by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER THIRTY.
THE POOR LADIES.
Quite a combination of circumstances had favoured the escape of the four_forzados_--the balking of the horses, the absence of Dominguez, and therelaxed vigilance of the guards--from their brains bemuddled with drink.But there was yet another lucky chance that stood them in stead--thepoint from which they had started. The line of sentries ended at theAlamedas Gate, and, as the one posted there was he who had them inparticular charge, once past him they had only to fear a single bulletsent after them.
As it turned out, they did not even get that, fortune favouring them inevery way. This sentry, though last on the line outward, was the firstencountered by the people returning from the ceremony at San Corme;therefore made most of by passing friends, with the bottle oftenerpresented to his lips. As a consequence, when the carriage whirled pasthim he had but an indistinct idea of why it was going so fast, and noneat all as to who were in it. With eyes drowned in _aguardiente_ hestood as one dazed, looking after, but taking no measures to stop it.When at length some one bawled the truth into his ear and he brought hisflint-lock to an unsteady level, it would have been too late--had thepiece gone off. Luckily for those on the sidewalk, it did not; missingfire by a flash in the pan, as might have been anticipated.
Never were sentries more completely taken by surprise than they guardingthe chain-gang. Nor more disagreeably. They knew they had beenneglecting their duty, and might expect severe punishment! possibly setat the very task they were now superintending! Still, they made noattempt to pursue. They were not cavalry; and only mounted men couldovertake that landau with its curious load, soon to vanish from theirsight. So they stood gazing after it in helpless bewilderment, theirfaces showing a variety of expressions, surprise, anger, fear, mingledin a most ludicrous manner. Deserting their posts they had gatheredinto a knot, and it was some time before they had so far recovered theirsenses as to think of despatching one of their number to the PlazaGrande after cavalry sure to be there.
It was a fine opportunity for others of the gaol-birds to make a bolt;but for the obstructive coupling-chains no doubt some would availthemselves of it. These, however, hindered the attempt. There were nomore restive horses, nor blundering coachmen to bring another carriagenear enough for a rush.
But the most interesting group now on the ground was that which hadcollected round the ladies left carriage-less; some offering services,others speaking words of sympathy. "_Las senoritas pobres_!"
"_Pobrecitas_!"--("The poor young ladies!" "Poor things!") wereexclamations uttered over and over again.
It was a trying situation for the "poor things" to be in, sure enough.But they acquitted themselves admirably; especially the Condesa, who,young though she was, for courage and coolness had few to equal her. Inthat emergency no man could have shown himself her superior. Her lookof still untranquillised terror, the intermittent flashes of anger inher eyes as she loudly denounced the ruffians who had carried off theircarriage, was a piece of acting worthy of a Rachel or Siddons. He wouldhave been a keen physiognomist who could have told that her emotionswere counterfeit. Little dreamt the sympathising spectators that whilebeing pushed out of the carriage she had contrived to whisper back tothe man so rudely behaving: "Look under the cushions, _querido_! You'llfind something. _Dios te guarda_!"
Still less could they have supposed that the other young lady, lookingso meek, had at the same time spoken tender words to the second ruffianwho had assailed them.
The part the _pobrecitas_ were playing, with the sympathy they received,seemed to themselves so comically ludicrous that, but for its seriousside, neither could have kept countenance. Alone the thought of thelovers not yet being beyond danger hindered their bursting out intolaughter.
And lest this, too, might cease to restrain them they seized upon theearliest pretext to get away from the spot.
Glad were they when some of their gentlemen acquaintances, who chancedto be passing the place, came up and proposed escorting them home. Aservice accepted and, it need not be said, offered with as much alacrityas it was received.
Their departure had no effect in dispersing the crowd which had gatheredby the Alamedas Gate. A spot signalised by an episode so odd andoriginal, was not to be forsaken in that quick inconsiderate way.Instead, the throng grew quicker, until the street for a long stretchwas packed full of people, close as they could stand. Only one part ofit remained unoccupied, the central list showing the open sewer with itsbordering of black mud. In their holiday attire the populace declinedinvading this, though they stood wedging one another along its edge;their faces turned towards it, with hilarity in their looks and laughteron their lips. It was just the sort of spectacle to please them; thesentries in a row--for they had now sneaked back to their post--appearing terribly crestfallen, while those over whom they stood guardseemed, on the contrary, cheerful--as though expecting soon to bereleased from their chains. With them it was the _esprit de corps_ ofthe galley slave, glad to see a comrade escape from their common misery,though he cannot escape himself.
All this, however, was tame; but the winding up of the spectacle in aquiet natural way. It would soon have been over now, and the sightseersscattered off to their homes; but just as they were beginning to retire,a new incident claimed their attention. A scene almost as exciting asany that had preceded, though only a single personage appeared in it.This Dominguez, the gaoler, who had been absent all the while at his_pulqueria_, and only just warned of the event that had so convulsed theCalle de Plateros, breaking through the crowd like an enraged bull,rushed along the sewer's edge, nourishing his whip over the heads of the_forzados_, at the same time reviling the sentries for their scandalousneglect of duty! To tell the truth, he was more troubled about his own.He had received particular instructions to be watchful of fourprisoners--the very ones that had escaped. Well might he dread thereckoning in store for him on return to the gaol. However could he facehis governor?
For some time he strode to and fro, venting his drunken spleen alike onsoldiers or scavengers. Some of the former would have retaliated; butthey knew him to have authority in high places, and therefore keptsilent, sullenly enduring it. Not so the spectators, many of whom,knowing, hated him. Possibly, more than probably, some of them had beenunder his care. But to all he was now affording infinite amusement.They laughed at his impotent anger, and laughed again, one crying out,"He's as good as a bull in a ring!" another exclaiming, "_Viva el SenorDominguez rey de las bastoneros_!" ("Hurrah for the Senor Dominguez,king of the turnkeys!")--a sally which elicited roars of applaudinglaughter.
If angry before, he was now infuriated. Purple in the face, he wasmaking a dash at the man whom he suspected of mocking him, when his footslipped and down he went into the drain head foremost.
He had altogether disappeared, and was for some seconds out of sight;the laughter, which had become a yelling chorus, all the whilecontinuing. Nor did it cease when he re-appeared; instead, was louderand more uproarious than ever. For his face, late blue with rage, wasnow black with a limning of the sewer liquid.
But he was less mad than sad, after the ill-timed tumble. The _douche_had tamed, if not sobered him; and his only thought now was how to getaway from that place of repeated discomfitures, anywhere to hide andwash himself.
Luck declared for him at last, in the approach of a squadron of Hussars,drawing off from him the eyes of the spectators; who had now enough todo looking out for themselves and their safety. For the Hussars werecoming on at a gallop, with drawn sabres.
A crush and a scampering followed, as they forced their way through thecrowd, shouting, and striking with the back of their blades. After theyhad passed, the people were no longer in a humour for laughing at the"King of the turnkeys," nor any one else; neither was he there to belaughed at.
