There were men servants who came and went through the great gateway of the mansion. Which of them was the one least likely to betray me?
I soon fixed my reflections upon the cochero—a tall fellow in velveteens, whom I had seen taking out the sleek carriage horses. There was enough of the “picaro” in his countenance, to inspire me with confidence that he could be suborned for my purpose.
I determined on making trial of him. If a doubloon should prove sufficient bribe, my letter would be delivered.
In my twilight strolls, often prolonged to a late hour, I had noticed that this domestic sallied forth: as if, having done his day’s duty, he had permission to spend his evenings at the pulqueria. The plan would be to waylay him, on one of his nocturnal sorties; and this was what I determined on doing.
On the night of that same day on which I indited the epistle, the Officer of the Guard chanced to be my particular friend. It was not chance either: since I had chosen the occasion. I had no difficulty, therefore, in giving the countersign; and, wrapped in a cloth cloak—intended less as a protection against the cold than to conceal my uniform—I proceeded onward upon my errand of intrigue.
I was favoured by the complexion of the night. It was dark as coal tar—the sky shrouded with a thick stratum of thunder clouds.
It was not yet late enough for the citizens to have forsaken the streets. There were hundreds of them, strolling to and fro, all natives of the place—most of them men of the lower classes—with a large proportion of “leperos.”
There was not a soldier to be seen—except here and there the solitary sentry, whose presence betokened the entrance to some military cuartel.
The troops were all inside—in obedience to the standing order. There were not even the usual squads of drunken stragglers in uniform. The fear of assault and assassination was stronger than the propensity for “raking”—even among regiments whose rank and file was almost entirely composed of the countrymen of Saint Patrick.
A stranger passing through the place could scarce have suspected that the city was under American occupation. There was but slight sign of such control. The Poblanos appeared to have the place to themselves.