“Let us go and take the eleven,” was introduced by Jack, and referred to “aguardiente” (brandy), which has eleven letters. It was in constant use, and when the familiar sound struck on their ears, Philip and Peter lifted their heads anxiously. It is but fair to state, however, that in the sense in which the saying was used on board the yacht, it referred to lemon squash, which also has that number of letters.
“I’ll take one, if you prepare it.”
“Carambo!” said Tim, viciously. “I won’t. Brew one for yourself. I’m not a bar tender.”
“Tim’s getting up his Spanish for the ladies,” murmured Philip, lazily.
“If he greets them with carambo, he’ll be slung out of Tlatonac,” retorted Jack, who frequently indulged in American slang.
“Oh, I also know how to make love in Spanish,” said the Irishman, bluntly. “El hombre prevenido nunca fue vencido.”
“Oh, shut up!”
“What does that mean?” asked Peter, who was profoundly ignorant of the Castillian tongue.
“It means, ‘The prepared man is never conquered,’ you ignorant creature. Peter, you’ll have to learn Spanish, if only to flirt with old Serafina.”
Peter deliberately arose from his chair, and walked down to the saloon.
“That’s Peter’s way of remonstrating,” said Jack, smiling. “It’s hot here; we had better follow his example.”
They did, and in a remarkably short space of time were fast asleep. The siesta had also been introduced by Jack with such success that they slept all day and sat up all night, when it was cool. It was the only way they had of making life bearable.
The next morning they were within sight of Tlatonac. A long low line of sand appeared in the distance, topped here and there with a slender palm. As they drew nearer, they saw the frowning walls of the forts rising above the waters, and beyond, on a hill, the red-roofed houses of the city. Above all, the slender towers and high dome of the cathedral.
“Hullo!” said Jack, noting the absence of the war-ships. “No navy! This looks ominous.”
“Do you think war has begun?” asked Peter, turning round in dismay.
“Lord knows! It looks like it.”
“Well, at all events, the war-ships can’t hurt us now,” said Philip; “we are under the guns of the forts.”
From the central part of the forts a long wharf shot into the blue waters. The bay was covered with boats; intensely green vegetation clothed the shores, and the white walls of the forts glistening like silver in the blazing sunlight. And this was Tlatonac.
“A most exposed situation,” said Philip, thinking of the war. “If the war-ships start shelling those red roofs, there won’t be much of them left.”
He addressed Jack; but that young man did not reply. He was thinking of Dolores. Philip turned towards Peter; but the doctor’s mental eye was fixed on clouds of gorgeous butterflies. Tim!
“I’d like to see a naval combat in this bay,” said Tim, gravely, “with war-ships and torpedoes.”
“Three monomaniacs,” said Philip, rising. “War, butterflies, and Dolores. We’d better go ashore now, lads. I’m tired of those three subjects.”
Chapter V.
Don Miguel Is Communicative
Why, look you, Señor, thus the matter stands:
When one is in a country dangerous,
And night is round him everywhere—‘tis wise
To venture nothing till the morning’s light,
Lest, in the dark, some hidden pitfall lurk.
Thus stands our fortune. Traitors full of guile
Are in our midst—yet, keeping quiet their plans,
Would gull us into false security.
We know not where to strike—for here, and here,
Danger may lurk, and yet we dare not strike.
The house of Don Miguel Maraquando was situate on one side of the Plaza de los Hombres Ilustres, opposite to the Cathedral, and near the Calle Otumba. Like the generality of Mexican mansions, it was built in the Hispano-Moriscan fashion—a style of architecture peculiarly adapted to this equatorial climate. Walls of massive stone, impenetrable to heat, surrounded a patio paved with variegated tiles and brilliant with tropical flowers. From this patio doors opened into the various rooms of the house, while above were ranges of sleeping-chambers fronted by a light iron-railed balcony running round all four sides of the courtyard. The roof—generally called the azotea—was flat, and in many houses is used for family gatherings in the warm nights or during a temperate day. In this case, however, the Maraquando family made use of the patio, where the heat, particularly at noon, was not so great.
It was a charming spot, cool, bright and airy, with plenty of brilliant-blossomed flowers standing round the sides in red, porous jars, and vividly green creepers which twisted round the squat pillars and clambered to the sunlight by the ladder of the balconies. An old Aztec sacrificial stone carved with ugly gods occupied the centre of the court, and here and there appeared misshapen statues of the same grotesque deities. A light awning, gaily striped with red and white, made the patio shady, and beneath this were cane chairs for the accommodation of the lazy, and small tables on which to place refreshments. It was a veritable castle of indolence, grateful to day-dreamers, and, as such, peculiarly acceptable to the Cholacacans, who are the least industrious people on this planet.
Outside, the mansion, with its massive doors and iron rejas, presented a gloomy and forbidding appearance, more like a prison than a dwelling house. On entering the door, however, and passing through the dim zaguan, the internal cheerfulness of the patio was accentuated by the dullness without. Indeed, the sudden emergence into the light was somewhat bewildering, as with blue sky above and flower-decorated patio below, it was some time before the eye became accustomed to the blinding brilliance of the whole. Graceful architecture, hideous idols, the splendour of floral treasures, and silver glitter of the walls, the patio was a most charming spot, and eminently calculated to make life in this tropical zone remarkably pleasant.
Into this city paradise, created by the hand of man, Jack introduced his friends, and formally presented them to Don Miguel, Jefe Politico of Tlatonac, who, having been informed of their arrival, awaited them in his patio according to the etiquette of the country. He was tall and lean and dry, with a most astonishing resemblance to Don Quixote as delineated by the pencil of Doré. For coolness, he wore a white linen suit, and shaded his austere face with a broad-brimed sombrero, which latter he removed with infinite grace on the appearance of the Englishman.
“Welcome, gentlemen, to Tlatonac,” he said majestically, in Spanish; “my house and all therein is at your disposal.”
After this hospitable greeting, he insisted
