“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.