"Forward, forward!" the soldiers yelled.
The second detachment, starting at a gallop, in its turn was engulfed in this accursed defile, which, like the mouth of the infernal regions, swallowed up everything but gave nothing back. The general, as we said, was attentively watching the movements of his scouts.
"The unhappy men!" he exclaimed, on seeing what was going on, "The maniacs! They will be killed to the last man. Come back, come back, I command you," he shouted, without reflecting that the troops he thus addressed were too far off to hear or obey him, and that had they by chance heard, they would not have obeyed him, owing to the frenzy which seemed to have suddenly assailed them.
The soldiers remaining on the river bank also saw, not what was going on in the defile, but on the plain; they began muttering at the inactivity to which their chief condemned them, and brandished their weapons with a fury which only required an excuse to break out.
"Shall we let our brothers be butchered?" an old officer asked, biting his moustache passionately.
"Silence, caballero," the general answered savagely; "had they obeyed my orders, this would not have occurred."
"But the misfortune is done at present, General; we must not desert seven hundred men in that way."
"Look, look," the soldiers exclaimed, on perceiving several horsemen issue from the defile vigorously pursued by others, who speedily caught them up and sabred them.
This last episode raised the exasperation of the troops to the highest pitch, a species of vertigo seized on them, and refusing to listen to anything, many of them forced their horses into the river.
"Stop, stop!" the general shouted in a voice of thunder, "Since you absolutely insist on marching to an inevitable butchery, let me at least guide you."