Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 22, Number 21, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 November 1900 — THE TEXAS CRUISER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE TEXAS CRUISER

—BY— T. BURLINGAME ROSS

CHAPTER Vl.— (Continued.) K.' Two days passed away from the time •Of the announcement to her of Tudel’s H - .return, and on the afternoon of the tliird <that man called again. As Irene had expected, he came to her apartment alone. He smiled when he came in, and having reached the place where the maiden sat, fe. - he extended his hand; she took it, and without a shudder. She gazed calmly up•on him. There was in her soul a con•acious superiority to the man before her, aj and yet, as much as she had cause to a.. • •dread him, her only feeling now in his .•presence was one of deep, unmitigated 1 disgust. “Irene,” said the visitor, in a tone r which he meant should have been very sweet, but which sounded like the grat--ing hinges when too carefully moved, 1 ’"you came very nigh losing me.” “Ah, is it possible?” uttered the maid- ■' <n, in a tone too calm for terror!! and yet | too sarcastic for joy. - a . “Yes; I came nigh being a lost man. I tell into the hands of a prowling Yankee —* Texafi cruiser,” resumed Tudel. f “Ah!" said Irene, in a very guarded tone. l “Yes; and but for my own wit and bold 'daring, I should now have been in a Texan prison.” “Ah," said Irene again, more guarded L -oven than before. “Who was it captured -ZOU?” j rr “A fellow named Howard. He comBunded a heavy vessel called the Lone i Star." The maiden said nothing to this; she only let her hand drop upon a sheet of music before her, and as soon as her nerves were steady, she picked it up and jran her eyes over the notes. “But I made my escape,” pursued the dilark lover, taking no note of his com- ’ panion’s peculiar emotions. “I was put •in double irons, stout and strong—but I ■xwwt them off. There was a stout man ■watching over me —but I overcame him — /.killed him on the spot, and then "“Killed him!” uttered Irene, in a quick, 'terrified whisper. “Ay; of course I did.” “Killed Captain Howard?” gasped the /maiden, letting both her hands drop, and i seising the edge of the table. “No, not exactly him; though I wish it • have been him. It was the senti>nel he posted over me. But why does it umove you so? What had it been to you ■U I had killed the whole Yankee crew?” “Nothing, nothing,” whispered Irene, I -with a mighty struggle; “only I thought ■ •■of your hands being red with the blood of I . one who had spared your own life. {“Bah! He would have given me up nto his judges as a pirate, if he could. He 'would have brought me to the gallows, if It had been in his power. That is sparing my life with a vengeance!” Irene soon composed herself, and then she said, with the old coldness upon her: “You were very fortunate in thus escaping, for of course the Texans would fcave hung you if they had found you in their power long enough.” “Ay, lady, I was most fortunate; and yet, in all the risk I ran, the thought of ■meeting you once more was all that nerved me on. Ah, am I not fortunate in thus being spared to bask in the sunlight of your smiles once more.” “Did you ever see me smile, senor?” the maiden asked, in a quaint tone. I “Well— really—l don’t know as I ever tld. But you will smile; you must smile * when you are tny wife.” “Perhaps I ought to.” “You ought to, and you must, sweet lady. Why, ’twould be like night all the time to have a sun that would give no ■light. I think you do smile sometimes.” “When I am happy, senor.” “Then it shall be the work of my every thought to make you happy, Irene.” “You can do so very easily, senor.” “Ah— pray tell me how.” I - “Jilok Tudel, leave me, and never think again of making me your wife, and I will not only be very happy, but I will bless you from the very depths of my soul.” “Why couldn’t you add. just by way of filling up the pleasant measure, that the cutting off my head would heighten your joy?— because of course I should do it. , O, yes—of course.” ■ The man spoke this in a tone half of T anger, and half of irony; but he did not ■ «llow his passion to manifest itself. " “Do not misunderstand me, senor,” Irene returned, very calmly. . “I do not wish you harm. 1 only wish peace for myself.” “So if I should take a fancy for your head, and ask you to let me chop it off, I might swear that I wished you no harm, but only joy to myself. But it won’t work, lady- I thought that part of the business was settled. When- I reckon cp my observation at noon, after I have taken the sun, I don't stop to find if two and two make four, because that was settled way back in the first lesson of mathematics. And so with this sum; that you are to be my wife is one of the solid (■> facts of the past, that must last through all coming time; so now we have only to reckon up from that. I hope you under •tend.” “Yes, senor—very well.” L 'Tm glad of that, because you’ll know Napw how to work. But I will just say— Jmb ft*tfour present satisfaction and for your inforlhnlion for the future, and for your guidance,,"W, that nothing on the face of the earth can induce me to give you up. Nothing—not even death itself. Co just consider that fettled.” “Certainly, senor—if you say so.” **Well, I do say so; and I mean it, too. JI nd now to something more important —now to working out the sum. When •shall we be married?” «’ “As my wishes are not consulted in the .ather matter, I see not why they should be In this,” replied Irene, directly. "Because J explained to you that the fret proposition is an already established r ;'<aet; »o there Is no need of consulting Z s any one about that part.” »•1 “But I might surely haye been consult- ' before the fact, as you are pleased to , call It, vr« substantiated." , The pirate lover shook his head and , *Ah” be uttered, “when this fact was ■feMOon were not quits sensible enough

to discuss the subject “Explain, senor.” “You were an infant—not over two years old —when your father promised me your hand. Now you understand it. And now tell me what you think of the second part? when shall we be married?” “If I must be your wife, senor, let me at least have some little time to prepare. Say— a—inon th.” “You have hit rightly, lady. Your father and I had set that very time.” After this, Tudel vyent into a long account of hia plans for the future; and also related the story of his capture, though in this latter course he drew about as much upon his fancy as in the former, being careful to magnify the size of the vessel and the number of the men, by which he had been overcome. And after this he took his leave, promising to call again soon. It was after sundown when Tudel left, and as the maidfen sat there in. her room alone and gazed out upon the garden, she soon forgot the man who had just left her, and her mind went away after an other—after one who held a deeper seat in her heart, and whose image formed the clustering point of all her earthly hopes. So deeply engaged was she that she noticed not the entrance of another person into her apartment, and it was not until a light hand was laid upon her shoulder that she realized the presence of an intruder. She looked quickly around, and met the gaze of Cassandra, her maid. This newcomer -was a small, black-eyed girl, not over seventeen years of age, with fair and handsome features, and , exhibiting a degree of wit and intelligence seldom found in one of her class and station. She was of Creole stock, an orphan, and had been with Irene from early childhood, her father having been a ranchero living upon a small farm belonging to St. Marc. “Cassandra,” said Irene, speaking in that sure mantier which would indicate that she was broaching no new thought, “suppose I were to be cast out o„n the world, a wanderer and beggar?” “Then I would wander and beg with you,” the girl replied, quickly and with a beaming eye. “If I should ask you,” said Irene. “No, no—you should not drive me from you,” cried Cassandra, throwing her arms about the neck of her mistress. “I would beg my food from door to door, ere I would take the dark pirate for my husband.” Irene made no reply, but" bowed her head and burst into tears. CHAPTER VII. Both Clarence Howard and the boy Peter had procured disguises, and after much debate with himself, the young captain resolved to go by water as far as Matamoras, and from there to take his way as should then seem best. The next mission of the Lone Star was to go to New Orleans, and as soon as the full complement of men could be made up, Mr. Lofton agreed to take command during his superior’s absence. Ere long, Clarence found a small coaster which would take him to the mouth of the Rio Grande, which was distant nearly three hundred miles. It was an old schooner which had been used for carrying game and produce up and down the rivers, and along the coast, and though by no means much of a sea boat, yet she would answer every purpose for so short and safe a voyage. It was early morning when the old schooner got up her anchor, and as Howard lent a hand at the windlass and at the halliards, he was very quickly on excellent terms with the crew. The skipper’s name was Max Winter. He was a short, stumpy fellow, some five-and-forty years of age, and spent about half his time in the woods with his rifle and traps. The second in command was an Arkansas ranger, named .Tack Sloan, and about Winter’s age. And then there were five men besides who constituted the crew. They were stout, hardy fellows, all hunters, and used to the dark and rough ways of life, following their leader in everything—at one time away at the headwaters of the great rivers after game, and at another running their old schooner about the coast, selling the product of their labors.

When the schooner had cleared the southern point of Galveston Island, the wind was found to be so near south that they had to beat their way down the coast. Max knew nothing of the use of the sextant or the quadrant, and it was very seldom that he was willing to trust himself where it could become absolutely necessary that he should be guided by the compass, though he had a good tight binnacle and a good compass in it. The consequence of all this was that the old skipper seldom let his vessel get him out of sight of land. The day passed away, and the next morning they found that they had gained just about fifty miles on their way, which gave them a log of i about two miles an hour on thlir direct • course. “I guess we’d do better to stand out farther,” suggested Clarence, as he made out the land upon the starboard bow. “’T don’t do, ye know, for hens to vejitur arter ducks,” replied Max, "but I tell ye what, Capt’in Howard, es you’ll keep the reck’nin’ an’ bring us to land agin, why, out ’tis. Eh?” Of CdUgse Clarence assented to this, and as the wind still remained to the south’rd, the eld schooner was put upon the starboard tack, and stood out into the gulf. At nine o’clock the land was out of sight, but Clarence kept her on till noon. “Aren’t It best to be standin’ in afore long?” said Max, rather suggestively. “Pretty soon,” returned Clarence. “I want to run about half an hour more, . and then we shall easily fetch the Padre Lagoon to-night.” “Eh—d’ye think so?” “I know we shall if the wind don’t go down,” was Howard’s confident reply. But there were other things beside the winds to be considered, and which Clarence did not think of. He did not consider that vessels had before that time sprang aleak at sea, and gone down.

Perhaps that was because he had always been in the habit of sailing in new, staunch crafts, and hence did not allow for the age and. infirmities of the one he was now in. And again, before that time venturesome vessels had been captured by Mexican cruisers when too far from shore to make good their escape. But perhaps Clarence, having always before been rather anxious to meet these same cruisers than otherwise, forgot the comparative weakness of the craft he was now in. However, at one o’clock the schooner’s head was put to the south’rd and west’rd, and she behaved herself very well. All went on nicely till about half past one o’clock, and then one of the men at the bows reported a sail. “Where away?” asked Clarence. “Right straight ahead,” replied the man. Clarence looked, and he saw a brig not over four miles distant. It might have been seen some time before, had any one been on the lookout, but the man whom Clarence had requested to perform that duty had been attending to something else. “What d’ye s’pose ’tis?” asked Max. “Have you a glass?” asked the young man, in return. "Yes. Spyglass, ye mean?” “Certainly.” “Got a sort of a one down in the cabin.” And thus speaking he went down and brought it up. The glass proved to be an excellent one, and Clarence was not long in making the stranger out to be a Mexican; and an armed vessel at that. “And she is standing directly for us, loo,” concluded he, as he lowered the glass. “Then what’ll we do?” asked Max “By the great bar, es I was ashore now I’d know drefful quick what to - do; but; ye see, here on the water I don’t stan' a fair chance. Ken we run away from the fellow?” “I’m afraid not,” replied Clarence. “That fellow is directly to the windward of us, and I am sure his best point of sailing is with the wind abaft his beam, while that is our worst. Before the wind we might run off seven knots, While that chap can run nine; so you see he’d overhaul us in two hours at the farthest.” "Then we’re as good as trapped, eh?” “I’m afraid so.” It was quickly arranged that the schooner should be kept away and run for the land; so the sheets were eased off and the helm put up, and as soon as the brig could notice the movement she turned her course more to the northward. “Captain Winter,” said Clarence, “I am sorry I got you out here, for upon my soul, I did not think of this.” “Don’t be sorry on my account.” returned Max. “I ha’n’t got no blame for ye. Es I’d a had the knowledge I should ’a’ run out here myself, so let that drop. But we’re in a bad pickle, though, and no mistake. What ken we do?” “I know of no way but to surrender,” returned Clarence. “We’ve got our rifles wi’ us. Would them be of any kind o’ use?” “Why no£?” uttered Clarence, starting with the thought; “how far can you shoot with any certainty?” “Almost a mile, with our tight slugs.” “By heavens, Max, let’s have them loaded. It’s a new mode of naval warfare, but it may work well.” Max immediately ordered his men to get up their rifles —they had two each, and some three —and load them. They were quickly brought up, and Clarence knew, the moment he looked at them, that they would do much execution; they were the heavy, long hunting rifle, made for great range, and faithful to their aim. When one of their balls missed its mark its owner knew that he alone was to blame. The brig was• now a little over two miles distant, and her character could be more plainly made out. She carried sixteen guns, and appeared to have a full complement of men, though Clarence could see that she was not handled with much skill.

“They’re a set of lubbers as stye as the world,” he said, “and if I am not much mistaken, I <;an handle the schooner so as to bother them some; they’re some squad of rancheros or leperos, who may have smelled salt water some, and have taken advantage of a letter of marque to change the field of their robberies. Let the schooner be put off a little, and when she gets within sfiooting distance we’ll try a new scheme.” , Captain Winter had the utmost confidence in the young commander’s capacity for handling the schooner, and he fell in with all Clarence proposed. “And now there is one thing more,” resumed our hero, after a moment’s thought. “I had started on a peculiar mission, and I took everything 1' could think of that I might need. Among other things, I have a lot of small, keen files, with edges like saws. Now if we are taken by that fellow we shall be put.in irons and huddled together somewhere, and why may we not contrive some plan of escape? By my soul,” continued the youth, warming with zeal, as the plan more fully developed itself in his mind, “we may capture the brig, after all. Before she can bring a shot to bear upon us, we can pick off a number of her men; and then, after we are in irons on board their vessel, if we can get the shackles off undiscovered, why may we not overcome them at night, wh’en they think not of it? We won’t fight a moment after our own lives are fully at stake, for that would be madness. As soon as we find they must come alongside, we’ll surrender at once.” “But,” suggested Sloan, ‘'won’t they be likely to butcher us, out of clear revenge?” “Kevenge for what?” “Why, for shootin’ so many of their men, es we do shoot em, an' I think I ken shoot a few on ’em es my old shootin’ iron don’t rebel.” “Yon mistake these fellows.” said Clarence, with a pitying look. “The poor wretches will thank us roundly for every one of their number we kill. Your cargo is a pretty valuable one, worth how much?” “P’r'aps three thousand dollars, besides what money we’ve got, which is a thousand more,” replied Sloan. “Then I have a little." resumed Clarence; “but call it four thousand dollars. These fellow’s are bound together by no other ties but those of aid in plunder; and you may be sure they will much prefer to divide that plunder only among ten than among fifty. You understand now?” “Yes," said Sloan. “And it’s jeat like ’em, too.” After this, Clarence went down to his cheat, and from thence took a bundle of

tools whien ne carried on decK. In ths first place he had two curiously constructed saws; the bows were of stout steel wire, covered with cotton cloth, apd so shaped that they could be worn about the neck as a part of the shirt blading. Into these frames little saws, made like a watch spring in size, coujd be quickly set. One of these he kept himself, and the other he gave to Max Winter, after having explained to him how to use it, Then to each of the men and to Peter he gave two small, sharp files, which they were instructed to conceal in their shirt sleeves, just under the shodlder. After all this had befen attended to, and some instructions given about the best method to file off the Mexican shackles, their attention was once more turned to the brig. (To be continued.) m 2 .