The Rifle Rangers by Mayne Reid (short novels in english TXT) đź“•
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- Author: Mayne Reid
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We lay for some time observing the motions of these cunning fugitives as they streamed downward. The head of their line had nearly reached the timbered bottom, through whose green fringes the Plan River swept onward, curving from cliff to cliff.
Impatient looks were cast towards the major, whose cold grey eye showed no signs of action.
“Well, Major—what’s to be done?” asked one.
“Nothing!” was the impressive reply.
“Nothing!” echoed everyone.
“Why, what could we do?”
“Take them prisoners—every one of them.”
“Whom prisoners?”
“These Mexicans—these before us.”
“Ha! before you they are—a long way, too. Bah! they are ten miles off, and, even if we could ride straight down the bluff with winged horses, what could our hundred men do in that jungle below? Look yonder!—there are a thousand of them crawling over the rocks?”
“And what signify numbers?” asked I, now speaking for the first time. “They are already defeated and flying—half of them, I’ll wager, without arms. Come, Major, let us go! We can capture the whole party without firing a shot.”
“But, my dear Captain, we cannot reach them where they are.”
“It is not necessary. If we ride up the cliffs, they will come to us.”
“How?”
“You see this dark line. It is not three miles distant. You know that timber like that does not grow on the naked face of a cliff. It is a gorge, and, I’ll warrant, a watercourse too. They will pass through it.”
“Beautiful! We could meet them as they came up it,” cried several at once.
“No, lads—no! You are all wrong. They will keep the bottom—the heavy timber, I warrant you. It’s no use losing time. We must round to the road, and forward. Who knows that we may not find work enough yet? Come!”
So saying, our commanding officer rose up, and, walking back to the arroyo, leapt into his saddle. Of course we followed his example, but with no very amiable feelings. I, for one, felt satisfied that we might have made a dashing thing of it, and entered the camp with flying colours. I felt, and so did my friend Clayley, like a schoolboy who had come too late for his lesson, and would gladly have been the bearer of a present to his master: moreover, we had learned from our comrades that it was the expressed intention of the commander-in-chief to capture as many of the enemy as possible on this occasion. This determination arose from the fact, well authenticated, that hundreds who had marched out of Vera Cruz on parole had gone direct to Cerro Gordo, with the intention of fighting us again; and no doubt some of these honourable soldiers were among the gentry now climbing down the barranca.
With these feelings, Clayley and I were anxious to do something that might cover our late folly, and win our way back to favour at head-quarters.
“Let me take fifty of your men and try this. You know, Major Twing, I have a score to rub out.”
“I cannot, Captain—I cannot. We must on. Forward!”
And the next moment we were moving at a trot in the direction of El Plan.
For the first time I felt angry at Twing; and, drawing my bridle tighter, I fell back to the rear. What would I not have given for the “Rifle Rangers” at that moment?
I was startled from a very sullen reverie by a shot, the whistling of a rifle bullet, and the loud “Halt” of the major in front. Raising myself on the instant, I could see a greenish-looking object just disappearing over the spur of a ridge. It was a vidette, who had fired and run in.
“Do you think they are any of our people?”
“That ’ar’s one of our kump’ny, Cap’n; I seed the green on his cap,” said Lincoln.
I galloped to the front. Twing was just detaching a small party to reconnoitre. I fell in along with this, and after riding a hundred yards we looked over the ridge, and saw, not four hundred yards distant, a ten-inch howitzer, that had just been wheeled round, and now stood gaping at us. In the rear of the gun stood a body of artillerists, and on their flanks a larger body of what appeared to be light infantry or rifles. It would have been anything but a pleasing sight, but that a small flag with red and white stripes was playing over the gun; and our party, heedless of their orders, leaped their horses on the ridge, and, pulling off their caps, saluted it with a cheer.
The soldiers by the battery still stood undecided, not knowing what to make of our conduct, as they were the advanced outpost in this direction, when a mounted rifleman galloped up and displayed the flag of his regiment.
A wild cheer echoed back from the battery; and the next moment both parties had met, and were shaking each other’s hands with the hearty greetings of long-parted friends.
Not the least interesting to me was the fact that my own corps, under the command of its lieutenant, formed the principal guard of the gun; and the welcome of our old comrades was such as we should have received had we come back from the grave. They had long since made up their minds that they had seen the last of us; and it was quite amusing to witness these brave tirailleurs as they gathered around Lincoln and his comrades to hear the story of our adventures.
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,
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