If he had sent forward troops to Janjalla, they might have been defeated, and then the capital would have fallen an easy prey to the rebels, through lack of garrison. As it was, the city could hold out for months; the walls were strong, the garrison were resolute, there was plenty of provisions.
He had held the army at Tlatonac to save the capital. Where, then, was the blunder in that? By sea, the forces of the Republic had been victorious. The Pizarro had been sunk, The Columbus captured, and now the torpederas were on their way to Janjalla harbour to force The Cortes to strike her flag. He had succeeded by sea. He would succeed on land. When the army of Xuarez was before the walls of Tlatonac the fate of the country could be decided in one battle. He refused to resign his position as President.
The partisans of Maraquando, the supporters of Gomez, broke out into noisy demonstrations, and the whole place was in an uproar. The one called upon Gomez to resign, the other denounced Maraquando as a traitor. It seemed as though neither would give in, as though the capital would be divided into two hostile factions, when a solution of the difficulty was proposed by Padre Ignatius.
Making his appearance suddenly in the hall, the good priest first stilled the tumult by holding up his crucifix, and then begged to lay before the Junta a proposition which would suit all parties. It would never do, said the Padre, to depose Don Francisco. The pretext for war, alleged by Xuarez, was that Gomez ought to be deposed for breaking the Constitution of Cholacaca. They knew that His Excellency had not done so; that he had loyally upheld the freedom and laws of the Republic. If deposed by his own party, such a deposition would give colour to Xuarez’s assertion that he had right on his side, and perhaps prejudice the inland towns in his favour. Better it would be to let Don Francisco still remain President till the date of the expiration of his office, four months hence, and in the meantime entrust the conduct of the war solely to Don Miguel Maraquando. By this arrangement his Excellency would still continue nominal head of Cholacaca, and the war could be conducted by Maraquando, without the responsibility resting on the President.
This proposition, seeming to be the only possible solution of the problem, was unanimously accepted by both parties. It is true that Gomez, who hated Maraquando like poison, sorely grudged giving up the command of affairs to his rival; but as he saw that the Junta wished it to be so, he was forced to yield. Don Miguel was, therefore, elected General of the army of the Republic, and Don Francisco was permitted to retain the civil rule. Then the meeting broke up, and Maraquando went off to take measures for the immediate relief of Chichimec, while Gomez, much mortified at the slight he had received, retired sullenly to his palace.
“What’s the matter, Tim?” asked Jack, as they left the Palacio Nacional. “You ought to be pleased at witnessing such a stirring scene, instead of which you are like a bear with a sick head.”
“And haven’t I a cause?” replied Tim, gruffly. “Look at all this shindy going on, and I can’t send a telegram to my paper.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it? Well, then, ask Philip to lend you The Bohemian, and go off to Truxillo at once.”
“Begad, that isn’t a bad idea anyhow,” cried Tim, stopping suddenly; “but I don’t want to leave Tlatonac just now.”
“Well, you may be pretty certain Philip won’t go, nor I. Why not send Peter? Write out your news here. Peter will take it, and old Benker will look after the yacht.”
“How far is it to Truxillo?”
“A trifle over three hundred miles.”
“Do you think Philip will lend me the yacht?”
“I’m sure he will. Let us ask him at once. He is flirting with Doña Eulalia in Maraquando’s patio.”
Tim, who had quite recovered his spirits at Jack’s happy suggestion, started off at once to the Casa Maraquando. There was no necessity, however, for them to go so far, for they met their friend coming down the Calle Otumba. He hailed them at once.
“Tim! Jack! come along to the Puerta de la Culebra. News from Chichimec.”
“What do you say?” roared Tim, plunging towards the speaker.
“Cocom came to the Casa Maraquando a few minutes ago, and told me that a messenger had arrived from Chichimec. He is at the Puerta de la Culebra.”
“The deuce!” cried Jack, in alarm, as they hurried along towards the gate; “perhaps it’s another request for relief.”
“If so, they will soon have it,” said Tim, quickly. “Don Miguel is going to send three thousand men this day to finish off these savages.”
“Ah, that is something like!” said Philip, approvingly; “there will be some chance of relieving the city with that force. I am glad Don Miguel has matters now in his own hands.”
“So am I. He’ll end the war in no time. I say, Philip, lend me the yacht.”
“What for? You are not going to Janjalla again?”
“No! I’m going further south. That is, I’m sending Peter with despatches.”
“Where to?”
“Truxillo! He can send off my telegrams from there. Lend me the yacht, Philip, and I’ll love you for ever more.”
“Oh, take her, by all means; but I hope she won’t be smashed up by the warships of Xuarez.”
“He’s only got one now,” replied Tim, coolly; “and she’ll have her hands full looking after the torpederas.”
“I forgot that! It’s a good idea, Tim! Get all the news together you can, and Peter shall go out with The Bohemian to-night, both of them in charge of Benker.”
“Do you think Peter will go?” said Jack, doubtfully.
“Of course he will,” said Tim, promptly. “The little man’s of no use here. I’ll make him Queen’s messenger for once in his life.”
“Hallo!” cried Philip, at this moment, “there’s old Cocom making signs. Ola, Cocom!”
The old Indian, who was hobbling on the other side of the street, came over to them with an excited look on his usually immobile face.
“Carambo, Señores! the news. The terrible news!”
“What is it?” cried the three Englishmen simultaneously.
“Chichimec has fallen!”
Jack uttered an ejaculation of rage, and darted off to the gate, followed by Tim and Philip. They found an excited throng of people talking wildly together. Don Sebastian was just under the archway, with his glasses to his eyes, looking towards the plains beyond.
“Is the news true of Chichimec’s fall?” asked Jack pushing his way through the crowd.
Don Sebastian turned slowly with a grave bow, and handed Jack the glasses.
“Quite true, Señor. See! fugitives are arriving every moment.”
Jack clapped the glass to his eye, and saw that the plain was sprinkled with people all making for the gate of Tlatonac.
“Why
