JOHN DAVIS.
The Mexican flotilla, impelled by a favourable breeze, accomplished the
passage from the island to the mainland in a comparatively very brief
period. The brig and corvette, anchored under the battery of the fort,
made no move to disturb the General; and it was evident that the Texans
did not suspect the events taking place at this moment, but awaited the
return of their Envoy ere making any demonstration.
Colonel Melendez had seized the few boats capable of standing out to sea
in Galveston harbour, so that the magistrates could not, had they wished
it, have sent a boat to the Texans to inform them of the precipitate
departure of the Mexican garrison. The General's resolution had been
formed so suddenly, and executed with such rapidity, that the partisans
of the revolution in the town, and who were ignorant of the cause of
that retreat, felt singularly embarrassed by the liberty so singularly
granted them, and did not know what arrangements to make, or how to
enter into communication with their friends, whose position they were
ignorant of. Only one man could have enlightened them, and he was John
Davis. But General Rubio, foreseeing what would have inevitably happened
had he left the ex-slave dealer behind him, had been very careful to
carry him off with him.
The landing of the troops was effected under the most favourable
conditions. The point they steered for was in the hands of the Mexicans,
who had a strong detachment there, so that the army got ashore without
arousing the slightest suspicion, or any attempt to prevent the
landing. The General's first care, so soon as he reached the mainland,
was to send off spies in every direction, in order to discover, were it
possible, the enemy's plans, and whether they were preparing to make a
forward movement.
The boats which had been used to convey the troops were, till further
orders, drawn up on the beach, through fear lest the insurgents might
make use of them. Two schooners, however, on each of which two guns were
put, received orders to cruise in the bay, and pick up all boats the
inhabitants of Galveston might attempt to send off to the Chief of the
Texan army.
The banks of the Rio Trinidad are charming and deliciously diversified,
bordered by rushes and reeds, and covered with mangroves, amid which
sport thousands of flamingoes, cranes, herons, and wild ducks, which
cackle noisily as they swim about in tranquil and transparent waters.
About four miles from the sea, the banks rise gradually with insensible
undulations, and form meadows covered with a tall and tufted grass, on
which grow gigantic mahogany trees with their oblong leaves, and Peru
trees with their red fruit, and magnolias, whose large white flowers
shed an intoxicating perfume. All these trees, fastened together by
lianas which envelop them in their inextricable network, serve as a
retreat for a population of red and grey squirrels, that may be seen
perpetually leaping from branch to branch, and of cardinal and mocking
birds. The centzontle, the exquisite Mexican nightingale, so soon as
night arrives, causes this picturesque solitude to re-echo with its
gentle strains.
On the side of a hill that descends in a gentle slope to the river,
glisten the white walls of some twenty cottages, with their flat roofs
and green shutters, hanging in clusters from the scarped side of the
hill, and hidden like timorous birds amid the foliage. These few
cottages, built so far from the noise of the world, constitute the
rancho of San Isidro.
Unfortunately for the inhabitants of this obscure nook, General Rubio,
who felt the necessity of choosing for the site of his camp a strong
strategic position, came suddenly to trouble their peace, and recall
them rather roughly to the affairs of this world. In fact, from this
species of eagles' nests, nothing was easier than for the General to
send his columns in all directions. The Mexican army, therefore, marched
straight on the rancho of San Isidro, where it arrived about midday. At
the unexpected appearance of the troops, the inhabitants were so
terrified that, hastily loading themselves with their most valuable
articles, they left their houses and fled to hide themselves in the
woods.
Whatever efforts the General might make to prevent them, or bring them
back to their houses, the poor Indians offered a deaf ear to all, and
were resolved not to remain in the vicinity of the troops. The Mexicans
therefore remained sole possessors of the rancho, and at once installed
themselves in their peaceful conquest, whose appearance was completely
changed within a few hours. Tall trees, flowers, and lianas, nothing was
respected. Enormous masses of wood lay that same evening on the ground,
which they had so long protected with their beneficent shadow. The very
birds were constrained to quit their pleasant retreat, to seek a shelter
in the neighbouring forest.
When all the approaches to the forest had been cleared for a radius of
about twelve hundred yards, the General had the place surrounded by
powerful barricades, which transformed the peaceful village into a
fortress almost impregnable, with the weak resources the insurgents
possessed. The trees on the interior of the rancho were alone left
standing, not for the purpose of affording, but to conceal from the
enemy the strength of the corps encamped at this spot.
The house of the Indian Alcade, somewhat larger and more comfortably
built than the rest, was selected by the General as headquarters. This
house stood in the centre of the pueblo; from its azotea the country
could be surveyed for a great distance, and no movement in Galveston
roads escaped notice. The Texans could not stir without being
immediately discovered and signaled by the sentry, whom the General was
careful to place in this improvised observatory.
At sunset all the preliminary preparations were finished, and the rancho
rendered safe against a coup de main. About seven in the evening the
General, after listening to the report of the spies, was sitting in
front of the house in the shadow of a magnificent magnolia, whose
graceful branches crossed above his head. He was smoking a papillo,
while conversing with several of his officers, when an aide-de-camp came
up and told him that the person who had come to him that morning from
the rebels, earnestly requested the favour of a few minutes'
conversation. The General gave an angry start, and was about to refuse,
when Colonel Melendez interposed, representing to the General that he
could not do so without breaking his word, which he had himself pledged
in the morning.
"As it is so," the General said, "let him come."
"Why," the Colonel continued, "refuse to listen to the propositions this
man is authorized to offer you?"
"What good is it at this moment? There is always a time to do so if
circumstances compel it. Now our situation is excellent; we have not to
accept proposals, but, on the contrary, are in a position to impose
those that may suit us."
These words were uttered in a tone that compelled the Colonel to
silence; he bowed respectfully, and withdrew softly from the circle of
officers. At the same moment John Davis arrived, led by the
aide-de-camp. The American's face was gloomy and frowning; he saluted
the General by raising his hand to his hat, but did not remove it; then
he drew himself up haughtily and crossed his hands on his chest. The
General regarded him for a moment with repressed curiosity.
"What do you want?" he asked him.
"The fulfilment of your promise," Davis replied drily.
"I do not understand you."
"What do you say? When you made me a prisoner this morning, in contempt
of the military code and the laws of nations, did you not tell me that
so soon as we reached the mainland, the liberty you had deprived me of
by an unworthy abuse of strength, would be immediately restored to me?"
"I did say so," the General answered meekly.
"Well, I demand the fulfilment of that promise; I ought to have left
your camp long ago."
"Did you not tell me that you were deputed to me by the rebel army, in
order to submit certain propositions?"
"Yes, but you refused to hear me."
"Because the moment was not favourable for such a communication.
Imperious duties prevented me then giving your words all the attention
that they doubtless deserve."
"Well, and now?"
"Now I am ready to listen to you."
The American looked at the officers that surrounded him.
"Before all these persons?" he asked.
"Why not? These Caballeros belong to the staff of my army, they are as
interested as I am in this interview."
"Perhaps so: still, I would observe, General, that it would be better
for our discussion to be private."
"I am the sole judge, Señor, of the propriety of my actions. If it
please you to be silent, be so; if not, speak, I am listening."
"There is one thing I wish to settle first."
"What is it?"
"Do you regard me as an envoy, or merely as your prisoner?"
"Why this question, whose purport I do not understand?"
"Pardon me, General," he said with an ironical smile, "but you
understand me perfectly well, and so do these Caballeros--if a prisoner,
you have the right to force silence upon me; as a deputy, on the other
hand, I enjoy certain immunities, under, the protection of which I can
speak frankly and clearly, and no one can bid me be silent, so long as I
do not go beyond the limits of my mission. That is the reason why I wish
first to settle my position with you."
"Your position has not changed to my knowledge. You are an envoy of
rebels."
"Oh, you recognise it now?"
"I always did so."
"Why did you make me a prisoner, then?"
"You are shifting the question. I explained to you a moment ago, for
what reason I was, to my great regret, compelled to defer our interview
till a more favourable moment, that is all."
"Very good, I am willing to admit it. Be kind enough, General, to read
this letter," he added, as he drew from his pocket a large envelope,
which, at a sign from the General, he handed to him.
Night had fallen some time before, and two soldiers brought up torches
of acote-wood, which one of the aides-de-camp lit. The General opened
the letter and read it attentively, by the ruddy light of the torches.
When he had finished reading, he folded up the letter again pensively,
and thrust it into the breast of his uniform. There was a moment's
silence, which the General at last broke.
"Who is the man who gave you this letter?"
"Did you not read his signature?"
"He may have employed a go-between."
"With me, that is not necessary."
"Then, he is here?"
"I have not to tell you who sent me, but merely discuss with you the
proposals contained in the letter."
The General gave a passionate start.
"Reply, Señor, to the questions I do you the honour of asking you," he
said, "if you do not wish to have reasons for repenting."
"What is the use of threatening me, General? You will learn nothing from
me," he answered firmly.
"As it is so, listen to me attentively, and carefully weigh your answer,
before opening your mouth to give it."
"Speak, General."
"This moment,--you understand, this moment, Señor, you will confess to
me, where the man is who gave you this letter, if not--"
"Well?" the American nominally interrupted.
"Within ten minutes you will be hanging from a branch of that tree,
close to you."
Davis gave him a disdainful glance.
"On my soul," he said ironically, "you Mexicans have a strange way of
treating envoys."
"I do not recognise the right of a scoundrel, who is outlawed for his
crimes, and whose head is justly forfeited, to send me envoys, and treat
with me on an equal footing."
"The man whom you seek in vain to brand, General, is a man of heart, as
you know better than anybody else. But gratitude is as offensive to you
as it is to all haughty minds, and you cannot forgive the person to whom
we allude, for having saved, not only your life, but also your honour."
John Davis might have gone on speaking much longer, for the General, who
was as pale as a corpse, and whose features were contracted by a
terrible emotion he sought in vain to master, seemed incapable of
uttering a syllable. Colonel Melendez had quietly approached the circle.
For some minutes he had listened to the words the speakers interchanged,
with gradually augmenting passion; judging it necessary, therefore, to
interpose ere matters had reached such a point as rendered any hope of
conciliation impossible, he said to John Davis, as he laid his hand on
his shoulder:
"Silence! You are under the lion's claw, take care that it does not rend
you."
"Under the tiger's claw you mean, Colonel Melendez," he exclaimed, with
much animation. "What! Shall I listen calmly to an insult offered the
noblest heart, the greatest man, the most devoted and sincere patriot,
and not attempt to defend him and confound his calumniator? Come,
Colonel, that would be cowardice, and you know me well enough to feel
assured that no consideration of personal safety would force me to do
so."
"Enough," the General interrupted him, in a loud voice, "that man is
right; under the influence of painful reminiscences I uttered words that
I sincerely regret. I should wish them forgotten."
John Davis bowed courteously.
"General," he said, respectfully, "I thank you for this retraction; I
expected nothing less from your sense of honour."
The General made no answer; he walked rapidly up and down, suffering
from a violent agitation.
The officers, astonished at this strange scene, which they did not at
all understand, looked restlessly at each other, though not venturing to
express their surprise otherwise. The General walked up to John Davis
and stopped in front of him.
"Master Davis," he said to him, in a harsh and snapping voice, "you are
a stout-hearted and rough-spoken man. Enough of this; return to the man
who sent you, and tell him this: 'General Don José Maria Rubio will not
consent to enter into any relations with you; he hates you personally,
and only wishes to meet you sword in hand. No political question will be
discussed between you and him until you have consented to give him the
satisfaction he demands.' Engrave these words well in your memory,
Señor, in order to repeat them exactly to the said person."
"I will repeat them exactly."
"Very good. Now, begone, we have nothing more to say to each other.
Colonel Melendez, be good enough to give this Caballero a horse, and
accompany him to the outposts."
"One word more, General."
"Speak."
"In what way shall I bring you the person's answer?"
"Bring it yourself, if you are not afraid to enter my camp a second
time."
"You are well aware that I fear nothing, General. I will bring you the
answer."
"I wish it; good-bye."
"Farewell," the American answered.
And bowing to the company, he withdrew, accompanied by the Colonel.
"You played a dangerous game," the latter said, when they had gone a few
steps; "the General might very easily have had you hung."
The American shrugged his shoulders.
"He would not have dared," he said, disdainfully.
"Oh, oh! and why not, if you please?"
"How does that concern you, Colonel; am I not free?"
"You are."
"That must be sufficient for you, and prove to you that I am not
mistaken."
The Colonel led the American to his quarters, and asked him to walk in
for a moment, while a horse was being got ready.
"Master Davis," he said to him, "be good enough to select from those
weapons, whose excellence I guarantee, such as best suit you."
"Why so?" he remarked.
"Confound it! you are going to travel by night; you do not know whom you
may meet. I fancy that under such circumstances it is prudent to take
certain precautions."
The two men exchanged a glance; they understood each other.
"That is true," the American said, carelessly; "now that I come to think
of it, the roads are not safe. As you permit me, I will take these
pistols, this rifle, machete, and knife."
"As you please, but pray take some ammunition as well; without that your
firearms would be of no service."
"By Jove! Colonel, you think of everything, you are really an excellent
fellow," he added, while carelessly loading his rifle and pistols, and
fastening to his belt a powder flask and bullet pouch.
"You overwhelm me, Master Davis; I am only doing now what you would do
in my place."
"Agreed. But you display a graciousness which confuses me."
"A truce, if you please, to further compliments. Here is your horse,
which my assistant is bringing up."
"But he is leading a second; do you intend to accompany me beyond the
advanced posts?"
"Oh, only for a few yards, if my company does not seem to you too
wearisome."
"Oh, Colonel, I shall always be delighted to have you for a companion."
All these remarks were made with an accent Of excessive courtesy, in
which, however, could be traced an almost imperceptible tinge of fun and
biting raillery. The two men left the house and mounted their horses.
The night was limpid and clear; millions of stars sparkled in the sky,
which seemed studded with diamonds; the moon spread afar its white and
fantastic light; the mysterious night breeze bowed the tufted crests of
the trees, and softly rippled the silvery waters of the Rio Trinidad, as
they died away amorously on the bank.
The two men walked side by side, passing without being challenged by the
sentinels, who, at a signal from the Colonel, respectfully stepped back.
They soon descended the hill, passed the main guard, and found
themselves in the open country. Each of them yielded to the voluptuous
calmness of nature, and seemed no longer to be thinking of his comrade.
They proceeded thus for more than an hour, and reached a spot where two
paths, in crossing, formed a species of fork, in the centre of which
stood a cross of evil omen, probably erected in memory of a murder
formerly committed at this solitary spot.
As if by common accord, the two horses stopped and thrust out their
heads, while laying back their ears and snorting loudly. Suddenly
aroused from their reveries and recalled to actual life, the two riders
drew themselves up in the saddle, and bent a scrutinising glance around.
No human sound disturbed the silence; all around was calm and deserted
as in the first days of creation.
"Do you intend, my dear Colonel," the American asked, "to honour me with
your charming society any longer?"
"No," the young man answered, bluntly; "I shall stop here."
"Ah!" John Davis continued, with feigned disappointment, "shall we part
already?"
"Oh no," the Colonel answered, "not yet."
"In spite of the extreme pleasure I should feel in remaining longer in
your company, I am obliged to continue my journey."
"Oh, you will surely grant me a few moments, Master Davis?" the other
said, with an emphasis on each syllable.
"Well, a few moments, but no more; for I have a long distance to go, and
whatever pleasure I feel in conversing with you--"
"You alone," the Colonel interrupted him, "shall decide the time we
shall remain together."
"It is impossible to display greater courtesy."
"Master Davis," the Colonel said, raising his voice, "have you forgotten
the last conversation we had together?"
"My dear Colonel, you must know me well enough to be sure that I only
forget those things which I ought not to remember."
"Which means?"
"That I perfectly well remember the conversation to which you allude."
"All the better. In that case your excellent memory spares me half the
trouble, and we shall soon come to an understanding."
"I believe so."
"Do you not find the spot where we are admirably adapted for what we
have to do?"
"I consider it delicious, my dear Colonel."
"Then, with your consent, we will dismount?"
"At your orders; there is nothing I detest so much as a lengthened
conversation on horseback."
They leaped to the ground and tied up their horses.
"Do you take your rifle?" the American inquired.
"Yes, if you have no objection."
"Not at all. Then we are going to see some sport?"
"Oh yes, but on this occasion the game will be human."
"Which will add greatly to the interest of the sport."
"Come, you are a delightful comrade, Master Davis."
"What would you, Colonel? I never was able to refuse my friends
anything."
"Where shall we place ourselves?"
"I trust to you entirely for that."
"Look! On each side the road are bushes, which seem to have grown for
the express purpose."
"That is really singular. Well, we will each hide behind one of the
bushes, count ten, and then fire."
"First-rate; but suppose we miss? I am perfectly well aware that we are
both first-rate marksmen, and that is almost impossible; but it might
happen."
"In that case nothing is more simple: we will draw our machetes and
charge each other."
"Agreed. Stay, one word more; one of us must remain on the ground, I
suppose?"
"I should think so. If not, what would be the use of fighting?"
"That is true; so promise me one thing."
"What is it?"
"The survivor will throw the body into the river."
"Hum! Then you are very desirous that I should not come to life again?"
"Well, you can understand--"
"All right, that is agreed."
"Thank you."
The two men bowed, and then went off in opposite directions, to take up
their stations. The distance between them was about seventy yards; in a
few seconds a double detonation burst forth like a clap of thunder, and
woke up the echoes. The two adversaries then rushed on each other,
machete in hand. They met nearly half way, and not uttering a word,
attacked each other furiously.
The combat lasted a long time, and threatened to continue longer,
without any marked advantage for either of the champions, for they were
nearly of equal strength, when all at once several men appeared, and,
aiming at the two adversaries, ordered them to lay down their arms
immediately. Each fell back a step, and waited.
"Stop!" the man shouted, who seemed to be the Chief of the newcomers;
"do you, John Davis, mount your horse and be off!"
"By what right do you give me that order?" the American asked, savagely.
"By the right of the stronger," the leader replied. "Be off, if you do
not wish a misfortune to happen to you!"
John Davis looked around him. Any resistance was impossible--for what
could he have done alone, merely armed with a sabre, against twenty
individuals? The American stifled an oath, and mounted again, but
suddenly reflecting, he asked, "And who may you be, who thus pretend to
dictate to me?"
"You wish to know?"
"Yes."
"Well, I am a man to whom you and Colonel Melendez offered an atrocious
insult. I am the Monk Antonio!"
At this name the two adversaries felt a thrill of terror run through
their veins; without doubt the monk was about to avenge himself, now
that in his turn he had them in his power.