In fact, in these far-off regions, Justice, too weak, cannot make herself respected, and her agents, notwithstanding their good will, were obliged to remain spectators of the depredations daily committed by the bandits.
Don Pablo Pincheyra was far from being an ordinary man. Nature had been bountiful to him. To the courage of a lion he added a rare sagacity, a keenness of perception which was uncommon, united to manners full of nobility and affability.
Thus, events aiding, the bold chief of the bandits, far from being disquieted by his incessant acts of brigandage, knew how to make himself acceptable, not only as a partisan, but also to be sought after and solicited by those whose interest it had so long been to crush him, but who now found themselves obliged to claim his aid.
Don Pablo did not allow himself to be dazzled by this new caprice of fortune; he found himself at once equal to the part which chance called on him to play, and he boldly declared for Spain against the revolution.
His troop, considerably augmented by the deserters and volunteers who came to range themselves under his banner, was by degrees disciplined, thanks to some European officers which Don Pablo had succeeded in obtaining, and the old squadron of bandits was metamorphosed almost immediately into a regular troop—nearly an army—since it numbered in infantry and cavalry more than 1,500 combatants, a considerable number at that time in these sparsely populated countries.
When he considered that the royal army, as he emphatically called it, was in a position to take the field, Don Pablo Pincheyra boldly took the offensive, and commenced hostilities against the insurgents, falling upon them suddenly, and defeating them in several encounters.
The Pincheyras knew the most secret hiding places in the Cordilleras. Their expeditions over, they withdrew into these retreats, so much the more inaccessible, as they were defended not only by desolate solitude, but by the terror which these redoubtable partisans inspired. They cared for nothing, and spared neither children, women, nor old men, dragging them after them, attached by the wrists to the tails of their horses.
Another partisan chief—a brave and honest Castilian officer—also fought for the defence of the losing cause of Spain. He was named Zinoxain.
Thus, at the time when South America, from Mexico to the frontiers of Patagonia, rose at once against the odious yoke of Spain, and boldly proclaimed its independence, two isolated men, without any other prestige than their indomitable energy, sustained only by Indian bravos, and adventurers of all nations, heroically struggled against the current which was carrying them away, and endeavoured to place the colonies again under the domination of Castile.
Notwithstanding the misdeeds of these men—the Pincheyras especially, whose savage cruelty often led them into unjustifiable acts of barbarism—there was, nevertheless, something really grand in this determination not to abandon the fortune of their old masters, and to perish rather than betray their cause. Accordingly, even now, after so many years, their names in these countries are surrounded with a kind of halo of glory, and they have become to the mass of the people legendary beings, whose incredible exploits are related with respectful fear, as, after the hard labours of day, they peacefully talk round the watch fire on the Pampas, drinking their maté, and smoking their cigarettes.