The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley Page 2
CHAPTER TWO.
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 ofdetail.
Some six months before the encounter described, he had landed from aLiverpool cotton ship on the Levee of New Orleans. A gentleman by birthand a soldier-scholar by education, he had gone to the New World withthe design to complete his boyhood's training by a course of travel, andprepare himself for the enacting the _metier_ of a man. That thistravel should be westward, over fresh untrodden fields, instead of alongthe hackneyed highways of the European tourist, was partly due to thecounsels of a tutor--who had himself visited the New World--and partlyto his own natural inclinations.
In the course of his college studies he had read the romantic history ofCortez's conquest, and his mind had become deeply imbued with thepicturesqueness of Mexican scenes; so that among the fancies of hisyouthful life one of the pleasantest was that of some day visiting theland of Anahuac, and its ancient capital, Tenochtitlan. After leavingcollege the dream had grown into a determination, and was now in the actof being realised. In New Orleans he was so far on his way. He camethither expecting to obtain passage in a coasting vessel to some Mexicanseaport--Tampico or Vera Cruz.
Why he had not at once continued his journey thither was due to nodifficulty in finding such a vessel. There were schooners sailing everyweek to either of the above ports that would have accommodated him, yetstill he lingered in New Orleans. His reason for thus delaying was onefar 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. Notspeaking the Spanish language, which is also that of Mexico, he knewthat while travelling through the latter country he would have to go asone dumb. In New Orleans he might easily obtain a teacher; and havingsought soon found one, in the person of Don Ignacio Valverde,--a refugeeMexican gentleman, a victim of the tyrant Santa Anna, who, banished fromhis country, had been for several years resident in the States as anexile. And an exile in straitened circumstances, one of the hardestconditions of life. Once, in his own country, a wealthy landowner, DonIgnacio was now compelled to give lessons in Spanish to such straypupils as might chance to present themselves. Among the rest, by chancecame 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.
After parting with Cris Rock, the young Irishman advanced along theLevee, his head bowed forward, with eyes to the ground, as if examiningthe oyster-shells that thickly bestrewed the path; anon giving hisglance to the river, as though stirred by its majestic movement. But hewas thinking neither of the empty bivalves, nor the flow of the mightystream. Nor yet of the speech he had promised to make that same nightat the _rendezvous_ of filibusters. Instead he was reflecting upon thataffair of the heart, from which he had been for some time suffering.
To make known his feelings it is necessary to repeat what passed throughhis mind after he had separated from the Texan.
"There's something odd in all this," soliloquised he, as he strode on."Here am I going to fight for a country I care nothing about, andagainst one with which I have no cause of quarrel. On the contrary, Ihave come four thousand miles to visit the latter, as a peacefulfriendly traveller. Now I propose making entry into it, sword in hand,as an enemy and invader! The native land, too, of her who has takenpossession of my heart! Ah! therein lies the very reason: _I have notgot hers_. I fear--nay, I am certain of that, from what I saw thismorning. Bah! What's the use of thinking about it, or about her?Luisa Valverde cares no more for me than the half-score of others--theseyoung Creole `bloods,' as they call themselves--who flit likebutterflies around her. She's a sweet flower from which all of themwish to sip. Only one will succeed, and that's Carlos Santander. Ihate the very sight of the man. I believe him to be a cheat and ascoundrel. No matter to her. The cheat she won't understand; and, ifreport speak true of her country and race, the scoundrel would scarcelyqualify him either. Merciful heavens! to think I should love thisMexican girl, warned as I've been about her countrywomen! 'Tis afascination, and the sooner I get away from it and her presence, thebetter it may be for me. Now, this Texan business offers a chance ofescaping the peril. If I find she cares not for me, it will be a sortof satisfaction to think that in fighting against her country I may in away humiliate herself. Ah, Texas! If you find in me a defender, itwill not be from any patriotic love of you, but to bury bitter thoughtsin oblivion."
The chain of his reflections, momentarily interrupted was after a timecontinued: "My word," he exclaimed, "there's surely something ominous inmy encounter with this Cris Rock! Destiny seems to direct me. Here amI scheming to escape from a thraldom of a siren's smiles, and, to do so,ready to throw myself into the ranks of a filibustering band! On theinstant a friend is found--a patron who promises to make me theirleader! Shall I refuse the favour, which fortune herself seems tooffer? Why should I? It is fate, not chance; and this night at theirmeeting I shall know whether it is meant in earnest. So, canvass yourbest for me, Cris Rock; and I shall do my best to make a suitablespeech. If our united efforts prove successful, then Texas shall gain afriend, and Luisa Valverde lose _one_ of her lovers."
At the conclusion of this speech--half boastful, half bitter--FlorenceKearney had reached the hotel where he was stopping--the celebrated"Saint Charles," and entering its grand saloon, sat down to reflectfurther on the step he was about to take.