pirogue ready, he announced his intention of going in search of
Fragoso, whose fate excited a good deal of anxiety among his
companions. He stowed away in the boat provisions for many days, and
did not forget the ropes and tools which would be required by the
young men when they reached the canal at the appointed time and
place.
These preparations evoked no curiosity on the part of the crew of the
jangada, and even the two stalwart negroes were not let into the
secret. They, however, could be absolutely depended on. Whenever they
learned what the work of safety was in which they were engaged–when
Joam Dacosta, once more free, was confided to their charge–Araujo
knew well that they would dare anything, even to the risk of their
own lives, to save the life of their master.
By the afternoon all was ready, and they had only the night to wait
for. But before making a start Manoel wished to call on Judge
Jarriquez for the last time. The magistrate might perhaps have found
out something new about the document. Benito preferred to remain on
the raft and wait for the return of his mother and sister.
Manoel then presented himself at the abode of Judge Jarriquez, and
was immediately admitted.
The magistrate, in the study which he never quitted, was still the
victim of the same excitement. The document crumpled by his impatient
fingers, was still there before his eyes on the table.
“Sir,” said Manoel, whose voice trembled as he asked the question,
“have you received anything from Rio de Janeiro.”
“No,” answered the judge; “the order has not yet come to hand, but it
may at any moment.”
“And the document?”
“Nothing yet!” exclaimed he. “Everything my imagination can suggest I
have tried, and no result.”
“None?”
“Nevertheless, I distinctly see one word in the document–only one!”
“What is that–what is the word?”
“‘Fly’!”
Manoel said nothing, but he pressed the hand which Jarriquez held out
to him, and returned to the jangada to wait for the moment of action.
CHAPTER XVII
THE LAST NIGHT
THE VISIT of Yaquita and her daughter had been like all such visits
during the few hours which each day the husband and wife spent
together. In the presence of the two beings whom Joam so dearly loved
his heart nearly failed him. But the husband–the father–retained
his self-command. It was he who comforted the two poor women and
inspired them with a little of the hope of which so little now
remained to him. They had come with the intention of cheering the
prisoner. Alas! far more than he they themselves were in want of
cheering! But when they found him still bearing himself unflinchingly
in the midst of his terrible trial, they recovered a little of their
hope.
Once more had Joam spoken encouraging words to them. His indomitable
energy was due not only to the feeling of his innocence, but to his
faith in that God, a portion of whose justice yet dwells in the
hearts of men. No! Joam Dacosta would never lose his life for the
crime of Tijuco!
Hardly ever did he mention the document. Whether it were apocryphal
or no, whether it were in the handwriting of Torres or in that of the
real perpetrator of the crime, whether it contained or did not
contain the longed-for vindication, it was on no such doubtful
hypothesis that Joam Dacosta presumed to trust. No; he reckoned on a
better argument in his favor, and it was to his long life of toil and
honor that he relegated the task of pleading for him.
This evening, then, his wife and daughter, strengthened by the manly
words, which thrilled them to the core of their hearts, had left him
more confident than they had ever been since his arrest. For the last
time the prisoner had embraced them, and with redoubled tenderness.
It seemed as though the _dénouement_ was nigh.
Joam Dacosta, after they had left, remained for some time perfectly
motionless. His arms rested on a small table and supported his head.
Of what was he thinking? Had he at last been convinced that human
justice, after failing the first time, would at length pronounce his