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Chapter Twenty Six.
The Great Strategist

“What is it, captain? One of my aides-de-camp tells me you have asked for an interview. Be brief with your business; I’m full of affairs just now.” I was not a favourite at head-quarters. I had no flattery for the conceited septuagenarian who at this crisis commanded the American army.

Still his consent was necessary for my purpose. Without it I could do nought to avenge the death of my friend. That granted, I had conceived a scheme.

“What is it?” asked the general, with an air of impatience that augured ill for my success. “What is it you want?”

“Leave of absence, general.”

“Why, you’ve been off duty for six months. How much more do you require?”

“Only six days.”

“Six days! And for what purpose?”

“To punish these brigands who infest the road between here and Puebla. I presume, general, you’ve been informed of their atrocities?”

“Of course I have. But what can I do? If I send a troop, they see the soldiers miles off, and won’t stand to be attacked. It’s like chasing a wild goose.”

“I think I have a plan by which they can be brought to close quarters, and some of them chastised. With your permission, I should like to make trial of it.”

“But I have no cavalry just now to spare – not a single sabre. The Government is so stingy, they won’t give me men enough to fill up the regular regiments. They think I can hold a great country like Mexico without horses – where the enemy are nearly all mounted too! No, Sir, I can’t spare a single dragoon – much less your own company; and I suppose you would want to take that with you.”

“On the contrary, general, I don’t desire a single soldier from the ranks; at least only three or four of my own, whom I know to be men of courage. There are some dare-devils among our camp-followers – just the sort for such a purpose as mine. With a dozen of them, I fancy we can hold our own with the biggest band of brigands to be found among the mountains of Mexico.”

“You are a brave man, captain; but I fear not much of a strategist.”

Strategy was the god of this poor military simpleton, as it was of his favourite pupil, McClellan. It was the same sort of strategy that caused the rout at Bull’s Run, and the consequent prolongation of the American civil war. But for it the army of the North might have stacked arms in the streets of Richmond in three weeks after leaving Washington, and the long sanguinary strife have been shunned.

Well do I remember both preceptor and pupil. There was bad management in Virginia; exactly what I should have expected from my experience of their tactics in Mexico. In our campaign through the country of the Aztecs the latter was scarcely known, or only as a smart drill master. Nor would he ever after have been heard of, but for the patronage of his superannuated Chief – the “Grand Strategist,” as he was desirous of being deemed.

The last remark of the general gave me the cue to flatter him.

In hopes of obtaining my end, I availed myself of the opportunity.

“General!” I said, with a look of real reverence, “I am aware there will not appear much strategy in what I propose – at least to you, who are capable of grand combinations. My idea is of the simplest.”

“Well, let us hear it, captain. Perhaps it may show better in detail. A great deal depends upon that. An army brought into the field en masse– as Napoleon would say – with its infantry here and its artillery there, and the cavalry scattered over the ground, is like a machine without screws. It must soon fall to pieces. I never move my battalions in that way. If I had – ”

“If you had, general,” I meekly interposed, seeing that he had made a pause, “you wouldn’t have been here now, as you are – conqueror of the capital of Mexico.”

“You are right, captain; quite right!” rejoined he, evidently beginning to like me, “Quite right, sir. And don’t you think that Cortez’s campaign was inferior to that which I—I– have had the honour of planning; and of conducting, Sir – conducting?”

“A mere skirmish to it.”

“A skirmish, sir – a skirmish! His enemies a crowd of naked savages – that’s what they were – nothing but slings and bows with which to defend themselves. Not a gun among them; while I—I, sir, have defeated a grand disciplined army, under the greatest general these Mexicans have ever produced; for, say what you like of Santa Anna, the rascal is a thorough soldier – a regular, sir, a regular – not a volunteer. I detest volunteers; and it’s a great shame for the Government to have sent me so many of them. They’ve fought well, I admit; but they couldn’t help it. They were properly handled, sir; and they had my old regulars alongside of them. How could they hang back, when they saw who was at their head? My presence inspired them; and the consequence is, that they fought and conquered this great country in less than half the time it took Cortez to do it. Therefore I say, sir, that the conquest of Winfield Scott will shine upon the page of history far brighter than that of Fernando Cortez.”

“No doubt of it,” was my insincere response, scarce able to conceal my contempt for the huge military bavard.

“Well, sir,” said he, after he had paced once or twice across the floor in swelling grandeur, “you haven’t stated your plans? Let’s hear the detail. My giving you permission may depend upon that.”

“What I had intended, general, was to charter the diligencia; and use it, as if it were going on its regular trip between here and Puebla. The robbers are also troublesome upon the Toluca route; so I don’t care which we try first. I should dress my twelve men in Mexican costumes; have a monk or two along with them, and at least a couple of ladies. The reboso would disguise them sufficiently for our purpose. A Mexican uniform or two might aid the decoy: since just before our coming into the country no less than thirteen officers of their army, travelling in the stage-coach, were stopped by a band of only six robbers, and stripped even of their uniforms! I should have liked two or three Mexican militarios among my men; but just now it would scarce look natural, and the bandits might suspect a ruse.”

“Well, sir,” said the general, evidently amused by my ideas, “What would you do with these twelve masqueraders?”

“Arm each of them with a small battery of revolvers; give him a good bowie knife to fall back upon; and, when the robbers make halt around the stage-coach, let all spring out at once, and go at them with a will. I know of twelve men I can muster, who are just the sort for such an enterprise. All of them, one time or another, have done a little bit of street fighting; and I’m much mistaken if there’s one of their number who would shy from an encounter with Mexican brigands anything under ten to one. Our only fear would be that too many of the bandits should be able to get off before we had time to give them a good thrashing. They’re wonderfully quick on their little horses.”

“By the word of Winfield Scott, sir, there’s something in what you propose. For my part, I shouldn’t care to trouble about these robber gentry – who are perhaps only a little less honest than the rest of their countrymen – but it don’t look just the thing that we haven’t put a stop to their depredations – especially as they’ve committed some outrages on our own people. Well, sir!” he added, after a pause, “I’ll consider your proposal, and give you an answer by to-morrow morning. Meanwhile you may hold yourself in readiness – in case I should think proper to approve of it.”

“Shall I retain the diligencia, general?”

“No, no; not this trip – not for to-morrow. There will be time enough. I must think the matter over. It won’t do to be charged with silly things; and, as you ought to know, sir, I have enemies at Washington – foes in the rear, sir, as well as in the front. Besides, you wouldn’t have time to get your fellows ready before to-morrow morning?”

“In an hour, general; if your permission be given. I have sounded them already. They would all be en masque before midnight.”

“I’ll think of it; I’ll think of it, as soon as I’m disengaged. But there’s somebody waiting outside. A Mexican gentleman, my aide-de-camp tells me. I wonder what he wants. Safeguard, I suppose, or some other favour. These people pester the life out of me. They think I’ve nothing to do but to look after every little affair that troubles them. If one of our scamps only steals a chicken, they must see me about it. God knows I’ve given them protection enough – more than they’ve been accustomed to at the hands of their own officers!”

And God did know it: for the statement was strictly true. However contemptible I might esteem General Scott’s military talents, I can bear testimony to the fact, that his enemies had no cause to complain of his inhumanity. Never was conquered foe treated with such leniency as were the Mexicans during that memorable campaign; which I do not hesitate to pronounce the most civilised that has found place upon the page of history.

I had made my salute, and was about stepping out of the “presence,” when I heard the command, “Stay, sir!”

In obedience to it, I once more faced towards the commander-in-chief.

“By the way,” he said, “I may want you for a minute. I’m told you speak Spanish perfectly?”

“Not perfectly, general. I speak it, as the Spaniards say, un pocito.”

“Never mind how – so long as you can hold a conversation in it. Now that I think of it, my interpreter is out of the way; and there’s none of my aides knows anything of their lingo. The Mexican who’s coming in is not likely to understand a syllable I might say to him. So stay, and translate for us.”

“At your command, general, I’ll do the best I can.”

“You may prepare yourself, I suppose, to hear of a hen roost having been robbed; and a claim for compensation. Ah! the claimant is there.”

The door at that moment was opened from the outside; and one of the aides entered, ushering a stranger, who stepped briskly in after him.

Chapter Twenty Seven.
A Bereaved Parent

The individual thus introduced had all the air of one who had sustained a loss – but of a much graver kind than the stealing of his chicks.

At a glance I could see that he was a Spanish-American of the pure Iberian blood – the boasted sangre azul of Andalusia – without any trace of the Aztecan. Perhaps a Spaniard resident in Mexico – in other words, a Gachupino? He had, at all events, the distinguished bearing of the hidalgo; which was further confirmed by the fineness of his habiliments, that differed very little from what might be seen on a well-dressed English gentleman of the old school: for the stranger was a man of advanced age.

He was clean shaven, without moustache or whisker; the hair upon his head short-cut and snow-white; while that upon his arched eyebrows was as black as it might have been at the age of twenty!

A piercing eye still showed the capability of flashing fire, when occasion required it. Just then it was filled with a sombre light; and his whole demeanour betokened a man who suffered from some overwhelming sorrow.

Under its influence his habitual serenity had forsaken him; and, without pausing inside the door, he walked hurriedly up to the general, and commenced to unburden himself.

Between the two of us there was no possibility of mistaking which was the commander-in-chief – so that the stranger had addressed himself to the proper personage.

As his talk was Cherokee to the general – perhaps not so well understood – he was motioned to make his communication to me.

I had already gathered from his introductory remarks, that he had been travelling in a stage-coach, en route for the capital on a special errand to the general himself; and that a great misfortune had befallen him on the road. I had by this time noticed a slight délabrement in his dress – to say nothing of some scratches on his hands and face – that went towards confirming his hurried statement.

“A misfortune?” I asked, in my capacity of interpreter. “Of what nature, señor?”

“O cavallero; una cosa horrible; un robo! Por los bandoleros!”

“A horrible business – a robbery by brigands!” I said, translating literally to the general.

“How very singular!” remarked the commander-in-chief. “Quite a coincidence! I think, captain, I shall have to grant your request.”

“Of what have they robbed you, señor?” I inquired, in the continuation of my new rôle. “Not your watch – else they would scarce have left you those splendid appendages?”

I spoke of a massive chain and bunch of gold seals, with turquoise, topaz, and other sparkling stones, that hung conspicuously from his waistcoat.

“Por Dios, no! They did not take that!”

“Your purse, perhaps?”

“No, señor; they did not touch it either. They would have been welcome to it, and the watch as well. Ah! they might have had everything else but what they did take.”

“What was it?”

“Mias niñas! mias niñas!”

“Ninyas!” interrupted the general, without waiting for the translation, “that means young girls, don’t it, captain?”

“In its general signification it does. As he has used it, it means his own daughters.”

“What! Have the brigands robbed him of them?”

“That’s what he has just stated.”

“Poor old gentleman – for he’s evidently a gentleman! It’s a hard case, no doubt, to have his daughters carried off by brigands – worse than if Indians had got them. Go on, and question him. Let him give the whole story; and then ask him what he wants me to do. I’ll wait till you’ve finished. You can translate it all in a lump.”

As the general said this he turned away, and speaking to his aide-de-camp, dispatched the latter on some errand that carried him out of the room.

He himself became engaged upon some charts – no doubt covered with “grand strategic plans:” for although we were in the enemy’s capital, it was not certain that our campaign had come to a close, and more fighting might be before us.

Left free to take my own course, I motioned the Mexican to a seat.

He declined it on the score of haste; and standing, I went on with his confession.

“How did it happen? When? Where?” was the series of questions I addressed to him in continuation.

“On the road, señor – as we came from La Puebla.”

“From Puebla!” The words startled me into a strange interest.

“Si, señor; but much nearer to this city. It occurred within sight of it, I may say – this side Rio Frio, and not far from the venta of Cordova.”

“You were travelling?”

“We were travelling – myself, my two daughters, and our family confessor, the good Padre Cornaga.”

“In your carriage?”

“No, señor; in the diligencia. We were stopped by a band of ladrones, all wearing crape over their faces.”

“Well?”

“They ordered us out of the coach. Then to lie flat along the ground – with a threat, that if we looked up till they gave the word, we should be shot without ceremony.”

“You obeyed, I presume?”

“Carrai, señor! Why need you ask the question? Not to do so would have been certain death; and, of course, I did as the ladrones commanded. My daughters, I am happy to think, were spared the indignity. But what matters it, since they were carried off?”

“Whither?”

“A los montes!” “Ay de mi! Holy Virgin, protect them!”

“It is to be hoped she will. But why, may I ask, did you risk travelling in the diligencia between this place and Puebla? You had no escort, I take it; and must have known that the road is unsafe?”

“True, cavallero, we had no escort. It was very imprudent on my part, but I trusted to the counsels of our confessor —un hombre muy sabio– who believed there was no danger. The good padre assured us the roads were safe – made so by you valiant Americanos– that there was not a robber to be encountered between Puebla and the capital. Even then I might not have listened to him, but that I had a good reason for coming hither with my daughters; and as they – neither of them – were at all afraid, but rather inclined to it, I ventured to travel by diligencia. Alas! too easily did I yield consent to their wishes – as I have now reason to know. Dios de mi alma! Despoiled of my children! Robbed! Ruined!”

“I presume you had money upon your person, as well as these other valuables?”

I pointed to the chain and seals hanging from the watch-pocket of the petitioner. “They left you these! How do you account for it?”

“Ay Dios, cavallero! That is the strangest thing of all. I had both money – gold money – and this watch. It is one of considerable value, as you may judge for yourself.”

The old gentleman drew out a grand chronometer-like timepiece, with jewelled holes and strong gold cases – evidently worth a couple of hundred dollars.

“They left me this,” he continued, “and my money too! But what signifies that, since they have taken away the muchachas? Pobres niñas!”

“And they took only them?” I asked, becoming interested in the story of a robber episode so little in keeping with the ordinary experience.

“Nada mas.”

“Nothing more! And your fellow-passengers in the diligencia? were they alike sparing of their purses?”

“Fellow-passengers! We had none, señor capitan. There were but the four of us, as I’ve said – all members of my own family: for of course we count the good padre as one of ourselves. True, there were two or three other gentlemen who wished to get in with us at Puebla. They were strangers to me; and, not liking their looks, I chartered the diligencia for myself. I believe they came in another coach after us. I am sorry, now, we did not have them along with us. It might have been better. It could not have been worse!”

“But the padre of whom you speak – this hombre muy sabio– what has become of him?”

“Carrambo, señor! That is the strangest thing of all: they kept him too! After a time the robbers permitted my unworthy self to proceed on the journey. But the monk they compelled to remain. What a scandal to our Holy Church! I hope it will cause the excommunication of every ladron in Mexico, and have them devoted to the perdition they so richly deserve. This comes of having changed our government into a republic. It was not so in the old times, when Spain sent us a viceroy. Then there were no robbers, such as these audacious salteadores, that have this day deprived me of my dear daughters! Ay de mi! Ay de mi!”

“What do you wish the general to do?” I inquired, as the old gentleman became a little tranquillised, after a spasmodic outburst of grief.

“Señor,” he replied, “we have all heard of the humanity of the American ‘Gefe.’ Though he is our country’s enemy, we respect him for the compassion he has shown to a conquered people. Entreat him to take my unhappiness to heart. I know you will do so. Ask him to send out a troop of his valiant dragoons, and recover my lost children. At sight of your brave soldiers the robbers would take to flight, and leave the poor muchachas to be restored to their sorrowing father. O kind capitan; do not deny me! My only hope is in you!”

Although the story of a father thus brutally bereft of his children was of itself calculated to excite commiseration, I should, perhaps, not have felt it very keenly, but for a souvenir it had stirred up within me.

There was nothing at all strange in what he had told me. It was only one of the “Cosas de Mexico,” though, perhaps, not among the commonest. Still it would have given me little more concern than one might feel on reading the account of a lady in London streets – Bloomsbury-square, for instance – having been stopped by a fustian-coated garotter, and relieved of her pocket handkerchief, her card case, and vinaigrette.

Any chagrin the story caused me was but a resuscitation of that already in my mind – the remembrance of my murdered friend, and my antipathy to the whole fraternity of salteadores.

Both might have been freshly excited by his narrative, and nothing more; but for the aroused remembrance, of which I have spoken; and which secured him a sympathy I could scarcely explain. Besides, there was something touching in the appeal of the old Don – not the less that it was made with all the elegance and in the diction of an educated gentleman.

I had no desire to resist it. On the contrary, I at once determined to lay his case before the general, and strengthen it with my own influence – so far as that went.

There was not much generosity in my motive. Without knowing it, the Mexican had done me a service. I felt certain I should now have the chance of chastising – if not the same brigands who had assassinated my artist acquaintance – some who would have behaved quite as badly, had the opportunity occurred to them.

Before turning to translate what had been communicated to me, I thought it might be as well to make myself acquainted with the patronymic of the petitioner.

“Your name?” I inquired, looking him full in the face, and with a vague impression that I had somewhere seen him before, “You have not told me that? The general may wish to know it.”

“Eusebio Villa-Señor. Al servicio de V.”

I started as if a shot had struck me. Oh! the memories that rolled up at the mention of that name!

I was carried back to the City of the Angels – to the Calle del Obispo – to the sorrow from which I had vainly imagined myself to have escaped!

Again was it upon me, full and fell as ever.

With an effort I succeeded in controlling my emotions, or at least the exhibition of them.

Absorbed in his own grief, Don Eusebio did not suspect the existence of mine; and the general was still engrossed with his strategical combinations.

I was now too deeply interested in the suit of the petitioner, to lose a moment’s time in placing it before him petitioned.

I endorsed it with all the eloquence I could command: since it was almost identical with my own – already preferred.

Our joint prayer was heard, and granted upon the spot.

I obtained a commission to chastise any band of brigands, I might choose to go out against.

Need I say, that I had not much difficulty in making the selection?