CATASTROPHE.
From the refreshing morning breeze which played in his hair, and calmed
his burning brow, Zeno Cabral appeared to draw new life. He stood up
boldly; the wrinkles which had furrowed his face disappeared; his
beautiful countenance regained its ordinary calmness; and, had not a
livid paleness been visible on his features, certainly no one would
have guessed the terrible storm which for so many hours bad agitated
his heart.
With a piercing look he examined the landscape, which the evening
before he could but half see through the last hours of the day.
That plain, encircled by high and snowy mountains, which masked the
horizon; that river with its silvery waves, which cut it into two
nearly equal parts; those umbrageous woods, scattered here and there,
as far as the hill, on the summit of which he had so magnificent a
prospect--the least feature, in fact, recalled completely the landscape
which was so engraven on his memory.
This place was that which he had wished to reach, and towards which,
for so many days, he had so furiously galloped.
A smile of sad satisfaction half-opened his pale lips, for by
certain undulations of the grass--undulations which would have been
imperceptible by anyone but himself--he saw that Diogo had not been
deceived; that his allies were already at their post, and that this
plain, apparently so tranquil and so solitary, would soon be animated
and excited at a cry from himself; that thousands of men, now crouching
concealed in the grass, would suddenly arise, and would bound with
their war cry at his first signal.
"At last!"
The expression summed up a life of struggle to arrive at an end, now to
be gained.
He remained some short time pensive; then, proudly raising his head, he
passed his hand over his forehead, as if to chase away some importunate
thought, and rapidly approached the fire, before which the old officer
was still stretched, sleeping.
For a minute or two he contemplated, with envy perhaps, the calm sleep
of his old companion in arms, and he then gently nudged him with his
foot.
"Eh!" cried Don Sylvio, rubbing his eyes, and looking round him with a
frightened air, "I thought I had been sleeping."
"Yes, a little," answered the Montonero, smiling, "for seven or eight
hours nearly."
"As much as that!" cried the old soldier.
"A little more, perhaps; I won't answer for the exact time."
"Oh, general!" cried the captain, in A sad voice, "I shall never
forgive myself."
"Where do you see any want of respect in that, my dear Quiroga; you
were fatigued with a long journey, made on foot, in the dark."
"But I should have been awakened, general."
"What for?"
"The fact is, general, if I must confess it," said he, candidly, "it is
a long time since I had so good a turn."
"Ah! You are quite right; now let us think of our business a little.
The squadron has arrived?"
"Yes, general, two days since; it has encamped in a pretty thick wood,
situated near the river."
"Better and better. Is this encampment far from here?"
"A league at the most, general," he added.
"That's right. Come, we had better go there at once. You know the way?"
"Oh, by daylight I do not fear to miss my road."
And they set out side by side.
"What! Do you not mount horse, general?"
"No, I prefer to lead him by the bridle."
"As you like, general; I will do what suits you."
"Since you have been here, have you received any messages?"
"One only, general."
"Ah! Ah! And from whom?" asked the Montonero, with some little anxiety.
"From Don Juan Armero."
"And what is this message, my old friend?"
"News that I think will give you pleasure, general. Don Juan Armero
tells us that he is not more than twenty-five leagues from here, and
that he hopes to arrive tomorrow morning at latest."
"The devil! Then I have done well to make haste. Does he say by whom he
is accompanied?"
"Certainly, general; they are the same as you expected--that is to say,
General Don Eusebio Moratín and the Frenchman, his myrmidon."
"Yes, yes; I know the persons alluded to," answered Don Zeno, rubbing
his hands with good humour; "these rascals are of my acquaintance."
"Then you are satisfied, general? All happens as you wished?"
"I could not have anything better, my old friend."
"Then away with melancholy!" cried the captain, with a joyous air;
"Care would kill a cat."
The general burst out laughing at this unusual sally of Don Sylvio
Quiroga, and they continued their journey, talking of one thing and
another.
They soon arrived at the wood in which the squadron was encamped, and
in a few minutes found themselves in the glade.
In the absence of Don Sylvio, the oldest officer of the corps, the
squadron was commanded by Don Estevan Albino.
The young officer received his chief with great demonstrations of joy.
"You, of course, did not expect me so soon, Don Albino?" said the
Montonero.
"Pardon me, general; half an hour ago your approach was signalled to me
by the sentinels."
"You keep a good lookout?"
"We obey your orders."
"I am satisfied, Don Albino. Your arrangements are well made; you have
shown yourself in this matter an officer of experience and foresight."
"You are a thousand times too good, general," answered the young man,
blushing with pleasure.
Towards the evening another message from Don Juan Armero announced
that, on account of an accident, General Moratín would not arrive for
three days.
This news, far from annoying Zeno Cabral, gave him great satisfaction
as he had been informed, in another quarter, that the Brazilians would
not be at the rendezvous till the same time. This singular coincidence,
giving him time to make his final plans, perfectly squared with them.
The two following days were employed by Zeno Cabral in incessantly
reconnoitering the plain, so as to assure himself of the positions
occupied by his allied detachments, and enable him to modify those of
which he did not approve.
If we may use the expression, the plain, although apparently still
unpeopled, was literally bristling with troops; all the friendly
or vassal tribes to the Guaycurus had sent their contingents. The
Guaycurus, in order to be ready for any event, had even decided to
despatch their last detachment--that commanded by Gueyma and Diogo, or
the Cougar.
Some twenty warriors, under the orders of Arnal, were stationed in the
glade to protect the French painter and the two ladies.
The young man with the curiosity of an artist, and much interested in
all that was passing round him, had earnestly entreated Tarou Niom to
be allowed to follow him. The chief, who was much pleased with the
disposition of the young man, had given way and had consented to take
him, as well as Tyro. Arnal had remained alone at the camp with Dove's
Eye, the marchioness, and Doña Eva.
The evening before the day on which General Moratín was to arrive Zeno
Cabral went to pay a visit to Tarou Niom.
The great chief of the Guaycurus received the Montonero with the
greatest honour and marks of the highest esteem and friendship.
Emile, who, since he had lived among the Indians, had by degrees
adapted himself to their customs, could not at all understand this
reception.
Zeno Cabral, however, on perceiving the young man, had run towards him
with outstretched arms, apparently delighted to see him again; and
then, turning to Tarou Niom, he highly praised the courage and good
nature of the Frenchman.
Emile, constrained to reply to these expressions of friendship, had
only done so with a certain coolness that the partisan did not appear
to remark. At last Zeno Cabral took his leave, and withdrew.
Zeno Cabral passed the limit of the camp of the Guaycurus, and was
walking in a wild beast path when he heard a call twice in a low voice.
"Who calls me?" answered he, stopping.
"I," answered someone immediately.
"Gueyma!" said the Montonero, with astonishment.
"Yes, señor," answered the young man, "it is me."
"What do you want with me, my friend?"
"You remember that tomorrow the five days expire."
"I remember, my friend. You demand then that I keep my promise?"
"I wish to know the assassin of my mother," said he, with a sad
earnestness.
Zeno Cabral looked at him with gentle compassion.
"Your mother! You did not know her," said he.
"Shadowy as may be the memories of my early infancy," answered the
young man, with a sad voice, "a child cannot forget a mother, when he
has been happy enough to receive her gentle caresses. Often," added
he, seizing abruptly the arm of the Montonero, "in my sleep I think I
see her smiling face leaning towards me; her large blue eyes, full of
tears, fix on me a look of ineffable sweetness; her long brown hair
floats in disorder on her snowy shoulders; she murmurs words that I
cannot understand; but I feel my heart swell with joy and happiness."
Zeno Cabral listened to the young man with a surprise that he did not
try to conceal.
"Oh! Don Zeno," resumed the young man, with an accent of earnestness
impossible to describe, "you think I did not know my mother! If she
were to appear here before us at this moment, I should recognise her,"
added he, with an accent of intense tenderness.
With an abrupt movement Don Zeno drew his arm from under his poncho,
and holding out a medallion to the young man:
"Look!" said he.
"My mother!" cried the chief.
But the emotion that this unhoped-for sight had produced was too much;
a terrible reaction ensued; the young man grew frightfully pale, he
staggered, and fainted. Don Zeno disappeared.
The next day, about an hour before sunrise, the encampment of the
Montoneros presented at once one of the most singular and picturesque
sights.
The signal to arouse had been given to the squadron by Zeno Cabral, and
the officers went from soldier to soldier to awaken them, which the
latter did with very ill grace, grumbling, stretching themselves, and
yawning almost enough to displace their jaws, declaring that daylight
had not yet come.
But at last, willing or not, in some ten minutes' time everybody was
astir.
The squadron of Zeno Cabral was, perhaps, the finest and the best
organised of all the Banda Oriental; it was composed of about six
hundred men, all chosen carefully by their chief, their courage having
been tried. It was, in fact, for a squadron formed only of volunteers,
a first-rate corps.
When the sun at last appeared above the horizon all the soldiers were
fresh, in good condition, completely armed, and ready to fight.
The general, as they called their chief, passed them carefully in
review, to assure himself personally that all was in good order.
The breakfast finished, the nostrils of the horses were covered with
cloths to prevent them neighing, and on a sign from Zeno Cabral each
man went immediately to occupy a post which had been previously
assigned him.
Five minutes later all the Montoneros had disappeared; there remained
in the glade only Zeno Cabral and his staff.
Precautions had been so well taken--the orders of the partisan executed
with so much intelligence--that it would have been impossible for even
the most skilful Indian to guess that a numerous corps of cavalry had
for several days camped in this spot.
Several hours passed without any cracking of branches or any trembling
of the vegetation taking place to reveal the presence of the invisible
watchers.
Then the sound of a voice and of horses was heard without, and six men
entered the glade.
We already know these six men; we almost know what motive brought them
into this place.
We have reported how their conversation was suddenly interrupted at its
commencement by the unexpected appearance of Zeno Cabral.
The astonishment with which they were struck at the sight of the
celebrated and bold Montonero cannot be described.
The latter enjoyed his triumph for a time.
"Eh! What, señores, you do not wish to continue the interesting
conversation that I so awkwardly interrupted? Do you, then, find my
presence among you out of place? Or do you think that I do not take to
heart as much as you do the interests of the country?"
He was silent, appearing to await an answer; but the persons most
interested in the strife had not yet sufficiently recovered from the
emotion they had experienced to be certain of answering to advantage.
Zeno Cabral shrugged his shoulders.
"What! General Don Eusebio Moratín! You have not a word of welcome for
me? Nor you either, Señor Dubois? Ah! my masters, do you know that this
begins to look very strange to me; I see uniforms which ought not to
appear here. Can I be deceived, and, thinking that I have come among
friends, can I have fallen amongst conspirators?"
"Treason!" cried the general, "What is it you dare to say, señor? Do
you forget to whom you are speaking?"
"I forget nothing, señor," coldly answered the Montonero; "would there
be anything extraordinary in the former bandit of the Pampas becoming
today the traitor of his country for the sake of gold?"
Don Eusebio drew out his sword, uttering a cry of rage, and made a
movement to throw himself on the bold Montonero.
But the latter, without taking his eye from him, took a pistol from his
girdle.
"If you stir, I will shoot you," said he, coolly.
Don Eusebio stopped, grinding his teeth.
"Who is that man?" then said the Brazilian general. "Don Sebastiao,
arrest that fellow, I beg."
Zeno Cabral turned towards him like a wounded lion.
"Help, my friends!" cried Don Eusebio; "Fire on that wretch!"
"Silence!" resumed the partisan, in a firm voice.
"But, señor," observed M. Dubois, in a conciliating tone, "you are
acting very strangely; you are completely wanting in consideration to--"
"Silence!" a second time called Zeno Cabral; "However well taken may be
your precautions; however far you may have come, so as to secretly plot
your treason, for a long time I have been watching you, but I wanted
to take you in the very act. Throw away your swords, gentlemen; you are
my prisoners."
"Your prisoners! You are joking!" cried they.
"It is time!" cried Don Armero, who up to this time had remained a
silent, but not disinterested, witness of the scene.
Zeno Cabral had not made a movement. At the cry of Juan Armero the
glade had, as if by magic, filled with soldiers.
Don Roque and Don Eusebio saw that they were lost. Followed by Don
Sebastiao, who had boldly placed himself at their side, a pistol in one
hand and a sword in the other, they rushed on the nearest Montoneros,
and tried to force a passage.
There was a moment of frightful tumult, mixed with cries and
imprecations of rage or pain--the sound of firearms--a hurried
tramping--and then calmness suddenly ensued.
Don Eusebio, his left arm broken by a ball, was lying on the ground,
tightly bound with a lasso; Don Roque and Don Sebastiao, both
unwounded, were also bound, and crouching on the ground, at a few paces
from General Moratín; as to M. Dubois, at the moment when he drew two
pistols from his pocket and prepared, though he was no soldier, to sell
his life dearly, he had received a ball in the middle of the forehead,
and was lying dead.
Mataseis and Sacatripas tried to gain the money which they had
received; they alone had drawn, Zeno Cabral having given the order to
seize the conspirators without wounding them, if possible.
The partisan then approached the prisoners.
"Do you now admit that you are in my power?" said he.
"All is not yet finished," answered the marquis, with disdain; "I have
not come here alone; I have troops--"
"Listen," said Zeno Cabral to him, sharply interrupting him.
At this moment a horrible clamour arose in the plain.
"What is that?" cried the marquis, with alarm.
"The war cry of Indians," coldly answered the partisan--"who are
massacring your soldiers."
"Oh, it is not--it cannot be--my soldiers are brave, they will defend
themselves," cried the general.
"They will be massacred," pursued Zeno Cabral, "and those who will
escape the massacre will be burned alive."
"Burned alive!" cried he.
"Do you not see that, for some time, the air is rarefied; the Indians
have fired the plain;" and turning towards the Montoneros, "To horse!"
cried he, in a thundering voice, "To horse! We have scarcely the time
to escape!"
"Oh! These men are wild beasts!" cried the marquis.
"Did you not know that people cannot invade the sacred territory of the
Guaycurus with impunity?"
"It is true," murmured the marquis, appearing, rather to reply to his
own thoughts than to the words of the Montonero.
"Give me your word of honour not to try and escape," said Zeno Cabral,
"and you will be free in a moment from all constraint."
"I give it you," answered the marquis, despondingly.
His bonds immediately fell, like those of Don Sebastiao Vianna, who had
also given his word.
General Don Eusebio, since he had been in the power of the Montoneros,
had maintained a sullen silence; the only answer that they obtained
from him, when they proposed to him to give his word, was confined to
these words, "Go to the devil!"
They were obliged to carry him away, and to tie him as well as they
could on horseback.
Meanwhile time pressed; it was necessary to hasten away; the air became
more and more rarefied; a suffocating heat was felt; thick volumes of
smoke rolled over the glade; showers of sparks were rained upon the
trees; the shrubbery began to burn; there was not a moment to lose.
Zeno Cabral placed himself at the head of his troop, having at his
side Don Roque and Don Sebastiao, and having cried "Advance!" in a
thundering voice, he rode at full speed across the glade.
The entire plain, for a distance of more than ten leagues, became an
immense lake of flame, in the midst of which the Indians, half naked,
looked like so many demons, leaping and brandishing their arms, and
uttering cries like wild beasts.
The Brazilian troops--entrenched on the hill where they had established
their camp, circled by an impenetrable wall of fire, kept up a
continual and well-sustained fire on the Indians, not in the hope of
conquering them, but so that they might die bravely, and make their
wild and implacable enemies pay dearly for their victory.
Zeno Cabral gave the order to halt, to allow their horses to regain
their wind.
They stopped. The Brazilians still fought, or at least they continued
to fire, for they had no longer any enemy; the Indians were flying
in all directions, in their turn pursued by the fire which they had
themselves lighted.
Suddenly a frightful explosion was heard; an immense cloud of dust,
fragments of rock, and broken trees, rose in the air to a prodigious
height, and fell with a crash.
The Brazilians had disappeared. They had fired the powder, and had
blown themselves up, to put an end to this horrible tragedy.