POLITICAL.
The closing months of 18-- had arrived. Political events were beginning
to press on each other with such rapidity that the least enlightened
minds already understood that they were hurrying towards an imminent
catastrophe. In the South, the troops of General Gutiérrez had gained
a great victory over the constitutional army commanded by General
don Diego Álvarez (the same who at an earlier period presided at
Guaymas over the court-martial that condemned to death our unfortunate
countryman and friend Count Gaston de Raousset Boulbon). The carnage of
the Pinto Indians had been immense: 1200 remained on the battlefield,
and the artillery and abundant materiel fell into the hands of the
victor. But at the same period, there commenced in the interior a
series of opposite events: the first was the flight of Zuloaga, that
president who, after abdicating in favour of Miramón, revoked that
abdication one day without knowing exactly why, without consulting
anyone, and at the moment when it was least expected.
General Miramón then loyally offered to the President of the Supreme
Court of Justice to assume the executive power and convoke the
assembly of the Notables to have himself elected chief magistrate of
the Republic. While this was happening, a new catastrophe added fresh
dangers to the situation. Miramón, whom his continual victories had
probably endowed with imprudent confidence, or more probably impelled
by the desire to come to an end in some way or another, offered battle
at Silao to forces four times his own. He suffered a complete rout,
lost his artillery, and was himself on the point of perishing: it was
only by performing prodigies of valour, and killing with his own hand
several of those that surrounded him, that he succeeded in cutting his
way out of the melée and escaping to Querétaro, where he arrived almost
alone. From this place, Miramón, not allowing himself to be crushed
by misfortunes, returned to Mexico, whose inhabitants thus learned
simultaneously his defeat, his arrival, and his intention to offer
himself for election.
The result did not disappoint the secret expectations of the general:
he was elected President by the Chamber of Notables almost unanimously.
The general, who knew how time pressed, took the oaths, and immediately
entered on his duties. Although materially the defeat at Silao was
almost nothing, still from a moral point of view the effect produced
was immense. Miramón understood this: he actively employed himself
in restoring a little order in the finances, creating resources,
precarious but sufficient for the urgent necessities of the moment in
raising fresh troops, and taking all the precautions that prudence
suggested. Unfortunately the president was constrained to abandon
several important points in order to concentrate his forces round
Mexico, and these various movements, ill-understood by the people,
alarmed them and made them apprehend approaching misfortunes. Under
these circumstances, the president, wishing doubtless to satisfy public
opinion and restore a little tranquillity to the capital, consented
to enter into negotiations with his rival Juárez, which, if they did
not lead to peace, might at any rate produce an armistice which would
temporarily check bloodshed. Unluckily, a fresh complication rendered
all hope of an arrangement impossible.
General Márquez had been sent to the relief of Guadalajara, which
town, it was supposed continued successfully to resist the federal
troops; but all at once, after the federals had carried off a conducta
de plata belonging to English merchants, an armistice was concluded
between the two belligerent corps--an armistice with which the money
of the conducta had no doubt a great deal to do--and General Castillo,
commandant of Guadalajara, abandoned by the majority of his troops,
found himself compelled to leave the town and take refuge on the
Pacific: so that the federals, freed from this obstacle, combined
against Márquez, defeated him, and destroyed his corps, the only one
that still kept the field. The situation thus became more and more
critical: the federals meeting with no further obstacle or resistance
in their victorious march, rose up on all sides and every hope of
negotiations was lost. Fighting must go on at all risks. The fall of
Miramón, consequently, could only be a question of time: the general
doubtless perfectly comprehended this, but he did not let it be seen,
and, on the contrary, redoubled his ardour and activity in order to
parry the incessantly rising embarrassments of his situation.
After appealing to all classes of society, the general at length
resolved to apply to the clergy, whom he had always supported and
protected: they replied to his appeal, raised a tithe on their lands,
and resolved to carry to the mint their gold and silver ornaments,
to be melted and placed at the disposal of the ex-executive power.
Unfortunately, all these efforts were thrown away, the expenses
increased in a ratio with the continually growing dangers of the
situation, and ere long Miramón, after vainly employing all the
expedients which his critical position suggested to him, found himself
with an empty treasury and the sorrowful conviction that it was useless
to dream of refilling it.
We have already had occasion to explain how as each State of the
Mexican confederation remains in possession of the public funds during
a period of revolution, the government sitting at Mexico finds itself
almost continually in a state of utter penury, because it only has
the funds of the State of Mexico at its disposal, while its rivals,
on the contrary, constantly beating up the country in all directions,
not only stop the conductas de plata and appropriate very considerable
sums without the slightest remorse, but also plunder the exchequer of
all the States they enter, carry off the money without the slightest
scruple, and thus find themselves in a position to carry on the war
without disadvantage.
Now, that we have rapidly sketched the political situation in which
Mexico was, we will resume our narrative in the early days of Nov.
18--, that is to say, about six weeks after the period when we
interrupted it. Night was advancing, shadows were already invading
the plain, the oblique beams of the setting sun, gradually expelled
from the valleys, were still clinging to the snowy peaks of the
mountains of Anahuac, which they tinged with vermillion hues: the
breeze rustled through the foliage: _vaqueros_, mounted on horses as
wild as themselves, were driving across the plain large herds which
had wandered all day at liberty, but at night returned to the corral.
In the distance could be heard tingling the mule bells of some belated
arrieros, who were hurrying to reach the magnificent highway lined
enormous aloes, contemporaries of Motecuhzoma, which runs to Mexico.
A traveller, mounted on a powerful horse and carefully wrapped in the
folds of a cloak which was pulled up to his eyes, was slowly following
the capricious windings of a narrow track which, cutting across
country, joined at about two leagues from the town the high road from
Mexico to Puebla, a road at this moment completely deserted, not only
on account of the approach of night, but also because the state of
anarchy into which the country had so long been plunged, had let loose
numerous bands of brigands who, taking advantage of the circumstances
and waging war in their own way, stripped without any distinction of
political opinion both constitutionals and liberals, and emboldened by
impunity, did not always content themselves with the highway, but even
entered the towns to carry on their depredations. Still, the traveller
to whom we allude appeared to trouble himself very little about the
risks he ran, and continued his venturesome ride at the same quiet and
gentle rate. He went on thus for about three-quarters of an hour, and
was not more than a league from the city when, happening to raise his
head, he perceived that he had reached a spot where the track parted
and ran to the right and left: he halted with evident hesitation, but a
moment later took the right hand track. The traveller, after going in
this direction for about ten minutes appeared to know where he was, for
he gave his horse a slight touch of the spur, and made it break into
a long trot. Ere long he reached a pile of blackened ruins, scattered
disorderly over the ground, and near which grew a clump of trees whose
long branches overshadowed the earth around them for a considerable
distance. On reaching this spot, the horseman halted, and after looking
searchingly around him, evidently to make sure that he was alone, he
dismounted, sat down comfortably on a sod of grass, leaned against
a tree, threw back his cloak and revealed the pale worn features of
the wounded man whom we saw conducted to the rancho by Dominique, the
_vaquero_.
Don Antonio de Cacerbar, for such was his name, only appeared the
shadow of his former self--a sort of mournful spectre. His whole life
appeared concentrated in his eyes, which flashed with a sinister gleam
like those of fawns; but in this body, apparently so weak, it could be
seen that an ardent mind and energetic will were enclosed, and that
this man, who had emerged a victor from an obstinate struggle with
death, was pursuing with unswerving obstinacy the execution of dark
resolutions previously formed by him. Scarce cured from his frightful
wound, still very weak, and only enduring with extreme difficulty the
fatigue of a long ride, he had, for all that, imposed silence on his
sufferings, to come thus at nightfall nearly three leagues from Mexico
to a rendezvous which he had himself requested. The motives for such
conduct, especially in his state of weakness, must be of very great
importance to him.
A few minutes elapsed, during which don Antonio, with his arms crossed
on his chest, and his eyes closed, reflected, and in all probability
prepared himself for the interview he was about to have with the person
he had come so far to see. All at once a sound of horses, mingled with
the clank of sabres, announced that a rather large troop of horsemen
was approaching the spot where don Antonio was waiting. He drew himself
up, looked nervously in the direction whence the noise came, and rose,
doubtless to receive his visitor. They were fifty in number. They
halted about fifteen paces from the ruins, but remained in the saddle.
Only one of them dismounted, threw his bridle to a horseman, and
walked up to don Antonio, who, on his side, advanced to meet him.
"Who are you?" don Antonio asked in a low voice, when he was but five
or six yards from the stranger.
"The man you are expecting, señor don Antonio," the other immediately
replied; "Coronel don Felipe Neri Irzabel, at your service."
"Yes, it is you. I recognize you. Approach."
"It is very lucky. Well, señor don Antonio," the colonel replied,
offering his hand; "and your health?"
"Bad," said don Antonio, falling back without touching the hand that
the guerillero offered him.
The latter did not notice this movement, or, if he did, attached no
importance to it.
"You have come with a large escort," don Antonio continued.
"Caray! Do you fancy, my dear sir, that I have any wish to fall into
the hands of Miramón's scouts? My account would be soon settled if they
caught me. But I fancy that in spite of all the pleasure we feel at
meeting, we had better attend to business without delay. What is your
opinion?"
"I wish for nothing better."
"The general thanks you for the last information you sent him--it was
scrupulously exact; hence he has sworn to reward you as you deserve, so
soon as the occasion offers."
Don Antonio made a gesture of disgust.
"Have you the paper?" he asked, with some degree of eagerness.
"Of course," the colonel answered.
"Drawn up as I requested?"
"Everything is in it, señor, so set your mind at rest," the colonel
continued, with a coarse laugh.
"Where could honesty be found at the present day, except among people
of our stamp? What you stipulated is accepted. The whole is signed,
'Ortega, General-in-Chief of the Federal Army,' and countersigned,
'Juárez, President of the Republic.' Are you satisfied?"
"I will answer you, señor, when I have seen the paper."
"Nothing easier. Here it is," the guerillero said, drawing a large
envelope from his dolman, and presenting it to don Antonio.
The latter seized it with a movement of joy, and broke the seal with a
febrile hand.
"You will have a difficulty in reading at this moment," the colonel
said, with a knowing look.
"Do you think so?" don Antonio asked, ironically.
"Haugh! It is very dark, it strikes me."
"That is of no consequence. I will soon have a light:" and rubbing a
lucifer match on a stone, he lit a rolled up taper, which he drew from
his pocket.
As he read, a lively satisfaction was legible on his face. At length he
put out the taper, folded up the paper, which he carefully secured in
his pocketbook, and then addressed the colonel.
"Señor, you will thank General Ortega from me. He has behaved toward me
like a perfect caballero."
The guerillero bowed. "I will not fail, señor," he answered;
"especially if you have some information to add to that which you have
already given us."
"I certainly have, and of a very important nature."
"Ah! Ah!" said the other, rubbing his hands eagerly; "pray let me have
it, my dear señor."
"Listen, then. Miramón is at the last gasp. He wants money, and cannot
possibly obtain any. The troops, nearly all recruits, badly armed, and
worse clothed, have not been paid for two months, and are murmuring."
"Very good! Poor dear Miramón! He is in a very bad way, then?"
"The worse for him is, that the clergy, who promised at the outset to
come to his assistance, have now refused their help."
"But," the guerillero remarked, ironically, "how is it that you are so
well informed, my dear sir?"
"Do you not know that I am attaché to the Spanish Embassy?"
"That is true--I forgot it; pray excuse me. What more do you know?"
"The ranks of the partisans of the president are daily growing thinner:
his old friends are abandoning him. Hence, in order to raise him
slightly in public opinion, he has resolved to attempt a sortie, and
attack General Berriozábal's division."
"Come, come! That is worth knowing!"
"You are warned."
"Thanks! We will be on our guard. Is that all?"
"Not yet. Reduced, as I told you, to the last extremity, and wishing to
procure money--no matter by what means, Miramón has resolved to imitate
the robbery of the conducta of 'Laguna Seca,' effected by your party."
"I know," the colonel interrupted, rubbing his hands. "It was I who
carried out that _negotiation_. Unfortunately," he added, with a sigh
of regret, "such hauls are rare."
"Miramón has therefore resolved," don Antonio continued, "to carry off
the money of the Convention, which is at this moment at the British
Legation."
"That is a superb idea! Those fiends of heretics will be furious!
Who is the man of genius who suggested to him this idea, which will
infallibly ruin him with England? For the gringos do not understand
jests in money matters."
"I am aware of it: and hence the idea was suggested through my
influence!"
"Señor!" the guerillero said majestically; "In this instance you have
deserved well of your country. But the amount cannot be large?"
"It is a tolerably round sum."
"Ah, ah! How much at a guess?"
"Six hundred and sixty thousand piastres (£132,000)."
The guerillero was dazzled.
"Caray!" he exclaimed, with conviction; "I lay down my arms before him.
He is stronger than I. The affair of the Laguna Seca was nothing in
comparison. But with this sum, hang it all! He will be in a condition
to recommence the war."
"It is too late now; we have arranged for that, and the money will be
spent in a few days," don Antonio remarked with an ugly smile: "trust
to us for that."
"May Heaven grant it!"
"Such, for the present, is all the information it is possible for me to
give you; I consider it tolerably important."
"Caray," the guerillero exclaimed, "it could not be more so."
"I hope, in a few days, to give you some of a more serious nature."
"Here?"
"Here at the same hour, and by means of the same signal."
"That is settled. Ah! the general will be highly delighted to learn all
this."
"Now let us come to our second matter--that which concerns us two
alone; what have you done since I saw you last?"
"Not much; I have not the means at this moment to enter into the
difficult researches with which you commissioned me."
"And yet the reward is a fine one."
"I do not say it is not," the guerillero replied absently.
Don Antonio gave him a piercing glance.
"Do you doubt my word?" he said haughtily.
"It is my principle never to doubt anything, señor," the colonel
answered.
"The sum is a large one."
"That is the very thing that terrifies me."
"What do you mean? Explain yourself, don Felipe."
"On my word," he exclaimed, suddenly making up his mind, "it is, I
believe, the best thing I can do, so listen to me."
"Speak."
"Above all, do not be vexed, my dear señor; business is business, hang
it all, and must be treated on the square."
"That is my opinion too, go on."
"Well, then, you offered me fifty thousand piastres to--"
"I know what for, so pass over it."
"I am quite agreeable: now fifty thousand piastres form a considerable
sum; I have only your word as security."
"Is it not sufficient?"
"Not quite. I know very well that between gentlemen a word is a bond;
but where business is concerned, it is no longer so. I believe you to
be very rich, as you say you are, and as you offer me fifty thousand
piastres; but what proof have I that when the moment arrives to pay me
you will be in a position to do so, however good your will may be?"
Don Antonio, while the guerillero was laying down the matter so
distinctly, suffered from a dull wrath, which was twenty times on
the point of bursting forth, but fortunately he restrained it, and
succeeded in retaining his coolness.
"Well, then, what do you desire?" he asked him in a choking voice.
"Nothing for the present, señor; let us finish our resolution. So soon
as we enter Mexico--which I hope both for you and me will not be long
first--you will take me to a banker I know: he will be responsible for
the sum, and all will be settled. Does that suit you?"
"I can't help myself; but till then?"
"We have more pressing matters to attend to. Some days more or less are
of no consequence, and now that we have nothing more to say to each
other for the present, permit me to take leave of you, my dear sir."
"You are at liberty to retire, señor," don Antonio replied drily.
"I kiss your hands, my dear sir, and trust I shall see you again
shortly."
"Farewell."
Don Felipe bowed cavalierly to the Spaniard, turned on his heels,
rejoined his cuadrilla, and set off at full speed, followed by his
partisans.
As for don Antonio, he went back pensively and slowly to Mexico, where
he arrived two hours later.
"Oh!" he muttered, as he pulled up before the house he occupied in the
Calle de Tacuba; "In spite of heaven and hell I will succeed."
What was the meaning of these sinister words which seem to contain the
result of his long meditation?