The bottles were not all empty as yet, nor the revellers satisfied to leave them till they should be so. Besides, there was no particular need of haste for another hour or two. So they stuck to the table, smoking, drinking, and toasting many things, as persons, among the latter their lately joined allies—the Irlandes and Tejano, about whose proved valour on other fields, of which they had heard, the Free Lances were enthusiastically eloquent.
Kearney, speaking in their own tongue, made appropriate response; while Rock, when told he had been toasted, delivered himself in characteristic strain, saying:—
“Feller-citizens,—For since I tuk up yur cause, I reck’n you’ll gi’e me leave to call ye so—it air a glad thing to this chile to think he’ll soon hev a bit o’ fightin’. An’ ’specially as it’s to be agin ole Santy, the durned skunk. By the jumpin’ Geehosofat! if Cris Rock iver gits longside him agin, as he war on’t San Jacinty, there wan’t be no more meercy for the cussed tyrant, same as, like a set of fools, we Texans showed him thar an’ then. Tell them what I sayed, Cap.”
With which abrupt wind-up he dropped back upon his seat, gulping down a tumblerful of best Madeira, as though it were table-beer.
Kearney did tell them, translating his comrade’s speech faithfully as the patois would permit; which heightened their enthusiasm, many of them starting to their feet, rushing round the table, and, Mexican fashion, enfolding the Tejano in friendly embrace.
The hugging at an end, there was yet another toast to follow, the same which always wound up the festivals of the “Free Lances,” whatever the occasion. Their leader, as often before, now again pronounced it—
“Patria y Libertad”.
And never before did it have more enthusiastic reception, the cheer that rang through the old convent, louder than any laughter of monks who may have ever made it their home.
Ere it had ceased reverberating, the door of the Refectory was suddenly pushed open, and a man rushed into the room, as he entered, crying out—
“Traicion!”