Gustave Aimard
The Rebel Chief: A Tale of Guerilla Life

CHAPTER XVI
THE ASSAULT

At the frightful discharge which greeted them, and scattered death in their ranks, the guerilleros fell back with horror; surprised by those whom they calculated on surprising, prepared to plunder but not to fight, their first thought was flight, and an indescribable disorder broke out in their ranks.

The defenders of the hacienda, whose number had considerably increased, took advantage of this hesitation to send a shower of bullets among them. Some resolution must be formed, however, either to advance under the bullets, or give up the expedition.

The proprietor of the hacienda was rich, as the guerilleros were aware; for a long time past they had desired to seize this wealth, which they coveted, and which, whether rightly or wrongly, they supposed to be hidden in the hacienda; it cost them a struggle to give up this expedition so long prepared, and from which they promised themselves such magnificent results.

Still the bullets constantly scattered among them, and they did not dare to pass the breach. Their chiefs, even more interested than they in the success of their projects, put an end to any hesitation, by resolutely arming themselves with pickaxes and crowbars, not only to enlarge the breach, but also to completely throw down the wall, for they understood that it was only by a sudden eruption that they could succeed in overthrowing the opposition which the defenders of the hacienda offered them.

The latter continued to fire bravely, but most of their shots were thrown away, as the guerilleros were working under shelter, and were very cautious not to show themselves in front of the breach.

"They have changed their tactics," the Count said to Dominique, "they are now engaged in throwing down the wall, and will soon return to the attack; and," he added, taking a sorrowful glance around, "we shall be conquered; for the men who accompany us are not capable of resisting a vigorous attack."

"You are right, friend, the situation is serious," the young man answered.

"What is to be done?" the majordomo asked.

"Stay, I have an idea," Dominique suddenly said, striking his forehead; "you have gunpowder here."

"Yes, thank heaven, there is no want of that; but what is the use of it?"

"Have a barrel brought here as speedily as possible, I answer for the rest."

"That is easy."

"In that case go."

The majordomo ran off.

"What do you intend to do?" the Count asked.

"You shall see," the young man replied, with flashing eyes; "by Heaven, a glorious idea has occurred to me. These brigands will probably seize the hacienda, and we are too weak to resist them, and it is only a question of time for them; but, by Jupiter, it shall cost them dearly."

"I do not understand you."

"Ah," the young man continued, in a state of feverish excitement; "ah, they wish to open a wide passage; well, I undertake to make it for them; wait a while."

At this moment the majordomo returned, bringing not one, but three barrels on a truck; each of these barrels contained about 120 pounds of gunpowder.

"Three barrels!" Dominique exclaimed, joyously; "All the better: in this way each of us will have his own."

"But what do you intend doing?"

"I mean to blow them up, by heaven!" he exclaimed. "Come to work! Imitate me!"

He took a barrel and unheaded it; the Count and Leo Carral did the same.

"Now," he said, addressing the peons, who were startled by these sinister preparations; "back, you fellows, but still continue to fire, and keep them on the alarm."

The three men remained alone with the Count's two servants, who refused to abandon their master. In a few words Dominique explained his plan to his companions. They raised the barrels, and gliding silently behind the trees, approached the grotto. The besiegers, occupied in destroying the wall inside, and not daring to venture in front of the breach, could not see what was going on outside. It was therefore an easy task for the five men to reach the very foot of the wall the guerilleros were demolishing, without being discovered. Dominique placed the three powder barrels so as to touch the wall, and on these barrels, he, aided by his companions, piled all the stones he could find. Then he took his mechero, drew out the tinder match, from which he cut off about six inches, lit it, and planted it on one of the barrels.

"Back! Back!" he said, in a low voice; "The wall no longer holds! See how it is bulging. It will fall in a moment."

And, setting the example, he ran off at full speed. Nearly all the defenders of the hacienda, about forty in number, with Don Andrés at their head, were assembled at the entrance of the huerta.

"Why are you running so hard?" the hacendero asked the young men; "Are the brigands after you?"

"No, no," Dominique replied; "not yet; but you will soon have news of them."

"Where is Doña Dolores?" the Count asked.

"In my apartments with her women, and perfectly safe."

"Fire, you fellows!" Dominique shouted to the peons.

The latter recommenced a tremendous fire.

"Raimbaut," the Count said, in a low voice; "we must foresee everything. Go with Lanca Ibarru, and saddle five horses: mind one of them is a side-saddle. You understand me, do you not?"

"Yes, my lord."

"You will lead these horses to the door which is at the end of the huerta. You will wait for me there with Lanca, both well armed. Go."

Raimbaut went off at once, as quiet and calm as if nothing extraordinary were occurring at the moment.

"Ah!" said Don Andrés with a sigh of regret; "If Melchior was here he would be very useful to us."

"He will be here soon, señor, you may be sure," the Count remarked, ironically.

"Where can he be, though?"

"Ah! Who can tell?"

"Ah! Ah!" Dominique exclaimed; "Something is going on down there."

The stones, vigorously assailed by the repeated blows of the guerilleros, were beginning to fall outwards. The breach was rapidly entered, but at last a whole piece of wall fell in one mass into the garden. The guerilleros uttered a loud shout, threw down their picks, and seizing their weapons, prepared to rush forth. But suddenly a terrible explosion was heard; the earth quivered as if agitated by a volcanic convulsion; a cloud of smoke rose to the sky, and masses of ruins, raised by the explosion, were hurled in all directions. A horrible cry of agony rang through the air, and that was all: a deadly silence brooded over the scene.

"Forward! Forward!" Dominique shouted.

The injury caused by the mine was terrible. The entrance of the passage, completely destroyed, and filled up with masses of earth and heaped-up stones, had not permitted one of the assailants to pass. Here and there the disfigured remains of what had been a moment before men, emerged from the middle of the fragments. The catastrophe must have been awful, but the passage kept the secret close.

"Oh! Heaven be praised! We are saved!" Don Andrés exclaimed.

"Yes, yes," the majordomo said; "if no other assailants arrive from another quarter."

Suddenly, as if in justification of the remark, loud cries were heard blended with shots, and a vivid flame, which rose from the outhouses of the hacienda, lit up the country with a sinister gleam.

"To arms! To arms!" the peons shouted, as they ran up in alarm. "The guerilleros! The guerilleros!"

And they speedily saw, by the red glow of the fire which was devouring the buildings, the black outlines of some hundred men, who hurried up, brandishing their weapons, and uttering yells of fury. A few paces in advance of the bandits advanced a man, holding a sabre in one hand, and a torch in the other.

"Don Melchior!" the old gentleman exclaimed, despairingly.

"By heaven! I will stop him!" Dominique said, taking aim at him.

Don Andrés darted at the gun, which he threw up.

"It is my son!" he said.

The shot passed harmlessly through the air.

"Hum! I fancy you will repent having saved his life, señor," Dominique coldly replied.

Don Andrés, dragged away by the Count and Dominique, entered his apartments, all the issues to which his peons hastily barricaded, and then kept up a sustained fire from the windows on the besiegers.

Don Melchior had an understanding with the partizans of Juárez. Reduced, as the majordomo had very correctly told the Count, to a state of desperation by the speedy marriage of his sister, and the inevitable loss of the fortune of which he had so long entertained the hope of being sole heir, the young man forgot all moderation, and, under certain conditions accepted by Cuellar, though with, the intention of not fulfilling them, he had proposed to the latter to surrender the hacienda to him; and all the measures had been taken in consequence. It was then arranged that a portion of the cuadrilla, under the orders of resolute officers, should attempt a surprise by the secret passage, which the young man had previously made known. Then, while this troop was operating, the other of the cuadrilla, under Cuellar's own orders, and guided by Don Melchior, would silently scale the walls of the hacienda on the side of the corrals, which the inhabitants would doubtless neglect to defend. We have related the success of this double attack.

Cuellar, though he was still ignorant of it, had lost one half of his cuadrilla, who were buried under the ruins of the grotto. With the men left him he was at this moment waging an obstinate fight with the peons of the hacienda, who, knowing they had to deal with the band of Cuellar, the most ferocious and sanguinary of all Juárez' guerilleros, and that this band never granted quarter, fought with the energy of desperation, which renders strength tenfold as great. The combat lasted some time. The peons, ambushed in the apartments, had lined the windows with everything that came to hand, and fired under cover at the assailants scattered about the courtyards, on whom they entailed considerable losses. Cuellar was furious, not alone at this unforeseen resistance, but also at the incomprehensible delay of the soldiers of his cuadrilla who had entered by the grotto, and who should have joined him long ere this. He had certainly heard the noise of the explosion, but as he was at the time at a considerable distance from the hacienda, in a direction diametrically opposed to that where the explosion took place, the noise had reached his ears indistinctly, and he had paid no further attention to it; but the inexplicable delay of his comrades at this moment, when their help would have been so valuable, was beginning to cause him lively anxiety, and he was on the point of sending one of his men off to hurry the laggards, when suddenly shouts of victory were raised from the interior of the buildings he was attacking, and several guerilleros appeared at the windows, brandishing their weapons joyously. It was owing to Don Melchior that this decisive success was obtained. While the main body of the assailants attacked the buildings in front, he, accompanied by several resolute men, stepped through a low window, which in the first moment of confusion they had forgotten to barricade like the rest. He had entered the interior, and suddenly appeared before the besieged, whom his presence terrified, and on whom his comrades rushed with sabres and pistols.

At this moment it was no longer a fight but a horrible butchery. The peons, in spite of their entreaties, were seized by the conquerors, stabbed, and hurled through the windows into the courtyard. The guerilleros soon poured through all the buildings, pursuing the wretched peons from room to room, and pitilessly massacring them. They thus reached a large drawing room, whose large folding doors were wide open; but on arriving there they not merely stopped, but recoiled with an instinctive movement of terror before the terrible spectacle that was presented to them. This room was splendidly lit up by a number of candles, placed in all the chandeliers and on the various articles of furniture. In one corner of the room a barricade had been erected by piling up the furniture: behind this barricade, Doña Dolores had sought shelter with all the wives and children of the hacienda peons, two paces in front of the barricade, four men were standing erect with a gun in one hand and a pistol in the other. These four men were. Don Andrés, the Count, Dominique and Leo Carral: two barrels of gunpowder with the heads knocked out were placed near them.

"Halt," the Count said in a jeering voice, "halt, I request, caballeros; one step further, and we blow up the house. Do not pass the threshold, if you please."

The guerilleros were careful not to disobey this courteous hint, for at the first glance they recognized with whom they had to deal. Don Melchior stamped his foot savagely on seeing himself thus rendered powerless.

"What do you want?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"Nothing of you; we are men of honour, and will not parley with a scoundrel of your stamp."

"You shall be shot like dogs, accursed Frenchmen."

"I defy you to put your threat in execution," said the Count, as he coolly cocked the revolver he held in his hand and pointed it at the barrel of gunpowder by his side.

The guerilleros recoiled, uttering shrieks of terror.

"Do not fire, do not fire," they exclaimed; "here is the Colonel."

In fact, Cuellar arrived. Cuellar is a frightful bandit, this statement will surprise nobody, but we must do him the justice of stating that he possesses unparalleled bravery. He forced his way through his soldiers, and soon found himself standing alone in front of them. He bowed gracefully to the four men, and examined them craftily, and while idly rolling a cigarette.

"Well," he said gaily, "the affair you have imagined is most ingenious, and I sincerely compliment you upon it, caballeros. Those demons of Frenchmen have incredible ideas, on my honour," he added, speaking to himself; "they never allow themselves to be taken unawares; there is enough there to send us all to paradise."

"And in case of need we would no more hesitate to do it than we hesitated to blow up your men, whom you sent as scouts through the grotto."

"What," Cuellar asked, turning pale, "what is it you are saying about my soldiers?"

"I am saying," the Count replied coldly, "that you can have their corpses sought for in the passage, all will be found there, for all have fallen there."

A shudder of terror ran along the ranks of the guerilleros at these words.

There was a silence. Cuellar was reflecting. He raised his head, every trace of emotion had disappeared from his face, and he looked around him as searching for something.

"Are you looking for a light?" Dominique asked him, as he advanced toward him candle in hand: "Pray light your cigarette, señor."

And he politely held out the candle.

Cuellar lit his cigarette, and returned the candlestick.

"Thanks, señor," he said.

Dominique rejoined his companions.

"So then," said Cuellar, "you request a capitulation."

"You are mistaken, señor," the Count replied coolly; "on the contrary, we offer you one."

"You offer us?" the guerillero said with amazement.

"Yes, since we are masters of your life."

"Pardon me," Cuellar said, "that is specious, for on blowing us up, you will go with us."

"Hang it! That is precisely what we intend." Cuellar reflected once more.

"Come," he said a moment after, "let us not wage a war of words, but come to the fact like men: what do you want?"

"I will tell you," the Count answered.

CHAPTER XVII
AFTER THE BATTLE

Cuellar was carelessly smoking his cigarette, his left hand was laid on his long sabre, the end of the scabbard resting on the floor: there was a charming ease in the way in which he stood at the door of the room, letting his eyes wander around with a feline gentleness, and emitting through his mouth and nostrils, with the blessed sensuality of a real enjoyer, thick clouds of bluish smoke.

"Pardon, señores," he said, "before going further, it is necessary to have a thorough understanding, I think, so permit me to make a slight observation."

"Do so, señor," the Count answered.

"I am perfectly willing to treat: I am a very easy man to deal with as you see, but do not ask of me extravagant things which I should be forced to refuse you, for I need not tell you that, if you are determined, I am no less so, and while desiring a bargain equally advantageous for both sides, still if you are too exorbitant, I should prefer to blow up with you, the more so because I have a presentiment that I shall in that way some day or other, and should not be sorry to go to the deuce in such excellent company."

Although these words were uttered with a smiling air, the Count was not deceived as to the resolute purpose of the man with whom he was dealing.

"Oh señor," he said, "you know us very badly, if you suppose us capable of asking impossibilities of you, still as our position is good, we wish to take advantage of it."

"And I think you perfectly right, caballero; but as you are a Frenchman and your countrymen never doubt anything, I thought it my duty to make this observation to you."

"Be convinced señor," the Count answered, while affecting the same tranquillity as the other, "that we shall only demand reasonable conditions."

"You demand," Cuellar repeated, laying a stress on these two words.

"Yes: hence we will not oblige you to leave the hacienda, because we know that if you went out today, you would recommence the attack tomorrow."

"You are full of penetration, señor: so pray come to the facts."

"In the first place you will give up the poor peons who have escaped the massacre."

"I see no difficulty in that."

"With their arms, horses and the little they possess."

"Agreed, go on."

"Don Andrés de la Cruz, his daughter, my friend, myself and Leo Carral, the majordomo, and all the women and children sheltered in this room, will be at liberty to retire whenever we please without fear of being disturbed."

Cuellar made a grimace. "What next?" he said.

"Pardon me, is that settled?"

"Yes, it is settled; what next?"

"My friend and I are strangers, Frenchmen, and Mexico is not at war, as far as I am aware, with our country."

"It might happen," Cuellar said maliciously.

"Perhaps so, but in the meanwhile we are at peace, and have a claim to your protection."

"Have you not fought against us?"

"That is true, but we had a right to defend ourselves: we were attacked and were compelled to fight."

"Good, good, enough of that."

"We therefore request the right to take away with us on mules, everything that belongs to us."

"Is that all?"

"Nearly so; do you accept these conditions?"

"I do."

"Good, now there only remains a slight formality to fulfil."

"A formality, what is it?"

"That of the hostages."

"Hostages! Have you not my word?"

"Of course."

"Well, what more do you want?"

"As I told you, hostages: you can perfectly understand, señor, that I would not confide my life and that of my companions, I will not say to you, for I hold your word and believe it good, but to your soldiers, who, like the worthy guerilleros they are, would have not the slightest scruple, if we had the madness to place ourselves in their power, about plundering us and perhaps worse: you do not command regular troops, señor, and however strict may be the discipline you maintain in your cuadrilla, I doubt whether it goes so far as to make your prisoners respected, when you are not there to protect them by your presence."

Cuellar, flattered in his heart by the Count's remarks, gave him a gracious smile.

"Hum," he said, "what you say may be true up to a certain point. Well, who are the hostages you desire, and how many are they?"

"Only one, señor, you see that it is very trifling."

"Very trifling, indeed; but who is this hostage?"

"Yourself," the Count answered distinctly.

"Canarios!" Cuellar said with a grin, "You are a cool hand: that one would in truth be sufficient."

"For that reason we will have no other."

"That is very unfortunate."

"Why so?"

"Because I refuse, caray! And who would be security for me, if you please?"

"The word of a French gentleman, caballero," the Count hastily replied, "a word which has never been pledged in vain."

"On my word," Cuellar continued with that bonhomie of which he possesses so large a share and which, where it suits him, causes him to be taken for the best fellow in the world: "I accept, caballero, let what may happen, for I am curious to try that word of honour of which Europeans are so proud: it is settled then that I act as your hostage: now, how long am I to remain with you? It is very important for me to settle that point."

"We will ask no more of you than to accompany us within sight of Puebla: once there you shall be at liberty, and you can even, if you think proper, take with you an escort of ten men to secure your return."

"Come, that is speaking; I am yours, caballero. Don Melchior, you will remain here during my absence and watch that everything goes on right."

"Yes," Don Melchior replied hoarsely.

The Count, after whispering a few words to the majordomo, again addressed Cuellar.

"Señor," he said to him, "be kind enough to give orders for the peons to be brought here: then, while you remain with us, No Leo Carral will go and make all the preparations for our departure."

"Good," said Cuellar, "the majordomo can go about his business: you hear, my men," he added, turning to the guerilleros who still stood motionless, "this man is free, bring the peons here."

Some fifteen poor wretches, with their clothes in rags, covered with blood, but armed as had been agreed, then entered the drawing room: these fifteen men were all that remained of the defenders of the hacienda. Cuellar then entered the room in the door way of which he had been hitherto standing, and without being invited to do it, posted himself behind the barricade. Don Melchior, feeling the false position in which he was placed, now that he remained alone, facing the besieged, turned away to retire; but at this moment Don Andrés rose, and addressed him in a loud and imperious voice.

"Stay, Melchior," he said to him, "we cannot separate thus: now, that we shall never meet again in this world, a final explanation between us is necessary – even indispensable."

Don Melchior started at the sound of this voice: he turned pale, and made a movement as if he wished to fly, but then suddenly halted and haughtily raising his head, said —

"What do you want with me? Speak, I am listening to you."

For a very considerable period, the old man stood with his eyes fixed on his son with a strangely blended expression of love, anger, grief and contempt, and at length making a violent effort on himself, he spoke as follows:

"Why wish to withdraw, is it because the crime you have committed horrifies you, or are you really flying with fury in your heart at seeing your parricide foiled and your father saved in spite of all your efforts to rob him of life? God has not permitted the complete success of your sinister projects: He chastens me for my weakness for you and the place you have usurped in your heart: I pay very dearly for a moment of error, but at length the veil that covered my eyes has fallen. Go, wretch, marked on the brow by an indelible stigma, be accursed! And may this curse which I pronounce on you, weigh eternally on your heart! Go, parricide, I no longer know you."

Don Melchior, in spite of all his audacity, could not sustain the flashing glance which his father implacably fixed on him: a livid pallor spread over his face, a convulsive trembling agitated his limbs, his head was bowed beneath the weight of the anathema, and he recoiled slowly without turning round, as if dragged away by a force superior to his will, and at length disappeared in the midst of the guerilleros, who left a passage for him with a movement of horror.

A funereal silence pervaded the room; all these men, though so little impressionable, felt the influence of the terrible malediction pronounced by a father on a guilty son. Cuellar was the first to recover his coolness.

"You were wrong," he said to Don Andrés, with a shake of his head, "to offer your son this crushing insult in the presence of all."

"Yes, yes," the old gentleman answered sadly, "he will avenge himself; but what do I care? Is not my life henceforth crushed?"

And bowing his head on his chest, the old man sank into a deep and gloomy meditation.

"Watch over him," Cuellar said to the Count, "I know Don Melchior, he is a thorough Indian."

In the meanwhile, Doña Dolores, who up to this moment had remained, timidly concealed among her women behind the barricade, rose, removed some articles of furniture, glided softly through the opening she had effected, and sat down by the side of Don Andrés. The latter did not stir; he had neither seen her come nor heard her place herself by his side. She bent down to him, seized his hand, which she pressed in her own; kissed him softly on the forehead, and said to him in her melodious voice, with an accent of tenderness, impossible to describe —

"My father, dear father, have you not a child left who loves and respects you? Do not let yourself be thus prostrated by grief; look at me, papa, in Heaven's name! I am your daughter, do you not love me, who feel so great a love for you?"

Don Andrés raised his face, which was bathed in tears, and opened his arms to the girl, who rushed into them with a cry of joy. "Oh! I was ungrateful," he exclaimed, with ineffable tenderness; "I doubted the infinite goodness of God; my daughter is left to me! I am no longer alone in the world, I can be happy still!"

"Yes, papa, God has wished to try us, but He will not abandon us in our misfortune; be brave, forget your ungrateful son; when he repents, remove the terrible malediction you uttered against him; let him return penitent to your knees; he has only been led astray, I feel sure; how could he help loving you, my noble father, you are ever so great and good?"

"Never speak to me about your brother, child," old man replied with savage energy, "that man no longer exists for me; you have no brother, you never had one! Pardon me for deceiving you, by letting you believe that this villain formed part of our family; no, this monster is not my son, I was abused myself in supposing that the same blood flowed in his veins and mine."

"Calm yourself, in Heaven's name, papa, I implore you."

"Come, my poor child," he continued as he pressed her in his arms, "do not leave me, I want to feel you are here near me, that I may not believe myself alone in the world, and that I may have the strength to overcome my despair. Oh, say to me once more, that you love me, you cannot understand what balm the words are to my heart, and what relief they offer to my sorrow!"

The guerilleros had dispersed over all parts of the hacienda, plundering and devastating, breaking the furniture, and forcing locks with a dexterity that evidenced lengthened practice. Still, according to the agreement made, the Count's apartments were respected. Raimbaut and Ibarru, relieved from their long watch by Leo Carral, were busily engaged in loading on mules, the portemanteaux of the Count and Dominique; the guerilleros watched them for a while with knowing looks, laughing to each other at the clumsy way in which the two servants loaded their mules, and then offered their services to Raimbaut, which he bravely accepted; then, the same men, who without the slightest scruple, would have plundered all these articles, which possessed great value for them, were actively engaged in removing and loading them with the greatest care, without thinking for a moment of stealing the smallest article.

Thanks to their intelligent aid, the luggage of the two young men was in a very short time loaded on three mules, and Leo Carral had only to see that the horses required for the journey were saddled, which were effected in a moment, such eagerness and good will did the guerilleros display in fetching the horses from the corral, and bringing them into the yard. Leo Carral then returned to the drawing room, and announced that everything was in readiness for departure.

"Gentlemen, we will go when you please," the Count said.

"At once then."

They left the drawing room, surrounded by the guerilleros, who walked by their side, uttering loud cries, but still without daring to draw too near, restrained, according to all appearance, by the respect they bore their chief.

When all those who were to leave the hacienda were mounted, as well as ten guerilleros, commanded by a non-commissioned officer, whose duty it was to serve as escort on their Colonel's release, the guerillero addressed his soldiers, recommending them to obey in all points Don Melchior de la Cruz, during his absence, and then gave the signal for departure. Beckoning the women and children, the little caravan was composed of about sixty persons, all that were left of the two hundred servants of the hacienda.

Cuellar rode at the head, by the side of the Count; behind him was Doña Dolores, between her father and Dominique; next came the peons, leading the bat mules, under the direction of Leo Carral and the Count's two servants; the guerilleros formed the rearguard.

They descended the hill at a slow pace, and ere long found themselves in the plain; the night was dark, it was about two hours after midnight; the cold was severe, and the sorrowful travellers shivered under their zarapés. They took the high road to Puebla, which they reached at the expiration of about twenty minutes, and then broke into a more rapid pace; the town was only five or six leagues distant, and they hoped to arrive there at sunrise, or, at any rate, at a very early hour.

Suddenly a great light tinged the sky with reddish hues, and lit up the country for a long distance. The hacienda was on fire. At this sight, Don Andrés cast a sad glance behind him, and gave vent to a deep sigh, but he did not utter a word. Cuellar was the only person that spoke; he tried to prove to the Count, that war had painful necessities, that for a long time past, Don Andrés had been denounced as an avowed partisan of Miramón, and that the capture and destruction of the hacienda were only the results of his dislike of President Juárez. All matters to which the Count, understanding the inutility of a discussion on such a subject with such a man, did not even take the trouble to reply. They rode on then for about three hours, without any incident occurring to disturb the monotony of their journey.