I gladly mounted my pony and followed. The broken
army had ceased passing our way by now, and it was peaceful and safe
once more on the great plain. We rode about a mile, and he then pulled
up his horse and pointed to the turf at our feet, where I saw a great
stain of blood on the short dry grass. Here, he told me, was where
they had cut the young officer's throat: the body had been taken by
the Alcalde to his house, where it had been lying since the evening
before, and it would be taken for burial next day to our nearest
village, about eight miles distant.
The murder was the talk of the place for some days, chiefly on account
of the painful facts of the case--that the old Alcalde, who was
respected and even loved by every one, should have failed in so
pitiful a way to make any attempt at saving his young relation. But
the mere fact that the soldiers had cut the throat of their officer
surprised no one; it was a common thing in the case of a defeat in
those days for the men to turn upon and murder their officers. Nor was
throat-cutting a mere custom or convention: to the old soldier it was
the only satisfactory way of finishing off your adversary, or prisoner
of war, or your officer who had been your tyrant, on the day of
defeat. Their feeling was similar to that of the man who is inspired
by the hunting instinct in its primitive form, as described by Richard
Jefferies.
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