The Purple Land

by W. H. Hudson

  CHAPTER XX

  Day had just dawned when I rose to join Mariano at the fire he hadalready kindled to heat the water for his early _mate_. I did not likethe idea of lying there concealed amongst the trees like some huntedanimal for an indefinite time; moreover, I had been advised by SantaColoma to proceed directly to the Lomas de Rocha, on the south coast, inthe event of a defeat, and this now seemed to me the best thing to do.It had been very pleasant lying there "under the greenwood tree," whilethose veracious stories of hags, lampalaguas, and apparitions had provedhighly entertaining; but a long spell, a whole month perhaps, of thatkind of life was not to be thought of; and if I did not get to Rochanow, before the rural police were set to catch runaway rebels, it wouldperhaps be impossible to do so later on. I determined, therefore, to gomy own way, and, after drinking bitter _mate_, I caught and saddledthe dun horse. I really had not deserved the severe censure Lechuza hadpassed on me the previous evening in reference to horse-stealing, forI had taken the dun with very little more compunction than one isaccustomed to feel in England when "borrowing" an umbrella on a rainyday. To all people in all parts of the world, a time comes when toappropriate their neighbour's goods is held not only justifiable, buteven meritorious; to Israelites in Egypt, Englishmen under a cloud intheir own moist island, and to Orientals running away after a fight. Bykeeping the dun over thirty hours in my possession I had acquired a kindof prescriptive right to it, and now began to look on it as my very own;subsequent experience of his endurance and other good qualities enablesme to endorse the Oriental saying that a "stolen horse carries youwell."

  Bidding farewell to my companions in defeat, who had certainly not beenfrightened out of their imaginations, I rode forth just when itwas beginning to grow light. Roads and houses I studiously avoided,travelling on at an easy gallop, which took me about ten miles an hour,till noon; then I rested at a small _rancho_, where I fed and watered myhorse and recruited my own energies with roast beef and bitter _mate_.On again till dark; by that time I had covered about forty miles, andbegan to feel both hungry and tired. I had passed several _ranchos_ and_estancia_ houses, but was shy of seeking entertainment at any of them,and so went farther, only to fare worse. When the brief twilight wasdarkening to night I came upon a broad cart-track, leading, I suppose,to Montevideo from the eastern part of the country, and, seeing a long,low _rancho_ near it, which I recognized as a _pulperia_, or store, bythe flagstaff planted before it, I resolved to purchase some refreshmentfor myself, then to ride on a mile or two and spend the night under thestars--a safe roof if an airy one. Tying my horse to the gate, I wentinto the porch-like projection at the end of the _rancho_, which I founddivided from the interior by the counter, with its usual grating ofthick iron bars to protect the treasures of gin, rum, and comestiblesfrom drunken or quarrelsome customers. As soon as I came into the porchI began to regret having alighted at the place, for there, standing atthe counter, smoking and drinking, were about a dozen very rough-lookingmen. Unfortunately for me, they had tied their horses under the shadowof a clump of trees some distance from the gate, so that I had missedseeing them on my arrival. Once amongst them, however, my only plan wasto disguise my uneasiness, be very polite, get my refreshments, thenmake my escape as speedily as possible. They stared rather hard atme, but returned my salutation courteously; then going to a disengagedcorner of the counter, I rested my left elbow on it and called forbread, a box of sardines, and a tumbler of wine.

  "If you will join me, senores, the table is spread," said I; but theyall declined my invitation with thanks, and I began to eat my bread andsardines.

  They appeared to be all persons living in the immediate neighbourhood,for they addressed each other familiarly and were conversing about lovematters. One of them, however, soon dropped out of the conversation,and, edging away from the others, stood a little space apart, leaningagainst the wall on the side of the porch farthest from me. I began tonotice this man very particularly, for it was plain to see that I hadexcited his interest in an extraordinary manner, and I did not like hisscrutiny. He was, without exception, the most murderous-looking villainI have ever had the misfortune to meet: that was the deliberate opinionI came to before I formed a closer acquaintance with him. He was abroad-chested, powerful-looking man of medium height; his hands he keptconcealed under the large cloth _poncho_ he wore, and he had on a slouchhat that just allowed his eyes to be seen under the rim. They weretruculent, yellowish-green eyes, that seemed to grow fiery and dim andfiery again by turns, yet never for a single instant were they avertedfrom my face. His black hair hung to his shoulders, and he also had abristly moustache, which did not conceal his brutal mouth, nor was thereany beard to hide his broad, swarthy jowl. His jaws were the only partof him that had any motion, while he stood there, still as a bronzestatue, watching me. At intervals he ground his teeth, after which hewould slap his lips together two or three times, while a slimy froth,most sickening to see, gathered at the corners of his mouth.

  "Gandara, you are not drinking," said one of the gauchos, turning tohim. He shook his head slightly without speaking or taking his eyesoff my face; whereupon the man who had spoken smiled and resumed hisconversation with the others.

  The long, intense, soul-trying scrutiny this brutal wretch had subjectedme to came to a very sudden end. Quick as lightning a long, broadknife flashed out from its concealment under his _poncho_, and with onecat-like bound he was before me, the point of his horrid weapon touchingmy _poncho_ just over the pit of my stomach.

  "Do not move, rebel," he said in a husky voice. "If you move one hair'sbreadth, that moment you die."

  The other men all ceased talking and looked on with some interest, butdid not offer to interfere or make any remark.

  For one moment I felt as if an electric shock had gone through me, andthen instantly I was calm--never, in fact, have I felt more calm andcollected than at that terrible moment. 'Tis a blessed instinct ofself-preservation which nature has provided us with; feeble, timid menpossess it in common with the strong and brave, as weak, persecuted wildanimals have it as well as those that are fierce and bloodthirsty. It isthe calm which comes without call when death suddenly and unexpectedlyrises up to stare us in the face; it tells us that there is one faintchance which a premature attempt to escape or even a slight agitationwill destroy.

  "I have no wish to move, friend," I said, "but I am curious to know whyyou attack me?"

  "Because you are a rebel. I have seen you before, you are one of SantaColoma's officers. Here you shall stand with this knife touching youtill you are arrested, or else with this knife in you here you shalldie."

  "You are making a mistake," I said.

  "Neighbours," said he, speaking to the others, but without taking hiseyes from my face, "will you tie this man hand and foot while I standbefore him to prevent him from drawing any weapon he may have concealedunder his _poncho_?"

  "We have not come here to arrest travellers," returned one of the men."If he is a rebel it is no concern of ours. Perhaps you are mistaken,Gandara."

  "No, no, I am not mistaken," he returned. "He shall not escape. I sawhim at San Paulo with these eyes--when did they ever deceive me? If yourefuse to assist me, then go one of you to the Alcalde's house and tellhim to come without delay, while I keep guard here."

  After a little discussion one of the men offered to go and inform theAlcalde. When he had left, I said, "My friend, may I finish my meal? Iam hungry, and had just begun to eat when you drew your knife againstme."

  "Yes; eat," he said; "only keep your hands well up so that I can seethem. Perhaps you have a weapon at your waist."

  "I have not," I said, "for I am an inoffensive person and do not requireweapons."

  "Tongues were made to lie," he returned, truly enough. "If I see youdrop your hand lower than the counter I shall rip you up. We shall thenbe able to see whether you digest your food or not."

  I began to eat and sip my wine, still with those brutal eyes on my faceand the keen knife-point touching my _ponc
ho_. There was now a ghastlylook of horrible excitement on his face, while his teeth-grindingperformances became more frequent and the slimy froth droppedcontinually from the corners of his mouth on to his bosom. I dared notlook at the knife, because a terrible impulse to wrest it out of hishands kept rising in me. It was almost too strong to be overcome, yet Iknew that even the slightest attempt to escape would be fatal to me; forthe fellow was evidently thirsty for my blood and only wanted an excuseto run me through. But what, I thought, if he were to grow tired ofwaiting, and, carried away by his murderous instincts, to plunge hisweapon into me? In that case I should die like a dog, without havingavailed myself of my one chance of escape through over-caution. Thesethoughts were maddening, still through it all I laboured to observe anoutwardly calm demeanour.

  My supper was done. I began to feel strangely weak and nervous. My lipsgrew dry; I was intensely thirsty and longed for more wine, yet darednot take it for fear that in my excited state even a very moderateamount of alcohol might cloud my brain.

  "How long will it take your friend to return with the Alcalde?" I askedat length.

  Gandara made no reply. "A long time," said one of the other men. "I, forone, cannot wait till he comes," and after that he took his departure.One by one they now began to drop away, till only two men besidesGandara remained in the porch. Still that murderous wretch kept beforeme like a tiger watching its prey, or rather like a wild boar, gnashingand foaming, and ready to rip up its adversary with horrid tusk.

  At length I made an appeal to him, for I began to despair of the Alcaldecoming to deliver me. "Friend," I said, "if you will allow me to speak,I can convince you that you are mistaken. I am a foreigner, and knownothing about Santa Coloma."

  "No, no," he interrupted, pressing the knife-point warningly against mystomach, then suddenly withdrawing it as if about to plunge it intome."I know you are a rebel. If I thought the Alcalde were not coming Iwould run you through at once and cut your throat afterwards. It is avirtue to kill a Blanco traitor, and if you do not go bound hand andfoot from here then here you must die. What, do you dare to say thatI did not see you at San Paulo--that you are not an officer of SantaColoma? Look, rebel, I will swear on this cross that I saw you there."

  Suiting the action to the word, he raised the hilt of the weapon to hislips to kiss the guard, which with the handle formed a cross. That piousaction was the first slip he had made, and gave the first opportunitythat had come to me during all that terrible interview. Before he hadceased speaking, the conviction that my time had come flashed likelightning through my brain. Just as his slimy lips kissed the hilt,my right hand dropped to my side and grasped the handle of my revolverunder my _poncho_. He saw the movement, and very quickly recovered thehandle of his knife. In another second of time he would have driven theblade through me; but that second was all I now required. Straight frommy waist, and from under my _poncho_, I fired. His knife fell ringingon to the floor; he swerved, then fell back, coming to the ground witha heavy thud. Over his falling body I leaped, and almost before he hadtouched the ground was several yards away, then, wheeling round, I foundthe other two men rushing out after me.

  "Back!" I shouted, covering the foremost of the two with my revolver.

  They instantly stood still.

  "We are not following you, friend," said one, "but only wish to get outof the place."

  "Back, or I fire!" I repeated, and then they retreated into the porch.They had stood by unconcerned while their cut-throat comrade Gandara wasthreatening my life, so that I naturally felt angry with them.

  I sprang upon my horse, but, instead of riding away at once, stood forsome minutes by the gate watching the two men. They were kneelingby Gandara, one opening his clothes to look for the wound, the otherholding a flaring candle over his ashen, corpse-like face.

  "Is he dead?" I asked.

  One of the men looked up and answered, "It appears so."

  "Then," I returned, "I make you a present of his carcass."

  After that, digging my spurs into my horse, I galloped away.

  Some readers might imagine, after what I had related, that my sojourn inthe Purple Land had quite brutalised me; I am happy to inform them thatit was not so. Whatever a man's individual character may happen to be,he has always a strong inclination in him to reply to an attack in thespirit in which it is made. He does not call the person who playfullyridicules his foibles a whitened sepulchre or an unspeakable scoundrel,and the same principle holds good when it comes to actual physicalfighting. If a French gentleman were to call me out, I daresay I shouldgo to the encounter twirling my moustache, bowing down to the ground,all smiles and compliments; and that I should select my rapier with apleasant kind of feeling, like that experienced by the satirist about towrite a brilliant article while picking out a pen with a suitable nib.On the other hand, if a murderous brute with truculent eyes and gnashingteeth attempts to disembowel me with a butcher's knife, the instinct ofself-preservation comes out in all its old original ferocity, inspiringthe heart with such implacable fury that after spilling his blood Icould spurn his loathsome carcass with my foot. I do not wonder atmyself for speaking those savage words. That he was past recall seemedcertain, yet not a shade of regret did I feel at his death. Joy at theterrible retribution I had been able to inflict on the murderouswretch was the only emotion I experienced when galloping away into thedarkness--such joy that I could have sung and shouted aloud had it notseemed imprudent to indulge in such expression of feeling.