Of course, the first company was not ready to set out at the hour agreed on. In those remote regions no caravan has ever been ready to march at the hour fixed in advance. This is not the fault of the guides or the organizers of the group but of a thousand incidents and uncontrollable mishaps that always upset even the most carefully prepared plans. In the jungle, as in deserts far from civilization, even the most elaborately constructed plans are useless. It has been decided, for example, that ten mules will be required for the group. The mules are all ready the evening before, but on the following morning three that have broken loose during the night are missing. As there are no walls or fences, it is not easy to find them. If they are tethered securely, the animals cannot look for food or escape from the attacks of wild animals. On the eve of leaving, all the harnesses, the saddles, and the other trappings are in perfect condition, but during the night voracious rats gnaw leather straps through. In the evening the drivers and guides are in perfect health, but during the night a scorpion or a snake bites one of them in the foot, and two or three others suffer an attack of malaria.
On the eve of departure the sun is still shining splendidly, and there is not a cloud in the sky. But suddenly, in the middle of the night, a cloudburst lets loose, inundating paths and tracks, soaking packs, boxes, and harnesses. The night before, everything is well packed, but at the moment when loading is about to begin, it becomes clear that some repacking is required, because the cases weigh more than they should.
At a council of war the preceding afternoon it had been decided that the departures of the groups would be spaced at intervals of one day. Even in the dry season it would have been difficult to lead a numerous caravan through the forest, but in the height of the rainy season it had become a gigantic undertaking.
The troop, which had been increasing without interruption, now consisted of five hundred men and more than one hundred and fifty pack animals—mules, horses, and burros.
To the animals belonging to La Armonía had been added those of the camps formerly administered by Don Acacio and those the men of neighboring camps had brought in with them.
It had been decided to abandon the oxen, which could find sufficient pasturage to keep them alive until the day when they themselves would be able to move along the paths back to the fincas whence they had come. They would know how to follow the right road without any difficulty.
Furthermore, their number was reduced every day because the men sacrificed two or three of them daily to prepare reserve rations. It was Andres who had thought of taking this precaution. The meat was cut into strips and then dried and salted, producing big enough quantities of dried beef to last for the entire journey.
The whole group was divided into small sections of about fifty or sixty men, each of which was assigned a drove of fifteen animals. Only the first company would consist of eighty men and would take twenty animals, all mules and horses. This company would be the advance guard in charge of preparing encampments for the night. The encampments would be in the full jungle, in an open place between a river and the slopes of a hill, or sometimes even in the bottom of a gorge.
The leaders always had to bear in mind that the animals required pasturage for food and that it might not always be possible to find enough in any one place for one hundred or one hundred and fifty animals at a time. But during the rainy season the grass grows up again with extraordinary speed, even between the departure of one company and the arrival of another, often in less than twenty-four hours. And should there not be enough, all they had to do was press a short way ahead into the undergrowth to find the fodder needed. This, after all, was a minor difficulty. It was the state of the softened soil, converted into mud by the rains, that made it necessary to divide the troop into small groups separated from one another by an interval of one day’s march.
The first hundred men would be able, with great difficulty, to make slow progress. But the second would begin to sink in the tracks left by the first, to slide on the sloping places, dragging after them mounds of mud, branches broken from the trees, and loose roots and rocks. For the third group the tracks and paths would be impassable. On the other hand, if the troop was divided into small groups, their tracks would not be so deep and the earth would have time to become firm again in the space of twenty-four hours. The rains certainly would continue without a break, but on sloping paths the water would run off quickly, which could not happen if hundreds of feet sank into the muck, starting erosion that would convert the paths into arroyos.
By the plan finally chosen, the first company would have already made twelve days’ progress by the time the last would be ready to leave the main camp.
As soon as the first village outside the jungle was reached, the companies would halt to await the arrival of all the others, until the whole troop was reunited in one place. The first care of those marching in front would be to see that nobody from the village should run to give the alarm to the finqueros established on the road to Hucutsin or Achlumal or to the rural police or federal soldiers of the nearby garrisons. Sooner or later they would not be able to avoid meeting armed forces. But the rebels wanted to reach Hucutsin or Achlumal before confronting soldiers or the police for the first time.
According to the season and the nature of the terrain, mounted caravans usually covered between four and nine leagues daily—that is, from ten to twenty miles. A day in which nine leagues were covered was a heavy one, possible only with a light load. The average day’s journey was seven leagues in normal times, and that required tremendous effort.
On the first day out, the leading company could advance only three leagues, and when the men reached the first possible camping place they realized the hardships and penalties in store for them in this undertaking. On this first day they had plowed ahead without a halt, sinking into the mire up to their knees.
Naturally, the other companies were unable to cover even the three leagues achieved by the first.
The General had ordered that each of the companies should spend the night in the encampment prepared by the first. But when they realized that the other companies could not maintain the pace of the first, they deliberated, and the General, in agreement with them, ordered the march of the first company reduced to three hours only. Clearly they could not stop exactly at the end of three hours, because it was essential that they stop in a place suitable for the preparation of an encampment, that it supply drinkable water and pasturage for the animals.
Later they were able to see that the idea of dividing the march, not into leagues, but into hours was really magnificent. In this way the first company had enough time and could throw up good shelters for the night. Moreover, men and animals arrived at the encampment without weariness.
Clearly, only the first company could enjoy this advantage, but on it depended the success of the entire expedition. Three hours’ march for the first company without regard to the amount of ground covered was a small matter. For the companies following it, three hours represented the distance to be covered between one encampment and the next. No doubt the three hours would become four for the companies following the first, and the General therefore took care that the three hours should be shortened rather than prolonged. Despite this precaution, the last company had to struggle for eight or nine hours with obstacles along the way in order to get from one encampment to another.
Every five days the whole army rested. Men and animals could recoup their strength, at the same time giving the paths and tracks time to harden a little, thus making passage across them less painful.
Full advantage was taken of this day of rest. Each company sent two men forward and two back to establish contact with the company ahead and the one in its rear, so that the whole troop could be aware of what was happening.
Not even the most experienced general could have worked as assuredly as this simple, almost unlettered sergeant, who had such officers as the Professor, and such men as Celso, Andrés, Santiago, and Matías, uneducated and lowly Indian boys, born rebels with no personal ambition but that of carrying to triumph the idea of liberty and justice as they conceived it—without compromise or surrender. They wanted that idea carried through whole and complete, and to see it succeed they marched at the head of their men without stopping to consider obstacles. “We want land and liberty.” That, and nothing else, was their program.
“We want land and liberty, and if we want that, we have to go and look for it where it is to be found and then fight for it every day to preserve it. We don’t need anything else. If we have land and liberty we shall have all that man needs in this world, because it is in them that love is to be found.”
The program was so simple, so just, and so pure that the Professor had no need to deliver long speeches to convince the men of its wisdom. He had no need to draw up long statutes or give explanations or recommend to the men the reading of treatises on political economy to make them understand that any man, however stupid he is, will be able to take over the governing of a people, provided he is equipped with machine guns and takes care to see that others have none.
The route that the column followed was crisscrossed by rivers and streams whose overflowing waters had spread out over their submerged banks. Also, it was necessary to go around the many lakes of the region. Some of these lakes were shut in between two mountains where the upper paths were generally found in good condition, because the waters did not stagnate there, and the moisture in the ground was evaporated quickly by the first rays of the sun.
At times the upper paths descended to join one that bordered a lake, so that during the rainy season it was necessary to wade long distances, sinking into muck up to the waist, to find water fit for drinking. This was the one hazard that could most easily upset the well-laid plans of the rebel general staff.
When, at the end of the sixth day, the first company reached the edge of Lake Santa Lucina, the General went up to join the vanguard, of which Celso and Santiago formed part.
“This looks God-damned bad,” he said.
“Look whom you’re telling that to, General,” Celso answered, laughing, though submerged up to his thighs.
“This is the first time our revolutionary march has been halted.”
“It’s also the first battle we have to fight,” added Santiago, who, a few yards from Celso, was struggling against the current of mud.
“I’m afraid,” the General said, “that we’ll have to wait here for a whole week.” Then, having looked around carefully, he reflected some seconds and added: “We might have to stay here three months, until not a drop of water falls.”
Celso withdrew slowly until he succeeded in planting his feet on more solid ground.
The General ordered the company to halt and await new orders. Then he sent a few men to find a path that would take them farther from the lake and be more practicable but still would not lead them in the wrong direction. At the end of two hours he received the first report from the scouts: within a radius of three miles there was nothing but swamps and seas of mud.
“It was to be expected,” Celso observed. “Otherwise the caravans that follow this route every year would have found other routes.”
“That’s true,” said the General, “but just the same we have to get out of here, find another road. Maybe there’s one behind that chain of mountains. That will mean a detour of two or three days, and perhaps that’s why the drivers, who always want to save time, haven’t looked for it. But we can allow ourselves this detour. We’ll arrive on time anyhow, because the fincas we want to conquer, with their land and liberty, won’t get away from us because of the delay.”
The Professor came slowly up to the group, saying: “Clearly the land won’t escape—but liberty? If we want land and liberty, not only must we arrive at the right moment, but we must also arrive together. If we don’t, we’ll be exterminated. We can win only in a mass, by means of the mass, and with the mass; because nothing will be worth anything if we are not in mass. Let’s take a man in the group, any man—Celso or Santiago, for example. Working in isolation, you’d lack the necessary education, the brain trained in the right way to prevent any scribbler in a municipal registry, any shopkeeper, however stupid, from doing whatever he likes with even a hundred of you because of your ignorance, because you don’t even know how to read and write. That’s why they have always been able to deceive and rob you. But when we work together in a mass, things are different. Then a thousand heads and two thousand vigorous arms make up a superior force. That is why I’ve been telling you that freedom can evade us easily if we don’t form a large mass and if we don’t all arrive at the same time. The strongest lion is helpless in the face of ten thousand ants, who can force him to abandon his prey. We are the ants, and the owners are the lions.”
“All you say is well said, Professor. But what matters most now is to find a route by which we can get ahead. We can’t go back to the camp and wait two months or more until the rains stop and the paths dry up. We’ve got to continue on our way in order to get there soon and stir up the peons. When they realize our strength and see our weapons, they’ll wake up. Well, then—forward!”
It was truly a titanic task to discover a new road through the submerged jungle. They had to make a detour of three miles to the north, driving through virgin undergrowth.
So many hours of the hardest work had been required by the first company that this afternoon, for the first time since they had set out, the second company arrived in time to camp with the first. But as the original plan of marching separately had to be followed, the second company had to remain in camp three hours the next morning after the first again set out.
The companies that followed the first had no reason to consider themselves favored. Even though the first had the heavy task of finding a place where potable water could be obtained and which at the same time was free of mud so that they could set up the huts of the camp, the other companies had to fight against the state in which those preceding them had left the paths and tracks. Again and again they had to march, without losing their way, many yards above or below the path in order not to sink up to their necks in the muck.
This first fight with the elements was not the only one. The flooding river and arroyos they had to cross caused considerable losses in the little rebel army.
When at last they got out of the dense jungle and found themselves in the first little village, the General announced the losses suffered: twenty-eight men, four women, and three children. Some of the victims had met frightful deaths lost in the swamps; others had been drowned, carried away by the floods. Among the living, over a dozen had a broken leg or arm. Others had big head wounds, and at least fifty were dragging along with the blazing eyes and yellow skin of fever. Of those who were missing, probably more than one had been eaten during the night by some wild animal. It was impossible to say who had died that way: the troop had become used to the cries of the delirious, and it was hard to tell, in the middle of a black night, whether a man was struggling with a real or an imaginary animal. When daylight came, the absence of some man would be noticed. Sometimes, when the rain had not erased them, the tracks of the animal that had visited the encampment would still show.
Twenty horses and mules had disappeared for the same reasons, with this difference: that the horses and mules were not attacked by malaria, but by dysentery, and that nearly all of them were wounded, despite the drivers’ precautions, which had been useless in preventing packsores, snakebites, and the attacks of wildcats.
Despite losses, sickness, and weariness, the morale of the troop was excellent. In every company the best of humor prevailed, displayed to the degree and in the way that Indian austerity allowed.
So great was the confidence they felt in themselves, so big were their hopes, and so genuine was the joy they felt at having undertaken that march toward liberty, that they could not recall ever having lived happier hours.
Months, perhaps years earlier they had abandoned hope that their situation would ever improve. For in spite of contracts, promises, and laws, they knew that once they had been meshed into the machinery of the lumber camps they would never be able to return to their homes, or even to see a village. But now, one after another, the companies had reached a village, the first they had seen in many years.
Behind them lay the jungle, with its perils and its horrors. Before them, their homes, parents, and families. Before them, land and liberty! Free land for all! Land without foremen and owners!
All together now, they wept with pleasure when the Professor spoke these words to them: “Listen well, men. Even if we lose this battle, even if we go down to the last man under the bullets of the federal soldiers and the rural police, even if not one of us should ever obtain land and liberty, we will have triumphed. Because to live as free men, even if only for a few months, is worth more than living a hundred years in slavery. And if we fall now we won’t fall as peons, as hanged men in flight, but as free men on the earth, as open rebels, as true soldiers of the revolution.”
“Long live the Professor! That’s the way to talk!” hundreds of voices shouted. “We’re free and we’re fighting for the liberty of all the peasants and workers, of all honest women and men!”
From the vantage of a branch to which he had climbed so that his voice might reach them all, the Professor looked at the multitude acclaiming him. Then he went on: “You have said it, men. We are free, but we don’t want liberty for ourselves alone. We must join all the others to fight together for liberty.”
“Hurrah for the Professor! Long live liberty! Forward with the fight for land and liberty!”
Long after the Professor had climbed down from the tree the shouts of enthusiasm could still be heard.
The last company had arrived. The whole body of men was reunited. Friends and comrades belonging to different companies met again seated around the same hearth and told about the sufferings they had endured during the march through the jungle. In all the groups happiness dominated. Some were playing mouth organs, producing soft, sweet sounds; others strummed small guitars to accompany the singing of plaintive songs whose simple, profound words expressed everyone’s simple, profound feelings, words with which they alleviated the wounds of so many old pains and so much suffering. They danced, they sang, and they made noise, because the idea of having been able to come out well despite the horrors of the forest, with its swamps, the flood of its rivers, and the attacks of its wild animals had caused an explosion of joy among them. This was their way of reacting to the end of that exhausting march.
The little village claimed to be the final point of the forest—which nevertheless extended into it. The roads were no better here, and there were places where the undergrowth was impenetrable. Furthermore, the rains might continue for some weeks. But this would not be torrential rain—only the fine rain so common in the mountains. During a respite of two or three days the rain let up completely. Nevertheless, the nocturnal downpours of the tropics had to be expected. But what could that matter now that they had dodged the horrors of the jungle?
A few miles from its edge they found clusters of huts, small ranches, then fincas; and still farther on, still a considerable distance away, they would see the hamlets of Hucutsin and Achlumal. From there onward they would pass little caravans, convoys of mules and Indians on the way to market to sell the products of their labor.
Between these little villages they would still have to cross desert or forest regions covered with thick brush through which they would have to plow for whole days at a time. But the jungle and its dangers were far away now. At last they had been left behind.
They began to see cornfields and patches of frijoles. As they advanced, the cultivated lands became more extensive, until their boundaries were lost to sight at the appearance of the first fincas.
Corn and frijoles! And with them assurance that they would not die from hunger. Until that moment they had sustained themselves with what they had carried away from the lumber camps. Provisions for four or five days more still remained. But the fear of hunger disappeared at the sight of the fincas, with their immense wealth of corn, pigs, sheep, cows, wheat, sugar, and all the things that this crowd of young men desired with all their hearts. For months, and in many cases years, they had been deprived of all those things which make men’s lives supportable.
For corn alone was not enough, even though they prepared the ground meal and made the dough, which—by recipes transmitted from generation to generation for centuries—made possible a whole series of foods, including tortillas of several kinds and sizes, some with cheese rolled inside them, and corn-meal-water made aromatic with orange leaves or the little flowers of the anise plant.
At the fincas more than just tortillas and frijoles awaited them. There they would find an endless amount of good things for which it was well worth their stopping awhile. The men were not highway robbers. But a rebellion cannot exist without rebels, and rebels must live if they are to go forward. Rebels are not to blame for the disagreeable consequences that rebellions bring in their train for those who have everything. Those responsible for the acts of the rebels are men who believe it possible to mistreat human beings forever with impunity and not drive them to rebellion.