Gambar halaman
PDF
ePub

THE ASSAULT ON TU CU MAN.

A SOUTH AMERICAN SCENE.

FROM COLONEL KING'S ARGENTINE

SEVERAL days had thus passed, when Governor Arouez sent an invitation to Calderon and myself to see him in private, at his residence. We went, accordingly, and the governor informed us that Ouemez had been so foolish as to suppose that he could at a single blow crush the government of Tucuman; also, that he was at that moment approaching with a strong force, and a determination to sack the city; that in view of this determination he had not only promised full license to his soldiery, but so sure was he of success, that he had induced hundreds of the citizens of Salta to follow his army, prepared with carros, (carts,) trunks, and boxes, to carry away the property that should fall into their hands.

"These are the horrible facts," he continued; "but you will readily suppose, gentlemen, that the governor and the people of Tucuman are not prepared to give up their city without making an effort to defend it. I feel that we shall have a bloody time of it; and as you cannot take part with us without compromising your neutrality, and perhaps bringing down upon the country for which you are engaged the enmity of Ouemez and his government, it is well that you should leave. You are of the advance-guard of Humaguaca, (the last village of the Argentine,) and you may escape our slaughter by a passage through the monte de nogals. I will furnish you with passports and horses." Finding that Calderon made no reply, I said,

"Governor, I cannot desert your city under such circumstances; and if I cannot unite with your army in its defense, I may perhaps serve you in a different manner."

REPUBLIC.

"Do you wish to see us pillaged, and our people given to the sword?" said he.

"No, Señor; but if my efforts can be of any avail to prevent so fearful a calamity, they shall not be wanting."

Calderon determined to remain, and we set to work assisting in the additional preparations necessary to save the city from pillage. The citadel, which lay outside the town, was already strongly garrisoned, and every preparation had been made for an ordinary defense, but something more was now wanting to protect the women, children, and property of the citizens from the horrors of a saqueo. Every man and every boy that could hold a firelock was forthwith armed; each house became a fortress; and even upon the tops of houses, preparations were made by which the women could hurl stones and other heavy missiles upon the heads of the enemy. On the next day the enemy approached. The doors of the houses were barricaded, the windows closed, and a fearful silence, broken only by the occasional passing of small bodies of troops, pervaded the whole city. The stillness was awful, boding terror; every thing that could be done for safety had been done, and the people now only awaited the bursting of the impending storm. I had taken my post at the house of the governor, who was now with his troops, determined to defend that, at least, to the last extremity, and, in the event of the dreaded pillage, to protect his family. With a number of his family, I had ascended to the house-top; and from that spot we witnessed the approach of Ouemez, with his army, followed by a train of some three hundred carros, provided for the conveyance

[ocr errors][merged small]

of booty. His first assault was upon the citadel, which lay in full view before us; but after a short attack he entered the city, driving the garrison like sheep before him.

I had hoped to see a more resolute defense of the citadel, sufficient at least to have weakened the force of the assailants before reaching the town; but when the garrison gave way, with scarce an effort at defense, I felt as though the wretch would surely accomplish his purpose.

I had seen war in its most sanguine forms; had been through battle after battle, literally wading in blood; yet never till now had my nerves trembled, or my heart quailed, at the thought of danger. I saw Ouemez' strength; I saw his hellish preparation; and, as he approached, my frame shivered with fear for the helpless and the young; yet I strove, with the best effort in my power, to soothe the terrible apprehensions of the females who were clinging around me.

As the enemy entered the town, he was met by fresh troops and militia, who disputed their ground, inch by inch, for a long time, but at last gave way. Carnage followed upon every side; Ouemez' troops separated, carrying death and havoc through the various streets; and, above the uproar of the battle, as they were met by small bands of troops and citizens fighting for their firesides, arose the shrieks of woman and the groaning prayers of the aged. The work of pillage had commenced, houses had been forced, and their owners murdered upon their own sills, when Governor Arouez, by a vigorous effort, rallied his scattered soldiery, and, falling in desperation upon the main body of Ouemez' army, drove them from their position. New life was given to every heart, and new vigor to every arm, by this success; and the brave fellows, cheered by the shouts of their friends, and by the women, who, with streaming eyes, waved their handkerchiefs from the house-tops and

31

the windows, never lost their advantage, until the enemy was forced from the town, and the remnant of his army pursued to his own province.

The battle over, our company descended from the house-top, and I went into the street to assist in removing the wounded and dead. The scenes that presented themselves in all directions were such as are calculated to wring the heart, and cause it to mourn over its utter helplessness to give tangible relief. The legitimate field of battle, after a contest, is horrible enough, with only its pictures of death and bodily suffering; but here we saw all of that, with the addition of mental agony, presented in every form, and in the utmost depth of excess. Wives, seeking their husbands, and flying from street to street with heads uncovered, and their loose hair floating on the wind; or, having found the cold remnant of the object of their search, shrieking in despair, or bending in silent agony over the dead body; mothers, pale and haggard with dread, inquiring for their sons; sisters frantically calling on the names of their brothers, and children seeking their fathers, were incidents attending the close of this battle, which the soldier is, fortunately, not often called upon to witness. On the one hand, I saw a husband and wife bearing their wounded son to his home. They had placed him in a chair, and were thus conveying him along the street; but before they reached their house, he had breathed his last. On the other hand, I saw a lovely girl upon her knees in the street, by the side of her dead brother; and the piercing tones of her voice, as she exclaimed, "My God! my brother! My God! my brother!" thrilled on the inmost fibres of the heart. Scenes like these were constantly passing before me; and in all directions the sombre padre might be seen kneeling to receive the last confession of some dying

man.

A TALE WITHOUT A HEAD.

ADDRESSED TO AN INQUIRINg friend.

BY C. D. STUART.

I saw her thus, sitting by the side of her mother; a mother, over whose brow fell a few silvery locks, enough to make her beau

Now, thank fate! I have squared mat-, if you would know her well; and it would ters; and, first of all neglected duties, I sit be better to see her when she has no dream of an intrusive foot. down to fulfil my promise. I think I mentioned the character of her parents; I am quite sure I did, as also her age; but, lest I may be mistaken, allow the repetition of the last item. She was seventeen! ah, charm-tifully venerable. Ella--for that is the name by which I shall call her-sat reading from ing, dear seventeen! that age of sweet unsome book, perhaps that most sacred of consciousness! Not that I am particular books, and she would stop at intervals and about numbers, for I am not; thirty were as good, if they wore the same brightness, the same halo; but she was seventeen, and, with the grace she had found in my sight, there came also the delightful impression that hers was indeed a divine age.

To have attempted resistance to the emotions she inspired, would have been both folly and madness with me. She was by no means what the world at large would call beautiful. She had not thatassumed hauteur and half-languishing air, which a friend. of mine terms the "indifferent-angel-like;" nay, at first, to the common observer, she seemed coarse; more like a peasant-girl from the flax-wheel-by the way, queens once thought it no shame to spin-than a well-bred and high-born, gentle girl. But who ever saw the lights and shades of such a picture at a glance? Who could look more than once, and say there was no enchantment lingering from the pencil of the master, and a beauty which days, and months, and years of ravishing study and worship could but partially comprehend? I saw her first in a happy light. Never looked sunset so beautiful to me as the soft smile that played on her full-rounded and delicate lip-a lip whose very form was poetry and music. I saw her at home-ah, should see a beautiful woman at home,

you

look up with a holy significance into the eyes of her parent, and the two seemed to kindle with the glance. I was in love! It matters little whether I was a stealthy looker-on or not; enough that I saw her thus, and was in love! Love, with me, was not a passion; a sentiment engrafted on impulsive sensibility, to be effaced by the first rain of fanciful circumstance. It was the unwoofing of my very soul; a discovery that I was divided, and that the twain, in so far as I was concerned, were ill apart.

But I did not finish the portrait. I had a dream in childhood of beauty, and in that vision a proud bust, and high, pale forehead, such as would have delighted Canova; rather prominent cheeks, an aquiline nose; ay! a nose in the form of which was blended dignity with, if need be, scorn; and then, those lips, mellow as the sunny side of a delicious peach, or the fairest cluster of blushing grapes, forming a mouth which was a volume in itself. Did you, my friend, ever mark the expression of a beautiful mouth? A mouth, peopled round about with dreamy beseechings. A mouth, the very index of the heart beneath it; the lips just parted, but not pouting; a quiet mirth laughing at the corners, and the soul of frank ingenuousness playing with a smile on its curves? This, with something of inten

sity to fix the colors, is her portrait; but, in this, I have forgotten her eyes. I never could describe my ideal of an eye! A rich, hazy eye, dark and watery, with long, fine lashes, from beneath which flash a thousand sparkles-the radiance of liquid fire-and those lashes lifted timidly to emit the sacred light—such are shadows, mere shadows of my ideal eyes; such the meteors that gleamed upon my first love. From thenceforward, I saw her a thousand times; indeed, she was a transparency within my very soul; an ineffable presence, from which I drank a ravishing delight.

I recollect only, after that, writing a long letter, in which I disembodied my soul to her, and offered it for acceptance on the altar of her love. Quietly, the post came rattling at its accustomed hour, and I read within five minutes, with a heart throbbing like the pulse of a volcano, the seal of my fond dream, my long worship, my hopes, my all! In a few brief words of regret-on my account, of course-that her heart was beyond her gift, that it was already another's, and she concluded by asking me to her wedding. I was not one who had envious thoughts of daggers, corrosive sublimate, and deep cisterns. I felt no acme of despair, for I loved her still, and, though she has been wedded for years, I love her now!

Can it be that I gave her up without a sigh? No, I sighed, but like one who

sees joy for another in his own loss; I consoled my heart, and she passed from the prospect of my possession, like a light which, for a moment, flashed over the darkness, and left me a mellower night. But, was there no beautiful memory left me for my heart's widowhood? Did I not recur, and have I not ever since recurred, to that first smile which I saw playing on her lip at seventeen ? A happy man is he who won her! I envy him not; I love him that he had the power to bear so dear a trophy to his bed and board. I cannot see that ten years have woven one wrinkle on her brow, or changed the joyousness of those fiery eyes, or the blush of those delicious lips. There are little semblances of her climbing upon a father's knees, but the mother is still the Ella who charmed me at seventeen. Not a day have I loved her less; she is as near to the pure affections of my heart as though altars and marriage-bells had never been. How can I love again? Is not my soul already full

with this one tender remembrance?"

"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever."

I still glide in occasionally, and sit by the cottage hearth, and feel the thrill which spelled me in youth. He is not jealous that I look on his delight, and she is no less frank than at seventeen. Should I die before them, I shall will them all but my grave-clothes.

[blocks in formation]

His years weighed heavy on him;
And now, with faltering tread,

He came from the track of the setting suD
To the home of his people dead,
To lay his bones where his maidens sung,
Where his thousand braves had bled.

Beneath the meeting branches

Of those old trees he stood,

The spot where his ancient wigwam fire
Flashed out in the dim old wood:
Vainly he seeks some vestige now
In that wild, stern solitude.

Beneath those grim old giants

The ancient once sat down:

How well the spot that bore him now
His earlier years had known,

That dark-gray stone, long time grown o'er
With moss and lichen brown!

Long in the spectral moonlight

He bowed his silvered head: Old AGOWAN Communeth now

With his people's ancient dead;

They sweep along through the whispering wood
With a noiseless, awful tread.

He sees their looks bent on him,

The looks of that shadowy band;

He sees the toss of each warrior's plume,
And the wave of each spirit-hand;

And he hears deep tones, that he knows full well
Are the tones of the spirit-land.

"AGOWAN! thy people wait thee;

Thy sires have bid us come;

Thy spirit is weary of waiting,

Thy winters have told their sum:
List, list to the soft notes round thee,
The beat of the spirit-drum!

"It waits, child of mighty sires,
Last son of a lofty race,

For thy death-song to ring in our ancient balls.
AGOWAN! unveil thy face:

A thousand kings are around thee now

In their ancient council-place."

A wild blast shook the forest,

And died with a saddened moan
In the far-off hills; and the spirit-train
From the moonlit hall was gone,
And the Eagle Eye" sprang swiftly up
From his seat on the moss-gray stone.

The moon-rays came like silver

And sat on the old chief's brow;
The eye that was named the Eagle's
Grows dim in its gleaming now;
The dream that has just swept o'er him
Tells him AGOWAN's soul must go.
The death-song wakes the forest
As AGOWAN waits to die,
Now, soft as the passing zephyr,
Now, swelling stern and high,
As the shades of his dark-eyed maidens
And his war-plumed braves sweep by.

"Great SPIRIT of my people! thy son hath come to die
Within the ancient shades where rung his fathers' battle-cry;
Where dark-eyed maidens warbled, and battled mighty braves;
Where blazed the council-fire, and rose his fathers' graves.

I saw them sweeping by me in a solemn march to-night,
And well I know that AGOWAN must plume his soul for flight:
I saw each spectral finger point, and wave each ghostly hand
Toward the home I long to see, the Indian's spirit-land.

I saw them flitting by me, and every warrior wore
The eagle-plume upon his brow that long ago he bore;

I heard their music round me, and I knew the spirit-drum,

As to my waiting spirit I heard them whisper, Come!'

I come to die where long ago my fathers met the foe,
Where flashed in youth my tomahawk and rung my battle-bow.
Great SPIRIT of my people! my tribe were mighty then;
Their music was the shout of battle rushing up the glen:
My young men in the forest were foremost in the chase,
The light of Great MANITTO's smile shone down upon my race;
Then AGOWAN in battle was dreadful in his might,
And thrice a thousand warriors rushed beside him to the fight:
His gaze could mark the wildest flight the eagle dared to try;
Thus gained he from his nation the proud name of Eagle Eye!
No red man was before him; his tribe the mightiest stood,
And far and near the sachems feared the Eagle and his brood,
But lo! against my people the white man sent his horde,
And wild and fierce the battle raged with tomahawk and sword!
In vain with thrice a thousand braves the Eagle rushed to fight;
In vain we strove like tigers 'gainst the foes' outnumbering might;
In vain each plumed chieftain hurled his hatchet on the foe;
Like leaves before the autumn blast they struck my warriors low!
Still closed they sternly round me, wildly fighting to the death,
Till alone, amidst his slaughtered braves, the Eagle drew his breath!
The aged and the helpless, and the widow at her hearth,
The conquering pale-face, in his hour of triumph, struck to earth,
And AGOWAN, their chieftain, alone of all his race,
Toward the setting sun in bitter sadness turned his face.
Great SPIRIT of my fathers! my people passed away
Like dew-drops from the summer sun upon that fatal day

« SebelumnyaLanjutkan »