FAREWELL, TLATONAC.
Let us sail eastward, where the sun
Slow rises o'er the crimson wave,
Our western toils at last are done,
And rest, for ever, rest we crave.
Oh, see the shore fades far away,
A dim spot in the distant blue,
And eastward breaks the coming day
Which bids our life-day dawn anew.
Old times are at an end,--our lives
Have had their share of sighs and tears;
Now, loyal friends, with loving wives,
We hopeful look to coming years.
A cheer arose from the crowd at the sea-gate, the warships dipped their
flags in salutation, the guns thundered from the forts, and _The
Bohemian_ steamed slowly out of Tlatonac Harbour. At her mainmast
fluttered the Union Jack, over her stern drooped the Opal flag, for the
daughter and niece of His Excellency Don Miguel Maraquando were on
board, on their way to England, with their husbands, Sir Philip Cassim
and Jack Duval. That same day had they been married by Padre Ignatius,
and were now departing for the honeymoon, therefore did the guns
thunder, the people cheer, the flags dip.
Six weeks had elapsed since the fall of Totatzine, since the death of
poor Tim, and many events had taken place during that interval. When
the teocalli was captured and the priests slain, the Indians, deprived
at one blow of gods and leaders, yielded in despair to their
conquerors. Don Hypolito dead, Cocom sacrificed, the opal lost, nothing
more could be obtained from the town, so Rafael withdrew his troops by
the cañon road, and returned to announce to the Junta that they need no
more fear the restless ambition of Xuarez.
Poor Tim's body was taken back to Tlatonac by his sorrowing friends.
For a long time they could scarcely believe that he was dead. Tim, who
was so light-hearted and full of spirits; but alas! there was no doubt
that he had died almost instantaneously on the platform of the
teocalli. The spear, thrown with vigorous hate by Xuarez, and intended
for the breast of Jack, had dealt a fatal wound, and Tim had but time
to grasp Philip's hand in faint farewell before he passed away. The
three survivors were wild with grief at this loss, so cruel, so
unexpected, and reverentially carried the body of their old
schoolfellow to the capital for burial. In view of Tim's services
during the war, and the regard entertained for him by the Cholacacans
one and all, the Junta decreed a public funeral to the remains; so
Tim's body, with much pomp, was consigned to the vaults of the
cathedral, amid the firing of cannon, the knolling of bells.
It was some weeks before the three Englishmen could recover
sufficiently from this cruel blow to attend to necessary matters. Now
that the country was at peace, and Don Hypolito slain, the President
gave his hearty consent to the marriages of Dolores, Eulalia, and
Carmencita. The weddings were very quietly celebrated, as neither Jack
nor Philip felt inclined for revelry now that Tim was dead; and,
indeed, so many of the Tlatonacians had lost relatives in the late
war, that public festivities would have been out of place. Therefore
the weddings were celebrated by Padre Ignatius in a very quiet
fashion, and afterwards Jack and Philip, with their respective brides,
departed for England in _The Bohemian_, while Don Rafael and
Carmencita went north to Acauhtzin in a warship.
It was Philip's intention to establish himself and Eulalia in his
ancestral home in Kent, and live the useful life of a country
gentleman, varied by occasional voyages in _The Bohemian_. He could
not make up his mind to part with the yacht, nor did Eulalia wish him
to do so, and having proved herself to be a capital sailor, she took
as much interest in the boat as did Sir Philip himself. Eulalia,
having been shut up all her life in Tlatonac, now showed a decided
desire for rambling, so it seemed as though even marriage would not
cure Philip of his gipsy proclivities. Still before such matters were
decided upon, the baronet deemed it advisable to instal his Spanish
wife in the family mansion, and introduce Lady Cassim to the country
people.
As to Jack and Dolores, they were only paying a flying visit to the old
country for a few weeks, as Duval had finally made up his mind to
settle in Tlatonac, and become a naturalized citizen of that city. The
life suited him; he was married to a native lady of the place, and,
moreover, the Junta had given him full control of all engineering works
connected with the country; so Jack, with the full approval of Peter
and Philip, thought he could not do better than establish himself in
this new land. The country was rich in natural productions, in timber,
ores, and precious stones, so when Jack's railways opened it up
throughout the whole length, there was no doubt but that Cholacaca
would become one of the most flourishing Republics of the Americas.
Owing to the severe lesson at Totatzine, it was anticipated that the
Indians would be too cowed to give the Government further trouble, and
this proved to be the case. The last stronghold of the old gods had
fallen, and the sacred city, which had been the centre of incessant
conspiracy against the Republic was quite broken up. With the vanishing
of the opal, it lost its character of a sacred town, and now being
thrown open to the world by the discovery of the secret paths, no
longer possessed any mysterious charm for the Indians. With no centre,
with no crafty priesthood, the power of the tribes, instead of being
concentrated, became scattered, and there is no doubt that in the near
future, when the country is a network of railways, that the savage
tribes will vanish before the advancing flood of civilisation.
Peter did not come in _The Bohemian_, as he had accepted the
invitation of a celebrated naturalist to visit him up Mexico way, and
hunt beetles and butterflies in company. Faithless Peter, he refused
to marry Doña Serafina, and fled the smiles of his elderly charmer,
for they, to him, dearer delights of entomology. Baffled in one
quarter, Doña Serafina was successful in another, for she turned her
attention to Don Alfonso Cebrian, and succeeded, after some
difficulty, in marrying the Intendante of Xicotencatl, who had for
some years been a widower. Serafina found on marriage that she
possessed a step-daughter, with whom she could not agree, but speedily
settled her future by marrying her off to Captain Velez, who thus
became the Intendante's son-in-law after all.
After leaving Tlatonac, the four people on board _The Bohemian_ were
talking of these things on deck, in the warm sunshine. It was the
afternoon of a perfect day, and the yacht steamed merrily along
towards the distant ocean. To the surprise of Philip and Jack, the
ladies proved to be excellent sailors, and were quite fascinated with
the yacht, much to the gratification of old Benker, who, for the first
time in his crusty old life, approved of the existence of the female
sex.
When they were tired roaming about and making inquiries about this,
that, and the other thing, they settled down in comfortable deck-chairs
to talk about the future with their respective husbands. Dolores and
Jack were returning to Tlatonac shortly, so had but the same life to
look forward to; but Eulalia was secretly dismayed at the prospect of
being an English lady.
"Querido!" she said to Philip, looking at him over the top of her big
black fan, "I cannot talk your tongue. And your English ladies! I hear
they are so cold. And your climate. Oh, Felipe, I fear your climate."
"Who told you all these nice things, Eulalia?" asked Philip, smiling.
"Don Pedro."
"My dear girl, you must not believe what Peter says. He doesn't know a
thing, except what relates to beetles. You are learning to talk English
very quickly, and as to the English ladies--they will all fall in love
with you."
"And the climate of England," added Jack, wickedly, "is the best in the
world."
"No!" replied Philip, laughing, "I cannot conscientiously say that. But
neither Eulalia nor myself will stay much in England. We shall travel."
Eulalia clapped her hands with glee on hearing this delightful
proposal, and Dolores settled the future course of such travelling.
"Wherever you may go, Señor Felipe," she said smiling, "forget not that
Juan and myself dwell in Tlatonac, and shall expect you both once a
year."
"More or less!" cried Jack, lazily. "Come in a year, Philip, and you
will see how Cholacaca is going ahead. I will have that railway to
Acauhtzin ready before you know where you are. All those little forest
towns will soon be in communication with the outside world----"
"And Totatzine?"
"Ah, Totatzine has lost its mysterious charm of the unknown. I'll turn
it into a resort for invalids, or a Central American Monte Carlo. Where
Huitzilopochtli was worshipped, future generations will adore the
goddess of play."
"At that rate, you will still have victims offered at the shrine," said
Philip, grimly; "but, after all, Jack, it was a pity we lost the opal."
"Can it not be found again?" asked Dolores, who deeply regretted the
vanished jewel.
Jack shook his head.
"I am afraid not. Xuarez threw it into the torrent. Heaven only knows
in what profound depths it now lies. Perhaps it is best so. While it
was on earth, it caused nothing but trouble, from the time it was in
the possession of Montezuma, to the death of Xuarez."
"Now it is lost, I suppose the superstition will die out!"
"Superstition dies hard. All kinds of legends will grow up about that
famous gem. It will still be remembered for many years, the more
especially as Tlatonac is still, and ever shall be, the City of the
Opal."
"And Dolores is still the guardian of the opal," said Eulalia,
pensively.
"A guardian of a stone that has now no existence," replied Dolores,
laughing; "but, after all, I had rather the jewel was lost than my
Juan."
"Ah, Dolores!" said Jack, with a sad smile, "had it not been for the
Señor Correspoñsal, your Juan would have been lost."
"Poor Tim," muttered Philip, softly, turning away to conceal his
emotion.
The tears sprang to Dolores' eyes, and Eulalia was scarcely less
affected. It seemed too terrible that they should all be so happy, when
poor Tim, whom they loved so much, should be lying in the grave. The
bitterest part of it was that the death had taken place just when the
war was over. Tim had escaped the siege of Janjalla, the battle of
Centeotl, only to fall in a skirmish at the obscure town of Totatzine.
It was fate!
They remained silent for a few minutes, thinking of the dead man, and
then Philip aroused himself with an effort.
"Come!" he said, with a smile. "We must not be melancholy on our
wedding-day. Poor Tim himself would have been the last to countenance
such folly. We can talk of other things. Of Rafael, for instance."
"There is not much to talk about Rafael," said his sister, lightly; "he
is married to Doña Carmencita. He is now Governor of Acauhtzin, and
when Cholacaca has a fleet, he shall be its almirante. I think Rafael
is very fortunate, Felipe."
"Not so fortunate as I am," replied the baronet looking at her fondly.
"Nor as I!" cried Jack, slipping his arm round Dolores' waist. "Ah,
Philip, how many things have taken place since we sailed over these
waters! Did I not tell you you would bring home a bride?"
"You did, and I half believed you. For once, you have prophesied
correctly. I am grateful to you, Jack, for having led me to secure this
prize. When you came back to England, I was settling down into a crusty
old bachelor; but now you will find me a devoted husband--all through
your coming to England."
"Say, rather, all through the agreement we made at Bedford School, so
many years ago. That boyish freak has brought us good fortune and
charming wives."
"Yet Peter is still a bachelor."
"Oh, Peter will marry a beetle! I expect we shall see him in England
shortly. For myself, I do not complain of Fate; nor does Dolores."
Jack bent down tenderly, and kissed Dolores, which example seemed so
good to Philip that he at once followed suit.
The sun was setting in the west, and the sky was one blaze of colours.
Pale rose, tawny-yellow, and high above, the delicate blue of the
departing day. The sky, the sea were all glittering with rainbow hues
of unexampled brilliancy. The yacht, leaving all this splendour behind,
steamed steadily onward towards the coming night.
"It is like the Chalchuih Tlatonac," said Dolores, pointing to the
sunset.
"And we are leaving it behind," replied Jack, taking her hand; "but I
do not regret it, querida. If Fate has denied me the harlequin opal,
she has given me a dearer and more precious gift--yourself."
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Harlequin Opal, Vol. 3 (of 3), by Fergus Hume