My adventure did not end with the day; it was continued into the night,
and repeated in my dreams. I rode the chase over again; I dashed
through the magueys, I leaped the _zequia_, and galloped through the
affrighted herd; I beheld the spotted mustang stretched lifeless upon
the plain, its rider bending and weeping over it. That face of rare
beauty, that form of exquisite proportion, that eye rotund and noble,
that tongue so free, and heart so bold--all were again encountered in
dreamland. A dark face was in the vision, and at intervals crossed the
picture like a cloud. It was the face of Ijurra.
I think it was that awoke me, but the _reveille_ of the bugle was
ringing in my ears as I leaped from my couch.
For some moments I was under the impression that the adventure had been
a dream: an object that hung on the opposite wall came under my eyes,
and recalled the reality--it was my saddle, over the holsters of which
lay a coil of white horsehair rope, with a silver ring at the end. I
remembered the lazo.
When fairly awake, I reviewed my yesterday's adventure from first to
last. I tried to think calmly upon it; I tried to get it out of my
thoughts, and return seriously to my duties. A vain attempt! The more
I reflected upon the incident, the more I became conscious of the
powerful interest its heroine had excited within me. Interest, indeed!
Say rather _passion_--a passion that in one single hour had grown as
large as my heart!
It was not _the first_ love of my life. I was nigh thirty years of age.
I had been enamoured before--more than once, it may be--and I
understood what the feeling was. I needed no Cupid to tell me I was in
love again--to the very ends of my fingers.
To paint the object of my passion is a task I shall not attempt. Beauty
like hers must be left to the imagination. Think of the woman you
_yourself_ love or have loved; fancy her in her fairest moments, in
bower or boudoir--perchance a blushing bride--and you may form some
idea--No, no, no! you could never have looked upon woman so lovely as
Isolina de Vargas.
Oh! that I could fix that fleeting phantom of beauty--that I could paint
that likeness for the world to admire! It cannot be. The most puissant
pen is powerless, the brightest colour too cold. Though deeply graven
upon the tablet of my heart, I cannot multiply the impression.
It is idle to talk of wavy hair, profuse and glossed--of almond eyes
with long dark fringes--of pearl-white teeth, and cheeks tinted with
damascene. All these had she, but they are not peculiar
characteristics. Other women are thus gifted. The traits of _her_
beauty lay in the intellectual as much as the physical--in a happy
combination of both. The soul, the spirit, had its share in producing
this incomparable picture. It was to behold the play of those noble
features, to watch the changing cheek, the varying smile, the falling
lash, the flashing eye, the glance now tender, now sublime--it was to
look on all this, and be impressed with an idea of the divinest
loveliness.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
As I ate my frugal breakfast, such a vision was passing before me. I
contemplated the future with pleasant hopes, but not without feelings of
uneasiness. I had not forgotten the abrupt parting--no invitation to
renew the acquaintance, no hope, no prospect that I should ever behold
that beautiful woman again, unless blind chance should prove my friend.
I am not a fatalist, and I therefore resolved not to rely upon mere
destiny, but, if possible, to help it a little in its evolution.
Before I had finished my coffee, a dozen schemes had passed through my
mind, all tending towards one object--the renewal of my acquaintance
with Isolina de Vargas. Unless favoured by some lucky accident, or,
what was more desirable, _by the lady herself_, I knew we might never
meet again. In such times, it was not likely she would be much
"out-of-doors;" and in a few days, hours perhaps, I might be ordered _en
route_ never more to return to that interesting outpost.
As the district was, of course, under martial law, and I was _de facto_
dictator, you will imagine that I might easily have procured the right
of entry anywhere. Not so. Whatever be the licence of the mere soldier
as regards the common people of a conquered country, the position of the
officer with its higher class is essentially different. If a gentleman,
he naturally feels a delicacy in making any advances towards an
acquaintance; and his honour restrains him from the freer forms of
introduction. To take advantage of his position of power would be a
positive meanness, of which a true gentleman cannot be guilty. Besides,
there may be rancour on the part of the conquered--there usually is--but
even when no such feeling exists, another barrier stands in the way of
free association between the officer and "society." The latter feels
that the position of affairs will not be permanent; the enemy will in
time evacuate, and then the vengeance of mob-patriotism is to be
dreaded. Never did the ricos of Mexico feel more secure than while
under the protection of the American army: many of them were disposed to
be friendly; but the phantom of the future, with its mob _emeutes_,
stared them in the face, and under this dread they were forced to adopt
a hypocritical exclusiveness. Epaulettes must not be seen glancing
through the windows of their drawing-rooms!
Under such circumstances, my situation was difficult enough. I might
gaze upon the outside walls of that handsome hacienda till my heart
ached, but how was I to effect an entrance?
To charge a fort, a battery, an intrenched camp--to storm a castle, or
break a solid square--one or all would have been child's play compared
with the difficulty of crossing that glacial line of etiquette that
separated me from my beautiful enemy.
To effect this purpose, a dozen schemes were passed through my mind, and
rejected, till my eyes at length rested upon the most interesting object
in the apartment--the little white rope that hung from my saddlebow. In
the lazo, I recognised my "forlorn-hope." That pretty implement must be
returned to its owner. _I myself should take it home_! So far
_destiny_ should be guided by _me_; beyond, I should have to put my
trust in destiny.
I think best under the influence of a cigar; and lighting one, I
ascended to the azotea, to complete my little scheme.
I had scarcely made two turns of the roof, when a horseman galloped into
the piazza. He was in dragoon uniform, and I soon perceived he was an
orderly from headquarters, inquiring for the commandant of the outpost.
One of the men pointed to me; and the orderly trotting forward, drew up
in front of the alcalde's house, and announced that he was the bearer of
a dispatch from the general-in-chief, at the same time showing a folded
paper. I directed him to pass it up on the point of his sabre, which he
did; and then saluting me, he turned his horse and galloped back as he
had come.