Curumilla raised in his arms the body of his friend, whose life he had just saved once again, and bore it to the side of the road. Valentine had fainted.
The chief, so soon as he saw his friends charge the peons, left his ambush, and while careful to remain behind them, followed them to the battlefield. He had watched eagerly the long struggle between the hunter and the Zaragate; trying vainly to assist his friend, but never able to succeed. The two enemies were so entwined, their movements were so rapid, and they changed their position so suddenly, that the chief was afraid lest he might wound his friend in attempting to help him. Hence he awaited with extreme anxiety an opportunity so long delayed, and which the Zaragate himself offered by losing his time in insulting his enemy instead of killing him at once, when the injury he received left him defenceless in the bandit's power.
The Araucano bounded like a wild beast on the Mexican, and without hesitation scalped and stabbed him with the agility characteristic of the redskins, and which he himself possessed in so high a degree.
Almost at the same moment the horsemen also finished their fight. The peons had offered a vigorous resistance, but being badly supported by the capataz, who was disabled at the beginning of the skirmish by Don Martial, and seeing the Zaragate dead and three of their friends dismounted and incapable of coming to their assistance, they gave in.
The capataz had been wounded at his own request by Don Martial, in order to save appearance with the general; he had a wide gash on his right arm, very severe at the first glance, but insignificant in reality. A peon had been almost smashed by Belhumeur, so that the field of battle fairly remained in the hands of the hunters.
When their victory was insured they assembled anxiously round Valentine, for they were alarmed at his condition, and most anxious to be reassured. Valentine, whose arm Curumilla had at once set, with the skill and coolness of an old practitioner, soon reopened his eyes, reassured his friends by a smile, and offered the Indian chief his right hand, which the latter laid on his heart with an expression of indescribable happiness, as he uttered his favourite exclamation of Ugh! the only word he permitted himself to use in joy or in sorrow, when he felt himself choking with internal emotion.
"Señores," the hunter said, "it is only an arm broken; thanks to the chief, I have had an easy escape. Let us resume our journey before other enemies come up."
"And we, señor?" the capataz cried humbly.
Valentine rose with the chiefs assistance, and took a furious glance at the peons. "As for you, miserable assassins," he said with a terrible accent, "return to your master and tell him in what way you were received. But it is not sufficient to have chastised your perfidy, I must have revenge for the odious snare into which my friends and I all but fell. I will learn whether in open day, and some half a dozen miles from Mexico, bandits can thus attack peaceable travellers with impunity. Begone!"
Valentine was slightly mistaken, for, although it was really the intention of the peons to attack them, the hunters had actually begun the fight by dismounting the three peons. But the fellows, convicted by their conscience, did not notice this delicate distinction, and were very happy to get off so cheaply, and be enabled to return peaceably, when they feared that their conquerors would hand them over to the police as they had a perfect right to do.
Thus, far from raising any objections, they broke forth into apologies and protestations of devotion, and hastened off, not troubling themselves to pick up the body of their defunct comrade, el Zaragate, which they left to the vultures which settled on it, so soon as the highway was clear again.
The capataz, under the pretext that his wound was very painful, but in reality to give Valentine and his friends the requisite time to secure themselves temporarily from pursuit, insisted on returning to the city slowly, so that they did not reach the general's mansion till two hours had elapsed.
So soon as the peons in obedience to the hunter's orders had left the battlefield, he, on his part, gave his companions the signal to start. Don Martial had hurried to reassure the ladies, who were standing more dead than alive at the spot where the chief had concealed them. He made them get into the carriage again, without telling them anything except that the danger was past, and that the rest of the journey would be performed in safety.
Valentine's friends tried in vain to induce him to get into the carriage with the ladies. He would not consent, but insisted on mounting his horse, assuring them, in the far from probable event of their being attacked again, that he could still be of some service to his companions in spite of his broken arm. The latter were too well acquainted with his inflexible will to press him further, so Curumilla remounted the coach box, and they started.
The rest of the journey was performed without any incident, and they reached the quinta twenty minutes later. The skirmish had taken place scarce two miles from the country house. On reaching the gates, Valentine took leave of his friend without dismounting.
"What!" the latter said to him, "are you going, Valentine, without resting for a moment?"
"I must, my dear Rallier," he answered; "you know what imperious reasons claim my presence in Mexico."
"But you are wounded."
"Have I not Curumilla to attend to my hurt? Do not be anxious about me; besides, I intend to see you again soon. This quinta appears to me strong enough to resist a surprise. Have you a garrison?"
"I have a dozen servants and my two brothers."
"In that case I am easy in my mind; besides, there is only one night to pass, and I believe that after the lesson his people have received the general will not venture on a second attack, for some days at least. Besides, he reckons on the success of his pronunciamiento. You will come to me tomorrow at daybreak, will you not?"
"I shall not fail."
"In that case I will be off."
"Will you not say good-bye to the ladies?"
"They are not aware of my presence, and it will be better for them not to see me; so good-bye till tomorrow."
And making a signal to his comrades who, including Curumilla, to whom a horse was given, collected around him, Valentine started at a gallop for Mexico, caring no more for his broken arm than if it were a mere scratch.
On his return to the mansion, the capataz did not see his master, at which he was extremely pleased, for he desired to delay as long as possible an explanation which, in spite of the wound he so complacently displayed, he feared would turn out to his disadvantage, especially when questioned by a man like the general, whose piercing glance would descend to the bottom of his heart to discover the truth, however cleverly hidden it might be behind a network of falsehoods.
As only a few hours had still to elapse before the explosion of the conspiracy, arranged with such care and mystery, the general was compelled for a while to suspend his schemes for the satisfaction of his love and his hatred, and only attend to those in which his ambition was engaged. The principal conspirators had been summoned to Colonel Lupo's, and there the final arrangements had been made for the morrow, and the watchword given.
Although the government appeared plunged in the most profound ignorance of what was preparing against it, and evinced complete security, still the President had made certain arrangements for the morrow's ceremonies which did not fail greatly to trouble the men interested in knowing everything, and to whom the apparently most futile thing naturally created umbrage.
The general, with the curiosity that distinguished him, was anxious to know exactly the extent of the danger he had to meet, and proceeded to the palace, merely accompanied by his two aides-de-camp. The general president received Don Sebastian with a smile on his lips, and offered him the most gracious reception. This reception, so cordial, perhaps too cordial, instead of reassuring the general, had, on the contrary, increased his anxiety, for he was a Mexican and knew the proverb of his country—"Lips that smile, and mouth that tells falsehoods."
The general was too calm to let his feelings be seen. He pretended to be delighted, remained for some time with the President, who appeared to treat him with a friendly familiarity, complained of the rarity of his visits, and his obstinacy in not asking for a command. In a word, the two men separated apparently highly satisfied with each other.
Still, the general remarked that all the courts were stuffed with soldiers, who were bivouacking in the open air; that several guns had been placed, accidentally perhaps, so as to sweep completely the chief entrance gate, and, more serious still, that the troops quartered in the palace were commanded by officers strangers to him, and who had, moreover, the reputation of being devoted to the President of the Republic.
After this daring visit, the general mounted his horse, and, under the pretext of going for a walk, went all over the city. Everywhere the preparations for the coming festival were being carried on with the greatest activity. In the square of Necatitlan, for instance, situated in one of the worst parts of the capital, a circus had been made for the bullfights at which the president intended to be present.
Numerous wooden erections, raised for the occasion, filled the space usually devoted to tauromachy, and formed an immense hall of verdure, with pleasant clumps of trees, mysterious walks, and charming retreats, prepared with the greatest care, where everybody would go on the morrow to eat and drink the atrocious productions of the Mexican art on cookery, and enjoy what is called in that country Jamaica.
Exactly in the centre of the arena a tree about twenty feet in height was planted, with its branches and leaves entirely covered with coloured pocket-handkerchiefs that floated in the breeze. This tree was the Monte Parnasso, intended to serve as a maypole for the leperos, at the moment when the bullfights begin, and a trial bull,embolado, that is to say, with its horns terminating in balls, is let into the ring.
All the pulquerías near the square were thronged with a hideous, ragged mob, who howled, sang, shouted, and whistled their loudest, while smoking, and, at intervals, exchanging knife thrusts, to the great delight of the spectators.
In all the streets the procession would pass through the houses were decorated; Mexican flags were hoisted in profusion at every spot where they could be displayed; and yet, by the side of all these holiday preparations, there was, we repeat, something gloomy and menacing that struck a chill to the heart. Through all the gates fresh troops continually entered the city, and occupied admirably chosen strategic points. The Alameda, the Paseo de Bucareli, and even the Vega, were converted into bivouacs, and though these troops ostensibly only came to Mexico to be present at the ceremony and be reviewed, they were equipped for the field, and affected an earnestness which caused much thought to those who saw them pass or visited their bivouacs.
When a serious event is preparing, there are in the atmosphere certain signs which never deceive the fosterers of revolutions; a vague and apparently causeless anxiety seizes on the masses, and unconsciously converts their joy into a species of feverish excitement, at which they are themselves startled, as they know not to what to attribute this change in their humour.
Hence the population of Mexico, mad, merry, and joyous, as usual when a festival is preparing, in the eyes of short-sighted persons, were in reality sternly sad and suffering from great anxiety. The general did not fail to observe these prognostics; gloomy presentiments occupied his mind, for he understood that a terrible tempest was hidden beneath this fictitious calmness. Valentine's gloomy predictions recurred to him. He trembled to see the hunter's menaces realized; and, though unable to discover when the danger would come, he foresaw that a great peril was hanging over his head, and that his ambitious projects would soon, perhaps, be drowned in floods of blood.
Unfortunately it was too late to desist; he must, whatever might happen, go on to the end, for he had not the time to give counter orders, and urge the conspirators to defer the explosion of the plot till a more favourable moment. Hence, after ripe reflection, the general resolved to push on, and trust to accident. Ambitious men, by the way, reckon, far more than is supposed, on hazard, and those magnificent combinations which are admired when success has crowned them, are most frequently merely the unforeseen results of fortuitous circumstances, completely beyond the will of the man whom they have profited. History, modern history especially, is full of these combinations, these results impossible to foresee, which sensible men would not have dared to suppose, and which have made the reputation of so-called statesmen of genius, who are very small fry, when regarded through the magnifying-glass or when actions are sifted.
The general returned to his house at about six in the evening, despairing, and already seeing his plans annihilated. The report of his capataz added to his discouragement, for it was the drop of wormwood which makes the brimful cup run over. He withdrew to his apartments in a state of dull fury, and in his impotent rage accused himself for having ventured into this frightful situation, for he felt himself rapidly gliding down a fatal slope, where it would be impossible for him to stop.
What added to his secret agony was, that he must incessantly send off couriers, receive reports, talk with his confidants, and feign in their presence not merely calmness and gaiety, but also encourage them, and impart to them an ardour and hope which he no longer possessed.
The whole night was spent thus. A terrible night, during which the general endured all the tortures that assail an ambitious man on the eve of a scandalous plot against a government which he has sworn to defend. He was agitated by those dull murmurs of the conscience which can never be thoroughly stifled, and which would inspire pity for these unhappy men, were they not careful, by their own acts, to put themselves beyond the pale of that humanity of which they have become real monsters. The most wholesome lesson that could be given to those ambitious manikins, so frequent in the lower strata of society, would be to render them witnesses of the crushing agony that attacks anycabecilladuring the night that precedes the outbreak of one of its horrible plots.
Sunrise surprised the general giving his final orders. Worn out by the fatigue of a long watch, with pallid brow, and eyes inflamed by fever, he tried to take a few moments of restorative rest, which he so greatly needed; but his efforts were fruitless, for he was suffering from an excitement too intense, at the decisive hour, for sleep to come and close his eyes.
Already the bells of all the churches were pealing out, and filling the air with their joyous notes. In all the streets, and in all the squares, boys and leperos were letting off crackers, and uttering deafening cries, which more resembled bursts of fury than demonstrations of joy. The people, dressed in their holiday clothes, were leaving their houses in masses, and spreading like a torrent over the city.
The review was arranged for seven o'clock A.M., so that the troops might be spared the great heat of the day. They were massed on the Paseo de Bucareli and the road connecting that promenade with the Alameda.
We have already stated that the Mexican army, twenty thousand strong, has twenty-four thousand officers. Hence, in the enormous crowd assembled to witness the review, uniforms were in a majority; for all the officers living on half-pay in Mexico, for some reason or another, considered themselves bound to attend the review as amateurs.
At a quarter to eight o'clock the drums beat, the troops presented arms, a deafening shout was raised by the crowd, and the President of the Republic arrived on the Paseo, followed by a large staff, glistening with gold and lace, and with a cloud of feathers waving in their cocked hats.
The Mexicans, much resembling in this respect another nation we are acquainted with, adore feathers, aiguillettes, and, before all, embroidered uniforms. Hence the President was warmly greeted by the enthusiastic crowd, and his arrival was converted into an ovation. General Guerrero had joined the President's staff in his full dress uniform, as Colonel Lupo and other conspirators had also done; the rest, dispersed among the crowd, and well armed under their cloaks, were giving drink to the already half-intoxicated leperos, and secretly exciting them to begin an insurrection.
In the meanwhile the review went on without any hitch. It is true that the President restricted himself to riding along the front, and then ordering the troops to march past, for he did not dare, owing to the notorious ignorance of the officers and soldiers, risk the execution of any manoeuvre, for it would not have been understood, and would have broken the charm under which the spectators were fascinated. Then the President, still followed by his staff, proceeded to the cathedral. We will not say anything about the official receptions, etc., which occupied all the morning.
The hour for the bullfight arrived. Since the review no one troubled himself about the troops, who seemed to have suddenly disappeared—not a soldier was visible in the streets; but the people did not think of them, for they were letting off fireworks, laughing and shouting, which was quite sufficient to amuse them. It was only noticed that these soldiers, though invisible about the city, had apparently passed the word to each other to be present at the bullfight. Nearly the whole of thepalcos de solin the circus, that is to say, the parts exposed to the sun, were thronged with soldiers, grouped pell-mell with the leperos, and offering the most pleasant contrast with these ragged scamps, who were yelling and whistling.
The President arrived, and the circus was, in a second, invaded by the mob. Since an early hour the Jamaica had begun, that is to say, the framework of verdure raised in the centre of the arena, forming refreshment rooms, had, since daybreak, been filled with a countless number of leperos, who ate and drank with cries of ferocious delight.
Suddenly, at a given signal, the gate of the torril was opened, and a bull,embolado, rushed into the arena. Then began an extraordinary indescribable scene, resembling one of those diabolical meetings so admirably designed by Callot.
The leperos, surprised by the arrival of the bull, darted, shouting, pushing, and upsetting each other, over the framework, which they threw down and trampled underfoot in their terror, while seeking to escape the pursuit of theembolado, who, also excited by the tumult, hunted them vigorously. In a second the arena was deserted, the refreshment rooms swept clean, and the performers in the Jamaica sought any shelter they could find on the edge of the palcos or upon the columns, from which they hung in hideous yelling and grimacing clusters.
A few leperos, however, bolder than the rest, had darted to the Monte Parnasso, not only to find a shelter there, but also to tear away all the coloured handkerchiefs fastened to the branches. In a twinkling the thick foliage was hidden by the crowd of leperos who invaded it.
The bull, after amusing itself for some minutes in tossing about the remains of the framework, stopped and looked cunningly around, and soon noticed the tree, the only obstacle left to remove, in order to completely empty the arena.
It remained motionless for an instant, as if hesitating ere it formed a resolution; then it bowed its head, made the sand fly with its fore-feet, lashed its tail violently, and, rushing at the tree, dealt it repeated and powerful blows.
The leperos uttered a cry of despair. The tree, which was overladen, and incessantly sapped at its base by the bull, swayed, and at last fell sideways, carrying down in its fall the leperos clinging to the branches. The audience clapped their hands and broke into frenzied bravos, which changed into perfect yells of delight when a poor fellow, who was limping away, was suddenly caught up by the bull, and tossed ten feet high in the air.
All at once, and at the moment when the joy was attaining its paroxysm, several rounds of artillery were heard, followed by a well-sustained musketry fire. As if by magic the bull was driven back to the torril; the soldiers scattered about the circus leapt into the ring, and becoming actors instead of spectators, drew up in good order, and levelled their muskets at the occupiers of the galleries and boxes, who remained motionless with terror, for they did not understand what was going on.
A door opened, and twenty bandsmen, followed by eight officers, and escorted by a dozen soldiers, entered the ring, and began beating the drums. It was a governmentalbando. So soon as silence was restored martial law was proclaimed, and sentence of outlawry passed on General Don Sebastian Guerrero and his adherents, who had just raised the standard of revolt, and pronounced against the established government.
The crowd listened to the bando in a stupor which was heightened by the fact that with each moment the firing became sharper, and the artillery discharges shook the air at more rapid intervals.
Mexico was once again the prey of one of those scenes of murder and carnage which, since the Proclamation of Independence, has too often stained her streets and squares with blood.
The President was on horseback in the centre of the arena, sending off orders, listening to messages, or detaching reinforcements wherever they were wanted. The circus was converted into the headquarters of the army of order, and the spectators, although allowed to depart after some arrests had been effected among them, remained trembling in their seats, preferring not to venture into the streets, which had been converted into real battlefields.
Still the pronunciamiento was assuming formidable proportions. General Guerrero had not played for so heavy a stake without trying to secure to his side all probable chances of success; and that success would most ably have crowned his efforts, had he not been betrayed. For, in spite of all the precautions taken by the government, the affair had been begun so warmly and resolutely that, after the contest had continued for three hours, it was impossible to say on which side the advantage would remain.
In any revolution, the insurgents have always an immense advantage over the government they are attacking, from the fact that, as they hold together, know their numbers, and act in accordance with a long worked out plan, they are not only cognizant of what they want, but also, whither they are proceeding. The government, on the other hand, however well informed it may be, and however well on its guard, is obliged to remain for a considerable length of time in an attitude of armed expectation, without knowing whence the danger that menaces it will come, or the strength of the rebellion it will have to combat.
On the other hand, again, as the secret of the discovery of the plot remains with a small band of confidential agents of the authorities, the latter do not know at first whom to trust, or whom to reckon on. They suspect everybody, even the very troops defending them, whom they fear to see turning against them at any moment, and overthrowing them. This is more especially the case in Mexico and all the old Spanish colonies, where the governmental system is essentially military, and is consequently only based on naturally unintelligent and venal troops, who are utterly deficient of patriotic feelings, and whom interest alone, that is to say, pay or promotion, can keep to their duty.
The history of all the revolutions which, during the last fifty years, have caused torrents of blood to flow in the New World, is entirely contained in the last passage we have written.
The President of the Republic had been informed of the designs of the general, as far as that was possible; he had known for more than a month that a vast plot was being formed; he even was aware of the probable day fixed for the pronunciamiento, but he did not know a syllable about the plans arranged by Don Sebastian and his adherents. As the plot was to burst out in Mexico, the President had filled the capital with troops; and called in those on whose fidelity he thought he could reckon with the greatest certainty.
But his preparations were necessarily restricted to this, and he had been constrained to wait till the revolution commenced.
It burst forth with the suddenness of a peal of thunder at twenty places simultaneously, at about the second hour of the tarde. The President, who was at once informed, and who had only come to the circus in order not to be invested in the government palace, instantly took the measures he thought most efficacious.
The news, however, rapidly arrived, and became worse and worse, and the insurrection was assuming frightful proportions. The revolters at first tried to install themselves on the Plaza Major in order to seize the government palace, but being repulsed with loss, after a very serious contest, they ambuscaded themselves in Tacuba, Secunda Monterilla, and San Agustin streets, erected barricades, and exchanged a sharp fire with the faithful troops.
The cannon roared in the square, and the balls made large gaps in the ranks of the insurgents, who replied with yells of rage and increased firing.
Colonel Lupo had taken possession of two city gates, which he burned down, and through which fresh reinforcements reached the insurgents, who now proclaimed themselves masters of one-third of the city. The foreign merchants, established in Mexico, had hoisted their national flags over their houses, in which they remained shut up, and suffering great anxiety.
The President was still standing motionless in the centre of the circus, frowning at each new message, or angrily striking the pommel of his saddle with his clenched fist.
All at once a man glided secretly between the horses' legs, and gently touched the general's boot, who turned round quickly.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, on recognizing him. "At last! Well, Curumilla?"
But the Indian, without answering, thrust a folded paper into his hand, and disappeared as rapidly as he had come. The general eagerly scanned the letter, which only contained these words, written in French—"All is going on well. Charge vigorously."
The general's face grew brighter, he drew himself up haughtily, and brandishing his sword with a martial air, shouted in a voice heard by all, "Forward, Muchachos!"
Then, digging his spurs into his horse's sides, he galloped out of the circus, followed by the greater part of the troops, the remainder receiving orders to hold their present position until further warning.
"Now," said the President to the officers who pressed round him, "the game is won; within an hour the insurrection will be conquered."
In fact matters had greatly altered. This is what had occurred:
Valentine, as we said, had taken a house in Tacuba Street, and another in the vicinity of the San Lázaro gate. During the night that preceded the pronunciamiento, four hundred resolute soldiers, commanded by faithful officers, were introduced into the house in Tacuba Street, where they remained so well hidden that no one suspected their presence. A similar number of troops were stowed away in the house at the San Lázaro gate.
Don Martial, at the head of a large body of men, slipped into the small house belonging to the capataz, and, being warned by the latter so soon as the general had gone off to attend the review, he passed into his mansion through the masked door we know, and occupied it without striking a blow.
The Tigrero straightway set a trap, in which several of the principal chiefs of the insurgents were caught, believing that they would find General Guerrero at home, and were at once made prisoners.
These three points occupied, they waited. Colonel Lupo had attacked the San Lázaro gate so vigorously and unexpectedly, that it was impossible to prevent him burning it. A very obstinate fight at once began, and the colonel, after a brave resistance, had been at length compelled to retreat and fall back on the main body of the insurgents, who were still masters, or nearly so, of the centre of the city.
We have mentioned that in Mexico all the houses are flat roofed; hence, in any revolution, the scenes in the street are repeated on the terraces of the houses; for the tactics adopted in such cases are to line these terraces with soldiers. Through a strange fatality the insurgents, while seizing the principal streets, had forgotten, or rather neglected, to occupy the houses, as they believed themselves masters of the situation.
All at once the terraces in Tacuba Street, looking on the Plaza Mayor, were covered with sharpshooters, who began a tremendous fire on the insurgents collected beneath them. The same manoeuvre was simultaneously executed in Monterilla and San Augustín Streets, and the terraces of the palace were covered with troops also.
The artillerymen, who had hitherto fired at long range, now brought up their guns almost within pistol shot of the streets, and, in spite of the musketry fire of the insurgents, bravely posted their batteries and began hurtling showers of canister among the defenders of the barricades.
Almost simultaneously, the troops faithful to the government appeared in the rear of the rebels, and being supported by the sharpshooters on the terraces, charged vigorously to the incessantly repeated cry of "Méjico, Méjico, Independencia!"
The insurgents felt they were lost, for they were caught between three fires; still they offered a courageous resistance, for, knowing that if they fell alive into the hands of the conqueror, they would be mercilessly shot, they allowed themselves to be killed with Indian stoicism, and did not yield an inch of ground.
The general was in a terrible rage; without a hat, his face blackened with gunpowder, and his uniform torn in several places, he leapt his horse over the corpses, and dashed blindly into the thick of the government troops, followed by a small band of friends, who bravely let themselves be killed at his side.
The fight was positively degenerating into a massacre; the two parties, as unhappily always happens in civil wars, fought with the greater fury and obstinacy because brothers were contending against brothers, and many of them, for whom politics were only a pretext, took advantage of the medley to satiate personal hatred and avenge old insults.
However, this could not go on for long thus, and it was necessary to get out of the situation at all risks. General Guerrero, unaware of the occupation of his house, resolved to fight his way thither, barricade himself, and obtain an honourable capitulation for himself and his comrades.
No sooner was the plan conceived than the execution was attempted. Don Sebastian collected round him all the fighting men left, and formed them into a small band—for the canister and bullets had made frightful ravages in the ranks of the insurgents—and placed himself at their head.
"Forward, forward!" he shouted as he rushed at the enemy.
His men followed him with yells of fury. The collision was terrible, the fight fearful; for four or five minutes a funereal silence brooded over this confused mass of combatants, who attacked each so savagely. They stabbed each other mercilessly, disdaining to use their firearms, and preferring, as a speedier resource, the sharp points of their sabres and bayonets.
At length the President's troops fell back slightly, the insurgents took advantage of it to redouble their efforts, which were already superhuman, and reached the general's house. The doors were broken open in an instant, and all rushed pell-mell into the courtyard. They were saved! since they had at last reached the shelter where they hoped to defend themselves.
At this moment a frightful thing happened; the gallery commanding the courtyard and the stairs was entirely occupied by soldiers, and so soon as the insurgents appeared, the muskets were pointed down at them, a tornado of fire passed over them like the blast of death, and in a second a mass of corpses covered the ground.
The insurgents, terrified by this sudden attack, which they were so far from anticipating, hurriedly fell back, instinctively seeking an outlet by which to escape. The tumult then became terrible, and the massacre assumed the proportions of an organized butchery. Driven back into the courtyard by the troops who pursued them, and met there by those who had attacked them and now charged at the bayonet point, these wretched men, rendered senseless by terror, did not dream any longer of employing their weapons, but falling on their knees before their executioners, and clasping their trembling hands, they implored the mercy of the troops, who, intoxicated by the smell of blood, and affected by that horrible murder fever which seizes upon even the coolest man on the battle field, felled them, like oxen in the shambles, and plunged their sabres and bayonets into their bodies with grins of delight and ferocious laughter, and felt a horrible pleasure in seeing their victims writhe with heartbreaking cries in the last convulsions of death.
General Don Sebastian, though wounded, and who seemed to have been protected by a charm throughout this scene of carnage, defended himself like a lion against several soldiers, who tried in vain to transfix him with their bayonets. Leaning against a column he whirled his sabre round his head, evidently seeking death, but wishful to sell his life as dearly as possible.
Suddenly Valentine cleft his way through the combatants, followed by Belhumeur, Black Elk, and Curumilla, who were engaged in warding off the blows the soldiers incessantly made at him, and reached the general.
"Ah!" the latter said on perceiving him, "here you are at last, then."
And he dealt him a terrible blow, but Belhumeur parried it, and Valentine continued to advance.
"Withdraw," he said to the soldiers who surrounded the general, "this man belongs to me."
The soldiers, though they did not know the hunter, intimidated by the accent with which he uttered these words, and recognizing in him one of those rare men who can always impose on common natures, respectfully fell back without making the slightest objection.
The hunter threw his purse to them.
"You dare to defy the lion at bay," the general shouted, gnashing his teeth; "although attacked by dogs, he can still avenge his death."
"You will not die," the hunter said coldly; "throw away that sabre, which is now useless."
"Ah, ah!" Don Sebastian said with a grin of rage; "I am not to die; and why not, pray?"
"Because," he answered, in a cutting voice, "death would be a mercy to you, and you must be punished."
"Oh!" he shrieked, and, blinded by rage, he rushed madly at the hunter.
The latter, without falling back a step, contented himself with giving a signal. At the same moment a slipknot fell on the general's shoulders, and he rolled on the ground with a yell of rage. Curumilla had lassoed him.
In vain did Don Sebastian attempt further resistance; after useless efforts he was reduced to utter impotence, and forced, not only to confess he had been vanquished, but to yield himself to the mercy of his conquerors. The latter, at a sign from Valentine, disarmed him first, and then bound him, so that he could not make the slightest movement.
The massacre was ended, the insurrection had been drowned in blood. The few rebels who survived the carnage were prisoners; the victors, in the first moment of enthusiasm, had shot several, and it required the most energetic interference on the part of the officers to check this rather too summary justice.
At this moment joyous shouts burst forth, and the President of the Republic entered the courtyard at the head of a large staff, glistening with embroidery.
"Ah, ah!" he said, as he took a contemptuous glance at the general, who had been thrown on the stones, "so this is the man who wished to change the institutions of his country?"
Don Sebastian did not deign to reply; but he looked at the speaker with such an expression of implacable hatred, that the President could not endure it, and was forced to turn his head away.
"Did this man surrender?" he asked one of his officers.
"No, coward," the general answered, with clenched teeth, "I will not surrender to hangmen."
"Take this man to prison with the others," the President continued, "an example must be made; but take care that they are not insulted by the people."
"Yes," the general muttered, "ever the same system."
"A fall and entire pardon," the President continued, "will be granted to the unhappy men who were led astray, and have recognized their crime. The lesson they have received was rather rough, and I am convinced that it will do them good."
"Clemency after the massacre, that is the usual way," the general said again.
The President passed without answering him, and left the courtyard. A few minutes later the prisoners were led away to prison, in spite of the efforts of the exasperated populace to massacre them on the road.
General Don Sebastian Guerrero was one of the first to appear before the tribunal. He disdained any defence, and during the whole trial preserved a gloomy silence; he was unceremoniously condemned to be shot, his estates confiscated, and his name was declared infamous.
So soon as the sentence was recorded, the general was placed in the chapel, where he was to remain three days before execution.
The Spanish custom—a custom which has been kept up in all the old colonies of that power—of placing persons condemned to death in a chapel, requires explanation, in order that it may be thoroughly understood and appreciated, as it deserves to be.
Frenchmen, over whom the great revolution of '93 passed like a hurricane, and carried off most of their belief in its sanguinary cloak, may smile with pity and regard as a fanatic remainder from another age, this custom of placing the condemned in chapel. Among us, it is true, matters are managed much more simply: a man, when condemned by the law, eats, drinks, and remains alone in his cell. If he desire it, he is visited by the chaplain, whom he is at liberty to converse with, if he likes; if not, he remains perfectly quiet, and nobody pays any attention to him, during a period more or less long, and determined by the rejection of his appeal. Then, one fine morning, when he is least thinking of it, the governor of the prison announces to him, when he wakes, as the most simple thing in the world, that he is to be executed that same day, and only an hour is granted him to recommend his soul to the divine clemency. The fatal toilet is made by the executioner and his assistant, the condemned man is placed in a close carriage, conveyed to the place of execution, and in a twinkling launched into eternity, before he has had a moment to look round him.
Is it right or wrong to act in this way? We dare not answer, yes or no. This question is too difficult to decide, and would lead us the further, because we should begin with asking society by what right it arrogates to itself the power of killing one of its members, and thus committing a cold-blooded assassination, under the pretext of doing justice; for we confess that we have ever been among the most determined adversaries of punishment by death, as we are persuaded that, in trying to deal a heavy blow, human justice deceives itself, and goes beyond the object, because it avenges when it ought merely to punish.
We will, therefore, repeat here what we said in a previous work, in explanation of what the Spaniards mean by the phrase "placing in chapel."
When a man is condemned to death, from that moment he is,de facto, cut off from that society to which he no longer belongs, through the sentence passed on him; he is consequently separated from his fellow men.
He is shut up in a room, at one end of which is an altar; the walls are hung with black drapery, studded with silver tears, and here and there mourning inscriptions, drawn from Holy Writ. Near his bed is placed the coffin in which his body is to be deposited after execution, while two priests, who relieve each other, but of whom one constantly remains in the room, say mass in turn, and exhort the criminal to repent Of his crimes, and implore divine clemency. This custom, which, if carried to an extreme, would appear in our country before all, barbarous and cruel, perfectly agrees with Spanish manners, and the thoroughly believing spirit of this impressionable nation; it is intended to draw the culprit back to pious thought, and rarely fails to produce the desired effect upon him.
The general was, therefore, placed in capilla, and two monks belonging to the order of St. Francis, the most respected, and, in fact, respectable in Mexico, entered it with him.
The first hours he passed there were terrible; this proud mind, this powerful organization, revolted against adversity, and would not accept defeat. Gloomy and silent, with frowning brows, and fists clenched on his bosom, the general sought shelter like a wild beast in a corner of the room, recalling his whole life, and seeing with starts of terror the bloody victims scattered along his path, and sacrificed in turn to his devouring ambition, sadly defile before him.
Then he reverted to his early years. When residing at the Palmar, his magnificent family hacienda, his life passed away calm, pure, gentle, and tranquil, without regrets, and without desires, among his faithful servants. Then, he was so glad to be nothing, and to wish to be nothing.
By degrees his thoughts followed the bias of his recollections: the present was effaced; his contracted features grew softer, and two burning tears, the first, perhaps, this man of iron had ever shed, slowly coursed down his cheeks, which grief had hollowed.
The monks, calm and contemplative, had eagerly followed the successive changes on this eminently expressive face. They comprehended that their mission of consolation was beginning, and approached the general softly, and wept with him; then this man, whom nothing had been able to subdue, felt his soul torn asunder; the cloud that covered his eyes melted away like the winter snow before the first sunbeam, and he fell into the arms open to receive him, exclaiming, with an expression of desperate grief impossible to render—
"Have mercy, heaven! have mercy!"
The struggle had been short but terrible; faith had conquered doubt, and humanity had regained its rights.
The general then had with the monks a conversation, protracted far into the night, in which he confessed all his crimes and sins, and humbly asked pardon of God whom he had outraged, and before whom he was about to appear.
The next day, a little after, sunrise, one of the monks, who had been absent about an hour, returned, bringing with him the general's capataz. It had only been with extreme reluctance that Carnero had consented to come, for he justly dreaded his old master's reproaches.
Hence his surprise was extreme at being received with a smile, and kindly, and on finding that the general did not make the slightest allusion to his treachery, which the evidence before the court-martial had fully revealed.
Carnero looked inquiringly at the two monks, for he did not dare put faith in his master's words, and each moment expected to hear him burst out into reproaches. But nothing of the sort took place; the general continued the conversation as he had begun it, speaking to him gently and kindly.
At the moment when the capataz was about to withdraw, the general stopped him.
"One moment," he said to him; "you know Don Valentine, the French hunter, for whom I so long cherished an insensate hatred?"
"Yes," Carnero stammered.
"Be kind enough to ask him to grant me the favour of a short visit; he is a noble-hearted man, and I am convinced that he will not refuse to come. I should be glad if he consented to bring with him Don Martial, the Tigrero, who has so much cause to complain of me, as well as my niece, Doña Anita de Torrés. Will you undertake this commission, the last I shall doubtless give you?"
"Yes, general," the capataz answered, affected in spite of himself by such gentleness.
"Now go; be happy and pray for me, for we shall never meet again."
The capataz went out in a very different frame of mind from that in which he had entered the capilla, and hastened off to Valentine. The hunter was not at home, for he had gone to the presidential palace, but he returned almost immediately. The capataz gave the message which his old master had entrusted him with for him.
"I will go," the hunter said simply, and he dismissed him.
Curumilla was at once sent off to Mr. Rallier's quinta with a letter, and during his absence Valentine had a long conversation with Belhumeur and Black Elk. At about five in the evening, a carriage entered the courtyard of Valentine's house at a gallop; it contained Mr. Rallier, Anita, and Don Martial.
"Thanks!" he said, on seeing them.
"You ordered me to come, so I obeyed as usual," the Tigrero answered.
"You were right, my friend."
"And now what do you want of us?"
"That you should accompany me to the place whither I am going at this moment."
"Would it be indiscreet to ask you——"
"Where?" the hunter interrupted him with a laugh.
"Not at all; I am going to lead you, Doña Anita, and the persons here present, to the capilla in which General Guerrero is confined."
"The capilla?" the Tigrero exclaimed in amazement, "for what purpose?"
"What does that concern you? The general has requested to see you, and you cannot refuse the request of a man who has but a few hours left to live."
The Tigrero hung his head without answering.
"Oh! I will go!" Doña Anita exclaimed impulsively, as she wiped away the tears that ran down her cheeks.
"You are a woman, señorita, and therefore good and indulgent," the hunter said; then turning to the Tigrero, he said, with a slight accent of reproach, "you have not yet answered me, Don Martial."
"Since you insist, Don Valentine, I will go," he at length answered, with an effort.
"I do not insist, my friend; I only ask, that is all."
"Come, Martial, I implore you," Doña Anita said to him gently.
"Your will be done in this as in all other things," he said. "I am ready to follow you, Don Valentine."
Valentine, Doña Anita, Mr. Rallier, and Don Martial got into the carriage. The two Canadians and the chief followed them on horseback, and they proceeded at a gallop to the chapel where the condemned man was confined.
All along the road they found marks of the obstinate struggle which had deluged the city with blood a few days previously; the barricades had not been entirely removed, and though the distance was, in reality, very short, they did not reach the prison till nightfall, owing to the detours they were forced to make.
Valentine begged his friends to remain outside, and only entered with Doña Anita and the Tigrero. The general was impatiently expecting them, and testified a great joy on perceiving them.
The young lady could not restrain her emotion, and threw herself into her uncle's arms with an outburst of passionate grief. The general pressed her tenderly to his bosom, and kissed her on the forehead.
"I am the more affected by these marks of affection, my child," he said with much emotion, "because I have been very harsh to you. Can you ever forgive me the sufferings I have caused you?"
"Oh, uncle, speak not so. Are you not, alas! the only relation I have remaining?"
"For a very short time," he said with a sad smile, "that is the reason why I ought, without further delay, to provide for your future."
"Do not talk about that at such a moment, uncle," she continued, bursting into tears.
"On the contrary, my child, it is at this moment when I am going to leave you, that I am bound to insure you a protector. Don Martial, I have done you great wrong; here is my hand, accept it as that of a man who has completely recognized his faults, and sincerely repents the evil he has done."
The Tigrero, more affected than he liked to display, took a step forward, and cordially pressed the hand offered him.
"General," he said, in a voice which he tried in vain to render firm, "this moment, which I never dared hope to see, fills me with joy, but at the same time with grief."
"Well, you can do something for me by proving to me that you have really forgiven me."
"Speak, general, and if it is in my power——," he exclaimed warmly.
"I believe so," Don Sebastian answered, with his sad smile. "Consent to accept my niece from my hand, and marry her at once in this chapel."
"Oh, general!" he began, choking with emotion.
"Uncle, at this awful moment!" the young lady murmured, timidly.
"Allow me the supreme consolation of dying under the knowledge that you are happy. Don Valentine, you have doubtless brought some of your friends with you?"
"They are awaiting your commands, general," the hunter answered.
"Let them come in, in that case, for time presses."
One of the monks had prepared everything beforehand.
When the hunters and the French banker entered, followed by Curumilla, and the officer commanding the capilla guard, who had been warned beforehand, the general walked eagerly toward them.
"Señores," he said, "I would ask you to do me the honour of witnessing the marriage of my niece, Doña Anita de Torrés, with this caballero."
The newcomers bowed respectfully. At a signal from one of the Franciscans they knelt down and the ceremony began. It lasted hardly twenty minutes, but never had a marriage mass been read or listened to with more pious fervour. When it was ended, the witnesses wished to retire.
"One moment, señores, if you please," the general said to them. "I now wish to make you witnesses of a great reparation."
They stopped, and the general walked up to Valentine.
"Caballero," he said to him, "I know all the motives of hatred you have against me, and those motives I allow to be just. I am now in the same position in which I placed Count de Prébois Crancé, your dearest friend. Like him, I shall be shot tomorrow at daybreak; but with this difference, that he fell as a martyr to a holy cause, and innocent of the crimes of which I accused him, while I am guilty, and have deserved the sentence passed on me. Don Valentine, I repent from the bottom of my heart the iniquitous murder of your friend. Don Valentine, do you forgive me?"
"General Don Sebastian Guerrero, I forgive you the murder of my friend," the hunter answered, in a firm voice. "I forgive you the life of grief to which I am henceforth condemned by you."
"You pardon me unreservedly?"
"Unreservedly I do."
"Thanks! We were made to love instead of hate each other. I misunderstood you; but yours is a great and noble heart. Now, let death come, and I shall accept it gladly; for I feel convinced that God will have pity on me on account of my sincere repentance. Be happy, niece, with the husband of your choice. Señores, all, accept my thanks. Don Valentine, once more I thank you; and now leave me all, for I no longer belong to the world, so let me think of my salvation."
"But one word," Valentine said. "General, I have forgiven you, and it is now my turn to ask your pardon. I have deceived you."
"Deceived me!"
"Yes: take this paper. The President of the Republic, employing his sovereign right of mercy, has, on my pressing entreaty, revoked the sentence passed on you. You are free."
His hearers burst into a cry of admiration.
The general turned pale; he tottered, and for a moment it was fancied that he was about to fall. A cold perspiration stood on his temples. Doña Anita sprang forward to support him, but he repulsed her gently, and, with a great effort, exclaimed, in a choking voice—
"Don Valentine, Don Valentine, such then is your revenge. Oh! blind, blind that I was to form such an erroneous opinion of you! You condemn me to live. Well, be it so; I accept, and will not deceive your expectations. Fathers," he said, turning to the monks, "lead me to your monastery. General Guerrero is dead, and henceforth I shall be a monk of your order."
Don Sebastian's conversion was sincere. Grace had touched him, and he persevered. Two months after professing, he died in the Franciscan Monastery, crushed by remorse and worn out by the cruel penance he inflicted on himself.
Two days after the scene we have described, Valentine and his companions left Mexico, and returned to Sonora. On reaching the frontier, the hunter, in spite of the pressing entreaties of his friends, separated from them, and returned to the desert.
Don Martial and Doña Anita settled in Mexico, near the Ralliers. A month after Valentine's departure, Doña Helena returned to the convent, and at the end of a year, in spite of the entreaties of her family, who were surprised at so strange a resolution, which nothing apparently explained, the young lady took the vows.
When I met Valentine Guillois on the banks of the Rio Joaquin, some time after the events recorded in this long story, he was going with Curumilla to attempt a hazardous expedition across the Rocky Mountains, from which, he said to me, with that soft melancholy smile which he generally assumed when speaking to me, hehopednever to return.
I accompanied him for several days, and then we were compelled to separate. He pressed my hand, and, followed by his dumb friend, he entered the mountains. For a long time I looked after him, for I involuntarily felt my heart contracted by a sad foreboding. He turned round for the last time, waved his hand in farewell, and disappeared round a bend of the track.
I was fated never to see him again.
Since then nothing has been heard of him, or of Curumilla. All my endeavours to join them, or even obtain news of them, was vain.
Are they still living?—no one can say. Darkness has settled down over these two magnificent men, and time itself will, in all probability, never remove the veil that conceals their fate; for all, unhappily, leads me to suppose that they perished in that gloomy expedition from which Valentinehoped, alas! never to return.
Certain reasons, unnecessary to state here, had somewhat accidentally led me to a Sonorian hacienda, called the Hacienda del Milagro, situated a few leagues from Hermosillo, close to the Indian border, and belonging to Don Rafael Garillas de Saavedra, one of the richest landowners in the province.
Don Rafael had spent what is called in Europe a wild life, and for many years had traversed the deserts of Apacheria in company of a Canadian adventurer of the name of Belhumeur. Although enormously rich, married to a woman he adored, and surrounded by a delightful family, Don Rafael had now and then moments of gloom, in which he regretted the time when, unhappy and disinherited, he wandered, under the name of Loyal-heart, from Arkansas to Apacheria, leading the precarious existence of wood rangers, living from hand to mouth, forgetful of a past which only summoned up bitter griefs, and careless about a future which he believed would never realize the dreams of his poetical imagination.
Like all men who have suffered and passed through a hard apprenticeship of life, Don Rafael was kind and indulgent to others, and ever ready to excuse a fault when it only emanated from a forgetfulness of propriety or an error of judgment.
Two days after my arrival at the Hacienda del Milagro, thanks to the cordial reception given me, I was regarded as forming part of the family, and was as much at my ease as if I had lived for years with these new friends, who soon grew so old in my heart, and whose memory will be ever dear to me.
One evening a new guest arrived at the hacienda, where he was literally received with open arms, which greatly surprised me; for I knew the prejudices of Spaniards against Indians, and the newcomer was simply a redskin. It is true that this redskin was the first sachem of a powerful Comanche tribe, which was explained to me in two words by Belhumeur, the Canadian hunter, with whom I had struck up a great friendship from my first arrival at the hacienda.
This sachem was called Eagle-head. He came, in the name of his tribe, to invite Don Rafael, whom he obstinately called Loyal-heart, to a great buffalo hunt which was to come off in Apacheria toward the middle of the "Moon of the wild oats," that is to say, about September 15th.
Don Rafael was greatly inclined to accept this invitation, but a sorrowful look, which his wife gave him aside, made him understand how anxious his absence would make her. He therefore expressed his inability to be present at this hunt, which he would have so much liked to be, but very important business compelled him to remain at the hacienda. He added, however, that his friend Belhumeur would be happy to take his place, in order to prove to Eagle-head the value he set on his invitation and his lively desire to show him all the deference which so great a chief as he merited.
After a few words whispered in his ear, Belhumeur introduced me to the Indian chief, to whom he mentioned that, as I had never witnessed a buffalo hunt, I should be delighted with his permission to attend the present one. The chief politely replied that Belhumeur was an adopted son of the tribe, and that any persons he thought proper to bring with him would be received not only with great pleasure, but with the greatest kindness, according to the consecrated customs of Indian hospitality.
I warmly thanked, as I was bound to do, the chief, who was flattered to hear me express myself with some degree of elegance in his own language; and we agreed to meet at the winter village of the Comanches of the Lakes, on the fifth sun of the Moon of the wild oats.
Eagle-head took leave of us the same evening, in spite of all our efforts to keep him at least till the next morning. He started in the direction of the desert with the light and gymnastic step peculiar to the redskins, which a trotting horse could not keep up with, and which enables them to cover an enormous distance in a relatively very short period.
Two days later, Belhumeur, myself, and another Canadian hunter attached to the hacienda, by the name of Black Elk, mounted on excellent mustangs, and armed to the teeth, took leave of Don Rafael, who saw us depart with a sigh of regret, and we proceeded in the direction of the great western prairies.
Belhumeur was a first-rate companion, of tried bravery; a thorough adventurer, gay, daring, and reckless, whose life had been almost entirely spent in the desert, and whom his attachment for Don Rafael had alone determined to give up the free and independent life of a hunter to confine himself, as he said with a smile, within stone walls, where he ofttimes felt that fresh air was wanting for his lungs.
Belhumeur was a book of which I turned over the leaves of at my pleasure, and each page was full of attractions for me, and offered me agreeable surprises.
Although I had myself long lived in the desert, I had as yet only traversed countries where buffalo is never met; hence I was extremely anxious to obtain some positive information about this interesting animal, so useful to the Indians, who profess for it a respect almost approaching to veneration. In this way I hoped not to be quite a novice when I joined the redskins, and would know not only in what way to attack the new enemy I was about to confront, but also how to behave, so as not to appear an utter ignoramus in the sight of the Indians.
One evening, while seated at our watch fire after supper, smoking my Indian pipe charged withmorrichée, or prairie tobacco, I asked Belhumeur, whose good nature was inexhaustible, to give me the most circumstantial information about the buffalo, which he at once did with his usual goodwill.
This is what I learned in substance. I will ask my reader's pardon for substituting my recollections for the Canadian's prolix narration, for what they may lose in simplicity of expression they will gain in brevity, which is not a thing to be so much despised as might be supposed at the first blush.
I am bound to state that all Belhumeur then told me about the manners and habits of these singular animals was most rigorously exact, as I was in a position to convince myself at a later date. This, then, was Belhumeur's account.
The Indians say proverbially that bees are the advanced guard of the palefaces, and the buffaloes the vedettes of the redskins. In fact, although it is impossible to explain the reason, bees constantly seek to advance into the desert, and when they appear at the border of clearings, it is certain that two or three days later emigrants will turn up, with rifles on their shoulders, and followed by a long file of waggons, carts, horses, and cattle. These bold pioneers of civilisation come, impelled by their adventurous instincts, to set up their tents in the heart of the desert, on the shady banks of some unknown river, and their unceasing activity soon changes the character of the landscape.
In the same way when the traveller advances into the savannahs, so soon as he sights the buffalo he may be certain that he has reached the territory of the redskins.
Now, it appears to us that everything relating to so interesting an animal as the buffalo, which is fatally destined so soon to disappear, unless care be taken, and which is so eminently useful, is worth recording.
Purchas in his "Pilgrimage" (London edition, 1614), says that in certain respects the buffalo resembles the lion, and in others the camel, ox, horse, sheep, and goat. Civilization in its continuous onward march destroys the great animals, and drives back the redskin and even the hunter, unless he consent to modify his fashion of living.
The buffalo, which, on its discovery in 1582 by Lusman, in the province of Sinaloa, extended its wanderings over nearly the whole of North America, now restricts its excursions more and more, and is only met with at present in the wildest deserts situated to the west of the Rocky Mountains, which proves a considerable diminution in their numbers, and this is probably augmented by the Indian custom of only killing cows and leaving the bulls.
The Americans, however, ought to interfere, for the buffalo is capable of being tamed, and crossing it with the European ox would produce a strong, patient, and courageous breed, whose services would be of immense utility in the immense settlement of the new states. We saw at a Texan hacienda completely tamed buffaloes, which, according to their owners, were an excellent substitute for the common ox.
The buffalo lives longer than the domestic ox: its proportions are greater, and though its front is ungraceful, the hinder parts are handsome. The buffalo is generally brown, though spotted ones are met with, and even some completely white; its face is very like that of the bull; its head covered with thick wool, the long beard hanging from its lower jaw, and its melancholy, gentle, and almost stupid eye give it a singular and almost strange appearance. Its horns are short, rounded, and capable of taking a fine polish; it has between its shoulders a very prominent hump, whilst its hinder parts are covered with short, straight hair, like that of European ruminants; its short tail terminates in a tuft of curly hair. The age of a buffalo is discovered by the rings on its horns, the first four counting for the first year.
The meat of the cows is considered more delicate than that of the bulls, especially in the rutting season. The parts most appreciated are the heart, the tongue, the liver, the short rib, and the part called the hunter's joint, that is to say, the chine near the shoulder blade. Eight bones are considered marrowbones, they are those of the legs and thighs. A cow supplies about three hundred pounds of excellent meat, exclusive of the head, and several other parts of the animal; the marrow of a single bone is sufficient for a meal. The Indians, in order to obtain it, throw the bone into the fire after removing the meat, let it grill for a few minutes, take it out, break it, and remove the marrow, which is eaten, without seasoning, by means of a sharp stick. This marrow is very delicate and succulent, and when baked, it assumes the colour and consistency of meat; some hunters prefer to eat it raw, but we did not find it so good in that state.
When a manada of buffaloes is hunted, especially if it be composed of bulls, a strong smell of musk is exhaled; when full galloping, their hoofs crack the grass, as if it was dried. They have an extraordinary fine scent, and smell a man two or even three miles off.
This animal is extremely difficult to kill. On a certain occasion we lodged sixteen bullets in the body of a buffalo, ere we could succeed in killing. Wishing to assure oneself of the truth of a fact, which physicians and hunters had affirmed, namely, that the frontal bone of a buffalo is bullet-proof, we discharged our rifle, at ten paces' distance, at the head of a dead bull. The bullet did not penetrate, but was caught in the hair, where we found it again; still it had struck exactly in the centre of the forehead, for it had left its mark there before rebounding.
We have not very exactly followed Belhumeur's account, for, carried away by our sympathy for the noble animal he described to us, we have placed our ideas in the stead of his. We openly confess here that we are among those who sincerely regret that the proposal made in 1849, by Mr. Lamarre Picquot, to introduce into France the buffalo, as at once suitable for draught and for consumption, was not seriously discussed and taken into consideration, for this animal is one of the most useful, and would, we feel convinced, render valuable services.
Our journey lasted more than a month; for the winter village of the Comanches of the Lakes is hidden in a canyon, in the middle of the first spurs of the Rocky Mountains. Mounted on a vigorous mustang, I generally rode at the head of our small party, which I liked to do, in order to be more by myself, and observe more at my ease.
One morning I saw, at a spot where the trail I followed was wide and open, and some distance ahead of me, a large hawk, which appeared to be suffering, and making efforts to fly away. When I drew near enough I found that it was enfolded by a long whip snake, which had writhed several times round its body, and the bird had only one wing at liberty.
In all probability the hawk had been the aggressor, and had dashed down at the snake, but the latter, by cleverly enfolding its enemy, had succeeded in escaping the danger.
The whip snake is a very handsome reptile, seven to eight feet in length, when it has attained its full growth. Along the greater part of its body it is no larger than an ordinary ramrod. Its very thin neck gradually tapers away down to the stomach, whence it has obtained its name. For about three or four inches the upper side of the head and neck is black and lustrous as the plumage of a crow; while the upper side of the body is chocolate coloured, excepting the tail, which, nearly all the way from the stomach, is black.
There, however, is no general rule, except for the head, neck, and tail, which are always black. I have come across snakes of the same family in which the other parts of the body varied. This reptile is very quick, and seems to fly over the surface of the ground. The most remarkable thing about it is, that it possesses the faculty of running, while supporting itself solely on the lower part of the tail, and holding its body and head erect.
I cite this fact from personal knowledge, for I was one day followed by a very handsome whip snake, which kept erect and looked me in the face from time to time, although I had made my horse trot rather sharply, in order to see at what speed this snake could advance in such an attitude. It, however, only seemed to follow me through curiosity, for it is not at all venomous, is of a gentle character, and it appears familiar with man. I was surprised to find it in these parts, for I believed it to be an inhabitant of Eastern Florida.
Thirty-three days after our departure from the Hacienda del Milagro, we came in sight of the Comanche village, and during the whole long journey had not been exposed to the slightest danger, or stopped by any annoying accident.
We were expected, and were received by the chiefs, at the head of whom was Eagle-head, not merely as friends, but as children of the tribe. A spacious cabin was placed at our disposal, and provisions were brought us from all sides.
We had arrived just at the right moment; the grand festival of the buffaloes was to be held that very night—a very curious ceremony, whose object is to implore the blessing of the Wacondah before beginning the hunt.
In the centre of the village a large open space had been prepared, about sixty yards long by forty-five wide, surrounded by an inclosure of reeds and willow branches twelve feet high, and slightly bent inwards. An entrance had been left, facing the east. The four fires which are always kept up in the medicine lodge, were burning in each corner, and the most distinguished chiefs, among whom we were counted, sat in a semicircle to the right of the inclosure.