I won’t describe any battles, though, nor write about the revolution, which was of no interest to me, except for the opportunity it gave me, and for the odd blow I dealt it in my own small way. João da Fonseca was my rebel. After taking part in the Battle of Sarandi and Cochila Negra, I heard that he had been killed in some skirmish or other; later, I heard that he was fighting alongside Gumercindo, and had been taken prisoner and sent to Porto Alegre; but even this was not true. One day, I became separated from my regiment, along with two comrades, and we came across another Legalist regiment that was just setting off to defend Encruzilhada, which had been under attack by the Federalist forces; I introduced myself to the commander and joined his company. There I discovered that João da Fonseca was among those Federalists; the other men told me all about him, about his love affairs and how he was separated from his wife.

The idea of killing him in the hurly-burly of battle had something fantastical about it; I didn’t even know if such duels were possible in battle, when one man’s strength should be part of a single force obedient to one commander. It also often occurred to me that I was about to commit a personal crime, and, believe me, this was not something I took lightly. However, the thought of Maria Cora bestowed on me something like an encouraging blessing, absolving me of guilt. I threw myself into combat. I did not know João da Fonseca; apart from what others had told me, I could only remember a portrait I had seen of him in Engenho Velho; if he had not greatly changed, it was likely that I would recognize him in a crowd. But would such an encounter be possible? The battles I had already been involved in made me think that it would certainly not be easy.

It was neither easy nor brief. In the Battle of Encruzilhada, I think I bore myself with the necessary courage and discipline, and I should point out that I was becoming accustomed to life in this civil war. The hate-filled words I heard were very potent. Both sides fought with great ardor, and the passion I sensed in those on my own side began to infect me too. I had heard my name read out in a report of the day’s fighting, and had received personal praise as well, praise which, then and now, I felt was well deserved. But let’s get back to what really matters, which is to finish this tale.