CHAPTER II
THE BLACK DECREE
"So may heaven's grace clear whatso'er of foam Floats turbid on the conscience."--_Dante._
That unleashed hawk which was the flying column failed to clutch itsprey. From the City of Mexico across the far northwestern desert theChasseurs and cuirassiers rode their swift Arabian steeds, and into thetown of Chihuahua at last. But the old Indian for whom they came was notthere. Benito Juarez had fled. He must have known. Yet how, no one mightconjecture. It was as though some watchful Republican fairy had markedthe sturdy, squat patriot as the one hope of the Empire's overthrow, anddid not propose to have him taken. Scouts, spies, the entire Frenchsecret service, delved, gestured, and sweated. But they laid bare nextto nothing. At the Palacio Municipal a number of functionaries told of apeon in breech clout, a wretch coated with alkali dust till the musclesof his legs looked like grayish ropes, who had emerged from the cactiplain ten days before and come running into Chihuahua. The peon had madedirect for the Palacio, where, in some way, he had contrived a secretword with Don Benito; and that very day Don Benito with his oneminister, Lerdo, had set out toward the north.
Afterward the functionaries had questioned the messenger, but he knewnext to nothing. A senor chaparro had sent him, was all he said. It wasa ridiculous anti-climax. A senor chaparro, "El Chaparrito," "Shorty,"such a one to be the omniscient guardian of the Republic! But for allthat "El Chaparrito" was to be heard of again and many times, and alwaysas an enigma to both sides alike, until the absurd word became freightedon the lips of men with superstitious awe. There was an inscrutable,long-fingered providence at work in the blood-strife of the nation. Thewarning to Juarez at Chihuahua was its first manifestation.
Their quarry had escaped, but Driscoll was not sorry. More than once hehad felt a vague shame for the unsportsmanlike chase after one lone,indomitable old man. Driscoll held a commission, which Michel Ney,happily recovering, had procured for him from the marshal. But as theAmerican's healthy spirits, like cleansing by vigorous blood, swept thegloom from his mind, he began to wonder at the craving for bustle andforgetfulness which had made him snatch at such an offer. The corners ofhis mouth twisted in whimsical self-scorn. He, one of your drooping,unrequited lovers! "Shucks!" that is what he thought. And he persuadedhimself that it was all over. Quite, quite persuaded himself. But as amatter of fact, he hoped that he might never have to see her again.
It was not until October of the same year that Driscoll saw actualbattle in his new service. With the Fifth Lancers under Colonel Mendez,the best of the few native regiments in the field, he had been assistingat a manner of pacification. That is, they marched from town to town,and received allegiance. Guerrillas of course punished the towns later,but Maximilian would not be induced to organize a native army, andthirty thousand French could not garrison fifteen thousand leagues. Theycould only promenade, through sand storms, through cacti. Then thebattle took place. It was the last vestige of Liberal resistance to theEmpire. A few hundred men near Uruapan in Michoacan flaunted theirdefiance. Driscoll noticed an expectant and wolfish look in hiscolonel's eyes. Mendez was a strikingly handsome and gallant Indian, buthis expectancy now was not for battle. It was for the battle's sequel.Michel Ney and a squad of Chasseurs had just brought him an Imperialpacket from the City, and the packet contained general orders very muchto his Indian taste.
The fight was a rousing one, and Driscoll enjoyed himself for the firsttime in many days. His Mexicans behaved as he could have wished, betterthan he had hoped. At the start in the familiar uproarious hell, hemissed the hard set, exultant faces of his old Jackson county troop, andseeing only tawny visages through the smoke and hearing only foreignyells, he felt a queer twinge of homesickness. But he was at onceashamed, for the humble little chocolate centaurs whom he had been setto train were dying about him with lethargic cynicism, just as they werebidden. Wearing a charm, either the Virgin's picture in a tin frame, orthe cross, they might have worn the crescent. They were as effective asMoslems. They were ruthless fatalists.
Michel Ney also spent a diverting half-hour. He had lingered for thefray. Waving a broken sabre snapped off at the hilt, he charged withGallic verve and got himself knocked under his kicking and woundedhorse, and pummeled by Liberal muskets on every side. Driscoll saw, andstraightened out matters. Handing the Frenchman a whole sabre, hereproved him soberly, as a carpenter might an apprentice caught using aplane for a ripsaw.
After it was over, the living of the enemy were prisoners. The victorsmarched them to Uruapan near by, because it was charged that at thisplace two of the captured Liberals, Generals Arteaga and Salazar, hadlately shot two Imperialists. Here, in their turn, they were promptlyexecuted.
Driscoll heard the volleys, ran to the spot, and saw the last horridspasms.
"What--what----"
Ney turned on him a sickened look.
"Don't you know, it's the new decree."
"What new decree? These dead men were prisoners of war. If murderers,they weren't tried."
"It's the decree I brought from Maximilian, the decree of generalamnesty."
Driscoll glared fiercely at such a jest, but to his utter amazement Neywas quite in earnest.
He who had commanded the shooting squad stooped over the corpses, asmoking pistol in his hand. Now he glanced up at Driscoll. "Pues, sisenores," he said, "of amnesty, yes," and chuckling, he indicated thebodies with his pistol. "But wait----" He thought he saw a form quiver,one he had overlooked. Remedying this with a belated coup de gracethrough the brain, he shoved back his white gold-bordered sombrero andmopped his forehead as a laborer whose labor is done.
"Under which general amnesty, caballeros," he went on merrily, "you havejust witnessed the first act. My loyalty to the Emperor grows. HisMajesty has a sense of humor."
It was Don Tiburcio. He had deserted the Contras to waylay the richbullion convoy of which Rodrigo Galan had told him. But the convoy nevercame. Rodrigo, the "sin vergueenza," had not levied toll at all. He hadswallowed it whole, a luscious morsel of several millions in silver andgold. The coup was of a humor the less appreciated by Don Tiburciobecause he had figured on doing the very same thing himself. At presenthe was chief of scouts under Mendez, and commanded the Exploradores,audacious barbarians who were invaluable for their knowledge of thecountry.
From Tiburcio and Ney Driscoll finally gathered the meaning of thedecree. It was the keynote to the Imperialist hopes. Its cause was theflight of Juarez across the border. Maximilian was surcharged anew withenthusiasm. Even the United States must now recognize his empire, hebelieved. And confounding flurry with activity, as usual, he ferventlyproclaimed the courage and constancy of Don Benito Juarez, but addedthat the Republican hegira finally and definitely stamped all furtherresistance to the Empire as useless. Then, august and Caesar-like, heallowed amnesty for those who submitted immediately; he prescribed deathfor all others. Rebels taken in battle were not even to have trial.Maximilian believed that ink, thus sagaciously besmeared by astatesman's fingers, would blot out further revolution. But it was sofatuous, so stupidly unnecessary! The court martials, or French gardensof acclimatization, as the dissidents called them, were already doingthe work of the decree. The poet prince merely lifted the odium of it tohis own shoulders. His amnesty became infamy, and was called the BandoNegro, a nefast Decree to blacken his gentleness and well-meaning forall time.
Driscoll left his informants, and walked up and down, up and down,alone. It did not occur to him to fill the cob pipe between his teeth. Ascowl settled between his eyes, and it deepened and grew ugly. Thedesperado was forming in the man--desperado, as contrast to politeconventions. Desperado, as primitive man, who hews straight, cuttingwhom or what he might, cutting first of all through the veneered bark ofcivilization. For this reason, in this sense, he might be termed outlaw.And walking up and down, up and down, he hewed till he had laid bare thecore of the matter. And he saw it naked, without the polish. Thereuponhe knew what he was going to do.
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p; He saddled Demijohn, and Demijohn followed at his shoulder to thejefetura. Here, at the entrance, under the brick-red portales, Driscollleft the horse, untied, and opened the door and passed within.
The jefetura, or prefecture, was at present the headquarters of thecommand, and in the long front room were assembled a number of officers,including Ney and Tiburcio, besides the jefe of the place and severaltown magistrates, all chatting with Colonel Mendez about the recentvictory. They greeted the American cordially, and poured out tequila forhim. He had done as much as any to win the fight. Michel laid a hand onhis shoulder.
"Monsieur," he said with mock formality, "to-day, when you permittedyourself to save my skin, you called me a fool. But I would have youobserve, monsieur, that only my patron divinity, the god of fools, ispermitted to know so much."
Driscoll loosed himself from the affectionate grip, and turned toMendez.
"Colonel," he said, "I'm going to get out of this."
"_What?_ Oh come, mi capitan, find a better one!"
"It's not a joke, sir. Profiting by a commission that does not bind me,I am here to tell you good-bye."
"Jean, mon ami!" Ney cried in protest.
Don Tiburcio waited with keen appreciation, as he always did when theunexpectedness of this Gringo was unfolding. The others stared agape atthe man between them and the door. Mendez saw too that he was inearnest, and he began to argue, almost to entreat. The Mexican leaderhad lost the quality of mercy in civil wars that had touched himcruelly, that had exacted many near to him, but there was sincerity inthe man, and men were won by the stirring sound of his voice.
"You would retire now," he exclaimed, "now, when every soul here maylook for promotion, and none of them more than you, Senor Dreescol?"
But he did not stop there. He conjured up a tempting vista of long andhonored life under an empire that was now supreme. Even the scum ofrebellion yet left on the calm surface was that day swept away, andnaught remained but to enjoy the favors of his grateful Majesty.
"Which only makes it," said Driscoll, "a good time to quit. I shouldmention, too, that I intend to join the Republic, that is," he added,"if there's any of the Republic left."
Don Tiburcio was not disappointed.
Mendez sprang to his feet and his voice was stentorian, as when herallied his men by the magnet of fury and hatred.
"It's desertion!" he roared.
"Or simple honesty," Driscoll corrected him. "But it doesn't matter. Thepenalty is no worse for a deserter, if you catch him."
Mendez curbed his rage. He did not wish to lose this man. That is, hewould regret deeply having to kill him.
"_Why_ do you mean to change?" he demanded.
"Because I can't feel _right_! It's like--somehow it's like beingan accomplice of murderers."
"Dios mio, I suppose Your Mercy and his tender heart refers to theDecree?"
"Partly. That thing is a blanket warrant of death. Just because yourenemy can't fight any longer----"
"But you forget, senor, the mines that exploded in the highways. Youforget the poisoned springs, the ambuscades, the massacres. Would theynot shoot prisoners too, your new friends?"
"Si senor, as you and others may some day experience personally."
"Then, mighty judge, condemn them also."
"Don't I? But I can't blame them. They are punishing crime."
"But not of murder, as we did to-day."
"That too, for that was murder to-day. But I was thinking of a worsecrime. I was thinking of theft, sir."
"Theft? How can that be worse?"
"Theft of their country, I mean, and as your accomplice I owerestitution. Leaving after a victory ain't so bad, but if I'd known thatI was fighting for that Black Decree, I'd of dropped out before thefight. But look at it anyway you please. _How_ it looks be damned!"
"Senor, lay down your pistols and sabre, there, on that table, because,by Heaven, I shall stop you! But if you are armed, I--I shall have toshoot you, too."
"Hang it, Mendez, you're a good fellow! But--I can't help it."
"Lay them down, you renegade!"
Driscoll removed his sabre and gravely placed it on the table.
"The guns are my own," he said. "Dupin had them returned to me._He_ took them. Suppose _you_ take them, Colonel Mendez!"
He was in the doorway, and from there he faced them. The day was hot,and Mendez had taken off his belt with his weapons. But the others werearmed. Yet they hesitated. They were brave enough for death, but beforethe certainty of death for at least one among them and the uncertaintyof which one, they paused. Driscoll had not touched the blacksix-shooters under his ribs. That would have snapped the psychologicalfetter. As he expected, Mendez sprang first. This put an unarmed manbetween himself and the others. In the instant he wheeled, was in thesaddle, and clattering down the street.
Back in the room Mendez saw his blunder and made way. Ney passed himfirst, reached the door, aimed and fired. But someone behind him touchedhis arm, and the ball sped high. Ney turned, and saw Tiburcio fillingthe door against the others, and regarding him with evil challenge inhis eye.
"Oh, don't think that I hold it against you," Ney cried gratefully.
Tiburcio half laughed.
"A man who don't want prisoners shot is better with the enemy thandead," he said.
Tiburcio's chuckle was prophetic. The enemy invariably executedExploradores, and would certainly do as much for Don Tiburcio if theycaught him.
Ney heard the hoof beats, already far away.
"May the god of fools look after him too," he murmured heavily.
The fugitive swept round the first corner of the street and on throughthe town. None thought to stop him. Soldiers and townsmen supposed himon the Empire's urgent business, and when they knew better, there was nolonger hope for their ponies against the great Missouri buckskin, now adiminishing dusty speck mid cacti and maguey.
"The devil of it is," Driscoll muttered ruefully, "I don't know wherethere's anybody to desert _to_!"
However, he was feeling much better.
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