The Purple Land

  CHAPTER XXIX

  The meeting of my fellow-travellers took place next day on board theship, where we three were the only cabin passengers. On going down intothe little saloon I found Demetria waiting for us, considerably improvedin appearance by her new dress, but looking pale and anxious, for sheprobably found this meeting a trying one. The two women looked earnestlyat each other, but Demetria, to hide her nervousness, I suppose, hadframed her face in the old, impassive, almost cold expression it hadworn when I first knew her, and Paquita was repelled by it; so after asomewhat lukewarm greeting they sat down and made commonplace remarks.Two women more unlike each other in appearance, character, education,and disposition it would have been difficult to find; still, I had hopedthey might be friends, and felt keenly disappointed at the result oftheir first meeting. After an uncomfortable interval we all rose. Iwas about to proceed to the deck, they to their respective cabins, whenPaquita, without any warning of what was coming, suddenly burst intotears and threw her arms about Demetria's neck.

  "Oh, dear Demetria, what a sad life yours has been!" she exclaimed.

  That was like her, so impulsive, and with such a true instinct tomake her do the right thing always! The other gladly responded to theembrace, and I hastily retreated, leaving them kissing and minglingtheir tears.

  When I got out on deck I found that we were already on our way, sailsup, and a fresh wind sending us swiftly through the dull green water.There were five steerage passengers, disreputable-looking fellows in_ponchos_ and slouch hats, lounging about the deck smoking; but when wegot outside the harbour and the ship began to toss a little, they verysoon dropped their cigars and began ignominiously creeping away out ofsight of the grinning sailors. Only one remained, a grizzly-bearded,rough-looking old gaucho, who firmly kept his seat at the stern, as ifdetermined to see the last of "The Mount," as the pretty city near thefoot of Magellan's Hill is called by the English people in this region.

  To satisfy myself that none of these fellows were sent in pursuit ofDemetria, I asked our Italian captain who they were and how longthey had been on board, and was much relieved to hear that they werefugitives--rebels probably--and had all been concealed for the pastthree or four days in the ship, waiting to get away from Montevideo.

  Towards evening it came on very rough, the wind veering to the south andblowing half a gale, a very favourable wind, as it happened, to take usacross this unlovely "Silver Sea," as the poets of the Plata insiston calling it, with its villainous, brick-red, chopping waves, sodisagreeable to bad sailors. Paquita and Demetria suffered agonies, sothat I was obliged to keep with them a good deal. I veryimprudently told them not to be alarmed, that it was nothing--_onlysea-sickness_--and I verily believe they both hated me with all theirhearts for a little while in consequence. Fortunately I had anticipatedthese harrowing scenes, and had provided a bottle of champagne for theoccasion; and after I had consumed two or three glassfuls to encouragethem, showing how easy this kind of medicine is to take, I prevailedon them to drink the remainder. At length, about ten o'clock in theevening, they began to suspect that their malady was not going to provefatal, and, seeing them so much better, I went up to get some fresh air.There at the stern still sat the stoical old gaucho, looking extremelymiserable.

  "Good evening, old comrade," said I; "will you smoke a cigar?"

  "Young master, you seem to have a good heart," he returned, shaking hishead at the proffered cigar, "do, for God's sake, get me a little rum.I am dying for something to warm my inside and stop my head from goinground like a top, but nothing can I get from these jabbering foreignbrutes on board."

  "Yes, why not, my old friend," said I, and, going to the master of theboat, I succeeded in getting a pint of rum in a bottle.

  The old fellow clutched it with eager delight and took a long draught."Ah!" he said, patting first the bottle, then his stomach, "this putsnew life into a man! Will this voyage never end, master? When I am onhorseback I can forget that I am old, but these cursed waves remind methat I have lived many years."

  I lit my cigar and sat down to have a talk with him.

  "Ah, with you foreigners it is just the same--land or water," hecontinued. "You can even smoke--what a calm head and quiet stomach youmust have! But what puzzles me is this, senor; how you, a foreigner,come to be travelling with native women. Now, there is that beautifulyoung senora with the violet eyes, who can she be?"

  "She is my wife, old man," said I, laughing, a little amused at hiscuriosity.

  "Ah, you are married then--so young? She is beautiful, graceful, welleducated, the daughter of wealthy parents, no doubt, but frail, frail,senor; and some day, not a very distant day--but why should I predictsorrow to a gay heart? Only her face, senor, is strange to me; it doesnot recall the features of any Oriental family I know."

  "That is easily explained," I said, surprised at his shrewdness, "she isan Argentine, not an Oriental."

  "Ah, that explains it," he said, taking another long pull at the bottle."As for the other senora with you, I need not ask you who _she_ is."

  "Why, who is she?" I returned.

  "A Peralta, if there ever was one," he returned confidently.

  His reply disturbed me not a little, for, after all my precautions, thisold man had perhaps been sent to follow Demetria.

  "Yes," he continued, with an evident pride in his knowledge of familiesand faces which tended to allay my suspicions; "a Peralta and not aMadariaga, nor a Sanchez, nor a Zelaya, nor an Ibarra. Do I not know aPeralta when I see one?" And here he laughed scornfully at the absurdityof such an idea.

  "Tell me," I said, "how do you know a Peralta?"

  "The question!" he exclaimed. "You are a Frenchman or a German from overthe sea, and do not understand these things. Have I borne arms fortyyears in my country's service not to know a Peralta! On earth they arewith me; if I go to Heaven I meet them there, and in Hell I see them;for when have I charged into the hottest of the fight and have not founda Peralta there before me? But I am speaking of the past, senor; for nowI am also like one that has been left on the field forgotten--left forthe vultures and foxes. You will no longer find them walking on theearth; only where men have rushed together sword in hand you will findtheir bones. Ah, friend!" And here, overcome with sad memories, theancient warrior took another drink from his bottle.

  "They cannot all be dead," said I, "if, as you imagine, the senoratravelling with me is a Peralta."

  "As I imagine!" he repeated scornfully. "Do I not know what I am talkingabout, young sir? They are dead, I tell you--dead as the past, dead asOriental independence and honour. Did I not ride into the fight at Gilde los Medanos with the last of the Peraltas, Calixto, when he receivedhis baptism of blood? Fifteen years old, senor, only fifteen, when hegalloped into the fight, for he had the light heart, the brave spirit,and the hand swift to strike of a Peralta. And after the fight ourcolonel, Santa Coloma, who was killed the other day at San Paulo,embraced the boy before all the troops. He is dead, senor, and withCalixto died the house of Peralta."

  "You knew Santa Coloma, then?" I said. "But you are mistaken, he was notkilled at San Paulo, he made his escape."

  "So they say--the ignorant ones," he returned. "But he is dead, for heloved his country, and all who are of that mind are slain. How should heescape?"

  "I tell you he is not dead," I repeated, vexed at his stubbornpersistence. "I also knew him, old man, and was with him at San Paulo."

  He looked at me for a long time, and then took another swig from hisbottle.

  "Senor, this is not a thing I love joking about," said he. "Let us talkof other things. What I want to know is, what is Calixto's sister doinghere? Why has she left her country?"

  Receiving no reply to this question, he went on: "Has she not gotproperty? Yes, a large _estancia_, impoverished, ruined, if you like,but still a very large tract of land. When your enemies do not fear you,then they cease to persecute. A broken old man, bereft of reason--surelythey would not trouble him! No, no, she is leaving her count
ry forother reasons. Yes, there is some private plot against her; some design,perhaps, to carry her off, or even to destroy her and get possession ofher property. Naturally, in such a case, she would fly for protectionto Buenos Ayres, where there is one with some of her blood in his veinsable to protect her person and her property."

  I was astonished to hear him, but his last words were a mystery to me.

  "There is no one in Buenos Ayres to protect her," I said; "I only willbe there as I am here to shield her, and if, as you think, she has anenemy, he must reckon with me--one who, like that Calixto you speak of,has a hand quick to strike."

  "There spoke the heart of a Blanco!" he exclaimed, clutching my arm, andthen, the boat giving a lurch at that moment, almost dragging me down inhis efforts to steady himself. After another sip of rum he went on: "Butwho are you, young sir, if that is not an impertinent question? Do youpossess money, influence, powerful friends, that you take upon yourselfthe care of this woman? Is it in your power to baffle and crush herenemy or enemies, to protect not only her person, but her property,which, in her absence, will become the prey of robbers?"

  "And who are you, old man?" I returned, unable to give a satisfactoryanswer to one of his searching questions, "and why do you ask me thesethings? And who is this powerful person you speak of in Buenos Ayreswith some of her blood in his veins, but of whose existence she isignorant?"

  He shook his head silently, then deliberately proceeded to take out andlight a cigarette. He smoked with a placid enjoyment which made me thinkthat his refusal of my cigar and his bitter complaints about the effectsof the ship's tossing on him had merely been to get the bottle of rumout of me. He was evidently a veteran in more senses than one, and now,finding that I would tell him no more secrets, he refused to answer anyquestions. Fearing that I had imprudently told him too much already, Ifinally left him and retired to my bunk.

  Next morning we arrived at Buenos Ayres, and cast anchor about two milesfrom shore, for that was as near the land as we could get. Presently wewere boarded by a Custom House officer, and for some time longer I wasengaged in getting out our luggage and in bargaining with the captain toput us on shore. When I had completed these arrangements I was very muchsurprised to see the cunning old soldier I had talked with the eveningbefore sitting in the Custom House boat, which was just putting off fromthe side. Demetria had been looking on when the old fellow had left theship, and she now came to me looking very excited.

  "Richard," she said, "did you notice that man who was a passenger withus and who has just gone off in the boat? It is Santa Coloma."

  "Oh, absurd!" I exclaimed. "I talked with that old man last night foran hour--an old grey-bearded gaucho, and no more like Santa Coloma thanthat sailor."

  "I know I am right," she returned. "The General has visited my fatherat the _estancia_ and I know him well. He is disguised now and has madehimself look like a peasant, but when he went over the side into theboat he looked full into my face; I knew him and started, then hesmiled, for he saw that I had recognised him."

  The very fact that this common-looking old man had gone on shore inthe Custom House boat proved that he was a person of consequencein disguise, and I could not doubt that Demetria was right. I feltexcessively annoyed at myself for having failed to penetrate hisdisguise; for something of the old Marcos Marco style of speaking mightvery well have revealed his identity if I had only had my wits about me.I was also very much concerned on Demetria's account, for it seemed thatI had missed finding out something for her which would have been to heradvantage to know. I was ashamed to tell her of that conversation abouta relation in Buenos Ayres, but secretly determined to try and findSanta Coloma to get him to tell me what he knew.

  After landing we put our small luggage into a fly and were driven toan hotel in Calle Lima, an out-of-the-way place kept by a German; but Iknew the house to be a quiet, respectable one and very moderate in itscharges.

  About five o'clock in the afternoon we were together in the sitting-roomon the first floor, looking down on the street from the window, when awell-appointed carriage with a gentleman and two young ladies in it drewup before the door.

  "Oh, Richard," exclaimed Paquita in the greatest excitement, "it is DonPantaleon Villaverde with his daughters, and they are getting out!"

  "Who is Villaverde?" I asked.

  "What, do you not know? He is a Judge of First Instance, and hisdaughters are my dearest friends. Is it not strange to meet them likethis? Oh, I must see them to ask for _papa_ and _mamita!_" and here shebegan to cry.

  The waiter came up with a card from the Senor Villaverde requesting aninterview with the Senorita Peralta.

  Demetria, who had been trying to soothe Paquita's intense excitement andinfuse a little courage into her, was too much amazed to speak; and inanother moment our visitors were in the room. Paquita started up tearfuland trembling; then her two young friends, after staring at her for afew moments, delivered a screech of astonishment and rushed into herarms, and all three were locked together for some time in a triangularembrace.

  When the excitement of this tempestuous meeting had spent itself, SenorVillaverde, who stood looking on with grave, impressive face, spoke toDemetria, telling her that his old friend, General Santa Coloma, hadjust informed him of her arrival in Buenos Ayres and of the hotel whereshe was staying. Probably she did not even know who he was, he said;he was her relation; his mother was a Peralta, a first cousin ofher unhappy father, Colonel Peralta. He had come to see her with hisdaughters to invite her to make his house her home during her stay inBuenos Ayres. He also wished to help her with her affairs, which, hisfriend the General had informed him, were in some confusion. He had,he concluded, many influential friends in the sister city, who would beready to assist him in arranging matters for her.

  Demetria, recovering from the nervousness she had experienced on findingthat Paquita's great friends were her visitors, thanked him warmly andaccepted his offer of a home and assistance; then, with a quiet dignityand self-possession one would hardly expect from a girl coming amongstfashionable people for the first time in her life, she greeted hernew-found relations and thanked them for their visit.

  As they insisted on taking Demetria away with them at once, she leftus to make her preparations, while Paquita remained conversing withher friends, having many questions to ask them. She was consumed withanxiety to know how her family, and especially her father, who made thedomestic laws, now, after so many months, regarded her elopement andmarriage with me. Her friends, however, either knew nothing or would nottell her what they knew.

  Poor Demetria! she had, with no time given her for reflection, takenthe wise course of at once accepting the offer of her influentialand extremely dignified kinsman; but it was hard for her to leave herfriends at such short notice, and when she came back prepared for herdeparture the separation tried her severely. With tears in her eyes shebade Paquita farewell, but when she took my hand in hers, for some timeher trembling lips refused to speak. Overcoming her emotions by a greateffort, she at length said, addressing her visitors, "For my escape froma sad and perilous position and for the pleasure of finding myself hereamongst relations, I am indebted to this young friend who has been abrother to me."

  Senor Villaverde listened and bowed towards me, but with no softening inhis stern, calm face, while his cold grey eyes seemed to look straightthrough me at something beyond. His manner towards me made me feel akind of despair, for how strong must have been his disapproval ofmy conduct in running off with his friend's daughter--how great hisindignation against me, when it prevented him from bestowing one smileor one kind word on me to thank me for all I had done for his kinswoman!Yet this was only the reflected indignation of my father-in-law.

  We went down to the carriage to see them off, and then, finding myselffor a moment by the side of one of the young ladies, I tried to find outsomething for myself. "Pray tell me, senorita," I said, "what you knowabout my father-in-law. If it is very bad, I promise you my wife shallnot hear a word of
it; but it is best that I should know the truthbefore meeting him."

  A cloud came over her bright, expressive face, while she glancedanxiously at Paquita; then, bending towards me, she whispered, "Ah, myfriend, he is implacable! I am so sorry, for Paquita's sake." And then,with a smile of irrepressible coquetry, she added, "And for yours."

  The carriage drove away, and Demetria's eyes, looking back at me, werefilled with tears, but in Senor Villaverde's eyes, also glancing back,there was an expression that boded ill for my future. His feeling wasnatural, perhaps, for he was the father of two very pretty girls.

  Implacable, and I was now divided from him by no silver orbrick-coloured sea! By returning I had made myself amenable to the lawsI had broken by marrying a girl under age without her father's consent.The person in England who runs away with a ward in Chancery is not agreater offender against the law than I was. It was now in his power tohave me punished, to cast me into prison for an indefinite time, and ifnot to crush my spirit, he would at least be able to break the heart ofhis unhappy daughter. Those wild, troubled days in the Purple Land nowseemed to my mind peaceful, happy days, and the bitter days with nopleasure in them were only now about to begin. Implacable!

  Suddenly looking up, I found Paquita's violet eyes, full of sadquestioning, fixed on my face.

  "Tell me truly, Richard, what have you heard?" she asked.

  I forced a smile, and, taking her hand, assured her that I had heardnothing to cause her any uneasiness. "Come," I said, "let us go in andprepare to leave town to-morrow. We will go back to the point we startedfrom--your father's _estancia_, for the sooner this meeting you arethinking about so anxiously is over the better will it be for all ofus."

  APPENDIX