We still worked hard at the Garita—deepening the ditch—filling up embrasures, and raising the walls. It was fatiguing labor, for the heavy stone had to be wheeled from the base of the hill. Already strong frames of timber had been erected at angles in the walls, where three twelve-pounder short guns moved on quadrants, overlooking the parapet, and sweeping the hill in every part, while, near the centre of the little fortress, a beautiful long brass nine traversed on a circle, that could throw the iron messengers two miles over the plains below. The sides of the building facing the lagoons were planked up, enclosing spacious piazzas, and sheltering the men from nightly malaria borne along by the land winds. The men were obliged to keep their quarters perfectly clean, and they slept comfortably in hammocks suspended from beams above. Everything went on regularly—they had long since given up bad habits of drunkenness—and out of the entire company, but two drew their allowance of spirits. Four old dames came with the early dawn, bringing coffee and chocolate, which they exchanged for surplus rations and the privilege of washing Jack's clothes. Liberty was occasionally granted to visit the port, and every day two or more were gunning around the lagoons, keeping the post supplied with quantities of delicious wild ducks and curlew, and, when the moon was full, numbers of terrapins. We had strict inspection, morning and evening. At nightfall, sentries were doubled on the hill and roads—the guard set—guns primed—matches lighted—and everything ready at a moment's notice. I am thus minute in describing these unimportant details about the Garita, for it was my first, and most probably, will be my last attempt at soldiership. Besides being a great source of pride and pleasure, it was the spot where I have passed many happy hours. Indeed, it was the only decent or habitable post pertaining to the garrison; and I deem it not amiss to state, that, had a twentieth portion of the quarter million of dollars collected by us through the customs, been judiciously expended in restoring the old Cuartel, and providing a few necessary comforts the sailors required, it would in a measure have repaid them for toils and hardships on ship and shore, where they were necessarily obliged to undergo many expenses, in a service apart from the line of their duty. And furthermore, a due regard to their personal comfort might have been the means of reducing the medical estimates, and at the same time, of saving many a poor fellow, whose bones now moulder beneath the sod. But notwithstanding these drawbacks, it was gratifying to the officers who commanded them, to know, that, even amid the novelty of their position, they reflected credit on their country, and left an excellent impression behind them, among the Mexicans themselves.
Many of the officers who had been detailed for service at the Garita, were eventually obliged, on the score of health, to leave for more healthy posts; and in the end, Mr. Mitch and myself were the only ones left. Our quarters were immediately over the men, in a large square apartment, the ceiling taking the angle of the roof; two balconied windows faced the sea; another overlooked the port and estero, while a large, roomy piazza commanded a wide and extensive view of the surrounding plains, dotted by fields and ranches, with a high wall of mountains in the back ground. When in the town the heat was almost insupportable; in our casa blanca it was never in the least degree oppressive. We always slept under a blanket, in white canvas cots, swinging from the rafters, curtained off by bunting. Bathing was our chief delight, and the green waves well nigh broke at the base of the hill, where we played in the foaming surf for hours each day. We had breakfast brought from the French hotel in the town, which incident happened about eleven o'clock, on a table screened off in the piazza. Coffee we sipped, with a spoonful of cogniac, before the morning's bath, to drive away the malaria. So we drank light bordeaux with the meal, and when nice fruit passed the Garita, made a selection, in lieu of the abolished alcobala.
Ah, dear Mitch, those were pleasant days! And do you ever recall our pleasant little suppers by night—our cosy confabs—our sage reflections—quiet moralizings and speculations upon the reverses of fortune, after an interview with Don Manuel—and our schemes for reform. Ah, my boy, those bright days have vanished. Then came the afternoon's pasear, with a troop of officers, or the good hospitable merchants of the port—showy horses, jingling trappings, coursing and capering along the sea-road;—to the plaza again in time for music, with a bow, or smile, as the case might be, to some gracefully-robed, tiny-footed doña; then a few prancing vueltitas to show off, around the square, when we gave spur for dinner.
Just without the range of our guns was a ranchito, owning for its mistress a jolly dame, named Madre Maria; it was not for her that we occasionally extended our evening's ride, but for a half-uttered adios! Capitan! from the pearly teeth of little Juanita. I believe there never was so much dirt and beauty combined. She was the sweetest mite imaginable, and of a style to have destroyed Murillo's slumbers. Then pretty Juana suffered from calenturas—fever and ague,—and I at times carried a little phial of quinine, and felt Juana's pulse and temples, but the jolly patrona would shake her head roguishly, and exclaim, jestingly,—No es possible, Señor Chato, sin matrimonio—you can't make love without marriage. Ah! pico largo, I would reply, con razon, pero llama vd el padre Molino—certainly, so send for Father Windmill. We had a private code of signals with Maria, to hang a "banner on the outward walls," in shape of a white petticoat, whenever the Mexican troops came within hail. She mortally detested them, for they made too free with her hen-roost, and muscal bottles; and on her weekly pilgrimages to the port, seated on a quiet mule, with pretty Juana behind, attired in her holiday dress, and Jesusita, the youngest and most diminutive piece of womanhood, tripping along the road beside them, they would pay us a visit at the casa blanca, with some little present, of eggs or fruit; and the brave old lady would invariably beseech us for a loaded carbine para fusilar los ladrones—to shoot the scamps. Once I saw the signal with the spyglass, and attended by a friend rode out to the rancho; but it was a false alarm, caused by an old white horse standing lazily behind the pickets. We found the group of Maria and daughters washing in the lagoon, nearly all in dishabille: Juanita with naught but a flimsy chemisetta, not a ceinture around the little waist, revealing the most adorable juste-milieu form—between the bud and the rose—with rich masses of dark hair covering her shoulders, and rivalling in beauty the splendor of her eyes. I drove the old lady into the pond, for which indecorous behavior she launched a calibash of wet clothes at my head, then snatching up little Jesusa, just four years old, I bore her to the beach for a dip in the surf. "How rich you are," said the little creature, as I commenced disrobing. "Why?"—"Because you wear stockings." And this, indeed, is one of the distinctive marks of wealth among the lower orders throughout Mexico.
It not unfrequently happened, that reports were circulated, without much foundation, that the troops outside were about to attack the post, and as a consequence the timid farmers living in the environs became alarmed, and would send their families to seek shelter within the fort. At times we would be gratified with fifty or sixty women and children visitors, huddled together quite contented and merry about the piazzas. They had learned to place full reliance upon their invaders, and whatever course we adopted was looked upon as the only correct and proper mode of acting. While testing the range of our guns one morning, a carronade was accidentally discharged, and a stand of grape-shot struck the lagoon below, dashing a shower of spray over a group of old crones washing on the banks. I immediately ran down to see if they were wounded, but I found them quite cool, and even surprised that I should have surmised such a thing. "Why?" said I. Porque, Capitan, usted es capaz para qualquiera cosa—because you Yankees have sense for everything.
On Sundays our receptions were more select; then the élite of Mazatlan extended their promenades around the works of the garrison, and would be induced to ascend the hill, and sip dulces or italia at our quarters in the casa blanca. The gentlemen would glance over the newspapers detailing revolutions or pronunciamentos in the interior, when casting up their eyes, with a simultaneous puff of cigar smoke, would exclaim—Ay! pobre Mexico! and one had the sense to observe, that the war was death to Mexicans, but life to Mexico. But of one fact no logic could convince them—that our worthy collector of the Duana returned all he received to the government—so wonderful a dispensation, that an honest administrador could be found in any position was entirely beyond their comprehension. The ladies were generally very curious and inquisitive, and after affording all the information we possessed, relating to domestic economy and dress, once a pair of lovely señoras, after mature reflection, apparently having made up their minds, favored me in this strain: "Without doubt, you North Americans are very good people, and you don't beat your wives; but then you don't know how to lavish money on ladies like our own countrymen!" But I interposed—"We feel obliged to pay our debts, and then pleasure afterwards." "Bah que importa," said they; "all we know is, that where you Yankees give a dollar, our people shower gold."
CHAPTER XXVI.
Soon after the occupation of Mazatlan, I made the acquaintance of a young Mexican girl, of a respectable family in Guadalajara, who had eloped with her lover, an officer stationed in this province. She was better educated, far more intelligent than the generality of her countrywomen, and with all the graceful, winning ways, peculiar to Creoles. She was living with an old relative, in a cottage near the skirts of the town, and I frequently sought her society, listened to the low, sweet cançioncitas of her native land, or, seated beneath the shade of a spreading tree in the inner patio, she would recite by the hour old legendary redondillas and ballads of Mexico, while her servant played with the sweeping masses of her jet-black hair: she was very proud of it, and often told me, that when she became poor, it would serve her for a mantilla. She had soft feminine features, pale complexion, lighted by large, languid, dark eyes. She was a tall and slender girl, but with the smallest feet I ever beheld. This was Dolores. Her mind appeared to partake of the mournful signification of her name, and, even during her gayest moments, she was always tinged with sadness. Poor Lola! she was thinking of her lover, who had left with the troops on our coming.