The rebel army was on its way toward Achlumal. The staff had long debated which important center should first be visited, Achlumal or Hucutsin. Both places were small towns, and in both a chief of police had his seat, since these towns were the centers of their districts. Also, in both places were a company of Rurales as well as an important garrison of Federal troops.
Once again General anticipated the thinking of his opponents’ officers when he suggested marching toward Achlumal instead of Hucutsin. He said rightly that the Rurales and Federals who were stationed in Hucutsin must be convinced that the rebels would advance against Hucutsin in order to reach Jovel via Teultepec, Oshchuc, and Vitztan. In Hucutsin were assembled the majority of the finqueros of the region, all armed and all accompanied by their armed major-domos and sons and cousins and such of their employees as were devoted to them.
The only natural way for the muchachos was through Hucutsin, for it led to those regions where most of the muchachos came from and where they had been recruited. It was the way they knew best, and one where they would always be sure of meeting friends and relations of their own race who in some form or other would assist them, either by espionage or by offering good concealment and showing them the best ways by which the rebels could fall on the uniformed troops from the rear.
The council of war was influenced by the capture of numerous peons who were making their way home from Hucutsin to their various fincas. These individuals, returning from market, confirmed General’s conclusions as to what course the soldiers intended to take against the rebels. According to the reports of these captured peons, there was in fact a large concentration of State police and Federals in Hucutsin, as well as a considerable number of finqueros, who were so plentifully present that the peons thought some sort of fiesta or holiday must be taking place. Several peons, once having regained confidence, declared that everyone there knew that the rebels were on the march toward Hucutsin in order to encircle the city and to slaughter every living creature found therein.
When this report became known to the rebel staff, the captains of the individual companies were scarcely to be restrained. They would have rushed immediately upon Hucutsin. It was the quantity of weapons there that attracted them. Ordinary booty took second place, so far as booty was thought of at all.
General had a difficult stand to take against this blood lust. It was possible that the muchachos might accuse him of over-great caution and even of cowardice.
But he, like Professor, Colonel, Celso, Santiago, Andreu, and Pedro, was clever enough to see that under these conditions the encirclement of the city could only be carried through with the loss of half their army.
General said, “Don’t be fools. The Rurales and finqueros aren’t such asses as to wait for us in Hucutsin. There, we’d be superior to them, with our adaptability, our knives, and our machetes. They know that. They’ll wait well away from the town—three or four miles outside the place. I can even tell you where they’ll wait for us. It will be at a fast-flowing river some distance out. We can’t get around that river. We will have to cross it. Immediately after the crossing is a ravine, thickly surrounded with bush. That’s where they’ll sit and wait for us. And that’s where we’ll outwit them now.”
Some peons were coming along the road on their way to market in Hucutsin. General called several of the muchachos to him, who, as a result of what he said to them, rapidly made friends with the traveling peons. These muchachos, knowing no better and in case of hesitation particularly urged on by Fidel, told the peons, with excited gestures, that in three days the troop would be in Hucutsin and would light such a blaze there that not even the walls of the patios would remain standing and not a soul would be left alive after they had finished with Hucutsin, for all the muchachos had a mighty reckoning to settle with the mayor and the chief of police there.
Scarcely had the peons arrived in Hucutsin than they hastened to repeat throughout the town what they had learned; and because they feared that they, too, might be slaughtered in error, they made haste to leave Huctusin again that same evening, which naturally confirmed in the minds of all the people, soldiers, and finqueros the belief that the rebels were in fact on the march toward that city.
“If we advance to attack Hucutsin,” explained General further, “then we shall certainly have the garrison of Achlumal at our backs, and they have probably already received the information that we are marching against Hucutsin and have been ordered to attack us in the rear. Apart from that, the Rurales and Federals will attack us from the places that lie on the way from Hucutsin to Jovel. And they’d have overwhelmingly superior forces. They would wait for us on the plain or in some ambush and fall upon us unawares.”
“What you say is right, General,” interrupted Colonel.
“And that is why, since the people in Hucutsin are so damned certain we shall march against them, we shall now head toward Achlumal and attack the posts of the Rurales and Federals there. In that way we shall probably get another fifty to a hundred rifles more, perhaps even another machine gun, and so much ammunition that we couldn’t shoot it off in a month. At the same time our rear will be free. Now for the purpose of this change in plans. Once we’ve taken Achlumal, we won’t take the direct road to Hucutsin, but instead we’ll march by San Miguel and San Jeronimo on Teultepec. There we won’t encounter many Rurales. In Teultepec, as you will remember well from your march to the monterías, we shall be more than eighteen hundred feet above Hucutsin. There we shall be sitting as in a rocky fort, and from those heights we can swoop down upon Hucutsin like eagles on their prey. We shall then have the heights, the bush, and the passes—and let them then try to get at us! Not even the lice they have on their bolsitas will remain alive. In good time we shall occupy the road to Sibacya. When we then attack, only one way will lie open to them—the way back, along which we came, back to the jungle. And then the fun will start, then we shall have them where we want them. That’s the way we’ll do it, and not otherwise. Those in favor, raise their hands; those against will get a crack in the chops from me, and if you can tell me a better plan, and if it’s really better, I’ll accept it. But you’ll find it damned hard to make a better plan.”
So they marched toward Achlumal, while in Hucutsin Rurales, Federals, and heavily armed finqueros assembled in ever-increasing numbers to celebrate the impending victory.
The finqueros, in fact, had been celebrating this victory every day since they had been there. Flags waved over the Town Hall, proclaiming in advance the great day of victory.
In the bars there was endless and enthusiastic merriment.
“We’ll soon teach these cursed, lousy swine of rebellious Indians who is master in this country and who’s in command of Chiilum District.”
“We’ll drink again to that!”
“Spoken like a good man. Salud, compadre!”
“Of course we’ll have another, Don Clementino.”
“Of course, Don Cesar.”
“Viva El Caudillo!”
“Long live the great leader of our glorious people!”
“Salud, compadre!”
“Viva la patria!”
The day’s march had been a terribly hard one. The route the army followed was no more than a miserable, ill-trodden mule track. It rose and fell over rocky, stony heights. There were swamps, morasses, and boggy stretches where man and beast could no longer march or walk, but only crawl, dragging one leg after another out of the slime, to sink again with the next step into the muck and filth.
Toward noon, after a river had been crossed, the way broadened. Once more the flat country began.
The day before, another finca, the Santa Brigida, had been visited. Here, too, the master’s family, so the remaining peons averred, had ridden off somewhere to a wedding. That the gentry had left a finca for fear of Indian rebels would never have been admitted by a finquero, his wife or daughter, not even on their deathbeds. In the eyes of his neighbors and friends, and especially of his peons, a finquero would have lost the last vestige of respect had he let a living soul—even his horse or favorite hound—believe that he and his whole family had ridden off to a wedding or a betrothal because Indian rebels were marching on the finca. Should it prove impossible to celebrate a marriage at such short notice, because the happy couple wanted a say in the matter and had not yet had time to make up their minds, then there was always a saint available whose name day provided one of the neighboring finqueros, or his wife, or his daughters or sons, or his mother, with the opportunity for a celebration at which all the finqueros and their families were expected.
At the Finca Santa Brigida, too, only the peons had been left behind, and just as at the other fincas that had hitherto been visited by the rebels, here also Professor granted all the finca lands to the peons and declared all debts due to the finquero canceled, null and void.
Here, too, the finca buildings went up in flames before the rebels were two hours on the march. Whether it was the last company of rebels who had had the pleasure of igniting the buildings, or whether it was the first independent action of the peons themselves, was never established. Nor did anyone care. Whatever the case, each finca destroyed meant one stronghold less in their rear.
When the troop emerged from the bush and the high country, and once more regained the open terrain, the leading muchachos saw before them, at a distance of some ten miles, the great finca of Santa Cecilia. The finca estates covered an area of about fifty thousand acres. Most of it was grazing land for herds of cattle, which were raised rather for their hides than for their meat. Other important sources of income to the finca were sugar, alcohol, aguardiente, and henequen fiber. In addition, considerable tracts of the finca were under corn and beans, while in the lower-lying fields grew sugar cane and pineapples. Naturally, the finca also raised considerable numbers of pigs, horses, and mules. If the finca had had roads fit for wheeled vehicles to connect it with a railway station, its yearly productivity would have been capable of realizing about a quarter of a million pesos. But like all other fincas in the region, this one’s means of communication with the nearest towns were but miserable mule tracks, virtually impassable for three or four months of the year. Santa Cecilia ranked, undoubtedly, as one of the wealthiest and most beautiful estates in the district of Chiilum.
It, too, was built like a great fortress, its patio surrounded by high strong walls inside of which all buildings of importance lay. While the majority of other fincas considered themselves rich to possess a chapel, Santa Cecilia could boast a cathedral, having a bell tower visible from four miles away. The majority of paths in this region led past Santa Cecilia, and it was regarded as an important halting place for all caravans, where mule trains could rest for the night and replenish their provisions for the journey. This yielded a substantial additional income to the finca.
The estate, at a conservative reckoning, possessed 130 peon families, who were housed in a good-sized village not far outside the walls of the finca.
“We could easily reach Santa Cecilia today,” said Colonel, as he observed the position of the sun.
“We could, easily,” agreed General. “But the muchachos are damned tired, and it will be nearly sundown by the time we have marched to the finca. I don’t want that. We don’t know what’s up there, and we might easily slip into a trap. In any event, we’d do better to spend the night here and start off very early, while it’s still dark, so that we shall have the whole day before us by the time we get near the finca. What do you say, compañeros?”
“All right. We’ll stay here. Whether we reach Santa Cecilia today, tomorrow, or in two days’ time won’t matter much to the rebellion,” said Andreu. “And besides, I don’t think this revolution is likely to be over in four weeks; in fact, we’ll be lucky if it lasts only four years.”
“That’s what I think, too.” Professor nodded in agreement. “A dictatorship that has existed for more than thirty years has suckled too many good-for-nothings ready to defend not only the dictatorship but their bellies as well. And when it’s a question of defending bellies, the going is a good deal tougher than when only a superannuated dictator is trying to stick to his throne.”
“In other words,” General interrupted the political harangue, “we camp for the night here.” He gave the bugler the order to blow “Halt.” El corneta did it as well and as badly as was within his power. But the weary army understood the signal far better than it would have any other.
It turned out that considerable stretches of the terrain were unsuitable for camping because there had been heavy rain and large pools had formed.
“That suits me well,” said General. “I never intended to have the whole army camp in one place. It would be too dangerous.”
He divided the rebels into three sections. The first and best he ordered to camp on the spot, because here the ground was higher and thus afforded a better strategic position. The second division he sent off two-and-a-half miles to the southwest, to find a dry spot. The third portion of the army he dispatched about three miles to the northwest.
The finca lay to the west, as viewed from the central part of the army.
The plan was good. It took into consideration the possibility that the finca might be occupied by Rurales. General decided that the two troops on either side should march off long before sunrise, in order that one troop could attack the finca from the south and the other from the north, while he and his forces would spend the night eastward of the finca. The two wings of his forces were instructed that as soon as they had marched off, while it was still dark, twenty of their best infantry, together with a few mounted men, should proceed far ahead in line so that the extreme flanks of the two flanking armies would meet to the west of the finca and thus encircle the place completely. This western group, composed of about forty men from the two wing armies, would be, admittedly, very thin and in no event strong enough to prevent a westward breakout of the Rurales as soon as they saw that the battle was lost. General knew well enough that these positions to the west of the finca were the most dangerous of all, yet at the same time they were the most coveted, and the muchachos fought one another to be assigned to these perilous posts. For there would be the best booty in weapons, should the Rurales and Federals flee in confusion. It was by design that General allowed the enemy that escape route. To invest the finca sufficiently strongly on all sides would have been a mistake, because such a disposition would have had to be made during that very day, and the troops were too exhausted to stand a protracted fight should the Rurales attempt to avoid encirclement. Moreover, had General tried to surround the finca in equal strength at all points, he would have made another mistake, since the individual troops would all have been too weak in depth. For less than a fifth of the muchachos were armed, and, furthermore, the muchachos, being all inexperienced in military matters, would scarcely be able to prevent breakthroughs if these occurred simultaneously at several points, and the fronts where these breakthroughs and attacks were to be expected could not be sufficiently strongly manned to ensure numerical superiority.
Should the Rurales attempt to break out and escape to the west, the troops in that dangerous sector would have little or no hope of survival. Yet not one of the muchachos assigned to this duty gave a thought to himself. All they worried about was capturing rifles with their full complement of ammunition, and perhaps fine horses with handsome saddles. The capture of a rifle was the highest reward that General, who was unarmed, could promise. But none expected a higher reward, and not one of the rebels hoped for one while the revolution lasted.
Whether Santa Cecilia was occupied at all by soldiers or mounted State police was admittedly known to no one in the army. The muchachos had not encountered a single peon from the finca. For one thing, they were still too far away to be likely to meet any who might be going to work in the bush; for another, they were marching along a path that was never used by the peons on their way to market.
But that morning General had had a remarkable feeling, and he had thought to himself that it was very strange that not a single Rurales patrol had shown itself for days, although probably half a battalion must have been dispatched against the rebels. He estimated correctly when he told himself that, skillfully as he might try to entice the Federals to fall into a trap or to allow themselves to be caught in a pincer movement, these Rurales and Federals were by no means so stupid. It was certainly to be expected that they had the same or similar plans. No commander can work out a plan that the other side is not equally likely to have thought of; it all depends on who first formulates a particular plan, first uses it and exploits it most adroitly, and so acts that his opponents do not guess his plan prematurely. It was more than probable that a troop of Rurales or Federals had been sent southward from Hucutsin in order that the rebels, who, the authorities in Hucutsin assumed, would first attack that town, could be attacked in the flank or the rear, thus cutting off their road to Achlumal in case they should decide to move in that direction. Santa Cecilia was the only stronghold where such a force could be concealed and take up a powerful strategic position unperceived by the approaching rebels.
The leadership of the north army—so vitally important to his plan—was entrusted by General to his most experienced officer, Colonel. Colonel took with him one machine gun for his troop; the second machine gun remained with the central army.
The assembly point of the three armies was to be Santa Cecilia itself, irrespective of whether the place was occupied or not.
The central army camped behind a low chain of hills and could not be seen from Santa Cecilia.
The south army was given a route that took it partly through bush country and partly behind hills that covered their movement. The camping place assigned to it was behind hills covered with low scrub, so that it could pass the night unperceived from the finca, awaiting the order to attack at early dawn.
General had expressly ordered that campfires were not to be lit during the day because the columns of smoke would betray their position. At night the fires were to be so situated that they remained hidden behind the hills or burned in newly dug fire trenches. They were not to be allowed to blaze, in order to avoid any reflection in the overcast sky.
The north army, under the leadership of Colonel, had the most difficult task to fulfill. It could not march to its camping place through the bush. Covering hills were equally lacking on its route. It had to march across open ground. Thus, throughout the whole course of its march until its final destination, it would be under observation from the finca.
The north army marched off.
Professor followed it with his glasses, to see whether it would be attacked. But nothing happened. Finally, it reached the place General had appointed for it to spend the night. But it did not halt there. Professor offered as an explanation that there the land lay too low and was probably too swampy to offer a suitable camping place. The army marched farther, much farther than was good for defending it from the center in the event of its falling into a trap. It marched so far that it finally had gone far past the finca and now must have been due west of it, so that now the finca was surrounded from west, south, and east, leaving only the road north, toward Hucutsin, open.
“Hell!” said General when Professor reported this to him. “Colonel has thought out a damned good plan. He certainly hasn’t done what I thought best. He should have stayed nearer to us. But what he has done is excellent. In the event of the Federals advancing from Hucutsin to Santa Cecilia, we shall have them in our clutches.”
“Perhaps Colonel marched so far around the finca because he’d seen soldiers approaching from the direction of Hucutsin, and he, clever as he is, did not wish to retreat here, thereby betraying the position of our army and so letting the enemy get between our forces; whereas now they believe they have only to deal with a troop on their western flank.” It was Andreu who expressed this opinion.
General and Professor admitted that this interpretation was probably the correct one. Anyhow, they couldn’t alter what Colonel was doing or had already done, and each said, with justification, that Colonel knew what he was doing, and if he was carrying out the plan of campaign otherwise than he had been instructed, he must certainly have very good reasons for this.
In fact, Colonel had the very best of reasons for changing his troop’s plan of movement. He would have been behaving stupidly and irresponsibly had he not altered that plan as soon as he saw that the conditions determining that plan had also changed. The master scheme of the attack was not affected by his deviation from the prearranged plan, for this master scheme was based on having the finca completely surrounded by daybreak and thus assailable from all sides simultaneously.
The north army had, as Professor correctly guessed, encountered such wet ground that Colonel could say, “If we were to camp here from this afternoon and until next dawn, none of us would be able to move an arm or leg before tomorrow noon.”
So in spite of the weariness of the muchachos, they marched on in search of a dry place. During this march, one of the muchachos saw that a Federal patrol was approaching Santa Cecilia along the road from Hucutsin.
The muchachos wanted to attack this patrol, but Colonel forbade it. He said that if these Federals spent the night in Santa Cecilia, then next morning all who were in Santa Cecilia would fall into the hands of the muchachos, and it would be foolish to betray the presence of the rebel army before the finca was attacked.
He immediately ordered all his men to lie down and hide in the tall grass, in order not to be seen by the patrol, which was riding carelessly along. The muchachos who were mounted, like Colonel, remained on their horses and rode lazily onward in the same direction, without taking any notice of the patrol. The patrol plainly saw these riders, but they were too far away to be discerned clearly, and because they rode quietly and without any sign of haste, the men of the patrol could assume that these were vaqueros from the finca going to look for lost cattle. Soon the patrol had vanished from the sight of the troop, and the advance continued.
After another half hour’s march, Colonel noticed a broad gully across the landscape, in which there were densely packed trees and bushes, differing from the solitary trees and bushes of the rest of the countryside.
“Down there, in that hollow, is a stream,” said Colonel to the two captains riding beside him. “That’s the place for our camp. We shall have good water, and if anything should happen during the night, we’ll have the undergrowth for cover.”
However, the patrol had been by no means so unobservant as Colonel believed. They had indeed seen the little army led by Colonel, even before the muchachos had seen the patrol. But the patrol intentionally behaved as if they had noticed nothing of interest in the landscape.
The patrol reached the finca and there reported that they had discovered the camping place of those stinking swine.
Santa Cecilia was, as General had guessed from instinct without being certain of the fact, strongly manned, being occupied by about fifty Rurales, seventy Federal soldiers, and about twenty finqueros who had gathered there, together with their sons, sons-in-law, major-domos, and capataces—making an armed force of more than two hundred men.
The garrison of the finca had received news of the approach of the rebel army from peons who had been out hunting or working in the bush. But they could obtain no more certain or definite information as to whether the rebels were making for Hucutsin or Achlumal, for the peons, as soon as they had seen the muchachos advancing in the distance, had fled in terror to the finca with their news without waiting to discover the precise direction of the army’s march. That was the last thing the terrified peons worried about.
The soldiers were in no hurry to send out scouts, because they knew that in all events the muchachos would attack Santa Cecilia, and there was no better place than the finca for welcoming the rebel army with a devastating fire from a secure position.
The garrison of the finca possessed, all told, two machine guns, 110 rifles, sixty sporting guns of all sorts, including two dozen repeaters of heavy caliber, and in addition about 120 revolvers. Against such superiority of armament, it was unthinkable that the rebels could advance to within three hundred paces of the walls of the finca without losing three quarters of their force. And were they to come a hundred paces closer, it was certain that not a man of them would survive. Under these circumstances, the garrison could well afford to let the rebels march against the finca and to desist from attacking them in the open field.
General was a much greater commander than even his closest comrades would have believed. It would have been hard to make sufficiently clear to them how brilliant he was in his leadership. He had been, without knowing it himself, born with the gifts and talents of a great general.
On this occasion he sacrificed his north army in order to win the battle. Without that sacrifice, which, judged superficially, might appear merely ruthless, his whole army would have been destroyed at Santa Cecilia. He had sent Colonel ahead with the north army because he knew that Colonel was the one most capable of keeping the sacrifice as low as possible.
General had not been able to obtain precise information. Nevertheless, he knew from peons returning from market that the authorities in Hucutsin were fully informed of the approach
of the rebel army. The remarkable tranquillity that lay over Santa Cecilia gave him the certainty that in that finca something decisive was in preparation. Should he be mistaken, should there be no soldiers in Santa Cecilia or its environs or lying in wait, nothing would be lost. The muchachos would take the finca, divide it up among the peons, equip themselves with fresh provisions, and the advance would continue. General was sure of one thing: that within the next three days a decisive battle must take place, because the Federals and Rurales dared not permit the rebels to capture a whole town. And within the next three days the rebel army would reach one of the two nearest towns of importance. The occupation of a town in which a chief of police had his seat would create such a demoralizing impression on the country that a general revolution could with certainty be expected. The fire of unrest was smoldering everywhere. That was why General had no doubt that a vital battle was impending. Much would be gained if he succeeded by strategic means in forcing the Federals and Rurales sent against him to give battle at a time and place most favorable to his plans.
In an uncommonly clever manner, he had managed to keep secret the actual number of the rebels. Only the more intelligent muchachos belonging to his staff knew approximately how many they were. The others cared nothing about it and had merely the vaguest idea of the strength of the army.
At least thirty peons and wandering Indian peasants must have seen the army, and these would probably have reported their observations here and there. But anyone who had encountered or seen the rebels had had no opportunity of seeing more than two companies together at a time. The man who met one troop seldom or never saw a second troop. And if he did meet a second troop, he could not be certain it was not the same troop that he had seen before.
So it was not only because of the difficult nature of the terrain that General had lately kept his army always marching in three or four groups, it was also in order to conceal their actual numbers.
Whenever news of the rebels reached the fincas or Hucutsin or Achlumal, mention was made of a hundred or 120 men. Even when the whole army was camped together in one spot, it would have been impossible for a peon chancing to pass near to establish the precise number, for peons and wandering Indians did not walk in and out of the camp. They slunk shyly by the outermost lines of the encampment and were happy if no one did anything to them and they were allowed to go their ways in peace. Besides, it is difficult for peons and Indians to estimate correctly large numbers of people or cattle. As soon as there are more than eighty, their guess becomes extremely inaccurate, and they very quickly begin to talk of many thousands.
The north army had been sent on such a route that it must inevitably be seen from the finca and remain within sight until it camped. General expected that on the way between Hucutsin and Santa Cecilia patrols would be out quartering the countryside, and these would certainly see the north army.
The north army was two companies strong and comprised about 160 men.
General could have made the north army comprise only one company. But that would have been a tactical error. He had to awaken the belief in the patrols and the garrison of the finca that that north army represented the whole rebel strength. He could never have created this impression with sixty or seventy men. In that event, the Rurales would have let the little troop march on and even camp in peace. They would have waited for the main body of the rebels to arrive, and only then would they have attacked, and not a man would have escaped.
Therefore, General hazarded one quarter of his army and reserved three quarters intact for battle when he considered the juncture favorable for loosing the main attack against the Rurales and Federals. This juncture would come when the enemy believed that they were the unopposed victors of the whole region and had nothing else to do but wait for a representative of the dictator to arrive and hang them with medals and promote all the officers a rank or two higher.
It is always a good thing for rebels and their leaders to know in advance what will happen to them if they lose a fight. The less mercy they have to expect, the less they have to lose; and since they have nothing to lose, they are therefore better fighters than the uniformed sycophants of the dictatorship. These creatures have the posts and petty positions that best correspond to their mercenary souls. Of higher ambition they possess none. Their ideas are realized. What more can a victorious fight offer them? Nothing that they do not already possess.
Nevertheless, there was a real, hard fight. Three Federals, four Rurales, and three finqueros had lost their lives, and nine men had been wounded, before the garrison with twenty prisoners at the ends of their lassos marched back in triumph between the wide-open gate of the finca. About a hundred muchachos of the north army lay dead, strewn over the field of battle.
The night was already far advanced when Colonel, with the tiny group that survived, reached the camp of the central army and reported to General.
He and the muchachos whom he brought back with him were bleeding from numerous wounds. One man lacked a hand, another a forearm. There was not one among these muchachos who could show less than four wounds from shots or sabers on his body. Six of the muchachos were carried in on the shoulders of their wounded comrades. Five had died on the way back because they had been so badly wounded that they either bled to death or their lungs ceased to work.
Not one had a shirt left. Their brown-and-white cotton trousers were tattered. Every rag of material they were wearing had been used to bind or stanch the wounds of themselves and their companions.
Willing muchachos hurried to refresh the survivors with coffee and beans, to wash their wounds and bandage them.
“That was a charming little party,” panted Colonel, squatting on the ground. “I’m damned thin, and I have the feeling that in ten minutes I’ll vanish, I’ve lost so much juice. I’d never have believed I could have made it here. We were sitting quite happy and cozy in our camp. All tired as dogs after a tiger hunt. Hell and damnation, I knew that something was in the air, for I’d seen the patrol, but I thought, mule that I was, that they hadn’t seen us.”
“As a soldier, and particularly as a colonel, never believe anything, but assume that your opponent is at least as clever and probably cleverer than you are.” General laughed as he interjected this.
“And because I suspected something, and because I know you, General, and had a pretty good idea of why you sent me with the army to that particular spot, I was damned careful. I had four sentries out. But before they could report, there was the goddamned gang already on top of us. And what a shame you didn’t see it! You’d all of you have learned something from that. They were at least 250 strong. All mounted on fresh horses. Two bullet sprayers were on the ground. I don’t know how they managed that so quickly. They must already have had the machine guns in their arms as they rode against us. The disgraceful thing was that they rushed us in daytime, in broad afternoon. That we’ve been able to get back here with even thirty men, how we’ve done that, I simply don’t know. And that we actually managed to slaughter ten or twelve or whatever number of them, well—for all I know Saint Peter did it himself. There was no escaping in any direction. In a flash they were all around us like a wall, and three men deep behind the wall. And then they let loose at us. With sabers, with rifles, and with the hoofs of their horses. And the balazos! The bullets! Oh, dear Virgin of Guadalupe, they buzzed among us as if we’d stirred up a swarm of bees. And then they started to yell: ‘Now we’ve got you at last, you damned, stinking, lousy swine. You want to have a revolution! Shout Tierra y Libertad! We’ll give you revolution and Tierra y Libertad! Hijos de putas, chingados por puercos, you’ll soon learn what it’s like to start a rebellion! You’ll be quartered, you cabrones, and flogged at the horse’s tail, you filthy, stinking, lousy sons of bitches.’ And then it was just all hell—crick, crack, plunk, plonk, smash, left and right, up and down, and the muchachos falling all over the place, skulls split down to the nose, whole arms mown off with the shoulder, sabers rammed through and through, and added to all that each man getting thirty or forty splatters of dum-dum bullets at once in his guts. I tell you, hombres, if you hadn’t seen it, you wouldn’t believe it. We managed to loose off a few machine-gun bursts and get in two or three dozen machete cuts, and where they fell they’re still lying, I can tell you. But what can you do when you’re squatting on your backsides with your men and thinking all’s right with the world, and in the same second 250 men on horseback hurl themselves at you?”
“What have you done with the machine gun, Colonel?” asked General.
“Don’t ask me, hombre. I’m happy still to have my head.”
“That wouldn’t have been a great loss, for it’s not worth much if you let yourself be trounced like that.”
“You can talk. I’d like to see whether you could have got away with thirty men even.”
“And how many rifles and revolvers have you brought with you?”
“Two rifles and one revolver—mine, which I have here, but the bullets have all been fired.”
“Well, muchachos, in the next few days we’ve at least got plenty to do,” said General, and grinned contentedly. “The machine gun, the rifles, and the revolvers must be taken back again, or our friendship won’t last long.”
“The machine gun and the rifles?” Colonel smiled. And his broad grin may have caused the blood running down from his skull in two thick streams to flow over his cheeks and into his mouth. He spat it out, drank a hefty draught of hot coffee to change the taste, and then said, “You’re thinking of the machine gun and the rifles, compañero? Leave them where they are. You can’t use them any more. But I’ve seen two damned beautiful new machine guns and more than a hundred dazzling new repeating rifles with magazines, and the other things I’ve seen, about a hundred steel-blue Colts and automatics. Oh! They’re something like revolvers! I only got the two cuts on my head because I was watching those things so lovingly instead of firing off my own bullets quickly enough. And I swear to you that if you don’t do something about getting those things, we thirty, those of us remaining, will go out and get them alone. I must have those machine guns, rifles, and revolvers, and if I can’t have them, my mucking life isn’t worth a damn.”
“Don’t get so excited, Colonel,” said Celso. “We’ll get them all right. They’ve cost us 120 of our brothers, but the fun will be paid for. We’re no longer in the monterías where they gave us fun and we were never able to repay them. Now we’ll pay and pay, and we won’t be any longer indebted for what they’ve given us.”
“Santos en ciel!” shouted Matias. “When I think of what they’ve got for us in their shop there, the juice runs out of my nose and mouth like pure, smooth noodle soup. We must have that hardware store, and then we shall be able to equip half our army, and then we’ll clear up the country once and for all. Life’s wonderful. But if only it lasts until we’ve lit a fire under the asses of the whole tribe of tyrants and tickled them up so they won’t rest in peace again for a hundred years.”
“Shut your trap,” shouted Fidel at him. “We’ve got campaign plans to make here.”
“I’m allowed to say what I think,” Matias defended himself.
“Of course, muy cierto,” said General. “Anyone can speak here. But Colonel still has first turn.” He now turned again to Lucio: “What way did you take back with your bleeding horde? I mean back here? Not the direct route?”
“Do you think I’m such a mule? That would have been fine, if we’d betrayed where our army was squatting. Those miserable cabrones don’t even know that thirty of us are still surviving. They think they mowed us all down, and that all of us who remain alive are now their prisoners and have been marched back to the patio of the finca to provide a jolly evening for those uniformed crawlers.”
“Los prisioneros, los pobres! The poor prisoners!” said Andreu, with a deep sigh.
“Yes, the poor prisoners will be wishing now they were lying dead and mangled on the field,” added General. “They’ll make them dance now. Hell, those who escaped being captured can thank all their saints. And there’s nothing we can do. We must wait till we’re ready and those swine have had their fling. Damned hard as it is, we mustn’t think of that now. Well, Colonel, how did you get back here?”
“Those of us who escaped being cut into mincemeat weren’t all together in one mob. Of course not. While we were on the march there, I told everyone that if we were attacked and had to retreat, no one was to take the direct route back to headquarters, in order not to betray its whereabouts. And not one did. Not even in the worst danger. When we saw that we’d fought enough and couldn’t do any more, then those who were in the middle of it all and couldn’t escape otherwise flopped down among the fallen. They all had enough blood on their hides to make them look ten times more dead than normal. Others crept away into the thick bush to the west, in the opposite direction from this camp. The grass on the plain around here is high now. Then, once at a sufficient distance from the dust-up, it was difficult for the soldiers to see where we were hiding. I can tell you we crawled lower and stealthier than the best snake could. Besides, they had their hands full with the lassoing of those they wanted to capture alive. So at last we were able to squeeze ourselves out like maggots. In the beginning, of course, we were far more than thirty trying to make a getaway. And the prisoners they were able to take they caught from among those who were still alive and trying to crawl off but who couldn’t transform themselves quickly enough into worms, as we were able to do. Meanwhile, darkness soon fell. Thank God for still allowing the world to grow dark now and again. And so, when it was night, the cabrones, howling with pleasure, departed with their prisoners. We then made a wide detour, twice crossing the river down below, right to the north—and here we are.”
“Yes, here we are,” said General. “But not here to stay. Back into the bush.” He immediately gave orders to break camp and march back until all were at least two miles inside the bush and sufficiently hidden by the hills to be invisible to any watchers from the finca. He sent a messenger to the south army, instructing them also to retreat into the bush, but to remain sufficiently far to the south to be able to command the southern flank.
The victors, now reassembled in the finca, were fully convinced that they had destroyed all the rebels who had emerged from the jungle. It was just possible, so they said to one another, that perhaps ten or fifteen might have escaped, but these would be quite harmless and in a few days would be rounded up by the patrols and shot. In any case, the rebellion, at least in this state and region where the masters of estates ruled like kings of olden times, had been crushed, and undoubtedly for good, in view of that mass slaughter of the Indian mutineers. Others, particularly the peons, were now unlikely to entertain any further ideas of striking or rebelling for several decades. And in order to make sure that this actually was the case, they had had the good fortune to bring in alive enough of those stinking Indian swine to demonstrate in the presence of the assembled peon families what happens to rebels and such as dare to open their mouths against their masters.
The dictatorship and the feudal lords sat once more securely in their old saddle.
“Firm action is all that’s needed, caballeros,” said the colonel commanding the Federals. Although the Federals and the Rurales combined were only 120 strong, nevertheless a colonel with experience of rebellions had been put in charge. Since all the finqueros of the region, together with their major-domos and other vassals, were under the command of the colonel, this officer had no cause for complaining about the size of the force he led.
“Firm action, gentlemen. That is the only effective means for dealing with rebellions, strikes, mutinies, and other such madness,” the colonel continued in his exposition to the finqueros. “I promise you, caballeros, that as long as I’m here and have any say, this state will remain free from every form of insubordination against our Caudillo. If unrest is showing its face in the north and west of the Republic, as well as in the sugar regions, that means little as long as we hold the south securely in our hands, so as to be able to push forward from here should the necessity arise. In confidence, gentlemen, I can tell you that at the moment things don’t look too good in those parts of the country. But that is between ourselves. However, we’ll overcome it and destroy these gangs; and then we’ll show them who are the real masters in the land. Fine old tradition, law, order, tranquillity, and decency, that’s what we’re defending. Salud, caballeros, let us raise our glasses to our beloved Chief of State, El Caudillo, the irreplaceable leader and ruler of our glorious Republic! Viva El Caudillo!”
The finqueros and the officers of the Federals and Rurales were all sitting around a long, rough table that had been set up on the veranda of the mansion. This veranda, supported by pillars, ran the length of the building and was open on the side facing the great patio of the finca. Indeed, it was more of a portico and, as in all houses in the American tropics, was used as a living room by day, where meals were taken, where leisure hours were passed in hammocks, and where the women and girls pursued their sewing and other domestic occupations.
The long wooden table now erected here was covered with cheap, brightly colored cotton tablecloths. The board was richly set with dishes of reddish-black beans, roasted turkeys and chickens, fresh salad, great masses of onions, tins of sardines and Alaska salmon, and huge baskets piled to the brim with pineapples, bananas, melons, mangoes, custard apples, and other tropical fruits of the region. About five bottles of Spanish vermouth and muscatel stood on the table. There was not much wine. The finquero apologized for the scanty number of bottles. No one took offense, for each knew it was not easy to stock large quantities of wines in such remote regions. Of course, the finquero knew very well that good wine, and particularly large quantities of good wine, would be wasted on the officers whom he had to entertain here as uninvited guests. They did not understand how to appreciate fine wine. Besides, the finquero was clever enough to reserve the greater part of his really fine wine for himself, for real celebrations given in style and pomp for his landowning friends and their families. They appreciated good wine. He could no more behave meanly to them than they would to him when they gave fiestas.
But at one end of the table was a five-gallon barrel of excellent old comiteco, and there was no one sitting at the table who did not prefer the comiteco; for the comiteco of the owner of Santa Cecilia had a great reputation in the country. It was distilled on the finca and never drunk until it was five years old.
In the patio and along the foot of the veranda the men of the Rurales and Federals and the major-domos and capataces of the victorious finqueros sat feasting. Two pigs and a calf had been slaughtered to feed the unexpected number of warriors. This crowd of valiant trenchermen consumed vast quantities at a meal, and the finquero’s wife, Dona Guillerma, thought with concern of what she would do if the army should settle in for a week. It was not a shortage of meat or corn that she feared. It was the salt, the sugar, the coffee, and the disappearance of plates, cups, napkins, knives, forks, and spoons that frightened her. Of course the soldiers and major-domos all ate with their fingers. But they had to have spoons. And it was not only in the patio but also at the tables where the officers were fed that after every meal the implements, including saucers and coffee cups, grew fewer and fewer. It was not that these things were simply stolen. One of the guests would throw a cup at his servant’s head to encourage him when he was called for and did not come quickly enough. Another wished to scare off the dogs, which crept between the legs of the eater, scrounging bones, and he threw knives and spoons at them. Yet a third felt impelled to display his skill as a juggler at the table, and he persevered with his balancing of cups, plates, and dishes until the whole pyramid collapsed and not a thing remained unbroken. Others knew tricks with forks, spoons, and knives in the course of which the cutlery had to become so bent and broken that at last the conjurer could make it vanish into his mouth or behind his ear. The success of these performances was overwhelming, but the knives and spoons were useless ever after. On top of all this, a third of the cutlery disappeared in the usual way, and Dona Guillerma saw coffee spoons and knives in pockets, a number of which belonged to officers’ uniforms.
The Rurales and the Federals—that is, their commanding officers—charged the government, through the commissary account, for the cost of subsistence at the finca. And the government paid it. But the finquero who quartered all these men never received a centavo for his expenses. Of course not. For he lived under the blessings of a dictatorship. He did not even dare to raise the question with the officers. First, it would have been unworthy of the dignity of a caballero to concern himself with such trivial matters; second, the commanding officer would have said, “Querido amigo mío, you should be satisfied that we’ve beaten the rebels. If we hadn’t arrived when we did, not even the walls of your finca would be left standing now, and it’s by no means certain that you yourself would still be alive.” Since the finquero knew very well that he would receive this answer, his pride forbade his inviting such a retort.
The patio was full of people. There were not only the soldiers, squatting on the ground and stuffing their bellies, there were also the peons, with their wives, daughters, and sons, who were either serving here or else lounging around and watching the soldiers enjoying a meal such as the peons were never offered even though they were the producers of everything there.
The soldiers, major-domos, and capataces, too, were enjoying their comiteco. For them the finquero had placed in the patio a gigantic stone jug that held fifty gallons. Of course it wasn’t the same excellent vintage as in the miniature barrel standing on the table. It was the lees of the best comiteco, very young and fiery, and clear as water.
As a result of the good food and plenty of comiteco, things soon became extremely merry. The peons’ wives and daughters and the Indian maids were seized upon and made to dance whether they wanted to or not. It was useless for Dona Guillerma to call the maids and wives away from the soldiers, to protect them from harm. The soldiers were the masters here and did not hesitate to laugh rudely in the face of the wife of the finquero.
Less than two hours had passed when about fifty revolver bullets whistled back and forth through the air, now thick with smoke from the huge bonfire that blazed in the patio. A few peons received wounds and crept away to their huts. Two soldiers and a major-domo were killed, and a half-dozen soldiers and capataces retired to the great harness room, where they had to be treated by helpful comrades. After that, all was once more peace and amity.
The prisoners were confined in a corral, a fenced-in area for keeping horses and cattle. No one had bothered to untie them. So they remained trussed and corded, just as they had been when they were dragged in behind their captors’ horses. Like parcels they lay on the bare earth of the corral, which was slimy with horse manure and cow dung.
Four soldiers with rifles on their knees sat on the top rails of the encircling fence to keep watch over the prisoners. They were annoyed that they had to do duty here while their comrades were able to enjoy themselves in the patio. Later they were relieved, so that they, too, could eat. The new guard was even more annoyed than the first, because they had had to leave the feast to keep watch on the lousy Indian pigs here.
Peons from the finca had timidly approached and given the prisoners some water to drink and a few handfuls of boiled beans. They were in constant terror that the soldiers on guard would ram their rifles into their stomachs because they were doing an act of mercy for the prisoners. However, the soldiers were so disgruntled that they paid no attention to what the peons did, so long as they did not loosen the lassos with which the muchachos were bound.
A Federal lieutenant got up and walked over to a dark corner of the patio, close to the corral, feeling an uncomfortable pressure of liquid within him. He went up close to the fence and sought out a place where several of the prisoners were lying against the rails.
“Just stay where you are, you swine,” said the lieutenant, as the muchachos attempted to creep away from the warm stream of urine. The muchachos moved no farther.
“Filthy, lousy swine, you ought to feel honored that a Federal officer condescends to piss on you. Do you understand? Answer!”
“Sí, jefecito,” said the muchachos submissively and did not move from the spot.
The lieutenant returned to the table. When he saw that, for the moment, the wife and daughters of the finquero were not near enough to overhear, he related his latest adventure.
A roar of laughter followed this, and all, officers and finqueros for want of better entertainment and more edifying conversation, got up in turn, went over to the corral, and summoned the muchachos to come close to the rails.
And during the succeeding hours when one or another of them felt the necessity, he went “to water the pigs.”
The soldiers, major-domos, and capataces, as soon as one of them happened to discover the game, copied their officers’ joke, until finally one of the captains of the Rurales forbade this, not out of pity for the humiliated muchachos, but from the feeling that the men had no right to use for their needs the same place as had been selected by the officers and caballeros, because such a state of affairs could easily lead to a blurring of the important distinctions of rank.
The next morning, as soon as officers and caballeros had wiped their eyes with wet fingers and the maids had offered each a morning cup of hot black coffee boiled with coarse brown sugar, the major commanded that the examination of the captured rebels should commence.
The major composed the trial. He was simultaneously prosecutor, judge, and the final court of appeal. The remaining officers and the finqueros stood or sat around as supernumerary judges. Their activity, however, was restricted solely to suggesting particularly effective forms of punishment that would leave an impression not to be forgotten in a hundred years.
To engage in rebellion was the prerogative only of the officers, finqueros, and industrial magnates when the dictator was not to their liking. Indeed, every person in the country, even an enlightened schoolchild, knew that the dictator only remained El Cacique so long as he did what these individuals ordered him to do, for they were able to keep the government under control because they held the cudgels in their money bags.
Each case was dealt with in a very brisk and military fashion. The prisoners stepped forward, or, to be more accurate, they were hurtled forward by hard fists and boots; each said his name and stood motionless, arms crossed over his breast.
The major, who had undertaken his duties voluntarily, asked each prisoner whether he had been a laborer in the monterías. Every one of them confirmed this. Not a muchacho fell on his knees and begged for mercy or prayed for forgiveness. Even in face of the agony that awaited them during the next few hours, they showed themselves greater and better men than their executioners, who later, when the dictatorship began to collapse, behaved just as would be expected of minions and toadies of any dictatorship the world over.
The colonel took no interest in the matter of the trial or in what happened to the prisoners. He had enjoyed a long and healthy sleep, then breakfasted alone in order to ensure a better meal, in which expectation he was not, to his pleasure, disappointed. Then he sat down at a little table in the farthest corner of the veranda, pensively smoked a powerful cigar, and dictated to his clerk an account of the battle for the benefit of the chief of military operations, who had his quarters in Jovel.
After the taking of their names, which no one troubled to record, the trial was at an end and the major’s heaviest duties for the day satisfactorily concluded.
Meantime, he, the other officers, and the finqueros had acquired a fierce hunger as a result of the ardors of this tribunal. Since they had noticed with smiles in their eyes that the Indian maids had bedecked the long tables with steaming suckling pigs and vast brown mounds of roasted veal and chops, haste was necessary in order not to disappoint the wife of the finquero who had taken so much trouble to entertain them well. The delicious dishes must not be allowed to grow cold, and it was therefore essential that the contents of each platter should vanish just as rapidly as jaws could masticate.
“Sergeant Paniagua!” shouted the major.
“A sus órdenes, mi comandante!” answered the sergeant, standing before the railing of the veranda on which the major sat with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
“Take away the prisoners, outside the walls of the finca, and execute them. But first you can have your breakfasts.”
“A sus órdenes, mi comandante.”
In pious consciousness of having done his duty as soldier and guardian of the dictator, who gave him his daily bread, the major slipped down from the railing, went over to the washstand, washed his hands, beckoned to the other officers, and walked across to the table. A dozen finqueros were already sitting before their plates and waiting only for the colonel, the senior person there, to sit down also before they could at last begin their delayed meal.
“God,” said the major, sitting down after the colonel and cleaning his nails with a toothpick, “I must say this is a damned good meal, enough to make the heart of an old soldier and fighter leap with joy within his breast. Well, up and at ’em, caballeros, and into battle with all the courage you have!”
The caballeros at the table were not halfway through their battle when Sergeant Paniagua reported to the major: “Listo, mi comandante.”
“Muy bien! You know what you have to do with the prisoners, sergeant?”
“Sí, mi comandante.”
“Good. Get on with it.”
“Just a moment, Major!” interrupted the proprietor of Santa Cecilia, who as host occupied the center seat at the table, between the colonel and the major. “I would make the suggestion, Major, that we summon all the peons on my finca so that they can witness the punishment of these rebels. It will benefit all us finqueros for the peons to see it. It’ll drive out of them once and forever, we hope, all that chatter about tyranny and injustice.”
“Bravo! Bravísimo!” shouted the rest of the finqueros at the table. “That’s a fine idea of yours, Don Delfino. Pity we can’t get our own peons here quickly enough to join in the spectacle. Such an excellent education can’t be given them every day.”
Several of the peons were already in the patio, where they were serving or standing around out of curiosity. On days like these, when great celebrations were held in the finca, there was rarely much work done, because the major-domos and the capataces wished to miss nothing of the banquets. Only the most important work was attended to.
Nevertheless, the finquero sent his major-domo across to the peons’ village to summon all men, women, and children to witness the execution of the rebels.
To have the free and unrestricted disposal of such a large number of ragged, verminous, cowed, and totally defenseless prisoners would have rejoiced the heart of the sexually degenerate, spiritually defiled, uniformed invertebrates such as Central Europe produces so cheaply and in such great quantities. Dictators who feel safe and happy only when surrounded solely by slaves are content—for entirely understandable reasons—to rely for acclaim and support on abject minions. With free men capable of feeling even a glimmer of dignity, they wouldn’t remain sitting on their thrones a week. It was not so in olden days, but in modern times protection comes from the meanest and most miserable henchmen and guardroom parasites, those human dregs, immature and snot-nosed, who, because they have no individuality, no spark of personality, can feel themselves alive only because they are permitted to don a uniform cap. These uniform caps transform a human cipher into a semi-being, but as soon as this semi-being is without his uniform cap, he immediately reveals himself for what he really is: an idiotically distorted, crookedly conceived cipher.
Sergeant Paniagua, who had received the major’s order for the punishment and execution of the rebels, had, like the rest of the N.C.O.’s and policemen, no thought of satisfying any sadistic mental streak by beating defenseless prisoners for days and weeks on end or making them spit on one another or box each other’s ears. Such a thing would have seemed to them so laughable, so idiotic, that they would have doubted their own sanity.
Usually, captured rebels were hanged on a nearby tree. That was done with such speed that ten men were hanged in ten minutes.
Sergeant Paniagua called out a squad and gave the order to take out the prisoners three hundred yards away from the finca, and there to hang them in turn from the trees, after having cut off their ears.
But no sooner had they reached the trees than there came up a major-domo of one of the finqueros who was still sitting at his meal, with an order to the sergeant to delay the hangings for a while, since the finqueros wished to be present.
The sergeant sent a corporal to the major to inquire whether such a delay was in order. The major gave his permission and commanded that the hangings should wait until the caballeros had finished their meal and had time to reach the scene of the executions.
After half an hour the finqueros strolled up leisurely, together with the major and a few bored officers.
“We can’t have a celebration like this every day,” observed Don Crisostomo, the owner of the Santa Julia finca.
“Too true,” Don Abundio, the master of La Nueva Granda, nodded in agreement. “But that’s not all. It’s far better that we should see justice done and everything carried out to the letter of the law. What does a filthy swine of a peon care when he’s hanged?”
This evoked a burst of healthy laughter from the caballeros.
“All the peons here?” asked Don Delfino.
“Sí, patrón,” answered his major-domo.
“Why should we all have to stand around?” asked Don Faustino, the master of finca Rio Verde. He summoned one of the major-domos and gave him the order to saddle horses and bring them there in order that all could be mounted and not have to stand on their scrawny, bandy legs.
“Oiga, Major!” Don Eleuterio of finca La Providencia came up to the major. “I imagine it’s all the same to you who deals with these rebel dogs.”
“Es cierto,” replied the major. “It doesn’t matter to me. I’ve only got to report that the captured rebels are dead, either shot or hanged. I don’t care. I’m a soldier. And my men are soldiers. And since we’re soldiers we would be ashamed to beat or torture defenseless prisoners. We hang or we shoot. What the police do, we soldiers are not responsible for.”
The major shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
“Look, Major,” interposed Don Tirso of La Camelia. “In the next day or two you’ll march away. Then once more we’ll all be left here alone and completely defenseless. I know very well our peons are no longer what they were. They’re restless. They’re waiting for an opportunity, and then they’ll be at our throats. We’ll be slaughtered like sheep. All in one night. If we don’t give them a thorough lesson on how we deal with rebels, here and now, which they won’t forget for the next two or three years, we’ll have no security.”
“Muy bien, caballeros! Do what you wish. I’m going to have a quiet drink, get into my hammock, and spend a pleasant sunny afternoon. Sergeant Paniagua!”
“A sus órdenes, mi comandante!”
“You and all your men get back into the finca. Los prisioneros para los caballeros. Leave the prisoners for the gentlemen.”
“A sus órdenes, mi comandante!”
The commanding officer of the police troop shouted to his men, “You remain here on guard.” When he had given this order, he followed the major and the other officers who strolled back to the finca.
Don Delfino summoned some of his peons. “Run, get spades and pickaxes from the stores.”
The spades were brought, and the finquero ordered the captured muchachos to dig holes, each about four and a half feet deep.
After these holes had been dug, the muchachos were forced to stand at the edges.
“You’ll enjoy this, you lousy cabrones!” shouted the finquero. “One shot and it’s over. But not so quick! Now, jump into the holes! Each into his own!”
The muchachos tumbled in. But as the finquero had anticipated, the holes were not long enough for the men to lie in. They half stood, half lay, their heads projecting above the edge of each hole.
The finquero called up some of the capataces. “Cut off the ears of the swine.”
“Hey, you, where have you got your stinking ears?” asked the finquero, walking over to one of the muchachos in his hole.
“Patroncito mío, they were cut off in the monterías.”
“Ah, I see, because of mutiny.”
“With your kind permission, patroncito, not because of mutiny. My little boy was drowned in the river. Then I was so sad that I went down the stream.”
“A deserter, then. It’s all the same.” With a movement of his head he beckoned to a nearby capataz. “The dog’s no longer got any ears to cut off. Chop away his nose. Hey, you, don’t squirm so; if your cheek goes with it, so much the better. Then the devils in Hell will know who you are when you get there.”
The peons who were present as witnesses said nothing. Not with an expression did they betray what was going on inside them. They looked as humble and obedient as ever. The finqueros were convinced now that they had nothing to fear from them.
Then the peons received the order to fill in the holes.
When that had been done, and only the heads of the muchachos streaming with blood showed above the ground, a finquero shouted to the heads; “Tierra y Libertad is what you want? Now we’re going to give you land and liberty. More than you can swallow. You lousy swine.”
He jabbed a capataz in the ribs and said to him, “Stuff the tierra in their traps until it comes out of their tails.”
He himself took up a shovelful of earth, flung it in the face of the nearest head, walked up to it, and kicked the soil into the mouth with his boots. “There’s your tierra and your libertad. Now are you satisfied? Hey? And you too, we’ll stuff you full of Tierra y Libertad. Fetch some water, José,” he called to another capataz. “Get water for them all and pour it into their mouths, so they swallow tierra till they burst. Libertad. Freedom. Now at last you’ve got all the libertad there is on earth, and in Hell, too.”
He called up all the major-domos and capataces and ordered them to treat all the heads in the manner he had shown them.
The capataces, fired by the finqueros, booted all the loose earth heaped up around the holes into the mouths of those heads, ramming it home with their fists, and when the mouths, noses, eyes, and bleeding earholes were so full of earth that not a grain more could have gone in and not even the cascades of water helped in cramming any more into the orifices, they stamped with their boots on the heads, stamping them deeper and deeper into the loose soil until the faces, wholly masked with blood and earth, had become unrecognizable and were composed only of a mass uncertainly held together by the thick black thatch of hair on the skull.
At the beginning of this distribution of tierra, the muchachos had spat, sneezed, coughed, moaned, and choked. But not one had complained. Nor had one spoken a single word that could be taken as a plea for pity or mercy. So long as they could still see with their eyes, neither fear nor reproach was in their looks. Only hate, and nothing but hate, glowed in the last flicker of their black and dark-brown eyes. And it was that boundless hate in them that made them forget all pain, that made them numb as if their heads were stones. It was the inextinguishable hate of the oppressed, who, downtrodden and tormented though he might be, knows only one emotion—hatred of the oppressor. It was the hatred of the proletarian who has never known justice—only commands and curses. A hate more bitter and remorseless than the hate of Satan for God, this was their hate that permitted no wavering of their courage, not even to beg for a last merciful kick that would extinguish life and that would certainly have made their tyrants rejoice at thus havng broken down the rebels.
Four of the muchachos, when they felt that the next kick in the face would stop them from ever uttering another word, screamed as loud and powerfully as the earth in their throats allowed, “Tierra y Libertad! Viva la revolución de los peones!” It came out far from clear and strong. But to all those muchachos who, with the last flicker of their lives, caught the stifled, choking sounds, though not the separate words, and yet instinctively grasped their actual meaning, these muffled, grunted noises were a hymn of praise such as all the heavenly host could not have sung for the muchachos at the birth of their Savior. It was a hymn that heralded no savior. It was a hymn of praise announcing the arrival of a new mankind. It was a hymn in praise of heroes such as only a dictatorship, an autocracy, could have produced, not in support of that autocracy but heralding its destruction.
The finqueros had not merely heard these last cries, the only cries uttered by the dying muchachos; they had also understood them.
And they were thrown into such a rage that they completely forgot themselves. They now no longer left it to their capataces to stamp the rebels off the earth; after those cries, they now leaped themselves upon the heads and trampled and danced about on them as if they had gone mad.
“Where are the horses, you filthy lazy dogs of mozos?” shouted several of the finqueros, beating their capataces with their fists. The horses had not yet been rounded up; they were grazing on the open pastures and had first to be found and driven in.
“Horses! Bring in the horses! We want to gallop these swines’ damned heads into Hell!”
Not only the finqueros but also the peons had heard the cries of the four or five muchachos. And although they spoke Indian more easily than Spanish, they nevertheless understood immediately these rebel cries. And they understood rightly, for the first time in their lives, what these revolutionary words really meant.
The finqueros had made the greatest mistake they possibly could have made: they had invited the peons to the exhibition in order to terrorize them. And for the first time the peons had the sensation of being a part of humanity, bound one to another and all together, not just because they were peons, but because they had a common enemy, because their enemies were the masters who had always posed to them as benevolent fathers. Now they began to understand, for the first time in their existence, that these professing fathers had suddenly been transformed into monsters as soon as their paternal domination and the authority that went with it were threatened.
At this instant the peons, who had been invited as witnesses, realized that their oppressed and tormented class could bring forth heroes who in point of courage, of upright decency, of strength of character, of hate and pride were not a whit behind those who hitherto had regarded these human qualities as the inalienable inheritance of their class—the feudal master class—proclaiming to all the world at every opportunity that peons and proletarians were indeed peons and proletarians because they had no pride and no courage.
But now the peons felt pride swelling up within themselves as they heard the gurgling screams of victory from the muchachos. Their hitherto nebulous and undifferentiated individualities flowered to a comprehension of their own possibilities as human beings when they became aware that these rebels, who even under the most terrible pain could still fling their hatred into the faces of the dictator’s lackeys, belonged in fact to their race, their class, and not to the class of their masters. Not one of them had ever seen a finquero die with such a great, glorious gesture as these rebels had achieved.
The finqueros had hoped to flood the peons with fear and terror when they commanded them to be present at the executions. Now, without the finqueros even yet suspecting it, their plan had gone awry and achieved the very opposite.
Filled in their hearts with a deep religious adoration for the rebels, the peons now slunk back to their huts and there told their wives and children of what they had seen and experienced. And they told this with a reverence and awe, as if they had seen in the bush the Holy of Holies appearing to them in person and commanding them to build a chapel.
Men and women knelt before the tiny, smoky, smeared pictures of the Holy Virgin, propped on little chests that served as altars in their huts, and prayed for the souls of the dead rebels with as much fervor as if they had been their own fathers. When they had ended their prayers, and the men had once more left their miserable huts in order to follow the major-domo to their places of work, they were no longer the same peons that they had been.