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

"Heaven be thanked!" the count said, joyfully, "He is regaining his senses."

"Indeed is he," said the Canadian, "look at him waking up."

In fact, Don Melchior, after making a few convulsive efforts, feebly opened his eyes, but, blinded by the sunbeams, closed them again.

"Courage," the Canadian said to him, "courage, comrade, you have friends near you."

The young man, at the sound of this voice, seemed to return to his senses completely, his pale cheeks were tinged with a hectic flush; he opened his eyes, looked round him in amazement, and, making an effort to speak, he murmured in a weak, almost indistinct voice —

"The Indians – the Indians – save Doña Diana – save – save – Doña Emilia!"

And, worn by the effort he had made, he fell back inanimate in the count's arms; the latter laid him gently on the ground, and rose eagerly.

"Diego López," he said, "make a litter as speedily as possible, this young man must be conveyed to my house."

"Why not to the Hacienda del Barrio?" the Canadian remarked.

"No," the count answered, with a shake of his head, "there is a mystery in this affair. Let us not act inconsiderately, and perhaps cause great pain to a man who has already suffered severely. You will accompany us, I suppose, señor?"

"Certainly, if you desire it."

"I ask it as a favour, caballero."

CHAPTER XXVI.

DOÑA EMILIA

As we have said, the Stag, after diligent search, discovered a path traced by the antelopes which ran from the foot of the precipice in a zigzag to the top. The Indian chief ascended this path the more hastily because, now that he was cool, and reflected on what had happened, he in his heart cursed the madness which had led him to descend the abyss in search of a foe he could not find, instead of remaining with his warriors, in order to support and encourage them, and combat the superstitious terrors they felt on the subject of the two prisoners, and especially of Doña Emilia, whom they imagined to belong to a race different from their own, and to be an omnipotent being whose wrath was extremely formidable for them.

As he approached the spot where his warriors were, he heard, more and more distinctly, cries which increased his anxiety, and made him hurry on, at the risk of making a false step and rolling to the foot of the precipice. In fact, he had scarce reached the prairie when two of his confidants who were seeking him, rushed toward him with shouts of delight.

"Come, come," they said to him; "if not, all is lost." The Stag, without losing any time in questioning them, followed them to the top of the hill. This is what had occurred during his absence. The two ladies had been carried up the hill, and carefully laid on mats in front of the fire. Doña Emilia, though greatly shaken by the fall, speedily regained entire consciousness. Owing to the exaltation of her mind, instead of being crushed, she had derived fresh courage from the misfortunes which had suddenly burst over her. Her first care was to look round her and attentively examine the persons who surrounded her, in order to discover, were it possible, into what hands she had fallen.

At the first moment, deceived by the European dress of some of her assailants, she imagined she had to deal with a party of those ruffians who come to the surface in revolutionary times – the scum of the population – who regard political questions entirely as a matter of plunder, and who had for some years infested Mexico, recognizing no other flag but their own, and waging war on their own account, serving both parties indifferently, or rather injuring both by their cowardice, barbarity, and instinct of rapine. At times, the villains, not being numerous enough to attempt a bold stroke, allied themselves with the Indians, and ravaged the country with them. The patriots and Spaniards had both tried to put a stop to the depredations of these bandits by mercilessly shooting and hanging all they caught, but it was of no avail. Instead of diminishing their number seemed to increase, and latterly they had grown really formidable, and their audacity knew no bounds.

But a second and quieter glance made Doña Emilia understand that she was in error, and that the persons she at first took for Europeans were Indians in disguise. This discovery augmented her courage. She believed herself certain of the influence she exerted over these men, and she thought she would be able to terrify them sufficiently not to have anything to fear from them. Moreover, the conduct of the Indians towards her justified her expectations. It was only with a tremor that they dared to approach her. A glance was sufficient to keep them back. Even those who had associated with white men, and whom the Stag had ordered to assume European attire, kept at a respectful distance from the two ladies, and were apparently not desirous to be on more intimate terms with them.

Doña Emilia rose, no one making any attempt to prevent her. She went up to her daughter, sat down by her side, and raising her beautiful head, laid it gently on her knees. She gazed at her tenderly for a moment, then, after removing the long curls of light hair which veiled her face, she covered it with kisses, murmuring in a soft voice, but with an accent of ineffable tenderness —

"Poor, dear soul, her heart did not deceive her, her presentiments were true. Alas! Why did I not put faith in her words? Oh, my adored daughter! I alone am the cause of this frightful misfortune. Forgive me, forgive me!"

And two burning tears, which the feeling of her position had been unable to draw from her, fell on the girl's forehead. The latter feebly opened her eyes.

"Mother," she murmured, in her childish voice. "Oh, mother, how I am suffering!"

"Alas, poor darling!" Doña Emilia replied, "I am suffering too; but what should I care for pain if I knew you were in safety? I am accustomed to suffer, while you, alas! – "

She ceased, and a sigh burst from her bosom. The maiden continued —

"Courage, mother; perhaps all is not lost yet, and one hope is left us."

"A hope, poor child! Yes," she replied, bitterly, "that the men who hold us prisoners may take pity on us, and kill us at once, instead of torturing us."

"But," Doña Diana said, whose strength was gradually returning, and who felt her courage coming back, "Don Melchior is not a prisoner. He has escaped."

"I saw Don Melchior fall by our side, beneath the blows of one of the ferocious men who captured us."

"He is dead!" she exclaimed, with a shriek of terror and despair.

"No, no," her mother objected eagerly, terrified by this grief, "I hope not. Perhaps he has succeeded in escaping."

"Oh, no, I do not believe you, mother. He must be dead, since he is not by our side. Don Melchior would never have consented to fly and abandon us."

"It is probable, my child, that he has fled, in order to fetch assistance. What could he have done, alone, against these men? Nothing. He would have fallen without any advantage for us or himself. His flight, on the contrary – and I really believe that he has succeeded in escaping – leaves us a hope."

The girl shook her head doubtfully.

"You wish to restore my courage, thank you, mother," she answered, "but it is not necessary. I am strong, and shall be able to endure without a murmur the sufferings which fate has in store for me."

"Very good, daughter. I am pleased to hear you speak in that way. Rise, my child, these men only respect the stoical courage of the condemned wretch who laughs amid his tortures; so we will not give them the spectacle of our weakness. By haughty behaviour we may succeed in inspiring these men with respect, if not with commiseration."

The girl rose with passive obedience.

"Alas!" she murmured, "I am not like you, mother; I feel that my strength is not equal to my courage."

"Let me speak to these ferocious men; the fear with which I have so long inspired them is not yet extinct; perhaps the step I am about to take will prove successful."

"Heaven grant it!" the maiden murmured, as she clasped her hands fervently, and raised her eyes to heaven.

Doña Emilia walked towards the Indians, who, collected at a respectful distance, watched her movements with ill-disguised anxiety. A singular scene then took place. In proportion as Doña Emilia advanced towards them, the Indians fell back, though without breaking the circle they formed; at length one of them, bolder than the rest, stopped, and placing the butt of his gun on the ground, said, in bad Spanish, to the lady who was still advancing —

"What does the paleface squaw want? Why does she not remain by the fire? The night is cold; it will be better for the stranger to remain where the warriors placed her."

"Who are you, dressed in the garb of civilized men, although your features are those of a ferocious redskin?" she answered haughtily. "By what right do you address me before I spoke to you? If you have any influence over the men who surround, us, order them to retire and let me pass, before my patience is exhausted."

"The warriors must not let the paleface squaw pass until the return of the chief."

Doña Emilia smiled disdainfully.

"Do you not know who I am?" she said. "The Wacondah is with me; he inspires the words I utter. Tremble, lest you arouse my anger."

"The Wacondah loves the Indians," the redskin replied timidly; "he would not wish to do them harm."

The warriors listened to this conversation with interest, although they did not dare to take part in it. Doña Emilia made her daughter a signal to join her; the latter obeyed, and tottered up to her mother's side.

"Courage!" the latter said.

Then she drew herself up, her features assumed an expression of indescribable haughtiness, and her eyes seemed to flash fire, as she said —

"I order you to let me pass; you must obey me."

She moved a few steps forward. The Indians fell back without breaking line.

"Do you refuse?" she asked, as she looked imperiously at them.

No one answered.

"Good," she said, with a strange expression. "Recognize the power of the Queen of the Savannah."

With a movement rapid as thought, she drew a vial from her bosom, and threw a portion of the contents upon the Indian who was standing motionless a couple of yards from her. The redskin uttered a terrible yell, raised his hands to his face, and, falling to the ground, writhed in fearful agony. The Comanches were alarmed. Although they had seen Doña Emilia's motion, the vial she held in her hand was too small for them to notice it. Not knowing to what they should attribute their comrade's fall, all their superstitious terrors returned to them. They rushed towards the wounded man; his face was horribly burnt. They uttered a cry of horror, and fled in all directions, having but one thought, that of escaping as rapidly as possible from the glances of this strange creature, who by a mere gesture could produce death.

"Come, come, my daughter," Doña Emilia said; and dragging Doña Diana, who mechanically followed her, she ran off to the spot where the horses of the Indians were hobbled. The miracle performed by Doña Emilia was very simple. Being incessantly exposed to fall into the hands of the redskins, she always carried about her a vial of sulphuric acid – probably intended to destroy her own life, in the event of the Indians resolving to torture her, after their wont, if she fell into their power. The desire of saving her daughter suggested to her this way of displaying her power, and inspiring these stupid men with a terror of which she would take advantage. The experiment was perfectly successful.

The two ladies hurried down the hill, leaving behind them the unhappy man, who was uttering atrocious yells, and reached the spot where the horses were tied up. With a decision which could only be expected from an exalted character like that of Doña Emilia, she cut the thongs of two horses, lifted her daughter on one, and herself leapt on the back of the other.

"Thank heaven," she exclaimed, with an outburst of delight, "we are saved!"

"Not yet," a voice, gloomy as a death-knell, replied.

Several men dashed out of the chaparral, caught the horses' bridles, and stopped them dead, at the moment when Doña Emilia was about to start. These men, who appeared so suddenly, and so unfortunately for the two fugitives, were the Stag and the warriors who had set out in search of him. Falling at once from a paroxysm of joy into the last stage of despair, Doña Emilia and her daughter endured frightful suffering, and in a second passed through all the agonies of despair.

But the haughty Spanish woman, struggling against her grief, overcame by a stoical effort the suffering which seared her heart like a red-hot iron; comprehending that she was overcome, that any attempt at flight had become futile, if not impossible, she disdained to continue the struggle, and giving her foes a glance filled with all the hatred boiling in her breast, she resolutely dismounted, and going up to her daughter, who lay motionless before her, she raised her in her arms, and went up the hill again with a slow and measured step. What we have related had passed so rapidly, Doña Emilia had acted with such resolution, that the Indians stood stupefied, still holding in their hands the bridles, and unable to utter a word or make a noise. At length the Stag regained his coolness and presence of mind. Leaving the horses to be taken care of by his comrades, he ran towards the two ladies, who were already some ten yards distant.

"Stop!" he shouted to them, "Stop!"

They obeyed without a word.

"It is useless for you to ascend the hill again," he said, "for we are going to set out."

"I do not ask you for any explanation," Doña Emilia said drily; "you are the stronger, so act as you please."

"That is what I intend doing," the Stag replied, with an expression of dark fury.

"Oh, mother," the girl whispered in Doña Emilia's ear, "do not irritate this man, for we are in his power."

"He is a dog!" Doña Emilia replied contemptuously; "I despise his anger and brave his hatred; he can do nothing to me."

The Indian broke into an ill-omened screech, without replying otherwise to this dire insult. He pointed to the foot of a tree, intimating to his captives that they were to sit down there; then he went away, followed by his two comrades, and the ladies remained alone. Doña Emilia was too conversant with Indian habits to commit the fault which any less experienced person would doubtless have done. Sitting by her daughter's side, whose head rested on her shoulder, and whose hands she held firmly clasped in hers, she made no second attempt at flight, as she was well aware that the Indians never watch a prisoner so carefully as when they pretend to leave him alone. The Spanish lady looked sorrowfully around her, let her head fall on her bosom, and fell into gloomy and despairing thoughts.

The cause of the Stag's sudden departure was simple. Informed by the warriors who met him of the events which had occurred during his absence, his first care was to go to the Indian whom Doña Emilia had disfigured. The unhappy man was in a pitiable state; he was writhing in fearful agony, and uttering heart-rending cries.

"Is my brother suffering greatly?" the chief asked him.

"Yes," the injured man howled. "I am suffering horrible pain. That woman is most certainly the evil genius of our nation."

"Yes, but her hour has arrived; her punishment will soon begin."

"Oh, I should like torture resembling mine to be inflicted on her."

"She shall suffer a hundredfold more. My brother's tortures are as nothing compared with those I reserve for her. Is my brother satisfied?"

"Yes, I am glad to know that I shall be avenged."

"Is my brother still suffering greatly?"

"More than ever. If honour did not forbid a warrior killing himself, I should have already buried my knife in my heart."

"Good! What my brother cannot do I can, to render him a service."

"Will the chief consent to do me that service?" the Indian asked doubtfully.

"Yes, to be agreeable to my brother, whom I love, I would consent."

"Oh! In that case the chief must not delay, for my agony is becoming more and more unendurable."

"Be it so; let my brother prepare."

"Stay," the Indian remarked, "help me to rise. A Comanche warrior must die standing."

"That is true," the chief answered.

He bent over the warrior, seized his arm, and helped him to get on his feet. By an extraordinary effort of will the Indian succeeded in overcoming his pain. He drew himself up proudly, and turned to the chief.

"Strike," he said in a firm voice, "and may the Wacondah protect you for the service you are doing me at this moment."

The Stag drew his knife, and plunged it into the warrior's heart. The blow was dealt with such certainty and skill that the redskin fell dead at his chief's feet without a sigh.

"Poor wretch!" the latter muttered sadly, as he wiped his knife blade on a tuft of grass, and returned it to his belt. "I could not refuse him this service." After this melancholy funeral speech the Stag began digging a hole, in which to lay his comrade's body, as he did not wish to leave it exposed to the insults of wild beasts. The last duty accomplished, he went down the hill to rejoin his captives.

In the meanwhile the Indians had fled in all directions, suffering from a panic produced by Doña Emilia's energetic action, but the two warriors sent by the Stag in pursuit of them soon caught them up. It took considerable time, however, before they succeeded in making them consent to turn back, and enter again the presence of a woman whom they regarded as an evil genius. It required all the diplomatic skill of the chief's emissaries to convince them, combined with the influence which the son of Running Water, the most revered sachem of the tribe, had over them. When the young chief joined the captives, the warriors were already mounted, and drawn up a short distance off, only awaiting his return. The latter saluted them with a wave of the hand, and then ordered the bridles of the two horses to be removed, after which he went up to Doña Emilia, and pointed to the animals.

"Mount," was all he said.

This order must be obeyed.

"My daughter and I will ride the same horse," she remarked. "My daughter is weak, and I will support her."

"Be it so," said the chief.

Doña Emilia mounted, placed her daughter in front of her, and holding her tightly to her bosom, made her horse start without awaiting the chief's signal. The Comanche smiled, and followed her with his detachment. Doña Emilia, though a captive, seemed still to command these men, who regarded her with superstitious terror.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE CHIEF'S PROPOSAL

Ordinarily Indians do not travel by night, and it required circumstances imperious as the present for the chief to resolve thus to infringe the customs of the redskins. In truth, Don Melchior's flight caused him great anxiety about the success of his expedition, and he was anxious to cross the Indian border, as he felt persuaded that once he had passed the river which served as the limit of the Spanish possessions, and trod his native heath in a country all whose hiding places were familiar to him, he would be comparatively safe from the pursuit which would not fail to be begun so soon as the abduction of the two ladies was known, and that would not be long first if, as he feared, Don Melchior had succeeded in escaping.

The Indians galloped the whole night through in the direction of the river, whose yellow waters at length became visible at sunrise. Without even stopping to breathe the horses, tired by so long a gallop along difficult and scarcely marked tracks, the chief ordered his warriors to ford the river immediately.

During the whole of the sad night, which seemed as if it would never end, Doña Emilia held to her bosom the head of her daughter, who was crushed by so much emotion and terror. Not for an instant did the courage of this extraordinary woman and true mother fail her. Not for a second did her noble character break down. She remained ever calm and impassive, not uttering a word of complaint, or showing the fatigue that overpowered her. The very Indians, who are such connoisseurs of courage, could not refrain from secretly admiring this firmness of mind and perfect self-denial.

Although the river was very wide at the spot where the redskins forded it, it was crossed without accident, and the Comanches at length found themselves on Indian territory. The detachment, however, did not halt; for the distance that separated them from the white men was not yet sufficiently great for the Stag. He led his warriors to a forest about four or five leagues off, whose tall trees formed a belt of foliage on the horizon. During the whole journey the chief constantly galloped at the head of the detachment, not appearing to trouble himself in any way about his prisoners, though the deep wrinkles that furrowed his brow and his constant frown might have led to the supposition that this indifference was feigned, and that he was thinking out some bold plan.

At about two in the afternoon the little band reached the outskirts of the forest, and boldly rode beneath its covert. The journey then became more difficult, and, before all, more fatiguing, through the roots, shrubs, and lianas which at each instant barred the passage, and which the horses could only clear with the utmost difficulty.

The Stag, however, without neglecting entirely the precautions employed by the Indians when they are on the war trail, in order to throw out their enemies, felt so certain, however, that the white men would not venture into the formidable solitudes of Apacheria, owing to the innumerable obstacles which would rise at each step before them, and, above all, through their ignorance of the topography of this country, the last lurking place of the Indian braves, that he wasted but little time in masking his trail, and continued to advance almost in a straight line.

After marching thus for about two hours, crossing ravines and scaling hills, they reached a completely unwooded spot, over which were scattered shapeless ruins, proving that at a doubtless extremely remote period the place had been inhabited. These ruins, spread over a very considerable space, preserved a certain degree of symmetry; the walls, still standing, showed by their thickness and the care with which they were built, as well as materials employed, that an important town must have stood here once on a time. In the centre stood a teocali which time had respected, on the top of which were the ruins of a temple, whose vast and massive proportions testified to its ancient splendour, which was now eternally fled. There was something at once gloomy and majestic in the sight of these ruins suddenly rising in the midst of a virgin forest. They were the last traces of a forgotten world, whose memory the present inhabitants of the country have lost, and trample on their dust with a careless foot.

The Stag had selected these ruins to camp in. The warriors therefore established themselves in this city, probably founded by the Chichimecs at the period when, compelled by the hand of God, they performed their great migration, building in the course of their mysterious halts those formidable cities whose imposing ruins are still visible in different parts of New Spain. The Comanches during their vagabond rambles about the desert had many times camped at this solitary spot, whose strong position offered them a shelter against the attacks of their numerous enemies, men and wild beasts, that incessantly prowl about in search of a facile prey. It was at the summit of the teocali, in the ruins of the temple, which had heard the death cries of many victims offered as a holocaust to the implacable and sanguinary Hiutzilopochtli, the god of war, that the chief resolved to establish his camp.

When the horses had been hobbled in an excavation at the foot of the teocali, the warriors placed the prisoners in their midst, scaled the bramble and cactus covered steps that led to the top of the artificial hill, and on reaching the temple, after lighting several fires to prepare their meal, they cut down a quantity of branches, which they intertwined so as to form a species of roof over one of the halls of the temple. There, at a signal from the chief, the two ladies were installed, who, however precarious this shelter might be, were glad to take refuge in it, and escape for awhile from the stern glances of their ferocious conquerors, and recover from the terrible shock they had endured.