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The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

Chapter Twenty
A Pair of Beautiful Petitioners

Soon as the aide-de-camp had closed the door behind him, Santa Anna sprang up from his seat and hastily stumped it to a large cheval glass which stood on one side of the room. Squaring himself before this he took survey of his person from crown to toes. He gave a pull or two at his moustaches, twisting their points, and turning them upward along his cheeks. Then running his fingers comb-like through his hair, he gave that also a jaunty set. In fine, straightening himself in his gold-braided uniform frock, with a last glance down to his feet – this resulting in a slight grimace – he returned to the state chair and reseated himself.

With all his gallantry and politeness – and to these he made much pretension – it was not his custom to receive lady visitors standing. In the upright attitude the artificial leg made him look stiff, and he preferred stowing it away under the table. Besides, there was his dignity, as the grand figure-head of the nation, which he now wished to have its full effect. Leaning forward, he gave a downward blow to the spring of the table bell; then assuming an attitude of expectant grandeur, sate expectant. This time the aide-de-camp required no passing to and fro; and the door again opening, the ladies were ushered into the august presence.

In their air and manner they betrayed agitation too, while the serious expression upon their features told they were there on no trivial errand.

“Pray be seated, ladies,” said the Dictator, after exchanging salutations with them. “’Tis not often the Condesa Almonté honours the Palacio with her presence, and for the Señorita Valverde, were it not for official relations with her father, I fear we should see even less of her than we do.”

While speaking he pointed to a couple of couch chairs that stood near the table.

They sat down rather hesitatingly, and slightly trembling. Not that either would have been at all timid had the occasion been a common one. Both were of Mexico’s best blood, the Condesa one of the old noblesse who hold their heads higher even than the political chief of the State, when he chances to be – as more than once has occurred – an adventurer of humbler birth. Therefore, it was not any awe of the great dignitary that now unnerved them, but the purpose for which they were seeking speech with him. Whether Santa Anna guessed it, or not, could not be told by his looks. An experienced diplomatist, he could keep his features fixed and immovable as the Sphinx, or play them to suit the time and the tune. So, after having delivered himself, as above, with the blandest of smiles upon his face, he remained silent, awaiting the rejoinder.

It was the Condesa who made it.

“Your Excellency,” she said, doing her utmost to look humble; “we have come to beg a favour from you.”

A gratified look, like a gleam of light, illuminated Santa Anna’s swarthy features. Ysabel Almonté begging favours from him! What better could he have wished? With all his command of features he but ill-concealed the triumph he now felt. It flashed up in his eyes as he said respondingly —

“A favour you would ask? Well, if it be within my power to grant it, neither the Condesa Almonté, nor the Doña Luisa Valverde need fear refusal. Be frank, then, and tell me what it is.”

The Countess, with all her courage, still hesitated to declare it. For despite the ready promise of compliance, she did fear a refusal; since it had been asked for that same morning and though not absolutely refused, the answer left but little hope of its being conceded.

As is known, at an earlier hour Don Ignacio had paid a visit to the Palacio, to seek clemency for a prisoner-of-war, Florence Kearney. But pardon for a state prisoner was also included in his application – that being Ruperto Rivas. Of all this the ladies were well aware, since it was at their instigation, and through their importunity, he had acted. It was only, therefore, by the urgency of a despairing effort, as a dernier ressort, these had now sought the presence as petitioners, and naturally they dreaded denial. Noting the Condesa’s backwardness – a thing new but not displeasing to him, since it gave promise of influence over her – Santa Anna said interrogatively:

“Might this favour, as you are pleased to term it, have ought to do with a request lately made to me by Don Ignacio Valverde?”

“’Tis the same, your Excellency,” answered the Countess, at length recovering spirit, but still keeping up the air of meek supplication she had assumed.

“Indeed!” exclaimed the Dictator, adding, “that grieves me very much.”

He made an attempt to look sorry, though it needed none for him to appear chagrined. This he was in reality, and for reasons intelligible. Here were two ladies, both of whom he had amatory designs upon, each proclaiming by her presence – as it were telling him to his teeth, the great interest she felt in another – that or she would not have been there!

“But why, Excellentissimo?” asked the Countess, entreatingly. “What is there to grieve you in giving their freedom to two men – gentlemen, neither of whom has been guilty of crime, and who are in prison only for offences your Excellency can easily pardon?”

“Not so easily as you think, Condesa. You forget that I am but official head of the State, and have others to consult – my Ministers and the Congress – in affairs of such magnitude. Know, too, that both these men for whom you solicit pardon have been guilty of the gravest offences; one of them, a foreigner, an enemy of our country, taken in arms against it; the other, I am sorry to say, a citizen, who has become a rebel, and worse still, a robber!”

“’Tis false!” exclaimed the Countess, all at once changing tone, and seeming to forget the place she was in and the presence. “Don Ruperto Rivas is no robber; never was, nor rebel either; instead, the purest of patriots!”

Never looked Ysabel Almonté lovelier than at that moment – perhaps never woman. Her spirit roused, cheeks red, eyes sparkling with indignation, attitude erect – for she had started up from her chair – she seemed to be the very impersonation of defiance, angry, but beautiful. No longer meek or supplicating now. Instinct or intuition told her it would be of no use pleading further, and she had made up her mind for the worst.

The traits of beauty which her excitement called forth, added piquancy to her natural charms, and inflamed Santa Anna’s wicked passions all the more. But more than any of them revenge. For now he knew how much the fair petitioner was interested in the man whose suit she had preferred. With a cold cynicism – which, however, cost him an effort – he rejoined:

“That, perhaps, is your way of thinking, Condesa. But it remains to be proved – and the prisoner you speak of shall have an opportunity of proving it – with his innocence in every respect. That much I can promise you. The same for him,” he added, turning to Luisa Valverde, “in whom, if I mistake not, the Doña Luisa is more especially interested. These gentlemen prisoners shall have a fair trial, and justice done them. Now, ladies! can you ask more of me?”

They did not; both seeing it would be to no purpose. Equally purposeless to prolong the interview; and they turned toward the door, the daughter of Don Ignacio leading where she had before followed.

This was just as Santa Anna wished it. Seemingly forgetful of his cork-leg, and the limp he took such pains to conceal, he jerked himself out of his chair and hurried after – on a feigned plea of politeness. Just in time to say to the Countess in a hurried, half-whisper: —

“If the Condesa will return, and prefer her request alone, it may meet with more favour.”

The lady passed on, with head held disdainfully, as though she heard but would not heed. She did hear what he said, and it brought a fresh flush upon her cheek, with another flash of anger in her eyes. For she could not mistake his meaning, and knew it was as the serpent whispering into the ear of Eve.

Chapter Twenty One
A Woman’s Scheme

“My poor Ruperto is indeed in danger! Now I am sure of it. Ah, even to his life! And I may be the cause of his losing it.”

So spoke the Countess Almonté half in soliloquy, though beside her sat her friend Luisa Valverde. They were in a carriage on return from their fruitless visit to the Dictator. It was the Countess’ own landau which had remained waiting for them outside the Palace gates.

The other, absorbed with her own anxieties, might not have noticed what was said but for its nature. This, being in correspondence with what was at the moment in her own mind, caught her ear, almost making her start. For she, too, was thinking of a life endangered, and how much that danger might be due to herself. It was not poor Ruperto’s life, but poor Florencio’s.

“You the cause, Ysabel!” she said, not in surprise, save at the similarity of their thoughts. “Ah! yes; I think I comprehend you.”

“If not, amiga, don’t ask explanation of it now. It’s a hateful thing, and I dislike to think, much more speak of it. Some other time I’ll tell you all. Now we’ve work to do – a task that will take all our energies – all our cunning to accomplish it. However is it to be done? Valga me Dios!”

To her interrogatory she did not expect reply. And the desponding look of Luisa Valverde showed she had none to give that would be satisfactory; for she quite understood what was the task spoken of, and equally comprehended the difficulty of its accomplishment. Perplexed as the Countess herself, and possibly more despairing, she could but echo the exclamatory words —

“How indeed! Valga me Dios.”

For a while they sat without further exchange of speech, both buried in thought. Not long, however, when the Countess again spoke, saying —

“You’re not good at dissembling, Luisita; I wish you were.”

“Santissima!” exclaimed her friend, alike surprised at the remark as at its abruptness. “Why do you wish that Ysabel?”

“Because I think I know a way by which something might be done – if you were but the woman to do it.”

“Oh, Ysabelita! I will do anything to get Florencio out of prison.”

“It isn’t Florencio I want you to get out, but Ruperto. Leave the getting out of Florencio to me.”

Still more astonished was Don Ignacio’s daughter. What could the countess mean now? She put the question to her thus —

“What is it you desire me to do?”

“Practise a little deception – play the coquette – that’s all.”

It was not in Luisa Valverde’s nature. If she had many admirers, and she had – some of them over head and ears in love with her – it was from no frivolity, or encouragement given them, on her part. From the day Florence Kearney first made impression upon her heart, it had been true to him, and she loyal throughout all. So much that people thought her cold, some even pronouncing her a prude. They knew not how warmly that heart beat, though it was but for one. Thinking of this one, however, what the countess proposed gave her a shock, which the latter perceiving, added, with a laugh —

“Only for a time, amiga mia. I don’t want you to keep it up till you’ve got a naughty name. Nor to make fools of all the fine gentlemen I see dangling around you. Only one.”

“Which one?”

She was not averse to hearing what the scheme was, at all events. How could she be, in view of the object aimed at?

“A man,” pursued the Countess, “who can do more for us than your father; more than we’ve been able to do ourselves.”

“Who is he?”

“Don Carlos Santander, colonel of Hussars on the staff – aide-de-camp and adjutant to El Excellentissimo in more ways than military ones – some not quite so honourable, ’tis said. Said also, that this staff-colonel, for reasons nobody seems to know, or need we care, has more influence at Court than almost any one else. So what I want you to do is to utilise this influence for our purpose, which I know you can.”

“Ah, Ysabelita! How much you are mistaken, to think I could influence him to that! Carlos Santander would be the last man to help me in procuring pardon for Florencio – the very last. You know why.”

“Oh yes; I know. But he may help me in procuring pardon for Ruperto. Luckily my good looks, if I have any, never received notice from the grand colonel, who has eyes only for you; so he’s not jealous of Ruperto. As the obsequious servant of his master, hostile to him no doubt; but that might be overcome by your doing as I should direct.”

“But what would you have me do.”

“Show yourself complaisant to the Colonel. Only in appearance, as I’ve said; and only for a time till you’ve tried your power over him, and see with what success.”

“I’m sure it would fail.”

“I don’t think it would, amiga mia; and will not, if you go about it according to instructions. Though it may cost you some unpleasantness, Luisita, and an effort, you’ll make it for my sake, won’t you? And as a reward,” pursued the Countess, as if to render her appeal more surely effective, “I shall do as much for you, and in a similar way. For I, too, intend counterfeiting complacency in a certain quarter, and in the interest of a different individual – Don Florencio. Now, you understand me?”

“Not quite yet.”

“Never mind. I’ll make it more plain by-and-by. Only promise me that you’ll do – ”

“Dearest Ysabelita! I’d do anything for you.”

“And Don Florencio. I thought that would secure your consent. Well, mil mil gracias! But what a game of cross-purposes we’ll be playing; I for you, and you for me, and neither for ourselves! Let us hope we may both win.”

By this the carriage had stopped in front of the Casa Valverde to set down Doña Luisa. The Countess alighted also, ordering the horses home. It was but a step to her own house, and she could walk it. For she had something more to say which required saying there and then. Passing on into the patio, far enough to be beyond earshot of the “cochero,” and there stopping, she resumed the dialogue at the point where she had left off.

“We must set to work at once,” she said; “this very day, if opportunity offer. Perhaps in the procession – ”

“Oh! Ysabel?” interrupted the other. “How I dislike the thought of this procession – making merry as it were, and he in a prison! And we must pass it too – its very doors! I’m sure I shall feel like springing out of the carriage and rushing inside to see him.”

“That would be just the way to ensure your not seeing him – perhaps, never more. The very opposite is what you must do, or you’ll spoil all my plans. But I’ll instruct you better before we start out.”

“You insist, then, on our going?”

“Of course, yes; for the very reason – the very purpose we’ve been speaking of. That’s just why I ask you to take me with you. It will never do to offend his High Mightiness, angry as we may be with him. I’m now sorry at having shown temper; but how could I help it, hearing Ruperto called a robber? However, that may be all for the best. So, upstairs; turn out your guarda-roba, and your jewel case; array yourself in your richest apparel, and be in readiness for the gilded coach when it comes round. Carramba!” she added after drawing out her jewelled watch, – one of Losada’s best – and glancing at its dial, “we haven’t a moment to spare, I must be off to my toilet too.”

She had made a step in the direction of the street, when suddenly turning again she added —

“As a last word, lest I might forget it. When next you appear in the Grand Presence drop that forlorn doleful look. Misery is the weakest weapon either man or woman can make use of – the very worst advocate in any cause. So don’t show it, especially in the company of Don Carlos Santander, where in all likelihood you will be before the end of another hour. Try to look cheerful, put on your sweetest smile, though it be a feigned one, as I intend doing for Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna.”

She took her departure now; but as she passed out through the saguan a cloud could be seen upon her countenance, more than that from the shadow of the arched gateway, telling that she herself needed quite as much as her friend, admonition to be cheerful.

Chapter Twenty Two
In the Sewers

Along with a score of other prisoners, the “chain-gang” of the Acordada, Kearney, Rock, Rivas, and the dwarf were conducted out into the street, and on the Callé de Plateros. Dominguez, the gaoler, went with them – having received orders to that effect – carrying a heavy cuarta with hard raw-hide lash knotted at the end. Their escort consisted of two or three files of the prison guard, dirty looking soldiers of the infanteria, in coarse linen uniforms, stiff shakoes on their heads, their arm the old-fashioned flint-lock musket.

The scavengers had still their ankle chains on, coupled two and two, these lengthened, however, to give more freedom to their work. One reason for keeping them chained is to economise the strength of the guard, a single sentry thus being as good as a dozen. Of course, it is an additional precaution against escape, a thing which might seem impossible under the muzzles of muskets and bayonets fixed. But to desperadoes such as are some of the Acordada gaol-birds it would not be so if left leg free. More than once had the attempt been made, and with success; for in no city is it easier, or indeed so easy. In the Mexican metropolis there are whole districts where the policeman fears to show his face, and a criminal pursued, even by soldiers in uniform, would have every door thrown open to him, and every opportunity given for stowing himself away. Get he but out into the country, and up to the mountains – on all sides conveniently near – his chances are even better, since the first man there met may be either footpad or salteador.

As said, the street to which the scavengers were taken was the Callé de Plateros, where it ends at the Alameda Gate. The covering flags of the zancas had been already lifted off, exposing to view the drain brimful of liquid filth the tools were beside – scoops, drags, and shovels having been sent on before.

Soon, on arriving on its edge, Dominguez, who kept close by the two couples in which were the Tejanos, ordered them to lay hold and fall to.

There could be no question of refusal or disobedience. From the way he twirled the quirt between his fingers it looked as though he wished there was, so that he might have an excuse for using it. Besides, any hanging back would be rewarded by a blow from the butt of a musket, and, persisted in, possibly a bayonet thrust – like as not to lame the refractory individual for life.

There was no need for such violent measures now. The others of the gang had done scavenger work before; and knowing its ways, went at it as soon as the word was given. Nolens volens Kearney and Cris Rock, with their chain partners, had to do likewise; though, perhaps, never man laid hold of labourer’s tool with more reluctance than did the Texan. It was a long shafted shovel that had been assigned to him, and the first use he made of the implement was to swing it round his head, as though he intended bringing it down on that of one of the sentries who stood beside.

“Durnashun!” he shrieked out, still brandishing the tool and looking the soldier straight in the face. “If ’twarn’t that the thing ’ud be o’ no use, an’ you ain’t the one as is to blame, I’d brain ye on the spot, ye ugly yaller-belly. Wage! Let me get back to Texas, and grip o’ a good rifle, the Mexikin as kums my way may look out for partickler forked lightnin’!”

Though not comprehending a word of what was said the little manikin of a militario was so frightened by the big fellow’s gestures as to spring back several feet, with a look of alarm so intense, yet so comical, as to set the Texan off into a roar of laughter. And still laughing, he faced towards the sewer, plunged in his implement, and set to work with the others.

At first the task was comparatively clean and easy – a sort of skimming affair – the scavengers keeping upon the pavement. The necessity had not yet arisen for them going down into the drain.

After a time, however, as the liquid got lower and the sediment at the bottom too stiff to be conveniently scooped up, a number of them were ordered to “step in.” It was a cruel, brutal order, and Bill Sykes would have declined sending his “bull-dawg” into that sewer after rats. But Dominguez, a sort of Mexican Bill Sykes, had no scruples about this with the unfortunates he had charge of, and with a “carajo,” and a threatening flourish of his whip, he repeated the order. One or two of the forzados took the plunge good-humouredly, even to laughing, as they dropped into the stuff, waist deep, sending the mud in splashes all round. The dainty ones went in more leisurely, some of them needing a little persuasion at the point of the bayonet.

Cris Rock was already down, having gone voluntarily. Only one of each couple had been ordered below; and, much as he disliked the dwarf, he had no wish to see him drowned or suffocated, which the diminutive creature would well-nigh have been in the horrible cesspool. Tall as the Texan was, the stuff reached up to his thighs, the surface of the street itself being on a level with his arm-pits, while only the heads of the others could be seen above the stones.

Neither Kearney nor Rivas had yet taken the plunge. They still stood on the brink, discussing the question of precedence. Not that either wished the other to do the disagreeable; instead, the reverse. Strange as it may appear, knowing or believing him to be a bandit, the young Irishman had taken a liking to the Mexican, and the feeling was reciprocated, so that each was now trying to restrain the other from entering the ugly gulf.

But their friendly contest was cut short by the brutal gaoler; who, advancing, grasped Rivas by the shoulder, and with his other hand pointing downward shouted “Abajo!”

There was no help for it but obey; the alternative sure of being something worse. For the man so rudely commanded went down willingly; indeed, with alacrity, to satisfy his impulse of friendship for the Irlandes.

Had Carlos Santander been there likely the position would have been reversed, and Kearney compelled to “take the ditch.” But the Governor of the Acordada had control of details, and to his hostility and spleen, late stirred by that wordy encounter with Rivas, the latter was no doubt indebted for the partiality shown him by Don Pedro’s head turnkey.

In time, all were disposed of: one of each couple down in the sewer, pitching out its sweet contents; the other pressing them back upon the pavement to prevent their oozing in again. Either way the work was now nasty enough; but for those below, it was a task too repulsive to set even the lowest pariah at.