Gaspar Ruiz Read online

  Produced by John Orford

  GASPAR RUIZ

  By Joseph Conrad

  I

  A Revolutionary war raises many strange characters out of the obscuritywhich is the common lot of humble lives in an undisturbed state ofsociety.

  Certain individualities grow into fame through their vices and theirvirtues, or simply by their actions, which may have a temporaryimportance; and then they become forgotten. The names of a few leadersalone survive the end of armed strife and are further preserved inhistory; so that, vanishing from men's active memories, they still existin books.

  The name of General Santierra attained that cold, paper-and-inkimmortality. He was a South American of good family, and the bookspublished in his lifetime numbered him amongst the liberators of thatcontinent from the oppressive rule of Spain.

  That long contest, waged for independence on one side and for dominionon the other, developed, in the course of years and the vicissitudes ofchanging fortune, the fierceness and inhumanity of a struggle forlife. All feelings of pity and compassion disappeared in the growth ofpolitical hatred. And, as is usual in war, the mass of the people,who had the least to gain by the issue, suffered most in their obscurepersons and their humble fortunes.

  General Santierra began his service as lieutenant in the patriot armyraised and commanded by the famous San Martin, afterwards conqueror ofLima and liberator of Peru. A great battle had just been fought on thebanks of the river Bio-Bio. Amongst the prisoners made upon the routedRoyalist troops there was a soldier called Gaspar Ruiz. Hispowerful build and his big head rendered him remarkable amongst hisfellow-captives. The personality of the man was unmistakable. Somemonths before, he had been missed from the ranks of Republican troopsafter one of the many skirmishes which preceded the great battle. Andnow, having been captured arms in hand amongst Royalists, he couldexpect no other fate but to be shot as a deserter.

  Gaspar Ruiz, however, was not a deserter; his mind was hardly activeenough to take a discriminating view of the advantages or perilsof treachery. Why should he change sides? He had really been made aprisoner, had suffered ill-usage and many privations. Neither sideshowed tenderness to its adversaries. There came a day when he wasordered, together with some other captured rebels, to march in the frontrank of the Royal troops. A musket, had been thrust into his hands.He had taken it. He had marched. He did not want to be killed withcircumstances of peculiar atrocity for refusing to march. He did notunderstand heroism, but it was his intention to throw his musket away atthe first opportunity. Meantime he had gone on loading and firing, fromfear of having his brains blown out, at the first sign of unwillingness,by some non-commissioned officer of the King of Spain. He tried to setforth these elementary considerations before the sergeant of theguard set over him and some twenty other such deserters, who had beencondemned summarily to be shot.

  It was in the quadrangle of the fort at the back of the batteries whichcommand the road-stead of Valparaiso. The officer who had identified himhad gone on without listening to his protestations. His doom was sealed;his hands were tied very tightly together behind his back; his body wassore all over from the many blows with sticks and butts of muskets whichhad hurried him along on the painful road from the place of his captureto the gate of the fort. This was the only kind of systematic attentionthe prisoners had received from their escort during a four days' journeyacross a scantily watered tract of country. At the crossings of rarestreams they were permitted to quench their thirst by lapping hurriedlylike dogs. In the evening a few scraps of meat were thrown amongstthem as they dropped down dead-beat upon the stony ground of thehalting-place.

  As he stood in the courtyard of the castle in the early morning, afterhaving been driven hard all night, Gaspar Ruiz's throat was parched, andhis tongue felt very large and dry in his mouth.

  And Gaspar Ruiz, besides being very thirsty, was stirred by a feelingof sluggish anger, which he could not very well express, as though thevigour of his spirit were by no means equal to the strength of his body.

  The other prisoners in the batch of the condemned hung their heads,looking obstinately on the ground. But Gaspar Ruiz kept on repeating:"What should I desert for to the Royalists? Why should I desert? Tellme, Estaban!"

  He addressed himself to the sergeant, who happened to belong to the samepart of the country as himself. But the sergeant, after shrugging hismeagre shoulders once, paid no further attention to the deep murmuringvoice at his back. It was indeed strange that Gaspar Ruiz should desert.His people were in too humble a station to feel much the disadvantagesof any form of government. There was no reason why Gaspar Ruiz shouldwish to uphold in his own person the rule of the King of Spain. Neitherhad he been anxious to exert himself for its subversion. He had joinedthe side of Independence in an extremely reasonable and natural manner.A band of patriots appeared one morning early, surrounding his father'sranche, spearing the watch-dogs and hamstringing a fat cow all in thetwinkling of an eye, to the cries of "Viva La Libertad!" Their officerdiscoursed of Liberty with enthusiasm and eloquence after a long andrefreshing sleep. When they left in the evening, taking with them someof Ruiz, the father's, best horses to replace their own lamed animals,Gaspar Ruiz went away with them, having been invited pressingly to do soby the eloquent officer.

  Shortly afterwards a detachment of Royalist troops, coming to pacify thedistrict, burnt the ranche, carried off the remaining horses andcattle, and having thus deprived the old people of all their worldlypossessions, left them sitting under a bush in the enjoyment of theinestimable boon of life.