The Rebel Chief: A Tale of Guerilla Life

The adventurer stealthily approached, placed his eye to the crevice, and looked. Three men, folded in thick cloaks, were seated round a table covered with bottles and glasses, in a rather large room, as far as might be judged, and only lighted by one candle placed on a corner of the table. An animated conversation was going on between the three guests, who smoked, drank, and talked like men who feel sure of not being overheard, and, consequently, of having nothing to fear. These three men the adventurer at once recognized: the first was Don Felipe Neri Irzabal, the guerillero colonel, the second, Don Melchior de la Cruz, and the third, Don Antonio de Cacerbas.

"At last," the adventurer muttered, with a quiver of joy, "I am about to know everything."

And he listened attentively. Don Felipe, who was speaking, seemed to be in an advanced state of intoxication; still, though his speech was thick, he did not wander as yet, but, like all half-drunken people, he was beginning to stray into abstruse arguments, and seemed to be supporting with indomitable doggedness a condition which he wished to impose on his two hearers, and to which they would not consent.

"No," he repeated, incessantly, "it is useless to press me, señores, I will not give you the letter you ask of me. I am an honest man, and have only one word, voto a licos!" and at each sentence he struck the table with his fist.

"But," Don Melchior remarked, "if you insist on keeping this letter, though you have orders to deliver it to us, it will be impossible for us to carry out the mission with which we are entrusted."

"What credit," Don Antonio added, "will be given us by the persons with whom we wish to come to an understanding, if we have nothing to prove to them that we are duly authorized to do so?"

"That does not concern me – each for himself in this world. I am an honest man, and must guard my interests as you do yours."

"What you are saying is absurd," Don Antonio exclaimed, impatiently; "we risk our heads in this affair."

"Possibly, my dear sir; everybody does as he pleases. I am an honest man, I go straight before me. You will not have the letter unless you give me what I ask; give and give, that is all I know. Why did you not warn the General of today's affair, in accordance with your agreement with him?"

"We have proved to you that it was impossible, as the sortie was unexpectedly resolved on."

"Good, that! You will settle as you can with the General-in-Chief – I wash my hands of it."

"Enough of this nonsense," Don Antonio said, drily; "will you, or will you not, deliver to this caballero or myself the letter which the President intrusted to you for us?"

"No," Don Felipe answered, bluntly, "unless you give me an order for ten thousand piastres. It is really giving it away, but I am an honest man."

"Hum!" the adventurer muttered to himself, "An autograph of Señor Benito Juárez is really precious. I would not bargain if he offered it to me."

"But," Don Melchior exclaimed, "you will commit a scandalous robbery in acting thus."

"Well, what then?" Don Felipe said, cynically. "I rob, you betray, we are well matched, that is all."

At this insult, so brutally hurled in their teeth, the two men rose.

"Let us go," said Don Melchior, "this man is a brute, who will listen to nothing."

"The most simple plan is to go to the General-in-Chief," Don Antonio added, "he will do us justice, and avenge us on this wretched drunkard."

"Go! Go, my dear sirs," the guerillero said, with a grin, "and luck go with you! I keep the letter – perhaps I shall find a purchaser. I am an honest man."

At this menace the two men exchanged a glance, while laying their hands on their weapons, but after a hesitation, no longer than a lightning flash, they disdainfully left the room. A few minutes after the rapid gallop of several horses could be heard outside.

"They are gone," the guerillero muttered, as he poured out a tumbler of mezcal, which he swallowed at a draught: "they are decamping, on my word, as if the fiend were carrying them off! They are furious. Stuff! I don't care, I have kept the letter."

While speaking thus to himself, the guerillero replaced his tumbler on the table. Suddenly he started; a man wrapped up to the eyes in the folds of a thick cloak was standing in front of him. This man held in either hand a revolver, the barrels of which were pointed at the guerillero's chest. The latter gave a sudden start of terror at this sight, which he was far from expecting.

"Hilloah!" he exclaimed, in a voice which trembled from emotion and terror, "Who is this demon, and what does he want? Why, hang it! I have fallen into a wasp's nest."

Terror had sobered him; he tried to rise and fly.

"One word, one gesture," the stranger said, in a hollow, menacing voice, "and I blow out your brains." The guerillero fell heavily back on the stool he had been sitting on.

CHAPTER XXXIII

SETTLEMENT OF ACCOUNTS

Hidden behind the passage door, the adventurer had not lost a word of what was said. When Don Melchior and Don Antonio rose, Don Jaime, not knowing by what door they would go out, hastily left the passage, glided into the corral, and waited in concealment behind the hedge. But, a few minutes after, as nothing had stirred, and no noise was heard, he ventured to leave his hiding place and enter the passage again.

Then he approached the door, and applied his eye to the crack through which he had been previously able to see all that went on in the room. The two men bad just gone; Don Felipe was alone, still seated at the table, and drinking. The adventurer's resolution was at once formed: placing the blade of his knife between the crack against the bolt, he noiselessly opened the door, silently approached the guerillero, and revealed his presence to him in the somewhat startling way we described at the end of the preceding chapter.

Though the guerillero was brave, the sudden appearance of the adventurer, and the sight of the revolvers pointed at him alarmed him. Don Jaime took advantage of this moment of prostration; without uncocking his pistols, he walked straight to the door through which Don Melchior and Don Antonio had retired, secured it inside to avoid any surprise, then returned slowly to the table, sat down on a trunk, laid his pistols before him, and letting his cloak fall, said —

"Let us have a talk."

Though these words were pronounced in a rather gentle voice, the effect they produced on the guerillero was immense.

"El Rayo!" he exclaimed, with a shudder of terror on perceiving the black mask which covered the face of his singular visitor.

"Ah! Ah!" the latter said with an ironical laugh, "So you recognise me, my dear Don Felipe?"

"What do you want of me?" he stammered.

"Several things," the adventurer replied; "but let us proceed regularly, as there is no hurry."

The guerillero poured out a tumbler of Catalaña refino, raised it to his lips, and emptied it at a draught.

"Take care," the adventurer observed to him; "Spanish brandy is strong, it easily rises to the head; it is better, considering what is going to pass between us, for you to retain your coolness."

"That is true," the guerillero muttered; and seizing the bottle by the neck, he hurled it against the wall.

The adventurer smiled, then continued while carelessly rolling a cigarette between his fingers —

"I see that you have a good memory, and I am glad of it; I was afraid you had forgotten me."

"No, no; I remember our last meeting at Las Cumbres."

"Exactly: do you remember how that interview terminated?"

The guerillero turned pale, but made no reply.

"Good: I see that your memory fails you, but I will come to its aid."

"It is unnecessary," Don Felipe replied, raising his head and appearing to form a resolution; "as chance permitted me to see your features, you told me – "

"I know – I know," the adventurer interrupted.

"Well, I am going to keep the promise I made you."

"All the better," he said resolutely. "After all, a man can only die once; as well today as another day. I am ready to meet you."

"I am delighted to find you in such a warlike temper," the adventurer coldly answered; "restrain your ardour a little, pray: everything shall have its turn, I assure you, but that is not the point for the moment."

"What is it, then?" the guerillero asked with amazement.

"I am going to tell you."

The adventurer smiled again, rested his elbows on the table, and leant over slightly to the guerillero.

"How much," he said, "did you ask your noble friends for the letter which Señor Don Benito Juárez ordered you to deliver to them?"

Don Felipe fixed on him a look of terror, and mechanically made the sign of the cross.

"This man is the fiend," he muttered with horror.

"No; re-assure yourself I am not the fiend, but I know a good many things about you more especially, and the numerous businesses you carry on. I know the bargain you made with a certain Don Diego: moreover, if you desire it, I will repeat to you word for word the conversation which you held scarce an hour ago in this very room with the Señores Don Melchior de la Cruz and Don Antonio de Cacerbas. Now, let us come to facts: I wish you to give me – you understand me, I suppose? – Give me, and not sell me, the letter of Señor Juárez which you have in your dolman, which you refused to the honourable caballeros whose names I mentioned to you, and surrender to me at the same time the other papers of which you are the bearer, and which I presume must be very interesting."

The guerillero had had time to recover a portion of his coolness, hence it was in rather a firm voice that he said —

"What do you intend doing with these papers?"

"That can be of very little importance to you when they are no longer in your hands."

"And if I refuse to surrender them?"

"I shall be obliged to take them by force, that is all," he answered calmly.

"Caballero," Don Felipe said with an accent of dignity at which the adventurer was surprised, "it is not worthy of a brave man like yourself thus to menace a defenceless man. My only weapon is my sabre, while you, on the contrary, hold the lives of a dozen men at your disposal."

"This time there is an appearance of reason in what you say," the adventurer observed, "and your remark would be just were I about to use my revolvers in forcing you to do what I demand of you; but re-assure yourself you shall have a loyal combat, and my pistols will remain on this table. I will merely cross my machete with your sabre, which will not only re-establish the balance between us, but also give you a signal advantage over me."

"Will you really act thus, caballero?"

"I pledge you my word of honour; I am accustomed always to settle accounts honourably both with my enemies and my friends."

"Ah! You call that settling accounts?" he said ironically.

"Certainly; what other name can I employ?"

"But whence comes this hatred you bear me?"

"I do not hate you more than any other villain of your stamp," he said savagely. "In a moment of braggadocio you wished to see my face, so that you might recognise me hereafter. I warned you that the sight would cost you your life: perhaps I should have forgotten you, but today you again came across my track. You possess papers which are indispensable to me, and these papers I have resolved on gaining at any price. You refuse them to me; I can secure them by killing you, and I shall kill you. Now I grant you five minutes to reflect, and to tell me if you persist in your refusal."

"The five minutes you so generously grant me are unnecessary; my resolution is unbending: you shall only have the papers with my life."

"Very good; you will die," he said as he rose.

He took his revolvers, uncocked them, and laid on the table at the other end of the room; then returning to the guerillero and drawing his machete, he asked —

"Are you ready?"

"One moment," Don Felipe answered, as he rose in his turn; "before crossing swords with you, I have two requests to make."

"Go on."

"Is the duel we are going to fight mortal?"

"Here is the proof," the adventurer answered, as he unfastened his mask and threw it from him.

"Good," he said; "the proof you give me is quite sufficient, and one of us must die. Let us suppose it is I."

"Any supposition is unnecessary, the fact is certain."

"I admit it," the guerillero answered coldly; "in the case of it being realized, do you promise me to do what I am about to ask of you?"

"Yes, on my honour, if it be possible."

"Thanks – it is possible; it is merely to be my residuary legatee."

"I will be so; go on."

"I have a mother and young sister, who live rather poorly in a small house situated not far from the canal de Las Vigas, in Mexico; you will find their exact address in my papers."

"Good."

"I desire them to be put in possession of my fortune after my death."

"It shall be done; but where is this fortune to be found?"

"At Mexico; all my funds are deposited with – and Co., English bankers. On the simple presentation of my voucher, the sum will be handed over to you in full."

"Is that all?"

"Not quite. I have about me several bills, amounting altogether to fifty thousand piastres, drawn on various foreign banks in Mexico. You will have them cashed, add the amount to the sums you have previously received, and the whole will be handed over to my mother and sister. Do you swear to do this?"

"I pledge you my honour."

"Good; I have confidence in you. I have only one more request to make of you."

"What is it?"

"This: we Mexicans are very clumsy hands with sabres and swords, whose use we are ignorant of, as duels are prohibited by law. The only weapon we can properly use is the knife: will you consent to our fighting with knives? Of course it is understood that we fight with the whole blade."

"The strange duel you propose to me is better suited for leperos and bandits than caballeros; but I accept."

"I am grateful to you for so much condescension, caballero, and now may Heaven protect me. I will do my best."

"Amen!" the adventurer said, with a smile.

This calm conversation between two men on the point of cutting each other's throats, this will, made so coolly, whose execution is confided, in the case of the death of one of the adversaries to the survivor, displays one of the strangest phases in the Mexican character; for these details are most strictly true. Although very brave naturally, the Mexican fears death, the feeling is innate in him: but when the moment arrives to risk his life, or even to lose it, no one accepts with greater philosophy, or, to speak more correctly, with greater indifference, this harsh alternative, or accomplishes with greater willingness a sacrifice which, among other nations, is never regarded without a certain degree of terror, end an instinctive nervous tremor.

As for duelling, the Mexican laws prohibit it even among officers. Hence emanate the numerous assassinations and snares laid to wash out insults received, which it is impossible otherwise to avenge. The leperos and lower classes alone fight with the knife.

This combat, which is perfectly regulated, has its laws, which must not be transgressed. The opponents make their conditions as to the length of the blade, so as to settle beforehand the depths of the wounds to be dealt. They fight with one inch, two inches, the half, or entire blade, according to the gravity of the insult. The combatants place their thumb on the blade at the agreed on length, and the thing is settled.

Don Felipe and Don Jaime had unhooked their swords, which were now useless, and armed themselves with the long knife which every Mexican carries in his right boot. After taking off their cloaks, they rolled them round their left arms, carefully letting a small part hang down in guise of a curtain: it is with this arm, thus protected, that blows are parried. Then, the two men fell on guard, with their legs straddled and slightly bent, the body forward, the left arm half extended, and the blade of the knife concealed behind the cloak. The fight commenced with equal fury on either side. The two men turned and bounded round one another, advancing and falling back like two wild beasts. Eye to eye, with clenched teeth, and panting chest.

It was really a combat to death they were fighting. Don Felipe had a perfect knowledge of this dangerous weapon; several times his adversary saw the bluish flash of the steel dazzle eyes, and felt the sharp point of the knife slightly buried in his flesh; but, calmer than the guerillero, he allowed the latter to exhaust himself in vain efforts, waiting with the patience of a lurking tiger for the favourable moment to finish by one stroke.

Several times, harassed by fatigue, they stopped by common accord, and then rushed on each other with renewed fury. The blood flowed from several slight wounds they had dealt each other, and dropped on the floor of the room. All at once Don Felipe gathered himself up, and leapt forward with the rapidity of a jaguar; but his foot slipped in the blood, he tottered, and while he was striving to regain his balance, the whole of Don Jaime's blade was buried in his chest.

The unhappy man heaved a stifled sigh, a flood of blood poured from his mouth, and he fell like a dog on the ground. The adventurer bent over him, he was dead – the blade had passed through his heart.

"Poor devil!" Don Jaime muttered, "He brought it on himself."

After this laconic, funeral discourse, he fell on the guerillero's dolman and calconciras, and seized all the papers about him. Then he took up his revolver, resumed his mask, and wrapping himself as well as he could in his cloak, which was cut to pieces, he left the room, reached the passage, went through the hole in the hedge unnoticed by the sentry who was still standing in front of the door, and on arriving at a certain distance from the Palo Quemado, he imitated the whoot of the owl. Almost immediately Lopez appeared with the two horses.

"To Mexico," Don Jaime cried, as he bounded into the saddle; "this time, I believe, I hold my vengeance."

The two riders started at full speed. The delight which the adventurer experienced at the unhoped for success of his expedition, made him forget the pain of the stabs, slight it is true, which he had received in his duel.

CHAPTER XXXIV

A SUPREME RESOLUTION

The first beams of day were beginning to tinge the sky with opaline tints at the moment when the two horsemen reached the garita of San Antonio. For some time past they had checked the rapid pace of their steeds, had taken off their masks, and re-established such order as they could in their clothes, which had been dirtied and damaged by the numerous incidents of their night's ride. At some paces from the garita they mixed themselves up with the groups of Indians proceeding to market, so that it was easy for them to enter the city unnoticed. Don Jaime proceeded straight to the house he inhabited in the calle de San Francisco, near the plaza Mayor.

On reaching home, he dismissed Lopez, who was literally falling asleep. In spite of the copious draughts which he had taken while his master was at the Palo Quemado, he gave him leave for the whole day, merely appointing a meeting with him the same evening, and then withdrew to his bedroom. This room was a real Spartan abode, the furniture, reduced to its simplest expression, only consisted of a wooden frame, covered with a cow hide, which served as a bed, an old saddle forming the pillow, and a black bearskin the coverlet; a table loaded with papers, and a few books, a stool, a trunk containing his clothes, and a rack filled with weapons of every description, knives, pistols, sabres, swords, daggers, machetes, guns, carbines, rifles, and revolves, completed with the horse trappings suspended from the walls, this singular furniture, to which we must add a washstand, placed behind a zarapé hung up as a curtain in a corner of the room.

Don Jaime dressed his wounds, which he had carefully washed with salt and water, according to the Indian custom, then sat down at his table, and began inspecting the papers he had found such difficulty in seizing, and whose possession had nearly cost him his life. He soon was completely absorbed by the task, which seemed greatly to interest him. At length, at about ten o'clock a.m., he left his seat, folded up the papers, placed them in his portfolio, which he thrust into a pocket of this dolman, threw a zarapé over his shoulders, put on a Vienna hat, with a large gold golilla, and left the house in this garb, which was as elegant as it was picturesque.

Don Jaime, it will be remembered, had given Don Felipe his word of honour to be his residuary legatee. It was to fulfil this sacred promise that he went out. About six o'clock he returned home. His word was liberated. He had delivered to Don Felipe's mother and sister the fortunes which a knife thrust had made them so promptly inherit. At the door of his house the adventurer found Lopez, quite refreshed, who was awaiting him. The peon had prepared a modest dinner for his master.

"What news is there?" Don Jaime asked him, as he sat down to talk, and began eating with good appetite.

"Not much, mi amo," he answered. "A captain, aide-de-camp to his Excellency the President, has called."

"Ah!" said Don Jaime.

"The President wishes you to go to the palace, at eight o'clock, as he desires to see you."

"I will go. Well, what next? Have you heard nothing? Have you not been out?"

"Pardon me, mi amo, I went as usual to the barber's."

"And did you hear nothing there?"

"Only two things."

"Let me hear the first."

"The Juarists, it is said, are advancing by forced marches on the ciudad. They are only three days' journey distant – at least, so it is reported."

"The news is rather probable. The enemy must at this moment be concentrating his forces. What next?"

Lopez burst into a laugh.

"Why are you laughing, animal?" Don Jaime asked him.

"It is the second piece of news I heard that makes me laugh, mi amo."

"Is it very funny?"

"Well, you shall judge. It is said that one of the most formidable guerillero chiefs of Benito Juárez was found this morning killed by a knife in a room at the rancho of the Palo Quemado."

"Oh, oh!" said Don Jaime, smiling in his turn, "And do they say how this unfortunate event occurred?"

"No one understands anything about it, mi amo. It would appear that the colonel – for he was a colonel – had pushed on as far as the Palo Quemado, while scouting, and resolved to spend the night there. Sentries were posted round the house, to watch over the safety of this chief, and no one entered the house, except two unknown horsemen. It was after their departure, when they had finished a long conversation with the colonel, that the latter was found dead in the room, from a stab which had passed through his heart. Hence it is supposed that a quarrel having broken out between the colonel and the two strangers, the latter killed him, but it was done so quietly that the soldiers, sleeping only a few yards off, heard nothing."

"This is, indeed, singular."

"It appears, mi amo, that this colonel, Don Filipe Irzabal – such was his name – was a frightful tyrant, without faith or law, about whom numberless atrocities are reported."

"If that is the case, my dear Lopez, everything is for the best, and we need not trouble ourselves any further about the scoundrel," Don Jaime said as he rose.

"Oh! He will go to the deuce without us."

"That is probable, if he is not there already. I am going to take a walk about town till eight o'clock. At ten you will be at the palace gate, with two horses and weapons, in the case of our being compelled to take a ride by moonlight, like last night."

"Yes, mi amo, and I will wait till you come out, no matter at what hour."

"You will await, unless I send you a warning that I no longer require you."

"Good, mi amo, all right."

Don Jaime then went out as he had stated, took a short walk, but only under the portales of the Plaza Mayor, so that he might reach the palace exactly at the appointed hour. At eight o'clock precisely the adventurer presented himself at the palace gates. An usher was waiting to lead him to the President. General Miramón was walking, sad and pensive, up and down a small saloon adjoining his private apartments; on perceiving Don Jaime, his face became more cheerful.