Chapter 21: Execution
In the morning the wound was throbbing again, worse than before. Something yellowish was now seeping through the bandage and any movement was difficult. The workmen had finished constructing the gallows the evening before so the constant hammering had mercifully stopped and Diego was able to get a few hours of what passed for rest.
Mid-morning Padre Vicente arrived to confess Diego and grant absolution. Once this was finished, the friar asked, "Do you wish me to carry a message to anyone for you, my son?"
"My father," replied Diego calmly. "Tell him — tell him I ask his forgiveness for all the pain and disappointment I have caused him."
"Diego, I have seen your father. There is no need to ask forgiveness of him. He is proud of you and of what you have done, and he understands why you could not tell him. But I will tell him that your thoughts were of him this morning."
"Gracias, Padre," said Diego. "And would you ask him to look after Bernardo? He has been loyalty itself to me.
"Of course, my son. I am sure Bernardo will have a place at the hacienda for the rest of his life. The friar paused before asking, "Is there no one else? A young woman, perhaps?" Diego's face registered surprise. "I have not seen the two of you together very often, but I have seen the look in your eyes when you are with her. Do you not wish to give her a message? Some word of affection?"
"No, Padre. She already carries a sorrow for one man in her heart. I do not wish to burden her with another. I hope she will forget me very quickly." The young don bowed his head and remained silent.
"I believe there is very little chance of her ever forgetting you. But I will respect you wishes. And now I must leave you." Padre Vicente rose, blessed Diego, and left the cell with a heavy heart.
They came for him about an hour after the Angelus had sounded. Sergeant Garcia led a squad of six lancers over to his cell. "Don Diego, I am sorry, but it is — it is time, and — and I have my orders," he declared in a voice choked with emotion.
"I understand," said Diego. "I know that you are only following orders. And I want you to follow your orders. I wish no one to be harmed on my account." He pulled himself up, trying to ignore the pain of the wound.
The Sergeant, now looking furtively both ways, passed a small bottle through the bars. "It is brandy. The innkeeper gave it to me. We thought it might make you...make you...help you...uh..." his voice trailed off.
"Gracias," replied Diego, taking the bottle. "This is most kind of you. You have always been a good friend, Sergeant." The liquid burned his throat but it was bracing none the less. "An excellent year," he quipped, trying to make Garcia feel better.
They bound his hands behind his back and led him out through the cuartel yard to the plaza. The crowd was huge, and once again the Comandante had stationed armed lancers, this time a double line with muskets at the ready, in a half-circle facing the onlookers. The gallows stood ready, its noose awaiting him. In spite of the increasing pain in his side he found the strength to walk fully upright across the area and mount the steps without assistance. They led him up to the noose. For the sake of my father and my family name I will die well, he thought. It is the last noble thing I can do. I will die with my head held high and in silence. Then, in spite of himself, he found himself scanning the crowd looking for Maggie. He found the Colonel but did not see her anywhere. Perhaps she has already forgotten me, and perhaps that is for the best... Yet a last look at her face would have been a comfort.
As someone began to read the death warrant they placed the noose lightly around his neck. One of the lancers knelt to tie his ankles together. He saw tears running down Sergeant Garcia's face. It was then he saw his father, dressed in his most elegant suit and sitting his horse straight and proud in the midst of the crowd. Bernardo was at the old don's side, numb with sorrow. Out of respect the crowd were giving the two of them a wide berth. I will watch my father's face and think of him until it is over. He wassuddenly conscious of his own deep breaths, not knowing which one would be his last.
He gazed at his father and decided that the bad brandy must be having its effect because he was now aware of a low rumble growing in his ears. Perhaps this will help. But the rumble grew louder. Thunder? But there was not a cloud in the sky. Still louder. Finally he saw his father and those at the rear of the throng turn and look down the road to the south. A hundred yards away a group of lancers rounded the bend at a full gallop. Shortly behind them came a coach pulled by six horses, all running at breakneck speed. As the lancers reached the plaza they slowed and began shouting: "Make way! Make way for his Excellency the Governor! Make way!" The crowd scattered before them. The coach roared into the plaza and up to the gallows. The driver, with difficulty, pulled up his team and stopped. A woman's voice was screaming, "No! NO! NO!" The coach door burst open and Pablo Vicente de Solá, Governor of Alta California, emerged, pointed up at Diego, and shouted, "Release that man unharmed!"