"Bring your arms!" cried L--; "you may require them."
I buckled on my sword and pistol-belt, and followed hastily into the
street. We ran down the Calle Correo toward the Alameda. It was the
road to the Convent of San Francisco, where our regiment had quartered
for the night. As yet I knew not for what I was going. Could the enemy
have attacked us? No--all was quiet. The people were in their beds.
What could it be? L--had not, and would not, explain; but to my
inquiries, continually cried, "Haste--come on!" We reached the convent,
and, hastily passing the guard, made for the quarters occupied by my
friend. As we entered the room--a large one--I saw five or six females,
with about a dozen men, soldiers and officers. All were excited by some
unusual occurrence. The females were Mexicans, and their heads were
muffled in their rebozos. Some were weeping aloud, others talking in
strains of lamentation. Among them I distinguished the face of my
friend's betrothed.
"Dearest Rafaela!" cried L--, throwing his arms around her--"it is my
friend. Here, Henry, look here! look at this!"
As he spoke, he raised the rebozo, and gently drew back her long black
hair. I saw blood upon her cheeks and shoulders! I looked more
closely. It flowed from her ears.
"Her ears! _O God! they have been cut off_!"
"Ay, ay," cried L--, hoarsely; and dropping the dark tresses, again
threw his arms around the girl, and kissed away the tears that were
rolling down her cheeks--while uttering expressions of endearment and
consolation.
I turned to the other females; they were all similarly mutilated; some
of them even worse, for their foreheads, where the U.S. had been freshly
burned upon them, were red and swollen. Excepting Rafaela, they were
all of the "poblana" class--the laundresses--the mistresses of the
soldiers.
The surgeon was in attendance, and in a short time all was done that
could be done for wounds like these.
"Come!" cried L--, addressing those around him, "we are wasting time,
and that is precious; it is near midnight. The horses will be ready by
this, and the rest will be waiting; come Henry, you will go? You will
stand by us?"
"I will, but what do you intend?"
"Do not ask us, my friend, you will see presently."
"Think, my dear L--," said I, in a whisper; "do not act rashly."
"Rashly! there is no rashness about me--you know that. A cowardly act,
like this, cannot be revenged too soon. Revenge! what am I talking of?
It is not revenge, but justice. The men who could perpetrate this
fiendish deed are not fit to live on the earth, and by Heavens! not one
of them shall be alive by the morning. Ha, dastards! they thought we
were gone; they will find their mistake. Mine be the responsibility,--
mine the revenge. Come, friends! come!" And so saying L--led the way,
holding his betrothed by the hand. We all followed out of the room, and
into the street.
On reaching the Alameda, a group of dark objects was seen among the
trees. They were horses and horsemen; there were about thirty of the
latter, and enough of the former to mount the party who were with L--.
I saw from their size that the horses were of our own troops, with
dragoon saddles. In the hurry L--had not thought of saddles for our
female companions; but the oversight was of no consequence. Their
habitual mode of riding was _a la Duchesse de Berri_, and in this way
they mounted. Before summoning me, L--had organised his band--they were
picked men. In the dim light I could see dragoon and infantry uniforms,
men in plain clothes, followers of the army, gamblers, teamsters,
Texans, desperadoes, ready for just such an adventure. Here and there I
could distinguish the long-tailed frock--the undress of the officer.
The band, in all, mustered more than forty men.
We rode quietly through the streets, and, issuing from the gate of Nino
Perdido, took the road for San Angel. As we proceeded onward I gathered
a more minute account of what had transpired at the village. As soon as
our division had evacuated it, a mob of thirty or forty ruffians had
proceeded to the houses of those whom they termed "Ayankeeados," and
glutted their cowardly vengeance on their unfortunate victims. Some of
these had been actually killed in attempting to resist; others had
escaped to the Pedregal which runs close to the village; while a few--
Rafaela among the number--after submitting to a terrible atrocity, had
fled to the city for protection.
On hearing the details of these horrid scenes, I no longer felt a
repugnance in accompanying my friend. I felt as he did, that men
capable of such deeds were "not fit to live," and we were proceeding to
execute a sentence that was just, though illegal. It was not our
intention to punish all; we could not have accomplished this, had we so
willed it. By the testimony of the girls, there were five or six who
had been the promoters and ringleaders of the whole business. These
were well known to one or other of the victims, as in most instances it
had been some old grudge for which they had been singled out, as objects
of this cowardly vengeance. In Rafaela's case it was a ruffian who had
once aspired to her hand, and had been rejected. Jealousy had moved the
fiend to this terrible revenge.
It is three leagues from Mexico to San Angel. The road runs through
meadows and fields of magueys. Except the lone _pulqueria_, at the
corner where a cross path leads to the hacienda of Narvarte, there is
not a house before reaching the bridge of Coyoacan. Here there is a
cluster of buildings--"fabricas"--which, during the stay of our army,
had been occupied by a regiment. Before arriving at this point we saw
no one; and here, only people who, waked from their sleep by the tread
of our horses, had not the curiosity to follow us.
San Angel is a mile further up the hill. Before entering the village we
divided into five parties, each to be guided by one of the girls. L--'s
vengeance was especially directed towards the _ci-devant_ lover of his
betrothed. She herself knowing his residence, was to be our guide.
Proceeding through narrow lanes, we arrived in a suburb of the village,
and halted before a house of rather stylish appearance. We had
dismounted outside the town, leaving our horses in charge of a guard.
It was very dark, and we clustered around the door. One knocked--a
voice was heard from within--Rafaela recognised it as that of the
ruffian himself. The knock was repeated, and one of the party who spoke
the language perfectly, called out:--
"Open the door! Open, Don Pedro!"
"Who is it?" asked the voice.
"Yo," (I) was the simple reply.
This is generally sufficient to open the door of a Mexican house, and
Don Pedro was heard within, moving toward the "Saguan."
The next moment the great door swung back on its hinges, and the ruffian
was dragged forth. He was a swarthy fierce-looking fellow--from what I
could see in the dim light--and made a desperate resistance, but he was
in the hands of men who soon overpowered and bound him. We did not
delay a moment, but hurried back to the place where we had left our
horses. As we passed through the streets, men and women were running
from house to house, and we heard voices and shots in the distance. On
reaching our rendezvous we found our comrades, all of whom had succeeded
in making their capture.
There was no time to be lost; there might be troops in the village--
though we saw none--but whether or not, there were "leperos" enough to
assail us. We did not give them time to muster. Mounting ourselves and
our prisoners we rode off at a rapid pace, and were soon beyond the
danger of pursuit.
Those who have passed through the gate Nino Perdido will remember that
the road leading to San Angel runs, for nearly a mile, in a straight
line, and that, for this distance, it is lined on both sides with a
double row of large old trees. It is one of the drives (paseos) of
Mexico. Where the trees end, the road bends slightly to the south. At
this point a cross road strikes off to the pueblito of Piedad, and at
the crossing there is a small house, or rather a temple, where the pious
wayfarer kneels in his dusty devotions. This little temple, the
residence of a hermitical monk, was uninhabited during our occupation of
the valley, and, in the actions that resulted in the capture of the
city, it had come in for more than its share of hard knocks. A battery
had been thrown up beside it, and the counter-battery had bored the
walls of the temple with round shot. I never passed this solitary
building without admiring its situation. There was no house nearer it
than the aforementioned "tinacal" of Narvarte, or the city itself. It
stood in the midst of swampy meadows, bordered by broad plats of the
green maguey, and this isolation, together with the huge old trees that
shadowed and sang over it, gave the spot an air of romantic loneliness.
On arriving under the shadow of the trees, and in front of the lone
temple, our party halted by order of their leader. Several of the
troopers dismounted, and the prisoners were taken down from their
horses. I saw men uncoiling ropes that had hung from their saddle-bows,
and I shuddered to think of the use that was about to be made of them.
"Henry," said L--, riding up to me and speaking in a whisper, "they must
not see this."--He pointed to the girls.--"Take them some distance ahead
and wait for us; we will not be long about it, I promise."
Glad of the excuse to be absent from such a scene, I put spurs to my
horse, and rode forward, followed by the females of the party. On
reaching the circle near the middle of the paseo I halted.
It was quite dark, and we could see nothing of those we had left behind
us. We could hear nothing--nothing but the wind moaning high up among
the branches of the tall poplars; but this, with the knowledge I had of
what was going on so near me, impressed me with an indescribable feeling
of sadness.
L--had kept his promise; he was not long about it.
In less than ten minutes the party came trotting up, chatting gaily as
they rode, but their prisoners had been left behind.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
As the American army moved down the road to Vera Cruz, many travelling
carriages were in its train. In one of these were a girl and a
grey-haired old man. Almost constantly during the march a young officer
might be seen riding by this carriage, conversing through the windows
with its occupants within.
A short time after the return troops landed at New Orleans, a bridal
party were seen to enter the old Spanish cathedral; the bridegroom was
an officer who had lost an arm. His fame and the reputed beauty of the
bride had brought together a large concourse of spectators.
"She loved me," said L--to me on the morning of this his happiest day;
"she loved me in spite of my mutilated limb, and should I cease to love
her because she has--no, I see it not; she is to me the same as ever."
And there were none present who saw it; few were there who knew that
under those dark folds of raven hair were the _souvenirs_ of a terrible
tragedy.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Mexican government behaved better to the Ayankeeados than was
expected. They did not confiscate the property; and L--is now enjoying
his fortune in a snug hacienda, somewhere in the neighbourhood of San
Angel.
Story 4.