Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 104 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

4 + eee ee to fly from these cruel walls: but from whence comes Le? **Oh! that I could warn him that other ears may hear!” ug! chug! chug! chug! Still the firm, rapid blows struck into some soft substance. Nearer and nearer they sounded, and with a startled cry the old man staggered to his feet, and fell back upon his cot. ‘They are blows for life and freedom! they were beneath my feet ! ‘Strike on! strike on} Oh thou God-guided man! strike on! for life lies before thee !’ Overcome by his emotivns the old man sunk back trembling, his eyes staring, his teeth chat- tering, and his long, claw-like fingers nervously éwisting in and out his hoary beard, Chug! clink! clink! chug! The hidwe fell still strong, still enn h aviven by some tireless hand, some bold brain, some fearless heart, and ever and anon the sound shanged, as the digger’s blade struck a stone or substance harder than the earth. Harder and harder came the breath of the white-haired prisoner. He could not speak—he jould but wait, tremble, hope. earer and nearer came the blows, and the tyes, almost blinded by age were now staring “pon the gravel flooring o his cell, which con- stant treading upon had hardened almost into adamant, Louder and louder, as the twilight deepened, and all betow the narrow windows was cast in ow, Chug! chug! clink! clink! clink! Then the flooring seemed falling in; then the flooring seemed rising to the ceiling; then, up m the center of the cell, arose a human form like an apparition while the earth and gravel fell from head and shoulders in showery masses, A brave soul had cut through to life and freedom. CHAPTER XV. 1 LIFE AND DEATH. Gop in heaven! am [I still within stone bia tf was almost a cry of despair that burst from the lips of the apparition, who so suddenly ap- peared before the old man in his cell. As he uttered the words he glanced searching- ty around, and his eyes fell upon the cot and the orm upon it. Instantly he sprung from the hole in which he stood, to the solid flooring, and the two men puns at each other—the one upon the brink of © grave—the hoar-frost of three score and ten years upon hair and beard; the other a man of six feet in hight, slender, yet with muscles of steel, as his bared arms and breast displayed; a man half-dressed, earth-begrimed, and with matted masses of black hair hangi g below his waist, and beard that would be brown, if free of the dirt-stains, for falling below his girdle of coarse leather, it had become bedraggled and clotted, as he had, on bended knees, tunneled his way to liberty. His brown hands and feet were bare, and ex- ceedingly small, his waist almost as slender as a woman’s, and his shoulders broad and massive: in fact, he was a man of ea physique, and ~ nina : tae as perfect - is eri 4 ature was regular, expressive, an po yore eens Pe determined resolution, while TOWS ’ -W a vt a te, glittered through his But the most remarkable of all were his eyes, which seemed like molten diamonds, so intensely bright were they, and yet so full of onate languor which ‘the exceedingly long and dark eyelashes doubtless gave to them. In spite of his semi-nudity, hi dirt-begrimed _ penis a feet, = a and unkempt hair a » Ne was a splendid specimen of - hood, and the eyes of the eraychaired Satache: turned upon him with admiration undiscuised. _ “Who are you?” he asked, in his weak, tremb- ce og ‘"1 am one who has toiled fifteen long years to reach the light of day, old man, and , 1 not let even your gray hairs stand between me and i vg . such be your humor.” e voice was a deep basso, yet strange] end musical in spite of the a in theeworda” ‘Fifteen years!” half the number that I have worked to reach the sunlight,” sadly said the old man. “Thirty years! Por Dios! have thi ruueare within pare. smtp a walle?” Pere **] have, my son; and have found the 1s the night of death comes on,” SAY Jus ‘* How mean you, old man?” Rising, the prisoner drew aside his cot and pointed to the excavation in the stone wall. “There is my work of thirty years—a few moments’ toil, and you are free, my son.” The stranger stepped forward and glanced in- to the hewn ot ag and said, earnestl . “Your work has been as tedious as mine; we will reap the benefit this night.” ‘‘No, my son, I am soon to cross the threshold of another world, When I leave this cell it will be to confront my God.” “No, if you are,weak I will carry you. for | Montezuma, t am a very giant in strength—my years of toil | same reason he held me—to find, through t have done that much for me. **Come, do not despair, for see, the darkness increases, and ere long we can escape beneath its shelter.” ‘You will go alone, my son, but I remain here; yet I would have you serve me—hold! let me light my lamp.” The old man soon struck a light by means of a flint, and touched the wick of his iron lamp. Then he tottered back to his bed and the stran- ger stood near, the light falling full upon his muscle-knotted form. Suddenly the old prisoner started backward, a cry upon his lips, while his eyes were staring at the left side of the man before him. “Holy heaven! he bears that mark ! “Speak! for the love of God, speak!” cried the old man, in ringing tones, while his fellow- risoner gazed upon him as though he thought im mad. ‘My poor old friend, my sudden coming upon you has been too much for your nerves—’ ‘No, no, no! it is that! you bear the mark of the Red Anchor over your heart! How came it there?” It was the other prisoner’s time to start now, and he glanced downward and his eyes fell upon that which held the gaze of the old man—a blood-red anchor and cable, tat&ooed into the Jlesh, just over his heart ! ‘What know you of this symbol, old man?” “Everything! It is the custom in Persia to tattoo a symbo!} over the heart—the royal house of Fezzan have a Red Anchor for their symbol, but you are no Persian, my son?” “My mother was a Persian princess,” was the calm reply. . wg 0 gy Ma Wr gs of ots e effect of the reply upon the old prisoner was startling. He peaped foe breath, tried to speak, and then endeavored to rise to his feet; but with a low moan sunk back upon the cot, insensible, The other santana in whom the reader has doubtless ere this recognized Merle the Mutineer locked around the small cell for restoratives of some kind, but finding none, darted quickly into the opening from which he had emer , and disappeared from sight. For full fifteen minutes was he gone, and then he returned, a bottle in one hand, g jar of water in the other. The old prisoner still lay unconscious, and Merle poured some liquor from the bottle into his mouth, and bathed his head and hands, Soon the eyes opened and were fixed with a strange stare upon the face bending over him. And you are little Merle—the son of Free- lanee the Buccaneer?” he said, slowly. By: am Merle, ors my Sg? ind Freelance e Buccaneer,” and he smiled a vin called little, while he added: aan t Psd you? a are ag cisco Dolores—a ish pri your father’s friend.” Bois Rete? tant ‘Francisco Dolores! you within these walls?” and Merle dropped on his knees before the old priest, whose trembling hand fell upon bis head. “Yes, my son; I have been here for thirty years—ever since [came to Vera Cruz, at your poe see ame ae to take you, a wee boy “{? know you well—you were my father’s trusted friend.” ‘““Ay, and I had cause to be, my son. He saved me from an imprisonment more cruel than even this has been, for I was a slave to the Moors; but he carried me with him from the hated shadow of those Amazerg hills, and until thirty years ago I never left him—ay, I married him to your mother, boy—to your beautiful mother, who died that night of storm, so long ago. ‘God bless you, Francisco Dolores; but tell me, why are you a prisoner here?” ‘*For a crime I never committed, I was ar- rested the very night I landed in Vera Cruz to seek you. Your Persian nurse, and the Mexi- can woman at whose house you were, I found dead, and was accused of their murder, and apy here by Felipe Cosala—” . “ Felipe Cosala !” shouted Merle, in a voice of thunder, springing to his feet. “Ay, my son, Felipe Cosala, a Mexican spy, who tried to force from me t omer af where your father’s treasures lay hidden; but I thwarted him, even though I remained here. You know him, then?” ‘*Ay, dol. He had me thrown ina Svpgeus fifteen long years ago. Oh! how kind has Fate been to bring me here to you, Francisco Do- lores. I have worked for fifteen awful years under ground, and I believed I was outside the castle walls, and was cutting my way upward, and Destiny led me straight to you—you whom I love next to my father’s memory—’ _. He is dead, then?” sadly asked the priest. He is dead, and I will tell you how he died,” Seating himself on a chair by the cot-side, Merle told Francisco Dolores all with which the inted, and then heard reader is already a from the trembling lips of the old priest of his be {ears of suffering. pe Cosala kept you kere, senor, for the he Merciless. mand } me ee + ee re ee 13 ou, hat hidden tr . When did hin last?” ‘** Thirteen veers ago; it was the day he left the castle to the command of Genera! Bravo. ‘“* He came to me and begged that I would tell him where lay the treasures, and when I refu he again threatened; then he’ left me, sayin should die by starvation; but old Pablo, ¢ jailer, has kept me alive, and told all that this cell was vacant, for, as a priest of his church, he pitied me. “For thirty years, with chisels made from my bed-screws, and pieces of knives, I have worked away at this stone, and now, when free- dom stares me in the face, I dare not rise up to meet it; but you, Merle, my son, can go, and the world is before you.’ ‘*T will not leave you here, Senor Dolores.” “Boy, you are mad!” “*T have said it.” “Boy, I may die this very night; I feel even now Death’s presence in the room, and I com- ou to go— go and avenge me—avenge yourself! Those who placed you here yet live,” Francisco Dolores had struck the right chord, Merle erg | to his feet, his face ne with passion; his marble-like complexion co get no whiter, but the blue veins stood out upon you see _the forehead like whip-cords, and the ever teeth gritted together nalts SS “Revenge! ay, Francisco Dolores, you have spoken the word. “Revenge! by the Eternal God above! JI shall live but for revenge. ““Behold! do you see these ragged seams across my back? “*The lash left those scars—laid on at the command of one I believed my friend. ‘* Old man, what did not my poor outlawed father suffer? ** What have I not suffered? “And you! thirty years within this stone perdition, and those who placed us here yet wee d’s green earth. “‘ But there shall come a day of retribution! A day when men shall cry to me for mercy and my heart shall hold no mercy. . No, it shall be as merciless as these stone walls have been, and the hate of Felipe Cosala, compared with mine, shall be as joyous laughter. “Oh! have I not ered? ered by day and by night—dreading, hoping, toiling on— suffered, until, when in my thirty-fifth year I am a man with a heart of iron, ‘If you cannot go with me, old man, stay not the hand of Death—let his icy touch still your pulse, that I may hasten to my revenge. “Ha! ha! ha! when you are in yonder spirit land, you will look down and see how he, whom men call Merle the Mutineer, the Deserter, the Pirate, can revenge those who have wronged him! You will see how he can dance with Joy to the music of the groans of anguish that bre from the lips of these he drags to retribution. Ha! ha! ha! old man, a merry devil of delight have you stirred in me by that one word—yre- ge. Striking his hands upon his forehead the ray- ing man staggered backward; his knees bent under him, and he fell prone upon the floor. cisco Dolores had indeed raised a very demon of hate and revenge in his breast—a de- mon that would yet slake its thirst in the misery of others, ‘** Poor boy,” and the priest bent over him. “Poor boy—he is on the threshold of life-d am on the threshold of death. “God pity him.” CHAPTER XVL CAST UP BY THE SEA. A SMALL, and ayite egg | goleta, such as are often seen close in shore in West Indian wate was swiftly flying over a storm-swept sea, a bounding toward an island upon the Mexican coast, and a couple of leagues from the main. The boat bad a small cabin aft, a deep cock- it and was stanch and swift; but the wind was owing bala gale, and yet she was driven on her course unswervingly, though the waves washed her decks, and, ever and anon she swoop- ed Jow under the pressure of the storm. In the little crait were two men; one a Mexi- can of sixty, with swartby face, restless eyes, and a nervous manner, as be glanced out over the rough waters with an anxiety that proved he was no seaman, The other, and the one who held the helm, was recognizable, by his long hair and beard, his splendid form and remarkable face, as Merle, and the manner in which he held the vessel on its course proved that Lis hand bad not forgot- ten its cunning during the long years of his burial from the world. . “Senor, would to God I had never come,” broke from the lips of the Mexican, as a ruder gust sent the little craft further over than usual. “The island lies onder, as you see, Pablo; we will reach it with the hour,” was reply. f t tear not, Senor Merle; I fear we willnever reach it alive.” “ J will do so, Pablo, for I ha @ nes (ECO) AACE] OOO) ISS (E@)