The Rifle Rangers Part 23

Along with Clayley I had climbed upon the roof of the rancho, to watch the motions of the enemy, and to find out, if possible, his intentions.

We stood for some time without speaking, both of us gazing at the manoeuvres of the guerilleros. They were galloping to and fro over the prairie, excited by the escape of Raoul.

"Splendidly done!" exclaimed my companion, struck with their graceful horsemans.h.i.+p. "One of those fellows, Captain, as he sits, at this minute, would--"

"Ha! what--?" shouted he, suddenly turning and pointing towards the woods.

I looked in the direction indicated. A cloud of dust was visible at the _debouchement_ of the Medellin road. It appeared to hang over a small body of troops upon the march. The sun was just setting, and, as the cloud lay towards the west, I could distinguish the sparkling of bright objects through its dun volume. The guerilleros had reined up their horses, and were eagerly gazing towards the same point.

Presently the dust was wafted aside, a dozen dark forms became visible, and in the midst a bright object flashed under the sun like a sheet of gold. At the same instant an insulting shout broke from the guerilleros, and a voice was heard exclaiming:

"_Cen.o.bio! Cen.o.bio! Los canones_!" (Cen.o.bio! Cen.o.bio! the cannon!)

Clayley turned towards me with an inquiring look.

"It is true, Clayley; by heavens, we'll have it now!"

"What did they say?"

"Look for yourself--well?"

"A bra.s.s piece, as I live!--a six-pound carronade!"

"We are fighting the guerilla [Note 1] of Cen.o.bio, a small army of itself. Neither stockade nor motte will avail us now."

"What is to be done?" asked my companion.

"Nothing but die with arms in our hands. We will not die without a struggle, and the sooner we prepare for it the better."

I leaped from the roof, and ordered the bugler to sound the _a.s.sembly_.

In a moment the clear notes rang out, and the soldiers formed before me in the corral.

"My brave comrades!" cried I, "they have got the advantage of us at last. They are bringing down a piece of artillery, and I fear these pickets will offer us but poor shelter. If we are driven out, let us strike for that island of timber; and, mark me--if we are broken, let every man fight his way as he best can, or die over a fallen enemy."

A determined cheer followed this short harangue, and I continued:

"But let us first see how they use their piece. It is a small one, and will not destroy us all at once. Fling yourselves down as they fire.

By lying flat on your faces you may not suffer so badly. Perhaps we can hold the corral until our friends reach us. At all events we shall try."

Another cheer rang along the line.

"Great heaven, Captain! it's terrible!" whispered the major.

"What is terrible?" I asked, feeling at the moment a contempt for this blaspheming coward.

"Oh! this--this business--such a fix to be--"

"Major! remember you are a soldier."

"Yes; and I wish I had resigned, as I intended to do, before this cursed war commenced."

"Never fear," said I, tempted to smile at the candour of his cowardice; "you'll drink wine at Hewlett's in a month. Get behind this log--it's the only point shot-proof in the whole stockade."

"Do you think, Captain, it _will_ stop a shot?"

"Ay--from a siege-gun. Look out, men, and be ready to obey orders!"

The six-pounder had now approached within five hundred yards of the stockade, and was leisurely being unlimbered in the midst of a group of the enemy's artillerists.

At this moment the voice of the major arrested my attention.

"Great heaven, Captain! Why do you allow them to come so near?"

"How am I to prevent them?" I asked, with some surprise.

"Why, my rifle will reach farther than that. It might keep them off, I think."

"Major, you are dreaming!" said I. "They are two hundred yards beyond range of our rifles. If they would only come within that, we should soon send them back for you."

"But, Captain, mine will carry twice the distance."

I looked at the major, under the belief that he had taken leave of his senses.

"It's a _zundnadel_, I a.s.sure you, and will kill at eight hundred yards."

"Is it possible?" cried I, starting; for I now recollected the curious-looking piece which I had ordered to be cut loose from the saddle of Hercules. "Why did you not tell me that before? Where is Major Blossom's rifle?" I shouted, looking around.

"This hyur's the major's _gun_" answered Sergeant Lincoln. "But if it's a rifle, I never seed sich. It looks more like a two-year old cannon."

It was, as the major had declared, a Prussian needle-gun--then a new invention, but of which I had heard something.

"Is it loaded, Major?" I asked, taking the piece from Lincoln.

"It is."

"Can you hit that man with the sponge?" said I, returning the piece to the hunter.

"If this hyur thing'll carry fur enuf, I kin," was the reply.

"It will kill at a thousand yards, point blank," cried the major, with energy.

"Ha! are you sure of that, Major?" I asked.

"Certainly, Captain. I got it from the inventor. We tried it at Was.h.i.+ngton. It is loaded with a conical bullet. It bored a hole through an inch plank at that distance."

"Well. Now, Sergeant, take sure aim; this may save us yet."

Lincoln planted himself firmly on his feet, choosing a notch of the stockade that ranged exactly with his shoulder. He then carefully wiped the dust from the sights; and, placing the heavy barrel in the notch, laid his cheek slowly against the stock.