On receiving intelligence of the passage of the Riachuelo by the invaders at the Paso Chico, from which a good road led to the Puente Galvès, General Liniers at once counter-marched to his former position and occupied the bridge, having previously sent off an aide-de-camp with instructions to the Comandante de los Morenos to rejoin him there with all possible speed.
Marcelino left Asneiros to bring on the negroes by the road on the left bank of the river, and galloped off himself at once to confer with the general. He informed him that the English had apparently given up all idea of attacking the bridge, and had marched away by a road which led from the Paso Chico to the Corrales de la Miserere.
General Liniers became alarmed for the safety of the city, and leaving General Balviani's division to hold the Puente Galvès, marched back at once with the rest of his troops, pressing on as fast as the wearied state of the men would permit. The citizen soldiers, and not less so the Spanish regulars, unused to long marches, were fatigued by their unwonted exertions, and dispirited by the unexpected manœuvres of the enemy; they plodded along the muddy road in silence, hundreds of them sank down by the wayside unable to proceed farther, and many of the guns, sticking fast in a deep "pantano," were abandoned. On reaching the suburbs of the city they wheeled to the left, and late in the afternoon drew near to the Plaza Miserere. The Patricios, who had some guns with them, followed by the "Morenos de Ponce," had considerably outmarched the rest of the army, and at once took up a position to the east of this Plaza, so as to defend all the western entrances to the city, the negro corps being posted at the south-east corner of the Plaza in a small quinta surrounded by an aloe hedge, in which there were many gaps.
Meantime the British vanguard, which marched upon the city by a more circuitous and much worse road than that by which General Liniers had retreated, had also encountered great difficulties. The river at the Paso Chico was more than waist-deep, through this the men had waded, carrying their cartridge-boxes and the ammunition for the guns upon their shoulders. The 88th regiment, which formed a part of this division, had been for nine months on board ship, so that the men were in no condition to undertake a forced march along roads ankle-deep in mud. General Crauford with the 95th regiment and the rifles pressed on in front, but after marching about a leaguefrom the pass General Gower found it was impossible to bring on his guns any farther, and accordingly left them behind him under the care of General Lumley, with three companies of infantry, and such of the men from the different regiments as were unable to proceed.
The Plaza Miserere was a wide, open space of ground beyond the suburbs of the city, and was distant about two and a half miles due west from the Plaza Mayor. This space was at that time surrounded by detached quintas, and was a centre from which many roads branched off in all directions. It was used as a slaughtering ground by the butchers who supplied the city, and at one side were large corrales where cattle were penned previous to slaughter. These corrales, being formed of rough posts strongly bound together by transverse beams tied to each post by thongs of raw hide, formed an excellent stockade.
In spite of the detachment of a division to hold the Puente Galvès and the numerous stragglers, Liniers had yet under his orders, when he reached the Plaza Miserere, more than double the number of men comprising the entire British vanguard, and spared no exertion to reinspire his troops with confidence; but the greater part of them were yet entangled in the narrow roads of the suburbs, when the advanced guard of the invaders under the command of General Crauford debouched upon the Plaza from the west, and took possession of the corrales.
Without waiting for orders from General Liniers, the artillery attached to the Patricios, and some other pieces which had been planted among the quintas on the south side the Plaza, at once opened a heavy but ill-directed fire of grape and round shot upon the head of the British column, and the Patricios advancing from the suburbs upon the open ground also commenced firing.
The sound of the musketry operated with a magical effect upon the entire force, the men shouted to be led at once against the enemy, and Liniers gave the order for a general advance.
From every road on the south side the Plaza dense columns of troops poured into the open space, replying to the slow fire of the British by rapid volleys of musketry. General Gower had drawn back his left wing upon the advance of the Patricios, then as General Liniers in person headed an attack upon the corrales, two regiments poured in a volley, and led by General Crauford charged the Patricios with the bayonet, driving them in headlong confusion back into the western suburbs. The advance of General Liniers had been checked by a heavy fire from the corrales; he was now charged by the entire British force, in front and on the right flank. Liniers galloped to and fro frantically calling upon his men to keep their ranks; but all was in vain, retreat was impossible, the roads were blocked up by the rearguards of the several columns. Many of the men threw down their arms and fled to the nearest quintas, the destruction of the entire force seemed inevitable, when Marcelino Ponce de Leon, who had received no orders, conceived it his duty to act without them.
The two regiments which had dispersed the Patricios were in front of him, advancing with levelled bayonets upon the flank of the main body. Shouting to his men to follow him, he dashed through the quinta fence, then forming them hurriedly he opened fire upon theflank of the advancing British. The two regiments halted, wheeled, poured in a volley at close quarters, and charged. Marcelino's horse fell under him, the negroes set up a shout of dismay; their ranks were shattered, their leader was apparently killed, down on them bore swiftly along a line of glittering steel, threatening to envelop them on both flanks, they turned and fled. In vain Asneiros struck at them with his sword, in vain Evaristo, who had rejoined his brother at the Paso Chico, threw himself in their way, shouting:
"Morenos! cowards! will you leave my brother to be killed by these English?"
They were panic-struck, and fought fiercely with each other for the gaps in the fence which would admit them to the shelter of the quinta. Asneiros, calling two subalterns to aid him, seized the largest of these gaps, and the three with their swords kept back a number of the fugitives.
Meantime Marcelino had sprung to his feet, half dazed but unwounded; the English were close upon him, for a moment he stared wildly round him, then Evaristo galloped up to him.
"Mount behind me, Marcelino," he shouted, shaking his left foot from the stirrup.
The next minute the pony with a double load was galloping away for the quinta, where Evaristo sprang to the ground and Marcelino, galloping after the fugitives, succeeded in rallying some threescore men, whom he led back to the fence and joined to those whom Asneiros had stopped and had already drawn up under shelter of the aloe hedge. The English had halted, and were apparently about to renew their attack upon General Liniers, when the negroes opened fire upon them from the hedge. With a loud cheer 800 red and green coated soldiery rushed upon the frail barrier which hid the remnant of the "Morenos de Ponce," burst a way for themselves through it, or ran in by the undefended gaps. There was a minute of wild confusion, the negroes firing at random upon an enemy who outnumbered them five to one, and who attacked them from all sides. Marcelino, now on foot, and his officers tried to draw them away from the hedge, and to fall back upon some outhouses in the rear of the quinta, but the movements of the English were too rapid, the retreat soon changed into headlong flight; about forty of the negroes, being cut off and surrounded, threw down their arms and were made prisoners. At the far side of the quinta, Marcelino made another attempt to rally his men, but was at once charged by a party of the enemy.
"Surrender!" shouted the officer who led them.
Marcelino had lost his sword when his horse was killed under him, he stooped and seized the musket of a negro who had fallen at his feet mortally wounded, and beating aside the bayonets of those nearest to him, tried to force his way through them; the next moment he was beaten down by the butt-ends of their muskets and trampled under their feet as they rushed on in pursuit.
When Marcelino had rallied his men in the quinta, he had called his brother to him, and telling him to remount his pony, had given him into the care of his servant Manuel, telling the latter to go off with him at once straight for the city. The negro took the pony by the bridleand led him away, but on reaching the cross-road behind the quinta by an open gateway, Evaristo refused to go any farther, and drawing tight his rein sat there in the saddle watching the last struggle of the "Morenos de Ponce."
"Vamos!" said Manuel, as the fugitive negroes came running past them.
"No! no!" said Evaristo, still tightly holding his pony by the head. "Oh! my brother, even yet I can save you!" he cried, as he saw Marcelino's last desperate effort, then twitching the rein from Manuel's hand, he urged his pony back through the gateway, and was close to his brother when he fell, trampled to the earth under the feet of the furious soldiery. But Manuel on foot had kept pace with him, and now springing up behind him wrenched the reins from him, and holding him fast in his arms, turned the pony's head and galloped off, and neither spoke nor slacked his pace until he had reached the house of Don Gregorio Lopez, where he set the boy down, half dead with sorrow and excitement, and went back himself in search of his master, whom he had small hope of ever seeing again alive.
The "Morenos de Ponce" were utterly routed and dispersed; Marcelino had sacrificed himself and his men, but he had saved the army of General Liniers from destruction. A deadly fire from the Corrales de la Miserere had checked the advance of the main body of the army, the charge of the British infantry had driven it back in hopeless confusion into the roads by which it had debouched upon the Plaza; had the flank movement of the two regiments under General Crauford been uninterrupted, the retreat of the greater part of the army would have been cut off. As it was, General Liniers lost eleven guns, and was driven from amongst the quintas into the open camp, far away to the left of the road by which he had advanced. Night closed in and prevented further pursuit by the victorious enemy. Almost broken-hearted by the misfortune which had befallen him, and desperate at the ruin of all his high hopes, the Reconquistador threw himself upon the ground and for hours spoke to no one. About 1000 men lay round him in every attitude of exhaustion and despair; of the rest of his army he knew nothing, it was dispersed in all directions.
The army to which Buenos Aires had entrusted her honour and her defence had melted away at the first brush with the enemy. Buenos Aires had no longer an army and the enemy was at her gates.
All day the city had been in a state of nervous anxiety, all manner of conflicting rumours were current, every horseman who appeared in the streets was beset by a crowd of eager questioners, men ran to and fro and went from house to house, gleaning what intelligence they could. According to some General Liniers had marched from the Puente Galvès at dawn in search of the enemy, according to others he was yet encamped there and beset by the entire English army. As either hope or fear gained the ascendant, so each man spoke as his hopes or his fears prompted him.
Thus the day wore on; occasionally there was heard the far-off rattling of musketry or the dull boom of a distant gun, but nothing certain was known. Then in the eventide it spread about that the enemy had passed the Riachuelo and was marching upon the city, from the church towers their red-coated soldiery could be seen manœuvring on the open ground of the Plaza Miserere. But where was General Liniers? where were the citizen soldiers who had marched out so proudly to drive those English into the sea? The anxiety of the city became consternation.
Then from the west and near at hand there came again the rattling sound of musketry, interspersed with the frequent booming of the guns. The sound came in gusts, fitfully, now dying away into a feeble treble, the spattering fire of skirmishers anon swelling to a full chord, the regular volley-firing of drilled troops accompanied with the deep bass of the cannon. About half-an-hour the firing lasted, dying gradually away as the shades of night fell upon the anxious city. What had happened? Men hurried about no longer, seeking news, each sat in his own place, waiting for the news which would surely come.
After nightfall terror-stricken fugitives hurried through the streets, each seeking his own home, each telling his own tale of defeat and ruinous disaster. Then the anxiety of the city, which had become consternation, became despair.
From every household arose the voice of sorrow and of lamentation. Mothers embraced their sons, wives clasped husbands to their bosoms, welcoming them back from deadly peril, but they welcomed them back with tears, and as they listened to their tale a cry of sorrow burst from them, and there was loud wailing over the shame and disgrace whichhad fallen upon their native city. And there were households to which none returned, there were mothers who watched and waited for sons whom they were never more to see, there were wives who listened with painful eagerness for a well-known footstep which would never more fall upon their ears, and who, though they knew it not, were already widows. Throughout the great straggling city there was mourning and desolation. And the city was in darkness, and darkness, if it be not rest, is sorrow and despair.
Then up rose Don Martin Alzaga from his seat at the council-table; Don Martin Alzaga, president of the Cabildo, of that body which had now the destinies of the city in its hands. Don Martin had listened in stern silence to the various reports brought in by members of the Cabildo who had been abroad in the city in search of news. Of Liniers himself no one knew anything, but of the fate of his army there could be no question, it had been shamefully beaten and dispersed by what was, from all accounts, only a detachment of the invading force; it was no longer an army, Buenos Aires lay defenceless before her victorious enemy. Buenos Aires lay defenceless, yet, though she knew it not, in her defenceless condition lay her chiefest strength. The overthrow over which she mourned awakened the heroism innate in the Iberian race, and at the same time inspired the British generals with an overweening confidence, sure prelude of disaster.
From the days of Cortes and Pizarro to the present, the Iberian race has ever shown itself greatest in misfortune. In prosperity cruel, arrogant, and blind, the Spanish people have, when overwhelmed by disaster, ever shown a capacity for endurance and a fertility of resource such as has rarely been displayed by any other. When misfortunes have fallen upon them, such as would crush other peoples to the dust, then it is that they first put out their strength and rise superior to all disaster. The secret of it lies partly in national character, but more still in this fact, that the strength of Spain lies, not in her great men and her nobles, but in her people. When Spain was the head of a mighty empire, her nobles were new men sprung from the great body of the people, who had carved out their fortunes by their swords; their valour and their skill gave Spain the empire over two worlds; these men were the representative men of the Spanish people. Since then, the ruling class in Spain had been gradually and systematically raised above the people, and separated from them. The people were taught submission, and learned to see others rule over them until they lost all care or interest in the aims and objects of their rulers.
At the commencement of the war of succession the Archduke Charles and his English allies overran nearly the whole of Spain and took possession of the capital. So again, at an epoch later than this of which we treat, the armies of Napoleon marched from the Pyrenees to Cadiz in one unbroken series of triumphs. The great men of Spain, as imbecile as they were arrogant, invited by their ignorance the destruction which fell upon them; the soldiers of Spain, who were recruited from the people, cared not to shed their blood for rulers they despised, they fled, hardly waiting for the enemy to attack them. Then in each case, when all was lost, the Spanish people rosein their strength and cast out the foreign rulers set over them by foreign force.
Buenos Aires, a colony of Spain, has inherited two of the chief characteristics of the mother-country, pride and heroism. As though they were Spaniards, her native leaders have often shown themselves too proud to learn, and have thus brought disaster upon their country; when the disaster has come, they have ever met it with the heroism of the Iberian race.
Don Martin Alzaga was a true son of Spain, he had supported Liniers in his rash determination to face the veteran troops of England with his militia and half-drilled levies, he had scoffed at the idea of taking any further measures for defence; the blow had now fallen, Buenos Aires lay at the mercy of her enemy. All evening Don Martin had sat in his chair, listening in silence to the long chronicle of disaster; as each said his say and sat down, his spirits rose within him, and in his brain he revolved rapidly all that had been before said concerning the defence of the city. If Buenos Aires must fall, then let the enemy have nothing more than ruins over which to triumph.
Such were the thoughts of Don Martin Alzaga as he rose from his chair at the head of the council-table and spoke as follows:—
"Señores, a great disaster has befallen us. Our army is destroyed, we know not what has become of our general-in-chief, the illustrious Señor Don Santiago Liniers; in his absence the responsibility falls upon us. There is now no time for vacillation, we must look our danger straight in the face, and, if it please God, we shall yet find a way for our deliverance. We have now no army, but the dispersed soldiers are flocking back to the city; we have yet guns, muskets, and men, why then should we despair? I look upon many a downcast face, I have heard from many of you words of sorrow, as though hope were gone from us; from what you relate, the whole city is given over to lamentation. True it is that we have suffered a great disaster, but shall one blow suffice to subdue us? Are we not Spaniards? Is not this Buenos Aires of ours the first city on the great South American continent? Are we not the same men who not a year ago forced an entire English army to capitulate, although they were established in our citadel and had taken our city from us? Let us cast aside this depression and this unmanly sorrow, and join heart and hand together in the great work which it has fallen upon us to perform. Let us show ourselves worthy of the trust which the illustrious Reconquistador placed in us when he marched only yesterday against the foe. Let us rouse the citizens from the stupor of despair into which they have fallen, let us reunite our dispersed soldiery, and to-morrow again show a firm front to the arrogant enemy who assails us. To-morrow this enemy, exultant with his transient success, will doubtless summon us to surrender our city; I, as the chief of this Cabildo, will receive this summons and shall return it with disdain, without waiting to know what terms he may offer; never shall any treaty for the surrender of our city bear the signature of Martin Alzaga.
"What say you, Señores? Will you show yourselves worthy to be rulers of Buenos Aires? Will you aid me to vindicate the outraged honour of our country?"
Don Martin paused and looked proudly round him, the faces of his hearers, no longer downcast, reflected his own enthusiasm, each eye sought his, brilliant with hope. Springing to their feet they crowded round him, assuring him that they were all of one mind, and that mind was to lay the city in ruins rather than surrender.
"Señores," said Don Gregorio Lopez, "we will entrench the city and defend it block by block against the invaders. Old as I am I encharge myself with the defence of my own quarter."
"Yet you have your plan, Don Gregorio!" said Don Martin Alzaga gaily. "I believe it comes now very much to the point."
"The plan of my young friend Evaña," replied Don Gregorio.
"Let it be whose it may, we will study it together, and we two will decide what can be done with it, but first, Señores, there are other things more urgent. The people are in despair, and night has covered the city with mourning; the first thing we have to do is to raise the spirit of the people. Once that we reinspire them with confidence, we may hope everything from their courage and abnegation, which we all know. Let us disperse the darkness of night with bonfires and illuminations; the sorrow and the shame will give place to enthusiasm."
"Well said," said Don Gregorio Lopez. "The illuminations will also attract the fugitives, who may yet be dispersed about the suburbs. It also appears that General Balviani took no part in the engagement with the English, and is yet encamped at the Puente Galvès with his division; let us send for him at once, and we shall have a nucleus upon which to reform the stragglers."
No time was lost in discussion, these propositions were at once adopted. Various members of the Cabildo sallied forth to see after the illuminations, and a mounted officer galloped away by the southern road with an order to General Balviani to retire at once upon the city.
Midnight came, the city was one blaze of light. Lights shone from the windows of every house, festoons of lamps hung across many a street; on every open space and at every street corner in the suburbs there blazed huge bonfires, encircling the city with a girdle of flames. The British sentries at the Plaza Miserere looked wonderingly upon these endless lines of fire, and listened anxiously to the rising hum of many thousand voices, which declared the whole city to be astir. That city, since sundown so dark and desolate, so sunken in sorrow and despair, was now a scene of wild excitement and of fierce resolve; men said only one to another, What shall we do? Men sought only for a leader. The defeat of the evening was an affair long past and forgotten; men thought only of the morrow, and of the stern duty which on that morrow they would surely do.
In the midst of all this excitement Balviani's division returned to the city, marching swiftly along the illuminated streets, dragging their guns with them, which guns Balviani had directed to be spiked on receipt of the order from the Cabildo for his immediate return; but to his command the artillerymen paid no heed, harnessing themselves to the guns and dragging them through pantanos and mud, when their wearied cattle dropped with fatigue, while the rain poured down upon them in torrents. Yet in spite of the rain the people crowded round them as they marched along, saluting them with shouts and with manya warm pressure of the hand. Their march more resembled the triumphant entry of a victorious army than the return of the remnant of a beaten one.
Meantime some of the elder members of the Cabildo had been occupied in a careful examination of the plan of the Señor Evaña for the defence of the city. It was improbable that the English would at once attack them, a day at least must elapse before they could bring up their entire force from the Ensenada. But the plan was much too extensive to be carried out in one day, though it was exceedingly simple; they therefore determined upon the adoption of one part of it only: to draw a line including one block of houses all round the two central Plazas; to dig a ditch across the end of every street on this line, throwing up the earth inside, and forming on it a breastwork, and a platform for a gun; to garrison strongly all the azoteas on this line, and to station a strong force at each trench. Further, they determined that all the spare arms they possessed should be distributed to such of the citizens as might apply for them for the defence of their own houses, and that all the troops they could spare, after providing sufficiently for the central garrison, should be distributed about the azoteas all round to the distance of ten squares from the Plaza Mayor, and that each block should be placed under the command of some trustworthy officer; with instructions to harass the invaders to the utmost of their power as they advanced towards the centre, but not to attempt to meet them in the streets.
Then a list was made out of the officers to whom was to be entrusted the work of constructing the various trenches and a second of those who were to command in each block, both within and without the line of entrenchments.
Among these appointments Major Belgrano was entrusted with the construction of two of the defences to the south of the Plaza Mayor. Captain Lorea, with his own company, had charge of the block in which his own house stood, which was considered to be one of the most important outposts; his brother-in-law, Don Felipe Navarro, had command of the block situated to the west of the Church of Santo Domingo; and Don Marcelino Ponce de Leon and his negroes were appointed to the block contiguous to the Church of San Miguel. All these appointments were provisional, for nothing positive was known as yet as to the losses which the army had suffered in the action at the Corrales de la Miserere.
The plan of defence thus adopted was a part only of that sketched out by Don Carlos Evaña, which was modified by the suppression of an exterior line of defence and of sundry details, for the carrying out of which the time was too short. The garrisons of the Retiro and the Residencia, which formed two most important outposts to the north and south of the central Plazas, were to be instructed to defend themselves to the last extremity.
Two hours after sundown on that night of sorrow, Doña Dalmacia Navarro sat alone in her sala, alone and in darkness, save for a lamp which burned dimly in the ante-sala on the writing-table of her husband. So had she sat alone ever since the firing had ceased onthe Plaza Miserere, communing anxiously with herself, refusing all attention or sympathy from those who would gladly have shared her anxiety with her, replying only to those who would at times approach her with this one question:
"Yet has no one come?"
And the answer was always, no. Men hurried across the wide, open space before her sala windows and along the adjacent street; eagerly listening, she heard something of the words they spoke as they passed on—these words were ever of disaster, ruin and despair, and as she listened her heart sank within her. The army was evidently completely beaten; and Isidro and the gallant men he led, she knew them well, they were not the men to fly like frightened boys, they would have withstood the onset of the English even if left alone; and those volleys she had heard, and that roaring of the guns, at whom had they been directed? who had fired them? She shuddered to herself as she thought how she had exulted at the sound, and had pictured to herself hundreds of prostrate foes, stretched in wounds and death on her native soil.
Unable to bear her anxious thoughts in the quiet darkness of her sala, she rose from her seat and went into the ante-sala, drawing her heavy mantle round her with a shiver. She went and sat in her husband's chair, and leaned upon his desk, turning over his papers mechanically, scarce knowing what she did. She took up his pen and fondled it in her hands; beside it lay a tinsel penwiper, heavily embroidered with beads and gold cord, which she had made for him herself; she bent over it and kissed it, as she had seen him do the day she had given it to him, his saint's day, not two short months ago. Then she looked under the sofa and saw his slippers lying there, and drew them out and laid them beside his chair ready for him when he should come in. Would he ever put them on again? As she asked herself that question a low moan broke from her, she could look at them no longer, she could no longer bear the sight and neighbourhood of all these things which spoke to her of him, and seemed to ask her were they his no more? She left the ante-sala and the dim light, and went back to the darkness of her sala, crouching down on a low chair and burying her face in her hands.
Then there came a footstep and a voice, two voices, both of them she knew. They were safe—her husband and her brother. What mattered defeat and shame, they might be retrieved, but from death there is no return. A wild joy succeeded to her anxious sorrow, she started to her feet; as she reached the folding-doors, her husband stood before her, but oh! so changed. Dripping wet—for it was raining heavily,—with clothes torn and covered with mud, his face pale and haggard, his eyes deep sunk in his head; but for his voice she would scarce have known him.
"Isidro!" she exclaimed, opening her arms to him.
But he shrank from her, and, throwing himself upon the sofa, buried his face in the cushions.
"Do not touch me, do not come near me," he said, as she bent over him. "You know not what has happened."
"The English have been too strong for you," said Doña Dalmacia, seating herself beside him, and laying one soft arm on his neck.
"They were few, and we fled from them like sheep, like sheep. We are disgraced for ever. Never more shall we dare to look them in the face."
"You are tired; to-morrow will be another day."
"Ah! Dalma, if you only knew how they made us march; all the blessed day without a morsel to eat and nothing but muddy water to drink," said Don Isidro, raising himself on his elbow and venturing at last to look at his wife. What he saw in her face was a tender look of pity and of sympathy.
"Are you not ashamed of me, Dalma?" he asked her, with a brightening eye. "I am a runaway and a coward. Are you not ashamed of me, Dalma?"
"You are no coward, Isidro," said Doña Dalmacia, throwing her arms round his neck; "you are tired and have eaten nothing; to-morrow will be another day."
Don Isidro bowed his head upon her shoulder, and for a minute there was silence between them.
Don Felipe Navarro, who had come in with his brother-in-law, had thrown himself wearily into an arm-chair.
"Yes, Dalma, my sister," said he, "to-morrow will be another day, and we without an army shall have all the invaders upon us. Those we saw to-day were only the vanguard."
"Without an army," exclaimed Doña Dalmacia, looking round at him with a fresh terror in her eyes. "Have then so many fallen? And the Reconquistador, what has become of him?"
"Of Liniers I know nothing. We have not many killed, but the army is dispersed," replied Don Felipe.
"We have no hope now, for there is no confidence," said Don Isidro. "All the fight was without order; it may be said that there was no fight. We were not beaten, we ran away because we did not know what to do."
"So long as it was an affair of shooting," said Don Felipe, "our men stood well enough, but when they came at us with the bayonet——Do you know, it is an imposing thing, that charge with the bayonet. Those English with their smooth faces look like boys, but when they came at us in a long line close together we felt that they were men. If we had waited for them the half of our men would have stopped there for ever."
"Have many stopped there?" said Doña Dalmacia. "I have heard heavier firing at a review."
"Of ours we have lost very few," replied Don Isidro. "The corps on the left, where Liniers was, were all in disorder, and I don't think they lost many. But I fear me much, Dalma, we have lost a friend."
"Say!" said Doña Dalmacia, nervously closing one hand upon his shoulder.
"'Los Morenos de Ponce,' are almost annihilated."
"Marcelino sacrificed himself and his men to save the others," said Felipe Navarro.
"It is what one might foretell of him," said Doña Dalmacia, bursting into tears.
"Do not weep, my soul," said Don Isidro. "As yet we knownothing positive. Felipe and I met some of the negroes after nightfall, and went back with them to the quinta from which they were driven. There were many dead lying about, and we carried off a great many wounded; every house about there is a hospital. We searched where they said he had fallen—we found the bodies of three negroes, but of him we could find nothing."
"Always we will hope," said the brave lady, rising and wiping away her tears. "To-morrow will be another day."
Just then there came a knock at the outer door, and a loud voice shouted:
"Order from the Señores of the Cabildo. That three lights be placed in every window and a lamp hung in every doorway."
Again the knock was repeated.
"It shall be done," said Don Isidro, running out himself in answer to the summons.
At the Quinta de Ponce the whole household was astir before sunrise on the morning of the 2nd July, roused from sleep by the cries of the female servants and slaves, who had seen Evaristo saddle his pony and gallop off towards town at dawn. Don Roderigo paced anxiously to and fro in the sala, his wife covered with a loose wrapper and with dishevelled hair vainly trying to soothe him.
"Where can that foolish boy have gone to?" said he. "Did he speak to no one before he went?"
"I can tell you, papa," said Dolores, who came in at that moment, "he has gone to join Marcelino; he said he would be with him when the fighting began, and Evaristo always does what he says he will."
"What can he do? a mere boy like him?" said Doña Constancia, clasping her hands and looking tearfully at her husband.
"Do not cry, Mamita," said Dolores, half crying herself, "God will protect him as he will Marcelino."
"Who has made you so wise about what God will do?" said Don Roderigo sharply. "No duty calls him away from us."
As they spoke a mulatta girl came running into the room.
"Oh! Patrona! the English! the English!!" cried she, wringing her hands.
Dolores and her mother clung to each other in terror.
"Where?" said Don Roderigo, putting himself in the way of the terrified mulatta, and stamping his foot to bring her to her senses.
"The English Señor, Patron, the English Señor, Don Alejandro, he has climbed up a tree, and he can see them on the highroad. They go straight for the city, he knows them. Oh! my God! what will become of us?"
"Silence, fool!" said Don Roderigo; "if they are going to the city they will not come here."
At frequent intervals all day long Lieutenant Gordon climbed up into his tree, giving an account of all the movements he saw in the open country round him. Three hours after the passing of this first body, which Gordon had calculated at about 2000 men, and which had marched by the highroad leading to the Puente Galvès, there came a much larger body, which left the road, and crossing camp about half-a-league to the south of the Quinta de Ponce, marched round the headwaters of the Arroyo Maciel and then turned northwards towards the Paso Zamorra on the Riachuelo.
Anxiously the day passed with them all. About noon the sound of cannon and musketry came to them from a direction far to the west of the Puente Galvès, but it soon ceased, and no more was heard till close upon sundown, when it commenced again, dying gradually away as darkness came on. Again Gordon climbed into his tree; over the tree-tops of the quintas about the Plaza Miserere there hung light clouds of white smoke, then night came on, all was again silent; what had happened?
This question Doña Constancia asked herself as she sat in a low chair in the sala. Dolores, seated beside her on a low stool, resting her head upon her mother's knee, asked herself that question also. Don Roderigo, Juan Carlos, and Gordon each also asked himself that question; no one answered it, and they expected no answer till the morrow. They sat in darkness, for darkness was to them rest and relief, hiding from each the anxiety which clouded the faces of them all; and in silence, for each feared to give utterance to his own thoughts. There came a barking of dogs, a trampling of horses' feet, and a confused sound of voices outside; the door opened, a servant came in bearing a lighted lamp and announced: "El Señor Colonel Lopez."
As Colonel Lopez entered the room he bowed gravely to all present, then advancing to Doña Constancia he ceremoniously kissed her hand. They crowded round him in silence, waiting for him to speak, all save Doña Constancia, who sat still in her chair twining her fingers together nervously, and looking eagerly at him. But he spoke not, throwing his hat on to a chair, and fumbling with the throat-buttons of his cloak.
"Say—what news?" said Don Roderigo. "How has the day gone with ours?"
"What news?" replied the colonel. "Little, and what there is is bad. Where can I take off this cloak of mine?" he added, looking significantly at Don Roderigo.
"Come this way," said the latter.
"No, no!" exclaimed Doña Constancia, springing to her feet and clutching him with both hands by one arm. "My son! have you seen him? Quick, tell me, anything is better than this uncertainty."
"Marcelino! yes, I was with him this morning. Since then I know nothing of him. We tried to capture two guns from these English; me they pitched into the river, of him I know nothing."
"No, no! you are hiding something from me; he was with you, what has become of him?"
"I tell you, Constancia, I know nothing."
"He is dead!" said Doña Constancia, sinking back into her chair and covering her face with her hands.
"Uncle," said Dolores in a hoarse voice, "tell all you know. I know that he can't be——" she could not finish the sentence.
"I believe he is a prisoner," said the colonel. "He passed theriver with his negroes, and was cut off from the rest. He had no way to escape, I suppose he is a prisoner."
"I saw them," said Gordon. "There could not be much over 2000 of them. Where was Liniers? They said yesterday that he had marched out with all the garrison of the city."
"Liniers talks much, but knows nothing. The English played with him, got behind him, and marched upon the city. I watched them; for my part, I have had plenty of it. What could Marcelino and I do alone? They did not even take one step to support us. It appears that he counter-marched at once when he saw them across the river, and went back to the city; in the suburbs they fell upon him and routed him completely; without doubt you heard the firing two hours ago. We have no army now, and by this time the English have the city. All is lost, and I have come to consult with you," added he, laying his hand on the shoulder of Don Roderigo.
These two left the room together; the others remained, looking at one another in consternation.
"Do not believe him, Doña Constancia," said Gordon, kneeling down beside her. "You have been so good to me, I cannot bear you to look like that. What he has said is simply impossible; I am a soldier and know how these things are done. Marcelino would never have passed the river unless he had supports, and Liniers had five times as many men as those English I saw."
While Gordon with Juan Carlos and Dolores did all they could to calm the anxiety of Doña Constancia, Don Roderigo heard enough from the colonel to fill him with even deeper anxiety than before. Leaving him, he went out, called for his horse, and then returned to the sala, covered from neck to ankles in a large horseman's cloak, and with a brace of pistols in his waist-belt.
"You leave us?" exclaimed Doña Constancia, as she saw him return.
"Yes," said he, bending over her caressingly. "I am not a soldier; while we had an army I left this work to soldiers, now we have no army I shall do my duty as a citizen. Adios!"
So he left them, and Doña Constancia, leaning upon the shoulder of Juan Carlos, said dreamily:
"Father, sons, husband, all that I have, and this is what they call patriotism."
So saying, her knees bent under her and she would have fallen, but that her remaining son threw his arm round her, and supported her in a fainting state to a sofa, where, as she lay, she heard the footfalls of her husband's horse as he galloped rapidly away.
The morrow came, and it was another day.
At sunrise the drums beat to arms all over the city; again the troops, native militia and Spaniards, assembled at their various headquarters. Trace of the sorrow and depression of the past night had all vanished; all was again enthusiasm and fierce resolve. On comparing notes one with another, the losses seemed marvelously small after the crushing defeat they had suffered. In some regiments entire companies were missing, but they were probably with General Liniers, of whom nothing was yet known.
It was immediately resolved by the various chiefs that the English should not be left unmolested, and sundry companies were detailed at once for service in the suburbs, while the rest of the forces were employed on the central defences around the Plaza Mayor.
Captain Lorea of the Patricios was the first to march with his company. He marched straight for the quinta which had been held the previous day by the "Morenos de Ponce." Here he found that the English had established an outpost. He at once opened fire and advanced against them, upon which the enemy retired. Then posting his men along the far fence, with instructions to fire on any of the English who should come within range, he renewed his search for his missing friend Marcelino. But the search was again in vain. He could find no trace of him, and the occupants of the quinta could tell him nothing. They had fled when the fighting commenced, and had only returned at midnight.
All day long the firing continued in the suburbs, with loss of life on both sides, but the English withdrew any outpost that was seriously attacked, only to reoccupy it when their foes retreated. So much powder and shot wasted in a military point of view, but not wasted in its effects upon the citizen soldiers, who thus became accustomed to the whiz of the shot, and whose renewed confidence might have melted away in forced inactivity.
There was one corps in the army of yesterday which had no headquarters in the city, the "Morenos de Ponce." At sunrise they paraded in the Plaza de Los Perdices, under the command of Lieutenant Asneiros, about 120 men, all told. Backwards and forwards through the ranks walked the lieutenant, rigorously inspecting arms and accoutrements, when a horseman drew rein in front of the line. Many of the negroes knew him, and their dark faces brightened up as they looked upon him.
"Morenos!" said he, raising his hand, "we all know how gallantly you followed your brave leader yesterday. The country appreciates your services. Spain, our mother-country, whose flag you have so valiantly defended, will reward them. Your commandant, my son," here the speaker's voice faltered a little, "is absent; wounded or a prisoner, we know not what has become of him. We yet need your services, Morenos; we have an arrogant enemy before us, but the city is yet ours, and we will defend it to the last. You have shown yourselves worthy to follow the lead of a Ponce de Leon. When the struggle commences, if my son be not with you, I myself will take his place. Together we will avenge the deaths of your slaughtered comrades and the loss of your commandant upon the insolent invader."
"Viva, Don Roderigo! Viva!" shouted the negroes after which the horseman, waving his hand to them, spoke a few words to Asneiros and trotted off.
About an hour afterwards an English officer with his eyes bandaged, and escorted by a picket of the first Patricios, presented himself to the Cabildo, having been received in the suburbs by Colonel Elio, carrying a flag of truce, and bearing a demand from General Gower for the immediate surrender of the city. The members present glanced curiously one at the other and some laughed. Don Roderigo Ponce de Leon, as the one among them most conversant with English, took upon himself to answer the demand.
"Your general," said he, "deceives himself, he thinks that by his victory of yesterday he has crushed us. He deceives himself. Tell him that our troops are yet numerous and enthusiastic, and that to a man we are all ready to die, if need be, in defence of our city. The hour has now come for us to show our patriotism, and we shall do it."
All the members rose from their seats and bowed with great formality as the officer retired.
As he went, a horseman in the dress of a paisano dismounted at the door of the Cabildo, and announced himself as a chasque with a despatch from General Liniers. He was at once led to the council-chamber, and delivered his despatch to Don Gregorio Lopez, who acted as president during a temporary absence of Don Martin Alzaga.
Don Gregorio read the letter, and then threw it across the table to his son-in-law, saying contemptuously:
"Look at that."
The letter was from General Liniers to the Cabildo, announcing in terms of humility, almost amounting to despair, the complete defeat and dispersion of his army, and stating that he had yet 1000 men with him and awaited orders.
"Just what one might expect," said Don Roderigo, when he had glanced over it and handed it to another member of the Cabildo. "Men of his fiery temperament are ever the most cast down when a reverse comes. It will be best to order him at once back to the city to take command of the defence."
"Give him the command again, when by his folly he has lost us an army?" exclaimed Don Gregorio.
"Just so," replied Don Roderigo. "As we place confidence in him, so will he strive to merit it. He is a soldier, and the men likehim, he knows better than any of us what to do. The affair of yesterday will be a lesson to him."
"If we call him back he is at once the chief over us all, and our plan of defence will be set aside."
"That, no; we have determined to act on the defensive without consulting him, we must tell him that it is to take command of the defence alone that we recall him. What do you say, Señores?" said Don Roderigo, addressing himself to the other members. "Shall we not do better with a soldier to command our troops?"
"Liniers is a daring soldier," said one of them. "The men will forget yesterday when they hear his cheerful voice again among them. When they see him they will remember only that last year he was the hero who forced an entire army to surrender."
In this view all agreed, and Don Roderigo sat down to answer the despatch at once in very few words. As he wrote, Don Gregorio turned to look at the chasque who had remained in the room, looking about him with an air of the most complete indifference.
"I have seen you before, my friend," said he. "Are you not the man who brought from Colonel Lopez the news of the advance of the English upon Quilmes?"
"Just so," answered the man. "The Señor General Liniers took me with him that day, and yesterday I was with him to the end."
"Then you were present at the fight on the Plaza Miserere?"
"Yes, I saw it all, but I do not call that a fight. When they ought to have rushed on them they stopped to shoot, and it was all disorder. But what would you? They were on foot. I, yes; last year I saw a fight farther away, beyond the Plaza Miserere. There, yes; there we went on to the top of them like men, but it was all in vain; in the same, no more, it ended. Look you that these English are the very devil, but have no fear, in some way we shall arrange them."
"Were you with Don Juan Martin Puyrredon at Perdriel?"
"I was, and I escaped only by a miracle. That, yes; that was a fight. When a man is on horseback he is worth three, but these people of the city who go on foot! what would you have?"
"But these English, they were on foot, both yesterday and at Perdriel."
"And among houses and fences. Let them come and seek us in the open camp; we will teach them."
"It appears that my son has had a warrior among his men."
"Your son, Señor! Who will he be?"
"Colonel Lopez, who was your chief two days ago."
"And your worship, will you be the Señor Don Gregorio Lopez?"
"I am he. And you, what is your name?"
"I call myself Venceslao Viana, at your service, Señor Don Gregorio."
At this Don Gregorio rose from his seat with a grave look on his face and walked away to a window, while Don Roderigo looked up from the letter which he had just finished, and examined attentively the face of the chasque, who appeared somewhat disconcerted at the abrupt termination of his conversation with Don Gregorio.
Then folding up the letter and sealing it with the official seal of the Cabildo, Don Roderigo handed it to Venceslao Viana.
"This to the Señor General Liniers," he said. "But first tell me, have you seen anything of the English to-day?"
"Much, I came right through their lines. There is another army of them crossed the Riachuelo at the Zamorra Pass this morning."
"Then vaya con Dios, and don't lose a minute;" so saying, Don Roderigo opened the door for him, and shaking him warmly by the hand dismissed him, as much surprised at his politeness as at the sudden coolness of Don Gregorio.
"One must be the devil himself to understand the ways of these men who wear coats," said Venceslao to himself, as he mounted his horse. "That old man must be in some way a relation of mine; he will be one of those relations in the city of whom my father never speaks. He would speak to me no more when he knew who I was. And that other! Who knows if he is not a relation also. When one is a man of family one never knows where one may meet relations."
Venceslao was not much given to thinking, and had soon something else to employ his wits on, having to make diligent use of his eyes to escape the scouting and foraging parties of the English. He reached General Liniers in safety and delivered his despatch, which restored the despondent soldier to his usual confident activity. Taking Venceslao as his guide he marched rapidly by cross-roads back to town, exchanging a few harmless shots with a party of English who were advancing towards the Miserere, and at once took charge of the preparations for defence.
That evening, as Venceslao was lounging about under the colonnade in front of the Cabildo, he was accosted by Don Roderigo Ponce de Leon.
"What are you doing, friend?" said Don Roderigo.
"I am waiting for nightfall. There are so many English about that it will be dangerous to go out by daylight," replied Venceslao.
"Go out! And where are you going?"
"To present myself to my chief."
"That cannot be. Here in the city is the place for all good patriots. You have seen fire, we need men like you."
"And what can I do here? Of these manœuvres on foot I know nothing, and my horse will die of hunger."
"Of that have no fear, remain with me, I will find something for you to do."
"With very much pleasure; Señor, I am at your service," answered Venceslao.
"Then go to my house, there you will find plenty of comrades. Go that way," said Don Roderigo, pointing along the face of the Cabildo northwards. "Take the second turning to the left and then go straight on till close to the church of San Miguel. You will see a negro sentry at the doorway, that is my house. The 'Morenos de Ponce' are quartered there; tell Lieutenant Asneiros that Don Roderigo sent you. I shall be there myself later on."
"Hasta luego, Señor Don Roderigo," said Venceslao, mounting his horse and trotting off.
As he settled himself in the saddle he shook his head meditatively and said to himself, "Certainly he must be some relation of mine. Look you, when a man is of family he has duties of which others know nothing. This Señor Don Roderigo must have some claim on my services, for that it is that he sends me. It is necessary then that I obey, so here goes to join the 'Morenos de Ponce.' I have seen something of them, and now that I think of it, the comandante is that young man who was at my house with the colonel months ago, before I made myself a lancer; the colonel said he might be some relation of mine, I will ask him about it."
Here his soliloquy was cut short by his finding the street blocked up by a huge mound of earth, beyond which was a deep ditch. On the mound a party of the Catalan regiment were hard at work raising a stout breastwork and laying down a platform for a heavy gun, which stood in the street behind. On the azotea on each side a sentry paced up and down with his firelock on his shoulder. A Spanish officer stopped him and inquired where he was going.
"I belong to the 'Morenos de Ponce,'" answered Venceslao. "Where are they quartered?"
"Pass," answered the officer, pointing to a narrow passage on the side-walk. "Four squares from here on the left hand."
Venceslao passed on, found the "Morenos de Ponce," and was soon at home among them, but he did not find the comandante, and his curiosity concerning his relationship remained unsatisfied.
Meantime the news of the landing of the English had spread over the campaña, and the chiefs of the partidarios hastily collected their men together. On the night of the 3rd July messengers from them made their way into the city, bearing letters asking instructions from the Reconquistador. To all the same answer was returned, that the men who had firearms should repair to the city and join the garrison, and that the rest should hover about the rear of the invading army and annoy it to the best of their ability. During the day, and more especially during the night of the 4th July, hundreds of paisanos entered the city, and were spread about in small detachments attached to the different infantry corps. A strong force of them were also embodied and encamped on the Plaza de Los Perdices, where they would be at hand should cavalry be required.
On the 4th, Don Isidro Lorea turned his attention to fortifying his house. He threw open all the windows of both house and almacen, blocking them up for half their height with boxes and barrels, through which he made two loopholes at each window. On the parapet of his azotea he arranged tercios of yerba and boxes filled with earth, leaving a few inches between each to serve as loopholes. In addition to his own company he had all the men resident in that and the two neighbouring blocks under his command, which raised his force to about 400, all supplied with firearms and ammunition. His instructions from General Liniers were, that he should on no account venture into the streets, but was to defend his position to the last extremity.
It was the afternoon of the 4th July, the British army was cantonnedall along the western side of the city, the British fleet was at anchor in the roadstead, but as yet no attack had been made. General Whitelock with his staff occupied a small country house close to the Plaza Miserere, to which he had been conducted by an American named White, to whom this house had formerly belonged. Mr White had been for many years resident in Buenos Aires; he had joined the English army at Monte Video, and was frequently consulted by General Whitelock, who placed much confidence in him.
General Whitelock held a council of war that afternoon, all his superior officers being present. The council was held in the dining-room of Mr White's house; on the table in this room lay a map of the city, on which most of the churches and public buildings were clearly marked, but which was full of inaccuracies.
The council had now sat for nearly an hour; the general, seated in an arm-chair at the head of the table, seemed somewhat ruffled at what had passed. On the faces of many of his officers there was an evident gloom; they had not approved of the plan of attack which had been disclosed to them, but their advice had not been asked, they had been merely summoned to have the plan explained to them and to receive instructions. The troops had been under arms all the morning, General Whitelock having at first contemplated making the assault at midday, but the constant fire kept up upon his advanced posts had decided him to postpone it until the next morning; even he saw the danger of advancing in broad daylight down those long, narrow streets.
But on the faces of some younger officers there sat the smile of undoubting confidence, and many a gay jest passed among them at the expense of the runaway Frenchman and his Creole troops, who, after the signal proof of incapacity which they had given two days before, had yet dared to return a defiant answer to a second summons to surrender their city.
At this moment the door opened, and a tall man with stern, sallow features entered the room.
"Excuse me, General," said he in very good English, but with a foreign accent, "I knew not that you were engaged, I will retire."
"By no means, Señor," said General Whitelock. "Come in and sit down, I thought we had left you in Monte Video."
"I landed at Quilmes this morning, and Colonel Mahon informed me where I should find you."
"Craddock," said the general to an aide-de-camp, "a chair for the Señor Evaña."
"Have you heard of the answer I have received from these citizens of Buenos Aires to my summons?" asked the general as Evaña seated himself.
"I have heard that they refuse to surrender," answered Evaña coldly.
"Refuse! Yes, and in terms which would come well from a victorious army, but not from a defeated mob of militia. See there, read for yourself," added the general, handing an open despatch to Evaña.
Evaña took the despatch and read it. A flush spread over his features as he read the proud disdainful words in which the men of anopen city defied the menace of a soldier at the head of a well-appointed army. He glanced at the signatures, and saw amongst them those of Don Gregorio Lopez and of Don Roderigo Ponce de Leon. His own countrymen and the Spaniards joined cordially together in the heroic resolve to defend the city to the last, and for what? For Spain. He sighed deeply as he refolded the despatch and returned it to the general with a low bow, saying:
"Then there is nothing but an appeal to arms."
"And that we need think little of," answered the general. "Perda cuidao, as your people say, the sun will shine for the last time to-morrow upon the Spanish flag in that fort over yonder, and you will have some shopkeeping countrymen the fewer."
"God grant that that flag come down," said Evaña; "too long has it crushed out the soul of my country, but, General, as I told you before, you do not know my countrymen. If you would but have made allies of them, that flag would have come down without your risking the lives of thousands of men in pulling it down."
"It would have given place to some new-fangled flag of a republic I suppose. Enough of that, Señor Evaña, the flag that has to fly there to-morrow is the English flag."
"Then you purpose taking the city by assault?" said Evaña.
"Just so," answered the general; "I intend to give those saucy citizens of yours another taste of the cold steel, it seems that one lesson is not enough for them."
"You will lose many men, General. You have the command of the river, I should have thought a blockade would have been much more certain and would have spared useless bloodshed."
"The calculation of a civilian and not of a soldier, Señor Evaña. What do you say, Craddock? Do you think you would win your spurs by starving them out?"
"I should precious soon tire of that work," answered the aide-de-camp; "besides which you would have to shoot me, General, for I should begin to smuggle provisions into the city as soon as I heard that the pretty Porteñas were beginning to look thin on siege rations."
"Always thinking of the girls, Craddock," said the general laughing. "Well, I can promise you that you won't have to wait much longer before you can begin making love to them."
"He may chance to have his love-making spoiled before he even sees them," said Evaña, bending over the table and examining the map of the city which lay before him.
"Every bullet has its billet," said the aide-de-camp, with a sneer; "the billets of those of your militia seem mostly up in the air from what I hear of their shooting."
During this talk most of the officers who had taken part in the council left the room, but two or three still remained. One of them was a strikingly handsome man of medium stature, with curly brown hair and hazel eyes.
"Perhaps the Señor Evaña would like to know our plan of assault," said this officer.
"Explain it to him, Craddock," said the general.
"We shall keep 1000 men in reserve at the corrales," said Craddock, "besides Colonel Mahon's brigade, which will advance to the Galvès bridge to-morrow. The rest of the troops we divide into three columns of attack, which will advance by parallel streets through the city to the river-side, and will then unite in a combined attack upon the great square, where we understand the principal force of the enemy is entrenched."
"I see a great many streets marked on the plan," said Evaña.
"Exactly so," replied the aide-de-camp; "each column will march in subdivisions by adjacent streets, which will mutually support each other in case of need."
"And each subdivision will be separated from the next by a block of barricaded houses 140 yards long," interrupted Evaña.
"You see, General," said the handsome officer, "he has hit upon your weak place at once."
"What does he know?" said the general angrily; "fire away, Craddock."
"In the Spanish cities," continued Craddock, "the churches invariably occupy the most important positions. We have thus fixed upon two churches upon which the three columns will form their base of attack upon the centre."
"We have learnt to-day that they are running up barricades in some parts of the city," said the officer who had spoken before.
"Are they?" exclaimed Evaña eagerly, as he thought of the plan of defence he had left with Don Gregorio Lopez. "Do you know where they have placed these barricades?"
"Near to the principal square," answered the other.
"There is nothing that we know of to prevent us reaching our first positions," said the aide-de-camp. "We shall simply march down the streets musket on shoulder without firing a shot, till we are near enough to inspect these barricades. We may probably have to batter them with cannon before we make our second advance. See, these are the churches I told you of. On the north there is this place, a large convent, I believe."
"Las Monjas Catalinas," said Evaña.
"A convent is always a good place to occupy as a post, it is——"
"Quite in your line, eh! Craddock," interrupted the general; "unfortunately, my boy, you won't be with that column to-morrow."
"The columns of the left and centre will concentrate upon this convent after establishing a strong rearguard at the bull-ring here to the north of the city," resumed Craddock. "Then in the centre there is this church, San Miguel I think they call it."
Evaña nodded his head.
"This church stands in the highest part of the city. When the three columns have reached their stations, we shall march a part of the reserve upon this church so as to open communications with the attacks from the north and south upon the great square. Then on the south, where Crauford has the command," said Craddock, nodding to the brown-haired officer, "we have first a large detached house surrounded by iron railings."
"The Residencia," said Evaña.
"I believe that is what it is called. Colonel Guard will be detached to occupy this position. Then farther on, only three blocks from the great square, we have a large church with a dome and two lofty towers. General Crauford with the rest of the column of the right will form his base of attack upon this church."
"How do you call that church, Señor Evaña?" asked General Crauford.
"The church of Santo Domingo," answered Evaña.
"Crauford takes great interest in that church," said Craddock; "he has been all day on the roof examining it through a telescope, but he can't see much of it from here."
"Crauford wanted to take the city all by himself on Thursday night," said General Whitelock.
"There was nothing to oppose me after I had dispersed the militia and that negro regiment that fought so well," said General Crauford. "If I had not been recalled by Gower I should have marched through the city and captured the fort. I penetrated through the suburbs to the head of a street which Pack told me leads straight to the great square."
"It is a pity you did not," said Evaña; "the city was panic-struck from what I hear; you would probably have captured the fort without firing a shot. To-morrow you will find it a very different matter to march down those long, straight streets."
"We shall lose some men, of course," said General Whitelock, "but we shall establish ourselves on both flanks of their principal position, and then you will see that Frenchman will have had enough of it, and he will surrender."
"You know not what you are doing, General," said Evaña; "if you had studied for a year you could not have devised a plan which would have entailed greater sacrifice of life. I tell you that if you carry out this plan of yours, those streets of Buenos Aires will be to you and your men pathways of death."
"Señor Evaña," replied General Whitelock, rising brusquely from his chair, "when I need the advice of so distinguished amilitaireas yourself be certain that I shall not forget to ask for it."
To this Evaña made no answer, but rising from his seat he took up his hat, bowed formally to all present, and left the room.
"This native friend of ours has somewhat nettled the general," whispered Captain Craddock in Crauford's ear.
"He has," answered the other gloomily, "and the worst is, that what he says is perfectly true. Give me that city and a garrison of 10,000 men, and I defy any 50,000 troops in the world to drive me out of it, even if they had Napoleon himself to lead them, or that new Indian general of ours they think so much of at home, Sir Arthur Wellesley."
"Bah!" replied the aide-de-camp scornfully; "they are only militia and dismounted gauchos, what need we fear from them? As for Liniers, you and Gower showed us on Thursday what he is worth."
Long after nightfall Don Carlos Evaña walked by himself on the flat roof of the quinta house, wrapped in a large cloak which kept the cold from his body, and in thought which made him oblivious to allthat passed around him. He heeded nothing the buzz and bustle which pervaded all the quinta, never noticed the mounted messengers who rode forth or came in continually at the open gateway, his eye looked only on the glittering lights of his native city, his ear heard only the distant hum witch told him that there also all was busy preparation for the conflict of the morrow.
His heart was sad, for his hopes died away within him. He had crossed the ocean to urge on the despatch of this very expedition which now menaced his native city. So far success had attended it, even beyond his hopes, but the result which he desired seemed further from attainment than ever. Should the struggle of the morrow end in favour of the English, the result would be merely a change of masters; instead of serving men of their own race, language, and religion, his countrymen would serve strangers.