CHAPTER XII.

STORY OF A MODERN SPANISH ROGUE.

"The remorse of that unfortunate wretch has in it something appalling," said Morley, as they walked aft.

"Bah!" replied Captain Phillips, who was busy with his quadrant; "I have seen something of this kind before, Mr. Ashton, and know it is only a case of 'the devil was sick:' you know the rest of the couplet."

"What crimes can he have committed?" said Ethel, who was weeping with sympathy.

"Crimes, Miss Basset!" repeated the captain, as he wiped and adjusted the two speculums or horizon glasses; "Lord love your kind heart, he'll have committed every crime that ever was recorded in Newgate, and would commit 'em all again, but old King Death has brought him up with a round turn."

Whether it was the result of Ethel's visit, or that excess of despair had prostrated his nerves, we know not; but as night approached Pedro became more composed, and was heard to pray very fervently. The iron had entered his soul; he wept freely, and his tears relieved him; but the retrospect of his past life still rose like a barrier of flame before him, and this he said from time to time, when Morley Ashton and Tom Bartelot watched him by turns, or together, and gave him drink; for he was tormented by a consuming fever and thirst.

The night was fine and clear, the constellations that look down on the mighty Indian Ocean were shining amid the pure ether overhead, and the waves sparkled in light as they rolled around the fleet _Hermione_, for she was still running steadily, close-hauled, making a long tack towards the distant coast of Africa.

Morley had bade "Good night" to Ethel, and he and Tom Bartelot sat smoking on the steps of the forecastle, when they could equally attend to the wants of Pedro, and bear a hand with what was wanted on deck.

As if to relieve his mind, between his muttered orisons, Pedro mentioned many dark episodes of his career, among slavers in the West Indies, and otter-hunters in the Pacific Ocean; among the gold-diggers of California, and the robbers of the Barranca Secca, between Zalappa and the Puebla de Perote. The names of Hawkshaw and Zuares occurred more than once in these wild stories, which, with his casual remarks, indicated Pedro's complicity in many heinous crimes, and filled his listeners with wonder and repugnance; but there was one story he related, with many pauses, filled with sighs and outbursts of repentance, which showed that he was more an incarnate fiend than a mere common villain or everyday rogue.

To rehearse it here, as he related it--he who seemed to be in a Hades without hope--would prove scarcely intelligible to the reader; so we shall give this episode of Pedro's past life in our own words, with many additions, the result of local inquiry. These are woven up with the text of the story, as being preferable to giving them in the tantalising form of notes.

* * * * * * * *

In their childhood Pedro and Zuares Barradas in no way promised to become the outcasts of religion and of nature they proved in future years.

Aware of her own errors and frailty, for which she repented in bitterness, in sackcloth and ashes, in hours of sorrow, prayer, and self-inflicted penance, known to Heaven and herself only, Mariquita Escudero lived for her sons alone. Had she been without them to cling to, in the rash impulsiveness of her race and of her nature, she would probably have committed suicide, after the sudden death of her father, the catastrophe which happened to her young brother, Juan, on the ramparts of San Juan de Ulloa, and the loss of her lover, Don Pedro, who was borne away beyond the sea.

She educated her boys carefully and lovingly, living with them the life of a recluse at her father's solitary _granja_, on the slope of the Pico d'Orizaba, and striving to impress them with a high sense of religion and morality, and thought that she had done so completely, all unaware, poor woman, of the latent and inherent spark of the infernal spirit that slumbered in the heart of each.

Her whole hopes for the future, her entire soul, were centred in her little boys, and this tender and repentant mother was never weary of watching them when they assisted at the service of mass, in carrying tapers or little vessels of holy-water, and when making responses, in attending the old Bishop of Orizaba within the rails of the great altar.

Neither was she ever weary of sewing and dressing with her own hands the little white surplices which they wore over their black soutans on those occasions, for she knew that her boys were handsome, and were alike the envy and the taunt of other mothers.

Pedro and Zuares spent nearly their whole time in or about the old cathedral church--a fane, the pride of the wooded valley, and founded of old by a pious follower of Hernan Cortez. They sat or played for hours daily on the steps of that great altar, where Pedro Valdivia prayed in his armour, ere he marched against the Aurucans of Chili.

Thereon stood a beautiful image of Our Lady, holding in her arms her divine Son, with arms outspread, a miracle of sculpture and painting. She was clad in an azure robe, with an aureole and thirteen stars above her brow, all sparkling with precious gems.

Frequently Zuares used to talk to these figures as if they were answering him; while hovering in the side-aisles, with a finger on her lips, tears in her eyes, and hope and gladness in her heart, Mariquita watched and listened, assured that they would become faithful servants of God, and as such would atone for the errors of her own life, and again and again she blessed her little boys, and whispered in her mother's heart, "that of such was the kingdom of heaven."

Pedro at times spoke to the image of the little child Jesus, as if it was a playfellow; while, like the little chorister of the old legend of Chartres, Zuares was wont to say that he had divided his heart into three portions: "one he had given to God, one to the Blessed Virgin, and one to his mother." Yet, as years crept on, it seemed as if all the snares of Satan had been set around to tempt and lure them, for they rapidly fell into evil ways; they abandoned the church, the morning mass and evening vespers, with all their duties and services; they became the companions of outlaws and robbers, and it was by the hand of her youngest and best-beloved son that the unfortunate Mariquita, long since broken in heart and crushed in soul, perished, as we have shown, in the savage gorge of the Barranca Secca.

Even the old bishop wept as he cursed them.

Zuares had early joined a band of outlaws in the Barranca, where, among many other outrages, on a dark night, when there was no other light on earth or in heaven, save the flaming cone of Orizaba, which lit up all the grove of peach trees that clothe the valley, they waylaid and robbed a wealthy _escribano_, or lawyer, of the city. Then with a refinement of cruelty, they tied him across the nearest line of railway, and watched to see him torn to shreds by the first train which passed; but his cries of despair--which they mimicked and mocked--reached the ears of the engine-driver, the train was stopped in time, and the escribano saved. He never forgot the horrors of that night, and became an honest man for ever after, abandoning for ever the study and practice of the law.

He denounced Zuares, however, and the reward for his capture, offered by the alcalde, proving too great for the cupidity of his companions, this enterprising youth, ere long, found himself a captive in the _carcel_ or prison of Orizaba, under sentence to die by the garotte.

The day of his execution had been named, when letters to the bishop and alcalde arrived, threatening vengeance, and to the dismay of the people, the famous image of Our Lady was missed from the altar of the cathedral church, having been carried off, with its golden aureole, the precious gems that decked it, and the thirteen stars that sparkled round her brow.

In its place was found a piece of paper, on which was written:

"A hostage for my brother.

"PEDRO BARRADAS."

From the altar, the old bishop, in full pontificals, denounced vengeance on the sacrilegious robber, and threatened with condign punishment here and hereafter all who were concerned in this new outrage, which filled all the good people of Orizaba with grief and indignation, for the image of Our Lady was the peculiar palladium of their city.

On the following day, this notice was found appended to the cathedral door:

"I, Pedro Barradas, know who stole the image of Our Lady from the great altar; I know also in what part of the Barranca Secca it is concealed. To the altar I shall restore it, but on two conditions; first, the instant release of my brother Zuares, who is condemned to die for mulcting a miserable escribano of a few ill-gotten dollars; second, a pardon for myself; otherwise, the Holy Image shall never more be seen."

Great was the indignation of the entire community at this insolence; but discretion was deemed better than severity. Zuares was set at liberty by the alcalde, who placed round the cathedral a guard of soldiers, with orders to shoot down any _bandido_ who should appear, even if he bore the image of Our Lady.

How the act was achieved will never be known; but in the night after the release of Zuares, the image was replaced on the altar, unseen by the guard and other watchers. Some there were who said the soldiers were tipsy or asleep; others stigmatised the whole affair as a trick of the Jesuits, of course. But by far the greater number declared it was a miracle, and Orizaba poured her thousands towards the cathedral gates, shouting:

"_La Madonna neustra! La Madonna del Paradiso_! A miracle! a miracle!"

The old bishop, however, did not share this enthusiasm; neither did he think there was any miracle in the matter: for the holy image had come back denuded of its golden aureole and its thirteen stars, each of which was composed of thirteen magnificent rose diamonds.

After this, the wooded valley of Orizaba, even the recesses of the Barranca Secca, became too hot to hold these wicked brothers; they fled to the sea and took a passage for San Francisco, where, after many wanderings in the lawless land of the gold-diggers, they found their way to Vera Cruz, and lived among some outlaws and _contrabandists_ in their old haunt, the Barranca.

In the summer of last year, immediately after the terrible episode of Zuares and his mother in that wild place, Pedro and he quitted the valley of Orizaba for the third time, and reaching the port of La Vera Cruz, shipped as foremast-men on board a long, low, sharp, and rakish-looking brigantine, bound, as her captain stated vaguely, "for the Pacific, towards the Bay of Mexilones."

She proved to be an otter-hunter, and long ere she doubled Cape Horn, she had her eight brass guns, which had been concealed in the hold, hoisted out and lashed to the ports, the wooden quakers they replaced being sent below; and then sundry pikes, cutlasses, and pistols, that had all been invisible while the brigantine was within range of the cannon of San Juan de Ulloa, were placed upon racks in the steerage, and presented a goodly array; for these otter-hunting craft are lawless and contraband, and frequently their crews must fight their way against Spanish and other war ships, like the buccaneers of old.

She ran along the coast of South America, in sight of the snow-capped summits of the mighty Andes, traversing a great portion of the Pacific, without accident or adventure, until, in a forecastle row, knives were drawn, and Zuares threatened to stab the mate. In such a craft severe measures were necessary, so Zuares was put in the bilboes, and would have been scourged next day, by order of the captain, save for an accident which happened to the latter in the night.

Taking advantage of an intense darkness about the first hour of the morning watch, the worthy brothers quitted the brigantine, dropping quietly astern of her in the quarter-boat, when the harbour lights of Valparaiso were visible about three leagues distant on the lee bow, as they had resolved never again to face the snows and horrors of doubling the Horn, and reefing topsails that were stiff with ice.

They did not quit the brigantine, however, without leaving tokens of their vengeance. The poor captain was found in his berth, with the sheath-knife of Zuares--that illegal weapon now so constantly in use among seamen--planted in his heart; and it was soon after discovered that a canvas bag, containing two thousand Mexican dollars, was gone, as well as the quarter-boat.

But long ere this was known on board the armed brigantine, her two deserters had pulled the boat into the harbour of Valparaiso, where they scuttled her, and landed at the Almendral, a suburb which lies close by the shore, and is chiefly inhabited by those who are employed about the shipping.

Here they divided the contents of the bag between them, and the precious pair having shaken hands, they separated, each to shift for himself.

Master of a thousand silver dollars, and of himself--rid of his brother Zuares, whose petulant and fiery temper was frequently the means of embroiling him in useless, or what he deemed still worse, unprofitable quarrels--Pedro hoped to enjoy himself in Chili, and without fear, too, as the mates and crew of the otter-hunter (of whom our late American acquaintance, Mr. Bill Badger, formed one), were already too far beyond the pale of all laws, even those of South America, to seek either him or Zuares, especially under the Cordilleras de los Andes.

He resolved to get rid of his sailor's costume; to dress himself like an emigrant hidalgo; to take upon himself the airs, and certainly all the ease of one, until his money was spent, and something else turned up. He was not without hope, too, of replenishing his stock at the Casa de Juego, or gaming-house (as we have related he was never without a pair of cogged _dados_), and he knew, from his previous habits and education, that he could act tolerably well the part he meant to assume; and who could say that he might not, if a run of fortune favoured him, marry an heiress, and settle down pleasantly till the money was spent.

"_Come esta el Senor Caballero Don Pedro,_" said he, as he lit a cigarito, and slapped the bag containing his dollars with great gusto; "courage, and to work at once, for the day will soon dawn."

He quitted the Almendral, with its muddy streets and unpaved narrow lanes, and just as the sun was rising, or, rather, as its light was descending on the steep red cliffs, and penetrating into the deep dark mountain gullies that overhang the city of Valparaiso--or the Valley of Paradise--he found himself amid the opening shops and early morning bustle of the spacious Plaza de la Victoria.

He soon found the shop of a clothier (all shopkeepers in Valparaiso are Frenchmen), under whose auspices he substituted his forecastle attire for a round jacket of fine claret colour, braided elaborately with yellow and scarlet silk, especially about the breast, and slit-up sleeves, loose, braided trousers of some light material, girt at the waist by a Spanish sash of the Chilian colours. His sou'-wester gave place to a smart sombrero of black velvet, with a plush bob of the same sable hue on one side, and a long scarlet riband flowing on the other; and in lieu of the dingy checked shirt, which was washed once weekly, and strung on the mainstay to dry, he exhibited one of spotless linen, with elaborate needlework on the breast.

A poncho cloak, black without and scarlet within, was thrown over the left shoulder, for use by night, for ornament by day, and to conceal the bowie-knife and revolver, which completed his equipment.

After a barber had shaved off his luxuriant beard and whiskers, leaving only the heavy, black, and well-trimmed moustache, Pedro walked along the shady side of the Plaza de la Victoria, surveying his outward mien, in the plate-glass windows as he passed them, a long regalia between his lips, master still of 930 dollars, and perfectly satisfied with himself, and with the South American world in general.

In the shop of the barber he had filled up a spare moment, by fitting on, and pocketing unseen, a luxuriant red wig, which he thought might at some time prove useful to him; and aware that a traveller without baggage has always short credit and a shady reputation, he next procured a handsome trunk of ample dimensions, with screws to fix it to the floor of any place which he might happen to honour with his residence--a very old "dodge," indeed, or, as the Spaniards would call it, _tergiversation_.

Repairing to the Posa de San Augustin, still kept by a person named Felipe Fernandez, close by the Church of the Augustin Friars, he chose an apartment, from the lattice of which he could have a view of the volcano of Aconcagua, sending a tremendous column of smoke up to the very zenith, through a sky of wonderful purity, against the blue of which the snow-capped Andes stood in a clear and awful outline; and this selection impressed Signor Fernandez that his guest was a wealthy hidalgo in search of the picturesque.

"_Basta!_" said Pedro, as he tore a roasted galina to pieces at dinner, and devoured it with more rapidity than grace, "I have eaten nothing for two days; but this is excellent, and the wine, too--your health, brother Zuares."

At this posada Pedro resided for several days, and ran up a goodly bill, chiefly for stronger liquors than are usually drunk by noble hidalgos; but his trunk being securely screwed to the floor, so as to be quite immovable, Felipe Fernandez was quite easy on the subject, believing that a guest with a box so ponderous--full of duros, no doubt--could not levant in a hurry.

Pedro's tastes and instincts would have led him towards the alleys of the Almendral, the harbour, and the shipping; but he remembered the little accident which occurred on the last night he and Zuares spent on board the brigantine, so he wisely avoided the vicinity of the sea-shore, and turned his thoughts inland.

He actually gave himself airs of propriety, and inquired of Signor Fernandez which was the most attractive church in Valparaiso. Pedro meant attractive in the number of fair devotees; but Felipe understood him differently and replied:

"The Matriz Church, senor. The Padres Eizagiuerro and Ugarte, from Santiago, are preaching there now. The former is the Apostolic Nuncio, and friend of His Holiness the Pope."

"And their preaching draws the people in numbers?"

"Yes, senor," replied the host, bowing lower.

"I am particularly fond of a good sermon, and love to see a well-filled church."

"Why, senor, the people go for various reasons," continued Fernandez, smiling; "the women to show themselves."

"And the men--what do they go for?"

"To see the women, or put off time till the theatre opens."

"_Bueno_! I shall go to see the women, and hear the Padre--what the devil's his name?"

So Pedro hung a brass medal of the Madonna at his neck, bought a rosary as thick as a hawser, and went to the Matriz Church to vespers, and always fell asleep. Mass was too early for him, he was always a-bed then. As all the women were very old or very ugly, he soon grew tired of the eloquence of the Padres Ugarte and Eizagiuerro.

The latter was the most popular; the church was usually filled by a dense crowd, who stood, as there was no sitting space, and through whom Pedro's brawny arms and square shoulders forced a passage, without ceremony, right and left, straight up to the pulpit, in spite of crinoline or other obstructions, and reiterated exclamations of annoyance.

"Senor, the church is quite full!"

"So I see, senora. A charming place, isn't it?"

"Senor, you _cannot_ pass further!" exclaimed someone else.

"I shall try," was the cool response.

"Senor, how can you be so troublesome?" exclaimed a young man angrily.

Pedro turned to him with a dark scowl.

A young lady, closely veiled, was hanging on his arm.

"Perez--dear Perez!" said she, entreatingly, and, with a voice of great sweetness, added, "Senor, do not crush me so, if you please."

"Do I incommode you, senora?" stammered Pedro.

"Very much indeed."

"Pardon me--I shall make room."

And he did so by lurching forward and squeezing an old duenna against a pillar, where she was nearly suffocated by his huge back, and from whence he began to eye--almost ogle--the young lady who had spoken.

Her features, though partially hidden by a black lace veil, were charming and soft, and the pressure of the crowd had deranged it so far as to permit Pedro's bold and wandering eye to see enough of an adorable white neck and swelling bust to make him long to look on more.

Her nostrils and lips in contour were singularly fine, her tresses were of a rich ripply brown, and a valuable rosary was in her pretty hands, which were cased in well-fitting gloves of lavender-coloured kid.

Pedro was smitten. He continued to ogle and leer, and make a cushion of the old lady behind, in a mode of which the young girl was all unconscious, for she never looked at him once, though her male companion, whom she had named Perez, felt undisguised anger and uneasiness from time to time.

Of his frowns Pedro saw nothing, for his attention was riveted on the sweet young girl, so nothing heard he of the Reverend Padre Eizagiuerro's denunciations of worldly sin and iniquity.

The sermon over, and benediction given, Pedro rushed to the font, that he might give her some holy water in the hollow of his hand; but Perez, by an awkward or intended motion, knocked it into the eyes of Pedro, who was half blinded by its saline property. He uttered a malediction, and resolved to follow the little beauty; but she was driven away in a handsome carriage.

Again and again he came to vespers; but the sweet girl was no longer there to mingle her soft voice with the hymn; and, as we have said, the other fair ones who attended the Matriz Church were not to our adventurer's taste, he contented himself by leering at all the girls who promenaded in the Plaza, and this he did so pointedly, that, in one or two instances, nothing saved him from being punished summarily, even in that city of poniards and police, but his towering figure, muscular limbs, and dare-devil aspect.

A fortnight slipped away without any adventure.

He had not yet fallen on an heiress, and already 400 of his beloved dollars had slipped away, but not in works of charity or devotion. Money is easier spent than won everywhere, so Pedro began to get tired of Valparaiso.

He certainly led a very jolly life. There were no watches to keep in the wind and rain; no hoarse voice at the fore-scuttle summoned all hands to reef topsails on a sleety night; no scrambling for the best of the beef and potatoes in the filthy mess kid; no weevils to pick out of the mouldy biscuits; no pumps to work at, or decks to scrub; but withal Pedro--he knew not why--began to be weary, and wonder what Zuares was about: whether his share of the spoil was spent, and where he had turned his steps.

In Valparaiso, the mercantile men are nearly all Britons, Americans, or Germans. Thus, in the _cafés_ frequented by Pedro, his appearance and bearing did not suit their taste exactly, and he never got beyond receiving and giving a very cold bow, exchanging a light for his cigar, or a civil remark now and then.

If he had the fumes of wine in his head--an element it was seldom without--he rattled out a forecastle oath in Spanish or English, which made them stare at him, and then at each other. Though twice at the Casa de Juego he had more than replenished his exchequer so rapidly that suspicion of foul play was excited, on one evening fortune was so decidedly against him that he walked forth into the Plaza with only ten dollars in his pocket, and the prospect of receiving his bill at the posada, amounting to 400 at least, which had been overdue now more than a week.

"_Los Infernos!_" thought he; "what is to be done now?"

The idea of donning his red wig, taking a turn through the streets after dark, and relieving some belated citizen of his purse, occurred to him; but he reflected on the acumen of the well-regulated police, and, with a malediction on things in general, wished himself at San Francisco, or La Villa Rica del Vera Cruz.

The evening was singularly beautiful; so much so that even Pedro could not be insensible to its lovely calm, and to the wonderful rocky scenery that overhangs the Valley of Paradise, as he rambled listlessly along the harbour towards the fort, on which the flag of the Chilian Republic was waving.

The stupendous hills that overlook the city were steeped in golden light, which streamed into the ravines that yawned beneath them; and each of these ravines seemed to be piled up on both sides with white-walled houses--for every chasm formed as it were a street, that branched upward from the low-lying suburb, named the Almendral.

The spires, the bay with its shipping, the cannon on the batteries, were all burnished with the yellow sheen, and over all, towering blue and dim in the distance, rose the cone of Aconcagua, sending a cloud of sombre smoke on the south wind, far away towards the woody and snowy Andes, whose summits rise above the limits of eternal frost--for the burning mountain we have named is 23,000 feet above the level of the sea at Valparaiso; and there are thirteen similar peaks in Chili, all nearly in a constant state of eruption, flame, smoke, and lava.

The lattices of a thousand villas that nestled on the sloping hills were gleaming in the light of the setting sun, as he sunk into the waters of the Pacific, casting the shadows of their walls and terraced roofs on gardens, where the gorgeous, but scentless, flowers of the tropics were closing their petals, and where the deep green leaves of the guava contrasted with the purple tints of the olive, the golden bulbs of the orange, and the giant quinces of Chili, that were ripening in his warmth--the glow of a summer that never ceases.

Pedro surveyed all this with a half-listless, half-pleased eye; and he watched the groups of idlers, in their picturesque dresses of gaudy colours, who thronged the harbour mole and evening promenade. There were the graceful Spanish whites, particularly the donzellas, with their sparkling eyes and piquante smiles, their black lace mantillas, short crinolines, and taper ankles; the slenderly-formed and olive-skinned mestizoes, and the half-naked, supple, and grinning mulattoes, who sung so gaily as they worked in gangs at cranes or capstan-bars.

Several padres were among the promenaders, chiefly Grey Friars, in greasy frocks and hoods, with beads and cord complete; and Chilian soldiers were not wanting, in tawdry uniforms, with plenty of braid without, and plenty of fleas within.

Two priests passed him--they were tall, thin, and sallow men--for whom all made way, for they were the famous preachers from Santiago, the Padres Ugarte and Eizagiuerro; and when Pedro lifted his sombrero, a pang shot through his heart as he thought of Zuares, and their boyish days, when they carried tapers, or swung the censer before the old Bishop of Orizaba--of what they were, and what they might have been.

"_Caramba!_" he muttered, "why should I think of such things?"

The harbour was full of shipping from Lima and Peru, taking in Cordovan leather in brown bales, cordage in vast coils, and dried fruit in boxes of all sizes. The waves curled in golden prisms over the great rock that lies near the shore, and the yellow-billed and speckled seamews that always cluster there fled screaming towards the offing, as the flag was hauled down and the evening gun boomed across the water from the fort which the Spaniards built of old as a defence against the Indians.

The evening was calm and mild, and the hum of the city was carried away by the soft breeze that swept across the bay, where hundreds of pleasure-boats were shooting to and fro under sail or oar.

Suddenly a gaudy little pinnace, that was running for the stairs near the old half-moon battery, caught the nautical eye of Pedro.

"Luff, luff, presto!" he exclaimed, as he saw there was something foul with the sheet; "luff, you lubber!"

The words had scarcely left his lips ere there was a shout from the spectators. The shoulder-of-mutton sail shivered and flapped as the boat broached-to and capsized.

Then a lady and gentleman were seen floundering and splashing in the water. The latter succeeded in reaching the keel of the inverted boat, to which he clung, wildly shouting for help the while; but the former was swept by the current that ran round the harbour rock.

"My daughter! _O Dios mio!_ my poor daughter! She will perish--she will drown! Who will save her? _O Madre de Dios!_ who will save her?" exclaimed an old gentleman, rushing in despair along the quay, wringing his hands, and gesticulating, as foreigners only do, appealing to several men in vain.

Pedro saw the girl rising and sinking alternately as her crinoline buoyed her up, and piteously she shrieked every time she rose. He coolly measured the distance from the quay to where she was drowning. He could swim like a fish; but he thought of his new finery, so recently donned, and was turning away, when the unfortunate father rushed forward and grasped his hands.

"Can you swim, senor?" he asked, impetuously.

"Yes, a little," replied Pedro, with hesitation.

"You can--you can!"

"Like a duck or a dolphin sometimes."

"A thousand dollars, if you save my poor girl, shall be yours!" exclaimed the old man, weeping.

"Are you sure that----"

"I can pay you? Eh, eh. _O Dios mio!_ she will drown before my eyes while this wretch chaffers for her life. Oh, my Ignez! my Ignez!"

"Save her, if you can swim, I command you!" cried the full, deep voice of the Padre Eizagiuerro, who rushed forward. "Quick, senor! he who implores you to save his child--his only child--is the wealthy Moreno, the richest merchant in the city of Santiago."

"Too late!--too late!--she sinks! Pray to God for her!" cried a hundred voices.

"In, in!" exclaimed the Padres Ugarte and Eizagiuerro together, for her father was almost speechless with despair; "in, if you are a swimmer--two thousand dollars if you save her!"

"Half my fortune--yea, all, if you will but save her!" groaned the unhappy father.

"Shame! shame!" muttered the crowd.

"Two thousand will do--_presto!_ here goes!" said Pedro, as he cast his sombrero, poncho, gaudy jacket and vest, his knife and revolver, to the care of old Moreno, and plunged into the water amid the joyous yells of the negroes, and the loud "_Vivas!_" of the white and yellow spectators, many of whom were already stripping as if to anticipate him.

Pedro's head of black curly hair was soon seen to rise above the water as he swam, unerringly as a Newfoundland dog, to where the man was gesticulating frantically on the keel of the capsized boat, and to where the poor girl had sunk.

There he dived down, and all who looked on held their breath for a time; many crossed themselves very devoutly; the two padres raised their hands and eyes to heaven, and all the friars were on their knees, with many of the people.

Again a "_Viva!_" rent the air, as Pedro reappeared, but a few yards off, with the girl on his left arm, while he swam vigorously with his right, and gained the battery steps, even before a boat could reach her, for which he was by no means anxious, as he wished to enjoy the entire credit and profit of the enterprise; but life seemed almost extinct in the poor creature.

"Dead or alive," muttered the heartless Pedro; "'tis nothing to me; 2,000 dollars are a good set-off against a wet shirt!"

The strong hand of the Padre Eizagieurro grasped his, and assisted him up the slimy sea stair, where he placed the senseless and dripping girl in her father's arms, and then the poor man wept as he covered her cold, wet cheek with kisses--the purest that are ever bestowed in this world; and now the shouts of "_Viva el noble caballero!_" that greeted him on all sides, so applaudingly and so vociferously, almost made Pedro Barradas believe himself the disinterested and gallant fellow the simple people believed him to be.

The young gentleman, who clung to the keel of the inverted boat, was almost immediately rescued by the crew of a brigantine, in which Pedro suddenly recognised, to his dismay, the otter-hunter; but the lady's companion was viewed with singular displeasure by all. Even the negroes ventured to mock him, for Pedro was the hero of the whole episode!

A carriage was summoned; the young lady, in whom Pedro discovered his beauty of the Matriz Church, and, who was already reviving, was placed therein, with her friend, or lover, as he appeared to be, by his excessive alarm and tenderness. Her father insisted on her preserver accompanying them, and after a little affected demur and diffidence, he gave an anxious glance at the brigantine, another at the crowd, lest some of her crew might be there, and, assenting, took his place beside Moreno.

He remembered what the Padre Eizagiuerro had said so hurriedly, that this old gentleman was the richest merchant in Santiago, the capital of Chili (of which the great city of Valparaiso is merely the port); that the girl he had saved was an only child.

"_Caramba!_" thought he; "I may get the daughter as well as the 2,000 _duros_. Courage, Pedro, amigo mio, for fortune smiles more than ever! How lucky it was that little accident occurred on board the brigantine!"