The Rifle Rangers

“Sergeant, give me the rifle,” said I. “They must be a thousand yards off; but, as they are as troublesome with that carronade as if they were only ten, I shall try one more shot.”

I fired, but the ball sank at least fifty paces in front of the enemy.

“We expect too much. It is not a twenty-four pounder. Major, I envy you two things – your rifle and your horse.”

“Hercules?”

“Of course.”

“Lord, Captain! you may do what you will with the rifle; and if ever we get out of the reach of these infernal devils, Hercules shall be – .”

At this moment a cheer came from the guerilleros, and a voice was heard shouting above the din:

“La metralla! la metralla!” (The howitzer!)

I leaped upon the roof, and looked out upon the plain. It was true. A howitzer-carriage, drawn by mules, was debouching from the woods, the animals dragging it along at a gallop.

It was evidently a piece of some size, large enough to tear the light picketing that screened us to atoms.

I turned towards my men with a look of despair. My eye at this moment rested on the drove of mules that stood crowded together in a corner of the pen. A sudden thought struck me. Might we not mount them and escape? There were more than enough to carry us all, and the rancho was filled with bridles and ropes. I instantly leaped from the roof, and gave orders to the men.

“Speedily, but without noise!” cried I, as the soldiers proceeded to fling bridles upon the necks of the animals.

In five minutes each man, with his rifle slung, stood by a mule, some of them having buckled on tapadas, to prevent the animals from kicking.

The major stood ready by his horse.

“Now, my brave fellows,” shouted I in a loud voice, “we must take it cavalry fashion – Mexican cavalry, I mean.” The men laughed. “Once in the woods, we shall retreat no farther. At the words ‘Mount and follow’, spring to your seats and follow Mr Clayley. I shall look to your rear – don’t stop to fire – hold on well. If anyone fall, let his nearest comrade take him up. Ha! anyone hurt there?” A shot had whistled through the ranks. “Only a scratch,” was the reply.

“All ready, then, are you? Now, Mr Clayley, you see the high timber – make direct for that. Down with the bars! ‘Mount and follow’!”

As I uttered the last words, the men leaped to their seats; and Clayley, riding the bell-mule, dashed out of the corral, followed by the whole train, some of them plunging and kicking, but all galloped forward at the sound of the bell upon their guide.

As the dark cavalcade rushed out upon the prairie, a wild cry from the guerilleros told that this was the first intimation they had had of the singular ruse. They sprang to their saddles with yells, and galloped in pursuit. The howitzer, that had been trailed upon the corral, was suddenly wheeled about and fired; but the shot, ill-directed in their haste, whistled harmlessly over our heads.

The guerilleros, on their swift steeds, soon lessened the distance between us.

With a dozen of the best men I hung in the rear, to give the foremost of the pursuers a volley, or pick up any soldier who might be tossed from his mule. One of these, at intervals, kicked as only a Mexican mule can; and when within five hundred yards of the timber, his rider, an Irishman, was flung upon the prairie.

The rearmost of our party stopped to take him up. He was seized by Chane, who mounted him in front of himself. The delay had nearly been fatal. The pursuers were already within a hundred yards, firing their pistols and escopettes without effect. A number of the men turned in their seats and blazed back. Others threw their rifles over their shoulders, and pulled trigger at random. I could perceive that two or three guerilleros dropped from their saddles. Their comrades, with shouts of vengeance, closed upon us nearer and nearer. The long lazos, far in advance, whistled around our heads.

I felt the slippery noose light upon my shoulders. I flung out my arms to throw it off, but with a sudden jerk it tightened around my neck. I clutched the hard thong, and pulled with all my might. It was in vain.

The animal I rode, freed from my manège, seemed to plunge under me, and gather up its back with a vicious determination to fling me. It succeeded; and I was launched in the air, and dashed to the earth with a stunning violence.

I felt myself dragged along the gravelly ground. I grasped the weeds, but they came away in my hands, torn up by the roots. There was a struggle above and around me. I could hear loud shouts and the firing of guns. I felt that I was being strangled.

A bright object glistened before my eyes. I felt myself seized by a strong, rough hand, and swung into the air and rudely shaken, as if in the grasp of some giant’s arm.

Something twitched me sharply over the cheeks. I heard the rustling of trees. Branches snapped and crackled, and leaves swept across my face. Then came the flash – flash, and the crack – crack – crack of a dozen rifles, and under their blazing light I was dashed a second time with violence to the earth.

Chapter Twenty Two.

The Rescue

“Rough handlin’, Cap’n. Yer must excuse haste.”

It was the voice of Lincoln.

“Ha! in the timber? Safe, then!” ejaculated I in return.

“Two or three wounded – not bad neither. Chane has got a stab in the hip – he gin the feller goss for it. Let me louze the darned thing off o’ your neck. It kum mighty near chokin’ yer, Cap’n.”

Bob proceeded to unwind the noose end of a lazo that, with some six feet of a raw hide thong, was still tightly fastened around my neck.

“But who cut the rope?” demanded I.

“I did, with this hyur toothpick. Yer see, Cap’n, it warn’t yer time to be hung just yet.”

I could not help smiling as I thanked the hunter for my safety.

“But where are the guerilleros?” asked I, looking around, my brain still somewhat confused.

“Yander they are, keepin’ safe out o’ range o’ this long gun. Just listen to ’em! – what a hillerballoo!”

The Mexican horsemen were galloping out on the prairie, their arms glistening under the clear moonlight.

“Take to the trees, men!” cried I, seeing that the enemy had again unlimbered, and were preparing to discharge their howitzer.

In a moment the iron shower came whizzing through the branches without doing any injury, as each of the men had covered his body with a tree. Several of the mules that stood tied and trembling were killed by the discharge.

Another shower hurtled through the bushes, with a similar effect.

I was thinking of retreating farther into the timber, and was walking back to reconnoitre the ground, when my eye fell upon an object that arrested my attention. It was the body of a very large man lying flat upon his face, his head buried among the roots of a good-sized tree. The arms were stiffly pressed against his side, and his legs projected at full stretch, exhibiting an appearance of motionless rigidity, as though a well-dressed corpse had been rolled over on its face. I at once recognised it as the body of the major, whom I supposed to have fallen dead where he lay.

“Good heavens! Clayley, look here!” cried I; “poor Blossom’s killed!”

“No, I’ll be hanged if I am!” growled the latter, screwing his neck round like a lizard, and looking up without changing the attitude of his body. Clayley was convulsed with laughter. The major sheathed his head again, as he knew that another shot from the howitzer might soon be expected.

“Major,” cried Clayley, “that right shoulder of yours projects over at least six inches.”

“I know it,” answered the major, in a frightened voice. “Curse the tree! – it’s hardly big enough to cover a squirrel;” and he squatted closer to the earth, pressing his arms tighter against his sides. His whole attitude was so ludicrous that Clayley burst into a second yell of laughter. At this moment a wild shout was heard from the guerilleros.

“What next?” cried I, running toward the front, and looking out upon the prairie.

“Them wild-cats are gwine to cla’r out, Cap’n,” said Lincoln, meeting me. “I kin see them hitchin’ up.”

“It is as you say! What can be the reason?”

A strange commotion was visible in the groups of horsemen. Scouts were galloping across the plain to a point of the woods about half a mile distant, and I could see the artillerists fastening their mules to the howitzer-carriage. Suddenly a bugle rang out, sounding the “Recall”, and the guerilleros, spurring their horses, galloped off towards Medellin.

A loud cheer, such as was never uttered by Mexican throats, came from the opposite edge of the prairie; and looking in that direction I beheld a long line of dark forms debouching from the woods at a gallop. Their sparkling blades, as they issued from the dark forest, glistened like a cordon of fireflies, and I recognised the heavy footfall of the American horse. A cheer from my men attracted their attention; and the leader of the dragoons, seeing that the guerilleros had got far out of reach, wheeled his column to the right and came galloping down.

“Is that Colonel Rawley?” inquired I, recognising a dragoon officer.

“Why, bless my soul!” exclaimed he, “how did you get out? We heard you were jugged. All alive yet?”

“We have lost two,” I replied.

“Pah! that’s nothing. I came out expecting to bury the whole kit of you. Here’s Clayley, too. Clayley, your friend Twing’s with us; you’ll find him in the rear.”

“Ha! Clayley, old boy!” cried Twing, coming up; “no bones broken? all right? Take a pull; do you good – don’t drink it all, though – leave a thimbleful for Haller there. How do you like that?”

“Delicious, by Jove!” ejaculated Clayey, tugging away at the major’s flask.

“Come, Captain, try it.”

“Thank you,” I replied, eagerly grasping the welcome flask.

“But where is old Bios? killed, wounded, or missing?”

“I believe the major is not far off, and still uninjured.”

I despatched a man for the major, who presently came up, blowing and swearing like a Flanders trooper.

“Hilloa, Bios!” shouted Twing, grasping him by the hand.

“Why, bless me, Twing, I’m glad to see you!” answered Blossom, throwing his arms around the diminutive major. “But where on earth is your pewter?” for during the embrace he had been groping all over Twing’s body for the flask.

“Here, Cudjo! That flask, boy!”

“Faith, Twing, I’m near choked; we’ve been fighting all day – a devil of a fight! I chased a whole squad of the cursed scoundrels on Hercules, and came within a squirrel’s jump of riding right into their nest. We’ve killed dozens; but Haller will tell you all. He’s a good fellow, that Haller; but he’s too rash – rash as blazes! Hilloa, Hercules! glad to see you again, old fellow; you had a sharp brush for it.”

“Remember your promise, Major,” said I, as the major stood patting Hercules upon the shoulder.

“I’ll do better, Captain. I’ll give you a choice between Hercules and a splendid black I have. Faith! it’s hard to part with you, old Herky, but I know the captain will like the black better: he’s the handsomest horse in the whole army; bought him from poor Ridgely, who was killed at Monterey.”

This speech of the major was delivered partly in soliloquy, partly in an apostrophe to Hercules, and partly to myself.

“Very well, Major,” I replied. “I’ll take the black. Mr Clayley, mount the men on their mules: you will take command of the company, and proceed with Colonel Rawley to camp. I shall go myself for the Don.”

The last was said in a whisper to Clayley.

“We may not get in before noon to-morrow. Say nothing of my absence to anyone. I shall make my report at noon tomorrow.”

“And, Captain – ” said Clayley.

“Well, Clayley?”

“You will carry back my – .”

“What? To which friend?”

“Of course, to Mary of the Light.”

“Oh, certainly!”

“In your best Spanish.”

“Rest assured,” said I, smiling at the earnestness of my friend.

I was about moving from the spot, when the thought occurred to me to send the company to camp under command of Oakes, and take Clayley along with me.

“Clayley, by the way,” said I, calling the lieutenant back, “I don’t see why you may not carry your compliments in person. Oakes can take the men back. I shall borrow half a dozen dragoons from Rawley.”

“With all my heart!” replied Clayley.

“Come, then; get a horse, and let us be off.”

Taking Lincoln and Raoul, with half a dozen of Rawley’s dragoons, I bade my friends good-night.

These started for camp by the road of Mata Cordera, while I with my little party brushed for some distance round the border of the prairie, and then climbed the hill, over which lay the path to the house of the Spaniard.

As I reached the top of the ridge I turned to look upon the scene of our late skirmish.

The cold, round moon, looking down upon the prairie of La Virgen, saw none of the victims of the fight.

The guerilleros in their retreat had carried off their dead and wounded comrades, and the Americans slept underground in the lone corral: but I could not help fancying that gaunt wolves were skulking round the inclosure, and that the claws of the coyote were already tearing up the red earth that had been hurriedly heaped over their graves.

Chapter Twenty Three.

The Cocuyo

A night-ride through the golden tropical forest, when the moon is bathing its broad and wax-like frondage – when the winds are hushed and the long leaves hang drooping and silent – when the paths conduct through dark aisles and arbours of green vine-leaves, and out again into bright and flowery glades – is one of those luxuries that I wish we could obtain without going beyond the limits of our own land.

But no. The romance of the American northern forest – the romance that lingers around the gnarled limbs of the oak, and the maple, and the elm – that sighs with the wintry wind high up among the twigs of the shining sycamore – that flits along the huge fallen trunks – that nestles in the brown and rustling leaves – that hovers above the bold cliff and sleeps upon the grey rock – that sparkles in the diamond stalactites of the frost, or glides along the bosom of the cold black river – is a feeling or a fancy of a far different character.

These objects – themselves the emblems of the stony and iron things of nature – call up associations of the darker passions: strange scenes of strife and bloodshed; struggles between red and white savages; and struggles hardly less fierce with the wild beasts of the forest. The rifle, the tomahawk, and the knife are the visions conjured up, while the savage whoop and the dread yell echo in your ear; and you dream of war.

Far different are the thoughts that suggest themselves as you glide along under the aromatic arbours of the American southern forest, brushing aside the silken foliage, and treading upon the shadows of picturesque palms.

The cocuyo lights your way through the dark aisles, and the nightingale cheers you with his varied and mimic song. A thousand sights and sounds, that seem to be possessed of some mysterious and narcotic power, lull you into silence and sleep – a sleep whose dream is love.

Clayey and I felt this as we rode silently along. Even the ruder hearts of our companions seemed touched by the same influence.

We entered the dark woods that fringed the arroyo, and the stream was crossed in silence. Raoul rode in advance, acting as our guide.

After a long silence Clayey suddenly awoke from his reverie and straightened himself up in the saddle.

“What time is it, Captain?” he inquired.

“Ten – a few minutes past,” answered I, holding my watch under the moonlight.

“I wonder if the Don’s in bed yet.”

“Not likely: he will be in distress; he expected us an hour ago.”

“True, he will not sleep till we come; all right then.”

“How all right then?”

“For our chances of a supper; a cold pasty, with a glass of claret. What think you?”

“I do not feel hungry.”

“But I do – as a hawk. I long once more to sound the Don’s larder.”

“Do you not long more to see – ”

“Not to-night – no – that is until after supper. Everything in its own time and place; but a man with a hungry stomach has no stomach for anything but eating. I pledge you my word, Haller, I would rather at this moment see that grand old stewardess, Pepe, than the loveliest woman in Mexico, and that’s ‘Mary of the Light’.”

“Monstrous!”

“That is, until after I have supped. Then my feelings will doubtless take a turn.”

“Ah! Clayey, you can never love!”

“Why so, Captain?”

“With you, love is a sentiment, not a passion. You regard the fair blonde as you would a picture or a curious ornament.”

“You mean to say, then, that my love is ‘all in my eye’?”

“Exactly so, in a literal sense. I do not think it has reached your heart, else you would not be thinking of your supper. Now, I could go for days without food – suffer any hardship; but, no – you cannot understand this.”

“I confess not. I am too hungry.”

“You could forget – nay, I should not be surprised if you have already forgotten – all but the fact that your mistress is a blonde, with bright golden hair. Is it not so?”

“I confess, Captain, that I should make but a poor portrait of her from memory.”

“And, were I a painter, I could throw her features upon the canvas as truly as if they were before me. I see her face outlined upon these broad leaves – her dark eyes burning in the flash of the cocuyo – her long black hair drooping from the feathery fringes of the palm – and her – ”

“Stop! You are dreaming, Captain! Her eyes are not dark – her hair is not black.”

“What! Her eyes not dark? – as ebony, or night!”

“Blue as a turquoise!”

“Black! What are you thinking of?”

“‘Mary of the Light’.”

“Oh, that is quite a different affair!” and my friend and I laughed heartily at our mutual misconceptions.

We rode on, again relapsing into silence. The stillness of the night was broken only by the heavy hoof bounding back from the hard turf, the jingling of spurs, or the ringing of the iron scabbard as it struck against the moving flanks of our horses.

We had crossed the sandy spur, with its chaparral of cactus and mezquite, and were entering a gorge of heavy timber, when the practised eye of Lincoln detected an object in the dark shadow of the woods, and communicated the fact to me.

“Halt!” cried I, in a low voice.

The party reined up at the order. A rustling was heard in the bushes ahead.

“Quien viva?” challenged Raoul, in the advance.

“Un amigo,” (A friend), was the response.

I sprang forward to the side of Raoul and called out:

“Acercate! acercate!” (Come near!)

A figure moved out of the bushes, and approached.

“Está el Capitan?” (Is it the captain?)

I recognised the guide given me by Don Cosmé.

The Mexican approached, and handed me a small piece of paper. I rode into an opening, and held it up to the moonlight; but the writing was in pencil, and I could not make out a single letter.

“Try this, Clayley. Perhaps your eyes are better than mine.”

“No,” said Clayley, after examining the paper. “I can hardly see the writing upon it.”

“Esperate mi amo!” (Wait, my master), said the guide, making me a sign. We remained motionless.

The Mexican took from his head his heavy sombrero, and stepped into a darker recess of the forest. After standing for a moment, hat in hand, a brilliant object shot out from the leaves of the palma redonda. It was the cocuyo – the great firefly of the tropics. With a low, humming sound it came glistening along at the height of seven or eight feet from the ground. The man sprang up, and with a sweep of his arm jerked it suddenly to the earth. Then, covering it with his hat, and inverting his hand, he caught the gleaming insect, and presented it to me with the ejaculation:

“Ya!” (Now!)

“No muerde,” (It does not bite), added he, as he saw that I hesitated to touch the strange, beetle-shaped insect.

I took the cocuyo in my hand, the green, golden fire flashing from its great round eyes. I held it up before the writing, but the faint glimmer was scarcely discernible upon the paper.

“Why, it would require a dozen of these to make sufficient light,” I said to the guide.

“No, Señor; uno basti – asi;” (No, sir; one is enough – thus); and the Mexican, taking the cocuyo in his fingers, pressed it gently against the surface of the paper. It produced a brilliant light, radiating over a circle of several inches in diameter!

Every point in the writing was plainly visible.

“See, Clayley!” cried I, admiring this lamp of Nature’s own making. “Never trust the tales of travellers. I have heard that half a dozen of these insects in a glass vessel would enable you to read the smallest type. Is that true?” added I, repeating what I had said in Spanish.

“No, Señor; ni cincuenta,” (No, sir; nor fifty), replied the Mexican.

“And yet with a single cocuyo you may. But we are forgetting – let us see what’s here.”

I bent my head to the paper, and read in Spanish:

“I have made known your situation to the American commander.”

There was no signature nor other mark upon the paper.

“From Don Cosmé?” I inquired, in a whisper to the Mexican.

“Yes, Señor,” was the reply.

“And how did you expect to reach us in the corral?”

“Asi,” (So), said the man, holding up a shaggy bull’s hide, which he carried over his arm.

“We have friends here, Clayley. Come, my good fellow, take this!” and I handed a gold eagle to the peon.

“Forward!”

The tinkling of canteens, the jingling of sabres, and the echo of bounding hoofs recommenced. We were again in motion, filing on through the shadowy woods.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Lupé and Luz

Shortly after, we debouched from the forest, entering the open fields of Don Cosmé’s plantation. There was a flowery brilliance around us, full of novelty. We had been accustomed to the ruder scenes of a northern clime. The tropical moon threw a gauzy veil over objects that softened their outlines; and the notes of the nightingale were the only sounds that broke the stillness of what seemed a sleeping elysium.

Once a vanilla plantation, here and there the aromatic bean grew wild, its ground usurped by the pita-plant, the acacia, and the thorny cactus. The dry reservoir and the ruined acequia proved the care that had in former times been bestowed on its irrigation. Guardarayas of palms and orange-trees, choked up with vines and jessamines, marked the ancient boundaries of the fields. Clusters of fruit and flowers hung from the drooping branches, and the aroma of a thousand sweet-scented shrubs was wafted upon the night air. We felt its narcotic influence as we rode along. The helianthus bowed its golden head, as if weeping at the absence of its god; and the cereus spread its bell-shaped blossom, joying in the more mellow light of the moon.

The guide pointed to one of the guardarayas that led to the house. We struck into it, and rode forward. The path was pictured by the moonbeams as they glanced through the half-shadowing leaves. A wild roe bounded away before us, brushing his soft flanks against the rustling thorns of the mezquite.

Farther on we reached the grounds, and, halting behind the jessamines, dismounted. Clayley and myself entered the inclosure.

As we pushed through a copse we were saluted by the hoarse bark of a couple of mastiffs, and we could perceive several forms moving in front of the rancho. We stopped a moment to observe them.

“Quitate, Carlo! Pompo!” (Be off, Carlo! Pompo!) The dogs growled fiercely, barking at intervals.

“Papa, mandalos!” (Papa, order them off!)

We recognised the voices, and pressed forward.

“Afuera, malditos perros! abajo!” (Out of the way, wicked dogs! – down!) shouted Don Cosmé, chiding the fierce brutes and driving them back.

The dogs were secured by several domestics, and we advanced.

“Quien es?” inquired Don Cosmé.

“Amigos” (Friends), I replied.

“Papa! papa! es el capitan!” (Papa, it is the captain!) cried one of the sisters, who had run out in advance, and whom I recognised as the elder one.