The Rifle Rangers, Mayne Reid [intellectual books to read txt] 📗
- Author: Mayne Reid
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“You have? That is bad! I fear there is no prospect of getting him out as you propose.”
My companion’s prophetic 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 Cosmé’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 would you like to make it?”
“If the Captain wishes it, I will bring him a bottle of eau-de-vie from the Café de Santa Anna.”
“I do not wish you to go alone. I would accompany you.”
“Think of it, Captain; there is risk for you 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 “adventurous.”
At night Raoul and I, disguised in the leathern dresses of two rancheros, stole round the lines, and reached Punta Hornos, a point beyond our own pickets. Here we “took the water”, wading waist-deep.
This was about ten o’clock. The tide was just setting out, and the night, by good fortune, was as dark as pitch.
As the swell rolled in we were buried to the neck, and when it rolled back again we bent forward; so that at no time could much of our bodies be seen above the surface.
In this manner, half wading, half swimming, we kept up to the town.
It was a toilsome journey, but the water was warm, and the sand on the bottom firm and level. We were strengthened—I at least—by hope and the knowledge of danger. Doubtless my companion felt the latter stimulant as much as I.
We soon reached the battlements of Santiago, where we proceeded with increased caution. We could see the sentry up against the sky, pacing along the parapet. His shrill cry startled us. We thought we had been discovered. The darkness alone prevented this.
At length we passed him, and came opposite the city, whose battlements rested upon the water’s edge.
The tide was at ebb, and a bed of black, weed-covered rocks lay between the sea and the bastion.
We approached these with caution, and, crawling over the slippery boulders, after a hundred yards or so found ourselves in the entrance of one of the conductors.
Here we halted to rest ourselves, sitting down upon a ledge of rock. We were in no more danger here than in our own tents, yet within twenty feet were men who, had they known our proximity, would have strung us up like a pair of dogs.
But our danger was far from lying at this end of the adventure.
After a rest of half an hour we kept up into the conductor. My companion seemed perfectly at home in this subterranean passage, walking along as boldly as if it had been brilliantly lighted with gas.
After proceeding some distance we approached a grating, where a light shot in from above.
“Can we pass out here?” I inquired.
“Not yet, Captain,” answered Raoul in a whisper. “Farther on.”
We passed the grating, then another and another, and at length reached one where only a feeble ray struggled downward through the bars.
Here my guide stopped, and listened attentively for several minutes. Then, stretching out his hand, he undid the fastening of the grate, and silently turned it upon its hinge. He next swung himself up until his head projected above ground. In this position he again listened, looking cautiously on all sides.
Satisfied at length that there was no one near, he drew his body up through the grating and disappeared. After a short interval he returned, and called down:
“Come, Captain.”
I swung myself up to the street. Raoul shut down the trap with care.
“Take marks, Captain,” whispered he; “we may get separated.”
It was a dismal suburb. No living thing was apparent, with the exception of a gang of prowling dogs, lean and savage, as all dogs are during a siege. An image, decked in all the glare of gaud and tinsel, looked out of a glazed niche in the opposite wall. A dim lamp burned at its feet, showing to the charitable a receptacle for their offerings. A quaint old steeple loomed in the darkness overhead.
“What church?” I asked Raoul.
“La Magdalena.”
“That will do. Now onward.”
“Buenas noches, Señor!” (good-night) said Raoul to a soldier who passed us, wrapped in his great-coat.
“Buenas noches!” returned the man in a gruff voice.
We stole cautiously along the streets, keeping in the darker ones to avoid observation. The citizens were mostly in their beds; but groups of soldiers were straggling about, and patrols met us at every corner.
It became necessary to pass through one of the streets that was brilliantly lighted. When about half-way up it a fellow came swinging along, and, noticing our strange appearance, stopped and looked after us.
Our dresses, as I have said, were of leather; our calzoneros, as well as jackets, were shining with the sea-water, and dripping upon the pavement at every step.
Before we could walk beyond reach, the man shouted out:
“Carajo! caballeros, why don’t you strip before entering the baño?”
“What is it?” cried a soldier, coming up and stopping us.
A group of his comrades joined him, and we were hurried into the light.
“Mil diablos!” exclaimed one of the soldiers, recognising Raoul; “our old friend the Frenchman! Parlez-vous français, Monsieur?”
“Spies!” cried another.
“Arrest them!” shouted a sergeant of the guard, at the moment coming up with a patrol, and we were both jumped upon and held by about a dozen men.
In vain Raoul protested our innocence, declaring that we were only two poor fishermen, who had wet our clothes in drawing the nets.
“It’s not a fisherman’s costume, Monsieur,” said one.
“Fishermen don’t usually wear diamonds on their knuckles,” cried another, snatching a ring from my finger.
On this ring, inside the circlet, were engraven my name and rank!
Several men, now coming forward, recognised Raoul, and stated, moreover, that he had been missing for some days.
“He must, therefore,” said they, “have been with the Yankees.”
We were soon handcuffed and marched off to the guard-prison. There we were closely searched, but nothing further was found, except my purse containing several gold eagles—an American coin that of itself would have been sufficient evidence to condemn me.
We were now heavily chained to each other, after which the guard left us to our thoughts. They could not have left us in much less agreeable companionship.
“I would not care a claco for my own life,” said Raoul, as the gate closed upon us, “but that you, Captain—hélas! hélas!” and the Frenchman groaned and sank upon the stone bench, dragging me down also.
I could offer no consolation. I knew that we should be tried as spies; and, if convicted—a result almost certain—we had not twenty hours to live. The thought that I had brought this brave fellow to such a fate enhanced the misery of my situation. To die thus ingloriously was bitter indeed. Three days ago I could have spent my life recklessly; but now, how changed were my feelings! I had found something worth living to enjoy; and to think I should never again—“Oh! I have become a coward!” I cursed my rashness bitterly.
We passed the night in vain attempts at mutual consolation. Even our present sufferings occupied us. Our clothes were wet through, and the night had become piercingly cold. Our bed was a bench of stone; and upon this we lay as our chains would allow us, sleeping close together to generate warmth. It was to us a miserable night; but morning came at last, and at an early hour we were examined by the officer of the guard.
Our court-martial was fixed for the afternoon, and before this tribunal we were carried, amidst the jeers of the populace. We told our story, giving the name of the boy Narcisso, and the house where he was lodged. This was verified by the court, but declared to be a ruse invented by my comrade—whose knowledge of the place and other circumstances rendered the thing probable enough. Raoul, moreover, was identified by many of the citizens, who proved his disappearance coincident with the landing of the American expedition. Besides, my ring and purse were sufficient of themselves to condemn us—and condemned we were. We were to be garrotted on the following morning!
Raoul was offered life if he would turn traitor and give information of the enemy. The brave soldier indignantly spurned the offer. It was extended to me, with
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