No king have we with golden crown,
To tread the sovereign people down;
All men are equal in our sight —
The ruler ranks but with the clown.

Our symbol is the opal bright,
Which darts its rays of rainbow light,
All men are equal in our sight —
Prophetic of all coming things,
Of blessing, war, disaster, blight.

Red glow abroad the opal flings,
To us the curse of war it brings;
All men are equal in our sight —
And evil days there soon shall be,
Beneath the war-god's dreaded wings.

Yet knowing what we soon shall see,
We'll boldly face this misery,
All men are equal in our sight —
And fight, though dark our fortunes frown,
For life, and home, and liberty.

Padre Ignatius always said that his flock were true and devout Catholics, who believed in what they ought to believe. Strictly speaking, the flock of Padre Ignatius was limited to the congregation of a little adobe church on the outskirts of the town, but his large heart included the whole population of Tlatonac in that ecclesiastical appellation. Everyone knew the Padre and everyone loved him, Jesuit though he was. For fifty years had he laboured in the vineyard of Tlatonac, but when his fellow-labourers were banished, the Government had not the heart to bid him go. So he stayed on, the only representative of his order in all Cholacaca, and prayed and preached and did charitable works, as had been his custom these many years past. With his thin, worn face, rusty cassock, slouch hat, and kindly smile, Padre Ignatius, wonderfully straight considering his seventy years, attended to the spiritual wants of his people, and said they were devout Catholics. He always over-estimated human nature, did the Padre.

So far as the Padre saw, this might have been the case, and nobody having the heart to undeceive him, he grew to believe that these half-civilised savages were Christians to the bone; but there was no doubt that nine out of every ten in his flock were very black sheep indeed. They would kneel before the gaudy shrine of the adobe chapel, and say an Ave for every bead of the rosary, but at one time or another every worshipper was missing, each in his or her turn. They had been to the forest for this thing, for that thing; they had been working on the railway fifty miles inland, or fishing some distance up the coast. Such were the excuses they gave, and Padre Ignatius, simple-hearted soul, believed them, never dreaming that they had been assisting in the worship of the Chalchuih Tlatonac in the hidden temple of Huitzilopochtli.

The belief in the devil stone was universal throughout Cholacaca. Not only did the immediate flock of Padre Ignatius revere it as a symbol of the war-god, but every person in the Republic who had Indian blood in his or her veins firmly believed that the shining precious stone exercised a power over the lives and fortunes of all. Nor was such veneration to be wondered at, considering how closely the history of the great gem was interwoven with that of the country. The shrine of the opal had stood where now arose the cathedral; the Indian appellation of the jewel had given its name to the town; and the picture representation of the gem itself was displayed on the yellow standard of the Republic. Hardly any event since the foundation of the city could be mentioned with which the harlequin opal was not connected in some way. It was still adored in the forest temple by thousands of worshippers, and, unknown as it was to the padres, there were few peons, leperos, or mestizos who had not seen the gem flash on the altar of the god. Cholacacans of pure Spanish blood, alone refrained from actual worship of the devil stone, and even these were more or less tinctured with the superstition. It is impossible to escape the influence of an all-prevailing idea, particularly in a country not quite veneered by civilisation.

On this special evening, when President Gomez was to address the populace, and assure them that there would be no war, the alameda presented an unusually lively appearance. It had been duly notified that His Excellency would make a speech on the forthcoming crisis, hence the alameda was crowded with people anxious to hear the official opinion of the affair. The worst of it was, had Gomez but known it, that the public mind was already made up. There was to be war, and that speedily, for a rumour had gone forth from the sanctuary of the opal that the gem was burning redly as a beacon fire. Everyone believed that this foreboded war, and Gomez, hoping to assure the Tlatonacians of peace, might as well have held his tongue. They would not believe him as the opal stone had prophesied a contrary opinion. But beyond an idle whisper or so, Gomez did not know this thing, therefore he came to the alameda and spoke encouragingly to the people.

From all quarters of the town came the inhabitants to the alameda, and the vast promenade presented a singularly gay appearance. The national costumes of Spanish America were wonderfully picturesque, and what with the background of green trees, sparkling fountains, brilliant flower-beds, and, over all, the violet tints of the twilight, Philip found the scene sufficiently charming. He was walking beside Jack, in default of Eulalia, who, in company with Dolores, marched demurely beside Doña Serafina. This was a public place, the eyes of Tlatonac gossips were sharp, their tongues were bitter, so it behoved discreet young ladies, as these, to keep their admirers at a distance. In the patio it was quite different.

Tim had gone off with Don Miguel, to attach himself to the personal staff of the President, and take shorthand notes of the speech. It had been the intention of Peter to follow his Irish friend, but, unfortunately, he lost him in the crowd, and therefore returned to the side of Philip, who caught sight of him at once.

"Where's Tim?" asked the baronet, quickly; "gone off with Don Miguel?"

"Yes; to the Palacio Nacional."

"I thought you were going?"

"I lost sight of them."

"An excuse, Peter," interposed Jack, with a twinkle in his eye. "You remained behind to look at the Señoritas."

Peter indignantly repudiated the idea.

"His heart is true to his Poll," said Philip, soothingly; "thereby meaning Doña Serafina. Darling!"

Philip mimicked the old lady's pronunciation of the word, and Jack laughed; not so Peter.

"How you do go on about Doña Serafina?" he said fretfully. "After all, she is not so very ugly, though she may not have the thirty points of perfection."

"Eh, Peter, I didn't know you were learned in such gallantries; and what are the thirty points of perfection?"

The doctor was about to reply, when Cocom, wrapped in his zarape, passed slowly by, and took off his sombrero to the party.

"A dios, Señores," said Cocom, gravely.

"Our Indian friend," remarked Jack, with a smile. "Ven aca Cocom! Have you come to hear the assurance of peace."

"There will be no peace, Señor Juan. I am old – very old, and I can see into the future. It is war I see – the war of Acauhtzin."

"Ah! Is that your own prophecy or that of the Chalchuih Tlatonac."

"I know nothing of the Chalchuih Tlatonac, Don Juan," replied Cocom, who always assumed the role of a devout Catholic; "but I hear many things. Ah, yes, I hear that the Chalchuih Tlatonac is glowing as a red star."

"And that means war!"

"It means war, Señor, and war there will be. The Chalchuih Tlatonac never deceives. Con dios va usted Señor."

"Humph!" said Jack, thoughtfully, as Cocom walked slowly away; "so that is the temper of the people, is it? The opal says war. In that case it is no use Gomez saying peace, for they will not believe him."

During this conversation with the Indian, Philip had gone on with Peter, so as to keep the ladies in sight. Jack pushed his way through the crowd and found them seated near the bandstand, from whence the President was to deliver his speech. As yet, His Excellency had not arrived, and the band were playing music of a lively description, principally national airs, as Gomez wished to arouse the patriotism of the Tlatonacians.

The throng of people round the bandstand was increasing every moment. It was composed of all sorts and conditions of men and women, from delicate señoritas, draped in lace mantillas, to brown-faced Indian women, with fat babies on their backs; gay young hidalgos, in silver-buttoned buckskin breeches, white ruffled shirts, and short jackets, and smart military men in the picturesque green uniform of the Republic. All the men had cigarettes, all the women fans, and there was an incessant chatter of voices as both sexes engaged in animated conversation on the burning subject of the hour. Here and there moved the neveros with their stock of ice-creams, grateful to thirsty people on that sultry night, the serenos keeping order among the Indians with their short staves, and many water-carriers with their leather clothes and crocks. Above the murmur of conversation arose the cries of these perambulating traders. "Tortillas de cuajuda," "Bocadillo de Coco," and all the thousand and one calls announcing the quality of their goods.

Many of the ladies were driving in carriages, and beside them rode caballeros, mounted on spirited horses, exchanging glances with those whom they loved. The air of the alameda was full of intrigue and subtle understandings. The wave of a fan, the glance of a dark eye, the dropping of a handkerchief, the removal of a sombrero, all the mute signs which pass between lovers who dare not speak, and everywhere the jealous watching of husbands, the keen eyes of vigilant duennas.

"It is very like the Puerta del Sol in Madrid," said Philip in a low whisper, as he stood beside Eulalia; "the same crowd, the same brilliance, the same hot night and tropic sky. Upon my word, there is but little difference between the Old Spain and the New."

"Ah!" sighed Eulalia, adjusting her mantilla; "how delightful it must be in Madrid!"

"Not more delightful than here, Señorita. At least, I think so – now."

Eulalia cast an anxious glance at her duenna, and made a covert sign behind her fan for him to be silent.

"Speak to my aunt, Don Felipe!"

"I would rather speak to you," hinted Philip, with a grimace.

"Can young ladies speak to whom they please in your country?"

"I should rather think so. In my country the ladies are quite as independent as the gentlemen, if not more so."

"Oh, oh! El viento que corre es algo fresquito."

"The wind which blows is a little fresh," translated Philip to himself; "I suppose that is the Spanish for 'I don't believe you.' But it is true, Señorita," he added quickly, in her own tongue; "you will see it for yourself some day."

"I fear not. There is no chance of my leaving Tlatonac."

"Who knows?" replied Philip, with a meaning glance.

Eulalia cast down her eyes in pretty confusion. Decidedly this Americano was delightful, and remarkably handsome; but then he said such dreadful things. If Doña Serafina heard them – Eulalia turned cold at the idea of what that vigorous lady would say.

"Bueno!" chattered the duenna at this moment; "they are playing the 'Fandango of the Opal!'"

This was a local piece of music much in favour with the Tlatonacians, and was supposed to represent the Indian sacred dance before the shrine of the gem. As the first note struck their ears, the crowd applauded loudly; for it was, so to speak, the National Anthem of Cholacaca. Before the band-stand was a clear space of ground, and, inspired by the music, two Mestizos, man and woman, sprang into the open, and began to dance the fandango. The onlookers were delighted, and applauded vehemently.

They were both handsome young people, dressed in the national costume, the girl looking especially picturesque with her amber-coloured short skirt, her gracefully draped mantilla, and enormous black fan. The young fellow had castanets, which clicked sharply to the rhythm of the music, as they whirled round one another like Bacchantes. The adoration of the opal, the reading of the omen, the foretelling of successful love, all were represented marvellously in wonderful pantomime. Then the dancers flung themselves wildly about, with waving arms and mad gestures, wrought up to a frenzy by the inspiriting music. Indeed, the audience caught the contagion, and began to sing the words of the opal song —

Breathe not a word while the future divining,
True speaks the stone as the star seers above,
Green as the ocean the opal is shining,
Green is prophetic of hope and of love.

Kneel at the shrine while the future discerning,
See how the crimson ray strengthens and glows;
Red as the sunset the opal is burning,
Red is prophetic of death to our foes.

At this moment, the carriage of the President, escorted by a troop of cavalry, arrived at the band-stand. The soldiers, in light green uniforms, with high buff boots, scarlet waistbands, and brown sombreros, looked particularly picturesque, but the short figure of the President, arrayed in plain evening dress, appeared rather out of place amid all this military finery. The only token of his Excellency's rank was a broad yellow silk ribbon, embroidered with the opal, which he wore across his breast. Miguel Maraquando and Tim were in the carriage with the President, and the Irishman recognised his friends with a wave of his hand.

"Tim is in high society," said Peter, with a grin. "We will have to call him Don Tim after this."

"We'll call you 'Donkey' after this, if you make such idiotic remarks," replied Jack, severely. "Be quiet, doctor, and listen to the speechifying."

The President was received with acclamation by those in the alameda, which showed that Tlatonac was well disposed towards the established Government. It is true that one or two friends of Xuarez attempted to get up a counter demonstration; but the moment they began hissing and shouting for Don Hypolito, the serenos pounced down and marched them off in disgrace. His Excellency, attended by Don Miguel and several other members of the Junta, came forward, hat in hand, to the front of the band-stand, and, after the musicians had stopped playing the "Fandango," began to speak. Gomez was a fat little man, of no very striking looks; but when he commenced speaking, his face glowed with enthusiasm, and his rich, powerful voice reached everyone clearly. The man was a born orator, and, as the noble tongue of Castille rolled sonorously from his mouth, he held his mixed audience spell-bound. The listeners did not believe in his assurances, but they were fascinated by his oratory.

It was a sight not easily forgotten. The warm twilight, the brilliant equatorial vegetation, the equally brilliant and picturesque crowd, swaying restlessly to and fro; far beyond, through a gap in the trees, in the violet atmosphere, the snow-clad summit of Xicotencatl, the largest of Cholacacan volcanoes, and everywhere the vague languor of the tropics. Gomez, a black figure against the glittering background of uniforms, spoke long and eloquently. He assured them that there would be no war. Don Hypolito Xuarez had no supporters; the Junta was about to banish him from the country; the prosperity of Cholacaca was fully assured; it was to be a great nation; he said many other pleasant things, which flattered, but deceived not the Tlatonacians.

"Yes, señores," thundered the President, smiting his breast, "I, who stand here – even, I, Francisco Gomez, the representative of the Republic of Cholacaca – tell you that our land still rests, and shall rest under the olive tree of Peace. We banish Don Hypolito Xuarez – we banish all traitors who would crush the sovereign people. The rulers of Cholacaca, elected by the nation, are strong and wise. They have foreseen this tempest, and by them it will be averted. Believe not, my fellow-countrymen, the lying rumours of the streets! I tell you the future is fair. There will be no war!"

At this moment he paused to wipe his brow, and then, as if to give the lie to his assertion, in the dead silence which followed, was heard the distant boom of a cannon. Astonished at the unfamiliar sound, the Tlatonacians looked at one another in horror. Gomez paused, handkerchief in hand, with a look of wonderment on his face. No one spoke, no one moved, it was as though the whole of that assemblage had been stricken into stone by some powerful spell.

In the distance sounded a second boom, dull and menacing, there was a faint roar far away as of many voices. It came nearer and nearer, and those in the alameda began to add their voices to the din. Was the city being shelled by the revolting war-ships; had Don Hypolito surprised the inland walls with an army of Indians. Terror was on the faces of all – the clamour in the distance came nearer, waxed louder. A cloud of dust at the bend of the avenue, and down the central walk, spurring his horse to its full speed, dashed a dishevelled rider. The horse stopped dead in front of the band-stand, scattering the people hither and thither like wind-driven chaff; a young man in naval uniform flung himself to the ground, and ran up to the astonished President.

"Your Excellency, the fleet have revolted to Don Hypolito Xuarez! He is entrenched in the rebel town of Acauhtzin. I alone have escaped, and bring you news that he has proclaimed war against the Republic!"

A roar of rage went up to the sky.

"The opal! The prophecy of the Chalchuih Tlatonac!" cried the multitude. "Viva el Republica! Death to the traitor Xuarez!"

Gomez was listening to the messenger, who talked volubly. Then the President turned towards the people, and, by a gesture of his hand, enjoined silence. The roar at once sank to a low murmur.

"What Don Rafael Maraquando says is true," said Gomez, loudly. "This traitor, Xuarez, has seduced the allegiance of the fleet – of Acauhtzin. The Republic must prepare for war – "

He could speak no further, for his voice was drowned in the savage roaring of the multitude. Everyone seemed to have gone mad. The crowd of people heaved round the band-stand like a stormy sea. A thousand voices cursed the traitor Xuarez, lauded the Republic, and repeated the prophecy of the harlequin opal. The whole throng was demoralised by the news.

"War! War! To Acauhtzin!" roared the throats of the mob. "Death to Xuarez! Viva el Republica! Viva libertad!"

Gomez made a sign to the band, which at once burst out into the Fandango of the Opal. A thousand voices began singing the words, a thousand people began to dance wildly. Ladies waved their handkerchiefs, men shouted and embraced one another, and amid the roar of the mob and the blare of the band, Don Francisco Gomez entered his carriage and drove away escorted by the cavalry.

Tim fought his way through the crowd down from the band-stand, and reached the Maraquando part, where he found the three ladies, more excited than frightened, standing for safety in the circle formed by the five men. Two of the men were embracing – Don Miguel and his son.

"It's a great day for Cholacaca," cried Tim, excitedly. "I wouldn't have missed it for a fortune. Viva el Republica! Ah, Peter, my boy, this is better than the butterflies."

"My son! my son, how did you escape?" said Don Miguel, throwing his arms round Rafael's neck.

"I will tell you all at the house, my father," replied the young man. "Let us go now with the ladies to our home. Señores," he added, turning to the Englishmen, "you will come, too, I trust?"

It was no easy matter to get through the crowd, but ultimately the five men managed to push a path to a caleza for the ladies, placed them therein, and when it drove off, hastened themselves to the Casa Maraquando.

The whole city was in commotion. In the Plaza de los Hombres Ilustres a crowd had collected to salute the great yellow standard of the Republic, which streamed from the tower of the Palacio Nacional.

"The opal! the opal! The prophecy of the Tlatonac Chalchuih," roared the crowd, stamping and yelling.

"They will believe in that stone more than ever now," whispered Philip to Jack, as they entered the zaguan of Maraquando's house. "What do you think of it, Jack?"

"Oh, it's easy to prophesy when you know," retorted Jack, scornfully. "Of course, Xuarez told the Indians he was going to revolt, and the priests of the temple have used the information to advertise the stone. Of course it grew red, and prophesied war under the circumstances. That is all the magic about the affair."

In the patio the ladies were waiting for them in a state of great excitement, and welcomed Don Rafael as one returned from the dead. He embraced his sister, cousin, and aunt; which privilege was rather envied by the four friends, as regards the first two, and was then formally introduced to the Englishmen. His eye flashed as he saluted Tim and heard his vocation.

"You will have plenty to write about, Señor Correspoñsal," he said, fiercely; "there will be a war, and a bitter war too. I have barely escaped with my life from Acauhtzin."

"Tell me all about it, Señor," said Tim, taking out his pocket-book; "and the news will go off to London to-night."

"A thousand regrets, Señor Correspoñsal, that I cannot give you a detailed account at present, but I am worn out. I have not slept for days!"

"Pobrecito," cried the ladies, in a commiserating tone.

"I will, at all events, tell you shortly," resumed Rafael, without taking any notice of the interruption. "I commanded The Pizarro, and went up to Acauhtzin to arrest Xuarez, according to the order of the Government. As he refused to surrender, and as the town had declared in his favour, I thought we would have to bombard it. But think, Señores, think. When I came back to my ship, I was arrested by my own crew, by my own officers. Seduced by the oily tongue of Xuarez, they had revolted. In vain I implored! I entreated! I threatened! I commanded! They refused to obey any other than the traitor Xuarez. The other ships behaved in the same way. All the officers who, like myself, were known to be true to the Government, were arrested and thrown into prison, I among the number."

"Ay de mi," cried Serafina, in tears, "what an indignity!"

Don Rafael was choking with rage, and forgot his manners.

"Carambo!" he swore roundly, "behold me, gentlemen. Look at my uniform! Thus was it insulted by the rebels of Acauhtzin, whose houses, I hope, with the blessing of God, to burn over their heads. I swear it!"

He wrenched a crucifix from his breast, and kissed it passionately. It was a striking scene: the dim light, the worn-out young fellow in the ragged uniform, and his figure black against the lights in the patio, passionately kissing the symbol of his faith.

"How did you escape, my son," said Maraquando, whose eyes were flashing with hatred and wrath.

"There was a man – one of my sailors, to whom I had shown favour – he was made one of the prison guards, and, out of kindness, assisted me to escape; but he was too fearful to help any of the others. In the darkness of night, I cut through my prison bars with a file he had given me. I climbed down the wall by a rope, and, when on the ground, found him, waiting me. He hurried me down to the water's edge, and placed me in a boat with food for a few days. I rowed out in the darkness, past the ships, and luckily managed to escape their vigilance. Then I hoisted the sail, and, as there was a fair wind, by dawn I was far down the coast. I need not tell you all my adventures, how I suffered, how I starved, how I thirsted – cursed, cursed, Xuarez!"

He stamped with rage up and down the patio while the ladies exclaimed indignantly at the treatment to which he had been subjected. Then he resumed his story hurriedly, evidently wishing to get it over —

"This morning, I fortunately fell in with the steamer sent up by the Government, which picked me up. I told the captain all, and he returned at once with the news, arriving at Tlatonac some time ago. I ordered him to fire those guns announcing my arrival, and hearing his Excellency was addressing a meeting at the alameda, jumped on a horse and rode here. The rest you know."

"Good!" said Tim, who had been busily taking notes, "I'm off to the telegraph-office, Señores. Good night."

Tim went off, and the others were not long in following his example. Overcome by fatigue, Don Rafael had fallen, half-fainting, in a chair, and the ladies were attending to him; so, seeing they were rather in the way, Jack and his friends, saying good night, left the house.

The city was still heaving with excitement. Bands of men went past dancing and singing. The bells clashed loudly from every tower, and every now and then a rocket scattered crimson fire in the sky. War was proclaimed! the whole of Tlatonac was in a state of frenzy, and there would be no sleep for anyone that night.

"We're in for it now," said Jack, jubilantly, "hear the war-song!"

A band of young men with torches tramped steadily towards the Square, singing the National Anthem of Tlatonac. Philip caught the last two lines roared triumphantly as they disappeared in the distance: