Майн Рид
The Rifle Rangers
Chapter Fifty.
A Very Short Trial
During all this time shots were ringing over me. I could hear the shouts and cheering of men, the trampling of heavy hoofs, and the clashing of sabres. I knew that some strange deliverance had reached us. I knew that a skirmish was going on above me, but I could see nothing. I was below the level of the cliff.
I lay in a terrible suspense, listening. I dared not change my posture – I dared not move. The weight of the Jarocho’s body had hitherto held my feet securely in the notch; but that was gone, and my ankles were still tied. A movement and my legs might fall off the limb and drag me downward. I was faint, too, from the protracted struggle for life and death, and I hugged the tree and held on like a wounded squirrel.
The shots seemed less frequent, the shouts appeared to recede from the cliffs. Then I heard a cheer – an Anglo-Saxon cheer – an American cheer, and the next moment a well-known voice rang in my ears.
“By the livin’ catamount, he’s hyur yit! Whooray – whoop! Niver say die! Hold on, Cap’n, teeth an’ toenail! Hyur, boys! clutch on, a lot o’ yer! Quick! – hook my claws, Nat! Now pull – all thegether! – Hooray!”
I felt a strong hand grasping the collar of my coat, and the next moment I was raised from my perch and landed upon the top of the cliff.
I looked around upon my deliverers. Lincoln was dancing like a lunatic, uttering his wild, half-Indian yells. A dozen men, in the dark-green uniform of the “mounted rifles”, stood looking on and laughing at this grotesque exhibition. Close by another party were guarding some prisoners, while a hundred others were seen in scattered groups along the ridge, returning from the pursuit of the Jarochos, whom they had completely routed.
I recognised Twing, and Hennessy, and Hillis, and several other officers whom I had met before. We were soon en rapport, and I could not have received a greater variety of congratulations had it been the hour after my wedding.
Little Jack was the guide of the rescue.
After a moment spent in explanation with the major, I turned to look for Lincoln. He was standing close by, holding in his hands a piece of lazo, which he appeared to examine with a strange and puzzled expression. He had recovered from his burst of wild joy and was “himself again.”
“What’s the matter, Bob?” I inquired, noticing his bewildered look.
“Why, Cap’n, I’m a sorter bamfoozled yeer. I kin understan’ well enuf how the feller; irked yer inter the tree afore he let go. But how did this hyur whang kum cuf? An’ whar’s the other eend?”
I saw that he held in his hand the noose of the lazo which he had taken from my ankles, and I explained the mystery of how it had “kum cut”. This seemed to raise me still higher in the hunter’s esteem. Turning to one of the riflemen, an old hunter like himself, he whispered – I overheard him:
“I’ll tell yer what it is, Nat: he kin whip his weight in wild-cats or grizzly b’ars any day in the year —he kin, or my name ain’t Bob Linkin.”
Saying this, he stepped forward on the cliff and looked over; and then he examined the tree, and then the piece of lazo, and then the tree again, and then he commenced dropping pebbles down, as if he was determined to measure every object, and fix it in his memory with a proper distinctness.
Twing and the others had now dismounted. As I turned towards them Clayley was taking a pull at the major’s pewter – and a good long pull, too. I followed the lieutenant’s example, and felt the better for it.
“But how did you find us, Major?”
“This little soldier,” said he, pointing to Jack, “brought us to the rancho where you were taken. From there we easily tracked you to a large hacienda.”
“Ha! you routed the guerilla, then?”
“Routed the guerilla! We saw no guerilla.”
“What! at the hacienda?”
“Peons and women; nothing more. Yes, there was, too – what am I thinking about? There was a party there that routed us; Thornley and Hillis here have both been wounded, and are not likely to recover – poor fellows!”
I looked towards these gentlemen for an explanation. They were both laughing, and I looked in vain.
“Hennessy, too,” said the major, “has got a stab under the ribs.”
“Och, by my soul have I, and no mistake!” cried the latter.
“Come, Major – an explanation, if you please.”
I was in no humour to enjoy this joke. I half divined the cause of their mirth, and it produced in me an unaccountable feeling of annoyance, not to say pain.
“Be my faith, then, Captain,” said Hennessy, speaking for the major, “if ye must know all about it, I’ll tell ye myself. We overhauled a pair of the most elegant crayteurs you ever clapped eyes upon; and rich – rich as Craysus – wasn’t they, boys?”
“Oh, plenty of tin,” remarked Hillis.
“But, Captain,” continued Hennessy, “how they took on to your ‘tiger’! I thought they would have eaten the little chap, body, bones, and all.”
I was chafing with impatience to know more, but I saw that nothing worth knowing could be had in that quarter. I determined, therefore, to conceal my anxiety, and find an early opportunity to talk to Jack.
“But beyond the hacienda?” I inquired, changing the subject.
“We trailed you down stream to the cañon, where we found blood upon the rocks. Here we were at fault, when a handsome, delicate-looking lad, known somehow or other to your Jack, came up and carried us to the crossing above, where the lad gave us the slip, and we saw no more of him. We struck the hoofs again where he left us, and followed them to a small prairie on the edge of the woods, where the ground was strangely broken and trampled. There they had turned back, and we lost all trace.”
“But how, then, did you come here?”
“By accident altogether. We were striking to the nearest point on the National Road when that tall sergeant of yours dropped down upon us out of the branches of a tree.”
“Whom did you see, Jack?” I whispered to the boy, after having drawn him aside.
“I saw them all, Captain.”
“Well?”
“They asked where you were, and when I told them – ”
“Well – well!”
“They appeared to wonder – ”
“Well?”
“And the young ladies – ”
“And the young ladies?”
“They ran round, and cried, and – ”
Jack was the dove that brought the olive-branch.
“Did they say where they were going?” I inquired, after one of those sweet waking dreams.
“Yes, Captain, they are going up the country to live.”
“Where – where?”
“I could not recollect the name – it was so strange.”
“Jalapa? Orizava? Cordova? Puebla? Mexico?”
“I think it was one of them, but I cannot tell which. I have forgotten it, Captain.”
“Captain Haller!” called the voice of the major; “here a moment, if you please. These are some of the men who were going to hang you, are they not?”
Twing pointed to five of the Jarachos who had been captured in the skirmish.
“Yes,” replied I, “I think so; yet I could not swear to their identity.”
“By the crass, Major, I can swear to ivery mother’s son av thim! There isn’t a scoundhrel among thim but has given me rayzon to remimber him, iv a harty kick in the ribs might be called a rayzon. Oh! ye ugly spalpeens! kick me now, will yez? – will yez jist be plazed to trid upon the tail av my jacket?”
“Stand out here, my man,” said the major.
Chane stepped forward, and swore away the lives of the five Jarochos in less than as many minutes.
“Enough!” said the major, after the Irishman had given his testimony. “Lieutenant Claiborne,” continued he, addressing an officer the youngest in rank, “what sentence?”
“Hang!” replied the latter in a solemn voice.
“Lieutenant Hillis?”
“Hang!” was the reply.
“Lieutenant Clayley?”
“Hang!” said Clayley in a quick and emphatic tone.
“Captain Hennessy?”
“Hang them!” answered the Irishman.
“Captain Haller?”
“Have you determined, Major Twing?” I asked, intending, if possible, to mitigate this terrible sentence.
“We have no time, Captain Haller,” replied my superior, interrupting me, “nor opportunity to carry prisoners. Our army has reached Plan del Rio, and is preparing to attack the pass. An hour lost, and we may be too late for the battle. You know the result of that as well as I.”
I knew Twing’s determined character too well to offer further opposition, and the Jarochos were condemned to be hung.
The following extract from the major’s report of the affair will show how the sentence was carried out:
We killed five of them, and captured as many more, but the leader escaped. The prisoners were tried, and sentenced to be hung. They had a gallows already rigged for Captain Haller and his companions, and for want of a better we hanged them upon that.
Chapter Fifty One.
A Bird’s-eye View of a Battle
It was still only an hour by sun as we rode off from the Eagle’s Cave. At some distance I turned in my saddle and looked back. It was a singular sight, those five hanging corpses, and one not easily forgotten. What an appalling picture it must have been to their own comrades, who doubtless watched the spectacle from some distant elevation!
Motionless they hung, in all the picturesque drapery of their strange attire – draggling – dead! The pines bent slightly over, the eagle screamed as he swept past, and high in the blue air a thousand bald vultures wheeled and circled, descending at every curve.
Before we had ridden out of sight the Eagle’s Cliff was black with zopilotes, hundreds clustering upon the pines, and whetting their fetid beaks over their prey, still warm. I could not help being struck with this strange transposition of victims.
We forded the stream below, and travelled for some hours in a westerly course over a half-naked ridge. At mid-day we reached an arroyo – a clear, cool stream that gurgled along under a thick grove of the palma redonda. Here we “nooned”, stretching our bodies along the green-sward.
At sundown we rode into the pueblito (hamlet) of Jacomulco, where we had determined to pass the night. Twing levied on the alcalde for forage for “man and beast”. The horses were picketed in the plaza, while the men bivouacked by their fires – strong mounted pickets having been thrown out on the roads or tracks that led to the village.
By daybreak we were again in our saddles, and, riding across another ridge, we struck the Plan River five miles above the bridge, and commenced riding down the stream. We were still far from the water, which roared and “soughed” in the bottom of a barranca, hundreds of feet below our path.
On crossing an eminence a sight suddenly burst upon us that caused us to leap in our saddles. Directly before us, and not a mile distant, rose a high round hill like a semi-globe, and from a small tower upon its top waved the standard of Mexico.
Long lines of uniformed men girdled the tower, formed in rank. Horsemen in bright dresses galloped up and down the hill. We could see the glitter of brazen helmets, and the glancing of a thousand bayonets. The burnished howitzer flashed in the sunbeams, and we could discern the cannoniers standing by their posts. Bugles were braying and drums rolling. So near were they that we could distinguish the call. They were sounding the “long roll!”
“Halt! Great Heaven!” cried Twing, jerking his horse upon its haunches; “we are riding into the enemy’s camp! Guide,” he added, turning fiercely to Raoul, and half-drawing his sword, “what’s this?”
“The hill, Major,” replied the soldier coolly, “is ‘El Telegrafo’. It is the Mexican head-quarters, I take it.”
“And, sir, what mean you? It is not a mile distant?”
“It is ten miles, Major.”
“Ten! Why, sir, I can trace the eagle upon that flag! It is not one mile, by Heaven!”
“By the eye, true; but by the road, Major, it is what I have said – ten miles. We passed the crossing of the barranca some time ago; there is no other before we reach El Plan.”
It was true. Although within range of the enemy’s lightest metal, we were ten miles off!
A vast chasm yawned between us and them. The next moment we were upon its brink, and, wheeling sharply to the right, we trotted on as fast as the rocky road would allow us.
“O heavens! Haller, we shall be too late. Gallop!” shouted Twing, as we pressed our horses side by side.
The troop at the word sprang into a gallop. El Plan, the bridge, the hamlet, the American camp with its thousand white pyramids, all burst upon us like a flash – below, far below, lying like a map. We are still opposite El Telegrafo!
“By heavens!” cried Twing, “our camp is empty!”
A few figures only were visible, straggling among the tents: the teamster, the camp-guard, the invalid soldier.
“Look! look!”
I followed the direction indicated. Against the long ridge that rose over the camp a dark-blue line could be traced – a line of uniformed men, glistening as they moved with the sparkle of ten thousand bayonets. It wound along the hill like a bristling snake, and, heading towards El Telegrafo, disappeared for a moment behind the ridge.
A gun from the globe-shaped hill – and then another! another! another! – a roll of musketry! – drums – bugles – shouts – cheering!
“The battle’s begun!”
“We are too late!”
We were still eight miles from the scene of action. We checked up, and sat chafing in our saddles.
And now the roll of musketry became incessant, and we could hear the crack! crack! of the American rifles. And bombs hurtled and rockets hissed through the air.
The round hill was shrouded in a cloud of sulphur, and through the smoke we could see small parties creeping up from rock to rock, from bush to bush, firing as they went. We could see some tumbling back under the leaden hail that was poured upon them from above.
And then a strong band debouched from the woods below, and strained upwards, daring all danger. Up, up! – and bayonets were crossed, and sabres glistened and grew red, and wild cries filled the air. And then came a cheer, long, loud, and exulting, and under the thinning smoke thousands were seen rushing down the steep, and flinging themselves into the woods.
We knew not as yet which party it was that were thus flying. We looked at the tower in breathless suspense. The cloud was around its base, where musketry was still rolling, sending its deadly missiles after the fugitives below.
“Look! look!” cried a voice: “the Mexican flag – it is down! See! ‘the star-spangled banner!’”
The American standard was slowly unfolding itself over the blue smoke, and we could easily distinguish the stripes, and the dark square in the corner with its silvery stars; and, as if with one voice, our troops broke into a wild “Hurrah!”
In less time than you have taken in reading this account of it the battle of Cerro Gordo was lost and won.
Chapter Fifty Two.
An Odd Way of Escaping from a Battle-field
We sat on our horses, facing the globe-shaped summit of El Telegrafo, and watching our flag as it swung out from the tower.
“Look yonder! what is that?” cried an officer, pointing across the barranca.
All eyes were now turned in the direction indicated. A white line was slowly moving down the face of the opposite cliff.
“Rein back, men! rein back!” shouted Twing, as his eye rested upon the strange object. “Throw yourselves under cover of the hill!”
In a minute our whole party – dragoons, officers, and all – had galloped our horses into the bed of a dry arroyo, where we were completely screened from observation. Three or four of us, dismounting, along with Twing, crept cautiously forward to the position we had just left, and, raising our heads over the bunch-grass, looked across the chasm. We were close to its edge, and the opposite “cheek” of the barranca, a huge wall of trap-rock, about a mile horizontally distant, rose at least a thousand feet from the river bottom. Its face was almost perpendicular, with the exception of a few stairs or platforms in the basaltic strata, and from these hung out stunted palms, cedars, and dark, shapeless masses of cacti and agave.
Down this front the living line was still moving – slowly, zigzag – along narrow ledges and over jutting points, as though some white liquid or a train of gigantic insects were crawling down the precipice. The occasional flash of a bright object would have told us the nature of this strange phenomenon, had we not guessed it already. They were armed men – Mexicans – escaping from the field of battle; and in a wood upon the escarpment of the cliff we could perceive several thousands of their comrades huddled up, and waiting for an opportunity to descend. They were evidently concealed, and out of all danger from their pursuers on the other side. Indeed, the main body of the American army had already passed their position, and were moving along the Jalapa road, following up the clouds of dust that hung upon the retreating squadrons of Santa Anna.
We lay for some time observing the motions of these cunning fugitives as they streamed downward. The head of their line had nearly reached the timbered bottom, through whose green fringes the Plan River swept onward, curving from cliff to cliff.
Impatient looks were cast towards the major, whose cold grey eye showed no signs of action.
“Well, Major – what’s to be done?” asked one.
“Nothing!” was the impressive reply.
“Nothing!” echoed everyone.
“Why, what could we do?”
“Take them prisoners – every one of them.”
“Whom prisoners?”
“These Mexicans – these before us.”
“Ha! before you they are – a long way, too. Bah! they are ten miles off, and, even if we could ride straight down the bluff with winged horses, what could our hundred men do in that jungle below? Look yonder! – there are a thousand of them crawling over the rocks?”
“And what signify numbers?” asked I, now speaking for the first time. “They are already defeated and flying – half of them, I’ll wager, without arms. Come, Major, let us go! We can capture the whole party without firing a shot.”
“But, my dear Captain, we cannot reach them where they are.”
“It is not necessary. If we ride up the cliffs, they will come to us.”
“How?”
“You see this dark line. It is not three miles distant. You know that timber like that does not grow on the naked face of a cliff. It is a gorge, and, I’ll warrant, a watercourse too. They will pass through it.”
“Beautiful! We could meet them as they came up it,” cried several at once.
“No, lads – no! You are all wrong. They will keep the bottom – the heavy timber, I warrant you. It’s no use losing time. We must round to the road, and forward. Who knows that we may not find work enough yet? Come!”
So saying, our commanding officer rose up, and, walking back to the arroyo, leapt into his saddle. Of course we followed his example, but with no very amiable feelings. I, for one, felt satisfied that we might have made a dashing thing of it, and entered the camp with flying colours. I felt, and so did my friend Clayley, like a schoolboy who had come too late for his lesson, and would gladly have been the bearer of a present to his master: moreover, we had learned from our comrades that it was the expressed intention of the commander-in-chief to capture as many of the enemy as possible on this occasion. This determination arose from the fact, well authenticated, that hundreds who had marched out of Vera Cruz on parole had gone direct to Cerro Gordo, with the intention of fighting us again; and no doubt some of these honourable soldiers were among the gentry now climbing down the barranca.
With these feelings, Clayley and I were anxious to do something that might cover our late folly, and win our way back to favour at head-quarters.
“Let me take fifty of your men and try this. You know, Major Twing, I have a score to rub out.”
“I cannot, Captain – I cannot. We must on. Forward!”
And the next moment we were moving at a trot in the direction of El Plan.
For the first time I felt angry at Twing; and, drawing my bridle tighter, I fell back to the rear. What would I not have given for the “Rifle Rangers” at that moment?
I was startled from a very sullen reverie by a shot, the whistling of a rifle bullet, and the loud “Halt” of the major in front. Raising myself on the instant, I could see a greenish-looking object just disappearing over the spur of a ridge. It was a vidette, who had fired and run in.
“Do you think they are any of our people?”
“That ’ar’s one of our kump’ny, Cap’n; I seed the green on his cap,” said Lincoln.
I galloped to the front. Twing was just detaching a small party to reconnoitre. I fell in along with this, and after riding a hundred yards we looked over the ridge, and saw, not four hundred yards distant, a ten-inch howitzer, that had just been wheeled round, and now stood gaping at us. In the rear of the gun stood a body of artillerists, and on their flanks a larger body of what appeared to be light infantry or rifles. It would have been anything but a pleasing sight, but that a small flag with red and white stripes was playing over the gun; and our party, heedless of their orders, leaped their horses on the ridge, and, pulling off their caps, saluted it with a cheer.
The soldiers by the battery still stood undecided, not knowing what to make of our conduct, as they were the advanced outpost in this direction, when a mounted rifleman galloped up and displayed the flag of his regiment.
A wild cheer echoed back from the battery; and the next moment both parties had met, and were shaking each other’s hands with the hearty greetings of long-parted friends.
Not the least interesting to me was the fact that my own corps, under the command of its lieutenant, formed the principal guard of the gun; and the welcome of our old comrades was such as we should have received had we come back from the grave. They had long since made up their minds that they had seen the last of us; and it was quite amusing to witness these brave tirailleurs as they gathered around Lincoln and his comrades to hear the story of our adventures.
