CHAPTER III.
THE SENTENCE.
On the morrow the sun rose splendidly on the horizon. The storm of thenight had completely cleared the sky, which was one of deep blue; thebirds warbled gaily, concealed beneath the leaves, and all nature seemedto have resumed its accustomed festive air.
The bell sounded joyously at the Hacienda del Milagro; the peons beganto disperse in all directions, some leading horses to the pasturage,others driving cattle to the artificial prairies, others again wendingtheir way to the fields, whilst the rest were employed in the patio inmilking the cows and repairing the damages done by the hurricane.
The only traces left of the tempest of the preceding night were twomagnificent jaguars stretched dead before the gate of the hacienda, notfar from the carcass of a half-devoured horse.
No Eusebio, who was walking about in the patio, carefully overlookingthe occupations of all, ordered the rich trappings of the horse to betaken off and cleaned, and the jaguars to be skinned; all of which wasdone in the shortest time possible.
No Eusebio was, however, very uneasy; Don Ramon, generally the firstperson stirring in the hacienda, had not yet appeared.
On the preceding evening, after the terrible accusation brought by thejuez de letras against the eldest son of the hacendero, the latter hadordered his servants to retire, and after having himself, in spite ofthe tears and prayers of his wife, firmly bound his son, he led DonInigo Albaceyte into a retired apartment of the farm, where they bothremained in private till a far advanced hour of the night.
What had passed in that conversation, in which the fate of Don Rafaelwas decided, nobody knew--No Eusebio no more than the others.
Then, after having conducted Don Inigo to a chamber he had had preparedfor him, and having wished him good night, Don Ramon proceeded torejoin his son, with whom the poor mother was still weeping: withoutpronouncing a word, he took the boy in his arms, and carried him intohis bedroom, where he laid him on the ground near his bed; then thehacendero shut and locked the door, went to bed, with two pistols underhis pillow. The night passed away thus, the father and son dartingat each other through the darkness the looks of wild beasts, and thepoor mother on her knees on the sill of that chamber, which she wasforbidden to enter, weeping silently for her first-born, who, as she hada terrible presentiment, was about to be ravished from her for ever.
"Hum!" the mayoral murmured to himself, biting, without thinking ofdoing so, the end of his extinguished cigarette, "what will be the endof all this? Don Ramon is not a man to pardon, he will not compromisehis honour. Will he abandon his son to the hands of justice! Oh no! but,in that case what will he do?"
The worthy mayoral had arrived at this point in his reflections, whenDon Inigo Albaceyte and Don Ramon appeared in the patio.
The countenances of the two men were stern; that of the hacendero, inparticular, was dark as night.
"No Eusebio," Don Ramon said in a sharp tone, "have a horse saddled,and prepare an escort of four men to conduct this cavalier toHermosillo."
The mayoral bowed respectfully, and immediately gave the necessaryorders.
"I thank you a thousand times," continued Don Ramon, addressing thejudge; "you have saved the honour of my house."
"Do not be so grateful, senor," Don Inigo replied; "I swear to you thatwhen I left the city yesterday, I had no intention of making myselfagreeable to you."
The hacendero only replied by a gesture.
"Put yourself in my place; I am criminal judge above everything; a manis murdered--a worthless fellow, I admit--but a man, although of theworst kind; the assassin is known, he traverses the city at full gallop,in open daylight, in the sight of everybody, with incredible effrontery.What could I do?--set off in pursuit of him. I did not hesitate."
"That is true," Don Ramon murmured, holding down his head.
"And evil have been the consequences to me. The scoundrels whoaccompanied me abandoned me, like cowards, in the height of the storm,and took shelter I know not where; and then, to crown my troubles, twojaguars, magnificent animals, by the bye, rushed in pursuit of me; theypressed me so hard that I came and fell at your door like a mass. It istrue I killed one of them, but the other was very nearly snapping me up,when you came to my assistance. Could I, after that, arrest the son ofthe man who had saved my life at the peril of his own? That would havebeen acting with the blackest ingratitude."
"Thanks, once more."
"No thanks; we are quits, that is all. I say nothing of some thousandsof piastres you have given me; they will serve to stop the mouths of mylynxes. Only, let me beg of you, Don Ramon, keep a sharp eye upon yourson; if he should fall a second time into my hands, I don't know how Icould save him."
"Be at ease, in that respect, Don Inigo; my son will never fall intoyour hands again."
"The hacendero pronounced these words in so solemn and melancholy atone, that the judge started at hearing them, and turned round saying,--
"Take care what you are about to do!"
"Oh, fear nothing," replied Don Ramon; "only, as I am not willing thatmy son should mount a scaffold, and drag my name in the mud, I mustendeavour to prevent him."
At that moment the horse was led out, and the juez de letras mounted.
"Well, adieu, Don Ramon," he said in an indulgent voice; "be prudent,this young man may still reform; he is hot blooded, that is all."
"Adieu, Don Inigo Albaceyte," the hacendero replied, in so dry a tonethat it admitted of no reply.
The judge shook his head, and clapping spurs to his horse, he set offat full trot, followed by his escort, after having made the farmer afarewell gesture.
The latter looked after him, as long as he could see him, and thenre-entered the house with long and hasty strides.
"No Eusebio," he said to the mayoral, "ring the bell to call togetherall the peons, as well as the other servants of the hacienda."
The mayoral, after having looked at his master with astonishment,hastened to execute the order he had received.
"What does all this mean?" he said to himself.
At the sound of the bell, the men employed on the farm ran to answerit in haste, not knowing to what cause they should attribute thisextraordinary summons.
They were soon all collected together in the great hall, which served asa refectory. The completest silence reigned among them. A secret pangpressed on their hearts,--they had the presentiment of a terrible event.
After a few minutes of expectation, Dona Jesuita entered, surrounded byher children, with the exception of Rafael, and proceeded to take herplace upon a platform, prepared at one end of the hall.
Her countenance was pale, and her eyes proclaimed that she had beenweeping.
Don Ramon appeared.
He was clothed in a complete suit of black velvet without lace; a heavygold chain hung round his neck, a broad leafed hat of black felt,ornamented with an eagle's feather, covered his head, a long sword, witha hilt of polished steel, hung by his side.
His brow was marked with wrinkles, his eyebrows were closely knittedabove his black eyes, which appeared to dart lightning.
A shudder of terror pervaded the ranks of the assembly--Don RamonGarillas had put on the robe of justice.
Justice was then about to be done?
But upon whom?
When Don Ramon had taken his place on the right hand of his wife, hemade a sign.
The mayoral went out, and returned a minute after, followed by Rafael.
The young man was bareheaded, and had his hands tied behind his back.
With his eyes cast down, and a pale face, he placed himself before hisfather, whom he saluted respectfully.
At the period at which our history passes, in those countries remotefrom towns and exposed to the continual incursions of the Indians,the heads of families preserved, in all its purity, that patriarchalauthority which the efforts of our depraved civilization have a tendencyto lessen, and, at length, to destroy. A father was sovereign in his ownhouse, his judgments were wi
thout appeal, and executed without murmursor resistance.
The people of the farm were acquainted with the firm character andimplacable will of their master; they knew that he never pardoned, thathis honour was dearer to him than life; it was then with a sense ofundefinable fear that they prepared to witness the terrible drama whichwas about to be performed before them between the father and the son.
Don Ramon arose, cast a dark glance round upon the assembly, and threwhis hat at his feet:
"Listen all to me," he said in a sharp but most distinct voice; "I amof an old Christian race, whose ancestors have never done wrong; honourhas always in my house been considered as the first of earthly goods;that honour which my ancestors transmitted to me intact, and which Ihave endeavoured to preserve pure, my first-born son, the inheritor ofmy name, has sullied by an indelible stain. Yesterday, at Hermosillo, inconsequence of a tavern quarrel, he set fire to a house, at the risk ofburning down the whole city, and when a man endeavoured to prevent hisescape, he killed him with a poniard stroke. What can be thought of aboy who, at so tender an age, is endowed with the instincts of a wildbeast? Justice must be done, and, by God's help, I will do it severely."
After these words, Don Ramon crossed his arms upon his breast, andappeared to reflect.
No one durst hazard a word in favour of the accused; all heads were bentdown, all hearts were palpitating.
Rafael was beloved by his father's servants on account of hisintrepidity, which yielded to no obstacles, for his skill in managing ahorse, and in the use of all arms, and more than all, for the franknessand kindness which formed the most striking features of his character.In this country particularly, where the life of a man is reckoned of solittle value, everyone was inwardly disposed to excuse the youth, and tosee nothing in the action he had committed but the result of warmth ofblood and hasty passion.
Dona Jesuita arose; without a murmur she had always bent to thewill of her husband, whom for many years she had been accustomed torespect; the mere idea of resisting him terrified her, and sent acold shudder through her veins; but all the loving powers of her soulwere concentrated in her heart. She adored her children, Rafael inparticular, whose indomitable character stood more in need than theothers, of the watchful cares of a mother.
"Sir," she said to her husband, in a voice choked with tears, "rememberthat Rafael is your first-born; that his fault, however serious it mightbe, ought not to be inexcusable in your eyes, as you are his father; andthat I--I--" she continued, falling on her knees, clasping her hands andsobbing, "I implore your pity! pardon, sir! pardon for your son!"
"Don Ramon coldly raised his wife, whose face was inundated with tears,and after obliging her to resume her place in her chair, he said,--
"It is particularly as a father, that my heart ought to be without pity!Rafael is an assassin and an incendiary; he is no longer my son!"
"What do you mean to do?" Dona Jesuita cried, in accents of terror.
"What does that concern you, madam?" Don Ramon replied harshly; "thecare of my honour concerns me alone. Sufficient for you to know thatthis fault is the last your son will commit."
"Oh!" she said with terror, "will you then become his executioner?"
"I am his judge," the implacable gentleman replied in a terrible voice."No Eusebio, get two horses ready."
"My God! my God!" the poor mother cried, rushing towards her son, whomshe folded closely in her arms, "will no one come to my succour?"
All present were moved; Don Ramon himself could not restrain a tear.
"Oh!" she cried with a wild joy, "he is saved! God has softened theheart of this inflexible man!"
"You are mistaken, madam," Don Ramon interrupted, pushing her roughlyback, "your son is no longer mine, he belongs to my justice!"
Then fixing on his son a look cold as a steel blade, he said in a voiceso stern that in spite of himself it made the young man start.
"Don Rafael, from this instant you no longer form a part of thissociety, which your crimes have horrified; it is with wild beasts that Icondemn you to live and die."
At this terrible sentence, Dona Jesuita took a few steps towards herson, but, tottering, she fell prostrate--she had fainted.
Up to this moment Rafael had, with a great effort, suppressed in hisheart the emotions which agitated him, but at this last accident hecould no longer restrain himself; he sprang towards his mother, burstinto tears, and uttered a piercing cry:
"My mother! my mother!"
"Come this way," said Don Ramon, laying his hand upon his shoulder.
The boy stopped, staggering like a drunken man.
"Look, sir! pray look!" he cried, with a heartbroken sob; "my mother isdying!"
"It is you who have killed her!" the hacendero replied coldly.
Rafael turned round as if a serpent had stung him; he darted at hisfather a look of strange expression, and, with clenched teeth and alivid brow said to him,
"Kill me, sir; for I swear to you that in the same manner as you havebeen pitiless to my mother and me, if I live I will be hereafterpitiless to you!"
Don Ramon cast upon him a look of contempt.
"Come on!" he said.
"Come on, then!" the boy repeated in a firm tone.
Dona Jesuita, who was beginning to recover her senses, perceived thedeparture of her son, as if in a dream.
"Rafael! Rafael!" she shrieked.
The young man hesitated for a second; then, with a bound, he sprangtowards her, kissed her with wild tenderness, and rejoining his father,said--
"Now I can die! I have bidden adieu to my mother!"
And they went out.
The household, deeply moved by this scene, separated withoutcommunicating their impressions to each other, but all penetrated withsincere grief.
Under the caresses of her son, the poor mother had again lost allconsciousness.