Chapter XXVI: The Hussars of Junin

Contrary to custom, we moved off the ground slowly, marching along with swarms of Indians on our flanks and in front. For once in a way Bolivar had adopted caution instead of the fiery recklessness he usually displayed, and seemed resolved on running no unnecessary risks. Our course lay southward, over very rough, broken ground, and a staff officer informed Plaza we were making for the plains of Junin, to the south of Lake Reyes.

"We shall catch Canterac there," said he, "or Canterac will catch us; I hardly know which at present."

Our bivouac that night was cheerless and uncomfortable. The position was a very strong one, but Bolivar was evidently determined to leave nothing to chance. The sentries were doubled and in some places trebled, so that most of us were unable to snatch more than a few hours' sleep. Early in the morning the journey was resumed, and after a tedious march of fifteen miles through mountainous country we suddenly beheld the Royalist army crossing the plains at our feet. The men, breaking into a thundering "Viva," waved their caps or swung their lances in the air, and the cavalry were ordered to shift their saddles from the mules to the led horses.

"'Twill be a cavalry action," said Plaza, vaulting into his saddle. "Here comes an 'aid' with orders."

"There goes Miller with a squadron," cried Alzura. "We shall be out of it. The Colombian Horse are moving too. We shall be left behind with the infantry."

"Not so fast," said Plaza, laughing, as Bolivar's messenger dashed up to Colonel Suares, who was in charge of our squadron. "Now for it!"

"You won't be quite so eager presently," growled the tough old major. "Look at the ground; see the defile between the swamp and the hills. Canterac can cut us to pieces there, and he's soldier enough to know it."

"No, no, major; his cavalry aren't a patch on ours. We've never had a chance to show our mettle before."

"Well, we shall have one now," said the major, as we began to descend to the plain.

Two Colombian squadrons were in front of us, while Miller was still further ahead and bearing to the left. On the other side of the defile we caught a glimpse now and then of the Royalist cavalry forming up. The ground was so broken that we could only go at a foot-pace, and I began to think the major might be right.

As we entered the defile there came a great shout of "Viva el Rey!" from the plains ahead, and the next instant the Royalist horsemen, thirteen hundred strong, and led by Canterac himself, dashed madly to the attack.

"Viva! viva!" they yelled, cutting and thrusting with sabre and lance. The onset was like a mighty avalanche, and our men were for the most part overwhelmed. A few of the strongest and best mounted cut their way through, but numbers were overthrown, and the rest came flying back, with the victorious Royalists slashing and cutting on all sides.

"By St. Philip," muttered Plaza, "we shall be swept away."

Our colonel, seeing the danger, manoeuvred us into an angle of the marsh, just as the mob of horsemen, friend and foe inextricably mixed, swarmed down, shouting, struggling, fighting.

"Forward! forward!" yelled the exultant Royalists, sweeping past like a whirlwind.

Farther away on the left, another body was driving Miller's men into the swamp, and it seemed that the Patriot cavalry must be annihilated. But our squadron remained untouched, and leading us into the plain, Suares issued an order to charge the Royalists who were handling Miller's troops so roughly.

"We must win or die, my lads!" he cried; "the country depends on us."

The men cheered with a will and shook their sabres; we settled more firmly in our saddles; the colonel rode to the front; the squadron moved forward and broke into a trot. Men and officers alike knew that our leader had spoken no more than the truth. We must win or die! On us alone hung the issue of the battle. If we failed, hardly a man of the Patriot cavalry would leave the field alive; if we won, the Royalists must stop the pursuit in order to help their comrades.

It was a heavy task, but one thought cheered and nerved us. We were all Peruvians belonging to the Legion, and it was but fitting that the desperate venture should fall to us. How our infantry battalion would cheer, how proudly they would greet us, should we return victorious! It would be glorious to show both friends and enemies that the Peruvians could strike a stout blow in their own defence.

"Gallop!"

We received the order with a cheer, bent low in the saddle, and grasped our sabres firmly. Suares knew his work, and led us across a wide stretch of smooth, firm ground, the very spot for a cavalry charge.

Finding themselves between two foes, the Royalists faced about and dashed at us. The shock was tremendous: men and horses were bowled over like ninepins; great gaps appeared in the ranks; men went down and were trampled under foot in the furious fray; there was a ring of steel as sabre clashed with sabre, and the defiant shouts of the combatants mingled with the groans of the wounded.

Reeling and panting, I found myself on the other side of the press. Plaza was there, too, with a dozen of his men. Alzura broke through smiling in spite of a nasty cut across the face, and was followed by many more. Then above the din General Miller's voice was heard, and we flushed with pride.

"Bravo, my boys!" he cried; "I'm proud of you! All the army will sing your praises presently."

Freed from the Royalists, his men had got out of the swamp, and now came to join us. The few Colombians who had cut their way through in the first attack galloped back, and inspirited by General Miller's stern "Hurrah!" we once more flung ourselves on the foe. It was steel to steel now, and the Spaniards stood their ground well till they saw their comrades retreating from the defile. Then, with the exception of a devoted few who stayed in a grim ring around the standard-bearer, they turned to flee.

"The flag!" cried the general; "have at the flag!" And like a torrent in flood, we swept down on the little band.

"Rally to the flag!" cried a voice I knew well, and the next instant I was crossing swords with Santiago Mariano. I do not care much to dwell on this part of the fight. These Royalists were the pick of their squadron, and it seemed as if each man would die where he fought rather than surrender the colours. Three or four times the flag disappeared, but came up again the next instant, and presently I saw it borne aloft by Santiago, who had been forced away from me in the fierce turmoil. Hardly a dozen men remained with him now, and we were all round him.

"Surrender!" cried the general. "It is a pity to kill so brave a man!"

Santiago laughed lightly, dug the spurs deep into his horse's sides, cleared a passage with his sabre, and wheeling his horse by the pressure of his knees, bounded away, crying defiantly,--

"Rally to the flag! Viva el Rey!"

A young Colombian officer levelled his pistol; but Miller struck it up, saying,--

"The odds are heavy enough now. If you want the flag, get it with your sword."

The youngster's face flushed, but he kept his temper, and saluting the general, dashed after Santiago, crying,--

"To me, Colombians!"

As Suares had foreseen, our action gave the beaten squadron a chance to rally; officers and men who had survived the crushing avalanche collected in groups, and the fight was proceeding fiercely on the open plain. Ordering our squadron to re-form, the general placed himself at our head.

Meanwhile, I was watching the gallant Santiago and his handful of men. He was a superb rider, and able to guide his horse without using the reins, thus leaving both hands free. His Royalist comrades, now reunited, were opposite the defile, and too far off to help, while several detachments of Patriot cavalry were hurrying to cut off his retreat. Behind him, too, thundered the hot-headed Colombian officer with a dozen troopers.

"That plucky Royalist officer will be killed," said the general to Colonel Suares. "He's a gallant fellow--eh, Crawford?"

"He is, sir," I answered warmly; "and I'd give anything to see him get through safely."

"Why, Crawford," returned the general, smiling, "that sounds very much like treason."

By this time we ourselves were in motion, but as my place was on the flank, I had a good view of Santiago's desperate venture. A body of Colombians, some twenty strong, had thrown themselves across his path; and though they were our allies, I could hardly keep from cheering as he dashed through them, losing, as far as could be seen, only one man of his little band.

Casting a backward glance to see how his followers fared, he waved the flag again, and I could guess at the defiant shout of "Viva el Rey!" that came from his lips.

"He's just splendid," said I, between my teeth. But surely now his time was come! Close on his heels rode the beaten Colombians, while in front another detachment, far stronger, awaited him. What would he do--surrender? That, I felt sure, would never enter his head.

One chance of escape there was if he would take it. By swerving sharply to the left he might avoid the hostile troopers, and gallop across the plain to the Royalist infantry. It was evident he saw this way out; but his blood was up, and he made straight for the forest of lances.

"Lost!" said I, with a groan. "Poor old Santiago!"

I counted eight men with him, and Royalist and Patriot troops combined held none braver. It was magnificent, and yet terrible, to watch them spring at the massed troops, Santiago only slightly in advance of them. I held my breath as they leaped into the throng and were swallowed up. We were not near enough to distinguish the flag amidst the flashing sabres and the long-handled lances, but I feared it had fallen with its daring protector.

The tumult showed that some of the brave few still lived, and suddenly I heard General Miller, as if his feelings had surprised him into speech, say in English,--

"By Jove, he's through!"

It was true. There in the distance rode a man bare-headed, waving a flag defiantly, and for all we knew cheering for the king. One by one four others joined him, and continued the gallop: their comrades lay dead on the plain.

Had half the Royalist cavalry possessed Santiago's pluck, the story of this affair at Junin would have had a different ending.

As it was, the Spaniards began to waver. They could barely hold their own against the reassembled squadrons from the defile, and our arrival had turned the scale. They began to give ground slowly but surely, in spite of their officers' appeals. I saw Santiago again; indeed he was the most conspicuous man, though not the highest officer, on the field. Wherever the troops seemed weakest, there he was, flag in hand, cheering them on and fighting desperately.

When at last they could stand it no longer, but broke and fled, he got together another little band to protect the retreat. But for him, I doubt whether Canterac would have saved a quarter of his cavalry. Once, when turning at bay to repel a fiercer rush than usual, he caught sight of me, and his face lit up with a smile. He had been wounded, but not dangerously, and his sword-arm was vigorous as ever.

Again and again, with the aid of his choicest troopers, he stemmed the onset; but his efforts were vain--we were too many. His men dropped one after another, and he was forced to continue the retreat, till the remnant of the Royalist horsemen found shelter behind the lines of their infantry, who greeted us with a scattering fire.

It was now growing dusk, and we could not attack an army, though General Miller decided to hang on a little longer. In the long pursuit our men had become scattered over the plain, and he dispatched various officers to collect them. Then turning to me, he said,--

"Crawford, ride back, find General Bolivar, and tell him the Royalists are in full retreat. If followed up strongly, I believe they would disperse."

Saluting, I turned my horse and rode back rapidly. The scene was bewildering. Officers galloped this way and that, shouting to their men; riderless horses careered madly about; slightly-wounded troopers were hobbling to the rear; others, more unfortunate, lay on the ground groaning and calling for water; while here and there mounted men were escorting groups of prisoners toward our infantry lines.

Several times I stopped to ask where General Bolivar was. He had entered the defile with the cavalry; but from the time our first squadrons were routed I had seen nothing of him. At last an officer told me that, seeing his horsemen overthrown, the general had galloped back to the infantry, which he had posted on a very high hill about a league away.

"He quite expected to be attacked," added my informant, "never dreaming we should recover ourselves. The Peruvians saved us. They are fine fellows!" For in the gathering gloom he could not distinguish my uniform.

"Thanks!" said I, laughing; "I'll repeat that compliment to my comrades," and rode on.

Bolivar was standing, or to be correct, walking about, on the brow of the hill, looking anxiously toward the plain. Several messengers had brought him word of the varying fortunes of the fight, but none had arrived from Miller.

I passed close to the head of the Peruvian infantry, and the colonel shouted,--

"What news, Crawford!"

"Good!" I replied, hurrying along; and reaching Bolivar, I jumped to the ground and saluted.

"Where do you come from?" he cried.

"General Miller, sir. The Royalists are in full retreat--horse, foot, and artillery. The general wishes me to say that a vigorous pursuit would probably disperse them altogether."

"Too late," said he; "tell General Miller I have ordered the cavalry to retire on me.--Caza," to one of his officers, "lend--"

"Lieutenant Crawford, sir."

"Lend Lieutenant Crawford your horse; his is done up.--Now ride as fast as you can, and give General Miller my message."

I saluted, sprang into the saddle, dashed past the Peruvian infantry, down the hill, and into the defile. Here I found the main body of our cavalry retiring in accordance with Bolivar's command, and heard that Miller, with a squadron of Peruvians, was still following the Royalists.

It was quite dark now, and the route was covered with hillocks; but I rode on swiftly, trusting to luck, and at length came up with the general, who had halted in his pursuit. On receiving Bolivar's message he immediately gave orders to retire, and about seven o'clock we reached our camping-ground.

Fortunately we managed to collect a little fuel, for the night was so intensely cold that few of the seriously wounded, though receiving every possible attention, survived its rigours. Even lying close to the fire and enveloped in our ponchos we shivered.

A surgeon had sewn up the cut in Alzura's face, and we gave him the most sheltered place, and the one nearest the fire. There was not much sleep for any of us that night; we were far too excited, and spent most of the time fighting the battle over again.

To my delight, every one talked of Santiago and his magnificent bravery.

"Didn't we take him prisoner once, down south?" asked Plaza. "His face seemed familiar to me."

"Yes," said I: "his name is Santiago Mariano, and at that time he was a major."

"Faith," observed Alzura, looking up, "as far as fighting goes, he ought to be a commander-in-chief! A wounded Colombian told me the fellow sprang on them like a lion falling on a herd of deer. A lucky thing for us that the Marianos are in a minority among the Royalists."

"Canterac nearly did the trick though," growled the major. "I thought he would drop on us in that defile. I tell you what it is: Bolivar can thank our colonel that he has any cavalry left."

"Bravo, major! I heard this evening that we saved the army."

"So we did," chuckled Plaza; "and we can say it without a word of boasting. I don't care about praising my own men." But the rest was drowned in good-humoured laughter, as every one knew that the finest troop in South America--and the world, too, for that matter--was Plaza's.

However, it appeared that we really had done a smart thing: for the next morning Bolivar held a grand parade, and in presence of the whole army ordered that henceforth the regiment of which we formed part should be known as the "Hussars of Junin;" and General Miller publicly said that we deserved the honour.

After the parade we marched into the town of Reyes, which had been sacked by the Royalists. Bolivar occupied the only hut that had a roof, the rest consisting of nothing but bare walls. The inhabitants had fled into the surrounding country, but now they returned, and did all they could to assist us, lighting fires, cooking our scanty rations, and erecting sheds to shelter us from the cold.

"I suppose it's all right," said Alzura; "but I can't help thinking Bolivar has made a big blunder. While we hang about here, Canterac is pulling himself together, and we shall have all the work to do over again. If I were the general--"

"I should join the other side immediately," laughed Plaza.

"Please don't interrupt," said Cordova. "It amuses me to hear these youngsters talk. I'll wager Alzura would have finished the war two years ago, only the end might not have been as we anticipate." At which there was a general laugh.

"What I don't like about Bolivar is his play-acting," I said. "Have you seen his hut? Have a look at it in the morning. The doorway is hung with silver ornaments in place of laurel wreaths, which the Indians were unable to get."

"But he can't help the Indians idolizing him!"

"Nonsense! Did you ever hear of such rubbish with San Martin? And the Indians worshipped him!"

"Ah!" exclaimed Plaza, "you're a San Martin man, and jealous of the new sun!"

"A new comet," said I, a bit testily perhaps, because Plaza had happened on an explanation very near the truth.

"At any rate," observed Cordova, "it's better to be here at our ease than tramping fruitlessly about the mountains. I'm fairly tired of that fun. I want a day or two at Lima."

None of us guessed how much weary marching lay before us ere we returned to the capital. However, for the time we were in comparatively good quarters, and though grumbling occasionally because Bolivar had not followed up the victory at Junin, were quite prepared to make the best of things.