"He had tongue enough in the fonda of Trespana," snarled a voice from the background, "when he proposed the health of the accursed Morellos."
"You hear the charge," said the alcalde, too lazy to repeat it himself, and converting the words of the police spy into a formal accusation.
"Señor, for the sake of God's mother, have mercy!" cried the culprit beseechingly. "I was misled."
"So were eighty thousand others," was the surly answer. "Write down his confession, and away with him to the Acordada."
"Above or under ground?" asked the escribano.
"Wherever the maestro has room," replied the alcalde. "No. 5."
The knees of the unfortunate youth smote together, and he fell down as if he had received a sudden and stunning blow.
"Do not be a fool," growled one of the executioner's assistants with a horrid laugh. "You drank Morellos' health in sherry and sangaree; you can drink it now, for a change, in fresh Tezcuco water; it is a trifle saltish as you know, but there is soft lying in it, at least if the snakes and lizards will leave you alone. That is to say, if you get into one of the lower cells, where many people have lasted half a year. If you give the maestro fair words—gold and silver words, mind ye—he will only put you the fifty pound chains on, and it will be nearly a fortnight before they begin to cut into your flesh."
With such consolations was the wretched prisoner dragged out of the vault, while another, designated as No. 5, took his place. He was also a young man, apparently not much over twenty.
"Elmo Hernandez," resumed the alcalde, "you are accused of having cursed his excellency the viceroy, and of having uttered cries of 'Maldito Gobierno,' and 'Maldito Gachupin,' and of 'Mueran los Gachupinos,' in the quarter of the Trespana. You also shouted, 'Abajo con la Virgen de los Remedios.'[19] Crimes both against the state and the holy Catholic church. What can you say in reply to these accusations?"