over which Cortes first penetrated into the valley of Tenochtitlan, two
men had stationed themselves, with their backs to a mass of porphyry
rock, that rose, like a fragment of some mighty castle, above a yawning
barranca of prodigious depth. The lank, straight hair, and red-black
complexion of these men, indicated them to be Zambos. Their dress
consisted of sheepskins, fastened round their shoulders by thongs of hide,
and of some ragged under garments of a coarse black woollen stuff; their
heads were covered by the broad-brimmed straw hats universally worn by the
Indians and castes; machetes, or long knives, were stuck in their girdles,
and heavy clubs lay on the ground at their feet. To judge from their
countenances, neither of the men were in a particularly good humour.
Whilst one of them stood upright, and seemed to be acting as a vedette,
the other lay stretched upon the turf in a sort of sullen half slumber,
until his companion, weary of his watch, threw himself down in his turn;
whereupon the other arose, muttering and grumbling, to take his share of
duty. For some time not a word was exchanged between the two sentries.
"_Maldita cosa!_" at last exclaimed the Zambo who was on his legs. "By the
holy Virgin of Guadalupe, if this lasts another week, if we are to be thus
tracked and hunted like caguars, may the devil seize me but I"----
"I?"--interrogated his companion.
"Will say _adios_ to you; and Mexico's freedom may take care of itself."
"Wish you a pleasant journey, Senor," replied the other yawning. "Do you
see yonder birds? They are waiting for you."
And he pointed to a flight of zepilots, or Mexican ravens, with sharp
claws and hooked beaks, which had just then alighted on the cliffs above
their heads.
"_Caramba!_ Calleja would soon settle your business. A dangle at a rope's
end, with the hangman on your shoulders, and that before you could light a
cigar, or empty a glass of pulque."
"_Tonterias_, nonsense!" replied the grumbler. "My ahuitzote[34] is not
yet come."
"It may not be far off though. You might fall into the hands of Senor
Bustamente, from whom, if I remember right, you borrowed ten of his best
mules, and in your haste forgot to take off their burdens."
"_Basta_--enough!" retorted the other Zambo, who appeared to be tired of
the conversation; and taking a piece of dirty paper out of his girdle, he
placed upon it a minute quantity of chopped tobacco, and rolled it into
the form of a cigar. This he smeared over with saliva, and then laying it
upon a fragment of rock, drew his machete, laid that upon the cigar, and
walked off in the direction of an adjacent thicket.
The second Zambo had watched with envious eyes these preparations for the
enjoyment of a luxury which, to Mexicans, is more necessary than their
daily bread. No sooner had his companion turned his back, than he drew
from his pocket two pieces of achiote wood,[35] and rubbing them together
with astonishing rapidity, obtained fire in as short a time as it could
have been done by the more usual agency of flint and steel. Taking
possession of the cigar, he lit it, and had just begun to inhale the smoke
with all the gusto of a connoisseur, when the rightful owner of the
coveted morsel emerged from the thicket with two fragments of dry wood in
his hand.
"_Maldito gojo! Picaro! Infame!_" vociferated the aggrieved Zambo, on
beholding his cigar in the wrong mouth. The smoker had very prudently
secured his comrade's machete, and now began to fly before the angry
countenance of his enraged comrade.
"_Paciencia, Senor!_" cried he, dodging about and panting for breath.
"Patience, most excellent sir! I will return you ten cigars, nay, a
hundred, a thousand--so soon as I can get them."
"_Que te lleven todos los demonios de los diez y siete infiernos!_"
screamed the other, who had seized his club and commenced furious pursuit
of the robber. Both of them ran several times round the huge block of
porphyry, but the distance between them was diminishing, and there seemed
every probability that the thief's love of tobacco would cost him dear,
when a thundering "_Halto!_" from the thicket, brought both Zambos to a
dead stop.
"_Que es esto?_ What is this?" cried a voice.
"_Mi General--no--perdon--capitan!_" stammered the pursuer; "he has stolen
my cigar."
The captain himself now issued from the copse, walked gravely up to the
thief, took the half-consumed cigar from his mouth, and placed it in his
own; then, stepping forward to the edge of the barranca, he listened a few
moments, pointed down into the yawning chasm, and drew himself quickly
backwards. His movements were imitated by the Zambos, who gazed for a
short space on the windings of the barranca, through which meanders the
old road to Cholula, made by Cortes, and then sprang back with the
exclamation, "_Mulos y arrieros!_"
From among the windings of the above-named road, which is scarcely
passable even for mules from the depths of ravines, and from amidst rocks
and precipices, the pleasant tinkling of bells now ascended through the
clear elastic air to the mountain summit on which the three men were
posted. Presently the mules became visible, apparently no bigger than
dogs, clambering slowly up the steep and rocky path; then were heard the
long cadences of the muleteer's rude but not unmusical song; and at last
the active figures of the muleteers themselves, with their fantastical
garb and five hundred buttons, the variegated accoutrements of the mules,
with their worsted plumes, and tufts, and frippery, and many-coloured
saddle-cloths, and even the trabucos that were slung behind the saddles,
were all distinguishable. There was a wild picturesqueness in the
appearance of the cavalcade as it wound its way over the seemingly
perpendicular rocks, while the rough sonorous song, accompanied by the
sound of the bells, came creeping up the mountain side. Suddenly a figure
detached itself from the party, as if weary of the circuitous route it was
taking, and, with extraordinary activity and daring, commenced a more
direct ascent. Springing from cliff to cliff, the adventurous climber
seemed to find pleasure in his breakneck pastime, and continued his course
without a pause till he reached the second shelf of the barranca, which
was riven by a deep and wide crevice. High over his head a gigantic eagle
was wheeling and circling, floating upon the air, now darting down towards
him, and then again shooting upwards, sporting, as it seemed, with an
anticipated prey. The young man, for such those above could now discern
him to be, drew breath for a few seconds, cast a glance upwards at the
kingly bird, and then, with one fearless spring, cleared the chasm. With
unabated vigour he bounded from rock to rock, and at length reached a
rocky projection immediately below the platform. Grasping the trunk of a
dwarf oak, he climbed nimbly up it, and let himself drop from the branches
on the plateau itself.
"_Diabolo!_" muttered the two Zambos, who had witnessed the young man's
hazardous progress with that mute admiration and sympathy which the
exhibition of bodily strength and activity is apt to excite, especially
amongst half-civilized men--"_Diabolo!_ He has more lives than a cat!" And
with the words they slunk into the thicket.
It was no other than Don Manuel himself who had made this daring, and, as
it appeared, unnecessary display of his aptitude for the life of a
mountaineer--a display the more perilous, as his rich and fantastical
riding dress was any thing but favourable to it. He wore a Guadalajara
hat, of which the brim, full six inches broad, was completely covered with
gold lace, while above the low crown was displayed the blood-red cockade
adopted by loyally disposed Mexicans. His jacket was abundantly decorated
with gold embroidery, and garnished with the fur of the sea otter; his
breeches, of scarlet cloth, were open at the knee, where they were
terminated by green and yellow ties; the whole costume was profusely
laced with gold, and loaded with silver buttons. His legs, below the knee,
were protected by leather _botines_ or gamashes, fastened by silk ribands
of various colours, and finally losing themselves in a pair of
old-fashioned, high-quartered shoes. Spurs only were wanting to complete
the riding-dress, which was more remarkable for richness than good taste,
and evidently after the fashion of a previous century.
Casting a careless glance at the perilous path by which he had arrived,
the young man then fixed his gaze upon the magnificent panorama spread out
before him. In front were the blooming plains of Cholula, and beyond them
those of Puebla de los Angeles, with their corn and maize fields, and
agave plantations, divided by hedges and alleys of cactus, and dotted with
the cane-built and banana-shaded Indian hamlets. To the right, springing
out of the rugged porphyry ridge, the summits of which, alternately
wood-crowned and naked, were glowing in the afternoon sun, arose the snowy
head of the Itztaccihuatl, shedding such a flood of light and brilliancy
in its isolated magnificence, that the eye vainly strove to sustain the
glare. To the left towered the gigantic Popocatepetl, high above the
mountain world around, a misty crown of cloud clinging to its summit;
while farther to the south-east, shot up the star of Mexican mountains,
the Orizava, rising like some mighty phantom into the clear blue ether, of
which the quivering vibrations seemed to bring the enormous mountain each
moment nearer to the beholder. Finally, in rear of Don Manuel, the thickly
wooded Malinche, with its masses of forest trees and its stupendous
barrancas, frowned in dark and solemn shadow.
The extraordinary contrast of the most magnificent vegetation, then just
bursting out in all the green and blooming freshness of the season, with
the severe grandeur of the most sublime Alpine scenery, fettered the young
man for some moments in speechless admiration. He was roused from his
reverie by a slight rustling behind him, and turning his head quickly, he
gave a spring which, if less perilous than many of those he had recently
made, was yet at least as useful in extricating him from a dangerous
position.
"_Picaro!_" shouted one of the Zambos, whose machete had harmlessly
stabbed the air, instead of piercing, as was intended, Don Manuel's heart.
"_Maldito Gachupin!_" cried the other, who had swung his club with a like
innocuous result.
The attack of the two bravoes was made so suddenly and unexpectedly, that
Manuel had barely time to jump aside. With wonderful coolness and presence
of mind he sprang to the shelter of the rock, at the same moment throwing
his hands forward so suddenly that one of the Zambos, in his hurry to
escape, nearly ran over his companion. A brace of pistols, which the young
man had drawn from the breast of his jacket, were the cause of this sudden
change in the tactics of the bandits, who now retired hastily into the
thicket. Don Manuel gazed after them for a few moments, and then again
approached the edge of the barranca, from the top of which the mules were
now no longer very distant. Not a word had escaped him during the short
scuffle, and to judge from the cool indifference he had manifested, the
occurrence was one of neither a rare nor extraordinary nature.
The nephew of the Conde de San Jago had not long relapsed into
contemplation when he was again disturbed by a loud _halto!_ proceeding
from the same thicket from which it had been already shouted to the
Zambos, and the next instant the patriot captain issued forth with
levelled carbine. No ways discomposed, the young don raised a pistol.
"Down with your gun, or I fire!" cried he.
"Indeed," said the captain, "you should be a bold cock, to judge from your
crow."
"You will soon find out what I am," replied the young man dryly.
"_C--jo!_" quoth the captain, and removed the carbine from his shoulder.
The appearance of the patriot or rebel officer, whichever he may be
styled, although less bandit-like than that of the two Zambos, was not
calculated to inspire much confidence. His face was shadowed, indeed
concealed, by a thick mass of black hair, which hung down over forehead,
cheeks, and neck, and allowed scarcely any part of his countenance to be
visible, except a pair of coal-black eyes of somewhat oblique expression.
Although not of a particularly strong build, his frame was muscular, and
apparently inured to hardship. He wore a round, high-crowned, Guadalajara
hat, encircled by a gold band, in which was stuck a large miniature of the
Virgin of Guadalupe. A second portrait of that venerated patroness was
hung round his neck by a blue and white riband. His cloak, of fine cloth,
and laced with gold, had been much worn and ill-treated, as had also his
hose and his red velvet jerkin; on his feet he wore shoes, through which
his toes had forced themselves a passage, and instead of the usual
gamashes, his legs were bound round with sheepskin. Spurs, full six inches
long, and with rowels of the same diameter, were affixed to his heels. His
arms consisted of a carbine, a machete, and a rusty dragoon sabre.
The young Creole measured this personage with an indifferent glance, and a
smile of disdain for a moment played round his mouth; but then, as if he
did not deem the object worthy of further notice, he let his pistol fall
carelessly by his side, and turned his back negligently upon the new
comer.
"_Todos diabolos!_" exclaimed the captain after a moment's pause, and
apparently indignant at the contempt with which he was treated. "Whence
come you, and whither are you going? What is the object of your journey?
Answer me, young sir, and that quickly. _Soy un gran capitan! Llevo las
manos y tiembla la tierra!_"
"Probably one of the leaders of the self-styled patriot army," said the
young Creole, in a tone of scorn, in reply to this pompous announcement.
"Even so, senor," returned the other, suddenly changing his own manner of
speaking to a sort of humorous sneer--"commander of a division of the
patriot army, presently in headquarters at Puebla."
"Headquarters!" repeated Manuel with infinite disdain. "Your authority
extends far and wide, it would appear," added he, with a glance at his
interlocutor's dilapidated shoes.
"It does so," answered the other, in the same humorous but somewhat
malicious tone. "Nevertheless, my wardrobe, as your excellency doubtless
perceives, has somewhat suffered in the service of the rebel cause, and as
your senoria will probably have an earlier opportunity than I shall of
providing yourself with another pair of shoes and gamashes, I would crave
of you to condescend so far as to seat yourself upon that stone and divest
yourself of those you now wear, for the behoof and advantage of the
unworthy capitan before you, who will otherwise be compelled to dispossess
your worship of them in a less amicable manner."
The _gran capitan_ waited a few moments after making this demand, but then
observing that the young Creole took no steps towards obeying his orders,
he stamped impatiently upon the ground, and exclaimed in a stern
peremptory tone,
"Off with them, and quickly! Your shoes and your gamashes!"
"You will find my shoes too tight for you, I expect," replied Don Manuel,
raising a pistol. The Metis, on his side, covered the young nobleman with
his carbine.
"Keep still, Jago," cried Don Manuel sharply, "or I will so shoe you that
you shall remember Manuel M----to the very last day of your life."
The patriot officer pushed aside the hair which hung over his forehead and
eyes, gazed at the Creole for a few seconds in great astonishment, and
then, letting his gun fall, ran towards him with outstretched arms.
"_Santa Virgen!_" exclaimed he--"By the blessed Redeemer of Atolnico! May
I never see heaven if it is not the very noble senor Don Manuel, nephew of
his excellency Count San Jago, the first cavalier in Mexico, and son of
the not-quite-so-noble but still very-tolerably-noble Senor Don Sebastian,
and of the Gachupina, Senora Donna Anna de Villagio, and _cortejo_ of the
greatest angel in Mexico, and consequently in the whole world, the
Countess Elvira!"
This characteristic and thoroughly Mexican apostrophe was accompanied by
vehement gesticulation on the part of the Metis, in whose expressive and
variable countenance a strange mixture of fun and irony, with reverence
for the illustrious persons he was speaking of, was discernible. He was
interrupted in his tirade by Don Manuel.
"Have you done?" said the latter.
"Not yet," replied the captain. "May the Virgin of Guadalupe for ever
deprive me of those comforts to Mexican palates, Havannah cigars and
aguardiente, if I can guess what so noble a senor as yourself is doing on
such a rugged path as the old Camino de Cortes, instead of taking the
usual road by Otumba."
"I can tell you the reason," replied Don Manuel. "Our friends have
commissioned me to have you hung, and that as soon as possible."
"Indeed!" said the captain with a sly smile; "and would you be good
enough, just for the joke's sake, to tell me the names of those friends? I
might, perhaps, find an opportunity of returning their kindness."
As he spoke he advanced a step towards the Creole, in a sort of familiar
way.
"Keep your distance!" cried the young man. "None of your hypocritical
caresses! We know each other."
"Hardly, senor," replied Jago, shaking his head. "If you knew me you
would, perhaps, speak in another tone. But truly, now, should I not have
been a very simple Jago to have passed my life as driver of your mules, or
perhaps of the _gente irracionale_, as you call the poor devils of
Indians? Ah! your worshipful uncle is a right noble and powerful
caballero, speaks little but thinks much, and does more, and has his hand
over all Mexico and the _madre patria_, and perhaps a step further; but
believe me he would speak to Jago in a very different manner from that
adopted by his nephew, the son of the tolerably-noble senor Don Sebastian.
The count is a very noble gentleman; but when he made over one of his
finest estates to your father, he committed a blunder that cost him three
hundred able-bodied Indians. Ha ha!" continued the man, raising his
sombrero from his head and setting it on again, a little on one side; "you
cannot forgive poor Jago for having walked off with the three hundred
Indians, who suddenly took a fancy to leave the peaceable hacienda of Don
Sebastian, and follow the great Hidalgo, after the example of your very
humble servant. But only think now; for three hundred lean oxen, which
your worshipful father was kind enough to give to a like number of those
poor devils, they had to toil a whole year; and, by the blessed Virgin, St
Christopher did not sweat more when he carried the infant Jesus through
the flood! It happened to those poor Indians just as it did to St
Christopher. The longer they toiled the heavier grew the load; and as they
had not the thews and sinews of the saint, they at last sank under the
burthen. So far from being able to pay for the oxen, they got every year
deeper into your tolerably-noble father's debt. Can you wonder, then, that
they threw aside spades and baskets, and joined the army of Hidalgo?"
However galling the patriot captain's observations were to the young
nobleman, the latter could not help being struck by their justice.
"Do you think we are dogs, senor?" continued Jago. "You are a _blanco_, a
white, not one of our rulers certainly, but of as pure blood as any of
then. _You_ have never felt the _infamia de derecho_[36] weighing upon
you, following you like your shadow, and worse, for _that_ at least leaves
one during the rains; and yet _my_ father was as good a father as any
Spaniard's could be, and my mother as good a mother. But what was the use
of that? Jago is a Metis. He is infamous, and his children's children
after him."
The man had touched briefly, but acutely, upon the wrongs of the two
classes composing the great majority of the Mexican population, and his
words seemed not to have been without their effect upon the young Creole,
who replied in a less harsh tone than he had hitherto employed--
"If Mexico is to be delivered by you, and such as you, then is she lost
indeed."
Jago caught at the word.
"Delivered!" he repeated sarcastically. "In spite, then, of your
aristocratic blood, you feel that a deliverance is wanted? Yet the world
says, that for six months past you have become a worse Gachupin than the
Spaniards themselves."
Don Manuel cast a furious glance at the Metis.
"Aha! that stings!" continued the latter. "What! have they played you a
trick too? But _misericordia_ with your nobility, who quailed before the
rising sun of freedom, and deserted your own country to aid the tyrants
who oppress it. When such was the case, the time was come for the people
to assert their rights; and assert them they did, as you know."
"And a fine reward they got for so doing," retorted the youth.
"Our day will come yet," returned the captain. "You are _caballeros_, very
gentle and noble men, and we are only _gavilla_, knaves and
serfs--therefore have ye hung and shot us, struck us down like oxen, and
trampled us under foot, used us worse than snared wolves. Poor Hidalgo!"
continued he in a more gentle tone, "you little thought, twelve months
before, how you would be peppered by the damnable Gachupins. They rubbed
his hands and his poor bald head with brick-dust, slipped a _san benito_
over him, and sent him straight into paradise, where, doubtless, he is now
giving concerts, with his musicians and the blessed St Cecilia. Allende
ought to be there, too; but he is a soldier, and perhaps they would not
let him in amongst the eleven thousand virgins. But enough of this. May we
venture humbly to enquire of Don Manuel, what brought him upon this lonely
_marques-camino_? Has your young excellency, perchance, a fancy to take up
arms for Mexico and freedom's sake?"
"By the Holy Virgin, Jago, you are an impudent scoundrel, and deserve a
beating, for daring to suspect a caballero of such base dispositions."
The Metis smiled scornfully.
"You have chosen the other side, senor," said he, "instead of remaining
neutral, which would have been best for you. Ah! beams from bright eyes!
Aha!"
"Scoundrel!" cried the youth with menacing tone and gesture, "if your
tongue"----
"Speaks," interrupted Jago, "what every guachinango[37] in Mexico sings
over his pulque. But love blinds, they say. May I beg to know what you are
doing on this road?"
"Mind your own business," replied the angry nobleman, turning his back
haughtily upon his interrogator, who gazed at him for a moment with a look
of comical astonishment.
"Now, by my poor soul!" exclaimed the captain, "that is an amount of pride
which, if divided into a million of doses, would stock every Creole in
Mexico with the drug! But listen to me, young sir. All things have their
time, says the proverb, and some two years back this behaviour might have
been very suitable from your worship towards Jago the arriero; but times
are changed since a certain cura, named Hidalgo, hoisted the standard of
Mexican liberty. Ah! your nobility, always excepting the very noble Conde
San Jago, display their courage in tertulias and ballrooms, in intrigues
and camarilla conspiracies; but when it came to hard knocks they crept out
of the way, and left the poor priest of Dolores to help himself. Hidalgo
did not understand such tricks, and began in right earnest. You should
have seen Hidalgo--you would never have thought him the man he was. A
short, round, little fellow, with a sanguine smile and lively eyes, and a
complexion as olive-green as the Madeira bottles he was so fond of. His
head was bald; he used to say his bedstead was too short, and had rubbed
all his hair off; but in spite of that, and of his threescore years, he
had the sinews of a caguar and the strength of a giant; always on
horseback, and a splendid rider, for he had been a lancer in the
_presidios_, and had had many a fight with those devils of Comanches. Ah,
Hidalgo! you deserved a better fate!" concluded the patriot captain in a
saddened tone.
The young Creole had listened with some interest to this short but graphic
sketch of the remarkable man who first, with unexampled boldness, raised
the banner of Mexican liberty, and who, as well through the originality of
his private life, as through his political virtues and failings, had
become an object of idolatry to his friends, and of unappeasable hatred to
his opponents. Just as Jago finished speaking, Don Manuel's servants and
muleteers made their appearance upon the platform.
CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.
"I long
To hear the story of your life, which must
Take the ear strangely."
_The Tempest._
"Welcome, Alonzo, and Pedro, and Cosmo, in the quarters of freedom!" cried
Jago to the servants, as, with outstretched hand, he advanced a few steps
to meet them. "A welcome to ye all!"
"_Maldito herege!_" cried Alonzo, bringing his carbine to his shoulder.
"Dog! do you dare"----