Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1888-05-04
A LEGEND OF MEXICO.

Ol Uu0 CdUucuIdl anu GuO pdldCS3 ldl bW dJ ,
struck the hour, as we traversed lonely,
silent street toward the suburbs of Mexico
We had been keeping vigil with wounded
man, compatriot of mine, and had over
stayed our watch, for he was frantic with
delirium, and we feared to transfer him to
the care of the inexperienced and rather care
less persons who should succeed us.
We walked ON briskly, for it was long
hours past the time when coaches and tram
cars had ceased plying. We were in San
Cosme, and in front of the great, massive
structure which the wife of ex-Marshal
Bazaine has claimed from the government as
an imperial gift to her traitorous husband
The facade of this edifice curves in in such
fashion as to form an Offset or alcove on the
street, and before we reached it, fancied I
saw a woman's figure stealing along in its
denser shadow, and 1 felt thrill of compass
sion for her, as one of the poor children of
the night She was not to be seen when we
came near the spot, but moment later
piercing cry rang out near us-a long drawn
wall Of suffering and horror.
I grasped the arm of my comrade. "Some
woman is in distress-we must go to her res
cue We are both armed, thank heavenw
But he threw his arm about me, and forced
HE lOlWdIu Nv d Qu1Ch pcaSo ohao was e1iiAooo
a run; and so unexpected was the move that
I had been pushed along some rods ere
could offer resistance.
"Come onl come on' he whispered
hoarsely, as shook myself free from his
clasp 'We must hasten; we must go on
quickly"
81 would not have believed you could de-
sert fellow creature in trouble" l cried in
Ioyy oil
is not like you, Federico" For had seen
his courage tried by venomous serpents in
TERRA caliente, and i'll encounters with high
waymen in the Sierras, and had heard of
his GOODNESS and daring in a combat with
Apaches in northern chihuahua.
"Hush! hush!" he answered, painting
t.You know not of what you speak. We
abandon no mortal woman-the voice you
hear is the cry of La Llorona. Look yonder
at the serenoI"
We were near one of the points where
Waterman stands all night in the middle of
a thoroughfare, and, following my compan-
ions gesture, saw the officer, fallen upon
his knees in the circle of light cast by his
lantern; the great capuchln hood of his cape
was pulled oyer his head, and every line of
his figure betokened abject fear and horror.
There was something uncanny in the sight,
for the policemen of Mexico are not impress
sionable material. And through the silent,
empty street those dreadful cries were still
ringing wildly, surely sufficient motive for
such display of terror. The sound seemed
to float away, and down by street toward
the equestrian statue of Charles ", growing
fainter and fainter in the distance.
"Let us CO." said my companion. "Yes,
am materialista, and l sneer>at spiritualism
and ghosts and phantoms; but, nevertheless,
think there is not man or woman in Mex
leo who would not tremble at the voice of
Tulsa La Llorono."
In the year of our Lord 1884, Luisa Haro
was called the most beautiful girl in Mexico,
and the most modest. Her father had brought
her from Spain when she was 10 years old,
and, dying four years later, had left her ut
terly without kindred, SO far as was known
to herself or her neighbors. She was clever
needle woman, and a maker of artificial flow
ers, and her skill found ready employment
for churchly uses, notwithstanding the enor-
NOUS quantity of such work done in the con-
vents. She had her little home nest in
onely callejuela, or by street, almost like an
alley, in the shadow of the cloister walls of
one of the guilds that chiefly employed her,
and here she lived, forlornly enough, indeed,
as is the fate of woman who dwells quite
alone; but her days were virtuous and tran
quill. Naught mattered it to her that the gal
lants came stealing at nightfaH into that
rincon apartado-that out of the way corner,
and tenanted the midnight darkness of its
dusty, narrow passage Her shutters were
closed and barred ere the darkness gathered,
and none of the delicate, scented fingers that
tapped on those clumsy defenses ever sounded
the "Open, Sesame!' to the girl they shell
tered Tulsa was the despair of all the gay,
dissolute blades of the vice regal court of
New Spain. Her neighbors in the lonely by
street were won't to point her out with
strange admixture of feelings, uncertain
whether to respect and recommend her
severe rectitude, or to disparage her, as one
who is denied the natural passions and pleas
ant frailties of humanity
But a change came about when the girl
was something over 20 years old. 1t began
to be whispered by the gossips of the neigh.
borhood that the shutters Of Luisa's window
now creaked slightly open, and that her
voice was heard at the crevice in converse
with one who came not tentatively and
doubling, but with the confident, assured
step of man who knows the welcome that
awaits him. And soon it was told about,
originated in one of the vague, indefinite
ways in which such things do transpire, that
this complacent wooer was Nuno, Marquis
of Monies Claros, So il was that Tulsa as
sumed new Importance in the eyes of those
about her, as will ever happen, under like
conditions.
One night-a night when the dashing rain
scourged the black walls of the cloister, to
the mourpful accompaniment of the moan
ing owls in the belfry-one of the parish
goodmen was Fastening home belated through
the narrow callejuela where dwelt Luisa,
when he saw in the space before him some
thing that made him pause and tremble, fol-
he was of the timid bourgeois class that car.
ried no staunch Toledo blade nor slender
deadly rapier swung from the belt.
The night was dark, almost to palpability.
No ray of light fell into the callejuela, save
the dim ray from the little lantern, swinging
before the rude image of some saint in
niche near the tablet on the wall, at the en-