Soldiers of Conquest (25 page)

The Rangers were wild looking riders with long, raggedy beards. They were clad in a hodgepodge of leather boots, flannel shirts, cottons trousers and hats or caps. No two were dressed alike except for their shirts that were either blue or red. The Rangers were made up of men with a variety of backgrounds and a wide range of education. Some of them had little or no formal education while others were doctors or lawyers or businessmen who had put their professions on hold to join the renowned group of men to fight in Mexico. Each was armed with a short-barreled carbine in a scabbard under his right leg, a bowie knife, one or two cap and ball pistols, and a pair of Paterson Colts, .36-caliber and each holding five shots. The Paterson guns were worn in holsters strapped to the men's waists, while the holsters for the cap and balls were fastened to the saddles. Grant had fought with Cavallin and his band of rangers at Monterrey and on foraging expedition, some as long as a hundred and fifty miles. He knew first hand that this band of men was the toughest of fighters. Every one of them hated the Mexicans. Many of them had lost a relative at the Mexican massacre of the Americans at the Alamo or Goliad. Cavallin had lost an uncle and an older brother at Goliad. Grant never knew of a Ranger taking a prisoner, unless ordered to do so for questioning.

“Good to see you too,” Cavallin said. “In fact I asked to be assigned to escort you.”

“I'm glad that you did. But why're you here? I'd think Taylor would've kept you experienced Rangers for his work and the governor would've sent a new company.”

“Taylor knows you fellows down here are the ones that'll win this war. So he's settled down at Monterrey and just waiting for you to get the job done. And besides, he's going to run for president and is saving his strength for that. Wouldn't it be something for our old general to become president?”

“He just might get it,” Grant said. “Let me introduce these two men who'll be with us. This is Bob Hazlitt, he's boss of the infantry. This other one is Mat Chilton boss of the Dragoons. Meet Tom Cavallin Lieutenant of Rangers.”

“Glad to meet both of you,” Cavallin said.

Hazlitt and Chilton stepped up and shook Cavallin's hand, and spoke their greeting.

“Let's decide how we're going to do this,” Grant said.

The officers settled upon a plan and, with the road sufficiently wide, the wagons rolled two abreast. Grant thought their arrangement was as good as could be made. Half the infantry marched at the front of the wagon trains and half at the rear. Ten Dragoons were riding as wide flankers with the rest riding close in at intervals along the length of the train. Tom would keep his Rangers together and take them wherever he thought the danger spot might be depending upon the terrain the train was passing through. Even rolling double file, the wagon train would stretch for nearly two miles and would be a tempting target for a guerrilla band.

Grant stopped the train to buy provisions at the big ranchos. By nightfall, they had filled about forty of his two hundred and eighty wagons. They made camp in a flat, grassy meadow beside the road. The wagons were positioned in a square with an open center. The horses were watered and fed grain and corralled in the open space surrounded by the wagons. Mounted patrols began to circle the train, and stationary sentries were posted.

On the second day, the wagon train drew close to Toluca nicely situated on a piece of tableland surrounded by mountains. As Grant with Cavallin, Chilton, and Hazlitt rode down to the Rio Xopanae that lay on the near side of the town, they saw a group of young women bathing in the clear mountain water. The girls smiled shyly at the Americans, and went on swimming with much ease and grace.

“One or two of them are pretty,” Cavallin said to Grant.

“Most of them are,” Grant replied.

“You've been away from home too long.”

“True enough, but even so, I see some lovely girls there.”

The Americans crossed on a ford below the girls and continued on to the town. Grant thought the town quite nice with several handsome buildings, and a church made of white free-stone with a slender white steeple contrasting with the fine cornices and turrets that were tipped with red.

Town officials had observed the approach of the wagon train and had come with a score of businessmen to the plaza. Grant introduced himself to the Alcalde, Pedro Calderon, and explained he was there to buy provisions. The mood of the Mexicans improved dramatically at that news. Grant told them what items he wanted, then brought out his moneybox. By evening his wagons were full. As he prepared to leave, Calderon came to him.

“Senor Grant, we appreciate your fairness with us in buying our goods. I know that with your men and weapons you could have taken what you wanted and paid nothing. As a token of our thanks, please come with your officers to my hacienda for food and drink and dancing.”

“With pleasure,” Grant replied.

*

The food was delicious, the wine fine, and Grant was enjoying one of Calderon's cigars. The rhythm of the music meant little to his tone-deaf ear. He sat near the dance floor in the big patio of Calderon's hacienda, a striking structure located beside the Rio Xopanae flowing down from a range of the Sierra Madre Mountains that he could see outlined against the star-studded sky to the west.

On the dance floor illuminated by several glass lamps placed in delicate iron holders on the patio perimeter wall, Cavallin, Chilton, Hazlitt, and twenty or so young Mexican men swung and promenaded with pretty senoritas. The music was that of a violin, delightfully played by a little hump-backed dwarf seated in a chair. The violin was nearly as large as the dwarf, however that harmed his playing not at all, and with his sharp black eyes twinkling in the lamp light, he sawed out quadrilles and waltzes and break-downs with wonderful ease.

The young women were dressed in gaily colored full-length dresses trimmed with lace, pendants about their slender necks, and bracelets and earrings made of silver or gold. Their heeled slippers beat out a lively tattoo on the wooden floor as they spun about with their partners.

The Mexican gallants wore white or black jackets with black pants with buttons down the sides. Around their waists were tied sashes of blue or black. Their hats were high crowned with silver bands. Grant saw the men shone brightly compared with the travel stained Americans.

At tables surrounding the dance floor on all sides were seated older men and women and the chaperones of some of the girls. The people seemed much interested in the Americans merrily swinging their young women.

Grant knew the steps of various dances, but because of his tone-deafness the rhythm of music escaped him and he was awkward on the floor. Still the beauty of one particular girl that had been giving him bright-eyed looks over the top of her tiny fan drew him. She was small and slender with brown hair and gray eyes and a heart-shaped face. Her skin was light in color indicating her Spanish ancestry had been preserved down through the generations residing in Mexico. Her mouth was of a generous size and seemed almost always to be curved up in a smile. As their eyes touched again he felt his courage building to ask her for a dance. The quadrilles and the break-downs were fairly fast and he had doubt about handling one of them. The waltzes, however, were slower with more of a gliding step and some spinning. When the music began for one, he came to his feet and marched across the floor and held out his hand to the girl. She placed her soft hand into his and came close with a heart-stopping smile. Bravery had been rewarded. Now to carry it off without making a fool of himself.

He followed the beat of the music as best he could. The girl was a willing partner and covered nicely when he missed a step. Now and again he felt the gentle guiding pressure of her hand on his shoulder to speed his step or slow it down to bring him back to the rhythm of the music. She smiled and he smiled, both recognizing what she was doing. A second waltz followed the first and Grant had another two minutes of holding the pretty, smiling girl in his arms.

The waltz ended and the musician struck up a fast stepping piece and Grant had to surrender the girl. He felt sad about his lack of skill and dejected by the loss of the girl as he walked back to his seat on the sidelines.

Finally the dwarf ceased to play and tenderly put his violin away in a much-worn case. Everyone came to their feet and gave the little man a loud round of applause for his music. Grant thanked the girl who had danced with him. She offered her hand, which he was pleased to take and gently hold it for a few seconds before propriety forced him to release it. The other Americans gave the girls broad smiles and their thanks, which were returned in equal measure. Grant thought the girls found as much sadness in the parting as did the Americans. He joined with his comrades and they went to Calderon and thanked him for the grand evening.

A pistol fired near mid-length of the long wagon train. A moment later, the bang of hundreds of carbines and pistols erupted. To Grant riding in the lead of the train with Chilton and Hazlitt, the volume of gunfire meant a strong force was attacking the train. The wagons were moving across an open sweep of grassland with no obvious hiding place for guerrillas for at least two miles on all directions so how had they struck without the flanking troopers sounding an earlier alarm?

Grant shouted out. “Bob, stop the wagons and prepare to defend them. Mat, come with me.”

Grant reined his horse toward the fighting. Chilton brought his horse up beside Grant. Raking their mounts with spurs, the men drove them in a flat out run toward the guerrillas.

“Follow me!” Chilton shouted out to each of his troopers as he passed them riding at intervals along the train. They formed up swiftly behind him.

Within half a minute Grant drew close enough to see the attacking guerrillas numbered at least four hundred. They were riding along the wagons and shooting at the drivers, and at the few troopers that had raced up. Some drivers had been killed and their teams were stampeding off over the land. Wagons were overturning and spilling their loads. Other teams tried to run but were anchored by the weight of a dead teammate. Eight or ten guerrilla horses without riders fled the tumult, showing the teamsters' and troopers' shots were taking a toll. Still the overwhelming number of guerrillas would soon swamp the Americans.

A few of the guerrillas left the fight and chased after wagons pulled by runaway teams. The riders caught up with the vehicles and nimbly transferred from their horses and took up the reins. They drove the wagons off across the plain as fast as the horses could draw them.

Grant saw Cavallin and his Rangers riding hard to join the fighting from near the rear of the train. Both he and Grant would be too late to prevent heavy losses of men, horses and supplies.

The gunfire began to slacken. Then it ended as if on a signal and the guerrillas broke off the assault and streamed away at a fast run across the plain.

Grant shouted out to Chilton above the rumble of the horses' hooves, “Stay here. Tend to the wounded.”

He saw Cavallin and his band of Rangers alter their course to give chase to the guerrillas. He reined his horse to follow the Rangers. His blood pounded through his veins. He would catch the guerrillas and take deadly revenge for his men that had been killed.

Ahead of him the guerrillas dropped out of sight as if the land had swallowed them. Then the Rangers vanished. In four or five seconds, the guerrillas popped back into view whipping and spurring their mounts. The Rangers reappeared riding fast. The guerrillas knew the land, and this low place had been where they had hidden until the wagon train had drawn close.

One mile passed under the flying hooves of the horses, two miles, then three. The heart-bursting race was telling on the horses and their labored breaths came as hoarse sucks and blows.

The better horses were showing their quality with the two groups of riders stretching out, the faster horses of each drawing to the front. Grant was pleased with his mare that was clawing her way up through the pack of Rangers' horses.

Cavallin and Grant and some of the speedier riders were gradually closing in on the slower guerrillas. Those men were casting frightened glances over their shoulders at the Rangers. Cavallin pulled his carbine and fired. The tail-end Mexican fell from his running horse. The Rangers let out a shrill cry of pleasure at the kill. Another Ranger took a shot, and missed. A third tried and scored a hit. Other Rangers entered the contest and more guerrillas fell.

Grant doubted the guerrillas would stop to fight even though they greatly outnumbered the Rangers. They were civilians who had become guerrillas and not trained for a standup and shoot it out fight. They wanted to live to raid the Americans another day.

The land turned down and ahead beyond a steep bank a river came into view. The Mexicans rode straight to the bank and over it to a narrow strip of land adjacent to the water. The Americans came up and halted their blowing mounts on top of the bank and looked down on their foes.

Grant stopped beside Cavallin. He thought the river, some eighty yards wide and fast flowing, was a lower reach of the Rio Xopanae. A double column of Mexicans was forcing their mounts into the river on top of a narrow ledge of rock that made a ford. The crossing would be slow and dangerous on the constricted width of the ford with the swift water coming to the chests of the tired horses. Even as he watched, one of the horses was swept off the ribbon of rock and into deep water. Both man and horse came up downstream with the man having lost his saddle and the current carrying them speedily away. The man splashed and desperately fought the water, then slid beneath it and was seen no more.

“This'll be like shooting fish in a barrel!” exclaimed a Ranger happily.

“It's a damn lot of fish and they sure as hell will shoot back,” said a second Ranger staring down at the more than three hundred Mexican horsemen.

Grant called out to Cavallin. ”We've got them bottled up against the river and now they'll fight.”