Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 57, No. 353, March 1845

"Misericordia! Los Gachupinos!" shouted the captain, springing upon a fragment of rock, and rolling his eyes wildly around. "They are upon us! Run, Mateo, Hippolito! See what they are, and whence they come. Run, I say! Have you lead at your heels?"

The two Zambos set themselves in motion, but presently paused, and seemed unwilling to proceed. Jago drew a small silver whistle from his girdle, and blew it with all the power of his lungs.

"The saints be with us," he exclaimed, "and thou in particular, blessed St Martin! If they come from the direction of Tesmelucos, then are we peppered and salted. Holy Virgin of Guadalupe! A silver candlestick and ten wax tapers, an inch thick, so soon as I can obtain them, if thou wilt deliver us from this strait!"

He was interrupted in his ejaculations by the sound of a volley of small arms from the wood, and the next instant a herd of half-naked Indians, Metises and Zambos, with scarcely any clothing but sheepskins round their bodies, and straw-hats upon their heads, rushed out from under the trees, closely pursued by the dragoons of the regiment of España, who began to gallop along the edge of the plateau, and surround the open space on all sides. The arrieros, at the very first beginning of the firing, had placed their mules and themselves in safety behind the rock, concealed in the thicket of dwarf-oak and pines. Jago had spoken once or twice to them and to the servants in a low and urgent tone, but his whisperings produced no visible effect.

"Por todos santos!" cried he to his Indians, "to the right, children, Nombre de Dios! or you are all lost. Jesus Maria! they do not hear!"

The unfortunate patriots, who had been surprised during their siesta, now came running out of the wood in great numbers, with the remainder of the squadron of dragoons at their heels. Upon finding themselves cut off from the path down the barranca, they set up a frightful howl, and dispersed to the right and left, vainly endeavouring to escape the troopers, who formed line, and, with furious sabre-cuts, and loud shouts of "Viva el Rey!" drove the fugitives before them like a flock of sheep.

Don Manuel, who remained beside his mules and attendants, had at first witnessed this inhuman hunt with more curiosity than sympathy; but when the dragoons began to cut and slash among the defenceless Indians, the scene evidently became painful to him; his eyes flashed, his cheeks glowed, his features expressed the utmost indignation and anger.

The Indians were caught as in a trap; precipices on the one side, an implacable and bloodthirsty enemy on the other. Each moment dragoons made their appearance out of the wood by ones and twos, driving more fugitives before them. At last, when the latter found themselves pressed together in one dense body, they made a desperate effort to break through their enemies and gain the entrance of the barranca. But the dragoons saw their object, and hastened to frustrate it. Strengthening their ranks on that side, they completely surrounded the Indians, and commenced an indiscriminate and barbarous slaughter. The more the victims sought to escape their persecutors, the more dense became their mass, and the more fatal the blows of the Spaniards. There were between five and six hundred of the patriots. On a sudden, and as if by a general impulse, the unfortunate wretches threw themselves upon their knees, raised their clasped hands, and, in heart-rending tones, sued for mercy.

"Cuartel! par el amor de Dios, cuartel!"

"Buen viage à los infiernos!" was the savage reply of the dragoons, and heads and hands fell in all directions.

"Infernal villains!" exclaimed Don Manuel, overcome by his indignation at the barbarity of the soldiery. And hardly were the words spoken, when, by an incontrollable impulse, he raised the pistols he still held in his hands, and fired them at the dragoons; then hurrying to one of the mules, he snatched another brace from the holsters attached to the saddle.

"Por el amor de Dios! Por la santissima madre! Think of your mother, think of the count, of Elvira!" implored Alonzo, throwing his arms round his young master.

"Stand off!" shouted the youth fiercely; "or by the living God I shoot you on the spot, sooner than let this inhuman butchery continue."

Pushing the servant violently from him, he sprang forward and discharged his two other pistols. Two dragoons fell from their saddles.

"Holy virgin!" exclaimed the old serving man, "he will be the ruin of himself, of his family, of all of us. But it is too late to back out. Take good aim, Pedro, Cosmo." And the three men fired their carbines, while Jago and the muleteers, hastily following their example with their trabucos, half a dozen of the Spaniards bit the dust.

A short pause ensued. The shots from the thicket had come like a thunderbolt upon the inhuman dragoons and their victims. The latter stared for a few seconds wildly around them, as if uncertain whence came the unexpected succour. Their indecision was put an end to by Jago.

"Abajo con ellos!" shouted he in a voice of thunder. "Down with the dogs!"

And at the word, the Indians, rousing from their apathy, threw themselves upon the dead and wounded Spaniards, wrested their weapons from them in spite of the murderous blows of the other dragoons, and in their turn assumed the offensive. Don Manuel's blood was now thoroughly heated with the fight. Every shot that was fired at this elevation of ten thousand feet above the sea, rolled and rattled its echoes round the hills in long-continued thunder, and added to the din and excitement of the scene.

"Are you loaded?" cried the young nobleman, as he shot down the first man of a detachment which was advancing to attack the new foe in his ambush. Servants and muleteers followed his example, five more saddles were emptied, and immediately the Indians threw themselves upon the fallen, regardless of wounds, and seized their sabres and carbines. The fight grew more furious in proportion as the sides became more equal.

"Thanks be to God and to your Señoria, our time is come!" murmured Jago. And with the cry of "Death to the Gachupins!" he sprang from his cover, and fell with a tiger's leap upon the dragoons. The latter began to lose ground; for while twenty patriots, now well armed, found them occupation in front, hundreds of others attacked them on the flanks and in rear, climbing upon the cruppers of the horses, clasping the riders round the body, and dragging them from the saddle. Even the wounded twined their bleeding and mutilated limbs round the horses' legs, and made their sharp teeth meet in the very muscle of the brutes, till the groans of pain of the latter were heard mingling with the cries of the combatants. It was a frightful group; the Indians were become incarnate fiends. The dragoons had no room to use their weapons; they could scarcely move; men and horses were intertwined with Indians, who clung to them like so many anacondas. Hardly ten minutes had elapsed, and there were not thirty men left on their horses.

Don Manuel had beheld with horror this outbreak of Indian fury. Springing forward he shouted to the patriots, in a loud voice, to desist.

"Death to the traitor!" cried the Spanish commandant, who was still fighting desperately at the head of the remnant of his squadron. "Muera!" repeated he, as he fired off his last pistol at Manuel. He missed him, and had just raised his sabre to repair the badness of his aim, when a blow from a club brought horse and rider to the ground.

"Hold your hands!" cried the young nobleman. "Hold, and give quarter!"

"El tiempo de la mansedumbre se ha pasado!" muttered Jago and his Indians. "The day of mercy is long gone by."

"By the eternal God, I will split the skull of the first who strikes another blow!" shouted Manuel.

But his endeavours to suspend the slaughter were fruitless. His voice was drowned amid the furious yells of the Indians. At that very moment the vesper bells from Cholula came sounding up the mountain, and those of the various villages of the plain chimed in with an indescribably peaceful and soothing harmony.

"Ave Maria!" exclaimed a hundred Indian voices. "Ave Maria!" repeated Metises and Zambos; and all, friends and foes, let their blood-dripping hands sink, and bending their wild, excited gaze upon the earth, clasped and kissed the medals of the Virgin of Guadalupe which were hung round their necks, and in tones of musical monotony began to pray – "Ave Maria, audi nos peccadores!" All heads were bowed, all hands folded; and, kneeling upon the corpses of the slain, these raging foes implored, in humble formula, forgiveness for themselves and their erring fellow-creatures.

The shades of evening had spread themselves over valley and plain; in the barranca it was already darkest night; but the mountains of the Sierra Madre still glowed in the red rays of the setting sun, their snow-capped summits flaming aloft like gigantic beacons. At the same time multitudes of eagles and vultures rose upon the wing, mingling their screams with the groans of the dying and the agonized cries of the wounded. Every circumstance seemed to unite to render the scene in the highest degree sublime and horrible.

The bells ceased ringing, and scarcely had the echoes of their last chime died away, when the Indians arose from their devotional posture, gazed at each other for a moment with lowering and significant glances, and then, without uttering a word, sprang upon the few remaining dragoons with an eager rage and greed of blood, that scarcely seemed human. In a few seconds not one of the Spaniards was left alive. To a man they had been stabbed and strangled by their inveterate and unappeasable foes.

The principal incident of the preceding chapter is, we apprehend, of peculiar dramatic merit and boldness of conception. A young nobleman, whose predilections and prejudices are strongly enlisted on the side of the oppressors, has the better feelings of his nature roused into action by the cruelties he sees inflicted on the oppressed, and, forgetful of selfish interests, strikes boldly in on the weaker side. The moment of excitement over, a reaction takes place, the stronger, perhaps, on account of the cruel reprisals exercised by the uncivilized Indians, and still more ferocious half-castes; and while the patriots are rifling the dead bodies of the dragoons, and their chief is reading some papers he has found in the pocket of the Spanish commandant, Don Manuel bitterly deplores the act of precipitation that has blasted all the hopes of his love and ambition.

While the various actors in the scene are thus employed, Jago's practised ear detects a faint murmur and rattle in the barranca, occasioned by the approach of another squadron of cavalry under command of the Conde Carlos. The dragoons, alarmed by the firing, have left their horses below and slung their heavy boots over their shoulders, in order to arrive more speedily to the assistance of their comrades. By a skilful disposition of his Indians, the patriot captain surrounds the Spaniards before they emerge from the difficult road up the barranca, and while they are panting and exhausted with the steep ascent. This is effected in spite of a desperate attempt of Don Manuel to warn them of their danger. At the moment, however, that they are, to all appearance, about to be exterminated by a volley from the patriots, Jago cries out to hold and give quarter, for that they are Creoles and friends. Count Carlos, with a cry of "Viva el Rey!" rushes forward to charge the foe, but his men hang back, and resist all his efforts to make them advance. Jago gives him proofs of the destruction of the other squadron, and offers him and his men their lives, and honourable treatment as prisoners of war. These conditions the Conde is compelled to accept; but, previously to doing so, he demands whose word is plighted to him for their due fulfilment. Jago descends the rocky path, and whispers a few words in his ear, the effect of which is to make Carlos start back and salute the patriot captain with far more respect than a young aristocrat could have been expected to show to a mule-driver.

Considering that neither Spain nor Mexico are very safe countries for Don Manuel after what has occurred, Jago offers to have him put safely on board an English or American vessel; but the young man is too much agitated to decide upon any thing. Preparations are now made to leave the scene of the recent conflict, previously to which, however, many of the dragoons join the ranks of the patriots. To this Count Carlos objects, as contrary to the conditions.

"It is the men's own wish," replied Jago in a jesting tone. "We fight for liberty, Conde, and it were hard measure to refuse it to our new allies."

And smiling significantly, he lifted up his voice and sang —

"Amigos, la libertad
Nos llama a la lid,
Juremos por ella
Morir como el Cid!"

"Good God!" exclaimed the count, "that voice! Pedrillo!"

Before Carlos has recovered from his surprise at recognising the voice of the masked cavalier who played so important a part in the earlier scenes of the book, the patriots divide into three parties, and set off in as many different directions, singing in chorus the song which their leader had commenced. Carlos and Manuel find themselves separated alike from each other, and from the mysterious and Protean patriot captain. We shall attach ourselves to the fortunes of Don Manuel, and extract the chapter which records his night march, and terminates this episode.

Chapter the Twenty-third

"Away, away, my steed and I,
Upon the pinions of the wind,
All human dwellings left behind;
We sped like meteors through the sky,
When with its crackling sound the night
Is chequer'd with the northern light."

    Mazeppa.
In the same wild and abrupt manner in which the song had commenced, did it suddenly cease as the party entered the forest, the intricacies and ravines of which it required all their attention to thread with safety. No more torches were left alight than were absolutely necessary to find the way over and along the dangerous fissures and precipices which met them at every turn. Here and there were still to be seen traces of the paths hewn in the rock by the unspeakable labour of Cortes' infatuated allies – paths by which that daring adventurer had brought his handful of men, his horses and guns, over the Sierra, and which had recently conducted the Spanish major and his squadron to their less successful coup-de-main. Hours were consumed in clambering up and down this rough and dangerous ground, and not a word was uttered by the patriots until they arrived in a valley at a considerable distance below the platform they had left. A shrill whistle was then heard, followed by a wild howl resembling that of the caguar, whereupon the party halted a short time, and then again started off at a rapid pace. Their path now led through lofty woods and tangled thickets, overgrown with a mantle of creeping plants, so closely entwined and intricate, that they might well have deterred the most daring hunter from attempting to force a passage. The stunted oaks and pines had been replaced by palm and tamarind trees, the sharp cold had given way to a moderate degree of warmth. Over the adjacent ravines, billows of mist were floating, and from time to time were wafted towards the wanderers by a puff of the night breeze, rendering the darkness that surrounded them yet more intense. Now and then Indians emerged, with rapid but silent step, from the clefts and passes of the mountain, and joined the party; others left it and disappeared with the same noiseless dispatch. No voice was heard, no command given; there was every appearance of the blindest obedience, without any visible chief.

Hitherto our young Don had given no sign of his existence. He had followed mechanically wherever he had been led, over mountain and valley, through ravine and forest, until, on a sudden, the brilliant spectacle of fifty torches, flaring along a rocky ridge, and illuminating the depths of a fearful precipice, roused him into life and consciousness. Before he had time to enquire where he was, or whither they were taking him, a whistle was heard, and at the same moment he was seized by a pair of powerful arms, and placed upon the shoulders of a gigantic Indian, who tucked the young man's legs under his arms, and trotted away with his burden as though it had been a feather.

"Vigilancia!" suddenly exclaimed a voice, and the party paused for an instant: in the silence the roar of a mountain torrent was heard, ascending, as it seemed, from the very bowels of the earth. The climate, which had been alternately cold and temperate, as the march had lain over high ground, or through ravines and hollows, had now suddenly become of a tropical heat.

"Where are we?" enquired Don Manuel of his bearer, as the latter at last sat him down upon his feet.

"Callad! Silence!" replied the Indian, pointing down into the depth below, from which a shout was heard, scarcely audible in the noise of the torrent. "Callad!" he repeated, as he fixed his lasso dexterously under Don Manuel's arms, and, lifting him over a rock, lowered him to a depth of thirty feet. Himself following by the like means, he perched the young man upon his shoulders in the same unceremonious manner as before, and began a rapid descent into the frightful barranca.

"Vigilancia!" cried a voice. "Half a foot's breadth and no more; the Virgin help those who require a whole one."