"We are sorry to inconvenience you, señores," said my companion, politely;
"but we are going to release this slave, and we have need of your horses.
Unbuckle your swords, throw them on the ground, and dismount. No
hesitation, or you are dead men! Shall we treat them as they proposed to
treat the slave, Señor Fortescue? Blow out their brains? It will be safer,
and save us a deal of trouble."
"No! That would be murder. Let them go. They can do no harm. It is
impossible for them to overtake the others on foot."
Meanwhile the soldiers, having the fear of being shot before them, had
dismounted and laid down their weapons.
"Go!" said Carmen, pointing northward, and they went.
"Your name?" (to the prisoner whose bonds I was cutting with my sword).
"Here they call me José. In my own country I was called Gahra--"
"Let it be Gahra, then. It is less common than José. Every other peon in
the country is called José. You are a native of Africa?"
"_Si, señor._"
"How came you hither?"
"I was taken to Cuba in a slave-ship, brought to this country by General
Salazar, and sold by him to Colonel Canimo."
"You have no great love for the Spaniards, I suppose?"
Gahra pointed to his arms which had been chafed by the rope till they were
raw, and showed us his back which bore the marks of recent stripes.
"Can you fight?"
"Against the Spaniards? Only give me the chance, and you shall see,"
answered the negro in a voice of intense hate.
"Come with us, and you shall have many chances. Mount one of those horses
and lead the other."
Gahra mounted, and we moved on.
We were now at the beginning of a stiff ascent. The road, which though
undulating had risen almost continuously since we left Caracas, was
bordered with richly colored flowers and shrubs, and bounded on either
side by deep forests. Night was made glorious by the great tropical moon,
which shone resplendent under a purple sky gilding the tree-tops and
lighting us on our way. Owing to the nature of the ground we could not see
far before us, but the backward view, with its wood-crowned heights, deep
ravines, and sombre mountains looming in the distance, was fairy-like and
fantastic, and the higher we rose the more extensive it became.
"Is this a long hill?" I asked Carmen.
"Very. An affair of half an hour, at least, at this speed; and we cannot
go faster," he answered, as he turned half round in his saddle.
"Why are you looking backward?"
"To see whether we are followed. We lost much time in the _quebrado_, and
we have lost more since. Have you good eyes, Gahara? Born Africans
generally have."
"Yes, sir. My name, Gahra Dahra, signifies Dahra, the keen sighted!"
"I am glad to hear it. Be good enough to look round occasionally, and if
you see anything let us know."
We had nearly reached the summit of the rise when the negro uttered an
exclamation and turned his horse completely round.
"What is it?" asked Carmen and myself, following his example.
"I see figures on the brow of yonder hill."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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