[1] O love, love, when thou takest possession of us, we may well say, Prudence, adieu!
[CHAPTER VII.]
THE PANIC.
It is difficult to form an idea of the rapidity with which, bad news spreads—of the way in which it is disfigured in passing from mouth to mouth, constantly increasing, and finishing, in a very short time, by returning to the author of it, so surcharged with statements, and embellished with details, that he cannot recognise it.
We might almost suppose that there exist in the atmosphere electric currents, which become charged, so as to transmit to the greatest distance, with the rapidity of lightning, that bad news that the chiefs in power only confide to the ear, and under the express condition of the utmost secrecy.
Captain Don Sylvio Quiroga had not, since his return to San Miguel, communicated with any other person but Don Eusebio Moratin and Don Zeno Cabral. His soldiers had, like himself, kept perfectly silent on what had passed during their short expedition in search of the fugitives; and yet, by an inexplicable fatality, scarcely had the two generals, on leaving the Duc de Montone, reached the gates of the Plaza Mayor, than on all sides they perceived frightened people, and heard voices, saddened by fear, murmuring the dreaded name of the Pincheyras.
The news had already made much way. It was no longer 300 men who had shown themselves in the environs of the town, but a formidable Spanish army, coming from Peru—pillaging, burning, devastating everything on its route—and of which the ferocious squadron of the Pincheyras formed the advance guard. They had arrived by forced marches; and soon—the next day, perhaps—they would encamp before the town. What was to be done? what was to be resolved on? Where were the people to hide, or to fly? It was all over with San Miguel; the Spaniards, to avenge their defeats, would not leave there one stone upon another.
Those who had seen them—for, as usual, there were people who asserted that they had seen this fantastic Spanish army, which existed only in their imaginations—were certain that they had heard the enemy utter the most terrible oaths of vengeance against the unfortunate insurgents.