Kitabı oku: «The Bandolero: or, A Marriage among the Mountains», sayfa 11
Chapter Thirty Three.
A Rude Interruption
“Otra cosa de Mexico!”
Another strange occurrence of Mexico; if not the most incomprehensible, certainly the most painful, that had yet come under my cognisance: for it related to myself – the black, bitter part of it.
Words will not convey the state of my mind, as I stood regarding the group inside. I could not move – either to advance, or go back. I could scarce get breath. My heart felt as if compressed under a heavy weight, never more to be removed. It was undergoing its maximum of misery.
My feelings can only be understood by one, who has had the misfortune to pass through a like ordeal. He who has bestowed his affections upon some high-born beauty may feel chagrin, on discovering that they are not returned. It will be deepened by the knowledge, that another has won the wished-for prize. Still is there solace, however slight, in the reflection: that the preference has been given to one worthy, whose fortune has been more favourable.
When otherwise – when the preferred rival is worthless, socially or morally, then is the humiliation complete – overwhelming. It is self-love stung to the quick.
Such a humiliation was I called upon to suffer.
With all my pretensions of pride – a conceit in the possession of certain superiorities, mental as well as physical; courage, talent, strength, activity; a position not humble; a reputation each day increasing; with, and in spite of all these, I saw that my suit had been slighted, and the favour I coveted more than aught upon earth, bestowed upon another.
And who that other? A bandolero! A robber!
It was the very wantonness of woe that swept over my heart, whelming it with terrible desolation!
I stood like a stranded ship with the huge seas breaking over her. Waves of passion rushed impetuously through my breast, black as the billows of the storm-contorted ocean.
The spectacle, while stirring me to anger, at the same time kept me fixed to the spot. I made no movement – either forward or backward. I felt paralysed with a passion, such as I hope I may never feel again. The world seemed full of woe!
For a time I was unable to reflect. My thoughts were but instincts, now woeful, now wicked – now despairing, now tending to resolves.
One a little nobler at length took possession of me. My own fate was sealed; but not that of Dolores Villa-Señor – which to me seemed equally dark, and drear. Was it possible to save her?
I had not heard those mystic words that rivet the golden chain of wedlock, “With this ring I thee wed.” The shining symbol had not yet appeared upon her finger.
There was still time to interrupt the ceremony. A single breath into the silver tube, that hung suspended over my breast, would stay it; and, before it could be resumed, the green jackets would be around me.
It was no thought of danger that withheld me from sounding that signal. I was too unhappy to have a feeling of fear; too reckless to care a straw for any consequences to myself. At that moment I could have rushed into the presence of the bridal group, and defied one and all to the death!
It was neither caution, nor a craven spirit, that restrained me; but an instinct more ignoble than either – an instinct of revenge.
Dolores had adopted her destiny. However dark it might prove, it was not for me to attempt turning it aside. She would not thank me for saving her. Sweeter would be my triumph to show her the man she had chosen for husband, in my power – a scorned captive at my feet.
So ran my ungenerous reflections.
“Let the marriage go on!” I muttered to him by my side. “She shall be wed, and – widowed!”
In all my life I never felt so spitefully cruel – so desirous of retaliation. Every spark of chivalric thought had departed from my soul.
The imperturbable Yankee made no reply. The scene inside seemed to be absorbing all his attention – as it was my own. Far different his interpretation of it. With him it was simple conjecture. He little suspected the knowledge I possessed, or the dread interest stirring within me.
We remained in the maguey, to await the conclusion of the ceremony.
We saw the ring glancing between the fingers of the bridegroom. But it came not in contact with those of the bride. Before that critical moment arrived, a change – quick as the transformation in a pantomime – terrible as the passage from calm to tropic storm – from life to death – went sweeping over the scene!
A phalanx of dark forms rushed past the spot where we were crouching. They were human – but so silent in their movements – so weird-like under the wan light – as to appear spectral!
They could not be phantoms. One or two of them touched the tips of the plant in passing, causing its elastic blades to rebound backwards. They were forms of flesh, blood, and humanity; animated by the spirit of fiends – as in another instant they proved themselves.
We saw them by a rapid rush precipitate themselves into the open doorway – a few scattering along the façade, and taking stand by the windows.
We saw the glittering of armour. We saw spears and machetés thrust through the iron bars. We heard the cocking of carbines, and the rude summons to surrender – followed by menaces of murder!
There was a short scuffle in the saguan, and the courtyard behind it; and then there were death groans, proceeding from the domestics, who fell stabbed upon the stones!
The two apartments appeared to be simultaneously entered. Dark shadowy forms flitted through the dining-room; but in the other the shadows were darker.
There was a rushing to and fro – a changing of places – not as in a kaleidoscope, but in crowded confusion. There was screaming of women – shouting of men – threats and curses – followed by pistol reports; and, what made the fracas still more infernal, an occasional peal of diabolical laughter!
Only for a short while did this continue; so short, that I scarce believed in its reality till it was all over!
Almost at its commencement the lights in both rooms had been extinguished; but whether by chance, or design, it was impossible for us to tell.
What occurred afterwards we knew only by hearing, or from glimpses afforded by the occasional flashing of firearms.
Though there was loud talking all the while that the strife continued – with exclamations, every other one an oath – we heard nothing to give a clue to it.
Nor did we find any explanation in what followed. We could only tell, that the conflict had come to an end; that it was succeeded by the shuffling of footsteps across the paved patio, gradually retiring to the rear, and at length heard ascending the precipitous pine-covered slope that soared darkly above the dwelling!
As they rose higher, they grew fainter; until the only sounds distinguishable were the moanings of the Mexican owl, the hissing of the cascade below, and the sighing of the mountain breeze among the tops of the tall pine-trees.
Chapter Thirty Four.
Padre Cornaga
Astonishment still held me speechless, as it did my companion – motionless, too, as the maguey leaves, radiating around us.
Had I known the real signification of what had just transpired, I might have acted with more promptitude, and ten times the energy.
As it was, I felt like one slowly recovering from a state of torpidity – from an ill-digested dream!
“What does it all mean?” I inquired of the stage-driver, without stirring from my place.
“Darn’d if I know, cap’n; ’cept it air one band o’ robbers that’s attackted the t’other, and stripped ’em of their spoils. The conq’rors ’pear to be clean gone away, an’ hev took the weemen too! They’ve sloped off on t’other side o’ the shanty. I kin hear ’em yet, making their way up the mountain! Thar’s a path there; tho’ it ain’t so easy to climb. I reck’n they’ve gone up it, toatin up the gurls along wi’ ’em. The reezun they ain’t still screechin’ is, they’ve got ’em eyther gagged, or tapado.”
“Tapado?”
“Yes; muffled up – thar faces covered wi’ something – to hinder them from seeing their way, or singin’ out. They only do it, when the weemen show refactory.”
What mattered it to me? What mattered, whether Dolores Villa-Señor was the wife of one robber, or the mistress of another? Why should I care now? She could never be mine!
I stepped out from among the leaves – leisurely, as one who has no motive for making haste. There was a cold pain at my heart; a callous indifference to the fate of her who had caused it. She was welcome to go higher – to the summit of the mountain she had selected as the scene of her nuptials.
It was Ixticihuatl on whose slope we stood. The “White Sister” could be seen through the clear starlight above, reposing in spotless vestments. How different from the robe of Dolores!
“Let her go!” was my unchivalric reflection. “She has made her own bed: let her lie upon it!”
It was not for the purpose of pursuing – at all events not with any thought of rescuing her – that I placed the call to my lips, and sounded the signal for my men.
In less than five minutes the “Rifles” were around me – their green jackets distinguishable under the brilliant beams of the moon – that on the instant sailed suddenly into sight.
On hearing the shots, and other sounds of strife, they had commenced moving up the mountain-path. Hence the promptness of their appearance.
Selecting half a dozen of them, I stepped straight into the doorway of the house. We entered without opposition – groping our way through the saguan.
Inside all was darkness; though we could tell that the place was still tenanted, – by the groans that proceeded from the adjacent chamber.
A light was struck; and we commenced exploring the apartments. In the dining-room there was no one – a banquet spread – but without guest to partake of it!
We turned into the sala grande– from whence proceeded the lugubrious sounds.
The scene – so late one of merriment – was now a spectacle of death!
Two men were lying along the floor. One might have been supposed asleep: as he lay quite silent. But a red rivulet, trickling from its source underneath him, and terminating on the tiles in a pool of blood – told that it was the silence of death.
The other, also surrounded by seams of smoking gore, still lived and moved. It was he who was making moan.
On stooping over him, I recognised the features of Francisco Moreno. They were still handsome, though terribly distorted by his struggle, as I supposed, with death.
It was no use asking an explanation from him. I saw that he did not know me!
There was a thought in my mind at the moment – an unsanctified thought. A rival had been removed from my path. Francisco Moreno was no longer in my way!
But it could not matter now. The relief had come too late!
“Hilloa, what’s this?” exclaimed one of the men, poking his rifle under the banquette, and pressing it against what appeared a large bundle done up in Kentucky jeans. “By the Almighty, it’s a monk!”
“You’re right, caballero,” answered a voice, from under the envelope of grey-blue serge, which, on closer inspection, proved to be the gown of a Franciscan friar.
“A monk I am – at your service, caballeros. Sangre de Crista! It’s the merest, accident that I’m a living one. O, señores; I perceive that you are hombres buenos; and that the ladrones have retreated at your approach. Say that they are gone; and that I need have no further fear?”
“Two on ’em haint gone fur,” replied the stage-driver; “thar they lie – right afore yur eyes, Padre Cornaga.”
“Ah! you know me, good sir? Santissima, it’s the driver of the diligencia– the worthy Don Samuel Bruno! What! these robbers? Por Dios, no! They are gentlemen!”
“A queery kind o’ gentlemen, I reckin’.”
“’Tis true as I say it, Señor Don Samuel. Caballeros – hombres honestos– both these unfortunate young men. Ay de mi!” added the monk, stooping down over one of the prostrate forms. “This is the son of our Juez de Letras (judge of the Criminal court). Many a robber have I shrived after sentence passed by his honoured father. And this,” he continued, turning to Francisco, “Ah! señores, this is the bridegroom himself —asesinado– in the presence of his bride, and under the sacred shadow of the altar, that should have protected him from anything! Pobre Dolores! Pobre Dolores!”
“It is the name of a lady. How came she to be here? You say these men are not robbers – what are they?”
“Oh, señor capitan! – for I perceive you are the chief – it is a strange story. Shall I tell it to you?”
“As you please about that. I came here to capture a gang of ladrones; or kill them, if need be. I only want to know which are the thieves, and which the honest men. There does not appear to be any great difference between them?”
“O caballero! why should you say that? Surely you do not mistake the honourable capitan Moreno for a salteador? A worthy young gentleman who but ten minutes ago was standing up to be wedded to one of the fairest and most Christian ladies in our good city of Puebla – the daughter of Don Eusebio – ”
“Villa-Señor. I know all that. But how came it to pass? Why was the ceremony here? Why not in her father’s house?”
“You astonish me, señor! What can you know?”
“Never mind what. Tell me, I entreat – I command you – how it is that this marriage – interrupted as I perceive it has been – was taking place here – among the mountains?”
“Señor capitan; you are welcome to know all. Alas! there is now no reason for keeping the scheme concealed.”
“A scheme! There was a scheme?”
“Si, señor! It was contrived between the young people themselves. Don Eusebio was against their being united – so much, that to prevent it he was taking his daughter to a convent – that of La Concepcion, in the capital; which I may be permitted to say to you, a stranger, is the most fashionable of our nunneries. Pobre Dolores! Can you blame her for using means to escape from such a fate? Even I, a religio, do not scruple to say it was wrong. To think of immuring such a fair creature within the dull walls of a cloister!”
“I acknowledge to having been in the confidence of the amantes; and even assisted them to contrive their little scheme; which, alas! has proved so unsuccessful. Ah, worse than that: since it has brought ruin to all engaged in it!”
“What was it?” I asked, impatiently, having but slight sympathy with the regrets of the priest.
“Well, señor, it was this. The gallant youth whom you see there – alas, I fear the victim of his gallantry – with half a dozen of his friends, disguised as salteadores, were to capture the diligencia, and gain possession of the Señorita Dolores, – as also of her sister who accompanied her; another lady as fair – some say fairer – than she; and, with all respect to the gentle Dolores, I am myself of this opinion.
“Need I say that the plan so far was eminently successful?
“Pues, señor! It had been arranged that I was to be one of the travelling party; which, from my office of sacristan to the family of the Señor Don Eusebio, was easily brought about. I too was to be taken prisoner by the sham bandits!
“Pues señor! There was to be a marriage – without Don Eusebio’s consent. It was in the act of being solemnised. Jesu Cristo! what a termination! There lies the bridegroom. Where is the bride? Where her sister Mercedes? Ah, señor! you should see Mercedes —una cosa muy linda– the fairest thing in all the city of Puebla!”
“Excepting Dolores.”
The words went forth with a purely mechanical effort. I was in no mood for playing champion to charms never to be enjoyed by me.
“The robbery of the diligencia was a ruse, then?”
“Si, señor. Una engaña. A little stratagem of Don Francisco and his friends.”
“I thort thar was somethin’ queery beout it,” remarked the stage-driver.
“But what meant the ransom – the ten thousand dollars?” I asked.
“Ay Dios, señor capitan, that was part of the plot. Don Eusebio is muy rico– very rich indeed. For all that he is perhaps a little parsimonious. The young people knew that they would need money to commence housekeeping; and as it might be a long time, before the worthy parent would relent and grant them forgiveness, they thought it might be as well to borrow it from him in that way. Santissima! it has been a mistake – all, all! Oh, señores! you will not betray me? If it becomes known that I was a willing actor in this sad affair, I would not only lose the lucrative situation I hold in Don Eusebio’s family, but perhaps also my gown. Dios de mi alma!”
“My good padre,” I answered somewhat unmannerly, “we have no time to trouble ourselves about your future. We wish you to give some further explanation of the present. The marriage ceremony you speak of was interrupted. We know that. But why, and by whom?”
“Robbers, señor – real robbers! Salteadores del camino grande!”
This was an answer to both my questions. The monk on perceiving it, offered no further explanation.
“Their sole motive was plunder, I suppose?”
“Ah, señor, I wish I could think so!”
“You believe they had some other object?”
“Alas! yes. Look there, caballero!”
The priest pointed to the dead body of the young man, whom he had represented as the son of the Juez de Letras. He was lying with face upwards. I could see upon his breast the sparkle of gold – the guard-chain of a watch – and inside the vest a shape showing that the watch was itself there!
“This is strange,” I said. “Are you sure they were regular robbers who did this?”
“Sure – sure!” replied the padre, with a melancholy shake of the head. “Too sure, caballero. ’Tis true they wore masks, and I could not see their faces. But I heard a name that told me all. I heard it as they passed out, carrying the muchachas along with them.”
“What name?” I asked, with a painful presentiment.
“Ah, señor capitan; one too well known upon these roads.”
“Carrasco?” I half shouted, without waiting for the padre to pronounce it.
“Ay Dios, señor! You know everything! That is the name. I heard it from one of his followers, who spoke to him as they hurried off in the darkness. The robber-chief who has done this foul deed is the noted captain Carrasco! Pobres niñas!”
Chapter Thirty Five.
Sad but Sweet
I waited for no further explanation on the part of the Franciscan.
I fancied I now understood the situation, as well as he – perhaps better.
With the thought of Dolores in the keeping of common brigands, I should have been, if not content, certainly less tortured. It was a different thing to think of her in the keeping of Torreano Carrasco!
Vividly flashed before me the taunting in the Cathedral – the scenes in the “Street of the Sparrows.”
“Make ready, men! Look to your rifles and revolvers! Sergeant! form in single file, for a march up the mountain-path!”
As he of the triple chevron hastened to execute the order, I turned towards Francisco Moreno.
With an indescribable emotion, I bent down over the wounded man.
At a glance I could see that he had been badly abused.
In addition to several stabs from sword or poignard, the bullet of an escopette had traversed his left thigh – the purple spot appearing right over the femoral artery!
I had myself received just such a shot at the storming of Chapultepec – creasing, but, fortunately, without cutting the vein; and I knew, that if this had been opened in the thigh of Francisco Moreno it was his life-blood I saw upon the floor.
Its quantity, and the deathlike paleness of his face, were points for a sad prognosis.
In a double sense the spectacle gave me pain. In the finely-chiselled features – more perfect in their pallor – I saw that which had deprived me of Dolores Villa-Señor. No wonder she loved him!
But he was going from this world, and my jealousy should go with him.
It went at once, hastened by thoughts of Carrasco; and my first friendship for Francisco Moreno was restored in all its strength.
I looked around the room. There was no furniture, except such as appeared to have been transported thither for the occasion. I stepped into a small chamber adjoining. In this I discovered a catre, or camp-bedstead of leather, stretched upon trestles. Some shawls, scarfs, and other articles of female apparel thrown over it, told of its intended occupancy. It was to have been the bridal bed!
I had the bridegroom placed upon it; to receive the embrace, not of Dolores, but Death!
After a cursory examination of his wounds, I conceived a more hopeful opinion of them. The haemorrhage had been profuse. Still the main artery did not appear to be touched.
He was feeble as a child; and stood in need of some restorative.
I could think only of that which, under circumstances strangely analogous, had given support to myself – a draught of Catalan. My flask was full of refino– the best that could be obtained in the Capital.
I placed it between his lips; and poured down a portion of its contents.
The effect was such as I anticipated – drawing from my own remembrance. The spirit passed immediately through his frame – filling his veins as with fresh blood.
He soon became conscious: he recognised me.
“Ah, señor!” said he, looking gratefully in my face, “It is you – you who are doing me this kindness! Oh! tell me, where is she – Dolores – my own Dolores – my bride – my wife? Ah – no – she was not yet that? But where – where – ”
“Do not disquiet yourself about her,” I said, with a bitterness that even his sufferings could not hinder me from showing. “No doubt she can take care of herself.”
“But where is she? O señor! tell me where!”
“Compose yourself, Don Francisco. The lady cannot yet be far off. I fancy I shall be able to overtake the scoundrels who have carried her away.”
“They have carried her away? O God! carried away, by him – by him!”
“By whom?”
It was an idle interrogatory. I knew without asking. There was a voice still ringing in my ears – a voice I had distinguished through the din of the strife, and which even then I fancied having heard before. I now knew it was no fancy. The friar had convinced me of that.
“That wretch, Carrasco!” replied the wounded man; “I am sure it was he. I recognised him despite the crape mask. Lola, Lola! you are lost! And still more Mercedes! pobre Mercedes!”
I did not press for an explanation of this speech, that sounded so ambiguously strange. I only said in reply:
“Señor Moreno, do not excite yourself. Leave the matter in my hands. My duty compels me to use every effort in recovering these ladies, and punishing the vile caitiffs who have carried them off. Have no fear about my doing what I can. If fate wills it, your Dolores shall be restored to you.”
“Thanks, thanks, señor! I feel assured you will do what can be done. If not for Dolores, you should for the sake of her sister.”
“Her sister! What mean you by that speech, captain Moreno?”
“Ah, caballero! if you but knew how she loves you!”
“Loves me!”
“Ay. It was in the hope of seeing you, that she consented to assist in a stratagem, of which I need not tell you now. It was to end by our going on to the Capital; where, since the storming of Chapultepec, she knew you have been residing. She heard of your gallant behaviour in that sanguinary action, and of the dangerous wounds you received. You cannot guess how she grieved for you – despite her chagrin. Pobre Mercedes!”
“Mercedes – grieved – chagrin! You mystify me.”
“Ah, señor – your conduct mystified her. Ay more: it half broke her heart.”
“Francisco Moreno! for heaven’s sake explain yourself! What does all this mean – about Mercedes? Pray tell me!”
“I can tell you little, but what should be known to yourself. Pobre niña! She had made me her confidant, – having long been mine in my correspondence with Lola. O, señor! you have been kind to me. You are doubly so now. But why have you behaved so to Mercedes? Though I may never rise from this couch, I cannot help telling you it was dishonourable, – ay cruel!”
“On what occasion, may I ask, has this cruelty occurred?”
“You are mocking me, amigo? You must remember it. She gave you an appointment in the Alameda; and though you came, and she saw you, you went away without waiting to speak to her. After that slight she never saw you again! To win a woman’s heart, and thus trifle with it! Was it not cruel? I ask, was it not cruel?”
An overpowering surprise hindered me from making reply. There was something more to account for my remaining silent. Through the darkness long shrouding my soul, I discerned the dawning of day.
“You cannot have forgotten the occasion?” continued the wounded man, still speaking reproachfully, “I myself have reason to remember it: since it brought me a message from Lola – the sweetest ever received from my querida. It was a written promise to be mine; a vow registered en papel: that sooner than enter the convent she would consent —huyar – huyar. You know what that means?”
Though I well understood the significance of the phrase, I was not in a state of mind to answer the interrogatory. I had one of my own to put – to me of far more importance.
“You received your letter through the window of a carriage? Was it not the writer herself who delivered it?”
“Por Dios, no! The billetita you speak of was from Dolores. She who gave it me was Mercedes!”
I felt like folding Francisco Moreno in my friendliest embrace. I could have stayed by his bedside to nurse him, or, what was then more likely, to close his eyelids in death!
I could have canonised him for the words he had spoken. To me they had imparted new life – along with a determination, that soon absorbed every impulse of my soul.
I need not tell what it was. In less time than it would take to declare it, I was scaling the steeps of Ixticihuatl in search of my lost love – once more, Mercedes!
