A REVOLUTIONIST.
The attachments of home did not appeal to me in this instance; to tell
the honest truth, I was extremely well pleased to escape from the
place in which my person had been confined for the space of more than
twenty-five hours, nearer thirty, I think.
Robbins had come to me like an angel of light, an angel with a flaming
sword, who would lead me to fields of glory, and to Hildegarde--hence,
I followed him with an eagerness no words of mine could describe.
He had his bearings all right, and went at the business with the air of
a man who knew just what he wanted and meant to get it.
Naturally, I was not a little curious to understand how he came to be
in the house of the alcalde.
I might have fancied, from his dress, that he had obtained some sort
of position in the _hacienda_ of the mayor, but that seemed too absurd
for belief, considering that he possessed so wretched a command of the
Spanish language.
Had it been myself, now, there might have seemed some reason for
it--although I could even remember a few instances where my lack of
proficiency in that respect had given me more or less trouble.
In good time all would be made clear.
I made a shrewd guess that Carmencita and her revolutionary friends had
a goodly share in the enterprise; Robbins had saved the child from the
sea, and his reward came in the shape of assistance.
Thus we reap what we sow.
My emotions while traversing the gloomy corridor were of a more lively
character than when last I tramped its length, in the custody of the
soldiers.
Indeed, so positive was I that the upheaval in my fortunes so patiently
awaited had arrived, and that it was my turn to kick those who had held
me down, that I chuckled audibly while thinking of the alcalde.
His goose was cooked--the goose which he expected to lay the golden
eggs.
Poor mayor!
It was an evil day for him and his fortunes when Yankee blood landed
in Bolivar. Still, by a quick turn, when the success of the revolution
seemed assured, he could save his head; these things are constantly
done in South and Central American lands, where one meets the veterans
of a dozen revolutions.
Then, my sweet cherubim, the silent, scowling, piratical jailer--what
of him?
Really, the fellow had been such a striking stage character one might
have thought him to be in training for a new comic opera, and he had
appealed to the humorous element in my peculiar composition.
So much did I think of Cerberus that I touched good Robbins on the
shoulder and begged, as a particular favor, that he would grant me the
privilege of a last farewell glimpse of the surly dog, that is, if it
were convenient.
Accordingly, he presently led me to a door, which he kicked open, and
bade me look in.
The lantern showed me another den similar to that luxurious abode in
which I had spent a day and a night, only this one lacked the kingly
couch on which I had rested my weary limbs.
But my old friend was there, lying like a mummy on the damp and moldy
floor.
He seemed almost swathed in rope that had been coiled around him from
head to feet, and secured with many a half hitch, and similar sailor’s
knots; while he appeared to have stopped short in the act of swallowing
a pine knot, a portion of which projected from between his teeth.
I had heard of alligators doing that sort of thing, but never a human
being; but then I had my doubts as to whether Cerberus were not half or
wholly buccaneer.
Perhaps I should have felt sorry for the poor devil, but, somehow, I
could not; he had seemed so churlish and hateful that it looked as
though he were only getting his rightful reward while he lay there.
And, possessed by a spirit of deviltry, I could not resist the
temptation of approaching the fellow with mysterious movements;
doubtless, he fully anticipated that I was about to repay the debt I
owed him by introducing a keen-edged knife between his fifth and sixth
ribs, for his black eyes fairly scintillated with terror.
My revenge was even more sinister.
I bent down and whispered, hoarsely:
“_Tortillas, frijoles, aqua--aqua, tortillas, frijoles_,” and varied
the _menu_ a few more times. It was enough--the torture, or something
else, caused him to utter a groan; but I have often thought since that
Cerberus never fully appreciated the terrible nature of my revenge.
Some men are invulnerable to a joke.
Having satisfied my curiosity, and looked upon the pirate in adversity,
I signified to Robbins that now I was willing to go on.
Other things awaited my attention; there seemed to be tremendous events
trembling in the balance, in which I was to have a share, but just what
these were, or what my interest in them might amount to, I could not
yet understand.
We now proceeded to leave the subterranean quarters of the alcalde’s
place, nor was I overcome by any serious regrets.
The upper world always had more charms in my eyes--I was never intended
to work in a colliery or the salt mines in Siberia, to which political
offenders were wont to be sent; one survey of these latter under
official guidance had been quite enough for me.
How vividly I remembered my former escapade in these ancestral halls,
and how we had carried the fort by storm; would the same good fortune
attend our present venture?
The chances were fair--Robbins had made some powerful friends, and this
time we might rely upon it that the whole of Bolivar would not have to
be reckoned with in our flight.
I was really glad Robbins assumed charge of the expedition; he was
a born leader, whom opportunity had as yet failed to seek out with
sufficient frequency.
That was all done away with now, for I was fully determined he should
from this hour never lack for a berth where he could hold command.
There were other steam yachts, and I could, if I chose, invest a cool
hundred thousand in one, for that Mediterranean trip, with Hildegarde
at my side, held out fascinations to my hungry soul.
The golden eggs the alcalde did not get could be put to this good
service.
“Is it Hildegarde, now?” I whispered, hoarsely, in Robbins’ ear, for a
vague fear had arisen to give me disquiet, a fear lest he might have
become so wrapped up in the schemes of the revolutionists that he would
feel compelled to employ the first of his time to their cause.
In that event I would have gone it alone.
Now his ready answer reassured me.
“Hildegarde first, my lad, and all the time. My work depends wholly on
her safety; if they find her a refuge, I’ve promised that both of us
are with them, heart and soul,” he said.
That meant, of course, that I was to become a revolutionist.
Well, I would have done much more to insure her safety--adopted the
calling of a _contrabandista_ or smuggler--yes, even that of a pirate,
if by so doing I could serve that little woman.
My re-entrance into Paradise had apparently loosened the screws of
my brain box a trifle, which must be the excuse for any trace of
extravagance of which I appeared guilty.
Why, not to be a revolutionist down in this country meant not to
exist--at one time or another everybody was that.
So I rested content.
At the most, I supposed it only meant joining a howling mob, shouting
wildly for the new president, Gen. Toreado, and making all the racket
possible, until, finally, the alarmed government, fearful lest their
lives might be in peril, fled across the border to a neighboring
republic, where they, in turn, might sow the seeds of the next popular
uprising.
Why, that would only be fun, after all, and I could look on it as
compensation for the abject manner in which I had chased through these
same streets on a former occasion.
Yes, I would be a revolutionist, and experience the wild exhilaration
that possesses a Central American free state in the throes of an
upheaval.
I had done more than that for mere love of adventure in the
past--surely, I could endure what came my way now, since it was for a
higher and far more worthy cause--love of a woman.
I wondered if she were confined in the same suite of rooms where
Carmencita had led us on the night we defied all Bolivar.
Robbins must be growing quite familiar with the alcalde’s home quarters
by this time, he had prowled about it so extensively.
I could not but admire the positive ease with which he led me to the
little court where the fountain flashed, and the scent of flowers hung
heavy in the night air; he never hesitated as though at a loss to tell
where his course lay. There was a flight of stairs leading to the long
balcony or porch fronting the upper story, allowing the occupants of
those chambers an opportunity to sit where they could look down upon
the enchanting scene below.
Twice we had met servants hurrying about their business, but Robbins
was warned in time, and hustled me out of sight.
I would not have been astonished if he had made a gesture that would
bring these fellows to their knees, for the spirit of a budding
revolution appears to permeate even the households of the head
officials.
Nothing could surprise me after this, for was I not in the land of
enchantment, where one knows not what a day or hour may bring forth?
Once we reached the long porch I began to get my bearings.
There was a passage that led to that wing of the _hacienda_ not
fronting on the court of the fountain--the wing that had been the scene
of our former adventure.
Where was our worthy alcalde and his household?
Could they be lingering over their wine, unconscious of the volcano
that was arranged to burst forth upon Bolivar this night?
Now we plunged into the passage, and were heading, as before, straight
to Hildegarde’s rooms.
My heart beat like the ticking of a watch, and a glow ran through my
whole frame.
The wizard even knew how to unfasten the door after he had knocked, and
as he threw it open, my eyes fell upon the expectant face of my darling.