It had not yet reached the hour of midnight, as we left the Great
National Road, and commenced moving up the mountain,--in a lateral
though somewhat parallel course to that we had been following.
For a mile we marched along a path, where wheels might have passed at a
pinch.
We could see by the starlight that there were some small settlements on
each side, and one more conspicuous above, which we knew to be the
hacienda of Buena Vista--famed as the spot where the best view can be
had of the valley of Mexico. From this circumstance does the dwelling
derive its name; and he who from its _azotea_ can look downward, without
having his soul stirred within him, must be incapable of romantic
emotion.
On approaching from the coast--I mean Vera Cruz--it is here the
traveller first obtains a good view (_buena vista_) of the
world-renowned "Valle of Tenochtitlan;" here that he first comes within
sight of the City of the Moctezumas.
Story-telling tourists can see it from the summit of the Sierra--looking
through the long-leaved pines! Almost every one who has written a book
about Mexico has made this plausible assertion.
But it must be remembered that these books have been mostly compiled
after the travellers had returned home; and, in some instances to my
knowledge, before they started out--not having started at all!
One and all have followed the first teller of the fictitious talc; who
must have been sharper sighted than I. With tolerably good eyes--
strengthened by a capital field glass--I could see no city of Mexico
from the summit of the Sierra, nor from any part of its sloping
declivity, through the dearest break the pine-forest afforded.
Considering the distance, it is not likely that I should. What I saw
was the "Valle" itself--not a valley in our sense, but a wide plain;
inclosing within its limits several isolated hills, that might almost be
termed mountains; mottled with broad expanses of swamp, and sheets of
clear water--the largest of these being Lakes Tezcoco and Chalco; here
and there a white dot, showing the lime-washed walls of a hacienda, the
keener sparkle of a church spire, or the glistening of an enamelled dome
amidst the scattered huts of a _pueblita_.
All this you may see from the summit of the Cordillera; but not the
towers of Tenochtitlan. Before you can distinguish these, you must
descend--nearer and lower. You must look from the terrace where stands
Buena Vista; or the plateau occupied by the "Venta" of Cordova.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
When nearly abreast of the latter place, the road we were pursuing ran
out, or rather into a bridle path; and my little troop had to stretch
out into "twos."
A mile farther on, and even this slender formation had to be changed to
one still more extended. The path was only possible for "single file;"
and into this we fell.
Another mile of marching, and it was not possible for cavalry, or
horsemen of any kind. Only a pedestrian could pursue it, and he, too,
one accustomed to climbing.
I muttered the command to halt, which had become indispensable. It was
earned in _sotto voce_ to the rear; and the horses, strung out for a
hundred yards, came to a stand--one behind the other.
"There is no road beyond?" I said, interrogating the guide, who had
squeezed up alongside of me.
"For horses, no. Only a footpath; an' scace that eyther. Thar air a
horse track further up; but it comes in from t'other side o' the ridge--
on the left. It strikes off o' the National Road, close to the place
whar the coach got stopped. Thet's why I hev the suspicion the fellurs
may be found at the house as lies up hyar."
"But why have we not gone along the main road, and then taken that you
speak of? We could have ridden on to the house?"
"No--not to the house. Thar's a bit o' it too--the last hundred yards
or so--impossible for bosses."
"Still it would have been better than to leave them here? I don't like
separating the men from their saddles--especially as we know nothing of
the ground."
"Thar's another reezun for our not goin' the other way," pursued the
guide, without replying to my remarks. "If I'd taken you by the road we
might a made a mess o' it."
"How?"
"If they're up at the big house there'll be one o' 'em on the watch down
below--near the joinin' o' the roads. They allers keep a sentry there.
He'd be sartin to a seen us--whereas, by comin' this way, we may have a
chance o' stealin' close to the shanty afore any o' 'em sets eyes on
us."
"You propose that we dismount, then, and go forward afoot?"
"Thar's no other way, cap'n."
"How far is it to the house?"
"As to distance, nothin'; not over six hundred yards, I shed say. I've
only been there once. It's the steepness o' the track that takes up the
time."
I did not much like the idea of dismounting my men, and leading them
away from their horses. Not but that the individuals I had selected
were equal to good fighting afoot; but it occurred to me that it was
possible for us to have been seen, as we marched along the lower road--
seen, too, by those who might have a fancy to follow us.
There were guerilleros along the mountain foot, as well as robbers in
its ravines. In short, every peasant and small proprietor was at this
time a _partisan_.
What if a band should get together, and come on after us? The capture
of twenty American horses--without a blow struck to retain them--would
have been a blow to me I should not easily have got over. It would have
been the ruin of a military reputation, I had but just commenced making.
I dared not risk such a discomfiture; and I determined upon the men
remaining by their horses.
I had no idea of abandoning the enterprise. That would have been a
still greater disgrace. I but stayed to consider some plan of approach,
involving less risk of a failure.
A few minutes spent in reflection, and a few more words exchanged with
the stage-driver, helped me to what I conceived a better: the men to
remain where they were; myself and the guide to go up the ravine alone,
reconnoitre the house, and then take such measures as circumstances
might suggest.
If we should find that the brigands were "abroad," my troopers would be
spared a toilsome ascent, and the chagrin of a disappointment. If "at
home," it might then be worth while to pay them a visit in full force.
The guide thought there would be no danger in our going alone--so long
as we made our reconnoissance with proper caution. There was no
scarcity of cover, both underwood and tall timber. In the event of our
being perceived while making approach, we could fall back upon our
friends, before much harm could be done to us. Should we be close
pressed, the men could meet us half-way. I had the means of making them
hear me at three times the distance.
I had no lieutenant with me--only my first sergeant, who had seen
service in three out of the four quarters of the globe. Above all, he
had "fit Injun, both in forest and prairie;" and could be trusted on an
enterprise like that we had in hand.
Having arranged the signal in a whisper, and communicated to him such
other instructions as occurred to me, I dismounted from my horse; and
followed "Don Samuel Bruno" in the direction of the "shanty."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The night was far from being a dark one. These are rare under the skies
of Southern Mexico. There was no moon, but myriads of stars; and at a
later hour the moon might be expected.
The atmosphere was tranquil--scarce a breath of air stirring the
suspended leaves of the pines. The slightest sound could have been
heard at a remarkable distance. We could distinguish the bleating of
sheep on the plain below, and the screaming of wildfowl on the sedgy
shores of Lake Chalco!
Less light, and more noise, would have answered our purpose better.
We ourselves made but little of the last. Though the path was steep, it
was not so difficult of ascent--only here and there, as it extended from
terrace to terrace by a more precipitous escarpment--and up these we
were assisted by the shrubbery.
We had agreed to proceed by signs; or, when near enough, by whispers.
We knew that the slightest sound might betray us.
At short intervals we stopped to obtain breath--less from actual
exhaustion, than to keep down the noise of our heightened respiration.
At one place we made a more lengthened pause. It was upon a shelf-like
terrace of some extent--where there were hoof-prints of horses, and
other indications of a trodden path. My guide pointed them out--
whispering to me, that it was the road of which he had spoken.
I bent down over the tracks. They were of recent date--made that very
day. My prairie experience enabled me to tell this, despite the
obscurity through which I scrutinised them. The "sign" promised well
for the success of our enterprise.
Beyond, the road became opener and easier. For two or three hundred
yards it trended along a horizontal level, and we could walk without
strain.
The stage-driver silently preceded me--still going slowly, and without
any abatement of caution.