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Chapter 53 - The Hunt of the Wild Horse by Mayne Reid

Camp Gossip

It was but a short-lived light—a passing gleam—and soon again fell the shadow, dark as ever. Strive as I might, I could not cast the load that weighed upon my bosom; reason as I would, I could not account for its heaviness.

It was natural that a parting like ours should produce pain, and misgivings as to the future. My life was to be staked in the lottery of war; I might fall on the field of fight; I might perish by camp-pestilence—a foe that in the campaign kills more soldiers than sword or shot—the many perils of flood and field were before me, and it was natural I should regard the future with a degree of doubtfulness.

But it was not the contemplation of all these dangers that filled me with such a terrible foreboding. Strange to say, I had a forecast that I should survive them. It was almost a conviction, yet it failed to comfort me, for it comprehended not the safety of Isolina. No—but the contrary. Along with it came the presentiment, that we should never meet again.

Once or twice, as this dread feeling became most acute, I reined up my horse, half resolved to gallop back; but again the wild idea passed from me, and I continued irresolutely on.

Something of prudence, too, now restrained me from returning: it would no longer have been safe to go back to the rancheria. As we issued from the piazza, we could hear distant jeering, and cries of “Mueran los Tejanos!” It was with difficulty I could restrain the rangers from turning to take vengeance. One, the worse for mezcal, had loitered behind—under the influence of the drink fancying himself secure. Him the pelados had “bonneted,” and otherwise maltreated. They would have murdered him outright; but that some of them, more prudent than their fellows, had counselled the mob to let him go—alleging that the Tejanos were yet “too near, and might come back.”

Again I had strife with my men: they would have returned and fired the place, had I permitted them. Fortunately, he who had been ill-treated was a good-for-nothing fellow—scarcely worth the sympathy of his comrades—and I was well satisfied at his having received a lesson. It might be useful, and was much needed, for “straggling” was one of the ranger-crimes most difficult to cure.

Along the road, we saw signs of a guerrilla. Shots were fired at us from a hill; but a party sent to the place encountered no one. Horse-tracks were observed, and once a brace of mounted men were seen galloping away over a distant slope. It might be the band of Ijurra, and doubtless it was so; but we fancied at the time that Canales himself was near; and as an encounter with his large and well-organised force would be a very different affair from a skirmish with the other, we felt the necessity of advancing with caution.

The prospect of a “fight” with this noted partisan created quite an excitement in the ranks. To have captured Canales—the “Chapparal Fox,” as the Texans termed him—or to have made conquest of his band, would have been esteemed a feat of grand consequence—only inferior in importance to a pitched battle, or the taking of “Game-leg” (Santa Anna) himself.

I confess that to me the idea of measuring strength with the famed guerrillero was at that moment rife with charms; and the excitement derived from the hope of meeting him, for a while abstracted my mind from its painful bodings.

But we reached the town without seeing aught of the Chapparal Fox. It was not likely that he was on our road; or if so, he took care not to show himself. Canales fought not for glory alone, and the rangers were not the foes he cared to encounter. Rich baggage-trains were the game he was used to hunt; and our solitary “company-wagon,” filled with frying-pans, camp-kettles, sick soldiers, and tattered blankets—half alive with those charming little insects of the genera pules and pediculus—had no attractions for the gallant guerrillero.

On reaching the town, we were surprised to find that the division had not yet moved. It was to have marched on that morning; but a countermand had arrived from head-quarters, delaying the movement for some days—perhaps a week.

This was rare news to me; and as soon as I heard it, my mind became occupied with projects and anticipations of a pleasant nature. I had hoped that we should be sent back to the rancheria, but alas! no—our orders were to remain with the division.

As every available building was occupied by troops, the rangers, as usual, were treated as “outsiders,” and compelled to take to the grass.

Half-a-mile from the town, a spot was shown us for our camp. It was on the banks of a pretty rivulet; and there, having picketed our steeds, stretched our canvas to the sun, and washed the dust from our faces, we made ourselves at home.

I did not remain long by the camp. As soon as the tents were fairly pitched, I left them, and walked back into the town—partly to get more definite information as to the future movements of the army, and partly with the design of indulging a little in the social feeling. I had some old comrades among the different regiments of the division; and, after such a long spell of rustication, I was not indisposed to refresh my spirit by the renewal of former fellowships.

At head-quarters, I learned definitely that we should not march for a week at the least. So far good; and after hearing this, I proceeded to the fonda—the rendezvous of all the jovial spirits of the army. Here I encountered the friends of whom I was in search; and for a short while I found respite from the thoughts that had been harrowing me.

I soon gathered the current “camp gossip,” and learned who were the “newspaper heroes” of the hour; over many of whose names my friends and I could not restrain either our satire or laughter. It appeared that the men of deeds were scarcely known beyond the limits of the army itself, while others, who in the field of battle had actually played the poltroon, had at home become household words in the mouths of the people. One general, whom I myself saw hiding in a ditch daring the rage of battle, was the theme of speech, sentiment, and song. The newspapers were filled with praises, and the windows with pictures, of a “gallant dragoon officer,” who had somehow obtained the credit of capturing a certain battery. My rangers cried “Bah!” when I told them this. They themselves were the men who had first galloped over those Mexican guns!

“Keeping an editor in pay” was a standing sarcasm applicable to more than one of our generals; and the “army correspondent,” taking advantage of this pruriency for fame, lived well, and swaggered in proportional importance.

Ah, glory! what sacrifices men make for thee upon the shrine of conscience! For my part, I do not think I could feel happy under the credit of a feat I had not performed. Surely the consciousness of having done a deed is of itself a sufficient reward? He is but an unhappy hero who is not a hero to himself!

Pleasanter gossip I heard about the relations existing between our troops and the people of the town. Many of the inhabitants had grown quite friendly, in consequence of our excellent behaviour towards them. Our conduct was compared with that which they had lately experienced at the hands of their own army. The latter was in the habit of seizing property at pleasure, on pretence of using it for the defence of the state. We, on the contrary, paid for everything—round prices too—in bright American dollars. The ricos and merchants preferred this system, and had no objections to making it permanent. Outrages were few on the part of our soldiery, and severely punished by the general. Our enemies contrasted the modest bearing of the American soldier with the conceited strut and insolent swagger of their own gold-bedizened militarios, who were wont on all occasions to “take the wall” of them. It was only outside the lines, between stragglers and leperos, that the retaliation system was carried on so fiercely. Within the walls, everything was order, with a mildness too rare under martial law. Private property was strictly regarded, and private dwellings were not occupied by our troops. Even the officers were not billeted in private houses; and many of them had to make shift in rather uncomfortable quarters, while most of the soldiers lived under canvas. This state of things was scarcely satisfactory to the troops; and some grumbling was heard. There was no complaint, however, from the Mexicans, who seemed rather astonished at so much forbearance on the part of their conquerors.

I doubt whether, in the whole history of war, can be found a conquest characterised by equal mildness and humanity with the “Second Conquest of Mexico.”

It was principally for this reason the people had grown so well affected towards us. But there was another reason, perhaps, not less potent. From the extensive operations we were now about to undertake, they saw that we meant war in earnest; and the belief had become general, that a large “annexation” was to follow; that perhaps the whole valley of the Rio Grande would become American territory. It was but human nature in them to do homage to the rising sun.

The ricos were better disposed towards us than the common people; but this enigma is easily explained. The latter were more patriotic—that is, more ready to fight for native tyranny, than accept freedom from a foreign hand. ’Tis so in all lands. In the event of a war with England, the black slave of Carolina would range himself by the side of his master, and prove the bitterest foe to the enemies, not of his freedom, but of his country.

The familias principales of Mexico had good reasons for being friendly to us. They had a stake to lose, which, under their own government, had been ill guarded for them. No wonder they should desire to come under the broad protecting wings of the northern eagle.

I found that another species of “annexation” had been going on during my absence. One of our officers had become annexed to a wealthy señorita of the place, and the marriage-ceremony had been performed with great pomp and splendour. Another was talked of as being fiancé; and it was expected that the example would find numerous imitators.

I need not say that I was much interested by these novedades and I returned with lighter heart to the ranger-camp.

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