Having dealt neatly and expeditiously with the two men who had approached his hiding place, Wheeler now waited for the leader of their group; who, he assumed, would now tackle him. He didn’t really know why he thought that this would be the case, it was just a strange feeling that he had. Wheeler reloaded the two empty chambers in his pistol and then brought the Whitworth to bear on the scene at the river crossing. There were now two men standing by the rope on this side and a third, about to land on the Mexican shore. He peered down the brass telescope and took very careful aim. Then Bob Wheeler squeezed the trigger gently.
It was the fact that the young soldier had just reached the river bank and was swinging himself from the makeshift hoist, which saved his life. Wheeler was using the sniper’s rifle well within its range and in the usual way of things might have been able to hit a stationary target; after all, the man at who he was aiming was only about a quarter of a mile from him. Things were not as he might have hoped, though. For one thing, a stiff breeze had blown up and for another, his target was moving; swinging back and forth from the rope as the young man tried to gain purchase with his feet and scramble down from the sling.
The ball hit the bank a foot from where Jake Frobisher was standing and for a moment he wondered what it was that had caused the earth to erupt like that near his foot. He thought at first that it was some little, burrowing animal emerging from the ground and then came the sound of a distant shot. Realising that he was under fire, Frobisher dived for cover.
Across the river, Colonel Lopez’ suspicions were confirmed and he knew that a lone gunman was hiding behind that cart of rifles and ammunition. It would be madness for he and the remaining man to try and get over the river with that fellow taking potshots at them. On the other hand, it would be equally suicidal to charge the position. He would be shot down before he was a hundred yards from the cart. Even staying where he was was not a practical notion. It was surely only a matter of time before some cavalry patrol passed by and he and this young man were both captured.
There was only one faint chance, but since it was the only one; there was no choice but to attempt it. Lopez said to the soldier, “Tell me truly now, are you a good shot?”
The boy, for he was little more than that, shook his head and said, “To speak in truth sir, I am not.”
“That is what I feared. Listen, we must both get behind the house here. Whoever is firing at us has a good weapon and we are within his range.”
Pete Frobisher said, “Where are you two scuttling off to now? Me and my brother would be obliged if you could just finish this business as quick as you like. This is getting a mite too lively for me, I’ll tell you that for nothing!”
“I must ask you to bear with us for a minute or two, Mr Frobisher,” said the colonel, “There is one small matter which requires my attention.”
“Well make it snappy, hey?” replied Frobisher irritably.
Although he was far from being an exceptional shot, Colonel Lopez had the germ of an idea which, he thought, might yet save the day. He picked up one of the Sharp’s carbines left behind by the wounded men and hefted it in his hand. It was loaded and he went to the corner of Frobishers house; a stout, stone wall which would provide good cover. His edge came from the fact that he had examined the material in the wagon and had noted the position of the various supplies In particular, he had noticed two cardboard boxes labelled “Caps”. These would each contain five hundred copper percussion caps which fitted over the nipples of muzzle-loading weapons. The inside of each of these caps was smeared with a generous dollop of fulminate of mercury; a sensitive explosive which was detonated by the impact of the gun’s hammer falling.
Kneeling like the infantryman he had once been, Lopez sighted down the barrel and took aim at the wagon. It was something over two hundred yards to the wagon and he wondered if the Sharps would be accurate enough at such a distance. There was only one way to find out and he loosed off a shot at the load on the cart. His first ball was a little low, striking and splintering a spoke of the wheel. That was the only fault though; he had fallen short of his target. The aim was true enough, in that he had not struck to the left or right of the point at which he had aimed.
Lopez was not given much time to congratulate himself on his marksmanship, because no sooner had his own ball struck the wagon’s wheel, than a bullet came flying in his direction. Obviously, the sniper was still hiding behind the wagon. Rather than waste time reloading, the colonel took the rifle of the other wounded man and again took aim. He felt that he had the range and elevated the barrel just a shade, to compensate for the range. This time, the effect was all that could have been hoped.
The point five calibre ball, weighing six hundred grains, sped towards the wagon at fourteen hundred feet per second and ploughed straight into one of the cardboard boxes containing the percussion caps. The box contained somewhere in the region of two ounces of fulminate of mercury, distributed throughout the several hundred copper caps. Such was the force of the ball as it struck home, that half the caps exploded on impact, setting off the others in the box. The contents of this first box exploding in that way, detonated the box above. A total of four ounces of high explosive thus went off, which caused the thirty pounds of fine grained black powder also to go up. The net effect of all this was as though two fifteen pound artillery shells had landed right on top of the cart and exploded.
The massive blast turned the cart and its load to matchwood and tangled metal. A vast plume of black smoke rose from the site of the explosion and even at that distance, Colonel Lopez felt a wave of warm air pass him. The boom echoed to and fro; it must surely have been audible for miles. The young soldier who had been sheltering with Lopez behind the walls of Frobisher’s home, stood up and peered round the corner. “Mother of God,” he exclaimed, “I think you have settled all accounts now, sir.”
Pete Frobisher was considerably less impressed with Lopez’ skill with the carbine. He came hurrying up and said, “You boys surely know how to advertise! I’d be mighty obliged if we could just get the pair of you across the river. Sombody’s sure to be here directly to look into that bang you caused.”
Since there was no longer anything to detain them in the United States, Colonel Lopez readily agreed to this proposal and allowed the soldier with him to be ferried over the Rio Grande, before climbing himself into the hoist and being pulled across the river by Jake Frobisher. As he was slowly jerked and dragged along the rope, Lopez reflected that he had done all that a man of honour could do. The emperor had ordered him to discourage the smuggling of arms across the border and he had surely done that. If he wished, he could resign his commission now and become a private citizen within a matter of minutes.
It was a satisfaction to him also that he had prevented at least a few of those devils of Confederates from entering his country and setting up their homes here. As he neared the Mexican side of the river, Lopez realised that he had given little thought to what might be done with the six men he had brought with him from the fort at Cueda. Would they wish to return to their duties with the Imperial Army or might they wish to desert and join the rebels? Whatever they wished, the colonel knew that he was responsible for them and could make no final decision about his own future, until he had established their views and either seen them safe back to their garrison or otherwise settled.
As he swung ashore, Lopez thought that for all concerned, the less delay in finding out what these young fellows wanted, the better. Jake Frobisher was in a great hurry to untie the rope from the tree to which it was attached. Like his brother, he was in terror of soldiers arriving on either bank of the river and blaming him and his brother for massacres, aiding rebels, murder, smuggling or the Lord knew what else. At the very least, he needed to submerge the rope and cover up any evidence of the smuggling activities. On the other bank, Pete Frobisher was also frantically engaged in hiding evidence. As soon as Colonel Lopez had been safely landed, Pete Frobisher signalled his brother with the flags, and sent a brief message to the effect that they should leave their homes, at least temporarily and ride to the ferry to see what they might do next.
It was in the midst of these efforts by the Frobisher brothers to save their business interests and perhaps even their very lives, that there came the thundering of hooves and a party of heavily armed riders appeared on the ridge of high ground overlooking Jake Frobisher’s home. There were perhaps twenty men in the party and they all, to Jake’s eyes at least, looked as though they meant murder. He knew two of them; men with whom he had in the past conducted a little business in the smuggling line. From which, Frobisher took it that all the men were members of Juarez’ rebel army. Although he was pretty sure that these fellows had not come here to do him any harm, it was still an alarming situation, because he was now certain-sure that those he had lately brought over the river were actually soldiers of Maximilian. How if the two parties commenced to fighting, with him right slap-bang in the middle of their disputations? Surreptitiously and doing his damnedest not to attract undue attention to himself, Jake Frobisher began slowly backing away from the scene, so that he was not quite so apt to get caught in the crossfire if things turned hot.
The colonel had not yet had the chance to canvass the men he had been travelling with upon their political views and did not therefore know what would be their reaction to the rebels, for so he took them to be. The body of riders trotted down the slope towards them, their faces grim and unfriendly. They surrounded Lopez and his men and one he took to be their leader rode forward a little and said in Spanish, “Who are you men? Who do you serve, the Austrian dog or the true leader of our people?”
This was setting the case out as plainly as anybody might wish and despite the delicacy of his position, Colonel Lopez almost smiled at such bluntness. Instead, he assumed a grave expression and replied, “I am Colonel Miguel Valentin de Lopez, late of the Imperial Army. His excellency the president invited me to take command of his army and I am now prepared to accept this most gracious invitation.”
By the look on the fellow’s face, it seemed that he had heard of Colonel Lopez and his attitude was subtly altered. Never the less, he was still not altogether satisfied. He said, “This is all well and good, Colonel Lopez. But what of these others? Who do they serve? Are they enemies or friends?”
“That is yet to be known to me. But these men, whatever they choose, are under my protection. I have led them here and am answerable for them. Whoever they follow, I shall allow nobody to molest them until I have returned them to safety. Two are, as you may see, grievously injured.”
“We shall see what we shall see,” said the leader of the rebels, “Let them now speak for their own selves. Say you six, are you soldiers of the emperor, or will you have as your leader Juarez, who is a true Mexican, like you?”
Things could hardly have been more tense and for Colonel Lopez, everything, even his very life, now hung in the balance and depended entirely upon the reply that these six men would make to Juarez’ men. If they declared for the Imperial government, then these rebels would most likely be in favour of gunning them down on the spot. Lopez could not and would not tolerate any such action. The six soldiers had volunteered in good faith to serve with him and he for his part had a duty to take care of them. If it came to fighting now, then his duty was clear; he would have to protect these young men from anybody who would harm them.
The soldiers themselves seemed to be taken aback at the turn of events; their mouths gaping open in astonishment at hearing that their colonel was now to become leader of the rebels against who they were supposed to be fighting. Lopez addressed them, saying, “Do not fear, my men. The choice lies freely upon you. If you will, you may return to your garrison at Cueda and I, Colonel Lopez, will guarantee your safety until you get there. Anybody who attempts to harm you will only be able to accomplish that end when I am dead.” As he said this, Lopez cast his eye around the ring of grim faced men who surrounded him and the men from Cueda. He continued, “Or, if you will be guided by me, you will take another course. Some of you are, like me, Indian. Would you not rather have an Indian ruling in Mexico City? What say you? Will you join me as soldiers of his Excellency, President Benito Juarez? If so, then you are all welcome to come with me now to join forces with these men to drive the foreigners from our land.”
The six soldiers spoke together in low tones for a minute and arrived swiftly at a decision. Whether it was that they had conceived a great loyalty and affection for the colonel in the short time which they had served under him, or perhaps because they were genuinely sick of the French invaders lording it over them, they decided without much hesitation upon their course. It is possible that the undeniable fact that choosing the contrary option would have resulted in a bloody gun battle weighed on them and affected their choice, but for whatever reason or combination of reasons, they said that they wished to join Juarez.
Lopez turned to the leader of the riders, saying, “Well then, we have six more men. Are you content?”
“I am content, colonel. I know that our leader is anxious that you are brought straight to him. We must make arrangements for these, our wounded.” The man sketched a salute and then turned to speak to his companions.
It was a relief to the colonel that he would not, after all, be compelled to fight against his own side. There now remained the weightier matter of riding south and deposing Maximilian. If he was any judge of such things, Lopez thought, they faced a hard autumn of campaigning and at least another year after that before they would be likely to ride in triumph through the capital.