BRITISH MYSTERIES - Fergus Hume Collection: 21 Thriller Novels in One Volume. Fergus Hume
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understood the manœuvres of The Columbus, were cheering vigorously for Don Hypolito.
“Wait you dogs,” cried Jack, shaking his fists at them; “soon shall you sing another tune.”
“By all the saints so shall we,” said Tim, wisely: “unless the forts keep off the transports we’ll have another two thousand troops down there this night, and then—it’s wigs on the green there will be.”
“I agree with you, Tim—unless the reinforcements arrive.”
“Even then, four thousand attacking a town can do a powerful lot, and when the reinforcements arrive we’ll only have one thousand five hundred to put against them. However, let us not despair,” added Tim, philosophically. “Come with me, Don Juan, and we’ll look over the town. Then we’ll go and see if there is any sign of the new troops.”
Jack assented, and descending from the ramparts they made their way through the town to the house where Tim had his quarters. The streets were filled with soldiers, who mostly looked smart, and well fitted for their work. Here and there were wounded men, and a few sick with malarian fever from the adjacent swamp, but on the whole it was wonderful how healthy was the town. Twice had the rebels assaulted the walls and twice been beaten back, not without considerable loss of men on the side of the loyalists. Fortunately, provisions were plentiful, and it was the cool season, therefore the troops of the Junta were in comparatively good condition. Despite their small numbers, they were so heartened by the sinking of The Pizarro, that it was plain they would fight like fiends to hold Janjalla until aid arrived from the capital.
The townspeople took the fact of being besieged in the most contented manner, and hardly interrupted their daily occupations. In the streets the tortilleras were crying their wares, the water-carriers proclaiming the fact that they sold “aqua limpia,” and, but for the unusual number of soldiers, it would have been quite impossible to see that the city was in the very jaws of danger. At times a woman wrapped in the rebozo would pass along the street, but as a rule they kept within doors, and showed themselves but rarely. In the plazas men were being drilled, and many of the houses were used as hospitals for the sick and wounded.
Tim and Jack made their way through the crowded streets, and duly arrived at the former’s quarters, where they found Peter eagerly expecting them. He was weary of being by himself, and when he heard they were going to the land-gate to seek news of the reinforcements, insisted on accompanying them. After taking a drink of aguardiente, of which they stood much in need, owing to the exhaustion caused by excitement, the three friends set off at once to see if they could hear anything about the expected troops.
Don Sebastian was fraternising with the captain in command of the cavalry, as his own troops had been sent forward to the sea ramparts. The mounted regiments were stationed at this end of the town as they were more useful in sallies than were the infantry. This was proved by the way in which they had succoured the soldiers from The Iturbide, as only horse-men could have kept the rebel troops at bay.
“No signs yet, Señor,” said Don Sebastian, politely; “but half an hour ago the general sent out two Indian scouts with instructions to inquire at Centeotl for our men.”
“That is twenty miles away.”
“Yes; but these Indians travel fast. Before midnight we shall hear news of our troops—that is if they get as far south as Centeotl.”
“And before midnight Xuarez will have landed his new regiments,” said Tim, turning away. “Well, there’s no help for it, I suppose. Come, Jack and Peter, ‘tis no use waiting here. We must wait till these scouts return.”
“And meanwhile, Tim?”
“Come with me to the telegraph-office. I’m going to send an account of the sea-fight to my paper.”
“You are sure the wires are not cut to the southward?” said Peter, as they trudged along to the office.
“They weren’t this morning anyhow. Why should they cut them? All they want to do is to intercept communication with the capital. They don’t care two straws what goes to England.”
“Xuarez does. He told me so.”
“Ah! but, you see, Xuarez is not here at present, and has forgotten to give orders to cut them. When he arrives again, he’ll do it, maybe.”
“Well, seeing that he wishes the world to look on him as a noble patriot, he certainly won’t care about your wiring plain truths about him to the old country. He’ll either cut the wires or bring a war correspondent on his own hook.”
“A rival!” cried Tim, indignantly. “If I thought so, I’d shoulder a musket myself, and go out to shoot the dirty villain. Here’s the P.O., my boys! Peter! hold your noise. Jack’s going to give me a history of the fight.”
“I know as much about it as Jack does,” said Peter, in an injured tone, as they entered the office.
“Then I’ll let you put in a word here and there,” replied his friend, in a kind tone. “Why, Peter, I’d do anything to please you. Didn’t I think you were knocked out of time, entirely. Manuel, are the wires right?”
“Yes, Señor,” replied the operator, a dark alert-looking man; “all safe to Truxillo!”
“Bueno! Then they will be safe to England. Truxillo is in Honduras, and is as right as the Bank. Come, Jack, begin at once!”
They were over two hours at this business as, what with Jack’s roundabout descriptions and Peter’s interruptions, it took some time for Tim to get the story ship-shape. Then Manuel was constantly wiring the intelligence, as transmitted to him by Tim, who took full advantage of the licence given by his editor to send extensive telegrams. It was close on six o’clock when he finished, and he was just stretching himself with a yawn after his long spell of sitting, when outside a murmur began. It rapidly swelled into a roar and the three friends rushed out of the office to learn what new event had taken place. The telegraph-office was situated in the street which ran straight to the land-gate, and down this street they saw advancing a dense body of men.
“Vivas los soldatos! Viva el Republico!”
“Hurrah!” roared Tim, wildly, “‘tis the reinforcements!”
“There’s Philip!” cried Jack, pushing his way through the crowd.
“And wounded!” said Peter, noticing with a true professional eye that Cassim’s left arm hung useless by his side.
The Janjalla Band, stationed in the Plaza, burst out into the patriotic strains of the “Opal Fandango,” the crowd yelled and cheered, the soldiers tramped steadily down the street; and Tim, to the imminent danger of his life, flung himself almost under the feet of Philip’s horse.
“Philip, my dear boy! Here we are.”
“Tim! Jack! Thank God!” cried Philip, and urging his horse a little way to the side, jumped down from the saddle.
Tim gripped one hand, Jack the other, and Peter patted the baronet on the back. Philip looked worn and haggard, and winced as Tim seized his left hand.
“Are you wounded?” cried Tim, letting it go.
“Yes; but not badly! An Indian arrow through the fleshy part of the arm.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Jack, anxiously, “then Cocom was right. You have been attacked by Indians.”
“Two days ago! They surprised our camp by night, and came in in overwhelming force. Velez was unable to rally his men, and we were forced to retreat to Centeotl.”
“And how many men have you brought, Philip?”
“Six hundred!”
“And one thousand started from Tlatonac,” said Jack, sadly; “four hundred killed. Thank God, Philip, you at least are safe.”
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