The newspaper arrived with the letters.My anticipations have been realized.Yesterday's paragraph has produced another volunteer contributor.An Englishman just returned from Central America, after traveling in Arizona, writes to the _Times._ He publishes his name and address--and he declares that he has himself seen the two captive priests.
The name of this correspondent carries its own guarantee with it.
He is no less a person than Mr.Murthwaite--the well-known traveler in India, who discovered the lost diamond called "the Moonstone," set in the forehead of a Hindoo idol.He writes to the editor as follows:
"Sir--I can tell you something of the two Jesuit priests who were the sole survivors of the massacre in the Santa Cruz Valley four months since.
"I was traveling at the time in Arizona, under the protection of an Apache chief, bribed to show me his country and his nation (instead of cutting my throat and tearing off my scalp) by a present tribute of whisky and gunpowder, and by the promise of more when our association came to an end.
"About twelve miles northward of the little silver-mining town of Tubac we came upon an Apache encampment.I at once discovered two white men among the Indians These were the captive priests.
"One of them was a Frenchman, named L'Herbier.The other was an Englishman, named Penrose.They owed their lives to the influence of two powerful considerations among the Indians.Unhappy L'Herbier lost his senses under the horror of the night massacre.
Insanity, as you may have heard, is a sacred thing in the estimation of the American savages; they regard this poor madman as a mysteriously inspired person The other priest, Penrose, had been in charge of the mission medicine-chest, and had successfully treated cases of illness among the Apaches.As a 'great medicine-man,' he too is a privileged person--under the strong protection of their interest in their own health.The lives of the prisoners are in no danger, provided they can endure the hardship of their wandering existence among the Indians.
Penrose spoke to me with the resignation of a true hero.'I am in the hands of God,' he said; 'and if I die, I die in God's service.'
"I was entirely unprovided with the means of ransoming the missionaries--and nothing that I could say, or that I could promise, had the smallest effect on the savages.But for severe and tedious illness, I should long since have been on my way back to Arizona with the necessary ransom.As it is, I am barely strong enough to write this letter.But I can head a subscription to pay expenses; and I can give instructions to any person who is willing to attempt the deliverance of the priests."So the letter ended.
Before I had read it, I was at a loss to know where to go, or what to do, when I leave St.Germain.I am now at no loss.I have found an object in life, and a means of making atonement to Stella for my own ungracious and unworthy words.Already I have communicated by telegraph with Mr.Murthwaite and with my sailing-master.The first is informed that I hope to be with him, in London, to-morrow morning.The second is instructed to have the yacht fitted out immediately for a long voyage.If I can save these men--especially Penrose--I shall not have lived in vain.
London, September 15.--No.I have resolution enough to go to Arizona, but I have no courage to record the parting scene when it was time to say good-by.
I had intended to keep the coming enterprise a secret, and only to make the disclosure in writing when the vessel was ready to sail.But, after reading the letter to the _Times,_ Stella saw something in my face (as I suppose) that betrayed me.Well, it's over now.I do my best to keep myself from thinking of it--and, for this reason, I abstain from dwelling on the subject here.
Mr.Murthwaite has not only given me valuable instructions--he has provided me with letters of introduction to persons in office, and to the _padres_ (or priests) in Mexico, which will be of incalculable use in such an expedition as mine.In the present disturbed condition of the United States, he recommends me to sail for a port on the eastern coast of Mexico, and then to travel northward overland, and make my first inquiries in Arizona at the town of Tubac.Time is of such importance, in his opinion, that he suggests making inquiries in London and Liverpool for a merchant vessel under immediate sailing orders for Vera Cruz or Tampico.The fitting out of the yacht cannot be accomplished, Ifind, in less than a fortnight or three weeks.I have therefore taken Mr.Murthwaite's advice.
September 16.--No favorable answer, so far as the port of London is concerned.Very little commerce with Mexico, and bad harbors in that country when you do trade.Such is the report.
September 17.--A Mexican brig has been discovered at Liverpool, under orders for Vera Cruz.But the vessel is in debt, and the date of departure depends on expected remittances! In this state of things I may wait, with my conscience at ease, to sail in comfort on board my own schooner.
September 18-30.--I have settled my affairs; I have taken leave of my friends (good.Mr.Murthwaite included); I have written cheerfully to Stella; and I sail from Portsmouth to-morrow, well provided with the jars of whisky and the kegs of gunpowder which will effect the release of the captives.
It is strange, considering the serious matters I have to think of, but it is also true, that I feel out of spirits at the prospect of leaving England without my traveling companion, the dog.I am afraid to take the dear old fellow with me, on such a perilous expedition as mine may be.Stella takes care of him--and, if I don't live to return, she will never part with him, for his master's sake.It implies a childish sort of mind, Isuppose--but it is a comfort to me to remember that I have never said a hard word to Traveler, and never lifted my hand on him in anger.
All this about a dog! And not a word about Stella? Not a word.
_Those_ thoughts are not to be written.