[1]See "The Tiger Slayer." Same publishers.
[1]See "The Tiger Slayer." Same publishers.
The paper which the peon handed to Captain de Laville, and which caused him to feel such emotion, only contained one name; but it was a name well known at Guetzalli—that of the Count de Prébois Crancé. The Guetzallians had heard vague rumours of the French expedition formed at San Francisco for the purpose of working the inexhaustible mines of the Plancha de Plata. They knew, too, of the company's arrival at Guaymas; but since then they had received no news, and were completely ignorant of the events that had occurred.
The captain had not the remotest idea that the Count de Prébois was the leader of that expedition; but, from several words Louis had let fall during his stay at the hacienda, he suspected him of fostering certain projects against the Mexican Government. This was the reason why, on receiving the paper, his first impulse was to exclaim, "He here! What can be the matter?"
He proceeded at once to the count, persuaded that the latter, outlawed for some reason by the Mexican Government, had come to demand an asylum from him. Colonel Suarez' unexpected visit coincided strangely with the count's arrival, and confirmed him in his notion; for he supposed, with some appearance of truth, that the colonel was ordered to enforce on him not to receive the exile, or, if he received him into the colony, to hand him over at once to the Mexican authorities. Fearing lest he might commit some error prejudicial to the count, he had hurriedly left the colonel alone, in order to come to an understanding with his compatriot, as from the first moment he had resolved not only not to surrender him, but not to abandon him if he claimed his aid.
The reader sees that, although the captain's hypothesis was false, it bordered on the truth in several points.
Don Louis and Valentine, seated on butacas, were smoking and talking together, while drinking, to refresh themselves, a decoction of tamarinds, when the door opened, and the captain appeared. The three men shook hands affectionately, and then de Laville, making the others a sign to sit down again, began the conversation at once.
"What good wind brings you to Guetzalli, my dear count?" he said.
"Hum!" the latter said. "If you asked whatcordonazo, you would be nearer the truth, my dear De Laville; for never has a more terrible hurricane assailed me than threatens at this moment."
"Oh, oh! do tell me about it I need hardly say, I suppose, I am quite at your service."
"Thank you; but, before all, one word. Who has taken the Count de Lhorailles' place in the government of the colony?"
"Myself," the young man modestly replied.
"By Jove! I am delighted to hear that," the count said frankly, "for no one was more worthy than you to succeed him."
"My dear sir!" he said in confusion.
"On my word, captain, I tell you honestly what I think: all the worse if it wounds you."
"Far from that," the young man remarked with a smile.
"Then all is for the best. I see that my interests will not be imperilled in your hands."
"You may feel assured of it."
"Permit me to introduce to you my most intimate friend, my foster brother, whose name you must often have heard, and with whom I should be glad for you to be better acquainted: in one word, he is the French scout whom the Indians and Mexicans have surnamed the 'Trail-hunter.'"
The captain rose hurriedly, and held out his hand to the hunter.
"What!" he said with considerable emotion, "Are you Valentine Guillois?"
"Yes, sir," the hunter replied with a modest bow.
"Oh, sir!" the young man exclaimed warmly, "I am delighted to form your personal acquaintance. Everybody respects and cherishes you here, because you maintain that title of Frenchman, of which we are all so proud. Thanks, count, thanks; and now, by heavens, ask of me anything you please, and I shall not know how to repay the pleasure you have caused me.
"Good heavens!" the count replied; "for the present I will only ask you a very simple matter. You will soon be visited, if he has not already arrived, by an aide-de-camp of General Guerrero."
"Colonel Suarez?"
"Yes."
"He is here."
"Already?"
"He has only been here an hour."
"He has told you nothing?"
"Not yet: we have not spoken together."
"All the better. Would you mind placing us where it would be possible for us to overhear your conversation, and not be seen?"
"That is very simple. Adjoining the room where he is waiting for me is a recess, only covered by a curtain; but we can manage it better still."
"How?"
"Does he know you?"
"Me?"
"Yes. Does he know you by sight?"
"No."
"You are sure of that?"
"Quite."
"Nor this gentleman either?"
"Not the least in the world."
"Very good: let me manage it. I will arrange it all; and now to talk of yourself."
"It is unnecessary."
"Why so?"
"Because it is probable the colonel will tell you more than I could."
"Ah, ah! then you fancy he has come on your account?"
"I am certain of it."
"Very good. Now, do not trouble yourself about anything, but let me arrange it all."
"Agreed."
"I will be with you again directly."
And he left the room.
The colonel was still in the same position as when we left him. He had lighted a considerable number of husk cigarettes, and the nicotine was beginning to act gently on his brain; his eyelids were drooping; in short, he was just on the point of going to sleep. The sudden entrance of the captain aroused him from this state of torpor, and he raised his head.
"Pray pardon my having left you alone so long," the young man said; "but an unforeseen event——"
"You are quite excused," the colonel answered politely. "Still I should have been charmed had you thought of advising the Count de Lhorailles of my arrival, for the affair that brought me here admits of no delay."
The captain regarded the Mexican with surprise.
"How!" he said, "the Count de Lhorailles?"
"Certainly: it is to him alone that I must communicate the dispatches of which I am bearer."
"But the Count de Lhorailles has been dead for nearly a year. Were you not aware of the fact?"
"My word, no, sir, I confess."
"That is extraordinary; yet I remember having sent a courier express to the Governor of Sonora to inform him of this death, and announce to him at the same time that the choice of my countrymen had fallen on me to take his place."
"It is probable, then, either that your courier did not obey his orders, or was assassinated on the road."
"I fear it."
"So that you, sir, are now captain of the colony of Guetzalli?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are very young to occupy so difficult a post."
"Colonel," de Laville answered with a slight hauteur, "we Frenchmen do not measure men by age or height."
"It is frequently wrong; but no matter, that does not concern me. With whom have I the honour of speaking?"
"With Don Carlos de Laville."
The colonel bowed.
"I will, then, with your permission, caballero, communicate my dispatches to you."
"A moment, sir," the captain said quickly. "I cannot listen to you unless I have by my side two of the principal men in the colony."
"For what object?"
"That is the law."
"Do so, then."
The captain struck a bell, and a peon entered.
"Ask the two gentlemen waiting in the green room to come here," he said.
The peon went out.
"What! the two persons who are waiting?" the colonel said suspiciously.
"Yes. As I presumed, colonel, that you were the bearer of dispatches, I warned these two persons in order to detain you as short a time as possible."
"In that case permit me to return you my thanks, for I am really terribly pressed for time."
At this moment the door opened, and the count and Valentine came in. The colonel bent a piercing glance upon them, to try to discover with what sort of men he would have to deal; but it was impossible to read anything in their cold and rigid countenances, which seemed hewn out of marble.
"Gentlemen," the captain said, "Colonel Don Suarez, aide-de-camp to General Don Sebastian Guerrero, military governor of the State of Sonora. Colonel Suarez, two of my countrymen."
The three men bowed stiffly.
"Now, gentlemen," the captain continued, "pray be seated. The colonel is the bearer of dispatches he wishes to communicate to us, and they are probably important, as the colonel has not stopped even between Pitic and this place. We are ready to listen to you, colonel."
Like all men accustomed to double dealing and underhand schemes, the colonel possessed an infallible instinct for scenting treachery. In the present case, although all was being done ostensibly with the greatest frankness, and he was a thousand leagues from suspecting the truth, he guessed that he was being cheated, although it was impossible to perceive the secret object they had in view. Still he had no subterfuges he could employ: he must obey his instructions, and he decided on doing so, much against the grain, after bending on the two strangers a second glance, by which he sought to read their very hearts' thoughts, but which had no better result than the first.
"Gentlemen," he said, "you have doubtlessly not forgotten the numberless acts of kindness with which the Mexican Government has overwhelmed you."
"Overwhelmed is the word," de Laville interrupted him with a smile. "Go on, colonel."
"The Government is ready to make still greater sacrifices for you, if necessary."
"Caspita!" the young man again interrupted him, "we will spare it the trouble. The kindnesses of the Mexican Government generally cost us very dearly."
A discussion commenced in this tone of raillery had not the slightest chance of resulting in an amicable arrangement. Still the colonel did not break down, his mind was made up. He cared little for the result, for he knew perfectly well that those who sent him would not hesitate to disavow him according to circumstances.
"Hum!" he said, "the following proposal is made you."
"I beg your pardon, colonel, but before telling us the proposals, perhaps it would be better to explain to us the reasons that induce the Government to offer them," de Laville observed.
"Good heavens, sir! you must know the reasons as well as I do."
"Pardon me, but we are completely ignorant of them, and would feel greatly obliged by your telling them to us."
The count and Valentine were as motionless as statues, and these two gloomy faces disturbed the colonel in an extraordinary manner.
"The reasons are very simple," he stammered.
"I do not doubt it, but be good enough to mention them."
"This letter," he said, handing a sealed paper to the captain, "will explain the matter fully."
De Laville took the paper, read it through hurriedly, and then crumpled it up passionately in his hand.
"Colonel," he then said in a firm voice, "the Government of Sonora forgets that the colony of Guetzalli only contains Frenchmen; that is to say, no traitors. We have retained our nationality, although established in this country; and if the Mexican laws will not protect us we will appeal to our minister at Mexico, and, if necessary, contrive to protect ourselves."
"These threats, sir——" the colonel interrupted.
"They are not threats," the young man continued energetically. "General Guerrero insults us by inviting us not merely to abandon one of our countrymen, who is in every respect worthy of our support, through his loyalty, courage, and nobility of character, but also by proposing to us to hunt him down like a wild beast, and deliver him over. The general menaces us with outlawry if we assist the count, whom he brands as a pirate and a rebel. Let him do so if he please. This letter you have handed me will be carried by a sure man to Mexico, and handed to our minister, with a detail of all the annoyances we have suffered from the Mexican authorities ever since our settlement here."
"You are wrong, sir," the colonel answered, "to take the proposal made you in this way. The general is very well disposed toward you. I doubt not that he will consent to grant you great advantages if you will only obey him. What do you peaceful colonists care for this rebellious count, whom I dare say you never heard of? Your own interests demand that you should turn against him. This man is a villain, to whom nothing is sacred. Since his arrival in our country he has committed the most odious crimes. Take my advice, sir; do not obstinately choose a wrong path, but prove to the Government all your gratitude for the favours you have received by abandoning this villain."
The captain had listened calmly and coldly to the Mexican's long diatribe, holding in check by a glance the count and his companion, who found it very difficult not to burst out and treat this man in the way he deserved. When the colonel at length ceased, the captain looked at him with sovereign contempt.
"Have you finished?" he said dryly.
"Yes," the other answered in confusion.
"Very good. Now, thanks to Heaven, we have nothing more in common. Be good enough to mount your horse and leave the colony immediately. As for General Guerrero, tell him that I will give him an answer myself."
"I will retire, sir. Do you intend to give this answer soon?"
"Within twenty-four hours. Begone!"
"I will report our conversation word for word to the general."
"I shall be glad of it. Good-by till we meet again, sir."
"What! do you intend to take your answer personally?"
"Perhaps so," de Laville answered mockingly.
The colonel went out all abashed by his reception, and followed by the three men, who did not let him out of sight, and walked by his side, so as to prevent him communicating with anyone. His horse was waiting in the courtyard, held by one of the orderlies. The colonel mounted and rode off rapidly, for he was anxious to leave the colony. On reaching the isthmus gate he, however, turned round, and looked back for some time.
"Who can those two men be?" he muttered.
And he dug his spurs in his horse's sides. When he had disappeared in the windings of the road the captain seized Don Louis' hand, and pressed it affectionately.
"And now, my dear count," he said to him, "speak. What can I do for you?"
The count returned the young man's affectionate pressure, but shook his head sorrowfully and remained silent.
"Why do you not answer me?" the captain asked him. "Do you doubt my willingness to be of service to you?"
"It is not that," the count said sadly. "I know that your heart is noble and generous, and that you will not hesitate to come to my aid."
"Whence arises this hesitation, then?"
"Friend," the count answered with a melancholy smile, "I reproach myself at this moment for having come to find you."
"For what reason?"
"Need I tell you? This land you cultivate, only a few years back, was a virgin forest, serving as a lurking place for wild beasts: now, thanks to your labour and intelligence, it has been metamorphosed into a fertile and cultivated plain; numerous flocks feed in your prairies; the desolation and neglect of this frontier have disappeared to make room for the incessant toil of civilisation. This colony of Guetzalli, founded with so much trouble, bedewed with so much blood, prospers, and is beginning to repay amply the toil and perspiration it cost you. The day is at hand when, stimulated by your example, other colonists will come to join you, and, by aiding you to repulse the Indios Bravos into their impenetrable deserts, will for ever protect the Mexican frontiers from the depredations of the savages, and restore to this magnificent country its pristine splendour.
"Well?" the captain remarked.
"Well," the count continued, "is it fitting for me, a stranger, a man to whom you owe nothing, to drag you into a contest without any probable issue—to mix you up in a quarrel which does not concern you, and in which you have everything to lose, so that tomorrow the land you have, after so many efforts, torn from desolation, should fall back into its primitive barbarism? In a word, my friend, I ask myself by what title and by what right I should drag you down in my fall."
"By what title and right? I will tell you," the young captain said nobly. "We are here six thousand leagues from our country, on the extreme limits of the desert, having no protection to hope, or help to seek, other than from ourselves. At such a distance from their country all Frenchmen must consider each other as brothers, and be responsible for each other. All must resent an insult offered to a Frenchman. It is because we are few in number, and consequently exposed to the insults of our enemies, that we ought to defend one another, and demand that justice should be done us. By acting thus we not only protect our own honour, but defend our country, and guard from any insult that title of Frenchmen of which we are justly proud."
"You speak well, captain," Valentine interrupted him. "Your words are those of a man of heart. It is abroad that patriotism must be strong and inflexible. We have no right to allow wretched enemies to lower that national honour which our brothers in France have intrusted to us; for each of us here represents our beloved country, and must at his risk and peril make it be respected by all, no matter under what circumstances."
"Yes," the captain answered quickly, "the Mexican Government, by insulting the Count de Prébois Crancé, by breaking all its engagements with him, and betraying him in so cowardly a fashion, has not insulted a Frenchman, an individual, or nameless adventurer, but the whole of France. Well, France must reply to it, and, by heavens! we will pick up the glove thrown to us. We will fight to avenge our honour; and if we succumb, we shall have fallen nobly in the arena, and believe me, gentlemen, our blood will not have been shed in vain: our country will pity while admiring us, and our fall will create us avengers. Besides, my dear count," he added, "you are in no way a stranger to the colony of Guetzalli; for did you not lend us the support of your arm and your counsels under critical circumstances? It is our turn now, and we shall only pay our debts after all."
The count could not refrain from smiling.
"Well," he said with emotion, "be it so: I accept your generous devotion. Any further resistance would not only be ridiculous, but might appear in your eyes ungrateful."
"Very good," the captain said gaily; "we are now beginning to understand each other. I was certain that I should end by convincing you."
"You are a charming companion," the count retorted; "it is impossible to resist you."
"By Jove! you arrive at the very moment to obtain speedy help."
"How so?"
"Just imagine that two days later you would not have found me at home."
"Impossible!"
"Did you not notice, on your arrival, the wagons and carts arranged in one of the courts you crossed?"
"I did."
"I was on the point of starting, at the head of eighty picked men, to go and work certain mines we have heard about."
"Ah, ah!"
"Yes; but for the present the expedition will remainin statu quo, for the band I intended to lead into the desert will join you, or at least I presume so."
"What! you presume so?"
"Yes, because I cannot dispose of the band, or change the object of the expedition, without the general assent."
"That is true," said the count; and his features grew solemn.
"But do not feel alarmed," the captain continued; "we shall easily obtain that assent when the colonists know what interests I propose to serve."
"May Heaven grant it!"
"I guarantee success. You have, I suppose, all the stores necessary for entering on a campaign?"
"Nearly so; but I regret to say that all my arrieros have deserted me, and left my camp furtively."
"The deuce! and naturally they took their mules with them?"
"All, without exception; and this renders it very embarrassing to move my baggage and draw my guns."
"Good, good! We will provide for all that. I have here, as you saw, excellent wagons; I am also well supplied with mules; and there are in the colony men perfectly capable of leading them."
"You will render me no slight service."
"I hope to render you others far greater than that."
The three men had returned to the room in which the conference with Colonel Suarez had taken place. The captain struck the bell, and a peon entered.
"This evening, afteroración, at the end of the day's labour, the colonists will assemble in the patio to hear an important communication I have to make to them," he said.
The domestic bowed.
"Bring the dinner," the captain added. Then, turning to his guests, he said, "I presume you will dine with me, for you cannot start again before tomorrow?"
"That is true. Still we expect to be off before sunrise."
"Where is your camp?"
"At the mission of Nuestra Señora de los Ángeles."
"That is close by."
"Oh! some thirty leagues at the most."
"Yes, and the position is very strong. You do not intend, though, to stay there long?"
"No; I mean to strike a heavy blow."
"You are right: you must cause the terror of your name to precede you."
At this moment the peons brought in the dinner.
"To table, gentlemen," the captain said.
The meal was, as might be expected in this extreme frontier, excessively frugal. It was only composed of venison, maize tortillas, red beans, and pimiento, the whole washed down with pulque, mezcal, and Catalonian refino, the strongest spirit in the known world. The guests had a true hunter's appetite; that is to say, they were nearly dead of hunger, for the count and Valentine had eaten nothing for thirty hours. Hence they vigorously attacked the provisions placed before them.
The peons had retired immediately after bringing in the dinner, so as to leave the party full liberty for conversation. Hence, so soon as the rough edge was taken off their appetite, the discussion was begun again exactly where it left off, which always occurs with men whose minds are preoccupied by any difficult project.
"So," the captain asked, "war is decidedly declared between you and the Mexican Government?"
"Without remedy."
"Although the cause you sustain is just, as you are fighting for the maintenance of a right, still you will inscribe something on the banner you display?"
"Of course. I inscribe the only thing which can guarantee me the protection of the people through whom I pass, and make the oppressed and the malcontents flock to me."
"Hum! what is it?"
"Only four words."
"And they are?"
"Independencia de la Sonora."
"Yes, the idea is a happy one. If a particle of nobility and generosity is left in the hearts of the inhabitants of this unhappy country (which, however, I confess to you I greatly doubt), those four words will suffice to produce a revolution."
"I hope so, without daring to count on it. You know, like myself, the Mexican character—a strange composite of all good and bad instincts, about which it is impossible to form a decided opinion."
"Why, my dear count, the Mexicans are like every people that has been for a long time enslaved. After remaining children for ages, they grew too fast, and had the pretension of being men, when they scarcely began to comprehend their emancipation, or were in a position to derive any benefit from it."
"Still we will attempt to galvanise them. The revolutionary race is, perhaps, not completely extinct in this country, and what remains will be sufficient to enkindle the sacred flame in the hearts of all."
"What do you intend to do?"
"Hasten onwards, so as not to let myself be attacked, which always implies inferiority, if not timidity."
"That is true."
"How many men do you expect to be able to give me?"
"Eighty horsemen, commanded by myself, as I told you."
"Thanks! But when will these horsemen (who, by the way, will be very useful to me, as I possess so few at the moment) be able to join me?"
"This evening they will be granted you, and in two days they will reach the mission."
"Could you send off the mules, wagons, and muleteers tomorrow with me?"
"Certainly."
"Very good. I will set out at once for Magdalena: it is a large pueblo, commanding the two roads from Ures and Hermosillo."
"I know it."
"Proceed there direct, for that will save a loss of time."
"Agreed. I shall arrive there at the same time as yourself, which will be the more easy as I shall send off my baggage to your head quarters."
"Very good."
"You intend, then, to act energetically?"
"Yes; I mean to try a grand stroke. If I succeed in taking one of the three capitals of Sonora I shall have gained the campaign."
"Such an enterprise is surely rash."
"I know it; but in my position I dare not calculate consequences—boldness alone can and must save me.
"You are right, and I will not add a word. But now let us proceed to the meeting, for our men are assembled. In their present temper I am certain that the request I am about to make of them will be granted without difficulty."
They went out. As the captain had announced, all the colonists were assembled in the courtyard, broken up into scattered groups, eagerly discussing the reasons which caused their assemblage. When the captain appeared, accompanied by his two friends, silence was immediately established, curiosity closing the mouths of the most talkative.
The Count de Prébois Crancé was known to most of the colonists: his appearance was consequently hailed with sympathetic greetings, for each retained in his memory the recollection of the services he had rendered when Guetzalli was so rudely assailed by the Apaches. The captain cleverly availed himself of this goodwill, on which he had, indeed, built, in order to explain his request clearly to the colonists, while accounting for the causes which obliged the count to come and seek allies at Guetzalli.
The men would not have been the hearty adventurers they really were, had they received such a request coldly. Seduced, as was natural, by the strangeness and even the temerity of the enterprise proposed to them, they consented to range themselves under the count's banner with enthusiastic shouts and delight. The first expedition projected, and for which all the preparations had been made, was completely forgotten, and the only question was the enfranchisement of Sonora. Had the count asked for two hundred men, he would certainly have obtained them on the spot without the slightest difficulty.
Captain de Laville, delighted at the prodigious success he had achieved, warmly thanked his comrades, both in the count's name and his own, and immediately began getting ready to start. The wagons were carefully inspected to see that they were all in order, and were then laden with all the articles requisite for the coming campaign. At about an hour before sunrise all was ready for starting; the wagons were loaded, and horses attached; the mules, carefully selected, were intrusted to steady men.
Louis and Valentine mounted; the captain accompanied them about a league from the company; and then they parted, agreeing to meet again three days later at La Magdalena.
Mules and wagons progress very slowly in Mexico, where there are in reality no roads, and where you are generally forced to cut a path with the axe. Louis and his foster brother, whose presence was imperatively demanded at the mission, felt in despair at this slowness. In this extremity the count resolved to leave the caravan, and push on ahead. In consequence they left the arrieros, after recommending the greatest diligence to them, and burying their spurs in their horses' flanks, set out at full speed for the mission.
The American horses, descended from the old Arabs of the conquerors of New Spain, have several incontestable advantages over ours. In the first place they are temperate: a little alfalfa in the morning, after washing their mouths out, enables them to go a whole day without food, drink, or rest. These horses seem indefatigable, and, indeed, they have only one pace—the gallop; and at the end of the day, after going twenty leagues at that pace, they have not turned a hair, and do not display the slightest fatigue.
As our two horsemen were mounted on crack steeds, they reached the mission in a comparatively very short period. At the first barricade a man was waiting for them: it was Curumilla.
"Someone is waiting for you," he said. "Come."
They followed him, asking each other with a glance what reason could be so important as to draw such a long sentence from Curumilla.
The adventurers' camp had completely changed its character: it had lost the peaceful appearance of the early days, and assumed a warlike air, perfectly in accordance with the present aspect of affairs. At each issue from the mission, a gun, guarded by a detachment, was pointed at the open country, while piled muskets formed a long row, in front of which a guard walked up and down. Sentries posted at regular distances watched the approaches, while advanced posts, established in sure positions, prevented any attempt at a surprise.
In the interior of the camp the greatest activity prevailed; the camp forges smoked, and re-echoed the hasty blows of the smiths; further on, carpenters were cutting into shape whole trees; the armorers were inspecting and repairing arms; in short, everybody was working eagerly, in order to get everything prepared with the least possible delay.
The count and Curumilla, preceded by Valentine, rapidly crossed the camp, greeted in their passage by the affectionate salutes of the adventurers, who were delighted to see them returned. As they approached headquarters, the shrill sounds of a jarana, with which were mingled the melancholy notes of a voice singing the romancedel Rey Rodrigo, smote their ears.
"Perhaps it would be better, before going further," the count said, "to ask some information from Don Cornelio."
"Yes, especially as it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to obtain it from Curumilla."
"I am going to him," the latter remarked, having overheard the few words exchanged by the friends.
"Then it is all for the best," Valentine said with a smile.
Curumilla turned a little to the left, and guided the two men to ajacalof branches which served as the Spaniard's abode, and before which the noble hidalgo was at this moment seated on a stool, strumming his jarana furiously, and singing his eternal romance, while rolling his eyes in a most sentimental way. On seeing the two friends he uttered a shout of joy, threw his guitar far from him, and ran toward them.
"Capa de Dios!" he shouted as he seized their hands, "you are welcome, caballeros. I was impatiently expecting you."
"Is there anything new, then?" Don Louis asked anxiously.
"Hum! a good deal; but I suppose you are not going to remain on horseback?"
"No, no, we will join you."
And they dismounted. During the few sentences exchanged between the count and the Spaniard, Valentine had bent down to the Indian chiefs ear, and whispered a few words, to which Curumilla replied by nodding his head in affirmation. The two Frenchmen then entered the jacal at the heels of Don Cornelio, while the Araucano led away the horses.
"Sit down, gentlemen," the Spaniard said, pointing to several stools scattered about.
"Do you know that you have puzzled me considerably, Don Cornelio?" the count said to him. "What has happened, then, during my absence?"
"Nothing very important in a general point of view: our spies have brought in most reassuring news as to the movements of the enemy. As, however, the acting commandant will make his report to you, I do not wish to talk with you about those matters."
"Has anything else occurred peculiarly interesting to me?"
"You shall judge. You remember that, before your departure, you ordered me to watch over Doña Angela—a singular commission enough for me."
"How so?"
"It is enough that I know why. However, I performed my delicate task, I dare to say, with all the gallantry of a true caballero."
"I thank you for it."
"Yesterday an Indian arrived at the mission, bearer of a letter for the commandant."
"Ah, ah! And you know the contents of the letter?"
"It was simply a request for a safe-conduct to remain in the camp."
"Ah! and who was it signed by?"
"Father Seraphin."
"What!" Valentine exclaimed quickly, "Father Seraphin, the French missionary, the sainted man whom the Indians themselves have christened the 'Apostle of the Prairies?'"
"Himself."
"That is strange," the hunter muttered.
"Is it not?"
"But," said the count, "Father Seraphin does not need a safe-conduct to stay with us as long as he pleases."
"Of course," Valentine confirmed him, "we shall always be happy, myself in particular, to profit by his advice."
"The worthy father did not request the safe-conduct for himself: he is very well aware that his visit could only be agreeable to us."
"Ah! For whom, then?"
"For a person for whom he would be bail during the period of his stay among us, but whose name he kept secret."
"Hum! that is not clear."
"That is what I thought, so I urged the commandant to refuse."
"Well?"
"He granted the safe-conduct, alleging a reason which, by the way, is not so illogical—that the man for whom the safe-conduct is requested is evidently a friend or an enemy, and in either case it is good to know him, so as eventually to treat him as he deserves."
The two Frenchmen could not refrain from laughing at this singular logic.
"Well, and what is the result of all this?" the count continued.
"The result is that Father Seraphin arrived this morning at the mission, accompanied by a person carefully wrapped up in a large cloak."
"Ah, ah! And this person?"
"You can guess a thousand times before finding out."
"I think it would be better for you to tell me at once."
"I believe so too. Well, prepare yourself to hear something incredible. This person is no one less than Don Sebastian Guerrero."
"The general!" the count exclaimed as he bounded in his chair.
"Do not confound persons. I did not say General, but Don Sebastian Guerrero."
"A truce with nonsense, Don Cornelio! Let us talk seriously, for what you say deserves it."
"I am serious, Don Louis. The general has come here in his private capacity. In a word, it is the father of Doña Angela who is at this moment in our camp, and not the Governor of Sonora."
"I am beginning to understand," the count said in a hollow voice, as he walked in agitation up and down the jacal. "And what took place between father and daughter? Do not be afraid to tell me everything. I will keep the mastery over myself."
"Nothing at all has passed, Don Louis, thanks to Heaven!"
"Ah!"
"Yes, for the simple reason that Doña Angela, by my advice, refused to receive her father's visit during your absence."
"She had the strength to do that?" the count said, as he stopped and fixed a piercing glance on the Spaniard.
"By my advice, yes."
"Thanks, Don Cornelio. Then Father Seraphin and the general——"
"Are awaiting your return in a jacal built expressly for them, where, though apparently free, the general is under such strict surveillance that I defy him to make the slightest movement without my knowledge."
"You were right in acting as you have done, my friend. In these difficult circumstances you have displayed great prudence, and, above all, great perspicacity."
Don Cornelio, on hearing this compliment, blushed like a girl, and let his eyes fall modestly.
"What do you intend doing?" Valentine asked the count.
"Leave Doña Angela mistress of her will. Go and advise her of my return, dear Don Cornelio: you will at the same time lead her father and the missionary to her. Go: I follow you."
The Spaniard went out at once to fulfil his orders.
"When do you expect to start?" Valentine said, so soon as he found himself alone with the count.
"In two days."
"And you march?"
"On La Magdalena."
"Good! I will now ask your leave to go away, accompanied by Curumilla."
"What! you wish to leave me?" the count exclaimed with regret.
The hunter smiled.
"You do not understand me, brother," he answered. "The Indian chief and myself are almost useless here. How could we serve you? In no way; while I am convinced we can make excellent scouts. Leave us to explore the road, at the same time as we try to destroy, or at least lessen, the prejudices which the calumnies so sedulously spread about you have produced against everybody who bears the name of Frenchman."
"I did not dare ask you to render me that service; but now, as you offer it so frankly, I will not be so foolish as to refuse it. Go, brother. Act as you please: all you do will be right."
"Then farewell! I shall start immediately."
"Without taking a moment's rest?"
"You know that I never feel fatigue. Come, courage! We shall meet again at La Magdalena."
The two friends embraced, and then quitted the jacal. On the threshold they separated, after a last pressure of the hand, Valentine going to the right, the count to the left.
A guard of ten men defended the approaches to headquarters, and a sentinel was pacing, with shouldered musket, before the door of the mission church, the count's temporary residence. On arriving at his house Don Louis saw Don Cornelio, accompanied by two persons, one of whom wore a clerical garb. They had stopped, and were apparently waiting. The count hurried on. Although he had never, till this moment, seen Father Seraphin, he recognised him by the portraits Valentine had drawn.
He was still the man with the angelic glance, the delicate and marked features, the intelligently gentle countenance, whom we have presented to our readers in another work; but the apostolate is severe in America. Years count there as triple for missionaries really worthy of the title; and Father Seraphin, though hardly thirty years of age, already bore on his body and face traces of that precocious decrepitude to which those men fall victims who sacrifice themselves, without any thought of self, to the welfare of humanity. His back was beginning to bend, his hair was turning white on his temples, and two deep wrinkles furrowed his brow. Still the vivacity of his glance seemed to contradict this apparent weakness, and prove that if his body had grown enfeebled in the contest, the soul had ever remained equally young and powerful.
The three men bowed politely. The count and the missionary, after exchanging an earnest glance, shook hands with a smile. They had understood each other.
"You are welcome, sir," the count said, addressing the general, "although I am surprised that you place such confidence inpirates, as you call us, as to confide yourself so entirely to our honour."
"The law of nations, sir," the general replied, "has certain recognised rules which are respected by all men."
"Excepting by those who are placed without the pale of society and the common law of humanity," Don Louis remarked dryly.
The missionary interposed.
"Gentlemen," he said in his sympathetic voice, "between you there is no enmity at this moment: there is only a father who claims his daughter from a gentleman who, I feel convinced, will not refuse to restore her to him."
"Heaven forbid, my father," the count said quickly, "that I should attempt to retain this man's daughter against her will, even were he a thousandfold a greater enemy than he is."
"You see, general," the missionary observed, "that I was not mistaken as to the count's character."
"Doña Angela came alone, impelled by her own will, into my camp: she is respected and treated with all the attention she merits. Doña Angela is free to act as she pleases, and I recognise no right to influence her. As I did not carry her off from her father, as I did nothing to attract her hither, I cannot restore her, as this gentleman appears to demand. If Doña Angela is willing to return to her friends, nobody will oppose it; but if, on the contrary, she prefers to remain here under the protection of my brave comrades and myself, no human power will succeed in tearing her from me."
These words were pronounced in a peremptory tone, which produced a marked impression on the two hearers.
"However, gentlemen," the count continued, "what we say between ourselves has no value so long as Doña Angela has not pronounced herself in one way or the other. I will have the honour of leading you to her. You will have an explanation with her, and she will tell you her determination. Still, permit me to warn you that, whatever that decision may be, both yourselves and myself are bound to submit to it."
"Be it so, sir," the general said dryly: "perhaps it is as well that way as any other."
"Come, then," the count continued.
And he preceded them to the hut which served as the maiden's private residence.
Doña Angela, seated on a butaca, and having Violanta at her feet, was engaged with her needlework. On seeing her father and the persons who accompanied him enter, a vivid blush purpled her cheeks, but almost immediately she turned pale as death. Still she contrived to subdue the emotion she felt, rose, bowed silently, and sat down again. The general regarded her for a moment with a mingled expression of tenderness and anger; then turning suddenly to the missionary, he said in a stifled voice,—
"Speak to her, my father; I do not feel the strength to do so."
The maiden smiled sadly.
"My good padre," she said to the missionary, "I thank you for the useless attempt you are making on me today. My resolution is formed: nothing will alter it—it is impossible. I will never return to my family."
"Unhappy child!" the general exclaimed with sorrow, "what reason urged you to abandon me thus?"
"I do all justice to your kindness and tenderness toward me, father," she answered with a melancholy air. "Alas! that unbounded tenderness and the liberty you ever allowed me to enjoy are perhaps the cause of what happens today. I do not wish to reproach you. My destiny has taken possession of me: I will endure the consequences of the fault I have committed."
The general frowned and stamped his foot on the ground passionately.
"Angela, my well-beloved child!" he continued bitterly, "reflect that the scandal occasioned by your flight will dishonour you for ever."
A contemptuous smile played round the maidens pallid lips.
"What do I care?" she said. "The world in which you live is no longer mine. All my joy and sorrow will be henceforth concentrated here."
"But I, your father—you forget me, then, and I am no longer anything to you?"
The girl hesitated: she remained silent, with downcast eyes.
"Doña," the missionary said gently, "God curses children who abandon their father: return to yours. There is still time: he holds out his arms to you—-he calls you. Return, my child. A parent's heart is an inexhaustible well of indulgence. Your father will forgive you: he has already done so."
Doña Angela shook her head, but made no further reply. The general and the missionary regarded each other with disappointment, while Don Louis stood a little in the rear, his arms folded on his breast, with sunken head and thoughtful air.
"Oh!" the general muttered with concentrated passion, "ours is an accursed race!"
At this moment Don Louis drew himself up, and walked a few paces forward.
"Doña Angela," he said with marked significance, "was it really your own will that brought you here?"
"Yes," she answered resolutely.
"And you have really decided on obeying neither the orders nor entreaties of your father?"
"Yes," she said again.
"Then you renounce for ever your position in society, and your fortune?"
"Yes."
"You also renounce the protection of your father, who is your natural guardian, and has every human and divine claim on you—you renounce his affection?"
"Yes," she murmured in a low voice.
"Then it is now my turn;" and bowing to the general, he continued, "Sir, whatever may be the hatred that sunders us—whatever may happen at a later date—the honour of your daughter must remain pure and unspotted."
"In order to secure that result," the general said bitterly, "someone must consent to marry her."
"Yes. Well, I, the Count de Prébois Crancé, have the honour of asking you for her hand."
The general fell back in amazement.
"Do you really ask that seriously?" he said.
"Yes."
"Reflect that, while thanking you for your request, I consider it a fresh aggrievance."
"Be it so."
"That this marriage will in nowise prevent the measures I intend taking against you."
"What do I care?"
"And you still consent to give her your hand?"
"Yes."
"Very good. You shall have my answer in four days."
"At La Magdalena, then."
"Be it so." The general turned to his daughter. "I do not curse you," he said, "for God himself cannot free a child from its father's malediction. Farewell! Be happy."
And he rushed out, followed by the missionary.
"My father," the count said, "I shall expect you at La Magdalena."
"I shall be there, sir," Father Seraphin replied sadly, "for I foresee that there will be tears to dry up."
"Good-by, sir," the general said.
"Good-by till we meet again," the count answered with a bow.
The general and the missionary then mounted and set out, escorted by a strong detachment of adventurers, who were to accompany them through the outposts and pickets of the French company. The count looked after them for a long time, and then walked back slowly to his room.
The village of La Magdalena occupies an important military position, for it commands the three roads that lead to Ures, Hermosillo, and Sonora, the chief cities of the State, and is nearly at an equal distance from all three. This pueblo, in itself of but slight consideration, enjoys, however, a certain reputation in the country, owing to the beauty of its situation and the purity of the air breathed there.
La Magdalena forms a species of parallelogram, one side of which carelessly mirrors its white houses in the limpid waters of the Rio San Pedro, a confluent of the Gila. Dense woods of palma Christi, styrax, Peru trees, and mahogany form an insurmountable barrier against the burning winds of the desert, while refreshing and perfuming the atmosphere, and serve as a refuge for thousands of blue jays, cardinals, and loros, which chatter gaily under the foliage, and enliven the enchanting landscape—this ravishing oasis, placed there by the hand of nature, as if to make the traveller returning from the prairie forget the sufferings and fatigues of the desert.
The festivities in honour of the patron saint at La Magdalena are the most frequented and joyful of all Sonora. As they last several days, the hacenderos and campesinos flock in for a hundred miles round. During thisfête, at which rivers of pulque and mezcal flow, there is one succession of jaranas, montes, and bull baits; in a word, amusements of every description, which no crime ever saddens, in spite of the great concourse of strangers. The Mexicans are not wicked; they are only badly educated, headstrong, and passionate children, but nothing more.
Three days after the events we narrated in our previous chapter, the Pueblo de la Magdalena, at the most animated period of its annual festival, was in a state of more than ordinary agitation and excitement, evidently not produced by the festival; for the people had suddenly broken off their sports, and rushed, laughing and pressing, to one of the ends of the pueblo, where, according to the few words whispered by the gossips, something out of the way was taking place.
In fact, bugles soon sounded a call, and a band of armed men debouched on the pueblo, marching in good order, and to military tunes. First came an advanced guard of a dozen well-mounted men; then came a company of men formed in squads of about thirty each, bearing among them a large banner, on which was inscribed, "Independencia de la Sonora." Behind this band came two guns drawn by mules, then a squadron of cavalry, immediately followed by a long file of wagons and carts. The march was closed by a rearguard of twenty horsemen.
This smallarmy, about three hundred strong, marched through the pueblo with heads raised and bold glances, passed the double row of spectators, and stopped, at a signal from the chief, about one hundred yards in front of the village, at a triangle formed by the meeting of three roads. Here the troops were ordered to bivouac.
It is almost needless to tell the reader that thisarmywas the Atrevida Company. The good conduct of the band, and its martial air, had gained the favour of the population of the pueblo through which they marched so boldly. During the passage handkerchiefs and sombreros were waved, and cries of "Bravo!" were heard. The count, on horseback a few paces ahead of the main body, had not ceased for a moment bowing gracefully to the right and left, and these salutes had been returned with usury all along the village.
So soon as the order to bivouac was given, each set to work, and in less than two hours the adventurers, skilfully employing all within their reach, had established the most graceful and picturesque encampment that can be imagined. Still, as the count regarded himself as being in an enemy's country, nothing was neglected not only to protect the camp from a surprise, but also to place it in a respectable state of defence. By the aid of the wagons and carts, reinforced by palisades, the adventurers formed a barricade, still further defended by a ditch, the earth from which was thrown up on the other side as a breastwork. In the centre of the camp, on a small mound, rose the chiefs tent, before which the guns were planted; and from its summit floated the flag to which we have already alluded.
The arrival of the French was a piece of good fortune for the Sonorians whom the festival had attracted to La Magdalena. Indeed, for several days they had been expected hourly; and the inhabitants, in spite of the proclamations of the Mexican Government, which represented the French as plunderers and bandits, had taken no further precautions against them than to go and meet them, and receive them with shouts of welcome—a characteristic fact which clearly proved that public opinion was not at all deceived as to the meaning of the French pronunciamiento, and that each knew perfectly well on which side were right and justice.
When the camp was formed the authorities of the pueblo presented themselves at the gate, asking, in the name of their fellow citizens, permission to visit the Frenchmen. The count, delighted with this measure, which was of good augury for the relations he hoped presently to establish with the inhabitants, at once gave the requisite permission with the best grace possible.
De Laville had joined the count at about ten miles from the pueblo, at the head of eighty horsemen, which supplied the army with a respectable body of cavalry. Don Louis, having long been acquainted with the captain of Guetzalli, appointed him Chief of the Staff, and intrusted to him the annoying details of duty. De Laville eagerly accepted this mark of confidence; and the count, thenceforward free to occupy himself with the political portion of the expedition, retired to his tent, in order to reflect on the means to be employed by which to bring over to his side the population among which he now was.
Since the day General Guerrero presented himself at the mission, accompanied by Father Seraphin, the count, through a feeling of propriety, had not seen Doña Angela again, over whom he watched, however, with the utmost solicitude. The young lady appreciated this delicacy, and, for her part, had not attempted to see him. She had journeyed from the mission to La Magdalena in a closed palanquin, and a tent had been erected for her at no great distance from the count's.
The permission requested by the authorities had scarce been granted ere the adventurers' camp was visited by all the inhabitants. The mob, eager to see more nearly these bold men who, though in such small number, did not fear to declare war openly against the Government of Mexico, rushed in a body to the place occupied by them. The adventurers received their guests with that gaiety which distinguishes Frenchmen, and in a few hours gained the goodwill of the Sonorians, who, the more they saw of them, the more they wished to see, and who never grew weary of admiring their recklessness, and, above all, their imperturbable conviction of the success of the expedition. Night was setting in, the sun was rapidly sinking on the horizon, when Don Cornelio, who performed the duties of aide-de-camp to the count, raised the curtain of his tent, and announced to him that a field officer, who stated he had a message for him, asked to speak with him. Don Louis gave the order for his introduction. The envoy entered, and the count at once recognised in him Colonel Suarez. On his side, the colonel made a gesture of surprise at seeing the man he had met at Guetzalli, though he had not succeeded in finding out who he was. Don Louis smiled at the colonel's astonishment, bowed politely, and begged him to be seated.
"I am requested, sir, by General Guerrero," the colonel said after the usual compliments, "to deliver a letter to you."
"I have already been told so, colonel," the count answered. "I presume that you are acquainted with the contents of the letter?"
"Nearly so, sir; for I have several words to add to it in the course of conversation."
"I am ready to hear you."
"I will not waste your time, sir. In the first place here is the letter."
"Very good," the count said, taking it and laying it on the table.
"General Don Sebastian Guerrero," the colonel continued, "accepts the offer you did him the honour of making him for the hand of his daughter: still he desires that the nuptial ceremony should take place as soon as possible."
"I see nothing to prevent it."
"He desires also that this ceremony, at which he hopes to be present with a large party of his relations and friends, should be celebrated at La Magdalena by Father Seraphin."
"I have a few observations to make on that subject, colonel."
"I am listening to you, caballero."
"I willingly consent that Father Seraphin should marry us; but the ceremony will not take place at La Magdalena, but here in my camp, which I cannot and will not leave."
The colonel knit his brows. The count continued without seeming to notice it:—
"The general can be present at the ceremony, with as many relations and friends as he pleases; but as, unfortunately, we do not stand on such good terms to each other as I should wish, and as I must take care of my own safety, as much as he does of his, the general will be good enough to send me ten hostages selected among the most influential persons in the State. These hostages will be treated by me with the greatest honour, and restored to the general one hour after the nuptial blessing and the departure of the guests from the camp. But I must warn your general that, if the slightest treachery is attempted against myself or one of the men I have the honour of commanding, these hostages will be immediately shot."
"Oh!" the colonel exclaimed, "you distrust General Guerrero, sir, and put no faith in his honour as a caballero."
"Unfortunately, sir," the count replied dryly, "I have learned at my own expense what the value is of the honour of certain Mexicans. I will, therefore, enter into no discussion on that subject. Such are my conditions. The general is at liberty to accept or refuse them; but I pledge you my word of honour that I shall make no change."
"Very well, sir," the colonel answered, intimidated in spite of himself by the count's resolute accent, "I will have the honour of transmitting these harsh conditions to the general."
Don Louis bowed.
"I doubt whether he will accept them," the colonel continued.
"He can do as he pleases."
"But is there no other way of settling the difference?"
"I do not see any."
"Well, in the event of the general accepting, how shall I let you know it, so as to lose as little time as possible?"
"In a very simple mode, sir—by the arrival of Father Seraphin and the delivery of the hostages."
"And, in that case, when will the ceremony take place?"
"Two hours after the hostages have reached my camp."
"I will retire, sir, and submit your reply to my superior officer."
"Do so, sir."
The colonel retired, and the count, who fancied himself sure of the acceptance of his ultimatum, immediately gave the necessary orders for the construction of the cabin intended to serve as a chapel. After this he wrote a note, which was handed to Doña Angela through the medium of Don Cornelio. This note, which was very laconic, contained the following lines:—
"MADAM,"I have received your father's answer: it is favourable. Tomorrow, in all probability, the ceremony of our marriage will take place. I watch over you and myself."The Count de PRÉBOIS CRANCÉ."
"MADAM,
"I have received your father's answer: it is favourable. Tomorrow, in all probability, the ceremony of our marriage will take place. I watch over you and myself.
"The Count de PRÉBOIS CRANCÉ."
After sending off this note the count wrapped himself in a cloak, and went out to visit the posts, and assure himself that the sentries were keeping good guard. The night was bright and clear; the sky studded with an infinite number of brilliant stars; the atmosphere perfumed with a thousand sweet odours; at intervals the strains of the guitars, borne on the breeze, rose from the pueblo, and died out at the count's ear. The camp was silent and gloomy; the adventurers, who had retired under their leafy jacales, were enjoying that rest so necessary after a day's march; the horses, hobbled pell-mell with the mules, were devouring their alfalfa; the sentries, with shouldered muskets, were walking slowly around the intrenchments with their eyes fixed on the plain.
The count, after walking about for some time, and convincing himself that everything was in the most perfect order, was induced by the melancholy and mysterious softness of the night, to lean on the breastwork; and, with his eye fixed on vacancy, not looking at or probably seeing anything, he gradually gave way to his dreams, yielding unconsciously to the mysterious influence of the objects that surrounded him. From time to time, as the sentries called to each other, he mechanically raised his head; then he would yield again to the flood of thought that fell on him, and was so absorbed in himself that he seemed to be asleep; but it was not so.
For several hours he had been thus leaning over the breastwork, without a thought of retiring, when he suddenly felt a hand lightly laid on his shoulder. This touch, light as it was, sufficed to recall him from the ideal worlds in which his imagination was galloping, and to a consciousness of his present situation. The count stifled a cry of surprise and turned round. A man was holding on to the outside of the breastwork, his head scarce emerging over the top. It was Curumilla.
The chief had a finger laid on his lips, as if to recommend prudence to the count. The latter made a sign of pleasure on recognising the Indian, and quickly bent down to him.
"Well?" he said with his mouth to his ear.
"You will be attacked tomorrow."
"You are sure of it?"
The Indian smiled.
"Yes," he said.
"When?"
"At night."
"What hour?"
"An hour before moonrise."
"By whom?"
"Palefaces."
"Oh, oh!"
"Good-by."
"Are you off again?"
"Yes."
"Shall I see you again?"
"Perhaps."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"And Valentine?"
"He will come."
The Indian, doubtlessly fatigued with having talked so much, contrary to his habits, although the sentences he uttered were of no extraordinary length, slipped down the breastwork again, and said no more. Louis looked after him, and saw him crawl away on his knees, and disappear without producing the slightest sound. The scene had taken place so rapidly, the Indian's flight had been so silent, that the count was on the point of regarding it as an hallucination; but suddenly the hoot of the owl, twice repeated, rose in the air.
This signal had long been agreed on between Valentine and the count. He understood that Curumilla, while warning him that he was safe, sent him from a distance a last recommendation to silence. He tossed his head sadly, and returned to his tent pensively, muttering in a low voice,—
"Another piece of treachery!"