The Rebel Chief: A Tale of Guerilla Life

Dominique obeyed. They went under the euramada. This is the name given in Mexico to a species of shapeless hut formed of interlaced branches, and covered with other branches and leaves; these tenements, though of very paltry appearance, offer a very sufficient shelter against rain and sunshine. This euramada, better built than the others, was divided into two compartments by a hurdle of intertwined branches, which mounted to the roof and divided the hut into two equal parts. Don Jaime did not stop in the first compartment, but passed straight into the second, still followed by Dominique, who for some moments past seemed to be plunged into serious reflections. The adventurer disturbed a pile of grass and dry leaves, and drawing his machete, began digging up the ground. Dominique looked at him in amazement.

"What are you doing there?" he asked him.

"As you see, I am clearing the entrance of a vault; come and help me," he answered.

Both set to work. Ere long appeared a large flat stone, in the centre of which a ring was fixed. When the stone was removed, steps, clumsily cut in the rock, became visible.

"Come down," said the adventurer.

He had lighted a lamp by means of a lucifer match. Dominique cast a curious glance around him. The spot where he was, situated some seven or eight yards under ground, formed a sort of octagonal hall of very considerable dimensions; four galleries, which seemed to run further underground, entered at so many different points. This hall was amply supplied with weapons of every description; there were also harness, clothes, a bed made of leaves and furs, and even books on a shelf hanging against the side.

"You see one of my dens," the adventurer said with a smile. "I possess several like this scattered all over Mexico. This vault dates from the time of the Aztecs, and its existence was revealed to me several years ago by an aged Indian. You are aware that the province in which we now are, was anciently the sacred territory of the Mexican religion, and temples swarmed on it; the numberless underground passages were used by the priests to go from one place to another without being discovered, and thus give greater force to miracles of ubiquity which they pretended to accomplish. At a later date, they served, a refuge to the Indians persecuted by the Spanish conquerors. The one we are now in, which runs on one side to the pyramid of Cholula, and on the other to the very heart of Puebla without counting other issues, was on several occasions extremely useful to the Mexican insurgents during the war of Independence – now its existence is forgotten, and the secret is only known to myself and to you now."

The vaquero had listened to this explanation with the most lively interest.

"Pardon me," he said, "but there is one thing that I do not exactly understand."

"What is it?"

"You told me just now that if anyone arrived by chance, we should be at once warned?"

"Yes, I did say so."

"I do not at all understand how this can be."

"Very simply. You see that gallery, do you not?"

"Yes."

"It terminates with a sort of outlook about a yard square, covered with shrubs, and impossible to detect at the very entrance of the path by which it is alone possible to enter the wood; now, by a singular effect of acoustics, which I shall not at all attempt to explain, all sounds, of whatever nature they may be, even the slightest, which are produced near that outlook are immediately repeated here, with such distinctness, that it is most easy to recognize their nature."

"Oh! In that case I am no longer alarmed."

"Moreover, when the persons we expect have arrived, we will stop up this hole, which will be useless to us, and leave by the gallery that opens there in front of you."

While giving these explanations to his friend, the adventurer had doffed a portion of his garments.

"What are you doing?" Dominique asked.

"I am disguising myself, in order to go and find out how matters stand at Puebla. The inhabitants of that town are very religious; monasteries are numerous there, and hence I am going to put on a Camaldoli dress, by favour of which I can attend to my business without fear of attracting attention."

The vaquero had sat down on the furs, and was reflecting with his back against the wall.

"What is the matter, Dominique? You appear to me preoccupied and sad?" Don Jaime asked him a moment after.

The young man started as if a viper had suddenly stung him.

"I am, in truth, sad, master," he muttered.

"Have I not told you that we shall find Doña Dolores again?" he continued.

Dominique quivered, and his face became livid; "Master," he said, as he rose, and hung his head, "despise me, I am a coward."

"You a coward, Domingo! Good God, you speak falsely."

"No, master, I am telling the truth, I have misunderstood my duty, betrayed my friend, and forgotten your recommendations." He gave a profound sigh. "I love the betrothed wife of my friend," he added feebly.

The adventurer fixed his bright eyes on him, "I was aware of it," he said.

Domingo started and exclaimed in alarm, "You knew it?"

"I did," Don Jaime continued, "And you do not despise me?"

"Why should I? Are we masters of our heart?"

"But she is betrothed to the Count, my friend."

The adventurer made no answer to this exclamation. "And does she love you in return?" he asked.

"How can I tell?" he exclaimed, "I have hardly dared to confess it to myself."

There was a lengthened silence. While putting on his monastic garb, the adventurer examined the young man aside. "The Count does not love Doña Dolores?" he at length said.

"What! Can it be possible?" he exclaimed, hotly. Don Jaime burst into a laugh.

"That is the way with lovers," he remarked, "they do not understand that others have not the same eyes as themselves."

"But he is going to marry her?"

"He ought," he said, laying a marked stress on the word.

"Did he not come to Mexico expressly for the purpose?"

"It is true."

"Then you see he will marry her in that case."

The adventurer shrugged his shoulders.

"Your conclusion is absurd," he said. "Does a man ever know what he will do? Does the morrow belong to him?"

"But since the misfortunes which have crushed Doña Dolores' family and herself, the Count has been attempting impossibilities to save the young lady."

"That proves that the Count is a perfect gentleman and man of honour, that is all. Besides, he is her relation, and is doing his duty in trying to save her, even at the risk of his life and fortune."

Dominique shrugged his shoulders several times, "He loves her," he said.

"In that case I will turn the sentence; Doña Dolores does not love him."

"You think so?"

"I am sure of it."

"Oh, if I could only persuade myself of it, I might hope."

"You are a baby. Now I am off, and do you wait for me here: swear not to leave this place till my return."

"I swear it."

"Good: I am going to work for you, so hope I shall return soon."

And giving him a last wave of the hand, the adventurer went off by a side gallery.

The young man remained pensive so long as the sound of his friend's retiring footsteps reached him, then he fell back on the bed of furs, murmuring in a low voice, "He bade me hope."

We will leave Dominique plunged in those reflections which, judging from the expression of his face, must have been agreeable, and follow Don Jaime on his adventurous expedition. As the vault was situated about half a league from the town, Don Jaime had that distance to go underground before he found himself in Puebla. But this long walk did not appear at all to alarm him: he proceeded at a round pace along the gallery into which sufficient light penetrated by invisible interstices, for him to be able to guide himself in the countless windings he was forced to make. He walked thus for about three parts of an hour, and at length reached the foot of a staircase, consisting of fifteen steps.

The adventurer stopped a moment to draw breath, and then went up. When he reached the top of the steps, he sought for a spring, which he soon found, and pressed his finger on it. Immediately an enormous stone became detached from the wall, moved noiselessly on invisible hinges, and displayed a wide passage. Don Jaime stepped out and thrust back the stone, which immediately resumed its first position in so perfect a manner, that it was impossible, even with the most earnest attention, to perceive the slightest crack or solution of continuity in the wall.

Don Jaime looked searchingly round him: he was alone. The spot where he was was a chapel of the cathedral of Puebla. The secret door through which the adventurer had passed opened on a corner of this chapel, and was concealed by a confessional. These precautions were carefully taken, and there was no risk of a discovery. Don Jaime left the church and found himself on the Plaza Mayor. It was about midday, the hour of the siesta, and the square was almost deserted. The adventurer pulled the hood over his eyes, hid his hands in his cuffs, and with his head hanging on his chest, and with a calm and contemplative step he crossed the square and entered one of the streets that ran from it.

Oliver thus reached the gate of a pretty house, standing in its own grounds, and which seemed to rise from the centre of a bouquet of orange and pomegranate trees. As this gate was only on the hasp, the adventurer pushed it, went in and closed the gate again after him. He then found himself on the sanded walk that led to the door of the house, which was raised by a few steps, and covered by a large verandah in the Mexican fashion. Oliver looked suspiciously around him, but the garden was deserted. He advanced; but instead of proceeding toward the house he struck into a side walk, and after a few turns found himself facing a door apparently belonging to the offices.

On reaching this spot Oliver took a silver whistle hanging round his neck by a thin gold chain, raised it to his lips, and produced a sweet and peculiarly modulated sound. Almost immediately a similar whistle was heard from the interior, the door opened, and a man appeared. The adventurer made him a Masonic sign, to which the other replied, and followed him into the house. Without speaking, this man guided him through several apartments till he reached a door which he opened to let the adventurer pass through, while he remained behind.

The room into which Oliver was thus introduced was elegantly furnished, large Venetian blinds interrupted the rays of the sun, the floor was covered with one of those soft pelates which the Indians alone know how to manufacture; a hammock of aloe fibre suspended by silver rings from hooks of the same material divided the room in two. A man was lying in this hammock fast asleep. It was Don Melchior de la Cruz; a knife with a curiously embossed silver hilt, with a wide long blade sharp as a viper's tongue, was placed on a low sandalwood table within reach, by the side of two magnificent revolvers.

Even in his own house, in the middle of Puebla, Don Melchior thought it right to be on his guard against a surprise or treachery. His fears, however, were not at all exaggerated, for the man who is at that moment before him might fairly be reputed one of his most formidable enemies.

The adventurer surveyed him for some minutes, then advanced softly to the hammock without producing the slightest noise. He took the revolvers, concealed them under his gown, seized the knife, and then gently touched the sleeper. Though the touch, was so light, it sufficed to arouse Don Melchior. He at once opened his eyes, and stretched out his arm to the table by a mechanical movement.

"It is useless," Oliver said to him, coldly; "the weapons are no longer there."

At the sound of this well-known voice Don Melchior sprang up as if moved by a spring, and fixing a haggard eye on the man standing motionless before him, he asked, in a voice choked by horror —

"Who are you?"

"Have you not recognized me yet?" the adventurer remarked, jeeringly.

"Who are you?" he repeated.

"Ah! You require a certainty: well, look!" and he threw back his hood on his shoulders.

"Don Adolfo!" the young man muttered, in a hollow voice.

"Why this astonishment?" the adventurer continued, in the same mocking voice. "Did you not expect me? Still, you should have supposed that I would come to seek you."

Don Melchior remained for a moment as if lost in thought. "Be it so," he at length said, "After all it is better to come to an end once for all," and he sat down again, apparently calm and careless, on the edge of the hammock.

Oliver smiled. "Very good," he said; "I would sooner see you thus: let us talk, we have time."

"Then you have not come with the intention of assassinating me?" he asked, ironically.

"Oh! What a bad thought that is of yours, my dear sir! I raise a hand against you! Oh, no! Heaven preserve me from it! That is the hangman's business, and I should be most sorry to poach on the manor of that estimable functionary."

"The fact is," he exclaimed, impetuously, "that you have entered my house as a malefactor, in disguise, of course, to assassinate me."

"You repeat yourself, and that is clumsy; if I have come to you in disguise it is because circumstances compelled me to take the precaution, that is all: moreover, I only followed your example," and suddenly changing his tone, he added – "by the by, are you satisfied with Juárez? Has he rewarded your treachery handsomely? I have heard say that he is a very greedy and mean Indian, and so, I suppose, he contented himself with making you promises?"

Don Melchior smiled disdainfully.

"Did you thus privily enter my house only to talk such trash to me?" he asked.

The adventurer rose, drew a revolver, stepped forward, and regarding him with a look of indescribable contempt, shouted, in a voice of thunder —

"No, scoundrel, I have come to blow out your brains if you refuse to reveal to me what you have done with your sister, Doña Dolores!"

CHAPTER XXI

THE PRISONERS

For some seconds there was a silence, pregnant with menace. The two men were standing face to face. This silence Don Melchior de la Cruz was the first to break.

"Ah, ah, ah!" he said, bursting into a hoarse laugh, and sinking again on the border of the hammock, "Was I so wrong in saying to you, my dear sir, that you entered my house for the purpose of assassinating me?"

The adventurer bit his lip savagely, and the unlucky revolver.

"Well, no!" he exclaimed, in a loud voice; "No, I repeat, I will not kill you, for you are not worthy to die by the hand of an honest man; but I will compel you to confess the truth to me."

The young man looked at him with a singular expression. "Try it," he said, with a disdainful shrug of the shoulders.

Then he began carelessly rolling in his fingers a dainty husk cigarette, lit it, and while sending up to the ceiling a puff of blue and perfumed smoke, he said —

"Come, I am waiting for you."

"Good! This is what I propose to you: you are my prisoner, well, I will restore you to liberty if you will deliver Doña Dolores, I will not say into my hands, but into those of Count de la Saulay, her cousin, whom she is going to marry immediately."

"Hum! This is serious, my dear sir; please to remember that I am my sister's legal guardian."

"How her guardian?"

"Yes, since our father is dead."

"Don Andrés de la Cruz dead?" the adventurer exclaimed, leaping up.

"Alas! Yes," the young man replied, hypocritically raising his eyes to heaven; "we had the grief of losing him the night before last, and he was buried yesterday morning; the poor old gentleman could not resist the frightful misfortunes which have overwhelmed our family. Sorrow crushed him: his end was most affecting."

There was a silence, during which Oliver walked up and down the room. All at once the adventurer stopped in front of the young man.

"Without any further circumlocution," he said to him, "will you, yes or no, restore your sister her liberty?"

"No!" Melchior replied, resolutely.

"Good," the adventurer coldly remarked; "in that case, all the worse for you."

At this moment the door opened, and a tall and elegantly-dressed young man entered the room. At the sight of this young man a cunning smile illumined Don Melchior's face.

"Eh!" he said, to himself, "Things may turn out differently from what this dear Don Adolfo supposes."

The young man bowed politely, and walked up to the master of the house, with whom he shook hands.

"I am disturbing you?" he said, taking a careless glance at the supposed monk.

"On the contrary, my dear Don Diego, you could not arrive more opportunely: but by what chance do I see you at so unusual an hour?"

"I have come to bring you good news: Count de la Saulay, your private enemy, is in our power; but, as he is a Frenchman, and certain considerations must be maintained, the general has decided to send him, under a good escort, to our most illustrious president. Another piece of good news, you are intrusted with the command of this escort."

"¡Demonios!" Don Melchior exclaimed, triumphantly, "You are a good friend. But now it is my turn: look carefully at that monk, do you recognize him? Well, this man is no other than the adventurer called Don Adolfo, Don Olivero, Don Jaime, or by a hundred names, who has so long been sought in vain."

"Can it be possible?" Don Diego exclaimed.

"It is true," Don Adolfo said.

"Within an hour you will be dead – shot like a traitor and bandit!" Melchior exclaimed.

Don Adolfo shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

"It is evident," Don Diego observed, "that this man will be shot; but the president alone has the right of deciding his fate, as he declares that he is a Frenchman."

"Why all the demons seem to belong to that accursed race!" Don Melchior exclaimed, quite disconcerted.

"Well, really I cannot tell you exactly; as regards this man, as he is a daring fellow, and you might be considerably embarrassed by him, I will send him to the president under a separate escort."

"No, no, if you wish to do me a service; let me take him with me; do not be alarmed, I will take such precautions, that, clever as he is, he shall not escape me; still, it will be as well to disarm him."

The adventurer silently handed his weapons to Don Diego. At this moment a footman came in, and announced that the escort was waiting in the street.

"Very good," said Melchior, "let us be off."

The servant gave his master a machete, a brace of pistols, and a zarapé, and buckled on his spurs.

"Now we can start," said Don Melchior.

"Come," said Don Diego, "Señor Don Adolfo, or whatever be your name, be kind enough to go first."

The adventurer obeyed without a word. Twenty-five or thirty soldiers attired in a rather fantastic uniform, mostly in rags, and resembling bandits, much more than honest soldiers, were waiting in the street.

These men were all well mounted and armed. In the midst of them were the Count de la Saulay, and his two servants under strict guard; a smile of joy lit up Don Melchior's face at the sight of the gentleman; the latter did not deign to appear to notice his presence. A horse was prepared for Don Adolfo; at a sign from Don Diego he mounted, and placed himself of his own accord by the side of the Count, with whom he shook hands. Don Melchior also mounted.

"Now, my friend," said Don Diego, "a pleasant journey to you. I am going back to the government house."

"Good bye then," said Melchior, and the escort set out.

It was about two in the afternoon, the greatest heat of the day had passed, the shops were beginning to open again, and the tradesmen standing in the door watched the soldiers pass with a yawn. Don Melchior rode a few yards ahead of his troop; his demeanour was cold and sedate, he made vain efforts to restrain the joy which he experienced on at length having his implacable enemies in his hands. After they had ridden some distance from the town, the lieutenant who commanded the escort, approached Don Melchior.

"Our men are fatigued," he said to him, "it is time to think about camping for the night."

"I am willing to do so," the other replied, "provided that the spot is a secure one."

"I know a few paces from here," the lieutenant continued, "a deserted rancho, where we shall be very comfortable."

"Let us go there then."

The lieutenant acted as guide, and the soldiers soon entered a path scarce traced through a very thick wood, and at the end of about three quarters of an hour reached a large clearing, in the middle of which stood the rancho announced. The officer gave his men orders to dismount. The latter eagerly obeyed; for they seemed anxious to rest after their fatigue.

Leaping from his horse, Don Melchior entered the rancho, in order to assure himself of the condition it was in. But he had hardly set his foot in the interior, ere he was suddenly seized, rolled in a zarapé, and bound and gagged, even before he had the time to attempt a useless defence.

At the end of some minutes, he heard a clanking of sabres, and a regular sound of footsteps outside the rancho; the soldiers, or at least a portion of them, were going away, without paying any attention to him.

Almost at the same moment he was seized by the feet and shoulders, lifted up, and carried off. After a few rapid steps, it seemed to him as if his bearers were taking him down steps that entered the ground; then, after about ten minutes march, he was softly laid on a bed, composed of furs as he supposed, and left alone. An utter silence prevailed around the prisoner, he was really alone. At length a slight noise became audible, this noise gradually increased, and soon became loud; it resembled the walk of several persons, whose footsteps grated on sand.

This noise suddenly ceased. The young man felt himself lifted up and carried off once more. They carried him for a very considerable distance, and the bearers relieved each other at regular distances.

At length they stopped again; from the fresher and sharper air that smote his face, the prisoner conjectured that he had left the tunnel and was now in the open country. He was laid down on the ground.

"Set the prisoner at liberty," a voice said, whose dry metallic sound struck the young man.

His bonds were at once unfastened, and the gag and the handkerchief that covered his eyes removed.

Don Melchior leaped on his feet and looked around him. The spot where he found himself was the top of a rather lofty hill in the centre of an immense plain. The night was dark, and a little to the right in the distance gleamed like so many stars, the lights of the houses in Puebla. The young man formed the centre of a rather large group, drawn up in a circle round him. These men were masked, each of them held in his right hand a torch of ocote wood, whose flame agitated by the wind, threw a blood red hue over the country, and imparted to it a fantastic appearance. Don Melchior felt a shudder of terror run over his whole body, he understood that he was in the power of that mysterious Masonic association, of which he was himself a member, and which spread over the whole of Mexico, the gloomy ramifications of its formidable ventas. The silence was so profound on the hill, all the men so thoroughly resembled statues in their cold immobility, that the young man could hear his own heart beating in his breast.

A man stepped forward.

"Don Melchior de la Cruz," he said, "do you know where you are, and in whose presence?"

"I know it," he replied through his clenched teeth.

"Do you recognise the authority of the men by whom you are surrounded?"

"Yes, because they have the might on their side; any attempt at resistance or protest would be an act of folly on my part."

"No, it is not for that reason that you come under the authority of these men, and you are perfectly aware of the fact; but because you voluntarily connected yourself with them by a compact. In making this compact, you accepted their jurisdiction, and gave them the right to be your judges, if you broke the oaths which you took of your own full accord – "

Don Melchior shrugged his disdainfully.

"Why should I attempt a useless defence?" he said; "for am I not condemned beforehand. Hence execute without further delay, the sentence which you have already tacitly pronounced."