On the other hand,
the governor paraded his garrison on the bastion, and tolled the
funeral dirge of the notary from the Torre de la Campana, or Tower
of the Bell.
The notary's wife pressed through the crowd with a whole progeny
of little embryo escribanos at her heels, and throwing herself at
the feet of the captain-general, implored him not to sacrifice the
life of her husband, and the welfare of herself and her numerous
little ones, to a point of pride; "for you know the old governor too
well," said she, "to doubt that he will put his threat in execution,
if you hang the soldier."
The captain-general was overpowered by her tears and lamentations,
and the clamors of her callow brood. The corporal was sent up to the
Alhambra, under a guard, in his gallows garb, like a hooded friar, but
with head erect and a face of iron. The escribano was demanded in
exchange, according to the cartel. The once bustling and
self-sufficient man of the law was drawn forth from his dungeon more
dead than alive. All his flippancy and conceit had evaporated; his
hair, it is said, had nearly turned gray with affright, and he had a
downcast, dogged look, as if he still felt the halter round his neck.
The old governor stuck his one arm akimbo, and for a moment surveyed
him with an iron smile. "Henceforth, my friend," said he, "moderate
your zeal in hurrying others to the gallows; be not too certain of
your safety, even though you should have the law on your side; and
above all take care how you play off your schoolcraft another time
upon an old soldier.
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