Chapter XXVIII: The Battle of the Generals

"They're coming down!" cried Alzura excitedly, rushing into our tent.

It wanted two hours to sunset; we had done nothing all day, and tired of watching the enemy on the opposite heights, most of us had gone to sleep.

Alzura's announcement woke us up, and running forward, we glanced eagerly at the hill, which a battalion of infantry was descending.

"Skirmishers, nothing more," said Plaza quietly. "They fancy we might attempt a night attack. Take my word for it, they won't be foolish enough to meet us on the plain."

"Unless they try a rush in the dark."

"That's just possible, but not probable; they're sure of us without that."

"There goes a battalion of our light infantry in extended order," remarked Cordova; "but there won't be any real fighting to-night. I'm going back to bed."

"A very sensible proceeding, too," exclaimed a genial voice; and turning round we beheld General Miller. "I should advise all of you not on duty to do the same," he added.

"Are we going to fight, general?" I asked eagerly.

"Hullo, Crawford! I've been so busy that I've lost sight of you lately. Well, I hardly know. Perhaps the viceroy would be better able to tell you; he knows more about it than I do."

"I don't think he'll abandon his strong position just to give us a better chance, sir," remarked Plaza.

"Perhaps not," replied the general. "But you mustn't think he's in clover up yonder. His men are as hungry as ours, and that's saying much. If it is a fight, however, 'twill be a fight to the finish, and the Hussars of Junin won't be missing!"

"Take us with you, sir!"

"That's just what I've come to see the colonel about. I intend to get all the regiment together and use it as a battering-ram."

"He thinks the Royalists will attack," said Alzura, as the general passed on. "He has heard something important, you may depend. And why shouldn't they? they're two to one, and have no end of guns."

"I like his idea of using all the regiment," laughed Cordova. "Nearly a half of the third squadron are mounted on baggage mules; their horses are all dead."

"They must get fresh ones from the enemy," I suggested.

"Come," said Plaza; "there's nothing more to see here." And we returned to the tent.

Anxious to have a good long night, Cordova soon fell asleep; but Alzura and I sat up chatting till within an hour or two of dawn. We could hear the hostile skirmishers peppering away at each other at intervals, and somehow the sounds seemed to be the prelude to a coming battle.

Fortunately the morning dawned fair, but there was a nip in the air which impelled us to move about smartly. Then the sun rose gloriously over the eastern peaks, and its genial warmth raised our drooping spirits. I cannot account for the feeling, but somehow the whole army felt that a battle was imminent, and the faces of the troops wore a look of excited expectancy.

Directly after breakfast, or what we were pleased to call breakfast, the men began moving to their positions, each corps being formed in close column. For the better understanding of what happened, I must try to describe our position. We were drawn up on a nearly square tableland known as the Plain of Ayacucho, a league in circumference, and flanked right and left by rugged ravines. We had the village at our backs, and the only road by which we could retreat was effectually blocked. The Royalist army was perched just below the summit of a gigantic ridge called Condorcanqui, which formed the eastern boundary of the plain.

At seven o'clock our regiment moved out, and the men of the third squadron, of whom Cordova had spoken, provoked much humour and good-natured chaff as they rode past on their baggage mules. It was thought that they would help to make a show, but no one suspected that later on, when ordered to remain in the rear, they would answer firmly, "No, we will conquer or die with our comrades!"

The cavalry, consisting of four regiments, was stationed in the centre, with an infantry division on either side, and a third in the rear as a reserve.

About nine o'clock a great cheer rose from all parts of the plain: the Royalists were descending the craggy side of Condorcanqui. Between the infantry of each division appeared the cavalry, the riders leading their horses and advancing with difficulty. It was an impressive scene, and we stood watching with breathless interest.

Then our fellows renewed their cheering as General Sucre, riding along the line, addressed a few rousing words to each particular corps.

"A tough nut to crack," remarked Plaza, watching the Royalists form, "but we'll get at the kernel before the day's over."

"There's the beginning!" cried Alzura, as the infantry on our right slowly advanced. "Hurrah! we're to help!" for an aid-de-camp from General Sucre had just dashed up to Miller with orders.

We waited eagerly for the word to mount, but our turn had not yet come. Two cavalry regiments moved off with Miller, and left us gazing at the drama being unfolded before our eyes.

Our infantry columns marched to the attack like so many automatic machines; the Royalists waited firmly, as if confident of victory. We stood holding our horses, and quivering with excitement. Much would depend upon the result of that first encounter.

"They're stopping to fire," cried Alzura. "Now they're moving again. Viva! they're going to charge. Look at the sun on their bayonets."

Would the Royalists give way? No; they stood firm as the rocky heights behind them--not a man moved. It seemed to me that there was not even a tremor in the whole mass. If our fellows charged and failed, they would be cut to pieces. We were like spectators in a theatre, only the drama was a real one.

A mighty "Viva!" floated back to us as our men broke into the charge. It was neck or nothing now--decisive victory or stern defeat.

"The Royalists will run," muttered Plaza; "they must."

But they did not, and the next instant bayonet crossed bayonet in desperate conflict.

Excitement drove us well-nigh crazy. We cheered and shouted and waved our sabres, as if by so doing we could help in the fight. Our troops had met their match, and seemed to make no impression. Unless they went forward shortly they must retreat.

"If they're driven back," remarked Plaza, "they are lost."

How the struggle would have ended I cannot tell, but just then we broke into a cry of relief. The two cavalry regiments which had made a wide detour were seen bearing down on the Royalists' flanks. They swept along at hurricane speed. Nothing could stand against the shock of their long lances. A portion of the Royalists, facing about, delivered a telling volley at short range. Men and horses went down with a crash, but the survivors were not checked. A second volley crashed into them, making wide gaps, and then, with the force of a roaring torrent, they literally swept away the barrier of men and steel.

"That settles it," said Plaza, breathing deeply; "the bravest troops in the world couldn't recover from such a smashing blow. It's a case of complete rout, in that part of the field at all events."

He was right too. The enemy would not, indeed could not rally. Here and there small groups stood at bay, fighting desperately but vainly to stem the onset of their pursuers. All they could do was to die fighting, in the hope that the sacrifice might save their comrades. Even those who reached the heights were not out of danger. Whiz, whiz sped the bullets; and numbers of the fugitives rolled down the mountain side till their bodies were caught by crag or brushwood.

So greatly was our attention absorbed by the scene that we had scarcely noticed what was happening on our left. Suddenly, however, a heavy fire broke out, followed by the quick reports of hundreds of muskets. Our colonel glanced in the direction uneasily. His orders were strict. He was on no account to move his regiment, and yet--

"Crawford," said he, looking round, "see what that firing means."

I sprang to the saddle and galloped off. But for our success on the right, I should have felt inclined to take a gloomy view of things: our left had given way.

Two Royalist battalions were advancing in pursuit, while still further on the left a cavalry regiment was swooping down on one of our reserve battalions sent in support. The crafty enemy had crossed a deep ravine, on the farther side of which a whole division was stationed.

A mounted officer, with cap gone and cloak flying in the wind, pulled up on seeing me, and said rapidly, "Where is your regiment? Take me to your colonel quickly. We want cavalry; we must have cavalry, or our whole left will be rolled up!"

"This way," I replied, and together we galloped towards the Hussars of Junin, reaching the colonel just as General Miller dashed up from the right.

"What is it?" he asked hastily.

"We are overpowered, sir. The enemy have four field-guns across a ravine; our division has suffered terribly, and the troops are giving way. The general requires a regiment of cavalry immediately."

"Tell him it's coming," replied Miller.--"Now, colonel, here's a chance for your men to show their mettle. We've smashed the enemy on the right; let the 'Hussars of Junin' do the same on the left."

How we did cheer as our colonel led us out! General Miller's face wore an anxious expression as he glanced over the field. Everywhere the victorious Spaniards were driving back our left wing; we should only be just in time to repair the mischief.

"Push those two infantry battalions across the ravine while I rally the fugitives," said Miller. But he had barely spoken when the Royalist cavalry dashed down on the right flank.

"Here's Crawford's friend again!" said Plaza. "We might have guessed he had a hand in this business."

Santiago made a handsome picture as he tore along well in front of his regiment, and enemy though he was, I could not help feeling proud of him. We turned to meet this vigorous onslaught, and though Santiago fought with all the traditional valour of his race, his men, already tired by their great exertions, could not stand against us.

Stopping their flight, our own infantry rallied, and advanced in support, while their loud cheers proclaimed the arrival of a second cavalry regiment. Nothing daunted by his repulse, Santiago led his troopers against the new enemy, while we bore down on the hostile infantry.

"Gallop!" cried our colonel; and neck by neck the horses flew over the ground, the men waving their sabres and cheering lustily. We could see the glittering steel of the bayonets now, could almost look down the barrels of the muskets, when there came a blinding flash, the thud of falling bodies, and hoarse shrieks of pain.

"Forward!" thundered the colonel, "forward; remember the 'Hussars of Junin!'"

Crash we went right into them before they could fire another volley, and then it was horseman against footman, sabre against bayonet. To and fro we surged, striking parrying, thrusting, till at last the brave enemy, unable to continue the struggle longer, fled to the ravine, hotly pursued by our victorious regiment.

In a calmer moment we should have pulled up, but there was no stopping now. Some one raised a warning cry: it came too late. Down the ravine we went, the horses slipping and scrambling--some rolling over and crushing their riders; the majority, keeping their feet somehow, reached the opposite bank. A small detachment of the enemy halted to fire a scattering volley, which did some mischief. A man close to me fell forward on his horse's neck.

"Good-bye, Crawford!" said he faintly; "I am done for."

It was Cordova; but there was no time to help him. On we dashed straight at the guns, which the gunners dared not fire, so mixed up were friend and foe. A cry of "Viva el Rey!" arose in our rear. Santiago was galloping back.

The Royalists could not stand. Miller had brought up three battalions in double-quick time; the guns were ours; horse and foot we swept over the plain, driving the enemy pell-mell in all directions. Only the regiment led by the undaunted Santiago endeavoured to cover the retreat, and at last it too fled.

Not so their brave leader; he remained on the field. I found him later, with a hole in his side and a nasty gash across the face. He was not dead, however, and with assistance I carried him to the village, where a surgeon dressed his wounds. Then I returned to my regiment.

"It's all over!" cried Alzura exultantly. "The viceroy is taken prisoner, and Canterac has come to sue for terms. He is with Sucre now."

"Where is Plaza?"

"Just gone to find poor Cordova. It's hard lines to drop off in the moment of victory. And the war is over now; the Royalists will never lift their heads again."

This was not quite correct, as a few still held out in other parts of the country, but they were powerless to do any real mischief. This battle of Ayacucho--or Battle of the Generals, as we called it--secured the independence of Peru. Fourteen Spanish generals, some of them the most famous in South America, gave up their swords; nearly six hundred officers and most of the rank and file became prisoners of war.

Late that evening I went to see Santiago. He lay on a bench in a miserable hut, where several wounded officers had been brought for shelter. Two small earthen lamps gave a feeble light, barely sufficient for us to see each other's faces. I bent over him, and choked back the sob that would rise in my throat. We neither of us tried to gloze over the truth. He was dying, and we both knew it.

"I am glad you have come," he whispered. "It will soon be over, and I am not sorry; I have tried to do my best."

"Indeed you have, old fellow; friend and foe alike are loud in your praise."

"I have been loyal to my king; I have done my duty," he continued, not heeding the interruption. "Life is precious, Juan, but honour is the first thing. My name is unstained. I die as I have lived, a cavalier of Spain!"

That thought cheered him as he took his last and long journey. He was young and handsome and well beloved; he had fair estates and hosts of friends; he might have risen high in the councils of his nation; but death, stern and unyielding, claimed him, and he braced himself to meet it.

"Thank God!" he murmured; "I die with a clear conscience."

I stayed with him till nearly midnight, when he became unconscious. Then having work to do, I sorrowfully went away. Next morning, on my way to the hut I met General Miller.

"Poor fellow!" he said, when I told him of Santiago's state. "I will come with you. I remember him well."

Just as we were moving on, we met General Sucre accompanied by a Spanish officer, who on seeing Miller ran forward and embraced him.

"I know you!" he cried. "I am Valdés. You and I must be friends." Then turning to General Sucre, he added, "This Miller has often kept us on the move. I am called active; but he was a regular wizard--here, there, everywhere, without giving a clue to his intentions until he dealt us some sly blow."

I looked at this celebrated Spanish general with a great deal of interest. He was a small, spare man, with keen eyes and rough, weather-beaten face. He wore a broad-brimmed beaver hat, a coarse gray surtout, and long brown worsted leggings. He stooped slightly, and to judge by appearances, one would never have thought he was perhaps the finest soldier in the Spanish service.

Sucre left the two chatting, and presently Miller said, "I was just going to visit one of your men, a Colonel Mariano. Do you know him?"

"Mariano? He was my best cavalry officer. It was he who helped me to cut up your rearguard some time ago, and to drive back your left wing yesterday. I'll come with you."

"He will be very pleased to see you, no doubt.--You go first and show us the way, Crawford."

Santiago lay with closed eyes, breathing so faintly that at first we thought he was dead.

"Santiago," I softly whispered, "do you know me? I have brought you a visitor."

His eyes opened slowly, and there was a fleeting smile in them, but he did not speak.

"Colonel!" said Valdés, stepping to the side of the bench. The sound of that voice brought the poor fellow for a short time from the Valley of the Shadow. By some extraordinary means he managed to sit up without assistance, raised his hand to the salute, and in a clear, ringing voice exclaimed, "At your service, general!"

It was the last act of his life. On placing my arm round him to prevent him from falling, I found he was dead.

"A fine fellow," said General Miller quietly.

"A thorough soldier to the end!" cried the Spanish general.

I said nothing, but mourned none the less the true friend I had found in the ranks of our enemies.

We were very quiet in camp that day. The excitement of battle had passed, and we were counting the cost of our triumph. Many familiar faces were missing, and the death of Cordova especially affected us. We had been through many perils together, had endured many hardships, and it seemed a pity that he should not have lived to taste the sweets of victory.

Shortly before sunset that same day I received a message from General Miller asking me to go to his quarters. I found him expecting me, and he at once plunged into the subject upon which he wished to speak.

"The war is now over, Crawford," said he, "and General Sucre is able to release a large part of his force. I am proceeding to Cuzco, but there is no need for you to do so. You have done your share, and I intend sending you on special service to Lima."

"Oh, thank you, general!" I answered, my eyes sparkling and my cheeks flushing with pleasure.

"The regiment will return in a few weeks at the most," he continued. "Be ready to start in the morning, and don't forget to remember me kindly to your parents. Some day I hope to call upon them."

"I am sure you will receive a very warm welcome when you come, general," I replied, taking the hand held out to me.

"Well, dear boy," said Alzura, on my return to our quarters, "what is the news?"

"Good," said I, "though perhaps it's a bit selfish to say so. I start to-morrow for Lima. The regiment proceeds to Cuzco, but it will return to the capital in a few weeks."

"All right, old fellow. I'm glad to hear of your good fortune, though I shall miss you awfully. Mind you hunt up my people and tell them I'm all right and hoping to see them soon."

Of course I promised to do so, and then went to wish the others good-bye.

"I hope you will find all your people well," exclaimed Plaza on hearing the news. "After all, you're only a sort of advance courier, and we shall soon meet again."

"We shall expect you to give a ball to the officers of the regiment, and a feast to the men, when we reach the capital," cried Alzura merrily.

"Meanwhile," said Plaza gravely, "take my advice, and have a good rest."