VALCOUR
The Castina was a Brazilian trading-ship frequently employed by the firm
of Harcliffe Brothers to transport merchandise from New Orleans to Rio
de Janiero. I had formed a slight acquaintance with the master, Pedro
Lertine, and was not surprised when he placed his own state-room at my
disposal; for although the vessel usually carried passengers, the cabin
accommodations were none of the best.
The Captain asked no questions concerning my voyage, contenting himself
with the simple statement that he had often carried my father with him
in the Castina in former years, and was now pleased to welcome the son
aboard. He exhibited rare deference toward my uncle, Nelson Harcliffe,
as the head of our firm, when the old gentleman came to the head of the
levee to bid me good by; this Uncle Nelson did by means of a gentle
pressure of my hand. I am told the Harcliffes are always remarkable for
their reserve, and certainly the head of our house was an adept at
repressing his emotions. Neither he nor my father, who had been his
associate in founding the successful mercantile establishment, had ever
cared to make any intimate friends; and for this reason the warmth of
friendship evinced by Uncle Nelson in sending me on this peculiar
mission to Dom Miguel de Pintra had caused me no little astonishment.
After his simple handshake my uncle walked back to his office, and I
immediately boarded the Castina to look after the placing of my trunks.
Before I had fairly settled myself in my cozy state-room we were under
way and steaming down the river toward the open sea.
On deck I met a young gentleman of rather prepossessing personality who
seemed quite willing to enter into conversation. He was a dark-eyed,
handsome Brazilian, well dressed and of pleasing manners. His card bore
the inscription, _Manuel Cortes de Guarde_. He expressed great delight
at finding me able to speak his native tongue, and rendered himself so
agreeable that we had soon established very cordial relations. He loved
to talk, and I love to listen, especially when I am able to gather
information by so doing, and de Guarde seemed to know Brazil perfectly,
and to delight in describing it. I noticed that he never touched on
politics, but from his general conversation I gleaned considerable
knowledge of the country I was about to visit.
During dinner he chattered away continually in his soft Portuguese
patois, and the other passengers, less than a dozen in number, seemed
content to allow him to monopolize the conversation. I noticed that
Captain Lertine treated de Guarde with fully as much consideration as he
did me, while the other passengers he seemed to regard with haughty
indifference. However, I made the acquaintance of several of my
fellow-voyagers and found them both agreeable and intelligent.
I had promised myself a pleasant, quiet voyage to the shores of Brazil,
but presently events began to happen with a rapidity that startled me.
Indeed, it was not long before I received a plain intimation that I had
embarked upon an adventure that might prove dangerous.
We were two days out, and the night fell close and warm. Finding my
berth insufferably oppressive I arose about midnight, partially dressed,
and went on deck to get whatever breeze might be stirring. It was
certainly cooler than below, and reclining in the shadow beside a poop I
had nearly succeeded in falling asleep when aroused by the voices of two
men who approached and paused to lean over the taffrail. They proved to
be Captain Lertine and de Guarde, and I was about to announce my
presence when the mention of my own name caused me to hesitate.
“I cannot understand why you should suspect young Harcliffe,” the
Captain said.
“Because, of all your passengers, he would be most fitted to act as de
Pintra’s secretary,” was the reply. “And, moreover, he is a Harcliffe.”
“That’s just it, senhor,” declared the other; “he is a Harcliffe, and
since his father’s death, one of the great firm of Harcliffe Brothers.
It is absurd to think one of his position would go to Brazil to serve
Miguel de Pintra.”
“Perhaps the adventure entices him,” returned de Guarde’s soft voice, in
reflective tones. “He is but lately from college, and his uncle may wish
him to know something of Brazil, where the greater part of the Harcliffe
fortune has been made.”
“_Deus Meo!_” exclaimed the Captain; “but you seem to know everything
about everybody, my dear Valcour! However, this suspicion of young
Harcliffe is nonsense, I assure you. You must look elsewhere for the new
secretary—provided, of course, he is on my ship.”
“Oh, he is doubtless on board,” answered de Guarde, with a low,
confident laugh. “De Pintra’s letters asked that a man be sent on the
first ship bound for Rio, and Nelson Harcliffe is known to act promptly
in all business matters. Moreover, I have studied carefully the
personality of each of your passengers, and none of them seems fitted
for the post so perfectly as young Harcliffe himself. I assure you, my
dear Lertine, that I am right. He can be going out for no other purpose
than to assist de Pintra.”
The Captain whistled softly.
“Therefore?” he murmured.
“Therefore,” continued de Guarde, gravely, “it is my duty to prevent his
reaching his destination.”
“You will have him arrested when we reach Rio?”
“Arrested? No, indeed. Those Americans at Washington become peevish if
we arrest one of their citizens, however criminal he may be. The
situation demands delicate treatment, and my orders are positive. Our
new secretary for the revolution must not reach Rio.”
Again the Captain whistled—a vague melody with many false and uncertain
notes. And the other remained silent.
Naturally I found the conversation most interesting, and no feeling of
delicacy prevented my straining my ears to catch more of it. It was the
Captain who broke the long silence.
“Nevertheless, my dear Valcour—”
“De Guarde, if you please.”
“Nevertheless, de Guarde, our Mr. Harcliffe may be innocent, and merely
journeying to Brazil on business.”
“I propose to satisfy myself on that point. Great God, man! do you think
I love this kind of work—even for the Emperor’s protection? But my
master is just, though forced at times to act with seeming cruelty. I
must be sure that Harcliffe is going to Brazil as secretary to the rebel
leader, and you must aid me in determining the fact. When our man goes
to breakfast in the morning I will examine his room for papers. The
pass-key is on the bunch you gave me, I suppose?”
“Yes, it is there.”
“Very well. Join your passengers at breakfast, and should Mr. Harcliffe
leave the table on any pretext, see that I am duly warned.”
“Certainly, senhor.”
“And now I am going to bed. Good night, Lertine.”
“Good night, de Guarde.”
They moved cautiously away, and a few minutes later I followed,
regaining my state-room without encountering any one.
Once in my bunk I lay revolving the situation in my mind. Evidently it
was far from safe to involve one’s self in Brazilian politics. My friend
Valcour, as the Captain had called him, was a spy of the Emperor,
masquerading under the title of Senhor Manuel Cortes de Guarde. A clever
fellow, indeed, despite his soft, feminine ways and innocent chatter,
and one who regarded even murder as permissible in the execution of his
duty to Dom Pedro. It was the first time in my life I had been, to my
knowledge, in any personal danger, and the sensation was rather
agreeable than otherwise.
It astonished me to discover that de Guarde knew so perfectly the
contents of Dom Miguel’s letter to my uncle. Doubtless the secret police
had read and made a copy of it before the blue envelope had been
permitted to leave Brazil. But in that case, I could not understand why
they had allowed the missive to reach its destination.
In his cool analysis of the situation, my friend the spy had unerringly
hit upon the right person as the prospective secretary of the
revolutionary leader. Yet he had no positive proof, and it was pleasant
to reflect that in my possession were no papers of any sort that might
implicate me. Uncle Nelson had even omitted the customary letter of
introduction.
“De Pintra knew your father, and your face will therefore vouch for your
identity,” the old gentleman had declared. Others have remarked upon the
strong resemblance I bear my father, and I had no doubt de Pintra would
recognize me. But, in addition, I had stored in my memory a secret word
that would serve as talisman in case of need.
The chances of my puzzling Dom Pedro’s detective were distinctly in my
favor, and I was about to rest content in that knowledge, when an idea
took possession of me that promised so much amusement that I could not
resist undertaking it. It may be that I was influenced by a mild chagrin
at the deception practised upon me by de Guarde, or the repulsion that a
secret-service man always inspires in the breast of a civilian. Anyway,
I resolved to pit my wits against those of Senhor Valcour, and having
formulated my plan I fell asleep and rested comfortably until daybreak.
It had been my habit to carry with me a pocket diary, inscribing therein
any vivid impressions or important events that occurred to me. There
were many blank pages, for my life had been rather barren of incident of
late; but I had resolved to keep a record of this trip and for this
purpose the little book was now lying upon the low shelf that served as
table in my room.
Arising somewhat before my usual hour I made a hurried toilet and sat
down to make entries in my diary. I stated that my sudden desire to
visit Brazil was due to curiosity, and that my uncle had placed several
minor business matters in my hands to attend to. My return to New
Orleans would depend entirely upon how well I liked the country where
our house had so successfully traded for a half-century. Arriving at
this point, I added the following paragraphs:
“On the ship with me Uncle Nelson is sending a private secretary
to Dom Miguel de Pintra, who, it seems, was an ancient customer of
our house, but is now more interested in politics than in
commerce. This secretary is a remarkable fellow, yet so placid and
unassuming that no one is likely to suspect his mission. He seems
to know everything, and has astonished me by his intimate
knowledge of all that transpires upon the ship. For example, he
tells me that my friend de Guarde, of whom I have already grown
fond, is none other than a certain Valcour, well known in the
secret service of his majesty the Emperor of Brazil. Valcour is on
board because he knows the contents of a letter written by de
Pintra to my uncle, asking for a shrewd American to become his
private secretary; also Valcour is instructed to dispose of the
rebel secretary before we land at Rio—meaning, of course, to
murder him secretly. This seemingly horrible plot but amuses our
secretary, for Valcour has only poor Captain Lertine to aid him,
whereas the wonderful American has a following of desperate men
trained to deeds of bloodshed who will obey his slightest nod.
From what I learn I am confident the plan is to assassinate my
friend Valcour in a secret manner, for here is a rare opportunity
to rid themselves of a hated royalist spy. Poor de Guarde! I would
like to warn him of his danger, but dare not. Even then, I doubt
his ability to escape. The toils are closing about him, even while
he innocently imagines that he, as the Emperor’s agent, controls
the situation. It would all be laughable, were it not so very
terrible in its tragic aspect.
“But there! I must not mix with politics, but strive to hold aloof
from either side. The secretary, though doubtless a marvel of
diplomacy and duplicity, is too unscrupulous to suit me. He has
actually corrupted the entire crew, from the engineers down, and
at his word I am assured the fellows would mutiny and seize the
ship. What chance has my poor friend de Guarde—or Valcour—to
escape this demon? Yet, after all, it is not my affair, and I dare
not speak.”
This entry I intended to puzzle Senhor Valcour, even if it failed to
wholly deceive him. I wrote it with assumed carelessness, to render it
uniform with the former paragraphs the book contained. These last were
of a trivial nature, dating back for some months. They would interest no
one but myself; yet I expected them to be read, for I left the diary
lying upon my shelf, having first made a number of pin-marks in the
paint, at the edges of the cover, so that I might assure myself, on my
return to the room, whether or not the book had been disturbed.
This task completed, I locked the door behind me and cheerfully joined
the breakfast party in the main cabin.
De Guarde was not present, but no one seemed to miss him, and we
lingered long in light conversation over the meal, as it is the custom
of passengers aboard a slow-going ship.
Afterward, when I went on deck, I discovered de Guarde leaning over the
rail, evidently in deep thought. As I strolled past him, puffing my
cigar, he turned around, and the sight of his face, white and stern,
positively startled me. The soft dark eyes had lost their confident,
merry look, and bore a trace of fear. No need to examine the pin-marks
on my shelf. The Emperor’s spy had, without doubt, read the false entry
in my diary, and it had impressed him beyond my expectation.