Chapter Ten.Adventure with a Cayman.The lane suddenly opened upon a pasture, but within this a thick hedge of jessamines, forming a circle, barred the view.In this circle was the house, whose roof only could be seen from without.Not finding any opening through the jessamines, I parted the leaves with my hands, and looked through. The picture was dream-like; so strange, I could scarcely credit my senses.On the crest of the little hillock stood a house of rare construction—unique and unlike anything I had ever seen. The sides were formed of bamboos, closely picketed, and laced together by fibres of thepita. The roof—a thatch of palm-leaves—projected far over the eaves, rising to a cone, and terminating in a small wooden cupola with a cross. There were no windows. The walls themselves were translucent; and articles of furniture could be distinguished through the interstices of the bamboos.A curtain of greenbarège, supported by a rod and rings, formed the door. This was drawn, discovering an ottoman near the entrance, and an elegant harp.The whole structure presented thecoup-d’oeilof a huge birdcage, with its wires of gold!The grounds were in keeping with the house. In these, the evidence of neglect, which had been noticed without, existed no longer. Every object appeared to be under the training of a watchful solicitude.A thick grove of olives, with their gnarled and spreading branches and dark-green leaves, stretched rearward, forming a background to the picture. Right and left grew clumps of orange and lime trees. Golden fruit and flowers of brilliant hues mingled with their yellow leaves; spring and autumn blended upon the same branches!Rare shrubs—exotics—grew out of large vessels of japanned earthenware, whose brilliant tints added to the voluptuous colouring of the scene.Ajet d’eau, crystalline, rose to the height of twenty feet, and, returning in a shower of prismatic globules, stole away through a bed of water-lilies and other aquatic plants, losing itself in a grove of lofty plantain-trees. These, growing from the cool watery bed, flung out their broad glistening leaves to the length of twenty feet.So signs of human life met the eye. The birds alone seemed to revel in the luxuriance of this tropical paradise. A brace of pea-fowl stalked over the parterre in all the pride of their rainbow plumage. In the fountain appeared the tall form of a flamingo, his scarlet colour contrasting with the green leaves of the water-lily. Songsters were trilling in every tree. The mock-bird, perched upon the highest limb, was mimicking the monotonous tones of the parrot. The toucans and trogons flashed from grove to grove, or balanced their bodies under the spray of thejet d’eau; while the humming-birds hung upon the leaves of some honeyed blossom, or prinkled over the parterre like straying sunbeams.I was running my eye over this dream-like picture, in search of a human figure, when the soft, metallic accents of a female voice reached me from the grove of plantains. It was a burst of laughter—clear and ringing. Then followed another, with short exclamations, and the sound of water as if dashed and sprinkled with a light hand.What must be the Eve of a paradise like this! The silver tones were full of promise. It was the first female voice that had greeted my ears for a month, and chords long slumbering vibrated under the exquisite touch.My heart bounded. My first impulse was “forward”, which I obeyed by springing through the jessamines. But the fear of intruding upon a sceneà la Dianechanged my determination, and my next thought was to make a quiet retreat.I was preparing to return, and had thrust one leg back through the hedge, when a harsh voice—apparently that of a man—mingled with the silvery tones.“Anda!—anda!—hace mucho calor. Vamos á volver.” (Hasten!—it is hot. Let us return.)“Ah, no, Pepe! un ratito mas.” (Ah, no, Pepe! a little while longer.)“Vaya, carrambor!” (Quick, then!)Again the clear laughter rang out, mingled with the clapping of hands and short exclamations of delight.“Come,” thought I, once more entering the parterre, “as there appears to be one of my own sex here already, it cannot be verymal à proposto take a peep at this amusement, whatever it be.”I approached the row of plantain-trees, whose leaves screened the speakers from view.“Lupé! Lupé! mira! que bonito!” (Lupé! Lupé! look here! What a pretty thing!)“Ah, pobrecito! echalo, Luz, echalo.” (Ah! poor little thing! fling it back, Luz.)“Voy luego,” (Presently.)I stooped down, and silently parted the broad, silken leaves. The sight was divine!Within lay a circular tank, or basin, of crystal water, several rods in diameter, and walled in on all sides by the high screen of glossy plantains, whose giant leaves, stretching out horizontally, sheltered it from the rays of the sun.A low parapet of mason-work ran around, forming the circumference of the circle. This was japanned with a species of porcelain, whose deep colouring of blue and green and yellow was displayed in a variety of grotesque figures.A strong jet boiled up in the centre, by the refraction of whose ripples the gold and red fish seemed multiplied into myriads.At a distant point a bed of water-lilies hung out from the parapet; and the long, thin neck of a swan rose gracefully over the leaves. Another, his mate, stood upon the bank drying her snowy pinions in the sun.A different object attracted me, depriving me, for awhile, of the power of action.In the water, and near the jet, were two beautiful girls clothed in a sort of sleeveless, green tunic, loosely girdled. They were immersed to the waist. So pellucid was the water that their little feet were distinctly visible at the bottom, shining like gold.Luxuriant hair fell down in broad flakes, partially shrouding the snowy development of their arms and shoulders. Their forms were strikingly similar—tall, graceful, fully developed, and characterised by that elliptical line of beauty that, in the female form more than in any other earthly object, illustrates the far-famed curve of Hogarth.Their features, too, were alike. “Sisters!” one would exclaim, and yet their complexions were strikingly dissimilar. The blood, mantling darker in the veins of one, lent an olive tinge to the soft and wax-like surface of her skin, while the red upon her cheeks and lips presented an admixture of purple. Her hair, too, was black; and a dark shading along the upper lip—a moustache, in fact—soft and silky as the tracery of a crayon, contrasted with the dazzling whiteness of her teeth. Her eyes were black, large, and almond-shaped, with that expression which looksoverone; and her whole appearance formed a type of that beauty which we associate with the Abencerrage and the Alhambra. This was evidently the elder.The other was the type of a distinct class of beauty—the golden-haired blonde. Her eyes were large, globular, and blue as turquoise. Her hair of a chastened yellow, long and luxuriant; while her skin, less soft and waxen than that of her sister, presented an effusion of roseate blushes that extended along the snowy whiteness of her arms. These, in the sun, appeared as bloodless and transparent as the tiny gold-fish that quivered in her uplifted hand.I was riveted to the spot. My first impulse was to retire, silently and modestly, but the power of a strange fascination for a moment prevented me. Was it a dream?“Ah! que barbara! pobrecito—ito—ito!” (Ah! what a barbarian you are! poor little thing!)“Comeremos.” (We shall eat it.)“Por Dios! no! echalo, Luz, ó tirare la agua en sus ojos.” (Goodness! no! fling it in, Luz, or I shall throw water in your eyes.) And the speaker stooped as if to execute the threat.“Ya—no,” (Now I shall not), said Luz resolutely.“Guarda te!” (Look out, then!)The brunette placed her little hands close together, forming with their united palms a concave surface, and commenced dashing water upon the perverse blonde.The latter instantly dropped the gold-fish, and retaliated.An exciting and animated contest ensued. The bright globules flew around their heads, and rolled down their glittering tresses, as from the pinions of a swan; while their clear laughter rang out at intervals, as one or the other appeared victorious.A hoarse voice drew my attention from this interesting spectacle. Looking whence it came, my eye rested upon a huge negress stretched under a cocoa-tree, who had raised herself on one arm, and was laughing at the contest.It was her voice, then, I had mistaken for that of a man!Becoming sensible of my intrusive position, I turned to retreat, when a shrill cry reached me from the pond.The swans, with a frightened energy shrieked and flapped over the surface, the gold-fish shot to and fro like sunbeams, and leaped out of the water, quivering and terrified, and the birds on all sides screamed and chattered.I sprang forward to ascertain the cause of this strange commotion. My eye fell upon the negress, who had risen, and, running out upon the parapet with uplifted arms, shouted in terrified accents:“Valgame Dios—niñas! El cayman! el cayman!”I looked across to the other side of the pond. A fearful object met my eyes—the cayman of Mexico! The hideous monster was slowly crawling over the low wall, dragging his lengthened body from a bed of aquatic plants.Already his short fore-arms, squamy and corrugated, rested upon the inner edge of the parapet, his shoulders projecting as if in the act to spring! His scale-covered back, with its long serrated ridge, glittered with a slippery moistness; and his eyes, usually dull, gleamed fierce and lurid from their prominent sockets.I had brought with me a light rifle. It was but the work of a moment to unsling and level it. The sharp crack followed, and the ball impinged between the monster’s eyes, glancing harmlessly from his hard skull as though it had been a plate of steel. The shot was an idle one, perhaps worse; for, stung to madness with the stunning shock, the reptile sprang far out into the water, and made directly for its victims.The girls, who had long since given over their mirthful contest, seemed to have lost all presence of mind; and, instead of making for the bank, stood locked in each other’s arms terrified and trembling.Their symmetrical forms fell into an agonised embrace; and their rounded arms, olive and roseate, laced each other, and twined across their quivering bodies.Their faces were turned to heaven, as though they expected succour from above—a group that rivalled the Laocoon.With a spring I cleared the parapet, and, drawing my sword, dashed madly across the basin.The girls were near the centre; but the cayman had got the start of me, and the water, three feet deep, impeded my progress. The bottom of the tank, too, was slippery, and I fell once or twice on my hands. I rose again, and with frantic energy plunged forward, all the while calling upon the bathers to make for the parapet.Notwithstanding my shouts, the terrified girls made no effort to save themselves. They were incapable from terror.On came the cayman with the velocity of vengeance. It was a fearful moment. Already he swam at a distance of less than six paces from his prey, his long snout projecting from the water, his gaunt jaws displaying their quadruple rows of sharp glistening teeth.I shouted despairingly. I was baffled by the deep water. I had nearly twice the distance before I could interpose myself between the monster and its victims.“I shall be too late!”Suddenly I saw that the cayman had swerved. In his eagerness he had struck a subaqueous pipe of the jet.It delayed him only a moment; but in that moment I had passed the statue-like group, and stood ready to receive his attack.“A la orilla! á la orilla!” (To the bank! to the bank!) I shouted, pushing the terrified girls with one hand, while with the other I held my sword at arm’s-length in the face of the advancing reptile.The girls now, for the first time awaking from their lethargy of terror, rushed towards the bank.On came the monster, gnashing his teeth in the fury of disappointment, and uttering fearful cries.As soon as he had got within reach I aimed a blow at his head; but the light sabre glinted from the fleshless skull with the ringing of steel to steel.The blow, however, turned him out of his course, and, missing his aim, he passed me like an arrow. I looked around with a feeling of despair. “Thank heaven, they are safe!”I felt the clammy scales rub against my thigh; and I leaped aside to avoid the stroke of his tail, as it lashed the water into foam.Again the monster turned, and came on as before.This time I did not attempt to cut, but thrust the sabre directly for his throat. The cold blade snapped between his teeth like an icicle. Not above twelve inches remained with the hilt; and with this I hacked and fought with the energy of despair.My situation had now grown critical indeed. The girls had reached the bank, and stood screaming upon the parapet.At length the elder seized upon a pole, and, lifting it with all her might, leaped back into the basin, and was hastening to my rescue, when a stream of fire was poured through the leaves of the plantains: I heard a sharp crack—the short humming whiz of a bullet—and a large form, followed by half a dozen others, emerged from the grove, and, rushing over the wall, plunged into the pond.I heard a loud plashing in the water—the shouts of men, the clashing of bayonets; and then saw the reptile roll over, pierced by a dozen wounds.
The lane suddenly opened upon a pasture, but within this a thick hedge of jessamines, forming a circle, barred the view.
In this circle was the house, whose roof only could be seen from without.
Not finding any opening through the jessamines, I parted the leaves with my hands, and looked through. The picture was dream-like; so strange, I could scarcely credit my senses.
On the crest of the little hillock stood a house of rare construction—unique and unlike anything I had ever seen. The sides were formed of bamboos, closely picketed, and laced together by fibres of thepita. The roof—a thatch of palm-leaves—projected far over the eaves, rising to a cone, and terminating in a small wooden cupola with a cross. There were no windows. The walls themselves were translucent; and articles of furniture could be distinguished through the interstices of the bamboos.
A curtain of greenbarège, supported by a rod and rings, formed the door. This was drawn, discovering an ottoman near the entrance, and an elegant harp.
The whole structure presented thecoup-d’oeilof a huge birdcage, with its wires of gold!
The grounds were in keeping with the house. In these, the evidence of neglect, which had been noticed without, existed no longer. Every object appeared to be under the training of a watchful solicitude.
A thick grove of olives, with their gnarled and spreading branches and dark-green leaves, stretched rearward, forming a background to the picture. Right and left grew clumps of orange and lime trees. Golden fruit and flowers of brilliant hues mingled with their yellow leaves; spring and autumn blended upon the same branches!
Rare shrubs—exotics—grew out of large vessels of japanned earthenware, whose brilliant tints added to the voluptuous colouring of the scene.
Ajet d’eau, crystalline, rose to the height of twenty feet, and, returning in a shower of prismatic globules, stole away through a bed of water-lilies and other aquatic plants, losing itself in a grove of lofty plantain-trees. These, growing from the cool watery bed, flung out their broad glistening leaves to the length of twenty feet.
So signs of human life met the eye. The birds alone seemed to revel in the luxuriance of this tropical paradise. A brace of pea-fowl stalked over the parterre in all the pride of their rainbow plumage. In the fountain appeared the tall form of a flamingo, his scarlet colour contrasting with the green leaves of the water-lily. Songsters were trilling in every tree. The mock-bird, perched upon the highest limb, was mimicking the monotonous tones of the parrot. The toucans and trogons flashed from grove to grove, or balanced their bodies under the spray of thejet d’eau; while the humming-birds hung upon the leaves of some honeyed blossom, or prinkled over the parterre like straying sunbeams.
I was running my eye over this dream-like picture, in search of a human figure, when the soft, metallic accents of a female voice reached me from the grove of plantains. It was a burst of laughter—clear and ringing. Then followed another, with short exclamations, and the sound of water as if dashed and sprinkled with a light hand.
What must be the Eve of a paradise like this! The silver tones were full of promise. It was the first female voice that had greeted my ears for a month, and chords long slumbering vibrated under the exquisite touch.
My heart bounded. My first impulse was “forward”, which I obeyed by springing through the jessamines. But the fear of intruding upon a sceneà la Dianechanged my determination, and my next thought was to make a quiet retreat.
I was preparing to return, and had thrust one leg back through the hedge, when a harsh voice—apparently that of a man—mingled with the silvery tones.
“Anda!—anda!—hace mucho calor. Vamos á volver.” (Hasten!—it is hot. Let us return.)
“Ah, no, Pepe! un ratito mas.” (Ah, no, Pepe! a little while longer.)
“Vaya, carrambor!” (Quick, then!)
Again the clear laughter rang out, mingled with the clapping of hands and short exclamations of delight.
“Come,” thought I, once more entering the parterre, “as there appears to be one of my own sex here already, it cannot be verymal à proposto take a peep at this amusement, whatever it be.”
I approached the row of plantain-trees, whose leaves screened the speakers from view.
“Lupé! Lupé! mira! que bonito!” (Lupé! Lupé! look here! What a pretty thing!)
“Ah, pobrecito! echalo, Luz, echalo.” (Ah! poor little thing! fling it back, Luz.)
“Voy luego,” (Presently.)
I stooped down, and silently parted the broad, silken leaves. The sight was divine!
Within lay a circular tank, or basin, of crystal water, several rods in diameter, and walled in on all sides by the high screen of glossy plantains, whose giant leaves, stretching out horizontally, sheltered it from the rays of the sun.
A low parapet of mason-work ran around, forming the circumference of the circle. This was japanned with a species of porcelain, whose deep colouring of blue and green and yellow was displayed in a variety of grotesque figures.
A strong jet boiled up in the centre, by the refraction of whose ripples the gold and red fish seemed multiplied into myriads.
At a distant point a bed of water-lilies hung out from the parapet; and the long, thin neck of a swan rose gracefully over the leaves. Another, his mate, stood upon the bank drying her snowy pinions in the sun.
A different object attracted me, depriving me, for awhile, of the power of action.
In the water, and near the jet, were two beautiful girls clothed in a sort of sleeveless, green tunic, loosely girdled. They were immersed to the waist. So pellucid was the water that their little feet were distinctly visible at the bottom, shining like gold.
Luxuriant hair fell down in broad flakes, partially shrouding the snowy development of their arms and shoulders. Their forms were strikingly similar—tall, graceful, fully developed, and characterised by that elliptical line of beauty that, in the female form more than in any other earthly object, illustrates the far-famed curve of Hogarth.
Their features, too, were alike. “Sisters!” one would exclaim, and yet their complexions were strikingly dissimilar. The blood, mantling darker in the veins of one, lent an olive tinge to the soft and wax-like surface of her skin, while the red upon her cheeks and lips presented an admixture of purple. Her hair, too, was black; and a dark shading along the upper lip—a moustache, in fact—soft and silky as the tracery of a crayon, contrasted with the dazzling whiteness of her teeth. Her eyes were black, large, and almond-shaped, with that expression which looksoverone; and her whole appearance formed a type of that beauty which we associate with the Abencerrage and the Alhambra. This was evidently the elder.
The other was the type of a distinct class of beauty—the golden-haired blonde. Her eyes were large, globular, and blue as turquoise. Her hair of a chastened yellow, long and luxuriant; while her skin, less soft and waxen than that of her sister, presented an effusion of roseate blushes that extended along the snowy whiteness of her arms. These, in the sun, appeared as bloodless and transparent as the tiny gold-fish that quivered in her uplifted hand.
I was riveted to the spot. My first impulse was to retire, silently and modestly, but the power of a strange fascination for a moment prevented me. Was it a dream?
“Ah! que barbara! pobrecito—ito—ito!” (Ah! what a barbarian you are! poor little thing!)
“Comeremos.” (We shall eat it.)
“Por Dios! no! echalo, Luz, ó tirare la agua en sus ojos.” (Goodness! no! fling it in, Luz, or I shall throw water in your eyes.) And the speaker stooped as if to execute the threat.
“Ya—no,” (Now I shall not), said Luz resolutely.
“Guarda te!” (Look out, then!)
The brunette placed her little hands close together, forming with their united palms a concave surface, and commenced dashing water upon the perverse blonde.
The latter instantly dropped the gold-fish, and retaliated.
An exciting and animated contest ensued. The bright globules flew around their heads, and rolled down their glittering tresses, as from the pinions of a swan; while their clear laughter rang out at intervals, as one or the other appeared victorious.
A hoarse voice drew my attention from this interesting spectacle. Looking whence it came, my eye rested upon a huge negress stretched under a cocoa-tree, who had raised herself on one arm, and was laughing at the contest.
It was her voice, then, I had mistaken for that of a man!
Becoming sensible of my intrusive position, I turned to retreat, when a shrill cry reached me from the pond.
The swans, with a frightened energy shrieked and flapped over the surface, the gold-fish shot to and fro like sunbeams, and leaped out of the water, quivering and terrified, and the birds on all sides screamed and chattered.
I sprang forward to ascertain the cause of this strange commotion. My eye fell upon the negress, who had risen, and, running out upon the parapet with uplifted arms, shouted in terrified accents:
“Valgame Dios—niñas! El cayman! el cayman!”
I looked across to the other side of the pond. A fearful object met my eyes—the cayman of Mexico! The hideous monster was slowly crawling over the low wall, dragging his lengthened body from a bed of aquatic plants.
Already his short fore-arms, squamy and corrugated, rested upon the inner edge of the parapet, his shoulders projecting as if in the act to spring! His scale-covered back, with its long serrated ridge, glittered with a slippery moistness; and his eyes, usually dull, gleamed fierce and lurid from their prominent sockets.
I had brought with me a light rifle. It was but the work of a moment to unsling and level it. The sharp crack followed, and the ball impinged between the monster’s eyes, glancing harmlessly from his hard skull as though it had been a plate of steel. The shot was an idle one, perhaps worse; for, stung to madness with the stunning shock, the reptile sprang far out into the water, and made directly for its victims.
The girls, who had long since given over their mirthful contest, seemed to have lost all presence of mind; and, instead of making for the bank, stood locked in each other’s arms terrified and trembling.
Their symmetrical forms fell into an agonised embrace; and their rounded arms, olive and roseate, laced each other, and twined across their quivering bodies.
Their faces were turned to heaven, as though they expected succour from above—a group that rivalled the Laocoon.
With a spring I cleared the parapet, and, drawing my sword, dashed madly across the basin.
The girls were near the centre; but the cayman had got the start of me, and the water, three feet deep, impeded my progress. The bottom of the tank, too, was slippery, and I fell once or twice on my hands. I rose again, and with frantic energy plunged forward, all the while calling upon the bathers to make for the parapet.
Notwithstanding my shouts, the terrified girls made no effort to save themselves. They were incapable from terror.
On came the cayman with the velocity of vengeance. It was a fearful moment. Already he swam at a distance of less than six paces from his prey, his long snout projecting from the water, his gaunt jaws displaying their quadruple rows of sharp glistening teeth.
I shouted despairingly. I was baffled by the deep water. I had nearly twice the distance before I could interpose myself between the monster and its victims.
“I shall be too late!”
Suddenly I saw that the cayman had swerved. In his eagerness he had struck a subaqueous pipe of the jet.
It delayed him only a moment; but in that moment I had passed the statue-like group, and stood ready to receive his attack.
“A la orilla! á la orilla!” (To the bank! to the bank!) I shouted, pushing the terrified girls with one hand, while with the other I held my sword at arm’s-length in the face of the advancing reptile.
The girls now, for the first time awaking from their lethargy of terror, rushed towards the bank.
On came the monster, gnashing his teeth in the fury of disappointment, and uttering fearful cries.
As soon as he had got within reach I aimed a blow at his head; but the light sabre glinted from the fleshless skull with the ringing of steel to steel.
The blow, however, turned him out of his course, and, missing his aim, he passed me like an arrow. I looked around with a feeling of despair. “Thank heaven, they are safe!”
I felt the clammy scales rub against my thigh; and I leaped aside to avoid the stroke of his tail, as it lashed the water into foam.
Again the monster turned, and came on as before.
This time I did not attempt to cut, but thrust the sabre directly for his throat. The cold blade snapped between his teeth like an icicle. Not above twelve inches remained with the hilt; and with this I hacked and fought with the energy of despair.
My situation had now grown critical indeed. The girls had reached the bank, and stood screaming upon the parapet.
At length the elder seized upon a pole, and, lifting it with all her might, leaped back into the basin, and was hastening to my rescue, when a stream of fire was poured through the leaves of the plantains: I heard a sharp crack—the short humming whiz of a bullet—and a large form, followed by half a dozen others, emerged from the grove, and, rushing over the wall, plunged into the pond.
I heard a loud plashing in the water—the shouts of men, the clashing of bayonets; and then saw the reptile roll over, pierced by a dozen wounds.
Chapter Eleven.Don Cosmé Rosales.“Yur safe, Cap’n!” It was Lincoln’s voice. Around me stood a dozen of the men, up to their waists. Little Jack, too, (his head and forage-cap just appearing above the surface of the water), stood with his eighteen inches of steel buried in the carcase of the dead reptile. I could not help smiling at the ludicrous picture.“Yes, safe,” answered I, panting for breath; “safe—you came in good time, though!”“We heern yur shot, Cap’n,” said Lincoln, “an’ we guessed yur didn’t shoot without somethin’ ter shoot for; so I tuk half a dozen files and kim up.”“You acted right, sergeant; but where are the—”I was looking towards the edge of the tank where I had last seen the girls. They had disappeared.“If yez mane the faymales,” answered Chane, “they’revamosedthrough the threes. Be Saint Patrick, the black one’s a thrump anyhow! She looks for all the world like them bewtiful crayoles of Dimmerary.”Saying this, he turned suddenly round, and commenced driving his bayonet furiously into the dead cayman, exclaiming between the thrusts:“Och, ye divil! bad luck to yer ugly carcase! You’re a nate-looking baste to interfere with a pair of illigant craythers! Be the crass! he’s all shill, boys. Och, mother o’ Moses! I can’t find a saft spot in him!”We climbed out upon the parapet, and the soldiers commenced wiping their wet guns.Clayley appeared at this moment, filing round the pond at the head of the detachment. As I explained the adventure to the lieutenant, he laughed heartily.“By Jove! it will never do for a despatch,” said he; “one killed on the side of the enemy, and on ours not a wound. There is one, however, who may be reported ‘badly scared’.”“Who?” I asked.“Why, who but the bold Blossom?”“But where is he?”“Heaven only knows! The last I saw of him, he was screening himself behind an old ruin. I wouldn’t think it strange if he was off to camp—that is, if he believes he can find his way back again.”As Clayley said this, he burst into a loud yell of laughter.It was with difficulty I could restrain myself; for, looking in the direction indicated by the lieutenant, I saw a bright object, which I at once recognised as the major’s face.He had drawn aside the broad plantain-leaves, and was peering cautiously through, with a look of the most ludicrous terror. His face only was visible, round and luminous, like the full moon; and, like her, too, variegated with light and shade, for fear had produced spots of white and purple over the surface of his capacious cheeks.As soon as the major saw how the “land lay”, he came blowing and blustering through the bushes like an elephant; and it now became apparent that he carried his long sabre drawn and nourishing.“Bad luck, after all!” said he as he marched round the pond with a bold stride. “That’s all—is it?” he continued, pointing to the dead cayman. “Bah! I was in hopes we’d have a brush with the yellow-skins.”“No, Major,” said I, trying to look serious, “we are not so fortunate.”“I have no doubt, however,” said Clayley with a malicious wink, “but that we’ll have them here in a squirrel’s jump. They must have heard the report of our guns.”A complete change became visible in the major’s bearing. The point of his sabre dropped slowly to the ground, and the blue and white spots began to array themselves afresh on his great red cheeks.“Don’t you think, Captain,” said he, “we’ve gone far enough into the cursed country? There’s no mules in it—I can certify there’s not—not a single mule. Had we not better return to camp?”Before I could reply, an object appeared that drew our attention, and heightened the mosaic upon the major’s cheeks.A man, strangely attired, was seen running down the slope towards the spot where we were standing.“Guerillas, by Jove!” exclaimed Clayley, in a voice of feigned terror; and he pointed to the scarlet sash which was twisted around the man’s waist.The major looked round for some object where he might shelter himself in case of a skirmish. He was sidling behind a high point of the parapet, when the stranger rushed forward, and, throwing both arms about his neck, poured forth a perfect cataract of Spanish, in which the wordgracias(thanks) was of frequent occurrence.“What does the man mean with hisgrashes?” exclaimed the major, struggling to free himself from the Mexican.But the latter did not hear him, for his eyes at that moment rested upon my dripping habiliments; and dropping the major, he transferred his embrace andgraciasto me.“Señor Capitan,” he said, still speaking in Spanish, and hugging me like a bear, “accept my thanks. Ah, sir! you have saved my children; how can I show you my gratitude?”Here followed a multitude of those complimentary expressions peculiar to the language of Cervantes, which ended by his offering me his house and all it contained.I bowed in acknowledgment of his courtesy, apologising for being so ill prepared to receive his “hug”, as I observed that my saturated vestments had wet the old fellow to the skin.I had now time to examine the stranger, who was a tall, thin, sallow old gentleman, with a face at once Spanish and intelligent. His hair was white and short, while a moustache, somewhat grizzled, shaded his lips. Jet-black brows projected over a pair of keen and sparkling eyes. His dress was a roundabout of the finest white linen, with waistcoat and pantaloons of the same material—the latter fastened round the waist by a scarf of bright red silk. Shoes of green morocco covered his small feet, while a broad Guayaquil hat shaded his face from the sun.Though his costume was transatlantic—speaking in reference to Old Spain—there was that in his air and manner that bespoke him a true hidalgo.After a moment’s observation I proceeded, in my best Spanish, to express my regret for the fright which the young ladies—his daughters, I presumed—had suffered.The Mexican looked at me with a slight appearance of surprise.“Why, Señor Capitan,” said he, “your accent!—you are a foreigner?”“A foreigner! To Mexico, did you mean?”“Yes, Señor. Is it not so?”“Oh! of course,” answered I, smiling, and somewhat puzzled in turn.“And how long have you been in the army, Señor Capitan?”“But a short time.”“How do you like Mexico, Señor?”“I have seen but little of it as yet.”“Why, how long have you been in the country, then?”“Three days,” answered I; “we landed on the 9th.”“Por Dios! three days, and in our army already!” muttered the Spaniard, throwing up his eyes in unaffected surprise.I began to think I was interrogated by a lunatic.“May I ask what countryman you are?” continued the old gentleman.“What countryman? An American, of course!”“An American?”“Un Americano,” repeated I, for we were conversing in Spanish.“Y son esos Americanos?” (And are these Americans?) quickly demanded my new acquaintance.“Si, Señor,” replied I.“Carrambo!” shouted the Spaniard, with a sudden leap, his eyes almost starting from their sockets.“I should say, not exactly Americans,” I added. “Many of them are Irish, and French, and Germans, and Swedes, and Swiss; yet they are all Americans now.”But the Mexican did not stay to hear my explanation. After recovering from the first shock of surprise, he had bounded through the grove; and with a wave of his hand, and the ejaculation “Esperate!” (wait!) disappeared among the plantains. The men, who had gathered around the lower end of the basin, burst out into a roar of laughter, which I did not attempt to repress. The look of terrified astonishment of the old Don had been too much for my own gravity, and I could not help being amused at the conversation that ensued among the soldiers. They were at some distance, yet I could overhear their remarks.“That Mexikin’s an unhospitable cuss!” muttered Lincoln, with an expression of contempt.“He might av axed the captain to dhrink, after savin’ such a pair of illigant craythers,” said Chane.“Sorra dhrap’s in the house, Murt; the place looks dry,” remarked another son of the Green Isle.“Och! an’ it’s a beautiful cage, anyhow,” returned Chane; “and beautiful birds in it, too. It puts me in mind of ould Dimmerary; but there we had the liquor, the raal rum—oshins of it, alanna!”“That ’ere chap’s a greelye, I strongly ’spect,” whispered one, a regular down-east Yankee.“A what?” asked his companion.“Why, a greelye—one o’ them ’ere Mexikin robbers.”“Arrah, now! did yez see the rid sash?” inquired an Irishman.“Thim’s captin’s,” suggested the Yankee. “He’s a captin or a kurnel; I’ll bet high on that.”“What did he say, Nath, as he was running off?”“I don’t know ’zactly—somethin’ that sounded mighty like ’spearin’ on us.”“He’s a lanzeer then, by jingo!”“He had better try on his spearin’,” said another; “there’s shootin’ before spearin’—mighty good ground, too, behind this hyur painted wall.”“The old fellow was mighty frindly at first; what got into him, anyhow?”“Raoul says he offered to give the captain his house and all the furnishin’s.”“Och, mother o’ Moses! and thim illigant girls, too!”“Ov coorse.”“By my sowl! an’ if I was the captain, I’d take him at his word, and lave off fightin’ intirely.”“Itisdelf,” said a soldier, referring to the material of which the parapet was constructed.“No, it ain’t.”“It’s chaney, then.”“No, nor chaney either.”“Well, what is it?”“It’s only a stone wall painted, you greenhorn!”“Stone-thunder! it’s solid delf, I say.”“Try it with your bayonet, Jim.”Crick—crick—crick—crinell! reached my ears. Turning round, I saw that one of the men had commenced breaking off the japanned work of the parapet with his bayonet.“Stop that!” I shouted to the man.The remark of Chane that followed, although utteredsotto voce, I could distinctly hear. It was sufficiently amusing.“The captain don’t want yez to destroy what’ll be his own some day, when he marries one of thim young Dons. Here comes the owld one, and, by the powers! he’s got a big paper; he’s goin’ to make over the property!”Laughing, I looked round, and saw that the Don was returning, sure enough. He hurried up, holding out a large sheet of parchment.“Well, Señor, what’s this?” I inquired.“No soy Mexicano—soy Español!” (I am no Mexican—I am a Spaniard), said he, with the expression of a true hidalgo.Casting my eye carelessly over the document, I perceived that it was asafeguardfrom the Spanish consul at Vera Cruz, certifying that the bearer, Don Cosmé Rosales, was a native of Spain.“Señor Rosales,” said I, returning the paper, “this was not necessary. The interesting circumstances under which we have met should have secured you good treatment, even were you a Mexican and we the barbarians we have been represented. We have come to make war, not with peaceful citizens, but with a rabble soldiery.”“Es verdad(Indeed). You are wet, Señor? you are hungry?”I could not deny that I was both the one and the other.“You need refreshment, gentlemen; will you come to my house?”“Permit me, Señor, to introduce you to Major Blossom—Lieutenant Clayley—Lieutenant Oakes: Don Cosmé Rosales, gentlemen.”My friends and the Don bowed to each other. The major had now recovered his complacency.“Vamonos, caballeros!” (Come on, gentlemen), said the Don, starting towards the house.“But your soldiers, Capitan?” added he, stopping suddenly.“They will remain here,” I rejoined.“Permit me to send them some dinner.”“Oh! certainly,” replied I; “use your own pleasure, Don Cosmé, but do not put your household to any inconvenience.”In a few minutes we found our way to the house, which was neither more nor less than the cage-looking structure already described.
“Yur safe, Cap’n!” It was Lincoln’s voice. Around me stood a dozen of the men, up to their waists. Little Jack, too, (his head and forage-cap just appearing above the surface of the water), stood with his eighteen inches of steel buried in the carcase of the dead reptile. I could not help smiling at the ludicrous picture.
“Yes, safe,” answered I, panting for breath; “safe—you came in good time, though!”
“We heern yur shot, Cap’n,” said Lincoln, “an’ we guessed yur didn’t shoot without somethin’ ter shoot for; so I tuk half a dozen files and kim up.”
“You acted right, sergeant; but where are the—”
I was looking towards the edge of the tank where I had last seen the girls. They had disappeared.
“If yez mane the faymales,” answered Chane, “they’revamosedthrough the threes. Be Saint Patrick, the black one’s a thrump anyhow! She looks for all the world like them bewtiful crayoles of Dimmerary.”
Saying this, he turned suddenly round, and commenced driving his bayonet furiously into the dead cayman, exclaiming between the thrusts:
“Och, ye divil! bad luck to yer ugly carcase! You’re a nate-looking baste to interfere with a pair of illigant craythers! Be the crass! he’s all shill, boys. Och, mother o’ Moses! I can’t find a saft spot in him!”
We climbed out upon the parapet, and the soldiers commenced wiping their wet guns.
Clayley appeared at this moment, filing round the pond at the head of the detachment. As I explained the adventure to the lieutenant, he laughed heartily.
“By Jove! it will never do for a despatch,” said he; “one killed on the side of the enemy, and on ours not a wound. There is one, however, who may be reported ‘badly scared’.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Why, who but the bold Blossom?”
“But where is he?”
“Heaven only knows! The last I saw of him, he was screening himself behind an old ruin. I wouldn’t think it strange if he was off to camp—that is, if he believes he can find his way back again.”
As Clayley said this, he burst into a loud yell of laughter.
It was with difficulty I could restrain myself; for, looking in the direction indicated by the lieutenant, I saw a bright object, which I at once recognised as the major’s face.
He had drawn aside the broad plantain-leaves, and was peering cautiously through, with a look of the most ludicrous terror. His face only was visible, round and luminous, like the full moon; and, like her, too, variegated with light and shade, for fear had produced spots of white and purple over the surface of his capacious cheeks.
As soon as the major saw how the “land lay”, he came blowing and blustering through the bushes like an elephant; and it now became apparent that he carried his long sabre drawn and nourishing.
“Bad luck, after all!” said he as he marched round the pond with a bold stride. “That’s all—is it?” he continued, pointing to the dead cayman. “Bah! I was in hopes we’d have a brush with the yellow-skins.”
“No, Major,” said I, trying to look serious, “we are not so fortunate.”
“I have no doubt, however,” said Clayley with a malicious wink, “but that we’ll have them here in a squirrel’s jump. They must have heard the report of our guns.”
A complete change became visible in the major’s bearing. The point of his sabre dropped slowly to the ground, and the blue and white spots began to array themselves afresh on his great red cheeks.
“Don’t you think, Captain,” said he, “we’ve gone far enough into the cursed country? There’s no mules in it—I can certify there’s not—not a single mule. Had we not better return to camp?”
Before I could reply, an object appeared that drew our attention, and heightened the mosaic upon the major’s cheeks.
A man, strangely attired, was seen running down the slope towards the spot where we were standing.
“Guerillas, by Jove!” exclaimed Clayley, in a voice of feigned terror; and he pointed to the scarlet sash which was twisted around the man’s waist.
The major looked round for some object where he might shelter himself in case of a skirmish. He was sidling behind a high point of the parapet, when the stranger rushed forward, and, throwing both arms about his neck, poured forth a perfect cataract of Spanish, in which the wordgracias(thanks) was of frequent occurrence.
“What does the man mean with hisgrashes?” exclaimed the major, struggling to free himself from the Mexican.
But the latter did not hear him, for his eyes at that moment rested upon my dripping habiliments; and dropping the major, he transferred his embrace andgraciasto me.
“Señor Capitan,” he said, still speaking in Spanish, and hugging me like a bear, “accept my thanks. Ah, sir! you have saved my children; how can I show you my gratitude?”
Here followed a multitude of those complimentary expressions peculiar to the language of Cervantes, which ended by his offering me his house and all it contained.
I bowed in acknowledgment of his courtesy, apologising for being so ill prepared to receive his “hug”, as I observed that my saturated vestments had wet the old fellow to the skin.
I had now time to examine the stranger, who was a tall, thin, sallow old gentleman, with a face at once Spanish and intelligent. His hair was white and short, while a moustache, somewhat grizzled, shaded his lips. Jet-black brows projected over a pair of keen and sparkling eyes. His dress was a roundabout of the finest white linen, with waistcoat and pantaloons of the same material—the latter fastened round the waist by a scarf of bright red silk. Shoes of green morocco covered his small feet, while a broad Guayaquil hat shaded his face from the sun.
Though his costume was transatlantic—speaking in reference to Old Spain—there was that in his air and manner that bespoke him a true hidalgo.
After a moment’s observation I proceeded, in my best Spanish, to express my regret for the fright which the young ladies—his daughters, I presumed—had suffered.
The Mexican looked at me with a slight appearance of surprise.
“Why, Señor Capitan,” said he, “your accent!—you are a foreigner?”
“A foreigner! To Mexico, did you mean?”
“Yes, Señor. Is it not so?”
“Oh! of course,” answered I, smiling, and somewhat puzzled in turn.
“And how long have you been in the army, Señor Capitan?”
“But a short time.”
“How do you like Mexico, Señor?”
“I have seen but little of it as yet.”
“Why, how long have you been in the country, then?”
“Three days,” answered I; “we landed on the 9th.”
“Por Dios! three days, and in our army already!” muttered the Spaniard, throwing up his eyes in unaffected surprise.
I began to think I was interrogated by a lunatic.
“May I ask what countryman you are?” continued the old gentleman.
“What countryman? An American, of course!”
“An American?”
“Un Americano,” repeated I, for we were conversing in Spanish.
“Y son esos Americanos?” (And are these Americans?) quickly demanded my new acquaintance.
“Si, Señor,” replied I.
“Carrambo!” shouted the Spaniard, with a sudden leap, his eyes almost starting from their sockets.
“I should say, not exactly Americans,” I added. “Many of them are Irish, and French, and Germans, and Swedes, and Swiss; yet they are all Americans now.”
But the Mexican did not stay to hear my explanation. After recovering from the first shock of surprise, he had bounded through the grove; and with a wave of his hand, and the ejaculation “Esperate!” (wait!) disappeared among the plantains. The men, who had gathered around the lower end of the basin, burst out into a roar of laughter, which I did not attempt to repress. The look of terrified astonishment of the old Don had been too much for my own gravity, and I could not help being amused at the conversation that ensued among the soldiers. They were at some distance, yet I could overhear their remarks.
“That Mexikin’s an unhospitable cuss!” muttered Lincoln, with an expression of contempt.
“He might av axed the captain to dhrink, after savin’ such a pair of illigant craythers,” said Chane.
“Sorra dhrap’s in the house, Murt; the place looks dry,” remarked another son of the Green Isle.
“Och! an’ it’s a beautiful cage, anyhow,” returned Chane; “and beautiful birds in it, too. It puts me in mind of ould Dimmerary; but there we had the liquor, the raal rum—oshins of it, alanna!”
“That ’ere chap’s a greelye, I strongly ’spect,” whispered one, a regular down-east Yankee.
“A what?” asked his companion.
“Why, a greelye—one o’ them ’ere Mexikin robbers.”
“Arrah, now! did yez see the rid sash?” inquired an Irishman.
“Thim’s captin’s,” suggested the Yankee. “He’s a captin or a kurnel; I’ll bet high on that.”
“What did he say, Nath, as he was running off?”
“I don’t know ’zactly—somethin’ that sounded mighty like ’spearin’ on us.”
“He’s a lanzeer then, by jingo!”
“He had better try on his spearin’,” said another; “there’s shootin’ before spearin’—mighty good ground, too, behind this hyur painted wall.”
“The old fellow was mighty frindly at first; what got into him, anyhow?”
“Raoul says he offered to give the captain his house and all the furnishin’s.”
“Och, mother o’ Moses! and thim illigant girls, too!”
“Ov coorse.”
“By my sowl! an’ if I was the captain, I’d take him at his word, and lave off fightin’ intirely.”
“Itisdelf,” said a soldier, referring to the material of which the parapet was constructed.
“No, it ain’t.”
“It’s chaney, then.”
“No, nor chaney either.”
“Well, what is it?”
“It’s only a stone wall painted, you greenhorn!”
“Stone-thunder! it’s solid delf, I say.”
“Try it with your bayonet, Jim.”
Crick—crick—crick—crinell! reached my ears. Turning round, I saw that one of the men had commenced breaking off the japanned work of the parapet with his bayonet.
“Stop that!” I shouted to the man.
The remark of Chane that followed, although utteredsotto voce, I could distinctly hear. It was sufficiently amusing.
“The captain don’t want yez to destroy what’ll be his own some day, when he marries one of thim young Dons. Here comes the owld one, and, by the powers! he’s got a big paper; he’s goin’ to make over the property!”
Laughing, I looked round, and saw that the Don was returning, sure enough. He hurried up, holding out a large sheet of parchment.
“Well, Señor, what’s this?” I inquired.
“No soy Mexicano—soy Español!” (I am no Mexican—I am a Spaniard), said he, with the expression of a true hidalgo.
Casting my eye carelessly over the document, I perceived that it was asafeguardfrom the Spanish consul at Vera Cruz, certifying that the bearer, Don Cosmé Rosales, was a native of Spain.
“Señor Rosales,” said I, returning the paper, “this was not necessary. The interesting circumstances under which we have met should have secured you good treatment, even were you a Mexican and we the barbarians we have been represented. We have come to make war, not with peaceful citizens, but with a rabble soldiery.”
“Es verdad(Indeed). You are wet, Señor? you are hungry?”
I could not deny that I was both the one and the other.
“You need refreshment, gentlemen; will you come to my house?”
“Permit me, Señor, to introduce you to Major Blossom—Lieutenant Clayley—Lieutenant Oakes: Don Cosmé Rosales, gentlemen.”
My friends and the Don bowed to each other. The major had now recovered his complacency.
“Vamonos, caballeros!” (Come on, gentlemen), said the Don, starting towards the house.
“But your soldiers, Capitan?” added he, stopping suddenly.
“They will remain here,” I rejoined.
“Permit me to send them some dinner.”
“Oh! certainly,” replied I; “use your own pleasure, Don Cosmé, but do not put your household to any inconvenience.”
In a few minutes we found our way to the house, which was neither more nor less than the cage-looking structure already described.
Chapter Twelve.A Mexican Dinner.“Pasan adentro, Señores,” said Don Cosmé, drawing aside the curtain of the rancho, and beckoning us to enter.“Ha!” exclaimed the major, struck with thecoup-d’oeilof the interior.“Be seated, gentlemen.Ya vuelvo.” (I will return in an instant.)So saying, Don Cosmé disappeared into a little porch in the back, partially screened from observation by a close network of woven cane.“Very pretty, by Jove!” said Clayley, in a low voice.“Pretty indeed!” echoed the major, with one of his customary asseverations.“Stylish, one ought rather to say, to do it justice.”“Stylish!” again chimed in the major, repeating his formula.“Rosewood chairs and tables,” continued Clayley; “a harp, guitar, piano, sofas, ottomans, carpets knee-deep—whew!”Not thinking of the furniture, I looked around the room strangely bewildered.“Ha! Ha! what perplexes you, Captain?” asked Clayley.“Nothing.”“Ah! the girls you spoke of—the nymphs of the pond; but where the deuce are they?”“Ay, where?” I asked, with a strange sense of uneasiness.“Girls! what girls?” inquired the major, who had not yet learned the exact nature of our aquatic adventure.Here the voice of Don Cosmé was heard calling out—“Pepe! Ramon! Francisco! bring dinner.Anda! anda!” (Be quick!)“Who on earth is the old fellow calling?” asked the major, with some concern in his manner. “I see no one.”Nor could we; so we all rose up together, and approached that side of the building that looked rearward.The house, to all appearance, had but one apartment—the room in which we then were. The only point of this screened from observation was the little veranda into which Don Cosmé had entered; but this was not large enough to contain the number of persons who might be represented by the names he had called out.Two smaller buildings stood under the olive-trees in the rear; but these, like the house, weretransparent, and not a human figure appeared within them. We could see through the trunks of the olives a clear distance of a hundred yards. Beyond this, the mezquite and the scarlet leaves of the wild maguey marked the boundary of the forest.It was equally puzzling to us whither the girls had gone, or whence “Pepe, Ramon, and Francisco” were to come.The tinkling of a little bell startled us from our conjectures, and the voice of Don Cosmé was heard inquiring:“Have you any favourite dish, gentlemen?”Someone answered, “No.”“Curse me!” exclaimed the major, “I believe he can get anything we may call for—raise it out of the ground by stamping his foot or ringing a bell. Didn’t I tell you?”This exclamation was uttered in consequence of the appearance of a train of well-dressed servants, five or six in number, bringing waiters with dishes and decanters. They entered from the porch; but how did they get into it? Certainly not from the woods without, else we should have seen them as they approached the cage.The major uttered a terrible invocation, adding in a hoarse whisper, “This must be the Mexican Aladdin!”I confess I was not less puzzled than he. Meantime the servants came and went, going empty, and returning loaded. In less than half an hour the table fairly creaked under the weight of a sumptuous dinner. This is no figure of speech. There were dishes of massive silver, with huge flagons of the same metal, and even cups of gold!“Señores, vamos á comer” (Come, let us eat, gentlemen), said Don Cosmé, politely motioning us to be seated. “I fear that you will not be pleased with mycuisine—it is purely Mexican—estilo del pais.”To say that the dinner was not a good one would be to utter a falsehood, and contradict the statement of Major George Blossom, of the U.S. quarter-master’s department, who afterwards declared that it was the best dinner he had ever eaten in his life.Turtle-soup first.“Perhaps you would preferjulienneorvermicelli, gentlemen?” inquired the Don.“Thank you; your turtle is very fine,” replied I, necessarily the interpreter of the party.“Try some of theaguacate—it will improve the flavour of your soup.”One of the waiters handed round a dark, olive-coloured fruit of an oblong shape, about the size of a large pear.“Ask him how it is used, Captain,” said the major to me.“Oh, I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I had forgotten that some of our edibles may be strange to you. Simply pare off the rind, and slice it thus.”We tried the experiment, but could not discover any peculiar improvement in the flavour of the soup. The pulp of the aguacate seemed singularly insipid to our northern palates.Fish, as with us, and of the finest quality, formed the second course.A variety of dishes were now brought upon the table; most of them new to us, but all piquant, pleasant to the taste, and peculiar.The major tried them all, determined to find out which he might like best—a piece of knowledge that he said would serve him upon some future occasion.The Don seemed to take a pleasure in helping the major, whom he honoured by the title of “Señor Coronel.”“Puchero, Señor Coronel?”“Thank you, sir,” grunted the major, and tried the puchero.“Allow me to help you to a spoonful ofmolé.”“With pleasure, Don Cosmé.”Themolésuddenly disappeared down the major’s capacious throat.“Try some of thischilé relleno.”“By all means,” answered the major. “Ah, by Jove! hot as fire!—whew!”“Pica! Pica!” answered Don Cosmé, pointing to his thorax, and smiling at the wry faces the major was making. “Wash it down, Señor, with a glass of this claret—or here, Pepe! Is the Johannisberg cool yet? Bring it in, then. Perhaps you prefer champagne, Señores?”“Thank you; do not trouble yourself, Don Cosmé.”“No trouble, Capitan—bring champagne. Here, Señor Coronel, try theguisado de pato.”“Thank you,” stammered the major; “you are very kind. Curse the thing! how it burns!”“Do you think he understands English?” inquired Clayey of me in a whisper.“I should think not,” I replied.“Well, then, I wish to say aloud that this old chap’s a superb old gent. What say you, Major? Don’t you wish we had him on the lines?”“I wish his kitchen were a little nearer the lines,” replied the other, with a wink.“Señor Coronel, permit me—”“What is it, my dear Don?” inquired the major.“Pasteles de Moctezuma.”“Oh, certainly. I say, lads, I don’t know what the plague I’m eating—it’s not bad to take, though.”“Señor Coronel, allow me to help you to aguanasteak.”“A guana steak!” echoed the major, in some surprise.“Si, Señor,” replied Don Cosmé, holding the steak on his fork.“A guana steak! Do you think, lads, he means the ugly things we saw at Lobos.”“To be sure—why not?”“Then, by Jove, I’m through! I can’t go lizards. Thank you, my dear Don Cosmé; I believe I have dined.”“Try this; it is very tender, I assure you,” insisted Don Cosmé.“Come, try it, Major, and report,” cried Clayey.“Good—you’re like the apothecary that poisoned his dog to try the effect of his nostrums. Well,”—with an oath—“here goes! It can’t be very bad, seeing how our friend gets it down. Delicious, by Jupiter! tender as chicken—good, good!”—and amidst sundry similar ejaculations the major ate his first guana steak.“Gentlemen, here is an ortolan pie. I can recommend it—the birds are in season.”“Reed-birds, by Jove!” said the major, recognising his favourite dish.An incredible number of these creatures disappeared in an incredibly short time.The dinner dishes were at length removed, and dessert followed: cakes and creams, and jellies of various kinds, and blancmange, and a profusion of the most luxurious fruits. The golden orange, the ripe pine, the pale-green lime, the juicy grape, the custard-like cherimolla, the zapoté, the granadilla, the pitahaya, the tuna, the mamay; with dates, figs, almonds, plantains, bananas, and a dozen other species of fruits, piled upon salvers of silver, were set before us: in fact, every product of the tropical clime that could excite a new nerve of the sense of taste. We were fairly astonished at the profusion of luxuries that came from no one knew where.“Come, gentlemen, try a glass of curaçoa. Señor Coronel, allow me the pleasure.”“Sir, your very good health.”“Señor Coronel, would you prefer a glass of Majorca?”“Thank you.”“Or perhaps you would choosePedro Ximenes. I have some very oldPedro Ximenes.”“Either, my dear Don Cosmé—either.”“Bring both, Ramon; and bring a couple of bottles of the Madeira—sello verde,” (green seal).“As I am a Christian, the old gentleman’s a conjuror!” muttered the major, now in the best humour possible.“I wish he would conjure up something else than his infernal wine bottles,” thought I, becoming impatient at the non-appearance of the ladies.“Café, Señores?” A servant entered.Coffee was handed round in cups of Sèvres china.“You smoke, gentlemen? Would you prefer a Havanna? Here are some sent me from Cuba by a friend. I believe they are good; or, if you would amuse yourself with a cigaritto, here are Campeacheanos. These are the country cigars—puros, as we call them. I would not recommend them.”“A Havanna for me,” said the major, helping himself at the same time to a fine-looking “regalia.”I had fallen into a somewhat painful reverie.I began to fear that, with all his hospitality, the Mexican would allow us to depart without an introduction to his family; and I had conceived a strong desire to speak with the two lovely beings whom I had already seen, but more particularly with the brunette, whose looks and actions had deeply impressed me. So strange is the mystery of love! My heart had already made its choice.I was suddenly aroused by the voice of Don Cosmé, who had risen, and was inviting myself and comrades to join the ladies in the drawing-room.I started up so suddenly as almost to overturn one of the tables.“Why, Captain, what’s the matter!” said Clayley. “Don Cosmé is about to introduce us to the ladies. You’re not going to back out?”“Certainly not,” stammered I, somewhat ashamed at mygaucherie.“He says they’re in the drawing-room,” whispered the major, in a voice that betokened a degree of suspicion; “but where the plague that is, Heaven only knows! Stand by, my boys!—are your pistols all right?”“Pshaw, Major! for shame!”
“Pasan adentro, Señores,” said Don Cosmé, drawing aside the curtain of the rancho, and beckoning us to enter.
“Ha!” exclaimed the major, struck with thecoup-d’oeilof the interior.
“Be seated, gentlemen.Ya vuelvo.” (I will return in an instant.)
So saying, Don Cosmé disappeared into a little porch in the back, partially screened from observation by a close network of woven cane.
“Very pretty, by Jove!” said Clayley, in a low voice.
“Pretty indeed!” echoed the major, with one of his customary asseverations.
“Stylish, one ought rather to say, to do it justice.”
“Stylish!” again chimed in the major, repeating his formula.
“Rosewood chairs and tables,” continued Clayley; “a harp, guitar, piano, sofas, ottomans, carpets knee-deep—whew!”
Not thinking of the furniture, I looked around the room strangely bewildered.
“Ha! Ha! what perplexes you, Captain?” asked Clayley.
“Nothing.”
“Ah! the girls you spoke of—the nymphs of the pond; but where the deuce are they?”
“Ay, where?” I asked, with a strange sense of uneasiness.
“Girls! what girls?” inquired the major, who had not yet learned the exact nature of our aquatic adventure.
Here the voice of Don Cosmé was heard calling out—
“Pepe! Ramon! Francisco! bring dinner.Anda! anda!” (Be quick!)
“Who on earth is the old fellow calling?” asked the major, with some concern in his manner. “I see no one.”
Nor could we; so we all rose up together, and approached that side of the building that looked rearward.
The house, to all appearance, had but one apartment—the room in which we then were. The only point of this screened from observation was the little veranda into which Don Cosmé had entered; but this was not large enough to contain the number of persons who might be represented by the names he had called out.
Two smaller buildings stood under the olive-trees in the rear; but these, like the house, weretransparent, and not a human figure appeared within them. We could see through the trunks of the olives a clear distance of a hundred yards. Beyond this, the mezquite and the scarlet leaves of the wild maguey marked the boundary of the forest.
It was equally puzzling to us whither the girls had gone, or whence “Pepe, Ramon, and Francisco” were to come.
The tinkling of a little bell startled us from our conjectures, and the voice of Don Cosmé was heard inquiring:
“Have you any favourite dish, gentlemen?”
Someone answered, “No.”
“Curse me!” exclaimed the major, “I believe he can get anything we may call for—raise it out of the ground by stamping his foot or ringing a bell. Didn’t I tell you?”
This exclamation was uttered in consequence of the appearance of a train of well-dressed servants, five or six in number, bringing waiters with dishes and decanters. They entered from the porch; but how did they get into it? Certainly not from the woods without, else we should have seen them as they approached the cage.
The major uttered a terrible invocation, adding in a hoarse whisper, “This must be the Mexican Aladdin!”
I confess I was not less puzzled than he. Meantime the servants came and went, going empty, and returning loaded. In less than half an hour the table fairly creaked under the weight of a sumptuous dinner. This is no figure of speech. There were dishes of massive silver, with huge flagons of the same metal, and even cups of gold!
“Señores, vamos á comer” (Come, let us eat, gentlemen), said Don Cosmé, politely motioning us to be seated. “I fear that you will not be pleased with mycuisine—it is purely Mexican—estilo del pais.”
To say that the dinner was not a good one would be to utter a falsehood, and contradict the statement of Major George Blossom, of the U.S. quarter-master’s department, who afterwards declared that it was the best dinner he had ever eaten in his life.
Turtle-soup first.
“Perhaps you would preferjulienneorvermicelli, gentlemen?” inquired the Don.
“Thank you; your turtle is very fine,” replied I, necessarily the interpreter of the party.
“Try some of theaguacate—it will improve the flavour of your soup.”
One of the waiters handed round a dark, olive-coloured fruit of an oblong shape, about the size of a large pear.
“Ask him how it is used, Captain,” said the major to me.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I had forgotten that some of our edibles may be strange to you. Simply pare off the rind, and slice it thus.”
We tried the experiment, but could not discover any peculiar improvement in the flavour of the soup. The pulp of the aguacate seemed singularly insipid to our northern palates.
Fish, as with us, and of the finest quality, formed the second course.
A variety of dishes were now brought upon the table; most of them new to us, but all piquant, pleasant to the taste, and peculiar.
The major tried them all, determined to find out which he might like best—a piece of knowledge that he said would serve him upon some future occasion.
The Don seemed to take a pleasure in helping the major, whom he honoured by the title of “Señor Coronel.”
“Puchero, Señor Coronel?”
“Thank you, sir,” grunted the major, and tried the puchero.
“Allow me to help you to a spoonful ofmolé.”
“With pleasure, Don Cosmé.”
Themolésuddenly disappeared down the major’s capacious throat.
“Try some of thischilé relleno.”
“By all means,” answered the major. “Ah, by Jove! hot as fire!—whew!”
“Pica! Pica!” answered Don Cosmé, pointing to his thorax, and smiling at the wry faces the major was making. “Wash it down, Señor, with a glass of this claret—or here, Pepe! Is the Johannisberg cool yet? Bring it in, then. Perhaps you prefer champagne, Señores?”
“Thank you; do not trouble yourself, Don Cosmé.”
“No trouble, Capitan—bring champagne. Here, Señor Coronel, try theguisado de pato.”
“Thank you,” stammered the major; “you are very kind. Curse the thing! how it burns!”
“Do you think he understands English?” inquired Clayey of me in a whisper.
“I should think not,” I replied.
“Well, then, I wish to say aloud that this old chap’s a superb old gent. What say you, Major? Don’t you wish we had him on the lines?”
“I wish his kitchen were a little nearer the lines,” replied the other, with a wink.
“Señor Coronel, permit me—”
“What is it, my dear Don?” inquired the major.
“Pasteles de Moctezuma.”
“Oh, certainly. I say, lads, I don’t know what the plague I’m eating—it’s not bad to take, though.”
“Señor Coronel, allow me to help you to aguanasteak.”
“A guana steak!” echoed the major, in some surprise.
“Si, Señor,” replied Don Cosmé, holding the steak on his fork.
“A guana steak! Do you think, lads, he means the ugly things we saw at Lobos.”
“To be sure—why not?”
“Then, by Jove, I’m through! I can’t go lizards. Thank you, my dear Don Cosmé; I believe I have dined.”
“Try this; it is very tender, I assure you,” insisted Don Cosmé.
“Come, try it, Major, and report,” cried Clayey.
“Good—you’re like the apothecary that poisoned his dog to try the effect of his nostrums. Well,”—with an oath—“here goes! It can’t be very bad, seeing how our friend gets it down. Delicious, by Jupiter! tender as chicken—good, good!”—and amidst sundry similar ejaculations the major ate his first guana steak.
“Gentlemen, here is an ortolan pie. I can recommend it—the birds are in season.”
“Reed-birds, by Jove!” said the major, recognising his favourite dish.
An incredible number of these creatures disappeared in an incredibly short time.
The dinner dishes were at length removed, and dessert followed: cakes and creams, and jellies of various kinds, and blancmange, and a profusion of the most luxurious fruits. The golden orange, the ripe pine, the pale-green lime, the juicy grape, the custard-like cherimolla, the zapoté, the granadilla, the pitahaya, the tuna, the mamay; with dates, figs, almonds, plantains, bananas, and a dozen other species of fruits, piled upon salvers of silver, were set before us: in fact, every product of the tropical clime that could excite a new nerve of the sense of taste. We were fairly astonished at the profusion of luxuries that came from no one knew where.
“Come, gentlemen, try a glass of curaçoa. Señor Coronel, allow me the pleasure.”
“Sir, your very good health.”
“Señor Coronel, would you prefer a glass of Majorca?”
“Thank you.”
“Or perhaps you would choosePedro Ximenes. I have some very oldPedro Ximenes.”
“Either, my dear Don Cosmé—either.”
“Bring both, Ramon; and bring a couple of bottles of the Madeira—sello verde,” (green seal).
“As I am a Christian, the old gentleman’s a conjuror!” muttered the major, now in the best humour possible.
“I wish he would conjure up something else than his infernal wine bottles,” thought I, becoming impatient at the non-appearance of the ladies.
“Café, Señores?” A servant entered.
Coffee was handed round in cups of Sèvres china.
“You smoke, gentlemen? Would you prefer a Havanna? Here are some sent me from Cuba by a friend. I believe they are good; or, if you would amuse yourself with a cigaritto, here are Campeacheanos. These are the country cigars—puros, as we call them. I would not recommend them.”
“A Havanna for me,” said the major, helping himself at the same time to a fine-looking “regalia.”
I had fallen into a somewhat painful reverie.
I began to fear that, with all his hospitality, the Mexican would allow us to depart without an introduction to his family; and I had conceived a strong desire to speak with the two lovely beings whom I had already seen, but more particularly with the brunette, whose looks and actions had deeply impressed me. So strange is the mystery of love! My heart had already made its choice.
I was suddenly aroused by the voice of Don Cosmé, who had risen, and was inviting myself and comrades to join the ladies in the drawing-room.
I started up so suddenly as almost to overturn one of the tables.
“Why, Captain, what’s the matter!” said Clayley. “Don Cosmé is about to introduce us to the ladies. You’re not going to back out?”
“Certainly not,” stammered I, somewhat ashamed at mygaucherie.
“He says they’re in the drawing-room,” whispered the major, in a voice that betokened a degree of suspicion; “but where the plague that is, Heaven only knows! Stand by, my boys!—are your pistols all right?”
“Pshaw, Major! for shame!”
Chapter Thirteen.A Subterranean Drawing-Room.The mystery of the drawing-room, and the servants, and the dishes, was soon over. A descending stairway explained the enigma.“Let me conduct you to my cave, gentlemen,” said the Spaniard: “I am half a subterranean. In the hot weather, and during the northers, we find it more agreeable to live under the ground. Follow me, Señores.”We descended, with the exception of Oakes, who returned to look after the men.At the foot of the staircase we entered a hall brilliantly lighted. The floor was without a carpet, and exhibited a mosaic of the finest marble. The walls were painted of a pale blue colour, and embellished by a series of pictures from the pencil of Murillo. These were framed in a costly and elegant manner. From the ceiling were suspended chandeliers of a curious and unique construction, holding in their outstretched branches wax candles of an ivory whiteness.Large vases of waxen flowers, covered with crystals, stood around the hall upon tables of polished marble. Other articles of furniture, candelabra, girandoles, gilded clocks, filled the outline. Broad mirrors reflected the different objects; so that, instead of one apartment, this hall appeared only one of a continuous suite of splendid drawing-rooms.And yet, upon closer observation, there seemed to be no door leading from this hall, which, as Don Cosmé informed his guests, was theante-sala.Our host approached one of the large mirrors, and slightly touched a spring. The tinkling of a small bell was heard within; and at the same instant the mirror glided back, reflecting in its motion a series of brilliant objects, that for a moment bewildered our eyes with a blazing light.“Pasan adentro, Señores,” said Don Cosmé, stepping aside, and waving us to enter.We walked into the drawing-room. The magnificence that greeted us seemed a vision—a glorious and dazzling hallucination—more like the gilded brilliance of some enchanted palace than the interior of a Mexican gentleman’s habitation.As we stood gazing with irresistible wonderment, Don Cosmé opened a side-door, and called aloud, “Niñas, niñas, ven aca!” (Children, come hither!)Presently we heard several female voices, blending together like a medley of singing birds.They approached. We heard the rustling of silken dresses, the falling of light feet in the doorway, and three ladies entered—the señora of Don Cosmé, followed by her two beautiful daughters, the heroines of our aquatic adventure.These hesitated a moment, scanning our faces; then, with a cry of “Nuestro Salvador!” both rushed forward, and knelt, or rather crouched, at my feet, each of them clasping one of my hands and covering it with kisses.Their panting agitation, their flashing eyes, the silken touch of their delicate fingers, sent the blood rushing through my veins like a stream of lava; but in their gentle accents, the simple ingenuousness of their expressions, the childlike innocence of their faces, I regarded them only as two beautiful children kneeling in theabandonof gratitude.Meanwhile Don Cosmé had introduced Clayley and the major to his señora, whose baptismal name was Joaquina; and taking the young ladies one in each hand, he presented them as his daughters, Guadalupe and Maria de la Luz (Mary of the Light).“Mama,” said Don Cosmé, “the gentlemen had not quite finished their cigars.”“Oh! they can smoke here,” replied the señora.“Will the ladies not object to that?” I inquired.“No—no—no!” ejaculated they simultaneously.“Perhaps you will join us?—we have heard that such is the custom of your country.”“Itwasthe custom,” said Don Cosmé. “At present the young ladies of Mexico are rather ashamed of the habit.”“We no smoke—Mamma, yes,” added the elder—the brunette—whose name was Guadalupe.“Ha! you speak English?”“Little Englis speak—no good Englis,” was the reply.“Who taught you English?” I inquired, prompted by a mysterious curiosity.“Un American us teach—Don Emilio.”“Ha! an American?”“Yes, Señor,” said Don Cosmé: “a gentleman from Vera Cruz, who formerly visited our family.”I thought I could perceive a desire upon the part of our host not to speak further on this subject, and yet I felt a sudden, and, strange to say, a painful curiosity to know more about Don Emilio, the American, and his connection with our newly-made acquaintance. I can only explain this by asking the reader if he or she has not experienced a similar feeling while endeavouring to trace the unknown past of some being in whom either has lately taken an interest—an interest stronger than friendship?That mamma smoked was clear, for the old lady had already gone through the process of unrolling one of the small cartouche-like cigars. Having re-rolled it between her fingers, she placed it within the gripe of a pair of small golden pincers.This done, she held one end to the coals that lay upon thebrazero, and ignited the paper. Then, taking the other end between her thin, purlish lips, she breathed forth a blue cloud of aromatic vapour.After a few whiffs she invited the major to participate, offering him a cigarrito from her beaded cigar-case.This being considered an especial favour, the major’s gallantry would not permit him to refuse. He took the cigarrito, therefore; but, once in possession, he knew not how to use it.Imitating the señora, he opened the diminutive cartridge, spreading out the edges of the wrapper, but attempted in vain to re-roll it.The ladies, who had watched the process, seemed highly amused, particularly the younger, who laughed outright.“Permit me, Señor Coronel,” said the Dona Joaquina, taking the cigarrito from the major’s hand, and giving it a turn through her nimble fingers, which brought it all right again.“Thus—now—hold your fingers thus. Do not press it:suave, suave. This end to the light—so—very well!”The major lit the cigar, and, putting it between his great thick lips, began to puff in a most energetic style.He had not cast off half a dozen whiffs when the fire, reaching his fingers, burned them severely, causing him to remove them suddenly from the cigar. The wrapper then burst open; and the loose pulverised tobacco by a sudden inhalation rushed into his mouth and down his throat, causing him to cough and splutter in the most ludicrous manner.This was too much for the ladies, who, encouraged by the cachinnations of Clayley, laughed outright; while the major, with tears in his eyes, could be heard interlarding his coughing solo with all kinds of oaths and expressions.The scene ended by one of the young ladies offering the major a glass of water, which he drank off, effectually clearing the avenue of his throat.“Will you try another, Señor Coronel?” asked Dona Joaquina, with a smile.“No, ma’am, thank you,” replied the major, and then a sort of internal subterraneous curse could be heard in his throat.The conversation continued in English, and we were highly amused at the attempts of our new acquaintances to express themselves in that language.After failing, on one occasion, to make herself understood, Guadalupe said, with some vexation in her manner:“We wish brother was home come; brother speak ver better Englis.”“Where is he?” I inquired.“In the ceety—Vera Cruz.”“Ha! and when did you expect him?”“Thees day—to-night—he home come.”“Yes,” added the Señora Joaquina, in Spanish: “he went to the city to spend a few days with a friend; but he was to return to-day, and we are looking for him to arrive in the evening.”“But how is he to get out?” cried the major, in his coarse, rough manner.“How?—why, Señor?” asked the ladies in a breath, turning deadly pale.“Why, he can’t pass the pickets, ma’am,” answered the major.“Explain, Captain; explain!” said the ladies, appealing to me with looks of anxiety.I saw that concealment would be idle. The major had fired the train.“It gives me pain, ladies,” said I, speaking in Spanish, “to inform you that you must be disappointed. I fear the return of your brother to-day is impossible.”“But why, Captain?—why?”“Our lines are completely around Vera Cruz, and all intercourse to and from the city is at an end.”Had a shell fallen into Don Cosmé’s drawing-room it could not have caused a greater change in the feelings of its inmates. Knowing nothing of military life, they had no idea that our presence there had drawn an impassable barrier between them and a much-loved member of their family. In a seclusion almost hermetical they knew that a war existed between their country and the United States; but that was far away upon the Rio Grande. They had heard, moreover, that our fleet lay off Vera Cruz, and the pealing of the distant thunder of San Juan had from time to time reached their ears; but they had not dreamed, on seeing us, that the city was invested by land. The truth was now clear; and the anguish of the mother and daughters became afflicting when we informed them of what we were unable to conceal—that it was the intention of the American commander tobombard the city.The scene was to us deeply distressing.Dona Joaquina wrung her hands, and called upon the Virgin with all the earnestness of entreaty. The sisters clung alternately to their mother and Don Cosmé, weeping and crying aloud, “Pobre Narcisso! nuestro hermanito—le asesinaran!” (Poor Narcisso, our little brother!—they will murder him!)In the midst of this distressing scene the door of the drawing-room was thrown suddenly open, and a servant rushed in, shouting in an agitated voice, “El norté! el norté!”
The mystery of the drawing-room, and the servants, and the dishes, was soon over. A descending stairway explained the enigma.
“Let me conduct you to my cave, gentlemen,” said the Spaniard: “I am half a subterranean. In the hot weather, and during the northers, we find it more agreeable to live under the ground. Follow me, Señores.”
We descended, with the exception of Oakes, who returned to look after the men.
At the foot of the staircase we entered a hall brilliantly lighted. The floor was without a carpet, and exhibited a mosaic of the finest marble. The walls were painted of a pale blue colour, and embellished by a series of pictures from the pencil of Murillo. These were framed in a costly and elegant manner. From the ceiling were suspended chandeliers of a curious and unique construction, holding in their outstretched branches wax candles of an ivory whiteness.
Large vases of waxen flowers, covered with crystals, stood around the hall upon tables of polished marble. Other articles of furniture, candelabra, girandoles, gilded clocks, filled the outline. Broad mirrors reflected the different objects; so that, instead of one apartment, this hall appeared only one of a continuous suite of splendid drawing-rooms.
And yet, upon closer observation, there seemed to be no door leading from this hall, which, as Don Cosmé informed his guests, was theante-sala.
Our host approached one of the large mirrors, and slightly touched a spring. The tinkling of a small bell was heard within; and at the same instant the mirror glided back, reflecting in its motion a series of brilliant objects, that for a moment bewildered our eyes with a blazing light.
“Pasan adentro, Señores,” said Don Cosmé, stepping aside, and waving us to enter.
We walked into the drawing-room. The magnificence that greeted us seemed a vision—a glorious and dazzling hallucination—more like the gilded brilliance of some enchanted palace than the interior of a Mexican gentleman’s habitation.
As we stood gazing with irresistible wonderment, Don Cosmé opened a side-door, and called aloud, “Niñas, niñas, ven aca!” (Children, come hither!)
Presently we heard several female voices, blending together like a medley of singing birds.
They approached. We heard the rustling of silken dresses, the falling of light feet in the doorway, and three ladies entered—the señora of Don Cosmé, followed by her two beautiful daughters, the heroines of our aquatic adventure.
These hesitated a moment, scanning our faces; then, with a cry of “Nuestro Salvador!” both rushed forward, and knelt, or rather crouched, at my feet, each of them clasping one of my hands and covering it with kisses.
Their panting agitation, their flashing eyes, the silken touch of their delicate fingers, sent the blood rushing through my veins like a stream of lava; but in their gentle accents, the simple ingenuousness of their expressions, the childlike innocence of their faces, I regarded them only as two beautiful children kneeling in theabandonof gratitude.
Meanwhile Don Cosmé had introduced Clayley and the major to his señora, whose baptismal name was Joaquina; and taking the young ladies one in each hand, he presented them as his daughters, Guadalupe and Maria de la Luz (Mary of the Light).
“Mama,” said Don Cosmé, “the gentlemen had not quite finished their cigars.”
“Oh! they can smoke here,” replied the señora.
“Will the ladies not object to that?” I inquired.
“No—no—no!” ejaculated they simultaneously.
“Perhaps you will join us?—we have heard that such is the custom of your country.”
“Itwasthe custom,” said Don Cosmé. “At present the young ladies of Mexico are rather ashamed of the habit.”
“We no smoke—Mamma, yes,” added the elder—the brunette—whose name was Guadalupe.
“Ha! you speak English?”
“Little Englis speak—no good Englis,” was the reply.
“Who taught you English?” I inquired, prompted by a mysterious curiosity.
“Un American us teach—Don Emilio.”
“Ha! an American?”
“Yes, Señor,” said Don Cosmé: “a gentleman from Vera Cruz, who formerly visited our family.”
I thought I could perceive a desire upon the part of our host not to speak further on this subject, and yet I felt a sudden, and, strange to say, a painful curiosity to know more about Don Emilio, the American, and his connection with our newly-made acquaintance. I can only explain this by asking the reader if he or she has not experienced a similar feeling while endeavouring to trace the unknown past of some being in whom either has lately taken an interest—an interest stronger than friendship?
That mamma smoked was clear, for the old lady had already gone through the process of unrolling one of the small cartouche-like cigars. Having re-rolled it between her fingers, she placed it within the gripe of a pair of small golden pincers.
This done, she held one end to the coals that lay upon thebrazero, and ignited the paper. Then, taking the other end between her thin, purlish lips, she breathed forth a blue cloud of aromatic vapour.
After a few whiffs she invited the major to participate, offering him a cigarrito from her beaded cigar-case.
This being considered an especial favour, the major’s gallantry would not permit him to refuse. He took the cigarrito, therefore; but, once in possession, he knew not how to use it.
Imitating the señora, he opened the diminutive cartridge, spreading out the edges of the wrapper, but attempted in vain to re-roll it.
The ladies, who had watched the process, seemed highly amused, particularly the younger, who laughed outright.
“Permit me, Señor Coronel,” said the Dona Joaquina, taking the cigarrito from the major’s hand, and giving it a turn through her nimble fingers, which brought it all right again.
“Thus—now—hold your fingers thus. Do not press it:suave, suave. This end to the light—so—very well!”
The major lit the cigar, and, putting it between his great thick lips, began to puff in a most energetic style.
He had not cast off half a dozen whiffs when the fire, reaching his fingers, burned them severely, causing him to remove them suddenly from the cigar. The wrapper then burst open; and the loose pulverised tobacco by a sudden inhalation rushed into his mouth and down his throat, causing him to cough and splutter in the most ludicrous manner.
This was too much for the ladies, who, encouraged by the cachinnations of Clayley, laughed outright; while the major, with tears in his eyes, could be heard interlarding his coughing solo with all kinds of oaths and expressions.
The scene ended by one of the young ladies offering the major a glass of water, which he drank off, effectually clearing the avenue of his throat.
“Will you try another, Señor Coronel?” asked Dona Joaquina, with a smile.
“No, ma’am, thank you,” replied the major, and then a sort of internal subterraneous curse could be heard in his throat.
The conversation continued in English, and we were highly amused at the attempts of our new acquaintances to express themselves in that language.
After failing, on one occasion, to make herself understood, Guadalupe said, with some vexation in her manner:
“We wish brother was home come; brother speak ver better Englis.”
“Where is he?” I inquired.
“In the ceety—Vera Cruz.”
“Ha! and when did you expect him?”
“Thees day—to-night—he home come.”
“Yes,” added the Señora Joaquina, in Spanish: “he went to the city to spend a few days with a friend; but he was to return to-day, and we are looking for him to arrive in the evening.”
“But how is he to get out?” cried the major, in his coarse, rough manner.
“How?—why, Señor?” asked the ladies in a breath, turning deadly pale.
“Why, he can’t pass the pickets, ma’am,” answered the major.
“Explain, Captain; explain!” said the ladies, appealing to me with looks of anxiety.
I saw that concealment would be idle. The major had fired the train.
“It gives me pain, ladies,” said I, speaking in Spanish, “to inform you that you must be disappointed. I fear the return of your brother to-day is impossible.”
“But why, Captain?—why?”
“Our lines are completely around Vera Cruz, and all intercourse to and from the city is at an end.”
Had a shell fallen into Don Cosmé’s drawing-room it could not have caused a greater change in the feelings of its inmates. Knowing nothing of military life, they had no idea that our presence there had drawn an impassable barrier between them and a much-loved member of their family. In a seclusion almost hermetical they knew that a war existed between their country and the United States; but that was far away upon the Rio Grande. They had heard, moreover, that our fleet lay off Vera Cruz, and the pealing of the distant thunder of San Juan had from time to time reached their ears; but they had not dreamed, on seeing us, that the city was invested by land. The truth was now clear; and the anguish of the mother and daughters became afflicting when we informed them of what we were unable to conceal—that it was the intention of the American commander tobombard the city.
The scene was to us deeply distressing.
Dona Joaquina wrung her hands, and called upon the Virgin with all the earnestness of entreaty. The sisters clung alternately to their mother and Don Cosmé, weeping and crying aloud, “Pobre Narcisso! nuestro hermanito—le asesinaran!” (Poor Narcisso, our little brother!—they will murder him!)
In the midst of this distressing scene the door of the drawing-room was thrown suddenly open, and a servant rushed in, shouting in an agitated voice, “El norté! el norté!”
Chapter Fourteen.“The Norther.”We hurried after Don Cosmé towards theante-sala, both myself and my companions ignorant of this new object of dread.When we emerged from the stairway the scene that hailed us was one of terrific sublimity. Earth and heaven had undergone a sudden and convulsive change. The face of nature, but a moment since gay with summer smiles, was now hideously distorted. The sky had changed suddenly from its blue and sunny brightness to an aspect dark and portentous.Along the north-west a vast volume of black vapour rolled up over the Sierra Madre, and rested upon the peaks of the mountains. From this, ragged masses, parting in fantastic forms and groupings, floated off against the concavity of the sky as though the demons of the storm were breaking up from an angry council. Each of these, as it careered across the heavens, seemed bent upon some spiteful purpose.An isolated fragment hung lowering above the snowy cone of Orizava, like a huge vampire suspended over his sleeping victim.From the great “parent cloud” that rested upon the Sierra Madre, lightning-bolts shot out and forked hither and thither or sank into the detached masses—the messengers of the storm-king bearing his fiery mandates across the sky.Away along the horizon of the east moved the yellow pillars of sand, whirled upward by the wind, like vast columnar towers leading to heaven.The storm had not yet reached the rancho. The leaves lay motionless under a dark and ominous calm; but the wild screams of many birds—the shrieks of the swans, the discordant notes of the frightened pea-fowl, the chattering of parrots as they sought the shelter of the thick olives in terrified flight—all betokened the speedy advent of some fearful convulsion.The rain in large drops fell upon the broad leaves with a soft, plashing sound; and now and then a quick, short puff came snorting along, and, seizing the feathery frondage of the palms, shook them with a spiteful and ruffian energy.The long green stripes, after oscillating a moment, would settle down again in graceful and motionless curves.A low sound like the “sough” of the sea or the distant falling of water came from the north; while at intervals the hoarse bark of thecoyotéand the yelling of terrified monkeys could be heard afar off in the woods.“Tapa la casa! tapa la casa!” (Cover the house!) cried Don Cosmé as soon as he had fairly got his head above ground. “Anda!—anda con los macates!” (Quick with the cords!) With lightning quickness a roll of palmetto mats came down on all sides of the house, completely covering the bamboo walls, and forming a screen impervious to both wind and rain. This was speedily fastened at all corners, and strong stays were carried out and warped around the trunks of trees. In five minutes the change was complete. The cage-looking structure had disappeared, and a house with walls of yellowpetatéstood in its place.“Now, Señores, all is secured,” said Don Cosmé. “Let us return to the drawing-room.”“I should like to see the first burst of this tornado,” I remarked, not wishing to intrude upon the scene of sorrow we had left.“So be it, Captain. Stand here under the shelter, then.”“Hot as thunder!” growled the major, wiping the perspiration from his broad, red cheeks.“In five minutes, Señor Coronel, you will be chilled. At this point the heated atmosphere is now compressed. Patience! it will soon be scattered.”“How long will the storm continue?” I asked. “Por Dios! Señor, it is impossible to tell how long the ‘norté’ may rage: sometimes for days; perhaps only for a few hours. This appears to be a ‘huracana’. If so, it will be short, but terrible while it lasts.Carrambo!”A puff of cold, sharp wind came whistling past like an arrow. Another followed, and another, like the three seas that roll over the stormy ocean. Then, with a loud, rushing sound, the broad, full blast went sweeping—strong, dark, and dusty—bearing upon its mane the screaming and terrified birds, mingled with torn and flouted leaves.The olives creaked and tossed about. The tall palms bowed and yielded, flinging out their long pinions like streamers. The broad leaves of the plantains flapped and whistled, and, bending gracefully, allowed the fierce blast to pass over.Then a great cloud came rolling down; a thick vapour seemed to fill the space; and the air felt hot and dark and heavy. A choking, sulphureous smell rendered the breathing difficult, and for a moment day seemed changed to night.Suddenly the whole atmosphere blazed forth in a sheet of flame, and the trees glistened as though they were on fire. An opaque darkness succeeded. Another flash, and along with it the crashing thunder—the artillery of heaven—deafening all other sounds.Peal followed peal; the vast cloud was breached and burst by a hundred fiery bolts; and like an avalanche the heavy tropical rain was precipitated to the earth.It fell in torrents, but the strength of the tempest had been spent on the first onslaught. The dark cloud passed on to the south, and a piercing cold wind swept after it.“Vamos á bajar, señores!” (Let us descend, gentlemen), said Don Cosmé with a shiver, and he conducted us back to the stairway.Clayley and the major looked towards me with an expression that said, “Shall we go in?” There were several reasons why our return to the drawing-room was unpleasant to myself and my companions. A scene of domestic affliction is ever painful to a stranger. How much more painful to us, knowing, as we did, that our countrymen—thatwe—had been the partial agents of this calamity! We hesitated a moment on the threshold.“Gentlemen, we must return for a moment: we have been the bearers of evil tidings—let us offer such consolation as we may think of. Come!”
“The Norther.”
We hurried after Don Cosmé towards theante-sala, both myself and my companions ignorant of this new object of dread.
When we emerged from the stairway the scene that hailed us was one of terrific sublimity. Earth and heaven had undergone a sudden and convulsive change. The face of nature, but a moment since gay with summer smiles, was now hideously distorted. The sky had changed suddenly from its blue and sunny brightness to an aspect dark and portentous.
Along the north-west a vast volume of black vapour rolled up over the Sierra Madre, and rested upon the peaks of the mountains. From this, ragged masses, parting in fantastic forms and groupings, floated off against the concavity of the sky as though the demons of the storm were breaking up from an angry council. Each of these, as it careered across the heavens, seemed bent upon some spiteful purpose.
An isolated fragment hung lowering above the snowy cone of Orizava, like a huge vampire suspended over his sleeping victim.
From the great “parent cloud” that rested upon the Sierra Madre, lightning-bolts shot out and forked hither and thither or sank into the detached masses—the messengers of the storm-king bearing his fiery mandates across the sky.
Away along the horizon of the east moved the yellow pillars of sand, whirled upward by the wind, like vast columnar towers leading to heaven.
The storm had not yet reached the rancho. The leaves lay motionless under a dark and ominous calm; but the wild screams of many birds—the shrieks of the swans, the discordant notes of the frightened pea-fowl, the chattering of parrots as they sought the shelter of the thick olives in terrified flight—all betokened the speedy advent of some fearful convulsion.
The rain in large drops fell upon the broad leaves with a soft, plashing sound; and now and then a quick, short puff came snorting along, and, seizing the feathery frondage of the palms, shook them with a spiteful and ruffian energy.
The long green stripes, after oscillating a moment, would settle down again in graceful and motionless curves.
A low sound like the “sough” of the sea or the distant falling of water came from the north; while at intervals the hoarse bark of thecoyotéand the yelling of terrified monkeys could be heard afar off in the woods.
“Tapa la casa! tapa la casa!” (Cover the house!) cried Don Cosmé as soon as he had fairly got his head above ground. “Anda!—anda con los macates!” (Quick with the cords!) With lightning quickness a roll of palmetto mats came down on all sides of the house, completely covering the bamboo walls, and forming a screen impervious to both wind and rain. This was speedily fastened at all corners, and strong stays were carried out and warped around the trunks of trees. In five minutes the change was complete. The cage-looking structure had disappeared, and a house with walls of yellowpetatéstood in its place.
“Now, Señores, all is secured,” said Don Cosmé. “Let us return to the drawing-room.”
“I should like to see the first burst of this tornado,” I remarked, not wishing to intrude upon the scene of sorrow we had left.
“So be it, Captain. Stand here under the shelter, then.”
“Hot as thunder!” growled the major, wiping the perspiration from his broad, red cheeks.
“In five minutes, Señor Coronel, you will be chilled. At this point the heated atmosphere is now compressed. Patience! it will soon be scattered.”
“How long will the storm continue?” I asked. “Por Dios! Señor, it is impossible to tell how long the ‘norté’ may rage: sometimes for days; perhaps only for a few hours. This appears to be a ‘huracana’. If so, it will be short, but terrible while it lasts.Carrambo!”
A puff of cold, sharp wind came whistling past like an arrow. Another followed, and another, like the three seas that roll over the stormy ocean. Then, with a loud, rushing sound, the broad, full blast went sweeping—strong, dark, and dusty—bearing upon its mane the screaming and terrified birds, mingled with torn and flouted leaves.
The olives creaked and tossed about. The tall palms bowed and yielded, flinging out their long pinions like streamers. The broad leaves of the plantains flapped and whistled, and, bending gracefully, allowed the fierce blast to pass over.
Then a great cloud came rolling down; a thick vapour seemed to fill the space; and the air felt hot and dark and heavy. A choking, sulphureous smell rendered the breathing difficult, and for a moment day seemed changed to night.
Suddenly the whole atmosphere blazed forth in a sheet of flame, and the trees glistened as though they were on fire. An opaque darkness succeeded. Another flash, and along with it the crashing thunder—the artillery of heaven—deafening all other sounds.
Peal followed peal; the vast cloud was breached and burst by a hundred fiery bolts; and like an avalanche the heavy tropical rain was precipitated to the earth.
It fell in torrents, but the strength of the tempest had been spent on the first onslaught. The dark cloud passed on to the south, and a piercing cold wind swept after it.
“Vamos á bajar, señores!” (Let us descend, gentlemen), said Don Cosmé with a shiver, and he conducted us back to the stairway.
Clayley and the major looked towards me with an expression that said, “Shall we go in?” There were several reasons why our return to the drawing-room was unpleasant to myself and my companions. A scene of domestic affliction is ever painful to a stranger. How much more painful to us, knowing, as we did, that our countrymen—thatwe—had been the partial agents of this calamity! We hesitated a moment on the threshold.
“Gentlemen, we must return for a moment: we have been the bearers of evil tidings—let us offer such consolation as we may think of. Come!”