Chapter Twenty Six.The Play of Eyes.The ceremony of laying the foundation-stone had been brief and it was yet only an early hour of the afternoon when the procession passed back along the Callé de Plateros. The scavengers were still at work, and it is scarcely necessary to say that two of their number were earnestly on the lookout for a certain carriage. Sorry plight as they were in, neither felt ashamed or reluctant to come again under those eyes, after the expression they had observed in them. Rivas had hopes that in another exchange of glances with the Condesa, he might see something still further to instruct him; while Kearney, not so confident about his interpretation of those given to himself, longed to have a second reading of them.Nor was he disappointed. The procession returned sooner than they expected, the looked-for carriage still holding its place in the line; the ladies in it, but now no officer of Hussars, nor any other, riding alongside. Santander, an aide-de-camp as known, had likely been ordered off on some official errand, and likely, too, his chief did not relish seeing him so near that particular equipage. Whatever the cause, his absence gave gratification to the two men noting it. With less constraint glances might now be exchanged—even gestures.And both were. The look Kearney had given to him was accompanied by a nod of recognition; slight and timid, for it could not well be otherwise under the circumstances. But the eyes spoke more eloquently, telling him of respect undiminished, faith that had never faltered, love strong and true as ever. If he read pity in them too, it was not such as he would now spurn.To Rivas were accorded signs of a very different sort. He had them not only from eyes, but the movement of a fan and fingers. They seemed satisfactory to him; for as the carriage passed out of sight, he turned to the other and said in a cheerful whisper:“Keep up heart,camarado! I perceive you’re not unknown to a friend of my friend. You heard the brute of a gaol-governor taunt me about a certain Condesa?”“I did.”“Well; that’s the lady, alongside her who’s just been making eyes at you. An old acquaintance of yours, I see; and I think I could say where it was commenced. Never mind about that now. Enough for you to know that if friendship can get us out of this fix, with gold to back it, we may yet have a chance of giving leg-bail to the turnkeys of the Acordada.”Their dialogue was terminated by Dominguez, who, temporarily absent for a swill at one of the neighbouringpulquerias, now returned to the superintendence of his charge, and roughly commanded them to resume their work.For nearly another hour the work went on, though not so regularly as before. The stream of returning sightseers still lined the foot-walks, many of them showing by their behaviour they had been paying a visit topulqueriastoo, and more than once. Some stopped to fraternise with the soldiers, and would have done likewise with theforzados, if permitted. They were not hindered, however, from holding converse with the former, and extending hospitality to them in the shape of treats; sentry after sentry stealing away from his post after the proffered and coveted toothful. Nor was Dominguez an exception, he too every now and then repeating his visit to the dram-shop.All this gave the scavengers licence of speech, with some liberty of action, or rather rest from their disagreeable task. And in the interval, while they were thus idling, the young Irishman noticed that the eyes of his chain companion were kept continuously on the foot-walks, now on one side now the other, his face towards the Plaza Grande—as though he expected to see some one coming that way. Kearney himself was regarding the people who came along—but only from curiosity—when his attention was more particularly drawn to one who had come to a stop on the sidewalk nearly opposite. This was a girl of rather diminutive stature, dressed in the ordinary fashion of the common people, short-skirted petticoat, sleevelesscamisa, arms, ankles, and feet bare; but the head, breast, and shoulders all under one covering—thereboso. Even her face was hidden by this, for she was wearing it “tapado,” one eye only visible, through a little loop in the folded scarf, which was kept open by the hand that held it. The girl had drawn up in front of a jeweller’s window, as though to feast that eye on the pretty things therein displayed. And thus Kearney would not have noticed her, any more than the others, many of them in like garb passing to and fro. But, just as his eye happened to light upon her, he saw that hers—literally a single one—was fixed upon him, regarding him in a way altogether different from that which might be expected on the part of a chance stranger. Her attitude, too, was odd. Though facing nearly square to the shop window, and pretending to look into it, her head was slightly turned, and the eye surely on him.At first he was puzzled to make out what it could mean, and why the girl should be taking such an interest in him. Possibly, had she been wearing shoes and stockings, he might have come easier to the comprehension of it. But a little brown-skinned, barefootedmuchacha, in a petticoat of common stuff, and cheap scarf over her shoulders, he could think of no reason why she should have aught to do with him.Only for a few seconds, however, was he thus in the dark. Then all became clear, theéclaircissementgiving him a start, and sending the blood in quick rush through his veins—pleasant withal. For the girl, seeing she had caught his attention, relaxed her clasp upon the scarf, partially exposing her face, and the other eye.Kearney needed not seeing the whole of it for recognition now. Well remembered he those features—pretty in spite of the dark skin—he had often seen wreathed with pleasant smiles, as their owner used to open the door for him in the Casa de Calvo.
The ceremony of laying the foundation-stone had been brief and it was yet only an early hour of the afternoon when the procession passed back along the Callé de Plateros. The scavengers were still at work, and it is scarcely necessary to say that two of their number were earnestly on the lookout for a certain carriage. Sorry plight as they were in, neither felt ashamed or reluctant to come again under those eyes, after the expression they had observed in them. Rivas had hopes that in another exchange of glances with the Condesa, he might see something still further to instruct him; while Kearney, not so confident about his interpretation of those given to himself, longed to have a second reading of them.
Nor was he disappointed. The procession returned sooner than they expected, the looked-for carriage still holding its place in the line; the ladies in it, but now no officer of Hussars, nor any other, riding alongside. Santander, an aide-de-camp as known, had likely been ordered off on some official errand, and likely, too, his chief did not relish seeing him so near that particular equipage. Whatever the cause, his absence gave gratification to the two men noting it. With less constraint glances might now be exchanged—even gestures.
And both were. The look Kearney had given to him was accompanied by a nod of recognition; slight and timid, for it could not well be otherwise under the circumstances. But the eyes spoke more eloquently, telling him of respect undiminished, faith that had never faltered, love strong and true as ever. If he read pity in them too, it was not such as he would now spurn.
To Rivas were accorded signs of a very different sort. He had them not only from eyes, but the movement of a fan and fingers. They seemed satisfactory to him; for as the carriage passed out of sight, he turned to the other and said in a cheerful whisper:
“Keep up heart,camarado! I perceive you’re not unknown to a friend of my friend. You heard the brute of a gaol-governor taunt me about a certain Condesa?”
“I did.”
“Well; that’s the lady, alongside her who’s just been making eyes at you. An old acquaintance of yours, I see; and I think I could say where it was commenced. Never mind about that now. Enough for you to know that if friendship can get us out of this fix, with gold to back it, we may yet have a chance of giving leg-bail to the turnkeys of the Acordada.”
Their dialogue was terminated by Dominguez, who, temporarily absent for a swill at one of the neighbouringpulquerias, now returned to the superintendence of his charge, and roughly commanded them to resume their work.
For nearly another hour the work went on, though not so regularly as before. The stream of returning sightseers still lined the foot-walks, many of them showing by their behaviour they had been paying a visit topulqueriastoo, and more than once. Some stopped to fraternise with the soldiers, and would have done likewise with theforzados, if permitted. They were not hindered, however, from holding converse with the former, and extending hospitality to them in the shape of treats; sentry after sentry stealing away from his post after the proffered and coveted toothful. Nor was Dominguez an exception, he too every now and then repeating his visit to the dram-shop.
All this gave the scavengers licence of speech, with some liberty of action, or rather rest from their disagreeable task. And in the interval, while they were thus idling, the young Irishman noticed that the eyes of his chain companion were kept continuously on the foot-walks, now on one side now the other, his face towards the Plaza Grande—as though he expected to see some one coming that way. Kearney himself was regarding the people who came along—but only from curiosity—when his attention was more particularly drawn to one who had come to a stop on the sidewalk nearly opposite. This was a girl of rather diminutive stature, dressed in the ordinary fashion of the common people, short-skirted petticoat, sleevelesscamisa, arms, ankles, and feet bare; but the head, breast, and shoulders all under one covering—thereboso. Even her face was hidden by this, for she was wearing it “tapado,” one eye only visible, through a little loop in the folded scarf, which was kept open by the hand that held it. The girl had drawn up in front of a jeweller’s window, as though to feast that eye on the pretty things therein displayed. And thus Kearney would not have noticed her, any more than the others, many of them in like garb passing to and fro. But, just as his eye happened to light upon her, he saw that hers—literally a single one—was fixed upon him, regarding him in a way altogether different from that which might be expected on the part of a chance stranger. Her attitude, too, was odd. Though facing nearly square to the shop window, and pretending to look into it, her head was slightly turned, and the eye surely on him.
At first he was puzzled to make out what it could mean, and why the girl should be taking such an interest in him. Possibly, had she been wearing shoes and stockings, he might have come easier to the comprehension of it. But a little brown-skinned, barefootedmuchacha, in a petticoat of common stuff, and cheap scarf over her shoulders, he could think of no reason why she should have aught to do with him.
Only for a few seconds, however, was he thus in the dark. Then all became clear, theéclaircissementgiving him a start, and sending the blood in quick rush through his veins—pleasant withal. For the girl, seeing she had caught his attention, relaxed her clasp upon the scarf, partially exposing her face, and the other eye.
Kearney needed not seeing the whole of it for recognition now. Well remembered he those features—pretty in spite of the dark skin—he had often seen wreathed with pleasant smiles, as their owner used to open the door for him in the Casa de Calvo.
Chapter Twenty Seven.A Letter Dexterously Delivered.Pepita it was, though in a different style of dress to what he had been accustomed to see her in; as at New Orleans she had not kept to her national costume. Besides, there was asoupçonof shabbiness about her present attire, and then the shoeless feet!“Dismissed the Valverde service—out of a situation—poor girl!”He would not have so pityingly reflected, had he seen her as she was but a short half-hour before, in a pretty muslin dress, snow-white stockings, and blue satin slippers. Since then she had made a change in her toilet under direction and by help of the Condesa, who had attired her in a way more befitting the task intended.Kearney, in full belief of her being a discharged servant, remembering her many little kindnesses to himself in the Casa de Calvo, was about to call her up, and speak a word of sympathy for old time’s sake. Dominguez was still absent, and the nearest sentry engaged in a chaffing encounter with some one in the crowd.Just then he observed a slight tremor of her head, and with a sudden movement of the hand which seemed to say, “No, don’t speak to me.” She, too, could talk that mute language, so well understood in her country.So restrained, he kept silent; to see her now glance furtively around, as if to make sure no one else was observing her. She had again closed the scarf over her face, but in the hand that held it under her chin something white—a piece of paper he supposed—appeared; just for one instant, then drawn under. Another significant look accompanied this gesture, saying plain as word could speak it:—“You see what I’ve got for you; leave the action all to me.”He did, for he could not do otherwise; he was fixed to this spot, she foot free. And the use she now made of this freedom was to walk straight out into the street, though not as coming to him; instead, her steps, as her eyes were directed towards Cris Rock and the hunchback, who were at work some paces further on. She seemed bent on making a closer inspection of the odd pair, nor would any one suppose she had other object in crossing over to them. No one did, save Kearney himself. Rivas had been again ordered into the sewer, and was at work in it. Besides, he did not know Pepita, though he was the one she most wished to be near. Chiefly for him was the communication she had to make.It could not be, however, without a demonstration likely to be observed, therefore dangerous. But her wit was equal to the occasion, proving how well the ladies had chosen their letter-carrier.“Ay Dios!” she exclaimed aloud, brushing past the young Irishman, and stopping with her eyes bent wonderingly on the strangely contrasted couple; then aside insotto voceto Kearney, whom she had managed to place close behind her, apparently unconscious of his being there—“Abilletita, Don Florencio—not for you—for the Señor Rivas—you can give it him—I daren’t. Try to take it out of my hand without being seen.” Then once more aloud. “Gigante y enano!” just as others had said, “Rue cosa estranja!” (what a strange thing).She need not say any more, nor stay there any longer. For while she was speaking the crumpled sheet had passed through the fringe of the scarf, out of her fingers into those of Don Florencio, who had bent him to his work bringing his hand to the right place for the transfer.Her errand, thus vicariously accomplished with another wondering look at the giant and dwarf, and another “Ay, Dios!” she turned to go back to the side walk. But before passing Kearney she managed to say something more to him.“Carriage will come along soon—two ladies in it—one you know—one dear to you as you to her.”Sweet words to him, though muttered, and he thanked her who spoke them—in his heart. He dared not speak his thanks, even in whisper; she was already too far off, tripping back to the flagged foot-walk, along which she turned, soon to disappear from his sight.What she had said about the coming of a carriage was to Kearney not altogether intelligible. But, no doubt, the note, now concealed inside his shirt bosom would clear that up; and the next step was to hand it over to him for whom it was intended.Luckily, Rivas had not been unobservant of what was going on between the girl and his companion. Her look seeming strange to him, had attracted his attention, and though keeping steadily at work, his eyes were not on it, but on them, which resulted in his witnessing the latter part of the little episode, and having more than a suspicion it also concerned himself. He was not taken by surprise, therefore, when Kearney, drawing closer to the edge of the drain, spoke down to him in a half-whisper—“I’ve got something for you. Bring the point of your tool against mine, and look out when you feel my fingers.”“Muy bien! I understand,” was the muttered response.In a second or two after the shafts of their implements came into collision accidentally, it appeared. He would indeed have been sharp-witted who could have supposed it intentional, and lynx-eyed to have seen that scrap of twisted paper passed from one to the other—the second transfer dexterously done as the first. All any one could have told was, that the two scavengers seemed sorry for what had occurred, made mutual apologies, then separated to the full length of their coupling-chain, and went to work again, looking meek and innocent as lambs.It was now Rivas’ turn to prove himself possessed of quick wit. He had reason to think the letter required immediate reading; and how was this to be done? To be seen at it would surely bring the sentries upon him, even though Dominguez was not there. And for them to get possession of it—that was a calamity perhaps worst of all! Possibly to compromise the writer; and well knew he who that was.For a time he was perplexed, looking in all directions, and thinking of every way possible for him to read the letter unobserved. But none did seem possible. He could stoop down, so as to be unseen by those passing along the sidewalk; but close to the sewer’s edge were two or three of the sentries, who would still command view of him.All at once a look of satisfaction came over his countenance, as his eyes rested on a side drain, which entered the main one, like many others, from adjacent dwellings. He had just scraped the mud out of its mouth, and was close to it.The very thing, was his thought—the very place for his purpose. And shortly after he might have been seen standing before it, in bent attitude, his arms busy with his shovel, but his eyes and thoughts busier with a sheet of paper which lay at the bottom of the branch drain, some two or three feet inside it. It was thebilletita, and though the creases were but hastily pressed out, he contrived to make himself master of its contents. They were but brief and legibly written—the script familiar to him.“Querido,—Soon after receiving this—say, half an hour—look for a carriage—landau shut up—two ladies inside—pair of large horses—frisones—grey. When opposite, be ready—with him who shares your chain. Leave manners in the mud—make a rush, storm the carriage, eject the occupants rudely—violently—and take their places. You can trust thecochero. Some danger in the attempt, I know; but more if not made. Your old enemy implacable—determined to have your life. Do this, dearest, and save it—for your country’s sake, as also that of Ysabel.”
Pepita it was, though in a different style of dress to what he had been accustomed to see her in; as at New Orleans she had not kept to her national costume. Besides, there was asoupçonof shabbiness about her present attire, and then the shoeless feet!
“Dismissed the Valverde service—out of a situation—poor girl!”
He would not have so pityingly reflected, had he seen her as she was but a short half-hour before, in a pretty muslin dress, snow-white stockings, and blue satin slippers. Since then she had made a change in her toilet under direction and by help of the Condesa, who had attired her in a way more befitting the task intended.
Kearney, in full belief of her being a discharged servant, remembering her many little kindnesses to himself in the Casa de Calvo, was about to call her up, and speak a word of sympathy for old time’s sake. Dominguez was still absent, and the nearest sentry engaged in a chaffing encounter with some one in the crowd.
Just then he observed a slight tremor of her head, and with a sudden movement of the hand which seemed to say, “No, don’t speak to me.” She, too, could talk that mute language, so well understood in her country.
So restrained, he kept silent; to see her now glance furtively around, as if to make sure no one else was observing her. She had again closed the scarf over her face, but in the hand that held it under her chin something white—a piece of paper he supposed—appeared; just for one instant, then drawn under. Another significant look accompanied this gesture, saying plain as word could speak it:—
“You see what I’ve got for you; leave the action all to me.”
He did, for he could not do otherwise; he was fixed to this spot, she foot free. And the use she now made of this freedom was to walk straight out into the street, though not as coming to him; instead, her steps, as her eyes were directed towards Cris Rock and the hunchback, who were at work some paces further on. She seemed bent on making a closer inspection of the odd pair, nor would any one suppose she had other object in crossing over to them. No one did, save Kearney himself. Rivas had been again ordered into the sewer, and was at work in it. Besides, he did not know Pepita, though he was the one she most wished to be near. Chiefly for him was the communication she had to make.
It could not be, however, without a demonstration likely to be observed, therefore dangerous. But her wit was equal to the occasion, proving how well the ladies had chosen their letter-carrier.
“Ay Dios!” she exclaimed aloud, brushing past the young Irishman, and stopping with her eyes bent wonderingly on the strangely contrasted couple; then aside insotto voceto Kearney, whom she had managed to place close behind her, apparently unconscious of his being there—“Abilletita, Don Florencio—not for you—for the Señor Rivas—you can give it him—I daren’t. Try to take it out of my hand without being seen.” Then once more aloud. “Gigante y enano!” just as others had said, “Rue cosa estranja!” (what a strange thing).
She need not say any more, nor stay there any longer. For while she was speaking the crumpled sheet had passed through the fringe of the scarf, out of her fingers into those of Don Florencio, who had bent him to his work bringing his hand to the right place for the transfer.
Her errand, thus vicariously accomplished with another wondering look at the giant and dwarf, and another “Ay, Dios!” she turned to go back to the side walk. But before passing Kearney she managed to say something more to him.
“Carriage will come along soon—two ladies in it—one you know—one dear to you as you to her.”
Sweet words to him, though muttered, and he thanked her who spoke them—in his heart. He dared not speak his thanks, even in whisper; she was already too far off, tripping back to the flagged foot-walk, along which she turned, soon to disappear from his sight.
What she had said about the coming of a carriage was to Kearney not altogether intelligible. But, no doubt, the note, now concealed inside his shirt bosom would clear that up; and the next step was to hand it over to him for whom it was intended.
Luckily, Rivas had not been unobservant of what was going on between the girl and his companion. Her look seeming strange to him, had attracted his attention, and though keeping steadily at work, his eyes were not on it, but on them, which resulted in his witnessing the latter part of the little episode, and having more than a suspicion it also concerned himself. He was not taken by surprise, therefore, when Kearney, drawing closer to the edge of the drain, spoke down to him in a half-whisper—
“I’ve got something for you. Bring the point of your tool against mine, and look out when you feel my fingers.”
“Muy bien! I understand,” was the muttered response.
In a second or two after the shafts of their implements came into collision accidentally, it appeared. He would indeed have been sharp-witted who could have supposed it intentional, and lynx-eyed to have seen that scrap of twisted paper passed from one to the other—the second transfer dexterously done as the first. All any one could have told was, that the two scavengers seemed sorry for what had occurred, made mutual apologies, then separated to the full length of their coupling-chain, and went to work again, looking meek and innocent as lambs.
It was now Rivas’ turn to prove himself possessed of quick wit. He had reason to think the letter required immediate reading; and how was this to be done? To be seen at it would surely bring the sentries upon him, even though Dominguez was not there. And for them to get possession of it—that was a calamity perhaps worst of all! Possibly to compromise the writer; and well knew he who that was.
For a time he was perplexed, looking in all directions, and thinking of every way possible for him to read the letter unobserved. But none did seem possible. He could stoop down, so as to be unseen by those passing along the sidewalk; but close to the sewer’s edge were two or three of the sentries, who would still command view of him.
All at once a look of satisfaction came over his countenance, as his eyes rested on a side drain, which entered the main one, like many others, from adjacent dwellings. He had just scraped the mud out of its mouth, and was close to it.
The very thing, was his thought—the very place for his purpose. And shortly after he might have been seen standing before it, in bent attitude, his arms busy with his shovel, but his eyes and thoughts busier with a sheet of paper which lay at the bottom of the branch drain, some two or three feet inside it. It was thebilletita, and though the creases were but hastily pressed out, he contrived to make himself master of its contents. They were but brief and legibly written—the script familiar to him.
“Querido,—Soon after receiving this—say, half an hour—look for a carriage—landau shut up—two ladies inside—pair of large horses—frisones—grey. When opposite, be ready—with him who shares your chain. Leave manners in the mud—make a rush, storm the carriage, eject the occupants rudely—violently—and take their places. You can trust thecochero. Some danger in the attempt, I know; but more if not made. Your old enemy implacable—determined to have your life. Do this, dearest, and save it—for your country’s sake, as also that of Ysabel.”
Chapter Twenty Eight.Looking out for a Landau.From the way Rivas treated the “billetita” after he had finished reading it, one unacquainted with its contents might have supposed they had made him either mad angry, or madly jealous. Instead of taking it up tenderly, and treasuring it away, he planted his muddy boot upon it, with a back scrape brought it into the main sewer, still keeping it under the mud and trampling it with both feet, lifted and set down alternately, the while shovelling away, as though he had forgotten all about it. Not so, however. The tread-mill action was neither accidental nor involuntary, but for a purpose. The writer had committed herself in sub-signing a portion of her name, as by other particulars, and should the letter fall into hands he knew of, her danger would be as great as his own.In a few seconds, however, any uneasiness about this was at an end. The most curiouschiffoniercould not have deciphered a word written on that sheet, which by the churning he had submitted it to must have been reduced to a very pulp.During all this time no one had taken notice of his proceedings, not even the man chained to him, except by an occasional side glance. For Kearney, well aware of what he was at, to draw attention from him had got up a wordy demonstration with the dwarf—to all appearance a quarrel. There was real anger on the side of the latter; for the “gringo,” as he contemptuously called the Irishman, had cruelly mocked his deformity. A cruelty which gave pain to the mocker himself; but he could think of no other way to secure inattention to Rivas, and this efficiently did. Both talking the tongue of the country, their war of words, with some grotesque gestures which Kearney affected, engrossed the attention of all within sight or hearing; so that not an eye was left for the surreptitious reader of the letter.When the sham quarrel came to an end—which it did soon as he who commenced it saw it should—the knot of spectators it had drawn around dispersed, leaving things as before. But not as before felt Rivas and Kearney. Very different now the thoughts stirring within them, both trying to appear calm while under the greatest agitation. For they had again contrived to bring their ears together, and the latter now knew all about the contents of the Condesa’s letter, their purport being fully explained, nor did they draw apart, till a thorough understanding had been established between them as to the action they should take.All this without loss of time was translated to Cris Rock, who was told also of their resolve to attempt to escape, in which the Texan was but too glad to take part. Kearney would have stayed there, and gone back into the Acordada, loathsome gaol though it was, sooner than leave his old filibustering comrade behind. He could never forget the incident of El Salado, nor cease to feel gratitude to the man who had offered to give up life for him.But there was no need for Rock being left behind. Rivas himself wished it otherwise, for more than one reason; but one good one, that instead of obstructing their escape he would be an aid to it.The hunchback alone was not let into their secret. No doubt he too would be glad to get free from his chains, since he was under a sentence of imprisonment for life. But who could tell whether at the last moment he might not purchase pardon by turning out and betraying them? They knew him to be vile enough even for that, and so kept him in the dark about their design.There was no need of further premeditation or contrivance of plans. That had all been traced out for them in the singular epistle signed “Ysabel,” and a few whispered words from one to the other completed the understanding of it, with what was to be done. From the time this was settled out, never looked three pair of eyes more eagerly along a street than did theirs along the Callé de Plateros; never was a carriage more anxiously awaited than a landau which should show itself with hood up, drawn by a pair of grey horses.It is now well on the afternoon, and the “beauty and fashion” of the Mexican metropolis were beginning to appear in carriages, with chivalry on horseback, along the line of streets leading to the Paseo Nuevo. The procession of the morning would little affect the usual evening display; and already several equipages had rolled past the place where the chain-gang was at work. But as yet appeared not the one so anxiously looked-for, and the half-hour was up!Still ten minutes more without any sign of it!More anxious now were the three prisoners, who contemplated escape, though not at all to the same degree, or for the same reason. Kearney feared there had been a failure, from betrayal by the coachman spoken of as so trustworthy; he did not think of suspecting Pepita. The Texan, too, believed some hitch had occurred, a “bit o’ crooked luck,” as he worded it. Not so Rivas. Though, as the others, chafing at the delay, he still had confidence in the carriage coming, as he had in the directing head of one he expected to see inside it. It was being purposely kept back, he fancied; likely as not, lest it might attract attention by being too early on the street.Whatever the cause, his conjectures were soon brought to an end—and abruptly—by seeing the thing itself.“Bueno!” he mentally exclaimed, then muttering to the others—“Yonder it comes!Frisones pardescoachman in sky-blue and silver—be readycamarados.”And ready they were, as panthers preparing to spring. Rock and Rivas, as Kearney himself, were now out of the sewer and up on the street; all three still making believe to work; while the dwarf seemed to suspect there was something in the wind, but could not guess what.He knew the instant after, when a strong hand, grasping him by the collar, lifted him off his feet, raising and tossing him further aloft, as though he had been but a rat.
From the way Rivas treated the “billetita” after he had finished reading it, one unacquainted with its contents might have supposed they had made him either mad angry, or madly jealous. Instead of taking it up tenderly, and treasuring it away, he planted his muddy boot upon it, with a back scrape brought it into the main sewer, still keeping it under the mud and trampling it with both feet, lifted and set down alternately, the while shovelling away, as though he had forgotten all about it. Not so, however. The tread-mill action was neither accidental nor involuntary, but for a purpose. The writer had committed herself in sub-signing a portion of her name, as by other particulars, and should the letter fall into hands he knew of, her danger would be as great as his own.
In a few seconds, however, any uneasiness about this was at an end. The most curiouschiffoniercould not have deciphered a word written on that sheet, which by the churning he had submitted it to must have been reduced to a very pulp.
During all this time no one had taken notice of his proceedings, not even the man chained to him, except by an occasional side glance. For Kearney, well aware of what he was at, to draw attention from him had got up a wordy demonstration with the dwarf—to all appearance a quarrel. There was real anger on the side of the latter; for the “gringo,” as he contemptuously called the Irishman, had cruelly mocked his deformity. A cruelty which gave pain to the mocker himself; but he could think of no other way to secure inattention to Rivas, and this efficiently did. Both talking the tongue of the country, their war of words, with some grotesque gestures which Kearney affected, engrossed the attention of all within sight or hearing; so that not an eye was left for the surreptitious reader of the letter.
When the sham quarrel came to an end—which it did soon as he who commenced it saw it should—the knot of spectators it had drawn around dispersed, leaving things as before. But not as before felt Rivas and Kearney. Very different now the thoughts stirring within them, both trying to appear calm while under the greatest agitation. For they had again contrived to bring their ears together, and the latter now knew all about the contents of the Condesa’s letter, their purport being fully explained, nor did they draw apart, till a thorough understanding had been established between them as to the action they should take.
All this without loss of time was translated to Cris Rock, who was told also of their resolve to attempt to escape, in which the Texan was but too glad to take part. Kearney would have stayed there, and gone back into the Acordada, loathsome gaol though it was, sooner than leave his old filibustering comrade behind. He could never forget the incident of El Salado, nor cease to feel gratitude to the man who had offered to give up life for him.
But there was no need for Rock being left behind. Rivas himself wished it otherwise, for more than one reason; but one good one, that instead of obstructing their escape he would be an aid to it.
The hunchback alone was not let into their secret. No doubt he too would be glad to get free from his chains, since he was under a sentence of imprisonment for life. But who could tell whether at the last moment he might not purchase pardon by turning out and betraying them? They knew him to be vile enough even for that, and so kept him in the dark about their design.
There was no need of further premeditation or contrivance of plans. That had all been traced out for them in the singular epistle signed “Ysabel,” and a few whispered words from one to the other completed the understanding of it, with what was to be done. From the time this was settled out, never looked three pair of eyes more eagerly along a street than did theirs along the Callé de Plateros; never was a carriage more anxiously awaited than a landau which should show itself with hood up, drawn by a pair of grey horses.
It is now well on the afternoon, and the “beauty and fashion” of the Mexican metropolis were beginning to appear in carriages, with chivalry on horseback, along the line of streets leading to the Paseo Nuevo. The procession of the morning would little affect the usual evening display; and already several equipages had rolled past the place where the chain-gang was at work. But as yet appeared not the one so anxiously looked-for, and the half-hour was up!
Still ten minutes more without any sign of it!
More anxious now were the three prisoners, who contemplated escape, though not at all to the same degree, or for the same reason. Kearney feared there had been a failure, from betrayal by the coachman spoken of as so trustworthy; he did not think of suspecting Pepita. The Texan, too, believed some hitch had occurred, a “bit o’ crooked luck,” as he worded it. Not so Rivas. Though, as the others, chafing at the delay, he still had confidence in the carriage coming, as he had in the directing head of one he expected to see inside it. It was being purposely kept back, he fancied; likely as not, lest it might attract attention by being too early on the street.
Whatever the cause, his conjectures were soon brought to an end—and abruptly—by seeing the thing itself.
“Bueno!” he mentally exclaimed, then muttering to the others—“Yonder it comes!Frisones pardescoachman in sky-blue and silver—be readycamarados.”
And ready they were, as panthers preparing to spring. Rock and Rivas, as Kearney himself, were now out of the sewer and up on the street; all three still making believe to work; while the dwarf seemed to suspect there was something in the wind, but could not guess what.
He knew the instant after, when a strong hand, grasping him by the collar, lifted him off his feet, raising and tossing him further aloft, as though he had been but a rat.
Chapter Twenty Nine.A Clumsy Cochero.Perhaps no people in the world have been more accustomed to spectacular surprises than they who perambulate the streets of the Mexican metropolis. For the half-century preceding the time of which I write, they had witnessed almost as many revolutions as years, seen blood spilled till the stones ran red with it, and dead bodies lying before their doors often for hours, even days, unremoved. As a consequence, they are less prone to curiosity than the dwellers in European cities, and the spectacle or incident that will stir their interest in any great degree must needs be of an uncommon kind.Rare enough was that they were called on to witness now—such of them as chanced to be sauntering along the Callé de Plateros, where the chain-gang was at work. They first saw a carriage—a handsome equipage of the landau speciality—drawn by a pair of showy horses, and driven by a coachman in smart livery, his hat cockaded, proclaiming the owner of the turnout as belonging to the military or diplomatic service. Only ladies, however, were in it—two of them—and the horses proceeding at a rather leisurely pace. As several other carriages with ladies in them, and liveried coachmen on the boxes, had passed before, and some seen coming behind, there was nothing about this one to attract particular attention; unless, indeed, the beauty of the two “señoritas” inside, which was certainly exceptional. Both were young, and, if related, not likely to be sisters; in contour of features, complexion, colour of eyes and hair, everything different, even to contrast. But alike in that each after her own style was a picture of feminine loveliness of the most piquantly attractive kind; while their juxtaposition made it all the more so, for they were seated side by side.Such could not fail to draw the eyes of the street passengers upon them, and elicit looks of admiration. So far from courting this, however, they seemed desirous of shunning it. The day was one of the finest, the atmosphere deliciously enjoyable, neither too warm nor too cold; other carriages were open, yet the hoods of theirs met overhead, and the glasses were up. Still, as these were not curtained they could be seen through them. Some saw who knew them, and saluted; gentlemen by raising the hat, lady acquaintances by a nod, a quivering of the fingers. For it was the hour of promenade to the Alameda. Others to whom they were unknown inquired whose carriage it was. But not a few noticed in the faces of its fair occupants an expression which struck them as singular; something of constraint or anxiety—the last so unlike what should have been there.And so all along the line of street, until the carriage came nearly opposite the entrance gate of the Alameda, still going slowly; at which the pampered, high-spirited horses seemed to chafe and fret. Just then, however, they showed a determination to change the pace, or at all events the direction, by making a sudden start and shy to the right; which carried the off wheels nearly nave-deep into the ridge of mud recently thrown out of the sewer.Instinctively, or mechanically, the coachman pulled up. No one could suppose designedly; since there was sufficient likelihood of his having an overturn. Still, as the mud was soft, by bearing on the near rein, with a sharp cut of the whip, he might easily clear the obstruction.This was not done; and the spectators wondered why it was not. They had already made up their minds that the balk was due to the coachman’s maladroit driving, and this further proof of his stupidity quite exhausted their patience. Shouts assailed him from all sides, jeers, and angry ejaculations.“Burro!” (donkey) exclaimed one; a second crying out, “What a clumsycochero!” a third, “You’re a nice fellow to be trusted with reins! A rope tied to a pig’s tail would better become you?”Other like shafts, equally envenomed, were hurled at Josh’s head; for it scarce needs telling that he was the driver of the carriage, and the ladies inside it his mistress and the Condesa Almonté. For all he seemed but little to regard what was being said to him—indeed nothing, having enough on hand with his restive horses. But why did he not give them the whip, and let them have more rein! It looked as if that would start them off all right again, and that was what every one was shouting to him to do, he instead doing the very opposite, holding the animals in till they commenced plunging.The ladies looked sorely affrighted; they had from the first, for it was all but the occurrence of an instant. Both had risen to their feet, one tugging at the strap to get the sash down, the other working at the handle of the door, which perversely refused to act, all the while uttering cries of alarm.Several of the passengers rushed to the door in the near side to assist them, that on the off being unapproachable by reason of the open drain. But on this also appeared rescuers—a pair of them—not street promenaders, but two of the chain-gang! All muddy as these were, they were advancing with as much apparent eagerness as the others—more in reality—to release the imperilled señoritas. A proof that humanity may exist even in the breast of a gaol-bird; and the spectators, pleased with an exhibition of it, so rare and unexpected, were preparing to applaud them enthusiastically.Their admiration, however, received a rude and almost instantaneous check, changing to wild astonishment, succeeded by equally wild indignation. Theforzadosgot their door open first; but the ladies, apparently terrified at the rough, unclean creatures, refused to go out that way, and only shrank back. Luckily, the other was by this also opened, and they made through it into the street. But not before the two scavengers had leaped up into the carriage beside them, and, as if angry at their earlier offer being declined, given them a rude shove outward!That was not all the spectators saw to astonish them. Other incidents followed equally unlooked-for, and with lightning rapidity. One was indeed of simultaneous occurrence; a second couple of the scavengers—thegigante y enano—rushing towards the coachman’s box, clambering up to it, Rock flinging the dwarf before him as one would an old carpet-bag, and mounting after. Then, jerking the reins and whip out of Josh’s hands—letting him still keep his seat, however,—he loosened the one, and laid the lash of the other on the horses’ hips, so sharply and vigorously, as to start them at once into a gallop.Meanwhile, the uncouth couple inside had pulled-to the doors, shutting themselves in, and taken the seats late occupied by the elegantly dressed ladies—a transformation so grotesque as to seem more dream than reality. And so off all went, leaving behind a crowd as much amazed as any that ever witnessed spectacle on the streets of the Mexican metropolis.
Perhaps no people in the world have been more accustomed to spectacular surprises than they who perambulate the streets of the Mexican metropolis. For the half-century preceding the time of which I write, they had witnessed almost as many revolutions as years, seen blood spilled till the stones ran red with it, and dead bodies lying before their doors often for hours, even days, unremoved. As a consequence, they are less prone to curiosity than the dwellers in European cities, and the spectacle or incident that will stir their interest in any great degree must needs be of an uncommon kind.
Rare enough was that they were called on to witness now—such of them as chanced to be sauntering along the Callé de Plateros, where the chain-gang was at work. They first saw a carriage—a handsome equipage of the landau speciality—drawn by a pair of showy horses, and driven by a coachman in smart livery, his hat cockaded, proclaiming the owner of the turnout as belonging to the military or diplomatic service. Only ladies, however, were in it—two of them—and the horses proceeding at a rather leisurely pace. As several other carriages with ladies in them, and liveried coachmen on the boxes, had passed before, and some seen coming behind, there was nothing about this one to attract particular attention; unless, indeed, the beauty of the two “señoritas” inside, which was certainly exceptional. Both were young, and, if related, not likely to be sisters; in contour of features, complexion, colour of eyes and hair, everything different, even to contrast. But alike in that each after her own style was a picture of feminine loveliness of the most piquantly attractive kind; while their juxtaposition made it all the more so, for they were seated side by side.
Such could not fail to draw the eyes of the street passengers upon them, and elicit looks of admiration. So far from courting this, however, they seemed desirous of shunning it. The day was one of the finest, the atmosphere deliciously enjoyable, neither too warm nor too cold; other carriages were open, yet the hoods of theirs met overhead, and the glasses were up. Still, as these were not curtained they could be seen through them. Some saw who knew them, and saluted; gentlemen by raising the hat, lady acquaintances by a nod, a quivering of the fingers. For it was the hour of promenade to the Alameda. Others to whom they were unknown inquired whose carriage it was. But not a few noticed in the faces of its fair occupants an expression which struck them as singular; something of constraint or anxiety—the last so unlike what should have been there.
And so all along the line of street, until the carriage came nearly opposite the entrance gate of the Alameda, still going slowly; at which the pampered, high-spirited horses seemed to chafe and fret. Just then, however, they showed a determination to change the pace, or at all events the direction, by making a sudden start and shy to the right; which carried the off wheels nearly nave-deep into the ridge of mud recently thrown out of the sewer.
Instinctively, or mechanically, the coachman pulled up. No one could suppose designedly; since there was sufficient likelihood of his having an overturn. Still, as the mud was soft, by bearing on the near rein, with a sharp cut of the whip, he might easily clear the obstruction.
This was not done; and the spectators wondered why it was not. They had already made up their minds that the balk was due to the coachman’s maladroit driving, and this further proof of his stupidity quite exhausted their patience. Shouts assailed him from all sides, jeers, and angry ejaculations.
“Burro!” (donkey) exclaimed one; a second crying out, “What a clumsycochero!” a third, “You’re a nice fellow to be trusted with reins! A rope tied to a pig’s tail would better become you?”
Other like shafts, equally envenomed, were hurled at Josh’s head; for it scarce needs telling that he was the driver of the carriage, and the ladies inside it his mistress and the Condesa Almonté. For all he seemed but little to regard what was being said to him—indeed nothing, having enough on hand with his restive horses. But why did he not give them the whip, and let them have more rein! It looked as if that would start them off all right again, and that was what every one was shouting to him to do, he instead doing the very opposite, holding the animals in till they commenced plunging.
The ladies looked sorely affrighted; they had from the first, for it was all but the occurrence of an instant. Both had risen to their feet, one tugging at the strap to get the sash down, the other working at the handle of the door, which perversely refused to act, all the while uttering cries of alarm.
Several of the passengers rushed to the door in the near side to assist them, that on the off being unapproachable by reason of the open drain. But on this also appeared rescuers—a pair of them—not street promenaders, but two of the chain-gang! All muddy as these were, they were advancing with as much apparent eagerness as the others—more in reality—to release the imperilled señoritas. A proof that humanity may exist even in the breast of a gaol-bird; and the spectators, pleased with an exhibition of it, so rare and unexpected, were preparing to applaud them enthusiastically.
Their admiration, however, received a rude and almost instantaneous check, changing to wild astonishment, succeeded by equally wild indignation. Theforzadosgot their door open first; but the ladies, apparently terrified at the rough, unclean creatures, refused to go out that way, and only shrank back. Luckily, the other was by this also opened, and they made through it into the street. But not before the two scavengers had leaped up into the carriage beside them, and, as if angry at their earlier offer being declined, given them a rude shove outward!
That was not all the spectators saw to astonish them. Other incidents followed equally unlooked-for, and with lightning rapidity. One was indeed of simultaneous occurrence; a second couple of the scavengers—thegigante y enano—rushing towards the coachman’s box, clambering up to it, Rock flinging the dwarf before him as one would an old carpet-bag, and mounting after. Then, jerking the reins and whip out of Josh’s hands—letting him still keep his seat, however,—he loosened the one, and laid the lash of the other on the horses’ hips, so sharply and vigorously, as to start them at once into a gallop.
Meanwhile, the uncouth couple inside had pulled-to the doors, shutting themselves in, and taken the seats late occupied by the elegantly dressed ladies—a transformation so grotesque as to seem more dream than reality. And so off all went, leaving behind a crowd as much amazed as any that ever witnessed spectacle on the streets of the Mexican metropolis.
Chapter Thirty.The Poor Ladies.Quite a combination of circumstances had favoured the escape of the fourforzados—the balking of the horses, the absence of Dominguez, and the relaxed vigilance of the guards—from their brains bemuddled with drink. But there was yet another lucky chance that stood them in stead—the point from which they had started. The line of sentries ended at the Alamedas Gate, and, as the one posted there was he who had them in particular charge, once past him they had only to fear a single bullet sent after them.As it turned out, they did not even get that, fortune favouring them in every way. This sentry, though last on the line outward, was the first encountered by the people returning from the ceremony at San Corme; therefore made most of by passing friends, with the bottle oftener presented to his lips. As a consequence, when the carriage whirled past him he had but an indistinct idea of why it was going so fast, and none at all as to who were in it. With eyes drowned inaguardientehe stood as one dazed, looking after, but taking no measures to stop it. When at length some one bawled the truth into his ear and he brought his flint-lock to an unsteady level, it would have been too late—had the piece gone off. Luckily for those on the sidewalk, it did not; missing fire by a flash in the pan, as might have been anticipated.Never were sentries more completely taken by surprise than they guarding the chain-gang. Nor more disagreeably. They knew they had been neglecting their duty, and might expect severe punishment! possibly set at the very task they were now superintending! Still, they made no attempt to pursue. They were not cavalry; and only mounted men could overtake that landau with its curious load, soon to vanish from their sight. So they stood gazing after it in helpless bewilderment, their faces showing a variety of expressions, surprise, anger, fear, mingled in a most ludicrous manner. Deserting their posts they had gathered into a knot, and it was some time before they had so far recovered their senses as to think of despatching one of their number to the Plaza Grande after cavalry sure to be there.It was a fine opportunity for others of the gaol-birds to make a bolt; but for the obstructive coupling-chains no doubt some would avail themselves of it. These, however, hindered the attempt. There were no more restive horses, nor blundering coachmen to bring another carriage near enough for a rush.But the most interesting group now on the ground was that which had collected round the ladies left carriage-less; some offering services, others speaking words of sympathy. “Las señoritas pobres!”“Pobrecitas!”—(“The poor young ladies!” “Poor things!”) were exclamations uttered over and over again.It was a trying situation for the “poor things” to be in, sure enough. But they acquitted themselves admirably; especially the Condesa, who, young though she was, for courage and coolness had few to equal her. In that emergency no man could have shown himself her superior. Her look of still untranquillised terror, the intermittent flashes of anger in her eyes as she loudly denounced the ruffians who had carried off their carriage, was a piece of acting worthy of a Rachel or Siddons. He would have been a keen physiognomist who could have told that her emotions were counterfeit. Little dreamt the sympathising spectators that while being pushed out of the carriage she had contrived to whisper back to the man so rudely behaving: “Look under the cushions,querido! You’ll find something.Dios te guarda!”Still less could they have supposed that the other young lady, looking so meek, had at the same time spoken tender words to the second ruffian who had assailed them.The part thepobrecitaswere playing, with the sympathy they received, seemed to themselves so comically ludicrous that, but for its serious side, neither could have kept countenance. Alone the thought of the lovers not yet being beyond danger hindered their bursting out into laughter.And lest this, too, might cease to restrain them they seized upon the earliest pretext to get away from the spot.Glad were they when some of their gentlemen acquaintances, who chanced to be passing the place, came up and proposed escorting them home. A service accepted and, it need not be said, offered with as much alacrity as it was received.Their departure had no effect in dispersing the crowd which had gathered by the Alamedas Gate. A spot signalised by an episode so odd and original, was not to be forsaken in that quick inconsiderate way. Instead, the throng grew quicker, until the street for a long stretch was packed full of people, close as they could stand. Only one part of it remained unoccupied, the central list showing the open sewer with its bordering of black mud. In their holiday attire the populace declined invading this, though they stood wedging one another along its edge; their faces turned towards it, with hilarity in their looks and laughter on their lips. It was just the sort of spectacle to please them; the sentries in a row—for they had now sneaked back to their post—appearing terribly crestfallen, while those over whom they stood guard seemed, on the contrary, cheerful—as though expecting soon to be released from their chains. With them it was theesprit de corpsof the galley slave, glad to see a comrade escape from their common misery, though he cannot escape himself.All this, however, was tame; but the winding up of the spectacle in a quiet natural way. It would soon have been over now, and the sightseers scattered off to their homes; but just as they were beginning to retire, a new incident claimed their attention. A scene almost as exciting as any that had preceded, though only a single personage appeared in it. This Dominguez, the gaoler, who had been absent all the while at hispulqueria, and only just warned of the event that had so convulsed the Callé de Plateros, breaking through the crowd like an enraged bull, rushed along the sewer’s edge, nourishing his whip over the heads of theforzados, at the same time reviling the sentries for their scandalous neglect of duty! To tell the truth, he was more troubled about his own. He had received particular instructions to be watchful of four prisoners—the very ones that had escaped. Well might he dread the reckoning in store for him on return to the gaol. However could he face his governor?For some time he strode to and fro, venting his drunken spleen alike on soldiers or scavengers. Some of the former would have retaliated; but they knew him to have authority in high places, and therefore kept silent, sullenly enduring it. Not so the spectators, many of whom, knowing, hated him. Possibly, more than probably, some of them had been under his care. But to all he was now affording infinite amusement. They laughed at his impotent anger, and laughed again, one crying out, “He’s as good as a bull in a ring!” another exclaiming, “Viva el Señor Dominguez rey de las bastoneros!” (“Hurrah for the Señor Dominguez, king of the turnkeys!”)—a sally which elicited roars of applauding laughter.If angry before, he was now infuriated. Purple in the face, he was making a dash at the man whom he suspected of mocking him, when his foot slipped and down he went into the drain head foremost.He had altogether disappeared, and was for some seconds out of sight; the laughter, which had become a yelling chorus, all the while continuing. Nor did it cease when he re-appeared; instead, was louder and more uproarious than ever. For his face, late blue with rage, was now black with a limning of the sewer liquid.But he was less mad than sad, after the ill-timed tumble. Thedouchehad tamed, if not sobered him; and his only thought now was how to get away from that place of repeated discomfitures, anywhere to hide and wash himself.Luck declared for him at last, in the approach of a squadron of Hussars, drawing off from him the eyes of the spectators; who had now enough to do looking out for themselves and their safety. For the Hussars were coming on at a gallop, with drawn sabres.A crush and a scampering followed, as they forced their way through the crowd, shouting, and striking with the back of their blades. After they had passed, the people were no longer in a humour for laughing at the “King of the turnkeys,” nor any one else; neither was he there to be laughed at.
Quite a combination of circumstances had favoured the escape of the fourforzados—the balking of the horses, the absence of Dominguez, and the relaxed vigilance of the guards—from their brains bemuddled with drink. But there was yet another lucky chance that stood them in stead—the point from which they had started. The line of sentries ended at the Alamedas Gate, and, as the one posted there was he who had them in particular charge, once past him they had only to fear a single bullet sent after them.
As it turned out, they did not even get that, fortune favouring them in every way. This sentry, though last on the line outward, was the first encountered by the people returning from the ceremony at San Corme; therefore made most of by passing friends, with the bottle oftener presented to his lips. As a consequence, when the carriage whirled past him he had but an indistinct idea of why it was going so fast, and none at all as to who were in it. With eyes drowned inaguardientehe stood as one dazed, looking after, but taking no measures to stop it. When at length some one bawled the truth into his ear and he brought his flint-lock to an unsteady level, it would have been too late—had the piece gone off. Luckily for those on the sidewalk, it did not; missing fire by a flash in the pan, as might have been anticipated.
Never were sentries more completely taken by surprise than they guarding the chain-gang. Nor more disagreeably. They knew they had been neglecting their duty, and might expect severe punishment! possibly set at the very task they were now superintending! Still, they made no attempt to pursue. They were not cavalry; and only mounted men could overtake that landau with its curious load, soon to vanish from their sight. So they stood gazing after it in helpless bewilderment, their faces showing a variety of expressions, surprise, anger, fear, mingled in a most ludicrous manner. Deserting their posts they had gathered into a knot, and it was some time before they had so far recovered their senses as to think of despatching one of their number to the Plaza Grande after cavalry sure to be there.
It was a fine opportunity for others of the gaol-birds to make a bolt; but for the obstructive coupling-chains no doubt some would avail themselves of it. These, however, hindered the attempt. There were no more restive horses, nor blundering coachmen to bring another carriage near enough for a rush.
But the most interesting group now on the ground was that which had collected round the ladies left carriage-less; some offering services, others speaking words of sympathy. “Las señoritas pobres!”
“Pobrecitas!”—(“The poor young ladies!” “Poor things!”) were exclamations uttered over and over again.
It was a trying situation for the “poor things” to be in, sure enough. But they acquitted themselves admirably; especially the Condesa, who, young though she was, for courage and coolness had few to equal her. In that emergency no man could have shown himself her superior. Her look of still untranquillised terror, the intermittent flashes of anger in her eyes as she loudly denounced the ruffians who had carried off their carriage, was a piece of acting worthy of a Rachel or Siddons. He would have been a keen physiognomist who could have told that her emotions were counterfeit. Little dreamt the sympathising spectators that while being pushed out of the carriage she had contrived to whisper back to the man so rudely behaving: “Look under the cushions,querido! You’ll find something.Dios te guarda!”
Still less could they have supposed that the other young lady, looking so meek, had at the same time spoken tender words to the second ruffian who had assailed them.
The part thepobrecitaswere playing, with the sympathy they received, seemed to themselves so comically ludicrous that, but for its serious side, neither could have kept countenance. Alone the thought of the lovers not yet being beyond danger hindered their bursting out into laughter.
And lest this, too, might cease to restrain them they seized upon the earliest pretext to get away from the spot.
Glad were they when some of their gentlemen acquaintances, who chanced to be passing the place, came up and proposed escorting them home. A service accepted and, it need not be said, offered with as much alacrity as it was received.
Their departure had no effect in dispersing the crowd which had gathered by the Alamedas Gate. A spot signalised by an episode so odd and original, was not to be forsaken in that quick inconsiderate way. Instead, the throng grew quicker, until the street for a long stretch was packed full of people, close as they could stand. Only one part of it remained unoccupied, the central list showing the open sewer with its bordering of black mud. In their holiday attire the populace declined invading this, though they stood wedging one another along its edge; their faces turned towards it, with hilarity in their looks and laughter on their lips. It was just the sort of spectacle to please them; the sentries in a row—for they had now sneaked back to their post—appearing terribly crestfallen, while those over whom they stood guard seemed, on the contrary, cheerful—as though expecting soon to be released from their chains. With them it was theesprit de corpsof the galley slave, glad to see a comrade escape from their common misery, though he cannot escape himself.
All this, however, was tame; but the winding up of the spectacle in a quiet natural way. It would soon have been over now, and the sightseers scattered off to their homes; but just as they were beginning to retire, a new incident claimed their attention. A scene almost as exciting as any that had preceded, though only a single personage appeared in it. This Dominguez, the gaoler, who had been absent all the while at hispulqueria, and only just warned of the event that had so convulsed the Callé de Plateros, breaking through the crowd like an enraged bull, rushed along the sewer’s edge, nourishing his whip over the heads of theforzados, at the same time reviling the sentries for their scandalous neglect of duty! To tell the truth, he was more troubled about his own. He had received particular instructions to be watchful of four prisoners—the very ones that had escaped. Well might he dread the reckoning in store for him on return to the gaol. However could he face his governor?
For some time he strode to and fro, venting his drunken spleen alike on soldiers or scavengers. Some of the former would have retaliated; but they knew him to have authority in high places, and therefore kept silent, sullenly enduring it. Not so the spectators, many of whom, knowing, hated him. Possibly, more than probably, some of them had been under his care. But to all he was now affording infinite amusement. They laughed at his impotent anger, and laughed again, one crying out, “He’s as good as a bull in a ring!” another exclaiming, “Viva el Señor Dominguez rey de las bastoneros!” (“Hurrah for the Señor Dominguez, king of the turnkeys!”)—a sally which elicited roars of applauding laughter.
If angry before, he was now infuriated. Purple in the face, he was making a dash at the man whom he suspected of mocking him, when his foot slipped and down he went into the drain head foremost.
He had altogether disappeared, and was for some seconds out of sight; the laughter, which had become a yelling chorus, all the while continuing. Nor did it cease when he re-appeared; instead, was louder and more uproarious than ever. For his face, late blue with rage, was now black with a limning of the sewer liquid.
But he was less mad than sad, after the ill-timed tumble. Thedouchehad tamed, if not sobered him; and his only thought now was how to get away from that place of repeated discomfitures, anywhere to hide and wash himself.
Luck declared for him at last, in the approach of a squadron of Hussars, drawing off from him the eyes of the spectators; who had now enough to do looking out for themselves and their safety. For the Hussars were coming on at a gallop, with drawn sabres.
A crush and a scampering followed, as they forced their way through the crowd, shouting, and striking with the back of their blades. After they had passed, the people were no longer in a humour for laughing at the “King of the turnkeys,” nor any one else; neither was he there to be laughed at.
Chapter Thirty One.A Transformation.While the ladies set down upon the street were still plaintively appealing to those around, the carriage from which they had been so unceremoniously ejected was tearing along the Callé de San Francisco, going direct for the Acordada! But nothing could be farther from the thoughts of those in it than a return to that grand gaol, or even approaching its door. All of them knew there was a regular guard there; and instead of a single musket missing fire, they would more likely be saluted with a full volley, sending a shower of bullets about their ears. Bad marksmen as the Mexican soldiers are, they could not all miss. But even if they passed through that unscathed, beyond was thegaritaof San Cosmé, with another guard there. Indeed, go what way they would, there was none leading out into the country without agaritato be got through—and for the country they were aiming.In these gates, however, there was a difference as to the strength of their guard detail, and the possibilities of their being passed. All of which one of the fugitives well understood—Rivas, who, as a matter of course, had assumed direction of everything relating to their flight. When opposite the old convent, which gives its name to the street, he leaned his head out of the carriage window, and said to thecochero:—“Take the route by El Nino Perdido. You know the way; show it to him.”The “him” was Cris Rock, who still had hold of the reins, and who, not understanding Spanish, could not be addressed direct.The result of the order was, that shortly after, the horses were headed into a side street, indicated to the Texan by a nod perceptible only to himself. It would not do for the real coachman to appear as aiding their escape; though there was no danger of the dwarf observing it—the latter having been crammed down into the boot—where he was held with his head between Rock’s huge thighs, as in a vice.The street into which they had turned was a narrow one running along a dead wall—that of the ancient monastery, which occupies acres of ground. And in its strip of sidewalk just then there was not a pedestrian to be seen—the very thing Rivas had been wishing for. Again speaking out, he said:—“Slowly for a bit. I see aseraphout there. Tell the Tejanos to put it on.”For the next hundred yards or so—along the dead wall—the horses went at a walk, they inside the carriage, as also one on the box, all the while busy as bees. And when they came out at the end of the quiet street entering upon a more frequented thoroughfare, the brisk pace was resumed; though no one could have believed it the same party, seen but a minute or two before driving at a racecourse speed along the Callé de Plateros. José alone looked the same, in his sky-blue livery and cockaded hat. But the big man by his side had so far effected a change that his mud-stained habiliments were hidden under an ampleseraph, which covered him from neck to ankles; while the little one was altogether invisible, and under a threat of having his skull kicked in if he attempted to show himself.Alike quick and complete had been the transformation of the “insides.” There now sat two gentlemen, decently, indeed rather stylishly dressed—one wearing a blue cloth cloak with velvet collar; the other a scarlet “manga,” with gold bullion embroidery from neck to shoulders.About the equipage there was little now to make remark upon, or cause it to be regarded with suspicion. Some richhaciendado, who had been at the laying of the foundation-stone, on return to his country house, taking a friend along with him. The strapping fellow on the box might be mayor-domo of the estate—they are usually tall men—who had taken a fancy to try his hand at driving, and the coachman had surrendered him the reins. All perfectly natural, anden règle, even to the rapid speed at which the horses were put. The driver not accustomed to handling the ribbons would account for this. Besides, the sun was getting low, thecasa de campomight be a good distance from town, and such a splendid turnout, belated on a country road would be like tempting Providence, and certainly thesalteadores!How little would its occupants have regarded an encounter with highwaymen. Perhaps just then they would have welcomed it. Nor much did Rivas anticipate further trouble in the streets of the city. He was familiar with those they were now driving along, and felt no fear of being obstructed there—at least by the people. Had they hung their chain out of the carriage window and exposed the prison dress, no one in that quarter would have cried “Stop thief!” The man who should so cry, would run the risk of having his clamour suddenly silenced.For all they had apprehensions of the keenest. If they were in no danger while in the streets, they would be when parting from them—at El Nino Perdido. That gauntlet had yet to be run.But while thinking of it, they had not been idle; instead, all the while planning and preparing for it; Rivas instructing the others as to how they should act.“Agaritaof the usual kind,” he said to Kearney, making known the nature of the anticipated obstruction; “a gate across the road, with a guard-house alongside. There’s sure to be a sergeant and eight or ten files in it. If, by good luck, the gate be open, our best way will be to approach gently, then go through at a gallop. If shut, we’ll be called upon to show our best diplomacy. Leave all that to me. Failing to fool the guard, we must do battle with it. Anything’s better than be taken back to the Acordada. That would be sure death for me; and, if I mistake not, for yourself, Señor.”“I’m sure of it. If we can’t get through without, let us fight our way, whatever the result.”“Take this pair, then. They seem the most reliable. YouAmericanosare more skilled in the use of fire-arms than we. With us steel is preferred. But I’ll do the best I can with the other pair.”This had reference to two pairs of pistols discovered under the carriage cushions. Nor were they the only weapons there; besides them were two long-bladed knives, and a pearl-handled stiletto—the last a tiny affair, which looked as though taken from the toilet case of a lady.“See that yours are loaded and in firing order,” Rivas added, at the same time looking to his own.The injunction was not needed, as the Irishman was already examining the weapons put into his hand, with a view to their efficiency.Both pair of pistols were of the old-fashioned duelling kind—flintlocks, with barrels nearly a foot in length. Like as not the Condesa’s father and Don Ignacio Valverde, in days long gone by, had vindicated honour with them.The inspection was quick and short, as had been all that preceded; pans sprung open, showing them filled with powder; rammers run into the barrels, then drawn out again, and replaced in their thimbles.“Mine,” said Kearney, first to report, “are good for two lives.”“And mine the same,” rejoined Rivas, “unless I’m laid low before I can pull the second trigger. Now to dispose of the knives. My countryman, thecochero, however trustworthy, mustn’t show fight. That would ruin all afterwards. But, if I mistake not, your colossal comrade is the man to make play with one of them in a pinch.”“You may be sure of it. He was in the Alamo with Bowie, and at Goliad with Fanning. Don’t fear putting a knife into his hands; he’ll make good use of it if we’re driven to close quarters.”“Let him have it, then. You give it, and tell him all.”Kearney getting hold of one of the two knives, that seeming best suited for the hands he designed putting it in, passed it on to Cris Rock—not through the carriage window, but a hole cut in the leathern hood by the blade itself. Speaking through the same, he said—“Cris! we’ve got to run a gate where there’s a guard of soldiers—maybe a dozen or so. You’re to drive gently up, and, if you see it open, pass through—then lay on the whip. Should it be shut, approach more briskly, and pull up impatient-like. But do nothing of yourself—wait till I give you the word.”“Trust me, Cap; ye kin do that, I kilk’late.”“I can, Cris. Take this knife, and if you hear pistols cracking behind, you’ll then know what to do with it.”“I gie a guess, anyhow,” rejoined the Texan, taking hold of the knife, in a hand passed behind him. Then bringing it forward and under his eyes, he added, “’Taint sech a bad sort o’ blade eyther, tho’ I weesh ’twas my ole bowie they took from me at Mier. Wal, Cap; ye kin count on me makin’ use o’t, ef ’casion calls, an’ more’n one yaller-belly gittin’ it inter his guts; notwithstandin’ this durnation clog that’s swinging at my legs. By the jumping Geehosophat, if I ked only git shet o’ that I’d—”What he would do or intended saying, had to stay unsaid. Rivas interrupted him, pulling Kearney back, and telling him to be ready with the pistols. For they were nearing the place of danger.
While the ladies set down upon the street were still plaintively appealing to those around, the carriage from which they had been so unceremoniously ejected was tearing along the Callé de San Francisco, going direct for the Acordada! But nothing could be farther from the thoughts of those in it than a return to that grand gaol, or even approaching its door. All of them knew there was a regular guard there; and instead of a single musket missing fire, they would more likely be saluted with a full volley, sending a shower of bullets about their ears. Bad marksmen as the Mexican soldiers are, they could not all miss. But even if they passed through that unscathed, beyond was thegaritaof San Cosmé, with another guard there. Indeed, go what way they would, there was none leading out into the country without agaritato be got through—and for the country they were aiming.
In these gates, however, there was a difference as to the strength of their guard detail, and the possibilities of their being passed. All of which one of the fugitives well understood—Rivas, who, as a matter of course, had assumed direction of everything relating to their flight. When opposite the old convent, which gives its name to the street, he leaned his head out of the carriage window, and said to thecochero:—
“Take the route by El Nino Perdido. You know the way; show it to him.”
The “him” was Cris Rock, who still had hold of the reins, and who, not understanding Spanish, could not be addressed direct.
The result of the order was, that shortly after, the horses were headed into a side street, indicated to the Texan by a nod perceptible only to himself. It would not do for the real coachman to appear as aiding their escape; though there was no danger of the dwarf observing it—the latter having been crammed down into the boot—where he was held with his head between Rock’s huge thighs, as in a vice.
The street into which they had turned was a narrow one running along a dead wall—that of the ancient monastery, which occupies acres of ground. And in its strip of sidewalk just then there was not a pedestrian to be seen—the very thing Rivas had been wishing for. Again speaking out, he said:—
“Slowly for a bit. I see aseraphout there. Tell the Tejanos to put it on.”
For the next hundred yards or so—along the dead wall—the horses went at a walk, they inside the carriage, as also one on the box, all the while busy as bees. And when they came out at the end of the quiet street entering upon a more frequented thoroughfare, the brisk pace was resumed; though no one could have believed it the same party, seen but a minute or two before driving at a racecourse speed along the Callé de Plateros. José alone looked the same, in his sky-blue livery and cockaded hat. But the big man by his side had so far effected a change that his mud-stained habiliments were hidden under an ampleseraph, which covered him from neck to ankles; while the little one was altogether invisible, and under a threat of having his skull kicked in if he attempted to show himself.
Alike quick and complete had been the transformation of the “insides.” There now sat two gentlemen, decently, indeed rather stylishly dressed—one wearing a blue cloth cloak with velvet collar; the other a scarlet “manga,” with gold bullion embroidery from neck to shoulders.
About the equipage there was little now to make remark upon, or cause it to be regarded with suspicion. Some richhaciendado, who had been at the laying of the foundation-stone, on return to his country house, taking a friend along with him. The strapping fellow on the box might be mayor-domo of the estate—they are usually tall men—who had taken a fancy to try his hand at driving, and the coachman had surrendered him the reins. All perfectly natural, anden règle, even to the rapid speed at which the horses were put. The driver not accustomed to handling the ribbons would account for this. Besides, the sun was getting low, thecasa de campomight be a good distance from town, and such a splendid turnout, belated on a country road would be like tempting Providence, and certainly thesalteadores!
How little would its occupants have regarded an encounter with highwaymen. Perhaps just then they would have welcomed it. Nor much did Rivas anticipate further trouble in the streets of the city. He was familiar with those they were now driving along, and felt no fear of being obstructed there—at least by the people. Had they hung their chain out of the carriage window and exposed the prison dress, no one in that quarter would have cried “Stop thief!” The man who should so cry, would run the risk of having his clamour suddenly silenced.
For all they had apprehensions of the keenest. If they were in no danger while in the streets, they would be when parting from them—at El Nino Perdido. That gauntlet had yet to be run.
But while thinking of it, they had not been idle; instead, all the while planning and preparing for it; Rivas instructing the others as to how they should act.
“Agaritaof the usual kind,” he said to Kearney, making known the nature of the anticipated obstruction; “a gate across the road, with a guard-house alongside. There’s sure to be a sergeant and eight or ten files in it. If, by good luck, the gate be open, our best way will be to approach gently, then go through at a gallop. If shut, we’ll be called upon to show our best diplomacy. Leave all that to me. Failing to fool the guard, we must do battle with it. Anything’s better than be taken back to the Acordada. That would be sure death for me; and, if I mistake not, for yourself, Señor.”
“I’m sure of it. If we can’t get through without, let us fight our way, whatever the result.”
“Take this pair, then. They seem the most reliable. YouAmericanosare more skilled in the use of fire-arms than we. With us steel is preferred. But I’ll do the best I can with the other pair.”
This had reference to two pairs of pistols discovered under the carriage cushions. Nor were they the only weapons there; besides them were two long-bladed knives, and a pearl-handled stiletto—the last a tiny affair, which looked as though taken from the toilet case of a lady.
“See that yours are loaded and in firing order,” Rivas added, at the same time looking to his own.
The injunction was not needed, as the Irishman was already examining the weapons put into his hand, with a view to their efficiency.
Both pair of pistols were of the old-fashioned duelling kind—flintlocks, with barrels nearly a foot in length. Like as not the Condesa’s father and Don Ignacio Valverde, in days long gone by, had vindicated honour with them.
The inspection was quick and short, as had been all that preceded; pans sprung open, showing them filled with powder; rammers run into the barrels, then drawn out again, and replaced in their thimbles.
“Mine,” said Kearney, first to report, “are good for two lives.”
“And mine the same,” rejoined Rivas, “unless I’m laid low before I can pull the second trigger. Now to dispose of the knives. My countryman, thecochero, however trustworthy, mustn’t show fight. That would ruin all afterwards. But, if I mistake not, your colossal comrade is the man to make play with one of them in a pinch.”
“You may be sure of it. He was in the Alamo with Bowie, and at Goliad with Fanning. Don’t fear putting a knife into his hands; he’ll make good use of it if we’re driven to close quarters.”
“Let him have it, then. You give it, and tell him all.”
Kearney getting hold of one of the two knives, that seeming best suited for the hands he designed putting it in, passed it on to Cris Rock—not through the carriage window, but a hole cut in the leathern hood by the blade itself. Speaking through the same, he said—
“Cris! we’ve got to run a gate where there’s a guard of soldiers—maybe a dozen or so. You’re to drive gently up, and, if you see it open, pass through—then lay on the whip. Should it be shut, approach more briskly, and pull up impatient-like. But do nothing of yourself—wait till I give you the word.”
“Trust me, Cap; ye kin do that, I kilk’late.”
“I can, Cris. Take this knife, and if you hear pistols cracking behind, you’ll then know what to do with it.”
“I gie a guess, anyhow,” rejoined the Texan, taking hold of the knife, in a hand passed behind him. Then bringing it forward and under his eyes, he added, “’Taint sech a bad sort o’ blade eyther, tho’ I weesh ’twas my ole bowie they took from me at Mier. Wal, Cap; ye kin count on me makin’ use o’t, ef ’casion calls, an’ more’n one yaller-belly gittin’ it inter his guts; notwithstandin’ this durnation clog that’s swinging at my legs. By the jumping Geehosophat, if I ked only git shet o’ that I’d—”
What he would do or intended saying, had to stay unsaid. Rivas interrupted him, pulling Kearney back, and telling him to be ready with the pistols. For they were nearing the place of danger.
Chapter Thirty Two.An Unlooked-for Salute.In a strict military sense the capital of Mexico cannot be called a fortified city. Still, it has defences, one being anenceintewall, which envelops it all round, leaving no straggled suburb, scarce so much as a house, outside. Compact and close stand the dwellings of the modern city as those of ancient Tenochtitlan, whose site it occupies, though the waves of Tezcuco and Xochimilco no longer lap up to its walls.Theenceintespoken of is a mere structure of “adobes,” large sun-baked blocks of mud and straw—in short, the bricks of the Egyptians, whose making so vexed Moses and the Israelites. Here and there may be seen a little redoubt, with a battery of guns in it; but only on revolutionary occasions—the wall, so far as defence goes, more concerning the smuggler than the soldier; and less contraband from abroad than infringement of certain regulations of home commerce—chief of them the tax called “alcabala,” corresponding to theoctroiof France, and thecorvéeof some other European countries.The tax is collected at the “garitas,” of which there is one on every road leading out of the city, or rather into it; for it is the man who enters, not he making exit, who is called upon to contribute to thealcabala. It is levied on every article or commodity brought from the country in search of a city market. Nothing escapes it; the produce of farm and garden, field and forest—all have to pay toll at thegaritas, so losing a considerable percentage of their value. The brown aboriginal, his “burro” laden with charcoal, or skins ofpulque, or himself staggering under a load of planks heavy enough to weigh down a donkey, which he has transported from a mountain forest—ten or twenty miles it may be—is mulcted in this blackmail before he can pass through agarita.Not unfrequently he is unable to meet the demand till he have made sale of the taxed commodity. On such occasions he hypothecates his hat, orfrezada, leaving it at the gate, and going on bareheaded or bare-shouldered to the market, to redeem the pawned article on return.Save through these gates there is no access to, or egress from, the Mexican capital; and at each, besides the official having charge of the revenue matters, a soldier-guard is stationed, with a guard-house provided; their duties being of a mixed, three-cornered kind—customs, police, and military. Five or six such posts there are, on the five or six roads leading out from the city, like the radiating limbs of a star-fish; and one of these is thegaritaEl Nino Perdido—literally, the gate of the “Lost Child.” It is, however, one through which the traffic is of secondary importance; since it is not on any of the main routes of travel. That which it bars is but a country road, communicating with the villages of Mixcoac, Coyoacan, and San Angel. Still, these being places of rural residence, where some of thefamiliares principeshave country houses, a carriage passing through the gate of the Lost Child is no rarity. Besides, from the gate itself runs aCalzada, or causeway, wide and straight for nearly two miles, with a double row of grand old trees along each side, whose pleasant shade invites, and often receives, visits from city excursionists out for a stroll, ride, or drive. Near the end of the second mile it angles abruptly to the right, in the direction of San Angel—a sharp corner the writer has good reason to remember, having been shot at bysalteadores, luckily missed, while passing round it on his way from country quarters to the city. A horse of best blood savedhisblood there, or this tale would never have been told.Asking the reader’s pardon for a personal digression—with the excuse that it may throw light on the scene to follow—it will be understood how easily the guard on duty at the gate might be “thrown off guard” by a carriage passing through it; especially on that day when there were so many, by reason of the grand doings in the city.Several had just passed, going country-wards; for it was the season of rural sojourn among the “ricos.” So, when another appeared, heading in the same direction, the guard-sergeant at Nino Perdido saw nothing amiss, or to be suspicious of; instead, something to inspire him with respect. He had been on guard at the Palace scores of times; and by appearance knew all who were accustomed to pass in and out, more especially those holding authority. Liveries he could distinguish at any distance; and when he saw a carriage approaching along the street, with a coachman in sky-blue and silver, cockaded, he did not need its being near to recognise the equipage of one of the Cabinet Ministers.Though a non-commissioned officer, he was a man of ambitious aims; dreaming of gold bullion in the shape of epaulettes; and he had long had his eye on the epaulette of analferez—officers of this rank being allowed only one. The good word of a Cabinet Minister, whether war, navy, orHacienda, could give him what he was wishing for, easy at a nod; and here was an opportunity of winning it.“Cabo!” he cried out to his corporal, in a flurry of excitement, “throw open the gate—quick! Fall in, men! Dress up—ready to present arms! See that you do it handsomely!”It was in his favour, and so he congratulated himself that the carriage came on rather slowly, so that he had ample time to get his half-dozen files well set-up and dressed for the salute.There was some buttoning of jackets, stocks to be adjusted round shirtless necks, with shakos to be searched for inside the guard-house, and hurriedly clapped on. Still, it was all got through in good time; and, when at length the carriage came abreast, the guard was found standing at “present arms,” the sergeant himself saluting in the most gracious manner.They inside, knowing how, returned the salute in true soldier style, though with a surprised expression upon their faces. No wonder. Where they had anticipated difficulty and danger, they were received with more than civility—accorded military honours!
In a strict military sense the capital of Mexico cannot be called a fortified city. Still, it has defences, one being anenceintewall, which envelops it all round, leaving no straggled suburb, scarce so much as a house, outside. Compact and close stand the dwellings of the modern city as those of ancient Tenochtitlan, whose site it occupies, though the waves of Tezcuco and Xochimilco no longer lap up to its walls.
Theenceintespoken of is a mere structure of “adobes,” large sun-baked blocks of mud and straw—in short, the bricks of the Egyptians, whose making so vexed Moses and the Israelites. Here and there may be seen a little redoubt, with a battery of guns in it; but only on revolutionary occasions—the wall, so far as defence goes, more concerning the smuggler than the soldier; and less contraband from abroad than infringement of certain regulations of home commerce—chief of them the tax called “alcabala,” corresponding to theoctroiof France, and thecorvéeof some other European countries.
The tax is collected at the “garitas,” of which there is one on every road leading out of the city, or rather into it; for it is the man who enters, not he making exit, who is called upon to contribute to thealcabala. It is levied on every article or commodity brought from the country in search of a city market. Nothing escapes it; the produce of farm and garden, field and forest—all have to pay toll at thegaritas, so losing a considerable percentage of their value. The brown aboriginal, his “burro” laden with charcoal, or skins ofpulque, or himself staggering under a load of planks heavy enough to weigh down a donkey, which he has transported from a mountain forest—ten or twenty miles it may be—is mulcted in this blackmail before he can pass through agarita.
Not unfrequently he is unable to meet the demand till he have made sale of the taxed commodity. On such occasions he hypothecates his hat, orfrezada, leaving it at the gate, and going on bareheaded or bare-shouldered to the market, to redeem the pawned article on return.
Save through these gates there is no access to, or egress from, the Mexican capital; and at each, besides the official having charge of the revenue matters, a soldier-guard is stationed, with a guard-house provided; their duties being of a mixed, three-cornered kind—customs, police, and military. Five or six such posts there are, on the five or six roads leading out from the city, like the radiating limbs of a star-fish; and one of these is thegaritaEl Nino Perdido—literally, the gate of the “Lost Child.” It is, however, one through which the traffic is of secondary importance; since it is not on any of the main routes of travel. That which it bars is but a country road, communicating with the villages of Mixcoac, Coyoacan, and San Angel. Still, these being places of rural residence, where some of thefamiliares principeshave country houses, a carriage passing through the gate of the Lost Child is no rarity. Besides, from the gate itself runs aCalzada, or causeway, wide and straight for nearly two miles, with a double row of grand old trees along each side, whose pleasant shade invites, and often receives, visits from city excursionists out for a stroll, ride, or drive. Near the end of the second mile it angles abruptly to the right, in the direction of San Angel—a sharp corner the writer has good reason to remember, having been shot at bysalteadores, luckily missed, while passing round it on his way from country quarters to the city. A horse of best blood savedhisblood there, or this tale would never have been told.
Asking the reader’s pardon for a personal digression—with the excuse that it may throw light on the scene to follow—it will be understood how easily the guard on duty at the gate might be “thrown off guard” by a carriage passing through it; especially on that day when there were so many, by reason of the grand doings in the city.
Several had just passed, going country-wards; for it was the season of rural sojourn among the “ricos.” So, when another appeared, heading in the same direction, the guard-sergeant at Nino Perdido saw nothing amiss, or to be suspicious of; instead, something to inspire him with respect. He had been on guard at the Palace scores of times; and by appearance knew all who were accustomed to pass in and out, more especially those holding authority. Liveries he could distinguish at any distance; and when he saw a carriage approaching along the street, with a coachman in sky-blue and silver, cockaded, he did not need its being near to recognise the equipage of one of the Cabinet Ministers.
Though a non-commissioned officer, he was a man of ambitious aims; dreaming of gold bullion in the shape of epaulettes; and he had long had his eye on the epaulette of analferez—officers of this rank being allowed only one. The good word of a Cabinet Minister, whether war, navy, orHacienda, could give him what he was wishing for, easy at a nod; and here was an opportunity of winning it.
“Cabo!” he cried out to his corporal, in a flurry of excitement, “throw open the gate—quick! Fall in, men! Dress up—ready to present arms! See that you do it handsomely!”
It was in his favour, and so he congratulated himself that the carriage came on rather slowly, so that he had ample time to get his half-dozen files well set-up and dressed for the salute.
There was some buttoning of jackets, stocks to be adjusted round shirtless necks, with shakos to be searched for inside the guard-house, and hurriedly clapped on. Still, it was all got through in good time; and, when at length the carriage came abreast, the guard was found standing at “present arms,” the sergeant himself saluting in the most gracious manner.
They inside, knowing how, returned the salute in true soldier style, though with a surprised expression upon their faces. No wonder. Where they had anticipated difficulty and danger, they were received with more than civility—accorded military honours!