Taking the Frenchman, Raoul, along with me, I rode back until I had
placed him beyond the danger of the straggling plunderer, when we shook
hands and parted. As he left me, I turned to look after him. He still
sat in that attitude that betokens deep dejection, his shoulders bent
forward over the neck of his mule, while he gazed vacantly on the path.
My heart sank at the spectacle, and, sad and dispirited, I rode at a
lagging pace towards the camp.

Not a shot had as yet been fired against the town, but our batteries
were nearly perfected, and several mortars were mounted and ready to
fling in their deadly missiles. I knew that every shot and shell would
carry death into the devoted city, for there was not a point within its
walls out of range of a ten-inch howitzer. Women and children must
perish along with armed soldiers; and the boy--he, too, might be a
victim. Would this be the tidings I should carry to his home? And how
should I be received by her with such a tale upon my lips? Already had
I sent back a sorrowing father.

"Is there no way to save him, Raoul?"

"Captain?" inquired the man, starting at the vehemence of my manner.

A sudden thought had occurred to me.

"Are you well acquainted with Vera Cruz?"

"I know every street, Captain."

"Where do those arches lead that open from the sea? There is one on
each side of the mole."

I had observed these when visiting a friend, an officer of the navy, on
board his ship.

"They are conductors, Captain, to carry off the overflow of the sea
after a norther. They lead under the city, opening at various places.
I have had the pleasure of passing through them."

"Ha! How?"

"On a little smuggling expedition."

"It is possible, then, to reach the town by these?"

"Nothing easier, unless they may have a guard at the mouth; but that is
not likely. They would not dream of anyone's making the attempt."

"How would _you_ like to make it?"

"If the Captain wishes it, I will bring him a bottle of _eau-de-vie_
from the Cafe de Santa Anna."

"I do not wish you to go alone. I would accompany you."

"Think of it, Captain; there is risk for _you_ in such an undertaking.
_I_ may go safely. No one knows that I have joined you, I believe. If
_you_ are taken--."

"Yes, yes; I know well the result."

"The risk is not great, either," continued the Frenchman, in a
half-soliloquy. "Disguised as Mexicans, we might do it; you speak the
language as well a