“Very well, then. If you will follow me I will conduct you to General de Guzman.”
The four Americans exchanged glances of real dismay. They had figured on the general of the insurgents being miles away with the other army. As they learned afterward, however, their bad luck had brought him to the army of the north that very morning to tender his congratulations for its brilliant victory of the day before.
Undesirous as they were of meeting General de Guzman, who might prove to be more astute than the young officer, there was no help for it. They were fairly in for it. With somewhat downcast faces they followed their guide past the formidable rows of artillery and within the insurgent lines. So far as they could judge it was quite as well organized and better supplied with arms than that of the government. The men, cheered by their victories, appeared, too, to be in better mood than the Costavezans. Laughter was everywhere, and a degree of order and cleanliness not often found in South American insurgent forces.
“Evidently General de Guzman is a good commander,” thought Ned.
From time to time as they passed among the troops the young officer pointed out things of interest. If he had not already been so anxious over the result of their interview with the general, Midshipman Stark’s heart would have smote him for the deception he was practicing on this kind-hearted young host.
“You have seen service elsewhere?” he asked, as they walked along.
“Oh, yes, senor. I was with the Spanish troops in Morocco. We had what the Yankees call a ‘hot time’ there.”
“You do not like Yankees, as you call them.”