The Bandolero: or, A Marriage among the Mountains

It required some strategy to get into position for looking through the second window. But it was worth the effort.

From the grand preparations in the dining-room, there should be corresponding company in the drawing-room? Was its quality alike heterogeneous?

As yet we could not tell. A ruined pile, that had once been a sort of portico, extended between the two windows – overshadowing the doorway. It hindered us from obtaining a view of the second.

We had been kneeling among rhododendrons – a clump of which grew near the dining-room window. There were none in front of the drawing-room; but instead, an enormous aloe – the maguey of Mexico. Once to rearward of it, and screened by its broad blades, we should be in an excellent place for observation.

The question was how to get there, without being ourselves observed. The ground between the rhododendrons and the “pulque plant” was a smooth piece of turf, without shrub or tree. On this the two bands of light – widening as they went out from the windows – became commingled.

To have crossed from one side to the other would have been to expose ourselves under a light, clear almost as day.

We did not so much fear being seen by those within the sala grande. Their preoccupation – sport, or whatever was going on – would hinder them from looking forth.

But while crouching among the “rose trees” we had noticed that the great gate was open; and in the faint light that fell straggling across the saguan– a little brighter in the patio behind – we could see the dark-skinned domestics flitting to and fro with the supper dishes – like spectres engaged in the preparation of some infernal feast!

Some of these standing in the saguan, or loitering by the outside entrance, might observe us while crossing?

We dared not risk it. The exposure would be too great. Should we attempt to cross there would be scarce a chance to escape detection.

There was only one other course: to steal back down the lawn, cross over through the fainter light, and return along the edge of the other cliff. What a pity we had not taken this route at first!

I was loth to lose the time, but there was no help for it. To have saved it, by going direct, might have resulted in the loss of our lives; or, at all events, in disaster to our expedition.

Ten minutes more, and we stood behind the maguey.

Parting its spinous leaves, and passing in between them, we obtained the desired standpoint.

As I have said, the music had ceased, as also the conversation and laughter. All three had been hushed for some time – having come to a stop while we were skulking among the rhododendrons.

We supposed at first, that supper had been announced to the company in the sala grande, and we might soon see them in the sala de comida.

Although the preparations did not appear complete, we should have stayed to await the going in of the guests – but for what we heard from the other apartment.

The sounds of merriment, abruptly brought to an end, had been succeeded by the solitary voice. It was that of a man, who appeared to speak in slow measured tones – as if addressing himself to an audience.

We could hear him all the time we were changing place; and his harangue was still going on, as we came into cover among the fronds of the pulque plant.

The first glance through these explained everything – why the music had ceased, and the laughter been restrained.

Inside the sala a ceremony was progressing, that, under the circumstances, might well be termed solemn. It was the ceremonial of a marriage!

A monk, whose robe of bluish grey proclaimed him of the order of San Francisco, was standing near the middle of the floor. I mention him first, as he was the first to come under my eye.

He held a book in his hand; and was reading from it the ritual of marriage – according to the Romish Church.

My eyes did not dwell upon him for a single second. They went in search of the bride, and bridegroom.

A little shifting among the leaves brought me face to face with the latter. Imagine my astonishment on beholding Francisco Moreno!

It was scarcely increased when I obtained a view of the bride. A presentiment – sad, almost stifling – had prepared me for seeing Dolores Villa-Señor. It was she!

I could not see her face. She was standing with her back towards the window. Besides, a white scarf, thrown loosely over her crown, and draping down to her waist, hindered even a side view of it.

There could be no doubt about its being Dolores. There was no mistaking that magnificent form – even when seen en detras. She it was, standing at the altar!

A wide space separated the bridegroom from the bride. I could not tell who, or what, was between. It appeared a little odd; but I supposed it might be the fashion of the country.

Behind him were other figures – all men – all in costumes that proclaimed a peculiar calling. They were brigands. Francisco only differed from the rest in being more splendidly attired. But then he was their chief!

I had been puzzled – a little pained – by some speeches he had let fall during our intercourse in the City of the Angels. How gentle had been his reproaches, and tolerant his condemnation, of Carrasco! As a rival, not as a robber, he had shown indignation against the ci-devant captain of Santa Anna!

What I now saw explained all. Don Eusebio had spoken only of probabilities, when he said that Moreno might be a bandit. Had he known the real truth regarding this aspirant to his daughter’s hand, he might have been excused for his design to shut her up in a convent.

The bride was willing; there could be no doubt of it. I remembered what the stage-driver had told me, of her tripping off so lightly among the trees, her present behaviour confirmed it. Even in that solemn hour, I fancied that she was gay. I could not see the face; but there was a free, nonchalant carriage of the head, and a coy vibration of the scarf that covered it, very different from the staid, drooping attitude that denotes compulsion. On the contrary, she appeared contented – trembling only with joy!

It would be vain to attempt a description of my own feelings. For the time, a statue set among the shrubbery could not have been more motionless than I. I stood rigid as the fronds of the aloe around me, – my gaze steadfastly fixed upon the spectacle passing inside. I began to fancy it a dream!

But, no! There was the bride and the bridegroom; and the monk, in dull monotone still reciting from his book!

And now I could hear the promise to “love, honour, and cherish,” and the responsive vow to “love, honour, and obey” – all after the formula of the Catholic faith.

Oh! it was no dream, but a hellish, heart-rending reality!

The woman who had won my heart – whom for six months I had been vainly endeavouring to forget – was before my eyes, surrounded by a band of brigands – not their captive, but the bride of their chief – freely consenting to the sacrifice!

“Otra cosa de Mexico!”

Chapter Thirty Three.

A Rude Interruption

“Otra cosa de Mexico!”

Another strange occurrence of Mexico; if not the most incomprehensible, certainly the most painful, that had yet come under my cognisance: for it related to myself – the black, bitter part of it.

Words will not convey the state of my mind, as I stood regarding the group inside. I could not move – either to advance, or go back. I could scarce get breath. My heart felt as if compressed under a heavy weight, never more to be removed. It was undergoing its maximum of misery.

My feelings can only be understood by one, who has had the misfortune to pass through a like ordeal. He who has bestowed his affections upon some high-born beauty may feel chagrin, on discovering that they are not returned. It will be deepened by the knowledge, that another has won the wished-for prize. Still is there solace, however slight, in the reflection: that the preference has been given to one worthy, whose fortune has been more favourable.

When otherwise – when the preferred rival is worthless, socially or morally, then is the humiliation complete – overwhelming. It is self-love stung to the quick.

Such a humiliation was I called upon to suffer.

With all my pretensions of pride – a conceit in the possession of certain superiorities, mental as well as physical; courage, talent, strength, activity; a position not humble; a reputation each day increasing; with, and in spite of all these, I saw that my suit had been slighted, and the favour I coveted more than aught upon earth, bestowed upon another.

And who that other? A bandolero! A robber!

It was the very wantonness of woe that swept over my heart, whelming it with terrible desolation!

I stood like a stranded ship with the huge seas breaking over her. Waves of passion rushed impetuously through my breast, black as the billows of the storm-contorted ocean.

The spectacle, while stirring me to anger, at the same time kept me fixed to the spot. I made no movement – either forward or backward. I felt paralysed with a passion, such as I hope I may never feel again. The world seemed full of woe!

For a time I was unable to reflect. My thoughts were but instincts, now woeful, now wicked – now despairing, now tending to resolves.

One a little nobler at length took possession of me. My own fate was sealed; but not that of Dolores Villa-Señor – which to me seemed equally dark, and drear. Was it possible to save her?

I had not heard those mystic words that rivet the golden chain of wedlock, “With this ring I thee wed.” The shining symbol had not yet appeared upon her finger.

There was still time to interrupt the ceremony. A single breath into the silver tube, that hung suspended over my breast, would stay it; and, before it could be resumed, the green jackets would be around me.

It was no thought of danger that withheld me from sounding that signal. I was too unhappy to have a feeling of fear; too reckless to care a straw for any consequences to myself. At that moment I could have rushed into the presence of the bridal group, and defied one and all to the death!

It was neither caution, nor a craven spirit, that restrained me; but an instinct more ignoble than either – an instinct of revenge.

Dolores had adopted her destiny. However dark it might prove, it was not for me to attempt turning it aside. She would not thank me for saving her. Sweeter would be my triumph to show her the man she had chosen for husband, in my power – a scorned captive at my feet.

So ran my ungenerous reflections.

“Let the marriage go on!” I muttered to him by my side. “She shall be wed, and – widowed!”

In all my life I never felt so spitefully cruel – so desirous of retaliation. Every spark of chivalric thought had departed from my soul.

The imperturbable Yankee made no reply. The scene inside seemed to be absorbing all his attention – as it was my own. Far different his interpretation of it. With him it was simple conjecture. He little suspected the knowledge I possessed, or the dread interest stirring within me.

We remained in the maguey, to await the conclusion of the ceremony.

We saw the ring glancing between the fingers of the bridegroom. But it came not in contact with those of the bride. Before that critical moment arrived, a change – quick as the transformation in a pantomime – terrible as the passage from calm to tropic storm – from life to death – went sweeping over the scene!

A phalanx of dark forms rushed past the spot where we were crouching. They were human – but so silent in their movements – so weird-like under the wan light – as to appear spectral!

They could not be phantoms. One or two of them touched the tips of the plant in passing, causing its elastic blades to rebound backwards. They were forms of flesh, blood, and humanity; animated by the spirit of fiends – as in another instant they proved themselves.

We saw them by a rapid rush precipitate themselves into the open doorway – a few scattering along the façade, and taking stand by the windows.

We saw the glittering of armour. We saw spears and machetés thrust through the iron bars. We heard the cocking of carbines, and the rude summons to surrender – followed by menaces of murder!

There was a short scuffle in the saguan, and the courtyard behind it; and then there were death groans, proceeding from the domestics, who fell stabbed upon the stones!

The two apartments appeared to be simultaneously entered. Dark shadowy forms flitted through the dining-room; but in the other the shadows were darker.

There was a rushing to and fro – a changing of places – not as in a kaleidoscope, but in crowded confusion. There was screaming of women – shouting of men – threats and curses – followed by pistol reports; and, what made the fracas still more infernal, an occasional peal of diabolical laughter!

Only for a short while did this continue; so short, that I scarce believed in its reality till it was all over!

Almost at its commencement the lights in both rooms had been extinguished; but whether by chance, or design, it was impossible for us to tell.

What occurred afterwards we knew only by hearing, or from glimpses afforded by the occasional flashing of firearms.

Though there was loud talking all the while that the strife continued – with exclamations, every other one an oath – we heard nothing to give a clue to it.

Nor did we find any explanation in what followed. We could only tell, that the conflict had come to an end; that it was succeeded by the shuffling of footsteps across the paved patio, gradually retiring to the rear, and at length heard ascending the precipitous pine-covered slope that soared darkly above the dwelling!

As they rose higher, they grew fainter; until the only sounds distinguishable were the moanings of the Mexican owl, the hissing of the cascade below, and the sighing of the mountain breeze among the tops of the tall pine-trees.

Chapter Thirty Four.

Padre Cornaga

Astonishment still held me speechless, as it did my companion – motionless, too, as the maguey leaves, radiating around us.

Had I known the real signification of what had just transpired, I might have acted with more promptitude, and ten times the energy.

As it was, I felt like one slowly recovering from a state of torpidity – from an ill-digested dream!

“What does it all mean?” I inquired of the stage-driver, without stirring from my place.

“Darn’d if I know, cap’n; ’cept it air one band o’ robbers that’s attackted the t’other, and stripped ’em of their spoils. The conq’rors ’pear to be clean gone away, an’ hev took the weemen too! They’ve sloped off on t’other side o’ the shanty. I kin hear ’em yet, making their way up the mountain! Thar’s a path there; tho’ it ain’t so easy to climb. I reck’n they’ve gone up it, toatin up the gurls along wi’ ’em. The reezun they ain’t still screechin’ is, they’ve got ’em eyther gagged, or tapado.”

“Tapado?”

“Yes; muffled up – thar faces covered wi’ something – to hinder them from seeing their way, or singin’ out. They only do it, when the weemen show refactory.”

What mattered it to me? What mattered, whether Dolores Villa-Señor was the wife of one robber, or the mistress of another? Why should I care now? She could never be mine!

I stepped out from among the leaves – leisurely, as one who has no motive for making haste. There was a cold pain at my heart; a callous indifference to the fate of her who had caused it. She was welcome to go higher – to the summit of the mountain she had selected as the scene of her nuptials.

It was Ixticihuatl on whose slope we stood. The “White Sister” could be seen through the clear starlight above, reposing in spotless vestments. How different from the robe of Dolores!

“Let her go!” was my unchivalric reflection. “She has made her own bed: let her lie upon it!”

It was not for the purpose of pursuing – at all events not with any thought of rescuing her – that I placed the call to my lips, and sounded the signal for my men.

In less than five minutes the “Rifles” were around me – their green jackets distinguishable under the brilliant beams of the moon – that on the instant sailed suddenly into sight.

On hearing the shots, and other sounds of strife, they had commenced moving up the mountain-path. Hence the promptness of their appearance.

Selecting half a dozen of them, I stepped straight into the doorway of the house. We entered without opposition – groping our way through the saguan.

Inside all was darkness; though we could tell that the place was still tenanted, – by the groans that proceeded from the adjacent chamber.

A light was struck; and we commenced exploring the apartments. In the dining-room there was no one – a banquet spread – but without guest to partake of it!

We turned into the sala grande– from whence proceeded the lugubrious sounds.

The scene – so late one of merriment – was now a spectacle of death!

Two men were lying along the floor. One might have been supposed asleep: as he lay quite silent. But a red rivulet, trickling from its source underneath him, and terminating on the tiles in a pool of blood – told that it was the silence of death.

The other, also surrounded by seams of smoking gore, still lived and moved. It was he who was making moan.

On stooping over him, I recognised the features of Francisco Moreno. They were still handsome, though terribly distorted by his struggle, as I supposed, with death.

It was no use asking an explanation from him. I saw that he did not know me!

There was a thought in my mind at the moment – an unsanctified thought. A rival had been removed from my path. Francisco Moreno was no longer in my way!

But it could not matter now. The relief had come too late!

“Hilloa, what’s this?” exclaimed one of the men, poking his rifle under the banquette, and pressing it against what appeared a large bundle done up in Kentucky jeans. “By the Almighty, it’s a monk!”

“You’re right, caballero,” answered a voice, from under the envelope of grey-blue serge, which, on closer inspection, proved to be the gown of a Franciscan friar.

“A monk I am – at your service, caballeros. Sangre de Crista! It’s the merest, accident that I’m a living one. O, señores; I perceive that you are hombres buenos; and that the ladrones have retreated at your approach. Say that they are gone; and that I need have no further fear?”

“Two on ’em haint gone fur,” replied the stage-driver; “thar they lie – right afore yur eyes, Padre Cornaga.”

“Ah! you know me, good sir? Santissima, it’s the driver of the diligencia– the worthy Don Samuel Bruno! What! these robbers? Por Dios, no! They are gentlemen!”

“A queery kind o’ gentlemen, I reckin’.”

“’Tis true as I say it, Señor Don Samuel. Caballeros – hombres honestos– both these unfortunate young men. Ay de mi!” added the monk, stooping down over one of the prostrate forms. “This is the son of our Juez de Letras (judge of the Criminal court). Many a robber have I shrived after sentence passed by his honoured father. And this,” he continued, turning to Francisco, “Ah! señores, this is the bridegroom himself —asesinado– in the presence of his bride, and under the sacred shadow of the altar, that should have protected him from anything! Pobre Dolores! Pobre Dolores!”

“It is the name of a lady. How came she to be here? You say these men are not robbers – what are they?”

“Oh, señor capitan! – for I perceive you are the chief – it is a strange story. Shall I tell it to you?”

“As you please about that. I came here to capture a gang of ladrones; or kill them, if need be. I only want to know which are the thieves, and which the honest men. There does not appear to be any great difference between them?”

“O caballero! why should you say that? Surely you do not mistake the honourable capitan Moreno for a salteador? A worthy young gentleman who but ten minutes ago was standing up to be wedded to one of the fairest and most Christian ladies in our good city of Puebla – the daughter of Don Eusebio – ”

“Villa-Señor. I know all that. But how came it to pass? Why was the ceremony here? Why not in her father’s house?”

“You astonish me, señor! What can you know?”

“Never mind what. Tell me, I entreat – I command you – how it is that this marriage – interrupted as I perceive it has been – was taking place here – among the mountains?”

“Señor capitan; you are welcome to know all. Alas! there is now no reason for keeping the scheme concealed.”

“A scheme! There was a scheme?”

“Si, señor! It was contrived between the young people themselves. Don Eusebio was against their being united – so much, that to prevent it he was taking his daughter to a convent – that of La Concepcion, in the capital; which I may be permitted to say to you, a stranger, is the most fashionable of our nunneries. Pobre Dolores! Can you blame her for using means to escape from such a fate? Even I, a religio, do not scruple to say it was wrong. To think of immuring such a fair creature within the dull walls of a cloister!”

“I acknowledge to having been in the confidence of the amantes; and even assisted them to contrive their little scheme; which, alas! has proved so unsuccessful. Ah, worse than that: since it has brought ruin to all engaged in it!”

“What was it?” I asked, impatiently, having but slight sympathy with the regrets of the priest.

“Well, señor, it was this. The gallant youth whom you see there – alas, I fear the victim of his gallantry – with half a dozen of his friends, disguised as salteadores, were to capture the diligencia, and gain possession of the Señorita Dolores, – as also of her sister who accompanied her; another lady as fair – some say fairer – than she; and, with all respect to the gentle Dolores, I am myself of this opinion.

“Need I say that the plan so far was eminently successful?

“Pues, señor! It had been arranged that I was to be one of the travelling party; which, from my office of sacristan to the family of the Señor Don Eusebio, was easily brought about. I too was to be taken prisoner by the sham bandits!

“Pues señor! There was to be a marriage – without Don Eusebio’s consent. It was in the act of being solemnised. Jesu Cristo! what a termination! There lies the bridegroom. Where is the bride? Where her sister Mercedes? Ah, señor! you should see Mercedes —una cosa muy linda– the fairest thing in all the city of Puebla!”

“Excepting Dolores.”

The words went forth with a purely mechanical effort. I was in no mood for playing champion to charms never to be enjoyed by me.

“The robbery of the diligencia was a ruse, then?”

“Si, señor. Una engaña. A little stratagem of Don Francisco and his friends.”

“I thort thar was somethin’ queery beout it,” remarked the stage-driver.

“But what meant the ransom – the ten thousand dollars?” I asked.

“Ay Dios, señor capitan, that was part of the plot. Don Eusebio is muy rico– very rich indeed. For all that he is perhaps a little parsimonious. The young people knew that they would need money to commence housekeeping; and as it might be a long time, before the worthy parent would relent and grant them forgiveness, they thought it might be as well to borrow it from him in that way. Santissima! it has been a mistake – all, all! Oh, señores! you will not betray me? If it becomes known that I was a willing actor in this sad affair, I would not only lose the lucrative situation I hold in Don Eusebio’s family, but perhaps also my gown. Dios de mi alma!”

“My good padre,” I answered somewhat unmannerly, “we have no time to trouble ourselves about your future. We wish you to give some further explanation of the present. The marriage ceremony you speak of was interrupted. We know that. But why, and by whom?”

“Robbers, señor – real robbers! Salteadores del camino grande!”