CHAPTER V.
On the evening succeeding to the day at the chacra, a small evening party—or tertulia, as it is called—was held at the town residence of Luis Mendoza. Our friends Thorne and Griffin were there, two midshipmen belonging to an English man-of-war lying in the roads, with such a sprinkling of young ladies and gentlemen as could be called on such a short notice. Mendoza and Le Brun were closeted hard at work by themselves in an adjoining room. The daughters of the former strove to keep up an appearance of gaiety which they could not feel; even Thorne himself was more silent than was his wont, and it seemed as if the gloomy prospect of the times had its effect in diffusing a shade of sadness over the countenances of those who had met to be gay.
The midshipmen were the only parties who appeared really to enjoy themselves. They feared their first-lieutenant more than Rosas, and him they had left on board: they had come on shore in quest of amusement, and like birds free from the cage, they fluttered about in the full hey-day of enjoyment. Happy themselves, they conceived all around them to be the same, and at last diffused a little of their light-heartedness to others.
“Come, Mr Thorne, we have had plenty of singing and music,” said Anita Mendoza, forcing herself to exertion: “I make you the ‘bastonero.’ What say you to dancing now?”
“A fair challenge! Gentlemen, choose your partners for a quadrille. Miss Anita, will you favour me with your hand. Gentlemen, please hand round refreshments to the ladies to give them a little life before we begin. Griffin, the pleasure of a glass of champagne with you. Here, my young captains, you come and wet your mustaches. Vive la bagatelle. Now, then, gentlemen.” Thus rattled on Tom Thorne, seeking to rouse up the flagging spirits of the company; but he himself had seldom been in worse spirits—he scarce knew how.
“I have strange forebodings this night,” said Mr Thorne to Anita Mendoza, as he stood beside her during an interval in the dance. “I see both you and your sisters are dull, too; your father and Le Brun are as busy as if this were to be the last night of their existence. Anita, I suspect that man—I wish to God your father would trust some foreigner—one native is not better than another, that is, not more secure.”
“Por dios, tell me, Mr Thorne, what do you suspect in Mr Le Brun? Tell me at once; tell me without reserve—it may not be too late yet?”
“I suspect him of being more intimate with the authorities than an honest man can be.”
“He allows he has influence with them, Mr Thorne; my father has the utmost confidence in him—their interests are bound up together; may he not honestly exert what influence he has for my father’s safety?”
“How can he have influence with them except he lends himself to their schemes and plots? Even were he honest in his intentions to secure Mendoza’s interests—and God forbid that he be not!—who can say that his influence will outweigh the value of Mendoza’s doubloons and lands?”
“Mr Thorne,” said Anita, during another interval in the dance, “I know that Señor Le Brun will now use every effort in his power to secure my father and his interests. Have you—I beg you—I beg you most earnestly to answer me distinctly and at once, for we have not one moment to spare—have you any positive knowledge of Le Brun’s acting a dishonourable part, of his being a spy in fact?”
“I have not.”
“Is he suspected of being so in the town?”
“As far as I know, he is not.”
“What are your reasons for suspecting him in respect to my father?”
“I met him in close and secret communication with the notorious ——.”
“My dear Mr Thorne, excuse me, I have heard all that explained by my father. His confidence must go further with me than the suspicion of another, even if that other be——Oh, Mr Thorne, you can scarcely fancy how much I am relieved, how much I am indebted to you for your frankness; but I must trust Le Brun. And now, as the dance is finished—which, by the way,” said she with a smile, “you appear to have forgotten—I shall feel obliged to you for a glass of wine, for indeed I feel very faint.”
In spite of every exertion of our hero, the small party went off very stiffly, and at an early hour the whole company had disappeared except the two midshipmen, Thorne, and Griffin; when Mendoza and Le Brun entered the sala with the air of men who had just escaped from a long, troublesome, and anxious job, and who rub their hands with delight at having finished it.
“Come, Le Brun,” said Mendoza, “after our long sederunt, let us have a glass of the best the girls can give us. Ha! Thorne, how are you? wherever you are there is sure to be champagne—so champagne be it.” But Le Brun declined, and bidding an affectionate adieu to the ladies, and making a formal bow to Thorne, he withdrew.
“Hang me if I like that man!” said Thorne.
“I never knew a man who flinched from his liquor stand by his friend; and I shall make a point of telling him so,” said Griffin, following up Thomas’s resentment.
“That may be the case in Ireland, friend, but cannot apply here,” said Mendoza. “But come, we can finish a bottle of champagne without any assistance. I leave you to-morrow, Thorne,” he said in a whisper: “the blood-hounds are on the qui vive, but you will see me double them.”
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when a rap was heard at the door. A servant entered pale and trembling, to inform his master that two of the “friends of liberty” were at the door, and wished to speak to the Patron.
Had a thunderbolt fallen at their feet, the whole party could not have stood more aghast. Of the object of their visit at twelve o’clock at night, there could be no mistake. The ladies threw themselves upon their father and wept aloud; protesting with tears and sobs that they should never tear him from them. “Thorne, Griffin, young gentlemen, you will defend my father, will you not? They shall tear us in pieces before they separate us,” sobbed Anita, franticly. The midshipmen, in their enthusiasm, drew their swords. Thorne produced two small pistols from a great-coat pocket; but Griffin,—he was the most collected of the whole.
“Be cool, ladies; I will save your father. Thorne, give me your pistols. Servant, go to the door—say Mr Mendoza will be there in a moment—say he is putting on his cloak. Now, Mendoza, be a man—no time for acting the father or crying now. Ladies, one of you get me your father’s cloak and hat. Now, Mendoza, are you listening to me?”
“I am.”
“Well, then, come to the door with me—ask the gentlemen very politely what they want; of course they will invite you to accompany them to prison or somewhere or other—answer without hesitation you will be with them in one moment. This you will do with your cloak and hat on: give me then your cloak and hat—bid them advance;—I follow, with your cloak and hat on, as Don Luis Mendoza, and damn all consequences—pistols versus knives,—hurrah!”
“But, sir,” commenced Mendoza.
“Not a word, sir, I have no family, and I would die to serve an honest man or bonny lassie: and, Thorne, you look after the ladies—never mind me, I have two pistols for their two knives.”
The thing was arranged as quickly as this has been told. And away went Griffin followed by the “friends of liberty.”
“Now, Mendoza, you must out at once,—it’s all Le Brun’s doings,—cut for your life,—cut,” said Thorne, “and run for my house. Ladies, this is no safe place for you—excuse me, will you honour my house. There is no time for ceremony, rather on with your cloaks. Young gentlemen, you’re escort—servant, your master’s pistols—Now then, ladies, are you ready?—Anita, my arm—friend, give Mariquita yours—you for the look-out, now heave a-head.” “Patricio,” cried Anita, “secure my father’s papers, and then look out for yourselves.” And the whole house was clear in less than ten minutes from the first rap at the door.
Mr Thorne and his interesting convoy arrived safe at the Calle Derecho without any interruption; but great was their dismay as time passed on and no Mendoza made his appearance. Early next morning Thorne was on foot to make his inquiries, but not a word could he hear of his whereabouts. The only consolation he could hold out to his fair and trembling guests was the probability that he might be concealed in some friend’s house, or might find his way on board of some vessel. “But cheer up, ladies, you at least are safe, both from Rosas and Le Brun; and what a comfort that would be to your old father if he knew it! Ladies, you are the mistresses of the house. I must send for a female servant to attend you, and you may send for some lady friend to keep you in countenance, if you can find one, or think it proper.—You will see the propriety of not moving out of doors for a few days. The only restriction I impose upon both of you is, that you never drive me away from your presence by even whispering a word about thanks. And now, ladies, excuse me—I am going to sally out on another voyage of inquiry,” and, before a word could be said in reply, he hurried from the room.
After running about till he was almost exhausted, Thorne repaired to the Sala de los Estrangeros residentes, or club-room of resident foreigners, for a little refreshment; and scarcely had he entered when Le Brun stood before him, pale, breathless, and wo-begone.
“Le Brun,” cried Thorne, “you are a spy, a traitor;—you are worse than I even conceived you to be. Leave me—fly this moment, or you meet your deserts from my hands and in this very place.”
“Thorne,” cried Le Brun with the most abject air, “I am the most miserable man in existence. I swear to you, by every thing that binds man to man, I was not the cause of Mendoza’s capture last night;—my life, sir, is in more peril than his. At this moment the emissaries of the police are at my heels, and ere sunset, I shall be in prison,—ere sunrise probably a corpse;—where is Mendoza?”
“He is not in prison?” demanded Thorne.
“No, no—he is not.”
“Then thank God he is in safer hands than yours or your friends,—he is safe. Confess, Le Brun, that you seek him to save yourself?”
“He is safe, you say;—did you say he was safe?”
“I did,” said Thorne, who had no idea of Mendoza running any risk, except that of his falling into the hands of Rosas. “But begone, sir. I see your object;—you would now sell his life to save your own little miserable existence.”
“Mr Thorne,” said Le Brun, “I am too abject now to resent insults or injuries. Thanks be to Heaven! Mendoza is now safe;—my course is now clear. I can prove to you now that, however base you may think me, I have his interest at heart.”
“Yes, after your own weak truckling schemes have failed. Go on, sir.”
“Thorne, my steps were tracked out to Mendoza’s chacra; my steps were watched to Mendoza’s house last night, he was seized, but, Thorne, not by my information—no, thank God! not by mine. After this confession, I ask you if I am not more to be pitied than despised. I may be upbraided as a spy and traitor, but I have always struggled to befriend Mendoza.”
“And why, Le Brun, are you so anxious to know of Mendoza?”
“If I find him not by sunset, I myself suffer the punishment intended for him.”
“I foresaw that, wretch.”
“Press me not too hard, Thorne; I thank Heaven that I alone shall be the victim; and yet, how I shudder at the thought, with all my sins upon me—no, I cannot bear to dream of it. Save me, Thorne!—save me! save me! I throw myself on my knees before you. I never wronged you—I have admired your firmness when I have cursed my own weakness. Save me! save me!”
“Confess, then, did you not mean to sell Mendoza to save yourself?”
“I know not my own motives, Thorne. I am entirely unmanned—ask me not to what lengths despair might have driven a guilty man. Believe me, I laboured anxiously and keenly for his safety to the neglect and danger of my own; for then my thoughts were ennobled by my aspirations for his daughter. I am too mean and degraded now to dream of matching myself with such purity; and I have sunk into mean grovelling selfishness. Thank God! he has escaped. I would not—no, it is impossible I could have betrayed Mendoza, the father of Anita, to have saved my own worthless self. The first sight of that old man’s honest self must have driven such demon thoughts from my mind. I sought Mendoza, Thorne, to give him these papers. Nay, do not frown so upon me: they are papers signed by himself last night disposing of the half of his property to me in the anticipation of my being his son-in-law; if he escapes his property may be disembargoed—mine never can be. Some papers of my own are there too; some of these claims of mine, Thorne, will be recoverable. I have not a relative in the world; pray give them when—oh, I shudder to think of it—give them to the family of Mendoza, give them to Anita.”
“Silence, wretched pettifogger! think not that Anita Mendoza can ever stoop to accept the wages of treachery. I may, I will try to save your own mean life. Sit down there, take advantage of the short time yet spared you to arrange your affairs. I am off to see what may be done to save you from Rosas, whom I despise more than I pity you!” and he rushed out of the room before the trembling Le Brun could thank him for his offered assistance.
Thorne was the creature of impulse. Possessed of a generous heart and warm temperament, he often conferred favours at the same time that he showered reproaches. He had known Le Brun as a respected and honoured member of society: he had never liked him—he was too prim, sober, and methodical, for his errant and jovial disposition. Le Brun’s steady, plodding business habits Tom Thorne had sometimes considered a kind of reproach to his own careless, hap-hazard way of conducting his affairs; and though he had never made regular approaches to gain the favour of Anita Mendoza, his vanity was offended to see the advances that the quiet, easy, insinuating address of Le Brun made, in gaining the affections of the only woman who ever interested him. For all these reasons he had ever disliked Le Brun, and now he despised him: but still, however dangerous it might be, he resolved, if possible, to save him; and while in this state of mind he fell in with the captain of an English man-of-war. It was usual for the English and French vessels-of-war in those dismal times to receive all fugitives who claimed their protection; and the Frenchmen even went so far as to walk through the streets in armed bodies, and receive among their number those whom persecution induced to claim their assistance. Thorne had little difficulty in persuading the captain to lend his assistance in carrying off an intended victim. His vessel was to sail that evening; many of his boats were on shore; and it was arranged that at four o’clock, when they were ready to start, a number of the seamen should find their way to the Sala by different routes; and as the Sala was not far from the beach, they anticipated no difficulty in carrying off Le Brun.
This being arranged, Thorne hurried to inform and prepare the fugitive. Le Brun was still there, and another was there also, heaping every term of opprobrium that could be fancied on that hapless and miserable individual.
“You scum of the sea, you! Will nothing I can say to you persuade you to be a gentleman? By the powers of Moll Kelly! I’ll bring in the marker to dust your hair with chalk powder—the only powder you know any thing about, you black-faced sheep! Faith! a sheep is innocent, and a ram will stand to its own defence: so the only resemblance you have to a sheep is the chance you have of——”
“Hallo there, Griffin!” cried Thorne, “don’t abuse Le Brun now: our friends with the lanterns are after him, and here we come to the rescue. Le Brun, there is not one moment to spare. English seamen are now at the door—they will take you safe to their ship in spite of the friends who are dodging you outside—and so good-bye. God forgive you!”
“Oh, Thorne, how can I?”
“Come, come, no blarney!” cried Griffin interrupting Le Brun. “By St Patrick, if he go, I go too—this place has become too hot for me—Thorne, I did not know the poor devil was in such trouble. There is my address, Thorne, please forward my luggage. Let us have a bottle of champagne before we start. I will recommend Le Brun to a warm half-deck passage to the captain; and when we land, wherever it may be, if he do not give me satisfaction, by the powers! I’ll take it. What say you, Thorne?”
“Now, Le Brun, all ready?” demanded Thorne.
“All ready, sir.”
“Here’s to you then, Griffin,” as Le Brun crept cautiously out of the room. “Spare his life, Griffin—he is not worth the risk of your exposing yourself for him: spare his life for the sake of the black-eyed girl; but don’t forget that he spoiled a merry evening for us out at the chacra. By the way, your hurried departure must be rather inconvenient to you; please take this, (offering him some money)—nay, friend, take it; your intended caning match may cost you as much for damages. Now hurry off, for I must not appear in this affair.” And so Le Brun the spy was hurried down to the beach amid a party of English seamen, to the great disappointment of two gentlemen with long cloaks, who were waiting to attend upon him until sunset, and who followed them still, with the view, probably of seeing him safely embarked, in spite of repeated adieus bowed to them by our friend Griffin, who begged of them not to trouble themselves any further.
All hands arrived safely on board; but whether Griffin had to refund any of Tom Thorne’s money for damages, or whether he pinked his friend, or was pinked himself, we have never heard.
Return we to Tom Thorne and his fair guests. Their rage at Le Brun’s treachery was modified by the news that their father had escaped—for that he was not in prison was an escape; and to all parties it appeared best, that they should wait in their present quarters until they should hear from him.
In the mean time, Tom Thorne’s position was a most singular one. A bachelor, we may say, by profession, he was harbouring two lovely girls—one of whom had often roused feelings in his breast that he could not easily account for: he was, moreover, their protector, he had been partly the cause of their misfortunes; they were, it might be said, fatherless and portionless; they interested every best feeling of his heart. Need we work out the progress of results? Tom found more attractions in their mild, subdued, but lively conversation than in the loud rolicsome sports in which he had hitherto been a leader; smiles banished or supplanted cigars, and the sparkle of fair eyes were more often in Tom’s thoughts than the sparkles of champagne. During this state of transmutation, Tom received a message that a friend wished to see him: the messenger was none to be relied on, but he brought a password—ipso facto. Tom went, and it was Mendoza he found. The old man had concealed himself in the house of a friend, until he thought all danger past. With prudent care he had concealed his retreat, even from his best friends; and well it was he had done so, for Thorne’s house was watched for several days.
“I have heard,” said the old man, “the care you have taken of my daughters: God reward you for it, I never can.”
“Excuse me, sir, you may,” said Thorne. “Give me the hand of Anita, and I shall be more than repaid. We will smuggle you off to Rio, or Monte Video; this storm will blow over—your political back-holdings will soon be forgotten in the greater criminality of others: your estates will yet be restored to you; and if they be not, I have sufficient to maintain you and your family, without even missing the resources of the chacra or mourning over the ruined speculations of Don Felipe Le Brun.”
“Thorne, you are a man after my own heart. I have ever given you credit for stainless honesty of purpose: if my daughter accepts of you as her protector you shall have my blessing.”
Mendoza, with his daughters, sought temporary exile, the embargo was soon taken off their property, and Tom Thorne afterwards sought, in the sweet smiles and flashing eye of Anita Mendoza, an exchange for the idle luxuries of cigars and champagne. Let us hope that he found them.
A. M.