Kitabı oku: «The Bandolero: or, A Marriage among the Mountains», sayfa 10
Chapter Thirty One.
Demonté
It had not yet reached the hour of midnight, as we left the Great National Road, and commenced moving up the mountain, – in a lateral though somewhat parallel course to that we had been following.
For a mile we marched along a path, where wheels might have passed at a pinch.
We could see by the starlight that there were some small settlements on each side, and one more conspicuous above, which we knew to be the hacienda of Buena Vista – famed as the spot where the best view can be had of the valley of Mexico. From this circumstance does the dwelling derive its name; and he who from its azotea can look downward, without having his soul stirred within him, must be incapable of romantic emotion.
On approaching from the coast – I mean Vera Cruz – it is here the traveller first obtains a good view (buena vista) of the world-renowned “Valle of Tenochtitlan;” here that he first comes within sight of the City of the Moctezumas.
Story-telling tourists can see it from the summit of the Sierra – looking through the long-leaved pines! Almost every one who has written a book about Mexico has made this plausible assertion.
But it must be remembered that these books have been mostly compiled after the travellers had returned home; and, in some instances to my knowledge, before they started out – not having started at all!
One and all have followed the first teller of the fictitious talc; who must have been sharper sighted than I. With tolerably good eyes – strengthened by a capital field glass – I could see no city of Mexico from the summit of the Sierra, nor from any part of its sloping declivity, through the dearest break the pine-forest afforded.
Considering the distance, it is not likely that I should. What I saw was the “Valle” itself – not a valley in our sense, but a wide plain; inclosing within its limits several isolated hills, that might almost be termed mountains; mottled with broad expanses of swamp, and sheets of clear water – the largest of these being Lakes Tezcoco and Chalco; here and there a white dot, showing the lime-washed walls of a hacienda, the keener sparkle of a church spire, or the glistening of an enamelled dome amidst the scattered huts of a pueblita.
All this you may see from the summit of the Cordillera; but not the towers of Tenochtitlan. Before you can distinguish these, you must descend – nearer and lower. You must look from the terrace where stands Buena Vista; or the plateau occupied by the “Venta” of Cordova.
When nearly abreast of the latter place, the road we were pursuing ran out, or rather into a bridle path; and my little troop had to stretch out into “twos.”
A mile farther on, and even this slender formation had to be changed to one still more extended. The path was only possible for “single file;” and into this we fell.
Another mile of marching, and it was not possible for cavalry, or horsemen of any kind. Only a pedestrian could pursue it, and he, too, one accustomed to climbing.
I muttered the command to halt, which had become indispensable. It was earned in sotto voce to the rear; and the horses, strung out for a hundred yards, came to a stand – one behind the other.
“There is no road beyond?” I said, interrogating the guide, who had squeezed up alongside of me.
“For horses, no. Only a footpath; an’ scace that eyther. Thar air a horse track further up; but it comes in from t’other side o’ the ridge – on the left. It strikes off o’ the National Road, close to the place whar the coach got stopped. Thet’s why I hev the suspicion the fellurs may be found at the house as lies up hyar.”
“But why have we not gone along the main road, and then taken that you speak of? We could have ridden on to the house?”
“No – not to the house. Thar’s a bit o’ it too – the last hundred yards or so – impossible for bosses.”
“Still it would have been better than to leave them here? I don’t like separating the men from their saddles – especially as we know nothing of the ground.”
“Thar’s another reezun for our not goin’ the other way,” pursued the guide, without replying to my remarks. “If I’d taken you by the road we might a made a mess o’ it.”
“How?”
“If they’re up at the big house there’ll be one o’ ’em on the watch down below – near the joinin’ o’ the roads. They allers keep a sentry there. He’d be sartin to a seen us – whereas, by comin’ this way, we may have a chance o’ stealin’ close to the shanty afore any o’ ’em sets eyes on us.”
“You propose that we dismount, then, and go forward afoot?”
“Thar’s no other way, cap’n.”
“How far is it to the house?”
“As to distance, nothin’; not over six hundred yards, I shed say. I’ve only been there once. It’s the steepness o’ the track that takes up the time.”
I did not much like the idea of dismounting my men, and leading them away from their horses. Not but that the individuals I had selected were equal to good fighting afoot; but it occurred to me that it was possible for us to have been seen, as we marched along the lower road – seen, too, by those who might have a fancy to follow us.
There were guérilleros along the mountain foot, as well as robbers in its ravines. In short, every peasant and small proprietor was at this time a partisan.
What if a band should get together, and come on after us? The capture of twenty American horses – without a blow struck to retain them – would have been a blow to me I should not easily have got over. It would have been the ruin of a military reputation, I had but just commenced making.
I dared not risk such a discomfiture; and I determined upon the men remaining by their horses.
I had no idea of abandoning the enterprise. That would have been a still greater disgrace. I but stayed to consider some plan of approach, involving less risk of a failure.
A few minutes spent in reflection, and a few more words exchanged with the stage-driver, helped me to what I conceived a better: the men to remain where they were; myself and the guide to go up the ravine alone, reconnoitre the house, and then take such measures as circumstances might suggest.
If we should find that the brigands were “abroad,” my troopers would be spared a toilsome ascent, and the chagrin of a disappointment. If “at home,” it might then be worth while to pay them a visit in full force.
The guide thought there would be no danger in our going alone – so long as we made our reconnoissance with proper caution. There was no scarcity of cover, both underwood and tall timber. In the event of our being perceived while making approach, we could fall back upon our friends, before much harm could be done to us. Should we be close pressed, the men could meet us half-way. I had the means of making them hear me at three times the distance.
I had no lieutenant with me – only my first sergeant, who had seen service in three out of the four quarters of the globe. Above all, he had “fit Injun, both in forest and prairie;” and could be trusted on an enterprise like that we had in hand.
Having arranged the signal in a whisper, and communicated to him such other instructions as occurred to me, I dismounted from my horse; and followed “Don Samuel Bruno” in the direction of the “shanty.”
The night was far from being a dark one. These are rare under the skies of Southern Mexico. There was no moon, but myriads of stars; and at a later hour the moon might be expected.
The atmosphere was tranquil – scarce a breath of air stirring the suspended leaves of the pines. The slightest sound could have been heard at a remarkable distance. We could distinguish the bleating of sheep on the plain below, and the screaming of wildfowl on the sedgy shores of Lake Chalco!
Less light, and more noise, would have answered our purpose better.
We ourselves made but little of the last. Though the path was steep, it was not so difficult of ascent – only here and there, as it extended from terrace to terrace by a more precipitous escarpment – and up these we were assisted by the shrubbery.
We had agreed to proceed by signs; or, when near enough, by whispers. We knew that the slightest sound might betray us.
At short intervals we stopped to obtain breath – less from actual exhaustion, than to keep down the noise of our heightened respiration.
At one place we made a more lengthened pause. It was upon a shelf-like terrace of some extent – where there were hoof-prints of horses, and other indications of a trodden path. My guide pointed them out – whispering to me, that it was the road of which he had spoken.
I bent down over the tracks. They were of recent date – made that very day. My prairie experience enabled me to tell this, despite the obscurity through which I scrutinised them. The “sign” promised well for the success of our enterprise.
Beyond, the road became opener and easier. For two or three hundred yards it trended along a horizontal level, and we could walk without strain.
The stage-driver silently preceded me – still going slowly, and without any abatement of caution.
I had time to reflect, as I followed him.
My thoughts were anything but cheerful. The gloomy canopy of the pines appeared to give a tinge to my spirit, and it became attuned to the sad sighing heard high up among their ancillae. The moaning of the great Mexican owl, as it glided past on soft silent wing, seemed meant only to mock me!
I had been under a half belief that I had forgotten Dolores Villa-Señor, or become indifferent to her existence. Vain hallucination! Idle, and I knew it now.
Long weary marches; sieges protracted; battles, and wounds therein received; even the coquetry of other eyes – wicked as hers – had not chased her image from my heart, or my memory. It was there still.
I could see her countenance before me – under the sombre shadow of the trees – plain as I saw the white-winged owls – soft as the weird wafting of their wings!
I had not forgotten her. In that hour I knew that I never should.
And while hastening to effect her rescue, I felt as if I could have gloated over her ruin – so steeped was my soul in chagrin – so brimful of black vengeance!
It was no chivalrous thought that was carrying me up the slopes of Ixticihuatl – only the hope of humiliating her, who had humiliated me!
I was aroused from my unworthy imaginings by the voice of Sam Brown, whispering close to my ear. His words were: —
“Don’t ye hear it, cap’n?”
“Hear what?”
“The music.”
“If you call the hooting of that horrid owl – ”
I stopped at a gesture from my guide. In the obscurity I could see his hand uplifted, his finger pointing upwards.
“Don’t ye hear somethin’ up that way?” he continued, “Thar’s the twang o’ a guitar, or one o’ them thar Mexikin bandoleens – as they call ’em. Hear that? Somebody laughin’! Hear that, too? If my ears haven’t lost thar hearin’, that ere’s the voice o’ a sheemale!”
The last remark secured my attention. I listened – as if expecting to hear a summons of life or death!
There was the twang of a stringed instrument – harp or guitar, bandolon or jarana. There was a voice – a man’s voice – and the instant after a series soft tones, with that metallic ring that can only proceed from the feminine throat.
“Yes,” I assented, mechanically, “there’s music there!”
“Moren’ that, cap’n! Thar’s dancin’.”
Again I listened.
Certainly there was the pattering of feet over a floor – with motion timed to the music – now and then a pause – a laugh or an exclamation – all betokening a scene of enjoyment!
“It’s the exact direckshin o’ the shanty,” whispered Sam. “They must be in it. Thar’s somethin’ goin’ on, hear that? There’s a bust! Darn me, if they hain’t got a fandango!”
It was an increased swelling in the sound that had called forth this exclamatory language. A violin had joined its continuous strain to the throbbing of the jarana; and several voices appeared to take part in the conversation, which was carried on during the intervals of the music.
There appeared to be nothing boisterous – no riot or roystering – only such sounds as might be made by a party of pleasure-seekers engaged in a picnic, or dia de campo– the chief difference being that it was in the night!
Certainly the sounds were not such, as I should have expected to proceed from a band of brigands engaged in an interlude of festivity.
“It’s them!” whispered the driver of the diligencia – a better judge of brigand music than myself. “The very chaps we’re in search o’. They’re doin’ a little bit o’ divartin; an’, cuss me, cap’n, ef I don’t b’lieve that them two gurls is joinin’ willinly in the spree!”
I answered his speech only in thought. And a fell, fearful thought it was.
“Dolores Villa-Señor not forced by cruel circumstances, but voluntarily assisting at a carnival of salteadores!”
All thoughts of strategy were chased out of my mind. Even prudence for the time forsook me. The remembrance of the past – the morbid imaginings of the present – alike maddened me.
She upon whom I had fixed my affections – high and holy – the toy of a robber-chief! Worse still; herself wanton and willing!
“Go on!” I said, grasping my guide by the arm; “on to the house! Let us see what it means. On, on! There’s no danger. In ten minutes I can call my men around me; and if need be, we can run back to them. On! on! I must see with my own eyes, if she can be so degraded!”
Without altogether comprehending why, Sam Brown saw that I was determined on advancing; and, yielding to my impulsive command, once more led the way.
Chapter Thirty Two.
Paradise from the Pillory
Another terrace was ascended; and before us stood the house – a massive structure of quadrangular shape only one story in height, but surmounted by an azotea with a parapet running around it.
It was placed upon a platform of limited extent; backed by a precipitous slope, of which the platform was the base; and flanked by two cliffs that scarped off in the opposite direction – downward.
What might be called the gables of the dwelling were flush with the flanking cliffs; but between its rear and the ascending slope was an inclosed space – forming a corral, or courtyard.
Its façade lay towards the smooth space in front; that declined gently from the walls, like the glacis of a fortification.
A better site for defence could scarcely have been chosen. No foe could advance by either flank; and an attacking party from the front would be exposed while crossing the open ground. The place might be more successfully assailed from the rear – by an enemy coming over the top of the sierra.
The idea of defence could not have been entertained. On the Indian frontier, yes; but in the valley of Mexico – tranquil since the time of Moctezuma – there had been no fighting. The structure could have nothing to do with the revolutionary era. It was too ancient for that.
It was difficult to understand why such a dwelling had been erected in such a place. It could not be an agricultural establishment: there was no arable land within reach. Nor yet a hacienda de ganados: since there was no pasture upon the pine-covered slopes that surrounded it.
Had it been built by the monks? Perhaps by some eccentric recluse, who had chosen the site, for the purpose of contemplating civilisation, without being disturbed by it?
These thoughts were things of an after-time; when, upon an excursion of curiosity, I made myself better acquainted with the topography of the place.
All that I saw then – as we were making our stealthy approach – was a block of dark mason work, with a still darker disc in the centre indicating the entrance door; and on each side of this a large window, from which a stream of light was escaping.
The ground in front had the look of a ruined garden – overgrown with rank grass, and here and there some clumps of shrubbery run wild.
Among these we made our approach – taking care to keep clear of the two bands of yellow light diverging from the windows. Both were mere apertures without glass; defended, as in all Mexican houses, by strong iron bars rising vertically from the sill.
There was neither blind nor curtain, to obstruct the passage of the light outward, or the view inward.
After a few seconds spent in skulking across the lawn, we succeeded in placing ourselves within good viewing distance of one of the windows.
Inside we could see a table set with the paraphernalia of a feast. It appeared a rude piece of furniture; as did also the chairs that stood around it. So, also, were the plates, dishes, and drinking vessels that covered it: though in these we could perceive a grotesque commingling of the cheap and costly.
Common earthenware ollas, and carved bowls of calabash, stood side by side with goblets of silver, and bottles, whose tapering necks told of claret and champagne!
Tall wax candles, that looked as if they had been moulded for the service of the Church, were suspended in chandeliers of the pitahaya cactus, or held in cleft sticks – themselves stuck into the interstices of the slab table!
Only the drink had been as yet brought upon the board; though the meats could be scented from the cocina; while several brown-skinned, leathern-clad, “muchachos” were moving to and fro, with a hurried empressement that showed they were setting the supper.
It was evident that the two windows were in different apartments; the one opposite us being the sala de comida, or dining-room.
It was the sala grande, or drawing-room, I most desired to look into.
Not to listen to the music, or become a spectator to the dancing. Both had ceased some time before; and in their place we could now hear only a single voice – that of a man, who seemed to be speaking in a tone measured and solemn!
It required some strategy to get into position for looking through the second window. But it was worth the effort.
From the grand preparations in the dining-room, there should be corresponding company in the drawing-room? Was its quality alike heterogeneous?
As yet we could not tell. A ruined pile, that had once been a sort of portico, extended between the two windows – overshadowing the doorway. It hindered us from obtaining a view of the second.
We had been kneeling among rhododendrons – a clump of which grew near the dining-room window. There were none in front of the drawing-room; but instead, an enormous aloe – the maguey of Mexico. Once to rearward of it, and screened by its broad blades, we should be in an excellent place for observation.
The question was how to get there, without being ourselves observed. The ground between the rhododendrons and the “pulque plant” was a smooth piece of turf, without shrub or tree. On this the two bands of light – widening as they went out from the windows – became commingled.
To have crossed from one side to the other would have been to expose ourselves under a light, clear almost as day.
We did not so much fear being seen by those within the sala grande. Their preoccupation – sport, or whatever was going on – would hinder them from looking forth.
But while crouching among the “rose trees” we had noticed that the great gate was open; and in the faint light that fell straggling across the saguan– a little brighter in the patio behind – we could see the dark-skinned domestics flitting to and fro with the supper dishes – like spectres engaged in the preparation of some infernal feast!
Some of these standing in the saguan, or loitering by the outside entrance, might observe us while crossing?
We dared not risk it. The exposure would be too great. Should we attempt to cross there would be scarce a chance to escape detection.
There was only one other course: to steal back down the lawn, cross over through the fainter light, and return along the edge of the other cliff. What a pity we had not taken this route at first!
I was loth to lose the time, but there was no help for it. To have saved it, by going direct, might have resulted in the loss of our lives; or, at all events, in disaster to our expedition.
Ten minutes more, and we stood behind the maguey.
Parting its spinous leaves, and passing in between them, we obtained the desired standpoint.
As I have said, the music had ceased, as also the conversation and laughter. All three had been hushed for some time – having come to a stop while we were skulking among the rhododendrons.
We supposed at first, that supper had been announced to the company in the sala grande, and we might soon see them in the sala de comida.
Although the preparations did not appear complete, we should have stayed to await the going in of the guests – but for what we heard from the other apartment.
The sounds of merriment, abruptly brought to an end, had been succeeded by the solitary voice. It was that of a man, who appeared to speak in slow measured tones – as if addressing himself to an audience.
We could hear him all the time we were changing place; and his harangue was still going on, as we came into cover among the fronds of the pulque plant.
The first glance through these explained everything – why the music had ceased, and the laughter been restrained.
Inside the sala a ceremony was progressing, that, under the circumstances, might well be termed solemn. It was the ceremonial of a marriage!
A monk, whose robe of bluish grey proclaimed him of the order of San Francisco, was standing near the middle of the floor. I mention him first, as he was the first to come under my eye.
He held a book in his hand; and was reading from it the ritual of marriage – according to the Romish Church.
My eyes did not dwell upon him for a single second. They went in search of the bride, and bridegroom.
A little shifting among the leaves brought me face to face with the latter. Imagine my astonishment on beholding Francisco Moreno!
It was scarcely increased when I obtained a view of the bride. A presentiment – sad, almost stifling – had prepared me for seeing Dolores Villa-Señor. It was she!
I could not see her face. She was standing with her back towards the window. Besides, a white scarf, thrown loosely over her crown, and draping down to her waist, hindered even a side view of it.
There could be no doubt about its being Dolores. There was no mistaking that magnificent form – even when seen en detras. She it was, standing at the altar!
A wide space separated the bridegroom from the bride. I could not tell who, or what, was between. It appeared a little odd; but I supposed it might be the fashion of the country.
Behind him were other figures – all men – all in costumes that proclaimed a peculiar calling. They were brigands. Francisco only differed from the rest in being more splendidly attired. But then he was their chief!
I had been puzzled – a little pained – by some speeches he had let fall during our intercourse in the City of the Angels. How gentle had been his reproaches, and tolerant his condemnation, of Carrasco! As a rival, not as a robber, he had shown indignation against the ci-devant captain of Santa Anna!
What I now saw explained all. Don Eusebio had spoken only of probabilities, when he said that Moreno might be a bandit. Had he known the real truth regarding this aspirant to his daughter’s hand, he might have been excused for his design to shut her up in a convent.
The bride was willing; there could be no doubt of it. I remembered what the stage-driver had told me, of her tripping off so lightly among the trees, her present behaviour confirmed it. Even in that solemn hour, I fancied that she was gay. I could not see the face; but there was a free, nonchalant carriage of the head, and a coy vibration of the scarf that covered it, very different from the staid, drooping attitude that denotes compulsion. On the contrary, she appeared contented – trembling only with joy!
It would be vain to attempt a description of my own feelings. For the time, a statue set among the shrubbery could not have been more motionless than I. I stood rigid as the fronds of the aloe around me, – my gaze steadfastly fixed upon the spectacle passing inside. I began to fancy it a dream!
But, no! There was the bride and the bridegroom; and the monk, in dull monotone still reciting from his book!
And now I could hear the promise to “love, honour, and cherish,” and the responsive vow to “love, honour, and obey” – all after the formula of the Catholic faith.
Oh! it was no dream, but a hellish, heart-rending reality!
The woman who had won my heart – whom for six months I had been vainly endeavouring to forget – was before my eyes, surrounded by a band of brigands – not their captive, but the bride of their chief – freely consenting to the sacrifice!
“Otra cosa de Mexico!”
