them in a state of great excitement, and welcomed Don Rafael as one returned from the dead. He embraced his sister, cousin, and aunt; which privilege was rather envied by the four friends, as regards the first two, and was then formally introduced to the Englishmen. His eye flashed as he saluted Tim and heard his vocation.
“You will have plenty to write about, Señor Correspoñsal,” he said, fiercely; “there will be a war, and a bitter war too. I have barely escaped with my life from Acauhtzin.”
“Tell me all about it, Señor,” said Tim, taking out his pocket-book; “and the news will go off to London to-night.”
“A thousand regrets, Señor Correspoñsal, that I cannot give you a detailed account at present, but I am worn out. I have not slept for days!”
“Pobrecito,” cried the ladies, in a commiserating tone.
“I will, at all events, tell you shortly,” resumed Rafael, without taking any notice of the interruption. “I commanded The Pizarro, and went up to Acauhtzin to arrest Xuarez, according to the order of the Government. As he refused to surrender, and as the town had declared in his favour, I thought we would have to bombard it. But think, Señores, think. When I came back to my ship, I was arrested by my own crew, by my own officers. Seduced by the oily tongue of Xuarez, they had revolted. In vain I implored! I entreated! I threatened! I commanded! They refused to obey any other than the traitor Xuarez. The other ships behaved in the same way. All the officers who, like myself, were known to be true to the Government, were arrested and thrown into prison, I among the number.”
“Ay de mi,” cried Serafina, in tears, “what an indignity!”
Don Rafael was choking with rage, and forgot his manners.
“Carambo!” he swore roundly, “behold me, gentlemen. Look at my uniform! Thus was it insulted by the rebels of Acauhtzin, whose houses, I hope, with the blessing of God, to burn over their heads. I swear it!”
He wrenched a crucifix from his breast, and kissed it passionately. It was a striking scene: the dim light, the worn-out young fellow in the ragged uniform, and his figure black against the lights in the patio, passionately kissing the symbol of his faith.
“How did you escape, my son,” said Maraquando, whose eyes were flashing with hatred and wrath.
“There was a man—one of my sailors, to whom I had shown favour—he was made one of the prison guards, and, out of kindness, assisted me to escape; but he was too fearful to help any of the others. In the darkness of night, I cut through my prison bars with a file he had given me. I climbed down the wall by a rope, and, when on the ground, found him, waiting me. He hurried me down to the water’s edge, and placed me in a boat with food for a few days. I rowed out in the darkness, past the ships, and luckily managed to escape their vigilance. Then I hoisted the sail, and, as there was a fair wind, by dawn I was far down the coast. I need not tell you all my adventures, how I suffered, how I starved, how I thirsted—cursed, cursed, Xuarez!”
He stamped with rage up and down the patio while the ladies exclaimed indignantly at the treatment to which he had been subjected. Then he resumed his story hurriedly, evidently wishing to get it over—
“This morning, I fortunately fell in with the steamer sent up by the Government, which picked me up. I told the captain all, and he returned at once with the news, arriving at Tlatonac some time ago. I ordered him to fire those guns announcing my arrival, and hearing his Excellency was addressing a meeting at the alameda, jumped on a horse and rode here. The rest you know.”
“Good!” said Tim, who had been busily taking notes, “I’m off to the telegraph-office, Señores. Good night.”
Tim went off, and the others were not long in following his example. Overcome by fatigue, Don Rafael had fallen, half-fainting, in a chair, and the ladies were attending to him; so, seeing they were rather in the way, Jack and his friends, saying good night, left the house.
The city was still heaving with excitement. Bands of men went past dancing and singing. The bells clashed loudly from every tower, and every now and then a rocket scattered crimson fire in the sky. War was proclaimed! the whole of Tlatonac was in a state of frenzy, and there would be no sleep for anyone that night.
“We’re in for it now,” said Jack, jubilantly, “hear the war-song!”
A band of young men with torches tramped steadily towards the Square, singing the National Anthem of Tlatonac. Philip caught the last two lines roared triumphantly as they disappeared in the distance:
Red as the sunset the opal is burning,
Red is prophetic of death to our foes.
Chapter IX.
The Call to Arms
Ta ra ra! Ta ra ra!
The trumpets are blowing,
And thrice hath their brazen notes pealed.
To battle! to battle the soldiers are going,
To conquer or die on the field.
On, soldiers! brave soldiers, who venture your lives
You fight for your country and sweethearts and wives.
Ta ra ra! Ta ra ra!
The drums roll like thunder,
And women’s tears falling like rain.
For lovers! for lovers are parted asunder,
Till victory crowns the campaign.
On, soldiers! brave soldiers go forth to the fray,
And close with the foe in their battle array.
Ta ra ra! Ta ra ra!
The banners are flying,
And horses prance proudly along,
For women! for women are bitterly crying,
As passes the red-coated throng.
On, soldiers! brave soldiers! soon homeward you’ll ride,
Encircled with bay leaves and greeted with pride.
At this eventful moment of its history, Cholacaca woke from its slumber of years, as did the Sleeping Beauty from her century sleep. No more the lethargic life, the indolent enjoyments, the languorous dreamings in an enchanted city. A sharp breath of war from the north swept away the sedative atmosphere; the thunder of the cannon roused Tlatonac to unexampled excitement. Rebellion and preparation for invasion at Acauhtzin, indignation and preparation for defence, for punishment in the capital of the Republic. In these days of alarm and danger, the city resembled one vast camp, and the descendants of the Conquistadores, the posterity of the Mayas, proved themselves to be not unworthy of their glorious traditions, both Spanish and Indian. It was a turning-point in the history of the Republic.
The two persons most desirous for the speedy commencement of this fratricidal war were Tim and Don Rafael:
