At the Point of the Sword Part 53

"You've had a good rest now, anyway."

"We shall pay for it, though."

And Cordova was not far wrong. We had barely fallen asleep when the bugles sounded. The troops rose, and mounted officers dashed about, carrying orders to different squadrons and battalions.

"Breakfast at once; ready to march in an hour," were the commands, and we wondered what information Bolivar had obtained.

Some said one thing, some another, and very soon a fine crop of rumours sprang up. Canterac was advancing with twenty thousand men; his troops had mutinied, and declared for the Patriots; he was retreating hot-foot for Cuzco; he was a prisoner in the hands of the mountain tribes.

Every man suggested the event he fancied most, and seemed quite annoyed if one expressed any doubt of its accuracy.

"Just our luck," grumbled Alzura. "I did think we should have had a little rest."

"It's just because you're here that we're moving," laughed Plaza.

"Directly Bolivar caught sight of you and Crawford yesterday morning, he determined to march. 'Canterac won't stand against those fellows,'

he said."

"Bolivar is a capable fellow and a good judge," said Alzura. "I wonder where General Miller is."

"Went off in the night, reconnoitring with a party of mountaineers.

It's wonderful how those wild fellows have taken to him. They'll go anywhere with him. Come along; it's nearly time for us to move, and Bolivar doesn't like to be kept waiting."

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE HUSSARS OF JUNIN.

Contrary to custom, we moved off the ground slowly, marching along with swarms of Indians on our flanks and in front. For once in a way Bolivar had adopted caution instead of the fiery recklessness he usually displayed, and seemed resolved on running no unnecessary risks.

Our course lay southward, over very rough, broken ground, and a staff officer informed Plaza we were making for the plains of Junin, to the south of Lake Reyes.

"We shall catch Canterac there," said he, "or Canterac will catch us; I hardly know which at present."

Our bivouac that night was cheerless and uncomfortable. The position was a very strong one, but Bolivar was evidently determined to leave nothing to chance. The sentries were doubled and in some places trebled, so that most of us were unable to s.n.a.t.c.h more than a few hours' sleep. Early in the morning the journey was resumed, and after a tedious march of fifteen miles through mountainous country we suddenly beheld the Royalist army crossing the plains at our feet. The men, breaking into a thundering "Viva," waved their caps or swung their lances in the air, and the cavalry were ordered to shift their saddles from the mules to the led horses.

"'Twill be a cavalry action," said Plaza, vaulting into his saddle.

"Here comes an 'aid' with orders."

"There goes Miller with a squadron," cried Alzura. "We shall be out of it. The Colombian Horse are moving too. We shall be left behind with the infantry."

"Not so fast," said Plaza, laughing, as Bolivar's messenger dashed up to Colonel Suares, who was in charge of our squadron. "Now for it!"

"You won't be quite so eager presently," growled the tough old major.

"Look at the ground; see the defile between the swamp and the hills.

Canterac can cut us to pieces there, and he's soldier enough to know it."

"No, no, major; his cavalry aren't a patch on ours. We've never had a chance to show our mettle before."

"Well, we shall have one now," said the major, as we began to descend to the plain.

Two Colombian squadrons were in front of us, while Miller was still further ahead and bearing to the left. On the other side of the defile we caught a glimpse now and then of the Royalist cavalry forming up.

The ground was so broken that we could only go at a foot-pace, and I began to think the major might be right.

As we entered the defile there came a great shout of "Viva el Rey!"

from the plains ahead, and the next instant the Royalist hors.e.m.e.n, thirteen hundred strong, and led by Canterac himself, dashed madly to the attack.

"Viva! viva!" they yelled, cutting and thrusting with sabre and lance.

The onset was like a mighty avalanche, and our men were for the most part overwhelmed. A few of the strongest and best mounted cut their way through, but numbers were overthrown, and the rest came flying back, with the victorious Royalists slashing and cutting on all sides.

"By St. Philip," muttered Plaza, "we shall be swept away."

Our colonel, seeing the danger, manoeuvred us into an angle of the marsh, just as the mob of hors.e.m.e.n, friend and foe inextricably mixed, swarmed down, shouting, struggling, fighting.

"Forward! forward!" yelled the exultant Royalists, sweeping past like a whirlwind.

Farther away on the left, another body was driving Miller's men into the swamp, and it seemed that the Patriot cavalry must be annihilated.

But our squadron remained untouched, and leading us into the plain, Suares issued an order to charge the Royalists who were handling Miller's troops so roughly.

"We must win or die, my lads!" he cried; "the country depends on us."

The men cheered with a will and shook their sabres; we settled more firmly in our saddles; the colonel rode to the front; the squadron moved forward and broke into a trot. Men and officers alike knew that our leader had spoken no more than the truth. We must win or die! On us alone hung the issue of the battle. If we failed, hardly a man of the Patriot cavalry would leave the field alive; if we won, the Royalists must stop the pursuit in order to help their comrades.

It was a heavy task, but one thought cheered and nerved us. We were all Peruvians belonging to the Legion, and it was but fitting that the desperate venture should fall to us. How our infantry battalion would cheer, how proudly they would greet us, should we return victorious!

It would be glorious to show both friends and enemies that the Peruvians could strike a stout blow in their own defence.

"Gallop!"

We received the order with a cheer, bent low in the saddle, and grasped our sabres firmly. Suares knew his work, and led us across a wide stretch of smooth, firm ground, the very spot for a cavalry charge.

Finding themselves between two foes, the Royalists faced about and dashed at us. The shock was tremendous: men and horses were bowled over like ninepins; great gaps appeared in the ranks; men went down and were trampled under foot in the furious fray; there was a ring of steel as sabre clashed with sabre, and the defiant shouts of the combatants mingled with the groans of the wounded.

Reeling and panting, I found myself on the other side of the press.

Plaza was there, too, with a dozen of his men. Alzura broke through smiling in spite of a nasty cut across the face, and was followed by many more. Then above the din General Miller's voice was heard, and we flushed with pride.

"Bravo, my boys!" he cried; "I'm proud of you! All the army will sing your praises presently."

Freed from the Royalists, his men had got out of the swamp, and now came to join us. The few Colombians who had cut their way through in the first attack galloped back, and inspirited by General Miller's stern "Hurrah!" we once more flung ourselves on the foe. It was steel to steel now, and the Spaniards stood their ground well till they saw their comrades retreating from the defile. Then, with the exception of a devoted few who stayed in a grim ring around the standard-bearer, they turned to flee.

"The flag!" cried the general; "have at the flag!" And like a torrent in flood, we swept down on the little band.

"Rally to the flag!" cried a voice I knew well, and the next instant I was crossing swords with Santiago Mariano. I do not care much to dwell on this part of the fight. These Royalists were the pick of their squadron, and it seemed as if each man would die where he fought rather than surrender the colours. Three or four times the flag disappeared, but came up again the next instant, and presently I saw it borne aloft by Santiago, who had been forced away from me in the fierce turmoil.

Hardly a dozen men remained with him now, and we were all round him.

"Surrender!" cried the general. "It is a pity to kill so brave a man!"

Santiago laughed lightly, dug the spurs deep into his horse's sides, cleared a pa.s.sage with his sabre, and wheeling his horse by the pressure of his knees, bounded away, crying defiantly,--

"Rally to the flag! Viva el Rey!"