Martin Rattler, R. M. Ballantyne [mystery books to read TXT] 📗
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Martin Rattler, R. M. Ballantyne [mystery books to read TXT] 📗». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“Not to mention their usefulness in providing the great Baron Fagoni with a livelihood,” added Martin, with a smile.
Barney laughed, and going up to the place where the two overseers were seated, dropped the precious gem into a plate of water placed between them for the purpose of receiving the diamonds as they were found.
“They git fifteen or twinty a day sometimes,” said Barney, as they retraced their steps to the cottage; “and I’ve hear’d o’ them getting stones worth many thousands o’ pounds; but the biggest they iver found since I comed here was not worth more than four hundred.”
“And what do you do with them, Barney, when they are found?” inquired Martin.
“Sind them to Rio Janeiro, lad, where my employer sells them. I don’t know how much he makes a year by it; but the thing must pay, for he’s very liberal with his cash, and niver forgits to pay wages. There’s always a lot o’ gould-dust found in the bottom o’ the bateia after each washing, and that is carefully collected and sold. But, arrah! I wouldn’t give wan snifter o’ the say-breezes for all the di’monds in Brazil!”
As Barney said this he entered his cottage and flung down his hat with the air of a man who was resolved to stand it no longer.
“But why don’t you wash on your own account?” cried Martin. “What say you; shall we begin together? We may make our fortune the first week, perhaps!”
Barney shook his head. “No, no, boy; I’ve no faith in my luck with the di’monds or gould. Nevertheless I have hear’d o’ men makin’ an awful heap o’ money that way; partiklarly wan man that made his fortin with wan stone.”
“Who was that lucky dog?” asked Martin.
“Well, ye see, it happened this way: There’s a custom hereaway that slaves are allowed to work on Sundays and holidays on their own account; but when the mines was a government consarn this was not allowed, and the slaves were the most awful thieves livin’, and often made off with some o’ the largest di’monds. Well, there was a man named Juiz de Paz, who owned a small shop, and used to go down now and then to Rio de Janeiro to buy goods. Wan evenin’ he returned from wan o’ his long journeys, and, bein’ rather tired, wint to bed. He was jist goin’ off into a comfortable doze when there came a terrible bumpin’ at the door.
“‘Hallo!’ cried Juiz, growlin’ angrily in the Portugee tongue; ‘what d’ye want?’
“There was no answer but another bumpin’ at the door. So up he jumps, and, takin’ down a big blunderbuss that hung over his bed, opened the door, an’ seized a Naygur be the hair o’ the head!
“‘Oh, massa! oh, massa! let him go! Got di’mond for to sell!’
“On hearin’ this, Juiz let go, and found that the slave had come to offer for sale a large di’mond, which weighed about two penny-weights and a third.
“‘What d’ye ask for it?’ said Juiz, with sparklin’ eyes.
“‘Six hundred mil-reis,’ answered the Naygur.
“This was about equal to 180 pounds sterling. Without more words about it he paid down the money; and the slave went away. Juiz lost his sleep that night. He went and tould the neighbours he had forgot a piece of important business in Rio and must go back at wance. So back he went and stayed some time in the city, tryin’ to git his di’mond safely sold; for it was sich a big wan that he feared the government fellows might hear o’t; in which case he would have got ten years transportation to Angola on the coast of Africa. At last however, he got rid of it for 20,000 mil-reis, which is about 6000 pounds. It was all paid to him in hard dollars; and he nearly went out o’ his wits for joy. But he was brought down a peg nixt day, when he found that the same di’mond was sold for nearly twice as much as he had got for it. Howiver, he had made a pretty considerable fortin; an’ he’s now the richest di’mond and gould merchant in the district.”
“A lucky fellow certainly,” said Martin. “But I must say I have no taste for such chance work; so I’m quite ready to start for the sea-coast whenever it suits the Baron Fagoni’s convenience.”
While they were speaking they were attracted by voices outside the cottage, which sounded as if in altercation. In another minute the door burst open, and a man entered hurriedly, followed by the interpreter.
“Your overseer is impertinent!” exclaimed the man, who was a tall swarthy Brazilian. “I wish to buy a horse or a good mule, and he won’t let me have one. I am not a beggar; I offer to pay.”
The man spoke in Portuguese, and Barney replied in the same language.
“You can have a horse if you pay for it.”
The Brazilian replied by throwing a heavy bag of dollars on the table.
“All right,” said Barney, turning to his interpreter and conversing with him in an undertone. “Give him what he requires.” So saying he bowed the Brazilian out of the room, and returned to the enjoyment of his black pipe, which had been interrupted by the incident.
“That man seems in a hurry,” said Martin.
“So he is. My interpreter tells me that he is quite like one o’ the blackguards that sometimes go about the mines doin’ mischief, and he’s in hot haste to be away. I should not wonder if the spalpeen has been stealin’ gould or di’monds and wants to escape. But of course I’ve nothin’ to do with that, unless I was sure of it; and I’ve a horse or two to sell, and he has money to pay for it; so he’s welcome. He says he is makin’ straight for the say-coast; and with your lave, Martin, my boy, you and I will be doin’ that same in a week after this, and say good-bye to the di’mond mines.”
A new and agreeable sensation is a pleasant thing. It was on as bright an evening as ever shone upon Brazil, and in as fair a scene as one could wish to behold, that Martin Rattler and his friend Barney experienced a new sensation. On the wide campos, on the flower-bedecked and grassy plains, they each bestrode a fiery charger; and, in the exultation of health, and strength, and liberty, they swept over the green sward of the undulating campos, as light as the soft wind that fanned their bronzed cheeks, as gay in heart as the buzzing insects that hovered above the brilliant flowers.
“Oh, this is best of all!” shouted Martin, turning his sparkling eyes to Barney, as he reined up his steed after a gallop that caused its nostril to expand and its eye to dilate.
“There’s nothing like it! A fiery charger that can’t and won’t tire, and a glorious sweep of plain like that! Huzza! whoop!” And loosening the rein of his willing horse, away he went again in a wild headlong career.
“Och, boy, pull up, or ye’ll kill the baste!” cried Barney, who thundered along at Martin’s side enjoying to the full the spring of his powerful horse; for Barney had spent the last farthing of his salary on the two best steeds the country could produce, being determined, as he said, to make the last overland voyage on clipper-built animals, which, he wisely concluded, would fetch a good price at the end of the journey. “Pull up! d’ye hear? They can’t stand goin’ at that pace. Back yer topsails, ye young rascal, or I’ll board ye in a jiffy.”
“How can I pull up with that before me!” cried Martin, pointing to a wide ditch or gully that lay in front of them. “I must go over that first.”
“Go over that!” cried Barney, endeavouring to rein in his horse, and looking with an anxious expression at the chasm. “It’s all very well for you to talk o’ goin’ over, ye feather; but fifteen stun—Ah, then, won’t ye stop? Bad luck to him, he’s got the bit in his teeth! Oh then, ye ugly baste, go, and my blissin’ go with ye!”
The leap was inevitable. Martin went over like a deer. Barney shut his eyes, seized the pommel of the saddle, and went at it like a thunder-bolt. In the excitement of the moment he shouted, in a stentorian voice, “Clap on all sail! d’ye hear? Stu’n sails and skyscrapers! Kape her steady! Hooray!”
It was well for Barney that he had seized the saddle. Even as it was, he received a tremendous blow from the horse’s head as it took the leap, and was thrown back on its haunches when it cleared the ditch, which it did nobly.
“Hallo! old boy, not hurt, I hope,” said Martin, suppressing his laughter as his comrade scrambled on to the saddle. “You travel about on the back of your horse at full gallop like a circus rider.”
“Whist, darlint, I do belave he has damaged my faygur-head. What a nose I’ve got! Sure I can see it mesilf without squintin’.”
“So you have, Barney. It’s a little swelled, but never mind. We must all learn by experience, you know. So come alone.”
“Hould on, ye spalpeen, till I git my wind!”
But Martin was off again at full speed; and Barney’s horse, scorning to be left behind, took the bit again in its teeth and went—as he himself expressed it,—“screamin’ before the wind.”
A new sensation is not always and necessarily an agreeable thing. Martin and Barney found it so on the evening of that same day, as they reclined (they could not sit) by the side of their fire on the campo under the shelter of one of the small trees which grew here and there at wide intervals on the plain. They had left the diamond mine early that morning, and their first day on horseback proved to them that there are shadows, as well as lights, in equestrian life. Their only baggage was a single change of apparel and a small bag of diamonds,—the latter being the product of the mine during the Baron Fagoni’s reign, and which that worthy was conveying faithfully to his employer. During the first part of the day they had ridden though a hilly and woody country, and towards evening they emerged upon one of the smaller campos, which occur here and there in the district.
“Martin,” said Barney, as he lay smoking his pipe, “’tis a pity that there’s no pleasure in this world without something crossgrained into it. My own feelin’s is as if I had been lately passed through a stamping machine.”
“Wrong, Barney, as usual,” said Martin, who was busily engaged concluding supper with an orange. “If we had pleasures without discomforts, we wouldn’t half enjoy them. We need lights and shadows in life—what are you grinning at Barney?”
“Oh! nothin’, only ye’re a remarkable philosopher, when ye’re in the vein.”
“’Tis always in vain to talk philosophy to you, Barney, so good night t’ye. Oh, dear me, I wish I could sit down! but there’s no alternative,—either bolt upright or quite flat.”
In quarter of an hour they both forgot pleasures and sorrows alike in sleep. Next day the sun rose on the edge of the campo as it does out of the ocean, streaming across its grassy billows, and tipping the ridges as with ruddy gold. At first Martin and Barney did not enjoy the lovely scene, for they felt stiff and sore; but, after half an hour’s ride, they began to recover; and when the sun rose in all its glory on the wide plain, the feelings of joyous bounding freedom that such scenes always engender obtained the mastery, and they coursed along in silent delight.
The campo was hard, composed chiefly of a stiff red clay soil, and covered with short
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