The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

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

Reid Mayne

The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

Chapter One

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.

The poster also gave intimation of a meeting to be held the same evening at a certain rendezvous in Poydras Street.

He who read only lingered to make note of the address, which was the name of a noted café. Having done this, he was turning to continue his walk when his path was barred by a specimen of humanity, who stood full six foot six in a pair of alligator leather boots, on the banquette by his side, “So ye’re goin’, air ye?” was the half-interrogative speech that proceeded from the individual thus confronting him.

“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.

“Jess so, young feller. An’ since ye ’pear to know somethin’ ’bout me, I needn’t tell ye I ain’t no bill-sticker, nor why I ’peared to show impartinence by putting in my jaw when I heern ye sing out, ‘I’ll go.’ I thort it wouldn’t need much introduxshun to one as I mout soon hope to call kumarade. Yer comin’ to the rendyvoo the night, ain’t ye?”

“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.”

“Me kandydate for officer! Wal, I’m big enough, thet’s true, and ef you like, ugly enuf. But I ain’t no ambeeshum thet way. Besides, this chile knows nothin’ ’bout drill; an’ that’s what’s wanted bad. Ye see, we ain’t had much reg’lar sogerin’ in Texas. Thar’s whar the Mexikins hev the advantage o’ us, an’ thar’s whar you’ll hev the same if you’ll consent to stan’. You say you will?”

“I will, if you wish it.”

“All square then,” returned the Texan, once more taking his protégé by the hand, and giving it a squeeze like the grip of a grizzly bear. “I’ll be on the lookout for ye. Meanwhile, thar’s six hours to the good yet afore it git sundown. So go and purpar’ yur speech, while I slide roun’ among the fellurs, an’ do a leetle for ye in the line o’ canvassin’.”

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?”