Frontier and pioneer life -- New Mexico -- Juvenile fiction; New Mexico -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Juvenile fiction
There was mud upon my scanty garments, and spots of blood; there was
dust on my hair; there were scars upon my arms; my face and throat were
stained with powder, blotches of black, burnt powder: in spite of all, I
was recognised. The eyes of love saw through all!
I find no scene in all my experience so difficult to describe as this.
Why? There was none so terrible; none in which so many wild emotions
were crowded into a moment. A love like ours, tantalised by proximity,
almost within reach of each other's embrace, yet separated by relentless
fate, and that for ever; the knowledge of each other's situation; the
certainty of my death: these and a hundred kindred thoughts rushed into
our hearts together. They could not be detailed; they cannot be
described; words will not express them. You may summon fancy to your
aid.
I heard her screams, her wild words and wilder weeping. I saw her snowy
cheek and streaming hair, as, frantic, she rushed forward on the parapet
as if to spring out. I witnessed her struggles as she was drawn back by
her fellow-captives, and then, all at once, she was quiet in their arms.
She had fainted, and was borne out of my sight.
I was tied by the wrists and ankles. During the scene I had twice risen
to my feet, forced up by my emotions, but only to fall down again.
I made no further effort, but lay upon the ground in the agony of
impotence.
It was but a short moment; but, oh! the feelings that passed over my
soul in that moment! It was the compressed misery of a life-time.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
For a period of perhaps half an hour I regarded not what was going on
around me. My mind was not abstracted, but paralysed: absolutely dead.
I had no thoughts about anything.
I awoke at length from this stupor. I saw that the savages had
completed their preparations for the cruel sport.
Two rows of men extended across the plain to a distance of several
hundred yards. They were armed with clubs, and stood facing each other
with an interval of three or four paces between their ranks. Down the
interval we were to run, receiving blows from everyone who could give
them as we passed. Should any of us succeed in running through the
whole line, and reach the mountain foot before we could be overtaken,
the promise was that our lives should be spared!
"Is this true, Sanchez?" I whispered to the torero, who was standing
near me.
"No," was the reply, given also in a whisper. "It is only a trick to
make you run the better and show them the more sport. You are to die
all the same. I heard them say so."
Indeed, it would have been slight grace had they given us our lives on
such conditions; for it would have been impossible for the strongest and
swiftest man to have passed through between their lines.
"Sanchez!" I said again, addressing the torero, "Seguin was your
friend. You will do all you can for her?"
Sanchez well knew whom I meant.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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