After the sentry's challenge, loud shouts were raised outside the rancho, and, ere long, the noise and confusion since his return to honesty, the worthy monk had resumed his monastic habits of prolixity, we will take his place and narrate the facts as briefly as possible.
We have said that on entering the rancho the Jaguar, while passing through the first room, had perceived, among the sleepers upon straw, Lanzi, Quoniam, and Fray Antonio. All these men were really sleeping, but with that light sleep peculiar to hunters and wood rangers, and the sound of the young man's footsteps had aroused them; so soon as they saw the door of the second room close on the American they rose noiselessly, took up their weapons, and stealthily quitted the rancho. They had done this without exchanging a syllable, and were evidently carrying out a plan arranged beforehand, and which the presence of the sentry had alone impeded. Their horses were saddled in a twinkling, they leapt into their saddles, and when John Davis returned to his post they were far out of reach. The American, who immediately perceived their departure, gave a start of passion, and resumed his rounds, growling between his teeth:
"The deuce take them! I only hope they may get a dose of lead in their heads, provided they do not bring a cuadrilla of Mexican lancers down on us."
Still, the plan of these bold rangers was far from meriting such an imprecation, for they were about to accomplish a work of devotion. Ignorant of Colonel Melendez' promises, and having, moreover, no sort of confidence in the well-known Punic faith of the Mexicans, they proposed to beat up the country, and assembled all the fugitives of their party they came across, in order to defend Tranquil and Doña Carmela from any insult. In the meanwhile Lanzi would swim off to the brig, which would be cruising a cable's length from the beach, announce to Captain Johnson the result of the battle of Cerro Pardo, tell him the critical position in which the old hunter and his daughter were placed, and beg him to go to the rancho and remove the wounded man on board, if circumstances compelled it.
Fortune, which, according to a well-known proverb, always favours the brave, was far more favourable to the plans of this forlorn hope than they had any right to expect; they had hardly galloped ten miles across country in no settled direction, ere they perceived numerous bivouac fires sparkling through the night in front of a wretched fishing village, situated on the sea shore a little distance from the Fort of the Point. They stopped to hold a council; but at the moment they prepared to deliberate, they were suddenly surrounded by a dozen horsemen, and made prisoners, ere they had time to lay hands on their arms or make an effort at defence.
Only one of the three comrades succeeded in escaping, and that was Lanzi; the brave half-breed slipped off his horse, and passing like a serpent between the legs of the horses, he disappeared before his flight was noticed. Lanzi had reflected that by remaining with his comrades he let himself be captured without profit; while if he succeeded in escaping he might hope to accomplish the commission he had undertaken, so that he retained a chance of safety for Tranquil and his daughter. It was in consequence of this reasoning, made with the rapidity that characterised the half-breed, that he attempted and accomplished his bold flight, leaving his comrades to get as they best could out of the awkward scrape they had fallen into.
But a thing happened to the latter which they were far from anticipating, and which the half-breed would never have suspected. The capture of the two men was effected so rapidly; they had been so surprised that not a single word was exchanged on either side; but when they were secured the Chief of the detachment ordered them to follow him in a rough voice, and then a curious fact occurred: these men, who could not see each other for the darkness, became old friends again so soon as a sentence had been exchanged. Fray Antonio and his comrades had fallen into the hands of Texan fugitives from the battle, and were the prisoners of their own friends.
After numberless mutual congratulations, explanations came on the carpet, and these horsemen proved to belong to the Jaguar's cuadrilla. When their Chief left them to fly to the cart they continued to fight for some time while awaiting his return; but pressed on all sides, and not seeing him return, they broke and began flying in all directions. As they were perfectly acquainted with the country, it was easy for them to escape the pursuit of the Mexican cavalry; and each, with that instinct peculiar to partisans and guerillas, proceeded separately to one of the gathering places, whither the Jaguar was accustomed to summon them. Here they nearly all came together again, for the simple reason that as their cuadrilla formed the rearguard, it had been the last engaged, and suffered very slightly, as it was almost immediately broken up by the departure of its Chief.
During this flight a great number of other partisans had swelled their ranks, so that at this moment their band formed a corps of nearly six hundred resolute men, well mounted and armed, but who, unfortunately, had no leader. The capture of Fray Antonio, who found many of his soldiers among them, was, therefore, a piece of good luck for the partisans, who, though they had been left to their own resources for only a few hours, were already beginning to understand the difficulties of their position, and how dangerous it would become for them if fatality willed it that they should be discovered and attacked, by a Mexican corps.
Still, they had acted with great prudence up to this moment. Obliged to leave the retreat they had selected, and which offered them no resources, they had bivouacked a little distance from the Fort of the Point, in order to be protected both by the garrison of the fortress and the fire of their cruisers, which they knew to be close at hand.
When Fray Antonio had picked up this information, which was precious for him, and overwhelmed him with delight, by permitting him to dispose of numerous and determined corps, instead of a few demoralized fugitives of no value, he determined to requite the soldiers who had captured him for the pleasure they caused him by telling him that the Jaguar was not dead as they had falsely supposed—that he was not even wounded, but was in hiding at the rancho which had for a long time served as headquarters of the Texan army, and he would conduct them thither if they pleased. At this proposal of the worthy monk's the joy of the Freebooters became delirious, almost frenzied, for they adored their Chief, and longed to place themselves under his orders again. Consequently, the camp was immediately raised, the partisans formed in a column, Fray Antonio placing himself at its head, and the remains of the Texan army set out joyously for the rancho. The reader knows the rest.
The Jaguar warmly thanked Fray Antonio; he then stated that the rancho would temporarily be headquarters, and ordered his men to bivouac round the house. Still, there was one thing which greatly alarmed the young man: no news had been received, of Lanzi. What had become of him? Perhaps he had found death in accomplishing his rash enterprise, and trying to reach, by swimming, Captain Johnson's brig. The Jaguar knew the friendship that united Tranquil and the half-breed, and what deep root that friendship had taken in the heart of both, and he feared the effect on the Canadian of the announcement of a calamity which, unhappily, was only too probable. Hence, in spite of his promise of returning at once to the hunter, he walked anxiously up and down in front of the rancho, gazing at intervals out to sea, and not feeling the courage to be present when the Canadian asked after his old friend and was told of his death.
Presently, Carmela appeared in the doorway. The old hunter, not seeing the Jaguar return, and alarmed by the noisy demonstrations he heard outside, at length resolved to send the girl on a voyage of discovery, after warning her not to commit any act of imprudence, but return to his side at the slightest appearance of danger, Carmela ran off in delight to find the Jaguar; a few remarks she heard while passing through the house told her what was occurring, and she had no fear about venturing outside. On seeing her the young man checked his hurried walk and waited for her, while trying to give his features an expression agreeing with the lucky situation in which he was supposed to be.
"Well!" she said to him, with that little pouting air which she could assume if necessary, and which suited her so well; "What has become of you, deserter? We have been waiting for you with the most lively impatience, and there you are walking quietly up and down, instead of hurrying to bring us the good news you promised us."
"Forgive me, Carmela," he replied; "I was wrong to appear thus to forget you, and leave you in a state of anxiety; but so many extraordinary things have occurred, that I do not really yet know whether I am awake or dreaming."
"Everybody deserts us this morning, not excepting Lanzi and Quoniam, who have not yet made their appearance."
"You will pardon them, Señorita, for I am the sole cause of their absence. I found myself compelled to entrust them both with important duties, but I trust they will soon return, and directly they do so, I will send them to you."
"But are you not coming in, Jaguar? My father would be glad to talk with you."
"I should like to do so, Carmela, but at this moment it is impossible; remember that the army is utterly disorganized, at each moment fresh men who have escaped from the battle join us; only a few Chiefs have turned up as yet, the rest are missing. I alone must undertake to restore a little order in this chaos; but be assured that so soon as I have a second to myself, I will take advantage of it to join you. Alas! It is only by your side that I am happy."
The maiden blushed slightly at this insinuation, and answered at once with a degree of coldness in her accent, of which she immediately repented, in seeing the impression her words caused the young man, and the cloud they brought to his forehead.
"You are at liberty to remain here as long as you please, Caballero; in speaking to you as I did I merely carried a message my father gave me for you; the rest concerns me but little."
The young man bowed without replying, and turned away his head not to let the cruel girl see the sorrow she caused him by this harsh and so unmerited apostrophe. Carmela walked a few steps toward the house, but on reaching the threshold she ran back and offered her little hand to the young Chief with an exquisite smile.
"Forgive me, my friend," she said to him, "I am a madcap. You are not angry with me, I trust?"
"I angry with you?" he replied, sadly, "Why should I be so, by what right? What else am I to you than a stranger, an indifferent being, a stranger too happy to be endured without any great display of impatience on your part."
The maiden bit her lips angrily.
"Will you not take the hand I offer you?" she said with a slight tinge of impatience.
The Jaguar looked at her for a moment fixedly, and then seized her hand, on which he imprinted a burning kiss.
"Why should the head ever do injustice to the heart?" he said, with a sigh.
"Am I not a woman?" she replied with a smile that filled his heart with joy; "We are waiting for you, so come soon," she added, and shaking her finger at him, she ran back into the house like a startled fawn, and laughing like a madcap.
The Jaguar gazed after her until she at length disappeared in the interior of the rancho.
"She is but a coquettish child," he murmured in a low voice; "has she a heart?"
A stifled sigh was the sole answer he found for the difficult question he asked himself, and he bent his eyes again on the sea. Suddenly, he uttered a cry of joy; he had just seen, above the rocks which terminated on the right, the small bay on which the cuadrilla was encamped, the tall masts of theLibertadcorvette, followed or rather convoyed by the brig. The two ships, impelled by a favourable breeze, soon doubled the point, and entered the bay; while the corvette made short tacks not to run ashore on the dangerous coast, the brig shortened sail and remained stationary. A boat was immediately let down, several persons seated themselves in it, and the sailors, letting their oars fall simultaneously into the water, pulled vigorously for the shore.
The distance they had to row was nearly half a mile, and hence the Jaguar was unable to recognise the persons who were arriving. Anxious to know, however, what he had to depend on, he mounted the first horse he came across, and galloped toward the boat, followed by some twenty Freebooters; who, seeing their Chief set out, formed him a guard of honour. The young man reached the coast at the precise moment when the bows of the boat ran up into the sand. There were three sailors in the boat: Captain Johnson and the person we have met before under the name of El Alferez, and lastly, Lanzi. On perceiving the latter, the young Chief could not restrain a shout of joy, and without thinking of even saluting the other two, he seized the half-breed's hand and pressed it cordially several times.
The Captain and his companion, far from being annoyed at this apparent want of politeness, seemed, on the contrary, to witness with pleasure, this frank and spontaneous manifestation of an honourable feeling.
"Bravo, Cabellero!" said the Captain; "By Heaven! You do right to press that man's hand, for he is a loyal and devoted fellow; ten times during the past night he risked his life in trying to reach my ship, which at length came aboard, half drowned and dead with fatigue."
"Nonsense," the half-breed said negligently; "it was nothing at all; the main point was to reach you, as my poor comrades had the ill-luck to be taken prisoners."
The Jaguar began laughing.
"Don't be alarmed, my brave fellow," he said to him; "your comrades are as free as yourself, and you will soon see them; there was a mistake in all this which they will have the pleasure of explaining to you."
Lanzi opened his eyes in amazement at this partial revelation, which he did not at all understand, but he made no answer, contenting himself with shrugging his shoulders several times. The Jaguar then offered the Captain and his two companions horses on which they could proceed to the rancho, and which they accepted. The partisans who had followed their Chief, on hearing this offer, hastened to dismount, and courteously presented their horses to the strangers. The latter, without stopping to make a choice, mounted the horses nearest to them, and started.
While galloping along, the three newcomers looked about them with surprise, not at all comprehending what they saw; for a time, the Jaguar paid no great attention to their manoeuvres, and continued to talk about indifferent topics; but their preoccupation soon became so marked that he perceived it, and could not refrain from asking them the cause of it.
"On my word, Caballeros," the Captain said, all at once taking the ball at the rebound; "if you had not asked me that question, I was on the point of asking you one, for I frankly confess that I understand nothing of what is happening to us."
"What is happening, pray?"
"Why, I learned last night from this worthy lad, the frightful defeat you experienced yesterday; the total loss and the utter dispersion of your army; I hurried up to offer you and yours, whom I supposed tracked like wild beasts and without shelter of any sort, an asylum aboard my vessel, and I have barely set foot on land, ere I find myself in the midst of this army which I supposed to be swept away like autumn leaves by a storm; and this army is as firm and well disciplined as before the battle. Explain to me, I beg, the meaning of this riddle, for I have really given it up, as impossible to guess."
"I am ready to satisfy your curiosity," the Jaguar answered with a smile; "but first of all I crave some valuable news from you."
"Very good; but answer me this first."
"Go on."
"Has the battle really taken place?"
"Certainly."
"And you have been whipped?"
"To our heart's content."
"That is strange, I understand leas than ever; well, speak, I am listening to you."
"Is the Fort of the Point still in the hands of our friends?"
"Yes; our ships have left it an hour at the most. Ever since you so daringly surprised it, the Mexicans have not come within gunshot."
"May Heaven be praised!" the young man exclaimed impetuously; "nothing is lost in that case, and all can be repaired. Yes, Captain, we have been beaten, we have suffered a frightful defeat; but, as you know, during the ten years we have been struggling against the Mexican power, our oppressors have often believed us crushed, and it is the same this time, thanks be to Heaven! Two of our best cuadrillas have escaped almost in safety the horrible massacre of the other corps, and they are those you see assembled here. At each moment straggling fugitives join us, so that within a week we shall probably be able to resume the offensive. GOD is on our side, for the cause we defend is sacred; we are the soldiers of an idea, and must conquer. The defeat of yesterday will be of use to us in the future."
"You are right, my friend," the Captain answered warmly. "This revolution in truth resembles no other; ever conquered, and ever up in arms, you are stronger today, after your numerous defeats, than when you began the struggle. The finger of Heaven is there, and a man must be mad not to perceive it. Hence your losses are limited to men and arms?"
"To men and arms solely; we have not lost an inch of ground. I seek in vain the reason that prevented the victorious Mexicans pursuing us, for we have kept all our positions, and are scarce ten miles from the battle field."
"Many of our Chiefs, I presume, have fallen, or are in the hands of the enemy?"
"I fear so; still, several have already come in, and others will probably still join us. There is one, unfortunately, about whom we have no news—you know to whom I refer; if the day pass without his making his appearance, I shall start in search of him."
The Jaguar had spoken the truth; each moment soldiers who had escaped from the battlefield arrived. During the short hour that had elapsed since he left the rancho, more than two hundred had joined the camp.
"You see," said the young Chief, looking around him proudly, "that, in spite of our defeat, nothing has really changed for us, as we have retained our head quarters, and the banner of Texan Independence still floats from its azotea."
The horsemen then dismounted, and entered the rancho.
The Jaguar was mistaken, or rather flattered himself, when he said that the defeat of Cerro Pardo had caused but an insignificant loss to the revolutionary party; for Galveston, too weak to attempt resistance to the attack of the Mexican army, surrendered on the first summons, and did not even attempt a useless demonstration. Still, the young Chief was rightly astonished that General Rubio, an old experienced soldier, and one of the best officers in the Mexican army, had not attempted to complete his victory by definitively crushing his enemies, and pursuing them to the death. General Rubio really intended not to give those he had beaten breathing time, but his will was suddenly paralysed by another more powerful than his own.
The facts that then occurred are so strange, that they deserve to be described in their fullest details. Besides; they are intimately related to the facts we have undertaken to narrate, and throw a new light on certain events connected with the revolution of Texas, which are but little known.
We ask our reader's pardon; but we must go back once again, and return to General Rubio, at the moment when the Texans, broken by Colonel Melendez' charge, and understanding that victory was hopelessly slipping from their grasp, began flying in every direction, without trying to defend themselves longer, or keep the ground they held. The General had stationed himself on an eminence whence he surveyed the whole battlefield, and followed the movements of the various corps engaged. So soon as he saw the disorder produced in the enemy's ranks, he understood the advantage he could derive from this precipitate flight, by closely pursuing the fugitives up to the Fort of the Point, where he could certainly enter pell-mell without striking a blow. But haste was needed, not to give the enemy time to re-form a little further on, which the chiefs who commanded them would not fail to attempt, if but an hour's respite were granted them.
The General turned to an aide-de-camp by his side, and was just going to send Colonel Melendez orders to start all his cavalry in pursuit of the Texans, when a platoon of a dozen lancers suddenly appeared, commanded by an officer who galloped at full speed to the spot where the General was, making signs and waving his hat. The General looked in surprise at this officer, whom he knew did not belong to his army. A minute later he gave a start of surprise and disappointment, took, a sorrowful glance at the battlefield, and stood biting his moustache and muttering, in a low voice,
"Confound this saloon officer and sabre clunker! Why did he not remain in Mexico? What does the President mean by sending us this gold plumaged springald, to make us lose all the profits of the victory?"
At this moment the officer came up to the General, bowed respectfully, drew a large sealed envelope from his breast, and handed it to him. The General coldly returned the salutation, took the letter, opened it, and looked at it with a frown; but almost immediately he crumpled the letter up passionately, and addressed the officer, who was standing motionless and stiff before him.
"You are the aide-de-camp of the President General of the Republic?" he said, roughly.
"Yes, General," the officer answered, with a bow.
"Hum! Where is the President at this moment?"
"Four leagues off at the most, with two thousand troops."
"Where has he halted?"
"His Excellency has not halted, General, but, on the contrary, is advancing with forced marches to join you."
The General gave a start of anger.
"It is well," he continued, presently. "Return at full gallop to his Excellency, and announce to him my speedy arrival."
"Pardon me, General, but it seems to me that you have not read the despatch I had the honour of handing you," the officer said, respectfully, but firmly.
The General looked at him askance.
"I have not time at this moment to read the despatch," he said, drily.
At the period when our history takes place, General Don Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna was thirty-nine to forty years of age; he was tall and finely built; he had a lofty and projecting forehead, rounded chin, and slightly aquiline nose, large black eyes, full of expression, and a flexible mouth, which gave him an air of remarkable nobility, while his black and curly hair, which formed a contrast to the yellowish tinge of his complexion, covered his temples and his high-boned cheeks. Such, physically, was the man who, for thirty years, has been the evil genius of Mexico, and has led it to infallible ruin by making himself the cause or pretext of all the wars and revolutions which, since his first assumption of power, have incessantly overwhelmed this unhappy country.
We must now ask our reader's pardon, but we must talk a little politics, and describe cursorily the facts which preceded and led to the denouement of the too lengthy story we have undertaken to narrate.
If the Mexicans had gained an important advantage over the Texans, in another portion of the revolted territory they had experienced a check, whose consequences must prove immense for them. The Mexican General Cos was besieged in the town of Bejar by the Texans; the latter, with that want of foresight so natural to volunteers of all countries, believing that they had only a campaign of a few days, had laid in no provisions or winter clothing, though the rainy season was at hand, hence they were beginning to grow discouraged and talk about raising the siege; when El Alferez, that mysterious personage we have come across several times, went to the General in Chief and pledged himself to compel the Mexicans to capitulate, if three hundred men were given him.
The young partizan's reputation for intrepidity had long been famed among the Texans, and hence his offer was accepted with enthusiasm. El Alferez performed his promise. The town was captured after four terrible assaults; but the young Chief, struck by a bullet in the forehead, fell in the breach, with his triumph as his winding sheet. A fact was then ascertained which had hitherto been only vaguely suspected:—El Alferez, the daring and formidable partisan, was a woman. General Cos, his staff, and one thousand five hundred Mexicans laid down their arms, and all filed, in the presence of the handful of insurgents who had survived the assaults and the corpse of their intrepid Chieftain, which was clothed in feminine attire, and seated in a chair covered with the flags taken from the vanquished. The Mexicans left the territory of the New Republic, after pledging their word of honour not to oppose the recognition of independence.
Santa Anna received news of the defeat at Bejar while stationed at San Luis de Potosi. Furious at the affront the Mexican arms had received, the President, after flying into a furious passion with the generals who had hitherto directed the military operations, swore to avenge the honour of Mexico, which was so disgracefully compromised, and finally finish with these rebels whom no one had yet been able to conquer. The President organized an army of six thousand men, a truly formidable army, if we take into account the resources of the country in which these events occurred. The preparations, urged on by that vigour produced by wounded pride and the hope of vengeance, were soon completed, and Santa Anna entered Texas, after dividing his army into three corps, under the orders of Filisola, Cos, Urrea, and Garrey. After effecting his junction with General Rubio, to whom he had sent an aide-de-camp with orders to remain in his quarters and not risk a battle before his arrival, an order which the General received too late, the President determined to deal a decisive blow by recapturing Bejar and seizing on Goliad.
Bejar and Goliad are two Spanish towns; roads run from them to a common centre, the heart of the Anglo-American settlements. The capture of these two towns, as the basis of operations, was, consequently, of the highest importance to the Mexicans. The Texans, weakened and demoralized by their last defeat, were unable to resist so formidable an invasion as the one with which they saw themselves menaced. The Mexican army carried on a true war of savages, passing like a flood over this hapless country, plundering and burning the towns. The two first months that followed Santa Anna's arrival in Texas were an uninterrupted series of successes for the Mexicans, and seemed to justify the new method inaugurated by the President, however barbarous and inhuman it might be in its results. The Texans found themselves in a moment reduced to so precarious a condition, that their ruin appeared to competent men inevitable, and merely a question of time.
Let us describe, in a few words, the operations of the Mexican army. Before resuming our narrative at the point where we left it, we have said already that the Mexican forces had been divided into three corps. Three thousand men, that is to say, one moiety of the Mexican army, commanded by Generals Santa Anna and Cos, and well supplied with artillery, proceeded to lay siege to Bejar. This town had only a feeble garrison of one hundred and eighty men, but this garrison was commanded by Colonel Travis, one of the greatest and purest heroes of the War of Independence. When completely invested, Travis withdrew to the citadel, not feeling at all alarmed by the numbers he had to fight. He was summoned to surrender.
"Nonsense!" he answered with a smile; "we will all die, but your victory will cost you so dearly that a defeat would be better for you."
And he loyally kept his word, resisting for a whole fortnight with unexampled bravery, and incessantly exhorting his comrades. Thirty-two Texans managed to throw themselves into the fort, after traversing the entire Mexican army.
"We have come to die with you," the chief of this heroic forlorn hope said to him.
"Thanks," was all the answer.
Santa Anna, whose strength had been more than doubled during the siege, summoned Colonel Travis for the last time, saying there would be madness in risking an assault with a practicable breach.
"We will fill it up with our dead bodies," the Colonel nobly answered.
The President ordered the assault, and the Texans were killed to the last man. The Mexicans then entered the citadel, not as conquerors, but with a secret apprehension, and as if ashamed of their triumph. They had lost fifteen hundred men.[1]
"Oh!" Santa Anna exclaimed bitterly, "another such victory and we are lost!"
So soon as Bejar was reduced, attention was turned to Goliad. But here one of those facts occurred which history is compelled to register, were it only to stigmatize and eternally brand the men who have been guilty. Goliad is an open town, without walls or citadel to arrest an enemy, and Colonel Fanni had abandoned it, as he had only five hundred Texan Volunteers with him. Compelled to leave his ammunition and baggage behind, in order to effect his retreat with greater speed, he was suddenly attacked on the prairie by General Urrea's Mexican division, nineteen hundred strong. Obeying their Colonel's orders, the Texans formed square, and for a whole day endured the attack of the foe without flinching. The Mexicans involuntarily admiring the desperate heroism of these men, who had no hope of salvation, implored them to surrender, while offering them good and honourable conditions. The Texans hesitated for a long time, for, as they did not dare trust the word of their enemies, they preferred to die. Still, when one hundred and forty Texans had fallen, the Colonel resolved to lay down his arms, on the condition that his soldiers and himself should be regarded as prisoners of war, treated as such, and that the American Volunteers should be embarked for the United States at the charges of the Mexican Government. These conditions having been accepted by General Urrea, the Texans surrendered.
Santa Anna, who was still at Bejar, refused to ratify the treaty; and by hisexpress orders, in spite of the prayers and supplications of all his generals, he directed the massacre of the prisoners. The three hundred and fifty prisoners were murdered in cold blood, on a prairie situated between Goliad and the sea. General Urrea, whom this infamous treason dishonoured, broke his sword, weeping with rage. This horrible massacre was the signal for a general upheaval, and all ran to arms; despair restored the energy of the Insurgents, and a new army seemed to spring from the ground as if by enchantment. General Houston was appointed Commander-in-Chief, and on both sides preparations were made for the supreme and decisive struggle.
[1]It was at this marvellous siege, better known as that of the Alamo, that Colonels Crockett and Bowie were killed.—L.W.
[1]It was at this marvellous siege, better known as that of the Alamo, that Colonels Crockett and Bowie were killed.—L.W.
As we have already said, Texas had reached a decisive epoch: unfortunately, her future seemed as gloomy as that of the conquered: in spite of the heroic efforts attempted by the Insurgents, the rapid progress of the invasion was watched with terror, and no possible means of resistance could be seen. Still it was this moment, when all appeared desperate, which the Convention, calm and moved by a love of liberty more ardent than ever, selected to hurl a last and supreme defiance at the invaders. Not allowing itself to be intimidated by evil fortune, the convention replied to the menaces of the conquerors by a statement of rights, and the definitive declaration of the independence of a country which was almost entirely occupied by, and in the power of the Mexicans. It improvised a constitution, created a provisional executive authority, decreed all the measures of urgency which the gravity of circumstances demanded, and finally nominated General Sam Houston Commander-in-Chief, with the most widely extended powers.
Unhappily the Texan army no longer existed, for its previous defeats had completely annihilated it. But if military organization might be lacking, the enthusiasm was more ardent than ever. The Texans had sworn to bury themselves under the smoking ruins of their plundered towns and villages, sooner than return beneath the detested yoke of their oppressors. And this oath they were not only prepared to keep, but had already kept at Bejar and Goliad: however low a people may appear, and is really in the sight of its tyrants, when all its acting strength is concentrated in the firm and immutable will, to live free or die, it is certain to recover from its defeats, and to rise again one day a conqueror, and regenerated by the blood of the martyrs who have succumbed in the supreme struggle of liberty against slavery.
General Houston had scarce been appointed ere he prepared to obey, and he reached the banks of the Guadalupe three days after the capture of the Alamo. The Texan troops amounted tothree hundredmen, badly armed, badly clothed, almost dying of hunger, but burning to take their revenge. General Houston was a stern and sincere patriot; his name is revered in Texas, like that of Washington in the United States, or of Lafayette in France. Houston was a precursor, or one of those geniuses whom it pleases God to create when He desires to render a people free. At the sight of this army of three hundred men, Houston was not discouraged; on the contrary, he felt his enthusiasm redoubled, the heroic relics of the ten thousand victims who had succumbed since the beginning of the war had not despaired of the salvation of their country: like their predecessors, they were ready to die for her. It was a sacred phalanx with which he would achieve miracles.
Still, it was not with these three hundred men, however brave and resolute they might be, that General Houston could entertain a hope of defeating the Mexicans, who, rendered presumptuous by their past successes, eagerly sought the opportunity to finish once for all with the Insurgents, by crushing the last relics of their army. General Houston, before risking an action on which the fate of his new country would doubtless depend, resolved to form an army once more; for this purpose, instead of marching on the enemy, he fell back on the Colorado, and thence on the Brazos, burning and destroying everything in his passage, in order to starve the Mexicans out.
These clever tactics obtained all the success the General expected from them; for a very simple reason: as he fell back on the Mexican frontier, his army was daily augmented by fresh recruits, who, on the report of his approach, left their houses or farms to enlist under his banner; while the contrary happened to the Mexicans, who at each march they made in pursuit of the Insurgents, left a few laggards behind, who by so much diminished their strength.
The Texan General had a powerful motive for falling back on the American frontier; he hoped to obtain some help from General Gaines, who, by the order of President Jackson, had advanced on Texan territory as far as the town of Nagogdoches. Such was the state of affairs between Houston and Santa Anna, the one retreating, the other continually advancing; though ere long they must meet face to face, in a battle which would decide the great question of a nation's emancipation or servitude.
On the day when we resume our narrative it was about eight in the evening, the heat had been stifling throughout the day, and although night had fallen long before, this heat, far from diminishing, had but increased; there was not a breath of air, the atmosphere was oppressive, and low lightning-laden clouds rolled heavily athwart the sky; all, in fact, foreboded a storm.
On the banks of a rather wide stream, whose yellowish and turbid waters flowed mournfully between banks clothed with cotton-wood trees, the bivouac fires of a small detachment of cavalry might be seen glistening like stars in the darkness. This stream was a confluent of the Colorado, and the men encamped on its banks were Texans. They were but twenty-five in number, and composed the entire cavalry of the Army of Independence: they were commanded by the Jaguar.
While the horsemen were sadly crouching over the fires, not far from which their horses were hobbled, and conversing in a low voice; their Chief, who had retired to a jacal made of branches and lighted by a smoky candil, was sitting on an equipal with his back leant against a tree trunk, with his arms folded on his chest and gazing at vacancy. The Jaguar was no longer the young and ardent man we introduced to our readers; his face was pale, his features contracted, and eyes blood-shot with fever, and, though faith still dwelt in his heart, hope was dead.
The truth was that death had begun to make frightful gaps around him; his dearest friends, the most devoted supporters of the cause he defended, had fallen one after the other in this implacable struggle. El Alferez, Captain Johnson, Ramirez, Fray Antonio, were lying in their bloody graves; of others he received no news, nor knew what had become of them; he therefore stood alone, like an oak bowed by the wind and beaten by the storm, resisting intrepidly, but foreseeing his approaching fall.
General Houston, in his calculated retreat, had confided the command of the rear guard, that is to say, the most honourable and dangerous post, to the Jaguar; a post he had accepted with gloomy joy, as he felt sure that he would fall gloriously, while watching over the safety of all.
In the meantime the night became blacker and blacker, the horizon more menacing; a white and sharp rain began piercing the grey fog; the storm was rapidly approaching, and must soon burst forth. The soldiers watched with terror the progress of the storm, and instinctively sought shelter against this convulsion of nature, which was far more terrible than the other dangers which menaced them. For no one, who has not witnessed it, can form even a remote idea of an American hurricane, which twists trees like wisps of straw, fires forests, levels mountains, drives streams from their bed, and in a few hours convulses the surface of the soil.
Suddenly a dazzling flash furrowed the darkness, and a crashing burst of thunder broke the majestic silence that brooded over the landscape. At the same instant the sentry stationed a few paces in front of the bivouac challenged. The Jaguar sprang up as if he had received an electric shock, and bounding forward, as he mechanically seized the weapons lying within reach, listened. The dull sound of horses' hoofs could he heard on the soddened ground.
"Who's there?" the sentry challenged a second time.
"Friends," a voice replied.
"¿Qué gente?"
"Texas."
The Jaguar emerged from the jacal.
"To arms!" he shouted to his men, we must not let ourselves be surprised.
"Come, come," the voice continued, "I see that I have not diverged from the track, since I can hear the Jaguar."
"Halloh!" the latter said in surprise, "who are you, that you know me so well?"
"By Jove! A friend whose voice should be familiar to you, at any rate."
"John Davis!" the young man exclaimed with a joy he did not attempt to conceal.
"All right!" the American continued gaily. "I thought that we should understand one another presently."
"Come, come; let him pass, men, he is a friend."
Five or six horsemen entered the camp and dismounted.
At this moment the storm burst forth furiously, passing like a whirlwind over the plain, the twisted trees on which were in a second uprooted and borne away by the hurricane. The Texans had made their horses lie down, and were themselves lying down by their side on the Wet soil, in the hope of offering a smaller surface to the gusts that passed with a mournful howl above their heads. It was a spectacle full of wild grandeur, presented by this ravaged plain, incessantly crossed by flashes which illuminated the landscape with fantastic hues, while the thunder rolled hoarsely in the depths of the Heavens, and the clouds scudded along like a routed army, dashing against each other with electric collisions.
For nearly three hours the hurricane raged, levelling everything in its passage; at length, at about one in the morning, the rain became less dense, the wind gradually calmed, the thunder rolled at longer intervals, and the sky, swept clean by a final effort of the tempest, appeared again blue and star-spangled; the hurricane had gone away to vent its fury in other regions. The men and horses rose; all breathed again, and tried to restore a little order in the camp. This was no easy task, for the jacal had been carried away, the fires extinguished, and the logs dispersed in all directions; but the Texans were tried men, long accustomed to the dangers and fatigues of desert life. The tempest, instead of crushing them, had, on the contrary, restored their strength and patience, though not their courage, for that had never failed them.
They set gaily to work, and in two hours all the injury caused by the tempest was repaired as well as the precarious resources they had at their disposal permitted; the fires were lighted again, and the jacal reconstructed. Any stranger who had entered the camp at this moment would not have supposed that so short a time previously they had been assailed by so fearful a hurricane. The Jaguar was anxious to talk with John Davis, whom he had only seen since his arrival, and had found it impossible to exchange a syllable. When order was restored, therefore, he went up to him and begged him to enter the jacal.
"Permit me," the American said, "to bring with me three of my comrades whom I am convinced you will be delighted to meet."
"Do so," the Jaguar answered; "who are they?"
"I will not deprive you," Davis, said, with a smile, "of the pleasure of recognizing them yourself."
The young Chief did not press the matter, for he knew the ex-slave dealer too well not to place the most perfect confidence in him. A few minutes later, according to his promise, Davis entered the jacal with his comrades; the Jaguar gave a start of joy at seeing them, and quickly walked up to offer his hand. These three men were Lanzi, Quoniam, and Black-deer.
"Oh, oh!" he exclaimed, "Here you are, then. Heaven be praised! I did not dare hope for your return."
"Why not?" Lanzi asked; "As we are still alive, thanks to God! You ought to have expected us."
"So many things have happened since our parting, so many misfortunes have assailed us, so many of our friends have fallen not to rise again, that, on receiving no news of you, I trembled at the thought that you might also be dead."
"You know, my friend," the American said, "that we have been absent a very long time, and are consequently quite ignorant of what has happened since our departure."
"Well, I will tell you all. But first one word."
"Speak."
"Where is Tranquil?"
"Only a few leagues from here, and you will soon see him; he sent me forward, indeed, to warn you of his speedy arrival."
"Thanks," the young man replied, pensively.
"Is that all you desire to know?"
"Nearly so, for of course you have received no news of ——?"
"News of whom?" the American asked, seeing that the Jaguar hesitated.
"Of Carmela?" he at length said, with a tremendous effort.
"Of Carmela?" John Davis exclaimed, in surprise: "How could we have received any news? Tranquil, on the contrary, hopes to hear some from you."
"From me?"
"Hang it! You must know better than any of us how the dear child is."
"I do not understand you."
"And yet it is very clear. I will not remind you in what way we succeeded, after the capture of the Larch-tree, in saving the poor girl from that villain who carried her off; I will merely remind you that on the very day when Tranquil and I, by your express orders, started to join Loyal Heart, the maiden was confided in your presence to Captain Johnson, who would convey her to the house of a respectable lady at Galveston, who was willing to offer her a shelter."
"Well?"
"What do you mean by, well?"
"Yes, I knew all that, so it was useless to tell it me. What I ask you is, whether, since Carmela went to, Galveston, you have received any news of her?"
"Why, it is impossible, my friend; how could we have received any? Remember that we proceeded to the desert."
"That is true," the young man replied, disconsolately; "I am mad. Forgive me."
"What is the matter? Why this pallor, my friend, this restlessness I see in your eyes?"
"Ah!" he said, with a sigh, "It is because I have received news of Carmela, if you have not."
"You, my friend?"
"Yes, I."
"A long time ago, I presume?"
"No—yesterday evening," he said, with a bitter smile.
"I do not at all understand you."
"Well, listen to me. What I am going to tell you is not long, but it is important, I promise you."
"I am listening."
"We form, as you are doubtless aware, the extreme rear guard of the Army of Liberation."
"Yes, I know that, and it helped me in finding your trail."
"Very good; hence hardly a day passes in which we do not exchange musket shots and sabre cuts with the Mexicans."
"Go on."
"Yesterday—you see it is not stale—we were suddenly charged by forty Mexican Horse; it was about three in the afternoon, when General Houston was crossing the river with the main body. We had orders to offer a desperate resistance, in order to protect the retreat. This order was needless; at the sight of the Mexicans we rushed madly upon them, and the action at once commenced. After a few minutes' fighting the Mexicans gave way, and finally fled, leaving three or four dead on the battlefield. Too weak to pursue the enemy, I had given my soldiers orders to return, and was myself preparing to do the same, when two flying Mexicans, instead of continuing their flight, stopped, and fastening their handkerchiefs to their sabre blades, made me a signal that they desired to parley. I approached the two men, who bore a greater likeness to bandits than to soldiers; and one of them, a man of tall stature and furious looks, said to me at once, when I asked them what they wanted—
"'To do you a service, if you are, as I suppose, the Jaguar.'
"'Yes, I am he,' I answered, 'but what is your name? Who are you?'
"'It is of little consequence who I am, provided that my intentions are good.'
"'Still, I must know them.'
"'Hum!' he said, 'you are very distrustful, Comirado.'
"'Come, Sandoval,' the other horseman said, in a voice gentle as a woman's, as he suddenly joined in the conversation, 'do not beat about thus, but finish your business.'
"'I ask nothing better than to finish,' he replied, coarsely; 'it is this gentleman who compels me to swerve, when I wished to go straight ahead.'
"The second rider, shrugged his shoulders with a disdainful smile, and turned to me.
"'In a word, Caballero, here is a paper, which a person, in whom you take great interest, requested us to deliver to you.'"
"I eagerly seized the paper, and prepared to open it, for a secret foreboding warned me of misfortune.
"'No,' the Mexican continued eagerly arresting my hand, 'wait till you have joined your men again, to read that letter.'
"'I consent,' I said, 'but I presume you do not intend to do me a gratuitous service, whatever its nature may be?'
"'Why so?'
"'Because you do not know me, and the interest you take in me must be very slight.'
"'Perhaps so,' the rider answered; 'still, pledge yourself to nothing, I warn you, till you know the contents of that letter.'
"Then he made a signal to his comrade, and after bowing slightly, they started at a gallop, and left me considerably embarrassed at the way in which this singular interview had ended, and twisting in my fingers the letter I did not dare open."
"Well," the American muttered, "what did you, so soon as the men left you alone?"
"I looked after them a long time, and then, suddenly recalled to my duty by several carbine shots whose bullets whizzed past my ears, I bent down over my horse's neck and regained the bivouac at full gallop. On arriving, I opened the letter, for I was burning with impatience and curiosity."
"And it was?"
"From Carmela."
"By Heavens!" the American said, as he slapped his thigh; "I would have wagered it."
"Yes," the Jaguar continued presently in a broken voice; "this letter was entirely in Carmela's handwriting. Would you like to know the contents?"
The American looked around him.
"Well, what matter?" the Jaguar exclaimed with some violence; "Are not these brave lads our friends, faithful and devoted friends? Why keep secret from them a thing I should be forced to tell them, perhaps tomorrow?"
John Davis bowed.
"You did not understand my thought," he said. "I am not afraid about them, but of those who may be possibly listening outside."
The young man shook his head.
"No, no," he said, "fear nothing, John Davis, my old friend; no one is listening to us."
"Read the letter in that case, for I am anxious to know its contents."
Although the dawn was beginning to tinge the horizon with all the prismatic colours, the light was not sufficient yet for it to be possible to read by it. Lanzi, therefore, seized the candil, whose smoky wick smouldered without spreading any great light, snuffed it intrepidly with his fingers, and held it in a line with the Jaguar's face. The latter, after a moment's hesitation, drew from the pocket of his velvet jacket a dirty and crumpled piece of paper, unfolded it, and read:
"To the Chief of the Texan Freebooters, surnamed the Jaguar."
"If you really take that interest in me you have so often offered to prove to me, save me, save the daughter of your friend! Having left Galveston to go in search of my father, I have fallen into the hands of my most cruel enemy. I have only hope in two men in this world, yourself and Colonel Melendez. My father is too far for me to be allowed to hope effectual assistance from him. And besides, his life is too precious to me for me to consent to him risking it. Whatever may happen, I trust in you as in God; will you fail me?
"The disconsolate CARMELA."
"Hum!" the American muttered; "Is that all?"
"No," the young man answered, "there is a second note written below the first."
"Ah, ah! By Carmela?"
"No."
"By whom, then?"
"I do not know, for it is not signed."
"And do you suspect nobody?"
"Perhaps I do—but before telling you whom I suspect, I had better read you the second letter."
"For what reason?"
"In order to know whether you share in my suspicions, and if they corroborate mine."
"Good, I understand you. Read!"
The Jaguar took up the paper again and read:
"This letter, written in duplicate, is addressed by Doña Carmela to two persons, Señor El Jaguar and Colonel Melendez; but the second copy has not yet been delivered, as I am awaiting the Jaguar's answer ere doing so. It depends on him not only to save a young lady, interesting in every respect, but also, if he will, to secure the triumph of the cause for which he is combating so valiantly. For this purpose, he has only an easy thing to do: he will proceed, between eight and nine o'clock in the morning, to the Cueva del Venado; a man will issue from the grotto, and tell him on what conditions he consents to aid him in this double enterprise."
The Jaguar folded up the paper, and placed it in his jacket pocket.
"Is that all?" the American asked a second time.
"This time, yes, it is all," the young man answered; "now what do you think of this epistle?"
"Why, I think that the man who wrote it is the same who handed you the letter."
"We are agreed, for I think so too. And what, in your opinion, ought I to do?"
"Ah, that is a more difficult question than the first; the case is serious."
"Remember that it concerns Carmela."
"I am well aware of it. But reflect that this rendezvous may conceal a snare."
"For what object?"
"Why, to seize you."
"Well, and what then?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why, supposing that it is a trap, what will be the result of it?"
"In the first place that you will be a prisoner, and Texas be deprived of one of her most devoted defenders. In short, in your place I would not go, that is my brief and candid opinion. And," turning to his auditors, who had remained silent and motionless since their entrance, he asked them, "and you, Señores, what do you think of it?"
"It would be madness for the Jaguar to trust a man he does not know, and whose intentions may be bad," said Lanzi.
"He must remain here," Quoniam backed his friend up.
"The antelope is the wildest of animals, and yet its instinct makes it escape the hunters," the Comanche Chief said sententiously; "my brother will remain with his friends."
"The Jaguar walked up and down the jacal with visible annoyance and febrile impatience, while each thus gave his opinion.
"No," he said, with some violence, as he suddenly stopped; "no, I will not abandon Doña Carmela when she claims my assistance, for it would be an act of cowardice, which I will not commit, whatever the consequences may be: I will go to the Cueva del Venado."
"You will reflect, my friend," John Davis remarked.
"My reflections are all made; I will save Doña Carmela, even at the risk of my life."
"You will not do that, my friend," the American continued gently.
"Why shall I not?"
"Because honour forbids you; because, besides the heart, there is duty; besides private feelings, public interests. Stationed at the rear-guard, you are responsible for the safety of the army; and if you are killed or made prisoner, the army is perhaps lost, or, at any rate, in danger; that is why you will not do so, my friend."
The Jaguar let his head droop and sank quite crushed into an equipal.
"What is to be done; my God! What is to be done?" he murmured in despair.
"Hope!" John Davis answered. And, making a signal to his friends which the latter understood, for they immediately rose and left the hut, he continued:
"Jaguar, my friend, my brother, is it for me to restore your courage—you, a man with a lion's heart, and so strong in battle; whom adversity has never forced to bow his head? Do you dare to place your love for a woman and your devotion to the country on the same level? Do you dare to lament your lost love, Carmela, a prisoner, or even dead, when your native land is succumbing beneath the repeated blows of its oppressors? Do you forget that if you grow weak, or even hesitate to accomplish your glorious sacrifice, tomorrow, perhaps, that country, which is so dear to you for so many reasons—which has shed its best and most precious blood in a hopeless struggle, will be buried eternally, by your fault, beneath the corpses of the last of its children? Brother, brother, the hour is supreme; we must conquer or die for the salvation of all. The general welfare must put down all paltry or selfish passions. To hesitate is to act as a traitor. Up, brother, and do not dishonour yourself by a cowardly weakness!"
The young man started up as if a serpent had stung him on hearing these harsh words; but he suddenly subdued the wild flash of his eye, while a sad smile covered his handsome face like a winding sheet.
"Thanks, brother," he replied, as he seized John Davis's hand, and pressed it convulsively; "thanks for having reminded me of my duty. I will die at my post."
"Ah, I find you again at length," the American exclaimed joyfully. "I felt certain that your heart would not remain deaf to the call of duty, and that you would carry out your glorious sacrifice to the end."
The young man heaved a deep sigh; but he did not feel within him the strength to respond to the praise which in his heart he knew he did not deserve. At this moment the clang of arms and the sound of horses was audible without.
"What is the matter now?" the Jaguar asked.
"I do not know," the American answered; "but I fancy that we shall soon be informed."
In fact, the sentry had challenged; and, after an apparently satisfactory reply, a horseman entered the camp.
"A flag of truce!" Lanzi said, appearing in the doorway of the jacal.
"A flag of truce!" the Jaguar repeated, giving John Davis a glance of surprise.
"Perhaps it is the help you expect from heaven, and which has been sent you," the American answered.
The young man smiled incredulously, but turned to Lanzi and said,
"Let him enter."
"Come, señor," said the half-breed, addressing a person who was still invisible; "the Commandant is ready to receive you."
Lanzi fell back, and made room for an individual who at once entered. The Jaguar started on recognising him. It was Sandoval, who had delivered him the letter on the previous day. The Pirate Chief bowed politely to the two persons in whose presence he found himself.
"You are surprised to see me, I think, Caballeros," he said, with a smile to the Jaguar.
"I confess it," the latter said, with a bow no less polite than the one made to him.
"The matter is clear enough, however. I like a plain and distinct understanding. In the letter I delivered to you myself yesterday, I gave you the meeting at the Cueva del Venado, to discuss grave matters; as you will remember."
"I allow it."
"But," Sandoval continued, with the calmness and intrepid coolness that characterised him, "we had hardly separated ere I made a reflection."
"Ah! And would it be indiscreet to ask its nature?"
"Not at all. I reflected that, under the circumstances, regarding the position in which we stand to each other, and as I had not the honour of your acquaintance, it might possibly happen that you would place in me all the confidence I deserve, and that you might leave me to kick my heels in the grotto."
The two insurgents exchanged a smiling glance, which Sandoval intercepted.
"Ah, ah!" he said, with a laugh; "it appears that I guessed right. In short, as I repeat that we have serious matters to discuss, I resolved to come direct to you, and so cut this difficulty."
"You did well, and I thank you for it."
"It is not worth while, for I am working as much for myself as for you in this business."
"Be it so; but that does not render your conduct less honourable. Then you are not a flag of truce?"
"I; not a bit in the world. It was merely a title I thought it better to assume, in order to find my way to you more easily."
"No matter; so long as you remain with us you shall be treated as such, so do not feel alarmed."
"I alarmed! About what, pray? Am I not under the safeguard of your honour?"
"Thanks for the good opinion you are kind enough to have of me, and I will justify it. Now, if you think proper, we will come to the point."
"I ask nothing better," Sandoval answered with some hesitation, and looking dubiously at the American.
"This caballero is my intimate friend," the Jaguar said, understanding his meaning; "you can, speak frankly before him."
"Hum!" said Sandoval, with a toss of the head. "My mother, who was a holy woman, repeated to me frequently, that when two are enough to settle a matter, it is useless to call in a third."
"Your mother was right, my fine fellow," John Davis said, with a laugh; "and since you are so unwilling to have me as an auditor, I will retire."
"It is perfectly indifferent to me whether you hear me or not," Sandoval said, carelessly; "I only said so for the sake of the Señor, who may not wish a third party to hear what I have to say."
"If that be really your sole motive," the Jaguar continued, "you can speak, for I repeat to you I have no secrets from this Caballero."
"All right then," said Sandoval.
He seated himself on an equipal, rolled a husk cigarette, lit it by the candil, whose light had become quite unnecessary, owing to the daylight becoming each moment brighter, and then turned easily to his two hearers.
"Señores," he said, puffing out a large quantity of smoke from his mouth and his nostrils, "it is as well for you to know that I am the recognised Chief of a numerous and brave band of banished men, or proscripts, whichever you may call them, whom the so-called honest townsfolk fancied they branded by calling them skimmers of the Savannah, or pirates of the prairies, both of which titles are equally false."
At this strange revelation, made with such cool cynicism, the two men gave a start and regarded each other with considerable surprise. The pirate watched this double movement, and probably satisfied mentally by the effect he had produced, he continued:
"I have reasons that you should know my social position," he said, "for you to understand what is going to follow."
"Good," John Davis interrupted; "but what motive urged you to take the present step?"
"Two important reasons," Sandoval answered, distinctly; "the first is, that I wish to avenge myself; the second, the desire of gaining a large sum of money by selling you in the first battle, for the highest price I can obtain, the co-operation of the cuadrilla I have the honour to command, a cuadrilla composed of thirty well armed and famously mounted men."
"Now go on, but be brief, for time presses."
"Do not be frightened, I am not fond of chattering; how much do you offer me for my cuadrilla?"
"I cannot personally make a bargain with you," the Jaguar said; "I must refer the matter to the General in Chief."
"That is perfectly true."
"Still, you can tell me the price you ask; I will submit it to the General and he will decide."
"Very good; you will give me fifty thousand piastres,[1]half down, the rest after the battle is won. You see that I am not exorbitant in my demands."
"Your price is reasonable; but how can we communicate?"
"Nothing is easier; when you desire to speak to me you will fasten red pendants to the lances of your cavalry, and I will do the same when I have any important communication to make to you."
"That is settled; now for the other matter."
"It is this: one day a monk of the name of Fray Antonio sent me a wounded man."
"The White Scalper?" John Davis exclaimed.
"Do you know him?" the pirate asked.
"Yes, but go on."
"He is a pretty scamp, I think?"
"I am quite of your opinion."
"Well, I greeted him as a brother and gave him the best I had; do you know what he did?"
"On my word, I do not."
"He tried to debauch my comrades and supplant me."
"Oh, oh! That was rather strong."
"Was it not? Fortunately I was watching, and managed to parry the blow; about this time General Santa Anna offered to engage us as a Free Corps."
"Oh!" the Jaguar uttered, in disgust.
"It was not very tempting," the pirate continued, being mistaken in the young man's exclamation, "but I had an idea."
"What was it?"
"The one I had the honour of explaining to you a moment back."
"Ah! very good."
"Hence, I selected thirty resolute men from my band and started to join the Mexican army; of course, you understand, I was paid."
"Of course, nothing could be more fair."
"I was careful to bring this demon of a man with me, for you can understand that I did not care to leave him behind."
"I should think so."
"We went on very quietly till a day or two back, when, in beating up the country, I captured a girl, who, only escorted by three men, who fled like cowards at the first shot, was trying to join the Texan army."
"Poor Carmela!" the Jaguar murmured.
"Do not pity her, but rejoice, on the contrary, that she fell into my hands; who knows what might have happened with anyone else?"
"That is true, go on."
"I was willing enough to let the poor girl continue her journey, but the Scalper opposed it. It seemed that he knew her, for on seeing her he exclaimed—'Oh, oh! This time she shall not escape me;' is that clear, eh?"
The two men bowed their assent.
"However, the prisoner was mine, as I had captured her."
"Ah!" said the Jaguar, with a sigh of relief.
"Yes, and I would not consent to surrender her to the Scalper at any price."
"Good, very good! You are a worthy man."
The pirate smiled modestly.
"Yes," he said, "I am all right, but my comrade, seeing that I would not give up the girl to him, offered me a bargain."
"What was its nature?"
"To give me twenty-five gold onzas, on condition that I never restored my prisoner to liberty."
"And did you accept?" the Jaguar asked, eagerly.
"Hang it! Business is business, and twenty ounces are a tidy sum."
"Villain!" the young man exclaimed, as he rose furiously.
John Davis restrained him, and made him sit down again.
"Patience," he said.
"Hum!" Sandoval muttered, "You are deucedly quick; I allow that I promised not to set her at liberty, but not to prevent her flight; did I not tell you that I was a man of ideas?"
"That is true."
"The girl interested me, she wept. It is very foolish, but I do not like to see women cry since the day when——but that is not the point,"—he caught himself up—"she told me her name and story; I was affected in spite of myself, and the more so, as I saw a prospect of taking my revenge."
"Then you propose to me to carry her off?"
"That's the very thing."
"How much do you want for that?"
"Nothing," the Pirate answered with a magnificent gesture of disinterestedness.
"How, nothing?"
"Dear me, no."
"That is impossible."
"It is so, however, though I will propose two conditions."