"_Most Excellent Sire!--The young girl has disappeared from the camp--
assuredly by the command of her brother. The `putita' (a word not to be
translated) listened to the proposal of your Excellency with much show
of complaisance. Don't have any disquietude about the result. I am on
the alert. In good time she shall sleep in the tent and arms of your
Excellency, or my name isn't_.
"Ramon Ratas."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Whatever of sleep was left in my body or brain, was at once dispelled by
the reading of this disgusting epistle. I had not the slightest doubt
as to whom it referred. "La nina" could be no other than Dolores
Vergara.
There might be other ninas following the Mexican army who had brothers,
but the communication of Rayas pointed to one who had lately disappeared
from the camp--a circumstance identifying her with the sister of Calros.
Besides, what other was likely to have tempted the cupidity of the
tyrant--his lust (for it was clearly such a passion), which his pander
had promised to gratify?
I was less surprised by the contents of the epistle than by the
circumstances under which I had found it, and the peculiar coincidences
that rendered its contents so easy of interpretation.
The character of Santa Anna--well known to me as to others--was in exact
keeping with what might be inferred from the communication of his
correspondent. Lascivious to an extreme degree, his amatory intrigues
have been as numerous as his political machinations. At least half the
leisure of his life has been devoted to dallying with the Delilahs of
his land, of whom there is no scarcity.
Even the loss of his leg--shot off at the siege of Vera Cruz by
Joinville--failed to cure him of his erotic propensities. At the time
of which I speak--nearly ten years after having parted with his limb--he
was still the same gay wooer of women; though now, in his mature age,
occasionally standing in need of the _alcohuete_, as well as the
exercise of other vile influences.
Among these last, the bestowal of military commissions was well known to
be one of his most common means of corruption; and many a young
_alferes_ owed his _inglorious epaulette_--many a captain his command--
to the questionable merit of possessing a pretty sister.
Such was Don Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, Dictator of Mexico, and
"generalissimo" of her armies.
With this knowledge of his character, I felt but little surprised at the
contents of that "confidential" epistle. Nor was my contempt for him to
whom it was directed so strong as it might have been, had my conscience
been clear. In the impurity of my own thoughts, I was neither qualified
to judge, nor privileged to condemn, the iniquities of another.
I could scarcely conceive how any one could look upon Lola Vergara
without being inspired with a wish to become either her husband or her
lover; and as _El Cojo_--already _wived_--could not be the former, it
was but natural for such a man, placed in his all-commanding position,
to indulge in the hopeful anticipation of being accepted as the latter.
With shame I confess it, I felt but little surprise at the discovery of
this intrigue; and if I felt contempt, it was less for the sin itself,
than for the way in which it was intended to be committed. With this
sort of despite I was sufficiently inspired, extending equally to the
patron and the panderer.
"Cowardly wretches!" I involuntarily exclaimed, crushing the piece of
paper between my fingers; "both villains alike! And the brute Rayas!
who talked of loving--of becoming _himself_ her husband! Ha! No doubt
would he do so: to obtain a better price for his precious commodity.
Double dastard! It is difficult to believe in such infamy!"
For some time I strode backward and forward across the floor of the
tent, muttering such speeches, and giving way to such thoughts.
Mingling with my disgust for the tyrant and his pimp, there was another
feeling that caused me acute pain. Had the wretch any right to apply
that vile epithet "putita?" Was there any truth in his statement that
she had listened _with complaisance_ to the proposals of V.E.--proposals
of the nature of which there could be no misconception?
Notwithstanding the source from which the insinuation came, I will not
deny that, at the moment it caused me suspicions, and something more--
something very like _chagrin_.
It was less the knowledge of Lola's character--of which I could know but
little--than that of her countrywomen, that inspired me with this
suspicion. Moreover, it was difficult to conceive how one so lovely and
loveable could have lived to her age under the burning skies of the
_tierra caliente_, without having loved.
That she _had been loved_, there could be little doubt. As little, that
her lovers were legion. Could it be doubted that of some one of them
she had reciprocated the passion? After the age of twelve the heart of
a Jarocha rarely remains unimpressed. Lola appeared to be sixteen.
The disquietude of my thoughts admonished me that I too loved this
Mexican maiden. The very pain of my suspicions told me I could not help
loving her, _even if assured that they were true_!
My passion, if impure, was also powerful. The imputation cast upon its
object in the letter of the _alcohuete_, instead of stifling, served
only to fan it to a fiercer flame; and under the impression that the
slanderer might have spoken the truth, I only blamed myself for having
behaved towards the beautiful Jarocha with a respect that might, after
all, in her eyes have seemed superfluous.
I was not so wicked as to give way to these gross ideas for any
continued length of time; and as my memory dwelt upon her fair face; on
her eyes of angelic expression; on the modest gracefulness of demeanour
that marked her every movement; above all, on the devoted fondness of
which her brother was the object, I could not think that Lola Vergara
was otherwise than what she seemed--an angel of innocence; and that her
brutal asperser was exactly what _he_ seemed--a demon of the darkest
dye.
Under the influence of these less degrading reflections, my spirits
became calmer; and I could ponder with less bitterness upon the contents
of that infamous epistle.
Infamy it revealed of the deepest character, on the part of both writer
and recipient, but nothing to compromise the character of the Jarocha:
for the insinuation of Rayas might have been made either to flatter the
vanity, or soothe the impatience, of his patron; and in all likelihood
one or the other--perhaps both--was its true purpose.
One fact, made evident by the communication, gave me disquietude of
another kind. Whether the heart of Lola Vergara was still safe, certain
it was that her _honour_ was in danger. The brutal ruffian who would
have murdered her brother, his old school-mate, on the field of battle,
was not likely to stick at trifles of any kind, as I knew neither would
he who was to reward him for the procuration. The assassin in intent,
if not in reality, was not likely to be deterred by an abduction.
I could not help feeling serious apprehension for the safety of the
girl, having only her invalid brother, a mere youth, to protect her.
With the robber at large, and the patron still retaining a certain
degree of power, the life of the brother was scarcely more secure than
the chastity of the sister.
It was true that the arch-contriver, now a fugitive from the field, was
likely for some time to have his hands full of other and very different
work, than that of effecting the ruin of a peasant girl. But the
subordinate would still be upon the spot; and even without the cheering
presence of his employer, or the prospect of speedy reward, he might
have views of his own, equally affecting the welfare of Lola Vergara.
I was so much disquieted by these apprehensions, that I had ordered my
horse, with the design of galloping down the road, if possible
overtaking the cortege which accompanied the invalid, and making known
both to him and to his sister the scheme I had so unexpectedly
discovered!
They had been gone some four or five hours; but, from the slow progress
a stretcher must make, they would not likely have been more than as many
miles beyond the bridge of El Plan. There could be no difficulty in
overtaking them.
After all, what good could come of it? I might put them on their guard;
but surely they had received warning already--sufficient to stimulate
them to the utmost caution?
Moreover, the Jarocho would be in his own village, surrounded by his
friends--I saw he had friends. What danger, then, either to himself or
to his sister?
My apprehensions were unreasonable; and perhaps my horse had been
saddled as much from another motive which I need not declare.
_She_ might comprehend it, and to my prejudice--perhaps deem me
importunate? She must have known all that I could tell her--perhaps
more! Ah! true. She might not thank me for my interference.
As I stood hesitating between these two conflicting emotions, I was
admonished that the hour was nigh, at which we had been ordered to
strike tents, and march to join the head-quarters of the American army,
by this time established in the town of Jalapa.
My troopers were forming on the field, preparatory to taking the route;
and this among other motives decided my course of action.
Just as the sun had reached his meridian height, the bugler sounded the
"_forward_!" and riding at the head of my little troop, I bade adieu to
Cerro Gordo, now sacred to the god of war, but in my mind to remain
hallowed as the spot upon which I had worshipped a far more agreeable
divinity.
Story 1, Chapter XV.