Ahead of the Army Part 8

"My dear," he said, as he took the paper, "I knew it was coming, but I didn't think it would come so soon as this. I don't really see that Ned is in any danger. Captain Kemp will take care of him."

"But," she said, "the _Goshhawk_ may be captured."

"No," replied Mr. Crawford, confidently. "She hasn't sailed across prairie to the Rio Grande. There won't be any fighting at Vera Cruz for ever so long. There can't be any on the sea, for Mexico has no navy. The _Goshhawk_ is entirely safe, and so is Ned. It'll be a grand experience for him."

"I don't want him to have so much experience at his age," she said, anxiously. "I'd rather he'd be at home,--if there's going to be a war."

"I've often wished that I could see a war," replied her husband, as he glanced over the black-typed headings of the newspaper columns. "I've travelled a good deal in Mexico, and I wanted Ned to learn all he could of that country. He will hardly have any chance to do so now."

"He might see too much of it if he were taken prisoner," she exclaimed.

"I can't bear to think of it! Oh, how I wish he were at home!"

Mr. Crawford was silent, and again he appeared to be thinking deeply. He was not a pale-faced man at any time, but now his color was visibly increasing. His face was also changing its expression, and it wore a strong reminder of the look which had come into his son Ned's countenance when the fever of Mexican exploration took hold of him.

People say "like father, like son," and it may be that Ned's readiness for a trip into the interior belonged to something which had descended to him from a father who had been willing to educate his son for the southern trade by sending him to sea with Captain Kemp. The United States has had a great many commercial men of that stamp, and there was a time when almost all the navy the nation possessed was provided by the merchant patriots, who armed and sent out, or themselves commanded, its fleets of privateers. Very likely the Crawfords and a number of other American families could point back to as adventurous an ancestry as could any Spaniard whose forefathers had fought Moors or won estates for themselves in Mexico or Peru. As for Mrs. Crawford, she was hardly able to drink her coffee that morning, after reading the newspaper, and she might have been even more willing to have Ned come home if she had known what had become of the _Goshhawk_, and in what company he was a couple of hours after she arose from her table.

Company? That was it. He was now walking along one of the streets of Vera Cruz with a squad of men of whom she would have decidedly disapproved, but whose character her husband would have understood at sight. Ned's first acquaintance, Pablo, as he called himself, with his four comrades, made up so thoroughly Mexican a party at all points that it was in no danger of being interfered with by the mob. Every member of this had seen, often enough, the son of some wealthy landholder from the upland country attended by a sufficient number of his own retainers to keep him from being plundered, and it was well enough to let him alone.

On they went, but it was by a circuitous route and a back street that they reached the Ta.s.sara place. Even then, they did not enter it by the front door, but by a path which led down to the stables in the rear of the house. No outsider would afterward be able to say that he saw that party of men march into the courtyard to be welcomed by Colonel Ta.s.sara and the mysterious personage whom Ned was trying to think of as General Zuroaga.

"He may be of more importance than I had any idea of," said Ned to himself, "and I wish I knew what was coming next."

He was not to find out immediately, for Zuroaga motioned him to go on into the house, while he himself and Ta.s.sara remained to talk with Pablo and the other machete-bearers.

Hardly was Ned three steps inside of the dwelling, when he was met by Senora Ta.s.sara, apparently in a state of much mental agitation.

"My dear young friend!" she exclaimed, "I am so glad you have escaped from them! Come in. We shall have no regular dinner to-day. You will eat your luncheon now, however. We are all busy packing up. We must set out for the country as soon as it is dark. The colonel's enemies are following him like so many wolves! Felicia, my dear, you will see that Senor Carfora is properly attended to."

The saucy senorita was standing a little behind her mother, and she now beckoned to Ned, as if she had no hostility for him whatever.

"Come right along in," she said, peremptorily. "I must eat my luncheon, too. I want to hear where you have been, and what you have been doing.

Is there any more news from the war? Have your gringo generals been beaten again? Tell me all you know!"

She was evidently in the habit of being obeyed by those around her, and Ned felt decidedly obedient, but this was his first intimation that it was fully noon. Time had pa.s.sed more rapidly than he had been aware of, for his mind had been too busy to take note of it. He was hungrily ready to obey, however, especially concerning the luncheon, and his first bit of news appeared to please his little hostess exceedingly.

"Not another s.h.i.+p is in," he told her, "and I don't believe there is going to be any war, anyhow, but I saw some of your soldiers. They were guarding the American consulate from the mob. They were splendid-looking fellows. Is your father's regiment of that kind of men?"

"Father's regiment?" she said, angrily. "That's just the difficulty now.

He hasn't any soldiers. Those that he had were taken away from him. So he must go and gather some more, or President Paredes will say that he is not patriotic. They took his old regiment away from him after he had made it a real good one. Tell me about your gringo soldiers. Are there a great many of them? Do they know how to fight? I don't believe they do."

She was all on fire about the war and her father's enemies, and Ned was ready to tell her all he knew of the American army, if not a little more. At least, he described to her the elegant uniforms which were worn on parade occasions by the New York City militia regiments, feathers, flags, bra.s.s bands, and all, rather than the external appearance of any martial array that General Taylor was likely to take with him when he invaded Mexico. Felicia was especially interested in those magnificent bra.s.s bands and wished that she could have some of them taken prisoners to come and play in front of her house, but all the while they were talking he was glancing furtively around the room. This had undergone a remarkable change during his brief absence. The trophies of arms were all gone, and the wonderful Seville coffee-urn had disappeared. Perhaps it had walked away, beyond the reach of possible thieves, and with it may have gone the other silverware of the Ta.s.sara family. Senorita Felicia's quick eyes had followed his own, for she was watching him.

"Yes, Senor Carfora," she said, "it's all gone. The china is all stored away in the deep cellar. I don't believe they could find it, and if they did they could not carry it away to melt it up and make dollars of it.

That's what they did with all the silver one of my aunts had, except some spoons that were hid in the stable, under the hay. One of the robbers went into the stable to hunt, too, and a good mule kicked him dead. If anybody comes to rob this house while we are gone, I wish he might be kicked by one of our mules at the hacienda. He would not steal any more."

Ned had other things to tell her, about the United States forts, troops, and s.h.i.+ps of war, and she had stories to tell with excited vivacity that set forth sadly enough the wretchedly unsettled condition of her country, which she appeared to love so well, after all. Troubled as it was, it was her own land, and she hated its enemies.

It was a hot, oppressive day, with a promise of greater heat soon to come, and the weather itself might be a good enough reason why any family should be in a hurry to get out of the _tierra caliente_. As for the removal of valuable property, Ned had already learned that Vera Cruz was haunted not only by bad characters from the interior, but by desperadoes from up and down the coast and from the West India Islands.

He was not near enough to hear, however, when Zuroaga remarked to his friend Ta.s.sara:

"You are right, my dear colonel. The Americans will hold the Texan border with a strong hand, but if Paredes does not promptly come to terms with them, we shall see a fleet and army at Vera Cruz before long.

This is the weak point of our unhappy republic."

"I think not," replied Ta.s.sara, gloomily. "I wish it were a solid nation, as strong as the castle out yonder. Our weak point is that we are cut up into factions, and cannot make use of the strength that we really have undeveloped. As for anything else, one case of yellow fever was reported yesterday, and I am informed that his Excellency, President Paredes, talks of coming here shortly to confer with Colonel Guerra.

That may mean trouble for him, and neither you nor I would wish to be brought before any such council of war as might be called together."

"It might not consist altogether of our friends," said Zuroaga. "In my case, if not in yours, it might be followed quickly by an order for a file of soldiers and a volley of musketry. I should not look for mercy from a tiger."

"On the other hand," responded the colonel, "it would be well for him to be careful just now. He will need all the strength he can obtain."

"Humph!" exclaimed Zuroaga. "He will try to leave no living, or, at least, no unimprisoned enemies behind him when he marches for the border."

It was plain that they were not to be numbered among their President's friends, whether or not they were altogether just to him. b.l.o.o.d.y severity in putting down sedition was the long-established custom in Mexico, and one man might not be more to blame for it than another. It had been handed down from the old days of Spanish rule, and the record which had been made is not by any means pleasant reading.

When the luncheon was over, the senorita left Ned to himself, appearing to feel somewhat more friendly than at first, but still considering him as a gringo and a foreigner. She said she had some things to pack up, and he went to look after his own. These did not require much packing, and before long he had again found his way out to the courtyard and the stables. These were indeed the most interesting spots about the place, for they contained all the men, the horses, and the mules. Ned shortly concluded that here were also gathered most of the firearms and at least a dozen of the wildest kind of Mexican Indians, all ragged and all barefooted. Preparations for a journey were going forward under Senora Ta.s.sara's direction, and Ned pretty quickly understood that the men were a great deal more afraid of her than they were of her husband. He felt so himself, and he instantly got out of her way, as she told him to do, when he unwisely undertook to help her with her packing.

The horses were of several sorts and sizes, and more like them were shortly brought in. One large spring wagon and a covered carryall carriage were in good order. Both were of American manufacture, and so was the harness of the teams which were to draw them. Ned was feeling a certain degree of curiosity as to what kind of carriage was to carry him, when Senor Zuroaga beckoned him to one side and said:

"We shall be with Colonel Ta.s.sara's party only the first day. But I have been thinking. When we were on the _Goshhawk_, you told me that you had never ridden a horse in your life----"

"Why, I'm a city boy," interrupted Ned. "There isn't any horseback riding done there. I'd rather go on wheels."

"Of course you would," laughed Zuroaga. "But there won't be any use for wheels on some of the roads I am to follow. I've picked you out a pony that you can manage, though, and you will soon learn. You will have to be a horseman if you are to travel in Mexico."

"So father used to tell me," said Ned. "He can ride anything. Which of these is my horse? They all look skittish----"

"Neither of these would do for you," replied the senor. "But listen to me sharply. Twice you have called me general. Don't do it again until we are beyond the mountains. I'm only a plain senor in all this region of the country. I only hope that some men in Vera Cruz do not already know that I am here. If they did, I am afraid I should not get out so easily.

This is your horse. He is a good one."

Hitched to a post near the wall was a fat, undersized animal, black as jet, and with more mane and tail than was at all reasonable. He carried a Mexican saddle with wooden stirrups and a tremendous curb-bit bridle.

In front of the saddle were pistol holsters, and behind it hung an ammunition case, as if Ned were about to become a trooper. He went to examine the holsters, and found that each of them contained a large horse-pistol with a flintlock. He also found powder and bullets in the case, and he wondered whether or not he would ever be able to shoot anybody with one of those heavy, long-barrelled things without having something to rest it on.

"I practised for an hour once in a pistol-gallery," he remarked, "but it wasn't with anything like that."

"You didn't hit centre even then, eh?" laughed the senor. "Well, not many men can do much with them, but they are better than nothing. They are too heavy for a hand like yours. Here is your machete. Put it on."

Ned felt a queer tingle all over him, as he took the weapon and hitched it at his belt. Then he drew it from the sheath and looked at it, swinging it up and down to feel its weight. It was a straight, one-edged blade, with a sharp point, and a bra.s.s basket hilt, and he remarked:

"Senor Zuroaga, I could hit with that, I guess."

His face had flushed fiery red, and it could be seen, from his handling of the machete, that his muscles were unusually strong for his size and age. The senor nodded his approbation, as he remarked:

"I think you will do. There is fight in you, but I hope we shall have no fighting to do just now. I shall try to find a safe road home."

"A fellow could cut down bushes with this thing," said Ned.

"That's exactly what our rancheros use them for," replied the senor.

"They will do almost anything with a machete. They will cut their way through thick chaparral, kill and cut up beef cattle, split wood, fight men or animals, and on the whole it's about the most useful tool there is in a Mexican camp or hacienda."

"What's that?" asked Ned.