Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 57, No. 355, May 1845

For about a minute there was a deep silence, only broken by the scratch of Don Ferro's pen, and the snoring of the sleepers; then a rattle of chains was heard approaching, accompanied by a hollow murmur, that resounded strangely through the extensive vault; and at last several dark figures emerged from the gloom, their coal-black and fiery eyes glittering out of the darkness like ignes fatui. They were ten in number; desperate-looking men, who appeared neither bowed down by the sufferings they had already endured, nor concerned about their future fate. Some were of gigantic frame, and the form and materials of the rags which clothed them betokened Indians from the Baxio. With indomitable resolution and defiance depicted on their countenances, and an expression of desperate cunning in their widely parted eyes, they approached the bar.

"Accused of causing disturbances, and exciting the Léperos to rebellion," said the escribano. "One, also, of having torn down the proclamation issued by the Audiencia."

"Which is he?" enquired the alcalde.

"That one," replied a voice, and the Zambo called Cassio Isidro stepped forward, and pointed to the old Indian whose acquaintance we have already made under the name of Tatli Ixtla.

"So the Gachupins are the piques that have laid their eggs in the flesh of Mexico?" asked the judge, reading from the police-spy's report, which he held in his hand.

"Ixtla did not say that," replied the old Indian. "This dog of a negro said that."

"You lie," screamed the Zambo furiously.

"And the Gachupins, who are the sons of Jago, have despoiled the sons of Esau, that is to say, the gente irracionale, of their birthright?" continued the alcalde.

The Indian made no answer. The judge was silent for a moment, and then uttered the word "Verdugo."

A man of lofty stature and great strength, with a bushy beard of an iron-grey colour, and in a dress consisting entirely of white and blue patchwork,[20 - White and blue were the colours of the ancient Mexicans and of the patriots. The Spaniards adopted them for the clothing of their executioners.] stepped forward, and gazed for a moment expectantly at the alcalde. On a nod from the latter, he cast a noose round the Indian's neck, and dragged him away, as the hunter does the buffalo he has caught in his lasso.

"Nos. 13 to 21," cried the alcalde. "Accused of gritos, and of stirring up the Léperos, and being in correspondence with the Gavecillas. They are from Zitacuaco and Guanaxato, and therefore rebels."

"The nine Indians, who were of various ages, were now standing in a row at the bar. The alcalde addressed them.

"What if you were to say, just once, and for the joke's sake, 'Death to the traitor Vicénte Gueréro!'"

The prisoners gazed at their interlocutor with a fixed and stolid look.

"Are ye all tongue-tied?" resumed the judge. "We will put it in another shape. Cry 'Muera el traidor Morellos!' Perhaps that will suit ye better."

None of the Indians made any reply.

"Would you object to cry, 'Viva el Rey?'" asked the alcalde with a sneer. "They will not answer," he added, shaking his head. "Away with them all."

And at the word, half a dozen familiars sprang from the stone benches and out of the recesses, passed lassos through the iron collars of the prisoners' fetters, and dragged them away, like calves to the slaughter.

"Cut it short, Don Ferro," said the alcalde abruptly. "The shorter the better; his excellency is waiting for us. You know they do not pay much attention to the writing part of the business, and right enough too, seeing that the sentence is generally executed before it is signed."

The escribano took the hint, and handed the paper to the Alcalde, who signed it, as did also the chief alguazil.

"Caramba!" exclaimed the magistrate, yawning and stretching himself. "We have done for to-night, but it is only to begin again to-morrow. Well —oremos, Señores!"

And so saying, the man rose from his seat, approached a sideboard, on which was a basin and can of water, and after he and his two companions had washed their hands, they took from the table the candles, a crucifix, and an image of the Virgin de los Remedios, placed them upon a stool that stood against the wall, knelt down, and prayed audibly, "Ave Maria, regina cœli, audi nos peccatores!" Those of the verdugos and jailers who still remained in the vault, joined in the supplication with that solemn fervor which Spaniards are wont to blend with their devotions. When the prayer was ended, the alcalde rose, took up his papers, and left the vault, accompanied by the escribano and chief alguazil, and followed by the inferior officials, with the exception of one, whose blue and white dress indicated an executioner. To this man the alguazil, in going out, had whispered something which made him start. Recovering, however, from his surprise, he extinguished the candles, wrapped himself in a sheep-skin, and lay down upon one of the benches.

Chapter the Forty-Second

"Per me si va nella citta dolente,
Per me si va nell' eterno dolore,
Per me si va tra la perduta gente."

    Dante.
All was now still in the spacious vault, with the exception of a distant clank of chains and murmur of voices, which echoed dismally along the massive walls and under the gloomy arches. Suddenly, rapid but cautious footsteps were heard, and three persons, the foremost of whom was the chief alguazil, entered, looked cautiously around them, and then beckoned to the executioner, who rose from his hard couch, and preceded them into a narrow gloomy corridor. This led them into another vault, of dismal and dreary aspect. It was lighted by a single lamp, of which the light fell so pale and dim upon the grey and gloomy walls, that it seemed as if the intention had been to give those who entered only a gradual acquaintance with the horrors of the place. The roof was supported by pillars of enormous thickness; along the walls were fixed tables and benches of various construction, some resembling chests, others grates, and some like small carts; but all of iron. Chains, thick as a man's arm, hung upon the walls and pillars, which were running with moisture, and in these fetters were figures, in sitting, standing, and kneeling postures, of which the outline was that of human beings, but, whether living or dead, the imperfect lamp-light rendered it impossible to distinguish. They gave, however, no sign of vitality. There were also numerous low doors, or rather iron gratings, closing narrow holes in the wall. The aspect of the whole place was that of a subterranean slaughter-house, with dens around it for wild beasts.

Upon entering this vault, two of the four persons, who were wrapped in ample cloaks, paused behind one of the pillars, while the other two hastened to a cell and crept into it. It was one of those dungeons devised by the ingenious cruelty of Mexico's tyrannical rulers, and which had received the appropriate name of inferniellos– five feet high, six feet long, and as many broad. No superfluity of furniture – a stone bench, rings and chains. Upon the former a young man now sat, or rather hung, his neck encircled by a massive iron ring, his hands stretched out and maintained by chains in the attitude of one upon the cross, his head drooping forward over the iron collar. A cap that covered his head was drawn down over eyes and face, allowing little more than the mouth and chin to be visible. From time to time the unfortunate captive uttered deep moans, like those of some vanquished and expiring lion, and which for an instant startled his two visitors. Recovering himself, however, the chief alguazil, for he was one of them, approached the prisoner, and endeavoured to open the neck-iron. His companion, the executioner, hastily seized his arm.

"Beware, Señor," cried he; "if you touch a wrong spring, his neck is snapped as though it were a maize stalk; and, by San Lorenzo! I think it would almost be a kindness to do it. The caballero is the first whom ever heard beg for death, and call upon God and devil to send it him. But, nevertheless, may the lowermost hell catch me, if I had not a notion that this manga would never see the inside of old Lorenzo's wallet."

While thus discoursing, this wild executer of the laws had unfettered the prisoner.

"Silencio!" said the alguazil. "You were mistaken. The manga shall be yours."

"He is to change his clothes then? Will your worship be pleased to give a helping hand, for it will be a full hour before he gets the use of his limbs. A damnable shower-bath it is, this inferniello; and for that matter, so are they all."

It was with no small difficulty that the alguazil accomplished his task of undressing the prisoner, who seemed more dead than alive, and lay passive and motionless while he was stripped, first of his manga, then of his embroidered jacket, and finally of his hose. He seemed to have lost nearly all sensation; only at times an agonized sigh burst from his over-charged breast, and was accompanied by a convulsive quivering of the whole body. His sufferings had evidently been dreadful.

"We will leave him his under garments," said the alcalde, who had experienced, on trying to remove them, that kind of unconscious resistance which even persons in a swoon will sometimes make when their instinctive sense of modesty is wounded. Then, throwing his cloak round the prisoner, he took him in his arms, and partly bore, partly dragged him out of the inferniello.

"Is it he?" asked one of the two figures who had remained near the pillar, raising the cap a little as he spoke.

"It is," muttered the other.

"It is," repeated the alguazil.

"De pregonero a verdugo," muttered the executioner; "so says the proverb, but here things are reversed. Follow me, Señorias – I will lead you to a place where he shall sleep safely; that is to say if the rats, whom he will have for companions, will allow him."

The party now disappeared in the windings of a corridor, whence, after a short absence, the executioner and alguazil again emerged, bringing with them a young man whose stature, hair, and general appearance, coincided strongly with those of the prisoner they had just carried away. Like the latter, the newcomer had a cap drawn over his face, but he appeared much less exhausted and suffering.

"Jesus Maria! Where am I, Señores? For the mother of God's sake, where am I?"

"Silencio!" growled the hangman, placing him against the wall, and beginning to undress him. The manga as soon stripped off, and the jacket followed.

"Lift your foot," said the executioner, pulling at his trousers. "Now the other! So. The shirt is not worth much – you can take that with you. The botines and shoes tolerable. But don't be frightened, Señoria; it is only an exchange."

"Jesus Maria! Mercy, gracious Señor!" stammered the unfortunate wretch. "Ah! if my poor mother, who lives at the corner of the Plateria, could" —

"We will tell her of it, Señoria," interrupted the hangman, in almost a feeling tone; "and she will perhaps be able to get you an indulgencia plenaria– for we have no confessors here. It is short work with us, particularly since the rack is done away with. But for twenty dollars she can get the best of indulgencias. They are cheap since the rebellion."

The poor fellow listened to this speech, his head bent towards the speaker in an attitude of attention; but he did not seem to understand. He slivered like an aspen leaf; for he now stood nearly naked upon the cold, damp stones.

"Jesus Maria!" whimpered the lad, "what is it you want with me? I only went to accompany my young master. How could poor Cosmo help it? We begged and prayed of him – Maestro Alonzo, Pedro, and I – that he would not interfere when Major Ulloa charged the gente irracionale. Jesus! how cold it is!"

"You will soon be warm, Señor," quoth the executioner. "In our hands, the coldest grows warm. There – take that!"

And he handed him, one after the other, the garments which the alguazil had taken off the other prisoner. The unfortunate creature caught at them, and slipped them on with a haste that had something shocking in it. On a sudden, he left off dressing himself, passed his hands over the fur trimmings and gold embroidery of the jacket, and exclaimed, in a trembling voice – "Holy Virgin! they are my master's clothes!" For a moment he stood shivering, with the jacket in his hand.

"Quick, Señor!" cried the executioner; "time is short."

The prisoner put his arm mechanically into the sleeve of the jacket. The hangman helped him on with it, threw the short cloak over him, and placed him hastily in the cell which had been so recently vacated. He had scarcely done so, when the sound of a bell was heard from the adjacent vault. Alguazil and executioner listened for a moment, and then hurried through a corridor, in the direction whence the summons proceeded. After a couple of minutes, they returned, accompanied by the alcalde, and by a person muffled in a blue cloak.[21 - The blue cloak was worn by the nobility, the brown by the lower and middling classes in Spain and Mexico.] The two latter carried dark lanterns.

"Executioner, do your duty!" said the alcalde. "No. 3."