CHAPTER IV.
THE CASCABEL.
The French Revolution not only shook the old European thrones, whichit made quiver to their foundations, but the terrible blow it dealtthe world was so violent, that the counterstroke was felt even in theindolent and voluptuous Spanish colonies.
In response to the echoing footsteps of those generals of the youngFrench Republic who marched from prodigy to prodigy, improvisingsoldiers and organizing victory, a lengthened electric current ranalong all the coasts of the New World, and revealed to the inhabitantsthat, like their brethren in North America, they too might somedaybecome free.
Like a deafening thunderclap, leaping across the Atlantic Ocean, theecho of the battles of giants of that Sublime epic power called theEmpire, caused the hearts of Americans to beat, and inflamed them witha noble ardour which the Spanish Viceroys were powerless to extinguish.
The occupation of the Peninsula by French armies, by forcing Spain todefend her own territory, which had almost entirely fallen into theenemy's power, obliged her to concentrate all her strength in order tosustain the extraordinary struggle that was preparing, and compelledher to abandon her possessions beyond the seas to their own resources,while she could only form sterile vows that they might not slip fromher grasp.
The colonies, which had long been worn out by the yoke the mothercountry implacably made them wear, considered the moment favourable;generous hearts were affected, and in an instant Peru, Mexico, Chili,Buenos Aires formed secret societies, whose common branches, passingthrough all classes of society, ended by enveloping the colonialgovernments in an inextricable net.
Then, when all preparations had been made, when the chiefs hadbeen elected, soldiers enrolled, and the headquarters of revoltchosen, a long cry for liberty was raised to heaven on twenty sidessimultaneously; the insurgents rose, calling their brethren to arms,and the systematic opposition of the conspirators was all at oncefollowed by an obstinate war without truce or mercy, of the conqueredagainst the conquerors, of the oppressed against the oppressors, whosewatchword was Liberty or Death!
A holy war, an extraordinary struggle, in which the Americans,inexperienced, and having no acquaintance with arms, had but oneinsatiable desire, to shake off the yoke, an energy which no reversecould crush; and an unflinching resolution to oppose the old Spanishbands, hardened by long fighting, and whom the habit of warfarerendered almost invincible in the sight of these men, in whom theyinspired a species of instinctive and supernatural terror.
We will not describe here the history of this war, which was so grand,so noble, and so full of heroic devotion, affecting incidents, andtraits of bravery, self-denial, and disinterestedness, worthy the mostglorious days of antiquity; our task is more modest, and certainly moreeasy, for we will limit ourselves to penciling a few private details ofthis grand drama, which have been neglected by the disdainful muse ofhistory, but which we believe will serve to complete the magnificenttableau of the struggle of progress against barbarism in the firstyears of the 19th century.
The Mexican revolution had this strange thing about it, that the clergygave the first signal of revolt. In the provinces the Curas preachedinsurrection to their parishioners, and seizing a sword in one hand, across in the other, led them to the field.
Don Anibal de Saldibar, although a _cristiano viejo_, that is to say,belonging to a family originally Spanish, and of which not a member hadbecome allied with the Indians during several ages, did not considerhimself obliged to join his fellow countrymen, but, on the contrary,attached himself to the insurrectionary movement.
Father Sandoval, chaplain at the Hacienda del Barrio, was to a greatextent the cause of this determination. In Mexico, where the townsare far distant from each other, each hacienda has a chapel served bya priest, whose duty it is to baptize, marry, confess, and guide theIndians, but, before all, keep them in order by the fear of futurepunishment. Father Sandoval, about whom we shall have a good dealto say during the course of this story, was a simple-hearted, kind,intelligent man, gifted, with great energy of character, and hiseducation had not been so neglected as that of the majority of thepriests at this period.
In a word, he was an honest man and true priest before God; the Indiansadored him, and would have gone through fire and water for him. Stillyoung, belonging to a rich and respected family, possessing that severeand calm beauty which attracts confidence and excites sympathy, thisman who, had he liked, could have attained the highest dignities ofthe church, preferred this obscure position through his devotion tothat persecuted class which Las Casas loved so deeply, and for which hehimself felt immense pity.
As friend and fellow student of the Cure Hidalgo, who was destined tobecome so celebrated, he professed liberal principles and hatred ofthe Spanish yoke. Don Anibal, like all weak-minded men, unconsciouslyyielded to the influence of this chosen vessel, and had for him afriendship mingled with respect and veneration. Protector of theIndians, Father Sandoval defended them under all circumstances, and hadoften succeeded, by the mere force of his eloquence, in saving themfrom the severe punishments to which Don Anibal had condemned them in amoment of passion. He easily proved to the hacendero that it was to hisinterest to embrace the revolutionary cause. The latter, dissatisfiedwith the Spanish government, against which he had long been carrying ona lawsuit, raised no serious objections; and as certain natures onlyrequire a lash to make them go faster than is necessary, and pass thegoal for which they are started, so soon as Don Anibal had consentedto what Father Sandoval asked of him, he wished to force the latter toplace himself by his side at the head of the hacienda peons capableof bearing arms, and proceed to join the Cure Hidalgo, who had justraised the standard of revolt, and was preparing, at the head of hisparishioners, armed with bows, arrows, and slings, to face the army ofthe Viceroy.
As this project was excessively imprudent, the chaplain combatedit; but the hacendero, one of whose slightest faults was obstinacy,declared that he must give a pledge to the revolution, and the bestway was to range himself beneath the insurrectionist banners. Still,by force of reasoning, supported by the entreaties of Dona Emilia,whom the fear of a separation and the prospect of remaining alone andunprotected at the hacienda with her child, which was scarce fifteenmonths old, filled with terror, Father Sandoval succeeded in modifyingDon Anibal's resolution, if he did not completely alter it. He madehim understand that his hacienda, situated on the Indian border, closeto several important presidios, ought to serve as headquarters for theinsurgents of this portion of Mexico, who would rally round him andhold the Spanish garrisons in check, so as to prevent them joining thetroops General Callega and Count de la Cadena were raising to offerbattle to the rebels commanded by Hidalgo, Allende, etc., and who werepreceded by the Virgen de Los Remedios, attired as a generalisimo. Ina country like Mexico, where religion is all in all, and at the headof an army most of whose generals and officers were priests and monks,this banner was not inappropriate.
Don Anibal yielded with great difficulty to Father Sandoval'sobjections; but, feeling flattered by the part he would be called onto play, he at length consented to follow the advice given him by aman who was wiser and more prudent than himself. The Hacienda delBarrio was therefore converted into a fortress; Don Anibal incitedthe Indians to revolt, and organized on this frontier a partizan waragainst the neighbouring garrisons, after having sent to join Hidalgo abody of two hundred well-armed and mounted horsemen under the orders ofhis majordomo. We see that Don Anibal thus frankly threw away the maskand boldly burnt his vessels.
The war soon assumed much larger proportions than had been thoughtpossible. The government had remained attached to the King of Spain,and most of the rich landowners followed this example; so that theinsurrection, which was at first formidable, became to some extentisolated, and reduced to act on the defensive. Don Anibal was toogreatly compromised to hope for a pardon, which, indeed, he was notat all inclined to solicit. On the contrary, he suddenly dashed fromhis eagle's nest on the Spaniards who scoured the coun
try, and thoughnot always the victor, he did them sufficient mischief to prevent themgoing too far from the presidios or leaving the province. The governor,at length wearied by the incessant attacks of his unseizable foe,resolved to finish with him, and besiege him in his lurking place.
Don Anibal, warned by his spies of what was preparing against him,resolved on a vigorous resistance; but as he really loved his wife,and did not wish to expose her to the hazards of a storm, and thesight of those atrocities which are the inevitable consequence of it,he arranged with Father Sandoval that he should remove her from thehacienda as soon as possible, and place her and her child in safety.When these arrangements were made, the two gentlemen proceeded insearch of the senora, to tell her of the plan they had formed.
Dona Emilia spent a very dull life at the Hacienda del Barrio. Herhusband, who was elsewhere engaged, often left her for days, onlyseeing her for a moment at meals, and addressing a few unmeaning wordsto her during the quarter of an hour they were together. Fortunatelyfor the poor lady, the hacienda possessed a magnificent garden. Shespent nearly the entire day in it under an arbour of orange and lemontrees, reading pious books and watching her child, who was nursed by aquadroon to whom Dona Emilia was sincerely attached, and had married toa peon of the hacienda.
On the day to which we allude, at about two in the afternoon, thewarmest hour of the day, Dona Emilia, according to her wont, wasindulging in a siesta in a hammock suspended from two enormous orangetrees, whose tufted crests almost entirely overshadowed the entirenook. A few paces from her, Rita, the quadroon, was carelessly rockingin a _butaca_, and giving the breast to the child.
As we have said, the heat was stifling. The burning sunbeams made thesand on the garden walks sparkle like diamonds; there was not a breathof air; the atmosphere, impregnated with the sweet exhalations of theflowers and fragrant woods, was intoxicating, and conduced to slumber.The birds, hidden under the leaves, had ceased their song, and werewaiting till the evening breeze refreshed the soil; a solemn silencebrooded over nature, and the fall of a leaf would have been heard, soprofound was the calm. Rita, involuntarily yielding to the narcoticinfluences that surrounded her, had fallen asleep with the child stillclinging to her breast.
All at once a strange, terrible, frightful thing occurred--a horriblescene, which we feel a hesitation to describe, although we had thefact from a credible witness.[1] The branches of a dahlia bush weregently and noiselessly parted, and in the space thus left free appearedthe hideous and distorted face of Running Water. This man had, at themoment, something fatal and satanic in his physiognomy, which wouldhave filled with terror anyone who saw it. After remaining motionlessfor an instant, which he employed in looking around, through fear ofbeing surprised, he laughed cunningly in the Indian fashion, and begancrawling softly till his entire body had emerged from the bush. Thenhe rose, carefully repaired the disorder his passage had caused inthe bush, advanced two paces, placed on the ground a rather large baghe held in his right hand, folded his arms and gazed at Dona Emilia,who was sleeping calmly and peacefully in her hammock, with a strangefixedness, and an expression of hatred and joy impossible to describe.
How had this man contrived to penetrate into the hacienda, which wasso strongly guarded, and whose walls were almost insurmountable? Whyhad he entered alone the garden of a man whom he knew to be his mostimplacable foe? He doubtless meditated vengeance, but of what naturewas it? Running Water, whom the hacendero had strove so hard to injure,and to whom he had done such hurt, was not the man to content himselfwith ordinary revenge. The redskins have refinements of cruelty andbarbarity of which they alone possess the secret. What did he intenddoing? What was his object? The Indian chief alone could have answeredthese questions; for the redskins are well acquainted with the proverb,that "revenge is eaten cold."
I know not what gloomy thoughts agitated this man while he gazed at thesleeping lady, but his countenance altered every second, and seemed togrow more and more ferocious. He made a move as if about to seize thebag on the ground in front of him, but suddenly reflected.
"No," he muttered to himself, "not that; he alone would suffer; thehearts of both of them must bleed. Yes, yes, my first idea is the best."
Then, after taking a parting glance at the lovely, sleeping lady, hestooped with a terrible smile, picked up the bag, which he placed underhis left arm, and went away with a step light and stealthy as that of atiger preparing to leap on its prey. Still, he only went a few paces.Turning suddenly to his right, he found himself in front of the nurse.The latter was still sleeping, intoxicated by the smell of the flowerswhich appeared to bend over her, as if to shed sleep more easily uponher. Rita was sleeping like a child, without dreams or fears. Rita wasyoung and lovely; anyone but a ferocious Indian, like the man who gazedat her at this moment, and devoured her with his eyes, would have feltaffected by such confiding innocence.
With the upper part of her body indolently thrown back, with her eyeshalf closed and veiled by her long black lashes, and her rosy lipsslightly parted so as to display her pearly teeth, the young quadroonwith her slightly coppery complexion was delicious. We repeat thatanyone but Running Water would have felt subdued and vanquished by thesight of her. Her two hands, folded over the little girl, held heragainst her bosom, and seemed trying to protect her even in sleep. Theinfant was neither asleep nor awake. She was in that state of lethargicsomnolency which seizes on these frail creatures when they have suckedfor a long time. Clinging to the breast, on which she had laid her twosmall, snow-white hands, the child, with her eyes already closed tosleep, was imbibing a drop of milk at lengthened intervals.
The Indian regarded this group with a tiger's glance, and for sometwo or three minutes, involuntarily fascinated by this picture, whoseinnocence and candour no artist would be able to depict, he stoodgloomy and thoughtful, perhaps hesitating in the accomplishment of theinfernal work he had meditated so long, and to execute which he hadtreacherously entered the hacienda. But Satan, conquered for a second,regained his ascendancy in the redskin's heart.
"It is well," he muttered in a hollow voice. "The babe will die. Thedeath of the child kills doubly father and mother."
And he smiled once again that terrible and silent laugh which wouldhave caused anyone who saw it to shudder, and which was habitual tohim. He fell back a step, and with a look around him he explored theneighbourhood in its most hidden corners. Assured at length that noone could see him he fell back till he reached the hole in one of theorange trees from which the hammock was hung, and which was exactlyopposite the nurse; then he carefully concealed himself behind atree, and laid his bag on the ground. This bag was of tapir hide, andfastened up with the greatest care.
The Indian stood motionless for a second, then drawing his dagger hedid not take the trouble to cut the leather thongs that closed the bag;on the contrary, throwing himself back as if afraid of the consequencesof the deed he was about to do, he ripped up the bag its entire length,and at once disappeared behind the trunk of a tree. The body of acascabel, or rattlesnake; appeared in the gaping orifice of the bag.Indian manners brand as infamous any man who, excepting in Combat,strikes and kills a child at the breast. Hatred is intelligent, andRunning Water had found the means to satisfy his upon the poor littlecreature without breaking the rules of his tribe. He had gone in searchof a snake, which was not difficult to find. He enclosed it in a bag oftapir hide so that it could not escape, and kept it for several dayswithout food so as to restore to the animal, which he had surprisedwhile digesting a gorge, all its original ferocity. When the redskinsupposed that the snake was in proper condition, he entered the gardenas we have seen.
The snake, suddenly liberated from the dark and narrow prison inwhich it had been so long confined, began unrolling on the ground itsmonstrous coils. At first half asleep and dazed by the bright light ofday it remained for a moment in a state of stupor, balancing itself tothe right and left hesitatingly on its enormous tail, throwing its headback and opening its hideous mouth till it displayed
its awful fangs.But gradually its eye grew brighter, and breathing a strangled hiss itrushed with undulating bounds towards poor Rita.
The Indian, with his body bent forward, heaving chest, and eyesenormously dilated, looked after it eagerly; at length he held hisvengeance in his grasp, and no human power could take it from him. Buta strange thing happened, which filled the Indian himself with horror.Upon reaching the nurse the snake, after a moment's hesitation, gavea soft melodious hiss, apparently indicating pleasure; and rising onits tail with a movement full of grace and suppleness, enwrithed thenurse's body in its huge folds, gently pushed the sleeping babe asidewithout doing it the slightest injury, and seizing the nipple thelittle creature had let go, glued its hideous mouth to it.
Running Water uttered a cry of rage, and stamped his foot indesperation. He had forgotten the frenzied passion snakes havefor milk, especially that of women. This time again the Indian'scalculations were thrown out, and his vengeance slipped from him. Whatshould he do? To try and tear the snake from the prey it had seizedwould be incurring certain death; and then, fascinated by the horriblespectacle he had before him, the redskin felt incapable of collectinghis ideas. He looked on, suffering from a frightful nightmare, andawaiting with the most lively anxiety the conclusion of this frightfulscene. Rita still slept on, and the child even had not noticed itschanged position, so gentle and measured had the snake's movementsbeen, and was still slumbering. The cascabel, however, drank with suchardour the quadroon's milk that the blood poured down her breast, andshe was aroused by the pain from her deep sleep. She opened her eyes,and perceived the horrible animal.
Rita endured a second of indescribable agony and despair, for shefelt that she was hopelessly lost. Then, wondrous to relate, thishalf-sleeping woman, seeing herself through a mist of blood in thepower of the monster, suddenly formed an heroic resolution. Sherecognized with remarkable lucidity her fearful situation, andcompletely forgetting herself had but one thought, that of saving thechild.[2] A woman is a mother before all. God has placed in her heart aflame Which nothing can extinguish.
With her features distorted by terror, her temples inundated with coldperspiration, and her hair standing on end, she had the immense couragenot to tremble or stir, and held back in her parched throat the cryof horror ready to burst from it: in a word, she remained in the sameposition as if she were still asleep.
The Indian himself, struck with admiration at this sublime emotion,felt his iron heart melt, and he almost regretted being the cause ofthis fearful catastrophe. The snake still enjoyed its horrible repast,and gorged itself with the milk mingled with blood which it drew fromthe breast of its hapless victim. At length its coils relaxed, its eyegradually lost its fascinating lustre, and with an almost insensibleundulation it left the prey to which it was clinging. Completelygorged with milk, it rolled off to the ground, and crawled away inthe direction of the shrubs. The mulatto then seized the child in herclenched hands, sat up straight as a statue, and uttered a fearful cry.
"Mother, mother!" she said with a sob that lacerated her throat, "Takeyour child."
Dona Emilia, aroused by this cry, bounded like a lioness from herhammock, and seized her babe. Rita then fell back, with her breastbleeding, and her features distorted by pain, and writhed in frightfulconvulsions. Dona Emilia leant over her.
"What is the matter, in Heaven's name?" she asked her in horror.
"The snake, see the snake, mother!" the quadroon exclaimed, as sheraised herself with a last, effort and pointed to the reptile whichwas quietly gliding along the sand; then she uttered a fearful groan,and fell back--dead. Don Anibal and the priest, attracted by thecries, rushed into the arbour, and at once comprehended the frightfulaccident which must have occurred. The hacendero ran up to his wife,while Father Sandoval bravely attacked the snake and killed it. TheIndian chief had disappeared with the bound of a wild beast, afterexchanging with Dona Emilia a glance of awful purport.
The lady, with calm brow and a smile on her lip, nursed her babe, whichwas now awake, while singing one of those touching American tunes withwhich these innocent creatures are lulled to sleep. She was mad!
Don Anibal, crushed by this terrible catastrophe, tottered for a momentlike a drunken man, then raising his hands to his face with a cry ofdespair, he fell unconscious on the ground. His rebellious nature hadat last been vanquished by grief.
"It is the finger of God!" the priest murmured, as he raised histear-laden eyes to heaven.
And kneeling by the body of the poor quadroon he prayed fervently. DonaEmilia was still singing and lulling her child to sleep.
Two days later the hacienda was invested by the Spaniards. Don Anibaldefended himself for a long time with heroic courage, but the Spaniardsat last stormed the fortress, and made a horrible massacre of itsdefenders. Don Anibal, bearing his wife across his horse's neck, andthe priest carrying in his arms the baby and the boy saved a shorttime previously upon the defeat of the Indians, succeeded in escaping,through the courage of some twenty peons who resolutely collected roundthem and made a rampart of their bodies.
Hotly pursued by the _tamarindos_, the fugitives wandered for a longtime haphazard in the forests, tracked like wild beasts by theirimplacable victors; but at last, after extraordinary privations andinnumerable dangers, they succeeded in reaching Santa Rosa, where theminers offered them a shelter. The revolt having thus been drownedin blood in this province by the Spaniards, they had a lengthenedbreathing time; for the patriots were dead or so utterly demoralizedthat a fresh insurrection need not be apprehended.
END OF THE PROLOGUE.
[1] The person to whom we allude is at this moment in Paris, and could,if necessary, confirm our statement.
[2] However incredible this fact may appear, we repeat that it isstrictly true.