Майн Рид
The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico
Chapter Sixty Four
The Plaza was partially cleared – the open space guarded by lines of soldiers. The crowds, closely packed, stood along the sides of the houses, or filled the balconies and azoteas. The officers, alcalde, magistrates, and principal men of the town, were grouped near the centre of the Plaza. Most of these wore official costumes, and, under other circumstances, the eyes of the crowd would have been upon them. Not so now. There was a group more attractive than they – a group upon which every eye was gazing with intense interest.
This group occupied a corner of the Plaza in front of the Calabozo, directly in front of the window from which Carlos looked out. It was the first thing upon which his eyes rested. He saw no more – he saw not the crowd, nor the line of soldiers that penned it back – he saw not the gaudy gentry in the square; he saw only that group of beings before him. That was enough to keep his eyes from wandering.
The group was thus composed. There were two asses – small shaggy brown animals, – caparisoned in a covering of coarse black serge, that hung nearly to their feet. Each had a coarse hair halter held in the hand of a lepero driver, also fantastically dressed in the same black stuff. Behind each stood a lepero similarly attired, and carrying “cuartos” of buffalo-skin. By the side of each ass was one of the padrés of the mission, and each of these held in his hand the implements of his trade – book, rosary, and crucifix. The priests wore an official look. They were in the act of officiating. At what? Listen!
The asses were mounted. On the back of each was a form – a human form. These sat not freely, but in constrained attitudes. The feet were drawn underneath by cords passed around the ankles; and to a sort of wooden yoke around the necks of the animals the hands of the riders were tied – so as to bring their backs into a slanting position. In this way their heads hung down, and their faces, turned to the wall, could not yet be seen by the crowd.
Both were nude to the waist, and below it. The eye needed but one glance at those forms to tell they were women! The long loose hair – in the one grey, in the other golden – shrouding their cheeks, and hanging over the necks of the animals, was further proof of this. For one it was not needed. The outlines were those of a Venus. A sculptor’s eye could not have detected a fault. In the form of the other, age had traced its marks. It was furrowed, angled, lean, and harsh to the eye of the observer.
Oh, God! what a sight for the eye of Carlos the cibolero! Those involuntary riders were his mother and sister!
And just at that moment his eye rested upon them – ay, and recognised them at a glance. An arrow passing through his heart could not have inflicted keener pain. A sharp, half-stifled scream escaped his lips – the only sign of suffering the ear might detect. He was silent from that moment. His hard quick breathing alone told that he lived. He did not faint or fall. He did not retreat from the window. He stood like a statue in the position he had first taken, hugging the wall with his breast, to steady himself. His eyes remained fixed on the group, and fixed too in their sockets, as if glued there!
Roblado and Vizcarra, in the centre of the square, enjoyed their triumph. They saw him at the embrasure. He saw not them. He had for the moment forgotten that they existed.
At a signal the bell rang in the tower of the parroquia, and then ceased. This was the cue for commencing the horrid ceremony.
The black drivers led their animals from the wall, and, heading them in a direction parallel to one side of the Plaza, stood still. The faces of the women were now turned partially to the crowd, but their dishevelled hair sufficiently concealed them. The padrés approached. Each selected one. They mumbled a few unintelligible phrases in the ears of their victims, flourished the crucifix before their faces, and then, retiring a step, muttered some directions to the two ruffians in the rear.
These with ready alacrity took up their cue, gathered the thick ends of their cuartos around their wrists, and plied the lash upon the naked hacks of the women. The strokes were deliberate and measured – they were counted! Each seemed to leave its separate weal upon the skin. Upon the younger female they were more conspicuous – not that they had been delivered with greater severity, but upon the softer, whiter, and more tender skin, the purple lines appeared plainer by contrast.
Strange that neither cried out. The girl writhed, and uttered a low whimpering, but no scream escaped her lips. As for the old woman, she remained quite motionless – no sign told that she suffered!
When ten lashes each had been administered, a voice from the centre of the Plaza cried out —
“Basta por la niña!” (Enough for the girl.)
The crowd echoed this; and he, whose office it was to flog the younger female, rolled up his cuarto and desisted. The other went on until twenty-five lashes were told off.
A band of music now struck up. The asses were d along the side of the square, and halted at the next corner.
The music stopped. The padrés again went through their mumbling ceremony. The executioners performed their part – only one of them this time – as by the voice of the crowd the younger female was spared the lash, though she was still kept in her degraded and shameful position.
The full measure of twenty-five stripes was administered to the other, and then again the music, and the procession moved on to the third angle of the Plaza. Here the horrid torture was repeated, and again at the fourth and last corner of the square, where the hundred lashes – the full number decreed as the punishment – were completed.
The ceremony was over. The crowd gathered around the victims – who, now released from official keeping, were left to themselves.
The feeling of the crowd was curiosity, not sympathy. Notwithstanding all that had passed before their eyes, there was but little sympathy in the hearts of that rabble.
Fanaticism is stronger than pity; and who cared for the witch and the heretic?
Yes – there were some who cared yet. There were hands that unbound the cords, and chafed the brows of the sufferers, and flung rebosos over their shoulders and poured water into the lips of those silent victims – silent, for both had fainted!
A rude carreta was there. How it came there no one knew or cared. It was getting dusk, and people, having satisfied their curiosity, and hungry from long fasting, were falling off to their homes. The brawny driver of the carreta, directed by a young girl, and aided by two or three dusky Indians, lifted the sufferers into his vehicle, and then, mounting himself, drove off; while the young girl, and two or three who had assisted him, followed the vehicle.
It cleared the suburbs, and, striking into a byroad that traversed the chapparal, arrived at a lone rancho, the same where Rosita had been taken before – for it was Josefa who again carried her away.
The sufferers were taken inside the house. It was soon perceived that one no longer suffered. The daughter was restored to consciousness, only to see that that of her mother had for ever fled!
Her temples were chafed – her lips moistened – her hand pressed in vain. The wild utterance of a daughter’s grief fell unheard upon her ears. Death had carried her spirit to another world.
Chapter Sixty Five
From the embrasure of his prison Carlos looked upon the terrible spectacle. We have said that he regarded it in silence. Not exactly so. Now and then, as the blood-stained lash fell heavier than usual, a low groan escaped him – the involuntary utterance of agony extreme.
His looks more than his voice betrayed the fearful fire that was burning within. Those who by chance or curiosity glanced into the embrasure were appalled by the expression of that face. Its muscles were rigid and swollen, the eyes were fixed and ringed with purple, the teeth firmly set, the lips drawn tight over them, and large sweat-drops glistened upon the forehead. No red showed upon the cheeks, nor any part of the face – not a trace to tell that blood circulated there. Pale as death was that face, and motionless as marble.
From his position Carlos could see but two angles of the Plaza – that where the cruel scene had its commencement, and that where the second portion was administered. The procession then passed out of sight; but though his eyes were no longer tortured by the horrid spectacle, there was but little relief in that. He knew it continued all the same.
He remained no longer by the window. A resolve carried him from it, – the resolve of self-destruction!
His agony was complete. He could endure it no longer. Death would relieve him, and upon death he was determined.
But how to die?
He had no weapon; and even if he had, pinioned as he was, he could not have used it.
But one mode seemed possible – to dash his head against the wall!
A glance at the soft mason-work of adobes convinced him that this would not effect his purpose. By such an effort he might stun, but not kill himself. He would wake again to horrid life.
His eyes swept the cell in search of some mode of self-destruction.
A beam traversed the apartment. It was high enough to hang the tallest man. With his hands free, and a cord in them, it would do. There was cord enough on them for the purpose, for they were bound by several varas of a raw-hide thong.
To the fastenings his attention was now directed; when, to his surprise and delight, he perceived that the thong had become slack and loose! The hot sweat, pouring from his hands and wrists, had saturated the raw-hide, causing it to melt and yield; and his desperate exertions, made mechanically under the influence of agony and half-madness, had stretched it for inches! A slight examination of the fastenings convinced him of the possibility of his undoing them; and to this he applied himself with all the strength find energy of a desperate man. Had his hands been tied in front, he might have used his teeth in the endeavour to set them free; but they were bound fast together across his back. He pulled and wrenched them with all his strength.
If there is a people in the world who understand better than any other the use of ropes or thongs, that people is the Spanish-American. The Indian must yield to them in this knowledge, and even the habile sailor makes but a clumsy knot in comparison. No people so well understand how to bind a captive without iron, and the captive outlaw had been tied to perfection.
But neither ropes of hemp nor hide will secure a man of superior strength and resolution. Give such an one but time to operate, and he will be certain to free himself. Carlos knew that he needed but time.
The effect produced by the moistening of the raw-hide was such, that short time sufficed. In less than ten minutes it slipped from his wrists, and his hands were free!
He drew the thong through his fingers to clear it of loops and snarls. He fashioned one end into a noose; and, mounting upon the banqueta, knotted the other over the beam. He then placed the noose around his naked threat – calculating the height at which it should hang when drawn taut by the weight of his body! and, placing himself on the elevated edge of the banqueta, he was prepared to spring out —
“Let me look on them once more before I die – poor victims! – once more!”
The position he occupied was nearly in front of the embrasure, and he had only to lean a little to one side to get a view of the Plaza. He did so.
He could not see them; but he saw that the attention of the crowd was directed towards that angle of the square adjacent to the Calabozo. The horrid ceremony would soon be over. Perhaps they would then be carried within sight. He would wait for the moment, it would be his last —
“Ha! what is that? Oh God: it is – ”
He heard the “weep” of the keen cuarto as it cut the air. He thought, or fancied, he heard a low moan. The silence of the crowd enabled him to distinguish the slightest sounds.
“God of mercy, is there no mercy? God of vengeance, hear me! Ha! vengeance! what am I dreaming of, suicidal fool? What! my hands free – can I not break the door? the lock? I can but die upon their weapons! and maybe – ”
He had flung the noose from his neck, and was about to turn away from the window, when a heavy object struck him on the forehead, almost stunning him with the blow!
At first he thought it was a stone from the hand of some ruffian without; but the object, in falling upon the banqueta, gave out a dull metallic clink. He looked down, and in the dim light could make out that the thing which had struck him was of an oblong shape. He bent hastily forward, and clutched it.
It was a parcel, wrapped in a piece of silken scarf and tied securely. The string was soon unfastened, and the contents of the parcel held up to the light. These were a roleau of gold onzas, a long-bladed knife, and a folded sheet of paper!
The last occupied his attention first. The sun was down, and the light declining, but in front of the window there was still enough to enable him to read he opened the paper and read: —
“Your time is fixed for to-morrow. I cannot learn whether you will be kept where you are all night, or be taken back to the Presidio. If you remain in the Calabozo, well. I send you two weapons. Use which you please, or both. The walls can be pierced. There will be one outside who will conduct you safe. Should you be taken to the Presidio, you must endeavour to escape on the way, or there is no hope. I need not recommend courage and resolution to you – the personification of both. Make for the rancho of Josefa. There you will find one who is now ready to share your perils and your liberty. Adieu! my soul’s hero, adieu!”
No name appeared. But Carlos needed none – he well knew who was the writer of that note.
“Brave, noble girl!” he muttered as he concealed the paper under the breast of his hunting-shirt; “the thought of living for you fills me with fresh hope – gives me new nerve for the struggle. If I die, it will not be by the hands of the garrotero. No, my hands are free. They shall not be bound again while life remains. I shall yield only to death itself.”
As the captive muttered these thoughts he sat down upon the banqueta, and hurriedly untied the thongs that up to this time had remained upon his ankles. This done, he rose to his feet again; and, with the long knife firmly clutched, strode up and down the cell, glancing fiercely towards the door at each turning. He had resolved to run the gauntlet of his guards, and by his manner it was evident he had made up his mind to attack the first of them that entered.
For several minutes he paced his cell, like a tiger within its cage.
At length a thought seemed to suggest itself that caused a change in his manner, sudden and decided. He gathered up the thongs just cast off; and seating himself upon the banqueta, once more wound them around his ankles – but this time in such a fashion, that a single jerk upon a cunningly-contrived knot would set all free. The knife was hidden under his hunting-shirt, where the purse had been already deposited. Last of all, he unloosed the raw-hide rope from the beam, and, meeting his hands behind him, whipped it around both wrists, until they had the appearance of being securely spliced. He then assumed a reclining attitude along the banqueta, with his face turned towards the door, and remained motionless as though he were asleep!
Chapter Sixty Six
In our land of cold impulses – of love calculating and interested – we cannot understand, and scarcely credit, the deeds of reckless daring that in other climes have their origin in that strong passion.
Among Spanish women love often attains a strength and sublimity utterly unfelt and unknown to nations who mix it up with their merchandise. With those highly-developed dames it often becomes a true passion – unselfish, headlong, intense – usurping the place of every other, and filling the measure of the soul. Filial affection – domestic ties – moral and social duty – must yield. Love triumphs over all.
Of such a nature – of such intensity – was the love that burned in the heart of Catalina de Cruces.
Filial affection had been weighed against it; rank, fortune, and many other considerations, had been thrown into the scale. Love out-balanced them all; and, obedient to its impulse, she had resolved to fling all the rest behind her.
It was nearing the hour of midnight, and the mansion of Don Ambrosio was dark and silent. Its master was not at home. A grand banquet had been provided at the Presidio by Vizcarra and Roblado, to which all the grandees of the settlement had been invited. Don Ambrosio was among the number. At this hour he was at the Presidio, feasting and making merry.
It was not a ladies’ festival, therefore Catalina was not there. It was, indeed, rather an extemporised affair – a sort of jubilee to wind up the performances of the day. The officers and priests were in high spirits, and had put their heads together in getting up the improvised banquet.
The town had become silent, and the mansion of Don Ambrosio showed not a sign of life. The portero still lingered by the great gate, waiting his master’s return; but he sat inside upon the banqueta of the zaguan, and seemed to be asleep.
He was watched by those who wished him to sleep on.
The large door of the caballeriza was open. Within the framework of the posts and lintels the form of a man could be distinguished. It was the groom Andres.
There was no light in the stable. Had there been so, four horses might have been seen standing in their stalls, saddled and bridled. A still stranger circumstance might have been observed – around the hoofs of each horse were wrapped pieces of coarse woollen cloth, that were drawn up and fastened around the ankles! There was some design in this.
The door of the caballeriza was not visible from the zaguan; but at intervals the figure within the stable came forth, and, skulking along, peeped around the angle of the wall. The portero was evidently the object of his scrutiny. Having listened a while, the figure again returned to its place in the dark doorway, and stood as before.
Up to a certain time a tiny ray of light could be detected stealing through the curtains of a chamber-door – the chamber of the señorita. All at once the light silently disappeared; but a few moments after, the door opened noiselessly. A female figure glided softly forth, and turned along under the shadow of the wall, in the direction of the caballeriza. On reaching the open doorway she stopped, and called in a low voice —
“Andres!”
“Aqui, Señorita!” answered the groom, stepping a little more into the light.
“All saddled?”
“Si, Señorita.”
“You have muffled their hoofs?”
“Every one, Señorita.”
“Oh! what shall we do with him,” continued the lady in a tone of distress, and pointing toward the zaguan. “We shall not be able to pass out before papa returns, and then it may be too late. Santisima!”
“Señorita, why not serve the portero as I have done the girl? I’m strong enough for that.”
“Oh, Vicenza! how have you secured her?”
“In the garden-house, – tied, gagged, and locked up. I warrant she’ll not turn up till somebody finds her. No fear of her, Señorita. I’ll do the same for the portero, if you but say the word.”
“No – no – no! who would open the gate for papa? No – no – no! it would not do.” She reflected. “And yet, if he gets out before the horses are ready, they will soon miss – pursue – overtake him. He will get out, I am sure of it. How long would it occupy him? not long. He will easily undo his cord fastenings. I know that – he once said he could. Oh, holy Virgin! he may now be free, and waiting for me! I must haste – the portero – Ha!”
As she uttered this exclamation she turned suddenly to Andres. A new plan seemed to have suggested itself.
“Andres! good Andres! listen! We shall manage it yet!”
“Si, Señorita.”
“Thus, then. Lead the horses out the back way, through the garden – can you swim them across the stream?”
“Nothing easier, my lady.”
“Good! Through the garden take them then. Stay!”
At this she cast her eyes toward the entrance of the long alley leading to the garden, which was directly opposite to, and visible from, the zaguan. Unless the portero were asleep, he could not fail to see four horses passing out in that way – dark as was the night. Here, then, a new difficulty presented itself.
Suddenly starting, she seemed to have thought of a way to overcome it.
“Andres, it will do. You go to the zaguan. See whether he be asleep. Go up boldly. If asleep, well; if not enter into conversation with him. Get him to open the little door and let you out. Wile him upon the street, and by some means keep him there. I shall lead out the horses.”
This was plausible, and the groom prepared himself for a strategic encounter with the portero.
“When sufficient time has elapsed, steal after me to the garden. See that you manage well, Andres. I shall double your reward. You go with me – you have nothing to fear.”
“Señorita, I am ready to lay down my life for you.”
Gold is powerful. Gold had won the stout Andres to a fealty stronger than friendship. For gold he was ready to strangle the portero on the spot.
The latter was not asleep – only dozing, as a Spanish portero knows how. Andres put the stratagem in practice, he offered a cigar; and in a few minutes’ time his unsuspicious fellow-servant stepped with him through the gate, and both stood smoking outside.
Catalina judged their situation by the hum of their voices. She entered the dark stable; and gliding to the head of one of the horses, caught the bridle, and led the animal forth. A few moments sufficed to conduct it to the garden, where she knotted the rein to a tree.
She then returned for the second, and the third, and the fourth and last – all of which she secured as she had done the first.
Once more she went back to the patio. This time only to shut the stable-door, and lock that of her own chamber; and, having secured both, she cast a look towards the zaguan, and then glided back into the garden. Here she mounted her own horse, took the bridle of another in her hand, and sat waiting.
She had not long to wait. Andres had well calculated his time, for in a few minutes he appeared in the entrance; and, having closed the gate behind him, joined his mistress.
The ruse had succeeded admirably. The portero suspected nothing. Andres had bidden him “buenas noches,” at the same time expressing his intention of going to bed.
Don Ambrosio might now return when he pleased. He would retire to his sleeping-room as was his wont. He would not know before morning the loss he had sustained.
The mufflings were now removed from the feet of the horses, and, plunging as silently as possible into the water, the four were guided across the stream. Having ascended the opposite bank, they were first headed towards the cliffs, but before they had proceeded far in that direction they turned into a path of the chapparal leading downward. This path would conduct them to the rancho of Josefa.
