THE CAPITULATION OF THE 6TH JULY
At sundown on the evening of the 5th July, General Liniers presided at a
council of the Cabildo; the utmost enthusiasm prevailed. The number and
quality of the prisoners they had made, the heavy loss they had
inflicted upon the invading army, filled each man with the confidence of
certain victory. In this enthusiasm and confidence General Liniers fully
shared, and he proposed that terms of arrangement should be offered to
the English General for the prevention of further bloodshed. He proposed
that on condition of the immediate evacuation of the province all the
prisoners should be given up, and that the English should be permitted
to re-embark without molestation.
"No, no!" said Don Martin Alzaga eagerly. "By that we should lose the
entire fruits of the victory we have won. Let us insist that they also
evacuate the Banda Oriental."
"It is impossible that General Whitelock should listen to such a
proposition," said the Reconquistador. "As yet not more than half his
force has been engaged. To make such a proposition would be to prevent
all chance of an arrangement."
"Let it," answered Don Martin Alzaga. "As yet he has not even seen our
teeth. Our men were cautious to-day, we did not even know our strength;
to-morrow every man will be a hero, we will attack him in his own
positions, and he shall not get away at all."
"If we are rash we shall lose the advantage we have gained," said Don
Gregorio Lopez.
"Try it, at any rate," said Don Martin, "he can but refuse."
The majority of the council supported Don Martin Alzaga, a letter was
drawn up as he had proposed, and despatched at daylight to the Retiro,
where it was received by Sir Samuel Auchmuty, who at once forwarded it
to the Plaza Miserere, where General Whitelock had passed the night in
almost complete ignorance of the events of the day, having had but one
communication with Sir Samuel Auchmuty on the afternoon of the 5th, and
none whatever with the leaders of the other two columns.
The following is the official translation of this despatch:--
"General Liniers to General Whitelock.
"Sir,
"The same sentiments of humanity which induced your
Excellency to propose to me to capitulate, lead me, now that I
am fully acquainted with your force, that I have taken eight
officers and upwards of 1000 men and killed more than double
that number, without your having reached the centre of my
position, the same sentiments, I say, lead me, in order to avoid
a further effusion of blood and to give your Excellency a fresh
proof of Spanish generosity, to offer to your Excellency, that
if you choose to re-embark with the remainder of your army, to
evacuate Monte Video and the whole of the river Plata, leaving
me hostages for the execution of the treaty, I will not only
return all the prisoners which I have now made, but also all
those which were taken from General Beresford. At the same time
I think it necessary to state, that if your Excellency does not
admit this offer, I cannot answer for the safety of the
prisoners, as my troops are so infinitely exasperated against
them, and the more, as three of my aides-de-camp have been
wounded bearing flags of truce; and for this reason I send your
Excellency this letter by an English officer, and shall wait
your answer for one hour.
"I have the honour to be, &c.,
"Santiago Liniers.
"Buenos Aires, 5th July, 1807
at 5 o'clock in the evening."
At daylight on the morning of the 6th, a strong column of British troops
advanced from the Retiro upon the centre, but not venturing again to
attempt the passage of those long, straight streets, descended to the
river side and advanced by the beach under cover of the fire of four
gunboats, which came close in shore for the purpose of supporting them.
Two squares from the fort they were hotly assailed by the regular troops
and the militia, but after an hour's firing the column retreated
unpursued to its former position. The gunboats continued their fire for
several hours, throwing both round shot and shell into the vicinity of
the fort and the Plaza Mayor, one shell bursting in the apartments of
General Liniers in the fort.
At about eleven o'clock General Whitelock, who was still at the
Miserere, received the above despatch from General Liniers, and returned
an answer by an aide-de-camp, after which he himself proceeded with an
escort to the Retiro, there to await the reply.
The following is a copy of this despatch:--
"General Whitelock to General Liniers.
"Headquarters,
"Place de Tauros, 6th July, 1807.
"Sir,
"I have the honour to acknowledge receipt of your letter. You do
me no more than justice in believing that whatever advances the
cause of humanity would be grateful to me; and therefore as,
from the extent of the action of yesterday, the wounded on both
sides are dispersed over a considerable space of ground, I would
propose that there should be a truce for four-and-twenty hours,
that each might collect those dispersed on the lines of approach
of the different columns. The ground on which the armies now
stand to be the line of demarcation, and each to bring the
wounded of the other to deliver them to the respective outposts.
"As to the idea of surrendering the advantages which this army
has gained, it is quite inadmissible, having also taken many
prisoners, captured a quantity of artillery, with all its
stores, and gained both its flanks. I leave to your candour the
comparison of the relative situation of the two armies.
"I have to lament the circumstance A. D. C. having been wounded;
I cannot account for it otherwise than by attributing it to
those mistakes which often occur at the commencement of
hostilities. I shall take care that nothing of the kind shall
happen for the future; but I have to remark that my A. D. C. was
fired at the whole way of his approach to your lines on the 4th
inst., when I sent him with a flag of truce.
"J. Whitelock."
To this proposition for a suspension of hostilities General Liniers
returned a decisive negative, giving the British General only a quarter
of an hour for deliberation and reiterating his previous demand for the
surrender of all the acquisitions of the English in the Rio de La Plata.
The quarter of an hour passed, no answer was returned, whereupon General
Liniers, with a strong force of the Patricios, supported by a body of
regular troops, sallied forth from his entrenchments and advanced upon
the Residencia by the Calle Defensa. This position was still held by
Major Nicholls with 400 men of the 45th regiment, who charged his
assailants with the bayonet, drove them back with heavy loss, and
captured two howitzers, with their limbers and ammunition. Later on
another attempt was made upon this position, but the attacking column
was received with discharges of grape from the captured guns and forced
to retreat.
About two o'clock General Whitelock, who was then at the Retiro, sent
another officer to General Liniers with a flag of truce, accepting the
terms offered by him in his despatch of the previous evening, upon which
the firing at once ceased.
Soon after sundown Major-general Levison Gower, with a strong escort of
Spanish troops, proceeded through the city to the fort for the purpose
of drawing up with General Liniers a formal deed of capitulation, which
should be signed on the day following. As he passed through the streets
the excited populace thronged round him with fierce shouts of defiance,
at times firing into the air, but by the exertions of the Spanish
officers who were with him he reached the fort in safety, and was led to
the room in which General Liniers was at that moment at dinner, having
several of the English officers, his prisoners, with him as his guests.
The disorderly crowd, armed with swords and pistols rushed in over the
drawbridge in front of the escort, and forced their way into the
dining-room, shouting--
"Señor Pack! Señor Pack! come out, we have something to arrange with
you."
It had been represented to the people by the Spanish authorities that
General Beresford and the officers who had escaped with him from Lujan,
in March, had broken their parole. This together with his success at
Perdriel and Colonia, and the fact of his having been the only English
officer who had attacked the entrenchments on the 5th, greatly irritated
the populace against Colonel Pack, and they would certainly have wreaked
bloody vengeance upon him had they got him into their power.
General Liniers sprang from his chair as the rioters burst into the
room, and seizing the foremost by the throat forced them back, going out
with them and doing all in his power to pacify them, in which he
partially succeeded, but apprehensive of a further attempt, he, two
hours later, sent Colonel Pack to the Retiro under a strong escort of
Spanish troops.
Two priests, who were dining with General Liniers that evening, also
interposed between Colonel Pack and the rioters, and declared that they
would lose their own lives rather than permit any harm to befall him.
The following day the treaty of capitulation was signed by Santiago
Liniers, Cæsar Balviani, and Bernardo Velasco on the part of the
Spaniards; and by General Whitelock and Admiral Murray on behalf of the
British, the latter agreeing to evacuate Monte Video within two months.
On the same day the British released all their prisoners, and about 1700
men, many of whom were wounded, were released by the garrison of the
city; but the British General was forced to leave about 200 men who were
too severely wounded to be moved, in the care of the Spaniards, and it
was impossible for General Liniers at that time to deliver up the
prisoners captured with General Beresford, they being dispersed at great
distances throughout the provinces.
Many of the dead were buried in the places where they fell, in
particular those of the left wing of the 88th regiment, which had
penetrated the city by the Calle Cuyo. This street acted at that time as
a drain to all that part of the city, the roadway near to the beach had
been washed away by heavy rains till it formed a deep ditch. After the
fighting was over, this ditch was used as a grave, and a new roadway
formed over the bodies of the slain. During the process of repaving the
city, in the year 1860, the excavations in this street brought to light
a quantity of human bones, mixed up with brass buttons and regimental
badges. Of these the then British Consul-general, Frank Parish, Esq.,
took charge, and provided them with more fitting sepulture in the
British cemetery.
In a few days the survivors of this expedition re-embarked from the
beach below the Retiro. The British flag was driven in disgrace from the
whole Viceroyalty of Buenos Aires.
EPILOGUE TO BOOKS I. AND II.
THE MONUMENTS AND THE REWARDS OF VICTORY
The Plaza Mayor, in which the fierce horsemen of Don Juan Martin
Puyrredon trampled underfoot the choicest troops of General Beresford,
bears to this day the name of the "Plaza Victoria," in commemoration of
the victory of the 12th August, 1806.
Don Juan Martin led his horsemen to victory by the street now known as
the "Calle Victoria," which is thus to this day a monument to the
prowess of the wild horsemen of the Pampas.
The Calle Reconquista, the street by which General Liniers led his
Spanish troops on that same 12th August, is to this day a monument of
that feat of arms by which he himself gained the title of the
"Reconquistador."
The Calle Defensa, in which stand the church of San Francisco, the
church of Santo Domingo, and the Residencia, is by its name a monument
to the heroic defence of their city by the militia and citizens of
Buenos Aires on the 5th and 6th July, 1807.
The vacant space which early in this century lay in front of the house
of Don Isidro Lorea is now a public Plaza, planted with trees, laid out
with walks, one of the breathing-places of the great straggling city. It
is known as the "Plaza Lorea," and is a monument to the heroic courage
and untimely fate of Don Isidro Lorea and his wife Dalmacia.
Twenty cannon-shot imbedded in the brickwork of the eastern tower of the
church of Santo Domingo tell to this day of the desperate lengths to
which the citizens of Buenos Aires were ready to go rather than yield
one foot of ground to a foreign invader. When the tower needs
white-washing these cannon-shot are carefully painted black; they speak
to all who look upon them of the days when as yet the Argentine Republic
was a dream, when an infant people yet in tutelage dared to defy the
power of a mighty nation.
Within the church of Santo Domingo, under the dome, hang six colours,
the flags of English regiments which laid down their arms, defeated on
the 12th August, 1806, and on the 5th July, 1807. One is the flag of the
71st Highlanders, seized by Don Juan Martin Puyrredon with his own hand.
Nearly 1000 armed slaves had taken part in the defence of the city on
the 5th and 6th July. To some of them their own masters gave freedom as
their reward. The Patricios raised a subscription amongst themselves,
and purchased the freedom of seventy slaves, drawn by lot from all who
had been under fire.
When the Mendicant Asylum was opened in the year 1860, the first
admitted into the institution was a worn-out old man, who was son to the
twice victorious General Liniers.
The native Argentines found their reward in the knowledge of their own
strength, and in the organization of their militia, which they preserved
after all danger from Great Britain had vanished, in spite of the
opposition of their Spanish rulers. The regiments of the Patricios and
the Arribeños were afterwards the nucleus upon which were formed those
conquering armies which eventually annihilated the power of Spain in
South America.
APPENDIX
THE COURT-MARTIAL
The disgraceful defeat of the second expedition against Buenos Aires
roused a storm of indignation in Great Britain. General Whitelock was
arrested on his return to England, and tried by court-martial.
The Court sat at Chelsea Hospital, and the trial which commenced on the
28th January, 1808, was continued by adjournment to the 15th March.
The Court consisted of nineteen general officers, under the presidency
of General the Rt. Hon. Sir W. Meadows, K. B. One active member of this
court-martial was Lieutenant-general Sir John Moore, K. B., who as yet
recked nothing of the disastrous retreat through Galicia or of the
blood-stained ramparts of Coruña.
Nearly all the officers in command of regiments or subdivisions of
regiments on the 5th July, 1807, the general officers, and the officers
of the staff, besides others connected with the expedition, were
examined, after which General Whitelock was called upon for his defence.
The sentence of the Court was, that "Lieutenant-general Whitelock be
cashiered, and declared totally unfit and unworthy to serve his Majesty
in any military capacity whatever."
Concerning the equity and even lenience of this sentence there can be no
question, but in justice to an officer at once incapable and unfortunate
it is well to state the principal point in his defence.
In the General Orders issued to the army on the 4th July occurs the
following sentence:
"Each officer commanding a division of the left wing, which is from the
88th to 87th inclusively, to take care that he does not incline to his
right of the right wing, that is, Light Brigade and 45th regiment to the
left." (_Sic._)
General Whitelock in his defence alleged that Colonels Pack and Cadogan
disobeyed this order by their attack upon the church of San Francisco
and of the entrenchment, both of which lay to the left of their line of
advance, and also General Crauford by his occupation of the church of
Santo Domingo, which lay to the left of his line of advance. Had Colonel
Pack occupied the church of Santo Domingo, and General Crauford the
houses to the rear of that church, they might in the afternoon have
retreated upon the Residencia, and the entire column would have been
available on the day following.
The chief mistake of General Whitelock seems to have been that he made
no attempt to establish a cordial understanding between himself and his
officers, seldom consulting them, and listening to the advice of
irresponsible men of far less experience. In particular, Colonel Pack,
who had resided for three months in Buenos Aires, was never once
consulted by that General. The result was that the valour of the troops
was thrown away, they were sacrificed by the ignorance and incapacity of
their commander, and deep disgrace and humiliation was inflicted upon
the British flag.
The name of General Whitelock is to this day a bye-word of reproach in
the provinces of La Plata, but there are no grounds for attributing the
misfortune to treachery, as it is the common custom of the Spaniards to
do. It is an unfortunate characteristic of the Iberian race to attribute
all disasters rather to treachery than to ignorance and incapacity.
BOOK III
THE UNKNOWN FUTURE
PROLOGUE
When a child first learns his strength he adventures to walk, and
delights in the exercise of his new-found powers; yet in every
difficulty he seeks the supporting hand of his nurse, in every trouble
flies for refuge to his mother, he trusts in her and confides in her,
obeys all her commands implicitly, questioning nothing. The day comes
when neither nurse nor mother is by to aid him, he pauses, trembling at
the unwonted solitude, then his spirit stirs itself within him, and he
thinks. The day that the child first thinks for himself he has set his
foot on the second round in the ladder of life.
Two struggles with the English had taught the Argentine people one great
lesson--that in times of difficulty and danger they need look for no
help from Spain.
Then the all-conquering genius of revolution set his heel upon Spain.
Spain, long tottering, fell, and became a mere appanage to the empire of
Napoleon. Spain had kept her children in bondage, now she was in
tutelage herself.
Buenos Aires looked around her and she was alone. Her stay and her
support was gone from her, but she knew no fear, for her spirit was
strong within her. The danger with which she was menaced was a danger no
longer--the enemy whom she had fought for Spain was now her friend.
The third expedition, with which Great Britain was preparing to avenge
the two defeats she had suffered in Buenos Aires, never reached the
shores of La Plata. Troops mustered at Cork, but ere they embarked their
destination was changed. In Portugal, under the command of Sir Arthur
Wellesley, they won the two victories of Roliça and Vimeira, the first
in that long list of victories which is called by English historians the
Peninsular War.
CHAPTER I
AT THE QUINTA DE DON ALFONSA
It was near the end of August. In a small, barely-furnished room at the
quinta where General Whitelock had held his council of war on the
afternoon of the 4th July, Marcelino Ponce de Leon lay on a low bedstead
reading a newspaper entitled "La Estrella del Sur." It was about the
size of a fly-sheet of the present day, very badly printed on very bad
paper, and it bore the date "Monte Video, April, 1807." The Comandante
de los Morenos de Ponce looked very pale; his left arm was bandaged, and
lay in a sling formed by a silk handkerchief, which passed round his
neck and hung down in front of him. He was propped up with pillows, and
held the paper in his right hand; even turning it and holding it in a
position to read was a labour to him.
There came a footstep in the patio outside, a hand was laid upon the
latch of the door, Marcelino hurriedly rolled up the paper and pushed it
under the pillow behind him. The door was softly opened, and Don Carlos
Evaña walked in.
"It is you, Carlos," said Marcelino; "I thought it was my host, for he
has not been to see me to-day. Come and sit down and talk."
"With pleasure, I have come to spend the morning with you. Don Alfonso
has gone into the city to meet his daughter, who has been living for the
last four years with Don Fausto Velasquez and his family at their
estancia."
"His daughter! I did not know he had one."
"Nor I either till yesterday. It seems that while he was in prison Don
Fausto Velasquez took pity on his daughter, and she has lived more with
his family than with her father ever since."
"But how goes my father?"
"Yesterday he was hobbling about with a crutch--the wound was nothing
more than a simple fracture. He says the only thing he has to grumble
about is your being here, and he is very anxious for you to grow strong
enough to be moved."
"There again, and none of them will come to see me while I am here, not
even my mother!"
"Poor Doña Constancia! I can tell you it has cost her many tears, but
Don Roderigo's orders are positive. Luckily I followed General Whitelock
here, or I don't think they would ever have heard of you till you got
well enough to seek them yourself."
"And the English officer who brought me here, have you never been able
to find out who he was?"
"I have not the slightest clue to him, except that he was an officer of
Crauford's brigade."
"Well, one is forced at times to accept benefits for which one cannot
even give thanks; but God knows who he is, and will reward him."
"Pish!" answered Evaña; "did you not do the same for that English friend
of yours, Gordon?"
"The circumstances were quite different. I could not have done less for
him, and I have my reward in a valued friendship which will last our two
lives. But Gordon, how is it he has never been to see me?"
"He was sent outside after Whitelock's capitulation. The Cabildo only
gave up such of Beresford's prisoners as happened to be in the city at
the time of the assault; they have kept your friend Gordon for you a
little longer. He went to the Pajonales, so I should not wonder if he
has come back with Don Fausto."
"Poor fellow! But I should have been very sorry if he had gone without
my seeing him again."
"I don't know whether I am doing right in letting you talk so much, but
you do look very much better to-day, and your voice is quite clear
again. That will be good news for Doña Constancia and Dolores; I shall
go and see them this afternoon."
"Who is this Don Alfonso? He has been to me the best physician and the
most grumpy host that ever a man had."
"If I tell you his surname you will know at once who he is, then we need
talk no more of him, and I will read to you. His name is Miranda."
"Miranda!" said Marcelino meditatively; "Miranda! Is he any relation to
the General, Don Francisco?"
"His brother."
"And what has he done that my father should think him his enemy?"
"Have you never heard? It happened before I went to Europe!"
"What happened?"
"I see you have never heard of him before. Strange! Then I suppose I
must tell you. You have heard of the expeditions of Miranda for the
liberation of Venezuela?"
"Oh yes; you and I have often spoken of them."
"Unluckily for Don Alfonso, who was in England at the time of his second
attempt in 1798, he just then determined to return to Venezuela. He had
lost his wife, who was an Englishwoman. I suppose that made him leave
England. He had never mixed in politics, and knew nothing of his
brother's schemes, but when he landed at Carracas he was thrown into
prison, and only liberated on condition of leaving the country at once.
He came here. Your father had him arrested again, and kept him in prison
for more than a year. Your grandfather and Don Fausto Velasquez
interfered to get him out, and the affair nearly ended in a complete
rupture between your father and the rest of the family. It is generally
believed that Don Alfonso revenged himself on Don Roderigo by sending
secret information against him to Spain. Whether that is true I do not
know, but soon after that your father fell into disgrace, and the two
have been deadly enemies ever since. I wonder you never heard of this."
"I remember that before I went to Cordova there was a great quarrel
between my father and my grandfather. I have seen my mother cry about it
for an hour together, but I never knew what it was about. It must have
been this affair, I suppose," answered Marcelino musingly. "How strange
of my father! He is very liberal in his ideas, but he cannot see that we
in our country have just the same rights that Spaniards have in Spain."
Then Marcelino lay back wearily on his pillows, and a shade of sadness
passed over his face.
"I have let you talk too much," said Evaña; "and I should not have told
you of this yet but that I thought you had heard before of Don Alfonso
Miranda. Let me read to you; I have brought you another paper."
So saying, Evaña drew another paper from the breast-pocket of his coat,
and began reading it aloud to his sick friend, every now and then
pausing to make comments and to add observations of his own. Marcelino
listened dreamily with his eyes half closed, and a smile playing over
his lips for some time, till his eyes closed altogether, and Evaña
looking at him saw that he was asleep.
For two hours Evaña sat in silence at the bedside of his friend,
listening to his low, regular breathing, looking at him now and then and
marking the ravages which sickness and pain had made upon his young
face. As he looked an expression of pain came into his own face, he
thought of the numbers of his own countrymen in the bloom of their
youth, or in the pride of their manhood, who would be struck down even
as his own friend here before the dream of his life could be
accomplished, before the dominion of Spain could be cast off, and a
republic of Argentines take its place among the nations of the world. Of
his own life he recked nothing, he had calculated the probable cost of a
struggle with Spain, the price of liberty would be counted down in the
lives of men, and that his own life would be one of them he thought
likely enough, for did not he seek his own place in the very van of the
great movement. But that the friends of his youth, who would follow him
in the blind generosity of their hearts, fighting for a liberty of which
they could not know the value, should fall, that thought was painful to
him, and fall they would, that he knew right well.
So passed two hours; again the door opened, and a girl entered, bearing
a tray with a basin of broth and some thin slices of bread on a plate.
"Here is your broth," said Evaña, as Marcelino awoke at the sound of the
opening door; "let us see if you will leave less of it than you did
yesterday."
"I don't intend to leave any of it to-day," replied Marcelino. "But
first, Carlos, tell me, that daughter of Don Alfonso's you spoke of,
what is she like?"
"I have never seen her," replied Evaña.
"I was at the Pajonales last summer, I must have met her there."
"She has been there for the last four years."
"There was a little girl there they called the Inglesita, I never
thought of asking her name; she could not be more than fourteen or
fifteen years old. She had a snub nose, and the most beautiful large
grey eyes I ever saw."
"That would be her; you appear to remember her very well," said Evaña
smiling; "but she must be more than fifteen, those English always look
younger than their real age. Her name is Magdalen."
"Magdalen! Malena, I think I heard them call her so."
"That's she, without doubt. So the best thing you can do is to get
strong enough to move into the sala, and then the owner of those grey
eyes will amuse you better than I can."
"You don't admire grey eyes, you admire black ones, like my mother's or
Eliza Puyrredon's; but I can tell you gray eyes are the most beautiful
of all, if a sympathetic heart shines through them."
"You have studied them?"
"I have seen one pair which I shall never forget."
"And I also," said Evaña to himself; but he added aloud, "never mind
about eyes just now, you can dream of them after you have taken your
broth."
When Evaña covering him carefully up, left the room, Marcelino lay back
on his pillows, thinking dreamily of those gray eyes that Evaña's talk
had brought back to his recollection. He had never spoken a dozen words
to the Inglesita, but she had listened attentively to what he had said
to others; he had looked at her, had seen his own ideas reflected in her
eyes, and those eyes had haunted him ever since.
Next morning at his usual hour Don Carlos Evaña was again at the Quinta
de Don Alfonso. Marcelino's eyes brightened as he took his seat beside
him after making enquiries about his progress.
"Never mind about me," he said, "I am twice as strong to-day; but tell
me your news, I am sure it is good from your face."
"Good and bad, both; but I don't know whether we need think the bad
bad."
"Then the bad first. What is it?"
"Your grandfather has resigned his seat in the Cabildo."
"But this is bad, he was the only Creole those Spaniards thought worthy
to sit with them."
"No, it is good. The best thing for us is that there be a broad line
drawn between Spaniards and the sons of the soil. The broader this line
is the easier will it be for us to tell friends from enemies when the
day comes."
"And he resigned of his own will?"
"Yes, but not till he saw that to remain was to expose himself to
expulsion."
"To expulsion! after all that he did for the defence of the city! If it
had not been for him Liniers would never have been able to rescue the
city from Beresford. And after that, who has done as much as he for the
equipment of the militia?"
"No one," answered Evaña smiling. "Why you are strong enough to be quite
indignant."
"Indignant! I should think I am."
"They only tolerated him so long as he was useful to them," replied
Evaña. "I think he has done very well to resign."
"What became of Asneiros when my men were disbanded?"
"Liniers has given him a captain's commission, but I don't know if he
has joined any regiment yet."
"He is a smart soldier, but he is all a Spaniard. Do you know, if there
were many Spaniards among us like him we could never have the country to
ourselves, they would beat us if we came to fighting."
"There are many Spaniards as good as he," replied Evaña; "but not for
that have I any fear. The Spanish system keeps the good men down, that
is the weakness of Spain, and that is also the reason why we must free
ourselves from Spain. We have many good men amongst us, but nothing can
they do so long as Spain and the Spanish system rule over us."
"True. I shall see Asneiros some day, and shall keep my eye on him."
"Well, you have my bad news, now for the good ones. Your friend Gordon
has come back with Don Fausto, and is coming with me to see you this
afternoon."
"Viva! Yes, that is good."
"You can talk to him as much as you like about the grey-eyed Magdalen.
She talks English as well as I do, and Gordon and she are great
friends."
"And Gordon, poor fellow, will be a prisoner yet for no one knows how
long."
"He does not seem to fret about it. Very few prisoners find such kind
gaolers; I am sure I do not pity him."
"What made him go to Don Fausto's estancia?"
"He had to go somewhere, for if he had been seen by any English officer
he would have been claimed, so Don Fausto took him with him when he went
back."
"Then was Don Fausto in the city on the 5th July?"
"Did I never tell you? He came in with a party of peons all armed to the
teeth, as soon as he heard that the English had landed. He got into town
on the night of the 4th, and without resting a moment set to work to
turn his house into a fortification; a lot of the Patricios went to help
him, and there they stood all day waiting for some Englishmen to come
and be shot, and not one went anywhere near them."
"I should have thought that was exactly where the English would have
tried to go in. Don Juan Martin Puyrredon went by that street on the
12th August, with Don Isidro Lorea to help him."
"They did try, but poor Don Isidro stopped them."
"Don Isidro! what about him? Now your voice changed when you spoke of
him," said Marcelino, raising himself on his elbow and looking earnestly
at Evaña.
"It was a slip," said Evaña sadly. "I did not intend to have told
you yet, but you must know some day. He was killed, fighting like
a hero at the head of his men. Could you wish for a better death
yourself--fighting for his country in defence of his own home?"
"And Doña Dalmacia! what a blow for her! How does she bear it?"
"I have not seen her since. He completely beat the English and captured
a gun. Don't ask me any more about it; when you are well and strong
again we will go all round the city together, and I will tell you all I
know of the attack and the defence. But I have something else to tell
you now. Your Uncle Gregorio is missing."
"I thought you said he went to the quinta after the fight at the Pasa
Chico."
"He did, but the next day he went outside, and has never been back. We
expected to hear of him from Don Fausto, but no one knows where he has
gone."
"Oh, that is nothing! he is always disappearing like that, but he
always turns up again. The old game, I suppose, some pair of shining
black eyes."
"But it is strange now when all the comandantes are in the city, and he
is in command of a regiment."
"Ah, Carlos, you don't understand those things; politics are everything
to you, and if you see a pair of bright eyes you don't even notice what
colour they are. When my uncle Gregorio sees a pair which smile on him
he forgets everything. He always was that way, so they tell me."
"And then, after looking at himself in those eyes for a month or so, he
gets tired of them, and goes away, and never thinks of them any more,"
said Evaña. "Frankly, I cannot understand a man like that, yet I believe
there are such men."
"Of them there are many, but you are not one of them, Carlos, therefore
you cannot understand my uncle. If you ever love it will be for all your
life; you are a tyrant to every one else, but you would be a slave to a
woman you loved."
"Therefore I had better never love," replied Evaña; "man was not made to
be slave to any, but to be lord over the whole earth."
"But not lord over his own heart, Carlos, that is in no man's power.
Proud as you are, your time will come."
"Let me read you some more of the 'Estrella del Sur,'" said Evaña
hastily.
"I have it safe under my pillow, no one has seen it," replied Marcelino.
"Ah! Carlos, if the English had only made war upon the Spaniards with
these newspapers instead of with cannon-balls, then we could have
received them as friends."
"Be it then our work to teach the lesson they have failed to teach,"
replied Evaña.
CHAPTER II
THE EPISODE OF THE FAIR MAURICIA
A fortnight passed, Marcelino gained strength rapidly, Don Alfonso
pronounced him well enough to bear removal, and very readily acquiesced
in the desire of Don Roderigo that he should pass his convalescence
under another roof. A covered litter, carried by slaves and escorted by
Don Carlos Evaña and Lieutenant Gordon, made its appearance at the
quinta one fine morning in September. That night Marcelino slept under
his father's roof and his pillow was smoothed for him by his mother's
hand. The change did him good, a few days more and he was able to spend
the afternoons on a sofa in his mother's sala.
Little by little he learnt all the particulars of the struggle of the
5th and 6th July. The sad fate of Doña Dalmacia Navarro caused him deep
sorrow, but on the whole he was surprised to learn the small extent of
the loss suffered by his fellow-citizens, and his heart swelled with
pride as anecdote after anecdote of their bravery and of their tender
care for the victims of the fight, were poured into his willing ear.
One afternoon as his sister Dolores, aided by his two friends Don Carlos
Evaña and Lieutenant Gordon, were doing their best to amuse him, Don
Roderigo Ponce de Leon hurriedly entered the room and requested Don
Carlos Evaña to favour him with his company for a few minutes.
"What is there?" asked Marcelino, as the door closed. "My father looked
very grave."
"I came in just as he did," said Gordon. "There was a gaucho waiting for
him, who seemed very impatient to see him. They went into Don Roderigo's
private room together."
"Will it be some news of my uncle Gregorio, I know grandpapa is very
anxious about him?" said Dolores.
News about this uncle Gregorio it most certainly was, and news which
caused great disquietude to Don Roderigo. While raising his regiment in
the preceding summer, Don Gregorio Lopez the younger had made the
acquaintance of Don Francisco Viana, the father of Venceslao Viana, and
had passed much of his spare time at his estancia, receiving from him
much assistance in his recruiting operations. Don Francisco had several
daughters, all good-looking, in spite of the dark blood which they
inherited from their mother. One of them named Mauricia appeared to the
Colonel of cavalry the handsomest woman he had ever seen in his life. He
at once fell deeply in love with her, and felt that life without her to
share it with him would be a burden to him greater than he could bear.
This sensation was no novelty to the Señor Colonel Don Gregorio Lopez,
it was commonly reported of him in Buenos Aires that he experienced it
at least once every six months, nevertheless he pursued this new love
with all the ardour of a first affection and prospered in his suit.
The day of the repulse of General Whitelock he made his appearance at
the estancia of Don Francisco, all the men were absent, during the night
he disappeared, and Mauricia went with him. Great was the sorrow of the
family, who knew of his love and had encouraged it. Don Francisco had
seen in the marriage of his daughter with the Colonel a means of
reconciliation with his own family, a matter which he had much at heart.
Search was made in every direction for the runaway couple, but for long
there was no tidings of them, till Venceslao returned from Buenos Aires,
who, being better acquainted than the rest with the Colonel's habits,
before many days had traced them to the Guardia Ranchos.
So much Don Roderigo told to Don Carlos Evaña as they stood in an
ante-room together, then he added--
"This man insists upon the Colonel marrying his sister at once, but this
the Colonel refuses to do, and he has come in to ask my intervention in
the matter. Now as you know, Don Gregorio is very jealous of my meddling
in the affairs of his family, and I don't see that I should be justified
in doing so in this instance. But this Mauricia is the niece of my
mother-in-law, therefore the honour of the family is involved in this
matter. You have great influence with Don Gregorio, much more than I
have, and I think it would be best for you to break the matter to him.
It will be very painful to him, he has so carefully avoided all
connection with Don Francisco Viana, that I believe he would rather see
his eldest son dead than married to one of his daughters."
Evaña did not answer immediately, but stood with his eyes fixed on the
ground, pulling nervously at his moustache with one of his long, white
hands.
"You had better see the man yourself," continued Don Roderigo, opening a
side door. "You will find him in here, and while you speak to him I will
go and consult Constancia."
Evaña entered the room of which Roderigo had opened the door, and saw
before him a handsome dark-featured man, in the ordinary rough dress of
a paisano, seated on a chair twirling his hat round between his fingers.
The man looked up at him as he closed the door behind him, then dropping
his hat he started to his feet, exclaiming--
"My deliverer! my preserver! at last I have met you. Always when I have
been in this city since, I have looked for you. Thanks be to God that I
again see you."
"Who are you?" replied Evaña, looking at him in surprise. "I have never
that I know of done you any service, or even seen you before."
"Already have you forgotten the massacre at Perdriel, where you dragged
me out from among the dead, and saved me when they were coming to finish
us?"
"You are the man that I helped from under a dead horse! I think I
remember your face now."
"Yes, I am that man whose life you saved. I am Venceslao Viana."
"You never told me your name, but I am glad that I was able to assist
you. Alas! the most of those lying there were beyond all assistance."
"Two minutes more and I should have been like the rest, beyond all
assistance, for I knew nothing of their speech, and you spoke for me.
You saved my life."
"Hum!" answered Evaña, looking steadily at the eager eyes of the man
before him.
"Yes, Señor, I owe you my life," said Venceslao, somewhat abashed by the
cold, searching gaze of Evaña. "I owe you my life, and, as I told you
then, my services, everything that I have is at your disposal, send me
where you will and I will go, tell me anything I may do for you and I
will do it."
"Perhaps some day I may need your services," replied Evaña; "then I will
apply to you freely, and shall count upon you."
"God grant that it be soon," said Venceslao, as a flush of pleasure
brightened his face.
Evaña started, Venceslao had echoed his own thoughts in his ready words.
Again he looked searchingly into the bright eyes of the paisano, but he
could read nothing more there than the gratitude which prompted a simple
nature to acknowledge and repay as he best could a signal service, there
was no ulterior thought.
"Sit down," said Evaña, taking a chair to himself. "Some other day we
will talk of that. I have come to speak with you on a matter in which
perhaps I may be able to help you better than Don Roderigo. Tell me all
about this affair between your sister and Colonel Lopez."
Half an hour they sat talking together, during which time Evaña learnt
all about the family and connections of Don Francisco Viana, and much
about Colonel Lopez of which he had no idea, for though he had
necessarily seen much of the latter he had never been intimate with him.
Now he learnt that Don Gregorio Lopez the younger had very considerable
influence over all the estancieros in the southern parts of the
province, and was looked up to by all the stout yeomanry as their
natural chief.
"Then you all knew of the Colonel's love for your sister?" said Evaña.
"Yes, all of us, it was no secret. The Colonel was always at our house
when his duties permitted him; he came and went just as he pleased. We
are very simple people, and for our friends our door is always open. We
thought him our friend, and never dreamed of dishonour."
"But you thought he was going to marry her, had nothing ever been said
about it?"
"Said, no, but it was a thing understood. We are not rich as he is, but
we have land and cattle of our own, we are people of family, and are not
gauchos. My sister Mauricia is very beautiful, and it is not strange
that he should love her. Besides, there is already some relationship
between us, his father married as his second wife my father's sister."
"Yes, I know all about that, but your father has been for many years
estranged from the rest of his family."
"What matters that? we are still of the same family. That he should
bring dishonour upon his own relations is what we never thought the
Colonel capable of doing, we esteemed him very highly."
"Then you seek the intervention of his own family to prevent this
dishonour?"
"Just so; he will not see us, not even me, and before proceeding to
extremities we would wish to try every means."
"Before proceeding to extremities! what do you mean by that?"
"Pues! that you know well enough, it is sufficient that I mention it."
"You would force him to marry her? But how?"
"If he does not marry her there are no longer any terms between us,"
said Venceslao, rising excitedly from his seat. "We are a decent family
as is any other family; I am the eldest son of my father, upon me
devolves this duty to avenge the honour of my family, and I have sworn
upon the Holy Cross that my duty I will do, although ten die and I among
them."
"Be calm, man, and sit down, fresh misfortunes cannot cancel the one you
lament. Sit down and talk rationally, I wish to be your friend."
"Among gaucho-folk this sort of thing is little thought of," said
Venceslao, still standing and gesticulating with his hands, "but among
the people of family it is different. The family gives dignity and
privileges to a man, but it also imposes upon him duties. I am nothing
more than a simple paisano, but I am an honest man, and the honour of my
family is dearer to me than my own life, as dear to me as that of any of
the grandees of the city is to him. It appears that the Señor Coronel
thinks little of the honour of his father's family, to me it remains to
teach him that being people of family all are equal."
Evaña's eyes glistened; that all honest men were equal, and that rank
and wealth were but as tinsel adornments, was one of the leading
articles of his political creed. That many of his own standing agreed
with him, he knew, but he did not know that such ideas would find any
favour among the rough, unlettered denizens of the Pampa. In thought he
peered through the mists of the unknown future, and he saw a time when
the aid and friendship of such a man as Venceslao Viana might be of
great service to him; rising from his seat he went up to him and laid
his hand upon his shoulder.
"There is justice in all you say, my friend," said he, "and to me you
may speak safely, but it is not well to speak your thoughts aloud in
every ear. Be calm, there is no need for us yet to discuss this between
us. I wish to be your friend, and I wish also to be a friend to Colonel
Lopez, I desire that he and you may be friends together and not enemies.
Trust me, he shall marry your sister."
"Ah! Señor, if you can manage that you will lift a great weight from my
heart, and will do me a greater service than when you saved me from
the English. Before this I greatly liked the Colonel Lopez, as a chief
I never wish to find one whom I would follow with greater pleasure.
This has been a great tribulation to all of us. Oh! Señor, save us if
you can, the service you will do us is infinite." So saying, Venceslao
reseated himself on his chair and bowing his face on his hands burst
into tears, sobbing till his shoulders shook with the violence of his
grief.
Evaña took two or three turns up and down the room, then coming back to
Venceslao he again laid his hand on his shoulder.
"I am going to see Don Gregorio, the father of the Colonel, he is the
only one who has any power over his son, stay here with Don Roderigo
till I see you again"; so saying, Evaña turned from him and left the
room.
In another room he found Don Roderigo and Doña Constancia, the latter
held a handkerchief in her hand and had evidently been weeping.
"You have heard what he says?" asked Don Roderigo.
"He has told me everything," replied Evaña, "and I am going to see Don
Gregorio."
"I will go with you," said Don Roderigo.
"No, no," said Doña Constancia; "let Don Carlos go alone. It is right
that my father should know of this, but I do not wish that you should
have any dispute with him. Such an idea! If you mention it to him he
will never speak to you again."
"Constancia says that it is absolutely impossible to think of such a
thing as a marriage between them," said Don Roderigo.
"The idea is folly," said Doña Constancia. "That Gregorio should amuse
himself with a gauchita, to that we are accustomed, but Roderigo says
that they insist upon him marrying her!"
"I fear me, Señora," said Evaña, "that is the only course left open to
him. This Mauricia is no gauchita, she is a cousin of your own, Señora."
"Cousin! we recognise no such relationship," replied Doña Constancia
haughtily. "What are you going to tell my father, Don Carlos?"
"I am going to tell him the simple facts, he will decide for himself
whether he will interfere at all in the matter."
"But you will be careful not to mention to him that these Vianas insist
upon him marrying the girl?"
"I shall tell him that also, Señora, and shall do my best to prevail
upon him to consent to it."
"Don Carlos!" exclaimed Doña Constancia, clasping her hands and looking
at him in astonishment.
"I see nothing so extravagant in the idea, Señora. For years you have
all been wishing that Don Gregorio would marry, he is old enough to know
what sort of a wife will suit him best."
"Pues! do what you think best, but my father, I know, will never give
his consent, and we can never receive her."
"That may never be necessary," said Don Roderigo. "Don Gregorio will
live on his estancia, it is the life for which he is most fitted."
Evaña went and saw Don Gregorio, for more than two hours they talked
together.
"My son could seek a wife in the first families. Of those Vianas of
Chascomus I wish no one to speak to me, for me they are as though they
did not exist," said Don Gregorio, as he walked up and down the
dining-room in his anger.
But Evaña would speak of the Vianas, and of their existence Don Gregorio
was most painfully aware.
"I know what you mean, Carlos," said Don Gregorio; "though you will not
say it plainly to me. You mean that Don Francisco Viana is my equal,
that therefore his daughter is the equal of my son, and that he does not
degrade himself by marrying such a woman. I deny your premises, and
therefore the whole of your argument falls to the ground. By birth Don
Francisco is my equal, in everything else he is my inferior; he has
himself married a woman not only inferior to him in birth but in race
also. His daughter is not the equal of my son, and there is less
disgrace in her in their present connection than would come to my son by
their marriage."
"In their own way they are a most respectable family, from all I can
hear," replied Evaña; "and they feel keenly the disgrace which has come
upon them."
"Bah! what matters it, that family! Bring that man here to see me,
Carlos, I will speak to him myself."
It was nightfall before Don Carlos Evaña returned to the house of Don
Gregorio Lopez, accompanied by Venceslao Viana. They were shown into a
small room in the first patio and were soon joined by Don Gregorio. Don
Gregorio looked hard at the roughly dressed but handsome man who stood
before him; the dark blood he had inherited from his mother was plainly
seen in his skin and in his hair, but his features were of almost
classical beauty, and in his face there was a look of intelligence and
of fearless honesty of purpose which won upon the old gentleman in spite
of his prejudices. Venceslao on his part also carefully scrutinised the
appearance of Don Gregorio, and recognised him at once.
"It is the same," said he to himself, bethinking him of the letter he
had carried from Liniers to the Cabildo on the morning of the 3rd July.
"It is the same, I knew that in some way he was a relation of mine,
they all of them seem to be people of 'Categoria,' but not for that
shall I yield one inch. The higher the family, the deeper is the stain
of dishonour."
"Thanks for having taken the trouble to come and visit me, take a
seat," said Don Gregorio, without however offering to shake hands with
him. "My son has behaved very badly to your sister, and to all of you;
apparently you have shown him much kindness, and he has requited you
most infamously. I am glad you have come to see me, for I have great
influence over my son, and will use my utmost endeavour to induce him
to make you every possible reparation. I shall write to him, that on
pain of my severest displeasure he return your sister at once to her
father's house, that is the first thing he must do, then we will see
what further----"
"No, Señor, excuse me," interrupted Venceslao, "that is not the first
thing. The first thing he has to do is to make her his wife, after that,
if he cares for her no longer, the door of her father's house will be
open to her, not before."
"Do me the favour to listen to me. You must be aware that an
alliance----"
"Excuse me, Señor Don Gregorio. By the side of a great Señor as you are,
my father is but a poor man, but we are an honest family, and of good
name. Our honour is as dear to us as your own is to you, and we will not
permit a stain to be cast upon our good name by any one with impunity."
"You permit yourself to talk folly, my friend," said Don Gregorio,
striving to preserve his calmness. "I asked you here that we might speak
together in a friendly manner, and I can excuse much to you as you have
reason for indignation."
"Reason!" said Venceslao excitedly. "You do not know my father. He is a
venerable old man, older than you are I think. Your son has brought
shame and sorrow upon his head, and would you that I, his eldest son,
shall talk of reason! I have well loved your son, and have followed him
as my chief, and I wish to save him from the consequences of his own
act, or I had no need to have come here."
"What is that you say?" said Don Gregorio, frowning angrily.
"I think it is useless to speak any more," said Evaña, "I see that it
can have no good result; I will go to the Guardia Ranchos, and will see
Colonel Lopez myself."
Venceslao looked at him gratefully, and rose from his seat to go.
"Not yet," said Don Gregorio, stepping rapidly between him and the door.
"You have used words which require explanation, you do not leave this
room till I know of your intentions."
"If the honour of your family is nothing to you, to my father it is more
precious than life, and I, his son, know how to avenge any affront to
the family."
"My family!" said Don Gregorio.
"I am of your family, and so is my sister Mauricia; the stain is upon
you as well as upon us. I have come to appeal to you, as the head of the
family; it appears that the honour of the family is to you of small
value, I am a man of another stamp, and will know how to take my
measures. I will know what measures to take."
"Talk no more in that way, Venceslao," said Evaña; "you forget the
respect you owe to an old man."
"It is not alone in respect that he is wanting," said Don Gregorio; "he
has used words which require explanation, and I require an explicit
explanation before he leaves this room."
"I have spoken clearly enough, and seek to hide nothing," said
Venceslao.
"You have spoken of consequences to my son," said Don Gregorio.
"I have spoken; I know my duty, and shall do it."
"You apprehend danger?" said Evaña to Don Gregorio, taking him aside.
"Dismiss all fear of that. Those who talk much never do anything. Leave
it all to me; as I told you, I will go to-morrow to the Guardia Ranchos,
and will see Gregorio myself, we shall arrange the matter, but if you
interfere with this man it will occasion a scandal. You might write to
Gregorio, and I will carry the letter for you."
"No, I will not write, I am too angry to write now, but tell my son that
he must submit to any demand they may make upon him, and that I will not
see him again until he has completely severed all connection between
himself and this family."
"I will tell him what you say, word for word," said Evaña.
* * * * *
Two days after this, Don Carlos Evaña and Colonel Don Gregorio Lopez sat
talking together in the plainly-furnished sala of a house in the
frontier town of Ranchos, which is situated about ten leagues to the
north-east of the Guardia Chascomus. For more than an hour they had
talked together, and it was now near sundown. The Colonel sat leaning
back in an arm-chair, with his legs stretched out before him, his hat,
loosely set on, completely concealed his forehead, his eyes being just
visible under the wide flap. He was smoking, and was apparently more
intent upon watching the white rings of smoke, which he now and then
succeeded in puffing into the air, than upon the conversation of the
Senor Evaña. Everything in his demeanour and attitude denoted careless
ease, yet now and then there was a hurried, anxious glance in his eye,
which showed that the ease was more apparent than real. Don Carlos Evaña
was not at all at his ease, and made no attempt to appear so. He had
laid aside his cloak and hat, and walked up and down the room, nervously
rolling a cigar between his fingers.
"All that you say to me is in vain, Carlos," said Don Gregorio.
"Mauricia is a pearl among women, the more I know of her the more
precious she is to me."
"Then marry her, and make her yours for life," replied Evaña.
"And break for ever with my father! no!"
"I gave you your father's message, word for word, as he gave it to me;
he insists upon your severing all connection with that family, as I told
you."
"With the family with pleasure; I have done that most decisively already
by robbing a daughter from them," replied the colonel, with a hollow
laugh.
"And never did you do anything more contrary to your own interests."
"Why do you so insist upon my interests? Granted that I do lose my
influence with the paisanage, and that I cease to be comandante, what
matters that to you?"
"To me! what can it matter to me? But to you it matters more than you
think. The day is not far distant when the comandantes will have the
destinies of our country in their hands."
"Ah! always at that old idea of yours--America for the Americans. It
seems to me that we fought the English for Spain and not for America. I
raised a regiment and worked like a slave for months, because it was my
father's wish that I should do so. How have they rewarded my father?"
As Don Gregorio said this all his carelessness disappeared, he thrust
his hat back from his forehead, and stamping angrily with one foot on
the tiled floor he fiercely repeated his question, "How have they
rewarded my father?"
"They despise him, and kick him out from amongst them as though he were
a dog," replied Evaña.
"Pues! why then should I be comandante, to drill troops and run upon the
fire, if need be, for them?"
"You speak well. But answer me one question. How many Spaniards are
there in your regiment?"
"None. What do I want with Spaniards?"
"In the Partido of Chascomus, how many Spaniards are there who have
houses and land?"
"Perhaps fifty."
"Then if you have all the paisanos at your back you need fear nothing
from the Cabildo if you happened to quarrel with them?"
"In my own partido I am king, and fear no one."
"Answer me yet another question. Who was it that drove Beresford from
the Plaza Mayor, and so insured his destruction on the 12th August?"
"Juan Martin Puyrredon and my nephew."
"Another question. What troops drove back the English columns on the 5th
July?"
"The Patricios. I am not a school-boy that you should ask me questions
that every one knows."
"Well, I will ask you no more. But look you here; you are an American,
and are king, as you say, in your own partido. Don Juan Martin
Puyrredon, Don Martin Rodriguez, and all the other comandantes are just
as powerful in their districts as you are in yours; the strength of
Buenos Aires is in the native militia, who obey Don Cornelio Saavedra,
everywhere the strength is in the hands of Americans; where the strength
is, there the power will go. They have turned Don Gregorio out of the
Cabildo, the Spaniards are to have all the power to themselves. Think
you this can last? No, I tell you your father must go back to that
Cabildo. You must keep up your regiment, and when the day comes your
strength and influence will put him there."
"It may be," replied Don Gregorio, again leaning back lazily in his
chair; "but for the present we have other things to think of. You did
not come here to tell me that."
"No, but if you marry Mauricia you secure your power and influence. If
you do not, your help will never be of any service to your father."
"Tales, my friend, why should I marry her? She is better off here with
me now than she ever was before, or was ever likely to be."
"You think so, but I doubt it. She must love you very dearly, or she
would not have run away from her home with you. She would be proud to be
your wife, now she is to you as your horse or your dog, you can turn her
away when you are tired of her. She has sacrificed everything for you,
but she has no claim upon you."
"She has more than a claim, she has power over me. She knows that I can
refuse her nothing; this house, everything that I have is hers, she has
only to ask, and she knows it."
"Has she ever asked you for anything?"
"Never. She is with me because she loves me, and I love her."
"Has she ever asked to see her father, or any of her family?"
"Never. I never speak to her about them, and I never wish her to see
them again."
"Yet she was much attached to them all. Do you think she has forgotten
them?"
As Don Gregorio did not answer this question, Evaña continued:
"Men cut themselves off from their families and form homes for
themselves, but women never forget the homes of their childhood. It may
be a light thing to you to quarrel with your father, but it will be a
sore trial to Mauricia to lose hers, you have blasted her life for her."
"Folly, man! Here she has a house of her own, a better one than she ever
lived in before, servants to wait upon her, and nothing to do but amuse
herself."
"Nothing to do!" answered Evaña. "Idleness either in man or woman is
destructive of happiness. If she has nothing to do she will soon be
miserable; she has been accustomed always to have plenty of work on her
hands. If she were your wife she would feel that this house was hers,
and would soon find plenty of work in ruling it for you. As the head of
your household her work would be happiness to her; as your wife she
would feel herself a queen among her sisters."
"Since when have you learned to know so much of women, Carlos?" replied
Don Gregorio, laughing. "Formerly you cared for nothing but books."
Evaña turned impatiently away from him and did not answer, whereupon Don
Gregorio arose from his chair, saying:
"I will go and speak with Mauricia, for her happiness I am ready to make
any sacrifice."
Evaña relighted his cigar and threw himself full-length upon a sofa; the
cigar was long smoked out ere Don Gregorio returned.
For several days past Mauricia had been less cheerful than she was wont
to be. Don Gregorio had noticed this once or twice when he had come upon
her unawares; he had found her in tears, which she had striven to hide
from him. When he left Evaña he found her sitting alone with some
embroidery work before her, but her fingers were idle, traces of recent
tears were on her cheeks, yet as he sat down beside her she cast her sad
thoughts to the winds, and turned to greet him with a loving smile.
"Has your friend gone?" she asked.
"No, not yet. We have been talking of your father, and of the rest of
your family; he says----"
But as Don Gregorio spoke of her father, all the sad thoughts in which
she had been indulging rushed back to her mind, her colour faded from
her face, and she clasped her hands together, twining her fingers one
over the other, and bowing her head upon her bosom. About her father and
her family she could not speak, and, as Don Gregorio spoke to her of
them slightingly, her heart for the first time rose in rebellion against
him.
"They all loved me," said she sharply, in a tone which Don Gregorio had
never heard from her before, "and I have brought sorrow and shame upon
them; what matters it that they are poor?" As she said this she hid her
face in her hands, and the tears trickled through her fingers.
Don Gregorio did all that he could to soothe her, speaking loving words
to her, leaning over her and caressing her; but to all that he said she
spoke not one word in return, still hiding her face from him, still
struggling in her own way against the remorse which lay heavy on her
heart.
"They want me to marry thee," said he, drawing slightly away from her.
At this her hands dropped from her face, she turned and looked full upon
him, a wild gleam of joy and hope in her eyes.
"Will they forgive me?" she asked eagerly.
"To my wife they have nothing to forgive," replied Don Gregorio
haughtily. "If it is that thou lovest them better than me, leave me, go
to them, and ask them to forgive thee."
"No, no!" replied Mauricia, again dropping her face on to her hands,
"with thee, wherever thou art!"
"Thou seekest me not then to marry thee?"
"Do not be angry with me, only love me, and let me always be with thee."
So saying, Mauricia rose from her seat, and threw herself on her knees
beside him, laying both her hands upon one arm and leaning upon him.
Don Gregorio put his arm round her and bent over her, asking her again:
"Willest thou that we marry?"
But Mauricia still clung to him answering him nothing. Then he took her
in his arms and raised her to her feet, and said in a low whisper:
"Venceslao is near here, I go to send him to thy father to ask his
permission for thee to become my wife."
With a low cry of joy she threw her arms round his neck, kissing him
frantically.
* * * * *
It was a Sunday forenoon, three weeks after this, that Don Carlos Evaña
accompanied by Venceslao Viana, rode up to the estancia of Don Francisco
Viana. Many horses were tethered about, and dogs rushed out barking
fiercely at them, but no one came to bid them welcome.
"They are at service," said Venceslao, as he tied Evaña's horse for him
to the palenque; "would you like to see? It is a thing you will not see
on other estancias."
"With pleasure; I am curious to see it."
"It is well worth seeing," said Venceslao, smiling. "There is no Padre
Cura can say Mass like my father does."
He then led the way into a large room where the whole household was
collected, sitting or kneeling on the ground in rows, the women having
small carpets under them, and some of the men had coarse rugs or
sheepskins. Don Francisco himself, a venerable-looking old man with
white hair, which hung down to his shoulders, and a long white beard,
stood behind a small table at one end of the room, reading from a large
book which lay open on it before him--the service of the day. His eye
flashed a cordial greeting to Evaña as he entered, he paused for one
moment to bow a mute salutation, and then calmly resumed his reading.
Evaña took a seat on a chair which stood near the door, looking with
curiosity upon a scene such as he had never before witnessed, and many a
furtive glance was cast upon him by the worshippers, more especially
from the front row, where Mauricia knelt with her mother and her
sisters. Don Gregorio was not present, and Venceslao whispered to Evaña
that he had ridden into the Guardia that morning, and would be back
before sundown. As the service ended all knelt down, bowing their heads,
and Don Francisco, raising his hands, pronounced the benediction; then
as the others rose to their feet he made his way through them, and came
up to Evaña with tears in his eyes and both hands stretched out in
welcome.
"May God all-powerful and the most Holy Virgin have you ever in their
keeping, and return to you tenfold the benefits you have worked for us.
You have saved a whole family from misery, and have brought joy and
contentment back to our household."
A feeling of shame came over Evaña as he stammered out some incoherent
words in answer, then he said:
"I had no idea you had so large a family. Are all these yours?"
"All," replied the old man, looking proudly round him; "all are mine,
sons, daughters, and relatives of my wife. I have no stranger in my
household, we are but one family."
Then taking Evaña by the hand he introduced him to his wife and
daughters, who kissed his hands, and the mother, a stout, well-featured
woman, with dark complexion and coarse black hair, thanked him and
blessed him with many fervent words for having restored her daughter to
her when she wept over her as lost.
"Boys," said Don Francisco, turning to the male members of his family,
"you see this Señor, we owe to him a benefit which we can never repay;
through fire and through water our lives and all that we have are at his
service if the day ever comes that he need them."
Then he added in a low voice to Evaña:
"Don Gregorio has told me that the day may come when you may need a few
stout horsemen at your back. Look round, you will see stout men among my
household. All are yours when you call for them."
Evaña remained three days at the estancia of Don Francisco, days which
were held as fête days by the family and their neighbours, and passed in
all manner of rural sports and games. On the Tuesday there was a grand
ostrich hunt, in which over 200 horsemen took a part. Many were the
feats of horsemanship performed, and the choicest trophies were laid at
the feet of Don Carlos Evaña, though the hunt was nominally to celebrate
the wedding of the Señor Coronel Don Gregorio Lopez and the fair
Mauricia, daughter of Don Francisco Viana.
CHAPTER III
WATCH AND WAIT
When Don Carlos Evaña left the estancia of Don Francisco Viana, Colonel
Lopez accompanied him for about a league on his way. As he drew rein to
turn back, he stretched out his hand to Evaña, saying:
"May God keep you, my friend. If you had not come to see me I should
never have married her, and now I know it is the best thing I ever did
in my life. Do what you can for me to make my peace with my father. I
have written to him announcing my marriage, but have no answer from him.
If he will receive me I will go in and visit him at once, but of course
Mauricia will remain on the estancia."
In consequence of this Evaña went in by way of the Casa-teja, having an
idea that he might find Don Gregorio there. In this he was not
disappointed, but he was much disappointed at the reception he met with.
Don Gregorio told him plainly that he believed his son to be the victim
of a conspiracy, to which he, Evaña, had lent himself for some unknown
purposes of his own, so that the interview between them was highly
unpleasant to both of them, and Evaña gave a sigh of relief as he swung
himself once more into his saddle, and galloped off for the Quinta de
Ponce.
Here also he met with disappointment. He had always been a great
favourite with Doña Constancia, but now she received him very coldly.
"And you tell me that it is actually true, Carlos?" she said. "You stood
by and did nothing to prevent it, and gave your countenance to it by
being present? I always looked upon you as one of ourselves, Carlos."
"I have no dearer wish in life than that you should continue to do so,
Doña Constancia," replied Evaña. "In what I have done I have acted as I
considered that the interests of the Colonel himself demanded. Had I
considered my own interests I should have refused to have anything to do
in the affair either one way or another. Your father seems disposed to
excuse the Colonel and to lay the whole blame upon me. I am content that
he should do so if by so doing he learns to forgive his son. But if you
blame me I shall feel that I have incurred a very heavy and most
unmerited misfortune."
"You are always generous, Carlos," said Doña Constancia, "and I should
be sorry to blame you more than you deserve. Your intentions may have
been quite right, but you have at any rate shown great want of judgment,
and we did not expect that from you. That my brother should commit such
great folly is no matter of surprise to any of us, but to papa it has
been a very severe blow, and I cannot help feeling angry with you for
the share you have had in causing him this sorrow."
* * * * *
If Evaña felt sore at the reception Doña Constancia gave him, he was
amply compensated by the cordial greeting of her daughter Dolores, who
on this subject held very different ideas from either her mother or
grandfather, and declared them boldly, fortified as her own opinion was
by the few words which Don Roderigo had said upon the subject.
She, Marcelino, and Lieutenant Gordon were seated under the front
verandah when Evaña joined them after his short conversation with Doña
Constancia.
"What a time you have been away, more than a month, but you have been
well employed, I think," said Dolores, smiling upon him. "Marcelino and
I have talked it all over together, and we agree that you have done our
uncle a great service, if you had anything to do with his marriage, as
they say you had."
"Every one has been wanting Uncle Gregorio to marry for years," said
Marcelino, "and now they are angry because he has chosen his wife
himself."
"Sit down and tell us all about it, Don Carlos," said Dolores.
Evaña sat down and remained talking with them for nearly an hour.
"I have quite a curiosity to see that Don Francisco," said Dolores; "he
must be like one of the old patriarchs."
"And lives like one too," said Evaña. "His wife and daughters make
clothes for the whole household, they spin and weave the wool of their
own sheep, and the whole of the outside work is done by the boys, I do
not think they have any slaves."
"And he says Mass every Sunday and Feast-day? I don't think that is
proper," said Dolores.
"Ask Padre Jacinto," said Marcelino; "he will tell you that it is very
wicked."
"He does not say Mass exactly, at least I think not," said Evaña. "He
reads passages of Scripture, and psalms, and prayers, and no Latin, so
every one can understand him."
"If Don Fausto will take me out with him next time he goes I will go and
see this Don Francisco," said Gordon; "I should like to hear the service
very much."
"We will go together some day when I am strong enough to ride so far,"
said Marcelino.
"How very ungrateful of you, Marcelino. What would grandpapa say?" said
Dolores. "Don Carlos! I have something to tell you. The wonderful French
carriage that you sent out to grandpapa has actually been used at last."
"There is some hope for us then yet," replied Evaña. "When carriages are
used then we shall begin to be civilised."
"But it was a very special occasion. Grandpapa took Marcelino to the
Miserere, and they spent a day with Don Alfonso."
"And how was the medico?" asked Evaña. "As grumpy as ever?"
"Oh, no; all smiles and hospitality," replied Marcelino. "He received me
as my grandfather's grandson, and you know he can refuse nothing to Don
Gregorio. Gordon went with us, we were both told that the house was
ours, and we mean to go again."
"Bravo!" exclaimed Evaña. "Don Alfonso is coming out in a new line. It
is something new for him to invite young men to his house."
"You do not call yourself old, do you?" asked Gordon.
"Don Alfonso treats me as if I was," replied Evaña.
"That is because you are so learned and wise," said Dolores, at which
speech Evaña looked uncomfortable and the others laughed.
"My paisanita was there too," said Gordon, "so we passed a very pleasant
day I can tell you."
"And Marcelino was bashful and dared not talk to her in English," said
Dolores.
"She talks Spanish as well as you do, so why should I?" said Marcelino.
"You must ride every day while you are here," said Evaña. "When you are
strong enough to ride there she will teach you English better than
Gordon can."
"As soon as I am strong enough I shall have something else to do," said
Marcelino; "I am going into harness. I suppose you don't know the last
news. Juan Carlos is going to Spain and I am to take his place at the
Consulado."
"Juan Carlos going to Spain!" said Evaña. "What is he going there for?"
"Papa arranged it all," said Dolores. "As a reward for Marcelino's
bravery last year the Council of the Indies sent out to him an
appointment 'for his son' to a very high post at Cadiz. Of course it was
intended for Marcelino, but he won't go, so papa accepted it for Juan
Carlos. We did all we could to persuade Marcelino, but it was no use, I
don't think even if you had been here you could have persuaded him, and
it is too late now."
"You seem very anxious to get rid of me, Lola," said Marcelino.
"You know I am not. But I can't make out what could make you refuse such
an honour as that."
"I may perhaps be of some use to my own country at the Consulado, and
Juan Carlos wishes to visit Europe."
"Use! you might be of more use in Spain. Papa says that in a few years
you might have been in the council yourself, then you would have been
one of the rulers of Spanish America, and you might have come here again
as Viceroy. Juan Carlos is not as clever as you are, he will never be
Viceroy."
"I do not think he will," said Marcelino. "But if I went, who is to
command my negroes when the English come again?"
"They are disbanded," said Dolores. "Besides, the English will not come
again. Have they not enough with two defeats? Do you think they will
come again, Mr Gordon?"
At this Gordon looked troubled and made no answer, but Evaña answered
for him.
"I have lived in England and know the English, I think they will," said
he. "You have heard me speak of their game 'the box'; I have seen a man
knocked down ten times, and yet get up again all bleeding as he was and
win after all. The English are all like that, to be beaten is only to
begin again."
"It is their merchants," said Marcelino, "who will force them to
continue the war with us. Their commerce is ruined by the continental
system of Napoleon, and they think to make a market here for their goods
with cannon-shot and bayonets."
At this Gordon rose from his chair and walked away under the trees, and
Dolores, looking after him as he went, said sadly:
"It is a barbarity, this war, why cannot we be friends?"
"Our masters the Spaniards will not let us," said Evaña.
"The Spaniards! always the Spaniards," said Dolores impatiently, then
she also rose from her chair and went inside the house.
"So you do not care to be Viceroy of Buenos Aires?" said Evaña, as he
and Marcelino were left alone.
"I think I have as good a chance of becoming Viceroy by remaining here
as by going to Spain," replied Marcelino.
"How so? Everything seems to be falling back into its old channel."
"With one great difference, that so long as there is any fear of another
English invasion the militia will remain embodied. You know Liniers, the
Spaniards distrust him, for he is a Frenchman, and is very popular with
us Creoles, he knows that his power depends altogether upon the
Patricios. Don Cornelio Saavedra is his particular friend, Liniers does
nothing without consulting him; the opinions of the people are the
opinions of Don Cornelio, and he has his way in spite of the secret
hostility of the Cabildo. I tell you, Carlos, we Porteños are already
the rulers of Buenos Aires."
"Then the English are still of some service to us," replied Evaña. "So
long as there is any danger of another visit from them, Liniers and Don
Cornelio will keep up the militia, and the will of the people will be
law, but take care how you say that in the streets, my friend. What says
Don Roderigo?"
"My father expects that the Count of Aranjuez will make Liniers Viceroy,
the danger of another English invasion will make them overlook all other
considerations, but that if Spain should make peace with England then he
will be recalled at once."
"And the militia will be disbanded, and everything be as before," said
Evaña.
"But in the meantime, months, perhaps years, will pass, during which we
have the power _de facto_ in our own hands. Time is working a pacific
revolution amongst us; at last Spain will see that the only way to
preserve her colonies will be to give us the right of self-government."
"Spain give us the right of self-government! Dreams, my friend! Since
when did you get that idea?"
"Since the day when I went with my grandfather to visit Don Alfonso."
"Ah! my friend, I compliment you upon your new master in politics," said
Evaña, laughing; "Don Alfonso has worked a miracle with you. Why don't
you go to Spain and come back Viceroy? Tell me, do you really think that
Spain will ever consent to leave the revenues of the country at our
disposal?"
"Of course we should still have to pay some of it to the King as our
sovereign."
"Yes, but King Charles is not Spain. What would become of the Consulado
of Cadiz if they lost the monopoly of our trade? What would become of
the lazy Spanish grandees, who draw their revenues from us and do
nothing in return?"
"We are the subjects of King Charles as much as they are; if the King
consents to be our sovereign just as he is the sovereign of Spain, and
lets us have a Cortes of our own, what can the Consulado of Cadiz or the
Spanish nobles do against us?"
"You know as well as I do that all Spaniards, from the King downwards,
look upon us as their slaves and consider all that we have as their
property. From Don Alfonso you can never have got such ideas as these."
"There is Gordon," said Marcelino, interrupting Evaña. "Don Alejandro!"
he added, calling to Lieutenant Gordon, "come here and help me."
Then as Gordon returned to the verandah and resumed his seat, he
continued:
"You remember the conversation we had with my grandfather and Don
Alfonso that day we were at the quinta?"
"Perfectly," replied Gordon.
"Now tell me again what made your colonies in North America revolt
against England?"
"Government wanted to tax them for imperial purposes," said Gordon.
"Then formerly none of their revenues went to England?"
"No, the colonial revenues were applied to colonial purposes, but of
course they had to pay the English officials."
"And they had their own laws and their own municipal institutions, and
would have been perfectly content to remain colonies until now if
England had only left them as they were?"
"I believe they would. I don't think that King George had anywhere more
loyal subjects than in those colonies until the English Parliament began
to tax them by its own authority."
"What the English wanted to force upon the Americans of the United
States is what Spain has always forced upon us. Americans had a right to
rebel against the English, we have a right to rebel against Spain?"
"I think so," replied Gordon.
"But the Americans would have been content enough with King George if
the English Parliament had left them alone, and we would be content
enough with King Charles if he would let us have our own laws, as your
colonies had before their War of Independence."
"Dismiss any such idea from your mind, Marcelino, it is folly, and you
know it," said Evaña, rising to his feet. "Why you should try to believe
that we can ever enjoy the rights of free-born men by any procedure
short of an absolute rupture with Spain I cannot imagine."
"But I can imagine it very easily," said Gordon.
Then Evaña, looking earnestly at Marcelino, saw a deep shade of anxious
sorrow come over his still worn features.
"Ah! my friend," he said, "I see that you have some reason of your own
for wishing that we could achieve our freedom and yet preserve our
connection with Spain, but again I tell you that it is impossible."
"Oh! Carlos, do you not see why it is that I am so anxious to preserve
our connection with Spain?" exclaimed Marcelino.
"I see only that freedom and Spanish rule are incompatible," replied
Evaña.
"And my father? Do you never think of him?"
"He is a Spaniard," replied Evaña; then as he spoke the sadness which
clouded Marcelino's face was reflected in his own.
"Yes, he is a Spaniard," said Marcelino, "and there are other Spaniards
like him though not many; men of liberal minds, who would gladly see
Spain herself free from the rule of bigoted priests and ignorant nobles,
who would gladly see the colonies of Spain ruled by their own laws, but
they as sternly as any other Spaniards assert the supremacy of the royal
house of Spain."
"I wish I could think any pacific revolution possible," said Evaña with
a sigh. "But we have power in our own hands now, let us make use of it.
Why are you going to the Consulado?"
"My father wishes me to devote myself to the civil service. At present I
think I shall be of use there. And you, will you do nothing?"
"I have already done something; I have bought an estancia."
"You! you will never be an estanciero!"
"I never intend to be. But on my estancia I have peons, and my peons
will be soldiers the day I want them. I have not lost the month I spent
outside with your uncle, I have persuaded him also to do something. That
mob of horsemen he had with him at the Ensenada were just of no use
whatever, he is going to select about 200 of the best of them and form
them into a regiment of dragoons. I have a letter from him to Liniers on
the subject; if Liniers will send him arms, and three or four sergeants
to drill the men for him, he will do the rest."
"Bravo! before the English come again we shall have some decent cavalry.
Don Martin Rodriguez is also raising a regiment of hussars at his own
expense among the peons and quinteros in the suburbs. With some drilled
cavalry among them to steady them, our partidarios may be of great
service in the open."
"Your gauchos, if properly drilled and officered, would make excellent
cavalry," said Gordon.
"It is chiefly the want of officers makes them of so little use," said
Evaña.
"But tell me, Carlos," said Marcelino, "where is your estancia?"
"It adjoins the land of Don Fausto Velasquez. I have put Venceslao Viana
in charge of the place. He will have command of a troop of forty men in
Don Gregorio's regiment."
"Then if there be another invasion you will join us, Carlos?"
"If the English come as they did before, to conquer us, then I will be a
dragoon, and will lead my men myself against them. Watch and wait, that
is all we can do at present; when time lifts the veil from before the
unknown future then we shall know against what enemy to turn our arms."
CHAPTER IV
THE RAISING OF THE VEIL
"Nearly a year, mamita, nearly a year," said Dolores to her mother, as
they sat together under the wide verandah at the Quinta de Ponce.
"And it seems a long time to you, Lola?" replied Doña Constancia.
"The time has passed quickly, but it seems ages ago. Last year there was
always something happening. Marcelino was busy training his negroes, and
in town every one was talking of the new regiments, and about what the
English were doing in Monte Video, and when they were coming. Now they
say the English are coming again, but no one knows when. Marcelino is
secretary at the Consulado, grandpapa hardly ever leaves his house, and
Uncle Gregorio is always at his estancia outside."
"But we are not left quite alone, Lola; we have one visitor who comes
very often."
"Yes, Don Carlos Evaña, when he is not at his new estancia; but now he
and Mr Gordon have been there more than a month, and they said they were
only going for a week. But when they are here they never talk politics
as they used to do; Don Carlos seems to think of nothing but of his
estancia. Papa is the only one who talks of politics now, and he talks
only of the Prince of La Paz, and Prince Ferdinand."
"I never thought that you cared about politics, Lola."
"But I like to hear them talk and argue, mamita; it sounds as if it was
something important when they are so eager about it, but now they are
never eager, any of them. Even Marcelino the other day, when Don Manuel
Belgrano was here, did not seem to care anything about what the French
did in Portugal, though papa got quite excited about it."
It was nearly a year, as Dolores said, nearly a year since the last
invasion of the English, for it was now the month of May in the year
1808, a balmy day for the season, with light, fleecy clouds flitting
over the blue vault of heaven now and then hiding the sun. A calm day in
which the air was never still, and yet no one could tell from which
quarter the wind came. When there was any wind, it came in little gusts,
sweeping along the smooth walks of the quinta, creating great tumult and
bustle among the dry leaves fallen from the overhanging branches of the
trees, so stirring them as though with the intent to garner them up,
then straightway casting them down again and leaving them, and going
sighing away among the tree-tops, mourning over the past glories of the
summer.
It was nearly a year since the last invasion of the English, it was
nearly time that they came again, if so be that they were coming; and
men said that they were coming, and, full of confidence at the failure
of two previous invasions, they thought lightly of it; yet not for that
did they neglect some needful preparation, and Buenos Aires was stronger
now and better able to meet invasion than she had ever been before. So
the summer had passed, and the autumn, and the only event of importance
that had occurred had been the formal nomination by the Court of
Aranjuez of General Don Santiago Liniers as Viceroy of Buenos Aires,
raising him at the same time to the rank of field-marshal, to the great
content of the Patricios, who looked to Liniers as their own special
leader, and to the general satisfaction of all Porteños.
"Yes, Lola, we have been very quiet all this summer and autumn, but
to-day is our last day here," said Doña Constancia.
"And won't Aunt Josefina be glad to see us in town again. Marcelino is
stronger now than ever he was, so next month of course he will give that
grand ball she has promised so long in his honour; but, ah me! it is so
long ago now that he has forgotten what it is to be a hero, and has a
pale face and white hands, you would never take him now to be the
Comandante de los Morenos de Ponce."
"Then if you think heroes ought to have sunburnt faces and brown hands,
you must look for another one. What say you to Don Carlos for a hero?"
"He would make a very good hero, mamita; but he has never done anything
yet but gallop about."
"And gallop in to Buenos Aires and back whenever a certain young lady
that I know, has fancied that she wanted anything that was to be found
in the city."
"He has been very kind to us all the summer; so strange of him, who
never seemed to care for anything except his books. But every one seems
to be quite changed now, except you, mamma?"
"Yes, Lola, as time goes on every one changes; I see a great change in
you."
"In me, mamma?"
"Yes, in you, Lola. Last year you used to be as merry as the day was
long; now I often see you sitting with your hands before you quite
quiet, thinking to yourself. What do you think about, Lola?"
"Thousands of things, mamma, at times, but generally about nothing,"
replied Dolores, as a bright flush spread over her cheeks.
"Do you ever think of any one in particular, Lola?"
Then as Dolores did not answer this question, but bowed her head while
the long dark lashes fell over her eyes like a veil, Doña Constancia
added another:
"Do you think much of Don Carlos Evaña, Lola? He has paid you great
attention for months. I never before knew him pay attention to any one."
"To me, mamma?" exclaimed Dolores, looking up with a merry smile.
"Yes, to you Lola."
"Oh! mamita, what ideas you do get into that pretty head of yours! Why
Don Carlos talks three times as much to you as he does to me. Next you
will tell me that he is in love with me! Fancy the wisest of men being
in love with a foolish, ignorant girl like me!" So saying, Dolores
jumped up from her seat with a ringing laugh.
"Lola!" said Doña Constancia, "come and sit down again, I want to talk
to you, and do not like you to laugh at what I say."
"No, no, no, mamita!" said Dolores, running off along one of the walks,
and still laughing. "I hear horses on the road, some one is coming."
Dolores went up the quinta fence and looked over, then presently she
came back and reseated herself very quietly beside her mother, saying:
"They come, mamita, they have gone in by the other gate."
"Who come, Lola?"
"Don Carlos and Mr Gordon."
A few minutes passed, mother and daughter sitting in silence together;
Dolores with her hands clasped, looking dreamily out upon the trees, her
mother watching her. Then the two whom Dolores had seen coming came,
walking slowly up by a winding path together. Dolores rose and went to
meet them, smiling merrily at Don Carlos Evaña with a new look of
curiosity in her eyes, and holding out her hand to him in cordial
welcome. Then after the usual greetings she turned from him, the smile
dying away from her face, and the fringes of her eyes hiding them, to
give a silent welcome to his companion. Her hand hesitated as she
stretched it out towards him, and the flush spreading over her features
added a fresh charm to her radiant beauty. Between these two a coldness
and constraint had sprung up during the last few months, putting an end
to the careless intimacy which had previously existed. Don Carlos had
watched them closely all these months, but had spoken no word to any one
of what he had seen; now, though he was speaking to Doña Constancia and
held her hand in his, still he watched them with a jealous scrutiny.
An hour later, as they sat together talking of the morrow's journey to
the city, and of the gay doings which might be looked for during the
coming winter, if so be that the English would only leave them in peace,
two more were added to the company, Marcelino and Evaristo, who had
galloped out from town together to superintend the removal of the
morrow.
"And what news from the Old World?" asked Gordon, when the messages had
all been duly delivered. "Have not my paisanos made up their minds not
to come yet? It seems to me that we have plenty to do in Europe without
coming here."
"Great news!" replied Marcelino, looking eagerly at Evaña. "King Charles
has abdicated, and Ferdinand VII. is now King of Spain and the Indies."
"Viva! Fernando Septimo! Viva!!" shouted Evaristo, throwing up his hat.
Don Carlos Evaña had been leaning back lazily in an arm-chair, but as
Evaristo shouted "Viva! Fernando Septimo," he started upright clutching
both the arms of his chair with his hands.
"He has the French with him, Prince Ferdinand?" said he, almost
breathless with excitement.
"He depends upon French assistance," said Marcelino, "and it is rumoured
that he is to marry a niece of the Emperor."
"Spain! Spain! how art thou fallen!" said Evaña, in a hollow voice. "Nor
Charles, nor Ferdinand, but the Lieutenant of the Emperor, he will be
King of Spain. When was it that the 'Moniteur' said those few words of
Portugal: 'The House of Braganza has ceased to reign?' As yet only a few
months have passed since then. Ere this year run out there will be
another line in the 'Moniteur' concerning Spain: 'The House of Bourbon
has ceased to reign.' All Europe----but come, Marcelino, tell me more of
this;" so saying Evaña sprang from his chair, and taking Marcelino by
the arm the two walked away under the trees, talking eagerly together in
low tones.
"Now Lola, what do you say?" said Doña Constancia. "Has Don Carlos
forgotten all about politics?"
* * * * *
"I have something else to tell you, Carlos," said Marcelino, after they
had talked long together. "My grandfather has never smiled since the day
he heard of my uncle's marriage, he has fallen off greatly; I fear my
mother will be much shocked when she sees him. He never speaks of Don
Gregorio, but I know he is always thinking of him, and I believe he only
wants an excuse to forgive him. It is very hard on you, Carlos, for us
to ask you to meddle any more in this affair, after the reproaches you
have suffered already, but I think if you could prevail upon Don
Gregorio to come in and go straight to his father that he would receive
him with open arms."
"I will go at once," replied Evaña.
"To-morrow?"
"No, now, this evening."
"There is no need for that, it is nearly sundown, but to-morrow, I shall
think it so good of you to do it. And if great changes are at hand, as
you say, if you succeed in reconciling Don Gregorio with his father you
will greatly increase your own power, with either of them you will be
able to do what you like."
"Do not say that. I owe much to your grandfather, and to his son too, to
all of you in fact. I shall bring some happiness back to you, let me
think that I do it from gratitude only, from no ulterior motive. It is a
rough road to tread, this road that I have chosen, demanding sacrifices
at every turn; love, friendship, even honour itself must be trampled
underfoot by one who devotes himself to ambition. Let me think that I
can do a service to my best friends without any selfish motive."
"What can be more noble and less selfish than your ambition, Carlos? You
seek the freedom of your native country, and are ready to sacrifice
yourself for her sake."
"Myself, yes. Ah! if that were only all! But wait here, I will rejoin
you in a minute."
As they spoke they had walked back to the front of the house, and Doña
Constancia called to them:
"We are going to walk up the road to take one more look over the Pampa,
will you come with us?"
"In one minute, Señora," said Evaña, walking away towards the back of
the house.
Evaristo found himself something else to do, but the rest were soon
afterwards walking together up the road between the long lines of
poplars, Doña Constancia walking in front with Marcelino and Lieutenant
Gordon, while Don Carlos Evaña and Dolores came behind. Doña Constancia
walked quickly, so that these two were soon left quite by themselves. At
first they talked of the news brought out by Marcelino, Dolores trying
her best to incite Don Carlos to some vehement expression of his
political opinions, which were well known to her, but she tried in vain,
his enthusiasm seemed to have quite evaporated during his talk with
Marcelino, and his thoughts seemed to be far away, and bent on some
quite different subject.
"You are very happy, Dolores," said Evaña; "why should you care anything
for Spain or for Spanish affairs?"
"Spain is Papa's country," said Dolores; "I love everything that papa
cares for."
"Your father loves you very dearly, Dolores, you are very fortunate,
every one you have near you loves you."
"Yes, I am very fortunate, and very happy, with papa and mamma and my
brothers and so many aunts and uncles and cousins to care for, and who
love me, I am very happy, I ought to be," said Dolores, unconscious that
in so saying she reopened an old wound in the sensitive nature of her
companion, who had none of whom he could so speak, and who, having none,
all the more deeply felt the need of them.
"Yes, you ought to be happy, and you are, but no one in this world can
be always free from sorrow and trouble, not even the most happy; to all
there comes a time when they feel the want of something more than the
love of those who have always been dear to them; some trouble comes to
them, in which the support and aid of some firm friend may be of great
service to them. Would you value the friendship of one who, while you
are happy in the love of all about you, would never intrude a thought or
a wish of his own upon you, but, if you were in trouble and in need of
any help that he could give, would leave everything to serve you, and
seek a reward only in the pleasure it would give him to aid you in any
way?"
Dolores looked up at him in surprise as he paused for an answer; she had
never felt the need of such friendship, and hardly thought it possible
that she ever should do, but as she saw the eagerness in his eyes her
own fell before them, she stammered out some words in reply, she hardly
knew what, and Evaña went on:
"I know you do not love me, Dolores," he said; "you never will love me
as you love your father or your brothers. We have seen much of each
other during the past few months, but circumstances may very likely
interfere between us so that we see much less of each other in future.
It would be a great consolation to me to know that sometimes you will
yet think of me, and that if some who are dear to you speak evil of me,
you will not condemn me in your heart unheard, but will think of me as
a friend who would make any sacrifice to serve you. Will you not let me
be your friend, Dolores?"
"My friend, oh! yes. Why not? We have always been friends, and you are
Marcelino's best friend, he often says so."
"Yes, Marcelino and I have known each other long and intimately, and
nothing will come between us to interrupt our friendship, but with you
and me it is different; already I see a cloud rising between us which
may drive us far apart, our ways in life are separate, but will you not
promise me, Dolores, always to think of me as your friend, whatever
happens?"
"You are my friend, and mamma's and papa's and Marcelino's, and to
grandpapa you are as a son."
"I know all that, and I value their friendship and their kindness to me,
but some of them may learn to think me unworthy of their friendship, and
you may do so too; but will you not promise me, as I have asked you,
always to think of me as your friend, whatever happens?"
There was a plaintiveness in Evaña's voice as he asked this which
startled Dolores, looking up again at him she saw his face flushed, and
an eager, imploring look in his eyes such as she had never seen before.
"Promise me that, Dolores," he continued, taking her hand in his. "To
you it may seem unreasonable and unkind that I should fear any
interruption to our friendship, but I know the value of what I ask from
you, I know that if you promise me you will keep your promise, whatever
happens; I know that you will always look upon me as your friend."
Then Dolores knew that Evaña loved her; ignorant and foolish as she had
said she was beside him, yet she knew now that he loved her, and she
knew also that he never would tell her so in words, never seek her love
in return. A strange mixture of fear and regret filled her heart, for
she knew that she could never love him as he loved her, though he was
well worthy of her love, and in that she could not love him she pitied
him all the more. And she feared she knew not what; she had always
looked up to him as to one much wiser than herself, and now he spoke of
some unknown cause which might interrupt the friendship she had always
felt for him; her hand trembled in his firm grasp and she burst into
tears.
"Do not cry, Lola," said Evaña, using for the first time that dear,
familiar name by which she was known to those who were nearest and
dearest to her; "do not cry, if you are angry I will importune you no
more, I will suffer anything rather than see you sad."
"No, no, I am not angry," said Dolores, making a strong effort to keep
back her tears. "I will promise what you wish, I know that you are my
friend, and always will be."
"And will be, whatever happens, Lola."
"Yes, whatever happens I will never doubt you, and will think of you
only as my friend."
"And as your friend you will ever trust me, and will seek my aid without
hesitation or scruple if the case should ever arise in which I may be of
service to you or yours?"
"I will, just as Marcelino does."
"Just as you trust in Marcelino, that is what I mean. God bless you, I
shall go away very happy, as happy as I ever shall be."
"Go away! are you going? Where to?"
"I am going back again outside, I shall probably not return for a month
or two."
"But you are not going now?"
"Yes, now at once. I only wished to speak with you, and win that promise
from your own lips before I went. My horse is coming, I shall wait for
him there beyond the fence where Doña Constancia is standing."
"You were always wise, now wiser than ever before," said Dolores,
stepping closer to him and laying her disengaged hand upon his arm. But
Evaña shrank from her as though this mute caress were a pain to him, and
they walked on side by side until they emerged from between the rows of
poplars out upon the open plain, and rejoined the others who there
awaited them.
"Mamma," said Dolores, "you promised me that I should see the sunset,
but there will be no sunset for us to look on to-night."
Far away on the western horizon there lay a bank of dull grey clouds,
behind which the sun had already sunk. From behind these clouds sprang
diverging rays of orange and gold, stretching up over the grey sky
almost to the zenith, and tinging all objects upon which they shone with
the reflection of their brilliance.
"No, we shall not see the sunset," said Gordon. "That cloud is a veil
which hides him from us, but if it were not for that cloud we could not
look steadily upon the western sky, the sun would dazzle our eyes, and
we should see nothing. Is not this that we can look upon more beautiful
than any sunset?"
"It is the sunset all the same," said Dolores, "only that the sun is
wanting."
"The sun has been kind enough to hide himself behind that cloud for your
sake, Lola," said her brother, "so that without dazzling your eyes you
may see how he can paint the sky. In the most beautiful sunsets of
summer you never saw anything so beautiful as this."
"No, I never did," said Dolores.
Just then the servant of Don Carlos Evaña rode up to them leading a
saddled horse by the rein.
"Don Carlos! your horse?" said Doña Constancia.
"Yes, Señora," replied Evaña; "I have urgent business outside, and shall
leave as soon as you turn back to the quinta."
All except Dolores looked at him in surprise.
"Why not remain till to-morrow?" said Marcelino.
"I have a fancy to gallop through the night," said Evaña.
"The sooner you go the sooner you will be back," said Doña Constancia.
"Look, Don Carlos," said Dolores, "there is something for you to see
before you go. Was there ever anything more beautiful than this?"
The grey cloud had lifted itself, disclosing one bright spot of fire on
the far horizon, the last gleam of the departing day. As the cloud rose
it seemed to dissipate itself, mingling its grey tones with the golden
radiance of the setting sun, tempering the brilliance of those broad
bands of glory which stretched over the western sky, melting them as it
rose over them, absorbing them into itself, then with them vanishing
away.
Then the bright spot of fire sank down out of sight, and straightway the
place so lately filled by the grey cloud became one mass of brilliant
light. Two broad bands of rich vermilion, with one band of yellow gold
between them, parallel to the horizon, hung like a gorgeous canopy over
the resting-place of the sun.
"See, Don Carlos!" said Dolores; "the flag of Spain! See, when Nature
seeks to array herself in her most glorious dress how she chooses the
colours of the most glorious of the nations."
"The cloud has risen from the face of the setting sun," replied Evaña,
"and I see the emblem of Spain before me sinking after the sun into the
darkness of night. That sky is as a prophecy, giving to all of us an
insight into what will shortly come to pass."
"Buenas noches, Don Carlos, and a pleasant journey to you," said Doña
Constancia laughing. "Come with me, Mr. Gordon; we will go back and
leave these politicians to prophesy and discuss the future as long as
they like."
Removing his hat, Evaña shook hands gravely with her and with Gordon;
then, as they walked away, he turned again to Dolores.
"Yes," he said, "I see the flag of Spain painted on the sky in all its
gorgeous colours, where but a few minutes ago there hung a dark, grey
cloud. That cloud was as a veil hiding from us the unknown future; the
veil has risen, and we stand face to face with the future, now no longer
unknown to us. The news we have heard to-day is but news of the first
step in the rapid downward course of Spain. Other news shall follow,
which shall stir our hearts to their inmost depths, till we wake to the
full knowledge that we are a free people. The genius of revolution shall
set his foot upon Spain, shall crush our tyrant in the dust, and in
crushing him shall break our chains for us for ever."
"God grant it," said Marcelino; "then may we live in peace ourselves,
Spaniards and Americans alike citizens of a new nation."
Clinging to her brother's arm, Dolores looked in wonder on them both.
There was silence for a space as the three stood side by side gazing on
the western sky, where the gorgeous colours of the sunset faded
gradually away, merging themselves into the grey tints of the evening
twilight. So they stood for a space, each occupied with his own
thoughts, each interpreting to himself as his desires led him the
prophecy of the setting sun.
Evaña took the hand of Dolores in his own and raised it to his lips,
saying but one word:
"Remember."
"Always my friend, whatever happens," said Dolores.
Grasping Marcelino by the hand, Don Carlos Evaña stood for one moment as
though he would speak, his lips pressed tightly together, and the signs
of deep emotion on his face. Then laying his other hand upon the
shoulder of his friend, he bent forward and kissed him.
"My brother," he said; then turning from them he mounted his horse and
slowly rode away.
Brother and sister stood silently side by side looking after him till
the gray shades of the falling night closed around him, when Marcelino
bent over Dolores and kissed her, putting his arm round her, and led her
away back between the rows of the tall poplar trees to the quinta.
"Marcelino," said Dolores, as they drew near to the quinta gate, "are
men who are born to be great also always born to be unhappy?"
Marcelino divined much of what was passing in his sister's mind, but not
all, and to her question he gave no answer in words, but again bent over
her and kissed her, and from that day forth brother and sister felt that
there was another tie between them, but about the evening on which they
two had looked together upon the setting sun while Evaña had expounded
for them the prophecy of the clouds they never spoke.
When Dolores thought of it she thought but of one word--Remember; and
Marcelino from that night forth looked no longer upon Evaña as his
dearest friend, but as his brother.
CHAPTER V
TO OUR FRIENDS THE ENGLISH!
Nearly two months passed, it was the 4th July. In the large sala of the
house of Don Roderigo Ponce de Leon, Lieutenant Gordon stood by himself
near a window, looking out dreamily into the street, a shade of sadness
and of deep anxiety on his face. Don Roderigo had just left him, after a
short conversation in which he had spoken many kind words to him, and
had announced to him that he was no longer a prisoner of war, that he
was released from his parole, and was free to go wheresoever it pleased
him.
Don Roderigo had expected that his news would have been received with an
outburst of joy, and so had taken it upon himself to make the
announcement to him, for he had a kindly feeling for the young officer
who had been so long his guest, and he felt a pleasure himself in
telling him what he thought would give him pleasure. He was thus
somewhat surprised when he saw the colour fade from his cheek, and at
receiving answer only in a few incoherent words in acknowledgment of his
great kindness.
His release was not unexpected by Lieutenant Gordon, the course which
affairs were taking in Spain had shown him that the war between Spain
and Great Britain was already virtually at an end, there could not be
much longer any pretext for detaining him as a prisoner in Buenos Aires,
and, once free, his duty called him far away. He himself had taken no
step to obtain his release, had said no word to any one of his
anticipation; now that the release came he thought only of its immediate
consequences, and these consequences were to him painful, the
announcement of freedom was to him as a sentence of banishment.
As he stood there by the window, sadly communing with his own thoughts,
footsteps again approached him; he turned and saw Marcelino coming
towards him with both hands stretched out, his face beaming with smiles
and words of congratulation on his lips, but the words died away as
Marcelino saw the sadness in the face of his friend. Then Gordon smiled
and said--
"You come to congratulate me and you find me sad, most prisoners rejoice
when they see their prison doors open for them, but is it strange that I
cannot rejoice? I have had you for my gaoler and my imprisonment has
been one long holiday."
"We have done our best to make it pleasant to you."
"That you have, all of you. I know that in the future I shall look back
upon my prison as the dearest spot upon earth."
"We shall be sorry to lose you and shall miss you much, but have not you
promised me that it shall only be for a time?"
"I have, and if God give me life I will keep my promise. When my own
country needs my sword no longer then I will come back and aid you in
the great object you have at heart."
"That object is surely well-nigh attained already. Spain fighting for
her own liberty will hardly deny liberty to us."
"I wish I could think so, but I fear you will not become a free people
without a sore struggle, and one which will entail much sorrow upon
yourself."
"I know of what you think, it has caused me many a sleepless night for
months past. You think of my father?"
"Yes, Don Roderigo is a man of very liberal opinions, but when the
struggle commences he will remember only that he is a Spaniard."
"But he and many other Spaniards would gladly yield to us a share in the
government of our own country, that is all we ask from Spain, we do not
wish for absolute independence."
"You do not, for your father's sake, but others who have no such tie to
Spain will be content with nothing short of complete independence. That
Spain shall ever yield to you rights which she denies to her own sons is
a dream, my friend. A year ago that was your opinion also."
"It was," said Marcelino sadly.
"You know that you have my sympathy in every trouble that may befall
you," continued Gordon. "I wish I could remain and share your troubles
with you, but in your chief trouble I cannot help you, I cannot even
advise you. You will have to choose between your duty to your country
and your duty to your father, look to God and your own conscience, they
alone can guide you in each difficulty as it arises."
"God help me then, for if you cannot advise me I know not who can."
Then came the sound of feet tripping over the soft carpet towards them,
and Dolores, with a bright flush on her face and a smile on her lip,
came to present her congratulations to the newly-released prisoner of
war, but her speech stopped short as she looked upon the grave faces of
the two, and she hardly listened to what Gordon said in return, but
laying her hand upon her brother's arm she said:
"What makes you sad, Marcelino?"
"We are losing a friend, Lola," said Marcelino, forcing himself to
smile. "Is it not natural that I should be sad?"
"Yes, it is not strange, but he is not going now?"
"In three days I believe," said Gordon. "Don Roderigo tells me there is
an English man-of-war at Monte Video, and I must lose no time in
returning to my duty."
"Three days!" said Dolores, the colour fading from her cheeks.
"But he does not regret his imprisonment among us, Lola," said Marcelino
softly, "he will not forget us when he is back in his own country."
"Forget! never!" said Gordon. "These last two years have been the
happiest in my life so far. Wherever I go I shall look upon this country
as my second home, and shall long for the day when I can return to it
and to you."
"Then you will come back?" asked Dolores eagerly.
"That is my firm purpose. As yet I am only a subaltern and must rejoin
my regiment, but when the war is over I shall come back; I shall have
one great joy if the 71st has the luck to be ordered on active service,
that in my next campaign I shall be fighting for you and not against
you."
"Do not forget to say that in your speech at the banquet to-morrow,"
said Marcelino. "Are you clever at making speeches?"
"I never made one in my life," replied Gordon.
"Then if you do not prepare one you will simply say two words and sit
down again, and every one will be disappointed."
"I hope I shall manage to say something more than two words, I ought to
after all the kindness I have received, but of a set speech I am
incapable."
"Without preparation that is very probable; but if I were to write down
for you some hints, you could easily make them into a speech. You may
safely say things that none of us dare to say, such as I have often
heard you say in intimate conversation. You will be the only Englishman
present."
"That is a fact, and I will speak out boldly as an Englishman just what
I think, but in preparing my speech some hints from you might be of
service to me."
"I will go and write them out for you at once," said Marcelino, and
turning from them he left the room.