Vagabond life in Mexico/The Fête of Manantial

by Gabriel Ferry

CHAPTER III.

The Fête of Manantial.—The Combat.

The name of Jarochos is given to those peasants who live on the sea-board round Vera Cruz. Their costume bears no resemblance whatever to that of the people around them. The inhabitants of Andalusia wear a dress very similar to theirs, and it is the general opinion, from their manners and character, that they are the descendants of the Gitanos of that Spanish province. Their dialect is, like their attire, strange and singular. It abounds in words of the purest Castilian, interspersed with local terms disfigured by a vicious pronunciation, and can not be understood, even by those who know Spanish, without diligent and careful study. They are impatient of restraint, and, consequently, ill fitted for acting as soldiers or sailors, although well versed in the use of arms, and not unacquainted with the dangers of the sea. It is their love of independence which causes them to prefer the wandering life of the herdsman and the horse-dealer, and the machete plays no unimportant part in all their difficulties. The Jarocho would rather want the most indispensable part of his dress than be deprived of the long, sharp, glittering blade which he wears in his belt. This sabre is more generally in the hand of the Jarocho than at his side. A small point of honor, or the most futile remark, has often been the means of bringing on the most bloody and long-continued series of combats. They are possessed, however, of some rare qualities, which atone for their defects. The Jarocho is temperate, frank, loyal, and hospitable to the whites (by this term he means the higher classes); he looks upon theft with horror; he loves the place of his birth. A stranger to every desire for wealth, he lives contented with a little in the midst of a fertile country where three harvests a year cover the ground, which is sown but not tilled. The inhabitants of the country round Vera Cruz are in general robust and well made. They are strong and muscular; and nature has thrown round their persons an air of elegance in exact harmony with the devotion the Jarocho pays to three things: his horse, his sword, and his mistress.

Seven years before my arrival in Mexico, I once had an opportunity of meeting with one of this singular race; but, from want of familiarity with Spanish, I could not well understand his peculiar dialect.

As soon as I awoke in the morning, I was reminded, by the handsome and elegant dress of my host, that it was the fête-day of Manantial. A twisted fringe, strung with Venetian pearls, and studded at regular distances with little mirrors, ran round his hat; his shirt, of the finest linen, was embroidered in the most beautiful manner; the buttons of his velvet calzonera at his girdle were made of solid piastres, and those which ran down his legs of reals and half reals. On his feet were half-boots of Cordovan leather. His cortante,^[1] polished to the highest degree of brilliancy, hung suspended from his girdle of scarlet silk, and two bows of the same color adorned its hilt. Set out thus to the best advantage, the Jarocho had an air of refinement about him which augured well for his success.

In spite of a degree of satisfaction which shone upon his countenance, Calros could not help twirling the end of his mustache with an anxious expression. His joy seemed to be mixed with an alloy of bitterness. I asked him the cause of it.

"Ah! if you could only free me of my vow of vengeance, I should be relieved of a charge which will embitter, I fear, all my pleasures."

"What! will your oath keep you from drinking, singing, and playing?"

"No, but it will hinder me from knocking a fellow down; and what is a fandango without some little quarrel to enliven it? No matter; one can not have all one's pleasures at once. I shall sing louder, play more, and drink as much as will soothe me for the disappointment."

I doubted much the calming efficacy of Catalonian brandy, but I affected to believe fully in the power of the remedy.

Manantial, like the Jarocho, had put on its holiday garb for the occasion. An unusual stir was visible in the village. At the doors of the cabins, women, arrayed in abundance of muslin and lace, appeared from time to time, decked with gold and coral ornaments, so dear to the swarthy beauties of Southern countries. In a glade, an estrade had been erected for the accommodation of the dancers; little shops had been improvised for the supply of water, tepache, and Catalonian brandy; gambling-tables had been set up. In a few hours the Jarochos from the surrounding villages would come pouring in. The sun was shining full upon the spot in all its dazzling brilliancy. The shadow cast by the palm-trees, already a little off the perpendicular, showed that it was two hours past noon.

Crowds of horsemen now began to arrive, who, after alighting, tied their foaming steeds to the trunks of the trees or the pillars of the houses. Horses and men were soon mingled together in strange confusion; the cries of the men, the neighing of the steeds, and the tuning of guitars, were now heard on all sides. Circles were speedily formed round the gambling-tables, the ventorillos,^[2] or the estrade reserved for the female dancers. Here I stationed myself.,

The estrade, on which female dancers were alone to figure, was elevated a few inches above the ground. According to a singular custom prevailing in all the villages round Vera Cruz, the men on this occasion are mere spectators of the women's performances. A Jarocho squatted himself down on the ground close to the estrade, and commenced strumming his mandolin. Eight or ten girls answered to his call, and began to dance. I could not help admiring the graceful dexterity with which many of them carried a glass of water on their heads without spilling a drop, dancing, too, all the while with the greatest vigor; or the agility with which they untied, without using their hands, the silk bows attached to their shoes,^[3] When this dance, very coldly applauded, was finished, the guitar struck up a new tune, that of the dance called petenera.

This time the estrade was quite full, and among the women who advanced to take a part in this measure I recognized, by her graceful mien and dazzling beauty, Doña Sacramenta, whom my host called, in his flowery language, his dearly-beloved angel on earth. She was attired in a beautiful dress of transparent muslin.

Her rounded arms were adorned in the upper part by the embroidery and lace of her cambric chemise, the rest remained bare. The contour of her fair shoulders was masked, but not entirely concealed, by a gorget of lace very like Arlesian. She wore shoes of the most beautiful satin, and a tress of her magnificent black hair was wound round a tortoise-shell comb mounted with massy gold. Her eyelids, cast down under the fiery glances that were shot from all sides at her, allowed one to see the long silken lashes with which they were fringed. She was not now the calm beauty that I had admired the evening before in the moonlight, but an impassioned daughter of the tropics in all her brilliancy.

The excitement among the spectators, increased by their frequent libations, became greater and greater every minute, but another and a more intense interest was soon awakened in the minds of the crowd.

"Ah!" cried a Jarocho at my side, whose hair was beginning to turn gray, "at the last fandango held at Malibran,^[4] Quilimaco lost one of his ears, and Juan de Dios the point of his nose, in a quarrel that arose about a beauty who was not worth a lock of hair compared with that girl there."

"Have patience, tio,"^[5] answered another; "the beautiful Sacramenta has more than one aspirant in this village, and I venture to predict that, before night fall, she will have danced the machete and chamarra for two at least among us."

I did not understand what they meant, but the events that followed soon explained it. Two groups had by this time formed round the estrade occupied by the dancers. In the first, a Jarocho, as richly dressed as Calros, seemed to exercise a marked ascendency. In the second, my host appeared to be the head of another party. Animated by the hope of some quarrel arising between the two factions, the musicians strummed their guitars with redoubled ardor, and a fearful discord filled the air. Just when the dancers were beginning to put themselves in motion, some singers chanted, in a nasal tone of voice, a couplet whose words bore no relation whatever to the present circumstances, and which consisted of a series of proverbs put in verse, almost devoid of meaning, but strongly tinged with obscene allusions. I was then standing near my host, whose eye was following with a jealous attention the least movement of Sacramenta, but she did not deign to bestow upon him the slightest glance.

"You see my hard fate," said he to me, in a low voice; "in high hope one day, in despair the next. We shall set out to-morrow."

These last words betrayed such poignant grief that I could not help cursing in my heart that pitiless coquetry which could wound the feelings of so ardent a lover.

"Ah!" he resumed, "she has not yet forgiven me for that confounded bow of red ribbons which I was unable to procure for her."

At this moment his rival advanced to the estrade, and uncovering, presented his hat to Sacramenta with a very gallant air. She received it with a smile, without interrupting for a moment the evolutions in which she was engaged. Calros's face appeared quite impassible, and he contented himself with making an almost imperceptible gesture to one of his partisans.

This person then advanced in his turn and did the same. Custom demanded that, in a case like this, the maiden should show preference to neither; she therefore continued to dance with the two hats in her hand. The advantage of seeing his hat placed upon the head of the dancer would by right belong to the third gallant; and, as I expected, Calros was the one who profited by this usage. The two rivals then exchanged looks of mutual defiance, while the first, untying his sash of China crape, formed it into a rosette, and stepped forward to suspend it to the bare shoulder of Sacramenta.

The guitars, now struck with the greatest vigor, made almost as much noise as a band of trumpeters, and the voices of the singers increased in proportion. The men were exchanging looks of evident satisfaction, but the women were chattering among themselves, evidently envying the homage paid to Sacramenta. This young girl kept her feet in motion; her complexion was heightened by a reddish glow, which lent an additional charm to her radiant black eyes. A vague apprehension, however, seemed to agitate her bosom. At once happy and miserable, she dared not turn her eyes upon him whose heart yearned for her with such true affection. In spite, also, of Calros's apparent calm, the involuntary working of the muscles of his face disclosed the torture he was suffering.

"Courage!" said I to him, in a whisper; "have you not on your heart the suchil flower?"

Calros raised his head, as if the remembrance of that had restored all his confidence. He seized his machete, and went to suspend it at Sacramenta's shoulder. I then understood the meaning of the prediction that I had heard some time before. Sacramenta danced with the machete and chamarra of two of her suitors. It was a singular sight to see a long, sharp, glittering blade dangling from the nude shoulder of the young girl, in such close proximity to her heaving bosom.

A sudden silence now fell upon the crowd, similar to what sometimes takes place at a bull-fight when the arena has received its first stains of blood. All at once a loud and imposing male voice near the orchestra exclaimed "Bomba!" The instruments ceased to sound, and the song died away. The voice was that of Calros's rival, who now chanted a couplet expressive of his confidence in his mistress's tenderness, while the friends of the Jarocho repeated the last line in chorus. Calros then answered in a high key by saying that he would not have a divided heart, and that his rival was a traitor.

The Jarocho replied in another recitative, by inquiring if he had spirit sufficient to meet him in fair combat. Calros then, with a smile upon his face, expressed his willingness to meet this traitor, this vagabond, this false friend.

Whether Sacramenta was weary of the dance, or overcome by the general emotion which was manifested when this last couplet was chanted, I know not, but she stepped hastily from the estrade, and her companions followed her. Instructed by past experience not to wait for the commencement of the melee, as their instruments generally suffer in the fray, the musicians hurriedly retired. Some customary pieces of ceremony were still, however, to be gone through; the suitors must redeem the pledges given to the dancer. The customary fee for these is half a real each. The two rivals advanced, one after the other, and filled both hands of Sacramenta with silver coin. While she was receiving the forfeits, in the midst of murmurs of applause excited by the prodigality of the two Jarochos, and which she could not refuse without being guilty of rudeness, her two little outstretched hands trembled involuntarily, and her pale lips tried, but in vain, to smile. Calros fruitlessly sought a look of encouragement from her. Pale and mute, and evidently laboring under an emotion too powerful for concealment, she kept her eyes fixed upon the ground. The machete would decide the question; and the pleasures of the fête were going to be wound up by my host in spite of his sage resolutions, when an old woman, elbowing her way through the crowd, reminded him of the oath he was about to violate. She was the mother of his dead relative.

"It is a shame, ñor Don Calros," cried the beldame, "to take a new quarrel upon you when your cousin's death has not yet been avenged."

The Jarocho was evidently taken aback at this unseasonable interruption, and he made all the efforts he could to induce the old woman to retract what she had said, but to all his reasons she had one unvarying reply.

"Well, ña Josefita," said Calros at last, good-humoredly, "you are making a great work about nothing, and are mistrusting my good intention; for, if I fight this man, am I not keeping my hand in exercise?"

"And should you happen to be run through the body, who will then avenge my son?"

"You are right there," replied Calros, thrown off his guard by this argument; "but that's just the way: the women are always mixing themselves up in business that does not concern them. Any one may now take my place," he continued, with an ill-natured air, "if my adversary consent."

His rival bowed, and, poising his hat jauntily over his right ear, placed at the same time his hand upon the hilt of his machete, and with his right leg thrown slightly in advance, exclaimed, with an air of haughty condescension, "What do I mean by all this? Will the good folks of Manantial allow it to be said that they suffered their fandango to be terminated without bestowing the customary honors upon their visitors? Now," he continued, his eyes winking with increased rapidity, "if I can not knock a man down for the sweet eyes of ña Sacramenta, I shall forfeit to any one who draws the first blood a bottle of Catalonian brandy."

Loud shouts of applause interrupted the orator, who, raising his head with an air of assurance, thus went on: "I must say, however, that, having expended my last real not an hour ago, I can not pay and must conquer. Will any one here fight me on these conditions?"

This ridiculous fanfaronade, quite in the spirit of a Jarocho, was welcomed enthusiastically by the bystanders. As for the speaker, looking upon Calros, who was biting his thumbs, he cried impudently, "Come, now, Don Calros, you have no lack of friends to take your place."

But the enthusiasm of the crowd had died away. The prospect of paying the forfeit in one's own person, and out of one's own purse, did not appear to be welcomed by any of the on-lookers, and I was not without some apprehension that Calros would revert to his former idea by asking me to become his substitute. Happily, an unexpected incident occurred which saved the honor of the villagers of Manantial.

By the same road that I had reached the village the evening before, a horseman was descried galloping along at his utmost speed. All eyes were turned upon the new-comer, who appeared to be a stranger, and whom I recognized as one of the horsemen who had interrupted my game with Cecilio. The unknown alighted, and, without saying a word, tied his horse to one of the wooden pillars of a house; then, still silent, he stepped to the estrade, drew his machete, at whose hilt fluttered a bow of red ribbons, with its point traced a circle in the sand, and then stuck his sword in the centre.

A dead silence welcomed this strange visitant. The sword stuck in the ground seemed to me to convey a defiance to all the village. The antagonist desired by the rival of Calros appeared to have stepped in at the proper time. The general gaze was now directed to the former boaster, but he evidently did not feel inclined to take up this unlooked-for challenge. The stranger, who looked like one of those Paladins on whom a vow of silence has been imposed, advanced as haughtily as he had come to one of the ventorillos, called for a glass of brandy, and raised it to his mouth; but, with the air of a man who disdains to assist his courage by artificial stimulants, instead of drinking it, he tossed the liquor over his shoulder. He then cast upon all the by-standers a proud glance of defiance.

All the villagers viewed the unknown with admiration, but none seemed so impatient to measure their strength with this brilliant champion as Calros. If the reader remember, he was not in favor with Sacramenta, owing to the affair of the bow of red ribbons. Now at the hilt of the stranger's sword hung a bow of ribbons of the very color she wanted.

"Viva!" he whispered to me; "the old woman may go to the devil; Sacramenta shall have her ribbons."

He then went and planted his sword beside that of the unknown. The challenge was accepted. The stranger courteously carried his hand to his hat, and, having considered his adversary for a moment, cast a rapid look among the group of females, as if singling out some one on whom to bestow the homage of his valor. He was not long in discovering the beautiful Sacramenta, and, stepping toward her, exclaimed, with admirable self-possession, "The fandangoes of Medellin have lost all their attraction since ña Sacramenta is no longer there to enliven them with her presence. May I flatter myself that she has not forgotten them, and one of her most fervent apasionados?"

The young woman was going to reply, when Calros, whose jealousy was ever awake, approached the un known, and said, "Pardon me, Señor Cavalier, but I have a particular liking for red ribbons. Will you surrender those that adorn your machete as forfeit for the first blood drawn?"

"With pleasure," answered the stranger. "I should hardly have ventured to offer them in homage to Doña Sacramenta; henceforth they shall have a certain value in my eyes, as being the price of blood shed for her."

After saying these words with a gracious smile, he uncovered himself, and plucked his sword out of the ground. Calros did so too. A polite altercation then took place between them as to who should be the first to place his hat on his head; but this was soon decided by bonneting at the same time. The most experienced of the spectators undertook the task of selecting a spot free from the sun's rays. This done, the combatants stood face to face, the villagers surrounded them, and they waited for the signal to begin. If the stranger was as skillful as he was brave, Calros would find in him a tough opponent, and the issue might probably be unsuccessful to this ardent lover of Sacramenta. The word was given, and the combat commenced. Their blows were so furiously put that it looked more like an encounter for life and death than a contest for the first blood.^[6] Sometimes the swords cut the air with a mournful sough; sometimes they struck one another with a shrill clang. It was evident, however, that the stranger looked more to the honor of his antagonist than to his life. Now, in combats of this sort, the great point is to guard the hand. A wounded hand is the greatest stain upon the reputation of the most renowned swordsman. The loss of life even is not such a disgrace. Unluckily, the red ribbons, fluttering at the hilt of the unknown's sword, protected his hand more securely than even the best steel guard could have done. It was to deck the beautiful hair of Sacramenta that Calros was exposing his life; it was to guard these ribbons from stain that the Jarocho stood so grimly on his defense. In the course of the combat the swordsmen had now gone over a considerable space of ground. The tumultuous crowd wavered to and fro, and followed the two combat ants as they were successively displaced. Neither had yet received a scratch, when the sword of the stranger, striking that of Calros, glided along the whole length of the blade. A moment after, my host's fingers being cut, he was just about to drop his machete, but a rude parry he made to save his arm failed, and the blood poured out from a wound above his wrist. At the same instant a bloody stain appeared upon the shoulder of the stranger. The two swords were lowered at once, and the combat was decided without its being possible for me to say which of the two had been first wounded; but the skilled and experienced eyes of the witnesses had decided that question. The unknown did not even appeal to their judgment; but, detaching the silk bow which adorned his machete, fixed the much-coveted ornament upon its point, and held it out. to his adversary, thus confessing himself conquered. This last act of courtesy won him all hearts; and, in spite of his defeat, he partook with his rival in all the honors of victory. One thing only remained, which my host perhaps desired more. During the whole time the combat had lasted, a deadly paleness had overspread the countenance of Sacramenta, but that soon gave place to a more lively color when Calros advanced toward her. While she was receiving the precious ribbons which he had so valiantly fought for, the tumultuous heavings of her bosom, a sweet and radiant smile, and looks no more cast down to the ground, all proclaimed in the most eloquent manner to the happy Jarocho that his beloved attached as much value to the bow of scarlet ribbons as he had done to the withered suchil flower which had fallen from her hair the night before.

This last episode had passed unnoticed by almost every body. The men surrounded the stranger, who this time invited them to a ventorillo. Calros soon joined the company, and the two rivals began a contest of prodigality, to the great delight of all the villagers, who, as they swallowed the brandy in long draughts, congratulated themselves on having had such a brilliant fandango as would furnish matter for conversation for a week to come. For my part, after some words had passed between the former rivals, I was on the point of addressing the stranger, when the general attention was directed to a horseman who was seen advancing at full gallop. This cavalier was no other than the person with whom the unknown had agreed the evening before to meet at Manantial. When he saw the blood which stained his shirt, the new-comer cried, "Have you passed a pleasant time here, friend Julian?"

"Better than I could have expected, friend Ventura," answered the stranger.

"Well, did I not tell you what would happen?" said the horseman, pointing to the sky, which, having been covered with clouds for some time, now betokened a coming storm. "We shall have some hard work presently upon the beach. Will you accompany me?"

"Willingly," answered the unknown, sadly, "for I am afraid I have nothing to hope for here."

And, remounting his horse, after shaking every one by the hand, the two friends went off at a gallop. A general break-up then followed. The passage at arms between Calros and Julian had closed the fếte in a worthy manner.

Who were Julian and Yentura? None of the Jarochos around me seemed to know them; but I intended to interrogate Calros about the strangers on the first opportunity. When night had come, and we were lying together under the veranda of my host's cabin, I was on the point of questioning him about the two mysterious individuals, when the light tread of a person walking over the dry grass interrupted me. It was the old woman Josefa. Carefully draped, in spite of the heat, in her rebozo, which allowed only her two sparkling dark eyes to be seen, the old woman presented a complete specimen of those sorceresses that are still to be found in Mexico among so many other remnants of the Middle Ages.

"I have been charged with a message for you," said she to Calros, "and from the lips of one dear to you, who will welcome you on your return, if you ever return alive. You will be told when to set out as soon as you are ready."

The Jarocho rose briskly, and followed the old woman. An hour afterward he returned. He knew that her most fervent wishes accompanied him in his perilous enterprise, and his brow was radiant with delight.

"It is, however, very hard to leave Sacramenta," he remarked, "but I have no longer a pretext for deferring my departure, and we shall set out to-morrow morning."

"So be it; but what road do you intend to take? Do you know to what place the murderer has fled?"

"We shall keep by the coast. Old Josefa assures me that the pilot Ventura will put me on his traces. He is at Bocca del Rio. Down there we shall certainly meet him."

When Calros named Ventura, was desirous to satisfy my curiosity by asking who he was. I inquired if he knew this Ventura, and, above all, Julian, whose chivalrous conduct had singularly interested me; but, as I obtained nothing but vague replies, I was confirmed in my design of accompanying my entertainer to Bocca del Rio, where I hoped to meet the two friends.

Next morning we saddled our horses before dawn, and, as soon as it was daylight, quitted the village, which was still enveloped in its usual morning fog.

 

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1. Local name for a sword.
2. A kind of shed erected for the sale of brandy, tepache (a fermented liquor made from ananas), and other intoxicating liquors.
3. This dance is called bomba.
4. A little village about three leagues from Vera Cruz.
5. Uncle, an expression of endearment, applied to men advanced in years.
6. The Jarochos know nothing of scientific fencing, and trust altogether to strength and agility of body.