The Border Rifles: A Tale of the Texan War

"Then, I can still count on my brother's assistance?"

"Why should I refuse it to you, Chief? Your cause is still as it was, that is to say, just; it is my duty to help you, and I will do so, whatever may happen."

"Och! I thank my brother; his rifle will be useful to us."

"Here we are; it is time to form a determination with reference to Monkey-face."

"It is formed," the Chief answered, laconically.

At this moment, they entered a vast clearing, in the centre of which several fires were burning.

Five hundred Indian warriors, painted and armed for war, were lying about in the grass, while their horses, all harnessed, and ready for mounting, were hobbled, and eating their provender of climbing peas.

Round the principal fire several Chiefs were crouching and smoking silently.

The newcomers dismounted, and proceeded rapidly toward this fire, before which Monkey-face was walking up and down in considerable agitation.

The two men took their places by the side of the other Chiefs, and lit their calumets; although every one expected their arrival impatiently, no one addressed a word to them, Indian etiquette prohibiting a Chief from speaking, before the calumet was completely smoked out.

When Black-deer had finished his calumet, he shook out the ashes, passed it through his belt, and said: —

"The orders of the Sachems are accomplished; the bloody arrows have been delivered to the Palefaces."

The Chiefs bowed their heads in sign of satisfaction at these news.

Monkey-face walked up.

"Has my brother Black-deer seen Grey-head?" he asked.

"Yes," the Chief answered, drily.

"What does my brother think?" Monkey-face pressed him.

Black-deer gave him an equivocal glance.

"What matters the thought of a Chief at this moment," he answered, "since the Council of the Sachems has resolved on war?"

"The nights are long," Blue-fox then said, "will my brothers remain here smoking?"

Tranquil remarked in his turn —

"The Long knives are on their guard, they are watching at this moment, my brothers will remount their horses, and withdraw, for the hour is not propitious."

The Chiefs gave a sign of assent.

"I will go on the discovery," Monkey-face said.

"Good," Black-deer answered, with a stern smile; "my brother is skilful, he sees many things, he will inform us."

Monkey-face prepared to leap on a horse which a warrior led him up, but suddenly Black-deer rose, rushed toward him, and laying his hand roughly on his shoulder, compelled him to fall on his knees.

The warriors, surprised at this sudden aggression, the motive of which they did not divine, exchanged glances of surprise, though they did not make the slightest movement to interpose between the two Chiefs.

Monkey-face quickly raised his head.

"Does the Spirit of evil trouble my brother's brain?" he said, as he tried to free himself from the iron grip that nailed him to the ground.

Black-deer gave a sarcastic smile, and drew his scalping knife.

"Monkey-face is a traitor," he said in a sullen voice "he has sold his brothers to the Palefaces; he is about to die."

Black-deer was not only a renowned warrior, but his wisdom and honour were held in just repute by the tribe; hence no one protested against the accusation he had made, the more so, because, unfortunately for him, Monkey-face had been long known.

Black-deer raised his knife, whose bluish blade flashed in the fire-light, but by a supreme effort Monkey-face succeeded in freeing himself, bounded like a wild beast, and disappeared in the bushes with a hoarse laugh.

The knife had slipped, and only cut the flesh, without inflicting a serious wound on the clever Indian.

There was a moment of stupor, but then all rose simultaneously to rush in pursuit of the fugitive.

"Stay," Tranquil shouted in a loud voice, "it is now too late. Make haste to attack the Palefaces before that villain has warned them, for he is doubtless meditating fresh treachery."

The Chiefs recognized the justice of this, advice, and the Indians prepared for the combat.

CHAPTER X
THE BATTLE

In the meanwhile, as is stated a little while ago, Captain Watt had assembled all the members of the colony in front of the town.

The number of combatants amounted to sixty-two, including the females.

European ladies may think it singular that we count the females among the combatants: in truth, in the old world the days of Bradamante and Joan d'Arc have happily passed away for ever, and the fair sex, owing to the constant progress of civilization, is no longer reduced to the necessity of fighting side by side with men.

In North America, at the period of which we write, and even at the present day, on the prairies and the clearings, it is not so; when the war-yell of the Indians suddenly echoes on the ears of the pioneers, the women are constrained to give up the labour of their sex, to take a rifle in their delicate hands, and fight boldly in defence of the community.

We could, if necessary, cite several of these heroines with soft eyes and angelic countenances who, on occasion, have valiantly done their duty as soldiers and fought like perfect demons against the Indians.

Mrs. Watt was anything rather than a heroine, but she was the daughter and the wife of a soldier; she was born and brought up on the Indian borders; she had already smelt powder several times and seen blood flow, but, before all, she was a mother. As her children had to be defended, all her feminine timidity had disappeared and made way for a cold and energetic resolution.

Her example electrified all the other women of the colony, and all had armed, resolved to fight by the side of their husbands and fathers.

We repeat here that, what with men and women, the Captain had sixty-two combatants around him.

He tried to dissuade his wife from taking part in the fight, but the gentle creature whom he had seen hitherto so timid and obedient, plainly refused to give up her project, and the Captain was compelled to let her do as she pleased.

He therefore made his arrangements for defence. Twenty-four men were placed in the entrenchments under the orders of Bothrel. The Captain himself took the command of a second party of twenty-four hunters, intended to act anywhere and everywhere. The females, under the orders of Mrs. Watt, were left in charge of the tower, in which the children and the invalids were shut up, and the arrival of the Indians was then awaited.

It was about one in the morning when the Canadian hunter and the Pawnee Chief left the colony; by about half-past two all was ready for the defence.

The Captain made a last round of the entrenchment in order to ensure himself that all was in order, then, after ordering all the fires to be extinguished, he secretly left the colony by a concealed door in the palisades, of whose existence only himself and Sergeant Bothrel were cognizant.

A plank was placed across the ditch, and the Captain crossed, only followed by Bothrel and a Kentuckian of the name of Bob, a daring and broad-shouldered fellow, to whom we have already had occasion to refer.

The plank was carefully hidden so as to serve for their return, and the three men glided through the darkness like phantoms.

When they had gone about one hundred yards from the colony, the Captain halted.

"Gentlemen," he then said in a voice so faint that they were obliged to stoop down to hear him; "I have chosen you because the expedition we are about to attempt is dangerous, and I wanted resolute men with me."

"What is to be done?" Bothrel asked.

"The night is so dark that those accursed Pagans could if they liked reach the very edge of the ditch, and it would be impossible for us to notice them; I have, therefore, resolved to set fire to the piles of planks and roots. A man must know how to make sacrifices when needed; these fires which will burn a long while will spread a brilliant light, enabling us to see our enemies for a long distance and fire at them with certainty."

"The idea is excellent," Bothrel answered.

"Yes," the Captain continued, "still, we must not hide from ourselves that it is extremely perilous; it is plain that Indian scouts are already scattered over the prairies, perhaps very close to us, and when two or three fires have been lighted, if we see them, they will not fail to see us too. Each of us will take the necessary objects, and we will try by the rapidity of our movements to foil the tricks of these demons; remember that we shall act separately, and each of us will have four or five fires to light, so we cannot count on one another. To work!"

The combustibles and inflammable matters were shared between the three men and they separated.

Five minutes later a spark glistened, then a second, then a third; at the end of a quarter of an hour ten tires were lighted.

Weak at first, they seemed to hesitate for a while, but gradually the flame increased, gained consistency, and soon the whole plain was lit up by the blood-red glare of these immense torches.

The Captain and his comrades had been more fortunate than they anticipated in their expedition, for they had succeeded in lighting the piles of wood scattered over the valley, without attracting the attention of the Indians; and they hurried back to the entrenchments at full speed. It was high time, for suddenly a terrible war-yell burst forth behind them, and a large band of Indian warriors appeared on the skirt of the forest, galloping at full speed, and brandishing their weapons like a legend of demons.

But they came up too late to catch the Whites, who had crossed the ditch and were sheltered from their missiles.

A discharge of musketry greeted the arrival of the Indians, several fell from their horses, and the others turned and fled with great precipitation.

The fight had commenced, but the Captain cared little about that; thanks to his lucky expedient, a surprise was impossible, and they could see as well as in the daylight.

There was a moment's respite, by which the Americans profited to reload their rifles.

The colonists had felt anxious on seeing the immense fires lit up one after the other on the prairie; they believed in an Indian device, but were soon disabused, by the Captain's return, and congratulated themselves, on the contrary, upon this happy expedient, which enabled them to fire almost with certainty.

The Pawnees, however, had not given up their project of attack; in all probability they had only retired in order to deliberate.

The Captain, with his shoulder leant against the palisade, was attentively examining the deserted plain, when he fancied he perceived an unusual motion in a rather large field of Indian corn, about two rifle shots from the colony.

"Look out!" he said, "the enemy is approaching."

Every one put his finger on his trigger. All at once a great noise was heard, and the furthest pile of wood fell in, emitting myriads of sparks.

"By heaven!" the Captain shouted, "There is some Indian devilry behind that, for it is impossible for that enormous pile to be consumed."

At the same instant another fell in, followed immediately by a third, and then by a fourth.

There could no longer be a doubt as to the cause of these successive falls. The Indians, whose movements were neutralized by the light these monster beacons shed, had taken the very simple method of extinguishing them, which they were enabled to do in perfect safety, for they were out of rifle range.

No sooner was the wood down than it was scattered in every direction, and easily put out.

This expedient enabled the Indians to get very near to the palisades unnoticed.

Still, all the piles were not overthrown, and those that remained were near enough to the fort to be defended by its fire.

For all that, the Pawnees attempted to put them out. But the firing then recommenced, and the bullets fell in a hailstorm on the besiegers, who, after holding out for some minutes, were at last compelled to take to flight, for we cannot give the name of a retreat to the precipitation with which they withdrew.

The Americans began laughing and hooting at the fugitives.

"I think," Bothrel said facetiously, "that those fine fellows find our soup too hot, and regret having put their fingers in it."

"In truth," the Captain remarked, "they do not appear inclined to return this time."

He was mistaken; for, at the same instant, the Indians came back at a gallop.

Nothing could check them, and, in spite of the fusillade, to which they disdained to reply, they reached the very brink of the ditch.

It is true, that once there, they turned back, and retired as rapidly as they had come, though not without leaving on the way a great number of their comrades, whom the American bullets pitilessly laid low.

But the plan of the Pawnees had been successful, and the Whites soon perceived, to their great disappointment, that they had been too hasty in congratulating themselves on their facile victory.

Each Pawnee horseman carried on his croup a warrior, who, on reaching the ditch, dismounted, and profiting by the disorder and smoke, which prevented their being seen, sheltered themselves behind the trunks of trees and elevations of the soil so cleverly, that when the Americans leaned over the palisade to discover the results of the evening's charge, they were in their turn greeted by a discharge of bullets and long barbed arrows, which stretched fifteen on the ground.

There was a movement of blind terror among the Whites after this attack made by invisible enemies.

Fifteen men at one round was a fearful loss for the colonists; the combat was assuming serious proportions, which threatened to degenerate into a defeat; for the Indians had never before displayed so much energy and obstinacy in an attack.

No hesitation was possible; the daring force must be dislodged at any cost from the post where they had so rashly ambushed themselves.

The Captain formed his resolve.

Collecting some twenty resolute men, while the others guarded the palisades, he had the drawbridge lowered, and rushed out.

The enemies then met face to face.

The medley became terrible; the White men and Redskins intertwined like serpents, drunk with rage and blinded by hatred, only thought of killing each other.

All at once an immense glare illumined the scene of carnage, and cries of terror rose from the colony.

The Captain turned his head, and uttered a shriek of despair at the horrible sight that met his terror-stricken gaze.

The tower and principal buildings were on fire; in the light of the flames the Indians could be seen bounding like demons in pursuit of the defenders of the colony, who, grouped here and there, were attempting a resistance which had now become impossible.

This is what had occurred: —

While Black-deer, Blue-fox, and the other principal Pawnee Chiefs attempted an attack on the front of the colony, Tranquil, followed by Quoniam, and fifty warriors, on whom he could depend, had got into the buffalo-hide canoes, silently descended the river, and landed in the colony itself, before the alarm was given, for the very simple reason that the Americans did not at all apprehend an attack from the side of the Missouri.

Still, we must do the Captain the justice of saying that he had not left this side undefended; sentries had been posted there; but, unfortunately, in the disorder occasioned by the Indians' last charge, the sentries, thinking nothing was to be feared from the river, deserted their post to go whither they imagined the danger greatest, and help their comrades in repulsing the Indians.

This unpardonable fault ruined the defenders of the colony.

Tranquil disembarked his party without firing a shot.

The Pawnees, when they had once entered the fort, threw incendiary torches on the wooden buildings, and, uttering their war-yell, rushed on the Americans, whom they placed between two fires.

Tranquil, Quoniam, and some warriors who did not leave them, hurried up to the town.

Mrs. Watt, although taken by surprise, prepared, however, to defend the post confided to her.

The Canadian approached with hands upraised in sign of peace.

"Surrender, in Heaven's name!" he cried, "or you are lost; the colony is captured!"

"No!" she answered, boldly, "I will never surrender to a coward, who betrays his brothers to take the part of the Pagans!"

"You are unjust to me," the hunter answered, sadly – "I have come to save you."

"I will not be saved by you!"

"Unhappy woman! if not for your own sake, surrender on behalf of your children. See, the tower is on fire!"

The lady raised her eyes, uttered a thrilling shriek, and rushed wildly into the interior of the building.

The other females, trusting in the hunter's words, attempted no resistance, but laid down their arms.

Tranquil entrusted the guard of these poor women to Quoniam, with whom he left a few warriors, and then hurried off to put a stop to the carnage which was going on in all parts of the colony.

Quoniam entered the tower when he found Mrs. Watt half stifled and holding her children pressed to her heart with extraordinary strength. The worthy Negro threw the young lady across his shoulder, carried her out, and collecting all the females and children, led them to the banks of the Missouri to get them out of range of the fire, and await the end of the fight, without exposing the prisoners to the fury of the victors.

It was now no longer a combat but a butchery, rendered more atrocious still by the barbarous refinements of the Indians, who attacked their unhappy enemies with indescribable fury.

The Captain, Bothrel, Bob, and some twenty Americans, the only colonists still alive, were collected in the centre of the esplanade defending themselves with the energy of despair against a cloud of Indians, and resolved to die sooner than fall into the hands of their ferocious enemies.

Tranquil, however, succeeded, by repeated entreaties and braving a thousand perils, in inducing them to lay down their arms and thus put an end to the carnage.

All at once cries, groans, and entreaties were heard from the riverside.

The hunter dashed off; agitated by a gloomy presentiment.

Black-deer and his warriors followed him. When they reached the spot where Quoniam had collected the women, a fearful sight presented itself to them.

Mrs. Watt and three other females lay motionless on the ground in a pool of blood, Quoniam lay extended in front of them with two wounds, one on his head, the other in his chest.

It was impossible to obtain any information from the other females as to what had occurred, for they were half mad with terror.

The Captain's children had disappeared.

End of Prologue.

CHAPTER XI
THE VENTA DEL POTRERO

Using now our privilege as romancer, we will transfer the scene of our narrative to Texas, and resume our story about sixteen years after the events recorded in the prologue.

Dawn was beginning to tinge the clouds with its opaline rays, the stars went out one after the other in the gloomy depths of the sky, and on the extreme blue line of the horizon a bright red reflection, precursor of sunrise, showed that day would ere long appear. Thousands of invisible birds, hidden beneath the foliage, suddenly woke up, and melodiously began their morning concert, while the yells of the wild beasts quitting the watering places, and returning slowly to their unexplored lairs, became gradually more dull and indistinct.

At this moment the breeze rose, burst into the dense cloud of steam which at sunrise exhales from the earth in these intertropical regions, whirled it round for an instant, then rent it asunder, and scattered it in space; thus displaying, without any apparent transition, the most delicious landscape the dreaming mind of poet or painter could imagine.

It is, before all, in America that Providence appears to have taken a pleasure in lavishing the most striking landscape effects, and in infinitely varying the contrasts and harmonies of that puissant nature which can only be found there.

Through the centre of an immense plain, circled on all sides by the tall foliage of a virgin forest, there ran in capricious windings a sandy road, whose golden colour contrasted harmoniously with the deep green of the grass and the silvery whiteness of a narrow stream which the first beams of the sun caused to sparkle like a casket of jewels. Not far from the stream, and at about the middle of the plain, rose a white house with a verandah running round it, and a roof of red tiles. This house, prettily covered with creepers that almost hid its walls, was a Venta, or hostelry, built on the top of a small mount. It was reached by an imperceptible ascent, and, owing to its position, commanded the immense and grand landscape.

Before the door of the venta several dragoons, picturesquely grouped, and about twenty in number, were saddling their horses while the arrieros were actively engaged in loading seven or eight mules.

Along the road and some paces from the venta, several horsemen, resembling black dots, could be seen just entering the forest to which we alluded, a forest which rose gradually, and was commanded by a girdle of lofty mountains, whose rugged and bare crests were almost confounded with the azure of the sky.

The door of the venta opened, and a young officer came out singing, accompanied by a stout and jolly-looking monk; after them, a charming maiden of eighteen or nineteen, fair-haired and fragile, with blue eyes and golden hair, appeared on the threshold.

"Come, come," the Captain said, for the young officer wore the marks of that grade, "we have lost too much time already, so to horse."

"Hum!" the monk growled, "we have had hardly time to breakfast; why the deuce are you in such a hurry, Captain?"

"Holy man," the officer went on with a laugh, "if you prefer remaining, you are at liberty to do so."

"No, no, I will go with you," the monk exclaimed, with a look of terror; "caspita! I want to take advantage of your escort."

"Then make haste, for I shall give orders to start within five minutes."

The officer, after looking round the plain, gave his asistente orders to bring up his horse, and mounted with that grace peculiar to Mexican riders. The monk stifled a sigh of regret, probably thinking of the savoury hospitality he was leaving, to run the risk of a long journey, and, aided by the arrieros, he contrived to lift himself on to a mule, whose loins gave way beneath the enormous load.

"Ouf!" he muttered, "Here I am."

"To horse!" the officer commanded.

The dragoons obeyed at once, and for a few seconds the clash of steel could be heard.

The maiden, to whom we have alluded, had hitherto stood silent and motionless in the doorway, apparently suffering from some secret agitation, and looking now and then anxiously at two or three Campesinos, who, leaning negligently against the wall of the venta, listlessly followed the movements of the party; but at the moment when the Captain was about to give the order to start, she resolutely went up to him and offered him a mechero.

"Your cigarette is not lighted, sir," she said, in a soft and melodious voice.

"On my honour, 'tis true," he replied, and bending gallantly down to her, he returned her the mechero, saying, "thanks, my pretty child."

The girl profited by this movement, which brought his face close to hers, to whisper hurriedly —

"Take care!"

"What?" he said, as he looked fixedly at her. Without replying, she laid her finger on her rosy lips, and turning quickly away, ran back into the venta.

The Captain drew himself up, frowned savagely, and bent a threatening glance on the two or three fellows leaning against the wall, but he soon shook his head.

"Bah!" he muttered, disdainfully, "they would not dare."

He then drew his sabre, whose blade glistened dazzlingly in the sunbeams, and placed himself at the head of the troop.

"Forward!" he shouted.

They started at once.

The mules followed the bell of the Néna, and the dragoons collected round the recua enclosed it in their midst.

For a few minutes the Campesinos, who had been watching the departure of the troop, looked after it along the winding road, then re-entered the venta one by one.

The girl was seated alone on an equipal, apparently busily engaged in sewing; still, through the almost imperceptible tremor that agitated her body, the flush on her brow, and the timid look she shot through her long eyelashes on the entrance of the Campesinos, it was easy to read that the calmness she affected was far from her heart, and that, on the contrary, a secret fear tormented her.

These Campesinos were three in number; they were men in the full vigour of life, with harshly marked features, firm glances, and brusque and brutal manners. They wore the Mexican border costume, and were well armed.

They sat down on a bench placed before a clumsily planed table, and one of them striking it sharply with his fist, turned to the girl and said roughly —

"Drink here."

She started, and raised her head quickly.

"What do you wish for, Caballeros?" she said.

"Mezcal."

She rose and hastened to serve them; the man who had spoken caught her by the dress at the moment she passed.

"An instant, Carmela," he said.

"Let go my dress, Ruperto," she replied, with a slight pout of ill-humour, "you will tear it for me."

"Nonsense!" he replied, with a coarse laugh, "you must fancy me very awkward."

"No, but your manner does not please me."

"Oh! oh! you are not always so wild, my charming bird."

"What do you mean?" she continued, with a blush.

"No matter, I understand it; but that is not the question just at present."

"What is it, then?" she asked with feigned surprise; "Have I not brought you the mezcal you ordered?"

"Yes, yes; but I have something to say to you."

"Well, say it quickly, and let me go."

"You are in a great hurry to escape from me; are you afraid lest your lover may surprise you in conversation with me?"

Ruperto's comrades began laughing, and the maiden stood quite abashed.

"I have no lover, Ruperto, and you know it very well," she answered with tears in her eyes; "it is cruel of you to insult a defenceless girl."

"Nonsense! I am not insulting you, Carmela; what harm is there in a pretty girl like you having a lover, if not two?"

"Let me go," she cried, as she made an angry movement to free herself.

"Not before you have answered my question."

"Ask it then, and let us have an end of this."

"Well, my wild little maid, be good enough to repeat to me what you whispered just now to that springald of a captain."

"I?" she replied in embarrassment; "what do you suppose I said to him?"

"That is the very point. Niña, I do not suppose what you said to him, I merely wish you to tell me what it was."

"Leave me alone, Ruperto, you only take a delight in tormenting me."

The Mexican looked at her searchingly.

"Do not turn the conversation, my beauty," he said drily, "for the question I ask you is serious."

"That is possible; but I have no answer to give you."

"Because you know you have done wrong."

"I do not understand you."

"Of course not! Well, I will explain myself; at the moment the officer was about to start, you said to him, 'Take care,' Would you venture to deny it?"

The girl turned pale.

"Since you heard me," she said, attempting to jest, "why do you ask me?"

The Campesinos had frowned on hearing Ruperto's accusation; the position was growing serious.

"Oh, oh!" one of them said, as he looked up; "Did she really say that?"

"Apparently, since I heard it," Ruperto retorted brutally.

The girl took a timid glance around, as if imploring an absent protector.

"He is not there," Ruperto remarked cruelly, "so it is of no use looking for him."

"Who?" she asked, hesitating between the shame of the supposition and the terror of her dangerous position.

"He," he answered with a grin. "Listen, Carmela; several times already you have learned more of our business than we liked; I repeat to you the remark you made a minute ago to the Captain, and try to profit by it; take care."

"Yes," the second speaker said brutally; "for we might forget that you are only a child, and make you pay dearly for your treachery."

"Nonsense," the third said, who had hitherto contented himself with drinking, and taking no part in the conversation; "the law must be equal for all; if Carmela has betrayed us, she must be punished."

"Well said, Bernardo," Ruperto exclaimed, as he smote the table; "there are just enough of us to pronounce the sentence."

"Good Heavens!" she screamed, as she freed herself by a sudden effort from the grasp of the arm which had hitherto held her; "Let me go, let me go!"

"Stay!" Ruperto shouted as he rose; "If you do not, some misfortune will happen."

The three men rushed on the maiden, and the latter, half wild with terror, sought in vain the door of the venta by which to escape.

But, at the moment when the three men laid their rough and horny hands on her white and delicate shoulders, the door, whose hasp she had been unable to lift in her terror, was thrown wide open, and a man appeared on the threshold.

"What is the matter here?" he asked in a harsh voice, as he crossed his hands on his chest; and he stood motionless, looking round at the company.

There was such menace in the voice of the new-comer, such a flash shot from his eyes, that the three terrified men fell back mechanically against the opposing wall, muttering – "The Jaguar! The Jaguar!"

"Save me! Save me!" the maiden shrieked, as she rushed wildly toward him.

"Yes," he said in a deep voice; "yes, I will save you, Carmela; woe to the man who causes a hair of your head to fall."

And softly raising her in his powerful arms, he laid her gently on a butacca, where she reclined in a half-fainting condition.

The man who appeared so suddenly was still very young; his beardless face would have seemed that of a child, if his regular features, with their almost feminine beauty, had not been relieved by two large black eyes, which possessed a brilliancy and magnetic power that few men felt themselves capable of enduring.

He was tall, but graceful and elegant, and his chest was wide; his long hair, black as the raven's wing, fell in clusters beneath his vicuna hat, which was ornamented with a deep gold toquilla.