Caught.
A smart gallop of a few minutes brought us near enough to see what was going on, though as we had to make a considerable détour in order to avoid the Spaniards, we were just too late for the charge, greatly to Carmen’s disappointment.
In numbers the two sides were pretty equal, the strength of each being about a thousand men. Their tactics were rather those of Indian braves than regular troops. The patriots were, however, both better led and better disciplined than their opponents, and fought with a courage and a resolution that on their native plains would have made them formidable foes for the “crackest” of European cavalry.
The encounter took place when we were within a few hundred yards of Mejia’s left flank. It was really a charge in line, albeit a very broken line, every man riding as hard as he could and fighting for his own land. All were armed with spears, the longest, as I afterward learned, being wielded by Colombian gauchos. These portentous weapons, fully fourteen feet long, were held in both hands, the reins being meanwhile placed on the knees, and the horses guided by voice and spur. The Spaniards seemed terribly afraid of them, as well they might be, for the Colombian spears did dire execution. Few missed their mark, and I saw more than one trooper literally spitted and lifted clean out of his saddle.
Mejia, distinguishable by his tall stature, was in the thick of the fray. After the first shock he threw away his spear, and drawing a long two-handed sword, which he carried at his back, laid about like a coeur-de-lion. The combat lasted only a few minutes, and though we were too late to contribute to the victory we were in time to take part in the pursuit.
It was a scene of wild confusion and excitement; the Spaniards galloping off in all directions, singly and in groups, making no attempt to rally, yet when overtaken, fighting to the last, Mejia’s men following them with lowered lances and wild cries, managing their fiery little horses with consummate ease, and making no prisoners.
“Here is a chance for us; let us charge these fellows!” shouted Carmen, as eight or nine of the enemy rode past us in full retreat; and without pausing for a reply he went off at a gallop, followed by Gahra and myself; for although I had no particular desire to attack men who were flying for their lives and to whom I knew no quarter would be given, it was impossible to hold back when my comrades were rushing into danger. Had the Spaniards been less intent on getting away it would have fared ill with us. As it was, we were all wounded. Gahra got a thrust through the arm, Carmen a gash in the thigh; and as I gave one fellow the point in his throat his spear pierced my hat and cut my head. If some of the patriots had not come to the rescue our lives would have paid the forfeit of our rashness.
The incident was witnessed by Mejia himself, who, when he recognized Carmen, rode forward, greeted us warmly and remarked that we were just in time.
“To be too late,” answered Carmen, discontentedly, as he twisted a handkerchief round his wounded thigh.
“Not much; and you have done your share. That was a bold charge you made. And your friends? I don’t think I have the pleasure of knowing them.”
Carmen introduced us, and told him who I was.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, señor,” he said, graciously, “and I will give you of my best; but I can offer you only rough fare and plenty of fighting. Will that content you?”
I bowed, and answered that I desired nothing better. The guerilla leader was a man of striking appearance, tall, spare, and long limbed. The contour of his face was Indian; he had the deep-set eyes, square jaws, and lank hair of the abonguil race. But his eyes were blue, his hair was flaxen, and his skin as fair as that of a pure-blooded Teuton. Mejia, as I subsequently heard, was the son of a German father and a mestizma mother, and prouder of his Indian than his European ancestry. It was probably for this reason that he preferred being called Mejia rather than Morgenstern y Mejia, his original appellation. His hereditary hatred of the Spaniards, inflamed by a sense of personal wrong, was his ruling passion. He spared none of the race (being enemies) who fell into his hands. Natives of the country, especially those with Indian blood in their veins, he treated more mercifully—when his men would let him, for they liked killing even more than they liked fighting, and had an unpleasant way of answering a remonstrance from their officers with a thrust from their spears.
Mejia owed his ascendancy over them quite as much to his good fortune in war as to his personal prowess and resolute character.
“If I were to lose a battle they would probably take my life, and I should certainly have to resign my command,” he observed, when we were talking the matter over after the pursuit (which, night being near, was soon abandoned); “and a llanero leader must lead—no playing the general or watching operations from the rear—or it will be the worse for him.”
“I understand; he must be first or nowhere.”
“Yes, first or nowhere; and they will brook no punishment save death. If a man disobeys me I either let it pass or shoot him out of hand, according to circumstances. If I were to strike a man or order him under arrest, the entire force would either mutiny or disband. Si señor, my llaneros are wild fellows.”
They looked it. Most of them wore only a ragged shirt over equally ragged trousers. Their naked feet were thrust into rusty stirrups. Some rode bare-backed, and there were among them men of every breed which the country produced; mestizoes, mulattoes, zambos, quadroons, negroes, and Indios, but all born gauchos and llaneros, hardy and in high condition, and well skilled in the use of lasso and spear. They were volunteers, too, and if their chief failed to provide them with a sufficiency of fighting and plunder, they had no hesitation in taking themselves off without asking for leave of absence.
When Mejia heard that a British force was being raised for service against the Spaniards, he was greatly delighted, and offered me on the spot a command in his “army,” or, alternatively, the position of his principal aide-de-camp. I preferred the latter.
“You have decided wisely, and I thank you, señor coronel. The advice and assistance of a soldier who has seen so much of war as you have will be very valuable and highly esteemed.”
I reminded the chief that, in the British army, I had held no higher rank than that of lieutenant.
“What matters that? I have made myself a general, and I make you a colonel. Who is there to say me nay?” he demanded, proudly.
Though much amused by this summary fashion of conferring military rank, I kept a serious countenance, and, after congratulating General Mejia on his promotion and thanking him for mine, I said that I should do my best to justify his confidence.
We bivouacked on the banks of a stream some ten miles from the scene of our encounter with the loyalists. On our way thither, Mejia told us that he had taken and destroyed Tres Cruces, and was now contemplating an attack on General Griscelli at San Felipe, as to which he asked my opinion.
I answered that, as I knew nothing either of the defense of San Felipe or of the strength and character of the force commanded by General Griscelli, I could give none. On this, Mejia informed me that the place was a large village and military post, defended by earthworks and block-houses, and that the force commanded by Griscelli consisted of about twenty-five hundred men, of whom about half were regulars, half native auxiliaries.
“Has he any artillery?” I asked.
“About ten pieces of position, but no field-guns.”
“And you?”
“I have none whatever.”
“Nor any infantry?”
“Not here. But my colleague, General Estero, is at present organizing a force which I dare say will exceed two thousand men, and he promises to join me in the course of a week or two.”
“That is better, certainly. Nevertheless, I fear that with one thousand horse and two thousand foot, and without artillery, you will not find it easy to capture a strong place, armed with ten guns and held by twenty-five hundred men, of whom half are regulars. If I were you I would let San Felipe alone.”
Mejia frowned. My advice was evidently not to his liking.
“Let me tell you, señor coronel” he said, arrogantly, “our patriot soldiers are equal to any in the world, regular or irregular. And, don’t you see that the very audacity of the enterprise counts in our favor? The last thing Griscelli expects is an attack. We shall find him unprepared and take him by surprise. That man has done us a great deal of harm. He hangs every patriot who falls into his hands, and I have made up my mind to hang him!”
After this there was nothing more to be said, and I held my peace. I soon found, moreover, that albeit Mejia often made a show of consulting me he had no intention of accepting my advice, and that all his officers (except Carmen) and most of his men regarded me as a gringo (foreign interloper) and were envious of my promotion, and jealous of my supposed influence with the general.
We bivouacked in a valley on the verge of the llanos, and the next few days were spent in raiding cattle and preparing tasajo. We had also another successful encounter with a party of Morale’s guerillas. This raised Mejia’s spirits to the highest point, and made him more resolute than ever to attack San Felipe. But when I saw General Estero’s infantry my misgivings as to the outcome of the adventure were confirmed. His men, albeit strong and sturdy and full of fight, were badly disciplined and indifferently armed, their officers extremely ignorant and absurdly boastful and confident. Estero himself, though like Mejia, a splendid patriotic leader, was no general, and I felt sure that unless we caught Griscelli asleep we should find San Felipe an uncommonly hard nut to crack. I need hardly say, however, that I kept this opinion religiously to myself. Everybody was so confident and cock-sure, that the mere suggestion of a doubt would have been regarded as treason and probably exposed me to danger.
A march of four days partly across the llanos, partly among the wooded hills by which they were bounded, brought us one morning to a suitable camping-ground, within a few miles of San Felipe, and Mejia, who had assumed the supreme command, decided that the attack should take place on the following night.
“You will surely reconnoitre first, General Mejia,” I ventured to say.
“What would be the use? Estero and I know the place. However, if you and Carmen like to go and have a look you may.”
Carmen was nothing loath, and two hours before sunset we saddled our horses and set out. I could speak more freely to him than to any of the others, and as we rode on I remarked how carelessly the camp was guarded. There were no proper outposts, and instead of being kept out of sight in the quebrado, the men were allowed to come and go as they liked. Nothing would be easier than for a treacherous soldier to desert and give information to the enemy which might not only ruin the expedition but bring destruction on the army.
“No, no, Fortescue, I cannot agree to that. There are no traitors among us,” said my companion, warmly.
“I hope not. Yet how can you guarantee that among two or three thousand men there is not a single rascal! In war, you should leave nothing to chance. And even though none of the fellows desert it is possible that some of them may wander too far away and get taken prisoners, which would be quite as bad.”
“You mean it would give Griscelli warning?”
“Exactly, and if he is an enterprising general he would not wait to be attacked. Instead of letting us surprise him he would surprise us.”
“Caramba! So he would. And Griscelli is an enterprising general. We must mention this to Mejia when we get back, amigo mio.”
“You may, if you like. I am tired of giving advice which is never heeded,” I said, rather bitterly.
“I will, certainly, and then whatever befalls I shall have a clear conscience. Mejia is one of the bravest men I know. It is a pity he is so self-opinionated.”
“Yes, and to make a general a man must have something more than bravery. He must have brains.”
Carmen knew the country we were in thoroughly, and at his suggestion we went a roundabout way through the woods in order to avoid coming in contact with any of Griscelli’s people. On reaching a hill overlooking San Felipe we tethered our horses in a grove of trees where they were well hidden, and completed the ascent on foot. Then, lying down, and using a field-glass lent us by Mejia, we made a careful survey of the place and its surroundings.
San Felipe, a picturesque village of white houses with thatched roofs, lay in a wide well-cultivated valley, looking south, and watered by a shallow stream which in the rainy season was probably a wide river. At each corner of the village, well away from the houses, was a large block-house, no doubt pierced for musketry. From one block-house to another ran an earthen parapet with a ditch, and on each parapet were mounted three guns.
“Well, what think you of San Felipe, and our chances of taking it?” asked Carmen, after a while.
“I don’t think its defences are very formidable. A single mortar on that height to the east would make the place untenable in an hour; set it on fire in a dozen places. It is all wood. But to attempt its capture with a force of infantry numerically inferior to the garrison will be a very hazardous enterprise indeed, and barring miraculously good luck on the one side or miraculously ill luck on the other cannot possibly succeed, I should say. No, Carmen, I don’t think we shall be in San Felipe to-morrow night, or any night, just yet.”
“But how if a part of the garrison be absent? Hist! Did not you hear something?”
“Only the crackling of a branch. Some wild animal, probably. I wonder whether there are any jaguars hereabout—”
“Oh, if the garrison be weak and the sentries sleep it is quite possible we may take the place by a rush. But, on the other hand, it is equally possible that Griscelli may have got wind of our intention, and—”
“There it is again! Something more than a wild animal this time, Fortescue,” exclaims Carmen, springing to his feet.
I follow his example; but the same instant a dozen men spring from the bushes, and before we can offer any resistance, or even draw our swords, we are borne to the ground and despite our struggles, our arms pinioned to our sides.