FORWARD, MARCH
The sun of the next morning arose upon a great deal of doubt and
uncertainty in many places. Some of the soldiers of General Taylor's
army were altogether uncertain into what bushes of the neighboring
chaparral the norther had blown their tents, and they went out in search
of their missing cotton duck shelters. The entire force encamped at the
Rio Grande border was in the dark as to what it might next be ordered to
do, and all sorts of rumors went around from regiment to regiment, as if
the rumor manufacturer had gone crazy. General Taylor himself was sure
of at least the one point, that he had no right to cross the muddy river
in front of him and make a raid into Mexico until he should hear again
from the government at Washington, and be officially informed that the
war, which he was carrying on so well, had really begun. He and all his
army believed that it was already going on, and they grumbled
discontentedly that they were compelled to remain in camp, and watch for
ranchero lancers on Texan soil, if it was legally Texan at all, until
permission arrived to strike their tents and march forward.
The news of the fighting and of what were described as the great battles
on the Mexican border had reached New Orleans and Key West. It was
travelling northward at full speed, but it had not yet been heard by the
government or by the people of the North and West. None of these had as
yet so much as imagined what a telegraphic news-bringer might be, and so
they could not even wish that they had one, or they would surely have
done so. The uncertainties of that morning, therefore, hampered all the
councils of the nation. Almost everybody believed that there would soon
be a war, although a great many men were strongly opposed to the idea of
having one. Taking the war for granted, however, there were doubts and
differences of opinion among both military and unmilitary men as to how
it was to be carried on. Some were opposed to anything more than a
defence of the Rio Grande boundary-line, but these moderate persons were
hooted at by the out-and-out war party, whom nothing promised to
satisfy but an invasion which intended the capture of the city of
Mexico. Nothing less than this, they said, would obtain the objects of
the war, and secure a permanent peace at the end of it. Then, supposing
such an invasion to be decided on, an important question arose as to how
and where the Mexican territory might best be entered by a conquering
army. Many declared that General Taylor's forces were already at the
right place for pushing ahead, but the commander-in-chief, General
Winfield Scott, by all odds the best general the country possessed,
responded that the march proposed for Taylor was too long, too
difficult, and that it was likely to result in disaster. The shorter and
only practicable route, he asserted, was by way of the sea and Vera
Cruz. He was also known to be politically opposed to any war whatever.
Thereupon, a number of prominent men, who disagreed with him, set
themselves at work to have him removed or put aside, that a commander
might take his place who was not so absurdly under the influence of
military science, common sense, and of the troubles which might be
encountered in marching seven hundred miles or more through an enemy's
country. There were, it was said, eloquent politicians, who did not
know how to drill an "awkward squad," but who felt sure of their ability
to beat Old Scott in such an agreeable affair as a military picnic party
to the city of Mexico.
The young military scholars in the camp near Fort Brown were ignorant of
all this. They were satisfied with their present commander, as well they
might be, for he was a good one. They were satisfied with themselves,
and were enthusiastically ready to fight anything which should be put in
front of them. They were dreadfully dissatisfied with camp life,
however, and especially with the fact that they and all the other raw
troops of that army were forced to undergo a great deal of drill and
discipline in hot weather. Perhaps, if this had not been given them,
they would hardly have rendered so good an account of themselves in the
severe tests of soldiership which they underwent a few months later.
The first doubt that came to Ned Crawford that morning, as his eyes
opened and he began to get about half-awake, related to his hammock and
to how on earth he happened to be in it. Swift memories followed then of
the norther, the perilous pull ashore, the arrival at the Tassara place,
and the people he had met there. He recalled also something about
silver coffee-urns and Moorish warriors, but the next thing, he was out
upon the floor, and his head seemed to buzz like a beehive with
inquiries concerning his immediate future.
"Here I am," he said aloud. "I'm in Mexico; in Vera Cruz; at this house
with Senor Zuroaga; and I don't know yet what's become of the _Goshhawk_.
I don't really ever expect to see her again, but I hope that Captain
Kemp and the sailors didn't get themselves drowned. I must see about
that, first thing. Then I suppose I must see the American consul, write
another letter home, see the merchants our goods were delivered to,--and
what I'm to do after that I don't know."
There was a loud rap at his door just then, and in a moment more he was
almost repeating that speech to Senor Zuroaga.
"Please say very little to Colonel Tassara or anybody else in this
house," replied the senor, emphatically. "Get used, as soon as you can,
to being called Carfora. We must make you look like a young Mexican
right away. I've bought a rig which will fit you. It is well that you
are so dark-complexioned. A red-haired fellow would never pass as you
will. All the American residents of Vera Cruz are already under
military protection, and I am glad there are so few of them, for there
are said to have been two or three assassinations. Part of the mountain
men who are loafing in town just now are wild Indians, as reckless and
cruel as any of your Sioux warriors on a war-path. Come along to
breakfast. You won't meet the ladies this time, but I believe the senora
and senorita like you a little, because you had the good taste to admire
their silver and china."
"Oh, that old coffee-urn!" said Ned. "Well, it's as fine as anything I
ever saw, even in a jewelry window."
"Yes," laughed the senor, "but the senora wants to have the American
consul killed because he told her she had better have that thing melted
and made over into one of the modern patterns. She will never forgive
him. Tell her again, when you have a chance, that the old-time Seville
silversmiths could beat anything we have nowadays, and she will love
you. I do not really believe myself that we are getting much ahead of
those ancient artists. They were wonderful designers."
Ned was willing to believe that they were, and he made up his mind to
praise Senora Tassara's pet urn to the best of his ability.
He was not to have an opportunity for doing so immediately. Their
breakfast was ready for them in the dining-room, but they were allowed
to eat it by themselves. It seemed to Ned a very good one, but several
times he found himself turning away from it to stare at the silver
marvel and at the weapons on the walls. There was no apparent reason for
haste, but neither of them cared to linger, and before long they were
out on the piazza in front, Zuroaga with his hat pulled down to his eyes
and his coat collar up. Ned was at once confirmed in his previous idea
that the house was anything but new, and to that he added the conviction
that it was much larger than it had appeared to be in the night. He
believed, too, that it must have cost a deal of money to build it long
ago. He had only a moment for that calculation, however, for his next
glance went out toward the gulf, and he came near to being astonished.
The path which he had followed in coming up from the shore had been a
steep one, and he was now standing at a place from which he had a pretty
good view of the tossing water between the mainland and the castle of
San Juan de Ulua. The old fortress was there, unharmed by the norther,
but not in any direction, as far as his eyes could reach, was there any
sign of a ship, at anchor or otherwise.
"Senor!" he exclaimed. "What has become of them? They are all gone! Do
you suppose they have been wrecked?"
"Not all of them, by any means," replied the senor, but he also was
searching the sea with a serious face. "As many as could lift their
anchors in time to make a good offing before the norther came were sure
to do so. If there were any that did not succeed, I can't say where they
may have gone to just now."
"The _Goshhawk_--" began Ned, but the senor gripped his arm hard, while
he raised his right hand and pointed up the road.
"Silence!" he commanded, in a sharp whisper. "Look! there he comes.
Don't even call him by his name. Wait and hear what he has to say. He
can tell us what has become of the bark. They are a used-up lot of men."
So they were, the five who now came walking slowly along from somewhere
or other on the coast upon which the disastrous storm had blown.
"Captain Kemp and the crew of his life-boat," thought Ned, but he obeyed
the senor at first, and was silent until the haggard-looking party
arrived and came to a halt in front of him. Then, however, he lost his
prudence for a moment, and anxiously inquired:
"Were any of you drowned?"
"Not any of us that are here," responded the captain, grimly. "No, nor
any other of the _Goshhawk_ men, but there are more wrecks in sight
below, and I don't know how many from them got ashore. Our bark stranded
this side of them, and she's gone all to pieces. We took to the
life-boat in time, but we've had a hard pull of it. We went ashore
through the breakers, about six miles below this, and here we are, but I
don't want to ever pass such another night. I'm going on down to the
consul's now, to report, and Ned had better be there as soon as he can.
Then, the sooner he's out o' Vera Cruz, the better for him and all of
us."
"I think so myself," said Senor Zuroaga. "Don't even stay here for
breakfast. Nobody from here must come to the consul's with Senor
Carfora."
"Of course not," said the captain, wearily, and away he went, although
Ned felt as if he were full to bursting with the most interesting kind
of questions concerning the captain's night in the life-boat and the
sad fate of the swift and beautiful _Goshhawk_.
"Come into the house," said the senor, "and put on your Mexican rig. I
have a message from Colonel Guerra that we must get away to-night. I
must not bring any peril upon the Tassara family. Up to this hour no
enemy knows that I was a passenger on the powder-boat, as they call it."
"All right," said Ned. "I'll write one more letter home. I couldn't get
out of the city in any other way just now, and I want to see Mexico."
That idea was growing upon him rapidly, but his next errand was to the
senor's own room, to put on what he called his disguise. He followed his
friend to a large, handsome chamber in the further end of the house,
and, as he entered it, his first thought was:
"Hullo! are they getting ready for a fight?"
In the corners of the room and leaning against the walls here and there
were weapons enough to have armed half a company of militia, if the
soldiers did not care what kinds of weapons they were to carry, for the
guns and swords and pistols were of all patterns except those of the
present day. Ned saw at least one rusty firelock, which put him in mind
of pictures he had seen of the curious affairs the New England fathers
carried when they went to meeting on Sunday. He had no time to examine
them, however, for here were his new clothes, and he must be in them
without delay. He admired each piece, as he put it on, and then one look
into the senor's mirror convinced him that he was completely disguised.
He had been turned into a somewhat stylish young Mexican, from his
broad-brimmed straw hat to his Vera Cruz made shoes. He still wore a
blue jacket, but this one was short, round-cornered, and had bright
silver buttons. His new trousers were wide at the bottoms, with
silver-buttoned slashes on the outsides below the knees. He had not worn
suspenders on shipboard, but now his belt was of yellow leather and
needlessly wide, with a bright buckle and a sword-catch on the left
side. As to this matter, the senor showed him a short, straight,
wide-bladed sort of cutlas, which he called a machete.
"That is to be yours," he said. "You need not carry it in town, but you
will as soon as we get away. You will have pistols, too, and a gun. It
won't do to go up the road to Oaxaca unarmed. Now you may make the best
of your way to the consul's, and I'll stay here to finish getting
ready."
He appeared to be laboring under a good deal of excitement, and so, to
tell the truth, was the disguised young American. Out he went into the
hall, trying hard to be entirely collected and self-possessed, but it
was only to be suddenly halted. Before him stood the stately Senora
Tassara, and clinging to her was the very pretty Senorita Felicia, both
of them staring, open-eyed, at the change in his uniform. The senorita
was of about fourteen, somewhat pale, with large, brilliant black eyes,
and she was a very frank, truthful girl, for she exclaimed:
"Oh, mother, do look at him! But it does not make a Mexican of him. He's
a gringo, and he would fight us if he had a chance. I want them all to
be killed!"
"No, my dear," said the senora, with a pleasant laugh. "Senor Carfora
will not fight us. He and his ship brought powder for Colonel Guerra and
the army. I am sorry he must leave us. You must shake hands with him."
"Oh, no!" said the wilful Felicia, spitefully. "I don't want to shake
hands with him. He is one of our enemies."
"No, I'm not!" stammered Ned. "But did you know that our ship was
wrecked in the norther? If you had been on board of her when she went
ashore, you would have been drowned. The men in the life-boat had a hard
time in getting ashore. I'm glad you were at home."
"There, dear," said her mother. "That is polite. You heard what Senor
Zuroaga said about the wrecks. They were terrible! Can you not say that
you are glad Senor Carfora was not drowned?"
"No, mother," persisted Felicia. "I'll say I wish he had been drowned,
if--if he could have swum ashore afterward. Good enough for him."
Senora Tassara laughed merrily, as she responded:
"You are a dreadfully obstinate young patriot, my darling. But you must
be a little more gracious. The gringo armies will never come to Vera
Cruz. They are away up north on the Rio Grande."
"Well, mother, I will a little," said the senorita, proudly. "Senor
Carfora, your generals will be beaten all to pieces. You wait till you
see our soldiers. You haven't anything like them. They are as brave as
lions. My father is a soldier, and he is to command a regiment. I wish I
were a man to go and fight."
Her eyes were flashing and she looked very warlike, but the only thing
that poor Ned could think of to say just then was:
"Senora Tassara, if you are not careful, somebody will get in some day
and steal your beautiful coffee-urn."
"Ah me!" sighed the senora. "This has been attempted, my young friend.
Thieves have been killed, too, in trying to carry off the Tassara plate.
There would be more like it, in some places, if so much had not been
made plunder of and melted up in our dreadful revolutions. Some of them
were only great robberies. I understand that you must go to your
business now, but we shall see you again this evening."
"Good morning, Senora Tassara," said Ned, as he bowed and tried to walk
backward toward the outer door. "Good morning, Senorita Tassara. You
would feel very badly this morning if you had been drowned last night."
The last thing he heard, as he reached the piazza, was a ringing peal of
laughter from the senora, but he believed that he had answered politely.
He knew his way to the office of the American consul, and the distance
was not great in so small a town, but as he drew near it, he saw that
there was a strong guard of soldiers in front of the building. They
were handsomely uniformed regulars from the garrison of San Juan de
Ulua, and there was cause enough for their being on duty. All up and
down the street were scattered groups of sullen-looking men, talking and
gesticulating. None of them carried guns, but every man of them had a
knife at his belt, and not a few of them were also armed with machetes
of one form or another. They would have made a decidedly dangerous mob
against anything but the well-drilled and fine-looking guards who were
protecting the consulate. Ned remembered what Felicia had said about her
soldiers, and he did not know how very different were these disciplined
regulars from the great mass of the levies which were to be encountered
by the troops of the United States. He was admiring them and he was
thinking of battles and generals, when one of the most ferocious-looking
members of the mob came jauntily sauntering along beside him. He was a
powerfully built man, almost black with natural color and sunburn. He
was not exactly ragged, but he was barefooted, and his broad-brimmed
sombrero was by no means new. A heavy machete hung from his belt, and he
appeared to be altogether an undesirable new acquaintance. Ned looked
up at him almost nervously, for he did not at all like the aspect of
affairs in that street. He was thinking:
"I guess they were right about the excitement of the people. This isn't
any place for fellows like me. I must get out of Vera Cruz as soon as I
can. It's a good thing that I'm disguised. I must play Mexican."
At that moment a good-natured smile spread across the gloomy face of his
unexpected companion, and he said, in a low tone of voice:
"Say nothing, Senor Carfora. Walk on into the consulate. I belong to
General Zuroaga. There are four more of his men here. We have orders to
take care of you. You are the young Englishman that brought us the
powder. There was not a pound to be bought in Vera Cruz, but some of
those fellows would knife you for a gringo."
[Illustration: "WE HAVE ORDERS TO TAKE CARE OF YOU"]
Quite a useless number of queer Spanish oaths were sprinkled in among
his remarks, but Ned did not mind them. He only nodded and strictly
obeyed the injunction against talking, even while he was asking himself
how on earth his friend, the senor, ever became a general. He concluded,
for the moment, that it might be a kind of militia title, such as he had
heard of in the United States. However that might be, he and his
guide soon reached the door of the consulate, and he himself was
promptly admitted, as if the keeper of the door had been expecting to
see him. There were guards inside the house as well as in the street,
and they motioned Ned on through a narrow entry-way, at the end of which
was an open room. He passed on into this, and the next moment he was
exclaiming:
"Hullo, Captain Kemp! I'm so glad you are here! What am I to do next?"
"Almost nothing at all," said the captain, quietly. "Just sign your
papers and get away. The consul himself has gone to the city of Mexico,
with United States government despatches for President Paredes, and we
shall finish our business as easy as rolling off a log. You have nothing
to do with the wrecking of the _Goshhawk_, for you weren't on board when
she parted her cable. But just look at those people!"
Ned did so, for the room, a large and well-furnished office, was almost
crowded with Americans of all sorts, mostly men, whose faces wore varied
expressions of deep anxiety.
"What are they all here for?" asked Ned.
"Safety!" growled the captain. "And to inquire how and when they can
find their way out of this city of robbers. I hear that a whole
regiment is to be on guard duty to-night, and that the mob is to be put
down. If I ever see your father again, I'll explain to him why I sent
you away."
Before Ned could make any further remarks, he was introduced to the
vice-consul, a dapper, smiling little man, who did not appear to be in
the least disturbed by his unpleasant surroundings. Almost a score of
papers, larger and smaller, required the signature of the young
supercargo of the unfortunate _Goshhawk_. They were speedily signed,
although without any clear idea in Ned's mind as to what they all were
for, and then Captain Kemp took him by the arm and led him away into a
corner of the room.
"Ned, my boy," he said, "you see how it is. You must keep away from the
seacoast for awhile. After things are more settled, you can come back
and get away on a British, or French, or Dutch vessel, if the port isn't
too closely blockaded. Whether I shall get out alive or not, I don't
know. You haven't enough money. I'll let you have a couple of hundred
dollars more in Mexican gold. You'd better not let anybody suspect that
you carry so much with you. This country contains too many patriots who
would cut their own President's throat for a gold piece. Don't ever show
more than one shiner at a time, or you may lose it all."
Ned took the two little bags that were so cautiously delivered to him,
and while he was putting them away in the inner pockets of his jacket,
his mind was giving him vivid pictures of the knives and machetes and
their bearers, whom he had seen in the street.
"Captain," he said, "those fellows out there wouldn't wait for any gold.
A silver dollar would buy one of them."
"Half a dollar," replied the captain. "Not one of them is worth a
shilling. They ought all to be shot. But look here. I mustn't come to
Colonel Tassara's place again. I find that he is under some kind of
suspicion already, and President Paredes makes short work of men whom he
suspects of plotting against him. Go! Get home!"
"That's just about what I'd like to do," said Ned to himself, as he
hurried out of the consulate, but the next moment his courage began to
come back to him, for here was Senor Zuroaga's ferocious-looking
follower, and with him were four others, who might have been his cousins
or his brothers, from their looks, for they all were Oaxaca Indians, of
unmixed descent. Their tribe had faithfully served the children and
grandchildren of Hernando Cortes, the Conquistador, from the day when he
and his brave adventurers cut their way into the Tehuantepec valley.