by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
A BEREAVED PARENT.
The individual thus introduced had all the air of one who had sustaineda loss--but of a much graver kind than the stealing of his chicks.
At a glance I could see that he was a Spanish-American of the pureIberian blood--the boasted _sangre azul_ of Andalusia--without any traceof the Aztecan. Perhaps a Spaniard resident in Mexico--in other words,a _Gachupino_? He had, at all events, the distinguished bearing of thehidalgo; which was further confirmed by the fineness of his habiliments,that differed very little from what might be seen on a well-dressedEnglish gentleman of the old school: for the stranger was a man ofadvanced age.
He was clean shaven, without moustache or whisker; the hair upon hishead short-cut and snow-white; while that upon his arched eyebrows wasas black as it might have been at the age of twenty!
A piercing eye still showed the capability of flashing fire, whenoccasion required it. Just then it was filled with a sombre light; andhis whole demeanour betokened a man who suffered from some overwhelmingsorrow.
Under its influence his habitual serenity had forsaken him; and, withoutpausing inside the door, he walked hurriedly up to the general, andcommenced to unburden himself.
Between the two of us there was no possibility of mistaking which wasthe commander-in-chief--so that the stranger had addressed himself tothe proper personage.
As his talk was Cherokee to the general--perhaps not so wellunderstood--he was motioned to make his communication to me.
I had already gathered from his introductory remarks, that he had beentravelling in a stage-coach, _en route_ for the capital on a specialerrand to the general himself; and that a great misfortune had befallenhim on the road. I had by this time noticed a slight _delabrement_ inhis dress--to say nothing of some scratches on his hands and face--thatwent towards confirming his hurried statement.
"A misfortune?" I asked, in my capacity of interpreter. "Of whatnature, senor?"
"_O cavallero; una cosa horrible; un robo! Por los bandoleros_!"
"A horrible business--a robbery by brigands!" I said, translatingliterally to the general.
"How very singular!" remarked the commander-in-chief. "Quite acoincidence! I think, captain, I shall have to grant your request."
"Of what have they robbed you, senor?" I inquired, in the continuationof my new _role_. "Not your watch--else they would scarce have left youthose splendid appendages?"
I spoke of a massive chain and bunch of gold seals, with turquoise,topaz, and other sparkling stones, that hung conspicuously from hiswaistcoat.
"_Por Dios_, no! They did not take that!"
"Your purse, perhaps?"
"No, senor; they did not touch it either. They would have been welcometo it, and the watch as well. Ah! they might have had everything elsebut what they did take."
"What was it?"
"_Mias ninas! mias ninas_!"
"Ninyas!" interrupted the general, without waiting for the translation,"that means young girls, don't it, captain?"
"In its general signification it does. As he has used it, it means hisown daughters."
"What! Have the brigands robbed him of them?"
"That's what he has just stated."
"Poor old gentleman--for he's evidently a gentleman! It's a hard case,no doubt, to have his daughters carried off by brigands--worse than ifIndians had got them. Go on, and question him. Let him give the wholestory; and then ask him what he wants me to do. I'll wait till you'vefinished. You can translate it all in a lump."
As the general said this he turned away, and speaking to hisaide-de-camp, dispatched the latter on some errand that carried him outof the room.
He himself became engaged upon some charts--no doubt covered with "grandstrategic plans:" for although we were in the enemy's capital, it wasnot certain that our campaign had come to a close, and more fightingmight be before us.
Left free to take my own course, I motioned the Mexican to a seat.
He declined it on the score of haste; and standing, I went on with hisconfession.
"How did it happen? When? Where?" was the series of questions Iaddressed to him in continuation.
"On the road, senor--as we came from La Puebla."
"From Puebla!" The words startled me into a strange interest.
"Si, senor; but much nearer to this city. It occurred within sight ofit, I may say--this side Rio Frio, and not far from the _venta_ ofCordova."
"You were travelling?"
"We were travelling--myself, my two daughters, and our family confessor,the good Padre Cornaga."
"In your carriage?"
"No, senor; in the _diligencia_. We were stopped by a band of_ladrones_, all wearing crape over their faces."
"Well?"
"They ordered us out of the coach. Then to lie flat along the ground--with a threat, that if we looked up till they gave the word, we shouldbe shot without ceremony."
"You obeyed, I presume?"
"_Carrai, senor_! Why need you ask the question? Not to do so wouldhave been certain death; and, of course, I did as the _ladrones_commanded. My daughters, I am happy to think, were spared theindignity. But what matters it, since they were carried off?"
"Whither?"
"_A los montes_!" "_Ay de mi_! Holy Virgin, protect them!"
"It is to be hoped she will. But why, may I ask, did you risktravelling in the _diligencia_ between this place and Puebla? You hadno escort, I take it; and must have known that the road is unsafe?"
"True, cavallero, we had no escort. It was very imprudent on my part,but I trusted to the counsels of our confessor--_un hombre muy sabio_--who believed there was no danger. The good _padre_ assured us the roadswere safe--made so by you valiant _Americanos_--that there was not arobber to be encountered between Puebla and the capital. Even then Imight not have listened to him, but that I had a good reason for cominghither with my daughters; and as they--neither of them--were at allafraid, but rather inclined to it, I ventured to travel by _diligencia_.Alas! too easily did I yield consent to their wishes--as I have nowreason to know. _Dios de mi alma_! Despoiled of my children! Robbed!Ruined!"
"I presume you had money upon your person, as well as these othervaluables?"
I pointed to the chain and seals hanging from the watch-pocket of thepetitioner. "They left you these! How do you account for it?"
"_Ay Dios, cavallero_! That is the strangest thing of all. I had bothmoney--gold money--and this watch. It is one of considerable value, asyou may judge for yourself."
The old gentleman drew out a grand chronometer-like timepiece, withjewelled holes and strong gold cases--evidently worth a couple ofhundred dollars.
"They left me this," he continued, "and my money too! But whatsignifies that, since they have taken away the _muchachas? Pobresninas_!"
"And they took _only_ them?" I asked, becoming interested in the storyof a robber episode so little in keeping with the ordinary experience.
"_Nada mas_."
"Nothing more! And your fellow-passengers in the _diligencia_? werethey alike sparing of their purses?"
"Fellow-passengers! We had none, senor capitan. There were but thefour of us, as I've said--all members of my own family: for of course wecount the good _padre_ as one of ourselves. True, there were two orthree other gentlemen who wished to get in with us at Puebla. They werestrangers to me; and, not liking their looks, I chartered the_diligencia_ for myself. I believe they came in another coach after us.I am sorry, now, we did not have them along with us. It might havebeen better. It could not have been worse!"
"But the _padre_ of whom you speak--this _hombre muy sabio_--what hasbecome of him?"
"_Carrambo, senor_! That is the strangest thing of all: they kept himtoo! After a time the robbers permitted my unworthy self to proceed onthe journey. But the monk they compelled to remain. What a scandal toour Holy Church! I hope it will cause the excommunication of every_ladron_ in Mexico, an
d have them devoted to the perdition they sorichly deserve. This comes of having changed our government into arepublic. It was not so in the old times, when Spain sent us a viceroy.Then there were no robbers, such as these audacious _salteadores_, thathave this day deprived me of my dear daughters! _Ay de mi_! _Ay demi_!"
"What do you wish the general to do?" I inquired, as the old gentlemanbecame a little tranquillised, after a spasmodic outburst of grief.
"Senor," he replied, "we have all heard of the humanity of the American`Gefe.' Though he is our country's enemy, we respect him for thecompassion he has shown to a conquered people. Entreat him to take myunhappiness to heart. I know you will do so. Ask him to send out atroop of his valiant dragoons, and recover my lost children. At sightof your brave soldiers the robbers would take to flight, and leave thepoor _muchachas_ to be restored to their sorrowing father. O kindcapitan; do not deny me! My only hope is in you!"
Although the story of a father thus brutally bereft of his children wasof itself calculated to excite commiseration, I should, perhaps, nothave felt it very keenly, but for a souvenir it had stirred up withinme.
There was nothing at all strange in what he had told me. It was onlyone of the "Cosas de Mexico," though, perhaps, not among the commonest.Still it would have given me little more concern than one might feel onreading the account of a lady in London streets--Bloomsbury-square, forinstance--having been stopped by a fustian-coated garotter, and relievedof her pocket handkerchief, her card case, and vinaigrette.
Any chagrin the story caused me was but a resuscitation of that alreadyin my mind--the remembrance of my murdered friend, and my antipathy tothe whole fraternity of _salteadores_.
Both might have been freshly excited by his narrative, and nothing more;but for the aroused remembrance, of which I have spoken; and whichsecured him a sympathy I could scarcely explain. Besides, there wassomething touching in the appeal of the old Don--not the less that itwas made with all the elegance and in the diction of an educatedgentleman.
I had no desire to resist it. On the contrary, I at once determined tolay his case before the general, and strengthen it with my owninfluence--so far as that went.
There was not much generosity in my motive. Without knowing it, theMexican had done me a service. I felt certain I should now have thechance of chastising--if not the same brigands who had assassinated myartist acquaintance--some who would have behaved quite as badly, had theopportunity occurred to them.
Before turning to translate what had been communicated to me, I thoughtit might be as well to make myself acquainted with the patronymic of thepetitioner.
"Your name?" I inquired, looking him full in the face, and with a vagueimpression that I had somewhere seen him before, "You have not told methat? The general may wish to know it."
"_Eusebio Villa-Senor. Al servicio de V_."
I started as if a shot had struck me. Oh! the memories that rolled upat the mention of that name!
I was carried back to the City of the Angels--to the Calle del Obispo--to the sorrow from which I had vainly imagined myself to have escaped!
Again was it upon me, full and fell as ever.
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With an effort I succeeded in controlling my emotions, or at least theexhibition of them.
Absorbed in his own grief, Don Eusebio did not suspect the existence ofmine; and the general was still engrossed with his strategicalcombinations.
I was now too deeply interested in the suit of the petitioner, to lose amoment's time in placing it before him petitioned.
I endorsed it with all the eloquence I could command: since it wasalmost identical with my own--already preferred.
Our joint prayer was heard, and granted upon the spot.
I obtained a commission to chastise any band of brigands, I might chooseto go out against.
Need I say, that I had not much difficulty in making the selection?
