RIVALS.
I this side! You that side!--a woman between us,
You love her!--I love her!--each fain would caress her.
By Paul, I will never surrender this Venus,
For I in my arms would for ever possess her.
You say that she loves you! A lie!--for she told me
Her heart had no caring for love or for lover.
Let her but a moment behold you! behold me!
And he whom she chooses we'll quickly discover.
Well, say!--we'll suppose it!--to you she is tender!
And goes with you thither; while I remain lonely,
Think you that this woman I thus would surrender?
Nay! she shall remain with me! mine to be only.
Why, you are my captive! but though I can slay you!
Give over this folly--you'll find me a true man!
Nay more, you are free, honoured, wealthy--what say you?
What madman refuse you!--then lose life and woman.
Jack recovered his senses in complete darkness. He put his hand to his
head and heard the clank of a fetter, felt the cold iron clasp his
wrist. He moved his legs, more chains, and the unexpected discovery
that he was lying on straw. Not a ray of light anywhere to be seen. On
all sides darkness, the darkness of Egypt. Rolling heavily to one side
with a groan of pain forced from him by his aching head, he felt the
cold chill of a stone floor. Straw, chains, stones, darkness! What did
it all mean? He tried to think, but his head was confused, stunned as
with a blow. It was a blow! For at the back of his cranium he felt a
wound, his fingers were moist with his own blood.
Slowly, slowly, his scattered senses came back to him, and he strove to
recall all that had taken place since he had left the Palacio Nacional.
Yes! he had gone down the street with the rest of his friends. Rafael
had walked by his side, Philip and Tim had marched on in front. Then
the howling mob on all sides dashing itself against the lines of
soldiers. A dragoon had fallen by the sea-gate just as they were on the
verge of safety--the mob rushed in through the gap--then he remembered
fighting desperately--a blow on the head--a cowardly blow delivered
from behind, and he remembered no more. Remembrance ceased with that
blow, it revived again here in darkness, with him lying on a straw bed
chained like a prisoner. A prisoner! Jack saw his position in a
moment--he was in prison, at the mercy of his rival, of the lover of
Dolores, of Don Hypolito Xuarez, rebel and traitor.
"Great Heaven," moaned Jack, as the horrors of his situation slowly
dawned on his confused brain, "this must all have been designed by that
scoundrel, Xuarez. His promises that we should go unscathed were all
lies. Philip! Tim! poor Rafael! Where are they now? Perhaps in this
accursed prison."
It was so dark that he was afraid to move lest he should fall into
danger. At length he put out his hand cautiously, and, kneeling
forward, felt all round his bed. The straw was simply thrown on the
floor in a heap, and on three sides he found nothing but the pavement,
on the fourth the massive stones of the wall. Unexpectedly his hand
touched a crock of water, and drawing this towards him, he found it
full, much to his delight, as, owing to his wound, he was consumed with
a burning thirst. After taking a good draught, he sat back on his straw
to think of what he should do next.
Jack was always cool in time of danger. The obstacles which would have
appalled other men only sharpened his wits, and as his brain was now
clearer, he set himself to work to think over the situation. Before
doing this, however, he soaked his handkerchief in the little water
remaining at the bottom of the crock, and bound it round his head. The
cool cloth somewhat assuaged the throbbing of his wound and thus
quieted his heated brain.
On leaving Tlatonac, Jack and his friends had doffed their fine
uniforms as likely to compromise them in the eyes of Xuarez, and
reassumed their European garb. He was, therefore, dressed in a Norfolk
jacket, with trousers of rough blue serge, these latter being tucked
into high riding-boots of untanned leather. The pith helmet he had worn
had evidently been knocked off in the struggle at the sea-gate, as his
head was bare; but, on feeling his pockets, he found everything else
was safe. Money, knife, keys, they were all there; but his revolver was
gone, a loss which he much regretted.
The first thing he did was to remove his fetters, which he managed with
some difficulty and the assistance of his knife. Luckily they were only
of light steel, and had evidently been put on more through the
malignity of Xuarez than because they prevented his escape. Indeed, it
was a useless precaution, for, even now that they were removed, he knew
not where he was, and in which direction to turn for egress. With his
knife he managed to bend back the links of one chain so that it parted,
leaving the steel ring still on the wrist; but, with considerable pain
to his hand, he managed to slip it through the other. As regards the
rings round his ankles, Jack was unusually powerful, and, in spite of
his wound, with the strength of despair, managed to wrench the locks of
the chains asunder. The steel chains were old and badly made, else he
would not have freed himself so easily; but as it was, after
half-an-hour's hard work, he managed to get rid of the chains, and
stood up with no manacles on him, save the steel ring on his left
wrist, with a few links dangling therefrom.
Free so far, he next placed his head against the rough damp stones of
the wall, and cautiously moved round his cell. A few steps from his bed
brought him against another wall, at right angles to the former.
Following this, he soon arrived at the other side of the prison, and
felt his way along the opposite wall. Towards the end of this, he
stumbled over a flight of squat, stone steps, projecting into the
prison, and by careful touching, managed to ascertain that those led up
to a low door of wood, clasped with iron. Beyond, a short space, and
another wall, at right angles, and so back to his straw bed, on which
he resumed his seat.
"Fifteen by twenty," muttered Jack, taking another drink of water, "and
steps leading down from the door. Damp walls too. I guess this cage is
in the basement of one of the forts, or below the Palacio Nacional.
That cursed Xuarez! One of his men stunned me in that fight with a foul
blow, and they then clapped me in here. I wonder what he intends to do
with me. He knows I love Dolores, and am his rival; so I expect he'll
make things pretty hot for me, if he can. Well, at all events, my life
is safe, for what with Philip and Tim to stand by me, he dare not kill
me."
Then a sudden dread entered his mind regarding Philip and the war
correspondent.
"If they should be killed in that row, or clapped in prison also! No, I
don't believe that. Putting Philip out of the question, Xuarez is too
cunning to hurt a war correspondent of a great English paper. He wants
to stand well with the world in this struggle, and would not dare to
risk the outcry of anything happening to Tim. I expect they all got
back safely to the yacht. Xuarez could afford to let them go with his
defiance to Tlatonac. He only wanted me because I am his rival in the
affections of Dolores. The question is, has he got her in his power
also? He says 'no,' but the man's a liar, whom it is impossible to
believe. Hang this wound."
It was burning with heat, and taking off the bandage, he dipped it into
the dregs of water remaining. Then he bound it over the wound again,
and took out his watch, which luckily had not been stolen, as it was
safely stowed inside his Norfolk jacket. With his fingers, he
delicately felt the hands.
"Six o'clock!" he said, somewhat startled; "and we left the palace at
three. I've been three hours in this cursed hole. It must be still
light, or, rather, twilight; so, as it is here as dark as pitch, this
cell must be built far down. Hang them! do they intend to starve me?"
He felt vainly for the traditional loaf of bread, which always
accompanies the pitcher of water in prisons, but, to his dismay, could
find none. This pointed to one of two things. Either Xuarez intended to
starve him to death, or would visit him shortly with a meal. He would
not dare to do the former, as Jack, feeling sure his friends had
escaped, knew the outcry of these against the rebel leader would be
great, did he carry his hatred so far; and as to the latter, the young
man hopefully waited, in the hope that his gaoler would soon arrive.
"He won't come himself, I suppose," said Jack, throwing himself down on
his straw; "some soldiers will come and escort me to the upper world.
Hang it! if the man isn't a thorough blackguard, he'll let me have a
meal and a doctor. My head is aching like, to split. Even a candle
would be acceptable in this infernal gloom."
Clearly there was nothing for it but to wait till some one entered the
cell. Jack was too wise to waste his time in kicking at the door, or
exhaust his strength in shouting for help. He was in the power of
Xuarez, and it depended on future events as to how matters would turn
out. Of one thing Jack felt confident, and that was that even if Philip
and the others reached the yacht in safety they could do nothing.
"I guess Xuarez brought the guns to bear on _The Bohemian_, and
ordered Philip to clear out. He could do nothing against that order, so
I expect the boat is by this time on her way back to Tlatonac with the
news of my capture or death. I'll have to wait here until the Junta
captures the town, and Lord only knows when that will be. I wouldn't
mind so much if I only knew of the whereabouts of Dolores."
Thus talking to himself, in order to keep up his spirits, this
unfortunate young man sat for some considerable time, waiting with
philosophic resignation the turn of events. By means of his watch, he
calculated that it was close on eight o'clock before he was disturbed.
Then he heard the sound of a bolt slipping out of its socket, the door
of his cell opened, and a man appeared. A man draped in a long black
cloak, flung Spanish fashion over his left shoulder, and wearing a
broad-leaved sombrero which effectually concealed his features. He
carried a lantern which illuminated the cell with a sufficiently feeble
light, but it was comforting to Jack, after the intense darkness of the
previous hours, and enabled him to see whom was his visitor.
The stranger closed the door of the cell, descended the steps, and
advanced towards Jack, swinging the lantern to and fro so as to flash
the light into every corner of the small room. That squat figure, that
ungraceful walk; Jack recognised him at once. Notwithstanding the
sombrero, the long cloak, the silence observed by the man, his prisoner
at once saluted him by name.
"So this is how you keep your prisoners, Don Hypolito Xuarez?"
Xuarez started at being thus recognised so speedily, but restraining
his speech, flashed the lantern up and down Jack's tall figure as he
leaned against the wall, and started again.
"Carambo! You are free! The chains----"
"Are there, Señor!"
The rebel leader looked first at the broken chains afterwards at Jack,
and seemed to regard his prisoner as a kind of Samson. He had a
profound respect for physical strength, for physical beauty; and the
splendid frame of the young Englishman, in conjunction with this
evidence of his muscles, inspired Don Hypolito with great admiration.
"Bueno, Señor Duval!" he said, in the frank tone of a man who cherishes
no animosity, "you are a difficult person to deal with. You have broken
your chains! Had I not arrived thus opportunely, you might by this time
have broken out of prison."
"It's not impossible, Señor," replied Jack, coolly. "You may be certain
I would not have sat down much longer doing nothing. But now----"
"You are thinking of making use of my presence here to facilitate your
escape. Is it not so, mi amigo? If you are wise, do not try. You may
knock me down--I am but a dwarf beside you! You may steal these keys,
this lantern; but you know not the palace, you know not the guards,
and, above all, even if you did get free, you could not escape from
Acauhtzin. No, mi amigo! Here you are! here you stay, unless you agree
to my conditions."
"Conditions!" echoed Jack, scornfully. "I think I can guess what those
conditions are, Señor Xuarez."
"Bueno! Then I can save my breath," replied Don Hypolito, setting down
the lantern. "If you know the conditions of your release, you also know
whether to accept them or not! Speak plainly, mi amigo!"
"Don Hypolito," observed Jack, not answering this question directly, "I
do not know whether to regard you as a knave or a fool. You must be the
former, else you had not betrayed me and my friends. You are the
latter, or you would not ask me to agree to certain conditions which
you know are quite impossible--with me?"
"You have the great merit, Señor Duval, of candour. I admire it as a
virtue, but it can be carried too far. I do not like being called knave
or fool, as I deserve neither name."
"Is that so? Good! I say you are both! However, I am open to argument;
so let me hear your side of the question."
Don Hypolito laughed quietly, and eyed his rival with increased
respect.
"I wish you were on my side, Don Juan. A man such as you would be
invaluable to me."
"I thank you for your good opinion, Señor; but I am not on your side,
neither am I likely to be. I support the established Government of
Cholacaca."
"You are a--but no," said Xuarez, checking himself with a sardonic
smile; "we have no time to discuss politics. All are against me now,
but when I am seated in the presidential chair, the world will be in my
favour. To-day, Señor, I am an adventurer. To-morrow I will be a
conqueror. Success is everything in the eyes of the world. However, we
need not talk of these things which do not interest you. I notice you
have not yet asked after your friends."
"Why should I, Don Hypolito?" replied Jack, determined to show no signs
of anxiety in the presence of this man. "I know that my friends are
safe, and are at present on their way to Tlatonac."
"It is true, but how did you guess this much, Don Juan?"
"From what I know of your character."
"Pardon me, Señor, no one knows my character," said Xuarez, quietly.
"Not your real character, perhaps, but the character by which you
choose to be known to the world."
The nonchalance of the young Englishman somewhat puzzled Xuarez. Here
was a man talking quietly with one whom he had every reason to hate and
dread. Wounded as he was, incarcerated in a gloomy cell; in doubt as to
the safety of his friends, the whereabouts of his sweetheart--Jack had
yet sufficient pluck to conceal his real feelings, and play a part
which entirely deceived even so acute an observer of human nature as
Don Hypolito. He saw that Jack was purposely holding himself back
instead of giving way to his righteous indignation, but while admiring
the self-restraint of the young man, he was doubtful as to the meaning
of such diplomatic conduct.
Experience had taught Don Hypolito that the only way to fathom the
feelings of others was to make them talk freely, listen attentively,
and draw conclusions from chance observations. This method he now
applied to Jack, and asked him to proceed in a grave tone of voice, all
the time keeping his ears open to find out the underlying meaning of
this impassive demeanour. He discovered nothing, because there was
nothing to discover. Jack spoke truthfully and bluntly, giving voice to
his real feelings, and Xuarez, accustomed to double dealing, to double
meaning, was for once in his life utterly at fault.
"You have started this war, Señor," said Jack with painful candour,
"entirely for your own ends. The excuse you make is that Gomez has
broken the constitution of Cholacaca. This is false, as you know well.
However, it is a good excuse upon which to work out your aims. In this
war you wish the civilised world to be on your side--to look upon you
as a great man, fitted to be the saviour of Cholacaca from a tyrannical
Government. To this end you dare not act violently towards any
representative nation of the civilised world. England is a
representative nation, and you to-day saluted her flag. You respected
the ambassadors from the Junta because they were accompanied by
Englishmen, because they came here on an English ship. One of those men
whom you thus respected is the war correspondent of a London paper, and
you wished him of write home to his journal narrating the courtesy of
Don Hypolito Xuarez, and thus interesting our nation's feelings in your
favour. The attack made by the mob was, I firmly believe, made without
your sanction. You wished the embassy to depart in safety, and they so
departed. One man, however, you desired to detain, because he was your
rival in the affections of a woman. That man is myself! So you made use
of the riot to have me knocked down in the fight, and taken here to
prison. Now that you think I am worn out with wounds, thirst, and
imprisonment, you come to offer me my liberty on two conditions. First,
that I surrender all right to the hand of Doña Dolores. Second, that I
leave Cholacaca for ever. These, Señor Xuarez, are your motives in
acting as you have done, dictated, as I said before, not, perhaps, by
your real character, but by the noble character in which you wish to
appear to the world."
Don Hypolito listened to this long speech with rapt attention, and
could not help admiring the way in which the young man had fathomed his
motives. When Jack ended, he raised his head and proceeded to
lie--uselessly, as it afterwards proved--still he lied.
"In a great measure, what you say is correct, Don Juan. I do wish to
stand well with the nations, of Europe, because I believe my cause to
be a just one. Gomez was elected President by the aristocrats, not by
the people. I believe in democracy. He governs so as to throw the whole
power of the state into the hands of those who would take away the
liberties of the people, won so gloriously by Zuloaga. You say I have
begun this war from a personal ambition. That may be so. I wish to be
Dictator--Supreme Dictator of the Republic, and to raise her to her
rightful position as a power in the world. These, Señor, are political
and personal questions. They need not be discussed. What you say about
the embassy is true. Had the boat of Señor Felipe entered the harbour
under the opal flag, I would have ordered the fort guns to sink her for
such audacity. She however carried the English ensign. I respected that
ensign; I received the deputation; I heard the insolent demand of the
Junta, and gave my answer. They were free to depart without hindrance
from me. The outbreak of the mob was solely due to the message sent. I
did not create the riot. I did not make use of the tumult to get you
into my power. But when in the mêlée you were stunned, my soldiers
carried you off to the Palacio Nacional. I saw an opportunity of
gaining my ends by thus having you in my power, and so put you in this
prison. Now I come to make my terms. Accept them, and you are free.
Refuse, and a terrible fate will befall you!"
"To remain in prison here, I suppose?" said Jack, contemptuously.
"No; worse!"
"What, would you kill me?"
"I will not harm a hair of your head. What your fate will be I refuse
to tell you; but if you are a wise man you will accept my offer of
freedom."
"And accept your conditions also. The conditions being those I have
stated?"
"Precisely! You have rare penetration, Don Juan! My conditions are as
you have guessed. Give up Doña Dolores! leave Cholacaca, and you are
free."
"I refuse."
"Think well, Señor," said Xuarez, coldly. "I am not a man to threaten
in vain. Your fate will be a terrible one."
"I quite believe you capable of any enormity, Don Hypolito," retorted
Jack, with a curling lip; "but why waste any more time over the matter?
I refuse!"
"On what grounds?"
"On what grounds?" reiterated Jack, in a haughty tone. "Simply that it
does not suit my convenience either to give up Doña Dolores or to leave
Cholacaca at your bidding."
Xuarez was nettled at Jack's elaborately insulting manner; but he did
not lose his temper. He was too clever a man to do that. With a sudden
change of front, he took a hint from card-players, and tried to force
Jack's hand.
"You love Doña Dolores?"
"That is not a question for you to ask."
"Pardon me, Señor; I also love Doña Dolores, therefore I am interested
in your reply."
"Are you?" said Jack, facing his questioner sharply; "then you shall
have it. I do love Doña Dolores; and, what is more, she returns that
love. One person only will she marry, and that person is myself, John
Duval!"
"You will never marry her!" exclaimed Xuarez, vehemently. "She is
mine!--mine! Before a month is gone, she becomes my wife!"
"Ah!" sneered Jack, with a world of meaning in his tone, "I knew you
lied when you said she was not in Acauhtzin."
"Carrai!" cried Don Hypolito, who was beginning to lose his temper; "I
did not lie. She is not in Acauhtzin. She is----"
"Where?" asked Duval, impetuously.
"In a place you will never discover, Señor. Not that it matters much,
for, in any case, you will not marry her. No! You are reserved for a
worse fate!--a fate which will bitterly punish you for daring to be my
rival."
"I am not a child, to be frightened of big words," said Jack,
scornfully, though his heart quailed at the deadly menace of the
Mestizo's tones. "My friends know I am in Acauhtzin. They will come
back for me."
"They have already tried to do so," retorted Xuarez, triumphantly.
"When they left the harbour, I suppose they discovered you were left
behind. The boat returned; but a few shot from the forts, and the
war-ships made her retreat, and when I last saw her she was steaming
full speed for Tlatonac."
"Yes? I knew as much. To bring back an army to level Acauhtzin to the
ground. To capture you! to rescue me!"
"No one can rescue you!" replied Xuarez, in a sombre tone. "Your only
chance of escape is to give up Doña Dolores!"
"To you! to you!" cried Jack, fiercely. "You who love her not for
herself, but because she is the guardian of the opal stone! Ah, yes,
Señor Xuarez! I know well what you design. You wish to marry
Dolores--to secure the opal stone, to gain over the Indians to your
cause. All ambition; there is no love. I tell you, Señor, such a thing
can never be. Dolores would sooner die than give herself up to a
villain like yourself. You will never possess Dolores--you will never
be master of the Chalchuih Tlatonac! Turn your ambitions to other
things, Don Hypolito. Dolores is not for you!"
Don Hypolito sprang to his feet with a cry of rage. Hitherto he had
restrained himself in a most admirable manner; but now the insulting
speeches of his prisoner proved too much for even his well-trained
temper. A torrent of passion swept away all his reserve, and he burst
out into a furious speech.
"Dolores _is_ for me! She will be mine in another week or so. She
is the guardian of the opal, and that also will be mine. When I am
possessed of the devil stone, the Indians will flock round my standard.
I have the fleet, I have an army, I will have the Indians, too, my
allies, guided by the devil stone. That, also, will be mine, and
Dolores with it. I will become Dictator of Cholacaca. I will raise her
to a pinnacle of power. She will rule the South--nay, the North also.
Mexico, Venezuela, Nicaragua, Guatemala, they will all be mine. In the
North, the United States; in the South, the Empire of the Opal, with
myself as Ruler. It is a grand----"
"Dream!" interrupted Jack, faintly, for the pain of his wound was
telling on his frame. "It is a dream! a dream!"
"It is no dream! Or, if a dream, it will soon turn out a reality. And
you--you low-born Englishman, would dare to bar my way to this fame.
Lie there, Señor, and wait my commands. You will die, and by a death
which will break even your spirit. You will die and be forgotten, while
I, Hypolito Xuarez, will reconstruct on this continent the Empire of
Montezuma!"
He spoke to deaf ears, for, overcome by fatigue and pain, Duval had
fainted. Xuarez bent over him, and held the lantern to his face. It was
deadly pale, and the eyes were closed.
"I do not want him to die," muttered the remorseless Mestizo, going
towards the door. "I shall send a doctor to look after his wound. He
shall be made whole again, but only to perish in tortures. Not for you,
Don Juan, is Dolores; not for you the opal, but death and dishonour.
You fall! I rise! My star quenches yours in its burning splendour."
In another moment he had quitted the prison, leaving his rival
stretched out in the darkness, to all appearances lifeless and lost.