The Rifle Rangers by Mayne Reid (short novels in english TXT) đź“•
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- Author: Mayne Reid
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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.
“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
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