thousand flasks of it; and avouch, in return, 'tis muddy as the Tajo in
a shower, and only fit for a Portuguese or a dog to drink!"
"Never mind, Lazaro; your aquardiente is most excellent," observed
Ronald, seating himself by the gushing fountain, and partaking of the
bread and bacallao, or dried cod-fish, which composed their simple fare.
"Your mules seem heavily laden: how far do you mean to travel to-night?"
"As far as the first posada on the road to Majorga."
"What do your cattle carry in these large packages?"
"Oh! senor, many things; principally flour, rice, corn, pulse, and wine
and oil in skins. These commodities we have brought from the centre of
Catalonia and Arragon, and are carrying to the frontiers of Portugal to
sell among the British troops. We hope to find a good market at the camp
before Ciudad Rodrigo, in the kingdom of Leon."
"Catalonia and Arragon, did you say? How! These provinces are in
possession of the French troops!"
"True, senor; but we muleteers have ways of our own, by which we evade
the out-picquets and foraging parties of the enemy."
"Such as----"
"Travelling fast all night, and concealing ourselves closely all
day,--and a hundred other modes. Senor, we would evade Satan himself,
did he lay snares for us. We muleteers are cunning fellows!"
"You speak truly," observed Pedro. "A Spanish muleteer is a strange
being, and one that is as wily and active as a serpent; but they are
happy fellows, I assure you, senor, and like no other men that I know
of. A muleteer makes his home every where, because he is for ever
wandering over all wide Spain. Cracking his whip and his joke, he
travels with a light heart over our long dusty plains, and through the
deep passes of the lofty hills and sierras, singing merrily to the
jingle of his mules' bells, stopping only to smack his wine-horn or the
lips of the peasant girls, whom he loves almost as well as his
mules,--only almost, senor, because he loves his mules better than
himself. He gives them fine names; he scolds, talks, kisses, and sings
to them, to cheer them by the way; and at the posada or the bivouac he
provides for their wants before he looks after his own. Caramba! were I
not a soldier, I would certainly become a jolly muleteer. He is a droll
fellow indeed,--soft-hearted and hard-headed, but alway honest, and true
as the sun, senor."
"You have made a most excellent panegyric upon them, Pedro," remarked
Ronald, when the soldier had stopped to take breath, and the shout of
laughter which his observations called forth from the muleteers had
subsided.
"Our Lady del Pilar! good, good! Well said, Pedro; you deserve another
horn for that," cried the master-muleteer. "But if it please you, draw
some distinction between us and the muleteers of Valencia, who are none
of the best,--in fact the veriest rogues in all Spain. They would cheat
the holy Virgin herself, were she to traffic with them. But talking of
rogues, senor, if you would travel with us to Majorga, we should be
proud of the honour of your company, and in truth you may find some
advantage in ours."
"Why so, Master Lazaro?"
"The ruinous chapel of Santa Lucia, in the cork forest yonder, has
become the haunt of some deperadoes for this week past,--fellows who are
very unscrupulous whom they attack or encounter, and with us, who are
all stout and honest men, and well armed to boot,"--every man had a
trabuco or blunderbuss with a brass bell-muzzle slung across his
back,--"you will be in greater safety. Our escort is not to be despised
in these perilous times."
"I thank you for your offer and advice; but as I mean to await in this
neighbourhood the arrival of our troops, it would not suit me to travel
so far westward as Majorga, and so I care not to take my chance of
encountering the thieves in the wood yonder. My Highland follower will,
of course, stand by me; and Pedro will, I suppose, likewise."
"May I be blasted by a curse if I do not, senor!" The muleteers clapped
their hands in applause.
"Are the rogues numerous?" asked Ronald.
"Three or four, senor; but stoutly armed desperadoes, and led by a
regular demon, long well known as a frontier guerilla, whose only
delight was slaughter and war to the knife! A fellow that could eat
fire, as the proverb says, and upon whom lead and steel were alike
ineffectual."
"We will put him to the test, if he crosses our path. I never heard of
a hide yet, unless covered by steel, that was proof against the point of
a claymore. Three or four, did you say? We are but three; but then we
are soldiers, you know, and are alone worth a dozen such as these
fellows you speak of. But what has caused a gallant guerilla to turn
robber?"
"Why, senor, 'tis a long story; and we had it yesterday from a poor
muleteer of Codeciera, whom the villains rifled of his mules and every
maravedi in his pouch,--the devil confound them for it!"
"Well, and this guerilla----"
"Kept a wine-house in Albuquerque; but for some attempt to assassinate
the famous cavalier Don Alvaro de Villa Franca, his goods were
confiscated to King Ferdinand by the corregidor's order. On finding
himself a penniless outlaw, he took his musket and dagger, and turned
bandit--keeping himself in the desert places of the forest of
Albuquerque and the Sierra de Montanches for some weeks past. Now he
has begun to collect followers, and has stationed himself in the wood of
La Nava, rendering its neighbourhood any thing but a safe one."
"Go on, Lazaro," said Ronald eagerly; "his name is--"
"Narvaez Cifuentes,--a fellow I never much liked, although I have
emptied some thousand horns at his casa. But what is the matter, noble
senor; surely I have not offended you?"
Ronald's eyes sparkled with stern delight, and true Highland fury
swelled within his breast at the intelligence that Cifuentes was so
near; and his wild reckless spirit and love of adventure made him
instantly resolve to search the wood and confront his hated enemy, at
all risks and hazards.
"Evan--Evan! the daring wretch who attempted to assassinate me is
lurking among the dingles of the wood yonder. I will seek him out and
take vengeance on him, or perish. He has but three armed villains with
him: you will, of course, follow me?"
"Sir! I wadna be my faither's son, if I didna follow whare'er ye led
the way," replied Evan testily. "The venture's no' what I would just
like; folk shouldna tempt danger or Providence, but follow ye I will as
long as I can draw breath; and, troth, I would amaist gie up my hope o'
salvation, to hae but a chance at the infernal riever wi' my firelock!"
To Pedro and the muleteer, who were surprised at his sudden excitement,
Ronald related all he knew of Cifuentes; and during the narrative he was
interrupted by many an indignant "_carajo_" and malediction on the
wine-seller. When he had finished, the muleteers declared, with one
voice, that if they had not their mules to attend to they would have
followed into the wood and assisted him to attack the haunt of the
robbers among the ruins, and to kill or capture his enemy; but Pedro,
animated by the natural daring of a Spaniard, and as a soldier of Spain
considering it his duty to follow Ronald as an officer of the allies, he
at once volunteered frankly to attend him in his rash undertaking.
The evening had begun to deepen into the darker shadows of night, and
the pale evening star, twinkling amidst the blushing blaze of the
western sky, had risen above the wood of La Nava, when the sturdy
muleteers, collecting their beasts of burden, moved off with much noise,
jollity, and cracking of whips in the direction of the place where they
meant to pass the night,--an inn on the road to Majorga. Ronald Stuart
bade them farewell, and receiving many honest wishes for success, parted
from them; and, followed by his two soldiers, left the fountain, making
straight for the cork forest, the dark foliage of which lay involved in
"a brown horror" before them.
It was a clear and beautiful moonlight night when they reached the
skirts of the wood, whence, on looking back, they beheld a red light,
which spread over the sky, rising in the direction of Merida, telling
that the French were at their old work,--pillage and ruthless
devastation. Stuart trembled for the safety of the fair friends he had
left behind, and earnestly trusted that the Count d'Erlon's letter would
protect them from insult or outrage.
"Braw wark at Merida this bonnie nicht, sir," observed Evan, giving a
last look to the rear ere they plunged into the recesses of the forest.
"My certie! the very lift seems a' in a low, the clouds are red wi'
streaks o' fire,--and here's Pedro, puir gomeril! he is like to gang
clean daft at the sicht o't."
"You would not be in a very pleasant humour yourself, Evan, were you to
see the clachan of Strathfillan, or the 'fair city' of Perth, blazing by
the hands of invaders; and Jessie Cavers, perhaps--ay, even your Jessie,
carried off like a stricken deer across the saddle-bow of a French
dragoon."
"Sic waefu' things will never happen at hame in auld Scotland, God be
praised for't! never, sir, while oor men are made o' the stuff they are;
the broad-sword has bent, but it has not yet broken! But it's unco droll
to hear how Pedro, puir chield, havers to himsel."
Unaware of how he was listened to, Pedro Gomez ground his teeth with
ill-concealed rage, while he invoked the curses of San Juan, San
Geronimo, and a hundred others, not forgetting our Holy Lady of Majorga,
on the enemy. This vituperation appeared to give him a deal of comfort;
and thus consoling himself, he led them on towards the ruins of Santa
Lucia by a pathway, with which he was well acquainted. It was so narrow
that only one could pass at a time, and so much intersected, crossed,
and barred by brambles, bushes, and foliage, that they had infinite
trouble in proceeding at all. It led them into a deeper and denser part
of the forest, the dewy branches of which were now in full foliage; the
waving leaves were glittering in a thousand hues and shades of green as
the pale moonbeams fell on them, streaming in a gush of silver light on
the glistening grass or down the dark dingles as they pushed aside the
heavy branches in their progress, tearing the nets of silvery gauze
which many a busy spider was weaving from tree to tree in the merry
moonlight.
"For ony sake, Pedro, haud your wheesht, man!" exclaimed the Scottish
soldier impatiently; "it's enough to mak' a body eerie to hear ye
growling and yammering that gate, in siccan a dismal place as this.
O'd, sir, I never heard ony ane blatter sic words, exceptin' the auld
lawyer body at Almendrelauchy, when Angus Mackie and mysel had a fecht
wi' him. Would ye like to hear that story, sir?" he added, turning to
his master.
"No, not at present," was the reply; "we must move in silence, else 'tis
useless to move at all. Look well to your flint and priming, and keep
your lock clear of bushes. Should a musquet be discharged it would
alarm the thieves, on whom I wish to steal unperceived, if possible."
Ronald repeated these injunctions in the Spanish language, as indeed he
had to do most of his observations, and they now advanced in perfect
silence, following the intricate windings of the narrow track, which in
former days had been a well-beaten road to the sequestered chapel of the
forest, the fame of whose _relicario_ drew, in ancient times, scores of
devout pilgrims at certain seasons. As the pathway was now more open,
Ronald took the lead.
It was certainly a rash and daring attempt to enter thus a wood, every
pass of which was unknown to them, and at night, on such an errand, to
search for so formidable a desperado as Narvaez Cifuentes,--a name which
is yet a bugbear to the children of Estremadura, and used by their
mothers to _frighten_ them to sleep; more especially as the number of
his followers was doubtful, and it was only certain that they would all
be equally desperate and ferocious as himself. But Ronald's bold blood
was up, and his eagerness to take vengeance upon him for the recent
wound that his hand had inflicted, and the pain and suffering which that
wound had caused, rendered him blind to what might be the probable
consequences.
Alice's desertion of him for a higher born and more wealthy lover had
rendered him careless of life, prompt to encounter and utterly
regardless of any danger, which was proved by the cold insensibility
with which he conducted himself during his duel with the conde. That
native spirit of daring which exists in the bosom of every mountaineer,
and which he possessed in no slight degree, likewise spurred him on; and
thinking not of the rash manner in which he was perilling his own life
and the lives of his friends, he continued to penetrate resolutely into
the most gloomy part of the wood.
"Eh! gude guide us! what is that, sir?" exclaimed Iverach, charging his
musquet breast high, while he started back in dismay as some huge animal
arose from its lair, upon which they had encroached, and dashing
furiously past them, swept through the forest glade like a tempest.
"What an awfu' like beast to meet in siccan erne a place!"
"Many such have we shot at home on the green braes of Strathonan and
side of Benmore. Is it possible that you knew not what it was?"
Evan was abashed, and trod on without replying, while he was sadly
incommoded by the rough brambles and stunted bushes, which tore his bare
legs, where left uncovered by the tartan kilt and gartered hose.
"Senor," said Pedro, "what a noble deer it was that rushed past us just
now!":
"Ay, faith! and a splendid mark for a single ball at a range of forty
yards or so; but I am surprised to find it here in a cork forest."
"It must have come down from the Sierra de Montanches, for there, and
among the high mountains of Guadalupe, many thousands of gallant deer
and the dark brown roe-buck rove about in freedom."
Their attention was now attracted by a strange noise, which seemed to
approach them in front: it was a series of sounds, in tone something
between the snorting growl of some wild animal and the squeaking of
young swine. Ronald, who had never heard such noises before, was very
much surprised, and kept his hand on the hilt of his sword; but poor
Evan's nerves were sadly discomposed, and he felt every hair on his
scalp bristling under his bonnet, as the dismal remembrance of the many
awful beings who peopled the Coirnan Taischatrin, and every thicket and
corrie about Lochisla, rushed upon his mind. All the stories he had
heard of the dreadful water-horse that dwelt in the castle loch, (and
which his father the piper beheld one clear moonlight night floating on
the surface of the placid water, as he was returning from a _dredgie_),
of the little fairies who lived under the green holms of Corrie-avon,
and the yet more terrible white woman who haunted the black muir of
Strathonan and howled to the wind the live-long night, all crowded
horribly upon his memory, and the perspiration burst forth from every
pore, as something like a legion of flying devils swept tumultuously
past them, and plunging into the underwood disappeared, squeaking,
growling, and tearing the bushes to fragments in their wild career.
"Pedro! What are all these, in the devil's name!" cried Ronald,
starting back and half unsheathing his weapon.
"Only a herd of wild swine, senor," replied Pedro with a laugh.
"_Demonios!_ one fellow has given a stroke with his tusk in passing,
which I little like."
"'Twas only a drove of wild pigs," said Ronald. "Cheer up, Evan; surely
you were not frightened? Yet you seem very pale in the moonlight."
"Frightened, said ye, sir?" replied, or rather asked, Evan indignantly,
but feeling considerably re-assured the while; "frightened! the deil a
bit, sir. But I never got sic a start in a' my born days syne the nicht
the howlet gied me a flaff wi' its wing, when we took Maister Macquirk
ower to the ruins on the Kirk-inch. Ye'll mind o'd, sir: he was living
wi' the auld laird for a day or twa at the tower, and we rowed him ower
the loch in the boat, to gie a look o' the bonnie ruins in the
moonlicht."
"Macquirk!" reiterated Ronald, the name recalling a disagreeable passage
in his father's letter.
"Ay, sir, Maister Macquirk,--a pleasant smooth-spoken gentleman, as a'
Edinburgh writer-folk are. Eh! God be wi' us, sir! what's this noo?
Mair wild pigs, I declare!" cried he in considerable trepidation.
"Pshaw! Evan. Your father, old Donald, has made a complete old wife of
you, by his horrible legends and stories."
"It's no for me, sir, to---- But it's just a temptin' o' Providence to
be--"
"Hush! 'tis only the barking of dogs. Tread softly, and keep close
under the darkest shadows of the foliage."
"There is a man yonder, senor,--evidently a sentinel," whispered Pedro
in a low voice.
"Where?" asked Ronald, as they halted.
"About thirty paces off."
"Under the dark tree?"
"Ay, senor,--the moon shines full upon him."
"Keep close in the gloom: he sees us now, I think."
The figure of a man armed with a long musquet appeared clearly, as the
bright radiance of the moon streamed down the narrow path, glittering on
the butts of his pistols and hilt of the poniard stuck in the worsted
sash which was twisted round his waist. He wore a long slouched cap,
which hung down his back, and various tassels, ribbons, and gewgaws of
gold lace that adorned his short velvet jacket glimmered in the
moonlight.
"_Quien vive?_" challenged he, like a Spanish sentinel, while he stooped
his ear towards the ground, listening intensely for a few seconds. He
appeared to have heard something. It was Evan's feet rustling among the
last year's leaves. The robber stood erect, and cocked his musquet while
he looked forward into the gloom, a passing cloud having obscured the
face of the moon.
"_Carajo! Quien vive? Amigos o enemigos?_" he repeated, the sonorous
tones of his voice reechoing in the dingles of the wood, and arousing
the fierce growling of some dogs near at hand.
"This is one of the villains, senor, bedecked in all his ill-gotten
finery."
"We must dispatch him," answered Ronald in a fierce whisper, his natural
impetuosity becoming roused; "we must rid ourselves of him, but how?"
"Quietly, senor,--leave him to me. Every man lost to the enemy is one
gained to us,--so says Murillo, and he--"
"Pshaw! never mind Murillo. This fellow must be settled warily, if we
would steal upon the rest. What would you advise? He certainly hears
us, and should he fire in this direction, one of us may be knocked on
the head. I will rush on him, and disarm or cut him down in a
twinkling."
"Nay, noble senor; his outcry would be as mischievous as the discharge
of his musquet: the ruins of the chapel are close at hand, remember.
Leave him to me," was Pedro's answer, while he coolly displayed the
blade of a long Spanish knife, which flashed as he drew it, and, gliding
from Ronald's side, advanced softly towards the brigand under the shadow
of the trees.
The challenge of the bandit again sounded through the lonely wood.
"_Cuidado, amigos mios; cuidado?_" he added in a voice of taunt and
warning, but evidently while he was uncertain whether or not any one had
approached his post. He drew his thumbnail cautiously across the sharp
edge of his flint, he raised his musquet to his shoulder, and was about
to fire in the direction of the place where Ronald and Evan stood
concealed. Another second would perhaps have sealed the fate of one of
them, when the stiletto of the dragoon glittered near him in the pale
moonlight,--a heavy blow was given, and a deep groan succeeded: the
robber fell dying upon the sward, while his musquet only flashed in the
pan, and fell rattling from his grasp without doing damage. Ronald
rushed towards the spot, and found the bloodthirsty sargento wiping his
deadly weapon with scrupulous accuracy, while he kept his foot upon the
yet warm, though breathless corpse of the man he had destroyed. The
light of the moon fell with a cold and ghastly lustre on the pale and
rigid, yet very fine features of the dead man, becoming contracted and
fierce with the recent death-struggle. His white and up-turned eyes
shone with a terrible glare, as the moon-beams fell on them, and
altogether there was something sad and appalling in the sudden manner in
which this desperado had been hurled into eternity, with all his
unrepented and manifold sins upon his head.
"Awfu' work this, sir!" said Evan with a shudder, while he surveyed the
stark and bold features of the slain, around whom a black pool formed by
his blood lay increasing. "A dour-looking chield he is, wi' a gloom on
his brow that would suit Rob Roy himsel."
"I would to Heaven, Gomez," observed the equally excited Stuart, "you
had found some other mode of silencing him than this; there is somewhat
in it at which I revolt."
The Spaniard laughed grimly.
"Senor," said he, "the man was only a robber; and when old Murillo gets
hold of such, he hangs them by scores at a time, and I have seen a stout
beech bending under a load of such devil's fruit. Pho! senor, it matters
not. We are now close upon the ruins of the chapel, and the villains
who harbour there have some formidable allies,--mastiff dogs. I hear
them growling, and I assure you, senor, that a demon may be as easily
dealt with as a Spanish hound. You will require all your resolution and
energy to--"
"I do not mean to relinquish the search, after having proceeded so far,"
replied Ronald, interrupting the Spaniard, at whose tone he felt a
little piqued. "I assure you, Sargento Gomez, 'tis not the sight of a
little blood that will make the heart of a Scottish Highlander fail."
"I meant not to offend, senor; but let us proceed. The ruins of Santa
Lucia are some twenty yards from this."
"Forward, then,--lead on!"
Ronald in passing possessed himself of the dead man's loaded musquet and
well-filled pouch of ball cartridges, an acquisition on which he had
soon reason to congratulate himself.
*CHAPTER XV.*
*THE BANDITTI.*
"'Tis na' for nought, bauld Duncan cried,
Sic shoutings on the wind:
Then up he started frae his seat,
A thrang of spears behind.
Haste, haste, my valiant hearts, he said,
Anes mair to follow me:
"We'll meet these shouters by the burn,--
I guess wha they may be."
_Duncan: a Fragment._
Treading softly and warily, they came to an opening in the wood, and
found themselves close upon the ruins of the ancient structure. It
occupied the summit of a grassy mound, which sloped down on all sides,
and where the mouldered remains of some ancient crosses and tomb-stones
lay half sunk and buried among the long rank grass. The chapel had
almost disappeared; little remained save the crypt; and at intervals,
amid a heap of shattered stones, arose tall ornamented buttresses
(surviving the intermediate walls), their summits glimmering in the
moonlight, which streamed through loop-holes and yawning rents in the
massive masonry, showing the weeds and grass which waved in every nook
and corner, flourishing around the prostrate effigies of departed
warriors, whose monumental busts lay stretched like rigid corses under
their ruined canopies.
"The auld kirk o' Inchisla just ower again!" exclaimed Evan, as he
surveyed the heaps of prostrate pillars and crumbled arches with
feelings of awe and veneration.
"Santos! will you be silent?" asked Pedro, in a fierce whisper in
Spanish.
"I dinna ken what ye say, mon; ye are waur than an Aberdonian."
"Keep silence, Evan!" said Ronald; "we are close upon their lair now."