She was all on fire about the war and her father’s enemies, and Ned was ready to tell her all he knew of the American army, if not a little more. At least, he described to her the elegant uniforms which were worn on parade occasions by the New York City militia regiments, feathers, flags, brass bands, and all, rather than the external appearance of any martial array that General Taylor was likely to take with him when he invaded Mexico. Felicia was especially interested in those magnificent brass bands and wished that she could have some of them taken prisoners to come and play in front of her house, but all the while they were talking he was glancing furtively around the room. This had undergone a remarkable change during his brief absence. The trophies of arms were all gone, and the wonderful Seville coffee-urn had disappeared. Perhaps it had walked away, beyond the reach of possible thieves, and with it may have gone the other silverware of the Tassara family. Señorita Felicia’s quick eyes had followed his own, for she was watching him.
“Yes, Señor Carfora,” she said, “it’s all gone. The china is all stored away in the deep cellar. I don’t believe they could find it, and if they did they could not carry it away to melt it up and make dollars of it. That’s what they did with all the silver one of my aunts had, except some spoons that were hid in the stable, under the hay. One of the robbers went into the stable to hunt, too, and a good mule kicked him dead. If anybody comes to rob this house while we are gone, I wish he might be kicked by one of our mules at the hacienda. He would not steal any more.”
Ned had other things to tell her, about the United States forts, troops, and ships of war, and she had stories to tell with excited vivacity that set forth sadly enough the wretchedly unsettled condition of her country, which she appeared to love so well, after all. Troubled as it was, it was her own land, and she hated its enemies.
It was a hot, oppressive day, with a promise of greater heat soon to come, and the weather itself might be a good enough reason why any family should be in a hurry to get out of the tierra caliente. As for the removal of valuable property, Ned had already learned that Vera Cruz was haunted not only by bad characters from the interior, but by desperadoes from up and down the coast and from the West India Islands. He was not near enough to hear, however, when Zuroaga remarked to his friend Tassara:
“You are right, my dear colonel. The Americans will hold the Texan border with a strong hand, but if Paredes does not promptly come to terms with them, we shall see a fleet and army at Vera Cruz before long. This is the weak point of our unhappy republic.”
“I think not,” replied Tassara, gloomily. “I wish it were a solid nation, as strong as the castle out yonder. Our weak point is that we are cut up into factions, and cannot make use of the strength that we really have undeveloped. As for anything else, one case of yellow fever was reported yesterday, and I am informed that his Excellency, President Paredes, talks of coming here shortly to confer with Colonel Guerra. That may mean trouble for him, and neither you nor I would wish to be brought before any such council of war as might be called together.”
“It might not consist altogether of our friends,” said Zuroaga. “In my case, if not in yours, it might be followed quickly by an order for a file of soldiers and a volley of musketry. I should not look for mercy from a tiger.”
“On the other hand,” responded the colonel, “it would be well for him to be careful just now. He will need all the strength he can obtain.”
“Humph!” exclaimed Zuroaga. “He will try to leave no living, or, at least, no unimprisoned enemies behind him when he marches for the border.”
It was plain that they were not to be numbered among their President’s friends, whether or not they were altogether just to him. Bloody severity in putting down sedition was the long-established custom in Mexico, and one man might not be more to blame for it than another. It had been handed down from the old days of Spanish rule, and the record which had been made is not by any means pleasant reading.