THE WHITE SCALPER.
A Story of the Texan War.
BY
GUSTAVE AIMARD,
AUTHOR OF "INDIAN SCOUT," "FREEBOOTERS," "BORDER RIFLES" ETC.
LONDON:
WARD AND LOCK,
168, FLEET STREET.
MDCCCLXI.
ADVERTISEMENT.
With the conclusion of the present series of GUSTAVE AIMARD'S tales, it
may be advisable to inform the readers in what succession the eleven
volumes already published should be read. It is as follows;--
First Series.
1. BORDER RIFLES.
2. FREEBOOTERS.
3. WHITE SCALPER.
Second Series.
1. TRAIL HUNTER.
2. PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES.
3. TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER.
4. TIGER-SLAYER.
5. GOLD-SEEKERS.
6. INDIAN CHIEF.
Third Series.
1. PRAIRIE FLOWER.
2. INDIAN SCOUT.
These, three Series are now complete, and in the ensuing volumes the
Author intends to introduce an entirely fresh set of characters.
Encouraged by the unexpectedly favourable reception these volumes have
met with, the Publishers have determined on producing a Magnificent
Illustrated edition. Each volume will contain twelve page Engravings,
drawn and Engraved by the First Artists of the Day, and be published at
a price which will place the series within reach of all classes.
These engravings will necessarily enhance the pleasure of the reader; as
the most careful attention has been paid to correctness of costume and
scenery, and a perfect idea can be at once formed from them of the
peculiarities of the country in which the scene is laid. In all Indian
novels that have hitherto been published with illustrations, this
important point has been neglected; but the purchasers of the
Illustrated Edition of GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works may feel assured that
whatever is offered them in the way of elucidating the text is strictly
true to Nature. When it is stated, for instance, that the Indian dresses
have been obtained from CATLIN'S elaborate work, and the distinctive
costumes of each tribe faithfully adhered to, the Publishers trust this
will prove a sufficient guarantee that no idle boast is intended. At the
same time, artistic value has not been neglected. The engraving has been
intrusted to Mr. EDMUND EVANS, who has surpassed all his former efforts
in the elaboration of these, the most perfect specimens which have yet
issued from his studio.
The Publishers, therefore, confidently anticipate that this enterprise
will render GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works of Indian life the universal
favourites they deserve to be, for the volumes will be appropriate as
gift books at all seasons of the year. For it should not be left out of
sight that, although the Author has thought proper to write his tales in
different series, each volume can be read with equal interest
separately. As he only records the incidents of his own life under
assumed characters, it is but natural that the same Individuals should
appear on the scene in a succession of volumes. But in this GUSTAVE
AIMARD merely follows the example of his master, FENIMORE COOPER, and no
complaint was ever, to our knowledge, raised to his introduction of the
same hero through a lengthened series of volumes. On the contrary, the
readers were pleased at it; and the same kind indulgence is asked for
the present Author, who, if he may have erred in an artistic sense, has
a brilliant example to fall back on.
The first volume of the New Illustrated Edition will be published in
October next, and procurable of all Booksellers throughout the kingdom.
As the demand, however, is anticipated to be very large, intending
Subscribers are requested to send in their orders early, so that any
delay or disappointment may be avoided.
_August_, 1861.
CONTENTS.
I. A RECONNOISSANCE
II. A BARGAIN
III. THE RETREAT
IV. JOHN DAVIS
V. BEFORE THE BATTLE
VI. THE BATTLE OF CERRO PARDO
VII. TO THE ATEPETL
VIII. HOSPITALITY
IX. THE MARRIAGE
X. RETURN TO LIFE
XI. THE PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES
XII. IN THE CAVERN
XIII. A CONVERSATION
XIV. TWO ENEMIES
XV. THE AMBUSCADE
XVI. THE SCALP DANCE
XVII. THE MEETING
XVIII. A REACTION
XIX. A PAGE OF HISTORY
XX. THE BIVOUAC
XXI. SANDOVAL
XXII. LOYAL HEART'S HISTORY
XXIII. THE EXPIATION
XXIV. IN THE DESERT
XXV. THE LAST HALT
XXVI. SAN JACINTO
THE WHITE SCALPER
CHAPTER I.
A RECONNOISSANCE.
Colonel Melendez, after leaving the Jaguar, galloped with his head
afire, and panting chest, along the Galveston road, exciting with his
spurs the ardour of his horse, which yet seemed to devour space, so
rapid was its speed. But it is a long journey from the Salto del Frayle
to the town. While galloping, the Colonel reflected; and the more he did
so, the more impossible did it appear to him that the Jaguar had told
him the truth. In fact, how could it be supposed that this partisan,
brave and rash though he was, would have dared to attack, at the head of
a handful of adventurers, a well-equipped corvette, manned by a numerous
crew, and commanded by one of the best officers in the Mexican navy? The
capture of the fort seemed even more improbable to the Colonel.
While reflecting thus, the Colonel had gradually slackened his horse's
speed; the animal, feeling that it was no longer watched, had insensibly
passed from a gallop into a canter, then a trot, and by a perfectly
natural transition, fell into a walk, with drooping head, and snapping
at the blades of grass within its reach.
Night had set in for some time past; a complete silence brooded over the
country, only broken by the hollow moan of the sea as it rolled over the
shingle. The Colonel was following a small track formed along the coast,
which greatly shortened the distance separating him from Galveston. This
path, much used by day, was at this early hour of night completely
deserted; the ranchos that stood here and there were shut up, and no
light gleamed through their narrow windows, for the fishermen, fatigued
by the rude toil of the day, had retired to bed at an early hour.
The young officer's horse, which had more and more slackened its pace,
emboldened by impunity, at length stopped near a scrubby bush, whose
leaves it began nibbling. This immobility aroused the Colonel from his
reverie, and he looked about him to see where he was. Although the
obscurity was very dense, it was easy for him to perceive that he was
still a long distance from his destination. About a musket-shot ahead
was a rancho, whose hermetically-closed windows allowed a thin pencil of
light to filter through the interstices of the shutters. The Colonel
struck his repeater and found it was midnight. To go on would be
madness; the more so, as it would be impossible for him to find a boat
in which to cross to the island. Greatly annoyed at this obstacle,
which, supposing the Jaguar's revelations to be true, might entail
serious consequences, the young officer, while cursing this involuntary
delay, resolved on pushing on to the rancho before him, and once there,
try to obtain means to cross the bay.
After drawing his cloak tightly round him, to protect him as far as
possible from the damp sea air, the Colonel caught up his reins again,
and giving his horse the spur, trotted sharply towards the rancho. The
traveller speedily reached it, but, when only a few paces from it,
instead of riding straight up to the door, he dismounted, fastened his
horse to a larch-tree, and, after placing his pistols in his belt, made
a rather long circuit, and stealthily crept up to the window of the
rancho.
In the present state of fermentation from which people were suffering in
Texas, the olden confidence had entirely disappeared to make way for the
greatest distrust. The times were past when the doors of houses remained
open day and night, in order to enable strangers to reach the fireside
with greater facility. Hospitality, which was traditional in these
parts, had, temporarily at any rate, changed into a suspicious reserve,
and it would have been an act of unjustifiable imprudence to ride up to
a strange house, without first discovering whether it was that of a
friend. The Colonel especially, being dressed in a Mexican uniform, was
bound to act with extreme reserve.
This rancho was rather large; it had not that appearance of poverty and
neglect which are found only too often in the houses of Spanish American
Campesinos. It was a square house, with a roof in the Italian fashion,
having in front an azotea-covered portillo. The white-washed walls were
an agreeable contrast to the virgin vines, and other plants which ran
over it. This rancho was not enclosed with walls: a thick hedge, broken
through at several places, alone defended the approaches. The
dependencies of the house were vast, and well kept up. All proved that
the owner of this mansion carried on a large trade on his account.
The Colonel, as we have said, had softly approached one of the windows.
The shutters were carefully closed, but not so carefully as not to let
it be seen that someone was up inside. In vain did the Colonel, though,
place his eye at the slit, for he could see nothing. If he could not
see, however, he could hear, and the first words that reached his ear
probably appeared to him very serious, for he redoubled his attention,
in order to lose no portion of the conversation. Employing once again
our privilege as romancers, we will enter the rancho, and allow the
reader to witness the singular scene going on there, the most
interesting part of which escaped the Colonel, greatly to his annoyance.
In a rather small room, dimly lighted by a smoky candle, four men, with
gloomy faces and ferocious glances, dressed in the garb of Campesinos,
were assembled. Three of them, seated on butacas and equipals, were
listening, with their guns between their legs, to the fourth, who, with
his arms behind his back, was walking rapidly up and down, while
talking.
The broad brims of the vicuña hats which the three first wore, and the
obscurity prevailing in the room, only allowed their faces to be dimly
seen, and their expression judged. The fourth, on the contrary, was
bare-headed; he was a man of about forty, tall, and well built; his
muscular limbs denoted a far from common strength, and a forest of black
and curly hair fell on his wide shoulders. He had a lofty forehead,
aquiline nose, and black and piercing eyes; while the lower part of his
face disappeared in a long and thick beard. There was in the appearance
of this man something bold and haughty, which inspired respect, and
almost fear.
At this moment, he seemed to be in a tremendous passion; his eyebrows
were contracted, his cheeks livid, and, at times, when he yielded to the
emotion he tried in vain to restrain, his eye flashed to fiercely, that
it forced his three hearers to bow their heads humbly, and they seemed
to be his inferiors. At the moment when we entered the room, the
stranger appeared to be continuing a discussion that had been going on
for some time.
"No," he said in a powerful voice, "things cannot go on thus any longer.
You dishonour the holy cause we are defending by revolting acts of
cruelty, which injure us in the opinion of the population, and authorise
all the calumnies our enemies spread with reference to us. It is not by
imitating our oppressors that we shall succeed in proving to the masses
that we really wish their welfare. However sweet it may be to avenge an
insult received, where men put themselves forward as defenders of a
principle so sacred as that for which we have been shedding our blood
the last ten years, every man must practise self-denial, and forget all
his private animosities to absorb them in the great national vengeance.
I tell you this frankly, plainly, and with no reserve. I, who was the
first that dared to utter the cry of revolt, and inaugurate resistance:
I, who, since I have reached man's estate, have sacrificed everything,
fortune, friends, and relations, in the sole hope of seeing my country
one day free, would retire from a struggle which is daily dishonoured by
excesses such as the Redskins themselves would disavow."
The three men, who had been tolerably quiet up to this moment, then
rose, protesting simultaneously that they were innocent of the crimes
imputed to them.
"I do not believe you," he continued passionately; "I do not believe
you, because I can prove the utter truth of the accusation I am now
making. You deny it as I expected. Your part was ready traced, and you
might be expected to act so: all other paths were closed to you. Only
one of you, the youngest, the one who perhaps had the greatest right to
employ reprisals, has always remained equal to his mission; and, though
our enemies have tried several times to brand him, he has ever remained
firm, as the Mexicans themselves allow. This Chief you know as well as I
do: it is the Jaguar. Only yesterday, at the head of some of our men, he
accomplished one of the most glorious and extraordinary exploits."
All pressed round the stranger, and eagerly questioned him.
"What need for me to tell you what has occurred? You will know it within
a few hours. Suffice it for you to know for the present, that the
consequence of the Jaguar's daring achievement is the immediate
surrender of Galveston, which cannot hold out against us any longer."
"Then we triumph!" one of the Campesinos exclaimed.
"Yes; but all is not over yet: if we have succeeded in taking the town
of Galveston from the Mexicans, they have fifty others left, in which
they can shut themselves up. Hence, believe me, instead of giving way to
immoderate joy, and imprudent confidence, redouble, on the contrary,
your efforts and self-denial, if you wish to remain victors to the end."
"But what is to be done to obtain the result we desire as much as you
do?" the one who had already spoken asked.
"Follow blindly the counsels I give you, and obey without hesitation or
comment the orders I send you. Will you promise me this?"
"Yes," they exclaimed, enthusiastically; "you alone, Don Benito, can
guide us safely and ensure our victory."
There was a moment's silence. The man who had just been addressed as Don
Benito went to a corner of the room hidden behind a curtain of green
serge. This curtain he drew back, and behind it was an alabaster statue
of the Virgin Soledad, with a lamp burning in front of it, and then
turned to the others.
"On your knees, and take off your hats," he said.
They obeyed.
"Now," he continued, "swear to keep faithfully the promise you have just
made me of your own accord; swear to be merciful to the conquered in
battle, and gentle to the prisoners after the victory. At this price I
pledge myself to support you; if not, I retire immediately from a cause
which is at least dishonoured, if not lost."
The three men, after piously crossing themselves, stretched out their
right arms toward the statue, saying in a firm voice--
"We swear it, by the share we hope in Paradise."
"It is well," Don Benito replied, as he drew the curtain across again
and made them a sign to rise; "I know you are too thoroughly Caballeros
to break so solemn an oath."
The Colonel, confounded by this singular scene, which he did not at all
comprehend, did not know what to do, when he fancied he heard an
indistinct sound not far from him. Drawing himself up at once, he
concealed himself behind the hedge, rather alarmed as to the cause of
this noise, which was rapidly approaching. Almost immediately he noticed
several men coming gently up; they were four in number, as he soon made
out, and carrying a fifth in their arms. They walked straight to the
door, at which they tapped in a peculiar way.
"Who's there?" was asked from inside.
One of the newcomers replied, but in so low a tone, that it was
impossible for the Colonel to hear the word pronounced. The door was
opened, and the strangers entered; it was then closed again, but not
until the opener had cast a scrutinizing glance round him.
"What does this mean?" the Colonel muttered.
"It means," a rough voice said in his ear, "that you are listening to
what does not concern you, Colonel Melendez, and that it may prove
dangerous to you."
The Colonel, astounded at this unexpected answer, and especially at
being so well known, quickly drew a pistol from his belt, cocked it, and
turned to his strange speaker.
"On my word," he answered, "there is no worse danger to incur than that
of an immediate death, which I should not at all object to, I swear to
you."
The stranger began laughing, and emerged from the thicket in which he
was hidden. He was a powerful-looking man, and, like the Colonel, held a
pistol in his hand.
"You are aware that duelling is forbidden in the Mexican army," he said,
"so take my advice, sir, and put up that pistol, which, if it exploded,
might entail very disagreeable consequences for you."
"Lower your weapon first," the Colonel said, coldly, "and then I will
see what I have to do."
"Very good," the other remarked, still smiling, as he thrust his pistol
into his belt. The Colonel imitated him.
"And now," the stranger continued, "I have to converse with you; but, as
you can see, this spot is badly chosen for a secret interview."
"That is true," the Colonel interrupted, frankly assuming the tone of
the singular man with whom chance had so unexpectedly brought him
together.
"I am delighted that you are of my opinion. Well, Colonel, as it is so,
be kind enough to accompany me merely a few paces, and I will lead you
to a spot I know, which is perfectly adapted for the conversation we
must have together."
"I am at your orders, Caballero," the Colonel answered, with a bow.
"Come, then," the stranger added, as he made a start.
The Colonel followed him. The stranger led him to the spot where he had
tied up his horse, by the side of which another was now standing. The
stranger stopped.
"Let us mount," he said.
"What for?" the young officer asked.
"To be off, of course. Are you not returning to Galveston?"
"Certainly; still----"
"Still," the stranger interrupted, "you would have had no objection to
prowl a little longer round the rancho, I presume?"
"I confess it."
"Well, on my honour, you are wrong, for two excellent reasons: the first
is, that you will learn nothing more than you have surmised,--that is to
say, that the rancho is the headquarters of the insurrection. You see
that I am frank with you."
"I perceive it. And now, what is your second reason?"
"It is very simple: you run the risk, at any moment, of being saluted
with a bullet, and you know that the Texans are decent marksmen."
"Certainly; but you know also that this reason possesses but slight
value for me."
"I beg your pardon; courage does not consist, in my opinion, at least,
in sacrificing one's life without reason; it consists, on the contrary,
in being only killed for a good price,--that is to say, for a motive
worth the trouble."
"Thanks for the lecture, Caballero."
"Shall we be off?"
"At once, if you will be good enough to tell me who you are and where we
are going?"
"I am surprised that you did not recognise me long ago, for we have been
for some time past on excellent, if not intimate terms."
"That may be; the sound of your voice is rather familiar to me, and I
fancy I have heard it before, but it is impossible for me to recall
either when or under what circumstances."
"By Heaven, Colonel! You will allow me to remark that you have a
preciously short memory. But since our last meeting, so many events have
occurred, that it is not surprising you should have forgotten me. With
one word I will recall everything to your mind--I am John Davis, the
ex-slave dealer."
"You!" the Colonel exclaimed, with a start of surprise.
"Yes, I am that person."
"Ah! Ah!" the Colonel continued, as he crossed his arms haughtily and
looked him in the face, "In that case we have an account to settle."
"I am not aware of the fact, Colonel."
"You forget, Master Davis, in what manner you abused my confidence in
order to betray me."
"I? You are in error, Colonel. To do that I must have been a Mexican,
which is not the case, thank Heaven! I served my country as you serve
yours, that is all; each for himself in a revolution, you know."
"That proverb may suit you, Master Davis, I grant, but I only know one
way of acting honourably, with uplifted head."
"Hum! There would be a good deal to say on that head, but it is not the
question at this moment. The proof that you are mistaken and unjust
toward me is, that a few minutes ago I held your life in my hands, and
was unwilling to take it."
"You were wrong, for I swear to you that unless you defend yourself I
shall take yours in a second," he said, as he cocked a pistol.
"You are in earnest, then?"
"Most earnest, he assured."
"You are mad," said Davis, with a shrug of his shoulders; "what strange
idea is this of yours to insist on killing me?"
"Will you defend yourself; yes or no?"
"Wait a moment. What a man you are! There is no way of having an
explanation with you."
"One word, then, but be brief."
"Well, as you are aware, I am not accustomed to make long speeches."
"I am listening to you."
"Why play with the butt of your pistol so? Vengeance is only real when
complete. A shot fired would be the signal for your death, for you would
be surrounded and attacked on all sides at once before you had even
time to place a foot in the stirrup. You allow this, I suppose?"
"To the point, Master Davis, for I am in a hurry."
"You admit," the other said, with his old stoicism, "that I am seeking
no unworthy subterfuge to avoid a meeting with you?"
"I know that you are a brave man."
"Thanks! I do not discuss the validity of the reason which makes you
wish to exchange bullets with me: a pretext is nothing with men like
ourselves. I pledge my word to be at your disposal on any day, and at
any hour you please, with or without witnesses. Does that suit you?"
"Would it not be better to mount, gallop into the plain that stretches
out before us, and settle the affair at once?"
"I should like to do so, but, unfortunately, I must, for the present,
deprive myself of the pleasure. I repeat to you that we cannot fight, at
least not at this moment."
"But the reason, the reason?" the young man exclaimed, with feverish
impatience.
"The reason is this, as you absolutely insist on my telling it you: I am
at this moment entrusted with very great interests; in a word, I am
charged by the Chief of the Texan army with a mission of the utmost
importance to General Rubio, Military Governor of Galveston. You are too
much of a gentleman not to understand that this prohibits me risking a
life which does not belong to me."
The Colonel bowed with exquisite politeness and uncocked the pistol,
which he restored to his belt.
"I am confounded at what has taken place," he said. "You will excuse me,
Señor, for having allowed my passion to carry me away thus; I recognise
how worthy and delicate your conduct has been under the circumstances.
May I venture to hope you will pardon me?"
"Not another word about the past, Colonel. So soon as I have terminated
my mission, I shall have the honour of placing myself at your orders.
Now, if nothing further keeps you here, we will proceed together to
Galveston."
"I accept gladly the offer you make me. There is a truce between us: be
good enough till further orders to consider and treat me as one of your
friends."
"That is settled; I was certain we should end by understanding each
other. To horse, then, and let us start."
"I ask nothing better; still, I would observe that the night is as yet
only half spent."
"Which means?"
"That till sunrise, and perhaps later, it will be impossible for us to
find a boat in which to cross over to the island."
"That need not trouble you, Colonel; I have a boat waiting for me, in
which I shall be delighted to offer you a place."
"Hum! All the measures of you revolutionary gentlemen seem to be well
taken; you want for nothing."
"The reason is very simple; would you like to know it?"
"I confess that I am curious in the matter."
"It is because, up to the present, we have appealed to the hearts,
rather than the purses of our confidants. The hatred of the Mexican
Government renders every intelligent man a devoted partisan; the hope of
liberty gives us all we want; that is our whole secret. You are aware,
Colonel, that the spirit of opposition is innate in the heart of every
man; insurrection or opposition, whichever you like to call it, is only
that spirit organised."
"That is true," said the Colonel, with a laugh.
The two enemies, temporarily friends, mounted and set out side by side.
"You have very singular ideas and opinions," the Colonel, whom the
American's remarks amused, continued.
"Oh dear no!" the latter replied, carelessly; "Those ideas and opinions
are nothing but the fruit of lengthened experience. I do not ask of a
man more than his organisation allows him to give, and enacting these I
am certain of never making a mistake. Hence, suppose that the Mexicans
are expelled the country, and the government of Texas established and
working regularly----"
"Good," the Colonel said, with a smile; "what will happen then."
"This will inevitably happen," the American answered, imperturbably. "A
hot-headed or ambitious man will emerge from the crowd and rebel against
the Government. He will immediately have partisans, who will make a flag
of truce, and the same men who today are ready to shed their blood for
us with the most utter abnegation, will act in the same way for him; not
because they have to complain of the Government they desire to
overthrow, but merely on account of that spirit of opposition to which I
have alluded."
"Come, that is a little too strong," the Colonel exclaimed, as he burst
into a laugh.
"You do not believe me? Well, listen to this: I who am speaking to you
once knew, no matter where, a man whose whole life was spent in
conspiring. One day luck smiled on him, and chance enabled him, hardly
knowing how or why, to occupy the highest post in the
Republic--something like President. Do you know what he did, so soon as
he obtained power?"
"Canarios! He tried to hold his ground, of course."
"You are quite out. On the contrary, he went on conspiring, and so
famously that he overthrew himself and was condemned to perpetual
imprisonment."
"So that--?"
"So that, if the man who succeeded to power had not amnestied him, he
would, in all probability, have died in prison."
The two men were still laughing at John Davis's last repartee, when the
latter stopped, and made the Colonel a sign to follow his example.
"Have we arrived?" he asked.
"All but. Do you see that boat tossing about at the foot of the cliff?"
"Of course I see it."
"Well, it is the one which will convey us to Galveston."
"But our horses?"
"Don't be uneasy; the owner of that wretched rancho will take all proper
care of them."
John Davis raised a whistle to his lip and blew it twice sharply. Almost
immediately the door of the rancho opened and a man appeared; but, after
taking one step forward, he took two backward, doubtless astonished at
seeing two persons when he only expected one.
"Halloh! halloh, John!" Davis shouted, "don't go in again."
"Is it you, then?" he asked.
"Yes! Unless it be the demon who has assumed my face."
The fisherman shook his head with a dissatisfied air.
"Do not jest so, John Davis," he said; "the night is black and the sea
rough; so the demon is about."
"Come, come, old porpoise," the American continued, "get your boat
ready, for we have no time to lose. This Señor is a friend of mine. Have
you any alfalfa for our horses in your cabin?"
"I should think so. Eh, Pedriello, come hither, muchacho. Take the
horses from the Caballero, and lead them to the corral."
At this summons a tall young fellow came yawning from the rancho, and
walked up to the two travellers. The latter had already dismounted; the
peon took the horses by the bridle and went off with them, not saying a
word.
"Shall we go?" John Davis asked.
"Whenever you please," the fisherman growled.
"I hope you have men enough?"
"My two sons and I are, I should think, enough to cross the bay."
"You must know better than I."
"Then, why ask?" the fisherman said with a shrug of his shoulders, as he
proceeded toward the boat.
The two men followed him, and found that he had not deceived them. The
sea was bad, being rough and lumpy, and it required all the old sailor's
skill to successfully cross the bay. Still, after two hours of incessant
toil, the boat came alongside Galveston jetty, and disembarked its
passengers safe and sound; then, without waiting for a word of thanks,
the sailor at once disappeared in the obscurity.
"We part here," said John Davis to the Colonel; "for we each follow a
different road. Tomorrow morning, at nine o'clock, I shall have the
honour of presenting, myself at the General's house. May I hope that you
have spoken to him of me in sufficient favourable terms for him to grant
me a kind reception?"
"I will do all that depends on myself."
"Thank you, and good night."
"One word, if you please, before parting."
"Speak, Colonel."
"I confess to you, that at this moment I am suffering from extreme
curiosity."
"What about?"
"A moment before your arrival, I saw four men, carrying a fifth, enter
the rancho to which accident had brought me."
"Well?"
"Who is that man?"
"I know no more about him than you do. All I can tell you is, that he
was picked up dying on the beach, at eleven o'clock at night, by some of
our men stationed as videttes to watch the bay. Now, who he is, or where
he comes from, I do not know at all. He is covered with wounds; when
picked up, he held an axe still clutched in his hand, which makes me
suppose that he belonged to the crew of the _Libertad_ corvette, which
our friends so successfully boarded. That is all the information I am
able to give you. Is it all you wish to know?"
"One word more. Who is the man I saw at the rancho, and to whom the
persons with him gave the name of Don Benito?"
"As for that man, you will soon learn to know him. He is the supreme
Chief of the Texan revolution; but I am not permitted to tell you more.
Good bye, till we meet again at the General's."
"All right."
The two men, after bowing courteously, separated, and entered the town
from opposite sides; the Colonel proceeding to his house, and John
Davis, in all probability, to crave hospitality from one of the numerous
conspirators Galveston contained.