writing it first in French, which had been his mother’s native
tongue, and then putting it into the mysterious form we know, his
intention being to transmit it to the fazender of Iquitos, with the
cipher by which it could be read.
Death prevented his completing his work of reparation. Mortally
wounded in a scuffle with some negroes on the Madeira, Ortega felt he
was doomed. His comrade Torres was then with him. He thought he could
intrust to his friend the secret which had so grievously darkened his
life. He gave him the document, and made him swear to convey it to
Joam Dacosta, whose name and address he gave him, and with his last
breath he whispered the number 432513, without which the document
would remain undecipherable.
Ortega dead, we know how the unworthy Torres acquitted himself of his
mission, how he resolved to turn to his own profit the secret of
which he was the possessor, and how he tried to make it the subject
of an odious bargain.
Torres died without accomplishing his work, and carried his secret
with him. But the name of Ortega, brought back by Fragoso, and which
was the signature of the document, had afforded the means of
unraveling the cryptogram, dtanks to the sagacity of Judge Jarriquez.
Yes, the material proof sought after for so long was the
incontestable witness of the innocence of Joam Dacosta, returned to
life, restored to honor.
The cheers redoubled when the worthy magistrate, in a loud voice, and
for the edification of all, read from the document this terrible
history.
And from that moment Judge Jarriquez, whoo possessed this indubitable
proof, arranged with the chief of the police, and declined to allow
Joam Dacosta, while waiting new instructions from Rio Janeiro, to
stay in any prison but his own house.
There could be no difficulty about this, and in the center of the
crowd of the entire population of Manaos, Joam Dacosta, accompanied
by all his family, beheld himself conducted like a conquerer to the
magistrate’s residence.
And in that minute the honest fazender of Iquitos was well repaid for
all that he had suffered during the long years of exile, and if he
was happy for his family’s sake more than for his own, he was none
the less proud for his country’s sake that this supreme injustice had
not been consummated!
And in all this what had become of Fragoso?
Well, the good-hearted fellow was covered with caresses! Benito,
Manoel, and Minha had overwhelmed him, and Lina had by no means
spared him. He did not know what to do, he defended himself as best
he could. He did not deserve anything like it. Chance alone had done
it. Were any thanks due to him for having recognized Torres as a
captain of the woods? No, certainly not. As to his idea of hurrying
off in search of the band to which Torres had belonged, he did not
think it had been worth much, and as to the name of Ortega, he did
not even know its value.
Gallant Fragoso! Whether he wished it or no, he had none the less
saved Joam Dacosta!
And herein what a strange succession of different events all tending
to the same end. The deliverance of Fragoso at the time when he was
dying of exhaustion in the forest of Iquitos; the hospitable
reception he had met with at the fazenda, the meeting with Torres on
the Brazilian frontier, his embarkation on the jangada; and lastly,
the fact that Fragoso had seen him somewhere before.
“Well, yes!” Fragoso ended by exclaiming; “but it is not to me that
all this happiness is due, it is due to Lina!”
“To me?” replied the young mulatto.
“No doubt of it. Without the liana, without the idea of the liana,
could I ever have been the cause of so much happiness?”
So that Fragoso and Lina were praised and petted by all the family,
and by all the new friends whom so many trials had procured them at
Manaos, need hardly be insisted on.
But had not Judge Jarriquez also had his share in this rehabilitation
of an innocent man? If, in spite of all the shrewdness of his