The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley
Not much, if anything, less was that of Santa Anna himself, as he now sat reflecting over it. He, too, had seen the two Texans with Rivas in the sewers; the latter a well-known enemy in war, and, as he late believed, a dangerous rival in love. He had glanced exultingly at him, with the thought of that danger past. The rebel proscribed, and for years sought for, had at length been found; was in his power, with life forfeit, and the determination it should be taken. That but a short hour ago, and now the doomed man was free again!
But surely not? With a squadron of cavalry in pursuit, canon booming, bells ringing, every military post and picket for miles round on the alert, surely four men chained two and two, conspicuous in a grand carriage, could not eventually get off.
It might seem so; still the thing was possible, as Santa Anna had reason to know. A man of many adventures, he had himself more than once eluded a pursuing enemy with chances little better.
He sat chewing the cud of disappointment, though not patiently, nor keeping all the time to his chair. Every now and then he rose to his feet, made stumping excursions round the room, repeatedly touched the bell, to inquire whether any news had been received of the fugitive party.
The aide-de-camp in attendance could not help wondering at all this, having had orders to report instantly whatever word should be brought in. Besides, why should the great Generalissimo be troubling himself about so small a matter as the escape of three or four prisoners, seeming excited as if he had lost a battle.
The cause of this excitement the Dictator alone knew, keeping it to himself. He was still in the dark as to certain details of what had transpired, and had sent for the governor of the Acordada, who should be able to supply them.
Meantime he went about muttering threats against this one and that one, giving way to bitter reflections; one bitterest of all, that there had been a suspicion of connivance at the escape of the prisoners. But to this there was a sweet side as well; so some words uttered by him would indicate.
“Ah, Condesa! You may be clever – you are. But if I find you’ve had a hand in this, and it can be proved to the world, never was a woman in a man’s power more than you’ll be in mine. Title, riches, family influence, all will be powerless to shield you. In the cell of a prison where I may yet have the pleasure of paying you a visit, you won’t be either so proud or so scornful as you’ve shown yourself in a palace this same day. Veremos– we shall see.”
“Don Pedro Arias.”
It was an aide-de-camp announcing the Governor of the Acordada.
“Conduct him in.”
Without delay the prison official was ushered into the presence, looking very sad and cowed-like. Nor did the reception accorded him have a restoring influence; instead, the reverse.
“What’s all this I hear?” thundered out the disposer of punishments and of places; “you’ve been letting your prisoners bolt from you in whole batches. I suppose by this time the Acordada will be empty.”
“Excellentissimo! I am very sorry to say that four of them – ”
“Yes; and of the four, two of them you had orders to guard most strictly – rigorously.”
“I admit it, Sire, but – ”
“Sirrah! you needn’t waste words excusing yourself. Your conduct shall be inquired into by-and-by. What I want now is to know the circumstances – the exact particulars of this strange affair. So answer the questions I put to you without concealment or prevarication.”
The gaol-governor, making humble obeisance, silently awaited the examination, as a witness in the box who fears he may himself soon stand in the dock.
“To begin: why did you send those four prisoners out with the chain-gang?”
“By order of Colonel Santander, Sire. He said it was your Excellency’s wish.”
“Humph! Well, that’s comprehensible. And so far you’re excusable. But how came it you didn’t see to their being better guarded?”
“Sire, I placed them in charge of the chief turnkey – a man named Dominguez – whom I had found most trustworthy on other occasions. To-day being exceptional, on account of the ceremonies, he was pressed to take drink, and, I’m sorry to say, got well-nigh drunk. That will explain his neglect of duty.”
“It seems there were two ladies in the carriage. You know who they were, I suppose?”
“By inquiry I have ascertained, your Excellency. One was the Countess Almonté the other Don Luisa Valverde, as your Excellency will know, the daughter of him to whom the equipage belonged.”
“Yes, yes. I know all that. I have been told the carriage made stop directly opposite to where these men were at work. Was that so?”
“It was, Sire.”
“And have you heard how the stoppage came about?”
“Yes, Excellentissimo. The horses shied at something, and brought the wheels into a bank of mud. Then the cochero, who appears to be a stupid fellow, pulled them up, when he ought to have forced them on. While they were at rest the four forzados made a rush, two right into the carriage, the other two up to the box; one of these last, the big Tejano, getting hold of the reins and whip, and driving off at a gallop. They had only one sentry to pass in the direction of San Francisco. He, like Dominguez, was too far gone in drink, so there was nothing to stop them – except the guards at the garitas. And, I am sorry to say, the sergeant at El Nino Perdita let them pass through without so much as challenging. His account is that, seeing the carriage belonged to one of your Excellency’s Ministers, he never thought of stopping it, and should not. Why should he, Sire?”
This touch of obsequious flattery seemed to mollify the Dictator’s wrath, or it had by this otherwise expended itself, as evinced by his rejoinder in a more tranquil tone. Indeed, his manner became almost confidential.
“Don Pedro,” he said, “I’m satisfied with the explanation you give, so far as regards your own conduct in the affair. But now, tell me, do you think the ladies who were in the carriage had anything to do with the drawing up of the horses? Or was it all an accident?”
“Will your Excellency allow me a moment to reflect? I had thought something of that before; but – ”
“Think of it again. Take time, and give me your opinion. Let it be a truthful one, Don Pedro; there’s much depending on it.”
Thus appealed to, the gaol-governor stood for a time silent, evidently cudgelling his brains. He made mental review of all that had been told him about the behaviour of the young ladies, both before they were turned out of the carriage and after. He was himself aware of certain relations, friendly at least, supposed to exist between one of them and one of the escaped prisoners, and had thought it strange, too, that particular equipage being chosen. Still, from all he could gather, after ample inquiry, he was forced to the conclusion that the thing was unpremeditated – at least on the part of the ladies.
This was still his belief, after reflecting as he had been enjoined to do. In support of it he stated the facts as represented to him, how the Señoritas had been forced from their carriage, almost pitched into the street, their costly dresses dirtied and damaged, themselves showing wildest affright. Still, this was strange, too, on the part of the Condesa; and, in fine, Don Pedro, after further cross-questioning, was unable to say whether there had been connivance or not.
After giving such an unsatisfactory account of the matter he was dismissed, rather brusquely; and returned to the Acordada, with an ugly apprehension that instead of continuing governor of this grand gaol, with a handsome salary and snug quarters, he might ere long be himself the occupant of one of its cells, set apart for common prisoners.
Chapter Thirty Eight
The Report of the Pursuer
With unappeased impatience the Dictator awaited the return of the pursuing party, or some news of it. The last he in time received at first hand from the lips of its leader, who, after nightfall, had hastened back to the city and reported himself at the Palace.
“You have taken them?” interrogated Santa Anna, as the Hussar officer, no longer in a glitter of gold lace, but dim with sweat and dust, was ushered into his presence.
He put the question doubtingly; indeed, from the expression of Santander’s face, almost sure of receiving a negative answer. Negative it was —
“Not yet, Sire; I regret to say they are still at large.”
The rejoinder was preceded by a string of exclamatory phrases, ill becoming the Chief of the State. But Santa Anna, being a soldier, claimed a soldier’s privilege of swearing, and among his familiars was accustomed to it as any common trooper. After venting a strong ebullition of oaths, he calmed down a little, saying —
“Give me a full account of what you’ve seen and done.”
This was rendered in detail, from the time of the pursuit being entered upon till it had ended abortively, by the coming on of night.
Chancing to be in the Maza, the Colonel said, when word reached him of what had occurred in the Callé de Plateros, he made all haste to pursue with a squadron of Hussars. Why he took so many, was that he might be able to send a force along every road, in case it should be necessary.
He found the escapados had gone out by El Nino Perdido, the sergeant on guard there allowing them to go past.
“See that he be put under arrest!”
“He’s under arrest now, your Excellency. I had that done as I was returning.”
“Proceed with your relation!”
Which Santander did, telling how he had followed the fugitive party along the San Angel Road, and there met a troop of Lancers from Chapultepec. Some field-labourers had seen a carriage turn off towards Coyoacan; and taking that route he soon after came up with it. It was stopped on the roadside: empty, horses gone, the harness strewed over the ground hacked and cut; the cochero strapped to one of the wheels, and gagged with the handle of his whip!
When the man was released he could tell nothing more than that the four had mounted his horses, a pair upon each, and galloped off across the country, on a sort of bridle path, as if making for the San Antonio Road.
Turning in that direction, Santander soon discovered that they had entered into a tract of chapparal; and while this was being searched for them, the unharnessed horses were observed rushing to and fro in frenzied gallop, riderless of course. When caught, it was seen why they were now excited, one of them having its ear slit, the blood still dropping from the wound.
The chapparal was quartered in every direction; but he soon came to the conclusion it was no use searching for them there.
“Carramba!” interrupted his listener; “of course not I know the place well. And if you, Señor Colonel, were as well acquainted with that chapparal, and what lies alongside it, as one of those you were after, you’d have dropped the search sooner. You needn’t tell me more; I can guess the finish; they got off into the Pedregal.”
“So it would seem, your Excellency.”
“Seem! So it is, por cierto. And looking for them there would be so much lost time. Around your native city, New Orleans, there are swamps where the runaway slave manages to hide himself. He’d have a better chance of concealment here, among rocks, in that same quarter you’ve just come from. It’s a very labyrinth. But what did you afterwards? You may as well complete your narrative.”
“There is not much more to tell, Sire; for little more could we do. The darkness came on, as we discovered they had taken to the rocks.”
“You did discover that?”
“Yes, your Excellency. We found the place where they had gone up over a sort of cliff. There were scratches made by their feet, with a branch broken off one of the cactus plants; some of the sewer mud, too, was on the rock. But there was no path, and I saw it would be useless carrying the pursuit any further till we should have the light of morning. I’ve taken every precaution, however, to prevent their getting out of the Pedregal.”
“What precautions?”
“By completely enfilading it, Sire. I sent the Lancers round by San Geromino and Contreras; the Hussars to go in the opposite direction by San Augustin. They have orders to drop a picket at every path that leads from it, till they meet on the other side.”
“Well, Señor Colonel, your strategy is good. I don’t see that you could have done better under the circumstances. But it’s doubtful whether we shall be able to trap our foxes in the Pedregal. One of them knows its paths too well to let night or darkness hinder his travelling along them. He’ll be through it before your pickets can get to their stations. Yes; and off to a hiding-place he has elsewhere – a safer one – somewhere in the Sierras. Confound those Sierras with their caverns and forests. They’re full of my enemies, rebels, and robbers. But I’ll have them rooted out, hanged, shot, till I clear the country of disaffection. Carajo! I shall be master of Mexico, not only in name, but deeds. Emperor in reality!”
Excited by the thought of unrestrained rule and dreams of vengeance – sweet to the despot as blood to the tiger – he sprang out of his chair, and paced to and fro, gesticulating in a violent manner.
“Yes, Señor Colonel!” he continued in tone satisfied as triumphant. “Other matters have hindered me from looking after these skulking proscripts. But our victory over the Tejanos has given me the power now, and I intend using it. These men must be recaptured at all cost – if it take my whole army to do it. To you, Don Carlos Santander, I entrust the task – its whole management. You have my authority to requisition troops, and spend whatever money may be needed to ensure success. And,” he added, stepping close to his subordinate, and speaking in a confidential way, “if you can bring me back Ruperto Rivas, or his head so that I can recognise it, I shall thank you not as Colonel, but as General Santander.”
The expression upon his face as he said this was truly Satanic. Equally so that on his to whom the horrid hint was given. Alike cruel in their instincts, with aims closely corresponding, it would be strange if the fugitive prisoners were not retaken.
Chapter Thirty Nine
Up the Mountain
“We’re going to have a night black as charcoal,” said Rivas, running his eye along the outline of the Cordilleras, and taking survey of the sky beyond.
“Will that be against us?” queried the young Irishman.
“In one way, yes; in another, for us. Our pursuers will be sure to ride all round the Pedregal, and leave a picket wherever they see the resemblance of path or trail leading out. If it were to come on moonlight – as luckily it won’t – we’d had but a poor chance to get past them without being seen. And that would signify a fight against awkward odds – numbers, arms, everything. We must steal past somehow, and so the darkness will be in our favour.”
As may be deduced from this snatch of dialogue, they were still in the Pedregal. But the purple twilight was now around them, soon to deepen into the obscurity of night; sooner from their having got nearly across the lava field, and under the shadow of Ajusco, which, like a black wall, towered up against the horizon. They had stooped for a moment, Rivas himself cautiously creeping up to an elevated spot, and reconnoitring the ground in front.
“It will be necessary for us to reach the mountains before morning,” he added after a pause. “Were we but common gaol-birds who had bolted, it wouldn’t much signify, and we’d be safe here for days, or indeed for ever. The authorities of Mexico, such as they are at present, don’t show themselves very zealous in the pursuit of escaped criminals. But neither you nor I, Señor Kearney, come under that category – unluckily for us, just now – and the Pedregal, labyrinth though it be, will get surrounded and explored – every inch of it within the next forty-eight hours. So out of it we must move this night, or never.”
Twilight on the table-lands of the western world is a matter of only a few minutes: and, while he was still speaking, the night darkness had drawn around them. It hindered them not from proceeding onwards, however, the Mexican once more leading off, after enforcing upon the others to keep close to him, and make no noise avoidable.
Another half-hour of clambering over rocks, with here and there a scrambling through thickets of cactus, and he again came to a stop, all, of course, doing the same. This time to use their ears, rather than eyes; since around all was black as a pot of pitch, the nearest object, rock or bush, being scarcely visible.
For a time they stood listening intently. Not long, however, before hearing sounds – the voices of men – and seeing a glimmer of light, which rose in radiation above the crest of a low ridge at some distance ahead.
“Un piqûet!” pronounced Rivas, in a half-whisper.
“Soto en la puerto – mozo!” (knave in the door – winner) came a voice in a long-drawn accentuation, from the direction of the light.
“Good!” mutteringly exclaimed the Mexican, on hearing it. “They’re at their game of monté. While so engaged, not much fear they’ll think of aught else. I know the spot they’re in, and a way that will take us round it. Come on, camarados! The trick’s ours!”
Sure enough it proved so. A path that showed no sign of having ever been trodden, but still passable, led out past the gambling soldiers, without near approach to them. And they were still absorbed in their game – as could be told by its calls every now and then drawled out, and sounding strange in that solitary place. Ruperto Rivas conducted his trio of companions clear of the Pedregal, and beyond the line of enfiladement.
In twenty minutes after they were mounting the steep slope of the Cerro Ajusco, amid tall forest trees, with no fear of pursuit by the soldiers, than if separated from them by a hundred long leagues.
After breasting the mountain for some time, they paused to take breath, Rivas saying —
“Well, caballeros, we’re on safe ground now, and may rest a bit. It’s been a close shave, though; and we may thank our stars there are none in the sky – nor moon. Look yonder! They’re at it yet. ‘Soto en la puerto – mozo!’ Ha, ha, ha!”
He referred to a faint light visible at a long distance below, on the edge of the Pedregal, where they had passed that of a picket fire-camp, which enabled the monté players to make out the markings on their cards.
“We may laugh who have won,” he added, now seemingly relieved from all apprehension of pursuit.
Nevertheless the fugitive party stayed but a short while there; just long enough to recover wind. The point they were making for was still further up the mountain, though none of them could tell where save Rivas himself. He knew the place and paths leading to it, and well; otherwise he could not have followed them, so thick was the darkness. In daylight it would have been difficult enough, yawning chasms to be crossed barransas– with cliffs to be climbed, in comparison with which the escarpments of the Pedregal were but as garden walls.
In a groping way, hand helping hand, all were at length got up and over, as the tolling of distant church bells, down in the valley below, proclaimed the hour of midnight. Just then Rivas, once more making a stop, plucked a leaf from one of the grass plants growing by, and placing it between his lips gave out a peculiar sound, half screech, half whistle – a signal as the others supposed; being assured it was, by the response soon after reaching their ears.
The signal was given again, with some variations; responded to in like manner. Then a further advance up the mountain, and still another halt; this time at hearing the hail:
“Quien viva!”
“El Capitan!” called out Rivas in answer, and received for rejoinder first an exclamation of delighted surprise, then words signifying permission to approach and pass.
The approach was not so easy, being up a steep incline, almost a cliff. But on reaching its crest they came in sight of the man who had challenged, standing on a ledge of rock. A strange-looking figure he seemed to Kearney and the Texan, wearing a long loose robe, girded at the waist – the garb of a monk, if the dim light was not deceiving them; yet with the air of a soldier, and sentinel-fashion, carrying a gun!
He was at “present arms” when they got up opposite; and wondering, but without saying aught, they passed him – their conductor, after a momentary pause and a muttered word to him, leading on as before.
Another ascent, this time short, but still almost precipitous, and this climbing came to an end.
Chapter Forty
A Faithful Steward
The spot where they had now made stop – final for the night – was still far below the summit of the mountain. It was a sort of platform or bench, formed by the crest of a projecting spur, the cliff rising sheer at its back. Its level surface was only a few acres in extent, supporting a thick growth of tall evergreen pines, the long-leaved species indigenous to Mexico. Centrally there was a place clear of timber, which ran up to the cliff’s base, or rather to a building contiguous to it. In front of this they halted, Rivas saying —
“Behold my humble abode, caballeros! Let me bid you welcome to it.”
There was light enough to let them see a massive pile of mason work outlined against the cliff’s façade, while too dim for them to distinguish its features. They could make out, however, what appeared to be a pair of windows with pointed arches, and between them a large doorway, seeming more like the mouth of a cavern. Out of this came a faint scintillation of light, and as they drew up to it, a candle could be seen burning inside a sort of covered porch, resembling the lych-gate of a country church. There were some stone benches outside, from one of which a man started up and advanced toward them, as he did so putting the formal question —
“Quien es?”
“Yo, Gregorio!” was the answer given by Rivas.
“El Capitan!” exclaimed the questioner, in a tone also telling of pleased surprise. “And free again! I’m so glad, Don Ruperto! Praise to the Lord for delivering you!”
“Thanks, good Gregorio! And while you’re about it, you may as well give part of your praise to a lady, who had something to do with it – indeed, two of them.”
“Ah! Señor Capitan, I think I know one of them anyhow, and in all Mexico I can say – ay, swear it – ”
“True, true!” interrupted the Captain. “But stay your asseveration. There’s no time to talk about the Señoritas now. My friends and I are in want of something to eat. We’re as hungry as coyotes. What have you got in the larder?”
“Not much, I fear, your worship. And the cook’s gone to bed, with everybody else. But they’ll only be too delighted to get up when they hear it’s your worship come back. Shall I go and rouse them, Señor?”
“No, no. Let them sleep it out. Any cold thing will do for us. We’re as much fatigued as famished, and wish to be in bed ourselves as soon as possible. So look out whatever eatables there are, and don’t forget the drinkables. I trust the cellar isn’t as low as the larder?”
“No, Señor. Of that I can speak with more confidence. Not a cork has been drawn since you left us – I mean of the best wines. Only the common Canario was drunk in your absence.”
“In that case, mayor-domo, we may sup satisfactorily, so far as the liquids are concerned, should the solids prove deficient. Bring a bottle of Burgundy, another of the Brown Madeira, and, let me see – yes, one of old Pedro Ximenes. I suppose the brethren have used up all my best cigars?”
“Not one of them, Señor. The Havannahs have been under lock and key, too. I gave out only puros.”
“What a faithful steward you’ve proved yourself, Gregorio! Well, along with the wine, let us have a bundle of Imperadores. We haven’t tasted tobacco for days, and are all dying for a smoke.”
By this time they had entered the porch, and were passing on through a long corridor, still more dimly illuminated. But there was light issuing from a side-door, which stood open. By this Rivas made stop, with word and gesture signifying to the others to pass on inside, which they did. Not all of them, however; only Kearney and Rock. A different disposition he meant making of the dwarf than giving him Burgundy and Madeira to drink, with the smoking of “Emperor” cigars. Pointing to the crooked semblance of humanity, at which Gregorio was gazing with a puzzled air, he whispered to the latter —
