"Harkee, Ramírez, how did I tell you to bring the prisoners?"
"Lashed arm to arm, my brigadier."
"Correct; God go with you!"
The night on which the two companies reached Nieva was the one chosen by Don César's friends to sound the battle-cry and seize the factory. The conspiracy was well planned. At one o'clock in the morning fifty men were to meet in the garden of a rich Carlist proprietor, and fifty more in the wine-cellar of another, to arm and equip themselves. At two precisely they were all to march against the factory, the guard of which, at this time under command of the young Marqués de Peñalta, did not exceed twenty-five men, and attack it ostensibly at the doors, while others should scale the walls in the rear. Once inside they would quickly seize upon the arms already manufactured, loading them upon mules which were in readiness, set fire to the workshops, and haste away from the town. In case they should be attacked, they expected to raise easily five or six hundred men well provided with arms and ammunition. Don César had no doubt of the success of his enterprise, but the cursed bird[62] traditional in all conspiracies, past and to come, upset the brave caballero's project. At eleven o'clock that evening the commandant Ramírez and the inspector of police had possession of all the individuals of the committee, and ten or a dozen of the most outspoken Carlists of Nieva, who, tied together and under the guard of half of a company, according to the orders of the general commander, were under the arcade of the town-hall, waiting the order of march. The only woman among these was Maria. In vain did Don Mariano, with tears in his eyes, beg the leader of the force to let him take her in a carriage. The commandant Ramírez declared that he was deeply grieved at not being able to gratify him, and that the only thing that he could do, out of respect for him, was to give her parole-leave and wait a few moments until she procured thick footwear and suitable outside garments, though to do this exposed him to the wrath of the brigadier who ... (and here the commandant Ramírez employed the term which we have already had the honor of applying to him).
At last the order was given, and the lieutenant set out on the march with the prisoners. Don Mariano would not leave his daughter. Though it did not rain at that particular moment, the night was very damp and the roads truly abominable, as was proved by the spatterdashes of the soldiers. In the town almost everybody was aware of what was going on, and many dark, silent forms filled the balconies, straining their eyes to see the prisoners pass by. As they went through a certain street, an angry female voice cried from a balcony,—
"Villains, you will pay for all these things in hell!"
The soldiers lifted their heads and dropped them again, silently proceeding on their march, the measured sound of which inspired melancholy and fear. They all felt on their caps a steady broadside of looks of hatred, which, notwithstanding their innocence, they received with the resignation of those accustomed to suffering injustice. They soon left the last houses of the town and entered the high-road, the first stretches of which were adorned with lofty poplars. The sky was still dark and thick, wrapping the earth in darkness. Scarcely could they see the trunks of the neighboring trees, or the shapes of the houses or farm buildings along the roadside. The feet of the company no longer produced the sharp clatter which they made when they were walking over the paved streets, but a muffled sound still more sad. The lieutenant, a pretty good-natured young fellow of twenty, ordered the soldiers to march in parallel columns, with the prisoners in the middle. Then he approached the latter, and asking them if he could do anything for them, apologized courteously for taking them bound together, but they must understand that the brigadier was somewhat of a ... (the young lieutenant made use of the same expression which his commandant, and we as well, has already applied to him). The prisoners muttered their thanks and relapsed into a dignified silence. Soon it began to rain furiously. Don Mariano, who had not exchanged a word with his daughter, hastily spread his umbrella to shelter her, and held her long pressed to his heart, whispering in her ear:—
"My daughter, what a bitter trial you are giving me!... Wrap yourself up well!... Are you cold? oh, that obstinate brute shall answer me for this!... I will go to Madrid and see the Minister of War, and have him sent to prison!... Does the rain reach you anywhere, sweetheart mine[63]? Do you want my waterproof?... To send and have my daughter pinioned!... Oh, the confounded pig! in what sty did this farcical government find him!... If you get sick, I will kill him without a moment's hesitation.... But you, silly girl, who inveigled you into this pack of conspirators without my permission?... If I had not let you wander about so much among these churches, you would not at this time be suffering such trials.... What have you to do with Carlists or with Republicans?... A well-educated girl stays quietly at home, looking after her father's shirts and knitting stockings.... Do you hear?... knitting stockings!... The beast! wretch! to send and take my daughter pinioned!... If I see him, I won't promise not to seize him by the throat...."
"Calm yourself, papa, ... calm yourself, for Heaven's sake. I am perfectly comfortable.... When one suffers for God the suffering is turned into pleasure.... Never did I feel better than at this moment ... and it is because I feel in my soul the consolation of having done something to restore Jesus to his holy kingdom.... The only thing that makes me suffer, is to see you unhappy.... Ay! papa, what wouldn't I give to have your faith as living and ardent as mine, so that you would despise all the pains of earth, and march calm and content, as I am marching, whither God may wish to take me!"
Don Mariano felt a torrent of sharp, angry words choking him, but he could not give them utterance. All that he did was to wrap his waterproof around his daughter, emitting a sort of grunt significantly eloquent.