Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 66 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

30 with entrances almost contiguous, and one of ample dimensions, large as a hotel gai: at , In anticipation of needing them they have brought away some ship’s lamps. These are now lighted and throw their glare upon stalactites that sparkle like the crystals of chandeliers. In the reflected light the forms of the pirates are soon seen in various at- titudes, some reclining on their spread pilot-coats or canvas-bags, others moving about, but all engaged in a debauch, with the spirit-keg tapped in their midst, and the bottles of wine taken from the cabin stores of the Condor, They drink, talk, sing, shout and swear, till the cavern rings with their ribaldry. It is some pleasure to perceive that their captives are not compelled to take part in this rude revelry, nor yet be among them. ‘To these have been appro- priated one of the smaller caves close by, the boat- sail fixed in front, securing their privacy. To this arrangement Harry Blew has been chief contributor—insisting on its being carried out. In the breast of the old man-of-war's-man there is still a spark of that delicacy due to habit, or superior training. Though his gratitude has given way to the greed of gold, he is not yet a debased savage, nor sunk to the low ruffianism of those around him. hilethe carousal is being carried on within the cave, outside the overcast sky begins to discharge it- self. Lightning forks and flashes athwart the firma- ment, thunder rolls and reverberates along the cliffs, a strong wind sweeps them, and rain rushes down in torrents. It is but a tropic storm, short-lived and soon over. And when over, the atmosphere, cleared of its col- lected electricity, again returns to calm. The storm lasts scarce an hour; butin that hour it lashes the sea, till the breakers outside, rolling on, form with the surf in shore, and both combined, with the reflux of the ebbing tide, set the pinnace afloat and carry her out of the cove. Seaward she drifts, till coming to the coral reef. There she is sucked in, tumbled over and about; at length se es pieces, that as waifs drift separately ory ancing and bounding over the foam-crested ows. CHAPTER LXIII. A THREATENED INTRUSION. An hour after midnight. A calm has succeeded the short-lived tropic storm; and silence reigns around the little cove where the pirates have put in. The sea-birds have returned to their roosts on the cliff ledge, and now perch noiselessly, save an occa- sional scream from the osprey 6, as an owl, a whip-poor-will, or some other plunderer of the night flits past his a of repose, near enough to awake the tyrant ofthe sea-shore, and excite his jealous anger. Other sounds are the dull boom of the outside breakers, and the lighter ripple of the tidal wave, washing over a strand rich in shells, with coral frag- ments, worn by attrition into a thousand fantastic apes Now and then a manatee, raising its bris- tled snout above the wave, gives out a low, prolonged wail, resembling the oy of some creature in mo agony. Wonderfully like the moan of a human be- ing with spirit sore oppressed; and for such might it be mistaken. But there is no human voice now. The sailors, late forming the crew of the abandoned barque have ended their carousal; their ribald jests and harsh cachinnation, long while inharmoniously min- gling with the soft monotone of the sea, have ceased o be heard; as also the hum of their maudlin con- versation, carried on for some time after. Astretch on their dreadnaught coats, they lie along the cav- ern floor, its hollow aisles echoing back but their snores and stertorous breathing. They are not allasleep. Nor arethey all inside the cave, Oneis on watch without, by the entrance of the grotto to which the captives have been consign- ed, and in which they are really confined. Now that they are ashore it is not deemed prudent to leave them to themselves. They might make an rege at escape, with at least a possibility of success. To prevent this it has been determined to keep guard over them; and the first tour of this duty, commenc- ing at midnight, has fallen to the lot of Velarde. At tae in the morning he is to be relieved by Jack cer. The Spanish sailor has been about an hour upon his post, when he perceives two men drawing toward him. If it were not that he has already seen them issuing from the cavern, where his comrades are asleep, he might wonder who they are. Even thus there is reason for him to feel some surprise. Since the men making approach haye no resemblance to mariners; neither do they look like any of his late shipmates on board the Chilian barque. ue moon has gone down, and it is too dark for him to distinguish their faces; but there is light enough reflected from the luminous surface of the sea to show him that neither is in sailor b, but both in the habiliments of landsmen—this the nation- al costume of Spanish-California, He sees sombreros of ample brim; trowsers open-seamed, flapping loose around their ankles, and cloaks over their shoulders, these last by their peculiar drapery recog- nizable as mangas of Mexico. Though in the obscurity the color of the cloth can- not be determined, Velarde is aware that one is scar- let, the other sky-blue. For he knows who are the men moving toward him, and it is not the first time he has seen them so ee At their approach he does not show any rise. Seated on a point of rock, several paces from the en- tra.ce to the — and sucking a m he keeps his place, and puffs away at his wiper th a tran- ey that tells he is not conce about their in- $ on. They, on their part approach, without any sign of fear, eieaith, or even caution. They both = slowly, conversing. He with the searlet cloak around his shoulders says to him in the sky-blue: ‘I’ve been thinking, cumpanero, now we've got every thing straight so far, that our best plan will be to stay where we are till it’s all fixed as we want it. We can send on for the padre, and here. Or, failing him the cura, who may be found nearer at hand. To tell the truth, I haven't the slightest idea where we've come ashore ES that it’s on the edge of a big bay that opens in eragua. Still we he Specter Barque. may be a goodish distance from Santiago; and going there, embargoed as we are, there’s quite a possi- bility of being robbed of our pretty baggage on the route, You understand me?’ ** Si—ciertamente.”’ “Against risks of that kind it is necessary to take precautions. And the first, as also the best I can think of is to stay here till we’ve been spliced to our sweethearts. Rafael can act as a messenger, or, for that matter, Don Manuel. Either, with six words I shall intrust to him, will be prey sure to return with an ecclesiastic having full power to per- form the ceremony we standin need of. Then we may march inland without fear—ay, with flying col- ors; both Benedicts, our blushing brides on our arms. In Santiago de Veragua we can spend our honeymoon,” * Caramba ! It’s a delightful anticipation.” “As you say. And for that reason we mustn't risk marring it. Which we might by traveling any further as simple bachelors. We must get married before going a step further.” ‘** But the others! How about them? assist at our nuptials?” ‘* Certainly not.” **In what way is it to be avoided?” **The simplest in the world. It’s understood that we divide the plunder first thing in the morning. When that’s done, and each has stowed away his share, I intend proposing that we separate; every one to go his own way.” “Will they to that, think you?” “Of course they will. Why shouldn't they? It’s the safest way for all, and they ought to see it, Twelve of us trooping together through the country, to say nothing of se es | the women along, and the trouble to be gee sae ed from their tongues—the story we're to tell about shipwreck may get discred- ited. Do the best we can there'll still be some danger of our taken up. When that’s made clear to our camarados, i be considerate for their own ire: Trust me for making it clear.” “Well, I hope there won't be any difficulty in get- ting rid of them. For ourselves, as you say, clearly the best course is to keep where we are till the thing’s arranged. As we've got Don Manuel and Rafael for groomsmen, the only thing wanted will be bridesmaids. Ha—ha—ha!”’ ‘*Hal hal’? rejoins Gomez, echoing the other's seh ‘“We might have them, too, if it made any matter, In Santiago I could get a couple cheap enough. As it is, we'll be better without them. But now, let us see about our brides. Remember we've not yet ores and remember also, that we were once before on the way to do that, and got woefully disappointed. No danger now.” ‘** No danger about our proposing; but much doubt of our being accepted. I suppose we may count upon a flat refusal.”’ **Let them refuse; little care I. It won't signify a straw one way or the other. The end shall the same, In three days or less I intend calling Carmen Montijo my wife. If not, she shall be something else. She can have the choice; and this night, this hour, must make it. Let us on! I long to lay m hand and heartat her feet—to hear the dear girl's decision !”’ The two walk on toward the tto. On nearing it, they perceive the sentinel upon the rock, some nce beyond. Having something to say to him, they keep on to the place where he is seated. At their approach he rises to his feet; and for a time the three stand conversing in muttered tones. While they are thus oceupied, another man glides out of the greater cav and goes toward them, Not openly and aSn asif inten to join in their deliberations; but silently and by stealth, like one wishing to play spy upon them. He is in sailor garb, wearing an ample pilot cloth coat, which he buttoned on coming out into the night air. But, before oloaing it around him, the butt of a large pistol, as also the handle of a knife, could be seen gleaming against his breast, held be- hind a leathern waste-belt. On stepping forth from the cavern he stands for a time with eyes fixed on the trio of conspirators, He can see them but indistinctly, while they can not see him at all; his figure showing no outline agaiust the dark background of the cavern’s mouth. And afterward, as he moves ane: the cliff, keep- ing close in, its shadow sufficiently shields him from their view. Still no chance of their seeing him, after he has crouched into a cranny close to the grotto’s entrance; which he has done while the three schem- ers still stand, heads together, ~ In the obscure niche he now occupies no light falls upon his face. If there were it would show it to be that of Harry Blew; and, as oft before, with an ex- peers upon it not easily interpreted. With hought of what has passed, and what threatens to come—contemplating the present, looking at Gil Gomez and Jose Hernandez, and recollecti what they have just said—knowing theirjintent, and taking it for granted that he, Harry Blew, knows or guesses it, then a be understood what is passing in his mind, causing this strange expression on his features, It must be jealousy. Can it be aught else? No one can tell, save himself. For there is none to see, much less read it. If it be jealousy, there is that before his eyes which will surely intensify it. Crouching in the dark- ness, he observes the three men separate, having closed their whispered colloquy. Velarde resumes his seat upon the rock; while Gomez and Hernandez, turning away from him, stride toward the grotto, like two Tarquins about to invade the sleep of virginal innocence. CHAPTER LXIV. A DREAD RECOGNITION, Are they to THE occupants of the grotto are in darkness, though not yet asleep. To them repose is impossible. It can only come when men suffering has exhausted mental strength, till nature calls for its restoration. They have experienced the keenest anguish, pee ed through its first excited throes, and now in its second stage are calmer. But it is the calm of despair, mingled with a deep, deadening grief. One mourns a father murdered, the other almost equally grieves for him who is her r. They have no doubt that he is dead. ow could they? While in the boat they heard their captors speaking about the scuttling of the ship, both well knowing what that meant. Long ago, then, must she have gone to the bottom of the sea with the living left aboard, perhaps only dead bodies. For they first must have murdered them. No matter now. The bereaved ones do not shape conjectures about how death has come to him dear to them. Too horrid to dwell on such details. Enough to know they are bereft—and more than enough to reflect that they are themselves - aie with a fate on which they dare not well. They do not need telling why the barque has been abandoned. Though hindered from seeing they have heard. While the boat was being loaded with the gold-dust, enough speech pase’ among the aberey to acquaint them with what was carried on. Jupidity has been the cause of the crime. <A con- spiracy among the sailors. A scheme to plunder the ship. It has succeeded; it is done! But all is not yet over. Would that it were so! There is something still to come; that which thrills them to think of, What is to be their own fate? In what form are they to be afflicted? They can not tell, nor guess. They are already suffering affliction too great to permit of their re- flecting clearly or calmly. But in the midst of vague fears, there is one that assumes shape too well defined, with dark shade filling up the outlines. Itis the same of which Car- men was speaking when seized, She again returns to it, saying: “Tez I am now almost sure we are not in the hands of strangers. What has happened, and those voices we have heard, tell me my suspicions have been too true.”’ ‘** Heaven help us if it be so!” ‘You may say that, sobrina. Yes; Heaven hel us! Even from pirates we might have expected some mercy. From these we must look for none. For if it be them, it has not been our gold that has tempted them to take all these pains, Ay de mi, Mother of God! what will become of us?” The interrogatory is not answered, or only by a sigh. The niece, like her aunt, is silenced, both giv- ing way to the crushing weight of wretchedness that borders upon despair. After a time they again exchange speech, seekin counsel of one another. Is there no hope, no han to help, no one to whom they can turn in his hour of dread ordeal? No—none! The American sailor, he too has proved faithless— to all appearance chief of the traitorous crew! lor long time have they been mystified by the be- havior of this man. During the early days of the voyage, they had approached him, endeavoring to draw him into conversation about Crozier and Cad- wallader. «To their rise, as also chagrin, they found him reserved, reticent, or giving evasive an- swers, at the same time treating them with due re- spect. Once or twice he had aren a hint of extend- ing protection, as if to ptr: A em against some fu- ture contingency they might have to fear. Some genset of the sea, storm or shipwreck was al] they could think of, little dreaming of the revolt that has arisen. Now they are no longer mystified about the man’s behavior. His treachery has made all clear. Those words of respect and promise were but meant 2 aney suspicion, and have proved him a double raitor. They can look for no help nor hope from Harry Blew. Nor from any one else. Every human being seems to have abandoned them, Has God? “Let us pray to Him!” says Carmen, after in- Cee Nope thoughts, and exchanging fruitless counse ** Yes,” answers Inez. ‘ He o They kneel side wg side on the stony floor of the grotto, and send up their voices in earnest prayer. They first entreat the Holy Virgin that the life of him dear to them may yet be s ; then invoke her protection against a danger both dread more than death. They pray in trembling accents, but with a fervor elogans through very fear. Saving ‘* Amen,”’ they make the sign of the cross. It is done in darkness, God alone seeing it. As their hands drop from the gesture, and while they are still in a kneeling attitude, a voice is heard outside, that suddenly stays their hopes from Heav- en, recalling them to earthly fears. There are voices of men in conversation; the same as saluted them when seized on the ship, awakening wild recollections in the minds of both. They have no time now to talk of this, or an else. Before they can exchange another wo the piece of sail-cloth spread across the entrance is pushed aside, and two men, passing past it, stand in- side the grotto. Soon as entering one of them says: * Senovitas |! we must ask pardon for making a somewhat untimely call, which circumstances render imperative. It's to be hoped, however, you won't stand upon such stiff ceremony with us as you did on a certain occasion when we had the honor of paying our respects to you!” After this singular peroration the speaker pauses to see what may be the effect of the speech, this can not be gathered from any reply, since none is vouchsafed, he continues: “Dona Carmen Montijo! you and I are old ac- quaintances, though it may be you don’t remember my voice. With the sound of theseaso long echoin in your ears I can think it strange you should not. Perhaps the sense of sight will prove more effectual in recalling an old friend; let me give you something to assist it.’ Saying this, the speaker holds out a lantern hither- to concealed under his cloak. Asit flashes its corus cations around the little cave, four forms are seen beneath the speaxmiing stalactites, They are all erect; for at the intrusion the girls have sprung to their feet under an apprehension of immediate danger. Upon the faces of all the light shines clear; and fronting her, Carmen Montijo sees, too surely recognizing, Francisco De Lara, while in her vis-a-vis Inez Alvarez identifies Faustino Calderon. Tux captive girls stand confronting the intrud ca ve e intrude both senaibly trembling. puersy can help us now.” JOOKS com (C | | | |