The crowd grew agitated again, muttering, then shouting, then shaking its fists, before thronging around the barber. The revolt was recovering from its brief dizzy spell, and threatening once again to raze the Casa Verde.

“Onward!” cried Porfírio, with a flourish of his hat.

“Onward!” bellowed the crowd.

But something stopped them: a corps of dragoons came marching at double time into Rua Nova.

Chapter 7

SOMETHING UNEXPECTED

When the dragoons reached the Canjicas there was a moment of bewilderment; the rebels could scarcely believe that the full force of the state had been sent in against them, but the barber immediately grasped the situation and waited. The dragoons stopped, and the captain ordered the crowd to disperse. However, while some were inclined to obey, others rallied strongly around the barber, who responded with these rousing words:

“We will not disperse. If it is our corpses you want, you can have them, but only our corpses, for you will not take from us our honor, our reputation, or our rights, and with them the very salvation of Itaguaí.”

Nothing could be more reckless than this response from the barber, and nothing more natural. Call it the giddy impulse of all moments of crisis. Perhaps it was also an excess of confidence, an assumption that the dragoons would not resort to violence, an assumption that the captain quickly dispelled by ordering his troops to charge the Canjicas. What followed defied description. The crowd bellowed with rage; some managed to escape by climbing into the windows of houses, others by running down the street, but most remained, howling in angry indignation, spurred on by the barber’s exhortations. The defeat of the Canjicas was imminent, when, for reasons the chronicles do not reveal, a third of the dragoons suddenly switched to the rebels’ side. This unexpected reinforcement gave new heart to the Canjicas, while sowing despondency among the ranks of law and order. The loyal troops had no desire to attack their own comrades, and, one by one, they crossed over to join them, so that after a few minutes, the picture had completely changed. On one side stood the captain, accompanied by only a handful of men, facing a dense throng calling for his head. There was nothing to be done; he acknowledged defeat and surrendered his sword to the barber.

The triumphant revolution lost not a single moment; the wounded were taken to nearby houses, and the mob set off toward the town hall. Troops and citizens fraternized, shouting three cheers for the king, the viceroy, Itaguaí, and their illustrious leader, Porfírio. The man himself walked in front, grasping the sword as deftly as if it were nothing but a rather long razor. Victory had surrounded him with a mysterious aura. The dignity of office had begun to stiffen his sinews.