"May God all-powerful and the most Holy Virgin have you ever in their keeping, and return to you tenfold the benefits you have worked for us. You have saved a whole family from misery, and have brought joy and contentment back to our household."
A feeling of shame came over Evaña as he stammered out some incoherent words in answer, then he said:
"I had no idea you had so large a family. Are all these yours?"
"All," replied the old man, looking proudly round him; "all are mine, sons, daughters, and relatives of my wife. I have no stranger in my household, we are but one family."
Then taking Evaña by the hand he introduced him to his wife and daughters, who kissed his hands, and the mother, a stout, well-featured woman, with dark complexion and coarse black hair, thanked him and blessed him with many fervent words for having restored her daughter to her when she wept over her as lost.
"Boys," said Don Francisco, turning to the male members of his family, "you see this Señor, we owe to him a benefit which we can never repay; through fire and through water our lives and all that we have are at his service if the day ever comes that he need them."
Then he added in a low voice to Evaña:
"Don Gregorio has told me that the day may come when you may need a few stout horsemen at your back. Look round, you will see stout men among my household. All are yours when you call for them."
Evaña remained three days at the estancia of Don Francisco, days which were held as fête days by the family and their neighbours, and passed in all manner of rural sports and games. On the Tuesday there was a grand ostrich hunt, in which over 200 horsemen took a part. Many were the feats of horsemanship performed, and the choicest trophies were laid at the feet of Don Carlos Evaña, though the hunt was nominally to celebrate the wedding of the Señor Coronel Don Gregorio Lopez and the fair Mauricia, daughter of Don Francisco Viana.
When Don Carlos Evaña left the estancia of Don Francisco Viana, Colonel Lopez accompanied him for about a league on his way. As he drew rein to turn back, he stretched out his hand to Evaña, saying:
"May God keep you, my friend. If you had not come to see me I should never have married her, and now I know it is the best thing I ever did in my life. Do what you can for me to make my peace with my father. I have written to him announcing my marriage, but have no answer from him. If he will receive me I will go in and visit him at once, but of course Mauricia will remain on the estancia."
In consequence of this Evaña went in by way of the Casa-teja, having an idea that he might find Don Gregorio there. In this he was not disappointed, but he was much disappointed at the reception he met with. Don Gregorio told him plainly that he believed his son to be the victim of a conspiracy, to which he, Evaña, had lent himself for some unknown purposes of his own, so that the interview between them was highly unpleasant to both of them, and Evaña gave a sigh of relief as he swung himself once more into his saddle, and galloped off for the Quinta de Ponce.
Here also he met with disappointment. He had always been a great favourite with Doña Constancia, but now she received him very coldly.
"And you tell me that it is actually true, Carlos?" she said. "You stood by and did nothing to prevent it, and gave your countenance to it by being present? I always looked upon you as one of ourselves, Carlos."
"I have no dearer wish in life than that you should continue to do so, Doña Constancia," replied Evaña. "In what I have done I have acted as I considered that the interests of the Colonel himself demanded. Had I considered my own interests I should have refused to have anything to do in the affair either one way or another. Your father seems disposed to excuse the Colonel and to lay the whole blame upon me. I am content that he should do so if by so doing he learns to forgive his son. But if you blame me I shall feel that I have incurred a very heavy and most unmerited misfortune."
"You are always generous, Carlos," said Doña Constancia, "and I should be sorry to blame you more than you deserve. Your intentions may have been quite right, but you have at any rate shown great want of judgment, and we did not expect that from you. That my brother should commit such great folly is no matter of surprise to any of us,but to papa it has been a very severe blow, and I cannot help feeling angry with you for the share you have had in causing him this sorrow."
If Evaña felt sore at the reception Doña Constancia gave him, he was amply compensated by the cordial greeting of her daughter Dolores, who on this subject held very different ideas from either her mother or grandfather, and declared them boldly, fortified as her own opinion was by the few words which Don Roderigo had said upon the subject.
She, Marcelino, and Lieutenant Gordon were seated under the front verandah when Evaña joined them after his short conversation with Doña Constancia.
"What a time you have been away, more than a month, but you have been well employed, I think," said Dolores, smiling upon him. "Marcelino and I have talked it all over together, and we agree that you have done our uncle a great service, if you had anything to do with his marriage, as they say you had."
"Every one has been wanting Uncle Gregorio to marry for years," said Marcelino, "and now they are angry because he has chosen his wife himself."
"Sit down and tell us all about it, Don Carlos," said Dolores.
Evaña sat down and remained talking with them for nearly an hour.
"I have quite a curiosity to see that Don Francisco," said Dolores; "he must be like one of the old patriarchs."
"And lives like one too," said Evaña. "His wife and daughters make clothes for the whole household, they spin and weave the wool of their own sheep, and the whole of the outside work is done by the boys, I do not think they have any slaves."
"And he says Mass every Sunday and Feast-day? I don't think that is proper," said Dolores.
"Ask Padre Jacinto," said Marcelino; "he will tell you that it is very wicked."
"He does not say Mass exactly, at least I think not," said Evaña. "He reads passages of Scripture, and psalms, and prayers, and no Latin, so every one can understand him."
"If Don Fausto will take me out with him next time he goes I will go and see this Don Francisco," said Gordon; "I should like to hear the service very much."
"We will go together some day when I am strong enough to ride so far," said Marcelino.
"How very ungrateful of you, Marcelino. What would grandpapa say?" said Dolores. "Don Carlos! I have something to tell you. The wonderful French carriage that you sent out to grandpapa has actually been used at last."
"There is some hope for us then yet," replied Evaña. "When carriages are used then we shall begin to be civilised."
"But it was a very special occasion. Grandpapa took Marcelino to the Miserere, and they spent a day with Don Alfonso."
"And how was the medico?" asked Evaña. "As grumpy as ever?"
"Oh, no; all smiles and hospitality," replied Marcelino. "He received me as my grandfather's grandson, and you know he can refuse nothing to Don Gregorio. Gordon went with us, we were both told that the house was ours, and we mean to go again."
"Bravo!" exclaimed Evaña. "Don Alfonso is coming out in a new line. It is something new for him to invite young men to his house."
"You do not call yourself old, do you?" asked Gordon.
"Don Alfonso treats me as if I was," replied Evaña.
"That is because you are so learned and wise," said Dolores, at which speech Evaña looked uncomfortable and the others laughed.
"My paisanita was there too," said Gordon, "so we passed a very pleasant day I can tell you."
"And Marcelino was bashful and dared not talk to her in English," said Dolores.
"She talks Spanish as well as you do, so why should I?" said Marcelino.
"You must ride every day while you are here," said Evaña. "When you are strong enough to ride there she will teach you English better than Gordon can."
"As soon as I am strong enough I shall have something else to do," said Marcelino; "I am going into harness. I suppose you don't know the last news. Juan Carlos is going to Spain and I am to take his place at the Consulado."
"Juan Carlos going to Spain!" said Evaña. "What is he going there for?"
"Papa arranged it all," said Dolores. "As a reward for Marcelino's bravery last year the Council of the Indies sent out to him an appointment 'for his son' to a very high post at Cadiz. Of course it was intended for Marcelino, but he won't go, so papa accepted it for Juan Carlos. We did all we could to persuade Marcelino, but it was no use, I don't think even if you had been here you could have persuaded him, and it is too late now."
"You seem very anxious to get rid of me, Lola," said Marcelino.
"You know I am not. But I can't make out what could make you refuse such an honour as that."
"I may perhaps be of some use to my own country at the Consulado, and Juan Carlos wishes to visit Europe."
"Use! you might be of more use in Spain. Papa says that in a few years you might have been in the council yourself, then you would have been one of the rulers of Spanish America, and you might have come here again as Viceroy. Juan Carlos is not as clever as you are, he will never be Viceroy."
"I do not think he will," said Marcelino. "But if I went, who is to command my negroes when the English come again?"
"They are disbanded," said Dolores. "Besides, the English will not come again. Have they not enough with two defeats? Do you think they will come again, Mr Gordon?"
At this Gordon looked troubled and made no answer, but Evaña answered for him.
"I have lived in England and know the English, I think they will," said he. "You have heard me speak of their game 'the box'; I have seen a man knocked down ten times, and yet get up again all bleedingas he was and win after all. The English are all like that, to be beaten is only to begin again."
"It is their merchants," said Marcelino, "who will force them to continue the war with us. Their commerce is ruined by the continental system of Napoleon, and they think to make a market here for their goods with cannon-shot and bayonets."
At this Gordon rose from his chair and walked away under the trees, and Dolores, looking after him as he went, said sadly:
"It is a barbarity, this war, why cannot we be friends?"
"Our masters the Spaniards will not let us," said Evaña.
"The Spaniards! always the Spaniards," said Dolores impatiently, then she also rose from her chair and went inside the house.
"So you do not care to be Viceroy of Buenos Aires?" said Evaña, as he and Marcelino were left alone.
"I think I have as good a chance of becoming Viceroy by remaining here as by going to Spain," replied Marcelino.
"How so? Everything seems to be falling back into its old channel."
"With one great difference, that so long as there is any fear of another English invasion the militia will remain embodied. You know Liniers, the Spaniards distrust him, for he is a Frenchman, and is very popular with us Creoles, he knows that his power depends altogether upon the Patricios. Don Cornelio Saavedra is his particular friend, Liniers does nothing without consulting him; the opinions of the people are the opinions of Don Cornelio, and he has his way in spite of the secret hostility of the Cabildo. I tell you, Carlos, we Porteños are already the rulers of Buenos Aires."
"Then the English are still of some service to us," replied Evaña. "So long as there is any danger of another visit from them, Liniers and Don Cornelio will keep up the militia, and the will of the people will be law, but take care how you say that in the streets, my friend. What says Don Roderigo?"
"My father expects that the Count of Aranjuez will make Liniers Viceroy, the danger of another English invasion will make them overlook all other considerations, but that if Spain should make peace with England then he will be recalled at once."
"And the militia will be disbanded, and everything be as before," said Evaña.
"But in the meantime, months, perhaps years, will pass, during which we have the powerde factoin our own hands. Time is working a pacific revolution amongst us; at last Spain will see that the only way to preserve her colonies will be to give us the right of self-government."
"Spain give us the right of self-government! Dreams, my friend! Since when did you get that idea?"
"Since the day when I went with my grandfather to visit Don Alfonso."
"Ah! my friend, I compliment you upon your new master in politics," said Evaña, laughing; "Don Alfonso has worked a miracle with you. Why don't you go to Spain and come back Viceroy? Tell me, do you really think that Spain will ever consent to leave the revenues of the country at our disposal?"
"Of course we should still have to pay some of it to the King as our sovereign."
"Yes, but King Charles is not Spain. What would become of the Consulado of Cadiz if they lost the monopoly of our trade? What would become of the lazy Spanish grandees, who draw their revenues from us and do nothing in return?"
"We are the subjects of King Charles as much as they are; if the King consents to be our sovereign just as he is the sovereign of Spain, and lets us have a Cortes of our own, what can the Consulado of Cadiz or the Spanish nobles do against us?"
"You know as well as I do that all Spaniards, from the King downwards, look upon us as their slaves and consider all that we have as their property. From Don Alfonso you can never have got such ideas as these."
"There is Gordon," said Marcelino, interrupting Evaña. "Don Alejandro!" he added, calling to Lieutenant Gordon, "come here and help me."
Then as Gordon returned to the verandah and resumed his seat, he continued:
"You remember the conversation we had with my grandfather and Don Alfonso that day we were at the quinta?"
"Perfectly," replied Gordon.
"Now tell me again what made your colonies in North America revolt against England?"
"Government wanted to tax them for imperial purposes," said Gordon.
"Then formerly none of their revenues went to England?"
"No, the colonial revenues were applied to colonial purposes, but of course they had to pay the English officials."
"And they had their own laws and their own municipal institutions, and would have been perfectly content to remain colonies until now if England had only left them as they were?"
"I believe they would. I don't think that King George had anywhere more loyal subjects than in those colonies until the English Parliament began to tax them by its own authority."
"What the English wanted to force upon the Americans of the United States is what Spain has always forced upon us. Americans had a right to rebel against the English, we have a right to rebel against Spain?"
"I think so," replied Gordon.
"But the Americans would have been content enough with King George if the English Parliament had left them alone, and we would be content enough with King Charles if he would let us have our own laws, as your colonies had before their War of Independence."
"Dismiss any such idea from your mind, Marcelino, it is folly, and you know it," said Evaña, rising to his feet. "Why you should try to believe that we can ever enjoy the rights of free-born men by any procedure short of an absolute rupture with Spain I cannot imagine."
"But I can imagine it very easily," said Gordon.
Then Evaña, looking earnestly at Marcelino, saw a deep shade of anxious sorrow come over his still worn features.
"Ah! my friend," he said, "I see that you have some reason of your own for wishing that we could achieve our freedom and yet preserve our connection with Spain, but again I tell you that it is impossible."
"Oh! Carlos, do you not see why it is that I am so anxious to preserve our connection with Spain?" exclaimed Marcelino.
"I see only that freedom and Spanish rule are incompatible," replied Evaña.
"And my father? Do you never think of him?"
"He is a Spaniard," replied Evaña; then as he spoke the sadness which clouded Marcelino's face was reflected in his own.
"Yes, he is a Spaniard," said Marcelino, "and there are other Spaniards like him though not many; men of liberal minds, who would gladly see Spain herself free from the rule of bigoted priests and ignorant nobles, who would gladly see the colonies of Spain ruled by their own laws, but they as sternly as any other Spaniards assert the supremacy of the royal house of Spain."
"I wish I could think any pacific revolution possible," said Evaña with a sigh. "But we have power in our own hands now, let us make use of it. Why are you going to the Consulado?"
"My father wishes me to devote myself to the civil service. At present I think I shall be of use there. And you, will you do nothing?"
"I have already done something; I have bought an estancia."
"You! you will never be an estanciero!"
"I never intend to be. But on my estancia I have peons, and my peons will be soldiers the day I want them. I have not lost the month I spent outside with your uncle, I have persuaded him also to do something. That mob of horsemen he had with him at the Ensenada were just of no use whatever, he is going to select about 200 of the best of them and form them into a regiment of dragoons. I have a letter from him to Liniers on the subject; if Liniers will send him arms, and three or four sergeants to drill the men for him, he will do the rest."
"Bravo! before the English come again we shall have some decent cavalry. Don Martin Rodriguez is also raising a regiment of hussars at his own expense among the peons and quinteros in the suburbs. With some drilled cavalry among them to steady them, our partidarios may be of great service in the open."
"Your gauchos, if properly drilled and officered, would make excellent cavalry," said Gordon.
"It is chiefly the want of officers makes them of so little use," said Evaña.
"But tell me, Carlos," said Marcelino, "where is your estancia?"
"It adjoins the land of Don Fausto Velasquez. I have put Venceslao Viana in charge of the place. He will have command of a troop of forty men in Don Gregorio's regiment."
"Then if there be another invasion you will join us, Carlos?"
"If the English come as they did before, to conquer us, then I will be a dragoon, and will lead my men myself against them. Watch and wait, that is all we can do at present; when time lifts the veil from before the unknown future then we shall know against what enemy to turn our arms."
"Nearly a year, mamita, nearly a year," said Dolores to her mother, as they sat together under the wide verandah at the Quinta de Ponce.
"And it seems a long time to you, Lola?" replied Doña Constancia.
"The time has passed quickly, but it seems ages ago. Last year there was always something happening. Marcelino was busy training his negroes, and in town every one was talking of the new regiments, and about what the English were doing in Monte Video, and when they were coming. Now they say the English are coming again, but no one knows when. Marcelino is secretary at the Consulado, grandpapa hardly ever leaves his house, and Uncle Gregorio is always at his estancia outside."
"But we are not left quite alone, Lola; we have one visitor who comes very often."
"Yes, Don Carlos Evaña, when he is not at his new estancia; but now he and Mr Gordon have been there more than a month, and they said they were only going for a week. But when they are here they never talk politics as they used to do; Don Carlos seems to think of nothing but of his estancia. Papa is the only one who talks of politics now, and he talks only of the Prince of La Paz, and Prince Ferdinand."
"I never thought that you cared about politics, Lola."
"But I like to hear them talk and argue, mamita; it sounds as if it was something important when they are so eager about it, but now they are never eager, any of them. Even Marcelino the other day, when Don Manuel Belgrano was here, did not seem to care anything about what the French did in Portugal, though papa got quite excited about it."
It was nearly a year, as Dolores said, nearly a year since the last invasion of the English, for it was now the month of May in the year 1808, a balmy day for the season, with light, fleecy clouds flitting over the blue vault of heaven now and then hiding the sun. A calm day in which the air was never still, and yet no one could tell from which quarter the wind came. When there was any wind, it came in little gusts, sweeping along the smooth walks of the quinta, creating great tumult and bustle among the dry leaves fallen from the overhanging branches of the trees, so stirring them as though with the intent to garner them up, then straightway casting them down again and leaving them, and going sighing away among the tree-tops, mourning over the past glories of the summer.
It was nearly a year since the last invasion of the English, it was nearly time that they came again, if so be that they were coming; and men said that they were coming, and, full of confidence at the failure of two previous invasions, they thought lightly of it; yet not for that did they neglect some needful preparation, and Buenos Aires was stronger now and better able to meet invasion than she had ever been before. So the summer had passed, and the autumn, and the only event of importance that had occurred had been the formal nomination by the Court of Aranjuez of General Don Santiago Liniers as Viceroy of Buenos Aires, raising him at the same time to the rank of field-marshal, to the great content of the Patricios, who looked to Liniers as their own special leader, and to the general satisfaction of all Porteños.
"Yes, Lola, we have been very quiet all this summer and autumn, but to-day is our last day here," said Doña Constancia.
"And won't Aunt Josefina be glad to see us in town again. Marcelino is stronger now than ever he was, so next month of course he will give that grand ball she has promised so long in his honour; but, ah me! it is so long ago now that he has forgotten what it is to be a hero, and has a pale face and white hands, you would never take him now to be the Comandante de los Morenos de Ponce."
"Then if you think heroes ought to have sunburnt faces and brown hands, you must look for another one. What say you to Don Carlos for a hero?"
"He would make a very good hero, mamita; but he has never done anything yet but gallop about."
"And gallop in to Buenos Aires and back whenever a certain young lady that I know, has fancied that she wanted anything that was to be found in the city."
"He has been very kind to us all the summer; so strange of him, who never seemed to care for anything except his books. But every one seems to be quite changed now, except you, mamma?"
"Yes, Lola, as time goes on every one changes; I see a great change in you."
"In me, mamma?"
"Yes, in you, Lola. Last year you used to be as merry as the day was long; now I often see you sitting with your hands before you quite quiet, thinking to yourself. What do you think about, Lola?"
"Thousands of things, mamma, at times, but generally about nothing," replied Dolores, as a bright flush spread over her cheeks.
"Do you ever think of any one in particular, Lola?"
Then as Dolores did not answer this question, but bowed her head while the long dark lashes fell over her eyes like a veil, Doña Constancia added another:
"Do you think much of Don Carlos Evaña, Lola? He has paid you great attention for months. I never before knew him pay attention to any one."
"To me, mamma?" exclaimed Dolores, looking up with a merry smile.
"Yes, to you Lola."
"Oh! mamita, what ideas you do get into that pretty head of yours! Why Don Carlos talks three times as much to you as he does to me. Next you will tell me that he is in love with me! Fancy the wisest of men being in love with a foolish, ignorant girl like me!" So saying, Dolores jumped up from her seat with a ringing laugh.
"Lola!" said Doña Constancia, "come and sit down again, I want to talk to you, and do not like you to laugh at what I say."
"No, no, no, mamita!" said Dolores, running off along one of the walks, and still laughing. "I hear horses on the road, some one is coming."
Dolores went up the quinta fence and looked over, then presently she came back and reseated herself very quietly beside her mother, saying:
"They come, mamita, they have gone in by the other gate."
"Who come, Lola?"
"Don Carlos and Mr Gordon."
A few minutes passed, mother and daughter sitting in silence together; Dolores with her hands clasped, looking dreamily out upon the trees, her mother watching her. Then the two whom Dolores had seen coming came, walking slowly up by a winding path together. Dolores rose and went to meet them, smiling merrily at Don Carlos Evaña with a new look of curiosity in her eyes, and holding out her hand to him in cordial welcome. Then after the usual greetings she turned from him, the smile dying away from her face, and the fringes of her eyes hiding them, to give a silent welcome to his companion. Her hand hesitated as she stretched it out towards him, and the flush spreading over her features added a fresh charm to her radiant beauty. Between these two a coldness and constraint had sprung up during the last few months, putting an end to the careless intimacy which had previously existed. Don Carlos had watched them closely all these months, but had spoken no word to any one of what he had seen; now, though he was speaking to Doña Constancia and held her hand in his, still he watched them with a jealous scrutiny.
An hour later, as they sat together talking of the morrow's journey to the city, and of the gay doings which might be looked for during the coming winter, if so be that the English would only leave them in peace, two more were added to the company, Marcelino and Evaristo, who had galloped out from town together to superintend the removal of the morrow.
"And what news from the Old World?" asked Gordon, when the messages had all been duly delivered. "Have not my paisanos made up their minds not to come yet? It seems to me that we have plenty to do in Europe without coming here."
"Great news!" replied Marcelino, looking eagerly at Evaña. "King Charles has abdicated, and Ferdinand VII. is now King of Spain and the Indies."
"Viva! Fernando Septimo! Viva!!" shouted Evaristo, throwing up his hat.
Don Carlos Evaña had been leaning back lazily in an arm-chair, butas Evaristo shouted "Viva! Fernando Septimo," he started upright clutching both the arms of his chair with his hands.
"He has the French with him, Prince Ferdinand?" said he, almost breathless with excitement.
"He depends upon French assistance," said Marcelino, "and it is rumoured that he is to marry a niece of the Emperor."
"Spain! Spain! how art thou fallen!" said Evaña, in a hollow voice. "Nor Charles, nor Ferdinand, but the Lieutenant of the Emperor, he will be King of Spain. When was it that the 'Moniteur' said those few words of Portugal: 'The House of Braganza has ceased to reign?' As yet only a few months have passed since then. Ere this year run out there will be another line in the 'Moniteur' concerning Spain: 'The House of Bourbon has ceased to reign.' All Europe——but come, Marcelino, tell me more of this;" so saying Evaña sprang from his chair, and taking Marcelino by the arm the two walked away under the trees, talking eagerly together in low tones.
"Now Lola, what do you say?" said Doña Constancia. "Has Don Carlos forgotten all about politics?"
"I have something else to tell you, Carlos," said Marcelino, after they had talked long together. "My grandfather has never smiled since the day he heard of my uncle's marriage, he has fallen off greatly; I fear my mother will be much shocked when she sees him. He never speaks of Don Gregorio, but I know he is always thinking of him, and I believe he only wants an excuse to forgive him. It is very hard on you, Carlos, for us to ask you to meddle any more in this affair, after the reproaches you have suffered already, but I think if you could prevail upon Don Gregorio to come in and go straight to his father that he would receive him with open arms."
"I will go at once," replied Evaña.
"To-morrow?"
"No, now, this evening."
"There is no need for that, it is nearly sundown, but to-morrow, I shall think it so good of you to do it. And if great changes are at hand, as you say, if you succeed in reconciling Don Gregorio with his father you will greatly increase your own power, with either of them you will be able to do what you like."
"Do not say that. I owe much to your grandfather, and to his son too, to all of you in fact. I shall bring some happiness back to you, let me think that I do it from gratitude only, from no ulterior motive. It is a rough road to tread, this road that I have chosen, demanding sacrifices at every turn; love, friendship, even honour itself must be trampled underfoot by one who devotes himself to ambition. Let me think that I can do a service to my best friends without any selfish motive."
"What can be more noble and less selfish than your ambition, Carlos? You seek the freedom of your native country, and are ready to sacrifice yourself for her sake."
"Myself, yes. Ah! if that were only all! But wait here, I will rejoin you in a minute."
As they spoke they had walked back to the front of the house, and Doña Constancia called to them:
"We are going to walk up the road to take one more look over the Pampa, will you come with us?"
"In one minute, Señora," said Evaña, walking away towards the back of the house.
Evaristo found himself something else to do, but the rest were soon afterwards walking together up the road between the long lines of poplars, Doña Constancia walking in front with Marcelino and Lieutenant Gordon, while Don Carlos Evaña and Dolores came behind. Doña Constancia walked quickly, so that these two were soon left quite by themselves. At first they talked of the news brought out by Marcelino, Dolores trying her best to incite Don Carlos to some vehement expression of his political opinions, which were well known to her, but she tried in vain, his enthusiasm seemed to have quite evaporated during his talk with Marcelino, and his thoughts seemed to be far away, and bent on some quite different subject.
"You are very happy, Dolores," said Evaña; "why should you care anything for Spain or for Spanish affairs?"
"Spain is Papa's country," said Dolores; "I love everything that papa cares for."
"Your father loves you very dearly, Dolores, you are very fortunate, every one you have near you loves you."
"Yes, I am very fortunate, and very happy, with papa and mamma and my brothers and so many aunts and uncles and cousins to care for, and who love me, I am very happy, I ought to be," said Dolores, unconscious that in so saying she reopened an old wound in the sensitive nature of her companion, who had none of whom he could so speak, and who, having none, all the more deeply felt the need of them.
"Yes, you ought to be happy, and you are, but no one in this world can be always free from sorrow and trouble, not even the most happy; to all there comes a time when they feel the want of something more than the love of those who have always been dear to them; some trouble comes to them, in which the support and aid of some firm friend may be of great service to them. Would you value the friendship of one who, while you are happy in the love of all about you, would never intrude a thought or a wish of his own upon you, but, if you were in trouble and in need of any help that he could give, would leave everything to serve you, and seek a reward only in the pleasure it would give him to aid you in any way?"
Dolores looked up at him in surprise as he paused for an answer; she had never felt the need of such friendship, and hardly thought it possible that she ever should do, but as she saw the eagerness in his eyes her own fell before them, she stammered out some words in reply, she hardly knew what, and Evaña went on:
"I know you do not love me, Dolores," he said; "you never will love me as you love your father or your brothers. We have seen much of each other during the past few months, but circumstances may very likely interfere between us so that we see much less of each other in future. It would be a great consolation to me to know that sometimes you will yet think of me, and that if some who are dear to you speak evil of me, you will not condemn me in your heart unheard, but willthink of me as a friend who would make any sacrifice to serve you. Will you not let me be your friend, Dolores?"
"My friend, oh! yes. Why not? We have always been friends, and you are Marcelino's best friend, he often says so."
"Yes, Marcelino and I have known each other long and intimately, and nothing will come between us to interrupt our friendship, but with you and me it is different; already I see a cloud rising between us which may drive us far apart, our ways in life are separate, but will you not promise me, Dolores, always to think of me as your friend, whatever happens?"
"You are my friend, and mamma's and papa's and Marcelino's, and to grandpapa you are as a son."
"I know all that, and I value their friendship and their kindness to me, but some of them may learn to think me unworthy of their friendship, and you may do so too; but will you not promise me, as I have asked you, always to think of me as your friend, whatever happens?"
There was a plaintiveness in Evaña's voice as he asked this which startled Dolores, looking up again at him she saw his face flushed, and an eager, imploring look in his eyes such as she had never seen before.
"Promise me that, Dolores," he continued, taking her hand in his. "To you it may seem unreasonable and unkind that I should fear any interruption to our friendship, but I know the value of what I ask from you, I know that if you promise me you will keep your promise, whatever happens; I know that you will always look upon me as your friend."
Then Dolores knew that Evaña loved her; ignorant and foolish as she had said she was beside him, yet she knew now that he loved her, and she knew also that he never would tell her so in words, never seek her love in return. A strange mixture of fear and regret filled her heart, for she knew that she could never love him as he loved her, though he was well worthy of her love, and in that she could not love him she pitied him all the more. And she feared she knew not what; she had always looked up to him as to one much wiser than herself, and now he spoke of some unknown cause which might interrupt the friendship she had always felt for him; her hand trembled in his firm grasp and she burst into tears.
"Do not cry, Lola," said Evaña, using for the first time that dear, familiar name by which she was known to those who were nearest and dearest to her; "do not cry, if you are angry I will importune you no more, I will suffer anything rather than see you sad."
"No, no, I am not angry," said Dolores, making a strong effort to keep back her tears. "I will promise what you wish, I know that you are my friend, and always will be."
"And will be, whatever happens, Lola."
"Yes, whatever happens I will never doubt you, and will think of you only as my friend."
"And as your friend you will ever trust me, and will seek my aid without hesitation or scruple if the case should ever arise in which I may be of service to you or yours?"
"I will, just as Marcelino does."
"Just as you trust in Marcelino, that is what I mean. God bless you, I shall go away very happy, as happy as I ever shall be."
"Go away! are you going? Where to?"
"I am going back again outside, I shall probably not return for a month or two."
"But you are not going now?"
"Yes, now at once. I only wished to speak with you, and win that promise from your own lips before I went. My horse is coming, I shall wait for him there beyond the fence where Doña Constancia is standing."
"You were always wise, now wiser than ever before," said Dolores, stepping closer to him and laying her disengaged hand upon his arm. But Evaña shrank from her as though this mute caress were a pain to him, and they walked on side by side until they emerged from between the rows of poplars out upon the open plain, and rejoined the others who there awaited them.
"Mamma," said Dolores, "you promised me that I should see the sunset, but there will be no sunset for us to look on to-night."
Far away on the western horizon there lay a bank of dull grey clouds, behind which the sun had already sunk. From behind these clouds sprang diverging rays of orange and gold, stretching up over the grey sky almost to the zenith, and tinging all objects upon which they shone with the reflection of their brilliance.
"No, we shall not see the sunset," said Gordon. "That cloud is a veil which hides him from us, but if it were not for that cloud we could not look steadily upon the western sky, the sun would dazzle our eyes, and we should see nothing. Is not this that we can look upon more beautiful than any sunset?"
"It is the sunset all the same," said Dolores, "only that the sun is wanting."
"The sun has been kind enough to hide himself behind that cloud for your sake, Lola," said her brother, "so that without dazzling your eyes you may see how he can paint the sky. In the most beautiful sunsets of summer you never saw anything so beautiful as this."
"No, I never did," said Dolores.
Just then the servant of Don Carlos Evaña rode up to them leading a saddled horse by the rein.
"Don Carlos! your horse?" said Doña Constancia.
"Yes, Señora," replied Evaña; "I have urgent business outside, and shall leave as soon as you turn back to the quinta."
All except Dolores looked at him in surprise.
"Why not remain till to-morrow?" said Marcelino.
"I have a fancy to gallop through the night," said Evaña.
"The sooner you go the sooner you will be back," said Doña Constancia.
"Look, Don Carlos," said Dolores, "there is something for you to see before you go. Was there ever anything more beautiful than this?"
The grey cloud had lifted itself, disclosing one bright spot of fire on the far horizon, the last gleam of the departing day. As the cloud rose it seemed to dissipate itself, mingling its grey tones with thegolden radiance of the setting sun, tempering the brilliance of those broad bands of glory which stretched over the western sky, melting them as it rose over them, absorbing them into itself, then with them vanishing away.
Then the bright spot of fire sank down out of sight, and straightway the place so lately filled by the grey cloud became one mass of brilliant light. Two broad bands of rich vermilion, with one band of yellow gold between them, parallel to the horizon, hung like a gorgeous canopy over the resting-place of the sun.
"See, Don Carlos!" said Dolores; "the flag of Spain! See, when Nature seeks to array herself in her most glorious dress how she chooses the colours of the most glorious of the nations."
"The cloud has risen from the face of the setting sun," replied Evaña, "and I see the emblem of Spain before me sinking after the sun into the darkness of night. That sky is as a prophecy, giving to all of us an insight into what will shortly come to pass."
"Buenas noches, Don Carlos, and a pleasant journey to you," said Doña Constancia laughing. "Come with me, Mr. Gordon; we will go back and leave these politicians to prophesy and discuss the future as long as they like."
Removing his hat, Evaña shook hands gravely with her and with Gordon; then, as they walked away, he turned again to Dolores.
"Yes," he said, "I see the flag of Spain painted on the sky in all its gorgeous colours, where but a few minutes ago there hung a dark, grey cloud. That cloud was as a veil hiding from us the unknown future; the veil has risen, and we stand face to face with the future, now no longer unknown to us. The news we have heard to-day is but news of the first step in the rapid downward course of Spain. Other news shall follow, which shall stir our hearts to their inmost depths, till we wake to the full knowledge that we are a free people. The genius of revolution shall set his foot upon Spain, shall crush our tyrant in the dust, and in crushing him shall break our chains for us for ever."
"God grant it," said Marcelino; "then may we live in peace ourselves, Spaniards and Americans alike citizens of a new nation."
Clinging to her brother's arm, Dolores looked in wonder on them both. There was silence for a space as the three stood side by side gazing on the western sky, where the gorgeous colours of the sunset faded gradually away, merging themselves into the grey tints of the evening twilight. So they stood for a space, each occupied with his own thoughts, each interpreting to himself as his desires led him the prophecy of the setting sun.
Evaña took the hand of Dolores in his own and raised it to his lips, saying but one word:
"Remember."
"Always my friend, whatever happens," said Dolores.
Grasping Marcelino by the hand, Don Carlos Evaña stood for one moment as though he would speak, his lips pressed tightly together, and the signs of deep emotion on his face. Then laying his other hand upon the shoulder of his friend, he bent forward and kissed him.
"My brother," he said; then turning from them he mounted his horse and slowly rode away.
Brother and sister stood silently side by side looking after him till the gray shades of the falling night closed around him, when Marcelino bent over Dolores and kissed her, putting his arm round her, and led her away back between the rows of the tall poplar trees to the quinta.
"Marcelino," said Dolores, as they drew near to the quinta gate, "are men who are born to be great also always born to be unhappy?"
Marcelino divined much of what was passing in his sister's mind, but not all, and to her question he gave no answer in words, but again bent over her and kissed her, and from that day forth brother and sister felt that there was another tie between them, but about the evening on which they two had looked together upon the setting sun while Evaña had expounded for them the prophecy of the clouds they never spoke.
When Dolores thought of it she thought but of one word—Remember; and Marcelino from that night forth looked no longer upon Evaña as his dearest friend, but as his brother.
Nearly two months passed, it was the 4th July. In the large sala of the house of Don Roderigo Ponce de Leon, Lieutenant Gordon stood by himself near a window, looking out dreamily into the street, a shade of sadness and of deep anxiety on his face. Don Roderigo had just left him, after a short conversation in which he had spoken many kind words to him, and had announced to him that he was no longer a prisoner of war, that he was released from his parole, and was free to go wheresoever it pleased him.
Don Roderigo had expected that his news would have been received with an outburst of joy, and so had taken it upon himself to make the announcement to him, for he had a kindly feeling for the young officer who had been so long his guest, and he felt a pleasure himself in telling him what he thought would give him pleasure. He was thus somewhat surprised when he saw the colour fade from his cheek, and at receiving answer only in a few incoherent words in acknowledgment of his great kindness.
His release was not unexpected by Lieutenant Gordon, the course which affairs were taking in Spain had shown him that the war between Spain and Great Britain was already virtually at an end, there could not be much longer any pretext for detaining him as a prisoner in Buenos Aires, and, once free, his duty called him far away. He himself had taken no step to obtain his release, had said no word to any one of his anticipation; now that the release came he thought only of its immediate consequences, and these consequences were to him painful, the announcement of freedom was to him as a sentence of banishment.
As he stood there by the window, sadly communing with his own thoughts, footsteps again approached him; he turned and saw Marcelino coming towards him with both hands stretched out, his face beaming with smiles and words of congratulation on his lips, but the words died away as Marcelino saw the sadness in the face of his friend. Then Gordon smiled and said—
"You come to congratulate me and you find me sad, most prisoners rejoice when they see their prison doors open for them, but is it strange that I cannot rejoice? I have had you for my gaoler and my imprisonment has been one long holiday."
"We have done our best to make it pleasant to you."
"That you have, all of you. I know that in the future I shall look back upon my prison as the dearest spot upon earth."
"We shall be sorry to lose you and shall miss you much, but have not you promised me that it shall only be for a time?"
"I have, and if God give me life I will keep my promise. When my own country needs my sword no longer then I will come back and aid you in the great object you have at heart."
"That object is surely well-nigh attained already. Spain fighting for her own liberty will hardly deny liberty to us."
"I wish I could think so, but I fear you will not become a free people without a sore struggle, and one which will entail much sorrow upon yourself."
"I know of what you think, it has caused me many a sleepless night for months past. You think of my father?"
"Yes, Don Roderigo is a man of very liberal opinions, but when the struggle commences he will remember only that he is a Spaniard."
"But he and many other Spaniards would gladly yield to us a share in the government of our own country, that is all we ask from Spain, we do not wish for absolute independence."
"You do not, for your father's sake, but others who have no such tie to Spain will be content with nothing short of complete independence. That Spain shall ever yield to you rights which she denies to her own sons is a dream, my friend. A year ago that was your opinion also."
"It was," said Marcelino sadly.
"You know that you have my sympathy in every trouble that may befall you," continued Gordon. "I wish I could remain and share your troubles with you, but in your chief trouble I cannot help you, I cannot even advise you. You will have to choose between your duty to your country and your duty to your father, look to God and your own conscience, they alone can guide you in each difficulty as it arises."
"God help me then, for if you cannot advise me I know not who can."
Then came the sound of feet tripping over the soft carpet towards them, and Dolores, with a bright flush on her face and a smile on her lip, came to present her congratulations to the newly-released prisoner of war, but her speech stopped short as she looked upon the grave faces of the two, and she hardly listened to what Gordon said in return, but laying her hand upon her brother's arm she said:
"What makes you sad, Marcelino?"
"We are losing a friend, Lola," said Marcelino, forcing himself to smile. "Is it not natural that I should be sad?"
"Yes, it is not strange, but he is not going now?"
"In three days I believe," said Gordon. "Don Roderigo tells me there is an English man-of-war at Monte Video, and I must lose no time in returning to my duty."
"Three days!" said Dolores, the colour fading from her cheeks.
"But he does not regret his imprisonment among us, Lola," said Marcelino softly, "he will not forget us when he is back in his own country."
"Forget! never!" said Gordon. "These last two years have been the happiest in my life so far. Wherever I go I shall look upon this country as my second home, and shall long for the day when I can return to it and to you."
"Then you will come back?" asked Dolores eagerly.
"That is my firm purpose. As yet I am only a subaltern and must rejoin my regiment, but when the war is over I shall come back; I shall have one great joy if the 71st has the luck to be ordered on active service, that in my next campaign I shall be fighting for you and not against you."
"Do not forget to say that in your speech at the banquet to-morrow," said Marcelino. "Are you clever at making speeches?"
"I never made one in my life," replied Gordon.
"Then if you do not prepare one you will simply say two words and sit down again, and every one will be disappointed."
"I hope I shall manage to say something more than two words, I ought to after all the kindness I have received, but of a set speech I am incapable."
"Without preparation that is very probable; but if I were to write down for you some hints, you could easily make them into a speech. You may safely say things that none of us dare to say, such as I have often heard you say in intimate conversation. You will be the only Englishman present."
"That is a fact, and I will speak out boldly as an Englishman just what I think, but in preparing my speech some hints from you might be of service to me."
"I will go and write them out for you at once," said Marcelino, and turning from them he left the room.
Dolores and Lieutenant Gordon being left alone stood together at the window for some minutes without speaking. Dolores was the first to break the silence.
"You are sorry to leave us, Mr Gordon," she said; "but it will give you great joy to see your own family again."
"It will. You who have never been away from your own people cannot tell the joy there is in meeting again those you love after a long absence," replied Gordon.
"But I can understand it, remember how long Marcelino was away from us; I was quite a little girl when he went to Cordova, but I used often to think of him and wonder what he would be like, and then when he did come back I was so proud of him. Your sisters are thinking about you now as I used to think about Marcelino."
"I dare say they are, for this was my first experience of foreign service. I had no idea that I should come here when I left England, for we were sent to the Cape of Good Hope."
"What things you will have to tell them! If you had never been——if you had not stopped with us you would never have known what it is to gallop over the Pampa."
"And more than that, I should never have known you as I do know you. They know already what kind friends I have found here, how fortunate I have been. When I reach home I shall never be tired of talking to them about you."
"They will be glad to have you back again, but they will not care to hear much about us. Marcelino has told me how in Europe they think that all South Americans are savages."
"They will soon learn to know better when I tell them about you, and about Doña Constancia and Don Roderigo and Marcelino, and about all of you. And about your houses, and about your tertulias in the evenings. They will learn to think much of you, my sisters would be ready to love you if they only saw you. My mother knows your name already; in her second letter she asked me a great many questions about you."
"But you will not stop long with them, will you? If the English send an army to Spain you will go and fight for Spain against Napoleon."
"If my regiment is ordered there I shall go with it. Would you be glad to hear that I was fighting for Spain?"
"I should. Will not you be proud to fight for Spain?",
"You look upon Spain as your own country; then if I fight for Spain I shall think that I am fighting for you. If the 71st is not sent to Spain I will exchange into some other regiment and go there for your sake, if an English army does go. If I were in Spain you would often think of me. I am only a subaltern with little more than my sword to depend upon, but when the war is over and we have beaten Napoleon out of Spain then I shall come back here, for I shall never forget Buenos Aires, and shall think of you every day till I come back again. Promise me that wherever I have to go you will not forget me."
"Oh! of that there is not the slightest fear," said Dolores, in a low eager voice, which sounded in Gordon's ears as the sweetest music, and the memory of which remained with him for years after, while an ocean rolled between them.
"My time is very short here now," he said, in a tremulous voice; "perhaps we may never be alone together again before I go, and years may pass before I am able to return. You have promised that you will not forget me, that you will think of me while I am far away; will you not give me some still sweeter hope? Will you not let me hope that when I return I shall find you as you are now? Will you not let me centre all my hopes for life in you?"
"When you reach your own country you will find some one for whom you will care much more than you can ever care for me," said Dolores, in a very low voice, while the long, dark lashes fell over her eyes, and she bent her head, gazing upon the ground.
"Never," replied Gordon earnestly; "I never met any one whom I could love as I love you, and I never shall."
As he spoke he stepped nearer to her, and took one of her hands in his own.
"I know not what life is before me," he continued, "but one little word from you encouraging me to hope would gild that life so that I should shrink from no toil or hardship which might bring me nearer to you. Will you not bid me hope, I ask no more."
To this Dolores answered nothing, but the taper fingers of the hand twined round his with a gentle pressure, which sent a thrill of proud joy through his whole frame.
Again the door opened, and in came Doña Constancia, smiling, and stretching out her hand to Lieutenant Gordon.
"I have come to congratulate you," she said, apparently unconscious of the excitement which was only too manifest in his face. "You are going from us, and we shall miss you very much."
Long the three sat together talking of the future, Gordon again and again reiterating his resolution to come back and make Buenos Aires his home.
The next day there was high feasting at the house of Don Gregorio Lopez. His dining-room was very large, but there was barely room for the numerous guests assembled. It was a political banquet in celebration of the first anniversary of the defeat of the English army which had attacked the city under the command of General Whitelock. The Viceroy, Marshal Don Santiago Liniers, with many of his principal officers, was present; also the leading members of the various corporations which formed the government, together with the commanders of the various regiments, both of the Spanish troops and the militia; also others who held no official position, but were there as personal friends of their host. Among these there was one who, among the crowd of brown and blue uniforms, profusely embroidered with gold lace and bullion, was conspicuous by his plain scarlet coat, and the gay tartan plaid which hung gracefully from his shoulder. It being a political banquet there were no ladies present.
The banquet commenced an hour before sundown; after about two hours Don Gregorio rose from his seat, and in a short complimentary speech proposed the health of the Viceroy, the hero of the 12th August, 1806, and of the 5th and 6th July, 1807. The toast was drunk with enthusiasm; then Liniers replied at greater length and proposed "The Junta of Seville," now the virtual government of Spain and the Indies, on account of the imprisonment by Napoleon of the ex-King Charles IV. and his son Ferdinand. To these followed many other patriotic and complimentary toasts; and then there was a short pause, during which each man spoke with his neighbour in low tones, till Don Manuel Belgrano, after receiving a nod of acquiescence from Don Gregorio, rose to his feet and proposed the "Morenos de Ponce." His speech was a short one, but it elicited a long one from Don Marcelino in acknowledgment of the toast. For Marcelino was proud of his negroes; and as on the 5th July he had not commanded them he could expatiate freely upon their gallantry on that occasion without laying himself open to an accusation of vanity. He told many anecdotes about them, illustrative both of their devotedness and of their simplicity; several of these anecdotes excited peals of laughter, and when he at length sat down he was applauded by a vehement clapping of hands, the Viceroy himself setting the example.
Then Don Roderigo Ponce de Leon rose to his feet:—
"Señores," he said, "we this day celebrate the first anniversary of our great victory over the English. We do right to celebrate this victory gained by a colony of the old and glorious kingdom of Spain over the well-appointed army of a great and valiant nation. We areproud of the victory we gained on the 5th July, 1807, but I know that you will all join with me in the wish that we may never gain another. The war between England and Spain resulted from the insidious intrigues of the usurper who, not content with seizing for himself the throne of France, seeks to make kings and princes of all the low-born adventurers who surround him, seizing for them by fraud and violence the thrones of every kingdom in Europe. Thank God, the mask of friendship by which he has deluded Spain has at last been torn from him, we have seen ere it was too late the abyss into which he would have led us. England, Austria, Prussia, and Russia have in vain striven to stay the advance of his victorious standards, but at last his usurpations have raised against him a foe who will trample them in the dust. Spain, unconquered Spain, has risen up against him. The Spanish people have risen as one man against Napoleon, and Spain will be the graveyard of his ruffian soldiery. We have seen and acknowledge the errors which led us into hostilities against England, we have stretched out the hand to her in friendship, she has clasped it in forgiveness of the past. We forgive the destruction of our navies at Trafalgar, she forgives the wholesale slaughter of her soldiery in the streets of this our city. England and Spain are now firm allies, together we shall reconquer the territory the invader has already wrested from us, and shall bring back in triumph our rightful king.
"No, Señores, we wish for no more victories over the English, the English are our friends and sworn allies. We who witnessed the fight this day one year ago, who saw how dauntlessly the English advanced under a hailstorm of balls which strewed our streets with their dead; we who saw how small parties of them, cut off from all succour and hemmed in on every side, yet held out for hours refusing to surrender; we who saw them on that day know how to appreciate the valour of such brave allies. We rejoice that they are no longer our foes, they are now our friends, and as friends and allies we welcome them to fight beside us in the cause of every people. We have seen them as they are, and know that they are worthy to fight side by side with the indomitable soldiery of Spain.
"Señores, fill your glasses and join me in one more toast to our friends the English!"
Again with loud "Vivas" every man rose from his seat, and every eye was turned towards the place where Lieutenant Gordon sat in his scarlet coat, the sole representative there of the new-found friends of Spain. As the applause ceased he rose and spoke as follows:—
"Señores, it is with many mixed feelings that I rise to thank you for the warmth with which you have received the toast which has just been proposed to you by my friend Don Roderigo, whose guest I had been for two years. Two years ago the fortune of war made me your prisoner; thanks to Don Roderigo, and to others of you from whom I have received unvarying kindness, these two years have been to me as one long holiday; I cannot look upon you as my gaolers, I cannot fancy that I ever did look upon you as my enemies, your kindness to me will make it impossible for me ever to think of you otherwise than as dear friends. When I am far away, I know not where, in the service of my own country, I shall look back upon Buenos Aires as the spotwhere I have passed the happiest years of my life. I came here knowing as little as Englishmen generally do of Spain or of the colonies of Spain, I was a soldier, my country was at war with Spain, and I came here to do her bidding, to fight as I thought against Spain. I came here as an enemy, the chances of war made me your prisoner, among you I have lived ever since.
"Living among you I have learned to know you, and to think it the greatest of all misfortunes that England and you should look upon each other as enemies. Living among you I have learned that Buenos Aires is not Spain, and that in fighting against Buenos Aires, England fights against a country which every interest binds to her in firm friendship and alliance. Most of you by race and language are Spaniards, many of you were born in Spain, but this country is not Spain, those who live in this country cannot long remain Spaniards. In the Old World we live fettered by the trammels of worn-out traditions, but here in the New World the very air is redolent of freedom. Unarmed, often alone, I have galloped for days over your boundless Pampa, I have shared the hospitality of great landowners, whose possessions exceed the limits of many an English county, and have also often been indebted for a night's lodging to the kindness of some lowly herdsman; from both the reception was the same, a frank welcome, an offer of everything I could require, and no question asked as to whence I came, or when or whither I would go. Galloping north, south, and west over the trackless Pampa, meeting nowhere with any obstacle, finding everywhere frankness and open-handed hospitality, I have felt the blood course through my veins with the joy of unrestricted freedom. I have gazed around me to the very verge of the far-off horizon, seeing nothing which could prevent me from galloping on and on whithersoever my will might lead to, and have known for the first time in my life the proud feeling of absolute independence.
"This liberty, which has been to me but as a brief holiday, has been to the majority of the men of this country the leading influence of their life. These immense plains which you call the Pampa are peopled by a hardy race of yeomen, who have grown to maturity in an atmosphere of freedom; from their earliest boyhood they have been accustomed to think and act for themselves, they have been trained in self-reliance, the trammels of the Old World are to them unknown, liberty is with them the very essence of their life. And you who live in the city also feel the impulse of this all-pervading influence. Obsolete laws and customs fetter you and check the growth of the genuine instincts of your nature, but you breathe the free air of America; around you stretch those boundless plains which speak to you whenever you look upon them of the nothingness of man in face of the immensity of Nature. No man, whether he be a Spaniard, an Englishman, or a Frenchman, can live long surrounded by these influences without feeling that in the sight of God all men are equal. It has therefore caused me no surprise to find here men who, in ideas and modes of thought, resemble the most advanced philosophers of Europe.
"The liberal ideas, which carried to excess have been a scourge to France, driving her to seek for peace under the iron rule of a military despot, have yet their foundation in great natural truths; these truthsare taught to you by every influence which surrounds you. Thus the men of this land, though colonists of Spain, are yet a separate people. In coming here to fight against Spain we forced you into hostilities against us, and raised up for ourselves an enemy where we might have found our firmest friend. Spain alone is powerless against us, but twice have we been foiled by a colony of Spain.
"A colony is an infant nation; the day will come when in the maturity of your strength you will take your place among the nations of the world. If in your infancy you have by your valour humbled the pride of haughty England, that place will surely be in the foremost rank. England at peace with Spain is now no longer your enemy and will be the first to stretch out to you the hand, and welcome you into the great family of the nations.
"England and Spain have now the glorious task before them of setting bounds to the insatiate ambition of Napoleon; in this struggle I hope to have my part, fighting once more under the red cross of St George, in the most righteous of all causes, the deliverance of a noble people from foreign usurpation. In fighting for Spain I shall feel that I am fighting for you also, and thus in some degree repaying the great kindness which during two years of captivity has taught me to look upon Buenos Aires as my second country.
"Señores, again I thank you for the warmth with which you have welcomed the friendship of old England."
As Gordon resumed his seat, the majority of those present commenced clapping their hands, snouting "Vivan los Ingleses!" and some few added in a lower tone, "The true allies of America."