Part 58 (1/2)

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 ma.s.s. 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 smas.h.i.+ng 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.