SIX DAYS WITH GENERAL URQUIZA.
I arrived at the General’s residence, which is eighteen leagues from the village of Gualeguachú, on the left bank of the river of that name; and, to my surprise, about that magnificent country house, where I expected to find a military encampment, full of officers, soldiers, and men in the service of the renowned champion of Entre-Rios, a profound silence reigned, interrupted only by the blows of the axe of a rustic, who was working upon some trees. I alighted, and entered the house. At the door of one of the apartments stood a man whom I at once recognized as the General, having seen him in the Oriental Republic twenty years before. I knew him because his visage was not changed, and not because his dress manifested anything by which I might recognise him as the supreme chief of the province of Entre-Rios. I took off my hat, but he immediately bade me follow him, and put his hand on the neck of a mastiff, which was lying at his feet. This animal is the famous Purvis,[95] the only sentinel and companion General Urquiza has in a spacious edifice in which five hundred persons can accommodate themselves. His only attendants are an old man who serves him, and a coloured woman who attends to the apartments, where they receive the persons who daily arrive to see the General, some in the public service, but the greater part with private objects. Some other men have occupations in the house, in the labours of his beautiful garden, and in the indispensable services of a country mansion, where there reign order and the most admirable economy. The General made me sit down, and asked me some questions, which inspired me with confidence, at the same that his presence imposed respect. He was dressed rather negligently, covered with a light poncho of the finest vicuna, and wearing a hat of white cloth, with a coloured ribbon, which is distinctive of the Entre-Riano army. I saw him in the same dress all the time that I was with him. He has very little beard, nor does he wear the moustache, so general among the military, and still worn by the peasants; but he does not lose thereby the aspect of a warrior. He is of a very robust constitution, has a broad and extremely prominent chest, and is altogether a remarkably well-formed man. His face preserves all the freshness of youth, although, in my judgment, he must have been born at the commencement of the century. He is of moderate stature, and slightly inclined to corpulence. His complexion is fair, but its bloom has been somewhat darkened by the sun during his military career. All his features are full of expression. His mouth is small, his teeth good, his eyes of a clear grey colour, and full of fire and vivacity. They are unsteady when he speaks, fixing themselves on every object around him, especially when he refers to any act of extreme severity. His hair is black, and begins to fall off his clear unwrinkled forehead. His manners are frank, jovial, and cheerful, so that he predisposes in his favour all who approach him.
‘Why,’ he inquired, after a brief pause, ‘have you come to this country, after having been associated with the foreigners, who have deceived you all, and prolonged a war which ought to have been by this time concluded?’ ‘It is true, sir,’ I replied, ‘but past events linked themselves by degrees, and the torrent of successes has led us’—‘Stop! you must not say that the torrent of successes has precipitated it; you must say that it deceived you, for men of ideas and education do not permit themselves to be led with the multitude, who observe nothing. The Monte Videans have not comprehended their own interests; they ought long since to have settled that unfortunate question, in which so much blood has been shed, and I am persuaded, if such were the case, things would go on well, and the Orientals would not see their country destroyed.’
With these words, he rose, and went out, leaving me quite alone; so I began my toilette, and had the comb in my hand when he returned. ‘You do well to adorn yourself, because you are so ugly,’ said he, in so affable and familiar a tone that it inspired me with complete confidence, for I was already aware that such is his manner when he receives a person with pleasure and good-will. I replied that, at least, I had not a crooked nose, a phrase which General Urquiza often uses, and applies to military cowards and men of small mental capacity. It is the familiar expression which he employs to manifest the contempt which a person deserves from him. Dinner was now announced, and he invited those who were present to dine with him. His table is plain, but abundant; he eats very little meat, and does not drink wine or any kind of liquors; neither does he smoke or take snuff. His principal food, during the six days that I was with him, was roast chicken; at supper he eats very little, and chiefly pastry, with the object, as he says, of taking a little water. After dinner, he remains long at the table, and talks of the events of his youth, particularly of the period when, as representative of the people, he manifested his firmness in opposing anarchy, and had to endure a thousand vicissitudes, by which his life was often in danger, having once been ordered to be shot, and owed his escape to providential causes. He speaks very often of recent events, which he details with so much exactitude that he does not forget the most trifling incident. He never forgets the name or the features of any person he has once seen. He relates the events of the war with an impartiality which does him honour, since he has been so conspicuous an actor in many of them. ‘Do not believe,’ he said to me one day, ‘that I fail to recognise the tendencies of the political parties who have fought for so long a time. On both sides there have been errors, but the Monte Videans have lost by committing themselves to the drowsiness brought on by foreign intervention, and those foreigners have not comprehended what would be beneficial to their interests; in my judgment, they have done the contrary of what they ought to have done. There was that unfortunate General Lavalle, whom I have liked, notwithstanding that he sullied the lustre of his services by serving under the Governor Dorrego; he ruined himself by wishing to combat me without understanding the revolution. I wished to draw him from the way of his destruction, and to bring him to Entre-Rios, for he was a virtuous man; but he refused my offers, because his political friends at that moment surrounded him. I did all I could for him, but my duty was to conquer him. I detested the disloyalty of some of his officers, who treacherously abandoned him, dividing one part of his army from the other, after the battle of Tucuman, and who came to Corrientes, passing through the Great Chaco. There is in Entre-Rios an officer who was faithful, who did not abandon him after the defeat of Famalla, and who accompanied him until his death. This individual is commendable for his loyalty, and I assure you that I esteem him. The Monte Videans have much reproached me for the death of Carlos Paz, whom, after the battle of Vences, I made a prisoner, and sent to be shot; but he deserved death, for he was a traitor, who was betraying the Madariagas, and afterwards betrayed me. He placed himself in communication with me, supplying me with important information as to the state of the Corrientine army, and certainly he was not deceiving me. He did more still; he assured me that he would not make use of the artillery that he was commanding, if it arrived at the commencement of a battle. But he probably repented his perfidy, for he ceased all correspondence with me, and on the day of the battle, confiding in the superiority of the forces of Madariaga, and in the elements of defence which they had concentrated in the formidable position of the potrero of Vences, the artillery which he was commanding opened a deadly fire upon my infantry. Colonel Saavedra also perished after the victory: the unhappy man, when he already had in his hands the guarantees which I had sent him, was surprised by a force of Corrientines, whose officer beheaded him. I regret his death, but his imprudence deserved it. Thus it is that my enemies, without investigating the circumstances of the deeds, represent me as a terrible man, and write a thousand injurious censures against me.’
On another occasion, the General, speaking of the press of Monte Video, referred to the time when Rivera Indarte used to conduct the ‘National,’ and reproved the mean publications and immoral doctrines of that epoch. ‘In the battle of Pago Largo,’ said he, ‘Baron Astrada met with his death, and, according to my enemies, I was the cause of it, and likewise of that which was done to his corpse—stripping off part of the skin of the body; and it was also published in Monte Video that I made a horsecloth of it, and presented it to General Rosas. Abominable lie! Of that skin nothing has been made, for it is not long since that it was preserved in Gualeguachú, in the house of D. N., in the wardrobe. Baron Astrada died in Pago Largo, as many others died, in the retreat, and the skin was drawn off from the neck to the shoulders, the first notice of which was given to me by M. Asumbrulla, a Brazilian, who was commissioned by General Bentos Gonzalez, a relative of General Echague, who was with me on the second or third day of the battle. There was a young soldier passing near us, at the sight of whom the Brazilian exclaimed, “See that; see that.” I fixed my eyes on the soldier, but could not recognize in him anything that should call forth the exclamation, until the Brazilian said to me, “The thing which that soldier carries hanging from the neck of his horse is the skin of the Governor of Corrientes.” I called the soldier immediately, to inform myself of the deed.’ The General was going to continue this narration, when a peasant entered. ‘What a strange coincidence,’ said the General; ‘here you see him who drew off the skin of Baron Astrada. Who drew off the skin of the Governor of Corrientes?’ he enquired. ‘I, sir,’ replied the peasant. ‘And who commanded you to do it?’ ‘I say no more, sir.’ ‘And what did I tell you when I called you to ask what it was you carried on the neck of your horse?’ ‘That I could not deny that I was an assassin, and that I would have been rewarded by being shot, but that I was very young.’ ‘And why did you declare in the Banda Oriental that I had commanded the act?’ ‘Because General Nunez, who then served with Rivera, told me that unless I declared that it was your Excellency who had stripped the skin off the Governor of Corrientes, I should be shot; and because I did not wish to die, I told an untruth, and said that your Excellency had commanded me.’ ‘And why did you declare the same afterwards in Monte Video?’ ‘Because I apprehended that something would happen to me.’ ‘Well,’ said the General, addressing himself to me, ‘you may now perceive that this boy is a knave, who has been amongst the uncultivated Unionites until he implored my pardon, and I granted it. You now know the history of a deed which has been attributed to me, when I have not had the slightest part in it. It has also been written that I commanded all the boys who were made prisoners at Pago Largo to be destroyed. This is false: the prisoners whom we made in that victory were not sacrificed, although it is true that some were executed by the order which I gave, for which I had just and powerful reasons. After the defeat, the infantry of the Corrientines retired, but I followed them with the cavalry that I was commanding, for Don Pascual Echague was then general-in-chief. I was commencing active hostilities in the retreat, when, seeing themselves lost, they wished to surrender, but asked for guarantees before they laid down their arms. I immediately sent them to them, but the officer who carried them was killed by the very men who wished to capitulate. The second time the same thing was done, and I then gave more rigorous orders. They began to separate, and to seek the mountains near hand, but all were made prisoners, and consequently I had to chastise the perfidy. The investigation made resulted in the discovery of those who were the authors of the murders, and those only I commanded to be shot. This is the truth; and if my enemies and the Monte Videans have said to the contrary, and have written slanders against me, I look upon them with scorn. There has been here one of those who in Monte Video was a fabricator of impostures, who used to say that I was a Gaucho, and my mother a Chinese woman. I have had him in my presence, and I have asked him if I really was a Gaucho, and why he was guilty of such falsehoods; and, as is natural, he found himself confounded, without knowing what to say in reply. This individual is now in Entre-Rios, and has no reason to repent having come, for I have done something for him, as I do for all who come to this country.’
After this conversation, the General retired, and I remained alone, meditating upon what I had heard. The account which he had given me of the unfortunate Baron Astrada was to me interesting, for it removed from my mind the error under which I was labouring until that moment, and I saw with satisfaction General Urquiza exonerated from an atrocious act.
When General Urquiza speaks of deeds such as those which I have here detailed, he gives to his voice an accent, and to his action an expression, so vivid, that it impresses on his words the seal of truth, and manifests, to whoever observes him, that he is not one of those men who, because they have power, hold in contempt the judgment of their cotemporaries. General Urquiza likes to preserve a good reputation, and has respect for public opinion. He prefers to govern from retirement to being surrounded by the trophies of his victories and the insignia of his power. Morality and education are his special care, and a magnificent edifice is being erected under his directions, to be called the Entre-Riano College. Nothing proves more completely that the tendencies of General Urquiza are towards progress than the interest which he takes in the education of the people.
Education is completely disseminated, and the most convenient system for accelerating the progress of early instruction has been adopted. There is no country district which has not a school sustained by the treasury of the province, to which fathers are under the obligation of sending their sons. These establishments are independent of those that are in all the towns, and are under the immediate supervision of the local magistrates. Their purpose is the instruction of those children whose parents live in the scattered villages, far away from the towns. With this system there will, in a short time, be few persons destitute of the rudiments of education.
‘Entre-Rios,’ said General Urquiza one day, ‘receives all men, whatever may be their origin, their opinions, and their political antecedents; they will be respected, and even favoured, if their tendencies are towards goodness, and they do not interfere in our affairs. I wish from those who come to this land only respect for the established authorities, and the observance of the laws. The Unionites, French, English, all may come to Entre-Rios, to pass through our villages, to cross over our country in all directions, and to establish themselves where they wish, in the assurance that they will not hear a single voice raised against them which might cause the slightest offence. I wish to be at peace with all, and will provoke no one; but he that incites me will find me disposed to fight in defence of my country. The Entre-Riano army is valiant, and has proved itself capable of great things, and I have great confidence in its valour and its enthusiasm.’
The army of Entre-Rios embraces from nine to ten thousand men of the three arms, but its principal force consists in the cavalry. This is composed of eleven divisions, corresponding to the departments into which the province is divided, which, although I have no data upon the extent of the territory of Entre-Rios, ought, I think, to comprise a little more or less than 5,000 square leagues. The cavalry, in times of peace, is completely liberated, and a portion is employed in the police of the departments. When the army returns from any campaign, it lays down its arms and disbands, with the understanding that, at the slightest rumour of a military summons, they are to present themselves with their uniforms, and the cavalry with their horses. It is an undoubted fact that, in six or seven days after the issue of the first order from the General’s quarters, for the reunion of the army, it can be completely reunited, armed, clothed, perfectly equipped, and in readiness to march, so that General Urquiza, with the Entre-Riano army, can be in front of the city of Monte Video in twenty or twenty-two days after issuing the first orders for its reunion, notwithstanding the difficulties presented by the majestic river Uruguay. With such troops it is not strange that General Urquiza should have obtained such signal victories.
‘The battle of Vences,’ said the General, ‘is an affair which does great honour to the Entre-Riano army, which had to combat powerful enemies, and yet penetrated to where the Corrientines were not expecting it. They were astonished and terrified at the courage of my soldiers, who penetrated through immense morasses and difficulties which the enemies placed in their way; and I can assure you that I myself was astonished by the magnitude of the dangers which we encountered, and the obstacles which we overcame. This daring gave us the victory, as the army of Madariaga was superior to mine in its number, and particularly in infantry and artillery.’ On another occasion, the General entertained me with interesting details of the campaign in the Oriental Republic, in which he manifested a degree of activity and skill which has done him great credit, for, though he had to combat in a land unknown to him, the victory was his, and was a work exclusively of his own inspiration. These details convince me that the General is a man of great penetration, and of elevated capacity, so that he has been known to foresee many events which have prolonged the war, and upon which he looks as the origin of many evils.
‘I have the satisfaction of knowing,’ he observed, ‘that the army of Entre-Rios has been a model of morality and subordination, and that there have been few complaints of it. I have acted throughout from conviction, and the public accounts will show that I have not taken a single dollar for my own use, not even the pay to which my rank of general entitled me. On the contrary, the treasury of the province is indebted to me in the sum of 30,000 dollars, the amount of debts contracted in the public service, and which I have yet to pay. From the Oriental country I have brought nothing but compromises and this dog,’ pointing to the mastiff, Purvis, which was lying at his feet. ‘It is true he is a wicked animal, for he respects no one but me, and even those who feed him are not certain that he will not leave his food to bite them; but in me he seems to recognize a certain superiority. He has his history and his instincts which I cannot comprehend, and which no one will ever be able to explain. He belonged to Colonel Galazza, but suddenly attached himself to me, and would not be driven away. Seeing the pertinacity with which he persisted in following me, I allowed him to remain, and he has never left me since, running by the side of my horse throughout the campaigns of the Banda Oriental and Corrientes. He manifests no terror under fire, and when struck by a spent cannon-ball at India Muerto, and hurled several yards from me, he quickly recovered his legs, and resumed his post by my side!’
The superficial character of Entre Rios being that of an extensive plain, watered by numerous rivers, and affording excellent and abundant pasture for cattle, not equal to that of the beautiful territory of the Oriental republic, but superior to that of the province of Buenos Ayres, General Urquiza is so sensible of the advantage of promoting the breeding of cattle that he will not permit the killing of cows; but this prohibition is not absolute, depending on the number belonging to each individual; and while far from being a real grievance to the land-owners, it will tend to greatly increase the wealth and importance of the country. This is the general’s great aim, his whole policy being directed to the development of the natural resources of the country.
The frequent allusions in the foregoing to the sanguinary practices pursued by rival chiefs against each other suggests the desirability of endeavouring to account for the creation and growth of the disposition to which such ferocity is attributable. We cannot do better than quote the words of M. Chevalier de St. Robert, a Frenchman, officially engaged in the affairs of the Plate, who, in his pamphlet, entitled Le General Rosas et la Question de la Plata, and translated by M’Cabe, the late Acting Consul-General for the Uruguay in London, gives probably the best account anywhere to be met with of life in the wilds, in this region of the world, and of the mode in which such life affects humanity in the cities afterwards. He says:—
The population of the Pampas have a peculiar physiognomy, such as is to be found in no other part of the world. They exhibit the instincts and the faculties which the desert every where developes, but still they have not those traits which elsewhere particularise a pastoral or a warlike tribe. The Arab, who dwells or wanders in the deserts of Asia, is but a fraction of that great Mahommedan society that dwells in cities. The tribe coincides with society in many things, it has the same creed, the same obedience to religious dogmas, and preserves every where the same traditional organization. There is nothing like this to be found in the Pampas. In the bosom of those immense plains, which extend from Salta to the Cordilleras, that is, over a space of more than seven hundred leagues, there are to be found neither distinct castes, nor tribes, nor creeds, nor even that which may be properly called a nation. There is nothing to be found but estançias (farms) scattered here and there, which form so many petty republics, isolated from the rest of the world, living by themselves, and separated from each other by the desert. Alone in the midst of those over whom he is a complete master, the estanciero is out of every kind of society whatsoever, with no other law than that of force, with no other rules to guide him but those that are self-imposed, and with no other motive to influence him than his own caprice. There is nothing to disturb his repose, to dispute his power, or interfere with his tranquillity except the tiger that may lurk about his grounds, or the wild Indians that may occasionally make a hostile incursion on his domains. His children and his domestics, gauchos like himself, pass the same sort of life, that is to say, without ambition, without desires, and without any species of agricultural labour. All they have to do is to mark and to kill, at certain periods, the herds of oxen and flocks of sheep which constitute the fortune of the estanciero, and that satisfy the wants of all. Purely carnivorous, the gaucho’s only food consists of flesh and water—bread and spirituous liquors are as much unknown to him as the simplest elements of social life. In a country in which the only wealth of the inhabitants arises from the incessant destruction of innumerable flocks, it can be easily understood how their sanguinary occupation must tend to obliterate every sentiment of pity, and induce an indifference to the perpetration of acts of cruelty. The readiness to shed blood—a ferocity which is at the same time obdurate and brutal—constitutes the prominent feature in the character of the pure gaucho. The first instrument that the infantile hand of the gaucho grasps is the knife—the first things that attract his attention as a child, are the pouring out of blood, and the palpitating flesh of expiring animals. From his earliest years, as soon as he is able to walk, he is taught how he may with the greatest skill approach the living beast, hough it, and if he has the strength, kill it. Such are the sports of his childhood—he pursues them ardently, and amid the approving smiles of his family. As soon as he acquires sufficient strength, he takes part in the labours of the estancia; they are the sole arts he has to study, and he concentrates all his intellectual powers in mastering them. From that time forth he arms himself with a large knife, and for a single moment of his life he never parts with it. It is to his hand an additional limb—he makes use of it always, in all cases, in every circumstance, and constantly with wonderful skill and address. The same knife that in the morning had been used to slaughter a bullock, or to kill a tiger, aids him in the day time to cut his dinner, and at night to carve out a skin tent, or else to repair his saddle, or to mend his mandoline. With the gaucho the knife is often used as an argument in support of his opinions. In the midst of a conversation apparently carried on in amity, the formidable knife glitters on a sudden in the hands of one of the speakers, the ponchos are rolled around the left arm, and a conflict commences. Soon deep gashes are seen on the face, the blood gushes forth, and not unfrequently one of the combatants falls lifeless to the earth; but no one thinks of interfering with the combat, and when it is over the conversation is resumed as if nothing extraordinary had occurred. No person is disturbed by it—not even the women, who remain as cold unmoved spectators of the affray! It may easily be surmised what sort of persons they must be, of which such a scene is but a specimen of their domestic manners. Thus the savage education of the estancia produces in the gaucho a complete indifference as to human life, by familiarizing him from his most tender years to the contemplation of a violent death, whether it is that he inflicts it on another or receives it himself. He lifts his knife against a man with the same indifference that he strikes down a bullock: the idea which everywhere else attaches to the crime of homicide does not exist in his mind; for in slaying another he yields not less to habit than to the impulse of his wild and barbarous nature. If, perchance, a murder of this kind is committed so close to a town that there is reason to apprehend the pursuit of justice, every one is eager to favour the flight of the guilty person. The fleetest horse is at his service, and he departs certain to find wherever he goes the favour and sympathy of all. Then, with that marvellous instinct which is common to all the savage races, he feels no hesitation in venturing into the numerous plains of the pampas. Alone, in the midst of a boundless desert, and in which the eye strains itself in vain to discover a boundary, he advances without the slightest feeling of uneasiness—he does so watching the course of the stars, listening to the winds, watching, interrogating, discovering the cause of the slightest noise that reaches his ears, and he at length arrives at the place he sought, without ever straying for it, even for a moment. The lasso which is rolled around his horse’s neck: the bolas suspended to his saddle, and the inseparable knife suffice to assure him food, and to secure him against every danger—even against the tiger. When he is hungry, he selects one out of the herd of beeves that cover the plain, pursues it, lassos it, kills it, cuts out of it a piece of flesh, which he eats raw, or cooks, and thus refreshes himself for the journey of the following day. If murder be a common incident in the life of a gaucho, it often also becomes the means to him of emerging from obscurity, and of obtaining renown amongst his associates. When a gaucho has rendered himself remarkable by his audacity and address in single combats, companions gather around him, and he soon finds himself at the head of a considerable party. He ‘commences a campaign,’ sets himself in open defiance to the laws, and in a short time acquires a celebrity which rallies a crowd about him.