The Rifle Rangers Part 12

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 bl.u.s.tering through the bushes like an elephant; and it now became apparent that he carried his long sabre drawn and nouris.h.i.+ng.

"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.

"Senor 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 grat.i.tude?"

Here followed a mult.i.tude 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, Senor Capitan," said he, "your accent!--you are a foreigner?"

"A foreigner! To Mexico, did you mean?"

"Yes, Senor. Is it not so?"

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

"And how long have you been in the army, Senor Capitan?"

"But a short time."

"How do you like Mexico, Senor?"

"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, Senor_," 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 e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n "_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--os.h.i.+ns 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."