I had my finger on the trigger; but, before pressing it, a quick
reflection came into my mind that restrained me from shooting.
It was still early--not quite ten o'clock--and the pavement was alive
with passengers. I had passed several on entering the little street;
and, from the place where I stood, I could see a dozen dark forms
flitting about, or loitering by the doors of the houses.
They were all _leperos_ of the low quarter.
The report of my pistol would bring a crowd of them around me; and,
although I might disembarrass myself of the footpads, I should be in as
much, or more, danger from the _patriotas_!
I was quite sensible of the perilous situation in which I had placed
myself by my imprudent promenade.
As the robbers appeared to have given up their design upon my purse, and
were making their best speed to get out of reach of my pistol, I thought
the wisest way would be to let them go off.
With this design I was about to content myself--only staying to pick up
my cloak, that in the struggle had fallen from my shoulders.
Having recovered it, I commenced taking my departure from the place.
I had not gone six paces, when I became half convinced that I had made a
mistake, and that it would have been better to have killed the three
thieves. After doing so, I might have found time to steal off
unobserved.
Allowing them to escape, I had given them the opportunity to return in
greater strength, and under a different pretence from that of their
former profession.
A cry that all three raised as they ran down the street, was answered by
a score of other voices; and, before I had time to make out its meaning,
I was surrounded by a circle of faces, scowling upon me with an
expression of unmistakeable hostility.
Were they all robbers--associates of the three who had assaulted me?
Had I chanced into one of those streets entirely abandoned to the
thieving fraternity--such as may be found in European cities--where the
guardians of the night do not dare to shew their faces?
This was my first impression, as I noted the angry looks and hostile
attitude of those who came clustering around me.
It became quickly changed, as I listened to the phrase, fiercely
vociferated in my ears:
"_Dios y Libertad! Muera el Americano_!"
The discomfited footpads had returned upon a new tack. They had seen my
uniform, as it became uncloaked in the struggle; and, under a pretence
of patriotism, were now about to take satisfaction for their
discomfiture and disappointment.
By good fortune I was standing upon a spot where there was a tolerable
light--thrown upon the street by a couple of lamps suspended near.
Had it been darker, I might have been set upon at once, and cut down,
before I could distinguish my antagonists. But the light benefited me
in a different way. It exposed to my new assailants a brace of Colt's
revolvers--one held in hand and ready to be discharged; the other ready
to be drawn.
The knife was their weapon. I could see a dozen blades bared
simultaneously around me; but to get to such close quarters would cost
some of them their lives.
They had the sharpness to perceive it; and halting at several paces
distance--formed a sort of irregular ring around me.
It was not a complete circle, but only the half: for I had taken my
stand against the front of a house, close to its doorway.
It was a lucky thought, or instinct: since it prevented my being
assailed from the rear.
"What do you want?" I asked, addressing my antagonists in their own
tongue--which by good fortune I spoke with sufficient purity.
"Your life!" was the laconic reply, spoken by a man of sinister aspect,
"your life, _filibustero_! And we mean to have it. So you may as well
put up your pistol. If not, we'll take it from you. Yield, Yankee, if
you don't want to be killed on the spot!"
"You may kill me," I responded, looking the ruffian full in the face,
"but not till after I've killed you, worthy sir. You hear me,
cavallero! The first that stirs a step towards me, will go down in his
tracks. It will be yourself--if you have the courage to come first."
I cannot describe how I felt at that queer crisis. I only remember that
I was as cool, as if rehearsing the scene for amusement--instead of
being engaged in a real and true tragedy that must speedily terminate in
death!
My coolness, perhaps, sprang from despair, or an instinct that nought
else could avail me.
My words, with the gestures that accompanied them, were not without
effect. The tall man, who appeared to lead the party, saw that I had
selected him for my first shot, and cowered back into the thick of the
crowd.
But among his associates there were some of more courage, or greater
determination; and the cry, "Muera el Americano!" once more shouted on
all sides, gave a fresh stimulus to the passions of the _patriotas_.
Besides, the crowd was constantly growing greater, through fresh
arrivals in the street. I could see that the six-shooter would not much
longer keep my assailants at a distance.
There appeared not the slightest chance of escape. A death, certain as
cruel--sudden, terrible to contemplate--stared me in the face. I saw no
way of avoiding it. I had no thought of there being a possibility to do
so--no thought of anything, save selling my life as dearly as I could.
Before falling, I should make a hecatomb of my cowardly assassins.
I saw no pistols or other firearms in their hands--nothing but knives
and _machetes_. They could only reach me from the front; and, before
they could close upon me, I felt certain of being able to discharge
every chamber of my two revolvers. At least half a dozen of my enemies
were doomed to die before me.
I was in a splendid position for defence. The house against which I had
been brought to bay was built of _adobes_, with walls full three feet
thick. The door was indented to a depth of at least two. I stood with
my back against it, the jambs on both sides protecting me. My position
was that of the badger in the barrel attacked by terriers.
How long I might have been permitted to hold it is a question I will not
undertake to answer. No doubt it would have depended upon the courage
of my assailants, and the stimulus supplied by that patriotic cry still
shouted out, "_Muera el Americano_!"
But none of those who were shouting had reached that climax of
recklessness, to rush upon the certain death which I stood ready to deal
out.
They obstructed the doorway in front, and in a close threatening
phalanx--like a pack of angry hounds holding a stag at bay, the boldest
fearing to spring forward.
Despite the knowledge that it was a terrible tragedy, I could not help
fancying it a farce: so long and carefully did my assailants keep at
arm's length.
Still more like a burlesque might it have appeared to a spectator, as I
fell upon the broad of my back--kicking up my heels upon the door-stoup!
It was neither shot, nor stab, that had caused this sudden change in my
attitude; but simply the opening of the door, against which I had been
supporting myself.
Some one inside had drawn the bolt, and, by doing so, removed the
support from behind me!