Some horsemen charged in troops at speed, whilst others galloped at random among the terrified infantry.
The Araucanos did not yield an inch—the Chilians did not advance a step. The mêlée undulated like the waves of the sea in a tempest; the earth was red with blood.
The combat had assumed heroic proportions.
At length, by a desperate effort Antinahuel succeeded in breaking through the close ranks of the enemies who enveloped him, and rushed into the defile, followed by his warriors, and waving his heavy hatchet over his head. Black Stag contrived to effect the same movement; but Joan's Chilian horse advanced from behind the rising ground which had concealed them, with loud cries, and came on sabring all before them.
The Linda followed closely the steps of Antinahuel, her eyes flashing, her lips compressed.
"Forward!—forward!" Don Gregorio cried in a voice of thunder.
"Chili! Chili!" the general repeated, cutting down a man at every blow.
More dead than alive, Don Ramón fought like a demon; he waved his sword, rode down all in his way with the weight of his horse, and uttered inarticulate cries with the gestures of one possessed.
In the meantime, Don Bustamente snatched a sword from one of the soldiers, made his horse plunge violently, and dashed forward, crying with a loud voice—
"To the rescue!—to the rescue!"