Page:On the border with Crook - Bourke - 1892.djvu/185

 that country was the scene of the liveliest kind of a time between the French and the native Mexicans, and while the hostile factions of the Gandaras and the Pesquieras were doing their best to destroy what little the rapacity of the Gallic invaders left intact. Johnnie was rudely awakened one night by a loud rapping at the door of the hut in which he had taken shelter, and learned, to his great surprise, that he was needed as a "voluntario," which meant, as nearly as he could understand, that he was to put on handcuffs and march with the squad to division headquarters, and there be assigned to a company. In vain he explained, or thought he was explaining, that he was an American citizen and not subject to conscription. All the satisfaction he got was to be told that every morning and evening he was to cheer "for our noble Constitution and for General Pesquiera."

After all, it was not such a very hard life. The marches were short, and the country well filled with chickens, eggs, and goats. What more could a soldier want? So, our friend did not complain, and went about his few duties with cheerfulness, and was making rapid progress in the shibboleth of "Long live our noble Constitution and General Pesquiera,"—when, one evening, the first sergeant of his company hit him a violent slap on the side of the head, and said: "You idiot, do you not know enough to cheer for General Gandara?" And then it was that poor Johnnie learned for the first time—he had been absent for several days on a foraging expedition and had just returned—that the general commanding had sold out the whole division to General Gandara the previous day for a dollar and six bits a head.

This was the last straw. Johnnie Hart was willing to fight, and it made very little difference to him on which side; but he could not put up with such a sudden swinging of the pendulum, and as he expressed it, "made up his mind to skip the hull outfit 'n punch the breeze fur Maz'tlan."

All the packers were sociable, and inclined to be friendly to every one. The Spaniards, like "Chileno John," José de Leon, Lauriano Gomez, and others, were never more happy—work completed—than in explaining their language to such Americans as evinced a desire to learn it. Gomez was well posted in Spanish literature, especially poetry, and would often recite for us with much animation and expression the verses of his native tongue. He preferred the madrigals and love ditties of all kinds; and was