by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.
The female prisoners remained in the Calabozo. Carlos, for bettersecurity, was carried on to the Presidio, and placed in the prison ofthe guard-house.
That night he received a visit. The Comandante and Roblado could notrestrain their dastard spirits from indulging in the luxury of revenge.Having emptied their wine-cups, they, with a party of boon companions,entered the guard prison, and amused themselves by taunting the chainedcaptive. Every insult was put upon him by his half-drunken visitors--every rudeness their ingenuity could devise.
For long all this was submitted to in silence. A coarse jest fromVizcarra at length provoked reply. The reply alluded to the changedfeatures of the latter, which so exasperated the brute, that he dashed,dagger in hand, upon the bound victim, and would have taken his life,but that Roblado and others held him back! He was only prevented fromkilling Carlos by his companions declaring that such a proceeding wouldrob them of their anticipated sport! This consideration alonerestrained him; but he was not contented until with his fists he hadinflicted several blows upon the face of the defenceless captive!
"Let the wretch live!" said Roblado. "To-morrow we shall have a finespectacle for him!"
With this the inebriated gang staggered out, leaving the prisoner toreflect upon this promised "spectacle."
He did reflect upon it. That he was to be made a spectacle heunderstood well enough. He had no hopes of mercy, either from civil ormilitary judges. His death was to be the spectacle. All night long hissoul was tortured with painful thoughts, not of himself, but about thosefar dearer to him than his own life.
Morning glanced through the narrow loophole of his gloomy cell. Nothingelse--nought to eat, to drink--no word of consolation--no kind look fromhis ruffian gaolers. No friend to make inquiry about him--no sign thata single heart on earth cared for him.
Midday arrived. He was taken, or rather dragged, from his prison.Troops formed around, and carried him off. Where was he going? Toexecution?
His eyes were free. He saw himself taken to the town, and through thePlaza. There was an unusual concourse of people. The square was nearlyfilled, and the azoteas that commanded a view of it. All theinhabitants of the settlement seemed to be present in the town. Therewere haciendados, rancheros, miners, and all. Why? Some grand eventmust have brought them together. They had the air of people whoexpected to witness an unusual scene. Perhaps the "spectacle" promisedby Roblado! But what could that be? Did they intend to torture him inpresence of the multitude? Such was not improbable.
The crowd jeered him as he passed. He was carried through their midst,and thrust into the Calabozo.
A rude _banqueta_ along one side of his cell offered a resting-place.On this the wretched man sank down into a lying posture. The fasteningson his arms and legs would not allow him to sit upright.
He was left alone. The soldiers who had conducted him went out, turningthe key behind them. Their voices and the clink of their scabbards toldhim that some of them still remained by the door. Two of them had beenleft there as sentinels. The others sauntered off, and mingled with thecrowd of civilians that filled the Plaza.
Carlos lay for some minutes without motion--almost without thought. Hissoul was overwhelmed with misery. For the first time in his life hefelt himself yielding to despair.
The feeling was evanescent; and once more he began to reflect--not tohope--no! Hope, they say dies but with life: but that is a paradox. Hestill lived, but hope had died. Hope of escape there was none. He wastoo well guarded. His exasperated enemies, having experienced thedifficulty of his capture, were not likely to leave him the slightestchance of escape. Hope of pardon--of mercy--it never entered histhoughts to entertain either.
But reflection returned.
It is natural for a captive to glance around the walls of his prison--toassure himself that he is really a prisoner. It is his first act whenthe bolt shoots from the lock, and he feels himself alone. Obedient tothis impulse, the eye of Carlos was raised to the walls, his cell wasnot a dungeon--a small window, or embrasure, admitted light. It washigh up, but Carlos saw that, by standing upon the banqueta, he couldhave looked out by it. He had no curiosity to do so, and he lay still.He saw that the walls of his prison were not of stone. They were_adobe_ bricks, and the embrasure enabled him to tell their thickness.There was no great strength in them either. A determined man, with anedge-tool and time to spare, could make his way through them easilyenough. So Carlos reflected: but he reflected, as well, that he hadneither the edge-tool nor the time. He was certain that in a fewhours--perhaps minutes--he would be led from that prison to thescaffold.
Oh! he feared not death--not even torture, which he anticipated would behis lot. His torture was the thought of eternal separation from mother,sister, from the proud noble girl he loved--the thought that he wouldnever again behold them--one or other of them--this was the torture thatmaddened his soul.
Could he not communicate with them? Had he no friend to carry to them alast word?--to convey a dying thought? None.
The sunbeam that slanted across the cell was cut off at intervals, andthe room darkened. Something half covered the embrasure without. Itwas the face of some idle lepero, who, curious to catch a glimpse of thecaptive, had caused himself to be hoisted upon the shoulders of hisfellows. The embrasure was above the heads of the crowd. Carlos couldhear their brutal jests, directed not only against himself, but againstthose dear to him--his mother and sister. While this pained him, hebegan to wonder that they should be so much the subject of theconversation. He could not tell what was said of them, but in the humof voices their names repeatedly reached his ear. He had lain about anhour on the banqueta, when the door opened, and the two officers,Vizcarra and Roblado, stepped within the cell. They were accompanied byGomez.
The prisoner believed that his hour was come. They were going to leadhim forth to execution. He was wrong. That was not their design. Fardifferent. They had come to gloat over his misery. Their visit was tobe a short one. "Now, my brave!" began Roblado. "We promised you aspectacle to-day. We are men of our word. We come to admonish you thatit is prepared, and about to come off. Mount upon that banqueta, andlook out into the Plaza; you will have an excellent view of it; and asit is near you will need no glass! Up then! and don't lose time. Youwill see what you will see. Ha! ha! ha!"
And the speaker broke into a hoarse laugh, in which the Comandante aswell as the sergeant joined; and then all three, without waiting for areply, turned and went out, ordering the door to be locked behind them.
The visit, as well as Roblado's speech, astonished and puzzled Carlos.For some minutes he sat reflecting upon it. What could it mean? A_spectacle_, and he to be a _spectator_? What spectacle but that of hisown execution? What could it mean?
For a time he sat endeavouring to make out the sense of Roblado's words.For a good while he pondered over the speech, until at length he hadfound, or thought he had found, the key to its meaning.
"Ha!" muttered he; "Don Juan--it is he! My poor friend! They havecondemned him, too; and he is to die before me. That is what I amcalled upon to witness. Fiends! I shall not gratify them by looking atit. No! I shall remain where I am."
He threw himself once more prostrate along the banqueta, determined toremain in that position. He muttered at intervals:--
"Poor Don Juan!--a true friend--to death--ay, even to death, for it isfor me he dies--for me, and--oh! love--love--"
His reflections were brought to a sudden termination. The window wasdarkened by a face, and a rough voice called in:--
"Hola! Carlos, you butcher of buffaloes! look forth! _Carajo_! here'sa sight for you! Look at your old witch of a mother! What a figure shecuts! Ha! ha!"
The sting of a poisonous reptile--a blow from an enemy--could not haveroused Carlos more rapidly from his prostrate attitude. As he sprang toan upright position, the fastenings upon his ankles were forgotten; and,after stagger
ing half across the floor, he came down upon his knees.
A second effort was made with more caution, and this time he succeededin keeping his feet. A few moments sufficed for him to work himself upto the banqueta; and, having mounted this, he applied his face to theembrasure and looked forth.
His eyes rested upon a scene that caused the blood to curdle in hisveins, and started the sweat in bead-drops over his forehead. A scenethat filled his heart with horror, that caused him to feel as if somehand was clutching and compressing it between fingers of iron!
