THE RATERILLO.
Passing Coria del Rio, a little province and partido, after a twenty
miles' ride we halted to dine at Lebrija, which is so famed for its
oil of olives, and there we got some prime Xeres, which bore the
private mark of the señores Gonzalez and Dubose, the famous wine
merchants; and now we enjoyed the hope that our acquaintance Fabrique
de Urquija and his "ten thousand hombres" (or whatever their number
might be) were sunning themselves on the mountains, and lying in wait
for us on the dusty road by Puerto Serrano; and any anxiety we might
have felt to reach the coast unmolested began to lessen when we set
forth again, while the evening sun was verging towards the western
sierras of the province, and pursuing an old and narrow path, so old
that perhaps the Christian knights of King Ferdinand might have
traversed it to battle with the Emirs of Granada, of Seville, and
Cordova, we rode on, amid varied scenery, where luxuriant creepers
almost veiled the granite rocks like natural curtains, where large
fields of maize surrounded ancient villages left ruined and roofless
in the late civil wars, where herds of half wild cattle browsed on
the green mountain slope; where the dead man's cross, the wayside
chapel, the groves of cork, of olive or orange trees bordered the
devious path, and the shattered atalaya that whilome watched the
frontiers of Mohammed of Cadiz, towered over all, a landmark to the
Guadalquiver.
Charmed by the scenery, we allowed the reins to fall on the necks of
our horses, and careless as to whether or not we found quarters for
the night in an olive wood or in Trohniona, which we were now
approaching, and the little spire of which we saw peeping above its
bright green groves and tipped with a fiery gleam, we rode on slowly
until near a well which flowed into a stone basin, under a rude
representation of our Lady of Assistance--a wayside chapel, in
fact--a turn of the path brought us suddenly upon two armed
Spaniards, who were seated on the sward playing with cards in the
twilight, for the time was evening now.
One of these, by his gay attire, his embroidered jacket with its
silver clasps, his sash of red and yellow stripes and his velvet hat,
as well as by the horse which stood near him, well laden with
packages, and having a long gun slung at its demipique saddle, I
perceived to be a professed smuggler; and on our nearer approach we
both recognised our old friend Pedro el Contrabandista, who supplied
our mess with cigars, and whose unlucky pursuit by the guarda costa
had been the source of so much travelling, turmoil, and inquiry to
Slingsby and to myself.
There was no mistaking the other as a raterillo--that is, "a little
rat," or pickpocket, on whose cloth the regular armed bandit who robs
convoys, fights the carabineros, and burns a village occasionally,
looks down as the line do on the militia, or as the militia do on the
yeomanry. The only weapon of the raterillo is his knife, and perhaps
a concealed pistol. Polite almost to servility to the armed man, the
raterillo is usually a bully to the peaceable, and to those who are
too poor to carry that long musket which is the constant companion of
the provincial Spaniard.
He doffed his threadbare sombrero and bowed with great humility as we
reined up beside them to greet honest Pedro, who received us with a
hearty shout of welcome.
"Well, amigo mio," said I, "we were not aware that you did business
by land as well as by sea."
"True, señor, I should have been a woman, for I am never constant to
anything; I am glad to meet two noble cavaliers of the garrison
travelling here--but why so far from Gibraltar, and without an
escort?"
"All owing to you, Pedro, my valiant contrabandista, and your
troublesome affairs."
"Pardon, señor, I do not comprehend."
"That devilish shot from the Mole fort."
"Oh, yes--ha, ha! it cut in two halves Don Hernan de Lucena, and
enabled me to run my little felucca safe into Gibraltar--eh."
"Yes, but we had to visit the captain general at Seville, and to
explain the affair to him in person. So we are here."
"On your way back."
"Exactly so."
"I owe you a thousand thanks for that little piece of attention from
the Mole fort, señores; but for that, I should now, perhaps, have
been chained to an oar in the Queen's galleys at Barcelona, for I was
as sure of being taken as there is a saint in heaven. Well, señores,
we shall sup together to-night at Trohniona--see, yonder is its spire
shining like a red star in the sunset; I have my guitar, and shall
sing to you the newest seguidilla and some jovial romances about the
Granadine Moors, the Castilian Caballeros, or the Carlists, and
enchanters; but, meantime, I must finish a game to which I was
challenged by this traveller, on whom I shall have, proper revenge,
for he has already won from me forty duros; and you the while will do
me the favour to accept some of my best cigars."
There was no resisting this jolly contrabandista; so, as we had
before arranged to halt for the night at Trohniona, we were the
better for the companionship of another man, who knew the country,
and was doubtless a favourite with the people, and who, moreover, was
well armed, stout, and determined. We watched the game between him
and the raterillo, who won dollar after dollar with a facility that
soon left no doubt whatever in our minds that he was cheating poor
Pedro, so Jack and I exchanged frequent glances.
"Whose cards are these?" I asked.
"The señor travalero's," said Pedro, "and I begin to think he knows
the backs better than the fronts of them."
The raterillo, whose quick eyes rolled in a restless manner, laughed
as he pocketed three other duros of Pedro, who began to lose all
patience and to flush, while a dark gleam shot over his eyes; and on
detecting in his adversary some real or suspected piece of foul play,
he dashed the cards full in his face, crying,--
"You are a rogue and a thief--a pitiful little rat, and if you do not
yield back every peseta you have won, 'por el nombre de Dios,' I will
be at you with my Albacete knife!"
"Then the knife be it," retorted the raterillo, crushing his
well-worn hat over his eye-brows; "shall we have our feet tied
together?"
"No, we shall fight it out on the grass, and I will have your black
blood and my hard-won dollars together," cried Pedro, who was choking
with sudden passion; and quick almost as thought, they confronted
each other, their dark faces contorted by ferocity, their eyes
flashing fire, their feet planted on the turf, their bodies bent
forward ready to spring, and their cuchillos held firmly in the right
hand, the thumb being pressed upon the blade in such a manner as to
enable them to stab or to cut with equal facility.
Several blows had been given and skilfully eluded before Jack and I,
who had drawn our swords, could dismount and interfere; but just as
we pressed in between them, at the peril of our lives, we heard a
cheer like a yell ringing in the hollow, and saw a crowd of armed men
rushing down the sloping banks which bordered the road-way.
"Ladrones--ladrones--fly, señores!" cried Pedro, as he leaped on his
horse and dashed at full speed towards Trohniona, followed by several
musket-bullets, while the raterillo vanished in the twilight as if
the earth had swallowed him up.
In a moment we were surrounded by a crowd of armed banditti--oh,
there was no mistaking them!--I was collared and pinioned just as my
foot was in the stirrup, and poor Jack Slingsby was knocked off his
horse by the butt-end of a long Spanish gun; our swords and
revolvers, our watches, rings, purses, and cigar-cases; our horses
and valises, all in a moment became the spoil of the Egyptians, and
we found ourselves prisoners at the mercy of--Fabrique de Urquija!