THE PREPARATIONS OF TYRO.
The painter's rencontre, on his leaving the convent, had struck him
with a sad presentiment as to his _protégés_.
Without being able quite clearly to account for the sentiments he
entertained for them, however unfortunate himself, he felt himself
constrained to aid and succour by all means in his power, the women
who, without knowing him, had so frankly claimed his protection.
His self-love--first as a man, and then as a Frenchman--was flattered
at the part which he thus found himself called on to play unawares in
this sombre and mysterious affair, the whole of which, notwithstanding
the confidence of the marchioness, he much doubted whether they had
revealed to him.
But what mattered that?
Placed by chance--or rather by bad fortune--which so furiously pursued
him, in an almost desperate situation, the risks that he had to run in
succouring these two ladies, did not much aggravate that situation;
whereas, if he succeeded in enabling them to escape the fate which
threatened them, while he saved himself, he would bring to bear on his
persecutors a little warlike strategy in showing himself more keen than
they, and would once for all avenge the continual apprehensions they
had caused him since his arrival at San Miguel.
These reflections, in bringing back calmness to the young man's mind,
gave him back also his careless gaiety, and it was with a quick and
deliberate step that he rejoined Tyro at the spot which the latter had
assigned as a permanent rendezvous.
The place was well chosen; it was a natural grotto, not very deep,
situated at two pistol shots or so from the town, so well concealed
from curious eyes by the chaos of rocks, and of thickets of parasitic
plants, that, unless the exact position of this grotto were known, it
was impossible to discover it--so much the more, as its mouth opened
onto the river, and that to enter it, it was necessary to go into
the water up to the knees. Tyro, half lying on a mass of dry leaves,
covered with two or three Araucanian _pellones_[1] and ponchos, was
carelessly smoking a cigarette of maize straw, while he waited for his
master.
The latter, after being assured that no one was watching him, removed
his shoes, tucked up his trousers, went into the water, and entered the
grotto--not, however, without having whistled two separate times, in
order to warn the Indian of his arrival.
"Ouf!" said he, as he entered the grotto, "A singular fashion this of
coming into one's house. Here am I returned, Tyro."
"I see, master," gravely answered the Indian, without changing his
position.
"Now," pursued the young man, "let me resume my clothes, and then we
can talk. I have much to tell you."
"And I also, master."
"Ah!" said he, looking at him.
"Yes; but first change your clothes."
"That's right," resumed the young man.
He immediately proceeded to abandon his disguise, and soon he had
recovered his ordinary appearance.
"There--that's done," said he, sitting near the Indian, and lighting
a cigarette. "I can tell you that this disgusting costume annoys me
horribly, and I shall be happy when I shall be able to get rid of it
altogether."
"That will be soon, I hope, master."
"And I also, my friend. God grant that we have not deceived ourselves!
Now, what have you to tell me? Speak, I am listening."
"But you--have you not told me you have news?"
"That is true; but I am anxious to know what you have to tell me. I
believe it is more important than what I have to tell you. So, speak
first; my communication will come soon enough."
"As you please, master," answered the Indian, settling himself, and
throwing away his cigarette, which began to burn his fingers; then,
half turning his head towards the young man, and looking him full in
the face--
"Are you brave?" he asked.
This question, put so suddenly unawares, caused such a profound
surprise to the painter, that he hesitated an instant.
"Well," he at last answered, "I believe so then, collecting himself
by degrees," he added, with a slight smile. "Besides, my good Tyro,
bravery is in France so common a virtue, that there is no conceit on my
part in asserting that I possess it."
"Good!" murmured the Indian, who caught his idea, "You are brave,
master; and so am I, I believe; I have seen you in several
circumstances conduct yourself very well."
"Then why ask me this question?" said the painter, with some slight
annoyance.
"Do not be angry, master," quickly replied the Indian, "my intentions
are good. When a serious expedition is commenced, and when we wish to
bring it to a good conclusion, it is necessary to calculate all the
chances. You are a Frenchman--that is to say, a foreigner, not long in
this country, of the customs of which you are completely ignorant."
"I admit that," interrupted the young man.
"You find yourself on an unknown territory, which, at every moment must
be a mystery to you. In asking you, then, if you are brave, I do not
doubt your courage I have seen you act courageously--only I wish to
know if this courage is white or red; if it shines as much in darkness
and solitude as in broad daylight, and before the crowd--that's all."
"Thus put, I understand the question, but I do not know how to answer
it, not having ever found myself in a situation where it was necessary
for me to employ the kind of courage of which you speak. I can simply,
and in all confidence, assure you of this--that day or night, alone or
in company, in default of bravery, pride would always prevent me from
retreating, and would constrain me to front my adversaries, whoever
they might be, if they stood before me to oppose my will, when I had
formed a resolution."
"I thank you for that assurance, master, for our task will be arduous,
and I shall be happy to know that you will not abandon me in the great
danger in which I shall be placed, and my devotion to you."
"You can count on my word, Tyro," answered the painter; "so, banish all
afterthoughts, and boldly march ahead."
"That I will do, master, you may depend. Now, let us leave that, and
come to the news that I had to tell you."
"Just so," said the painter; "what is this news--good or bad?"
"That depends, master, on how you estimate it."
"Good; let me know first."
"Do you know that the Spanish officers, whom they were going to try
tomorrow, or the day after, have escaped?"
"Escaped!" cried, the painter, with astonishment, "When was that?"
"This very morning; they passed near here scarcely two hours ago,
mounted on horses of the Pampas, and galloping furiously in the
direction of the Cordilleras."
"Upon my word, so much the better for them--I am delighted at it, for,
as matters go in this country, they would have been shot."
"They would have been shot certainly," said the Indian, nodding his
head.
"That would have been a pity," said the young man. "Although I know
very little about them, and they have placed me, by their fault, in a
rather difficult position, I should have been sorry if any misfortune
had happened to them. So you are certain that they have really escaped?"
"Master, I have seen them."
"Then, _bon voyage!_ God grant that they may not be retaken."
"Do you not fear that this flight may be prejudicial?"
"To me! Why?" cried he, with surprise.
"Have you not been indirectly implicated in their affairs?"
"That is true, but I believe I have nothing to fear now, and that the
suspicions which had been excited against me have been completely
dissipated."
"So much the better, master; however, if I may give you advice--believe
me, be prudent."
"Come, talk candidly. I see behind your Indian circumlocutions a
serious thought which possesses you, and which you wish me to share.
Respect, or some fear that I cannot understand, alone prevents you from
explaining yourself."
"Since you demand it, master, I will explain myself, especially as time
presses. The flight of the two Spanish officers has awakened suspicions
which were but suppressed; and now they accuse you of having encouraged
them in their project of flight, and of having procured them the means
of accomplishing it."
"I! Why, that is impossible! I have not once seen them since their
arrest."
"I know it, master; however, it is as I say; I am well informed."
"Then my position becomes extremely delicate; I do not know what to do."
"I have thought of that for you, master; we Indians form a population
apart in the town. Disliked by the Spaniards, scorned by the Creoles,
we sustain one another, in order to be in a position, in case of need,
to resist the injustice they may design to do us. Since I have occupied
myself with preparations for your journey, I have communicated with
several men of my tribe, engaged in the families of certain persons in
the town, in order to be informed of all that passes, and to warn you
against treachery. I knew yesterday evening that the Spanish officers
were going to escape today at the rising of the sun. For several days,
aided by their friends, they have planned their flight."
"I do not yet see," interrupted the painter, "what relation there is
between this flight and anything which concerns me personally."
"Wait, master," pursued the Indian, "I am coming to that. This morning,
after having aided you to disguise yourself, I followed you and entered
the town. The news of the flight of the officers was already known
--everybody was talking of it. I mixed myself in several groups, where
this flight was commented on in a hundred different ways. Your name was
in every mouth."
"But I knew nothing of this flight."
"I know it well, master; but you are a stranger--that is enough for
them to accuse you--so much the more as you have an enemy determined on
your ruin who has spread abroad this report, and given it consistency."
"An enemy!--I!" said the young man, astounded; "It is impossible!"
The Indian smiled, sarcastically.
"Soon you will know it, master," said he; "but it is useless to occupy
ourselves with him at this moment; it is you we must think of--you that
we must save."
The young man shook his head sadly.
"No," said he, with a sad voice; "I see that I am really lost this
time; all that I might do would but hasten my destruction; better
resign myself to my fate."
The Indian looked at him for some moments with an astonishment that he
did not seek to dissimulate.
"Was I not right, master," he resumed at last, "to ask you at the
commencement of this conversation, if you had courage?"
"What do you mean?" cried the young man, suddenly collecting himself,
and darting a look at the Indian.
Tyro did not lower his eyes; his countenance remained impassive, and it
was with the same calm voice, with the same careless accent, that he
continued:
"In this country, master, courage does not resemble in anything
what you possess. Every man is brave with the sabre or the gun in
hand--especially here, where, without reckoning men, we are constantly
obliged to struggle against all kinds of animals of the most
destructive and ferocious character; but what signifies that?"
"I do not understand you," answered the young man.
"Pardon me, master, for teaching you things of which you are ignorant.
There is a courage that you must acquire--it is that which consists in
appearing to give in when the strife is unequal--reserving yourself,
while you feign flight, to take your revenge later. Your enemies have
an immense advantage over you; they know you; they therefore act
against you with certainty, while you do not know them. You are liable
at the first movement you make to fall into the snare spread under your
feet, and thus to give yourself up without hope of vengeance."
"What you say is full of sense, Tyro; only you speak to me in enigmas.
Who are these enemies whom I do not know, and who appear so determined
on my destruction?"
"I cannot yet tell you their names, master; but have patience--a day
will come when you will know them."
"Have patience!--It's very well to say that. Unhappily, I am up to my
neck in a trap, out of which I do not know how to escape."
"Leave it to me, master; I will answer for all. You will escape more
easily than you think."
"Hum! That appears to me very difficult."
The Indian smiled, as he slightly shrugged his shoulders.
"All the whites are like this," murmured he, as if he were speaking to
himself; "in appearance their conformation is the same as our own, and,
nevertheless, they are completely incapable of doing the least thing by
themselves."
"It is possible," answered the young man, nettled at this
uncomplimentary remark; "that involves a number of considerations too
long to explain to you, and which, moreover, you would not understand;
let us return to what ought solely to occupy us just now. I repeat,
that I find my position desperate, and that I do not know, even with
the aid of your devotion, in what way I shall escape."
There was a short interval of silence between the two men, and then the
Indian resumed, but this time with a clear and decided voice, like that
of a man who desires to be understood at once, without being obliged to
lose precious time in explanations.
"Master," said he, "as soon as I was informed of what had passed,
convinced that I should not be unsupported by you, I laid my plan, and
put myself in a position to ward off the new blow which threatens you.
My first care was to go to your house. They know me; the greater part
of the attendants are my friends; they took no heed of me. I was free
to go and come as I liked, without attracting attention. I then took
advantage of a time when the house was almost deserted on account of
the _siesta_ which closed the eyes of masters and servants, and, aided
by some of my friends, I hastily carried away all that belongs to you,
even to your horses, which I loaded with your baggage, and your boxes
full of papers and linen."
"Well," interrupted the young man, with a satisfaction clouded by
slight anxiety; "but what will my countryman think of this proceeding?"
"Do not let that distress you, master," answered the Guaraní, with a
singularly expressive smile.
"Be it so; you no doubt found a plausible pretext to account for this
strange proceeding."
"That is just it," said he, with a chuckle.
"Very well; but now tell me, Tyro; what have you done with this
baggage? I should by no means like to lose it--it contains the best
part of my fortune. I cannot camp out in the open air, more especially
as that would avail me nothing, and that those who have an interest in
seeking me would soon discover me; on the other hand, I can scarcely
see in what house I can lodge, without running the risk of being soon
arrested."
The Indian laughed.
"Eh! Eh!" gaily said the young man. "As you laugh, it is, perhaps,
because my affairs go on well, and that you are nearly certain of
having found a safe shelter."
"You are wrong, master. I am immediately going to seek some spot where
you will be safe and completely hidden from pursuit."
"The devil! That is not so easy to find in the town."
"But it is not in the town that I look for it."
"Oh, oh! Where then? I scarcely see that there is any place in the
country where it is possible for me to hide."
"That is because you do not, like we Indians, understand the desert. At
about two miles from here, in a rancho of the Guaraní Indians, I have
found an asylum where I defy them to come and look for you, or, in case
of a visit, to find you."
"You strangely pique my curiosity. Is everything prepared to receive
me?"
"Yes, master."
"Why do we then remain here, instead of going there?"
"Because, master, the sun has not yet set, and it is too light to
venture into the country."
"You are right, my brave Tyro; I thank you for this new service."
"I have only done my duty, master."
"Hum! Well, since you wish it, I consent. Only, believe that I am not
ungrateful. So that is agreed. I am unhoused. My dear compatriot will
be much astonished when he finds that I have left without taking leave
of him."
The Indian laughed, without answering.
"Unhappily, my friend," continued the young man, "this position is very
precarious; it cannot last for long."
"Depend upon me for that, master; before three days we shall have set
out. All my measures are taken accordingly. My preparations would have
been finished already, if I had had at my disposal a sufficient sum to
purchase some indispensable things."
"Do not let that disturb you," cried the young man, quickly putting
his hand into his pocket, and drawing from it the purse which the
marchioness had given him; "there is the money."
"Oh!" said the Indian, with joy, "There is much more than we want."
But suddenly the painter became sad, and took the purse again from the
hands of the Guaraní.
"I am mad," said he. "We cannot use that money, it is not ours; we have
no right to make use of it."
Tyro looked at him with surprise.
"Yes," continued he, gently shaking his head, "this sum has been given
to me by the person whom I have promised to save, in order to prepare
everything for her flight."
"Well?" said the Indian.
"Why, now," resumed the young man, "the affair appears to me to be
quite altered; I should have a right, I think, to save myself alone."
"Your situation is just the same, master; you can keep the word that
you have given; in fact, perhaps you are in a better position today
than you were yesterday, to organise, not only your flight, but that of
these persons. I have foreseen all."
"Come, explain yourself; for I begin no longer to understand you at
all."
"How is that, master?"
"Why, you appear to know my affairs better than I do."
"Do not let that distress you. I only know as much about your affairs
as I ought to know, to be useful to you in case of need, and to be in a
position to prove to you what is my devotion for you. Moreover, if you
wish it, I will appear to know nothing."
"That is a good joke!" exclaimed the young man, laughing. "Come, since
it is not even possible to keep my secrets to myself, act as you
like--sorcerer that you are. I shall complain no more; now, continue."
"Only give me this gold, master, and leave me to act."
"Well, I think that is the best; take it then," added he, putting the
purse in his hand; "only, make haste, for you ought to know better than
I do, that we have no time to lose."
"Oh! Just now nothing presses. They believe you have gone; they are
searching for you far away; they thus give you every facility to do
here all that you wish."
"That is true. If it only concerned myself, upon my word I have so
great a confidence in my own skill, that I should not hurry myself at
all, I assure you; but--"
"Yes," he interrupted, "I know what you wish to say, master, it
concerns these ladies. They are anxious to be off, and they are right;
but they have nothing to fear before three days. I only ask two, is
that too much?"
"No, certainly; only I confess there is one thing which much
embarrasses me at present."
"What is it, master?"
"It is how I shall introduce myself into the convent to warn them."
"That is very simple; you will go in the convent in the same disguise
that you assumed yesterday."
"Hum! You think that is not risking too much?"
"Not the least in the world, master. Who will care to concern himself
about a poor old man?"
"Well, I will try; if I fail, I shall have done my duty as a gallant
man; my conscience will reproach me in nothing."
They continued to talk thus for several hours, making their final
arrangements, and trying to foresee all the chances which might, at the
last moment, occur to mar the success of their projects.
The more the young Frenchman became intimately acquainted with the
Guaraní, the more he discovered intelligence in this poor Indian, so
simple and so artless in appearance, and the more he congratulated
himself on having accepted his offers of service, and trusting to him.
It should be added that if the painter had not thus, at this critical
period, met this devoted servant, he would have been in a most critical
situation, and it would have been almost impossible for him to escape
from the terrible danger suspended over his head. He frankly owned
this, and, putting aside the prejudices of race, he wisely left his
servant to act for himself, contenting himself with following his
counsels without trying to have his own way--which showed that the
young man, notwithstanding his apparent frivolity of character, had
good common sense, and a rather uncommon rectitude of judgment.
About half an hour after sunset, the two men quitted the grotto, in the
recesses of which they had remained hidden more than four hours.
The Indian, who, notwithstanding the darkness, appeared to see as
if it were broad daylight, guided his master through the intricate
paths, apparently inextricable, but through which he proceeded with a
certainty which indicated a complete knowledge of the places which he
traversed. The painter, unaccustomed to these night journeys, followed
him as well as he could, stumbling at nearly every step, but not being
discouraged, and cheerfully taking his part in this new adventure.
The journey from the grotto to the place where they were to stay was
short--it did not last longer than three-quarters of an hour.
Tyro stopped before a rancho of a sufficiently miserable aspect, built
on the summit of a hill. He opened, without otherwise announcing his
presence, a door formed of an ox hide stretched over a hurdle of willow.
The rancho was, or rather appeared, deserted.
The Indian struck a light with his flint and steel, and lit a _sebo_.[2]
The interior of the rancho resembled the exterior, and was very
miserable.
"Eh?" said Emile, casting a scrutinising look round him, "This rancho
is abandoned, then."
"By no means, master," answered Tyro; "but the occupants have withdrawn
into the other room, so as not to see us."
"Oh! Oh! And for why?"
"Simply because, if they should come to look for us here, they could
with a good conscience affirm that that they do not know you, and that
they have not seen you."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the young man, "That is very good of them, good
people that they are! Well, I see with pleasure that the Jesuits
make good pupils as well in America as in Europe. The plan is very
ingenious."
Tyro did not answer. He was in the act of removing with a pickaxe a
slight layer of earth, under which soon appeared a trapdoor. The Indian
lifted it up.
"Come, master," said he.
"The devil!" murmured the young man, with some hesitation, "Am I going
to be buried alive?"
The Indian had already disappeared in the opening left gaping by the
removal of the trapdoor.
"Come," said the young man, "there is no time to hesitate."
He leant over the hole, perceived the first steps of a ladder, and
boldly descended into the cave, where Tyro awaited him, the _sebo_
being held towards him, to give him light, and prevent a false step.
This cavern was rather large and high, and completely furnished with
palm mats to absorb the moisture. All the baggage of the young man had
been brought here, and was ranged with care.
A washing stand, a couch, a table, and a hammock, hung in a corner,
completed the simple furniture of the place.
Several candles and a lamp were placed on the table.
At each end of the cavern, the form of which was nearly oval, were
galleries.
"Here is our temporary apartment, master," said the Guaraní; "each of
these galleries is carried, after a few turns, a good way into the
country. In case of alarm, you have a safe retreat; your horses have
been placed by me in the gallery to the left; they have all they want.
In this basket you will find provisions for three days. I do not
pledge you as to going out before you have seen me; only I warn you
that I shall not return till all is ready for your flight; you will be
here completely in safety. You have only to be patient."
While he thus spoke, the Indian had taken from the basket, and spread
on the table, after having lit the lamp, provisions for the supper, of
which the painter, who had fasted since he left the convent, began to
feel the necessity.
"Now, master, I am going up into the rancho, to put everything in
order, and to remove all traces of our movements. Good-bye, for the
present, and keep up your spirits."
"Thank you, Tyro; but, in the name of Heaven, remember that I trust
entirely to you; do not leave me too long a prisoner."
"Depend on me, master. Ah! I forgot to tell you that when I return, it
will be by the gallery to the right I shall imitate the cry of the owl
three times before entering."
"Well, I will remember. Will you not keep company with me, and have
supper?"
"Thank you, master, that is impossible; I must be at San Miguel in an
hour."
"Well, do as you wish," answered the painter, suppressing a sigh; "I
will not detain you anymore."
"_Au revoir_, master; patience for a short time."
"_À bientôt_, Tyro; as to the patience you recommend, I will try and
exercise it."
The Indian remounted the ladder, disappeared through the opening,
and, after having again bidden adieu to his master, he re-closed the
trapdoor.
Emile found himself alone.
He remained a short time motionless, buried in sad reflections; but
soon, shaking his head several times, he seated himself on the couch,
and proceeded to attack the provisions placed before him on the table.
"Supper!" said he; "That will pass away an hour, especially as I feel
a formidable appetite. Positively," added he, after a pause, with his
mouth full, "when, on my return to France, I relate my adventures in
America, no one will believe me!"
And, pleased with this reflection, he carefully proceeded with his
supper.
[1] Sheepskins dyed and prepared.
[2] A pot of tallow.