CHAPTER XII
THE PASS OF ANGOSTURA
It was almost midwinter now in Mexico, and here, in the northern part ofthe republic, on the great plateau, it was cold. Phil more than oncehad seen the snow flying, and far away it lay in white sheets on thepeaks of the Sierra Madre. He had obtained a heavy blanket coat orovercoat from the stores, and he was glad enough now to pull it closelyaround him and turn its collar up about his neck, as he walked back andforth in the chilly blasts. At each end of his beat he met anothersentinel, a young Kentuckian like himself, and, for the sake of company,they would exchange a friendly word or two before they parted.
The night was dark, and, with the icy winds cutting him, Phil, after theother sentinel had turned away, felt more lonesome in this far strangeland than he had ever been before in his life. Everything about him wasunfriendly, the hard volcanic soil upon which he trod, the shapelessfigures of the adobe huts on the outskirts of the town, and the moaningwinds from the Sierra Madre, which seemed to be more hostile andpenetrating than those of his own country. It was largely imagination,the effect of his position, but it contained something of reality, also.It certainly was not fancy alone that peopled the country about withenemies. An invader is seldom loved, and it was not fancy at all thatcreated the night and the cold.
Phil's beat was at the edge of open country, and he could see a littledistance upon a plain. He thought, at times, that shadowy figures withsoundless tread passed there, but he was never sure. He spoke about itto the sentinel on his right, and then to the sentinel on his left. Eachin turn watched with him, but then the shadows did not pass, and heconcluded that his fancy was playing him tricks. Yet he was troubled,and he resolved to watch with the utmost vigilance. His beat covered apath leading into the town, while to right and left of him was verydifficult country. It occurred to him that anybody who wanted to passwould come his way, and he was resolved that nobody should pass. Heexamined every shadow, even if it might be that of a tree moved by thewind, and he listened to every sound, although it might be made by somestrange Mexican animal.
Thus the time passed, and the fleeting shadows resolved themselves intoa figure that had substance and that remained. It took the shape of aman in conical hat and long Mexican serape. He also carried a largebasket on one arm, and he approached with an appearance of timidity andhesitation. Phil stepped forward at once, held up his rifle, andcalled: "Halt!" The man obeyed promptly and pointed to the basket,saying something in Spanish. When Phil looked, he pulled back the coverand disclosed eggs and dressed chickens.
"To sell to the soldiers?" asked the boy.
The man nodded. Phil could not see his face, which was hidden by thebroad brim of his hat and the folds of his serape, drawn up around hischin, evidently to fend off the cold. His surmise was likely enough.The Americans had made a good market at Saltillo, and the peons wereready to sell. But he did not like the hour or the man's stealthyapproach.
"No come in," he said, trying to use the simplest words of his languageto a foreigner. "Orders! Orders must be obeyed!"
The man pointed again to his basket, as if, being in doubt, he wouldurge the value of a welcome.
"No come in," repeated Phil. "Go back," and he pointed toward the woodsfrom which the Mexican had come.
The man hesitated, but he did not go. He turned again toward Phil, andat that moment the wind lifted a segment of his wide hat-brim. Philsprang back in amazement. Despite the dark, he recognized the featuresof de Armijo, who could have come there for no good, who must have comeas a spy or worse.
"De Armijo!" he cried, and sprang for him. But the Mexican was as quickas lightning. He leaped backward, dropped his basket, and the longblade of a knife flashed in the air. It cut through the sleeve ofPhil's coat, and the sharp point, with a touch like fire, ran along hisarm. It was well for him that he had put on the heavy blanket coat thatnight, or the blade would have grated on the bone.
The pain did not keep Phil from throwing up his rifle, and de Armijo,seeing that his stroke had not disabled the boy, wheeled and ran. Philfired instantly, and saw de Armijo stagger a little. But in a momentthe Mexican recovered himself and quickly disappeared in the darkness,although Phil rushed after him. He would have followed across theplain, but he knew it was his duty to go no farther, and he came back tomeet the other sentinels, who were running toward him at the sound ofthe shot. Phil quickly explained what had occurred, telling theidentity of the man, and adding that he was crafty and dangerous.
"A Mexican officer," said one of them. "No doubt he was trying to enterthe town in order to get more complete information about us and ourplans than they have yet obtained. He would have remained hidden by dayin some house, and he would have slipped out again at night when he hadlearned all that he wanted. You did a good job, Bedford, when youstopped him."
"You did more than stop him," said another, who had brought a smalllantern. "You nicked him before he got away. See, here's a drop ofblood, and here's another, and there's another."
They followed the trail of the drops, but it did not lead far.Evidently the effusion of blood had not been great. Then one of themen, glancing at Phil rather curiously, said:
"He seems to have touched you up, Bedford. Do you know that a littlestream of blood is running down your left sleeve?"
Phil was not conscious until then that something moist and warm wasdripping upon his hand. In the excitement of the moment he hadforgotten all about the slash of the knife, but, now that he rememberedit, he felt a sudden weakness. But he hid it from the others, and itpassed in a minute or so.
The chief of the patrol ordered him to go back and report to an officer,and this officer happened to be Middleton, who was sitting withEdgeworth in one of the open camps before a small fire. Phil's armmeanwhile had been bound up, although he found that the cut was notdeep, and would not incapacitate him. Phil saluted in the new militarystyle that he was acquiring, and of which he was very proud, and said,in reply to Middleton's look of inquiry:
"I have the honor to report, sir, that a spy, a Mexican officer, triedto pass our lines at the point where I was stationed. He was disguisedas a peon, coming to sell provisions in our camp. When I stopped him heslashed at me with his knife, although the wound he inflicted was butslight, and I, in return, fired at him as he ran. I hit him, as drops ofblood on the ground showed, although I think his wound, like mine, wasslight."
Captain Middleton smiled.
"Come, Phil," he said, "you've done a good deed, so hop down off yourhigh horse, and tell it in your old, easy way. Remember that we arestill comrades of the plains."
Phil smiled, too. The official manner was rather hard and stiff, and itwas easier to do as Middleton suggested.
"Captain," he said, "I recognized the man, and it was one that we've metmore than once. It was de Armijo."
"Ah, de Armijo!" exclaimed the Captain. "He was trying to spy upon us.He is high in the Mexican councils, and his coming here means much. Itis lucky, Phil, that you were the one to stop him, and that yourecognized him. But he did not love you much before, and he will notlove you any more, since you have spilled some of his blood with abullet."
"I know it," replied Phil confidently, "but I feel able to take care ofmyself as far as de Armijo is concerned."
"You go to your tent and sleep," said Middleton, "and I'll put anotherman in your place. You must not get too much stiffness and soreness inthat arm of yours. You will be likely to need it soon--also, every otherarm that you have."
Phil, not loth, returned to his tent, which he shared with Breakstoneand two or three others. Bill awoke, and, after listening to anarrative of the occurrence, dressed and rebound the arm carefully.
"I agree with the Captain that things are coming to a head," he said."When you see a storm bird like de Armijo around, the storm itself can'tbe far behind. I'm glad he didn't get a good whack at you, Phil, but,as it is, you're so young a
nd so healthy, and your blood is so pure thatit won't give you any trouble. I'll dress it again to-morrow, and in afew days it will be well."
Bill Breakstone's prediction was a good one. In three or four daysPhil's wound was entirely healed, and two or three days later he coulduse his arm as well as ever. The boy, meanwhile, was getting betteracquainted with the troops, and, like his comrades, was becomingthoroughly a member of the little army. It was reduced now, by thesteady drains to strengthen Scott, to 4,610 men, of whom less than fivehundred were regular troops. But the volunteers, nearly all from thewest and south, little trained though they might be, were young, hardy,used to life in the open air, and full of zeal. They had all the fireand courage of youth, and they did not fear any number of Mexicans.
But the New Year had come, January in its turn had passed, and the newsdrifting in from a thousand sources, like dust from the desert, grewmore alarming. The army organized by Santa Anna at San Luis Potosi wasthe largest that had ever been gathered in Mexico, with powerfulartillery and a numerous cavalry. Santa Anna himself was at his best,drilling, planning, and filling his officers with his own enthusiasm.In Saltillo itself the people grew bolder. They openly said that it wastime for the Americans to run if they would save themselves from theinvincible Mexican commander and president. It seemed to many of theAmericans even that it would be wise to retreat all the way to the RioGrande, but the old general, his heart full of bitterness, gave no suchorder. He had begun the campaign in victorious fashion, and then he hadbeen ordered to stop. He had asked to be allowed to serve as second toScott in the great campaign that would go forward from Vera Cruz, andthat had been refused. Then he had asked that more of his troops,especially the regulars, be left to him, and that, too, had beenrefused. He was expected to yield the ground that he had gained, andretreat in the face of an overwhelming enemy.
Phil saw General Taylor many times in those days. Any one could see himas he passed about the city and camp, a gray, silent man, with littlemilitary form, a product of the West and the frontier, to which Philhimself belonged. It was for that reason, perhaps, that Phil couldenter so thoroughly into the feelings of the general, a simple,straightforward soldier who believed himself the victim of politics, aman who felt within him not the facility for easy and graceful speechand manners, but the rugged power to do great things. He was verygentle and kind to his men in these days. The soldier who had spent alifetime on the frontier, fighting Indians and dealing with the roughestof his kind, was now more like the head of a great family, a bandknitted all the more closely together because they were in a foreignland confronted by a great danger.
Phil was picking up Spanish fast, and his youth, perhaps, caused thepeople about the city to make more hints, or maybe threats, to him thanthey would have made to an older man. Santa Anna had with him the wholemight of Mexico. He would be before Saltillo in three days, in twodays, to-morrow perhaps. The very air seemed to the boy to be chargedwith gunpowder, and he had his moments of despondency. But he had beenthrough too much danger already to despair, and he allowed no one tothink that at any time he was apprehensive.
Bill Breakstone was, for the present, the best man in the army. Noother made acquaintances so fast, no other had such a wonderful flow ofcheering words, and he was--or had been--an actor. To many of theseyouths who had never seen a play he must certainly have been thegreatest actor in the world. Nor was he like a prima donna, to becoaxed, and then to refuse four times out of five. He recited nearlyevery evening in front of his tent, and he did more than any other manto keep the army in good heart. General Taylor and his second, GeneralWool, said nothing, but the younger officers commented openly andfavorably. Thus the last days of January went by, and they were deepinto February. The menacing reports still came out of the south, andnow it was known definitely that Washington expected Taylor to fallback. Gloom overspread the young volunteers. They had not fought theirway so far merely to go back, but orders were orders, and they must beobeyed.
Early in the evening Bill Breakstone was reciting again in front of histent, and at least two hundred stood about listening. This time he wasreciting with great fire and vigor his favorite: "Once more unto thebreach, dear friends," and, when he had said it once, there was avigorous call for it again. Obligingly he began the repetition, butwhen he was midway in it Middleton strode into the circle and held uphis hand. His attitude was so tense, and his air and manner showed somuch suppressed excitement that every one turned at once from Breakstoneto him. Breakstone himself stopped so short that his mouth was leftwide open, and he, too, gazed at Middleton.
"My lads," said Middleton, "an order, an important order has just beenissued by the commander-in-chief. You are to prepare at once forbreaking camp, and you are to march at daylight in the morning."
Some one uttered a groan, and a bold voice spoke up:
"Do we retreat all the way to the Rio Grande, or do we hide somewhere onthe way?"
The speaker could not be seen from the place where Middleton stood, norwould the comrades around him have betrayed him. But Middleton lookedin the direction of the voice, and his figure seemed to swell. Phil,who was standing near, thought he saw his eyes flicker with light.
"My lads," said Middleton, and his voice was full and thrilling, "we donot retreat all the way to the Rio Grande, nor do we hide on the way.We do not retreat at all. We march forward, southward, through themountains to meet the enemy."
A cheer, sudden, tremendous, and straight from the heart, burst forth,and it was joined with other cheers that came from other points in thecamp.
"Now make it three times three for old Rough and Ready!" cried Phil inhis enthusiasm, and they did it with zeal and powerful vocal organs.Middleton smiled and walked on. Immediately everything was haste andexcitement. The men began to pack. Arms and ammunition were made readyfor the march. Youth looked forward only to victory, thinking little ofthe risks and dangers. Breakstone smiled to himself and said under hisbreath the words:
"We would not seek a battle as we are, Nor as we are, we say we will not shun it. So tell your master.
"Old Rough and Ready perhaps does not seek a battle, but he is willingto go forward and meet it. Ah! these brave boys! these brave boys!"
Then he turned to Phil and Arenberg, who were among his tent-mates.
"We three must stick together through everything," he said. "We've lostMiddleton for the time, because he's got to return to his duties as anofficer."
"What you say iss good," said Arenberg.
"It's a bargain," said Phil.
They looked to the horses--they were in the cavalry--and at midnightwent to sleep. But they were up before dawn, still full of energy andenthusiasm. As the sun cast its first rays on the cold peaks of theSierra Madre, they mounted, fully armed and equipped, and marched out ofSaltillo, although Taylor left a strong guard in the city, wishing topreserve it as a base.
Phil rode knee to knee with Arenberg and Breakstone, and the thrill thathe had felt the night before, when Middleton told the news, he feltagain this morning. Horse, foot, and artillery, they were only betweenfour and five thousand men, but the whole seemed a great army to theboy. He had never seen so many men under arms before. Breakstone sawhis eye kindling.
"They are stained by travel and tanned by weather, but it's fine crowd,just as you think it is, Sir Philip of Saltillo. Don't you agree withme, Hans, Duke of the Sierra Madre?"
"It can fight," said Arenberg briefly.
"And that's what it has come out to do."
Phil saw the people of Saltillo watching them as the army left thesuburbs and moved on toward the mountains. But the spectators seemed tobe silent. Even the children had little to say. Phil wondered whatthey thought in their hearts. He did not doubt that most of them weresure that this army, or what was left of it, would come back prisonersof Santa Anna. He was glad when they left them behind, and henceforthhe looked toward the mountains, which upreared cold peaks in the chillysunshine
of winter. But the air was dazzlingly clear and crisp. Pureand fresh, it filled all on that high plateau with life, and Phil's moodwas one that expected only the best.
"We are not going to ride straight over those mountains, are we?" hesaid to Bill Breakstone.
"No," replied Bill, "we feel pretty nearly good enough for anything, butwe will not try any such high jumping as that. There's a pass. Youcan't see it from here, because it's a sort of knife-cut going down deepinto the mountains, and they call it the Pass of Angostura. We'll bethere soon."
There was much noise as the army began its march, friend calling tofriend, the exchange of joke and comment, wagon drivers and cannondrivers shouting to their horses, and the clanking of arms. But theysoon settled down into a steady sound, all noises fusing into one madeby an army that continued to march but that had ceased to talk.
Phil studied the mountains as they came nearer. They were dark andsomber. Their outlines were jagged, and they had but little forest orverdure. The peaks seemed to him volcanic, presenting a multitude ofsharp edges.
As the sun rose higher, the day grew somewhat warmer, but it was stillfull of chill. The horses blew smoke from their nostrils. Scoutscoming out of the passes met them and repeated that Santa Anna was nowadvancing from San Luis Potosi. Nor had rumor exaggerated his forces.He outnumbered the American army at least five to one, and his front wascovered by a great body of cavalry under General Minon, one of the bestMexican leaders.
This news quickly traveled through the columns, and Phil and his friendswere among the first to hear it. Breakstone gazed anxiously at thepeaks.
"They don't know just how far Santa Anna has come," he said, "but it'smighty important for us going to the south to get through that passbefore he, coming to the north, can get through it."
"We'll make it," said Phil, with the sanguine faith of youth. "I don'tbelieve that Santa Anna is yet near enough to dispute the pass with us."
"Likely you are right, Sir Philip of the Brave Heart and the CheerfulCountenance," replied Bill Breakstone. "But we shall soon see forcertain. In another hour we will enter the defiles."
Phil said nothing, but rode on with his comrades. The city had nowdropped behind them and was far out of sight. On their flanks rodescouts who would be skirmishers if need be. They marched on a level andgood road, and about six miles from Saltillo they passed a hacienda andtiny village.
"What village is that?" asked Phil of some one.
"Buena Vista," was the reply.
Phil heard it almost without noticing, although it was a reply to hisown question. Yet it was a name that he was destined soon to recall andnever to forget. How often for years and years afterward that name cameback to him at night, syllable by syllable and letter by letter! Now herode on, taking no thought of it, and the little village and haciendalay behind him, sleeping peacefully in the sun. His attention was forthe mountains, because they were now entering the defile, the pass ofAngostura, which cuts through the spur thrown out by the Sierra Madre.This is lofty, and the way narrowed fast. Nor did the sunlight fall soplentifully there, and the winds grew colder as they whistled throughthe pass. After the brilliant opalescent air of the plain, they seemedto be riding in a sort of twilight, and Phil felt his spirits droop.Deeper and deeper they went into the cut. Above him loomed themountains, dark and menacing. Shrub and dwarfed plants clung here andthere in the crannies, but the range was bare, and often it wasdistorted into strange shapes, sometimes like that of the humancountenance. The sky showed in a ribbon above, but it had turned gray,and was somber and depressing. Behind came the long line of the army,the wheels of the artillery clanking over the stones.
Once or twice Phil thought he saw figures in sombreros and serapes farup the mountainside, watching them. Mexicans, no doubt, ready to reportto Santa Anna the advance of the American army. He expected that somestray shots might be fired down into the pass by these spies orguerillas, but evidently they had other business than merely to annoy,and no bullets came.
Phil's horse stumbled, and the boy saved him from a fall with a quickpull. Arenberg's horse stumbled, also, and Phil noticed that his ownwas now walking gingerly over a path of solid but dark stone, corrugatedand broken into sharp edges. Well might a horse, even one steel-shod,be careful here! Phil knew it was volcanic rock, lava that had floweddown ages ago from the crests of the peaks about them, once volcanoesbut extinct long since.
His horse stumbled again, but recovered himself quickly. It certainlywas dangerous rock, sometimes sharp almost like a knifeblade, and theshoes of the infantry would be cut badly. Cut badly! A sudden thoughtsprang up in his brain and refused to be dislodged. It was one of thoselightning ideas, based on little things, that carry conviction with themthrough their very force and swiftness. His free hand went up to thebreast of his coat and clutched the spot beneath which his brother'sletter lay. He had read a hundred times the words of the captive,telling how his feet had beer cut by the sharp stone. Lava might befound at many places in Mexico, but it was along these trails inNorthern Mexico that the fighting bands of Mexicans and Texans passed.He reasoned with himself for a few moments, saying that he was foolish,and hoping that he was not, but the idea remained in his head, and heknew that it was fixed there. He leaned over and said, in a huskywhisper to Bill Breakstone:
"Bill, have you noticed it! The rock! The lava! How it cuts! How itwould quickly slice the sole from the shoe of a captive who had marchedfar! Bill! Bill, I say, have you noticed it?"
Bill Breakstone looked in astonishment at his young comrade, but he wasa man of uncommonly quick perceptions, and in a moment he comprehended.
"I understand," he said. "Your brother's letter and the passage inwhich he tells of his shoes being cut by the sharp stone while he wasled along blindfolded. He may have passed along this very road, Phil.It may be. It may be. I won't say you are wrong."
"What if we are near him now!" continued Phil. "I've often heard youquote those lines, Bill, saying there are more things in heaven andearth than we dream of in our philosophy. I told you before that if theletter could reach me so far away in Kentucky it could also bring mo tothe place where it was written! I believed it then, Bill, and I believeit now. What if John is here in these mountains, within forty or fiftymiles of us, or maybe twenty!"
"Steady, boy, steady!" said Bill Breakstone soothingly. "Your guess maybe right. God knows I'm not the one to deny it, but we've got to fighta battle first. At least, I think so, and for the present we must putour minds on it."
Phil was silent, but his idea possessed him. Often we dwell upon thingsso long and we seek so hard to have them happen in a certain way thatthe slightest indication becomes proof. He could not think now ofTaylor or Santa Anna, or of a coming battle, but only of his brotherbetween four narrow stone walls, sitting at a narrow window that lookedout upon a bleak mountainside. His horse no longer felt the guiding handupon the bridle rein, but guided himself. Breakstone noticed that theboy's mind was far away, and, his heart full of sympathy, he saidnothing for a long time.
They passed after awhile into a narrow valley, down the center of whichran a dry arroyo, fully twenty feet deep, with perpendicular banks. Therest of the valley was crisscrossed with countless gullies worn bywinter storms and floods, and the army was compelled to march in aslender file in the bed of the arroyo. Here many of the cavalrymendismounted and led their horses. The cannon wheels clanked louder thanever.
"I'll be glad when we're through this," said Bill Breakstone. "Seems tome the place was built for a trap, and it's mighty lucky for us thatthere's nobody here to spring it. Look out, Phil, you'd better watchyour horse now! Some of these turnings are pretty rough, and you don'twant a thousand pounds or so of horseflesh tumbling down upon you."
Phil came back from his visions and devoted himself to the task beforethem, one that required the full attention of every man. An entirebattery became stuck in a gully that intersected the arroyo. He andother cavalrymen hitched th
eir horses to the guns and helped pull themout. The whole army was now stumbling and struggling over the fearfulground. Every effort was made to save artillery and horses alike frominjury. But as they approached its lower end the Pass of Angosturabecame still more difficult. The gullies increased in number, and manyof the deep intersecting ravines ran far back into the mountains. Aswarm of sure-footed skirmishers on either flank could have done greatdamage here to the Americans, but the peaks and the lava slopes oneither side presented only silence and desolation.
It was a long journey, difficult in the extreme, and attended bythousands of falls, cuts, and bruises, but the army came through thePass of Angostura at last, marching out upon a series of promontories orridges, each about a mile long and perhaps a third of a mile across.From these the exhausted troops looked back at the frowning mountainsand the deep defile through which they had come.
"That was certainly a job," said Bill Breakstone.
"Yes," said Middleton, who stood near, "but what a place for a defense,the plateau and these promontories running out from it, and all theravine and gullies behind!"
It is a matter of chronicle that at least fifty officers were saying thesame words at almost the same time, and even Phil, without militarytraining, could see the truth of it. Taylor pushed on to Agua Neva,arriving there in the evening. But the next morning the reports ofSanta Anna's advance in overwhelming force became so numerous that hefell back with the main army to the mouth of the Pass of Angostura,leaving Marshall with his brave Kentuckians as a rear guard at AguaNeva, and with instructions to make the utmost resistance if they wereattacked.
The next night came on somber and cold. It was the evening of February21, 1847, and the next day would be the birthday of the greatWashington, a fact not forgotten by these young volunteers so far fromthe states in which they were born. This was a land totally unliketheir own. Cold black peaks showed in the growing twilight. Aroundthem were the gullies, the ravines, and the arroyos, with the sheets ofthe ancient black lava. It was like a region that belonged in the farbeginning of time.
A great force under Wool, the second in command, was throwing upintrenchments of earth and rock and fortifying the heads of the ravines.Lieutenant Washington, with five heavy guns, was planted in the roadway,or rather trail, in front of all. Other guns were placed on the plateauand promontories, and behind guns and parapets the army went into campfor the night.
"This doesn't look much like Kentucky and the Bluegrass, does it, Phil?"said Grayson, as they drank their coffee.
Phil glanced at the mountains, the crests of which were now hidden inthe darkness, and listened to the cold wind moaning through the narrowpass by which they had come. Then he replied:
"It doesn't, by a long sight, and I can tell you that I'm mighty gladI've lots of company here. If I were alone, I'd feel that the ghosts ofthe old Aztecs and Toltecs were surrounding me in the darkness. It'sgood to see the fires."
Many fires had been lighted, mostly in the ravines, where they weresheltered from the wind, but Phil had no doubt that the scouts of SantaAnna saw points of light at the mouth of the pass. After his supper hestood upon one of the promontories and strove to pierce the darkness tothe south. But he could see nothing. The night hung an opaque veilover the lower country.
The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista Page 12