"_Head-quarters, Army of Occupation_,--
"_July --th_, 1846.
"Sir,--You will take a sufficient number of your men, and proceed to the
hacienda of Don Ramon de Yargas, in the neighbourhood of your station.
You will there find five thousand head of beeves, which you will cause
to be driven to the camp of the American army, and delivered to the
commissary-general. You will find the necessary drivers upon the
ground, and a portion of your troop will form the escort. The enclosed
_note_ will enable you to understand the nature of your duty.
"A.A. Adjutant-general.
"Captain Warfield."
"Surely," thought I, as I finished reading--"surely there is a
`Providence that shapes our ends.' Just as I was cudgelling my brains
for some scheme of introduction to Don Ramon de Vargas, here comes one
ready fashioned to my hand."
I thought no more about the lazo: the rope was no longer an object of
prime interest. Trimmed and embellished with the graceful excuse of
"duty," I should now ride boldly up to the hacienda, and enter its gates
with the confident air of a welcome guest. Welcome, indeed! A contract
for five thousand beeves, and at war-prices! A good stroke of business
on the part of the old Don. Of course, I shall see him--"embrace him"--
hobnob with him over a glass of Canario or Xeres--get upon the most
intimate terms, and so be "asked back." I am usually popular with old
gentlemen, and I trusted to my bright star to place me _en rapport_ with
Don Ramon de Vargas. The coralling of the cattle would occupy some
time--a brace of hours at the least. That would be outside work, and I
could intrust it to my lieutenant or a sergeant. For myself, I was
determined to stay by the walls. The Don must go out to look after his
vaqueros. It would be rude to leave me alone. He would introduce me to
his daughter--he could not do less--a customer on so large a scale! We
should be left to ourselves, and then--Ha! Ijurra! I had forgotten
_him_. Would _he_ be there?
The recollection of this man fell like a shadow over the bright fancies
I had conjured up.
A dispatch from head-quarters calls for prompt attention and my
reflections were cut short by the necessity of carrying the order into
execution. Without loss of time, I issued the command for about fifty
of the rangers to "boot and saddle."
I was about to pay more than ordinary attention to my toilet, when it
occurred to me I might as well first peruse the "note" referred to in
the dispatch. I opened the paper; to my surprise the document was in
Spanish. This did not puzzle me, and I read:--
"The five thousand beeves are ready for you, according to the contract,
but _I_ cannot take upon me to deliver them. _They must be taken from
me_ with a _show of force_; and even a _little rudeness_, on the part of
those you send, would not be out of place. My vaqueros are at your
service, but _I_ must not command them. You may _press_ them.
"Ramon de Vargas."
This note was addressed to the commissary-general of the American army.
Its meaning, though to the uninitiated a little obscure, was to me as
clear as noonday; and, although, it gave me a high opinion of the
administrative talents of Don Ramon de Vargas, it was by no means a
welcome document. It rendered null every act of the fine programme I
had sketched out. By its directions, there was to be no "embracing," no
hobnobbing over wine, no friendly chat with the Don, no _tete-a-tete_
with his beautiful daughter--no; but, on the contrary, I was to ride up
with a swagger, bang the doors, threaten the trembling porter, kick the
peons, and demand from their master five thousand head of beef-cattle--
all in true freebooting style!
A nice figure I shall cut, thought I, in the eyes of Isolina.
A little reflection, however, convinced me that that intelligent
creature would be in the secret. Yes, she will understand my motives.
I can act with as much mildness as circumstances will permit. My Texan
lieutenant will do the kicking of the peons, and that without much
pressing. If she be not cloistered, I will have a glimpse at her; so
here goes. "_To horse_!"
The bugle gave the signal; fifty rangers--with Lieutenants Holingsworth
and Wheatley--leaped into their saddles, and next moment were filing by
twos from the piazza, myself at their head.
A twenty minutes' trot brought us to the front gate of the hacienda,
where we halted. The great door, massive and jail-like, was closed,
locked, and barred; the shutters of the windows as well. Not a soul was
to be seen outside, not even the apparition of a frightened peon. I had
given my Texan lieutenant his cue; he knew enough of Spanish for the
purpose.
Flinging himself out of the saddle, he approached the gate, and
commenced hammering upon it with the butt of his pistol.
"_Ambre la puerta_!" (Open the door!) cried he.
No answer.
"_La puerta_--_la puerta_!" he repeated in a louder tone.
Still no answer.
"_Ambre la puerta_!" once more vociferated the lieutenant, at the same
time thundering on the woodwork with his weapon.
When the noise ceased, a faint "_Quien es_?" (Who is it?) was heard
from within.
"_Yo_!" bawled Wheatley, "_ambre! ambre_!"
"_Si, senor_," answered the voice in a somewhat tremulous key.
"_Anda! anda! Somos hombres de bien_!" (Quick then! We are honest
men.)
A rattling of chains and shooting of bolts now commenced, and lasted for
at least a couple of minutes, at the end of which time the great
folding-doors opened inward, displaying to view the swarthy leather-clad
_portero_, the brick-paved _saguan_, and a portion of the _patio_, or
courtyard within.
As soon as the door was fairly open, Wheatley made a rush at the
trembling porter, caught him by the jerkin, boxed both his ears, and
then commanded him in a loud voice to summon the _dueno_!
This conduct, somewhat unexpected on the part of the rangers, seemed to
be just to their taste; and I could hear behind me the whole troop
chuckling in half-suppressed laughter. _Guerilleros_ as they were, they
had never been allowed much licence in their dealings with the
inhabitants--the non-combatants--of the country, and much less had they
witnessed such conduct on the part of their officers. Indeed, it was
cause of complaint in the ranks of the American army, and with many
officers too, that even hostile Mexicans were treated with a lenient
consideration denied to themselves. Wheatley's behaviour, therefore,
touched a chord in the hearts of our following, that vibrated pleasantly
enough; they began to believe that the campaign was about to become a
little more jolly.
"_Senor_," stammered the porter, "the du--du--dueno has given or--
orders--he wi--wi--will not s-see any one."
"_Will_ not?" echoed Wheatley; "go, tell him he _must_!"
"Yes, _amigo_," I said soothingly; for I began to fear the man would be
too badly frightened to deliver his message. "Go, say to your master
that an American officer has business with him, and _must_ see him
immediately."
The man went off, after a little more persuasion from the free hand of
Wheatley, of course leaving the gates open behind him.
We did not wait for his return. The patio looked inviting; and,
directing Holingsworth to remain outside with the men, and the Texan
lieutenant to follow me, I headed my horse for the great archway, and
rode in.