THE RAID ON SAN ROSARIO
Tim was flushed with elation at his victory. With boyish impetuosity he
had flung himself into the affair without a thought of consequences. He
had driven away the interloper and regained possession of his father's
house: a feat of which he was inclined to be proud. As to the future
his mind was blank.
He was helping himself to some of the dainties on the table in the
dining-room when Romana rushed into the house.
"I'm here first, you see," said Tim, with a laugh. "Pardo has run
away."
"Por Dios, senorito! are you mad?" cried the man. "We shall have the
Prefect's men from the town upon us in little more than an hour. Come
away at once. We can take horses and ride into the hills before they
catch us."
"Wait a little," said Tim, sobered in a moment as he realised for the
first time what his impulsive action involved. "I can't run away and
leave the Japs to face it. It was all my fault."
"They must take their chance. They can hide in the plantations to-night
and make off to-morrow. There will be no more work for them here."
"But they can't get away in such a terrific hurry with their families
and belongings. The Prefect's men would hunt them down and serve them
as they've sometimes served the Indians. I'm responsible for them."
"This is folly!" cried Romana, who was much agitated. "You can do
nothing for them. There are not enough horses to carry them with us to
the hills, even if they could ride, and they would be overtaken if they
came on foot. Come, senorito, there is no time to lose."
"Don't talk: let me think," said Tim, leaning forward with his elbows on
the table and his head between his hands.
He was fully enlightened now. He saw what his rash act had led to.
These eighty Japanese labourers were not merely mutinous "hands"; they
would be regarded as rebels commanded by an acknowledged Mollendist. He
was responsible for them, and he knew enough about the Prefect's temper
to be sure that they would meet with no mercy at his hands. What could
he do for them? As soon as Pardo reached the town and told his story
there, without doubt a company of gendarmes and troopers would ride out
intent on vengeance. The situation seemed desperate.
Gone was now all feeling of triumph. Tim was simply miserable. It
would be useless to bring the Japanese into the house and attempt to
defend it. Even if they could maintain their position for a time they
could not beat off the enemy with bill-hooks against rifles, and before
long hundreds more would be summoned from San Juan. And then he started
up at a sudden recollection. Durand had told him that there were but a
hundred of the Prefect's men in San Rosario. The others were divided
between San Juan and the camp in the hills. Was it possible to lead the
Japanese into the town, swoop down upon the garrison, diminished by the
despatch of troopers to the hacienda, and at least arm his men? It
would be a desperate adventure, one not to be undertaken in cold blood;
but the men were seething with excitement and jubilant at their success;
and while they were in this temper they might be capable of actions
which at another time would appal them.
He jumped up and looked round for Romana. Seeing that he was not in the
room, he ran out into the patio and called for him. Romana hurried in
from the dark.
"I have two horses at the door, senorito," he said.
"Where are the Japs?" asked Tim.
"Out on the lawn. They are mad with joy. Come, senorito."
"I am going to lead them to the town," cried Tim, brushing past him and
going out through the shattered door. Romana stood for a moment
paralysed with amazement, then followed Tim, who was hurrying towards
the crowd. He heard him tell them what he intended to do; he heard them
shout with enthusiasm; then he rushed back to the house, sprang on one
of the horses, and galloped away into the darkness.
Tim explained to the men in detail, as quickly as the points occurred to
him, what course he proposed to take. He would march rapidly to the
town, enter by the east end, the quietest quarter, and lead them to the
barracks. Only a few men were there; and if the attackers moved
quietly, they might hope to surprise the garrison, seize the building,
and supply themselves with arms from the armoury. He knew that some of
the workers had pistols. These he sent to their huts to fetch their
weapons, bidding them run all the way there and back. There was not a
moment to lose; it was now a quarter of an hour since Pardo fled; by
this time he was probably a third of the way to the town.
Impressing on the men that haste and silence were essential, Tim
returned to the house in search of Romana. But Romana was not to be
found. Seeing one horse where there had been two just before, Tim leapt
to the conclusion that the man had taken fright and made good his own
escape. His lip curled with disdain of his cowardice. He found Biddy
Flanagan, told her to keep the servants quiet and attend to Captain
Pierola, who lay wounded on the floor of the patio, then picked up the
rifles which the gendarmes had cast aside in their hasty flight, and
carried them out to the men. A few minutes afterwards he put himself at
the head of the column, now increased by a score of Cholos, eager to
share in the adventure, and set off at a rapid pace along the track to
San Rosario.
He had spoken boldly and cheerfully to the men, but his mind was dark
with misgiving. He could not be charged with lack of forethought now.
As he marched his brain was busy. Nobody in San Rosario would dream of
the audacious movement he was leading; no special guard would be
maintained at the barracks; with the advantage of surprise he felt that
a sudden swift onslaught might win the place. But what then? In a day
or two at the most he would be besieged by an overwhelming force, and,
unless aided by a popular rising against the Prefect, his little band of
untrained men must be annihilated. The one consolation was that by a
preliminary success he would certainly gain time; and recollecting that
the Japanese, if they had remained on the plantation, or fled over the
open country, would have been at the mercy of pursuing cavalry, he felt
that the course he had chosen was the wisest in the circumstances.
After marching for nearly a mile along the track, he struck off to the
left, over a marshy wilderness that lay between it and the highroad east
of the town. By this time, no doubt, a detachment of mounted men was
already riding out to deal with the mutiny. Pardo would have seen to
that. They would follow the direct path; it was essential that they
should neither see nor hear the body of men hastening in the opposite
direction.
Ten minutes after he had quitted the track, he heard the thud of hoofs
and the clinking of metal in the distance. He instantly called a halt,
waited until the sounds had dwindled away behind him, then hurried on
still more rapidly than before. The diminution of the garrison would
render his task easier; but it was important that he should accomplish
it before the horsemen, finding that the birds were flown, had time to
return to the town. Luckily he knew every yard of the ground, and chose
his route unerringly even before the distant lights of San Rosario came
into view to give him guidance.
Fifty minutes after starting he reached the eastern outskirts of the
town. This was the best quarter. A few substantial houses were
scattered irregularly, surrounded by their gardens, and separated by
crooked streets and lanes which all debouched upon the plaza. It was in
one of these streets, on the opposite side of the plaza from the
gobernador's house, that the barracks were situated--a large two-storey
building, once a mansion, but now reserved for the accommodation of the
gendarmes and the irregular troops of the Prefect whenever great
occasions brought them from San Juan. The outlying streets were
strangely quiet, though a murmurous hum came from the direction of the
plaza. Choosing the narrowest and least frequented lane, Tim led his
silent force to the end of the street of the barracks.
Meanwhile the centre of the town was in a ferment of excitement. The
arrival of the fugitives with news of the revolt led by the outlawed
Ingles, the attack on the house, the murder (thus it was exaggerated) of
Captain Pierola, was like the coming of a whirlwind. The wildest
rumours flew through the town, and the whole populace flocked into the
plaza to discuss them. One of the two lieutenants in the barracks
immediately set off with a troop for the hacienda; the other, summoned
from the house where he had been dining, sent a second troop into the
plaza to keep order and check any revolutionary demonstration to which
the news of the outbreak might give rise. Thus all things conspired to
favour the bold plan which Tim had conceived.
The barracks occupied almost the whole of one side of the short street.
Wide gates gave entrance to an open porch that cut the building in two.
It was flanked on both sides by the lower floor, devoted to stores.
Staircases led to the upper floor, in which were, on one side the
quarters of the men, on the other the guardroom and armoury. Both right
and left a palisaded balcony overlooked the porch. Beyond this was a
long rectangular patio, bounded on three sides by the stables. The
patio was surrounded by a high wall abutting on the gardens of the
surrounding villas.
During the daytime the front gates were constantly open, and a sentry
marched up and down the porch between the street and the patio. At
night they were shut, and the sentry occupied his box just within. Tim
had debated on the way whether to scale the rear wall or to rush the
front entrance, and decided that the latter course had the better
promise of success. The wall was spiked; if they safely surmounted it,
to descend on the stable roof would cause a commotion among the horses,
and before they could reach the main building they would have to cross
the whole width of the patio, perhaps in the face of a hot fire. If the
front gates were shut, the wicket would no doubt be opened in answer to
a knock. Then his plan was to seize and silence the sentry, and send
his men up the stairs, if possible before the alarm was given.
He halted at the end of the street, which was not overlooked by houses,
and glanced up it towards the plaza. To his surprise and joy he saw a
bar of light across the roadway at the position of the gates. They were
open: evidently the surprising events of the evening had led to a
modification or the neglect of the usual arrangements. The street was
empty. Passing word along the line that the men were to follow at his
heels as quickly as possible, he rushed along towards the open gates.
Within the porch the sentry at his box was talking to two of his
comrades who, with their coats loosened, were leaning over the railing
of the balcony on the guardroom side. The attackers had come within a
few yards of the gates before the sound of their hurrying feet was
audible above the hum of the excited crowd in the plaza. It awakened no
alarm or suspicion; but the sentry moved leisurely to the street to see
what was happening. He had just reached the gates when, before he could
cry out, he was hurled to the ground, and a crowd of men dashed past and
over him into the porch. The two men above stared in bewilderment for a
moment; then, partially realising the situation, they ran back into the
guardroom shouting with alarm.
By this time Tim was half-way up the stairs on that side. Some of his
men followed closely; others were springing up the opposite staircase.
As yet not a shot had been fired. But as Tim reached the balcony half a
dozen mestizo soldiers of the Prefect came tumbling out of the
guardroom, some loading their rifles, some hastily flinging on their
bandoliers. Tim shouted to them to surrender, emphasising the demand
with a shot from his revolver. At such close quarters they could not
fire their rifles. The suddenness of the attack, and the sight of the
swarm of Japanese and Cholos pressing on with billhooks, struck them
with panic. All but two threw down their arms at once; one struck at
Tim with his clubbed rifle; Tim dodged the blow, and throwing out his
left foot behind his opponent, flung himself with all his weight against
the man and hurled him backwards to the floor. The sixth man ran to the
window opening on the patio, and sprang out, falling with a crash. It
was afterwards discovered that his arm was broken.
On the other side, meanwhile, a brisk fight was in progress. There were
a dozen men in quarters, including the second lieutenant. All the rest
were in the plaza or had gone to Mr. O'Hagan's hacienda. Roused by the
noise, they seized their arms and rushed to the balcony. The officer
reached the head of the staircase at the same moment as the first of the
Japanese, and instantly dropped him with a revolver shot. This
momentarily checked the assailants, giving time to the troopers to come
forward to the lieutenant's support. When Tim, after his bloodless
victory, ran back to the balcony, he saw on the opposite side a confused
mass of men in hand-to-hand fight, hacking at each other with rifles,
swords and billhooks. He could not fire for fear of hitting one of his
own party. Leaping down the staircase, he dashed across the porch, up
the other stairs, and flinging himself into the midst of the melee,
brought the butt of his revolver down heavily on the officer's head, at
the same time crying to the Peruvians that all was lost. They were
already hard pressed; seeing their officer fall, and more Japanese and
Cholos mounting behind the lad with the ruddy cheeks and fair hair, they
gave up the unequal contest.
Locking them in their rooms, Tim hurried down to the porch. He ordered
some of his men to close and bar the gates, and led another party up to
find the armoury beyond the guardroom. The door of it was locked, but
he burst the lock with a shot from his revolver, and, ordering the men
to go in and help themselves, he ran back, recalled by a clamour at the
gates.
On reaching the balcony, he found his men at grips with a number of the
enemy who had been patrolling the plaza on horseback, and hearing the
shots had galloped down the street to discover their cause. The greater
number of Tim's party being on the floor above, the Peruvians had been
strong enough to prevent the closing of the gates, and some had already
penetrated into the porch. Tim sang out to the men behind him in the
guardroom and armoury to line the balcony, and fired down among the
enemy. He was soon joined by a dozen eager Japanese. At his order they
poured a volley into the crowd below, taking care not to hit their
comrades, who were partially sheltered behind the half-open gates. The
horsemen, thrown into confusion by this deadly attack from above, tried
to wheel their horses and ride back into the street. This made the
confusion worse than before. The horses plunged with fright and pain;
several of the riders reeled from their saddles; in a few seconds the
survivors fled in hopeless rout. The moment the last had gone the gates
were slammed behind them and barred.
Running to a window overlooking the street, Tim saw more horsemen
galloping from the plaza, followed by a shouting mob. He called his
newly-armed men to his side, and ordered them to fire as soon as the
troopers reached the barracks. One volley was enough. The horsemen
reined up, wheeled about, and rode back in disorder, driving the
shrieking crowd before them. The barracks were won.