General from the Jungle

by B. TRAVEN

  The general ordered the bugler to sound the call for the cavalry to advance. The horse troops were half a mile in the rear, dismounted and hidden in the undergrowth, waiting for the general’s signal to sweep around the area in a wide arc and thus prevent any of the rebels from escaping.

  The riders mounted and at a gentle gallop proceeded to form an outer ring. Before this circle was completely closed, the infantry were already approaching the outskirts of the camp.

  The general had anticipated that when the machine gun started, it would rouse the camp to a tumult. But since this did not happen, he assumed that it must be a ruse on the part of the muchachos, not with the intention of luring the soldiers into a trap, but in order to discover gaps through which they hoped to escape.

  Now the infantry were even closer and must be plainly visible from the camp, while the encircling cavalry must also undoubtedly have been noticed by the rebels. But still the camp remained remarkably quiet, and the general grew uneasy. He stood up and studied the camp carefully through his glasses. As before, he saw here and there a man sink down, hit by bullets from the machine gun, which continued its incessant chatter and which had been ordered only to cease fire when the infantry were right up to the camp.

  The adjutant, too, had his glasses up. Suddenly he said, “Sir! Do you see what I see? Or are my eyes deceiving me?”

  “What?” asked the general, without lowering his glasses.

  “Four men went up to that machine gun in the middle of the camp, and they’ve vanished. And now the machine gun has vanished, too, as if it had sunk into the earth.”

  The general swung his glasses to the spot where, five minutes before, he had seen his stolen machine gun. He had to admit that it was no longer there.

  He searched the field with his glasses and saw that his men all around were now no more than fifty yards from the inner perimeter of the camp.

  Behind them the cavalry had closed their own ring. The riders sat on their horses, rifles resting on the right knee, reins firmly grasped in the left hand, waiting for the vanquished rebels to start running. The infantry, obeying a bugle call and several whistles from their officers, halted for a second. Then they rose up from their crouching position, both hands tensely gripping their rifles with short bayonets mounted, and prepared to advance at the double. They remained in this attitude for about ten seconds. Then came another bugle call, more whistlings from all sides, and the soldiers stormed forward.

  Scarcely had they started to run than from the center of the camp a machine gun opened up. It swept calmly and carefully around the whole ring. It was the machine gun that but a short while before had stood in the middle of the rebel camp, so weary and forlorn, and of which all that was visible now were the little thin puffs of smoke that burst from its circling muzzle.

  The attacking troops stopped for two seconds. Then they continued their advance, although in not quite such a parade-ground fashion as hitherto. Here and there one stumbled and fell, apparently hit, but perhaps also stumbling intentionally in order to fall out of the front line. Ten seconds later it was clear to the stupidest soldier that their promenade was at an end and that they were faced with the gloomy prospect of ending their happy-go-lucky soldier’s life with a mouthful of cold earth. That gives no pleasure to even the boldest soldier, all the less since he will be unable to hear the posthumous panegyrics showered upon him or to enjoy the fruits of them.

  Even had they wished otherwise, the soldiers had no alternative but to go on and take the camp. For should they now turn about, they would be fired on all the more fiercely, and the result would be the same. Besides, the attacking troops would not have gotten far even if they escaped injury, for farther out stood the ranks of cavalry that would not have let them through, but would have driven them back again toward the camp.

  The advance lost its beautiful precision and turned into a wild scamper in order to reach the camp quicker and thus avoid the machine gun, which was becoming seriously unpleasant and disorganizing all plans.

  A respectful pace behind the general stood the staff bugler. The general remembered him and thought for a second of ordering him to give the cavalry the signal, not, as originally planned, to chase the fleeing rebels but to follow up the infantry in order to capture the camp more quickly. However, at the same time it occurred to the general that such an order would probably produce confusion, for he had given the cavalry commander, Captain Ampudia, the most explicit instructions that he was in no event to become involved in the fight, because the mounted troops would be absolutely necessary to ensure that not a man escaped.

  The general drew fiercely and without pleasure at his cigarette. He became conscious that all was not as it should be. He felt that his plan was going wrong, if indeed it had not already done so. But he was unable to obtain an inkling as to what in reality was happening.

  The advancing infantry were now close to the edge of the camp. And now the general thought he at last understood the rebels’ plan. They plainly wanted to get the soldiers into the camp in order to slaughter them. That was the reason they had squatted apparently peacefully around their fires. They, as Indians, felt more certain of victory in a hand-to-hand fight, where they could use their knives and machetes instead of rifles with which they were not familiar. In which case only the cavalry could now turn the tide. He gave the bugler the order to sound the signal for the cavalry to attack. They started and began to gallop forward.

  The front ranks of the infantry were now in the camp.

  Through his glasses the general saw his men stabbing bravely with their bayonets at the muchachos and hurling them aside. But it was strange that the muchachos did not defend themselves, did not even get up and attempt to run away when the soldiers came storming at them. The muchachos fell over and did not move. Then the general noticed a disturbing confusion among the attackers. As they attempted to withdraw their bayonets from their victims, the bodies flew up in the air. They came to bits. Beneath the tattered rags and crumbling hats, dry straw was visible.

  Since, apart from the twenty or twenty-five muchachos who had run about the camp to make the place seem alive and thus complete the deception, there was nobody else to attack, the soldiers, without waiting for any orders, stopped of their own accord and stood bewildered.

  Some of the live muchachos had certainly been hit, and those of them who were wounded and unable to move were mercilessly spitted. But the majority of them managed to reach the pit from which the machine gun was still steadily rattling on.

  The officers and sergeants whistled for the attack to be resumed and the original orders to be carried out in order to silence the machine gun at all costs. However, the fire from this gun swept so calmly and remorselessly over the ground that the nearer the soldiers drew, the greater were their losses.

  Once more whistles rang out. The soldiers flung themselves on the ground so that, by creeping along on their bellies, they might now capture the machine gun with fewer casualties.

  Scarcely, however, had the last whistle died away and the line of cavalry reached the outermost edge of the camp, than, from far outside, a rain of bullets began to pour into the camp from all directions. Simultaneously there sounded the sharp rat-a-tat of several other machine guns, similarly firing from far away, outside the ring of attackers.

  And now followed a wild, inhuman babel of screams, shouts, and howls. And from the four corners of the landscape, swarming far across the plain, the horde of muchachos swept toward the camp.

  The soldiers, who ten minutes before had still believed that they had surrounded all the rebels in their camp, were now, admittedly, in the middle of the camp they had captured.

  But they were the ones who were surrounded.

  The general turned to his bugler. He intended to order him to sound the retreat for all units and to leave it to the troops themselves to scramble out of the encirclement as best they could. From the vantage point of his hill, he could see several gaps through which the soldiers could succee
d in escaping without suffering too heavy losses. But he did not know how and by what means to convey his knowledge to the officers other than by simply sounding a general retreat.

  When he turned and saw no bugler, not even his adjutant, he turned to his left, and there stood two ragged muchachos, grinning impudently into his face.

  The general reached rapidly for his revolver and found the holster empty. One of the muchachos held up the revolver and said, “Is this perhaps what you’re looking for, General?”

  The general paled slightly. However, he immediately pulled himself together, stretched out for the revolver, and snatched it back.

  “You can have it back again for a few minutes,” laughed the muchacho who had held the revolver. “It’s not loaded and you can’t do any damage with it.”

  The general felt hastily for his ammunition belt. But the belt, too, was gone; it had been cut through and removed.

  That infuriated him and he shouted, “What are you lousy swine doing here? I suppose you belong to the rebels?”

  “Yes,” answered one with a loud laugh. “We do rather belong to the rebels. I’m only General. And this one here”—he pointed a thumb at his companion—“he’s my captain.”

  The general looked around searchingly in all directions and then shouted in an overloud voice such as he was accustomed to use on the parade ground when something had infuriated him, “Where’s my adjutant and my bugler?”

  “Departed—with our assistance.”

  “Departed? Where?”

  “We had no time to ask them,” replied the captain. It was Santiago.

  “Be off with you, you dirty, damned swine. I’ll see to it that you’re both shot long before we get back to Balun Canan.” The general turned purple in the face.

  “Of course,” said General, grinning, paying not the least attention to the shouting and fury of the general. “You can have us all shot when you get back to Balun Canan. But for the time being, we’ve got you by the short hairs, and whether you ever get back to Balun Canan depends on who takes you. At the moment there’s no one waiting to take you back.”

  From the moment the general realized he was in the power of the muchachos, he knew there was no hope for him. Even if by some miracle his troops could possibly succeed in reaching him and snatching him away, they would never get him alive. The dictatorship knew no mercy or pity toward those who opposed it. And no one who had ever served El Caudillo in any way or in any position could hope for mercy or pity when the rebels were the victors.

  But he would have been ashamed for a thousand years after his death had he displayed any sign of fear in front of these despicable peons. This marked fearlessness did not, indeed, spring from personal courage. His courage had never been put to the test. He who is on the side of power does not need to be brave.

  What still gave him a certain courage in this totally hopeless situation was simply the knowledge that nothing could alter his fate, irrespective of whether he showed fear or behaved bravely. It was all the same whether he begged for mercy and promised all his money, or whether he shouted at the victors and enraged them with insults. Even if he had offered his services and experience to the rebels, which in his case would have been highly improbable, they would not have been accepted, and such an offer would have made no difference to his ultimate fate. Therefore, since he saw no hope at all of altering his situation, he could very well afford to behave with dignity toward the rebels into whose hands he had fallen.

  He spent a few seconds looking across at the camp, where not only his fate, but also that of his troops, and in many respects that of the whole state had already been decided. The soldiers who could still move had all thrown away their weapons in order to be able to flee the faster. But wherever they went, they faced the knives of the muchachos.

  The rebels’ machine gun was no longer firing at the retreating infantry, but was now directed at the disorganized cavalry, who had not had time to develop their attack properly. The soldiers belonging to the army machine-gun section abandoned their mules, since they found the laden animals hindered them in their flight. They left it to the beasts to follow them voluntarily. Several of the infantry caught the animals, who were running wildly, cut their loads off them, and jumped onto their backs in order to let slip no possibility of a chance of escaping alive.

  “Santiago,” called General to his captain, “take our guest, this beautifully uniformed general, over to our new camp. You know where. I want to talk to him. Later. I must get down there again. They’re using too much ammunition. No point now. We must save it.”

  With that he ran down the hill, flung himself onto his horse, which he had left there before paying his respects to the general, and dashed across the battlefield.

  In the pit, where the machine gun was now beginning to jam because its barrel was overheated, he found Colonel and his crew.

  “I’m glad that thing’s stopped of its own accord,” he shouted down from his horse. “Let those few run off on their mules in peace. I need them for messengers to bring the news to the base camp. I only wish we had the rest of the brigade here, so that we could clear the way to Balun Canan.”

  Colonel, who had removed his shirt to give himself greater freedom of movement, now began to search for it. It had been trodden by the bare feet of his crew into the wet mud that had formed in the hole where the machine gun had been emplaced. “Give me your stinking shirt,” he shouted to a muchacho who was passing the hole. Without waiting, he tore it over the muchacho’s head, snatched up a stick, impaled the shirt on it, and waved it back and forth.

  Immediately the clatter of the rifles died away in every quarter. The muchachos who were still chasing the fleeing soldiers sent a few extra shots after them and, when they did not fall, let them continue on their way.

  General galloped up to his bugler and ordered him to sound the call to assemble.

  About a hundred of the muchachos who now returned to the camp had not a stitch of clothing on their bodies—only a bandolier slung over their naked shoulders. Their knives or machetes were stuck into thongs knotted around their bare waists.

  In the camp they searched for their trousers, shirts, hats, and sandals, out of which, on General’s instructions, they had made straw-stuffed dummies the night before.

  When they had collected their rags and supplemented missing articles of clothing from the dead and wounded soldiers, the battlefield was cleared up. Not one of the wounded or prisoners lived to see the afternoon. They spared the general till evening, since General wanted to speak with him.

  The spoils in weapons were so rich that now not only were all the muchachos armed but the women and adolescents were also equipped with revolvers or rifles, and there still remained a surplus.

  Professor advised burying all the extra weapons in the bush and leaving them there against the event of their perhaps losing some weapons in their next fight.

  “Buried arms are worthless,” retorted General to this. “Besides, the finqueros might find them, or the Rurales or the Federals or anyone else who would like to turn those weapons on us. I have better uses for them. In all the nearby fincas we shall visit, and in the towns and villages we shall capture, we’ll now be on the lookout for strong, hefty fellows who’ll join us, and then the extra guns will be of use.”

  “Good,” said Professor to this. “Well thought out. There is only the question of whether these fellows won’t run away from us or betray us and take the weapons with them.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Professor. Once we’ve got on a bit farther, the lads and men in their thousands will be glad to be allowed to join us. They’ll come and beg to be allowed to march with us. And once they’ve marched, the end of the revolution will come too soon for them, and hundreds will start other rebellions of their own accord. It will be much easier for us to get new soldiers and good soldiers than to get rid of them again when they are no longer needed and we want to live in peace.”

  “We’ll see to it in good time t
hat they’ll all be glad to get home again,” interrupted Andreu. “They’ll march with us and fight with us until they’re certain that the land that we’ve given them or that they’ve captured will never again be taken from them by the finqueros. Then they’ll go home of their own accord. Who can they fight against when there’s no one left to fight who’s worth fighting? That’s why I think General’s right. Now’s the time we need plenty of soldiers, and if they don’t come to us voluntarily, we’ll fetch them. How we get rid of them later, we can discuss when we control the country. Don’t you think that I myself have reasons enough to go home right now? Reasons enough, I can tell you. And most of you would also rather be at home than going on wading about in the mud out here and slaughtering soldiers. But you all know as well as I that if we go home now, when the revolution has just begun, in six months’ time or sooner we shall be in the same or even a more wretched state than before, and it may be a very long while before we can get a revolution going for a second time.”

  “The more we say that to ourselves, Andrucho, the better for all of us.” Professor groaned as he said this. He had two wounds in his shoulderblade and Fidel was probing in the wounds with a knife in an attempt to dig out the bullet that had lodged there. The other shot had gone right through. “The better for all of us and for all working people, I repeat. Don’t stop too soon, and don’t listen to the chatter of those who talk about peace between brothers and crimes against the people. Empty, meaningless words. There’ll only be peace between brothers, and war between brothers will only cease, when stability is restored in the country and justice is free and anyone can say what he has on his mind whether it pleases others or not. To break off a revolution too soon is worse than never starting one. And that’s why you’re right, General. Let’s get recruits where we can. If we don’t get them, then the others will. I didn’t think of that right away when I suggested that they might run off and take their weapons with them.”