CUBAN BANDITTI.
It was one of those beautiful but almost oppressively hot afternoons
that so ripen the fruits, and so try the patience of the inhabitants of
the tropics, that we would have the patient reader follow us on the
main road between Alquezar and Guiness. It is as level as a parlor
floor, and the tall foliage, mostly composed of the lofty palm, renders
the route shaded and agreeable. Every vegetable and plant are so
peculiarly significant of the low latitudes, that we must pause for a
moment to notice them.
The tall, stately palm, the king of the tropical forest, with its
tufted head, like a bunch of ostrich feathers, bending its majestic
form here and there over the verdant and luxuriant undergrowth, the
mahogany tree, the stout lignumvit, the banana, the fragrant and
beautiful orange and lemon, and the long, impregnable hedge of the
dagger aloe, all go to show us that we are in the sunny clime of the
tropics.
The fragrance, too, of the atmosphere! How soft to the senses! This
gentle zephyr that only ruffles the white blossoms of the lime hedges,
is off yonder coffee plantation that lies now like a field of clear
snow, in its fragrant milk-white blossoms; and what a bewitching
mingling of heliotrope and wild honeysuckle is combined in the air! how
the gaudy plumed parrot pauses on his perch beneath the branches of the
plantain tree, to inhale the sweets of the hour; while the chirps of
the pedoreva and indigo birds are mingled in vocal praise that fortune
has cast their lot in so lovely a clime. O, believe us, you should see
and feel the belongings of this beautiful isle, to appreciate how
nearly it approaches to your early ideas of fairy land.
But, alas! how often do man’s coarser disposition and baser nature
belie the soft and beautiful characteristics of nature about him; how
often, how very often, is the still, heavenly influence that reigns in
fragrant flowers and bubbling streams, marred and desecrated by the
harshness and violence engendered by human passions!
In the midst of such a scene as we have described, at the moment to
which we refer, there was a fearful struggle being enacted between a
small party of Montaros, or inland robbers, and the occupants and
outriders of a volante, which had just been attacked on the road. The
traces that attached the horse to the vehicle had been cut, and the
postilion lay senseless upon the ground from a sword wound in their
head, while the four outriders were contending with thrice their number
of robbers, who were armed with pistols and Toledo blades. It was a
sharp hand to hand fight, and their steel rang to the quick strokes.
In the volante was the person of a lady, but so closely enshrouded by a
voluminous rebosa, or Spanish shawl, as hardly to leave any of her
figure exposed, her face being hid from fright at the scene being
enacted about her. At her side stood the figure of a tall, stately man,
whose hat had been knocked over his head in the struggle, and whose
white hairs gave token of his age. Two of the robbers, who had received
the contents of his two pistols, lay dead by the side of the volante,
and having now only his sword left, he stood thus, as if determined to
protect her by his side, even at the cost of his life.
The robbers had at last quite overmatched the four outriders, and
having bound the only one of them that had sufficient life left to make
him dangerous to them, they turned their steps once more towards the
volante. There were in all some thirteen of them, but three already lay
dead in the road, and the other ten, who had some sharp wounds
distributed among them, now standing together, seemed to be querying
whether they should not revenge the death of their comrades by killing
both the occupants of the volante, or whether they should pursue their
first purpose of only robbing them of what valuables they possessed.
Fierce oaths were reiterated, and angry words exchanged between one and
another of the robbers, as to the matter they were hastily discussing,
while the old gentleman remained firm, grasping the hilt of his
well-tempered sword, and showing to his enemies, by the stern, deep
resolve they read in his eye, that they had not yet conquered him.
Fortunately their pistols had all been discharged, or they might have
shot the brave old man without coming to closer quarters, but now they
looked with some dread upon the glittering blade he held so firmly!
That which has required some time and space for us to describe, was,
however, the work of but a very few moments of time, and the robbers,
having evidently made up their minds to take the lives of the two
persons now in the vehicle, divided themselves into two parties and
approached the volante at the same moment on opposite sides.
“Come on, ye fiends in human shape,” said the old man, flourishing his
sword with a skill and strength that showed he was no stranger to its
use, and that there was danger in him. “Come on, ye shall find that a
good blade in an old man’s hands is no plaything!”
They listened for a moment: yes, that half-score of villains held back
in dismay at the noble appearance of the old man, and the flashing fire
of his eye.
“Ha! do you falter, ye villains? do you fear a good sword with right to
back it?”
But hark! what sound is that which startles the Montaros in the midst
of their villany, and makes them look into each other’s faces with such
consternation and fear? It is a very unfrequented spot-who can be near?
Scarcely had the sound fallen on their ears, before three horsemen in
the undress uniform of the Spanish infantry, dashed up to the spot at
full speed, while one of them, who seemed to be the leader of the
party, leaped from his horse, and before the others could follow his
example, was engaged in a desperate hand to hand conflict with the
robbers. Twice he discharged his pistols with fatal effect, and now he
was fighting sword and sword with a stout, burly Montaro, who was
approaching that side of the volante where the lady sat, still half
concealed by the ample folds of her rebosa, though the approach of
assistance had led her to venture so far as to partially uncover her
face, and to observe the scene about her.
The headlong attack, so opportunely made by the fresh horsemen, was too
much for treble their number to withstand, more especially as the
leader of them had met with such signal success at the outset-having
shot two, and mortally wounded a third. In this critical state of
affairs, the remaining banditti concluded that discretion was the
better part of valor, and made the best of their time and remaining
strength to beat a hasty retreat, leaving the old gentleman and his
companion with their three deliverers, quite safe in the middle of the
road.
“By our lady, sir, ’twas a gallant act. There were ten of those
rascals, and but three of you,” said the old gentleman, stepping out of
the volante and arranging his ruffled dress.
“Ten, senor? a soldier would make nothing of a score of such
scapegraces as those,” replied the officer (for such it was now
apparent he was), as he wiped the gore from his reeking blade with a
broad, green leaf from the roadside, and placed it in the scabbard.
One of the soldiers who had accompanied the officer had now cut the
thongs that bound the surviving outrider, who was one of the family
attaches of the old gentleman, and who now busied himself about the
vehicle, at one moment attending to the lady’s wants, and now to
harnessing the horse once more.
Removing his cap, and wiping the reeking perspiration from his brow,
the young officer now approached the volante and said to the lady:
“I trust, madame, that you have received no further injury by this
unfortunate encounter than must needs occur to you from fright.”
As he spoke thus, the lady turned quickly from looking towards the old
gentleman, who was now on the other side of the vehicle, and after a
moment exclaimed:
“Is it possible, Captain Bezan, that we are indebted to you for this
most opportune deliverance from what seemed to be certain destruction?”
“Isabella Gonzales!” exclaimed the young officer, with unfeigned
surprise.
“You did not know us, then?” she asked, quickly, in reply.
“Not I, indeed, or else I should sooner have spoken to you.”
“You thus risked your life, then, for strangers?” she continued.
“You were the weakest party, were attacked by robbers; it only required
a glance to realize that, and to attack them and release you was the
next most natural thing in the world,” replied the soldier, still
wiping the perspiration from his forehead and temples.
“Father!” exclaimed Isabella, with undisguised pleasure, “this is
Captain Bezan!”
“Captain Bezan?” repeated the old don, as surprised as his daughter had
been.
“At your service,” replied the soldier, bowing respectfully to Don
Gonzales.
“Why, sir,” said the old man, “what possible chance could have brought
you so fortunately to our rescue here, a dozen leagues from the city?”
“I was returning with these two companions of my company from a
business trip to the south side of the island, where we had been sent
with despatches from Tacon to the governor of the department.”
“No, matter, what chance has brought you here, at all events we owe our
lives to you, sir,” said Don Gonzales, extending his hand cordially to
the young officer.
After some necessary delay, under the peculiar circumstances, the
horses were finally arranged so as to permit of proceeding forward on
the road. The bodies of the servants were disposed of, and all was
ready for a start, when Isabella Gonzales turned to her father and
pressing his arm said:
“Father, how pale he looks!”
“Who, my child!”
“There, see how very pale!” said Isabella, rising up from her seat.
“Who do you speak of, Isabella?”
“Captain Bezan, father; see, there he stands beside his horse.”
“He does look fatigued; he has worked hard with those villains,” said
the old man.
“Why don’t he mount? The rest have done so, and we are ready,”
continued the old man, anxiously.
At that moment one of the horsemen, better understanding the case than
either Isabella Gonzales or her father, left his well-trained animal in
the road, and hastened to his officer’s side. It required but a glance
for him to see that his captain was too weak to mount.
Directing the outrider, who had now mounted one of the horses attached
to the volante, and acted as postilion, to drive towards him whom his
companion was partially supporting, Don Gonzales asked most anxiously:
“Captain Bezan, you are ill, I fear; are you much hurt?”
“A mere trifle, Don Gonzales; drive on, sir, and I will follow you in a
moment.”
“He is bleeding from his left arm and side, father,” said Isabella,
anxiously.
“You are wounded-I fear severely, Captain Bezan,” said the father.
“A mere scratch, sir, in the arm, from one of the unlucky thrusts of
those Montaros,” he replied, assuming an indifference that his pale
face belied.
“Ah! father, what can be done for him?” said Isabella, quickly.
“I am unharmed,” said the grateful old man, “and can sit a horse all
day long, if need be. Here, captain, take my seat in the volante, and
Isabella, whom you have served at such heavy cost to yourself, shall
act the nurse for you until we get to town again.”
Perhaps nothing, save such a proposition as this, could possibly have
aroused and sustained the wounded officer; but after gently refusing
for a while to rob Don Gonzales of his seat in the volante, he was
forced to accept it even by the earnest request of Isabella herself,
who seemed to tremble lest he was mortally wounded in their behalf.
Little did Don Gonzales know, at that time, what a flame he was feeding
in the young officer’s breast. He was too intently engaged in his own
mind with the startling scenes through which he had just passed, and
was exercised with too much gratitude towards Captain Bezan for his
deliverance, to observe or realize any peculiarity of appearance in any
other respect, or to question the propriety of placing him so
intimately by the side of his lovely child. Isabella had never told her
father, or indeed any one, of the circumstance of her having met
Captain Bezan on the Plato. But the reader, who is aware of the scene
referred to, can easily imagine with what feelings the soldier took his
seat by her side, and secretly watched the anxious and assiduous
glances that she gave his wounded arm and side, as well as the kind
looks she bestowed upon his pallid face.
“I fear I annoy you,” said the soldier, realizing his proximity to her
on the seat.
“No, no, by no means. I pray you rest your arm here,” said Isabella
Gonzales, as she offered her rebosa supported in part by her own
person!
“You are too kind-far too kind to me,” said the wounded officer,
faintly; for he was now really very weak from loss of blood and the
pain of his wounds.
“Speak not, I beseech of you, but strive to keep your courage up till
we can gain the aid of some experienced surgeon,” she said, supporting
him tenderly.
Thus the party drove on towards the city, by easy stages, where they
arrived in safety, and left Captain Bezan to pursue his way to his
barracks, which he did, not, however, until he had, like a faithful
courier, reported to the governor-general the safe result of his
mission to the south of the island.
The story of the gallant rescue was the theme of the hour for a period
in Havana, but attacks from robbers on the road, under Tacon’s
governorship, were too common an occurrence to create any great wonder
or curiosity among the inhabitants of the city. But Captain Bezan had
got wounds that would make him remember the encounter for life, and now
lay in a raging fever at his quarters in the infantry barracks of the
Plaza des Armes.