A VICTORY
Delighted as I should have been, and was, to receive such a missive from
my lady, its effect was to rouse in me all the greater longing to see
her and win from her dear lips the admission that she loved me. In this
thought I now forgot all else. Even the demand of patriotism that I
should exert every effort on behalf of my country found me deaf.
I stilled my conscience with the argument that if I, the accredited spy,
should devote my whole effort to a personal affair, it would tend to
divert attention from the splendid work of Pike. Every day saw important
additions to his notes and memoranda, and he had already hit upon the
ingenious plan of securing the notes in tight rolls inside waxed
wrappings and packing them down into the barrel of one of the muskets of
the men, who were quartered in the same building as ourselves. As the
gun's muzzle was of course kept plugged with its tampion, there was no
danger of discovery, and with five more barrels to fill, we felt that
whenever the Governor-General chose to release the Lieutenant and his
men, they would be able to march out of the territories of His Most
Catholic Majesty fairly _loaded_ with information against the tyrant.
So, casting aside every thought of duty, I allowed my mind to dwell
constantly upon my wooing, and, frivolous as it may appear, was more
concerned over our visit to the tailor than to the magnificent hospital
in the old Jesuit edifices on the west side of Chihuahua. That
institution of healing was finely situated and furnished. But when I
ventured to suggest an improvement upon some of the antiquated and
barbarous methods of treatment, I met with such a heat of jealous
prejudice from the clerical physicians that I was forced to silence.
Returning to the plaza, we were agreeably surprised to find our little
French tailor most modern not only in his knowledge of the modes but
also in the quickness of his work. He and his assistants had already
completed our suits. As the following day was a Sunday, it was
particularly gratifying to find ourselves becomingly costumed for
genteel society.
Pike and our host slept late in the morning, but I had given old Caesar
orders to rouse me early. Donning my new garments, I slipped out and
hastened across the plaza toward the Parroquia. The bell was already
intoning for mass, and I passed numbers of _rebozo_-shrouded women
streaming churchward. With my Anglo-American eyes and complexion I
suppose I presented rather a striking figure among these people, who are
so very rarely other than brunette,--though it may be I attracted more
attention because of the fact that few other men had sallied out so
early to attend mass.
Whatever the cause, I received enough smiles and alluring glances from
pretty senoritas and, I fear, senoras, to have quite turned my head, had
I not been far too intent upon the hope of seeing my lady to heed these
charming coquettes. What I did heed, however, was the fact that the
prettier the girl, the more jealously guarded was she by a keen-eyed
duenna. What hope had I of a word apart with Alisanda if she came in
company with Dona Marguerite?
Between the thought of this and the need to scan the scores of
approaching ladies, I was not in a favorable frame of mind to appreciate
the grandeur and beauty of the _Parroquia_. Yet so splendid were the two
pillared towers, which reared against the sapphire sky a full hundred
feet above the front corners of the high edifice, and so ornate was the
white stone _facade_ with its carvings and numerous statues of saints,
that even my brief and preoccupied glances brought me a strong
consciousness of the church's magnificence. I even looked twice at the
carvings of the great round-arched entrance, so different in design from
the pointed style of our Gothic ecclesiastical architecture.
That was as far as my observations went at the time, for as I again
glanced out, I saw approaching among the throng of Moorishly draped
figures one so tall and graceful that I knew her on the instant. I
sprang from the entrance to meet her, but checked myself at the thought
that it would be as well first to see who it was that accompanied her.
Alisanda wore her black lace mantilla, her companion a _rebozo_ of
finest silk, and both walked with heads reverently bowed. Yet I needed
no second glance to feel assured that the duenna had not so portly a
figure as that of Senora Vallois. If not Dona Marguerite, who then?
I was not long kept waiting for my answer. Standing with my stiff hat in
hand, I looked eagerly for a sign of recognition from my lady. She did
not so much as raise her head. But her companion straightened a little
and parted a fold of her _rebozo_ to bestow on me the mischievous flash
of a sparkling eye. It was hardly the glance of an instant, yet it left
me pleased and wondering why I had not at once recognized that plump,
petite figure. The duenna I had so feared was none other than the wife
of my friend Malgares, Dona Dolores. What was more, her look gave me the
impression that she knew all, and, with the national love of intrigue,
if not because of friendship for Alisanda, would aid us in our plans.
Vastly relieved at this discovery, I followed them at a respectful
distance into the lofty domed interior of the _Parroquia_. As my eyes
were fixed upon my lady, that I might not lose her in the throng which
moved up the centre of the stone-flagged nave, I gathered at first only
the vaguest of impressions with regard to the church's interior. But
when she and Dona Dolores piously knelt upon the hard flagstones, in the
midst of the peon women and the filthy beggars, I could not resist the
impulse to look up and around.
At once, in place of the vague impression of magnificence, there burst
upon my vision a glory of ornamentation almost dazzling. In all the
Republic we have no church or other edifice to approach the _Parroquia_
of Chihuahua in richness and splendor of ornamentation. The windows were
filled with pictures of saints and angels wrought in stained glass,
which cast over all a rich coloring well in keeping with the
gold-and-silver-bedecked altar, the brass screens and railings, the
silver candelabra, and the brightly colored and gilded images and
pictures and crucifixes on the walls.
Add to this splendor of decoration the rich vestments of the officiating
priests, the incense and wax tapers, and the solemn service of music and
prayer,--and the effect was one to impress the most frivolous of
believers in the Romish faith.
Yet as I stood beside one of the carved pillars and watched the devout
bendings and prayers of Alisanda, I could not but compare her real
worship with the formal movements and parrot-like invocations of those
about her. Her religion was of the heart; theirs mere outward display.
So at least I surmised from the manner in which, between times, they
whispered and nibbled at _dulces_, and stared about at one another. Of
course Alisanda and her friend were not alone in their real devotion,
but I speak of the crowd.
I followed the service as closely as the different accenting and
pronunciation of the Latin by Spanish tongues permitted. In justice to
Alisanda, it was my duty to learn all I could with regard to her
religion. I felt an added interest from the fact that the foremost of
the priests was none other than Father Rocus.
Yet the closing of the ceremonies came as a vast relief to me. When for
the last time the congregation crossed themselves and rose to leave, I
leaned against my pillar and watched them pass out with as idle and
careless a gaze as I could assume. All the time I kept the mantilla upon
Alisanda's gracefully bowed head within the rim of my circle of vision.
But I was certain she never once cast a glance in my direction, nor did
Dona Dolores.
Untrained as I was in the intricacies of Spanish courtship, I might have
been discouraged had I not observed that in their advance toward the
exit the two were drifting, so to speak, sideways. This brought them
angling through the crowd toward my pillar. Senora Malgares was on the
nearer side, and I fancied it was her purpose to speak to me. Instead,
they both swept by without so much as a glance.
Only, as she passed, the senora raised an arm beneath her _rebozo_ as
though to adjust its folds, and the fringed edge swept over my hat,
which I was holding at my hip. A slight tug at its brim induced me to
look down, after a moment's prudent wait. Within the hat's crown lay a
scrap of paper upon which was written, in French, the single word,
"Follow."
My height and dress, and the fact that I was one of the _Americanos_
about whom the city was so curious, made me a marked man in the crowd.
But if any among the hundreds of interested eyes that followed my
movements had for owners some who suspected the purpose of my visit to
the church, I flatter myself the sharpest were unable to distinguish
which one of the ladies it was I followed into the open. To divert
attention I glanced about at the peeping senoritas with feigned
interest, until one angel-faced little coquette who could not yet have
seen her sixteenth springtime fairly stared me out of countenance.
Once in the plaza, I had more room to man[oe]uvre, and started off at an
angle to the course taken by Alisanda and her friend. To my chagrin I
was at once surrounded by a tattered crowd of filthy _leprosos_, who
exposed their sores and whined dolefully for alms. I flung them the few
coppers I chanced to have with me, but that served only to whet the edge
of their persistent begging. Suddenly I remembered that Don Pedro had
given me the Spanish method for relieving oneself from these _caballeros
de Dios_.
"Gentlemen," I addressed them in my best Spanish, "for God's sake,
excuse me this time."
Even a few drops of Spanish blood carries with it appreciation of
ceremonious courtesy. My words and the bow with which I accompanied them
acted like magic upon the clamoring rabble. All alike bowed in response,
with a great flourishing of greasy, tattered sombreros, and all alike
stepped politely aside for me to pass.
The delay had given Alisanda and Dona Dolores several yards' start of
me, but they were now sauntering so slowly that nearly all the members
of the congregation who had turned in the same direction had gone by
them. I followed several paces behind the last chattering, giggling
group. As they passed Dona Dolores she dropped her rosary. This I judged
was intended as a signal for me to join them. I picked up the string of
polished beads, and hastened forward beside their owner.
"Pardon me, madame," I said in French, holding out the rosary, "you
dropped your necklace."
"_Santisima Virgen!_" she exclaimed in mock surprise. "They are indeed
my beads. _Maria purisima!_ it is Senor Robinson! How fortunate that you
should have chanced to find them for me, senor!"
I gave no heed to this mischievous raillery, for I was gazing across
into the tender eyes of Alisanda. I started to go around beside her.
"_Nada!_" forbade Dona Dolores. "Not so fast, senor. I am the duenna,
and I have very sharp eyes. So also have others who are walking in the
plaza. You have chanced to find my beads, and are escorting me to the
house of Senor Vallois, where your friend, my husband, is to join me at
breakfast. Please do not forget that you are escorting me. If you choose
to pay compliments to my companion, and I am too deaf to hear anything
that is said, who can blame me? Besides, you know I do not understand
English."
"Senora, you are an angel!" I exclaimed.
"_Santa Maria!_ but that is the truth," she mocked. "Yet do not tell it
to me when she is in hearing."
"Dolores! Is this a time for jests?" murmured Alisanda. The senora fell
to counting her beads, with the most pious of expressions. My lady
addressed me in English: "Dolores knows all, Juan. But it will be easier
for you to talk in English, and she will not have to strain her
conscience when she next goes to confession. Juan, it was rash to force
this meeting."
"Forgive me, dearest one! But I could wait no longer. The interruption
of our last meeting--"
"_Santa Virgen!_ that terrible aide! I was stricken dumb with terror
when he lunged at you--from the rear! The coward!"
"You saw it?"
"All! all! Juan, dear friend, you must guard yourself--you must be
careful! That savage Andalusian! I heard all you said--how you spared
him, that I might escape the scandal of a duel beneath my window. Has he
challenged you?"
"Not yet."
"Not yet! But he will--he will! Do not fight him with swords, Juan. You
told me once that you were not a swordsman. He is the most expert fencer
in all these provinces."
"If he is a master, I have a better chance against him as it is than if
I were an average swordsman. He will at least not know what I am going
to do, as he would know with one who fenced according to rules."
"But he will kill you! No, do not fight him with swords, Juan. Let him
challenge you, and be sure you name pistols."
"Would you have me murder the man?" I protested.
"You need not shoot to kill."
"That is true. But, dearest, let us speak of more important matters. You
have not yet told me--"
"I wrote of your danger from His Excellency, Juan. Be prudent. Make as
few enemies as you can. You have many friends."
"Walker has intimated that I shall gain more friends if I tame this
Andalusian bull."
"_Nada!_ If the swashbuckler challenges, you must fight, Juan. I know
that. But do not force the matter yourself. He stands high in the favor
of His Excellency."
"Alisanda," I replied, "you, like all others here, are far too much in
fear of this tyrant Governor-General. But rest assured Lieutenant Pike
and I comprehend the man and the situation. Should we show the slightest
sign of weakness, I at least will at once be flung into prison, if not
garrotted. The only course which will avert the blow is for us to show a
bold front."
"Yet a little diplomacy--"
"Trust Lieutenant Pike to attend to the diplomacy. In his direct
communications with Salcedo, he will flourish the steel blade in a
velvet sheath. Aside from that, we have decided that the bolder our talk
and bearing the better."
"Yet consider his absolute power--I fear for you, Juan!"
"What odds of the danger, if I have your love--Alisanda?"
A quick blush leaped into her pale cheeks, and she looked down, in sweet
confusion.
"No, no, dear friend," she murmured. "Do not speak of that now. It would
be too cruel, if later--Juan, you must see Father Rocus!"
"At once!" I assented.
"Go, then, now! You will find him at the _Parroquia_."
"But first, dearest one--"
"No, no! Go at once. We approach my uncle's house, and it is as well he
should not see you."
"Then, if you bid me go, _au revoir!_" I said, stopping short.
She gave me a lingering glance which told all that her lips refused to
speak. Dona Dolores dropped her beads and looked up at me with one of
her bright, mischievous glances.
"_Santa Maria!_ but you do not leave us, senor? You have been so
entertaining!"
"And you, senora,--I could not have asked for a kinder duenna."
She muffled a peal of girlish laughter beneath the folds of her
_rebozo_, and hurried Alisanda away, fearful, I suppose, that we had
attracted too much attention. I wheeled in the opposite direction, and
returned to the _Parroquia_. Aside from a few women kneeling here and
there before the wall shrines, the great church Was now empty. But a
young acolyte who came in to arrange the altar very courteously
directed me to the parsonage, where, he said, I should find Father
Rocus.
When I announced my name at the entrance, the gate porter at once
admitted me, and rang a little bell. In a moment who should appear but
Chita, my lady's Spanish maid. She courtesied and motioned me to follow
her, without betraying the slightest sign of recognition. But the moment
we were out of sight of the porter, she paused to whisper:
"_Tsst!_ Say nothing. They have sent me here that I might not aid her to
see you or write to you. They do not know that the padre is a friend. It
is as well that he even does not know how greatly I wish to aid you.
Senor, you are a _caballero_ and a man, and she loves you. It is right
that you should have her, though you be twice over a _heretico_. But she
will not wed unless the padre gives his blessing. It is true love
between you. If you cannot be a Christian, make pretence. For her sake,
bow to the holy images and cross yourself. Deceive the padre--for her
sake!"
"No, Chita," I replied. "A _caballero_ may lie to save a lady's good
name, but not to win her."
"_Peste!_ Then you will lose her!"
"We shall see. Lead me in."
She took me into a cosey library, where I found Father Rocus seated in a
huge easy-chair, one foot cushioned upon a stool, a glass and decanter
at his elbow, and a book of philosophy in his jewelled, white hand.
"_Hola_, Don Juan!" he called at sight of me. "You come in good season.
Be seated on the saddle-chair It will save your new coat-tails a
creasing. I will not rise. A touch of the gout, as you see,--the first
in months."
"Too much port," I suggested, swinging astride the narrow chair of
carved mahogany. "Better take to sour claret for a while."
"_Nada!_ not while I can bear the pain. I might pass for an English
squire--I cannot forego the port."
"I will write you a prescription that will ease the pain. Nothing will
cure you but abstinence."
He drew a wry face between his smiles. "Then I fear my case is hopeless.
I am far from being a true Spaniard.--Chita, a glass for Senor
Robinson."
The woman fetched and filled a glass while I drew my chair up to the
marble-topped table-desk and scribbled a prescription. Father Rocus
signed her to go out, and turned to me, still smiling, but with a
sharpened glance.
"So you have already followed my advice and come to mass," he said.
"Your Reverence has a keen eye," I replied. "It seemed to me I kept
close behind my pillar."
"Men are not numerous at early mass. Brawny, six-foot _caballeros_ in
European dress are not seen every week. Lastly, this one has blonde
hair. A glimpse was enough and to spare. You talked with her?"
"She has sent me to you."
"Hum," he considered. "First of all, this Medina affair. Let him do the
challenging. She says you do not fence. 'Twould be butchery for you to
meet him with swords."
"That is a small matter, padre. What I wish to know--"
"Is whether you can conscientiously become a Christian," he put in.
"No, padre. That is not the question. It is of no use for me to hedge. I
know I cannot become what you call a Christian. My religious principles
are too near those of our famous President, Thomas Jefferson."
"Jefferson--that atheist!" he exclaimed, frowning.
"Not so, padre," I insisted with much earnestness. "It is an injustice
to term Mr. Jefferson an atheist."
"And you?" he demanded.
"Your Reverence, I differ from most men of the age in this: I am content
to leave creeds and ceremonies to the theologians; to walk as upright a
life as lies within my power; and to trust in the great Author of all to
judge my deeds with the clemency of a father for his child."
"You do not acknowledge God's vicar?"
"I have not the faith which enables me to believe your dogmas. It is no
use to argue, padre. I am already sufficiently informed to know that a
man of my refractory mentality cannot accept many of the fundamentals of
your faith,--and I will not make false pretence by complying with the
outward form."
Instead of flushing with anger, as I had expected, he looked grieved.
It was apparent that my position was a bitter disappointment to him. For
several minutes he sat gazing at the crucifix on the wall across, in
sorrowful meditation, forgetful even of his wine.
"Padre," I at last said. "I love her with a love that dwells much upon
my own happiness, but more upon hers. I now know she loves me. Do you
not think such love God's will?"
He crossed himself. "God give me light! I am not among those who believe
that the love of man and woman is of necessity an impure desire. God,
not Satan, made Eve to be a companion unto Adam. Therefore true love is
sacred in the eyes of God, and marriage a sacrament."
"In effect, if not in form, Your Reverence, that is the belief and
practice of my people. With us a wife is the dear life companion who
shares our triumphs and our defeats, our joys and sorrows, who brightens
our pleasures, purifies and ennobles our impulses, and inspires us with
the highest aspirations."
"Such, alas! is not the attitude of my people toward women," he sighed.
"Yet to give a daughter of the Church to a heretic! _Santisima Virgen!_
It is a knotty problem."
"To me, or to such a man as Medina," I argued--"which would be the
greater sin?"
"Her uncle is set upon giving her, not to Medina, but to one as bad--one
as bad!" he repeated. "My son--my son! if you could but become a
Christian!"
"God gave me my reason, padre. If it is wrong to use my reason as I use
it, I trust that He will forgive the error."
"You are a true, clean man, and you love her as no man in New Spain can
love her."
"I do, padre."
"Yet it is against the canons of Holy Church--to give a true believer to
an outright heretic!"
"She should be free to believe and practise her religion without
change," I argued.
"True, but the children?" he demanded. "How as to the children?"
The wine spilled from my upraised glass, and I bent my head quickly
aside to hide the strange emotion which overcame me. Children! Never had
my thoughts dared roam so far into the future. Children--my children and
hers! From the depths of my heart there gushed up such a flood of
tenderness and adoration that I could not speak.
Despite his gouty toe, he came around before me, and with a finger
beneath my chin, raised my head until he could look down into my eyes.
Whether or not he read my thoughts I do not know. But I do know that he
raised his hands above me and gave me his benediction.
"Padre," I murmured as he drew back a little way, "believe me, if I
could do what you wish--"
"Swear that your children shall be raised in the Church," he demanded.
"I cannot swear that, padre. It would be against my conscience."
"Your word is enough."
"Nor that. But if this will satisfy you, I give you my word that she
shall decide upon the rearing of--of our children throughout childhood."
"Good!" he exclaimed, again all smiles. "You have won me over, my son.
Let us hope I may aid you to overcome your graver difficulties."
"Her uncle--Don Pedro?" I asked.
"Beyond hope, I fear, Juan. Yet I will try. For the present we must
avoid that problem, and bend every effort to mollify one who sits in a
high place."
"Outface, not mollify," I returned. "Lieutenant Pike and myself are
resolved to show him how fully we rely upon our country to defend, and,
if need be, to revenge us. We have already pointed out to those who will
bear our words to His Excellency the fact that the Floridas are within
easy striking distance of our turbulent frontiersmen."
"_Por Dios!_ You dared send such a message to Salcedo?"
"You may call it a message. We spoke in the presence of Lieutenant
Walker. Nor is it the only one. Since the first, we have been loading
him with similar information."
"Yet Salcedo has not incarcerated you? _Poder de Dios!_ It is a
miracle!"
"Rather, it is merely that we have outfaced him."
"God gave you the wisdom to be bold! Yet the danger is by no means past.
He may free your companions, but detain you for years, as he has
detained the men of Captain Nolan."
"I could fancy a harsher fate, padre. To remain a prisoner, yet have
Alisanda to comfort my captivity--"
He raised his hand warningly at the sound of sandalled feet scraping
along the brick pavement of the corridor.
"Let us hope for the best, my son. Go now, and God be with you!"
I thanked him with a glance, and hastened out past the withered old
priest who was shuffling across the threshold.