Republican simplicity. The opal arms of Cholacaca were above this drapery, the seat of power below; and therein sat President Gomez, with a fierce light in his eyes, and an ominous tightening of his lips. He was in a critical position, and he knew it. The ship of the Republic was among the breakers, and he, as helmsman, had to steer her into open sea again. With a disorderly crew, this was no easy task.
The members of the Junta took their seats in silence. They were like a class of schoolboys before their master, and, as Gomez cast his eyes over their ranks, he could pick out here and there the men whom he knew would be troublesome. To understand his difficulty, it is necessary to explain the exact position of politics in Cholacaca. Tim was doing this in a low, rapid voice to Philip, pending the appearance of Padre Ignatius. Jack listened to the explanation with interest, and every now and then threw in a word of enlightenment.
“As in England,” said Tim, speaking in Philip’s ear, “there are two political parties, broadly speaking. The Liberals and Conservatives. These, again, are sub-divided into smaller parties. On the Conservative side, there is the party now in power, the aristocratic party, who believe in electing one of their own order as President, and think the common people should have nothing to do with politics.”
“That is the party of Don Miguel and the President?”
“Yes; their political programme is to govern on oligarchical principles. Cholacaca and its loaves and fishes, for the aristocrats only. That is one party. The other is the clericales, who would govern through the Church, and place the supreme power of the Republic in the hands of priests. Since the expulsion of the Jesuits, however, this party is defunct, and a good thing, too. I’m a true son of the Church,” added Tim, relapsing into his brogue; “but I don’t believe in the priests meddling with politics.”
“Then there is a third party,” said, Jack, taking up the explanation; “what we may term the Liberal-Conservative party, if such a thing be possible. They believe in aristocratic government, with the consent of the people. That is, the people can elect as President one of the aristocrats, but not one of themselves.”
“And what about the Liberals?” asked Philip, deeply interested.
“Oh, one party of the Liberals want democracy—pure unadulterated Republicanism. A second party desire military rule, which would be nothing more or less than despotism, supported by a standing army under the thumbs of a few martinets in power. Then there is a Free Lance party, where each individual desires the loaves and fishes for himself.”
“Then the party of Don Xuarez?”
“Is not here,” said Tim, waving his hand towards some empty seats; “they have all gone to Acauhtzin, and are now regarded as rebels by the Government. They desire a kind of civil despotism as opposed to the military party—a dictator with supreme power, who can act as he damn well please.”
“Seven political parties!” observed Cassim, derisively. “If too many cooks spoil the broth, too many political parties will certainly spoil Cholacaca. But they all seem to be afraid of one another. Don Xuarez has at least the courage of his opinions.”
“That is because his party is now strong enough to show fight. The others are all split up into small bodies, who quarrel among themselves and disagree with the President.”
“I presume they will all oppose Don Hypolito.”
“Naturally. They are dogs in the manger; they can’t get the supreme power of Cholacaca themselves, and won’t let Xuarez have it. I wonder what proposition the Padre brings from Acauhtzin.”
“Hush! here he is.”
Padre Ignatius, in his rusty black cassock, advanced, holding his shovel-hat clasped to his breast. Pausing in front of the President, where he could command the attention of all, he cast up his eyes to heaven, as if seeking for strength to sustain him in his difficult task of reconciling the factions which threatened to involve Cholacaca in civil war. With his pale, refined face, his silver locks, and tall, slender figure, he looked a remarkably striking personage, and put Philip in mind of a picture he had once seen of Las Casas, the great Indian missionary.
When he paused and thus sought inspiration in silent prayer, Gomez struck a silver bell on the desk before him. Instantly there was a dead silence, the murmur of voices was stilled, and every eye was turned towards the gentle priest.
“My children,” said Padre Ignatius, in a weak voice, which gathered strength as he proceeded, “some weeks ago I went to Acauhtzin on the business of our Holy Church. There I found Don Hypolito Xuarez, who was not then in arms against the Junta. I knew, however, that he was a restless spirit, and, observing signs of dissatisfaction in the town, dreaded lest he should fan these embers of discontent into the flame of civil war. To Don Hypolito did I speak, but he disclaimed any intention of doing aught to break the peace of the Republic. In this, my children, he spoke falsely.”
A sullen murmur ran through the chamber.
“Noting these signs of discontent, I did not return to Tlatonac, but waited to see if aught should occur. Nothing took place till the arrival of the fleet to arrest Xuarez. Ah, my children, that was a fatal mistake. It roused him from discontented quietness into a state of open rebellion. He convened a meeting in the market-place of Acauhtzin, he told the populace he was to be arrested as a traitor, and called on them to stand by him in his peril. What promises he made use of I can hardly tell you, they were many and false; but those of the town believed him, and swore to assist his cause. The officers and crews of the fleet had already been tampered with by Xuarez before he left Tlatonac, and to a man they all went over on his side on hearing that Acauhtzin had done so.”
“Not all! Not all, my father,” cried Don Rafael, springing up from where he sat by Maraquando; “there are many who still remain faithful to the Junta—I among the number. We were cast into prison, and, by a miracle, I escaped, to bring the news to Tlatonac. I am free; but my friends—my faithful friends—are in the prison of Acauhtzin.”
Padre Ignatius looked sadly at the young man.
“They were faithful when you escaped,” he said, gently. “They were in prison my son; but now they are free, and have joined the rebels!”
“Carrajo!” swore Don Rafael, stamping with rage. “The traitors! the dogs! Canalla! I spit on them.”
“I call the Señor to order!” cried Gomez, for the sake of formality, though his sympathies were with those of the young man.
“I ask the pardon of His Excellency, and that of this Honourable Assembly,” replied Rafael, sitting down; “but my friends to be traitors! Por Dios! if I meet with them, I will show no mercy.”
“Reverend Father,” said the President, when the young man had resumed his seat, “all that you have said is the way in which Xuarez has revolted. Tell us of his message!”
“I went to Don Hypolito, when I heard these things,” said the Padre, slowly. “I went to him, Señores, and prayed him not to plunge the country into civil war. At first he refused to listen to me, saying he was strong enough to crush the Republic to the dust!”
“Carambo! Carrajo! Canalla!” cried a hundred voices, and many of the members sprang to their feet to speak. A Babel of voices ensued; but at length, by repeated ringing of his bell, the President secured silence for a few minutes, and Padre Ignatius went on with his speech.
“Don Hypolito said he had the aid of Acauhtzin; of the Regimiento de
