“Ah, señor,” interposed Calros himself, “but for you – Lola has just been telling me – but for you I should have had a wound, not only dangerous, but deadly. That cortante (the Jarocho pointed to the blood-stained weapon lying on the floor of the tent) would have pierced my flesh – my heart. I know it; I am sure of it. He meant to have killed me! El demonio!”
“You are speaking of Ramon Rayas?”
“Of him! – pardon, señor Americano. You cannot know anything of him? How learnt you his name?”
“From your own lips, Calros Vergara; and your name from his. From both of you a name prettier than either.”
I glanced towards Lola, who returned my look with a gracious smile.
Calros looked puzzled; as if not very clearly comprehending me.
“You forget,” I said, “that in the conversation which occurred between you and this Ramon Rayas, you repeatedly addressed each other by name; and also mentioned a third individual, whose acquaintance I have since had the pleasure of making – your sister, is she not?”
“Si, ñor capitan. Ña Lola is my sister.”
“She is worthy to be your sister, señor Calros. She who follows a brother to the field of battle – seeks for him among the slain – risking life to alleviate the pain of his wounds – ah! that is a sister for a soldier. Would that I had such an one!”
While speaking I regarded the countenance of the girl. I regarded it with a tender gaze. I fancied that she returned my thought, but so slightly as to have been perceptible only to the keen scrutiny of love. It was only a single glance she gave me; and then the long lashes fell over her eyes, hiding their sweet scintillation.
When I had finished speaking, she turned towards me, but without raising her eyes. Then pronouncing the formal phrase, “Mil gracius señor” she stepped silently towards the entrance of the tent.
Before passing out, she paused a moment to state apologetically the object of her departure – some trifling errand relating to the invalid.
But for this I might have fancied that my flattery had offended, or perhaps the glance of gallantry with which I had regarded her. Even had it been so, I could not then have apologised: for in another instant she was gone.
Story 1, Chapter X
An Implacable Pursuer
I was in the midst of circumstances still unexplained. A wounded man found lying upon the field of battle – a mere youth; in no respect, either in costume, accoutrements, or personal appearance, resembling the thing called a “common soldier,” and yet bearing no insignia to show that he was aught else.
Found with an enemy standing over him, not a national foe, but a countryman – and, as it appeared, an old school-fellow, macheté in hand, threatening to accomplish what the foeman had left incomplete – threatening his life, and only hindered from taking it by the merest accidental intervention!
Near at hand, soon after to appear by his side, a woman – not one of those hideous hags sometimes seen on the morrow of a bloody battle, skulking among the slain, and stooping, vulture-like, over the mangled corpse – but a young girl of sweet voice and lovely aspect; so contrasting with the rude objects around her, so apparently out of place amid such scenes, that instead of a human being, a form of flesh and blood, one might have believed her to be an angel of mercy, that had descended from the sky to soothe the sufferings which men in their frantic fury had caused one another!
And this angel-like creature to prove the sister– and not the sweetheart– of him whose cries had called me from my couch!
Even in this circumstance there was something to cause me surprise. It would not have been the first time I had met the soldier’s sweetheart on the field of battle; but never before had I encountered his sister.
I might have been more surprised at this peculiar encounter, but that on the afternoon of that very day I had been spectator of a scene calculated to explain it. In a field adjoining the hamlet-village of El Plan I had gazed upon four thousand soldiers of Santa Anna’s army made prisoners during the action; and circling among them – not as spectators, but real actors in the affairs of the camp – were at least half this number of women!
Though most stood in a different relationship, I learned that many of these devoted creatures were the sisters – some of them the mothers – of the men who had mingled in the fight!
I could not help contrasting this bi-sexual crowd with the invading army to which I myself appertained; in which some half-dozen hags, under the appellation of sutler’s assistants; a like number performing the métier of the laundress; and one or two virgins of still more questionable calling, formed the whole female camp-following.
After such a scene as that witnessed by the rancheria of El Plan, it could not much astonish me to find the sister of Cairo? Vergara on the field of battle. My astonishment only arose from seeing such a sister!
On being left alone with the Jarocho, I could no longer repress my desire to obtain an explanation of the series of mysteries, that had so suddenly and unexpectedly surrounded me.
My interference in his behalf had furnished me with a sort of right to make the request – even to demand it.
“Ramon Rayas,” I said, as soon as the girl was gone out of hearing – “This Ramon Rayas appears to be no friend of yours?”
“Ah, señor! my bitterest enemy.”
“He is not the enemy of your sister, though! He professes to be her very best friend – at least her lover, which should be the same thing? Is she of that opinion?”
“My sister hates him.”
“Are you sure of that?”
”Ñor capitan, you are a stranger to me; but the service you’ve this night performed makes me feel as if I were talking to an old friend. Excuse the freedom I take. I am only a poor Jarocho – owning nothing but my rancho, a few varas of garden-ground, my horse, my saddle, and my macheté. I was going to say my liberty, but that’s not true: else why am I dragged from my home to fight battles in which I have no interest? You may say what our military oppressors say – it is to fight for my country. Bah! what use in spilling one’s blood for a country that’s not free? It isn’t for that I’ve been brought to Cerro Gordo, and shot down like a dog. It was to fight for a tyrant, not for a country – for El Cojo, and nobody else!”
“You have not been in the battle by your own will, then?”
“Carrambo! nothing of the sort, ñor deconocio! I am here by conscription; and I’ve been shot down by conscription. No matter now. We have no liberty left in Mexico – at least I have none. Still, ñor capitan, there’s one treasure left to me which I prize above everything else before riches, or even liberty. It was left me by my parents – who have long ago gone to a better world.”
“What treasure?” I inquired, seeing that the speaker hesitated to declare it.
“Ña Lola – mia hermanita.” (Lola, my dear sister.)
“I hope there is no danger of your losing her?”
“There is. This very night you must have heard something to tell you that there is.”
“’Tis true I heard something that sounded like a threat; but what need you fear from a man who can have no control over you or your sister? You say she scorns his suit. If that be so, I cannot understand how she is in danger.”
“Ah! ñor deconocio! you know not our country, else you might understand. The man you speak of has power; that is, if he be still alive.”
The speaker glanced significantly towards the blood-stained cutlass.
“Power! How?”
“He is my captain. I am one of a band of guerilleros, raised in our village and neighbourhood. This man, Don