Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas

In this motley assemblage it may easily be conceived that I mingled unnoticed, and sat down to my mess of “frijoles with garlic” without even a passing observation. As I ate on, however, I was far from pleased by remarking that Seth and another had taken their seats at a table right opposite, and kept their eyes full on me with what in better society had been a most impudent stare. I affected not to perceive this, and even treated myself to a flask of French wine, with the air of a man revelling in undisturbed enjoyment. But all the rich bouquet, all the delicious flavor, were lost upon me; the sense of some impending danger overpowered all else; and let me look which way I would, Seth and his buff-leather jacket, his high boots, immense spurs, and enormous horse-pistols rose up before me like a vision.

I read in the changeful expression of his features the struggle between doubt and conviction as to whether he had seen me before. I saw what was passing in his mind, and I tried a thousand little arts and devices to mystify him. If I drank my wine, I always threw out the last drops of each glass upon the floor; when I smoked, I rolled my cigar between my palms, and patted and squeezed it in genuine Mexican fashion. I turned up the points of my moustache like a true hidalgo, and played Spaniard to the very top of my bent.

Not only did these airs seem not to throw him off the scent, but I remarked that he eyed me more suspiciously, and often conversed in whispers with his companion. My anxiety had now increased to a sense of fever, and I saw that if nothing else should do so, agitation alone would betray me. I accordingly arose, and called the waiter to show me to a room.

It was not without difficulty that one could be had, and that was a miserable little cell, whitewashed, and with no other furniture than a mattress and two chairs. At least, however, I was alone; I was relieved from the basilisk glances of that confounded horse-dealer, and I threw myself down on my mattress in comparative ease of mind, when suddenly I heard a smart tap at the door, and a voice called out, with a very Yankee accent, “I say, friend, I want a word with you.”

I replied, in Spanish, that if any one wanted me, they must wait till I had taken my “siesta.”

“Take your siesta another time, and open your door at once; or mayhap I ‘ll do it myself!”

“Well, sir,” said I, as I threw it open, and feigning a look of angry indignation, the better to conceal my fear, “what is so very urgently the matter that a traveller cannot take his rest, without being disturbed in this fashion?”

“Hoity-toity! what a pucker you’re in, boy!” said he, shutting the door behind him; “and we old friends too!”

“When or where have we ever met before?” asked I, boldly.

“For the ‘where,’ – it was up at Austin, in Texas; for the ‘when,’ – something like three years bygone.”

I shook my head, with a saucy smile of incredulity.

“Nay, nay, don’t push me farther than I want to go, lad. Let bygones be bygones, and tell me what’s the price of your beast, yonder.”

“I ‘ll not sell the mustang,” said I, stoutly.

“Ay, but you will, boy! and to me, too! And it’s Seth Chiseller says it!”

“No man can presume to compel another to part with his horse against his will, I suppose?” said I, affecting a coolness I did not feel.

“There’s many a stranger thing than that happens in these wild parts. I’ve known a chap ride away with a beast, – just without any question at all!”

“That was a robbery!” exclaimed I, in an effort at virtuous indignation.

“It war n’t far off from it,” responded Seth; “but there ‘s a reward for the fellow’s apprehension, and there it be!” and as he spoke he threw a printed handbill on the table, of which all that I could read with my swimming eyes were the words, “One Hundred Dollars Reward,” – “a mare called Charcoal,” – “taking the down trail towards the San José.”

“There was no use in carrying that piece of paper so far,” said I, pitching it contemptuously away.

“And why so, lad?” asked he, peering inquisitively at me.

“Because this took place in Texas, and here we are in Mexico.”

“Mayhap, in strict law that might be something,” said he, calmly; “but were I to chance upon him, why should n’t I pass a running-knot over his wrists, and throw him behind me on one of my horses? Who’s to say ‘You sha’ n’t?’ or who’s to stop a fellow that can ride at the head of thirty well-mounted lads, with Colt’s revolvers at the saddle-bow? – tell me that, boy!”

“In the first place,” said I, “the fellow who would let himself be taken and slung on your crupper, like a calf for market, deserves nothing better; and particularly so long as he owned a four-barrelled pistol like this!” – and here I drew the formidable weapon from my breast, and held it presented towards him, in a manner that it is rarely agreeable to confront.

“Put down your irons, lad,” said he, with the very slightest appearance of agitation in his manner; “we’ll come to terms without burning powder.”

“I ask for nothing better,” said I, putting up my weapon; “but I ‘ll not stand being threatened.”

He gave a short, dry laugh, as though the conceit of my speech amused him, and said, “Now, to business: I want that mustang.”

“You shall have him, Seth,” said I, “the day he reaches Guajuaqualla, whither I am bound in all haste.”

“I am a-going north,” said Seth, gruffly, “and not in that direction.”

“You can send one of your people along with me, to fetch him back.”

“Better to leave him with me now, and take a hack for the journey,” said he.

This was rather too much for my temper; and I ventured to say that he who was to receive a present should scarcely dictate the conditions accompanying it.

“It’s a ransom, boy, – a forfeit, – not a present,” said he, gravely.

“Let us see if you can enforce it, then,” said I, instinctively

“There, now, you’re angry again!” said he, with his imperturbable smile; “if we’re to have a deal together, let us do it like gentlemen.”

Now, probably a more ludicrous caricature of that character could not have been drawn than either in the persons, the manners, or the subject of the transaction in hand; but the word was talismanic, and no sooner had he uttered it than I became amenable to his very slightest suggestion.

“Let me have the beast, – I want him; and I see your holsters and saddle-bags have a jingle in them that tells me dollars are plenty with you; and as to this,” – he threw the piece of paper offering the reward at his feet, – “the man who says anything about it will have to account with Seth Chiselier, that’s all.”

“How far is it from this to Guajuaqualla?”

“About a hundred and twenty miles by the regular road; but there ‘s a trail the miners follow makes it forty less. Not that I would advise you to try that line; the runaway niggers and the half-breeds are always loitering about there, and they ‘re over ready with the bowie-knife, if tempted by a dollar or two.”

Our conversation now took an easy, almost a friendly tone. Seth knew the country and its inhabitants perfectly, and became freely communicative in discussing them and all his dealings with them.

“Let us have a flask of ‘Aguadente,’” said he, at last, “and then we ‘ll join the fandango in the court beneath.”

Both propositions were sufficiently to my taste; and by way of showing that no trace of any ill-feeling lingered in my mind, I ordered an excellent supper and two flasks of the best Amontillado.

Seth expanded, under the influence of the grape, into a most agreeable companion. His personal adventures had been most numerous, and many of them highly exciting; and although a certain Yankee suspiciousness of every man and his motives tinged all he said, there was a hearty tone of good-nature about him vastly different from what I had given him credit for.

The Amontillado being discussed, Seth ordered some Mexican “Paquaretta,” of delicious flavor, of which every glass seemed to inspire one with brighter views of life; nor is it any wonder if my fancy converted the rural belles of the courtyard into beauties of the first order.

The scene was a very picturesque one. A trellised passage, roofed with spreading vines in full bearing, ran around the four sides of the building, in the open space of which the dancers were assembled. Gay lamps of painted paper and rude pine-torches lit up the whole, and gave to the party-colored and showy costumes an elegance and brilliancy which the severer test of daylight might have been ungenerous enough to deny. The olive-brown complexion – the flashing dark eyes – the graceful gestures – the inspiriting music – the merry voices – the laughter – were all too many ingredients of pleasure to put into that little crucible, the human heart, and not amalgamate into something very like enchantment, – a result to which the Paquaretta perhaps contributed.

Into this gay throng Seth and I descended, like men determined, in Mexican phrase, to “take pleasure by both horns.” It was at the very climax of the evening’s amusement we entered. The dance was the Mexican fandango, which is performed in this wise: a lady, stepping into the circle, after displaying her attractions in a variety of graceful evolutions, makes the “tour” of the party in search of the Caballero she desires to take as her partner. It is at his option either to decline the honor by a gesture of deferential humility, or, accepting it, he gives her some part of his equipment, – his hat, his scarf, or his embroidered riding-glove, to be afterwards redeemed as a forfeit; the great amusement of the scene consisting in the strange penalties exacted, which are invariably awarded with a scrupulous attention to the peculiar temperament of the sufferer. Thus, a miserly fellow is certain to be mulcted of his money; an unwieldy mass of fears and terrors is condemned to some feat of horsemanship; a gourmand is sentenced to a dish of the least appetizing nature; and so on: each is obliged to an expiation which is certain to amuse the bystanders. While these are the “blanks” in the lottery, the prizes consist in the soft, seductive glances of eyes that have lost nothing of Castilian fire in their transplanting beyond seas; in the graceful gestures of a partner to whom the native dance is like an expressive language, and whose motions are more eloquent than words, – in being, perhaps, the favored of her whose choice has made you the hidalgo of the evening; and all these, even without the aid of Paquaretta, are no slight distinctions.

Were the seductions less attractive, it is not a man whose Irish blood has been set a-glowing with Spanish wine who is best fitted to resist them, nor assuredly ought Con Cregan to be selected for such self-denial. I stood in the circle with wondering admiration, delighted with everything. Oh, happy age! glorious hour of the balmy night! excellent grape-juice! how much of delicious enjoyment do I owe you all three! I suppose it is the case with every one, but I know it to be with me, that wherever I am, or however situated, I immediately single out some particular object for my especial predilection. If it be a landscape, I at once pitch upon the spot for a cottage, a temple, or a villa; if it be a house, I instantly settle in my mind the room I would take as my own, the window I would sit beside, the very chair I’d take to lounge in; if it be a garden, I fix upon the walk among whose embowering blossoms I would always be found: and so, if the occasion be one of festive enjoyment, I have a quick eye to catch her whose air and appearance possess highest attractions for me. Not always for me the most beautiful, – whose faultless outlines a sculptor would like to chisel, – but one whose fair form and loveliness are suggestive of the visions one has had in boyhood, filling up, in rich colors, the mind-drawn picture we have so often gazed on, and made the heroine of a hundred little love-stories, only known to one’s own heart. And, oh, dear! are not these about the very best of our adventures? At least, if they be not, they are certainly those we look back on with fewest self-reproaches.

In a mood of this kind it was that my eye rested upon a slightly formed but graceful girl, whose dark eyes twice or thrice had met my own, and been withdrawn again with a kind of indolent reluctance – as I fancied – very flattering to me. She wore the square piece of scarlet cloth on her head, so fashionable among the Mexican peasantry, the corners of which hung down with heavy gold tassels among the clusters of her raven locks; a yellow scarf, of the brightest hue, was gracefully thrown over one shoulder, and served to heighten the brilliancy of her olive tint; her jupe, short and looped up with a golden cord, displayed a matchless instep and ankle. There was an air of pride – “fierté,” even – in the position of the foot, as she stood, that harmonized admirably with the erect carriage of her head, and the graceful composure of her crossed arms made her a perfect picture. Nor was I quite certain that she did not know this herself; certain is it, her air, her attitude, her every gesture, were in the most complete “keeping” with her costume.

She was not one of the dancers, but stood among the spectators, and, if I were to pronounce from the glances she bestowed upon the circle, not one of the most admiring there; her features either wearing an expression of passive indifference, or changing to a half smile of scornful contempt. As, with an interest which increased at each moment, I watched her movements, I saw that her scarf was gently pulled by a hand from behind; she turned abruptly, and, with a gesture of almost ineffable scorn, said some few words, and then moved proudly away to another part of the “court.”

Through the vacant spot she had quitted I was able to see him who had addressed her. He was a young, powerfully built fellow, in the dress of a mountaineer, and, though evidently of the peasant class, his dress and arms evinced that he was well to do in the world; the gold drop of his sombrero, the rich bullion tassels of his sash, the massive spurs of solid silver, being all evidences of wealth. Not even the tan-colored hue of his dark face could mask the flush of anger upon it as the girl moved off, and his black eyes, as they followed, glowed like fire. To my amazement, his glance was next bent upon me, and that with an expression of hatred there was no mistaking. At first, I thought it might have been mere fancy on my part; then I explained it as the unvanished cloud still lingering on his features; but at last I saw plainly that the insulting looks were meant for myself. Let me look which side I would, let me occupy my attention how I might, the fellow’s swarthy, sullen face never turned from me for an instant.

I suppose something must have betrayed to my companion what was passing within me, for Seth whispered in my ear, “Take no notice of him, – he’s a Ranchero; and they are always bad uns to deal with.”

“But what cause of quarrel can he have with me?” said I; “we never saw each other before.”

“Don’t you see what it is?” said Seth. “It’s the muchacha: she’s his sweetheart, and she’s been a-looking too long this way to please him.”

“Well, if the girl has got such good taste,” said I, with a saucy laugh, “he ought to prize her the more for it.”

“She is a neat un, that’s a fact,” muttered Seth; and at the same instant the girl walked proudly up to where I stood, and, making a low courtesy before me, held out her hand. I suppose there must have been a little more than the ordinary enthusiasm in the manner I pressed my lips upon it, for she blushed, and a little murmur ran round the circle. The next moment we were whirling along in the waltz, – I, at least, lost to everything save the proud pleasure of what I deemed my triumph. The music suddenly changed to the fandango, of which dance I was a perfect master; and now the graceful elegance of my partner and the warm plaudits of the company called forth my utmost exertions. As for her, she was the most bewitching representative of her native measure it is possible to conceive, her changeful expression following every movement of the dance: now retiring in shrinking bashfulness, now advancing with proud and haughty mien, now enticing to pursuit by looks of languishment, now, as if daring all advances, her flashing eyes would almost sparkle with defiance.

What a terrible battery was this to open upon the defenceless breastwork of a poor Irishman! How withstand the showering grape-shot of dark glances? – how resist the assault of graces that lurked in every smile and every gesture? Alas! I never attempted a defence; I surrendered, not “at,” but “without,” discretion; and, tearing off the great embroidered scarf which I wore, all heavy with its gold fringe, I passed it round her taper waist in a very transport of enthusiasm.

While a buzz of approbation ran round the circle, I heard the words uttered on all sides, “Destago!” “A forfeit!”

“I’ll try his gallantry,” said the girl, as, darting back from my arms, she retired to the very verge of the circle, and, holding up the rich prize, gazed at it with wondering eyes; and now exclamations of praise and surprise at the beauty of the tissue broke from all in turn.

“The muchacha should keep the ‘capotillo,’” said an old lynx-eyed duenna, with a fan as large as a fire-board.

“A Caballero rich as that should give her a necklace of real pearls,” said another.

“I ‘d choose a mustang, with a saddle and trappings all studded with silver,” muttered a third in her ear.

“I ‘ll have none of these,” said the girl, musing; “I must bethink me well if I cannot find something I shall like to look at with pleasure, when mere dress and finery would have lost their charm. I must have that which will remind me of this evening a long time hence, and make me think of him who made it a happiness; and now what shall it be?”

“His heart’s blood, if that will content you!” cried the mountaineer, as, springing from his seat, he tore the scarf from her hands and dashed it on the ground, trampling it beneath his feet, and tearing it to very rags.

“A fight – a fight!” shouted out a number of voices; and now the crowd closed in upon the dancing space, and a hundred tongues mingled in wild altercation. Although a few professed themselves indignant that a stranger should be thus insulted, I saw plainly that the majority were with their countryman, whom they agreed in regarding as a most outraged and injured individual. To my great astonishment, I discovered that my friend Seth took the same view of the matter, and was even more energetic than the others in reprobation of my conduct.

“Don’t you see,” cried he to me, “that you have taken his sweetheart from him? The muchacha has done all this to provoke his jealousy.”

“Oui, oui,” said a thin, miserable-looking Frenchman, “vous avez tiré la bouteille; il faut payer le vin.”

In all probability, had not the crowd separated us most effectually, these comments and counsels had been all uttered “after the fact;” for I dashed forward to strike my antagonist, and was only held back by main force, as Seth whispered in my ear, “Take it coolly, lad; it must be a fight now, and don’t unsteady your hand by flying into a passion.”

Meanwhile the noise and confusion waxed louder and louder; and from the glances directed towards me there was very little doubt how strongly public opinion pronounced against me.

“No, no!” broke in Seth, – in reply to some speech whose purport I could only guess at, for I did not hear the words, – “that would be a downright shame. Let the lad have fair play. There’s a pretty bit of ground outside the garden, for either sword or pistol-work, whichever you choose it to be. I ‘ll not stand anything else.”

Another very fiery discussion ensued upon this, the end of which was that I was led away by Seth and one of his comrades to my room, with the satisfactory assurance that at the very first dawn of day I was to meet the Mexican peasant in single combat.

“You have two good hours of sleep before you,” said Seth, as we entered my room; “and my advice is, don’t lose a minute of them.”

It has been a mystery to me, up to the very hour I am writing in, how far my friend Seth Chiseller’s conduct on this occasion accorded with good faith. Certainly, it would have been impossible for any one to have evinced a more chivalrous regard for my honor, and a more contemptuous disdain for my life, than the aforesaid Seth. He advanced full one hundred reasons for a deadly combat, the results of which, he confessed, were speculative matters of a most dreamy indifference. Now, although it has almost become an axiom in these affairs that there is nothing like a bold, decided friend, yet even these qualities may be carried to excess; and so I began to experience.

There was a vindictiveness in the way he expatiated upon the gross character of the insult I had received, the palpable openness of the outrage, that showed the liveliest susceptibility on the score of my reputation; and thus it came to pass, I suppose, from that spirit of divergence and contradiction so native to the human heart that the stronger Seth’s argument ran in favor of a most bloody retribution, the more ingenious grew my casuistry on the side of mercy; till, grown weary of my sophistry, he finished the discussion by saying: “Take your own road, then; and if you prefer a stiletto under the ribs to the chance of a sabre-cut, it is your own affair, not mine.”

“How so? Why should I have to fear such?”

“You don’t think that the villano will suffer a fellow to take his muchacha from him, and dance with her the entire evening before a whole company, without his revenge? No! no! they have different notions on that score, as you ‘ll soon learn.”

“Then what is to be done?”

“I have told you already, and I tell you once more: meet him to-morrow, – the time is not very distant now. You tell me that you are a fair swordsman: now, these chaps have but one attack and one guard. I ‘ll put you up to both; and if you are content to take a slight sabre-cut about the left shoulder, I’ll show you how to run him through the body.”

“And then?”

“Why, then,” said he, turning his tobacco about in his mouth, “I guess you’d better run for it; there’ll be no time to lose. Mount your beast, and ride for the Guajuaqualla road, but don’t follow it long, or you’ll soon be overtaken. Turn the beast loose, and take to the mountains, where, when you ‘ve struck the miner’s track, you ‘ll soon reach the town in safety.”

Overborne by arguments and reasons, many of which Seth strengthened by the pithy apothegm of “Bethink ye where ye are, boy! This is not England, nor Ireland neither!” all my scruples vanished, and I set about the various arrangements in a spirit of true activity. The time was brief, since, besides taking a lesson in the broadsword, I had to make my will. The reader will probably smile at the notion of Con Cregan leaving a testament behind him; but the over-scrupulous Seth would have it so, and assured me, with much feeling, that it would “save a world of trouble hereafter, if anything were to go a bit ugly.”

I therefore bequeathed to the worthy Seth my mustang and his equipments of saddle, holsters, and cloak-bag; my rifle and pistols and bowie-knife were also to become his, as well as all my movables of every kind. I only stipulated that, in the event of the “ugly” termination alluded to, he would convey the letter with his own hands to Guajuaqualla, – a pledge he gave with the greater readiness that a reward was to be rendered for the service. There was some seventy dollars in my bag, which, Seth said, need not be mentioned in the will, as they would be needed for the funeral. “It ‘s costly hereabouts,” said he, growing quite lively on the theme. “They put ye in a great basket, all decked with flowers, and they sticks two big oranges or lemons in your hands; and the chaps as carry you are dressed like devils or angels, I don’t much know which, – and they do make such a cry! My eye for it, but if you was n’t dead, you ‘d not lie there long and listen to ‘em!”

Now, although the subject was not one half so amusing to me as it seemed to Seth, I felt that strange fascination which ever attaches to a painful theme, and asked a variety of questions about the grave and the ceremonies and the masses, reminding my executor that, as a good Catholic, I hoped I should have the offices of the Church in all liberality.

“Don’t distress yourself about that,” said he; “I ‘ll learn a lot of prayers in Latin myself, – ’ just to help you on,’ as a body might say. But, as I live, there goes the chaps to the ‘Molino’;” and he pointed to a group of about a dozen or more, who, wrapped up in their large cloaks, took the way slowly and silently through the tall wet grass at the bottom of the garden.