"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. "Senor, 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?" "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.