foreboding proved but too correct, for on nearing the camp we were met by an aide-de-camp of the commander-in-chief, who informed me that, on that very morning, all communication between the foreign ships of war and the besieged city had been prohibited.
Don Cosme's journey, then, would be in vain. I explained this, advising him to return to his family.
"Do not make it known-say that some time is required, and you have left the matter in my hands. Be assured I shall be among the first to enter the city, and I shall find the boy, and bring him to his mother in safety."
This was the only consolation I could offer.
"You are kind, Capitan-very kind; but I know that nothing can now be done. We can only hope and pray."
The old man had dropped into a bent attitude, his countenance marked by the deepest melancholy.
Taking the Frenchman, Raoul, along with me, I rode back until I had placed him beyond the danger of the straggling plunderer, when we shook hands and parted. As he left me, I turned to look after him. He still sat in that attitude that betokens deep dejection, his shoulders bent forward over the neck of his mule, while he gazed vacantly on the path. My heart sank at the spectacle, and, sad and dispirited, I rode at a lagging pace towards the camp.
Not a shot had as yet been fired against the town, but our batteries were nearly perfected, and several mortars were mounted and ready to fling in their deadly missiles. I knew that every shot and shell would carry death into the devoted city, for there was not a point within its walls out of range of a ten-inch howitzer. Women and children must perish along with armed soldiers; and the boy-he, too, might be a victim. Would this be the tidings I should carry to his home? And how should I be received by her with such a tale upon my lips? Already had I sent back a sorrowing father.
"Is there no way to save him, Raoul?"
"Captain?" inquired the man, starting at the vehemence of my manner.
A sudden thought had occurred to me.
"Are you well acquainted with Vera Cruz?"
"I know every street, Captain."
"Where do those arches lead that open from the sea? There is one on each side of the mole."
I had observed these when visiting a friend, an officer of the navy, on board his ship.
"They are conductors, Captain, to carry off the overflow of the sea after a norther. They lead under the city, opening at various places. I have had the pleasure of passing through them."
"Ha! How?"
"On a little smuggling expedition."
"It is possible, then, to reach the town by these?"
"Nothing easier, unless they may have a guard at the mouth; but that is not likely. They would not dream of anyone's making the attempt."
"How wouldyou like to make it?"
"If the Captain wishes it, I will bring him a bottle ofeau-de-vie from the Cafe de Santa Anna."
"I do not wish you to go alone. I would accompany you."
"Think of it, Captain; there is risk foryou in such an undertaking. I may go safely. No one knows that I have joined you, I believe. If you are taken-."
"Yes, yes; I know well the result."
"The risk is not great, either," continued the Frenchman, in a half-soliloquy. "Disguised as Mexicans, we might do it; you speak the language as well as I. If you wish it, Captain-."
"I do."
"I am ready, then."
I knew the fellow well: one of those dare-devil spirits, ready for anything that promised adventure-a child of fortune-a stray waif tumbling about upon the waves of chance-gifted with head and heart of no common order-ignorant of books, yet educated in experience. There was a dash of the heroic in his character that had won my admiration, and I was fond of his company.
It was a desperate adventure-I knew that; but I felt stronger interest than common in the fate of this boy. My own future fate, too, was in a great degree connected with his safety. There was something in the very danger that lured me on to tempt it. I felt that it would be adding another chapter to a life which I have termed
Don Cosme's journey, then, would be in vain. I explained this, advising him to return to his family.
"Do not make it known-say that some time is required, and you have left the matter in my hands. Be assured I shall be among the first to enter the city, and I shall find the boy, and bring him to his mother in safety."
This was the only consolation I could offer.
"You are kind, Capitan-very kind; but I know that nothing can now be done. We can only hope and pray."
The old man had dropped into a bent attitude, his countenance marked by the deepest melancholy.
Taking the Frenchman, Raoul, along with me, I rode back until I had placed him beyond the danger of the straggling plunderer, when we shook hands and parted. As he left me, I turned to look after him. He still sat in that attitude that betokens deep dejection, his shoulders bent forward over the neck of his mule, while he gazed vacantly on the path. My heart sank at the spectacle, and, sad and dispirited, I rode at a lagging pace towards the camp.
Not a shot had as yet been fired against the town, but our batteries were nearly perfected, and several mortars were mounted and ready to fling in their deadly missiles. I knew that every shot and shell would carry death into the devoted city, for there was not a point within its walls out of range of a ten-inch howitzer. Women and children must perish along with armed soldiers; and the boy-he, too, might be a victim. Would this be the tidings I should carry to his home? And how should I be received by her with such a tale upon my lips? Already had I sent back a sorrowing father.
"Is there no way to save him, Raoul?"
"Captain?" inquired the man, starting at the vehemence of my manner.
A sudden thought had occurred to me.
"Are you well acquainted with Vera Cruz?"
"I know every street, Captain."
"Where do those arches lead that open from the sea? There is one on each side of the mole."
I had observed these when visiting a friend, an officer of the navy, on board his ship.
"They are conductors, Captain, to carry off the overflow of the sea after a norther. They lead under the city, opening at various places. I have had the pleasure of passing through them."
"Ha! How?"
"On a little smuggling expedition."
"It is possible, then, to reach the town by these?"
"Nothing easier, unless they may have a guard at the mouth; but that is not likely. They would not dream of anyone's making the attempt."
"How wouldyou like to make it?"
"If the Captain wishes it, I will bring him a bottle ofeau-de-vie from the Cafe de Santa Anna."
"I do not wish you to go alone. I would accompany you."
"Think of it, Captain; there is risk foryou in such an undertaking. I may go safely. No one knows that I have joined you, I believe. If you are taken-."
"Yes, yes; I know well the result."
"The risk is not great, either," continued the Frenchman, in a half-soliloquy. "Disguised as Mexicans, we might do it; you speak the language as well as I. If you wish it, Captain-."
"I do."
"I am ready, then."
I knew the fellow well: one of those dare-devil spirits, ready for anything that promised adventure-a child of fortune-a stray waif tumbling about upon the waves of chance-gifted with head and heart of no common order-ignorant of books, yet educated in experience. There was a dash of the heroic in his character that had won my admiration, and I was fond of his company.
It was a desperate adventure-I knew that; but I felt stronger interest than common in the fate of this boy. My own future fate, too, was in a great degree connected with his safety. There was something in the very danger that lured me on to tempt it. I felt that it would be adding another chapter to a life which I have termed
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