The Insurgent Chief

by Gustave Aimard

The officers responded by cries and oaths of vengeance, placed themselves at the head of their respective platoons, and the squadron set out at a gallop, almost hidden by the cloud of dust that they raised on their passage.

What General Moratin had announced to the officers of the squadron was true, or, at least—somewhat misinformed by the fugitive—he thought it so; but affairs had not transpired exactly as had been stated.

Don Zeno Cabral left, as we have said, about two o'clock in the morning, at the head of a rather weak detachment, with the intention of making a reconnaissance in the environs of the town. After having scoured the country for two or three hours, without discovering anything suspicious, and without noticing any trace of the passage of an armed troop, he wished, before reentering the town, to explore the borders of the river, which—escarped by reason of the numerous masses of rock which lined it, and, moreover, covered with thick clusters of trees and shrubbery—might conceal an ambuscade of marauders. He had therefore made a turn, and, advancing with the greatest caution, in order not to be surprised, had commenced his exploration.

For a long time the Montoneros marched thus, beating the thickets and the underwood with the point of their lances, without discovering anything; and their chief, convinced that the enemy—if by chance he had ventured so near the town—had judged it prudent not to remain there any longer, gave the order to retreat; when all of a sudden, at the moment when it was least expected, a hundred men rose on all sides from the midst of the thicket, surrounded his troop, and vigorously attacked it.

Although surprised and harassed by an enemy of whose number they were ignorant, but whom they supposed, with reason to be much superior to themselves, the Montoneros were not the men to lay down their arms at the first blow, without trying to sell their life dearly, especially with such a man to command them.

There was, at first, terrible disorder—a terrible collision, hand-to-hand—in the midst of which Don Zeno Cabral was unhorsed, and thrown to the ground.

For a time his companions thought him dead.

It was then that one of them slipped unperceived into the midst of the trees and rocks, and galloped hard to San Miguel to carry the news of the defeat of the Montoneros.

They were, however, far from being conquered. Don Zeno Cabral had almost immediately risen, and had reappeared at the head of his men, who, discouraged for a time by his fall, had, on seeing him again on horseback, regained their confidence.

However, the assailants were too numerous—the place of ambuscade too well chosen—for the Montoneros to have the hope—not of conquering them, they had no thought of that—but of escaping from the scrape into which they had fallen.