Chapter V: The 25th May, 1810

Out through the silent streets, out through the quiet suburbs, galloped Marcelino Ponce de Leon, arousing many an unquiet sleeper from uneasy slumbers, for few slept soundly in Buenos Aires on that night between the 24th and 25th May.

Spaniards cowered in their houses, mindful of the 1st January, 1809, dreading an explosion of popular wrath, which they knew themselves powerless to resist. Natives, indignant at the fraud which had been practised upon them, remembered also the 1st January, 1809, and looked anxiously for the day, resolute to overcome all obstacles to the full execution of their will.

Trampling through the mud, splashing through pools of water which lay in the unpaved roadways, Marcelino galloped on, heedless that many a window was thrown hastily open as he passed, and many an anxious eye gazed after him as he rapidly disappeared from sight; heeding no more the anxious looks of men than he did the angry snarling of the curs, who leaped up upon him from many a hedgerow in the suburbs.

He reached the Miserere, and, drawing rein at the quinta gate, looked over the hedge at the windows of the house beyond. That of the sala was thrown wide open, and the mulatta servant girl stood there, staring with a bewildered look upon the clouds. Marcelino dismounted and, throwing his rein over the gate-post, walked up to the porch; the door was opened for him by Magdalen herself. She was dressed in a white wrapper with a frilled collar, and her hair was bound round her head with a fillet of blue silk. She seemed not in the least surprised to see him at that untimely hour, and her eyes spoke her welcome as she met him.

Marcelino took her hand, and she turned with him to go inside.

"I have not seen you for three days," he said; "I could not let another day pass without telling you what we have done, and to-day will be one which will mark an epoch in our history."

"I have heard something, but not all; you will tell me."

"Señorita!" exclaimed the mulatto girl, running out from the sala, "have you not seen the sky? In all my life I have seen nothing so strange."

Marcelino and Magdalen looked behind them through the open door of the porch. A bright light shone upon everything they saw, tinging everything with pink.

Then the two went out and stood in the porch, the young man and the maiden, hand in hand, together speaking not, and in their silence was there more eloquence than in many words.

Together they stood watching the dawn of the morning, their hearts communing one with another in silent sympathy, the sympathy of mutual trust and love. Together they watched the rising of the sun on the morning of the 25th May, a sunrise which is now hailed every year as the day comes round by the thundering salute of the cannon of emancipated peoples, and by the voices of thousands of children, who in every city and town throughout the one-time colonies of Spain welcome with patriotic songs the rising of the sun on the 25th of May.

Together they stood in the porch and looked forth upon the eastern sky. The clouds which hung low over the city seemed to form but one cloud, stretching from horizon to horizon in one dense mass of dark grey, shaded with pink, which cast a bright pink reflection upon the domes and towers of the churches, and upon the white-washed walls of the houses in the nearest quintas. Then as they stood together and looked, the pink tints died out of the sky, and the dark grey of the clouds changed to a brilliant orange. Far away on the eastern horizon, just in the path of the rising sun, there was a break in the vast uniformity of cloud, a semicircle of deep blue; in the centre of this blue sky, up rose the sun, launching his fiery beams straight on the concave surface of the cloud. In an instant the orange tints died out, and the whole cloud became one mass of brilliant yellow, so brilliant and free from shades that it was impossible to tell that there was any cloud at all. It seemed as though a noonday sun had spread himself over the whole sky, that the sky itself had become a sun, bathing the world beneath in a flood of yellow light, which was reflected from every object round, dazzlingly brilliant, but without one ray of warmth in it.

As they gazed in silence, still hand in hand, from north to south there darted a rosy streak of lightning, and the curtain of cloud sank down over the blue space on the eastern horizon, shutting out the sun. As the cloud descended the golden sheen faded away out of the sky, and there came from far off in the north a clap of thunder, which rolled and rolled away above the clouds, echoing and re-echoing till it lost itself in the farthest south. Then the clouds were again one mass of dull grey, hanging low over the city, and heavy drops of rain fell pattering on the roof of the porch above them.

"What is this?" said Magdalen, drawing closer to Marcelino; "never have I seen a sunrise like this."

"Nor I," replied Marcelino; "and if I mistake not, the day which follows will be a day such as has never been seen before in Buenos Aires."

"Saw you the sun, how brilliantly he shone out? Then there came that angry flash of lightning, all the glory died out of the sky, and there was a long roll of thunder. Do you believe in omens? Do you not tremble?"

"I do not tremble," said Marcelino; "have you not taught me faith? to do right and fear nothing? What can be more right or more noble than to free one's native country from the slavery of centuries? The liberty we shall win to-day, may but give us the right to toil and labour for years to come, but is it not more noble to labour than to sleep?"

Then Magdalen leaned upon his arm and whispered:

"Yes, that is faith."

Marcelino, throwing his arms round her, pressed her to his breast and kissed her. For a minute there was silence between them. That kiss was the seal of a compact of which both had thought much, but of which neither had spoken until this day--a compact which bound them to each other so long as their lives should last, a compact which made the cares and toils of one, the cares and toils of both, a compact which blended their two lives into one life, and which death alone could cancel.

Marcelino was the first to speak.

"The presage of the rising sun," said he, "may be fulfilled. The liberty we shall achieve to-day may be soon clouded over, the storm may burst upon us, and all our efforts may be long unavailing to raise the people from the sloth and ignorance into which they have fallen under Spanish rule, but this sun over which the storm-cloud has fallen, this sun which is now hidden from us, will shine out again to-morrow when the storm has passed over. This storm is but the herald of the winter, which will tear off the last leaves from the trees, which will wither up the few remaining flowers. It is but the first of many storms, but they also will pass over. Winter will give place to spring. Again the genial sun will shine out, clothing the whole earth with verdure. The earth, refreshed and invigorated by the stern discipline of winter, will give new strength to the trees, fresh beauty to the flowering shrubs, and in the joyous springtime we shall forget the storms of winter. Shall it not be so with us, Magdalen? Life has many storms in store for us, but we will not shrink from facing them. Shall we not walk together, cheering and strengthening each other, looking together in faith to the future?"

Magdalen's lips spoke no answer to his question, but her eyes looked up into his with a brave confidence, which was answer sufficient.

"Señor Don Marcelino, shall I not tie your horse under the shed, your saddle will be sopping wet in five minutes?"

It was the gardener who spoke, an old man with a face like a block of wood. How long he had been standing there neither of them knew.

"Leave it," said Marcelino, turning sharply on him.

"You must not go yet," said Magdalen, "I have so much to ask you. Papa is asleep, so I can make coffee for you myself."

Old Antonio got no further answer, and stood looking after them as they went back into the house together. Then, with a wink of his cunning old eyes, he hobbled to the gate, and taking the horse by the bridle led him away.

An hour later, Marcelino and Magdalen again stood in the porch side by side and hand in hand. Still the rain poured down, still the wind sighed mournfully among the trees, still the withered leaves broke off from the swaying branches, and gathered in sodden masses on the wet ground; over all hung the leaden sky, and the far-off towers and domes of the churches were invisible, shrouded in thick mist and driving rain. The prospect as they looked out was dismal, yet they looked upon it with cheerful eyes, the confidence which filled their hearts made them oblivious to aught else than their own thoughts.

"Come to me when all is settled and tell me what you have done," whispered Magdalen.

"The knights of old went forth to fight with their lady's glove in their helmet," said Marcelino. "There will be no shivering of lances to-day, yet may I not carry with me some gage of love, to remind me that I fight to-day not for myself nor even for my country alone?"

As he spoke he looked at the fillet of blue silk which bound Magdalen's brown hair. She, with a smile, twisted it from her head and, unfastening it, passed it through the buttonhole of his coat, tying it there in a small bow from which hung two short streamers. Then she stood off to look at him, but shook her head, and going back to his side untied the bow and pulled away the ribbon.

"Wait a minute," she said, shaking back the hair which hung over her face, and then went off to her own room.

Some minutes she was away. When she came back her hair was again bound up with a fillet, but the fillet was no longer a simple blue ribbon, it was of two ribbons, one blue, the other white, twined together. In her hand she carried a blue-and-white rosette, from which hung three streamers, of which the centre one was white, the other two blue. She brought also a needle and thread, and the active fingers stitched the rosette with its three streamers to the lappel of Marcelino's coat.

"There," she said, as she finished her work and stood back to admire it, "there you take not only a gage but an emblem. The sky in the springtime is not blue only, it is blue and white. If you meet with more difficulty than you expect, look on this ribbon, blue and white, and think of the springtime of which you told me."

As Marcelino rode away Magdalen stood in the porch looking after him, till a tall aloe hedge shut him out from her sight, then she seated herself in a low chair with her hands folded before her, gazing vacantly at the raindrops as they fell from the eaves, in deep thought, till the sound of a bell called her to her father's room.

"You have had a visitor this morning, Chica," said Don Alfonso, in a more natural tone than she had heard him speak in for weeks.

"Yes, papa," said she, what little colour she had in her face fading away, and her lips closing firmly together.

"Who was it, Chica?"

"Don Marcelino Ponce de Leon, papa," she answered.

"Does Don Marcelino love you, Chica?"

"Yes," she said, trying hard to answer in a steady voice.

Don Alfonso stretched out his hand, and drawing her down to him he kissed her, and murmured in a low voice in English:

"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us."

Then Magdalen fell on her knees beside the bed and burst into tears.

When Marcelino reached Evaña's house he found his friend already gone. On foot he followed him, not doubting that he would see him or hear of him on the Plaza Mayor. Neither here nor in any of the streets as he passed along did he see any troops, every corps was in its own barracks, under arms and ready to march at a moment's notice, awaiting orders only from the revolutionary committee to appear. But every street leading to the Plaza Mayor was thronged with groups of citizens, who, careless of the rain, wended their way thither. As Marcelino entered the Plaza he saw the wide causeway of the Recoba Nueva occupied by long lines of young men, all of whom were armed, some with pistols, some with sword-sticks. Among these young men Evaña walked hurriedly, striving apparently to establish some organisation amongst them, which was each moment destroyed by the accession of fresh recruits.

"What is that?" said Evaña, as Marcelino walked up to him and he saw the blue and white rosette on the lappel of his coat.

"These," answered Marcelino, taking the streamers in his hand, "are the colours of La Patria."

"Viva La Patria!" shouted Evaña, taking off his hat.

The shout was taken up and echoed all over the Plaza, and in an instant all the organisation which Evaña had been labouring to establish was destroyed. Each man after he had shouted turned to his neighbour to ask why. One only obtained a satisfactory answer, and he was Marcelino, who asked the question of Evaña himself.

"You have given me the idea I wanted," said Evaña. "There are of all sorts here, and we must have some means of knowing our own. Choose your pickets of young men we can trust, and station them at every entrance to the Plaza. I will procure blue and white ribbons for distribution to all patriots, your pickets will keep back any who seek to enter the Plaza who have not these ribbons."

Half an hour later the Plaza was crowded with people, but every man there had in the buttonhole of his coat two ribbons, one blue, the other white.

The Cabildo met at an early hour that morning. The first subject which engaged their attention was the resignation by Don Baltazar de Cisneros of the dignity of President of the Junta, which had been conferred upon him the day previous.

Don Cornelio Saavedra had been with Don Baltazar during the night, and, showing him that it would be impossible otherwise to preserve public tranquillity, had persuaded him to send in this resignation.

The second subject before the Cabildo was the "Representation" drawn up by the revolutionary committee, and signed by some hundreds of citizens, which formed a protest against their proceedings.

Don Roderigo Ponce de Leon exerted himself to the utmost in favour of moderation, counselling them to name Don Cornelio Saavedra President of the Junta in place of Don Baltazar de Cisneros, and Don Manuel Belgrano as the fourth member of that body, in the place of Don Cornelio. But Don Roderigo was feebly supported by the native members of the Cabildo, his proposal was scouted as an act of cowardice by the more violent of the Spaniards. He warned them that hundreds of the people, greatly excited, and most of them armed, patrolled the Plaza Mayor and filled the cafés. The answer of the Cabildo to this popular demonstration was to send for the commanders of the troops. As soon as these officers were assembled at the Cabildo they received orders to march their troops to the Plaza and disperse the people at the point of the bayonet. Most of these officers refused point blank to obey the command, the rest stated that any such attempt would infallibly produce a mutiny among their men.

The Cabildo thus found themselves powerless, but even then would not listen to the moderate counsels of Don Roderigo. Hours passed, and, as they debated the matter angrily among themselves, there came a violent knocking upon the outer doors, which were closed.

The people, wearied out by long waiting, had sent a deputation headed by Don Carlos Evaña and Don Marcelino Ponce de Leon, who demanded the immediate deposition of Don Baltazar de Cisneros. Don Martin Rodriguez, who was at the Cabildo with the other commanding officers, opened the door and went out to them. He was instantly surrounded by a number of excited young men, who asked him angrily what the Cabildo were doing, that for hours they kept the people waiting, instead of at once revoking their edict of the preceding day.

"Don Baltazar de Cisneros has sent in his resignation himself," answered Don Martin, "which renders necessary the appointment of an entirely new Junta. They require time to decide upon what men to choose for the Junta."

"Is that all?" replied Evaña. "We will save them the trouble of debating that question any longer."

So saying, Don Carlos drew out his pocket-book and turning to a blank leaf wrote on it in pencil, seven names.

"There," said he, tearing out the leaf and presenting it to Don Martin, "there, give that list to the Señores of the Cabildo, and tell them that that Junta and no other will satisfy the wishes of the people."

"Come in and present it to them yourself," said Don Martin, drawing back.

Upon this Evaña and Marcelino Ponce de Leon followed Don Martin into the council-chamber, a large room in the upper story, lighted by windows which reached to the floor of the room, and opened upon the balconies overlooking the Plaza Mayor.

Evaña, holding the paper in his hand, strode up to the table round which the members of the corporation were seated, and laying it before the Alcalde de primer voto--

"Señores," he said, "you are but wasting your time here, the people have chosen a Junta for themselves, you have nothing more to do than to draw up an edict appointing this Junta according to legal forms, and then to retire and leave the power in their hands."

"The people!" exclaimed Don Roderigo Ponce de Leon, starting to his feet, "where is this people? and how have they chosen this Junta?"

"Step this way, Don Roderigo, and look upon the people," replied Evaña, drawing the bolts of one of the windows and throwing the window wide open.

Don Roderigo walked to the window and stepped out upon the balcony. Something more than a hundred young men stood drawn up in line on the roadway beneath him, the rest of the Plaza was nearly deserted; it was now an hour past noon, and the heavy rain had driven the greater part of those who had filled the Plaza some hours before, back to their own homes or to the shelter of the cafés.

"Do you call these boys the people?" said Don Roderigo

"The people were here hours ago," said Don Carlos. "These only have remained, but they are sufficient to tell you the will of the people. Ask them."

Then as Don Roderigo looked back in indignation upon his colleagues each man of whom still sat in his place as though stricken with fear, Don Carlos also turned to them.

"Señores," said he, "will you that I call all the people back, that you may speak to them? If you wish it I will do so. I will also send round to the barracks, and from each barrack there will march forth a regiment of patriots, each patriot with a musket on his shoulder. Will you that I send for them?"

But the Cabildo, especially the more violent members, were stricken with consternation, they cowered before the haughty bearing of Don Carlos Evaña, and looked in vain for hope into the quiet, resolute face of Marcelino Ponce de Leon. Round the door, which had been left open, there crowded other stern, determined faces. Evaña, Marcelino, and each of these men wore blue and white ribbons hanging from the lappels of their coats. The people who had thronged the Plaza two hours before had also each man worn these ribbons. These ribbons were the same colours which the Patricios had carried through smoke and fire triumphantly, on the 5th July, 1807. They looked at each other and their hearts quailed within them; they looked into the faces of the military commandants, who looked up at the ceiling or down on the ground, their hands playing with their sword-knots, or with the buckles of their belts, but who looked back at them, never at all. They fancied themselves the victims of some wide-spread conspiracy.

Then the Alcalde de primer voto, who was the President ex-officio, took up the paper which lay before him and read aloud the names which Evaña had there written.

"I see no objection to any of these gentlemen," said one, "they are all men highly respectable, and of influence among the people."

The rest murmured their acquiescence, all save Don Roderigo Ponce de Leon, who, coming back from the window, now even more vehemently opposed their timid yielding to dictation, than he had opposed their purblind obstinacy in the morning.

"Señores," said he, "if you appoint that Junta you endorse a revolution, you strike the first blow against the honour of the flag of Spain, you are guilty of treason to your legitimate sovereign."

"The Junta will rule in the name of King Ferdinand, and will be responsible to him for the use it makes of its authority," said Marcelino.

"I say nothing against the Junta," said Don Roderigo. "The Cabildo have the right to appoint what men they please on the Junta, but they have also the right of forbidding all intrusion upon their counsels, and when they submit to unauthorised dictation they are guilty of treason."

The members looked up irresolute, but behind Don Roderigo stood the tall figure of Don Carlos Evaña, leaning against the frame of the open window, twisting the blue and white ribbons which hung from the buttonhole of his coat round his fingers. Their faces fell and they whispered one to the other--

"Why not? What better can we do?"

Then Don Roderigo turned his back upon them, and throwing his cloak over his shoulders, drawing his hat down over his eyes, left the room, elbowed his way through the throng of young men who crowded the staircase and the courtyard, and so out into the open Plaza, speaking no word to any, but walking rapidly away to his own house.

At three o'clock that afternoon, the Cabildo published an edict, appointing in the name of King Ferdinand VII. a Junta of government as follows:--

_President._--Don Cornelio Saavedra.
_Members._
Dr. Don Juan Josè Castelli.
" " Manuel Alberdi.
" Manuel Belgrano.
" Miguel Azcuenaga.
" Domingo Matheu.
" Juan de Larrea.

Being a copy of the list which had been so hurriedly drawn up by Don Carlos Evaña.

No clangour of bells or roaring of guns hailed the publication of this edict, a solemn silence fell over the city, all felt that a great revolution had been accomplished, a revolution unstained by one drop of blood.

Buenos Aires made no noisy demonstration of joy over this great victory, she saw clearly the task she had undertaken, and, content that the first step was gained so peacefully, forbore to triumph over her fallen tyrants, setting her face steadfastly towards the great future now opening up before her.

The new Junta met the next day, the 26th May. Their first step was to appoint two secretaries--

Dr. Don Mariano Moreno
and " " Juan Josè Passo.

whom they incorporated into their body, thus raising the total number of the Junta to nine.

To this committee of nine men, Buenos Aires entrusted her destiny, the destiny of the Argentine people. They ruled Buenos Aires and directed her energies in the name of Ferdinand VII., King of Spain and the Indies. They styled themselves the Junta Gubernativa of the provinces of the Rio de la Plata; they yet acknowledged as their King a Spaniard of the House of Bourbon, who lay in a French prison; they yet considered their country as a part of the wide empire of Spain; but they looked upon the men of Buenos Aires as the people from whom they held their authority and to whom alone they were responsible; they were, although they knew it not, the founders and the first rulers of the Argentine Republic.