Mejia took his measures accordingly.  Placing his llaneros and gauchos in front and the infantry in the rear, he advanced resolutely to the attack; and though it is contrary to rule for light cavalry to charge infantry, this order, considering the quality of the rebel foot, was probably the best which he could adopt.

On the other hand, the Spanish position was very strong, Griscelli massed his infantry in the throat of the quebrada, the thickets on either side of it being occupied in force.  The reserve consisted exclusively of horse, an arm in which he was by no means strong.  Mejia was thus encompassed on three sides, and had his foes reserved their fire and stood their ground, he could not possibly have broken through them.  But the Spaniards opened fire as soon as the rebels came within range.  Before they could reload, the gauchos charged, and though many saddles were emptied, the rebel horse rode so resolutely and their long spears looked so formidable, that the Spaniards gave way all along the line, and took refuge among the trees, thereby leaving the patriots a free course.

This was the turning-point of the battle, and had the rebel infantry shown as much courage as their cavalry the Spaniards would have been utterly beaten; but their only idea was to get away; they bolted as fast as their legs could carry them, an example which was promptly imitated by the Spanish cavalry, who instead of charging the rebel horse in flank as they emerged from the valley, galloped off toward San Felipe, followed nolens volens by Griscelli and his staff.

It was the only battle I ever saw or heard of in which both sides ran away.  If Mejia had gone to San Felipe he might have taken it without striking a blow, but besides having lost many of his brave llaneros, he had his unfortunate infantry to rally and protect, and the idea probably never occurred to him.

As for the Spanish infantry, they stayed in the woods till the coast was clear, and then hied them home.

Griscelli was wild with rage.  To have his well-laid plans thwarted by cowardice and stupidity, the easy victory he had promised himself turned into an ignominious defeat at the very moment when, had his orders been obeyed, the fortunes of the day might have been retrieved—­all this would have proved a severe trial for a hero or a saint, and certainly Griscelli bore his reverse neither with heroic fortitude nor saintly resignation.  He cursed like the jackdaw of Rheims, threatened dire vengeance on all and sundry, and killed one of the runaway troopers with his own hand.  I narrowly escaped sharing the same fate.  Happening to catch sight of me when his passion was at the height he swore that he would shoot at least one rebel, and drawing a pistol from his holster pointed it at my head.  I owed my life to Captain Guzman, who was one of the best and bravest of his officers.

“Pray don’t do that, general,” he said.  “It would be an ill requital for Senor Fortescue’s faithful observance of his parole.  And you promised to let him go.”