Authors: Mayne Reid
"What is it?" I asked, attracted to the conversation of my comrades.
"Chane says he heard a shot, and thinks it was Lincoln's," answered Clayley.
"His gun has a quare sound, Captain," said the Irishman, appealing to me. "It's diffirint intirely from a Mexican piece, and not like our own nayther. It's a way he has in loadin' it."
"Well-what of that?"
"Why, Raowl says one of them axed him who fired. Now, I heerd a shot, for my ear was close till the door here. It was beyant like; but I cud swear upon the blissed crass it was ayther the sargint's rifle or another as like it as two pays."
"It is very strange!" I muttered, half in soliloquy, for the same thought had occurred to myself.
"I saw the boy, Captain," said Raoul; "I saw him crossing when they opened the door."
"The boy!-what boy?" I asked.
"The same we brought out of the town."
"Ha! Narcisso!-you saw him?"
"Yes; and, if I'm not mistaken, the white mule that the old gentleman rode to camp. I think that the family is with the guerilla, and that accounts for our being still alive."
A new light flashed upon me. In the incidents of the last twenty hours I had never once thought of Narcisso. Now all was clear-clear as daylight. The zambo whom Lincoln had killed-poor victim!-was our friend, sent to warn us of danger; the dagger, Narcisso's-a token for us to trust him. The soft voice-the small hand thrust under the tapojo-yes, all were Narcisso's!
A web of mystery was torn to shreds in a single moment. The truth did not yield gratification. No-but the contrary. I was chagrined at the indifference exhibited in another quarter.
"She must know that I am here, since her brother is master of the fact- here, bleeding and bound. Yet where is her sympathy? She sleeps! She journeys within a few paces of me, where I am tied painfully; yet not a word of consolation. No! She is riding upon her soft cushion, or carried upon alitera , escorted, perhaps, by this accomplished villain, who plays the gallant cavalier upon my own barb! They converse together, perhaps of the poor captives in their train, and with jest and ridicule-he at least; andshe can hear it, and then fling herself into her soft hammock and sleep-sleep sweetly-calmly?"
These bitter reflections were interrupted. The door creaked once more upon its hinges. Half a dozen of our captors entered. Our blinds were put on, and we were carried out and mounted as before.
In a few minutes a bugle rang out, and the route was resumed.
We were carried up the stream bottom-a kind of glen, orCanada . We could feel by the cool shade and the echoes that we were travelling under heavy timber. The torrent roared in our ears, and the sound was not unpleasant. Twice or thrice we forded the stream, and sometimes left it, returning after having travelled a mile or so. This was to avoid thecanons , where there is no path by the water. We then ascended a long hill, and after reaching its summit commenced going downwards.
"I know this road well," said Raoul. "We are going down to the hacienda of Cenobio."
"Pardieu!" he continued. "I ought to know this hill!"
"For what reason?"
"First, Captain, because I have carried many abulto of cochineal and many a bale of smuggled tobacco over it; ay, and upon nights when my eyes were of as little service to me as they are at present."
"I thought that youcontrabandistas hardly needed the precaution of dark nights?"
"True, at times; but there were other times when the Government became lynx-eyed, and then smuggling was no joke. We had some sharp skirmishing.Sacre ! I have good cause to remember this very hill. I came near making a jump into purgatory from the other side of it."
"Ha! how was that?"
"Cenobio had got a large lot of cochineal from a crafty trader at Oaxaca. It wascached about two leagues from the hacienda in the hills, and a vessel was to drop into the mouth of the Medellin to take it on board.
"A party of us were engaged to carry it across to the coast; and, as the cargo was very valuable, we were all of us armed to the teeth, with orders from thepatrone to defend it at all hazards. His men were just the fellows who would obey that order, coming, as it did, from Cenobio.
"The Government somehow or other got wind of the affair, and slipped a strong detachment out of Vera Cruz in time to intercept us. We met them on the other side of this very hill, where a road strikes off towards Medellin."
"Well! and what followed?"
"Why, the battle lasted nearly an hour; and, after having lost half a score of their best men, the valiant lancers rode back to Vera Cruz quicker than they came out of it."
"And the smugglers?"
"Carried the goods safe on board. Three of them-poor fellows!-are lying not far off, and I came near sharing their luck. I have a lance-hole through my thigh, here, that pains me at this very moment."
My ear at this moment caught the sound of dogs barking hoarsely below. Horses of the cavalcade commenced neighing, answered by others from the adjacent fields, who recognised their old companions.
"It must be near night," I remarked to Raoul.
"I think, about sunset, Captain," rejoined he. "Itfeels about that time."
I could not help smiling. There was something ludicrous in my comrade's remark about "feeling" the sunset.
The barking of the dogs now ceased, and we could hear voices ahead welcoming the guerilleros.
The hoofs of our mules struck upon a hard pavement, and the sounds echoed as if under an arched way.
Our animals were presently halted, and we were unpacked and flung rudely down upon rough stones, like so many bundles of merchandise.
We lay for some minutes listening to the strange voices around. The neighing of horses, the barking and growling of dogs, the lowing of cattle, the shouts of the arrieros unpacking their mules, the clanking of sabres along the stone pavement, the tinkling of spurs, the laughter of men, and the voices of women-all were in our ears at once.
Two men approached us, conversing.
"They are of the party that escaped us at La Virgen. Two of them are officers."
"Chingaro! I got this at La Virgen, and a full half-mile off. 'Twas some black jugglery in their bullets. I hope thepatrone will hang the Yankee savages."
"Quien sabe?" (Who knows?) replied the first speaker. "Pinzon has been taken this morning at Puenta Moreno, with several others. They had a fandango with the Yankee dragoons. You know what the old man thinks of Pinzon. He'd sooner part with his wife."
"You think he will exchange them, then?"
"It is not unlikely."
"And yet he wouldn't trouble much if you or I had been taken. No-no; he'd let us be hanged like dogs!"
"Well; that's always the way, you know."
"I begin to get tired of him. By the Virgin! Jose, I've half a mind to slip off and join the Padre."
"Jarauta?"
"Yes; he's by the Bridge, with a brave set of Jarochos-some of our old comrades upon the Rio Grande among them. They are living at free quarters along the road, and having gay times of it, I hear. If Jarauta had taken these Yankees yesterday, the zopilote would have made his dinner upon them to-day."
"That's true," rejoined the other; "but come-let us un-blind the devils and give them their beans. It may be the last they'll ever eat."
With this consoling remark, Jose commenced unbuckling ourtapojos , and we once more looked upon the light. The brilliance at first dazzled us painfully, and it was some minutes before we could look steadily at the objects around us.
We had been thrown upon the pavement in the corner of thepatio -a large court, surrounded by massive walls and flat-roofed houses.
These buildings were low, single-storied, except the range in front, which contained the principal dwellings. The remaining three sides were occupied by stables, granaries, and quarters for the guerilleros and servants. A portale extended along the front range, and large vases, with shrubs and flowers, ornamented the balustrade. The portale was screened from the sun by curtains of bright-coloured cloth. These were partially drawn, and objects of elegant furniture appeared within.
Near the centre of the patio was a large fountain, boiling up into a reservoir of hewn mason-work; and around this fountain were clumps of orange-trees, their leaves in some places dropping down into the water. Various arms hung or leaned against the walls-guns, pistols, and sabres-and two small pieces of cannon, with their caissons and carriages, stood in a prominent position. In these we recognised our old acquaintances of La Virgen.
A long trough stretched across the patio, and out of this a double row of mules and mustangs were greedily eating maize. The saddle-tracks upon their steaming sides showed them to be the companions of our late wearisome journey.
Huge dogs lay basking upon the hot stones, growling at intervals as someone galloped in through the great doorway. Their broad jaws and tawny hides bespoke the Spanish bloodhound-the descendants of that race with which Cortez had harried the conquered Aztecs.
The guerilleros were seated or standing in groups around the fires, broiling jerked beef upon the points of their sabres. Some mended their saddles, or were wiping out an old carbine or a clumsy escopette. Some strutted around the yard, swinging their bright mangas, or trailing after them the picturesque serape. Women in rebozos and coloured skirts walked to and fro among the men.
The women carried jars filled with water. They knelt before smooth stones, and kneaded tortillas. They stirred chile and chocolate in earthen ollas. They cooked frijoles in flat pans; and amidst all these occupations they joked and laughed and chatted with the men.
Several men-officers, from their style of dress-came out of the portale, and, after delivering orders to the guerilleros on guard, returned to the house.
Packages of what appeared to be merchandise lay in one corner of the court. Around this were groups of arrieros, in their red leathern garments, securing their charge for the night, and laying out theiralparejas in long rows by the wall.
Over the opposite roofs-for our position was elevated-we could see the bright fields and forest, and far beyond, the Cofre de Perote and the undulating outlines of the Andes. Above all, the white-robed peak of Orizava rose up against the heavens like a pyramid of spotless snow.
The sun had gone down behind the mountains, but his rays still rested upon Orizava, bathing its cone with a yellow light, like a mantle of burnished gold. Clouds of red and white and purple hung like a glory upon his track, and, descending, rested upon the lower summits of the Cordillera. The peak of the "Burning Star" alone appeared above the clouds, towering in sublime and solitary grandeur.
There was a picturesque loveliness about the scene-an idea of sublimity-that caused me for the moment to forget where I was or that I was a captive. My dream was dispelled by the harsh voice of Jose, who at that moment came up with a couple of peons, carrying a large earthen dish that contained our supper.
This consisted of black beans, with half a dozen tortillas; but as we were all half-famished we did not offer any criticism on the quality of the viands. The dish was placed in our midst, and our arms were untied for the first time since our capture. There were neither knives, forks, nor spoons; but Raoul showed us the Mexican fashion of "eating our spoons", and, twisting up the tortillas, we scooped and swallowed "right ahead."
* * *
Night fell, and the blazing fagots threw their glare over the patio, striking upon objects picturesque at all times, but doubly so under the red light of the pine fires. The grouping of guerilleros-their broad, heavy hats, many of them plumed-their long black hair and pointed beards-their dark, flashing eyes-their teeth, fierce and white-the half-savage expression of their features-their costumes, high-coloured and wild-like-all combined in impressing us with strange feelings.
The mules, the mustangs, the dogs, the peons, the slippered wenches, with their coarse trailing tresses, the low roofs, the iron-barred windows, the orange-trees by the fountain, the palms hanging over the wall, the glistening cocuyos, were all strange sights to us.
The sounds that rang in our ears were not more familiar. Even the voices of the men, unlike the Saxon, sounded wild and sharp. It was the Spanish language, spoken in thepatois of the Aztec Indians. In this the guerilleros chatted, and sang, and swore. There was a medley of other sounds, not less strange to our ears, as the dogs howled and barked their bloodhound notes-as the mustangs neighed or the mules whinnied-as the heavy sabre clanked or the huge spur tinkled its tiny bells-as the poblanas (peasant-women), sitting by some group, touched the strings of their bandolons, and chanted their half-Indian songs.
By a blazing pile, close to where we sat, a party of guerilleros, with their women, were dancing thetagarota , a species of fandango.
Two men, seated upon raw-hide stools, strummed away upon a pair of bandolons, while a third pinched and pulled at the strings of an old guitar-all three aiding the music with their shrill, disagreeable voices.
The dancers formed the figure of a parallelogram, each standing opposite his partner, or rather moving, for they were never at rest, but kept constantly beating time with feet, head, and hands. The last they struck against their cheeks and thighs, and at intervals clapped them together.