CHAPTER XII
THE RENDEZVOUS OF THE REPUBLIC
"It may be short, it may be long, 'Tis reckoning-day!' sneers unpaid Wrong." --_Lowell._
It was a long column that undulated over the cacti plain with theturnings of the national highway. Men and horses bent like whitenedspectres under a cloud of saltpetre dust. They burned with thirst, andhad burned during fifteen days of forced marching over bad roads. Theykept their ranks after the manner of soldiers, else they would haveseemed a hurrying mob, for there was scant boast of uniforms. Theofficers wore shoulder straps of green or yellow, and some of the menhad old military caps, high and black, with manta flaps protecting theneck.
Except for an occasional pair of guaraches, or sandals, the infantrytrudged barefoot, little leather-heeled Mercuries who cared nothing forthorns. Their olive faces, running with sweat, were for the most parttypically humble, patient under fatigue, lethargic before peril. Hereand there one held the hand of his soldadera, like him a stoic browncreature, who shared his hardships that she might be near to grind hisration of corn into tortillas. Veterans were there who had fought theFrench at Puebla, and on coarse frayed shirts displayed their heroes'medals. Some among them had meantime served the Empire, and had latelydeserted back again--but no matter. In the cavalry there were those whoon a time had ridden against the Americans in Santa Anna's famous guard.Now they rode with Driscoll, among the Missourians. And the Missourianssang:
"My name it is Joe Bowers, And I've got a brother Ike; I come from old Missouri, Yes, all the way from Pike."
Their mouths opened wide to the salty dust, and they roared withgreat-lunged humor, the stentor note of Tall Mose Bledsoe--ColonelBledsoe of the State of Pike--far and away in the van of the chorus.Even the Mexicans, who comprised over half the regiment, chanted forththe tune. They had heard it often enough, and thought it a species ofappropriate national hymn. Only the colonel of the troop rode insilence, but not gloomily. This playfulness of his pet before a snarlwas music that he liked. The other Missouri colonels (brevet) were asboys ever, were still only Joe Shelby's "young men for war." There wasColonel Marmaduke of Platte. There was Colonel Crittenden of Nodaway.There was Colonel Grinders from the Ozarks. There was Colonel Clay ofCarroll, and Colonel Carroll of Clay. These were captains. ColonelBledsoe was a major, and so was Colonel Boone, also chief of scouts.Colonel Clayburn, otherwise the "Doc" of Benton, was ranking surgeon;while the chaplain, lovingly known as "Old Brothers and Sisters," andthe choicest fighter among them, was lieutenant-colonel.
Of course some of the four or five hundred colonels had to be privates.But they did not mind, they were colonels just the same. Which provokedcomplications, especially with a Kansan who had wandered among them sometime since. The Kansan, whose name was Collins, was an ex-Federal, evenone of their ancient and warmest enemies, of the Sixth Kansas Cavalry.And being a mettlesome young man into the bargain, he rose by unanimousconsent to command a native company of the troop. But Captain Collinsfound it hard to address a Missouri private as colonel, and to beaddressed by the Missouri private as an inferior in rank. A sporadicoutburst of jayhawker warfare generally ensued. But according to themerger treaty between the Republic of Colonels and the RepublicaMexicana, the Missourian was strictly in his rights. Besides, bothneeded the exercise, and after the business of fists, formality droppedof itself. Captain Collins thereupon became "Harry;" and the private"Ben" or "Jim," or whatever else.
Driscoll's troop wanted for nothing. Regimentals, luckily, were notconsidered a want. But in replacing worn-out slouch hats and cape-coats,the Americans set an approximate standard, which was observed also bytheir fellow troopers among the Mexicans. They were able to procuresombreros, wide-brimmed and high-peaked, of mouse-colored beaver with arope of silver. The officers and many of the men had long Spanish capas,or cloaks, which were black and faced in gray velvet. Their coats wereshort charro jackets. As armor against cacti, they either had "chaps" ortrousers "foxed" over in leather, with sometimes a Wild Western fringe.They came to be known as the Gray Troop, or the Gringo Grays. Thenatives themselves were proudest of the latter title.
The brigade marched as victors, but they remembered how they hadformerly skulked as hunted guerrillas, and also, how Mendez had scourgedthe dissident villages. They found bodies hanging to trees. At Morelia acitizen who cried "Viva la Libertad!" had been brained with a sabre. Itwas the hour for reprisals. And Regules exacted suffering of the_mocho_, or clerical, towns that had sheltered the "traitors."Requisitions for arms, horses, and provisions marked his path. Desertersswelled his ranks. He had enough left-overs from the evacuation toorganize what in irony he called his Foreign Legion. At Acambaro asecond Republican army, under General Corona--"welcomer than a stack ofblues," as Boone said--more than doubled their force, and together theyhastened on to Queretero.
But at Celaya, when men were thinking of rest in the cool monasteriesthere, they learned that they must not pause. The word came from ElChaparrito, who ever watched the Empire as a hawk poised in mid-air.General Escobedo of the Army of the North had pursued Miramon south intoQueretero, but only to find him reinforced there by Mendez and thetroops from the capital. This superior array meant to attack Escobedo,then turn and destroy Corona and Regules. The Republicans, therefore,must be united at once.
The message was no sooner heard than the two weary brigades of Coronaand Regules set forth again. They covered the remaining thirty milesthat night, expecting a victorious Imperialist army at each bend in theroad. But they met instead, toward morning, a lone Imperialist horsemangalloping toward them. Regules's sharp eyes caught the glint of thestranger's white gold-bordered sombrero, and with a large Castilian oathhe plucked out his revolver. Driscoll touched his arm soothingly.
"But, Maria purisima," cried Regules, "he's an Explorador!"
The Exploradores were Mendez's scouts, his bloodhounds for a Republicantrail, and the most hated of all that breed.
"Aye, Senor General," the stranger now spoke, "I was even the capitan ofExploradores, who kisses Your Mercy's hand."
There was a familiar quality in the man's half chuckle, and Driscollhastily struck a match. In its light a face grew before him, and a pairof malevolent eyes, one of them crossed and beaming recognition, methis.
"Well, Tibby?" said Driscoll quietly.
"First your pistols, then what you know," commanded Regules. "Here, inbetween us. Talk as we ride, or----"
Don Tiburcio complied. Such had been his intention.
"I am no more a loyal Imperialist," he announced, with a gruesomecontortion of the mouth.
"Nor a live deserter for long," said Regules. "Quick, what's the news atQueretero?"
"Carrai, my news and more will jolt out if I open my mouth. Eh, micoronel," he added to Driscoll, "you've taught this barbarous gait tothe Republic too, I see?"
"Better obey orders," Driscoll warned him gently.
"But there's no need of hurry, senores. Not now, there isn't."
"You mean the Imperialists have whipped Escobedo, that----"
"Not so fast, mi general. If they had, wouldn't I want you to hurry, forthen there'd be a conquering Empire waiting for you?"
"Colonel Driscoll," said Regules, "fall back a step. I'm going to killthis fellow now."
"As you wish, general. But he's got something to tell."
"Then por Dios, why doesn't he?"
"Yes, Tibby, why don't you?"
Don Tiburcio cocked a puzzled head toward the American. He had not knownsuch softness of voice in Mendez's former captain of Lancers. But he sawthat Driscoll had drawn his pistol, which accorded so grimly with themildness of his tone that the scout chuckled in delight and admiration.
"You know that I'll tell--now," he said reproachfully. "In a word,there's been no battle at all, curse him, curse both----"
"No battle! Escobedo kept away then?"
"No, not even that. The Imperialists would not fight, and the Empire haslost its last chan
ce. Curse them both, curse----"
"Well, curse away, but who, what?"
"I curse, senores mios," and the scout's words grated in rage andchagrin, "I curse His Excellency the general-of-division-in-chief of thearmy of operations, Don Leonardo Marquez. I curse, senores, the ReverendSenor Abbot, Padre Augustin Fischer----"
"Good, that's finished. Now tell us why there was no battle."
"I curse His Ex----"
"You have already, but now----"
Tiburcio flung up his hand in a gesture of assent, and his ugly featuresrelaxed. Though going at a brisk trot, he rolled a cigarette and lightedit. Then he told his story. Queretero? Ha, Queretero was now the Court,the Army, the Empire! Pious townsmen shouted "Viva el Senor Emperador!"all day long. The cafes were alive with uniforms and oaths and highplay. Padres and friars shrived with ardor. There was the theatre.Fashion promenaded under the beautiful Alameda trees, and whispered thelatest rumors of the Empress Carlota. Maximilian decorated the brave,and bestowed gold fringed standards. Then came Escobedo and his Legiondel Norte, but they kept behind the hills. Bueno, the Empire would goforth and smite them, and the pious townspeople climbed to the housetopsto see it done. And yesterday morning the Empire, with banners flyingand clarion blasts, did march out and form in glittering battle array.
"And then, hombre?"
"And then the Empire marched back again, senores."
Regules and Driscoll were stupefied. What gross idiocy--ortreachery--had thrown away the Empire's one magnificent chance?
Tiburcio sucked in his breath. "I curse----"
"Marquez?" cried Regules.
"Si senor, Marquez! Marquez cried out against the attack, and HisMajesty ordered the troops back into town again."
"But Miramon, hombre? Miramon, the best among you, where was he?"
"General Miramon fairly begged to fight, but he has been defeated once,and now Marquez warns the Emperor against Miramon's 'imprudence.'Marquez is chief of staff, and crows over Miramon, who was once hispresident. He personally ordered Miramon off the field, yet it wasMiramon who first made the insolent little whelp into a general."
"This," said Driscoll, "does not explain why you desert to us?"
For an instant the old malignant humor gleamed in the baleful crescent."It's the fault of the fat padrecito," he replied. "Your Mercy perhapsdoes not know about the pretty servant he eloped with from the Bishop ofDurango's to Murguia's hacienda? Well, but trouble started when I sawher, or rather, when she saw me, even me, senor, for then she perceivedthat the padrecito was not a handsome man. Presto, there was anothereloping, and the holy Father Fischer felt bad, so very bad that when hegot into favor with Maximilian, he had me condemned for certaintoll-taking matters he knew of. But I vanished in time, and I've beenserving under Mendez as a loyal and undiscouraged Imperialist untilyesterday. But yesterday the padre recognized me at a review of thetroops. Your Mercy figures to himself how long I waited after that? YourMercy observed how fast I was riding?"
The fellow's audacity saved him. The news he brought proved correct.Escobedo had not been attacked. Besides, Regules perhaps hoped to trapMendez through the former Imperialist scout, though Driscoll derided theidea and even counseled the worthy deserter's execution.
Don Tiburcio's lank jaw dropped. Driscoll's advice was too heavy arecoil on his own wits, for had he not once saved the Gringo's life,feeling that one day he might be a beneficiary of the Gringo's singularaversion to shooting people? And now here was the Gringo in quiteanother of his unexpected humors. But what bothered Don Tiburcio mostwas the acumen that tempered the American's mercy. The facts indeedstood as Driscoll casually laid them before General Regules. Tibby, forinstance, had neglected to call himself a "loyal" Republican. Asked fora description of the new earthworks on the Cerro de las Campanas, heonly told how peons and criminals were forced to carry adobes therethough exposed to Escobedo's sharpshooters, which had in it for Tibbythe subtle element of a jest. Or asked about the new powder mills, hedescribed how Maximilian slept patriotically wrapped in a native serape,woven with the eagle and colors, or related how the Emperor won thehearts of soldiers and citizens by his princely and ever amiablebearing.
"Now sing us the national hymn," said Driscoll, "and the betrayal ofyour former friends will be complete."
But though Don Tiburcio had deserted for convenience and perhaps meantto be a spy in the dissident camp, yet Regules saved him, while Driscolllifted his shoulders indifferently and at heart was not sorry.
The Celaya road, crossing a flat country, first touches Queretero on itssouthwestern corner, and from here the two Republican brigades beheldthe ancient romantic town in the dawn as they approached. Many beautifulCastilian towers, stately and tapering to needles of stone, rose fromamong flat roofs and verdure tufts, and pointed upward to a sky as softand warm as over the Tuscan hills. Other spires were Gothic, and otherstruncated, but the temples that gave character to the whole were thoseof Byzantine domes. Lighted by the sun's level rays of early morning,their mosaic colors glittered as in some bright glare of Algeria, butwere relieved by the town's cooling fringe of green and the palms ofmany plazas within. It might have been a Moorish city, in Happy Arabiacalled paradise, a city of fountains, and wooded glens, like haunts ofmythical fauns. Queretero once boasted a coat of arms, granted by acondescending Spanish monarch, and for loyalty to the hoary order ofking and church she in those old days described herself as Very Nobleand Royal. Stern cuirassed conquistadores held her as a key to thenation's heart, as a buckler for the capital, and lately the French didalso. And now the Hapsburg had come to a welcome of garlands, and calledher his "querida."
But however excellently Queretero served as a base of militaryoperations, as a besieged place pocketed among hills her aspect alteredwoefully. She was like an egg clutched in the talons of an eagle. Onnorth and east and south the hills swept perilously near, a low,convenient range, with only a grass plain a few miles wide separatingthem from the town below. On north and east the heights were alreadysprinkled with Escobedo's tents and cannon. They commanded the only twostrongholds of the besieged, as well as the town itself, which laybetween. One stronghold was the Cerro de las Campanas, a wedge-shapedhill on the northwestern edge of the town, which held nothing buttrenches. On the northwestern edge was the other stronghold, the moundof Sangremal, which fell away as a steep bluff to the grassy plainbelow. From the bluff, across the plain, to the hills opposite,stretched a magnificent aqueduct. On the mound's commodious summit oftableland there was the Plaza de la Cruz, also the Church de la Cruz,and an old Franciscan hive, called the monastery de la Cruz. HereMaximilian established himself in a friar's lonely cell. On the north asmall river skirted the town, on the south, where nothing intervenedbetween the grassy plain and the wooded Alameda, the besiegers found themost vulnerable flank.
On this side investment began with the arrival of Corona and Regules,and soon after, of General Riva Palacio. The Republicans numberedfifteen thousand already, and more were coming daily, but as yet therewere ragged strands in the noose being woven around the beleagueredplace. Curiously enough, the most feverish to see the cordon perfectedwas none other than Don Tiburcio.
"Marquez will escape! Marquez will fly the net!" he kept bewailing. "Sisenor, and the padrecito with him, curse them both!"
Two weeks passed, filled with skirmishes and ominous tests of strength.At night fiery parabolas blazed their course against the sky, up fromthe outer hills, sweeping down on Las Campanas or La Cruz. Imperialistchiefs urged a general attack, but again Marquez foiled their hopes.Then, at two o'clock one morning, there came to pass what Tiburcio hadfeared. A body of horse stole out upon the plain, and gained theunguarded Sierra road to Mexico. Four thousand cavalry pursued over thehills, but in vain. The fugitives were Marquez and the Fifth Lancers,his escort. He was gone to the capital to raise funds, and to bring backwith him, at once, the Imperialist garrison there of five thousand men.Doting Maximilian had even named him lieutenant of the Empire, andMexico City would
shortly have the Leopard for regent. Queretero,moreover, was seriously weakened by the loss of the Fifth Lancers, andthere were those who remembered how, when Guadalajara was besieged byLiberals seven years before, Marquez had likewise set out for aid, andhad returned--too late.
To his wrathful disgust, Don Tiburcio learned that Father Fischer wasalso gone with Marquez. The priest had disguised himself in an officer'scloak, and for the moment none in the town knew of his flight. The fatpadre, it appeared, no longer hoped for the luscious bishopric ofDurango. His was the rat's instinct, as regards a sinking ship.
The Leopard and the Rat got away only in time. The very next day tenthousand ragged Inditos, largely conscripts, arrived from the Valley ofMexico and filled the gap in the besiegers' line. Investment was nowcomplete, against a paltry nine thousand within the town.
The Missourian Page 48
