“And Dolores belongs to you. You are an unselfish person, Jack.”
Duval laughed good-humouredly at Philip’s mild protestation, and began to talk of other things. Tim went down to the saloon to arrange his notes; Peter turned in, and the symposium broke up without further conversation.
This is only a sample of the many talks they had on the subject of Cholacaca. The information supplied by Jack was useful, as it showed his three companions plainly how matters stood. On their arrival at Tlatonac, they were thus well acquainted with the causes of the war, and could follow future developments with great interest. And when this last conversation took place, Tlatonac was not far off.
After leaving Havana, where they only stayed a few hours for a run ashore, the yacht dropped down towards the Bay of Honduras, and drew steadily towards their destination. The nearer they came, the more excited did Jack become at the prospect of seeing Dolores once more. As a rule, the young engineer was a steady, cool-headed fellow; but this love had upset his brain, and he was as love-sick and inconsequent as any raw lad. Amused at this spectacle, Philip did his best to restrain Jack’s impatience, and kept the engines at full speed, so that the lover might the sooner arrive within kissing distance of his beloved.
Within the circle of the Indian isles the heat grew almost unbearable. Blue sea, blue sky, and the burning eye of the sun grilling them constantly during the day. When the west flared red with his setting, and the waters heaved in billows of crimson, they were glad to welcome the cool night with serene moon and chilly, gleaming stars. The pitch bubbled sluggishly in the seams of the deck, the brasses burnt like fire when touched by an incautious hand, and the very air was tremulous with the heat. In vain, with linen suits, solar topees, and constant keeping in the shade, they endeavoured to find coolness; the sun found them out, and baked them with his fierce rays till they were half dead with exhaustion. The heat did not brown them as is customary in more temperate climes, but simply squeezed all the life out of their poor bodies, until they waxed so indolent that did they nothing but lie about in shady corners all day, longing for the night. Even Peter abandoned his entomology; so, from such sacrifice, must the intense heat be judged.
Tim was a perfect god-send in those glowing days of heat and thirst. He was skilful at preparing drinks, and concocted beverages which enabled them to hold out during twelve hours of incessant sun glare. Occasionally they passed an island covered with masses of palms, cacti, and aloes, and sometimes a distant ship arose and fell against the line of the horizon; but they were too indolent to trouble about such trifles. It was nothing but eternal sunshine and eternal heat. But all things must come to an end, and so did this voyage.
“To-morrow,” said Philip, thankfully, as he broiled in the shade. “To-morrow we will sight British Honduras. Then Tlatonac won’t be far off.”
“Perhaps it will be worse on shore than at sea,” sighed Peter, mopping his bald head with a red-silk pockethandkerchief. “Why, if——”
“For Heaven’s sake, Peter, throw that handkerchief overboard,” cried Jack, irritably; “the very colour makes me hot.”
“But it’s silk!”
“I don’t care what it is. It’s red, and that’s enough for me.”
“Don’t lose your temper, Jack!” said Tim, soothingly. “Vamos a tomar las once.”
This Spanish phrase, meaning, “Let us go and take the eleven,” was introduced by Jack, and referred to “aguardiente” (brandy), which has eleven letters. It was in constant use, and when the familiar sound struck on their ears, Philip and Peter lifted their heads anxiously. It is but fair to state, however, that in the sense in which the saying was used on board the yacht, it referred to lemon squash, which also has that number of letters.
“I’ll take one, if you prepare it.”
“Carambo!” said Tim, viciously. “I won’t. Brew one for yourself. I’m not a bar tender.”
“Tim’s getting up his Spanish for the ladies,” murmured Philip, lazily.
“If he greets them with carambo, he’ll be slung out of Tlatonac,” retorted Jack, who frequently indulged in American slang.
“Oh, I also know how to make love in Spanish,” said the Irishman, bluntly. “El hombre prevenido nunca fue vencido.”
“Oh, shut up!”
“What does that mean?” asked Peter, who was profoundly ignorant of the Castillian tongue.
“It means, ‘The prepared man is never conquered,’ you ignorant creature. Peter, you’ll have to learn Spanish, if only to flirt with old Serafina.”
Peter deliberately arose from his chair, and walked down to the saloon.
“That’s Peter’s way of remonstrating,” said Jack, smiling. “It’s hot here; we had better follow his example.”
They did, and in a remarkably short space of time were fast asleep. The siesta had also been introduced by Jack with such success that they slept all day and sat up all night, when it was cool. It was the only way they had of making life bearable.
The next morning they were within sight of Tlatonac. A long low line of sand appeared in the distance, topped here and there with a slender palm. As they drew nearer, they saw the frowning walls of the forts rising above the waters, and beyond, on a hill, the red-roofed houses of the city. Above all, the slender towers and high dome of the cathedral.
“Hullo!” said Jack, noting the absence of the war-ships. “No navy! This looks ominous.”
“Do you think war has begun?” asked Peter, turning round in dismay.
“Lord knows! It looks like it.”
“Well, at all events, the war-ships can’t hurt us now,” said Philip; “we are under the guns of the forts.”
From the central part of the forts a long wharf shot into the blue waters. The bay was covered with boats; intensely green vegetation clothed the shores, and the white walls of the forts glistening like silver in the blazing sunlight. And this was Tlatonac.
“A most exposed situation,” said Philip, thinking of the war. “If the war-ships start shelling those red roofs, there won’t be much of them left.”
He addressed Jack; but that young man did not reply. He was thinking of Dolores. Philip turned towards Peter; but the doctor’s mental eye was fixed on clouds of gorgeous butterflies. Tim!
“I’d like to see a naval combat in this bay,” said Tim, gravely, “with war-ships and torpedoes.”
“Three monomaniacs,” said Philip, rising. “War, butterflies, and Dolores. We’d better go ashore now, lads. I’m tired of those three subjects.”
Chapter V.
Don Miguel Is Communicative
Why, look you, Señor, thus the matter stands:
When one is in a country dangerous,
And night is round him everywhere—‘tis wise
To venture nothing till the morning’s light,
Lest, in the dark, some hidden pitfall lurk.
Thus stands our fortune. Traitors full of guile
Are in our midst—yet, keeping quiet their plans,
Would gull us into false security.
We know not where to strike—for here, and here,
Danger may lurk, and yet we dare not strike.
The house of Don Miguel Maraquando was situate on