The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista

Phil slept several hours, but he awoke after midnight, and did not go to sleep again. He, Arenberg, andBreakstone were under the immediate command ofMiddleton, who allowed them much latitude, and they usedit for purposes of scouting. They crept through gulliesand ravines and along the edges of the ridges, thedarkness and the stone projections giving them shelter. Theypassed beyond the outermost American pickets, and thenstopped, crouching among some bushes. All three hadheard at the same time low voices of command, the clankof heavy wheels, and the rasping of hoofs over stones.The three also divined the cause, but Breakstone alonespoke of it in a whisper:

"They are dragging artillery up the side of themountain in order that they may rake us to-morrow. ThatSanta Anna calls himself the Napoleon of Mexico, andhe's got some of the quality of the real Napoleon."

By raising up a little they could see the men andhorses with the guns, and they crept back to their owncamp with the news. The American force was too smallto attempt any checking movement in the darkness, andthat night Santa Anna dragged five whole batteries upthe mountainside.

It was about 4 o'clock in the morning when the threereturned from their scout, and they sat down in one of theravines about a small fire of smoldering coals. Some ofthe Kentuckians were with them, including Grayson, andnow and then a brisk word of the coming day was said.In those cold dark hours, when vitality was at its lowest, they were not as confident as they had been. Thenumbers of the Mexicans weighed upon them, and Phil hadnot liked the sight of all those cannon taken up the sideof the mountain. Their talk ceased entirely after awhile, and they sat motionless with their blankets wrappedaround their bodies, because the blasts were very chillnow in the Pass of Angostura. The moaning of the windthrough the gorges was a familiar sound, but to-night itgot upon one's nerves.

Those last few hours were five times their rightfullength, but all things come to an end, and Phil saw inthe east the first narrow band of silver that betokenedthe dawn. Day, like night, in that southern region camefast. The sun shot above the mountain rim, its splendorcame again in a flood, and up rose the two armies.

There was no delay now. On the left the heavybrigades of Ampudia opened fire at once with cannon, muskets, and rifles. They pressed forward, and at thatpoint the American front, also, blazed with fire.

"It's here, Phil," cried Breakstone. "This is thebattle at last!"

Cool as he usually was, he had lost his calm now, andhis eyes glowed with excitement. The rosy face ofArenberg was also flushed a deeper hue than usual.

"They come!" he exclaimed.

The whole Mexican army seemed to lift itself up andadvance in a vast enfolding curve, but Ampudia stillpressed the hardest, endeavoring to crush in the Americanleft, and the five batteries that had been taken up themountainside in the night poured in a heavy fire. Infive minutes a great cloud of smoke from the cannon, rifles, and muskets floated over the field. The Mexicansadvanced with courage and confidence. At dawn SantaAnna had made a great address, riding up and down thelines, and they deemed victory a matter of certainty.

Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg had left their horsesin the rear, and at this moment Middleton appeared alsodismounted.

"Stay with the Kentuckians there," he said, pointingto the ravine. "They will need every man. You can becavalrymen later if the chance comes."

The three at once fell into line with Grayson and theothers who had welcomed them to their camp, and theysaw the truth of Middleton's words. Ampudia hadaccumulated a great force on the ridge above the plateau, during the night, and now they were coming down inheavy masses upon the thin lines of the Kentuckians.

"It's not just five to one. It's eight to one,"muttered Bill Breakstone, as he looked at the long and deepcolumns which they were so soon to meet.

Phil felt his muscles quivering again, while a redlight danced before his eyes. But it was not fear. Thetime for that had passed. The Kentuckians in the frontrank kneeled down, with their hands on the triggers oftheir rifles. Clouds of dust and smoke floated over themand stung their eyes, and the deepening roar of the battleswelled from right and left. Phil knew that this greatforce of Mexicans was coming forward to crush them inorder that another large division might pass along theplateau and flank the American army. He was goodenough soldier to know that if they succeeded the trapwould indeed close down so firmly upon the defendersthat they could not burst from it.

The boy never took his eyes from the advancingMexican column. He saw, or thought he saw, the dark faces, the glowing eyes, and he was quite sure that he heard theheavy tread of the approaching thousands. Some onegave the order to fire, and, with a mechanical impulse, hepulled the trigger. All the Kentuckians fired together, aiming with their usual coolness and precision, and thefront rank of the Mexican advance was blown away.The Mexicans wavered, the Americans reloaded and firedagain with the same deadly precision, and then fromtheir right came the flash of cannon fire, sending theshells and heavy balls into the thick ranks of Ampudia'smen. The hesitation of the Mexicans turned into retreat, and, hurrying back, they sought refuge along the slopesof the mountains, while the Kentuckians uttered aderisive shout.

"Draw an extra breath or two, Phil," said Bill Breakstone,"because you won't have another chance for sometime. We've driven back the flank, but the main armyof the Mexicans will be on us in a few minutes."

Phil did as he was bid. He was glad to see thoseMexicans gone from their front, and, for the moment atleast, he felt the thrill of victory. Yet, while there wasrest for him, at that instant the battle was going on allabout him. He seemed to hear somewhere the distantnotes of a band playing, cheering the soldiers on to death.Now and then came the call of a bugle, shrill and piercing, and the rifles crashed incessantly. The air quiveredwith the roar of the cannon, and the echoes came rollingback from the gorges.

Now that he was really in the great battle, Phil feltan abnormal calmness. His heart ceased to beat so fast, and his blood cooled a little. He saw that the main armyof the Mexicans was advancing in three columns. Two ofthese columns, one under Lombardini, and the otherunder Pacheco, came straight toward the little plateau bythe side of the pass, upon which most of the Americanarmy now stood. The front of each column was a massof lancers, and rumbling batteries of twelve-pounderscame behind. The third column advanced toward thepass.

It was now about nine o'clock in the morning. GeneralTaylor had not yet arrived from Saltillo, but GeneralWool, his second, had thrown the whole American forcein a line across the plateau and the pass, where, less thanforty-five hundred in number, it awaited the full impactof twenty thousand Mexican troops. The moment wasmore than critical. It was terrible. It required stouthearts among the young volunteers, not trained regularsat all, as they watched the Mexican masses heave forward.Lucky it was for them that they had been born in newcountries, where every boy, as a matter of course, learnedthe use of the rifle. And it was lucky, too, that thebattery of O'Brien, a most daring and skillful officer, wason their flank to help them.

"Have you drawn those easy breaths yet, Phil?"asked Breakstone.

"Yes."

"Good, because the chance is gone now. Hark, therego our cannon! Look, how the balls are smashing intothem!"

The American battery opened at a range of only twohundred yards, and the balls and shells tore through theMexican lines, but the Mexicans are no cowards, and theywere well led that day. Their ranks closed up, and theymarched past the fallen, their flags still flying, comingwith steady step toward the plateau. Now their ownartillery opened, and their numerous guns swept the plateauwith a perfect hurricane of shot and shell. The volunteersbegan to fall fast. The Mexican gunners were doingdeadly work, and the Kentuckians where Phil stood raisedtheir rifles again.

"Fire, Phil! Fire as fast as you can reload and pulltrigger. It's now or never!"

Phil again did as he was bid, and the others did thesame, but this was a far more formidable attack than theone that they had driven back earlier. The Mexicansnever ceased to come. The fire from their cannon grewheavier and more deadly, and the lancers were alreadycharging upon the front lines, thrusting with their longweapons. It was only inborn courage and tenacity thatsaved them now. Phil saw the glittering squadronswheeling down upon them.

"Kneel and fire as they come close," shouted Middleton,"and receive them on the bayonet!"

It seemed to Phil that the lances were almost in theirfaces before they fired. He saw the foam on the nostrilsof the horses, their great, bloodshot eyes, and their neckswet with sweat. He saw the faces of the riders wet, too, with sweat, but glowing with triumph, and he saw them, also, brandishing the long lances with the glittering steelshafts. Then the rifles crashed so close together that theywere blended in one volley, and the lancers who did notfall reeled. But they quickly came on again to ridedirectly upon a hedge of bayonets which hurled themback. Once more the triumphant shout of the Kentuckiansrose, but it was quickly followed by a groan. Atdifferent points the volunteers from another state, dauntedby their great losses and the overwhelming numbers thatcontinually pressed upon them, were giving way. Theirretreat became a panic, and the helpful battery was leftuncovered. The brave O'Brien was compelled to unlimberand retreat with his guns. The flying regiment raninto another that was coming up and carried it along inits panic of the moment.

Phil and his comrades had full cause for the groanthat they uttered. The day seemed lost. The column ofLombardini was on the southern edge of the plateau andwas pressing forward in masses that seemed irresistible.The lancers had recovered themselves and were slayingthe fugitives, while the Mexican cannon also hailed shotand shell upon them.

Burning tears rose to Phil's eyes-he could not helpit, he was only a boy-and he turned appealingly to thefaithful Breakstone.

"Shall we, too, have to retreat?" he shouted.

"Not yet! Not yet, I hope!" Breakstone shoutedback. "No, we don't retreat at all! See the braveIllinois boys turning the current!"

An entire Illinois regiment had thrown itself in thepath of pursuers and pursued, and two fresh cannon beganto cut through the Mexican masses. The fugitives wereprotected and saved from wholesale slaughter, but BillBreakstone claimed too much. It was impossible for asingle regiment and two guns to withstand so manythousands crowded at that point, and the Illinois lads didretreat. But they retreated slowly and in perfect order, sending volley after volley into the advancing masses.Nor did they go far. They halted soon in a good positionand stood there, firing steadily into the Mexican columns.Yet they seemed lost. The Mexicans in vast numberswere pouring down upon the plateau, and the Illinoismen were now attacked in the flank as well as in thefront.

"Time for us to be doing something," said Breakstone, and at that moment the order came. The Kentuckians, also, retreated, turning, as fast as they reloaded,to fire a volley, aiming particularly at the lancers, whoseweapons were so terrible at close quarters. Phil lookedmore than once through all the fire and smoke for deArmijo, but he didn't see him until the battle was a fullhour old. Then it was only a passing glimpse, and heknew that his shot had missed-he had fired withoutremorse, as he now regarded de Armijo as so much venom.After the single shot the columns of smoke floated inbetween, and he saw him no more.

Phil knew that the battle was at a most critical stage, that it was even worse, that all the chances now favoredthe Mexicans. An inexperienced boy even could notdoubt it. The charge of the lancers had driven back asmall detachment of mounted volunteers, the Americanriflemen posted on the slopes of the mountain were forcedout of their positions, and the great columns of infantrywere still pressing on the left, cutting their way to therear of the army.

It seemed to Phil that they were completelysurrounded, and, in fact, they nearly were, but the men ofIllinois and Kentucky redoubled their efforts. Thebarrels of their rifles grew hot with so much firing. Themingled reek of dust and sweat, of smoke and burnedgunpowder, stung their nostrils and filled their eyes, halfblinding them. The shell and grape and bullets of theMexicans now reached the Kentuckians, too. Phil, asthe smoke lifted now and then, saw many a comrade godown. He, Arenberg, and Breakstone were all woundedslightly, though they were not conscious then of theirhurts.

Worse came. The great enclosing circle of theMexicans drove them into a mass. The regiment that hadbroken in panic could not yet be rallied, although theirofficers strove like brave men to get them back in line, and, like brave men, died trying. Phil saw officersfalling all around him, although Middleton was still erect, sword in hand, encouraging the men to fight on.

"It can't be that we are beaten! It can't be!" criedthe boy in despair.

"No," said Breakstone, "it's not a beating, but it'sa darned fine imitation. Come on, boys! Come on, allof you! We'll drive them back yet!"

Phil felt some one strike against him in the smoke.It was Dick Grayson, of Paris.

"Looks hot, Phil!" said that ingenuous youth. Therewas a tremendous discharge of artillery, and Graysonwent down. But he promptly sprang up.

"It is hot," he shouted, "hotter than I thought. ButI'm not hurt. It was only the wind from a cannon-ball.Look out, here come the lancers again, and our rifles areunloaded!"

The long glittering line of lancers appeared throughthe smoke, and Phil thought that their day was done. Itseemed to him that he could not resist any more, but, atthat moment a mighty crash of artillery came from thepass. The third column of Mexicans had just comewithin range of Washington's guns, and the gunners, restrained hitherto, were pouring shot and shell, grapeand canister, as fast as they could fire, into the Mexicanmass. The column was hurled back by the sudden andterrific impact, and, breaking, it fled in a panic. TheMexicans on the plateau were affected by the flight oftheir comrades, and they, too, lancers and all, wavered.The Illinois troops came pouring back. With them weremore Kentuckians and Bragg's battery, and then Sherman'sbattery, too. Never were cannon better served thanwere the American guns on that day. When the gunsbegan to thunder in front of them and between them andthe enemy, the fugitives were rallied and were broughtback into the battle.

Both batteries were now cutting down the Mexicans atthe foot of the mountain, but Breakstone, cool as always, pointed to the columns of Ampudia's infantry, whichwere still pressing hard on the flank, seeking to reach therear of the American army.

"If they get there we are lost," he said.

"There is dust behind us now," exclaimed Phil."See that column of it coming fast!"

"Good God, can they have got there already!" criedBreakstone, despair breaking at last through his armor ofcourage.

The cloud of dust rose like a tower and came fast.Then a shout of joy burst from the Americans. Throughthat cloud of dust showed the red face and white hair ofOld Rough and Ready, their commander, returning fromSaltillo, and with him were Davis's Mississippians andMay's mounted men. Wool galloped forward to meethis chief, who rode upon the plateau and looked at thewhole wide curve of the battle as much as the dust andsmoke would allow.

"The battle is lost," said Wool.

"That is for me to say," said Taylor.

Yet it seemed that Wool, a brave and resolute leader, was right. A great percentage of the American army wasalready killed or wounded. Many of its best officers hadfallen, and everywhere the Mexicans continually pressedforward in columns that grew heavier and heavier. SantaAnna worthily proved that day that, whatever he mayhave been otherwise he possessed devouring energy, greatcourage, and a spark of military genius. And thegenerals around him, Lombardini, Pacheco, Villamil,Torrejon, Ampudia, Minon, Juvera, Andrade, and the restwere full of the Latin fire which has triumphed more thanonce over the cold courage and order of the North.

The crisis was visible to every one. Ampudia andhis infantry passing to the rear of the American armymust be stopped. Davis gathered his Mississippians andhurled them upon Ampudia's men, who outnumberedthem five to one. They fired, then rushed down one slopeof a ravine that separated them from the enemy, and upthe other slope directly into the ranks of the Mexicans; firing another volley almost face to face. So great wastheir impact that the head of the Mexican column wasshattered, and the whole of it was driven back. Ampudia'smen, by regiments, sought shelter along the slopesof the mountain.

The battle was saved for the moment, but for themoment only. Few battles have swung in the balance oftenerthan this combat at Buena Vista, when it seemed as ifthe weight of a hair might decide it.

"We can breathe again, Phil," cried Breakstone."They haven't flanked us there, but I don't think we'llhave time for more than two breaths."

The battle, just in front of them, paused for aninstant or two, but it went on with undiminished furyelsewhere. While Phil let his heated rifle cool, he watchedthis terrible conflict at the mouth of the grim pass, acombat that swung to and fro and that refused to bedecided in favor of either. But, as he rested, all hiscourage came back anew. The little army, the boyvolunteers, had already achieved the impossible. For hoursthey had held off the best of the Mexican troops, five totheir one. More than once they had been near to theverge, but nobody could say that they had been beaten.

Phil's feeling of awe came again, as he looked at thegreat stage picture, set with all the terrible effects ofreality. The smoke rose always, banking up against thesides of the mountain, but dotted with red and pinkspots, the flame from the rifles of the sharpshooters wholurked among the crags. From the mouth of the passcame a steady roaring where the cannon of Washingtonwere fired so fast. The smoke banked up there, too, butit was split continually by the flash of the great guns.Out of the smoke came the unbroken crash of rifles, resembling, but on a much larger scale, the ripping of aheavy cloth. Now and then both sides shouted andcheered.

Bill Breakstone was a shrewd judge of a battle thatday. The crisis had passed, but in a few minutes a newcrisis came. For in their rear began another fierceconflict. Torrejon's splendid brigade of lancers made its wayaround the mountain and fell upon the small force ofArkansas and Kentucky volunteers under Yell andMarshall at the hacienda of Buena Vista. Yell was killedalmost instantly, many other men went down, but thevolunteers held fast. Some, their horses slain orwounded, reached the roofs of houses, and with their longrifles emptied saddle after saddle among the lancers. Itwas a confused and terrible struggle, but, in an instantor two, American dragoons came to the rescue. Thelancers gave way and fled, bearing with them their leader, the brave Torrejon, who was wounded badly. Again thearmy was saved by courage and quick action. If Torrejonand his men had been able to hold Buena Vista, theAmerican force would have been destroyed.

Phil knew nothing of the conflict at Buena Vista itselfuntil the day was done, because he was soon in the verythickest of it again himself. He and his comrades stoodamong the decimated squares on the plateau, where thebattle had shifted for a moment, and where the smokewas rising. Looking over the field, littered with menand horses, it seemed that half of his countrymen hadfallen. Everywhere lay the dead, and the woundedcrawled painfully to the rear. Yet the unhurt could givelittle aid to the hurt, because the Mexican battle frontseemed as massive and formidable as ever.

"Load, Phil, load!" whispered Bill Breakstone."See, they're coming again!"

Masses of lancers were gathering anew on the plateau, among them many of Torrejon's men, who had come backfrom the other side of the mountain, and the liftingsmoke enabled Phil and his comrades to see them clearly.The defenders-they were not many now-were moreclosely packed. The men of the West and South weremingled together, but with desperate energy the officerssoon drew them out in a line facing the lancers.Sherman with his cannon also joined them. In the shiftingfortunes of the day, another critical moment came. Ifthe charge of the lancers passed over their line, theAmericans were beaten.

The battle elsewhere sank and died for the time.All looked toward the two forces on the plateau, the heavysquadrons of cavalry advancing, and the thin line ofinfantry silent and waiting. The Mexican bugles ceasedto sound, and the firing stopped. Phil and the men withhim in the front rank knelt again. Arenberg, as usual, wason one side of him, and Breakstone on the other.Middleton was not far away. Phil glanced up and down theAmerican line and, as he saw how few they were, hisheart, after a period of high courage, sank like aplummet in a pool. It did not seem possible to stop thehorsemen. Then his courage rose again. They had donea half dozen wonders that day, they could do another halfdozen.

It was one of the most vivid moments of Phil's life, fairly burnt into his soul. The smoke, lifting higherand higher, disclosed more and more of the field, with itsdead and dying everywhere. The mountains were comingout of the mists and vapors, and showing their barecrags and peaks. There was no sound but the hoofbeatsof the horsemen and an occasional cry from the wounded, but Phil did not even hear these. There was to him onlyan awful and ominous silence, as the heavy columns drewnearer and nearer and he saw the menacing faces andready weapons. The blood quivered in his veins, but hedid not give back. Nor did the others, most of whomwere boys not much older than he.

"I think this will tell the tale," whispered BillBreakstone. "Look how steady our lads are! Veteranregulars could not bear themselves better in the face offive to one."

Nearer and nearer came the lancers. Something inthe aspect of the steady troops that awaited the shockmust have daunted them, because already on that daythey had shown themselves brave men more than once.The hoofbeats ceased, their line stopped and wavered, and at that instant the American rifles fired, pouringforth a stream of lead, a deadly volley.

Phil saw the blaze from a long line of muzzles, thepuff of rifle smoke, and then as it lifted he tried to shuthis eyes but could not. The whole front of the Mexicancolumn was destroyed. Men and horses lay in a heap, and other riderless horses galloped wildly over the plateau.The second line of the lancers stood for a moment, butwhen the cannon, following up the rifles, hurled shot andshell among them, they, too, broke and fled, while thebullets from the reloaded rifles pelted them and drovethem to greater speed.

A shout arose from the scanty ranks of the defense.Another critical moment had passed, and for the firsttime fortune shifted to the American side. Now thedefenders followed up their advantage. They pressedforward, pushing the Mexicans before them, attackingthem on two sides and driving them against the base ofthe mountain.

The whole battle now surged back toward the directionwhence Santa Anna had come. The scanty division ofthe Americans, after so long a defense, a defense thatseemed again and again to be hopeless, massed themselvesanew and attacked the Mexican army with redoubledvigor. Phil felt the song of victory singing in his ears, the blood leaped in his veins, and a great new store ofstrength came from somewhere, as he, with Breakstoneand Arenberg yet on either side of him, marched forwardnow, not backward.

The great division of Ampudia which had threatenedto surround the American force was now penned in at thefoot of the mountain. This single division alone greatlyoutnumbered the whole American army, but panic andterror were in its ranks. The Southern and Westernriflemen were advancing on three sides, sending in showers ofbullets that could not miss. Nine cannon, manned bygunners as good as the world could furnish, cut downrank after rank.