Gaspar Ruiz
IA REVOLUTIONARY war raises many strange charac-ters out of the obscurity which is the common lot ofhumble lives in an undisturbed state of society.Certain individualities grow into fame through theirvices and their virtues, or simply by their actions, whichmay have a temporary importance; and then theybecome forgotten. The names of a few leaders alonesurvive the end of armed strife and are further pre-served in history; so that, vanishing from men's activememories, they still exist in books.The name of General Santierra attained that coldpaper-and-ink immortality. He was a South Americanof good family, and the books published in his lifetimenumbered him amongst the liberators of that continentfrom the oppressive rule of Spain.That long contest, waged for independence on oneside and for dominion on the other, developed in thecourse of years and the vicissitudes of changing fortunethe fierceness and inhumanity of a struggle for life. Allfeelings of pity and compassion disappeared in thegrowth of political hatred. And, as is usual in war, themass of the people, who had the least to gain by theissue, suffered most in their obscure persons and theirhumble fortunes.General Santierra began his service as lieutenant inthe patriot army raised and commanded by the famousSan Martin, afterwards conqueror of Lima and liberatorof Peru. A great battle had just been fought on thebanks of the river Bio-Bio. Amongst the prisonersmade upon the routed Royalist troops there was asoldier called Gaspar Ruiz. His powerful build and hisbig head rendered him remarkable amongst his fellow-captives. The personality of the man was unmistak-able. Some months before he had been missed fromthe ranks of Republican troops after one of the manyskirmishes which preceded the great battle. And now,having been captured arms in hand amongst Royalists,he could expect no other fate but to be shot as a deserter.Gaspar Ruiz, however, was not a deserter; his mindwas hardly active enough to take a discriminating viewof the advantages or perils of treachery. Why shouldhe change sides? He had really been made a prisoner,had suffered ill-usage and many privations. Neitherside showed tenderness to its adversaries. There camea day when he was ordered, together with some othercaptured rebels, to march in the front rank of the Royaltroops. A musket had been thrust into his hands.He had taken it. He had marched. He did not wantto be killed with circumstances of peculiar atrocity forrefusing to march. He did not understand heroismbut it was his intention to throw his musket away atthe first opportunity. Meantime he had gone on load-ing and firing, from fear of having his brains blown outat the first sign of unwillingness, by some non-commissioned officer of the King of Spain. He tried toset forth these elementary considerations before thesergeant of the guard set over him and some twentyother such deserters, who had been condemned sum-marily to be shot.It was in the quadrangle of the fort at the back ofthe batteries which command the roadstead of Val-paraiso. The officer who had identified him had goneon without listening to his protestations. His doomwas sealed; his hands were tied very tightly togetherbehind his back; his body was sore all over from themany blows with sticks and butts of muskets which hadhurried him along on the painful road from the place ofhis capture to the gate of the fort. This was the onlykind of systematic attention the prisoners had receivedfrom their escort during a four days' journey across ascantily watered tract of country. At the crossings ofrare streams they were permitted to quench their thirstby lapping hurriedly like dogs. In the evening a fewscraps of meat were thrown amongst them as theydropped down dead-beat upon the stony ground of thehalting-place.As he stood in the courtyard of the castle in theearly morning, after having been driven hard all night,Gaspar Ruiz's throat was parched, and his tongue feltvery large and dry in his mouth.And Gaspar Ruiz, besides being very thirsty, wasstirred by a feeling of sluggish anger, which he couldnot very well express, as though the vigour of his spiritwere by no means equal to the strength of his body.The other prisoners in the batch of the condemnedhung their heads, looking obstinately on the ground.But Gaspar Ruiz kept on repeating: "What should Idesert for to the Royalists? Why should I desert?Tell me, Estaban!"He addressed himself to the sergeant, who happenedto belong to the same part of the country as himself.But the sergeant, after shrugging his meagre shouldersonce, paid no further attention to the deep murmuringvoice at his back. It was indeed strange that GasparRuiz should desert. His people were in too humblea station to feel much the disadvantages of any formof government. There was no reason why Gaspar Ruizshould wish to uphold in his own person the rule ofthe King of Spain. Neither had he been anxious toexert himself for its subversion. He had joined theside of Independence in an extremely reasonable andnatural manner. A band of patriots appeared onemorning early, surrounding his father's ranche, spearingthe watch-dogs and hamstringing a fat cow all in thetwinkling of an eye, to the cries of "Viva la Libertad!"Their officer discoursed of Liberty with enthusiasm andeloquence after a long and refreshing sleep. Whenthey left in the evening, taking with them some ofRuiz, the father's, best horses to replace their ownlamed animals, Gaspar Ruiz went away with them,having been invited pressingly to do so by the eloquentofficer.Shortly afterwards a detachment of Royalist troopscoming to pacify the district, burnt the ranche, carriedoff the remaining horses and cattle, and having thusdeprived the old people of all their worldly possessions,left them sitting under a bush in the enjoyment of theinestimable boon of life.
IIGASPAR RUIZ, condemned to death as a deserter,was not thinking either of his native place or of hisparents, to whom he had been a good son on accountof the mildness of his character and the great strengthof his limbs. The practical advantage of this lastwas made still more valuable to his father by hisobedient disposition. Gaspar Ruiz had an acquiescentsoul.But it was stirred now to a sort of dim revolt byhis dislike to die the death of a traitor. He was not atraitor. He said again to the sergeant: "You knowI did not desert, Estaban. You know I remainedbehind amongst the trees with three others to keepthe enemy back while the detachment was runningaway!"Lieutenant Santierra, little more than a boy at thetime, and unused as yet to the sanguinary imbecilitiesof a state of war, had lingered near by, as if fascinatedby the sight of these men who were to be shot pres-ently -- "for an example" -- as the Commandante hadsaid.The sergeant, without deigning to look at theprisoner, addressed himself to the young officer witha superior smile."Ten men would not have been enough to makehim a prisoner, mi teniente. Moreover, the other threerejoined the detachment after dark. Why should he,unwounded and the strongest of them all, have failed todo so?""My strength is as nothing against a mounted manwith a lasso," Gaspar Ruiz protested, eagerly. "Hedragged me behind his horse for half a mile."At this excellent reason the sergeant only laughedcontemptuously. The young officer hurried away afterthe Commandante.Presently the adjutant of the castle came by. Hewas a truculent, raw-boned man in a ragged uniform.His spluttering voice issued out of a flat yellow face.The sergeant learned from him that the condemnedmen would not be shot till sunset. He begged thento know what he was to do with them meantime.The adjutant looked savagely round the courtyardand, pointing to the door of a small dungeon-likeguardroom, receiving light and air through one heavilybarred window, said: "Drive the scoundrels in there."The sergeant, tightening his grip upon the stick hecarried in virtue of his rank, executed this order withalacrity and zeal. He hit Gaspar Ruiz, whose move-ments were slow, over his head and shoulders. GasparRuiz stood still for a moment under the shower ofblows, biting his lip thoughtfully as if absorbed by aperplexing mental process -- then followed the otherswithout haste. The door was locked, and the adjutantcarried off the key.By noon the heat of that vaulted place crammedto suffocation had become unbearable. The prisonerscrowded towards the window, begging their guards fora drop of water; but the soldiers remained lying inindolent attitudes wherever there was a little shadeunder a wall, while the sentry sat with his back againstthe door smoking a cigarette, and raising his eyebrowsphilosophically from time to time. Gaspar Ruiz hadpushed his way to the window with irresistible force.His capacious chest needed more air than the others;his big face, resting with its chin on the ledge, pressedclose to the bars, seemed to support the other facescrowding up for breath. From moaned entreaties theyhad passed to desperate cries, and the tumultuous howl-ing of those thirsty men obliged a young officer whowas just then crossing the courtyard to shout in orderto make himself heard."Why don't you give some water to these prisoners?"The sergeant, with an air of surprised innocence,excused himself by the remark that all those men werecondemned to die in a very few hours.Lieutenant Santierra stamped his foot. "They arecondemned to death, not to torture," he shouted."Give them some water at once."Impressed by this appearance of anger, the soldiersbestirred themselves, and the sentry, snatching up hismusket, stood to attention.But when a couple of buckets were found and filledfrom the well, it was discovered that they could not bepassed through the bars, which were set too close. Atthe prospect of quenching their thirst, the shrieks ofthose trampled down in the struggle to get near theopening became very heartrending. But when thesoldiers who had lifted the buckets towards the windowput them to the ground again helplessly, the yell of dis-appointment was still more terrible.The soldiers of the army of Independence were notequipped with canteens. A small tin cup was found,but its approach to the opening caused such a com-motion, such yells of rage and pain in the vague massof limbs behind the straining faces at the window, thatLieutenant Santierra cried out hurriedly, "No, no -- youmust open the door, sergeant."The sergeant, shrugging his shoulders, explainedthat he had no right to open the door even if he hadhad the key. But he had not the key. The adjutantof the garrison kept the key. Those men were givingmuch unnecessary trouble, since they had to die at sun-set in any case. Why they had not been shot at onceearly in the morning he could not understand.Lieutenant Santierra kept his back studiously to thewindow. It was at his earnest solicitations that theCommandante had delayed the execution. This favourhad been granted to him in consideration of his dis-tinguished family and of his father's high positionamongst the chiefs of the Republican party. LieutenantSantierra believed that the General commanding wouldvisit the fort some time in the afternoon, and he ingenu-ously hoped that his naive intercession would inducethat severe man to pardon some, at least, of those crim-inals. In the revulsion of his feeling his interferencestood revealed now as guilty and futile meddling. It ap-peared to him obvious that the general would never evenconsent to listen to his petition. He could never savethose men, and he had only made himself responsible forthe sufferings added to the cruelty of their fate."Then go at once and get the key from the adjutant,"said Lieutenant Santierra.The sergeant shook his head with a sort of bashfulsmile, while his eyes glanced sideways at Gaspar Ruiz'sface, motionless and silent, staring through the bars atthe bottom of a heap of other haggard, distorted, yellingfaces.His worship the adjutant de Plaza, the sergeantmurmured, was having his siesta; and supposing thathe, the sergeant, would be allowed access to him, theonly result he expected would be to have his soulflogged out of his body for presuming to disturb hisworship's repose. He made a deprecatory movementwith his hands, and stood stock-still, looking downmodestly upon his brown toes.Lieutenant Santierra glared with indignation, buthesitated. His handsome oval face, as smooth as agirl's, flushed with the shame of his perplexity. Itsnature humiliated his spirit. His hairless upper liptrembled; he seemed on the point of either burstinginto a fit of rage or into tears of dismay.Fifty years later, General Santierra, the venerablerelic of revolutionary times, was well able to remem-ber the feelings of the young lieutenant. Since hehad given up riding altogether, and found it difficultto walk beyond the limits of his garden, the general'sgreatest delight was to entertain in his house theofficers of the foreign men-of-war visiting the harbour.For Englishmen he had a preference, as for old com-panions in arms. English naval men of all ranksaccepted his hospitality with curiosity, because he hadknown Lord Cochrane and had taken part, on board thepatriot squadron commanded by that marvellous sea-man, in the cutting out and blockading operations be-fore Callao -- an episode of unalloyed glory in the warsof Independence and of endless honour in the fightingtradition of Englishmen. He was a fair linguist, thisancient survivor of the Liberating armies. A trick ofsmoothing his long white beard whenever he was shortof a word in French or English imparted an air ofleisurely dignity to the tone of his reminiscences.
III"YES, my friends," he used to say to his guests,"what would you have? A youth of seventeen sum-mers, without worldly experience, and owing myrank only to the glorious patriotism of my father, mayGod rest his soul. I suffered immense humiliation,not so much from the disobedience of that subordinate,who, after all, was responsible for those prisoners; butI suffered because, like the boy I was, I myself dreadedgoing to the adjutant for the key. I had felt, before,his rough and cutting tongue. Being quite a commonfellow, with no merit except his savage valour, he mademe feel his contempt and dislike from the first day Ijoined my battalion in garrison at the fort. It was onlya fortnight before! I would have confronted him swordin hand, but I shrank from the mocking brutality of hissneers."I don't remember having been so miserable in mylife before or since. The torment of my sensibilitywas so great that I wished the sergeant to fall dead atmy feet, and the stupid soldiers who stared at me toturn into corpses; and even those wretches for whommy entreaties had procured a reprieve I wished deadalso, because I could not face them without shame. Amephitic heat like a whiff of air from hell came out ofthat dark place in which they were confined. Those atthe window who had heard what was going on jeered atme in very desperation: one of these fellows, gone madno doubt, kept on urging me volubly to order the soldiersto fire through the window. His insane loquacity mademy heart turn faint. And my feet were like lead. Therewas no higher officer to whom I could appeal. I hadnot even the firmness of spirit to simply go away."Benumbed by my remorse, I stood with my backto the window. You must not suppose that all thislasted a long time. How long could it have been? Aminute? If you measured by mental suffering it waslike a hundred years; a longer time than all my life hasbeen since. No, certainly, it was not so much as aminute. The hoarse screaming of those miserablewretches died out in their dry throats, and then sud-denly a voice spoke, a deep voice muttering calmly.It called upon me to turn round."That voice, senores, proceeded from the head ofGaspar Ruiz. Of his body I could see nothing. Someof his fellow-captives had clambered upon his back.He was holding them up. His eyes blinked withoutlooking at me. That and the moving of his lips wasall he seemed able to manage in his overloaded state.And when I turned round, this head, that seemed morethan human size resting on its chin under a multitudeof other heads, asked me whether I really desired toquench the thirst of the captives."I said, 'Yes, yes!' eagerly, and came up quiteclose to the window. I was like a child, and did notknow what would happen. I was anxious to be com-forted in my helplessness and remorse."'Have you the authority, Senor teniente, to re-lease my wrists from their bonds?' Gaspar Ruiz'shead asked me."His features expressed no anxiety, no hope; hisheavy eyelids blinked upon his eyes that looked pastme straight into the courtyard."As if in an ugly dream, I spoke, stammering:'What do you mean? And how can I reach the bondson your wrists?'"'I will try what I can do,' he said; and then thatlarge staring head moved at last, and all the wild facespiled up in that window disappeared, tumbling down.He had shaken his load off with one movement, sostrong he was."And he had not only shaken it off, but he got freeof the crush and vanished from my sight. For amoment there was no one at all to be seen at thewindow. He had swung about, butting and shoulder-ing, clearing a space for himself in the only way he coulddo it with his hands tied behind his back."Finally, backing to the opening, he pushed out tome between the bars his wrists, lashed with many turnsof rope. His hands, very swollen, with knotted veins,looked enormous and unwieldy. I saw his bent back.It was very broad. His voice was like the mutteringof a bull."'Cut, Senor teniente. Cut!'"I drew my sword, my new unblunted sword thathad seen no service as yet, and severed the many turnsof the hide rope. I did this without knowing the whyand the wherefore of my action, but as it were com-pelled by my faith in that man. The sergeant made asif to cry out, but astonishment deprived him of hisvoice, and he remained standing with his mouth openas if overtaken by sudden imbecility."I sheathed my sword and faced the soldiers. Anair of awestruck expectation had replaced their usual list-less apathy. I heard the voice of Gaspar Ruiz shoutinginside, but the words I could not make out plainly. Isuppose that to see him with his arms free augmentedthe influence of his strength: I mean by this, the spiritualinfluence that with ignorant people attaches to an excep-tional degree of bodily vigour. In fact, he was no moreto be feared than before, on account of the numbness ofhis arms and hands, which lasted for some time."The sergeant had recovered his power of speech.'By all the saints!' he cried, 'we shall have to get acavalry man with a lasso to secure him again, if he isto be led to the place of execution. Nothing less thana good enlazador on a good horse can subdue him.Your worship was pleased to perform a very mad thing.'"I had nothing to say. I was surprised myself,and I felt a childish curiosity to see what would hap-pen next. But the sergeant was thinking of the diffi-culty of controlling Gaspar Ruiz when the time formaking an example would come."'Or perhaps,' the sergeant pursued, vexedly, 'weshall be obliged to shoot him down as he dashes outwhen the door is opened.' He was going to givefurther vent to his anxieties as to the proper carryingout of the sentence; but he interrupted himself with asudden exclamation, snatched a musket from a soldier,and stood watchful with his eyes fixed on the window.
IV"GASPAR RUIZ had clambered up on the sill, and satdown there with his feet against the thickness of thewall and his knees slightly bent. The window wasnot quite broad enough for the length of his legs.It appeared to my crestfallen perception that hemeant to keep the window all to himself. He seemedto be taking up a comfortable position. Nobody insidedared to approach him now he could strike with hishands."'Por Dios!' I heard the sergeant muttering at myelbow, 'I shall shoot him through the head now, andget rid of that trouble. He is a condemned man.'"At that I looked at him angrily. 'The generalhas not confirmed the sentence,' I said -- though I knewwell in my heart that these were but vain words. Thesentence required no confirmation. 'You have noright to shoot him unless he tries to escape,' I added,firmly."'But sangre de Dios!' the sergeant yelled out,bringing his musket up to the shoulder, 'he is escapingnow. Look!'"But I, as if that Gaspar Ruiz had cast a spellupon me, struck the musket upward, and the bulletflew over the roofs somewhere. The sergeant dashedhis arm to the ground and stared. He might havecommanded the soldiers to fire, but he did not. Andif he had he would not have been obeyed, I think, justthen."With his feet against the thickness of the walland his hairy hands grasping the iron bar, Gasparsat still. It was an attitude. Nothing happened for atime. And suddenly it dawned upon us that he wasstraightening his bowed back and contracting his arms.His lips were twisted into a snarl. Next thing we per-ceived was that the bar of forged iron was being bentslowly by the mightiness of his pull. The sun wasbeating full upon his cramped, unquivering figure. Ashower of sweat-drops burst out of his forehead.Watching the bar grow crooked, I saw a little bloodooze from under his finger-nails. Then he let go. Fora moment he remained all huddled up, with a hanginghead, looking drowsily into the upturned palms of hismighty hands. Indeed he seemed to have dozed off.Suddenly he flung himself backwards on the sill, andsetting the soles of his bare feet against the othermiddle bar, he bent that one, too, but in the oppositedirection from the first."Such was his strength, which in this case relievedmy painful feelings. And the man seemed to havedone nothing. Except for the change of position inorder to use his feet, which made us all start by itsswiftness, my recollection is that of immobility. Buthe had bent the bars wide apart. And now he couldget out if he liked; but he dropped his legs inwards,and looking over his shoulder beckoned to the soldiers.'Hand up the water,' he said. 'I will give them all adrink.'"He was obeyed. For a moment I expected manand bucket to disappear, overwhelmed by the rush ofeagerness; I thought they would pull him down withtheir teeth. There was a rush, but holding the bucketon his lap he repulsed the assault of those wretches bythe mere swinging of his feet. They flew backwards atevery kick, yelling with pain; and the soldiers laughed,gazing at the window."They all laughed, holding their sides, except thesergeant, who was gloomy and morose. He was afraidthe prisoners would rise and break out -- which wouldhave been a bad example. But there was no fear ofthat, and I stood myself before the window with mydrawn sword. When sufficiently tamed by the strengthof Gaspar Ruiz they came up one by one, stretchingtheir necks and presenting their lips to the edge of thebucket which the strong man tilted towards them fromhis knees with an extraordinary air of charity, gentleness,and compassion. That benevolent appearance was ofcourse the effect of his care in not spilling the waterand of his attitude as he sat on the sill; for, if a manlingered with his lips glued to the rim of the bucketafter Gaspar Ruiz had said 'You have had enough,'there would be no tenderness or mercy in the shove ofthe foot which would send him groaning and doubledup far into the interior of the prison, where he wouldknock down two or three others before he fell himself.They came up to him again and again; it looked as ifthey meant to drink the well dry before going to theirdeath; but the soldiers were so amused by GasparRuiz's systematic proceedings that they carried thewater up to the window cheerfully."When the adjutant came out after his siesta therewas some trouble over this affair, I can assure you.And the worst of it was that the general whom weexpected never came to the castle that day."The guests of General Santierra unanimously ex-pressed their regret that the man of such strengthand patience had not been saved."He was not saved by my interference," said theGeneral. "The prisoners were led to execution half anhour before sunset. Gaspar Ruiz, contrary to thesergeant's apprehensions, gave no trouble. There was nonecessity to get a cavalry man with a lasso in order tosubdue him, as if he were a wild bull of the campo. Ibelieve he marched out with his arms free amongst theothers who were bound. I did not see. I was not there.I had been put under arrest for interfering with theprisoner's guard. About dusk, sitting dismally in myquarters, I heard three volleys fired, and thought that Ishould never hear of Gaspar Ruiz again. He fell withthe others. But we were to hear of him nevertheless,though the sergeant boasted that as he lay on his faceexpiring or dead in the heap of the slain, he had slashedhis neck with a sword. He had done this, he said, tomake sure of ridding the world of a dangerous traitor."I confess to you, senores, that I thought of thatstrong man with a sort of gratitude, and with someadmiration. He had used his strength honourably.There dwelt, then, in his soul no fierceness correspond-ing to the vigour of his body."
VGASPAR RUIZ, who could with ease bend apart theheavy iron bars of the prison, was led out with othersto summary execution. "Every bullet has its billet,"runs the proverb. All the merit of proverbs consistsin the concise and picturesque expression. In thesurprise of our minds is found their persuasiveness. Inother words, we are struck and convinced by the shock.What surprises us is the form, not the substance.Proverbs are art -- cheap art. As a general rule theyare not true; unless indeed they happen to be mereplatitudes, as for instance the proverb, "Half a loaf isbetter than no bread," or "A miss is as good as a mile."Some proverbs are simply imbecile, others are immoral.That one evolved out of the naive heart of the greatRussian people, "Man discharges the piece, but Godcarries the bullet," is piously atrocious, and at bittervariance with the accepted conception of a compassion-ate God. It would indeed be an inconsistent occupa-tion for the Guardian of the poor, the innocent, and thehelpless, to carry the bullet, for instance, into the heartof a father.Gaspar Ruiz was childless, he had no wife, he hadnever been in love. He had hardly ever spoken to awoman, beyond his mother and the ancient negress ofthe household, whose wrinkled skin was the colour ofcinders, and whose lean body was bent double from age.If some bullets from those muskets fired off at fifteenpaces were specifically destined for the heart of GasparRuiz, they all missed their billet. One, however,carried away a small piece of his ear, and another afragment of flesh from his shoulder.A red and unclouded sun setting into a purple oceanlooked with a fiery stare upon the enormous wallof the Cordilleras, worthy witnesses of his gloriousextinction. But it is inconceivable that it should haveseen the ant-like men busy with their absurd andinsignificant trials of killing and dying for reasons that,apart from being generally childish, were also im-perfectly understood. It did light up, however, thebacks of the firing party and the faces of the condemnedmen. Some of them had fallen on their knees, othersremained standing, a few averted their heads from thelevelled barrels of muskets. Gaspar Ruiz, upright, theburliest of them all, hung his big shock head. The lowsun dazzled him a little, and he counted himself a deadman already.He fell at the first discharge. He fell because hethought he was a dead man. He struck the groundheavily. The jar of the fall surprised him. "I am notdead apparently," he thought to himself, when he heardthe execution platoon reloading its arms at the word ofcommand. It was then that the hope of escape dawnedupon him for the first time. He remained lyingstretched out with rigid limbs under the weight of twobodies collapsed crosswise upon his back.By the time the soldiers had fired a third volleyinto the slightly stirring heaps of the slain, the sun hadgone out of sight, and almost immediately with thedarkening of the ocean dusk fell upon the coasts of theyoung Republic. Above the gloom of the lowlands thesnowy peaks of the Cordilleras remained luminous andcrimson for a long time. The soldiers before marchingback to the fort sat down to smoke.The sergeant with a naked sword in his hand strolledaway by himself along the heap of the dead. He wasa humane man, and watched for any stir or twitch oflimb in the merciful idea of plunging the point of hisblade into any body giving the slightest sign of life.But none of the bodies afforded him an opportunity forthe display of this charitable intention. Not a muscletwitched amongst them, not even the powerful musclesof Gaspar Ruiz, who, deluged with the blood of hisneighbours and shamming death, strove to appear morelifeless than the others.He was lying face down. The sergeant recognizedhim by his stature, and being himself a very small man,looked with envy and contempt at the prostration of somuch strength. He had always disliked that particularsoldier. Moved by an obscure animosity, he inflicted along gash across the neck of Gaspar Ruiz, with somevague notion of making sure of that strong man's death,as if a powerful physique were more able to resist thebullets. For the sergeant had no doubt that GasparRuiz had been shot through in many places. Then hepassed on, and shortly afterwards marched off with hismen, leaving the bodies to the care of crows andvultures.Gaspar Ruiz had restrained a cry, though it hadseemed to him that his head was cut off at a blow; andwhen darkness came, shaking off the dead, whose weighthad oppressed him, he crawled away over the plain onhis hands and knees. After drinking deeply, like awounded beast, at a shallow stream, he assumed anupright posture, and staggered on light-headed andaimless, as if lost amongst the stars of the clear night.A small house seemed to rise out of the ground beforehim. He stumbled into the porch and struck at thedoor with his fist. There was not a gleam of light.Gaspar Ruiz might have thought that the inhabitantshad fled from it, as from many others in the neigh-bourhood, had it not been for the shouts of abuse thatanswered his thumping. In his feverish and enfeebledstate the angry screaming seemed to him part of ahallucination belonging to the weird, dreamlike feelingof his unexpected condemnation to death, of the thirstsuffered, of the volleys fired at him within fifteen paces,of his head being cut off at a blow. "Open the door!"he cried. "Open in the name of God!"An infuriated voice from within jeered at him:"Come in, come in. This house belongs to you. Allthis land belongs to you. Come and take it.""For the love of God," Gaspar Ruiz murmured."Does not all the land belong to you patriots?"the voice on the other side of the door screamed on."Are you not a patriot?"Gaspar Ruiz did not know. "I am a wounded man,"he said, apathetically.All became still inside. Gaspar Ruiz lost the hope ofbeing admitted, and lay down under the porch justoutside the door. He was utterly careless of whatwas going to happen to him. All his consciousnessseemed to be concentrated in his neck, where he felt asevere pain. His indifference as to his fate was genuine.The day was breaking when he awoke from a feverishdoze; the door at which he had knocked in the darkstood wide open now, and a girl, steadying herselfwith her outspread arms, leaned over the threshold.Lying on his back, he stared up at her. Her face waspale and her eyes were very dark; her hair hung downblack as ebony against her white cheeks; her lips werefull and red. Beyond her he saw another head withlong grey hair, and a thin old face with a pair ofanxiously clasped hands under the chin.
VI"I KNEW those people by sight," General Santierrawould tell his guests at the dining-table. "I meanthe people with whom Gaspar Ruiz found shelter.The father was an old Spaniard, a man of propertyruined by the revolution. His estates, his house intown, his money, everything he had in the world hadbeen confiscated by proclamation, for he was a bitter foeof our independence. From a position of great dignityand influence on the Viceroy's Council he became ofless importance than his own negro slaves made freeby our glorious revolution. He had not even the meansto flee the country, as other Spaniards had managed todo. It may be that, wandering ruined and houseless,and burdened with nothing but his life, which was leftto him by the clemency of the Provisional Government,he had simply walked under that broken roof of oldtiles. It was a lonely spot. There did not seem to beeven a dog belonging to the place. But though the roofhad holes, as if a cannon-ball or two had droppedthrough it, the wooden shutters were thick and tight-closed all the time."My way took me frequently along the path infront of that miserable rancho. I rode from the fort tothe town almost every evening, to sigh at the windowof a lady I was in love with, then. When one is young,you understand. . . . She was a good patriot, youmay believe. Caballeros, credit me or not, politicalfeeling ran so high in those days that I do not believeI could have been fascinated by the charms of a womanof Royalist opinions. . . ."Murmurs of amused incredulity all round the tableinterrupted the General; and while they lasted hestroked his white beard gravely."Senores," he protested, "a Royalist was a monsterto our overwrought feelings. I am telling you this inorder not to be suspected of the slightest tendernesstowards that old Royalist's daughter. Moreover, as youknow, my affections were engaged elsewhere. But Icould not help noticing her on rare occasions when withthe front door open she stood in the porch."You must know that this old Royalist was as crazyas a man can be. His political misfortunes, his totaldownfall and ruin, had disordered his mind. To showhis contempt for what we patriots could do, he affectedto laugh at his imprisonment, at the confiscation of hislands, the burning of his houses, and at the miseryto which he and his womenfolk were reduced. Thishabit of laughing had grown upon him, so that hewould begin to laugh and shout directly he caughtsight of any stranger. That was the form of hismadness."I, of course, disregarded the noise of that madmanwith that feeling of superiority the success of our causeinspired in us Americans. I suppose I really despisedhim because he was an old Castilian, a Spaniard born,and a Royalist. Those were certainly no reasons toscorn a man; but for centuries Spaniards born hadshown their contempt of us Americans, men as welldescended as themselves, simply because we were whatthey called colonists. We had been kept in abasementand made to feel our inferiority in social intercourse.And now it was our turn. It was safe for us patriotsto display the same sentiments; and I being a youngpatriot, son of a patriot, despised that old Spaniard, anddespising him I naturally disregarded his abuse, thoughit was annoying to my feelings. Others perhaps wouldnot have been so forbearing."He would begin with a great yell -- 'I see a patriot.Another of them!' long before I came abreast ofthe house. The tone of his senseless revilings, mingledwith bursts of laughter, was sometimes piercingly shrilland sometimes grave. It was all very mad; but Ifelt it incumbent upon my dignity to check myhorse to a walk without even glancing towards thehouse, as if that man's abusive clamour in the porchwere less than the barking of a cur. Always I rode bypreserving an expression of haughty indifference on myface."It was no doubt very dignified; but I should havedone better if I had kept my eyes open. A militaryman in war time should never consider himself offduty; and especially so if the war is a revolutionarywar, when the enemy is not at the door, but withinyour very house. At such times the heat of passionateconvictions passing into hatred, removes the re-straints of honour and humanity from many men andof delicacy and fear from some women. These last,when once they throw off the timidity and reserve oftheir sex, become by the vivacity of their intelligenceand the violence of their merciless resentment moredangerous than so many armed giants."The General's voice rose, but his big hand strokedhis white beard twice with an effect of venerable calm-ness. "Si, Senores! Women are ready to rise to theheights of devotion unattainable by us men, or to sinkinto the depths of abasement which amazes our mas-culine prejudices. I am speaking now of exceptionalwomen, you understand. . . ."Here one of the guests observed that he had nevermet a woman yet who was not capable of turning outquite exceptional under circumstances that would en-gage her feelings strongly. "That sort of superiorityin recklessness they have over us," he concluded,"makes of them the more interesting half of man-kind."The General, who bore the interruption with gravity,nodded courteous assent. "Si. Si. Under circum-stances. . . . Precisely. They can do an infinitedeal of mischief sometimes in quite unexpected ways.For who could have imagined that a young girl, daughterof a ruined Royalist whose life was held only by thecontempt of his enemies, would have had the powerto bring death and devastation upon two flourishingprovinces and cause serious anxiety to the leadersof the revolution in the very hour of its success!"He paused to let the wonder of it penetrate ourminds."Death and devastation," somebody murmured insurprise: "how shocking!"The old General gave a glance in the direction ofthe murmur and went on. "Yes. That is, war --calamity. But the means by which she obtained thepower to work this havoc on our southern frontier seemto me, who have seen her and spoken to her, still moreshocking. That particular thing left on my mind adreadful amazement which the further experience of life,of more than fifty years, has done nothing to diminish."He looked round as if to make sure of our attention,and, in a changed voice: "I am, as you know, a re-publican, son of a Liberator," he declared. "My in-comparable mother, God rest her soul, was a French-woman, the daughter of an ardent republican. As aboy I fought for liberty; I've always believed in theequality of men; and as to their brotherhood, that, tomy mind, is even more certain. Look at the fierceanimosity they display in their differences. And whatin the world do you know that is more bitterly fiercethan brothers' quarrels?"All absence of cynicism checked an inclination tosmile at this view of human brotherhood. On thecontrary, there was in the tone the melancholy naturalto a man profoundly humane at heart who from duty,from conviction, and from necessity, had played hispart in scenes of ruthless violence.The General had seen much of fratricidal strife."Certainly. There is no doubt of their brotherhood,"he insisted. "All men are brothers, and as such knowalmost too much of each other. But" -- and here inthe old patriarchal head, white as silver, the black eyeshumorously twinkled -- "if we are all brothers, all thewomen are not our sisters."One of the younger guests was heard murmuringhis satisfaction at the fact. But the General continued,with deliberate earnestness: "They are so different!The tale of a king who took a beggar-maid for a partnerof his throne may be pretty enough as we men look uponourselves and upon love. But that a young girl,famous for her haughty beauty and, only a short timebefore, the admired of all at the balls in the Viceroy'spalace, should take by the hand a guasso, a commonpeasant, is intolerable to our sentiment of women andtheir love. It is madness. Nevertheless it happened.But it must be said that in her case it was the madnessof hate -- not of love."After presenting this excuse in a spirit of chivalrousjustice, the General remained silent for a time. "Irode past the house every day almost," he began again,"and this was what was going on within. But how itwas going on no mind of man can conceive. Herdesperation must have been extreme, and Gaspar Ruizwas a docile fellow. He had been an obedient soldier.His strength was like an enormous stone lying on theground, ready to be hurled this way or that by the handthat picks it up."It is clear that he would tell his story to the peoplewho gave him the shelter he needed. And he neededassistance badly. His wound was not dangerous, buthis life was forfeited. The old Royalist being wrappedup in his laughing madness, the two women arranged ahiding-place for the wounded man in one of the hutsamongst the fruit trees at the back of the house. Thathovel, an abundance of clear water while the feverwas on him, and some words of pity were all they couldgive. I suppose he had a share of what food there was.And it would be but little: a handful of roasted corn,perhaps a dish of beans, or a piece of bread with a fewfigs. To such misery were those proud and oncewealthy people reduced."
VIIGENERAL SANTIERRA was right in his surmise. Suchwas the exact nature of the assistance which GasparRuiz, peasant son of peasants, received from theRoyalist family whose daughter had opened the door oftheir miserable refuge to his extreme distress. Hersombre resolution ruled the madness of her father andthe trembling bewilderment of her mother.She had asked the strange man on the doorstep,"Who wounded you?""The soldiers, senora," Gaspar Ruiz had answered,in a faint voice."Patriots?""Si.""What for?""Deserter," he gasped, leaning against the wallunder the scrutiny of her black eyes. "I was left fordead over there."She led him through the house out to a small hut ofclay and reeds, lost in the long grass of the overgrownorchard. He sank on a heap of maize straw in a corner,and sighed profoundly."No one will look for you here," she said, lookingdown at him. "Nobody comes near us. We, too, havebeen left for dead -- here."He stirred uneasily on his heap of dirty straw, andthe pain in his neck made him groan deliriously."I shall show Estaban some day that I am alive yet,"he mumbled.He accepted her assistance in silence, and the manydays of pain went by. Her appearances in the hutbrought him relief and became connected with thefeverish dreams of angels which visited his couch;for Gaspar Ruiz was instructed in the mysteries of hisreligion, and had even been taught to read and write alittle by the priest of his village. He waited for herwith impatience, and saw her pass out of the dark hutand disappear in the brilliant sunshine with poignantregret. He discovered that, while he lay there feelingso very weak, he could, by closing his eyes, evoke herface with considerable distinctness. And this discoveredfaculty charmed the long, solitary hours of his convales-cence. Later on, when he began to regain his strength,he would creep at dusk from his hut to the house andsit on the step of the garden door.In one of the rooms the mad father paced to andfro, muttering to himself with short, abrupt laughs. Inthe passage, sitting on a stool, the mother sighed andmoaned. The daughter, in rough threadbare clothing,and her white haggard face half hidden by a coarsemanta, stood leaning against the side of the door.Gaspar Ruiz, with his elbows propped on his knees andhis head resting in his hands, talked to the two womenin an undertone.The common misery of destitution would have madea bitter mockery of a marked insistence on social differ-ences. Gaspar Ruiz understood this in his simplicity.From his captivity amongst the Royalists he could givethem news of people they knew. He described theirappearance; and when he related the story of the battlein which he was recaptured the two women lamented theblow to their cause and the ruin of their secret hopes.He had no feeling either way. But he felt a greatdevotion for that young girl. In his desire to appearworthy of her condescension, he boasted a little of hisbodily strength. He had nothing else to boast of.Because of that quality his comrades treated him withas great a deference, he explained, as though he hadbeen a sergeant, both in camp and in battle."I could always get as many as I wanted to followme anywhere, senorita. I ought to have been made anofficer, because I can read and write."Behind him the silent old lady fetched a moaningsigh from time to time; the distracted father mutteredto himself, pacing the sala; and Gaspar Ruiz wouldraise his eyes now and then to look at the daughter ofthese people.He would look at her with curiosity because she wasalive, and also with that feeling of familiarity and awewith which he had contemplated in churches theinanimate and powerful statues of the saints, whoseprotection is invoked in dangers and difficulties. Hisdifficulty was very great.He could not remain hiding in an orchard for everand ever. He knew also very well that before he hadgone half a day's journey in any direction, he would bepicked up by one of the cavalry patrols scouring thecountry, and brought into one or another of the campswhere the patriot army destined for the liberation ofPeru was collected. There he would in the end berecognized as Gaspar Ruiz -- the deserter to the Royal-ists -- and no doubt shot very effectually this time.There did not seem any place in the world for theinnocent Gaspar Ruiz anywhere. And at this thoughthis simple soul surrendered itself to gloom and re-sentment as black as night.They had made him a soldier forcibly. He did notmind being a soldier. And he had been a good soldieras he had been a good son, because of his docility andhis strength. But now there was no use for either.They had taken him from his parents, and he could nolonger be a soldier -- not a good soldier at any rate.Nobody would listen to his explanations. What in-justice it was! What injustice!And in a mournful murmur he would go over thestory of his capture and recapture for the twentiethtime. Then, raising his eyes to the silent girl in thedoorway, "Si, senorita," he would say with a deep sigh,"injustice has made this poor breath in my body quiteworthless to me and to anybody else. And I do notcare who robs me of it."One evening, as he exhaled thus the plaint of hiswounded soul, she condescended to say that, if she werea man, she would consider no life worthless which heldthe possibility of revenge.She seemed to be speaking to herself. Her voicewas low. He drank in the gentle, as if dreamy soundwith a consciousness of peculiar delight of somethingwarming his breast like a draught of generous wine."True, Senorita," he said, raising his face up to hersslowly: "there is Estaban, who must be shown that Iam not dead after all."The mutterings of the mad father had ceased longbefore; the sighing mother had withdrawn somewhereinto one of the empty rooms. All was still within aswell as without, in the moonlight bright as day on thewild orchard full of inky shadows. Gaspar Ruiz sawthe dark eyes of Dona Erminia look down at him."Ah! The sergeant," she muttered, disdainfully."Why! He has wounded me with his sword," heprotested, bewildered by the contempt that seemed toshine livid on her pale face.She crushed him with her glance. The power of herwill to be understood was so strong that it kindled inhim the intelligence of unexpressed things."What else did you expect me to do?" he cried, asif suddenly driven to despair. "Have I the power to domore? Am I a general with an army at my back? --miserable sinner that I am to be despised by you atlast."
VIII"SEnORES," related the General to his guests,"though my thoughts were of love then, and thereforeenchanting, the sight of that house always affected medisagreeably, especially in the moonlight, when itsclose shutters and its air of lonely neglect appearedsinister. Still I went on using the bridle-path by theravine, because it was a short cut. The mad Royalisthowled and laughed at me every evening to his completesatisfaction; but after a time, as if wearied with myindifference, he ceased to appear in the porch. Howthey persuaded him to leave off I do not know. How-ever, with Gaspar Ruiz in the house there would havebeen no difficulty in restraining him by force. It wasnow part of their policy in there to avoid anythingwhich could provoke me. At least, so I suppose."Notwithstanding my infatuation with the brightestpair of eyes in Chile, I noticed the absence of the oldman after a week or so. A few more days passed. Ibegan to think that perhaps these Royalists had goneaway somewhere else. But one evening, as I washastening towards the city, I saw again somebody in theporch. It was not the madman; it was the girl. Shestood holding on to one of the wooden columns, tall andwhite-faced, her big eyes sunk deep with privation andsorrow. I looked hard at her, and she met my starewith a strange, inquisitive look. Then, as I turnedmy head after riding past, she seemed to gather couragefor the act, and absolutely beckoned me back."I obeyed, senores, almost without thinking, so greatwas my astonishment. It was greater still when I heardwhat she had to say. She began by thanking me formy forbearance of her father's infirmity, so that I feltashamed of myself. I had meant to show disdain, notforbearance! Every word must have burnt her lips,but she never departed from a gentle and melancholydignity which filled me with respect against my will.Senores, we are no match for women. But I couldhardly believe my ears when she began her tale. Provi-dence, she concluded, seemed to have preserved thelife of that wronged soldier, who now trusted to myhonour as a caballero and to my compassion for hissufferings."'Wronged man,' I observed, coldly. 'Well, I thinkso, too: and you have been harbouring an enemy ofyour cause.'"'He was a poor Christian crying for help at ourdoor in the name of God, senor,' she answered, simply."I began to admire her. 'Where is he now?' Iasked, stiffly."But she would not answer that question. Withextreme cunning, and an almost fiendish delicacy, shemanaged to remind me of my failure in saving the livesof the prisoners in the guardroom, without woundingmy pride. She knew, of course, the whole story.Gaspar Ruiz, she said, entreated me to procure for hima safe-conduct from General San Martin himself. Hehad an important communication to make to the com-mander-in-chief."Por Dios, senores, she made me swallow all that,pretending to be only the mouthpiece of that poor man.Overcome by injustice, he expected to find, she said, asmuch generosity in me as had been shown to him bythe Royalist family which had given him a refuge."Ha! It was well and nobly said to a youngsterlike me. I thought her great. Alas! she was onlyimplacable."In the end I rode away very enthusiastic about thebusiness, without demanding even to see Gaspar Ruiz,who I was confident was in the house."But on calm reflection I began to see some dif-ficulties which I had not confidence enough in myself toencounter. It was not easy to approach a commander-in-chief with such a story. I feared failure. At last Ithought it better to lay the matter before my general-of-division, Robles, a friend of my family, who hadappointed me his aide-de-camp lately."He took it out of my hands at once without anyceremony."'In the house! of course he is in the house,' he saidcontemptuously. 'You ought to have gone sword inhand inside and demanded his surrender, instead ofchatting with a Royalist girl in the porch. Thosepeople should have been hunted out of that long ago.Who knows how many spies they have harboured rightin the very midst of our camps? A safe-conduct fromthe Commander-in-Chief! The audacity of the fellow!Ha! ha! Now we shall catch him to-night, and thenwe shall find out, without any safe-conduct, whathe has got to say, that is so very important. Ha!ha! ha!'"General Robles, peace to his soul, was a short, thickman, with round, staring eyes, fierce and jovial. Seeingmy distress he added:"'Come, come, chico. I promise you his life if hedoes not resist. And that is not likely. We are notgoing to break up a good soldier if it can be helped. Itell you what! I am curious to see your strong man.Nothing but a general will do for the picaro -- well, heshall have a general to talk to. Ha! ha! I shall gomyself to the catching, and you are coming with me, ofcourse.'"And it was done that same night. Early in theevening the house and the orchard were surroundedquietly. Later on the General and I left a ball we wereattending in town and rode out at an easy gallop. Atsome little distance from the house we pulled up. Amounted orderly held our horses. A low whistlewarned the men watching all along the ravine, and wewalked up to the porch softly. The barricaded housein the moonlight seemed empty."The General knocked at the door. After a time awoman's voice within asked who was there. My chiefnudged me hard. I gasped."'It is I, Lieutenant Santierra,' I stammered out, asif choked. 'Open the door.'"It came open slowly. The girl, holding a thintaper in her hand, seeing another man with me, beganto back away before us slowly, shading the light withher hand. Her impassive white face looked ghostly. Ifollowed behind General Robles. Her eyes were fixedon mine. I made a gesture of helplessness behind mychief's back, trying at the same time to give a reassur-ing expression to my face. None of us three uttereda sound."We found ourselves in a room with bare floor andwalls. There was a rough table and a couple of stoolsin it, nothing else whatever. An old woman with hergrey hair hanging loose wrung her hands when weappeared. A peal of loud laughter resounded throughthe empty house, very amazing and weird. At this theold woman tried to get past us."'Nobody to leave the room,' said General Roblesto me."I swung the door to, heard the latch click, andthe laughter became faint in our ears."Before another word could be spoken in thatroom I was amazed by hearing the sound of distantthunder."I had carried in with me into the house a vivid im-pression of a beautiful clear moonlight night, without aspeck of cloud in the sky. I could not believe my ears.Sent early abroad for my education, I was not familiarwith the most dreaded natural phenomenon of mynative land. I saw, with inexpressible astonishment, alook of terror in my chief's eyes. Suddenly I felt giddy.The General staggered against me heavily; the girlseemed to reel in the middle of the room, the taper fellout of her hand and the light went out; a shrill cry of'Misericordia!' from the old woman pierced my ears.In the pitchy darkness I heard the plaster off the wallsfalling on the floor. It is a mercy there was no ceiling.Holding on to the latch of the door, I heard the grindingof the roof-tiles cease above my head. The shock wasover."'Out of the house! The door! Fly, Santierra, fly!'howled the General. You know, senores, in our countrythe bravest are not ashamed of the fear an earthquakestrikes into all the senses of man. One never gets usedto it. Repeated experience only augments the masteryof that nameless terror."It was my first earthquake, and I was the calmest ofthem all. I understood that the crash outside wascaused by the porch, with its wooden pillars and tiledroof projection, falling down. The next shock woulddestroy the house, maybe. That rumble as of thunderwas approaching again. The General was rushinground the room, to find the door perhaps. He made anoise as though he were trying to climb the walls, and Iheard him distinctly invoke the names of several saints.'Out, out, Santierra!' he yelled."The girl's voice was the only one I did not hear."'General,' I cried, I cannot move the door. Wemust be locked in.'"I did not recognize his voice in the shout of male-diction and despair he let out. Senores, I know manymen in my country, especially in the provinces mostsubject to earthquakes, who will neither eat, sleep, pray,nor even sit down to cards with closed doors. The dan-ger is not in the loss of time, but in this -- that themovement of the walls may prevent a door being openedat all. This was what had happened to us. We weretrapped, and we had no help to expect from anybody.There is no man in my country who will go into a housewhen the earth trembles. There never was -- exceptone: Gaspar Ruiz."He had come out of whatever hole he had beenhiding in outside, and had clambered over the timbers ofthe destroyed porch. Above the awful subterraneangroan of coming destruction I heard a mighty voiceshouting the word 'Erminia!' with the lungs of a giant.An earthquake is a great leveller of distinctions. Icollected all my resolution against the terror of thescene. 'She is here,' I shouted back. A roar as of afurious wild beast answered me -- while my head swam,my heart sank, and the sweat of anguish streamed likerain off my brow."He had the strength to pick up one of the heavyposts of the porch. Holding it under his armpit like alance, but with both hands, he charged madly the rock-ing house with the force of a battering-ram, burstingopen the door and rushing in, headlong, over our pros-trate bodies. I and the General picking ourselves up,bolted out together, without looking round once till wegot across the road. Then, clinging to each other, webeheld the house change suddenly into a heap of form-less rubbish behind the back of a man, who staggeredtowards us bearing the form of a woman clasped in hisarms. Her long black hair hung nearly to his feet. Helaid her down reverently on the heaving earth, and themoonlight shone on her closed eyes."Senores, we mounted with difficulty. Our horsesgetting up plunged madly, held by the soldiers who hadcome running from all sides. Nobody thought of catch-ing Gaspar Ruiz then. The eyes of men and animalsshone with wild fear. My general approached GasparRuiz, who stood motionless as a statue above the girl.He let himself be shaken by the shoulder withoutdetaching his eyes from her face."'Que guape!' shouted the General in his ear. 'Youare the bravest man living. You have saved my life.I am General Robles. Come to my quarters to-morrowif God gives us the grace to see another day.'"He never stirred -- as if deaf, without feeling, in-sensible."We rode away for the town, full of our relations, ofour friends, of whose fate we hardly dared to think.The soldiers ran by the side of our horses. Everythingwas forgotten in the immensity of the catastrophe over-taking a whole country.". . . . . . .Gaspar Ruiz saw the girl open her eyes. The raisingof her eyelids seemed to recall him from a trance. Theywere alone; the cries of terror and distress from homelesspeople filled the plains of the coast remote and immense,coming like a whisper into their loneliness.She rose swiftly to her feet, darting fearful glanceson all sides. "What is it?" she cried out low, and peer-ing into his face. "Where am I?"He bowed his head sadly, without a word.". . . Who are you?"He knelt down slowly before her, and touched thehem of her coarse black baize skirt. "Your slave," hesaid.She caught sight then of the heap of rubbish thathad been the house, all misty in the cloud of dust."Ah!" she cried, pressing her hand to her forehead."I carried you out from there," he whispered at herfeet."And they?" she asked in a great sob.He rose, and taking her by the arms, led her gentlytowards the shapeless ruin half overwhelmed by a land-slide. "Come and listen," he said.The serene moon saw them clambering over thatheap of stones, joists and tiles, which was a grave.They pressed their ears to the interstices, listening forthe sound of a groan, for a sigh of pain.At last he said, "They died swiftly. You are alone."She sat down on a piece of broken timber and putone arm across her face. He waited -- then approachinghis lips to her ear: "Let us go," he whispered."Never -- never from here," she cried out, flinging herarms above her head.He stooped over her, and her raised arms fell uponhis shoulders. He lifted her up, steadied himself andbegan to walk, looking straight before him."What are you doing?" she asked, feebly."I am escaping from my enemies," he said, neveronce glancing at his light burden."With me?" she sighed, helplessly."Never without you," he said. "You are mystrength."He pressed her close to him. His face was graveand his footsteps steady. The conflagrations burstingout in the ruins of destroyed villages dotted the plainwith red fires; and the sounds of distant lamentations,the cries of Misericordia! Misericordia! made a desolatemurmur in his ears. He walked on, solemn and col-lected, as if carrying something holy, fragile, andprecious.The earth rocked at times under his feet.
IXWITH movements of mechanical care and an air ofabstraction old General Santierra lighted a long andthick cigar."It was a good many hours before we could send aparty back to the ravine," he said to his guests. "Wehad found one-third of the town laid low, the restshaken up; and the inhabitants, rich and poor, reducedto the same state of distraction by the universal disaster.The affected cheerfulness of some contrasted with thedespair of others. In the general confusion a number ofreckless thieves, without fear of God or man, became adanger to those who from the downfall of their homeshad managed to save some valuables. Crying 'Miseri-cordia' louder than any at every tremor, and beatingtheir breast with one hand, these scoundrels robbed thepoor victims with the other, not even stopping short ofmurder."General Robles' division was occupied entirely inguarding the destroyed quarters of the town from thedepredations of these inhuman monsters. Taken upwith my duties of orderly officer, it was only in themorning that I could assure myself of the safety of myown family. My mother and my sisters had escapedwith their lives from that ballroom, where I had leftthem early in the evening. I remember those twobeautiful young women -- God rest their souls -- as if Isaw them this moment, in the garden of our destroyedhouse, pale but active, assisting some of our poor neigh-bours, in their soiled ball-dresses and with the dust offallen walls on their hair. As to my mother, she had astoical soul in her frail body. Half-covered by a costlyshawl, she was lying on a rustic seat by the side of anornamental basin whose fountain had ceased to play forever on that night."I had hardly had time to embrace them all withtransports of joy when my chief, coming along, dis-patched me to the ravine with a few soldiers, to bring inmy strong man, as he called him, and that pale girl."But there was no one for us to bring in. A land-slide had covered the ruins of the house; and it waslike a large mound of earth with only the ends of sometimbers visible here and there -- nothing more."Thus were the tribulations of the old Royalist coupleended. An enormous and unconsecrated grave hadswallowed them up alive, in their unhappy obstinacyagainst the will of a people to be free. And theirdaughter was gone."That Gaspar Ruiz had carried her off I understoodvery well. But as the case was not foreseen, I had noinstructions to pursue them. And certainly I had nodesire to do so. I had grown mistrustful of my inter-ference. It had never been successful, and had not evenappeared creditable. He was gone. Well, let him go.And he had carried off the Royalist girl! Nothingbetter. Vaya con Dios. This was not the time tobother about a deserter who, justly or unjustly, ought tohave been dead, and a girl for whom it would have beenbetter to have never been born."So I marched my men back to the town."After a few days, order having been re-established,all the principal families, including my own, left forSantiago. We had a fine house there. At the sametime the division of Robles was moved to new canton-ments near the capital. This change suited very wellthe state of my domestic and amorous feelings."One night, rather late, I was called to my chief. Ifound General Robles in his quarters, at ease, with hisuniform off, drinking neat brandy out of a tumbler --as a precaution, he used to say, against the sleepless-ness induced by the bites of mosquitoes. He was a goodsoldier, and he taught me the art and practice of war.No doubt God has been merciful to his soul; for his mo-tives were never other than patriotic, if his characterwas irascible. As to the use of mosquito nets, he consid-ered it effeminate, shameful -- unworthy of a soldier."I noticed at the first glance that his face, alreadyvery red, wore an expression of high good-humour."'Aha! Senor teniente,' he cried, loudly, as I salutedat the door. 'Behold! Your strong man has turnedup again.'"He extended to me a folded letter, which I saw wassuperscribed 'To the Commander-in-Chief of the Re-publican Armies.'"'This,' General Robles went on in his loud voice,'was thrust by a boy into the hand of a sentry at theQuartel General, while the fellow stood there thinking ofhis girl, no doubt -- for before he could gather his witstogether the boy had disappeared amongst the marketpeople, and he protests he could not recognize him tosave his life.'"'My chief told me further that the soldier had giventhe letter to the sergeant of the guard, and that ulti-mately it had reached the hands of our generalissimo.His Excellency had deigned to take cognizance of itwith his own eyes. After that he had referred thematter in confidence to General Robles."The letter, senores, I cannot now recollect textually.I saw the signature of Gaspar Ruiz. He was an auda-cious fellow. He had snatched a soul for himself out ofa cataclysm, remember. And now it was that soulwhich had dictated the terms of his letter. Its tonewas very independent. I remember it struck me atthe time as noble -- dignified. It was, no doubt, herletter. Now I shudder at the depth of its duplicity.Gaspar Ruiz was made to complain of the injusticeof which he had been a victim. He invoked his previ-ous record of fidelity and courage. Having been savedfrom death by the miraculous interposition of Provi-dence, he could think of nothing but of retrieving hischaracter. This, he wrote, he could not hope to doin the ranks as a discredited soldier still under suspicion.He had the means to give a striking proof of his fidelity.He had ended by proposing to the General-in-Chiefa meeting at midnight in the middle of the Plaza be-fore the Moneta. The signal would be to strike firewith flint and steel three times, which was not too con-spicuous and yet distinctive enough for recognition."San Martin, the great Liberator, loved men ofaudacity and courage. Besides, he was just and com-passionate. I told him as much of the man's story as Iknew, and was ordered to accompany him on the ap-pointed night. The signals were duly exchanged. Itwas midnight, and the whole town was dark and silent.Their two cloaked figures came together in the centre ofthe vast Plaza, and, keeping discreetly at a distance, Ilistened for an hour or more to the murmur of theirvoices. Then the General motioned me to approach;and as I did so I heard San Martin, who was courteousto gentle and simple alike, offer Gaspar Ruiz the hospi-tality of the headquarters for the night. But the sol-dier refused, saying that he would be not worthy of thathonour till he had done something."'You cannot have a common deserter for yourguest, Excellency,' he protested with a low laugh, andstepping backwards merged slowly into the night."The Commander-in-Chief observed to me, as weturned away: 'He had somebody with him, our friendRuiz. I saw two figures for a moment. It was an un-obtrusive companion.'"I, too, had observed another figure join the vanishingform of Gaspar Ruiz. It had the appearance of a shortfellow in a poncho and a big hat. And I wonderedstupidly who it could be he had dared take into his con-fidence. I might have guessed it could be no one butthat fatal girl -- alas!"Where he kept her concealed I do not know. Hehad -- it was known afterwards -- an uncle, his mother'sbrother, a small shopkeeper in Santiago. Perhaps itwas there that she found a roof and food. Whatever shefound, it was poor enough to exasperate her pride andkeep up her anger and hate. It is certain she did notaccompany him on the feat he undertook to accomplishfirst of all. It was nothing less than the destruction of astore of war material collected secretly by the Spanish au-thorities in the south, in a town called Linares. GasparRuiz was entrusted with a small party only, but theyproved themselves worthy of San Martin's confidence.The season was not propitious. They had to swimswollen rivers. They seemed, however, to have gal-loped night and day out-riding the news of their foray,and holding straight for the town, a hundred milesinto the enemy's country, till at break of day they rodeinto it sword in hand, surprising the little garrison.It fled without making a stand, leaving most of itsofficers in Gaspar Ruiz' hands."A great explosion of gunpowder ended the con-flagration of the magazines the raiders had set on firewithout loss of time. In less than six hours they wereriding away at the same mad speed, without the loss ofa single man. Good as they were, such an exploit isnot performed without a still better leadership."I was dining at the headquarters when GasparRuiz himself brought the news of his success. And itwas a great blow to the Royalist troops. For a proof hedisplayed to us the garrison's flag. He took it fromunder his poncho and flung it on the table. The manwas transfigured; there was something exulting andmenacing in the expression of his face. He stoodbehind General San Martin's chair and looked proudlyat us all. He had a round blue cap edged with silverbraid on his head, and we all could see a large whitescar on the nape of his sunburnt neck."Somebody asked him what he had done with thecaptured Spanish officers."He shrugged his shoulders scornfully. 'What aquestion to ask! In a partisan war you do not burdenyourself with prisoners. I let them go -- and here aretheir sword-knots.'"He flung a bunch of them on the table upon theflag. Then General Robles, whom I was attending there,spoke up in his loud, thick voice: 'You did! Then, mybrave friend, you do not know yet how a war like oursought to be conducted. You should have done -- this.'And he passed the edge of his hand across his ownthroat."Alas, senores! It was only too true that on bothsides this contest, in its nature so heroic, was stained byferocity. The murmurs that arose at General Robles'words were by no means unanimous in tone. But thegenerous and brave San Martin praised the humaneaction, and pointed out to Ruiz a place on his righthand. Then rising with a full glass he proposed atoast: 'Caballeros and comrades-in-arms, let us drinkthe health of Captain Gaspar Ruiz.' And when we hademptied our glasses: 'I intend,' the Commander-in-Chief continued, 'to entrust him with the guardianshipof our southern frontier, while we go afar to liberate ourbrethren in Peru. He whom the enemy could not stopfrom striking a blow at his very heart will know howto protect the peaceful populations we leave behind usto pursue our sacred task.' And he embraced the silentGaspar Ruiz by his side."Later on, when we all rose from table, I approachedthe latest officer of the army with my congratulations.'And, Captain Ruiz,' I added, 'perhaps you do not mindtelling a man who has always believed in the upright-ness of your character what became of Dona Erminia onthat night?'"At this friendly question his aspect changed. Helooked at me from under his eyebrows with the heavy,dull glance of a guasso -- of a peasant. 'Senor teniente,'he said, thickly, and as if very much cast down, 'do notask me about the senorita, for I prefer not to thinkabout her at all when I am amongst you.""He looked, with a frown, all about the room, full ofsmoking and talking officers. Of course I did notinsist."These, senores, were the last words I was to hear himutter for a long, long time. The very next day we em-barked for our arduous expedition to Peru, and we onlyheard of Gaspar Ruiz' doings in the midst of battles ofour own. He had been appointed military guardian ofour southern province. He raised a partida. But hisleniency to the conquered foe displeased the CivilGovernor, who was a formal, uneasy man, full ofsuspicions. He forwarded reports against Gaspar Ruizto the Supreme Government; one of them being thathe had married publicly, with great pomp, a woman ofRoyalist tendencies. Quarrels were sure to arise be-tween these two men of very different character. At lastthe Civil Governor began to complain of his inactivityand to hint at treachery, which, he wrote, would be notsurprising in a man of such antecedents. Gaspar Ruizheard of it. His rage flamed up, and the woman everby his side knew how to feed it with perfidious words.I do not know whether really the Supreme Governmentever did -- as he complained afterwards -- send orders forhis arrest. It seems certain that the Civil Governorbegan to tamper with his officers, and that Gaspar Ruizdiscovered the fact."One evening, when the Governor was giving atertullia, Gaspar Ruiz, followed by six men he couldtrust, appeared riding through the town to the door ofthe Government House, and entered the sala armed, hishat on his head. As the Governor, displeased, ad-vanced to meet him, he seized the wretched man roundthe body, carried him off from the midst of the appalledguests, as though he were a child, and flung him downthe outer steps into the street. An angry hug fromGaspar Ruiz was enough to crush the life out of a giant;but in addition Gaspar Ruiz' horsemen fired theirpistols at the body of the Governor as it lay motionlessat the bottom of the stairs.
X"AFTER this -- as he called it -- act of justice, Ruizcrossed the Rio Blanco, followed by the greater partof his band, and entrenched himself upon a hill. Acompany of regular troops sent out foolishly againsthim was surrounded, and destroyed almost to a man.Other expeditions, though better organized, wereequally unsuccessful."It was during these sanguinary skirmishes that hiswife first began to appear on horseback at his righthand. Rendered proud and self-confident by his suc-cesses, Ruiz no longer charged at the head of his partida,but presumptuously, like a general directing the move-ments of an army, he remained in the rear, well mountedand motionless on an eminence, sending out his orders.She was seen repeatedly at his side, and for a long timewas mistaken for a man. There was much talk thenof a mysterious white-faced chief, to whom the defeatsof our troops were ascribed. She rode like an Indianwoman, astride, wearing a broad-rimmed man's hat anda dark poncho. Afterwards, in the day of their greatestprosperity, this poncho was embroidered in gold, andshe wore then, also, the sword of poor Don Antonio deLeyva. This veteran Chilian officer, having the mis-fortune to be surrounded with his small force, andrunning short of ammunition, found his death at thehands of the Arauco Indians, the allies and auxiliariesof Gaspar Ruiz. This was the fatal affair long remem-bered afterwards as the 'Massacre of the Island.' Thesword of the unhappy officer was presented to her byPeneleo, the Araucanian chief; for these Indians, struckby her aspect, the deathly pallor of her face, which noexposure to the weather seemed to affect, and her calmindifference under fire, looked upon her as a supernat-ural being, or at least as a witch. By this superstitionthe prestige and authority of Gaspar Ruiz amongstthese ignorant people were greatly augmented. Shemust have savoured her vengeance to the full on thatday when she buckled on the sword of Don Antoniode Leyva. It never left her side, unless she put on herwoman's clothes -- not that she would or could ever useit, but she loved to feel it beating upon her thigh as aperpetual reminder and symbol of the dishonour to thearms of the Republic. She was insatiable. Moreover,on the path she had led Gaspar Ruiz upon, there is nostopping. Escaped prisoners -- and they were not many-- used to relate how with a few whispered words shecould change the expression of his face and revive hisflagging animosity. They told how after every skirm-ish, after every raid, after every successful action, hewould ride up to her and look into her face. Itshaughty calm was never relaxed. Her embrace,senores, must have been as cold as the embrace of astatue. He tried to melt her icy heart in a stream ofwarm blood. Some English naval officers who visitedhim at that time noticed the strange character of hisinfatuation."At the movement of surprise and curiosity in hisaudience General Santierra paused for a moment."Yes -- English naval officers," he repeated. "Ruizhad consented to receive them to arrange for the libera-tion of some prisoners of your nationality. In theterritory upon which he ranged, from sea coast to theCordillera, there was a bay where the ships of that time,after rounding Cape Horn, used to resort for wood andwater. There, decoying the crew on shore, he capturedfirst the whaling brig Hersalia, and afterwards madehimself master by surprise of two more ships, oneEnglish and one American."It was rumoured at the time that he dreamed ofsetting up a navy of his own. But that, of course, wasimpossible. Still, manning the brig with part of herown crew, and putting an officer and a good many menof his own on board, he sent her off to the SpanishGovernor of the island of Chiloe with a report of hisexploits, and a demand for assistance in the war againstthe rebels. The Governor could not do much for him;but he sent in return two light field-pieces, a letter ofcompliments, with a colonel's commission in the royalforces, and a great Spanish flag. This standard withmuch ceremony was hoisted over his house in the heartof the Arauco country. Surely on that day she mayhave smiled on her guasso husband with a less haughtyreserve."The senior officer of the English squadron on ourcoast made representations to our Government as tothese captures. But Gaspar Ruiz refused to treat withus. Then an English frigate proceeded to the bay, andher captain, doctor, and two lieutenants travelled inlandunder a safe-conduct. They were well received, andspent three days as guests of the partisan chief. A sortof military barbaric state was kept up at the residence.It was furnished with the loot of frontier towns. Whenfirst admitted to the principal sala, they saw his wifelying down (she was not in good health then), withGaspar Ruiz sitting at the foot of the couch. His hatwas lying on the floor, and his hands reposed on thehilt of his sword."During that first conversation he never removed hisbig hands from the sword-hilt, except once, to arrangethe coverings about her, with gentle, careful touches.They noticed that whenever she spoke he would fix hiseyes upon her in a kind of expectant, breathless atten-tion, and seemingly forget the existence of the world andhis own existence, too. In the course of the farewellbanquet, at which she was present reclining on her couch,he burst forth into complaints of the treatment he hadreceived. After General San Martin's departure he hadbeen beset by spies, slandered by civil officials, hisservices ignored, his liberty and even his life threatenedby the Chilian Government. He got up from the table,thundered execrations pacing the room wildly, then satdown on the couch at his wife's feet, his breast heaving,his eyes fixed on the floor. She reclined on her back,her head on the cushions, her eyes nearly closed."'And now I am an honoured Spanish officer,' headded in a calm voice."The captain of the English frigate then took theopportunity to inform him gently that Lima had fallen,and that by the terms of a convention the Spaniardswere withdrawing from the whole continent."Gaspar Ruiz raised his head, and without hesitation,speaking with suppressed vehemence, declared that ifnot a single Spanish soldier were left in the whole ofSouth America he would persist in carrying on the con-test against Chile to the last drop of blood. When hefinished that mad tirade his wife's long white hand wasraised, and she just caressed his knee with the tips ofher fingers for a fraction of a second."For the rest of the officers' stay, which did notextend for more than half an hour after the banquet,that ferocious chieftain of a desperate partida over-flowed with amiability and kindness. He had beenhospitable before, but now it seemed as though he couldnot do enough for the comfort and safety of his visitors'journey back to their ship."Nothing, I have been told, could have presented agreater contrast to his late violence or the habitualtaciturn reserve of his manner. Like a man elatedbeyond measure by an unexpected happiness, he over-flowed with good-will, amiability, and attentions. Heembraced the officers like brothers, almost with tears inhis eyes. The released prisoners were presented eachwith a piece of gold. At the last moment, suddenly, hedeclared he could do no less than restore to the mastersof the merchant vessels all their private property. Thisunexpected generosity caused some delay in the depar-ture of the party, and their first march was very short."Late in the evening Gaspar Ruiz rode up with anescort, to their camp fires, bringing along with him amule loaded with cases of wine. He had come, he said,to drink a stirrup cup with his English friends, whom hewould never see again. He was mellow and joyous in histemper. He told stories of his own exploits, laughed likea boy, borrowed a guitar from the Englishmen's chiefmuleteer, and sitting cross-legged on his superfine pon-cho spread before the glow of the embers, sang a guassolove-song in a tender voice. Then his head dropped onhis breast, his hands fell to the ground; the guitarrolled off his knees -- and a great hush fell over the campafter the love-song of the implacable partisan who hadmade so many of our people weep for destroyed homesand for loves cut short."Before anybody could make a sound he sprang upfrom the ground and called for his horse."'Adios, my friends!' he cried. 'Go with God. Ilove you. And tell them well in Santiago that betweenGaspar Ruiz, colonel of the King of Spain, and therepublican carrion-crows of Chile there is war to the lastbreath -- war! war! war!'"With a great yell of 'War! war! war!' which hisescort took up, they rode away, and the sound ofhoofs and of voices died out in the distance between theslopes of the hills."The two young English officers were convinced thatRuiz was mad. How do you say that? -- tile loose -- eh?But the doctor, an observant Scotsman with muchshrewdness and philosophy in his character, told methat it was a very curious case of possession. I met himmany years afterwards, but he remembered the experi-ence very well. He told me, too, that in his opinion thatwoman did not lead Gaspar Ruiz into the practice ofsanguinary treachery by direct persuasion, but by thesubtle way of awakening and keeping alive in his simplemind a burning sense of an irreparable wrong. Maybe,maybe. But I would say that she poured half of hervengeful soul into the strong clay of that man, as youmay pour intoxication, madness, poison into an emptycup."If he wanted war he got it in earnest when ourvictorious army began to return from Peru. Systematicoperations were planned against this blot on the honourand prosperity of our hardly won independence. Gen-eral Robles commanded, with his well-known ruthlessseverity. Savage reprisals were exercised on both sidesand no quarter was given in the field. Having won mypromotion in the Peru campaign, I was a captain on thestaff. Gaspar Ruiz found himself hard pressed; at thesame time we heard by means of a fugitive priestwho had been carried off from his village presbyteryand galloped eighty miles into the hills to perform thechristening ceremony, that a daughter was born to them.To celebrate the event, I suppose, Ruiz executed one ortwo brilliant forays clear away at the rear of our forces,and defeated the detachments sent out to cut off hisretreat. General Robles nearly had a stroke of apoplexyfrom rage. He found another cause of insomnia thanthe bites of mosquitoes; but against this one, senores,tumblers of raw brandy had no more effect than somuch water. He took to railing and storming at meabout my strong man. And from our impatience to endthis inglorious campaign I am afraid that all we youngofficers became reckless and apt to take undue risks onservice."Nevertheless, slowly, inch by inch as it were, ourcolumns were closing upon Gaspar Ruiz, though he hadmanaged to raise all the Araucanian nation of wildIndians against us. Then a year or more later ourGovernment became aware through its agents and spiesthat he had actually entered into alliance with Car-reras, the so-called dictator of the so-called republic ofMendoza, on the other side of the mountains. WhetherGaspar Ruiz had a deep political intention, or whetherhe wished only to secure a safe retreat for his wife andchild while he pursued remorselessly against us his warof surprises and massacres, I cannot tell. The alliance,however, was a fact. Defeated in his attempt tocheck our advance from the sea, he retreated withhis usual swiftness, and preparing for another hardand hazardous tussle, began by sending his wife withthe little girl across the Pequena range of mountains,on the frontier of Mendoza.
XI"Now Carreras, under the guise of politics andliberalism, was a scoundrel of the deepest dye, andthe unhappy state of Mendoza was the prey of thieves,robbers, traitors, and murderers, who formed his party.He was under a noble exterior a man without heart,pity, honour, or conscience. He aspired to nothingbut tyranny, and though he would have made use ofGaspar Ruiz for his nefarious designs, yet he soonbecame aware that to propitiate the Chilian Govern-ment would answer his purpose better. I blush to saythat he made proposals to our Government to deliverup on certain conditions the wife and child of the manwho had trusted to his honour, and that this offer wasaccepted."While on her way to Mendoza over the PequenaPass she was betrayed by her escort of Carreras' men,and given up to the officer in command of a Chilian forton the upland at the foot of the main Cordillera range.This atrocious transaction might have cost me dear, foras a matter of fact I was a prisoner in Gaspar Ruiz'camp when he received the news. I had been capturedduring a reconnaissance, my escort of a few troopersbeing speared by the Indians of his bodyguard. I wassaved from the same fate because he recognized myfeatures just in time. No doubt my friends thought Iwas dead, and I would not have given much for my lifeat any time. But the strong man treated me very well,because, he said, I had always believed in his innocenceand had tried to serve him when he was a victim ofinjustice."'And now,' was his speech to me, 'you shall seethat I always speak the truth. You are safe.'"I did not think I was very safe when I was calledup to go to him one night. He paced up and down likea wild beast, exclaiming, 'Betrayed! Betrayed!'"He walked up to me clenching his fists. 'I couldcut your throat.'"'Will that give your wife back to you?' I said asquietly as I could."'And the child!' he yelled out, as if mad. He fellinto a chair and laughed in a frightful, boisterousmanner. 'Oh, no, you are safe.'"I assured him that his wife's life was safe, too; butI did not say what I was convinced of -- that he wouldnever see her again. He wanted war to the death, andthe war could only end with his death."He gave me a strange, inexplicable look, and satmuttering blankly, 'In their hands. In their hands.'"I kept as still as a mouse before a cat."Suddenly he jumped up. 'What am I doinghere?' he cried; and opening the door, he yelled outorders to saddle and mount. 'What is it?' he stam-mered, coming up to me. 'The Pequena fort; afort of palisades! Nothing. I would get her backif she were hidden in the very heart of the moun-tain.' He amazed me by adding, with an effort: "Icarried her off in my two arms while the earthtrembled. And the child at least is mine. She atleast is mine!'"Those were bizarre words; but I had no time forwonder."'You shall go with me,' he said, violently. 'I maywant to parley, and any other messenger from Ruiz, theoutlaw, would have his throat cut.'"This was true enough. Between him and the restof incensed mankind there could be no communication,according to the customs of honourable warfare."In less than half an hour we were in the saddle,flying wildly through the night. He had only an escortof twenty men at his quarters, but would not wait formore. He sent, however, messengers to Peneleo, theIndian chief then ranging in the foothills, directing himto bring his warriors to the uplands and meet him at thelake called the Eye of Water, near whose shores thefrontier fort of Pequena was built."We crossed the lowlands with that untired rapidityof movement which had made Gaspar Ruiz' raids sofamous. We followed the lower valleys up to theirprecipitous heads. The ride was not without its dan-gers. A cornice road on a perpendicular wall ofbasalt wound itself around a buttressing rock, and atlast we emerged from the gloom of a deep gorge uponthe upland of Pequena."It was a plain of green wiry grass and thin flower-ing bushes; but high above our heads patches of snowhung in the folds and crevices of the great walls of rock.The little lake was as round as a staring eye. The garri-son of the fort were just driving in their small herd ofcattle when we appeared. Then the great woodengates swung to, and that four-square enclosure of broadblackened stakes pointed at the top and barely hidingthe grass roofs of the huts inside seemed deserted,empty, without a single soul."But when summoned to surrender, by a manwho at Gaspar Ruiz' order rode fearlessly forwardthose inside answered by a volley which rolled him andhis horse over. I heard Ruiz by my side grind histeeth. 'It does not matter,' he said. 'Now you go.'"Torn and faded as its rags were, the vestiges of myuniform were recognized, and I was allowed to approachwithin speaking distance; and then I had to wait,because a voice clamouring through a loophole with joyand astonishment would not allow me to place a word.It was the voice of Major Pajol, an old friend. He, likemy other comrades, had thought me killed a longtime ago."'Put spurs to your horse, man!' he yelled, in thegreatest excitement; 'we will swing the gate open foryou.'"I let the reins fall out of my hand and shook myhead. 'I am on my honour,' I cried."'To him!' he shouted, with infinite disgust."'He promises you your life.'"'Our life is our own. And do you, Santierra,advise us to surrender to that rastrero?'"'No!' I shouted. 'But he wants his wife andchild, and he can cut you off from water.'"'Then she would be the first to suffer. You maytell him that. Look here -- this is all nonsense: weshall dash out and capture you.'"'You shall not catch me alive,' I said, firmly."'Imbecile!'"'For God's sake,' I continued, hastily, 'do not openthe gate.' And I pointed at the multitude of Peneleo'sIndians who covered the shores of the lake."I had never seen so many of these savages to-gether. Their lances seemed as numerous as stalks ofgrass. Their hoarse voices made a vast, inarticulatesound like the murmur of the sea."My friend Pajol was swearing to himself. 'Well,then -- go to the devil!' he shouted, exasperated. Butas I swung round he repented, for I heard him sayhurriedly, 'Shoot the fool's horse before he gets away.'"He had good marksmen. Two shots rang out, andin the very act of turning my horse staggered, felland lay still as if struck by lightning. I had my feetout of the stirrups and rolled clear of him; but I didnot attempt to rise. Neither dared they rush out todrag me in."The masses of Indians had begun to move upon thefort. They rode up in squadrons, trailing their longchusos; then dismounted out of musket-shot, and, throw-ing off their fur mantles, advanced naked to the attack,stamping their feet and shouting in cadence. A sheet offlame ran three times along the face of the fort withoutchecking their steady march. They crowded rightup to the very stakes, flourishing their broad knives.But this palisade was not fastened together withhide lashings in the usual way, but with long ironnails, which they could not cut. Dismayed at thefailure of their usual method of forcing an entrance,the heathen, who had marched so steadily against themusketry fire, broke and fled under the volleys of thebesieged."Directly they had passed me on their advance Igot up and rejoined Gaspar Ruiz on a low ridge whichjutted out upon the plain. The musketry of his ownmen had covered the attack, but now at a sign fromhim a trumpet sounded the 'Cease fire.' Togetherwe looked in silence at the hopeless rout of the savages."'It must be a siege, then,' he muttered. And Idetected him wringing his hands stealthily."But what sort of siege could it be? Without anyneed for me to repeat my friend Pajol's message, hedared not cut the water off from the besieged. Theyhad plenty of meat. And, indeed, if they had been shorthe would have been too anxious to send food into thestockade had he been able. But, as a matter of fact, itwas we on the plain who were beginning to feel thepinch of hunger."Peneleo, the Indian chief, sat by our fire folded inhis ample mantle of guanaco skins. He was an athleticsavage, with an enormous square shock head of hairresembling a straw beehive in shape and size, and withgrave, surly, much-lined features. In his broken Span-ish he repeated, growling like a bad-tempered wildbeast, that if an opening ever so small were made in thestockade his men would march in and get the senora --not otherwise."Gaspar Ruiz, sitting opposite him, kept his eyesfixed on the fort night and day as it were, in awful si-lence and immobility. Meantime, by runners fromthe lowlands that arrived nearly every day, we heard ofthe defeat of one of his lieutenants in the Maipu valley.Scouts sent afar brought news of a column of infantryadvancing through distant passes to the relief of thefort. They were slow, but we could trace their toilfulprogress up the lower valleys. I wondered why Ruizdid not march to attack and destroy this threat-ening force, in some wild gorge fit for an ambuscade,in accordance with his genius for guerilla warfare.But his genius seemed to have abandoned him to hisdespair."It was obvious to me that he could not tear himselfaway from the sight of the fort. I protest to you,senores, that I was moved almost to pity by the sight ofthis powerless strong man sitting on the ridge, indiffer-ent to sun, to rain, to cold, to wind; with his handsclasped round his legs and his chin resting on his knees,gazing -- gazing -- gazing."And the fort he kept his eyes fastened on was asstill and silent as himself. The garrison gave no sign oflife. They did not even answer the desultory firedirected at the loopholes."One night, as I strolled past him, he, withoutchanging his attitude, spoke to me unexpectedly. 'Ihave sent for a gun,' he said. 'I shall have time to gether back and retreat before your Robles manages tocrawl up here.'"He had sent for a gun to the plains."It was long in coming, but at last it came. It wasa seven-pounder field gun. Dismounted and lashedcrosswise to two long poles, it had been carried up thenarrow paths between two mules with ease. Hiswild cry of exultation at daybreak when he saw thegun escort emerge from the valley rings in my earsnow."But, senores, I have no words to depict his amaze-ment, his fury, his despair and distraction, when heheard that the animal loaded with the gun-carriage had,during the last night march, somehow or other tumbleddown a precipice. He broke into menaces of death andtorture against the escort. I kept out of his way allthat day, lying behind some bushes, and wonderingwhat he would do now. Retreat was left for him, buthe could not retreat."I saw below me his artillerist, Jorge, an old Spanishsoldier, building up a sort of structure with heaped-upsaddles. The gun, ready loaded, was lifted on to that,but in the act of firing the whole thing collapsed andthe shot flew high above the stockade."Nothing more was attempted. One of the ammuni-tion mules had been lost, too, and they had no more thansix shots to fire; ample enough to batter down the gateproviding the gun was well laid. This was impossiblewithout it being properly mounted. There was no timenor means to construct a carriage. Already everymoment I expected to hear Robles' bugle-calls echoamongst the crags."Peneleo, wandering about uneasily, draped in hisskins, sat down for a moment near me growling his usualtale."'Make an entrada -- a hole. If make a hole, bueno.If not make a hole, then vamos -- we must go away.'"After sunset I observed with surprise the Indiansmaking preparations as if for another assault. Theirlines stood ranged in the shadows of the mountains.On the plain in front of the fort gate I saw a groupof men swaying about in the same place."I walked down the ridge disregarded. The moon-light in the clear air of the uplands was bright as day,but the intense shadows confused my sight, and I couldnot make out what they were doing. I heard the voiceof Jorge, the artillerist, say in a queer, doubtful tone,'It is loaded, senor.'"Then another voice in that group pronounced firmlythe words, 'Bring the riata here.' It was the voice ofGaspar Ruiz."A silence fell, in which the popping shots of thebesieged garrison rang out sharply. They, too, hadobserved the group. But the distance was too greatand in the spatter of spent musket-balls cutting up theground, the group opened, closed, swayed, giving mea glimpse of busy stooping figures in its midst. Idrew nearer, doubting whether this was a weird vision,a suggestive and insensate dream."A strangely stifled voice commanded, 'Haul thehitches tighter.'"'Si, senor,' several other voices answered in tones ofawed alacrity."Then the stifled voice said: 'Like this. I mustbe free to breathe.'"Then there was a concerned noise of many mentogether. 'Help him up, hombres. Steady! Under theother arm.'"That deadened voice ordered: 'Bueno! Stand awayfrom me, men.'"I pushed my way through the recoiling circle, andheard once more that same oppressed voice sayingearnestly: 'Forget that I am a living man, Jorge.Forget me altogether, and think of what you have todo.'"'Be without fear, senor. You are nothing to mebut a gun-carriage, and I shall not waste a shot.'"I heard the spluttering of a port-fire, and smelt thesaltpetre of the match. I saw suddenly before me anondescript shape on all fours like a beast, but with aman's head drooping below a tubular projection over thenape of the neck, and the gleam of a rounded mass ofbronze on its back."In front of a silent semicircle of men it squattedalone, with Jorge behind it and a trumpeter motionless,his trumpet in his hand, by its side."Jorge, bent double, muttered, port-fire in hand:'An inch to the left, senor. Too much. So. Now, ifyou let yourself down a little by letting your elbowsbend, I will . . .'"He leaped aside, lowering his port-fire, and a burstof flame darted out of the muzzle of the gun lashedon the man's back."Then Gaspar Ruiz lowered himself slowly. 'Goodshot?' he asked."'Full on, senor.'"'Then load again.'"He lay there before me on his breast under thedarkly glittering bronze of his monstrous burden, suchas no love or strength of man had ever had to bear inthe lamentable history of the world. His arms werespread out, and he resembled a prostrate penitent onthe moonlit ground."Again I saw him raised to his hands and kneesand the men stand away from him, and old Jorge stoopglancing along the gun.'"Left a little. Right an inch. Por Dios, senor,stop this trembling. Where is your strength?'"The old gunner's voice was cracked with emotion.He stepped aside, and quick as lightning brought thespark to the touch-hole."'Excellent!' he cried, tearfully; but Gaspar Ruizlay for a long time silent, flattened on the ground."'I am tired,' he murmured at last. 'Will anothershot do it?'"'Without doubt,' said Jorge, bending down to hisear."'Then -- load,' I heard him utter distinctly.'Trumpeter!'"'I am here, senor, ready for your word.'"'Blow a blast at this word that shall be heardfrom one end of Chile to the other,' he said, in anextraordinarily strong voice. 'And you others standready to cut this accursed riata, for then will be thetime for me to lead you in your rush. Now raiseme up, and you, Jorge -- be quick with your aim.'"The rattle of musketry from the fort nearly drownedhis voice. The palisade was wreathed in smoke andflame."'Exert your force forward against the recoil, miamo,' said the old gunner, shakily. 'Dig your fingersinto the ground. So. Now!'"A cry of exultation escaped him after the shot.The trumpeter raised his trumpet nearly to his lipsand waited. But no word came from the prostrateman. I fell on one knee, and heard all he had to saythen."'Something broken,' he whispered, lifting his heada little, and turning his eyes towards me in his hope-lessly crushed attitude."'The gate hangs only by the splinters,' yelled Jorge."Gaspar Ruiz tried to speak, but his voice died outin his throat, and I helped to roll the gun off his brokenback. He was insensible."I kept my lips shut, of course. The signal for theIndians to attack was never given. Instead, the bugle-calls of the relieving force for which my ears had thirstedso long, burst out, terrifying like the call of the Last Dayto our surprised enemies."A tornado, senores, a real hurricane of stampededmen, wild horses, mounted Indians, swept over me as Icowered on the ground by the side of Gaspar Ruiz, stillstretched out on his face in the shape of a cross. Pe-neleo, galloping for life, jabbed at me with his longchuso in passing -- for the sake of old acquaintance, Isuppose. How I escaped the flying lead is more difficultto explain. Venturing to rise on my knees too soonsome soldiers of the 17th Taltal regiment, in their hurryto get at something alive, nearly bayoneted me on thespot. They looked very disappointed, too, when, someofficers galloping up drove them away with the flat oftheir swords."It was General Robles with his staff. He wantedbadly to make some prisoners. He, too, seemed dis-appointed for a moment. 'What! Is it you?' he cried.But he dismounted at once to embrace me, for he wasan old friend of my family. I pointed to the body atour feet, and said only these two words:"'Gaspar Ruiz.'"He threw his arms up in astonishment."'Aha! Your strong man! Always to the lastwith your strong man. No matter. He saved our liveswhen the earth trembled enough to make the bravestfaint with fear. I was frightened out of my wits. Buthe -- no! Que guape! Where's the hero who got thebest of him? ha! ha! ha! What killed him, chico?'"'His own strength, General,' I answered.
XII"BUT Gaspar Ruiz breathed yet. I had him carriedin his poncho under the shelter of some bushes on thevery ridge from which he had been gazing so fixedlyat the fort while unseen death was hovering alreadyover his head."Our troops had bivouacked round the fort. Towardsdaybreak I was not surprised to hear that I was desig-nated to command the escort of a prisoner who was tobe sent down at once to Santiago. Of course theprisoner was Gaspar Ruiz' wife."'I have named you out of regard for your feelings,'General Robles remarked. 'Though the woman reallyought to be shot for all the harm she has done to theRepublic.'"And as I made a movement of shocked protest, hecontinued:"'Now he is as well as dead, she is of no importance.Nobody will know what to do with her. However,the Government wants her.' He shrugged his shoulders.'I suppose he must have buried large quantities of hisloot in places that she alone knows of.'"At dawn I saw her coming up the ridge, guarded bytwo soldiers, and carrying her child on her arm."I walked to meet her."'Is he living yet?' she asked, confronting me withthat white, impassive face he used to look at in an ador-ing way."I bent my head, and led her round a clump ofbushes without a word. His eyes were open. Hebreathed with difficulty, and uttered her name with agreat effort."'Erminia!'"She knelt at his head. The little girl, unconsciousof him, and with her big eyes looking about, began tochatter suddenly, in a joyous, thin voice. She pointeda tiny finger at the rosy glow of sunrise behind the blackshapes of the peaks. And while that child-talk, incom-prehensible and sweet to the ear, lasted, those two,the dying man and the kneeling woman, remainedsilent, looking into each other's eyes, listening to thefrail sound. Then the prattle stopped. The childlaid its head against its mother's breast and wasstill."'It was for you,' he began. 'Forgive.' His voicefailed him. Presently I heard a mutter and caughtthe pitiful words: 'Not strong enough.'"She looked at him with an extraordinary intensity.He tried to smile, and in a humble tone, 'Forgive me,'he repeated. 'Leaving you . . .'"She bent down, dry-eyed and in a steady voice:'On all the earth I have loved nothing but you, Gaspar,'she said."His head made a movement. His eyes revived.'At last!' he sighed out. Then, anxiously, 'But is thistrue . . . is this true?''"As true as that there is no mercy and justice inthis world,' she answered him, passionately. She stoopedover his face. He tried to raise his head, but it fellback, and when she kissed his lips he was already dead.His glazed eyes stared at the sky, on which pink cloudsfloated very high. But I noticed the eyelids of the child,pressed to its mother's breast, droop and close slowly.She had gone to sleep."The widow of Gaspar Ruiz, the strong man, allowedme to lead her away without shedding a tear."For travelling we had arranged for her a side-saddle very much like a chair, with a board swungbeneath to rest her feet on. And the first day she rodewithout uttering a word, and hardly for one momentturning her eyes away from the little girl, whom sheheld on her knees. At our first camp I saw her duringthe night walking about, rocking the child in her armsand gazing down at it by the light of the moon. Afterwe had started on our second day's march she askedme how soon we should come to the first village ofthe inhabited country."I said we should be there about noon."'And will there be women there?' she inquired."I told her that it was a large village. 'There willbe men and women there, senora,' I said, 'whose heartsshall be made glad by the news that all the unrest andwar is over now.'"'Yes, it is all over now,' she repeated. Then, aftera time: 'Senor officer, what will your Government dowith me?'"'I do not know, senora,' I said. 'They will treatyou well, no doubt. We republicans are not savagesand take no vengeance on women.'"She gave me a look at the word 'republicans' whichI imagined full of undying hate. But an hour or soafterwards, as we drew up to let the baggage mules gofirst along a narrow path skirting a precipice, she lookedat me with such a white, troubled face that I felt a greatpity for her."'Senor officer,' she said, 'I am weak, I tremble. Itis an insensate fear.' And indeed her lips did tremblewhile she tried to smile, glancing at the beginning of thenarrow path which was not so dangerous after all. 'I amafraid I shall drop the child. Gaspar saved your life,you remember. . . . Take her from me.'"I took the child out of her extended arms. 'Shutyour eyes, senora, and trust to your mule,' I recom-mended."She did so, and with her pallor and her wasted,thin face she looked deathlike. At a turn of thepath where a great crag of purple porphyry closes theview of the lowlands, I saw her open her eyes. Irode just behind her holding the little girl with myright arm. 'The child is all right,' I cried encourag-ingly."'Yes,' she answered, faintly; and then, to myintense terror, I saw her stand up on the foot-rest,staring horribly, and throw herself forward into thechasm on our right."I cannot describe to you the sudden and abjectfear that came over me at that dreadful sight. It wasa dread of the abyss, the dread of the crags whichseemed to nod upon me. My head swam. I pressedthe child to my side and sat my horse as still as astatue. I was speechless and cold all over. Her mulestaggered, sidling close to the rock, and then wenton. My horse only pricked up his ears with a slightsnort. My heart stood still, and from the depthsof the precipice the stones rattling in the bed ofthe furious stream made me almost insane with theirsound."Next moment we were round the turn and ona broad and grassy slope. And then I yelled. Mymen came running back to me in great alarm. Itseems that at first I did nothing but shout, 'She hasgiven the child into my hands! She has given thechild into my hands!' The escort thought I had gonemad."General Santierra ceased and got up from the table."And that is all, senores," he concluded, with a courte-ous glance at his rising guests."But what became of the child. General?" we asked."Ah, the child, the child."He walked to one of the windows opening on hisbeautiful garden, the refuge of his old days. Its famewas great in the land. Keeping us back with a raisedarm, he called out, "Erminia, Erminia!" and waited.Then his cautioning arm dropped, and we crowded tothe windows.From a clump of trees a woman had come upon thebroad walk bordered with flowers. We could hear therustle of her starched petticoats and observed theample spread of her old-fashioned black silk skirt. Shelooked up, and seeing all these eyes staring at herstopped, frowned, smiled, shook her finger at the Gen-eral, who was laughing boisterously, and drawing theblack lace on her head so as to partly conceal herhaughty profile, passed out of our sight, walking withstiff dignity."You have beheld the guardian angel of the old man-- and her to whom you owe all that is seemly andcomfortable in my hospitality. Somehow, senores,though the flame of love has been kindled early in mybreast, I have never married. And because of thatperhaps the sparks of the sacred fire are not yet ex-tinct here." He struck his broad chest. "Still alive,still alive," he said, with serio-comic emphasis. "ButI shall not marry now. She is General Santierra'sadopted daughter and heiress."One of our fellow-guests, a young naval officer,described her afterwards as a "short, stout, old girl offorty or thereabouts." We had all noticed that her hairwas turning grey, and that she had very fine black eyes."And," General Santierra continued, "neither wouldshe ever hear of marrying any one. A real calamity!Good, patient, devoted to the old man. A simple soul.But I would not advise any of you to ask for her hand,for if she took yours into hers it would be only tocrush your bones. Ah! she does not jest on thatsubject. And she is the own daughter of her father,the strong man who perished through his own strength:the strength of his body, of his simplicity -- of his love!"[from A Set of Six]
zpostcode
Recruit
weather
mreligion
Yellowpages
sport
constellation
shopping
name
game
directory
literature
Word
tour
furnish
Lottery
tftnews
lyrics
News
digital
car
dir
Edu
Finance
