"Why, what was the matter, Major?" inquired I, as the major rode up
blowing like a porpoise.
"Matter!" replied he, with one of his direst imprecations; "matter,
indeed! You wouldn't have me ride plump into their works, would you?"
"Works!" echoed I, in some surprise; "what do you mean by that, Major?"
"I mean works--that's all. There's a stockade ten feet high, as full as
it can stick of them."
"Full of what?"
"Full of the enemy--full of rancheros. I saw their ugly copper faces--a
dozen of them at least--looking at me over the pickets; and, sure as
heaven, if I had gone ten paces farther they would have riddled me like
a target."
"But, Major, they were only peaceable rancheros--cow-herds--nothing
more."
"Cow-herds! I tell you, Captain, that those two that galloped off had a
sword apiece strapped to their saddles. I saw them when I got near:
they were decoys to bring us up to that stockade--I'll bet my life upon
it!"
"Well, Major," rejoined I, "they're far enough from the stockade now;
and the best we can do in their absence will be to examine it, and see
what chances it may offer to corral these mules, for, unless they can be
driven into it, we shall have to return to camp empty-handed."
Saying this, I moved forward with the men, the major keeping in the
rear.
We soon reached the formidable stockade, which proved to be nothing more
than a regular corral, such as are found on the great _haciendas de
ganados_ (cattle farms) of Spanish America. In one corner was a house,
constructed of upright poles, with a thatch of palm-leaves. This
contained the lazos, _alparejas_, saddles, etcetera, of the vaqueros;
and in the door of this house stood a decrepit old zambo, the only human
thing about the place. The zambo's woolly head over the pickets had
reflected itself a dozen times on the major's terrified imagination.
After examining the corral, I found it excellent for our purpose,
provided we could only succeed in driving the mules _into_ it; and,
throwing open the bars, we proceeded to make the attempt. The mules
were browsing quietly at the distance of a quarter of a mile from the
corral.
Marching past the drove, I deployed the company in the form of a
semicircle, forming a complete cordon round the animals; then, closing
in upon them slowly, the soldiers commenced driving them towards the
pen.
We were somewhat awkward at this new duty; but by means of a shower of
small rocks, pieces of _bois de vache_, and an occasional "heigh,
heigh!" the mules were soon in motion and in the required direction.
The major, with Doc and little Jack, being the mounted men of the party,
did great service, especially Jack, who was highly delighted with this
kind of thing, and kept Twidget in a constant gallop from right to left.
As the _mulado_ neared the gates of the inclosure, the two extremes of
the semi-circumference gradually approached each other, closing in
toward the corral.
The mules were already within fifty paces of the entrance, the soldiers
coming up about two hundred yards in the rear, when a noise like the
tramping of many hoofs arrested our attention. The quick, sharp note of
a cavalry bugle rang out across the plain, followed by a wild yell, as
though a band of Indian warriors were sweeping down upon the foe.
In an instant every eye was turned, and we beheld with consternation a
cloud of horsemen springing out from the woods, and dashing along in the
headlong velocity of a charge.
It required but a single glance to satisfy me that they were
guerilleros. Their picturesque attire, their peculiar arms, and the
parti-coloured bannerets upon their lances were not to be mistaken.
We stood for a moment as if thunderstruck; a sharp cry rose along the
deployed line.
I signalled to the bugler, who gave the command, "Rally upon the
centre!"
As if by one impulse, the whole line closed in with a run upon the gates
of the inclosure. The mules, impelled by the sudden rush, dashed
forward pell-mell, blocking up the entrance.
On came the guerilleros, with streaming pennons and lances couched,
shouting their wild cries:
"_Andela! andela! Mueran los Yankees_!" (Forward! forward! Death to
the Yankees!)
The foremost of the soldiers were already upon the heels of the crowded
mules, pricking them with bayonets. The animals began to kick and
plunge in the most furious manner, causing a new danger in front.
"Face about--fire!" I commanded at this moment.
An irregular but well-directed volley emptied half a dozen saddles, and
for a moment staggered the charging line; but, before my men could
reload, the guerilleros had leaped clear over their fallen comrades, and
were swooping down with cries of vengeance. A dozen of their bravest
men were already within shot-range, firing their escopettes and pistols
as they came down.
Our position had now grown fearfully critical. The mules still blocked
up the entrance, preventing the soldiers from taking shelter behind the
stockade; and before we could reload, the rearmost would be at the mercy
of the enemy's lances.
Seizing the major's servant by the arm, I dragged him from his horse,
and, leaping into the saddle, flung myself upon the rear. Half a dozen
of my bravest men, among whom were Lincoln, Chane, and the Frenchman
Raoul, rallied around the horse, determined to receive the cavalry
charge on the short bayonets of their rifles. Their pieces were all
empty!
At this moment my eye rested on one of the soldiers, a brave but
slow-footed German, who was still twenty paces in the rear of his
comrades, making every effort to come up. Two of the guerilleros were
rushing upon him with couched lances. I galloped out to his rescue; but
before I could reach him the lance of the foremost Mexican crashed
through the soldier's skull, shivering it like a shell. The barb and
bloody pennon came out on the opposite side. The man was lifted from
the ground, and carried several paces upon the shaft of the lance.
The guerillero dropped his entangled weapon; but before he could draw
any other, the sword of Victoria was through his heart.
His comrade turned upon me with a cry of vengeance. I had not yet
disengaged my weapon to ward off the thrust. The lance's point was
within three feet of my breast, when a sharp crack was heard from
behind; the lancer threw out his arms with a spasmodic jerk; his long
spear was whirled into the air, and he fell back in his saddle, dead.
"Well done, Jack! fire and scissors! who showed yer that trick? whooray!
whoop!" and I heard the voice of Lincoln, in a sort of Indian yell,
rising high above the din.
At this moment a guerillo, mounted upon a powerful black mustang, came
galloping down. This man, unlike most of his comrades, was armed with
the sabre, which he evidently wielded with great dexterity. He came
dashing on, his white teeth set in a fierce smile.
"Ha! Monsieur le Capitaine," shouted he, as he came near, "still alive?
I thought I had finished you on Lobos; not too late yet!"