THE BORDER RIFLES.
A Tale of the Texan War
by
GUSTAVE AIMARD,
Author of "Trapper's Daughter," "Indian Scout," etc.
London:
Ward and Lock,
158, Fleet Street.
MDCCCLXI.
PREFACE
In the series commencing with the present volume GUSTAVE AIMARD has
entirely changed the character of his stories. He has selected a
magnificent episode of American history, the liberation of Texas from
the intolerable yoke of the Mexicans, and describes scenes _quorum pars
magna fuit_. At the present moment, when all are watching with bated
breath the results of the internecine war commencing between North and
South, I believe that the volumes our author devotes to this subject
will be read with special interest, for they impart much valuable
information about the character of the combatants who will, to a great
extent, form the nucleus of the confederated army. The North looks down
on them with contempt, and calls them "Border ruffians;" but when the
moment arrives, I entertain no doubt but that they will command respect
by the brilliancy of their deeds.
Surprising though the events may be which are narrated in the present
volume, they are surpassed by those that continue the series. The next
volume, shortly to appear under the title of "The Freebooters,"
describes the progress of the insurrection till it attained the
proportions of a revolution, while the third and last volume will be
devoted to the establishment of order in that magnificent State of
Texas, which has cast in its lot with the Secessionists, and will
indubitably hold out to the very last, confident in the prowess of its
sons, whose fathers Aimard has so admirably depicted in the present and
the succeeding volumes of the new series.
L.W.
CONTENTS.
I. THE RUNAWAY XVI. A POLITICAL SKETCH
II. QUONIAM XVII. THE PANTHER-KILLER
III. BLACK AND WHITE XVIII. LANZI
IV. THE MANADA XIX. THE CHASE
V. BLACK-DEER XX. THE CONFESSION
VI. THE CLAIM XXI. THE JAGUAR
VII. MONKEY-FACE XXII. BLUE-FOX
VIII. THE DECLARATION OF WAR XXIII. THE WHITE SCALPER
IX. THE SNAKE PAWNEES XXIV. AFTER THE FIGHT
X. THE BATTLE XXV. AN EXPLANATION
XI. THE VENTA DEL POTRERO XXVI. THE EXPRESS
XII. LOVE AND JEALOUSY XXVII. THE GUIDE
XIII. CARMELA XXVIII. JOHN DAVIS
XIV. THE CONDUCTA DE PLATA XXIX. THE BARGAIN
XV. THE HALT XXX. THE AMBUSCADE
CHAPTER I.
THE RUNAWAY.
The immense virgin forests which once covered the soil of North America
are more and more disappearing before the busy axes of the squatters and
pioneers, whose insatiable activity removes the desert frontier further
and further to the west.
Flourishing towns, well tilled and carefully-sown fields, now occupy
regions where, scarce ten years ago, rose impenetrable forests, whose
dense foliage hardly allowed the sunbeams to penetrate, and whose
unexplored depths sheltered animals of every description, and served as
a retreat for hordes of nomadic Indians, who, in their martial ardour,
frequently caused these majestic domes of verdure to re-echo with their
war-yell.
Now that the forests have fallen, their gloomy denizens, gradually
repulsed by the civilization that incessantly pursues them, have fled
step by step before it, and have sought far away other and safer
retreats, to which they have borne the bones of their fathers with them,
lest they might be dug up and desecrated by the inexorable ploughshare
of the white men, as it traces its long and productive furrow over their
old hunting-grounds.
Is this constant disafforesting and clearing of the American continent a
misfortune? Certainly not: on the contrary, the progress which marches
with a giant's step, and tends, before a century, to transform the soil
of the New World, possesses all our sympathy; still we cannot refrain
from a feeling of pained commiseration for that unfortunate race which
is brutally placed beyond the pale of the law, and pitilessly tracked in
all directions; which is daily diminishing, and is fatally condemned
soon to disappear from that earth whose immense territory it covered
less than four centuries ago with innumerable tribes.
Perhaps if the people chosen by God to effect the changes to which we
allude had understood their mission, they might have converted a work of
blood and carnage into one of peace and paternity, and arming themselves
with the divine precepts of the Gospel, instead of seizing rifles,
torches, and scalping-knives, they might, in a given time, have produced
a fusion of the white and red races, and have attained a result more
profitable to progress, civilization, and before all, to that great
fraternity of nations which no one is permitted to despise, and for
which those who forget its divine and sacred precepts will have a
terrible account some day to render.
Men cannot become with impunity the murderers of an entire race, and
constantly wade in blood; for that blood must at some time cry for
vengeance, and the day of justice break, when the sword will be cast in
the balance between conquerors and conquered.
At the period when our narrative commences, that is to say, about the
close of 1812, the emigration had not yet assumed that immense extension
which it was soon to acquire, for it was only beginning, as it were, and
the immense forests that stretched out and covered an enormous space
between the borders of the United States and Mexico, were only traversed
by the furtive footsteps of traders and wood-rangers, or by the silent
moccasins of the Redskins.
It is in the centre of one of the immense forests to which we have
alluded that our story begins, at about three in the afternoon of
October 27th, 1812.
The heat had been stifling under the covert, but at this moment the
sunbeams growing more and more oblique, lengthened the tall shadows of
the trees, and the evening breeze that was beginning to rise refreshed
the atmosphere, and carried far away the clouds of mosquitoes which
during the whole mid-day had buzzed over the marshes in the clearings.
We find ourselves on the bank of an unknown affluent of the Arkansas;
the slightly inclined trees on either side the stream formed a thick
canopy of verdure over the waters, which were scarce rippled by the
inconstant breath of the breeze; here and there pink flamingos and white
herons, perched on their tall legs, were fishing for their dinner, with
that careless ease which generally characterizes the race of great
aquatic birds; but suddenly they stopped, stretched out their necks as
if listening to some unusual sound, then ran hurriedly along to catch
the wind, and flew away with cries of alarm.
All at once the sound of a musket-shot was re-echoed through the forest,
and two flamingos fell. At the same instant a light canoe doubled a
little cape formed by some mangrove-trees jutting out into the bed of
the stream, and darted in pursuit of the flamingos which had fallen in
the water. One of them had been killed on the spot, and was drifting
with the current; but the other, apparently but slightly wounded, was
flying with extreme rapidity, and swimming vigorously.
The boat was an Indian canoe, made of birch bark removed from the tree
by the aid of hot water, and there was only one man in it; his rifle
lying in the bows and still smoking, shewed that it was he who had just
fired. We will draw the portrait of this person, who is destined to play
an important part in our narrative.
As far as could be judged from his position in the canoe, he was a man
of great height; his small head was attached by a powerful neck to
shoulders of more than ordinary breadth; muscles, hard as cords, stood
out on his arms at each of his movements; in a word, the whole
appearance of this individual denoted a vigour beyond the average.
His face, illumined by large blue eyes, sparkling with sense, had an
expression of frankness and honesty which pleased at the first glance,
and completed the _ensemble_ of his regular features, and wide mouth,
round which an unceasing smile of good humour played. He might be
twenty-three, or twenty-four at the most, although his complexion,
bronzed by the inclemency of the weather, and the dense light brown
beard that covered the lower part of his face, made him appear older.
This man was dressed in the garb of a wood-ranger: a beaver-skin cap,
whose tail fell down between his shoulders, hardly restrained the thick
curls of his golden hair, which hung in disorder down his back; a
hunting shirt of blue calico, fastened round his hips by a deerskin
belt, fell a little below his muscular knees; _mitasses_, or a species
of tight drawers, covered his legs, and his feet were protected against
brambles and the stings of reptiles by Indian moccasins.
His game-bag, of tanned leather, hung over his shoulder, and, like all
the bold pioneers of the virgin forest, his weapons consisted of a good
Kentucky rifle, a straight-bladed knife, ten inches long and two wide,
and a tomahawk that glistened like a mirror. These weapons, of course
with the exception of the rifle, were passed through his belt, which
also supported two buffalo horns filled with powder and bullets.
The appearance of the man thus equipped, and standing in the canoe amid
the imposing scenery that surrounded him, had something grand about it
which created an involuntary respect.
The wood-ranger, properly so termed, is one of those numerous types of
the New World which must soon entirely disappear before the incessant
progress of civilization.
The wood-rangers, those bold explorers of the deserts, in which their
whole existence was spent, were men who, impelled by a spirit of
independence and an unbridled desire for liberty, shook off all the
trammels of society, and who, with no other object than that of living
and dying unrestrained by any other will save their own, and in no way
impelled by the hope of any sort of lucre, which they despised,
abandoned the towns, and boldly buried themselves in the virgin forests,
where they lived from day to day indifferent about the present, careless
as to the future, convinced that God would not desert them in the hour
of need, and thus placed themselves outside of that common law they
misunderstood, on the extreme limit that separates barbarism from
civilization.
Most of the celebrated wood-rangers were French Canadians; in truth,
there is in the Norman character something daring and adventurous, which
is well adapted to this mode of life, so full as it is of strange
interludes and delicious sensations, whose intoxicating charms only
those who have led it can understand.
The Canadians have never admitted in principle the change of nationality
which the English tried to impose on them; they still regard themselves
as Frenchmen, and their eyes are constantly fixed on that ungrateful
mother-country which has abandoned them with such cruel indifference.
Even at the present day, after so many years, the Canadians have still
remained French; their fusion with the Anglo-Saxon race is only
apparent, and the slightest pretext would suffice to produce a
definitive rupture between them and the English. The British government
is well, aware of this fact, and hence displays toward the Canadian
colonies a marked kindliness and deference.
At the earlier period of the conquest this repulsion (not to call it
hatred) was so prominent between the two races, that the Canadians
emigrated in a mass, sooner than endure the humiliating yoke which was
attempted to be placed on them. Those of them who, too poor to leave
their country definitively, were compelled to remain in a country
henceforth sullied by a foreign occupation, chose the rude trade of
wood-rangers, and preferred such an existence of misery and danger to
the disgrace of enduring the laws of a detested conqueror. Shaking the
dust over their shoes on the paternal roof, they threw their rifles over
their shoulders, and stifling a sigh of regret, went away not to return,
burying themselves in the impenetrable forests of Canada, and laying
unconsciously the foundation of that generation of intrepid pioneers, to
one of the finest specimens of whom we introduced the reader at the
beginning of this chapter.
The hunter went on paddling vigorously; he soon reached the first
flamingo, which he threw into the bottom of his canoe. But the second
gave him more trouble. It was for a while a struggle of speed between
the wounded bird and the hunter: still the former gradually lost its
strength; its movements became uncertain, and it beat the water
convulsively. A blow from the Canadian's paddle at length put an end to
its agony, and it joined its mate in the bottom of the canoe.
So soon as he had secured his game, the hunter shipped his paddles, and
prepared to reload his rifle, with the care which all devote to the
operation who know that their life depends on a charge of powder. When
his gun was in order again, the Canadian took an inquiring glance
around.
"Why," he presently said, talking to himself, a habit which men who live
in solitude very frequently acquire, "hang me! if I have not reached the
meeting-place without suspecting it. I cannot be mistaken: over there
are the two oaks fallen across each other, and that rock, which stands
out over the water. But what's that?" he exclaimed, as he stooped, and
cocked his rifle.
The furious barking of several dogs became suddenly audible in the
centre of the forest; the bushes were parted eagerly, and a Negro
appeared on the top of the rock, at which the Canadian was at this
moment looking. This man, on reaching the extremity of the rock, stopped
for an instant, and seemed to listen attentively, while displaying signs
of the most extreme agitation. But this halt was short, for he had
hardly rested there for a few seconds, ere, raising his eyes to heaven
in despair, he leaped into the river, and swam vigorously to the
opposite bank.
The sound of the Negro's fall into the water had hardly died away, when
several dogs dashed on to the platform, and began a concert of horrible
barking. These dogs were powerful animals; their tongues were pendant,
their eyes infested with blood, and their hair standing on end, as if
they had come a long distance.
The hunter shook his head several times while giving a glance of pity at
the hapless Negro, who was swimming with that energy of despair which
doubles the strength--and seizing his paddles, he turned the canoe
toward him, with the evident intention of rendering him assistance. At
this moment a hoarse voice was heard on the river-bank.
"Hilloh, there! silence, you demons incarnate! silence, I tell you!"
The dogs gave vent to a few whines of pain, and were suddenly silent.
The individual who had reproved the animals then said, in a louder key--
"Hilloh, you fellow in the canoe there!--hilloh!"
The Canadian had just pulled to the opposite bank; he ran his canoe on
the sand, and then carelessly turned to the person who addressed him.
This was a man of middle height, muscular, and dressed like the majority
of rich farmers. His face was brutal, crafty, and four persons,
apparently servants, stood by his side; it is needless to say that all
were armed with guns.
The stream at this spot was rather wide, being about fifty yards, which,
temporarily, at any rate, established a respectable barrier between the
Negro and his pursuers. The Canadian leaned against a tree.
"Are you by chance speaking to me?" he asked, in a somewhat contemptuous
tone.
"Who else do you suppose?" the first speaker continued, angrily: "so try
and answer my questions!"
"And why should I answer them? Will you be good enough to tell me?" the
Canadian continued, with a laugh.
"Because I order you to do so, you scoundrel!" the other said, brutally.
The hunter shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.
"Good-bye," he said, and made a movement as if to retire.
"Stop where you are!" the American shouted, "or so truly as my name is
John Davis I will put a bullet through your skull!"
While uttering the threat he levelled his gun.
"Ah! ah!" the Canadian went on, with a laugh, "then you're John Davis,
the famous slave-dealer?"
"Yes, I am," the other said, harshly.
"Pardon me; but I had hitherto only known you by reputation. By Jove! I
am delighted to have seen you."
"Well, and now that you know me, are you disposed to answer my
questions?"
"I must know their nature first, so you had better ask them."
"What has become of my slave?"
"Do you mean the man who leaped off the platform just before you reached
it?"
"Yes. Where is he?"
"Here, by my side."
In fact, the Negro, his strength and courage quite exhausted from the
desperate efforts he had made during the obstinate pursuit of which he
had been the object, had dragged himself to the spot where the Canadian
stood, and now lay in a half fainting condition at his feet.
On hearing the hunter reveal his presence so clearly, he clasped his
hands with an effort, and raised toward him a face bathed in tears.
"Oh! master, master!" he cried, with an expression of agony impossible
to render, "Save me! Save me!"
"Ah, ah!" John Davis shouted, with a grin, "I fancy we can come to an
understanding, my fine fellow, and that you will not be sorry to gain
the reward."
"In truth I should not be sorry to hear the price set on human flesh in
what is called your free country. Is the reward large?"
"Twenty dollars for a runaway nigger."
"Pooh!" the Canadian said, thrusting out his lower lip in disgust, "that
is a trifle!"
"Do you think so?"
"Indeed I do."
"Still, I only ask you to do a very simple matter in order to earn
them."
"What is it?"
"Tie that nigger, put him in your canoe, and bring him to me."
"Very good. It is not difficult, I allow; and when he is in your power,
supposing I do what you wish, what do you intend doing with him?"
"That is not your business."
"Granted: hence I only asked you for information."
"Come! Make up your mind; I have no time to waste in chattering. What is
your decision?"
"This is what I have to say to you, Mr. John Davis, who hunt men with
dogs less ferocious than yourself, which in obeying you only yield to
their instincts--you are a villain! And if you only reckon on my help in
regaining your Negro, you may consider him lost."
"Ah, that is it!" the American shouted, as he gnashed his teeth
furiously, and turned to his servants; "fire at him! Fire! Fire!"
And joining example to precept, he quickly shouldered his gun and fired.
His servants imitated him, and four shots were confounded in a single
explosion, which the echoes of the forest mournfully repeated.