The Rifle Rangers

“Señor Coronel, would you prefer a glass of Majorca?”

“Thank you.”

“Or perhaps you would choose Pedro Ximenes. I have some very old Pedro Ximenes.”

“Either, my dear Don Cosmé – either.”

“Bring both, Ramon; and bring a couple of bottles of the Madeira —sello verde,” (green seal).

“As I am a Christian, the old gentleman’s a conjuror!” muttered the major, now in the best humour possible.

“I wish he would conjure up something else than his infernal wine bottles,” thought I, becoming impatient at the non-appearance of the ladies.

“Café, Señores?” A servant entered.

Coffee was handed round in cups of Sèvres china.

“You smoke, gentlemen? Would you prefer a Havanna? Here are some sent me from Cuba by a friend. I believe they are good; or, if you would amuse yourself with a cigaritto, here are Campeacheanos. These are the country cigars —puros, as we call them. I would not recommend them.”

“A Havanna for me,” said the major, helping himself at the same time to a fine-looking “regalia.”

I had fallen into a somewhat painful reverie.

I began to fear that, with all his hospitality, the Mexican would allow us to depart without an introduction to his family; and I had conceived a strong desire to speak with the two lovely beings whom I had already seen, but more particularly with the brunette, whose looks and actions had deeply impressed me. So strange is the mystery of love! My heart had already made its choice.

I was suddenly aroused by the voice of Don Cosmé, who had risen, and was inviting myself and comrades to join the ladies in the drawing-room.

I started up so suddenly as almost to overturn one of the tables.

“Why, Captain, what’s the matter!” said Clayley. “Don Cosmé is about to introduce us to the ladies. You’re not going to back out?”

“Certainly not,” stammered I, somewhat ashamed at my gaucherie.

“He says they’re in the drawing-room,” whispered the major, in a voice that betokened a degree of suspicion; “but where the plague that is, Heaven only knows! Stand by, my boys! – are your pistols all right?”

“Pshaw, Major! for shame!”

Chapter Thirteen.

A Subterranean Drawing-Room

The mystery of the drawing-room, and the servants, and the dishes, was soon over. A descending stairway explained the enigma.

“Let me conduct you to my cave, gentlemen,” said the Spaniard: “I am half a subterranean. In the hot weather, and during the northers, we find it more agreeable to live under the ground. Follow me, Señores.”

We descended, with the exception of Oakes, who returned to look after the men.

At the foot of the staircase we entered a hall brilliantly lighted. The floor was without a carpet, and exhibited a mosaic of the finest marble. The walls were painted of a pale blue colour, and embellished by a series of pictures from the pencil of Murillo. These were framed in a costly and elegant manner. From the ceiling were suspended chandeliers of a curious and unique construction, holding in their outstretched branches wax candles of an ivory whiteness.

Large vases of waxen flowers, covered with crystals, stood around the hall upon tables of polished marble. Other articles of furniture, candelabra, girandoles, gilded clocks, filled the outline. Broad mirrors reflected the different objects; so that, instead of one apartment, this hall appeared only one of a continuous suite of splendid drawing-rooms.

And yet, upon closer observation, there seemed to be no door leading from this hall, which, as Don Cosmé informed his guests, was the ante-sala.

Our host approached one of the large mirrors, and slightly touched a spring. The tinkling of a small bell was heard within; and at the same instant the mirror glided back, reflecting in its motion a series of brilliant objects, that for a moment bewildered our eyes with a blazing light.

“Pasan adentro, Señores,” said Don Cosmé, stepping aside, and waving us to enter.

We walked into the drawing-room. The magnificence that greeted us seemed a vision – a glorious and dazzling hallucination – more like the gilded brilliance of some enchanted palace than the interior of a Mexican gentleman’s habitation.

As we stood gazing with irresistible wonderment, Don Cosmé opened a side-door, and called aloud, “Niñas, niñas, ven aca!” (Children, come hither!)

Presently we heard several female voices, blending together like a medley of singing birds.

They approached. We heard the rustling of silken dresses, the falling of light feet in the doorway, and three ladies entered – the señora of Don Cosmé, followed by her two beautiful daughters, the heroines of our aquatic adventure.

These hesitated a moment, scanning our faces; then, with a cry of “Nuestro Salvador!” both rushed forward, and knelt, or rather crouched, at my feet, each of them clasping one of my hands and covering it with kisses.

Their panting agitation, their flashing eyes, the silken touch of their delicate fingers, sent the blood rushing through my veins like a stream of lava; but in their gentle accents, the simple ingenuousness of their expressions, the childlike innocence of their faces, I regarded them only as two beautiful children kneeling in the abandon of gratitude.

Meanwhile Don Cosmé had introduced Clayley and the major to his señora, whose baptismal name was Joaquina; and taking the young ladies one in each hand, he presented them as his daughters, Guadalupe and Maria de la Luz (Mary of the Light).

“Mama,” said Don Cosmé, “the gentlemen had not quite finished their cigars.”

“Oh! they can smoke here,” replied the señora.

“Will the ladies not object to that?” I inquired.

“No – no – no!” ejaculated they simultaneously.

“Perhaps you will join us? – we have heard that such is the custom of your country.”

“It was the custom,” said Don Cosmé. “At present the young ladies of Mexico are rather ashamed of the habit.”

“We no smoke – Mamma, yes,” added the elder – the brunette – whose name was Guadalupe.

“Ha! you speak English?”

“Little Englis speak – no good Englis,” was the reply.

“Who taught you English?” I inquired, prompted by a mysterious curiosity.

“Un American us teach – Don Emilio.”

“Ha! an American?”

“Yes, Señor,” said Don Cosmé: “a gentleman from Vera Cruz, who formerly visited our family.”

I thought I could perceive a desire upon the part of our host not to speak further on this subject, and yet I felt a sudden, and, strange to say, a painful curiosity to know more about Don Emilio, the American, and his connection with our newly-made acquaintance. I can only explain this by asking the reader if he or she has not experienced a similar feeling while endeavouring to trace the unknown past of some being in whom either has lately taken an interest – an interest stronger than friendship?

That mamma smoked was clear, for the old lady had already gone through the process of unrolling one of the small cartouche-like cigars. Having re-rolled it between her fingers, she placed it within the gripe of a pair of small golden pincers.

This done, she held one end to the coals that lay upon the brazero, and ignited the paper. Then, taking the other end between her thin, purlish lips, she breathed forth a blue cloud of aromatic vapour.

After a few whiffs she invited the major to participate, offering him a cigarrito from her beaded cigar-case.

This being considered an especial favour, the major’s gallantry would not permit him to refuse. He took the cigarrito, therefore; but, once in possession, he knew not how to use it.

Imitating the señora, he opened the diminutive cartridge, spreading out the edges of the wrapper, but attempted in vain to re-roll it.

The ladies, who had watched the process, seemed highly amused, particularly the younger, who laughed outright.

“Permit me, Señor Coronel,” said the Dona Joaquina, taking the cigarrito from the major’s hand, and giving it a turn through her nimble fingers, which brought it all right again.

“Thus – now – hold your fingers thus. Do not press it: suave, suave. This end to the light – so – very well!”

The major lit the cigar, and, putting it between his great thick lips, began to puff in a most energetic style.

He had not cast off half a dozen whiffs when the fire, reaching his fingers, burned them severely, causing him to remove them suddenly from the cigar. The wrapper then burst open; and the loose pulverised tobacco by a sudden inhalation rushed into his mouth and down his throat, causing him to cough and splutter in the most ludicrous manner.

This was too much for the ladies, who, encouraged by the cachinnations of Clayley, laughed outright; while the major, with tears in his eyes, could be heard interlarding his coughing solo with all kinds of oaths and expressions.

The scene ended by one of the young ladies offering the major a glass of water, which he drank off, effectually clearing the avenue of his throat.

“Will you try another, Señor Coronel?” asked Dona Joaquina, with a smile.

“No, ma’am, thank you,” replied the major, and then a sort of internal subterraneous curse could be heard in his throat.

The conversation continued in English, and we were highly amused at the attempts of our new acquaintances to express themselves in that language.

After failing, on one occasion, to make herself understood, Guadalupe said, with some vexation in her manner:

“We wish brother was home come; brother speak ver better Englis.”

“Where is he?” I inquired.

“In the ceety – Vera Cruz.”

“Ha! and when did you expect him?”

“Thees day – to-night – he home come.”

“Yes,” added the Señora Joaquina, in Spanish: “he went to the city to spend a few days with a friend; but he was to return to-day, and we are looking for him to arrive in the evening.”

“But how is he to get out?” cried the major, in his coarse, rough manner.

“How? – why, Señor?” asked the ladies in a breath, turning deadly pale.

“Why, he can’t pass the pickets, ma’am,” answered the major.

“Explain, Captain; explain!” said the ladies, appealing to me with looks of anxiety.

I saw that concealment would be idle. The major had fired the train.

“It gives me pain, ladies,” said I, speaking in Spanish, “to inform you that you must be disappointed. I fear the return of your brother to-day is impossible.”

“But why, Captain? – why?”

“Our lines are completely around Vera Cruz, and all intercourse to and from the city is at an end.”

Had a shell fallen into Don Cosmé’s drawing-room it could not have caused a greater change in the feelings of its inmates. Knowing nothing of military life, they had no idea that our presence there had drawn an impassable barrier between them and a much-loved member of their family. In a seclusion almost hermetical they knew that a war existed between their country and the United States; but that was far away upon the Rio Grande. They had heard, moreover, that our fleet lay off Vera Cruz, and the pealing of the distant thunder of San Juan had from time to time reached their ears; but they had not dreamed, on seeing us, that the city was invested by land. The truth was now clear; and the anguish of the mother and daughters became afflicting when we informed them of what we were unable to conceal – that it was the intention of the American commander to bombard the city.

The scene was to us deeply distressing.

Dona Joaquina wrung her hands, and called upon the Virgin with all the earnestness of entreaty. The sisters clung alternately to their mother and Don Cosmé, weeping and crying aloud, “Pobre Narcisso! nuestro hermanito – le asesinaran!” (Poor Narcisso, our little brother! – they will murder him!)

In the midst of this distressing scene the door of the drawing-room was thrown suddenly open, and a servant rushed in, shouting in an agitated voice, “El norté! el norté!”

Chapter Fourteen

“The Norther.”

We hurried after Don Cosmé towards the ante-sala, both myself and my companions ignorant of this new object of dread.

When we emerged from the stairway the scene that hailed us was one of terrific sublimity. Earth and heaven had undergone a sudden and convulsive change. The face of nature, but a moment since gay with summer smiles, was now hideously distorted. The sky had changed suddenly from its blue and sunny brightness to an aspect dark and portentous.

Along the north-west a vast volume of black vapour rolled up over the Sierra Madre, and rested upon the peaks of the mountains. From this, ragged masses, parting in fantastic forms and groupings, floated off against the concavity of the sky as though the demons of the storm were breaking up from an angry council. Each of these, as it careered across the heavens, seemed bent upon some spiteful purpose.

An isolated fragment hung lowering above the snowy cone of Orizava, like a huge vampire suspended over his sleeping victim.

From the great “parent cloud” that rested upon the Sierra Madre, lightning-bolts shot out and forked hither and thither or sank into the detached masses – the messengers of the storm-king bearing his fiery mandates across the sky.

Away along the horizon of the east moved the yellow pillars of sand, whirled upward by the wind, like vast columnar towers leading to heaven.

The storm had not yet reached the rancho. The leaves lay motionless under a dark and ominous calm; but the wild screams of many birds – the shrieks of the swans, the discordant notes of the frightened pea-fowl, the chattering of parrots as they sought the shelter of the thick olives in terrified flight – all betokened the speedy advent of some fearful convulsion.

The rain in large drops fell upon the broad leaves with a soft, plashing sound; and now and then a quick, short puff came snorting along, and, seizing the feathery frondage of the palms, shook them with a spiteful and ruffian energy.

The long green stripes, after oscillating a moment, would settle down again in graceful and motionless curves.

A low sound like the “sough” of the sea or the distant falling of water came from the north; while at intervals the hoarse bark of the coyoté and the yelling of terrified monkeys could be heard afar off in the woods.

“Tapa la casa! tapa la casa!” (Cover the house!) cried Don Cosmé as soon as he had fairly got his head above ground. “Anda! —anda con los macates!” (Quick with the cords!) With lightning quickness a roll of palmetto mats came down on all sides of the house, completely covering the bamboo walls, and forming a screen impervious to both wind and rain. This was speedily fastened at all corners, and strong stays were carried out and warped around the trunks of trees. In five minutes the change was complete. The cage-looking structure had disappeared, and a house with walls of yellow petaté stood in its place.

“Now, Señores, all is secured,” said Don Cosmé. “Let us return to the drawing-room.”

“I should like to see the first burst of this tornado,” I remarked, not wishing to intrude upon the scene of sorrow we had left.

“So be it, Captain. Stand here under the shelter, then.”

“Hot as thunder!” growled the major, wiping the perspiration from his broad, red cheeks.

“In five minutes, Señor Coronel, you will be chilled. At this point the heated atmosphere is now compressed. Patience! it will soon be scattered.”

“How long will the storm continue?” I asked. “Por Dios! Señor, it is impossible to tell how long the ‘norté’ may rage: sometimes for days; perhaps only for a few hours. This appears to be a ‘huracana’. If so, it will be short, but terrible while it lasts. Carrambo!”

A puff of cold, sharp wind came whistling past like an arrow. Another followed, and another, like the three seas that roll over the stormy ocean. Then, with a loud, rushing sound, the broad, full blast went sweeping – strong, dark, and dusty – bearing upon its mane the screaming and terrified birds, mingled with torn and flouted leaves.

The olives creaked and tossed about. The tall palms bowed and yielded, flinging out their long pinions like streamers. The broad leaves of the plantains flapped and whistled, and, bending gracefully, allowed the fierce blast to pass over.

Then a great cloud came rolling down; a thick vapour seemed to fill the space; and the air felt hot and dark and heavy. A choking, sulphureous smell rendered the breathing difficult, and for a moment day seemed changed to night.

Suddenly the whole atmosphere blazed forth in a sheet of flame, and the trees glistened as though they were on fire. An opaque darkness succeeded. Another flash, and along with it the crashing thunder – the artillery of heaven – deafening all other sounds.

Peal followed peal; the vast cloud was breached and burst by a hundred fiery bolts; and like an avalanche the heavy tropical rain was precipitated to the earth.

It fell in torrents, but the strength of the tempest had been spent on the first onslaught. The dark cloud passed on to the south, and a piercing cold wind swept after it.

“Vamos á bajar, señores!” (Let us descend, gentlemen), said Don Cosmé with a shiver, and he conducted us back to the stairway.

Clayley and the major looked towards me with an expression that said, “Shall we go in?” There were several reasons why our return to the drawing-room was unpleasant to myself and my companions. A scene of domestic affliction is ever painful to a stranger. How much more painful to us, knowing, as we did, that our countrymen – that we– had been the partial agents of this calamity! We hesitated a moment on the threshold.

“Gentlemen, we must return for a moment: we have been the bearers of evil tidings – let us offer such consolation as we may think of. Come!”

Chapter Fifteen.

A Little Fair Weather again

On re-entering the sala the picture of woe was again presented, but in an altered aspect. A change, sudden as the atmospheric one we had just witnessed, had taken place; and the scene of wild weeping was now succeeded by one of resignation and prayer.

On one side was Dona Joaquina, holding in her hands a golden rosary with its crucifix. The girls were kneeling in front of a picture – a portrait of Dolores with the fatal dagger; and the “Lady of Grief” looked not more sorrowful from the canvas than the beautiful devotees that bent before her.

With their heads slightly leaning, their arms crossed upon their swelling bosoms, and their long loose hair trailing upon the carpet, they formed a picture at once painful and prepossessing.

Not wishing to intrude upon this sacred sorrow, we made a motion to retire.

“No, Señores,” said Don Cosmé, interrupting us. “Be seated; let us talk calmly – let us know the worst.”

We then proceeded to inform Don Cosmé of the landing of the American troops and the manner in which our lines were drawn around the city, and pointed out to him the impossibility of anyone passing either in or out.

“There is still a hope, Don Cosmé,” said I, “and that, perhaps, rests with yourself.”

The thought had struck me that a Spaniard of Don Cosmé’s evident rank and wealth might be enabled to procure access to the city by means of his consul, and through the Spanish ship of war that I recollected was lying off San Juan.

“Oh! name it, Captain; name it!” cried he, while at the word “hope” the ladies had rushed forward, and stood clinging around me.

“There is a Spanish ship of war lying under the walls of Vera Cruz.”

“We know it – we know it!” replied Don Cosmé eagerly.

“Ah! you know it, then?”

“Oh, yes!” said Guadalupe. “Don Santiago is on board of her.”

“Don Santiago?” inquired I; “who is he?”

“He is a relation of ours, Captain,” said Don Cosmé; “an officer in the Spanish navy.”

This information pained me, although I scarcely knew why.

“You have a friend, then, aboard the Spanish ship,” said I to the elder of the sisters. “’Tis well; it will be in his power to restore to you your brother.”

A ring of brightening faces was around me while I uttered these cheering words; and Don Cosmé, grasping me by the hand, entreated me to proceed.

“This Spanish ship,” I continued, “is still allowed to keep up a communication with the town. You should proceed aboard at once, and by the assistance of this friend you may bring away your son before the bombardment commences. I see no difficulty; our batteries are not yet formed.”

“I will go this instant!” said Don Cosmé, leaping to his feet, while Dona Joaquina and her daughters ran out to make preparations for his journey.

Hope – sweet hope – was again in the ascendant.

“But how, Señor?” asked Don Cosmé, as soon as they were gone; “how can I pass your lines? Shall I be permitted to reach the ship?”

“It will be necessary for me to accompany you, Don Cosmé,” I replied; “and I regret exceedingly that my duty will not permit me to return with you at once.”

“Oh, Señor!” exclaimed the Spaniard, with a painful expression.

“My business here,” continued I, “is to procure pack-mules for the American army.”

“Mules?”

“Yes. We were crossing for that purpose to a plain on the other side of the woods, where we had observed some animals of that description.”

“’Tis true, Captain; there are a hundred or more; they are mine – take them all!”

“But it is our intention to pay for them, Don Cosmé. The major here has the power to contract with you.”

“As you please, gentlemen; but you will then return this way, and proceed to your camp?”

“As soon as possible,” I replied. “How far distant is this plain?”

“Not more than a league. I would go with you, but – ” Here Don Cosmé hesitated, and, approaching, said in a low tone: “The truth is, Señor Capitan, I should be glad if you could take them without my consent. I have mixed but little in the politics of this country; but Santa Anna is my enemy – he will ask no better motive for despoiling me.”

“I understand you,” said I. “Then, Don Cosmé, we will take your mules by force, and carry yourself a prisoner to the American camp – a Yankee return for your hospitality.”

“It is good,” replied the Spaniard, with a smile.

“Señor Capitan,” continued he, “you are without a sword. Will you favour me by accepting this?”

Don Cosmé held out to me a rapier of Toledo steel, with a golden scabbard richly chased, and bearing on its hilt the eagle and nopal of Mexico.

“It is a family relic, and once belonged to the brave Guadalupe Victoria.”

“Ha! indeed!” I exclaimed, taking the sword; “I shall value it much. Thanks, Señor! thanks! Now, Major, we are ready to proceed.”

“A glass of maraschino, gentlemen?” said Don Cosmé, as a servant appeared with a flask and glasses. “Thank you – yes,” grunted the major; “and while we are drinking it, Señor Don, let me give you a hint. You appear to have plenty of pewter.” Here the major significantly touched a gold sugar-dish, which the servant was carrying upon a tray of chased silver. “Take my word for it, you can’t bury it too soon.”

“It is true, Don Cosmé,” said I, translating to him the major’s advice. “We are not French, but there are robbers who hang on the skirts of every army.”

Don Cosmé promised to follow the hint with alacrity, and we prepared to take our departure from the rancho.

“I will give you a guide, Señor Capitan; you will find my people with the mulada. Please compel them to lasso the cattle for you. You will obtain what you want in the corral. Adios, Señores!”

“Farewell, Don Cosmé!”

“A dios, Capitan! adios! adios!”

I held out my hand to the younger of the girls, who instantly caught it and pressed it to her lips. It was the action of a child. Guadalupe followed the example of her sister, but evidently with a degree of reserve. What, then, should have caused this difference in their manner?

In the next moment we were ascending the stairway.

“Lucky dog!” growled the major. “Take a ducking myself for that.”

“Both beautiful, by Jove!” said Clayley; “but of all the women I ever saw, give me ‘Mary of the Light’!”

Chapter Sixteen.