CHAPTER XXVI.
DONA EMILIA.
As we have said, the Stag, after diligent search, discovered a pathtraced by the antelopes which ran from the foot of the precipice in azigzag to the top. The Indian chief ascended this path the more hastilybecause, now that he was cool, and reflected on what had happened,he in his heart cursed the madness which had led him to descend theabyss in search of a foe he could not find, instead of remaining withhis warriors, in order to support and encourage them, and combat thesuperstitious terrors they felt on the subject of the two prisoners,and especially of Dona Emilia, whom they imagined to belong to a racedifferent from their own, and to be an omnipotent being whose wrath wasextremely formidable for them.
As he approached the spot where his warriors were, he heard, more andmore distinctly, cries which increased his anxiety, and made him hurryon, at the risk of making a false step and rolling to the foot of theprecipice. In fact, he had scarce reached the prairie when two of hisconfidants who were seeking him, rushed toward him with shouts ofdelight.
"Come, come," they said to him; "if not, all is lost." The Stag,without losing any time in questioning them, followed them to thetop of the hill. This is what had occurred during his absence. Thetwo ladies had been carried up the hill, and carefully laid on matsin front of the fire. Dona Emilia, though greatly shaken by the fall,speedily regained entire consciousness. Owing to the exaltation of hermind, instead of being crushed, she had derived fresh courage from themisfortunes which had suddenly burst over her. Her first care was tolook 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 herassailants, she imagined she had to deal with a party of those ruffianswho come to the surface in revolutionary times--the scum of thepopulation--who regard political questions entirely as a matter ofplunder, and who had for some years infested Mexico, recognizing noother flag but their own, and waging war on their own account, servingboth parties indifferently, or rather injuring both by their cowardice,barbarity, and instinct of rapine. At times, the villains, not beingnumerous enough to attempt a bold stroke, allied themselves with theIndians, and ravaged the country with them. The patriots and Spaniardshad both tried to put a stop to the depredations of these bandits bymercilessly shooting and hanging all they caught, but it was of noavail. Instead of diminishing their number seemed to increase, andlatterly they had grown really formidable, and their audacity knew nobounds.
But a second and quieter glance made Dona Emilia understand that shewas in error, and that the persons she at first took for Europeanswere Indians in disguise. This discovery augmented her courage. Shebelieved herself certain of the influence she exerted over these men,and she thought she would be able to terrify them sufficiently not tohave anything to fear from them. Moreover, the conduct of the Indianstowards her justified her expectations. It was only with a tremor thatthey dared to approach her. A glance was sufficient to keep them back.Even those who had associated with white men, and whom the Stag hadordered to assume European attire, kept at a respectful distance fromthe two ladies, and were apparently not desirous to be on more intimateterms with them.
Dona Emilia rose, no one making any attempt to prevent her. She went upto 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 herface, she covered it with kisses, murmuring in a soft voice, but withan accent of ineffable tenderness--
"Poor, dear soul, her heart did not deceive her, her presentimentswere true. Alas! Why did I not put faith in her words? Oh, my adoreddaughter! I alone am the cause of this frightful misfortune. Forgiveme, forgive me!"
And two burning tears, which the feeling of her position had beenunable to draw from her, fell on the girl's forehead. The latter feeblyopened her eyes.
"Mother," she murmured, in her childish voice. "Oh, mother, how I amsuffering!"
"Alas, poor darling!" Dona Emilia replied, "I am suffering too; butwhat should I care for pain if I knew you were in safety? I amaccustomed 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 whohold us prisoners may take pity on us, and kill us at once, instead oftorturing us."
"But," Dona Diana said, whose strength was gradually returning, and whofelt her courage coming back, "Don Melchior is not a prisoner. He hasescaped."
"I saw Don Melchior fall by our side, beneath the blows of one of theferocious 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 hopenot. Perhaps he has succeeded in escaping."
"Oh, no, I do not believe you, mother. He must be dead, since he is notby our side. Don Melchior would never have consented to fly and abandonus."
"It is probable, my child, that he has fled, in order to fetchassistance. What could he have done, alone, against these men? Nothing.He would have fallen without any advantage for us or himself. Hisflight, on the contrary--and I really believe that he has succeeded inescaping--leaves us a hope."
The girl shook her head doubtfully.
"You wish to restore my courage, thank you, mother," she answered, "butit is not necessary. I am strong, and shall be able to endure without amurmur 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 condemnedwretch who laughs amid his tortures; so we will not give them thespectacle of our weakness. By haughty behaviour we may succeed ininspiring 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 mystrength is not equal to my courage."
"Let me speak to these ferocious men; the fear with which I have solong inspired them is not yet extinct; perhaps the step I am about totake will prove successful."
"Heaven grant it!" the maiden murmured, as she clasped her handsfervently, and raised her eyes to heaven.
Dona Emilia walked towards the Indians, who, collected at a respectfuldistance, watched her movements with ill-disguised anxiety. A singularscene then took place. In proportion as Dona Emilia advanced towardsthem, the Indians fell back, though without breaking the circle theyformed; at length one of them, bolder than the rest, stopped, andplacing the butt of his gun on the ground, said, in bad Spanish, to thelady who was still advancing--
"What does the paleface squaw want? Why does she not remain by thefire? The night is cold; it will be better for the stranger to remainwhere the warriors placed her."
"Who are you, dressed in the garb of civilized men, although yourfeatures are those of a ferocious redskin?" she answered haughtily. "Bywhat right do you address me before I spoke to you? If you have anyinfluence over the men who surround, us, order them to retire and letme pass, before my patience is exhausted."
"The warriors must not let the paleface squaw pass until the return ofthe chief."
Dona Emilia smiled disdainfully.
"Do you not know who I am?" she said. "The Wacondah is with me; heinspires the words I utter. Tremble, lest you arouse my anger."
"The Wacondah loves the Indians," the redskin replied timidly; "hewould not wish to do them harm."
The warriors listened to this conversation with interest, although theydid not dare to take part in it. Dona Emilia made her daughter a signalto 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 ofindescribable haughtiness, and her eyes seemed to fla
sh fire, as shesaid--
"I order you to let me pass; you must obey me."
She moved a few steps forward. The Indians fell back without breakingline.
"Do you refuse?" she asked, as she looked imperiously at them.
No one answered.
"Good," she said, with a strange expression. "Recognize the power ofthe 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 standingmotionless a couple of yards from her. The redskin uttered a terribleyell, raised his hands to his face, and, falling to the ground, writhedin fearful agony. The Comanches were alarmed. Although they had seenDona Emilia's motion, the vial she held in her hand was too small forthem to notice it. Not knowing to what they should attribute theircomrade's fall, all their superstitious terrors returned to them. Theyrushed towards the wounded man; his face was horribly burnt. Theyuttered a cry of horror, and fled in all directions, having but onethought, that of escaping as rapidly as possible from the glances ofthis strange creature, who by a mere gesture could produce death.
"Come, come, my daughter," Dona Emilia said; and dragging Dona Diana,who mechanically followed her, she ran off to the spot where the horsesof the Indians were hobbled. The miracle performed by Dona Emiliawas very simple. Being incessantly exposed to fall into the handsof the redskins, she always carried about her a vial of sulphuricacid--probably intended to destroy her own life, in the event of theIndians resolving to torture her, after their wont, if she fell intotheir power. The desire of saving her daughter suggested to her thisway of displaying her power, and inspiring these stupid men with aterror of which she would take advantage. The experiment was perfectlysuccessful.
The two ladies hurried down the hill, leaving behind them the unhappyman, who was uttering atrocious yells, and reached the spot where thehorses were tied up. With a decision which could only be expected froman exalted character like that of Dona Emilia, she cut the thongs oftwo horses, lifted her daughter on one, and herself leapt on the backof the other.
"Thank heaven," she exclaimed, with an outburst of delight, "we aresaved!"
"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 Dona Emilia was about tostart. These men, who appeared so suddenly, and so unfortunately forthe two fugitives, were the Stag and the warriors who had set out insearch of him. Falling at once from a paroxysm of joy into the laststage of despair, Dona Emilia and her daughter endured frightfulsuffering, and in a second passed through all the agonies of despair.
But the haughty Spanish woman, struggling against her grief, overcameby a stoical effort the suffering which seared her heart like a red-hotiron; comprehending that she was overcome, that any attempt at flighthad become futile, if not impossible, she disdained to continue thestruggle, and giving her foes a glance filled with all the hatredboiling in her breast, she resolutely dismounted, and going up to herdaughter, who lay motionless before her, she raised her in her arms,and went up the hill again with a slow and measured step. What wehave related had passed so rapidly, Dona Emilia had acted with suchresolution, that the Indians stood stupefied, still holding in theirhands the bridles, and unable to utter a word or make a noise. Atlength the Stag regained his coolness and presence of mind. Leavingthe horses to be taken care of by his comrades, he ran towards the twoladies, 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 aregoing to set out."
"I do not ask you for any explanation," Dona Emilia said drily; "youare the stronger, so act as you please."
"That is what I intend doing," the Stag replied, with an expression ofdark fury.
"Oh, mother," the girl whispered in Dona Emilia's ear, "do not irritatethis man, for we are in his power."
"He is a dog!" Dona Emilia replied contemptuously; "I despise his angerand brave his hatred; he can do nothing to me."
The Indian broke into an ill-omened screech, without replying otherwiseto this dire insult. He pointed to the foot of a tree, intimating tohis captives that they were to sit down there; then he went away,followed by his two comrades, and the ladies remained alone. DonaEmilia was too conversant with Indian habits to commit the fault whichany less experienced person would doubtless have done. Sitting by herdaughter's side, whose head rested on her shoulder, and whose hands sheheld firmly clasped in hers, she made no second attempt at flight, asshe was well aware that the Indians never watch a prisoner so carefullyas when they pretend to leave him alone. The Spanish lady lookedsorrowfully around her, let her head fall on her bosom, and fell intogloomy and despairing thoughts.
The cause of the Stag's sudden departure was simple. Informed by thewarriors who met him of the events which had occurred during hisabsence, his first care was to go to the Indian whom Dona Emilia haddisfigured. The unhappy man was in a pitiable state; he was writhing infearful agony, and uttering heart-rending cries.
"Is my brother suffering greatly?" the chief asked him.
"Yes," the injured man howled. "I am suffering horrible pain. Thatwoman is most certainly the evil genius of our nation."
"Yes, but her hour has arrived; her punishment will soon begin."
"Oh, I should like torture resembling mine to be inflicted on her."
"She shall suffer a hundredfold more. My brother's tortures are asnothing compared with those I reserve for her. Is my brother satisfied?"
"Yes, I am glad to know that I shall be avenged."
"Is my brother still suffering greatly?"
"More than ever. If honour did not forbid a warrior killing himself, Ishould have already buried my knife in my heart."
"Good! What my brother cannot do I can, to render him a service."
"Will the chief consent to do me that service?" the Indian askeddoubtfully.
"Yes, to be agreeable to my brother, whom I love, I would consent."
"Oh! In that case the chief must not delay, for my agony is becomingmore and more unendurable."
"Be it so; let my brother prepare."
"Stay," the Indian remarked, "help me to rise. A Comanche warrior mustdie standing."
"That is true," the chief answered.
He bent over the warrior, seized his arm, and helped him to get onhis feet. By an extraordinary effort of will the Indian succeeded inovercoming his pain. He drew himself up proudly, and turned to thechief.
"Strike," he said in a firm voice, "and may the Wacondah protect youfor the service you are doing me at this moment."
The Stag drew his knife, and plunged it into the warrior's heart. Theblow was dealt with such certainty and skill that the redskin fell deadat his chief's feet without a sigh.
"Poor wretch!" the latter muttered sadly, as he wiped his knife bladeon a tuft of grass, and returned it to his belt. "I could not refusehim this service." After this melancholy funeral speech the Stag begandigging a hole, in which to lay his comrade's body, as he did notwish to leave it exposed to the insults of wild beasts. The last dutyaccomplished, he went down the hill to rejoin his captives.
In the meanwhile the Indians had fled in all directions, sufferingfrom a panic produced by Dona Emilia's energetic action, but the twowarriors sent by the Stag in pursuit of them soon caught them up. Ittook considerable time, however, before they succeeded in making themconsent to turn back, and enter again the presence of a woman whom theyregarded as an evil genius. It required all the diplomatic skill ofthe chief's emissaries to convince them, combined with the influencewhich the son of Running Water, the most revered sachem of the tribe,had over them. When the young chief joined the captives, the warriorswere already mounted, and drawn up a short distance off, only awaitinghis return. The latter saluted them with a wave of the hand, and thenordered the bridles of the two horses to be removed, after w
hich hewent up to Dona Emilia, and pointed to the animals.
"Mount," was all he said.
This order must be obeyed.
"My daughter and I will ride the same horse," she remarked. "Mydaughter is weak, and I will support her."
"Be it so," said the chief.
Dona Emilia mounted, placed her daughter in front of her, and holdingher tightly to her bosom, made her horse start without awaitingthe chief's signal. The Comanche smiled, and followed her with hisdetachment. Dona Emilia, though a captive, seemed still to commandthese men, who regarded her with superstitious terror.