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 cocked 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
shirt 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 shirt, or rather under-shirt, 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 peacocks 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 anticipated 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 Shell 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 scum,--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 fellowship. 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, relishing the jest, joined in
the "ha! ha!" till the old convent rang with their coarse ribaldry.