During the next two months (May and June 1907) only minor outrages and robberies were committed, but that quiescence was enlivened by two feats that set out in relief the coolness and unflinching courage of these desperados. In May they moved to the neighbourhood of Córdoba, and among other raids pulled off a good haul in bank-notes, cash, and other valuables at Lucena, an estate of D. Antonio Moscoso, following this up by a report in their “Inspired Press” that the brigands had at last fled north-wards with the view of embarking for abroad at Santander! A few days later, however (May 31), they had the effrontery to appear in Córdoba itself at the opening of the Fair, but, being early recognised, promptly rode off into the impending Sierra Moréna. On their heels followed the Civil Guard. Finding themselves overtaken, our friends faced round and opened fire, but the result was a defeat of the bandit gang. One, “El Niño de la Gloria,” fell dead pierced by three bullets; two other scoundrels—Reverte and Pepino—were captured wounded, while in the mêlée the robbers abandoned four horses, a rifle, and a quantity of jewelry—the product of recent raids. Pernales himself and the rest of his crew escaped, and found shelter in the fastnesses of the Sierra Moréna—thence returning to their favourite hunting-grounds nearer Seville.
Riding along the bye-ways of Marchena, disguised as rustic travellers, on June 2 they demanded at a remote farm a night’s food and lodging. Half-concealed knives and revolvers proved strong arguments in favour of obedience, and, despite suspicion and dislike, the bailiff acceded. This time the Civil Guard were on the track. At midnight they silently surrounded the house, communicated with the watchful bailiff, and ordered all doors to be locked. The turning of a heavy key, however, reached Pernales’ ear. In a moment the miscreants were on the alert. While one saddled-up the horses, the other unloosed a young farm mule, boldly led him across the courtyard to the one open doorway, and, administering some hearty lashes to the animal’s ribs, set him off in full gallop into the outer darkness. The police, seeing what they concluded was an attempted escape, first opened fire, then started helter-skelter in pursuit of a riderless mule! The robbers meanwhile rode away at leisure.
Five days later, on June 7, both bandits attacked a venta, or country inn, near Los Santos, in Villafranca de los Barrios, carrying off £200 in cash, six mules, with other valuables, and leaving the owner for dead. This particular crime, for some reason or other, was more noised abroad than dozens of others equally atrocious, and orders were now issued jointly both by the Ministro de Gobernacion, the Captain-General of the district, and the Colonels commanding the Civil Guard throughout the whole of the harassed regions, that at all hazards the murderous pair must be taken at once, dead or alive. This peremptory mandate evolved unusual activities; the whole of the western sierra was reported blockaded. Pernales, nevertheless, receiving warning through innumerable spies of the police plans, succeeded in escaping from the province of Seville into that of Córdoba, where the pair pursued their career of crime, though now under conditions of increased hazard and difficulty. Sometimes for days together they lay low or contented themselves with petty felonies.
Then suddenly in a new district—that of Puente-Genil—burst out a fresh series of the most audacious outrages. Big sums of money, with alternative of instant death, were extorted from farmers and landowners. These exploits, together with an odd murder or two, spread consternation throughout the new area, and in all Puente-Genil, Pernales and the Niño de Arahal became a standing nightmare. So soon as checked here by the police, the robbers once more moved west, again “inspiring” the press with reports of a foreign destination—this time viâ Cádiz. A few days later, Málaga was named as their intended exit. Yet on July 16 they were to the north of Seville, and had another rifle-duel with the Guards, again escaping scatheless at a gallop.
Persecution was now so keen that the wilds of the Sierra Moréna afforded their only possible hope, and by holding the highest passes the outlaws reached this refuge, being next reported at Venta de Cardeñas, 160 miles north of Córdoba. A cordon of police was now drawn along the whole fringe of the sierra from Vizco del Marquéz to Despeñaperros. The position of the hunted couple became daily more precarious, their scope of activity more restricted, and robberies reduced to insignificant proportions. Nevertheless, on July 22, with consummate audacity and dash, they raided the farm of Recena belonging to D. Tomas Herrera, carrying off a sum of £160, with which they remained content till August 18, when they attacked the two farms of Vencesla and Los Villares, but, being repulsed, fled northwards towards Ciudad Real. On September 1 they entered the province of La Mancha, apparently seeking shelter in the deep defiles of the Sierra de Alcaráz, for that morning a Manchegan woodcutter was accosted by two mounted wayfarers who inquired the best track to Alcaráz. The woodman innocently gave directions which, if exactly followed, would much shorten the route. While thanking his informant, Pernales—apparently out of sheer bravado—revealed his identity, introducing himself to the astonished woodcutter as the Fury who was keeping all authority on the jump and the country-side ablaze. Straightway the man of the axe made for the nearest guard-station, and a captain with six mounted police, reinforced by peasants, followed the trail. As dusk fell the pursuers perceived two horses tethered in a densely wooded dell, while hard by their owners sat eating and drinking—the latter imprudence perhaps explaining why the brigands were at last caught napping. To the challenge “Alto á la Guardia Civil!” came the usual prompt response—the vibrant whistle of rifle-balls. Pernales managed to empty the magazine of his repeater, killing one guard outright and wounding two more. Though himself hit, he yet stood erect, and was busy recharging his weapon when further shots brought him to earth. On seeing his chief go down the Niño de Arahal sprang to the saddle, but the opposing rifles were this time too many and too near. The bandit, fatally wounded, was pitched to earth in death-throes, while the poor beast stumbled and fell in its stride a few paces beyond. An examination of the bodies showed that Pernales had been pierced by twenty-two balls, his companion by ten.
Caciquismo
Doubtless the thought may have occurred to readers that some interpretation is necessary to explain how such events as these (extending over a series of years) are still possible in Spain—in a country fully equipped not only with elaborate legal codes bristling with stringent penalties both for crime and its abettors, but also with magistrates, judges, telegraphs, and an ample armed force, competent, loyal, and keen to enforce those laws. Without assistants and accomplices (call their aiders and abettors what you will) the Pernales and Vivillos of to-day could not survive for a week. The explanation lies in the existence of that inexplicable and apparently ineradicable power called Caciquismo—fortunately, we believe, on the decline, but still a force sufficient to paralyse the arm of the law and arrest the exercise of justice. Ranging from the lowest rungs of society, Caciquismo penetrates to the main-springs of political power. A secret understanding with combined action amongst the affiliated, it secures protection even to criminals with their hidden accomplices, provided that each and all yield blind obedience to their ruling Cacique, social and political. The Cacique stands above law; he is a law unto himself; he does or leaves undone, pays or leaves unpaid as may suit his convenience—conscience he has none. At his own sweet will he will charge personal expenses—say his gamekeepers’ wages or the cost of a private roadway—to the neighbouring municipality. None dare object. Caciquismo is no fault of the Spanish people; it is the disgrace of the Caciques, who, as men of education, should be ashamed of mean and underhand practices that recall, on a petty scale, those of the Tyrants of Syracuse. Should any of these sleek-faces read our book, they may be gratified to learn that no other civilised country produces parasites such as they.
Not a foreign student of the problems of social life in Spain with its conditions but has been brought to a full stop in the effort to diagnose or describe the secret sinister influence of Caciquismo. Our Spanish friends—detesting and despising the thing equally with ourselves—tell us that no foreigner has yet realised either its nature or its scope. Certainly we make no such pretension, nor attempt to describe the thing itself—a thing scarce intelligible to Saxon lines of thought, a baneful influence devised to retard the advance of modern ideas of freedom and justice, to benumb all moral yearnings for truth and honesty in public affairs and civil government. Caciquismo may roughly be defined as the negation and antithesis of patriotism; it sets the personal influence of one before the interest of all, sacrificing whole districts to the caprice of some soul-warped tyrant with no eyes to see.
A word in conclusion on Vivillo. Neither ignorance nor necessity impelled Joaquin Camargo, nicknamed El Vivillo (the Lively One), to embark, at the age of twenty-five, on a career of crime. Rather it was that spirit of knight-errantry, of reckless adventure, that centuries before had swept the Spanish Main, and that nowadays, in baser sort, thrives and is fostered by a false romance—as Diego Corrientes, the bandit, was reputed to be “run” by a duchess, as the “Seven Lads of Ecija” terrorised under the ægis of exalted patronage, and José Maria, the murderer of the Sierra Moréna, was extolled as a melodramatic hero by novelists all over Spain. On such lines young Camargo thought to gather fresh glories for himself. He early gained notoriety by a smart exploit in holding-up the diligence from Las Cabezas for Villa Martin just when the September Fair was proceeding at the latter place. The passengers, mostly cattle-dealers, were relieved of bursting purses—no cheques pass current at Villa Martin—to the tune of £8000. After that, for several years, Vivillo ruled rural Andalucia, and his desperate deeds supplied the papers with startling head-lines. When pursuit became troublesome he embarked for Argentina, and soon his name was forgotten. His retreat, however, was discovered, and Vivillo was brought back, landing at Cádiz February 19, 1908. Since that date he has lived in Seville prison—a man of high intelligence, of reputed wealth, and the father of two pretty daughters. For reasons unexplained (and into which we do not inquire) his trial never comes on. Vivillo keeps a stiff lip and enjoys ... nearly all he wants.
