That silent ghost of a woman being gone, no one could say of him that
he was hard; nor could anything be said against him except that he was
not a saint, in spite of his name. But, sir, we do not look for saints
among strong men, who live in the saddle, and are at the head of big
establishments. If there was one who was a father to the poor it was
Santos; therefore he was loved by many, and only those who had done him
an injury or had crossed him in any way had reason to fear and hate
him. But let me now relate what I, a boy of ten, witnessed one day in
the year 1808. This will show you what the man's temper was; and his
courage, and the strength of his wrists.
It was his custom to pay a visit every two or three months to a
monastery at a distance of half-a-day's journey from El Ombú.
He was greatly esteemed by the friars, and whenever he went to see them
he had a led horse to carry his presents to the Brothers;--a side of
fat beef, a sucking-pig or two, a couple of lambs, when they were in
season, a few fat turkeys and ducks, a bunch of big partridges, a brace
or two of armadillos, the breast and wings of a fat ostrich; and in
summer, a dozen ostriches' eggs, and I know not what besides.
One evening I was at El Ombú, and was just starting for home, when
Santos saw me, and cried out, "Get off and let your horse go, Nicandro.
I am going to the monastery to-morrow, and you shall ride the laden
horse, and save me the trouble of leading it. You will be like a little
bird perched on his back and he will not feel your few ounces' weight.
You can sleep on a sheepskin in the kitchen, and get up an hour before
daybreak."
The stars were still shining when we set out on our journey the
next morning, in the month of June, and when we crossed the river
Sanborombón at sunrise the earth was all white with hoar frost. At
noon, we arrived at our destination, and were received by the friars,
who embraced and kissed Santos on both cheeks, and took charge of our
horses. After breakfast in the kitchen, the day being now warm and
pleasant, we went and sat out of doors to sip maté and smoke, and for
an hour or longer, the conversation between Santos and the Brothers
had been going on when, all at once, a youth appeared coming at a
fast gallop towards the gate, shouting as he came, "Los Ingleses! Los
Ingleses!" We all jumped up and ran to the gate, and climbing up by the
posts and bars, saw at a distance of less than half-a-league to the
east, a great army of men marching in the direction of Buenos Ayres.
We could see that the foremost part of the army had come to a halt on
the banks of a stream which flows past the monastery and empties itself
into the Plata, two leagues further east. The army was all composed of
infantry, but a great many persons on horseback could be seen following
it, and these, the young man said, were neighbours who had come out to
look at the English invaders; and he also said that the soldiers, on
arriving at the stream, had begun to throw away their blankets, and
that the people were picking them up. Santos hearing this, said he
would go and join the crowd, and mounting his horse and followed by me,
and by two of the Brothers, who said they wished to get a few blankets
for the monastery, we set out at a gallop for the stream.
Arrived at the spot, we found that the English, not satisfied with the
ford, which had a very muddy bottom, had made a new crossing-place for
themselves by cutting down the bank on both sides, and that numbers
of blankets had been folded and laid in the bed of the stream where
it was about twenty-five yards wide. Hundreds of blankets were also
being thrown away, and the people were picking them up and loading
their horses with them. Santos at once threw himself into the crowd
and gathered about a dozen blankets, the best he could find, for the
friars; then he gathered a few for himself and ordered me to fasten
them on the back of my horse.
The soldiers, seeing us scrambling for the blankets, were much amused;
but when one man among us cried out, "These people must be mad to throw
their blankets away in cold weather--perhaps their red jackets will
keep them warm when they lie down to-night"--there was one soldier who
understood, and could speak Spanish, and he replied, "No, sirs, we
have no further need of blankets. When we next sleep it will be in
the best beds in the capitol." Then Santos shouted back, "That, sirs,
will perhaps be a sleep from which some of you will never awake."
That speech attracted their attention to Santos, and the soldier who
had spoken before returned, "There are not many men like you in these
parts, therefore what you say does not alarm us." Then they looked at
the friars fastening the blankets Santos had given them on to their
horses, and seeing that they wore heavy iron spurs strapped on their
bare feet, they shouted with laughter, and the one who talked with us
cried out, "We are sorry, good Brothers, that we have not boots as well
as blankets to give you."
But our business was now done, and bidding good-bye to the friars, we
set out on our return journey, Santos saying that we should be at home
before midnight.
It was past the middle of the afternoon, we having ridden about six
leagues, when we spied at a distance ahead a great number of mounted
men scattered about over the plain, some standing still, others
galloping this way or that.
"El pato! el pato!" cried Santos with excitement, "Come, boy, let us
go and watch the battle while it is near, and when it is passed on we
will go our way." Urging his horse to a gallop, I following, we came
to where the men were struggling for the ball, and stood for a while
looking on. But it was not in him to remain a mere spectator for long;
never did he see a cattle-marking, or parting, or races, or a dance, or
any game, and above all games el Pato, but he must have a part in it.
Very soon he dismounted to throw off some of the heaviest parts of his
horse-gear, and ordering me to take them up on my horse and follow him,
he rode in among the players.
About forty or fifty men had gathered at that spot, and were sitting
quietly on their horses in a wide circle, waiting to see the result of
a struggle for the Pato between three men who had hold of the ball.
They were strong men, well mounted, each resolved to carry off the
prize from the others. Sir, when I think of that sight, and remember
that the game is no longer played because of the Tyrant who forbade
it, I am ready to cry out that there are no longer men on these plains
where I first saw the light! How they tugged and strained and sweated,
almost dragging each other out of the saddle, their trained horses
leaning away, digging their hoofs into the turf, as when they resist
the shock of a lassoed animal, when the lasso stiffens and the pull
comes! One of the men was a big, powerful mulatto, and the by-standers
thinking the victory would be his, were only waiting to see him wrest
the ball from the others to rush upon and try to deprive him of it
before he could escape from the crowd.
Santos refused to stand inactive, for was there not a fourth handle to
the ball to be grasped by another fighter? Spurring his horse into the
group, he very soon succeeded in getting hold of the disengaged handle.
A cry of resentment at this action on the part of a stranger went up
from some of those who were looking on, mixed with applause at his
daring from others, while the three men who had been fighting against
each other, each one for himself, now perceived that they had a common
enemy. Excited as they were by the struggle, they could not but be
startled at the stranger's appearance--that huge man on a big horse, so
white-skinned and long-haired, with a black beard, that came down over
his breast, and who showed them, when he threw back his poncho, the
knife that was like a sword and the big brass-barrelled pistol worn at
his waist. Very soon after he joined in the fray all four men came to
the earth. But they did not fall together, and the last to go down was
Santos, who would not be dragged off his horse, and in the end horse
and man came down on the top of the others. In coming down, two of the
men had lost their hold of the ball; last of all, the big mulatto, to
save himself from being crushed under the falling horse, was forced to
let go, and in his rage at being beaten, he whipped out his long knife
against the stranger. Santos, too quick for him, dealt him a blow on
the forehead with the heavy silver handle of his whip, dropping him
stunned to the ground. Of the four, Santos alone had so far escaped
injury, and rising and remounting, the ball still in his hand, he rode
out from among them, the crowd opening on each side to make room for
him.
Now in the crowd there was one tall, imposing-looking man, wearing a
white poncho, many silver ornaments, and a long knife in an embossed
silver sheath; his horse, too, which was white as milk, was covered
with silver trappings. This man alone raised his voice; "Friends
and comrades," he cried, "is this to be the finish? If this stranger
is permitted to carry the Pato away, it will not be because of his
stronger wrist and better horse, but because he carries firearms.
Comrades, what do you say?"
But there was no answer. They had seen the power and resolution of the
man, and though they were many they preferred to let him go in peace.
Then the man on a white horse, with a scowl of anger and contempt,
turned from them and began following us at a distance of about fifty
yards. Whenever Santos turned back to come to close quarters with
him, he retired, only to turn and follow us again as soon as Santos
resumed his course. In this way we rode till sunset. Santos was grave,
but calm; I, being so young, was in constant terror. "Oh, uncle," I
whispered, "for the love of God fire your pistol at this man and kill
him, so that he may not kill us!"
Santos laughed. "Fool of a boy," he replied, "do you not know that he
wants me to fire at him! He knows that I could not hit him at this
distance, and that after discharging my pistol we should be equal, man
to man, and knife to knife; and who knows then which would kill the
other? God knows best, since He knows everything, and He has put it
into my heart not to fire."
When it grew dark we rode slower, and the man then lessened the
distance between us. We could hear the chink-chink of his silver
trappings, and when I looked back I could see a white misty form
following us like a ghost. Then, all at once, there came a noise of
hoofs and a whistling sound of something thrown, and Santos' horse
plunged and reared and kicked, then stood still trembling with terror.
His hind legs were entangled in the bolas which had been thrown. With a
curse Santos threw himself off, and, drawing his knife, cut the thong
which bound the animal's legs, and remounting we went on as before, the
white figure still following us.
At length, about midnight, the Sanborombón was reached, at the ford
where we had crossed in the morning, where it was about forty yards
wide, and the water only high as the surcingle in the deepest parts.
"Let your heart be glad, Nicandro!" said Santos, as we went down into
the water; "for our time is come now, and be careful to do as I bid
you."
We crossed slowly, and coming out on the south side, Santos quietly
dropped off his horse, and, speaking in a low voice, ordered me to ride
slowly on with the two horses and wait for him in the road. He said
that the man who followed would not see him crouching under the bank,
and thinking it safe would cross over, only to receive the charge fired
at a few yards distance.
That was an anxious interval that followed, I waiting alone, scarcely
daring to breathe, staring into the darkness in fear of that white
figure that was like a ghost, listening for the pistol shot. My prayer
to heaven was to direct the bullet in its course, so that it might go
to that terrible man's heart, and we be delivered from him. But there
was no shot, and no sound except a faint chink of silver and sound of
hoof-beats that came to my ears after a time, and soon ceased to be
heard. The man, perhaps, had some suspicion of the other's plan and had
given up the chase and gone away.
Nothing more do I remember of that journey which ended at El Ombú at
cock-crow, except that at one spot Santos fastened a thong round
my waist and bound me before and behind to the saddle to prevent my
falling from my horse every time I went to sleep.