<h4>CHAPTER XVIII.</h4>
<br/>
<p>With a quick step Garcias led the way towards that side of the hill
which from its position was cast into shadow, and taking an upward
path, that we both knew, he soon arrived in those high and lonely
parts of the mountain, where solitude and silence reigned undisturbed.
High above earth's habitations, nothing looked upon us but the clear
blue sky and the bright calm moon, whose beams fell soft and silvery
upon the tall mountain peaks around--poured into every valley--danced
in every stream, and contrasted the broad, deep shadows thrown by each
projecting rock, with the bright effulgence of those spots whereon she
glowed with her full power.</p>
<p>It was a grand and solemn scene; and there was something inexpressibly
awful in the calm, sublime aspect of the giant world in which we
stood--in the silence--in the moonlight--in the deep, clear expanse of
the profound blue sky, especially when each of those who contemplated
it had heavy on his heart the weight of human blood. It felt as if we
were more immediately in the presence of Heaven itself--as if the
calm, bright eye of eternal Justice looked sternly into the deepest
recesses of our bosoms.</p>
<p>Garcias seemed to feel nearly as much as I did; and bending his eyes
upon the ground, he pursued his way silently and fast, till,
descending for some hundred yards, and turning the angle of the hill,
we came under a group of high trees, which formed a beautiful object
on the mountain side when viewed from the windows of the Château de
l'Orme, and from which I could now discern the dwelling of my
ancestors.</p>
<p>Here the smuggler stopped as if to allow me a last view of the scenes
of my infancy; and my eye instantly running down the valley, rested on
the grey towers and pinnacles of my paternal mansion with a lingering
regret impossible to describe.</p>
<p>There lay all that I loved on earth, the objects of every better
affection of my nature--there lay the scenes amongst which every
happier hour had passed--there lay the spot where every early dream
had been formed--where hope had arisen--where every wish returned; and
I was leaving it--leaving it, perhaps, for ever, with a stain upon my
name, and the kindred blood of her most dear upon my hand. My heart
swelled as if it would have burst, my brain burned as with fire, and
my eyes would fain have wept.</p>
<p>I struggled long to prevent them, and I should have succeeded; but
just while I was gazing--while a thousand overpowering remembrances
and bitter regrets seemed tearing my heart to pieces, a nightingale
broke out in the trees above my head, and poured forth so wild, so
sweet, so melancholy a song, that my excited feelings would bear no
more, and the tears rolled over my cheeks like the large drops of a
thunder-storm.</p>
<p>"Poor boy!" said Garcias, "I am sorry for thee! I can feel now, more
than I could this morning, what thou feelest, for, in truth, I would
that I had not slain that Derville so rashly: and, I know not why, but
I wish what I never wished before, that the moon was not so bright--it
seems as if that poor wretch were looking at me. But come, 'tis no use
to think of these things. When we are in Spain we will get us
absolution, and that is all that we can do. Pardon me, monseigneur,"
he added, suddenly resuming that peculiar sort of haughtiness which
leads many a proud man in an inferior station to give a full portion
of ceremonious deference to his superior--"pardon me, if now, or in
future, I treat you, too, like a companion of Pedro Garcias, the
smuggler. During this day, my wish to check your grief has made me
unceremonious, and till you can return, perhaps you had better waive
that respect which your rank entitles you to require, for it may not
please you hereafter, to have many of those with whom you now consort
for a time, boast of having been your very good friends and fellow
adventurers."</p>
<p>I told him to call me what he liked, and to use his own discretion in
regard to what account he gave of me to those, whose companion I was
about to become. Little, indeed, cared I for any part of the future:
it had nothing for hope to fix upon; and once having withdrawn my eyes
from that valley, and turned upon the path before me, I was reckless
about all the rest.</p>
<p>It seemed, however, that Garcias had found a relief in breaking the
dead silence which had hung upon us so long, for he continued speaking
on various topics as we went, and gradually succeeded in drawing my
mind from the actual objects of my regret. Not that I forgot my grief;
far from it. It still lay a dead and heavy weight upon my heart; but
my thoughts did not continue to trace every painful remembrance with
the agonizing minuteness which they had lately done. Such is ever the
first effect of that balm which Time pours into every wound. It
scarcely seems to lessen the anguish, but it renders it less defined.</p>
<p>Gradually I listened and replied, and though each minute or two my
mind reverted to myself, yet the intervals became longer, and I found
it every time more easy than the last to abstract my thoughts from my
own situation, and to apply them to the subjects on which he spoke.</p>
<p>For more than two hours we continued walking on till we arrived at the
heights nearly opposite to Argelez, during which time we had climbed
the hills and descended into the valleys more than once. We were now
again upon the very crest of the mountain, and the moon was just
sinking behind the hills to the west of the Balindrau, when Garcias
paused and pointed down the course of a stream that burst
precipitately over the side of the hill with so perpendicular a fall
that it almost deserved the name of a cataract.</p>
<p>The body of water, though then but a rivulet, was at some part of the
year undoubtedly considerable, for it had channelled for itself a deep
ravine, which, for some space, wound away from the valley, as if
obstinately resolved to bear its tribute in any other direction than
towards the principal river that flowed in the midst: but, after
pursuing these capricious meanderings for a considerable way, it was
obliged at length to follow the direction of the hills, and turn
towards the valley in its own despite, as we often see, in some far
province, a stubborn contemner of established authorities pursue for a
while his own wilful way, fancying himself a man of great spirit and
an independent soul, till comes some stiff official of the law, who
turns him sneaking back into the common course of life.</p>
<p>The bottom of the ravine, left free by the shrinking of the stream,
was lined on either hand with the most luxuriant verdure, and overhung
by a thousand shrubs and trees, now in their ruffling dresses of
summer green. Where we then stood, however, many hundred yards above,
with the moon, as I have said, sinking behind the opposite mountains,
all that I could see was a dark and fearful chasm below, at the bottom
of which I caught every now and then the flash and sparkle of the
stream, whose roar, as it broke from fall to fall, reached my ear even
at that height.</p>
<p>Down this abyss it was that Garcias pointed, saying that our journey's
end lay there, for the present.</p>
<p>"If you are a true mountaineer," added he, "you will be able to follow
me; but attempt it not if you feel the least fear; for I have seldom
seen a place more likely to break the neck of any but a good
cragsman."</p>
<p>"Go on," replied I, "I have no fear;" and, indeed, I had become so
reckless about life, that had it been the jaws of hell, I would have
plunged in. And yet it appeared I was even then in the act of flying
from death. Man is so made up of inconsistencies, that this would not
have been extraordinary, granting it to have been the case--but it was
not so. I was not flying from death, but from ignominy and shame, and
the reproachful eyes of those I loved.</p>
<p>Garcias led the way; and certainly never did a more hazardous and
precarious path receive the steps of two human beings. Its course lay
down the very face of the precipice over which the stream fell, and
the only tenable steps that it afforded were formed by the broken
faces of the schistus rock, without one bough of shrub or tree to
offer a hold for the hands. The river at the same time kept roaring in
our ears, within a yard of our course; and every now and then, where
it took a more furious bound than ordinary, it dashed its spray in our
faces, and over our path, confusing the sight, whose range was already
circumscribed by the darkness, and rendering the rock so slippy that
nothing but the talons of an eagle would have fastened steadily upon
it.</p>
<p>At length we came to a spot of smooth turf, with still the same degree
of perpendicular declination; and to keep one's feet became now almost
impossible; so that nothing seemed left but to lie down and slip from
the top to the bottom. It was a dangerous experiment, for the descent
might probably have terminated in a precipice which would have been
difficult to avoid; but I little cared: and, with the usual success of
boldness, I lighted on a small round plot of turf, crowning another
turn of the ravine. A man anxious for life would, most probably, have
avoided the course of the stream, slipped past the spot on which I
found a safe resting place, and been dashed over the precipice which
lay scarce two yards from me.</p>
<p>In a moment Garcias was by my side, and asked, with some concern lest
his place of retreat had been discovered, whether I had ever visited
that spot before, for I seemed to know it, he said, as well as he did
himself. Having assured him I never had, and that my fortunate descent
was entirely accidental, he laid his hand on my arm, as if to stay me
from any farther trial of the kind. "You have escaped strangely," said
he: "but never make the same experiment again, unless you are
something more than merely careless about life. We are now close upon
my men," he added, "and we must give them notice of our approach or we
may risk a shot;" and he stooped over the edge of the cliff looking
down into the ravine.</p>
<p>It was here that the trees and shrubs, which lined thickly the lower
parts of the dell first began to sprout; and, forming a dark screen
between our eyes and the course of the stream, they would have cut off
all view of what was passing below, had it been day; but at that hour,
when all was darkness around us, and no glare of sunshine outshone any
other light, we could just catch through the foliage the sparkling of
a fire, about forty yards below us; and as we gazed, a very musical
voice broke out in a Spanish song. Being directly above the singer,
the sounds rose distinctly to our ears, so that we could very well
distinguish the words that he sang, which were to the following
tenour, as near as I can recollect:--</p>
<p>SONG.<br/>
<br/>
Tread thou the mountain, brother, brother!<br/>
Tread thou the mountain wild!<br/>
In each other land men betray one another;<br/>
Be thou then the mountain's child.<br/>
<br/>
I.<br/>
<br/>
Hark! how hidalgo to hidalgo vows,<br/>
To serve him he'd hazard his life--<br/>
But woe to the foolish and confident spouse<br/>
If he leave him alone with his wife.--<br/>
Tread then the mountain, brother, brother!<br/>
Tread then the mountain wild!<br/>
In each other land men betray one another;<br/>
Be thou then the mountain's child.<br/>
<br/>
II.<br/>
<br/>
Lo! how the merchant to merchant will say,<br/>
His credit and purse to command:<br/>
But let him fall bankrupt, I doubt, well-a-day!<br/>
No credit he'll have at his hand.<br/>
Tread then the mountain, brother, brother!<br/>
Tread then the mountain wild!<br/>
In each other land men betray one another;<br/>
Be thou then the mountain's child.<br/>
<br/>
III.<br/>
<br/>
Lo! how the statesman will promise his tool,<br/>
To raise him to honours some day:<br/>
But when he's done all he would wish, the poor fool<br/>
Will regret taking fine words for pay.<br/>
Tread then the mountain, brother, brother!<br/>
Tread then the mountain wild!<br/>
In each other land men betray one another;<br/>
Be thou then the mountain's child.<br/>
<br/>
IV.<br/>
<br/>
Hark! what the courtier vows to his king,<br/>
To serve him whatever befal;<br/>
But if evil luck dark misfortune should bring,<br/>
The courtier turns sooner than all.<br/>
Tread then the mountain, brother, brother!<br/>
Tread then the mountain wild!<br/>
In court, crowd, and city, men cheat one another;<br/>
Be thou then the mountain's child.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p>"He says true! By Saint Jago, he says true!" cried Garcias, who had
been listening as well as myself. "Thank God, for being born a
mountaineer!"</p>
<p>He ended his self-gratulation with a long whistle, so shrill that it
reached the ears of the singer, to whom the noise of our voices had
not arrived from the height we were above him, although his song by
the natural tendency of sounds had come up to us. He answered the
signal of his captain immediately, and we instantly began to descend,
making steps of the boles and roots of the trees, till lighting once
more on somewhat level ground, we stood beside his watch-fire. The
singer was a tall, fine Arragonese, about my own age, or perhaps
somewhat older, who had been thrown out as a sentinel to guard the
little encampment of the smugglers, which lay a couple of hundred
yards farther down the ravine. He bore a striking resemblance to
Garcias, whom he called cousin, and also seemed to possess some
portion of his gigantic strength, if one might judge by the swelling
muscles of his legs and arms, which were easily discernible through
the tight netted silk breeches and stockings he wore in common with
most of his companions.</p>
<p>He gazed upon me for a moment or two with some surprise, and I
returned his look with one of equal curiosity. In truth, I should not
particularly have liked to encounter him as an adversary; for with his
long gun, his knife, and his pistols, added to the vigour and activity
indicated by his figure, he would have offered as formidable an
opponent as I ever beheld. No questions, however, did he ask
concerning me. Not a word, not an observation did he make; but
resuming the characteristic gravity of the Spaniard, from which,
perhaps, he thought his song might have somewhat derogated in the eyes
of a stranger, he merely replied to a question of his cousin, that all
had passed tranquilly during his absence, and cast himself down upon
his checkered cloak, by the side of the watch-fire, with an air of the
most perfect indifference.</p>
<p>At another time I might have smiled to see how true it is that nations
have their affectations as well as individuals, but I was in no
smiling mood, and were I to own the truth, I turned away with a
feeling of contemptuous anger at his arrogation of gravity, fully as
ridiculous in me as even his mock solemnity. What had I to do to be
angry with him? I asked myself, after a moment's reflection: I was not
born to be the whipper of all fools; and if I was, I thought my
castigation had certainly better begin with myself.</p>
<p>Garcias led me on to the rest of his companions, who were stretched
sleeping on the ground; some wrapped in their cloaks, some partly
sheltered from the winds, which in those mountains lose not their
wintry sharpness till summer is far advanced, by little stone walls,
built up from the various masses of rock that from time to time had
rolled down the mountain, and strewed the bottom of the ravine. The
younger men, though engaged in a life of danger and risk, slept on
with the fearless slumber of youth; but four or five of the elder
smugglers, whom ancient habits of watchful anxiety rendered light of
sleep, started up with musket and dagger in their hands, long before
our steps had reached their halting-place.</p>
<p>The figure of Garcias, however, soon quieted their alarm; and I was
astonished to see how little agitation the return of their absent
leader, from what had been, and always must be, a dangerous part of
their enterprise, caused amongst them; nor did my presence excite any
particular attention. Garcias informed them simply, that I was a
friend he had long known, who now came to join them; on which they
welcomed me cordially, without farther inquiry, giving me merely the
<i>Buenas noches tenga usted caballero</i>, and assigning me a spot to
sleep in, near the horses, which was indeed the place of honour, being
more sheltered than any other.</p>
<br/>
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