by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
POR LAS ZANCAS.
In all cities there is a street favoured by fashion. This in Mexico isthe Calle de Plateros (street of the silversmiths), so called becausethere the workers in precious metals and dealers in bijouterie "most docongregate."
In this street the _jovenes dorados_ (gilded youth) of modernTenochtitlan strolled in tight-fitting patent leather boots,canary-coloured kid gloves, cane in hand, and quizzing-glass to the eye.There, too, the senoras and senoritas go shopping bareheaded, with butthe shawl thrown over the crown hood-fashion.
When out only for promenade, none of these linger long in the street ofthe silversmiths. They but pass through it on their way to the_Alameda_, a sort of half-park, half-garden, devoted to the public use,and tastefully laid out in walks, terraces, and parterres with flowers,and fountains; grand old evergreen trees overshadowing all. For in thatsummery clime shade, not sun, is the desideratum. Here the _jovenesdorados_ spent part of the afternoons sauntering along the arcadedwalks, or seated around the great fountain watching the play of itscrystal waters. But with an eye to something besides--the senoritas,who are there, too, flirting the fans with a dexterity which speaks ofmuch practice--speaks of something more. Not every movement made bythese rustling segments of circles is intended to create currents of airand cool the heated skin. Many a twist and turn, watched with anxiouseyes, conveys intelligence interesting as words never spoken. In Mexicomany a love tale is told, passion declared, jealous pang caused oralleviated, by the mute languages of fans and fingers.
Though the Calle de Plateros terminates at the gate of the Alameda, thesame line of street is continued half a mile further on, to thefashionable drive of the _Pasco Nuevo_, sometimes called Pasco deBuccareli, from the Viceroy who ruled New Spain when it was laid out.It is the Rotten Row of Mexico, for it is a ride as well as a drive; andat a certain hour of the afternoon a stream of carriages, with stringsof horsemen, may be seen tending towards it, the carriages drawn, someof them by mules, others by the small native horses, and a distinguishedfew by large English or American animals, there known as _frisones_. Itis the top thing to have a pair of "_frisones_."
In the carriages, the senoras and senoritas are seen attired in theirrichest robes--full evening dress--bare-armed and bareheaded, theirhair, usually black, ablaze with jewels or entwined with flowers freshpicked--the sweet-scented suchil, the white star-like jasmine, andcrimson grenadine. Alongside ride the cavaliers, in high-peaked,stump-leather saddles, their steeds capering and prancing; each rider,to all appearance, requiring the full strength of his arms to controlhis mount, while insidiously using his spurs to render the animaluncontrollable. The more it pitches and plunges the better he ispleased, provided the occupants of the carriages have their eyes on him.
Every day in the year--except during the week of _Guaresma_ (Lent), whencapricious fashion takes him to the Paseo Viejo, or _Lav Vigas_, on theopposite side of the city--can this brilliant procession be seen movingalong the Calle de Plateros, and its continuation, the Calle de SanFrancisco.
But in this same thoroughfare one may often witness a spectacle lessresplendent, with groups aught but gay. Midway along the street runs adeep drain or sewer, not as in European cities permanently covered up,but loosely flagged over, the flags removable at will. This, the_zanca_, is more of a stagnant sink than a drainage sewer; since fromthe city to the outside country there is scarce an inch of fall to carryoff the sewage. As a consequence it accumulates in the zancas till theyare brimming full, and with a stuff indescribable. Every garbage goesthere--all the refuse of household product is shot into them. Atperiodical intervals they are cleared out, else the city would soon bea-flood in its own filth. It is often very near it, the blue blackliquid seen oozing up between the flagstones that bridge over thezancas, filling the air with a stench intolerable. Every recurringrevolution make the municipal authorities of Mexico careless about theircharge and neglectful of their duties. But when the scouring-outprocess is going on, the sights are still more offensive, and the smellstoo. Then the flags are lifted and laid on one side--exposing all theimpurity--while the stuff is tossed to the other, there to lie festeringfor days, or until dry enough to be more easily removed. For all itdoes not stop the circulation of the carriages. The grand dames seatedin them pass on, now and then showing a slight contortion in theirpretty noses. But they would not miss their airing in the Paseo were ittwenty times worse--that they wouldn't. To them, as to many of theirEnglish sisterhood in Hyde Park, the afternoon drive is everything--tosome, as report says, even more than meat or drink; since they denythemselves these for the keeping of the carriage.
It may be imagined that the scouring-out of the zancas is a job forwhich labourers are not readily obtained.
Even the _pelado_ turns up his nose at it, and the poorest proletarianwill only undertake the task when starvation is staring him in the face.For it is not only dirty, but deemed degrading. It is, therefore, oneof the travaux-forces which, as a matter of necessity, falls to the lotof the "gaol-bird." Convicts are the scavengers; criminals sentenced tolong periods of imprisonment, of whom there are often enough in the_carceles_ of Mexico to clean out all the sewers in the country. Evenby these it is a task looked upon with repugnance, and usually assignedto them as a punishment for prison derelictions. Not that they so muchregard the dirt or the smells; it is the toil which offends them--thelabour being hard, and often requiring to be done under a hot, broilingsun.
To see them is a spectacle of a rather curious kind, though repulsive.Coupled two and two--for the precaution is taken, and not unfrequentlyneeded--to keep their leg-chains on; up in mud to the middle of theirbodies, and above bespattered with it--such mud too! many of them withfaces that, even when clean, are aught but nice to look at; their eyesnow flashing fierce defiance, now bent down and sullen, they seem eitherat enmity or out of sorts with all mankind. Some among them, however,make light of it, bandy words with the passers-by, jest, laugh, sing,shout, and swear, which to a sensitive mind but makes the spectacle moresad.
All this understood, it may well be conceived with what anxiety FlorenceKearney listened to that snatch of dialogue between Santander and thegaol-governor outside the cell. He did not even then quite comprehendthe nature of what was intended for them. But the sharer of his chaindid, who soon after made it all known to him, he passing the knowledgeon to Cris Rock. So when, on the next morning, the governor againpresented himself at the door of their cell, saying:
"Now, gentlemen, get ready to take a little exercise,"--they knew whatsort of exercise was meant.
He, however, believing them ignorant of it--for he was not aware theyhad overheard his out-door speech with Santander, added ironically:
"It's a special favour I'm going to give you--at the request of SenorColonel Santander, who, as I've seen, takes a friendly interest in someof you. For your health's sake, he has asked me to give you a turn uponthe streets, which I trust you will enjoy and get benefit by."
Don Pedro was a born joker, and felt conceit in his powers as asatirist. In the present instance his irony was shaftless, beingunderstood.
The dwarf was the only one who deigned rejoinder.
"Ha, ha, ha!" he yelled in his wild unearthly way. "Turn _upon_ thestreets! That's fine for you, Don Pedro. A turn _under_ the streets--that's what you mean, isn't it?"
He had been long enough in the gaol-governor's charge to know thelatter's name, and was accustomed to address him thus familiarly. Thedeformed creature was fearless from his very deformity, which in a waygave him protection.
"_Vayate Zorillo_," returned the Governor, slightly put out andevidently a little nettled, "you're too fond of jesting--or trying.I'll take that out of you, and I mean to give you a lesson in goodmanners this very day." Then fixing his eyes upon Rivas, he added:"Senor Don Ruperto, I should be only too happy to let you off from thelittle excursion your prison companions are about to make and save youthe fatigue. But my order
s are rigorous. They come from the highestquarter, and I dare not disobey them."
This was all pure irony, intended but to torment him; at least so therobber seemed to understand it. For, instead of accepting it in afriendly sense, he turned savagely on his tormentor, hissing out:
"I know you daren't disobey them, dog that you are! Only such as youwould be governor of a gaol like this: you, who turned coat anddisgraced the sword you wore at Zacatecas. Do your worst, Don PedroArias! I defy you."
"_Cascaras_! how swelling big you talk, Senor Captain Rivas! Ah! well.I'll let a little of the wind out of you too, before you bid good-bye tothe Acordada. Even the Condesa, grand dame though she is, won't be ableto get you clear of my clutches so easy as you may be thinking. LaGarrota is the lady likeliest to do that."
After thus spitefully delivering himself, he called to some prisonwarders in waiting in the court outside, and commanded them to come upto him.
"Here," he directed, "take these two pairs and hand them over to theguard at the gate. You know what for, Dominguez?" The halfinterrogatory was addressed to a big, hulking fellow, chief of theturnkeys, who looked all Acordada.
"_Por cierto, Senor Gobernador_," he rejoined with a significant look,after giving the prison salute to his superior. "I know all about it."
"See, moreover, that they be kept all day at it; that's my orders."
"Sure will I, Senor," was the compliant rejoinder.
After which the man twitted with turning his coat, turned his back uponthe place where he had been so ungraciously received, going off to moreagreeable quarters.
"Now, gentlemen!" said the gaoler, stepping up to the door of the cell,"_Por las zancas_!"
