The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

“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.

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 of detail.

Some six months before the encounter described, he had landed from a Liverpool cotton ship on the Levee of New Orleans. A gentleman by birth and a soldier-scholar by education, he had gone to the New World with the design to complete his boyhood’s training by a course of travel, and prepare himself for the enacting the métier of a man. That this travel should be westward, over fresh untrodden fields, instead of along the hackneyed highways of the European tourist, was partly due to the counsels of a tutor – who had himself visited the New World – and partly to his own natural inclinations.

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.

After parting with Cris Rock, the young Irishman advanced along the Levee, his head bowed forward, with eyes to the ground, as if examining the oyster-shells that thickly bestrewed the path; anon giving his glance to the river, as though stirred by its majestic movement. But he was thinking neither of the empty bivalves, nor the flow of the mighty stream. Nor yet of the speech he had promised to make that same night at the rendezvous of filibusters. Instead he was reflecting upon that affair of the heart, from which he had been for some time suffering.

To make known his feelings it is necessary to repeat what passed through his 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, and against one with which I have no cause of quarrel. On the contrary, I have come four thousand miles to visit the latter, as a peaceful friendly traveller. Now I propose making entry into it, sword in hand, as an enemy and invader! The native land, too, of her who has taken possession of my heart! Ah! therein lies the very reason: I have not got hers. I fear – nay, I am certain of that, from what I saw this morning. 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 – these young Creole ‘bloods,’ as they call themselves – who flit like butterflies around her. She’s a sweet flower from which all of them wish to sip. Only one will succeed, and that’s Carlos Santander. I hate the very sight of the man. I believe him to be a cheat and a scoundrel. No matter to her. The cheat she won’t understand; and, if report speak true of her country and race, the scoundrel would scarcely qualify him either. Merciful heavens! to think I should love this Mexican girl, warned as I’ve been about her countrywomen! ’Tis a fascination, and the sooner I get away from it and her presence, the better it may be for me. Now, this Texan business offers a chance of escaping the peril. If I find she cares not for me, it will be a sort of satisfaction to think that in fighting against her country I may in a way humiliate herself. Ah, Texas! If you find in me a defender, it will not be from any patriotic love of you, but to bury bitter thoughts in oblivion.”

The chain of his reflections, momentarily interrupted was after a time continued: “My word,” he exclaimed, “there’s surely something ominous in my encounter with this Cris Rock! Destiny seems to direct me. Here am I 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 the instant a friend is found – a patron who promises to make me their leader! Shall I refuse the favour, which fortune herself seems to offer? Why should I? It is fate, not chance; and this night at their meeting I shall know whether it is meant in earnest. So, canvass your best for me, Cris Rock; and I shall do my best to make a suitable speech. If our united efforts prove successful, then Texas shall gain a friend, and Luisa Valverde lose one of her lovers.”

At the conclusion of this speech – half boastful, half bitter – Florence Kearney had reached the hotel where he was stopping – the celebrated “Saint Charles,” and entering its grand saloon, sat down to reflect further on the step he was about to take.

Chapter Three

Officering the Filibusters

The volunteer rendezvous was in a tavern, better known by the name of “Coffee House,” in the street called Poydras. The room which had been chartered for the occasion was of ample dimensions, capable of containing three hundred men. Drawn together by the printed proclamation that had attracted the attention of the young Irishman in his afternoon stroll, two-thirds of the above number had collected, and of these at least one-half were determined upon proceeding to Texas.

It was a crowd composed of heterogeneous elements – such as has ever been, and ever will be, the men who volunteer for a military, more especially a filibustering expedition.

Present in the hall were representatives of almost every civilised nation upon earth. Even some that could scarce boast of civilisation; for among the faces seen around the room were many so covered with beards, and so browned with sun, as to tell of long sojourn in savage parts, if not association with the savages themselves. In obedience to the counsels of the Texan, Florence Kearney – a candidate for command over this motley crew – made early appearance in their midst. Not so early as to find that, on entering the room, he was a stranger to its occupants. Cris Rock had been there before him, along with a half-score of his confrères– old Texans of the pure breed – who having taken part in most of the struggles of the young Republic, had strayed back to New Orleans, partly for a spree, and partly to recruit fresh comrades to aid them in propagating that principle which had first taken them to Texas – the “Monroe Doctrine.”

To these the young Irishman was at once confidentially introduced, and “stood drinks” freely. He would have done so without care of what was to come of it; since it was but the habit of his generous nation. Nor would this of itself have given him any great advantage, for not long after entering the room, he discovered that not only drinks, but dollars, were distributed freely by the opposition party, who seemed earnestly bent upon making a captain of their candidate.

As yet Kearney had not looked upon his competitor, and was even ignorant of his name. Soon, however, it was communicated to him, just as the man himself, escorted by a number of friends, made his appearance in the room. The surprise of the young Irishman may be imagined; when he saw before him one already known, and too well-known, – his rival in the affections of Luisa Valverde!

Yes; Carlos Santander was also a candidate for the command of the filibusters.

To Kearney the thing was a surprise, and something besides. He knew Santander to be on terms of very friendly and intimate relationship not only with Don Ignacio, but other Mexicans he had met at the exile’s house. Strange, that the Creole should be aspiring to the leadership of a band about to invade their country! For it was invasion the Texans now talked of, in retaliation for a late raid of the Mexicans to their capital, San Antonio. But these banished Mexicans being enemies of Santa Anna it was after all not so unnatural. By humiliating the Dictator, they would be aiding their own party to get back into power – even though the help came from their hereditary foemen, the squatters of Texas.

All this passed through the mind of the young Irishman, though not altogether to satisfy him. The presence of Santander there, as aspirant for leadership, seemed strange notwithstanding.

But he had no opportunity for indulging in conjectures – only time to exchange frowns at his rival and competitor, when a man in undress uniform – a Texan colonel – who acted as chairman of the meeting, mounting upon a table, cried “Silence!” and, after a short pithy speech, proposed that the election of officers should at once proceed. The proposal was seconded, no one objecting; and, without further parley, the “balloting” began.

There was neither noise nor confusion. Indeed, the assembly was one of the quietest, and without any street crowd outside. There were reasons for observing a certain secrecy in the proceedings; for, although the movement was highly popular all over the States, there were some compromising points of International law, and there had been talk of Government interference.

The election was conducted in the most primitive and simple fashion. The names of the candidates were written upon slips of paper, and distributed throughout the room – only the members who had formed the organisation having the right to vote. Each of them chose the slip bearing the name of him he intended to vote for, and dropped it into a hat carried round for the purpose. The other he threw away, or slipped if to his pocket.

When all had deposited their ballots, the hat was capsized, and the bits of paper shaken out upon the table. The chairman, assisted by two other men, examined the votes and counted them. Then ensued a short interval of silence, broken only by an occasional word of direction from the chairman, with the murmuring hum of the examiners, and at length came in a clear loud voice – that of the Texan colonel – “The votes are in favour of Kearney! Florence Kearney elected Captain by a majority of thirty-three!”

A cheer greeted the announcement, in which something like a screech from Cris Rock could be heard above all voices; while the giant himself was seen rushing through the crowd to clasp the hand of his protégé, whom he had voluntarily assisted in promoting to a rank above himself.

During the excitement, the defeated candidate was observed to skulk out of the room. Those who saw him go could tell by his look of sullen disappointment he had no intention of returning; and that the filibustering cohort was not likely to have the name, “Carlos Santander,” any longer on its roll-call.

He and his were soon forgotten. The lieutenants were yet to be chosen. One after another – first, second, and brevet– was proposed, balloted for, and elected in the same way as the captain.

Then there was a choice of sergeants and corporals, till the organisation was pronounced complete. In fine, fell a shower of congratulations, with “drinks all round,” and for several successive rounds. Patriotic speeches also, in the true “spread-eagle” style, with applauding cheers, and jokes about Santa Anna and his cork-leg; when the company at length separated, after singing the “Star-Spangled Banner.”

Chapter Four

An Invitation to Supper

Florence Kearney, parting from his new friends, the filibusters, sauntered forth upon the street.

On reaching the nearest corner he came to a stop, as if undecided which way to turn.

Not because he had lost his way. His hotel was but three blocks off; and he had, during his short sojourn in the Crescent City, become acquainted with almost every part of it. It was not ignorance of the locality, therefore, which was causing him to hesitate; but something very different, as the train of his thoughts will tell.

“Don Ignacio, at least, will expect me – wish me to come, whether she do or not. I accepted his invitation, and cannot well – oh! had I known what I do now – seen what I saw this morning – Bah! I shall return to the hotel and never more go near her!”

But he did not return to his hotel; instead, still stood irresolute, as if the thing were worth further considering.

What made the young man act thus? Simply a belief that Luisa Valverde did not love him, and, therefore, would not care to have him as a companion at supper; for it was to supper her father had asked him. On the day before he had received the invitation, and signified acceptance of it. But he had seen something since which had made him half repent having done so; a man, Carlos Santander, standing beside the woman he loved, bending over her till his lips almost touched her forehead, whispering words that were heard, and, to all appearance, heeded. What the words were Florence Kearney knew not, but could easily guess their nature. They could only be of love; for he saw the carmine on her cheeks as she listened to them.

He had no right to call the young lady to an account. During all his intercourse with Don Ignacio, he had seen the daughter scarce half a score times; then only while passing out and in – to or from his lessons. Now and then a few snatches of conversation had occurred between them upon any chance theme – the weather, the study he was prosecuting (how he wished she had been his teacher), and the peculiarities of the New Orleans life, to which they were both strangers. And only once had she appeared to take more than an ordinary interest in his speech. This, when he talked of Mexico, and having come from his own far land, “Irlandesa,” with an enthusiastic desire to visit hers, telling her of his intention to do so. On this occasion he had ventured to speak of what he had heard about Mexican banditti; still more of the beauty of the Mexican ladies – naïvely adding that he would no doubt be in less danger of losing his life than his heart.

To this he thought she had listened, or seemed to listen, with more than ordinary attention, looking pensive as she made reply.

“Yes, Don Florencio! you will see much in Mexico likely to give you gratification. ’Tis true, indeed, that many of my countrywomen are fair – some very fair. Among them you will soon forget – ”

Kearney’s heart beat wildly, hoping he would hear the monosyllable “me.” But the word was not spoken. In its place the phrase “us poor exiles,” with which somewhat commonplace remark the young Mexican concluded her speech.

And still there was something in what she had said, but more in her manner of saying it, which made pleasant impression upon him – something in her tone that touched a chord already making music in his heart. If it did not give him surety of her love, it, for the time, hindered him from despairing of it.

All this had occurred at an interview he had with her only the day before; and, since, sweet thoughts and hopes were his. But on the same morning they were shattered – crushed out by the spectacle he had witnessed, and the interpretation of those whispered words he had failed to hear. It had chased all hope out of his heart, and sent him in wild, aimless strides along the street, just in the right frame of mind for being caught by that call which had attracted his eyes on the poster —

“Volunteers for Texas.” And just so had he been caught; and, as described, entered among the filibustering band to be chosen its chief. To the young Irishman it was a day of strange experiences, varying as the changes of a kaleidoscope; more like a dream than reality; and after reflecting upon it all, he thus interrogated himself —

“Shall I see her again, or not? Why not? If she’s lost, she cannot be worse lost by my having another interview with her. Nor could I feel worse than I do now. Ah! with this laurel fresh placed upon my brow! What if I tell her of it – tell her I am about to enter her native land as an invader? If she care for her country, that would spite her; and if I find she cares not for me, her spite would give me pleasure.”