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The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

Chapter Thirty
The Poor Ladies

Quite a combination of circumstances had favoured the escape of the four forzados– 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 in aguardiente he 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 the pobrecitas were 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 the esprit de corps of 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 his pulqueria, 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 the forzados, 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. The douche had 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 the garita of San Cosmé, with another guard there. Indeed, go what way they would, there was none leading out into the country without a garita to 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 the cochero: —

“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 a seraph out 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 ample seraph, 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 rich haciendado, 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, and en 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, the casa de campo might be a good distance from town, and such a splendid turnout, belated on a country road would be like tempting Providence, and certainly the salteadores!

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.

“A garita of 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. You Americanos are 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, the cochero, 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 an enceinte wall, 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.

The enceinte spoken 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 the octroi of France, and the corvée of 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 the alcabala. 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 the garitas, so losing a considerable percentage of their value. The brown aboriginal, his “burro” laden with charcoal, or skins of pulque, 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 a garita.

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, or frezada, 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 the garita El 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 the familiares principes have country houses, a carriage passing through the gate of the Lost Child is no rarity. Besides, from the gate itself runs a Calzada, 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 by salteadores, luckily missed, while passing round it on his way from country quarters to the city. A horse of best blood saved his blood 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 an alferez– officers of this rank being allowed only one. The good word of a Cabinet Minister, whether war, navy, or Hacienda, 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!