El Vivillo, the Brigand.
By Jose Mondego, of Madrid.
After close on twenty years of warfare with the police, alternated by brief spells of imprisonment and daring escapes, the notorious Spanish brigand known as "El Vivillo" has recently been laid by the heels for what is hoped to be the last time. Below will be found an account of the outlaw's exciting career, written by a Spanish journalist thoroughly familiar with the facts.
Few of the "blood and thunder" novels that have fired the imaginations of lovers of the sensational have dealt with so interesting and, at the same time, so fascinating a scoundrel as El Vivillo, an Andalusian bandit, who was recently arrested in Buenos Ayres, Argentine. At the moment of writing he lies imprisoned, under a very heavy guard, in the penal prison at Cadiz, but no one who knows anything about his career and his extraordinary capacity for wriggling out of difficulties expects that he will remain within the four walls of his jail very long. It is freely hinted in high circles in Madrid that the hearts of many fair and influential ladies of Sunny Spain have been lost to the daring desperado, and that their owners will move heaven and earth to secure his release.
EL VIVILLO, THE NOTORIOUS SPANISH BRIGAND.
From a Photograph.
Despite his life of crime and undoubted viciousness, El Vivillo has been the favourite hero of the youth of his country for more than eighteen years. This is not his first term behind prison bars; but all attempts to keep him there long have hitherto proved unsuccessful. Either by the expenditure of money in large sums, the influence of those in high places, or his own genius as a jail-breaker, he has walked out apparently when he pleased.
Like most heroes, either of fiction or reality, El Vivillo seems to have borne a charmed life. Of the reckless band of lawless characters he led during his eighteen years as premier "knight of the road," El Vivillo, with one exception, is the only one still alive. All the others have fallen in skirmishes with that very excellent and sure-shooting body of mounted police, the Civil Guards. El Vivillo's sole fellow-survivor of those strenuous times is Pajarita, his lieutenant, who is now undergoing a sentence of ninety-one years' penal servitude in Cordova prison. Pajarita yields only to his chief in his record of rascality.
A halo of romance has grown up around El Vivillo and his band. According to the general opinion among the ignorant Spaniards of the countryside, he is a sort of second Robin Hood, robbing the rich to assist the poor. Some of the stories which are told of him, and on which this view is based, are undoubtedly true, but the great majority of them are woven out of thin air by imaginative newspaper writers.
El Vivillo was born in the Andalusian town of Estepa as long ago as 1865. As a very young boy he acquired a remarkable dexterity with cards, and it was through the constant exercise of this talent that he earned the nickname by which he has always been known, to the exclusion of his family "handle." El Vivillo translated into English means "Lively Little One," and from all accounts the future bandit was a particularly "lively" youth. His parents appear to have been honest, simple folks, and made a real effort to train him for a commercial career. He was sent to Cordova to serve an apprenticeship in a business house, but his employer soon bundled him back home again because of his unruly ways. He then remained under the paternal roof until he reached the age of twenty-three, when both his parents died, and he inherited a small fortune.
THE HOUSE AT ESTEPA WHERE EL VIVILLO WAS BORN.
From a Photograph.
El Vivillo immediately started out to "paint the town red." His one idea seems to have been to get rid of his fortune in record time, and so successful was he that in two years he was penniless. At this embarrassing point in his career he fell violently in love with the girl who afterwards became his wife. She was a beautiful, dark-eyed lass, named Dolores Gomez, and had hosts of admirers. What she saw in El Vivillo to admire it is hard to say—indeed, what the scores of women who afterwards lost their hearts to the bold rascal saw in him it is equally difficult to discover. He is to-day a burly, ruddy-complexioned man, with distinctly vulgar and repulsive features, and it does not seem possible that he could ever have been attractive to feminine eyes. His manner is harsh and over-bearing, and he feels, and makes no bones about expressing, a supreme contempt for the softer passions of the heart.
With his fortune dissipated El Vivillo was in no condition to contemplate immediate marriage. He decided to remove the financial obstacle in the shortest, quickest, and easiest way. After an unsuccessful attempt to turn his skill with the cards to advantage at the Municipal Casino of his home town, he threw in his lot with a band of smugglers. The future bandit's ingenuity and nimble wit soon made him a favourite with the majority of his fellow-contrabandists, but they also aroused the jealousy of one of the leaders, nicknamed Lobo (Wolf). The latter was renowned for his dexterity with the dagger, and he took an early opportunity of attempting to prove to the newcomer that his fame in that respect was well deserved. One evening, when the members of the band were celebrating an especially successful day's work in a café in Estepa, a quarrel broke out between El Vivillo and Lobo over a game of cards. At the latter's suggestion it was decided to determine the merits of the dispute with the knife, so the two men adjourned to the street, where there was more room and a larger audience. Heated with wine, the combatants drew their long daggers, wrapped their coats around their free arms, and set to. A large crowd gathered and cheered the fighters. Much to his surprise, Lobo discovered that his opponent knew a trick or two about the use of the knife that he himself had failed to learn, and to the astonishment of the spectators, after a particularly lively mêlée, El Vivillo finally ran him through the heart with a well-directed thrust. Before he had an opportunity to get out of town El Vivillo was arrested and thrown into prison. But that mysterious personage, the influential friend, came to his assistance, and he was shortly at large again.
Instead of reforming him, this experience only seemed to strengthen El Vivillo in his career of lawlessness. Soon after his release he took to the countryside as a bandit, and rapidly organized one of the most famous bands of brigands that have ever infested that country.
From this point in his life it is difficult to trace El Vivillo's progress clearly. Various crimes attributed to him were undoubtedly committed by other men of inferior calibre. On the other hand, he was able to escape punishment for many outrages which there is no doubt that he committed, by establishing remarkably clever alibis. On one occasion, for instance, he held up the diligence on its way to the village of Villamartin. After safely hiding his spoils, the bandit, by means of a relay of horses which had been provided in advance, galloped to a favourite retreat forty miles away in an incredibly short space of time. There—apparently in an intoxicated condition—he showed himself to a posse of the Civil Guard. Later, he was arrested on suspicion and tried for the crime, but his cleverly-contrived alibi proved too much for the officers of the law to combat, and he was triumphantly acquitted.
Among the outrages definitely fastened upon El Vivillo are the sacking of a mansion at Torredonjimino, when he secured more than twenty thousand dollars; the seizure of an Andalusian millionaire on the high road to Anteguera, when the bandit shot three servants who attempted to defend their employer's property; and another highway robbery between Cabra and Priego, on which occasion the bandit was captured and placed in prison at the latter town, escaping, as usual, after two days' confinement.
THE SPANISH TOWN OF SETENIL, THE SCENE OF SOME OF EL VIVILLO'S MOST DARING EXPLOITS.
From a photograph.
Another exploit of El Vivillo occurred between Setenil and Villamartin. A wealthy landowner named Don Pedro Guzman was travelling towards the latter town, accompanied by his steward, when they were held up by El Vivillo's band on horseback and forced to dismount. They were ordered to throw their guns on the ground, and the bandits made a search of their persons, relieving the master of thirty-eight thousand Spanish reals in bank-notes and some cash—money which was destined for the purchase of live stock at the annual fair at Villamartin.
Master and man were then seated upon the ground with their elbows tied together at a spot hidden from the road. There they remained in their uncomfortable posture from ten o'clock in the morning until two in the afternoon, during which time the brigands "bagged" seven other travellers, also going to the Villamartin fair and all carrying considerable sums of money. The bandits then rode away, leaving their disconsolate victims to untie themselves as best they could.
In Estepa, his native town, El Vivillo has been several times imprisoned, usually for horse-stealing, but he invariably managed to escape in some extraordinary manner. Some four years ago his wife was suspected of maintaining secret correspondence with him. She was imprisoned, and remained under lock and key for eighteen months. It was subsequently proved that during all this time El Vivillo, although a fugitive from justice, had managed to visit her in jail whenever he pleased. An investigation was made, but it has never been discovered how he arranged it.
When El Vivillo went into hiding he employed an ingenious stratagem to put his pursuers off the scent. He would address letters to various well-known people of Andalusia and, enclosing them to Algiers or Tangier, would cause them to be sent to their destination, bearing, of course, French stamps and post-office marks. This ruse effectually convinced inquisitive police officials that El Vivillo was really out of the country.
Many anecdotes are told of the famous bandit. There is one that illustrates his kindness to the poor. Entering a farm-house not far from Setenil, one day, with the intention of robbing the inmates, he found the family in great distress. Times had been very hard with them. Cattle had strayed or been lost or stolen; the excessively dry season had almost ruined the crops and vines, and for some time they had been behind-hand with the rent. Now they were finally threatened with expulsion on the following morning if the amount due to the landlord—some ten pounds—was not forthcoming.
Greatly attached to their home, and absolutely without hope of raising even a peseta towards the sum required, the farmer and his family were sitting round the open fireplace in dumb despair. Careful of the duties of hospitality, however, they offered the stranger bread and a skin of rough, red wine to satisfy his appetite. El Vivillo, on discovering the cause of their unhappiness, declared that he, the next morning, would bring them the sum of money they so much stood in need of. Jumping into the saddle, he rode to the landlord's house and, placing a pistol to the man's head, forced him to hand over ten pounds—neither more nor less. Riding safely away he returned to the poor farmer, and thrusting the money into the astonished man's hand, went off chuckling over the knowledge that the landlord's rent would be punctually paid with his own money.
"HE FORCED HIM TO HAND OVER TEN POUNDS."
Perhaps the most daring of El Vivillo's exploits, however, was his robbing of his old enemies, the Civil Guard themselves, single-handed. He learnt that on a certain day a pair of them were going to bring a large sum in specie into Seville. Riding out into the country, he entered the posada where the two officers were about to commence their midday meal. He got into conversation with them, and they finally invited him to share their repast. El Vivillo proved himself a delightful table companion, and the two officers of the law congratulated themselves upon meeting such a good fellow. Their awakening was a rude one, therefore, when the bandit pulled out a brace of revolvers and said: "I am El Vivillo; kindly hand over the money in those two bags." The guards were helpless, and had the mortification of seeing their guest ride away in safety with his booty.
The bandit once escaped what appeared to be certain capture by remarkable coolness and presence of mind. While he was seated with some friends in a house in Setenil, playing the national card game, "tute," one of his numerous protégés ran into the room with the alarming news that the Civil Guard were approaching the house bent upon his capture. His companions offered all kinds of advice—he must hide under a pile of sheep-skins lying in the corner, he must drop out of a rear window, he must climb out upon the roof and lie quietly hidden there, and so on. El Vivillo, however, begged them to be quite at ease and continue their interrupted game as if nothing were about to happen. Descending the staircase he opened the front door and came face to face with a patrol of the Civil Guard. They inquired whether he had seen El Vivillo. In a firm voice he replied that he had—that he had even been playing cards with him, but that, half an hour before, the bandit had ridden off to a neighbouring village. The officers dashed off in hot haste in the direction indicated, but, needless to say, did not succeed in capturing El Vivillo on that occasion.
A DETACHMENT OF THE CIVIL GUARD WHICH WAS STATIONED AT SETENIL, AND WAS SEVERAL TIMES ENGAGED WITH EL VIVILLO AND HIS BAND.
From a Photograph.
The brigand's family is composed of five children—two sons and three daughters. One of the former is married, and resides in Estepa. The three girls—Dolores, Carmen, and Consuelo—are noted beauties, with the voluptuous figure, dark hair, eyes, and complexion that have made Andalusian women famous. They all speak French correctly—an unusual accomplishment in the children of a Spanish brigand; and in their small but comfortably furnished house in Estepa there is a piano, a luxury for Spain, which the second daughter plays with exceptional ability.
Expelled by the police to Gibraltar last November, the children took steamer to Buenos Ayres, and so unwittingly caused the Spanish authorities to suspect that El Vivillo, who was badly wanted, was in hiding there. Information was sent to the Spanish Legation in the Argentine capital, and a few days after the arrival of his family El Vivillo was prosaically arrested at a ranch tenanted by him at the village of Ensenada, near La Plata.
That misplaced admiration of, and sympathy for, those accused of crime is not confined to the fair sex of any one country is proved by the treatment El Vivillo has received since his arrest. While he was in jail at Buenos Ayres he received hundreds of letters of commiseration from women, many containing offers of assistance and money. It is said that he amassed a tidy sum by charging five dollars apiece for his autographs, which were in great demand among the Spanish señoritas of the South American city.
