Stars and Stripes in Peril (10 page)

"You have a completion schedule, I do believe," Lord Palmerston said.

"We do—and I believe that we will better it. More and more regiments are arriving and they go right to work. We have enough men now so that we can rotate them for the most onerous duty. I can firmly promise you, gentlemen, that when you need the road it will be there."

"Bravo!" Lord Russell said. "That is the true British spirit. We all bid you a speedy recovery, and sincerely hope that you will enjoy your leave here in London."

A DANGEROUS JOURNEY

Don Ambrosio O'Higgins left the paddle wheel coaster after dark. A small carpetbag was passed down to him, then a long bundle wrapped in oiled canvas. He seized up the bag, put the bundle over his shoulder and started forward—then stepped back into the shadows. A French patrol had appeared on the waterfront, lighting their way with a lantern. They proceeded carefully, muskets ready, looking in all directions as they came forward. They knew full well that every hand was against them in this country of Mexico. O'Higgins crouched down behind some large hogsheads, staying there until the patrol had passed by. Only then did he make his way quickly across the open docks and into the safety of the now familiar streets of Vera Cruz. There were many other French patrols in the city, but they never penetrated these dark and dangerous back alleys. Too many patrols had been ambushed, too many soldiers had never returned. Their weapons lost, now used to fight the invaders. O'Higgins kept careful watch around him, for not only the French were unsafe in these dismal streets. He emitted a low sigh of relief when he finally reached the merchant's shop. It was locked and silent. O'Higgins felt his way carefully to the rear of the building where he tapped lightly on the back door. Then louder still until a voice called out querulously from inside.

"Go away—we are closed."

"Such a cold greeting for an old friend, Pablocito. I am wounded to the core."

"Don Ambrosio! Can that be you?"

The bolt rattled as it was drawn back. A single candle lit the room; Pablo resealed the door behind him, and then went to fetch a bottle of the special
mezcal
from the town of Tequila. They toasted and drank.

"Any news of interest from Salina Cruz since I went away?" O'Higgins asked.

"Just more of the same. Reports filter in that the English are still bringing in their troops. The road advances slowly—but it advances. When these invaders are thrown from our country—God willing!—we will at least have the road that they will have to leave behind. Everything else they steal from our country. But a road—no!" Then Pablo touched the canvas-wrapped package with his toe.

"Another mission?" he asked. O'Higgins nodded.

"Like you, I fight for the freedom of Mexico. Also like you I do not speak of what I do." Pablo nodded understandingly and drained his glass.

"Before the French came Mexicans were always ready to fight Mexicans. When the French are driven out they will undoubtedly fight each other again. There are those now out of power who are just biding their time, waiting for the French to leave."

"I sorrowfully admit that I know little of Mexico's turbulent past."

"That is a good word for it. Before the Conquistadores came the various Indian tribes warred with one another. Then they warred with the Spanish. When the tribes were defeated they were enslaved. I must tell you that I go to mass and am most religious. But Mexico will not be free until the power of the church is broken."

"They are that strong?"

"They are. I believe that there are over six thousand priests and over eight thousand members of religious orders. All of them above the law because of the
fuero,
their own courts of justice. If that is the word. They own enormous properties where the friars live in luxury while the poor starve. The bishops of Puebla, Valladolid and Guadalajara are millionaires."

"Is there no way out?"

"It happens. Slowly. We had electoral reform in 1814 where all could vote, an elected congress, it was all lovely. Then the French came. But enough of the past. We must fight now. At least we are both on the side of the Liberals and of the government of Benito Juarez. I have heard that he fled north when the French advanced."

O'Higgins nodded. "I understand he is in Texas now, waiting only to return."

"May that day come soon. Shall I send for Miguel?"

"In the morning. And the donkeys?"

"Getting fat in his fields. I have seen him there when I was passing by. I have even ridden your Rocinante a few times. She is fit and willing."

"I thank you. The donkeys will work that fat off fast enough, never fear."

They sat and talked, until the candle was guttering and the bottle empty. Pablo stood and yawned widely. "Do you wish a bed in the house? I'll have one made up."

"Thank you—but I must say no. My blanket in the storeroom will suffice. The fewer people that know I am here the better."

Miguel appeared at dawn. They packed their meager supplies during the morning, then had a midday meal of beans and tortillas with Pablo. They left soon after noon. The French had readily adapted to the Mexican siesta, so the streets were empty during the heat of the day. O'Higgins led the way out of the city, to the trails that meandered into the jungle to the east.

"Do we return to Salina Cruz?" Miguel asked.

"Not this time. We follow the trail only as far as San Lucas Ojitlán. Then turn south, into the OaxacaMountains. Do you know the trails?"

Miguel nodded, then shook his head unhappily. "I know them, yes, but they are not safe. Not unless you are a friend of Porfirio Diáz. He and his followers are the law there in the mountains."

"I have never met the good general—but I am sure that he will be very happy to see me. How do we find him?"

"That is not a problem. He will find us," Miguel said, his voice laden with doom.

It was hot under the afternoon sun but they kept moving, stopping only to rest and water their beasts of burden. This time they encountered no French troops. By mid-afternoon clouds had moved in from the sea, cooling the air. A light rain fell which they ignored.

The flat coastal plain of Tehuantepec ended abruptly at the foothills of the OaxacaMountains. As they went higher they came to fewer and fewer villages, since there were very few places among the crags that were fit for farming. Fifty years of revolution after revolution had left their mark as well. They passed by one nameless village, now only a burnt and blackened shell. The trail went on, slowly winding uphill between the trees. It was cooler at this altitude, as the lowland shrubbery gave way to giant pine trees. The hoofbeats of their animals were muffled by the carpet of pine needles, the only sound the wind rustling in the branches above them. Further on they emerged into a clearing and found a mounted man barring their way.

O'Higgins pulled his horse up. He thought of reaching for his gun, then quickly changed his mind. This was no chance encounter. They must have been watched, followed, cut off. The mounted man did not reach for the rifle slung across his back, but movement in the foliage to both sides of the path proved that he was not alone. He had the emotionless face of an Indian; his black eyes stared coldly at O'Higgins from under the brim of his large sombrero. Miguel had pulled up the donkeys as soon as he had seen the stranger. O'Higgins dismounted slowly, carefully keeping his hands away from his weapons. He handed the reins to Miguel and walked slowly towards the horseman.

"That's far enough," the man said. "We do not see many strangers in these mountains. What do you want?"

"My name is Ambrosio O'Higgins and I am here on a mission. I want to see Porfirio Diáz."

"What is your business with him?" As he spoke the rider flipped his hand. A number of men—all carrying rifles—emerged from the undergrowth on both sides of the trail. O'Higgins paid them no attention and spoke directly to the rider.

"My business is with Diáz alone and I assure you that it is of great importance. All I can tell you is that he will consider it most critical when he understands why I have sought him out. He will surely want to talk with me when he understands why I have come to his mountains."

"Why should I believe you? Why shouldn't I shoot you on the spot?"

Miguel began to shake so badly that he had to clutch his saddle so he wouldn't fall off. However O'Higgins showed no emotion—and his stare was as just as cold as the other man's.

"If you are a bandit then I have no way of stopping you. But if you are a warrior and a Juarista, why then you will take me to your leader. I fight for a free Mexico—as do you."

"Where do you come from?"

"We left Vera Cruz today."

"And before that?"

"I will be happy to tell that to Porfirio Diáz."

"Why should I believe anything that you say?"

"Because you must believe—since you dare not make any other decision. This is a chance that you have to take. And consider—for what other reason would I be traveling in these hills? It would be suicidal if I did not have legitimate reason to talk with Diáz."

The horseman thought about that—and made a decision. He waved his hand again and his followers lowered their guns. Miguel let out his breath in a relieved sigh and crossed himself with trembling fingers. O'Higgins remounted and rode forward to join the other man.

"What of the war?" the
guerrillero
asked.

"It goes very badly. The French are victorious everywhere. Juarez has been defeated but has managed to escape to Texas. The French hold all of the cities. Monterrey was the last to fall. But Mexico itself is not defeated—never will be. Fighters like yourselves hold the mountains where the French dare not follow them. Regules is in Michoacán with armed followers, Alvarez the same in Guerrero. These are places where the French dare not go. And there are others as well."

The trail narrowed and the horseman pulled ahead. They rode on slowly so the men on foot could keep up with them. The trail meandered up through the trees, occasionally forking, at other times vanishing altogether. They crossed broken scree, then entered another pine forest: the pine needles underfoot smelling sweetly as the horses' hooves sunk silently into their surface. Then, through the smell of pine, there was a whiff of burning wood. Soon after this they came out into a clearing scattered with brushwood huts. Sitting on a log outside the largest shelter was a young man in uniform, a general's stars on his shoulders.

So young,
O'Higgins thought, as he swung to the ground. Thirty-three years old—and fighting for most of those years for Mexican freedom. Three times he had been captured, three times he had escaped. This young lawyer from Oaxaca had ridden a hard trail, had come a long way.

"Don Ambrosio O'Higgins at your service, General." Diáz nodded coldly and looked the newcomer up and down.

"That is not a very Mexican name."

"That is because I am not a Mexican. I am from Chile. My grandfather came from Ireland."

"I have heard of your grandfather. He was a great fighter for freedom from Spain. And was an even greater politician, as was your father. Now—what does an O'Higgins want of me that is so important that he risks his life in these mountains?"

"I want to help you. And I hope that you will aid me in return."

"And how will you be able help me? Do you wish to join my
guerrilleros?"

"The help I bring you is worth far more than just another man to fight at your side. I want to help you by bringing you many of these. From America." He began to unwrap the canvas bundle. "I have seen the weapons that your men carry. Muzzle-loading smooth-bore muskets."

"They kill Frenchmen," Diáz said, coldly.

"Your men will kill that much the better when they have many of these."

He pulled the gun out of the canvas wrapping and held it up. "This is a Spencer rifle. It loads from the breech like this."

He took out a metal tube and pushed it into an opening in the wooden stock, then worked the cocking lever. "It is now loaded. It contains twenty bullets in that tube. They can be fired just as fast as they can be levered into the firing chamber and the trigger pulled." He passed the rifle over to Diáz who turned it over and over in his hands.

"I have heard of these. Is this how you load it?"

He pulled the lever down and back and the ejected cartridge fell to the ground.

"It is. Then, after firing, you do the same thing again. The empty cartridge will be ejected and a new one loaded."

Diáz looked around, pointed at a dead tree ten yards away and waved his men aside. He raised the rifle and pulled the trigger; splinters flew from the tree. He loaded and fired loaded and fired until the magazine was empty. There was a splintered circle on the tree; smoke hung in a low cloud. The silence was broken as the
guerrillerros
shouted loud approval. Diáz looked down at the gun and smiled for the first time.

"It is a fine weapon. But I cannot win battles with this single gun."

"There is a ship now loading in the United States that will bring a thousand more of these—and ammunition. It will be sailing for Mexico very soon." He took a heavy leather bag from the roll and passed it over as well. "There are silver dollars here which you can use for food and supplies. There will be more coming on the ship."

Diáz leaned the rifle carefully against the log and hefted the money bag.

"The United States is most generous, Don Ambrosio. But this is a cruel and savage world and only saints are generous without expecting some kind of reward in return. Has your country suddenly become a nation of saints? Or is there something that they may want from me in return for all this largesse? It was not so long ago that I walked out of these mountains to join the others in the battle for my country—against your Gringo invaders from the north. That war is hard to forget. Many Mexicans died before the American guns."

"Those days are long over. As is the war between the states. There is peace in America now between North and South, just as there is peace between the American government and your Juaristas. Guns and ammunition, like these, are crossing the border in greater numbers. America is waging a diplomatic war against Maximilian and the French. It will be a fighting war if the French do not acquiesce to their demands. Even as we speak attacks by Juaristas in the north are being launched against the French, and the Austrian and Belgian troops they command."