University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

THE CONSPIRATORS.

—Croly.

That night was a fearful one for Richard
Martin. Sleep came not to his glazed eyes,
nor rest to his troubled conscience. The distant
strokes of the cathedral clock struck to
his heart like a death summons. He grasped
the bowl, and poured out the red wine, until
his hand shook, and his brain danced
madly.

Morning came apace, and at last sleep stole
over the frame of the pirate-captain. Sleep,
the soother, the invigorator, came upon him.
But in the visions of his sleep came conscience,
and the dark form of the night-mare
fear perched on his heart, and gnawed his
rest away. He tossed restlessly, he breathed
hard, and strove in his dreams to wrestle
with it.

Then came a short, calm dream—a dream
of childhood; when he played with his brother,
and the orphans. The form of his mother
bent over him with a placid smile, and the
light laugh of Fanny Fowler rang in his ears.
And Henry came, and the scene of his first
detection, and the form of the friend he had
betrayed, in a distant land. Richard Martin
lived over again his wretched life.

Then, in his slumber he beheld the stranger
of the preceding night, beckoning him

with a purse of gold, and his mother was
weeping over him, and praying him to return.
He awoke, and the stranger was indeed
beside him.

“You have slept well, 't is high noon.
Are you ready to accompany me?”

Richard gazed around with a wildered
glance; “whither?”

“We will instruct you.”

“I cannot go.”

“Ha! fear you?”

“No, but—but—Spaniard, I am deep in
blood; another drop will drown me.”

“In gold, senor, then. Come, come; if
you must stay, the soldiers of Bolivar shall be
your companions.”

“Do you threaten me? I know you, senor,
and may denounce you.”

“Ha, ha! where are your witnesses? no,
no, you must come, amigo.”

The stranger turned away, and—Richard
followed him.

In one of the chambers of a building whose
windows overlooked the Presidential palace,
were gathered a dozen individuals, whose
military garb bespoke them officers of the
Republic. On a table before them lay papers
and charts, plans of battles, and marches,
and over the door hung the flag of Venezuela.

“Think you he will be satisfied with the
presidency? Behold this,” and the speaker,
a slight, yet muscular man, with a dark,
bronzed face, and an eye like an eagle's,
held up a chart; “this is his plan for the invasion
of Peru, and the consolidation of a
Spanish Vice-royalty; look ye, senors.”

Dark frowns and muttered oaths came from
the group, as they silently passed around the
document.

“And how shall it be stayed?” was the
question of one who sat at the right of the
first speaker.

“Ay, how?” was the question that was
echoed from one to the other

The door flew open, and a tall form, enveloped
in a mantle, entered. A whisper ran
around the room, “'t is the major general.”

“How, but by the death of the tyrant? the
hour and the instrument are at hand.”

“What mean you, general?”

“That the tyrant, by your leave, shall die
to-night.”

A silence fell upon the listeners. Each
man was struck dumb by the boldness of the
proposition.

“Well,” cried he whom they called general,
“what say you? shall it be done?”

“How?—by what means?” asked the first
of the speakers.

“Ask ye that? Speak! who will volunteer
in his country's cause. Who will strike
the tyrant?”

There was no answer then, for the boldest
would not have dared to attack the life of one
girt by the shield of the people.

“Do ye fear? Well, I will myself.”

“Nay, nay, it were too perilons,” cried an
officer, who had fought foremost in the battle,
by the side of Bolivar.

The major general strode to the door;
“Senor Americanos.” Richard Martin entered.

“Here is the instrument, one who hates
tyrants, and will serve the republic. Speak,
senor, are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Remain, then, here. Friends, we will
take counsel.” And, followed by the other
conspirators, he entered an inner apartment.

Richard's ears caught the sound of loud
and angry discussion. He heard the name of
Bolivar more than once repeated, and with
it the word `tyrant.' At last, the door
opened, and he was called.

And what a sight was before him! Kneeling
around the apartment, were the conspirators,
each with his crosier-hilted sword
erect before him, and a white-stoled priest,
with a wafer in his hand, administered the
rite of Christianity.

As he entered, they arose, and the cross
was placed before him. “Swear, by the
emblem of salvation, to be true. Kneel and
swear—swear to strike deep to the heart of
the tyrant!”

And as the oath of the conspirator to do a
deed of murder came from his white lips,
the solemn `Amen' of the priest mingled
with it; and the brows of the soldiers bent
upon their cross-hilts.

And thus shall the bigot and the murderer
call upon religion to bless his crime, and it is
sanctified unto him.