THE MOORISH TREASURE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIV, Issue XXI, 25 May 1895, Page 490

THE MOORISH TREASURE.

B "S’

CHAS. W. CROUSE.

SAR up the rocky slopes of the Montes de Toledo, off from the narrow donkey-path which zigzagged its tempestuous way up the mountain-side, stood a solitary hut. It was a rudely-constructed, one-roomed affair, with a roof of dirt and stones. Its red clay walls were hardly distinguishable from the surrounding soil to the infrequent traveller who, astride his burro, laboriously climbed the rough road, belabouring his poor beast and piously cursing his luck ; or, perhaps, in the steeper places where he was forced to walk, holding fast to the tail of his luckless animal, determined to make it under any circumstances oear the bulk of the burden. To render its isolation more complete, a hedge of aloes had been grown on the side nearest the trail. On the other side lay a small piece of tilled ground, and in a shallow furrow stood a plough, like the primitive one of Adam of old—the crotch of a tree ; it was rudely shod, however, with iron. A small burro browsed beneath a clump of cypress trees in the rear. Within the bowl-like room of the but upon a rude mattress, lay an aged peasant. His hollow cheeks and emaciated form told a story of sickness and suffering, and the white, apathetic face and lustreless eyes showed it was a sickness unto death. Manuel Mendez realized his end was near, and like many another sin-burdened mortal has done, was easing his final hours by a confession of his deeds and misdeeds to a fellow-man. It was, however, more than the mere relief that comes from imparting burdensome secrets which he sought when he told the young man, who sat upon a low-backed stool beside his bed, the story of his life. Gratitude to his youthful benefactor filled the old man’s heart. An itinerant musician, whose entire worldly possessions consisted of a guitar—which he loved better than his soul —and the clothes upon his back, Juan Tejerahad in his wanderings come upon the peasant while lying ill, and out of goodness of heart had remained with and. taken care of him. It was to repay this labour of compassion that Manuel taxed the strength of his last

moments. • Brother of my soul,’ he said tenderly, 1 thou hast been kind to me when I had almost forgotten that man knew of kindness, so long had it been unseen by me; and befriended me when I was deserted by all others ; and in recompense, thou shalt know of a treasure greater than thou hast ever dreamed of. It will make thee richer than all men. And the wealth shall be justly thine, for its owners are long since dead, and dead men -have no use for gold.’ He paused a moment to collect his waning strength ; the young man was bending eagerly forward. Down in the valleys below them the silent forces of darkness were gathering and slowly creepingnp the mountain-side. As if he felt the silent forces of death were also gathering, and was fearful lest they should overtake him with his narrative unfinished, the old man hastened on with it. • In my younger days I was noted for my skill as a stone worker, and it once happened I was brought, with a fellow workman, to the suburb of Albaycin, to repair the fountain in the patio of the palace of the Gipsy King. The trouble, we found, was at the bottom of the basin. The water was drawn off. and we had descended to make the necessary repairs. While thus engaged I discovered and called the attention of my companion to a hole at the top of the basin. It was large enough to easily admit a man, and we saw that the overhanging, fancifully carved, marble rim of the basin alike protected it from the observation of any one in the patio above, and from the water in the basin below. • The palace had been built centuries before by the Moors, and we judged we had discovered the entrance to one of those subterranean passages which are so frequently found beneath their houses. Curious to know more about it, we procured candles and started to investigate. We found, as we had expected, a steep tunnel-like passage, down whose slippery stone floor, greased with the dampness and mould of ages, we slid with an alarming rapidity to a somewhat larger, but level, passage. Once down, the question of how to return immediately presented itself. The descent had been remarkably easy, but to slide up was another matter. Finding we were unable to arrive at any solution of the problem, we concluded to investigate further in the hope of discovering another outlet. We proceeded along the passage cautiously, stooping low to avoid striking our heads against the rocky roof, and holding our candles before us. ’We walked thus a hundred yards, perhaps, when suddenly we came into a sort of vault, and there—ah ! how plainly, I can see it yet—Dios ! what a sight it was to men who knew well the pinchings of poverty. Gold ! gold ! gold ; There in one glittering heap was more than we could earn in a thousand years of toil. We capered like children about the vault, hugged each other with frenzied joy, and crazily talked plans for spending our wealth. • Then came a change. A greed possessed me. Why should I share these riches with another ? I asked myself. What right had Ricardo Gonzalez to the gold which I had discovered ? Mine it was, and mine it should be. Like all Spaniards, I carried a knife in the folds of my woollen sash—already I saw a stiletto in Ricardo's hand—but too late—l struck him—first.’ The speaker bad half risen upon his elbow in the excitement of his recollections, but now stopped and fell back A moment later when Juan touched his brow, it was already cold. Death had come with the darkness, which now mantled the mountain tops, and lowered the cuttain upon an ended life. Juan arose and passed out of the hut. He was greatly agitated by the strange story he had just listened to.

Wild hopes were created by it, and a life of new expectations and new objects was opened before him. He, the strolling beggar, who most of the time was in doubt as to the source of his next meal, having expectations of wealth ? How unreal it seemed. Yet he could already s?e himself bearing the gold upon his shoulders from the vault ; setting up a princely establishment at Madrid—yes, at Madrid it should be, that home of the luxuryloving—and Cariota. Cariota ! lie repeated the name with ecstasy. Even now he could see the oval face, the soft lustrous eyes, the round, white neck. Was there ever another so fair ? An hour since, he had scarcely dared breathe her name, so far had she seemed a ove him ; but now he even dared hope to win the proud senorita with all her beauty and position. With wealth all things were possible. In the midst of these rapturons dreamings came the alarming thought that perhaps there were important details of the untimely-ended story yet untold. Manuel may have removed it to another hiding-place, or others, perhaps, had found and appropriated it. But the old careless spirit which had often before comforted him under adverse circumstances, again.asserted itself, and forbade his ‘ meeting trouble half way.’ He was still, however, unable tb entirely dismiss his fears, for when he lay. down under the stars—he conld not bring himself to share the hut with its silent occupant —he dreamed he sought the treasure, but found in its place the bewitching and mocking face of Cariota, who continually eluded him as he pursued her, until old Manuel, in a suit of gold coin, laid on like fish-scales, came and bore her further and further from him.

In the morning Juan dug a grave beneath the cypress trees and buried Manuel. Above the little mound of upturned earth he erected a rude wooden cross, and piled stones about its base to secure it. This last service done, he invested himself with the authority of an administrator, assumed the rights of a sole legatee, and began at once to settle up the estate in a simple and satisfactory manner. From an arbour, which had been used as a sort of an open-air store room, he brought great bunches of fragrant Malaga grapes, melons cased with straw, and vegetables of various kinds, all of which he packed in the enormous pockets of the donkey’s pannier, until the little brown burro was almost hidden from sight beneatu

the load. In his own pannier, the ul'd'ja, or peasant's 'bag, which he wore slung over his shoulder, he placed those articles so indispensable to the travelling Spaniard, even though his journey be but of an hour’s duration—the garlic pot and wine-skin. Thus equipped, he abandoned the little farm and set off dowu the mountain to the distant town of Toledo.

Where the donkey-path joined the main highway he came up with a farmer, who, in his great hooded twowheeled cart, which looked from a distance as it went nodding along behind its tandem team of burros like a monstrous old woman's bonnet, was also bound for the market, and they travelled in company for the remainder of the journey. Together they crossed the long bridge leading into the city, and jointly argued with the burley revenue official at the towered gate—a dog of a man, who tumbled out every cabbage and carrot in his search for smuggled goods in spite of their pions and tearful protestations of innocence.

At the market-place Juan laid his long woollen cloak -upon the ground, rolling a rim, and upon his huge plate exposed his fruits and vegetables for sale. Late in the afternoon the red flannel lining of the cloak was cleared and upon its owner’s back again, while the equivalent of its former load jingled musically in his pocket. He was now ready for his journey in search of the hidden treasure.

He had learned much regarding his route and destination, during the day, from a cabalUro of the noble profession of beggary, who, motionless as a statue, had been standing near him, with his hand extended in supplication to the passers-by. Prominently displayed upon the beggar’s ragged cloak, along with the brass license badge of the Government, hung a crest, which proclaimed him to be the proud descendant of an old grandee family. Despite his illustrious lineage and his absurd airs of superiority on that account, he proved himself a sociable and obliging fellow, especially after having been made approachable through the medium of the wine-skin, from which he drank by dexterously shooting a stream into his mouth while holding the skin at full arm’s length. * Juan eagerly devoured all the beggar told him ; it was all grist to his mill, and even though some of the information did confuse him and add new difficulties to those he already saw, it did not discourage him. His project was one for which he could form no plans, but must feel his way darkly, step by step. He could only observe and learn, and be freely and constantly dependent upon the inspiration of the next moment. His determination, however, inspired a confidence in himself. He had learned, among other things, that the Gipsy King was considered the best guitar-player in Spain. This was important, for if Juan could do one thing well, it was play upon the guitar.

A long hillside, literally honeycombed with the caves of the gitanos, and dotted here and there with the dilapidated remains of an old Moorish house ; irregular, tortuous streets, filled to overflowing with an ever-shift-ing mass of humanity; the weirdest and most filthy beggars, the loudest and most importunate tradesmen, the laziest and most dilatory workmen manufacturing rude plates and articles of iron and leather, the ugliest and dirtiest brown women sewing and weaving cloth, all carrying on their occupations in the streets, and children, dogs, and squalor every where ; such Juan found the Gypsy Quarter and its people to be. The whole place, with its teeming papulation and its underground homes, reminded him of a vast colony of gigantic ants, although he thought they might emulate the industrious habits of that inesct with profit to themselves. However, that was their affair, and his present business was not with the common people but with their king. For a week he had been in this miserable place, living among the people, keeping his eyes and ears open, and seeking an opuortunity to get within the king’s palace. He fiad thought of many plans for effecting this, but rejected them all upon consideration as unpractical. He even thought seriously at ofie time of tunneling under the walls, and explored the ground about the palace with that object, but was unable to find a spot sufficiently secluded for his operations. His chief amusement during this time had been playthe guitar. Your true Spaniard is always powerless to resist the attractions of his favourite instrument and will, at any and all times, postpone a journey, put off a duty or stop work—especially stop work —at the first twang of the strings. The children seem born with a knowledge of and love for the national fandango dance, so early do they acquire it. Juan’s fame as a guitarist had soon spread among the gipsies and wherever he went he was quickly surrounded by a crowd of brown loafers who, with handclappings and exclamations, encouraged the younger ones as they danced the exciting Jandango. His fame had even penetrated to royal ears, and it was in answer to a summons from the palace that he was now on his way thither. The imperial residence had at one time been a stately structure, rich with ornamentation and architectural beauty and a pride to its Moorish builders ; but time and man had, through successive years, despoiled its beauty until it now appeared, upon the outside, little more than a group of graceful columns and a reddish stone wall supporting a roof of earth, stones and rubbish. Inside the small spike-studded door, however, more' traces of the old-time beauty appeared. Floors inlaid with red and blue tiles arranged in pleasing mosaics ; walls adorned with graceful and ingenious arabesques ; doorways with the superb horse-shoe arch above them and with borders of stone coloured differently from the walls and inscribed in letters of azure, crimson and gold with the religious precepts of the Arabs. But even in the most beautiful parts Juan found dirt and squalor to prevail, and fowls roosted on the handsomely carved ornamentations.

He was received by the king in the patio. It may be easily imagined that he regarded with much interest the fountain which played in the centre with a soft murmur, serenely unconscious of the secret which it guarded beneath its rippling waters. Unversed in kings, he had expected a certain amount of ceremony would be connected with his reception, but he was unprepared for the democratic freedom which characterized the court of this gisnv ruler, if the three or four out-at-elbow hangers-on who loafed about the patio could 1 e called by so dignified a name. Their time seemed taken up with their cigarettes, wine-skins, and garlic pots to the exclusion of any mere matters of state. When Juan presented himself, the king said simply: ‘ I have heard from many sources thou canst play upon the guitar with excellence. I have sent for thee, for if thou art as skilful in thy performance as I have heard of thee, thou canst be of service to me. Let me near thee play.’

Presently, as Juan played, there came through a doorway at the end of the patio the five daughters of the king in gayly-coloured dresses, with castanets and tambourines, pirouetting and dancing There was an incessant clapping of hands and clatter of castanets and rattling of tambourines and stamping of heels upon the tiled floor, accompanied by a low mournful wail and an agonized twisting and swaying of their bodies as they danced their wild, weird dance.

Among the dancers was one tall, dark jtoman —Benita he afterwards learned her name to be—who often swept close to him, flashing a daring look from her black eyes over her shoulder as she passed. To this language of the eye he was not slow to respond in kind. To himself he excused this little faithlessness to Cariota on the ground that it was but a means unto an end —an end with Cariota —and meant nothing. He was of necessity bound to accept every opportunity that offered itself to ingratiate himself in the royal household, he reasoned, for to strengthen himself here was to strengthen his chances of obtaining the treasure, and to obtain that was to obtain Cariota. Looking at it in this light Le felt quite virtuous. The dancers filed out, Benita venturing a last look as she disappeared, and he ceased playing. * Caramba !’ exclaimed the king, ‘ my people have spoken truly ; thou dost play well, indeed. To-morrow my daughters dance in Granada for the pleasure of a party of English travellers, and thou shalt again play for them.’

Juan had to be careful lest he betrayed too great an eagerness in expressing his pleasure at such an arrangement. The first, and what he thought to be the hardest, step was now accomplished. He was installed upon a certain footing at the entrance to the hiding-place of the Moorish treasure, and he was not the man he thought himself to be if he did not soon possess it. That night he remained within the palace walls. He determined to make his first attempt that very night. He could see nothing to be gained by waiting—indeed, the night seemed especially favourable for his project. A thunder storm was noisily rolling and fumbling up in the mountains, and a strong wind was rising. This would aid him by drowning any accidental noise, and his impatience made him think lightly of

ordinary risks. Once with the gold actually in his possession, he would snap his fingers at this patronising king of a race of beggars, build a palace that would put his dilapidated old pile to disgrace, and kick any itinerant musician out of doors who presumed to call him brother. As soon as the quietness about the palace assured him that its inmates had all retired, he stole out into the patio. He bad long ago provided himself with candles and matches and a coil of light rope, with a book fastened in one end, in anticipation of this occasion. He shut the water off from the fountain and watched it sink in the basin until the marble bottom was exposed. Then, leaping down, eagerly felt in the darkness under the rim for the opening. It was an anxious moment. Ah ! it was there.

Profiting by the experience of the first explorers, he fastened his hook o”er the edge of the hole, boldly climbed in, uncoiled his rope, and hand over hand let himself down the steep incline. The place smelled damp and disagreeable. The darkness was so intense he could almost feel it. At the bottom he lighted his candle, and carefully groped his way along the rocky gallery which he found. His heart beat fast now with hope and expectation, for every moment he expected to come upon the vault. But he was not to win the legacy of the ancient Moslems thus easily. He walked for what seemed to him a long way without coming to the end of the gallery. _ The damp rocks about him glistened in the flickering light of his candle, and an occasional bat, frightened by th’s unwonted visitor, startled him as it darted from some crevice.

Suddenly he heard a quick, angry hissing. At the same moment he saw a large snake coiled upon the stones before him. Under ordinary circumstances Juan was not lacking in physical courage, in fact, he prided himself upon his fearlessness, but when he counted, rising in rapid succession about him, one, two, three, four, five hissing and venomous heads, fear drove all thoughts of further search for the treasure from his mind and his only concern was for his safety. Already he saw one of the reptiles writhing toward him. He turned and ran. A stone tripped and threw him violently, extinguishing his candle. Now utterly panic-stricken with terror, he arose and dashed forward in the darkness, nor did he slacken his speed until he reached the end of the gallery. There he felt about forhis rope. To hissurprise he could notjind it, but in its place a ladder which felt like iron, and seemed to mount a perpendicular shaft. He concluded that, in his flight, he must have turned into a side passage which led into another outlet. Going back was not to be considered for an instant—he shuddered when he thought of what was behind him—so he grasped the rusty rounds and started upwards. When he had climbed some distance he felt one of the rounds yield slightly as be stepped upon it, and a draught of .cold, damp air revealed an opening beside him. Outside he heard the noise of the storm, mingled with the voices of men talking excitedly. As he stepped through the aperture a stone moved up behind him and noiselessly closed it. He found himself upon a gallery overlooking the patio. ..The storm was now raging vioand the rain falling fast. ’I ao not know ; I heard an awful crash,’ she said. Her answer was reassuring to Juan ; at least he was not

the cause of the trouble. To his alarm he saw that many of the household were moving about the patio with lights. He wondered, anxiously, if they had discovered the empty fountain, and if they were searching for him. A woman was running along the balcony toward him. By the light of the hissing and sputtering torches below he saw it was Benita, and he caught her as she came up. ‘ What has happened ?’ he asked at a venture. She clung to him affrightedly, and looked pale and scared.

At one end of the balcony one of the curtains—which ran on wires from one side of the palace to the other and served as a roof to screen the patio when the sunshine became too fierce —was not fully drawn, and offered a protection from the storm. He drew her beneath this shelter. There they learned from the conversation of the men below the crash had been caused by the falling of an already dilapidated outside wall, which the wind had blown down.

The alarm ended, Juan drew his companion further into the shadow and tried to quiet her fears, for she still trembled with excitement.

The household had again settled down into quietness, and the storm abated before he crossed the patio on the way to his room, and turned the water again into the fountain, Above him, standing in a doorway, her tall, graceful figure in silhouette against the light of the room behind her, he could see Benita waving a kiss into the darkness to him.

His hopes had receded far in the past two hours, but he had at least strengthened his position, for he knew that Beni loved him.

Backof the palace, upon the hillside, a dismantled watchtower reared its dilapidated head, a mute reminder of the scenes of strife and bloodshed which the surrounding hills and valleys had witnessed. There, centuries before, the Moslem warrior had watched for his Christian enemv.

Upon a low stone seat at the entrance of the tower, Juan and Benita sat one afternoon, aoout a week after his unsuccessful attempt to find the secreted gold. Below them lay the swarming Gypsy town, and further down, the beautiful green plain of Vega, dotted here and there with little white houses, like pearls set in emerald, and bounded by the gleaming river Xenil. In the past week Juan had made much progress in his love affair with Benita, but little toward the object of his travels, in fact, was further from it now than he had been at any time since his arrival. That very day he had been turned from the palace by the king, who had discovered the love of his daughter. A musical adventurer was all very well in his sphere, but in the opinion of the gipsy ruler, his sphere was not that of his daughter's suitor. The daughter, however, thought differently, and while the father in his palace below indulged in his afternoon siesta, she and her lover planned an elopement. Not that Juan had given up hope of finding the treasure, and was going to leave it. His one object was still to possess it. But he knew his only hope of regaining an entrance to the palace was as Benita's husband ; therefore, he desired to marry her.

As they talked, he idlv picked up a stone, and tossed it into a cavity which had been disclosed by a part of the tower wall falling away. He was surprised to hear sounds as if the stone were falling a considerable distance. Benita also noticed it, and said : ‘ There is a tradition that this tower is connected with the palace by an underground passage, but no one has ever been abe to discover it.’

This was enough to excite Juan, and in a moment he had entered the cavity, and, candle in hand, was descending the steep passage which he found, closely followed by the astonished Benita. Unlike the other gallery he had been into, this one was perfectly dry, and soon became high enough to allow them to walk but slightly stooped. They went down, down, until they felt sure they must be under the palace. Suddenly Benita clutched his arm. In the dust beneath them were footprints, and then a few feet further on they came upon the white bones of a skeleton. The sight filled Juan with wild delight. ‘I have found it; I have found it,’ he cried, hurrying forward, dragging his companion after him, at the imminent risk of breaking both their heads.

In a moment the passage widened into a circular room. There, as the dying peasant had told, lay the golden treasure of the Moors. Benita sank upon her knees and piously crossed herself. Juan touched it: first, as if i-. were something to be feared, then ecstatically gloated over it, running his hands through the pile of shining, jingling pieces, fondling them and murmuring, * Mine ! mine at last!’

Taking Benita’s shawl from her shoulders, they piled the gold upon it and gathered the four corners together. It made a load so heavy he could scarcely carry it alone. Between them they carried it up to the watch tower. There he said to her softly, ‘At midnight, my beloved, meet me here, and to-morrow we shall be one in name and soul. ’

He waited until darkness began to gather and then, as the stars w< re taking their places one by one in the clear sky above him, he fled—alone.

A cavalier was serenading his senorita beneath her cross-barred and balconied window. The music was Juan's, but the player was hardly recognizable in the broad-brimmed silky beaver, the fine broadcloth cloak with its crimson velvet lining, and the slashed trousers which he wore.

The senorita had come out upon the balcony to answer his song with one of her own as sweet as his. At last his dream was realized. The low music filled him with rapture, for it was Cariota's song he heard. Suddenly a tall, dark figure confronted him—a knifeblade gleamed a moment in the moonlight. ‘ Mother of God ! Benita I Have mercy!’ But once —twice —the long blade is quickly buried in his breast, and the swooning senorita above sees only the ghastly face of her cavalier fixed in death.