The Queen of the Savannah: A Story of the Mexican War

"The Canadian!" Don Aníbal exclaimed, with a start of surprise.

"Count de Melgosa?" Don Pelagio said, no less astonished.

The newcomers were really Oliver Clary and the count.

"It seems as if you did not expect us, General," the Canadian said gaily.

"On my word I did not," Don Pelagio replied, as he held out his hand to both. "I did not expect either of you; but you are not the less welcome."

"Thanks," said the count.

"Why, I thought you were dead, Señor Clary," the priest continued.

"Well," the Canadian said, "it was touch and go. You simply sent me to a wild beast. But, no matter; I managed to get out of his clutches."

"All the better. But you must require rest. Who are the persons accompanying you?"

"One is a confidential peon of mine; the other a prisoner whom Señor Don Olivero took," the count answered.

"Yes, yes," said the hunter; "we will talk about that scamp presently."

"To what fortunate accident may I attribute your presence here, Señor Conde?"

"A wish to see you, caballero."

"Ah, ah!" the general said, with a piercing glance, "Has grace fallen on you at last? – will you at length consent to join us? It would be a great pleasure to us, Señor Conde."

"You are nearer the truth than you suppose, Señor Padre," the count replied with a smile. "I am not on your side, as you pretend to suppose; but, on the other hand, I am no longer opposed to you; I have sent in my resignation, and, in one word, am neutral for the present."

"That is a bad position, Conde."

"Perhaps so, señor; but, for the present, I wish to keep it. Moreover, to be frank, I will confess that I have come more especially to see Don Aníbal."

"Me?" the hacendero exclaimed, as he stepped forward.

"Yes, my friend; but before I explain to you the cause of my coming, allow Señor Don Olivero to report to your chief the way in which he carried out the mission confided to him."

"Very good," the hacendero answered, as he fell back a step.

"Come, speak, Colonel," Father Sandoval said.

"Am I still a colonel?" the hunter asked.

"Hang it, as you are not dead, I see no reason why you should not be, especially as I am extremely pleased with your lieutenant, Moonshine, and your cuadrilla has done me eminent services."

"In that case, all is well," the hunter said joyfully, as he snapped his fingers, and coquettishly twisted his light moustache.

After this outburst of joy, the hunter began his narrative, to which the general listened with the deepest attention. When he came to the carrying off the papers, Don Pelagio interrupted him.

"Have you those papers with you?" he asked eagerly.

"Here they are," the hunter answered, as he drew them from the pocket into which he had stuffed them, and laid them on the table.

The general seized them, and going up to the candle, carefully perused them.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, with a sudden outburst, "I was not mistaken; all is really as I foresaw; now I have him, and he will not escape me. Colonel, you performed your mission as a man of heart and intellect. I shall remember it at the first opportunity. Now go on," he added, as he carefully placed the papers in his bosom.

"Well," the hunter gaily remarked, "it seems that I made a better haul than I supposed."

"You could not be more lucky."

"All the better then. What you say to me, General, causes me the greater pleasure, because I shall probably have to ask a favour of you ere long."

"It is granted beforehand, if it depends on me."

"On you absolutely, General; moreover, it is a service I wish to render Don Aníbal de Saldibar, your friend."

"Render me?" the hacendero exclaimed, in surprise.

"Yes, you, señor."

The count laid a finger on his lip, to recommend silence to Don Aníbal. The latter, surprised at his friend's gesture, was silent, as if involuntarily; but he suffered from a secret anxiety caused by this mystery, an explanation of which he racked his brains in vain to find. The hunter continued his narrative.

"As I had the honour of telling you, General, we left the Hacienda del Río in the morning. Our horses, fatigued by a long ride, only advanced with difficulty, and we were ourselves exhausted by the heat; moreover, it was already late, and the hour for the halt had arrived. At this moment I noticed a cave close by, and proposed to the count that we should rest in it, to which he assented. I entered this grotto, and after exploring it thoroughly, made my comrades a sign to join me. This cave, which was very large, formed several galleries. Forgive me, General, for entering into these details, which may appear to you prolix, but they are indispensable."

"Go on, Colonel; I am listening with the most lively interest," the general answered, though in his heart he wished the Canadian at the deuce.

"We consequently established ourselves as best we could, with our horses, in one of the most retired galleries. My comrades and the Señor Conde himself yielded to sleep, and I confess that I was about to follow their example, when suddenly the sound of footsteps very near the spot where we were cachéed, made me prick up my ears, and drove away my sleep. I lay down on the ground, and crawled cautiously in the direction of the noise I had heard. I was not mistaken; we were no longer alone in the cavern; a man had entered it, and that man was an Indian. I recognized this fact by his dress, for he had his back turned to me. After placing on the ground a rather large bundle, this Indian looked cautiously around him. I held my breath for fear of being discovered, so greatly did this man puzzle me. At length, feeling convinced that he was quite alone, and no one could see him, he took all his clothes off, and darted out of the cavern like a startled deer. I could not comprehend it at all, and was not far from taking the man for a lunatic; but, when I saw him return, his paint had disappeared; he had merely plunged into the river to wash himself. When he was dry, he dressed himself again, but not in the same clothes, but in others he took out of the bundle he had laid on the ground when he came in. But then a singular thing occurred – my Indian of just now was metamorphosed into a Mexican!"

"What?" the general and the hacendero exclaimed in surprise, "A Mexican?"

"A Mexican," the hunter continued calmly; "and more extraordinary still, this Mexican I recognized so well that I could not restrain a cry of surprise. He heard me, and turned round with a start. Doubt was no longer possible. This Indian was Señor Don Aníbal's majordomo."

"Sotavento!" the hacendero exclaimed.

"Ah, ah!" said the general, "Go on, my friend. What did you do then?"

"On my word, General, seeing that I was discovered, I bounded upon him. I am free to confess that he did not seem at all anxious to be taken, for he offered a desperate resistance; but, thank goodness, I am tolerably strong, and in spite of all his efforts, I succeeded in mastering him, and brought him here, because his conduct appeared to me extremely suspicious, and the Señor Conde and myself wished to clear up certain suspicions which had occurred to us with reference to him. That is all I have to say to you, General."

The hunter ceased, apparently very pleased at having got so well through so long and difficult a narrative.

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE PRISONER

When the hunter finished his narrative a gloomy silence prevailed for some minutes in the jacal. Outside the wind blew fiercely, and the rain fell in torrents. The smoky flame of the candle, flickering in the gusts, only spread an uncertain gleam over the pale faces of these men, who felt their hearts contracted by a sinister presentiment. The hacendero was the first to overcome the emotion he felt. With head erect, frowning brows, and features contracted by a supreme resolution, he walked rapidly up to the prisoner, and, pulling down roughly the zarapé that covered the lower part of his face, he gazed at him for a moment with an expression of grief and passion impossible to render.

"It is true, then," he at length muttered, in a dull voice, "this man I believed so devoted to me is a traitor. I alone was blind when everybody around me accused him. Speak, villain, what have you done?"

"It is my place to answer that question," the count said, as he walked forward and laid his hand on Don Aníbal's arm.

The hacendero looked at him in amazement.

"You, Señor Conde?" he said.

"Yes, I, Don Aníbal. I, who have only come here to tell you a frightful secret, and am compelled to bring a terrible accusation against this man."

Don Aníbal felt as if his heart would break.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "What are you going to tell me, great God?"

Don Pelagio, who had hitherto leant his elbow on the table, and remained motionless and thoughtful, placed himself between the two gentlemen, and looked at them, in turn, with an expression of sorrowful compassion.

"Stay," he said, in a loud voice. "In the name of heaven – in the name of our country – I command it! However terrible the revelation you have to make, Señor Conde, may be; however great your impatience, Don Aníbal, to know the full extent of your misfortunes, this is neither the place nor the hour for such an explanation; honour bids you both defer it for some hours. We must start immediately, for the hour has arrived. If we delayed for a few moments the fruit of all our labour and efforts would be lost. What do you apprehend? This man is in your power, and will not escape. You will soon be able to inflict on him the punishment which he doubtless deserves."

"Oh!" the hacendero exclaimed, sorrowfully, "Suppose this villain escaped our vengeance, my friend; I feel a foreboding of some frightful misfortune."

The count and the hunter looked down sadly. Father Sandoval gently laid his hand on the shoulder of the hacendero, who had fallen into an equipal, and buried his face in his hands.

"Courage, friend," he said to him, softly. "God is watching. His justice never sleeps. Remember the precept written on the heart of every man of honour, 'Do your duty, no matter what may happen.'"

The hacendero replied with a choking sob.

"You no longer belong to yourself," the priest continued, more warmly; "your head and your arm are claimed by your country. Be a man, however great the sorrow that awaits you; draw yourself up, and become strong for the coming contest. Every man in the world has his cup which he drains to the dregs. Go, my friend, go where duty calls you; tomorrow you can think of yourself, but today belongs to your country."

The hacendero, overpowered by this manly appeal, rose mechanically, pulled his hat over his eyes, and went off without uttering a word. The priest looked after him, tenderly.

"Oh!" he muttered, "How that man of iron must suffer to be thus crushed!"

Then he turned to the count.

"Señor Conde," he added, laughingly, "you are my prisoner for four and twenty hours."

"I shall not leave you till the business for which I have come is ended," the count replied with a polite bow.

"Hilloh, my worthy lad," the priest continued, addressing Diego López, who throughout the interview had remained motionless in his corner, with his eyes constantly fixed on the prisoner, "my provost marshal will save you the trouble of guarding that man."

"That will be a great relief for me, Excellency."

"Good. Go and tell him to come here immediately. The prisoner is securely bound, I presume?"

"Señor Clary himself made the knot, Excellency."

"In that case, my mind is at rest. Go."

"The more so, because I undertake to watch the villain in the meanwhile," Oliver said, as he cocked a pistol.

"Good," Diego López remarked, and went out.

"Are your horses fit for a long ride, caballeros?"

"Well, hardly," the Canadian answered.

"Very well; you will choose among mine. Colonel Clary, your regiment, which you will find complete, is on escort tonight."

"Are we going away?" the count asked.

"This very instant."

The Mexican general clapped his hands, and an officer came in.

"Order your men to mount noiselessly, Captain. Are the horses shod with felt, as I ordered?"

"Yes, Excellency."

"Good; we shall start in ten minutes. You can go."

"Are we bound on an expedition?" the Canadian asked.

"Yes," the general replied, laconically.

"¡Caray!" the hunter exclaimed, as he rubbed his hands merrily, "That is what I call being in luck's way, arriving just in time for an expedition."

"Which will probably be serious," the general resumed.

"All the better; there will be something to gain in that case."

At this moment the provost marshal appeared at the door of the jacal, accompanied by a dozen soldiers.

"Caballero," the general said to him, "I confide this prisoner to you, for whom I hold you responsible. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, General," the provost answered respectfully. "Come, my men, seize the fellow."

The majordomo was led away by the soldiers. During the whole time the Indian had remained in the jacal, he had been cold and stoical, as if what was going on around him did not affect him in the least. As he went out he gave a sarcastic glance at the company and smiled contemptuously.

"I must watch that villain," the hunter said to himself, "he is surely meditating some Indian devilry."

A noise of men and horses, followed by the clang of arms, informed the general that his orders had been carried out.

"Let us be off, señores," he said.

They left the jacal. When the general and his escort had mounted, Father Sandoval placed himself at the head of the column.

"Forward, caballeros," he said, in a loud, firm voice, "and may heaven be gracious to us!"

The horsemen started a gallop, passing silently and rapidly through the darkness, like the wild horseman in the German ballad. While they were crossing the camp, one thing greatly surprised the hunter, though he did not dare ask for an explanation. On all sides burnt bivouac fires, sending myriads of sparks up into the air, but he could not notice a single sentry. The most perfect silence reigned; men, horses, guns and baggage had become invisible; the camp was or seemed to be entirely deserted. The entrenchments were abandoned; no sentry shouted, "Who goes there?" no vidette arrested the detachment. In a word, the entire Mexican army seemed to have faded away in smoke.

The escort left the camp, and then the pace, already rapid, increased in velocity. They proceeded toward the mountains which rose gloomy and frowning on the horizon in the first gleams of daylight. A little in the rear of the regiment of lancers, of which it formed as it were a second rearguard, came a detachment of fifty soldiers. They were the provost marshal's guard. In the midst of them was the majordomo, fastened with a strap upon a horse behind its rider. Sotavento, or the Stag, whichever the reader likes to call him, appeared to have lost none of his assurance or courage; his face was calm, and his eyes alone flashed at intervals, like those of a wild beast. On his right and left two troopers, carbine on thigh, carefully watched him.

They galloped on thus for nearly three hours; the sky grew less gloomy, and the outlines of the hills began to stand out upon the horizon. The detachment halted for a short time, on reaching one of those countless streams which intersect the desert, and which it was necessary to ford. On the other bank could be seen the last squadrons of lancers, entering at a gallop a canyon whose scarped and almost perpendicular sides were only covered with a stunted and sparse vegetation. With his arms fastened down on his chest, and his body attached by a strap, it seemed an impossibility for Sotavento to escape; hence his guardians who, as we said, did not let him out of sight, considered it unnecessary to tie his legs under the horse's belly.

The majordomo, however, far from yielding to a despair unworthy of him, seriously thought of escaping, and coolly calculated in his mind all the chances of success left him. We must confess that they were very small. Still, the Indian was determined to fly at all risks; he knew very well that the grave suspicions would soon be converted into a certainty, and that when this certainty was once acquired, his death would immediately ensue. Death did not terrify the Indian; he had seen it too often and under too many shapes to fear it; but, if he died, what would become of his vengeance, which he had followed up for so many years with feline patience, and which he was now on the point of seeing satiated?

Hence, ever since the moment he was led into the jacal, all his thoughts were directed to one object – flight. Crouched up like a tiger on the watch, his eyes incessantly sounded the darkness, seeking the opportunity which did not offer itself, and which he did not mean to lose when it presented itself. This long expected opportunity he believed had at length arrived, and he made all his preparations to take advantage of it.

Although night was passing away and the first gleams of dawn were already beginning to spread across the horizon large pearly bands, which gradually assumed all the colours of the rainbow, the darkness was still so great that it was difficult to make objects out distinctly, even at a short distance. During the whole of the journey Sotavento had remained gloomy and silent, with his head hanging over his chest, and careful not to give the soldiers who watched him the slightest pretext to redouble their vigilance; but for all that he was not idle, and his pretended immobility had an incessant and obstinate labour. The Indian was quietly nibbling with his teeth, which were as sharp as those of a wild beast, the leathern straps which bound his hands. When the detachment reached the riverbank the thongs were bitten through, although his hands were still secured.

The provost, after sending a trooper to examine the ford, went across with one half of his men. Excepting at the spot where the soldiers traversed the stream, the banks were scarped and abrupt, and consisted of rocks piled irregularly on each other, and rising to a considerable height above the water. The order was given to bring the prisoner across, and the soldier, behind whom he was fastened, trotted up to the riverbank. The ford was too narrow for three riders to pass abreast, and hence only one of the guards accompanied the prisoner. The latter prepared for action. He understood that, if he did not profit by the opportunity chance now afforded him, he would not find another.

The horses entered the river, and were soon up to their girths in water. The soldier behind whom Sotavento was fastened, had quite enough to do in keeping his horse in the line of the ford, and, at the same time, raising his weapons, so that they should not be wetted; hence he paid but slight attention to his prisoner. All at once, at the moment he reached the middle of the stream, the soldier received a terrible shock, and was unsaddled and hurled into the river before he had time even to utter a cry. Sotavento had boldly leapt into the water, dragging the trooper after him. A terrible struggle went on for a few seconds between the two men; but the soldier, feeling himself lost, and clinging eagerly to life, undid the strap that attached him to the prisoner, and rose to the surface in order to breathe.

"Look out! Look out!" the other trooper exclaimed as he halted; "The prisoner is escaping."

This shout produced disorder among the party, who at once galloped in all directions with their eyes fixed on the stream in the hope of pursuing the prisoner. But then a terrible thing occurred. The soldier who had been the first to give the alarm, felt himself suddenly dragged off his horse into the water, struggling vainly in the furious clutch of the majordomo, who had seized him by the throat and was pitilessly strangling him. With the rapidity of a wild beast, the Indian seized the knife which the soldier wore in his boot, brandished it over his enemy's head and scalped him; then, casting the dying man from him, he bestrode his horse, waved the scalp with a triumphant cry, and making the animal quit the ford, in which the couple had struggled up to their waist in water, he went down the current amid a shower of bullets which dashed up the spray all around him.

The horse, held by a firm hand, swam vigorously down with the current, still keeping to the centre of the stream. On both banks horsemen were galloping, shouting to each other, and trying in vain to approach the river, which was defended by impassable masses of rock. Still, if the scarped banks offered an obstacle to his pursuers, they equally prevented the majordomo from reaching land. His horse was beginning to pant, its strength was nearly exhausted, and it swam feebly. The Indian looked round him anxiously, caring little for the soldiers, but seeing with terror that the further he went the more difficult it became to land on either side.

In spite of the provost's repeated orders, the soldiers, despairing to catch up the fugitive, and perceiving the futility of their efforts, gave up the pursuit. The Indian was consequently alone; still, in spite of the certainty of having thrown out his foes, he feared that he had but changed his manner of death. At the moment when his horse was beginning to sink and beat the water with its forelegs, the chief uttered a shout of joy. In the very centre of the river was an islet easy of approach, and not more than sixty yards from him.

The Indian did not hesitate; removing his horse's bit, which was troublesome to it, he dived and swam vigorously toward the islet. The animal, freed from its rider's weight, seemed to regain its old strength, and, impelled by instinct, also proceeded in the same direction. A quarter of an hour after, man and horse walked together up the sandy bank of the island. They were saved!

CHAPTER XXXIII.

MOONSHINE

It was about four in the morning; the night storm had completely swept the sky, which was of a deep azure; day would speedily appear. General Cárdenas, leaning sadly over the battlements of the town wall, was reflecting, while his eye wandered over the plain and the camp of the Mexicans, whose bivouac fires were beginning to die out. A little distance behind him, aides-de-camp and orderly officers carelessly leaning on their sabres were waiting with ill-disguised impatience till their chief thought proper to leave the ramparts and return to the cabildo.

The general, we said, was reflecting. His thoughts were sad and gloomy. Provisions and ammunition, squandered by the officers ordered to serve them out, were running short; the garrison, tired of being shut up within the walls, were beginning to mutter, and would ere long complain loudly. Coahuila had been so completely invested by the Mexican army that, from the day the siege began, no one had been able to enter or leave the town. The general, consequently, was as much deprived of news as if he were five hundred leagues away from Mexico. The soldiers, accustomed since the beginning of the insurrection to live at the expense of the country people, plunder, and ill-treat them, did not like the confined diet to which they were constrained. Unpleasant rumours circulated among them, although it was impossible to trace them to their source. The officers themselves were discouraged, and desired the end of this state of things, which every day that passed rendered worse. The general, therefore, saw with terror the moment at hand when all would fail him at once, and he would be forced to throw himself on the mercy of enemies whom he had supposed so contemptible, and whom he had taken a delight in exasperating by unlooked-for and objectless cruelty. Hurled thus from his high estate into a bottomless abyss, the general was suffering from one of those cold and concentrated attacks of fury which are the more terrible because they can find no outlet.

All at once the general fancied he could distinguished the shadowy outline of a man, who was approaching the ramparts with the utmost caution. Still this man appeared to care very little about being seen from the town, and only tried to conceal himself from the sentries, who might have noticed him in the camp. Some considerable time elapsed ere this man, who advanced looking back anxiously every moment, arrived within pistol shot of the ramparts. The general rose, and, making an officer a sign to approach, whispered a few words in his ear. The officer went off, and the general returned to his post of observation.