AN ADVENTURE WITH BRIGANDS
Let us return now to the little girl we left feigning to sleep soundly
upon a settle in the kitchen. There was certainly something suspicious
about the fierce way in which she eyed Isabelle’s pearl necklace, and
her little bit of clever acting afterwards. As soon as the door had
closed upon the comedians she slowly opened her large, dark eyes,
looked sharply round the great, dim kitchen, and when she found that
nobody was watching her, slipped quietly down from the bench, threw
back her hair with a quick movement of the head peculiar to her, crept
softly to the door, which she cautiously unlatched, and escaped into
the open air without making any more sound than a shadow, then walked
slowly and listlessly away until she had turned a corner and was out of
sight of the house, when she set off running as fleetly as a deer
pursued by the hounds—jumping over the frequent obstacles in her path
with wonderful agility, never stumbling, and flying along, with her
black hair streaming out behind her, like some wild creature of the
desolate pine barrens through which she was skilfully threading her
way.
She reached at last a little knoll, crowned by a group of pine trees
crowded closely together, and dashing up the steep bank with
undiminished speed came to a sudden stop in the very middle of the
grove. Here she stood still for a moment, peering anxiously about her,
and then, putting two fingers in her mouth, gave three shrill whistles,
such as no traveller in those desolate regions can hear without a
shudder. In an instant what seemed to be a heap of pine twigs stirred,
and a man emerging from beneath them rose slowly to his feet at a
little distance from the child.
“Is it you, Chiquita?” he asked. “What news do you bring? You are late.
I had given over expecting you to-night, and gone to sleep.”
The speaker was a dark, fierce-looking fellow of about five and twenty,
with a spare, wiry frame, brilliant black eyes, and very white
teeth—which were long and pointed like the fangs of a young wolf. He
looked as if he might be a brigand, poacher, smuggler, thief, or
assassin—all of which he had been indeed by turns. He was dressed like
a Spanish peasant, and in the red woollen girdle wound several times
around his waist was stuck a formidable knife, called in Spain a
_navaja_. The desperadoes who make use of these terrible weapons
usually display as many red stripes, cut in the steel, upon their long
pointed blades as they have committed murders, and are esteemed by
their companions in proportion to the number indicated by this horrible
record. We do not know exactly how many of these scarlet grooves
adorned Agostino’s _navaja_, but judging by the savage expression of
his countenance, and the fierce glitter of his eye, we may safely
suppose them to have been creditably numerous.
“Well, Chiquita,” said he, laying his hand caressingly on the child’s
head, “and what did you see at Maître Chirriguirri’s inn?”
“A great chariot full of people came there this afternoon,” she
answered. “I saw them carry five large chests into the barn, and they
must have been very heavy, for it took two men to lift them.”
“Hum!” said Agostino, “sometimes travellers put stones into their boxes
to make them seem very weighty and valuable, and deceive the
inn-keepers.”
“But,” interrupted the child eagerly, “the three young ladies had
trimmings of gold on their clothes; and one of them, the prettiest, had
round her neck a row of round, shining, white things, and oh! they were
so beautiful!” and she clasped her hands in an ecstasy of admiration,
her voice trembling with excitement.
“Those must be pearls,” muttered Agostino to himself, “and they will be
worth having—provided they are real—but then they do make such perfect
imitations now-a-days, and even rich people are mean enough to wear
them.”
“My dear Agostino, my good Agostino,” continued Chiquita, in her most
coaxing tones, and without paying any attention to his mutterings,
“will you give me the beautiful, shining things if you kill that lady?”
“They would go so well with your rags and tatters!” he answered
mockingly.
“But I have so often kept watch for you while you slept, and I have run
so far to tell you when any one was coming, no matter how cold it was,
nor how my poor, bare feet ached—and I have never once kept you waiting
for your food, when I used to carry it to you in your hiding places,
even when I was bad with the fever, or my teeth chattering with the
chill, and I so weak that I could hardly drag myself along. Oh
Agostino! do remember what I have done for you, and let me have the
beautiful, shining things.”
“Yes, you have been both brave and faithful, Chiquita, I admit; but we
have not got the wonderful necklace yet, you know. Now, tell me, how
many men were there in the party.”
“Oh! a great many. A big, tall man with a long beard; an old, fat
man—one that looked like a fox—two thin men, and one that looked like a
gentleman, though his clothes were very old and shabby.”
“Six men,” said Agostino, who had counted them on his fingers as she
enumerated them, and his face fell. “Alas! I am the only one left of
our brave band now; when the others were with me we would not have
minded double the number. Have they arms, Chiquita?”
“The gentleman has a sword, and so has the tall, thin man—a very long
one.”
“No pistols or guns?”
“I didn’t see any,” answered Chiquita, “but they might have left them
in the chariot, you know; only Maître Chirriguirri or Mionnette would
have been sure to send you word if they had, and they said nothing to
me about them.”
“Well, we will risk it then, and see what we can do,” said Agostino
resolutely. “Five large, heavy chests, gold ornaments, a pearl
necklace! they certainly are worth trying for.”
The brigand and his little companion then went to a secret place in the
thick pine grove, and set to work industriously, removing a few large
stones, a quantity of branches, and finally the five or six boards they
had concealed, disclosing a large hole that looked like a grave. It was
not very deep, and Agostino, jumping down into it, stooped and lifted
out what seemed to be a dead body—dressed in its usual every-day
clothes—which he flung down upon the ground beside the hole. Chiquita,
who did not appear to be in the least agitated or alarmed by these
mysterious proceedings, seized the figure by the feet, with the utmost
_sang-froid_, and dragged it out of Agostino’s way, with a much greater
degree of strength than could have been expected from such a slight,
delicate little creature. Agostino continued his work of exhumation
until five other bodies lay beside the first one—all neatly arranged in
a row by the little girl, who seemed to actually enjoy her lugubrious
task. It made a strange picture in the weird light of the nearly full
moon, half veiled by driving clouds—the open grave, the bodies lying
side by side under the dark pine trees, and the figures of Agostino and
Chiquita bending over them. But the tragic aspect of the affair soon
changed to a comic one; for when Agostino placed the first of the
bodies in an upright position it became apparent that it was only a
sort of a scarecrow—a rude figure intended to frighten timid
traveller—which being skilfully disposed at the edge of the grove,
partly hidden among the trees, looked at a little distance exactly like
a brigand—gun and all. Indeed it really was dressed in the garments of
one of his old comrades, who had paid the penalty of his crimes on the
gallows. He apostrophized the figure as he arranged it to his liking,
calling it by name, relating some of the brave deeds of its prototype,
and bewailing the sad fate that had left him to ply his nefarious trade
single-handed, with a rude eloquence that was not wanting in pathos.
Returning to where the others lay, he lifted up one which he reminded
Chiquita, represented her father—whose valour and skill he eulogized
warmly—whilst the child devoutly made the sign of the cross as she
muttered a prayer. This one being put in position, he carried the
remaining figures, one by one, to the places marked for them, keeping
up a running commentary upon the ci-devant brigands whose
representatives they were, and calling them each repeatedly by name, as
if there were a certain sad satisfaction in addressing them in the old,
familiar way.
When this queer task was completed, the bandit and his faithful little
companion, taking advantage of a flood of moonlight as the clouds
drifted away before the wind, went and stood on the road—not very far
from their retreat—by which our travellers were to pass, to judge of
the effect of their group of brigands. It was really very formidable,
and had often been of great service to the bold originator of the plan;
for on seeing so numerous a band apparently advancing upon them, most
travellers took to their heels, leaving the coveted spoils behind them
for Agostino to gather up at his leisure.
As they slowly returned to the pine grove he said to the child, who was
clinging to his arm affectionately as she walked beside him, “The first
stage of their journey to-morrow is a long one, and these people will
be sure to start in good season, so that they will reach this spot just
at the right time for us—in the uncertain light of the dawn. In the
darkness of night our brigands yonder could not be seen, and in broad
daylight the ruse would be apparent; so we are in luck, Chiquita! But
now for a nap—we have plenty of time for it, and the creaking of the
wheels will be sure to wake us.” Accordingly Agostino threw himself
down upon a little heap of pine branches and heather, Chiquita crept
close to him, so that the large cloak with which he had covered himself
might protect her also from the chilly night air, and both were soon
sound asleep.
It was so early when our travellers were roused from their slumbers and
told that it was time for them to resume their journey, by the
treacherous landlord of the Blue Sun Inn, that it seemed to them like
the middle of the night; to they arranged themselves as comfortably as
they could in the great, roomy chariot, and despite the loud creaking
and groaning that accompanied its every movement as it went slowly
lumbering along, and the shrill cries of the driver to his oxen, they
were all soon asleep again, excepting de Sigognac, who walked beside
the chariot, lost in thoughts of Isabelle’s beauty, grace and modesty,
and adorable goodness, which seemed better suited to a young lady of
noble birth than a wandering actress. He tormented himself with trying
to devise some means to induce her to reciprocate the ardent love that
filled his heart for her, not for an instant suspecting that it was
already a _fait accompli_, and that the sweet, pure maiden had given
him, unasked, her gentle, faithful heart. The bashful young baron
imagined all sorts of romantic and perilous incidents in which he might
constitute himself her knight and protector, and show such brave and
tender devotion to her as he had read of in the old books of chivalry;
and which might lead up to the avowal he was burning to make, yet dared
not. It never occurred to him that the look in his dark eyes whenever
they rested on her face, the tone of his voice when he addressed her,
the deep sighs he vainly sought to stifle, and the tender, eager care
with which he strove to anticipate her every wish had spoken for him,
as plainly as any words could do; and that, though he had not dared to
breathe one syllable of his passionate love to Isabelle, she knew it,
rejoiced in it, and was proud of it, and that it filled her with a
delicious, rapturous joy, such as she had never felt before, or even
dreamed of.
The morning began to break—the narrow band of pale light on the
horizon, which was growing rapidly brighter and assuming a rosy tinge,
was reflected here and there in the little pools of water that shone
like bits of a broken mirror scattered over the ground—distant sounds
were heard, and columns of smoke rising into the still morning air
proved that even in this desolate, God-forsaken part of the Landes
there were human habitations to be found. Stalking along with giant
strides on the highest part of some rising ground not very far off was
a grotesque figure, clearly defined against the bright eastern sky,
which would have been a puzzle to a stranger, but was a familiar sight
to de Sigognac—a shepherd mounted on his high stilts, such as are to be
met with everywhere throughout the Landes.
But the young baron was too much absorbed in his own engrossing
thoughts to take any note of his surroundings as he kept pace with the
slow-moving chariot, until his eye was caught and his attention fixed
by a strange little point of light, glittering among the sombre pines
that formed the dense grove where we left Agostino and Chiquita
sleeping. He wondered what it could be—certainly not a glow-worm, the
season for them was past long ago—and he watched it as he advanced
towards it with a vague feeling of uneasiness. Approaching nearer he
caught a glimpse of the singular group of figures lurking among the
trees, and at first feared an ambuscade; but finding that they
continued perfectly motionless he concluded that he must have been
mistaken, and that they were only old stumps after all; so he forbore
to arouse the comedians, as he had for a moment thought of doing.
A few steps farther and suddenly a loud report was heard from the
grove, a bullet sped through the air, and struck the oxen’s
yoke—happily without doing any damage, further than causing the usually
quiet, steady-going beasts to swerve violently to one side—when
fortunately a considerable heap of sand prevented the chariot’s being
overturned into the ditch beside the road. The sharp report and violent
shock startled the sleeping travellers in the chariot, and the younger
women shrieked wildly in their terror, whilst the duenna, who had met
with such adventures before, slipped the few gold pieces she had in her
purse into her shoe. Beside the chariot, from which the actors were
struggling to extricate themselves, stood Agostino—his cloak wrapped
around his left arm and the formidable _navaja_ in his right hand-and
cried in a voice of thunder, “Your money or your lives! Resistance is
useless! At the first sign of it my band will fire upon you.”
Whilst the bandit was shouting out these terrible words, de Sigognac
had quietly drawn his sword, and as he finished attacked him furiously.
Agostino skilfully parried his thrusts, with the cloak on his left arm,
which so disposed made an excellent shield, and watched his opportunity
to give a murderous stab with his _navaja_, which indeed he almost
succeeded in doing; a quick spring to one side alone saved the baron
from a wound which must have been fatal, as the brigand threw the knife
at him with tremendous force, and it flew through the air and fell
ringing upon the ground at a marvellous distance, instead of piercing
de Sigognac’s heart. His antagonist turned pale, for he was quite
defenceless, having depended entirely upon his trusty _navaja_, which
had never failed him before, and he very well knew that his vaunted
band could not come to his rescue. However, he shouted to them to fire,
counting upon the sudden terror that command would inspire to deliver
him from his dilemma; and, indeed, the comedians, expecting a
broadside, did take refuge behind the chariot, whilst even our brave
hero involuntarily bent his head a little, to avoid the shower of
bullets.
Meantime Chiquita, who had breathlessly watched all that passed from
her hiding place among some furze bushes close at hand, when she saw
her friend in peril, crept softly forth, glided along on the ground
like a snake until she reached the knife, lying unnoticed where it had
fallen, and, seizing it, in one instant had restored it to Agostino,
She looked like a little fury as she did so, and if her strength had
been equal to her ferocity she would have been a formidable foe.
Agostino again aimed his _navaja_ at the baron, who was at that moment
off his guard, and would not perhaps have escaped the deadly weapon a
second time if it had been hurled at him from that skilful hand, but
that a grasp of iron fastened upon the desperado’s wrist, just in time
to defeat his purpose. He strove in vain to extricate his right arm
from the powerful grip that held it like a vice—struggling violently,
and writhing with the pain it caused him—but he dared not turn upon
this new assailant, who was behind him, because de Sigognac would have
surely scored his back for him; and he was forced to continue parrying
his thrusts with his left arm, still protected by the ample cloak
firmly wound around it. He soon discovered that he could not possibly
free his right hand, and the agony became so great that his fingers
could no longer keep their grasp of the knife, which fell a second time
to the ground.
It was the tyrant who had come to de Sigognac’s rescue, and now
suddenly roared out in his stentorian voice, “What the deuce is nipping
me? Is it a viper? I felt two sharp fangs meet in the calf of my leg.”
It was Chiquita, who was biting his leg like a dog, in the vain hope of
making him turn round and loose his hold upon Agostino; but the tyrant
shook her off with a quick movement, that sent her rolling in the dust
at some distance, without relinquishing his captive, whilst Matamore
dashed forward and picked up the _navaja_, which he shut together and
put into his pocket.
Whilst this scene was enacting the sun had risen, and poured a flood of
radiance upon the earth in which the sham brigands lost much of their
life-like effect. “Ha, ha!” laughed the peasant, “it would appear that
those gentlemen’s guns take a long time to go off; they must be wet
with dew. But whatever may be the matter with them they are miserable
cowards, to stand still there at a safe distance and leave their chief
to do all the fighting by himself.”
“There is a good reason for that,” answered Matamore, as he climbed up
the steep bank to them, “these are nothing but scarecrows.” And with
six vigorous kicks he sent the six absurd figures rolling in every
direction, making the most comical gestures as they fell.
“You may safely alight now, ladies,” said the baron, reassuringly, to
the trembling actresses, “there’s nothing more to fear; it was only a
sham battle after all.”
In despair at his overwhelming defeat, Agostino hung his head
mournfully, and stood like a statue of grief, dreading lest worse still
should befall him, if the comedians, who were in too great force for
him to attempt to struggle any longer against them, decided to take him
on to the next town and deliver him over to the jailor to be locked up,
as indeed he richly deserved. His faithful little friend, Chiquita,
stood motionless at his side, as downcast as himself. But the farce of
the false brigands so tickled the fancy of the players that it seemed
as if they never would have done laughing over it, and they were
evidently inclined to deal leniently with the ingenious rascal who had
devised it. The tyrant, who had loosened, but not quitted, his hold
upon the bandit, assumed his most tragic air and voice, and said to
him, “You have frightened these ladies almost to death, you scoundrel,
and you richly deserve to be strung up for it; but if, as I believe,
they will consent to pardon you—for they are very kind and good—-I will
not take you to the lock-up. I confess that I do not care to furnish a
subject for the gallows. Besides, your stratagem is really very
ingenious and amusing—a capital farce to play at the expense of
cowardly travellers—who have doubtless paid you well for the
entertainment, eh? As an actor, I appreciate the joke, and your
ingenuity inclines me to be indulgent. You are not simply and brutally
a robber, and it would certainly be a pity to cut short such a fine
career.”
“Alas!” answered Agostino mournfully, “no other career is open to me,
and I am more to be pitied than you suppose. I am the only one left of
a band formerly as complete as yours; the executioner has deprived me
of my brave comrades one by one, and now I am obliged to carry on my
operations entirely alone—dressing up my scarecrows, as your friend
calls them, and assuming different voices to make believe that I am
supported by a numerous company. Ah! mine is a sad fate; and then my
road is such a poor one—so few travellers come this way—and I have not
the means to purchase a better one. Every good road is owned by a band
of brigands, you know. I wish that I could get some honest work to do,
but that is hopeless; who would employ such a looking fellow as I am?
all in rags and tatters, worse than the poorest beggar. I must surely
have been born under an unlucky star. And now this attempt has failed,
from which I hoped to get enough to keep us for two months, and buy a
decent cloak for poor Chiquita besides; she needs it badly enough, poor
thing! Yesterday I had nothing to eat, and I had to tighten my belt to
sustain my empty stomach. Your unexpected resistance has taken the very
bread out of my mouth; and since you would not let me rob you, at least
be generous and give me something.”
“To be sure,” said the tyrant, who was greatly amused; “as we have
prevented your successfully plying your trade we certainly do owe you
an indemnity. Here, take these two _pistoles_ to drink our healths
with.”
Isabelle meantime sought in the chariot for a piece of new woollen
stuff she happened to have with her, which was soft and warm, and gave
it to Chiquita, who exclaimed, “Oh! but it is the necklace of shining
white things that I want.”
Kind Isabelle immediately unclasped it, and then fastened it round the
slender neck of the child, who was so overwhelmed with delight that she
could not speak. She silently rolled the smooth, white beads between
her little brown fingers in a sort of mute ecstasy for a few moments,
then suddenly raising her head and tossing back her thick black hair,
she fixed her sparkling eyes on Isabelle, and said in a low, earnest
voice, “Oh! you are very, very good, and I will never, never kill you.”
Then she ran swiftly back to the pine grove, clambered up the steep
bank, and sat down to admire and enjoy her treasure. As to Agostino,
after making his best bow, and thanking the tyrant for his really
princely munificence, he picked up his prostrate comrades, and carried
them back to be buried again until their services should be needed on
some, he hoped, more auspicious occasion.
The driver, who had deserted his oxen and run to hide himself among the
furze bushes at the beginning of the affray, returned to his post when
he saw that all danger was over, and the chariot once more started upon
its way—the worthy duenna having taken her doubloons out of her shoes
and restored them to her purse, which was then deposited in the depths
of a mysterious pocket.
“You behaved like a real hero of romance,” Isabelle said in an
undertone to de Sigognac, “and I feel that under your protection we can
travel securely; how bravely you attacked that bandit single-handedly
when you had every reason to believe that he was supported by an armed
band.”
“You overestimate my little exploit,” the baron replied modestly,
“there was no danger worth mentioning,” then sinking his voice to a
whisper, “but to protect you I would meet and conquer giants, put to
flight a whole host of Saracens, attack and destroy dragons and horrid
monsters; I would force my way through enchanted forests filled with
snares and perils, such as we read of, and even descend into hell
itself, like Æneas of old. In your dear service the most difficult
feats would be easy; your beautiful eyes inspire me with indomitable
courage, and your sweet presence, or even the bare thought of you,
seems to endue me with a super-human strength.”
This was, perhaps, rather exaggerated, but perfectly sincere, and
Isabelle did not doubt for a moment that de Sigognac would be able to
accomplish fabulous deeds of prowess in her honour and for her sake;
and she was not so very far wrong, for he was becoming hourly more
passionately enamoured of her, and ardent young lovers are capable of
prodigies of valour, inspired by the fair objects of their adoration.
Serafina, who had overheard some of the baron’s impassioned words,
could not repress a scornful smile; so many women are apt to find the
fervid protestations of lovers, when addressed to others than
themselves, supremely ridiculous, yet they joyfully receive the very
same protestations, without detecting anything in the least absurd in
them when whispered into their own ears. For a moment she was tempted
to try the power of her many charms, which she believed to be
irresistible, with the young baron, and win him away from Isabelle; but
this idea was speedily rejected, for Serafina held beauty to be a
precious gem that should be richly set in gold—the gem was hers, but
the golden setting was lamentably wanting, and poor de Sigognac could
not possibly furnish it. So the accomplished coquette decided not to
interfere with this newly-born love affair, which was “all very well
for a simple-minded young girl like Isabelle,” she said to herself,
with a disdainful smile and toss of the head.
Profound silence had fallen upon the party after the late excitement,
and some of them were even growing sleepy again, when several hours
later the driver suddenly called out, “There is the Château de
Bruyères.”