CHAPTER IX.
At the frontier, in a mountain hamlet. A black night, about one o'clock
in the morning; a winter night inundated by cold and heavy rain. At the
front of a sinister house which casts no light outside, Ramuntcho loads
his shoulders with a heavy smuggled box, under the rippling rain, in the
midst of a tomb-like obscurity. Itchoua's voice commands secretly,--as if
one hardly touched with a bow the last strings of a bass viol,--and
around him, in the absolute darkness, one divines the presence of other
smugglers similarly loaded, ready to start on an adventure.
It is now more than ever Ramuntcho's life, to run almost every night,
especially on the cloudless and moonless nights when one sees nothing,
when the Pyrenees are an immense chaos of shade. Amassing as much money
as he can for his flight, he is in all the smuggling expeditions, as well
in those that bring a suitable remuneration as in those where one risks
death for a hundred cents. And ordinarily, Arrochkoa accompanies him,
without necessity, in sport and for a whim.
They have become inseparable, Arrochkoa, Ramuntcho,--and they talk freely
of their projects about Gracieuse, Arrochkoa seduced especially by the
attraction of some fine prowess, by the joy of taking a nun away from the
church, of undoing the plans of his old, hardened mother,--and Ramuntcho,
in spite of his Christian scruples which affect him still, making of this
dangerous project his only hope, his only reason for being and for
acting. For a month, almost, the attempt has been decided upon in theory
and, in their long talks in the December nights, on the roads where they
walk, or in the corners of the village cider mills where they sit apart,
the means of execution are discussed by them, as if the question was a
simple frontier undertaking. They must act very quickly, concludes
Arrochkoa always, they must act in the surprise of a first interview
which shall be for Gracieuse a very disturbing thing; they must act
without giving her time to think or to recant, they must try something
like kidnapping--
"If you knew," he says, "what is that little convent of Amezqueta where
they have placed her: four old, good sisters with her, in an isolated
house!--I have my horse, you know, who gallops so quickly; once the nun
is in a carriage with you, who can catch her?--"
And to-night they have resolved to take into their confidence Itchoua
himself, a man accustomed to suspicious adventures, valuable in assaults
at night, and who, for money, is capable of everything.
The place from which they start this time for the habitual smuggling
expedition is named Landachkoa, and it is situated in France at ten
minutes' distance from Spain. The inn, solitary and old, assumes as soon
as the night falls, the air of a den of thieves; at this moment while the
smugglers come out of one door, it is full of Spanish carbineers who have
familiarly crossed the frontier to divert themselves here and who drink
while singing. And the hostess, accustomed to these nocturnal affairs,
has said joyfully, a moment ago, in Basque tongue to Itchoua's folks:
"It is all right! They are all drunk, you can go out!"
Go out! It is easier to advise than to do! You are drenched at the first
steps and your feet slip on the mud, despite the aid of your sticks, on
the stiff slopes of the paths. They do not see one another; they see
nothing, neither the walls of the hamlet along which they pass nor the
trees afterward, nor the rocks; they are like blind men, groping and
slipping under a deluge, with the music of rain in their ears which makes
them deaf.
And Ramuntcho, who makes this trip for the first time, has no idea of the
passages which they are to go through, strikes here and there his load
against black things which are branches of beeches, or slips with his two
feet, falters, straightens up, catches himself by planting at random his
iron-pointed stick in the soil. They are the last on the march, Arrochkoa
and Ramuntcho, following the band by ear;--and those who precede them
make no more noise with their sandals than wolves in a forest.
In all, fifteen smugglers on a distance of fifty metres, in the thick
black of the mountain, under the incessant sprinkling of the shower; they
carry boxes full of jewels, of watches, of chains, of rosaries, or
bundles of Lyons silk, wrapped in oilcloth; in front, loaded with
merchandise less valuable, walk two men who are the skirmishers, those
who will attract, if necessary, the guns of the Spaniards and will then
take flight, throwing away everything. All talk in a low voice, despite
the drumming of the rain which already stifles sounds--
The one who precedes Ramuntcho turns round to warn him:
"Here is a torrent in front of us--" (Its presence would have been
guessed by its noise louder than that of the rain--) "We must cross it!"
"Ah!--Cross it how? Wade in the water?--"
"No, the water is too deep. Follow us. There is a tree trunk over it."
Groping, Ramuntcho finds that tree trunk, wet, slippery and round. He
stands, advancing on this monkey's bridge in a forest, carrying his heavy
load, while under him the invisible torrent roars. And he crosses, none
knows how, in the midst of this intensity of black and of this noise of
water.
On the other shore they have to increase precaution and silence. There
are no more mountain paths, frightful descents, under the night, more
oppressing, of the woods. They have reached a sort of plain wherein the
feet penetrate; the sandals attached to nervous legs cause a noise of
beaten water. The eyes of the smugglers, their cat-like eyes, more and
more dilated by the obscurity, perceive confusedly that there is free
space around, that there is no longer the closing in of branches. They
breathe better also and walk with a more regular pace that rests them--
But the bark of dogs immobilizes them all in a sudden manner, as if
petrified under the shower. For a quarter of an hour they wait, without
talking or moving; on their chests, the perspiration runs, mingled with
the rain that enters by their shirt collars and falls to their belts.
By dint of listening, they hear the buzz of their ears, the beat of their
own arteries.
And this tension of their senses is, in their trade, what they all like;
it gives to them a sort of joy almost animal, it doubles the life of the
muscles in them, who are beings of the past; it is a recall of the most
primitive human impressions in the forests or the jungles of original
epochs.--Centuries of civilization will be necessary to abolish this
taste for dangerous surprises which impels certain children to play hide
and seek, certain men to lie in ambush, to skirmish in wars, or to
smuggle--
They have hushed, the watch-dogs, quieted or distracted, their attentive
scent preoccupied by something else. The vast silence has returned, less
reassuring, ready to break, perhaps, because beasts are watching. And, at
a low command from Itchoua, the men begin again their march, slower and
more hesitating, in the night of the plain, a little bent, a little
lowered on their legs, like wild animals on the alert.
Before them is the Nivelle; they do not see it, since they see nothing,
but they hear it run, and now long, flexible things are in the way of
their steps, are crushed by their bodies: the reeds on the shores. The
Nivelle is the frontier; they will have to cross it on a series of
slippery rocks, leaping from stone to stone, despite the loads that make
the legs heavy.
But before doing this they halt on the shore to collect themselves and
rest a little. And first, they call the roll in a low voice: all are
there. The boxes have been placed in the grass; they seem clearer spots,
almost perceptible to trained eyes, while, on the darkness in the
background, the men, standing, make long, straight marks, blacker than
the emptiness of the plain. Passing by Ramuntcho, Itchoua has whispered
in his ear:
"When will you tell me about your plan?"
"In a moment, at our return!--Oh, do not fear, Itchoua, I will tell you!"
At this moment when his chest is heaving and his muscles are in action,
all his faculties doubled and exasperated by his trade, he does not
hesitate, Ramuntcho; in the present exaltation of his strength and of his
combativeness he knows no moral obstacles nor scruples. The idea which
came to his accomplice to associate himself with Itchoua frightens him no
longer. So much the worse! He will surrender to the advice of that man of
stratagem and of violence, even if he must go to the extreme of
kidnapping and housebreaking. He is, to-night, the rebel from whom has
been taken the companion of his life, the adored one, the one who may not
be replaced; he wants her, at the risk of everything.--And while he
thinks of her, in the progressive languor of that halt, he desires her
suddenly with his senses, in a young, savage outbreak, in a manner
unexpected and sovereign--
The immobility is prolonged, the respirations are calmer. And, while the
men shake their dripping caps, pass their hands on their foreheads to
wipe out drops of rain and perspiration that veil the eyes, the first
sensation of cold comes to them, of a damp and profound cold; their wet
clothes chill them, their thoughts weaken; little by little a sort of
torpor benumbs them in the thick darkness, under the incessant winter
rain.
They are accustomed to this, trained to cold and to dampness, they are
hardened prowlers who go to places where, and at hours when, other men
never appear, they are inaccessible to vague frights of the darkness,
they are capable of sleeping without shelter anywhere in the blackest of
rainy nights, in dangerous marshes or hidden ravines--
Now the rest has lasted long enough. This is the decisive instant when
the frontier is to be crossed. All muscles stiffen, ears stretch, eyes
dilate.
First, the skirmishers; then, one after another, the bundle carriers, the
box carriers, each one loaded with a weight of forty kilos, on the
shoulders or on the head. Slipping here and there among the round rocks,
stumbling in the water, everybody crosses, lands on the other shore. Here
they are on the soil of Spain! They have to cross, without gunshots or
bad meetings, a distance of two hundred metres to reach an isolated farm
which is the receiving shop of the chief of the Spanish smugglers, and
once more the game will have been played!
Naturally, it is without light, obscure and sinister, that farm.
Noiselessly and groping they enter in a file; then, on the last who
enter, enormous locks of the door are drawn. At last! Barricaded and
rescued, all! And the treasury of the Queen Regent has been frustrated,
again tonight, of a thousand francs!--
Then, fagots are lighted in the chimney, a candle on the table; they see
one another, they recognize one another, smiling at the success. The
security, the truce of rain over their heads, the flame that dances and
warms, the cider and the whiskey that fill the glasses, bring back to
these men noisy joy after compelled silence. They talk gaily, and the
tall, white-haired, old chief who receives them all at this undue hour,
announces that he will give to his village a beautiful square for the
pelota game, the plans of which have been drawn and the cost of which
will be ten thousand francs.
"Now, tell me your affair," insists Itchoua, in Ramuntcho's ear. "Oh, I
suspect what it is! Gracieuse, eh?--That is it, is it not?--It is hard
you know.--I do not like to do things against my religion, you
know.--Then, I have my place as a chorister, which I might lose in such a
game.--Let us see, how much money will you give me if I succeed?--"
He had foreseen, Ramuntcho, that this sombre aid would cost him a great
deal, Itchoua being, in truth, a churchman, whose conscience would have
to be bought; and, much disturbed, with a flush on his cheeks, Ramuntcho
grants, after a discussion, a thousand francs. Anyway, if he is piling up
money, it is only to get Gracieuse, and if enough remains for him to go
to America with her, what matters it?--
And now that his secret is known to Itchoua, now that his cherished
project is being elaborated in that obstinate and sharp brain, it seems
to Ramuntcho that he has made a decisive step toward the execution of his
plan, that all has suddenly become real and approaching. Then, in the
midst of the lugubrious decay of the place, among these men who are less
than ever similar to him, he isolates himself in an immense hope of love.
They drink for a last time together, all around, clinking their glasses
loudly; then they start again, in the thick night and under the incessant
rain, but this time on the highway, in a band and singing. Nothing in the
hands, nothing in the pockets: they are now ordinary people, returning
from a natural promenade.
In the rear guard, at a distance from the singers, Itchoua on his long
legs walks with his hands resting on Ramuntcho's shoulder. Interested and
ardent for success, since the sum has been agreed upon, Itchoua whispers
in Ramuntcho's ear imperious advices. Like Arrochkoa, he wishes to act
with stunning abruptness, in the surprise of a first interview which will
occur in the evening, as late as the rule of a convent will permit, at an
uncertain and twilight hour, when the village shall have begun to sleep.
"Above all," he says, "do not show yourself beforehand. She must not have
seen you, she must not even know that you have returned home! You must
not lose the advantage of surprise--"
While Ramuntcho listens and meditates in silence, the others, who lead
the march, sing always the same old song that times their steps. And thus
they re-enter Landachkoa, village of France, crossing the bridge of the
Nivelle, under the beards of the Spanish carbineers.
They have no sort of illusion, the watching carbineers, about what these
men, so wet, have been doing at an hour so black.
