CHAPTER XV
THE WOMAN AT THE WELL
Phil was still in a daze. He and those around him, exhausted by suchlong and desperate efforts, such a continuous roar in their ears, andsuch a variation of intense emotions from the highest to the lowest,were scarcely conscious that the battle was over. They knew, indeed,that night was falling on the mountains and the pass, that the Mexicanshad withdrawn from the field, that their flags and lances were fading inthe twilight, but it was all, for a little while, dim and vague to them.The night and the silence coming together contained a great awe. Philfelt the blood pounding in his ears, and he looked around with wonder.It was Breakstone who first came to himself.
"We've won! We've won!" he cried. "As sure as there is a sun behindthose mountains, we've beat all Mexico!"
Then Phil, too, saw, and he had to believe.
"The victory is ours!" he cried.
"It is ours, but harm has been done," said Arenberg in a low voice.Then he sank forward softly on his face. Phil and Breakstone quicklyraised him up. He had fainted from loss of blood, but as his woundswere only of the flesh he was soon revived. Breakstone had three slightwounds of his own, and these were bound up, also. Phil, meanwhile, washunting in the gorge for other friends. Grayson was alive and well, butsome that he had known were gone. He was weak, mind and body alike,with the relaxation from the long battle and all those terribleemotions, but he helped with the wounded. Below them lay the army ofSanta Anna, its lights shining again in the darkness, and, for all Philknew, it might attack again on the morrow, but he gave little attentionto it now. His whole concern was for his comrades. The victory hadbeen won, but they had been compelled to purchase it at a great price.The losses were heavy. Twenty-eight officers of rank were among thekilled, regiments were decimated, and even the unhurt were so exhaustedthat they could scarcely stand.
Phil sat down at the edge of the gorge. He was yet faint and dizzy. Itseemed to him that he would never be able to exert himself again.Everything swam before him in a sort of confused glare. He wasconscious that his clothing was stained red in two or three places, butwhen he looked, in a mechanical way, at the wounds, he saw they werescratches, closed already by the processes of nature. Then hisattention wandered again to the field. He was full of the joy ofvictory, but it was a vague, uncertain feeling, not attaching itself toany particular thing.
The twilight had already sunk into the night, and the black wind, heavywith chill, moaned in the Pass of Angostura. It was a veritable dirgefor the dead. Phil felt it all through his relaxed frame, and shiveredboth with cold and with awe. Smoke and vapor from so much firing stillfloated about the plateau, the pass, and the slopes, but there was aburning touch on his face which he knew did not come from any of them.It was the dust of the desert again stinging him after the battle as ithad done before it. He obeyed its call, summoned anew all his strength,both of body and mind, and climbed out of the gorge, where friend andfoe still lay in hundreds, mingled and peaceful in death.
He found more light and cheer on the plateau and in the pass. Here theunhurt and those hurt slightly were building fires, and they had begunto cook food and boil coffee. Phil suddenly perceived that he washungry. He had not tasted food since morning. He joined one of thegroups, ate and drank, and more vigor returned. Then he thought of thehorse which he had left tethered in an alcove, and which he had not usedat all that day. The horse was there unharmed, although a largecannon-ball lay near his feet. It was evidently a spent ball which hadrolled down the side of the mountain, as it was not buried at all.
The horse recognized Phil and neighed. Phil put his hand upon his maneand stroked it. He was very glad that this comrade of his had escapedunhurt. He wondered in a dim way what his terror must have been tied inone place, while the battle raged all day about him. "Poor old horse,"he said, stroking his mane again. Then he led him away, gave him foodand water, and returned to his comrades and the field. He knew that hisduty lay there, as the Mexican army was still at hand. Many thought thatit would attack again in the morning, and disposition for defense mustbe made. He did not see either Breakstone or Arenberg, but he metMiddleton, to whom he reported.
"Scout down at the mouth of the pass and along the mountain slopes,Phil," he said, and the boy, replenishing his ammunition, obeyed. Itwas not quite dark, and the wind was exceedingly cold. The mercury thatnight went below the freezing point, and the sufferings of the woundedwere intense. Phil kept well among the ravines and crags. He believedthat the Mexican lancers would be prowling in front of their camp, andhe would not have much chance if he were attacked by a group of them.Moreover, he was tired of fighting. He did not wish to hurt anybody.Never had his soul inclined more fervently to peace.
He passed again into the gorge which had witnessed the climax anddeadliest part of the battle. Here he saw dark-robed figures passingback and forth among the wounded. He looked more closely and saw thatthey were Mexican nuns from a convent near Buena Vista, helping thewounded, Americans and Mexicans alike. Something rose in his throat, buthe went on, crossing the pass and climbing the slopes of the SierraMadre. Here there was yet smoke lingering in the nooks and crannies, butall the riflemen seemed to have gone.
He climbed higher. The wind there was very cold, but the moonlight wasbrighter. He saw the peaks and ridges of the Sierra Madre, like aconfused sea, and he looked down upon the two camps, the small Americanone on the plateau and in the pass and the larger, still far larger,Mexican one below. He could trace it by the lights in the Mexican camp,forming a great half circle, and he would have given much to know whatwas going on there. If Santa Anna and his men possessed the courage andtenacity of the defenders, they would attack again on the morrow.
He moved forward a little to get a better view, and then sank downbehind an outcropping of rock. A Mexican, a tall man, rifle onshoulder, was passing. He, too, was looking down at the two camps, andPhil believed that he was a scout like himself. The Mexican, notsuspecting the presence of an enemy, was only a dozen feet away, andPhil could easily have shot him without danger to himself, but everyimpulse was against the deed. He could not fire from ambush, and he hadseen enough of death. The Mexican was going toward his own camp, andpresently, he went on, disappearing behind a curve of the mountain, andleaving Phil without a shadow of remorse. But he soon followed,creeping on down the mountainside toward the camp of Santa Anna.
The rocks and gullies enabled him to come so near that he could seewithin the range of light. He beheld figures as they passed now andthen, dark shadows before the blaze, but the camp of Santa Anna did notshow the life and animation that he had witnessed in it when he spiedupon it once before. No bugles were blowing, no bodies of lancers, withthe firelight shining on glittering steel, rode forth to prepare for themorrow and victory. Everything was slack and relaxed. He even saw menlying in hundreds upon the ground, fast asleep from exhaustion. As faras he could determine, no scouting parties of large size were abroad,and he inferred from what he saw that the Mexican army was worn out.
He could not go among those men, but the general effect produced uponhim at the distance was of gloom and despair among them. An armypreparing for battle in the morning would be awake and active. Thelonger he looked, the greater became his own hope and confidence, andthen he slowly made his way back to his own camp with his report.Lights still burned there, but it was very silent. After he passed thering of sentinels he saw nothing but men stretched out, almost as stillas the dead around them. They slept deeply, heavily, a sleep so intensethat a blow would not arouse. Many had lain down where they werestanding when the battle ceased, and would lie there in dreamlessslumber until the next morning. Phil stepped over them, and near one ofthe fires he saw Breakstone and Arenberg, each with his head on his arm,deep in slumber.
He made his report to Middleton, describing with vivid detail everythingthat he had seen.
"It agrees with the reports o
f the other scouts," said Middleton. "Ithink the enemy is so shattered that he cannot move upon us again, andnow, Phil, you must rest. It will be midnight in an hour, and you havepassed through much."
"It was a great battle!" said Phil, with a look of pride.
"And a great victory!" said Middleton, he, too, although older, feelingthat flash of pride.
Phil was glad enough now to seek sleep. The nervous excitement thatkept him awake and alert was all gone. He remembered the fire besidewhich Bill Breakstone and Arenberg slept, and made his way back there.Neither had moved a particle. They still lay with their heads on theirelbows, and they drew long, deep breaths with such steadiness andregularity that apparently they had made up their minds to sleep foryears to come. Four other men lay near them in the same happycondition.
"Six," said Phil. "Well, the fable tells of the Seven Sleepers, so Imight as well complete the number."
He chose the best place that was left, secured his blanket from hissaddlebow, wrapped himself thoroughly in it, and lay down with his feetto the fire. How glorious it felt! It was certainly very cold in thePass of Angostura. Ice was forming, and the wind cut, but there was thefire at his feet and the thick blanket around him. His body felt warmthrough and through, and the hard earth was like down after such a day.Now victory came, too, with its pleasantest aroma. Lying there underthe stars, he could realize, in its great sense, all that they had done.And he had borne his manly part in it. He was a boy, and he had reasonfor pride.
Phil stared up for a little while at the cold stars which danced in thesky, myriads of miles away, but after awhile his glance turned againtoward the earth. The other six of the seven sleepers slept on, notstirring at all, save for the rising and falling of their chests, andPhil decided that he was neglecting his duty by failing to join them atonce in that vague and delightful land to which they had gone.
He shut his eyes, opened them once a minute or two later, but found thetask of holding up the lids too heavy. They shut down again, stayeddown, and in two minutes the six sleepers had become the seven.
Phil slept the remainder of the night as heavily as if he had beensteeped in some eastern drug. He, too, neither moved hand nor footafter he had once gone to oblivion. The fire burned out, but he did notawake. He was warm in his blanket, and sleep was bringing back thestrength that body and mind had wasted in the day. It was quiet, too, onthe battlefield. The surgeons still worked with the wounded, but theyhad been taken back in the shelter of the pass, and the sounds did notcome to those on the plateau. Only the wind moaned incessantly, and thecold was raw and bitter.
About half way between midnight and morning Bill Breakstone awoke. Hemerely opened his eyes, not moving his body, but he stared about him ina dim wonder. His awakening had interrupted a most extraordinary dream.He had been dreaming that he was in a battle that had lasted at least amonth, and was not yet finished. Red strife and its fierce emotionswere still before him when he awoke. Now he gazed all around, and sawonly blackness, with a few points of light here and there.
His eyes, growing used to the darkness, came back, and he saw six stifffigures stretched on the ground in a row, three on each side of him. Helooked at them fixedly and saw that they were the figures of humanbeings. Moreover, he recognized two of them, and they were his bestfriends. Then he remembered all about the battle, the great struggle,how the terrible crisis came again and again, how the victory finallywas won, and he was glad that these two friends of his were alive,though they seemed to be sleeping as men never slept before.
Breakstone sat up and looked at the six sleepers. The blankets of twoof them had shifted a little, and he pulled them back around theirnecks. Then he glanced down the valley where the lights of Santa Anna'sarmy flickered, and it all seemed wonderful, unbelievable to him. Yet itwas true. They had beaten off an army of more than twenty thousand men,and had inflicted upon Santa Anna a loss far greater than their own. Hemurmured very softly:
"Dreadful was the fight, Welcome is the night; Fiercely came the foe, Many we laid low; Backward he is sent, But we, too, are spent.
I believe that's about as true a poem as I ever composed," he said,"whatever others may think about the rhyme and meter, and to be true isto be right. That work well done, I'll go back to sleep again."
He lay down once more and, within a minute, he kept his word. Phil andhis comrades were awakened just at the break of day by Middleton. Onlya narrow streak of light was to be seen over the eastern ridges, but theCaptain explained that he wanted them to go on a little scout toward theMexican army. They joined him with willingness and went down thesouthern edge of the plateau. A few lights could be seen at the pointsthat Phil had marked during the night, and they approached verycautiously. But they saw no signs of life. There were no patrols, nocavalry, none of the stir of a great army, nothing to indicate any humanpresence, until they came upon wounded men, abandoned upon the ruggedground where they lay. When Phil and his comrades, belief turned intocertainty, rushed forward, Santa Anna and his whole army were gone,leaving behind them their dead and desperately wounded. Tents,supplies, and some arms were abandoned in the swift retreat, but thearmy itself had already disappeared under the southern horizon, leavingthe field of Buena Vista to the victors.
They hurried back with the news. It spread like fire through the army.Every man who could stand was on his feet. A mighty cheer rolledthrough the Pass of Angostura, and the dark gorges and ravines of theSierra Madre gave it back in many echoes.
The victory, purchased at so great a price, was complete. Mountedscouts, sent out, returned in the course of the day with the informationthat Santa Anna had not stopped at Agua Neva. He was marching southwardas fast as he could, and there was no doubt that he would not stop untilhe reached the City of Mexico, where he would prepare to meet the armyof Scott, which was to come by the way of Vera Cruz. The greatness oftheir victory did not dawn upon the Americans until then. Not only hadthey beaten back a force that outnumbered them manifold, but allNorthern Mexico lay at the feet of Taylor. The war there was ended, andit was for Scott to finish it in the Valley of Mexico.
The following night the fires were built high on the plateau and in thePass of Angostura. Nearly everybody rested except the surgeons, whostill worked. Hundreds of the Mexican wounded had been left on thefield, and they received the same attention that was bestowed upon theAmericans. Nevertheless, the boy soldiers were cheerful. They knewthat the news of their wonderful victory was speeding north, and theyfelt that they had served their country well.
Phil did not know until long afterward that at home the army of Taylorhad been given up as lost. News that Santa Anna was in front of himwith an overwhelming force had filtered through, and then had come thelong blank. Nothing was heard. It was supposed that Taylor had beendestroyed or captured. It was known that his force was composed almostwholly of young volunteers, boys, and no chance of escape seemedpossible.
In the West and South, in Kentucky, Illinois, Indiana, Arkansas, andMississippi, the anxiety was most tense and painful. There, nearlyevery district had sent some one to Buena Vista, and they sought in vainfor news. There were dark memories of the Alamo and Goliad, especiallyin the Southwest, and these people thought of the disaster as in earlydays they thought of a defeat by the Indians, when there were no woundedor prisoners, only slain.
But even the nearest states were separated from Mexico by a vastwilderness, and, as time passed and nothing came, belief settled intocertainty. The force of Taylor had been destroyed. Then the messengerarrived literally from the black depths with the news of theunbelievable victory. Taylor was not destroyed. He had beaten an armythat outnumbered him five to one. The little American force held thePass of Angostura, and Santa Anna, with his shattered army, was flyingsouthward. At first it was not believed. It was incredible, but othermessengers came with the same news, and then one could doubt no longer.The victory struck so powerfully upon the imagination of the Americanpeo
ple that it carried Taylor into the White House.
Meanwhile, Phil, in the Pass of Angostura, sitting by a great fire onthe second night after the battle, was thinking little of his nativeland. After the tremendous interruption of Buena Vista, his mind turnedagain to the object of his search. He read and reread his letter. Hethought often of the lava that had cut his brother's feet and his own.John was sure that they had gone through a pass, and he knew that awoman at a well had given him water. The belief that they were on thetrail of those forlorn prisoners was strong within him. And BillBreakstone and Arenberg believed it, too.
"Our army, I understand, will go into quarters in this region," he said,"and will make no further advance by land into Mexico. We enlisted onlyfor this campaign, and I am free to depart. I mean to go at once,boys."
"We go with you, of course," said Bill Breakstone. "Good old Hans and Ihere have already talked it over. There will be no more campaigning inNorthern Mexico, and we've done our duty. Besides, we've got quests ofour own that do not lead toward the valley of Mexico."
Phil grasped a hand of each and gave it a strong squeeze.
"I knew that you would go with me, as I'll go with you when the timecomes," he said.
They received their discharge the next morning, and were thanked byGeneral Taylor himself for bravery in battle. Old Rough and Ready puthis hand affectionately on Phil's shoulder.
"May good fortune follow you wherever you may be going," he said. "Itwas such boys as you who won this battle."
He also caused them to be furnished with large supplies of ammunition.Middleton could go no farther. He and some other officers were to hurryto Tampico and join Scott for the invasion of Mexico by the way of VeraCruz.
"But boys," he said, "we may meet again. We've been good comrades, Ithink, and circumstances may bring us together a second time when thiswar is over."
"It rests upon the knees of the gods," said Arenberg.
"I know it will come true," said the more sanguine Breakstone.
"So do I," said Phil.
Middleton rode away with his brother officers and a small body ofregulars, and Phil, Arenberg, and Breakstone rode southward to AguaNeva. When they had gone some distance they stopped and looked back atthe plateau and the pass.
"How did we ever do it?" said Phil.
"By refusing to stay whipped," replied Arenberg.
"By making up our minds to die rather than give up," replied BillBreakstone.
They rode on to the little Mexican town, where Phil had an errand to do.He had talked it over with the other two, and the three had agreed thatit was of the utmost importance. All the time a sentence from theletter was running in Phil's head. Some one murmuring words of pity inMexican had given him water to drink, and the voice was that of a woman.
"It must have been from a well," said Phil, "this is a dry country withwater mostly from wells, and around these wells villages usually grow.Bill, we must be on the right track. I can't believe that we're goingwrong."
"The signs certainly point the way we're thinking," said BillBreakstone. "The lava, the dust, and the water. We've passed the lavaand the dust, and we know that the water is before us."
They came presently to Agua Neva, a somber little town, now reoccupiedby a detachment from Taylor's army. The people were singularly quietand subdued. The defeat of Santa Anna by so small a force and hisprecipitate flight made an immense impression upon them, and, as theysuffered no ill treatment from the conquerors, they did not seek to maketrouble. There was no sharpshooting in the dark, no waylaying of a fewhorsemen by guerillas, and the three could pursue without hesitation theinquiry upon which they were bent.
Wells! Wells! Of course there were wells in Agua Neva. Several ofthem, and the water was very fine. Would the senors taste it? Theywould, and they passed from one well to another until they drank fromthem all. Breakstone could speak Spanish, and its Mexican variations,and he began to ask questions--chance ones at first, something about thetown and its age, and the things that he had seen. Doubtless in thelong guerilla war between Texas and Mexico, captives, the fierce Texans,had passed through there on their way to strong prisons in the south.Such men had passed more than once, but the people of Agua Neva did notremember any particular one among them. They spent a day thus in vain,and Phil, gloomy and discouraged, rode back to the quarters of theAmerican detachment.
"Don't be downhearted, Phil," said Breakstone. "In a little place likethis one must soon pick up the trail. It will not be hard to get at thegossip. We'll try again to-morrow."
They did not go horseback the next morning, not wishing to attract toomuch attention, but strolled about the wells again, Breakstone talkingto the women in the most ingratiating manner. He was a handsome fellow,this Breakstone, and he had a smile that women liked. They did notfrown upon him at Agua Neva because he belonged to the enemy, butexchanged a gay word or two with him, Spanish or Mexican banter as hepassed on.
They came to a well at which three women were drawing water for thelarge jars that they carried on their heads, and these were somewhatunlike the others. They were undoubtedly of Indian blood, Aztecperhaps, or more likely Toltec. They were tall for Mexican women, andit seemed to Phil that they bore themselves with a certain erectness andpride. Their faces were noble and good.
Phil and his comrades drew near. He saw the women glance at them, andhe saw the youngest of them look at him several times. She stared witha vague sort of wonder in her eyes, and Phil's heart suddenly began topound so hard that he grew dizzy. Since the letter, coming out of theunknown and traveling such a vast distance, had found him in the littletown of Paris, Kentucky, he had felt at times the power of intuition.Truths burst suddenly upon him, and for the moment he had the convictionthat this was the woman. Moreover, she was still looking at him.
"Speak to her, Bill! Speak to her!" he exclaimed. "Don't let her gountil you ask her."
But Breakstone had already noticed the curious glances the woman wascasting at Phil, and in the Spanish patois of the region he bade them alight and courteous good morning. Here all the charm of Breakstone'smanner showed at its very best. No one could take offense at it, andthe three women, smiling, replied in a similar vein. Breakstoneunderstood Phil's agitation. The boy might be right, but he did notintend to be too headlong. He must fence and approach the subjectgradually. So he spoke of the little things that make conversation, butpresently he said to the youngest of the women:
"I see that you notice my comrade, the one who is not yet a man inyears, though a man in size. Does it chance that you have seen some onelike him?"
"I do not know," replied the woman. "I am looking into my memory that Imay see."
"Perhaps," said Breakstone smoothly, "it was one of the Texan prisonerswhom they brought through here two or three years ago. A boy, tall andfair like this boy, but dusty with the march, bent with weariness, hisfeet cut and bleeding by the lava over which he had been forced tomarch, stood here at this well. He was blindfolded that he might notsee which way he had come, but you, the Holy Virgin filling your heartwith pity, took the cup of cool water and gave it to him to drink."
Comprehension filled the eyes of the woman, and she gazed at Breakstonewith growing wonder.
"It is so!" she exclaimed. "I remember now. It was three years ago.There was a band of prisoners, twelve or fifteen, maybe, but he was theyoungest of them all, and so worn, so weak! I could not see his eyes,but he had the figure and manner of the youth who stands there! It waswhy I looked, and then looked again, the resemblance that I could notremember."
"It is his brother who is with me," said Breakstone. "Can you tell wherethese prisoners were taken?"
"I do not know, but I have heard that they were carried into themountains to the south and west, where they were to be held until Texaswas brought back to Mexico, or to be put to death as outlaws."
"What prisons lie in these mountains to the south and west?"
"I do not know how many, but we
have heard most of the Castle ofMontevideo. Some of our own people have gone there, never to comeback."
She and her companions shuddered at the name of the Castle ofMontevideo. It seemed to have some vague, mysterious terror for them.It was now Bill Breakstone who had the intuition. The Castle ofMontevideo was the place. It was there that they had taken JohnBedford. He translated clearly for Phil, who became very pale.
"It is the place, Phil," he said. "We must go to the Castle ofMontevideo to find him."
He drew from his pocket a large octagonal gold piece, worth fiftydollars, then coined by the United States.
"Give this to her, Bill," he said, "and tell her it is for the drink ofwater that she gave to the blindfolded boy three years ago."
Bill Breakstone translated literally, and he added:
"You must take it. It comes from his heart. It is not only worth muchmoney, but it will be a bringer of luck to you."
She took it, hesitated a moment, then hid it under her red reboso, and,the jars being filled, she and her two companions walked away, balancingthe great weights beautifully on their heads.
"To-night," said Phil, "we ride for the Castle of Montevideo."
The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista Page 15
