The Rifle Rangers by Mayne Reid (short novels in english TXT) 📕
Read free book «The Rifle Rangers by Mayne Reid (short novels in english TXT) 📕» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: Mayne Reid
Read book online «The Rifle Rangers by Mayne Reid (short novels in english TXT) 📕». Author - Mayne Reid
“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!”
“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!”
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:
Comments (0)