Backlands (43 page)

The battle had not really begun yet.

So far, the
sertanejos
had not responded, except for a light attack on the flanks of the artillery. The troops had taken over the mountain slope without being greeted by a single shot. When the shooting did commence, it was a sustained but aimless fire. Eight hundred rifles were aimed in a line down the hill.

The settlement was now visible through the smoke. The town was like a disturbed beehive. Clusters of people moved through the square, ran down the paths along the riverbank, headed to the church, and weaved through the alleyways clutching weapons in their hands. Some climbed onto the rooftops.

Some appeared to be running away. They were seen approaching the brushwoods, and then they disappeared into the hills. Others feigned indifference, crossing the square at a slow pace, seemingly aloof from the commotion and the rain of bullets coming from the slopes.

One entire company of the Seventh Battalion directed its fire at a
jagunço
who was approaching from the Uauá road. He walked slowly. Sometimes he stopped. Occasionally he would raise his head to gaze impassively at the troops and then he would continue on his way. This was an irritating affront. The soldiers fired nervously at this exceptional individual, who seemed to enjoy becoming the target of an entire army. At a certain moment he sat by the side of the road and seemed to strike a match to light his pipe. The soldiers laughed. The figure got up and, walking at the same slow pace, gradually was lost from sight as he disappeared between the houses.

Not a single shot was fired from the settlement. The frantic bustle of the population had subsided. A few stragglers were coming in. A few women ran past, carrying or dragging their children by the arm. They sought refuge behind the big walls of the new church.

The bell was silent at last.

The troops began the descent from the mountain, funneling down from the slopes. Hundreds of bayonets sparkled in the sun. The commander in chief remarked to one of the commanders of the Seventh, who was standing next to him as they observed the movement of the troops: “We are going to take this town without firing another shot—at bayonet point!”

It was one in the afternoon.

As soon as they were down the mountain, the infantry took up a position in the
quixabeira
grove. On their right was the Seventh, lining up parallel to the Vaza-Barris. On the left, the Ninth and Sixteenth were stationed on ground unsuitable for their purpose. The artillery was in the middle, on the last outcrop of hills, in a leading position directly over the river. They were opposite the new church and level with its cornices. This became the axis of a pincer movement designed to close in and secure the settlement from two sides. It was a simple parallel formation that was intended for a situation in which outnumbering the enemy made more-subtle maneuvers unnecessary. It allowed simultaneous action of all fighting units on a level field.

This battle plan was completely inappropriate. The various parts of the line were situated in entirely different topographical conditions. To the right was a small level area that would have facilitated an attack because the river was flat here and the banks were low. To the left was rugged land that fell away in a series of hills and was separated from the town by a deep ravine. A cursory glance would show that while the conditions on the left would actually impede a forward assault, the location could be turned into a tactical asset for a reserve force. The nature of the terrain suggested that an oblique line would be most effective and, instead of a simultaneous attack, partial attacks from the right would be best if supported by the artillery at a range of about a hundred yards from the enemy.

There would be no surprises with such a plan. If the enemy put up a stiff resistance, the reserves would be able to respond quickly. Colonel Moreira César ignored these conditions and insisted on putting all his troops into action at the same time. He was assuming that the
sertanejos
would be terrified by hundreds of bayonets and would instantly flee. This was a blatantly unjustified assumption and betrayed not only an ignorance of his profession but a lack of attention to what had happened to previous expeditions. He now committed the grievous error of ordering an attack under these terrible conditions.

The fact was that if the battalions attacked at the same time from two sides they would be shooting at each other instead of at the
jagunços.
While at first the artillery might hit the churches and the center of town, the scope of the action would shrink as the troops advanced, until they would have to die from friendly fire or engage in hand-to-hand combat with the enemy in the maze of alleyways.

It did not require a genius to see this. The first minutes of action made it all clear.

The battle began with heroic flourish, bugles blaring. All the troops went into action at once. The church bell was again pealing. Intense fire broke out from the walls and rooftops of the huts nearest the river. The guerrilla blunderbusses went off with a single explosion from inside the new church. With the advantage of good terrain, the Seventh advanced down to the river at double-quick pace, in a hail of lead and pebbles from the blunderbusses. Soon groups of them were seen emerging into the square. They had fallen out of battle formation. Some had fallen when crossing the river and were swept away by the bloody current. Most of the men kept moving forward under heavy fire. On the left, a wing of the Ninth took a position behind the new church while the Sixteenth and the right wing of the Seventh attacked from the center. A fierce fight was now swirling around the column moving forward in such a foolish fashion. At no point was the commander present.

The battle was now breaking up into smaller, more dangerous skirmishes that were deadly and futile. Lives were being unceremoniously wasted. Just a few yards from the square, Canudos became an impassable web of alleyways. The town, because of its mud construction, might have seemed fragile, but this was just an illusion. In reality it was stronger than an armored citadel. Although its position made it vulnerable to attack from above, in reality it was like a treacherous net that trapped anyone who ventured into it. It was dangerous because it offered up no resistance. It was easy to attack it, overwhelm it, knock it down, or break it up—the difficult thing was to get out of it. There was no hard surface to break the impact of the grenades. They fell without exploding, slicing through a dozen roofs at once. There was nothing to stop even the smallest band of invaders once they had forded the river. Canudos invited attack. But when the invaders came in, drunk with a sense of victory, and began to spread out through the winding streets, the town’s defenses came into play.

This poor backlands village stands out as a sobering example of invaded cities. It was just a pile of mud huts. It yielded in order to conquer. An army might tear it asunder, crush it, and shake it up, turning it into a pile of clay ruins, but that same army would all of a sudden be trapped like a puma trying to free itself from a snare. The
jagunços
were expert hunters and it is perhaps this experience that led them to build the city like a wooden game trap, tied with liana vines—a citadel of weeds.

Colonel Moreira César’s men were now in the process of walking straight into that trap.

At first the task seemed easy. They crossed the river with only a few losses. One detachment, with a brave subaltern in the lead, attacked the new church. This did not make much of a difference and resulted in the loss of two more officers and several men. Others detoured around the church and attacked houses along the river. They set fire to them and the inhabitants ran for shelter. The troops pursued them. The danger of this activity became immediately obvious. The platoons were breaking up and soldiers were running down the narrow streets in great confusion. There were hundreds of blind corners and as the soldiers ran from house to house some did not use their weapons at all and others fired at random. The entire outfit was split up into small roving detachments, which in turn broke into confused groups of ever-smaller numbers and were finally reduced to single soldiers fighting on their own.

It was a strange sight. Entire battalions were swallowed up into the maze while a thick cloud of smoke hovered over the clay roofs. It was anything but a military attack. It was not a battle but a series of hand-to-hand combats in the alleys and doorways.

The attack was fierce, and there were no apparent obstacles. A rifle butt would shatter a wall or a door only to find an empty house. In others the intruder would find a rifle barrel at his chest or else would drop from bullets fired at close range through holes in the wall. The nearest comrade would rush to assistance; there would be a brutal struggle, until the soldiers outnumbering the residents would force their way into the narrow opening of the hut. Inside, crouched in a corner, the last remaining re-sister would fire and run. Or he might stand his ground, defending his turf, using anything at hand—slashing at them wildly with a knife, machete, or cattle prong; throwing furniture at them; or, gasping for breath, rushing at them with his bare hands. The women would huddle in a corner and sob. This would go on until the last man was dead on the ground, impaled by a bayonet, clubbed by a rifle butt, or trampled by a soldier’s bootheels. There were many scenes like this.

After he had taken a house, the starving soldier was almost always tempted to take what food he could find. Hanging from the ceiling were food canisters containing dried meat, clay vessels filled with
paçoca
flour, and bags full of the luscious
uricuri
fruit. In the corner were swollen pouches of fresh water, beaded with moisture. The temptation was too great. He would succumb to the need for a quick meal, followed by a long drink of water. Sometimes he would get a cruel dessert—a barrage of buckshot.

The
jagunços
would come in the door and fall on him. The struggle would be reversed this time, and the soldier would lie on the ground, knifed, clubbed, and trampled by the
sertanejo
’s crude sandals.

Many never got out of the maze of alleys. Running after a backlander, they would suddenly come face-to-face with a band of them. They would try to fire and then run into the nearest hut, where they might be faced with others lying in wait. If they could attack and scatter the enemy, the same scene would repeat itself again and again. All this time they were under the illusion that they were winning. Was this not obvious from all the confusion and fear they were stirring up in this ugly godforsaken town? The people here were as scared as beasts in a stable when jaguars attack.

There were no obstacles in the invaders’ path. Those who defended their homes had their women to think about. The sick and lame, the families, ran in every direction, screaming and praying.

The result was that in the heat of pursuit many got lost in the maze. If they tried to find their companions, they got even more lost. As they turned corner after corner, they were completely submerged in the enormous complex.

Posted in front of his command station on the right bank of the river, the commander in chief observed the attack without being able to make up his mind about it. All he could tell was that his men were disappearing in the thousand alleyways of Canudos. This was accompanied by a din of cries and shouts, interspersed with gunfire. He could only make out small groups of soldiers in no kind of formation and bands of
jagunços
appearing now and again in the square. They disappeared once more into the smoke in a confused jumble of hand-to-hand combat.

That was all he could see, but he was disturbed. Nothing indicated that the
sertanejos
were about to give up. The snipers at the church were holding their ground and were able to fire at will in all directions. The artillery had finally stopped because it might hit its own men. Above the fray the bell of the old church rang once more. Only about half the village was involved in the fight. The other half, where the Jeremoabo highway entered the city, was not affected. Even though it was not as dense, it was less vulnerable to attack. It was on a large, flat plain and could be defended on a line of fire that was at the same level as the enemy. After the other part of the village had been taken, it was still untouched. This meant that perhaps even more effort had to be directed here.

The fact was that while there was not a maze of alleys to deal with, the scattered houses in this area were placed in a manner somewhat like a chess board. This gave the marksman a good vantage for cross fire. He could control all four points of the compass while never leaving his own square. The seriousness of the situation was now apparent. Even if they had been successful in the center of the town, the exhausted troops would have to turn their attention to that slope, which was protected by a deep ravine. Colonel Moreira César was able to see this right away. Thus when the rear guard and the cavalry approached, he ordered them to the extreme right to attack this section of the settlement to reinforce the action occurring on the left. The cavalry was to go for the center where the churches were located.

A cavalry charge on Canudos! This was an odd situation. A cavalry is the arm of service used on open plains. Its force lies in its capacity to shock the enemy, as when the mounted troops follow an infantry attack. Here its movements were restricted by the walls of the dwellings as it charged down the narrow alleys.

The cavalry set off at a half gallop to the river. The horses were winded and unsteady. There, bullets were splattering into the water. They could not go any farther; their frightened animals balked. They dug in their spurs and lashed the animals with their sword handles. They barely urged their mounts to midstream, where they were thrown off their saddles by the rearing, bucking animals. The horses tore off for the banks. The police, after they had started to cross the river going downstream, stopped when they were confronted with the deep, slippery bed of the ravine running north to south. This separated the town from the section they were supposed to attack. The maneuver was thwarted from the beginning. That is when the commander in chief left his station, halfway up Bald Hill, between the artillery and the
quixabeira
grove.