The signal to march was received with loud "Vivas." Some score men, slinging their muskets, laid hold of the guns and trundled them along. Don Isidro with a small party of his best men marched in front, and close behind came Don Juan Martin Puyrredon, sitting his restive black horse with ease in spite of his plunging at the head of as fine a body of men as any country in the world could furnish. Tall, square-shouldered, and spare of flesh, they were formed equally for strength and endurance; in the saddle they knew no fatigue, they feared no danger; they were horsemen, to each man his horse was as a part of himself, and being a part of himself was a necessity.
Similar scenes among the native levies were at the same time going on all over the city; everywhere the cry went up, "Avancen! Avancen!" And Liniers, seeing that his army was getting out of hand, gave the signal to advance, and at once moved with his regular forces from the Retiro upon the central Plazas.
Don Isidro Lorea had the honour of opening the attack; halting his guns one square from the British breastwork, he opened fire with round shot upon the slight defence; the guns were served by eager hands and the fire was rapid, and, in spite of the musketry from the azoteas flanking the breastwork, a breach was soon made. Don Juan Martin Puyrredon wanted no more; shouting to the gunners to wheel their pieces to one side, he waved his sword to his men, and putting spurs to his horse dashed at full speed down the street. His own men and the infantry followed him pell-mell, the British bayonets and clubbed muskets were of no avail against his fiery onset, he burst through the small detachment which guarded the ruined breastwork and made his way to the centre of the Plaza; his men poured in after him, and the infantry forcing their way into the houses on either hand drove the British troops from the azoteas.
At the same time another party of militia, headed by Don Felipe Navarro, had burst into the houses in the block on the south side the Plaza Mayor, and crossing the azoteas now attacked the British troops who were stationed on the roof of the Recoba Nueva. The struggle was a short one; in a few minutes these troops were all either killed or prisoners.
Meantime Don Marcelino Ponce de Leon had advanced with his column to the cross street level with the corner where Don Isidro had planted his guns. Here he halted, and, after a careful inspection of the breastwork which barred his entrance to the Plaza, dismounted half his men and sent their horses to the rear. These men he joined to a detachment of Liniers' troops who had advanced thus far by the cross street from the Retiro, and bursting in the doors of the houses on the east side the street, he mounted at once to the azoteas and led them against a British picket posted at the far corner which looked upon the Plaza and commanded the approaches to two breastworks. His Spanish troops poured in a volley at close quarters, then his own men rushed forward brandishing sabres and facones, and shouting wild cries of defiance. The British defended themselves with desperation, and were aided by a heavy fire from the next block and from the roof of the cathedral, where other parties of British troops were stationed, but they were outnumbered ten to one, and in five minutes the few who were not killed or disabled threw down their arms and surrendered.
Marcelino left the troops in possession of the azotea lately occupied by the British with instructions to screen themselves for a space as well as they could from the fire directed upon them from the cathedral, but to concentrate their own fire upon the party of the enemy who held the breastwork, as soon as he should give the signal. This breastwork was merely a line of barrels set on end across the street, topped with a row of sacks filled with sand, to demolish which would be easy if it could be reached. The dismounted cavalry left the azotea and collected in the patio of the house to the right of the breastwork, the door of which opened about twenty yards up the street, while Marcelino returned, put himself at the head of the rest of his men, and led them on at a trot. As he reached the street corner he waved his sword, it was the signal agreed upon. The Spanish troops sprang from the sheltering parapets, under which they had crouched, and opened a deadly fire upon the British detachment posted at the breastwork; the dismounted cavalry opened the door of the house, poured into the street, and rushing upon the barricade with their facones in their teeth, tore away in a twinkling the sacks and barrels from the centre of the roadway. Marcelino, who was by this time half-way down the square, again waved his sword and put spurs to his horse, his men answered him with fierce shouts and yells, and utterly regardless of the fire directed against them from the azotea on their right, which struck many of them from their saddles, rushed with headlong fury for the opening before them. Don Juan Martin Puyrredon had not spurred his horse fifty yards into the Plaza on one side, ere Marcelino and his column poured into it on the other, while another body of militia charged and took almost unopposed the breastwork which crossed the street beside the cathedral.
The partidarios spread themselves over the Plaza, sabring and lancing the scattered groups of soldiery, who, attacked on all sides, and overwhelmed by a plunging fire from the roof of the Recoba Nueva, strove in vain to reform their broken ranks. A strong party of the 71st Highlanders drawn up in front of the archway of the Recoba Vieja yet presented a firm front, and kept up a steady fire upon the horsemen as they continued to pour into the Plaza, till the ground in front of the Cabildo was strewn with men and horses.
"A mi! Muchachos! A mi!!" shouted Don Juan Martin Puyrredon, as he saw the deadly effect of this steady fire.
Marcelino brought up a number of his men in tolerable order, and, Don Juan Martin joining them with those who had answered to his shout, put himself at their head and charged right upon the centre of the Highlanders. The rest of his men who were spread about the Plaza joined in the general rush, nothing could withstand their onset, they beat down the Highlanders under their horses' feet and galloped over them. A sergeant who carried the regimental colour was cut down by Don Juan Martin, who snatched the flag from his hand as he sank upon the ground, and waved it over his head in triumph.
"Save the flag!" shouted a Highland officer, as he rallied some of his men under the archway.