Chapter 52 - The Rifle Rangers by Mayne Reid
An Odd Way of Escaping from a Battle-field
We sat on our horses, facing the globe-shaped summit of El Telegrafo, and watching our flag as it swung out from the tower.
“Look yonder! what is that?” cried an officer, pointing across the barranca.
All eyes were now turned in the direction indicated. A white line was slowly moving down the face of the opposite cliff.
“Rein back, men! rein back!” shouted Twing, as his eye rested upon the strange object. “Throw yourselves under cover of the hill!”
In a minute our whole party—dragoons, officers, and all—had galloped our horses into the bed of a dry arroyo, where we were completely screened from observation. Three or four of us, dismounting, along with Twing, crept cautiously forward to the position we had just left, and, raising our heads over the bunch-grass, looked across the chasm. We were close to its edge, and the opposite “cheek” of the barranca, a huge wall of trap-rock, about a mile horizontally distant, rose at least a thousand feet from the river bottom. Its face was almost perpendicular, with the exception of a few stairs or platforms in the basaltic strata, and from these hung out stunted palms, cedars, and dark, shapeless masses of cacti and agave.
Down this front the living line was still moving—slowly, zigzag—along narrow ledges and over jutting points, as though some white liquid or a train of gigantic insects were crawling down the precipice. The occasional flash of a bright object would have told us the nature of this strange phenomenon, had we not guessed it already. They were armed men—Mexicans—escaping from the field of battle; and in a wood upon the escarpment of the cliff we could perceive several thousands of their comrades huddled up, and waiting for an opportunity to descend. They were evidently concealed, and out of all danger from their pursuers on the other side. Indeed, the main body of the American army had already passed their position, and were moving along the Jalapa road, following up the clouds of dust that hung upon the retreating squadrons of Santa Anna.
We lay for some time observing the motions of these cunning fugitives as they streamed downward. The head of their line had nearly reached the timbered bottom, through whose green fringes the Plan River swept onward, curving from cliff to cliff.
Impatient looks were cast towards the major, whose cold grey eye showed no signs of action.
“Well, Major—what’s to be done?” asked one.
“Nothing!” was the impressive reply.
“Nothing!” echoed everyone.
“Why, what could we do?”
“Take them prisoners—every one of them.”
“Whom prisoners?”
“These Mexicans—these before us.”
“Ha! before you they are—a long way, too. Bah! they are ten miles off, and, even if we could ride straight down the bluff with winged horses, what could our hundred men do in that jungle below? Look yonder!—there are a thousand of them crawling over the rocks?”
“And what signify numbers?” asked I, now speaking for the first time. “They are already defeated and flying—half of them, I’ll wager, without arms. Come, Major, let us go! We can capture the whole party without firing a shot.”
“But, my dear Captain, we cannot reach them where they are.”
“It is not necessary. If we ride up the cliffs, they will come to us.”
“How?”
“You see this dark line. It is not three miles distant. You know that timber like that does not grow on the naked face of a cliff. It is a gorge, and, I’ll warrant, a watercourse too. They will pass through it.”
“Beautiful! We could meet them as they came up it,” cried several at once.
“No, lads—no! You are all wrong. They will keep the bottom—the heavy timber, I warrant you. It’s no use losing time. We must round to the road, and forward. Who knows that we may not find work enough yet? Come!”
So saying, our commanding officer rose up, and, walking back to the arroyo, leapt into his saddle. Of course we followed his example, but with no very amiable feelings. I, for one, felt satisfied that we might have made a dashing thing of it, and entered the camp with flying colours. I felt, and so did my friend Clayley, like a schoolboy who had come too late for his lesson, and would gladly have been the bearer of a present to his master: moreover, we had learned from our comrades that it was the expressed intention of the commander-in-chief to capture as many of the enemy as possible on this occasion. This determination arose from the fact, well authenticated, that hundreds who had marched out of Vera Cruz on parole had gone direct to Cerro Gordo, with the intention of fighting us again; and no doubt some of these honourable soldiers were among the gentry now climbing down the barranca.
With these feelings, Clayley and I were anxious to do something that might cover our late folly, and win our way back to favour at head-quarters.
“Let me take fifty of your men and try this. You know, Major Twing, I have a score to rub out.”
“I cannot, Captain—I cannot. We must on. Forward!”
And the next moment we were moving at a trot in the direction of El Plan.
For the first time I felt angry at Twing; and, drawing my bridle tighter, I fell back to the rear. What would I not have given for the “Rifle Rangers” at that moment?
I was startled from a very sullen reverie by a shot, the whistling of a rifle bullet, and the loud “Halt” of the major in front. Raising myself on the instant, I could see a greenish-looking object just disappearing over the spur of a ridge. It was a vidette, who had fired and run in.
“Do you think they are any of our people?”
“That ’ar’s one of our kump’ny, Cap’n; I seed the green on his cap,” said Lincoln.
I galloped to the front. Twing was just detaching a small party to reconnoitre. I fell in along with this, and after riding a hundred yards we looked over the ridge, and saw, not four hundred yards distant, a ten-inch howitzer, that had just been wheeled round, and now stood gaping at us. In the rear of the gun stood a body of artillerists, and on their flanks a larger body of what appeared to be light infantry or rifles. It would have been anything but a pleasing sight, but that a small flag with red and white stripes was playing over the gun; and our party, heedless of their orders, leaped their horses on the ridge, and, pulling off their caps, saluted it with a cheer.
The soldiers by the battery still stood undecided, not knowing what to make of our conduct, as they were the advanced outpost in this direction, when a mounted rifleman galloped up and displayed the flag of his regiment.
A wild cheer echoed back from the battery; and the next moment both parties had met, and were shaking each other’s hands with the hearty greetings of long-parted friends.
Not the least interesting to me was the fact that my own corps, under the command of its lieutenant, formed the principal guard of the gun; and the welcome of our old comrades was such as we should have received had we come back from the grave. They had long since made up their minds that they had seen the last of us; and it was quite amusing to witness these brave tirailleurs as they gathered around Lincoln and his comrades to hear the story of our adventures.