by Guy Boothby
CHAPTER III.
A STRANGER DAY.
Quite an hour before daybreak Veneda was awakened by sounds ofexcitement in the streets. Bitterly cold though the morning proved,almost every one was astir, listening for the cannonading which wouldproclaim the opening of the engagement on the heights. The booming of afew guns came with the breaking day, faintly at first, but growinglouder as the light increased. Without doubt the long-expected battlehad commenced.
Following the example of his neighbours, Veneda threw up his window andleant out to listen. Somehow or other, since his conversation with theEnglish merchant in the Calle de Victoria the previous night, hisconfidence in a victory for the Government had been a little shaken; andnow for the first time he began to experience twinges of real alarm forhis own immediate safety. Supposing he should be arrested by theCongressionalist leaders for his treachery to them, where would hisescape be then? In that case Boulger would not wait, and Juanita for herown safety would be certain to betray him. But he reflected that it wasfull early yet to be frightened, and moreover he had been in so manyclose things before, that one more or less could hardly matter.
The behaviour of the people in the streets was peculiar. In theirexcitement men no longer showed evidences of partisanship; all thethoughts and anxieties of Gobiernistas and Oppositores alike werecentred on the battle then proceeding. It was as though they werespectators of a stage-play and nothing more. The time for individualanimosity, they told themselves, would come later.
By breakfast-time the excitement had risen to fever heat. From theclearness with which the sounds could be distinguished, it was plainthat the Government forces were being driven back, and this could havebut one meaning,--the Opposition were advancing on Valparaiso. The noisegrew louder every minute, and with its approach the turbulent element ofthe town began to make its presence felt in the streets. The peculiarping of rifle-bullets sounded continually in the lower quarters; manybusiness premises away from the main thoroughfares were looted; while innot one but several directions the smoke of incendiary fires rose on theclear morning air.
So certain had every one, by this time, become of the result of thefighting, that many Government supporters packed up their traps andquitted the town with as little ostentation as possible; eitherscurrying into the neighbouring mountains, or seeking refuge on boardthe foreign men-of-war at anchor in the harbour.
Towards ten o'clock the firing slackened off, and by half-past hadceased altogether. A victory had been won--but by whom? This questionwas in everybody's mouth.
News, however, was not long forthcoming. In all directions terrifiedcamp-followers--men, women, and children, on foot and onhorseback--might have been seen making for the town as fast as their ownlegs or those of their beasts could carry them. As they hurried alongthey announced in loud voices the absolute defeat of the Governmentforces, exaggerating the details with every repetition of the story.After a short interval they were followed by the vanquished and flyingtroops themselves, who corroborated what the others had soauthoritatively proclaimed. There could be no doubt that the Oppositionhad won a signal victory. The reign of terror was over! The hatedDictator, Balmaceda, hitherto regardless of what lives he sacrificed togain his ends, was now not only powerless, but an outcast and asuppliant for his own.
Hard upon the heels of the fugitive troops, amid an outburst of wildestexcitement, came the advance guard of the victorious army, with bandsplaying and colours waving. Bells clashed and jangled from everysteeple, continual _vivas_ rent the air, and crackers by hundreds wereexploded in the streets. Every one wore the red ribbon of theOpposition, and every face (for active Gobiernistas were wise enough notto parade theirs) testified to the relief and joy with which the resultwas hailed. There could not have been a more popular termination to thestruggle.
As soon as the result of the battle had become known, the Intendente haddelivered up the town to the admirals of the foreign war-ships, who nowin their turn handed it over to the Congressionalist leaders. The placehad thus practically changed hands from the Republic to the Republic;from one class to the other and more popular section of the community.
It may be imagined that Veneda took care to be well posted on all thatoccurred. With the entrance of the troops he saw the total destructionof his political hopes, and now his active mind was busily engagedworking out the best possible means of securing his own safety, untilthe time should come for him to leave the country.
Reflecting that to all intents and purposes his life would depend an hispersonal appearance, he first turned his attention in that direction. Infive minutes his close-cropped beard had disappeared; his heavy blackmoustache was twirled and twisted into quite a new and extraordinaryshape; while his well-cut English clothes were discarded for a moreChilian garb, including a poncho and a broad-leafed sombrero. When thusequipped he paraded before his glass, he could not but admit that theeffect was excellent. The odds were a thousand to one against any onerecognizing in this typical Chilano the Marcos Veneda of half-an-hourbefore.
By the time he was dressed he had determined as to his next course ofaction. He saw that it would be impossible for him to remain where hewas; therefore, until the hour for boarding the schooner should arrive,he must seek an asylum elsewhere. But before leaving the house manythings had to be thought of. Glancing round the room with its host offamiliar knick-knacks, he set himself to destroy what he did not desireshould fall into other hands, concealing about his person such smallarticles of value or association as he wished to carry away. When thiswas accomplished he dropped a carefully-loaded revolver into the pocketof his poncho, and was ready to forsake the house.
That he might not be observed leaving by the front door, he lifted thewindow and swung himself from it down into the patio. For a moment hestopped to listen, then hearing nothing suspicious, passed withoutfurther ado into the street. No one was to be seen.
Where to go, or what to do with himself (it was not yet two o'clock), hehad not made up his mind. Strange to say, considering the danger itwould involve him in, he felt an intense desire to see all that was tobe seen, and to participate, himself, in the general excitement. Of thelatter there was no lack; the town was full of disbanded soldiery, andserious rioting had already occurred. The foreign war-ships had landedforces to protect foreign life, but in the lower quarters the mob ruledparamount.
So complete was his disguise that Veneda found himself, on more than oneoccasion, standing side by side with former acquaintances, unmolestedand unrecognized. The knowledge of this security gave him fresh courage,and he followed the course of the day's events with additional interestand vigour. Yet a danger he had never anticipated was in store for him.
Leaving the Calle de Victoria, he passed down a side street in thedirection of the harbour, but before he had proceeded fifty yards asound he knew only too well greeted his ears; it was the noise of acrowd in hot pursuit of something or somebody.
Not wishing to run the risk of being mistaken for their quarry, he castabout him for a loophole of escape. But none presented itself. While hewas looking, footsteps sounded close behind him. To his astonishment therunner was none other than John Macklin the Albino, chairman of theSociety, his face livid with terror, and his breath coming from him ingreat spasmodic jerks. His clothes were in rags, and covered with afilth which reached even to his hair; his hat was gone, and long purpleweals streaked his dainty cheeks. The agony expressed in his eyes lentan extraordinary effect to his face.
"Save me, save me!" he gasped, falling at Veneda's feet. "In themerciful name of God, I beseech you to save me!"
For the reason that Macklin did not recognize him, nothing would havebeen easier than for the other to have cast him off, and for the spaceof three breaths he was half inclined to do it. Then, for some reasonwhich he was never afterwards able to explain (it must be understoodthat the dwarfs death would in a great measure have rescued him from hisvery awkward predicament), he determined to do his best to help him. Itwas a foolish resolution, but it
was only on a par with the man'sextraordinarily complex character.
The noise of the mob, like that of hounds in full cry, was drawingcloser; any second might bring them into view. Turning to the terrifiedcreature beside him, he cried--
"I'll do my best for you. Pick up your heels and run."
Running appeared the last thing the Albino, in his present exhaustedcondition, would be capable of, but he nevertheless followed in theother's wake, panting horribly, and throwing his long arms about withwindmill-like gesticulations. As they started the mob burst into view,and a second later a shot whisked in unpleasant proximity to Veneda'shead. There is something chilling in the whine of a rifle-bullet, and ashe heard it he began to repent having taken any share in the Albino'sprivate concerns. Without turning his head, he cried--
"Faster, faster, round the next corner, and then follow me."
This was, however, easier said than done; the little man's strength,already taxed beyond straining pitch, was quite unequal to a freshdemand. He began to lag behind, and Veneda saw that if he reached theshelter of the street corner, about fifty yards distant, it would be asmuch as he could possibly accomplish.
Not a second was to be lost; their pursuers were barely more than ahundred and fifty yards behind. Stopping, he turned, and as hiscompanion approached him, stooped and took him in his arms, throwing himup on to his shoulder as if his weight were the merest trifle. Then heresumed his flight.
Reaching the corner he flew round it, thankful to find no one in sight,and made for a row of deserted houses across the way. Into the patio ofthe third of these he dashed, and not until then did he place hisburden on the ground.
"I can't carry you any further; we must hide!" he cried, vigorouslyattacking a door which opened on to the courtyard; "our lives dependupon getting into this house. Help me, help me!"
The Albino required no second bidding, and between them they burst inthe door. They were only just in time, for as the lock gave way theyheard the vanguard of the mob come howling round the corner. Veneda knewthat when they could not see their game before them, it would be only aquestion of seconds before they would commence their search of theneighbourhood. Experience had taught him that a mob does not allowitself to be robbed of its prey without a struggle.
Once inside the house he led the way up-stairs. Unlike most Chilianresidences, it was of three storeys, and built of stone--a badspeculation on the part of an English builder. Not until they hadascended to the garrets did they pause to listen. An angry murmur cameup to them from the street, and when he heard it Veneda turned to hiscompanion, who was lying on the floor endeavouring to regain his breath,and said--
"That means that they've tracked us down. How we're going to give themthe slip now is more than I can see."
As he spoke, a crash came from the lower regions.
"That's the front door," he continued calmly. "We must be moving onagain. Are you ready?"
The Albino's only answer was to spring to his feet.
Being already as high up as they could get without crawling on to theroof, where next to go became the question. A noise of voices told themthat their pursuers were within the house itself. They were caught likerats in a trap! Apart from any other consideration, it would, in allprobability, be a most unpleasant death they would die; and Venedareflected that after so many narrow escapes it would be humiliating toperish at the hands of a lawless mob in somebody else's quarrel.
While these thoughts were flashing through his brain he was lookingabout him for some means of exit, but save for the door they had enteredby, and the window which looked out at the back over some lower roofs,nothing worthy of his consideration presented itself. The door wasclearly impracticable, unless they desired to meet their pursuers on thestairs, and as to the window, there was a drop of fully fifteen feetfrom it on to the nearest roof, and at least twenty more on to thestones of the courtyard. By this time the foremost of the mob were inthe room beneath them.
A heavy perspiration broke out on Veneda's forehead; the Albino shrankinto a corner, and covered his face with his hands. But they could notmeet their death without a struggle, so, come what might, they must trythe window. Crossing to it Veneda threw it open, at the same timebeckoning the dwarf to his side.
"Now," he said, "there is nothing for it but to get out on the roof, andcrawl along the housetops till we can find a place to get down. Don'tstand whimpering there, but pay attention to what I say. I'll swingmyself up first, and when I'm ready I'll do my best to pull you afterme. Stand by, or I swear I'll leave you to your fate!"
It was a useless warning; the Albino was ready to risk anything, even atumble into the courtyard, rather than to allow himself to fall into thehands of those who were now on the staircase leading to their room.
With all the speed he could command Veneda crawled backwards out of thenarrow window, and clutched the thin guttering of the roof above. Whathe was about to attempt was not only a difficult, but a horriblydangerous feat, for there was literally nothing to catch hold of thatwould permit of a grip. It was an athletic test that would have triedthe nerve and endurance of the most accomplished gymnast. Bit by bit,with infinite pain, he drew himself up, till his shoulders were abovethe guttering. The muscles of his arms appeared as if they must snapunder the strain they were called upon to endure. The suspense wasawful; but if it seemed long to Veneda before he was lying stretched onthe roof, what an eternity must it have been to the miserable Albinocrouched in the room below!
Then the other's voice reached him, saying--
"Crawl backwards out of the window, and give me your hands. Be quick! Ican't stay like this long!"
The shouts of the mob and the trampling on the staircase stimulated him.Crawling out of the window as he was ordered, he stretched his long armsupwards. His hands were clutched from above; then he felt himself liftedclear of the sill, and next moment he was swaying out into mid air. Ifthe strain on Veneda's muscles had been great when he pulled himself upon to the roof, how much greater was it now that he had not only toretain his own position, but to lift this other man as well! The Albinolooked up into his face and saw the veins standing out upon it as largeas maccaroni stems, and strange though it may appear, it was only thenthat he recognized his deliverer. A minute later he was stretched on theroof-top, just as the leaders of the mob entered the room they had solately quitted.
It was a long time before either spoke. Then the Albino, leaning towardshis preserver, whispered--
"Marcos, I owe you my life. I reckon I won't forget what you've done forme to-day."
"You had a close shave of it. What devil's game were you up to that theyshould chase you?"
"I met them in the Calle de Victoria, and some one cried 'Gobiernista';next moment they started after me like bloodhounds. If I hadn't met you,I'd have been a dead man!"
Perhaps Veneda did not hear him. At any rate he made no reply. He waslistening to the sounds in the street, and wondering, now that the mobfound themselves outwitted, what their next move would be.
He was not to be kept long in suspense. That operations of some kindwere being conducted he guessed from the sudden silence. Then a cry of"Fire!" went up, and next moment smoke burst from either end of the row.He understood exactly: not being able to find them, the mob intended toburn them out!
From the two farthest houses the flames spread with awful rapidity, andas they saw it their tormentors howled and shrieked with delight.Fortunately the house, on the rearmost roof of which Veneda and theAlbino lay, was the centre one, and for this reason they would have sometime to wait before they could experience any actual danger.
It may be imagined with what interest they watched the approachingflames, speculating how soon they would be obliged to move again. Theheat was over-powering; but the conflagration was not speedy enough forthe miscreants below, who thereupon set fire to the lower regions of themiddle house.
This, Veneda told himself, was becoming too much of a good thing. Thetiles were every moment growing hotter and h
otter, and in a few minutesit would be impossible to remain upon them. The dense, choking smokeenveloped them in clouds.
With an eye ever on the look-out, he saw that the only cool spot was atiny position on a parapet to their left, as yet a good distance fromthe flames. He moved towards it, thinking he had done quite enough forhis companion. There was not room for more than one upon the place, andhe secured it first.
Presently, overcome with heat and despair, the wretched Albino crawledalong the roof, and endeavoured to find a foothold on it also. Venedacalled upon him to go back, but he refused. It was impossible for bothto remain--one must go, and a battle began for the position.
Partly owing to the situation of the outhouses below, partly to thefact that the mob was watching events from the street front, but more tothe dense smoke which enveloped them, their struggle was unnoticed. Itwas of but short duration. How could one of the Albino's size hope tocontend with a man so muscular as Veneda! For a few brief seconds theywere locked in each other's arms; then Veneda's right hand seized uponthe other's throat, and began to press his head further and furtherback. At last, to save himself from a broken neck, the Albino let go hishold, and fell with a yell from the roof into the smoke below. Butthough he had not succeeded in his attempt to remain upon the wall, hedid not allow his companion to occupy it either, for as he fell he madea last feeble clutch at Veneda's legs. Slight though it was, it wassufficient to disturb the other's balance. He tottered, swayed,endeavoured to save himself, failed in the attempt, and finally fell, ashis companion had done before him, into the Unknown. Such was theviolence of his fall, that when he reached the bottom he lay stunned forsome time.
On recovering his senses he found himself lying in the hollow betweenthe roofs of the two outhouses before mentioned. Save for thespluttering flames of the smouldering _debris_, it was quite dark. Thecrowd had dispersed, and though he looked carefully about him, nothingwas to be seen of the Albino. Whether he had fallen into the courtyardand been killed or captured by the mob, he could not of course tell, butat any rate he was relieved to find that he had departed elsewhere.
Having made sure of this, he rose and convinced himself that no boneswere broken. He had experienced a miraculous escape, and he argued thatit was a good omen for what lay before him. Clambering over the side ofthe roof, he lowered himself to the ground, and then skirting the ruinsof the houses, proceeded into the street.