Chapter Twenty Nine.

Chapter Twenty Nine.Help from Heaven.“I would not care aclacofor my own life,” said Raoul, as the gate closed upon us, “but that you, Captain—hélas! hélas!” and the Frenchman groaned and sank upon the stone bench, dragging me down also.I could offer no consolation. I knew that we should be tried as spies; and, if convicted—a result almost certain—we had not twenty hours to live. The thought that I had brought this brave fellow to such a fate enhanced the misery of my situation. To die thus ingloriously was bitter indeed. Three days ago I could have spent my life recklessly; but now, how changed were my feelings! I had found something worth living to enjoy; and to think I should never again—“Oh! I have become a coward!” I cursed my rashness bitterly.We passed the night in vain attempts at mutual consolation. Even our present sufferings occupied us. Our clothes were wet through, and the night had become piercingly cold. Our bed was a bench of stone; and upon this we lay as our chains would allow us, sleeping close together to generate warmth. It was to us a miserable night; but morning came at last, and at an early hour we were examined by the officer of the guard.Our court-martial was fixed for the afternoon, and before this tribunal we were carried, amidst the jeers of the populace. We told our story, giving the name of the boy Narcisso, and the house where he was lodged. This was verified by the court, but declared to be aruseinvented by my comrade—whose knowledge of the place and other circumstances rendered the thing probable enough. Raoul, moreover, was identified by many of the citizens, who proved his disappearance coincident with the landing of the American expedition. Besides, my ring and purse were sufficient of themselves to condemn us—and condemned we were. We were to begarrottedon the following morning!Raoul was offered life if he would turn traitor and give information of the enemy. The brave soldier indignantly spurned the offer. It was extended to me, with a similar result.All at once I observed a strange commotion among the people. Citizens and soldiers rushed from the hall, and the court, hastily pronouncing our sentence, ordered us to be carried away. We were seized by the guard, pulled into the street, and dragged back towards our late prison. Our conductors were evidently in a great hurry. As we passed along we were met by citizens running to and fro, apparently in great terror—women and children uttering shrieks and suddenly disappearing behind walls and battlements. Some fell upon their knees, beating their breasts and praying loudly. Others, clasping their infants, stood shivering and speechless.“It is just like the way they go in an earthquake,” remarked Raoul, “but there is none. What can it be, Captain?”Before I could reply, the answer came from another quarter.Far above, an object was hissing and hurtling through the air.“A shell from ours! Hurrah!” cried Raoul.I could scarcely refrain from cheering, though we ourselves might be the victims of the missile.The soldiers who were guarding us had flung themselves down behind walls and pillars, leaving us alone in the open street!The bomb fell beyond us, and, striking the pavement, burst. The fragments went crashing through the side of an adjoining house; and the wail that came back told how well the iron messengers had done their work. This was the second shell that had been projected from the American mortars. The first had been equally destructive; and hence the extreme terror of both citizen and soldier. Every missile seemed charged with death.Our guard now returned and dragged us onward, treating us with increased brutality. They were enraged at the exultation visible in our manner; and one, more ferocious than the rest, drove his bayonet into the fleshy part of my comrade’s thigh. After several like acts of inhumanity, we were thrown into our prison and locked up as before.Since our capture we had tasted neither food nor drink, and hunger and thirst added to the misery of our situation.The insult had maddened Raoul, and the pain of his wound now rendered him furious. He had not hands to touch it or dress it. Frenzied by anger and pain to a strength almost superhuman, he twisted off his iron manacles, as if they had been straws. This done, the chain that bound us together was soon broken, and our ankle “jewellery” followed.“Let us live our last hours, Captain, as we have our lives, free and unfettered!”I could not help admiring the spirit of my brave comrade.We placed ourselves close to the door and listened.We could hear the heavy cannonade all around, and now and then the distant shots from the American batteries. We would wait for the bursting of the bombs, and, as the hoarse thunder of crumbling walls reached our ears, Raoul would spring up, shouting his wild, half-French, half-Indian cries.A thought occurred to me.“We have arms, Raoul.” I held up the fragments of the heavy chain that had yoked us. “Could you reach the trap on a run, without the danger of mistaking your way?”Raoul started.“You are right, Captain—I can. It is barely possible they may visit us to-night. If so, any chance for life is better than none at all.”By a tacit understanding each of us took a fragment of the chain—there were but two—and sat down by the door to be ready in case our guards should open it. We sat for over an hour, without exchanging a word. We could hear the shells as they burst upon the housetops, the crashing of torn timbers, and the rumbling of walls rolling over, struck by the heavy shot. We could hear the shouts of men and the wailing of women, with now and then a shriek louder than all others, as some missile carried death into the terror-struck crowd.“Sacre!” said Raoul; “if they had only allowed us a couple of days, our friends would have opened these doors for us.Sacr–r–r–e!”This last exclamation was uttered in a shriek. Simultaneously a heavy object burst through the roof, tearing the bricks and plaster, and falling with the ring of iron on the floor.Then followed a deafening crash. The whole earth seemed to shake, and the whizzing of a thousand particles filled the air. A cloud of dust and lime, mixed with the smoke of sulphur, was around us. I gasped for breath, nearly suffocated. I endeavoured to cry out, but my voice, husky and coarse, was scarcely audible to myself. I succeeded at length in ejaculating:“Raoul! Raoul!”I heard the voice of my comrade, seemingly at a great distance. I threw out my arms and groped for him. He was close by me, but, like myself, choking for want of air.“It was a shell,” said he, in a wheezing voice, “Are you hurt, Captain?”“No,” I replied; “and you?”“Sound as a bell—our luck is good—it must have struck every other part of the cell.”“Better it had not missed us,” said I, after a pause; “we are only spared for thegarrotte.”“I am not so sure of that, Captain,” replied my companion, in a manner that seemed to imply he had still hopes of an escape.“Where that shell came in,” he continued, “something else may go out. Let us see—was it the roof?”“I think so.”We groped our way hand in hand towards the centre of the room, looking upwards.“Peste!” ejaculated Raoul; “I can’t see a foot before me—my eyes are filled—bah!”So were mine. We stood waiting. The dust was gradually settling down, and we could perceive a faint glimmer from above.There was a large hole through the roof!Slowly its outlines became defined, and we could see that it was large enough to pass the body of a man; but it was at least fourteen feet from the floor, and we had not timber enough to make a walking-stick!“What is to be done? We are not cats, Raoul. We can never reach it!”My comrade, without making a reply, lifted me up in his arms, telling me to climb. I mounted upon his shoulders, balancing myself like a Bedouin; but with my utmost stretch I could not touch the roof.“Hold!” cried I, a thought striking me. “Let me down, Raoul. Now, if they will only give us a little time.”“Never fear for them; they’ve enough to do taking care of their own yellow carcases.”I had noticed that a beam of the roof formed one side of the break, and I proceeded to twist our handcuffs into a clamp, while Raoul peeled off his leather breeches and commenced, tearing them into strips. In ten minutes our “tackle” was ready, and, mounting upon my comrade’s shoulders, I flung it carefully at the beam. It failed to catch, and I came down to the floor, my balance being lost in the effort. I repeated the attempt. Again it failed, and I staggered down as before.“Sacre!” cried Raoul through his teeth. The iron had struck him on the head.“Come, we shall try and try—our lives depend upon it.”The third attempt, according to popular superstition, should be successful. Itwasso with us. The clamp caught, and the string hung dangling downwards. Mounting again upon my comrade’s shoulders, I grasped the thong high up to test its hold. It was secure; and, cautioning Raoul to hold fast lest the hook might be detached by my vibration, I climbed up and seized hold of the beam. By this I was enabled to squeeze myself through the roof.Once outside I crawled cautiously along the azotea, which, like all others in Spanish houses, was flat, and bordered by a low parapet of mason-work. I peeped over this parapet, looking down into the street. It was night, and I could see no one below; but up against the sky, upon distant battlements, I could distinguish armed soldiers busy around their guns. These blazed forth at intervals, throwing their sulphureous glare over the city.I returned to assist Raoul, but, impatient of my delay, he had already mounted, and was dragging up the thong after him.We crawled from roof to roof, looking for a dark spot to descend into the street. None of the houses in the range of our prison were more than one story high, and, after passing several, we let ourselves down into a narrow alley. It was still early, and the people were running to and fro, amidst the frightful scenes of the bombardment. The shrieks of women were in our ears, mingled with the shouts of men, the groans of the wounded, and the fierce yelling of an excited rabble. The constant whizzing of bombs filled the air, and parapets were hurled down. A round-shot struck the cupola of a church as we passed nearly under it, and the ornaments of ages came tumbling down, blocking up the thoroughfare. We clambered over the ruins and went on. There was no need of our crouching into dark shadows. No one thought of observing us now.“We are near the house—will you still make the attempt to take him along?” inquired Raoul, referring to the boy Narcisso.“By all means! Show me the place,” replied I, half-ashamed at having almost forgotten, in the midst of our own perils, the object of our enterprise.Raoul pointed to a large house with portals and a great door in the centre.“There, Captain—there it is.”“Go under that shadow and wait. I shall be better alone.”This was said in a whisper. My companion did as directed.I approached the great door and knocked boldly.“Quien?” cried the porter within thesaguan.“Yo,” I responded.The door was opened slowly and with caution.“Is the Señorito Narcisso within?” I inquired.The man answered in the affirmative.“Tell him a friend wishes to speak with him.”After a moment’s hesitation the porter dragged himself lazily up the stone steps. In a few seconds the boy—a fine, bold-looking lad, whom I had seen during our trial—came leaping down. He started on recognising me.“Hush!” I whispered, making signs to him to be silent. “Take leave of your friends, and meet me in ten minutes behind the church of La Magdalena.”“Why, Señor,” inquired the boy without listening, “how have you got out of prison? I have just been to the governor on your behalf, and—.”“No matter how,” I replied, interrupting him; “follow my directions—remember your mother and sisters are suffering.”“I shall come,” said the boy resolutely.“Hasta luego!” (Lose no time then). “Adios!”We parted without another word. I rejoined Raoul, and we walked on towards La Magdalena. We passed through the street where we had been captured on the preceding night, but it was so altered that we should not have known it. Fragments of walls were thrown across the path, and here and there lay masses of bricks and mortar freshly torn down.Neither patrol nor sentry thought of troubling us now, and our strange appearance did not strike the attention of the passengers.We reached the church, and Raoul descended, leaving me to wait for the boy. The latter was true to his word, and his slight figure soon appeared rounding the corner. Without losing a moment we all three entered the subterranean passage, but the tide was still high, and we had to wait for the ebb. This came at length, and, clambering over the rocks, we entered the surf and waded as before. After an hour’s toil we reached Punta Hornos, and a little beyond this point I was enabled to hail one of our own pickets, and to pass the lines in safety.At ten o’clock I was in my own tent—just twenty-four hours from the time I had left it, and, with the exception of Clayley, not one of my brother officers knew anything of our adventure.Clayley and I agreed to “mount” a party the next night and carry the boy to his friends. This we accordingly did, stealing out of camp after tattoo. It would be impossible to describe the rejoicing of our new acquaintances—the gratitude lavishly expressed—the smiles of love that thanked us.We should have repeated our visits almost nightly; but from that time the guerilleros swarmed in the back-country, and small parties of our men, straggling from camp, were cut off daily. It was necessary, therefore, for my friend and myself to chafe under a prudent impatience, and wait for the fall of Vera Cruz.

“I would not care aclacofor my own life,” said Raoul, as the gate closed upon us, “but that you, Captain—hélas! hélas!” and the Frenchman groaned and sank upon the stone bench, dragging me down also.

I could offer no consolation. I knew that we should be tried as spies; and, if convicted—a result almost certain—we had not twenty hours to live. The thought that I had brought this brave fellow to such a fate enhanced the misery of my situation. To die thus ingloriously was bitter indeed. Three days ago I could have spent my life recklessly; but now, how changed were my feelings! I had found something worth living to enjoy; and to think I should never again—“Oh! I have become a coward!” I cursed my rashness bitterly.

We passed the night in vain attempts at mutual consolation. Even our present sufferings occupied us. Our clothes were wet through, and the night had become piercingly cold. Our bed was a bench of stone; and upon this we lay as our chains would allow us, sleeping close together to generate warmth. It was to us a miserable night; but morning came at last, and at an early hour we were examined by the officer of the guard.

Our court-martial was fixed for the afternoon, and before this tribunal we were carried, amidst the jeers of the populace. We told our story, giving the name of the boy Narcisso, and the house where he was lodged. This was verified by the court, but declared to be aruseinvented by my comrade—whose knowledge of the place and other circumstances rendered the thing probable enough. Raoul, moreover, was identified by many of the citizens, who proved his disappearance coincident with the landing of the American expedition. Besides, my ring and purse were sufficient of themselves to condemn us—and condemned we were. We were to begarrottedon the following morning!

Raoul was offered life if he would turn traitor and give information of the enemy. The brave soldier indignantly spurned the offer. It was extended to me, with a similar result.

All at once I observed a strange commotion among the people. Citizens and soldiers rushed from the hall, and the court, hastily pronouncing our sentence, ordered us to be carried away. We were seized by the guard, pulled into the street, and dragged back towards our late prison. Our conductors were evidently in a great hurry. As we passed along we were met by citizens running to and fro, apparently in great terror—women and children uttering shrieks and suddenly disappearing behind walls and battlements. Some fell upon their knees, beating their breasts and praying loudly. Others, clasping their infants, stood shivering and speechless.

“It is just like the way they go in an earthquake,” remarked Raoul, “but there is none. What can it be, Captain?”

Before I could reply, the answer came from another quarter.

Far above, an object was hissing and hurtling through the air.

“A shell from ours! Hurrah!” cried Raoul.

I could scarcely refrain from cheering, though we ourselves might be the victims of the missile.

The soldiers who were guarding us had flung themselves down behind walls and pillars, leaving us alone in the open street!

The bomb fell beyond us, and, striking the pavement, burst. The fragments went crashing through the side of an adjoining house; and the wail that came back told how well the iron messengers had done their work. This was the second shell that had been projected from the American mortars. The first had been equally destructive; and hence the extreme terror of both citizen and soldier. Every missile seemed charged with death.

Our guard now returned and dragged us onward, treating us with increased brutality. They were enraged at the exultation visible in our manner; and one, more ferocious than the rest, drove his bayonet into the fleshy part of my comrade’s thigh. After several like acts of inhumanity, we were thrown into our prison and locked up as before.

Since our capture we had tasted neither food nor drink, and hunger and thirst added to the misery of our situation.

The insult had maddened Raoul, and the pain of his wound now rendered him furious. He had not hands to touch it or dress it. Frenzied by anger and pain to a strength almost superhuman, he twisted off his iron manacles, as if they had been straws. This done, the chain that bound us together was soon broken, and our ankle “jewellery” followed.

“Let us live our last hours, Captain, as we have our lives, free and unfettered!”

I could not help admiring the spirit of my brave comrade.

We placed ourselves close to the door and listened.

We could hear the heavy cannonade all around, and now and then the distant shots from the American batteries. We would wait for the bursting of the bombs, and, as the hoarse thunder of crumbling walls reached our ears, Raoul would spring up, shouting his wild, half-French, half-Indian cries.

A thought occurred to me.

“We have arms, Raoul.” I held up the fragments of the heavy chain that had yoked us. “Could you reach the trap on a run, without the danger of mistaking your way?”

Raoul started.

“You are right, Captain—I can. It is barely possible they may visit us to-night. If so, any chance for life is better than none at all.”

By a tacit understanding each of us took a fragment of the chain—there were but two—and sat down by the door to be ready in case our guards should open it. We sat for over an hour, without exchanging a word. We could hear the shells as they burst upon the housetops, the crashing of torn timbers, and the rumbling of walls rolling over, struck by the heavy shot. We could hear the shouts of men and the wailing of women, with now and then a shriek louder than all others, as some missile carried death into the terror-struck crowd.

“Sacre!” said Raoul; “if they had only allowed us a couple of days, our friends would have opened these doors for us.Sacr–r–r–e!”

This last exclamation was uttered in a shriek. Simultaneously a heavy object burst through the roof, tearing the bricks and plaster, and falling with the ring of iron on the floor.

Then followed a deafening crash. The whole earth seemed to shake, and the whizzing of a thousand particles filled the air. A cloud of dust and lime, mixed with the smoke of sulphur, was around us. I gasped for breath, nearly suffocated. I endeavoured to cry out, but my voice, husky and coarse, was scarcely audible to myself. I succeeded at length in ejaculating:

“Raoul! Raoul!”

I heard the voice of my comrade, seemingly at a great distance. I threw out my arms and groped for him. He was close by me, but, like myself, choking for want of air.

“It was a shell,” said he, in a wheezing voice, “Are you hurt, Captain?”

“No,” I replied; “and you?”

“Sound as a bell—our luck is good—it must have struck every other part of the cell.”

“Better it had not missed us,” said I, after a pause; “we are only spared for thegarrotte.”

“I am not so sure of that, Captain,” replied my companion, in a manner that seemed to imply he had still hopes of an escape.

“Where that shell came in,” he continued, “something else may go out. Let us see—was it the roof?”

“I think so.”

We groped our way hand in hand towards the centre of the room, looking upwards.

“Peste!” ejaculated Raoul; “I can’t see a foot before me—my eyes are filled—bah!”

So were mine. We stood waiting. The dust was gradually settling down, and we could perceive a faint glimmer from above.There was a large hole through the roof!

Slowly its outlines became defined, and we could see that it was large enough to pass the body of a man; but it was at least fourteen feet from the floor, and we had not timber enough to make a walking-stick!

“What is to be done? We are not cats, Raoul. We can never reach it!”

My comrade, without making a reply, lifted me up in his arms, telling me to climb. I mounted upon his shoulders, balancing myself like a Bedouin; but with my utmost stretch I could not touch the roof.

“Hold!” cried I, a thought striking me. “Let me down, Raoul. Now, if they will only give us a little time.”

“Never fear for them; they’ve enough to do taking care of their own yellow carcases.”

I had noticed that a beam of the roof formed one side of the break, and I proceeded to twist our handcuffs into a clamp, while Raoul peeled off his leather breeches and commenced, tearing them into strips. In ten minutes our “tackle” was ready, and, mounting upon my comrade’s shoulders, I flung it carefully at the beam. It failed to catch, and I came down to the floor, my balance being lost in the effort. I repeated the attempt. Again it failed, and I staggered down as before.

“Sacre!” cried Raoul through his teeth. The iron had struck him on the head.

“Come, we shall try and try—our lives depend upon it.”

The third attempt, according to popular superstition, should be successful. Itwasso with us. The clamp caught, and the string hung dangling downwards. Mounting again upon my comrade’s shoulders, I grasped the thong high up to test its hold. It was secure; and, cautioning Raoul to hold fast lest the hook might be detached by my vibration, I climbed up and seized hold of the beam. By this I was enabled to squeeze myself through the roof.

Once outside I crawled cautiously along the azotea, which, like all others in Spanish houses, was flat, and bordered by a low parapet of mason-work. I peeped over this parapet, looking down into the street. It was night, and I could see no one below; but up against the sky, upon distant battlements, I could distinguish armed soldiers busy around their guns. These blazed forth at intervals, throwing their sulphureous glare over the city.

I returned to assist Raoul, but, impatient of my delay, he had already mounted, and was dragging up the thong after him.

We crawled from roof to roof, looking for a dark spot to descend into the street. None of the houses in the range of our prison were more than one story high, and, after passing several, we let ourselves down into a narrow alley. It was still early, and the people were running to and fro, amidst the frightful scenes of the bombardment. The shrieks of women were in our ears, mingled with the shouts of men, the groans of the wounded, and the fierce yelling of an excited rabble. The constant whizzing of bombs filled the air, and parapets were hurled down. A round-shot struck the cupola of a church as we passed nearly under it, and the ornaments of ages came tumbling down, blocking up the thoroughfare. We clambered over the ruins and went on. There was no need of our crouching into dark shadows. No one thought of observing us now.

“We are near the house—will you still make the attempt to take him along?” inquired Raoul, referring to the boy Narcisso.

“By all means! Show me the place,” replied I, half-ashamed at having almost forgotten, in the midst of our own perils, the object of our enterprise.

Raoul pointed to a large house with portals and a great door in the centre.

“There, Captain—there it is.”

“Go under that shadow and wait. I shall be better alone.”

This was said in a whisper. My companion did as directed.

I approached the great door and knocked boldly.

“Quien?” cried the porter within thesaguan.

“Yo,” I responded.

The door was opened slowly and with caution.

“Is the Señorito Narcisso within?” I inquired.

The man answered in the affirmative.

“Tell him a friend wishes to speak with him.”

After a moment’s hesitation the porter dragged himself lazily up the stone steps. In a few seconds the boy—a fine, bold-looking lad, whom I had seen during our trial—came leaping down. He started on recognising me.

“Hush!” I whispered, making signs to him to be silent. “Take leave of your friends, and meet me in ten minutes behind the church of La Magdalena.”

“Why, Señor,” inquired the boy without listening, “how have you got out of prison? I have just been to the governor on your behalf, and—.”

“No matter how,” I replied, interrupting him; “follow my directions—remember your mother and sisters are suffering.”

“I shall come,” said the boy resolutely.

“Hasta luego!” (Lose no time then). “Adios!”

We parted without another word. I rejoined Raoul, and we walked on towards La Magdalena. We passed through the street where we had been captured on the preceding night, but it was so altered that we should not have known it. Fragments of walls were thrown across the path, and here and there lay masses of bricks and mortar freshly torn down.

Neither patrol nor sentry thought of troubling us now, and our strange appearance did not strike the attention of the passengers.

We reached the church, and Raoul descended, leaving me to wait for the boy. The latter was true to his word, and his slight figure soon appeared rounding the corner. Without losing a moment we all three entered the subterranean passage, but the tide was still high, and we had to wait for the ebb. This came at length, and, clambering over the rocks, we entered the surf and waded as before. After an hour’s toil we reached Punta Hornos, and a little beyond this point I was enabled to hail one of our own pickets, and to pass the lines in safety.

At ten o’clock I was in my own tent—just twenty-four hours from the time I had left it, and, with the exception of Clayley, not one of my brother officers knew anything of our adventure.

Clayley and I agreed to “mount” a party the next night and carry the boy to his friends. This we accordingly did, stealing out of camp after tattoo. It would be impossible to describe the rejoicing of our new acquaintances—the gratitude lavishly expressed—the smiles of love that thanked us.

We should have repeated our visits almost nightly; but from that time the guerilleros swarmed in the back-country, and small parties of our men, straggling from camp, were cut off daily. It was necessary, therefore, for my friend and myself to chafe under a prudent impatience, and wait for the fall of Vera Cruz.

Chapter Thirty.A Shot in the Dark.The “City of the True Cross” fell upon the 29th of March, 1847, and the American flag waved over the castle of San Juan de Ulloa. The enemy’s troops marched out upon parole, most of them taking their way to their distant homes upon the table-lands of the Andes.The American garrison entered the town, but the body of our army encamped upon the green plains to the south.Here we remained for several days, awaiting the order to march into the interior.A report had reached us that the Mexican forces, under the celebrated Santa Anna, were concentrating at Puente Nacional; but shortly after it was ascertained that the enemy would make his next stand in the pass of the Cerro Gordo, about half-way between Vera Cruz and the mountains.After the surrender of the city we were relieved from severe duty, and Clayley and I, taking advantage of this, resolved upon paying another stolen visit to our friends.Several parties of light horse had been sent out to scour the country, and it had been reported that the principal guerilla of the enemy had gone farther up towards the Puente Nacional. We did not, therefore, anticipate any danger from that source.We started after nightfall, taking with us three of our best men—Lincoln, Chane, and Raoul. The boy Jack was also of the party. We were mounted on such horses as could be had. The major had kept his word with me, and I bestrode the black—a splendid thoroughbred Arab.It was a clear moonlight, and as we rode along we could not help noticing many changes.War had left its black mark upon the objects around. The ranchos by the road were tenantless—many of them wrecked, not a few of them entirely gone; where they had stood, a ray of black ashes marking the outline of their slight walls. Some were represented by a heap of half-burned rubbish still smoking and smouldering.Various pieces of household furniture lay along the path torn or broken—articles of little value, strewed by the wanton hand of the ruthless robber. Here a petaté, or a palm hat—there a broken olla; a stringless bandolon, the fragments of a guitar crushed under the angry heel, or some flimsy articles of female dress cuffed into the dust; leaves of torn books—misas, or lives of theSantisima Maria—the labours of some zealous padre; old paintings of the saints, Guadalupe, Remedios, and Dolores—of the Niño of Guatepec—rudely torn from the walls and perforated by the sacrilegious bayonet, flung into the road, kicked from foot to foot—the dishonouredpenatesof a conquered people.A painful presentiment began to harass me. Wild stories had lately circulated through the army—stories of the misconduct of straggling parties of our soldiers in the back-country. These had stolen from camp, or gone out under the pretext of “beef-hunting.”Hitherto I had felt no apprehension, not believing that any small party would carry their foraging to so distant a point as the house of our friends. I knew that any detachment, commanded by an officer, would act in a proper manner; and, indeed, any respectable body of American soldiers, without an officer. But in all armies, in war-time, there are robbers, who have thrown themselves into the ranks for no other purpose than to take advantage of the licence of a stolen foray.We were within less than a league of Don Cosmé’s rancho, and still the evidence of ruin and plunder continued—the evidence, too, of a retaliatory vengeance; for on entering a glade, the mutilated body of a soldier lay across the path. He was upon his back, with open eyes glaring upon the moon. His tongue and heart were cut out, and his left arm had been struck off at the elbow-joint. Not ten steps beyond this we passed another one, similarly disfigured. We were now on the neutral ground.As we entered the forest my forebodings became painfully oppressive. I imparted them to Clayley. My friend had been occupied with similar thoughts.“It is just possible,” said he, “that nobody has found the way. By heavens!” he added, with an earnestness unusual in his manner, “I have been far more uneasy about the other side—those half-brigands and that villain Dubrosc.”“On! on!” I ejaculated, digging the spurs into the flanks of my horse, who sprang forward at a gallop.I could say no more. Clayley had given utterance to my very thoughts, and a painful feeling shot through my heart.My companions dashed after me, and we pressed through the trees at a reckless pace.We entered an opening. Raoul, who was then riding in the advance, suddenly checked his horse, waving on us to halt. We did so.“What is it, Raoul?” I asked in a whisper.“Something entered the thicket, Captain.”“At what point?”“There, to the left;” and the Frenchman pointed in this direction. “I did not see it well; it might have been a stray animal.”“I seed it, Cap’n,” said Lincoln, closing up; “it wur a mustang.”“Mounted, think you?”“I ain’t confident; I only seed its hips. We were a-gwine too fast to get a good sight on the critter; but it wur a mustang—I seed that cl’ar as daylight.”I sat for a moment, hesitating.“I kin tell yer whether it wur mounted, Cap’n,” continued the hunter, “if yer’ll let me slide down and take a squint at the critter’s tracks.”“It is out of our way. Perhaps you had better,” I added, after a little reflection. “Raoul, you and Chane dismount and go with the sergeant. Hold their horses, Jack.”“If yer’ll not object, Cap’n,” said Lincoln, addressing me in a whisper, “I’d rayther go ’ithout kump’ny. Thar ain’t two men I’d like, in a tight fix, better’n Rowl and Chane; but I hev done a smart chance o’ trackin’ in my time, an’ I allers gets along better when I’m by myself.”“Very well, Sergeant; as you wish it, go alone. We shall wait for you.”The hunter dismounted, and having carefully examined his rifle, strode off in a direction nearly opposite to that where the object had been seen.I was about to call after him, impatient to continue our journey; but, reflecting a moment, I concluded it was better to leave him to his “instincts”. In five minutes he had disappeared, having entered the chaparral.We sat in our saddles for half an hour, not without feelings of impatience. I was beginning to fear that some accident had happened to our comrade, when we heard the faint crack of a rifle, but in a directionnearly opposite to that which Lincoln had taken.“It’s the sergeant’s rifle, Captain,” said Chane.“Forward!” I shouted; and we dashed into the thicket in the direction whence the report came.We had ridden about a hundred yards through the chaparral, when we met Lincoln coming up, with his rifle shouldered.“Well?” I asked.“’Twur mounted, Cap’n—’tain’t now.”“What do you mean, Sergeant?”“That the mustang hed a yeller-belly on his back, and that he hain’t got ne’er a one now, as I knows on. He got cl’ar away from me—that is, the mustang. The yeller-belly didn’t.”“What! you haven’t—?”“But I hev, Cap’n. I had good, soun’ reason.”“What reason?” I demanded.“In the first place, the feller wur a gurillye; and in the next, he wur an outpost picket.”“How know you this?”“Wal, Cap’n, I struck his trail on the edge of the thicket. I knowed he hedn’t kum fur, as I looked out for sign whar we crossed the crik bottom, an’ seed none. I tuk the back track, an’ soon come up with him under a big button-wood. He had been thar some time, for the ground wur stamped like a bullock-pen.”“Well?” said I, impatient to hear the result.“I follered him up till I seed him leanin’ for’ard on his horse, clost to the track we oughter take. From this I suspicioned him; but, gettin’ a leetle closter, I seed his gun an’ fixin’s strapped to the saddle. So I tuk a sight, and whumelled him. The darned mustang got away with his traps. This hyur’s the only thing worth takin’ from his carcage: it wudn’t do much harm to a grizzly b’ar.”“Good heaven!” I exclaimed, grasping the glittering object which the hunter held towards me; “what have you done?”It was a silver-handled stiletto. I recognised the weapon. I had given it to the boy Narcisso.“No harm, I reckin, Cap’n?”“The man—the Mexican? How did he look?—what like?” I demanded anxiously.“Like?” repeated the hunter. “Why, Cap’n, I ’ud call him as ugly a skunk as yer kin skeer up any whar—’ceptin’ it mout be among the Digger Injuns; but yer kin see for yurself—he’s clost by.”I leaped from my horse, and followed Lincoln through the bushes. Twenty paces brought us to the object of our search, upon the border of a small glade. The body lay upon its back, where it had been flung by the rearing mustang. The moon was shining full upon the face. I stooped down to examine it. A single glance was sufficient. I had never seen the features before. They were coarse and swart, and the long black locks were matted and woolly. He was a zambo; and, from the half-military equipments that clung around his body, I saw that he had been a guerillero. Lincoln was right.“Wal, Cap’n,” said he, after I had concluded my examination of the corpse, “ain’t he a picter?”“You think he was waiting for us?”“For us or some other game—that’s sartin.”“There’s a road branches off here to Medellin,” said Raoul, coming up.“It could not have been for us: they had no knowledge of our intention to come out.”“Possibly enough, Captain,” remarked Clayley in a whisper to me. “That villain would naturally expect us to return here. He will have learned all that has passed: Narcisso’s escape—our visits. You know he would watch night and day to trap either of us.”“Oh, heavens!” I exclaimed, as the memory of this man came over me; “why did I not bring more men? Clayley, we must go on now. Slowly, Raoul—slowly, and with caution—do you hear.”The Frenchman struck into the path that led to the rancho, and rode silently forward. We followed in single file, Lincoln keeping a look-out some paces in the rear.

The “City of the True Cross” fell upon the 29th of March, 1847, and the American flag waved over the castle of San Juan de Ulloa. The enemy’s troops marched out upon parole, most of them taking their way to their distant homes upon the table-lands of the Andes.

The American garrison entered the town, but the body of our army encamped upon the green plains to the south.

Here we remained for several days, awaiting the order to march into the interior.

A report had reached us that the Mexican forces, under the celebrated Santa Anna, were concentrating at Puente Nacional; but shortly after it was ascertained that the enemy would make his next stand in the pass of the Cerro Gordo, about half-way between Vera Cruz and the mountains.

After the surrender of the city we were relieved from severe duty, and Clayley and I, taking advantage of this, resolved upon paying another stolen visit to our friends.

Several parties of light horse had been sent out to scour the country, and it had been reported that the principal guerilla of the enemy had gone farther up towards the Puente Nacional. We did not, therefore, anticipate any danger from that source.

We started after nightfall, taking with us three of our best men—Lincoln, Chane, and Raoul. The boy Jack was also of the party. We were mounted on such horses as could be had. The major had kept his word with me, and I bestrode the black—a splendid thoroughbred Arab.

It was a clear moonlight, and as we rode along we could not help noticing many changes.

War had left its black mark upon the objects around. The ranchos by the road were tenantless—many of them wrecked, not a few of them entirely gone; where they had stood, a ray of black ashes marking the outline of their slight walls. Some were represented by a heap of half-burned rubbish still smoking and smouldering.

Various pieces of household furniture lay along the path torn or broken—articles of little value, strewed by the wanton hand of the ruthless robber. Here a petaté, or a palm hat—there a broken olla; a stringless bandolon, the fragments of a guitar crushed under the angry heel, or some flimsy articles of female dress cuffed into the dust; leaves of torn books—misas, or lives of theSantisima Maria—the labours of some zealous padre; old paintings of the saints, Guadalupe, Remedios, and Dolores—of the Niño of Guatepec—rudely torn from the walls and perforated by the sacrilegious bayonet, flung into the road, kicked from foot to foot—the dishonouredpenatesof a conquered people.

A painful presentiment began to harass me. Wild stories had lately circulated through the army—stories of the misconduct of straggling parties of our soldiers in the back-country. These had stolen from camp, or gone out under the pretext of “beef-hunting.”

Hitherto I had felt no apprehension, not believing that any small party would carry their foraging to so distant a point as the house of our friends. I knew that any detachment, commanded by an officer, would act in a proper manner; and, indeed, any respectable body of American soldiers, without an officer. But in all armies, in war-time, there are robbers, who have thrown themselves into the ranks for no other purpose than to take advantage of the licence of a stolen foray.

We were within less than a league of Don Cosmé’s rancho, and still the evidence of ruin and plunder continued—the evidence, too, of a retaliatory vengeance; for on entering a glade, the mutilated body of a soldier lay across the path. He was upon his back, with open eyes glaring upon the moon. His tongue and heart were cut out, and his left arm had been struck off at the elbow-joint. Not ten steps beyond this we passed another one, similarly disfigured. We were now on the neutral ground.

As we entered the forest my forebodings became painfully oppressive. I imparted them to Clayley. My friend had been occupied with similar thoughts.

“It is just possible,” said he, “that nobody has found the way. By heavens!” he added, with an earnestness unusual in his manner, “I have been far more uneasy about the other side—those half-brigands and that villain Dubrosc.”

“On! on!” I ejaculated, digging the spurs into the flanks of my horse, who sprang forward at a gallop.

I could say no more. Clayley had given utterance to my very thoughts, and a painful feeling shot through my heart.

My companions dashed after me, and we pressed through the trees at a reckless pace.

We entered an opening. Raoul, who was then riding in the advance, suddenly checked his horse, waving on us to halt. We did so.

“What is it, Raoul?” I asked in a whisper.

“Something entered the thicket, Captain.”

“At what point?”

“There, to the left;” and the Frenchman pointed in this direction. “I did not see it well; it might have been a stray animal.”

“I seed it, Cap’n,” said Lincoln, closing up; “it wur a mustang.”

“Mounted, think you?”

“I ain’t confident; I only seed its hips. We were a-gwine too fast to get a good sight on the critter; but it wur a mustang—I seed that cl’ar as daylight.”

I sat for a moment, hesitating.

“I kin tell yer whether it wur mounted, Cap’n,” continued the hunter, “if yer’ll let me slide down and take a squint at the critter’s tracks.”

“It is out of our way. Perhaps you had better,” I added, after a little reflection. “Raoul, you and Chane dismount and go with the sergeant. Hold their horses, Jack.”

“If yer’ll not object, Cap’n,” said Lincoln, addressing me in a whisper, “I’d rayther go ’ithout kump’ny. Thar ain’t two men I’d like, in a tight fix, better’n Rowl and Chane; but I hev done a smart chance o’ trackin’ in my time, an’ I allers gets along better when I’m by myself.”

“Very well, Sergeant; as you wish it, go alone. We shall wait for you.”

The hunter dismounted, and having carefully examined his rifle, strode off in a direction nearly opposite to that where the object had been seen.

I was about to call after him, impatient to continue our journey; but, reflecting a moment, I concluded it was better to leave him to his “instincts”. In five minutes he had disappeared, having entered the chaparral.

We sat in our saddles for half an hour, not without feelings of impatience. I was beginning to fear that some accident had happened to our comrade, when we heard the faint crack of a rifle, but in a directionnearly opposite to that which Lincoln had taken.

“It’s the sergeant’s rifle, Captain,” said Chane.

“Forward!” I shouted; and we dashed into the thicket in the direction whence the report came.

We had ridden about a hundred yards through the chaparral, when we met Lincoln coming up, with his rifle shouldered.

“Well?” I asked.

“’Twur mounted, Cap’n—’tain’t now.”

“What do you mean, Sergeant?”

“That the mustang hed a yeller-belly on his back, and that he hain’t got ne’er a one now, as I knows on. He got cl’ar away from me—that is, the mustang. The yeller-belly didn’t.”

“What! you haven’t—?”

“But I hev, Cap’n. I had good, soun’ reason.”

“What reason?” I demanded.

“In the first place, the feller wur a gurillye; and in the next, he wur an outpost picket.”

“How know you this?”

“Wal, Cap’n, I struck his trail on the edge of the thicket. I knowed he hedn’t kum fur, as I looked out for sign whar we crossed the crik bottom, an’ seed none. I tuk the back track, an’ soon come up with him under a big button-wood. He had been thar some time, for the ground wur stamped like a bullock-pen.”

“Well?” said I, impatient to hear the result.

“I follered him up till I seed him leanin’ for’ard on his horse, clost to the track we oughter take. From this I suspicioned him; but, gettin’ a leetle closter, I seed his gun an’ fixin’s strapped to the saddle. So I tuk a sight, and whumelled him. The darned mustang got away with his traps. This hyur’s the only thing worth takin’ from his carcage: it wudn’t do much harm to a grizzly b’ar.”

“Good heaven!” I exclaimed, grasping the glittering object which the hunter held towards me; “what have you done?”

It was a silver-handled stiletto. I recognised the weapon. I had given it to the boy Narcisso.

“No harm, I reckin, Cap’n?”

“The man—the Mexican? How did he look?—what like?” I demanded anxiously.

“Like?” repeated the hunter. “Why, Cap’n, I ’ud call him as ugly a skunk as yer kin skeer up any whar—’ceptin’ it mout be among the Digger Injuns; but yer kin see for yurself—he’s clost by.”

I leaped from my horse, and followed Lincoln through the bushes. Twenty paces brought us to the object of our search, upon the border of a small glade. The body lay upon its back, where it had been flung by the rearing mustang. The moon was shining full upon the face. I stooped down to examine it. A single glance was sufficient. I had never seen the features before. They were coarse and swart, and the long black locks were matted and woolly. He was a zambo; and, from the half-military equipments that clung around his body, I saw that he had been a guerillero. Lincoln was right.

“Wal, Cap’n,” said he, after I had concluded my examination of the corpse, “ain’t he a picter?”

“You think he was waiting for us?”

“For us or some other game—that’s sartin.”

“There’s a road branches off here to Medellin,” said Raoul, coming up.

“It could not have been for us: they had no knowledge of our intention to come out.”

“Possibly enough, Captain,” remarked Clayley in a whisper to me. “That villain would naturally expect us to return here. He will have learned all that has passed: Narcisso’s escape—our visits. You know he would watch night and day to trap either of us.”

“Oh, heavens!” I exclaimed, as the memory of this man came over me; “why did I not bring more men? Clayley, we must go on now. Slowly, Raoul—slowly, and with caution—do you hear.”

The Frenchman struck into the path that led to the rancho, and rode silently forward. We followed in single file, Lincoln keeping a look-out some paces in the rear.

Chapter Thirty One.Captured by Guerilleros.We emerged from the forest and entered the fields. All silent. No sign or sound of a suspicion. The house still standing and safe.“The guerillero must have been waiting for someone whom he expected by the Medellin road. Ride on, Raoul!”“Captain,” said the man in a whisper, and halting at the end of theguardaraya(enclosure).“Well?”“Someone passed out at the other end.”“Some of the domestics, no doubt. You may ride on, and—never mind; I will take the advance myself.”I brushed past, and kept up the guardaraya. In a few minutes we had reached the lower end of the pond, where we halted. Here we dismounted; and, leaving the men, Clayley and I stole cautiously forward. We could see no one, though everything about the house looked as usual.“Are they abed, think you?” asked Clayley.“No, it is too early—perhaps below, at supper.”“Heaven send! we shall be most happy to join them. I am as hungry as a wolf.”We approached the house. Still all silent.“Where are the dogs?”We entered.“Strange!—no one stirring. Ha! the furniture gone!”We passed into the porch in the rear, and approached the stairway.“Let us go below—can you see any light?”I stooped and looked down. I could neither hear nor see any signs of life. I turned, and was gazing up at my friend in wonderment, when my eye was attracted by a strange movement upon the low branches of the olive-trees. The next moment a dozen forms dropped to the ground; and, before we could draw sword or pistol, myself and comrade were bound hand and foot and flung upon our backs.At the same instant we heard a scuffle down by the pond. Two or three shots were fired; and a few minutes after a crowd of men came up, bringing with them Chane, Lincoln, and Raoul as prisoners.We were all dragged out into the open ground in front of the rancho, where our horses were also brought and picketed.Here we lay upon our backs, a dozen guerilleros remaining to guard us. The others went back among the olives, where we could hear them laughing, talking, and yelling. We could see nothing of their movements, as we were tightly bound, and as helpless as if under the influence of nightmare.As we lay, Lincoln was a little in front of me. I could perceive that they had doubly bound him in consequence of the fierce resistance he had made. He had killed one of the guerilleros. He was banded and strapped all over, like a mummy, and he lay gnashing his teeth and foaming with fury. Raoul and the Irishman appeared to take things more easily, or rather more recklessly.“I wonder if they are going to hang us to-night, or keep us till morning? What do you think, Chane?” asked the Frenchman, laughing as he spoke.“Be the crass! they’ll lose no time—ye may depind on that same. There’s not an ounce av tinder mercy in their black hearts; yez may swear till that, from the way this eel-skin cuts.”“I wonder, Murt,” said Raoul, speaking from sheer recklessness, “if Saint Patrick couldn’t help us a bit. You have him round your neck, haven’t you?”“Be the powers, Rowl! though ye be only jokin’, I’ve a good mind to thry his holiness upon thim. I’ve got both him and the mother undher me jacket, av I could only rache thim.”“Good!” cried the other. “Do!”“It’s aisy for ye to say ‘Do’, when I can’t budge so much as my little finger.”“Never mind. I’ll arrange that,” answered Raoul. “Hola, Señor!” shouted he to one of the guerilleros.“Quien?” (Who?) said the man, approaching.“Usted su mismo,” (Yourself), replied Raoul.“Que cosa?” (What is it?)“This gentleman,” said Raoul, still speaking in Spanish, and nodding towards Chane, “has a pocket full of money.”A hint upon that head was sufficient; and the guerilleros, who, strangely enough, seemed to have overlooked this part of their duty, immediately commenced rifling our pockets, ripping them open with their long knives. They were not a great deal the richer for their pains, our joint purse yielding about twenty dollars. Upon Chane there was no money found; and the man whom Raoul had deceived repaid the latter by a curse and a couple of kicks.The saint, however, turned up, attached to the Irishman’s neck by a leathern string; and along with him a small crucifix, and a pewter image of the Virgin Mary.This appeared to please the guerilleros; and one of them, bending over the Irishman, slackened his fastenings a little—still, however, leaving him bound.“Thank yer honner,” said Chane; “that’s dacent of ye. That’s what Misther O’Connell wud callamaylioration. I’m a hape aysier now.”“Mucho bueno,” said the man, nodding and laughing.“Och, be my sowl, yes!—mucho bueno. But I’d have no objecshun if yer honner wud make itmucho bettero. Couldn’t ye just take a little turn aff me wrist here?—it cuts like a rayzyer.”I could not restrain myself from laughing, in which Clayley and Raoul joined me; and we formed a chorus that seemed to astonish our captors. Lincoln alone preserved his sullenness. He had not spoken a word.Little Jack had been placed upon the ground near the hunter. He was but loosely tied, our captors not thinking it worth while to trouble themselves about so diminutive a subject. I had noticed him wriggling about, and using all his Indian craft to undo his fastenings; but he appeared not to have succeeded, as he now lay perfectly still again.While the guerilleros were occupied with Chane and his saints, I observed the boy roll himself over and over, until he lay close up against the hunter. One of the guerilleros, noticing this, picked Jack up by the waistbelt, and, holding him at arm’s length, shouted out:“Mira, camarados! qui briboncito!” (Look, comrades! what a little rascal!)Amidst the laughing of the guerilleros, Jack was swung out, and fell in a bed of shrubs and flowers, where we saw no more of him. As he was bound, we concluded that he could not help himself, and was lying where he had been thrown.My attention was called away from this incident by an exclamation of Chane.“Och! blood, turf, and murther! If there isn’t that Frinch scoundhrel Dubrosc!”I looked up. The man was standing over us.“Ah, Monsieur le Capitaine!” cried he, in a sneering voice, “comment vous portez-vous? You came up dove-hunting—eh? The birds, you see, are not in the cot.”Had there been only a thread around my body, I could not have moved at that moment. I felt cold and rigid as marble. A thousand agonising thoughts crowded upon me at once—my doubts, my fears onheraccount, drowning all ideas of personal danger. I could have died at that moment, and without a groan, to have ensured her safety.There was something so fiendish in the character of this man—a polished brutality, too—that caused me to fear the worst.“Oh, heaven!” I muttered, “in the power of such a man!”“Ho!” cried Dubrosc, advancing a pace or two, and seizing my horse by the bridle, “a splendid mount! An Arab, as I live! Look here, Yañez!” he continued, addressing a guerillero who accompanied him, “I claim this, if you have no objection.”“Take him,” said the other, who was evidently the leader of the party.“Thank you. And you, Monsieur le Capitaine,” he added ironically, turning to me, “thank you for this handsome present. He will just replace my brave mustang, for whose loss I expect I am indebted to you, you great brute!—sacre!”The last words were addressed to Lincoln; and, as though maddened by the memory of La Virgen, he approached the latter, and kicked him fiercely in the side.The wanton foot had scarcely touched his ribs, when the hunter sprang up, as if by galvanic action,the thongs flying from his bodyin fifty spiral fragments. With a bound he leaped to his rifle; and, clutching it—he knew it was empty—struck the astonished Frenchman a blow upon the head. The latter fell heavily to the earth. In an instant a dozen knives and swords were aimed at the hunter’s throat. Sweeping his rifle around him, he cleared an opening, and, dashing past his foes with a wild yell, bounded off through the shrubbery. The guerilleros followed, screaming with rage; and we could hear an occasional shot, as they continued the pursuit into the distant woods. Dubrosc was carried back into the rancho, apparently lifeless.We were still wondering how our comrade had untied himself, when one of the guerilleros, lifting a piece of the thong, exclaimed:“Carajo! ha cortado el briboncito!” (The little rascal has cut it!) and the man darted into the shrubbery in search of little Jack. It was with us a moment of fearful suspense. We expected to see poor Jack sacrificed instantly. We watched the man with intense emotion, as he ran to and fro.At length he threw up his arms with a gesture of surprise, calling out at the same time:“Por todos santos! se fue!” (By all the saints! he’s gone!)“Hurrah!” cried Chane; “holies!—such a gossoon as that boy!”Several of the guerilleros dived into the thicket; but their search was in vain.We were now separated, so that we could no longer converse, and were more strictly watched, two sentries standing over each of us. We spent about an hour in this way. Straggling parties at intervals came back from the pursuit, and we could gather, from what we overheard, that neither Lincoln nor Jack had yet been retaken.We could hear talking in the rear of the rancho, and we felt that our fate was being determined upon. It was plain Dubrosc was not in command of the party. Had he been so, we should never have been carried beyond the olive-grove. It appeared we were to be hung elsewhere.At length a movement was visible that betokened departure. Our horses were taken away, and saddled mules were led out in front of the rancho. Upon these we were set, and strapped tightly to the saddles. A serape was passed over each of us, and we were blinded by tapojos. A bugle then sounded the “forward”. We could hear a confusion of noises, the prancing of many hoofs, and the next moment we felt ourselves moving along at a hurried pace through the woods.

We emerged from the forest and entered the fields. All silent. No sign or sound of a suspicion. The house still standing and safe.

“The guerillero must have been waiting for someone whom he expected by the Medellin road. Ride on, Raoul!”

“Captain,” said the man in a whisper, and halting at the end of theguardaraya(enclosure).

“Well?”

“Someone passed out at the other end.”

“Some of the domestics, no doubt. You may ride on, and—never mind; I will take the advance myself.”

I brushed past, and kept up the guardaraya. In a few minutes we had reached the lower end of the pond, where we halted. Here we dismounted; and, leaving the men, Clayley and I stole cautiously forward. We could see no one, though everything about the house looked as usual.

“Are they abed, think you?” asked Clayley.

“No, it is too early—perhaps below, at supper.”

“Heaven send! we shall be most happy to join them. I am as hungry as a wolf.”

We approached the house. Still all silent.

“Where are the dogs?”

We entered.

“Strange!—no one stirring. Ha! the furniture gone!”

We passed into the porch in the rear, and approached the stairway.

“Let us go below—can you see any light?”

I stooped and looked down. I could neither hear nor see any signs of life. I turned, and was gazing up at my friend in wonderment, when my eye was attracted by a strange movement upon the low branches of the olive-trees. The next moment a dozen forms dropped to the ground; and, before we could draw sword or pistol, myself and comrade were bound hand and foot and flung upon our backs.

At the same instant we heard a scuffle down by the pond. Two or three shots were fired; and a few minutes after a crowd of men came up, bringing with them Chane, Lincoln, and Raoul as prisoners.

We were all dragged out into the open ground in front of the rancho, where our horses were also brought and picketed.

Here we lay upon our backs, a dozen guerilleros remaining to guard us. The others went back among the olives, where we could hear them laughing, talking, and yelling. We could see nothing of their movements, as we were tightly bound, and as helpless as if under the influence of nightmare.

As we lay, Lincoln was a little in front of me. I could perceive that they had doubly bound him in consequence of the fierce resistance he had made. He had killed one of the guerilleros. He was banded and strapped all over, like a mummy, and he lay gnashing his teeth and foaming with fury. Raoul and the Irishman appeared to take things more easily, or rather more recklessly.

“I wonder if they are going to hang us to-night, or keep us till morning? What do you think, Chane?” asked the Frenchman, laughing as he spoke.

“Be the crass! they’ll lose no time—ye may depind on that same. There’s not an ounce av tinder mercy in their black hearts; yez may swear till that, from the way this eel-skin cuts.”

“I wonder, Murt,” said Raoul, speaking from sheer recklessness, “if Saint Patrick couldn’t help us a bit. You have him round your neck, haven’t you?”

“Be the powers, Rowl! though ye be only jokin’, I’ve a good mind to thry his holiness upon thim. I’ve got both him and the mother undher me jacket, av I could only rache thim.”

“Good!” cried the other. “Do!”

“It’s aisy for ye to say ‘Do’, when I can’t budge so much as my little finger.”

“Never mind. I’ll arrange that,” answered Raoul. “Hola, Señor!” shouted he to one of the guerilleros.

“Quien?” (Who?) said the man, approaching.

“Usted su mismo,” (Yourself), replied Raoul.

“Que cosa?” (What is it?)

“This gentleman,” said Raoul, still speaking in Spanish, and nodding towards Chane, “has a pocket full of money.”

A hint upon that head was sufficient; and the guerilleros, who, strangely enough, seemed to have overlooked this part of their duty, immediately commenced rifling our pockets, ripping them open with their long knives. They were not a great deal the richer for their pains, our joint purse yielding about twenty dollars. Upon Chane there was no money found; and the man whom Raoul had deceived repaid the latter by a curse and a couple of kicks.

The saint, however, turned up, attached to the Irishman’s neck by a leathern string; and along with him a small crucifix, and a pewter image of the Virgin Mary.

This appeared to please the guerilleros; and one of them, bending over the Irishman, slackened his fastenings a little—still, however, leaving him bound.

“Thank yer honner,” said Chane; “that’s dacent of ye. That’s what Misther O’Connell wud callamaylioration. I’m a hape aysier now.”

“Mucho bueno,” said the man, nodding and laughing.

“Och, be my sowl, yes!—mucho bueno. But I’d have no objecshun if yer honner wud make itmucho bettero. Couldn’t ye just take a little turn aff me wrist here?—it cuts like a rayzyer.”

I could not restrain myself from laughing, in which Clayley and Raoul joined me; and we formed a chorus that seemed to astonish our captors. Lincoln alone preserved his sullenness. He had not spoken a word.

Little Jack had been placed upon the ground near the hunter. He was but loosely tied, our captors not thinking it worth while to trouble themselves about so diminutive a subject. I had noticed him wriggling about, and using all his Indian craft to undo his fastenings; but he appeared not to have succeeded, as he now lay perfectly still again.

While the guerilleros were occupied with Chane and his saints, I observed the boy roll himself over and over, until he lay close up against the hunter. One of the guerilleros, noticing this, picked Jack up by the waistbelt, and, holding him at arm’s length, shouted out:

“Mira, camarados! qui briboncito!” (Look, comrades! what a little rascal!)

Amidst the laughing of the guerilleros, Jack was swung out, and fell in a bed of shrubs and flowers, where we saw no more of him. As he was bound, we concluded that he could not help himself, and was lying where he had been thrown.

My attention was called away from this incident by an exclamation of Chane.

“Och! blood, turf, and murther! If there isn’t that Frinch scoundhrel Dubrosc!”

I looked up. The man was standing over us.

“Ah, Monsieur le Capitaine!” cried he, in a sneering voice, “comment vous portez-vous? You came up dove-hunting—eh? The birds, you see, are not in the cot.”

Had there been only a thread around my body, I could not have moved at that moment. I felt cold and rigid as marble. A thousand agonising thoughts crowded upon me at once—my doubts, my fears onheraccount, drowning all ideas of personal danger. I could have died at that moment, and without a groan, to have ensured her safety.

There was something so fiendish in the character of this man—a polished brutality, too—that caused me to fear the worst.

“Oh, heaven!” I muttered, “in the power of such a man!”

“Ho!” cried Dubrosc, advancing a pace or two, and seizing my horse by the bridle, “a splendid mount! An Arab, as I live! Look here, Yañez!” he continued, addressing a guerillero who accompanied him, “I claim this, if you have no objection.”

“Take him,” said the other, who was evidently the leader of the party.

“Thank you. And you, Monsieur le Capitaine,” he added ironically, turning to me, “thank you for this handsome present. He will just replace my brave mustang, for whose loss I expect I am indebted to you, you great brute!—sacre!”

The last words were addressed to Lincoln; and, as though maddened by the memory of La Virgen, he approached the latter, and kicked him fiercely in the side.

The wanton foot had scarcely touched his ribs, when the hunter sprang up, as if by galvanic action,the thongs flying from his bodyin fifty spiral fragments. With a bound he leaped to his rifle; and, clutching it—he knew it was empty—struck the astonished Frenchman a blow upon the head. The latter fell heavily to the earth. In an instant a dozen knives and swords were aimed at the hunter’s throat. Sweeping his rifle around him, he cleared an opening, and, dashing past his foes with a wild yell, bounded off through the shrubbery. The guerilleros followed, screaming with rage; and we could hear an occasional shot, as they continued the pursuit into the distant woods. Dubrosc was carried back into the rancho, apparently lifeless.

We were still wondering how our comrade had untied himself, when one of the guerilleros, lifting a piece of the thong, exclaimed:

“Carajo! ha cortado el briboncito!” (The little rascal has cut it!) and the man darted into the shrubbery in search of little Jack. It was with us a moment of fearful suspense. We expected to see poor Jack sacrificed instantly. We watched the man with intense emotion, as he ran to and fro.

At length he threw up his arms with a gesture of surprise, calling out at the same time:

“Por todos santos! se fue!” (By all the saints! he’s gone!)

“Hurrah!” cried Chane; “holies!—such a gossoon as that boy!”

Several of the guerilleros dived into the thicket; but their search was in vain.

We were now separated, so that we could no longer converse, and were more strictly watched, two sentries standing over each of us. We spent about an hour in this way. Straggling parties at intervals came back from the pursuit, and we could gather, from what we overheard, that neither Lincoln nor Jack had yet been retaken.

We could hear talking in the rear of the rancho, and we felt that our fate was being determined upon. It was plain Dubrosc was not in command of the party. Had he been so, we should never have been carried beyond the olive-grove. It appeared we were to be hung elsewhere.

At length a movement was visible that betokened departure. Our horses were taken away, and saddled mules were led out in front of the rancho. Upon these we were set, and strapped tightly to the saddles. A serape was passed over each of us, and we were blinded by tapojos. A bugle then sounded the “forward”. We could hear a confusion of noises, the prancing of many hoofs, and the next moment we felt ourselves moving along at a hurried pace through the woods.

Chapter Thirty Two.A Blind Ride.We rode all night. The mule-blinds, although preventing us from seeing a single object, proved to be an advantage. They saved our eyes and faces from the thorny claws of the acacia and mezquite. Without hands to fend them off, these would have torn us badly, as we could feel them, from time to time, penetrating even the hard leather of the tapojos. Our thongs chafed us, and we suffered great pain from the monotonous motion. Our road lay through thick woods. This we could perceive from the constant rustle of the leaves and the crackling of branches, as the cavalcade passed on.Towards morning our route led over hills, steep and difficult, we could tell from the attitudes of our animals. We had passed the level plains, and were entering among the “foothills” of the Mexican mountains. There was no passing or repassing of one another. From this I concluded that we were journeying along a narrow road, and in single file.Raoul was directly in front of me, and we could converse at times.“Where do you think they are taking us, Raoul?” I inquired, speaking in French.“To Cenobio’s hacienda. I hope so, at least!”“Why do you hope so?”“Because we shall stand some chance for our lives. Cenobio is a noble fellow.”“You know him, then?”“Yes, Captain; I have helped him a little in the contraband trade.”“A smuggler, is he?”“Why, in this country it is hardly fair to call it by so harsh a name, as the Government itself dips out of the same dish. Smuggling here, as in most other countries, should be looked upon rather as the offspring of necessity and maladministration than as a vice in itself. Cenobio is acontrabandisto, and upon a large scale.”“And you are a political philosopher, Raoul!”“Bah! Captain; it would be bad if I could not defend my own calling,” replied my comrade, with a laugh.“You think, then, that we are in the hands of Cenobio’s men.”“I am sure of it, Captain.Sacre! had it been Jarauta’s band, we would have been in heaven—that is, our souls—and our bodies would now be embellishing some of the trees upon Don Cosmé’s plantation. Heaven protect us from Jarauta! The robber-priest gives but short shrift to any of his enemies; but if he could lay his hands on your humble servant, you would see hanging done in double-quick time.”“Why think you we are with Cenobio’s guerilla?”“I know Yañez, whom we saw at the rancho. He is one of Cenobio’s officers, and the leader of this party, which is only a detachment. I am rather surprised thathehas brought us away, considering that Dubrosc is with him; there must have been some influence in our favour which I cannot understand.”I was struck by the remark, and began to reflect upon it in silence. The voice of the Frenchman again fell upon my ear.“I cannot be mistaken. No—this hill—it runs down to the San Juan River.”Again, after a short interval, as we felt ourselves fording a stream, Raoul said:“Yes, the San Juan—I know the stony bottom—just the depth, too, at this season.”Our mules plunged through the swift current, flinging the spray over our heads. We could feel the water up to the saddle-flaps, cold as ice; and yet we were journeying in the hot tropic. But we were fording a stream fed by the snows of Orizava.“Now I am certain of the road,” continued Raoul, after we had crossed. “I know this bank well. The mule slides. Look out, Captain.”“For what?” I asked, with some anxiety.The Frenchman laughed as he replied:“I believe I am taking leave of my senses. I called to you to look out, as if you had the power to help yourself in case the accident should occur.”“What accidents?” I inquired, with a nervous sense of some impending danger.“Falling over: we are on a precipice that is reckoned dangerous on account of the clay; if your mule should stumble here, the first thing you would strike would be the branches of some trees five hundred feet below, or thereabout.”“Good heaven!” I ejaculated; “is it so?”“Never fear, Captain; there is not much danger. These mules appear to be sure-footed; and certainly,” he added, with a laugh, “their loads are well packed and tied.”I was in no condition just then to relish a joke, and my companion’s humour was completely thrown away upon me. The thought of my mule missing his foot and tumbling over a precipice, while I was stuck to him like a centaur, was anything else than pleasant. I had heard of such accidents, and the knowledge did not make the reflection any easier. I could not help muttering to myself:“Why, in the name of mischief, did the fellow tell me this till we had passed it?”I crouched closer to the saddle, allowing my limbs to follow every motion of the animal, lest some counteracting shock might disturb our joint equilibrium. I could hear the torrent, as it roared and hissed far below, appearing directly under us; and the “sough” grew fainter and fainter as we ascended.On we went, climbing up—up—up; our strong mules straining against the precipitous path. It was daybreak. There was a faint glimmer of light under our tapojos. At length we could perceive a brighter beam. We felt a sudden glow of heat over our bodies; the air seemed lighter; our mules walked on a horizontal path. We were on the ridge, and warmed by the beams of the rising sun.“Thank heaven we have passed it!”I could not help feeling thus: and yet perhaps we were riding to an ignominious death!

We rode all night. The mule-blinds, although preventing us from seeing a single object, proved to be an advantage. They saved our eyes and faces from the thorny claws of the acacia and mezquite. Without hands to fend them off, these would have torn us badly, as we could feel them, from time to time, penetrating even the hard leather of the tapojos. Our thongs chafed us, and we suffered great pain from the monotonous motion. Our road lay through thick woods. This we could perceive from the constant rustle of the leaves and the crackling of branches, as the cavalcade passed on.

Towards morning our route led over hills, steep and difficult, we could tell from the attitudes of our animals. We had passed the level plains, and were entering among the “foothills” of the Mexican mountains. There was no passing or repassing of one another. From this I concluded that we were journeying along a narrow road, and in single file.

Raoul was directly in front of me, and we could converse at times.

“Where do you think they are taking us, Raoul?” I inquired, speaking in French.

“To Cenobio’s hacienda. I hope so, at least!”

“Why do you hope so?”

“Because we shall stand some chance for our lives. Cenobio is a noble fellow.”

“You know him, then?”

“Yes, Captain; I have helped him a little in the contraband trade.”

“A smuggler, is he?”

“Why, in this country it is hardly fair to call it by so harsh a name, as the Government itself dips out of the same dish. Smuggling here, as in most other countries, should be looked upon rather as the offspring of necessity and maladministration than as a vice in itself. Cenobio is acontrabandisto, and upon a large scale.”

“And you are a political philosopher, Raoul!”

“Bah! Captain; it would be bad if I could not defend my own calling,” replied my comrade, with a laugh.

“You think, then, that we are in the hands of Cenobio’s men.”

“I am sure of it, Captain.Sacre! had it been Jarauta’s band, we would have been in heaven—that is, our souls—and our bodies would now be embellishing some of the trees upon Don Cosmé’s plantation. Heaven protect us from Jarauta! The robber-priest gives but short shrift to any of his enemies; but if he could lay his hands on your humble servant, you would see hanging done in double-quick time.”

“Why think you we are with Cenobio’s guerilla?”

“I know Yañez, whom we saw at the rancho. He is one of Cenobio’s officers, and the leader of this party, which is only a detachment. I am rather surprised thathehas brought us away, considering that Dubrosc is with him; there must have been some influence in our favour which I cannot understand.”

I was struck by the remark, and began to reflect upon it in silence. The voice of the Frenchman again fell upon my ear.

“I cannot be mistaken. No—this hill—it runs down to the San Juan River.”

Again, after a short interval, as we felt ourselves fording a stream, Raoul said:

“Yes, the San Juan—I know the stony bottom—just the depth, too, at this season.”

Our mules plunged through the swift current, flinging the spray over our heads. We could feel the water up to the saddle-flaps, cold as ice; and yet we were journeying in the hot tropic. But we were fording a stream fed by the snows of Orizava.

“Now I am certain of the road,” continued Raoul, after we had crossed. “I know this bank well. The mule slides. Look out, Captain.”

“For what?” I asked, with some anxiety.

The Frenchman laughed as he replied:

“I believe I am taking leave of my senses. I called to you to look out, as if you had the power to help yourself in case the accident should occur.”

“What accidents?” I inquired, with a nervous sense of some impending danger.

“Falling over: we are on a precipice that is reckoned dangerous on account of the clay; if your mule should stumble here, the first thing you would strike would be the branches of some trees five hundred feet below, or thereabout.”

“Good heaven!” I ejaculated; “is it so?”

“Never fear, Captain; there is not much danger. These mules appear to be sure-footed; and certainly,” he added, with a laugh, “their loads are well packed and tied.”

I was in no condition just then to relish a joke, and my companion’s humour was completely thrown away upon me. The thought of my mule missing his foot and tumbling over a precipice, while I was stuck to him like a centaur, was anything else than pleasant. I had heard of such accidents, and the knowledge did not make the reflection any easier. I could not help muttering to myself:

“Why, in the name of mischief, did the fellow tell me this till we had passed it?”

I crouched closer to the saddle, allowing my limbs to follow every motion of the animal, lest some counteracting shock might disturb our joint equilibrium. I could hear the torrent, as it roared and hissed far below, appearing directly under us; and the “sough” grew fainter and fainter as we ascended.

On we went, climbing up—up—up; our strong mules straining against the precipitous path. It was daybreak. There was a faint glimmer of light under our tapojos. At length we could perceive a brighter beam. We felt a sudden glow of heat over our bodies; the air seemed lighter; our mules walked on a horizontal path. We were on the ridge, and warmed by the beams of the rising sun.

“Thank heaven we have passed it!”

I could not help feeling thus: and yet perhaps we were riding to an ignominious death!

Chapter Thirty Three.A Drink à la Cheval.The guerilleros now halted and dismounted. We were left in our saddles. Our mules were picketed upon long lazos, and commenced browsing. They carried us under the thorny branches of the wild locust. The maguey, with its bill-shaped claws, had torn our uniform overalls to shreds. Our limbs were lacerated, and the cactus had lodged its poisoned prickles in our knees. But these were nothing to the pain of being compelled to keep our saddles, or rather saddle-trees—for we were upon the naked wood. Our hips ached intensely, and our limbs smarted under the chafing thong.There was a crackling of fires around us. Our captors were cooking their breakfasts, and chattering gaily over their chocolate. Neither food nor drink was offered to us, although we were both thirsty and hungry. We were kept in this place for about an hour.“They have joined another party here,” said Raoul, “with pack-mules.”“How know you?” I inquired.“I can tell by the shouts of the arrieros. Listen!—they are making ready to start.”There was a mingling of voices—exclamations addressed to their animals by the arrieros, such as:“Mula! anda! vaya! levantate! carrai! mula—mulita!—anda!—st!—st!”In the midst of this din I fancied that I heard the voice of a woman.“Can it be—?”The thought was too painful.A bugle at length sounded, and we felt ourselves again moving onward.Our road appeared to run along the naked ridge. There were no trees, and the heat became intense. Our serapes, that had served us during the night, should have been dispensed with now, had we been consulted in relation to the matter. I did not know, until some time after, why these blankets had been given to us, as they had been hitherto very useful in the cold. It was not from any anxiety in regard to our comfort, as I learned afterwards.We began to suffer from thirst, and Raoul asked one of the guerilleros for water.“Carajo!” answered the man, “it’s no use: you’ll be choked by and by with something else than thirst.”The brutal jest called forth a peal of laughter from his comrades.About noon we commenced descending a long hill. I could hear the sound of water ahead.“Where are we, Raoul?” I inquired faintly.“Going down to a stream—a branch of the Antigua.”“We are coming to another precipice?” I asked, with some uneasiness, as the roar of the torrent began to be heard more under our feet, and I snuffed the cold air from below.“There is one, Captain. There is a good road, though, and well paved.”“Paved! why, the country around is wild—is it not?”“True; but the road was paved by the priests.”“By the priests!” I exclaimed with some astonishment.“Yes, Captain; there’s a convent in the valley, near the crossing; that is, therewasone. It is now a ruin.”We crept slowly down, our mules at times seeming to walk on their heads. The hissing of the torrent grew gradually louder, until our ears were filled with its hoarse rushing.I heard Raoul below me shouting some words in a warning voice, when suddenly he seemed borne away, as if he had been tumbled over the precipice.I expected to feel myself next moment launched after him into empty space, when my mule, uttering a loud whinny, sprang forward and downward.Down—down! the next leap into eternity! No—she keeps her feet! she gallops along a level path! I am safe!I was swung about until the thongs seemed to cut through my limbs; and with a heavy plunge I felt myself carried thigh-deep into water.Here the animal suddenly halted.As soon as I could gain breath I shouted at the top of my voice for the Frenchman.“Here, Captain!” he answered, close by my side, but, as I fancied, with a strange, gurgling voice.“Are you hurt, Raoul?” I inquired.“Hurt? No, Captain.”“What was it, then?”“Oh! I wished to warn you, but I was too late. I might have known they would stampede, as the poor brutes have been no better treated than ourselves. Hear how they draw it up!”“I am choking!” I exclaimed, listening to the water as it filtered through the teeth of my mule.“Do as I do, Captain,” said Raoul, speaking as if from the bottom of a well.“How?” I asked.“Bend down, and let the water run into your mouth.”This accounted for Raoul’s voice sounding so strangely.“They may not give us a drop,” continued he. “It is our only chance.”“I have not even that,” I replied, after having vainly endeavoured to reach the surface with my face.“Why?” asked my comrade.“I cannot reach it.”“How deep are you?”“To the saddle-flaps.”“Ride this way, Captain. It’s deeper here.”“How can I? My mule is her own master, as far as I am concerned.”“Parbleu!” said the Frenchman. “I did not think of that.”But, whether to oblige me, or moved by a desire to cool her flanks, the animal plunged forward into a deeper part of the stream.After straining myself to the utmost, I was enabled to “duck” my head. In this painful position I contrived to get a couple of swallows; but I should think I took in quite as much at my nose and ears.Clayley and Chane followed our example, the Irishman swearing loudly that it was a “burnin’ shame to make a dacent Christyin dhrink like a horse in winkers.”Our guards now commenced driving our mules out of the water. As we were climbing the bank, someone touched me lightly upon the arm; and at the same instant a voice whispered in my ear, “Courage, Captain!”I started—it was the voice of a female. I was about to reply, when a soft, small hand was thrust under the tapojo, and pushed something between my lips. The hand was immediately withdrawn, and I heard the voice urging a horse onward.The clatter of hoofs, as of a horse passing me in a gallop, convinced me that this mysterious agent was gone, and I remained silent.“Who can it be Jack? No. Jack has a soft voice—a small hand; but how could he be here, and with his hands free? No—no—no! Who then? It was certainly the voice of a woman—the hand, too. What other should have made this demonstration? I know no other—it must—it must have been—.”I continued my analysis of probabilities, always arriving at the same result. It was both pleasant and painful: pleasant to believeshewas thus, like an angel, watching over me—painful to think that she might be in the power of my fiendish enemy.But is she so? Lincoln’s blow may have ended him. We have heard nothing of him since. Would to heaven—!It was an impious wish, but I could not control it.“What have I got between my lips? A slip of paper! Why was it placed there, and not in my bosom or my button-hole? Ha! there is more providence in the manner of the act than at first thought appears. How could I have taken it from either the one or the other, bound as I am? Moreover it may contain what would destroy the writer, if known to—. Cunning thought—for one so young and innocent, too—but love—.”I pressed the paper against the tapojo, covering it with my lips, so as to conceal it in case the blind should be removed.“Halted again?”“It is the ruin, Captain—the old convent of Santa Bernardina.”“But why do they halt here?”“Likely to noon and breakfast—that on the ridge was only theirdesayuna. The Mexicans of thetierra calientenever travel during mid-day. They will doubtless rest here until the cool of the evening.”“I trust they will extend the same favour to us,” said Clayley: “God knows we stand in need of rest. I’d give them three months’ pay for an hour upon the treadmill, only to stretch my limbs.”“They will take us down, I think—not on our account, but to ease the mules. Poor brutes! they are no parties to this transaction.”Raoul’s conjecture proved correct. We were taken out of our saddles, and, being carefully bound as before, we were hauled into a damp room, and flung down upon the floor. Our captors went out. A heavy door closed after them, and we could hear the regular footfall of a sentry on the stone pavement without. For the first time since our capture we were left alone. This my comrades tested by rolling themselves all over the floor of our prison to see if anyone was present with us. It was but a scant addition to our liberty; but we could converse freely, and that was something.Note. Desayuna is a slight early meal.

The guerilleros now halted and dismounted. We were left in our saddles. Our mules were picketed upon long lazos, and commenced browsing. They carried us under the thorny branches of the wild locust. The maguey, with its bill-shaped claws, had torn our uniform overalls to shreds. Our limbs were lacerated, and the cactus had lodged its poisoned prickles in our knees. But these were nothing to the pain of being compelled to keep our saddles, or rather saddle-trees—for we were upon the naked wood. Our hips ached intensely, and our limbs smarted under the chafing thong.

There was a crackling of fires around us. Our captors were cooking their breakfasts, and chattering gaily over their chocolate. Neither food nor drink was offered to us, although we were both thirsty and hungry. We were kept in this place for about an hour.

“They have joined another party here,” said Raoul, “with pack-mules.”

“How know you?” I inquired.

“I can tell by the shouts of the arrieros. Listen!—they are making ready to start.”

There was a mingling of voices—exclamations addressed to their animals by the arrieros, such as:

“Mula! anda! vaya! levantate! carrai! mula—mulita!—anda!—st!—st!”

In the midst of this din I fancied that I heard the voice of a woman.

“Can it be—?”

The thought was too painful.

A bugle at length sounded, and we felt ourselves again moving onward.

Our road appeared to run along the naked ridge. There were no trees, and the heat became intense. Our serapes, that had served us during the night, should have been dispensed with now, had we been consulted in relation to the matter. I did not know, until some time after, why these blankets had been given to us, as they had been hitherto very useful in the cold. It was not from any anxiety in regard to our comfort, as I learned afterwards.

We began to suffer from thirst, and Raoul asked one of the guerilleros for water.

“Carajo!” answered the man, “it’s no use: you’ll be choked by and by with something else than thirst.”

The brutal jest called forth a peal of laughter from his comrades.

About noon we commenced descending a long hill. I could hear the sound of water ahead.

“Where are we, Raoul?” I inquired faintly.

“Going down to a stream—a branch of the Antigua.”

“We are coming to another precipice?” I asked, with some uneasiness, as the roar of the torrent began to be heard more under our feet, and I snuffed the cold air from below.

“There is one, Captain. There is a good road, though, and well paved.”

“Paved! why, the country around is wild—is it not?”

“True; but the road was paved by the priests.”

“By the priests!” I exclaimed with some astonishment.

“Yes, Captain; there’s a convent in the valley, near the crossing; that is, therewasone. It is now a ruin.”

We crept slowly down, our mules at times seeming to walk on their heads. The hissing of the torrent grew gradually louder, until our ears were filled with its hoarse rushing.

I heard Raoul below me shouting some words in a warning voice, when suddenly he seemed borne away, as if he had been tumbled over the precipice.

I expected to feel myself next moment launched after him into empty space, when my mule, uttering a loud whinny, sprang forward and downward.

Down—down! the next leap into eternity! No—she keeps her feet! she gallops along a level path! I am safe!

I was swung about until the thongs seemed to cut through my limbs; and with a heavy plunge I felt myself carried thigh-deep into water.

Here the animal suddenly halted.

As soon as I could gain breath I shouted at the top of my voice for the Frenchman.

“Here, Captain!” he answered, close by my side, but, as I fancied, with a strange, gurgling voice.

“Are you hurt, Raoul?” I inquired.

“Hurt? No, Captain.”

“What was it, then?”

“Oh! I wished to warn you, but I was too late. I might have known they would stampede, as the poor brutes have been no better treated than ourselves. Hear how they draw it up!”

“I am choking!” I exclaimed, listening to the water as it filtered through the teeth of my mule.

“Do as I do, Captain,” said Raoul, speaking as if from the bottom of a well.

“How?” I asked.

“Bend down, and let the water run into your mouth.”

This accounted for Raoul’s voice sounding so strangely.

“They may not give us a drop,” continued he. “It is our only chance.”

“I have not even that,” I replied, after having vainly endeavoured to reach the surface with my face.

“Why?” asked my comrade.

“I cannot reach it.”

“How deep are you?”

“To the saddle-flaps.”

“Ride this way, Captain. It’s deeper here.”

“How can I? My mule is her own master, as far as I am concerned.”

“Parbleu!” said the Frenchman. “I did not think of that.”

But, whether to oblige me, or moved by a desire to cool her flanks, the animal plunged forward into a deeper part of the stream.

After straining myself to the utmost, I was enabled to “duck” my head. In this painful position I contrived to get a couple of swallows; but I should think I took in quite as much at my nose and ears.

Clayley and Chane followed our example, the Irishman swearing loudly that it was a “burnin’ shame to make a dacent Christyin dhrink like a horse in winkers.”

Our guards now commenced driving our mules out of the water. As we were climbing the bank, someone touched me lightly upon the arm; and at the same instant a voice whispered in my ear, “Courage, Captain!”

I started—it was the voice of a female. I was about to reply, when a soft, small hand was thrust under the tapojo, and pushed something between my lips. The hand was immediately withdrawn, and I heard the voice urging a horse onward.

The clatter of hoofs, as of a horse passing me in a gallop, convinced me that this mysterious agent was gone, and I remained silent.

“Who can it be Jack? No. Jack has a soft voice—a small hand; but how could he be here, and with his hands free? No—no—no! Who then? It was certainly the voice of a woman—the hand, too. What other should have made this demonstration? I know no other—it must—it must have been—.”

I continued my analysis of probabilities, always arriving at the same result. It was both pleasant and painful: pleasant to believeshewas thus, like an angel, watching over me—painful to think that she might be in the power of my fiendish enemy.

But is she so? Lincoln’s blow may have ended him. We have heard nothing of him since. Would to heaven—!

It was an impious wish, but I could not control it.

“What have I got between my lips? A slip of paper! Why was it placed there, and not in my bosom or my button-hole? Ha! there is more providence in the manner of the act than at first thought appears. How could I have taken it from either the one or the other, bound as I am? Moreover it may contain what would destroy the writer, if known to—. Cunning thought—for one so young and innocent, too—but love—.”

I pressed the paper against the tapojo, covering it with my lips, so as to conceal it in case the blind should be removed.

“Halted again?”

“It is the ruin, Captain—the old convent of Santa Bernardina.”

“But why do they halt here?”

“Likely to noon and breakfast—that on the ridge was only theirdesayuna. The Mexicans of thetierra calientenever travel during mid-day. They will doubtless rest here until the cool of the evening.”

“I trust they will extend the same favour to us,” said Clayley: “God knows we stand in need of rest. I’d give them three months’ pay for an hour upon the treadmill, only to stretch my limbs.”

“They will take us down, I think—not on our account, but to ease the mules. Poor brutes! they are no parties to this transaction.”

Raoul’s conjecture proved correct. We were taken out of our saddles, and, being carefully bound as before, we were hauled into a damp room, and flung down upon the floor. Our captors went out. A heavy door closed after them, and we could hear the regular footfall of a sentry on the stone pavement without. For the first time since our capture we were left alone. This my comrades tested by rolling themselves all over the floor of our prison to see if anyone was present with us. It was but a scant addition to our liberty; but we could converse freely, and that was something.

Note. Desayuna is a slight early meal.

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