Майн Рид
The Tiger Hunter
Chapter Thirty Two.
The Secret Signal
The fortress castle of Acapulco stands at some little distance from the town, commanding the latter. It is built upon the summit of the cliffs that inclose the Acapulco Bay – against whose base the waves of the South Sea are continually breaking. On each side of the fortress a deep ravine or barranca pierces the precipice down to the depths of the ocean – so that the castle stands upon a sort of island promontory or voladero. The cliff upon the right flank of the castle is called the Voladero de los Hornos; and over the ravine between it and the citadel stretches a narrow bridge called El Puento de los Hornos.
Early in the following morning – while the insurgent camp was in some confusion consequent upon an unexpected order from the commander-in-chief; and while a strong detachment was getting under arms, not knowing where they were to be conducted – Captain Don Cornelio Lantejas and Costal the Indian were seen gliding silently along the sea-beach in the direction of the fortress.
The night was still dark – for it wanted yet two hours to sunrise – and both the town and castle were wrapped in the most profound slumber. The only sounds heard distinctly were the continuous murmuring of the waves as they broke along the beach.
The two men, after cautiously advancing towards the black cliff, on which stood the fortress, commenced climbing upward. It was not without much exertion, and danger too, that they at length succeeded in ascending to the bridge of Los Hornos.
The Indian now struck a light; and kindling a resin candle, which he carried inside his lantern, he hung the latter to a post that stood near the middle of the bridge, fixing it in such a manner that the light should shine in the direction of the fortress. It was the signal agreed upon by the Gallician; and as their part of the performance was now over, the two men sat down to await the attack which was soon to be made by the General in person.
The position which they occupied commanded an extensive view – taking in the town, the castle, and the ocean. Of the three, the last-mentioned alone gave out any sound; and Lantejas, after a time, ceased watching the two former, and involuntarily bent his regards upon the sea.
Costal was also turning his eyes upon the great deep, in which everything might also have appeared asleep, but that at intervals a narrow line of light might be seen gleaming along the black surface of the water.
“There’s a storm in the air,” muttered Costal to his companion in a solemn tone of voice. “See, how the sharks are shining in the roadway!”
As Costal spoke, half-a-dozen of these voracious creatures, in search of prey, were seen quartering the waters of the bay – crossing each other’s course, and circling around, like fireflies over the surface of a savanna.
“What think you,” continued the ci-devant tigrero, “would become of the man who should chance to fall overboard among those silent swimmers? Many a time, for all that, have I braved that same danger – in the days when I followed pearl-diving for my profession.”
Don Cornelio made no reply, but the thought of being among the sharks at that moment sent a shivering through his frame.
“I was in no danger whatever,” continued the Indian. “Neither the sharks nor the tigers – which I afterwards also hunted as a profession – could prevail against one destined to live as long as the ravens. Soon I shall be half-a-century old; and then quien sabe? At present, perhaps, no one here except myself could swim in the midst of those carnivorous creatures without the danger of certain death. I could do it without the slightest risk.”
“Is that the secret of your courage, Costal – of which you give so many proofs?”
“Yes, and no,” replied the Indian. “Danger attracts me, as your body would attract the sharks. It is an instinct which I follow – not a bravado. Another reason, perhaps, gives me courage. I seek to avenge in Spanish blood the assassination of my forefathers. What care I for the political emancipation of you Creoles? But it is not of this I wish to speak now. Look yonder! Do you see anything down there?”
A strange object just then came under the eyes of Lantejas, which caused him to make a movement of superstitious terror. Costal only smiled, while gazing calmly upon the object.
A dark human-like form, with a sort of tufted hair hanging loosely over its head, had emerged from the water, and was supporting itself by his two arms upon the beach – as if resting there like some bather fatigued with swimming.
“What is it?” inquired Lantejas in a troubled tone – the more so that a plaintive whine seemed to proceed from this singular object, which, with somewhat of the form of a woman, had nothing human in its voice.
“A manatee,” responded Costal; “an amphibious creature we call pesca-mujer– that is, half-fish, half-woman. Dare you stand face to face with a creature still more human-like in form – ah! more perfect than any human creature?”
“What do you mean?” inquired Lantejas.
“Señor Captain Don Cornelio,” continued the Indian, “you who are so brave in the face of the enemy – ”
“Hum!” interrupted Lantejas with an embarrassed air, “the bravest has his moments of weakness, do you see?”
An avowal of his want of courage – though on certain occasions the ex-student of theology was not lacking this quality – was upon the tongue of Lantejas, when Costal interrupted him with a rejoinder —
“Yes, yes. You are like Clara – although a little braver than he, since he has not had such an opportunity to cultivate an acquaintance with the tigers, as you. Well, then, if you were to see down on the beach yonder, in place of the manatee, a beautiful creature rise up out of the deep – a beautiful woman with dishevelled locks – her long hair dripping and shining with the water, and she singing as she rose to the surface; and were you to know that this woman, although visible to your eyes, was only a spirit, only of air – what would you do?”
“A very simple thing,” answered the ex-student, “I should feel terribly afraid.”
“Ah! then I have nothing more to say to you,” replied the Indian, with an air of disappointment. “For a certain object I had in view, I was in search of a comrade, one with more courage than Clara. I must content myself with the negro. I expected that you – never mind – we need not talk any more about the matter.”
The Indian did not add a single word; and the officer, whose fears were excited by the half-confidences of his companion, was silent also. Both awaiting to hear the sounds of the attack upon the castle, continued to gaze upon the vast mysterious ocean, in which the luminous tracks of the sharks and the dark body of the manatee alone animated its profound solitude.
They were thus seated in silence, with their eyes wandering over the dark blue surface of the water, when all at once the manatee was heard to plunge under the waves, uttering a melancholy cry as it went down. Just then the loud booming of a cannon drowned the voice of the amphibious creature.
“The castle is taken!” cried Lantejas.
“No,” replied Costal, “on the contrary, Pepe Gago has betrayed us. I fear our General has been tricked.”
Several discharges of cannon followed on the instant, confirming Costal’s surmise; and the two men, hastening to leave their dangerous post by the bridge of Hornos, retreated towards a narrow defile called the Ojo de Agua. There they saw the Mexican detachment scattered, and in full retreat towards their encampment. A man standing in the middle of the path was trying to intercept their flight.
“Cowards!” cried he, “will you pass over the body of your general?”
Many halted, and, returning, made an attack upon the works of the citadel. But it was to no purpose: the gate was too well defended; and a discharge of grape had the effect not only of terrifying the assailants, but also killed several of their number.
Morelos now saw that he had been betrayed, and caused the retreat to be sounded. It was the first check he had experienced during a victorious career of months.
The day had not yet dawned, when two men were seen advancing from the direction of the insurgent camp toward the bridge of Los Hornos. One of these men was Costal, but this time he was accompanied by Clara the negro. The resin candle still burned within the lantern, but giving out a more feeble light, as the first streaks of day began to succeed to the darkness of night.
“You see that lantern, Clara?” said Costal, pointing out the glimmering light to his companion. “You know what it was hung there for: since I have just told you. But you haven’t yet heard the vow I have taken against the traitor who has so played with us. I shall tell you now.”
And Costal proceeded to disclose to his old camarado the oath he had registered against Pepe Gago.
“Devil take me!” said Clara in reply, “if I can see how you will ever be able to fulfil your vow.”
“No more do I,” rejoined Costal, “but as I have promised Pepe Gago that he should not forget the lantern on the bridge of Los Hornos, and as I am determined he shall have a sight of it now and then, to keep his memory awake, I don’t see why I should leave it here to be picked off by the first comer. At all events, it is no longer needed as a signal.”
Saying this, the Indian took down the lantern from the post, and blew out the light.
“Here, Clara,” he continued, “help me to make a hole. I intend hiding it – so that I can get it again, whenever I may want it.”
The two men kneeling down, and using the blades of their knives, soon carved out a hollow place, in which Costal deposited the lamp still containing the resin candle.
“Now, friend Clara,” said the Indian, as soon as they had covered it in, “sit down here, and let us try if we can’t think of some way to capture this castle, as well as the picaro who is within it.”
“Willingly, I will,” answered the black; and seating themselves side by side, the two associates commenced with all due gravity their important deliberation.
Chapter Thirty Three.
The Isle of Roqueta
While thus on the summit of the Voladero de los Hornos the Indian Costal and the negro Clara were debating between themselves how the castle might be captured – the same subject was being discussed by two persons of more importance in the tent of the insurgent general. These were Morelos himself, and Don Hermenegildo Galeana – now usually styled the “Marshal,” to distinguish him from another Galeana, his own nephew, who was also an officer in the insurgent army.
The countenance of Morelos had not yet cast off the shadow caused by the failure of their assault upon the castle; and his garments were still soiled with dust, which, under the agitation of violent passions, he disdained to wipe off.
The brow of the Marshal was also clouded; but that was rather by reflecting the unpleasant thoughts that were troubling the spirit of his well-beloved General: for no care of his own ever darkened the countenance of the warlike Galeana.
A chart of the bay and roadstead of Acapulco lay upon the table before them, illuminated by two candles, whose light was every moment becoming paler, as the day began to break into the tent.
They had been for some time engaged in discussing the important matter in question. The Marshal had been endeavouring to press upon the General the necessity of at least capturing the town: since the troops were not only badly provided with tents and other equipage, but were in such a position among the burning sands, that it was difficult to transport provisions to the camp. Moreover, the situation on the river’s bank was exceedingly unhealthy; and fever was daily thinning the ranks, and prostrating some of their best soldiers. The Marshal urged, that, once inside the town, they would at least be better lodged, while many other evils might be avoided. The town could not hold out against a determined assault. It might be, carried by a coup de main.
“I know all that, my dear Marshal,” said Morelos, in reply to the arguments of Galeana; “we can easily take the town, but the castle will still hold out, provisioned as it can always be through this unfortunate isle of Roqueta, with which the garrison is able to keep up a constant communication.”
The isle in question lay in the roadway of Acapulco, two short leagues from the town. There was a small fort upon it, with a Spanish garrison; and at the anchorage connected with this fort the Spanish ships, occasionally arriving with supplies for the fortress, could discharge their cargoes, to be afterwards transported to the castle in boats.
“Let us first capture Roqueta, then?” suggested Galeana.
“I fear the enterprise would be too perilous,” replied Morelos; “we have scarce boats enough to carry sixty men – besides, the isle is two leagues out to sea; and just at this season storms may be looked for every hour – to say nothing of a mere handful of men landing to attack a strong garrison behind their entrenchments.”
“We can take them by surprise,” continued the intrepid Mariscal. “Leave it to me, General; I care not for the danger. In the glory of your name I shall undertake to capture La Roqueta.”
“A perilous enterprise!” repeated Morelos, half in soliloquy. “Yes, friend Galeana,” continued he, once more addressing himself to his Marshal, “although you have taught me to believe in the success of any enterprise you may undertake, this is really of such a nature as to require serious consideration.”
“Never fear for the result, Señor General! I promise to capture the isle on one condition.”
“What is it?”
“That as soon as you see my signal, announcing that I have mastered the garrison of Roqueta, you will take the town of Acapulco. Your Excellency will agree to that?”
Morelos remained for a moment thoughtful, and apparently reluctant to permit so perilous an attempt.
Just at that moment a rocket was seen ascending into the air, and tracing its curving course against the still sombre background of the sky. It had evidently been projected from the fort of Roqueta, which in daylight would have been visible from the camp of the insurgents. Morelos and his Marshal, through the open entrance of the marquee, saw the rocket and conjectured it to be some signal for the garrison on the isle to the besieged within the fortress. Almost on the instant, this conjecture was confirmed by another rocket seen rising from the citadel upon the summit of the cliffs, and in turn tracing its blue line across the heavens. It was evidently the answer.
For some minutes the General and Galeana remained within the marquee, endeavouring to conjecture the object of these fiery telegraphs. They had not succeeded in arriving at any satisfactory conclusion, when the General’s aide-de-camp, Captain Lantejas, entered the tent. His errand was to announce to the Commander-in-chief that Costal, the scout, had just arrived in the encampment as the bearer of some important intelligence.
“Will your Excellency permit him to come in?” requested the Marshal. “This Indian has always some good idea in his head.”
Morelos signified assent, and the next moment the Indian entered the tent.
“Señor General!” said he, after having received permission to speak, “I have just been up to the cliff of Los Hornos, and through the grey dawn I have seen a schooner at anchor by the isle of Roqueta. She must have arrived during the night: since she was not there yesterday.”
“Well, what of it, friend Costal?”
“Why, General, I was just thinking how easy it would be for a party of us, after it gets dark, to slip up alongside, and take possession of her. Once masters of that schooner – ”
“We could intercept all the supplies destined for the castle,” impetuously interrupted Galeana; “and then we shall reduce it by famine. Señor General, it is God who speaks by the mouth of this Indian. Your Excellency will no longer refuse the permission which I have asked?”
It is true, the danger apprehended was not diminished by the presence of the schooner; but, overcome by the earnest appeals of the Marshal, and the prospect of the important results which would certainly arise from the possession of the vessel, Morelos at length consented to the attempt being made.
“If I know how to read the clouds,” said Costal, whose counsel on this point was now requested, “I should say, from the way in which the sun is now rising, we shall have a dark calm day and night – at least, until the hour of midnight – ”
“After midnight?” demanded the Marshal.
“A tempest and a howling sea,” replied Costal. “But before that time the schooner and the isle of Roqueta may be ours.”
“Shall be ours!” cried Galeana, with enthusiasm.
In fine, and before the council broke up, the enterprise was planned. The expedition was to be commanded by the Marshal, accompanied by his nephew, the younger Galeana, while Lantejas was to be the captain of a canoe, with Costal under his orders.
“The brave Don Cornelio would never forgive us,” said Galeana, “if we were to perform this exploit without him.”
The Captain smiled as he endeavoured to assume a warlike expression of countenance. He thought to himself, however, how much more to his taste it would be to have been deprived of the privilege accorded to him. But according to the habit he had got into, and in conformity with the energetic Spanish refrain: Sacar de tripas corazon (Keep a stout heart against every fortune), he pretended to be delighted with the honour that was yielded to him.
The prognostic of Costal about the weather appeared likely to be realised. During the whole day, while they were making preparations for their night expedition, the sky remained shadowed with sombre clouds; and, as evening arrived, the sun went down in the midst of a thick cumulus of vapour.
Chapter Thirty Four.
An Enterprise by Night
As soon as darkness had fairly descended over the deep, the men took their places in the boats.
The flotilla was comprised of three barges or whale-boats, and a small canoe – in which altogether not more than fifty men could be embarked; but as it was at this period the sole fleet possessed by the insurgents, they were forced to make the best of it.
With oars carefully muffled, they rowed out from the beach; and, thanks to the darkness of the night, they succeeded in passing the castle without causing any alarm.
They were soon out of sight of the shore; and after rowing a mile or so further, the dark silhouette of the cliffs ceased to be visible through the obscurity.
The canoe commanded by Captain Lantejas carried, besides himself, Costal and two rowers. As it was the lightest vessel in the flotilla, it was directed to keep the lead, as a sort of avant-courier, to announce whatever might be seen ahead.
Costal sat in the stern guiding the craft; and while engaged in this duty, he could not resist the temptation of pointing out to his captain what the latter had already tremblingly observed: – three or four great sharks keeping company with the canoe.
“Look at them!” said the Indian; “one might almost imagine that the instinct of these fierce sea-wolves told them – ”
“What?” inquired Lantejas, with an anxious air.
“Why, that this vessel we are in is not sea-worthy. She is as rotten and ricketty as an old tub; and very little – Bah! I only wish that my friend Pepe Gago was one of those fellows in the water, and I had nothing more to do than leap in and poniard him in presence of the others!”
“What! are you thinking still of that fellow?”
“More than ever!” replied Costal, grinding his teeth; “and I shall never leave the army of Morelos – even when my time of service is out – so long as there’s a hope of capturing the castle of Acapulco, and getting my hands on the miserable traitor.”
Lantejas was paying only slight attention to what the Indian said. The doubt which the latter had expressed about the sea-worthiness of the canoe, was at that moment occupying his thoughts more than Costal’s project of vengeance; and he was desirous that they should reach the island as soon as possible. Even an engagement with a human enemy – so long as it should take place on terra firma– would be less perilous than a struggle in the water with those terrible monsters – the sharks.
“The canoe goes very slowly!” remarked he to Costal mere than once.
“Señor Don Cornelio!” exclaimed the Indian with a smile, “you are always in a hurry to get into the fight; but we are now approaching the isle; and, with your permission, I think we would do well to obtain leave from the admiral (by his title Costal designated Don Hermenegildo) to go a little more in advance, and reconnoitre the way for the others. The canoe can approach near the schooner without much risk of being seen; whereas those great whale-boats would just now stand a pretty fair chance of being discovered. That’s my advice – do you agree to it, Captain?”
“Willingly,” replied Lantejas, scarce knowing between the two dangers which might be the greatest.
At a command from Costal the two rowers now rested upon their oars; and, shortly after, one of the barges arrived alongside. It was that which carried the admiral.
“What is it?” inquired the latter, seeing that the canoe had stopped for him. “Have you discovered anything?”
Don Cornelio communicated to him the proposition of Costal. The idea appeared good to the Marshal; and, in accordance with it, the three barges were ordered to lie to, while the lighter craft glided on in advance.
In a short time the isle appeared in sight – a dark spot upon the bosom of the water, like some vast sea-bird that had settled down upon the waves, to rest a moment before resuming its flight.
Presently, as they drew nearer, the dark mass appeared to grow larger, but still lay buried in sombre silence, with no light nor any visible object distinguishable through the gloom.
Still drawing nearer, they at length perceived, rising over the tops of the trees that thickly covered the island, the tall tapering masts and cross-yards of a ship. It was the schooner they were in search of.
Continuing their course, in a few moments they were able to make out her hull against the white background of the beach, and then the two cabin windows in her stern. Through these, lights were shining, that in two broad bands were flung far over the surface of the water. In the darkness, the vessel might have been likened to some gigantic whale that had risen a moment, and was bending its huge eyes to reconnoitre the surface of the sea.
“We must change our course,” muttered Costal. “If the canoe gets under that light, some sentry on the quarterdeck may see us. We must make a détour, and approach from the other side.”
In saying this the Indian shifted the rudder, and turned the head of the craft into a new direction, while the rowers still continued to ply their muffled oars.
The sharks turned at the same time, and kept on after the canoe, as could be told by the luminous traces left by their viscous bodies in passing through the water.
Beyond, the surface was sparkling with phosphoric points, as if the sky, now covered with a uniform drapery of dark clouds, had dropped its starry mantle upon the sea.
At intervals there came a slight puff of wind, and the water curling under it glanced more luminously; while an occasional flash of lightning announced that the clouds above were charged with electricity.
In all these signs Costal recognised the precursors of a storm.
The canoe had now passed far out of sight of the barges, and was circling around, to get upon the other side of the schooner – still followed by five of the shining monsters of the deep.
Both Costal and the Captain believed themselves too far distant from the schooner to be seen by any one aboard when all at once a brilliant light enveloped the Spanish vessel, revealing her whole outlines from stem to stern. Those in the canoe had just time to perceive that it was the blaze of a cannon, when the report followed, and the hissing of a ball was heard. Almost on the instant the little craft received a terrible shock; and, in the midst of a cloud of spray thrown around it, the two rowers were seen tumbling over the side and sinking below the surface of the water. Two of the sharks disappeared at the same moment!
Costal, seated in the stern, at once perceived that the canoe no longer obeyed the rudder; and Lantejas, who was more amidships, saw to his horror that the vessel was sinking at the forward part, where she had been struck by the ball.
“Por los infiernos! an unlucky shot!” cried Costal.
“What will be the result?” anxiously demanded Lantejas.
“Why, a very simple thing: the bullet has crushed in the bow of the craft, and she will go down head foremost, I suppose.”
“Por Dios! we are lost then!” cried Don Cornelio in a voice of terror.
“Not so sure of that yet,” calmly returned Costal, at the same time rising and stepping forward in the canoe. “Keep your place!” whispered he to Lantejas, “and don’t lose sight of me.”
Notwithstanding the assuring air with which the Indian spoke, the third rower, under the excitement of a terrible alarm, at this moment rushed up and caught him around the knees – as if clinging to him for help.
“Ho!” cried Costal, endeavouring to disengage himself, “hands off there, friend! Off, I say – here it is every one for himself!” And as he said this he pushed the man backward.
The latter, staggering partly under the impulsion he had received, and partly under the influence of his fright, tumbled back into the water. At the same instant a third shark disappeared from the side of the canoe, while a cry of despair appeared to rise up from the bottom of the sea!
“It was his own fault,” said the impassable Zapoteque, “his example should be a warning to others!”
At this frightful innuendo the ex-student of theology, more dead than alive, commenced invoking God and the saints with a fervour such as he had never felt in all his life.
“Carrambo! Captain,” cried the imperturbable pagan, “put more confidence in your own courage than your saints. Can you swim?”
“Only a few strokes,” feebly replied Lantejas.
“Good! that will be enough. There is only one way to hinder the canoe from going head downwards. Look out, then, and keep close by my side!”
Saying this, Costal waited until the canoe rose upon the top of a wave; and then, throwing all his strength into the effort, he kicked the craft, overturning it keel upwards.
Both men were for the moment under water; and Lantejas, on coming to the surface, felt himself violently grasped by the garments. He fancied it was one of the sharks that had seized hold of him; but the voice of Costal close to his ear once more reassured him.
“Do not fear: I am with you,” said the Indian, dragging him through the water towards the capsized canoe, which was now floating wrong side up.
The efforts of the Indian, joined to those which Lantejas mechanically made for himself, enabled the latter to get astride the keel of the canoe; where Costal, after swimming a few strokes through the water, mounted also.
“Another minute,” said the Indian, “and the old tub would have gone to the bottom. Now she may keep afloat till the whale-boats get up – that is, if the storm don’t come down before then.”
Lantejas cast a despairing glance towards the distant ocean, which, lashed by the wind, had already commenced under its mantle of foam. The sight drew from him a fresh invocation to the saints, with an improvised but earnest prayer for his own safety.
“Carrambo!” cried the pagan Costal, “keep a firm seat, and don’t trust too much to your gods. If you let yourself be washed off, you’ll find they won’t do much for you. Stay! you’ve nothing to hold on by! let me make a catch for you.”
Saying this, Costal bent towards his companion; and with the blade of his knife commenced opening a hole in the keel of the canoe. In the worm-eaten wood this might be easily effected; and, working with all the sang-froid of a wood-carver, in a few seconds Costal succeeded in making an aperture large enough to admit the hand. Through this Lantejas thrust his fingers; and, clutching firmly underneath, was now in a condition to maintain his seat against the waves that were threatening every moment to roll over the spot.
Costal, having thus secured his companion, and provided for his own safety in a similar fashion, now commenced peering through the darkness in hopes of seeing the barges.
In this he was disappointed. Though the lightning now flashed at shorter intervals, its gleams revealed only the dark and scowling water, the isle sleeping in sullen gloom, and farther off the frowning mass of the fortress-crowned cliff.
Notwithstanding that the castaways now shouted at the highest pitch of their voices, there was no response from the whale-boats. Their cries pealed along the seething surface of the waters, and died without even an echo.
