Martin Rattler, R. M. Ballantyne [mystery books to read TXT] 📗

If Martin Rattler was amazed at the treatment he experienced at the hands of his new acquaintances on arriving, he had occasion to be very much more surprised at what occurred three hours after his incarceration.

It was getting dark when he was locked up, and for upwards of two hours he was left in total darkness. Moreover, he began to feel very hungry, having eaten nothing since mid-day. He was deeply engaged in devising plans for his escape when he was interrupted by the door being unlocked, and a Negro slave entering with four magnificent candles, made of bees-wax, which he placed upon the table. Then he returned to the door, where another slave handed him a tray containing dishes, knives and forks, and, in short, all the requisites for laying out a supper-table. Having spread a clean linen cloth on the board, he arranged covers for two, and going to the door placed his head to one side and regarded his arrangements with much complacency, and without paying the slightest attention to Martin, who pinched himself in order to make sure he was not dreaming.

In a few minutes the second Negro returned with an enormous tray, on which were dishes of all sizes, from under whose covers came the most savoury odours imaginable. Having placed these symmetrically on the board, both slaves retired and relocked the door without saying a word.

At last it began to dawn on Martin’s imagination that the overseer must be an eccentric individual, who found pleasure in taking his visitors by surprise. But although this seemed a possible solution of the difficulty, he did not feel satisfied with it. He could with difficulty resist the temptation to attack the viands, however, and was beginning to think of doing this, regardless of all consequences, when the door again opened and the Baron Fagoni entered, relocked the door, put the key in his pocket and, standing before his prisoner with folded arms, gazed at him intently from beneath his sombrero.

Martin could not stand this. “Sir,” said he, starting up, “if this is a joke, you have carried it far enough; and if you really detain me here a prisoner, every feeling of honour ought to deter you from adding insult to injury.”

To this sternly delivered speech the Baron made no reply, but springing suddenly upon Martin, he grasped him in his powerful arms and crushed him to his broad chest till he almost broke every bone in his body!

“Och! cushla, bliss yer young face! sure it’s yersilf, an’ no mistake! Kape still, Martin, dear. Let me look at ye, darlint! Ah! then, isn’t it my heart that’s been broken for months an’ months past about ye?”

Reader, it would be utterly in vain for me to attempt to describe either the words that flowed from the lips of Martin Rattler and Barney O’Flannagan on this happy occasion, or the feelings that filled their swelling hearts. The speechless amazement of Martin, the ejaculatory exclamations of the Baron Fagoni, the rapid questions and brief replies, are all totally indescribable. Suffice it to say that for full quarter of an hour they exclaimed, shouted, and danced round each other, without coming to any satisfactory knowledge of how each had got to the same place, except that Barney at last discovered that Martin had travelled there by chance, and he had reached the mines by “intuition.” Having settled this point, they sobered down a little.

“Now Martin, darlint,” cried the Irishman, throwing aside his hat for the first time, and displaying his well-known jolly visage, of which the forehead, eyes, and nose alone survived the general inundation of red hair, “ye’ll be hungry, I’ve small doubt, so sit ye down, lad, to supper, and you’ll tell me yer story as ye go along, and afther that I’ll tell ye mine, while I smoke my pipe,—the ould cutty, boy, that has comed through fire and wather, sound as a bell and blacker than iver!”

The Baron held up the well-known instrument of fumigation, as he spoke, in triumph.

Supper was superb. There were venison steaks, armadillo cutlets, tapir hash, iguana pie, and an immense variety of fruits and vegetables, that would have served a dozen men, besides cakes and splendid coffee.

“You live well here, Barney—I beg pardon—Baron Fagoni,” said Martin, during a pause in their meal; “how in the world did you come by that name?”

Barney winked expressively. “Ah, boy, I wish I may niver have a worse. Ye see, when I first comed here, about four months ago, I found that the mine was owned by an Irish gintleman; an’, like all the race, he’s a trump. He took to me at wance when he hear’d my voice, and then he took more to me when he comed to know me character; and says he to me wan day, ‘Barney,’ says he, ‘I’m gittin’ tired o’ this kind o’ life now, and if ye’ll agree to stop here as overseer, and sind me the proceeds o’ the mine to Rio Janeiro, a great city on the sea-coast an’ the capital o’ Brazil, I’ll give ye a good share o’ the profits. But,’ says he, ‘ye’ll need to pretind ye’re a Roosian, or a Pole, or somethin’ o’ that kind; for the fellows in thim parts are great rascals, and there’s a few Englishmen among them who would soon find out that ye’re only a jack-tar before the mast and would chate ye at no allowance; but if ye could spake no language under the sun but the gibberish pecooliar to the unbeknown provinces o’ Siberia, ye could escape detection as far as yer voice is consarned; and by lettin’ yer beard grow as long as possible, and dressin’ yersilf properly, ye might pass, and be as dignified as the great Mogul.’

“‘Musha!’ said I, ‘but if I don’t spake me own tongue I’ll have to be dumb altogither.’

“‘No fear,’ says he; ‘I’ll tache ye enough Portuguese in a month or two to begin with, an’ ye’ll pick it up aisy after that.’ And sure enough I began, tooth and nail, and, by hard workin’, got on faster than I expected; for I can spake as much o’ the lingo now as tides me over needcessities, and I understand most o’ what’s said to me. Anyhow, I ginerally see what they’re drivin’ at.”

“So, then, you’re actually in charge of the mine?” said Martin, in surprise.

“Jist so, boy; but I’m tired of it already; it’s by no means so pleasant as I expected it would be; so I’m thinkin’ o’ lavin’ it, and takin’ to the say again. I’m longin’ dreadful to see the salt wather wance more.”

“But what will the owner say, Barney: won’t he have cause to complain of your breaking your engagement?”

“Niver a bit, boy. He tould me, before we parted, that if I wanted to quit I was to hand over the consarn to the interpreter, who is an honest fellow, I belave; so I’m jist goin’ to pocket a di’mond or two, and ask lave to take them home wid me. I’ll be off in a week, if all goes well. An’ now, Martin, fill yer glass; ye’ll find the wine is not bad, after wan or two glasses; an’ I’ll tell ye about my adventures since I saw ye last.”

“But you have not explained about your name,” said Martin.

“Och! the fact is, that when I comed here I fortunately fell in with the owner first, and we spoke almost intirely in Irish, so nobody understood where I comed from; and the interpreter hear’d the master call me by my name; so he wint off and said to the people that a great Barono Flanagoni had come, and was up at the house wid the master. But we corrected him afterward, and gave him to understand that I was the Baron Fagoni. I had some trouble with the people at first after the owner left; but I pounded wan or two o’ the biggest o’ them, to such a extint that their own friends hardly knew them; an iver since they’ve been mighty civil.”

Having carefully filled the black pipe, and involved himself in his own favourite atmosphere, the Baron Fagoni then proceeded to relate his adventures, and dilated upon them to such an extent that five or six pipes were filled and finished ere the story came to a close. Martin also related his adventures; to which his companion listened with such breathless attention and earnestness that his pipe was constantly going out; and the two friends did not retire to rest till near day-break.

The substance of the Baron’s narrative was as follows:—

At the time that he had been so suddenly separated from his friend, Barney had overcome many of his opponents, but at length he was overpowered by numbers, and his arms were firmly bound; after which he was roughly driven before them through the woods for several days, and was at length taken to their village among the mountains. Here he remained a close prisoner for three weeks, shut up in a small hut and bound by a strong rope to a post. Food was taken to him by an old Indian woman, who paid no attention at first to what he said to her, for the good reason that she did not understand a word of English. The persuasive eloquence of her prisoner’s tones, however, or perhaps his brogue, seemed in the course of a few days to have made an impression on her; for she condescended to smile at the unintelligible compliments which Barney lavished upon her in the hope of securing her good-will.

During all this time the Irishman’s heart was torn with conflicting feelings, and although, from the mere force of habit, he could jest with the old woman when she paid her daily visits, there was no feeling of fun in his bosom, but, on the contrary, a deep and overwhelming sorrow, which showed itself very evidently on his expressive face. He groaned aloud when he thought of Martin, whom he never expected again to see; and he dreaded every hour the approach of his savage captors, who, he fully expected, retained him in order to put him to death.

One day, while he was sitting in a very disconsolate mood, the Indian woman entered with his usual dinner,—a plate of thick soup and a coarse cake. Barney smiled upon her as usual, and then letting his eyes fall on the ground, sighed deeply,—for his heart was heavier than usual that day. As the woman was about to go, he looked earnestly and gravely in her face, and putting his large hand gently on her head, patted her grey hairs. This tender action seemed to affect the old woman more than usual. She laid her hand on Barney’s arm, and looked as if she wished to speak. Then turning suddenly from him, she drew a small knife from her girdle and dropped it on the ground, as if accidentally, while she left the hut and re-fastened the door. Barney’s heart leaped. He seized the knife and concealed it hastily in his bosom, and then ate his dinner with more than ordinary zest; for now he possessed the means of cutting the strong rope that bound him.

He waited with much impatience until night closed over the Indian village, and, then cutting his bonds, he tore down the rude and rather feeble fastenings of the door. In another instant he was dashing along at full