Read Ebook: The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley by Reid Mayne

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 1303 lines and 91866 words, and 27 pages

The Free Lances, by Captain Mayne Reid.

VOLUNTEERS FOR TEXAS.

"I'll go!"

This laconism came from the lips of a young man who was walking along the Levee of New Orleans. Just before giving utterance to it he had made a sudden stop, facing a dead wall, enlivened, however, by a large poster, on which were printed, in conspicuous letters, the words--

"Volunteers for Texas!"

Underneath, in smaller type, was a proclamation, setting forth the treachery of Santa Anna and the whole Mexican nation, recalling in strong terms the Massacre of Fanning, the butchery of Alamo, and other like atrocities; ending in an appeal to all patriots and lovers of freedom to arm, take the field, and fight against the tyrant of Mexico and his myrmidons.

"I'll go!" said the young man, after a glance given to the printed statement; then, more deliberately re-reading it, he repeated the words with an emphasis that told of his being in earnest.

"What's that to you?" bluntly demanded the young fellow, his temper a little ruffled by what appeared an impertinent obstruction on the part of some swaggering bully.

"More'n you may think for, young 'un," answered the booted Colossus, still standing square in the way; "more'n you may think for, seein' it's through me that bit o' paper's been put up on that 'ere wall."

"You're a bill-sticker, I suppose?" sneeringly retorted the "young 'un."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the giant, with a cachinnation that resembled the neighing of a horse. "A bill-sticker, eh! Wal; I likes that. An' I likes yur grit, too, young feller, for all ye are so sassy. But ye needn't git riled, an' I reckon ye won't, when I tell ye who I am."

"And who are you; pray?"

"Maybe ye mount a hearn o' Cris Rock?"

"What! Cris Rock of Texas? He who at Fanning's--"

"At Fannin's massacree war shot dead, and kim alive agin."

"Yes," said the interrogator, whose interrogatory referred to the almost miraculous escape of one of the betrayed victims of the Goliad butchery.

"Yes; I intend doing so."

"Wal, I'll be there myself; an' if ye'll only look high enough, I reck'n ye kin sight me 'mong the crowd. 'Tain't like to be the shortest thar," he added, with a smile that bespoke pride in his superior stature, "tho' ye'll see some tall 'uns too. Anyhow, jest look out for Cris Rock; and, when foun', that chile may be of some sarvice to ye."

"I shall do so," rejoined the other, whose good humour had become quite restored.

About to bid good-bye, Rock held out a hand, broad as the blade of a canoe-paddle. It was freely taken by the stranger, who, while shaking it, saw that he was being examined from head to foot.

"Look hyar!" pursued the Colossus, as if struck by some thought which a closer scrutiny of the young man's person had suggested; "hev ye ever did any sogerin'? Ye've got the look o' it."

"I was educated in a military school--that's all."

"Where? In the States?"

"No. I am from the other side of the Atlantic."

"Oh! A Britisher. Wal, that don't make no difference in Texas. Thar's all sorts thar. English, ain't ye?"

"No," promptly answered the stranger, with a slight scornful curling of the lip: "I'm an Irishman, and not one of those who deny it."

"All the better for that. Thar's a bit of the same blood somewhar in my own veins, out o' a grandmother, I b'lieve, as kim over the mountains into Kaintuck, 'long wi' Dan Boone an' his lot. So ye've been eddycated at a milintary school, then? D'ye unnerstan' anything about the trainin' o' sogers?"

"Certainly I do."

"Dog-goned, ef you ain't the man we want! How'd ye like to be an officer? I reck'n ye're best fit for that."

"Of course I should like it; but as a stranger among you, I shouldn't stand much chance of being elected. You choose your officers, don't you?"

"Sartin, we eelect 'em; an' we're goin' to hold the eelections this very night. Lookee hyar, young fellur; I like yer looks, an' I've seed proof ye've got the stuff in ye. Now, I want to tell ye somethin' ye oughter to know. I belong to this company that's jest a formin', and thar's a fellur settin' hisself up to be its capting. He's a sort o' half Spanish, half French-Creole, o' Noo-Orleans hyar, an' we old Texans don't think much o' him. But thar's only a few o' us; while 'mong the Orleans city fellurs as are goin' out to, he's got a big pop'larity by standin' no eend o' drinks. He ain't a bad lookin' sort for sogerin', and has seen milintary sarvice, they say. F'r all that, thar's a hangdog glint 'bout his eyes this chile don't like; neither do some o' the others. So, young un, if you'll come down to the rendyvoo in good time, an' make a speech--you kin speechify, can't ye?"

"Oh, I suppose I could say something."

"Wal, you stump it, an' I'll put in a word or two, an' then we'll perpose ye for capting; an' who knows we mayent git the majority arter all? You'er willin' to try, ain't ye?"

"Quite willing," answered the Irishman, with an emphasis which showed how much the proposal was to his mind. "But why, Mr Rock, are you not a candidate yourself? You have seen service, and would make a good officer, I should say."

"I will, if you wish it."

After a final bruin-like pressure of the hand the giant had commenced striding away, when he came again to a halt, uttering a loud "Hiloo!"

"What is it?" inquired the young Irishman.

"It seems that Cris Rock air 'bout one o' the biggest nummorskulls in all Noo-Orleans. Only to think! I was about startin' to take the stump for a kandydate 'ithout knowin' the first letter o' his name. How wur ye crissened, young fellur?"

"Kearney--Florence Kearney."

"Florence, ye say? Ain't that a woman's name?"

"True; but in Ireland many men bear it."

"Wal, it do seem a little kewrious; but it'll do right slick, and the Kearney part soun's well. I've hern speak o' Kate Kearney; thar's a song 'bout the gurl. Mout ye be any connexshun o' hern?"

"No, Mr Rock; not that I'm aware of. She was a Killarney woman. I was born a little further north on the green island."

"Wal, no matter what part o' it, yur are welkim to Texas, I reck'n, or the States eyther. Kearney--I like the name. It hev a good ring, an' it'll soun' all the better wi' `Capting' for a handle to 't--the which it shall hev afore ten o'clock this night, if Cris Rock ain't astray in his reck'nin'. But see as ye kum early to the rendyvoo, so as to hev time for a talk wi' the boys. Thar's a somethin' in that; an' if ye've got a ten dollar bill to spare, spend it on drinks all round. Thar's a good deal in that too."

So saying, the Texan strode off, leaving Florence Kearney to reflect upon the counsel so opportunely extended.

A LADY IN THE CASE.

Who Florence Kearney was, and what his motive for becoming a "filibuster," the reader shall be told without much tediousness of detail.

In the course of his college studies he had read the romantic history of Cortez's conquest, and his mind had become deeply imbued with the picturesqueness of Mexican scenes; so that among the fancies of his youthful life one of the pleasantest was that of some day visiting the land of Anahuac, and its ancient capital, Tenochtitlan. After leaving college the dream had grown into a determination, and was now in the act of being realised. In New Orleans he was so far on his way. He came thither expecting to obtain passage in a coasting vessel to some Mexican seaport--Tampico or Vera Cruz.

Why he had not at once continued his journey thither was due to no difficulty in finding such a vessel. There were schooners sailing every week to either of the above ports that would have accommodated him, yet still he lingered in New Orleans. His reason for thus delaying was one far from uncommon--this being a lady with whom he had fallen in love.

At first the detention had been due to a more sensible cause. Not speaking the Spanish language, which is also that of Mexico, he knew that while travelling through the latter country he would have to go as one dumb. In New Orleans he might easily obtain a teacher; and having sought soon found one, in the person of Don Ignacio Valverde,--a refugee Mexican gentleman, a victim of the tyrant Santa Anna, who, banished from his country, had been for several years resident in the States as an exile. And an exile in straitened circumstances, one of the hardest conditions of life. Once, in his own country, a wealthy landowner, Don Ignacio was now compelled to give lessons in Spanish to such stray pupils as might chance to present themselves. Among the rest, by chance came Florence Kearney, to whom he had commenced teaching it.

But while the latter was making himself master of the Andalusian tongue, he also learnt to love one who spoke it as purely, and far more sweetly, than Don Ignacio. This was Don Ignacio's daughter.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet