The Rifle Rangers Part 4

"A nate shot that, I don't care who fired it," said Hennessy, coolly picking up his cap. "An inch of a miss--good as a mile," added he, thrusting his thumb into the bullet-hole.

By this time every officer present was upon his feet, most of them rushing towards the front of the marquee. A dozen voices called out together:

"Who fired that gun?"

There was no answer, and several plunged into the thicket in pursuit.

The chaparral was dark and silent, and these returned after a fruitless search.

"Some soldier, whose musket has gone off by accident," suggested Colonel Harding. "The fellow has run away, to avoid being put under arrest."

"Come, gentlemen, take your sates again," said Hennessy; "let the poor divil slide--yez may be thankful it wasn't a sh.e.l.l."

"You, Captain, have most cause to be grateful for the character of the missile."

"By my sowl, I don't know about that!--a sh.e.l.l or a twenty-four would have grazed me all the same; but a big shot would have been mighty inconvanient to the head of my friend Haller, here!"

This was true. My head was nearly in range; and had the shot been a large one, it would have struck me upon the left temple. As it was, I felt the "wind" of the bullet, and already began to suffer a painful sensation over the eye.

"I'm mighty curious to know which of us the fellow has missed, Captain,"

said Hennessy, turning to me as he spoke.

"If it were not a `bull' I should say I hope neither of us. I'm inclined to think, with Colonel Harding, that it was altogether an accident."

"By the powers! an ugly accident too, that has spoiled five dollars'

worth of an illigant cap, and a pint of as good brandy as ever was mixed with hot water and lemon-juice."

"Plenty left, Captain," cried the major. "Come, gentlemen, don't let this damp us; fill up! till up! Adge, out with the corks! Cudjo, where's the screw?"

"Never mind the screw, Mage," cried the adjutant, repeating his old trick upon the neck of a fresh bottle, which, nipped off under the wire, fell upon a heap of others that had preceded it.

And the wine again foamed and sparkled, and gla.s.ses circled round, and the noisy revelry waxed as loud as ever. The incident of the shot was soon forgotten. Songs were sung, and stories told, and toasts drunk; and with song and sentiment, and toast and story, and the wild excitement of wit and wine, the night waned away. With many of those young hearts, old with hope and burning with ambition, it was the last "Twenty-second" they would ever celebrate. Half of them never hailed another.

CHAPTER FIVE.

A SKELETON ADVENTURE.

It was past midnight when I withdrew from the scene of wa.s.sail. My blood was flushed, and I strolled down upon the beach to enjoy the cool fresh breeze that was flowing in from the Mexican Sea.

The scene before me was one of picturesque grandeur, and I paused a moment to gaze upon it. The wine even heightened its loveliness to an illusion.

The full round moon of the tropics was sweeping over a sky of cloudless blue. The stars were eclipsed and scarcely visible, except a few of the larger ones, as the belt of Orion, the planet Venus, and the luminous radii of the Southern Cross.

From my feet a broad band of silver stretched away to the horizon, marking the meridian of the moon. This was broken by the line of coral reef, over which the surf curled and sparkled with a phosphoric brightness. The reef itself, running all round, seemed to gird the islet in a circle of fire. Here only were the waves in motion, as if pressed by some subaqueous and invisible power; for beyond, scarcely a breath stirred the sleeping sea. It lay smooth and silent, while a satellite sky seemed caved out in its azure depths.

On the south, a hundred ships were in the deep roadstead, a cable's length from each other--their hulls, spars, and rigging magnified to gigantic proportions under the deceptive and tremulous moonbeam. They were motionless as if the sea had been frozen around them into a solid crystal. Their flags drooped listlessly down, trailing along the masts, or warped and twined around the halyards.

Up against the easy ascent extended the long rows of white tents, shining under the silvery moonbeam like pyramids of snow. In one a light was still gleaming through the canvas, where, perchance, some soldier sat up, wearily wiping his gun, or burnishing the bra.s.ses upon his belts.

Now and then dark forms--human and uniformed--pa.s.sed to and fro from tent to tent, each returning from a visit to some regimental comrade.

At equal distances round the camp others stood upright and motionless, the gleam of the musket showing the sentry on his silent post.

The plunge of an oar, as some boat was rowed out among the anch.o.r.ed ships--the ripple of the light breaker--at intervals the hail of a sentinel, "Who goes there?"--the low parley that followed--the chirp of the cicada in the dark jungle--or the scream of the sea-bird, scared by some submarine enemy from its watery rest--were the only sounds that disturbed the deep stillness of the night.

I continued my walk along the beach until I had reached that point of the island directly opposite to the mainland of Mexico. Here the chaparral grew thick and tangled, running down to the water's edge, where it ended in a clump of mangroves. As no troops were encamped here, the islet had not been cleared at this point, and the jungle was dark and solitary.

The moon was now going down, and straggling shadows began to fall upon the water.

Certainly some one skulked into the bushes!--a rustling in the leaves-- yes! some fellow who has strayed beyond the line of sentries and is afraid to return to camp. Ha! a boat! a skiff it is--a net and buoys!

As I live, 'tis a Mexican craft!--who can have brought it here? Some fisherman from the coast of Tuspan. No, he would not venture; it must be--

A strange suspicion flashed across my mind, and I rushed through the mangrove thicket, where I had observed the object a moment before. I had not proceeded fifty yards when I saw the folly of this movement. I found myself in the midst of a labyrinth, dark and dismal, surrounded by a wall of leaves and brambles. The branches of the mangroves, rooted at their tops, barred up the path, and vines laced them together.

"If they be spies," thought I, "I have taken the worst plan to catch them. I may as well go through now. I cannot be distant from the rear of the camp. Ugh! how dismal!"

I pushed on, climbing over fallen trunks, and twining myself through the viny cordage. The creepers clung to my neck--thorns penetrated my skin--the _mezquite_ slapped me in the face, drawing blood. I laid my hand upon a pendent limb; a clammy object struggled under my touch, with a terrified yet spiteful violence, and, freeing itself, sprang over my shoulder, and scampered off among the fallen leaves. I felt its fetid breath as the cold scales brushed against my cheek. It was the hideous iguana.

A huge bat flapped its sail-like wings in my face, and returned again and again, breathing a mephitic odour that caused me to gasp. Twice I struck at it with my sword, cutting only the empty air. A third time my blade was caught in the trellis of parasites. It was horrible; I felt terrified to contend with such strange enemies.

At length, after a continued struggle, an opening appeared before me--a glade; I rushed to the welcome spot.

"What a relief!" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, emerging from the leafy darkness.

Suddenly I started back with a cry of horror; my limbs refused to act; the sword fell from my grasp, and I stood palsied and transfixed, as if by a bolt from heaven.

Before me, and not over three paces distant, the image of Death himself rose out of the earth, and stretched forth his skeleton arms to clutch me. It was no phantom. There was the white, naked skull, with its eyeless sockets, the long, flesh-less limbs, the open, serrated ribs, the long, jointed fingers of Death himself.

As my bewildered brain took in these objects I heard a noise in the bushes as of persons engaged in an angry struggle.

"Emile, Emile!" cried a female voice, "you shall not murder him--you shall not!"

"Off! off!--Marie, let me go!" was shouted in the rough accents of a man.

"Oh, no!" continued the female, "you shall not--no--no--no!"

"Curses on the woman! There, let me go now!"

There was a sound as of someone struck with violence--a scream--and at the same moment a human figure rushed out of the bushes, and, confronting me, exclaimed: "Ha! Monsieur le Capitaine! _coup pour coup_!" I heard no more; a heavy blow, descending upon my temples, deprived me of all power, and I fell senseless to the earth. When I returned to consciousness the first objects I saw were the huge brown whiskers of Lincoln, then Lincoln himself, then the pale face of the boy Jack; and, finally, the forms of several soldiers of my company. I saw that I was in my own tent and stretched upon my camp-bed.

"What?--howl--what's the matter!--what's this?" I said, raising my hands to the bandage of wet linen that bound my temples.

"Keep still, Cap'n," said Bob, taking my hand from the fillet and placing it by my side.

"Och! by my sowl, he's over it; thank the Lord for His goodness!" said Chane, an Irish soldier.

"Over what? what has happened to me?" I inquired.

"Och, Captin, yer honour, you've been nearly murthered, and all by thim Frinch scoundhrels; bad luck to their dirty frog-atin' picthers!"