There was living at that time, a few leagues from El Ombú, one Valerio
de la Cueva, a poor man, whose all consisted of a small flock of three
or four hundred sheep and a few horses. He had been allowed to make a
small rancho, a mere hut, to shelter himself and his wife Donata and
their one child, a boy named Bruno; and to pay for the grass his few
sheep consumed he assisted in the work at the estancia house. This
poor man, hearing of El Ombú, where he could have house and ground for
nothing, offered himself as occupant, and in time came with wife and
child and his small flock, and all the furniture he possessed--a bed,
two or three chairs, a pot and kettle, and perhaps a few other things.
Such poverty El Ombú had not known, but all others had feared to
inhabit such a place on account of its evil name, so that it was left
for Valerio, who was a stranger in the district.
Tell me, señor, have you ever in your life met with a man, who was
perhaps poor, or even clothed in rags, and who yet when you had looked
at and conversed with him, has caused you to say: Here is one who is
like no other man in the world? Perhaps on rising and going out, on
some clear morning in summer, he looked at the sun when it rose, and
perceived an angel sitting in it, and as he gazed, something from that
being fell upon and passed into and remained with him. Such a man was
Valerio. I have known no other like him.
"Come, friend Nicandro," he would say, "let us sit down in the shade
and smoke our cigarettes, and talk of our animals. Here are no politics
under this old ombú, no ambitions and intrigues and animosities--no
bitterness except in these green leaves. They are our laurels--the
leaves of the ombú. Happy Nicandro, who never knew the life of cities!
I wish that I, too, had seen the light on these quiet plains, under a
thatched roof. Once I wore fine clothes and gold ornaments, and lived
in a great house where there were many servants to wait on me. But
happy I have never been. Every flower I plucked changed into a nettle
to sting my hand. Perhaps that maleficent one, who has pursued me all
my days, seeing me now so humbled and one with the poor, has left me
and gone away. Yes, I am poor, and this frayed garment that covers me
will I press to my lips because it does not shine with silk and gold
embroidery. And this poverty which I have found will I cherish, and
bequeath it as a precious thing to my child when I die. For with it is
peace."
The peace did not last long; for when misfortune has singled out a man
for its prey, it will follow him to the end, and he shall not escape
from it though he mount up to the clouds like the falcon, or thrust
himself deep down into the earth like the armadillo.
Valerio had been two years at El Ombú when there came an Indian
invasion on the southern frontier. There was no force to oppose it; the
two hundred men stationed at the Guardia del Azul had been besieged
by a part of the invaders in the fort, while the larger number of the
savages were sweeping away the cattle and horses from the country all
round. An urgent order came to the commander at Chascomus to send
a contingent of forty men from the department; and I, then a young
man of twenty, who had seen no service, was cited to appear at the
Commandancia, in readiness to march. There I found that Valerio had
also been cited, and from that moment we were together. Two days later
we were at the Azul, the Indians having retired with their booty; and
when all the contingents from the various departments had come in, the
commander, one Colonel Barboza, set out with about six hundred men in
pursuit.
It was known that in their retreat the Indians had broken up their
force into several parties, and that these had taken different
directions, and it was thought that these bodies would reunite after
a time, and that the larger number would return to their territory by
way of Trinqué Lauquén, about seventy-five leagues west of Azul. Our
Colonel's plan was to go quickly to this point and wait the arrival of
the Indians. It was impossible that they, burdened with the thousands
of cattle they had collected, could move fast, while we were burdened
with nothing, the only animals we drove before us being our horses.
These numbered about five thousand, but many were unbroken mares, to
be used as food. Nothing but mare's flesh did we have to eat.
It was the depth of winter, and worse weather I have never known. In
this desert I first beheld that whiteness called snow, when the rain
flies like cotton-down before the wind, filling the air and whitening
the whole earth. All day and every day our clothes were wet, and there
was no shelter from the wind and rain at night, nor could we make fires
with the soaked grass and reeds, and wood there was none, so that we
were compelled to eat our mare's flesh uncooked.
Three weeks were passed in this misery, waiting for the Indians and
seeking for them, with the hills of Gaumini now before us in the south,
and now on our left hand; and still no sight and no sign of the enemy.
It seemed as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up. Our Colonel
was in despair, and we now began to hope that he would lead us back to
the Azul.
In these circumstances one of the men, who was thinly clad and had been
suffering from a cough, dropped from his horse, and it was then seen
that he was likely to die, and that in any case he would have to be
left behind. Finding that there was no hope for him, he begged that
those who were with him would remember, when they were at home again,
that he had perished in the desert and that his soul was suffering in
purgatory, and that they would give something to the priests to procure
him ease. When asked by his officer to say who his relations were and
where they lived, he replied that he had no one belonging to him. He
said that he had spent many years in captivity among the Indians at
the Salinas Grandes, and that on his return he had failed to find any
one of his relations living in the district where he had been born.
In answer to further questions, he said that he had been carried away
when a small boy, that the Indians on that occasion had invaded the
Christian country in the depth of winter, and on their retreat, instead
of returning to their own homes, they had gone east, towards the sea
coast, and had encamped on a plain by a small stream called Curumamuel,
at Los Tres Arroyos, where there was firewood and sweet water, and good
grass for the cattle, and where they found many Indians, mostly women
and children, who had gone thither to await their coming; and at that
spot they had remained until the spring.
The poor man died that night, and we gathered stones and piled them on
his body so that the foxes and caranchos should not devour him.
At break of day next morning we were on horseback marching at a gallop
toward sunrise, for our Colonel had determined to look for the Indians
at that distant spot near the sea where they had hidden themselves from
their pursuers so many years before. The distance was about seventy
leagues, and the journey took us about nine days. And at last, in a
deep valley near the sea, the enemy was discovered by our scouts, and
we marched by night until we were within less than a league of their
encampment, and could see their fires. We rested there for four hours,
eating raw flesh and sleeping. Then every man was ordered to mount
his best horse, and we were disposed in a half-moon, so that the free
horses could easily be driven before us. The Colonel, sitting on his
horse, addressed us, "Boys," he said, "you have suffered much, but now
the victory is in our hands, and you shall not lose the reward. All
the captives you take, and all the thousands of horses and cattle we
succeed in recovering, shall be sold by public auction on our return,
and the proceeds divided among you."
He then gave the order, and we moved quietly on for a space of half
a league, and coming to the edge of the valley saw it all black with
cattle before us, and the Indians sleeping in their camp; and just when
the sun rose from the sea and God's light came over the earth, with a
great shout we charged upon them. In a moment the multitude of cattle,
struck with panic, began rushing away, bellowing in all directions,
shaking the earth beneath their hoofs. Our troop of horses, urged on
by our yells, were soon in the encampment, and the savages, rushing
hither and thither, trying to save themselves, were shot and speared
and cut down by swords. One desire was in all our hearts, one cry on
all lips--kill! kill! kill! Such a slaughter had not been known for a
long time, and birds and foxes and armadillos must have grown fat on
the flesh of the heathen we left for them. But we killed only the men,
and few escaped; the women and children we made captive.
Two days we spent in collecting the scattered cattle and horses,
numbering about ten thousand; then with our spoil we set out on our
return and arrived at the Azul at the end of August. On the following
day the force was broken up into the separate contingents of which it
was composed, and each in its turn was sent to the Colonel's house
to be paid. The Chascomus contingent was the last to go up, and on
presenting ourselves, each man received two months' soldiers' pay,
after which Colonel Barboza came out and thanked us for our services,
and ordered us to give up our arms at the fort and go back to our
district, every man to his own house.
"We have spent some cold nights in the desert together, neighbour
Nicandro," said Valerio, laughing, "but we have fared well--on raw
horse flesh; and now to make it better we have received money. Why,
look, with all this money I shall be able to buy a pair of new shoes
for Bruno. Brave little man! I can see him toddling about among the
cardoon thistles, searching for hens' eggs for his mother, and getting
his poor little feet full of thorns. If there should be any change left
he shall certainly have some sugar-plums."
But the others on coming to the fort began to complain loudly of the
treatment they had received, when Valerio, rebuking them, told them to
act like men and tell the Colonel that they were not satisfied, or else
hold their peace.
"Will you, Valerio, be our spokesman?" they cried, and he, consenting,
they all took up their arms again and followed him back to the
Colonel's house.
Barboza listened attentively to what was said and replied that our
demands were just. The captives and cattle, he said, had been placed
in charge of an officer appointed by the authorities and would be sold
publicly in a few days. Let them now return to the fort and give up
their arms, and leave Valerio with him to assist in drawing up a formal
demand for their share of the spoil.
We then retired once more, giving _vivas_ to our Colonel. But no sooner
had we given up our arms at the fort than we were sharply ordered to
saddle our horses and take our departure. I rode out with the others,
but seeing that Valerio did not overtake us I went back to look for him.
This was what had happened. Left alone in his enemy's hands, Barboza
had his arms taken from him, then ordered his men to carry him out
to the patio and flay him alive. The men hesitated to obey so cruel a
command, and this gave Valerio time to speak; "My Colonel," he said,
"you put a hard task on these poor men, and my hide when taken will be
of no value to you or to them. Bid them lance me or draw a knife across
my throat, and I will laud your clemency."
"You shall not lose your hide nor die," returned the Colonel, "for I
admire your courage. Take him, boys, and stake him out, and give him
two hundred lashes; then throw him into the road so that it may be
known that his rebellious conduct has been punished."
This order was obeyed, and out upon the road he was thrown. A
compassionate storekeeper belonging to the place saw him lying there
insensible, the carrion-hawks attracted by his naked bleeding body
hovering about him; and this good man took him and was ministering
to him when I found him. He was lying, face down, on a pile of rugs,
racked with pains, and all night long his sufferings were terrible;
nevertheless, when morning came, he insisted on setting out at once on
our journey to Chascomus. When his pain was greatest and caused him
to cry out, the cry, when he saw my face, would turn to a laugh. "You
are too tender hearted for this world we live in," he would say. "Think
nothing of this, Nicandro. I have tasted man's justice and mercy before
now. Let us talk of pleasanter things. Do you know that it is the first
of September to-day? Spring has come back, though we hardly notice it
yet in this cold southern country. It has been winter, winter with
us, and no warmth of sun or fire, and no flowers and no birds' song.
But our faces are towards the north now; in a few days we shall sit
again in the shade of the old ombú, all our toil and suffering over,
to listen to the mangangá humming among the leaves and to the call of
the yellow ventevéo. And better than all, little Bruno will come to us
with his hands full of scarlet verbenas. Perhaps in a few years' time
you, too, will be a father, Nicandro, and will know what it is to hear
a child's prattle. Come, we have rested long enough, and have many
leagues to ride!"
The leagues were sixty by the road, but something was gained by leaving
it, and it was easier for Valerio when the horses trod on the turf.
To gallop or to trot was impossible, and even walking I had to keep
at his side to support him with my arm; for his back was all one
ever-bleeding wound, and his hands were powerless, and all his joints
swollen and inflamed as a result of his having been stretched out on
the stakes. Five days we travelled, and day by day and night by night
he grew feebler, but he would not rest; so long as the light lasted he
would be on the road; and as we slowly pressed on, I supporting him, he
would groan with pain and then laugh and begin to talk of the journey's
end and of the joy of seeing wife and child again.
It was afternoon on the fifth day when we arrived. The sight of the
ombú which we had had for hours before us, strongly excited him; he
begged me, almost with tears, to urge the horses to a gallop, but it
would have killed him, and I would not do it.
No person saw our approach, but the door stood open, and when we had
walked our horses to within about twenty yards we heard Bruno's voice
prattling to his mother. Then suddenly Valerio slipped from the saddle
before I could jump down to assist him, and staggered on for a few
paces towards the door. Running to his side I heard his cry--"Donata!
Bruno! let my eyes see you! one kiss!" Only then his wife heard, and
running out to us, saw him sink, and with one last gasp expire in my
arms.
Strange and terrible scenes have I witnessed, but never a sadder one
than this! Tell me, señor, are these things told in books,--does the
world know them?
Valerio was dead. He who was so brave, so generous even in his poverty,
of so noble a spirit, yet so gentle; whose words were sweeter than
honey to me! Of what his loss was to others--to that poor woman who was
the mother of his one child, his little Bruno--I speak not. There are
things about which we must be silent, or say only, turning our eyes up,
Has He forgotten us! Does He know? But to me the loss was greater than
all losses: for he was my friend, the man I loved above all men, who
was more to me than any other, even than Santos Ugarte, whose face I
should see no more.
For he, too, was dead.
And now I have once more mentioned the name of that man, who was once
so great in this district, let me, before proceeding with the history
of El Ombú, tell you his end. I heard of it by chance long after he
had been placed under the ground.
It was the old man's custom in that house, on the other side of the
Rio de la Plata where he was obliged to live, to go down every day to
the waterside. Long hours would he spend there, sitting on the rocks,
always with his face towards Buenos Ayres. He was waiting, waiting for
the pardon which would, perhaps, in God's good time, come to him from
that forgetful place. He was thinking of El Ombú; for what was life to
him away from it, in that strange country? And that unsatisfied desire,
and perhaps remorse, had, they say, made his face terrible to look at,
for it was like the face of a dead man who had died with wide-open eyes.
One day some boatmen on the beach noticed that he was seated on the
rocks far out and that when the tide rose he made no movement to escape
from the water. They saw him sitting waist-deep in the sea, and when
they rescued him from his perilous position and brought him to the
shore, he stared at them like a great white owl and talked in a strange
way.
"It is very cold and very dark," he said, "and I cannot see your faces,
but perhaps you know me. I am Santos Ugarte, of El Ombú. I have had
a great misfortune, friends. To-day in my anger I killed a poor youth
whom I loved like a son--my poor boy Meliton! Why did he despise my
warning and put himself in my way! But I will say no more about that.
After killing him I rode away with the intention of going to Buenos
Ayres, but on the road I repented of my deed and turned back. I said
that with my own hands I would take him up and carry him in, and call
my neighbours together to watch with me by his poor body. But, Sirs,
the night overtook me and the Sanborombón is swollen with rains, as you
no doubt know, and in swimming it I lost my horse. I do not know if he
was drowned. Let me have a fresh horse, friends, and show me the way to
El Ombú, and God will reward you."
In that delusion he remained till the end, a few days later, when he
died. May his soul rest in peace!