THE CAPTURE OF HERMOSILLO.
Although the horses ridden by the count's escort were good, the hunters
were mounted on such fast mustangs that they caught up Don Louis within
twenty minutes of his leaving the hacienda. On hearing hurried footfalls
behind them, the Frenchmen, not knowing who could be coming like a
tornado after them, bravely wheeled round; but Belhumeur prevented any
misunderstanding by making himself known.
"You are welcome, you and your companions, Belhumeur," the count said to
him. "But what urgent reason compels you to gallop so late along the
roads?"
"A service I want to ask of you, Don Louis," the Canadian frankly
replied.
"A service! Speak, my friend: whatever it may be, if it depends on me,
it is granted before asking."
"What I want _does_ depend on you."
"What is it?"
"My comrades and myself wish to have the honour of fighting by your side
tomorrow."
"Is that the service you had to ask of me, Belhumeur?"
"Yes, and no other."
"Then you are mistaken, my friend: you mean to say a service to render
me. I heartily accept your proposition, and thank you for it cordially."
"Then that is arranged. You admit us into your ranks?"
"By Jove! I should be mad not to do so."
Belhumeur informed his friends of the success of his negotiation, and
they rejoiced at it as if they had received the handsomest possible
present. After this slight incident, the party, increased by the three
new recruits, went onwards. The Frenchmen trotted on in the darkness
like a troop of silent phantoms, bending over the necks of their horses,
eagerly questioning the sounds that rose from the desert, and sounding
the gloom in order to obtain some sign that they were approaching their
comrades.
Captain Charles de Laville, though still very young, seemed predestined
for the part he was playing at this moment. His glance was infallible,
both as superior chief and as a subordinate leader: he not only
understood with extreme rapidity the orders he received, but seized
their meaning and carried them out with rare intelligence.[1] The
count had not been in error for a moment about de Laville's brilliant
qualities. Hence he had made him a favourite, and, whenever he had a
difficult duty to intrust to anyone, he gave it to him, certain that
he would perform it with honour. The success surpassed his hopes on
this occasion; for De Laville executed the advance movement with such
precision and in such profound silence that the count almost found
himself up with the rear before he suspected he was anywhere near it.
In order to march more rapidly, and not be in any way detained, the
captain had left his wagons and baggage at a deserted rancho about a
league from the city, under the guard of the invalids, who, although
too weak to fight in the ranks of the company, could yet, behind
intrenchments, offer a sufficiently lengthened resistance to allow their
comrades to come to their assistance.
The count passed through the ranks, saluted in an affectionate voice by
his men, and placed himself at the head of the column. For two months
past the fatigue Don Louis had endured, and the constant state of
excitement in which events kept him, had seriously injured his health;
and it was only by his energy and will that he succeeded in conquering
his illness and keeping upright. He understood that if he gave way all
was lost: hence he wrestled with his sufferings, and though a fever
devoured him, his face remained calm, and nothing revealed to his
comrades the sufferings he endured with the courage of a stoic. Still he
suddenly felt himself attacked by such a feeling of weakness, that had
not Valentine, who guessed his condition, and watched over him like a
mother, held him in his arms, he must have fallen from his horse.
"What is the matter, brother?" the hunter asked him affectionately.
"Nothing," he answered, as he passed his hand over his forehead, which
was dank with icy perspiration and fatigue; "but," he added, "it has
gone off now."
"Take care, brother," he said to him with a sad shrug of his shoulders:
"you do not nurse yourself enough."
"Eh? Can I do it? But be not alarmed. I know what I want: the smell of
powder will restore me. Look, look! we have reached our destination at
last."
In fact, by the first rays of the sun, which rose majestically above the
horizon, Hermosillo, with its white houses glistening, now was visible
about a cannon shot off. An immense shout of joy from the whole company
greeted the so-ardently-desired appearance of the city. The order to
halt was given. The city was silent--it seemed deserted: not a sound was
heard within its walls. So calm, quiet, and dumb was it, that you might
have fancied that you had before you that city in the Arabian Nights
which a wicked enchanter struck with his wand and plunged into eternal
sleep.
The country was deserted. Only here and there the fragments of arms,
uniforms, sandals, the footsteps of horses, and the furrows of carts
indicated the recent passage of General Guerrero's troops. The count
examined the city for a while with the utmost attention, in order to
make his final arrangements, when suddenly two horsemen appeared on
the bridge to which we have already alluded, and galloped toward the
company, waving a flag of truce.
"Let us see what these persons want," the count said.
And he galloped up to them.
"What do you want, gentlemen, and who are you?" he said when he came up
to them.
"We wish," one of them said, "to speak with the Count de Prébois Crancé."
"I am the count. Be good enough to tell me what brings you here."
"Monsieur le comte, I am a Frenchman," the first speaker said.
"I recognise you, sir. Your name is Thollus, I believe, and you are a
merchant at Hermosillo."
"Quite correct, monsieur le comte. My companion is Señor ----"
"Don Jacinto Jabalí,[2] a _juez de letras_, I suppose, or something of
that sort, a great friend of General Guerrero. Well, gentlemen, I do not
exactly see what we can have in common."
"Pardon me, sir, we are sent to you by Señor Don Flavio Agustado,
Prefect of Hermosillo, in order to make certain propositions to you."
"Ah, ah!" the count said, champing his moustache. "Are you really?"
"Yes, sir, and very advantageous propositions too," the merchant said in
an insinuating tone.
"For you possibly, sir, who sell calico and false jewellery, but I
hardly think so for me."
"Still, if you would permit me to fulfil my mission, and tell you these
conditions, it is possible----"
"What do you say? Why, my good sir, I want nothing better. Acquit
yourself of your mission--that is only too proper; still, make haste,
for I am pressed for time."
M. Thollus drew himself up, and after consulting for a moment with his
companion, he continued his speech, Don Louis standing coldly and like a
rock of granite before him.
"Monsieur le comte, Don Flavio Agustado, Prefect of Hermosillo, whom I
have the honour to represent----"
"That is all settled. Come to the fact," Don Louis interrupted him
impatiently.
"Offers you, if you consent to retire with your army without making an
attempt on the city," the negotiator continued--"offers you, I say, the
sum of----"
"Enough, sir!" the count exclaimed, red with indignation; "a word more
would be an insult which, in spite of your quality as a flag of truce,
I might not have the patience to let pass unpunished. And it is you,
sir, a man who calls himself a Frenchman, who dares to become the bearer
of such dishonouring conditions? You lie, you are not my countryman--I
disown you as such."
"Still, monsieur le comte----" the poor fellow stammered, completely
taken aback by this galling reprimand, and not knowing how to look.
"Enough!" the count interrupted him; and drawing his watch from his
pocket, he said in a peremptory tone, which admitted of no reply, and
terrified the negotiators. "It is now eight o'clock. Go and tell your
prefect that in two hours I shall attack the city, and at eleven shall
be master of it. Begone!"
And with a gesture of supreme contempt he ordered them to retire. The
unlucky envoys did not wait to hear the order repeated; they turned back
at once, and regained the city with hanging heads. The count galloped
up to the head of the column, where the officers were assembled
slightly in advance of the ranks, impatiently awaiting the result of the
conference.
"Gentlemen," the count said to them on coming up, "get ready to fight."
The news was greeted with a shout of joy, which had the effect of
increasing the speed of the negotiators, in whose ears it echoed
like a death knell. After this the count, with extreme simplicity
and clearness, pointed out to each officer the post he must occupy
during the action. He placed the whole of the cavalry under the orders
of Captain de Laville; selected Don Cornelio, who had only rejoined
the company on the previous evening, as his aide-de-camp; and, at
Valentine's request, he placed under the latter's orders the Canadian
hunters and the Indians, with authority to act as he thought proper, and
in whatever way he considered most advantageous to the common welfare.
De Laville, sent forward with a dozen horsemen to reconnoitre, soon
returned, announcing that the city appeared to be in a complete state of
defence, that the roofs of the houses were covered with soldiers, that
the tocsin was pealing from all the churches, and the drums making a
frightful disturbance. At this moment a spy announced that a body of two
to three hundred Indians was apparently threatening the baggage, and the
count at once sent off ten men to reinforce the small garrison he had
left in the rear. This final duty accomplished, he ordered the company
to form a circle, and placed himself in the centre. Then he spoke in a
voice trembling with emotion.
"Comrades," he said, "the hour to avenge ourselves for all the villainy
practised on us during the last four months, and the atrocious calumnies
spread about us, has at length struck. But let us not forget that we
are Frenchmen; and if we have been patient under insults, let us he
magnanimous after victory. We did not desire war; it was forced upon us,
and we accept it. But remember that we are fighting for the liberty of a
people, and that our enemies of today will be our brothers tomorrow. Let
us be terrible during the combat, merciful after the battle. One last
word, or rather a final prayer. Leave the Mexicans the responsibility
of firing the first shot, so that it may be evident that up to the last
moment we desired peace. Now, brothers, long live France!"
"Long live France!" the adventurers shouted as they brandished their
weapons.
"Each to his post!" the count commanded.
The order was executed with marvellous precision. Don Louis drew out
his watch: it was ten o'clock. Then he unsheathed his sabre, wielded it
round his head, and turning to the company, every man in which had his
eyes fixed on the leader, he shouted in a sonorous voice,--
"Forward!"
"Forward!" the officers repeated.
The column started in good order, marching at quick step, with trailed
arms.
We have mentioned the bridge which alone gave admission to the city:
this bridge was barricaded, and at the other end was a house crowded
with soldiers from the cellars to the _azotea_. A silence of death
brooded over the plain. The Frenchmen marched on coolly, as if on
parade, with heads raised and flashing eyes. On arriving within musket
shot the walls were begirt with a line of fire, and a frightful
discharge scattered death among the Frenchmen. The company at once broke
into skirmishing order, and rushed onwards.
At this moment an unheard-of, incredible thing was seen--a city of
10,000 souls, surrounded by walls, and defended by a numerous garrison,
attacked by 250 men fighting in the Indian way; that is, in skirmishing
order. The artillery, dragged by its gunners, advanced at the same
speed, and only stopped to load and fire.
Even before the Mexicans had time to look round the Frenchmen were on
them like a whirlwind, attacked them at the bayonet's point, drove
back the defenders of the bridge, and entered without a check the
city, sweeping before them, in their irresistible attack, all that
opposed their passage. Then the real battle began. The Frenchmen found
themselves opposite four guns loaded with grape, which swept the whole
length of the street at the end of which they were; while to the right
and left, from windows and roofs, a shower of bullets pattered on them.
The position was becoming critical. The count dismounted, and turning to
his soldiers with the shout, "Who'll take the guns?" he rushed forward.
"We, we!" the Frenchmen yelled, as they chased after him with unexampled
frenzy.
The artillerymen were sabred at their guns, the muzzles of which were
immediately turned on the Mexicans. At this moment the count perceived,
as in a cloud, Valentine and his hunters, who were fighting like demons,
and massacring the Indians pitilessly, who tried in vain to resist them.
"Good heavens!" Black Elk said with beatitude at every blow he dealt,
"it was a lucky idea of mine to come."
"It really was," Belhumeur replied; and he redoubled his blows.
Valentine had turned the city, and taking advantage of a forgotten
ladder, escaladed the wall, and, without striking a blow, made prisoners
the post stationed there, which was commanded by an officer.
"Thanks for the ladder, comrade," he said to the latter with a grin; and
opening the gate of the city, he allowed the cavalry to enter.
Still the Mexicans fought with the energy of despair. General Guerrero,
who flattered himself with the hope of giving the French a severe
lesson, surprised and terrified by their fury, no longer knew what
measures to take in order to resist these invincible demons, as he
called them, whom nothing could arrest, and who, without deigning to
reply to their enemies' fire, had only fought with the bayonet since
their first discharge.
Driven in on all sides, the general concentrated his troops on the
Alameda, and protected the approaches by guns loaded with canister. In
spite of the enormous losses they had suffered, the Mexicans were still
more than six hundred combatants, resolved to defend themselves to the
death. The count sent Don Cornelio to Captain de Laville with orders to
charge and sabre the last defenders of the city, while he made a flank
movement with the infantry. The captain started immediately at a gallop,
overthrowing with his horse's chest all obstacles. His pace was so
hurried that he arrived alone in front of the enemy.
The Mexicans, terrified at the extraordinary audacity of this man,
hesitated for a moment; but at the repeated orders of their chiefs they
opened their fire on de Laville, who seemed to mock them, and the balls
began whistling like hail past the ears of the intrepid Frenchman,
who remained calm and motionless in the midst of this shower of lead.
Valentine, frightened by the captain's boldness, doubled his speed, and
brought up all the cavalry.
"Hang it, de Laville!" he exclaimed with admiration, "what are you doing
there?"
"You see, my friend," the latter answered with charming simplicity, "I
am waiting for you."[3]
Electrified by these noble words, the French dashed on the Alameda, and
charged to the other end with shouts of "Long live France!" a shout to
which the count's infantry responded from the other side of the Alameda,
while attacking the Mexicans at the bayonet's point.
There were a few moments of deadly struggling and a horrible carnage.
The count, in the height of the medley, fought like the meanest of his
soldiers, exciting them incessantly, and urging them forward. At last,
in spite of their desperate resistance, the Mexicans, pitilessly sabred
by the French, no longer able to organise any effectual defence, and
frightened by the ardour and invincible courage of their adversaries,
whom they regarded as demons, began to break and fly in every direction.
In spite of the fatigue of the horses, de Laville started in pursuit
with his cavalry.
Hermosillo was taken--the Count de Prébois Crancé was victorious.
Stopping in the midst of the pile of corpses which surrounded him, he
drew his watch coldly, and consulted it. It was eleven o'clock, as the
count had told the envoys in the morning: he had become master of the
city at eleven o'clock exactly. The battle had lasted an hour.
"Now, brothers," the count said, as he returned his sabre to the
scabbard, "the city is ours! Enough blood has been shed: let us think of
aiding the wounded. Long live France!"
"Long live France!" the adventurers shouted with maddening delight.
[1] We must be pardoned for laying such stress on the character of the
young chieftain of Guetzalli, who has doubtless been already recognised,
and whose name we are now authorised, to our great delight, to reveal.
After the hapless end of the Marquis de Pindray the colony of Cocospera
unanimously chose as his successor Monsieur O. de la Chapelle, a young
man whom his eminent qualifications recommended for all suffrages. It is
he who figures in our story under the pseudonym of de Laville. Monsieur
O. de la Chapelle died at an early age. This premature end was deeply
felt by all his friends, among whom the author, though he knew him but
very slightly, is happy to call himself, and to testify it by showing
the heroic part he played in the glorious expedition which forms the
subject matter of this work.--G.A.
[2] Wild boar.
[3] Fact.