he insults the Union Jack.”
“Let him try,” said Tim, grimly; “and if I’m not kicking my heels at the bottom of the sea, I’ll wire to London about the insult, and bring the British navy like hornets about his ears. Come, John, my boy! Wake up! We’re going to bring back your darling.”
“That is if we can get her from Xuarez,” said Jack gloomily; “but I’m terribly afraid. If any harm has happened to her, I’ll kill him. By gad, I’ll choke the life out of him.”
“I’ll help you, Jack,” said Philip, earnestly, for his blood boiled at the thought of Dolores in the grasp of Xuarez; “but I think you’ll find Dolores can look after herself. Besides, Xuarez will be too much afraid of his allies, the Indians, to harm her.”
“You must change those fine feathers, boys,” said Tim, suddenly.
“And why?”
“Because it will never do to let Don Hypolito know you’re in this shindy. Afterwards it doesn’t matter; but, with the Union Jack flying, you can’t dress as Cholacacan soldiers.”
“Tim is right,” said Jack, after a pause; “we will change our clothes.”
“But not our intentions, Jack,” said Philip, anxious to keep up his friends’ spirits. “Dolores or war!”
“No,” cried Duval, with intense earnestness; “with me it is ‘Dolores or death!’”
Volume II
Chapter I.
Away to the North
Oh, leave the south, the languid south,
Its cloudless skies, its weary calms;
The land of heat, and glare, and drouth,
Where aloes bloom, and spring the palms.
There water is the best of alms,
To cool the ever-parched mouth;
Oh, with the breezes bearing balms,
Fly northward from the languid south.
Oh, seek the bitter northern skies,
Where falls the snow, and blows the sleet;
‘Mid which the stormy sea-bird cries,
And circles on its pinions fleet.
On rocky shores the surges beat,
And icebergs crystalline arise,
Life thrills our veins with tropic heat,
Beneath the bitter northern skies.
Once more The Bohemian was breasting the warm waves of the Pacific, and seemed to rejoice in her freedom like a sentient thing, as she plunged north-ward to Acauhtzin. The smoke poured black from her wide-mouthed funnel, the blades of her propeller, lashing the waters to foam, left behind her a long trail of white, and her sharp nose dipped and fell in the salt brine with every pulsation of the pistons. Beneath the folds of the Union Jack, streaming in the wind, were gathered the Englishmen and the Cholacacans, all light-hearted and hopeful, despite the undoubted peril of their mission. It was no light task to beard Xuarez in his stronghold, to assert the authority of the Republic in the teeth of his army. The mission was a valiant one, but foolhardy, and Tim, if no one else, looked for anything but a peaceful termination to the voyage.
The distance to Acauhtzin was something over three hundred miles, and as The Bohemian was swirling along at the rate of seventeen knots an hour, it was hoped she would reach her destination in fifteen hours or thereabouts. Owing to one thing and another, the yacht had not left Tlatonac till close on four o’clock in the afternoon; so, making all allowance for possible accidents and stoppages, at the rate she was going, Philip calculated that he would fetch the northern capital about dawn. He did not wish to venture too near the port in the darkness, as the war-ships were protecting the town, and not seeing the English ensign, might open fire on his yacht, under the impression that she was an enemy. With this idea the engines were slowed down during the voyage, and The Bohemian was timed to enter the port some time before noon of the next day.
Owing to the number of people on board (twenty-six souls, in addition to the crew), it was somewhat difficult to provide all with accommodation. Fortunately, however, the nights were warm and rainless, so the soldiers made themselves comfortable on deck, and slept soundly enough, wrapped in their military cloaks. The sailing-master of The Bohemian, a tough old salt, by name Simon Benker, growled a good deal at the way in which his spotless decks were being spoiled, but Philip managed to smooth him down by representing the seriousness of the situation. Benker submitted with but ill grace. The yacht was the pride of his life, the darling of his heart, and he had no great love for the inhabitants of Cholacaca. However, Sir Philip was master, and gave the soldiers permission to camp out on deck, so Benker was forced to acquiesce in the arrangement.
The ambassadors, in company with the three Englishmen, took up their quarters in the state-room and cabins. As there were not enough bunks, some of them had to sleep in the saloon, so the younger members of the party gave up the sleeping-berths to the elders, and did their best to make shift in a rough-and-ready fashion. As they sat up late, however, and got up early, this inconvenienced them but little, and the utmost good humour prevailed above and below during the voyage. The crew, with the exception of Benker, fraternised with the soldiers, and their masters entertained the Spanish hidalgos; so, despite all inconveniences, things went off capitally. Even Jack plucked up his spirits now that he was on his way to rescue Dolores, and Philip’s excellent brand of champagne had a wonderful effect of keeping the temperament of all up to what Tim called, “concert pitch.”
Don Alonzo Cebrian was a pompous old man, whose every second word was, “I, the Intendante.” He was as proud as Lucifer, and never alluded to the rebels save by the opprobrious names of canalla, ladrons, demonios, all of which terms were echoed regularly by Captain Velez. This young gentleman, a good-looking spendthrift, with a rather scampish reputation, played the part of echo to please the Intendante, whose daughter he wished to marry for her dowry. The lady was plain, but her father was rich; so Captain Velez was quite willing to sacrifice his good looks and bachelor freedom on the altar of matrimony, provided he was well paid for doing so. Don Rafael was in the highest of spirits at the prospect of seeing Doña carmencita, and kept things going by the liveliness of his sallies, while Colonel Garibay smoked endless cigarettes and spoke but little.
After an excellent dinner, which was done full justice to by the hungry Spaniards, they all went on deck, and sat down to smoke and talk. First and foremost, they all paid Sir Philip handsome compliments about the beauty and speed of The Bohemian, and then drifted gradually into the one subject of the hour—the war with Xuarez—the embassy to Xuarez—the certainty of punishing Xuarez.
“Begad! Philip,” whispered Tim, who was smoking a villainous black clay pipe, “it’s all Xuarez and nothing else. Is he the only man the Opposidores have?”
