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

those on deck grew tired of such unprofitable talk, and one by one came down to snatch a few hours’ sleep. In the space of fifteen minutes everyone was snoring, and the yacht flew northward with her cargo of sleeping men. Benker was in charge of the wheel, and as he had been in these waters years before, knew every inch of the coast. Keeping the boat about a mile from the shore, he headed her straight for Acauhtzin, which was many miles away, in the curve of the land where it stretched eastward into the Carribean Sea.

      It was a perfectly calm night. Stars and moon, a placid sea, and the yacht swirling through the liquid plain with a slight roll. To the right, the infinite expanse of the waters heaving against the horizon; to the left, the long, low line of the coast, with its dim masses of foliage, and here and there a snow-clad mountain peak. Benker twirled the wheel, chewed his quid, and looked every now and then in disgust at the sleeping forms of the soldiers encumbering the white decks of the yacht. Moonlight and starlight, the throb of the screw, the singing of the wind through the rigging, and the hiss of the waves seething past; it was wonderfully beautiful. The boat sped onward like a shadow amid a world of shadows, and the most prosaic soul would have been touched by the profound beauty of this watery world. Not so Simon Benker. He was used to it all, and regarded nothing but his work and the soldiers.

      Then the east began to palpitate with the coming dawn. Lines of dim light low down on the horizon—yellow bands which melted to pale green, and flushed to delicate rose colours. Higher and higher the coming day dyed the sky in opaline hues, the stars fled westward, the wan moon paling before this fierce splendour, hid her face behind a bank of clouds. The dark world of waters became tinged with rainbow hues, then one thick yellow shaft of light smote the zenith with heavy brilliance. Ray after ray shot out like the spokes of a wheel, and suddenly the intolerable glory of the sun leaped from the nether world.

      “Yonder,” said Jack to Philip, who had come on deck to see the sunrise, “yonder, my boy, is the Harlequin Opal!”

      “If it is as brilliant and as many-tinted as that,” replied the baronet, staring at the gorgeous sky and sea, “it must, indeed, be a wonderful gem. Benker, how is she going?”

      “You have no soul,” said Duval, turning away. “I am going down to have a tub.”

      He thereupon vanished again, was shortly followed by Philip, after he had satisfied himself that The Bohemian had done good work during the hours of darkness. Afterwards they awoke their sleeping companions, and had breakfast, when the Spaniards were introduced to several English dishes, of which they approved greatly.

      The heavens were now a pale turquoise blue, the sun mounting towards the zenith was already beginning to burn hotly, and all were assembled on deck impatiently waiting to catch sight of their destination. Here and there on the green shore, amid the forests they could see Indian settlements, and at times light canoes skimmed the surface of the waves. Towards eleven o’clock a white spot appeared on the land straight ahead. Don Rafael, who was standing by Philip, touched the young man’s arm.

      “Acauhtzin!” he said, cheerfully; “we will be there in the hour.” Philip looked at his watch.

      “We left Tlatonac at four yesterday. We will reach Acauhtzin at twelve to-day. Three hundred miles in twenty hours. That is not bad for slow steaming. Had I kept her at full speed, she would have done it in fifteen!”

      Tim, who had his glass up, gave an exclamation of surprise.

      “What is it, Tim?”

      “Three war-ships are lying in the harbour.”

      “I thought as much,” replied Philip, calmly; “we will have to run the blockade.”

      Tim pointed upward to the Union Jack.

      “If they fire on that,” he said slowly, “Xuarez is not the clever man I take him to be. What do you say, Jack?”

      “Say!” repeated Jack, who was looking ahead with clenched fists, “that one of those three ships is The Pizarro, and that Dolores is on board.”

Chapter II.

       Acauhtzin

       Table of Contents

      Here, where mingle rocks and sands,

       Phantom-like the city stands,

       Looming vague and ghostly pale,

       Through the dawning’s misty veil.

       Day and night, and night and day,

       At the foot of ramparts grey;

       Just a stone-throw up the shore

       Ever-hungry surges roar,

       As they would rejoice to tear

       From her heights that city fair,

       Where, engirt by forests green,

       Proud she sits, a laurelled queen;

       Dim the mighty fabric gleams,

       As thought-built in magic dreams,

       ‘Tis some palace city hoary,

       Famed in song for golden glory,

       Which, at dawn, will fade away,

       In the traitor light of day.

      The city of Acauhtzin was not unlike the capital in appearance, though it differed from Tlatonac in being built on a projecting point of land, instead of on a hill. On either side were mountains, partially enclosing a deep basin, wherein the war-ships were anchored, and on a tongue of rock jutting into the centre of this pool the city was built. The walls white and glistening, arose sheer from the rocky cliffs and above them only a few steeples and towers could be seen. The walls encompassing the tongue of rock formed a kind of citadel, and then ran along the inshore for some distance on each side, terminating in well-defended forts. At the back of the city arose a high mountain, clothed with green forests, from amidst which a mighty peak of snow shot up grandly into the blue sky.

      Philip saw all this when the yacht was some distance away, and at once pronounced his opinion of the place.

      “It is like Valetta,” he said, handing the glass to Jack. “The city is built, on a tongue of land, the walls rise in the same precipitous fashion, and there are harbours on either side. Were it not for that mighty peak, and the mountains to right and left, it would be the Valetta of the old world.”

      On the flag-tower of the principal fort floated the banner of the insurgent leader, the same in all respects as that of the Republic, save that the colour was red instead of yellow. The Harlequin Opal was so interwoven with the history and superstitions of the Cholacacans that Xuarez could not afford to dispense with so powerful a symbol, and on the crimson ground of the flag gleamed the representation of the stone, shooting its myriad rays. At the entrance of the harbour were anchored two heavily armed war-ships, which Don Rafael recognised as The Cortes and The Columbus. His own vessel, The Pizarro, lay further in to the shore, almost across the gate which pierced the wall of the great fort, and gave admission to the city.

      With the Union Jack flying at her masthead The Bohemian steamed boldly into the harbour between the threatening bulk of the two men-of-war. Through their glasses, those on board the yacht could see there was much excitement at her unexpected appearance both on the ships and on shore. A crowd of people poured out of the gate like a swarm of bees, as The Bohemian, slowing down her engines, swung gracefully to anchor beside The Pizarro. Just as she cleared the war-ships at the entrance, a puff of smoke broke from the black sides of The Cortes, whereat Tim uttered an exclamation of rage.

      “It’s insulting the flag they are!”

      “No. Blank cartridge,” replied Philip, shrewdly; “they are saluting the Union Jack. Don Hypolito evidently wants to stand well with England. See, they are dipping their flags.”

      The three war-ships lowered their pennants for a moment, in salutation to the English