He could get nothing more out of me, but I had to tell him what my plans were, if not my motives. When he found out that my intention was to enlist with the volunteers fighting the rebels, he didn’t believe me and perhaps suspected that I really had been charged with some secret plan. I said nothing that could have suggested such a thing, but he wasted no time in trying to dissuade me; he himself was a Legalist and spoke of the enemy with anger and loathing. Once he had recovered from his surprise, however, he accepted my decision, which he found all the nobler because it was not inspired by party politics. He said many fine, heroic words on the subject, words that would raise the spirits of anyone already eager for a fight. I was not such a one, or only for personal reasons, which had now grown more urgent. I had just received a letter from Maria Cora’s aunt, sending me their news and her niece’s best wishes, all expressed in very general terms, but imbued, I thought, with genuine affection.

I went to Porto Alegre, where I enlisted and set off to join the campaign. I said nothing about myself that might arouse any curiosity, but it was difficult to conceal my social status, where I came from, and my journey there in order to fight the rebels. A legend soon sprang up around me. I was an extremely wealthy republican, an enthusiast for the cause, ready to give my life for the republic a thousand times over—if I had that many lives—and certainly resolutely prepared to sacrifice the one life I had. I allowed these rumors to grow and off I went. When I asked in which of the rebel forces João da Fonseca could be found, someone interpreted this as a desire for some act of personal revenge; someone else thought I was a spy for the rebels hoping to enter into secret communication with Fonseca. Those who knew about his relationship with Prazeres imagined I was an old lover of hers wanting to exact revenge. All these suppositions died, leaving only a belief in my political fervor. The rumor that had me down as a spy was more problematic, but, fortunately, it was the product of two men’s nighttime lucubrations and soon vanished.

I took with me a picture of Maria Cora, which she herself had given me one night shortly before my departure, complete with a charming little dedication. As I said before, this was pure romanticism; once I had taken that first step, the others followed of their own accord. Add to this my male pride, and you will understand how an ordinary, indifferent citizen of Rio could become a hardened soldier in the Rio Grande campaign.