Eugene P. Lyle

“What misadventure is so early up,
That calls our person from our morning’s rest?”

–Romeo and Juliet.

Just within their own bivouac four Missourians waited with eight horses. Driscoll and Boone, and the small limping shadow of MurguÍa between them, went on outside the sentry line toward the Alameda. When they returned, a stranger accompanied them, a little distance apart.

“It’s true,” Driscoll whispered to those who had staid. “The trenches are filled with townsmen. He took me.”

The Americans glanced once the stranger’s way, and grunted. He was a large man, hidden to the eyes in a Spanish cloak. For all the charity of darkness, he seemed ill at ease, and held himself from them, a marked figure, alone. A leprosy in himself tainted his every thought. He would not willingly come near any man. He understood English, unhappily now for him, and Boone’s warning as they mounted seared like vitriol. “Look out, Harry, don’t touch the filthy skut! It’ll take the rotting of death to clean your fingers.” After that, even MurguÍa drew involuntarily away from the stranger.

They circled the town widely, having only Republican challenges to quiet, and they dismounted under the trees which shade the valley to the northeast, between the Sangremal, or mound of La Cruz, and the besiegers’ range of hills. Here, under La Cruz’s steep bluff, the Republican general-in-chief 435had his quarters, and here he kept a hawk’s jealous watch on the walls above, where slept his country’s invader.

Open battle is clear honor, so reckoned; but it takes a brave man to dive for a pearl in slime. Driscoll was the one to conduct MurguÍa and his gloomy companion into the presence of General Escobedo. When he rejoined the other five outside the tent, he was alone.

“Well, come on,” he said as he mounted under the trees. “We needn’t stay for the rest of it, thank God.”

For a while they rode in silence back toward their camp. They passed under the aqueduct and entered the open plain. Then the parson stretched out his hand to the pommel of Driscoll’s saddle.

“Well?” he ventured softly.

“Well, Clem, it’s done.”

The others crowded their horses nearer.

“I want to tell you all,” Driscoll abruptly began again. “I want to tell you that I’ve just seen the strangest thing of my whole life, right back there in that tent. I–well, it’s simply flattened me out!”

“You mean Lopez, Din?” one asked tentatively.

“Lopez? No, no, there’s nothing strange in him. Any low hound will sell out to save his hide. No, Dan, I mean the other. I mean the old man. He’s the one who used to run the blockade off Mobile, and a whiter-livered, more contemptible old grandmother I never hope to see anywhere, no, never! Yet not a month ago, the day of that Cimatario scrimmage, I found him on the battlefield, and he had been wounded. But he didn’t seem to know it. He didn’t even seem to know that the shells were still banging all around him.”

“An old coward, too!” someone muttered.

“But wait. He used to be one thing worse, one thing more, than a coward. He was a miser, and such a miser that he made himself face danger. You should have seen him running a 436 blockade, with the Yankees chasing behind. He trembled–I tell you, he trembled like a withered cottonwood leaf on a broken stem. Yet he whined against stoking with turpentine, because it cost a little more. I’d ’a’ thought, I did then, that the miser was in his bones until the last trumpet. But to-night, back in that tent just now––”

“Well?”

“Well, he refused money! He refused gold! He didn’t seem to know what it was, any more than he did bullets a month ago. Escobedo asked him his price, and shoved a glittering heap across the table at him. You saw how he acted when we offered him something to eat? Well, he looked the same way at the gold. He acted impatient. He didn’t want to see anything except Lopez. But you’d have called it a miser’s eagerness, the way he watched that Lopez. Only a miser don’t exult when it’s someone else who pockets the money.”

“Maybe they’ll divide?”

“Not much, because Murgie could have had his share over and above. No, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the gold. He was greedy–for a soul! He wanted to see Lopez bought, and no hitch. And when it was done, he wet those catfish lips of his with his tongue. I believe the devil in hell must look just that way when he gets some poor sinner. But to think of that old skinflint, to think of that old feeble cowardly shark not knowing danger, not knowing money––”

“Come, Din,” the parson’s blessed, cheery voice interrupted, “let’s hurry back and wash our hands. Then we’ll all feel better.”

While the six Americans rode gloomily away from what they had done, and from their own thoughts as they best could, a stealthy company was forming under the trees among the tents of the Republican general. After a time the seeming spectres began to move in unison, an undulating wave that 437spread as the grayish shadow of a low hanging cloud. The dim figures slowly swept the little space of valley, on toward the steep slope of La Cruz, and soon they were climbing, silently creeping, nearer and nearer the dark walls above.

Two seemed the leaders, and the third limped close behind. But one of the first two held a pistol ever near the heart of his companion, who was wrapped to the eyes in a Spanish cloak.

“Who goes––” cried an Imperialist sentry.

“Your colonel, fool!” he of the cloak stopped him short. “I, Miguel Lopez. I am changing the guard. Return now to your barracks and get what sleep you can before morning. One of these men with me will take your place.”

In like manner each later challenge was satisfied, and so on to a cannon-battered crevice in the wall. The spectres passed through the gap there into a field of graves on the mound’s level summit. The earth had an uncanny softness under their tread. The plots were mostly fresh, of slain Imperialists still keeping their rank according to battalion. But the living, the Reserve Brigade, were here as well, sleeping over the dead. They stirred and grumbled at being disturbed, but thought then no more of the intruders. The secret plans for the daybreak attack explained everything. Their colonel, whose voice they knew, was shifting forces in preparation. But when the dawn came, they awoke to find their weapons gone, and themselves defenseless prisoners.

Many of the spectral troop fell away to hold the cemetery, but the rest kept on, and entered the monastery garden. Here there was a battery of one gun, whose muzzle pointed the way to the Republican camp. Without a sound the Imperialist gunners were replaced by Republicans. The cannon was one captured during the Cimatario fight. It was called “La Tempestad,” and bore an inscription, “The Last Argument of Nations.” Its new possessors turned the muzzle squarely on 438the monastery, not fifty yards away, where Maximilian lay then asleep.

The shadowy host did not linger in the monastery itself. They swept through hastily, in at the garden entrance, along the corridor, and out by the great portico door upon La Cruz Plaza. They had passed the citadel. The town lay before them. But in the Plaza were more cannon, which had been taken from the trenches and massed for the supreme effort. They lay silent, under the silent bells of the church. They lay under the giant Cross of the Apparition, which was adorned by the Inditos with garlands in vague memory of pagan rites on that very spot. They lay under the splendid Arabian palms. They lay among defenders. To take them was like prowling with a torch among broken casks of gunpowder. Not a shot must be fired until the thing was done. Otherwise, a quick second shot was to find the heart of Lopez. So Lopez was exceedingly cautious. However, he commanded here. He was the Emperor’s favorite. Squad after squad, the drowsy Imperialists moved off, letting the strangers relieve them. So the critical work was achieved, even as day appeared over the eastern hills. Then he who had kept so close to Lopez put his revolver away.

“Your bargain is fulfilled, seÑor,” he said. “Accordingly, here’s the paper I was to give you. It is your safe conduct throughout the Republic. You are free. Go!”

Lopez clutched the thing that meant his life, but as his fingers tightened over it, his first greed vanished. He stared about him uncertainly. The Plaza swarmed with men. They were the gray battalion he had led there. In the dawning light they were still gray. They were the Supremos Poderes de la RepÚblica. De la RepÚblica? Yes, of the enemy, and he had brought them. But it was as though he had just awakened, and found them there. The enemy? The enemy was in La Cruz! With a sharp cry, he turned and ran back into the 439monastery. He brushed aside the hateful gray uniforms. He ran panting up the stone steps. In the dark hall above he stopped at a cell door, and pounded, and tugged frantically at its latch.

“SeÑor, awake! Hurry! We are betrayed! Hurry! Escape–escape––”

Within came a startled sleepy voice, “What, what’s–” which changed at once to reproving dignity. “Can it be?–Lopez!”

“But seÑor–sire–the Chinacos, the Republicans, they are here already!”

“Colonel Lopez!” In its shocked surprise the voice was edged with rebuke. “Man, man, where are your years of training near my person? One would think you some boorish night-watchman.”

Lopez outside the door dropped his hands, and fell abjectedly silent, as servilely abashed in his lapse of etiquette as though he stood the traitor unmasked.

“Now then, Miguel,” spoke the Emperor more kindly, “go to General MejÍa and the others. Let them have the goodness to attend me here.”

Lopez turned on down the corridor, stopped at the doors of Generals MejÍa and Castillo, and the Prince Salm-Salm. At each he tapped lightly, as one dazed, and announced that the enemy surrounded them. Then, remembering, he fled.

Within the thick walls that narrowed his state into a friar’s cell, Maximilian rose from his iron couch. “So,” he sighed, almost in relief, “Destiny means it to end in this way.” He was calm, and he attired himself carefully. He chose his general’s uniform, with its rich dark blue, and scarlet cordon. Nor did he forget the star of some royal order, which to common men seemed a cotillion favor. When he should step forth that morning, it was to play a world rÔle. The prince must be serene in the moment of trial. The nations must know that 440Destiny had him in hand. And musing thus, he parted his golden beard with dainty precision. Within a month Europe would acclaim him reverently. He noted that his high boots glistened. MejÍa and the other two, hurrying to him, fell back in admiration to behold how placid he was.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “to leave here, or die! There’s nothing else.”

He noticed a soft heap at the door, and picked it up.

“Lopez’s cloak, a disguise!” he exclaimed. “God bless the poor fellow, he left it for me.”

He wrapped the garment about him, took his pistols, and led the way. In the dark corridor down stairs a Republican sentry mistook the cool, commanding figure for one of his own generals, and presented arms. Maximilian gravely saluted, and with his three companions passed out.

The Plaza was a blurred scene of confusion. Men were awakening to find their arms gone, and themselves covered by muskets. Shots had been fired. Curses abounded. Entire companies were being marched away as prisoners. Republican officers either thought that Maximilian was Lopez, from his cloak and height, or were too distracted to notice. It is possible, too, that the victors would have had him escape, that they might not have the trouble of his disposal, and that they preferred that he should not thrust it on them. At any rate, he and the three behind pushed their way undisturbed through cannon and brown stolid men in gray, and reached the spot where the Plaza narrows into a street that gently slopes down into the town. But here a guard was posted.

“Pues, hombre, they’re civilians, let them pass.”

Maximilian turned on him who spoke, and beheld the blackmailer, scout, deserter, Don Tiburcio. He wore now the uniform of a Republican explorador. His crossed eye gleamed so humorously up at the Emperor, it might have been insolence, but it was only the proffered sharing of a jest. His matter-of-fact 441tone prevailed, and the guard stood aside. The four passed on down the street. In comical melancholy Don Tiburcio looked after them, and then he perceived that a fifth had slipped by the guard and was following closely behind.

“The saints help us–help him, it’s MurguÍa!” Tiburcio muttered in horror. He recalled the night when MarÍa de la Luz was found dead.

The old man, coatless, barefoot, in his pantaloons of Imperial green, limped desperately to keep pace with the great strides of the four ahead. The broad crimson stripe down each pant leg would break, straighten, break again, in bizarre accord, with every painful step. It was a lope, and he more like a starved wolf, a lean, persistent shadow, ever ready for the chance to spring.

By hastening down into the town, Maximilian thought to rally what forces were there for a last stand; or, to be more exact, for a last tableau. The end of his empire must have Éclat. He found the town panic-stricken, since all could see the Republic’s standard over the towers of La Cruz. Dumfounded officers had gotten to housetops, and were using their glasses. They beheld the enemy as busy as scurrying ants on the surrounding hills. Clouds of men from every point were sweeping across the llano toward the town. The advance were already in the narrow streets. Killing, looting, had begun. Clanging bells, hoof beats, yells, musketry, and in the distance deep-voiced cannon! The Emperor and his three companions, with the malignant shadow hovering ever near, quickened their course through the town. They paused only to dispatch couriers. Miramon, when found, was to come at all speed with every possible man to the Cerro de las Campanas. They gained the adobe suburbs on the western edge, leaving behind the fearsome rising tide of human sound. An officer forced the Emperor to mount his horse. Many joined their flight. They crossed broken fields, and reached the summit of the wedge-shaped 442rock called las Campanas. Close behind, emerging from the town, were the first pursuers, who quickly grew to a thick black fringe around the hill. Shells were falling. The heavens seemed to flower vengefully, with the Campanas knoll as the one focus. The adobe stockade crowning the top was soon packed with fugitives, until those within, like shipwrecked creatures on a raft, barred out those still coming. The whisper spread that in the town Miramon had been taken shot through the cheek after shooting many others. The panic grew. Men knew themselves at bay. They recognized the deathtrap. On the outlying heights the cannon had their range. Grenades, bombs, grape, and canister, fell as hail.

The Emperor turned to General MejÍa.

“Could we cut our way out?” he asked.

MejÍa put down his glasses. He paused, then shook his head.

Straightway an orderly with a white flag was sent down the hill. But the firing did not cease for that. Maximilian, seeing that he could make no terms for those around him, seeing them fall by scores instead, himself followed the orderly; and following him, was the ever faithful shadow.

From out the dark fringe a man on a white horse, a black bearded man with monstrous flapping ears, General Escobedo, rode forth to meet the Hapsburg. Then Maximilian forgot the eyes of the world, and thought of her who had suffered with him, who had suffered more than he, to hazard this, their dream.

“It is our throne, Charlotte,” he murmured, and gave up his sword.