The Rifle Rangers

The girls, who had long since given over their mirthful contest, seemed to have lost all presence of mind; and, instead of making for the bank, stood locked in each other’s arms terrified and trembling.

Their symmetrical forms fell into an agonised embrace; and their rounded arms, olive and roseate, laced each other, and twined across their quivering bodies.

Their faces were turned to heaven, as though they expected succour from above – a group that rivalled the Laocoon.

With a spring I cleared the parapet, and, drawing my sword, dashed madly across the basin.

The girls were near the centre; but the cayman had got the start of me, and the water, three feet deep, impeded my progress. The bottom of the tank, too, was slippery, and I fell once or twice on my hands. I rose again, and with frantic energy plunged forward, all the while calling upon the bathers to make for the parapet.

Notwithstanding my shouts, the terrified girls made no effort to save themselves. They were incapable from terror.

On came the cayman with the velocity of vengeance. It was a fearful moment. Already he swam at a distance of less than six paces from his prey, his long snout projecting from the water, his gaunt jaws displaying their quadruple rows of sharp glistening teeth.

I shouted despairingly. I was baffled by the deep water. I had nearly twice the distance before I could interpose myself between the monster and its victims.

“I shall be too late!”

Suddenly I saw that the cayman had swerved. In his eagerness he had struck a subaqueous pipe of the jet.

It delayed him only a moment; but in that moment I had passed the statue-like group, and stood ready to receive his attack.

“A la orilla! á la orilla!” (To the bank! to the bank!) I shouted, pushing the terrified girls with one hand, while with the other I held my sword at arm’s-length in the face of the advancing reptile.

The girls now, for the first time awaking from their lethargy of terror, rushed towards the bank.

On came the monster, gnashing his teeth in the fury of disappointment, and uttering fearful cries.

As soon as he had got within reach I aimed a blow at his head; but the light sabre glinted from the fleshless skull with the ringing of steel to steel.

The blow, however, turned him out of his course, and, missing his aim, he passed me like an arrow. I looked around with a feeling of despair. “Thank heaven, they are safe!”

I felt the clammy scales rub against my thigh; and I leaped aside to avoid the stroke of his tail, as it lashed the water into foam.

Again the monster turned, and came on as before.

This time I did not attempt to cut, but thrust the sabre directly for his throat. The cold blade snapped between his teeth like an icicle. Not above twelve inches remained with the hilt; and with this I hacked and fought with the energy of despair.

My situation had now grown critical indeed. The girls had reached the bank, and stood screaming upon the parapet.

At length the elder seized upon a pole, and, lifting it with all her might, leaped back into the basin, and was hastening to my rescue, when a stream of fire was poured through the leaves of the plantains: I heard a sharp crack – the short humming whiz of a bullet – and a large form, followed by half a dozen others, emerged from the grove, and, rushing over the wall, plunged into the pond.

I heard a loud plashing in the water – the shouts of men, the clashing of bayonets; and then saw the reptile roll over, pierced by a dozen wounds.

Chapter Eleven.

Don Cosmé Rosales

“Yur safe, Cap’n!” It was Lincoln’s voice. Around me stood a dozen of the men, up to their waists. Little Jack, too, (his head and forage-cap just appearing above the surface of the water), stood with his eighteen inches of steel buried in the carcase of the dead reptile. I could not help smiling at the ludicrous picture.

“Yes, safe,” answered I, panting for breath; “safe – you came in good time, though!”

“We heern yur shot, Cap’n,” said Lincoln, “an’ we guessed yur didn’t shoot without somethin’ ter shoot for; so I tuk half a dozen files and kim up.”

“You acted right, sergeant; but where are the – ”

I was looking towards the edge of the tank where I had last seen the girls. They had disappeared.

“If yez mane the faymales,” answered Chane, “they’re vamosed through the threes. Be Saint Patrick, the black one’s a thrump anyhow! She looks for all the world like them bewtiful crayoles of Dimmerary.”

Saying this, he turned suddenly round, and commenced driving his bayonet furiously into the dead cayman, exclaiming between the thrusts:

“Och, ye divil! bad luck to yer ugly carcase! You’re a nate-looking baste to interfere with a pair of illigant craythers! Be the crass! he’s all shill, boys. Och, mother o’ Moses! I can’t find a saft spot in him!”

We climbed out upon the parapet, and the soldiers commenced wiping their wet guns.

Clayley appeared at this moment, filing round the pond at the head of the detachment. As I explained the adventure to the lieutenant, he laughed heartily.

“By Jove! it will never do for a despatch,” said he; “one killed on the side of the enemy, and on ours not a wound. There is one, however, who may be reported ‘badly scared’.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Why, who but the bold Blossom?”

“But where is he?”

“Heaven only knows! The last I saw of him, he was screening himself behind an old ruin. I wouldn’t think it strange if he was off to camp – that is, if he believes he can find his way back again.”

As Clayley said this, he burst into a loud yell of laughter.

It was with difficulty I could restrain myself; for, looking in the direction indicated by the lieutenant, I saw a bright object, which I at once recognised as the major’s face.

He had drawn aside the broad plantain-leaves, and was peering cautiously through, with a look of the most ludicrous terror. His face only was visible, round and luminous, like the full moon; and, like her, too, variegated with light and shade, for fear had produced spots of white and purple over the surface of his capacious cheeks.

As soon as the major saw how the “land lay”, he came blowing and blustering through the bushes like an elephant; and it now became apparent that he carried his long sabre drawn and nourishing.

“Bad luck, after all!” said he as he marched round the pond with a bold stride. “That’s all – is it?” he continued, pointing to the dead cayman. “Bah! I was in hopes we’d have a brush with the yellow-skins.”

“No, Major,” said I, trying to look serious, “we are not so fortunate.”

“I have no doubt, however,” said Clayley with a malicious wink, “but that we’ll have them here in a squirrel’s jump. They must have heard the report of our guns.”

A complete change became visible in the major’s bearing. The point of his sabre dropped slowly to the ground, and the blue and white spots began to array themselves afresh on his great red cheeks.

“Don’t you think, Captain,” said he, “we’ve gone far enough into the cursed country? There’s no mules in it – I can certify there’s not – not a single mule. Had we not better return to camp?”

Before I could reply, an object appeared that drew our attention, and heightened the mosaic upon the major’s cheeks.

A man, strangely attired, was seen running down the slope towards the spot where we were standing.

“Guerillas, by Jove!” exclaimed Clayley, in a voice of feigned terror; and he pointed to the scarlet sash which was twisted around the man’s waist.

The major looked round for some object where he might shelter himself in case of a skirmish. He was sidling behind a high point of the parapet, when the stranger rushed forward, and, throwing both arms about his neck, poured forth a perfect cataract of Spanish, in which the word gracias (thanks) was of frequent occurrence.

“What does the man mean with his grashes?” exclaimed the major, struggling to free himself from the Mexican.

But the latter did not hear him, for his eyes at that moment rested upon my dripping habiliments; and dropping the major, he transferred his embrace and gracias to me.

“Señor Capitan,” he said, still speaking in Spanish, and hugging me like a bear, “accept my thanks. Ah, sir! you have saved my children; how can I show you my gratitude?”

Here followed a multitude of those complimentary expressions peculiar to the language of Cervantes, which ended by his offering me his house and all it contained.

I bowed in acknowledgment of his courtesy, apologising for being so ill prepared to receive his “hug”, as I observed that my saturated vestments had wet the old fellow to the skin.

I had now time to examine the stranger, who was a tall, thin, sallow old gentleman, with a face at once Spanish and intelligent. His hair was white and short, while a moustache, somewhat grizzled, shaded his lips. Jet-black brows projected over a pair of keen and sparkling eyes. His dress was a roundabout of the finest white linen, with waistcoat and pantaloons of the same material – the latter fastened round the waist by a scarf of bright red silk. Shoes of green morocco covered his small feet, while a broad Guayaquil hat shaded his face from the sun.

Though his costume was transatlantic – speaking in reference to Old Spain – there was that in his air and manner that bespoke him a true hidalgo.

After a moment’s observation I proceeded, in my best Spanish, to express my regret for the fright which the young ladies – his daughters, I presumed – had suffered.

The Mexican looked at me with a slight appearance of surprise.

“Why, Señor Capitan,” said he, “your accent! – you are a foreigner?”

“A foreigner! To Mexico, did you mean?”

“Yes, Señor. Is it not so?”

“Oh! of course,” answered I, smiling, and somewhat puzzled in turn.

“And how long have you been in the army, Señor Capitan?”

“But a short time.”

“How do you like Mexico, Señor?”

“I have seen but little of it as yet.”

“Why, how long have you been in the country, then?”

“Three days,” answered I; “we landed on the 9th.”

“Por Dios! three days, and in our army already!” muttered the Spaniard, throwing up his eyes in unaffected surprise.

I began to think I was interrogated by a lunatic.

“May I ask what countryman you are?” continued the old gentleman.

“What countryman? An American, of course!”

“An American?”

“Un Americano,” repeated I, for we were conversing in Spanish.

“Y son esos Americanos?” (And are these Americans?) quickly demanded my new acquaintance.

“Si, Señor,” replied I.

“Carrambo!” shouted the Spaniard, with a sudden leap, his eyes almost starting from their sockets.

“I should say, not exactly Americans,” I added. “Many of them are Irish, and French, and Germans, and Swedes, and Swiss; yet they are all Americans now.”

But the Mexican did not stay to hear my explanation. After recovering from the first shock of surprise, he had bounded through the grove; and with a wave of his hand, and the ejaculation “Esperate!” (wait!) disappeared among the plantains. The men, who had gathered around the lower end of the basin, burst out into a roar of laughter, which I did not attempt to repress. The look of terrified astonishment of the old Don had been too much for my own gravity, and I could not help being amused at the conversation that ensued among the soldiers. They were at some distance, yet I could overhear their remarks.

“That Mexikin’s an unhospitable cuss!” muttered Lincoln, with an expression of contempt.

“He might av axed the captain to dhrink, after savin’ such a pair of illigant craythers,” said Chane.

“Sorra dhrap’s in the house, Murt; the place looks dry,” remarked another son of the Green Isle.

“Och! an’ it’s a beautiful cage, anyhow,” returned Chane; “and beautiful birds in it, too. It puts me in mind of ould Dimmerary; but there we had the liquor, the raal rum – oshins of it, alanna!”

“That ’ere chap’s a greelye, I strongly ’spect,” whispered one, a regular down-east Yankee.

“A what?” asked his companion.

“Why, a greelye – one o’ them ’ere Mexikin robbers.”

“Arrah, now! did yez see the rid sash?” inquired an Irishman.

“Thim’s captin’s,” suggested the Yankee. “He’s a captin or a kurnel; I’ll bet high on that.”

“What did he say, Nath, as he was running off?”

“I don’t know ’zactly – somethin’ that sounded mighty like ’spearin’ on us.”

“He’s a lanzeer then, by jingo!”

“He had better try on his spearin’,” said another; “there’s shootin’ before spearin’ – mighty good ground, too, behind this hyur painted wall.”

“The old fellow was mighty frindly at first; what got into him, anyhow?”

“Raoul says he offered to give the captain his house and all the furnishin’s.”

“Och, mother o’ Moses! and thim illigant girls, too!”

“Ov coorse.”

“By my sowl! an’ if I was the captain, I’d take him at his word, and lave off fightin’ intirely.”

“It is delf,” said a soldier, referring to the material of which the parapet was constructed.

“No, it ain’t.”

“It’s chaney, then.”

“No, nor chaney either.”

“Well, what is it?”

“It’s only a stone wall painted, you greenhorn!”

“Stone-thunder! it’s solid delf, I say.”

“Try it with your bayonet, Jim.”

Crick—crick—crick—crinell! reached my ears. Turning round, I saw that one of the men had commenced breaking off the japanned work of the parapet with his bayonet.

“Stop that!” I shouted to the man.

The remark of Chane that followed, although uttered sotto voce, I could distinctly hear. It was sufficiently amusing.

“The captain don’t want yez to destroy what’ll be his own some day, when he marries one of thim young Dons. Here comes the owld one, and, by the powers! he’s got a big paper; he’s goin’ to make over the property!”

Laughing, I looked round, and saw that the Don was returning, sure enough. He hurried up, holding out a large sheet of parchment.

“Well, Señor, what’s this?” I inquired.

“No soy Mexicano – soy Español!” (I am no Mexican – I am a Spaniard), said he, with the expression of a true hidalgo.

Casting my eye carelessly over the document, I perceived that it was a safeguard from the Spanish consul at Vera Cruz, certifying that the bearer, Don Cosmé Rosales, was a native of Spain.

“Señor Rosales,” said I, returning the paper, “this was not necessary. The interesting circumstances under which we have met should have secured you good treatment, even were you a Mexican and we the barbarians we have been represented. We have come to make war, not with peaceful citizens, but with a rabble soldiery.”

“Es verdad (Indeed). You are wet, Señor? you are hungry?”

I could not deny that I was both the one and the other.

“You need refreshment, gentlemen; will you come to my house?”

“Permit me, Señor, to introduce you to Major Blossom – Lieutenant Clayley – Lieutenant Oakes: Don Cosmé Rosales, gentlemen.”

My friends and the Don bowed to each other. The major had now recovered his complacency.

“Vamonos, caballeros!” (Come on, gentlemen), said the Don, starting towards the house.

“But your soldiers, Capitan?” added he, stopping suddenly.

“They will remain here,” I rejoined.

“Permit me to send them some dinner.”

“Oh! certainly,” replied I; “use your own pleasure, Don Cosmé, but do not put your household to any inconvenience.”

In a few minutes we found our way to the house, which was neither more nor less than the cage-looking structure already described.

Chapter Twelve.

A Mexican Dinner

“Pasan adentro, Señores,” said Don Cosmé, drawing aside the curtain of the rancho, and beckoning us to enter.

“Ha!” exclaimed the major, struck with the coup-d’oeil of the interior.

“Be seated, gentlemen. Ya vuelvo.” (I will return in an instant.)

So saying, Don Cosmé disappeared into a little porch in the back, partially screened from observation by a close network of woven cane.

“Very pretty, by Jove!” said Clayley, in a low voice.

“Pretty indeed!” echoed the major, with one of his customary asseverations.

“Stylish, one ought rather to say, to do it justice.”

“Stylish!” again chimed in the major, repeating his formula.

“Rosewood chairs and tables,” continued Clayley; “a harp, guitar, piano, sofas, ottomans, carpets knee-deep – whew!”

Not thinking of the furniture, I looked around the room strangely bewildered.

“Ha! Ha! what perplexes you, Captain?” asked Clayley.

“Nothing.”

“Ah! the girls you spoke of – the nymphs of the pond; but where the deuce are they?”

“Ay, where?” I asked, with a strange sense of uneasiness.

“Girls! what girls?” inquired the major, who had not yet learned the exact nature of our aquatic adventure.

Here the voice of Don Cosmé was heard calling out —

“Pepe! Ramon! Francisco! bring dinner. Anda! anda!” (Be quick!)

“Who on earth is the old fellow calling?” asked the major, with some concern in his manner. “I see no one.”

Nor could we; so we all rose up together, and approached that side of the building that looked rearward.

The house, to all appearance, had but one apartment – the room in which we then were. The only point of this screened from observation was the little veranda into which Don Cosmé had entered; but this was not large enough to contain the number of persons who might be represented by the names he had called out.

Two smaller buildings stood under the olive-trees in the rear; but these, like the house, were transparent, and not a human figure appeared within them. We could see through the trunks of the olives a clear distance of a hundred yards. Beyond this, the mezquite and the scarlet leaves of the wild maguey marked the boundary of the forest.

It was equally puzzling to us whither the girls had gone, or whence “Pepe, Ramon, and Francisco” were to come.

The tinkling of a little bell startled us from our conjectures, and the voice of Don Cosmé was heard inquiring:

“Have you any favourite dish, gentlemen?”

Someone answered, “No.”

“Curse me!” exclaimed the major, “I believe he can get anything we may call for – raise it out of the ground by stamping his foot or ringing a bell. Didn’t I tell you?”

This exclamation was uttered in consequence of the appearance of a train of well-dressed servants, five or six in number, bringing waiters with dishes and decanters. They entered from the porch; but how did they get into it? Certainly not from the woods without, else we should have seen them as they approached the cage.

The major uttered a terrible invocation, adding in a hoarse whisper, “This must be the Mexican Aladdin!”

I confess I was not less puzzled than he. Meantime the servants came and went, going empty, and returning loaded. In less than half an hour the table fairly creaked under the weight of a sumptuous dinner. This is no figure of speech. There were dishes of massive silver, with huge flagons of the same metal, and even cups of gold!

“Señores, vamos á comer” (Come, let us eat, gentlemen), said Don Cosmé, politely motioning us to be seated. “I fear that you will not be pleased with my cuisine– it is purely Mexican —estilo del pais.”

To say that the dinner was not a good one would be to utter a falsehood, and contradict the statement of Major George Blossom, of the U.S. quarter-master’s department, who afterwards declared that it was the best dinner he had ever eaten in his life.

Turtle-soup first.

“Perhaps you would prefer julienne or vermicelli, gentlemen?” inquired the Don.

“Thank you; your turtle is very fine,” replied I, necessarily the interpreter of the party.

“Try some of the aguacate– it will improve the flavour of your soup.”

One of the waiters handed round a dark, olive-coloured fruit of an oblong shape, about the size of a large pear.

“Ask him how it is used, Captain,” said the major to me.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I had forgotten that some of our edibles may be strange to you. Simply pare off the rind, and slice it thus.”

We tried the experiment, but could not discover any peculiar improvement in the flavour of the soup. The pulp of the aguacate seemed singularly insipid to our northern palates.

Fish, as with us, and of the finest quality, formed the second course.

A variety of dishes were now brought upon the table; most of them new to us, but all piquant, pleasant to the taste, and peculiar.

The major tried them all, determined to find out which he might like best – a piece of knowledge that he said would serve him upon some future occasion.

The Don seemed to take a pleasure in helping the major, whom he honoured by the title of “Señor Coronel.”

“Puchero, Señor Coronel?”

“Thank you, sir,” grunted the major, and tried the puchero.

“Allow me to help you to a spoonful of molé.”

“With pleasure, Don Cosmé.”

The molé suddenly disappeared down the major’s capacious throat.

“Try some of this chilé relleno.”

“By all means,” answered the major. “Ah, by Jove! hot as fire! – whew!”

“Pica! Pica!” answered Don Cosmé, pointing to his thorax, and smiling at the wry faces the major was making. “Wash it down, Señor, with a glass of this claret – or here, Pepe! Is the Johannisberg cool yet? Bring it in, then. Perhaps you prefer champagne, Señores?”

“Thank you; do not trouble yourself, Don Cosmé.”

“No trouble, Capitan – bring champagne. Here, Señor Coronel, try the guisado de pato.”

“Thank you,” stammered the major; “you are very kind. Curse the thing! how it burns!”

“Do you think he understands English?” inquired Clayey of me in a whisper.

“I should think not,” I replied.

“Well, then, I wish to say aloud that this old chap’s a superb old gent. What say you, Major? Don’t you wish we had him on the lines?”

“I wish his kitchen were a little nearer the lines,” replied the other, with a wink.

“Señor Coronel, permit me – ”

“What is it, my dear Don?” inquired the major.

“Pasteles de Moctezuma.”

“Oh, certainly. I say, lads, I don’t know what the plague I’m eating – it’s not bad to take, though.”

“Señor Coronel, allow me to help you to a guana steak.”

“A guana steak!” echoed the major, in some surprise.

“Si, Señor,” replied Don Cosmé, holding the steak on his fork.

“A guana steak! Do you think, lads, he means the ugly things we saw at Lobos.”

“To be sure – why not?”

“Then, by Jove, I’m through! I can’t go lizards. Thank you, my dear Don Cosmé; I believe I have dined.”

“Try this; it is very tender, I assure you,” insisted Don Cosmé.

“Come, try it, Major, and report,” cried Clayey.

“Good – you’re like the apothecary that poisoned his dog to try the effect of his nostrums. Well,” – with an oath – “here goes! It can’t be very bad, seeing how our friend gets it down. Delicious, by Jupiter! tender as chicken – good, good!” – and amidst sundry similar ejaculations the major ate his first guana steak.

“Gentlemen, here is an ortolan pie. I can recommend it – the birds are in season.”

“Reed-birds, by Jove!” said the major, recognising his favourite dish.

An incredible number of these creatures disappeared in an incredibly short time.

The dinner dishes were at length removed, and dessert followed: cakes and creams, and jellies of various kinds, and blancmange, and a profusion of the most luxurious fruits. The golden orange, the ripe pine, the pale-green lime, the juicy grape, the custard-like cherimolla, the zapoté, the granadilla, the pitahaya, the tuna, the mamay; with dates, figs, almonds, plantains, bananas, and a dozen other species of fruits, piled upon salvers of silver, were set before us: in fact, every product of the tropical clime that could excite a new nerve of the sense of taste. We were fairly astonished at the profusion of luxuries that came from no one knew where.

“Come, gentlemen, try a glass of curaçoa. Señor Coronel, allow me the pleasure.”

“Sir, your very good health.”