TIGERS AND FOXES.
How had Don Zeno Cabral, whom we left in the midst of the Cordilleras,
arrived thus unexpectedly to assist at this mysterious consultation?
Scarcely had the sun risen, than the Montonero left the tent in which
he had watched during the whole night, and ordered a soldier to go and
seek Don Juan Armero.
The latter arrived in a few minutes.
"Listen, Don Juan," said Don Zeno Cabral, passing Don Juan's arm
through his own, and, taking him on one side, he whispered to him,
after assuring himself that no one could hear them, "You are devoted to
me, are you not?"
"For life and death, general, as you know."
"Yes, I know, my friend; but the mission which I wish to confide to you
is one of such high importance that I wanted to hear you repeat it."
The officer bowed without answering; the general resumed:
"Since I left you to go to the camp of the Pincheyras," said he, "I
have learnt several things. While we are here to fight loyally, at the
peril of our lives, to secure the independence of the country, it seems
that down there, at Tucumán, those who govern us are, at this very
time, spreading some very pretty nets. The proofs of their treason are
nearly all in my hands; but they are not yet sufficient for the blow
that I wish to give them. I have conceived a bold project, the success
of which entirely depends on you."
"Good!" said the officer; "Then be tranquil, general; I will answer for
all!"
"Look here, Don Juan," added he, handing him a large letter, carefully
sealed. "Take this paper; it contains your instructions; I have thought
it better to give them to you in writing than verbally, so that you
may not forget any circumstance when the moment of action arrives. You
understand me?"
"Perfectly, general; when shall I set out?"
"Directly; you will take six men with you."
"What for, general?"
"You will afterwards know."
"Ah! Good! Go on."
"Yesterday there arrived with me in the camp, two loyalist officers,
with whom I scarcely know what to do. However, as they are my guests,
I wish to treat them with respect; you will accompany them till you
see the Spanish advance posts, and there you will leave them. You
understand that, during all the time they remain with you, you will pay
them the most friendly attentions, and, if needs be, you will defend
them."
"That shall be done, general. Well?"
"You will not open the letter containing your instructions till you
have reached the plains; you will read those instructions carefully."
"I understand, general. Have you any other orders?"
"No, my friend; it only remains for me to urge you to be brave. I know
you too well to doubt your courage, but be prudent; above all, succeed."
"I shall succeed; I swear it, on my honour."
"I rely on your word, my friend; and now, my dear Don Juan, it only
remains to me to wish you a safe journey and good fortune, and to shake
hands," added he.
"Eh, general? These are my companions during the journey, I suppose?"
said Don Juan.
"Yes, they are," answered the Montonero, advancing towards the two
Spaniards, who were coming to him evidently with the intention, of
saluting him.
After exchanging preliminary compliments, Zeno Cabral frankly told them
how the matter stood, certain that they could not be but satisfied with
the prospect of so soon safely joining the army of which they formed
a part. The Montonero was not deceived in his suppositions in this
respect.
An hour afterwards, a little troop of horsemen, commanded by Don Juan
Armero, and having with them the two Spanish officers, set out from the
camp.
Zeno Cabral, for reasons which seemed to be very grave, remained two
days more in the camp. Meanwhile, he was far from being inactive;
scouts, chosen carefully from the most agile, brave, and skilful of his
men, were continually sent out in all directions, and on their return
to the camp they were immediately interrogated by the general.
At last, on the evening of the second day after the departure of Don
Juan Armero, one of the scouts who had been absent since the previous
evening, returned to the camp.
At the sight of this man the countenance of Don Zeno, who, during the
whole day had been sad and uneasy, suddenly brightened. Zeno advanced
rapidly towards him, and scarcely allowing him time to alight, he
seized him by the arm and dragged him into his tent.
The scout at length went out and rejoined his companions, who, in their
turn, wished to interrogate him, but all their efforts were in vain.
He had, probably, received from his chief strict injunctions in this
respect, for he confined himself to answering yes or no to all the
questions that were addressed to him.
On the next day, before sunrise, Zeno Cabral at last gave the order, so
impatiently expected by the Montoneros, to raise the camp; then, when
all the men had mounted, the chief called Captain Quiroga to him.
The old officer, whose eyes had been continuously fixed on his
commandant, immediately ran to the call.
Zeno Cabral was one of those decided people who have a horror of long
speeches.
"Don Sylvio," said he to his subordinate, "certain reasons, which it
would be useless to explain, necessitate my entrusting the squadron to
you."
"What, general!" cried he; "You have scarcely returned, and you leave
us already?"
"It must be so. While we are here, there are occurring in the towns
yonder strange things, which it is my duty to watch. I have pointed out
to you the route to be followed. Perhaps I shall rejoin you sooner than
you think."
"God grant it, general."
"Thank you; good-bye for the present and keep up your spirits."
"Are you setting out alone, general?"
"Pardieu!" he exclaimed, smiling.
The old officer shook his head several times, with a melancholy air.
"Take care, general," he at last said; "these imprudences, I have a
presentiment, will someday cost you dear."
"Bah! You are foolish to disquiet yourself thus, Don Sylvio. You will
soon see me reappear, gay and in good trim, take my word for it."
And without listening any more to the old officer, who tried still to
retain him, the young man drove the spurs into the sides of his horse,
which started off at a gallop, and soon disappeared at the turn of the
path.
For nearly three hours, notwithstanding the difficulties of the
route which he followed, and which, in certain places became almost
impracticable, the Montonero kept his horse going at a rapid pace;
then, when he thought himself at a sufficient distance from his
companions not to risk being overtaken by them, he pulled the bridle,
put his horse into a walk, and, allowing his head to fall on his
breast, he gave himself up to his reflections.
In thus suddenly leaving his squadron, Don Zeno Cabral acted under the
influence of serious thoughts. Since his departure from Tucumán, the
political situation had been much altered. The independence of the
Buenos Airean provinces--thanks to the treason of several chiefs of the
revolutionary movement--was more than ever put in question.
Not that the chiefs had any thought of treating with the royalists, and
of again placing their country under the detested yoke of Spain--such
was not their intention, far from it. As always happens in critical
periods, in a country where people have overturned one government, they
seek to establish another; and ambitious designs, at first drowned in
the ever-increasing flood of patriotism, already began to float to the
surface. Leaders who, until now, had fought with the utmost devotion
and enthusiasm for their country, thinking the moment favourable,
spread their nets and planted their batteries, in the hope of turning
the revolution to their own profit, and of making for themselves a
dictator's toga, or a king's mantle from the bloodstained banners of
independence, of which they had been the foremost soldiers.
The Montonero had accepted the revolution with that joy and enthusiasm
which characterise exceptional natures. The first dangerous squadron
which the insurgents had opposed to the royal troops was that
which he still commanded, and which he had, with rare devotion and
disinterestedness, raised and equipped at his own expense. He had
never raised himself up with the political intrigues which, from the
first day of the rising, had distracted the colonies. Without personal
ambition, deeply loving his country, Zeno Cabral was content to fight
for it under all circumstances, and to place himself boldly in the
front, generously offering his heart to the first blows of the enemy.
A man of Zeno Cabral's character, then, ought to put in the shade all
those people of low ambition, and the vultures in their track, who seek
an easy and productive prey in all great popular movements, who, in
their sordid selfishness can see nothing but their own interest, and
for whom the sacred name of country is but a mere sound.
The bold Montonero, whose daring enterprise had so often re-established
the falling fortunes of the revolution--he who had always marched ahead
without fear or doubt, when the boldest around him felt their faith
fail--also had a number of secret and implacable enemies among men,
whom the ever-strange circumstances of a revolution had thrown up from
the crowd, and who now thought themselves called on to take the reins
of the new government.
Some thought him a man of narrow views, and without political
stability; others attributed to him an immeasurable ambition, and
thought He was meditating projects, which he wanted only a favourable
opportunity to put into motion; while others again thought him a
harmless simpleton, ready to fight or to be killed, without knowing why.
All feared him.
Two men especially had towards him a profound antipathy and an
instinctive fear which nothing could dissipate.
These two men were the Duc de Mantone and General Don Eusebio Moratín.
Enemies at first, these two persons had not been long in understanding
each other, and uniting in one idea the accomplishment of the same
project, that they foresaw would at the moment of execution be met with
an insurmountable obstacle which the Montonero alone could surmount.
These two people, in fact, seemed made to understand one another.
M. Dubois, once an oratorian, and then a conventionalist, having served
by turns all the governments which had existed for twenty years in
France, and having betrayed one after the other, constrained to abandon
Europe, had only sought refuge in America in the hope of regaining a
fortune, and a position equivalent to that which he had lost. To attain
this end it was necessary for him to fish in the troubled waters of
revolution, and the insurrection of the Spanish colonies offered him
the occasion that he had so ardently sought.
Resolved to obliterate the past, the fortuitous meeting that he had had
with the French painter had been excessively disagreeable to him, on
account of the rather edifying histories that Emile could, had he been
asked, relate of the past life of Dubois. He had skilfully hidden the
annoyance that the meeting had caused him, had feigned the greatest
joy at finding a fellow countryman in the land of exile, and under
the semblance of great friendship, he had quietly tried to ruin him,
in which he had nearly succeeded. The painter had only by a miracle
escaped the trap set under his feet with such deep subtlety.
Arrived at Tucumán, and put in communication with General Don Eusebio
Moratín, M. Dubois, with that experience of human nature that he
possessed in so high a degree, had reckoned him up in a moment, and had
said: That is the man who will give me back what I have lost.
His decision was at once made, and he manoeuvred accordingly. Don
Eusebio aimed at nothing less than to be named president of the
republic. M. Dubois resolved to aid him to arrive at power. A compact
was agreed on between the two men, one of whom was a kind of savage
animal, spoiled by a false civilisation, and the other a cold, wily,
calculating man of ambition.
Zeno Cabral, who by his presence would have disturbed and probably
defeated the dark schemes of these two persons, had under a pretext
been removed, as well as his squadron, and their negotiations had been
commenced.
Unhappily for the projects of Don Eusebio and M. Dubois, Zeno Cabral,
although he was at a distance, was not the less to be feared, and
perhaps was even more to be feared on account of his absence.
If the Montonero had a great many enemies, he numbered also some
friends--honest men, and, like himself, devoted to the public cause.
These men, without having succeeded in completely unveiling the secret
plots of the general and his acolyte, had succeeded, great as was the
prudence of the two latter, in obtaining such an inkling of their
projects as had enabled them pretty well to guess to what end their
efforts were directed.
Incomplete as was this information, the friends of the Montonero had
not hesitated, seeing the gravity of the circumstances, to warn him
and tell him all that had passed in the town, at the meeting of the
representatives of the ancient viceroyalty of Buenos Aires; but they
had also told him all that they had succeeded in learning as to the
secret projects of the French diplomatist and of General Moratín.
Zeno Cabral had for a long time had strong suspicions against these two
men. His suspicions as to their loyalty had been several times aroused
by the advances that Moratín had made towards himself, though they
never dared to explain themselves clearly, for fear of disgracefully
failing in presence of a man whose inflexible honour they were
constrained to acknowledge.
From the evening before, the suspicions of the Montonero had suddenly
changed into certainty. The last scout who had arrived at the camp had
brought news of such grave importance that doubt was impossible in
the presence of undeniable facts--facts the proof of which had been
furnished in a decisive manner by the messenger.
General Moratín, thinking himself strong enough to proceed openly,
thanks to the support that a hired majority in the congress had
given him, had suddenly thrown off the mask, and aimed, not at the
presidency, but at the dictatorship of the Buenos Airean provinces,
relying on one hand on the majority of which we have spoken, and on the
other on the military forces long previously prepared by his agents,
who by recent events had been brought about him, and whose aid in a
coup de main appeared to him certain.
Without loss of time the general had caused himself to be proclaimed
dictator on the marshes of Cabildo, amidst the applause of the
populace; then he had dissolved the congress, which would henceforth
be useless; formed a ministry, of which M. Dubois had been named
president; issued manifestoes in all the provinces of the republic;
and, after having placed Tucumán in a state of siege, made his troops
camp on all the squares of the town, and imprisoned suspicious
citizens--that is to say, those of an opinion opposed to his own. He
inaugurated his dictatorship by condemning to death, and executing,
in twenty-four hours, six of the most influential and the most justly
esteemed men of the province.
Terror reigned in Tucumán; a military regime, the abuse of power, the
scorn of private rights, had in the name of liberty inaugurated an era
of blood and tears.
On learning this sad news, a shudder of horror had run through the
limbs of the Montonero; the whole night was passed by him in sleepless
anxiety. He shuddered with shame and indignation on thinking of the
abyss suddenly opened by the hideous ambition of this man without faith
and without morality--an abyss in which was about to be engulfed for
ever the independence of his country, and those privileges so dearly
bought by ten years' obstinate struggle.
But Don Zeno Cabral was not only a good-hearted man, but one of those
energetic natures, immovable in their convictions, who are rather
excited than discouraged by obstacles, and who, rising with the danger,
always find themselves on a level with the situation, whatever it may
be, in which they are placed. At the break of day his resolution was
taken--to save his country from the ruin with which it was threatened,
whatever might be the consequences to himself. His plan carefully
laid, he immediately proceeded to execute it. But as the Montonero was
as prudent and wily as he was brave, notwithstanding the boundless
confidence which he had in his companions, he allowed them to remain
ignorant of the facts which had transpired in their absence. After
having exacted from the scout that brought him the news a solemn
promise to keep what he had learned a profound secret, he left his
squadron, and boldly proceeded towards the low-lying ground, so as to
obtain personally the information which was indispensable to him to put
his projects into execution, maintaining some reserve, however, in case
it might afterwards be necessary to fully acquaint his soldiers with
all the facts, certain of the support that they would be sure to give
him.
A journey through the Cordilleras was nothing for Zeno Cabral, whose
whole life had been passed in the Pampas.
But it was only towards the evening of the third day after his
departure from the camp that he at last reached the plains, at the
moment when the sun sank behind the horizon, and darkness began to
envelope the landscape.
Zeno Cabral, fatigued by a long march, immediately sought a favourable
spot to establish his camp.
The search was not long. Before him, a rather broad river, with ripples
like emeralds, wound its devious course. Like an experienced man
who had long known the localities which he traversed, the Montonero
proceeded towards some rather high ground which projected itself into
the bed of the river, and the barren tops and sides of which offered
a safe refuge against stragglers--men or beasts--who in these llanos
(plains) are incessantly on the watch for travellers.