Backlands (41 page)

They obeyed him unconditionally. Tasks of all sorts were assigned and performed by religious country boys working next to hardened criminals. There was a rare coordination of effort and just one purpose: to react to imminent invasion.

There was, however, a moment when those preparations for war nearly came to an abrupt halt because of news that reached them from the scouts. This was revealed by prisoners of war after the campaign was ended. The scouts reported on the progress of the enemy and not only the number and equipment of the army troops but information on the reputation of the new commander. The frenzied activity stopped short, and the terrified rebel community nearly disbanded. They listened in horror to extravagant exaggerations about the commanding officer’s brutality. He was the Antichrist, coming to put them to the last test. They imagined him to be the hero of many battles, fourteen according to one backlands poet, who composed a ballad to celebrate the campaign. They imagined the destruction of their homes, days of unspeakable torture and terrible disaster. Canudos would be razed by fire, sword, and bullet. They gave him a gruesome name: Head Slicer.

As was known afterward, none of the expeditions was anticipated with such anxiety. There were some desertions, reducing the numbers of the men who should have been the strongest, the dangerous adventurers who had gone there not for religious reasons, but for the thrill of the fight. As the scouts came back from their far-flung missions they reported that some of their criminal companions were missing.

But this wave of fear served to remove the unbelievers and the timid from their ranks. Most of the faithful stayed, resigned to whatever lay ahead.

The people now turned to their faith. Frequently they would put aside their weapons and set out in long penitential processions across the plains. The stream of new pilgrims had stopped suddenly. The feverish preparations for battle also came to a halt. The scouts who left to take their posts at dawn no longer sang loudly and joyously as they went down the trails, but crept cautiously through the underbrush, hiding there for long hours at a time.

At this time of distress, the frail but numerous band of pious women went out into the fields to lend courage to the strong but apprehensive fighting men. At night, when the fires were lit, the kneeling multitude continued their prayers well beyond the appointed time. In an arbor covered with aromatic boughs was a small pine table covered with a white cloth. When the rosaries had been said, a strange figure appeared. Dressed in a long blue robe that fell over his emaciated body, his back bent, and head down, Antônio Conselheiro would make an appearance. He would remain there motionless and silent for a long time before the quiet, waiting crowd. Then he would slowly lift his thin face, lit up by his flashing eyes, and he would pray.

Night fell into deep darkness and the settlement rested under the rule of this humble, formidable evangelist.

The troops were going to leave on February 22. Following military custom, on the afternoon of the day before, they were drawn up in review formation for an inspection of arms and equipment. Their orders had them leaving the following day. The battalions lined up in squadron formation, stretching out from the square in Monte Santo.

They were all there: the Seventh, with a surplus of equipment, under the interim command of Major Raphael Augusto da Cunha Mattos; the Ninth, which was going into battle for the third time in this conflict, its numbers slightly reduced, under Colonel Pedro Nunes Tamarindo; detachments of the Thirty-third and Sixteenth, led by Captain Joaquim Quirino Villarim; a battery of four Krupp field guns of the Second Regiment, commanded by Captain José Agostinho Salomão da Rocha; a squadron of fifty men of the Ninth Cavalry under Captain Pedreira Franco; a few contingents of the Bahian state police; the medical corps under Dr. Ferreira Nina; and an engineering commission. Not included were seventy men of the Sixteenth, who would stay with Colonel Souza Menezes as a garrison for the town.

There were a total of 1,281 men, each holding 221 cartridges in his belt, and a reserve of 60,000 rounds in the convoy.

The review was conducted. But contrary to expectations, instead of the command to stack arms and disband, the bugle sounded next to the commander in chief, with the order “Column, March!”

Colonel Moreira César, leaving his station, galloped to the head of the column.

It was almost dark when they started the march to Canudos.

This was completely unexpected. Not a murmur came from the ranks. The surprise registered on all their faces did not disturb the discipline of the maneuvers. Drums beat at the front of the column and the detachments fell in, moving two abreast as they filed into the narrow roadway. The artillery got under way and the supply trains rolled.

A quarter of an hour later, the citizens of Monte Santo had their last glimpse of the third expedition to Canudos.

The front guard arrived at Cumbe in three days. The rest of the troops were delayed for a few hours because their commander was at a nearby farmhouse recovering from another attack of epilepsy.

Before dawn on the twenty-sixth they headed north from their position six miles from Cumbe at the farm called Cajazeiras, known for its
cajá
trees, for Serra Branca, more than eight miles distant.
²

This part of the
sertão
, bordering on the tablelands that reach as far as Jeremoabo, is quite distinct from the regions we have hastily sketched in previous pages. It is a gentler landscape and even more arid. There are fewer steep slopes. Instead we find a vast stretch of highland plains. While the terrain here is less rugged, other more daunting obstacles present themselves. The level sandy soil, with no depressions to catch lifesaving rainfall in the summer, is absolutely dry. The infrequent rains are quickly absorbed by the sand. The ground cover is thin, transforming the
caatinga
into sickly scrub forests.

In the height of summer, from November to March, the place is completely desolate. The region gives the impression of a vast plantation of petrified forest. It could ignite at the spark of a match or by spontaneous combustion when the strong northeast winds of the dry season rub tree branches together in the searing midday sun. It is in this way that the climate sterilizes the environment. This section of the backlands has hardly any settlements. It lies in an enormous irregular circle connected by the border towns of Cumbe on the south, Santo Antônio da Glória on the north, Jeremoabo to the east, and Monte Santo on the west. Only rare visitors quickly pass through on the highway from Jeremoabo to Bom Conselho. The entire region is a desert in the process of being formed.

Trees grow scarcer. The vegetation is composed primarily of the dried-out, interwoven branches of the
mangaba
tree. Its milky juice is what allows it to survive the blazing heat of summer and then to adorn its charred branches with leaves and flowers when the seasons become more propitious.
³

The expedition pushed into this region at the worst time of year. The soldiers were on a forced march. The extreme temperature and the dry air made them vulnerable to heat exhaustion. They had to keep going until they could find water.

It was a painful crossing. The terrain made walking difficult, as the shifting sand made the men slip, and the wagon trains sank to their axels. Sudden barriers of thornbushes would rise up before them, which they had to hack down with their machetes. All day the sand doubled the intensity of the heat. By the time they arrived at Serra Branca in the afternoon, the men were exhausted and very thirsty. They had marched for eight hours, without a break, under the brutal summer sun.

Here, they found a few quarts of water in the depths of a cave. It was hardly enough to slake the unnatural thirst that came from total dehydration.

This situation had been anticipated, as we remarked before. They tried to sink the artesian well. As everyone impatiently looked on, they were unable to make it work. Instead of bringing a pile driver, which would have helped to sink the plummet, they brought along the opposite kind of tool, a windlass.

Faced with this setback they had no choice but to leave at once for Rosário, a farm fifteen miles away.

The drained troops resumed their march late in the afternoon.

Nightfall had them still on the move, moving painfully along the thorny paths under the sparkling stars.

It can only be imagined what this march was like—about twenty-five miles without a halt. Over a thousand men, tortured with thirst, stumbling under the weight of their equipment, in full enemy territory. The desert stillness was broken by the dull pounding of marching feet, the squeal of wagons and gun carriages, and the clanking of weapons. In the tall weeds there was an imperceptible snapping of branches.

The
jagunço
spies were following the troops. They snaked alongside the trails. No one paid any attention to them. The soldiers had forgotten all about why they were there. All they could think about was to make it to the nearest well, trusting their guides to lead them there.

They finally came to a halt in the middle of the trail. At the rear of the column were a few limping outliers. Even the strongest were having difficulty walking. It was a brief stop, and the little rest they got was superficial. The officers slept, if they did manage to sleep, with their horses’ reins tied to their hands. When they continued their march before daybreak, they realized they were in danger. They passed remains of bonfires and hearty meals of roast turtle and goat. Fresh tracks in the sand wound away into the brush. These were signs that the
jagunços
had spent the night there, keeping an invisible watch on the enemy. When the soldiers reached Porteira Velha, the rebel advance guard seemed to have surprised them, causing their precipitous departure. A double-barreled shotgun and a cattle prod lay abandoned beside a bonfire.

They reached Rosário before noon, just as a torrential rain fell, a common occurrence in the backlands during this season. This farm would achieve notoriety in the campaign. It was much like the others in the area. There were one or two structures built of clay tile and with dirt floors. The property was surrounded by log fences. It had a clean-swept terrace and a few stunted trees in the front, and nearby was a well or pond, which determined the choice of the site.

The troops set up camp here. They were in the heart of enemy territory. It appears that in this place the men started to feel the apprehension of going to war for the first time.

A telling incident occurred.

On March 1, just as another rainstorm beat down on the roofless troops, an alarm was sounded. The enemy was surely taking advantage of the weather to attack the invaders, opening fire just as the thunder boomed overhead.

Running, sliding and falling on the wet slick ground, knocking into each other in the driving rain, the officers and men attempted the impossible, to gear up and fall into line as they ran. They paid no attention to the orders and counterorders shouted at them. They lined up randomly, as best they could, in squads and companies. To the amazement of the soldiers, a lone horseman burst out of the chaos and galloped wildly down the road in the likely direction of the enemy while the military engineer, Domingos Leite, tried to keep up with him.

It was Colonel Moreira César.

As luck would have it, the imaginary enemy to whom he was about to deliver himself in a useless attack, was just a group of escorts sent by the owner of a nearby estate. This was colonel of the national guard José Américo C. de Souza Velho, owner of the Cahimbé and Olhos d’Agua properties, who had advised the expedition to take this route.

With the exception of this incident, the day was spent quietly. In the afternoon a convoy arrived from Monte Santo, bringing horses to replace the mules that had been impractically used by the squadron to this point.

At sunrise on the second, the battalions continued their march to Angico. They reached the abandoned farm at eleven in the morning and pitched camp there.

This was a deviation from the original plan, which had been devised to minimize troop fatigue. Originally, they were to depart for Angico on the third after a full day of rest at the Rancho do Vicário, or Vicar’s Farm. Then the troops were to go to Angico on the third, marching just five miles, where they would again stop for the night. This would have them going the remaining short distance, of a little more than three and a half miles, to Canudos on the fourth. Since they were in enemy land, they were to take care to guard the camp with outposts and moving sentries.

Colonel César ordered his tent set up in a nearby
caatinga
thicket. He called a meeting of his officers and announced that he was absolutely certain of victory. His staff presented various suggestions for maximizing the safety of the troops. One of these scenarios, offered by the commanding officer of the Seventh, was to change the order of march. He proposed that the column be split into two. One would comprise a vanguard for reconnoitering and to stage the first attack. The second would serve as a reserve force. If the enemy overpowered them, they could stage a safe retreat to Monte Santo. There the troops could be reorganized and reinforced.

To everyone’s surprise, the chief of the expedition did not countermand this plan. The troops marched at dawn on the third, with a clear plan.

In the meanwhile their marching orders for Angico were the same as when they had left Cumbe. Leading the column were scouts on horseback, with an experienced guide, the brave Manoel Rosendo, along with the engineering corps and a company of Seventh Infantry riflemen led by Lieutenant Figueira. Then followed the right wing of the Seventh, commanded by Major Cunha Mattos, who accompanied the munitions convoy in the center. The remaining troops followed: the First Division of the Second Regiment under Salomão da Rocha; the left wing of the Seventh, with Captain Alberto Gavião Pereira Pinto; the Second Artillery Division with First Lieutenant Pradel de Azambuja; the right wing of the Ninth, with Colonel Tamarindo, separated from the left, commanded by Captain Felipe Simões. The supply train brought up the rear, followed by the cavalry and the Bahian police. Colonel César rode at the head, with his escort of riflemen and the right wing of the Seventh.