CHAPTER III.

"THE BOHEMIAN."

"What do you think of her?" asked Philip, with justifiable pride.

"She's as near perfection as can be," replied Jack, enthusiastically; "no two opinions about that, old fellow."

The Bohemian was a superbly modelled craft, and well deserved their admiration as she lay in Yarmouth Harbour, Isle of Wight. Schooner rigged fore and aft, she was close on two hundred tons yacht measurement, and one of the smartest vessels of her kind in British waters. Putting aside her speed when the screw was spinning, she was renowned for her sailing capabilities. With all sails set, and a fair wind, she could smoke through the water at the rate of fifteen knots an hour. Thanks to her owner's wandering proclivities, she was well known in every civilised port, and a good many savage anchorages had also seen her graceful form glide into their smooth waters.

Some said that her engines were too powerful for her frame; and, indeed, when all her furnaces were going, the boat quivered from stem to stern at every rise and fall of the cranks. Philip, however, rarely used the full power of her screw, as it was quite unnecessary; but when she did fire up to the extent of her furnace accommodation, her speed was something wonderful. Sometimes the baronet used the screw, more often the sails; and, with her white wings spread like summer clouds, The Bohemian, leaning to leeward rode the surges like a Venus of the foam. Taper masts, splendid spars, cotton-white cloths, she looked a thing of beauty as she swirled through the sea in a smother of foam. She was the pride of Philip's heart, and whether becalmed in the doldrums or seething through troubled waters in the heel of the trade, was well worthy of her owner's admiration.

Jack was scarcely less enthusiastic. He knew more of the land than of the sea, and this was the first time he had ever had the opportunity of inspecting a crack yacht. It was impossible not to admire her milk-white decks, her well-polished brasses, and the general spruceness of her whole appearance. Philip attended thoroughly well to her wants, and despite her frequent voyagings in stormy seas, she always looked as though she had just left dry dock. When the screw thrashed the water into silver froth, and the black smoke poured from the wide funnel, The Bohemian knew what was expected of her, and put her heart into her work. In such a craft it was impossible that a voyage could be otherwise than pleasant, and Jack looked forward to having a thoroughly jolly run to Yucatan with his old schoolfellows.

As has before been stated, they were at Yarmouth. Not that land-and-water Norfolk puddle, but the quaint little seaport in the Isle of Wight. It was famous enough in the old days, and in the reign of our second Charles, the governor of the island made it his head-quarters. Now his old residence is turned into an hotel, and in comparison with Cowes and Ryde, this once populous town is a mere village. With its narrow streets, and antique houses, and indolent townsfolk, it has an old-world air, and is still affected by some yachtsmen at the time when the Solent is full of graceful boats. Philip was very fond of this out-of-the-way seaport, and generally left The Bohemian in its harbour when he wished to run up to town.

After that famous dinner, the four friends separated in order to prepare for the voyage. As they had only one clear day in which to do all things, there was little time to be lost. Peter started for Barnstaple by the early train, in order to arrange his affairs, and, to save time, Philip agreed to pick him up at Plymouth. The special correspondent went straight to his chief, and told him of his desire to start for Cholacaca at once; so, as it seemed pretty certain that the difference between Don Hypolito and the Government would culminate in a civil war, Tim duly received his orders. Now he was flying round town collecting needful articles for his campaign, and was expected down by the early train.

On his part, Jack had absolutely nothing to do in London. He already possessed all necessaries, and had neither the money nor the inclination to buy things he did not want. Indeed, leaving the bulk of his belongings in Tlatonac, he had arrived in England with but a single portmanteau, which had been left at the station. Philip carried the homeless wanderer to his club, and put him up for the night, and next day they took themselves and the solitary portmanteau down to Yarmouth, where they soon made themselves comfortable on board the yacht. All things being thus arranged, they only waited Tim's arrival to leave for Plymouth, from whence, after taking Peter on board, The Bohemian could bear away westward in the track of Columbus.

With all his indolence Philip was no dilettante yachtsman, to leave everything to his sailing master, and thoroughly believed in looking after things himself. After displaying the beauties of his boat to Jack, he busied himself with seeing about stores, and making sure that all was in order for the voyage. While the baronet was thus engaged, Jack wandered over the yacht in a musing sort of fashion, thinking not so much of the scene around him as of Dolores and of the possible events now happening at Tlatonac.

He had good reason to mistrust Don Hypolito knowing as he did how treacherous and cruel was the nature of that would-be dictator. Half Indian, half Spanish, this Mestizo possessed the worst traits of both races, and, once his passions were aroused, would stop at nothing to accomplish his desire. It was true that it was principally on account of the opal that he desired to marry Doña Dolores; but he was also in love with her beauty, and adored her in a sensual, brutish fashion, which made Jack grind his teeth and clench his hands at the very thought. Yet he was undeniably a clever man, and skilled in diplomatic intrigue; therefore it might be that his revolt against the established Government of Cholacaca would end in his assuming the dictatorship. In such an event, he would certainly force Dolores to become his wife; and against his power the Englishman would be able to do nothing. Still, as he had now the aid of his three friends, Duval hoped, if it came to the worst, to escape with Dolores and the opal in Philip's yacht. Once on the open sea, and they could laugh at Xuarez and his threats. The engines of The Bohemian were not meant for show.

What Jack feared was that Don Hypolito might have resorted to strong measures, and carried off Dolores with him to Acauhtzin. Hitherto there had been no suspicion that he intended to revolt; so, lulled by a sense of false security, Dolores might have permitted herself to be kidnapped, in which case Jack hardly knew what to do. Still, it might be that nothing had happened save the withdrawal of Xuarez to Acauhtzin, and Duval fervently hoped that he and his friends might arrive at Tlatonac before the out-break of hostilities. Provided he started fair with Xuarez in the game, Jack hoped to come off winner—Dolores, the opal, and the Republic, being the stakes.

"If we start to-morrow, it will not be long before we reach Chalacaca," thought Jack, as he leaned over the taffrail looking absently at the dull-hued water. "Once there, and I will be able to protect Dolores. If the worst comes, there is always Philip's yacht, and as to marriage, I am sure Maraquando would rather see his niece married to me than to that Xuarez half-bred."

"In a brown study, Jack?" said Cassim's voice, behind him. "I won't give a penny for your thoughts, for they are worth more."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you are thinking of Doña Dolores."

"It's a true bill," replied Jack, with an ingenuous blush. "I was hoping she had not been carried off to Acauhtzin by that scoundrel Xuarez."

"Oh, your friend Don Hypolito! Not a bit of it. If all you say is correct, he is in too serious a position, at present, to hamper himself with a woman. Don't worry, fond lover. The Bohemian will take us to Central America in less than no time, and if there's going to be a row, we'll be there to see its genesis."

"I hope and trust so," said Duval, gloomily; "but I'm not so hopeful as you are."

"I hopeful! My dear lad, I'm the most pessimistic person in existence; but at this moment I look at things from a common-sense point of view. If Xuarez intends business, he has withdrawn to Acauhtzin to make his plans. To do so, he requires time. If he had kidnapped Doña Dolores, things would be brought to a head before his plans were ripe. Therefore he has not kidnapped her. Q.E.D. So come ashore, and don't talk nonsense."

"Have you finished your business?" asked Jack, following Sir Philip into his boat.

"Yes, everything is right. As soon as Tim arrives, we shall start for Plymouth, to pick up Peter. I wish Tim would come down to-night; but I suppose even a special correspondent must have time to collect his traps."

"What is your reason for going ashore?"

"In the first place, I wish to send a wire to my lawyer, as to my destination; and, in the second, I desire to stretch my legs. Let us have as much dry land as we can get. It will be nothing but sea for the next week or so."

"Have you been long ashore, this time?" asked Duval, as they went up to the telegraph-office.

"Only five or six days. I came from the Guinea coast, I tell you, to keep this appointment. I didn't then know it would result in a Central American expedition."

"I hope you are not regretting your determination?"

"My dear Jack, I am delighted. I have not yet seen a war, so it will be something new. Now then, Messrs. Bradshaw and Co.," he added, poising his pen over the telegraph form, "I had better tell you where I am to be found. How do you spell Tlatonac, Jack?"

"T-l-a-t-o-n-a-c," spelt Jack, slowly; "but why don't you write your lawyer a letter, instead of sending an unsatisfactory telegram."

"I have nothing to write about," replied Philip, signing his name with a flourish; "all they need know is where I am in case of my possible death, so as to make things right for the next-of-kin. They have no letters to forward. I always carry plenty of money, so I never bother my head about them, beyond giving my bare address."

"Don't they object to such unbusiness-like habits?"

"They did at first, but finding objections of no use, have quite given up such preachings. Don't trouble any more about them, but let us take a walk. 'You take a walk, but you drink tea,' saith Samuel Johnson."

"I don't see the connection," said Jack, soberly.

"Neither do I; but what matters. 'Dulce est desipere in loco.' There is a bit of dictionary Latin for your delectation."

"Peter said you were a misanthrope, Philip; but I don't think so myself."

"Peter is a —— collector of butterflies," retorted Philip, gaily. "I was a misanthrope; man delighted me not, nor woman neither; but now I have met the friends of my youth, I feel much better. The friends we make in life are never as dear as those we make at school. Since leaving Bedford I have made none. I have lived for my yacht and in my yacht. Now that I have you, and Tim, and Peter, I feel that I am rapidly losing the character for Timonism. Like Mr. Bunthorne, I am a reformed character."

"Who is Mr. Bunthorne? a friend of yours?"

"Jack, Jack! you are a sad barbarian. It is a character in one of Gilbert and Sullivan's operas. But you have lived so long among savages that you don't know him; in fact, I don't believe you know who Gilbert and Sullivan are."

"Oh yes, I do. I'm not so ignorant as all that."

"There is balm in Gilead then," said Cassim, satirically. "Jack, when you marry Dolores, and realise the opal, you must return to civilisation. I can't let the friend of my youth dwell among the tombs any longer."

"I am very happy among the tombs."

"I know you are. You would be happy anywhere," rejoined Philip, enviously. "Would I were as easily contented. Tell me how to be happy, Jack."

"Get married," returned Jack, promptly.

"Married!" echoed Cassim, as though the idea were a new revelation; "that is a serious question, Jack, which needs serious discussion. Let us sit down on this soft turf, my friend, and you shall give your opinions regarding matrimony. You don't know anything about it as yet; but that is a mere detail."

By this time, owing to their rapid walking, they had left Yarmouth far behind, and having turned off the high-road, were now strolling across a field yellow with gorse. In a few minutes they arrived at a land-slip where the earth fell suddenly down to the beach. The brow of this was covered with soft grass, starred with primroses, and Philip threw himself down thereon with a sigh of content. Jack more soberly seated himself by the side of his friend, and for a few moments they remained silent, gazing at the scene. Below was the rent and torn earth, on either side a scanty fringe of trees, and in front the blue sea stretching far away towards the dim line of the Hampshire coast. A gentle wind was blowing, the perfume of the wild flowers came delicately on its wings, and they could hear the waves lapping on the beach below, while occasionally a bird piped in the near boughs. It was very cool, pastoral and pleasant, grateful enough to Jack's eyes, weary of the burning skies, and the gorgeous efflorescence of the tropics. Ah me! how often we sigh for green and misty England in the lands of the sun.

"'There is no land like England,'" quoted Jack, absently smelling a pale primrose. "Ah! there is no doubt it is the most delightful country in the whole world. I have been all over the planet, so I ought to know."

"And yet you propose to leave the land you profess to love," said Philip, rolling himself over so as to catch his friend's eye. "Jack, you are inconsistent."

"I must earn my bread and butter. Everyone isn't born like you, with a silver spoon in his mouth. If I can't find employment in England, I must go abroad. Besides, there is always Dolores."

"Of course," assented Philip, gravely, "there is always Dolores. Is she pretty, Jack?"

"Pretty!" echoed Duval, with huge disdain; "if there is one adjective that does not describe Dolores it is 'pretty.' She's an angel."

"Such a vague description. Fra Angelica, Burne Jones, Gustave Doré, all paint angels differently."

"Oh, I don't mind being more minute, if you care to listen. But I do not wish to bore you with my love affairs."

"I like to be bored with love affairs—when they are those of Jack Duval."

Jack smiled thankfully. He was eager to talk of Dolores to Philip; but being somewhat sensitive to ridicule, hesitated as to whether he should do so. As a rule, a man's friends do not care about listening to a lover's ravings. Women are the most sympathetic in such a case; but as Jack had no female friend in whom to confide, he had either to hold his tongue or tell Philip. Philip, he thought, would not care for descriptions of the beloved one, so he kept silent; but now that he had been warmly requested to be as explicit as he pleased, he eagerly hastened to unbosom himself. At that moment, Jack thought Philip an angel of sympathy.

"Dolores," he began slowly, fixing his eyes seaward, "is rather tall, with a charming figure. Her hair is purple black, her face oval, and her complexion inclined to be darkish. She has teeth like pearls, and a mouth like Cupid's bow. Her eyes—well, her eyes," said Jack, enthusiastically, "are like those velvety dark pansies when the dew lies on them."

"That's the first original epithet you've used, Jack. Teeth of pearl, and Cupid's bow for a mouth are old similes. Dew on pansies is distinctly good."

"Oh, if you are going to laugh——" began Jack, angrily, when Cassim hastened to disclaim any such discourtesy.

"I'm not laughing, my dear lad. I am only complimenting you on your ingenuity. I know exactly what kind of a woman Dolores is. She is like De Musset's Marquise—half fiend, half angel."

"I never heard of her," interrupted Duval, bluntly, as he produced a gold oval from his pocket; "but, to save further description, look at this picture. It was done for me by a Spanish fellow at Tlatonac."

Philip surveyed the portrait in the locket long and earnestly.

"Has Dolores a temper, Jack?"

"Rather!" replied Jack, laconically; "but what do you think of her?"

"She has an exquisite face, and, judging from her mouth, a fiery temper. I don't wonder you are in love with her, Jack. I hope she'll make you a good wife."

"You seem rather doubtful on that point," said Jack, half annoyed, as he restored the locket to his waistcoat pocket.

"No; but to tell you the truth, I'm doubtful of the advisability of mixed marriages in the matter of race. It may be all very well for the offspring, who, as a rule, are clever; but the husband and wife, having different trainings, do not as a rule hit it off. Race-nature again, my friend."

"Oh, as to that," rejoined Jack, equably, "I have lived so long in Mexico and South America that I am half Spanish in my habits, and so can suit myself to Dolores. Besides, when we are married, we will stay in Spanish America; it will be more advisable than coming to England."

"Yes; I agree with you there," said Philip, lazily; "in fact, I think the indolent Creole life of South America would suit me also. I also must find an Indian-Spanish spouse. And that reminds me, Jack, that we sat down to discuss my marriage prospects, whereas we've done nothing but talk about yours."

"Well, suppose you marry Doña Eulalia?"

"What, have you found me a spouse already?" cried Cassim, sitting up, with a ringing laugh. "And who, is Doña Eulalia?"

"The cousin of Dolores, and the daughter of Don Miguel."

"Is she as beautiful as her cousin? But there, I needn't ask that. Of course, in your eyes, no one is so perfect as Dolores. Well, I will consider the matter when I see Eulalia. It is too important a step to take without due consideration."

"What nonsense you talk, Philip."

"Why shouldn't I talk nonsense? Between you and me, Jack, I grow weary at times of very sensible people. We won't discuss how that remark applies to you. Tell me how many more members there are of the Maraquando family."

"Only a son, Don Rafael."

"And what does the young hidalgo?"

"He is in the Cholacacan navy. A very jolly young fellow of twenty-five. We are great friends. Then there is a Doña Serafina."

"Another beauty?"

"According to her own idea, very much so," replied Jack, dryly. "She is the old man's sister, and acts as duenna to Dolores and Eulalia."

"Ah, an old maid. Good! We will marry her to Peter, and they can collect butterflies together."

"Oh, Doña Serafina would marry anyone; but why to Peter?"

"I don't know. Peter looks as if he needed a wife; so, as he won't choose one for himself, I must do so for him. Oh," yawned Philip, rising reluctantly to his feet, "what a pleasant talk we have had. I suppose it's time we returned to the boat? Come, John, I'll race you to the road."

Nothing loth, Jack accepted the challenge at once, and, though Philip ran like a deer, succeeded in beating him easily.

"Whew!" gasped Cassim, leaning breathless against a fence which verged on the high-road. "You're one too many for me, Jack. I thought I was a good runner, but you can beat me."

"You're out of training. Too much flesh. Too soft muscles."

"Well, I'll soon right all that at Cholacaca, when we run from the enemy. Constant life on a yacht isn't a good thing to develop a fellow's running powers."

They jumped lightly over the fence, and walked soberly towards Yarmouth in the gathering dusk. The sun was setting, and there was a glory over sea and land somewhat tempered by the twilight. The friends strolled comfortably along, still talking. Indeed, since their meeting they had done little else but talk, more especially Philip, who was not like the same man. His reserve seemed to have melted away like dew before the sun of Duval's geniality, and he was more like the merry boy of old than the haughty, distrustful man of the present. The reason of this lay in the fact that he felt he could thoroughly trust Jack, and it was a great comfort to him that there was at least one man in the world to whom he could open his heart unreservedly. Secretly, he was much astonished at the pleasure he found in this friendship, and by no means displeased, for while in Jack's company the world seemed a goodly place in which to dwell. Yet Duval was decidedly a commonplace young man, smart enough at his business, yet by no means distinguished for intellectuality; withal, so warm-hearted and simple-natured, that Philip surrendered himself entirely to the influence of this pleasant friendship.

"You are doing me no end of good, Jack," he said as they walked through the town. "Before you came, I was gradually becoming a fossil; now I am renewing my youth."

"I am very glad to hear it," replied Jack simply. "But indeed, Philip, so far as I can see, you seem to be as jolly as a sandboy."

"I wasn't a week ago. It's the sunshine of your happy geniality, Jack. I will stay with you until the cure is complete. Then I will see you safely married to Dolores; present you with the opal stone, as a dowry, and then——"

"And then!" repeated Jack, as his friend paused.

"Then I will take up the old discontented life again."

"I won't let you do that," said Duval, slipping his arm within that of Philip's. "No. I will cure you, as you say, and then you will marry Eulalia."

"Humph! That's doubtful."

"I'm not so sure about that, mi amigo. Meanwhile, I'm hungry, so let us go on board and have dinner."

"Oh, bathos," laughed Philip, but offered no opposition to so sensible a suggestion.

They sat up late that night talking of many things, but principally about Dolores and Tlatonac. Jack gave his friend a vivid description of the Cholacacan capital, and of the life therein, all of which was highly appreciated by Philip. The baronet's taste in existence, as in literature, leaned towards the dreamy and fantastical, so the languorous life of Spanish America in sleepy towns, amid the dilapidated pomp of former splendours, appealed greatly to the imaginative side of his nature. Hitherto his visits to these out-of-the-way places had been limited to a few days ashore, while his yacht was anchored in the harbour; but this time he determined to take Jack for his guide, and live the life of these strange people. It was a dream of the Orient in a new world. The Arabian Nights in the west.

Next morning they were up early in order to greet Tim, who duly arrived in a state of great excitement. He was delighted to be once more on the war-path, especially as he was to go through the campaign in the company of his old school-fellows. The business of putting his luggage on board took but little time, as Tim did not believe in special correspondents travelling with much impedimenta.

"You could have brought more luggage, if you had liked," said Philip, when they inspected Tim's modest kit.

"More! Haven't I got all I want," retorted Tim, indignantly. "What would I be stuffing up the boat with rags for. A tooth-brush and a clean collar is all I require."

"Hardly, if this is going to be a lengthy campaign," replied Philip, dryly. "I expect, before the end of the voyage, you'll be wearing Peter's clothes."

Peter was so small, and Tim so large, that the idea struck the latter as wonderfully ludicrous, and he sat down to laugh which he continued to do until the screw began to beat the water. Then he went on deck to superintend the departure.

In due time they arrived at Plymouth without accident, where they found Peter waiting with as much luggage as a bride would take on her honeymoon. It proved to be mostly articles for capturing butterflies, and cases for preserving them much to the disgust of Philip, who hated his yacht to be overloaded with such débris. With that painful candour which prevailed between them, he told Peter that he would only take half; but the meek doctor waxed indignant, and refused to go without all these, what he called, "necessaries." So, in the end, Philip had to give in.

Then The Bohemian turned her prow westward, and dipping her nose in the salt brine, followed in the track of Columbus.

  CHAPTER IV.

IN THE TRACK OF COLUMBUS.

Notwithstanding the notoriety of the Atlantic Ocean for storms, The Bohemian met with little or no bad weather during her voyage to Cholacaca. Blue skies, blue seas and fair winds, it was an ideal cruise, and had it not been necessary to reach Tlatonac with as little delay as possible, Philip would willingly have prolonged this ocean tramping for an indefinite period. Jack, however, was anxious to see Dolores; the special correspondent looked forward eagerly to the fierce delights of possible battles, and Peter hankered after the insect tribes of Central America; so, in deference to their wishes, Philip made his yacht act well up to her reputation as a fast boat. The Bohemian did not belie her fame, and made a bee-line straight for her destination.

Ignoring Lisbon, where boats generally touch on their way to South America, the yacht held on straight for the Azores, passed them in the night, and continued her course to Cuba, from whence she could drop down to Tlatonac in a few days. She touched at Havana, which was a trifle out of her course, at the express request of Jack, who had a few commissions to fulfil for Dolores; otherwise her nearest point of call would have been Kingston, in the Island of Jamaica.

Truly there are worse lots in the world than a lotus-eating existence on board a crack yacht, and none of the four friends found the voyage too long or too dull. Peter attended to his entomological traps; Tim, obeying his journalistic instincts, made notes of daily events for future use; and Philip, in conjunction with his sailing master, attended to the navigation of the boat. The only idle person on board was Jack Duval, who did nothing but eat, sleep, drink, and think of Dolores, save when he amused himself by worrying his busier companions.

Thanks to the powerful engines of The Bohemian and the uniform speed at which they were kept the whole time, the voyage to the Carribean Sea was accomplished in a wonderfully short period. Occasionally, when the bearings of the engines became heated by constant friction, the screw was stopped and the sails were set, when the yacht, leaning slightly to one side, swirled through the waters under a cloud of canvas. They depended chiefly on steam power, however, and it was rarely that the drum of the screw ceased resounding through the vessel as she held on steadily westward in the eye of the sunset.

All four friends had plenty to do and plenty to talk about, so managed to get through the days in a sufficiently pleasant fashion. After dinner, which was the principal event of the twenty-four hours, they sat on deck chatting in the warm tropic nights, or else stayed in the saloon listening to Philip's piano playing and Jack's singing. Tim also sang in a pleasant tenor voice, and often favoured the company with a varied selection of ditties, ranging from pathetic Irish melodies to the latest music-hall songs of the day. Peter was the most unmusical member of the party, and, save talking, did little else to amuse his friends. It is true that he offered to give them a lecture on "lepidopterous moths," but the offer was promptly refused on the score that it would be dull. Peter could not understand such an adjective being applied to so interesting a subject.

It was at one of these symposiums that Jack gave them a description of the political situation in Cholacaca, information peculiarly acceptable to Tim, who was anxious to be thoroughly acquainted with the local affairs of the country. On reaching Tlatonac, he wrote a capital article embodying Jack's information, and sent it off at once to The Morning Planet, in whose columns it duly appeared, and gave the British public an excellent idea of Don Hypolito's reasons for rebelling against the Established Government of the Republic. Tim's articles were brutally plain and untempered by style.

The night was warm and cloudless. Westward the faint after-glow of the sunset; and in the east, the slender crescent of the moon, low down on the horizon. Overhead the constellations large and mellow burned like lamps in the purple sky, and mirrored their flashing points in the deep, so that the yacht cut her way through a glittering sea of planetary splendours. The sails were all furled, and a light breeze made humming noises in the taut hemp of the rigging. From the wide mouth of the funnel floated a faint trail of smoke, and the steady screw, with monotonous repetition, throbbed like a beating heart. The water hissing like serpents, streamed past the black sides of the boat, and at the prow the white foam boiled like a witch's cauldron, as she rose and fell on the heaving plain. It was all wonderfully charming, and the voyagers seated on deck felt it to be so. After a time conversation ceased, and they remained silent, drinking in the beauty of the night and the infinite magic of the sea. Peter, unromantic Peter, was the first to break the charm with a commonplace remark.

"I hope we shall get fresh milk in Cuba; I'm tired of this Swiss stuff."

"The heathen!" cried Tim, in a disgusted tone; "he thinks of nothing but his fat little paunch. Can't you admire the works of Nature, you little dunderhead."

"Well, I do want fresh milk," urged Peter, obstinately.

"You have no eye for beauty, Peter," said Jack, gravely; "look at the grandeur of the scene around you."

"It's very pretty."

"Pretty!" cried Philip, laughing. "I once heard a young lady call the Hallelujah Chorus pretty. You must be a relation of that young lady, Peter."

"Of all the adjectives in the English language," said Duval, with mock solemnity, "the one I most detest is 'pretty.'"

"Especially when it is applied to a certain damsel, whereof we wot," interjected Philip, mischievously; whereat Jack blushed and the others laughed.

"If Peter is so enthusiastic over all this," said Tim, waving his hand to indicate the same, "what will he say when he sees Doña Serafina."

"Bother Doña Serafina," retorted the doctor, growing red. "I wish you fellows would stop roasting me on the subject."

"She isn't a subject, Peter, but an object. Forty-five, and as plain as Tim there!"

"Is it me you mean, Jack. Why, I'm not bad looking, at all. I've had that same on the best female authority. We can't all be heathen gods, like you and Philip."

"I object to be compared to a heathen god," said the baronet, lighting a fresh cigarette. "There is ugly Vulcan as well as beautiful Apollo. Your compliment reads both ways, Tim."

"Oh, the vanity of the creature. But I'm not going to pass compliments, sir. No, it's my intention to request Mister Duval to deliver a speech."

"What about?" asked Jack, considerably taken aback at this cool request.

"On the politics of Cholacaca. I dursn't neglect my business, lads, and the first letter I have to send to my chief is a report of the cause of this shindy."

"The information will be useful to us all," said Philip, settling himself more comfortably in his chair; "we will then know which side to take, Don Miguel's or Don Hypolito's. Go on, Jack, and you, Peter, hold your tongue; interrupt, and I'll give orders for your removal overboard."

The doctor grinned and expressed his desire to know all that Jack had to say on the subject; whereat Duval, without wasting any time, plunged at once into the middle of the subject.

"It's a difficult task," he said, rubbing his chin in some perplexity; "but first you must know the geography of Cholacaca. It has more depth than breadth, being a strip of country lying south of Yucatan, about four hundred miles long and two hundred broad. Tlatonac, the chief town, is in the south, and Acauhtzin, the second city, in the north, about three hundred miles intervening. There are other towns of more or less importance in the interior; but the most of Cholacaca consists of dense forests inhabited by Indians and dotted with buried cities."

"One of which contains the Temple of the Harlequin Opal, I suppose," said Philip, leisurely.

"Yes; I have an idea that the Temple of the Opal is not very far from Tlatonac; but of this I am not sure. Well, to proceed. The country is very mountainous, and there are comparatively few roads. I am engaged by the Government to construct a railway to Acauhtzin."

"How far have you constructed?"

"Fifty miles, or thereabouts, and now that this war is on the tapis, I expect the works will have to be abandoned. Failing this railway, the only way to get to the second capital is by water. So, you see, communication between the two towns is not so perfect as it might be."

"And thus offers good opportunities to Don Hypolito to make things nasty for the Government."

"There's no doubt of that, provided Don Hypolito can secure the allegiance of the navy."

"The navy!" said Peter, in surprise. "You don't mean to say, Jack, that Cholacaca has a navy?"

"A very good one, as South American navies go. They have three war-ships, named respectively, The Columbus, The Cortes, and The Pizarro, all first-class vessels. The Government has also sent to England for two torpedo-boats, which are expected out shortly."

"Then, if Don Hypolito commands the navy, he can do what he likes."

"Not exactly. Tlatonac is well fortified, and the war-ships would have to keep well out of the range of the guns."

"Any army worth mentioning?"

"Yes; a capital army for this part of the world. Mostly Mestizos, you know; and, if needs be, I dare say the Government can secure the forest Indians as their allies. Fools if they do. No wise man trusts an Indian. That holds good of governments also, I take it."

"Judging from your opal story," said Philip, reflectively, "it seems to me that this Indian business depends on the stone."

"No doubt. If Don Hypolito secures Dolores and her opal, the Indians, out of sheer superstition, will side with him against the Government. In that case, they are too near Tlatonac to be pleasant."

"And what are the plans of this Don, if you please," asked Tim, who was scribbling shorthand notes in his pocket-book.

"Hum! you'll have to ask Xuarez about those, and then he won't tell you. So far as I can judge, he will win over the navy to his side, establish his head-quarters at Acauhtzin, and make things unpleasant all round. With the navy of three, he can blockade Tlatonac."

"What about the torpedo-boats?"

"They, no doubt, are on their way out from England. If the war-ships can stop them, they certainly will."

"Torpedo-boats are unpleasant things to handle."

"Yes; I don't suppose the war-ships will try force. Those in charge of the two torpedo-boats won't know of the disaffection of the navy; so possibly their commander will be decoyed on board the ships, and the rebels can place their own men in charge of the torpederas."

"In that case," said Philip, after a pause, "it would be as well to use this yacht to warn them before they enter the harbour."

"My dear Philip, if you tried on that game, the rebels would send a war-ship after you, and The Bohemian would be knocked to bits."

"Not if she gets a start. I'll back her speed against the whole Cholacacan navy. When The Bohemian has all her furnaces going, she is like a streak of greased lightning."

"But, after all," said Peter, yawning, "I don't see why we need anticipate evil. Don Hypolito may not have rebelled, and the navy may still be loyal to the Government."

"What!" cried Tim, sticking his chin in the air, "d'ye think I've come all these miles to see a flash in the pan. If Don Hypolito doesn't revolt, I shall consider myself deceived. I want war—blood red war, and plenty of it."

"Barbaric wretch!" said Philip, indolently. "War wasn't invented to fill the empty columns of your paper during the silly season. Not that I would mind a war myself."

"You'll see all that and more," remarked Jack, confidently. "Xuarez is bent on becoming Dictator of the Republic, and as President Gomez won't care about being kicked out, it will be a case of war to the knife."

"What kind of a man is Xuarez?"

"He's like Napoleon: a wonderful man, I can tell you. You can see from his face that he was born to command. If he gains the day, he won't be content with playing at Dictator. Not he! He'll make himself Emperor, establish his capital in the neck of the Isthmus of Panama, and conquer South America. He won't attempt the north further than Mexico, in case the U.S. Government might make it hot for him. The Yankees object to foreign domination. Some people are so particular."

"The New World is not the place for empires," said Philip, decisively. "Monarchs are at a discount in the Americas. Maximilian failed; Iturbide failed; Dom Pedro had to leave Brazil. No; Montezuma was the last of the American emperors—there will never be another."

"Don't prophesy till you know, Philip. Don Hypolito is as cunning as the devil, and as clever."

"I don't care how clever he is. No one can depend on the half-baked lot that form the population of Spanish America. You have to form a nation before you can construct an empire."

"There's some truth in that."

"Still, if Xuarez appeals to their superstition through this opal," said Peter, mildly, "there will be——"

"That only counts with the Indians. The Mestizos and the descendants of the Spaniards won't be led by such child's play."

"What about the Church?"

Jack flicked a spot of dust off his coat.

"The Church has that much power in Cholacaca now," he said slowly, "it's effete; it's worn out. The age of the Inquisition is past."

"If Don Hypolito does get to be Lord-Lieutenant," asked Tim, inquiringly, "what will he do for the downtrodden country?"

"According to his own showing—everything. Don't I tell you he wishes to found a monarchy. But when he's got the upper hand, I question whether he'll do much, save what chimes in with his own personal ambition. Besides, Cholacaca is going ahead now quite as much as is good for it."

"That refers to the railway, Jack."

"Partly, and to other things also. This railway will open up a lot of valuable country. It will run through from end to end. From Janjalla in the south to Acauhtzin in the north. Then lines will branch off here and there to the sea-coast on one side, to the mountains on the other. Thus the whole country will be a network of railways, bringing the population and towns within trading distance of one another."

"All of which visions are to be realised by Jack," said Peter, with mock sarcasm.

"Yes, realised by Jack," assented the engineer, good-humouredly. "If Don Hypolito gets beaten, and things go on as now, I will have plenty of work."

"Much virtue in 'if,'" quoted Philip, smiling.

"It is certainly difficult to foresee the end. Still, Gomez has the army."

"And Don Hypolito has the navy. It's pretty even, I think."

"The combat will be decided by us four," said Tim, conceitedly, "and we'll fight on the side of Jack's choosing."

"Then we will assist the Government. I don't want to help Xuarez to marry Dolores, and get the Harlequin Opal."

"It's my opinion that the war has nothing to do with the Harlequin Opal," said Peter, decisively. "If the Indians have got it, the Indians will keep it."

"Unless I'm within stealing distance of it," replied Jack, promptly. "No; whatever comes and goes, I'm determined to get that opal. It belongs to Dolores."

"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.