SUPERFICIAL REMARKS.
The _haciendas_ of Spanish America were never feudal tenures,
whatever certain badly informed authors may assert, but simply large
agricultural holdings, as their name clearly indicates.
These _haciendas_, scattered over Mexico at great distances from each
other, and surrounded by vast stretches of country, for the greater
part uninhabited, are generally situated on the top of abruptly rising
hills, in positions easy of defence.
As the _hacienda_, properly so called,--_i.e._ the habitation of the
proprietor of the estate,--forms the nucleus of the colony, and, in
addition to the barns and stables, contains also the out houses, the
lodgings of the _peones_, and, above all, the chapel, its walls are
high, massive, and surrounded by a ditch, so as to put it out of danger
from a _coup-de-main._
These numerous _haciendas_ frequently maintain from six to seven
hundred individuals of all trades, the lands belonging to a farm of
this description being often of greater extent than a whole province in
France.
They are the wholesale breeding places of the wild horses and cattle
that graze at freedom in the prairies, watched over at a distance by
_peones vaqueros_ as untamed as themselves.
The Hacienda de las Norias de San Antonio--_i.e._ St. Anthony's
Wells--rose gracefully from the summit of a hill covered with thick
groves of mahogany, Peru trees and _mesquites_, forming a belt of
evergreen foliage, the palish green of which contrasted agreeably with
the dead white of the lofty walls, crowned with _almenas_, a kind of
battlement intended to announce the nobility of the proprietor of the
holding.
In fact, Don Pedro de Luna was what is called a _cristiano viejo_ (old
Christian), and descended in a direct line from the first Spanish
conquerors, without a single drop of Indian blood having been infused
into the veins of his ancestors. So, although after the Declaration of
Independence the ancient customs began to fall into disuse, Don Pedro
de Luna was proud of his nobility, and clung to the _almenas_ as marks
of distinction which only noblemen were allowed to adopt in the time of
the Spanish rule.
Since the period when, in the suite of that genial adventurer, Fernando
Cortez, a Lopez de Luna had first put foot in America, the fortunes of
this family, very poor and much reduced at that time--for Don Lopez
literally possessed nothing but his cloak and sword,--the fortunes
of this family, we say, had taken an incredible flight upwards, and
entered on a career of prosperity that nothing in time's course could
trammel. Thus Don Pedro de Luna, the actual representative of this
ancient house, was in the enjoyment of wealth, the amount of which
it would certainly have puzzled him to state,--wealth which had been
increased still more by the property of Don Antonio de Luna, his elder
brother, who had disappeared more than twenty-five years after events
to which we shall have to revert, and who it was supposed had perished
miserably in the mysterious wilderness in the neighbourhood of the
_hacienda_. It was likely that he had fallen a victim to the horrible
pangs of hunger, or more probably into the hands of the Apaches, those
implacable enemies of the whites, on whom they ceaselessly wage an
inveterate war.
In short Don Pedro was the sole representative of his name, and his
fortune was immense. No one who has not visited the interior of Mexico
can figure to himself the riches buried in these almost unknown
regions, where certain land owners, if they would only take the trouble
to put their affairs in order, would find themselves five or six times
more wealthy than the greatest capitalists of the old world.
Now, although everything seemed to smile on the opulent _hacendero_,
and although, to the world that looks beyond the surface, he seemed
to enjoy, with every appearance of reason, an unalloyed happiness,
nevertheless the deep wrinkles channelled in the forehead of Don Pedro,
the mournful severity of his face, and his gaze often turned to heaven
with an expression of sombre despair, might give rise to the surmise
that the life all thought so happy was secretly agitated by a profound
sorrow, which the years, as they rolled on, augmented instead of
solacing.
And what was the sorrow? What storms had troubled the course of a life
so calm on the surface?
The Mexicans are the most forgetful people on earth. This certainly
arises from the nature of their climate, which is incessantly
distracted by the most frightful cataclysms. The Mexican, whose life is
passed on a volcano, who feels the soil incessantly trembling under his
feet, only cares to live for today. For him yesterday no longer exists;
tomorrow he may never see the sun rise; today is his all, for today is
his own.
The inhabitants of the Hacienda de las Norias, incessantly exposed to
the inroads of their redoubtable neighbours the redskins, constantly
occupied in defending themselves from their attacks and depredations,
were still more forgetful than the rest of their countrymen of a past
in which they took no interest.
The secret of Don Pedro's grief, if really such a secret existed, was,
therefore, confined pretty nearly to his own breast; and as he never
complained,--never made allusion to the earlier years of his life,
--surmise was impossible, and the ignorance of everyone on the subject
complete.
One single being had the privilege of smoothing the anxious brow of
the _hacendero_, and of bringing a languid and fleeting smile to his
lips.
It was his daughter. Doña Hermosa at sixteen was dazzlingly beautiful.
The jet black arches of her brow, finely traced as with a pencil,
enhanced the beauty of a forehead not too high and of a creamy white.
Her large eyes, blue and pensive, contrasted harmoniously with hair of
ebon hue, which curled about the delicate neck, and on which the sweet
jasmines died away with pleasure.
Short, like all Spanish women of her race, her figure was slender but
well knit. No smaller feet had ever pressed in the dance the greensward
of Mexico; no more delicate hand ever ransacked the dahlias of a
garden. Her walk, easy, like that of all Creoles, was a serpentine
and undulating motion, full of grace and of _salero_, as they say in
Andalusia.
This exquisite girl scattered mirth and joy over the _hacienda_,
whose echoes from morning to night repeated lovingly the melodious
modulations of her pellucid notes, the pure and fresh qualities of
which made the birds die of envy as they hid themselves under the
foliage of the _puerta_ (open court).
Don Pedro idolised his daughter; he felt for her that passionate and
boundless affection the immense power of which can only be understood
by those who are fathers in the true sense of the word.
Hermosa, brought up at the _hacienda_, had only paid a few short
visits, at long intervals, to the great centers of the Mexican
Confederation. Their manners were entirely strange to her. Accustomed
to lead the free and untrammelled life of a bird, and to express her
thoughts aloud, her frankness and innocent simplicity were extreme,
while her sweetness of temper made her adored by all the inhabitants of
the _hacienda_, over whose welfare she watched with constant care.
Nevertheless, owing to the peculiar kind of education she had
received,--exposed on this distant frontier to the frequent sound of
the frightful war whoop of the redskins, and to be present during
horrible scenes of carnage,--she had accustomed herself from an early
age to look perils in the face, if not coldly, at all events with a
courage and strength of mind scarcely to be expected in so delicate a
child.
In conclusion, the influence she exercised over all who approached her
was incomprehensible: it was impossible to know her without loving her,
or without feeling a wish to lay down one's life for her.
On several occasions, in the attacks made on the _hacienda_ by those
ferocious plunderers of the desert the Apaches and Comanches, some
wounded Indians had fallen into the hands of the Mexicans. Doña
Hermosa, far from suffering these wretches to be maltreated, had
ordered every care to be taken of them, and restored them to liberty as
soon as their wounds were healed.
From this course of action it resulted that the redskins by degrees
renounced their attacks upon the _hacienda_, and that the girl,
attended by only one man--with whom we shall soon make the reader
acquainted--unconcernedly took long rides in the wilderness, and
often, carried away by the ardour of the chase, rambled off to a great
distance from the _hacienda;_ while the Indians who saw her pass not
only abstained from injuring her, but laid no obstacles in her way. On
the contrary, these primitive beings, having conceived a superstitious
veneration for her, contrived, while remaining out of sight themselves,
to remove from her path any dangers she might otherwise have
encountered.
The redskins, with that natural tone of poetry which distinguishes
them, had called her "the White Butterfly," so light and fragile did
she seem to them as she bounded like a frightened fawn through the tall
prairie grasses, which hardly bent under her weight.
One of her most favourite resting places in these excursions was a
_rancho_, (a farm) seven or eight miles from the _hacienda._ The
_rancho_, built in a charming situation and surrounded by fields well
looked after and carefully cultivated, was inhabited by a woman of
fifty and her son, a tall and handsome man of twenty-five or twenty-six
with a proud eye and a warm heart, named Estevan Diaz. Na Manuela, as
they called the old woman, and Estevan had an affection for the girl
which knew no bounds. Manuela had nursed Hermosa when an infant, and
the foster mother almost looked upon her young mistress as her own
child, so deep was the love she bore her. The woman belonged to a class
of domestics, now unhappily extinct in Europe, who form, as it were
a part of the family, and are looked upon by their masters more as
friends than servants.
It was under Estevan's escort that Hermosa took those long rides of
which we spoke above. These continual _têtes-à-têtes_ between a girl of
sixteen and a man of twenty-five, which in our hypocritical and prudish
world would be considered compromising, seemed very natural to the
inhabitants of the _hacienda._ They knew the profound respect and loyal
affection which bound Estevan to his mistress, whom he had dandled
on his knees when a child, and whose first steps he had supported.
Hermosa, who was as laughing, playful, and teasing as most girls of her
age, took very great pleasure in being with Estevan, whom she could
torment and plague to her heart's delight without his ever attempting
to turn restive at the capricious vagaries of his young mistress. Did
he not endure all her caprices with a patience beyond praise?
Don Pedro manifested an affectionate esteem for Manuela and her son. He
had great confidence in both, and for the last two years had entrusted
Estevan with the important post of _major-domo_--a post he shared, as
far as the land was concerned, with Luciano Pedralva, who, however, was
placed under his orders.
Thus Estevan Diaz and his mother were, next to the proprietor, the
persons of greatest account at the _hacienda_, where they were treated
with infinite respect, not only on account of the post they occupied,
but also for the sake of their character, which was duly appreciated by
all.
The Mexican _hacenderos_, whose properties are of immense extent, have
a practice at certain times of the year of making a progress through
their estates, in order to cast over their holding that "eye of the
master" which, according to the favourite saying in Southern America,
makes the crops ripen and the cattle fatten. Don Pedro never failed
to undertake these tours, on which he was anxiously expected by the
inferior persons in his employ, and by the _peones_ of the _haciendas_,
to whom the casual presence of their master brought some temporary
alleviation of their miserable lives.
In Mexico slavery, abolished in principle by the Declaration of
Independence, no longer exists by right; but it exists _de facto_
through the whole extent of the Confederation; and the following is
the adroit manner in which the law is eluded by the rich owners of
the soil:--Every _hacienda_ necessarily employs a great number of
individuals as _peones, vaqueros, tigreros,_ (herdsmen, hunters), &c.
All these people are _Indios mansos_, or civilized Indians--that is to
say, they have been baptised, and practise, after their own fashion, a
religion they will not take the trouble to understand, and which they
mix up with most absurd and ridiculous customs derived from their old
creeds.
Brutalised by misery, the _peones_ hire themselves, at very moderate
wages, to the _hacenderos_, for the sake of satisfying their two
chief vices,--gambling and drunkenness. But as Indians are the most
thriftless beings in creation, their petty wages never suffice to feed
and clothe them; and every day they are liable to die of hunger, if
they cannot contrive to procure the ordinary necessaries of life from
some source independent of their pay. It is when they have reached this
climax that the rich proprietors trap them.
The _capataz_ and _major-domo_ keep in every _hacienda_, by order of
their master, stores filled with clothing, arms, household utensils,
and so forth, which are open to the _peones_, who pawn their labour for
the needful articles advanced to them; the prices of the articles being
always ten times their value.
It follows, from this simple combination, that the poor devils of
_peones_ not only never touch an infinitesimal fraction of the nominal
wages allotted to them, but find themselves always on the debit side
of the _hacendero's_ balance sheet; and in a few months owe sums they
could not possibly pay off in a lifetime. As the law is positive in
these cases, the _peones_ are compelled to remain in the service
of their masters until, by their labour, this debt is liquidated.
Unfortunately for them, their necessities are so imperious at all
times, their position so precarious, that, after a life spent in
incessant toil, the _peones_ die insolvent. They have lived as slaves,
fatally, _adscripti glebæ_, shamelessly worked, without mercy, down
to their latest sigh, by men whom their sweat and their labour have
enriched tenfold.
Doña Hermosa, good natured, as girls usually are when brought up in
the bosom of their families, generally accompanied her father in these
annual progresses, and pleased herself by leaving bounteous marks of
her welcome visit with the poor _peones_.
This year, as in the preceding ones, she had attended Don Pedro de
Luna, signalizing her visit to each _rancho_ by relieving, in some way
or other, the infirm, the old, and the children.
About forty-eight hours before the day on which our story commences,
Don Pedro had left a silver mine he was working some leagues off in
the desert, and set off for Las Norias de San Antonio. When he had got
within twenty leagues of the _hacienda_, he felt convinced that his
escort was not needed so near his own property, and sent forward Don
Estevan and the armed retainers to announce his return, keeping with
him only the _capataz_, Luciano Pedralva, and three or four _peones_.
Don Estevan had tried to dissuade his master from remaining in the
desert almost single-handed, pointing out to him that the Indian
frontiers were infested by freebooters and marauders of the vilest
kind, who, skulking among the thickets, would be upon the watch for an
opportunity of attacking his little band; but, by a singular fatality,
Don Pedro, convinced that he had nothing to fear from these vagabonds,
who had never exhibited signs of hostility towards him, had insisted on
the _major-domo's_ departure, and the latter had been forced to obey,
although with reluctance.
The escort rode off; the _hacendero_ quietly continued his road,
chatting with his daughter, and laughing at the sinister presentiments
clouding the face of the _major-domo_ when he took leave of his master.
The day slipped away without anything happening to confirm the
misgivings of Don Estevan; no accident interrupting the monotonous
regularity of the march; no suspicious sign excited the fears of the
travellers. The desert was at peace; as far as the eye could reach,
nothing was to be seen but some straggling herds of elks and antelopes,
browsing on the tall and tufted grasses of the prairie.
At sunset Don Pedro and his companions had reached the outskirts of an
immense virgin forest, part of which they would have to cross to reach
the _hacienda_, now about a dozen leagues off.
The _hacendero_ resolved to encamp for the night at the edge of the
covert, hoping to reach Las Norias early on the morrow, before the
great heat of the day set in.
In a short time everything was arranged; a hut of branches was put
together for Doña Hermosa; fires were lit, and the horses securely
tethered, to prevent their straying during the night.
The travellers supped gaily; after which everyone laid down to sleep as
comfortably as he could manage.
However, the _capataz_, a man trained to Indian artifices, thought it
prudent not to neglect a single precaution to secure the repose of
his companions. He placed a sentry, to whom he recommended the utmost
vigilance, and saddled his horse, with the intention of making a
reconnaissance round the camp.
Don Pedro, already half asleep, raised his head, and asked Don
Luciano what he intended to do. When the _capataz_ had explained, the
_hacendero_ burst out laughing, and peremptorily ordered him to leave
his horse to feed in peace, and to lay himself down by the fire, in
order to be ready to resume the journey at break of day. The _capataz_
shook his head, but obeyed; he could not understand the conduct of his
master, who was usually so prudent and circumspect.
The truth was, that Don Pedro, impelled by one of those inexplicable
fatalities which, without apparent reason, often make the most
intelligent blind, was convinced that he had nothing to fear so
near his home, and almost on his own territory, from the rovers and
marauders of the frontiers, who would think twice before they attacked
a man of his importance, having the means in his power to make them pay
dearly for any attempt upon his person. Nevertheless, the _capataz_,
agitated by a secret uneasiness, which kept him awake in spite of
his efforts to sleep, determined to keep good watch during the night,
notwithstanding the injunctions of his master.
As soon as he saw Don Pedro decidedly asleep, he rose softly, took his
rifle, and crept stealthily towards the forest to reconnoitre; but he
had scarcely quitted the circle of light formed by the watch fire, and
advanced a few paces into the covert, than he was suddenly and rudely
seized by invisible hands, thrown on the ground, gagged, and bound with
cords; and with such expedition, that he could neither use his arms nor
utter a cry of warning to his companions.
But, in strange contrariety to the tragical usages of the prairie, the
persons who had so abruptly mastered the _capataz_ subjected him to no
ill usage, contenting themselves with binding him firmly, so as to put
the possibility of the slightest resistance out of the question, and
leaving him stretched upon the ground.
"My poor mistress!" sighed the worthy fellow as he fell, without
indulging a thought for himself.
He remained in this position for a length of time, listening greedily
to every sound in the desert, expecting every instant to hear cries
of distress from Don Pedro and Doña Hermosa. But not a cry was heard:
nothing disturbed the calm of the wilderness, over which the silence of
death seemed brooding.
At last, after twenty or twenty-five minutes, someone threw a _zarapé_
over his face, most likely with the intention of preventing any
recognition of his assailants; he was lifted from the ground with a
certain degree of precaution, and two men carried him in their arms to
some considerable distance.
The situation became more complicated every moment. In vain the
_capataz_ racked his mind to divine the intentions of his captors. The
latter uttered not a word, and glided over the ground with light and
noiseless steps, as if they were spectres. The generality of Mexicans
are fatalists. The _capataz_, recognizing the futility of a struggle,
philosophically consoled himself for what had happened, and patiently
awaited the result of this singular scene.
He had not long to wait for the issue. His unknown captors, having
probably reached the intended spot, halted and laid the _capataz_ on
the ground, after which everything round him grew calm and silent again.
At the end of several minutes he determined on an attempt to recover
his liberty, and made a desperate effort to break his bonds. But here
again a fresh surprise was reserved for him: the cords which bound him,
and which were so fast a minute before, broke after a slight resistance.
The _capataz's_ first impulse was to lift the _zarapé_ which covered
his face, and free himself from the gag. He next looked about him to
reconnoitre, and to find out what had become of his companions, and
uttered a cry of astonishment and fright on seeing Doña Hermosa, her
father, and the _peones_ stretched on the ground close by, gagged as he
had been, and their heads muffled in _zarapés_.
The _capataz_ hastened to the relief of his mistress and Don Pedro,
after which he severed the cords which bound the _peones_.
The place to which the travellers had been transported by their
invisible aggressors was completely dissimilar to the site chosen for
the camp. They were in the midst of a thick forest, where at an immense
height above their heads, the gigantic trees formed a green vault,
almost impenetrable to the light of day. The horses and baggage of the
travellers had vanished. Their position was frightful, deserted as they
were in the virgin forest without provisions or horses. Every hope of
safety was gone, and a terrible death, after horrible sufferings stared
them in the face.
It is impossible to describe the despair of Don Pedro. He acknowledged,
when it was too late, the folly of his conduct. He fixed his weeping
eyes on his daughter with an expression of unspeakable tenderness
and sorrow, accusing himself as the sole cause of the evil that had
overwhelmed them. Doña Hermosa was the only one who did not give way
to despair in these critical circumstances. After trying to raise the
courage of her father by tender and consoling words, she was the first
to speak of quitting the place and endeavouring to find the road they
had lost.
The courage which sparkled in the eye of the daughter reanimated the
energy of her father and the rest. If she did not succeed in reviving
hope in their breasts, at all events she aroused in them sufficient
spirit to encounter the necessary struggle before them. The final words
of this young creature put a stop to all hesitation, and completed the
happy reaction she had excited in their minds.
"Our friends," said she, "on finding we do not arrive, will suspect
our misfortune, and devote themselves immediately to a search for us.
Don Estevan, to whom all the secrets of the wilderness are known, will
infallibly recover our trail. Our position, therefore, is far from
desperate. Let us not abandon ourselves, if we do not wish God to
abandon us. Let us go: soon I hope we shall find our way out of the
forest, and see the sun once more."
So they began their march.
Unfortunately it is impossible to find the right direction in a virgin
forest, unless we are well acquainted with the localities,--the
forests, where all the trees are alike, where there is no visible
horizon, and where the only available knowledge is the instinct of the
brute, not the reason of man. Thus the travellers wandered at random
the whole day long, always turning, without knowing it, in the same
circle, travelling far without advancing, and vainly seeking to find a
road which was not in existence.
Don Pedro endeavoured to discover a reason why the men who had
stolen their horses should have abandoned them in this inextricable
labyrinth; why they had been thus callously condemned to an agonising
death; and who the enemy might be who had cruelly conceived a plan of
such atrocious revenge. But the _hacendero_ racked his brains in vain
for even a surmise. His mind suggested no one on whom suspicion could
rest as the probable author of this unqualified crime.
All the morning the travellers continued their devious course: the sun
went down, the day gave way to night, and they were still toiling on,
wandering mechanically without any fixed direction, now to the right,
now to the left; struggling on more in the endeavour to escape from
their thoughts by physical fatigue, than in the hope of emerging from
the forest--their horrible prison.
Doña Hermosa uttered no complaint. Cool and resolute, she pushed
forward with a firm step, encouraging her companions by voice and
gesture, and still finding spirit enough to chide and shame them for
their want of perseverance.
All of a sudden she uttered a cry of pain. She had been bitten by a
snake. This fresh misfortune, which should have apparently completed
the travellers' despair, on the contrary, excited them to such a pitch,
that they forgot all else, except how to think for and to save her whom
they called their guardian angel.
But human strength has limits, beyond which it may not go. The
travellers, overcome by fatigue and their poignant emotions during
their wanderings, and convinced, besides, of the inutility of their
efforts, were on the point of yielding to their despair, when God
placed them suddenly face to face with the hunter.