# Works of Jules Verne/The Pearl of Lima/Chapter 2

CHAPTER II
AN INDIAN RIVAL
THE town of Lima nestles as it were in the valley of the Rimac, at about nine miles from the mouth of the river. From east to west Lima is about two miles long, but not more than a mile and a quarter wide from the bridge to the walls. These walls, which are about twelve feet high, and ten feet thick at their base, are constructed of a peculiar kind of bricks, known as "adobes," dried in the sun.
This is the ancient "City of the Kings," founded in 1534 by Pizarro on the feast of the Epiphany. It has never ceased to be the scene of revolution. Formerly it was the chief emporium of America in the whole Pacific, to which it was opened by the port of Callao. The climate makes Lima one of the most agreeable places of residence in the New World. The wind never deviates from one of two directions; either it blows from the south-west, and brings with it the refreshing influence which it has gained in traversing the Pacific, or it comes from the south-east, invigorating and cheering with the coolness which it has gathered from the snowy summits of the Cordilleras. The nights, too, at Lima are delightful as elsewhere in the tropics; the dew which rises is a bountiful source of nutriment to a soil that is ever exposed to the rays of a cloudless sun.
On the evening in question, the girl, still attended by her duenna, arrived from the great square at the bridge of the Rimac without further misadventure. Her excitement was still intense, and made her start at every sound which brought to her imagination either the ringing of the muleteer's bells, or the whistle of an Indian.
The girl was Sarah, the daughter of Samuel the Jew, and she was now about to enter the house of her father. She was dressed in a dark-colored skirt plaited round the bottom in such close folds as to oblige her to take the very shortest steps, giving her that graceful movement which is so generally characteristic of the young women of Lima. The skirt was trimmed with lace and flowers, and was partially concealed by a silk mantle, the hood of which enveloped her head; stockings of fine texture, and pretty little satin slippers were visible below her becoming dress; bracelets of considerable value encircled her wrists, and her whole ​appearance afforded a charming illustration of what the Spaniards express so pointedly by their term "donayre."
Millaflores had only declared the truth when he had said that Sarah had nothing Jewish about her but her name; she was undeniably a type of the señoras whose beauty has commanded such universal homage.
The old duenna was a Jewess, with avarice and cupidity stamped indelibly upon her features; she was a devoted servant to Samuel, who knew what she was worth, and remunerated her accordingly.
Just at the moment that they entered the suburb of San Lazaro, a man, dressed as a monk, with his cowl over his head, passed them with a keen and scrutinizing look of inquiry. He was very tall, and had one of those commanding figures which seem at once to indicate repose and benevolence. It was Farther Joachim di Camarones. As he passed the girl he gave her a kindly smile of recognition; she glanced hastily at her companion, and merely acknowledge his greeting by a gentle movement of her hand.
"Has it come to this?" said the old woman, in a tone of annoyance, "isn't it enough to be insulted by these Christian dogs, and here you must be bowing and smiling to one of their priests! I suppose some day we shall see you take up a rosary, and go off to their fine services in church."
The girl colored as she replied, "You are indulging in strange conjectures."
"Strange! not more strange, I think, than your behavior. What would my master say if he knew all that has passed this evening?"
"It's no fault of mine, I should suppose," rejoined the girl, "if a brutal muleteer insults me in the street."
"I know very well what I mean," grumbled the old woman; " I wasn't alluding to any muleteer."
"Then," inquired Sarah, "do you blame that young Indian for taking my part against the crowd?"
"Ah! ah! but it isn't the first time the young fellow has crossed your path."
Fortunately for her, the maiden's face was covered by her mantilla, otherwise the evening shades would not have been deep enough to conceal the girl's flush of excitement from the inquisitive eye of the old domestic.
"But never mind the Indian now," continued the old ​crone; " I will keep my eye on that business. What troubles me most now is that rather than interrupt those Christians at their prayers, you should acutally stand still and wait while they knelt, and I really believe you were going to kneel too. Ah! señora, if your father were to know that I could allow you to insult your faith like that, he would not be long in sending me adrift."
The girl however, heard nothing of the reproof. The very mention of the Indian had turned her thoughts into a sweeter channel. She recalled what was to her a providential interference on her behalf, and could not divest herself of a belief that her deliverer was still not far behind, following in the shade. There was a certain fearlessness in her character that became her marvelously. Proud she was with the pride of a Spaniard, and if she felt her interest awakened by the young Indian, it was chiefly because he, too, was proud, and had not sought a glance of her eye as an acknowledgment for his protection.
In truth, she was not far wrong in her surmise that the Indian was not out of sight. After his interference in her defence, he had resolved to make her retreat entirely secure; and accordingly, when the observers were dispersed, he proceeded to follow her without being perceived.
A well-built man was Martin Paz, his figure being nobly set off by the costume that he wore as an Indian of the Mountains. Below the wide brim of his straw hat clustered massive locks of thick black hair which harmonized perfectly with his dark complexion. His eyes were at once brilliant and soft, and a well-formed nose rose above lips so small as to be quite rare in any of his race. He was of the lineage of the courageous Manco-Capac, and in his veins coursed the ardent blood that was capable of great achievements.
Martin Paz was attired in a poncho of many hues; from his girdle was suspended one of those Malay daggers which are ever formidable in a practiced hand, and seem to be welded to the arm that wields them. Had he been in North America, by the wild borders of Lake Ontario, he would, to a certainty, have been a chief of those wandering tribes who fought so heroically against their English foes.
Martin was quite aware not only that Sarah was the daughter of the wealthy Jew, but also, that she was ​betrottied to the rich half-breed, André Certa; he knew that her birth, her social position, and her fortune, alike prohibited her from ever having any relations with himself; but overlooking all impossibilities, he gave free license to his infatuation.
Plunged in his own reflections, he was hastening on his way, when he was suddenly accosted by two other Indians.
"Martin Paz," said one of them, "don't you intend to go to-night and meet our brothers in the mountains?"
"I shall be there," was Martin's curt reply.
"The schooner Annunciation," went on the other, " has been seen off the heights of Callao. No doubt she will land at the mouth of the Rimac, and our boats should be there to disembark her cargo. Come, you must!"
"I know my own duty," said Martin.
"We speak to you here in Sambo's name."
"Yes," said Martin, "and I answer you in my own."
"How shall we account for your being here in San Lazaro at this extraordinary hour of the night?"
"I go where I please," was the only answer.
"In front of the Jew's house, too!"
"Such of my brethren as are offended at it may meet me, and tell me of it this very night upon the hills."
The eyes of the three men flashed, but no more was said. The two retreated towards the bank of the Rimac, and the sound of their footsteps was soon lost in the distance.
Martin Paz had come quite alone to the residence of the Jew. Like all the houses in Lima it was only two stories high. The basement was built of bricks, and upon this was raised another story composed of plaited canes, plastered over and painted to match the walls below. This is a contrivance which is best adapted to resist the convulsions of the frequent earthquakes. The roof was flat, and being covered with flowers, it made a most fragrant and agreeable resort.
A broad gateway between two lodges gave access to a courtyard within, but according to the custom of the place, those lodges had no windows opening into the road. The church clock had struck eleven, and there was the deepest silence all around. And why is it that the Indian lingers here before the walls? Only because a dim shadow has been seen moving amidst those flowers, of which night ​only hides the form, without depriving them of their delightful odors.
With an involuntary impulse Martin lifts his hands in ardent admiration. The dim figure starts and shrinks away as if in terror. Martin Paz withdraws his gaze from the roof to find himself face to face with André Certa.
"And for how long have the Indians been accustomed to pass their nights thus?" asked André, hot with rage.
"Ever since Indians have trodden the soil of their ancestors," sternly answered Martin Paz, without moving an inch. André advanced towards him.
"Wretch!" he angrily exclaimed, "will you not leave the place?"
"No!" cried Martin Paz, and in an instant daggers flashed in the right hands of both. They were of equal height, and seemed of equal strength. Quickly André raised his arm, but still more quickly it dropped; his poignard had met that of his antagonist, and he fell to the ground wounded in the shoulder.
"Help, help!" he shouted.
The gate of the Jew's house was quickly opened. Some half-breeds ran out hastily from an adjacent building; a part of them set out in pursuit of the Indian, who had at once made off, while the others attended the wounded man.
"Who is he?" asked a bystander. "If he is a sailor, he had better be carried off to the Hospital of St. Esprit; if he is an Indian, let him be taken to St. Anne's."
But at this point an old man approached, and having given a glance at the wounded André, said, "Take him into my house!" and then muttered to himself, "what strange piece of business is this?"
It was Samuel the Jew, who had thus recognized in the wounded man the intended husband of his daughter.
Meanwhile Martin Paz, favored by the darkness of the night and by his own fleetness, succeeded in escaping the hot pursuit of those who followed him. He was flying for his life. Could he only reach the open country, he would be safe; but the gates of the town, which were closed every night at eleven, would not be opened until four.
He reached the bridge, which he had crossed not long before. The half-breeds, with some soldiers who had joined them, pressed him closely from behind; an armed ​guard made its appearance right in front. Martin, unable either to advance or to retreat, bounded over the parapet, and leaped into the rapid stream that was dashing along its rocky bed. The soldiers rushed to the bank below the bridge to catch the fugitive as he reached the shore; but their effort was in vain. Martin Paz was nowhere to be seen.
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