THE LAND OF THE MONTEZUMAS
"Father Crawford, do read that newspaper! The war has begun! They are
fighting great battles on the Rio Grande! Oh, how I wish you hadn't sent
Ned to Mexico! He may get killed!"
She was a woman of middle age, tall, fine-looking, and she was evidently
much excited. She was standing at one end of a well-set breakfast table,
and was holding out a printed sheet to a gentleman who had been looking
down at his plate, as if he were asking serious questions of it.
"My dear," he said, as he took the paper, "I knew it was coming, but I
didn't think it would come so soon as this. I don't really see that Ned
is in any danger. Captain Kemp will take care of him."
"But," she said, "the _Goshhawk_ may be captured."
"No," replied Mr. Crawford, confidently. "She hasn't sailed across
prairie to the Rio Grande. There won't be any fighting at Vera Cruz for
ever so long. There can't be any on the sea, for Mexico has no navy. The
_Goshhawk_ is entirely safe, and so is Ned. It'll be a grand experience
for him."
"I don't want him to have so much experience at his age," she said,
anxiously. "I'd rather he'd be at home,--if there's going to be a war."
"I've often wished that I could see a war," replied her husband, as he
glanced over the black-typed headings of the newspaper columns. "I've
travelled a good deal in Mexico, and I wanted Ned to learn all he could
of that country. He will hardly have any chance to do so now."
"He might see too much of it if he were taken prisoner," she exclaimed.
"I can't bear to think of it! Oh, how I wish he were at home!"
Mr. Crawford was silent, and again he appeared to be thinking deeply. He
was not a pale-faced man at any time, but now his color was visibly
increasing. His face was also changing its expression, and it wore a
strong reminder of the look which had come into his son Ned's
countenance when the fever of Mexican exploration took hold of him.
People say "like father, like son," and it may be that Ned's readiness
for a trip into the interior belonged to something which had descended
to him from a father who had been willing to educate his son for the
southern trade by sending him to sea with Captain Kemp. The United
States has had a great many commercial men of that stamp, and there was
a time when almost all the navy the nation possessed was provided by the
merchant patriots, who armed and sent out, or themselves commanded, its
fleets of privateers. Very likely the Crawfords and a number of other
American families could point back to as adventurous an ancestry as
could any Spaniard whose forefathers had fought Moors or won estates for
themselves in Mexico or Peru. As for Mrs. Crawford, she was hardly able
to drink her coffee that morning, after reading the newspaper, and she
might have been even more willing to have Ned come home if she had known
what had become of the _Goshhawk_, and in what company he was a couple of
hours after she arose from her table.
Company? That was it. He was now walking along one of the streets of
Vera Cruz with a squad of men of whom she would have decidedly
disapproved, but whose character her husband would have understood at
sight. Ned's first acquaintance, Pablo, as he called himself, with his
four comrades, made up so thoroughly Mexican a party at all points that
it was in no danger of being interfered with by the mob. Every member of
this had seen, often enough, the son of some wealthy landholder from the
upland country attended by a sufficient number of his own retainers to
keep him from being plundered, and it was well enough to let him alone.
On they went, but it was by a circuitous route and a back street that
they reached the Tassara place. Even then, they did not enter it by the
front door, but by a path which led down to the stables in the rear of
the house. No outsider would afterward be able to say that he saw that
party of men march into the courtyard to be welcomed by Colonel Tassara
and the mysterious personage whom Ned was trying to think of as General
Zuroaga.
"He may be of more importance than I had any idea of," said Ned to
himself, "and I wish I knew what was coming next."
He was not to find out immediately, for Zuroaga motioned him to go on
into the house, while he himself and Tassara remained to talk with
Pablo and the other machete-bearers.
Hardly was Ned three steps inside of the dwelling, when he was met by
Senora Tassara, apparently in a state of much mental agitation.
"My dear young friend!" she exclaimed, "I am so glad you have escaped
from them! Come in. We shall have no regular dinner to-day. You will eat
your luncheon now, however. We are all busy packing up. We must set out
for the country as soon as it is dark. The colonel's enemies are
following him like so many wolves! Felicia, my dear, you will see that
Senor Carfora is properly attended to."
The saucy senorita was standing a little behind her mother, and she now
beckoned to Ned, as if she had no hostility for him whatever.
"Come right along in," she said, peremptorily. "I must eat my luncheon,
too. I want to hear where you have been, and what you have been doing.
Is there any more news from the war? Have your gringo generals been
beaten again? Tell me all you know!"
She was evidently in the habit of being obeyed by those around her, and
Ned felt decidedly obedient, but this was his first intimation that it
was fully noon. Time had passed more rapidly than he had been aware of,
for his mind had been too busy to take note of it. He was hungrily ready
to obey, however, especially concerning the luncheon, and his first bit
of news appeared to please his little hostess exceedingly.
"Not another ship is in," he told her, "and I don't believe there is
going to be any war, anyhow, but I saw some of your soldiers. They were
guarding the American consulate from the mob. They were splendid-looking
fellows. Is your father's regiment of that kind of men?"
"Father's regiment?" she said, angrily. "That's just the difficulty now.
He hasn't any soldiers. Those that he had were taken away from him. So
he must go and gather some more, or President Paredes will say that he
is not patriotic. They took his old regiment away from him after he had
made it a real good one. Tell me about your gringo soldiers. Are there a
great many of them? Do they know how to fight? I don't believe they do."
She was all on fire about the war and her father's enemies, and Ned was
ready to tell her all he knew of the American army, if not a little
more. At least, he described to her the elegant uniforms which were
worn on parade occasions by the New York City militia regiments,
feathers, flags, brass bands, and all, rather than the external
appearance of any martial array that General Taylor was likely to take
with him when he invaded Mexico. Felicia was especially interested in
those magnificent brass bands and wished that she could have some of
them taken prisoners to come and play in front of her house, but all the
while they were talking he was glancing furtively around the room. This
had undergone a remarkable change during his brief absence. The trophies
of arms were all gone, and the wonderful Seville coffee-urn had
disappeared. Perhaps it had walked away, beyond the reach of possible
thieves, and with it may have gone the other silverware of the Tassara
family. Senorita Felicia's quick eyes had followed his own, for she was
watching him.
"Yes, Senor Carfora," she said, "it's all gone. The china is all stored
away in the deep cellar. I don't believe they could find it, and if they
did they could not carry it away to melt it up and make dollars of it.
That's what they did with all the silver one of my aunts had, except
some spoons that were hid in the stable, under the hay. One of the
robbers went into the stable to hunt, too, and a good mule kicked him
dead. If anybody comes to rob this house while we are gone, I wish he
might be kicked by one of our mules at the hacienda. He would not steal
any more."
Ned had other things to tell her, about the United States forts, troops,
and ships of war, and she had stories to tell with excited vivacity that
set forth sadly enough the wretchedly unsettled condition of her
country, which she appeared to love so well, after all. Troubled as it
was, it was her own land, and she hated its enemies.
It was a hot, oppressive day, with a promise of greater heat soon to
come, and the weather itself might be a good enough reason why any
family should be in a hurry to get out of the _tierra caliente_. As for
the removal of valuable property, Ned had already learned that Vera Cruz
was haunted not only by bad characters from the interior, but by
desperadoes from up and down the coast and from the West India Islands.
He was not near enough to hear, however, when Zuroaga remarked to his
friend Tassara:
"You are right, my dear colonel. The Americans will hold the Texan
border with a strong hand, but if Paredes does not promptly come to
terms with them, we shall see a fleet and army at Vera Cruz before long.
This is the weak point of our unhappy republic."
"I think not," replied Tassara, gloomily. "I wish it were a solid
nation, as strong as the castle out yonder. Our weak point is that we
are cut up into factions, and cannot make use of the strength that we
really have undeveloped. As for anything else, one case of yellow fever
was reported yesterday, and I am informed that his Excellency, President
Paredes, talks of coming here shortly to confer with Colonel Guerra.
That may mean trouble for him, and neither you nor I would wish to be
brought before any such council of war as might be called together."
"It might not consist altogether of our friends," said Zuroaga. "In my
case, if not in yours, it might be followed quickly by an order for a
file of soldiers and a volley of musketry. I should not look for mercy
from a tiger."
"On the other hand," responded the colonel, "it would be well for him to
be careful just now. He will need all the strength he can obtain."
"Humph!" exclaimed Zuroaga. "He will try to leave no living, or, at
least, no unimprisoned enemies behind him when he marches for the
border."
It was plain that they were not to be numbered among their President's
friends, whether or not they were altogether just to him. Bloody
severity in putting down sedition was the long-established custom in
Mexico, and one man might not be more to blame for it than another. It
had been handed down from the old days of Spanish rule, and the record
which had been made is not by any means pleasant reading.
When the luncheon was over, the senorita left Ned to himself, appearing
to feel somewhat more friendly than at first, but still considering him
as a gringo and a foreigner. She said she had some things to pack up,
and he went to look after his own. These did not require much packing,
and before long he had again found his way out to the courtyard and the
stables. These were indeed the most interesting spots about the place,
for they contained all the men, the horses, and the mules. Ned shortly
concluded that here were also gathered most of the firearms and at least
a dozen of the wildest kind of Mexican Indians, all ragged and all
barefooted. Preparations for a journey were going forward under Senora
Tassara's direction, and Ned pretty quickly understood that the men
were a great deal more afraid of her than they were of her husband. He
felt so himself, and he instantly got out of her way, as she told him to
do, when he unwisely undertook to help her with her packing.
The horses were of several sorts and sizes, and more like them were
shortly brought in. One large spring wagon and a covered carryall
carriage were in good order. Both were of American manufacture, and so
was the harness of the teams which were to draw them. Ned was feeling a
certain degree of curiosity as to what kind of carriage was to carry
him, when Senor Zuroaga beckoned him to one side and said:
"We shall be with Colonel Tassara's party only the first day. But I have
been thinking. When we were on the _Goshhawk_, you told me that you had
never ridden a horse in your life----"
"Why, I'm a city boy," interrupted Ned. "There isn't any horseback
riding done there. I'd rather go on wheels."
"Of course you would," laughed Zuroaga. "But there won't be any use for
wheels on some of the roads I am to follow. I've picked you out a pony
that you can manage, though, and you will soon learn. You will have to
be a horseman if you are to travel in Mexico."
"So father used to tell me," said Ned. "He can ride anything. Which of
these is my horse? They all look skittish----"
"Neither of these would do for you," replied the senor. "But listen to
me sharply. Twice you have called me general. Don't do it again until we
are beyond the mountains. I'm only a plain senor in all this region of
the country. I only hope that some men in Vera Cruz do not already know
that I am here. If they did, I am afraid I should not get out so easily.
This is your horse. He is a good one."
Hitched to a post near the wall was a fat, undersized animal, black as
jet, and with more mane and tail than was at all reasonable. He carried
a Mexican saddle with wooden stirrups and a tremendous curb-bit bridle.
In front of the saddle were pistol holsters, and behind it hung an
ammunition case, as if Ned were about to become a trooper. He went to
examine the holsters, and found that each of them contained a large
horse-pistol with a flintlock. He also found powder and bullets in the
case, and he wondered whether or not he would ever be able to shoot
anybody with one of those heavy, long-barrelled things without having
something to rest it on.
"I practised for an hour once in a pistol-gallery," he remarked, "but it
wasn't with anything like that."
"You didn't hit centre even then, eh?" laughed the senor. "Well, not
many men can do much with them, but they are better than nothing. They
are too heavy for a hand like yours. Here is your machete. Put it on."
Ned felt a queer tingle all over him, as he took the weapon and hitched
it at his belt. Then he drew it from the sheath and looked at it,
swinging it up and down to feel its weight. It was a straight, one-edged
blade, with a sharp point, and a brass basket hilt, and he remarked:
"Senor Zuroaga, I could hit with that, I guess."
His face had flushed fiery red, and it could be seen, from his handling
of the machete, that his muscles were unusually strong for his size and
age. The senor nodded his approbation, as he remarked:
"I think you will do. There is fight in you, but I hope we shall have no
fighting to do just now. I shall try to find a safe road home."
"A fellow could cut down bushes with this thing," said Ned.
"That's exactly what our rancheros use them for," replied the senor.
"They will do almost anything with a machete. They will cut their way
through thick chaparral, kill and cut up beef cattle, split wood, fight
men or animals, and on the whole it's about the most useful tool there
is in a Mexican camp or hacienda."
"What's that?" asked Ned.
"Any kind of farm with a house on it," said the senor. "You may have to
learn all about haciendas before you get home."
"Just what I'd like to do," said Ned. "I'll learn how to ride, too. How
soon are we to set out?"
"Not till after dark," said the senor. "But you need not be in any hurry
to get into the saddle. You will have quite enough of it before you get
out of it again. There is a long ride before us to-night."
"I'm ready," replied Ned, but nevertheless he looked at that Mexican
saddle with doubtful eyes, as if he were thinking that it might possibly
prove to be a place of trial for a beginner.
At that very hour there were several gentlemen in uniform closeted with
Colonel Guerra in one of the rooms of the Castle of San Juan de Ulua.
The colonel appeared to have been giving them a detailed report of the
condition of the fortress and of its means for defence, whether or not
he had stated exactly the amount of the ammunition brought him by the
ill-fated _Goshhawk_. Other subjects of conversation must now have come
up, however, for one of them arose with great dignity of manner,
remarking:
"My dear colonel, I am glad that I shall be able to make so encouraging
a report to his Excellency. As for Colonel Tassara, we shall serve our
warrant upon him some time to-morrow. We are informed that, beyond a
doubt, the traitor Zuroaga intends to return from Europe shortly. As
sure as he does, he will be engaged in dangerous intrigues against the
existing order of things, and the good of the country requires that he
shall be brought to justice before he can put any of his nefarious plans
in operation. At the same time, we are assured that the invaders upon
the Rio Grande will soon be defeated yet more thoroughly."
All the rest had arisen while he was speaking, and one of them, a fat,
short man in a brilliant uniform, added, enthusiastically:
"We feel that we can rely upon you, Colonel Guerra. We pity the gringos
if they should attempt to beleaguer this impregnable fortress. For my
own part, I believe that Colonel Tassara's court martial can have but
one result. His disobedience must be paid for with his life. All
conspirators like Zuroaga should be shot as soon as they are captured.
This is not a time, my friends, for undue leniency."
"Gentlemen," responded Colonel Guerra with graceful courtesy, "I bid you
all a brief farewell with sincere regret. Your visit has given me
unmixed satisfaction. Do not forget that all of you are to dine with me
to-morrow. From my very heart I can echo your noble sentiments of valor
and patriotism and of devotion to our beloved commander-in-chief, his
heroic Excellency, President Paredes."
Then followed smiles and handshakings of mutual confidence all around,
and the visiting officers took their departure. Hardly had the door
closed behind them, however, before Colonel Guerra again sat down,
hoarsely muttering between his set teeth:
"The snake-hearted villains! What they really hoped for was to find the
fort and garrison in bad condition and unprovided, so that they might
ruin me. They want my disgrace and removal, to make room for one of
them. I don't believe they will catch either Tassara or Zuroaga this
time. The colonel will soon raise his new regiment, and my old friend
will be down in Oaxaca in safety, waiting for the hour that is to come.
Paredes would give something to see my last letter from Santa Anna."
So there were many plots and counterplots, and the politest men might
not be always what they seemed.