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The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

Chapter Thirty Three
“Is it a Grito?”

The soldiers of the guard had grounded arms, and were sauntering back to their benches, when something came into the sergeant’s mind which caused him misgiving.

Was it possible he had been paying honours to those undeserving of them?

He was sure of it being the carriage of Don Ignacio Valverde; his horses and livery too. But nothing more. None of the party was known to him as belonging to Don Ignacio’s family or servants. For José was but groom or second coachman, who occasionally drove out his young mistress, but never to the Palace, or other place where the sergeant had been on duty.

Equally a stranger to him was the big fellow on the box, who had hold of the reins, as also one of the gentlemen inside. It occurred to him, however, that the face of the other was familiar – awakening the memories of more than ordinary interest.

“Mil diablos!” he muttered to himself as he stood gazing after the retreating equipage. “If that wasn’t my old captain, Don Ruperto Rivas, there isn’t another man in Mexico more like him. I heard say he had turned salteador, and they’d taken him only the other day. Carria! what’s that?”

The carriage, as yet not over a hundred yards from the garita, still going on at a rather moderate pace, was seen suddenly to increase its speed: in fact, the horses had started off at a gallop! Nor was this from any scare or fright, but caused by a sharp cut or two of the whip, as he could tell by seeing the arm of the big man on the box several times raised above the roof, and vigorously lowered again. Extraordinary behaviour on his part; how was it to be accounted for? And how explain that of the gentleman inside, who appeared satisfied with the changed pace? At all events they were doing naught to prevent it, for again and again the whip strokes were repeated. None of the party were intoxicated; at least they had no appearance of it when they passed the gate. A little excited-looking, though no more than might be expected in men returning from a public procession. But an elegant light equipage with horses in full gallop, so unlike the carriage of a Cabinet Minister! What the mischief could it mean?

The guard-sergeant had just asked himself the question, when, hark! a gun fired at the citadela! Soon after another from the military college of Chapultepec! And from the direction of the Plaza Grande the ringing of bells. First those of the Cathedral, then of the Acordada, and the convent of San Francisco, with other convents and churches, till there was a clangour all over the city!

Hark again! A second gun from the citadel, quickly followed by another from Chapultepec, evidently signals and their responses!

“What the demonio is it? A pronunciamento?” Not only did the sergeant thus interrogate, but all the soldiers under his command, putting the question to one another. It would be nothing much to surprise them, least of all himself. He was somewhat of a veteran, and had seen nigh a score of revolutions, counting ententes.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if it is,” he suggested, adding, as a third gun boomed out from the citadel; “it must be a grito!”

“Who’s raising it this time, I wonder?” said one of the soldiers, all now in a flurry of excited expectancy.

Several names of noted militarios were mentioned at a venture; but no one could say for certain, nor even give a guess with any confidence. They could hardly yet realise its being the breaking out of a pronunciamento, since there had been no late tampering with them – the usual preliminary to revolutions.

It might not be, after all. But they would be better able to decide should they hear the rattle of small arms, and for this listened they all ears.

More than one of them would have been delighted to hear it. Not that they disliked the régime of the Dictator, nor the man himself. Like all despots he was the soldiers friend; professed and giving proofs of it, by indulging them in soldierly licence – permission to lord it over the citizen. But much as they liked “El Cojo” (Game leg), as they called him, a grito would be still more agreeable to them – promising unlimited loot.

The sergeant had views of his own, and reflections he kept to himself. He felt good as sure there was something up, and could not help connecting it with the carriage which had just passed. He now no longer doubted having seen his old captain in it. But how came he to be there, and what doing? He had been in the city, that’s certain – was now out of it, and going at a speed that must mean something more than common. He could get to San Augustin by that route. There were troops quartered there; had they declared for the Liberals?

It might be so, and Rivas was on his way to meet and lead them on to the city. At any moment they might appear on the calzada, at the corner round which the carriage had just turned.

The sergeant was now in a state of nervous perplexity. Although his eyes were on the road his thoughts were not there, but all turned inward, communing with himself. Which side ought he to take? That of the Liberales or the Parti Pretre? He had been upon both through two or three alternate changes, and still he was but a sargento. And as he had been serving Santa Anna for a longer spell than usual, without a single step of promotion, he could not make much of a mistake by giving the Republican party one more trial. It might get him the long-coveted epaulette of alferez.

While still occupied with his ambitious dreams, endeavouring to decide into which scale he should throw the weight of his sword, musket, and bayonet, the citadel gun once more boomed out, answered by the canon of Chapultepec.

Still, there was no cracking of rifles, nor continuous rattle of musketry, such as should be heard coincident with that cry which in the Mexican metropolis usually announces a change of government.

It seemed strange not only to him, but all others on guard at El Nino. But it might be a parley – the calm before the storm, which they could not help thinking would yet burst forth, in full fusillade – such as they had been accustomed to.

Listening on, however, they heard not that; only the bells, bells, bells, jingling all over the city, as though it were on fire, those of the cathedral leading the orchestra of campanule music. And yet another gun from the citadel, with the answering one from the “Summer Palace of the Monctezunas.”

They were fast losing patience, beginning to fear there would be no pronunciamento after all, and no chance of plundering, when the notes of a cavalry bugle broke upon their ears.

“At last!” cried one, speaking the mind of all, and as though the sound were a relief to them. “That’s the beginning of it. So, camarados! we may get ready. The next thing will be the cracking of carbines!”

They all ran to the stack of muskets, each clutching at his own. They stood listening as before; but not to hear any cracking of carbines. Instead, the bugle again brayed out its trumpet notes, recognisable as signals of command; which, though only infantry men, they understood. There was the “Quick march!” and “Double quick!” but they had no time to reflect on what it was for, nor need, as just then a troop of Hussars was seen defiling out from a side street, and coming on towards them at a charging gallop.

In a few seconds they were up to the gate, which, being still open, they could have passed through, without stop or parley. For all, they made both, the commanding officer suddenly reining up, and shouting back along the line —

“Alto!”

The “halt” was proclaimed by the trumpeter at his side, which brought the galloping cohort to a stand.

“Sargento!” thundered he at their head to the guard-sergeant, who, with his men re-formed, was again at “Present arms!”

“Has a carriage passed you, guard – a landau – grey horses, five men in it?”

“Only four men, Señor Colonel; but all the rest as you describe it.”

“Only four! What can that mean? Was there a coachman in light blue livery – silver facings?”

“The same, Señor Colonel.”

“That’s it, sure; must be. How long since it passed?”

“Not quite twenty minutes, Señor Colonel. It’s just gone round the corner; yonder where you see the dust stirring.”

“Adelante!” cried the colonel, without waiting to question further, and as the trumpet gave out the “Forward – gallop!” the Hussar troop went sweeping through the gate, leaving the guard-sergeant and his men in a state of great mystification and no little chagrin; he, their chief spokesman, saying with a sorrowful air —

“Well hombres, it don’t look like a grito, after all!”

Chapter Thirty Four
An ill-used Coachman

“Such forethought?” exclaimed Rivas, as the landau went rattling along the road with the speed of a war-chariot, “wonderful!” he went on. “Ah, for cleverness, commend me to a woman – when her will’s in it. We men are but simpletons to them. My glorious Ysabel! She’s the sort for a soldier’s wife. But don’t let me be claiming all the credit for her. Fair play to the Señorita Valverde; who has, I doubt not, done her share of the contriving – on your account, Señor.”

The Señor so spoken to had no doubt of it either, and would have been grieved to think otherwise, but he was too busy at the moment to say much, and only signified his assent in monosyllables. With head down, and arms in see-sawing motion, he was endeavouring to cut their coupling-chain; the tool he handled being a large file; another of the “something” to be found under the cushions – as found it was! No wonder Don Ruperto’s enthusiastic admiration of the providence which had placed it there.

Handy with workmen’s tools as with warlike weapons, the young Irishman had laid hold of it as soon as they were safe through the garita, and was now rasping away with might and main; the other keeping the chain in place.

It was not a task to be accomplished without time. The links were thick as a man’s finger, and would need no end of filing before they could be parted. Still, there was little likelihood of their being interrupted until it could be done. There was nobody on the road, and only here and there some labourers at work in the adjoining fields, too busy to take note of them, or what they were at. The sight of a passing carriage would be nothing strange, and the horses going at a gallop would but lead to the supposition of its being a party of “jovenes dorados” driving out into the country, who had taken too much wine before starting.

But, even though these poor proletarians knew all, there was nothing to be apprehended for any action on their part. Conspiracies and pronunciamentos were not in their line; and the storm of revolution might burst over their heads without their caring what way it went, or even inquiring who was its promoter. So the escaping prisoners took little pains to conceal what they were at. Speed was now more to their purpose than strategy, and they were making their best of it, both to get on along the road, and have their legs free for future action.

“We might have passed safely through that gate,” said the Mexican, who still continued to do the talking, “even had they known who we were.”

“Indeed! how?”

“You saw that sergeant who saluted us?”

“Of course I did, and the grand salute he gave! He couldn’t have made it more impressive had it been the Commander-in-Chief of your army, or the Dictator himself who was passing.”

“And I fancy it was just something of the kind that moved him. Doubtless, the livery of the coachman, which he would know to be that of Don Ignacio Valverde.”

“You think he got us through?”

“Yes. But it wouldn’t have done so if he’d known what was up. Though something else might – that is, his knowing me.”

“Oh! he knows you?”

“He does; though I’m not sure he recognised me in passing, as I did him. Odd enough, his being there just then. He was corporal in a company I once commanded, and I believe liked me as his captain. He’s an old schemer, though; has turned his coat times beyond counting; and just as well there’s been no call for trusting him. He’ll catch it for letting us slip past without challenge; and serve him right, wearing the colours he now does. Ha! they’ve waked up at last! I was expecting that.”

It was the first gun at the citadel which called forth these exclamations, soon followed by the ding-dong of the city bells.

“Carrai!” he continued, “we’re no doubt being pursued now, and by cavalry; some of those we saw in the procession. It begins to look bad. Still, with so much start, and this fine pair of frisones, I’ve not much fear of their overtaking us, till we reach the point I’m making for; unless, indeed – ”

“Unless what?” asked Kearney, seeing he had interrupted himself, and was looking out apprehensively.

“That! There’s your answer,” said the Mexican, pointing to a puff of smoke that had just shot out from the summit of an isolated hill on which were batteries and buildings. “Chapultepec – a gun!” he added, and the bang came instantly after.

“We’ll have it hot enough now,” he continued, in a tone telling of alarm. “There’s sure to be cavalry up yonder. If they’re cleverly led, and know which way to take, they may head us off yet, in spite of all we can do. Lay on the whip,” he shouted out to the coachman.

And the whip was laid on, till the horses galloped faster than ever, leaving behind a cloud of dust, which extended back for more than a mile.

The road they were on was the direct route to San Angel; and through this village Rivas had intended going, as he had no reason to believe there were troops stationed in it. But Chapultepec was nearer to it than the point where they themselves were, and cavalry now starting from the latter could easily reach San Angel before them. But there was a branch road leading to Coyoacan, and as that would give them some advantage, he determined on taking it.

And now another gun at the citadel, with the response from Chapultepec, and, soon after, the third booming from both. But meanwhile, something seen at the castle-crowned hill which deepened the anxious expression on the face of the Mexican.

“Santos Dios!” he exclaimed; “just as I expected. Look yonder, Señor!”

Kearney looked, to see a stream pouring out from the castle gates and running down the steep causeway which zig-zags to the bottom of the hill. A stream of men in uniform, by their square crowned shakos and other insignia, recognisable as Lancers. They had neither weapons nor horses with them; but both, as Rivas knew, would be at the Cuartel and stables below. He also knew that the Lanzeros were trained soldiers – a petted arm of the service – and it would not take them long to “boot and saddle.”

More than ever was his look troubled now, still not despairing. He had his hopes and plans.

“Drop your file, Señor,” he said hurriedly; “no time to finish that now. We must wait for a better opportunity. And we’ll have to leave the carriage behind; but not just yet.”

By this they had arrived at the embouchure of the branch road coming out from Cayocaon, into which by his direction the horses were headed, going on without stop or slackening of speed. And so for nearly another mile; then he called out to those on the box to bring up.

Rock, anticipating something of the sort, instantly reined in, and the carriage came to a stand. At which the two inside sprang out upon the road, Kearney calling to the Texan —

“Drop the reins, Cris! Down; unhitch the horses. Quick!”

And quick came he down, jerking the dwarf after, who fell upon all fours; as he recovered his feet, looking as if he had lost his senses. No one heeded him or his looks; the hurry was too great even to stay for unbuckling.

“Cut everything off!” cried Kearney, still speaking to Rock. “Leave on only the bridles.”

With the knife late put into his hands the Texan went to work, Kearney himself plying the other, while Rivas held the horses and unhooked the bearing reins.

Soon pole-pieces and hame-straps were severed; and the frisones led forward left all behind, save the bridles and collars.

“Leave the collars on,” said Rivas, seeing there was no time to detach them. “Now we mount two and two; but first to dispose of him.”

The “him” was José, still seated on the box, apparently in a state of stupor.

“Pull him down, Cris! Tie him to the wheel!” commanded Kearney. “The driving reins will do it.”

The Texan knew how to handle tying gear, as all Texans do, and in a trice the unresisting cochero was dragged from his seat and bound, Ixion-like, to one of the carriage wheels.

But Rock had not done with him yet. There was a necessity for something more, which looked like wanton cruelty – as they wished it to look. This was the opening of the poor fellow’s mouth, and gagging him with the stock of his own whip!

So, rendered voiceless and helpless, he saw the four forzados, two-and-two, get upon his horses and ride off, the only one who vouchsafed to speak a parting word being the dwarf – he calling back in a jocular way —

“Adios, Señor cochero! May your journey be as pleasant as your coach is slow. Ha, ha, ha!”

Chapter Thirty Five
Double Mounted

The labourers hoeing among the young maize plants, and the tlachiquero drawing the sap from his magueys, saw a sight to astonish them. Two horses of unusual size, both carrying double, and going at full gallop as if running a race – on one of them two men in cloaks, blue and scarlet; the other ridden by a giant, with a mis-shapen monkey-like creature clinging on the croup behind – harness bridles, with collars dancing loose around their necks – chains hanging down and clanking at every bound they made – all this along field paths, in an out-of-the-way neighbourhood where such horses and such men had never been seen before! To the cultivator of “milpas” and the collector of “aguamiel” it was a sight not only to astonish, but inspire them with awe, almost causing the one to drop his hoe, the other his half-filled hog-skin, and take to their heels. But both being of the pure Aztecan race, long subdued and submissive, yet still dreaming of a return to its ancient rule and glories, they might have believed it their old monarchs, Monctezuna and Guatimozin, come back again, or the god Oatluetzale himself.

In whatever way the spectacle affected them, they were not permitted long to look upon it. For the galloping pace was kept up without halt or slowing; the strange-looking horses – with the men upon their backs, still stranger to look at – soon entered a chapparal, which bordered the maize and maguey fields, and so passed out of sight.

“We’re near the end of our ride now,” said Rivas to Kearney, after they had been some time threading their way through the thicket, the horses from necessity going at a walk. “If ’twere not for this ironmongery around our ankles, I could almost say we’re safe. Unfortunately, where we’ve got to go the chains will be a worse impediment than ever. The file! Have we forgotten it?”

“No,” answered Kearney, drawing it from under his cloak, and holding it up.

“Thoughtful of you, caballero. In the haste, I had; and we should have been helpless without it, or at all events awkwardly fixed. If we only had time to use it now. But we haven’t – not so much as a minute to spare. Besides the lances from Chapultepec, there’s a cavalry troop of some kind – huzzars I take it – coming on from the city. While we were cutting loose from the carriage, I fancied I heard a bugle-call in the direction cityward. Of course, with guns and bells signalling, we may expect pursuit from every point of the compass. Had we kept to the roads, we’d have been met somewhere. As it is, if they give us another ten minutes’ grace, I’ll take you into a place where there’s not much fear of our being followed – by mounted men, anyhow.”

Kearney heard this without comprehending. Some hiding-place, he supposed, known to the Mexican. It could only mean that. But where? Looking ahead, he saw the mountains with their sides forest-clad, and there a fugitive might find concealment. But they were miles off; and how were they to be reached by men afoot – to say nothing of the chains – with cavalry in hue and cry all around them? He put the question.

“Don’t be impatient, amigo!” said the Mexican in response; “you’ll soon see the place I speak of, and that will be better than any description I could give. It’s a labyrinth which would have delighted Daedalus himself. Mira! You behold it now!”

He pointed to a façade of rock, grey, rugged, and precipitous, trending right and left through the chapparal far as they could see. A cliff, in short, though of no great elevation; on its crest, growing yuccas, cactus, and stunted mezquite trees.

“The Pedregal!” he added, in a cheerful voice, “and glad am I to see it. I’ve to thank old Vulcan or Pluto for making such a place. It has saved my life once before, and I trust will do the same now, for all of us. But we must be quick about it. Adelante!”

The horses were urged into a final spurt of speed, and soon after arrived at the base of the rocky escarpment, which would have barred them further advance in that direction, had the intention been to take them on. But it was not.

“We must part from them, now,” said Rivas. “Dismount all!”

All four slipped off together, Rock taking hold of both bridles, as if he waited to be told what to do.

“We mustn’t leave them here,” said the Mexican. “They might neigh, and so guide our pursuers to the spot. In another hour, or half that, we needn’t care; it’ll be dark then – ”

He interrupted himself, seeming to reflect, which, the Texan observing, said to Kearney —

“He weeshes the anymals sent off, do he?”

“Just that, Cris.”

“I war thinkin’ o’ thet same, meself. The groun’ for a good spell back hez been hard as flint, an’ we hain’t left much o’ trail, nothin’ as a set o’ bunglin’ yaller-bellies air like ter take up. As for startin’ the horses, that’s easy as fallin’ off a log. Let me do it.”

“Do it.”

“Take holt o’ one then, Cap. Unbuckle the neck strap and pull off the bridle, when you see me do so wi’ t’other. It is a pity to act cruel to the poor brutes arter the sarvice they’ve did us; but thar ain’t no help for ’t. Riddy, air ye?”

“Ready!”

The Texan had taken out his knife; and in another instant its blade was through the horse’s ear, the bridle jerked off at the same time. The animal, uttering a terrified snort, reared up, spun round, and broke away in frenzied flight through the thorny chapparal. The other, also released, bounded after, both soon passing out of sight.

“Bueno—bravo!” cried the Mexican, admiringly, relieved of his dilemma. “Now, señors, we must continue the march afoot, and over ground that’ll need help from our hands, too. Vamonos!”

Saying which, he took up the bridles, and tossed them over the crest of the cliff; then ascended himself, helping Kearney. There was no path; but some projections of the rock – ledges, with the stems of cactus plants growing upon their – made the ascent possible. The Texan swarmed up after, with hunchback at his heels; as he got upon the top, turning suddenly round, laying hold of the chain, and with a “Jee up,” hoisting the creature feet foremost!

Another second and they were all out of sight; though not a second too soon. For as they turned their backs upon the cliff, they could hear behind, on the farther edge of the thicket through which they had passed, the signal calls of a cavalry bugle.