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Phantom Regiment; or, Stories of "Ours"

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<h3> CHAPTER XII. LA RIO DE MUERTE. </h3> Dark-visaged and black-bearded, with long sable hair hanging over their collars from under their battered sombreros, or gathered up in net-work cauls, the robbers presented every picturesque variety of Spanish costume. Some wore jackets of black or olive-coloured velvet, richly covered with needlework on the breast and seams; their waists were girt by bright-coloured sashes, and their legs encased in velvet small-clothes and leathern gaiters; while others were sans shirts and sans shoes; scantily attired in rough zamarras of sheepskin, with tattered breeches—their brawny legs and muscular chests being bare. All were well armed with muskets, Albacete knives, and pistols, and all were ferocious, resolute, and reckless alike in spirit and in aspect. A glance showed me all this, as we were dragged by them through an olive thicket, where, upon the prostrate column of some old Roman temple, we found their leader seated. The moon had now risen brightly above the mountains, and in the sashed and armed figure before me, with a jacket glittering with embroidery, his carbine resting in the hollow of his right arm, I recognised our former acquaintance whom we had met by the wayside between Castellar and Estrelo, and with whom we were hobbing and nobbing over a cigar and bota, when poor sister St. Veronica came to ask alms of us. The cruelties of which, on that occasion, he had so freely avowed himself guilty, and those other traits of character, such as the affair of the camphine lamp and the neckcloth so pleasantly padded with guncotton, occurred to us; and I must own, that when we found ourselves bound as prisoners and confronting the cold, stern and impassible visage of this celebrated Spanish outlaw, a restless anxiety made our hearts throb with new and undefined emotions. In all things his bearing and disposition were similar to those of his friend* whom he betrayed in 1853, and whose atrocities have been published, like his own, at length in the columns of the "Heraldo de Madrid." Neither Slingsby nor I had ever been in such a desperate predicament before, as the reader may easily conceive; thus we could scarcely realise it, and, naturally enough, indignation was uppermost in our minds. * Francisco Manuel de Cordova. The intellectual part of Fabrique's face, though exceedingly handsome, was immovable as that of a statue, his two black eyes remained fixedly regarding us, and even when his bearded mouth relaxed into a grim smile, one-half of his face remained unmoved. He seemed calm and pale in the white moon-light—but the cicatrised wound which traversed his cheek was of a deep and dusky red. "Well, señor," said I, briskly, "are you fully prepared to answer for the attack you have made upon us?" "Answer," he reiterated, with something between a frown and disdainful smile; "to whom?" "The captain general of Andalusia." "I have so many things to answer for already to that illustrious Caballero of Seville, that he will be very apt to forget your little affair among others." "But the Governor of Her Brittanic Majesty's garrison at Gibraltar will refresh both his memory and yours, rascal!" said poor Slingsby, whose face was streaming with blood. "Stuff, señores. Our Lady Donna Isabella II. alone is Queen of Gibraltar, whatever you may believe to the contrary." "Then there is our ambassador at Madrid," said I, swelling with passion. "Let the Señor Embajador come hither to seek you, if he chooses," replied Fabrique, with a scowl, while his band made the wooded hollow ring with their laughter. "For what reason, and with what purpose, is this outrage committed upon us?" asked Jack, more calmly. "The reason is here," said Fabrique, throwing up a heavy purse. "From the noble Don Joaquim, Major in the service of the young king Don Pedro V., I have received one thousand duros to intercept you——" "And the purpose?" "To avenge his brother's death." "In what manner?" "By taking your lives, that is all; blood for blood, you know; an eye for an eye, a limb for a limb, and a life for a life, are law and justice all the world over. If my friend the blind abagado of Jaen were here, he could not explain the law better." Zumalacarregui, when giving a light from his own cigar to the Carlist prisoners he was just about to shoot, could not have spoken more coolly. "And so, fellow, you have received a thousand duros to murder us?" said Jack, abruptly. "One thousand, señor," was the quiet reply. "Conduct us to the harbour of San Lucar, and I will give you my word of honour that two thousand shall be sent to you." "You would not break your plighted word?" "I would rather die!" "Then bear in mind that I have pledged mine; and that I also would rather die than break it. No, señores; all the gold in Madrid would not save you." After a pause,— "How came you to discover us so readily on this road?" I asked. "Easily. I had spies planted at every gate of Seville. A Franciscan begged alms of you at the Puerto of the San Lucar road." "To whom I gave a peseta." "'T was I." "You! I wish that I had recognised you then." "Muchos gratias, señor—my own mother would not have known me. I took care of that, and now I shall take care of you." "It is incredible that a companion so jovial as the Major de Lucena could contemplate this intended atrocity," exclaimed Slingsby. "Have you not his sister's letter here?" asked Fabrique, displaying that little document, of which his searchers had deprived me; "you Inglesos would doubt the holy face of Jaen, even if it were placed before you! I received a thousand dollars to shoot you down like dogs or wild pigs, and here we are chattering away like so many magpies. Vamos alla—to the mountains—cammarados, basta!" "We are not, then, to be shot?" I asked, as a gleam of hope brightened before me. "No," said he, with an icy smile, as his dark fierce face came close to mine, like that of a handsome spectre in the moonlight and as the whole band began to move; "we will give you to drink of the Rio de Muerte." The River of Death!—our blood ran cold at these words; but no time was left us for expostulation, as we were hurried up the hills, over wild and furzy banks, where the laurel, the vine, and the fair yellow paunch of the gourd grew together in luxuriance; and among rocks, where the nimble goat browsed, and the untamed porker flew before us, squeaking from his lair, among the aromatic plants, the long reedy grass, the giant fern, and the broad-leaved dock. Up, up we went, alternately clambering, or being pushed and dragged, until we gained the brow of a steep hill, from which we saw beneath us in the broad, clear, liquid moonlight, the waters of the Guadalquiver winding away between groves of the orange and the olive, to San Lucar, and in the middle distance, but far down below us, the white houses of Trohniona clustered round their little church. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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