Men Mounted
Their Steeds With A Careless Laugh, While The Rising Sun Shone On
Their Burnished Arms, So Soon To Be Stained With Blood.
Battalions of
men marched up and down the streets to the sound of martial music,
and the low, flat-roofed housetops were quickly filled with
sharpshooters.
The Government House and residence of the President was guarded in
all directions by the 2nd Battalion of the Line, the firemen and a
detachment of police, but on the river side were four gunboats of the
revolutionary party.
The average South American is a man of quick impulses and little
thought. The first shot fired by the Government troops was the signal
for a fusilade that literally shook the city. Rifle shots cracked,
big guns roared, and shells screaming overhead descended in all
directions, carrying death and destruction. Street-cars, wagons and
cabs were overturned to form barricades. In the narrow, straight
streets the carnage was fearful, and blood soon trickled down the
watercourses and dyed the pavements. That morning the sun had risen
for the last time upon six hundred strong men; it set upon their
mangled remains. Six hundred souls! The Argentine soldier knows
little of the science of "hide and seek" warfare. When he goes forth
to battle, it is to fight - or die. Of the future life he
unfortunately thinks little, and of Christ, the world's Redeemer, he
seldom or never hears. The Roman Catholic chaplain mumbles a few
Latin prayers to them at times, but as the knowledge of these resos
does not seem to improve the priest's life, the men prefer to remain
in ignorance.
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