At seven o'clock our regiment moved out, and the men of the third squadron, of whom Cordova had spoken, provoked much humour and good-natured chaff as they rode past on their baggage mules. It was thought that they would help to make a show, but no one suspected that later on, when ordered to remain in the rear, they would answer firmly, "No, we will conquer or die with our comrades!"

The cavalry, consisting of four regiments, was stationed in the centre, with an infantry division on either side, and a third in the rear as a reserve.

About nine o'clock a great cheer rose from all parts of the plain: the Royalists were descending the craggy side of Condorcanqui. Between the infantry of each division appeared the cavalry, the riders leading their horses and advancing with difficulty. It was an impressive scene, and we stood watching with breathless interest.

Then our fellows renewed their cheering as General Sucre, riding along the line, addressed a few rousing words to each particular corps.

"A tough nut to crack," remarked Plaza, watching the Royalists form, "but we'll get at the kernel before the day's over."

"There's the beginning!" cried Alzura, as the infantry on our right slowly advanced. "Hurrah! we're to help!" for an aid-de-camp from General Sucre had just dashed up to Miller with orders.

We waited eagerly for the word to mount, but our turn had not yet come.

Two cavalry regiments moved off with Miller, and left us gazing at the drama being unfolded before our eyes.

Our infantry columns marched to the attack like so many automatic machines; the Royalists waited firmly, as if confident of victory. We stood holding our horses, and quivering with excitement. Much would depend upon the result of that first encounter.

"They're stopping to fire," cried Alzura. "Now they're moving again.

Viva! they're going to charge. Look at the sun on their bayonets."

Would the Royalists give way? No; they stood firm as the rocky heights behind them--not a man moved. It seemed to me that there was not even a tremor in the whole ma.s.s. If our fellows charged and failed, they would be cut to pieces. We were like spectators in a theatre, only the drama was a real one.

A mighty "Viva!" floated back to us as our men broke into the charge.

It was neck or nothing now--decisive victory or stern defeat.

"The Royalists will run," muttered Plaza; "they must."

But they did not, and the next instant bayonet crossed bayonet in desperate conflict.

Excitement drove us well-nigh crazy. We cheered and shouted and waved our sabres, as if by so doing we could help in the fight. Our troops had met their match, and seemed to make no impression. Unless they went forward shortly they must retreat.

"If they're driven back," remarked Plaza, "they are lost."

How the struggle would have ended I cannot tell, but just then we broke into a cry of relief. The two cavalry regiments which had made a wide detour were seen bearing down on the Royalists' flanks. They swept along at hurricane speed. Nothing could stand against the shock of their long lances. A portion of the Royalists, facing about, delivered a telling volley at short range. Men and horses went down with a crash, but the survivors were not checked. A second volley crashed into them, making wide gaps, and then, with the force of a roaring torrent, they literally swept away the barrier of men and steel.

"That settles it," said Plaza, breathing deeply; "the bravest troops in the world couldn't recover from such a smashing blow. It's a case of complete rout, in that part of the field at all events."

He was right too. The enemy would not, indeed could not rally. Here and there small groups stood at bay, fighting desperately but vainly to stem the onset of their pursuers. All they could do was to die fighting, in the hope that the sacrifice might save their comrades.

Even those who reached the heights were not out of danger. Whiz, whiz sped the bullets; and numbers of the fugitives rolled down the mountain side till their bodies were caught by crag or brushwood.

So greatly was our attention absorbed by the scene that we had scarcely noticed what was happening on our left. Suddenly, however, a heavy fire broke out, followed by the quick reports of hundreds of muskets.

Our colonel glanced in the direction uneasily. His orders were strict.

He was on no account to move his regiment, and yet--

"Crawford," said he, looking round, "see what that firing means."

I sprang to the saddle and galloped off. But for our success on the right, I should have felt inclined to take a gloomy view of things: our left had given way.

Two Royalist battalions were advancing in pursuit, while still further on the left a cavalry regiment was swooping down on one of our reserve battalions sent in support. The crafty enemy had crossed a deep ravine, on the farther side of which a whole division was stationed.

A mounted officer, with cap gone and cloak flying in the wind, pulled up on seeing me, and said rapidly, "Where is your regiment? Take me to your colonel quickly. We want cavalry; we must have cavalry, or our whole left will be rolled up!"

"This way," I replied, and together we galloped towards the Hussars of Junin, reaching the colonel just as General Miller dashed up from the right.

"What is it?" he asked hastily.

"We are overpowered, sir. The enemy have four field-guns across a ravine; our division has suffered terribly, and the troops are giving way. The general requires a regiment of cavalry immediately."

"Tell him it's coming," replied Miller.--"Now, colonel, here's a chance for your men to show their mettle. We've smashed the enemy on the right; let the 'Hussars of Junin' do the same on the left."

How we did cheer as our colonel led us out! General Miller's face wore an anxious expression as he glanced over the field. Everywhere the victorious Spaniards were driving back our left wing; we should only be just in time to repair the mischief.

"Push those two infantry battalions across the ravine while I rally the fugitives," said Miller. But he had barely spoken when the Royalist cavalry dashed down on the right flank.

"Here's Crawford's friend again!" said Plaza. "We might have guessed he had a hand in this business."

Santiago made a handsome picture as he tore along well in front of his regiment, and enemy though he was, I could not help feeling proud of him. We turned to meet this vigorous onslaught, and though Santiago fought with all the traditional valour of his race, his men, already tired by their great exertions, could not stand against us.

Stopping their flight, our own infantry rallied, and advanced in support, while their loud cheers proclaimed the arrival of a second cavalry regiment. Nothing daunted by his repulse, Santiago led his troopers against the new enemy, while we bore down on the hostile infantry.

"Gallop!" cried our colonel; and neck by neck the horses flew over the ground, the men waving their sabres and cheering l.u.s.tily. We could see the glittering steel of the bayonets now, could almost look down the barrels of the muskets, when there came a blinding flash, the thud of falling bodies, and hoa.r.s.e shrieks of pain.

"Forward!" thundered the colonel, "forward; remember the 'Hussars of Junin!'"

Crash we went right into them before they could fire another volley, and then it was horseman against footman, sabre against bayonet. To and fro we surged, striking parrying, thrusting, till at last the brave enemy, unable to continue the struggle longer, fled to the ravine, hotly pursued by our victorious regiment.

In a calmer moment we should have pulled up, but there was no stopping now. Some one raised a warning cry: it came too late. Down the ravine we went, the horses slipping and scrambling--some rolling over and crushing their riders; the majority, keeping their feet somehow, reached the opposite bank. A small detachment of the enemy halted to fire a scattering volley, which did some mischief. A man close to me fell forward on his horse's neck.

"Good-bye, Crawford!" said he faintly; "I am done for."

It was Cordova; but there was no time to help him. On we dashed straight at the guns, which the gunners dared not fire, so mixed up were friend and foe. A cry of "Viva el Rey!" arose in our rear.

Santiago was galloping back.

The Royalists could not stand. Miller had brought up three battalions in double-quick time; the guns were ours; horse and foot we swept over the plain, driving the enemy pell-mell in all directions. Only the regiment led by the undaunted Santiago endeavoured to cover the retreat, and at last it too fled.

Not so their brave leader; he remained on the field. I found him later, with a hole in his side and a nasty gash across the face. He was not dead, however, and with a.s.sistance I carried him to the village, where a surgeon dressed his wounds. Then I returned to my regiment.

"It's all over!" cried Alzura exultantly. "The viceroy is taken prisoner, and Canterac has come to sue for terms. He is with Sucre now."

"Where is Plaza?"

"Just gone to find poor Cordova. It's hard lines to drop off in the moment of victory. And the war is over now; the Royalists will never lift their heads again."

This was not quite correct, as a few still held out in other parts of the country, but they were powerless to do any real mischief. This battle of Ayacucho--or Battle of the Generals, as we called it--secured the independence of Peru. Fourteen Spanish generals, some of them the most famous in South America, gave up their swords; nearly six hundred officers and most of the rank and file became prisoners of war.

Late that evening I went to see Santiago. He lay on a bench in a miserable hut, where several wounded officers had been brought for shelter. Two small earthen lamps gave a feeble light, barely sufficient for us to see each other's faces. I bent over him, and choked back the sob that would rise in my throat. We neither of us tried to gloze over the truth. He was dying, and we both knew it.

"I am glad you have come," he whispered. "It will soon be over, and I am not sorry; I have tried to do my best."