The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista

"I will," said Bill Breakstone firmly. "Moreover, Iwill act from a play by the greatest of all writers.Throw the wood together there and let the blaze springup. I want you to see me."

A dozen willing hands tossed together the logs whichsent up a swift, high flame. The whole circle waslighted brightly, and Bill Breakstone stood up. Phil hadnever taken seriously his assertion that he had been anactor, but now he suddenly changed his opinion. Hestood for a few moments in the full blaze of the light, atall, slender figure, his face lean and shaven smoothly.His expression changed absolutely. He seemed whollyunconscious of the young soldiers about him, of the palms,or of the stone or adobe houses of the town.

Then, in a tone of martial fervor he began to recitescraps from Shakespeare dealing with war and battle,Macbeth's defiance to Macduff, Richard on the battlefield, and other of the old familiar passages. But they werenew to most of those about him, and Breakstone himself,as he afterward said, was stirred that night by anuncommon fire and spirit. Something greater than he, perhapsthe effect of time and place, seemed to have laid hold ofhim. The fire and spirit were communicated to hisaudience, which rapidly increased in numbers, although hedid not see it, so deeply was he filled with his own words, carrying him far back into other lands among the scenesthat he described. The applause rose again and again, and always he was urged to go on. As he recited for thesixth time, a thick-set, strong figure appeared at the edgeof the throng, and men at once made way for it. Thefigure was that of a man with gray hair, and with a deepline down either cheek. Breakstone's passing glancecaught the face and divined in an instant his identity.The applause, the demand for more, rose again, and aftera little hesitation the actor began:

"'My people are with sickness much encumberedMy numbers lessened, and these few I have,Almost no better than so many French;Who, when they were in health, I tell the herald,I thought upon one pair of English legsDid walk three Frenchmen, yetForgive me, God,That I do brag thus. This poor air of FranceHath blown that voice in me. I must repent,Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am;My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk,My army but a weak and sickly guard-'"

He paused a moment, but the man with the gray hairand lined cheeks still stood in an attitude of deepattention, and, skipping some of the lines, he continued:

"'If we may pass we will; if we be hinderedWe shall your tawny ground with your red bloodDiscolor; and so, Montjoy, fare you well,The sum of all our answer is but this:We would not seek a battle as we are;Nor as we are, we say we will not shun it,So tell your master.'"

He sat down amid roars of applause and universalapproval. Did they not know? Mexicans were boastingalready that Taylor would have to surrender to SantaAnna without a battle. Bill Breakstone stole a glancetoward the place where the gray-haired man had stood, but he was gone now.

"Did you know that old Rough and Ready himself waslistening to you there toward the last?" asked Grayson.

"Is that so?" replied Breakstone. "Well, I'm notashamed of anything that I said, and now, if I'veentertained you boys a little, I'd like to rest awhile. Youdon't know how hard that kind of work is, whether yourwork be good or bad."

Rest he certainly should have. They had found toogreat a treasure, these fighting men in a far land, to lethim be spoiled by overwork, and they brought him anabundance of refreshment, also.

Breakstone drank a cup of light wine made in Saltillo,as he lay back luxuriously on a pallet in one of the tents.He felt that he had reason to be satisfied with himself, and perhaps, he, playing the actor, had seized anopportunity, and had made it do what might be an importantservice in a great campaign.

"What was the last piece that you recited?" askedGrayson. "Somehow it seemed to fit in with our ownsituation here."

"That," replied Breakstone, "was a speech fromKing Henry V. He is in France with a small army, andthe French have sent to him to demand his surrender. Hemakes the reply that I have just quoted to you."

There was a thoughtful silence, although they hadknown his meaning already, and presently Phil and hiscomrades, making themselves comfortable in their tents, went to sleep. They were formally enrolled among theKentucky volunteers the next day, and began theirduties, which consisted chiefly of patrolling. Phil wasamong the sentinels stationed the next night on theoutskirts of the city.

CHAPTER XII

THE PASS OF ANGOSTURA

It was almost midwinter now in Mexico, and here, inthe northern part of the republic, on the greatplateau, it was cold. Phil more than once had seen thesnow flying, and far away it lay in white sheets on thepeaks of the Sierra Madre. He had obtained a heavyblanket coat or overcoat from the stores, and he was gladenough now to pull it closely around him and turn itscollar up about his neck, as he walked back and forth inthe chilly blasts. At each end of his beat he met anothersentinel, a young Kentuckian like himself, and, for thesake of company, they would exchange a friendly word ortwo before they parted.

The night was dark, and, with the icy winds cuttinghim, Phil, after the other sentinel had turned away, feltmore lonesome in this far strange land than he had everbeen before in his life. Everything about him wasunfriendly, the hard volcanic soil upon which he trod, theshapeless figures of the adobe huts on the outskirts of thetown, and the moaning winds from the Sierra Madre, which seemed to be more hostile and penetrating thanthose of his own country. It was largely imagination, the effect of his position, but it contained something ofreality, also. It certainly was not fancy alone thatpeopled the country about with enemies. An invader isseldom loved, and it was not fancy at all that created thenight and the cold.

Phil's beat was at the edge of open country, and hecould see a little distance upon a plain. He thought, attimes, that shadowy figures with soundless tread passedthere, but he was never sure. He spoke about it to thesentinel on his right, and then to the sentinel on his left.Each in turn watched with him, but then the shadows didnot pass, and he concluded that his fancy was playinghim tricks. Yet he was troubled, and he resolved towatch with the utmost vigilance. His beat covered a pathleading into the town, while to right and left of himwas very difficult country. It occurred to him thatanybody who wanted to pass would come his way, and he wasresolved that nobody should pass. He examined everyshadow, even if it might be that of a tree moved by thewind, and he listened to every sound, although it mightbe made by some strange Mexican animal.

Thus the time passed, and the fleeting shadows resolvedthemselves into a figure that had substance and thatremained. It took the shape of a man in conical hat andlong Mexican serape. He also carried a large basket onone arm, and he approached with an appearance oftimidity and hesitation. Phil stepped forward at once, heldup his rifle, and called: "Halt!" The man obeyedpromptly and pointed to the basket, saying something inSpanish. When Phil looked, he pulled back the coverand disclosed eggs and dressed chickens.

"To sell to the soldiers?" asked the boy.

The man nodded. Phil could not see his face, whichwas hidden by the broad brim of his hat and the folds ofhis serape, drawn up around his chin, evidently to fendoff the cold. His surmise was likely enough. TheAmericans had made a good market at Saltillo, and the peonswere ready to sell. But he did not like the hour or theman's stealthy approach.

"No come in," he said, trying to use the simplestwords of his language to a foreigner. "Orders! Ordersmust be obeyed!"

The man pointed again to his basket, as if, being indoubt, he would urge the value of a welcome.

"No come in," repeated Phil. "Go back," and hepointed toward the woods from which the Mexican hadcome.

The man hesitated, but he did not go. He turnedagain toward Phil, and at that moment the wind lifted asegment of his wide hat-brim. Phil sprang back inamazement. Despite the dark, he recognized the featuresof de Armijo, who could have come there for no good, who must have come as a spy or worse.

"De Armijo!" he cried, and sprang for him. Butthe Mexican was as quick as lightning. He leapedbackward, dropped his basket, and the long blade of a knifeflashed in the air. It cut through the sleeve of Phil'scoat, and the sharp point, with a touch like fire, ranalong his arm. It was well for him that he had put onthe heavy blanket coat that night, or the blade wouldhave grated on the bone.

The pain did not keep Phil from throwing up his rifle, and de Armijo, seeing that his stroke had not disabledthe boy, wheeled and ran. Phil fired instantly, and sawde Armijo stagger a little. But in a moment theMexican recovered himself and quickly disappeared in thedarkness, although Phil rushed after him. He wouldhave followed across the plain, but he knew it was hisduty to go no farther, and he came back to meet the othersentinels, who were running toward him at the sound ofthe shot. Phil quickly explained what had occurred, telling the identity of the man, and adding that he wascrafty and dangerous.

"A Mexican officer," said one of them. "No doubthe was trying to enter the town in order to get morecomplete information about us and our plans than they haveyet obtained. He would have remained hidden by dayin some house, and he would have slipped out again atnight when he had learned all that he wanted. You dida good job, Bedford, when you stopped him."

"You did more than stop him," said another, whohad brought a small lantern. "You nicked him beforehe got away. See, here's a drop of blood, and here'sanother, and there's another."

They followed the trail of the drops, but it did notlead far. Evidently the effusion of blood had not beengreat. Then one of the men, glancing at Phil rathercuriously, said:

"He seems to have touched you up, Bedford. Do youknow that a little stream of blood is running down yourleft sleeve?"

Phil was not conscious until then that somethingmoist and warm was dripping upon his hand. In theexcitement of the moment he had forgotten all about theslash of the knife, but, now that he remembered it, hefelt a sudden weakness. But he hid it from the others, and it passed in a minute or so.

The chief of the patrol ordered him to go back andreport to an officer, and this officer happened to beMiddleton, who was sitting with Edgeworth in one of theopen camps before a small fire. Phil's arm meanwhilehad been bound up, although he found that the cut wasnot deep, and would not incapacitate him. Phil salutedin the new military style that he was acquiring, and ofwhich he was very proud, and said, in reply to Middleton'slook of inquiry:

"I have the honor to report, sir, that a spy, a Mexicanofficer, tried to pass our lines at the point where I wasstationed. He was disguised as a peon, coming to sellprovisions in our camp. When I stopped him he slashedat me with his knife, although the wound he inflictedwas but slight, and I, in return, fired at him as he ran.I hit him, as drops of blood on the ground showed, although I think his wound, like mine, was slight."

Captain Middleton smiled.

"Come, Phil," he said, "you've done a good deed, sohop down off your high horse, and tell it in your old, easyway. Remember that we are still comrades of the plains."

Phil smiled, too. The official manner was rather hardand stiff, and it was easier to do as Middleton suggested.

"Captain," he said, "I recognized the man, and itwas one that we've met more than once. It was de Armijo."

"Ah, de Armijo!" exclaimed the Captain. "He wastrying to spy upon us. He is high in the Mexicancouncils, and his coming here means much. It is lucky,Phil, that you were the one to stop him, and that yourecognized him. But he did not love you much before, and he will not love you any more, since you have spilledsome of his blood with a bullet."

"I know it," replied Phil confidently, "but I feel ableto take care of myself as far as de Armijo is concerned."

"You go to your tent and sleep," said Middleton, "andI'll put another man in your place. You must not gettoo much stiffness and soreness in that arm of yours.You will be likely to need it soon-also, every other armthat you have."

Phil, not loth, returned to his tent, which he sharedwith Breakstone and two or three others. Bill awoke, and, after listening to a narrative of the occurrence, dressed and rebound the arm carefully.

"I agree with the Captain that things are coming to ahead," he said. "When you see a storm bird like deArmijo around, the storm itself can't be far behind. I'mglad he didn't get a good whack at you, Phil, but, as itis, you're so young and so healthy, and your blood is sopure that it won't give you any trouble. I'll dress itagain to-morrow, and in a few days it will be well."

Bill Breakstone's prediction was a good one. In threeor four days Phil's wound was entirely healed, and two orthree days later he could use his arm as well as ever.The boy, meanwhile, was getting better acquainted withthe troops, and, like his comrades, was becomingthoroughly a member of the little army. It was reduced now,by the steady drains to strengthen Scott, to 4,610 men,of whom less than five hundred were regular troops. Butthe volunteers, nearly all from the west and south, littletrained though they might be, were young, hardy, usedto life in the open air, and full of zeal. They had all thefire and courage of youth, and they did not fear anynumber of Mexicans.

But the New Year had come, January in its turn hadpassed, and the news drifting in from a thousand sources, like dust from the desert, grew more alarming. The armyorganized by Santa Anna at San Luis Potosi was thelargest that had ever been gathered in Mexico, with powerfulartillery and a numerous cavalry. Santa Anna himselfwas at his best, drilling, planning, and filling his officerswith his own enthusiasm. In Saltillo itself the peoplegrew bolder. They openly said that it was time for theAmericans to run if they would save themselves from theinvincible Mexican commander and president. It seemedto many of the Americans even that it would be wiseto retreat all the way to the Rio Grande, but the oldgeneral, his heart full of bitterness, gave no such order.He had begun the campaign in victorious fashion, andthen he had been ordered to stop. He had asked to beallowed to serve as second to Scott in the great campaignthat would go forward from Vera Cruz, and that had beenrefused. Then he had asked that more of his troops, especially the regulars, be left to him, and that, too, hadbeen refused. He was expected to yield the ground thathe had gained, and retreat in the face of an overwhelmingenemy.

Phil saw General Taylor many times in those days.Any one could see him as he passed about the city andcamp, a gray, silent man, with little military form, aproduct of the West and the frontier, to which Philhimself belonged. It was for that reason, perhaps, that Philcould enter so thoroughly into the feelings of the general,a simple, straightforward soldier who believed himselfthe victim of politics, a man who felt within him not thefacility for easy and graceful speech and manners, but therugged power to do great things. He was very gentle andkind to his men in these days. The soldier who hadspent a lifetime on the frontier, fighting Indians anddealing with the roughest of his kind, was now more likethe head of a great family, a band knitted all the moreclosely together because they were in a foreign landconfronted by a great danger.

Phil was picking up Spanish fast, and his youth, perhaps, caused the people about the city to make more hints,or maybe threats, to him than they would have made toan older man. Santa Anna had with him the wholemight of Mexico. He would be before Saltillo in threedays, in two days, to-morrow perhaps. The very airseemed to the boy to be charged with gunpowder, and hehad his moments of despondency. But he had beenthrough too much danger already to despair, and heallowed no one to think that at any time he wasapprehensive.

Bill Breakstone was, for the present, the best man inthe army. No other made acquaintances so fast, no otherhad such a wonderful flow of cheering words, and he was-orhad been-an actor. To many of these youths whohad never seen a play he must certainly have been thegreatest actor in the world. Nor was he like a primadonna, to be coaxed, and then to refuse four times out offive. He recited nearly every evening in front of his tent, and he did more than any other man to keep the army ingood heart. General Taylor and his second, GeneralWool, said nothing, but the younger officers commentedopenly and favorably. Thus the last days of Januarywent by, and they were deep into February. Themenacing reports still came out of the south, and now it wasknown definitely that Washington expected Taylor to fallback. Gloom overspread the young volunteers. Theyhad not fought their way so far merely to go back, butorders were orders, and they must be obeyed.

Early in the evening Bill Breakstone was recitingagain in front of his tent, and at least two hundred stoodabout listening. This time he was reciting with greatfire and vigor his favorite: "Once more unto the breach, dear friends," and, when he had said it once, there wasa vigorous call for it again. Obligingly he began therepetition, but when he was midway in it Middleton strode intothe circle and held up his hand. His attitude was sotense, and his air and manner showed so much suppressedexcitement that every one turned at once from Breakstoneto him. Breakstone himself stopped so short that hismouth was left wide open, and he, too, gazed at Middleton.

"My lads," said Middleton, "an order, an importantorder has just been issued by the commander-in-chief.You are to prepare at once for breaking camp, and youare to march at daylight in the morning."

Some one uttered a groan, and a bold voice spoke up:

"Do we retreat all the way to the Rio Grande, or dowe hide somewhere on the way?"

The speaker could not be seen from the place whereMiddleton stood, nor would the comrades around himhave betrayed him. But Middleton looked in the directionof the voice, and his figure seemed to swell. Phil, who was standing near, thought he saw his eyes flickerwith light.

"My lads," said Middleton, and his voice was fulland thrilling, "we do not retreat all the way to the RioGrande, nor do we hide on the way. We do not retreatat all. We march forward, southward, through themountains to meet the enemy."

A cheer, sudden, tremendous, and straight from theheart, burst forth, and it was joined with other cheersthat came from other points in the camp.

"Now make it three times three for old Rough andReady!" cried Phil in his enthusiasm, and they did itwith zeal and powerful vocal organs. Middleton smiledand walked on. Immediately everything was haste andexcitement. The men began to pack. Arms andammunition were made ready for the march. Youth lookedforward only to victory, thinking little of the risks anddangers. Breakstone smiled to himself and said underhis breath the words:

"We would not seek a battle as we are,Nor as we are, we say we will not shun it.So tell your master.

"Old Rough and Ready perhaps does not seek a battle, but he is willing to go forward and meet it. Ah! thesebrave boys! these brave boys!"

Then he turned to Phil and Arenberg, who wereamong his tent-mates.

"We three must stick together through everything,"he said. "We've lost Middleton for the time, becausehe's got to return to his duties as an officer."

"What you say iss good," said Arenberg.

"It's a bargain," said Phil.

They looked to the horses-they were in the cavalry-andat midnight went to sleep. But they were up beforedawn, still full of energy and enthusiasm. As the suncast its first rays on the cold peaks of the Sierra Madre, they mounted, fully armed and equipped, and marchedout of Saltillo, although Taylor left a strong guard in thecity, wishing to preserve it as a base.

Phil rode knee to knee with Arenberg and Breakstone, and the thrill that he had felt the night before, whenMiddleton told the news, he felt again this morning.Horse, foot, and artillery, they were only between fourand five thousand men, but the whole seemed a greatarmy to the boy. He had never seen so many men underarms before. Breakstone saw his eye kindling.

"They are stained by travel and tanned by weather, but it's fine crowd, just as you think it is, Sir Philipof Saltillo. Don't you agree with me, Hans, Duke of theSierra Madre?"

"It can fight," said Arenberg briefly.

"And that's what it has come out to do."

Phil saw the people of Saltillo watching them as thearmy left the suburbs and moved on toward themountains. But the spectators seemed to be silent. Eventhe children had little to say. Phil wondered what theythought in their hearts. He did not doubt that most ofthem were sure that this army, or what was left of it, would come back prisoners of Santa Anna. He was gladwhen they left them behind, and henceforth he lookedtoward the mountains, which upreared cold peaks in thechilly sunshine of winter. But the air was dazzlinglyclear and crisp. Pure and fresh, it filled all on that highplateau with life, and Phil's mood was one that expectedonly the best.

"We are not going to ride straight over those mountains, are we?" he said to Bill Breakstone.

"No," replied Bill, "we feel pretty nearly goodenough for anything, but we will not try any such highjumping as that. There's a pass. You can't see it fromhere, because it's a sort of knife-cut going down deepinto the mountains, and they call it the Pass ofAngostura. We'll be there soon."

There was much noise as the army began its march, friend calling to friend, the exchange of joke andcomment, wagon drivers and cannon drivers shouting to theirhorses, and the clanking of arms. But they soon settleddown into a steady sound, all noises fusing into onemade by an army that continued to march but that hadceased to talk.

Phil studied the mountains as they came nearer.They were dark and somber. Their outlines were jagged, and they had but little forest or verdure. The peaksseemed to him volcanic, presenting a multitude of sharpedges.

As the sun rose higher, the day grew somewhat warmer, but it was still full of chill. The horses blew smokefrom their nostrils. Scouts coming out of the passes metthem and repeated that Santa Anna was now advancingfrom San Luis Potosi. Nor had rumor exaggerated hisforces. He outnumbered the American army at least fiveto one, and his front was covered by a great body ofcavalry under General Minon, one of the best Mexicanleaders.

This news quickly traveled through the columns, andPhil and his friends were among the first to hear it.Breakstone gazed anxiously at the peaks.

"They don't know just how far Santa Anna has come,"he said, "but it's mighty important for us going to thesouth to get through that pass before he, coming to thenorth, can get through it."

"We'll make it," said Phil, with the sanguine faithof youth. "I don't believe that Santa Anna is yet nearenough to dispute the pass with us."

"Likely you are right, Sir Philip of the Brave Heartand the Cheerful Countenance," replied Bill Breakstone."But we shall soon see for certain. In another hour wewill enter the defiles."

Phil said nothing, but rode on with his comrades.The city had now dropped behind them and was far outof sight. On their flanks rode scouts who would beskirmishers if need be. They marched on a level and goodroad, and about six miles from Saltillo they passed ahacienda and tiny village.

"What village is that?" asked Phil of some one.

"Buena Vista," was the reply.

Phil heard it almost without noticing, although it wasa reply to his own question. Yet it was a name that hewas destined soon to recall and never to forget. Howoften for years and years afterward that name came backto him at night, syllable by syllable and letter by letter!Now he rode on, taking no thought of it, and the littlevillage and hacienda lay behind him, sleeping peacefullyin the sun. His attention was for the mountains, because they were now entering the defile, the pass ofAngostura, which cuts through the spur thrown out by theSierra Madre. This is lofty, and the way narrowed fast.Nor did the sunlight fall so plentifully there, and thewinds grew colder as they whistled through the pass.After the brilliant opalescent air of the plain, theyseemed to be riding in a sort of twilight, and Phil felthis spirits droop. Deeper and deeper they went into thecut. Above him loomed the mountains, dark andmenacing. Shrub and dwarfed plants clung here andthere in the crannies, but the range was bare, and often itwas distorted into strange shapes, sometimes like that ofthe human countenance. The sky showed in a ribbonabove, but it had turned gray, and was somber anddepressing. Behind came the long line of the army, thewheels of the artillery clanking over the stones.