SPANISH HONOUR.
"Marguerita, come forth. The General Carrera and his staff request your
hospitality."
Marguerita immediately came forward, and was admired by all.
"I regret deeply," the general said, after a few moments spent in
ordinary compliments, "that we were unable to arrive hither a few hours
sooner, as our presence would have, I hear, relieved you of unpleasant
visitors, of whom we have been in pursuit some days."
"We had _unexpected_ visitors indeed, if not unwelcome," she replied.
"But to say the truth, they were not uncivil, and though we had not the
power to refuse them what they asked of us, they behaved courteously,
and made but a short stay."
"Be sure of that," answered Carrerra, twisting his moustache; "they
knew that I was at their heels. But, however, we will take a little
refreshment, and then to horse again."
After they had partaken of refreshment, he arose from his chair, and,
again bowing, was on the point of leaving the apartment, and the poor
girl thought that the crisis was past and the danger over.
When in the very midst of the bustle and hurry of leave-taking, an
aid-de-camp rushed in hastily and announced that the riding-horse of
the American lady had been found in the stable of the rancho, well
groomed, and feeding at a well-filled manger.
"Who groomed him?" asked Carrera, sternly.
"A boy called Francisco."
"Bring him in."
And immediately the shepherd boy was led in between two dismounted
lancers, with escopetas trailed in their hands.
"How came the lady's horse in the stable?"
"It was tired, lame, who knows?--they left it behind."
"Now, mark me, if you speak one lie, you shall be shot to death within
five minutes. If you speak truth, the Republic will reward you. Where
is that lady?"
"Who knows?" was the evasive answer; but as he uttered it his eyes
wandered to his master's face, as if to consult his eyes before
replying further. He met their steadfast gaze, and continued, firmly:
"She went with the rest."
A dragoon entered at this moment, bearing a lady's side-saddle and
bridle, with girths and hangings all complete, and cast them down at
the general's feet; and then said, as he saluted:
"We have found a dragoon horse dead--shot within a few hours,
general--in the corral, with all his accoutrements upon him."
The general's cold, hard eye turned silently and sternly on the
miserable boy.
"Speak," he said, "or die. Take your choice. Where is the lady?"
"Quien Sabe?"
"Away with him."
Two stout dragoons seized him, and despite his cries, his struggles and
entreaties, dragged him away as if he had been a mere infant.
There were five minutes' dreadful, death-like silence. Marguerita stood
cold and impassive as a pillar of stone, with her teeth set and her
hands clenched. But for the heaving of her bosom and the quivering of
her eyelid, she gave no signs of life.
Juan de Alava preserved his soldier's mien and aspect, but his eye
wandered wildly.
The next moment the sharp rattle of a volley, succeeded by one death
groan, rang through the hall, and the thin blue smoke drifted in
through the open door, and half filled the apartment.
"_Fiel hasta la muerte_," muttered he between his hard set teeth.
"Bring out the other servants," roared the general, furious at being
frustrated.
"Give them five minutes, also, to confess; if they speak not, shoot
them."
After another short pause an orderly entered, and announced that they
had fled into the woods.
"Ha! this lies deeper than I thought for, lady," he added, turning to
Marguerita; "we must have your presence in an inner chamber. Valdez,
call in our major and six captains, a court-martial. Senor de Alava,
follow us."
And without more words, he stalked into Marguerita's private chamber,
seated himself in her own arm-chair, and ordering his officers to form
a half circle round him, proceeded to arraign her as a culprit.
"You know," he said, sternly, but not uncourteously, "you know,
Senorita, the doom which our laws have pronounced against all traitors
who comfort, protect, or harbour an American?"
"Senor, I know it."
"It is?"
"Death."
"You are very young to die."
"I am young, Senor; but when God calls us hence it is never early."
A slight murmur of admiration ran through the circle at her calm and
dauntless resolution, but found no echo from the cold lips of the
general.
"Where is the lady gone who was here last night?"
"The boy whom you murdered told you that she went with the rest."
"He lied, and lost his life by his lie."
"On your honour, do you know where the lady is at this moment?"
"I do know."
"Where is she?"
"I have sworn to be silent."
"That oath was treason to your country."
"By your proclamation."
"You know it? You have read it?"
"I do--I have."
"Enough. One question more--will you reveal it?"
"I will not."
"And you know the alternative?"
"Death!"
"And you are prepared to die--so young, so beautiful, to die a
traitress?"
"God will forgive me."
"Colonel Don Juan de Alava, on your honour, as a soldier and a
gentleman, do you know where this American woman now is?"
"I do know."
"Where is she?"
"Do you think me less firm than a woman?"
"Have you sworn secrecy?"
"I have not sworn."
"Speak, I command you."
He was silent. The general cast his eyes sternly round the circle,
reading the judgment of each man by his face, as he asked:
"Are they guilty of high treason?"
And each man nodded in silence as the question came to him in turn.
"And your sentence?"
"Death!" replied Valdez, standing up and uncovering, and all the others
arose in their order, and bowed in assent.
"Never!" exclaimed two voices in one cry, and, as if by one movement,
brother and sister drew, and raised on high, a sheathless blade.
"Brother--sister--adieu!" and the blades rose as if to strike--but ere
the blow was dealt, a calm, sweet voice cried "Hold! I am here."
And at the words, there in the niche, disclosed by the removal of
that holiest emblem, the Christian's dying God--there with her golden
tresses floating disheveled like a halo of glory round her, with her
blue eyes filled with the ineffable lustre--the lustre of a martyred
saint, her innocent, artless features glowing with strange exultation,
her lovely lips apart, madonna-like, stood Julia Gordon.
"I am here, man of blood. Spare them. But with me do your pleasure; I
am in the hands of my God, now as ever."
At the command of his general, Valdez arose to assist Julia down; but
as he took the first step, he stopped short as if thunder-stricken.
Nor was it wonderful, for as he took that step, one short crack
came echoing from without, the well-known death-shot of the certain
rifle--then pealed a bugle, high and shrill--the terrified alarm--and
then crack! crack! went the deadly rifle of the west.
And high above all other sounds, and high arose the cry of the
Texans--"Remember the Alama, the Alamo?" and Gordon's name was mingled
with the din; and the fierce cheer of the Partisan, "Pierre, Pierre!
charge for Pierre and glory!" completed the dismay of the surprised and
baffled murderers.
As the first din of that surprise fell on the startled ears of the
Mexican commander, he sprang to his feet, unsheathed his sword, and the
other officers following his example, they dashed forward gallantly to
find their men, and lead them to the charge--all save one, Valdez.
"And why does the gallant Colonel Valdez loiter in the rear, when his
men are in action?" asked Juan de Alava, sneeringly.
"I might retort the question, sirrah, were it becoming me to reply to a
prisoner and a traitor."
"And did you so retort, sirrah," answered Alava quietly, "I might reply
that a prisoner has no right to be in action, did it become me to reply
to a liar."
"Now mark me. Before these ladies whom you _have_ insulted, _would_
have outraged, I strike you thus. I spurn you with my foot thus and
thus!" and as he spoke he suited the action to the word, giving him
a severe blow with the flat of his sword across the shoulders, and
actually kicking him twice with his foot.
Both men were in the prime of life, young, active, sinewy, and skilful
to a wonder in the use of their weapons. Juan was as brave as his own
steel, and Valdez, a base coward, was forced to fight for his life.
"Kill him! Kill him!" cried Marguerita. "For my sake kill him! By no
hand but yours must the villain die!"
They both fought desperately and determinedly, one fighting for life,
and the other for vengeance.
Hopeless of directing Marguerita from her appalling object, Julia
turned, sick at heart, toward the window--the same window which had
given entrance to the Partisan, when he arrived but in time to save
Marguerita--and at the very moment she did so, it was driven inward
with a loud crash, and she was clasped in the arms of Arthur Gordon.
The sound of the forceful entrance, the clanking steps of his men,
for the three dragoons were at his heels, and the clatter of his
accoutrements, had well nigh proved fatal to Alava; for at the sudden
uproar in his rear, he turned his head quickly, and was admonished by a
sharp wound in his side for his imprudence.
And, like a wounded lion, Juan de Alava charged him home so fiercely
that he had not a second's breathing time. Three triple feints, each
followed by a home lunge, Valdez had parried in succession, when he
lunged in return. His foot slipped a little on the marble floor; his
blade was struck aside by Alava's dagger, at the same instant in which
his chest was pierced and his heart cleft asunder by his home-driven
blade.
Scarce was that fearful death-struggle completed, when two of the
dragoons advanced their carbines and called on Juan to yield him on
good quarters.
Juan had already lost much blood, and staggered sickly, and would have
fallen but for the sword on which he leaned.
"Where is your officer?" he asked, in Spanish. "I am a gentleman, and
will not yield but to an officer."
"I am an officer," cried Gordon, springing forward, having learned
by one word from Julia who he was. "I am your friend, too, Senor Don
Juan--your friend forever."
Gordon, having seen Juan in safe hands, he went forth in search of a
surgeon.
Utterly dispirited and broken, the Mexicans rushed in a body to the
window, by which their comrades were pouring out; and, the two currents
meeting, jostled and reeled together like tides conflicting in a narrow
channel.
But the terror and the numbers of those without were the greater; and
gradually they forced their way inward, actually using their weapons,
one against the other, in the madness of their despair. And still
on the rear of that confused and weltering route raged the fierce
broadswords of the Texan riders.
"Ha, Mason," exclaimed Gordon, as the rangers swept past him in their
charge, recognizing a young officer of his acquaintance. "This work
is over now. For God's sake send one of your fellows for a surgeon. A
friend of mine lies badly wounded, yonder, in the orange thicket, by
the stream."
"Aye, aye!" cried he whom he addressed, reining up his horse. "You,
Grayson, gallop to the rear, and bring up surgeon Maxwell."
"Yes, sir," answered the man, and dashed away to the rear.
"But I wish you would send a dozen men down yonder to that thicket, to
mount guard over Julia," said Gordon. "She is almost alone."
"I'll go myself," answered Mason, "or the devil a soul will I get to
stir, so long as they can shoot or stick a Mexican. Halt! dress--halt!
or I'll scewer some of you. That is it. Now steady. Gordon, I'll see to
that--never fear. But I wish you would gallop down, and stop firing.
All resistance is at an end, and it is now mere butchery."
"I will, I will," replied the young dragoon; "there has, indeed, been
enough of it."
And putting his spurs to a charger, which he caught as it ran by
him masterless, he galloped forward, shouting to the men to cease
firing. But eager as he was to check the carnage, he was preceded in
the work of charity by the bold Partisan, whom he could see mounted
among the crowd of dismounted rangers, close to the often-mentioned
window, actually cutting at his own men with his broadsword to enforce
obedience, and shouting till he was hoarse, in Spanish and English
alternately:
"Cease firing, and give quarter."
Suddenly a shot flashed from a loop above, and he reeled in his
stirrups and fell headlong.
A fierce roar followed from the soldiery; and, in an instant they
forced their way bodily into the building, and woe to the Mexican whom
they met when the word was given--"Pierre!"
"My God! they have murdered him!" cried Gordon; and forgetful of all
else, he drove madly to the spot, sprang from his horse, and raised him
from the bloody greensward.
"They have done for me at last," cried the gallant soldier, as Gordon
raised his head upon his lap, as he knelt behind him.
"I trust not, indeed."
"They have. I am a dead man, Gordon. But come, my time is short; have
me borne to the ladies--unless," he added, "you fear to let them see
me."
"You are right. Maxwell is there, tending the hurt of young Alava."
They had conversed alone, with no witness but the beautiful brown horse
of the Partisan, which, bleeding himself, from many wounds, stood close
beside them, not having moved a yard since the fatal shot was fired,
gazing upon his fallen master with an eye that seemed full of human
intelligence and sympathy.
"Emperor knows that I am dying. Soh! Emperor, good horse. Soh!
Emperor!" he added, raising his head a little to gaze on his favourite.
And the beautiful brown horse whinnied as he heard the long-loved
voice, and advanced a yard or two, and rubbed his muzzle gently and
fondly over the face of his dying master.
"Good horse, good Emperor," said the Partisan, patting the face of
his horse with his failing hand. "I never shall back you again, good
Emperor. He is yours, Gordon, when I am gone. You will be kind to him,
I know."
The young dragoon wrung the hand of the dying man hard, and the big
tears burst in volumes from his eyes, and fell down like rain upon the
face of the veteran.
"Go forward," he said, faintly; "go forward, Gordon, and apprise the
ladies. Women are tender plants, and this, I think, will shock them."
And slowly they did bear him, with the beautiful brown horse following
them step by step with his head bent almost to the dust, and trailing
his long, thin mane on the ground, in the depth of animal sorrow.
When Gordon reached the bower the surgeon was fastening up his case,
having dressed young Alava's wound, and was on the point of going
to offer his services, he said, where they might be more seriously
required.
The young soldier caught his last words as he entered, and arresting
him by the arm, said, earnestly, in a low voice, even before he replied
to the congratulations of the women:
"That is here, Maxwell; nowhere can they be more required than they
will be here. God send that they may avail."
Though uttered in a whisper, Julia heard his words, and judging from
the expression of his face, clasped her hands, and cried, earnestly:
"Not the Partisan, Arthur--oh, say it is not the Partisan."
"Would that I could."
"Not severely--not fatally, at least?"
"I fear mortally."
"My God! my God!" and she burst into a paroxysm of almost hysterical
weeping.
The conversation had all passed in the English tongue, yet, as it were,
instinctively, Marguerita caught their meaning, and she uttered one
long, piercing shriek, and fell lifeless to all appearance.
The surgeon and Julia hastened to raise her up, but Pierre said quietly:
"Let her be--let her be if there is no danger. It is better she should
be senseless until all is over."
"There is no danger," said Maxwell, with an air of wonder.
"God bless you, then, good Maxwell; betake you where you may do more
good--my days are numbered. Commend me to McCulloch and Gillespie. My
rifle to the first, my pistols to the latter, and this, doctor," he
added, as he handed him his knife. "Yourself, Gordon, will keep my
horse. Bury me in my blanket with my sword by my side. Fare you well.
Now, lady," he added, turning his eyes to Julia Gordon, "in your ear.
You will permit me Gordon?"
"Surely--most surely."
Then Julia knelt down by his side, and clasped his cold hand in her
own, and listened with her whole soul in her ears, watering his face
with her tears.
"That poor thing," he said, turning his eyes toward the motionless form
of Marguerita, "you will be kind to her--you will care for her--you
will love her?"
"As my own sister," faltered Julia through her sobs, "as my own sister."
"Then I die happy. Gordon," he added, raising his head a little for
the last time, "this agony is well nigh over. She has promised to be a
sister to poor Marguerita; will you do likewise?"
"She shall be my sister."
"God's blessing on you now friends. I am going, fare-you-well. Weep not
for me, for I have lived happily, and I hope not altogether uselessly,
and I die happily, for I die with my duty done, in the arms of those I
love the most dearly, and in the faith of a Christian."
Then he closed his eyes, quite exhausted with his efforts, and lay for
a long time speechless so that they believed him dead.
But he opened them again after a while, and said, very faintly:
"Brown Emperor; good horse. You will be good to him, Gordon?"
Then one of those strange things occurred which at times almost make us
think that brutes have souls and reason. For, before the young soldier
could reply, the brown horse, which had followed the bearers of his
master to the entrance of the arbour, and paused there, as if conscious
that he must not enter, no sooner heard his own name uttered in those
feeble accents, than he thrust his head through the foliage and uttered
a long, low, plaintive neigh, utterly unlike any sound he had ever
before been heard to utter.
"Ah! thou art there, old friend. God bless thee, too, if it be no sin
so to pray. Thou wilt be cared for; will he not, Gordon--Julia?"
But neither could reply for sobbing. He understood the reason, and said
once again:
"Bless you all--may God bless you. Remember that I die a Chris--a
Christian. I am go--going. Gordon, Gordon, let her--let her kiss--kiss
me, Julia."
"Kiss him, quick; kiss him, kiss him, Julia."
She knelt beside him, bent her beautiful form over his bosom, and
pressed her cold lips to his, and the pure spirit of the noble and
high-minded soldier passed away in that last--that first embrace of the
woman he had loved so chastely, so devotedly, so nobly.
Happy who so die, in the arms of love, religion, honour.
* * * * *
More words are almost needless. Julia and Gordon, under the guidance of
the gallant rangers, reached the lines at Monterey in safety. Long did
they mourn over that true and noble friend, who, though the friend but
of a day, had stamped himself on their souls forever.
Poor Marguerita never ceased to weep for the man she loved so madly and
so vainly, till, in the convent which she entered within a month of his
death, her sorrows and sufferings were ended.
One thing alone remains to be recorded. The brown horse, which had
followed his master's body to the grave, and watched his interment with
an almost human eye, was forced almost by violence from the spot when
the last ceremony was ended.
But in the afternoon, when the column was formed to march, and the
bugles sounded the advance, he reared furiously, broke the leading rein
by which a dragoon was guiding him, and galloped to the spot where they
had laid his master.
They followed him, and found him lying on the grave, rooting up the
fresh laid sods with his muzzle. But when he saw them drawing near, he
rose to his feet with a weak, staggering action, stood for a moment
gazing at them proudly, then uttered the same long, shrill, plaintive
neigh, and in the sound expired.
They scooped a little hollow--it was no sacrilege--beside the grave
of him whom he had borne so truly, whom he would not survive, and
laid him by those honoured ashes, with this motto rudely carved on a
low headstone close by the simple monument, which love erected to the
memory of the gallant Partisan:
+Fiel hasta la Muerte.+
+Marguerita.+
They sleep together. Never was better horse or nobler rider.
THE END.
Printed by James Jackson, and Published by him at his Publishing
Office, 2, +Red Lion Court+, Fleet Street, London, E.C.
+Read+
Boys of London
and
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PUBLISHED BY
JAMES JACKSON.