Chapter Thirty.
Lord Claymore on Shore—Morton again meets Edda—Ronald’s new Friend, Don Josef.
The frigate continued her cruise further to the south; she touched at several places, and Lord Claymore or Morton went constantly on shore to urge the Spanish authorities and the people to take up arms, and to assist in organising their forces. From the information the captain received, he considered it important to communicate with some influential people a short way in the interior. He gave his instructions to Morton, therefore, and directed him to take two men as a body-guard, and to set off at once. Ronald selected Truefitt and Doull, the first for his steadiness and the other for his cool courage, and having procured a guide and a horse, and two wretched mules which had been too decrepit for the enemy to carry off, proceeded on his mission.
Ronald and his guide rode on ahead, the two seamen following. Neither of them were better horsemen than are sailors in general, but they were at all events able to stick on, in spite of the kicks and stumbles and flounders their animals occasionally gave; each was armed with a good thick stick, besides a cutlass by his side and a brace of pistols in his belt. “This is a pleasanter sort of a cruise, mate, to my notion, than we’ve had the chance of for many a day,” observed Doull.
“Keep up on your four legs, you brute, now. The people here, though, seems to me to be an outlandish set; did you ever hear such a rum way of speaking as they’ve got? they all seem to have got lumps of biscuit or duff, or something of that sort, down their throats.”
“That’s the way they have. Different people speak a different lingo, just as different animals make different noises,” answered Job, sententiously. “I can’t say as how I likes these Dons; they’ve too stuck up and stand clear a manner about them to please me.”
“That’s my notion, too, Job,” said Bob. “I like the Mounseers a precious sight better; when one is friends with them, they take to our ways a hundred-fold better than these Dons. They’ll talk and laugh away, and drink too, with a fellow, just for all the world as if they were as regular born Christians as we are. That’s what a Don will never do; he won’t drink with you, he won’t talk to you, he won’t laugh or dance, and what’s more, he won’t fight with you; and that’s what the Mounseers never refuses to do, and that’s why I likes them.”
Morton enjoyed the change very much, from his usual life on board ship; he had not the same objection to the Spaniards as had his followers, and as he had now sufficiently mastered their language to converse with ease, he was never at a loss for amusement, and was able to obtain all the information he required about the country. Three days were consumed in reaching his destination; the French, he found, had lately been in that part of the country, but had retired northward. The people were anxious to drive the French out of their country, but they wanted arms, and money, and leaders.
Ronald was treated with great courtesy wherever he appeared, and he felt himself a much more important personage than he had ever before been. He had concluded the work on which he had been sent, and was about to return to his ship, when one of the Spanish officials informed him that he had received notification of the approach of a British commissioner, a military officer, to assist them in organising their forces.
“He must be a great man, an important person,” observed the Spaniard; “for he travels with many attendants, and his wife and family. No Spanish ladies would dream of travelling about the country at a time like this.”