The thought had struck me that a Spaniard of Don Cosmé’s evident rank and wealth might be enabled to procure access to the city by means of his consul, and through the Spanish ship of war that I recollected was lying off San Juan.
“Oh! name it, Captain; name it!” cried he, while at the word “hope” the ladies had rushed forward, and stood clinging around me.
“There is a Spanish ship of war lying under the walls of Vera Cruz.”
“We know it—we know it!” replied Don Cosmé eagerly.
“Ah! you know it, then?”
“Oh, yes!” said Guadalupe. “Don Santiago is on board of her.”
“Don Santiago?” inquired I; “who is he?”
“He is a relation of ours, Captain,” said Don Cosmé; “an officer in the Spanish navy.”
This information pained me, although I scarcely knew why.
“You have a friend, then, aboard the Spanish ship,” said I to the elder of the sisters. “’Tis well; it will be in his power to restore to you your brother.”