The Guerilla Chief

Story 1, Chapter I.

CERRO GORDO.

"_Agua! por amor Dios, agua--aguita_!" (Water! for the love of God, a
little water!)

I heard these words, as I lay in my tent, on the field of Cerro Gordo.

It was the night after the battle bearing this name--fought between the
American and Mexican armies in the month of April, 1847.

The routed regiments of Santa Anna--saving some four thousand men
captured upon the ground--had sought safety in flight, the greater body
taking the main road to Jalapa, pursued by our victorious troops; while
a large number, having sprawled down the almost perpendicular cliff that
overhangs the "Rio del Plan" escaped, unperceived and unpursued, into
the wild chapparals that cover the _piedmont_ of Perote.

Among these last was the _lame_ tyrant himself, or rather should I say,
_at their head leading the retreat_. This has always been his favourite
position at the close of a battle that has gone against him; and a score
of such defeats can be recorded.

I could have captured him on that day but for the cowardice of a colonel
who had command over me and mine. I alone, of all the American army,
saw Santa Anna making his escape from the field, and in such a direction
that I could without difficulty have intercepted his retreat. With the
strength of a corporal's guard, I could have taken both him and his
glittering staff; but even this number of men was denied me, and _nolens
volens_ was I constrained to forego the pleasure of taking prisoner this
truculent tyrant, and hanging him to the nearest tree, which, as God is
my judge, I should most certainly have done. Through the imbecility of
my superior officer, I lost the chance of a triumph calculated to have
given me considerable fame; while Mexico missed finding an avenger.