IN THE STREET.
As soon as they were outside of the house, the masked men, at a sign
from the leader, dispersed in various directions. When they had
disappeared round the corners of the neighbouring streets, the chief
turned towards Don Tadeo, who, scarce recovered from the trying emotions
he had successively gone through, and weakened by the blood he had lost,
as well as by the prodigious efforts his last struggle had cost him,
was leaning, half fainting against the wall of the house he had been so
fortunately enabled to quit. A flood of bitter reflections rushed upon
his brain; the incidents of that terrible night almost unsettled his
reason: in vain he tried to recover the train of his ideas which had
been so often and so violently broken. The stranger looked at him for
a few minutes with profound attention; then approaching him, he laid
his hand quietly upon his shoulder. At this sudden touch, the gentleman
started as if he had received an electric shock.
"What!" the unknown said in a tone of reproach, "scarcely entered on the
good fight, and you despair already, Don Tadeo?"
The wounded man shook his head.
"You, Don Tadeo, whose lofty brow has never bent before revolutionary
storms; you, who in the most trying circumstances have always remained
firm, are now pale and cast down, without faith in the present, or hope
in the future, and have lost strength and courage through the vain
threats of a woman!"
"That woman," he replied mournfully, "has always been my evil genius.
She is a demon!"
"And suppose," the unknown exclaimed energetically, "that this woman
should succeed in getting up another of the infamous schemes in which
her brain is so fertile, a man of heart takes courage in a struggle?
Forget these impotent hatreds that can never reach you; remember what
you are; look boldly at the glorious mission which is imposed upon you."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you not understand me? Can you believe that God, who has this night
allowed you so miraculously to escape death, has not great designs
in store for you? Brother," he added, in a tone of authority, "the
existence that has been restored to you is not your own, it belongs to
your country!"
A moment of silence followed this appeal, during which Don Tadeo
appeared a prey to profound despair. At length, looking at the unknown,
he said with bitter despondency--
"What is to be done? Heaven is my witness that my only desire, my sole
happiness, would be to see my country free. But during the twenty years
we have been struggling we have done nothing, alas! but pass from one
tyranny to another, each time riveting afresh the chains which bind
us. No! Heaven itself seems to forbid our contending longer against an
implacable destiny. You know well from experience that citizens cannot
be improvised from slaves. Servitude destroys moral virtue, abases the
soul, and degrades the heart. Many generations must pass away before the
inhabitants of this unfortunate country will be fit to form a people!"
"By what right do you presume to fathom the designs of Providence?"
the unknown replied, in an imposing tone of voice. "Do you know what
is reserved for you? Who tells you that the passing triumph of our
oppressors is not granted by God, in His boundless wisdom, in order to
render their future fall more terrible?"
Don Tadeo, restored to himself by the manly words of his disguised
friend, drew himself up proudly, and looked attentively at the speaker.
"And who are you," he said, "whose sympathetic voice has stirred the
most secret fibres of my heart? Who authorizes you to speak thus?
Answer! Who are you?"
"Of what importance is it who I am," the unknown remarked, calmly, "if
I succeed in persuading you that all is far from being lost--that the
liberty which you believe for ever destroyed has never been so near
triumphing, and that it only perhaps requires one sublime effort to
recover it!"
"But still?" the wounded man said, persistently.
"I am he who, a few minutes ago, saved your life. That ought to suffice."
"Not so," Don Tadeo said, warmly, "for you conceal your features under a
mask, and the very circumstance you named gives me a right to see them."
"Perhaps it does," the unknown said, slowly removing his mask, and
revealing to Don Tadeo, in the pale beams of the moon, a countenance
with manly, marked features, and wearing a frank and loyal expression.
"Oh! my heart did not deceive me!" Tadeo cried--"Don Gregorio Peralta!"
"Yes, it is I, Don Tadeo!" the young man, he was scarcely thirty,
replied--"and cannot comprehend the depression of the man whom the
avengers have chosen as their chief."
"How do you know? Notwithstanding our friendship, I have always
concealed from you--"
"Were you not condemned to death?" Don Gregorio interrupted. "Your
companions elected me _King of Darkness_ in your place, that is, they
placed in my hands an immense power, as they had done in yours, of
which I was left the uncontrolled disposal. Death unbound the oath of
silence imposed upon the brethren. Your name was unknown to all; I was
as ignorant that you were the energetic chief who had made our society
a power, as you were, my dear friend, that I was one of your soldiers.
But, thanks be to God, you are saved, Don Tadeo! Resume your place.
You alone, under present circumstances, are able to fill worthily the
post which our confidence has assigned you. Become again the King of
Darkness! But," he added, in a deep, concentrated tone, "remember that
we are the avengers; that we ought to be without pity for ourselves
as for others; that one feeling, and one alone, ought to live in our
souls--the love of our country!"
Then followed a short silence; the two men appeared to be reflecting
deeply. At length Don Tadeo raised his head proudly.
"Thanks, Don Gregorio!" he said, in a firm voice, and pressing his
hand--"thanks for your rough words; they have restored me to myself. I
will prove myself worthy of you. Don Tadeo de Leon no longer exists;
the hired assassins of a tyrant have shot him tonight upon the Plaza
Mayor. No one is left but the King of Darkness! the implacable leader
of the Dark-Hearts! Woe be to them whom God shall bring across my path!
for I will crush them without pity. We shall triumph, Don Gregorio;
for from this day I am no longer a man, I am the avenging sword, the
exterminating angel, fighting for our country!"
While uttering these words, Don Tadeo had drawn his imposing stature up
to its full height; his handsome, noble features became animated, and
his eyes sparkled in accordance with his speech.
"Oh," Don Gregorio exclaimed, cheerfully, "I have found my friend again!
Thank God! thank God!"
"Yes, my brother," the leader continued, "from this moment the real
struggle between us and the tyrant begins--a struggle without pity,
without truce, and without mercy, which can only terminate in the
complete extinction of our enemies. Woe be to them! Woe!"
"No time is to be lost; let us begone!" Don Gregorio said.
"But whither am I to go?" Don Tadeo asked, with a sardonic smile. "Am I
not legally dead in the eyes of all? My house is no longer mine."
"That is true," the lieutenant of the Dark-Hearts murmured. "Well, never
mind that! Tomorrow the news of your miraculous resurrection will be a
thunderclap to our enemies! Their awaking will be terrible! They will
learn with stupor that the invincible athlete, whom they thought they
had for ever crushed beneath their feet, is up again, and ready to renew
the contest."
"And this time, I solemnly swear," Don Tadeo cried, with energy, "the
fall of the tyrant alone shall terminate it. But you are right; we
cannot remain longer here. Come home with me; for a time you will be
there in safety; unless," he added, with a smile, "you prefer asking an
asylum of Doña Rosario?"
Don Tadeo, who had taken Don Gregorio's arm, stopped suddenly at this
question, of which his friend did not suspect the terrible extent.
A convulsive shudder darted through his frame, a cold perspiration
inundated his face.
"Oh," he exclaimed, in a tone of agony, "my God! I had forgotten!"
Don Gregorio was terrified at the state he beheld him in.
"In heaven's name, what is the matter?" he asked.
"What is the matter!" the chief replied, in a voice choked with emotion,
"that woman--that serpent whom we have weakly failed to crush--"
"Well, what of her?"
"Oh, I have but this moment recollected a horrible threat she made. Good
heavens! good heavens! What is to be done?"
"Explain yourself, my friend; you quite terrify me."
"By her orders, Doña Rosario this very night, was to be carried off; and
who knows if, furious at my escape from her assassins, that woman has
not by this time put her to death?"
"Oh, that is frightful!" Don Gregorio cried. "What is to be done?"
"Oh, that woman!" the wounded man replied; "and not to be able to act,
or to know how to thwart her horrible schemes."
"Let us fly to Doña Rosario's residence!" Don Gregorio said.
"Alas! you see I am wounded; I can scarcely support myself."
"Well, when you can no longer walk, I will carry you," his friend said,
resolutely.
"Thanks, brother! May God help us!"
And the two men, the one leaning upon the other, set off, as fast as the
state of Don Tadeo would permit, towards the residence of the lady whom
they were so anxious to save. But, in spite of the earnest will that
animated him, Don Tadeo felt his strength fail him; and, notwithstanding
all his efforts, it was with extreme difficulty he sustained himself.
Whilst labouring on thus, the noise of horses' footsteps reached them
from a distance. Torches gleamed up the street, and a troop of horsemen
appeared in sight.
"Oh, oh!" Don Gregorio said, stopping, and endeavouring to make out who
those persons could be, who, in defiance of the police regulations,
dared to be passing along the streets at this hour of the night.
"Let us stop," Don Tadeo replied; "I see the glitter of uniforms. They
are the spies of the minister of war."
"By Saint Jago!" cried Don Gregorio, "it is General Bustamente himself!
The two accomplices are going to have a little chat together."
"Yes," the wounded man said, in a faltering voice; "he is going towards
the residence of the Linda."
As the horsemen were but at a short distance, the two men, fearing to be
surprised, turned quickly into a side street, and the General and his
suite passed by without seeing them.
"Let us begone as fast as possible," Don Gregorio said; and his
companion, aware of the urgency for prompt flight, made a desperate
effort. They resumed their course, and had walked for about ten minutes,
when they heard the steps of more horses coming towards them.
"What can this mean?" the wounded man said, endeavouring to smile; "Are
all the people of Santiago running about the streets tonight?"
"Hum!" said Don Gregorio, "I will find out this time."
All at once a female voice was heard in a lamentable tone imploring help.
"Make her hold her tongue, _carajas!_" a man said, coarsely.
But the sound of that voice had reached the ears of Don Tadeo and his
friend. At that voice, which both had recognized, they were roused to
feelings of deep interest and anger. They pressed each other's hand
firmly; their resolution was formed--to die or to save her who called
upon them for help.
"Holloa! what is this about?" another individual said, pulling up his
horse.
Two men, standing firmly in the middle of the street, seemed determined
to bar the passage of the horsemen, of whom there were five. One of them
held a woman before him on his horse.
"Holloa!" cried the one who had just spoken, "get out of the way, if you
don't wish to be ridden over."
"You shall not pass," a deep voice replied, "unless you release the
woman you are bearing off."
"Shan't we?" the horseman remarked with a laugh.
"Try," said Don Gregorio, cocking his pistol; a movement silently
imitated by Don Tadeo, whom he had supplied with firearms.
"For the last time, stand out of the way!" the horseman shouted.
"We will not!"
"We will ride over you, then!" and turning towards his companions,
"Forward!" he cried angrily.
The five horsemen advanced with uplifted sabres upon the two men, who,
firmly fixed in the middle of the street, made no effort to avoid them.