I told him that
we did not wish to disobey the Comandante's orders, but had no red
flag in the house to hang up. He answered that he had brought one for
that purpose with him. He unrolled it and fastened it to a pole; then,
climbing to the roof of the house, he raised and made it fast there.
Not satisfied with these insults, he ordered me to wake my father, who
was sleeping, so that he also might see the flag over his house. My
father came out leaning on my shoulder, and when he had cast up his
eyes and seen the red flag he turned and cursed the officer. 'Go back,'
he cried, 'to the dog, your master, and tell him that Colonel Peralta
is still a Blanco in spite of your dishonourable flag. Tell that
insolent slave of Brazil that when I was disabled I passed my sword
on to my son Calixto, who knows how to use it, fighting for his
country's independence.' The officer, who had mounted his horse by
this time, laughed, and, tossing the order from the _comandancia_
at our feet, bowed derisively and galloped away. My father picked up
the paper and read these words: 'Let there be displayed on every house
in this department a red flag, in token of joy at the happy tidings
of a victory won by the government troops, in which that recreant son
of the republic, the infamous assassin and traitor, Calixto Peralta,
was slain!' Alas, senor, loving his son above all things, hoping so
much from him, and enfeebled by long suffering, my poor father could
not resist this last blow.
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