Lantejas was about to open his mouth, and inquire the nature of this confidential mission, when he was interrupted by the entrance of two men into the tent. One of these was Costal the Indian; the other was a stranger both to Morelos and the captain. The latter was again about to retire, when Morelos signed him to stay.
“There’s the General,” said Costal, pointing out the commander-in-chief to the man who accompanied him, and who was in the costume of a Spanish officer.
The latter regarded for an instant, and not without surprise, the simply-clad individual whose name at that moment had become so widely renowned. Although evidently a person of imperturbable coolness, the stranger said nothing, leaving it to the General to open the conversation.
“Who are you, my friend, and what do you want?” inquired Morelos.
“To speak a word in confidence with you,” replied the man. “This individual,” continued he, pointing to Costal, “whom I encountered philosophising upon the sea-beach, has promised me that his word would enable me to obtain an interview with your Excellency, and safe conduct through your camp. On this promise I have followed him.”
“Costal,” said the General, “was my first bugler, and with his great conch sounded the signals to less than twenty horsemen, who at that time composed my whole army. I confirm the parole he has given you. Speak freely.”
“With your Excellency’s permission, then, my name is Pepe Gago. I am a Gallician, an officer of artillery, and command a battery in the castle of Acapulco—which your Excellency, if I am not mistaken, desires to capture.”
“It is a pleasure which I intend affording myself one of these days.”
“Perhaps your Excellency is confounding the castle with the town? The latter you can take whenever it pleases you.”
“I know that.”