The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista by Joseph A. Altsheler
CHAPTER XIV
BUENA VISTA
Phil did not sleep long, only an hour perhaps, and then it wasBreakstone's arm on his shoulder that awakened him. He had laid downfully clothed, and he sprang at once to his feet. His nerves, too, hadbeen so thoroughly keyed for action that every faculty responded at onceto the call, and he was never more wide awake in his life. Quickly helooked about him and saw that it was a most brilliant morning. The sunwas swinging upward with a splendor that he had not before seen in thesegorges of the Sierra Madre. The mountains were bathed in light. Thebare ridges and peaks stood out like carving, and the sunbeams dancedalong the black lava.
"It is Washington's Birthday, and the sun is doing him honor," saidBreakstone. "But look there, Phil."
He pointed a long straight finger into the south.
"See that tiny cloud of dust," he said, "there where rock and sky meet.I'll wager everything against nothing that it was raised by the hoofs ofMinon's cavalry. Santa Anna and his whole army are surely advancing.Watch it grow."
Phil looked with eager eyes, and he saw everything that Bill Breakstonehad predicted come to pass. The cloud of dust, so small at first thathe could scarcely see it, grew in height, and began to spread in ayellow line along the whole horizon. By and by it grew so high that thewind lifted the upper part of it and sent it whirling off in spirals andcoils. Then through the dust they saw flashes, the steel of weaponsgiving back the rays of the sun like a mirror.
The American scouts and sentinels had been drawn in--no need for themnow--and the whole army was crouched at the mouth of the pass. Almostevery soldier could watch Santa Anna unroll before them the vast andglittering panorama of his army. But Taylor himself did not see thisfirst appearance. He had not come from Saltillo, and Wool, the secondin command, waited, troubled and uneasy.
Phil was still dismounted, and he stood with his friends on one of thepromontories watching the most thrilling of all dramas unfold itself,the drama in which victory or defeat, life or death are the stakes. Itwas at best a bare and sterile country, and now, in the finish of thewinter, the scanty vegetation itself was dead. The dust from the deadearth and the dust from the surface of the lava, ground off by iron-shodhoofs, rose in clouds that always increased, and that seemed to thickenas well as to rise and broaden. To Philip's mind occurred the likenessof a vast simoon, coming, though slowly, toward the American lines. Buthe knew that the heart of the simoon was a great army which consideredvictory absolutely sure.
"Looks as if Santa Anna had a million down there in the dust," saidBreakstone. "Dost thou remember, Sir Philip of the Mountain, theRavine, and the Lava, that passage in Macbeth in which Birnam Wood dothcome to Dunsinane? It is in my mind now because the dust of New Leonseems coming to the Pass of Angostura."
"They are at least as well hid as Macduff's army was by the wood," saidPhil. "That huge cloud seems to roll over the ground, and we can't seeanything in it but the flashes of light on the weapons."
They waited awhile longer in silence. The whole American army waswatching. All the preparations had been made, and soldiers and officersnow had little to do but bide the time. Presently the great wall ofdust split apart, then a sudden shift of wind lifted it high, andwhirled it over the plain. As if revealed by the sudden lifting of acurtain, the whole magnificent army of Santa Anna stood forth,stretching along a front of two miles, and more than twenty thousandstrong. A deep breath, more like a murmur, rose from the soldiers inthe pass. They had known long before that they were far outnumbered. Theofficers had never concealed from them this fact, but here was theactual 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 theflanks, and, seen from the pass, it was certainly an array of whichMexico could be proud. Everything stained or worn was hidden. Only thesplendor and glory appeared. The watchers saw the bright uniforms, thegenerals riding here and there, the numerous batteries, and thebrilliant flags waving. Evidently they were making a camp, as if theyheld the rat in their trap, and would take their time about settling hisfate. 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 behindthem in the pass. It was General Taylor, returning from Saltillo andriding hard. He emerged upon the plateau and sat there on his horse,overlooking the plain, and the great curve of Santa Anna's army. Philwas near enough to see his face, and he watched him intently.
There was nothing romantic about old Zachary Taylor. He had neitheryouth nor distinction of appearance. He was lined and seamed by fortyyears of service, mostly in the backwoods, and the white hair was thickaround his temples. Nor was anything splendid about his uniform. It wasdusty and stained by time and use. But within that rugged old framebeat the heart of a lion. He had not retreated when he heard the rumorsthat Santa Anna was coming, and he would not retreat now that Santa Annawas here with five to his one. Perhaps he recognized that in hissixty-two years of life his one moment for greatness had come, and hewould make the most of it for himself and his country.
Long the general sat there on his horse, looking down into the plain,and the more important officers clustered in a group a short distancebehind him. The brightness of the day increased. It seemed bound tomake itself worthy of the great anniversary. The colors of the sunlightshifted and changed on the ridges and peaks, and the thin, luminous airseemed to bring Santa Anna's army nearer. A breeze sprang up presently,and it felt crisp and fresh on the faces of the soldiers. It also blewout the folds of a large and beautiful American flag, which had beenhoisted on one of the promontories, and as the fluttering and vividcolors glowed in the sun's rays, a cry of defiance, not loud, butsuppressed and rolling, passed through the army.
"Santa Anna will not come to any picnic," said Bill Breakstone.
"He means much harm, and he will suffer much," said Arenberg.
"Our army is not frightened," said Breakstone. "I have been among thetroops, and they are cheerful, even confident."
Phil saw that the officers had been watching something intently withtheir glasses, and now he was able to see it himself with the naked eye.
"A messenger with a white flag is coming from Santa Anna," he announced."Now what can he want?"
"He can want only one thing," said Breakstone; "but we'll wait and lethim tell it himself."
The herald, holding his white flag aloft, rode straight toward theAmerican army. When within three hundred yards of the American line hewas met by skirmishers, who brought him forward.
"Don't you see something familiar in that figure and face, Phil?" askedBill Breakstone.
"Yes, I know him," replied Phil. "I thought I knew him when he rodeover the first ridge, but there can be no doubt now. It is our oldfriend de Armijo."
"It is he," said Breakstone, "and it is a safe thing to say that no manwas ever more stuffed with pride, vanity, and conceit than he is now.Let's press forward and see him as he passes. Maybe, too, we can hearwhat he and General Taylor say."
De Armijo rode up the ravine at the edge of which Phil and his comradesstood. He saw them, and his look was not one of friendship.
"Good morning, Senor de Armijo," said the irreverent Bill Breakstone,"have you come to announce the surrender of Santa Anna's army?"
The Mexican glared, but he made no answer, riding on in silence towardGeneral Taylor. He was magnificently mounted, his uniform was heavywith gold lace, and a small gold-hilted sword hung at his side.Evidently the nephew of the governor of New Mexico
Old Rough and Ready did not dismount, but rested the note on hissaddle-horn and read it. This note, signed by General Antonio Lopez deSanta Anna, President of the Mexican Republic and Commander-in-Chief ofits armies, was written in rounded sentences. It stated that theAmerican army was surrounded by twenty thousand men and could notpossibly escape. Hence Santa Anna demanded General Taylor's immediateand unconditional surrender. "I will treat you well," he added ingenerous conclusion.
Phil thought that he could see the white hair around old Rough andReady's temples fairly bristle with defiance. He did see him lean overand say to de Armijo: "Tell him to come and take me." But the nextinstant he called to Middleton and dictated to him a short answer, morepolite but of the same tenor. He looked over it once, folded it, andhanded it to de Armijo.
"Take that to your master."
De Armijo saluted with all the pride and haughtiness of his race. Hewould have liked well a few minutes to look about and take note of theenemy's army for his general, but they had brought him up a narrowravine, and they allowed him no chance. Now Middleton rode back withhim that the Americans might not be lacking in courtesy, and Phil andhis comrades again stood by as they passed. De Armijo merely gave thema malignant glance, but as he entered the plain that low rolling sound,almost like a roar, burst forth again from the army. Nearly everysoldier had divined the nature of the errand, and nearly every one alsohad divined the nature, of old Rough and Ready's reply.
Phil watched de Armijo and Middleton riding onward under the white flagtoward the gorgeous tent where Santa Anna and his generals weregathered. He saw Middleton disappear and, after awhile, come ridingback again. All these demands and refusals, ridings and returns tooktime, and the two armies meanwhile rested on their arms. The afternooncame, and the sun still blazed on on a scene of peace. For awhile itreminded Phil in many of its aspects of a vast spectacle, a panorama.Then he saw clouds of dust rise on both the east and west wings of theMexican army. Horsemen moved in columns, fluid sunlight shifting andchanging in colors flowing over lances and escopetas. He also sawhorses drawing cannon forward, and the bronze and steel of the gunsglittered.
A little after noon a heavy force of cavalry, led by Ampudia, movedforward toward an advanced knoll held by some of Taylor's pickets. Philthought it was the herald of the battle, but the pickets retired after afew shots, and the Mexicans took the knoll, making no attempt to pursuethe pickets who fell back quietly on the main army.
Then the silence was resumed, although they could see much motion in theMexican army, the constant movement of horsemen and the shifting ofregiments and guns. A multitude of brilliant flags carried here andthere fluttered in the wind. But the American army remained motionless,and the soldiers, when they talked, talked mostly in low tones.
"Phil, you didn't eat any breakfast," said Bill Breakstone, "and if Ididn't remind you of it, you would skip dinner. A soldier fights beston a full stomach, and as they're serving out coffee and bacon and othergood things now's your time."
"To tell you the truth, I hadn't thought of it," said the boy.
"Well, think of it, Sir Philip of the Spectacle and the Panorama. Itisn't often that you'll have a chance to sit on a front seat in an openair theater like this, and see deploying before you an army of twentythousand men, meaning business."
Phil ate and drank mechanically almost, although the food gave him newstrength without his being conscious of it, and he still watched. Thelong afternoon waned, the sun passed the zenith, and the colors stillshifted and changed on the bare peaks and ridges, but, save for theseizing of the lone knoll, the army of Santa Anna did not yet advance,although in its place it was still fluid with motion, like the colors ofa kaleidoscope. It seemed to Phil that Bill Breakstone's theatricalallusions applied with peculiar force. Apparently they were setting thescenes down below, this color here, this color there, so many flags atthis point, and so many at that point, bands and trumpets to the right,and bands and trumpets to the left. It was a spectacle full of life,color, and movement, but the boy grew very impatient. Great armies didnot march forward for that purpose, and for that purpose alone.
"Why don't they attack?" he exclaimed.
"Having the rat in the trap, I suppose that Santa Anna means to playwith it a little," replied Bill Breakstone. "There's nothing likeplaying with a delicious mouse a little while before you eat it."
"Did you ever see anything more hateful than the manner of that fellowde Armijo?" asked Phil. "He bore himself as if we were already in theirhands."
"Doubtless he thought so," said Breakstone, "and it is equally likelythat his thought is also the thought of Santa Anna, Minon, Torrejon,Pacheco, Lombardini, and all the rest. But states of mind are queerthings, Phil. You can change your mind, it may change itself, or othersmay change it for you. Any one of these things can happen to Santa Annaor to your genial young friend, de Armijo."
"It iss well to be patient," said Arenberg.
The sun went on down the heavens. The light came more obliquely, but itwas as brilliant as ever. In two more hours the sun would be gonebehind the mountains, when Phil, still watching the Mexican army, saw aflash of fire near the center of the line. A shell rose, flashedthrough the air, and burst on the plateau held by the Americans. Phil,despite himself, uttered a shout, and so did many other youthfulsoldiers. They thought the battle would now begin. A battery ofMexican howitzers also opened fire, and the smoke rolled toward thenorth. The Mexican general, Mejia, on the American right, began to pressin, and Ampudia, on the left, threatened with great force. But therewas not yet any reply from the American line. Old Rough and Ready rodealong the whole battle front, saw that all was in order, and at timessurveyed the Mexican advance through powerful glasses.
But the Mexican movements were still very slow, and Phil fairly quiveredwith impatience. If they were going to fight, he was anxious for thefighting to begin, and to have it over. Up from the plain came thecalls of many bugles, the distant playing of bands, and the beat ofdrums, broken now and then by the irregular discharges of the cannon andthe crackling of rifle shots.
But it was not yet a battle, and the sun was very low, threatening todisappear soon behind the mountains. Its parting rays lighted up theplateau, the ravines and promontories, and the pass with a vivid redlight. Phil saw the general turn his horse away from the edge of theplateau, as if convinced that there would be no battle, and thensuddenly turn him back again, as a great burst of cannon and rifle firecame from the left. Ampudia, having attained a spur of the mountain,was making a fierce attack, pushing forward both horse and foot andtrying to get around the American flank. The firing for a little whilewas rapid. The rifle flashes ran in a continuous blaze along bothlines, and the boom of the cannon came back in hollow echoes from thegorges of the Sierra Madre. The black smoke floated in coils and eddiesalong the ridges and peaks.
Phil and his comrades had nothing to do with this combat except to sitstill and listen.
"They are merely feeling for a position," said Bill Breakstone. "Theywant a good place from which they can crash down on our left flank inthe morning, but I don't think they'll get it."
Already the sun was gone in the east, and its rays were dying on themountains. Then the night itself came down, with the rush of the south,and the firing from both cannon and rifles ceased. Ampudia had failedto secure the coveted position, but presently the two armies, face toface in the darkness, lay down to rest, save for the thick lines ofpickets almost within rifle shot of one another. Once more the nightwas heavy with chill, but Phil did not feel it now. He and his comradeslooked to their horses and secured places for rest. The General, stilldeeply anxious about his rear guard at Saltillo and fearing a flankingmovement by Santa Anna, around the mountain, rode ba
Phil slept several hours, but he awoke after midnight, and did not go tosleep again. He, Arenberg, and Breakstone were under the immediatecommand of Middleton, who allowed them much latitude, and they used itfor purposes of scouting. They crept through gullies and ravines andalong the edges of the ridges, the darkness and the stone projectionsgiving them shelter. They passed beyond the outermost American pickets,and then stopped, crouching among some bushes. All three had heard atthe same time low voices of command, the clank of heavy wheels, and therasping of hoofs over stones. The three also divined the cause, butBreakstone alone spoke of it in a whisper:
"They are dragging artillery up the side of the mountain in order thatthey may rake us to-morrow. That Santa Anna calls himself the Napoleonof Mexico, and he's got some of the quality of the real Napoleon."
By raising up a little they could see the men and horses with the guns,and they crept back to their own camp with the news. The American forcewas too small to attempt any checking movement in the darkness, and thatnight Santa Anna dragged five whole batteries up the mountainside.
It was about 4 o'clock in the morning when the three returned from theirscout, and they sat down in one of the ravines about a small fire ofsmoldering coals. Some of the Kentuckians were with them, includingGrayson, and now and then a brisk word of the coming day was said. Inthose cold dark hours, when vitality was at its lowest, they were not asconfident as they had been. The numbers of the Mexicans weighed uponthem, and Phil had not liked the sight of all those cannon taken up theside of the mountain. Their talk ceased entirely after awhile, and theysat motionless with their blankets wrapped around their bodies, becausethe blasts were very chill now in the Pass of Angostura. The moaning ofthe wind through the gorges was a familiar sound, but to-night it gotupon one's nerves.
Those last few hours were five times their rightful length, but allthings come to an end, and Phil saw in the east the first narrow band ofsilver that betokened the dawn. Day, like night, in that southernregion came fast. The sun shot above the mountain rim, its splendorcame again in a flood, and up rose the two armies.
There was no delay now. On the left the heavy brigades of Ampudiaopened fire at once with cannon, muskets, and rifles. They pressedforward, and at that point the American front, also, blazed with fire.
"It's here, Phil," cried Breakstone. "This is the battle at last!"
Cool as he usually was, he had lost his calm now, and his eyes glowedwith excitement. The rosy face of Arenberg was also flushed a deeperhue than usual.
"They come!" he exclaimed.
The whole Mexican army seemed to lift itself up and advance in a vastenfolding curve, but Ampudia still pressed the hardest, endeavoring tocrush in the American left, and the five batteries that had been takenup the mountainside in the night poured in a heavy fire. In fiveminutes a great cloud of smoke from the cannon, rifles, and musketsfloated over the field. The Mexicans advanced with courage andconfidence. At dawn Santa Anna had made a great address, riding up anddown the lines, and they deemed victory a matter of certainty.
Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg had left their horses in the rear, and atthis moment Middleton appeared also dismounted.
"Stay with the Kentuckians there," he said, pointing to the ravine."They will need every man. You can be cavalrymen later if the chancecomes."
The three at once fell into line with Grayson and the others who hadwelcomed them to their camp, and they saw the truth of Middleton'swords. Ampudia had accumulated a great force on the ridge above theplateau, during the night, and now they were coming down in heavy massesupon the thin lines of the Kentuckians.
"It's not just five to one. It's eight to one," muttered BillBreakstone, as he looked at the long and deep columns which they were sosoon to meet.
Phil felt his muscles quivering again, while a red light danced beforehis eyes. But it was not fear. The time for that had passed. TheKentuckians in the front rank kneeled down, with their hands on thetriggers of their rifles. Clouds of dust and smoke floated over themand stung their eyes, and the deepening roar of the battle swelled fromright and left. Phil knew that this great force of Mexicans was comingforward to crush them in order that another large division might passalong the plateau and flank the American army. He was good enoughsoldier to know that if they succeeded the trap would indeed close downso firmly upon the defenders that they could not burst from it.
The boy never took his eyes from the advancing Mexican column. He saw,or thought he saw, the dark faces, the glowing eyes, and he was quitesure that he heard the heavy tread of the approaching thousands. Someone gave the order to fire, and, with a mechanical impulse, he pulledthe trigger. All the Kentuckians fired together, aiming with theirusual coolness and precision, and the front rank of the Mexican advancewas blown away. The Mexicans wavered, the Americans reloaded and firedagain with the same deadly precision, and then from their right came theflash of cannon fire, sending the shells and heavy balls into the thickranks of Ampudia's men. The hesitation of the Mexicans turned intoretreat, and, hurrying back, they sought refuge along the slopes of themountains, while the Kentuckians uttered a derisive shout.
"Draw an extra breath or two, Phil," said Bill Breakstone, "because youwon't have another chance for some time. We've driven back the flank,but the main army of the Mexicans will be on us in a few minutes."
Phil did as he was bid. He was glad to see those Mexicans gone fromtheir front, and, for the moment at least, he felt the thrill ofvictory. Yet, while there was rest for him, at that instant the battlewas going on all about him. He seemed to hear somewhere the distantnotes of a band playing, cheering the soldiers on to death. Now and thencame the call of a bugle, shrill and piercing, and the rifles crashedincessantly. The air quivered with the roar of the cannon, and theechoes came rolling back from the gorges.
Now that he was really in the great battle, Phil felt an abnormalcalmness. His heart ceased to beat so fast, and his blood cooled alittle. He saw that the main army of the Mexicans was advancing inthree columns. Two of these columns, one under Lombardini, and theother under Pacheco, came straight toward the little plateau by the sideof the pass, upon which most of the American army now stood. The frontof each column was a mass of lancers, and rumbling batteries oftwelve-pounders came behind. The third column advanced toward the pass.
It was now about nine o'clock in the morning. General Taylor had notyet arrived from Saltillo, but General Wool, his second, had thrown thewhole American force in a line across the plateau and the pass, where,less than forty-five hundred in number, it awaited the full impact oftwenty thousand Mexican troops. The moment was more than critical. Itwas terrible. It required stout hearts among the young volunteers, nottrained regulars at all, as they watched the Mexican masses heaveforward. Lucky it was for them that they had been born in new countries,where every boy, as a matter of course, learned the use of the rifle.And it was lucky, too, that the battery of O'Brien, a most daring andskillful officer, was on their flank to help them.
"Have you drawn those easy breaths yet, Phil?" asked Breakstone.
"Yes."
"Good, because the chance is gone now. Hark, there go our cannon!Look, how the balls are smashing into them!"
The American battery opened at a range of only two hundred yards, andthe balls and shells tore through the Mexican lines, but the Mexicansare no cowards, and they were well led that day. Their ranks closed up,and they marched past the fallen, their flags still flying, coming withsteady step toward the plateau. Now their own artillery opened, andtheir numerous guns swept the plateau with a perfect hurricane of shotand shell. The volunteers began to fall fast. The Mexican gunners weredoing deadly work, and the Kentuckians where Phil stood raised theirrifles ag
"Fire, Phil! Fire as fast as you can reload and pull trigger. It's nowor never!"
Phil again did as he was bid, and the others did the same, but this wasa far more formidable attack than the one that they had driven backearlier. The Mexicans never ceased to come. The fire from their cannongrew heavier and more deadly, and the lancers were already charging uponthe front lines, thrusting with their long weapons. It was only inborncourage and tenacity that saved them now. Phil saw the glitteringsquadrons wheeling down upon them.
"Kneel and fire as they come close," shouted Middleton, "and receivethem on the bayonet!"
It seemed to Phil that the lances were almost in their faces before theyfired. He saw the foam on the nostrils of the horses, their great,bloodshot eyes, and their necks wet with sweat. He saw the faces of theriders wet, too, with sweat, but glowing with triumph, and he saw them,also, brandishing the long lances with the glittering steel shafts.Then the rifles crashed so close together that they were blended in onevolley, and the lancers who did not fall reeled. But they quickly cameon again to ride directly upon a hedge of bayonets which hurled themback. Once more the triumphant shout of the Kentuckians rose, but itwas quickly followed by a groan. At different points the volunteersfrom another state, daunted by their great losses and the overwhelmingnumbers that continually pressed upon them, were giving way. Theirretreat became a panic, and the helpful battery was left uncovered. Thebrave O'Brien was compelled to unlimber and retreat with his guns. Theflying regiment ran into another that was coming up and carried it alongin its panic of the moment.
Phil and his comrades had full cause for the groan that they uttered.The day seemed lost. The column of Lombardini was on the southern edgeof the plateau and was pressing forward in masses that seemedirresistible. The lancers had recovered themselves and were slaying thefugitives, while the Mexican cannon also hailed shot and shell uponthem.
Burning tears rose to Phil's eyes--he could not help it, he was only aboy--and he turned appealingly to the faithful Breakstone.
"Shall we, too, have to retreat?" he shouted.
"Not yet! Not yet, I hope!" Breakstone shouted back. "No, we don'tretreat at all! See the brave Illinois boys turning the current!"
An entire Illinois regiment had thrown itself in the path of pursuersand pursued, and two fresh cannon began to cut through the Mexicanmasses. The fugitives were protected and saved from wholesaleslaughter, but Bill Breakstone claimed too much. It was impossible fora single regiment and two guns to withstand so many thousands crowded atthat point, and the Illinois lads did retreat. But they retreatedslowly and in perfect order, sending volley after volley into theadvancing masses. Nor did they go far. They halted soon in a goodposition and stood there, firing steadily into the Mexican columns. Yetthey seemed lost. The Mexicans in vast numbers were pouring down uponthe plateau, and the Illinois men were now attacked in the flank as wellas in the front.
"Time for us to be doing something," said Breakstone, and at that momentthe order came. The Kentuckians, also, retreated, turning, as fast asthey reloaded, to fire a volley, aiming particularly at the lancers,whose weapons were so terrible at close quarters. Phil looked more thanonce through all the fire and smoke for de Armijo, but he didn't see himuntil the battle was a full hour old. Then it was only a passingglimpse, and he knew that his shot had missed--he had fired withoutremorse, as he now regarded de Armijo as so much venom. After the singleshot the columns of smoke floated in between, and he saw him no more.
Phil knew that the battle was at a most critical stage, that it was evenworse, that all the chances now favored the Mexicans. An inexperiencedboy even could not doubt it. The charge of the lancers had driven backa small detachment of mounted volunteers, the American riflemen postedon the slopes of the mountain were forced out of their positions, andthe great columns of infantry were still pressing on the left, cuttingtheir way to the rear of the army.
It seemed to Phil that they were completely surrounded, and, in fact,they nearly were, but the men of Illinois and Kentucky redoubled theirefforts. The barrels of their rifles grew hot with so much firing. Themingled reek of dust and sweat, of smoke and burned gunpowder, stungtheir nostrils and filled their eyes, half blinding them. The shell andgrape and bullets of the Mexicans now reached the Kentuckians, too.Phil, as the smoke lifted now and then, saw many a comrade go down. He,Arenberg, and Breakstone were all wounded slightly, though they were notconscious then of their hurts.
Worse came. The great enclosing circle of the Mexicans drove them intoa mass. The regiment that had broken in panic could not yet be rallied,although their officers strove like brave men to get them back in line,and, like brave men, died trying. Phil saw officers falling all aroundhim, although Middleton was still erect, sword in hand, encouraging themen to fight on.
"It can't be that we are beaten! It can't be!" cried the boy indespair.
"No," said Breakstone, "it's not a beating, but it's a darned fineimitation. Come on, boys! Come on, all of you! We'll drive them backyet!"
Phil felt some one strike against him in the smoke. It was Dick Grayson,of Paris.
"Looks hot, Phil!" said that ingenuous youth. There was a tremendousdischarge of artillery, and Grayson went down. But he promptly sprangup.
"It is hot," he shouted, "hotter than I thought. But I'm not hurt. Itwas only the wind from a cannon-ball. Look out, here come the lancersagain, and our rifles are unloaded!"
The long glittering line of lancers appeared through the smoke, and Philthought that their day was done. It seemed to him that he could notresist any more, but, at that moment a mighty crash of artillery camefrom the pass. The third column of Mexicans had just come within rangeof Washington's guns, and the gunners, restrained hitherto, were pouringshot and shell, grape and canister, as fast as they could fire, into theMexican mass. The column was hurled back by the sudden and terrificimpact, and, breaking, it fled in a panic. The Mexicans on the plateauwere affected by the flight of their comrades, and they, too, lancersand all, wavered. The Illinois troops came pouring back. With them weremore Kentuckians and Bragg's battery, and then Sherman's battery, too.Never were cannon better served than were the American guns on that day.When the guns began to thunder in front of them and between them and theenemy, the fugitives were rallied and were brought back into the battle.
Both batteries were now cutting down the Mexicans at the foot of themountain, but Breakstone, cool as always, pointed to the columns ofAmpudia's infantry, which were still pressing hard on the flank, seekingto reach the rear of the American army.
"If they get there we are lost," he said.
"There is dust behind us now," exclaimed Phil. "See that column of itcoming fast!"
"Good God, can they have got there already!" cried Breakstone, despairbreaking at last through his armor of courage.
The cloud of dust rose like a tower and came fast. Then a shout of joyburst from the Americans. Through that cloud of dust showed the redface and white hair of Old Rough and Ready, their commander, returningfrom Saltillo, and with him were Davis's Mississippians and May'smounted men. Wool galloped forward to meet his chief, who rode upon theplateau and looked at the whole wide curve of the battle as much as thedust and smoke would allow.
"The battle is lost," said Wool.
"That is for me to say," said Taylor.
Yet it seemed that Wool, a brave and resolute leader, was right. Agreat percentage of the American army was already killed or wounded.Many of its best officers had fallen, and everywhere the Mexicanscontinually pressed forward in columns that grew heavier and heavier.Santa Anna worthily proved that day that, whatever he may have beenotherwise he possessed devouring energy, great courage, and a spark ofmilitary genius. And the generals around him, Lombardini, Pacheco,Villamil, Torrejon, Ampudia, Minon, Juvera, Andrade, and the rest werefull of the Latin fire which has triumphed more than once over the coldcourage and order of the North.
The crisis was visible to e
The battle was saved for the moment, but for the moment only. Fewbattles have swung in the balance oftener than this combat at BuenaVista, when it seemed as if the weight of a hair might decide it.
"We can breathe again, Phil," cried Breakstone. "They haven't flanked usthere, but I don't think we'll have time for more than two breaths."
The battle, just in front of them, paused for an instant or two, but itwent on with undiminished fury elsewhere. While Phil let his heatedrifle cool, he watched this terrible conflict at the mouth of the grimpass, a combat that swung to and fro and that refused to be decided infavor of either. But, as he rested, all his courage came back anew.The little army, the boy volunteers, had already achieved theimpossible. For hours they had held off the best of the Mexican troops,five to their one. More than once they had been near to the verge, butnobody could say that they had been beaten.
Phil's feeling of awe came again, as he looked at the great stagepicture, set with all the terrible effects of reality. The smoke rosealways, banking up against the sides of the mountain, but dotted withred and pink spots, the flame from the rifles of the sharpshooters wholurked among the crags. From the mouth of the pass came a steadyroaring where the cannon of Washington were fired so fast. The smokebanked up there, too, but it was split continually by the flash of thegreat guns. Out of the smoke came the unbroken crash of rifles,resembling, but on a much larger scale, the ripping of a heavy cloth.Now and then both sides shouted and cheered.
Bill Breakstone was a shrewd judge of a battle that day. The crisis hadpassed, but in a few minutes a new crisis came. For in their rear begananother fierce conflict. Torrejon's splendid brigade of lancers madeits way around the mountain and fell upon the small force of Arkansasand Kentucky volunteers under Yell and Marshall at the hacienda of BuenaVista. Yell was killed almost instantly, many other men went down, butthe volunteers held fast. Some, their horses slain or wounded, reachedthe roofs of houses, and with their long rifles emptied saddle aftersaddle among the lancers. It was a confused and terrible struggle, but,in an instant or two, American dragoons came to the rescue. The lancersgave way and fled, bearing with them their leader, the brave Torrejon,who was wounded badly. Again the army was saved by courage and quickaction. If Torrejon and his men had been able to hold Buena Vista, theAmerican force would have been destroyed.
Phil knew nothing of the conflict at Buena Vista itself until the daywas done, because he was soon in the very thickest of it again himself.He and his comrades stood among the decimated squares on the plateau,where the battle had shifted for a moment, and where the smoke wasrising. Looking over the field, littered with men and horses, it seemedthat half of his countrymen had fallen. Everywhere lay the dead, andthe wounded crawled painfully to the rear. Yet the unhurt could givelittle aid to the hurt, because the Mexican battle front seemed asmassive and formidable as ever.
"Load, Phil, load!" whispered Bill Breakstone. "See, they're comingagain!"
Masses of lancers were gathering anew on the plateau, among them many ofTorrejon's men, who had come back from the other side of the mountain,and the lifting smoke enabled Phil and his comrades to see them clearly.The defenders--they were not many now--were more closely packed. Themen of the West and South were mingled together, but with desperateenergy the officers soon drew them out in a line facing the lancers.Sherman with his cannon also joined them. In the shifting fortunes ofthe day, another critical moment came. If the charge of the lancerspassed over their line, the Americans were beaten.
The battle elsewhere sank and died for the time. All looked toward thetwo forces on the plateau, the heavy squadrons of cavalry advancing, andthe thin line of infantry silent and waiting. The Mexican bugles ceasedto sound, and the firing stopped. Phil and the men with him in thefront rank knelt again. Arenberg, as usual, was on one side of him, andBreakstone on the other. Middleton was not far away. Phil glanced upand down the American line and, as he saw how few they were, his heart,after a period of high courage, sank like a plummet in a pool. It didnot seem possible to stop the horsemen. Then his courage rose again.They had done a half dozen wonders that day, they could do another halfdozen.
It was one of the most vivid moments of Phil's life, fairly burnt intohis soul. The smoke, lifting higher and higher, disclosed more and moreof the field, with its dead and dying everywhere. The mountains werecoming out of the mists and vapors, and showing their bare crags andpeaks. There was no sound but the hoofbeats of the horsemen and anoccasional cry from the wounded, but Phil did not even hear these.There was to him only an awful and ominous silence, as the heavy columnsdrew nearer and nearer and he saw the menacing faces and ready weapons.The blood quivered in his veins, but he did not give back. Nor did theothers, most of whom were boys not much older than he.
"I think this will tell the tale," whispered Bill Breakstone. "Look howsteady our lads are! Veteran regulars could not bear themselves betterin the face of five to one."
Nearer and nearer came the lancers. Something in the aspect of thesteady troops that awaited the shock must have daunted them, becausealready on that day they had shown themselves brave men more than once.The hoofbeats ceased, their line stopped and wavered, and at thatinstant the American rifles fired, pouring forth a stream of lead, adeadly volley.
Phil saw the blaze from a long line of muzzles, the puff of rifle smoke,and then as it lifted he tried to shut his eyes but could not. Thewhole front of the Mexican column was destroyed. Men and horses lay ina heap, and other riderless horses galloped wildly over the plateau. Thesecond line of the lancers stood for a moment, but when the cannon,following up the rifles, hurled shot and shell among them, they, too,broke and fled, while the bullets from the reloaded rifles pelted themand drove them to greater speed.
A shout arose from the scanty ranks of the defense. Another criticalmoment had passed, and for the first time fortune shifted to theAmerican side. Now the defenders followed up their advantage. Theypressed forward, pushing the Mexicans before them, attacking them on twosides and driving them against the base of the mountain.
The whole battle now surged back toward the direction whence Santa Annahad come. The scanty division of the Americans, after so long adefense, a defense that seemed again and again to be hopeless, massedthemselves anew and attacked the Mexican army with redoubled vigor.Phil felt the song of victory singing in his ears, the blood leaped inhis veins, and a great new store of strength came from somewhere, as he,with Breakstone and Arenberg yet on either side of him, marched forwardnow, not backward.
The great division of Ampudia which had threatened to surround theAmerican force was now penned in at the foot of the mountain. Thissingle division alone greatly outnumbered the whole American army, butpanic and terror were in its ranks. The Southern and Western riflemenwere advancing on three sides, sending in showers of bullets that couldnot miss. Nine cannon, manned by gunners as good as the world couldfurnish, cut down rank after rank.
Earlier in the day Phil would have thrilled with horror at the scenebefore him, but in such a long and furious battle his faculties hadbecome blunted. It was nothing to see men fall, dead or wounded. Thestruggle for life at the expense of another's life, the most terriblephase of war, had now come. His only conscious thought at that momentwas to destroy the mass of Mexicans pressed against the mountain, and heloaded and fired with a zeal and rapidity not inferior to that ofanybody.
The Mexican mass seemed to shrink and draw in upon itsel
A cry of rage rose from Phil's company, and it was uttered by otherseverywhere. The boy had seen the herald under the white flag, and, allthe rest, too, had wondered at the nature of the message he brought. Hedid not yet know what was in Santa Anna's note, but he knew that asuccessful trick had been played. The blood in his veins seemed to turnto its hottest. His pulses were beating the double quick, and he feltrelief only when Taylor, enraged at Santa Anna's ruse, ordered theKentucky and Illinois men to pursue Ampudia's fleeing division.
Forward they went, scarcely a thousand, because very many comrades hadfallen around them that day, but they had never been more eager for thecharge. The smoke thinned out before them and they advanced swiftlywith leveled rifles. They reached the southern edge of the plateau, andthen they recoiled in horror. Santa Anna had not only saved a divisionby a trick, but he had used the same opportunity to draw in his columnsand mass the heaviest force that had yet converged upon a single point.Ten thousand men appeared over the uneven ground and approached thesingle thousand. To face such numbers advancing with great guns wasimpossible. Again it seemed that the day, after a brilliant success, waslost.
The Americans at once turned and rushed into a gorge for shelter anddefense.
The side of the gorge was so steep that Phil slipped and rolled to thebottom. But he quickly sprang up, unconscious of his bruises.Breakstone and Arenberg, with pale faces, were at his side. The gorgewas not as much of a shelter and defense as it had seemed. It wasinstead a trap, the worst into which they had come that day. From thecliffs on both sides of the gorge the Mexicans sent down a continuousrain of bullets and shell. Santa Anna, exulting in his success, urgedthem on and, his seconds, Ampudia, Pacheco, Lombardini and the others,ran from point to point, encouraging their troops and crying that thebattle was now won.
The Americans fired upward at their enemies, but they were pressedtogether in great confusion. Men and officers went down so fast that itlooked to Phil like hay falling before the scythe. Here fell the braveColonel Clay, the son of the great Henry Clay, and with him McKee andHardin and many other gallant sons of Kentucky and Illinois.
A great horror seized Phil. Penned in that awful gorge, with thatcontinuous shower of steel and lead from above, he felt as if he werechoking. He and others rushed for the mouth of the gorge, but the warySanta Anna had closed it with a great body of lancers, who were nowadvancing to assist in the complete destruction of the Americans.
The defenders reeled back, and Santa Anna, thinking the time had come todeliver the final blow, sent the Mexican infantry in thousands down thesides of the gorge, where they attacked with the bayonet the fewhundreds that yet fought. Phil was quite sure that no hope was left.Before, at every critical moment there had always been a slender chanceof some kind or other, but now he could see absolutely none. A millionred motes danced before him, and he struck almost blindly with hisclubbed rifle at a Mexican who was trying to bayonet him.
But from a point above, not yet taken by the Mexicans, the brave O'Brienand Thomas, as brave, were still firing their cannon and sending theshot and shell into the Mexican masses, where they were not mingled withthe Americans. But they themselves were exposed to a deadly fire. Oneby one their gunners fell. They were compelled to fall back step bystep. Not enough men were left to load and fire the pieces. Soon allthe gunners were killed or wounded except O'Brien himself. Presently he,too, was wounded, and the guns were silent. Now, truly, it seemed thatthe last moment had come!
Phil, when he struck with his clubbed rifle, knew that he hit something,because the Mexican with the eager bayonet was no longer there. He sawBreakstone and Arenberg yet beside him, both wounded, but both erect anddefiant. He saw Grayson a little distance away, still alive, andfarther on a little group of Kentuckians and Illinoisans, fighting tothe last. He had an instant's vision of the whole awful gorge, filledwith men driven on by the rage of battle, the dead and wounded strewedall about, the smoke hovering above like a roof, and the masses ofMexicans who completely encircled them now closing in for the finalblow.
It was all a real panorama, passing in an instant, and then from above,and at a new point, came the crash of great guns, the shot and shellstriking among the Mexicans, not among the Americans. Not even at this,the last crisis, when the battle seemed lost beyond redemption, hadfortune, or rather courage and energy, failed. Bragg, coming on a runwith his battery, suddenly opened at short range, and with awful effect,into the Mexican masses. In another minute Sherman arrived with hisguns, and close behind, coming as fast as breath would allow, wereinfantry with the rifle, and, to make the surprise complete,Washington's guns suddenly appeared on the right and began to sweep awaythe lancers who held the mouth of the gorge.
Never had fortune made a quicker and more complete change. The Mexicanswho had suddenly trapped the Kentuckians and Illinoisans had beenentrapped themselves with equal suddenness.
The fire now rose to the greatest height of the day. They had beenfighting on the plateau, in the ravines, on the slopes, and through thepass for hours. Vast quantities of smoke still hung about and lay likea blanket against the side of the mountain. The sun was far down thewestern slope.
The Kentucky and Illinois men drew themselves into a close body near theupper end of the gorge. There they fired as fast as exhaustion wouldallow, but salvation was coming from above, and now they knew it.Closer and closer crept the American artillery. Heavier and heaviergrew its fire. The riflemen, also, sent in the bullets like hail.Taylor himself, a half dozen bullets through his clothing, stood on thebrink directing the attack. The gorge where the Mexicans stood wasswept by a storm of death. Santa Anna, from the other side, watched indismay. Lancers and infantry alike, unable to stand such a sleet,rushed for the mouth of the gorge. Few of the lancers, who made thelarger target, escaped, and the infantry suffered almost as much.
The gorge was cleared, and the Americans held the plateau. Everywherethe Mexicans fell back, leaving the whole field in possession of thelittle force that had fought so long and so fiercely to hold it. TheMexican bugle sounded again, but now it was the command to retire. Thesun dipped down behind the mountains, and the shadows began to gather inthe Pass of Angostura. The impossible had happened. Mexico's finestarmy, five to one, led by her greatest general, had broken in vainagainst the farmer lads of the South and West, and the little band ofregulars. The victory was won over the greatest odds ever faced byAmericans in a pitched battle.