Chapter Thirty Three.
A Rude Interruption.
“Otra cosa de Mexico!”
Another strange occurrence of Mexico; if not the most incomprehensible, certainly the most painful, that had yet come under my cognisance: for it related to myself—the black, bitter part of it.
Words will not convey the state of my mind, as I stood regarding the group inside. I could not move—either to advance, or go back. I could scarce get breath. My heart felt as if compressed under a heavy weight, never more to be removed. It was undergoing its maximum of misery.
My feelings can only be understood by one, who has had the misfortune to pass through a like ordeal. He who has bestowed his affections upon some high-born beauty may feel chagrin, on discovering that they are not returned. It will be deepened by the knowledge, that another has won the wished-for prize. Still is there solace, however slight, in the reflection: that the preference has been given to one worthy, whose fortune has been more favourable.
When otherwise—when the preferred rival is worthless, socially or morally, then is the humiliation complete—overwhelming. It is self-love stung to the quick.
Such a humiliation was I called upon to suffer.
With all my pretensions of pride—a conceit in the possession of certain superiorities, mental as well as physical; courage, talent, strength, activity; a position not humble; a reputation each day increasing; with, and in spite of all these, I saw that my suit had been slighted, and the favour I coveted more than aught upon earth, bestowed upon another.
And who that other? A bandolero! A robber!
It was the very wantonness of woe that swept over my heart, whelming it with terrible desolation!
I stood like a stranded ship with the huge seas breaking over her. Waves of passion rushed impetuously through my breast, black as the billows of the storm-contorted ocean.
The spectacle, while stirring me to anger, at the same time kept me fixed to the spot. I made no movement—either forward or backward. I felt paralysed with a passion, such as I hope I may never feel again. The world seemed full of woe!
For a time I was unable to reflect. My thoughts were but instincts, now woeful, now wicked—now despairing, now tending to resolves.
One a little nobler at length took possession of me. My own fate was sealed; but not that of Dolores Villa-Señor—which to me seemed equally dark, and drear. Was it possible to save her?
I had not heard those mystic words that rivet the golden chain of wedlock, “With this ring I thee wed.” The shining symbol had not yet appeared upon her finger.
There was still time to interrupt the ceremony. A single breath into the silver tube, that hung suspended over my breast, would stay it; and, before it could be resumed, the green jackets would be around me.
It was no thought of danger that withheld me from sounding that signal. I was too unhappy to have a feeling of fear; too reckless to care a straw for any consequences to myself. At that moment I could have rushed into the presence of the bridal group, and defied one and all to the death!
It was neither caution, nor a craven spirit, that restrained me; but an instinct more ignoble than either—an instinct of revenge.
Dolores had adopted her destiny. However dark it might prove, it was not for me to attempt turning it aside. She would not thank me for saving her. Sweeter would be my triumph to show her the man she had chosen for husband, in my power—a scorned captive at my feet.
So ran my ungenerous reflections.
“Let the marriage go on!” I muttered to him by my side. “She shall be wed, and—widowed!”
In all my life I never felt so spitefully cruel—so desirous of retaliation. Every spark of chivalric thought had departed from my soul.
The imperturbable Yankee made no reply. The scene inside seemed to be absorbing all his attention—as it was my own. Far different his interpretation of it. With him it was simple conjecture. He little suspected the knowledge I possessed, or the dread interest stirring within me.
We remained in the maguey, to await the conclusion of the ceremony.
We saw the ring glancing between the fingers of the bridegroom. But it came not in contact with those of the bride. Before that critical moment arrived, a change—quick as the transformation in a pantomime—terrible as the passage from calm to tropic storm—from life to death—went sweeping over the scene!
A phalanx of dark forms rushed past the spot where we were crouching. They were human—but so silent in their movements—so weird-like under the wan light—as to appear spectral!
They could not be phantoms. One or two of them touched the tips of the plant in passing, causing its elastic blades to rebound backwards. They were forms of flesh, blood, and humanity; animated by the spirit of fiends—as in another instant they proved themselves.
We saw them by a rapid rush precipitate themselves into the open doorway—a few scattering along the façade, and taking stand by the windows.
We saw the glittering of armour. We saw spears and machetés thrust through the iron bars. We heard the cocking of carbines, and the rude summons to surrender—followed by menaces of murder!
There was a short scuffle in the saguan, and the courtyard behind it; and then there were death groans, proceeding from the domestics, who fell stabbed upon the stones!
The two apartments appeared to be simultaneously entered. Dark shadowy forms flitted through the dining-room; but in the other the shadows were darker.
There was a rushing to and fro—a changing of places—not as in a kaleidoscope, but in crowded confusion. There was screaming of women—shouting of men—threats and curses—followed by pistol reports; and, what made the fracas still more infernal, an occasional peal of diabolical laughter!
Only for a short while did this continue; so short, that I scarce believed in its reality till it was all over!
Almost at its commencement the lights in both rooms had been extinguished; but whether by chance, or design, it was impossible for us to tell.
What occurred afterwards we knew only by hearing, or from glimpses afforded by the occasional flashing of firearms.
Though there was loud talking all the while that the strife continued—with exclamations, every other one an oath—we heard nothing to give a clue to it.
Nor did we find any explanation in what followed. We could only tell, that the conflict had come to an end; that it was succeeded by the shuffling of footsteps across the paved patio, gradually retiring to the rear, and at length heard ascending the precipitous pine-covered slope that soared darkly above the dwelling!
As they rose higher, they grew fainter; until the only sounds distinguishable were the moanings of the Mexican owl, the hissing of the cascade below, and the sighing of the mountain breeze among the tops of the tall pine-trees.