Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1903-03-07

'lOisllGu VII DOWtllhi lifdfTT w. hoo |
sel5 and plumes, surrounded by his
ages, who wore rich garments Of silk
nd gold, and followed by the squifes |
{ his house, appeared the count. On
ecirg him the multitude raised an i'm
lcnse clamor to greet him, and in the
onfusaa shouting nc II noticed the
hriek Of 81 IN who at that mo-
mont fell swooning n as IL struck BY
lightning. 1t was Margarita, who had
reccEniEed her mysterious lover In the
laughty and dreade lord, count of
soElara, ore of tire greatest mobiles and
most powerful subjects of the crown
u Castillo.
King F~erdinand's army, after leaving
|ordova, had fought it's way TO Sc
lille, and was n6" encamped in sight
II the city of the inhdcls.
Count Gomara was in his tent. Sea-
ID on a hardwood bench, motionless,
2allid, terrible, his hands clasped over
The hilt OF his sword, and his eyes fixed
on space with that vagueness of one
Who seems 10 look at an object and
Jet sees nothing.
Beside htm stood his Oldest squire,
the only one who in those hours of
black melancholy would have dared
interrupt him. What ails you, my
ord?" he was saying to- him. What
disease is wasting and affecting YOU?
sadly you 60 TO the fight and sadly you
| return, even with victory. When all
The warriors sleep, worn out by the
tolls OF the day, l hear you sigh in an
Suish, and If I run TO your bedside
( see you struggling with some In
visible thing that torments you. You
open your eyes and your terror does
not vanish. What ails you, my lord?
Tell me. If 1t is a secret l shall guard
it in the depths OF my memory as In
a tomb"
The count seemed not to lear the
squire. yet after a long while, and as
If the words had taken all that time to
pass from his hearing to his under
standing, he emerged gradually from
his tigidity and spoke with calm n
solemn voice,
Il have suffered long in silence. Be
licving myself the sport of a vain fan
~ l have not spoken until now, from
shame, but no, it is no delusion that
is attacking me.
II must be under the spell Of some
terrible curse. Heaven or hell must de-
sire something of me, and they are
warning me with supernatural events.
Do you remember the day we met the
Moors ut the Aljarafe de Triana? We
were few, the fight was hard, n l was
almost overcome. You saw, In the
thickest Of the fight, my horse, wound
cd and blind with rage, rush war
the main body Of the Moorish host. l
struggled in vain to hold him, the reins
had slipped from my hands, n the
fiery animal rushed on, carrying me TO
certain death.
Already the Moors, closing their
ranks; rested on the ground the butts
of their long lAnces to receive me on
the points; a cloud of arrows whistled
about my ears, the horse was only O
few feet from that wall Of steel on
which we were about to dash, when
believe mo, 1t was no illusion-l saw q
bend, which, grasping the bridle,
checked the horse with supernatural
might, and, wheeling him about to-
wards the ranks of my soldiers saved
me miraculouSly.
I'm vain l asked for my rescuer; no
one knew him, no n had seen him
When you were flying along to death
on the wall of lances,' they said to me
YOU were alone, completely alone; fol
that reason we were astonished to see
YOU turn, knowing that the steed was
beyond the control OF the rider That
night | entered my tent, full or anxiety
] tried in vain to put u of nay imasl-
J nation the memory of the strange al
f venture, when | approached tn
I bed | saw the same hand again, a beau'
! tiful hand, white even to pallor, which
} drew the curtains and vanished. Since
| then, at all hours, in all places, L SCI
t that mysterious hand, which antici'
/ Dates my desires and my actions. Whel
we stormed the castle Of Triana L saw
, il grasp in it's fingers and turn aside al
= arrow that was going to wound me.
have seen il at the banquets, where
5 was trying to drown my grief in con
fusion and tumult, pour wine into m!
4 goblet, n il is always before my eyes
D and wherever l go 1t follows me, In tn
tent, If the fight, by night, by day, eve
now, see it! see it here, resting light,
on my shoulders
o AS he uttered these last words tn
t count started to his feet and took a fey
4 hurried steps as though beside himsel
and driven mad by deep terror. Tn
squire wiped away a tear that wa
n trickling down his cheek. Believing hi
g master mad he did not try to oppose n
ideas, and only said with a voice show
.e ing deep emotion;
Come, let us go out from the tent
moment. Perhaps the evening bree2
II Will cool your temples, calming this IL
comprehensive pain, for which l fin
no words Of comfort"
".
The camp of the Christians street.-the
across the plain as far as the banks
the Guadalquiver. Along the lurnino,
~ horizon rose the walls OF Sevill
~ crowned by battlemented nigh
- | u V III tNSN "a
~ green foliage OF the thousand gardel
- Of the Moorish city, and through Il
dark masses OF foliage cleaned Il
housetops, white as snow, the minare
n of the mosques, n the great Giral'
ct tower.
I'd Within the camp the soldiers were res
Id ing from the labors of the day givi
n themselves up to a thousand diversion
lg Near the kings tent a group of listene
I'd was gathered about a wandering minstr
st who, as the count and his faithful SOU
us drew near, was beginning to tune a XII
ge of Moorish lutte, with which he acco'
pS panied the recitation Of his ballads. AT
he he had frightened the strings, one af'
of another, with great tranquility, while
assistant passed through the company
ur collect the last coppers in the thin pur:
he Of his listeners, the minstrel began
MS sing in a harsh voice, and to a monotC
Gus and ~plaintive air, a ballad OF VIII
t. every stanza ended in the same refrain,
cir The count drew closer and listened.
ed a strange coincidence, 1t would seem,
ms title of the ballad exactly matched
mournful thoughts that weighed upon
he mind AS the singer had announced Def
mt beginning, the ballad was entitled "
of Ballad of the Dead Hand"
the squire, hearing so strange an
or nouncement, tried to draw his mas
away from there but the count, with e
III, fixed on the minstrel, remained mott
less, listening to this song:
i'm The maiden had a lover, who cal
MS himself a squire. TIL squire told
nd that he was f0ing to the war. You
rec and perhaps will not return L will
turn; l swear it by my life While
,us lover swore they say the wind repeat
aid Woe 10 her who trusts in mans pr
m ises!"
THE count rode forth with his ca
RS, troops. She, who recognized him, moa
Sc with great afniction, Woe is me, for
elk count is going away n bears my no
her with him While the poor girl wept, t
he say the wind repeated, Woe to her
trn1rAa 20 nnnnlS nrnnniSns