General from the Jungle

by B. TRAVEN

  “General’s right,” muttered Celso to the muchachos nearest to him.

  General and Professor crawled closer. “What did you say, Celso?” asked General.

  “They’re in that hollow,” answered Celso, as quietly as if he feared the Rurales might hear him. It was more than three miles to the depression.

  “I’ve seen things flashing at several points in that hollow. It might be their cap badges or the barrels of their rifles or their buttons. They’re Rurales.”

  “By God, Celso, I’ve just seen those flashes, too, and at three different places at the same moment,” said General.

  Olegario, one of the muchachos who had crept up the hill to them, asked, “How many do you think there are, General, waiting for us?”

  “A commando troop, probably. Perhaps twenty-five men.”

  Another muchacho, Herminio, who heard that, called out, “Would to God they were two regiments. Think how many good revolvers, rifles, machine guns, and cartridges we would have if they were two regiments.”

  General laughed. “Just keep calm, muchacho. We’ll have our hands full dealing with that one machine gun which those wageslaves have. But we shall get it all right. Don’t worry. And once we’ve gobbled up the commando sniveling and driveling in that hole over there, then we can comfortably take on a battalion. Don’t expect everything at once, muchachos. Little by little. Make no mistake. I tell you in advance that when we’ve dealt with those over there, half of our first company will no longer be alive.”

  Then Olegario said, “Whether we live or not doesn’t matter a damn, not a dog’s damn. But those who do remain alive will at least know why they are living and what for. I want to have a rifle, by God, and the cartridges for it. I’ll go after them alone, if you won’t.”

  “You’ll stay here,” said General sternly. “You’ll go when I say so, and when we all go. Perhaps you may get your rifle, but rammed into your belly if you try to wage war on your own.”

  “General’s right, Olegario,” said Celso soothingly to the muchacho. “We can’t all be in command here, everyone doing what he likes. That way, one after the other will be slaughtered, and none will be left. We’ll all go at it together, and not alone; and we’ll go when General says it’s time to go.”

  The muchachos crawled down from the hilltop. The two companies that had camped around the base of the hill could not be seen by the Rurales, though whether the few muchachos who had been on the hill could have been seen was not certain. General, however, said that he believed the Rurales had seen them, because their captain must certainly have had field glasses.

  Meanwhile, a further company arrived, which General ordered to make camp also, and if the fellows wanted to move about they must do so doubled up. He wanted to keep the Rurales from learning the extent of the force that was temporarily encamped there.

  He proved, by what he now propounded and arranged, that, although he was only the son of a poor Indian peasant, he deserved to be a general. No experienced officer of the Rurales could have managed things better. It might be said with certainty that out of a hundred trained federal officers, not two probably could have improved on or even equaled what he planned and the way in which he then carried out his plans.

  He called Professor, Celso, Santiago, and the captains of the companies that had arrived, to confer and to outline his schemes.

  “If we just march against them like sheep, they’ll let fly with their machine gun, and not one of us will remain alive, and the rebellion in this state, and most certainly in this district, will be at an end for this year. We must entice them out of that hollow.”

  “A dozen muchachos could have a go at them. Then they’d come out. And we’d all rush forward against them,” advised the captain of the third company.

  “No, they won’t come out of their holes like that. They’d let our dozen men come on, without firing a shot, and only when the muchachos marched right into the hollow would the hirelings attack them and cut them down so that the following muchachos would hear nothing and know nothing of what had occurred.”

  “All right. Then let’s all charge forward and storm them,” suggested a muchacho who was sitting nearby and was not one of the council of war.

  “That would be even worse,” said Celso. “Even you can grasp that, although you only fed the oxen in the monterías.”

  “Correct. That would be the worst thing we could do.” General took up the word. “We could establish a large, fortified camp here and let a lot of smoke rise from it. The Rurales could respond to that in various ways. One way would be for them to retire to the finca; then they wouldn’t have to lie out in the wet day and night, for they’re too lazy, too pampered, and too overfed to do that. Once back in the finca, they’d wait for half a battalion of federals to reinforce them.”

  “Perhaps they don’t know how many we are and think we’re only sixty or so muchachos, just from one montería,” said Professor.

  “That seems to me likely, Professor. For even if we have been betrayed, no traitor could know how many we are, since we haven’t been marching as one group. Only in that little ranchito where the peons settled the hash of their Don Chucho, could the peons living there know how many we are. But not one of them has run on ahead of us. I took care to find out how many of them there were when we arrived, and how many were still there when we marched on. They were all there. But someone from one of the other small estates must have ridden to the finca—either the owner or a major-domo. But it’s all the same who carried the news to the finca or even to Hucutsin or Achlumal; he knew only the approximate number of the muchachos in the first company, our shock troops. And the Rurales believe they’ve only this one company to deal with.”

  “How can you know that?” asked Celso.

  “It’s very simple. If the Rurales knew we were approaching about six hundred men strong, and with twenty revolvers and ten or twelve shotguns, and six hundred machetes besides, then, as I know these slaves of the dictator, they wouldn’t be waiting here for us with one commando and only one machine gun. Not those uniformed mercenaries. Those torturers and floggers are brave only when they’re a dozen together, each with a bludgeon and a revolver, and faced with a single defenseless prisoner. But here, in the open country, twenty-five of them, each with one revolver and a solitary machine gun, while we are several hundred with a number of revolvers and all with machetes—no, they wouldn’t wait ten minutes, they’d be running like hares, not even taking time to dismantle the machine gun and unload because they might otherwise lose their precious skins. And just because they’re still squatting over there in that depression, I know that they don’t believe we’re more than sixty or seventy half-starved muchachos. They think they’ll be able to defeat us easily. They’ve certainly arranged a banquet in the finca to celebrate their victory with the finquero and his neighbors.”

  Another company arrived.

  Celso had been gazing around and had noted the dark clouds that were gathering in the west. The thicker the clouds grew, the faster the storm approached. The sun, which was now nearing the zenith, was still brilliant and burning. “There’s the Indian god coming to our aid,” said Celso. “If they don’t want to get wet, they’ll have to come creeping out of their holes; and they’re more scared of getting wet than old cats. Don’t you agree, General?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t change my plan. It only hastens it. You, Olegario, climb up the hill again. But keep your head under cover. And then watch—watch well. They’ll soon begin popping their heads up. And just because of the approaching rain, they’ll try to bring the encounter to a rapid conclusion, so that they can get back to the finca to remain dry.”

  “But it’s possible,” objected Professor, “that they won’t go for us at all, but just behave as if they hadn’t seen us. They may simply move off and leave us to attack the finca.”

  “That’s part of my plan.” General’s gaze followed Olegario, and he waited to receive a sign from him as to what the Rurales would
do. “That’s what the scoundrels would dearly like, Professor: simply to retreat to the finca, and there to drink, guzzle, and play about with the women. But that’s not so easy for them. In that finca, and assuredly in all the fincas in the neighborhood, everybody knows that we’re on the march. They must wait for us, if only to preserve their reputation as brave soldiers. They can’t make themselves laughingstocks, on account of the women and somewhat less on account of the finqueros.”

  “You’ve forgotten the most important thing, General,” said Celso, laughing. “They can’t run away from Indians, and certainly not from peons. They’d never dare show their faces again in front of a ladino. People would spit at them if they, the Rurales, armed to the teeth with rifles and automatics, were to be scuttled by us lousy, filthy lumberjacks. And, what’s more, they’d find themselves before a special tribunal of the Chief of the Secret Political Police. And they’d be shot.”

  “You’re a good pupil, Celso.” Professor laughed loudly. “Three months ago you knew nothing of automatics and hadn’t an idea about the secret State police, who are responsible only to the old cacique himself. Now you talk about it and toss it off as if you’d done nothing all your life but read prohibited newspapers.”

  “Nothing wonderful about it,” said Celso, growing red in the face with embarrassment. “I’ve had a good teacher. Besides, I’m a colonel. Don’t forget that.”

  “Hunh!” called Olegario from the little hilltop at that very moment. “There are signs of life. Three have stood up, are looking over here and gazing around in all directions. One has something in front of his eyes that he’s looking through.”

  “That’s a pair of field glasses.” General now became busy. But he displayed no excitement. He behaved as calmly and as coolly as if he were making preparations for a hare hunt, such as he used to organize with the other boys in his village.

  “Stay up there and continue to watch them carefully.” To the muchachos of his staff squatting around him he said, “We must draw them to the attack. We can’t attack them so long as they remain in that hollow. We wouldn’t get a man of theirs, and it would just be a futile slaughter. They know now that we’re somewhere near. They even know from what direction to expect us. That’s why they’ve popped up, to study the battlefield. If we can once get them out, they won’t be able to get back to the hollow. Away behind them, on the roof of the finca building, are standing the finquero and his major-domo, and maybe even the other finqueros from the district; and they’ll have their field glasses with them and see everything that goes on here. And now for it. We’ll entice them out of their hole.”

  It began to rain, slowly, in long thin streaks.

  General called Santiago to him. Then he beckoned to Fidel. “From now on you’re both sergeants. You, Santiago, take twenty men, all with packs on their backs, and march off. But not straight ahead, not toward the depression where those uniformed slaves are squatting and waiting for us to hurl ourselves on their machine gun so that they can have the pleasure of mowing us down. You must march farther to the right, always to the right, diagonally, you understand? At first your line of march will keep your men close to the bush. There in the distance, do you see that pointed mountain peak?”

  “Of course I see it.”

  “Good. That’s your direction. To the watchers in the hollow it must look as if you and your men are trying to keep out of the way of the Rurales. They’re to know that you know that they are hiding in that fold of the ground. They’re to believe that you want to avoid them. If they should start shooting at you, throw yourselves on the ground, take your hats off, and tie the hats on to your packs. The packs will be higher than your backs, and the swine will think you have your heads under your hats. They can’t see as clearly as all that. They’re too far away. Then go on crawling along the ground, so that your hats move along with the packs. Always aim at that mountain in the distance. When you’ve marched about three miles in that direction, turn, and then proceed left, toward the finca. If they haven’t crept out of their hollow already, they’ll come out then because they want to protect the finca. As soon as they come out and prepare to attack you, turn and run, bent double, back to the bush. It must appear exactly as if your trousers were glued to your asses from fright. Just when they are properly out of the depression and mounted on their nags and storming after you, then we’ll come out and entice them toward us. Then they’ll leave you in peace. Then you go into the bush. As soon as you’re well in, come straight back to the place where we are now. We’ll lure them farther into the bush, and thus you’ll be able to attack them from the rear and we from the front. You, Fidel, you take twenty men, too. If anyone doesn’t want to go with you, give him a few hefty cracks on the snout.”

  “I shan’t need to crack anyone on the snout, General.” Fidel laughed confidently. “They’re tearing to be off and have a go at the Rurales. We need their rifles and cartridges, and they’ve got good shirts and trousers, too.”

  “You know this: every rifle that’s captured belongs to the man that took it. Also the cartridges and whatever else the stinking hound may have. Watch or rings. But money will be handed in. We need the money at headquarters. If we don’t get any, it won’t matter much. I’ll get everything we need—if not with money, then without money. Now you, Fidel, must not go out of the bush. Go to the side here, just deep enough in so that you and your muchachos won’t be seen, and attack them from there when we have gotten them farther along, taking them from the rear also, like Santiago. Have you both understood what you’re to do? If not, I’ll find other sergeants who can understand.”

  “Don’t worry, General,” answered Santiago. “Understood or not understood, we’ll get them all right.”

  “Off then, both of you, to your posts.”

  In less than half a minute, the two new sergeants had collected their troops. It was only necessary to say that the order had been given to attack the Rurales, and a hundred muchachos sprang up to take part. The fact that these two troops were to attack the Rurales in the rear and thus have an excellent opportunity of taking their weapons made participation in this maneuver particularly desirable. And not one of the muchachos gave a thought to the danger of being killed or captured. Rebels have to attack and to conquer. If rebels do not conquer, then, by the nature of things, it is in any case better not to survive. None of the muchachos needed to be told or reminded what failure of the rebellion would mean. The full brutality, bestiality, cruelty, and repressed perversity of a hypocritical and morally stunted washtub bourgeoisie, who temporarily could regard themselves as bosses and as policemen, always broke out in its most revolting form whenever the Indian proletarians, daring to rise against tyranny and dictatorship, were crushed. For every snotty youth who had fallen, a hundred, sometimes even three hundred Indian proletarians were tortured, flogged, and then slaughtered like hogs, or else hanged like thieves, twenty on one and the same tree. The horror stories that sometimes appeared in American newspapers did not tell a tenth of what really happened.

  But what did the muchachos care about defeat? They cared only about victory. Their immediate anxiety was not to win in order to gain freedom and land, but simply to win in order to get their weapons from those uniformed slaves and to leave the swine, who had hitherto carried the weapons, to make a meal for the vultures.

  3

  Both troops marched off, each in the direction General had commanded.

  The troops had scarcely gone a hundred paces when General ordered all the muchachos in his vicinity to prepare to march. The great mass, who were encamped farther off, received instructions to pack up and set forth, not forward however, but back, along the way the companies had come earlier that day.

  It was raining, not heavily but in thin, dreary strings. Visibility fell off, but it was sufficient to permit observations of the terrain as far as the depression.

  Meanwhile, Santiago’s troop had marched about a mile and was now almost level with the depression.

  At this m
oment the Rurales lying in wait in the hollow seemed to notice that they were in danger of being outflanked. That they must avoid, the more so since any envelopment might result in the muchachos coming between the Rurales and the finca. Once within the perimeter walls of the finca the muchachos would have an uncommonly strong position, further strengthened by the fact that the finquero and his family could be used as hostages.

  A shrill whistle rang out from the hollow, and then immediately the Rurales emerged. Some were already mounted. Others, and they were the majority, were dragging their horses behind them up onto the edge of the hollow in order to reach the crest faster. Once at the top, they swung themselves into their saddles and waited for their major’s command. The horses were restive, plainly made nervous by their riders, who, so it seemed, could not bring the skirmish to an end quickly enough. The cause of this zeal was, admittedly, less rooted in bravery or military ardor to join battle than in the fact that the soft, penetrating rain, which now drizzled down wearily and gently, just chipichipi, as the Indians say, was threatening to develop in half an hour into a heavy, drenching, tropical aguacero. The sooner the encounter was over, the quicker the Rurales would be back in the finca again. With half a hundred louse-ridden Indians, the Rurales would be finished in ten minutes. They had fought Indians before.

  As soon as they were all mounted, they began to advance toward Santiago’s troop at a gentle trot. The uneven, yielding ground, into which the horses’ hoofs sank if they trod heavily, did not permit a fast gallop.

  At first only about ten of them were visible. General believed that these ten men were half the squad of Rurales which had been lying in wait here for the approaching rebels. But it was not long before more and more riders emerged from the depression. At last General saw, to his great astonishment, that the Rurales were about sixty men strong; and, as he could infer from the accompanying mules, they carried two machine guns with them.