From the embrasure of his prison Carlos looked upon the terrible
spectacle. We have said that he regarded it in silence. Not exactly
so. Now and then, as the blood-stained lash fell heavier than usual, a
low groan escaped him--the involuntary utterance of agony extreme.
His looks more than his voice betrayed the fearful fire that was burning
within. Those who by chance or curiosity glanced into the embrasure
were appalled by the expression of that face. Its muscles were rigid
and swollen, the eyes were fixed and ringed with purple, the teeth
firmly set, the lips drawn tight over them, and large sweat-drops
glistened upon the forehead. No red showed upon the cheeks, nor any
part of the face--not a trace to tell that blood circulated there. Pale
as death was that face, and motionless as marble.
From his position Carlos could see but two angles of the Plaza--that
where the cruel scene had its commencement, and that where the second
portion was administered. The procession then passed out of sight; but
though his eyes were no longer tortured by the horrid spectacle, there
was but little relief in that. He knew it continued all the same.
He remained no longer by the window. A resolve carried him from it,--
the resolve of self-destruction!
His agony was complete. He could endure it no longer. Death would
relieve him, and upon death he was determined.
But how to die?
He had no weapon; and even if he had, pinioned as he was, he could not
have used it.
But one mode seemed possible--to dash his head against the wall!
A glance at the soft mason-work of _adobes_ convinced him that this
would not effect his purpose. By such an effort he might stun, but not
kill himself. He would wake again to horrid life.
His eyes swept the cell in search of some mode of self-destruction.
A beam traversed the apartment. It was high enough to hang the tallest
man. With his hands free, and a cord in them, it would do. There was
cord enough on them for the purpose, for they were bound by several
varas of a raw-hide thong.
To the fastenings his attention was now directed; when, to his surprise
and delight, he perceived that the thong had become slack and loose!
The hot sweat, pouring from his hands and wrists, had saturated the
raw-hide, causing it to melt and yield; and his desperate exertions,
made mechanically under the influence of agony and half-madness, had
stretched it for inches! A slight examination of the fastenings
convinced him of the possibility of his undoing them; and to this he
applied himself with all the strength find energy of a desperate man.
Had his hands been tied in front, he might have used his teeth in the
endeavour to set them free; but they were bound fast together across his
back. He pulled and wrenched them with all his strength.
If there is a people in the world who understand better than any other
the use of ropes or thongs, that people is the Spanish-American. The
Indian must yield to them in this knowledge, and even the habile sailor
makes but a clumsy knot in comparison. No people so well understand how
to bind a captive _without iron_, and the captive outlaw had been tied
to perfection.
But neither ropes of hemp nor hide will secure a man of superior
strength and resolution. Give such an one but time to operate, and he
will be certain to free himself. Carlos knew that he needed but time.
The effect produced by the moistening of the raw-hide was such, that
short time sufficed. In less than ten minutes it slipped from his
wrists, and his hands were free!
He drew the thong through his fingers to clear it of loops and snarls.
He fashioned one end into a noose; and, mounting upon the banqueta,
knotted the other over the beam. He then placed the noose around his
naked threat--calculating the height at which it should hang when drawn
taut by the weight of his body! and, placing himself on the elevated
edge of the banqueta, he was prepared to spring out--
"Let me look on them once more before I die--poor victims!--once more!"
The position he occupied was nearly in front of the embrasure, and he
had only to lean a little to one side to get a view of the Plaza. He
did so.
He could not see them; but he saw that the attention of the crowd was
directed towards that angle of the square adjacent to the Calabozo. The
horrid ceremony would soon be over. Perhaps they would then be carried
within sight. He would wait for the moment, it would be his last--
"Ha! what is that? Oh God: it is--"
He heard the "weep" of the keen cuarto as it cut the air. He thought,
or fancied, he heard a low moan. The silence of the crowd enabled him
to distinguish the slightest sounds.
"God of mercy, is there no mercy? God of vengeance, hear me! Ha!
vengeance! what am I dreaming of, suicidal fool? What! my hands free--
can I not break the door? the lock? I can but die upon their weapons!
and maybe--"
He had flung the noose from his neck, and was about to turn away from
the window, when a heavy object struck him on the forehead, almost
stunning him with the blow!
At first he thought it was a stone from the hand of some ruffian
without; but the object, in falling upon the banqueta, gave out a dull
metallic clink. He looked down, and in the dim light could make out
that the thing which had struck him was of an oblong shape. He bent
hastily forward, and clutched it.
It was a parcel, wrapped in a piece of silken scarf and tied securely.
The string was soon unfastened, and the contents of the parcel held up
to the light. These were a roleau of gold onzas, a long-bladed knife,
and a folded sheet of paper!
The last occupied his attention first. The sun was down, and the light
declining, but in front of the window there was still enough to enable
him to read he opened the paper and read:--
"_Your time is fixed for to-morrow. I cannot learn whether you will be
kept where you are all night, or be taken back to the Presidio. If you
remain in the Calabozo, well. I send you two weapons. Use which you
please, or both. The walls can be pierced. There will be one outside
who will conduct you safe. Should you be taken to the Presidio, you
must endeavour to escape on the way, or there is no hope. I need not
recommend courage and resolution to you--the personification of both.
Make for the rancho of Josefa. There you will find one who is now ready
to share your perils and your liberty. Adieu! my soul's hero, adieu_!"
No name appeared. But Carlos needed none--he well knew who was the
writer of that note.
"Brave, noble girl!" he muttered as he concealed the paper under the
breast of his hunting-shirt; "the thought of living for you fills me
with fresh hope--gives me new nerve for the struggle. If I die, it will
not be by the hands of the _garrotero_. No, my hands are free. They
shall not be bound again while life remains. I shall yield only to
death itself."
As the captive muttered these thoughts he sat down upon the banqueta,
and hurriedly untied the thongs that up to this time had remained upon
his ankles. This done, he rose to his feet again; and, with the long
knife firmly clutched, strode up and down the cell, glancing fiercely
towards the door at each turning. He had resolved to run the gauntlet
of his guards, and by his manner it was evident he had made up his mind
to attack the first of them that entered.
For several minutes he paced his cell, like a tiger within its cage.
At length a thought seemed to suggest itself that caused a change in his
manner, sudden and decided. He gathered up the thongs just cast off;
and seating himself upon the banqueta, once more wound them around his
ankles--but this time in such a fashion, that a single jerk upon a
cunningly-contrived knot would set all free. The knife was hidden under
his hunting-shirt, where the purse had been already deposited. Last of
all, he unloosed the raw-hide rope from the beam, and, meeting his hands
behind him, whipped it around both wrists, until they had the appearance
of being securely spliced. He then assumed a reclining attitude along
the banqueta, with his face turned towards the door, and remained
motionless as though he were asleep!