"I'll go!"
This laconism came from the lips of a young man who was walking along
the Levee of New Orleans. Just before giving utterance to it he had
made a sudden stop, facing a dead wall, enlivened, however, by a large
poster, on which were printed, in conspicuous letters, the words--
"Volunteers for Texas!"
Underneath, in smaller type, was a proclamation, setting forth the
treachery of Santa Anna and the whole Mexican nation, recalling in
strong terms the Massacre of Fanning, the butchery of Alamo, and other
like atrocities; ending in an appeal to all patriots and lovers of
freedom to arm, take the field, and fight against the tyrant of Mexico
and his myrmidons.
"I'll go!" said the young man, after a glance given to the printed
statement; then, more deliberately re-reading it, he repeated the words
with an emphasis that told of his being in earnest.
The poster also gave intimation of a meeting to be held the same evening
at a certain _rendezvous_ in Poydras Street.
He who read only lingered to make note of the address, which was the
name of a noted _cafe_. Having done this, he was turning to continue
his walk when his path was barred by a specimen of humanity, who stood
full six foot six in a pair of alligator leather boots, on the
_banquette_ by his side, "So ye're goin', air ye?" was the
half-interrogative speech that proceeded from the individual thus
confronting him.
"What's that to you?" bluntly demanded the young fellow, his temper a
little ruffled by what appeared an impertinent obstruction on the part
of some swaggering bully.
"More'n you may think for, young 'un," answered the booted Colossus,
still standing square in the way; "more'n you may think for, seein' it's
through me that bit o' paper's been put up on that 'ere wall."
"You're a bill-sticker, I suppose?" sneeringly retorted the "young 'un."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the giant, with a cachinnation that resembled the
neighing of a horse. "A bill-sticker, eh! Wal; I likes that. An' I
likes yur grit, too, young feller, for all ye are so sassy. But ye
needn't git riled, an' I reckon ye won't, when I tell ye who I am."
"And who are you; pray?"
"Maybe ye mount a hearn o' Cris Rock?"
"What! Cris Rock of Texas? He who at Fanning's--"
"At Fannin's massacree war shot dead, and kim alive agin."
"Yes," said the interrogator, whose interrogatory referred to the almost
miraculous escape of one of the betrayed victims of the Goliad butchery.
"Jess so, young feller. An' since ye 'pear to know somethin' 'bout me,
I needn't tell ye I ain't no _bill-sticker_, nor why I 'peared to show
impartinence by putting in my jaw when I heern ye sing out, `I'll go.'
I thort it wouldn't need much introduxshun to one as I mout soon hope to
call kumarade. Yer comin' to the rendyvoo the night, ain't ye?"
"Yes; I intend doing so."
"Wal, I'll be there myself; an' if ye'll only look high enough, I reck'n
ye kin sight me 'mong the crowd. 'Tain't like to be the shortest thar,"
he added, with a smile that bespoke pride in his superior stature, "tho'
ye'll see some tall 'uns too. Anyhow, jest look out for Cris Rock; and,
when foun', that chile may be of some sarvice to ye."
"I shall do so," rejoined the other, whose good humour had become quite
restored.
About to bid good-bye, Rock held out a hand, broad as the blade of a
canoe-paddle. It was freely taken by the stranger, who, while shaking
it, saw that he was being examined from head to foot.
"Look hyar!" pursued the Colossus, as if struck by some thought which a
closer scrutiny of the young man's person had suggested; "hev ye ever
did any sogerin'? Ye've got the look o' it."
"I was educated in a military school--that's all."
"Where? In the States?"
"No. I am from the other side of the Atlantic."
"Oh! A Britisher. Wal, that don't make no difference in Texas. Thar's
all sorts thar. English, ain't ye?"
"No," promptly answered the stranger, with a slight scornful curling of
the lip: "I'm an Irishman, and not one of those who deny it."
"All the better for that. Thar's a bit of the same blood somewhar in my
own veins, out o' a grandmother, I b'lieve, as kim over the mountains
into Kaintuck, 'long wi' Dan Boone an' his lot. So ye've been eddycated
at a milintary school, then? D'ye unnerstan' anything about the
trainin' o' sogers?"
"Certainly I do."
"Dog-goned, ef you ain't the man we want! How'd ye like to be an
officer? I reck'n ye're best fit for that."
"Of course I should like it; but as a stranger among you, I shouldn't
stand much chance of being elected. You choose your officers, don't
you?"
"Sartin, we eelect 'em; an' we're goin' to hold the eelections this very
night. Lookee hyar, young fellur; I like yer looks, an' I've seed proof
ye've got the stuff in ye. Now, I want to tell ye somethin' ye oughter
to know. I belong to this company that's jest a formin', and thar's a
fellur settin' hisself up to be its capting. He's a sort o' half
Spanish, half French-Creole, o' Noo-Orleans hyar, an' we old Texans
don't think much o' him. But thar's only a few o' us; while 'mong the
Orleans city fellurs as are goin' out to, he's got a big pop'larity by
standin' no eend o' drinks. He ain't a bad lookin' sort for sogerin',
and has seen milintary sarvice, they say. F'r all that, thar's a
hangdog glint 'bout his eyes this chile don't like; neither do some o'
the others. So, young un, if you'll come down to the rendyvoo in good
time, an' make a speech--you kin speechify, can't ye?"
"Oh, I suppose I could say something."
"Wal, you stump it, an' I'll put in a word or two, an' then we'll
perpose ye for capting; an' who knows we mayent git the majority arter
all? You'er willin' to try, ain't ye?"
"Quite willing," answered the Irishman, with an emphasis which showed
how much the proposal was to his mind. "But why, Mr Rock, are you not
a candidate yourself? You have seen service, and would make a good
officer, I should say."
"Me kandydate for officer! Wal, I'm big enough, thet's true, and ef you
like, ugly enuf. But I ain't no ambeeshum thet way. Besides, this
chile knows nothin' 'bout _drill_; an' that's what's wanted bad. Ye
see, we ain't had much reg'lar sogerin' in Texas. Thar's whar the
Mexikins hev the advantage o' us, an' thar's whar you'll hev the same if
you'll consent to stan'. You say you will?"
"I will, if you wish it."
"All square then," returned the Texan, once more taking his _protege_ by
the hand, and giving it a squeeze like the grip of a grizzly bear.
"I'll be on the lookout for ye. Meanwhile, thar's six hours to the good
yet afore it git sundown. So go and purpar' yur speech, while I slide
roun' among the fellurs, an' do a leetle for ye in the line o'
canvassin'."
After a final bruin-like pressure of the hand the giant had commenced
striding away, when he came again to a halt, uttering a loud "Hiloo!"
"What is it?" inquired the young Irishman.
"It seems that Cris Rock air 'bout one o' the biggest nummorskulls in
all Noo-Orleans. Only to think! I was about startin' to take the stump
for a kandydate 'ithout knowin' the first letter o' his name. How wur
ye crissened, young fellur?"
"Kearney--Florence Kearney."
"Florence, ye say? Ain't that a woman's name?"
"True; but in Ireland many men bear it."
"Wal, it do seem a little kewrious; but it'll do right slick, and the
Kearney part soun's well. I've hern speak o' Kate Kearney; thar's a
song 'bout the gurl. Mout ye be any connexshun o' hern?"
"No, Mr Rock; not that I'm aware of. She was a Killarney woman. I was
born a little further north on the green island."
"Wal, no matter what part o' it, yur are welkim to Texas, I reck'n, or
the States eyther. Kearney--I like the name. It hev a good ring, an'
it'll soun' all the better wi' `Capting' for a handle to 't--the which
it shall hev afore ten o'clock this night, if Cris Rock ain't astray in
his reck'nin'. But see as ye kum early to the rendyvoo, so as to hev
time for a talk wi' the boys. Thar's a somethin' in that; an' if ye've
got a ten dollar bill to spare, spend it on drinks all round. Thar's a
good deal in that too."
So saying, the Texan strode off, leaving Florence Kearney to reflect
upon the counsel so opportunely extended.