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

Doña Emilia's first care so soon as she was alone with her daughter, whose weakness was extreme, was to lay her on a pile of furs which the chief, doubtless through a feeling of compassion, had ordered to be placed by the fire. The state in which the young lady was, was really alarming. The prostration which had fallen on her after the snare to which she had fallen victim, was succeeded by a violent fever mingled with delirious and nervous attacks, which not only threatened her reason, but caused apprehensions for her life; at any rate there was reason to fear that her health would never entirely recover from the shock given to her system by the terror she had felt, and the extraordinary fatigue she had endured during nearly twenty hours; in spite of the sort of brutal gallantry with which the chief had tried to come to her help by ordering his men not to hurry, and by trying not only to pay the captives the attentions of which his rough character was capable, but by giving them all the relief he was able to offer them under the circumstances.

Doña Emilia did not know what means she should employ to calm her daughter's terrifying nervous excitement. Alone among savages, whom she justly regarded as implacable foes, wanting the remedies which were necessary for her poor child, she could only groan and hold her to her heart to prevent her dashing her head against the wall in one of these nervous attacks. Doña Emilia passed the whole night without sleep, constantly watching over the girl whose madness had assumed a startling character, and who no longer recognizing her mother, and unconscious of the place where she was, made the strangest remarks to her, and asked her the most singular questions with that volubility which fever produces.

Toward the close of night, at the moment when the stars began to disappear, the girl's frenzy gradually diminished; she closed her eyes and fell into a sleep which restored her poor mother a little hope and courage. At sunrise an Indian came in, placed provisions on the ground, laid a packet of simples by Doña Emilia's side, and withdrew without uttering a word. Several hours elapsed in this way; the redskins, while attentively watching their captives, left them constantly alone, supplying them all they required with a species of affectionate eagerness, but not troubling them with indiscreet questions or disagreeable intrusions into the refuge given them. Since their arrival at the teocali the chief had not presented himself to them, but seemed, on the contrary, desirous to remain invisible, while paying them attentions which revealed an assiduous care on his part.

Doña Diana's condition had visibly improved, nature, youth, and her powerful constitution had, after a trying struggle, eventually triumphed over the disease. Nursed by her mother with attentive tenderness, she at length became convalescent; but with health sorrow re-entered her mind, and the frightful position in which fatality had placed her appeared in all its horrible reality. She did not dare reflect on the future, for, alas, that was perhaps a terrible death amid torture, or dishonour a hundredfold worse than death. Hence a gloomy sorrow took possession of the maiden. She spent her days leaning over the wall, and with her eyes fixed on the imposing landscape that surrounded her looked despairingly around her, while burning tears, which she did not even think of drying, coursed slowly down her pale, thinned cheeks.

Mother and daughter remained thus side by side, not daring to confide to each other their terrible thoughts, awaiting the coming catastrophe which it was impossible for them to foresee or avoid. Days thus succeeded days without producing any change in their position; nothing had revealed to them the fate which the Comanches reserved for them, when on the morning of the tenth day after their arrival at the teocali, the Indian who seemed specially told off to watch them and supply them with food, informed them that the chief had arrived on the previous evening at the teocali, on his return from a distant expedition he had been obliged to make, and asked permission to speak to them after breakfast. On hearing this request, which was, however, made very politely, Doña Diana turned pale and shuddered with horror; she understood that her fate would depend on this interview, and spite of herself she trembled. Doña Emilia smiled ironically.

"Why pretend such great courtesy to captives?" she replied bitterly. "Is not your chief our master? As far as I am aware a master does not require to announce his coming to his slaves."

"The sachem ordered his warrior to speak as he has done," the Indian made answer. "The warrior has obeyed; my mother must not be angry with him."

"I am not angry with you, Indian," she said, less rudely, desiring not to alienate this man, who, ever since he served them, had displayed a species of rough pity. "I do not at all think of making you responsible for orders which you must neither discuss nor hesitate to carry out; still I will remark to you that as we are the prisoners of your sachem, as you term him, we have no means to avoid the interview he requests, and that, consequently, it is unnecessary for him to ask a permission which he can very well do without."

"Good! My mother speaks well; hence the sachem may come after breakfast?"

"He can come when he thinks proper. We will receive him, as he desires it."

The Indian went out, and the two ladies were left alone. "We are going to know our fate at last," Doña Emilia said, with a feigned indifference she was far from feeling.

"Yes," her daughter replied sorrowfully. "Heaven grant that a feeling of pity may still reside in the heart of this savage, and that the propositions he makes us may not be of such a nature that we must decline them."

"Heaven grant it, indeed, my daughter! Alas, who knows what fate reserves for us! Perhaps you will regret that you did not die during your illness." The girl remained silent for a moment, and then a gloomy smile played round her pale lips.

"Mother," she asked, "have you kept your vial?"

"Yes," Doña Emilia answered; "it still contains enough to kill us both."

"In that case rejoice, mother," the maiden answered, almost gaily, "we have nothing more to fear! Whatever proposition this crafty chief may make to us, we are always certain of getting out of his clutches, and finding refuge in death."

"It is well, daughter!" Doña Emilia replied, as she took Diana in her arms, and pressed her passionately to her heart.

So great is the effect that a powerful resolution always produces, that the two ladies awaited the chief's coming more calmly than they had hoped. They had scarce finished breakfast ere he appeared. The majordomo had, for this interview, doffed his Indian dress, and resumed that of the Mexican campesinos. This change denoted a resolution formed that he would allow no consideration to stop him. On recognizing him the two ladies uttered a cry, of surprise on the part of Diana, but of terror on that of her mother. She had discovered what she long suspected, that is to say, that her husband's majordomo was a traitor. On entering, he bowed to the ladies with ironical politeness; his face was smiling, his manner firm, and his voice coaxing.

"I venture to hope, señoras," he said, "that you will pardon a poor Indian."

"Oh," Doña Emilia said bitterly, "what a viper we have cherished!"

"Alas! Madam," he answered lightly, "why employ such ugly epithets? Everybody in this world is obliged to bow before necessity. It was not, be assured, of my own accord that I have so long remained a stranger to you."

"You are, then, really the chief of the men who carried us off, and it was you probably who prepared the odious snare into which we fell?"

"I will not attempt to deny it, madam," he said.

"What harm have I done you, who have been, living for more than twenty years beneath my roof, where you were taken in through charity; you whom my husband loves and places entire confidence in?"

"A confidence which I still possess, madam. But why lose our time in vain discussions? The open step I have taken must prove to you that my mind is irrevocably made up, and that I shall not hesitate or recoil in the execution of the plan I have formed."

"What you are doing is horrible; you requite with the blackest ingratitude the kindness with which my family has overwhelmed you."

"That is the very word, madam," he said, with a bitter smile; "but in order to cut short useless recriminations, and lay down the question distinctly, let me make a confession which will establish our position to each other."

"Speak, speak! What frightful revelation have you to make to me?"

"I, madam," he replied, drawing himself up majestically, and fixing on her a fiendish glance, "am the son of Running Water, the Chief of the tribe of Red Buffaloes, whom your family so cowardly and obstinately hunted down. Do you now understand why I hate you, and why you are here?"

"Oh!" she shrieked, clasping her hands in despair, "We are lost."

Doña Diana was annihilated; she fancied it was all a fearful dream.

"No, madam," he replied in his calm and metallic voice, "your safety is in your own hands."

"My safety?" she asked ironically.

"Yes, madam, your safety. You are really conscious of the situation in which you are, I assume? You are thoroughly convinced that you are in my power, and that no human help can save you?"

"Yes, but God remains – God, who sees, and will save us," she exclaimed fervently, "God who will foil your odious machinations!"

"God!" he said, with a hoarse laugh. "You forget, madam, that I am a Comanche, and that your God is not mine. Bow your head before the fatality that crushes you. Your God, if He exist, is powerless against me. I deride his power!"

"Silence, blasphemer! The God you dare to defy can, if He pleases, crush you in a moment."

"Let Him do so then, and I will believe in Him." And he raised his head and looked up defiantly at the heavens. "But, no," he added a moment after, "all these things are falsehoods invented by the priests to hold men in awe. You are here in my power, I repeat, and no power, human or divine, will liberate you; but, as I said, it is easy for you to leave this place in freedom within an hour, if you please."

"After insult, mockery, that is the right way," she said contemptuously.

"I am no more mocking you now than I insulted you before; I am speaking frankly, and offering you an honourable bargain, which you can accept or refuse as you please."

"A bargain," she murmured in a hollow voice.

"Yes," he continued, "a bargain; and why not? Listen to me. I hate your family, madam, with all the hatred that a human heart can hold; but you personally never offended me, and I have, therefore, no reason to wish you harm. Then, there is another thing which pleads in your favour; why should I conceal it any longer? I love your daughter."

"Villain!" Doña Emilia exclaimed, as she rose and walked toward him.

Doña Diana threw herself wildly into her mother's arms, and buried her face in her hands, crying desperately.

"Mother, mother, save me!"

"Fear nothing, daughter," she replied; "this man can insult us, but he will never succeed in humiliating us to his own level."

The Indian listened to these words without a muscle of his face quivering.

"I expected this outburst," he said calmly; "but you will reflect; I repeat that I love your daughter, and intend her to be mine."

"Never," the two ladies exclaimed desperately.

"At that price alone," he continued stoically, "you will be free; if not, prepare for death."

"Yes, yes," Doña Emilia burst forth passionately, "yes, we will die, but both by our own will. Ah! You feel very certain of the success of your odious plot, but you have calculated badly, villain; the death with which you threaten us, we invoke as the supreme refuge left us. You are masters of our life, but not of our death. We defy you."

The Indian burst into a laugh.

"Look at your vial," he said, in his calm, cutting tone, "it no longer contains any acid. Yesterday some harmless soporifics were mixed with your food, and, during your sleep, you were robbed of the formidable weapon in which you had trusted rather too prematurely. Believe me, madam, you had better yield. I give you eight days to reflect; it would be easy for me to carry off your daughter, but I prefer receiving her voluntarily from you."

He accompanied these remarks with a mocking laugh, and left the room, without waiting for an answer, which the two unhappy women could not have given him, so annihilated were they by the frightful revelation which had just been made to them.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

PREPARATIONS FOR A RESCUE

We will now leave the Comanche camp for a season, and return to the Hacienda del Río, belonging to Count de Melgosa, whither we have before taken the reader, and to which the count ordered the wounded man to be conveyed. When they approached the hacienda, the Canadian remarked to the count that perhaps Don Melchior, owing to his weakness, could not be able to stand crossing the stream, and the ascent of the hill, which was rendered more fatiguing by the steepness of the path that led to the front gate. The count began laughing.

"What is it that amuses your Excellency?" the Canadian asked.

"Well," the count answered, "I am laughing at your simplicity, my friend."

"My simplicity!"

"Yes; I fancied you better acquainted with strategics."

"What do you mean?"

"Hang it all! You ought to know that a good general never lets himself be besieged without having the means to break the blockade when he thinks proper."

"Ah, ah!" the hunter said with a smile, "I suspected it; but no matter. Go on, Excellency."

"Does it interest you?"

"Enormously."

"Ah!" he said, giving him an inquiring glance.

"Oh, simply from an artistic point of view."

"Very good; well, I wish to prove to you what value I set on you, and what faith I have in your honour."

"You were wrong to doubt it, Excellency."

"I believe so. Then I will show you what no living being has ever yet seen."

"By Jove, Excellency, permit me to remark to you that what you are doing is most imprudent."

"With anyone else it would certainly be so; but are you not my friend?"

"I hope so, Excellency."

"In that case, it is no longer imprudent, but merely a mark of confidence. Diego López," he added, turning to the peon, "go to the right."

"Excellency," the latter said respectfully, "if we go to the right after passing that clump of larches, sumachs, and floripondios, we shall come to an impassable belt of rocks which border the river on that side."

"Nonsense," the count continued with a smile; "never mind; go on."

Diego López bowed, and at once went in the direction ordered. The road had to be cut with the axe, and they only advanced step by step. After about an hour of extremely fatiguing toil, the band reached, as Diego López had predicted, the foot of an enormous and irregular mass of rocks heaped on each other to a great height. They were forced to halt, owing to the material impossibility of going any further.

"You see, Excellency," Diego López said, with the satisfaction of a servant who believes he has got the best of his master.

"Yes, yes, I see," the count replied, as he attentively examined the rocks; "be kind enough, Señor Clary, to hold my horse for a moment."

He dismounted, threw the bridle to the Canadian, and said to the peon —

"Come hither, Diego."

The latter followed him without a word, vainly torturing his brain to guess what his master intended to do. The count walked straight up to the rocks; on reaching a certain spot he stooped, and after a moment's reflection, said —

"Thrust your gun barrel into that crack, and press."

The peon obeyed with the passive resignation of a good servant, and after a few efforts a rather large block started and fell to the ground.

"Very good," the count said; "go on; now this one." A second stone, larger than the first, fell, and revealed the entrance of a cave.

"Now," the count continued, "enlarge the passage."

"By heavens!" the Canadian exclaimed, "That is prodigious, and we can pass through, horses and all."

"Of course. Do you not know that all the haciendas of any size in this country were built by the first conquistadors of the country, who, being daily exposed to the attacks of the Indians, were obliged to dig passages of this nature, which allowed them, in the event of a siege, to procure provisions, or call in the aid of their friends and allies?"

"And you are not afraid to show this passage to me?" the Canadian said, in wonderment.

"Why should I be afraid? I repeat, that you are a friend, and that I have faith in you."

"That is true," the Canadian replied; "but, no matter," he added, with a shake of his head, "you have run a tremendous risk."

"Nonsense," the count continued, with a careless shrug of the shoulder. "With you?"

While they were conversing, Diego López and his comrades had worked so well that the entrance was now wide enough for the little band to pass.

"Come," said the count.

They went in, and when the last peon had passed through, the count continued —

"Now, Diego López, put the stones back in their place as well as you can, for it is useless to show other people the road we have taken."

The peons set to work, and in less than half an hour the entrance was once more hermetically closed, and so skilfully, that no one could have detected it from the outside. The passage in which the Spaniards found themselves was probably lighted by a multitude of imperceptible fissures, which at the same time renewed the stock of air; for although the entrance had been stopped up, it was not dark, and it was perfectly easy to breathe. Cut in the rock, the roof of this passage was lofty enough for a man to pass through comfortably on horseback – it was arched; the ground was dry and covered with a fine sand of a golden-yellow.

The count placed himself at the head of the little party and gave a signal to start. At first the passage descended rather abruptly, and from the noise the travellers heard over their heads, they understood that they were passing beneath the bed of the river; but gradually the ground rose gently, and the passage ascended with innumerable windings, opening out every now and then into long galleries, which showed that the first owners of this hacienda, as prudent people, retained several issues. At regular distances, they came to massive iron doors, which the count opened by touching a hidden spring, and which closed again after the travellers.

At length, after marching for about three-quarters of an hour in this inextricable labyrinth, the count stopped before a massive oak door, entirely covered with thick plates of iron.

"We have arrived," he said.

"What do you mean?" the Canadian remarked, "Not at the hacienda, I suppose?"

"Yes, we are at the hacienda; and, more than that, we are at the entrance of the court leading to the corral."

"That is impossible," said the Canadian.

The count smiled and touched a spring. The door opened, and the Canadian repressed a cry of surprise as the count informed him they were really in an inner court of the hacienda, which was at this moment empty. The travellers entered, and then the gate was closed so hermetically, and so thoroughly formed a part of the wall through the stones with which it was covered, that in spite of the attention with which the adventurer examined it, it was impossible for him to discover its exact position.

"It is prodigious!" he muttered.

"Not at all," the count replied, gently; "it is, on the contrary, a very ordinary affair, only due to the skill of the workman who was intrusted with the job. But let us lose no more time here; Diego López, convey the wounded man to the green room. Do not trouble yourself about your horse, Señor Clary, it will be taken care of; come."

"Hang it, the beast is valuable; and were it only for the sake of the person from whom I obtained it, I should not like any accident to happen to it."

"As for that, be at your ease; your horse will be as well taken care of as if it belonged to me."

Completely reassured by this promise, the Canadian dismounted and accompanied his host into the house. The count's unexpected arrival and the mysterious way in which he entered the hacienda caused some surprise to his people, who did not understand how he could have got in unseen by any of the sentries in a so carefully guarded fortress. The reception the countess gave the adventurer was not merely polite, but even affectionate, and very different from the somewhat dry manner in which she greeted him on the first occasion. Don Melchior was put to bed; and when the count and the Canadian entered the green room, the doctor of the hacienda was attending to him. The young man was asleep.

"Well," the count asked, presently, "what do you think about your patient, doctor?"

The doctor, or, to speak more correctly, the barber, who undertook that duty, drew himself up, pursed his eyebrows, and replied gravely —

"This young man is as well as his state allows him to be. I have bled him copiously, which, I believe, will produce a favourable result; in two days, if no serious accident occur, I can promise you that he will feel but little of the numerous contusions he has received."

"Thanks, doctor, for your good prognostics; attend to this young man as you would to myself; I have the greatest wish to hear him talk as soon as possible, even if he cannot get about."

"I will give you that satisfaction this very evening, Excellency," the doctor answered. "When the patient awakes, his strength will have returned sufficiently to allow him to answer any questions you may think proper to ask him."

The count and the adventurer exchanged a glance of satisfaction on hearing this. The doctor's prediction was realized, for shortly before sunset Don Melchior opened his eyes. At first he was somewhat astonished to find himself lying in bed and attended by a doctor; but when the latter had told him in a few words how, on being found half dead, he was transported to the spot where he now was, his memory at once returned, and he earnestly begged the doctor to inform the count that as he was refreshed by the bleeding and rested by the sleep which had resulted from it, he earnestly requested to see his saviour in order to thank him for the service he had done him, and to ask him to let him return as soon as possible to the Hacienda del Barrio, where matters of the greatest importance summoned him. The count and the Canadian proceeded straight to the young man, and after congratulating him on the fortunate change which had taken place in him in so short a time, pressed him to tell them all that had happened.

Don Melchior, on recognizing the count, who during his visit to the hacienda had displayed much interest in him, had no difficulty in recounting what had happened in the fullest detail, the more so because knowing the count to be on very intimate terms with Don Aníbal Saldibar, he hoped that the Spanish gentleman might help him in the plan he meditated. The count was overwhelmed with grief on hearing the misfortune which had happened to Doña Emilia, and immediately suspected that the daring abduction to which she had been a victim was the revenge of the Red Buffaloes, those constant foes of Don Aníbal. But there was some mystery about this skilfully arranged and boldly executed expedition. He suspected treachery, though it was impossible to rest those suspicions on one person more than another. His anxiety was the greater because it was probable that the ravishers, after their snare was successful, had returned to the impenetrable deserts which served them as refuge, and where it was impossible to pursue them, especially owing to the state of confusion into which the country was thrown by the decisive pronunciamiento of which Don Aníbal was one of the principal chiefs, and was stripped of any hope of cooperation from the Spaniards. The situation was serious, and the count did not know how to escape from it.

"Listen to me," said the Canadian, who during the young man's recital had not made the slightest remark. "The affair of which you are talking, is beyond the pale of the common law. Spanish troops will be of no more use to you than Mexican. You have to deal with redskins, do not overlook that fact."