A WIND OF THE DESERT
Although many of the soldiers, the more hardened, had lain down to
sleep, Phil did not feel that he could close his eyes. Too many deep
emotions stirred his soul. He felt that he was at the verge of a great
event, one in which he was to take a part to the full extent of his
strength and courage, and there, too, was the sign of the lava, always
coming back, always persisting. He might reason with himself and call
himself foolish, but he could not dispossess his mind of the idea that
it was an omen to show him that he was upon the trail by which that
letter had come so vast a distance to him in the little town of Paris.
Every nerve in the boy was astir. He walked back and forth on one of
the promontories, looking at the mountains which now in the darkness had
become black and full of threats, and trying in vain to soothe and quiet
himself so he could lie down like the others and take the rest and
forgetfulness that all men need before going into battle. While he was
there, Middleton called to him:
"Come, Phil," he said, reverting to his old manner of comradeship, "you
ride with us to-night."
"Ride to-night!" replied Phil. "Where?"
"To the south, to meet Santa Anna. I am ordered to take thirty men and
keep going until I come into touch with the enemy. I am to have thirty
men of my choice, and you, Breakstone, and Arenberg were the first three
that I named. You don't have to go unless you wish."
"But I wish!" exclaimed Phil earnestly. "Don't think I'm unwilling,
Captain! Don't think it!"
Middleton laughed.
"I don't," he said. "I knew that you would be keen for it. Saddle your
horse and look to your arms. We ride in five minutes."
Phil was ready in three, and the thirty troopers rode silently down one
of the ravines and into the lower country. Phil looked back and saw the
fires of the camp, mere red, yellow, and pink dots of flame. The
mountains themselves were fused into a solid mass of black. The troop,
arrow headed in shape, with Middleton at the point of the shaft, and
Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg close behind him, rode in silence save
for the beat of their horses' hoofs. The wind here did not moan like
that in the pass, but it seemed to Phil to be colder, and it had an edge
of fine particles that stung his cheeks and eyes.
The night was bright enough to allow of fairly swift riding, and the
ground was no longer cut and gullied as at the mouth of the pass. Hence
the troopers were not compelled to devote their whole attention to their
horses and they could watch the country for sign of an enemy. But they
did not yet see any such sign. Phil knew that they were on the road,
leading southward to Santa Anna, and he felt sure that if they kept upon
it they must soon come upon the Mexican army. Yet the silence and
desolation were complete here. The pass had been weird and somber to
the full, but there they had thousands of comrades, and the fires in the
ravines had been cheering. Now the unlit darkness was all about them,
and it still had that surcharged quality that it had borne for Phil when
in the pass. Nor did the fine dust cease to sting his face.
"What is it, Bill?" he asked. "Where does it come from, this dust?"
"It's a wind of the desert that stings us, Phil," replied Breakstone.
"It comes vast distances, and I think, too, that it brings some of the
fine dust ground off the surface of the lava. Its effect is curious.
It's like burnt gunpowder in the nostrils. It seems to heat the inside,
too."
"It makes me feel that way," said Phil, "and it seems to be always
urging us on."
"An irritant, as it were," said Breakstone, "but I don't think we need
it. The event itself is enough to keep us all on edge. Feel cold,
Phil?"
"No, I've got a pair of buckskin gauntlets. Fine thing for riding on
nights like this."
"So have I. But the night is cold, though. Now we're always thinking
of warm weather in Mexico, but we never find a country what we expect it
to be. Ah, we're leaving the road. The Captain must think there is
something not far ahead."
They turned at a sharp angle from the road, and entered a thin forest.
Phil looked back toward the mouth of the pass from which they had come.
Everything there was behind an impenetrable black veil. The last point
of fire had died, and the mountains themselves were hidden. But he took
only a single backward look. The wind of the desert was still stinging
his face, and it seemed to arouse him to uncommon fire and energy. His
whole attention was concentrated upon their task, and he was eager to
distinguish himself in some way. But he neither heard nor saw anything
unusual.
They proceeded slowly through the forest, seeking to prevent all but the
least possible noise, and came presently to a field in which Indian corn
seemed to have grown. But it was bare now, save for the dead stalks
that lay upon the ground, and here the troop spread out, riding almost
in a single line.
It was Phil, keen of eye and watchful, who first saw a dim red tint
under the far southern horizon, and he at once called Middleton's
attention. The Captain halted them instantly, and his gaze followed the
line of Phil's pointing finger.
"It is Santa Anna's army," he said, "and you, Phil, have the honor of
locating it first. The dim band of light which you pointed out is made
by their camp fires, which are many. We need not try to conceal that
fact from ourselves."
"We take a nearer view, do we not, Captain?" asked Bill Breakstone.
"Of course," replied Middleton, "but be cautious, all of you. It is
important to see, but it is equally important to get back to General
Taylor with the tale our eyes may tell."
They rode forward again in a long and silent line. Phil's heart began to
throb. The desert wind was still stinging his face with the fine
impalpable dust that seemed to excite every nerve. As they advanced,
the red tint on the southern horizon broadened and deepened. It was
apparent that it stretched far to east and west.
"It iss a great army, and it means much harm," said Arenberg softly,
more to himself than to anybody else.
Nearer and nearer rode the bold horsemen, stopping often to watch for
the Mexican lancers who would surely be in advance of the army, beating
up the country, despite the darkness, but they did not yet see any.
They rode on so far that they heard the occasional sound of a trumpet in
the Mexican camp, and the fires no longer presented a solid line.
"Captain," asked Bill Breakstone, "what do you think the sound of those
trumpets means at an hour like this?"
"I'm not sure, Bill," replied Middleton, "but it must signify some
movement. The Mexicans, like many other people, love color and parade
and sound, but they would scarcely be indulging in such things at
midnight just for their own sakes. It is some plan. Santa Anna is a
man of great energy and initiative. But we must discover what it is.
That is what we came for."
The advance was renewed, although they went slowly, guarding as well as
they could against the least possible sound from their horses. They
were now so near that they could see figures passing before the fires,
and the dark outline of tents. They also heard the hum of many voices,
the tread of hoofs by hundreds, and the jingling of many, spurs and
bridle bits. Phil watched almost breathless, and the desert wind still
blew on his face, stirring him with its fine, impalpable powder, and
adding new fire to the fire that already burned in his veins. And Phil
saw that Middleton shared in this excited interest. The officer's gloved
hand on his bridle rein quivered with eagerness.
"Yet a little nearer, my lads," he whispered. "We must risk everything
to find out what Santa Anna is intending at so late an hour."
Screened by a narrow thicket of strange, cactuslike plants, they rode so
close that they could see between the leaves and thorns directly into
the camp. Here they sat on motionless horses, but Phil heard a deep
"Ah!" pass between Middleton's closed teeth. The boy himself had
experience and judgment enough to know now what was going forward. All
this jingling of bits and spurs meant the gathering of the Mexican
cavalry. The Mexican camp fires burned along a front that seemed
interminable, and also scores of torches were held aloft to guide in the
work that was now being done.
Phil saw the Mexican horsemen wheel out by hundreds, until there was a
great compact body of perhaps two thousand men, gaudily dressed, well
mounted, and riding splendidly. Many carried rifles or muskets, but
there were at least a thousand lancers, the blades of their long weapons
gleaming in the firelight. Officers in gorgeous uniforms were at their
head. Presently the trumpet blew again, and the great force of cavalry
under General Minon began to move.
"An advance at midnight," breathed Middleton, but Phil heard him. "And
there go infantry behind them. It is an attack in force. I have it! I
have it! They are going toward Agua Neva. Santa Anna thinks that our
whole army is there, and probably he believes he can get in our rear and
cut us off. Then he'll compress us between his vast numbers as if we
were in the jaws of a vise."
Then he added, in a slightly louder tone:
"Come, my lads, we ride to Agua Neva, but we must be as careful as ever.
We know now what our task is, and we will do it."
They turned and rode away. Fortune was with them. No horse neighed.
Perhaps the sound of their hoofs might have been heard now, had it not
been for the great Mexican column marching toward Agua Neva, where the
rear guard under Marshall was hurrying the stores, that had been left
there, northward to Taylor. Middleton swung his little troop to one
side, until they were well beyond the hearing of Minon's cavalry.
"There can no longer be any doubt that they are heading for Agua Neva,"
he said, "and we must beat them there, no matter what happens. Ride,
boys, ride!"
They broke into a gallop, sweeping in a long line across some open
fields, riding straight for a few points of light behind which they knew
was Agua Neva. They were now well ahead of the great column, and
Middleton took the chance of meeting any stray band of Mexican scouts
and skirmishers. They did meet such a band, but it was small, and, when
the Mexican hail was answered with a shout in a foreign tongue, it
quickly scattered and gave the Americans free passage. A few shots were
fired, but nobody in Middleton's troop was touched, and none in the
other. Without breaking line the Americans rode on. The lights grew
clearer and increased in number. In a few moments they clattered down
on Agua Neva, and ready sentinels, rifle in hand, halted them.
"Friends!" cried Middleton. "I am Captain Middleton, with scouts from
General Taylor. I must see your commander at once!"
But Marshall was there as he spoke, and Middleton exclaimed in short
words, surcharged with emphasis and earnestness:
"Santa Anna is coming down upon you! We have seen his cavalry marching,
and the infantry are behind them! They will soon be here! They must
think that our whole army is in Agua Neva, and evidently they intend to
surround it."
"All right," said Marshall calmly. "Most of the wagons are already on
the way to the pass. We cover their retreat, and the General told us to
hold on here as long as we could. We mean to do it. Are you with us,
Captain?"
"Certainly," replied Captain Middleton briefly. "You can depend on us to
the last."
"Minon's cavalry must be coming now," said Marshall. "It seems to me
that I hear the tread of many horsemen."
"It is they," said Middleton. Marshall's men and his then fell back
toward the little town. They were only a few hundred in number, but
they had no idea of retreating without a fight. They were posted behind
some stone walls, hedges, and a few scattered houses. The last of the
wagons loaded with stores were rumbling away northward toward the Pass
of Angostura.
Phil sat on his horse behind a stone wall, and all was silence along the
line. The wind still blew, and stung his face with the dust of the
desert. His heart throbbed and throbbed. He saw Middleton open his
watch, hold it close to his face in order that he might see the hands in
the moonlight, and then shut it with a little snap.
"Midnight exactly," he said, "and here they come!"
The heavy tread of many men was now in their ears, and the lances
gleamed in the moonlight, as the great Mexican force swung into the open
space about the little town. They came on swiftly and full of ardor,
but a sheet of fire blazed in their faces. The long rifles of the
Americans were well aimed, despite the night--they could scarcely miss
such a mass--and horses and riders went down together.
While they were still in confusion, Marshall's little force loaded and
fired again. A terrible uproar ensued. Men groaned or shouted, horses
neighed with fright or screamed with pain. Many of them ran riderless
between the combatants. Phil heard the Mexican officers shouting orders
and many strange curses. Smoke arose and permeated the night air
already charged with the dust of the desert. The Mexicans fired almost
at random in the darkness, but they were many, and the bullets flying in
showers were bound to strike somebody. Two or three Americans dropped
slain from their horses, or, on foot, died where they were struck,
behind the walls. The Mexicans in a vast half circle still advanced.
Marshall and Middleton conferred briefly.
"How many men have you?" asked Marshall.
"Thirty."
"I have about fifty more cavalrymen. Take them and charge with all your
might. They may think in the darkness that you have a thousand."
"Come!" said Middleton to his men, and he and the eighty rode out into
the open. They paused there only an instant, because the great half
circle of the Mexicans was still advancing. Phil, in the moonlight, saw
the enemy very distinctly, the lances and escopetas, the tall conical
hats with wide brims, and the dark faces under them. Then, at the
command of Middleton, they fired their rifles and galloped straight at
the foe.
Phil could never give any details of that wild moment. He was conscious
of a sudden surge of the blood, the thudding of hoofs, the blades of
lances almost in his face, fierce, dark eyes glaring into his own, and
then they struck. The impact was accompanied by the flashing of sabers,
the falling of men and horses, shouts and groans, while the smoke from
the firing to the right and left of them drifted in their faces.
Phil felt a shock as his horse struck that of a Mexican lancer. The
lance-blade flashed past his face, and it felt cold on his cheek as it
passed, but it did not touch him. The Mexican's horse went down before
the impact of his, and he saw that the whole troop, although a few
saddles were emptied, had crashed through the Mexican line. They had cut
it apart like a knife through cheese. While the Mexicans were yet
reeling from the shock, Middleton, a born cavalry leader, wheeled his
men about, and they charged back through the Mexican line at another
point. The second passage was easier than the first, because Minon's men
had been thrown into disorder, yet it was not made without wounds. Phil
was slightly grazed in the side by a bullet, and a lance had torn his
coat on his shoulder. If the cloth had not given way he would have been
thrown from the saddle. As it was, he nearly dropped his rifle, but he
managed to retain both seat and weapon.
"All right!" shouted a voice in his ear. It was that of Breakstone, who
was watching over him like a father.
"All right," returned Phil confidently, and then they were back with
Marshall's men, all but a dozen, who would ride no more.
"Good work," said Marshall to Middleton. "That startled them. They
will ride back a little, and our riflemen, too, are doing almost as good
work in the moonlight as they could in the sunlight."
The blood was pounding so heavily in Phil's ears after the double charge
that he did not realize until then that the heavy firing had never
ceased. The little American force reloaded and pulled the trigger so
quickly that the volume of their firing gave the effect of numbers three
or four times that of the real. The darkness, too, helped the illusion,
and the Southerners and Westerners replied to the shouts of the Mexicans
with resounding cheers of their own. An officer galloped up, and Phil
heard him shout to Marshall above the crash of the firing:
"The last of the wagons is beyond the range of fire!"
"Good," said Marshall. "Now we, too, must fall back. The moment they
discover how few we are they can wrap us in a coil that we cannot break.
But we'll fight them while they follow us."
The little force was drawn in skillfully, and the horsemen on either
flank began to retire from Agua Neva. The Mexicans, urged by Minon,
Torrejon, Ampudia, and Santa Anna himself, pushed hard against the
retiring force, seeking either to capture or destroy it. More than once
they threatened to enfold it with their long columns, but here the
horsemen, spreading out, held them off, and the long range rifles of the
Americans were weapons that the Mexicans dreaded. As on many another
battlefield, the Westerners and Southerners, trained from their boyhood
to marksmanship, fired with terrible accuracy. The moonlight, now that
their eyes had grown used to it, was enough for them. Their firing, as
the slow retreat northward toward the Pass of Angostura went on, never
ceased, and their path was marked by a long trail of their fallen foes.
Santa Anna and his generals sought in vain to flank them, but the
darkness was against the greater force. It was not easy to combine and
make use of numbers when only moonlight served. Regiments were likely
to fire into one another, but the small compact body of the Americans
kept easily in touch, and they retreated practically in one great hollow
square blazing with fire on every side. "Hold on as long as you can,"
Taylor had said to Marshall, but Marshall, in the face of twenty to one,
held on longer than any one had dreamed.
Santa Anna had expected to get his great cavalry force in the rear of
Taylor at Agua Neva, but at midnight, finding Taylor not there and only
a small detachment left, he had hoped to capture or destroy that in a
few minutes. Instead, half his army was fighting a most desperate rear
guard action with a few hundred men, and every second Marshall saved was
precious to the commander back there at the Pass of Angostura.
Phil was grazed by another bullet, and his horse was stung once.
Arenberg was slightly wounded, but Breakstone was untouched, and the
three still kept close together. The boy could not take note of the
passage of time. It seemed to him that they had been fighting for hours
as they gave way slowly before the huge mass of the Mexican army. Great
clouds of smoke from the firing had turned the moonlight to a darker
quality. Now and then it drifted in such quantities that the moon was
wholly obscured, and then it was to the advantage of the Americans, who
could fire from their hollow square in every direction, and be sure that
they hit no friend.
They had now left the town far behind and were well on the way to the
Pass. Phil noticed that the fire of the Mexicans was slackening.
Evidently Santa Anna had begun to believe that it would not pay to
follow up any longer a rear guard that stung so hard and so often. This
certainly was the belief of Bill Breakstone.
"The pursuit is dying," he said, "not because they don't want us, but
because our price is too high.
It is not right
To fight at night
Unless you know
Right well your foe.
The darkness cumbers
Him with numbers;
The few steal away,
And are gone at day.
"My verse is a little ragged this time, Phil, but it is made in the heat
of action, and it at least tells a true tale. See how their fire is
sinking! The flashes stop to the right, they stop to the left, and they
will soon stop in the center. It's a great night, Phil, for Marshall
and his men. They were ordered to do big things, and they've filled the
order twice over. And we came into it, too, Phil, don't forget that!
There, they've stopped entirely, as I told you they would!"
The firing along Santa Anna's front ceased abruptly, and as the retreat
continued slowly the columns of the Mexican army were lost in the
darkness. No lance heads glittered, and the bugles no longer called the
men to action. Bill Breakstone had spoken truly. Santa Anna found the
rear guard too tough for him to handle in the darkness, and stopped for
the rest of the night. When assured of this, Marshall ordered his
little force to halt, while they took stock of the wounded and dressed
their hurts as best they could at such a hurried moment. Then they
resumed their march for the pass, with the wagons that they had defended
so well lumbering on ahead.
After the exertion of so much physical or mental energy the men rode or
walked in silence. Phil was surprised to find that his hands and face
were wet with perspiration, and he knew then that his face must be black
with burnt gunpowder. But he felt cold presently, as the chill night
wind penetrated a body relaxed after so great an effort. Then he took
the blanket roll from his saddle and wrapped it around him. Breakstone
and Arenberg had already done the same. Looking back, Phil saw a few
lights twinkling where the Mexicans had lighted their new camp fires,
but no sound came from that point. Yet, as of old, the desert wind blew,
and the fine dust borne on its edge stung his face, and brought to his
nostrils an odor like that of battle. Under its influence he was still
ready for combat. He gloried in the achievement of this little division
in which he had a part, and it gave him strength and courage for the
greater struggle, by far, that was coming. Breakstone shared in his
pleasure, and talked lightly in his usual fashion, but Arenberg was
sober and very thoughtful.
"Well, we burnt old Santa Anna's face for him, if we did do it in the
dark," said Bill, "and we can do it in daylight, too."
"But did you see his numbers?" said Arenberg. "Remember how vast was his
camp, and with what a great force he attacked us at Agua Neva. Ach, I
fear me for the boys who are so far from their home, the lads of
Kentucky and Illinois and the others!"
"Don't be downhearted, Hans, old boy," said Breakstone with genuine
feeling. "I know you have things on your mind--though I don't ask you
what they are--that keep you from being cheerful, but don't forget that
we've the habit of victory. Our boys are Bonaparte's soldiers in the
campaign of Italy, they don't mean to be beaten, and they don't get
beaten. And you can put that in your pipe, too, and smoke it, Sir
Philip of the Horse Battle and the Night Retreat. Look, we're
approaching the Pass. See the lights come out one by one. Don't the
lights of a friend look good?"
Phil agreed with him. It was a satisfying thing to come safely out of a
battle in which they had done what they had wanted to do, and return to
their own army. It was now nearly morning, but the troops still marched,
while the last wagons rumbled on ahead. Scouts came forward to hail
them and to greet them warmly when they found that they were friends.
There was exultation, too, when they heard the news of the fine fight
that the little division had given to Santa Anna. Lieutenant
Washington, who was in charge of the division that commanded the road,
met Middleton and Marshall a hundred yards from the mouths of his guns,
and Phil heard them talking. General Taylor had not yet returned from
Saltillo, where he had gone to strengthen and fortify the division at
that place, as he greatly feared a flank movement of Santa Anna around
the mountain to seize the town and cut him off.
Wool, meanwhile, was in command, and he listened to the reports of
Marshall and Middleton, commending them highly for the splendid
resistance that they had offered to overwhelming numbers. Phil gathered
from their tone, although it was only confirmation of a fact that he
knew already, that their little force was in desperate case, indeed.
Never before had the omens seemed so dark for an American army. For in
a desolate and gloomy country, with every inhabitant an enemy and spy
upon them, with an army outnumbering them five to one approaching, brave
men might well despair.
It struck Phil with sudden force that the odds could be too great after
all, and that he might never finish his quest. In another hour or two
he might see his last sunrise. He shook himself fiercely, told himself
that he was foolish and weak, and then rode toward the pass. They
tethered their horses on the edge of the plateau, and at the advice of
Middleton all sought sleep.
But the boy's nerves were yet keyed too highly for relaxation. His
weary body was resting, but his heart still throbbed. He saw the
sentinels walking back and forth. He saw the dark shapes of cannon
posted on the promontories, and above them the mountains darker and yet
more somber. Several fires still burned in the ravines, and the
officers sat about them talking, but most of the army slept. As Phil lay
on the earth he heard the wind moaning behind him as it swept up the
pass, but it still touched his face with the fine impalpable dust that
stung like hot sand, and that seemed to him to be an omen and a presage.
He lay a long time staring into the blackness in the direction in which
Santa Anna's army now lay, where he and his comrades had fought such a
good fight at midnight. He saw nothing there with his real eye, but
with his mind's eye he beheld the vast preparations, the advance of the
horsemen, and the flashing of thousands of lances in the brilliant
light.
When the morning sun was showing over the ridges and peaks of the Sierra
Madre, and pouring its light into the nooks and crannies of the ravines,
he fell asleep.