ve 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?"

"Senor," replied the prisoner, who was violently agitated, "I have seen my
own sister forcibly compelled to wed the sub-lieutenant Garcia, my estate
wrested from me, my sister's health and happiness ruined by the
ill-treatment and excesses of her husband."

"Lieutenant Garcia is a Spaniard, a _viejo Cristiano_; and if your
sister--but enough, you are a Creole and a malecontent."

The young man ground his teeth, but said nothing.

"You are a malecontent," repeated the alcalde. "A malecontent has a
discontented disposition, and a discontented disposition is a rebellious
one, and he who has a rebellious disposition is a rebel. Write it down,
Don Ferro."

After coming to this just and logical conclusion, the alcalde took a
draught of sangaree, and then again turned to the escribano.

"In the Cordelada--under ground--chains of the second class."

"You have thirty pounds more to carry," whispered a jailer to this new
victim. "Eighty pounds at the least. You may say your prayers, for an
_inferniello_ will be your portion."

The prisoner gnashed his teeth, and shook his fetters with impotent rage.
He was instantly led away.

"Cursed rebel!" growled the alcalde after him.

"The rest are all _gente irracionale_," observed the escribano.

"So much the better--Nos. 12 to 21," cried the alcalde.

For about a minute there was a deep silence, only broken by the scratch of
Don Ferro's pen, and the snoring of the sleepers; then a rattle of chains
was heard approaching, accompanied by a hollow murmur, that resounded
strangely through the extensive vault; and at last several dark figures
emerged from the gloom, their coal-black and fiery eyes gli