The Rebel Chief: A Tale of Guerilla Life

"Perfectly answered, on my word," the adventurer said. "All these reasons, though specious and easy to refute, do not the less appear very logical, and I shall not take the trouble to discuss them. Still, I will remark, my friend, that when you treat me as a skeptic, you are mistaken; disabused, perhaps, I am, but a skeptic I shall never be."

"Oh, oh!" the two young men exclaimed simultaneously. "That demands an explanation, Don Adolfo."

"And I will give it you, if you insist upon it: but what is the good? Stay, I have a proposal to make to you, which I think will please you."

"Go on; speak."

"It is now nearly morning, in a few hours it will be day, none of us are sleepy, so let us remain as we are and continue to talk."

"Certainly; I desire nothing better for my part," the Count said.

"And I the same. But what shall we talk about?" Dominique observed.

"If you like, I will tell you an adventure or a history – give it which name you like – that I heard this very day, and whose correctness I can guarantee; for the person who told it me, I have known a long time, and he played an important part in it."

"Why not tell us your own history, Don Adolfo? It must be filled with touching events and curious incidents," the Count said meaningly.

"Well, you are mistaken, Count," Oliver answered, simply. "Nothing can be less touching than what you are pleased to call my history; it is much the same as that of all smugglers, for you know, I believe," he added, confidentially, "that I am nothing else. The existence of all of us is the same; we act cunningly to pass the goods intrusted to us, and the custom house officers do the same to prevent it and seize us. Hence arise combats, which sometimes, though rarely, thank Heaven! become blood-thirsty. Such is substantially the history you ask of me, my dear Count. You see that there is nothing essentially interesting in it."

"I do not press you, dear Don Adolfo," the Count answered with a smile. "Pass on to something else, if you please."

"In that case," Dominique said to the adventurer, "you are at liberty to begin your history whenever you please."

Oliver filled a champagne glass with Catalaña refino, emptied it at a draught, and then struck the table with the handle of his knife.

"Attention, gentlemen," he said. "I am about to begin. I must before all claim your indulgence for certain gaps, and also for some obscure points which will be found in my narrative. I must again remark that I am merely repeating what was told to me, that consequently there are many things of which I am ignorant, and that I cannot be rendered responsible for reticences, probably made purposely by the first narrator, who no doubt had motives known to himself alone, for leaving in the dark some incidents of the day, which is, however, very curious, I assure you."

"Begin, begin," they said.

"There is another difficulty in the narrative," he continued imperturbably, "it is that I am utterly ignorant in what country it occurred: but that is only of relative importance, as men are nearly the same everywhere, that is to say, agitated and governed by identical vices and passions; all that I fancy I can be certain of is, that it took place in the Old World – but you shall judge for yourselves. Well, then, there was in Germany – let us suppose, if you please, that the scene of this truthful history is laid in Germany – there was, I was saying, a rich and powerful family, whose nobility went back to the most remote period. You know, of course, that the German nobility are the oldest in the world, and that the traditions of honour have been preserved among them almost intact to the present day. Now, the Prince of Oppenheim-Schleswig, we will call him, so as the head of the family is a prince – had two sons nearly of the same age, as there were only two or three years' difference between them; both were handsome and endowed with brilliant intellects, these two young gentlemen had been educated with the utmost care, under the eyes of their father, who attentively watched their education. It is not the same in Germany as in America, for there the power of the head of the family is very extensive and most respected. There is something truly patriarchal in the way in which the internal discipline of the household is maintained. The young men profited by the lessons they received, but as they grew older their characters became more marked, and it was soon easy to recognise a great difference between them, although both were perfect gentlemen in the common acceptation of the term. Their moral qualities, however, were completely different; the first was gentle, affable, obliging, earnest, attached to his duties, and extremely attached to the honour of his name. The second displayed very different tastes, although he was very proud and punctilious; still, he did not fear to compromise the respect he owed his name in the lowest resorts and amongst the worst company; in a word, he led a most dissipated and rackety life. The prince bewailed in secret the debauchery of his younger son; he several times summoned him to his presence, and addressed severe remonstrances to him. The young man listened to his father respectfully, promised amendment, and went on the same as before. France declared war against Germany. The Prince of Oppenheim was one of the first to obey the orders of the emperor, and place himself under his banner; his sons accompanied him as aides-de-camp, and went under fire for the first time by his side. A few days' after his arrival at the camp the prince was intrusted with a reconnaissance by the general in chief; there a sharp skirmish with the enemy's foragers, and, in the height of the action, the prince fell from his horse. His friends gathered around, him, he died: but it was a strange circumstance, and one never explained, that the bullet which caused his death had entered between his shoulders – he was shot from behind."

Don Adolfo stopped.

"Give me some drink," he said to Dominique.

The latter poured him out a glass of punch; he swallowed it almost burning, and after passing his hand over his pale, dark forehead, he resumed with pretended carelessness.

"The prince's two sons were some distance away when this catastrophe occurred, they galloped up at once, but only found their father's bleeding and disfigured corpse. The sorrow of the two young men was immense, that of the elder gloomy and restrained, as it were; that of the younger, on the contrary, noisy. In spite of the most minute research, it was impossible to discover how the prince, while at the head of his troops by whom he was adored, could have been struck from behind: this always remained a mystery. The young men left the army and returned home: the elder had assumed the title of prince and had become head of the family, as in Germany the law of entail exists in all its rigour, the younger was completely dependant on his brother, but the latter would not leave him in this inferior and humiliating condition. He gave up to him his mother's fortune, which was very considerable, left him perfectly his own master, and authorised him to take the title of marquis."

"Of duke, you mean," the Count interrupted.

"That is true," Don Adolfo continued, biting his lips. "Since he was a prince – but you know that we republicans," he added, "are but little used to these pompous titles, for which we profess the most profound contempt."

"Go on," Dominique said carelessly.

Don Adolfo continued: "The duke realised his fortune, bade farewell to his brother, and started for Vienna. The prince, who remained on his estate among his vassals, did not hear from his brother for long intervals; but the news he received about him was not of a pleasing nature. The duke now set no bounds to his licentiousness, and matters attained such a point that the prince was at length compelled to interfere seriously, and give his brother an order to leave the kingdom – I mean the empire – immediately, and the latter obeyed without a murmur. Several years elapsed, during which the duke travelled over the whole of Europe. Writing but rarely to his elder brother, he, however, on each occasion, spoke of the change that had taken place in him, and the radical reformation of his conduct. Whether he believed in these protestations or not, the prince thought he could not refrain from announcing to his brother that he was on the point of marrying a noble, young, lovely, and rich heiress, that the marriage was about to take place immediately, and probably expecting that distance would prevent it, he invited his brother to be present at the nuptial ceremony. If such was his idea, he was mistaken – the duke arrived on the very eve of the marriage. His brother received him very well, and gave him apartments in his palace. On the morrow the projected union was accomplished."

"The duke's conduct was irreproachable: remaining with his brother, he seemed anxious to please him in everything, and prove to him on every possible occasion that his conversion was sincere. In short, he played his part so well, that everybody was deceived, the prince first of all, who not only restored him his friendship, but soon granted him his entire confidence. The duke had returned from his travels for some months; he seemed to regard life earnestly, and to have but one desire, that of repairing the faults of his youth. Welcomed in all families, at first with a slight coldness, but ere long with distinction, he had almost succeeded in causing the errors of his past life to be forgotten, when extraordinary rejoicings took place in the county on the occasion of some fête or anniversary. The prince naturally assumed the initiative, as was his duty; and by his brother's instigation he even resolved to take a part in them himself, in order to give them greater lustre."

"It was intended to represent a species of tournament: the first nobles of the surrounding country eagerly offered their assistance to the prince, and at length the jousting day arrived. The prince's young wife, who was in an advanced state of pregnancy, impelled by one of those presentiments which come from the heart, and never deceive, tried in vain to prevent her husband from entering the lists, confessing to himself through her tears that she apprehended a misfortune. The duke joined his sister-in-law in urging his brother to abstain from appearing at the tournament otherwise than as a spectator; but the prince, who considered his honour involved, was immoveable in his resolution, jested, treated their fears as chimerical, and mounted his horse to proceed to the scene of the tournament. An hour later he was brought back dying. By an extraordinary accident, an unheard-of fatality, the unfortunate prince had met with death at the spot where he should only have found pleasure. The duke displayed extreme sorrow at the frightful death of his brother. The prince's will was immediately opened; he appointed his brother sole heir to all his property, unless the princess, who, as I said, was in an advanced state of pregnancy, gave birth to a son, in which case this son would inherit his father's fortune and titles, and would remain till his majority under the guardianship of his uncle."

"On learning her husband's death, the princess was suddenly seized with the pangs of labour, and was delivered of a daughter. The second clause of the will being thus annulled, the Duke assumed the title of prince, and took possession of his brother's fortune. The princess, in spite of the most enticing offers her brother-in-law made her, refused to continue to reside as a stranger in a palace where she had been mistress, and returned to her family."

The adventurer made a pause.

"How do you like this history?" he asked his hearers, with an ironical smile.

"I am waiting till you give us the counterpart," the Count replied, "before I offer my opinion about it."

The adventurer gave him a clear and piercing glance.

"Then," he said, "you fancy this is not all?"

"Every history," the Count retorted, "is composed of two distinct parts."

"That is to say?"

"The true part, and the false."

"Will you explain yourself?"

"Willingly: the false part is that which is public, which everybody knows, and can comment on and repeat as he likes."

"Good," he said, with a slight inclination of the head; "and the true part?"

"That is the secret, the mysterious part, only known to two or three persons at the most – the sheepskin removed from the wolfs shoulders."

"Or the mask of virtue torn from the face of the villain!" he exclaimed, with a terrible outburst: "Is it not that?"

"Yes, indeed, it is."

"And you wait for this second part of the story?"

"I do," the Count answered, sternly.

The adventurer sat for two or three minutes with his face buried in his hands, then raised his head haughtily, emptied the glass before him, and then said, in a loud, metallic voice —

"Well, listen, then, for by heaven! I swear to you that what you are going to hear is worth the trouble, this time."

CHAPTER XXIV

THE REVELATION

There was a rather long silence, during which the guests remained plunged in profound meditations.

At length Don Adolfo broke the charm that seemed to enchain them, by suddenly speaking again.

"The princess had a brother, at that time a young man of two-and-twenty at the most, adroit in all manly exercises, brave as his sword, a great favourite with the ladies, whose fondness he returned, and who concealed beneath a frivolous exterior an earnest character, a capacious intellect, and an indomitable will. This brother, whom we will call Oclau, if you like, felt a sincere attachment for his sister; he loved her for all that she had suffered, and was the first to urge her to leave the palace of her defunct husband, and return to her family, chaining her down, and rejecting the offer of service made by the prince, her brother-in-law. Oclau felt a strong repulsion for the prince, although there was nothing in the eyes of society to justify the conduct he adopted towards him. Still, he did not break off all relations with him; he visited him now and then, though rarely, it is true. These interviews, always cold and constrained on the part of the young man, were cordial and eager on that of the prince, who essayed by his gracious manner, and continually renewed offers of services, to win over again this man, whose aversion he had divined. The princess, who had retired to her family, brought up her daughter far from the world, with tenderness and absolute devotion. On her husband's death she put on mourning, which she has not left off since: but this mourning she wore even more in her heart than in her garments, for the catastrophe which had deprived her of her husband was ever present to her mind, and with the tenacity of loving hearts, for whom time does not progress, her grief was as lively as on the first day; if at times, in the retreat to which she voluntarily confined herself, her brother-in-law's name was accidentally pronounced, a convulsive tremor suddenly agitated her whole person, her pale face became livid, and her large eyes, burned by fever, and inundated with tears, were at such times fixed on her brother Oclau with a strange expression of reproach and despair, seeming to say to him that the vengeance he had promised her was long delayed. The prince, now a made man, had reflected that he was the last of his race, and that it was urgent, if he did not wish the family titles and estates to pass to distant collaterals, to have an heir to his name; consequently, he commenced negotiations with several princely families of the country, and at the period we have now reached, that is to say, about eight years after his brother's death, there was a strong report about the prince's marriage with the daughter of one of the noblest houses of the Germanic Confederation. Nothing could be more suitable than this alliance, destined to augment the already proverbial importance and wealth of the house of Oppenheim-Schleswig: the lady was young, fair, and connected by marriage to the reigning family of Habsburg. The prince, consequently, attached great importance to this union, and hurried on its completion by all the means in his power. While this was occurring, Count Oclau was obliged by the settlement of some important business, to leave home, and go for some days to a town about twenty leagues distant. The young man bade farewell to his sister, got into a post chaise, and set out. On the next day but one, at about eight p.m., he arrived at the town of Bruneck, and stopped at a house belonging to him, which was in the principal square of the town, and only a few yards from the governor's palace."

"Bruneck is a very pretty little Tyrolese town, built on the right bank of the Rienz; the population, amounting to fifteen or sixteen hundred at the most, still retain the patriarchal, simple and stern manner of sixty years ago. Count Oclau remarked with surprise on entering the town that the greatest agitation prevailed there: in spite of the advanced hour, the streets his chaise passed through were filled with a restless crowd, who were running about in all directions with singular vociferations; most of the houses were illuminated, while large bonfires were lighted on the market square. So soon as the Count had entered his house; he inquired as he sat down to supper the cause of this extraordinary excitement. This is what he learned: – Tyrol is an excessively mountainous country – the Switzerland of Austria; now, most of these mountains serve as lurking places for numerous bands of malefactors, whose sole occupation is to plunder the travellers whom their unlucky star brings within reach, to plunder the villages, and even towns at times. For some years a bandit chief, more adroit and enterprising than the rest, at the head of a considerable band of resolute and well-disciplined men, had desolated the country, attacking travellers, burning and plundering the villages, and not hesitating, in case of need, to resist detachments of soldiers sent in pursuit of him, who very frequently returned much maltreated from their encounters with him. This man, in the end, inspired the population of this country with such terror that the inhabitants had grown to tacitly recognize his authority, and obey him tremblingly, as they felt persuaded that it was impossible to vanquish him. The Austrian Government naturally refused to admit this compact made with the brigands, and resolving to destroy them at any price, employed the most energetic efforts to capture the chief. For a very long period all the efforts were fruitless; this man, admirably served by his spies, was kept perfectly well acquainted with the attempts about to be made against him; he formed his plans in consequence, and easily succeeded in escaping from his pursuers, and foiling all the traps that were laid for him."

"But what force had been unable to affect treachery at last accomplished. One of the associates of Red Arm (such was the bandit's alias) dissatisfied with the share given him in a rich booty made a few days previously, and believing himself injured by the chief, resolved to take vengeance by betraying him."

"A week later Red Arm was surprised by the troop, and made prisoner with the principal members of his band."

"The few men who escaped, demoralized by the capture of their chief, soon fell in their turn into the hands of the soldiers, so that the entire band was destroyed."

"The trial of the bandits was not a long one; they had been condemned to death, and executed immediately. The chief and two of his first lieutenants were alone reserved, in order to render their punishment more exemplary. They were to be executed on the morrow, and that was the reason why the town of Bruneck was in such a state of excitement."

"The neighbouring peasants had flocked out to witness the punishment of the man before whom they had so long trembled, and in order not to miss this spectacle which had such attractions for them, they camped in the streets and in the squares, impatiently awaiting the hour for the execution."

"The Count attached but very slight importance to the news; and as he felt tired from having travelled two days along execrable roads, he prepared to go to bed soon after supper."

"Just as he was entering his bedroom a servant appeared, and exchanged a few words in a low voice with the valet."

"'What is it?' Count Oclau asked, turning round."

"'Pardon, my lord,' the servant respectfully replied, 'but a person desires to speak to your Excellency.'"

"'Speak to me at this house?' he said, in surprise, 'It is impossible; I have hardly arrived ere my coming is known: tell the man to return tomorrow, it is too late tonight.'"

"'I told him so, my lord, and he replied that tomorrow would be too late.'"

"'This is extraordinary! Who is the man?'"

"'A priest, my lord, and he added, that what he has to tell your Excellency is most serious, and that he earnestly implores you to receive him.'"

"The young man, greatly perplexed at a visit at so late an hour, repaired the disorder in his dress, and wandered to the dining room, curious about the solution of this enigma."

"A priest was standing in the centre of the room. He was a very aged man, his hair, white as snow, fell in long masses on his shoulders, and gave him a venerable appearance, which was completed by the expression of goodness and calm grandeur spread over his face."

"The Count bowed to him respectfully, and begged him to be seated."

"'Excuse me, my lord,' he replied with a bow, and still remained on his feet, 'I am the prison chaplain: you have doubtless heard of the arrest of certain malefactors?'"

"'Yes, sir; some vague information on the subject has been given me.'"

"'Several of these unhappy men,' he continued, 'have already endured the terrible fate to which human justice condemned them. The most guilty of all, their chief, is about to undergo his at sunrise tomorrow.'"

"'I am aware of it.'"

"'This man,' the chaplain went on, 'on the point of appearing before God, his supreme judge, to whom he will have a terrible account to render, has felt, owing to my efforts to lead him to repentance, remorse enter his heart. Your arrival in this town which he learnt I know not how, has appeared to him a warning of Providence. He at once sent for me, and begged me to go to you, my lord.'"

"'To me!' the young man exclaimed, in amazement, 'What can there be in common between me and this villain?'"

"'I do not know, my lord, for he told me nothing on that subject. He implores you to proceed to his dungeon, as he desires to reveal to you a secret of the highest importance.'"

"'What you say, confounds me, sir: this man is an utter stranger to me; I do not comprehend in what way my life can be mixed up with his.'"

"'He will doubtless explain this to you, my lord; but I advise you to consent to the interview this man implores,' the priest answered without any hesitation. 'For many years I have been a prison chaplain, and have seen many criminals die. Men do not speak falsely in the presence of death. The strongest and bravest man becomes very small and weak when facing that unknown thing called Eternity; he begins to tremble, and, no longer daring to hope the goodness of men, he turns to that of God. Red Arm, the unhappy man who is about to die tomorrow, knows that nothing can save him from the terrible fate that awaits him: hence, for what object would he, on the threshold of death, request an interview with you, unless it be to redeem, by the revelation he wishes to make to you, one of his most horrible crimes, though it is possibly the least known of all. Believe me, my lord, the hand of Providence is in all this: it is no accident that brought you to this town precisely at the moment of this terrible expiation. Consent to follow me, and enter with me the dungeon where this unhappy man is doubtless awaiting, with the most lively anxiety, and while counting the minutes, your arrival. Even supposing that this revelation does not possess for you the importance this unhappy man fancies, could you refuse to grant this last consolation to a man who is about so fatally to be erased from the number of the living? I implore you, my lord, to consent to follow me.'"

"The young man's determination was soon formed. He wrapped himself in a cloak and set out of his house, accompanied by the priest. In spite of the late hour, for it was near midnight, the square was full of people. The crowd, far from diminishing, was increased every moment by the arrival of newcomers, who flocked in from the neighbouring villages. Bivouacs were everywhere established. The Count and his guide forced their way with some difficulty through the crowd up to the prison, in front of which several sentries were posted."