“Major, do you have a harmonica?”
“Sir?”
“I thought you Southern boys always kept one around.”
“Why, I surely do—I just didn’t reckon on needing it now.”
“Whistle me out a tune, Major. It does not matter, which one. I do not remember their national anthem precisely, but I will do my best to sing it, to announce our presence.” And so I began:
Oh men of Neustraguano,
You should not be sleeping,
Oh men of Neustraguano,
Your watch you should be keeping,
For Generalissimo Armstrong,
That man he has arrived,
May all the saints preserve him
And keep him at our side!
“Yankee General, sir, are you sure those are the words?”
“The song has many verses, Major—that surely must be one of them.”
Finally, a voice from the city gate called out: “Who goes there?”
“It is I, Generalissimo Armstrong, your city’s savior.”
“Why you come back?”
“Well, that’s hardly the way to greet a conquering hero.”
“Santiago is under quarantine.”
“Quarantine?”
“By order of the new mayor: no one may enter or leave. The Indians have a foul disease and sought refuge in the church—putting us all at risk. If you value your lives, go away.”
“You have a new mayor—who is it?”
“Lucretia Borreros.”
“What? You can’t be serious—you surely didn’t elect her. What happened?”
“She bore an order from the Minister of State. We imprisoned the old mayor in the church. We set it on fire—the hospital too—burned them down. Perhaps now the disease goes away.”
“Burned them down? You burned down the church, the hospital—with people in them?”
“Yes, it was necessary. The new mayor ordered it. Now you must go.”
“When did all this happen?”
“Over the last two days. We burned the church this morning.”
“Have soldiers arrived from the capital—advance riders from a column?”
“No one dares approach Santiago. You should go away.”
“What about Colonel Monteverde Cristóbal? What about his Cavalrymen?”
“Lucretia Borreros had orders for him from the Minister of State. He was to go to the northern coast and prevent an invasion.”
“An invasion?”
“Yes, from the sea; from Mexico.”
“Mexico?”
“Yes—now you must go! There is great danger here. Be gone—vaya con Dios!”
The ensuing silence was broken by Major Gillette: “Yankee General, sir, let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.”
“Shade, Major? The sun hasn’t risen.”
“Only a bit of prosing, sir—I reckon we need another council of war.”
It seemed a prudent suggestion. We retraced our steps across the bridge, set our backs against two large tree trunks at the forest edge, and sat for a moment in silence.
“Major, the column can’t be far away.”
“No, sir, but I do detect an opportunity to switch things to our advantage. I doubt our opponents know about the quarantine.”
“Yes, I’ve been wondering about that: the rebels surely know—they’re just across the river. But the column, maybe not.”
“And this new mayor, sir?”
“Lucretia Borreros? Major, that woman is insane, utterly insane; I had to deal with her earlier. Quarantine’s likely her idea; she probably never informed Rodríguez. But we don’t need speculation; we need scouting. We need to know the location of the column.”
“I don’t suppose it can wait ’til morning, sir? Maybe get some coffee and hardtack from Santiago. Boiled water can’t be that dangerous, can it? And hardtack…”
“Major, we move immediately, under cover of darkness, while we have it. The column is coming up that road. If they suspect no danger, we will shock them.”
“Shock them, sir? By ourselves?”
“Yes, we’ll follow the road along the jungle verge—and when we meet them, we will shock them.”
“I see, sir. What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know, but our footsteps will accelerate my thinking—and when we find the enemy, he will be ours, and we will shock him.”
“Yes, sir, shock him.”
And with that, I stood up, brushed insects and dirt from my uniform, and led Major Gillette on another jungle march, this time alongside El Camino Real. As we marched, my mind raced through the possibilities before us, and an idea formed.
“Major, there is—or was—a line of government troops about five miles away from Santiago. They might still respect my uniform, my rank as Generalissimo.”
“I reckon that’s a strong possibility, sir.”
“It could be, Major, that through simple command presence, we could make that force our own. We could then confront the column with our own body of troops.”
“Well, sir, having an army would be a great benefit.”
We kept relatively close to the road, where the jungle was thinner, moving speedily through the brush until we saw a lounging picket line. Behind it were rows of military tents. I approached the pickets boldly—and was encouraged to see the men snap to attention. A Sergeant trotted up and saluted. It seemed appropriate to start issuing orders.
“Your name, Sergeant?”
“Sergeant Esteban, sir.”
“Sergeant Esteban, I have just been to Santiago. The city has been quarantined. Did you know that?”
“No, sir; we have orders to hold this position and advance no farther—not even with scouts—lest we provoke the enemy.”
I raised an eyebrow at that. “Sergeant, I’m giving you new orders. With Santiago quarantined, the rebels might take advantage. Take these pickets and do some scouting. Keep an eye on the city but be careful: spies might lie behind those walls. Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Sergeant, get me your commanding officer.”
“Yes, sir.”
That proved to be Captain Manuel Obregón—a man who looked as neat and capable as his Van Dyke beard. “Generalissimo, I had no idea you were here; I thought you were in la Ciudad de Serpientes.”
“Captain, you and I have a mission of the utmost importance. There has been a mutiny within the army. A mutinous column is coming this way. They have the statue of El Cid—and they have other hostages, including my dog. They must be stopped. How many men do you have?”
“Minus the pickets: about four score. But a mutiny, sir—I’m stunned.”
“As was I, Captain, but we have no time to wool-gather. Instead, I want these tents down and the men in trenches.”
“Trenches, sir?”
“These roadside ditches will do. Put your men in enfilading positions—both sides of the road. I will command this side; you take the other side.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Captain: at our command, the men must fire without hesitation, even if the enemy wears our same uniform. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Generalissimo.”
“Make sure they do—and we must move quickly, Captain. Take Major Gillette with you and make the appropriate introductions.”
I decided to scout our position. I stepped into our trench line, the road-bordering ditch, and followed it down El Camino Real for a few hundred yards. I reached one of the few bends, and saw movement on the far horizon, a jostling of tiny dots: cantering distant Cavalry, slow-marching ant lines of Infantry, wobbling rectangular carts led by minuscule mule teams. I reckoned they were still an hour away—but we needed to be ready.
I raced down the trench line, dodging soldiers as they filed in, speeding them along with words of encouragement.
To my amazement, the tents I had ordered taken down were still upright. Standing next to them, with a handful of lol
lygagging men, was Major Gillette, a cup of coffee in one hand and a biscuit in the other. He appeared to be spinning yarns about his service in the great war.
“Major, this is no time to chew the molasses. See to your duty. The enemy is within sight. We must move quickly. These tents must come down.”
“Well, beggin’ the Yankee General’s pardon, but I was wondering, sir, if you’d reconsider. As I was just telling these young soldiers here, there’s more than one way to skin a hungry, mangy panther that’s coming your way.”
“What the devil are you talking about? Take that biscuit out of your mouth. The enemy marches upon us. We have no time to reconsider. We must act now.”
“On the contrary, sir, if you’ll forgive me, but I reckon you haven’t had time to fully appreciate our situation.”
“I appreciate, Major, that the enemy is nearly here, and that you are ignoring the legitimate order of a superior officer.”
“Not ignoring you, sir, but if you’ll hear me out…”
“I appear to have no choice, Major—but make it quick.”
“Well, then, sir, bear with me: I reckon you’re looking to surprise the enemy.”
“Yes, that’s the general idea.”
“Well, we have two ways of going about that: we could collapse these tents and hide the men in the jungle and the trench here.”
“Yes, that’s precisely it.”
“But think about those men in the advancing column. They’ve probably been on the road a long spell to arrive here at dawn. They’re likely hungry and thirsty and tired. Don’t you reckon they might drop their rifles a little lower, that their discipline might be a little slacker, if they see tents ahead? They might expect beans and coffee—maybe a bunk down. Those tents might be an effective decoy, attracting enemy fire.”
“A decoy?”
“Yes, Yankee General, sir, drawing fire to where we ain’t.”
“Did Bedford Forrest say that?”
“Not that I’m aware, sir.”
“In any event, Major, I see your point.”
“I figured you would, sir.”
“I just needed more time to appreciate the situation.”
“I figured that’s what it was, sir.”
“Indeed, Major, there are times when you know my thoughts before I do: tents stay up; men in the trenches.”
We made good progress now. I had stakes driven along the road. Each stake marked the target area of a squad on alternating sides of El Camino Real. By this tactic, we increased our effective firepower and minimized the risk of crossfire killing our men.
Gallopers advanced—the enemy’s vanguard. Behind them came the creaking wheels of the wagons: the golden bell gleaming in the sunlight; El Cid magnificent, with his lance raised high; the Infantrymen looking a little bedraggled; and then, charging up the line to join the gallopers—Bierce!
The shock of seeing him inspired me to dramatic action. I climbed from the trench, stood athwart the road, and let dawn’s shimmering sun reflect my gold braid. Bierce halted the column, rode ahead of his gallopers, and sat his horse about ten yards away. He locked his eyes on mine and stepped down from the saddle. He stood by his mount—a shield against rifles in the trench opposite.
He said: “It’s an ambush, isn’t it?”
“No worse than anything you’ve sprung on me.”
“Well, brace yourself, Generalissimo: we’re allies again.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I command this column. These men will follow your orders, and mine. I’ve restored your rank.”
“Why?”
“I never intended to keep you in jail. That was temporary. But you escaped before I could spring you. Now the fat’s really in the fire. Matteo Rodríguez has made his fatal move—and he put me in charge of it.”
“And what’s that?”
“In the name of saving the country, he’s going to abscond with the state treasury, steal that golden bell, and blow the island to hell by packing that volcano with explosives. You remember that sea captain friend of yours, Wakesmith?”
“I’d forgotten all about him.”
“Turns out he’s a confederate of Rodríguez—and a fellow Unitarian.”
“Another Unitarian assassin?”
“Not an assassin, a thief—and before that a rebel gun-runner. He’s bringing his boat to that landing behind Santiago. They’ll load the golden bell and make their getaway. Rodríguez is nothing if not greedy—he’s also got a wagonload of Treasury gold. Carlos Blandino authorized him to take it as an emergency measure—to keep El Caudillo from spending it unconstitutionally.”
“But it’s constitutional to steal it?”
“The whole island will soon go to Hades anyway. Lucretia Borreros and the rebels are packing that volcano full of explosives to make sure it does.”
“How does that benefit Rodríguez?”
“He expects to live as a millionaire exile—in Albania or someplace.”
“You consented to all this?”
“Only in theory—not in fact; for one thing, Rodríguez kidnapped Consuela. I can’t consent to that as an officer and a gentleman—in fact, I wish I’d thought of it myself.”
“Kidnapped her?”
“Yes, he’s also captured your wife. I’m not sure whether Unitarians believe in polygamy, but maybe Albanians do. Anyway, I’ve been talking with Father Gonçalves.”
“About polygamy?”
“About explosives: he says they won’t erupt a volcano.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“Not really; he says it’s going to explode anyway—and soon, based on the strength and frequency of the tremors. This island is exploding one way or another.”
A low rumble of assent came from la Montaña que Eructa.
I said, “We must rescue Victoria and Rachel.”
“I thought you’d say that—and in that order too.”
Behind me I heard a commotion. An Infantryman—one of our pickets—came running from the direction of Santiago.
“Good Godfrey, man,” I said, “did you come from the city?”
“I didn’t get that far, sir. We had a skirmish with Indians. They had a rebel officer—and we captured him.”
“Yes? And?”
“Generalissimo Armstrong—Santiago, the entire city, it is aflame!”
“What!”
“Administrator Borreros ordered it burned.”
“But the people?”
“Many are dead, killed by the rebels; the others she marches to la Montaña que Eructa to be sacrificed as a burnt offering. She hopes to turn away the plague that afflicts the Indians.”
“Good gracious, man, are you serious?”
“I was sent to bring the news. The detachment dispersed the Indians and is advancing to the river. Sergeant Esteban awaits your orders.”
“You run back and tell Sergeant Esteban that I will be there, in force, with all due speed. If the rebels approach the bridge, harass them. If he must retreat, he should do it stubbornly along El Camino Real.”
“Yes, sir!”
Bierce eyed me a warning. “Rodríguez is a day’s ride behind me. You’ve got rebels in one direction and Matteo Rodríguez in another. We either make an alliance right now, Marshal, or I might play my hand with Rodríguez.”
“You might do that anyway. What if I don’t trust you?”
“Then I’m prepared to shoot you—just like I did that Indian. You’re not wearing a gun, Marshal. That’s a big oversight.”
“You’re covered by nearly a hundred rifles.”
“Those rifles will soon be mine. When one Generalissimo shoots another, someone’s a traitor. I’ll tell them it’s you. I’ve got a reputation—General of the King’s Armies. You’re just an adventurer who went bad. So, what’s it going to be? I kept my distance for a reason. I’m a dead shot at ten yards.”
“I will not be bullied, Bierce.”
“How about bribed? I’m offering you co
mmand of an army, Marshal—and a chance to rescue Consuela… and your wife, of course.”
“You appeal to my sense of duty?”
“If that’s the way you want it.”
“Very well, then, Bierce, if I regain my rank as Generalissimo, we can make common purpose.”
“Shake on it—in front of your men?”
I nodded, he stepped ahead of his horse, and we shook hands—both still wearing our Cavalry gauntlets. The volcano rumbled: in commendation or in fear I do not know.
I asked Bierce, “Is Bad Boy with you?”
“Bad Boy?”
“My dog.”
“Oh, yes, he’s back there somewhere; so is Father Gonçalves and your Indian—and I know you’re a sentimentalist about horse flesh: I brought your horses.”
I nodded my approval and said, “Bring them up—and then we’ll make a proclamation to the men.”
Bierce spurred away, and I went to brief Major Gillette. “It would appear, Major, that we’re adding to our army. Have Captain Obregón bring the men from the trenches.”
When Bierce returned, it was with Billy Jack leading my two horses, Bad Boy running after them.
Bierce said, “If you’re quite ready, Generalissimo. I believe your stage is set.”
I selected my horse Edward for this duty, as he was bigger than Marshal Ney and better suited to make an impression. I stepped into the saddle and rode side by side with Bierce, who waved his column forward until our troops met at midpoint. Bierce sat his horse facing the column. I circled my horse, addressing the men gathered round. “Men of Neustraguano, we have today forged the most consequential accord in Neustraguanian history. Scholars will remember this day as the Alliance of the Two Generalissimos. They will write about this day in books, but you will live it as participants, as witnesses, as actors on the stage, as soldiers on the field of battle.
“Battle is coming. We will be ready. And you can be certain of victory.
“For think upon your leaders: there, gentlemen, sits Generalissimo Ambrose Bierce—as fierce a cutthroat as any can imagine. And he is your commander.
“And here am I: a celebrated veteran of America’s greatest war, undaunted in my courage, unwavering in my devotion to duty, undefeated in battle—for the most part—and a man who has pledged himself to your king’s cause.
“Could you ask for greater Generalissimos than these?”
Armstrong Rides Again! Page 17