During this edifying conversation two lofty gallows had been erected a little outside the intrenchments on the river bank, in the sight of the whole population and of the gauchos, who, grouped in the Población del Sur, yelled with rage. Panchito and Diego were hung as a warning example; a bando, affixed at the foot of the ladder, threatened every insurgent gaucho with the same fate.
While this was going on, night set in, illumined by the burning faubourg conquered by the Indians. The flames tinged the hapless town with fantastic gleams, and the inhabitants, plunged in a gloomy stupor, said to themselves that the flames would soon cross the road and reduce Carmen to ashes. The governor seemed made of iron; he did not take a moment's rest, he visited the forts, heightened drooping spirits, and tried to imbue all with hopes which were far from his heart. As for the Indians, they made two attempts to surprise the town, and, just before dawn, retired to their camp.
"Major," the colonel said, "it is not possible to deceive ourselves. Tomorrow, the day after, or in a week, all will be over with us."
"Hum! At the last moment we will blow up the fort."
"We are deprived of even that resource."
"Why so?"
"Old soldiers, such as we are, cannot thus dispose of the lives of others."
"You are right," the major continued, precisely; "we will blow out our brains."
"Nor can we do that either, my friend; for we must be the last on the breach."
"But," the major said, after a short silence, for the undeniable reasoning of his superior had crushed him, "how is it that we have received no news yet from Buenos Aires?"