Part 58 (2/2)

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 l.u.s.tily. 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 crus.h.i.+ng 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 a.s.sistance 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.”

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