In a few minutes our greetings were over. Twing moved on, taking with him his squadron of mounted men. I had made up my mind to take the opposite road—the “back track”. I was now in command of a force—my own—and I felt keenly the necessity of doing something to redeem my late folly. Clayley was as anxious as myself.
“You do not need them any longer?” said I to Ripley, a gallant young fellow, who commanded the howitzer.
“No, Captain; I have thirty artillerists here. It is strange if we can’t keep the piece and manage it against ten times that number of such heroes as we have seen over yonder.” And he pointed to the flying enemy on the other side of the barranca.
“What say you to going with us?”
“I should like it well; but duty, my dear H.—duty! I must stay by the gun.”
“Good-bye, then, comrade! We have no time to lose—farewell!”
“Good-bye; and if you’re whipped, fall back on me. I’ll keep the piece here until you return, and there’ll be a good load of grape ready for anybody that may be in pursuit of you.”
The company had by this time formed on the flank of the howitzer, and at the words “Forward!—quick time!” started briskly across the hills.
In a few minutes we had reached the point where the road trended for some distance along the brow of the precipice. Here we halted a moment; and taking Lincoln and Raoul, I crawled forward to our former point of observation.
Our time spent at the battery had been so short that, with the difficulty which the enemy experienced in descending the cliff, the head of their line had only now reached the bottom of the barranca. They were running in twos and threes towards the stream, which, near this point, impinged upon the foot of the precipice. With a small glass that I had obtained from Ripley I could see their every movement. Some of them were without arms—they had doubtless thrown them away—while others still carried their muskets, and not a few were laden with knapsacks, and heavy burdens too; the household gods—perhaps stolen ones—of their own camp. As they reached the green-sward, dropping down in a constant stream, they rushed forward to the water, scrambling into it in thirsty crowds, and falling upon their knees to drink. Some of them filled their canteens and went on.
“They intend to take the hills,” thought I. I knew there was no water for miles in that direction.
As I swept the glass round the bottom of the cliff, I was struck with an object that stood in a clump of palm-trees. It was a mule saddled, and guarded by several soldiers more richly uniformed than the masses who were struggling past them.
“They are waiting for some officer of rank,” thought I. I moved the glass slowly along the line of descending bodies, and upward against the rocks to a small platform, nearly halfway up the cliff. Several bright uniforms flashed upon the lens. The platform was shaded with palms; and I could see that this party had halted a moment for the purpose (as I then conjectured) of allowing the foremost fugitives to pioneer the wooded bottom. I was right. As soon as these had crossed the stream, and made some way in the jungle along its banks, the former continued their descent; and now I saw what caused my pulse to beat feverishly—that one of these carried a dark object on his back. An object?—a man—and that man could be no other than the lame tyrant of Mexico.
I can scarcely describe my feelings at this moment. The young hunter who sees noble game—a bear, a panther, a buffalo—within reach of his rifle for the first time, might feel as I did. I hated this man, as all honest men must and should hate a cowardly despot. During our short campaign I had heard many a well-authenticated story of his base villainy, and I believe at that moment I would have willingly parted with my hand to have brought him as near to me as he appeared under the field of the telescope. I thought I could even distinguish the lines, deep furrowed by guilt, on his dark, malice-marked face; and, as I became sure of the identity, I drew back my head, cautioning my companions to do the same.
Now was the time for action, and, putting up the glass, we crawled back to our comrades. I had learned from Raoul that the dark line which I had noticed before was, as I had conjectured, the cañon of a small arroyo, heavily timbered, and forming a gap or pass that led to the Plan River. It was five miles distant, instead of three. So much the better, and with a quick, crouching gait we were once more upon our way. I had told my comrades enough to make some of them as eager as I. Many of them would have given half a life for a shot at game like that. Not a few of them remembered they had lost a brother on the plains of Goliad, or at the fortress of the Alamo.
The Rangers, moreover, had been chafing “all day for a fight”, and now, so unexpectedly led at something like it, they were just in the humour. They moved as one man, and the five miles that lay between us and the gorge were soon passed to the rear. We reached it, I think, in about half an hour. Considering the steep pass through which the enemy must come, we knew there was a breathing-time, though not long, for us; and during this I matured my plans, part of which I had arranged upon the route.
A short survey of the ground convinced us that it could not have been better fitted for an ambuscade had we chosen it at our leisure. The gorge or cañon did not run directly up the cliff, but in a zigzag line, so that a man at the top could only alarm another coming up after him by shouting or firing his piece. This was exactly what we wanted, knowing that, although we might capture a few of the foremost, those in the rear, being alarmed, could easily take to the river bottom and make their escape through the thickets. It was our design to make our prisoners, if possible, without firing a single shot; and this, under the circumstances, we did not deem an impossible matter.
The pass was a dry arroyo, its banks fringed with large pines and cotton-woods, matted together by llianas and vines. Where the gorge debouched into the uplands its banks were high and naked, with here and there a few scattered palmettos that grew up from huge hassocks of bunch-grass.
Behind each of these branches a rifleman was stationed, forming a deployed line, with its concave arc facing the embouchure of the gorge, and gradually closing in, so that it ended in a clump of thick chaparral upon the very verge of the precipice. At this point, on each side of the path, were stationed half a dozen men, in such a position as to be hidden from any party passing upward, until it had cleared the cañon and its retreat was secured against. At the opposite end of the elliptical deployment a stronger party was stationed, Clayley in command and Raoul to act as interpreter. Oakes and I took our places, commanding the separate detachments on the brow.
Our arrangements occupied us only a few minutes. I had to deal with men, many of whom had “surrounded” buffaloes in a somewhat similar manner; and it did not require much tact to teach them a few modifications in the game. In five minutes we were all in our places, waiting anxiously and in perfect silence.
As yet not a murmur had............