"Yur safe, Cap'n!" It was Lincoln's voice. Around me stood a dozen of
the men, up to their waists. Little Jack, too, (his head and forage-cap
just appearing above the surface of the water), stood with his eighteen
inches of steel buried in the carcase of the dead reptile. I could not
help smiling at the ludicrous picture.
"Yes, safe," answered I, panting for breath; "safe--you came in good
time, though!"
"We heern yur shot, Cap'n," said Lincoln, "an' we guessed yur didn't
shoot without somethin' ter shoot for; so I tuk half a dozen files and
kim up."
"You acted right, sergeant; but where are the--"
I was looking towards the edge of the tank where I had last seen the
girls. They had disappeared.
"If yez mane the faymales," answered Chane, "they're _vamosed_ through
the threes. Be Saint Patrick, the black one's a thrump anyhow! She
looks for all the world like them bewtiful crayoles of Dimmerary."
Saying this, he turned suddenly round, and commenced driving his bayonet
furiously into the dead cayman, exclaiming between the thrusts:
"Och, ye divil! bad luck to yer ugly carcase! You're a nate-looking
baste to interfere with a pair of illigant craythers! Be the crass!
he's all shill, boys. Och, mother o' Moses! I can't find a saft spot
in him!"
We climbed out upon the parapet, and the soldiers commenced wiping their
wet guns.
Clayley appeared at this moment, filing round the pond at the head of
the detachment. As I explained the adventure to the lieutenant, he
laughed heartily.
"By Jove! it will never do for a despatch," said he; "one killed on the
side of the enemy, and on ours not a wound. There is one, however, who
may be reported `badly scared'."
"Who?" I asked.
"Why, who but the bold Blossom?"
"But where is he?"
"Heaven only knows! The last I saw of him, he was screening himself
behind an old ruin. I wouldn't think it strange if he was off to camp--
that is, if he believes he can find his way back again."
As Clayley said this, he burst into a loud yell of laughter.
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
blustering through the bushes like an elephant; and it now became
apparent that he carried his long sabre drawn and nourishing.
"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 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, 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.