The Bandolero Part 22

"That's what he has just stated."

"Poor old gentleman--for he's evidently a gentleman! It's a hard case, no doubt, to have his daughters carried off by brigands--worse than if Indians had got them. Go on, and question him. Let him give the whole story; and then ask him what he wants me to do. I'll wait till you've finished. You can translate it all in a lump."

As the general said this he turned away, and speaking to his aide-de-camp, dispatched the latter on some errand that carried him out of the room.

He himself became engaged upon some charts--no doubt covered with "grand strategic plans:" for although we were in the enemy's capital, it was not certain that our campaign had come to a close, and more fighting might be before us.

Left free to take my own course, I motioned the Mexican to a seat.

He declined it on the score of haste; and standing, I went on with his confession.

"How did it happen? When? Where?" was the series of questions I addressed to him in continuation.

"On the road, senor--as we came from La Puebla."

"From Puebla!" The words startled me into a strange interest.

"Si, senor; but much nearer to this city. It occurred within sight of it, I may say--this side Rio Frio, and not far from the _venta_ of Cordova."

"You were travelling?"

"We were travelling--myself, my two daughters, and our family confessor, the good Padre Cornaga."

"In your carriage?"

"No, senor; in the _diligencia_. We were stopped by a band of _ladrones_, all wearing c.r.a.pe over their faces."

"Well?"

"They ordered us out of the coach. Then to lie flat along the ground-- with a threat, that if we looked up till they gave the word, we should be shot without ceremony."

"You obeyed, I presume?"

"_Carrai, senor_! Why need you ask the question? Not to do so would have been certain death; and, of course, I did as the _ladrones_ commanded. My daughters, I am happy to think, were spared the indignity. But what matters it, since they were carried off?"

"Whither?"

"_A los montes_!" "_Ay de mi_! Holy Virgin, protect them!"

"It is to be hoped she will. But why, may I ask, did you risk travelling in the _diligencia_ between this place and Puebla? You had no escort, I take it; and must have known that the road is unsafe?"

"True, cavallero, we had no escort. It was very imprudent on my part, but I trusted to the counsels of our confessor--_un hombre muy sabio_-- who believed there was no danger. The good _padre_ a.s.sured us the roads were safe--made so by you valiant _Americanos_--that there was not a robber to be encountered between Puebla and the capital. Even then I might not have listened to him, but that I had a good reason for coming hither with my daughters; and as they--neither of them--were at all afraid, but rather inclined to it, I ventured to travel by _diligencia_.

Alas! too easily did I yield consent to their wishes--as I have now reason to know. _Dios de mi alma_! Despoiled of my children! Robbed!

Ruined!"

"I presume you had money upon your person, as well as these other valuables?"

I pointed to the chain and seals hanging from the watch-pocket of the pet.i.tioner. "They left you these! How do you account for it?"

"_Ay Dios, cavallero_! That is the strangest thing of all. I had both money--gold money--and this watch. It is one of considerable value, as you may judge for yourself."

The old gentleman drew out a grand chronometer-like timepiece, with jewelled holes and strong gold cases--evidently worth a couple of hundred dollars.

"They left me this," he continued, "and my money too! But what signifies that, since they have taken away the _muchachas? Pobres ninas_!"

"And they took _only_ them?" I asked, becoming interested in the story of a robber episode so little in keeping with the ordinary experience.

"_Nada mas_."

"Nothing more! And your fellow-pa.s.sengers in the _diligencia_? were they alike sparing of their purses?"

"Fellow-pa.s.sengers! We had none, senor capitan. There were but the four of us, as I've said--all members of my own family: for of course we count the good _padre_ as one of ourselves. True, there were two or three other gentlemen who wished to get in with us at Puebla. They were strangers to me; and, not liking their looks, I chartered the _diligencia_ for myself. I believe they came in another coach after us.

I am sorry, now, we did not have them along with us. It might have been better. It could not have been worse!"

"But the _padre_ of whom you speak--this _hombre muy sabio_--what has become of him?"

"_Carrambo, senor_! That is the strangest thing of all: they kept him too! After a time the robbers permitted my unworthy self to proceed on the journey. But the monk they compelled to remain. What a scandal to our Holy Church! I hope it will cause the excommunication of every _ladron_ in Mexico, and have them devoted to the perdition they so richly deserve. This comes of having changed our government into a republic. It was not so in the old times, when Spain sent us a viceroy.

Then there were no robbers, such as these audacious _salteadores_, that have this day deprived me of my dear daughters! _Ay de mi_! _Ay de mi_!"

"What do you wish the general to do?" I inquired, as the old gentleman became a little tranquillised, after a spasmodic outburst of grief.

"Senor," he replied, "we have all heard of the humanity of the American 'Gefe.' Though he is our country's enemy, we respect him for the compa.s.sion he has shown to a conquered people. Entreat him to take my unhappiness to heart. I know you will do so. Ask him to send out a troop of his valiant dragoons, and recover my lost children. At sight of your brave soldiers the robbers would take to flight, and leave the poor _muchachas_ to be restored to their sorrowing father. O kind capitan; do not deny me! My only hope is in you!"

Although the story of a father thus brutally bereft of his children was of itself calculated to excite commiseration, I should, perhaps, not have felt it very keenly, but for a souvenir it had stirred up within me.

There was nothing at all strange in what he had told me. It was only one of the "Cosas de Mexico," though, perhaps, not among the commonest.

Still it would have given me little more concern than one might feel on reading the account of a lady in London streets--Bloomsbury-square, for instance--having been stopped by a fustian-coated garotter, and relieved of her pocket handkerchief, her card case, and vinaigrette.

Any chagrin the story caused me was but a resuscitation of that already in my mind--the remembrance of my murdered friend, and my antipathy to the whole fraternity of _salteadores_.

Both might have been freshly excited by his narrative, and nothing more; but for the aroused remembrance, of which I have spoken; and which secured him a sympathy I could scarcely explain. Besides, there was something touching in the appeal of the old Don--not the less that it was made with all the elegance and in the diction of an educated gentleman.

I had no desire to resist it. On the contrary, I at once determined to lay his case before the general, and strengthen it with my own influence--so far as that went.

There was not much generosity in my motive. Without knowing it, the Mexican had done me a service. I felt certain I should now have the chance of chastising--if not the same brigands who had a.s.sa.s.sinated my artist acquaintance--some who would have behaved quite as badly, had the opportunity occurred to them.

Before turning to translate what had been communicated to me, I thought it might be as well to make myself acquainted with the patronymic of the pet.i.tioner.

"Your name?" I inquired, looking him full in the face, and with a vague impression that I had somewhere seen him before, "You have not told me that? The general may wish to know it."

"_Eusebio Villa-Senor. Al servicio de V_."

I started as if a shot had struck me. Oh! the memories that rolled up at the mention of that name!

I was carried back to the City of the Angels--to the Calle del Obispo-- to the sorrow from which I had vainly imagined myself to have escaped!

Again was it upon me, full and fell as ever.