Gustave Aimard
Stoneheart: A Romance
"Let us hear it, old friend."
"No precaution must be omitted in the perilous circumstances which surround us. We are here in an out-of-the-way place, far from any speedy and efficacious support. We may have to sustain a siege in the presidio, and run the risk of being starved out. I propose that a vessel be immediately despatched to the governor general of the state, to apprise him of our critical position, and to request reinforcements; for it is impossible, with our scanty forces, to hold out long against the invasion."
A profound and solemn silence followed this speech.
"What do you think of Major Barnum's advice?" said the colonel to his officers.
"We agree to it," said one of them, speaking in the name of the others; "and we think it ought to be put into execution without delay."
"I am of the same opinion," said Don José; "let it be so. Caballeros, you may retire."
And now they began to organise the defence with an energy inconceivable to those acquainted with the Spanish character, and the profound laziness which is one of its principal failings.
The terrible danger menacing them made all the inhabitants of the presidio responsible for each other; it seemed to give courage to those who had none, and redouble the ardour of the others.
Two hours later, troops of cattle were driven in and parked in the town, the streets barricaded, the guns supplied with ammunition, and the women and children shut up in the buildings within the fort.
A vessel had been despatched to the capital of the state, as had been agreed on in council; and a hundred and fifty resolute men intrenched themselves in the old presidio, the houses of which they loopholed, in order to make head against the Indians when they appeared.
The governor and Major Barnum seemed to multiply themselves; they were ubiquitous; encouraging the newly enlisted, helping the workmen, and speaking hope to all.
About three o'clock in the afternoon, a strong wind arose, bringing with it from the south-west volumes of thick smoke, obstructing the view of objects at a distance. It was caused by the conflagration throughout the country. The anxiety of the inhabitants increased tenfold, as the direction from which it came proved that it could only arise from the doings of the Indians.
The Indian tribes always have recourse to this measure when they intend to invade the territories of the whites; an excellent aid to their system of attack by surprise, for, by shrouding the country in smoke, they prevent the scouts discovering them from afar, and are more easily able to conceal their numbers and motions.
On the day in question, the Indians, unhappily for the Mexicans, succeeded better than their wont; for the wind drove the smoke across the open, and one could scarcely distinguish objects at ten paces off.
It must be allowed, that in a country so uniformly level as the prairies, which afford no points to mask a march, and where nothing is easier than to find out the enemy's whole strength, the stratagem employed by the Indians is as simple as it is ingenious.
The scouts came galloping in one after the other, to report to the governor the approach of the enemy, who, according to their calculations, would reach the presidio of San Lucar that same night.
The masses of Indians increased every moment. Their hordes covered the open; they marched with inconceivable rapidity, and seemed to concentrate all their forces on the luckless pueblo.
The governor ordered the three alarm-guns to be fired. Immediately one saw the poor rancheros (cottagers) of the plain trooping in crowds into the town, bringing with them their cattle and furniture, and shedding tears of rage and despair at the sight of their harvests blazing in all directions.
The poor men encamped as they best could in the squares of the pueblo; and after sending their women and children into the fort, all able to bear arms rushed to the barricades, resolved to make those pay dearly who had been the cause of their ruin.
Terror and consternation reigned throughout the town: nothing was heard but sighs and lamentation; and night came, to add horror to the situation by enveloping the earth in darkness.
Strong patrols paraded the streets incessantly; and at times hardy vaqueros, gliding like serpents through the obscurity, ventured two or three hundred paces from the walls, to assure themselves that no immediate danger threatened the presidio.
Things remained in this state till about two in the morning, when, in the midst of the mournful silence brooding over the town, a slight noise, scarcely perceptible at first, was heard. It grew louder every moment, and all of a sudden, as if by enchantment, and without any one being able to guess how they got there, the Apaches crowned the barricades of the presidio, brandishing flaming torches and uttering the war whoop.
For a moment the inhabitants thought the town was taken; but Major Barnum, who commanded at this post, was too old a soldier, and too accustomed to Indian warfare, to be deceived by their stratagem. At the moment the Apaches were about to cross the barricades, a well-sustained fire opened suddenly upon them, and drove them from the intrenchments much faster than they had scaled them.
The Mexicans charged with the bayonet: for one moment there was a frightful mêlée, from the midst of which rose cries of agony, maledictions, and the sharp clang of steel crossing steel; then the whites regained their position; the Indians disappeared; the town, illumined for so short a time by the blaze of the torches, was again enveloped in darkness; and the silence, broken by the few minutes of onslaught, was once more complete.
This was the only attempt that night. The Indians were up to their work; having failed in their bold coup-de-main, they would, in all probability, convert the attack into a blockade, if they were determined to take the town; or they might retreat altogether, if their miscarriage had led them to despair of mastering it.
But at daybreak this latter illusion vanished; the Indians seemed to have no inclination to beat a retreat.
The country presented a most afflicting spectacle; everything was burnt down, and the disorder frightful. In one place a band of mounted Apaches were driving before them the horses and cattle they had stolen; in another, nearer the town, and facing towards it, a strong body of warriors, with poised lances, watched the movements of the inhabitants of the presidio, with the intention of repelling any sortie that might be attempted; behind them, women and children were chasing the cattle, which were lowing with anger at being forced to quit the pastures; here and there prisoners, men, women, and children, driven on by blows of the lance, lifted their hands in vain supplication, and painfully dragged themselves forward amidst their captors. Lastly, as far as the eye could see, long files of Indians were hastening up on every side, while others drove in the pickets, or built callis (huts); and the town was completely surrounded.
Then an unheard-of circumstance occurred – a circumstance which the most experienced soldiers in the fort had never witnessed in all their previous encounters with the Indians, viz. the order that ruled through all this disorder; that is to say, the manner in which the callis were grouped, the serried and disciplined march of the infantry, the precision of their movements; and, what particularly upset all the arrangements of the colonel and major, the drawing of a parallel about the place, and throwing up an earthwork with immense rapidity, so as to shelter the Apaches from the fire of the guns.
"¡Sangre de Dios!" exclaimed the colonel, with an angry stamp; "those wretches have a traitor among them; they have never made war in this fashion before."
"Hem!" said the major, pulling at his moustache; "We shall have to tilt against rude jousters."
"Yes," replied the colonel; "and if succour does not arrive from the city, I do not exactly see how this is to end."
"Badly, colonel. ¡Caray! I am afraid we shall lose our hides here. Look! There are more than three thousand of them, without counting those who are still coming and blackening the plain on all sides. But what is the meaning of this noise?" he added, as he turned in the direction whence the notes of a trumpet proceeded.
Four sachems, dressed in white, and preceded by an Indian bearing a white flag, had halted at half-gunshot from the first barricade at the old presidio.
"What can this mean?" said the colonel; "They seem to demand a parley. Do they think I am fool enough to fall into the snare? Major, a hatful of grape for that group of pagans! We'll teach them to take us for dolts!"
"I think you are wrong, colonel, and that it would be better to parley with them; in that way we shall learn their intentions."
"You may be right, my good friend; but who will be fool enough to risk his life among these lawless bandits?"
"I, if you will permit me," answered the major.
"You!" cried Don José, in astonishment.
"Yes; is it not our duty to suffer no means to escape us by which we may save the wretched people confided to our honour? I am only one man; my life is of little importance to the defence of the presidio, and the step I am about to take may save it."
The colonel stifled a sigh, pressed his old friend's hand affectionately, and exclaimed, in a voice half choked with the emotion he vainly endeavoured to suppress:
"Go, since you insist upon it."
"Thanks," said the major joyfully. And he turned with a firm step in the direction of the barricade.
CHAPTER VII.
THE ATTACK ON THE PRESIDIO
Major Barnum was unarmed; he was offering up his life, and would not take his sword, that he might have no pretext for defending himself should a conflict ensue, as would probably be the case.
When he had got within earshot, he halted. As in his former campaign he had often had occasion to confer with the Apaches, he had learnt enough of their language to need no interpreter.
"What do you require, chiefs? Have you crossed the Rio Grande del Norte, and invaded our frontiers, in breach of the peace existing between us?"
He said this in a loud voice, and saluting them with his hat, which he immediately replaced after this act of courtesy.
"Are you the man whom the palefaces call Don José Kalbris?" asked one of the chiefs; "The man to whom they give the title of governor?"
"No; according to our laws, the governor may not quit his post. I am Major Barnum, second in command, deputed to represent him; so you may report to me what brings you hither."
The chiefs conferred together for an instant; then, planting their long lances in the sand, they dashed forward on their horses till beside the major.
The latter, who had never taken his eyes off them, had divined their purpose, but remained motionless, and testified no surprise at seeing them at his side.
The Indians, who had intended by the suddenness of their action to throw off his guard and perhaps intimidate the major, were secretly annoyed at his coolness, which they could not help admiring.
"My father is brave," said the one who was spokesman.
"At my age," replied the veteran, "one does not fear death; one often looks upon it as a blessing."
"My father bears on his head the snows of many winters; he must be one of the wisest chiefs of his nation. The young men listen to him with respect around the council fire."
The major bowed modestly.
"Do not talk of me," he said; "we have met to discuss graver matters. Why have you demanded this interview?"
"Will not my father lead us to the council fire of his nation?" said the warrior in insinuating tones. "Is it proper for great sachems, renowned warriors, to treat of important affairs on horseback, between two armies ready to come to blows?"
"I understand your meaning, chief; but cannot comply with your desires. When a town is invested, no leader of the enemy can be admitted as flag of truce."
"Does my father fear that we four should take the town?" said the Apache, laughing, but secretly vexed at the abortion of his plan to communicate with the friends he undoubtedly had in the place.
"It is not my custom to fear anything," replied the major; "I tell you a fact of which you were ignorant, that is all. And now, if you wish to use this pretext to break off the interview, you can do so; I have nothing more to do than to go back."
"Oho! My father is hasty for his age. Why break off the interview, when we have not even mentioned the object of it?"
"Speak then, and tell me what brings you here."
The sachems looked at each other, and exchanged a few words in a whisper. Then the chief took up the word:
"My father has seen the great army of the Apaches, and the nations their allies?"
"I have," replied the major carelessly.
"And has my father, who is a learned paleface, counted the warriors who compose it?"
"Yes, as far as it was possible."
"Ah! And how many are there, according to my father's counting?"
"Upon my word, chief," replied the major, with an unconcern that was admirably counterfeited, "I must confess that, as for us, we do not care how many of them there are."
"But still," persisted the Indian, "at how many does my father count them?"
"How can I know? Eight or ten thousand I dare say."
The chiefs were astounded at the indifference the major displayed for numbers thrice their force; and the Apache warrior replied:
"And my father is not frightened at the number of warriors united under one chief?"
The wonder of the sachems had not escaped the major.
"Why should I be frightened? Has not my nation conquered greater numbers?"
"It is possible," said the chief, biting his lips; "but this time you will not conquer."
"Who can tell? Is that what you came to parley about, chief? If so, you might have spared yourself the trouble."
"No; it is not that. Let my father be patient."
"Speak, then, and have done with it. One never knows how to get on with all your Indian circumlocutions."
"The army of the great nations is camped before the presidio to obtain satisfaction for all the wrongs the palefaces have done the Indians, since they first set foot on the red man's territory."
"What are you talking about? Explain yourself clearly; and, first of all, what is your pretext for thus invading our frontiers, without previously declaring war? Have we broken the treaties we made with you? Have we not always been generous to the Indians who claimed our protection? Answer!"
"Why does my father pretend to be ignorant of our just reasons for war with the palefaces?" replied the Apache, feigning to be discontented with the major's speech. "My father knows that we have for centuries been at war with the Long Knives,1 who dwell on the other side of the mountains. Why has my father's nation, which assumes to be at peace with us, made treaties with them?"
"Chief, you are only seeking a quarrel; but that does not signify. I would rather you had told me frankly that your wish was to pillage and steal our horses and cattle, than give me a reason without common sense. We should be at war with the Comanches, if you really meant what you say. Therefore, chief, mock me no more, but proceed to facts. What is it you demand?"
The chief burst out laughing.
"My father is cunning," he said. "Listen; thus say the chiefs: 'This land belongs to us: we will have it.' The white ancestors of my father had no right to establish themselves in it."
"That pretext is, at all events, specious; for my ancestors bought this land from one of your sachems."
"The chiefs in assembly round, the tree of the Master of life have determined to return to the great white chief, without reserve, all the articles formerly given to the sachem in exchange for the land, and to resume the country belonging to them, in which they will no longer have the palefaces."
"Is that all you were deputed to tell me?"
"It is all," said the chief, bending his head.
"And how much time," answered the major, "do the chiefs allow the governor of the presidio to discuss these proposals?"
"Two hours."
"Very well," said the major coolly. "And if the governor refuses, what will my brothers do?"
"The sachems," replied the Apache, emphatically, "have determined to resume the ownership of their territory. If the palefaces refuse to restore it, their village shall be burnt, their warriors put to death, their wives and children carried away as slaves."
"Ah!" said the major; "Before you obtain that result, all the whites in the presidio will have been killed in its defence. But it is not for me to discuss the matter with you. I will carry your demands to the governor, precisely as you have made them; and tomorrow, at sunrise, you shall have your answer. Hostilities must be suspended until then."
"No; it is for you to stop them. We cannot stay here inactive; so be on your guard."
"Thanks for your frankness, chief," replied the major. "I am happy at meeting an Indian who is not altogether a rascal. Good-bye, till tomorrow."
"Farewell," said the chiefs courteously.
All were struck with admiration at the coolness of the veteran.
The major retired as slowly as he had come, without manifesting apprehension.
The colonel awaited him at the barricade with the greatest anxiety. The long interview had filled him with uneasiness. He had prepared himself to avenge any insult that might be offered to his envoy. When the major reached the barricade, he hastened to join him.
"Well?" said he impatiently.
"They are only seeking to gain time, in order to execute one of their devilries."
"What is the sum of their demands?"
"Their pretensions are absurd, and they know it; for they sneered when they laid them before me. They pretend that the sachem who ceded the territory to the Spaniards, two hundred years ago, had no right to sell it. They demand that we should surrender it to them in twenty-four hours; if not – then follow the usual threats. Ah!" said the major, with an ironical smile, "I forgot to tell you, colonel, that they pretend to be ready to restore everything the sachem received for the land he sold. That is all I am commissioned to report."
The colonel shrugged his shoulders in disdain.
"The demons are mad," said he, "or else they are trying to lull us into security, so as to surprise us the more easily."
"What do you think of doing?" asked the major.
"Redouble my vigilance, my good friend; for I have no doubt we shall soon come to blows with them again. I am specially uneasy about the old presidio."
"You go back to the fort; I will take the command of the advanced post. It is most important, in case of a check, that our communication should not be cut off, and that we may be able to retreat into the place without too great loss."
"I will leave you at liberty to act, my dear major; I am sure you will do your best."
The two veterans separated, after shaking hands warmly. The colonel returned to the fort, while the major actively bestirred himself to put the post confided to him in safety against a surprise.
The garrison of the old presidio consisted chiefly of vaqueros and leperos, – people, we confess, on whose fidelity the major could only moderately rely. But the stout old soldier locked the apprehensions that tormented him up in his heart, and feigned entire confidence in these fellows, whom he more than suspected.
The day passed over quietly enough. The Apaches, buried like moles behind their intrenchments, seemed determined not to quit them. The sentinels watched vigilantly at the barriers and barricades which closed the suburb. The major, reassured by this apparent tranquillity, hoped that the Indians would not assume the offensive before the term proposed for the receipt of the governor's answer; and, overwhelmed with fatigue from the numerous operations he had been obliged to superintend in providing for the defence in its minutest details, he retired to a house close to the barricade, to snatch a few minutes of necessary repose.
Certain of our old acquaintances were amongst the defenders of the suburb: Pablito, El Verado, Tonillo, and Carlocho. The worthy vaqueros, since the appearance of the Indians, had given such undeniable proofs of fidelity, that the major, at their request, and as a reward for their good conduct, had confided to them the most advanced barricade, which was, in fact, the key of the suburb.
A few minutes after sunset, these four men were together at the foot of the barricade, and talking in whispers. A dozen more rascals of their own stamp, grouped a few paces off were evidently awaiting the result of their mysterious council.
At last they rose, and their colloquy terminated.
"Well, then," said Carlocho, by way of wind-up, "it is settled for ten o'clock?"
"For ten o'clock," peremptorily replied El Zapote; "a man can only stick to his word. We have been nobly paid, and must fulfil our promise, especially as we have received half the amount."
"True," said the others, thoroughly convinced; "the loss would be too great."
"I should think so!" exclaimed El Zapote; "Only think, queridos (my boys); five-and-twenty ounces a piece!"
The bandits grinned like hyenas which scent a corpse, and their eyes glistened with greed.
The major, lying half upright on a butaca, slept the restless sleep of a man whose mind is preoccupied by affairs of great moment; when all of a sudden he felt himself rudely shaken, and a voice, half unintelligible from emotion, shouted into his ears:
"Rise, major, rise! We are betrayed! The vaqueros have given up the barricade to the Apaches, and the Indians are in the place."
The officer bounded to his feet, seized his sword, and rushed out of doors without answering, followed by the man – a Mexican soldier – who had so rudely awakened him.
At a single glance, the major recognised the truth of the disastrous news reported to him. El Zapote and his comrades had not only surrendered the barrier to the Apaches, but had even joined them, followed by the few wretches we mentioned above.
The situation was very critical. The Mexicans, disheartened by the shameful defection of the vaqueros, fought without energy or order, dreading further treachery, and on that account not daring to make good head against the enemy.
The Apaches and the vaqueros howled like demons, and charged furiously on the demoralised defenders of the presidio, whom they slaughtered pitilessly.
It was a horrid spectacle to witness, this homicidal strife, illumined by the lurid reflection of the houses fired by the Indians to light up their victory. The war whoop of the Apaches mingled with the cries of agony of the Mexicans they were massacring and the awful roaring of the flames, fanned by the frequent squalls.
The major threw himself resolutely into the thickest of the fight, calling the garrison around him, and exciting them by voice and gesture, to a desperate resistance.
The appearance of the commandant of the presidio produced an electrical effect on the Mexicans. Animated by his example, they formed around him, and replied by a well-directed fire to the attacks of their ferocious foes.
The vaqueros, brought to a stand by the point of the bayonet, ignominiously fled, pursued by a shower of balls.
Thanks to the energetic action of the major, the fight was fairly renewed; but Barnum was a soldier of too much experience to allow himself to be deceived by a factitious success. He felt that any attempt to hold the suburb would be madness; he therefore only thought how to make good his retreat in the best possible order, and to bring off the women and children.
Calling his boldest and most resolute men about him, he formed them into a body to hold the Indians in check, while the non-combatants embarked and crossed the river. The Apaches perceived big project, and doubled their efforts to hinder its execution.
The mêlée grew still more frightful. A desperate hand-to-hand combat ensued between whites and redskins; the former fighting for the safety of their families, the latter in the hope of an immense booty.
But the Mexicans, encouraged by the heroic devotion of their commander, only retreated step by step, resisting with the energy of that despair which performs prodigies, and in desperate circumstances trebles the strength of man.
This handful of brave men, scarcely numbering a hundred and fifty, kept in check for three hours, and without allowing themselves to be broken, nearly two thousand Indians, falling one after the other at their allotted posts, in order to save their wives and children.
At last the final boats full of wounded and non-combatants quitted the suburb; the Mexicans uttered a shout of joy, charged the Apaches once more, and, under the orders of the major, – who, like an old wounded lion, seemed to abandon the fight with regret, – commenced their retreat, continually harassed by the Apaches.
They soon reached the river. Here the savages were constrained to fall back in their turn, being decimated by the showers of grape poured upon their dense ranks by the guns of the fortress.
This successful diversion permitted the scanty survivors of the heroic Mexican phalanx to enter the boats, and retire without further molestation, carrying with them two or three prisoners they had contrived to secure. The fight was at an end, after having lasted five hours. The Apaches had only conquered through the treachery of the vaqueros.
The colonel received his friend at the landing place, and congratulated him on his admirable defence, which, in his eyes, was as good as a victory, on account of the enormous losses it had caused the enemy.
Then, without losing time, the two officers took measures to complete the defence of the place, by ordering the construction of strong intrenchments on the bank of the river, and the erection of two flanking batteries, of six guns each.
The capture of the old presidio by the Indians, through the treachery of the vaqueros, was an immense loss to the Mexicans, whose communications with the numerous haciendas on that bank were cut off. Luckily, the colonel, foreseeing a result almost inevitable from the want of troops at his disposal, had withdrawn the whole of the population of the suburb into San Lucar. The houses had been gutted, horses and cattle carried off, and the boats moored under the batteries of the fort, where they were in safety – at least for the present.
It is true the Indians were masters of the suburb; but the success had cost them greater losses than the possession of it was worth. After all, the Mexicans had only lost an insignificant piece of ground, scarcely worth defence; for the old presidio was not the key of the place, of which it was only a questionable dependency, and from which it was separated by the breadth of the river.
Thus the effect of the battle on the two camps was exactly the reverse of what the reader might suppose.
The Mexicans almost congratulated themselves on the loss of a position nearly useless to them in the present state of affairs, and the defence of which could only cost them many valuable lives; while the Apaches asked each other sadly what good the conquest of the suburb had done them, in return for the loss of more than five hundred of their bravest warriors who had fallen.
Two vaqueros, who had been thrown from their horses, had been taken prisoners by the Mexicans during their retreat.
The colonel ordered a court martial to assemble, commanded two high gibbets to be erected a little in advance of the new intrenchments along the river, and had them hung in the sight of the whole population, and of their companions, who had clustered together on the opposite bank of the river, and uttered shouts of impotent rage at seeing them executed.
Don José Kalbris was not naturally cruel; but in this case he justly thought he ought to make an example, in order to intimidate such as might have the inclination to imitate them. A bando (an edict), fixed to the foot of each gibbet, announced that the same fate awaited every revolted vaquero who fell into the hands of the Mexicans.
While this was doing, evening closed in; and the Indians, to annoy the whites, amused themselves by setting fire to the suburb they had taken the night before. The immense volume of flame produced by the conflagration threw fantastic shadows over the camp of the Apaches and the town of San Lucar, whose miserable inhabitants, plunged in the stupor of grief, knew they had no mercy to expect from foes like these.
The colonel seemed made of iron: he did not take a moment's rest, but visited the posts continually, and sought by every means to strengthen the defences of the town.
He and the major had just entered the fort, after making a final round. The night had passed, and the Indians had retreated to their camp, after making a futile attempt to surprise the presidio.
"Well, major," said the colonel, "you see how it is; there is no use in our trying to blind each other. It is only a question of time for us; whether we shall be taken tomorrow or in a week, no one can say: but everyone can see what the result must be."
"Hm!" said the major; "When the last moment has come, we shall always have the resource of shutting ourselves up in the fort, and blowing it and ourselves to the devil."
"Unluckily, we have not even that resource."
"How so?"
"Why, we old soldiers might blow ourselves up easily and ought to do it; but we cannot condemn the women and children shut up with us to such a cruel fate."
"True; but I have it! Although we cannot blow ourselves up, I can always blow out my brains."
"You have not even that consolation, my good friend. Is it not our duty to set an example to the poor people cooped up here, and protect them while we can? Is it not our duty to be in the breach to the last?"
The major made no reply to this argument, which he inwardly acknowledged to be unanswerable.
"But," said he, after a pause, "how is it we have received no news from the capital of the state?"
"Ah, my friend! Out there they have probably other things than us to think of."
"I will not believe it."
