Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The BandoleroA Marriage among the MountainsBy Captain Mayne ReidPublished by Richard Bentley, New Burlington Street, London.This edition dated 1866.
The Bandolero, by Captain Mayne Reid.
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________________________________________________________________________THE BANDOLERO, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
CHAPTER ONE.
A CITY OF ANGELS.
La Puebla de los Angeles is peculiar, even among the cities of modernMexico; peculiar in the fact, that two-thirds of its population arecomposed of priests, _pelados, poblanas_, pickpockets, and _incarones_of a bolder type.
Perhaps I have been too liberal in allowing a third to the "gente debueno," or respectable people. There are travellers who have altogetherdenied their existence; but this may be an exaggeration on the otherside.
Trusting to my own souvenirs, I think I can remember having met withhonest men--and women too--in the City of the Angels. But I shall notbe positive about their proportion to the rest of the population. Itmay be less than a third--certainly it is not _more_!
Equally certain is it: that every tenth man you meet in the streets ofPuebla is either a priest, or in some way connected with the holyfraternity--and that every tenth woman is far from being an angel!
_Curas_ in robes of black silk serge, stockings of the finest texture,and "coal-scuttle" hats, full three feet in length; friars of all ordersand colours--black and white, blue, brown, and grey--with shaven crownsand sandalled feet, are encountered, not only at every corner, butalmost at every step you take.
If monks were immaculate, Puebla might deserve the sanctifiedappellation it has received--the _City of the Angels_. As it is, the_City of the Devils_ would be a more appropriate title for it!
"The nearer the church, the farther from God."
The adage is strikingly illustrated in Puebla, where the Church is notonly present--in all its outward symbols--but paramount. It governs theplace. It owns it. Almost every house in the city, as almost everyacre of land in the vast plain that surrounds it, is the property of theChurch, in fee simple, or by mortgage deed!
As you pass through the streets you see painted over the door-heads--three out of every four of them--the phrases, "Casa de San Augustin,""Casa de San Francisco," "Casa de Jesus," and the like.
If a stranger inquire the object of this black lettering, he is toldthat the houses so designated are the property of the respectiveconvents whose names appear above the doors. In short, you see theChurch above, before, and around you, all-powerful over the bodies aswell as the souls of the Poblanos; and you have not ceased to be astranger, ere you discover its all-pervading villainy and corruptness.
Otherwise, Puebla might be termed a terrestrial paradise. Situated inthe centre of an immense plain--whose fertility suggested to Cortez andhis _conquistadores_ the title "La vega" (the farm)--surrounded by anamphitheatre of magnificent mountains, in grandeur unsurpassed uponearth--with a climate of ever-spring, truly might it be deemed anabiding place for _angels_; as truly as it is the home of a host ofinfamous men, and not less infamous women.
Despite its moral character, there is a grand picturesqueness about _LaPuebla de los Angeles_--both in its present aspect and its past history.Both are redolent of romance.
Standing upon the site of an ancient Aztecan town, within view ofCholula, the Indian Athens--with Tlascala, their Sparta, on the otherside of the mountain Malinche--what heart would not be touched by thehistoric souvenirs of such a spot? And though the sages of Cholula andthe warriors of Tlascala are no longer to be recognised in theirdegenerate descendants, there, still, are the grand objects from whichthey must have drawn their inspirations. On all sides tower up theCordilleras of the Andes. Sublime, against the eastern sky, rises the"Star mountain;" matched upon the west by the rival cone of Popocatepec.Still in solemn silence reclines the "White Sister" under her coldcoverlet of snow.
Well do I remember the impression produced on my own mind when, afterpassing through the _mal pais_ of Perote, I first came within view ofthe domes and spires of La Puebla. It was an impression, grand,mystical, romantic; in interest exceeding even that I afterwardsexperienced, when gazing for the first time on the valley ofTenochtitlan. It was a _coup de coeur_ never to be forgotten!
As my entry into the "City of the Angels" was not of an ordinary kind,--and, moreover, had much to do with the events about to be related--itwill be necessary to give some account of it. I transcribe from thetablets of my memory, where it is recorded with a vividness that makesthe transcript easy. I can answer for its being truthful.
I was one of three thousand invaders; all travel stained; many footsore,from long marches over the lava rocks of Las Vigas, and the desertplains of Perote; some scathed in the skirmish with Santa Anna's lancersalong the foot hills of the mountain Malinche; but all aweary untodeath.
Fatigue was forgotten, dust and scars disregarded, as we came withinsight of the sanctified city, and with beating drums and braying buglesmarched on to take possession of it.
It needed no warlike ardour on our part. Outside the gates we were metby the _Alcalde Mayor_ and his magistrates; who, with fair speech ontheir lips, but foul thought in their hearts, reluctantly bestowed uponus the "freedom of the city!"
Who could wonder at the reluctance? We only wondered at the softspeeches, instead of the hard blows we had been led to expect from them.All along the route, Puebla had been proclaimed as the point where wewere to be brought to bay. There we should have to encounter the sonsof the _tierra templada_; and our laurels, cheaply gathered at Vera Cruzand Cerro Gordo, from the enervated children of the _tierra caliente_,would be snatched from our brows by the "_valientes_" of La Puebla. Thesaints of the "holy city" had been promised a hecatomb; and we expected,at least something in the shape of a fight.
We were disappointed--I will not say disagreeably: for, after all,fighting is not the most desirable duty to be performed in a campaign--especially on the eve of entering into some grand town of the enemy. Inmy opinion, it is far pleasanter to find the streets clear ofobstructions, the pavement without blood spots--although they may bethose of the foe--the shops and restaurants open, especially thelatter--and the windows filled with fair forms and smiling faces.
After this fashion were we received in the _City of the Angels_. Therewere no barricades--no street fighting--no obstructions of any kind.The fair forms were there, seen in shadow behind the iron _rejas_, orstanding in full light in the _balcons_ above. Many of the faces, too,were fair; though I shall not go so far as to assert, that any of themwere _smiling_. It would be nearer the truth to say that most, if notall of them, looked frowningly upon us.
It was a cold reception: but the wonder was that we were received atall, or not more warmly welcomed--in a different sense. Horse and footall told, we counted scarce three thousand weary warriors--stirred forthe moment into a spasmodic activity by the sound of our drums, thethought of being conquerors, and perhaps a little by the battery ofbright eyes before which we were paraded. We were marching through thestreets of a city of more than sixty thousand inhabitants, with housesenough to hold twice the number; grand massive dwellings with frescoedfronts, that rose frowningly above us--each capable of being convertedinto a fortress. A city lately guarded by choice troops, and whose ownfighting men outnumbered us ten to one!
Its women alone might have overwhelmed us, had each but pitched aprojectile--her cigarito or slipper--upon our heads. They looked as ifthey _would_ have annihilated us!
And ye
t we did not run the gauntlet altogether unscathed--not all of us.Some received wounds in the course of that triumphal entry, thatrankled long after.
They were wounds of the heart, inflicted by those soft love-speakingeyes, for which the Poblana is peculiar.
I can testify to one heart thus sweetly scathed.
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The fatigued Foot grounded arms in the _Piazza Grande_. The detachedsquadrons of cavalry scoured the deserted streets in search of soldiers'quarters.
Guided by the displaced authorities, the _cuartels_ were soondiscovered; and, before night, a new _regime_ ruled the City of theAngels. The priest had given place to the soldier!