a road across the isthmus here, to Vera Cruz on the Atlantic."
"Why?"
"Because these troops are from many places in the British Empire. From China and India. The North Americans, though they do not wish it, are still at war with the British. They believe that when the road is complete these troops will be used to invade the United States."
"Now it is all becoming very clear," Diáz said, his voice suddenly cold. "Your Americans wish me to pull their hot chestnuts from the fire. But I am a patriot—not a mercenary."
"I think that it would be more correct to say that my enemy's enemy is my friend. These British troops are also allies of the French. They must be driven from Mexican soil. As proof of what I say I have something else for you." He drew the envelope from inside his jacket and passed it over.
"This is addressed to you. From Benito Juarez."
Diáz held the letter in both hands and stared at it thoughtfully. Juarez, the President of Mexico. The man and the country for which he had fought these many long years. He opened it and read. Slowly and carefully. When he had finished he looked over at O'Higgins.
"Do know what he says here?"
"No. All I know is that I was told only to give it to you after I had told you about the guns and the British."
"He writes that he and the Americans have signed a treaty. He says that he is returning from Texas and is bringing with him many rifles and ammunition as well. He also brings American soldiers with cannon. They will join with the guerrilleros in the north. Attack through Monterrey and then move on to Mexico City. The invaders shall be driven back into the sea. He asks that I, and other guerrilleros here in the south, fight to stop the British from building this road. He writes that this is the best way that I can fight for Mexico."
"Do you agree?"
Diáz hesitated, turning the letter over and over in his hand. Then gave a very expressive shrug—and smiled.
"Well—why not? They are invaders after all. And mine enemy's enemy as you say. So I shall do what all good friends must do for one another. Fight. But first there is the matter of the weapons. What will be done about that?"
O'Higgins took a much-folded map from his pocket and spread it on his knee and touched the shore on the Gulf of Mexico. "An American steamer is loading the rifles and ammunition here in New Orleans. In one week's time it will arrive here, in this little fishing village, Saltabarranca. We must be there to meet it."
Diáz looked at the map and scowled. "I do not know this place. And to get there we must cross the main trail to Vera Cruz. There is great danger if we expose ourselves on the open plain. We are men of the mountains—where we can attack and defend ourselves. If the French find us there in the open plain we will be slaughtered."
"The one who came with me, Miguel, he knows this area very well. He will guide you safely. Then you must get together all the donkeys that you can. Miguel, and others, they watch the French at all times. He tells me that there are no large concentrations of French troops anywhere nearby. We can reach the coast at night without being seen. Once you get the guns you will be able to fight any smaller units that we may meet when we return. It can be done."
"Yes, I suppose that this plan will work. We will get the weapons and use them to kill the British. But not for you or for your gringo friends. We fight for Juarez and Mexico—and for the day when this country will be free of all foreign troops."
"I fight for that day as well," O'Higgins said. "And we will win."
PERFIDIOUS ALBION
Brigadier Somerville waited on the quayside, holding his hat to prevent it from being blown away. The bitter north wind whipped spray and rain across his face, more like December than May here in Portsmouth. The fleet, at anchor, were just dim shapes in the harbor. Dark hulls with yardarms barely visible through the rain. Only one of the ships was bare of masts, with just a single
"Why?"
"Because these troops are from many places in the British Empire. From China and India. The North Americans, though they do not wish it, are still at war with the British. They believe that when the road is complete these troops will be used to invade the United States."
"Now it is all becoming very clear," Diáz said, his voice suddenly cold. "Your Americans wish me to pull their hot chestnuts from the fire. But I am a patriot—not a mercenary."
"I think that it would be more correct to say that my enemy's enemy is my friend. These British troops are also allies of the French. They must be driven from Mexican soil. As proof of what I say I have something else for you." He drew the envelope from inside his jacket and passed it over.
"This is addressed to you. From Benito Juarez."
Diáz held the letter in both hands and stared at it thoughtfully. Juarez, the President of Mexico. The man and the country for which he had fought these many long years. He opened it and read. Slowly and carefully. When he had finished he looked over at O'Higgins.
"Do know what he says here?"
"No. All I know is that I was told only to give it to you after I had told you about the guns and the British."
"He writes that he and the Americans have signed a treaty. He says that he is returning from Texas and is bringing with him many rifles and ammunition as well. He also brings American soldiers with cannon. They will join with the guerrilleros in the north. Attack through Monterrey and then move on to Mexico City. The invaders shall be driven back into the sea. He asks that I, and other guerrilleros here in the south, fight to stop the British from building this road. He writes that this is the best way that I can fight for Mexico."
"Do you agree?"
Diáz hesitated, turning the letter over and over in his hand. Then gave a very expressive shrug—and smiled.
"Well—why not? They are invaders after all. And mine enemy's enemy as you say. So I shall do what all good friends must do for one another. Fight. But first there is the matter of the weapons. What will be done about that?"
O'Higgins took a much-folded map from his pocket and spread it on his knee and touched the shore on the Gulf of Mexico. "An American steamer is loading the rifles and ammunition here in New Orleans. In one week's time it will arrive here, in this little fishing village, Saltabarranca. We must be there to meet it."
Diáz looked at the map and scowled. "I do not know this place. And to get there we must cross the main trail to Vera Cruz. There is great danger if we expose ourselves on the open plain. We are men of the mountains—where we can attack and defend ourselves. If the French find us there in the open plain we will be slaughtered."
"The one who came with me, Miguel, he knows this area very well. He will guide you safely. Then you must get together all the donkeys that you can. Miguel, and others, they watch the French at all times. He tells me that there are no large concentrations of French troops anywhere nearby. We can reach the coast at night without being seen. Once you get the guns you will be able to fight any smaller units that we may meet when we return. It can be done."
"Yes, I suppose that this plan will work. We will get the weapons and use them to kill the British. But not for you or for your gringo friends. We fight for Juarez and Mexico—and for the day when this country will be free of all foreign troops."
"I fight for that day as well," O'Higgins said. "And we will win."
PERFIDIOUS ALBION
Brigadier Somerville waited on the quayside, holding his hat to prevent it from being blown away. The bitter north wind whipped spray and rain across his face, more like December than May here in Portsmouth. The fleet, at anchor, were just dim shapes in the harbor. Dark hulls with yardarms barely visible through the rain. Only one of the ships was bare of masts, with just a single
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