The Free Lances Part 6

It was some consolation to them that they were allowed to share the same cell, though they would have liked it better could they have had this all to themselves. As it was, they had not; two individuals being bestowed in it along with them.

It was an apartment of but limited dimensions--about eight feet by ten-- the cloister of some ancient monk, who, no doubt, led a jolly enough life of it there, or, if not there, in the refectory outside, in the days when the Acordada was a pleasant place of residence for himself and his cowled companions. For his monastery, as "Bolton Abbey in the olden time," saw many a scene of good cheer, its inmates being no anchorites.

Beside the Texan prisoners, its other occupants now were men of Mexican birth. One of them, under more favourable circ.u.mstances, would have presented a fine appearance. Even in his prison garb, somewhat ragged and squalid, he looked the gentleman and something more. For there was that in his air and physiognomy, which proclaimed him no common man.

Captivity may hold and make more fierce, but cannot degrade, the lion.

And just as a lion in its cage seemed this man in a cell of the Acordada. His face was of the rotund type, bold in its expression, yet with something of gentle humanity, seen when searched for, in the profound depths of a dark penetrating eye. His complexion was a clear olive, such as is common to Mexicans of pure Spanish descent, the progeny of the Conquistadors; his beard and moustache coal-black, as also the thick ma.s.s of hair that, bus.h.i.+ng out and down over his ears, half concealed them.

Cris Rock "cottoned" to this man on sight. Nor liked him much the less when told he had been a robber! Cris supposed that in Mexico a robber may sometimes be an honest man, or at all events, have taken to the road through some supposed wrong--personal or political. Freebooting is less a crime, or at all events, more easy of extenuation in a country whose chief magistrate himself is a freebooter; and such, at this moment, neither more nor less, was the chief magistrate of Mexico, Don Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna.

Beyond the fact, or it might be only suspicion, that Ruperto Rivas was a robber, little seemed to be known of him among the inmates of the Acordada. He had been there only a short while, and took no part in their vulgar, commonplace ways of killing time; instead, staying within his cell. His name had, however, leaked out, and this brought up in the minds of some of his fellow-prisoners certain reminiscences pointing to him as one of the road fraternity; no common one either, but the chief of a band of "salteadores."

Altogether different was the fourth personage ent.i.tled to a share in the cell appropriated to Kearney and Cris Rock; unlike the reputed robber as the Satyr to Hyperion. In short, a contrast of the completest kind, both physically and mentally. No two beings claiming to be of human kind could have presented a greater dissimilarity--being very types of the extreme. Ruperto Rivas, despite the shabby habiliments in which the gaol authorities had arrayed him, looked all dignity and grandeur, while El Zorillo--the little fox, as his prison companions called him--was an epitomised impersonation of wickedness and meanness; not only crooked in soul, but in body--being in point of fact an _enano_ or dwarf-hunchback.

Previous to the arrival of those who were henceforth to share their cell, this ill-a.s.sorted pair had been kept chained together, as much by way of punishment as to prevent escape. But now, the gaol-governor, as if struck by a comical idea, directed them to be separated, and the dwarf linked to the Texan Colossus--thus presenting a yet more ludicrous contrast of couples--while the ex-captain of the filibusters and the reputed robber were consigned to the same chain.

Of the new occupants of the cloister, Cris Rock was the more disgusted with the situation. His heart was large enough to feel sympathy for humanity in any shape, and he would have pitied his deformed fellow-prisoner, but for a deformity of the latter worse than any physical ugliness; for the Texan soon learnt that the hideous creature, whose couch as well as chain he was forced to share, had committed crimes of the most atrocious nature, among the rest murder! It was, in fact, for this last that he was now in the Acordada--a cowardly murder, too--a case of poisoning. That he still lived was due to the proofs not being legally satisfactory, though no one doubted of his having perpetrated the crime. At first contact with this wretch the Texan had recoiled in horror, without knowing aught of his past. There was that in his face which spoke a history of dark deeds. But when this became known to the new denizens of the cell, the proximity of such a monster was positively revolting to them.

Vengeance itself could not have devised a more effective mode of torture. Cris Rock groaned under it, now and then grinding his teeth and stamping his feet, as if he could have trodden the mis-shapen thing into a still more shapeless ma.s.s under the heels of his heavy boots.

For the first two days of their imprisonment in the Acordada neither of the Texans could understand why they were being thus punished--as it were to satisfy some personal spite. None of the other Mier prisoners, of whom several had been brought to the same gaol, were submitted to a like degradation. True, these were also chained two and two; but to one another, and not to Mexican criminals. Why, then, had they alone been made an exception? For their lives neither could tell or guess, though they gave way to every kind of conjecture. It was true enough that Cris Rock had been one of the ringleaders in the rising at El Salado, while the young Irishman had also taken a prominent part in that affair.

Still, there were others now in the Acordada who had done the same, receiving treatment altogether different. The attack upon the Guards, therefore, could scarce be the cause of what they were called upon to suffer now; for besides the humiliation of being chained to criminals, they were otherwise severely dealt with. The food set before them was of the coa.r.s.est, with a scarcity of it; and more than once the gaoler, whose duty it was to look after them, made mockery of their irksome situation, jesting on the grotesque companions.h.i.+p of the dwarf and giant. As the gaol-governor had shown, on his first having them conveyed to their cells, signs of a special hostility, so did their daily attendant. But for what reason neither Florence Kearney nor his faithful comrade could divine.

They learnt it at length--on the third day after their entrance within the prison. All was explained by the door of their cell being drawn open, exposing to view the face and figure of a man well-known to them.

And from both something like a cry escaped, as they saw standing without, by the side of the gaol-governor--Carlos Santander.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A COLONEL IN FULL FEATHER.

Yes; outside the door of their cell was Carlos Santander. And in full war panoply, wearing a magnificent uniform, with a glittering sword by his side, and on his head a c.o.c.ked hat, surmounted by a _panache_ of white ostrich feathers!

To explain his presence there, and in such guise, it is necessary to return upon time and state some particulars of this man's life not yet before the reader. As already said, he was a native of New Orleans, but of Mexican parentage, and regarding himself as a Mexican citizen.

Something more than a mere citizen, indeed; as, previous to his encounter with Florence Kearney, he had been for a time resident in Mexico, holding some sort of appointment under that Government, or from the Dictator himself--Santa Anna. What he was doing in New Orleans no one exactly knew, though among his intimates there was an impression that he still served his Mexican master, in the capacity of a secret agent--a sort of _procurador_, or spy. Nor did this suspicion do him wrong: for he was drawing pay from Santa Anna, and doing work for him in the States, which could scarce be dignified with the name of diplomacy.

Proof of its vile character is afforded by the action he took among the volunteers in Poydras Street. His presenting himself at their rendezvous, getting enrolled in the corps, and offering as a candidate for the captaincy, were all done under instructions, and with a design which, for wickedness and cold-blooded atrocity, was worthy of Satan himself. Had he succeeded in becoming the leader of this ill-fated band, for them the upshot might have been no worse; though it would not have been better; since it was his intention to betray them to the enemy at the first opportunity that should offer. Thwarted in this intent, knowing he could no longer show his face among the filibusters, even though it were but as a private in the ranks; fearing, furthermore, the shame that awaited him in New Orleans soon as the affair of the steel s.h.i.+rt should get bruited about, he had hastily decamped from that place, and, as we now know, once more made his way to Mexico.

Luckily for him, the s.h.i.+rt, or rather under-s.h.i.+rt, business leaked not out; at least not to reach the ears of any one in the Mexican capital.

Nor, indeed, was it ever much known in New Orleans. His second, Duperon, for his own sake not desiring to make it public, had refrained from speaking of it; and their doctor, a close little Frenchman, controlled by Duperon, remained equally reticent; while all those on the other side--Kearney, Crittenden, Rock and the surgeon--had taken departure for Texas on the very day of the duel; from that time forward having "other fish to fry."

But there were still the two hackney-drivers, who, no doubt, had they stayed in the Crescent City in pursuit of their daily avocation, would have given notoriety to an occurrence curious as it was scandalous.

It chanced, however, that both the jarveys were Irishmen; and suddenly smitten with warlike aspirations--either from witnessing the spectacle of the duel, or the gallant behaviour of their young countryman--on that same day dropped the ribbons, and, taking to a musket instead, wore among the men who composed the ill-started expedition which came to grief on the Rio Grande.

So, for the time, Carlos Santander had escaped the brand of infamy due to his dastardly act.

His reappearance on the scene in such grand garb needs little explanation. A fairly brave and skilled soldier, a vainer man than General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna never wore sword, and one of his foibles was to see himself surrounded by a glittering escort. The officers of his staff were very peac.o.c.ks in their gaudy adornment, and as a rale, the best-looking of them were his first favourites.

Santander, on returning to Mexico, was appointed one of his aides-de-camp, and being just the sort--a showy fellow--soon rose to rank; so that the defeated candidate for a captaincy of Texan Volunteers, was now a colonel in the Mexican Army, on the personal staff of its Commander-in-Chief.

Had Florence Kearney and Cris Rock but known they were to meet this man in Mexico--could they have antic.i.p.ated seeing him, as he was now, at the door of their prison-cell--their hearts would have been fainter as they toiled along the weary way, and perchance in that lottery of life and death they might have little cared whether they drew black or white.

At the sight of him there rose up all at once in their recollection that scene upon the Sh.e.l.l Road; the Texan vividly recalling how he had ducked the caitiff in the ditch, as how he looked after crawling out upon the bank--mud bedraggled and covered with the viscous sc.u.m,--in strange contrast to his splendid appearance now! And Kearney well remembered the same, noting in addition a scar on Santander's cheek--he had himself given--which the latter vainly sought to conceal beneath whiskers since permitted to grow their full length and breadth.

These remembrances were enough to make the heart of the captive Irishman beat quick, if it did not quail; while that of the Texan had like reason to throb apprehensively.

Nor could they draw any comfort from the expression on Santander's face.

Instead, they but read there what they might well believe to be their death sentence. The man was smiling, but it was the smile of Lucifer in triumph--mocking, malignant, seeming to say, without spoken word but, for all that, emphatically and with determination--

"I have you in my power, and verily you shall feel my vengeance."

They could tell it was no accident had brought him thither no duty of prison inspection--but the fiendish purpose to flaunt his grandeur before their eyes, and gloat over the misery he knew it would cause them. And his presence explained what had hitherto been a puzzle to them--why they two were being made an exception among their captive comrades, and thrown into such strange fellows.h.i.+p. It must have been to humiliate them; as, indeed, they could now tell by a certain speech which the gaol-governor addressed to Santander, as the cell door turned back upon its hinges.

"There they are, Senor Colonel! As you see, I've had them coupled according to orders. What a well-matched pair!" he added, ironically, as his eyes fell upon Cris Rock and the hunchback. "_Ay Dios_! It's a sight to draw laughter from the most sober-sided recluse that ever lodged within these walls. Ha! ha! ha!"

It drew this from Carlos Santander; who, relis.h.i.+ng the jest, joined in the "ha! ha!" till the old convent rang with their coa.r.s.e ribaldry.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

"DO YOUR DARNDEST."

During all this time--only a few seconds it was--the four men within the cell preserved silence; the dwarf, as the door alone was drawn open, having said to the gaol-governor: "_Buenas Dias Excellenza_! you're coming to set us free, aren't you?"

A mere bit of jocular bravado; for, as might be supposed, the deformed wretch could have little hope of deliverance, save by the gallows, to which he had actually been condemned. A creature of indomitable pluck, however, this had not so far frightened him as to hinder jesting--a habit to which he was greatly given. Besides, he did not believe he was going to the _garota_. Murderer though he was, he might expect pardon, could he only find money sufficient to pay the price, and satisfy the conscience of those who had him in keeping.

His question was neither answered nor himself taken notice of; the attention of those outside being now directed upon the other occupants of the cell. Of these only two had their faces so that they could be seen. The third, who was the reputed robber, kept his turned towards the wall, the opened door being behind his back; and this att.i.tude he preserved, not being called upon to change it till Santander had closed his conversation with Cris Rock and Kearney. He had opened it in a jaunty, jeering tone, saying--

"Well, my brave Filibusters! Is this where you are? _Caspita_! In a queer place and queer company, too! Not so nice, Senor Don Florencio, as that you used to keep in the Crescent City. And you, my Texan Colossus! I take it you don't find the atmosphere of the Acordada quite so pleasant as the fresh breezes of prairie-land, eh?"

He paused, as if to note the effect of his irony; then continued--

"So this is the ending of the grand Mier Expedition, with the further invasion of Mexico! Well, you've found your way to its capital, anyhow, if you haven't fought it. And now you're here, what do you expect, pray?"

"Not much o' good from sich a scoundrel as you," responded Rock, in a tone of reckless defiance.

"What! No good from me! An old acquaintance--friend, I ought rather to call myself, after the little scene that pa.s.sed between us on the sh.o.r.es of Pontchartrain. Come, gentlemen! Being here among strangers you should think yourselves fortunate in finding an old comrade of the filibustering band; one owing you so many obligations. Ah! well; having the opportunity now, I shall try my best to wipe out the indebtedness."

"You kin do your darndest," rejoined Rock in the same sullen tone. "We don't look for marcy at your hands nosomever. It ain't in ye; an if 't war, Cris Rock 'ud scorn to claim it. So ye may do yur crowing on a dunghill, whar there be c.o.c.ks like to be scared at it. Thar ain't neery one o' that sort hyar."

Santander was taken aback by this unlooked-for rebuff. He had come to the Acordada to indulge in the luxury of a little vapouring over his fallen foes, whom he knew to be there, having been informed of all that had befallen them from Mier up to Mexico. He expected to find them cowed, and eager to crave life from him; which he would no more have granted than to a brace of dogs that had bitten him. But so far from showing any fear, both prisoners looked a little defiant; the Texan with the air of a caged wolf seeming ready to tear him if he showed but a step over the threshold of the cell.

"Oh! very well," he returned, making light of what Rock had said. "If you won't accept favours from an old, and, as you know, tried friend, I must leave you so without them. But," he added, addressing himself more directly to Kearney:

"You, Senor Irlandes--surely you won't be so unreasonable?"

"Carlos Santander," said the young Irishman, looking his _ci-devant_ adversary full in the face, "as I proved you not worth thrusting with my sword, I now p.r.o.nounce you not worth words--even to call you coward,-- though that you are from the crown of your head to the soles of your feet. Not even brave when your body is encased in armour. Dastard! I defy you."