The Captain of the Queen's Dragoons continued his gallop towards the
hacienda of Las Palmas.
For the first mile or two of his route, he passed over the broad plain
that lay silent under the soft light of the moon. The frondage of the
palms swayed gently under a sky sparkling with stars, and the
penetrating odour of the guavas loaded the atmosphere with a delicious
perfume. So tranquil was the scene, that Don Rafael began to think the
Indian had been playing upon his credulity. Mechanically he relaxed his
pace, and delivered himself up to one of those sweet reveries which the
tropic night often awakens within the spirit of the traveller. At such
an hour one experiences a degree of rapture in listening to the voices
of earth and heaven, like a hymn which each alternately chants to the
other.
All at once the traveller remembered what for the last two days of his
journey had been perplexing him--the houses abandoned--the canoes
suspended from the trees. Now, for the first time, did he comprehend
the meaning of these circumstances, no longer strange. The canoes and
_periaguas_ had been thus placed as a last means of safety, for those
who might be so unfortunate as to be overtaken by the inundation.
Suddenly rousing himself from his reverie, Don Rafael again spurred his
horse into a gallop.
He had ridden scarce a mile further, when all at once the voices of the
night became hushed. The cicadas in the trees, and the crickets under
the grass, as if by mutual consent, discontinued their cheerful chirrup;
and the breeze, hitherto soft and balmy, was succeeded by puffs of wind,
exhaling a marshy odour, stifling as the breath of some noisome
pestilence.
This ominous silence was not of long duration. Presently the traveller
perceived a hoarse distant roaring, not unlike that of the cataract he
had left behind him; but from a point diametrically opposite--in fact,
from the direction towards which he was heading.
At first he fancied that in his momentary fit of abstraction he had
taken a wrong direction, and might be returning upon the stream. But
no: the moon was on his left; his shadow and that of his horse were
projected to the opposite side. He must still be on the right road.
His heart began to bound more quickly within his breast. If the Indian
had spoken the truth, a danger lay before him against which neither his
carbine nor rapier--neither courage nor a strong arm--could avail him.
His only hope rested in the speed and strength of his horse.
Fortunately, the long journey had not deprived the brave steed of all
his vigour. With ears laid back, and muzzle stretched horizontally
forward, he continued his rapid gallop; his spread nostrils inhaling the
puffs of damp air which came like avant-couriers in advance of the
troubled waters.
It was now a struggle between the horseman and the flood, as to which
should first reach the hacienda of Las Palmas.
The officer slackened his bridle-rein. The tinkling rowels of his spurs
resounded against the ribs of his horse. The trial of speed had
commenced. The plain appeared to glide past him like the current of a
river. The bushes and tall palms seemed flying backward.
The inundation was rolling from west to east. The horseman was
hastening in the opposite direction. Both must soon come together; but
at what place?
The distance between them was rapidly diminishing. The noise of the
flood, at first low, like the muttering of distant thunder, was
gradually growing louder. The palms still appeared to glide past like
spectres, but as yet the belfry of the hacienda had not come in sight.
Neither as yet was visible the threatening mass of the inundation.
At this perilous moment Don Rafael perceived that his horse was sensibly
slackening his pace. The sides of the animal felt swollen, and heaved
with a convulsive panting.
The air, so rapidly cut in his swift course, with difficulty entered his
nostrils. A few seconds longer, and that in his lungs must give out.
The officer drew up for an instant. The breathing of his horse appeared
obstructed, and the hoarse sound, caused by its inspiration, was a
mournful accompaniment to the sough of the waters that were constantly
advancing.
The traveller listened to these sounds with a sentiment of despair.
Just then he heard the clanging of a bell, as if hurriedly tolled. It
was that of the hacienda, giving out its warning notes over the wide
savanna.
A reflection crossed his mind. It had been partly suggested by the
words of the Indian: "_Think only of those who may bewail your death_."
Was there in that hacienda, where he was hourly expected, one who would
bewail it? Perhaps yes, and bitterly!
The thought would have urged him onward; but Don Rafael still remained
halted. He saw that his horse required a moment of rest, in order to
recover his wind, otherwise he could not have proceeded.
The dragoon had the presence of mind to perceive this imperious
necessity; and, in spite of the danger that threatened he dismounted,
loosened the girdle of his saddle, thus permitting the horse to breathe
more freely.