Chapter Forty Seven.A Decoy Sentry.On the same evening while the besieged were celebrating mass in the Piazza of Huajapam, other scenes were occurring not many leagues distant. Behind the chain of hills which bounded the plain of Huajapam, and in the rear of the Royalist encampment, a third army had suddenly made its appearance—though still invisible to the Spanish sentries. Morelos, true to his promise, with a thousand soldiers under his command, was hastening forward to the relief of Trujano. These were all the regular troops at his disposal; as he had been compelled to leave a strong garrison in the town of Chilapa, which he had also recently taken from the Royalists.Besides his regulars, however, he was accompanied by a large force of Indians, armed with bows and slings.At a short distance behind the General-in-chief, the Marshal Galeana and Captain Don Cornelio Lantejas were riding side by side.Notwithstanding the distinguished position which he held in the insurgent army, the ci-devant student of theology seemed ill at ease. Some secret grief was troubling his spirit.“The General is quite right in refusing you leave of absence,” said Galeana. “A brave and experienced officer like you cannot be well spared; and your persistence in asking for leave has greatly offended him, I can assure you. As for that, my dear Lantejas, leave it to me. I am much mistaken if I don’t soon find you an opportunity of achieving some bold deed, which will be certain to reinstate you in the General’s favour. You will only have to slay three or four Spanish soldiers, or a Royalist officer of high rank, and that will set you all straight with Morelos.”“I should prefer slaying the officer, I think,” answered Lantejas, scarce knowing what to say in reply.To him, who had hitherto been only a hero by simple accident, the idea of premeditating any act that would distinguish him, only brought a fresh shadow upon the horizon of his future; and he would gladly have resigned the honours he had already gained for leave to escape being the candidate for new ones.As soon as Morelos’ army had halted for the night, the General and Galeana commenced deliberating on some plan by which they might give the enemy a decisive blow. The strategy which appeared most to recommend itself was to get the Royalist army between two fires; that is, while the troops of Morelos himself assaulted the Spanish camp in the rear, those of Trujano should make a sortie from the town, and attack the enemy on his front.To the carrying out of this design the chief obstacle that presented itself was the difficulty of communicating with the besieged. The messenger of Trujano had left the camp of Morelos before the idea of such an attack had been conceived. Was there any one in the insurgent army who could pass the Royalist lines, and carry a message into the town? That became the question, which, as it so happened, Don Cornelio Lantejas was able to answer in the affirmative.The Captain was in command of the Indians, one of whom had informed him that he knew a secret way by which the town could be entered. The patriotic Indian at the same time declared his willingness to carry a message to Colonel Trujano.On communicating this information to the General, Lantejas had no thought of the honourable commission it would be the means of obtaining for himself. Perhaps, had he suspected what was in store for him, he would have withheld it. He did not do so, however; and, on disclosing the fact to Morelos, the General at once ordered him to accompany the Indian, taking along with him some half-dozen of his trustiest men.An honour thus offered by the Commander-in-chief of an army cannot, without difficulty, be declined; and Don Cornelio was constrained to accept it.Choosing for his companions Costal and Clara, with some half-dozen others, and, preceded by the Indian guide, he set forth towards the town.After two hours spent in climbing the hills, they came within sight of the bivouac fires of the Spanish camp—towards which they proceeded without making stop, until they had arrived near the line of pickets. Here the guide halted the party, concealing them behind a ruined wall.From this point a road, deeply sunk below the surface of the plain, ran past the place where one of the Spanish pickets held post. It was the same post where, but a short while before, the earless Indian had succeeded in deceiving the sentry. The one now on post was not the same. The guard had been meanwhile relieved and another sentry had taken the place; who, by the uneasy glances which, from time to time, he kept casting around him, was evidently under the belief that his position was a dangerous one.Many causes combined to render the new sentinel sufficiently uncomfortable. The night was disagreeably cold; the companionship of the corpses, whose mutilated state presented death before his eyes in its most hideous aspect; their odour horribly infecting the air;—all these causes, coming together, could not fail to inspire the soldier with a secret fear.To chase away his unpleasant reflections—as well as to keep his blood warm against the chill breeze—he walked to and fro in double quick time. The only moments when he remained motionless were at those intervals when it was necessary for him to pause and call out the usual phrase: “Alerta, centinela!”“I am sorry for the poor devil!” said Costal, “we must send him to keep guard in the next world.”The wall behind which they had halted, although tumbled down and in ruins, still rose sufficiently high to screen the party from the eyes of the sentinel. Moreover, between the latter and the ruin, the ground was thickly studded with aloe plants and bushes of wild wormwood.“Let us first get rid of the sentry,” said Costal; “that accomplished, scatter yourselves among the bushes, and leave the rest to me.”On giving this counsel, the Zapoteque borrowed a sling from one of the Indians, in which he placed a stone carefully chosen. Then ordering two others to make ready their bows, he continued, addressing himself to Don Cornelio—“You, Señor Captain, can give the signal. Take two stones—strike them together so that the fellow may hear you—strike them twice. And you,” continued he, turning to the bowmen, “on hearing the second stroke, take good aim, and let fly your arrows.”Costal stood holding the sling in readiness. It was one of those rare occasions when the bow and the sling serve better than any kind of firearm.Lantejas brought the two stones into collision with a loud crack.The sentry heard the concussion, suddenly halted in his steps, brought his piece to the “ready,” and stood listening.The Captain gave the second signal. The stone and arrows hissed simultaneously through the air; and, struck by all three, the soldier fell dead without even uttering a cry.“Go! scatter yourselves among the bushes,” cried Costal, hurriedly; “the rest I can manage better without you.”Don Cornelio and the Indians, in obedience to Costal’s injunction, glided from behind the wall, and crept forward among the aloes.As they were advancing, directly in front of them, there arose the cry, “Alerta, centinela!” It came from the place where the sentry had just fallen; and Don Cornelio, on looking in that direction, perceived, to his horror and surprise, that the man was once more upon his feet, and walking his rounds as if nothing had happened!Lantejas turned to demand an explanation from Costal, but the latter was nowhere to be seen. The Captain then faced towards the other Indians; but these, instead of concealing themselves any longer behind the bushes, had risen erect, and were running past the sentinel, who seemed to take no notice of them!A ray of light broke upon the mind of the innocent Lantejas.“Santissima!” cried he, “the sentinel—it must be Costal himself!”And so it was. The living had replaced the dead; and so aptly did Costal imitate the voice and movements of the soldier who had fallen, that the other sentries along the line had not the slightest suspicion of the change that had taken place.On comprehending the situation of affairs, Don Cornelio sprang to his feet; and, passing the decoy sentinel, ran on at full speed towards the walls of the town—where his Indians had already preceded him.Seeing his captain clear through the lines, Costal flung away the shako and musket of the soldier, and hastened after.Soon overtaking Don Cornelio, he cried out, “Quicker, run quicker, Señor Captain! The others will give the alarm as soon as they have missed their comrade!”As he spoke, he caught Don Cornelio by the wrist, and dragged him along at such a rate that the Captain was scarce able to keep upon his feet.In a few seconds they reached the line of the Mexican sentries, who, already warned of their approach by the Indians, permitted them to enter the town without opposition. On entering the Piazza they encountered Trujano himself; who, with his sword girded on, was making a round of the village before retiring to rest.While Don Cornelio was delivering to him the message of Morelos, the Colonel directed scrutinising glances both upon the Captain and his Indian companion. He had some vague recollection of having once before seen the two men, but he could not remember where. At the moment that Don Cornelio finished speaking, his recollection had become more clear upon the point, “Ah!” exclaimed he, “I was thinking where I had met you. Are you not the young student who had such confidence in the mandate of the Bishop of Oajaca, and who, at the hacienda of Las Palmas, denounced the insurrection as a deadly crime?”“The same,” answered Lantejas, with a sigh.“And you,” continued Trujano, addressing himself to Costal, “are you not the tiger-hunter of Don Mariano de Silva?”“The descendant of the caciques of Tehuantepec,” answered Costal proudly.“God is great, and his ways are inscrutable,” rejoined the ex-muleteer, with the inspired air of a prophet of Judah.After having more substantially repeated his message, Don Cornelio was conducted by the Colonel to his quarters, and shown the apartment in which he was to sleep.It only remained for him to seek the few hours’ rest that would intervene before daybreak—the hour fixed for the decisive battle which was to take place. Wrapped in his cloak, he flung himself upon the wooden bench that served for a bed—vowing to himself as he fell asleep to attempt no heroic deeds on the following day, beyond those which were rigorously necessary for the defence of his own person.
On the same evening while the besieged were celebrating mass in the Piazza of Huajapam, other scenes were occurring not many leagues distant. Behind the chain of hills which bounded the plain of Huajapam, and in the rear of the Royalist encampment, a third army had suddenly made its appearance—though still invisible to the Spanish sentries. Morelos, true to his promise, with a thousand soldiers under his command, was hastening forward to the relief of Trujano. These were all the regular troops at his disposal; as he had been compelled to leave a strong garrison in the town of Chilapa, which he had also recently taken from the Royalists.
Besides his regulars, however, he was accompanied by a large force of Indians, armed with bows and slings.
At a short distance behind the General-in-chief, the Marshal Galeana and Captain Don Cornelio Lantejas were riding side by side.
Notwithstanding the distinguished position which he held in the insurgent army, the ci-devant student of theology seemed ill at ease. Some secret grief was troubling his spirit.
“The General is quite right in refusing you leave of absence,” said Galeana. “A brave and experienced officer like you cannot be well spared; and your persistence in asking for leave has greatly offended him, I can assure you. As for that, my dear Lantejas, leave it to me. I am much mistaken if I don’t soon find you an opportunity of achieving some bold deed, which will be certain to reinstate you in the General’s favour. You will only have to slay three or four Spanish soldiers, or a Royalist officer of high rank, and that will set you all straight with Morelos.”
“I should prefer slaying the officer, I think,” answered Lantejas, scarce knowing what to say in reply.
To him, who had hitherto been only a hero by simple accident, the idea of premeditating any act that would distinguish him, only brought a fresh shadow upon the horizon of his future; and he would gladly have resigned the honours he had already gained for leave to escape being the candidate for new ones.
As soon as Morelos’ army had halted for the night, the General and Galeana commenced deliberating on some plan by which they might give the enemy a decisive blow. The strategy which appeared most to recommend itself was to get the Royalist army between two fires; that is, while the troops of Morelos himself assaulted the Spanish camp in the rear, those of Trujano should make a sortie from the town, and attack the enemy on his front.
To the carrying out of this design the chief obstacle that presented itself was the difficulty of communicating with the besieged. The messenger of Trujano had left the camp of Morelos before the idea of such an attack had been conceived. Was there any one in the insurgent army who could pass the Royalist lines, and carry a message into the town? That became the question, which, as it so happened, Don Cornelio Lantejas was able to answer in the affirmative.
The Captain was in command of the Indians, one of whom had informed him that he knew a secret way by which the town could be entered. The patriotic Indian at the same time declared his willingness to carry a message to Colonel Trujano.
On communicating this information to the General, Lantejas had no thought of the honourable commission it would be the means of obtaining for himself. Perhaps, had he suspected what was in store for him, he would have withheld it. He did not do so, however; and, on disclosing the fact to Morelos, the General at once ordered him to accompany the Indian, taking along with him some half-dozen of his trustiest men.
An honour thus offered by the Commander-in-chief of an army cannot, without difficulty, be declined; and Don Cornelio was constrained to accept it.
Choosing for his companions Costal and Clara, with some half-dozen others, and, preceded by the Indian guide, he set forth towards the town.
After two hours spent in climbing the hills, they came within sight of the bivouac fires of the Spanish camp—towards which they proceeded without making stop, until they had arrived near the line of pickets. Here the guide halted the party, concealing them behind a ruined wall.
From this point a road, deeply sunk below the surface of the plain, ran past the place where one of the Spanish pickets held post. It was the same post where, but a short while before, the earless Indian had succeeded in deceiving the sentry. The one now on post was not the same. The guard had been meanwhile relieved and another sentry had taken the place; who, by the uneasy glances which, from time to time, he kept casting around him, was evidently under the belief that his position was a dangerous one.
Many causes combined to render the new sentinel sufficiently uncomfortable. The night was disagreeably cold; the companionship of the corpses, whose mutilated state presented death before his eyes in its most hideous aspect; their odour horribly infecting the air;—all these causes, coming together, could not fail to inspire the soldier with a secret fear.
To chase away his unpleasant reflections—as well as to keep his blood warm against the chill breeze—he walked to and fro in double quick time. The only moments when he remained motionless were at those intervals when it was necessary for him to pause and call out the usual phrase: “Alerta, centinela!”
“I am sorry for the poor devil!” said Costal, “we must send him to keep guard in the next world.”
The wall behind which they had halted, although tumbled down and in ruins, still rose sufficiently high to screen the party from the eyes of the sentinel. Moreover, between the latter and the ruin, the ground was thickly studded with aloe plants and bushes of wild wormwood.
“Let us first get rid of the sentry,” said Costal; “that accomplished, scatter yourselves among the bushes, and leave the rest to me.”
On giving this counsel, the Zapoteque borrowed a sling from one of the Indians, in which he placed a stone carefully chosen. Then ordering two others to make ready their bows, he continued, addressing himself to Don Cornelio—
“You, Señor Captain, can give the signal. Take two stones—strike them together so that the fellow may hear you—strike them twice. And you,” continued he, turning to the bowmen, “on hearing the second stroke, take good aim, and let fly your arrows.”
Costal stood holding the sling in readiness. It was one of those rare occasions when the bow and the sling serve better than any kind of firearm.
Lantejas brought the two stones into collision with a loud crack.
The sentry heard the concussion, suddenly halted in his steps, brought his piece to the “ready,” and stood listening.
The Captain gave the second signal. The stone and arrows hissed simultaneously through the air; and, struck by all three, the soldier fell dead without even uttering a cry.
“Go! scatter yourselves among the bushes,” cried Costal, hurriedly; “the rest I can manage better without you.”
Don Cornelio and the Indians, in obedience to Costal’s injunction, glided from behind the wall, and crept forward among the aloes.
As they were advancing, directly in front of them, there arose the cry, “Alerta, centinela!” It came from the place where the sentry had just fallen; and Don Cornelio, on looking in that direction, perceived, to his horror and surprise, that the man was once more upon his feet, and walking his rounds as if nothing had happened!
Lantejas turned to demand an explanation from Costal, but the latter was nowhere to be seen. The Captain then faced towards the other Indians; but these, instead of concealing themselves any longer behind the bushes, had risen erect, and were running past the sentinel, who seemed to take no notice of them!
A ray of light broke upon the mind of the innocent Lantejas.
“Santissima!” cried he, “the sentinel—it must be Costal himself!”
And so it was. The living had replaced the dead; and so aptly did Costal imitate the voice and movements of the soldier who had fallen, that the other sentries along the line had not the slightest suspicion of the change that had taken place.
On comprehending the situation of affairs, Don Cornelio sprang to his feet; and, passing the decoy sentinel, ran on at full speed towards the walls of the town—where his Indians had already preceded him.
Seeing his captain clear through the lines, Costal flung away the shako and musket of the soldier, and hastened after.
Soon overtaking Don Cornelio, he cried out, “Quicker, run quicker, Señor Captain! The others will give the alarm as soon as they have missed their comrade!”
As he spoke, he caught Don Cornelio by the wrist, and dragged him along at such a rate that the Captain was scarce able to keep upon his feet.
In a few seconds they reached the line of the Mexican sentries, who, already warned of their approach by the Indians, permitted them to enter the town without opposition. On entering the Piazza they encountered Trujano himself; who, with his sword girded on, was making a round of the village before retiring to rest.
While Don Cornelio was delivering to him the message of Morelos, the Colonel directed scrutinising glances both upon the Captain and his Indian companion. He had some vague recollection of having once before seen the two men, but he could not remember where. At the moment that Don Cornelio finished speaking, his recollection had become more clear upon the point, “Ah!” exclaimed he, “I was thinking where I had met you. Are you not the young student who had such confidence in the mandate of the Bishop of Oajaca, and who, at the hacienda of Las Palmas, denounced the insurrection as a deadly crime?”
“The same,” answered Lantejas, with a sigh.
“And you,” continued Trujano, addressing himself to Costal, “are you not the tiger-hunter of Don Mariano de Silva?”
“The descendant of the caciques of Tehuantepec,” answered Costal proudly.
“God is great, and his ways are inscrutable,” rejoined the ex-muleteer, with the inspired air of a prophet of Judah.
After having more substantially repeated his message, Don Cornelio was conducted by the Colonel to his quarters, and shown the apartment in which he was to sleep.
It only remained for him to seek the few hours’ rest that would intervene before daybreak—the hour fixed for the decisive battle which was to take place. Wrapped in his cloak, he flung himself upon the wooden bench that served for a bed—vowing to himself as he fell asleep to attempt no heroic deeds on the following day, beyond those which were rigorously necessary for the defence of his own person.
Chapter Forty Eight.The Morn of the Battle.Not until several hours after the arrival of Don Cornelio did the insurgent Colonel warn his troops of the coming event. Then they were instructed to be ready at the first dawn of day, for a sortie against the Royalist camp—which at the same instant of time was to be attacked by Morelos on the opposite side.While the shadows of night were still hanging above the beleaguered town, a singular noise was heard proceeding from the Piazza. It resembled the creaking of a watchman’s rattle, or rather half-a-dozen of these instruments that had been sprung together. Such in reality it was: for since the church bells had been converted into cannon, the rattles of theserenoshad been substituted as a means by which to summon the inhabitants to prayers!According to the monastic regulation, which Trujano had imposed upon the besieged, they were each day called together tooration. On this morning, however, their reunion was earlier than usual: since it had for its object not only the ordinary prayers, but preparation for the combat that was to decide the issue of a long and irksome siege.At the same hour the Royalist camp was aroused by the beating of drums and bugles sounding thereveille; while behind the chain of hills that bounded the plain Morelos was silently setting his army in motion.In a few minutes the Piazza of Huajapam was filled with citizens and soldiers, all armed for the fight. They stood in silent groups, awaiting the prayer that would endue them with the necessary energy and enthusiasm. The horsemen were dismounted—each man standing by the head of his horse, and in the order in which they were accustomed to range themselves.Trujano appeared in his turn, his countenance solemn, yet smiling, with confidence in his heart as upon his lips. He was armed, according to his custom, with a long two-edged sword, which he had oft-times wielded with terrible effect. By his side marched Captain Lantejas, who for the time being was acting as an aide-de-camp. Behind them came a soldier, holding in hand two horses fully equipped for the field. One of these was the war-horse of Trujano himself; the other was intended for the aide-de-camp. Over the withers of the animal destined for the ex-student of theology rose a long lance, strapped to the stirrup and the pummel of the saddle.Don Cornelio would have had a difficulty in declaring why he had armed himself in this fashion. In reality, the lance was not a weapon of his own choosing, since he had never had any practice in the handling of one; but the horse had been brought to him thus equipped, and he passively accepted the lance, for the same reason that he was allowing himself to be led into the fight:—because he could not help it.The matin prayers were not extended to any great length of time. The dawn was already commencing to show itself in the east; and it would not be a great while before the sun would cast his golden bearing over the plains of Huajapam.The religious insurgent was deeply versed in Scripture. Many portions of the Bible were so familiar to him, that he could correctly repeat them without referring to the sacred book. In a voice, every tone of which was heard to the most distant corner of the Piazza, he repeated the following verses—the meaning of which was rendered more solemn by the circumstances under which they were recited:—“The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light. The dawn is come to those who dwell in the region of the shadow of death.”“Lord, thou hast blessed thy land; thou hast delivered Jacob from captivity. Glory to the most high.”A thousand voices repeated “Glory to the most high!”By little and little the eastern horizon exhibited a brighter dawn; and the clouds that floated over the heads of those people so piously bent, becoming tinged with purple, announced the rising of the sun.It will be remembered that, at the council of war, the Spanish general had decided not to make his attack till after the hour of noon. No preparations, therefore, had as yet been made in the Royalist camp.As Bonavia was still ignorant both of the proximity of Morelos and Trujano’s intention to make a sortie, the double attack was likely to fall upon the Spanish camp with the suddenness of a thunderbolt.The Spanish army was divided into three brigades, that might almost be said to occupy three separate encampments. The first, commanded by Regules, held position nearest to the walls of the town. The second, under the immediate orders of Bonavia himself, occupied the centre; while the third, in command of Caldelas, formed the rearguard.According to this disposition, Trujano, in sallying from the town, would come immediately into collision with the brigade of Regules; while Morelos, approaching from the mountains, would direct his attack against that of Caldelas. In this case, Bonavia, from the centre, could march to the assistance of whichever of his two brigadiers should stand most in need of it.The Colonel Tres-Villas was second in command in the brigade of Caldelas, and his tent was of course in the rear.During the night he had slept but little.Sometimes during a storm the thick mantle of clouds which covers the sky breaks suddenly apart, disclosing an almost imperceptible portion of the azure canopy. Only for a moment the blue spot is visible, after which the dull vapoury mass closes over it, and again hides it from view.Such was the ray of hope that had lately shone into the heart of Don Rafael. His habitual melancholy had assumed the ascendant, and the cloud had returned.The man who passionately loves, and he who scarce loves at all, are equally unable to tell when their love is reciprocated. His violent passion blinds the judgment of the one; while indifference renders the other inattentive. Neither is capable of perceiving the tokens of love which he may have inspired, and which pass unnoticed before his eyes.In the former situation was Don Rafael. Despite the proofs which Gertrudis had given him, his thought was,not that he was no longer loved, but that he had never been loved at all! He, who had almost sacrificed his love to his pride, could not perceive that the pride of a woman may also have its days of revolt against her heart. Hence arose the profound discouragement which had taken possession of him, and extinguished the ray of hope that had gleamed for a moment in his breast.Wearied with tossing upon a sleepless couch, he rose at the first call of thereveillebugle; and ordering his horse to be saddled, he rode forth from the camp, in hopes that a ride would afford some distraction to his thoughts.The aspect of the desolated fields—from which every vestige of a crop had disappeared—reminded him of his own ruined hopes: like the bud of a flower plucked from its stem, before it had time to blossom.Occupied with such reflections, he had ridden nearly a league beyond the lines of the camp, without taking note of the distance. In the midst of the deep silence which reigned around him, he all at once heard a noise—at first low, but gradually becoming louder. This instantly roused him from his reverie—causing him to draw bridle and listen.During the different campaigns he had made, Don Rafael had learnt to distinguish all the sounds which indicate the march of acorps d’armée. The cadenced hoof-stroke, the distant rumbling of gun-carriages andcaissons, the neighing of horses, and the clanking of steel sabres were all familiar to his ear—and proclaimed to him the movement of troops, as plainly as if they were passing before his eyes.He had no doubt that what he now heard was the approach of a body of the insurgents, advancing to the relief of the town. The alarm given by the sentinels upon the preceding night—the death of one of the number—the vivas and other strange exclamations of the besieged, within the town—left him no room to question the correctness of his conjecture.Sure of the fact—and not wishing to lose a moment by listening longer—he wheeled around; and, putting spurs to his horse, galloped back to the camp where, on his arrival, he at once gave the alarm.
Not until several hours after the arrival of Don Cornelio did the insurgent Colonel warn his troops of the coming event. Then they were instructed to be ready at the first dawn of day, for a sortie against the Royalist camp—which at the same instant of time was to be attacked by Morelos on the opposite side.
While the shadows of night were still hanging above the beleaguered town, a singular noise was heard proceeding from the Piazza. It resembled the creaking of a watchman’s rattle, or rather half-a-dozen of these instruments that had been sprung together. Such in reality it was: for since the church bells had been converted into cannon, the rattles of theserenoshad been substituted as a means by which to summon the inhabitants to prayers!
According to the monastic regulation, which Trujano had imposed upon the besieged, they were each day called together tooration. On this morning, however, their reunion was earlier than usual: since it had for its object not only the ordinary prayers, but preparation for the combat that was to decide the issue of a long and irksome siege.
At the same hour the Royalist camp was aroused by the beating of drums and bugles sounding thereveille; while behind the chain of hills that bounded the plain Morelos was silently setting his army in motion.
In a few minutes the Piazza of Huajapam was filled with citizens and soldiers, all armed for the fight. They stood in silent groups, awaiting the prayer that would endue them with the necessary energy and enthusiasm. The horsemen were dismounted—each man standing by the head of his horse, and in the order in which they were accustomed to range themselves.
Trujano appeared in his turn, his countenance solemn, yet smiling, with confidence in his heart as upon his lips. He was armed, according to his custom, with a long two-edged sword, which he had oft-times wielded with terrible effect. By his side marched Captain Lantejas, who for the time being was acting as an aide-de-camp. Behind them came a soldier, holding in hand two horses fully equipped for the field. One of these was the war-horse of Trujano himself; the other was intended for the aide-de-camp. Over the withers of the animal destined for the ex-student of theology rose a long lance, strapped to the stirrup and the pummel of the saddle.
Don Cornelio would have had a difficulty in declaring why he had armed himself in this fashion. In reality, the lance was not a weapon of his own choosing, since he had never had any practice in the handling of one; but the horse had been brought to him thus equipped, and he passively accepted the lance, for the same reason that he was allowing himself to be led into the fight:—because he could not help it.
The matin prayers were not extended to any great length of time. The dawn was already commencing to show itself in the east; and it would not be a great while before the sun would cast his golden bearing over the plains of Huajapam.
The religious insurgent was deeply versed in Scripture. Many portions of the Bible were so familiar to him, that he could correctly repeat them without referring to the sacred book. In a voice, every tone of which was heard to the most distant corner of the Piazza, he repeated the following verses—the meaning of which was rendered more solemn by the circumstances under which they were recited:—
“The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light. The dawn is come to those who dwell in the region of the shadow of death.”
“Lord, thou hast blessed thy land; thou hast delivered Jacob from captivity. Glory to the most high.”
A thousand voices repeated “Glory to the most high!”
By little and little the eastern horizon exhibited a brighter dawn; and the clouds that floated over the heads of those people so piously bent, becoming tinged with purple, announced the rising of the sun.
It will be remembered that, at the council of war, the Spanish general had decided not to make his attack till after the hour of noon. No preparations, therefore, had as yet been made in the Royalist camp.
As Bonavia was still ignorant both of the proximity of Morelos and Trujano’s intention to make a sortie, the double attack was likely to fall upon the Spanish camp with the suddenness of a thunderbolt.
The Spanish army was divided into three brigades, that might almost be said to occupy three separate encampments. The first, commanded by Regules, held position nearest to the walls of the town. The second, under the immediate orders of Bonavia himself, occupied the centre; while the third, in command of Caldelas, formed the rearguard.
According to this disposition, Trujano, in sallying from the town, would come immediately into collision with the brigade of Regules; while Morelos, approaching from the mountains, would direct his attack against that of Caldelas. In this case, Bonavia, from the centre, could march to the assistance of whichever of his two brigadiers should stand most in need of it.
The Colonel Tres-Villas was second in command in the brigade of Caldelas, and his tent was of course in the rear.
During the night he had slept but little.
Sometimes during a storm the thick mantle of clouds which covers the sky breaks suddenly apart, disclosing an almost imperceptible portion of the azure canopy. Only for a moment the blue spot is visible, after which the dull vapoury mass closes over it, and again hides it from view.
Such was the ray of hope that had lately shone into the heart of Don Rafael. His habitual melancholy had assumed the ascendant, and the cloud had returned.
The man who passionately loves, and he who scarce loves at all, are equally unable to tell when their love is reciprocated. His violent passion blinds the judgment of the one; while indifference renders the other inattentive. Neither is capable of perceiving the tokens of love which he may have inspired, and which pass unnoticed before his eyes.
In the former situation was Don Rafael. Despite the proofs which Gertrudis had given him, his thought was,not that he was no longer loved, but that he had never been loved at all! He, who had almost sacrificed his love to his pride, could not perceive that the pride of a woman may also have its days of revolt against her heart. Hence arose the profound discouragement which had taken possession of him, and extinguished the ray of hope that had gleamed for a moment in his breast.
Wearied with tossing upon a sleepless couch, he rose at the first call of thereveillebugle; and ordering his horse to be saddled, he rode forth from the camp, in hopes that a ride would afford some distraction to his thoughts.
The aspect of the desolated fields—from which every vestige of a crop had disappeared—reminded him of his own ruined hopes: like the bud of a flower plucked from its stem, before it had time to blossom.
Occupied with such reflections, he had ridden nearly a league beyond the lines of the camp, without taking note of the distance. In the midst of the deep silence which reigned around him, he all at once heard a noise—at first low, but gradually becoming louder. This instantly roused him from his reverie—causing him to draw bridle and listen.
During the different campaigns he had made, Don Rafael had learnt to distinguish all the sounds which indicate the march of acorps d’armée. The cadenced hoof-stroke, the distant rumbling of gun-carriages andcaissons, the neighing of horses, and the clanking of steel sabres were all familiar to his ear—and proclaimed to him the movement of troops, as plainly as if they were passing before his eyes.
He had no doubt that what he now heard was the approach of a body of the insurgents, advancing to the relief of the town. The alarm given by the sentinels upon the preceding night—the death of one of the number—the vivas and other strange exclamations of the besieged, within the town—left him no room to question the correctness of his conjecture.
Sure of the fact—and not wishing to lose a moment by listening longer—he wheeled around; and, putting spurs to his horse, galloped back to the camp where, on his arrival, he at once gave the alarm.
Chapter Forty Nine.Between Two Fires.After the first moment of confusion had passed, the Royalists commenced preparing to receive the attack, with that coolness which springs from practised discipline. In a short while every one was at his post.The sun was just appearing above the horizon, disclosing to each army the view of its antagonist. The advanced sentinels along the lines had already retired from their posts, and were hurrying towards the camp. In the town could be heard the voices of the besieged, in solemn chorus chaunting the psalm “Venite exultemus Domine,” while shouts of “Viva Morelos!” came from the opposite direction, and loud above all could be heard the noted war-cry of the marshal, “Aqui esta Galeana!”Almost at the same instant a double fusillade opened its formidable dialogue from the two separate wings of the Spanish army. Trujano and Morelos replied to it; one attacking in front, and the other upon the rear. The hour of retaliation had come: the besiegers were now besieged in their turn.Meanwhile Morelos, having given orders to Galeana to direct the movement, had posted himself upon a little hill; where, telescope in hand, he stood watching the progress of the action.After having coolly arranged his plan of attack, Trujano impetuously launched himself upon the camp of Regules, at the same instant that Galeana was advancing upon that of Caldelas.On both sides the firing was of short duration. Neither the Marshal nor Trujano were the men to remain long at a distance from their enemy; and both, charging impetuously forward, brought their men hand to hand with the Royalists.Although inferior in numbers to their enemies, theguerillerosof Trujano made such a desperate attack upon the soldiers of Regules, that the latter, unable to sustain the shock, were thrown for a moment into confusion. Their general, however, succeeded in rallying them; and Trujano, with his handful of men, was held for a time in check.Meanwhile, Bonavia and Caldelas, having united their forces, were using all their efforts to resist the desperate charges made by Galeana; who, notwithstanding the impetuosity of his attack, found himself unable to break through their line and form a junction with Trujano.There are men in whose company it is impossible not to feel brave—or at least have the appearance of it—especially when fighting by their side. Trujano was one of this character. His ardent valour was contagious; and alongside of him, Lantejas had no difficulty in sustaining his reputation for courage.Nevertheless, the battle seemed to the Captain to be hanging a long time undecided; and he was growing fearfully troubled that the day would go against them, when Trujano, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, cried out to him—“Captain Lantejas! I fear we shall never be able to break their line with such a handful of men. Put spurs to your horse, and gallop round till you find General Morelos. Ask him to reinforce me with two or three battalions. Say that I have great need of them, and that the success of the day depends upon it. Ride quickly; and I shall endeavour to sustain the attack till your return.Vaya! Capitan!”The aide-de-camp, on receiving the order, went off at a gallop, lance in hand.At the same instant an officer rode forth from the camp of Regules, on a similar mission to the Commander-in-chief of the Spanish army. The latter, however, succeeded in executing his commission more promptly than Don Cornelio; and Bonavia hastened, notwithstanding the protest of Caldelas, to send to Regules the reinforcement he had demanded.“That man will be our ruin,” said Caldelas to Tres-Villas, as the battalions were drawn from his brigade.Don Rafael, mounted upon his favourite steed, El Roncador, was at this time making every effort to reach the Marshal, whose defiant war-cry, so often pealing in their ears, was beginning to create terror among the ranks of the Royalists.“Mil demonios!” exclaimed Caldelas, “if Regules prove the cause of our defeat, I shall blow out his brains, and afterwards my own!”As the brigadier pronounced this threat, his soldiers, pressed by a violent movement in front, commenced to give ground; and that which he had foreseen was likely to be realised. His brigade, weakened by the battalions sent as a reinforcement to Regules, was unable to withstand the desperate charges of Galeana; and, in a minute or two after, his troops broke line, fell back, and then scattered in full retreat.Blinded by rage, Caldelas turned his horse, leaving to Don Rafael the duty of collecting the dispersed soldiers, and, furiously plying the spur, he galloped off towards the ground where Regules was still contesting the issue with Trujano.Meanwhile Don Cornelio was going at full speed on his message to Morelos. He was not proceeding in a very direct line, however. Not desiring to get again embroiled in the battle, he had resolved on making a wide circuit round a vast field of maize, that extended along the edge of the plain, and slightly elevated above it. Every now and then he endeavoured to discover whether he was opposite the position held by Morelos; but in this he was unsuccessful; for the blades of the maize plants rising above his head hindered him from having a view over the plain. He at length reached a crossroad; and, deeming that he had ridden far enough to put him beyond the ground occupied by the Royalist forces, he turned his horse along the road, still going at a gallop.The combatants were hidden from his view by a thicket of low bushes that skirted the side of the road. This, however, at length terminated abruptly; and Don Cornelio, riding into the open ground, all at once found himself in the presence of a large body of Spanish soldiers, who appeared in front of him forming a semicircle of swords, bayonets, and lances.Terrified at the excess of his involuntary boldness, he turned his horse upon the instant, and plunged back into the crossroad; but he had scarce made three lengths of his horse in the back direction, when he saw riding towards him a Spanish officer, who, pistol in hand, and with a countenance red with rage, was uttering the most emphatic threats and protestations. In another instant they must meet face to face.The advancing horseman had his eyes fixed upon the field of battle; and, although he did not appear to be aware of the approach of Don Cornelio, the latter had no other belief than that he himself was the object of the blasphemous menaces. If the Spaniard was not expressly searching after him to kill him, why should he thus cut off his retreat by the crossroad—the only direction that offered him a chance of escape?Believing that the horseman was advancing to assail him, and suddenly nerved by despair, the Captain, on his side, charged forward; and delivering a vigorous thrust with the lance, he pierced his unsuspecting antagonist through the body, striking him lifeless out of his saddle!A cry of grief reached the ears of the ex-student, coming from another part of the field; but not staying to see who had uttered it, he again spurred his steed along the crossroad—determined this time to make a détour sufficiently wide before heading towards the position of Morelos.He had not gone far, however, when he heard a loud voice hailing him from behind; while the hoarse snorting of a horse was mingled with the cries—a snorting that resembled the roaring of a jaguar, and for that reason awakened within him the most terrible souvenirs.“It is surely the horse of the Apocalypse?” muttered the ex-student of theology, while using every effort to maintain the distance that lay between himself and this mysterious pursuer.In order to gallop more freely, he had flung away the lance, and was now plying the spurs with all the energy of a racing jockey; but still the singular snorting appeared to grow louder, and the pursuer was evidently gaining upon him.To say the least, the situation of Captain Lantejas was becoming critical—to judge by the fierce zeal exhibited by his pursuer. Perhaps in all his life the ex-student had never been in a position of greater peril than at that moment.Just as he was about reaching the crossing of the roads, he heard close behind him the breathing of the man who was in pursuit of him; and, glancing over his shoulder, he saw the head of the animal he had termed the horse of the Apocalypse—almost on a level with the croup of his saddle.In another moment, a vigorous hand seized him by the collar, that lifting him out of his stirrups, dragged him backward, till he felt that he was lying across the pummel of his adversary’s saddle.Don Cornelio now saw a poignard raised to strike, which flashed before his sight like the sword of an archangel. He closed his eyes, believing his last hour had come; when all at once the arm fell, and a voice cried out—“TomalWhy it is Don Cornelio Lantejas!”The ex-student reopened his eyes; and, looking up, recognised the young officer in whose company he had journeyed, on his way to San Salvador, whom he had afterwards met at the hacienda Las Palmas.
After the first moment of confusion had passed, the Royalists commenced preparing to receive the attack, with that coolness which springs from practised discipline. In a short while every one was at his post.
The sun was just appearing above the horizon, disclosing to each army the view of its antagonist. The advanced sentinels along the lines had already retired from their posts, and were hurrying towards the camp. In the town could be heard the voices of the besieged, in solemn chorus chaunting the psalm “Venite exultemus Domine,” while shouts of “Viva Morelos!” came from the opposite direction, and loud above all could be heard the noted war-cry of the marshal, “Aqui esta Galeana!”
Almost at the same instant a double fusillade opened its formidable dialogue from the two separate wings of the Spanish army. Trujano and Morelos replied to it; one attacking in front, and the other upon the rear. The hour of retaliation had come: the besiegers were now besieged in their turn.
Meanwhile Morelos, having given orders to Galeana to direct the movement, had posted himself upon a little hill; where, telescope in hand, he stood watching the progress of the action.
After having coolly arranged his plan of attack, Trujano impetuously launched himself upon the camp of Regules, at the same instant that Galeana was advancing upon that of Caldelas.
On both sides the firing was of short duration. Neither the Marshal nor Trujano were the men to remain long at a distance from their enemy; and both, charging impetuously forward, brought their men hand to hand with the Royalists.
Although inferior in numbers to their enemies, theguerillerosof Trujano made such a desperate attack upon the soldiers of Regules, that the latter, unable to sustain the shock, were thrown for a moment into confusion. Their general, however, succeeded in rallying them; and Trujano, with his handful of men, was held for a time in check.
Meanwhile, Bonavia and Caldelas, having united their forces, were using all their efforts to resist the desperate charges made by Galeana; who, notwithstanding the impetuosity of his attack, found himself unable to break through their line and form a junction with Trujano.
There are men in whose company it is impossible not to feel brave—or at least have the appearance of it—especially when fighting by their side. Trujano was one of this character. His ardent valour was contagious; and alongside of him, Lantejas had no difficulty in sustaining his reputation for courage.
Nevertheless, the battle seemed to the Captain to be hanging a long time undecided; and he was growing fearfully troubled that the day would go against them, when Trujano, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, cried out to him—
“Captain Lantejas! I fear we shall never be able to break their line with such a handful of men. Put spurs to your horse, and gallop round till you find General Morelos. Ask him to reinforce me with two or three battalions. Say that I have great need of them, and that the success of the day depends upon it. Ride quickly; and I shall endeavour to sustain the attack till your return.Vaya! Capitan!”
The aide-de-camp, on receiving the order, went off at a gallop, lance in hand.
At the same instant an officer rode forth from the camp of Regules, on a similar mission to the Commander-in-chief of the Spanish army. The latter, however, succeeded in executing his commission more promptly than Don Cornelio; and Bonavia hastened, notwithstanding the protest of Caldelas, to send to Regules the reinforcement he had demanded.
“That man will be our ruin,” said Caldelas to Tres-Villas, as the battalions were drawn from his brigade.
Don Rafael, mounted upon his favourite steed, El Roncador, was at this time making every effort to reach the Marshal, whose defiant war-cry, so often pealing in their ears, was beginning to create terror among the ranks of the Royalists.
“Mil demonios!” exclaimed Caldelas, “if Regules prove the cause of our defeat, I shall blow out his brains, and afterwards my own!”
As the brigadier pronounced this threat, his soldiers, pressed by a violent movement in front, commenced to give ground; and that which he had foreseen was likely to be realised. His brigade, weakened by the battalions sent as a reinforcement to Regules, was unable to withstand the desperate charges of Galeana; and, in a minute or two after, his troops broke line, fell back, and then scattered in full retreat.
Blinded by rage, Caldelas turned his horse, leaving to Don Rafael the duty of collecting the dispersed soldiers, and, furiously plying the spur, he galloped off towards the ground where Regules was still contesting the issue with Trujano.
Meanwhile Don Cornelio was going at full speed on his message to Morelos. He was not proceeding in a very direct line, however. Not desiring to get again embroiled in the battle, he had resolved on making a wide circuit round a vast field of maize, that extended along the edge of the plain, and slightly elevated above it. Every now and then he endeavoured to discover whether he was opposite the position held by Morelos; but in this he was unsuccessful; for the blades of the maize plants rising above his head hindered him from having a view over the plain. He at length reached a crossroad; and, deeming that he had ridden far enough to put him beyond the ground occupied by the Royalist forces, he turned his horse along the road, still going at a gallop.
The combatants were hidden from his view by a thicket of low bushes that skirted the side of the road. This, however, at length terminated abruptly; and Don Cornelio, riding into the open ground, all at once found himself in the presence of a large body of Spanish soldiers, who appeared in front of him forming a semicircle of swords, bayonets, and lances.
Terrified at the excess of his involuntary boldness, he turned his horse upon the instant, and plunged back into the crossroad; but he had scarce made three lengths of his horse in the back direction, when he saw riding towards him a Spanish officer, who, pistol in hand, and with a countenance red with rage, was uttering the most emphatic threats and protestations. In another instant they must meet face to face.
The advancing horseman had his eyes fixed upon the field of battle; and, although he did not appear to be aware of the approach of Don Cornelio, the latter had no other belief than that he himself was the object of the blasphemous menaces. If the Spaniard was not expressly searching after him to kill him, why should he thus cut off his retreat by the crossroad—the only direction that offered him a chance of escape?
Believing that the horseman was advancing to assail him, and suddenly nerved by despair, the Captain, on his side, charged forward; and delivering a vigorous thrust with the lance, he pierced his unsuspecting antagonist through the body, striking him lifeless out of his saddle!
A cry of grief reached the ears of the ex-student, coming from another part of the field; but not staying to see who had uttered it, he again spurred his steed along the crossroad—determined this time to make a détour sufficiently wide before heading towards the position of Morelos.
He had not gone far, however, when he heard a loud voice hailing him from behind; while the hoarse snorting of a horse was mingled with the cries—a snorting that resembled the roaring of a jaguar, and for that reason awakened within him the most terrible souvenirs.
“It is surely the horse of the Apocalypse?” muttered the ex-student of theology, while using every effort to maintain the distance that lay between himself and this mysterious pursuer.
In order to gallop more freely, he had flung away the lance, and was now plying the spurs with all the energy of a racing jockey; but still the singular snorting appeared to grow louder, and the pursuer was evidently gaining upon him.
To say the least, the situation of Captain Lantejas was becoming critical—to judge by the fierce zeal exhibited by his pursuer. Perhaps in all his life the ex-student had never been in a position of greater peril than at that moment.
Just as he was about reaching the crossing of the roads, he heard close behind him the breathing of the man who was in pursuit of him; and, glancing over his shoulder, he saw the head of the animal he had termed the horse of the Apocalypse—almost on a level with the croup of his saddle.
In another moment, a vigorous hand seized him by the collar, that lifting him out of his stirrups, dragged him backward, till he felt that he was lying across the pummel of his adversary’s saddle.
Don Cornelio now saw a poignard raised to strike, which flashed before his sight like the sword of an archangel. He closed his eyes, believing his last hour had come; when all at once the arm fell, and a voice cried out—
“TomalWhy it is Don Cornelio Lantejas!”
The ex-student reopened his eyes; and, looking up, recognised the young officer in whose company he had journeyed, on his way to San Salvador, whom he had afterwards met at the hacienda Las Palmas.
Chapter Fifty.A Splendid Stroke.Surrounded by his staff, Morelos still continued to watch the progress of events. From the commanding position which he held, almost every incident of the battle could be observed. Even those occurring at the most distant point of the field were observable through the medium of the telescope. Among other objects that had attracted his notice was a horseman going at full gallop along the crossroad, which led from the field of maize to the Royalist encampment.“Ha!” exclaimed he to an officer of his staff; “if I’m not mistaken, it is our Captain Lantejas who is galloping down yonder. Where can he be going? No doubt he is about to strike one of those improvised, decisive blows in which he excels—as when at Cuautla, he dashed his horse full tilt against the gigantic Spanish cuirassier, and received the sabre stroke that might else have fallen upon my own skull. Fortunately his sword turned in the hand of the Spaniard, and Don Cornelio was struck by the flat side of the blade, which only knocked him out of his saddle, without doing him any great injury.”“Señor General,” remarked the officer, with some show of hesitation; “there are evil-disposed persons, who pretend to say that—that—”“What do they pretend to say?” demanded Morelos.“Why, that on the occasion of which your Excellency speaks, the horse of Señor Lantejas was running away with him.”“An odious calumny!” pronounced Morelos, in a severe tone. “Envy is always the proof of merit.”At this moment, Don Cornelio disappeared from off the crossroad; and Morelos now saw coming in the same direction a Spanish officer also going at a gallop.“Santissima!” cried Morelos, recognising the latter through his glass. “As I live, it is the brave Caldelas, who also appears to have been seized with vertigo! What can all this galloping mean?”It was in reality Caldelas, who, pistol in hand, was searching for Regules, to accomplish the threat he had made.Just then Don Cornelio again appeared in the crossroad; but this time going in the opposite direction, as if charging forward to meet Caldelas.“See!” cried Morelos to his staff. “Look yonder—an encounter between Caldelas and the Captain! Ha! what was I saying to you?Viva Dios!—did you ever see such a beautifulcoup de lance? He has struck down the most formidable of our enemies. Huzza! Victory is ours! The Spaniards are scattering! They yield the ground, and all because their bravest leader has been slain. Now, sir!” continued the General, turning to the officer who had doubted the courage of Don Cornelio; “will that silence the detractors of Señor Lantejas? To whom, if not to him, are we indebted for this splendid victory? Presently you will see him ride with his accustomed modesty, to say that he has simply done his duty. Otherwise, should he present himself to be complimented, he shall find his mistake: I must reprimand him for being too rash.”“Happy is he whom your Excellency is pleased to reprimand in such fashion,” said the officer, withdrawing to one side.“Let us onward!” exclaimed Morelos. “The action is over—the siege is raised, and our enemies are in full retreat. To Yanguitlan, and then—to take up our winter-quarters in the capital of Oajaca!”On pronouncing these word, Morelos remounted his horse and rode off, followed by his officers.We return to Colonel Tres-Villas and the ex-student of theology.Notwithstanding the violent wrath of Don Rafael against the man who had killed his brave comrade, Caldelas, there was something so ludicrously comic in the countenance of the ex-student—so much innocent simplicity in its expression—that the resentment of Don Rafael vanished upon the instant. Then, quick as a flash of lightning, came over him the remembrance of that day—at the same time terrible and delightful—when parting from the student of theology, he had hurried forward to see Gertrudis, and receive from her the avowal of her love—alas! too soon forgotten!These souvenirs—but more especially that recalling the daughter of Don Mariano—formed the aegis of the ex-student. A bitter smile curled upon the lip of Don Rafael, as he looked upon the pale and feeble youth within his grasp. “If such a man,” thought he, “has been able to give his death-blow to the valiant Caldelas—whose very glance he could scarce have borne—it must be that the hours of the vice-royalty are numbered.”“You may thank your stars,” he continued, addressing himself to Lantejas, “for having fallen into the hands of one, who is hindered by old memories from revenging upon you the death of the valiant Caldelas, the bravest of the Spanish chiefs.”“Ah! is the brave Caldelas dead?” inquired Don Cornelio, scarce sensible of what he was saying. “Is it possible? But it must be so, if you say it. In any case, I pardon him, and you too.”“Very gracious of you,” rejoined Don Rafael, with a sarcastic smile.“More than you think,” replied the ex-student, a little restored to his senses at finding his exploit was to be forgiven. “You have no idea of the terrible fright that he and you caused me just now. But, Señor Don Rafael—with your permission—I am in averyuncomfortable position for conversing—”“Perhaps you will pardon me again for setting you safe and sound upon your feet?” said Don Rafael, permitting the captain to slide gently to the ground. “Adieu, then, Captain!” continued he, about to ride away. “I leave you, regretting that I have not time to inquire how it is that the peace-loving student, so terribly frightened at the mandate of the Bishop of Oajaca against the insurrection has become transformed into an officer of the insurgent army?”“And I,” replied Lantejas, “I should like to know how it is that a captain in the Queen’s Dragoons, who did not appear to view that same mandate with a favourable eye, is to-day one of the bitterest adversaries of the insurrection? If it pleases you, Señor Don Rafael, to sit down here beside me, and let us discourse a bit—like the old Paladins, who often interrupted their deadliest combats for such a purpose—it would be much more agreeable to me than returning to the battle-field.”A sombre shadow passed over the countenance of Don Rafael at the allusion made to the change of his opinions. Both officers presented a striking example of how little man can do to direct his own destiny, and how much he is the sport of circumstances. Both were, in fact, serving the cause opposed to that of their heart’s choice.Just then a series of loud huzzas andvivasof triumph came from both sides of the battle-field; but it was impossible for either of them to tell upon which side the victory had declared itself.“Ah! Señor Don Rafael,” cried the ex-student, “if our side has succumbed, then I am your prisoner.”“And if you are victorious, I amnotyours,” responded the Colonel, casting towards Lantejas a glance of contempt that he could not conceal—while at the same time he gathered up the reins of his bridle.As he did so, at both extremities of the road appeared a number of mounted men, whose half-military equipments proclaimed them to be insurgents. One was heard to call out—“Señor Colonel! Yonder he is—Don Cornelio still living and well!”It was Costal who spoke.In another moment both the Captain and Don Rafael were surrounded by the horsemen.
Surrounded by his staff, Morelos still continued to watch the progress of events. From the commanding position which he held, almost every incident of the battle could be observed. Even those occurring at the most distant point of the field were observable through the medium of the telescope. Among other objects that had attracted his notice was a horseman going at full gallop along the crossroad, which led from the field of maize to the Royalist encampment.
“Ha!” exclaimed he to an officer of his staff; “if I’m not mistaken, it is our Captain Lantejas who is galloping down yonder. Where can he be going? No doubt he is about to strike one of those improvised, decisive blows in which he excels—as when at Cuautla, he dashed his horse full tilt against the gigantic Spanish cuirassier, and received the sabre stroke that might else have fallen upon my own skull. Fortunately his sword turned in the hand of the Spaniard, and Don Cornelio was struck by the flat side of the blade, which only knocked him out of his saddle, without doing him any great injury.”
“Señor General,” remarked the officer, with some show of hesitation; “there are evil-disposed persons, who pretend to say that—that—”
“What do they pretend to say?” demanded Morelos.
“Why, that on the occasion of which your Excellency speaks, the horse of Señor Lantejas was running away with him.”
“An odious calumny!” pronounced Morelos, in a severe tone. “Envy is always the proof of merit.”
At this moment, Don Cornelio disappeared from off the crossroad; and Morelos now saw coming in the same direction a Spanish officer also going at a gallop.
“Santissima!” cried Morelos, recognising the latter through his glass. “As I live, it is the brave Caldelas, who also appears to have been seized with vertigo! What can all this galloping mean?”
It was in reality Caldelas, who, pistol in hand, was searching for Regules, to accomplish the threat he had made.
Just then Don Cornelio again appeared in the crossroad; but this time going in the opposite direction, as if charging forward to meet Caldelas.
“See!” cried Morelos to his staff. “Look yonder—an encounter between Caldelas and the Captain! Ha! what was I saying to you?Viva Dios!—did you ever see such a beautifulcoup de lance? He has struck down the most formidable of our enemies. Huzza! Victory is ours! The Spaniards are scattering! They yield the ground, and all because their bravest leader has been slain. Now, sir!” continued the General, turning to the officer who had doubted the courage of Don Cornelio; “will that silence the detractors of Señor Lantejas? To whom, if not to him, are we indebted for this splendid victory? Presently you will see him ride with his accustomed modesty, to say that he has simply done his duty. Otherwise, should he present himself to be complimented, he shall find his mistake: I must reprimand him for being too rash.”
“Happy is he whom your Excellency is pleased to reprimand in such fashion,” said the officer, withdrawing to one side.
“Let us onward!” exclaimed Morelos. “The action is over—the siege is raised, and our enemies are in full retreat. To Yanguitlan, and then—to take up our winter-quarters in the capital of Oajaca!”
On pronouncing these word, Morelos remounted his horse and rode off, followed by his officers.
We return to Colonel Tres-Villas and the ex-student of theology.
Notwithstanding the violent wrath of Don Rafael against the man who had killed his brave comrade, Caldelas, there was something so ludicrously comic in the countenance of the ex-student—so much innocent simplicity in its expression—that the resentment of Don Rafael vanished upon the instant. Then, quick as a flash of lightning, came over him the remembrance of that day—at the same time terrible and delightful—when parting from the student of theology, he had hurried forward to see Gertrudis, and receive from her the avowal of her love—alas! too soon forgotten!
These souvenirs—but more especially that recalling the daughter of Don Mariano—formed the aegis of the ex-student. A bitter smile curled upon the lip of Don Rafael, as he looked upon the pale and feeble youth within his grasp. “If such a man,” thought he, “has been able to give his death-blow to the valiant Caldelas—whose very glance he could scarce have borne—it must be that the hours of the vice-royalty are numbered.”
“You may thank your stars,” he continued, addressing himself to Lantejas, “for having fallen into the hands of one, who is hindered by old memories from revenging upon you the death of the valiant Caldelas, the bravest of the Spanish chiefs.”
“Ah! is the brave Caldelas dead?” inquired Don Cornelio, scarce sensible of what he was saying. “Is it possible? But it must be so, if you say it. In any case, I pardon him, and you too.”
“Very gracious of you,” rejoined Don Rafael, with a sarcastic smile.
“More than you think,” replied the ex-student, a little restored to his senses at finding his exploit was to be forgiven. “You have no idea of the terrible fright that he and you caused me just now. But, Señor Don Rafael—with your permission—I am in averyuncomfortable position for conversing—”
“Perhaps you will pardon me again for setting you safe and sound upon your feet?” said Don Rafael, permitting the captain to slide gently to the ground. “Adieu, then, Captain!” continued he, about to ride away. “I leave you, regretting that I have not time to inquire how it is that the peace-loving student, so terribly frightened at the mandate of the Bishop of Oajaca against the insurrection has become transformed into an officer of the insurgent army?”
“And I,” replied Lantejas, “I should like to know how it is that a captain in the Queen’s Dragoons, who did not appear to view that same mandate with a favourable eye, is to-day one of the bitterest adversaries of the insurrection? If it pleases you, Señor Don Rafael, to sit down here beside me, and let us discourse a bit—like the old Paladins, who often interrupted their deadliest combats for such a purpose—it would be much more agreeable to me than returning to the battle-field.”
A sombre shadow passed over the countenance of Don Rafael at the allusion made to the change of his opinions. Both officers presented a striking example of how little man can do to direct his own destiny, and how much he is the sport of circumstances. Both were, in fact, serving the cause opposed to that of their heart’s choice.
Just then a series of loud huzzas andvivasof triumph came from both sides of the battle-field; but it was impossible for either of them to tell upon which side the victory had declared itself.
“Ah! Señor Don Rafael,” cried the ex-student, “if our side has succumbed, then I am your prisoner.”
“And if you are victorious, I amnotyours,” responded the Colonel, casting towards Lantejas a glance of contempt that he could not conceal—while at the same time he gathered up the reins of his bridle.
As he did so, at both extremities of the road appeared a number of mounted men, whose half-military equipments proclaimed them to be insurgents. One was heard to call out—
“Señor Colonel! Yonder he is—Don Cornelio still living and well!”
It was Costal who spoke.
In another moment both the Captain and Don Rafael were surrounded by the horsemen.
Chapter Fifty One.A Generous Enemy.The situation of Don Rafael had now become as critical as was that of Lantejas but the moment before. His pistols had been discharged; his sabre, broken in the battle, he had flung from him; and the only arm of which he could now avail himself was the dagger so near being sheathed in the heart of Don Cornelio.During the Mexican revolutionary war but few prisoners were taken by the Royalists; and the cruelties exercised upon those that were, naturally led to retaliation. On both sides it was a war of extermination. The lives of captives were rarely spared, even after they had voluntarily surrendered.Don Rafael, therefore, had made up his mind to sell his life as dearly as he could, rather than fall into the hands of his enemies, when one of them, an officer, addressing Lantejas, called out, in a voice which the latter recognised—“Ah! Captain Lantejas! haste and come this way. The General wishes to thank you for the victory which you have given us.”Don Rafael also recognised the officer, who was advancing at a gallop; and brave though Tres-Villas was, it was not without satisfaction that the enemy he saw coming towards him was Colonel Trujano, the ex-muleteer.Trujano, on his side, at the same instant recognised the royalist officer.Don Rafael, too proud to appeal to old friendships for protection—even to one whose life he had saved, in return for a similar service—put spurs to his horse, and galloped towards Trujano. With such impetuosity did he ride, that in another instant the two horses would have come into collision, had not the bridle of Don Rafael’s been grasped by a hand—the hand of Lantejas! The Captain, at the risk of being crushed under the hoofs of both horses—moved by the generosity which Don Rafael had so lately bestowed upon him—rushed between the two horsemen as a mediator.“Colonel Trujano!” cried he, “I do not know what you mean in saying that the General is indebted to me for a victory; but, if I have done anything that deserves a recompense, I do not wish any other than the life and liberty of Don Rafael Tres-Villas.”“I ask favours from no one,” interrupted Don Rafael, with a haughty glance towards Trujano.“You will grant me one—that of giving me your hand,” said the ex-muleteer, at the same time cordially holding out his own.“Never to a conqueror!” exclaimed Don Rafael, though evidently affected, in spite of himself, by the action and speech of his generous enemy.“Here there is neither conqueror nor conquered,” rejoined Trujano, with that winning smile that gained all hearts. “There is a man, however, who always remembers a service done to him.”“And another who never forgets one,” repeated Don Rafael, with warmth, at the same time grasping the hand that was still held towards him.Then the two horsemen drew their horses nearer, and exchanged the most cordial greetings.Trujano profited by this occasion to whisper in the ear of his enemy, and with a delicacy which still further moved Don Rafael, whose pride he had treated with such condescension—“Go—you are free. Only promise not to cut the hair off the heads of any more poor women; although it is said there was one whose heart trembled with pride that the conqueror of Aguas Calientes should send her such a terrible souvenir. Go!” added he, withdrawing his hand from the convulsive grasp of Don Rafael, “deliver yourself up a prisoner at the hacienda Las Palmas, where the road is open for you, believe me.”Then, as if he had too long occupied himself with the trivial affairs of the world, the countenance of Trujano resumed its expression of ascetic gravity, and when the eye of Don Rafael was interrogating it, in hopes of reading there the true signification of the last words, the insurgent chieftain called out—“Let Don Rafael Tres-Villas pass free! Let every one forget what has occurred.”Saying this, he formally saluted the Royalist colonel with his sword, who could only return the salute with a glance of the most profound gratitude.Don Rafael pressed the hand of the Captain; and bowing coldly to the other insurgents, rode out from their midst. Then, urging his horse into a gallop, he followed the road that led outward from the plain of Huajapam.On finding himself alone, he reduced the speed of his horse to a walk, and became absorbed in a reverie of reflection. The last words of Trujano—what could they mean? “The road is open for you, believe me.” Was it an assurance that he should be welcomed at the hacienda of Las Palmas? Should he proceed thither, as the insurgent colonel had counselled him? or should he go direct to Del Valle, to make arrangements for his last campaign against the brigand Arroyo?Once more had commenced the struggle between love and duty.Don Rafael would not have hesitated long as to the course he should pursue, had some good genius only made known to him a certain fact—that at that same hour an accident was occurring at the hacienda Del Valle, of a nature to reconcile the two conflicting sentiments that had warped the thread of his destiny.A messenger from Don Mariano—the same who had brought back Roncador to Del Valle—had on that very day again presented himself at the hacienda. This time his errand was one of a purely personal nature—to Don Rafael Tres-Villas himself.“Where are you from?” demanded Veraegui of the messenger, in his usual blunt Catalonian fashion.“Oajaca!”“Who has sent you?”“Don Mariano de Silva.”“What do you want with the Colonel?”“I can only declare my errand to the Colonel himself.”“Then you will have to go to Huajapam first—that is, unless you prefer to wait till he arrives here. We expect him in three or four days.”“I prefer going to Huajapam,” rejoined the man “my errand is of such a nature that it will not bear delay.”This messenger was on his way to Huajapam, and not more than thirty leagues from the town, at the moment when Don Rafael was leaving it to proceed in the opposite direction.Meanwhile Trujano, returning to the field of battle covered with the bodies of his dead and wounded enemies, caused all his soldiers to kneel, and publicly render thanks to God for having delivered them from their long and painful siege. Morelos at the same moment ordered his troops to prostrate themselves in prayer; and then a psalm was sung by all in chorus, to consecrate the important victory they had gained.Don Rafael was still not so distant from the field but that he could hear the swelling of many voices in the pious chaunt. The sounds fell with melancholy effect upon his ears, until the tears began to chase themselves over his cheeks.In reviewing the circumstances which had influenced him to change his line of conduct in regard to this revolution, he reflected that had he given way to more generous instincts, and not allowed himself to be forced astray by the desire of fulfilling a rash vow, his voice would at that moment have been mingling with theirs—one of the loudest in giving thanks for the success of a cause of which he was now the irreconcilable enemy!With an effort he repulsed these reflections, and sternly resolved upon going to the hacienda Del Valle, to re-steel his heart over the tomb of his father.A perilous journey it would be for him. The whole province—the capital and one or two other places excepted—was now in the hands of the insurgents; and a royalist officer could not travel the roads without great risk of falling into their hands.“God protects him who does his duty,” muttered Don Rafael, as he again turned his horse to the roads, spurring him into a gallop, in order that the sound of his hoofs might drown that pious song, which, by stirring up sad souvenirs, was fast weakening his resolution.In another hour he had crossed the Sierra which bounded the plain of Huajapam, and was following the road which led southward to the hacienda Del Valle.
The situation of Don Rafael had now become as critical as was that of Lantejas but the moment before. His pistols had been discharged; his sabre, broken in the battle, he had flung from him; and the only arm of which he could now avail himself was the dagger so near being sheathed in the heart of Don Cornelio.
During the Mexican revolutionary war but few prisoners were taken by the Royalists; and the cruelties exercised upon those that were, naturally led to retaliation. On both sides it was a war of extermination. The lives of captives were rarely spared, even after they had voluntarily surrendered.
Don Rafael, therefore, had made up his mind to sell his life as dearly as he could, rather than fall into the hands of his enemies, when one of them, an officer, addressing Lantejas, called out, in a voice which the latter recognised—
“Ah! Captain Lantejas! haste and come this way. The General wishes to thank you for the victory which you have given us.”
Don Rafael also recognised the officer, who was advancing at a gallop; and brave though Tres-Villas was, it was not without satisfaction that the enemy he saw coming towards him was Colonel Trujano, the ex-muleteer.
Trujano, on his side, at the same instant recognised the royalist officer.
Don Rafael, too proud to appeal to old friendships for protection—even to one whose life he had saved, in return for a similar service—put spurs to his horse, and galloped towards Trujano. With such impetuosity did he ride, that in another instant the two horses would have come into collision, had not the bridle of Don Rafael’s been grasped by a hand—the hand of Lantejas! The Captain, at the risk of being crushed under the hoofs of both horses—moved by the generosity which Don Rafael had so lately bestowed upon him—rushed between the two horsemen as a mediator.
“Colonel Trujano!” cried he, “I do not know what you mean in saying that the General is indebted to me for a victory; but, if I have done anything that deserves a recompense, I do not wish any other than the life and liberty of Don Rafael Tres-Villas.”
“I ask favours from no one,” interrupted Don Rafael, with a haughty glance towards Trujano.
“You will grant me one—that of giving me your hand,” said the ex-muleteer, at the same time cordially holding out his own.
“Never to a conqueror!” exclaimed Don Rafael, though evidently affected, in spite of himself, by the action and speech of his generous enemy.
“Here there is neither conqueror nor conquered,” rejoined Trujano, with that winning smile that gained all hearts. “There is a man, however, who always remembers a service done to him.”
“And another who never forgets one,” repeated Don Rafael, with warmth, at the same time grasping the hand that was still held towards him.
Then the two horsemen drew their horses nearer, and exchanged the most cordial greetings.
Trujano profited by this occasion to whisper in the ear of his enemy, and with a delicacy which still further moved Don Rafael, whose pride he had treated with such condescension—
“Go—you are free. Only promise not to cut the hair off the heads of any more poor women; although it is said there was one whose heart trembled with pride that the conqueror of Aguas Calientes should send her such a terrible souvenir. Go!” added he, withdrawing his hand from the convulsive grasp of Don Rafael, “deliver yourself up a prisoner at the hacienda Las Palmas, where the road is open for you, believe me.”
Then, as if he had too long occupied himself with the trivial affairs of the world, the countenance of Trujano resumed its expression of ascetic gravity, and when the eye of Don Rafael was interrogating it, in hopes of reading there the true signification of the last words, the insurgent chieftain called out—
“Let Don Rafael Tres-Villas pass free! Let every one forget what has occurred.”
Saying this, he formally saluted the Royalist colonel with his sword, who could only return the salute with a glance of the most profound gratitude.
Don Rafael pressed the hand of the Captain; and bowing coldly to the other insurgents, rode out from their midst. Then, urging his horse into a gallop, he followed the road that led outward from the plain of Huajapam.
On finding himself alone, he reduced the speed of his horse to a walk, and became absorbed in a reverie of reflection. The last words of Trujano—what could they mean? “The road is open for you, believe me.” Was it an assurance that he should be welcomed at the hacienda of Las Palmas? Should he proceed thither, as the insurgent colonel had counselled him? or should he go direct to Del Valle, to make arrangements for his last campaign against the brigand Arroyo?
Once more had commenced the struggle between love and duty.
Don Rafael would not have hesitated long as to the course he should pursue, had some good genius only made known to him a certain fact—that at that same hour an accident was occurring at the hacienda Del Valle, of a nature to reconcile the two conflicting sentiments that had warped the thread of his destiny.
A messenger from Don Mariano—the same who had brought back Roncador to Del Valle—had on that very day again presented himself at the hacienda. This time his errand was one of a purely personal nature—to Don Rafael Tres-Villas himself.
“Where are you from?” demanded Veraegui of the messenger, in his usual blunt Catalonian fashion.
“Oajaca!”
“Who has sent you?”
“Don Mariano de Silva.”
“What do you want with the Colonel?”
“I can only declare my errand to the Colonel himself.”
“Then you will have to go to Huajapam first—that is, unless you prefer to wait till he arrives here. We expect him in three or four days.”
“I prefer going to Huajapam,” rejoined the man “my errand is of such a nature that it will not bear delay.”
This messenger was on his way to Huajapam, and not more than thirty leagues from the town, at the moment when Don Rafael was leaving it to proceed in the opposite direction.
Meanwhile Trujano, returning to the field of battle covered with the bodies of his dead and wounded enemies, caused all his soldiers to kneel, and publicly render thanks to God for having delivered them from their long and painful siege. Morelos at the same moment ordered his troops to prostrate themselves in prayer; and then a psalm was sung by all in chorus, to consecrate the important victory they had gained.
Don Rafael was still not so distant from the field but that he could hear the swelling of many voices in the pious chaunt. The sounds fell with melancholy effect upon his ears, until the tears began to chase themselves over his cheeks.
In reviewing the circumstances which had influenced him to change his line of conduct in regard to this revolution, he reflected that had he given way to more generous instincts, and not allowed himself to be forced astray by the desire of fulfilling a rash vow, his voice would at that moment have been mingling with theirs—one of the loudest in giving thanks for the success of a cause of which he was now the irreconcilable enemy!
With an effort he repulsed these reflections, and sternly resolved upon going to the hacienda Del Valle, to re-steel his heart over the tomb of his father.
A perilous journey it would be for him. The whole province—the capital and one or two other places excepted—was now in the hands of the insurgents; and a royalist officer could not travel the roads without great risk of falling into their hands.
“God protects him who does his duty,” muttered Don Rafael, as he again turned his horse to the roads, spurring him into a gallop, in order that the sound of his hoofs might drown that pious song, which, by stirring up sad souvenirs, was fast weakening his resolution.
In another hour he had crossed the Sierra which bounded the plain of Huajapam, and was following the road which led southward to the hacienda Del Valle.
Chapter Fifty Two.Rude Guests.Let us now recount the events which took place at the hacienda Las Palmas from the day on which Captain Tres-Villas was compelled to leave Don Mariano and his two daughters at the mercy of the ferocious robbers Arroyo and Bocardo.The two guerilleros had sought refuge there, with the remnant of their band—most of which had been already destroyed by Tres-Villas and Caldelas. From the moment of first entering his house, they had insisted upon a footing of perfect equality between themselves and their old master. Even Gertrudis and Marianita were not exempted from this compulsory social levelling. The brigands ate at the same table with Don Mariano and his daughters—were waited upon by the servants of the hacienda—and slept in the very best beds the house afforded.All the while Bocardo was observed to cast covetous glances on the silver plate—which, as is customary in the houses of Mexicanricos, was massive and abundant.In Don Mariano’s presence he was in the habit of frequently making allusion to the richness of the Royalists; and behind his back he had several times endeavoured to persuade Arroyo that one who was the proprietor of such wealth, as was enjoyed by the haciendado, could not be otherwise than an enemy to the insurgent cause, and, at the bottom of his heart, a friend to the oppressors of the country.“Look at us, poor insurgents!” he would say, “often reduced—especially when absent from this hospitable mansion—to use our fingers for forks, and ourtortillasfor spoons!”And the wind-up of his argument always was, that they “ought to treat as a Royalist a master who dined every day upon silver plates—that Don Mariano should be reduced to the same condition as other patriotic insurgents, and use his fingers for forks, while his plates should be converted into piastres.”Up to a certain period Arroyo rejected these proposals of his comrade. Not that he had any more respect for the property of Don Mariano than his associate had; but rather that he was not yet sufficiently hardened to reckless outrage, as to perpetrate such an audacious robbery on one who was publicly known to be a friend to the insurgent cause. We say, up to a certain time Arroyo preserved these egotistical scruples; but that time terminated on the day and hour when, in the presence of his old master, and the whole household of Las Palmas, he was forced to endure the terrible insults inflicted upon him by the dragoon captain. From that moment he transferred a portion of his vengeful hatred for Don Rafael to the haciendado and his daughters; and it is possible that on his leaving Las Palmas the night after—which the dangerous proximity of Del Valle influenced him to do—he would have left bloody traces behind him, but for the interference of his associate Bocardo.The latter, in his turn, had counselled moderation. More covetous of gold, and less thirsty of blood than Arroyo, the astute brigand had represented, that “there could be no great blame attached to them for using the silver of Don Mariano to serve the good cause of the insurrection; that the more needy of the insurgents might justly demand aid from their richer brethren, but not their lives or their blood.”Arroyo no longer combated the proposals of hisconfrère. To him they now appeared moderate; and the result was, that the twoforbanscollected all of Don Mariano’s silver they could lay their hands upon, with such other valuables as were portable—and, having made a distribution among their followers, decamped that night from Las Palmas, taking good care in theirHaegirato give the hacienda of Del Valle a wide berth.With regard to Don Mariano and his daughters, they were only too happy that nothing worse than robbery had been attempted by the brigands. They had dreaded outrage as well as spoliation; and they were rejoiced at being left with their lives and honour uninjured.Made aware, by this episode, of the danger of living any longer in a house isolated as Las Palmas—which might be at the mercy any moment of either royalists or insurgents—Don Mariano bethought him of retiring to Oajaca. He would be safer there—even though the town was thoroughly devoted to the cause of the king; for, as yet, his political opinions had not been declared sufficiently to compromise him. For some days, however, circumstances of one kind or another arose to hinder him from putting this project into execution.The hacienda of San Carlos, inhabited by the man who was about to become his son-in-law—Don Fernando de Lacarra—was only a few leagues distant from that of Las Palmas; and Marianita did not like the idea of leaving the neighbourhood. Without stating the true one, she urged a thousand objections to this departure. Gertrudis was also against it. The souvenirs which Las Palmas called up were at once sweet and sad; and the influence which sorrow has over love is well-known—especially within the heart of woman.In the hacienda Las Palmas sad memories were not wanting to Gertrudis. How often, at sunset, did she sit in the window of her chamber, with her eyes bent in dreamy melancholy over the distant plain—deserted as on that evening when Don Rafael hastened to arrive, risking life that he might see her but an hour sooner!When Don Rafael, in the first burst of his grief and vengeance, indulged in that wild pleasure which is often felt in breaking the heart of another, while one’s own is equally crushed—when he galloped off along the road to Oajaca, after burying thegage d’amourin the tomb of his father—thus renouncing his love without telling of it—then, and for some time after, the young girl waited only with vivid impatience. The pique she had at first felt was soon effaced by anxiety for his safety; but this at length gave place to agony more painful than that of suspense—the agony of suspicion.We have already related, by what insensible and gradual transitions the family of Don Mariano de Silva had become confirmed in the belief, that Don Rafael had proved traitor to his mistress as to his country.Nevertheless, at that moment when he presented himself, to demand the surrendering of the brigands, the sound of his voice falling upon the ears of Gertrudis had come very near vanquishing her wounded pride. That manly voice—whether when exchanging a few words with her father, or hurling defiance at the ferocious Arroyo—had caused her heart to tremble in every fibre. She required at that moment to summon up all the resentment of love disdained, as well as all the natural modesty of woman, to hinder her from showing herself to Don Rafael, and crying out—“Oh, Rafael! I can more easily bear the dagger of Arroyo, than your desertion of me!”“Alas! what have you done,mio padre?” cried she, addressing herself to her father, as soon as Don Rafael had gone; “you have wounded his pride by your irritating words, at the very moment when, out of regard for us, he has renounced the vengeance which he had sworn on the grave of his father! It may be that the words of oblivion and reconciliation were upon his lips; and you have hindered him from speaking them now and for ever. Ah!mio padre! you have ruined the last hope of your poor child!”The haciendado could make no reply to speeches that caused his own heart to bleed. He deeply regretted the allusions he had made, towards an enemy to whose generosity he was now indebted for the lives both of himself and children.
Let us now recount the events which took place at the hacienda Las Palmas from the day on which Captain Tres-Villas was compelled to leave Don Mariano and his two daughters at the mercy of the ferocious robbers Arroyo and Bocardo.
The two guerilleros had sought refuge there, with the remnant of their band—most of which had been already destroyed by Tres-Villas and Caldelas. From the moment of first entering his house, they had insisted upon a footing of perfect equality between themselves and their old master. Even Gertrudis and Marianita were not exempted from this compulsory social levelling. The brigands ate at the same table with Don Mariano and his daughters—were waited upon by the servants of the hacienda—and slept in the very best beds the house afforded.
All the while Bocardo was observed to cast covetous glances on the silver plate—which, as is customary in the houses of Mexicanricos, was massive and abundant.
In Don Mariano’s presence he was in the habit of frequently making allusion to the richness of the Royalists; and behind his back he had several times endeavoured to persuade Arroyo that one who was the proprietor of such wealth, as was enjoyed by the haciendado, could not be otherwise than an enemy to the insurgent cause, and, at the bottom of his heart, a friend to the oppressors of the country.
“Look at us, poor insurgents!” he would say, “often reduced—especially when absent from this hospitable mansion—to use our fingers for forks, and ourtortillasfor spoons!”
And the wind-up of his argument always was, that they “ought to treat as a Royalist a master who dined every day upon silver plates—that Don Mariano should be reduced to the same condition as other patriotic insurgents, and use his fingers for forks, while his plates should be converted into piastres.”
Up to a certain period Arroyo rejected these proposals of his comrade. Not that he had any more respect for the property of Don Mariano than his associate had; but rather that he was not yet sufficiently hardened to reckless outrage, as to perpetrate such an audacious robbery on one who was publicly known to be a friend to the insurgent cause. We say, up to a certain time Arroyo preserved these egotistical scruples; but that time terminated on the day and hour when, in the presence of his old master, and the whole household of Las Palmas, he was forced to endure the terrible insults inflicted upon him by the dragoon captain. From that moment he transferred a portion of his vengeful hatred for Don Rafael to the haciendado and his daughters; and it is possible that on his leaving Las Palmas the night after—which the dangerous proximity of Del Valle influenced him to do—he would have left bloody traces behind him, but for the interference of his associate Bocardo.
The latter, in his turn, had counselled moderation. More covetous of gold, and less thirsty of blood than Arroyo, the astute brigand had represented, that “there could be no great blame attached to them for using the silver of Don Mariano to serve the good cause of the insurrection; that the more needy of the insurgents might justly demand aid from their richer brethren, but not their lives or their blood.”
Arroyo no longer combated the proposals of hisconfrère. To him they now appeared moderate; and the result was, that the twoforbanscollected all of Don Mariano’s silver they could lay their hands upon, with such other valuables as were portable—and, having made a distribution among their followers, decamped that night from Las Palmas, taking good care in theirHaegirato give the hacienda of Del Valle a wide berth.
With regard to Don Mariano and his daughters, they were only too happy that nothing worse than robbery had been attempted by the brigands. They had dreaded outrage as well as spoliation; and they were rejoiced at being left with their lives and honour uninjured.
Made aware, by this episode, of the danger of living any longer in a house isolated as Las Palmas—which might be at the mercy any moment of either royalists or insurgents—Don Mariano bethought him of retiring to Oajaca. He would be safer there—even though the town was thoroughly devoted to the cause of the king; for, as yet, his political opinions had not been declared sufficiently to compromise him. For some days, however, circumstances of one kind or another arose to hinder him from putting this project into execution.
The hacienda of San Carlos, inhabited by the man who was about to become his son-in-law—Don Fernando de Lacarra—was only a few leagues distant from that of Las Palmas; and Marianita did not like the idea of leaving the neighbourhood. Without stating the true one, she urged a thousand objections to this departure. Gertrudis was also against it. The souvenirs which Las Palmas called up were at once sweet and sad; and the influence which sorrow has over love is well-known—especially within the heart of woman.
In the hacienda Las Palmas sad memories were not wanting to Gertrudis. How often, at sunset, did she sit in the window of her chamber, with her eyes bent in dreamy melancholy over the distant plain—deserted as on that evening when Don Rafael hastened to arrive, risking life that he might see her but an hour sooner!
When Don Rafael, in the first burst of his grief and vengeance, indulged in that wild pleasure which is often felt in breaking the heart of another, while one’s own is equally crushed—when he galloped off along the road to Oajaca, after burying thegage d’amourin the tomb of his father—thus renouncing his love without telling of it—then, and for some time after, the young girl waited only with vivid impatience. The pique she had at first felt was soon effaced by anxiety for his safety; but this at length gave place to agony more painful than that of suspense—the agony of suspicion.
We have already related, by what insensible and gradual transitions the family of Don Mariano de Silva had become confirmed in the belief, that Don Rafael had proved traitor to his mistress as to his country.
Nevertheless, at that moment when he presented himself, to demand the surrendering of the brigands, the sound of his voice falling upon the ears of Gertrudis had come very near vanquishing her wounded pride. That manly voice—whether when exchanging a few words with her father, or hurling defiance at the ferocious Arroyo—had caused her heart to tremble in every fibre. She required at that moment to summon up all the resentment of love disdained, as well as all the natural modesty of woman, to hinder her from showing herself to Don Rafael, and crying out—
“Oh, Rafael! I can more easily bear the dagger of Arroyo, than your desertion of me!”
“Alas! what have you done,mio padre?” cried she, addressing herself to her father, as soon as Don Rafael had gone; “you have wounded his pride by your irritating words, at the very moment when, out of regard for us, he has renounced the vengeance which he had sworn on the grave of his father! It may be that the words of oblivion and reconciliation were upon his lips; and you have hindered him from speaking them now and for ever. Ah!mio padre! you have ruined the last hope of your poor child!”
The haciendado could make no reply to speeches that caused his own heart to bleed. He deeply regretted the allusions he had made, towards an enemy to whose generosity he was now indebted for the lives both of himself and children.