Phil was still dismounted, and he stood with his friends on one of the promontories watching the most thrilling of all dramas unfold itself, the drama in which victory or defeat, life or death are the stakes. It was at best a bare and sterile country, and now, in the finish of the winter, the scanty vegetation itself was dead. The dust from the dead earth and the dust from the surface of the lava, ground off by iron-shod hoofs, rose in clouds that always increased, and that seemed to thicken as well as to rise and broaden. To Philip's mind occurred the likeness of a vast simoon, coming, though slowly, toward the American lines. But he knew that the heart of the simoon was a great army which considered victory absolutely sure.
"Looks as if Santa Anna had a million down there in the dust," said Breakstone. "Dost thou remember, Sir Philip of the Mountain, the Ravine, and the Lava, that passage in Macbeth in which Birnam Wood doth come to Dunsinane? It is in my mind now because the dust of New Leon seems coming to the Pass of Angostura."
"They are at least as well hid as Macduff's army was by the wood," said Phil. "That huge cloud seems to roll over the ground, and we can't see anything in it but the flashes of light on the weapons."
They waited awhile longer in silence. The whole American army was watching. All the preparations had been made, and soldiers and officers now had little to do but bide the time. Presently the great wall of dust split apart, then a sudden shift of wind lifted it high, and whirled it over the plain. As if revealed by the sudden lifting of a curtain, the whole magnificent army of Santa Anna stood forth, stretching along a front of two miles, and more than twenty thousand strong. A deep breath, more like a murmur, rose from the soldiers in the pass. They had known long before that they were far outnumbered. The officers had never concealed from them this fact, but here was the actual and visible presence.
"Five to one," said Bill Breakstone, softly and under his breath.
"But they haven't beaten us," said Phil.
The Mexican army now halted, the cavalry of Minon in front and on the flanks, and, seen from the pass, it was certainly an array of which Mexico could be proud. Everything stained or worn was hidden. Only the splendor and glory appeared. The watchers saw the bright uniforms, the generals riding here and there, the numerous batteries, and the brilliant flags waving. Evidently they were making a camp, as if they held the rat in their trap, and would take their time about settling his fate. The sound of bugles, and then of a band playing military airs, came up, and to those in the pass these sounds were like a taunt. Arenberg, a man of few words, uttered a low guttural sound like a growl.
"They are too sure," he said. "It iss never well to be too sure."
"That's the talk, Old Dutch," said Breakstone. "First catch your army."
They waited awhile longer, watching, and then they heard a cheer behind them in the pass. It was General Taylor, returning from Saltillo and riding hard. He emerged upon the plateau and sat there on his horse, overlooking the plain, and the great curve of Santa Anna's army. Phil was near enough to see his face, and he watched him intently.