The Queen of the Savannah: A Story of the Mexican War

CHAPTER XXV.
THE WOUNDED MAN

However eccentric the means employed by the Canadian to regain his liberty may appear to the reader at the first blush, they had been carefully meditated. The adventurer had judged the man with whom he had to deal; he felt convinced that if he allowed him to give the order for hanging, it would not be revoked. The game he played in attacking the general was a bold one; but there are in the world many perverse beings with whom any reasoning is impossible, and with whom knockdown arguments must be employed. The adventurer calculated on the surprise, fear, and perhaps admiration of his enemy to secure his own escape. He was not deceived in his calculations, for a good deal of these three feelings was mixed up with the general's extraordinary clemency: and then too, possibly, after the specimen which Don López had had of the Canadian's resolution and reckless daring, he was not anxious to put him to a fresh trial, as he knew that he was armed, and convinced that he would blow out his brains without hesitation. For our part, we believe that the general was for an instant completely dominated by the ascendency which the Canadian's character exerted over him, and that he had acted solely under the influence of this feeling.

However this may be, Oliver Clary did not deceive himself for a moment, and spurred his horse, which galloped at headlong speed. After about an hour's ride, he thought that he had placed a sufficient distance between himself and any person who might feel tempted to pursue him, and he checked the pace of his steed, which was beginning to display signs of fatigue, and he did not wish to kill it unnecessarily. It was about ten a.m., and the day was magnificent. The Canadian, who had been imprisoned for nearly four and twenty hours, inhaled the fresh air and looked around him in delight, so happy did he feel at being free and seeing once again water and trees.

He rode along thus, careless and satisfied, laughing at the capital trick he had played the general, and glad to have got out of the scrape so well, when he suddenly perceived a small party of horsemen coming toward him at full speed. In the first moment, the Canadian felt a lively anxiety; but, upon reflection, he reassured himself by the fact that it was impossible these horsemen had been sent in pursuit of him, from the direction in which they were coming. He, therefore, continued to push on without checking or hurrying his steed, for fear of arousing in the minds of the newcomers suspicions which might be unfavourable to him, and, owing to their number, cause him an embarrassment which he desired to avoid at any price. But, after riding thus for some ten minutes, he uttered a cry of pleasure and galloped toward the newcomers. He had recognized in the two persons heading the party, Count de Melgosa and Diego López.

"Thank heaven!" the count exclaimed on seeing him, "I was afraid I should arrive too late."

"That would probably have been the case," the Canadian replied, "had I not managed to get out of the hobble by myself. But how is it that I meet you here?"

"Did I not promise to join you today at Leona?"

"Ah, now I understand,"

"No, you do not, for I had not intended to start till this evening, so as to avoid the great heat, had not Diego López arrived this morning at sunrise like a madman at the hacienda, telling everybody who could hear it that General Cárdenas put you in prison yesterday, with orders that you should be hung today. I now see that this ass of a Diego has let himself be taken in by falsehoods spread through the town for some motive I am ignorant of, and I am delighted at it, for I should never have consoled myself had you died."

"Señor Conde," the Canadian replied, as he affectionately pressed the peon's hand, "Diego López was not deceived by false reports. All he told you was most strictly true."

"Ah!" the count exclaimed, with a start of passion, "That man must really be a wild beast."

"Morally, I am prepared to swear he is," the Canadian replied, with an air of conviction.

"It surpasses all belief. Never was such contempt of the law of nations known. But how is it that I now find you at liberty, and, apparently at least, without the slightest wound?"

"That is another story," the adventurer said, with a meaning smile, "and one which is somewhat interesting, I assure you, count."

"Who delivered you?"

"Myself."

"Alone?"

"Indeed, yes. When I saw that no one came to my assistance, I tried to manage it by myself, and you see how I succeeded."

"Oh!" the count said, with an accent of painful conviction. "A cause defended by such men is a lost cause. Pray, caballero, tell me in their fullest details all the events that have occurred. I want to know them in order to see whether my honour permits me still to give the aid of my sword to a government which employs such savage measures."

"Señor Conde," the Canadian said frankly, "since you insist, I will tell you all, though I know that the story will grieve you. Still, before I begin, must say that, during all the time I have been ranging the desert, and the annals of an adventurous career have brought me into relations with the most ferocious Indian nations, I never found with one of them such a profound contempt for what all men respect. For that I had to become acquainted with a Spanish general."

"Señor," the count said sorrowfully, "do not render a whole nation responsible for the fault of an individual. Do not judge us incapable of generous feelings and recognizing virtue when it presents itself to us. Thank heaven! The Spanish people have established their reputation for honour and loyalty for centuries. There are, believe me, among other nations as well as ours, coldly ferocious beings insensible of all feeling of honour. These men belong to no nation. They are monsters whom humanity brands and rejects with horror from its bosom."

"I will not discuss so grave a matter with you, señor. I am but a poor man, ignorant of the laws of the world, and I do not at all intend to pass judgment on things which exceed the range of the weak intellect with which it has pleased nature to endow me. It is evident that men are all born with different instincts. Whether civilization modifies these instincts for better or worse I cannot say, any more than I would venture to assert that all the men of your nation are as thoroughly bad as the general, the more so as you are an evident proof of the contrary."

"A compliment is not an answer, señor. But do not let us dwell any longer on this painful subject, and return to the story you promised to tell me."

"I ask nothing better than to do so, caballero; but the narrative will occupy some time, and, for reasons you will speedily learn, I am not particularly anxious to remain so short a distance from Leona Vicario."

"Very good, señor," the count answered. "Tell me where you wish to go, and I will accompany you for some leagues with the greater pleasure at the thought that, in the event of your being pursued – which, I presume, is the cause of your anxiety – my escort and presence would prove of some use to you."

"Certainly, caballero, and I accept your gracious offer with the greatest pleasure. I am returning to the Hacienda del Barrio, to give a report of the mission confided to me, and which nearly cost me so dear. I suppose that no serious reason prevents your accompanying me on that road?"

"None; especially as I shall only go so far as I can with safety."

"As that is the case, let us start, for I am anxious to get away."

The count ordered his troopers to wheel, and the little party started again at a gallop.

"Why," the count said suddenly, as he looked at the adventurer's steed, "if I am not greatly mistaken, that horse comes out of the stables of General de Cárdenas."

"Quite right; it does."

"How do you happen to be riding it?"

"That is part of the story."

"Begin it, then, in heaven's name, for I am dying of impatience to hear it."

"In that case, listen to me, Señor Conde. But be kind enough to let my comrade Diego López remain near us. He behaved too well to me, during the short time we were together, for me to begrudge him this slight satisfaction."

The count granted the Canadian's request with pleasure, and made a sign to Diego, who eagerly ranged his horse by the side of Oliver Clary's. The Canadian then began his narrative, relating with the utmost frankness events as they occurred, from the moment when he quitted the count at the hacienda up to that when he found him galloping again on the road to Leona. The count listened to the Canadian's lengthy story with the most earnest attention, at times letting the feelings be seen on his stern face which the facts the adventurer related aroused in him. When the latter ceased speaking, he shook his head several times.

"You were more lucky than clever," he said, "and the way in which you gained your liberty almost trenches on the marvellous. The general deserved worse treatment than that for the way in which he behaved to you, and the contempt he displayed for the safe conduct I had given you. Alas! We live in hapless times, when honour and good faith are mere words devoid of meaning."

"Not to everybody," the Canadian exclaimed, quickly.

"Certainly not, and I am pleased to allow it; of all the things you have related to me, there is only one of which I do not approve."

"Which is that, Señor Conde?"

"The help you gave the redskin imprisoned with you. These Indians are a real scourge to us dwellers on the border; letting one escape when caught is like setting a ferocious brute at liberty."

"That is true, señor; but what would you have? I have lived for many years among the redskins; I have frequently fought them, and at times killed them without the slightest scruple; but I cannot allow that they should be deprived of their sole property – liberty. Besides, he was an old acquaintance, in this sense, that the tribe to which he belongs has done me great services on several occasions. As I had a chance to repay them, I did so."

"Yes, you are right, and you are bound to reason thus after the life you have led. I will not dwell on this subject further, therefore; but what you have said has produced a powerful impression on me. I require a few moments' reflection, in order to regulate my thoughts; so kindly excuse me if I am silent for a few minutes; after which we will converse again. I intend to ride two or three leagues further with you."

The adventurer bowed, and turning to Diego López, he thanked him warmly for what he had tried to do for him, and assured him that, although he had not profited by his advice, he was not the less grateful for it. While talking and galloping, they passed through the canyon where they had been attacked a few days previously by the Indians, and were about to enter a rather large chaparral, which they were obliged to cross to reach the banks of the lake, when the Canadian's piercing eye perceived, some distance ahead, the body of a man lying at the foot of an enormous sumach, beneath which he seemed to be seeking a shelter from the sun.

"There is a man," said the adventurer, "who knows but little about the desert."

"What man are you talking of?" Diego López asked, who had not yet looked in that direction.

"Look there," the adventurer said, stretching out his arm, "that individual has placed himself by the roadside, within reach of the first passerby who may feel inclined to kill him in order to seize the little he possesses. I know countries in Apacheria where he would not lie in that way, without being really scalped by some Indian prowler."

"It is singular," Diego López continued, "he has no horse, and that is extraordinary in a country where the poorest peon has one."

"That is true," the Canadian said, and added a moment later, "I am very much afraid that our fancied sleeper is simply a dead man."

"Do you think so?" the peon said.

"Hang it, I do not know exactly, but he has not made the slightest movement since we first perceived him. If he be not dead, as I expect, he must be a very sound sleeper not to have heard the sound of our horses."

"I will inform the Señor Conde," the peon replied, as he turned back and rejoined his master.

The latter listened to his servant's report with, some surprise, for no assassination had occurred for a long time on this road, which was greatly frequented by travellers of every description. He spurred his horse, and joined the adventurer, who had pulled up to wait for him.

"What do you think about it?" he asked him.

"Nothing good," the latter replied; "still I think that we had better make sure. With your permission I will push on, and find out what it all means."

"We will all go," the count answered; "if the pretended corpse concealed a trap, there would be enough of us to foil it."

"Let us push on then," the Canadian said, as he slacked his rein, and his horse started with the speed of lightning.

The others followed him, and they soon reached the sumach; the man had not stirred. The count and the adventurer dismounted, and walked up to the body, which still lay motionless, and bent over it.

"It is a white man," said the Canadian.

"Yes," the count added, after a moment of attentive examination; "I know him. His name is Don Melchior. I saw him at the Hacienda del Barrio during my last visit. Don Aníbal de Saldibar is sincerely attached to him. How is it that he is here, and in such a hapless condition?"

"That is a question which himself alone could answer, and for the moment I fear that it is impossible for him to do so. Let us first make sure whether he be dead or alive."

Like all the wood rangers, who, through the chances of their adventurous life, run a risk of being wounded at any moment, the Canadian, though no great doctor, possessed some practical knowledge of medicine, or, to speak more correctly, of surgery. He bent over the young man, raised him with one hand, and held him up in a sitting position, while he held to his mouth the bright blade of his knife. A moment later he looked at it; it was slightly tarnished.

"Thank heaven!" he said, "He is not dead, though not much better off; he has fainted."

"The poor boy appears to me very ill," the count remarked, sorrowfully.

"That is true; but he is young and strong, and so long as the soul clings to the body there is a chance."

"How can we help him? We must not leave him in this pitiable state."

"Of course not, for that would be certain death. Diego López, give me your flask if there is any liquor in it."

"It is quite full," the peon said, handing it to him.

The Canadian mixed a little mezcal with water in a leaf he bent up, and then rubbed the temples, wrists, and stomach of the wounded man with it; after which, thrusting the knife blade between his teeth, he opened his mouth by main force, and made him swallow a few drops, while Diego López continued the friction, and the count, kneeling behind the young man, kept him in a sitting posture. For nearly a quarter of an hour their efforts seemed to produce no effect on the wounded man; still the Canadian, far from giving in, redoubled his exertions, and ere long had cause to congratulate himself on his perseverance when he saw the young man make a slight movement.

"Heaven be thanked!" the count said, joyfully, "He is regaining his senses."

"Indeed is he," said the Canadian, "look at him waking up."

In fact, Don Melchior, after making a few convulsive efforts, feebly opened his eyes, but, blinded by the sunbeams, closed them again.

"Courage," the Canadian said to him, "courage, comrade, you have friends near you."

The young man, at the sound of this voice, seemed to return to his senses completely, his pale cheeks were tinged with a hectic flush; he opened his eyes, looked round him in amazement, and, making an effort to speak, he murmured in a weak, almost indistinct voice —

"The Indians – the Indians – save Doña Diana – save – save – Doña Emilia!"

And, worn by the effort he had made, he fell back inanimate in the count's arms; the latter laid him gently on the ground, and rose eagerly.

"Diego López," he said, "make a litter as speedily as possible, this young man must be conveyed to my house."

"Why not to the Hacienda del Barrio?" the Canadian remarked.

"No," the count answered, with a shake of his head, "there is a mystery in this affair. Let us not act inconsiderately, and perhaps cause great pain to a man who has already suffered severely. You will accompany us, I suppose, señor?"

"Certainly, if you desire it."

"I ask it as a favour, caballero."

CHAPTER XXVI.
DOÑA EMILIA

As we have said, the Stag, after diligent search, discovered a path traced by the antelopes which ran from the foot of the precipice in a zigzag to the top. The Indian chief ascended this path the more hastily because, now that he was cool, and reflected on what had happened, he in his heart cursed the madness which had led him to descend the abyss in search of a foe he could not find, instead of remaining with his warriors, in order to support and encourage them, and combat the superstitious terrors they felt on the subject of the two prisoners, and especially of Doña Emilia, whom they imagined to belong to a race different from their own, and to be an omnipotent being whose wrath was extremely formidable for them.

As he approached the spot where his warriors were, he heard, more and more distinctly, cries which increased his anxiety, and made him hurry on, at the risk of making a false step and rolling to the foot of the precipice. In fact, he had scarce reached the prairie when two of his confidants who were seeking him, rushed toward him with shouts of delight.

"Come, come," they said to him; "if not, all is lost." The Stag, without losing any time in questioning them, followed them to the top of the hill. This is what had occurred during his absence. The two ladies had been carried up the hill, and carefully laid on mats in front of the fire. Doña Emilia, though greatly shaken by the fall, speedily regained entire consciousness. Owing to the exaltation of her mind, instead of being crushed, she had derived fresh courage from the misfortunes which had suddenly burst over her. Her first care was to look round her and attentively examine the persons who surrounded her, in order to discover, were it possible, into what hands she had fallen.

At the first moment, deceived by the European dress of some of her assailants, she imagined she had to deal with a party of those ruffians who come to the surface in revolutionary times – the scum of the population – who regard political questions entirely as a matter of plunder, and who had for some years infested Mexico, recognizing no other flag but their own, and waging war on their own account, serving both parties indifferently, or rather injuring both by their cowardice, barbarity, and instinct of rapine. At times, the villains, not being numerous enough to attempt a bold stroke, allied themselves with the Indians, and ravaged the country with them. The patriots and Spaniards had both tried to put a stop to the depredations of these bandits by mercilessly shooting and hanging all they caught, but it was of no avail. Instead of diminishing their number seemed to increase, and latterly they had grown really formidable, and their audacity knew no bounds.

But a second and quieter glance made Doña Emilia understand that she was in error, and that the persons she at first took for Europeans were Indians in disguise. This discovery augmented her courage. She believed herself certain of the influence she exerted over these men, and she thought she would be able to terrify them sufficiently not to have anything to fear from them. Moreover, the conduct of the Indians towards her justified her expectations. It was only with a tremor that they dared to approach her. A glance was sufficient to keep them back. Even those who had associated with white men, and whom the Stag had ordered to assume European attire, kept at a respectful distance from the two ladies, and were apparently not desirous to be on more intimate terms with them.

Doña Emilia rose, no one making any attempt to prevent her. She went up to her daughter, sat down by her side, and raising her beautiful head, laid it gently on her knees. She gazed at her tenderly for a moment, then, after removing the long curls of light hair which veiled her face, she covered it with kisses, murmuring in a soft voice, but with an accent of ineffable tenderness —

"Poor, dear soul, her heart did not deceive her, her presentiments were true. Alas! Why did I not put faith in her words? Oh, my adored daughter! I alone am the cause of this frightful misfortune. Forgive me, forgive me!"

And two burning tears, which the feeling of her position had been unable to draw from her, fell on the girl's forehead. The latter feebly opened her eyes.

"Mother," she murmured, in her childish voice. "Oh, mother, how I am suffering!"

"Alas, poor darling!" Doña Emilia replied, "I am suffering too; but what should I care for pain if I knew you were in safety? I am accustomed to suffer, while you, alas! – "

She ceased, and a sigh burst from her bosom. The maiden continued —

"Courage, mother; perhaps all is not lost yet, and one hope is left us."

"A hope, poor child! Yes," she replied, bitterly, "that the men who hold us prisoners may take pity on us, and kill us at once, instead of torturing us."

"But," Doña Diana said, whose strength was gradually returning, and who felt her courage coming back, "Don Melchior is not a prisoner. He has escaped."

"I saw Don Melchior fall by our side, beneath the blows of one of the ferocious men who captured us."

"He is dead!" she exclaimed, with a shriek of terror and despair.

"No, no," her mother objected eagerly, terrified by this grief, "I hope not. Perhaps he has succeeded in escaping."

"Oh, no, I do not believe you, mother. He must be dead, since he is not by our side. Don Melchior would never have consented to fly and abandon us."

"It is probable, my child, that he has fled, in order to fetch assistance. What could he have done, alone, against these men? Nothing. He would have fallen without any advantage for us or himself. His flight, on the contrary – and I really believe that he has succeeded in escaping – leaves us a hope."

The girl shook her head doubtfully.

"You wish to restore my courage, thank you, mother," she answered, "but it is not necessary. I am strong, and shall be able to endure without a murmur the sufferings which fate has in store for me."

"Very good, daughter. I am pleased to hear you speak in that way. Rise, my child, these men only respect the stoical courage of the condemned wretch who laughs amid his tortures; so we will not give them the spectacle of our weakness. By haughty behaviour we may succeed in inspiring these men with respect, if not with commiseration."

The girl rose with passive obedience.

"Alas!" she murmured, "I am not like you, mother; I feel that my strength is not equal to my courage."

"Let me speak to these ferocious men; the fear with which I have so long inspired them is not yet extinct; perhaps the step I am about to take will prove successful."

"Heaven grant it!" the maiden murmured, as she clasped her hands fervently, and raised her eyes to heaven.

Doña Emilia walked towards the Indians, who, collected at a respectful distance, watched her movements with ill-disguised anxiety. A singular scene then took place. In proportion as Doña Emilia advanced towards them, the Indians fell back, though without breaking the circle they formed; at length one of them, bolder than the rest, stopped, and placing the butt of his gun on the ground, said, in bad Spanish, to the lady who was still advancing —

"What does the paleface squaw want? Why does she not remain by the fire? The night is cold; it will be better for the stranger to remain where the warriors placed her."

"Who are you, dressed in the garb of civilized men, although your features are those of a ferocious redskin?" she answered haughtily. "By what right do you address me before I spoke to you? If you have any influence over the men who surround, us, order them to retire and let me pass, before my patience is exhausted."

"The warriors must not let the paleface squaw pass until the return of the chief."

Doña Emilia smiled disdainfully.

"Do you not know who I am?" she said. "The Wacondah is with me; he inspires the words I utter. Tremble, lest you arouse my anger."

"The Wacondah loves the Indians," the redskin replied timidly; "he would not wish to do them harm."

The warriors listened to this conversation with interest, although they did not dare to take part in it. Doña Emilia made her daughter a signal to join her; the latter obeyed, and tottered up to her mother's side.

"Courage!" the latter said.

Then she drew herself up, her features assumed an expression of indescribable haughtiness, and her eyes seemed to flash fire, as she said —

"I order you to let me pass; you must obey me."

She moved a few steps forward. The Indians fell back without breaking line.

"Do you refuse?" she asked, as she looked imperiously at them.

No one answered.

"Good," she said, with a strange expression. "Recognize the power of the Queen of the Savannah."

With a movement rapid as thought, she drew a vial from her bosom, and threw a portion of the contents upon the Indian who was standing motionless a couple of yards from her. The redskin uttered a terrible yell, raised his hands to his face, and, falling to the ground, writhed in fearful agony. The Comanches were alarmed. Although they had seen Doña Emilia's motion, the vial she held in her hand was too small for them to notice it. Not knowing to what they should attribute their comrade's fall, all their superstitious terrors returned to them. They rushed towards the wounded man; his face was horribly burnt. They uttered a cry of horror, and fled in all directions, having but one thought, that of escaping as rapidly as possible from the glances of this strange creature, who by a mere gesture could produce death.

"Come, come, my daughter," Doña Emilia said; and dragging Doña Diana, who mechanically followed her, she ran off to the spot where the horses of the Indians were hobbled. The miracle performed by Doña Emilia was very simple. Being incessantly exposed to fall into the hands of the redskins, she always carried about her a vial of sulphuric acid – probably intended to destroy her own life, in the event of the Indians resolving to torture her, after their wont, if she fell into their power. The desire of saving her daughter suggested to her this way of displaying her power, and inspiring these stupid men with a terror of which she would take advantage. The experiment was perfectly successful.

The two ladies hurried down the hill, leaving behind them the unhappy man, who was uttering atrocious yells, and reached the spot where the horses were tied up. With a decision which could only be expected from an exalted character like that of Doña Emilia, she cut the thongs of two horses, lifted her daughter on one, and herself leapt on the back of the other.

"Thank heaven," she exclaimed, with an outburst of delight, "we are saved!"

"Not yet," a voice, gloomy as a death-knell, replied.

Several men dashed out of the chaparral, caught the horses' bridles, and stopped them dead, at the moment when Doña Emilia was about to start. These men, who appeared so suddenly, and so unfortunately for the two fugitives, were the Stag and the warriors who had set out in search of him. Falling at once from a paroxysm of joy into the last stage of despair, Doña Emilia and her daughter endured frightful suffering, and in a second passed through all the agonies of despair.

But the haughty Spanish woman, struggling against her grief, overcame by a stoical effort the suffering which seared her heart like a red-hot iron; comprehending that she was overcome, that any attempt at flight had become futile, if not impossible, she disdained to continue the struggle, and giving her foes a glance filled with all the hatred boiling in her breast, she resolutely dismounted, and going up to her daughter, who lay motionless before her, she raised her in her arms, and went up the hill again with a slow and measured step. What we have related had passed so rapidly, Doña Emilia had acted with such resolution, that the Indians stood stupefied, still holding in their hands the bridles, and unable to utter a word or make a noise. At length the Stag regained his coolness and presence of mind. Leaving the horses to be taken care of by his comrades, he ran towards the two ladies, who were already some ten yards distant.

"Stop!" he shouted to them, "Stop!"

They obeyed without a word.

"It is useless for you to ascend the hill again," he said, "for we are going to set out."

"I do not ask you for any explanation," Doña Emilia said drily; "you are the stronger, so act as you please."

"That is what I intend doing," the Stag replied, with an expression of dark fury.

"Oh, mother," the girl whispered in Doña Emilia's ear, "do not irritate this man, for we are in his power."

"He is a dog!" Doña Emilia replied contemptuously; "I despise his anger and brave his hatred; he can do nothing to me."

The Indian broke into an ill-omened screech, without replying otherwise to this dire insult. He pointed to the foot of a tree, intimating to his captives that they were to sit down there; then he went away, followed by his two comrades, and the ladies remained alone. Doña Emilia was too conversant with Indian habits to commit the fault which any less experienced person would doubtless have done. Sitting by her daughter's side, whose head rested on her shoulder, and whose hands she held firmly clasped in hers, she made no second attempt at flight, as she was well aware that the Indians never watch a prisoner so carefully as when they pretend to leave him alone. The Spanish lady looked sorrowfully around her, let her head fall on her bosom, and fell into gloomy and despairing thoughts.