by Bret Harte
CHAPTER I.
IN THE TRACK OF A STORM.
A quarter of an hour before the messenger of Peter Dumphy had reachedPoinsett's office, Mr. Poinsett had received a more urgent message. Atelegraph despatched from San Antonio had been put into his hands. Itsfew curt words, more significant to an imaginative man than rhetoricalexpression, ran as follows:--
"Mission Church destroyed. Father Felipe safe. Blessed Trinity in ruins and Dolores missing. My house spared. Come at once.--MARIA SEPULVIDA."
The following afternoon at four o'clock Arthur Poinsett reached SanGeronimo, within fifteen miles of his destination. Here the despatch wasconfirmed with some slight local exaggeration.
"Saints and devils! There is no longer a St. Anthony! The _temblor_ hasswallowed him!" said the innkeeper, sententiously. "It is the end ofall! Such is the world. Thou wilt find stones on stones instead ofhouses, Don Arturo. Wherefore another glass of the brandy of France, orthe whisky of the American, as thou dost prefer. But of SanAntonio--nothing!--Absolutely--perfectly--truly nothing!"
In spite of this cheering prophecy, Mr. Poinsett did not wait for theslow diligence, but mounting a fleet mustang dashed off in quest of themissing Mission. He was somewhat relieved at the end of an hour by thefar-off flash of the sea, the rising of the dark green fringe of theMission orchard and _Encinal_, and above it the white dome of one of theMission towers. But at the next moment Arthur checked his horse andrubbed his eyes in wonder. Where was the other tower? He put spurs tohis horse again and dashed off at another angle, and again stopped andgazed. _There was but one tower remaining._ The Mission Church must havebeen destroyed!
Perhaps it was this discovery, perhaps it was some instinct strongerthan this; but when Arthur had satisfied himself of this fact he leftthe direct road, which would have brought him to the Mission, anddiverged upon the open plain towards the Rancho of the Blessed Trinity.A fierce wind from the sea swept the broad _llano_ and seemed to opposehim, step by step--a wind so persistent and gratuitous that it appearedto Arthur to possess a moral quality, and as such was to be resisted andovercome by his superior will. Here, at least, all was unchanged; herewas the dead, flat monotony of land and sky. Here was the brittle, harshstubble of the summer fields, sun-baked and wind-dried; here were thelong stretches of silence, from which even the harrying wind made noopposition nor complaint; here were the formless specks of slowly-movingcattle, even as he remembered them before. A momentary chill came overhim as he recalled his own perilous experience on these plains, amomentary glow suffused his cheek as he thought of his rescue by thelovely but cold recluse. Again he heard the name of "Philip" softlywhispered in his ears, again he felt the flood of old memories sweepover him as he rode, even as he had felt them when he lay that daypanting upon the earth. And yet Arthur had long since convinced his mindthat he was mistaken in supposing that Donna Dolores had addressed himat that extreme moment as "Philip;" he had long since believed it was atrick of his disordered and exhausted brain; the conduct of Dolorestowards himself, habitually restrained by grave courtesy, neverjustified him in directly asking the question, nor suggested anyfamiliarity that might have made it probable. She had never alluded toit again--but had apparently forgotten it. Not so Arthur! He had oftengone over that memorable scene, with a strange, tormenting pleasure thatwas almost a pain. It was the one incident of his life, for whose poetryhe was not immediately responsible--the one genuine heart-thrill whosesincerity he had not afterwards stopped to question in his criticalfashion, the one enjoyment that had not afterwards appeared mean anddelusive. And now the heroine of this episode was missing, and he mightnever perhaps see her again! And yet when he first heard the news he wasconscious of a strange sense of relief--rather let me say of anawakening from a dream, that though delicious, had become dangerous andmight unfit him for the practical duties of his life. Donna Dolores hadnever affected him as a real personage--at least the interest he felt inher was, he had always considered, due to her relations to some romanticcondition of his mind, and her final disappearance from the plane of hismental vision was only the exit of an actress from the mimic stage. Itseemed only natural that she should disappear as mysteriously as shecame. There was no shock even to the instincts of his ordinaryhumanity--it was no catastrophe involving loss of life or even sufferingto the subject or spectator.
Such at least was Mr. Poinsett's analysis of his own mental conditionon the receipt of Donna Maria's telegram. It was the coolself-examination of a man who believed himself cold-blooded and selfish,superior to the weakness of ordinary humanity, and yet was conscious ofneither pride nor disgrace in the belief. Yet when he diverged from hisdirect road to the Mission, and turned his horse's head toward the homeof Donna Dolores, he was conscious of a new impulse and anxiety that wasstronger than his reason. Unable as he was to resist it, he still tooksome satisfaction in believing that it was nearly akin to that feelingwhich years before had driven him back to Starvation Camp in quest ofthe survivors. Suddenly his horse recoiled with a bound that would haveunseated a less skilful rider. Directly across his path stretched achasm in the level plain--thirty feet broad and as many feet in depth,and at its bottom in undistinguishable confusion lay the wreck of thecorral of the Blessed Trinity!
Except for the enormous size and depth of this fissure Arthur might havemistaken it for the characteristic cracks in the sunburnt plain, whichthe long dry summer had wrought upon its surface, some of which were sobroad as to task the agility of his horse. But a second glance convincedhim of the different character of the phenomenon. The earth had notcracked asunder nor separated, but had sunk. The width of the chasmbelow was nearly equal to the width above; the floor of this valley inminiature was carpeted by the same dry, brittle herbs and grasses whichgrew upon the plain around him.
In the pre-occupation of the last hour he had forgotten the distance hehad traversed. He had evidently ridden faster than he had imagined. Butif this was really the corral, the walls of the Rancho should now be insight at the base of the mountain! He turned in that direction. Nothingwas to be seen! Only the monotonous plain stretched before him, vastand unbroken. Between the chasm where he stood and the _falda_ of thefirst low foot-hills neither roof nor wall nor ruin rose above the dull,dead level!
An ominous chill ran through his veins, and for an instant the reinsslipped through his relaxed fingers. Good God! Could this have been whatDonna Maria meant, or had there been a later convulsion of Nature? Helooked around him. The vast, far-stretching plain, desolate andtrackless as the shining ocean beyond, took upon itself an awfullikeness to that element! Standing on the brink of the revealedtreachery of that yawning chasm, Arthur Poinsett read the fate of theRancho. In the storm that had stirred the depths of this motionlesslevel, the Rancho and its miserable inmates had _foundered_ and gonedown!
Arthur's first impulse was to push on towards the scene of the disaster,in the vague hope of rendering some service. But the chasm before himwas impassable, and seemed to continue to the sea beyond. Then hereflected that the catastrophe briefly told in Donna Maria's despatchhad happened twenty-four hours before, and help was perhaps useless now.He cursed the insane impulse that had brought him here, aimlessly andwithout guidance, and left him powerless even to reach the object of hisquest. If he had only gone first to the Mission, asked the advice andassistance of Father Felipe, or learned at least the full details of thedisaster! He uttered an oath, rare to his usual calm expression, andwheeling his horse, galloped fiercely back towards the Mission.
Night had deepened over the plain. With the going down of the sun a fogthat had been stealthily encompassing the coast-line stole with softstep across the shining beach, dulled its lustre, and then moved slowlyand solemnly upon the plain, blotting out the Point of Pines, at firstsalient with its sparkling Lighthouse, but now undistinguishable fromthe grey sea above and below, until it reached the galloping horse andits rider, and then, as it seemed to Arthur, isolated them from the restof the world--from even the pencilled outlines of
the distantfoot-hills, that it at last sponged from the blue-grey slate before him.At times the far-off tolling of a fog-bell came faintly to his ear, butall sound seemed to be blotted out by the fog; even the rapid fall ofhis horse's hoofs was muffled and indistinct. By degrees the impressionthat he was riding in a dream overcame him, and was accepted by himwithout questioning or deliberation.
It seemed to be a consistent part of the dream or vision when herode--or rather as it seemed to him, was borne by the fog--into theoutlying fields and lanes of the Mission. A few lights, with a nimbus offog around them, made the narrow street of the town appear still moreghostly and unreal as he plunged through its obscurity towards the plazaand church. Even by the dim grey light he could see that one of thetowers had fallen, and that the eastern wing and Refectory were a massof shapeless ruin. And what would at another time have excited hissurprise now only struck him as a natural part of his dream,--the churcha blaze of light and filled with thronging worshippers! Still possessedby his strange fancy, Arthur Poinsett dismounted, led his horse beneaththe shed beside the remaining tower, and entered the building. The bodyand nave of the church were intact; the outlandish paintings still hungfrom the walls; the waxen effigies of the Blessed Virgin and the saintsstill leaned from their niches, yellow and lank, and at the high altarFather Felipe was officiating. As he entered a dirge broke from thechoir; he saw that the altar and its offerings were draped in black, andin the first words uttered by the priest Arthur recognised the mass forthe dead! The feverish impatience that had filled his breast andheightened the colour of his cheeks for the last hour was gone. He sunkupon a bench beside one of the worshippers and buried his face in hishands. The voice of the organ rose again faintly; the quaint-voicedchoir awoke, the fumes of incense filled the church, and the monotonousaccents of the priest fell soothingly upon his ear, and Arthur seemed tosleep. I say seemed to sleep, for ten minutes later he came to himselfwith a start as if awakening from a troubled dream, with the voice ofPadre Felipe in his ear, and the soft, caressing touch of Padre Felipeon his shoulder. The worshippers had dispersed, the church was dark savea few candles still burning on the high altar, and for an instant hecould not recall himself.
"I knew you would come, son," said Padre Felipe; "but where is she? Didyou bring her with you?"
"Who?" asked Arthur, striving to recall his scattered senses.
"Who? Saints preserve us, Don Arturo! She who sent for you--Donna Maria!Did you not get her message?"
Arthur replied that he had only just arrived, and had at once hastenedto the Mission. For some reason that he was ashamed to confess he didnot say that he had tried to reach the Rancho of the Blessed Trinity,nor did he admit that he had forgotten for the last two hours even theexistence of Donna Maria. "You were having a mass for the dead, FatherFelipe?--you have then suffered here?"
He paused anxiously, for in his then confused state of mind he doubtedhow much of his late consciousness had been real or visionary.
"Mother of God," said Father Felipe, eyeing Arthur curiously. "You knownot then for whom was this mass? You know not that a saint hasgone--that Donna Dolores has at last met her reward?"
"I have heard--that is, Donna Maria's despatch said--that she wasmissing," stammered Arthur, feeling, with a new and unsupportabledisbelief in himself, that his face was very pale and his voiceuncertain.
"Missing!" echoed Father Felipe, with the least trace of impatience inhis voice. "Missing! She will be found when the Rancho of the BlessedTrinity is restored--when the ruins of the _casa_, sunk fifty feet belowthe surface, are brought again to the level of the plain. Missing, DonArturo!--ah!--missing indeed!--for ever! always, entirely!"
Moved perhaps by something in Arthur's face, Padre Felipe sketched in afew graphic pictures the details of the catastrophe already forecast byArthur. It was a repetition of the story of the sunken corral. Theearthquake had not only levelled the walls of the Rancho of the BlessedTrinity, but had opened a grave-like chasm fifty feet below it, and nonehad escaped to tell the tale. The faithful _vaqueros_ had rushed fromthe trembling and undulating plain to the Rancho, only to see it toppleinto a yawning abyss that opened to receive it. Don Juan, Donna Dolores,the faithful Manuela, and Alejandro, the _major domo_, with a dozenpeons and retainers, went down with the crumbling walls. No one hadescaped. Was it not possible to dig in the ruins for the bodies? Motherof God! had not Don Arturo been told that the earth at the second shockhad closed over the sunken ruins, burying beyond mortal resurrection allthat the Rancho contained? They were digging, but hopelessly--a dozenmen. They might--weeks hence--discover the bodies--but who knows?
The meek, fatalistic way that Father Felipe accepted the final doom ofDonna Dolores exasperated Arthur beyond bounds. In San Francisco ahundred men would have been digging night and day in the mere chance ofrecovering the buried family. Here--but Arthur remembered the sluggish,helpless retainers of Salvatierra, the dreadful fatalism which affectedthem on the occurrence of this mysterious catastrophe, even as shown inthe man before him, their accepted guide and leader--and shuddered.Could anything be done? Could he not, with Dumphy's assistance, procurea gang of men from San Francisco? And then came the instinct of caution,always powerful with a nature like Arthur's. If these people, mostconcerned in the loss of their friends, their relations, accepted it sohopelessly, what right had he--a mere stranger--to interfere?
"But come, my son," said Padre Felipe, laying his large soft hand,parentally, on Arthur's shoulder. "Come, come with me to my rooms.Thanks to the Blessed Virgin I have still shelter and a roof to offeryou. Ah!" he added, stroking Arthur's riding-coat, and examiningcritically as if he had been a large child, "what have we--what is this,eh? You are wet with this heretic fog--eh? Your hands are cold, and yourcheeks hot. You have fatigue! Possibly--most possibly, hunger! No! No!It is so. Come with me, come!" and drawing Arthur's passive arm throughhis own, he opened the vestry door, and led him across the littlegarden, choked with d['e]bris and plaster of the fallen tower, to a smalladobe building that had been the Mission schoolroom. It was now hastilyfitted up as Padre Felipe's own private apartment and meditative cell. Abright fire burned in the low, oven-like hearth. Around the walls hungvarious texts illustrating the achievement of youthful penmanship withprofound religious instruction. At the extremity of the room there was asmall organ. Midway and opposite the hearth was a deep embrasuredwindow--the window at which two weeks before, Mr. Jack Hamlin hadbeheld the Donna Dolores. "She spent much of her time here, dear child,in the instruction of the young," said Father Felipe, taking a hugepinch of snuff, and applying a large red bandana handkerchief to hiseyes and nose. "It is her best monument! Thanks to her largess--and shewas ever free-handed, Don Arturo, to the Church--the foundation of theConvent of our Lady of Sorrows, her own patron saint, thou seest here.Thou knowest, possibly--most possibly as her legal adviser--that longago, by her will, the whole of the Salvatierra Estate is a benefactionto the Holy Church, eh?"
"No, I don't!" said Arthur, suddenly, awakening with a glow ofProtestant and heretical objection that was new to him, and eyeing PadreFelipe with the first glance of suspicion he had ever cast upon thatvenerable ecclesiastic. "No, sir, I never heard any intimation orsuggestion of the kind from the late Donna Dolores. On the contrary, Iwas engaged"----
"Pardon--pardon me, my son," interrupted Father Felipe, taking anotherlarge pinch of snuff. "It is not now, scarce twenty-four hours since thedear child was translated--not in her masses and while her virginstrewments are not yet faded--that we will talk of this" (he blew hisnose violently). "No! All in good time--thou shalt see! But I havesomething here," he continued, turning over some letters and papers inhis desk. "Something for you--possibly, most possibly, more urgent. Itis a telegraphic despatch for you, to my care."
He handed a yellow envelope to Arthur. But Poinsett's eyes were suddenlyfixed upon a card which lay upon Padre Felipe's table, and which thePadre's search for the despatch had disclosed. Written across its facewas the name of Colonel Culpepper Star
bottle of Siskiyou! "Do you knowthat man?" asked Poinsett, holding the despatch unopened in his hand,and pointing to the card.
Father Felipe took another pinch of snuff. "Possibly--most possibly! Alawyer, I think--I think! Some business of the Church property! I haveforgotten. But your despatch, Don Arturo. What says it? It does not takeyou from us? And you--only an hour here?"
Father Felipe paused, and looking up innocently, found the eyes ofArthur regarding him gravely. The two men examined each other intently.Arthur's eyes, at last, withdrew from the clear, unshrinking glance ofPadre Felipe, unabashed but unsatisfied. A sudden recollection of thethousand and one scandals against the Church, and wild stories of itsfar-reaching influence--a swift remembrance of the specious craft andcunning charged upon the religious order of which Padre Felipe was amember--scandals that he had hitherto laughed at as idle--flashedthrough his mind. Conscious that he was now putting himself in a guardedattitude before the man with whom he had always been free and outspoken,Arthur, after a moment's embarrassment that was new to him, turned forrelief to the despatch and opened it. In an instant it drove all otherthoughts from his mind. Its few words were from Dumphy and ran,characteristically, as follows: "Gabriel Conroy arrested for murder ofVictor Ramirez. What do you propose? Answer."
Arthur rose to his feet. "When does the up-stage pass through SanGeronimo?" he asked, hurriedly.
"At midnight!" returned Padre Felipe. "Surely, my son, you do notintend"----
"And it is now nine o'clock," continued Arthur, consulting his watch."Can you procure me a fresh horse? It is of the greatest importance,Father," he added, recovering his usual frankness.
"Ah! it is urgent!--it is a matter"----suggested the Padre, gently.
"Of life and death!" responded Arthur gravely.
Father Felipe rang a bell and gave some directions to a servant, whileArthur, seating himself at the table, wrote an answer to the despatch."I can trust you to send it as soon as possible to the telegraphoffice," he said, handing it to Father Felipe.
The Padre took it in his hand, but glanced anxiously at Arthur. "AndDonna Maria?" he said, hesitatingly; "you have not seen her yet! Surelyyou will stop at the Blessed Fisherman, if only for a moment, eh?"
Arthur drew his riding-coat and cape over his shoulders with amischievous smile. "I am afraid not, Father; I shall trust to you toexplain that I was recalled suddenly, and that I had not time to call;knowing the fascinations of your society, Father, she will not begrudgethe few moments I have spent with you."
Before Father Felipe could reply the servant entered with theannouncement that the horse was ready.
"Good-night, Father Felipe," said Arthur, pressing the priest's handswarmly, with every trace of his former suspiciousness gone. "Good night.A thousand thanks for the horse. In speeding the parting guest," headded, gravely, "you have perhaps done more for the health of my soulthan you imagine--good-night. _Adios!_"
With a light laugh in his ears, the vision of a graceful, erect figure,waving a salute from a phantom steed, an inward rush of the cold greyfog, and muffled clatter of hoofs over the mouldy and mossy marbles inthe churchyard, Father Felipe parted from his guest. He uttered acharacteristic adjuration, took a pinch of snuff, and closing the door,picked up the card of the gallant Colonel Starbottle and tossed it intothe fire.
But the perplexities of the holy Father ceased not with the night. At anearly hour in the morning, Donna Maria Sepulvida appeared before him atbreakfast, suspicious, indignant, and irate.
"Tell me, Father Felipe," she said, hastily, "did the Don Arturo passthe night here?"
"Truly no, my daughter," answered the Padre, cautiously. "He was herebut for a little"----
"And he went away when?" interrupted Donna Maria.
"At nine."
"And where?" continued Donna Maria, with a rising colour.
"To San Francisco, my child; it was business of great importance--butsit down, sit, little one! This impatience is of the devil, daughter,you must calm yourself."
"And do you know, Father Felipe, that he went away without coming _nearme_?" continued Donna Maria, in a higher key, scarcely heeding herghostly confessor.
"Possibly, most possibly! But he received a despatch--it was of thegreatest importance."
"A despatch!" repeated Donna Maria, scornfully. "Truly--from whom?"
"I know not, my child," said Father Felipe, gazing at the pink cheeks,indignant eyes, and slightly swollen eyelids of his visitor; "thisimpatience--this anger is most unseemly."
"Was it from Mr. Dumphy?" reiterated Donna Maria, stamping her littlefoot.
Father Felipe drew back his chair. Through what unhallowed spell hadthis woman--once the meekest and humblest of wives--become the shrillestand most shrewest of widows? Was she about to revenge herself on Arthurfor her long suffering with the late Don Jos['e]? Father Felipe pitiedArthur now and prospectively.
"Are you going to tell me?" said Donna Maria, tremulously, with alarmingsymptoms of hysteria.
"I believe it was from Mr. Dumphy," stammered Padre Felipe. "At leastthe answer Don Arturo gave me to send in reply--only these words, 'Iwill return at once'--was addressed to Mr. Dumphy. But I know not whatwas the message _he_ received."
"You don't!" said Donna Maria, rising to her feet, with white in hercheek, fire in her eyes, and a stridulous pitch in her voice. "Youdon't! Well! I will tell you! It was the same news that _this_ brought."She took a telegraphic despatch from her pocket and shook it in theface of Father Felipe. "There! read it! That was the news sent tohim! That was the reason why he turned and ran away like a coward ashe is! That was the reason why he never came near me, like aperjured traitor as he is! That is the reason why he came to youwith his fastidious airs and, his supercilious smile--andhis--his--Oh, how I HATE HIM! That is why!--read it! read it!Why don't you read it?" (She had been gesticulating with it, waving itin the air wildly, and evading every attempt of Father Felipe to take itfrom her.) "Read it! Read it and see why! Read and see that I amruined!--a beggar--a cajoled and tricked and deceived woman--betweenthese two villains, Dumphy and Mis--ter--Arthur--Poin--sett! Ah! Readit--or are you a traitor too? You and Dolores and all"----
She crumpled the paper in her hands, threw it on the floor, whitenedsuddenly round the lips, and then followed the paper as suddenly, atfull length, in a nervous spasm at Father Felipe's feet. Father Felipegazed, first at the paper and then at the rigid form of his friend. Hewas a man, an old one--with some experience of the sex, and I regret tosay he picked up the _paper_ first, and straightened _it_ out. It was atelegraphic despatch in the following words:--
"Sorry to say telegram just received that earthquake has dropped out lead of Conroy Mine! Everything gone up! Can't make further advances or sell stock.--DUMPHY."
Father Felipe bent over Donna Maria and raised her in his arms. "Poorlittle one!" he said. "But I don't think Arthur knew it."