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, Senores," said Don Cosme, interrupting us. "Be seated; let us talk
calmly--let us know the worst."
We then proceeded to inform Don Cosme 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 Cosme," said I, "and that, perhaps, rests
with yourself."
The thought had struck me that a Spaniard of Don Cosme'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 Cosme 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 Cosme; "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 Cosme, 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 Cosme, 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, Senor?" asked Don Cosme, 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 Cosme," I replied;
"and I regret exceedingly that my duty will not permit me to return with
you at once."
"Oh, Senor!" 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 Cosme. 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 Cosme
hesitated, and, approaching, said in a low tone: "The truth is, Senor
Capitan, I should be glad if you could take them _without my consent_.
I have mixed but little in the politics of this country; but Santa Anna
is my enemy--he will ask no better motive for despoiling me."
"I understand you," said I. "Then, Don Cosme, we will take your mules
by force, and carry yourself a prisoner to the American camp--a Yankee
return for your hospitality."
"It is good," replied the Spaniard, with a smile.
"Senor Capitan," continued he, "you are without a sword. Will you
favour me by accepting this?"
Don Cosme held out to me a rapier of Toledo steel, with a golden
scabbard richly chased, and bearing on its hilt the eagle and nopal of
Mexico.
"It is a family relic, and once belonged to the brave Guadalupe
Victoria."
"Ha! indeed!" I exclaimed, taking the sword; "I shall value it much.
Thanks, Senor! thanks! Now, Major, we are ready to proceed."
"A glass of maraschino, gentlemen?" said Don Cosme, as a servant
appeared with a flask and glasses. "Thank you--yes," grunted the major;
"and while we are drinking it, Senor Don, let me give you a hint. You
appear to have plenty of _pewter_." Here the major significantly
touched a gold sugar-dish, which the servant was carrying upon a tray of
chased silver. "Take my word for it, you can't bury it too soon."
"It is true, Don Cosme," said I, translating to him the major's advice.
"We are not French, but there are robbers who hang on the skirts of
every army."
Don Cosme promised to follow the hint with alacrity, and we prepared to
take our departure from the rancho.
"I will give you a guide, Senor Capitan; you will find my people with
the _mulada_. Please _compel_ them to lasso the cattle for you. You
will obtain what you want in the corral. _Adios, Senores_!"
"Farewell, Don Cosme!"
"_A dios, Capitan! adios! adios_!"
I held out my hand to the younger of the girls, who instantly caught it
and pressed it to her lips. It was the action of a child. Guadalupe
followed the example of her sister, but evidently with a degree of
reserve. What, then, should have caused this difference in their
manner?
In the next moment we were ascending the stairway.
"Lucky dog!" growled the major. "Take a ducking myself for that."
"Both beautiful, by Jove!" said Clayley; "but of all the women I ever
saw, give me `Mary of the Light'!"