The whole skirmish did not occupy two minutes. It was like most charges
of Mexican cavalry--a dash, a wild yelling, half a dozen empty saddles,
and a hasty retreat.
The guerilleros had swerved off as soon as they perceived that we had
gained a safe position, and the bullets of our reloaded pieces began to
whistle around their ears. Dubrosc alone, in his impetuosity, galloped
close up to the inclosure; and it was only on perceiving himself alone,
and the folly of exposing himself thus fruitlessly, that he wheeled
round and followed the Mexicans. The latter were now out upon the
prairie, beyond the range of small-arms, grouped around their wounded
comrades, or galloping to and fro, with yells of disappointed vengeance.
I entered the corral, where most of my men had sheltered themselves
behind the stockades. Little Jack sat upon Twidget, reloading his
rifle, and trying to appear insensible to the flattering encomiums that
hailed him from all sides. A compliment from Lincoln, however, was too
much for Jack, and a proud smile was seen upon the face of the boy.
"Thank you, Jack," said I, as I passed him; "I see you can use a rifle
to some purpose."
Jack held down his head, without saying a word, and appeared to be very
busy about the lock of his piece.
In the skirmish, Lincoln had received the scratch of a lance, at which
he was chafing in his own peculiar way, and vowing revenge upon the
giver. It might be said that he had taken this, as he had driven his
short bayonet through his antagonist's arm, and sent him off with this
member hanging by his side. But the hunter was not content; and, as he
retired sullenly into the inclosure, he turned round, and, shaking his
fist at the Mexican, muttered savagely:
"Yer darned skunk! I'll know yer agin. See if I don't git yer yit!"
Gravenitz, a Prussian soldier, had also been too near a lance, and
several others had received slight wounds. The German was the only one
killed. He was still lying out on the plain, where he had fallen, the
long shaft of the lance standing up out of his skull. Not ten feet
distant lay the corpse, of his slayer, glistening in its gaudy and
picturesque attire.
The other guerillero, as he fell, had noosed one of his legs in the lazo
that hung from the horn of his saddle, and was now dragged over the
prairie after his wild and snorting mustang. As the animal swerved, at
every jerk his limber body bounded to the distance of twenty feet, where
it would lie motionless until slung into the air by a fresh pluck on the
lazo.
As we were watching this horrid spectacle, several of the guerilleros
galloped after, while half a dozen others were observed spurring their
steeds towards the rear of the corral. On looking in this direction we
perceived a huge red horse, with an empty saddle, scouring at full speed
across the prairie. A single glance showed us that this horse was
Hercules.
"Good heavens! the Major!"
"Safe somewhere," replied Clayley; "but where the deuce can he be? He
is not _hors de combat_ on the plain, or one could see him even ten
miles off. Ha! ha! ha!--look yonder!"
Clayley, yelling with laughter, pointed to the corner of the rancho.
Though after a scene so tragic, I could hardly refrain from joining
Clayley in his boisterous mirth. Hanging by the belt of his sabre upon
a high picket was the major, kicking and struggling with all his might.
The waist-strap, tightly drawn by the bulky weight of the wearer,
separated his body into two vast rotundities, while his face was
distorted and purple with the agony of suspense and suspension. He was
loudly bellowing for help, and several soldiers were running towards
him; but, from the manner in which he jerked his body up, and screwed
his neck, so as to enable him to look over the stockade, it was evident
that the principal cause of his uneasiness lay on the "other side of the
fence."
The truth was, the major, on the first appearance of the enemy, had
galloped towards the rear of the corral, and, finding no entrance, had
thrown himself from the back of Hercules upon the stockade, intending to
climb over; but, having caught a glance of some guerilleros, he had
suddenly let go his bridle, and attempted to precipitate himself into
the corral.
His waist-belt, catching upon a sharp picket, held him suspended midway,
still under the impression that the Mexicans were close upon his rear.
He was soon unhooked, and now waddled across the corral, uttering a
thick and continuous volley of his choicest oaths.
Our eyes were now directed towards Hercules. The horsemen had closed
upon him within fifty yards, and were winding their long lazos in the
air. The major, to all appearance, had lost his horse.
After galloping to the edge of the woods, Hercules suddenly halted, and
threw up the trailing-bridle with a loud neigh. His pursuers, coming
up, flung out their lazos. Two of these, settling over his head, noosed
him around the neck. The huge brute, as if aware of the necessity of a
desperate effort to free himself, dropped his nose to the ground, and
stretched himself out in full gallop.
The lariats, one by one tightening over his bony chest, snapped like
threads, almost jerking the mustangs from their feet. The long
fragments sailed out like streamers as he careered across the prairie,
far ahead of his yelling pursuers.
He now made directly for the corral. Several of the soldiers ran
towards the stockade, in order to seize the bridle when he should come
up; but Hercules, spying his old comrade--the horse of the "Doctor"--
within the inclosure, first neighed loudly, and then, throwing all his
nerve into the effort, sprang high over the picket fence.
A cheer rose from the men, who had watched with interest his efforts to
escape, and who now welcomed him as if he had been one of themselves.
"Two months' pay for your horse, Major!" cried Clayley.
"Och, the bewtiful baste! He's worth the full of his skin in goold! By
my sowl! the capten ought to have 'im," ejaculated Chane; and various
other encomiums were uttered in honour of Hercules.
Meanwhile, his pursuers, not daring to approach the stockade, drew off
towards their comrades with gestures of disappointment and chagrin.