Very different is the character of the noble robber-chief, or ladron en grande. In this man who leads the lawless, and, by force of predominant will, controls and commands a cut-throat gang, but ill-disposed either to subjection or discipline, there are qualities that, rightly directed, might attain any object sought—qualities of moral force, courage, and an iron will, that one cannot but admire. Men of this calibre appear but at intervals; for "nature is chary in the production of such specimens of dangerous grandeur." Such a man was José Maria; and of late years a fine example has been afforded by the notorious outlaw, Vizco el Borje, of whose methods of procedure the following incident, as narrated to us almost in the words of its principal victim, will serve to give a good idea.
At the little mountain-village of Zahrita it is the custom to celebrate the annual festival of its patron saint, San Antonio, by an amateur bull-fight, a performance at which the smartest of the young bloods of the village take the principal parts. For many years it had been the habit of the owner of the neighbouring pasturages to provide the bulls for this annual function free of charge; and on the eve of the festival the son of the well-to-do proprietor, Don Pedro de M——, was, with his steward Diego, and a herdsman, engaged in selecting some of the most fiery and active young bulls. Both were dismounted, and, rein in hand, were walking round the herd, when they were suddenly arrested by a sharp summons to halt and surrender. Then, turning round, they found themselves face to face with the muzzles of three levelled guns bearing upon them—the three mounted men having stolen up behind and taken them unawares. Resistance under such circumstances was out of the question. The guns of both Pedro and his servant hung in their saddle-slings, but any movement in that direction would have brought instant fire upon them. Before they had well recovered from their surprise, one of the brigands coolly dismounted and took possession of both their guns, the other pair meanwhile each keeping his man well "covered." The unlucky Pedro was now completely at the mercy of his aggressors. At the order of one of these, evidently the chief, the prisoners remounted and followed his lead, the others closing in behind, and precluding all chance of escape, except at the risk—or certainty—of being shot down. The guide took a line leading towards the higher sierra, and avoiding the frequented track. Arrived in a densely close thicket, the cavalcade halted, and one man was sent forward to reconnoitre. A shrill whistle was heard in that direction, and presently nine other horsemen rode in. The captives were now ordered to dismount, their eyes were closely bandaged, and they were informed that their lives depended on implicit obedience to orders, and that it was better for them to see nothing and to hear less—the latter an almost unnecessary injunction, since hardly a word had been spoken. For hours the captives were led forward, their horses stumbling along a rocky ascent, and they presently knew, by the absence of brushwood, that they had reached the higher regions of the sierra; then a halt was ordered, they were assisted to dismount, and led on foot along a passage whose echoing sounds told them it was subterranean. Here, in an extensive cavern, probably the long-abandoned workings of a Roman mine, his eyes were unbandaged, and Pedro found himself in the presence of his three original assailants. The only furniture in the cave consisted of a few empty boxes; on one of these glimmered a flickering wick in a saucerful of oil. The robber-leader drew up another box for a seat, and producing writing materials, ordered Pedro to write to his dictation as follows:—"My dear father, I am in the power of sequestradores, who make good plans and bind fast. It is madness to put Government on their track—they will escape and you will lose your son. Your secrecy and money at once free me. You can send the silver by Diego, our steward, who bears you this. Let him appear on the mountain-road between Grazalema and El Bosque, riding a white donkey, and bringing ten thousand dollars." ... At this point the prisoner, who had so far written as directed, stopped short, and point-blank refused to demand such a sum—declaring he would not take from his brothers any part of their patrimony, and that the only sum he would accept of his father was such as might fall to him as one of a numerous family. The fairness of this, and the undaunted attitude of Pedro, seemed to please the brigand, who declared, with a shake of his hand, that whatever bargain was struck should be honourably adhered to. The sum of 6,000 dollars was then inserted, the missive signed and sealed, and Diego, who had remained blindfold, was led to a point in the sierra which was familiar to him, his eyes unbandaged, and told to make the best of his way with the note to Jerez. This, as the dawn was just breaking, he had no difficulty in doing before night.
After Diego's departure, the chief invited his captive to sup with him and join in a borracha (skin) of wine, under whose influence the bandit became more genial, and related certain facts concerning his personal history. He had formerly been an officer of carabineros, but being dismissed for some, as he held, trifling fault, all means of subsistence were denied to him, and losing caste step by step, there had gradually developed in his breast an intense hatred of all social arrangements, which had finally led to his present state of outlawry. First he had been a smuggler, but, as the Spanish proverb runs,—
| "De contrabandista á ladron |
| No hay mas que un escalon." |
| (From a smuggler to a thief |
| The step is short, the time is brief!) |
Little by little his revolt against law and order led him into further excesses and more outrageous acts of crime. The daring courage and character of the man had attracted rogues of lesser calibre to his side, and now Vizco el Borje was the acknowledged chief of the party of plunder and anarchy.
The following night another party of robbers arrived: the captive was again blindfolded, and the dark journey resumed. For three days and nights the same course was pursued—the brigands each morning at dawn going to ground in a fresh earth. An amusing incident occurred during one of these nocturnal marches. The cavalcade was suddenly brought to a stop, and the words passed down the line—Civiles, civiles! The prisoner now hoped that his deliverance was at hand; the chief ordered his band to close up their ranks—the prisoner being removed some yards to the rear—and to prepare to fire. During the panic, and amidst the clicking of locks, Pedro took the opportunity of slightly raising his bandage. The robbers were halted on a narrow ledge of the mountain-side—a sheer rock-wall behind and a precipitous slope below making any lateral movement impossible. A direct retreat was of course available, but this did not commend itself to the chief, who, under the shadow of the cliff, had the approaching horsemen at a disadvantage. The clatter of hoofs sounded nearer and nearer, and as the first beast appeared on the ledge it was evident there had been a false alarm. The heavily-laden transport of a gang of smugglers advanced along the narrow track, and as they slowly filed past the robber-troop, the only words that passed were Buenas noches! and the reply Vayan ustedes con Dios! Good night, and God go with you!
On the second night Vizco had left his captive, saying he had other work in hand: but, a day or two afterwards, Pedro received a message from him, stating that, owing to the vigilance of the authorities, no opportunity had offered itself of meeting Diego and the white donkey at the appointed tryst: and instructing him again to write to his father, with fresh directions to forward half the stipulated ransom to Grazalema, where means would be found of receiving it—the other half to be borne by the white donkey to a freshly-appointed spot among the hills. Overjoyed at receiving this second assurance that his son still lived, the father, though an old man, set off at once, with six hundred pounds in cash, on the long ride to Grazalema. Then for two days he hung about its precipitous streets in an agony of suspense almost unendurable. No one spoke to him till the third morning, when a man leading a pony laden with the rough woollen cloth which is made in Grazalema and forms the staple industry of the little town, accosted him as he passed with the words—"Follow me." The pony was stopped before a small shop wherein some of the same woollen cloths were exposed for sale: and passing through into the small back-room, the old father found a man seated whose appearance was that of a cloth-pedlar—men who with their sturdy ponies carry on a trade or barter of these coarse woollens throughout the sierras.
After the customary Andalucian exchange of civilities, the pedlar, looking the old man straight in the face, said, "Have you the three thousand dollars? You know this?" and he produced Pedro's pencil-case. The money was at the posada, and soon the old man, ripping up the stuffing of his saddle, returned to the pedlar's shop with that sum. The money was counted out, and Vizco el Borje, springing on top of that honest-looking freight of coarse cloth, was soon clear of the streets of Grazalema and steering his pony to some well-known mountain-lair.
While these events were occurring in Grazalema poor Diego was wearying of his long-delayed assignation. For three days he and his white donkey hung about the remote spot which had been indicated: and at last, on the third evening, as he was entering the village of Benocaz, a goatherd said, "At the well beyond the village you will find a woman in black who will direct you to those you seek." He passed along the line of white casitas which form the only street of Benocaz, and by the old Moorish draw-well beyond sat a woman in black. As directed by the goatherd, he addressed her, "Que hora es?" and the reply, "Las doce," was what he had been told to expect. The woman at once struck over into the hills till she reached a well-worn track and directed Diego to follow this till accosted by a shepherd. He did as he was bidden and after two hours' rough riding over the dark hill, heard the same words, "Que hora es?" "Las doce," he replied, and was piloted by this new guide to a cavern, in which, to his intense joy, he found his young master, alive and well. The money was at once paid over, and though at first the brigands refused to release their captive on the ground that only half the stipulated sum had been brought, yet suspense did not last long, for during the night a messenger from Vizco arrived, announcing the due payment of the other half, and instructing the robbers at once to set free their prisoners, and to place them on a road which they would know. And on the following evening, after a captivity of fifteen days, Pedro rode once more into the city of Jerez.