The Greatest Works of Fergus Hume - 22 Mystery Novels in One Edition. Fergus Hume

blue,

       We leave behind the ancient world,

       To seek the new.

      Spread sails, out oars, a path of gold

       Streams from the sinking sun at eve,

       As those bold mariners of old,

       Again romances wild we weave,

       Of splendours we would fain believe;

       Yon path leads on to fairyland,

       Which glows within the sunset’s heart,

       We anguish for that magic strand,

       And so depart.

      Notwithstanding the notoriety of the Atlantic Ocean for storms, The Bohemian met with little or no bad weather during her voyage to Cholacaca. Blue skies, blue seas and fair winds, it was an ideal cruise, and had it not been necessary to reach Tlatonac with as little delay as possible, Philip would willingly have prolonged this ocean tramping for an indefinite period. Jack, however, was anxious to see Dolores; the special correspondent looked forward eagerly to the fierce delights of possible battles, and Peter hankered after the insect tribes of Central America; so, in deference to their wishes, Philip made his yacht act well up to her reputation as a fast boat. The Bohemian did not belie her fame, and made a bee-line straight for her destination.

      Ignoring Lisbon, where boats generally touch on their way to South America, the yacht held on straight for the Azores, passed them in the night, and continued her course to Cuba, from whence she could drop down to Tlatonac in a few days. She touched at Havana, which was a trifle out of her course, at the express request of Jack, who had a few commissions to fulfil for Dolores; otherwise her nearest point of call would have been Kingston, in the Island of Jamaica.

      Truly there are worse lots in the world than a lotus-eating existence on board a crack yacht, and none of the four friends found the voyage too long or too dull. Peter attended to his entomological traps; Tim, obeying his journalistic instincts, made notes of daily events for future use; and Philip, in conjunction with his sailing master, attended to the navigation of the boat. The only idle person on board was Jack Duval, who did nothing but eat, sleep, drink, and think of Dolores, save when he amused himself by worrying his busier companions.

      Thanks to the powerful engines of The Bohemian and the uniform speed at which they were kept the whole time, the voyage to the Carribean Sea was accomplished in a wonderfully short period. Occasionally, when the bearings of the engines became heated by constant friction, the screw was stopped and the sails were set, when the yacht, leaning slightly to one side, swirled through the waters under a cloud of canvas. They depended chiefly on steam power, however, and it was rarely that the drum of the screw ceased resounding through the vessel as she held on steadily westward in the eye of the sunset.

      All four friends had plenty to do and plenty to talk about, so managed to get through the days in a sufficiently pleasant fashion. After dinner, which was the principal event of the twenty-four hours, they sat on deck chatting in the warm tropic nights, or else stayed in the saloon listening to Philip’s piano playing and Jack’s singing. Tim also sang in a pleasant tenor voice, and often favoured the company with a varied selection of ditties, ranging from pathetic Irish melodies to the latest music-hall songs of the day. Peter was the most unmusical member of the party, and, save talking, did little else to amuse his friends. It is true that he offered to give them a lecture on “lepidopterous moths,” but the offer was promptly refused on the score that it would be dull. Peter could not understand such an adjective being applied to so interesting a subject.

      It was at one of these symposiums that Jack gave them a description of the political situation in Cholacaca, information peculiarly acceptable to Tim, who was anxious to be thoroughly acquainted with the local affairs of the country. On reaching Tlatonac, he wrote a capital article embodying Jack’s information, and sent it off at once to The Morning Planet, in whose columns it duly appeared, and gave the British public an excellent idea of Don Hypolito’s reasons for rebelling against the Established Government of the Republic. Tim’s articles were brutally plain and untempered by style.

      The night was warm and cloudless. Westward the faint after-glow of the sunset; and in the east, the slender crescent of the moon, low down on the horizon. Overhead the constellations large and mellow burned like lamps in the purple sky, and mirrored their flashing points in the deep, so that the yacht cut her way through a glittering sea of planetary splendours. The sails were all furled, and a light breeze made humming noises in the taut hemp of the rigging. From the wide mouth of the funnel floated a faint trail of smoke, and the steady screw, with monotonous repetition, throbbed like a beating heart. The water hissing like serpents, streamed past the black sides of the boat, and at the prow the white foam boiled like a witch’s cauldron, as she rose and fell on the heaving plain. It was all wonderfully charming, and the voyagers seated on deck felt it to be so. After a time conversation ceased, and they remained silent, drinking in the beauty of the night and the infinite magic of the sea. Peter, unromantic Peter, was the first to break the charm with a commonplace remark.

      “I hope we shall get fresh milk in Cuba; I’m tired of this Swiss stuff.”

      “The heathen!” cried Tim, in a disgusted tone; “he thinks of nothing but his fat little paunch. Can’t you admire the works of Nature, you little dunderhead.”

      “Well, I do want fresh milk,” urged Peter, obstinately.

      “You have no eye for beauty, Peter,” said Jack, gravely; “look at the grandeur of the scene around you.”

      “It’s very pretty.”

      “Pretty!” cried Philip, laughing. “I once heard a young lady call the Hallelujah Chorus pretty. You must be a relation of that young lady, Peter.”

      “Of all the adjectives in the English language,” said Duval, with mock solemnity, “the one I most detest is ‘pretty.’”

      “Especially when it is applied to a certain damsel, whereof we wot,” interjected Philip, mischievously; whereat Jack blushed and the others laughed.

      “If Peter is so enthusiastic over all this,” said Tim, waving his hand to indicate the same, “what will he say when he sees Doña Serafina.”

      “Bother Doña Serafina,” retorted the doctor, growing red. “I wish you fellows would stop roasting me on the subject.”

      “She isn’t a subject, Peter, but an object. Forty-five, and as plain as Tim there!”

      “Is it me you mean, Jack. Why, I’m not bad looking, at all. I’ve had that same on the best female authority. We can’t all be heathen gods, like you and Philip.”

      “I object to be compared to a heathen god,” said the baronet, lighting a fresh cigarette. “There is ugly Vulcan as well as beautiful Apollo. Your compliment reads both ways, Tim.”

      “Oh, the vanity of the creature. But I’m not going to pass compliments, sir. No, it’s my intention to request Mister Duval to deliver a speech.”

      “What about?” asked Jack, considerably taken aback at this cool request.

      “On the politics of Cholacaca. I dursn’t neglect my business, lads, and the first letter I have to send to my chief is a report of the cause of this shindy.”

      “The information will be useful to us all,” said Philip, settling himself more comfortably in his chair; “we will then know which side to take, Don Miguel’s or Don Hypolito’s. Go on, Jack, and you, Peter, hold your tongue; interrupt, and I’ll give orders for your removal overboard.”

      The doctor grinned and expressed his desire to know all that Jack had to say on the subject; whereat Duval, without wasting any time, plunged at once into the middle of the subject.

      “It’s a difficult task,” he said, rubbing his chin in some perplexity; “but first you must know the geography of Cholacaca. It has more depth than breadth, being a strip of country lying south of Yucatan, about four hundred miles long and two hundred broad. Tlatonac,