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Updated: June 27, 2025
Look-ut heer, sissy, why ar'n't ye in the maternal arms of the Café des Exilés?" Mazaro smiled amiably and sat down. A moment after, the Irishman, stepping away from his companions, stood before the young Cuban, and asked with a quiet business air: "D'ye want to see me, Mazaro?" The Cuban nodded, and they went aside.
And was no one punished? Alas! one was. Poor, pretty, curly-headed traitorous Mazaro! He was drawn out of Carondelet Canal cold, dead! And when his wounds were counted they were just the number of the Café des Exilés' children, less Galahad. But the mother that is, the old café did not see it; she had gone up the night before in a chariot of fire.
On a certain night after one of these meetings had dispersed in its peculiar way, the members retiring two by two at intervals, Manuel Mazaro and M. D'Hemecourt were left alone, sitting close together in the dimly lighted room, the former speaking, the other, with no pleasant countenance, attending. It seemed to the young Cuban a proper precaution he was made of precautions to speak in English.
I s'all investigade doze ting; an', Manuel Mazaro, h-I am a hole man; bud I will requez you, iv dad wad you say is nod de true, my God! not to h-ever ritturn again ad de Café des Exilés." Mazaro smiled and nodded.
"Senor," cried Mazaro, "I swear-a to you that all-a what I sayin' ees-a" He stopped aghast. Galahad and Pauline stood before him. "Is what?" asked the blue-eyed man, with a look of quiet delight on his face, such as Mazaro instantly remembered to have seen on it one night when Galahad was being shot at in the Sucking Calf Restaurant in St. Peter Street.
"Z-afrai'," said Mazaro; "d'they frai' to do an'teen een d-these-a crowth." "That's so," said the Irishman; "I say, that's so. If I don't feel very much like go-un, I'll not go; I say, I'll not go. We've no business to-night, eh Mazaro?" "No, Senor." A second evening was much the same, Mazaro repeating his warning.
We hired them at a sixteen-yard piece of cloth a month about ten shillings' worth, the Portuguese market-price of the cloth being then sevenpence halfpenny a yard, and paid them five pieces each, for four- and-a-half months' work. A merchant at the same time paid other Mazaro men three pieces for seven months, and they were with him in the interior.
He opened his lips to say he knew not what, when his ear caught the voice of Manuel Mazaro, replying to the greeting of some of his comrades outside the front door. "He is comin'!" cried the old man. "Mague you'sev hide, Madjor; do not led 'im kedge you, Mon Dieu!" The Irishman smiled. "The little yellow wretch!" said he quietly, his blue eyes dancing. "I'm goin' to catch him."
He had brought the relics of our fugitive mail, and it was a disappointment to find that all had been lost, with the exception of a bundle of old newspapers, two photographs, and three letters, which had been written before we left England. The distance from Mazaro, on the Zambesi side, to the Kwakwa at Nterra, is about six miles, over a surprisingly rich dark soil.
On my arrival in England I applied to Captain Washington, Hydrographer to the Admiralty, and he promptly furnished the document for publication by the Royal Geographical Society. The river between Mazaro and the sea must therefore be judged of from the testimony of one more competent to decide on its merits than a mere landsman like myself.
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