It ceased to rain at last. A slight breath of south-west wind made itself felt, and the thick mantle over the sky began to thin away, letting through a slender, feeble light which brought out the silhouettes of the soldiers, and the trees, and the enormous forms of the mountains girding the valley. The silence in the band was sepulchral. The prisoners exchanged not a single word, devouring their rage and grief. In the country, likewise, was heard none of those pleasant sounds that increase the mystery of the night, and fill the soul with soft melancholy. Only as they passed in front of some house, they heard within the threatening bark of a dog, protesting against the march of troops at such an unusual hour, and, now and then, the no less gentle muttering of Sergeant Alcarez as he cursed the night, and his luck, and the mother who bore him.
The wind kept blowing stronger and stronger, a soft, moist wind which the prisoners took to be of sufficiently evil import. The trees, lining the sides of the road, twisted, as though in agony, scattering all the rain drops with which they were laden. In the feeble light of the sky the forms of the huge, black clouds began to appear, rushing swiftly through the air, as though closely pursued by some monster of the night. Back of these clouds the faint blue of the firmament could not be seen, but a thick mantle of gray, seemingly impenetrable. Nevertheless, the wind, still increasing in violence, began at last to rupture it in a few places, making beautiful rifts, in the depths of which could be seen the soft lightning of some star. The great, black clouds swept over them, and blotted them out, but the mantle was constantly rifted again in other places, and the little stars once more tipped friendly winks to the earth. At last a great burst of silvery light suddenly bathed the whole landscape: the moon had come out between two clouds, fair and splendid as a virgin who opens the windows of her apartment. But hardly had she cast one look of curiosity at our band, when the rude clouds drew together, binding a fillet over her eyes, and leaving the earth gloomy and dark. Again she appeared on high, and once more she was hidden, as she saw a hurrying legion of clouds of every form and shape, flying to unknown regions, pass before her face. In the space of half an hour, she presented and hid herself an incredible number of times, seeming to the eyes of the pilgrims like a ship ready to sink in some restless, stormy ocean.
Finally the tempest of the sky grew calm. Slowly the thick cloud masses, which spotted the face of the sky, had disappeared behind the mountains. A few, which still remained, and at long intervals, passing across the moon, left the earth in darkness, likewise hid the mountain-peaks. And the sky was left clear and bright, spreading out its dark mantle adorned with stars. The moon traced a luminous circle around her, in which, like a haughty queen, she let no other star shed his light. The wide valley seemed to quiver gently with joy at feeling the kiss of her silvery beams, and sent forth from the orange groves, and the quiet streams, and the white hamlets scattered here and there, millions of reflections vanishing with gentle mystery in the air. In some places great, luminous sheets stretched out, where could be seen with wonderful clearness the outlines of trees and fences; in others, clustered shadows, guarding the dreams of flowers. The broad valley, when thus illumined, had the semblance of a sleeping lake.
After tramping along for a considerable time through the midst of the valley, our band struck into the mountains girting it. It was necessary to cross them to reach the plain surrounding * * *. The highway followed the most accessible places, skirting the side of one of the mountains with a pretty decided slope. The horizon widened wonderfully. As they began to climb, the lieutenant commanded a halt before a huge tavern, situated near the highway, and sending to the landlord obliged him to arise and provide his people with food. The prisoners went into the house and rested some time. Then they set forth once more, calmly climbing the sharp declivity.
The exuberant vegetation of the valley had ceased. The mountains, which constantly shut them in closer, leaving barely room for the highway, were clad only in ferns. From time to time they came upon the opening of some coal mine, dug near the road. Don Mariano could not resist the temptation of talking about the railway to Nieva, and he approached the lieutenant and showed him where the line from Sotolonga was going, explaining in full the advantages which it had over the line from Miramar. The pathway was now considerably drier on account of the hillside, and the moon from on high still lighted up the way, and fixed her sweet, calm gaze on the pilgrims. The notes of a guitar were heard. When did the guitar ever cease to sound during a march of Spanish soldiers? And a voice of heroic timbre sang in the accents of the South:—
| "Como cosita propria |
| Te miraba yo |
| Te miraba yo; |
| Pero quererte como te quería |
| Eso se acabó |
| Eso se acabó." |
Four or five soldiers scattered here and there likewise showed their southern origin by shouting at the end of the strophe, Olé, olé! That song, born in the warm soil of Andalucia, was a magic wand which banished sadness from all hearts. The stern mountains, as though possessed by a sudden sympathy, re-echoed the soldier's voice, carrying it far away across its gorges and ravines. Lively conversation arose in the company, stopping every time that the Andalusian soldier struck up a new verse. The prisoners persisted in their obstinate silence. All marched negligently, with mouths open, instinctively enjoying the favorable change which the night had undergone. Suddenly, as they were doubling one of the numerous turns in the road, in the roughest part of the divide, the report of a musket was heard. A soldier dropped to the ground. Almost at the same time the portentous cry of ¡Viva Carlos Septimo! was hurled into space. Lifting their heads, all saw at no great distance, standing on one of the rocks commanding the road, a man with long, white mustachios, dressed in a sheepskin zamarra and Basque cap.[64] The prisoners instantly recognized in him the president of the committee, Don César Pardo. The lieutenant ordered the men to close up, fearing an ambuscade, and gave the command to fire; but the volley had no result. When the smoke cleared away Don César was still seen calmly reloading his gun. As he fired it, he cried again with still more fury,—
"¡Viva Carlos Septimo!"
"May the lightning strike you, you old fox; you have spoiled my arm for me," exclaimed Sergeant Alcarez, raising his hand to the wound.
"Second column, aim! fire!" shouted the lieutenant.