TALES AND SKETCHES.

Timaru Herald, Volume LXXIX, Issue 12111, 4 July 1903, Page 2 (Supplement)

TALES AND SKETCHES.

JOSE AND THE SAINTS.

(By MRS STEPHEN CRANE). Author of "Cowardice," etc. [All Rights Reserved.] Two men were seated in front of a large adobe house—ft' Mexican Grandee and an American. The hous» had wines built on —low lines of buildings to the right ana left-that outstretched in front, like arms, to meet a high adobe wall with a. wide gateway in the centre. The wall completed the square courtyard. In the distant 'blue haze of the early Mexican.sunlight the shadowy forms of Popocatapetl, the Smoking 'Mountain, and Ixaccehuat, the White Woman, hung in giant fine lace traceries of frost upon a window pane, beneath «• canopy of soft cotton-like drifting clouds. Spreading as far as the eye could see in all directions were monotonous plain* of maguay plant, olive-grey, as if powdered with wood ashes. Half a mile to the east on a small ridge a cluster_of low adobe huts hugged a tiny plaza. lie few palms that grew there might have been paper, imitations used to decorate some small restaurant or beer-hall of a northern city for untold years, so draggled and dusty were they in appearance. At dne end of the plaza was a dance-hall; at the other end rested a small white-washed church with an elaborate facade, a large Norman arch in the middle yawning like a sleepy mouth, and innumerable corbels supporting saints, looking, where bits of whitewash had peeled off, as if an epidemic of measles •had visited them. It was early mornmg and the bells were ringing for mass. ' "Look!" said the master of the hacienda. " See ! Everyone—men, women and children—going ! Another feast day! Another excuse for idleness and drunkenness I No work done! Ah, dios, another Saints day! By the saints, they shall work. I aay to you, amigo, they work not on "saints' days, and saints' days are many in the month. I will show them lam their master!" He rose from the bench upon which he had been sittine. The American noted that he was tall for a Mexican and that the high cheek 'bones and yellow tinge of the slender nervous hands showed that Aztec as. well as Spanish blood flowed in his' veins. He strode rapidly up and down from the house to the gateway, puffin* small lead-coloured clouds of smoke from his cigarro 'between angry- words, which he seemed to bite off and spit out as if they were beads upon a string. The other man got up, walked to the gateway of the courtyard and stood looking But at the dusty plaza, deserted so short a time ago but now splashed with red, blue and yellow of rebosos wrapped about the heads and necks of the women, and with the vari-coloured blankets of the men. These held tightly about their shoulders, hich in the back, almost touched the rims of the tall pointed hats they wore, although bare feet, showing beneath cotton trousers, made small plough-like furrows m the sand as they walked. The heat-mist had not risen and the chill of night was still in the "They go there," continued the master, pointing with « shaking forefinger to the church, "they-grimace, they cry: Madre dios! We thank thee for these saints days when we do no work.' And then they go and drink pulque and more pulque until they are mad of love or hate. Tien the fandango! Noche! La cuchill! Graves among the cacti—and no work! The speaker's thin face was greenish yellow, the sickly hue of a thick London fog as viewed from one's casement. on , a winter morning. Rage had drawn lines in his forehead and on each side of his nose, V that resembled old scars. His upper lip, with, its straight black line of moustache, was curled back exposing small, pointed, cruel yellow teeth. But it was the eyes,; ■■ the eyes narrowed to mere slits, the, demoniac peeping through small glittering black diamonds, that showed the wild fury of the man. . The American turned and watched him. "Darned 1 ! if it wasn't for that all-fired temper he can't hide and don't care a hang about hiding, he might have escaped-from some comic opera troupe," he thought. The American was new to the country, and' the silver trimmed sombrero of his host pulled low over the brows, the serape floating and flapping behind him as he walked, andi the ■ huge chained spurs clinking and clashing with every step, completed to his northern mind! the theatric ensemble. Races with Spanish blood have little dignity in. their rages. They are like wilful children who lie_pn the floor and kick and scream at fate without trying to conquer it quietly. "I will whip them, the pigs! I will pull their church and their saints about their cans. They shall work !" "They tell me," said the American,, slowly, "that these here Indians are the hottest Catholics goin', and that they get 'pretty well riled ii anyone goes up against. -. them saints of theirs. They must'have more saints down in these parts than they do up in my country, 'cause the Irish and I-taiian Catholics don't have no such continuous rope of holidays, I kin tell yer. They work six days in the week same as any other feller, up there." "That is so. That is true," answered the Mexican hotly. "But if I was you," continued the American, " I'd leave them there speckled trout of eaAts a-sittin' on their perches and I'd try some other way of gettin' work, out of '«m." c ■ i

Every -word the cool northerner uttered seemed only to excite the Mexican to further use of language and more dramatic •waving of arms. They had been diiscussing this question the previous day and far into the night as they sat drinking mescal. The Mexican had threatened' to burn the whitewashed church, and the American had worn himself out with argument against such a rash procedure, and finally thrown himself into a cane-seated rocking-chair, put his feet on another chair, his head upon the table and gone to sleep. When he awakened at dawn the Mexican still sat at the table drinking mescal with small hills of cigarro ends on the table and floor about ihim. The conversation was continued as if it had never ceased for a moment. "I repeat, Senor," cried- the Mexican in a frenzy, "f have tried every way. I will try wipe off .some saints! I am resol—ved! An! Bueno! I will destroy some saints.! That is the way, to destroy some saints!" And he started through the gateway across the plaza on a run. "Say! Hi there!" called the American. ; " They'll knife you! Come back- a minute. If that's your game, I'm gpin' to light out from these here diggin's as fast as I can. Stop! Stop, Senor! Hell! He's- goin' into, the church sure. This ground's gettin' too hot a griddle forjnnercent folks like uie that ain't lookin' for nothin' but peace and quiet. I guess I'll move on." As he hurried into the house he heard- a murmur—iow, dangerous. He picked up his saddle and bridle and ran to the side of the courtyard where his horse was picketed. " My lingers are all blame thumbs," he muttered as he clumsily fastened the throat strap of the bridle and girths of the saddle. As the distance increased between his horse's tail and- the plaza, the noise in the church died into a hum as of many beehives set upon by swarms of wasps. The American looked back. He could see nothing. -He -drew a long breath and said aloud: " It'll be interestin' to come 'round in a week's time, I reckon, I when things is cooled down a bit, but this Yankee'.! too wise to get mixed up with .smashin' taints and golden images. Go 'long," he said to his horse. . The interior of the little church was bare save for the high altar and the small tables and window ledges on either side

that served as- altars to different saints. The first window ledge on the right was dedicated to the Virgin Mary—a life-size figure in 'flowing lemon-colour plaster drapery, holding in her arms a- fat, naked Vatican cherub with staring blue eyes and bright carmine lips and cheeks, the holy infant. On the window ledge, directly opposite, was a smaller figure of St Joseph. At the (right of the high, altar hung a wooden Christ, very crudely carved, very old and very horrible with its bright blood stains and time-worn agony. Placed upon the small tables were doll figures of saints, dressed in gay ribbon or bright bits of rag, while tinsel halos in all stages of seeming intoxication were insecurely fastened to their heads. Some were rakishly poised over one eye; one was worn, as Tommy Atkins wears his little, saucer-like cap, resting on one ear; another was tipped far on to the nose, and other saints were in danger of losing this glory altogether. But to these simple childish worshippers/there was nothing humorous in their saints; nothing incongruous in the old beer bottles and whisky flasks that were used as vases to hold their offerings of fresh or paper flowers. The high altar was draped with coarse cotton lace,, torn and dirty. The walls were colourwashed a bright blue and the early southern sun staring through the lofty windows of plain glass threw ghostly light over xhe people huddled in prayer upon the floor. The priest, bent with years, was 'blessing the bread and wine. _ "Come, almighty and eternal God, the Sanctifier, and bless this sacrifice prepared for'the glory of ThyVName." ■ ■'. He stood with uplifted hands, his face alight with love and reverence of this, mystery—bis faith. - Into the midst of the little band of kneeling worshippers ran the master. " Stop !" he veiled, pointing at the priest. The aged prelate stood with hands still uplifted and with eyes wide with horror at this'breaking in upon the service of the holy church—this glaring act: of sacrilege. The people looked up, but none arose. "Stop!" cried the master, "thou breeder of mischief and idleness. Thou shall have fewer saints' days and more work, more work, work!" His voice mounted to a thin thread of piping sound. Still breathlessly watched, he rushed towards the priest; 'but not one of the people moved. They seemed nailed to the floor, paralysed at this blasphemy. The priest alone approached the Mexican, instinctively holding out both hands to ward him off.

"Ha!" screamed the madman, "you see I am. master, I am the saint that you will worship and obey." He jumped at one of the side altars and, grabbing a small wooden image of, St Cecilia, .taking hold of the head with both hands, he swung it as a club, battering the large figure, of the Mother with the divine infant in her arms until pieces of plaster flew in all directions. The figure swayed and rocked on its window ledge and finally fell with a crask, filling the church -with lemon-coloured dust. The noise seemed ; to awaken these' motionless men and women, and to awaken, too, all their latent savage blood,, quiet for ages. For the moment it was a church transformed into a madhouse,. The priest fell upon his knees before the Holy Sacrament, muttering Latin prayers and crossing himself rapidly. His fleck was gone beyond his control. The peoplp uttered low, animal cries; they were wild with the lust of vengeance. Writhing, snake-like arm's, ending in yellow claws, stretched for the master from all sides. No one ventured to. touch him, but no lover's arms were ever outstretched with greater longing to hold his dear one than were these many arms to fondle their master. Ah! but to kill him, that were too simple. Much too simple. One small man on the edge of the crowd pulled back a woman who was clawing her wav through the circle about the master. She ceased her shrill screams and became quite still once she saw his face. "Give me thy reboso, 'tis long and strong," he said. She unwound the long scarf from her head and neck and handed it to him. The small man walked around the circle, until he got to the back of the master, then, pushing his way through the crowd with a whispered word to the right and left, he took an end of the scarf in each hand and with a quick cry of: "Hy, yi!" he threw it in a great curve high in the air, .landing it, lasso fashion, over the master's head. It blinded him. He was helpless as a pig in a bag. ' They pushed him down on the floor am'd tied his hands and legs. The women and children stood about this prostrate figure, digging .deep into their Mexican vocabulary for 'epithets foul enough to hurl at him, much as tanall snapping yellow curs would insult ai wounded mastiff. The men collected near the door and spoke in low hissing tones. - * " Let us crucify him," paid one.'^ " 'Tis too holy a death for vampires," replied another. These men, usually so easily aroused to violent action, were now very quiet, as they planned their revenge for the insult to their laith. Their tones were soft as they spoke of tortures meet for such a crime. At last: they decided what to do./ They the master with faces sfolaze with fiendish joy. He looked up at them. These people, these dogs that he had whipped, would bear the lash no longer, but he thought: "They will not dare to harm me! Senor Jose Peulio. lam top powerful. My family are too great." They unbound his feet and lifted him upon them. Then the small man, he of the reboso, said : "Mister, we would that thou walk with us." And they pushed; pulled, and dragged him out of the oliurch, through the plaza into the maguay fields beyond and far away.; as far as twenty miles did they take the master.

They allowed him to rest from time'to time. They gave him drink. After a fashion they cared for him during thait long march.

At first the Mexican's brain was too heated for him to see his danger. He could do nought but rage and tug at his imprisoned wrists. HeJ pulled to the right and then to the left; he raised his arms over his head and pulling with them both, he tried biting the cords that bound him, but they ouly cut the deeper into his flesh. He was conscious of no physical! pain, no fear, only rage, impotent wild rage at being made a fool of. As a man might feel, in a lesser degree, if someone took his top hat and sat on it in tue middle of Piccadilly as he walked there on a May afternoon. The crowd was laughing at him; jeering at a Grandee of Mexico.

The sun crept up the vast blue dome of sky. The outlines of the distant mountains became clearly etched against the canvas ot mid-day. There' was no sound from the grim little cavalcade, save occasional bursts of rage from the master, and the heaving breathing of the people. ii,ven the women urging on the victim were silent. At last the}- stopped. The- small man said : "Be seated, master. Take thy rest, good master, aaid say thou thy prayer to tlie Virgin that thou bast mocked! We give tliee time for this."

They left hira under the shadows of some mesquit bushes. He sank down. He made no efl'ort to escape. "They will whip me, the hounds, but I—will—tail—them every —one," he muttered through his clinched teeth. He had not slept-lor forty hours. The long: tramp, the burning sun, _his rage,, had exhausted hifci. Bus body had scarcely measured its lull length upon the ground before he was in a deep sleep. Men sleep the soundest in the face of great danger or most grievous loss. A little in front of him the people were squatting, 'their knees drawn up, and their arms, wnich they used for pillows, folded across them. Tney took a siestas Only the small man, he of the reboso, moved about. In a row at his feet he had placed a dozen poniards. He rubbed , them one against the other with a soft swishing sound); then he would rub his thumb along the edge to see if they were of the right degree of sharpness to suit his purpose. Sometimes lie would pull one of the straight black hairs from his head and test a knife by trying to cut the hair at one stroke. If he succeeded in this, he would lay the knife down with a gently whispered "Bueno." He hadi tried 1 the last blade. All-was

ready. Geitly shaking a man near him be bade him awaken the others. The master still slept on.

The people formed a circle which narrowed as they neared the sleeping man. At a signal, four men left the circle and crawled toward the Mexican. On reaching 1 him they were on their feet in a second and had! hint ttaked to the ground, using the. scarfs of the women as ropes. Ho awakened with a yell to find himself powerless to move even his head.

They laughedl at him. The women spat at him. They were quiet no longer. The small man said: "Master, wo fear that, thy boots be heavy." And he pulled them and the stockings beneath them from his feet. Then he cut the trousers off at the knee.

The Mexican's face was how the colour of old beaten, brass. The scar-like lines had increased in number and great beads of sweat stood- upon his brow. " I will give one thousand silver dollars if ye set me free," he cried. ■But they laughed at him the more. Then these simple cow-eyed children who .worshipped! -in the little white-washed church, flayed! theit master's feet! In narrow strips, as the rind of pork is seared for'roasting, they marked'the, soles of his feet. Then they slowly peeled; these strips. They drew a line about,.'his ankles and pulled the skin from off the feet'; as a mother pulls off her children's stockings. They did: their work slowly,' taking great care that no ragged bits of cuticle remained'. '■"'.."

The sun was far into the west. The vast live-grey fields of meguay plant were again desolate. High overhead a small; black' speck swam in the-ceaseless -blue of the Mexican sky. It floated in circles, seeming to try to touch the distant edge of the 'horizon, and then winding in closer and-closer to a centre. The speck grew larger, it grew into wide wings, a. long body, and a beak like that of an eagle. It was the scavenger of Mexico,', the vulture.

Something was moving in the dust. Some horrible chattering monster who,: trying to stand upright,, would fall with a maniacal roar of anguish, writhing upon the ground. This creature naked save;for a rag ; about his loinsj that had beer.' gay with colour. Now, through dirt,and blood and the sweat of agony it wore the lues, of an ancient Persian'carpet whose woof had l woven into the lives of many. men. The creature, with its headi twisted, ribs projecting, belly hollowed, would) draw long breaths as itpulled' its legs- under it's body and turning over would try to ■ crawl. ■ Was this thing human, or only a horrible nightmare that shrieked and; wallowedi in the dirt?

A cold wind sprang up, lifting the dust in sheets for it to fall again in showers and cover'this monster creation of man's vengeance. The sun sank behind the edge of the plain. The great black bird was overhead. Night, whose pall covers hideous things, let fall 'her sable curtain.

Ten days- -later the, American rode through the gateway into the court-yard. Nothing had- altered,. , Two st-ra-ig© horses were picketed l at-the side, but strange horses were of tea there, ft was early morning again _: the bell on the little white-washed church was ringing and the people in gay colours were slowly wending their way to prayer. .'. ' •

" Seems; just the same old trick er' saints' days goin' on," he said. "Looks as if Senor Jose had' given up fightin' agin' th' game. Hells!'' he cried into the open doorway. '" Hello, buenos disa, Senor Jose. Hello! Say, -wake up in there!" An aged crone came to the door. "Si Senor," she said. "Where is Senior Jose?" he. asked. " They have killed the master since these ten days," she answered.

" Killed him? Who's killed him? Where? Speak, you old hag, who's killed him?" "He brought death upon himself, and they kill him these ten days, a-ndl the brother take all," she said in a high cracked voice, " and to-dtay there is mass for his black soul, but they bury him not," and she laughed as if this fact delighted her. " But we pray for his soul, his black soul, we pray for him." Sue turned her back upon the questioner and tottered into the house, all the- time cackling about " his black soul thajf we pray for."'

The Yankee drew in his breath and emitted it again m a long low whistle. "Well," he said, "you may talk about yer heathen Chinee, and yer A-rabs, and yer Turks in Bulgarry, but these here hot Christians can give 'em cards and spades."