“Explain, Captain; explain!” said the ladies, appealing to me with looks of anxiety.
I saw that concealment would be idle. The major had fired the train.
“It gives me pain, ladies,” said I, speaking in Spanish, “to inform you that you must be disappointed. I fear the return of your brother to-day is impossible.”
“But why, Captain?—why?”
“Our lines are completely around Vera Cruz, and all intercourse to and from the city is at an end.”
Had a shell fallen into Don Cosmé’s drawing-room it could not have caused a greater change in the feelings of its inmates. Knowing nothing of military life, they had no idea that our presence there had drawn an impassable barrier between them and a much-loved member of their family. In a seclusion almost hermetical they knew that a war existed between their country and the United States; but that was far away upon the Rio Grande. They had heard, moreover, that our fleet lay off Vera Cruz, and the pealing of the distant thunder of San Juan had from time to time reached their ears; but they had not dreamed, on seeing us, that the city was invested by land. The truth was now clear; and the anguish of the mother and daughters became afflicting when we informed them of what we were unable to conceal—that it was the intention of the American commander to bombard the city.
The scene was to us deeply distressing.
Dona Joaquina wrung her hands, and called upon the Virgin with all the earnestness of entreaty. The sisters clung alternately to their mother and Don Cosmé, weeping and crying aloud, “Pobre Narcisso! nuestro hermanito—le asesinaran!” (Poor Narcisso, our little brother!—they will murder him!)
In the midst of this distressing scene the door of the drawing-room was thrown suddenly open, and a servant rushed in, shouting in an agitated voice, “El norté! el norté!”