A few citizens were strolling about the bank. A feeling of curiosity
had doubtless attracted them to the anchorage of the raft. The news
of the arrest of Joam Dacosta had soon spread about, but the
curiosity of the Manaens did not outrun their discretion, and they
were very quiet.
Benito’s intention had been to land that evening, but Manoel
dissuaded him.
“Wait till to-morrow,” he said; “night is approaching, and there is
no necessity for us to leave the raft.”
“So be it! To-morrow!” answered Benito.
And here Yaquita, followed by her daughter and Padre Passanha, came
out of the house. Minha was still weeping, but her mother’s face was
tearless, and she had that look of calm resolution which showed that
the wife was now ready for all things, either to do her duty or to
insist on her rights.
Yaquita slowly advanced toward Manoel.
“Manoel,” she said, “listen to what I have to say, for my conscience
commands me to speak as I am about to do.”
“I am listening,” replied Manoel.
Yaquita, looking him straight in the face, continued: “Yesterday,
after the interview you had with Joam Dacosta, my husband, you came
to me and called me–mother! You took Minha’s hand, and called
her–your wife! You then knew everything, and the past life of Joam
Dacosta had been disclosed to you.”
“Yes,” answered Manoel, “and heaven forbid I should have had any
hesitation in doing so!”
“Perhaps so,” replied Yaquita; “but then Joam Dacosta had not been
arrested. The position is not now the same. However innocent he may
be, my husband is in the hands of justice; his past life has been
publicly proclaimed. Minha is a convict’s daughter.”
“Minha Dacosta or Minha Garral, what matters it to me?” exclaimed
Manoel, who could keep silent no longer.
“Manoel!” murmured Minha.
And she would certainly have fallen had not Lina’s arm supported her.
“Mother, if you do not wish to kill her,” said Manoel, “call me your
son!”
“My son! my child!”
It was all Yaquita could say, and the tears, which she restrained
with difficulty, filled her eyes.
And then they all re-entered the house. But during the long night not
an hour’s sleep fell to the lot of the unfortunate family who were
being so cruelly tried.
CHAPTER III
RETROSPECTIVE
JOAM DACOSTA had relied entirely on Judge Albeiro, and his death was
most unfortunate.
Before he was judge at Manaos, and chief magistrate in the province,
Ribeiro had known the young clerk at the time he was being prosecuted
for the murder in the diamond arrayal. He was then an advocate at
Villa Rica, and he it was who defended the prisoner at the trial. He
took the cause to heart and made it his own, and from an examination
of the papers and detailed information, and not from the simple fact
of his position in the matter, he came to the conclusion that his
client was wrongfully accused, and that he had taken not the
slightest part in the murder of the escort or the theft of the
diamonds–in a word, that Joam Dacosta was innocent.
But, notwithstanding this conviction, notwithstanding his talent and
zeal, Ribeiro was unable to persuade the jury to take the same view
of the matter. How could he remove so strong a presumption? If it was
not Joam Dacosta, who had every facility for informing the scoundrels
of the convoy’s departure, who was it? The official who acocmpanied
the escort had perished with the greater part of the soldiers, and
suspicion could not point against him. Everything agreed in
distinguishing Dacosta as the true and only author of the crime.
Ribeiro defended him with great warmth and with all his powers, but
he could not succeed in saving him. The verdict of the jury was
affirmative on all the questions. Joam Dacosta, convicted of
aggravated and premeditated murder, did not even obtain the benefit
of extenuating circumstances, and heard himself condemned to death.
There was no hope left for the accused. No commutation of the
sentence was possible, for the crime was committed in the diamond
arrayal. The condemned man was lost. But during the night which
preceded his execution, and when the gallows was already erected,