A Brazilian Blood Feud.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVIII, Issue 19, 6 November 1912, Page 47

A Brazilian Blood Feud.

By

ASHMORE RUSSAN.

el-’ course Raoul was justified in shooting and killing Diego .Macedo, but, seeing that -Macedo had fired both barrels of his foolish little pistol and raised, it would .have been more politic and. as it turned out, far better business to have let the irullian go. But Raoul always said that it was too dark to distinguish Macedo’s nveapon. It might have been a longhandled si x-cha'm bored -Colt instead of the nickel-plated twin-shot toy usually carried in the ‘’Sertao” by Brazilian fazendeiros, and if so, and if Raoul had —well, he, and not the Brazilian. would most likely have been the .1 ictim. Da Costa did not fire at all. Macedo .and he had crept through the scrub to •where Raoul sat by bis camp-lire polishing his spurs, or his stirrup-irons, or his pony’s bit and curb, for Raoul du Chalroy had once been an officer in a crack •European cavalry regiment, and smartness bad remained a religion with him. Macedo, who was leading, blazed away at ten paces. Raoul snatched up the double-shot-gun which he was seldom ‘♦without, ami returned the fire. The full change struck the would-be assassin in the neck, and Macedo fell dead without so much as a groan. Buck-shot at cluse quarters may l,»e trusted to do its work effectually. Da Coda Jan to his horse, left among the rubber trees, and node hard back to Villa Nova. So the Iblood-feud began. Now as to the events that led up to it. Raoul du < lialroy and Macedo represented opposing rubber interests. (Villa Nova is in a 'famous rubber district where the manicoba grows wild in its null ions. Both men was marking out new rubber lands for purchase, and the rivalry between them was keen.' Each had erected a few makeshift buildings. One night Raoul's huts caught fire and were burnt to the ground. It may have been an accident—a spark from a cooking fire burning in “catinga” scrub, forest, almost a s dry and inflammablejas tinder. Raoul, however, did not stop to think. iWithin an hour or so MaFedb’s huts were likewise ashes. Pedro Gonsalvez , who actually set them alight, made no secret as to who gave the order. ” So, you villains, Senhor Raoul gets ■back his Own !” he shouted from the fcjcrub, before riding away. For the same number of milreis Raoul’s negro benchman would have been willing to do much inorc damage. Life is cheap in the “ Serif ao ” of Brazil. — The shooting followed the same night, as might have been expected. Raoul was not so imprudent as to stay □ n the neighbourhood of Villa Nova. Long {before Da Costa got back with Macedo’s eons, his brothers, his uncles and cousins, ids com pad res and his neighbours, and some score of variously-coloured rapscallions who were neither relations nor neighbours, all armed to the teeth, Raoul was riding hard to Maranaos, the principal town of the district ami the seat of the local Government. There ho gave 'himself up to the political chief. Colonel Esteves, who. luckily for Raoul, was deeply interested in his rubber ventures. ‘’it's a bad business,” said the chief, when he had heard the story. *’ You Won’t be able to go back. The Macedos powerful, and there’s a delegado in ,ihe family. Fortunately he's .absent; the < lei egates are sitting at Todos Santos. But he’ll soon bo told. Ypu won't even be safe here in .Maranaos without guards, i must see the judge and the (entente of police. I am afraid 1 shall have to let them lock you up for your safety and my bwn. I wish to keep my position under I he Covernment .” No Raoul, who counted a duke among ids uncles, for his own good made acquaintance with the interior of a Brazilian prison, pending an inquiry and {possible trial. At Maranaos he remained Mino months—six in all, I think—but not exactly as n prisoner. Every morning at fciglit o'clock the door of the jail was opened to him, ami, accompanied by two black policemen, armed with service rilles ’wild a sufficiency of ball cartridges, he jvas free to go where his mood inclined •V lO - Often he went hunting deer, orSnooting quail or duck, always accompanied by his black protectors, and frequently by the coronet and the tenenle.

At sunset, however, he was back at the prison, about the only safe place for him in Maranaos just then after nightfall. Now, a certain Luzzoni resided in the Rua Direita, which street led straight to the scrub forest, Raoul’s huntingground. Morning and evening the prisoner on parole had occasion to pass Luzzoni's. and almost as often his nose was greeted with an appetizing smell which reminded him of better days. No Brazilian •cooking, that! No bacalhao and red peppers, no tough stewed beef and green peppers, no rice, farinha, and peppers, no armadillo and peppers; no. nor porco and peppers—nothing of the Brazilian ‘ Sertao” cookery about it. The second or third time that Raoul encountered the savoury odour he paused. Luzzoni saw him from a casement and came to the door. ‘’Pardon, -signore, will you honour me by partaking of my breakfast?”, he said, in a mixture of Italian and Portuguese. ’’Signore’” exclaimed Raoul, recognis-

ing and repeating the Italian pronunciation. ‘Who are you?” •’Luigi Luzzoni, Italiano from Milan, at your service,” replied the little Milanese, who, by the way, stood perhaps live feet in his boots and might have weighed seven stone with his’ spurs, heavy Colt, and belt of cartridges. Raoul, -being a linguist, promptly thanked him in his own language, and entered the house with his protectors. No doubt Luzzoni surpassed himself. The representative in the interior country—the “Sertao”—of a firm of Italian produce merchants at Todos Santos, he was a most excellent cook. I have breakfasted and dined with Luzzoni myself, and 1 know. 1 never heard what he gave to Raoul on that occasion, but there would most likely be isoup. fish, macaroni and tomatoes, and lamb— Brazilians of the “Sertao” prefer goat: there are religious scruples with regard to lamb. There would be quails, or a duck, or a chicken, a salad of sorts, and plenty of good Chianti, food and drink for the gods to a duke’s nephew 7 who was spending bis days in the woods ami his nights in prison, eating anything he could get, and when he could get it. So the friendship began. As long as Raoul remained on parole al Maranaos, he breakfasted and dined sumptuously every day at Luzzoni’s. The Italian would accept no refusal, listen to no excuse, accept no remuneration, or even thanks. “No, signore,” he would eay; “we are the only Europeans in this desert of a Maranaos; therefore it is my duty. D is also an -honour to me to do (his, and it is my pleasure.” Yet he did not know, perhaps never knew, that Raoul could call a duke his unde, for the ex-officer never spoke of his family. Luzzoni had an agent, a compatriot, at Villa Nova, which was some eighty miles by an awful road from Maranaos, There and back the Italian rode in forty

hours. Afterwards, there were frequent messengers. Thus it happened that when the Macedos got wind of Raoul's hunting expeditions, and went out in strength to ambush and shoot him, it was Luzzoni who rode through the cordon on a horse lathered from bit to crupper, gave the warning which he had received almost too late from Ids countryman, ami by a ruse rescued Raoul and his attendant policemen from pretty certain death. ‘’Hide—hide! And keep silent!” he gasped, as he pulled up in the calderao of the woods, where he had found Raoul. “Give me your shot-gun and plenty of cartridges. No time for explanations. The Macedos are too near. When you hear me shooting over yonder.” pointing to the farther edge of the wooded hoi low, “ride straight and hard for Mar.tn •aos. Keep a sharp look-out. ' Raoul gave him the gun without a word, unslung his rille from his back, and role with his attendants into the scrub, where they quickly muzzled their horses. The Italian had dashed oil at the best speed of his tired animal.. Presently they heard him shooting at intervals a mile or so away. Raoul understood the ruse, but sat Silent. There was not another double breech-loading shot gun in that part of Brazil. All the fazendeiros used Winchester rifles for game and carried little double-barrelled pistols fur protection, or show. No other gun had half the volume of sound his possessed, or half

the reverberation. Raoul waited for half-a-dozen shots, listened to the heating of horses’ hoofs on the rocky road and a signal or two; then he left the shelter and rode for safety. In the Rua Direita he waited until Luzzoni arrived. ”Yes, Signore Raoul, they caught m sa’id the Italian, laughing rather breathlessly. “Fifty of them there were. Joao Macedo, the delegado, was chief. They were suspicious and angry, but they let me go. You see, my agent at Villa Nova buys their rubber and their hides. He pays the best price, and they know where the money comes from. No, signore, no fear of their wringing the neck of the goose that lays the golden eggs, the goose whose kilo always weighs a thou sand grammes and not eight hundred, Besides, I told them I was seeking you. as you had left your shot-gun bebin I. and it was not a day for the deer and the rille. No doubt they are still in the calderao. for I rode on fast, hid in tin ‘catinga.’ and let them pass by.” And Luzzoni laughed again a sil\er\ lit th' laugh, which accorded well with bis slen der, tiny figure and handsome. beardle<face. Raoul was not tried for the shooting of Macedo. At an inipiiry it was held to be justifiable, and he was a foreigner notwithstanding that he was a foreignei and the slain man a native. The name of the Governor of the Slate chanced to be Esteves, the same.as that of the political chief of Maranaos. Blood i-i thicker than water everywhere, but par tieuiarly so in (he “Sertao/’ it was about this time that I found myself at Maranaos on a visit to the rubber forests, under Raoul’s guidance. ll«* introduced me to Luzzoni, who Ija I called at our temporary resilience with half-a-dozen bottles of wine and a guit.ir. A score or so of the young nien of t’-.e town also looked in. They enjoyed my Scotch whisky very much, sang the “Mat tchichc” and danced it, too —with abig

don. Luzzoni also sang—ltalian operatic airs to the guitar; he -also danced, but •not the “Mattchiche.” I was struck by his great concern fur the ex-officer, my guide. Indeed, he watched Raoul with the look almost of a hound for its master —affection and admiration, blended with a determination to protect. Others laid their pistols on the table before dancing. Not so Luzzoni; the long Colt remained in the pouch attached tu his belt-. Occasionally he glanced at the one casement as if fearing the rille of an avenging Macedo, might suddenly be thrust between its bats. There was an audience outside, of course, men, women, and children that was usual. With Raoul a-» guide, I rode some six hundred miles over shockingly bad roads, and trails, inspecting properties, or, rath er, vast areas of 'derelict land in the nianicoba belt. We visited Villa Nova, but there, as at Porto Alegre and every where else we were accompanied by a police-guard. Seventeen strong, and mostly well armed, we rob* into village-, wjieue tiie blood-feud had been sworn •against Raoul, and naturally nothing happened. But 1 noticed that the -slayer of Macedo never -dung his hammock at nights where he might have been shot from an unshuttered easement, and I followed his example. To learn that one had been made a target in error would have been small satisfaction after the. event, assuming that one had survived. But wo got through the dangerous cquii try without mishap, or. indeed, any attempt on Raoul’-, lite. It would have been rather perilous, anyway, for the shot-gun with which he had killed Mar edo was seldom or never out of his right hand when riding through the forest tracks, and never out of his ham mock when he slept. At one halting place, near \ ilia Nova a large house <»n a hundred-thousand acre fazenda, where at least, half the pimple must have sympathised with the Macedo elan -Raoul boldly challenged all ami sundry, to a shooting match. r l hr target was the ace of clubs, stuck in a cleft stick, an inch in diameter; the distance about a hundred paces. Every fazendeiro present tried hand, eye, and rille and missed. But Raoul, who tired last, obliterated the pip at his first .-hot, and split the stick at the lower edge of the card, with his second. I fell safer after that exhibition. But such personal matter- have little to do with this story. Ltizz.oiii remained at Maranaos. No doubt he epn-idered that his fvicml would come to no barm, seeing, that lie was not only accompanied by police, but also by the repiesentativc ‘of r ah English syn ilicate, inspecting rub Tier lands with a view to purchasing them. The fazendeiro of the "Sertao.” has a keen eye to the main chance. Most of the big estates are held in common by anything from ten to fifty members of a family, and a Macedo, owning through marriage a five per,cent, interest in a Gonzalez estate, for instance, might be trusted t-» forget his thirst for Raoul’s blood wlrle there was hope of a deal. It was some time after my departure from Brazil when the feud came once more to a head and Luzzoni again in tcrvriied. The English syndicate had not 'bought any of the lands, and consequent ly. Raoul had lost a -afeguard far more potent than his protectors of the police. The fazendeiros of the "Sertao” were disappointed, singly and in the mass. All the deals were “off;” consequently the blood-feud was on again with a ven geance. That the English -yndicate refused to buy, was no fault of Raoul’s, and a philosophic man would have taken small notice of the sneers and recriminations. But the ex officer, who had more reason to be di-appoiuted than any of Ihr faz. endeiros, was nut philosophic. He 10-t his temper, and gave back gib<‘ for gibe. Finally, he quarrelled with Delegado Major da Silva, h connection of the Macedos, but hitherto friendly. Thu trouble was over some land which Ihi Silva, had bought and paid for in tin* belief that it would be taken over al a good profit, by the English syndicate. Raoul was Da Silva’s guest at his home at Porto Alegre at the time of the qua rrel. In Brazil if you wish to annoy your emmiy or antagonist, you allege that bis descent is more or less contemptible. You may assure him that he is the son of an ass, the son of a mule, (he »on of a rattlesnake or of a jaracara a serpent still mure venomous ami far more hideous the son of a forest monkey, or oven the son of a worm or a carrapato, without much risk to yourself; but if you call him the son of a 'roilain -fundthing, which in its

meaning will not bear translation, there is often only one atonement —blood. [ll his anger Raoul applied the forbidden reproach to the delegado, who as may be imagined, was pretty nearly all powerful in the "Sertao.’’ ■•For that you shall pay,” Da Silva rejoined, and left the house. In a few minutes he returned with a dozen friends, well armed. There was a severe struggle, but Raoul had been pounced upon before he could use his shot gun or the knife which he carried in an arm-hole of his waistcoat. Both were taken from him. "Tie him up,” ordered Da Silva. It was done, and the prisoner was promptly hauled to a store-room and flung on the floor, trussed hands, arms, feet and body. “Now put a guard over him him,” said Da Silva. "Where is the son of Diego .Macedo?” The young man was found without much trouble and a loaded rifle given to him. "I jdace your father’s murderer in your charge,” said the delegado. “Watch over him with care. If he tries to escape —well, your father’s murder is still unavenged, and you are sworn —you understand?” "[ do,” said the young Macedo, a powerful, heavy-featured ruffian, kicked Raoul savegly. When shall he try to escape, Senhor Delegado?” he asked. ■Whenever you choose. But wait until my friends have gone home,” was the reply. It was .a sentence of death. Da 'Silva returned to his house, which adjoined the store-room, and young Macedo sat on an empty packing-ease with the rille between his knees, jeering at his captive while waiting for the dispersal of the crowd outside and the departure of the delegado’s friends. Raoul had only enemies amongst the people of Porto Alegre, but luckily Duzzoni s agent at A ilia Nova c'hanced to be there on business. He heard of the arrest, mounted his horse, and rode to Maranaos and Luzzoni. The little Italian wasted no time in words. He knew well that he -would have to race if he would save Raoul’s life. Into one saddle-bag he packed carefully two bottles of most potent yachaea, the whisky of the country; into the other two loaded revolvers and a knife; then he mounted his best horse ■'iid left the Rua Direita at the animal's* fastest speed.

Only those who have ridden from aranaos to Porto Alegre will .be able appreciate that breakneck gallop. ■cn by daylight it is not a road at all, it a tortuous, switchback track 'rough villainous “ciatinga” scrub rest. No wheeled vehicle could travel '■r it; the mercantile traffic is by ule-paek trains. Up and down, irong'h streams and mud-holes, over hale-backed masses of slippery igneous 1 1. on which one’s horse's hoofs ring if passing over a cellar, through nmps of cacti, only avoided by detours the day, absolute spiky traps when

the sun has set—such is the way. Luzzoin started at nine o'clock and reached I’orto Alegre at midnight. In .a corral in ar the centre of the village were many

horses, and the moon was up. The little I talian chose the best looking, unsaddled

i' own tired anima), saddled and bridled he fresh one, and hitched, it to a post u>se to Delegado da Silva's store-room, n which a lamp still burned. Then, leading softly, for Da Silva’s roystering ■ lends had not yat gone home, approached the window and looked 'ithin.

iaoul still lay trussed on the earthen Hour. Aoung Macedo was nodding. An 1 ”’l>ty cax-haca bottle stood on the pack-ing-case beside him, with a broken “ ass. Luzzoni stole away and returned with the two bottles of strong liquor “ laj left in his saddle-bag; the revolve) s were in his pockets, also the knife. e tapped the window gently. Young <rvv?° 10se sleepily and opened it. ''hat do you want?” he asked. "l''e brought a drink for Signore Raoul,' replied Luzzoni. burse him!” was the muttered re"mder. “Give it to me and get off. It's ’ mie he tried to escape.”

11 wait to see you give him a drink. He must need it badly.” ' oung Macedo snatched the bottle ai,, l drew the cork with his teeth. He 11 want a lot of drinks soon < Hough, but you won't see him drinking, imlesH you are fool enough to go with urn where he’s going to.” «r^!' ere * 8 that?” asked Luzzoni. Inferno,” answered young Macedo, and, inserting the neck of the bottle

between his lips, he drank and drank. When, for want of breath, he took it away, the bottle was half empty. “That's good.” “Yes. Give Signore Raoul some of it.” “No. There's none too much for myself.” “I have another bottle. It‘s yours if you will share it with him.” “Hand it over.” Luzzoni did so and stood with his elbows on the sill, watching, and listening to the merry-makers in the adjoining building. Raoul had been very wide awake at the first sound of the Italian's gentle v oiee, but he snored loudly when young Macedo reeled towards him with the half-empty bottle. “Here, wake up, you, and take hold I” said the guard, shaking his prisoner ineffectually. “The fool's asleep,'’ he went on, . staggering drunkenly and nearly falling as he spoke. “I can't rouse him.” Young Macedo, four parts drunk, was amused. He lifted his foot, but nearly fell again.

“Gome in and kick him yourself,’’ he said, and, staggering to the door, he unlocked it. Luzzoni entered the storeroom very warily, turning the key behind him; but, as he had not quite closed the door, the bolt was not shot home.

' “He is very sound asleep,” he said, bending over the prisoner. "I. don't like to disturb him. We two had better finish the other' bottle.” “That's sense,'’ said the guard, smacking his lips. Very soon young Macedo was almost speechless and quite incapable. Assured of that, Luzzoni tossed down another glass of water. “Now,” he said, “I’ll wake Raoul and give him a drink.” “Give — him — two, senhor, my dear senhor —good eachash,” mumbled Macedo, thickly, letting his rifle fall to the ground, and stretching himself full length on his packing-case. “Goo d ni’—good caehash, good amigo,” and he snored. Immediately Luzzoni whs alert. .So was Raoul. Not for years had Raonl drunk intoxicants, but he swallowed the dose of eaehaca which the Italian gave him; he needed it. While holding the bottle to his friend's lips, Luzzoni cut the ropes that bound him—snip—snipsnip. Raoul was free, but he did not speak while the Italian chafed his legs and arms. His eyes spoke his gratitiude. Presently he rolled over and stretched his limbs. “Obrigado,” he whispered. Luzzoni raised him to his feet and supported him to the door. Gutside he assisted him into the saddle, thrust the revolvers into the saddlebags, and unhitched the borrowed horse. “Start slowly, signore,” he said, “but when the stiffness has worn off, ride hard. Maranaos will not lie safe now Da Silva is your enemy, remember.” As Raoul gathered up the reins, there was a yell from the store-room. Young

Macedo had rolled off the packing-case to -the floor, awakened, and missed his prisoner.

“Senhor Delegado! Senhor Delegado!” he shouted, hoarsely, endeavouring to get on his feet and to pick up his rifle; but the caehaea had been too potent. He toppled over again and lay sprawling, just as Da Sillva with half-a-dozen of his friends burst into (the room through another doorway.

“Escaped! Maldito!” In a moment' they were in the open, emptying their pistols at a horseman who flashed past, almost lying on the animal's neck. Fortunately, for himself, Raoul had not been robbed of his spurs, and by a mighty effort of will had been able to use them, notwithstanding -that his legs felt as heavy and almost as lifeless as lead. Luzzoni had no chance of escape. He had not provided a second horse, and his own tired animal was without saddle or bridle. He ran, but the delegado saw and recognised him immediately, for the moon was at the full. "The Italiano!” he shouted, and started in pursuit. Five minutes afterwards, Luzzoni was being dragged, pushed, and kicked to the storeroom, which he entered breathless. Young Macedo was sitting up, weeping with rage and maudlin drunkenness.

“Too —much eachash,” he mumbled, his head lolling. “He gave me eachash —-

shoo-oot him. Give me the rifle. 1)1 —shoo-oot—him.” "No, you drunken fool,'’ rejoined Da Silva, pale to the lips with fury. “I'll shoot him myself. Stand him up against the wall, friends, and get out of the way.” He snatched up the rifle and opened the breech. A cartridge was there. "Now, senhor,” he went on as he closed the breech, “say your prayers and be quick about it.” The Italian had himself hacked to the wall. Calmly he faced his executor, drawing up his small figure to its full five feet, in the lamp-light. "I said my prayers before I started on this errand,” he rejoined. “Now,” and he threw open his jacket and vest, baring neck and chest, “now, Senhor Delegado da Silva, shoot —shoot —and kill a woman! It will be a fine tale to tell the Governor at Todos Santos, and the other delegates.” The rifle crashed to the floor and exploded harmlessly. “Madre de Dios!” Da Silva muttered There was no room for doubt. "And the scoundrel has a wife and family,'’ he went on. "I know,” said the signorina. "He has no suspicion that I am a woman. Unless you or your men tell him, he will never know. Now, will you lend me a saddle and bridle? .My horse is tired, but will be aide to get to Maranaos. I borrowed a fresh horse for my friend. I will see that it is sent back.” “AH that I have is at vour disposi tioli,” replied Da Silva, gallantly, after a pause. “Even my tongue and the

tongues of my friends here. Macedo, the drunken idiot, is, as you will perceive, again asleep. He will not remember anything.”

That night and the next morning, Raoul rode eighty miles through scrub forest. He reached the railway station at Machado I’ortella, took the daily train to Todos Santos, and turned his back on the “Sertao” for good. The Signorina Luzzoni rode leisurely to Maranaos alone, although Da Silva had offered to accompany her. According to the last information I had of her, she was still agent at Maranaos, for the important firm of Italian produce merchants. I'he Senhor Delegado da Silva proved himself a gentleman of sorts by preserving a golden silence. Ho would have had Raoul shot, and in his rage would have shot his rescuer, believing that he had to do with a man; but then the Brazilian of the “Sertao,” gentleman or otherwise, does not live, who would not resent to the death that one forbidden insult.