[1]"Long live the well-beloved General Rosas! Long live the liberator! Long live the federals! Death to the unitarian savages! Slay them! Slay them!"
[1]"Long live the well-beloved General Rosas! Long live the liberator! Long live the federals! Death to the unitarian savages! Slay them! Slay them!"
[2]These words will hardly bear translation Their general meaning is this: Why do you go and return, return and go; if others go less far, they gain more by it.
[2]These words will hardly bear translation Their general meaning is this: Why do you go and return, return and go; if others go less far, they gain more by it.
[3]"O precious Liberty! One cannot compare you to gold nor to the greatest riches in the spacious world."
[3]"O precious Liberty! One cannot compare you to gold nor to the greatest riches in the spacious world."
[4]"More rich and more cherished than the most precious treasure."
[4]"More rich and more cherished than the most precious treasure."
[5]Child of the country; a very common expression in South America.
[5]Child of the country; a very common expression in South America.
We will run before the corporal, in order to explain to the reader what had happened in therancho.
At first everything went off well. After the first moment of distrust and fear, the muleteers and wagoners, involuntarily submitting to the influence of their favourite pastime, had utterly forgotten their apprehensions, and fraternised with the soldiers. Theaguardientewent round uninterruptedly from one end of the room to the other; the merriment increased in proportion to the draughts, which, by frequent repetition, began to heat the brains of the drinkers, among whom the first symptoms of drunkenness were showing themselves here and here.
Nevertheless the lieutenant, Don Torribio, his eyes sparkling and his countenance excited, continued to sing, to torture the guitar, and specially to drink, without any signs of meditated evil; and perhaps all might have ended well, but for an incident which suddenly changed the aspect of things, and turned a scene of joy into a spectacle of terror.
One of the best and most brilliant dancers of thezambacuecawas a young muleteer of from twenty to twenty-five, with fine and intelligent features, well-knit figure, and easy manner, who distinguished himself greatly by the lightness and grace of his dancing. The women crowded round him, cast the most killing looks at him, and applauded extravagantly the eccentric steps it was his pleasure to execute.
Among these females were two, both girls of sixteen, radiant with the beauty peculiar to South America, and which finds no equivalent in Europe. The black eyes, shaded by long silken lashes; the mouth, with lips red as the fruit of thechirimoya(Mexican pear); the face, slightly bronzed by the heat of a tropical sun, over which fell the long tresses of bluish-black hair; the rounded figure, supple and slender; the wavy movements, full of inimitable grace; all these charms united constituted that intoxicating and voluptuous kind of beauty, which it is impossible to analyse, but of which the most frigid mortal cannot resist the magnetic influence and fascinating spell.
These two females made themselves conspicuous by the exuberant praises they showered on the object of their predilection. The latter, we must do him the justice to say, seemed to take very little notice of the enthusiasm he excited. He was a good fellow, whose heart, if not his head, was perfectly free; who danced for dancing's sake, because it pleased him, and because the rough life he led rarely afforded an opportunity for enjoying his favourite amusement; moreover, he was totally indifferent about inspiring either one or the other of his admirers with any kind of passion whatever. The two latter, although with a woman's innate instinct they understood his indifference, and were secretly hurt at it, nevertheless continued to lavish on him the most passionate expressions of admiration of which the Spanish language is capable, as a means of evincing the interest they took in his proceedings.
These demonstrations grew at last so lively and pointed, that the greater number of the men present—who would each, in his secret heart, have given a good deal for the preference of either of these beautiful creatures—began, as is generally the case, to hate the muleteer for the indifference he displayed, and to upbraid him for serious want of politeness and unpardonable ignorance of good manners, in showing no gratitude for such enthusiastic praise.
The muleteer, embarrassed by the position in which he had involuntarily been placed while he was only laudably endeavouring to amuse himself, and compelled, as we may say, by his companions' murmurs of disapprobation, to re-establish his impugned reputation for courtesy, decided on finding some means or other of withdrawing honourably from his disagreeable situation, and with that purpose determined to ask the two girls to dance with him one after the other.
Full of these good intentions, as soon as the lieutenant—who had temporarily interrupted his inharmonious strumming to help himself to an immense goblet ofaguardiente—began to rattle a freshzambacuecaon his guitar, thearrieroadvanced with a smile on his lips, and graciously saluted the two girls.
"Señorita," said he, to the one who chance to bed nearest, "will you make me happy by dancing thiszambacuecawith your humble servant?"
The girl, all rosy with delight at what she imagined the preference of the handsome dancer, was coming forward with outstretched hand, and beginning to reply, when suddenly her companion, who had turned pale on hearing thearriero'sinvitation, bounded between them like a tigress, and, with trembling lips and flaming eyes, confronted the young couple.
"You shall not dance together!" she cried in menacing tones.
The spectators of this extraordinary and unexpected scene recoiled in amazement: they were unable to comprehend this sudden burst of anger. The two would-be dancers exchanged looks of astonishment.
The situation grew intolerable, and thearrierodetermined to put an end to it.
The second girl was still standing right in front of him, her figure slightly thrown back, and firmly planted on her feet, her head erect, her cheeks inflamed, her nostrils quivering like those of a wild beast, and her arm extended in an attitude of menace and defiance.
Thearrierotook a step forward, and made a very respectful bow to the damsel.
"Señorita," said he, "allow me to remark—"
"Calle Vd. la boca" (hold your tongue), "Don Pablo!" she angrily exclaimed, interrupting him in the middle of his speech; "I have nothing to say against you; but look at thischola sin vergüenza" (shameless hussy), "who, knowing you to be the best dancer in therancho, wants to monopolise you for her own benefit."
On hearing the insult her companion had thus boldly cast in her teeth, the other damsel hastily shook off Don Pablo, and placed herself face to face before her assailant.
"You lie, Manonga!" cried she: "It is jealousy that made you utter these words; you are furious at the preference with which thiscaballerohonours me."
"I!" said the other disdainfully; "You are a fool, Clarita; I care no more for thecaballerothan for a sour orange."
"Indeed!" sneered Clarita; "Then, pray what may be the reason of this sudden fury?"
"Because," sharply retorted Manonga, "I have known you for a long time; you want a lesson, and I am going to give you one."
"You, indeed!" said the other, shrugging her shoulders; "Take care lest you get one yourself!"
"Ojalá; add another word, and, by my soul, I will knife you!"
"Pooh! you don't even know how to handle a navaja" (knife).
"A ver;" (we will see), shouted Manonga, beside herself with rage; and, bounding back, she drew a knife from her bosom, wrapped herrebozo(veil) round her left arm, and threw herself on guard.
"A ver;" screamed Clarita, echoing the words, and taking up her position with the same celerity as her adversary.
A duel between the two girls was imminent.
Don Pablo, the innocent cause of this combat, had several times vainly tried to mediate between the two females. Neither one nor the other would listen to his speech, nor attend to his remonstrances. When matters had reached this point, he wanted to make a fresh effort: but this time he was more sharply repulsed than before; for the bystanders, interested in the dispute, and infinitely attracted by the longing to see a duel with knives between two women, turned against him, and peremptorily bade him be quiet, and leave theniñas(darlings) to amuse themselves as they thought fit.
Thearriero, thoroughly satisfied that he could wash his hands of the consequences, and whose good nature alone had induced him to attempt to prevent an explosion, saw that his mediation was looked upon with an unfavourable eye, so thought he had said his say; and, folding his arms, prepared to be, if not an indifferent, at least a disinterested spectator of the coming struggle.
It was, indeed, a singular and striking spectacle to see, in this dimly lighted room, amidst the crowd of strange costumes, these two girls, fiercely and resolutely standing two paces apart, ready to come to knife thrusts, while the music and the dance continued as if nothing was the matter, while theaguardientewas poured forth in floods, and while the merriest and maddest songs were shouted out around them.
"¡Vaya pués!" (now for the sport!) cried Clarita: "With how many inches do we fight,querida?" (my darling).
"With the whole length of the blade,alma mía" (my soul), answered Manonga; "I mean to leave my handwriting on your face!"
"Ah,puñaladas!We shall see. Are you ready, my dear?"
"As soon as you like, my pet!"
A ring was formed round the damsels, who, with bodies bent forward, left arms extended, and eye watching eye, waited, with feline impatience, for a propitious moment to rush upon each other.
They seemed well matched, both being young, active, and full of nerve. Theconnoisseursin those matters, of whom there were many in the attentive crowd of bystanders, could form no opinion on the result of the combat, which threatened, for the matter of that, to be desperate, such flashes of ire sparkled from the wild eyes of the duellists.
After a moment or two of hesitation, or more properly speaking of gathering themselves up, Clarita and Manonga began to clack their tongues against their palates, producing a series of sharp smacking sounds; their blue gleaming knives glittered, and they darted upon each other.
But if the attack was lively, the defence and the parry was not less so. Both simultaneously bounded back, and fell into guard again. Each stroke had told; the battle had begun bravely, and either combatant had her face furrowed by a bleeding double cut. Neither one nor the other had predicted falsely: each bore the handwriting of the other on her countenance. The bystanders trembled with joy and admiration: never before had they been spectators of such a splendidnavajada.
After taking breath for a while, the damsels were preparing to recommence the fight, this time with the determined purpose of making the bout decisive, when, all of a sudden, the ranks of the onlookers were shouldered right and left, and a man resolutely thrust himself between the two adversaries, and confronted them with a look of scorn.
"Hearken,demonios!" he cried in a sharp tone, and with accents of indescribable mockery.
The two women lowered their knives, and stood motionless, with eyes abashed, but head erect, their foreheads frowning, and preserving their attitude—the haughty expression of two foes who long to tear each other to pieces, and unwillingly succumb to commands, which they dare not disobey, though they curse them.
In spite of the deafening uproar the federalist lieutenant made with his guitar, he could not help hearing, at last, what was going on in the room. At the first impulse, he had placed his hand on the pistols which hung at his girdle; but an instant afterwards his anger grew, not calm, but cold and concentrated, instead of furious.
Don Torribio had risen from his seat, left the bench on which he sat enthroned, and furtively approached the combatants. He had attentively watched the different phases of the fight, and when he thought proper to interfere, had suddenly interposed between the duellists.
The soldiers had silently advanced behind their officer; they were now close at his heels, their hands on their weapons, ready for action at the first signal, foreseeing that Don Torribio's interference in this quarrel would speedily bring about another, in which they would have to take part.
Intuitively, the ring formed by thearrierosand wagoners had extended itself, and a large space was left open in the middle of the room. The two girls stood in the centre of the circle, knife in hand; and the lieutenant, with his arms crossed, amused himself by examining them narrowly, with a cynical sneer on his lips.
"Holloa, my chickens!" said he; "What! Are you ruffling your feathers for a cock? Is there only one on the perch?¡Rayo de Dios!What splendid St. Andrew's crosses you have dug in each other's faces! Are you both mad for love of thispícaro?" (ragamuffin).
Neither spoke; and the lieutenant continued his sarcastic speech:
"But where is this valiant champion, who lets the women fight for him? Does his modesty make him hide himself?"
Don Pablo came forward, looked the lieutenant straight in the face, and answered firmly: "Here I am."
"Aha!" said Don Torribio, staring at him for some time; "You are in truth a handsome fellow. I do not wonder at their passion for you."
Thearrieroremained mute, fully understanding the irony of the compliment.
"There,niñas," the lieutenant went on speaking to the damsels, "which of you is the chosen one of this breaker of hearts?¡Mil rayos!Speak out!"
There was an interval of silence.
"Oh, that is it!" resumed Don Torribio; "You do not exactly know. Come, young fellow, do you speak, and tell me which of the two you prefer."
"I have no preference for either," said thearrierocoolly.
"¡Caramba!" exclaimed the lieutenant, with pretended admiration; "que gusto" (what good taste.) "So I am to understand you love them both alike?"
"No; you are mistaken, señor. I love neither one nor the other."
"¡Rayas pués!That is a puzzler; and yet you let them fight for you. That is conduct worthy of chastisement, my master! As that is the case, I shall reconcile you two señoritas, and give a lesson to the discourteouscaballerowho flouts at the power of your black eyes. Upon my soul, such an insult calls for vengeance."
The spectators of the scene felt their hearts sink within them, while the soldiers laughed and jested among themselves.
On pronouncing his last words, the lieutenant drew a pistol from his belt, cocked it, and presented the muzzle at the breast of thearriero, who, motionless as ever, had made no gesture to escape the fate that threatened him.
But the two girls were roused. With the velocity of thought, they both at once threw themselves before him.
Manonga felt her breast pierced by the ball. "Alas!" she cried; "You despise me! What does it matter? I die for you! Clarita, I forgive you!"
Don Pablo bounded over the body of the luckless wretch, whose dying eyes still sought his, and threw himself, knife in hand, on the lieutenant. The latter hurled his heavy pistol at his head; but thearrieroavoided the weapon, seized the officer round the body, and a deadly fray began. Clarita, with flaming eyes, eagerly watched the struggle between the two, ready to interfere as soon as an opportunity offered in favour of her beloved.
The bystanders were horrified; the dread inspired by the soldiers was so great, that although many more in number, and all armed, they dared not go to the assistance of their comrade.
In the meantime, the soldiers, more than half-drunk, seeing their officer struggling with a stranger, unsheathed their swords, and struck right and left among the crowd, shouting out their dreaded cry:
"¡A degüello! ¡A degüello! los salvajes unitarios" (Death, death to the savage Unitarians!)
Then ensued a scene of horror in the room, which was crowded with human beings.
Thearrieros, pursued by the soldiers, who were pitilessly cutting them down, and calling to each other to slay, thronged towards the door to escape impending death. The disorder was at its height; all wanted to escape at once through the too narrow outlet. Made selfish by fear, and in the blind instinct of self-preservation, they stifled each other against the walls, crushed each other underfoot, and struck blindly with their knives, in order to hew themselves a passage through the human barrier that checked them.
Fear, when self-preservation is uppermost, makes man more cruel and cowardly than the wild beasts. That hideous egotism, which lurks at the bottom of the human heart, starts up when its bonds are suddenly broken. Man has then neither parents nor friends; he is deaf to every prayer; and, shutting his eyes, plunges forward with the blind and stupid ferocity of the maddened bull.
Blood soon flowed in torrents, and the victims increased in number, while the fury grew no less; nor did the assailed attempt to defend themselves.
At last the barrier gave way, and the wretches rushed out of doors, flying straight on, without knowing whither, in the sole thought of escaping from the butchery.
At this moment the corporal entered the room. A lamentable spectacle met his eyes: the floor was strewn with dead bodies, and wounded men weltering in their blood.
But he could not restrain a cry of horror when his eyes fell on Don Torribio. The lieutenant was tying the head of Don Pablo, which he had hacked off with his sword, to the long tresses of the fainting Clarita. The officer had been slightly wounded by the girl in the hip and arm, and blood was flowing from his garments.
"There," said he, having finished to his satisfaction the knot that bound Clarita's tresses to the long locks of thearriero;"since she loves him so dearly, when she comes to herself she can admire him at leisure, he is all her own now; no one will take him from her."
Then he looked for a time at the pale and fainting girl, with an expression of lust impossible to describe.
"Pooh!" said he, with a shrug of the shoulders; "Why should I? Let us wait till she opens her eyes. I shall have plenty of time to make love to her; and I want to enjoy her surprise when she wakes up."
And without another look at his victims, he set himself to help his soldiers in the massacre.
The first step he took, he encountered Luco.
"Halloa!" cried he; "where have you been, while we have been cutting up thesalvajes unitarios?God take me! Here you come quietly; your sword in the sheath, and not a drop of blood on your clothes! What is the meaning of this conduct, comrade? Are you turned traitor, too, by chance?"
At this accusation the corporal feigned immense indignation. He frowned, bit his lip, and drew his sword, which he brandished menacingly.
"What words are those, lieutenant?" cried he. "Do you address such an insult to me? Do you call me, the most devoted partisan of our well-beloved General Rosas, asalvaje unitario? ¡Vive Dios!"
"Come, come; calm yourself," answered the lieutenant, who, like all men of his calibre, was as cowardly as he was cruel, and was intimidated by the pretended anger of the corporal; "I did not mean to insult you! I know you are to be trusted."
"It is well you say so," replied Luco; "for I have no mind to listen patiently to unjust reproach."
"Lose no more time in talking," said a soldier, interfering; "¡rayo de Dios!I have a capital idea."
"What is it?" asked Don Torribio. "Out with it, Eusebio, or it will blow you up."
The soldier laughed.
"This old hovel," said he, "is full of forage. Let us set fire to it, and roast in the flames all thesalvajes unitarioswho are here."
"¡Vive Dios!" cried Don Torribio, in high glee; "that is a capital idea. We will set about it at once. The general will be pleased enough when he knows we have rid him so expeditiously of a harbour for his enemies. Two of you arrange the straw properly, while we mount and chase those rascals back here. Not a soul of thesemalvados(malicious rogues) shall escape the punishment he richly deserves."
The lieutenant then signed to the soldiers to leave.
"I," said Luco, "will keep the door, so that no one inside can come out."
"That will do, my good fellow," answered Don Torribio. "Ah!" he added suddenly, as his eye fell on the poor girl extended on the floor, with the head of him she loved tied to her tresses; "here Eusebio! do not forget to place two or three bundles of straw under that sweet child. The dirty floor is a hard couch for her, and I want her to sleep sweetly."
He left the room, grinning like a demon.
He had scarcely got outside, before the corporal, without uttering a word, raised his sword, and, with one blow, cleft Eusebio to the chine. The wretch fell without a cry, like an ox that is slaughtered.
The second soldier who was present exhibited no signs of emotion.
"That was a pretty blow, Luco," said he, twisting his long gray moustache; "but are you not a little too precipitate?"
The corporal made him a sign to be silent, and, peering out of doors, listened attentively. A cry, low as the softest breath of the wind, met his ear.
"No Muñoz," he answered, "I am not too hasty; for there is the signal."
Then, putting the first finger of each hand into his mouth, he gave a whistle, so sharp and prolonged, that those present crouched against the walls, and trembled with fear, not knowing what new evil this portentous signal might bring upon them.
"¡Sangre de Cristo!" cried Luco, addressing the terrifiedarrieros, crouching on the floor, "Are you going to stay here and be massacred like stupid ostriches? Take couragecaray!seize your weapons, and range yourselves by the side of those who have come to save you!"
The poor devils shook their heads in despair. Terror had deprived them of all energy, and they were incapable of organizing the least resistance.
The shouting of the soldiery was heard on every side, as they excited each other in their human chase; and each moment, wretches who had been hunted up from all corners, rushed in to seek a precarious refuge in the room whence they had escaped a few minutes previously.
Don Torribio, almost certain that he had driven all his game into the net, signalled to his soldiers to leave off, and ordered them to enter therancho.
All of a sudden the galloping of several horses was heard; six cavaliers rode fiercely up, and ranged themselves in battle array before the door of the house.
The lieutenant started when he saw them, went to his horse, and made as if he would mount.
"Who are you,caballeros?" said he in menacing tones; "And how dare you dispute my passage?"
"You shall soon know, Don Torribio the Butcher," said a voice, whose mocking accent made the lieutenant turn pale.
There is one remark which has been often made. It is this: That, generally speaking, men who delight to dabble in gore—who unhesitatingly commit the most atrocious cruelties, and exercise their powers in exciting the terror they love to inspire—are cowards; and when they happen to meet with effective resistance, their cowardice falls to a baseness beyond comparison. Jackals and hyenas are ferocious and cowardly; men are jackals and hyenas—the thing is explained.
At the answer of the leader of the strangers, themashorquerasbecame convulsed with terror. They comprehended that they were face to face with resolute foes, without having it in their power to retreat an inch. They crowded close to each other, and fixed their eyes in fright and amazement on the six men who, sitting calmly and impassively before them, bid them defiance.
Don Torribio alone felt no fear. The man was a savage brute, whom the smell of blood intoxicated, and who could only breathe freely in an atmosphere of carnage. Crossing his arms and raising his head defiantly, he answered the words of the unknown with a long laugh of contempt; then, turning to his terror-stricken soldiers:
"Will you suffer yourselves to be intimidated by six men?" he cried. "Come, my children; face about.¡Vive Dios!thesepícarosdare not stand against us."
The soldiers, aroused by the tones of the voice they had so long obeyed, and ashamed of their hesitation, fell in as well as they could, and formed a line in front of therancho.The lieutenant, putting spurs to his horse, made him execute ademivolte, and resolutely placed himself at the head of his troop. The strangers, notwithstanding the inequality of numbers, did not hesitate a moment, but charged the federalists sword and pistol in hand. Don Torribio received them bravely without retreating a foot. Having discharged their pistols, they took to the sword, and in an instant themêléegrew terrible. In spite of their prodigies of valour and gigantic efforts, the strangers would, in all probability, have had the worst of it, when suddenly Corporal Luco, who had remained spectator of the fight, with four or five of his comrades, made his horse bound to the front, and, instead of ranging himself on the side of the federalists, attacked them vigorously in flank, and came with his comrades to place himself beside Don Leoncio.
This defection of a party of his soldiers raised Don Torribio's ire to seething point—the more so, as themashorqueras, not knowing to what cause to attribute the strange conduct of the corporal and his comrades, began to suspect treason, to lose courage, and to reply but feebly to the blows of the assailants; who, seeing them falter, redoubled their efforts for victory.
Thearrierosand wagoners, having in some measure recovered from their fright, and seeing the favourable opportunity of avenging the insults and villainies the hirelings of Rosas had so long heaped upon them, armed themselves with anything that fell in their way, and, burning to make up for lost time, rushed headforemost on their ferocious enemies.
But at this very moment loud cries reached their ears. Some forty mounted men entered at full gallop the zone of light proceeding from the post house, and, deploying with amazing dexterity and despatch, surrounded theranchoon all sides.
The riders who had galloped up so opportunely for the assailants and so inopportunely for thecolorados, were Don Guzman de Ribera and hispeones.
Having left Buenos Aires several hours ago, they ought long before this to have reached therancho, which lay on the road they had to follow in order to get to thehaciendawhere Don Guzman hoped to meet his brother. But at a little distance from the town, Don Bernardo Pedrosa had managed somehow or other to cut his bonds; he slipped off the horse on which he had been placed, threw himself among the tall grasses, and disappeared before anyone suspected his flight.
Don Guzman had lost a good deal of time in marching for the fugitive, whose traces he could not find, and had only abandoned the pursuit when convinced that all his efforts to recover his prisoner were in vain. Recalling hispeones, who were scattered right and left, he had resumed the road to thehacienda, feeling extremely uneasy for the consequences of his prisoner's escape; for he knew Don Bernardo too well to suppose for an instant that he would not strain every nerve to avenge the insult he had met with at his hands.
When Don Guzman was still about half a league from therancho, some fugitives, escaped from the massacre, had run blindly among his men, and warned him of what was going on. Without suspecting how important these news might be to himself, his natural generosity excited the wish to assist, if possible, the persons engaged in this terrible affray; so Don Guzman, well acquainted with the ferocity of the Buenos-Airean tyrant ruffians, had increased the pace of his horses, and galloped in to aid the unfortunate people in their contest with themashorqueras.His unexpected arrival decided the affair.
The lieutenant, finding flight impossible, retired step by step, fighting like a lion, and withdrew all his men into therancho, himself remaining last in order to secure their retreat.
Don Torribio—the Butcher, as he was called—scorned to ask quarter. He himself had never granted it to a soul. The extremity to which he found himself reduced, far from diminishing his courage, had increased it tenfold. Feeling his last hour was come—that no human aid could save him—he resolved to fight to the last breath, and sell his life as dearly as possible.
Themashorqueras, following the example of their leader, drew fresh courage from the depths of their despair, and once within therancho, busied themselves in fortifying it, so as to carry on the strife as long as they could, and to fall after an heroic resistance.
The doors and windows were barricaded with the utmost care; holes were knocked in the walls; and the ruffians, half-intoxicated with previous and still-continued libations, waited firmly for the attack, determined to die bravely in the assault their enemies would soon make on therancho.
However contrary to their expectations, a long time elapsed without their adversaries commencing the attack. This suspension of hostilities, which was incomprehensible,—for they were ignorant of all that was going on outside,—gave them great uneasiness, and made the bravest of them tremble.
Man is so constituted that, however firmly he may have made up his mind to face death—however convinced he may be that his last hour is come—however prepared for the struggle, the consequences of which he knows and accepts beforehand—if that final struggle is delayed, his resolution fades, the fever that sustained him dies out, and he begins to fear, not death, for that he knows to be inevitable, but the agonies which he fancies may precede death. He creates a thousand sinister chimeras; and the unknown danger which threatens him, without his being able to divine how or whence it will come, appears to him a thousand times more terrible than that which he was prepared to face bravely and with a resolute heart.
Themashorquerasvainly sought, in copious draughts ofaguardiente, a remedy for the wild terror which gradually overcame them. The mournful silence which reigned around them, the obscurity, wrapping them up as in a shroud, and the forced inaction to which they were condemned, concurred, in spite of their efforts, to increase the invincible terror that had seized upon them. The lieutenant alone preserved his ferocious energy, and awaited patiently the striking of the hour for his last battle.
Let us see what was passing among the assailants, and what had occasioned the delay in the assault.
Don Guzman de Ribera, as soon as the soldiers had shut themselves up in therancho, wished to know, before he finished with the latter, who the persons were to whom his providential arrival had done such good service.
It was not long before his curiosity was satisfied; his brother Don Leoncio, who had recognised him from the first, rushed forward to offer his thanks.
The two brothers, who had been so long separated, threw themselves into each other's arms with tears of joy, and for some time forgot everything but themselves in the unexpected happiness of meeting.
When the first shock of their sudden reunion was over, Don Guzman took his brother's hand, and, leading him apart, uttered the single word, "Well?" with a smile which was intended to be gay.
"She is here," said Don Leoncio, trying to stifle a sigh.
"Did she consent to come?"
"It was she who wished it."
"That is indeed astonishing," said Don Guzman.
"Why so? Doña Antonia is one of those rare spirits who never recoil before an obligation, however hard it may be, when they know that honour binds them."
"True. Well, be it so; it is perhaps better as it is and that she is with you."
"Have you forgotten, brother, what occurred exactly a year ago today, at sunrise, between you and me, when, in a moment of folly, I confessed to you my love for Doña Antonia de Solis?"
"What is the good of recurring to it, brother? We are reconciled now, thank God; and I hope nothing may happen to separate us again."
"Do not hope so, brother," replied Don Leoncio in melancholy accents.
"What do you mean, brother? My wife—"
"Your wife has never ceased to be worthy of you; you will go and see her?"
Don Guzman hesitated.
"No," said he, at length; "not now; let us first finish with these rascals; then I will give myself up to happiness."
"Let it be so," said Don Leoncio, rejoiced.
Two persons now made their appearance; they were Don Diego de Solis, and Doña Antonia, his sister, and the wife of Don Guzman.
On seeing his wife, who had been compelled to withdraw from Buenos Aires in order to escape from the pursuit of Don Bernardo Pedrosa, Don Guzman, notwithstanding his resolve not to make himself known to her for the present, could not resist the temptation of pressing her to his heart.
The lady uttered a cry of joy on finding herself once more in her husband's arms.
Don Leoncio, a few months after the confession he had made to his brother, seemed to have forgotten his passion, and had espoused the second sister of Don Diego de Solis, four months prior to the day the events of which we are now recording.
So when Don Guzman was forced into a temporary separation from his wife, he had not hesitated to confide her to his brother, convinced that the latter's love for Doña Antonia had changed into honourable and lasting friendship.
"Why have you returned?" said Don Guzman, kissing his wife.
"It was necessary," she replied in a low voice, and suppressing a gesture of fear; "my sister herself recommended me to do so."
"It was very imprudent, my darling."
"Oh! I have no fears at your side. Will you not embrace your son, too?"
"Have you brought him with you?"
"I will not leave you again, whatever may happen." Then, bending to her husband's ear she whispered: "Your brother is as much in love with me as ever; his wife discovered his passion for me, and it is she and Don Diego who advised my return, as my position was growing intolerable."
Don Guzman's eyes flashed fire.
"They did well," said he; "but silence: my brother is watching us."
In fact, Don Leoncio, uneasy at this conversation apart, had guessed, with the intuition peculiar to the guilty, that he was the subject of their discussion, and exhibited signs of restlessness which all his efforts could not conceal. At last, unable to bear the suspense any longer, he approached his brother, and said to him curtly:
"What are we to do now?"
"Whatever you please," answered Don Guzman, who had been disagreeably affected by the sound of his voice after what his wife had told him.
Don Leoncio perceived the aversion his brother felt for him; he bit his lips, but dissembled his resentment.
"It is for you to decide," said he, "since it is you who have rescued us."
"I am at your service, brother. Don Diego," he continued, turning to the young man, "I trust my wife to your care. We shall most likely commence the assault at once. She and her infant must not be exposed to danger."
"Set your heart at rest: I will be answerable for them," said Diego, pressing his hand.
Before he left her, Doña Antonia threw herself once more on her husband's breast.
"Beware!" she whispered in his ear; "Don Leoncio is meditating treason against you."
"He would not dare!" firmly replied Don Guzman.
"Go; and fear not."
The lady, only half-consoled, followed her brother, and the two soon disappeared behind the bales and wagons.
The two brothers were left alone, and there was a long silence between them.
Don Guzman, with his arms crossed, and his head bent down, was in deep meditation.
Don Leoncio was watching his brother intently, with a strange expression on his countenance, and a sardonic smile on his lips.
At last Don Guzman raised his head.
"Enough of this," he said, "it has lasted too long." Don Leoncio started: he fancied these words were addressed to him; but his brother continued:
"Before attacking these ruffians we must summon them to surrender."
"Can you think of such a thing, brother. These men aremashorqueras!"
"So much the greater reason to prove to them that we are not rascals of their own kind, and that we practise the laws of warfare, which they glory in setting at nought."
"I submit, brother; although I know we are only losing valuable time."
Don Leoncio immediately ordered torches of resinous wood to be lighted, so that the besieged might clearly see him; and, tying his handkerchief to the point of his sword, resolutely advanced towards therancho.
When Don Torribio saw the light of the torches, he comprehended that the assailants wished to enter into communication with him, and unbarred a window, holding himself in readiness for the parley.
As soon as Don Leoncio got within a pace or two of the door, he halted.
"Flag of truce!" said he.
A window was thrown open, at which the burly figure of the lieutenant made its appearance.
"What is it you want?" he replied, carelessly leaning his elbows on the windowsill.
"We demand that you surrender," said Don Leoncio.
"Do you, really?" said Don Torribio, bursting into a laugh; "And why do you want us to surrender?"
"Because all resistance is futile."
"You think so, do you?" replied the officer, with another laugh; "Try and dislodge us, and see what it will cost you!"
"Much less than you think."
"Pooh! I should be glad to know how."
"Enough! Will you surrender, or not?"
"It is ridiculous! May the devil embrace me, if you know with whom you have to deal! Do we ever demand quarter—we,mashorqueras?If we surrender, you will kill us, that is all. What is the good of it?"
"Then you are determined not to listen to terms?"
"Upon my soul, this is growing too tiresome!"
"You are resolved to defend yourself to the last?"
"Canarios, comrade! I should think so; tooth and nail. I will not stay any longer. Be off!"
"Well, we shall have you all soon."
"Try it,compadre;try it. In the meantime, as your conversation has little attraction for me, I shall take the liberty of breaking it off. Good luck!"
Saying this, he closed the window abruptly.
Don Leoncio turned to his brother, who had advanced to his side.
"Did I not tell you so?" said he, with a shrug; "Was I mistaken?"
"No; I admit it. Now, having saved our honour, we can act as we please."
Don Guzman leaned towards his brother, and spoke a few words in his ear; the latter smiled, and left him.
Thepeones, arrieros, and wagoners were posted behind thegaleras, so as to be sheltered from the balls of the besieged. There they awaited the signal for the assault.
Don Leoncio busied himself during all this time in heaping dry grass and branches around therancho.When sufficient had been collected, he set fire to it, and his men cast their burning torches on the roof.
The fire, fed by the wind, soon extended itself; and in a very short time theranchowas enveloped in flames.
The besieged gave vent to a cry of horror; the besiegers replied by a shout of triumph.
After all, themashorquerashad no reason to complain; it was meted to them as they would have meted to others: they were undergoing thelex talionis.
In the meanwhile, the position of the besieged grew intolerable. Blinded by the smoke and scorched by the fire, which ran up the walls in long tongues of flame, calcining as they licked them, a sortie became inevitable, if they would not be burnt alive.
The lieutenant ordered the door to be unfastened: he opened it suddenly, and threw himself, followed by his men, into the thickest ranks of the assailants.
The latter opened their ranks to receive them, then closed in upon them, and surrounded them with a circle of steel.
At the moment when the last morsel of wall crashed into the fiery furnace, the lastmashorquerafell, with his head cloven to the chine. All had fallen around Don Torribio, who had fought to the last moment with the desperate frenzy which makes a man almost invincible.
The sun rose in his majesty, illumining the savage depths of the Pampas.
Thearrierosand wagoners, cowed by the night's work, and dreading the consequences, hastened to span the oxen to the heavygaleras, and load their mules. Anxious to quit the place, they were soon dispersing in all directions. Don Guzman and hispeonesremained masters of the field.
Soon after the attack commenced, Don Guzman was surprised that he did not see his brother near him; but he did not attach much importance to the fact, being more seriously occupied with other matters. Now, when the affray was over, he burned with desire to see his wife. He was amazed that Don Diego had not brought her to him as soon as all danger for her was over.
But he was not very anxious. Don Diego had probably not wished to expose the lady to the horror of crossing the field of battle, and soiling her feet with the blood in which the earth was soaked. He applauded his delicacy, and waited a few minutes, during which he repaired the disorder of his dress, and removed the traces of the combat.
At last he determined to look for his wife, whose long absence began to make him very uneasy.
Corporal Luco, as anxious as himself, undertook to guide him; he had a faint recollection of seeing Don Diego, accompanied by Doña Antonia, the nurse, and two or three more, going in the direction of a hollow in the ground at a little distance.
All of a sudden, the two men uttered a shout of sorrow, and recoiled in horror from the dreadful spectacle before their eyes.
Don Diego was lying on the ground, his chest pierced through and through. He was dead; and close to him Doña Antonia and the nurse were lying senseless. The nurse was Corporal Luco's wife.
Don Guzman fell on his knees beside his wife; he then perceived a paper, which she was clutching convulsively in her right hand.
The unhappy man had great difficulty in releasing it from her grasp; some words were written on it. Don Guzman cast his eyes over the lines, and threw himself on the ground with an agonising cry of despair.
The paper contained these words:
"Brother,—You have deprived me of the woman I love; I deprive you of your son: we are quits.""DON LEONCIO DE RIBERA."
"Brother,—You have deprived me of the woman I love; I deprive you of your son: we are quits."
"DON LEONCIO DE RIBERA."
No doubts were possible after reading this: Don Leoncio was really the author of this odious abduction. He had contrived this horrible piece of treachery while his brother was coming, in all his confidence, to meet him. With an incredible refinement of wickedness, and in order to enjoy his revenge to the utmost, he had delayed the stroke, with the determination to make it fall on his brother's head like a thunderbolt.
For a long time, Don Guzman remained crouching on the Pampas, holding in his arms the lifeless body of his wife, whom he tried in vain to resuscitate. He lay there, absorbed in doubts, and trembling; seeing nothing; hearing nothing; lamenting the death of his wife; deprived of his child.
He was suddenly roused by a heavy stroke on his shoulder. He raised his head. A man was standing before him, with a smile on his lips.
"Don Guzman de Ribera," said he, with a mocking salutation, "you are my prisoner."
It was Don Bernardo Pedrosa, with a numerous escort of soldiers.
Here Don Estevan paused in his recital.
"All this is frightful!" exclaimed Don Fernando, in accents of mingled anger and pity.
"It is not all," replied the other.
"But what connection has this horrible story with Don Pedro de Luna?"
"Did I not tell you when I first began that the history was his?"
"You did; but, carried away by the dreadful incidents of your narrative, I lost sight of the personages. My whole mind was so excited, that I fancied myself a spectator of the scenes that passed before me with such giddy rapidity, and did not recollect that one of the actors was so close to us. But how does it happen that you are so well acquainted with the details of this miserable tragedy?"
"I have heard them told many and many a day, from infancy till now that I am a man. My father was the Corporal Luco, whom you have seen so devoted to the Ribera family. My poor mother was the nurse, and I am foster brother to Don Guzman's child; for we were born about the same date, and my mother, who was brought up in the family, was very anxious to nurse us both, insisting that, in imbibing the same milk as my young master, my devotion to him would be endless. Alas! God has decided otherwise; he is dead."
"Who can tell?" said Don Fernando, with gentle pity; "Perhaps he may make his appearance again some day."
"Alas! We have no longer any hope. More than twenty years have elapsed since the frightful catastrophe, and during all that time no efforts, however active, have sufficed to lift a corner of the mysterious veil which conceals the fate of the poor child."
"His poor mother must have suffered dreadfully."
"She went mad. But the sun is rapidly sinking to the horizon, and night will be here before two hours have passed. Let me finish my tale, by telling you what happened after the arrest of Don Guzman."
"Go on, my friend; I am anxious to know the end of this dark story."
Don Guzman replied by a smile of contempt to the summons of Colonel Bernardo Pedrosa. He raised his wife in his arms, and prepared to follow his enemy. Notwithstanding his hatred of Don Guzman, Don Bernardo was a man of the world; the misery which overwhelmed the man he had so long persecuted touched his heart. His pity was aroused, and on his way back to Buenos Aires he showed the greatest consideration, treating him with all the respect his unhappy position demanded.
The Dictator was furious at the massacre of his hirelings. Rejoiced at finding a plausible pretext to free himself from a man whom, on account of his great reputation and influence amongst the highest classes of society, he had hitherto dreaded to attack, Rosas determined to make a terrible example of him. Rudely separated from his wife, the prisoner was cast into one of those horrible dungeons in which the tyrant's victims languished, awaiting the tortures he prepared for them.
But the Dictator's vengeance was not destined to be as complete as he hoped. The French and English consuls, moved by pity for the miserable state to which Doña Antonia was reduced, made energetic remonstrances to the tyrant, and even went several times to Palermo to hunt up the savage in his lair In short, by dint of prayers and menaces, they obtained the release of the poor woman, and her restoration to her family; Rosas gnashing his teeth and foaming with rage when he granted the favour. But he did not dare to brave the consuls, and felt his want of power to cope with them. Thanks to this beneficent intervention, and the mighty power they exercised in her behalf, Doña Antonia, at least, escaped the tortures the tyrant was preparing to inflict.
As to Don Guzman, all attempts in his favour were unsuccessful. Rosas not only refused to release him, but even to mitigate the terrible treatment to which he was ordered to be subjected in prison.
Unfortunately, Don Guzman was guilty in the eye of the law. The consuls could take no official steps and were obliged to desist, for fear of exasperating the tiger to heap greater injuries on the man in whom they took such lively interest.
Six months had elapsed since Don Guzman was arrested. Thanks to the care with which Doña Antonia was surrounded, she recovered her reason. But her position was thereby rendered worse; for she was now able to appreciate her calamity to its fullest extent. She comprehended how great was her misfortune; and her despair reduced her to such utter prostration, that her life was in danger.
While this was going on, the rumour was spread abroad that Don Guzman, who had seemed forgotten in his dungeon, was to be brought up for judgment, and shortly to appear before a court martial.
Rosas eagerly seized the opportunity of giving all publicity to a trial for high treason, hoping to make men forget the murders committed in his name, in the interest of the discussion which would arise concerning the trial.
The report was soon officially confirmed; the day was named on which Don Guzman was to appear before his judges.
But there is one person of whom we have not spoken for some time, and to whom we must now recur,—no other than Corporal Luco.
The worthy corporal, when he saw thearrierosand wagoners go off, and that Don Leoncio had abandoned his brother with the greater number ofpeones, did not attempt to deceive himself as to his own position. A traitor and deserter, the least that could happen to him would be to be shot. So when, by the first rays of the rising sun, he saw a cloud of dust rising afar off in the Pampas, he concluded that soldiers must be hidden by it; that these soldiers were coming to avenge their comrades, whom he, Luco, had helped to slay with so much good will; and that if they caught him, they would instantly shoot him. The prospect was not pleasant to the corporal; at the same time he loved his master, and could not resolve to leave him. He was thus in great perplexity, and unable to come to a decision, though time pressed.
Luckily his wife came to the rescue, and made him comprehend that any attempt, in Don Guzman's present state, to induce him to fly must fail; that, after all, it was better to preserve his freedom, in order to use it hereafter to obtain his master's; and lastly, that he too, Luco, was a father, who ought to save his life for his child's sake.
All these reasons conquered the corporal's hesitation. He seized one horse, his wife another; and both vanished on one side, while the soldiers came up on the other.
When he arrived at Buenos Aires, a bright idea struck him. Excepting Muñoz and three other soldiers who had taken his part and fought with him against their former comrades, all themashorquerashad been slain. Not one remained to accuse the corporal of the treason of which he felt himself guilty. Muñoz, whom he encountered strutting before the gates of Buenos Aires waiting for his arrival, banished all his scruples.
Taking up his part directly, the worthy corporal accompanied by his confederates, went straight to his colonel, to whom he told his own version of what had happened at therancho, launching out in invectives and threats of vengeance against Don Guzman, for whom he expressed the utmost abhorrence.
His artifice succeeded beyond his expectations. The colonel charmed with his conduct, and trusting to his tale, made him a sergeant, and gave the corporal's stripe to Muñoz. The bravecoloradosoverwhelmed the colonel with thanks and protestations of devotion to Rosas, and retired, laughing in their sleeve.
Luco managed so well during the six months before Don Guzman's trial, and gave such convincing proofs of his attachment to the cause of the Dictator, that the latter, deceived in turn, although, like all other tyrants, he made a virtue of distrust, reposed the greatest confidence in him; and when the sergeant asked to command the guard which was to take charge of Don Guzman during the trial, not the least objection was made. This was exactly what the sergeant wanted: all his machinations during these six months tended to this one aim; so, when the day for the trial was named, he prepared his batteries, and kept himself ready for action when the critical moment should come. Luco had sworn to save his master; and what the sergeant once resolved, he carried out, let the consequences be what they would.
Unhappily, the greatest obstacles in the way of the sergeant under these circumstances came from Don Guzman himself. The prisoner wished to die. For a long time Luco racked his brain in vain attempts at finding some means to persuade him to relinquish the feeling. To all his arguments Don Guzman replied, that his cup was full; that life was a burden to him; and that death was the only good he could henceforth look for.
The sergeant shook his head, and retired, perfectly convinced of the fallacy of the arguments. At length he arrived one day at the dungeon, and opened the door with a countenance so radiant with joy, that his master could not help remarking it, and asking what had made him so happy.
"Ah," replied the sergeant, "at last I have found out the way to convince you."
"You are dreadfully tenacious of your plan to save me," said Don Guzman, with a mournful smile.
"More so than ever,¡canarios!This time there will be no doubt about your compliance. In two days you shall judge for yourself."
"So much the better," said Don Guzman, sighing; "it will be over the sooner."
"Good! We are not so badly off for friends as you think, señor—amongst others, the French and English consuls. There is a fine French schooner in the harbour, which only waits for your presence on board to sail directly."
"Then she runs the risk of never leaving Buenos Aires."
"Pooh! pooh! I am of a different opinion—I think quite the contrary. I have come to an understanding with the French consul. The day after tomorrow the schooner will set sail: she will send a boat to fetch you, and will hug the coast till you come. Once under the protection of the French flag, who will dare to touch you?"
"For the last time, listen to me, Luco," said Don Guzman firmly: "I will not—understand me—I will not be saved. I intend that the infamy of my death shall cover the Dictator with confusion. I thank you for your devotion, my good old servant; but I demand that you cease to compromise yourself by your efforts for me. Let us speak no more of it."
"Then," said the sergeant, "your mind is quite made up? Nothing can change your determination?"
"Alas! One single person might have that influence over me; but that person is in ignorance of all that happens around her. Happily for her, she has lost her reason, and with reason her memory—that incurable cancer of a broken heart."
The sergeant smiled, and, opening his uniform produced a letter from his breast, and, without a word, handed it to Don Guzman.
"What is this, Luco?" said the latter, as he hesitated to take the letter.
"Read it,mi amo," replied the sergeant. "I wanted to give you a complete surprise; but you are so obstinate, I am obliged to deploy my forces."
Don Guzman opened the letter with trembling hands, and rapidly ran through it.
"Almighty Father!" he exclaimed, "Is it possible? Doña Antonia has recovered her reason, and bids me live!"
"Will you obey this time,mi amo?"
"Do what you will, Luco; I will obey you in all things. Oh, how I wish to live now!"
"¡Cuerpo de Cristo!You shall live,mi amo. I swear it to you."
With this consoling promise, Luco quitted the prison.
The day of Guzman's trial arrived at last. The Dictator, who knew how much sympathy the prisoner excited, considered it prudent to make a grand military display on the occasion. The city was literally crammed with troops, the precautions being taken more for the purpose of intimidating the friends of the prisoner, than as precautionary measures against an escape, which he deemed impossible.
The French schooner, as Luco had predicted, sent a boat's crew ashore, on the pretence of closing the agent's accounts; she then weighed anchor, and stood on and off in the river expecting her boat.
The detachment detailed to escort the prisoner was strong, and composed entirely ofcolorados, Rosa's most devoted troops. It was placed under the command of Colonel Don Bernardo de Pedrosa; the special platoon in charge of the prisoner was under the orders of Sergeant Luco and Corporal Muñoz.
Twenty minutes before the specified time for commencing the march to the court, Luco entered his master's dungeon, and had a final conversation with him. He then gave him two pairs of pistols and a poniard, and left him, saying;
"Remembermi amo, to keep quite quiet till you hear the words, never mind from whom: 'To the devil with the sun! It blinds one!'—that is your signal."
"Make yourself easy; I will not forget. Remember your promise to kill me, rather than to let me fall again into the hands of the tyrant."
"Enough,mi amo.Pray God to help us; we stand in great need of Him."
"Farewell, Luco: you are right; I will pray."
The two men parted, not to meet again till the decisive moment.
However, the sergeant grew more anxious as that moment approached. The formidable preparations of the Dictator raised his secret apprehensions. But he gave no signs of his perturbation, for fear of discouraging his accomplices; on the contrary, he affected an air of perfect confidence, though he kept grumbling under his moustache: "Never mind, it will be a hard tussle; we shall have plenty of firing."
Soon after, the clock of the cabildo (court of justice) struck ten. The drum called the soldiers to arms; the gossips in the street stretched their heads forward, murmuring an "Ah!" of satisfaction: all eyes were fixed on the prison.
They had not long to wait. At the close of a few minutes, the prison door opened, and the prisoner came forth. His face was pale, calm, and stamped with indomitable resolution. He marched quietly in the middle of a dozen soldiers commanded by Sergeant Luco. The latter, as if wishing to be specially careful of his prisoner, strode on his right, Muñoz on his left, almost side by side with Don Guzman.
The platoon was preceded by a strong detachment ofcolorados, at the head of which curveted Colonel Don Bernardo de Pedrosa on a magnificent coal-black stallion; in rear of the prisoner there was a second detachment, as strong as the one in advance. The procession advanced slowly between two mournful and silent crowds of people, who were with difficulty kept down by two lines of sentries.
It was one of those magnificent spring mornings which South America alone has the privilege of producing. The fresh breeze from the Pampas, laden with odoriferous scents, rustled in the leaves and branches of the gardens attached to the houses, and cooled the air heated by the beams of the tropical sun.
The procession still continued its march. In spite of the danger which lay in any exhibition of sympathy for the prisoner, the crowd respectfully uncovered as he passed. He, calm and dignified as at the moment he quitted the prison, marched on, his hat in his hand, saluting, right and left, the people who were not afraid of testifying their respect.
Two-thirds of the road had already been travelled; a few minutes more, and the prisoner would reach the tribunal, when, in the Calle de la Federación, several spectators, no doubt too rudely pushed back by the soldiers lining the road, resisted the pressure to which they were subjected, drove back the sentries, and, for a moment, almost broke their line. As the procession approached, this tumult gradually increased: cries, recriminations, and threats were bandied about with the vivacity and rapidity peculiar to the races of the South, until what seemed at first sight to be a squabble of no importance, began to assume the dimensions of a veritable riot.
Don Bernardo, uneasy at the noise he heard, left the head of the escort, and came galloping back to ascertain what was going on, and to pacify the tumult.
Unluckily, the popular feeling had risen with so much rapidity, that at several points the ranks had been broken, the soldiers isolated, and—how it happened no one could say—disarmed, with unexampled celerity, by persons of whom they had no knowledge. In short the procession was cut in two.
Don Bernardo saw at a glance the gravity of the situation. Making way, with considerable difficulty, through the crowd, he rode up to the sergeant, who, cool and imperturbable, still stuck to his prisoner.
"Aha!" said the colonel, with a sigh of satisfaction, "Take me good care of the prisoner. Close up! I fear you will be obliged to open a passage by main force."
"We will open one, do not you be alarmed, colonel. But to the devil with the sun! It blinds one."
The moment he uttered these words, a soldier who was close at hand seized the colonel's leg, and threw him from his horse on the ground. In the same instant, Luco caught hold of the bridle, while Don Guzman, rapid as thought vaulted into the saddle.
What we have related took place so suddenly, and the whole was done so adroitly, that Don Bernardo, completely confounded, was nailed to the ground by a bayonet before he could comprehend what was happening: it is even probable that he died without guessing the cause of the riot.
In the meantime, the twelve riders of the platoon had closed around their ex-prisoner, and started at full speed through the thickest of the throng.
Then a curious thing occurred: these inquisitive gapers, who were an instant before so crowded and compact that they had broken through the line of soldiery, open right and left before the fugitives, shouted their joy at their success, and, the moment they had passed, closed up the breach they had themselves made, and again presented an impassable human barrier to the rearguard, which vainly strove to break it.
Armed men seemed to start suddenly out of the ground, gave the soldiers back blow for blow, and offered a resistance sufficiently energetic to allow time for the fugitives to secure their safety.
Then, suddenly as if by enchantment, these menacing crowds, which had so lately disputed the ground, retreated, melted away, in some manner or another; and that so speedily, that when the soldiers, recovered from their surprise, were prepared for a vigorous defence, there was no one in front of them: the insurgents had disappeared, without leaving any traces behind them.
This audacious affray might almost have passed for a dream, were it not that, on one side, the prisoner had escaped, and, that on the other, Colonel Pedrosa, and five or six soldiers, lay weltering in their blood on the ground; proving the reality of the daringcoup-de-mainwhich had been executed with such remarkable audacity and success.
Don Guzman and his companions found refuge in the boat which was waiting for them. Five minutes later, they were on board the French ship; and when pursuit was ordered, the schooner could only be seen on the horizon, like a halcyon's wing balanced on the breeze.
On board the schooner Don Guzman found his wife. The schooner sailed for Veracruz.
We have already related the decision which Don Guzman had made, and in what manner he carried it out.
In order to insure the success of the researches he was about to make to find his son, and to secure his own tranquillity, Don Guzman, on setting foot in Mexico, resigned his own name for that of Don Pedro de Luna, to which he had a right, and under which we shall still continue to designate him.[1]He hoped by these means to escape the persecutions of Don Leoncio, whose hatred, still unsatiated by the abduction of the child, might possibly lead him to attempt to add his brother as another victim.
Don Guzman's calculations were correct, or seemed so. Since his departure from Buenos Aires, he had never heard of his brother: no one knew what had become of him, nor whether he were alive or dead.
Five years after his arrival at thehacienda, a fresh misfortune overtook the poor exile. Doña Antonia, who had never completely recovered the shock to her mind, the consequences of the terrible occurrences in the Pampas, and whose health had always languished since, had expired in his arms, after giving birth to a daughter.
This daughter was the charming girl whom we have presented to our readers under the name of Doña Hermosa.
From that time forth, Don Pedro concentrated his affections on this delicate creature, the only bond which attached him to an existence which might have been so happy, and which, struck by the cold breath of adversity, had suddenly become so miserable.
Of all those who had accompanied him into exile, he alone remained. All the rest were dead: he had seen them sink, one after another, into the tomb. Manuela, Luco's wife, the confidante of her master's sorrows, was charged with the education of his daughter; a charge she executed with care and devotion beyond praise.
Such was the tale related by themajor-domo.In order that the reader may fully understand the events recorded in subsequent chapters, it is necessary to remind him that Doña Hermosa was sixteen at the commencement of our story, and that four years intervened between the retirement of Don Pedro to the Hacienda de las Norias and the birth of his daughter. Consequently twenty years had elapsed since the occurrence of the circumstances narrated by Don Estevan Diaz.