BRITISH MYSTERIES - Fergus Hume Collection: 21 Thriller Novels in One Volume. Fergus Hume

his surprise at the profusion of blossoms. “It is a taste they inherit from their ancestors. The Aztecs, you know, were famous for floriculture. We love flowers just as passionately; and, go where you will in Tlatonac, you will find blooming gardens gay with flowers.”

      “It is a graceful taste, and one which the climate enables you to gratify to the full.”

      “Without doubt, Señor. We possess three climates in which flourish different products of Nature. Tlatonac is in the tierra calienti, or hot country. Higher up, on the table-lands it is less tropical, and is called the tierra templada, while the snow-clad mountain peaks, where flourish pine trees, oaks, and hemlocks, is known by the name of the tierra fria. Thus, you see, in our country we possess all the climates of the world.”

      “A rare advantage. Central America is a favoured country.”

      “In all save its rulers,” sighed Maraquando, regretfully. “Nor is its population what it should be. I tell you, Señor, this land should be the most powerful in the world. It is the most favoured spot on earth—the garden of Paradise; but what with our incessant civil wars, our incompetent governors, and, of late, the tyranny of the Church, the whole continent is demoralised. Ah, if we but had the man who could weld all our foolish Republics into one great nation! Then, indeed, would we be the glory of the earth.”

      “Don Hypolito Xuarez evidently looks upon himself as that man.”

      “Don Hypolito!” echoed Maraquando, scornfully. “No, Señor; he has the instincts of a tyrant. He would grind down the people as the Conquistadores did their ancestors. Were he pure minded and noble in his ambition, I—even I, Miguel Maraquando—would support him. I would lay aside all prejudices to aid him to make our country great. But I know the man, Don Felipe. He is a half-bred, a treacherous scoundrel, who wants to be the Santa Anna of the Republic. Let him beware of Iturbide’s fate!”

      “At all events, he intends to become Emperor,” persisted Philip, calmly.

      “No! The Junta has decided that he is to be banished from Cholacaca. Already the fleet is a Acauhtzin to arrest him, and to-morrow we send up a special message that he is to be brought to Tlatonac at once.”

      “Suppose he refuses to come?”

      “He will be brought by force.”

      “Always provided the fleet do not support his cause.”

      “You, too, Señor,” said Maraquando, thoughtfully; “so said Don Juan last night. It may be so, and yet I hope, for the sake of the country, that the affair may be ended at once. I believe the navy will continue faithful. My own son, Don Rafael, is in command of one ship; yet I mistrust Xuarez and his oily tongue. Yes, Señor, I have thought much since Don Juan and the Señor Corresponsãl spoke to me last night. I have conferred with His Excellency, the President. Therefore have we decided to send up a message to-morrow, ordering the return of the fleet with or without Xuarez. It does not do to trust him.”

      “You have another man-of-war, then, to go to Acauhtzin.”

      “No; we have a small steamer. But she is quick, and will go there and return in no time.”

      “That is if she is permitted to do so,” thought Philip; but he did not say this aloud, lest Don Miguel should grow angry.

      “Still, even if the fleet does revolt, we will have the torpederas,” said the Jefe, cheerfully. “They are now on their way from England. His Excellency received a telegram yesterday.”

      “If you have the torpederas, you can do a good deal,” replied Philip, lighting a cigarette: “and if there is a war, Don Miguel, my yacht is at the service of the Government.”

      “A thousand, thousand thanks, Señor!” said Miguel, smiling gratefully; “but I hope and trust there will be no occasion for us to ask you to make such a sacrifice. However, we shall soon know—in three days at the most. If the fleet are true to us, they will bring back Don Hypolito. If not, we shall know what steps to take to defend Tlatonac from being bombarded.”

      “By the way, Señor,” said Cassim, thoughtfully, “you have a telegraph-station here. In which direction do the wires run?”

      “Why do you ask, Señor?”

      “Because the Señor Corresponsãl wishes constant communication with England, should there be a war. Now, if the wires go north to Acauhtzin, they can be cut by Don Hypolito.”

      “That is true, Don Felipe. Fortunately they do not run north. No; the wires run south to Janjalla which town will certainly remain faithful to the Government. From thence all messages can with ease be transmitted to England.”

      Philip was pleased at this, as he saw that Tim would be enabled to transmit messages to England with the greatest ease, and thus cover himself with glory. They conversed for a few minutes on the subject, and then left the market for the alameda.

      It was a most delightful promenade. High trees on either side, whose branches formed a green arcade above the heads of the promenaders. Beds of roses in profusion—brilliant tropical plants, bronze statues, marble statues, and plenty of pleasantly situated seats. One portion was reserved for those who chose to walk, another for horses and their riders. Hither came all the aristocracy of the city, when they grew weary of the zocala of the Plaza de los Hombres Ilustres, and on this day the alameda was crowded.

      In a gaily decorated bandstand, an excellent company of musicians played bright music, mostly airs from comic operas, and Philip was amused to hear Offenbachian frivolities sounding in this spot. They seemed out of place. The musicians had no sense of the fitness of things. They should have played boleros fandangos—the national music of Spain—instead of which they jingled the trashy airs of minor musicians.

      The alameda was thronged by a motley crowd, presenting more varied features than are to be seen in any other part of the world. Indian women squatting at the corners selling fruit and pulque, beautiful señoritas with black mantillas and eloquent fans, gay young cavaliers dashing along on spirited horses, in all the bravery of the national costume, and not seldom a sour-looking duenna, jealously watching her charge. Occasionally a priest in shovel-hat and black cassock—but these were very rare. The army was also represented by a number of gaily-dressed officers who smoked cigarettes, smiled at the señoritas, and clanked their huge spurs ostentatiously together. It was a gay scene, and Philip admired it greatly.

      “I have never seen such a mixed crowd anywhere,” he said, lightly, “save in the Strada Reale in Valetta.”

      “Well!” said Maraquando, after a pause, “and what do you think of Tlatonac?”

      “It is a terrestrial Paradise,” replied Philip, “and Hypolito is the serpent.”

Chapter VII.

       Dolores

       Table of Contents

      Your eyes

       Are dark as midnight skies,

       And bright as midnight stars,

       Their glance

       Is full of love’s romance,

       When no hate loving mars.

       Oh let those eyes look down on me,

       Oh let those glances wander free,

       And I will take those stars to be

       My guides for life,

       Across the ocean of wild strife,

       Dolores!

      My heart

       Those looks have rent apart,

       And now ‘tis torn in twain;

       Oh take

       That broken heart, and make

       With kiss it whole again;