The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

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.

Chapter Twenty Three

The Procession

Disagreeable as was their job, some of the forzados made light of it, bandying jests with the street passengers, who did not find it safe to go too near them. A scoopful of the inky liquid could be flung so as to spoil the polish on boots, or sent its splashes over apparel still higher. Even the vigilance of the sentries could not prevent this, or rather they cared not to exercise it. The victims of such practical jokes were usually either of the class felado, or the yet more humble aboriginals, accustomed to be put upon by the soldiers themselves, who rather relished the fun.

But only the more abandoned of the gaol-birds behaved in this way, many of them seeming to feel the degradation more than aught else. For among them, as we know, were men who should not have been there. Some may have seen friends passing by, who gave them looks of sympathy or pity, and possibly more than one knew himself under eyes whose expression told of a feeling stronger than either of these – love itself. Indeed this last, or something akin to it, seemed the rule rather than the exception. In Mexico, he must be a deeply disgraced criminal whose sweetheart would be ashamed of him; and every now and then, a brown-skinned “muchacha” might be seen crossing to where the scavengers were at work, and, with a muttered word or two, passing something into a hand eagerly outstretched to receive it. The sentries permitted this, after examining the commodity so tendered, and seeing it a safe thing to be entrusted to the receiver. These gifts of friendship, or gages d’amour, were usually eatables from the nearest cook-shop; their donors well knowing that the fare of the Acordada was neither plentiful nor sumptuous.

But beyond these interested ones, few of the pedestrians stopped or even looked at the chain-gang. To most, if not all, it was an ordinary spectacle, and attracted no more attention than would a crossing-sweeper on a London street. Not as much as the latter, as he is often an Oriental. On that particular day, however, the party of scavengers presented a novelty, in having the two Tejanos in it; with a yet greater one in the odd juxtaposition of Cris Rock and his diminutive “mate.” In Mexico, a man over six feet in height is a rarity, and as Cris exceeded this by six inches, a rarer sight still was he. The colossus coupled to the dwarf, as Gulliver to Lilliputian – a crooked Lilliputian at that – no wonder that a knot of curious gazers collected around them, many as they approached the grotesque spectacle uttering ejaculations of surprise.

“Ay Dios!” exclaimed one. “Gigante y enano!” (a giant and a dwarf) – “and chained together! Who ever saw the like?”

Such remarks were continually passing among the spectators, who laughed as they listened to them. And though the Texan could not tell what they said, their laughter “riled” him. He supposed it a slur upon his extraordinary stature, of which he was himself no little proud, while they seemed to regard it sarcastically. Could they have had translated to them the rejoinders that now and then came from his lips, like the rumbling of thunder, they would have felt their sarcasm fully paid back, with some change over. As a specimen: —

“Devil darn ye, for a set of yaller-jawed pigmies! Ef I hed about a millyun o’ ye out in the open purairu, I’d gie you somethin’ to larf at. Dod-rot me! ef I don’t b’lieve a pack o’ coycoats ked chase as many o’ ye as they’d count themselves; and arter runnin’ ye down ’ud scorn to put tooth into yur stinkin’ carcasses!”

Fortunately for him, the “yaller-jawed pigmies” understood not a word of all this; else, notwithstanding his superior size and strength, he might have had rough handling from them. Without that, he was badly plagued by their behaviour, as a bull fretted with flies; which may have had something to do with his readiness to go down into the drain. There, up to his elbows, he was less conspicuous, and so less an object of curiosity.

It had got to be noon, with the sun at fire heat; but for all the forzados were kept on at work. No rest for them until the task should be completed, and they taken back to their prison quarters at a late hour of the afternoon. The cruel gaoler told them so in a jeering way. He seemed to take a pleasure in making things disagreeable to them, as he strutted to and fro along their line, flourishing his quirt, and giving grand exhibition of his “brief authority.”

A little after midday, however, there came a change in their favour, brought by unlooked-for circumstances. Groups of people began to gather in the Callé de Plateros, swarming into it from side streets, and taking stand upon the foot-walk. Soon they lined it all along as far as the eye could reach. Not pelados, but most of them belonging to a class respectable, attired in their holiday clothes, as on a dia de fiesta. Something of this it was, as the scavengers were presently told, though some of them may have had word of it before without feeling any concern about it. Two, however, whom it did concern – though little dreamt they of its doing so – were only made aware of what the crowd was collecting for, when it began to thicken. These were Kearney and Rivas, who, knowing the language of the country, could make out from what was being said around them that there was to be a funcion. The foundation-stone of a new church was to be laid in the suburb of San Cosmé the chief magistrate of the State himself to lay it – with all ceremony and a silver trowel. The procession, formed in the Plaza Grande, would, of course, pass through the Callé de Plateros; hence the throng of the people in that street.

Funcions and fiestas are of such frequent occurrence in the Mexican metropolis – as indeed everywhere else in that land of the far niente– that this, an ordinary one and not much announced, excited no particular interest, save in the suburb of San Cosmé itself – a quarter where a church might be much needed, being a very den of disreputables. Still, a large number of people had put on their best apparel, and sallied forth to witness the procession.

This did not delay long in showing itself. It came heralded by the stirring notes of a trumpet, then the booming of the big drum in a band of music – military. A troop of cavalry – Lancers – formed the advance, to clear the way for what was to follow; this being a couple of carriages, in which were seated the Bishop of Mexico and his ecclesiastical staff, all in grand, gaudy raiments; on such an occasion the Church having precedence, and the post of honour.

Behind came the gilded coach of the Dictator – flanked on each side by guards in gorgeous uniform – himself in it. Not alone, but with one seated by his side, whose presence there caused Florence Kearney surprise, great as he ever experienced in his life. Despite the coat of diplomatic cut and its glittering insignia, he easily recognised his ci-devant teacher of the Spanish tongue – Don Ignacio Valverde.

But great as was his astonishment, he was left no time to indulge in it, or speculate how his old “crammer” came to be there. For close behind the Dictator’s carriage followed another, holding one who had yet more interest for him than Don Ignacio – Don Ignacio’s daughter!

Chapter Twenty Four

Significant Glances

Yes; the lady in the carriage was Luisa Valverde. Too surely she, thought Florence Kearney; for seeing her there was painful to him – a shock – as one who sees the woman he loves in the jaws of some great danger. And so he believed her to be, as a host of unpleasant memories came crowding into his mind like hideous spectres. No imagination either, but a danger real and present before his eyes at that moment, in the person of a man, riding by the side of the carriage in which she sat – Carlos Santander. He it was, in a gold-laced uniform, with a smile of proud satisfaction on his face. What a contrast to the craven, crestfallen wretch who, under a coating of dull green ooze, crawled out of the ditch at Pontchartrain! And a still greater contrast in the circumstances of the two men – fortunes, positions, apparel, everything reversed.