The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

“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.