Mr. Fortescue Part 21

"_Con mucho gusto._ Shall we go now, Senor Fortescue?"

I went, and spent a very pleasant evening with Captain Guzman, and several of his brother-officers, whom he invited to join us, for though the Spaniards of that age were frightfully cruel to their enemies, they were courteous to their guests, and as a guest I was treated. As, moreover, most of the men I met had served in the Peninsular war, we had quite enough to talk about without touching on topics whose discussion might have been incompatible with good fellowship.

When, at a late hour, I turned into the hammock provided for me by Guzman, it required an effort to realize that I was a prisoner. Why, I asked myself, had Griscelli, who was never known to spare a prisoner, whose face was both cruel and false, and who could bear me no good-will--why had this man treated me so courteously? Did he really mean to let me go, and if so, why; or was the promise made to the ear merely to be broken to the hope?

"Perhaps to-morrow will show," I thought, as I fell asleep; and I was not far out, for the day after did. Guzman, whose room I shared, wakened me long before daylight.

"The bugle has sounded the reveille, and the troops are mustering on the plaza," he said. "You had better rise and dress. The general has sent word that you are to go with us, and our horses are in the _patio_."

I got up at once, and after drinking a hasty cup of coffee, we mounted and joined Griscelli and his staff.

The troops were already under arms, and a few minutes later we marched, our departure being so timed, as I heard the general observe to one of his aides-de-camp, that we might reach the neighborhood of the rebel camp shortly before sunrise. His plan was well conceived, and, unless Mejia had been forewarned or was keeping a sharper lookout than he was in the habit of doing, I feared it would go ill with him.

The camping-ground was much better suited for concealment than defence. It lay in a hollow in the hills, in shape like a horse-shoe, with a single opening, looking east, and was commanded in every direction by wooded heights. Griscelli's plan was to occupy the heights with skirmishers, who, hidden behind the trees and bushes, could shoot down the rebels with comparative security. A force of infantry and cavalry would meanwhile take possession of the opening and cut off their retreat. In this way, thought Griscelli, the patriots would either be slaughtered to a man, or compelled to surrender at discretion.

I could not deny (though I did not say so) that he had good grounds for this opinion. The only hope for Mejia was that, alarmed by our disappearance, he had stationed outposts on the heights and a line of vedettes on the San Felipe road, and fortified the entrance to the _quebrada_. In that case the attack might be repulsed, despite the superiority of the Spanish infantry and the disadvantages of Mejia's position. But the probabilities were against his having taken any of these precautions; the last thing he thought of was being attacked, and I could hardly doubt that he would be fatally entangled in the toils which were being laid for him.

While these thoughts were pa.s.sing through my mind we were marching rapidly and silently toward our destination, lighted only by the stars. The force consisted of two brigades, the second of which, commanded by General Estero, had gone on half an hour previously. I was with the first and rode with Griscelli's staff. So far there had not been the slightest hitch, and the Spaniards promised themselves an easy victory.

It had been arranged that the first brigade should wait, about a mile from the entrance to the valley until Estero opened fire, and then advance and occupy the outlet. Therefore, when we reached the point in question a halt was called, and we all listened eagerly for the preconcerted signal.

And then occurred one of those accidents which so often mar the best laid plans. After we had waited a full hour, and just as day began to break, the rattle of musketry was heard on the heights, whereupon Griscelli, keenly alive to the fact that every moment of delay impaired his chances of success, ordered his men to fall in and march at the double. But, unfortunately for the Spaniards, the shots we had heard were fired too soon. The way through the woods was long and difficult, Estero's men got out of hand; some of them, in their excitement, fired too soon, with the result that, when the first division appeared in the valley, the patriots, rudely awakened from their fancied security, were getting under arms, and Mejia saw at a glance into what a terrible predicament his overconfidence had led him. He saw also (for though an indifferent general he was no fool) that the only way of saving his army from destruction, was to break out of the valley at all hazards, before the Spaniards enclosed him in a ring of fire.

Mejia took his measures accordingly. Placing his _llaneros_ and _gauchos_ in front and the infantry in the rear, he advanced resolutely to the attack; and though it is contrary to rule for light cavalry to charge infantry, this order, considering the quality of the rebel foot, was probably the best which he could adopt.

On the other hand, the Spanish position was very strong, Griscelli ma.s.sed his infantry in the throat of the _quebrada_, the thickets on either side of it being occupied in force. The reserve consisted exclusively of horse, an arm in which he was by no means strong. Mejia was thus encompa.s.sed on three sides, and had his foes reserved their fire and stood their ground, he could not possibly have broken through them. But the Spaniards opened fire as soon as the rebels came within range. Before they could reload, the _gauchos_ charged, and though many saddles were emptied, the rebel horse rode so resolutely and their long spears looked so formidable, that the Spaniards gave way all along the line, and took refuge among the trees, thereby leaving the patriots a free course.

This was the turning-point of the battle, and had the rebel infantry shown as much courage as their cavalry the Spaniards would have been utterly beaten; but their only idea was to get away; they bolted as fast as their legs could carry them, an example which was promptly imitated by the Spanish cavalry, who instead of charging the rebel horse in flank as they emerged from the valley, galloped off toward San Felipe, followed _nolens volens_ by Griscelli and his staff.

It was the only battle I ever saw or heard of in which both sides ran away. If Mejia had gone to San Felipe he might have taken it without striking a blow, but besides having lost many of his brave _llaneros_, he had his unfortunate infantry to rally and protect, and the idea probably never occurred to him.

As for the Spanish infantry, they stayed in the woods till the coast was clear, and then hied them home.

Griscelli was wild with rage. To have his well-laid plans thwarted by cowardice and stupidity, the easy victory he had promised himself turned into an ignominious defeat at the very moment when, had his orders been obeyed, the fortunes of the day might have been retrieved--all this would have proved a severe trial for a hero or a saint, and certainly Griscelli bore his reverse neither with heroic fort.i.tude nor saintly resignation. He cursed like the jackdaw of Rheims, threatened dire vengeance on all and sundry, and killed one of the runaway troopers with his own hand. I narrowly escaped sharing the same fate. Happening to catch sight of me when his pa.s.sion was at the height he swore that he would shoot at least one rebel, and drawing a pistol from his holster pointed it at my head. I owed my life to Captain Guzman, who was one of the best and bravest of his officers.

"Pray don't do that, general," he said. "It would be an ill requital for Senor Fortescue's faithful observance of his parole. And you promised to let him go."

"Promised to let him go! So I did, and I will be as good as my word,"

returned Griscelli, grimly, as he unc.o.c.ked his pistol. "Yes, he shall go."

"Now?"

"No. To-night. Meet me, both of you, near the old sugar-mill on the savanna when the moon rises; and give him a good supper, Guzman; he will need it."

CHAPTER XVI.

THE AZUFERALES.

"What is General Griscelli's game? Does he really mean to let me go, or is he merely playing with me as a cat plays with a mouse?" I asked Guzman, as we sat at supper.

"That is just the question I have been asking myself. I never knew him let a prisoner go before, and I know of no reason why he should treat you more leniently than he treats others. Do you?"

"No. He is more likely to bear me a grudge," and then I told Guzman what had befallen at Salamanca.

"That makes it still less probable that he will let you go away quietly.

Griscelli never forgives, and to-day's fiasco has put him in a devil of a temper. He is malicious, too. We have all to be careful not to offend him, even in trifles, or he would make life very unpleasant for us, and I fear he has something very unpleasant in store for you. You may depend upon it that he is meditating some trick. He is quite capable of letting you go as far as the bridge, and then bringing you back and hanging you or fastening you to the tail of a wild mustang or the horns of a wild bull. That also would be letting you go."

"So it would, in a fashion! and I should prefer it to being hanged."

"I don't think I would. The hanging would be sooner over and far less painful. And there are many other ways--he might have your hands tied behind your back and cannon-b.a.l.l.s fastened to your feet, and then leave you to your own devices."

"That would not be so bad. We should find some good soul to release us, and I think I could contrive to untie Carmen's bonds with my teeth."

"Or he might cut off your ears and put out your eyes--"

"For Heaven's sake cease these horrible suggestions! You make my blood run cold. But you cannot be serious. Is Griscelli in the habit of putting out the eyes of his prisoners?"

"Not that I am aware of; but I have heard him threaten to do it, and known him to cut off a rebel's ears first and hang him afterward. All the same I don't think he is likely to treat you in that way. It might get to the ears of the captain-general, and though he is not very particular where rebels are concerned, he draws the line at mutilation."

"We shall soon see; we have to be at the old sugar-mill when the moon rises," I said, gloomily, for the prospect held out by Guzman was anything but encouraging.

"And that will be soon. If I see any way of helping you, without compromising myself, I will. Hospitality has its duties, and I cannot forget that you have fought and bled for Spain. Have another drink; you don't know what is before you? And take this knife--it will serve also as a dagger--and this pocket-pistol. Put them where they will not be seen.

You may find them useful."

"_Gracias!_ But you surely don't think we shall be sent adrift weaponless and on foot?"

"That is as it may be; but it is well to provide for contingencies. And now let us start; nothing irritates Griscelli so much as having to wait."

So, girding on our swords (mine had been restored to me "by special favor," when I gave my parole), we mounted our horses, which were waiting at the door, and set out.

The savanna was a wide stretch of open ground outside the fortifications, where reviews were held and the troops performed their evolutions; it lay on the north side of the town. Farther on in the same direction was a range of low hills, thickly wooded and ill provided with roads. The country to the east and west was pretty much in the same condition.

Southward it was more open, and a score of miles away merged into the llanos.

"We are in good time; the moon is only just rising, and I don't think there is anybody before us," said Guzman, as we neared the old sugar-mill, a dilapidated wooden building, shaded by cebia-trees and sombrero palms.

"But there is somebody behind us," I said, looking back. "A squadron of cavalry at the least."

"Griscelli, I suppose, and Carmen. But why is the general bringing so many people with him, I wonder? And don't I see dogs?"

"Rather! A pack of hounds, I should say."

"You are right; they are Griscelli's blood-hounds. Is it possible that a prisoner or a slave has escaped, and Griscelli will ask us to join in the hunt?"

"Join in the hunt! You surely don't mean that you hunt men in this country?"