The Scorpion: a romance of Spain, etc

Front matter

L O I, A THE SCORPION a "(Romance of Spain Bi' ERNEST A. VIZETELLY JOINT AUTHOR OF 'PARIS IN PERIL,' 'THE CHEVALIER D'EON,' ETC. WITH A FRONTISPIECE it o n B o it CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY ' Behind me lie the idle life and vain, The task unfinished, and the weary hours ; The lnng waves bear me back once more to Spain And the Alhambra's tow'rs. . . . 4 Once more I halt in Andalucian pass And list the mule bells jingling on the height ; Below, against the dull esparto grass, The almonds glisten white. . . . ' The following story of life and adventure in Spain was in a somewhat different form originally published in the columns of the Weekly Times and Echo under the title of ' Lola's Vow.' I had, however, at first intended to call it ' The Scorpion,' and now revert to that title, which is, I think, more appropriate to the narrative. ' The Scorpion' deals largely with the famous secret society of the Black Hand, that forerunner of the present-time Anarchist movement in Spain ; but although several of the incidents described are founded upon fact, and many of the personages introduced into the story really lived, by far the greater part of the work is pure romance or melodrama- Still I do not think that there is anything in the narrative that is inconsistent with the condition of Southern Spain as I remember it in various years prior to 1885.

The ' local colouring ' is mainly based upon personal recollection, but I have refreshed my memory by glancing through a few books of travel, from which I have occasionally borrowed an expression or an idea. E. A. V. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGK I. ' THUS PEEISH TEAITOES !' - - - 1 II. THE FAEM OP LA INA - - - - 18 III. ' BETAVIXT THE SWOED AND THE AVALL ' - 33 IV. THE CAPTIA-ES' STOEY - - - - 48 V. HELD TO EANSOM - - - - 62 VI. THE BBEWING OF THE STOEM - - -77 VII. THE LOST LEADEE - - - -92 VIII. THE QUAEEIES ----- 106 IX. THE FIGHT ----- 122 X. LOVE AND DUTY ----- 137 XI. A BID FOE FEEEDOM ... - 150 XII. EXPIATION ----- 163 XIII. FLIGHT ------ 178 XIV. PARTED ------ 193 XV. HARTLEY'S QUEST .... 206 XVI. SUSPENSE - - - - - 224 XVII. TEAPPED - 237 XVIII. FALLEN AMONG THIEVES - - - CO aW TENTS VI CHAPTER PAOE xix. love's teeacheey - 272 xx. on haetley's teack - - - - 286 xxi. ee-entee deemott - '- - - 300 xxu. at last !----- 312 xxm. a penitent ----- 324 xxiv. the scoepion's ceaft - - - - 337 XXV. THE TEAGEDY OF THE SIEEEA - - -

Chapter I

' THUS PERISH TRAITORS !' More than an hour ago, when the sun sank to rest behind the Western ocean, the horizon was all aglow with crimson, orange, amber, gold and green, merging one into the other until the last mingled with the deep blue overhead. But each gorgeous or delicate hue slowly faded away when for a brief space the twilight fell ; and now a thin crescent moon floats like a fairy bark upon the ocean of night, where myriads of stars are gleaming — the phosphori, as it were, of the heavenly waters. The towers, roofs, and ramparts of Cadiz, the dancing wavelets of its bay, and the mastheads of the shipping anchored there, are tipped with silver ; whilst slowly, sweetly, the cathedral bells begin ringing ' Las Animas,' the hour ordained for praying unhappy souls out of Purgatory. It is the hour also when the military band ceases playing on the terraced, sea-bound Alameda, where, ever since vespers, there has been much sauntering to and fro, much bowing, chattering, flirting, and fluttering of fans.

Not that the evening promenade is already over; but fashion now transfers it to the Plaza San Antonio — a spacious expanse shaded by trees, surrounded by stone seats, and enclosed by lofty white houses, the ground-floors of many of which are fitted up as cafes or neverias, where he who listeth may refresh himself with some cooling glass. Each neveria is brightly illuminated, and, seated at its portal, you may gaze at your ease upon ' the girls of Cadiz ' as they pass across the Plaza. Each has her hair— black as the night-hawk's plumage, and soft as eider down partially concealed by the orthodox mantilla, and decked with a rosebud, a carnation, a sprig of orange-blossom, or one of the deep crimson flowers of the double pomegranate. Each carries, too, the orthodox fan— that dangerous weapon whose language precipitates an admirer into the depths of despair, or transports him to the seventh heaven.

And each has lustrous, speaking eyes, which, when the veil is ' Thrown back a moment with the glancing hand,' flash into the soul; and tiny feet cased in networked stockings and sandalled slippers — feet that bear then possessor onward with the rhythmical motion which poets attribute to the nymphs of old. Feet, hands, fan, elbows, neck and head, all are in perfect unison, and as the Andaluza passes before you, you confess that no other woman of northern or southern clime knows how to tread the earth with such ethereal grace. There are several Englishmen on the Plaza San Antonio to-night, residents as well as tourists, and one among them, who would seem to belong to the latter category, evidently takes little interest in the paseo and the bewitching beauties around him, for, after a few turns up and down the square, he consults his watch, makes his way out of the fashionable throng, and after threading three or four narrow streets, hurries into a large yellow building above the entrance of which is the inscription ' Fonda de las tres Reynas ' — Hotel of the Three Queens.

A glance shows that this is not one of the fashionable hostelries of Cadiz. Like every house in the city it has an interior court or patio, but the little fountain trickling there is in a ruinous condition, and the light and elegant colon nades which run round the patios of stylish establishments are replaced by a succession of wooden galleries, reached by a ladder-like staircase, and giving access to the upper floors of the house. Some tall shrubs in boxes, four or five marble-topped tables, and an odd assortment of garden chairs and benches are disposed about the court, and here and there — where metal oil-lamps hang from the walls — are patches of light alternating with patches of shadow. Above is the cloudless empyrean, where the crescent moon floats on, encompassed by a sublimity of stars.

The young Englishman seats himself at a table near one of the lamps, again consults his watch, and looks towards the entrance archway. As he does so the bright light falls upon his face and shows that he is fairly good-looking, with the white skin and blond moustache of the typical Anglo- Saxon. Of average height and compactly built, he seems to be some eight-and-twenty years of age ; and judging by his attire — a light tourist suit and gray bowler — he is simply one of the many Englishmen who, at almost all seasons of the year, are to be met in Spain, following the orthodox routes and viewing the orthodox sights as laid down by the canons of Murray and Baedeker. Still, it is a little strange that he should patronize such a hostelry as the Three Queens, whose only foreign customers are, as a rule, seafaring men.

And certainly there is nothing nautical about the appearance of this young Briton. After all, however, he may simply be here to keep an appointment, and his restless glances may be due to the non-arrival of the person he desires to see. As he sits back, pulling impatiently at his moustache, the sound of voices attracts his attention ; and, glancing across the court, he perceives three individuals gathered about a table there. Their language proclaims that they are English, their ap pearance that they are seamen. One of the trio — fat, rubicund, and red-whiskered — lolls back on a bench, holding a briarwood pipe. On the table before him stands a large glass, full — although the evening is a sultry one — of steaming hot rum and water. ' Look here,' says this jolly-faced skipper, as he feels in his pocket for some cavendish with which to refill his pipe, ' I know that the thing's to be done.

Can you guess what kind of a screw the Administrador of the Customs gets ?' ' Not a big one, I suppose,' answers one of his com panions, a lean, black-bearded individual in a peaked cap. ' So far as I've ever heard, none of these Spanishers get much pay.' ' You're right there ; but they know how to make up for it. Well, this one here gets some two hundred pounds a year. But how much do you think he spends ?' ' Dunno, I'm sure.' ' Why, it's two thousand, if it's a farthing.' The lean mariner whistles significantly. ' It's quite true,' chimes in the third member of the party, a broad-shouldered, athletic man of forty or thereabouts, with a swarthy face, restless eyes, and small gold rings in his ears. ' To my mind, two thousand's even below the mark. Have you seen his house ? Caramba ! Why, it's a palace !

Have you seen his carriages and horses ? Por Dios ! shouldn't I like a pair of those trotters ! And that isn't all. Oh no ! You should see him handling the cards at the club ! I've been in there and seen him drop douros by the hundreds, and think nothing at all of it !' ' And why don't the other Government chaps step in and prevent it ?' inquires the lean individual. ' Prevent it !' replies the man with the ear-rings, who, though talking English fluently enough, is fond of inter larding his speech with Spanish expressions, in a way which suggests that he may not after all be a true-born Englishman. And indeed he is not one. He is a native of Gibraltar — one of those so-called ' Scorpions of the Rock,' in whose veins flows the blood of many races, who at times are Anglo-Saxon, Celt, Spaniard, Goth, Moor, and even negro, all rolled into one. ' Prevent it !

Caramba !' says he. ' Not they ! They are in the swim. Every fourth or fifth cargo that comes in here is landed pretty nigh duty free. You pay on about a quarter of what you've got. All the rest slips in for nothing, if you only grease the Adminis trador's hand with enough palm-oil.' ' That's it,' says the skipper with the rubicund face ; ' and that's just why some of the Spanishers as are honest are so wild about our having Gibraltar. They say it's all the fault of Gib being a free port. 'Tain't only that, mind; still, they're partly right. I can remember the time when a mi.tico— one of them two-masted, lateen-sailed craft with jib and jigger, as you've seen in the bay— would sneak out of the tier off the Old Mole at night, come up along the coast, and run in at some handy spot where there'd be a couple of hundred peasant chaps, who'd land her cargo in no time But all that's done away with now.

You treat with the Customs authorities direct ; you strike a bargain with them —oh, they're mighty accommodating !— and you save mavbe two-thirds of your duty.' J ' ' Yes,' adds the man with the ear-rings ; ' and it isn't merely the palm-oil they get that supplies them with the ready. Why, I recollect a man who was Administrador de la Aduana at a little port along this coast, not twenty miles away. Well, he traded, he did — traded under another name, and had misticos and falachos of his own. Ah, hombre I didn't he run in some cargoes in his time ! I'll just tell you what he did once.' The narrator was evidently unaware that anyone besides his companions was within hearing, for, without any attempt at concealment, he proceeded to recount the smuggling achievements of the official he referred to in a way that left no doubt of his personal participation in these enter prises.

Meantime the young Englishman, seated across the patio, listened with some little interest to this instructive talk, whilst pretending to be busy with a book which he had taken from a side-pocket — a book whose limp cover of red cloth proclaimed it to be a copy of the inevitable ' Murray.' All at once, however, a hasty footfall resounded lightly upon the paving of the court, and, on looking up, the young fellow saw an individual advancing towards him draped in one of those flowing cloaks which in Spain are to the man what the mantilla is to the woman. Of black cloth faced with velvet, and with its right skirt caught up and thrown over the wearer's left shoulder, the garment allowed but little of his face to remain visible. Still, as the light from one of the oil lamps fell upon him, it could be seen that he had ardent eyes, a prominent aquiline nose, and the usual yellowish complexion of the Andaluz.

Tall and straight as an arrow, he was also very slim — at least, such was the impression conveyed by the many loose folds in which his cloak hung about him. He came forward without the slightest hesitation, direct ing his steps towards the young Englishman who had been waiting there so long. The latter had become all attention, and was looking at him fixedly. But just then the rasping voice of the man with the ear-rings, who had reached the crucial point of his narrative, rang out in a louder key, and on hearing it the newcomer stopped short in evident sur prise. The ' Scorpion ' and his companions were for the moment too absorbed to notice him, and after darting a keen glance in their direction, he cautiously stepped back into a shadowy nook. A chair and table were at hand, and, seating himself at the latter, he remained for a moment quite motionless.

The young Englishman was still eyeing him attentively, when the door of a ground-floor room communicating with the patio opened and a waiter or mozo made his appearance. He glanced at the three seafaring men, and catching sight of the seeming tourist, strolled up to him in a nonchalant way and inquired his pleasure. Tourist or not, the caballero ingles had plainly been in Southern Spain before, and knew its usages ; for he ordered no alcoholic beverage, but simply some water with an azucarilla — or sugar sponge — to dis solve in it. These were brought him ; the attendant pocketed the coin tendered in payment, and then languidly strolled back into the dimly-lighted room whence he had come. Then again did the young Englishman glance at the Spaniard in the cloak, whom the waiter apparently had not noticed.

Ensconced in the shady nook where he had seated himself, this mysterious individual was leaning over his table, pencil in hand, hastily writing something on a small piece of paper, which he must have taken from his pocket whilst the mozo was discharging his duties. His writing finished, he rolled the paper into a ball, which — after another furtive glance at the three seafaring men — he tossed with unerring aim into the young Englishman's lap ; and then, muffled in his cloak, he stole noiselessly away. The receiver of the mysterious billet must have expected it, for he evinced no surprise, but quietly unrolled and smoothed the paper. It was of common texture, but curi ously enough, printed upon it like a crest there was a small black hand, below which ran these words in Spanish : ' If you be the man I believe you are, you will know who I am.

It is necessary I should speak with you to-night, but it would be imprudent of me to accost you here. When you have read this, come with all speed to the Plaza de la Libertad. I shall be awaiting you there and will conduct you to a safe place. Be careful that you are not followed. Distrust the seaman with the ear-rings. — R.' Having read this note carefully, the young fellow tore it into fragments, which he threw upon the pavement beside him. Then pocketing his ' Murray,' he drank a glass of water, rose up, and made his way into the street. Lightly, however, as he crossed the patio, he was noticed by the three seamen, and the Scorpion with the ear-rings darted at him a keen, scrutinizing glance, whilst muttering to his companions : ' Where has that man sprung from ?' ' Oh, he's been sitting over yonder some time,' replied the lean individual. ' Has he?

Perhaps I've been too talkative.' ' Oh !' rejoined the rubicund skipper, ' he's of no account. I saw him here this afternoon. Came from Gib in the Estrella, it seems. He's doing a bit of a tour, sure enough I could see a guide-book peeping out of his pocket.' ' Rum thing he should put up at a place like this !' muttered the man with the ear-rings. ' Where's he going at this time of night ?' 'Why,' laughed the jolly-looking mariner, with a wink, ' where do all the Englishmen get to of an evening when they come to Cadiz ?' The lean man chuckled softly. ' Oh, there are plenty of pretty girls around,' said he. ' That ere Lord Byron as they talk about wasn't half wrong.'* These remarks evidently amused the rubicund skipper, for he laughed louder than before, whilst knocking his glass on the table and calling for the mozo to bring him some more rum.

Meantime the young Englishman had turned his steps towards the Plaza de la Libertad. The streets were now almost deserted, though at intervals he came upon some little family party returning home after their evening stroll ; whilst here and there a cloak-muffled lover stood at a barred window exchanging soft nothings with his sweetheart, whose hand he was tenderly pressing. At times, also, a heavy tread would be heard, and a watchman would come iu sight, carrying a long halberd in one hand and a lighted * ' Oh, never talk again to me Of northern climes and British ladies ; It has not been your lot to see, Like me, the lovely girls of Cadiz.' Byron. lantern in the other. The sky was still beautifully clear, and a refreshing breeze had sprung up, tuneful with the soft notes of a guitar which it wafted along the streets. _ ' Don Oliver!' called a voice, just as the young English man reached the corner of the Plaza de la Libertad He looked about him, and, in the shadow of a house hard by, he dimly espied the Spaniard who had tossed him the note in the patio. 'Come with me,' added the mysterious indi vidual ; ' it is not far.' ' Are you Juan Ruiz ?' asked the young Englishman. ' I am ; and you, senor, I believe, are Don Oliver Hartley.' ' You may drop the Don,' was the laughing reply, as the pair turned into one of the narrowest and poorest-looking streets of Cadiz.

They were approaching the sea again, and could feel the cool Atlantic breeze upon their cheeks. Half-way down the street they stopped outside a shop, open like a booth — in deed, the shops of Cadiz are seldom, if ever, fronted — and with a striped blind hanging before it, through which vaguely filtered an oil lamp's dim light. One corner of this blind was clewed up, as a sailor would say, and, stooping slightly, they passed under it and entered. The place was a common wine-shop. A little bar or counter, flanked by a shelf upon which, behind a row of glasses, stood sundry bottles of aniseed brandy, a cask of wine on tap, some alcarrazas or coolers of porous clay, containing water, a low rickety table, a few stools, and a bench — these, with a common coloured print of the Virgin carrying the infant Christ— copied from Murillo's ' Virgen de la Servilleta ' — and a cracked looking-glass in a black frame, were the only appointments of the establishment.

The walls were whitewashed, and the flooring was of red tiles. As the two men came in a girl in a plain, dark-coloured dress rose up from a low stool behind the little counter and approached them. Tall, with a shapely figure, she had large dark eyes— those beautiful full-beaming orbs which the Spaniards call ojos arabes — whilst her low straight forehead was crowned by a mass of black hair, from amidst which a red rose shone out brightly. At the first moment she fixed her gaze inquisitively on the young Englishman, but there was so much involuntary admiration in his glance, that her eyelids swiftly fell, and she flushed per ceptibly. Juan Ruiz accosted her : ' Lola,' said he, ' is Bartolome here?' ' No, he has not come back,' she sighed. ' Still gambling, I suppose. Well, have you the key ?' ' Yes ; do you want to go up ?

Then come with me, I will light you.' So saying, the girl opened a door in the rear of the shop and preceded the two men into a little vestibule. Here she took a lighted lamp from a stand, prior to escorting them up a creaking staircase to the first floor. With a key which she drew from her pocket she then unlocked the door of a fairly spacious room, whose only furniture consisted of a table and some chairs and benches. In one corner lay a coil of rope, and at the further end was a rather large window, outwardly protected by three iron bars. Setting the lamp on the table, the girl turned to Ruiz. ' Do you desire anything, senores ?' she asked. ' No, Lola ; but if Bartolome should return let him know that we are here. I have to speak to this English caballero ; he is a friend.' ' Good,' replied Lola. ' When my father comes I will tell him '; and stealing another glance at Oliver Hartley, she glided from the room.

The two men seated themselves. Ruiz had already doffed his hat and cloak. ' I am sorry to have put you to so much trouble, Don Oliver,' said he; ' but here we are at last. The Chief wrote to me from London advising me of your coming. I have been impatiently expecting you. The moment is a pro pitious one. The King* is already discredited ; he is leading a loose life at Madrid, governed by favourites. Here in Andalucia we are groaning under terrible abuses. The soil which fed nearly half the Roman world remains virtually unproductive. We of the people have nothing that we can call our own. We are plundered on all sides by corrupt and mercenary officials. There is no justice to be had unless you purchase it. The people remain un taught, illiterate, fated to relapse into pristine savagery, unless a blow be promptly struck for freedom and advance ment.' * The late Alfonso ' It is the agricultural classes, I believe,' remarked Oliver, ' that are now the most discontented.' ' Yes, that is so.

Isabella's severe, despotic, yet fickle rule — a rule of centralization — produced, as you may know, a loud outcry for local rights. All the Andalucian towns joined in that movement — Cadiz especially, as was her duty, for she, first to be free and last to be subdued, was ever in the van of progress. Here, as you may also know, was promulgated the Constitution of 1812 — revived eight years later by our heroic compatriot Riego. Ever since that time Cadiz has largely determined the politics of Andalucia— the politics of the towns, I should say, for the rural districts remained attached to the monarchy ; and more than once a war of classes appeared imminent. Meantime, our rulers, who had no moral influence over the towns, resorted to the harshest measures against them, relying in all things on the bayonet and the sabre, and the result, as you are aware, was the revolution which hurled Isabella from her throne.

It was in part a military movement, but a military move ment supported by the towns. I dare say that during our Revolutionary period excesses, even crimes were com mitted ; we were passionately eager to change everything ; we showed too blind a reverence for the leaders of the hour ; we were often foolish, often weak ; but what could you expect from people ruled as we have been during hundreds and hundreds of years ?' ' Of course. Besides, mistakes and excesses occur in every revolution,' remarked Oliver. ' Quite so. However, the mistakes and excesses of our Republic were, I admit it, quite as instrumental as the duplicity of Prim and Serrano in working its overthrow. Then came the wretched farce of giving us an Italian king, Don Amadeo, who was odious to the entire nation — odious more on account of his foreign birth than of his personal failings— that I admit— though, after all, he was a sorry bigot, and would have done his utmost, had he continued on the throne, to revive the power of the priesthood — a power which we for centuries have been slowly but steadily undermining.

And now the Borbon is back again, Don Alfonso, Isabella's son — an effeminate faindant king, who, whilst his generals have been battling against the Carlists', has spent most of his time amusing himself among his favourites at Madrid— a faithless husband, a faithless friend, whose character I can only compare to that of your second Charles. And thus you see that our glorious Restoration is much akin to yours.' Ruizpaused for a moment, then added : ' And the peasantry ! Ah ! during these last years a very great change has been coming over them. Folks have always taunted them with being behind the age, with blindly following the ways of their forefathers, but when and how have their intellects and energies ever been utilized ? They are lazy, you say, and dull, and improvident ! No, no, my friend ; no man can be more industrious than the Andaluz when his toil receives a fitting reward.

But when does he get a fitting reward ? that is the question. However, he is now awaken ing to a consciousness of his rights ; he has already to a large degree shaken off the despotism of the Church, and he longs to free himself from the despotism of the State. King Alfonso seems to think that he can follow the same courses as his mother. But he is mistaken. The country will no longer submit to starvation for the sake of keeping up a gorgeous Court at Madrid, of filling the pockets of Ministers and deputies, and supporting a military organiza tion such as we have at present. An army of officers, a lieutenant to every ten men, a captain to every twenty, and Heaven alone knows how many hundreds of generals ! No, we cannot afford a gorgeous Court, a wasteful monarchy. Our salvation lies in a federal republic — federal, I say, because before being Spaniards we are Andalucians, Valencians, Castilians, Catalans, as the case may be.

Spain is not a compact whole, but a conglomeration of provinces, and each province maintains intact its own in dividuality and pride. Let us follow the example of the United States, and then possibly we may become prosperous and powerful once more !' Excited by his own words, Ruiz rose to his feet. The fire of enthusiasm was burning in his eyes. ' Ah ! Spain, Spain !' he exclaimed, ' once so great, and once so noble ! Why is it that we have fallen thus ! Are not our men as brave, as daring as those who broke the power of the Crescent, as those who gave Europe a new world ? Has not Nature showered her gifts upon us ? A soil so fruitful, that with moderate care it would suffice to feed untold millions ! Rich in minerals that might yield fabulous prosperity ! But no,' and here his voice fell despondently, ' no, nothing is done, except by a few foreigners whose gains in nowise benefit our land.

Of what avail are Nature's gifts if we do not, will not use them ! Besides, the people have no knowledge, no education. Ah ! I am well aware that in this respect our wretched state is largely due to the Church ; but, as I have already said, Don Oliver, times are changing. Our faith we may still keep— our faith in the one indivisible God ; but the last remnants of our belief in those who call themselves His priests are departing. There is not an outlaw in the sierras but still prays to Our Lady, scarcely a man among us but falls upon his knees when his Majesty* goes by. But as for the priests, their vices, their greed have destroyed their in fluence with us. Aye, they are now perros sin dientes — dogs without teeth — and we fear them no longer ! It is the civil power that we now have to contend with — the civil power which must be reformed, purified, changed, so that it will perform the duties that fall upon it, but which hitherto it has ever shirked !' Ruiz paused again, and seated himself. ' Well, then,' said he, ' one province must lead the van, so let it be Andalucia.