CHAPTER III.
BEFORE MONTEREY.
It is not necessary to describe the particular proceedings of the Dashahed Zouaves during every day of their camp life. They chattered, played, drilled, quarrelled a little once in a while, and made it up again, eat and slept considerably, and grew sunburnt to an astonishing degree.
It was Thursday morning, the fourth of their delightful days in camp. Jerry had been teaching them how to handle a musket and charge bayonets, until they were quite excited, and rather put out that there was no enemy to practise on but the grasshoppers. At length, when they had tried everything that was to be done, Harry exclaimed, "I wish, Jerry, you would tell us a story about the wars! Something real splendid, now; perfectly crammed with Indians and scalps and awful battles and elegant Mexican palaces full of diamonds and gold saucepans and lovely Spanish girls carried off by the hair of their heads!"
This flourishing rigmarole, which Harry delivered regardless of stops, made the boys shout with laughter.
"You'd better tell the story yourself, since you know so much about it!" said Tom.
"I allow you've never been in Mexico, sir," said Jerry, grinning. "I doubt but thar's palisses somewhar in Mexico, but I and my mates hev been thar, an' we never seed none o' 'em. No, Master Harry, I can't tell ye sich stories as that, but I do mind a thing what happened on the field afore Monterey."
The boys, delightedly exclaiming, "A story! a story! hurrah!" drew their camp stools around him; and Jerry, after slowly rubbing his hand round and round over his bristling chin, while he considered what to say first, began his story as follows: