Chapter Fifty Four.
Monks no More.
The surmise which had influenced Zorillo to leaving the convent cell earlier than he intended was a correct one. The goings on in the Refectory were, at the time, of an unusual kind—a grand occasion, as he had worded it. There were some fifty men in it; but not one of them now effecting either the garb or the behaviour of the monk. Soldiers all; or at least in warlike guise; a few wearing regular though undress uniforms, but the majority habited as “guerilleros,” in the picturesque costumes of their country. They were booted, and belted, swords by their sides, with pistols in holsters hanging against the walls, and spurs ready for buckling on. Standing in corners were stacks of carbines, and lances freshly pennoned, with their blades bright from being recently sharpened—a panoply which spoke of fighting ere long expected to take place.
It may be asked where were their horses, since all the arms and accoutrements seen around were those of cavalry? But horses they had, though not there. Each knew where to lay hands on his own, far or near, stalled in the stable of some sequestered rancho, or, it might be, mountain cavern. They were not yet assembled to hearken to the call of “Boot and Saddle.” That they would hear at a later hour, and in a different place.
The occasion of their being in such guise and together was because it was to be the last night of their sojourn in the monastery. And they were making it a merry one; the Refectory table was being loaded with the best that was left to them in meals and drinks. Upon it were what bottles remained of those famous wines from the bins of the rich haciendado—his forced contribution—and they were fast getting emptied. From the way the convives were quaffing, it was not likely that any of the Burgundy, Madeira, or Pedro Ximenes would be left behind—not even a “heel-tap.”
It had got to be midnight, and they were still in the midst of the revelry, when Rivas, who headed the table, rose to his feet, in that formal manner which tells of speech to be made or toast proclaimed.
“Camaradas!” he said, as soon as the buzz of conversation had ended, “as you’re aware, we part from this place to-night; and some of you know whither we are going and for what purpose. But not all; therefore I deem it my duty to tell you. You saw a courier who came up early this morning—bringing good news, I’m glad to say. This despatch I hold in my hand is from an old friend, General Alvarez, who, though he may not boast sangre-azul in his veins, is as brave a soldier and pure a patriot as any in the land. You know that. He tells me his Pintos are ready for a rising, and only wait for us—the ‘Free Lances’—with some others he has summoned to join him in giving the grito. By his messenger I have sent answer that we, too, are ready, and will respond to his summons. You all approve of that, I take it?”
“All!” was the exclaim in chorus, without a dissenting voice.
“Moreover,” proceeded the speaker, “I’ve told the General we’ll be on the march to-morrow morning, and can meet him at a place he has mentioned the day after. His plan is to attack the town of Oaxaca; and, if we succeed in taking it, then we move direct on the capital. Now camarados, I’ve nothing more to say; only that you’re to scatter after your horses, and lose no time in mustering again—the old rendezvous, this side La Guarda.”
So ended the speech of the Free Lances’ leader; but despite the suggestions of immediate departure, the circle around the table did not instantly break up.