CHAPTER XV.
BLAS EL GUERRILLERO—continued.
THAT the French might be sure to see their comrades, we drove all the inhabitants before us out of the place; a matter of no great difficulty, since Santa Fé, though dignified by its pious founders[209] with the title of city, is but a small walled village, the principal streets of which form a Greek cross; so that, standing in the centre of the place, its four gates may be seen by merely turning round, and are all within pistol-shot.
Carrying off all the plate, money, &c., that we could find, I determined now, whilst the country was clear, and a direct road open, to visit the place of my nativity; the thirst for revenge on my enemies and detractors increasing, as the opportunity of gratifying it appeared more within my reach.
We directed our march, therefore, down the vega, towards Osuna, demanding rations in the king’s name wherever we had occasion to halt, and levying contributions whenever the least hesitation was shown in complying with our demands. In this way we picked up considerable booty, besides carrying off all the good horses we met with on the route; for the French, in consideration of the quietness with which Andalusia had submitted to the yoke, had hitherto dealt very leniently with its inhabitants.
Avoiding Loja and Antequera, which were occupied by French garrisons, we struck into the mountains again on approaching Osuna, proceeding by way of Saucejo and Villa Martin de San Juan, to the venta of Zaframagon, on the road between Ronda and Seville.
I selected this spot, as being at a convenient distance from my native town, and as affording, at the same time, good shelter to my band during my purposed short absence. Lodging two of my men, therefore, disguised as peasants, in the venta, and bivouacking the rest of the troop in the adjacent forest, I proceeded, accompanied only by one trusty attendant, to M——; deeming it most prudent to reconnoitre the place, ere carrying my plan of revenge into execution.
It was now upwards of two years since I had paid my last hasty visit to the place, twenty-one since I had seen Don Benito. In that long period I had changed from youth to manhood,—to old age, I may almost say, as far as appearance went; for ten years of hard labour on the parched rock of Ceuta had marked my face with the deep lines of grief and suffering; and the scar left by my son’s hand had as completely changed the expression of my countenance, even since my last visit to M——, as scenes of blood and strife had changed my natural character. Fancy not, however, by what I now say, that it was my purpose to take the life of the wretched old man whose presence I sought, though his deceit had been the cause of all my misfortunes. No! on my soul I swear it, I meant only to upbraid him with the wrongs he had heaped upon me, to ——.
Señor Blas here broke off with some little sign of emotion; but, swallowing a bumper of wine, he presently continued in a calmer tone.
But, to proceed with the thread of my story.—Wrapping an old cloak about me, and leaving my horse in charge of my attendant at the entrance of the town, I proceeded on foot to the principal posada, in full confidence that, changed and disguised as I was, no one could possibly recognise me.
Many persons, but chiefly old men (for those capable of bearing arms had been called to the armies), were assembled round the fire. I immediately joined the circle, and entered into conversation, representing myself as a stranger to the province. After some little time I ventured to ask if Don Benito Quisquilla still resided at the place; and, being answered in the affirmative, by way of allaying any suspicions, asked if his grandson, Fernando Maldonado, yet lived?