Where Strongest Tide Winds Blew

A few days after the Amythist-Huascar battle I discovered the people of Ilo were cold and distant towards me, and I soon learned the cause. Although they were in favor of the existing government, they did not relish the idea of their people being beaten by the British. I could not condemn the acts of my own country and I felt it would be better to leave Ilo, which I did, little dreaming of the exciting events which were soon to follow.

X.

WE MEET AGAIN, FELICITA

The theater of Arequipa was ablaze with lights. The youth and beauty had assembled to follow the fortunes of the Count de Monte Christo. I was seated in the dress circle listening to the weird warlike strains of Spanish music, when my eyes fell upon the occupants of a box. A beautiful girl, half hidden by the rich draperies, was talking with an aristocratic looking old gentleman, while by their side sat a young man, dark-browed and sinister looking. I arose and entered the box from the side door. “Don Julian Maldonado, I am delighted to meet you,” I said, “I am the boy you befriended some years ago in the Cordilleras.”

He took my hand delightedly and bade me be seated, offering me a chair between himself and daughter. Don Julian whispered to me not to make myself known to Felicita to see if she would recognize me. All this was amusing to Don Julian, but somewhat embarrassing to me, seated, as I was, between them, and trying to carry on a conversation with him. The expression of wonderment in Felicita’s beautiful eyes was disconcerting to say the least. It was evident she did not remember me. And yet how could she be expected to. She was a child of only nine years when we first met, and who now, seven years later found me unexpected and unannounced sitting beside her in a theater.

Laughingly I turned to her and asked if she did not recognize me, explaining that the reason her father had not presented me was that we had met seven years ago.

While I was speaking she was looking earnestly at me, but when I recalled their journey to La Paz she appeared dubious and asked if I was the young lad she met near Puno and if it was possible that I had grown to manhood and learned to speak Spanish? When I reassured her, the look of astonishment gave way to an exclamation of joy.

The play was forgotten. We only talked of our first meeting. She asked if I was staying in Arequipa and on learning that I was, promised that we should meet again, as her father had decided to remain there for some time. I was delighted but felt somewhat disturbed because of the young man in the box with her. When I began to talk to Felicita he moved his seat farther away. The Peruvians are the acme of politeness.

The play being over, I assisted Felicita with her wraps. Her father then introduced me to Don Rodrigo Garcia, a fellow traveller whom they had met on their journey from Cusco to Arequipa.

I was not particularly well pleased with the young man. First impressions sometimes give rise to doubt and distrust. It was so with me in this instance. Don Julian insisted on my going home with them. I walked with Felicita on one side and Don Julian on the other, Don Rodrigo walking just ahead of me. Their home was on Calle Mercaderes, one of the prettiest squares of the city. Like most Peruvian homes, the house was of adobe with flat roof and partitions of plastered cane. It contained six rooms. In the windows were heavy iron bars, like all houses of the better class. They were very serviceable, for Spanish lovers do their courting between the window bars. The girl sits beside the window and her wooer stands in the street; the parents sometimes invite him in. Should he request the company of the girl to the play or to any entertainment, the invitation must include the whole family. This custom in the larger cities is dying out, but in the inland cities it is still adhered to.

Arriving at the door, I bade Felicita and her father good night with the assurance that I would dine with them the next day. Don Rodrigo also was invited. His hotel was on my way and I accompanied him. He was splendid company, and after reaching his hotel I accepted his invitation to a light lunch. Afterwards we enjoyed a cigar and some rich old wine, but still I could not overcome the aversion I first formed for him.

The following day, long before the appointed time for dinner, I was dressed and ready. Chico, a half-breed Indian, whom I had rendered a service one time when he was being set upon by some of his own people, and who afterwards slept in my passage way, had my boots polished and horse carefully groomed. He was a faithful servant. He would find out where I went and quietly follow, and after the manner of his race, would lie down in some obscure place in perfect contentment and wait for me. I arrived at the home of Don Julian at the appointed time, and found the father and daughter awaiting me. A few moments later, Don Rodrigo arrived and we were seated in the parlor facing the street. It was splendidly appointed. Although the exterior of many Peruvian residences appear shabby, the interior presents a far different appearance.

I requested Felicita to play for us and time passed quickly. Dinner being called I took the liberty of escorting Felicita to the table and was given the place beside her. The Indian servants between courses, kept our glasses filled. Felicita did not take wine, and when dinner was over retired, leaving us to enjoy our cigars and liquor. We afterwards adjourned to the parlor, where I gave my friends an account of my life since our first meeting. I could see that Don Rodrigo took every opportunity to make light of my narrative.

I did not allude to being in Ilo during the Amythist and Huascar affair, but after I had given my friends a brief account of myself, Don Rodrigo asked me my nationality. I told him I was Scottish. He then asked me what I thought of the Huascar affair, hoping no doubt to belittle my standing with Don Julian. I replied that I had given it very little thought, and moreover considered it a question for both governments to settle, and was satisfied that everything would be adjusted amicably.

My reply seemed to annoy him, as he doubtless thought I would commit myself, and take the part of the British. He arose, and pleading a press of business, begged permission to retire. He shook hands with Don Julian and daughter, but merely bowed to me. I was glad he was gone.

Never before had I been so happy as now, in Felicita’s presence. For the first time since leaving home this was the only pleasure I had known. Felicita sang some pretty Spanish ballads to the music of her guitar and I went home that night with a lightness of heart I had not experienced for a long time.

My duties not requiring me to be away from Arequipa often, much of my time was spent with Felicita. Together we would ride horseback over the picturesque valley, with its olive and orange groves and along shaded avenues of palms, with pebbly brooks of crystal waters on either side. The pure air and semi-tropical skies stimulated our buoyant spirits, and made these the halcyon days of my existence. My first dreams of love when we met in the Cordilleras were now a blissful reality.

I saw little of Don Rodrigo in the weeks that followed and was seldom in the company of my comrades. Once a week I would join them at the club, but aside from that I was always to be found at Don Julian’s home.

Months sped by in sweet content as the world took on a more roseate hue and the future presented an alluring picture.

I met Don Rodrigo on the street one day and as he nodded slightly I noticed an evil look in his eyes. On returning to my room late that night something glistened in the moonlight on my door. I struck a match, a blood red heart was traced on the panel, and in the center stuck a dagger. What did it mean?

XI.

THE MASQUE BALL AT TIRAVAYA

It was the night of the annual masque ball at Tiravaya, a summer resort a few miles from Arequipa. The hall was crowded with dancers; many gentlemen were in Cavalier costume, with swords clanking at their sides. Others were in helmets, gorglet and breastplate, to represent Pizarro’s conquerors of Peru. Many of the ladies wore quaint costumes and rich attire of the court of Ferdinand and Isabella, while a few were attired in grotesque costumes. Felicita was dressed as a princess of the court of the ancient Incas, with a head dress of the rich plumage of tropic birds. I was dressed in the Highland garb of Scotland.

I soon discovered Felicita by the rosebud in her hair. We took part in the grand march and in nearly all the dances. The soft strains of the music and the gayety of the picturesque throng in the brilliantly lighted room made the hours pass quickly and it was soon time for unmasking. After the general greeting was over, we proceeded to the dining room where an elegant repast was served. The supper being finished, the music struck up again as the wine was being served. Just then I observed Rodrigo for the first time, and noticed that he was intently watching me. I called Felicita’s attention to him and she seemed to be frightened. She wanted to return home, but I assured her there was no danger; we were among friends. She replied that I was not familiar with Spanish hatred, and that he would sooner or later insult me. I had known for more than three months, that he had proposed to Felicita and been refused. I also knew he was a gambler and lived on his chances at the faro table. Being an expert and without any sense of honor, even to one of that profession, he was seldom unsuccessful. I had never mentioned to Don Julian or Felicita his manner of life.

An American, who unfortunately got under the influence of wine, proposed a toast to Peru, to which we all responded by raising our glasses. Another toast was given to the United States which received a similar response. Toast followed toast in quick succession. I merely raised my glass as I had no desire to drink any more, and knowing the long distance before me, I was on the point of calling for Chico to have our horses in readiness, when I heard my name called and found that I was requested to make a speech. I arose and congratulated the company present for the pleasant time we had passed, and the happy manner in which everything had been conducted by our host. All rose and gave him three cheers.

Don Rodrigo then stepped to the center between both tables, and asked everyone present who denounced the British government for its action in the Huascar affair, to stand up. I knew the insult was meant for me. I refused to stand, as also did two of my British friends. After they were seated Felicita again pleaded with me to leave, but I could not do so with honor then, and had I done so, I would have been held in contempt afterwards. Don Rodrigo came to where I was seated and addressing himself to me said:

“I observe that you refuse to condemn the action of the British government. Of course you are a Britisher, but I must say that the action of your government was of the most cowardly nature, and anyone who upholds such actions deserves the name of coward; in fact, anyone who allows himself to be ruled by the Queen of Great Britain must be anything but a brave man.”

I cannot describe the thoughts that ran through my brain. I stood like one paralyzed. I could neither move nor speak, but I was conscious that everyone was looking at me and seemed to enjoy my discomfiture. Felicita placed both hands on my right arm and looked pleadingly in my face. I could see everything quite plainly, but I was bereft of all powers. Then by a valiant effort I recovered myself. Bending down, I told Felicita to remain and not be alarmed.

I arose and went to where Don Rodrigo stood. I was calm and collected. “Don Rodrigo,” I said, “I came here by invitation, and when I accepted had no thought of being insulted. Neither do I believe that our host or the gentlemen present intended that I should be. You have without provocation on my part, insulted my Queen and called her subjects cowards. The country that gave me birth never produced cowards and I want to convince you that I am not an exception.” With this I dealt him a terrific blow in the face.

He fell heavily to the floor and all was confusion. Men leaped on tables and chairs. Cries of “Down with the foreigner!” were heard on every side. Then my British friends came over to where I stood, one of they saying, “Good, Jack, the coward deserved it! Let us stand side by side and show them how the Queen’s subjects can defend themselves!”

I can see him now, his auburn hair disarranged and partially hanging over his forehead, his blue eyes sparkling with indignation, his right hand holding a revolver. The other said, “There are only three of us but we will show them how Britishers can fight,” at the same time drawing his Colt’s. I had also pulled my gun, anticipating the worst, when the American drew near and said: “Jack, I know nothing of your Queen or country; I am an American, but you did right, and what I would do under similar circumstances. I will stand by you, although we have little chance against such odds.”

By this time Don Rodrigo had been assisted to his feet, blood all over his face. The uproar ceased for a few minutes, as the crowd was without a leader. The blow had told with effect–two front teeth were gone and both eyes were discolored, caused, I think, by him coming in contact with the floor. In a few moments cries of “Down with the foreigner,” again commenced. We knew it threatened our lives, but when they looked down the barrels of four revolvers they knew it also threatened some of their lives.

Springing on a chair, I asked them to listen to me. I told them that the quarrel they had witnessed had been sought by Don Rodrigo against me; and I asked why others should suffer? Let him finish his quarrel with me now or at any other time he chose–I would always meet him, and surely gentlemen such as I knew them to be would not so far forget themselves as to endeavor to overcome us, who had never done them harm?

This appeal was effective. Don Rodrigo had been washed, and never did I see a face with such devilish and malignant expression. I was young and strong, with quite a knowledge of the art of self defense, and I watched him very closely lest he should draw a knife.

Presently he said that he would be the judge of time and place and manner of meeting me, and that I would yet remember Don Rodrigo Garcia. I did not answer and he walked out of the hall. I drank several glasses of wine with those who, but a few moments before, were crying for revenge. I found Chico near me, and could hardly refrain from laughing when I discovered that he had armed himself before leaving Arequipa with a great navy revolver he found in my room. I am satisfied had an attack been made on us, Chico would have done his part, provided he had found a way to use the revolver. I am satisfied he never saw one before he came to Arequipa.

I told him to get the horses ready and my friends remained near to prevent any treachery. However, we were not molested on the way home. Felicita begged me to watch Don Rodrigo. “I know,” she said, “that man’s nature. He will watch you always, and while he will not attack you alone, he will pay others to inflict some injury on you.”

Don Julian was waiting and had hot cocoa ready for us. We both concluded that we would better tell him what had happened lest he hear a wrong version from others. They were determined that I should spend the remainder of the night in their house, but I concluded it would appear cowardly. So, I bade them good night and, with Chico following, perfectly happy over the few dollars I had given him, I reached home in safety.

I thought much about the affair at Tiravaya and determined to watch Don Rodrigo closely. A week later Don Julian informed me he was going to Aacna on business. He would be gone several days, but Felicita would stay here. Fatal mistake.

XII.

COWARDLY ACT OF A VILLAIN

“Don Juan! Ah, Don Juan! Something dreadful! Felicita!” cried Chico as he burst into my room breathless near midnight.

“What is it?” I demanded, “quick, I say,” but he could only gasp “Felicita!”

I hurried to the stable and saddled my horse, Chico following. We rode with all haste to the home of Don Julian. Everything was in uproar. The Indian servants moaned and cried, and pointed in the direction of the road leading to the cemetery. Thither I rode, fast as my horse could run. It was a lonely road, with few houses by the wayside and those were mostly Indian huts. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning, no one to be seen–on and on I went. I could see a dark outline of what I thought must be a vehicle of some kind. As carriages are seldom used in Arequipa, I concluded that this must be bearing Felicita away. I drove the spurs harder and leaned forward, peering into the darkness. I was gaining rapidly. I was certain now that it was Felicita, for they were driving at full speed. I never thought how I was to rescue her, my whole purpose being to catch up with that villain. Just then the moon shone bright from behind a cloud and lighted up the scene. The occupants of the carriage now knew they were being pursued, and they stopped. I could plainly see two men unhitch two horses from behind the carriage. They took Felicita from the carriage and were forcing her to mount when, suddenly, her horse became unmanageable, and she fell to the ground. By this time I was close upon them, and called to Felicita to be brave, but the poor girl never heard me, for she was unconscious. Don Rodrigo stopped, as if determined to resist me. Would to God he had! But he put spurs to his horse and fled. I shot at him, but as the distance was great, and the light uncertain, the bullet went wide of the mark. I soon forgot him on reaching Felicita, as she lay with an ugly cut on her head caused by striking the carriage step when she fell. There lay my child-friend, unconscious. She was dressed for retiring, her other clothes being in the carriage. My first impulse was to pursue the accursed scoundrel and avenge the insult to Felicita, but I could not leave her there. I took her in my arms and carried her to a near-by Indian hut where, after some parley with the poor, superstitious Indians, the door was opened, and I laid my burden on some sheepskins on the floor. Her hands were cold and she appeared to be dead.

By this time, Chico arrived and brought her clothes from the carriage. I staunched the flow of blood with my handkerchief, while Chico prepared some hot native liquor, which I put to her lips. After a time, she opened her eyes, but did not know me. I called and called her name, but it was long before consciousness returned. When she did recognize me, a look of love and happiness passed over her face. I would not let her speak, but told her that when she was taken home, she could tell me all. The carriage driver had long since made his escape, so I had sent to Arequipa and had a closed carriage brought, in which I took her home.

Time dragged wearily until the return of her father. I remained by her side and with the assistance of the Indian servants, made her as comfortable as possible. I had been without sleep so long that I had gone into the parlor and laid down. I had just awakened from a sleep when Don Julian entered. Poor old man, he was overcome with grief. He knew all, Felicita had told him. From him I learned how the abduction had taken place. About 11 o’clock at night, Don Rodrigo had entered the bedroom and before she realized what was being done, Felicita had been carried to the carriage in waiting. Leaving her in charge of the driver, Don Rodrigo returned for her clothes. No sooner was his back turned than she screamed. This attracted the attention of Chico, who had been enjoying a visit with Don Julian’s Indian servants in the kitchen. He had run at full speed to inform me.

It was the opinion of Don Julian that Don Rodrigo had intended taking the child to some remote Indian habitation in the mountains, and demanding a ransom for her.

This was a plausible theory, for besides getting revenge for Felicita refusing his hand in marriage, he would be able to extort money from Don Julian, and also avenge his fancied wrongs at my hands.

The following day Felicita was still weak and nervous. The doctor advised that she be taken to the sea coast for a time. She protested, saying she was getting stronger, but I knew she was only saying it to cheer her father and myself. I could plainly see her condition was precarious. After a long consultation with the doctors, Don Julian decided he would take her to Truxillo, their former home. After considerable pleading, she consented to go. I was to follow when she recovered.

I accompanied them and their Indian servants aboard the steamer and remained aboard the little ferry boat, waving my handkerchief until they faded into the distance. I returned ashore, and although I had not been in Mollendo for some time, I had no desire to see my friends. I wanted to be alone.

Weeks of dreary waiting followed. I was not myself. Anxiously I looked for a letter and with trembling hands I broke the seal. The letter was dated Lima, and read: “Don Juan, I am crazy. Felicita is dead. Will write you all, when I am composed. Julian.”