Читать книгу Gunfights & Revolutions (Texas War Trilogy) - Gustave Aimard - Страница 17

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We will now return to the caravan, which we saw leave the Potrero at sunrise, and in the Chief of which Carmela seemed so greatly interested.

This Chief was a young man of about five-and-twenty, with delicate, dashing, and distinguished features; he wore, with supreme elegance, the brilliant uniform of a Captain of Dragoons.

Although he belonged to one of the oldest and noblest families in Mexico, Don Juan Melendez de Gongora would only owe his promotion to himself; an extraordinary desire in a country where military honour is regarded almost as nothing, and where only the superior grades give those who hold them a degree of consideration which is rather the result of fear than of sympathy, on the part of the people.

Still Don Juan had persevered in his eccentric idea, and each step he won was not the result of a pronunciamento successfully carried out by any ambitious General, but that of a brilliant action. Don Juan belonged to that class of real Mexicans who honestly love their country, and who, jealous of its honour, dream for it a restoration, very difficult, if not impossible, to obtain.

The force of virtue is so great, even on the most depraved natures, that Captain Don Juan Melendez de Gongora was respected by all the men who approached him, even by those who loved him the least.

However, the Captain's virtue had nothing austere or exaggerated about it; he was a thorough soldier, gay, obliging, brave as his sword, and ever ready to help, either with his arm or purse, all those, friends or foes, who had recourse to him. Such, physically and morally, was the man who commanded the caravan, and granted his protection to the monk who rode by his side.

This worthy Frayle, about whom we have had already occasion to say a few words, deserves a detailed description.

Physically, he was a man of about fifty, almost as tall as he was wide, bearing a striking likeness to a barrel set on legs, and yet gifted with far from common strength and activity; his violet nose, his huge lips, and ruddy face, gave him a jovial appearance, which two little grey sunken eyes, full of fire and resolution, rendered ironical and mocking.

Morally, he was in no way distinguished from the majority of Mexican monks—that is to say, he was ignorant as a carp, prone to drinking, a passionate lover of the fair sex, and superstitious in the highest degree; but for all that, the best companion in the world, at home in all society, and always able to raise a laugh.

What singular accident could have brought him so far on the border? This no one knew or cared for, as everyone was aware of the vagabond humour of Mexican monks, whose life is constantly passed in roaming from one place to the other, without object, and generally without interest, but simply at the dictates of caprice.

At this period, Texas, joined to another province, formed a state called Texas and Cohahuila.

The party commanded by Don Juan de Melendez left Nacogdoches eight days previously, bound for Mexico; but the Captain, in accordance with the instructions he received, left the ordinary road, inundated at that moment with bands of brigands of every description, and made a long circuit to avoid certain ill-famed gorges of the Sierra de San Saba. He would still have to cross that range; but on the side of the great prairies, that is to say, at the spot where the plateaux, gradually descending, do not offer those variations of landscape which are so dangerous to travellers.

The ten mules the Captain escorted must be loaded with very precious merchandise, for the Federal Government—seeing the small number of troops it had in the State—to have resolved on having it convoyed by forty dragoons under an officer of Don Juan's reputation, whose presence, under existing circumstances, would have been highly necessary, not to say indispensable, in the interior of the State, in order to suppress revolutionary attempts, and keep the inhabitants in the path of duty.

In fact, the merchandise was very valuable; these ten mules transported three millions of piastres, which would assuredly be a grand windfall for the insurgents, if they fell into their hands.

The time was left far behind, when, under the rule of the Viceroys, the Spanish flag borne at the head of a train of fifty or sixty mules laden with gold, was sufficient to protect a conducta de plata effectually, and enable it to traverse, without the slightest risk, the whole width of Mexico, so great was the terror inspired by the mere name of Spain.

Now, it was not one hundred, or sixty mules; but ten, which forty resolute men seemed hardly sufficient to protect.

The government considered it advisable to employ the greatest prudence in sending off this conducta, which had long been expected at Mexico. The greatest silence was maintained as to the hour and day of departure, and the road it would follow.

The bales were made so as to conceal, as far as possible, the nature of the merchandise carried; the mules sent off one by one, in open day, only under the protection of the arriero, joined, fifteen leagues from the town, the escort which had been encamped for more than a month, under some plausible excuse, in an ancient presidio.

All had, therefore, been foreseen and calculated with the greatest care and intelligence to get this precious merchandise in safety to its destination; the arrieros, the only persons who knew the value of their load, would be careful not to speak about it, for the little they possessed was made responsible for the safety of their freight, and they ran the risk of being utterly ruined if their mules were robbed on the road.

The conducta advanced in the most excellent order, to the sound of the Néna's bells; the arrieros sang gaily their mules, urging them on by this eternal "arrea, Mula! Arrea, Linda!"

The pennons fastened to the long lances of the dragoons fluttered in the morning breeze, and the Captain listened idly to the monk's chatter, while at intervals taking a searching glance over the deserted plain.

"Come, come, Fray Antonio," he said to his stout companion, "you can no longer regret having set out at so early an hour, for the morning is magnificent, and everything forebodes a pleasant day."

"Yes, yes," the other replied with a laugh; "thanks to Nuestra Señora de la Soledad, honourable Captain, we are in the best possible state for travelling."

"Well, I am glad to find you in such good spirits, for I feared lest the rather sudden waking this morning might have stirred up your bile."

"I, good gracious, honourable Captain!" he replied, with feigned humility; "we unworthy members of the church must submit without murmuring to all the tribulations which it pleases the Lord to send us; and besides, life is so short, that it is better only to look at the bright side, not to lose in vain regret the few moments of joy to which we can lay claim."

"Bravo! That is the sort of philosophy I like; you are a good companion, Padre—I hope we shall travel together for a long while."

"That depends a little on you, Señor Captain."

"On me? how so?"

"Well, on the direction you propose following."

"Hum!" Don Juan said; "and pray where may you be going, Señor Padre?"

This old-fashioned tactic of answering one question by another, is excellent, and nearly always succeeds. This time the monk was caught; but, in accordance with the habit of his brethren, his answer was as it was meant to be, evasive.

"Oh, I," he said with affected carelessness; "all roads are pretty nearly the same to me; my gown assures me, wherever chance bends my steps, pleasant faces and hearty reception."

"That is true; hence I am surprised at the question you asked me an instant back."

"Oh, it is not worth troubling yourself about, honourable Captain. I should feel agonised at having annoyed you, hence I humbly beg you to pardon me."

"You have in no way annoyed me, Señor Padre. I have no reason for concealing the road I purpose following; this recua of mules I am escorting does not affect me in any way, and I propose leaving it to-morrow or the day after."

The monk could not restrain a start of surprise.

"Ah!" he said, as he looked searchingly at the speaker.

"Oh yes," the Captain continued, in an easy tone, "these worthy men begged me to accompany them for a few days, through fear of the gavillas that infest the roads; they have, it appears, valuable merchandize with them, and would not like to be plundered."

"I understand; it would not be at all pleasant for them."

"Would it? hence I did not like to refuse them the slight service which took me only a little way out of my road; but so soon as they consider themselves in safety, I shall leave them and enter the prairie, in accordance with the instructions I have received, for you know that the Indios Bravos are stirring."

"No, I was not aware of it."

"Well, in that case, I tell it you; there is a magnificent opportunity that presents itself to you, Padre Antonio, and you must not neglect it."

"A magnificent opportunity for me?" the monk repeated, in amazement; "What opportunity, honourable Captain?"

"For preaching to the Infidels, and teaching them the dogmas of our Holy Faith," he replied, with imperturbable coolness.

At this abrupt proposal the monk made a frightful face.

"Deuce take the opportunity!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers; "I will leave that to other asses! I feel no inclination for martyrdom."

"As you please, Padre; still you are wrong."

"That is possible, honourable Captain, but hang me if I accompany you near those pagans; in two days I shall leave you."

"So soon as that?"

"Why, I suppose, that since you are going on to the prairie, you will leave the recua of mules you are escorting at the Rancho of San Jacinto, which is the extreme point of the Mexican possessions on the desert border."

"It is probable."

"Well, I will go on with the muleteers; as all the dangerous passes will then have been left behind, I shall have nothing to fear, and shall continue my journey in the most agreeable way possible."

"Ah," the Captain said to him, with a piercing glance; but he was unable to continue this conversation, which seemed highly interesting to him, for a horseman galloped up at full speed from the front, stopped before him, and stooping to his ear, whispered a few words.

The Captain looked scrutinizingly round him, drew himself up in the saddle, and addressed the soldier—

"Very good. How many are they?"

"Two, Captain."

"Watch them, but do not let them suspect they are prisoners; on arriving at the halting ground I will cross-question them. Rejoin your comrades."

The soldier bowed respectfully without reply, and went off at the same speed he had come up.

Captain Melendez had for a long time accustomed his subordinates not to discuss his orders, but obey them unhesitatingly.

We mention this fact because it is excessively rare in Mexico, where military discipline is almost a nullity, and subordination unknown.

Don Juan closed up the ranks of the escort, and ordered them to hurry on.

The monk had seen with secret alarm the conference between the officer and the soldier, of which he was unable to catch a word. When the Captain, after attentively watching the execution of his orders, returned to his place by his side, Father Antonio tried to jest about what had happened, and the cloud of gravity that had suddenly darkened the officer's face.

"Oh, oh," he said to him, with a loud laugh, "how gloomy you are, Captain! did you see three owls flying on your right? The pagans assert that such is an evil omen."

"Perhaps so," the Captain drily replied.

The tone in which the remark was uttered had nothing friendly or inviting about it. The monk understood that any conversation at this moment was impossible; he took the hint, bit his lips, and continued to ride silently by his companion's side.

An hour later they reached the bivouac; neither the monk nor the officer had said a word; but the nearer they came to the spot selected for the halt, the more anxious each seemed to grow.