The Dead Letter: An American Romance

by Metta Victoria Fuller Victor

As our ship steered away out into the open sea, Mr. Burton walked up into the ruinous old Spanish town, and stopped at the hotel, in whose breezy corridor he found several of his traveling companions, who had preceded him. These persons had been somewhat surprised at his desertion of the rest of his party for a visit to their decayed city; but when he explained to them his desire of visiting some of their deserted mines, and examining the character of the mountainous region, a little back, before proceeding to similar investigations in California, their wonder gave place to the habitual indolence of temperaments hardly active enough for curiosity. There were two or three persons from the United States stopping at the hotel, who quickly made his acquaintance, eager for news direct from home, and while he conversed with these the four o’clock dinner was announced. He sipped his chocolate leisurely, after the dessert, chatting at ease with his new friends; and upon expressing a desire to see more of the old town, one of them offered to accompany him upon a walk. They strolled out among cool palm groves, and back through the dilapidated streets, made picturesque by some processions of Catholics, winding through the twilight with their torches, until the moon arose and glimmered on the restless ocean.

Most persons, on business similar to Mr. Burton’s, would have gone at once to the American consul for his assistance; but he felt himself fully equal to the emergency, and desired no aid in the enterprise which he was about to prosecute. Therefore he refused the invitation of his companion to call upon the consul; and finally returned to his hotel, to sit awhile in the open, moonlit corridor, before retiring to his room, where he lay long awake, pondering upon the steps to be taken next day, and somewhat disturbed by the open doors and windows, which were the order of the establishment.

He was awakened from his first slumber by the cold nose of a dog rubbed in his face, and from his second by a lizard creeping over him; but not being a nervous man, he contrived to sleep soundly at last. He was served, early in the morning, with a cup of coffee in his apartment, and before the late breakfast was ready, he had been abroad and concluded his arrangements for a visit to the estates of Don Miguel. Everybody knew that gentleman by reputation; and he had no difficulty in securing the services of two half-naked, lazy-looking native Indians, to act as guides, who, with three forlorn mules, destined to carry the party, were at the door when he finished his repast. He was warned to go well armed, as, though the route to Don Miguel’s was an old one, often traveled, there was always more or less danger in that country. A pistol or two would not be out of place, if only to keep his shiftless guides in order. Mr. Burton thanked his advisers, told them he feared nothing, and set out upon his long, hot and tedious ride—thirty miles on muleback, under a southern sun, being something more of a task than he had ever known a journey of that length to be hitherto. At noon he took a rest of a couple of hours at a miserable inn by the wayside, and a dinner of fried tortillas, rendered tolerable by a dessert of limes, bananas and oranges. With a supply of this cooling fruit in his pockets, he braved the afternoon sun, determined to reach the hacienda before dark. As he neared his destination, the character of the country changed. The broad road, cut through groves of palm, and fields of corn, with orchards of figs and peaches, grew more narrow and uneven, and the surface of the ground more broken. Before him loomed up hills, growing higher as they retreated, some of the glittering peaks seeming to glisten with snow. A cool, refreshing air swept down from them; the scenery, although wilder, was beautiful and romantic in the extreme. Wearied as he was with the conduct of a mule which was no disgrace to the reputation of its species, Mr. Burton enjoyed the magnificent scene which opened before him, as he approached the hacienda of Don Miguel. It lay at the foot of a low mountain, first of the brotherhood which overtopped it, and stood looking over its shoulder. Rich plains, some of them highly cultivated, and others covered with the grazing herds of a thousand cattle, lay at the foot of the hill, which was heavily timbered, and down which leaped a sparkling cascade, not more beautiful to the eye than promising of freshness to the pastures below, and of “water-privileges” to the mines understood to lay somewhere in the cañons of the mountain.

Before entering upon the estates which he had now reached, Mr. Burton secured a night’s lodging for his peons, at a hovel by the roadside, and having abundantly rewarded them, dismissed them from his service, riding forward alone along the private carriage-way, which, through groves of flowering trees and fragrant peach-orchards, led up to the long, low, spacious mansion of Don Miguel.

By the servant who came forth to receive him he was informed that the master of the place was at home, and was soon shown into his presence, in the cool, tile-floored sitting-room, in which he was lounging, waiting for the supper-hour.

Mr. Burton’s powers of pleasing were too great, and his refinement too real, for him to fail in making the impression he desired upon the gentleman into whose house he had intruded himself. The cold courtesy with which he was at first received, soon took a tinge of warmth, and it was with sincere cordiality that Don Miguel offered him the hospitalities of his home, and full liberty to make all the researches he might desire upon his estate. The habitual dislike of the Spaniard for “los Yankees,” seemed quite overcome in the case of Don Miguel, by his friendship for his son-in-law, of whom he soon spoke, anticipating the pleasure it would give Dr. Seltzer to meet a gentleman so recently from his old home, New York. On this account he made the stranger doubly welcome. Mr. Burton was interested in his host, and liked him, perceiving him to be intelligent, generous and enthusiastic; his heart rebuked him when he thought of the mission upon which he had come into this little retired Paradise, so remote from the world and so lovely in itself that it did seem as if evil ought to have forgotten it.

The two had conversed nearly an hour, when Don Miguel said,

“It is now our supper-hour. Allow a servant to show you to your apartment, where we will give you time to at least bathe your face and hands after your weary ride. I was so entertained with the news that you bring me from the States that I have neglected your comfort. Dr. Seltzer went up on the mountain, to-day, to look after our mining interest a little, but I expect his return every moment. He will be charmed to meet a countryman.”

This last assertion Mr. Burton doubted, for he knew that the remorse of a guilty conscience stung the possessor into a restlessness which made any unexpected event a matter of suspicion. As the door closed upon him in the large, airy chamber into which he was ushered, he sunk, for a few moments, into a chair, and something like a tremor shook his usually steady nerves. He stood so close upon the probable accomplishment of the object he had kept in view for two years, that, for an instant, excitement overcame him. He soon rallied, however, and at the end of fifteen minutes, when the peon came in again to announce supper, he had toned up his courage with a plentiful dash of cold water, and was never more his own peculiar self, than when he set foot in the supper-room. A glance told him that the absent member of the family had not yet returned; only two persons were present, his host, and the beautiful woman whom he introduced as his daughter, Mrs. Seltzer. The three sat down to the table, which was covered with an elegant repast, the first dish of which was a fine-flavored roast wild-turkey.

There was a plentiful supply of porcelain and silver-ware; it did not take five seconds for the guest to decide that the quondam druggist of Blankville—if this were indeed the person, as he assumed with such certainty—had gotten himself into enviable quarters.