DON FABRIQUE.
We were awake betimes in the morning, and breakfasted early, in the
true Spanish style, on good stiff chocolate with fried eggs, purple
wine, and snow-white bread; but no hostile message came from Don
Joaquim. The hours stole on, and the sunlit streets threw the
shadows of their picturesque façades against each other. The events
of the last night, and their probable consequences, had given us a
decided distaste for prowling about the streets of Seville. We were
both somewhat thoughtful, and said little, or conferred only on the
nearest route by which we could reach Gibraltar, in coming from
which, we had made somewhat of a détour; and Jack hinted that we
should probably have some more brawls with alcaldes, rows at posadas,
skirmishes with banditos, and other pleasant adventures, before we
reported ourselves "as just arrived" at head quarters.
"A letter for El Señor Capitano Don Ricardo," said the waiter,
approaching.
"A letter for you, Dick," said Slingsby.
"So it has come at last," said I, breaking the seal.
"Will it be an affair of knives or pistols?"
"Hush!" said I, as the waiter retired.
"Slugs in a saw-pit, and all that sort of thing--a triangular duel,
eh? But an officer should have brought it."
"Yes, had it been that for which you seem so very anxious."
"Anxious! not I, believe me."
"Well, this is from a lady."
"The deuce--you quite interest me. I can perceive that it is penned
on pink paper, a little flourished, but without signature. It is
from Paulina, poor girl! I can imagine her writing it, and as Byron
says--
"'How tremulously gentle, her small hand--'"
"How can you run on thus?" I asked, imploringly. "Fie upon you,
Jack, after all the misery we have wrought to these poor people."
"Well, perhaps you are right and I am wrong. I beg pardon; but the
letter--what is it about?"
"Only the safety of our lives."
"Our lives--indeed--how so?"
"Read it."
The note ran thus:--
"SENOR DON RICARDO.
"In the name of the Blessed Mother of God, I implore you and your
friend to leave Seville on receipt of this, and to take the nearest
road for San Lucar de Barameda, where you can reach a steamer, which
sails direct for Gibraltar. Don Joaquim vows to have a terrible
revenge for the death of our dear brother Hernan; and, last night,
was seen in conference with Fabrique de Urquija on the old Alameda.
The road you came will be beset--his band are, doubtless, now in hire
to waylay you. El santo de los Santos, forgive you the misery you
have caused to those who never wronged you, and may it deliver you
from the snares of death that lie in your homeward path."
"More melodramatic than pleasant," said Jack.
"It is from Paulina, no doubt.--how considerate!"
"Kind and gentle too," added Jack. "Well, all things duly
considered, I think we should take her advice--mount, and be off."
"Poor--poor Paulina!"
"Deuce take it, Dick, don't be faint-hearted. 'T will be all one
when the route comes for the Crimea, and sell or sail is the word."
"Not among "Ours," I hope."
"The San Lucar road be it."
"Then the sooner we leave the better, for we have much to lose and
nothing to gain by lingering here."
"For there is neither law, justice, nor honour among these
Spaniards," said Slingsby, making a smart application to the
bell-rope.
"What! you say so in the face of this charming letter?"
"Charming, indeed, to be told that a captain of robbers--a
picturesque ruffian in a steeple-crowned hat and red garters, has
been bribed to cut your throat--to 'do' for you in the flower of your
youth for a hundred pistoles."
The letter raised a glow of sad, of kind, and regretful emotions
within me; but I stifled them all, and, calling for the bill, settled
with the landlord in person.
"What manner of magistrates have you here in Seville?" asked the
unwary Jack.
"How, señor?"
"When they permit thieves to prowl about your streets at night."
"Thieves, señor--Ave Maria!"
"Yes, thieves, señor patron. Fabrique de Urquija was on the old
Alameda last night with a well-known bravo from Portugal."
"Don Fabrique," reiterated our host, aghast at the name; "ah, he is
too great a man to be easily arrested, señor."
"Is he not a mere ladrone?"
"True, Caballero; but then his band is numerous. Yes, señor; Ave
Maria purissima!--tiene con exercito de 10,000 hombres--all
determined men, and armed to the teeth."
"Ten thousand men--nonsense! A hundred, more probably."
The host felt his veracity impugned, and he called upon all the
saints in the calendar to witness the truth of his assertions; and
while we had a decanter of wine before starting, he told us a vast
number of anecdotes, descriptive of the cruel and unscrupulous
character of the so-called Don Fabrique. Two of these occurred to me
as being peculiarly diabolical in their nature.
On one occasion he plundered the house of a wealthy merchant near
Estephana, a town on the Grenada coast; and because the unfortunate
proprietor would not yield up the alleged treasures of his strong
box, and sign bills on his bankers in Seville, Fabrique snatched up a
camphine lamp from a marble side-table, and, with a dreadful oath,
poured the contents over the hair and whiskers of his prisoner. He
then deliberately applied a lighted candle thereto, and in a moment
the whole face and head of the miserable man were enveloped in
flames. His skull was roasted like a large castano, and he died in
great misery--his head being literally burned off!
Another amiable little trait of Don Fabrique was the strange way he
took to remove his predecessor from the command of the troop. This
was a rough old guerilla, who in his youth had fought in the
campaigns of Wellington, under Don Julian Sanchez, the famous Captain
Harelip, as our soldiers named him, and latterly in the service of
the Carlists, under the banished Conde de Morella.
The robber captain--Gomes el Guerilla--having incurred the animosity
of Fabrique, that worthy procured some gun-cotton (which our patron
believed to be a preparation by the devil himself), from a
drug-chest, when investigating the shop of a botarico (apothecary) at
Castellar; and some of this he placed in the folds of Gomes'
neckcloth in the night, and for three days the old and unsuspecting
sinner wore this dreadful thing under his well-bearded chin. On the
third, Fabrique, who began to lose patience, and vow to have
vengeance on the botarico, said, "Come, señor, let us make up a
little cigar;" so the cigar was made, and they proceeded to smoke,
until some sparks fell on the breast of the old guerilla; and then,
Madre de Dios! there was a dreadful flash and explosion like that of
a cannon; and to the consternation of all his band, the head of Gomes
was blown right off his shoulders, and not a vestige of it was ever
seen again.
"The noble Caballeros," continued our host, "have no doubt heard of
the great robber-chief, Manuel de Cordova, who in January, 1853,
killed the commandant of the civic guard of Bute?"
"No."
"He was betrayed by Don Fabrique, and shot to death by a platoon of
infantry, in the Plaza of Cordova. Oh, señor, the saints deliver us
from the devil and Don Fabrique!"
"So say I," added Jack, as the landlord left us, and thus, being
impressed alike by these communications and that of Donna Paulina, we
resolved to change our route and avoid this formidable personage who
took such an interest in our proceedings.
To deceive any person who might be watching about the hotel, or be
bribed by Fabrique, or the major, we made particular inquiries of the
patron, the waiters, and stable-boys concerning the road to Gibraltar
by the way of Puerto Serrano; and having, as Jack said, "completely
thrown dust in their eyes," we took the route to San Lucar and left
Seville at a rapid trot about an hour after noon, pausing only to
give a peseta to a poor Franciscan who begged from us at the city
gate.
I looked back to Seville as we galloped away.
The tower of La Giralda and all its spires were sinking in the sunny
haze and lessening in the distance.
"So ends an intimacy that might have ripened into something better,"
thought I.