General from the Jungle

by B. TRAVEN

  “My God!” he said. “There’s almost half a company coming crawling out of there. Now there’s going to be some fun around here.”

  “Hope it’ll be good fun,” called someone. “Two machine guns are better than one, and we can use forty rifles better than twenty. What do you say, muchachos?” he asked those who were lying near him.

  Before they could answer, General gave the order that sixty men should be ready to march within five minutes.

  General called to Professor; “You take the main troop and start to march back along the same way we came.”

  The men obeyed reluctantly. There was no time for Professor to explain the plans that General had made.

  General kept sixty men close to him and said to them, “As soon as I fire a shot from my revolver, stand up and march after me toward the finca. I’ll tell you when to attack. If you attack before I say, then I’ll shoot each one of you to hell, by God!”

  The Rurales had by now advanced so far toward Santiago’s troop that they were only about five hundred yards from them. Thus this troop’s way to the finca was cut off.

  Now, correctly and faithfully following General’s plan, Santiago ordered his men to pretend to be frightened and to make with all speed for the bush in order to seek cover there.

  When the Indians began to run thus in terror, the major commanding the Rurales regarded this as a sign of victory. He said, grinning to his lieutenant, “Now you see what I’ve always told you. These Indians are only full of bravado, deep in the jungle. But when once the swine see a uniform cap, they run like startled hares. Get after them and finish ’em off! If any of ’em is carrying a weapon, even a machete or a knife, he’s to be shot down immediately without mercy. Anyone unarmed is to be taken with a lasso and brought to the finca, where we’ll put them up for tonight. The womenfolk at the finca will enjoy seeing what we do with prisoners. Off! Forward march! Machine guns remain in the rear for the time being, but ready for action. Marcha adelante!”

  A bugle blew the signal. The troops went into faster trot. But the horses stumbled and their hoofs caught and stuck in the thick undergrowth. So the attack did not develop in the militarily elegant style the major and the lieutenant would have wished. Both knew very well that they were being observed with field glasses from the roof of the finca.

  General, lying stretched at full length on the ground, raised himself on his elbows. Now he drew his revolver. There followed several seconds of tense waiting for the muchachos, who kept their eyes riveted on General’s every movement.

  Santiago’s troop, running away, had now reached the edge of the bush. The Rurales were only some two hundred yards behind the troop. In spite of the bad terrain, they were determined at all costs to get into a full gallop in order to stop Santiago’s troop from gaining cover, because in the bush it would be more difficult to catch the muchachos than in open country.

  The signal to gallop was given. The horses tensed and sprang forward.

  But simultaneously, from the hill, two revolver shots rang out, one from General’s gun and one from a muchacho to whom General had given the signal. Immediately they began to move straight toward the finca. They ran, in accordance with General’s order, not in one solid mass, but in little groups of five or six men, to avoid offering too good a target.

  The strategy that General had worked out was worthy of an experienced and brilliant field marshal. To lure the hidden Rurales from their secure hollow where, because of their superior armament, they were as good as unassailable, was in itself a masterpiece. In the open country the Rurales, in spite of their horses, were not only assailable but conquerable. The horses were more of a hindrance than an asset, the more so as the downpour grew heavier and the ground, already saturated from long rains, was turning once more into a swamp. The major of the Rurales had realized too late how heavy the going was over this terrain. It had been much firmer between the finca and the depression, and he had assumed that it would be similarly so between the depression and the bush. He had overlooked the fact that any stretch of country, the nearer it got to a large jungle or an extensive tract of bush, takes on more and more the characteristics of the bush, holding moisture much longer than open ground, where, under the tropical sun, the land dries out in a few days even after the heaviest rains.

  General had taken this into consideration in his plan. The closer the Rurales could be enticed to the bush, the less use could they make of their horses. Apart from which, it is much harder for those wearing boots to march in swampy bush ground than for the Indians, who went barefoot. The unshod Indians can run across this slimy surface, whereas the man with boots has a bitter struggle to progress at all.

  The rain had come opportunely for General, although this downpour was more an unexpected—though welcome—ally than a reinforcement that had already been taken into his calculations.

  But what made General a field marshal far superior to the major of the Rurales was his gift of being able to think and work with his opponent’s brain. He had estimated correctly, to the last and minutest detail, what an officer of the Rurales would do under the circumstances, and how he would react.

  It was natural that the officers of the Rurales should regard as their highest duty the protection of the inhabitants of the finca, whose guests they were, and as caballeros they felt it their pleasantest task to save the female members of the finquero’s family from the brutal and unwashed hands of the Indian rebels.

  That was why Santiago’s troop must not reach the rear of the Rurales. Furthermore, the commanding officer had had good military reasons for preventing the rebels from possibly outflanking the finca and advancing toward Hucutsin, which was temporarily denuded of soldiers. Thus Santiago’s troop compelled the major, against his plans and against his will, to abandon his safe cover and commit himself to the open country.

  Now it was only necessary to lure the Rurales toward the main troop. This was somewhat more difficult. But General solved this tactical problem in just as brilliant a fashion as he had solved the other one of bringing his opponents out into open country.

  His plan was to draw the Rurales into the broad clearing, which, like a highway, formed a deep indentation into the bush.

  While the Rurales, in order to achieve victory, pursued Santiago’s troop, who were apparently fleeing in terror, Fidel’s troop was moving to the left, keeping to the verge of the bush, close to the exit from the clearing. At the same time General packed both sides of the clearing with men in such a manner that these hidden assailants could not be seen by the Rurales when they entered the clearing.

  After everything had been prepared for the battle, only one thing remained for General—to lure the Rurales into the clearing. He did this so cleverly that no experienced commander-in-chief could have done it better.

  When the two shots were fired, one by himself and the other by his assistant, the mounted Rurales all without exception halted, without even waiting for a command, so unexpected were these two shots, and coming from a direction where they had never expected rebels could be.

  At the same moment they saw the troop, led by General and about sixty strong, running wildly toward the finca. As the Indians ran, three of them, obeying General’s command, fired their shotguns at the Rurales.

  “By all that’s holy!” shouted the major to the lieutenant, who was riding on the left wing. “We’re on a goddamned false trail!”

  The lieutenant came galloping up.

  “Over there are the swine that we ought to be after,” said the major in explanation. “Those muchachos we were hunting like hares are wretched escapees, nothing more. Probably they’re running away from those rebellious hounds who are trying to steal their hard-earned pittances. Come on! Bugler, blow the signal. Right wheel. Attack with all weapons!”

  The bugler blew, and the charging ranks of the Rurales changed direction and galloped toward the clearing from which the storming rebels had broken forth. About two miles separated them.

  Scarcely had the
Rurales turned in this new direction than Santiago’s troop withdrew into the bush, a maneuver that the major believed to be one of fright, the fellows desiring only to avoid the fight they saw impending and not wishing to be hit by stray bullets. Had Santiago’s troop not behaved thus and instead marched in their original direction, the major would certainly have sent off an N.C.O. with six men to follow them. This would have been contrary to General’s plan. He had to avoid Santiago’s troop being involved in a fight in which the commander of the Rurales would have learned that Santiago and his men belonged to the rebel army and that this side march was only a tactical maneuver.

  As soon as General saw all the Rurales riding toward his own shock troop, he allowed every man who carried a gun to fire one round at the Rurales. Two of the Rurales’ horses fell. Whether they had been hit or had only stumbled over one of the high thickets of wiry grass could not be determined. But two Rurales, whose horses had not fallen, were hit, as the muchachos realized from the erratic movements that each of the wounded made.

  Without these hits, which were essential for the plans General had worked out, the major might have been able to recall his men to the hollow in order to await the rebels there, or to attack in some other manner, or even to withdraw right back to the finca buildings and then to swarm out fanlike over the terrain.

  But once again General had reckoned rightly with the mentality—or rather, in this peculiar case, with the particular psychology—of an officer. Whether they are commanding helots or grenadiers or snot-nosed recruits in brown, green, or black caps, they are all the same. Their honor is injured if they are bespattered with muck or paving stones by the proletariat. And in this case the honor of an officer in the Rurales had been mortally wounded, since filthy, louse-ridden Indians had dared to shoot at them. Indians had to stand at attention when an officer passed—rigidly at attention, their arms crossed over their chests, and bowing deeply when he addressed them; for to look in his face was a greater crime for an Indian peon than to seek to scrutinize the face of God Himself.

  The rain, which was now beating down in whipping streams, made the major thoroughly irritable. Why couldn’t the sun shine when an honorable warrior wished to fight a battle! To hell with this accursed rain! Soaking wet down to their clammy shirts, and now having to chase after lousy Indians! Why in the devil’s name hadn’t all Indians been simply slaughtered off in the first century after the discovery of America? Then there would have been some peace and quiet, then one could have lounged comfortably and cozily in a finca, playing with girls under their skirts and taking pesos by the hundred off the finqueros at vingt-et-un.

  “Advance! Attack the swine! We’ll teach them to shoot at honest soldiers. Not one to be left alive that carries as much as a hint of anything like a gun or a knife! That’s the order! Understood?”

  Stumbling and blundering, the Rurales rode toward the clearing. All, without exception, were depressed by the drenching rain. They stuck to their horses, crouched low as if they hoped thereby the better to protect themselves from the rain. They could not use their rubber capes, for these would have hindered them in battle.

  The shock platoon of the muchachos continued to march on toward the finca. When General had advanced so far into the open country that, in retreating, he would reach the entry to the clearing at roughly the same time as the Rurales, he formed ranks against the Rurales and gave the order to fire. Two or three men seemed to have been hit, but they remained on their horses and rode onward toward the clearing.

  A bugle blew the signal, and the Rurales attempted to charge in a glorious attack. But because of the ground and the rain, the attack did not get very far. The major called a halt and ordered covering fire on the shock platoon for some minutes.

  The muchachos replied with scattered shots and then, true to General’s command, ran, as if overcome with terror, in a chaotic mob, into the roadlike clearing in the bush.

  Now the major thought the time had arrived for wiping out the rebels. He pursued the disorganized troop into the clearing. This clearing was overgrown with stiff, short, bristling grass. the soil was therefore less soggy than the open country, and thus the Rurales were able to gallop somewhat faster. The muchachos ran like hunted hares, and it was a pleasure to the Rurales to chase after them. The pleasure was all the more pleasant when the heavy rain lightened and the clouds started to clear.

  “Don’t fire,” ordered the major, “until I give the signal.” He turned to his lieutenant. “D’you see, Lieutenant, down there in the clearing is an even bigger crowd of them. When we’ve got them all huddled together, then I’ll have both our machine guns pepper them. Caramba, you’ll see then how our sweet automatics can avenge us. It’ll be good for you to learn how effective they are. Bit of the art of war.”

  The shock troop, in their retreat, had now joined up with the other companies that long before had been ordered to withdraw into the bush. The racing mob, reinforced by these companies, now amounted to some two hundred men. They seemed confused enough, and it was only natural that the Rurales should rejoice in pursuing these fleeing herds. It was more pleasurable than rounding up cattle. For beneath the fleeing muchachos were also numerous horses, mules, and donkeys that had been stolen from the monterías. These terrified animals, which were being beaten to incite them to greater speed, brought the fleeing crowd to such a state of confusion that it appeared to the well-drilled, smartly riding Rurales that nothing could bring order out of this panic-stricken mob.

  But the major, so certain of victory, never noticed—and none of his officers seemed to notice either—that this indescribable confusion only served to conceal a subtle strategy that General had worked out.

  The fleeing mass took up the whole width of the broad clearing. They spread out to either side until both wings were forced into the verge of the bush to left and right of the clearing. The excited muchachos were so confused that, in order to escape quicker, they pressed their flanks into the bush in order to force a passage that was denied to them in the center.

  The prospect seemed uncommonly favorable to the Rurales when the muchachos, like scared ants, scrabbled and stumbled away. But the Rurales still did not realize that the muchachos whom they pressed and squeezed against the edge of the bush sifted farther and farther into the undergrowth, ran deeper and deeper into the bush, and stood waiting until the Rurales should once again come level with them. As soon as the Rurales had passed them, pursuing the retreating mob, the muchachos, still remaining in the bush, crept back once more in the direction of the finca. When they had gone a few hundred yards in this direction, they then turned and approached the edge of the clearing. Now they were at the rear of the Rurales.

  Had the major had to deal with experienced soldiers as opponents, or with trained revolutionaries led by knowledgeable officers, he would certainly have exercised more caution. Probably he would never even have ridden into that clearing, but would simply have awaited the rebels, who, sooner or later, would have had to show themselves in open country. But these louse-infested, filthy Indians could not think for themselves, and that was why they needed dictators and tyrants to relieve them of the burden of thinking. And because these Indians could not think for themselves, they certainly couldn’t make any plans. Therefore, at them! Charge ahead!

  Only the men of the first two companies understood what General was intending, for they had listened while he had explained his plan to the captains. Thus the companies farther behind knew nothing of the plan. They saw only those fleeing, and were swept up in the fight themselves. They resisted, but in face of the stronger leading companies which bore down upon them, they could do nothing and were swept away by the surging tide. Every few minutes they screamed: “We’re no cowards! We don’t run away! Turn on the soldados! We need their rifles!”

  Unfortunately for the complete success of the scheme, the fleeing mob burst upon the two rear companies of the line of march, those very companies that formed the powerful reserve force. It was these compani
es that numbered among them Andreu and Lucio Ortiz, called Colonel, and several others of the more intelligent muchachos.

  Neither General nor Professor nor the initiated captains had either time or opportunity to acquaint the rear guard with the plan. Thus, scarcely had the first groups of fleeing muchachos surged against the two approaching rear-guard companies than these two companies broke out into a wild yell: “You miserable sons of bitches, would you run away from police and soldiers? We’re rebels! Tierra y Libertad! Up at the hirelings of the tyrants! At them and kill them! They’ve revolvers and rifles! The bloody swine! Attack them!”

  Like maddened steers, the muchachos broke through the fleeing herd, and in a few minutes they found themselves at the front, scarcely fifty yards away from the Rurales.

  The battle began some ten minutes too early.

  The two enveloping wings had not been able to spread out completely along the sides of the clearing. The several dozen muchachos who had been able to slink into the bush had not yet reassembled and were not strong enough to cut off the retreating Rurales, who were mounted, and thus encircle them. If the rear guard had arrived just a quarter of an hour later, not one man of the Rurales would have escaped.

  The muchachos of the two last companies, caring nothing for bullets, ran, machetes in their hands, screaming and howling, at the Rurales. Even those muchachos who possessed revolvers or shotguns could not waste the time to use these weapons. It would have taken too long and was too troublesome. Besides, any young fool could shoot with a pistol. There was no bravery in that! It was better and bloodier with machetes! Thus excited, inflamed, embattled, the muchachos threw away not only their packs but also their guns. Anything like that was cumbersome in a real battle such as now confronted them.

  The Rurales, as they rode to the attack, had brought their rifles to the ready, resting upright on their right thighs. They needed only to raise the butts—and fire. This they tried to do, but the majority of the shots whistled away over the tops of the trees. For the shrieking and screaming of the oncoming horde of raging muchachos threw the horses out of the control of their riders. It had come too suddenly and unexpectedly. The horses reared, struck out, whirled around, tried to take the bits in their teeth and to gallop wildly to the rear. A dozen riders were thrown. The unhorsed Rurales pulled themselves together and began to shoot their rifles. Not one of them succeeded in firing a full magazine. Long before that, three or four of the enemy were at their throats. And three seconds later each man had been hacked to pieces.