Part 12 (1/2)

I thanked the officer, who had looked and spoken so unlike a revolutionary bandit, and, as soon as I had succeeded in clambering on to my horse, we were once more das.h.i.+ng along the main street at a fast gallop. We drew up before a large, old-looking stone house at the end of the town, standing some distance back from the road, and screened from it by a double row of tall Lombardy poplars. The back of the house was towards the road, and, pa.s.sing round to the front after leaving our horses at the gate, we entered a s.p.a.cious _patio_, or yard. Running along the front of the dwelling was a wide corridor, supported by wooden pillars, painted white, while the whole of the _patio_ was shaded by an immense grape-vine. This was evidently one of the best houses in the place, and, coming directly from the glaring sun and the white, dusty road, the vine-shaded _patio_ and corridor looked delightfully cool and inviting. A gay company of twelve or fifteen people were gathered under the corridor, some sipping _mate_, others sucking grapes; and when we came on the scene a young lady was just finis.h.i.+ng a song she was singing. I at once singled out General Santa Coloma, sitting by the young lady with the guitar--a tall, imposing man, with somewhat irregular features, and a bronzed, weather-beaten face. He was booted and spurred, and over his uniform wore a white silk _poncho_ with purple fringe. I judged from his countenance that he was not a stern or truculent man, as one expects a Caudillo--a leader of men--in the Banda Oriental to be: and, remembering that in a few minutes he would be leaving the house, I was anxious to push forward and state my case to him. The others, however, prevented me, for the General just then happened to be engaged in a vivacious conversation with the young lady sitting by him. When I had once looked attentively at this girl I had eyes for no other face there. The type was Spanish, and I have never seen a more perfect face of the kind; a wealth of blue-black hair shading the low, broad forehead, straight nose, dark, luminous eyes, and crimson, pouting lips. She was tall, perfect in her figure as in her face, and wore a white dress with a deep red China rose on her bosom for only ornament. Standing there unnoticed at the end of the corridor, I gazed with a kind of fascination on her, listening to her light, rippling laughter and lively talk, watching her graceful gestures, her sparkling eyes, and damask cheeks flushed with excitement. Here is a woman, I thought with a sigh--I felt a slight twinge at that disloyal sigh--I could have wors.h.i.+pped. She was pressing the guitar on the General.

”You have promised to sing one song before you go, and I cannot let you off,” she exclaimed.

At length he took the instrument, protesting that his voice was a very bad one; then, sweeping the strings, began that fine old Spanish song of love and war:

”_Cuando suena la trompa guerrera_.”

His voice was uncultivated and somewhat harsh, but there was a good deal of fire and expression in the performance, and it was rapturously applauded.

The moment the song was over he handed her back the guitar, and, starting up hastily, bade the company adieu, and turned to go.

Coming forward, I placed myself before him and began to speak.

”I am pressed for time and cannot listen to you now,” he said quickly, scarcely glancing at me. ”You are a prisoner--wounded, I see; well, when I return--” Suddenly he stopped, caught hold of my wounded arm, and said, ”How did you get hurt? Tell me quickly.”

His sharp, impatient manner, and the sight of twenty people all standing round staring at me, quite upset me, and I could only stammer out a few unintelligible words, feeling that my face was blus.h.i.+ng scarlet to the very roots of my hair.

”Let me tell you, General,” said Alday, advancing.

”No, no,” said the General; ”he shall speak.”

The sight of Alday so eager to give his version of the affair first restored my anger to me, and with that came back the power of speech and the other faculties which I had lost for a moment.

”Sir General, all I have to say is this,” I said; ”I came to this man's house at night, a stranger, lost, on foot, for my horse had been stolen from me. I asked him for shelter in the belief that at least the one virtue of hospitality still survives in this country. He, a.s.sisted by these two men, treacherously disabled me with a blow on my arm and dragged me here a prisoner.”

”My good friend,” said the General, ”I am extremely sorry that you have been hurt through an excess of zeal on the part of one of my people.

But I can scarcely regret this incident, painful as it seems, since it enables me to a.s.sure you that one other virtue besides hospitality still survives in the Banda Oriental--I mean grat.i.tude.”

”I do not understand you,” I said.

”We were companions in misfortune a very short time ago,” he returned.

”Have you forgotten the service you did me then?”

I stared at him, astonished at his words; and while I looked into his face, suddenly that scene at the magistrate's _estancia_, when I went with the key to let my fellow-traveller out of the stocks, and he jumped up and seized my hand, flashed on me. Still I was not quite sure, and half whispered tentatively, ”What, Marcos Marco?”

”Yes,” he returned, smiling, ”that was my name at that moment. My friends,” he continued, resting a hand on my shoulder, and speaking to the others, ”I have met this young Englishman before. A few days ago, when I was on my way hither, I was arrested at Las Cuevas in his company; it was by means of his a.s.sistance that I succeeded in making my escape. He did this good deed, believing at the time that he was helping a poor peasant, and not expecting any return.”

I might have reminded him that only after he had given me a solemn a.s.surance that he did not intend attempting to make his escape, did I consent to get his legs out of the stocks. However, as he thought proper to forget that part of the affair I was not going to recall it to him.

There were many surprised exclamations from the bystanders, and, glancing at that beautiful girl, who was standing near with the others, I found her dark eyes fixed on my face with an expression of tenderness and sympathy in them that sent the blood rus.h.i.+ng to my heart.

”They have hurt you badly, I fear,” said the General, addressing me again. ”To continue your journey now would be imprudent. Let me beg of you to remain where you are, in this house, till your arm is better.”

Then, turning to the young lady, he said, ”Dolores, will you and your mother take charge of my young friend till I return, and see that his injured arm is attended to?”

”My General, you will make us happy by leaving him in our care,” she replied, with a bright smile.

He then introduced me as Don Ricardo simply--for he did not know my surname--to the lovely senorita, Dolores Zelaya; after which he again bade us adieu and hurried away.