only chance of saving the
torpedo-boats from the clutches of Xuarez."
"What a pity my railway is not finished," said Jack, regretfully; "then
we could have ran up the whole army to Acauhtzin without trouble. As it
is, the only passage is by sea, and I am afraid the war-ships render
that impossible."
"How far have you got with the line, Jack?"
"Only fifty miles. It stops in the centre of a dense forest, so it is
worse than useless--to Xuarez as to ourselves."
At this moment Don Rafael entered, in a state of great excitement.
"Ola, Señores," he said, gaily; "I have just come from the presence of
His Excellency and my father; it is the intention of the Junta to send
an embassy to Acauhtzin."
"To treat with Xuarez?"
"Carajo! no!" retorted the young man fiercely; "to promise freedom to
the rebels, if they lay down their arms and deliver up Xuarez for
punishment."
Colonel Garibay shook his head.
"They won't do that, mi amigo! if I know anything of Don Hypolito."
"It is true that he has great influence over them," said Rafael,
thoughtfully; "but the power of the Opposidores is as nothing before
that of the Junta; if they are wise, they will lay down their arms."
"They are not wise, however," said Jack, dryly; "and they won't lay
down their arms. And how does the embassy propose to get to Acauhtzin?"
"It is said that Señor Felipe has offered his ship to the Junta," said
Rafael, bowing courteously to the baronet; "and the Junta have decided
to accept that grand offer with a thousand thanks."
"Bueno!" cried Philip, heartily. "I am glad _The Bohemian_ will be
of some service. Yes, Don Rafael, my yacht is at the disposal of the
Government. But tell me, Señor, who goes north with the embassy?"
"Yourself, Señor Felipe, if you will come; my father and myself, with a
company of soldiers."
"Why yourself, Don Rafael?"
The young hidalgo blushed, and rolled a cigarette with pretended
indifference.
"I! Oh, I wish to hurl defiance in the teeth of Xuarez."
Philip had received a hint of Don Rafael's passion and as Jack was
busily talking with Garibay, approached the captain with a smile.
"Is that all?" he whispered, smiling.
Don Rafael looked at him steadily, and then caught his hand with a
sudden passion of friendship.
"No, mi amigo. I wish to see Doña Carmencita, and, if possible, carry
her south."
"Will she come, Rafael?"
"Yes, she loves me; her father is cruel to her; she will come, if you
will permit it."
"Señor, my ship and all I have is at your disposal."
"A thousand thanks, Don Felipe," said Rafael, cordially pressing his
friend's hand; "I will take advantage of your kindness. Not a word to
my father, Señor. He knows nothing as yet; I will tell him all at
Acauhtzin."
"I will be silent."
"Gracias mi amigo. I will give you my help in the like case."
"It will certainly be needed some day," replied Philip, significantly.
"But not as yet. Ah, Señor, you do not then know what it is to love."
"Don't I?" thought Philip, and saw before him, as in a dream, the fair
face of Doña Eulalia.
It was now late, so, after they had dined with Garibay, the two
Englishmen, at the invitation of Don Rafael, went to the Casa
Maraquando.
When they arrived, to their surprise, all was in confusion. The
servants were running aimlessly about, Doña Serafina and Eulalia were
in tears, and Don Miguel was cursing loud and deep.
"What is the matter?" asked the young men in alarm.
"Dolores is lost!"