Nothing would have been easier for the President than to avoid the battle, but he did not wish it, as he longed for the end. Miramón was surrounded by his surest lieutenants, Vélez, Cobos, Negrete, Ayestarán and Márquez. On perceiving the enemy he mounted his horse, rode along the ranks of his small army, gave his instructions in a loud sharp voice, strove to communicate to all the valiant ardor that inflated him, and raising his sword in the air, shouted—
"Forward!"
The battle at once commenced. The Juarist army forced to form under the enemy's fire, had a marked disadvantage. Miramón's troops, excited by the example of their young chief, who was only twenty-six years of age, fought like lions and performed prodigies of valour. In vain did the Juarists try to establish themselves in the position they had chosen; they were driven back several times by the vigorous charges of the enemy. In spite of their numerical superiority, the soldiers only advanced inch by inch, and were constantly driven back and broken by the President's troops.
Miramón's lieutenants, into whom his soul seemed to have passed, placed themselves at the head of the troops, drew them after them, and dashed into the thickest of the fight. One more effort, and the battle was gained, and Ortega forced to retreat. Miramón hurried up. He judged the position with an infallible glance. The moment had arrived to hurl his cavalry on the centre of the Juarists, and break it by a decisive charge. The President shouted: "charge!" The cavalry hesitated. Miramón repeated the order. The cavalry set out, but, instead charging, one-half went over to the enemy, and charged with couched lances, the other half that still remained faithful. Demoralized by this sudden desertion, the cavalry who remained faithful turned round, and dispersed in all directions. The infantry, on seeing themselves thus cowardly deserted, fought without energy.
Cries of "treachery, treachery!" ran along the ranks. In vain did the officers try to lead the soldiers again against the enemy. They were demoralized. Ere long the flight became general. Miramón's army no longer existed. Ortega was once again the victor but through a shameful treachery at the very moment when he had lost the battle.
We have said that don Jaime took up a position with his cuadrilla in the rear of Miramón's cavalry. Certainly, if three hundred men could have changed the issue of the battle, these brave horsemen would have accomplished the prodigy. Even when the rout was general, they continued fighting with unparalleled obstinacy against the Juarist cavalry, sent in pursuit of the fugitives. Don Jaime had an object in prolonging this unequal combat. As a witness of the unworthy treachery which had caused the loss of the battle, he had seen the officer who was the first to pass over to the enemy with his soldiers. This officer was don Melchior. Don Jaime recognized him, and swore to capture him. The adventurer's cuadrilla was not composed of common horsemen, as they had already proved and would prove again. In a few hurried words, don Jaime explained his intention. The horsemen uttered a yell of fury, and resolutely charged the enemy. There was a gigantic struggle of three hundred men against three thousand. The cuadrilla entirely disappeared, as if it had been suddenly buried beneath the formidable mass of its adversaries. Then the Juarists began oscillating. Their ranks became loosened. There a gap, and through this gap the cuadrilla passed, carrying off don Melchior in its centre—a prisoner.
"To the President! To the President!" don Jaime shouted, as he dashed with his whole band up to Miramón, who was vainly trying to rally a few detachments.
Miramón's lieutenants, who were all his friends, had not abandoned him. They had sworn to die with him. The cuadrilla made a last charge for the purpose of disengaging the general. Then, after taking one despairing glance at the battlefield, Miramón consented to listen to his friends, and retreat. Of his whole army, scarce a thousand men remained to him. The rest were dead, dispersed, or had gone over to the enemy.
The first moments of the retreat were terrible. Miramón was suffering from a fearful sorrow, caused not by his defeat, which he had foreseen, but by the cowardly treachery of which he was the victim. When they no longer feared being caught up by the enemy, the President ordered a halt, to enable the horses to breathe. Miramón, leaning against a tree, with folded arms and drooping head, maintained a stern silence, which his generals, standing near him, did not venture to break.
Don Jaime advanced, and, stopping two paces from the President, said: "General!"