The Guerilla Chief, and Other Tales

“Have you ever heard the name of Ramon Rayas?”

The answer was an exclamation – almost a shriek!

“You know him, then?”

“Ramon Rayas! oh, the fiend – he – it was he. He vowed to kill Calros. Calros! O Calros! Has he fulfilled his vow?”

Once more the girl bent over the body of the Jarocho; and leaning low, recklessly placed her lips in contact with his blood-stained cheek. At the same time her arms fondly flung around, seemed to enfold the corpse in a loving embrace. Had he been alive and conscious, with the certainty of recovering, I could have envied him that sweet entwining.

My impulse was of a holier nature. If I could not restore the dead, I might give comfort to the living. But was he dead? It was not till that moment I had doubted it.

As I stooped over the body, I heard a sound that resembled a sigh. It could not be the sobbing of the bereaved Lola – though this also was audible.

The girl had again raised her head, and was holding it a little to one side, while the sound that had attracted my attention seemed to proceed from a different direction – in fact from the lips of the man supposed to be dead.

I lowered my ear to his face, and listened for a repetition of the sound. It came in a moment as I had before heard it – a sort of sigh half suppressed, like the breath struggling from a bosom over-weighted.

“Lola,” I whispered, “your Calros is not dead. He still breathes.”

I needed not to communicate this intelligence. The ear of affection had been bent, keenly as my own. By the sudden brightening of her countenance, I could perceive that Lola had heard that same sound, and was listening to catch it again, as if her life depended on its repetition.

She had mechanically pushed me aside, so that her ear might be closer to the mute lips of Calros.

“One moment,” I said, gently raising her from her recumbent position; “perhaps he has only fainted I have a remedy here; a stimulant that may serve to restore him. Permit me to administer it.”

I drew forth the flask which providentially I had brought from the tent. It contained “Catalan brandy,” one of the most potent of spirits.

Silently but readily she glided out of the way, watching my movements like some affectionate sister who assists the physician by the couch of an invalid brother.

I felt the pulse of the wounded man. My medical skill was not extensive; but I could perceive that its beating, though feeble, was not irregular – not flickering, like a lamp that was destined soon to become extinguished.

Lola read hope in my looks: her own became brighter.

I pulled out the stopper. I applied the flask to the lips of the unconscious Calros, pouring into his mouth a portion of the Catalonian spirit.

The effect was almost instantaneous. His bosom began to heave, his breath issued forth more freely, his glazed eyes showed signs of reanimation.

The girl could scarcely be restrained from repeating her fond embraces.

Presently the eyes of the invalid seemed to see – almost to recognise. His lips moved, as though he was endeavouring to speak, but as yet there came forth no sound.

Once more I applied the flask, pouring into his throat nearly a wine-glassful of the Catalan.

In less than a score of seconds the dose produced its effect – made known by a movement throughout the frame of the Jarocho, and a muttered whisper proceeding from his lips.

Again the girl would have strangled him with her passionate caresses. Judging from the joy with which she witnessed his resuscitation, her affection for him must have been boundless.

“Keep away from him!” I said, adding to the verbal caution a slight exertion of physical force. “There is scarcely an ounce of blood in his body, that is why he has fainted; that and the shock caused by the threat of – ”

I did not choose to disquiet her by repeating what appeared to be a dreaded name. “Excitement of any kind may prove fatal. If you love him stay out of his sight; at least for a while, till he recover strength sufficient to bear your presence.”

How idle in me to have made use of these words, “if you love him!” The appearance of the handsome Jarocho, handsome even with death’s pallor on his brow, forbade any other belief; while the beautiful Jarocha, beautiful through all the changes of anger and hate, despair and hope, showed by her every action that Calros Vergara was the loved one of her life.

“Keep out of sight,” I again requested: “pray do not go near him till I return. The night air is unfavourable to his recovery. I must seek assistance, and have him carried into my tent. I entreat you, Señorita, do not make yourself known to him now, or the shock may be fatal.”

The look given by the girl, in answer to my solicitations, produced upon me an impression at once vivid and peculiar. It was a mingling of pleasure and pain, just in proportion as my fancy whispered me, that in those glances there was something more than gratitude.

Alas! it is true. Even in that melancholy hour, I felt pleasure in the thought that, whether he might recover or die, I should one day supplant Calros Vergara in the affections of his beloved Lola!

Story 1, Chapter VII

Despoiling the Dead

I aroused half-a-dozen of my men from their midnight slumbers. Among them was one who had some skill in surgery, derived from a long experience as hospital assistant.

There was a catre, or leathern bedstead, in the tent – a common article of camp furniture among the officers of the Mexican army. By splicing a pair of tent-poles along its sides, it could be converted into a “stretcher” of a superior kind.

The transformation was soon made; and, returning to the chapparal, we placed the wounded man upon the catre, with as much tenderness as if, instead of an enemy, he had been one of our own comrades.

He had by this time so far recovered as to be sensible of what was passing; but it was not until he had been carried within the tent, and his wound carefully dressed by the ex-hospital assistant, that I consented to an interview between him and his “querida Lola.”

Mistrusting the effect of any sudden excitement – even though caused by joy – I had entreated the girl to remain out of sight; and though suffering from a painful impatience to speak to her beloved Calros, she had obeyed me.

Being assured by the improvised surgeon that there was no real danger; that the wound was not likely to prove fatal; and that the syncope of the wounded man had been caused by weakness from loss of blood, I withdrew the restriction.

In an instant after, the beautiful Lola flew into the arms of her lover.

It was an affecting scene, and touched even my rude companions, who stood around the catre. To me it was not pleasant – I might almost say it was painful – to listen to that interchange of endearing epithets. I coveted the caresses that were being lavished upon the handsome Jarocho.

Soon the soldiers withdrew, to resume their interrupted repose, the hospital assistant going with the rest. I was left in the tent with Calros and Lola.

I could not help envying the invalid. For the sake of being tended by such a nurse, I would willingly have changed situations with him!

Lola had heard the assurance given by the hospital assistant, and communicated it to the wounded man. There was no longer the dread of death to hinder them from indulging in a free interchange of thought.

Perhaps they had something to say to each other which should not be overheard by any one? Under the idea that my presence might be a restraint, I withdrew; I shall not say without reluctance.

Throwing my cloak over my shoulders, I walked out of the tent, leaving them alone.

The night was still; the silence more solemn than ever. Not a sound disturbed it. Even the moanings of the disabled men, who lay here and there over the field of battle, which at an earlier hour had been well nigh continuous, seemed now to have ceased.

I was astonished by this circumstance, and mentally endeavoured to account for it. Perhaps the report of my pistol had awed them into silence, under the belief that the “strippers” were abroad, and that it was better to endure their agonies in silence than to guide those vultures in their villainous search! This was the only explanation I could think of.

I strolled off into the chapparal; but I soon found my way back into the neighbourhood of the tent. Under that piece of spread canvas, rendered luminous by the lamp burning inside, there was an attraction that drew me nearer and nearer. It was irresistible; and involuntarily yielding to it, I at length found myself in front of the arcade-like entrance, gazing inward.

The flap was thrown back; and I could see the occupants inside, the invalid stretched upon the catre, lying on his back as we had left him, the girl bending over him, her eyes fixed steadily upon his face. I could see that he was asleep; but not the less affectionately were those beautiful eyes bent upon his slumbering features.

The tableau should have gratified; – it tortured me!