Story 1, Chapter XVI.
A Brace of Bad Fellows.
I was at the moment riding in the rear of my troop—having fallen back to hold conversation with my two unattached followers, thus incidentally introduced. The last trooper in the rank—except the corporal, who rode alongside of him—was a man of large body, somewhat slouched and unshapen; as were also his arms, limbs, and the forage-cap on his head. Altogether, he was a slovenly specimen for a cavalry soldier—to look at from behind; and his aspect from the front did not alter the impression.
A long cadaverous countenance, bedecked with a pair of hollow-glass-like eyes; a beard long as the face, hanging down over his breast, defiled with fragments of food and the “ambeer” of tobacco; behind which appeared a row of very large white teeth, set between lips of an unnaturally red colour; above these a long nose, broken near the middle, and obliquing outward to the sinister angle of his mouth;—such was the portrait presented by the individual in question.
I did not see his face, for I was behind him; but it did not need that to enable me to identify the man. By his back, or any part of his body, I could have told that the trooper before me was Johann Laundrich, the Jew-German.
“What of him?” I inquired, in an undertone, seeing that he was the individual referred to in the speech of the old trapper.
“Don’t ’ee see, Cap’n! them theer boots! I heern ye stopped ’im from takin’ ’em last night. He’s got ’em along wi’ him for all that. Thar they be!”
Rube’s gesture was this time more definite; and pointed to the cloak of the trooper, rolled and strapped to the cantle of his saddle.
Between the folds of the cloth, ill-adjusted as they were, I saw, protruding a few inches outward, something of a buff colour, that evidently did not belong to the garment.
A slight scrutiny satisfied me that it was a boot; and, guided by what the trapper had said, I saw that it could be no other than one of the pair I had prevented Laundrich from pilfering from the corpse of the Mexican officer.
I had only hindered him for the time. He had evidently returned to the tent, and made a finish of his filthy work.
A loud angry “halt!” brought the troop to a stand.
I ordered Laundrich to ride out of the ranks; unstrap his cloak from the saddle; and spread it out. On his doing so, the buff boots fell to the ground—where they were permitted to lie.
I could not contain my temper at the double disobedience of orders; and riding alongside the ruffian, I struck him over the crown with the flat of my sabre.
He made no movement to avoid the blow, nor did he stir on receiving it—further than to show his white teeth, like a savage dog suffering chastisement.
With Laundrich once more in the saddle, we were about to move on; when the corporal, touching his cap, came up to me.
“Captain!” said he, “there’s even worse than him among the men. There’s one o’ them got in his havresack a thing I think you ought to see. It’s a scandal to the corps.”
“Which one—who?”
“Bully, the Englishman.”
“Order Bully to ride this way.”
The trooper thus designated, on being summoned by the corporal, drew his horse out of the rank, and rode up—though evidently with an awkward reluctance.
He was quite as ill-favoured as the delinquent just punished. His evil aspect was of a type altogether different. He was bullet-headed and bull-faced, with a thick fleshy neck, and jowls entirely destitute of beard; while, instead of being of dark complexion, like the Jew-German, his face was of the hue of dirty shining tallow, not adorned by a close crop of hay-coloured hair that came far down upon a low square forehead. His nose was retroussé, with nostrils widely spread, like those of a pure-bred bull dog; and his eyes were not very unlike the optics of the fierce Molossian.
The man was known by the name above given to him; though whether he answered to this appellation at roll-call, or whether it was only a sobriquet bestowed upon him by his comrades, I really do not now remember.
His appearance was simply stupid and brutal, while that of Laundrich was cunning and savage.
They were the two worst men in the troop; and I had reason to believe that both had been convicts in their respective countries; but this was not much in the ranks of a campaigning army.
“Bully!” I demanded, as he drew near; “let us see what you’ve got in your havresack!”
A hideous grin overspread the fellow’s features, as he proceeded to draw out the contents of the bag.
“What is it?” I inquired of the corporal, impatient to learn what could be carried in a cavalry havresack, calculated to set a stigma upon a whole troop.
“A piece o’ a man,” was the reply.
By this time Bully had produced the identical article. Knowing what was wanted of him, he saw there would be no use in attempting to “dodge” the demand; and, without troubling the other impedimenta, which the sack contained, he drew out only the article requiring inspection.
It was the finger of a man, encircled by a heavy gold ring, deeply embedded in the swollen flesh! It had been cut off at the posterior joint, close to the hand; and a portion of the muscle of the two adjacent fingers was still attached to it. All this had been done to secure the ring which could not, without breaking it, have been detached from the finger.
The sight, taken in connection with the history deduced from its being in possession of the trooper, was sufficiently horrible.
I did not allow my eyes to dwell upon it; and the shower of blows which I administered to the inhuman scoundrel were not the less heavily dealt on my being told that the finger had belonged to the same corpse which Laundrich had despoiled of its boots!
Ordering the fragment of humanity to be brought along—with the design of some day sending the ring to the friends of the mutilated man—I resumed the route; painfully impressed with the disagreeable circumstances, which had thus disturbed the tranquillity of my temper.