"What you say is unfortunately only too true; we are reduced to reckon on ourselves alone."
"Now, if we obstinately shut ourselves up in the town, it is evident to me that we shall be compelled eventually to surrender. As the insurgents are masters of the sea, it is a mere question of time. On the other hand, if we quit it of our free will, the position will be singularly simplified."
"But, in that case, we shall be compelled to treat with these scoundrels?"
"I thought so for an instant; but I believe we can easily avoid that misfortune."
"In what way? speak, speak, my friend."
"The flag of truce the insurgents send you, will not arrive at the cabildo till nine in the morning; what prevents you, General, evacuating the town, ere he makes his appearance?"
"Hum!" said the General, growing more and more attentive to the young man's remarks. "Then you propose flight to me?"
"Not at all," the Colonel retorted; "remember, General, that the position is admitted, that in war, recoiling is not flying. If we render ourselves masters of the country by leaving the town to the insurgents, by this skilful retreat we place them in the difficult position in which we are today. In the open plains, and through our discipline, we shall be enabled to hold our own against a force four times our strength, which would not be possible here; then, when we have obtained those reinforcements Santa Anna will probably himself bring us ere long, we will re-enter Galveston, which the insurgents will not attempt to defend against us. Such is my opinion, General, and the plan I should adopt, had I the honour to be Governor of this State."
"Yes," the General answered, "the advice you offer would have some chance of success, were it possible to follow it. Unluckily, it would be madness to reckon on Santa Anna's support: he would allow us to be crushed, not perhaps of his own will, but compelled by circumstances, and impeded by the constant obstacles the Senate creates for him."
"I cannot share your opinion on that point, General; be well assured that the Senate, ill-disposed though it may be to the President of the Republic, is no more desirous to lose Texas than he is. Besides, under the present circumstances, we must make a virtue of necessity; it would be great madness for us to await here the enemy's attack."
The General seemed to hesitate for some minutes, then, suddenly forming a determination, he rang a bell. An aide-de-camp appeared.
"Let all the general officers assemble here within half an hour," he said. "Begone."
The aide-de-camp bowed, and left the room.
"You wish it," the General continued, turning to the Colonel; "well, be it so. I consent to follow your advice. Besides, it is, perhaps, the only chance of safety left us at this moment."
In Europe, where we are accustomed to see great masses of men come in contact on the field of battle, it would cause a smile to hear the name of army given to what, among us, would not even be a regiment. But we must bear in mind that the new world, excepting North America, is very sparely populated; the inhabitants are scattered over immense districts, and the most imposing regular forces rarely attain the number of five or six thousand men. An army is usually composed of fifteen to eighteen hundred troops, all told, infantry, cavalry, and artillery. And what soldiers! ignorant, badly paid, badly armed, only half obeying their Chiefs, whom they know to be as ignorant as themselves, and in whom they naturally have not the slightest confidence.
In Mexico, the military profession, far from being honoured as it is in Europe, is, on the contrary, despised, so that the officers and soldiers are generally blemished men to whom every other career would be closed. The officers, with a few honourable exceptions, are men ruined by debt and in reputation, whose ignorance of their profession is so great, that one of our sergeants could give them lessons. As for the soldiers, they are only recruited among the leperos, thieves, and assassins. Hence the army is a real scourge for the country. It is the army that makes and unmakes the Governments, which succeed each other with perfectly headlong rapidity in Mexico; for, since its pretended emancipation, this unhappy country has witnessed nearly three hundred pronunciamentos, all organised in the army, and carried through for the benefit of the officers, whose only object is to be promoted.
Still, what we say is not absolute. We have known several Mexican officers, highly educated and honourable men; unluckily their number is so limited, that they are impotent to remedy the evil, and are constrained to put up with what they cannot prevent. General Rubio was undeniably one of the most honourable officers in the Mexican army. Still, we have seen that he did not hesitate to plunder the very persons whom his duty obliged him to protect against all annoyance. My readers can judge by this example, selected from a thousand, what tricks the other Generals play.
The corps d'armée placed under the command of General Rubio, and shut up with him in Galveston, only amounted to nine hundred and fifty officers and men, to whom might be found at a given signal some three hundred lanceros scattered in little posts of observation along the coast. Though incapable of effectually defending the town, this force, well directed, might hold in check for a long time the worse armed, and certainly worse disciplined insurgents.
The General had rapidly seen the value of the Colonel's advice. The plan the latter proposed was, in truth, the only practicable one, and hence he accepted it at once. Still, it was necessary to act with vigour; the sun was rising, and the coming day was Sunday; hence it was important that the army should have evacuated the town before the end of mass, that is to say, eleven in the morning, for the following reason:
In all the slave states, and especially in Texas, a strange custom exists, reminding us distantly of the Lupercalia of ancient Rome. On a Sunday masters grant their slaves entire liberty; one day in seven is certainly not much; but it is a great deal for the Southern States, where slavery is so sternly and strictly established. These poor slaves, who seek compensation for six days of hard servitude, enjoy with childish delight their few holiday hours: not caring a whit for the torrid heat that transforms the streets into perfect ovens, they spread over the town singing, dancing, or galloping at full speed in carts belonging to their masters which they have appropriated. On this day the town belongs to them, they behave almost as they please, no one interfering or trying to check their frolic.
General Rubio rightly feared lest the merchants of Galveston, whom he had so cleverly compelled to disgorge, might try to take their revenge by exciting the slaves to mutiny against the Mexicans, and they would probably be ready enough to do so, delighted at finding a pretext for disorder, without troubling themselves further as to the more or less grave results of their mutiny. Hence, while his aide-de-camp performed the commission he had entrusted to him, General Rubio ordered Colonel Melendez to take with him all the soldiers on duty at the Cabildo, place himself at their head, and seize the requisite number of boats for the transport of the troops to the main land.
This order was not difficult to execute. The Colonel, without losing a moment, went to the port, and not experiencing the slightest opposition from the captains and masters of the vessels, who were well aware, besides, that a refusal would not be listened to, assembled a flotilla of fifteen light vessels, amply sufficient for the transport of the garrison. In the meanwhile, the aide-de-camp had performed his duties with intelligence and celerity, so that within twenty minutes all the Mexican officers were collected at the General's house.
The latter, without losing a moment, explained to them in a voice that admitted of no reply, the position in which the capture of the fort placed the garrison, the necessity of not letting the communication with the mainland be cut off, and his intention of evacuating the town with the least possible delay. The officers, as the General expected, were unanimous in applauding his resolution, for in their hearts they were not at all anxious to sustain a siege in which only hard blows could be received. Taking the field pleased them, on the contrary, for many reasons: in the first place, the pillage of the estancias and the haciendas offered them great profits, and then they had a hope of taking a brilliant revenge on the insurgents for the numerous defeats the latter had inflicted on them since they had been immured in the town.
Orders were therefore immediately given by the General to march the troops down to the quay with arms and baggage; still, in order to avoid any cause for disorder, the movement was executed very slowly, and the Colonel, who presided over the embarkation, was careful to establish numerous posts at the entrance of each street leading to the port, so that the populace were kept away from the soldiers, and no disputes were possible between them. So soon as one boat had its complement of troops on board it pushed off, though it did not start, as the General wished the entire flotilla to leave the town together.
It was a magnificent day, the sun dazzled, and the bay sparkled like a burning-glass. The people, kept at a distance by the bayonets of the soldiers, watched in gloomy silence the embarkation of the troops. Alarmed by this movement, which they did not at all understand, and were so far from suspecting the departure of the Mexican garrison, that they supposed, on the contrary, that the General was proceeding with a portion of his troops to make an expedition against the insurgents.
When all the soldiers, with the exception of those intended to protect the retreat of their comrades, had embarked, the General sent for the alcade mayor, the Juez de letras, and the corregidor. These magistrates came to the General, concealing, but poorly, under a feigned eagerness, the secret alarm caused them by the order they had just received. In spite of the rapidity with which the troops effected their embarkation, it was by this time nearly nine o'clock. At the moment when the General was preparing to address the magistrates whom he had so unexpectedly convened, Colonel Melendez entered the cabildo, and after bowing respectfully to the Governor, said—
"General, the person to whom I had the honour of referring last night is awaiting your good pleasure."
"Ah! Ah!" the General replied, biting his moustache with an ironical air, "Is he there, then?"
"Yes, General; I have promised to act as his introducer to your Excellency."
"Very good. Request the person to enter."
"What!" the Colonel exclaimed, in surprise, "Does your Excellency intend to confer with him in the presence of witnesses?"
"Certainly, and I regret there are not more here. Bring in the person, my dear Colonel."
"Has your Excellency carefully reflected on the order you have done me the honour to give me?"
"Hang it! I should think so. I am sure you will be satisfied with what I am about to do."
"As you insist, General," the Colonel said with marked hesitation, "I can only obey."
"Yes, yes, my friend, obey; do not be uneasy, I tell you."
The Colonel withdrew without any further remark, and in a few moments returned, bringing John Davis with him. The American had changed his dress for one more appropriate to the circumstances. His demeanour was grave, and step haughty, though not arrogant. On entering the room he bowed to the General courteously, and prepared to address him. General Rubio returned his bow with equal courtesy, but stopped him by a sign.
"Pardon me, sir," he said to him, "be kind enough to excuse me for a few moments. Perhaps, after listening to what I shall have the honour of saying to these Caballeros, you will consider your mission to me as finished."
The American made no further reply than a bow, and waited.
"Señores," the General then said, addressing the magistrates, "orders I have this moment received compel me to leave the town at once with the troops I have the honour to command. During my absence I entrust the direction of affairs to you, feeling convinced that you will act in all things prudently and for the common welfare. Still, you must be cautious not to let yourselves be influenced by evil counsels, or led by certain passions to which I will not allude now, particularly here. On my return, which will not be long delayed, I shall ask of you a strict account of your acts during my absence. Weigh my words carefully, and be assured that nothing you may do will be concealed from me."
"Then, General," the Alcade said, "that is the motive of the movement of the troops we have witnessed this morning. Do you really intend to depart?"
"You have heard me, Señor."
"Yes, I have heard you, General; but in my turn, in my capacity as magistrate, I will ask you by what right you, the military governor of the state, leave one of its principal ports to its own resources in the present critical state of affairs, when the revolution is before our gates, and make not the slightest attempt to defend us? Is it really acting as defenders of this hapless town thus to withdraw, leaving it, after your departure, a prey to that anarchy which, as you are aware, only the presence of your forces has hitherto prevented breaking out? The burden you wish to lay upon us, General, we decline to accept; we will not assume the responsibility of so heavy a task; we cannot bear the penalty of another person's faults. The last Mexican soldier will scarcely have left the town, ere we shall have handed in our resignations, not being at all desirous to sacrifice ourselves for a government whose conduct toward us is stamped with egotism and cold-blooded cruelty. That is what I have to say to you in my name and in that of my colleagues. Now, in your turn, you will act as you think proper, but you are warned that you can in no way reckon upon us."
"Ah, ah, Señores!" the General exclaimed, with an angry frown, "Is that the way you venture to act? Take care, I have not gone yet; I am still master of Galveston, and can institute a severe example before my departure."
"Do so, General, we will undergo without a murmur any punishment you may please to inflict on us, even were it death."
"Very good," the General replied, in a voice quivering with passion; "as it is so, I leave you free to act, according to circumstances. But you will have a severe account to render to me, and that perhaps shortly."
"Not we, Excellency, for your departure will be the signal of our resignation."
"Then you have made up your mind to plunge the country into anarchy?"
"What can we do? What means have we to prevent it? No, no, General, we are not the persons who deserve reproach."
General Rubio in his heart felt the logic of this reasoning; he saw perfectly well how egotistic and cruel his conduct was toward the townsmen, whom he thus surrendered, without any means of defence, to the fury of the popular passion. Unfortunately, the position was no longer tenable—the town could not be defended, hence he must depart, without answering the decade; for what reply could he have made him? The General gave his aides-de-camp a sign to follow him, and prepared to leave the cabildo.
"Pardon me for detaining you for a moment, General," John Davis said: "but I should have liked to have a short conversation with your Excellency, prior to your departure."
"For what good object, sir?" the General answered, sharply; "did you not hear what was said in this room? Return to those who sent you, and report to them what you have seen, that will be sufficient."
"Still, General," he urged, "I should have desired—"
"What?" the General interrupted, and then added, ironically, "To make me proposals, I presume, on the part of the insurgents. Know, sir, that whatever may happen, I will never consent to treat with rebels. Thank Colonel Melendez, who was kind enough to introduce you to my presence. Had it not been for his intervention I should have had you hung as a traitor to your country. Begone!—or stay!" he added, on reflection; "I will not leave you here after I am gone. Seize this man!"
"General, take care," the American replied. "I am intrusted with a mission; arresting me is a violation of the law of nations."
"Nonsense, sir," the General continued, with a shrug of his shoulders, "why, you must be mad? Do I recognize the right of the persons from whom you come to send me a flag of truce? Do I know who you are? Viva Dios! In what age are we living, then, that rebels dare to treat on equal terms with the government against which they have revolted? You are my prisoner, sir! But be at your ease I have no intention of ill-treating you, or retaining you any length of time. You will accompany us to the mainland, that is all. When we have arrived there you will be free to go wherever you please; so you see, sir, that those Mexicans, whom you like to represent in such dark colours, are not quite so ferocious as you would have them supposed."
"We have always rendered justice to your heart and loyalty, General."
"I care very little for the opinion you and yours have of me. Come on, sir."
"I protest, General, against this illegal arrest."
"Protest as much as you please, sir, but follow me!"
As resistance would have been madness, Davis obeyed.
"Well," he said, with a laugh, "I follow you, General. After all, I have not much cause to complain, for everything is fair in war."
They went out. In spite of the dazzling brilliancy of the sun, whose beams spread a tropical heat through the town, the entire population encumbered the streets and squares. The multitude was silent, however; it witnessed with calm stoicism the departure of the Mexican army; not an effort was attempted by the people to break the cordon of sentries drawn up on the fort. When the General appeared, the crowd made way respectfully to let him pass, and many persons saluted him.
The inhabitants of Galveston detested the Mexican Government; but they did justice to the Governor, whose honest and moderate administration had effectually protected them during the whole time he remained among them, instead of taking advantage of his authority to plunder and tyrannize over them. They saw with pleasure the departure of the troops, with sorrow that of the General. The old soldier advanced with a calm step, talking loudly with his officers, and courteously returning the bows he received, with smiling face and assured demeanour. He reached the port in a few minutes, and at his order the last soldiers embarked. The General, with no other weapon but his sword, remained for some minutes almost alone in the midst of the crowd that followed him to the quay. Two aides-de-camp alone accompanied him. John Davis had already entered a boat, which took him on board the schooner, in which the General himself intended to cross.
"General," one of the aides-de-camp said, "all the troops have embarked, and we are now only waiting your Excellency's pleasure."
"Very good, Captain," he answered. He then turned to the magistrates, who had walked by his side from the cabildo. "Farewell, señores," he said, taking off his hat, whose white plumes swept the ground, "farewell, till we meet again. I pray Heaven, from my heart, that, during my short absence, you will be enabled to avoid the scenes of disorder and anarchy which the effervescence of parties too often occasions. We shall meet again sooner than you may possibly suppose. Long live Mexico!"
"Long live Mexico!" the two officers shouted.
The crowd remained dumb; not a man took up the General's shout. He shook his head sadly, bowed for the last time, and went down into the boat waiting for him. Two minutes later the Mexican flotilla had left Galveston.
"When shall we return?" the General muttered, sadly, with eyes fixed on the town, whose buildings were slowly disappearing from sight.
"Never!" John Davis whispered in his ear; and this prophetic voice affected the old soldier to the depth of his heart, and filled it with bitterness.
The Mexican flotilla, impelled by a favourable breeze, accomplished the passage from the island to the mainland in a comparatively very brief period. The brig and corvette, anchored under the battery of the fort, made no move to disturb the General; and it was evident that the Texans did not suspect the events taking place at this moment, but awaited the return of their Envoy ere making any demonstration.
Colonel Melendez had seized the few boats capable of standing out to sea in Galveston harbour, so that the magistrates could not, had they wished it, have sent a boat to the Texans to inform them of the precipitate departure of the Mexican garrison. The General's resolution had been formed so suddenly, and executed with such rapidity, that the partisans of the revolution in the town, and who were ignorant of the cause of that retreat, felt singularly embarrassed by the liberty so singularly granted them, and did not know what arrangements to make, or how to enter into communication with their friends, whose position they were ignorant of. Only one man could have enlightened them, and he was John Davis. But General Rubio, foreseeing what would have inevitably happened had he left the ex-slave dealer behind him, had been very careful to carry him off with him.
The landing of the troops was effected under the most favourable conditions. The point they steered for was in the hands of the Mexicans, who had a strong detachment there, so that the army got ashore without arousing the slightest suspicion, or any attempt to prevent the landing. The General's first care, so soon as he reached the mainland, was to send off spies in every direction, in order to discover, were it possible, the enemy's plans, and whether they were preparing to make a forward movement.
The boats which had been used to convey the troops were, till further orders, drawn up on the beach, through fear lest the insurgents might make use of them. Two schooners, however, on each of which two guns were put, received orders to cruise in the bay, and pick up all boats the inhabitants of Galveston might attempt to send off to the Chief of the Texan army.
The banks of the Rio Trinidad are charming and deliciously diversified, bordered by rushes and reeds, and covered with mangroves, amid which sport thousands of flamingoes, cranes, herons, and wild ducks, which cackle noisily as they swim about in tranquil and transparent waters. About four miles from the sea, the banks rise gradually with insensible undulations, and form meadows covered with a tall and tufted grass, on which grow gigantic mahogany trees with their oblong leaves, and Peru trees with their red fruit, and magnolias, whose large white flowers shed an intoxicating perfume. All these trees, fastened together by lianas which envelop them in their inextricable network, serve as a retreat for a population of red and grey squirrels, that may be seen perpetually leaping from branch to branch, and of cardinal and mocking birds. The centzontle, the exquisite Mexican nightingale, so soon as night arrives, causes this picturesque solitude to re-echo with its gentle strains.
On the side of a hill that descends in a gentle slope to the river, glisten the white walls of some twenty cottages, with their flat roofs and green shutters, hanging in clusters from the scarped side of the hill, and hidden like timorous birds amid the foliage. These few cottages, built so far from the noise of the world, constitute the rancho of San Isidro.
Unfortunately for the inhabitants of this obscure nook, General Rubio, who felt the necessity of choosing for the site of his camp a strong strategic position, came suddenly to trouble their peace, and recall them rather roughly to the affairs of this world. In fact, from this species of eagles' nests, nothing was easier than for the General to send his columns in all directions. The Mexican army, therefore, marched straight on the rancho of San Isidro, where it arrived about midday. At the unexpected appearance of the troops, the inhabitants were so terrified that, hastily loading themselves with their most valuable articles, they left their houses and fled to hide themselves in the woods.
Whatever efforts the General might make to prevent them, or bring them back to their houses, the poor Indians offered a deaf ear to all, and were resolved not to remain in the vicinity of the troops. The Mexicans therefore remained sole possessors of the rancho, and at once installed themselves in their peaceful conquest, whose appearance was completely changed within a few hours. Tall trees, flowers, and lianas, nothing was respected. Enormous masses of wood lay that same evening on the ground, which they had so long protected with their beneficent shadow. The very birds were constrained to quit their pleasant retreat, to seek a shelter in the neighbouring forest.
When all the approaches to the forest had been cleared for a radius of about twelve hundred yards, the General had the place surrounded by powerful barricades, which transformed the peaceful village into a fortress almost impregnable, with the weak resources the insurgents possessed. The trees on the interior of the rancho were alone left standing, not for the purpose of affording, but to conceal from the enemy the strength of the corps encamped at this spot.
The house of the Indian Alcade, somewhat larger and more comfortably built than the rest, was selected by the General as headquarters. This house stood in the centre of the pueblo; from its azotea the country could be surveyed for a great distance, and no movement in Galveston roads escaped notice. The Texans could not stir without being immediately discovered and signaled by the sentry, whom the General was careful to place in this improvised observatory.
At sunset all the preliminary preparations were finished, and the rancho rendered safe against a coup de main. About seven in the evening the General, after listening to the report of the spies, was sitting in front of the house in the shadow of a magnificent magnolia, whose graceful branches crossed above his head. He was smoking a papillo, while conversing with several of his officers, when an aide-de-camp came up and told him that the person who had come to him that morning from the rebels, earnestly requested the favour of a few minutes' conversation. The General gave an angry start, and was about to refuse, when Colonel Melendez interposed, representing to the General that he could not do so without breaking his word, which he had himself pledged in the morning.
"As it is so," the General said, "let him come."
"Why," the Colonel continued, "refuse to listen to the propositions this man is authorized to offer you?"
"What good is it at this moment? There is always a time to do so if circumstances compel it. Now our situation is excellent; we have not to accept proposals, but, on the contrary, are in a position to impose those that may suit us."
These words were uttered in a tone that compelled the Colonel to silence; he bowed respectfully, and withdrew softly from the circle of officers. At the same moment John Davis arrived, led by the aide-de-camp. The American's face was gloomy and frowning; he saluted the General by raising his hand to his hat, but did not remove it; then he drew himself up haughtily and crossed his hands on his chest. The General regarded him for a moment with repressed curiosity.
"What do you want?" he asked him.
"The fulfilment of your promise," Davis replied drily.
"I do not understand you."
"What do you say? When you made me a prisoner this morning, in contempt of the military code and the laws of nations, did you not tell me that so soon as we reached the mainland, the liberty you had deprived me of by an unworthy abuse of strength, would be immediately restored to me?"
"I did say so," the General answered meekly.
"Well, I demand the fulfilment of that promise; I ought to have left your camp long ago."
"Did you not tell me that you were deputed to me by the rebel army, in order to submit certain propositions?"
"Yes, but you refused to hear me."
"Because the moment was not favourable for such a communication. Imperious duties prevented me then giving your words all the attention that they doubtless deserve."
"Well, and now?"
"Now I am ready to listen to you."
The American looked at the officers that surrounded him.
"Before all these persons?" he asked.
"Why not? These Caballeros belong to the staff of my army, they are as interested as I am in this interview."
"Perhaps so: still, I would observe, General, that it would be better for our discussion to be private."
"I am the sole judge, Señor, of the propriety of my actions. If it please you to be silent, be so; if not, speak, I am listening."
"There is one thing I wish to settle first."
"What is it?"
"Do you regard me as an envoy, or merely as your prisoner?"
"Why this question, whose purport I do not understand?"
"Pardon me, General," he said with an ironical smile, "but you understand me perfectly well, and so do these Caballeros—if a prisoner, you have the right to force silence upon me; as a deputy, on the other hand, I enjoy certain immunities, under, the protection of which I can speak frankly and clearly, and no one can bid me be silent, so long as I do not go beyond the limits of my mission. That is the reason why I wish first to settle my position with you."
"Your position has not changed to my knowledge. You are an envoy of rebels."
"Oh, you recognise it now?"
"I always did so."
"Why did you make me a prisoner, then?"
"You are shifting the question. I explained to you a moment ago, for what reason I was, to my great regret, compelled to defer our interview till a more favourable moment, that is all."
"Very good, I am willing to admit it. Be kind enough, General, to read this letter," he added, as he drew from his pocket a large envelope, which, at a sign from the General, he handed to him.
Night had fallen some time before, and two soldiers brought up torches of acote-wood, which one of the aides-de-camp lit. The General opened the letter and read it attentively, by the ruddy light of the torches. When he had finished reading, he folded up the letter again pensively, and thrust it into the breast of his uniform. There was a moment's silence, which the General at last broke.
"Who is the man who gave you this letter?"
"Did you not read his signature?"
"He may have employed a go-between."
"With me, that is not necessary."
"Then, he is here?"
"I have not to tell you who sent me, but merely discuss with you the proposals contained in the letter."
The General gave a passionate start.
"Reply, Señor, to the questions I do you the honour of asking you," he said, "if you do not wish to have reasons for repenting."
"What is the use of threatening me, General? You will learn nothing from me," he answered firmly.
"As it is so, listen to me attentively, and carefully weigh your answer, before opening your mouth to give it."
"Speak, General."
"This moment,—you understand, this moment, Señor, you will confess to me, where the man is who gave you this letter, if not—"
"Well?" the American nominally interrupted.
"Within ten minutes you will be hanging from a branch of that tree, close to you."
Davis gave him a disdainful glance.
"On my soul," he said ironically, "you Mexicans have a strange way of treating envoys."
"I do not recognise the right of a scoundrel, who is outlawed for his crimes, and whose head is justly forfeited, to send me envoys, and treat with me on an equal footing."
"The man whom you seek in vain to brand, General, is a man of heart, as you know better than anybody else. But gratitude is as offensive to you as it is to all haughty minds, and you cannot forgive the person to whom we allude, for having saved, not only your life, but also your honour."
John Davis might have gone on speaking much longer, for the General, who was as pale as a corpse, and whose features were contracted by a terrible emotion he sought in vain to master, seemed incapable of uttering a syllable. Colonel Melendez had quietly approached the circle. For some minutes he had listened to the words the speakers interchanged, with gradually augmenting passion; judging it necessary, therefore, to interpose ere matters had reached such a point as rendered any hope of conciliation impossible, he said to John Davis, as he laid his hand on his shoulder:
"Silence! You are under the lion's claw, take care that it does not rend you."
"Under the tiger's claw you mean, Colonel Melendez," he exclaimed, with much animation. "What! Shall I listen calmly to an insult offered the noblest heart, the greatest man, the most devoted and sincere patriot, and not attempt to defend him and confound his calumniator? Come, Colonel, that would be cowardice, and you know me well enough to feel assured that no consideration of personal safety would force me to do so."
"Enough," the General interrupted him, in a loud voice, "that man is right; under the influence of painful reminiscences I uttered words that I sincerely regret. I should wish them forgotten."
John Davis bowed courteously.
"General," he said, respectfully, "I thank you for this retraction; I expected nothing less from your sense of honour."
The General made no answer; he walked rapidly up and down, suffering from a violent agitation.
The officers, astonished at this strange scene, which they did not at all understand, looked restlessly at each other, though not venturing to express their surprise otherwise. The General walked up to John Davis and stopped in front of him.
"Master Davis," he said to him, in a harsh and snapping voice, "you are a stout-hearted and rough-spoken man. Enough of this; return to the man who sent you, and tell him this: 'General Don José Maria Rubio will not consent to enter into any relations with you; he hates you personally, and only wishes to meet you sword in hand. No political question will be discussed between you and him until you have consented to give him the satisfaction he demands.' Engrave these words well in your memory, Señor, in order to repeat them exactly to the said person."
"I will repeat them exactly."
"Very good. Now, begone, we have nothing more to say to each other. Colonel Melendez, be good enough to give this Caballero a horse, and accompany him to the outposts."
"One word more, General."
"Speak."
"In what way shall I bring you the person's answer?"
"Bring it yourself, if you are not afraid to enter my camp a second time."
"You are well aware that I fear nothing, General. I will bring you the answer."
"I wish it; good-bye."
"Farewell," the American answered.
And bowing to the company, he withdrew, accompanied by the Colonel.
"You played a dangerous game," the latter said, when they had gone a few steps; "the General might very easily have had you hung."
The American shrugged his shoulders.
"He would not have dared," he said, disdainfully.
"Oh, oh! and why not, if you please?"
"How does that concern you, Colonel; am I not free?"
"You are."
"That must be sufficient for you, and prove to you that I am not mistaken."
The Colonel led the American to his quarters, and asked him to walk in for a moment, while a horse was being got ready.
"Master Davis," he said to him, "be good enough to select from those weapons, whose excellence I guarantee, such as best suit you."
"Why so?" he remarked.
"Confound it! you are going to travel by night; you do not know whom you may meet. I fancy that under such circumstances it is prudent to take certain precautions."
The two men exchanged a glance; they understood each other.
"That is true," the American said, carelessly; "now that I come to think of it, the roads are not safe. As you permit me, I will take these pistols, this rifle, machete, and knife."
"As you please, but pray take some ammunition as well; without that your firearms would be of no service."
"By Jove! Colonel, you think of everything, you are really an excellent fellow," he added, while carelessly loading his rifle and pistols, and fastening to his belt a powder flask and bullet pouch.
"You overwhelm me, Master Davis; I am only doing now what you would do in my place."
"Agreed. But you display a graciousness which confuses me."
"A truce, if you please, to further compliments. Here is your horse, which my assistant is bringing up."
"But he is leading a second; do you intend to accompany me beyond the advanced posts?"
"Oh, only for a few yards, if my company does not seem to you too wearisome."
"Oh, Colonel, I shall always be delighted to have you for a companion."
All these remarks were made with an accent Of excessive courtesy, in which, however, could be traced an almost imperceptible tinge of fun and biting raillery. The two men left the house and mounted their horses. The night was limpid and clear; millions of stars sparkled in the sky, which seemed studded with diamonds; the moon spread afar its white and fantastic light; the mysterious night breeze bowed the tufted crests of the trees, and softly rippled the silvery waters of the Rio Trinidad, as they died away amorously on the bank.
The two men walked side by side, passing without being challenged by the sentinels, who, at a signal from the Colonel, respectfully stepped back. They soon descended the hill, passed the main guard, and found themselves in the open country. Each of them yielded to the voluptuous calmness of nature, and seemed no longer to be thinking of his comrade. They proceeded thus for more than an hour, and reached a spot where two paths, in crossing, formed a species of fork, in the centre of which stood a cross of evil omen, probably erected in memory of a murder formerly committed at this solitary spot.
As if by common accord, the two horses stopped and thrust out their heads, while laying back their ears and snorting loudly. Suddenly aroused from their reveries and recalled to actual life, the two riders drew themselves up in the saddle, and bent a scrutinising glance around. No human sound disturbed the silence; all around was calm and deserted as in the first days of creation.
"Do you intend, my dear Colonel," the American asked, "to honour me with your charming society any longer?"
"No," the young man answered, bluntly; "I shall stop here."
"Ah!" John Davis continued, with feigned disappointment, "shall we part already?"
"Oh no," the Colonel answered, "not yet."
"In spite of the extreme pleasure I should feel in remaining longer in your company, I am obliged to continue my journey."
"Oh, you will surely grant me a few moments, Master Davis?" the other said, with an emphasis on each syllable.
"Well, a few moments, but no more; for I have a long distance to go, and whatever pleasure I feel in conversing with you—"
"You alone," the Colonel interrupted him, "shall decide the time we shall remain together."
"It is impossible to display greater courtesy."
"Master Davis," the Colonel said, raising his voice, "have you forgotten the last conversation we had together?"
"My dear Colonel, you must know me well enough to be sure that I only forget those things which I ought not to remember."
"Which means?"
"That I perfectly well remember the conversation to which you allude."
"All the better. In that case your excellent memory spares me half the trouble, and we shall soon come to an understanding."
"I believe so."
"Do you not find the spot where we are admirably adapted for what we have to do?"
"I consider it delicious, my dear Colonel."
"Then, with your consent, we will dismount?"
"At your orders; there is nothing I detest so much as a lengthened conversation on horseback."
They leaped to the ground and tied up their horses.
"Do you take your rifle?" the American inquired.
"Yes, if you have no objection."
"Not at all. Then we are going to see some sport?"
"Oh yes, but on this occasion the game will be human."
"Which will add greatly to the interest of the sport."
"Come, you are a delightful comrade, Master Davis."
"What would you, Colonel? I never was able to refuse my friends anything."
"Where shall we place ourselves?"
"I trust to you entirely for that."
"Look! On each side the road are bushes, which seem to have grown for the express purpose."
"That is really singular. Well, we will each hide behind one of the bushes, count ten, and then fire."
"First-rate; but suppose we miss? I am perfectly well aware that we are both first-rate marksmen, and that is almost impossible; but it might happen."
"In that case nothing is more simple: we will draw our machetes and charge each other."
"Agreed. Stay, one word more; one of us must remain on the ground, I suppose?"
"I should think so. If not, what would be the use of fighting?"
"That is true; so promise me one thing."
"What is it?"
"The survivor will throw the body into the river."
"Hum! Then you are very desirous that I should not come to life again?"
"Well, you can understand—"
"All right, that is agreed."
"Thank you."
The two men bowed, and then went off in opposite directions, to take up their stations. The distance between them was about seventy yards; in a few seconds a double detonation burst forth like a clap of thunder, and woke up the echoes. The two adversaries then rushed on each other, machete in hand. They met nearly half way, and not uttering a word, attacked each other furiously.
The combat lasted a long time, and threatened to continue longer, without any marked advantage for either of the champions, for they were nearly of equal strength, when all at once several men appeared, and, aiming at the two adversaries, ordered them to lay down their arms immediately. Each fell back a step, and waited.
"Stop!" the man shouted, who seemed to be the Chief of the newcomers; "do you, John Davis, mount your horse and be off!"
"By what right do you give me that order?" the American asked, savagely.
"By the right of the stronger," the leader replied. "Be off, if you do not wish a misfortune to happen to you!"
John Davis looked around him. Any resistance was impossible—for what could he have done alone, merely armed with a sabre, against twenty individuals? The American stifled an oath, and mounted again, but suddenly reflecting, he asked, "And who may you be, who thus pretend to dictate to me?"
"You wish to know?"
"Yes."
"Well, I am a man to whom you and Colonel Melendez offered an atrocious insult. I am the Monk Antonio!"
At this name the two adversaries felt a thrill of terror run through their veins; without doubt the monk was about to avenge himself, now that in his turn he had them in his power.
John Davis recovered almost immediately.
"Ah, ah!" he said, "Then it is you, my master?"
"It astonishes you to meet me here."
"On my honour, no. Your place, in my opinion, is wherever a snare is laid; hence nothing is more natural than your presence."
"It is wrong, John Davis, for a man to take advantage of his weakness to insult people, especially when he is ignorant of their intentions."
"Ah, they appear to me tolerably clear at this moment."
"You might be mistaken."
"I do not believe it. However, I shall soon be certain."
"What are you doing?"
"As you see, I am dismounting."
In fact, the American leapt from his horse, drew his pistols from the holsters, and walked toward the monk with a most quiet step and thoroughly natural air.
"Why do you not go, as I advised you to do?" Fray Antonio continued.
"For two reasons, my dear Señor. The first is, that I have no orders or advice to receive from you; the second, because I shall not be sorry to be present at the pretty little act of scoundrelism you are of course meditating."
"Then your intention is—"
"To defend my friend, by Heaven!" the American exclaimed, warmly.
"What! your friend?" the monk said, in amazement: "why, only a minute ago you were trying to take his life."
"My dear Señor," Davis remarked, ironically, "there are certain remarks whose sense you unhappily never catch. Understand me clearly: I am ready to kill this gentleman, but I will not consent to see him assassinated. That is clear enough, hang it all!"
Fray Antonio burst into a laugh.
"Singular man!" he said.
"Am I not?" Then turning to his adversary, who still stood perfectly quiet, he continued: "My dear Colonel, we will resume, at a later date, the interesting interview which this worthy Padre so untowardly interrupted. For the present, permit me to restore you one of the pistols you so generously lent me; it is undoubted that these scamps will kill us; but, at any rate, we shall have the pleasure of settling three or four of them first."
"Thank you, Davis," the Colonel answered, "I expected nothing less from you. I accept your proposition as frankly as you make it."
And he took the pistol, and cocked it. The American took his place by his side, and bowed to the stranger with mocking courtesy.
"Señores," he said, "you can charge us whenever you think proper, for we are prepared to sustain your charge bravely."
"Ah, ah!" said Fray Antonio, "Then you really mean it?"
"What!—mean it? The question seems to me somewhat simple; I suppose you think the hour and place well chosen for a joke?"
The monk shrugged his shoulders, and turned to the men who accompanied him.
"Be off!" he said. "In an hour I will join you again, you know where."
The strangers gave a nod of assent, and disappeared almost instantaneously among the trees and shrubs. The monk then threw his weapons on the ground, and drew so near to the men as almost to touch them.
"Are you still afraid?" he said; "It is I now who am in your power."
"Halloh!" Davis said, as he uncocked his pistol, "why, what is the meaning of this?"
"If, instead of taking me as a bandit, as you did, you had taken the trouble to reflect, you would have understood that I had but one object, and that was, to prevent the resumption of the obstinate fight which my presence so fortunately interrupted."
"But how did you arrive here so opportunely?"
"Accident did it all. Ordered by our Commander-in-chief to watch the enemy's movements, I posted myself on the two roads, in order to take prisoner all the scouts who came in this direction."
"Then you do not owe either the Colonel or myself any grudge?"
"Perhaps," he said, with hesitation, "I have not quite forgotten the unworthy treatment you inflicted on me; but, at any rate, I have given up all thoughts of vengeance."
John Davis reflected for a moment, and then said, as he offered him his hand, "You are a worthy monk. I see that you are faithful to the pledge of amendment you made. I am sorry for what I did."
"I will say the same, Señor," the Colonel remarked; "I was far from expecting such generosity on your part."
"One word, now, Señores."
"Speak," they said, "we are listening."
"Promise me not to renew that impious duel, and follow my example by forgetting your hatred."
The two men stretched out their hand with a simultaneous movement.
"That is well," he continued, "I am happy to see you act thus. Now let us separate. You, Colonel, will mount and return to camp—the road is free, and no one will try to oppose your passing. As for you, John Davis, please to follow me. Your long absence has caused a degree of alarm which your presence will doubtless dissipate. I had orders to try and obtain news of you."
"Good-bye for the present," the Colonel said; "forget, Señor Davis, what passed between us at the outset of our meeting, and merely remember the manner in which we separate."
"May we, Colonel, meet again under happier auspices, when I may be permitted to express to you all the sympathy with which your frank and loyal character inspires me."
After exchanging a few words more, and cordially shaking hands, the three men separated. Colonel Melendez set off at a gallop in the direction of the rancho, while the monk and Davis started at an equal pace in exactly the opposite direction. It was about midnight when the Colonel reached the main guard, where an aide-de-camp of the General was waiting for him. A certain degree of animation appeared to prevail in the rancho. Instead of sleeping, as they might be expected to be doing at so late an hour, the soldiers were traversing the streets in large numbers; in short, an extreme agitation was visible everywhere.
"What is the matter?" the Colonel asked the aide-de-camp.
"The General will tell you himself," the officer answered, "for he is impatiently expecting you, and has already asked several times for you."
"Oh, then, there is something new."
"I believe so."
The Colonel pushed on ahead, and in a few minutes found himself before the house occupied by the General. The house was full of noise and light; but so soon as the General perceived the young man, he left the officers with whom he was talking, and walked quickly toward him.
"Here you are at last," he said; "I was impatiently expecting you."
"What is the matter then?" the Colonel asked, astounded at this reception, which he was far from expecting, for he had left the camp so quiet, and found it on his return so noisy.
"You shall know, Señores," the General added addressing the officers in the room: "be kind enough not to go away. I shall be with you in an instant. Follow me, Colonel."
Don Juan bowed, and passed into an adjoining room, the door of which the General shut after him. Hardly were they alone, ere the General took the young man affectionately by one of his coat buttons, and fixed on him a glance that seemed trying to read the depths of his heart.
"Since your departure," he said, "we have had a visit from a friend of yours."
"A friend of mine?" the young man repeated.
"Or, at any rate, of a man who gives himself out as such."
"I only know one man in this country," the Colonel replied distinctly, "who, despite the opinions that divide us, can justly assume that title."
"And that man is?"
"The Jaguar."
"Do you feel a friendship for him?"
"Yes."
"But he is a bandit."
"Possibly he is so to you, General; from your point of sight, it is possible that you are right. I neither descry his character, nor condemn him; I am attached to him, for he saved my life."
"But you fight against him, for all that."
"Certainly; for being hurled into two opponent camps, each of us serves the cause that appears to him the better. But, for all that, we are not the less attached to each other in our hearts."
"I am not at all disposed to blame you, my friend, for our inclinations should be independent of our political opinions. But let us return to the subject which at this moment is the most interesting to us. A man, I say, presented himself during your absence at the outposts as being a friend of yours."
"That is strange," the Colonel muttered, searching his memory; "and did he mention his name?"
"Of course; do you think I would have received him else? However, he is in this very house, for I begged him to await your return."
"But his name, my dear General?"
"He calls himself Don Felix Paz."
"Oh," the Colonel exclaimed eagerly, "he spoke the truth, General, for he is really one of my dearest friends."
"Then we can place in him——"
"Full and entire confidence; I answer for him on my head," the young officer interrupted warmly.
"I am the more pleased at what you tell me, because this man assured me that he held in his hands means that would enable us to give the rebels a tremendous thrashing."
"If he has promised it, General, he will do so without doubt. I presume you have had a serious conversation with him?"
"Not at all. You understand, my friend, that I was not willing, till I had previously conversed with you, to listen to this man, who after all might have been a spy of the enemy."
"Capital reasoning; and what do you propose doing now?"
"Hearing him; he told me enough for me, in the prevision of what is happening at this moment, to have everything prepared for action at a moment's notice; hence no time will have been lost."
"Very good! We will listen to him then."
The General clapped his hands, and an aide-de-camp came in.
"Request Don Felix to come hither, Captain."
Five minutes later, the ex-Major-domo of the Larch-tree hacienda entered the room where the two officers were.
"Forgive me, Caballero," the General said courteously as he advanced to meet him, "for the rather cold manner in which I received you; but unfortunately we live in a period when it is so difficult to distinguish friends from enemies, that a man involuntarily runs the risk of confounding one with the other, and making a mistake."
"You have no occasion to apologise to me, General," Don Felix answered; "when I presented myself at your outposts in the way I did, I anticipated what would happen to me."
The Colonel pressed his friend's hand warmly. A lengthened explanation was unnecessary for men of this stamp; at the first word they understood each other. They had a lengthened conversation, which did not terminate till a late hour of the night, or rather an early hour of the morning, for it struck four at the moment when the General opened the door of the room in which they were shut up, and accompanied them, conversing in whispers, to thesaguanof the house.
What had occurred during this lengthened interview? No one knew; not a syllable transpired as to the arrangements made by the General with the two men who had remained so long with him. The officers and soldiers were suffering from the most lively curiosity, which was only increased by the General's orders to raise the camp.
Don Felix was conducted by the Colonel to the outermost post, where they separated after shaking hands and exchanging only one sentence—
"We shall meet again soon."
The Colonel then returned at a gallop to his quarters, while Don Felix buried himself in the forest as rapidly as his horse could carry him. On returning to camp, the Colonel at once ordered the boot and saddle to be sounded, and without waiting for further orders, put himself at the head of about five hundred cavalry, and left the rancho.
It was nearly five in the morning, the sun was rising in floods of purple and gold, and all seemed to promise a magnificent day. The General, who had mounted to his observatory, attentively followed with a telescope the movements of the Colonel, who, through the speed at which he went, not only got down the hill within a quarter of an hour, but had also crossed, without obstacle, a stream as wide as the Rio Trinidad itself. The General anxiously watched this operation, which is so awkward for an armed body of men; he saw the soldiers close up, and then, at a sign from the leader, this column stretched out like a serpent undoing its rings, went into the water, and cutting the rather strong current diagonally, reached the other bank in a few minutes, when, after a moment of inevitable tumult, the men formed their ranks again and entered a forest, where they were speedily lost from sight.
When the last lancero had disappeared, and the landscape had become quite desolate, the General shut up his glass, and went down again, apparently plunged in serious thought. We have said that the garrison of Galveston consisted of nine hundred men; but this strength had been raised to nearly fourteen hundred by calling in the numerous small posts scattered along the coast. Colonel Melendez had taken with him five hundred sabres the General left at the rancho, which he determined on retaining at all hazards as an important strategical point, two hundred and fifty men under the orders of a brave and experienced officer; and he had at his disposal about six hundred and fifty men, supported by a battery of four mountain howitzers.
This force, small as it may appear, in spite of the smile of contempt it will doubtless produce on the lips of Europeans accustomed to the shock of great masses, was more than sufficient for the country. It is true that the Texan army counted nearly four thousand combatants, but the majority of these men were badly-armed peasants, unskilled in the management of the warlike weapons which a movement of revolutionary fanaticism had caused them to take up, and incapable of sustaining in the open field the attack of skilled troops. Hence, in spite of his numerical inferiority, he reckoned greatly on the discipline and military education of his soldiers, to defeat this assemblage of men, who were more dangerous through their numbers than for any other reason.
The start from the rancho was effected with admirable regularity; the General had ordered that the baggage should be left behind, so that nothing might impede the march of the army. Each horseman, in accordance with the American fashion, which is too greatly despised in Europe, took up a foot soldier behind him, so that the speed of the army was doubled. Numerous spies and scouts sent out to reconnoitre in every direction, had announced that the Insurrectionary army, marching in two columns, was advancing to seize the mouth of the Trinidad and cover the approaches to Galveston, a movement which it was of the utmost importance to prevent; for, were it successful, the Insurgents would combine the movements of the vessels they had so advantageously seized with those of their army, and would be masters of a considerable extent of the seaboard, from which possibly the Mexican forces would not be strong enough to dislodge them. On the other hand, General Rubio had been advised that Santa Anna, President of the Republic, had left Mexico, and was coming with forced marches, at the head of twelve hundred men, to forcibly crush the Insurrection.
General Santa Anna has been very variously judged; some make him a profound politician and a thunderbolt of war; and he seems to have that opinion about himself, as he does not hesitate to say that he is the Napoleon of the New World; his enemies reproach him for his turbulence and his unbounded ambition; accuse him of too often keeping aloof from danger, and consider him an agitator without valour or morality. For our part, without attempting to form any judgment of this statesman, we will merely say in two words, that we are convinced he is the scourge of Mexico, whose ruin he accelerates, and one of the causes of the misfortunes which have for twenty years overwhelmed that ill-fated country.
General Rubio understood how important it was for him to deal a heavy blow before his junction with the President, who, while following his advice, would not fail, in the event of defeat, to attribute the reverses to him, while, if the Mexicans remained masters of the field, he would keep all the honour of victory to himself.
The Texan insurgents had not up to this moment dared to measure themselves with the Mexican troops in the open field, but the events that had succeeded each other during the last few days with lightning speed, had, by accelerating the catastrophe, completely changed the aspect of affairs. The Chiefs of the revolutionary army, rendered confident by their constant advantages, and masters without a blow of one of the principal Texan seaports, felt the necessity of giving up their hedge warfare, and consolidating their success by some brilliant exploit.
To attain this end, a battle must be gained; but the Texan Chiefs did not let themselves be deceived by the successes they had hitherto met with, successes obtained by rash strokes, surprises, and unexampled audacity; they feared with reason the moment when they would have to face the veteran Mexican troops with their inexperienced guerillas. Hence they sought by every means to retard the hour for this supreme and decisive contest, in which a few hours might eternally overthrow their dearest hopes, and the work of regeneration they had been pursuing for the last ten years with unparalleled courage and resignation. They desired, before definitively fighting the regulars, that their volunteers should have acquired that discipline and practice without which the largest and bravest army is only an heterogeneous compound of opposing elements, an agglomeration of men, possessing no consistency or real vitality.
After the capture of the fort a grand council had been held by the principal Texan Chiefs, in order to consult on the measures to be taken, so as not to lose, by any imprudence, results so miraculously obtained. It was then resolved that the army should occupy Galveston, which its position rendered perfectly secure against a surprise; that the freebooters should alone remain out to skirmish with the Mexicans and harass them; while the troops shut up in the town were being drilled, and receiving a regular and permanent organization.
The first care of the Chiefs, therefore, was to avoid any encounter with the enemy, and try to enter Galveston without fighting the Mexicans. The following was the respective position of the two armies; the Texans were trying to avoid a battle, which General Rubio was lodging, on the contrary, to fight. The terrain on which the adversaries would have to manoeuvre was extremely limited, for scarce four leagues separated the videttes of the two armies. From his observatory the General could clearly distinguish the camp fires of the rebels.
In the meanwhile Colonel Melendez had continued to advance; on reaching the cross where he and John Davis had fought so furiously on the previous evening, the Colonel himself examined the ground with the utmost care, then, feeling convinced that none of the enemy's flankers had remained ambushed at this spot, which was so favourable for a surprise, he gave his men orders to dismount. The horses were thrown down, secured, and their heads wrapped in thick blankets to prevent their neighing, and after all these precautions had been taken, the soldiers lay down on their stomachs among the shrubs, with instructions not to stir.
General Rubio had himself effected a flank march, which enabled him to avoid the crossways; immediately after descending the hill, he marched rapidly upon the river bank. We have said that the Rio Trinidad, which is rather confined at certain spots, is bordered by magnificent forests, whose branches form on the bank grand arcades of foliage overhanging the mangroves; it was among the latter, and on the branches of the forest trees, about two gunshots from the spot where he had landed, that the General ambuscaded about one-third of his infantry. The remainder, divided into two corps, were echeloned along either side of the road the Insurgents must follow, but it was done in the American fashion, that is to say, the men were so hidden in the tall grass that they were invisible.
The four mountain howitzers crowned a small hill which, through its position, completely commanded the road, while the cavalry was massed in the rear of the infantry. The silence momentarily disturbed was re-established, and the desert resumed its calm and solitary aspect. General Rubio had taken his measures so well that his army had suddenly become invisible.
When it was resolved in the council of the Texan Chiefs that the Insurrectionary army should proceed to Galveston, a rather sharp discussion took place as to the means to be adopted in reaching it. The Jaguar proposed to embark the troops aboard the corvette, the brig, and a few smaller vessels collected for the purpose. Unfortunately this advice, excellent though it was, could not be followed, owing to General Rubio's precaution of carrying off all the boats; collecting others would have occasioned an extreme loss of time; but as the boats the Mexicans had employed were now lying high and dry on the beach, and the guard at first put over them withdrawn a few hours later, the Texans thought it far more simple to set them afloat, and use them in their turn to effect the passage.
By a species of fatality the council would not put faith in the assertions of John Davis, who in vain assured them that General Rubio, entrenched in a strong position, would not allow this movement to be carried out without an attempt to prevent it; so that the abandonment of the boats by the Mexicans was only fictitious, and a trap adroitly laid to draw the Revolutionists to a spot where it would be easy to conquer them.
Unfortunately, the mysterious man to whom we have alluded had alone the right to give orders, and the reasons urged by Davis could not convince him. Deceived by his spies, he persuaded himself that General Rubio, far from having any intention of recapturing Galveston, wished to effect his junction with Santa Anna before attempting any fresh offensive movement, and that the halt at the rancho had been merely a feint to embarrass the rebels.
This incomprehensible error was the cause of incalculable disasters. The chiefs received orders to march forward, and were constrained to carry them out. Still, when this erroneous resolution had been once formed, the means of execution were selected with extreme prudence. The corvette and brig were ordered to get as near land as they could, in order to protect, by their cross fire, the embarkation of the troops, and sweep the Mexicans, if they offered any opposition. Flying columns were sent off in advance and on the flanks of the army, to clear the way, by making prisoners of any small outposts the enemy might have established.
Four principal chiefs commanded strong detachments of mounted freebooters. The four were the Jaguar, Fray Antonio, El Alferez, and Don Felix Paz, whom the reader assuredly did not expect to find under the flag of the rebels, and whom he saw only a few hours back enter the Mexican camp, and hold a secret conference with General Rubio and Colonel Melendez. These four chiefs were ordered by the Commander-in-Chief to prevent any surprise, by searching the forests and examining the tall grass. El Alferez was on the right of the army, Fray Antonio on the left, the Jaguar had the rear guard, while Don Felix, with six hundred sabres, formed the van. One word as to the guerillas of the ex-Mayor-domo of the Larch-tree hacienda. The men who composed his band, raised on lands dependent on the hacienda, had been enlisted by Don Felix. They were Indiosmansos, vaqueros, and peons, mostly half savages, and rogues to a certain extent, who fought like lions at the order of their leader, to whom they were thoroughly devoted, but only recognising and obeying him, while caring nothing for the other leaders of the army. Don Felix Paz had joined the insurgents about two months previously, and rendered them eminent service with his guerillas. Hence, he had in a short time gained general confidence. We shall soon see whether he was worthy of it.
By a singular coincidence, the two armies left their camp at the same time, and marched one against the other, little suspecting that two hours later they would be face to face.