164 The Eve of Saint Simon, in Colombia. QAuo. 



education, and a constant intercourse with good society. It is not sur- 

 prising, therefore, that Gill, wholly destitute of these refinements, should 

 have acted according to his own limited comprehension of right and 

 wrong, and eagerly embraced the opportunity of preferment which now 

 unexpectedly presented itself. Scarcely had the sound of Paez's allur- 

 ing offer died upon the air, when he advanced, and received from the 

 hands of the general those epaulettes which had lately appertained to 

 Hodgkinson ; and as soon as the officious Trayner had aided in adjusting 

 them to his shoulders, he proceeded, with the most perfect " sang froid," 

 to place himself at the head of the firing-party ! ! ! 



And here I must request my reader's permission to pause for an in- 

 stant to nerve myself for the horrid task I have undertaken. How shall 

 I find words to narrate an event that beggars description ? The vivid 

 colouring of creative fancy would fail in its attempt to paint the sad 

 reality ! Some years have elapsed, and still the dreadful scene is as fresh 

 in my recollection as at the hour I witnessed it. Too faithful memory 

 retraces every incident. I yet behold (in imagination) the " Grande 

 Plaza," the assembled troops, the stern and ruthless Paez with his drawn 

 sword (like his prototype, the fiendish Richard), in an assumed reverie, 

 tracing lines upon the sandy soil at his feet. I see the pallid and implor- 

 ing looks of the unhappy sufferers wandering from one object to an- 

 other, till they rest in all the fixidity of despair upon the platoon, which 

 with evident reluctance is slowly preparing the murderous tube. At a 

 little distance I perceive the infamous Trayner (like the demon o'er 

 the fall of man) exulting in the desolation he has caused. I see dejec- 

 tion portrayed on the countenance of the men of the " legion," whilst 

 the drooping heads and downcast eyes of the officers betray their inward 

 emotion. A cry of agony wounds my ear. I turn, and behold a group of 

 Creole banditti forcing the six struggling victims towards the low wall 

 that connects the church with the " Caza del Cura." I see them arrive 

 there, and constrained to kneel. The fatal platoon advances, halts. I hear 

 the word " Make ready." I close my eyes in fearful anticipation of the 

 next order : a shout causes me to reopen them. The six unhappy men, as 

 if actuated by one simultaneous impulse, have leaped the enclosure, and 

 are making their way through the cemetery to the woods in the rear. 

 Vain, alas ! are their hopes of safety. Mounted and dismounted Creoles 

 are pursuing them with the speed and fury of blood-hounds. They are 

 turned, and again driven back to the square. The foremost, panting for 

 breath, directs his flight towards Paez (with a view, perhaps, of exciting 

 his compassion) : he has nearly reached the goal he strives to attain. Mer- 

 ciful Heaven ! Trayner, the diabolical Trayner, intercepts his progress, 

 and betrays his last hope ! The villain's sword has passed through his 

 palpitating bosom. I hear his shriek of anguish, I see him fall I can be- 

 hold no more my sight grows dim every faculty is enchained by horror 

 an indistinct sensation of confused sounds is the only evidence I retain 

 of existence. How long this stupor lasts I know not : when I recover, I 

 find myself alone in the " Grande Plaza ;" the troops are dismissed ; the 

 last gleam of twilight has just sank into the obscurity of night ; six bloody 

 corses, extended where they fell, are damning proofs of the recent mas- 

 sacre. Replete with melancholy forebodings, I take the road to my quar- 

 ters. As I pass the general's house, the sound of music assails my ear. I 

 approach an open window. The barbarian is enjoying the pleasures of the 

 sprightly dance, whilst the mangled remains of six fellow-creatures lie 



