Майн Рид
The Tiger Hunter
“Sound ‘Boots and saddles!’” cried the Lieutenant, hurrying into the courtyard to give further orders; while Don Rafael, under the pretext of being alone for a few minutes, walked out into the garden, and directed his steps towards the spot where, two years before, he had deposited the remains of his father in the tomb.
His spirit once more excited by the revelations made by the domestic of Don Fernando, he felt he needed a moment of prayer to strengthen him for this final effort for the punishment of his father’s assassins. The murder of his father had been for him a terrible blow, but, as time passed, even this grief, by little and little, had become appeased.
Far different was it with that other passion – which neither time, nor absence, nor the constant changing of scene, nor the duties of an active campaign, had been able to eradicate from his bosom.
He now knew that Gertrudis reciprocated his ardent love – that she was dying of it; and, in the midst of the mournful joy which this news had produced, he could have forgotten that his father’s death was not yet avenged, as he had sworn it should be. One of the assassins was at no great distance from him, and yet he could scarcely restrain himself from yielding to the almost irresistible desire of galloping direct to Oajaca, where he supposed Gertrudis to be, and then, flinging himself at her feet, confessing that, without her, he could no longer live.
It was to steel his soul against this temptation, and enable him to keep the oath he had sworn, that Don Rafael now repaired to his father’s grave.
Chapter Seventy One.
The Capture of San Carlos
A few minutes sufficed for the performance of his sacred duty; and Don Rafael, returning to the courtyard, placed himself at the head of his troopers – already in their saddles. There were eighty in all ordered upon the expedition – only a small garrison of twenty men being left – just sufficient to defend the fortress. Two pack-mules accompanied the party – one carrying a small howitzer, while the other was laden with the necessary caisson of ammunition.
At a given signal the great gate of the hacienda was thrown open, and the troopers filing through, passed on down the avenue at a rapid trot, and in silence.
A dozen or so of light cavalry went in advance of the main body – for the purpose of reconnoitring the ground – and at the head of these was Don Rafael himself with the Lieutenant Veraegui.
On the way the Lieutenant, in brief language, rendered an account to his superior of the events that had happened since his last despatch to him – to all of which Don Rafael listened far from attentively. Absorbed in his thoughts, he sat abstractedly in his saddle until after they had forded the Ostuta.
On the other side of the river the advance guard halted to give the main body time to come up; and here Don Rafael ordered the domestic of Don Fernando to be brought into his presence.
“Do you know,” said he, addressing the man, “if there be any road by which we can get round the hacienda, and approach it from the opposite side?”
The domestic replied in the affirmative. He knew a path by which he could conduct the troopers to the rear of the building, and by which they might advance up to the very walls without their approach being discovered.
“Go ahead then along with the scouts!” directed Don Rafael. “It is necessary we take these robbers by surprise, else they may get off from us as they have done before.”
The guide obeyed the order, and placing himself at the head of the advance guard, the march was resumed.
The path by which the domestic conducted them made a détour round the foot of the hill, upon which the hacienda stood, and where, but a few hours earlier, Don Cornelio Lantejas had seen the flames shining so brightly through the windows. All was now silent as the tomb; and no sound of any kind announced that the approach of the assailing party was suspected.
A little further on the guide halted and pointed out to Don Rafael several paths that branched off from the one they were following, and by which the party, separating into several detachments, might completely encompass the hacienda. This was exactly what Don Rafael wanted.
Reserving to himself the command of the main body, he detached three smaller parties by these paths – one under the direction of Veraegui, the others each commanded by an alferez. These, at a given signal, were to attack on right, left, and in the rear; while Don Rafael himself with the howitzer would storm the building in front. Each party was provided with a supply of hand-grenades, to be thrown into the courtyard of the hacienda, or into such other places as the enemy might seek refuge in.
So long as the assailants were sheltered from view by the trees and shrubs that skirted the hill, they approached without being discovered: but the moment they became uncovered, on getting nearer to the walls, shouts of alarm and shots fired by the sentries summoned the garrison to the defence; and an irregular fusillade was commenced from the azotéa of the building.
The different parties of the attacking force, without heeding this, kept on throwing their grenades as they advanced; while the party of Don Rafael, on arriving in front of the building, at once mounted the howitzer upon its carriage, and opened fire upon the main gateway.
The first shot crushed through the heavy timbers, carrying away one of the posterns of the gate.
Meanwhile, the grenades, falling within the courtyard began to burst upon the pavement – frightening the horses of the guerilleros to such an extent, that the animals broke from their fastenings, and galloped about, causing the greatest confusion. The shouts of alarm, the groans of the wounded, and the furious imprecations of the bandits, was for a time the only answer made to the reports of the bursting grenades, which were making such havoc in their ranks.
The loud explosion of the howitzer proclaimed a second discharge; and this time the shot penetrated into the courtyard, and cut its way through a mass of insurgents crowded near the further end of it.
“Once more! once more!” cried Don Rafael. “Batter down the other wing of the gate, and then, sword in hand, let us enter!”
So quickly did the practised artillerists of Veraegui handle their piece, that almost on the instant it was loaded and discharged for the third time. The ball passed once more through the heavy door; the leaf gave way and fell back with a crash, leaving the entrance open.
Tres-Villas, sword in hand, rushed into the gateway, followed by his faithful adherents.
“Where is the dog Arroyo?” cried he, bounding forward among the thick of the brigands, and cutting down every one within reach of his sword before an answer could be given. “On, my men!” he continued, “neither prisoners nor quarter!”
“I shall hang by the feet all who surrender!” thundered the voice of the Catalan from behind.
But despite this moderate promise of mercy, not one of the bandits offered to deliver himself up; and very soon the courtyard contained only a pile of dead bodies of the insurgents – the few who still lived having betaken themselves to the upper rooms of the building, where they secured themselves from present death by barricading the doors.
“Where is the dog Arroyo? A thousand pesos to the man who can lead me to the presence of the monster!” cried Don Rafael, vainly searching for the guerilla leader.
But Arroyo and his associate Bocardo were sought for in vain: since it will be remembered that both had gone off from the hacienda in search of its fugitive mistress.
The dead bodies were examined one after the other, and with care, but no Arroyo – no Bocardo – could be found among them.
“Let us on, Veraegui!” said Don Rafael. “We must attack them in their stronghold. The chiefs must be hidden up yonder! There is no time to be lost.”
“Alas!” rejoined the Catalan, with a sigh, as he stood regarding the dead bodies with an air of regret, “I fear, Colonel, our ropes will be useless after all. These fellows are all dead; and, as for their comrades up there, we shall have to set fire to their retreat, and burn them alive in it. If we attempt to dislodge them otherwise, it will cost us a goodly number of our people.”
“Oh! do not set fire to the house, Señor Colonel!” interposed the faithful domestic, in an appealing tone; “my poor master is there, and would suffer with the rest. All his people, too, are with him, and in the power of the brigands.”
“It is true, what he says,” rejoined Don Rafael, moved by the appeal of the domestic; “and yet it will never do to let these fiends escape. If we attack them, entrenched as they are, and knowing that certain death await them, they may cost us, as you say, more men than they are worth. What is your advice, Lieutenant?”
“That we reduce them by a siege, and starve them into surrendering. For my part, I don’t wish to be baulked about the hanging of them – especially after the trouble we have taken in bringing these ropes along with us.”
“It will cost time; but I agree with you, it seems the best thing we can do. They must soon yield to hunger; and perhaps before that time we may find some opportunity of getting Don Fernando out of their power. At all events, let us wait for sunrise before renewing the attack. Meanwhile, I leave you to conduct the blockade. The poor lady, Marianita, is, no doubt, wandering about in the woods near at hand. I shall myself go in search of her.”
Saying this, and giving orders for half a dozen chosen men to follow him, Don Rafael leaped into his saddle, and rode off through the gateway of the hacienda.
He had scarcely passed out of sight, when the sentinels placed by Veraegui were signalled by two men who wished to enter the courtyard. Both were afoot, and appeared to have come in such haste that they could scarce get breath enough to proclaim their errand.
“What do you want?” asked the Catalan, before looking at the men. “Eh! my droll fellows!” he continued, recognising Gaspar and Zapote, “it is you, is it? How the devil did you get out of my guard-house?”
“The sentry allowed us to go, your honour,” answered Zapote. “He knew that you did not wish us to be detained, if the Colonel should be found alive; and as we have an important message to him – ”
“The Colonel is gone away from here,” interrupted Veraegui.
“Gone!” exclaimed Zapote, with an air of extreme chagrin. “Where is he gone to, your honour?”
The Lieutenant, after pointing out the direction in which Don Rafael had ridden away, turned his back upon the two adventurers – who, instead of being offended at this rudeness, were only too glad to terminate their interview with the dreaded Catalan. They lost no time, therefore, in making their exit from the courtyard; and, as fast as their legs could carry them, they started off in the direction taken by him whom they had so long unsuccessfully followed.
Chapter Seventy Two.
The Enchanted Lake
It is ten o’clock at night, and a starry heaven is extended over a large expanse of level country – here clothed with virgin forests – there with broad, almost treeless savannas, now and then partaking of the character of marshes and covered with tall reeds. In the midst of this landscape a large lake opens to the view. Its aspect is sombre and sad – its dark, turbid waters scarce reflecting the stars that shine so brilliantly over it; while the waves beating against its sedge-encircled shores, utter only the most lugubrious sounds.
Near the centre of this lake rises a mountain of dark, greenish colour, resembling an immense cairn constructed by the hands of Titans. Upon its summit rests a cloud of white fog collected by evaporation from the surrounding water, which has been condensed by the freshness of the night. The numerous dark fissures distinguishable along the sides of this gigantic hill give it the appearance of being a mass of lava – the débris vomited forth by some extinct volcano – and at night, when the moon’s rays fall obliquely upon its flanks, it presents a vague resemblance to the scales of an alligator. At the same time that this fancy is suggested, the huge saurian itself may be heard, plunging among the reeds at its foot, and causing their culms to rattle against the rhomboid protuberances of his hideous carapace.
The mournful and desolate aspect of this lake, as well as of the shores that surround it – the eternal silence that reigns over it – the bleak, lonely appearance of its island mountain – all combine to produce upon the spectator an irresistible impression of melancholy; and a spirit of superstitious inclinings cannot help giving way to thoughts of the supernatural. No wonder that in such a place the ancient Aztec priests should have erected an altar for their sanguinary sacrifices; and so strong is tradition, that even in modern times the lake of Ostuta and the mountain of Monopostiac, are invested with supernatural attributes, and regarded by the vulgar with feelings of awe.
It was to the shores of this lake that the domestic of Don Mariano de Silva had conducted his master, certain of finding there a secure resting-place for the night. He knew that the country surrounding the lake was entirely uninhabited; and the brigands of Arroyo would scarce extend their excursions to such an unprofitable foraging ground. The southern end of the lake was bordered by a strip of forest; and it was in this forest that Don Mariano had determined to make halt for the night.
A small glade surrounded by trees of many species was chosen by the travellers as a place of their bivouac. The ground was covered with a carpet of soft grass, and many flowering shrubs and blossoming llianas, supported by the trees that grew around, yielded to the night an odorous incense that was wafted over the glade. It was, in fact, a bower made by the hand of nature, over which was extended the dark blue canopy of the sky, studded with its millions of scintillating stars.
Don Mariano had selected this lovely spot with a design – that of distracting his daughter’s spirit from the sad reflections which the more gloomy portions of the forest might otherwise have called up.
Shortly after halting, Doña Gertrudis had fallen asleep in her litera– through the curtains of which, only half closed, might be seen her soft cheek, white almost as the pillow upon which it lay.
Nature had almost repaired the outrage she had voluntarily committed on her long dark tresses; but the life within her seemed fast hastening to an end, and her breathing told how feeble was the spirit that now animated her bosom. She appeared like one of the white passion-flowers growing near, but more like one that had been plucked from the stem which had been the source of its life and sweetness.
Don Mariano stood near the litera– gazing upon the pale face of his child with feelings of sad tenderness. He could not help calling up this very comparison – although it was torture to his soul; for he knew that the flower once plucked must irrevocably wither and die.
At some distance from the litera, and nearer the edge of the lake, three of the attendants were seated together upon the grass. They were conversing, in low tones, for the purpose of passing the time. The fourth, who was the guide already mentioned, had gone forward through the woods – partly to search for the crossing, but also to reconnoitre the path, and find out whether the road to San Carlos was clear of the guerilleros.
Through a break in the forest that surrounded the glade, the enchanted mountain was visible – its sombre silhouette outlined against the blue background of the sky.
In all countries, every object that appears to vary from the ordinary laws of nature, possesses, for the vulgar imagination, a powerful interest; and the servants of Don Mariano were no exception to the rule.
“I have heard it said,” whispered one of them, “that the waters of this lake now so muddy, were once as clear as crystal; and that it was only after they were consecrated to the devil, that they became as they are now.”
“Bah!” rejoined another, “I don’t believe what they say about the devil living up there upon the Cerro encantado. He would choose a more pleasant place for his residence, I should fancy.”
“Well,” said the first speaker, who was named Zefirino, and who was better acquainted with the locality than either of his companions, “whether the devil dwells there or not, some terrible things have taken place on that mountain; and it is said, still happen there. I have heard that the fog which you see upon its summit, and which always rests there at night, is extended over it by the god of the Indians – who is only the devil himself. He does that to hide what goes on up there. There’s one strange story the Indians themselves tell.”
“What is it? Let us hear it, Zefirino.”
“Well, you’ve heard how in old times the Indian priests had an altar up yonder – upon which they used to sacrifice scores of human beings – so that the blood ran down the fissures of the rock like water after a shower of rain. Their plan was to cut open the breast of the victim, and tear out his heart while still alive. But why need I frighten you with a story that, by my faith, is fearful enough?”
“No – no – never mind! Go on, Zefirino.”
“Stay!” cried the other domestic. “Did you not hear a noise – just down there by the edge of the lake?”
“Bah! it’s only an alligator snapping his jaws together. Go on, Zefirino!”
“Well, comrades – the story is, that about five hundred years ago, one of the unfortunate victims was about to be sacrificed in this manner as usual. The cruel priest had opened his breast and taken out the heart; when, to the astonishment of all around, the Indian seized hold of his own heart, and endeavoured to put it back in its place. His hand, however, trembled, and the heart slipping from his grasp, rolled down the mountain side and into the lake. The Indian, uttering a terrible howl, plunged in after for the purpose of recovering his heart from the water, and was never seen again. Of course, a man like that could not possibly die; and for five hundred years the Indian has been wandering round the shores of the lake searching for his heart, and with his breast cut open, just as the priest had left it. It’s not more than a year ago that some one saw this Indian, and just about here, too, on the southern shore of the lake.”
As Zefirino finished his narration, his two companions involuntarily cast glances of terror towards the gloomy waters of the lake, as if in dread that the legendary Indian might suddenly show himself. Just at that moment, a rustling among the leaves caused all three of them to start to their feet, and stand trembling with fear.
Their alarm did not last long; for almost immediately after they perceived that the noise had been caused by Castrillo, the guide – who, in the next moment, stepped forward into the glade.
“Well, Castrillo! what have you seen?” demanded his fellow-servants.
“Enough to make it necessary that I should at once communicate with our master,” and Castrillo passed on towards the litera, leaving his companions to form their conjectures about what he had seen as best they might.
Chapter Seventy Three.
The Invalid
On perceiving the approach of the domestico, Don Mariano silently closed the curtains of the litera, in order that the slumbers of Gertrudis might not be disturbed.
“Speak softly!” said he to the man, “my daughter is asleep.”
The domestic delivered his report in an undertone.
“I have been almost as far as the hacienda of San Carlos,” said he. “The road to the house is clear; and I should have gone up to it, but for the strange sights which I saw there.”
“Strange sight! what sights, Castrillo?”
“Oh, master! I can hardly tell you what I saw – at least I cannot explain it. The windows were all lit up, but with such lights! They were blue and red, and of a purple colour, and they appeared to be changing every instant, and moving about in the most mysterious manner. While I stood looking at them, and trying to think what it could mean, I saw a figure in white gliding past me in the darkness, like some one not of this world.”
“My worthy Castrillo, fear was troubling your senses, I am afraid you only fancied these things?”
“Oh, my master! what I saw was but too real. If you had seen these lights as I, you could not have doubted it. May it please God that I may have been deceived!”
The tone of conviction in which the servant delivered his report produced its effect on Don Mariano; and he could not help feeling the unpleasant presentiment that some grand misfortune had happened to his daughter, Marianita, or her husband.
The information brought by Castrillo was only the reawakening of a doubt that had been already oppressing him.
A prey to afflicting thoughts, he remained for a while in that state of silent uncertainty which follows the receipt of calamitous news. The servant having finished his report had joined his three companions, and Don Mariano was alone.
Just then the curtains of the litera were drawn inside by a hand from within, and the voice of Gertrudis interrupted for the moment his gloomy reflections.
“My sleep has refreshed me,” said the young girl; “do you intend soon to continue your journey, father? It is near daybreak, is it not?”
“It is not yet midnight, niña. It will be long before the day breaks.”
“Then why do you not go to sleep, dear father? We are in safety here, I think; and there is no reason why you should keep awake.”
“Dear Gertrudis, I do not desire to sleep until we are under the roof of Marianita, and I can see you both together.”
“Ah! Marianita is so very happy,” sighed the invalid. “Her life has been like one of the flowery paths we have been following through the forest.”
“And so will yours be yet, Gertrudis,” rejoined Don Mariano, with an effort to console her. “It will not be long before Don Rafael comes to see you.”
“Oh, yes! I know he will come, since he has sworn it upon his word of honour. He will come, but what then?” murmured Gertrudis, with a melancholy smile.
“He will arrive to tell you that he still loves you,” said Don Mariano, affecting a conviction which, in reality, he did not feel. “It is only a misunderstanding,” he added.
“A misunderstanding that causes death, dear father,” rejoined Gertrudis, as she turned her head upon the pillow to conceal her tears.
Don Mariano was unable to reply, and an interval of silence succeeded.
Then Gertrudis, by one of those sudden reactions common to invalids, seemed all at once inspired with a fresh hope, and raising her head, she inquired —
“Do you think the messenger has had time to reach Don Rafael?”
“He would be three days in getting from Oajaca to the hacienda Del Valle; and if Don Rafael, as we have since heard, is at Huajapam, in two days more the messenger should reach him. He has been gone four days; therefore, in four more, at the most, Don Rafael should arrive at San Carlos, where he will know we are awaiting him.”
“Four days!” murmured Gertrudis. “Oh! it is a long, long time!”
Gertrudis did not dare to add, what she feared at the moment, that her life might not last so long.
After a moment of silence she continued —
“And besides, when, with a blush upon my cheeks, and my eyes turned away, I hear Don Rafael say to me, ‘You have sent for me, Gertrudis, I have come,’ what answer can I make? Oh, father! I shall die of grief and shame; for I shall then feel that he no longer loves me. He will see me as I am – a ruin – only the shadow of my former self, with my health gone, and my freshness faded. Likely enough, generosity will prompt him to feign a love which he does not feel, and which I could not believe in. What proof could he give that his words would only be spoken out of compassion for me?”
“Who can tell?” said Don Mariano. “Perhaps he may give you some proof that you cannot help believing in his sincerity.”
“Do not wish it, father, if you love me; for if he should offer a proof I cannot refuse to believe in, I feel that I should die of joy. Poor father!” continued she, with a choking sigh, and throwing her arms round his neck, “in either case you are likely soon to have but one daughter.”
At this mournful declaration Don Mariano could no longer restrain his grief; and returning the embrace of Gertrudis, he mingled his tears with hers. Both wept aloud, their voices being audible to the centzontlé, on a neighbouring tree – that catching up the mournful tones repeated them to the ear of night.
Just then the moon shot out from behind a thick mass of clouds, that had hitherto been shrouding her from the sight; and the landscape, illuminated by her silvery light, all at once assumed a less lugubrious aspect.
The lake, as well as the forest on its shores, appeared less sombre; and the corrugated flanks of the enchanted hill glanced with a vitreous reflection like the greenish waves of an agitated sea. Upon the surface of the water could be seen the dark, hideous forms of huge alligators moving along the edge of the reeds, and now and then giving utterance to their deep bellowing notes, as they disported themselves under the light of the moon.
The domestics of Don Mariano, seated close together, more than once fancied that they could distinguish the voices of human beings, and all shivered with fear as they recalled the legend which Zefirino had just related.
“I wish, comrades,” said one of them, speaking in a tone of subdued terror, “I wish that this night was well over. From the noises we have heard, and those strange lights that Castrillo has seen, one might fancy some terrible misfortune was to happen to-night! It only wants the scream of an owl from one of the trees around here, and then we may pray for the soul of our poor young mistress.”
At that moment a voice – this time certainly a human voice – proceeding from the direction of the lake, interrupted the speaker. It seemed to arise out of the bosom of the water.
The four domestics started, and sat regarding each other with looks of affright. There could be no doubt of its being a human voice which they had heard, as if intoning a song or chaunt, but uttered in some unknown tongue – such as that in which the ancient Indians used to converse with their divinities.
“Santissima madre!” muttered one of the domestics, “what if it should be the Indian who searches for his heart?”
His companions made no other answer than by nodding their heads to signify that such had been the thought of each.
At this moment another noise reached them. It was a rustling as of leaves, and almost simultaneously they saw the figure of a man making his way through the reeds that grew by the edge of the water.
In the clear light of the moon they could see that the man was completely naked, and that his skin was of a bronze or copper colour – in other words, that he was an Indian.
As he passed through the reeds he parted their stems with his outstretched arms – at the same time keeping his eyes bent downwards as if searching for something.
After reaching the edge of the open water, he plunged in; and, swimming vigorously out into the lake, appeared to direct himself towards the enchanted hill.
“God of heaven!” muttered Zefirino, in an accent of terror. “It is the Indian searching for his heart!”
