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

"By Jove!" the hunter said, as he lay down in the hammock, and lit a cigar, "It must be confessed that this Don Fadrique, this Count de Melgosa, is a somewhat mysterious being, and guards himself with as much care as if he had a kingdom to defend; but what do I care? Thank heaven! I have not to stay here long, and have no intention of carrying his wigwam by storm."

He looked round and saw that not only had cigars been brought for him, but that refreshments had been added in the shape of several botas, containing pulque, mezcal, and Catalonian refino.

"Come," he said, "I was prejudiced against my host. He is decidedly a famous fellow."

After this consoling reflection the hunter rose and went to the table, doubtless with the intention of tasting the liquors upon it, and spending in the most agreeable way possible the hours at his disposal.

The dinner was rather gloomy. The countess was not present, but sent her apologies to the hunter, who was not broken hearted at her absence; for, in spite of the old lady's gracious manners, he felt constrained in her presence. When the dinner was ended the count repeated that it was impossible for him to accompany him on the morrow, but would give him a sure guide. He handed him a letter of recommendation for the governor, and, after renewing to the Canadian his promise of joining him on the following day, he took leave of him for the night, and retired.

The adventurer was not sorry to be alone. In spite of the count's attention he retained in his manner toward him a certain aristocratic hauteur, which hurt him, although it was impossible for him to display the dissatisfaction he felt. The same silent domestic who had already served him led Oliver to his room, and took leave of him after bidding him good night. The hunter, wearied more by the inactivity to which he was condemned for some hours than by his morning's ride, threw himself on the leather-covered frame which serves as a bed in all Mexican houses, shut his eyes, and speedily fell asleep.

At sunrise he woke. At the same moment the peon who seemed appointed to wait on him entered his room and announced that if he were ready all the preparations were made. Oliver asked to take leave of the master and mistress of the house; but, on being told that they could not receive anybody, he followed his guide without asking him any further questions. The latter led him through several yards, took passages different from those by which the hunter had entered the hacienda, and took him out on the opposite side to the one by which he had come in. After crossing the drawbridge the hunter turned as if to say good-bye to the guide, but the latter told him that he had orders to accompany him to the spot where the horses were, and they descended the hill by a track quite as rough as the one by which the Canadian had ascended on the previous day. On the opposite bank of the river, three horsemen, armed with long lances, one of whom held the hunter's horse by the bridle, were waiting motionless, ready to start at the first signal. In the leader of this little party the Canadian recognized with some degree of pleasure Diego López, who was relatively an old acquaintance. When they had crossed the moat, López came to meet them.

"Here is the man," said the peon.

"Very good," Diego López answered laconically.

"You know what you have to do?"

"I do."

"In that case, good-bye."

And he then turned to the hunter, who had mounted by this time.

"A pleasant journey, Señor Forastero," he said, with a mocking accent most offensive to the Canadian.

"Shall we start, señor?" Diego asked the hunter.

"Whenever you please," said the latter, as he drew up by the side of his guide.

They started at a gallop, and remained silent for a long time.

"Are we very far from Leona Vicario?" the hunter at length asked, feeling wearied of this silence and disposed to talk with his comrade.

"No!" the latter answered.

"Well, you are no great talker, my friend," the Canadian continued.

"What is the good of talking when you have nothing to say, especially when in the company of a heretic?"

"A heretic!" the adventurer said, "Hang me if that is true."

"Are you not an Englishman?"

"I? Not a bit of it."

"All strangers are Englishmen," Diego López, said, sententiously.

"How famously you fellows are taught. It is curious enough."

"And all Englishmen are heretics," the peon continued, calmly.

"Be kind enough to tell me," the hunter said, with a grin, "who teaches you all these pretty things?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"For two reasons. In the first place, for my personal satisfaction; and next, for my instruction."

"It is our priests."

"Ah! Very good. I thank you. Why, my friend, if it cause you any pleasure, learn first that I am not an Englishman but a Canadian, which is not at all the same thing; next, not only that I am no heretic, but at the least quite as good a Catholic as yourself, I flatter myself."

"Is what you are saying true?" Diego López asked, as he drew close to the hunter.

"Why should I tell a falsehood?"

"Well! Why did you not tell that to El Señor Conde?"

"Tell him what?"

"That you are a Catholic."

"Hang it, for the very simple reason that he did not ask me."

"That is true; but no matter, it is a misfortune."

"Why so?"

"Because you would have been present at the anniversary service."

"What anniversary?"

"The one held every year at the hacienda in remembrance of the assassination of the brother of the Señor Conde, who was treacherously killed by the redskins."

"I am really vexed that I did not know that sooner, for I should have made a point of attending that service. Stay, in order that you may not have the slightest doubt about me," he added, as he took out of his bosom a small silver cross, hanging round his neck by a steel chain, "look at this. Is it a heretic plaything?"

"Good," the peon said, with evident satisfaction. "I see that you are a worthy man, and not a dog of an Englishman. Do you love the English?"

"I cannot bear them."

"Our priests say that they will all be condemned."

"I hope so," the Canadian said, with a laugh.

"They deserve it, for they are gringos."

"So we are friends?"

"Yes; and to prove it, I will give you a piece of advice, if you like."

"Out with it; it is always worth having."

"Must you absolutely see the governor directly you arrive?"

"Yes."

"That is vexatious."

"Why so?"

"Well!" Diego López said, looking at him with some hesitation, "Do you know the name the people give the governor?"

"No, I do not; but tell it to me; I shall be glad to learn it."

"Well! They call him the Shark."

"Ah! An ugly name, especially if deserved."

"Oh, yes, it is deserved," the peon said, with an involuntary shudder.

The hunter reflected for a moment.

"Hang it," he muttered, "what a wasps' nest I have got into!"

Then he said aloud —

"And, now, what is the advice you wish to give me?"

"You will be dumb?"

"As a fish; go on."

"Well, if you will believe me, in spite of the letter my master gave you for the governor, you will wait to present it to him till the count has rejoined you."

"Confusion! Then you suspect that I am incurring some danger?"

"A terrible one."

"Hang it, hang it, that is not reassuring."

"I will lead you to a cousin of mine who is an arriero. You will remain concealed at his house till tomorrow, and so soon as my master arrives I will warn you."

"My friend," the adventurer replied seriously, "I thank you for your advice. I see that the interest you feel in me induces you to give it me, but, unluckily, it is impossible for me to profit by it. I must present myself without delay to the governor, in spite of all the peril to which I may be exposed. But as a warned man is worth two, I shall take my precautions accordingly. But I fancy that is the town we can see."

"Yes," said the peon,

"I shall feel obliged by your leading me straight to the governor's palace."

Diego López looked at him for a moment with an air of amazement, and then shook his head several times.

"As you insist on it, I will lead you there," he said.

CHAPTER XVII.

LEONA VICARIO

El Saltillo, also called Leona Vicario, is situated about 600 miles to the north of Mexico, in a fine and well cultivated plain. This town which is now rich, and has a population of about 20,000, was considerable at the period of the Spanish authority, and enjoyed some reputation through the salubrity of its climate. But we will say nothing about the Saltillo of today, which does not concern us; we will merely try to give a sketch of the town at the time when our story took place.

Like all the towns founded by the Spaniards, it is crammed with churches, several of which are very handsome and rich. The streets are wide, clean, and bordered by houses built of stone, a very rare thing in Mexico, where a continued apprehension of earthquakes is felt. Owing to the numerous springs that burst out of the ground in most of the streets, the ground, which without that would be dry and sterile, enjoys a certain reputation for fertility. Saltillo was at that period the general entrepôt of the Spanish trade with the redskins, who went there to make exchanges, and supply themselves with the various articles they needed. The population was divided into two classes: the Spaniards, or persons who called themselves such, though the majority of them had not probably one-eighth of European blood in their veins; and the Tzascaltec Indians, the sole really intelligent and industrious inhabitants of the town.

On the day when accident led the adventurer to Saltillo, the town festival was being celebrated. In the morning after mass the clergy had fetched with great pomp the image of the Virgin from the cathedral, carried it through all the streets with hymns and music, and then put it to rest in a theatre built by the side of the acho, or circus in which the bullfights are held. After the siesta, several bullfights came off to the sound of bands stationed on either side the statue of the Virgin, then the procession continued its promenade, and finally restored the statue to the cathedral. Immediately afterwards, an open fair for the sale of cakes, sugarplums, and for gambling began, which was to last a week. The governor, who generally resided at Coahuila, the capital of the Intendancy, had come to Saltillo expressly to witness this festival, whose reputation was great throughout the land, and which attracted a crowd of strangers.

Our travellers entered the town about two hours after the fair had been opened, and suddenly found themselves in a crowd of promenaders and idlers who encumbered the streets and at some points impeded the circulation. The little party only advanced with great difficulty through the mob, which pressed round them on all sides, laughing, shouting, letting off fireworks, and throwing squibs in every direction. Naturally the further the travellers got into the heart of the city, the greater the difficulties became, and the less easy was it for them to advance; at last the crowd grew so compact around the travellers, that they found it utterly impossible to advance another step.

"The deuce take the asses with their festival," the Canadian muttered, as he looked angrily at the living wall that stood before him; "we cannot remain here, though, till nightfall."

"There is a way of arriving at the governor's house, if you like."

"What is it?" the other asked.

"It is to turn, back, take a side street, leave our horses at a mesón, and then return on foot to mingle with the crowd. What is impossible for a horseman in such a throng is not so to a pedestrian, who, if he is strong, can force a passage with his elbows and shoulders. It is true that we shall run the risk of a knife thrust; but omelettes cannot be made without breaking the eggs, and if you really wish to arrive, I fancy you have no other method to employ."

"¡Viva Dios! You are right this time, gossip, even if you were the greatest liar in the whole of New Spain," the Canadian exclaimed joyously, "and I will immediately follow your advice."

But this was not so easy to perform as the adventurer imagined. The forced stoppage they had been constrained to make had rendered the crowd thicker around them, so that they were literally held in a vice by the pedestrians. Still they must deliver themselves at all risks from this pressure, which was momentarily becoming more tremendous. At an order from Diego López, the two peons in the rear began gently backing their horses – for it was impossible to turn them – a movement immediately imitated by the Canadian and his comrade, whose steeds wheeled to the right and left with an almost imperceptible movement, which, however, gradually enlarged the circle round them. But then, a frightful concert of yells, oaths, and threats, began around the hapless travellers, who in vain apologized to the people whom they struck or crushed against the walls.

The tumult gradually attained tremendous proportions. Already could be seen flashing in the sun the bluish blades of the long knives which Mexicans always carry in the right boot. As Diego López predicted, knife thrusts would soon be liberally dispensed. The position of the travellers was becoming difficult, when suddenly a lepero, one of those scamps such as are always to be found in a crowd, for whom an accident of any nature is a rejoicing, unsuspectingly and probably involuntarily freed them from their dilemma. This worthy youth had about him a stock of squibs and crackers, which he took a delight in letting off between the legs of women, or in the pockets of men, whom their evil star brought within his reach. At the moment when the popular fury attained its paroxysm, the lepero thought it a famous joke to light a squib, and let it phizz under the nostrils of the Canadian's horse.

The animal, already terrified by the shouts which deafened it, and the blows craftily dealt it, and now rendered mad by the fire that burned its nostrils, reared with a snort of pain, laid back its ears, and, in spite of the desperate efforts its rider made to hold it in, dashed into the very thickest of the crowd, throwing down everything in its path, and opening with its chest a wide gap, through which the other horsemen, who were not at all desirous of being made responsible for broken heads and women and children injured, galloped at their hardest.

There was for a moment a fearful medley. We must do the lepero the justice to say that the effort surpassed his expectations, and that he literally writhed with laughter, so delighted was he with the success of his invention. He would probably have laughed much longer, had not the horse of one of the peons, in the midst of his delight, given him a kick which hurled him to the ground, with cloven skull and chest trampled in.

Still, Clary was too thorough a horseman to feel afraid of being thrown; unable to master his horse entirely, and wishing to cause the least possible misfortune, he contented himself with turning it down a side street, the entrance to which was about a pistol shot off. He was lucky enough to succeed, and soon, thanks to the headlong speed of their horses, the four riders, after whom the mob had begun to run with yells of fury, found themselves safe from pursuit in a completely deserted street. So soon as the horses were no longer excited, they checked their speed, and soon fell into a moderate pace.

"¡Sangre de Cristo!" the adventurer exclaimed, so soon as he found time to breathe, "That was sharp work; I fancied we should not get out of it."

"Well!" said Diego López, "Your body and mine were within an ace of becoming knife sheaths. Oh!" he added, with a shudder of retrospective terror, "I can still feel the goose flesh."

"In truth, our position was for a moment extremely critical. Confound the incarnate demon who dared to burn my horse's nostrils. I only hope we have not smashed twenty of those wretches; I shall never forgive myself if we have."

"No," the peon answered, "thank heaven, they are more frightened than hurt. Luckily the house doors were open, and they were able to find shelter in them; two or three at the most were injured."

"Heaven grant that the mischief is no greater; but what are we to do now?"

"Proceed to the nearest mesón to get rid of our horses."

"I ask for nothing better; lead me there directly."

"Where are we, in the first place?" the peon said, as he looked round to discover his whereabouts. "¡Viva Dios!" he continued at the expiration of a moment, "We are in luck; there is a mesón a few yards from here; come on."

They started again, and soon reached the mesón Diego López had spoken of. Mexican hostelries are all alike, and when you know one, you know a thousand. Travellers who bring with them their beds, provisions, and forage for their horses are alone certain of being well served, and wanting for nothing; those who neglect these essential precautions run a great risk of lying on the bare ground and dying of hunger. The landlords only supply water and a roof, and it is useless to ask them for anything beyond that: not even a cigarette could be obtained for any money. It is true that Mexican landlords possess one precious quality, or, to speak more logically, four. They are thievish, insolent, obstinate as mules, and only lodge travellers who have the good luck to please them.

Fortunate it was that Diego López had long been acquainted with the landlord to whose house he led his comrades. Had it not been so, they would have run a great risk of not finding a shelter for the night. But, thanks to the peon's omnipotent intervention, the landlord consented to receive the travellers, and allowed them to lead their horses to the corral. When the horses had been unsaddled, and a good stock of alfalfa and maize had been laid before them, the Canadian wrapped himself up in his zarapé, and prepared to go out.

"Where are you going?" Diego asked him.

"You know very well," he answered; "I am going to the palace."

"You are quite determined, in spite of what I said to you?"

"More than ever."

"In that case wait for me."

"What to do?"

"¡Caray! To accompany you. How do you expect to find your way through a town you have entered today for the first time in your life?"

"That is true, and thank you."

The peon, after giving his companions orders to await his return, and bowing courteously to the landlord, who deigned to return his salute with a protecting air, left the mesón, accompanied by the Canadian. To do full justice to Oliver Clary, we will allow that he was anything but reassured as to the probable results of the step he was about to take, and the words of the peon buzzed in his ears. He did not make the slightest mistake as to his position, and in spite of the assurances the count had given him, he was perfectly well aware that he ran a risk of being hung, if the man before whom he was about to appear were such as he had been represented.

But the adventurer was one of those men who never play fast and loose with what they consider a duty, and who, once they have formed a resolution, push on to the end, careless of what the consequences may be. Hence, when Diego López, who, since he had learned that his companion was a Catholic, felt sincerely attached to him, tried to return to what he had told him, and counsel himself once again to defer his visit until his master's arrival, the hunter immediately bade him be silent, while perfectly understanding the correctness of his reasoning, and obliged him to talk about indifferent matters.

In spite of the ever increasing crowd in the street, the two men had no serious difficulty in making their way. It is true that they were men who created a certain amount of respect by their muscular appearance. Although they were obliged to advance very slowly, still in a comparatively short period they reached the Plaza Mayor, where, owing to its vast dimensions, they were enabled to walk more freely.

We have said that Leona Vicario was a large town, that its squares were spacious and its streets wide. The Plaza Mayor, the largest of all, had really a grand aspect. Two sides were lined with portales in the shape of cloisters, lined with shops where goods of every description were sold; of the two other sides, one was occupied by the cathedral, the other by the Cabildo, or Town Hall. In the centre of the square rose a monumental fountain, from which burst a clear and limpid stream of water. This fountain was surrounded by posts, fastened together by bronze chains of rather curious workmanship. Attracted by the fair, a multitude of peddlers had installed themselves in the square, vending all sorts of rubbish to the mob which pressed around them.

The two men who entered the square by the Calle de la Merced, were obliged to go to the further extremity in order to reach the cabildo, which was the temporary residence of the governor general of the intendancy. The cabildo was at this period (I do not know if it be still in existence) a building in a heavy and paltry style, built of stone, and having tall, straight, narrow windows, defended by heavy iron bars. Two lancers were walking with a most weary air in front of the principal gate, which was thrown wide open, and gave access to the interior by a flight of five steps.

"We have arrived," said Diego López, as he stopped in front of the ugly building we have just described.

"At last!" the adventurer answered, as he looked curiously about him. "¡Caray! I was beginning to fancy that we should never reach our journey's end."

"Here we are; as you insisted on my leading you hither, I have done so."

"And I thank you for doing it, gossip; now that you have honourably performed the far from agreeable task entrusted to you, leave me to my own business, and go and amuse yourself at the fair."

"Hang me if I do anything of the sort," the peon answered; "I am too sorrowful."

"Nonsense! Why bother yourself so? All will finish, I feel convinced, much better than you have supposed."

"That is possible, and I wish it may be so, but I confess that I do not expect it; I will not attempt to dissuade you anymore; a fool cannot be prevented from committing folly."

"Thank you," the adventurer said with a laugh. The other shook his head mournfully.

"I am going to watch for my master," he continued; "he has great influence over the governor, and, if you are not hanged, I hope he will save you."

"I hope too that I shall not be hanged."

"¿Quién sabe?" the peon muttered.

The Canadian, who was not particularly pleased by these ill-omened prognostics, hastened to take leave of his croaking companion. The latter looked after him until he disappeared in the cabildo, after exchanging a few words with the sentry; then he returned very thoughtfully to the mesón, muttering —

"I don't care; I will not start till I know whether he is hung; it is surely the least I can do for a good Catholic like him."

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE INTERVIEW

Oliver Clary had entered the cabildo. From this moment he could not recoil, but must push on. The brave and careless Canadian took a last and sorrowful glance at the square in which a merry crowd, whose cries reached his ears, was assembled; he gave a sigh of regret, and hung his head on his chest for a moment; but almost immediately subduing this sadness, which was unworthy of him, he effaced every trace of emotion from his face, drew himself up proudly, and with a calm step entered a hall in which were standing ushers, easily to be recognized by the silver chain round their neck. So soon as he appeared, one of these ushers left the group, and walked up to him with a slow and solemn step.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked, impudently.

"Who I am?" he answered drily, "That does not concern you, my master. What I want? To speak to His Excellency Don Garcia López de Cárdenas, General commanding the Intendancy."

"Oh, oh!" the usher said, as he looked impudently at the adventurer's modest and more than careless dress; "You come like that, without the slightest ceremony, to demand an audience of his Excellency! Come, my good fellow, follow good advice and begone; the mezcal is disturbing your head; go to sleep, keep your feet warm, and do not trouble yourself any further with such nonsense."