Майн Рид
The Tiger Hunter
Chapter Forty Six.
A Walking Corpse
While the mass was being performed in the Piazza, the Spanish sentries, who guarded the trenches outside, could distinctly hear the voices of those who took part in it; and could even distinguish the words of the sacred song, which alone broke the silence of the night.
The sentinel whose post was nearest to the entrenchments of the town, had for his companions a number of dead bodies of the enemy, who had fallen during a sortie of the insurgents, and whose corpses their comrades had no opportunity of interring. These, as already mentioned, were all more or less mutilated by their cruel foes, who oft-times revenged themselves on the dead for defeats they had suffered from the living.
The sentry in question walked to and fro upon his prescribed rounds, alternately turning face and back upon the mangled corpses. On each occasion, as he faced round half mechanically he counted them, by way of killing the time, at the same time preserving between them and himself a respectable distance.
After a short while spent in this melancholy pastime, the sounds accompanying the ceremony of the mass attracted his attention; and, as a change, he commenced endeavouring to make out the words that were being spoken or chaunted.
A distant voice exclaimed —
“A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right-hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.”
“What the devil can it mean?” soliloquised the soldier. “Latin it must be! Some prayer for these dead rebels, I suppose!”
While thus alluding to the corpses that lay near, he once more glanced towards them. All at once it appeared to him that their number had increased!
“I must have made a mistake,” muttered he to himself; “I surely counted only nine of them a moment ago; and yet now there was surely ten – one, two, three – yes, ten!”
He again lent his ears to listen to the chaunting of the psalm —
“Thou shalt tread upon the lion and the adder; the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under foot.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the sentry, “they are talking of dragoons – the Queen’s dragoons, I suppose?”
On making this remark, he paused suddenly in his steps. He had been timing his paces with that regular tread habitual to sentries, and in such a fashion as to maintain the same distance between himself and the corpses – which he had no inclination to approach. This time, on turning his face, it appeared to him that he had got much nearer to one of them; and at the next turn nearer still! This induced him to count the steps he was taking; and though on each round he made exactly the same number, he could not resist the conviction that he was constantly approximating to the corpse. Either he must be mistaken, or the dead body must have moved from its place! The latter was, of course, the more probable supposition; but, to assure himself, he approached the corpse to examine it.
The dead man was lying upon his side; and a blotch of crimson colour conspicuous behind his cheek, marked the place where his ear had been cropped off.
A brief examination satisfied the sentry that the man was dead. It followed, therefore, that he himself must have been labouring under an illusion as to the distance. He almost gave way to an impulse to thrust his bayonet through the corpse; but a dead body, seen under the shadows of night, inspires a certain air of imposing solemnity, which repels profanation; and this, acting upon the spirit of the sentinel, hindered him from yielding to the temptation.
“If it were possible for dead men to get upon their legs and walk, I should say these fellows could do so. I am almost sure I counted only nine at first. Now there are ten; and devil take me if that fellow, whom I have examined, does not look as if he wished to have a chat with me, for the fun of the thing. Carrambo! the voices of those rebels in the town are not very gay at the best; but for all that they are pleasanter to bear than the silence of these companions here. There goes the sing-song again!”
The chaunt continued —
“Lift your hands through the night, and bless the Lord. His truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid of the terror by night!”
Although to the ears of the sentry the chaunting of the besieged was merry as a drinking song compared with the melancholy silence of the dead bodies, yet the time seemed long enough to him; and every now and then he looked towards the camp, in hopes of hearing some sound that would indicate the approach of the relief guard.
None was heard; and he continued to walk his round, as before measuring the ground with exact steps.
The dead body which was nearest appeared to remain in the same place; and the mind of the soldier was becoming gradually tranquillised, when all at once, on turning sharply round, he perceived that this corpse was no longer where he had last seen it. At the same instant his eye caught the shadow of an upright figure gliding rapidly off, in the direction of the town!
Terror at the unexpected resurrection hindered him for a while from making any movement; and when this had passed, and he was able to reflect more calmly, he comprehended all. He had simply been duped by an Indian ruse; which explained the mysterious addition to the number of the corpses, and the lessened distance between himself and that which had been lying nearest.
It was now too late to arrest the progress of the Indian by firing after him; and, as the giving an alarm would only be to disclose his own negligence, the sentry prudently maintained silence, and permitted the man to continue his course.
To account for the absence of ears, which had led the soldier to mistake the Indian for a corpse, it is necessary to mention an episode of the insurrectionary war, which had happened some weeks before. The scene of the episode was the village of Yanguitlan, where the cruel Spanish general, Regules, having captured a number of Indian insurgents, had caused the ears of a score of them to be cropped off, so close to their heads, that many of them died of the haemorrhage which followed. The others succeeded in making their way to Huajapam; and the Indian, who had so cleverly duped the Spanish sentry – and who was no other than the messenger whose return was at that moment being prayed for within the town – was one of the survivors of the horrible outrage.
It was to this affair that Caldelas had derisively alluded during the sitting of the war council.
“Mil Rayos!” hissed out the sentry, in a frenzy of rage and chagrin; “Demonios! there may be more of these fellows alive! I shall take care that no other gets to his feet, and runs off like the one who has so cleverly tricked me. Now, then!”
Saying these words the sentry turned his fusil in his hands; and, rushing towards the corpses, did not leave off thrusting till he had passed his bayonet two or three times through each of them.
Not one of the bodies showed the slightest signs of life; and the only sounds that troubled the tranquillity of the scene, were the angry breathings of the soldier, as he performed his ghastly work, and the chaunting of the besieged that still swelled in melancholy intonation upon the night air.
“Chaunt away, you cowardly devils,” cried the terrified soldier; “chaunt away! You have reason, if it were only to mock me for keeping such careful guard over you. Chingarito!”
And the Spaniard, as he uttered this emphatic shibboleth, gnashed his teeth with vexation.
Shortly after, the voices within the Piazza became hushed. As we have stated, the messenger had arrived, and delivered his welcome tidings to the insurgent leader.
Chapter Forty Seven.
A Decoy Sentry
On the same evening while the besieged were celebrating mass in the Piazza of Huajapam, other scenes were occurring not many leagues distant. Behind the chain of hills which bounded the plain of Huajapam, and in the rear of the Royalist encampment, a third army had suddenly made its appearance – though still invisible to the Spanish sentries. Morelos, true to his promise, with a thousand soldiers under his command, was hastening forward to the relief of Trujano. These were all the regular troops at his disposal; as he had been compelled to leave a strong garrison in the town of Chilapa, which he had also recently taken from the Royalists.
Besides his regulars, however, he was accompanied by a large force of Indians, armed with bows and slings.
At a short distance behind the General-in-chief, the Marshal Galeana and Captain Don Cornelio Lantejas were riding side by side.
Notwithstanding the distinguished position which he held in the insurgent army, the ci-devant student of theology seemed ill at ease. Some secret grief was troubling his spirit.
“The General is quite right in refusing you leave of absence,” said Galeana. “A brave and experienced officer like you cannot be well spared; and your persistence in asking for leave has greatly offended him, I can assure you. As for that, my dear Lantejas, leave it to me. I am much mistaken if I don’t soon find you an opportunity of achieving some bold deed, which will be certain to reinstate you in the General’s favour. You will only have to slay three or four Spanish soldiers, or a Royalist officer of high rank, and that will set you all straight with Morelos.”
“I should prefer slaying the officer, I think,” answered Lantejas, scarce knowing what to say in reply.
To him, who had hitherto been only a hero by simple accident, the idea of premeditating any act that would distinguish him, only brought a fresh shadow upon the horizon of his future; and he would gladly have resigned the honours he had already gained for leave to escape being the candidate for new ones.
As soon as Morelos’ army had halted for the night, the General and Galeana commenced deliberating on some plan by which they might give the enemy a decisive blow. The strategy which appeared most to recommend itself was to get the Royalist army between two fires; that is, while the troops of Morelos himself assaulted the Spanish camp in the rear, those of Trujano should make a sortie from the town, and attack the enemy on his front.
To the carrying out of this design the chief obstacle that presented itself was the difficulty of communicating with the besieged. The messenger of Trujano had left the camp of Morelos before the idea of such an attack had been conceived. Was there any one in the insurgent army who could pass the Royalist lines, and carry a message into the town? That became the question, which, as it so happened, Don Cornelio Lantejas was able to answer in the affirmative.
The Captain was in command of the Indians, one of whom had informed him that he knew a secret way by which the town could be entered. The patriotic Indian at the same time declared his willingness to carry a message to Colonel Trujano.
On communicating this information to the General, Lantejas had no thought of the honourable commission it would be the means of obtaining for himself. Perhaps, had he suspected what was in store for him, he would have withheld it. He did not do so, however; and, on disclosing the fact to Morelos, the General at once ordered him to accompany the Indian, taking along with him some half-dozen of his trustiest men.
An honour thus offered by the Commander-in-chief of an army cannot, without difficulty, be declined; and Don Cornelio was constrained to accept it.
Choosing for his companions Costal and Clara, with some half-dozen others, and, preceded by the Indian guide, he set forth towards the town.
After two hours spent in climbing the hills, they came within sight of the bivouac fires of the Spanish camp – towards which they proceeded without making stop, until they had arrived near the line of pickets. Here the guide halted the party, concealing them behind a ruined wall.
From this point a road, deeply sunk below the surface of the plain, ran past the place where one of the Spanish pickets held post. It was the same post where, but a short while before, the earless Indian had succeeded in deceiving the sentry. The one now on post was not the same. The guard had been meanwhile relieved and another sentry had taken the place; who, by the uneasy glances which, from time to time, he kept casting around him, was evidently under the belief that his position was a dangerous one.
Many causes combined to render the new sentinel sufficiently uncomfortable. The night was disagreeably cold; the companionship of the corpses, whose mutilated state presented death before his eyes in its most hideous aspect; their odour horribly infecting the air; – all these causes, coming together, could not fail to inspire the soldier with a secret fear.
To chase away his unpleasant reflections – as well as to keep his blood warm against the chill breeze – he walked to and fro in double quick time. The only moments when he remained motionless were at those intervals when it was necessary for him to pause and call out the usual phrase: “Alerta, centinela!”
“I am sorry for the poor devil!” said Costal, “we must send him to keep guard in the next world.”
The wall behind which they had halted, although tumbled down and in ruins, still rose sufficiently high to screen the party from the eyes of the sentinel. Moreover, between the latter and the ruin, the ground was thickly studded with aloe plants and bushes of wild wormwood.
“Let us first get rid of the sentry,” said Costal; “that accomplished, scatter yourselves among the bushes, and leave the rest to me.”
On giving this counsel, the Zapoteque borrowed a sling from one of the Indians, in which he placed a stone carefully chosen. Then ordering two others to make ready their bows, he continued, addressing himself to Don Cornelio —
“You, Señor Captain, can give the signal. Take two stones – strike them together so that the fellow may hear you – strike them twice. And you,” continued he, turning to the bowmen, “on hearing the second stroke, take good aim, and let fly your arrows.”
Costal stood holding the sling in readiness. It was one of those rare occasions when the bow and the sling serve better than any kind of firearm.
Lantejas brought the two stones into collision with a loud crack.
The sentry heard the concussion, suddenly halted in his steps, brought his piece to the “ready,” and stood listening.
The Captain gave the second signal. The stone and arrows hissed simultaneously through the air; and, struck by all three, the soldier fell dead without even uttering a cry.
“Go! scatter yourselves among the bushes,” cried Costal, hurriedly; “the rest I can manage better without you.”
Don Cornelio and the Indians, in obedience to Costal’s injunction, glided from behind the wall, and crept forward among the aloes.
As they were advancing, directly in front of them, there arose the cry, “Alerta, centinela!” It came from the place where the sentry had just fallen; and Don Cornelio, on looking in that direction, perceived, to his horror and surprise, that the man was once more upon his feet, and walking his rounds as if nothing had happened!
Lantejas turned to demand an explanation from Costal, but the latter was nowhere to be seen. The Captain then faced towards the other Indians; but these, instead of concealing themselves any longer behind the bushes, had risen erect, and were running past the sentinel, who seemed to take no notice of them!
A ray of light broke upon the mind of the innocent Lantejas.
“Santissima!” cried he, “the sentinel – it must be Costal himself!”
And so it was. The living had replaced the dead; and so aptly did Costal imitate the voice and movements of the soldier who had fallen, that the other sentries along the line had not the slightest suspicion of the change that had taken place.
On comprehending the situation of affairs, Don Cornelio sprang to his feet; and, passing the decoy sentinel, ran on at full speed towards the walls of the town – where his Indians had already preceded him.
Seeing his captain clear through the lines, Costal flung away the shako and musket of the soldier, and hastened after.
Soon overtaking Don Cornelio, he cried out, “Quicker, run quicker, Señor Captain! The others will give the alarm as soon as they have missed their comrade!”
As he spoke, he caught Don Cornelio by the wrist, and dragged him along at such a rate that the Captain was scarce able to keep upon his feet.
In a few seconds they reached the line of the Mexican sentries, who, already warned of their approach by the Indians, permitted them to enter the town without opposition. On entering the Piazza they encountered Trujano himself; who, with his sword girded on, was making a round of the village before retiring to rest.
While Don Cornelio was delivering to him the message of Morelos, the Colonel directed scrutinising glances both upon the Captain and his Indian companion. He had some vague recollection of having once before seen the two men, but he could not remember where. At the moment that Don Cornelio finished speaking, his recollection had become more clear upon the point, “Ah!” exclaimed he, “I was thinking where I had met you. Are you not the young student who had such confidence in the mandate of the Bishop of Oajaca, and who, at the hacienda of Las Palmas, denounced the insurrection as a deadly crime?”
“The same,” answered Lantejas, with a sigh.
“And you,” continued Trujano, addressing himself to Costal, “are you not the tiger-hunter of Don Mariano de Silva?”
“The descendant of the caciques of Tehuantepec,” answered Costal proudly.
“God is great, and his ways are inscrutable,” rejoined the ex-muleteer, with the inspired air of a prophet of Judah.
After having more substantially repeated his message, Don Cornelio was conducted by the Colonel to his quarters, and shown the apartment in which he was to sleep.
It only remained for him to seek the few hours’ rest that would intervene before daybreak – the hour fixed for the decisive battle which was to take place. Wrapped in his cloak, he flung himself upon the wooden bench that served for a bed – vowing to himself as he fell asleep to attempt no heroic deeds on the following day, beyond those which were rigorously necessary for the defence of his own person.
Chapter Forty Eight.
The Morn of the Battle
Not until several hours after the arrival of Don Cornelio did the insurgent Colonel warn his troops of the coming event. Then they were instructed to be ready at the first dawn of day, for a sortie against the Royalist camp – which at the same instant of time was to be attacked by Morelos on the opposite side.
While the shadows of night were still hanging above the beleaguered town, a singular noise was heard proceeding from the Piazza. It resembled the creaking of a watchman’s rattle, or rather half-a-dozen of these instruments that had been sprung together. Such in reality it was: for since the church bells had been converted into cannon, the rattles of the serenos had been substituted as a means by which to summon the inhabitants to prayers!
According to the monastic regulation, which Trujano had imposed upon the besieged, they were each day called together to oration. On this morning, however, their reunion was earlier than usual: since it had for its object not only the ordinary prayers, but preparation for the combat that was to decide the issue of a long and irksome siege.
At the same hour the Royalist camp was aroused by the beating of drums and bugles sounding the reveille; while behind the chain of hills that bounded the plain Morelos was silently setting his army in motion.
In a few minutes the Piazza of Huajapam was filled with citizens and soldiers, all armed for the fight. They stood in silent groups, awaiting the prayer that would endue them with the necessary energy and enthusiasm. The horsemen were dismounted – each man standing by the head of his horse, and in the order in which they were accustomed to range themselves.
Trujano appeared in his turn, his countenance solemn, yet smiling, with confidence in his heart as upon his lips. He was armed, according to his custom, with a long two-edged sword, which he had oft-times wielded with terrible effect. By his side marched Captain Lantejas, who for the time being was acting as an aide-de-camp. Behind them came a soldier, holding in hand two horses fully equipped for the field. One of these was the war-horse of Trujano himself; the other was intended for the aide-de-camp. Over the withers of the animal destined for the ex-student of theology rose a long lance, strapped to the stirrup and the pummel of the saddle.
Don Cornelio would have had a difficulty in declaring why he had armed himself in this fashion. In reality, the lance was not a weapon of his own choosing, since he had never had any practice in the handling of one; but the horse had been brought to him thus equipped, and he passively accepted the lance, for the same reason that he was allowing himself to be led into the fight: – because he could not help it.
The matin prayers were not extended to any great length of time. The dawn was already commencing to show itself in the east; and it would not be a great while before the sun would cast his golden bearing over the plains of Huajapam.
The religious insurgent was deeply versed in Scripture. Many portions of the Bible were so familiar to him, that he could correctly repeat them without referring to the sacred book. In a voice, every tone of which was heard to the most distant corner of the Piazza, he repeated the following verses – the meaning of which was rendered more solemn by the circumstances under which they were recited: —
“The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light. The dawn is come to those who dwell in the region of the shadow of death.”
“Lord, thou hast blessed thy land; thou hast delivered Jacob from captivity. Glory to the most high.”
A thousand voices repeated “Glory to the most high!”
By little and little the eastern horizon exhibited a brighter dawn; and the clouds that floated over the heads of those people so piously bent, becoming tinged with purple, announced the rising of the sun.
It will be remembered that, at the council of war, the Spanish general had decided not to make his attack till after the hour of noon. No preparations, therefore, had as yet been made in the Royalist camp.
As Bonavia was still ignorant both of the proximity of Morelos and Trujano’s intention to make a sortie, the double attack was likely to fall upon the Spanish camp with the suddenness of a thunderbolt.
The Spanish army was divided into three brigades, that might almost be said to occupy three separate encampments. The first, commanded by Regules, held position nearest to the walls of the town. The second, under the immediate orders of Bonavia himself, occupied the centre; while the third, in command of Caldelas, formed the rearguard.
According to this disposition, Trujano, in sallying from the town, would come immediately into collision with the brigade of Regules; while Morelos, approaching from the mountains, would direct his attack against that of Caldelas. In this case, Bonavia, from the centre, could march to the assistance of whichever of his two brigadiers should stand most in need of it.
The Colonel Tres-Villas was second in command in the brigade of Caldelas, and his tent was of course in the rear.
During the night he had slept but little.
Sometimes during a storm the thick mantle of clouds which covers the sky breaks suddenly apart, disclosing an almost imperceptible portion of the azure canopy. Only for a moment the blue spot is visible, after which the dull vapoury mass closes over it, and again hides it from view.
Such was the ray of hope that had lately shone into the heart of Don Rafael. His habitual melancholy had assumed the ascendant, and the cloud had returned.
The man who passionately loves, and he who scarce loves at all, are equally unable to tell when their love is reciprocated. His violent passion blinds the judgment of the one; while indifference renders the other inattentive. Neither is capable of perceiving the tokens of love which he may have inspired, and which pass unnoticed before his eyes.
In the former situation was Don Rafael. Despite the proofs which Gertrudis had given him, his thought was, not that he was no longer loved, but that he had never been loved at all! He, who had almost sacrificed his love to his pride, could not perceive that the pride of a woman may also have its days of revolt against her heart. Hence arose the profound discouragement which had taken possession of him, and extinguished the ray of hope that had gleamed for a moment in his breast.
Wearied with tossing upon a sleepless couch, he rose at the first call of the reveille bugle; and ordering his horse to be saddled, he rode forth from the camp, in hopes that a ride would afford some distraction to his thoughts.
The aspect of the desolated fields – from which every vestige of a crop had disappeared – reminded him of his own ruined hopes: like the bud of a flower plucked from its stem, before it had time to blossom.
Occupied with such reflections, he had ridden nearly a league beyond the lines of the camp, without taking note of the distance. In the midst of the deep silence which reigned around him, he all at once heard a noise – at first low, but gradually becoming louder. This instantly roused him from his reverie – causing him to draw bridle and listen.
During the different campaigns he had made, Don Rafael had learnt to distinguish all the sounds which indicate the march of a corps d’armée. The cadenced hoof-stroke, the distant rumbling of gun-carriages and caissons, the neighing of horses, and the clanking of steel sabres were all familiar to his ear – and proclaimed to him the movement of troops, as plainly as if they were passing before his eyes.
He had no doubt that what he now heard was the approach of a body of the insurgents, advancing to the relief of the town. The alarm given by the sentinels upon the preceding night – the death of one of the number – the vivas and other strange exclamations of the besieged, within the town – left him no room to question the correctness of his conjecture.
Sure of the fact – and not wishing to lose a moment by listening longer – he wheeled around; and, putting spurs to his horse, galloped back to the camp where, on his arrival, he at once gave the alarm.
