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THE QUEEN OF THE SAVANNAH
A Story of the Mexican War
by
GUSTAVE AIMARD
Author of
"Last of the Incas," "Red Track," "Prairie Flower," etc.
London:
Ward and Lock, 158, Fleet Street.
MDCCCLXII.
CONTENTS.
PROLOGUE.
I. THE EXPEDITION.
II. REDSKINS AND WHITESKINS.
III. THE RED BUFFALOES.
IV. THE CASCABEL.
I. THE ADVENTURERS.
II. A NIGHT IN THE WOODS.
III. THE SUCCOUR.
IV. INSIDE THE HACIENDA.
V. THE COUNCIL.
VI. GENERAL FRAY PELAGIO.
VII. A CONVERSATION.
VIII. THE ENVOY.
IX. DON MELCHIOR DÍAZ.
X. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
XI. THE SORTIE.
XII. ON THE ROAD.
XIII. AN ALARM.
XIV. THE REDSKINS.
XV. COUNT DE MELGOSA.
XVI. DIEGO LÓPEZ.
XVII. LEONA VICARIO.
XVIII. THE INTERVIEW.
XIX. THE DUNGEON.
XX. SOTAVENTO MAKES A MOVE.
XXI. THE COUNCIL OF THE RED BUFFALOES.
XXII. THE WAR TRAIL.
XXIII. THE SNARE.
XXIV. OLIVER CLARY.
XXV. THE WOUNDED MAN.
XXVI. DOÑA EMILIA.
XXVII. THE CHIEF'S PROPOSAL.
XXVIII. PREPARATIONS FOR A RESCUE.
XXIX. THE REVOLUTION.
XXX. ON THE TRAIL.
XXXI. THE JACAL.
XXXII. THE PRISONER.
XXXIII. MOONSHINE.
XXXIV. THE TEOCALI.
XXXV. IN THE FIELD.
XXXVI. A YOUNG HEART.
XXXVII. THE AMBUSH.
XXXVIII. THE PURSUIT.
XXXIX. RUNNING WATER.
THE QUEEN OF THE SAVANNAH.
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER I.
THE EXPEDITION.
The story begins on May 5, 1805, in one of the wildest and most abrupt
portions of New Spain, which now forms the State of Coahuila, belonging
to the Mexican Confederation.
If the reader will have the kindness to take a glance at a numerous
cavalcade, which is debouching from a canyon and scaling at a gallop
the scarped side of a rather lofty hill, on the top of which stands an
_aldea_, or village of Indios mansos, he will at the same time form the
acquaintance of several of our principal characters, and the country in
which the events recorded in this narrative occurred.
This cavalcade was composed of fifteen individuals in all; ten of them
were lancers, attired in that yellow uniform which procured them the
nickname of _tamarindos_. These soldiers were execrated by the people,
in consequence of their cruelty. They advanced in good order, commanded
by a subaltern and an alférez--an old trooper who had grown gray in
harness, who had long white moustachios and a disagreeable face. As he
galloped on, he looked around him with the careless, wearied air of a
man for whom the future reserves no hopes either of ambition, love, or
fortune.
About twenty paces from this little band, and just so far ahead
that their remarks reached the soldiers' ears in a completely
incomprehensible fashion, three persons, two men and a woman, were
riding side by side.
The first was a gentleman of about thirty years of age, of commanding
stature; his harsh, haughty, and menacing features were rendered even
more gloomy by a deep scar of a livid hue which commenced on his right
temple and divided his face into two nearly equal parts.
This man, who was dressed in the sumptuous costume of the Mexican
_campesinos_, which he wore with far from common grace, was named Don
Aníbal de Saldibar, and was considered the richest hacendero in the
province.
His companion, who kept slightly in the rear, doubtless through
respect, was a civilized Indian, with a quick eye, aquiline nose, and a
wide mouth lined with two rows of dazzling white teeth. His countenance
indicated intelligence and bravery. He was short and robust, and the
almost disproportioned development of his muscles gave an enormous
width to his limbs. This individual must assuredly be endowed with
extraordinary strength. His attire, not nearly so rich as that of the
hacendero, displayed a certain pretension to elegance, which was an
extraordinary thing in an Indian.
This man's name was Pedro Sotavento, and he was majordomo to Don Aníbal.
As we have said, the third person was a female. Although it was easy to
see, through the juvenile grace of her movements and her taper waist,
that she was still very young, she was so discreetly hidden behind
gauze and muslin veils, in order to protect her from the burning heat
of the sun which was then at its zenith, that it was impossible to
distinguish her features. Long black locks escaped from beneath her
broad-brimmed vicuña hat, and fell in profusion on her pink and white
shoulders, which were scarcely veiled by a China crape _rebozo_.
At the moment when we approach these three persons they were conversing
together with considerable animation.
"No," Don Aníbal said, with a frown, as he smote the pommel of his
saddle, "it is not possible, I cannot believe in so much audacity
on the part of these Indian brutes. You must have been deceived,
Sotavento."
The majordomo grinned knowingly, and buried his head between his
shoulders with a motion which was habitual to him.
"You will see, _mi amo_," he replied, in a honeyed voice, "my
information is positive."
"What!" the hacendero continued with increased fury, "They would really
attempt resistance! Why, they must be mad!"
"Not so much as you suppose, mi amo; the aldea is large and contains at
least three thousand _callis_."
"What matter? Suppose there were twice as many, is not one Spaniard as
good as ten Indians?"
"In the open, perhaps so."
"What is that you say--perhaps?" Don Aníbal exclaimed, turning sharply
round, and giving his majordomo a glance of supreme contempt. "Really,
Sotavento, your Indian origin involuntarily abuses your judgment by
making you regard things differently from what they really are."
"No, mi amo. The Indian origin with which you reproach me, on the
contrary, makes me judge the situation healthily; and, believe me, it
is far more serious than you imagine."
These words were uttered in a serious tone, which caused the proud
Spaniard to reflect.
Pedro Sotavento had been in his service for a long time. He knew
that he was brave and incapable of being intimidated by threats or
rodomontade. Moreover, he had always been kind to him, and believed
himself sure of his devotion, hence he continued in a milder key--
"That is the reason, then, why you insisted so strongly on my taking an
escort when we passed the Fort of Agua Verde?"
"Yes, mi amo," he replied, giving the soldiers a glance of singular
expression. "I should have liked it to be more numerous."
"Nonsense, had it not been through consideration for the señora, whom
I am anxious not to terrify in her present condition, I would not
have accepted a single soldier. We alone are more than sufficient to
chastise these scoundrels, were there a thousand of them."
"Don Aníbal," the young lady here said in a soft and harmonious voice,
"the contempt you profess for these poor people is unjust. Though they
are of a different colour from us, and almost devoid of intellect,
they are men for all that, and as such have a claim on our pity."
"Very good, señora," the hacendero answered savagely; "take their part
against me, that will not fail to produce an excellent effect."
"I take no person's part, Don Aníbal," she continued, with a slight
tremor in her voice. "I merely offer an opinion which I consider
correct, that is all. But your outbursts of passion terrify me; perhaps
it would have been better to leave me at the hacienda, as I expressed a
desire."
"My family are never insulted with impunity, señora; I wished you to
witness the vengeance which I intend taking for the insult offered to
you."
"I made no complaint to you, Don Aníbal. The slight insult I received,
even admitting that it was an insult, does not deserve so terrible
a punishment as you purpose to inflict on these unhappy creatures.
Take care, Don Aníbal. These men whom, in your Castilian pride, you
obstinately insist on ranking with the brute beasts and treating as
such, will grow weary one day. They already feel a profound hatred for
you. The Indians are vindictive, and may wait perhaps for twenty years
the opportunity to repay you the evil you have done them; but then
their vengeance will be frightful."
"Enough, señora," the hacendero said roughly; "but while waiting for
this vengeance with which you menace me in their name, I mean to treat
them as they deserve."
The young lady bowed her head, and made no further remark.
"Oh!" the majordomo said, with a grin of mockery, "You can strike
without fear, mi amo. The Indians have been too long accustomed to
bend their necks for them ever to feel any desire to draw themselves up
and bite the hand which chastises them."
These words were uttered with an accent which would have caused Don
Aníbal to reflect seriously, had he not been so infatuated about his
real or supposed superiority over the unfortunate race that formed the
subject of the conversation we have just reported.
The opinion expressed by the hacendero was not so erroneous as it might
appear to a European. The Spanish name was at this period surrounded
by such a prestige; the hapless Indians were reduced to such a state
of degrading servitude and brutalization; they seemed to have so
thoroughly recognized the superiority of their oppressors, that the
latter did not even take the trouble to hide the contempt with which
these degenerate remains of the powerful races they had vanquished in
former times inspired them. They affected, under all circumstances, to
make them feel all the weight of the yoke under which they bowed them.
Still, under present circumstances, the proud Spaniard committed a
grave error. For this reason:
The Indians against whom he was marching at this moment were not
attached by any tie to those whom three centuries of slavery had
rendered submissive to the Spanish authority. They had only been
settled for about thirty years, through their own free will, at the
spot where they now were. This requires an explanation, which we will
proceed to give, begging the reader to pardon this digression, which
is indispensable for the comprehension of the facts which we have
undertaken to recount.
There are races which seem destined by fate to disappear from the
surface of the globe. The red race is of the number, for it has no
fiercer enemy than itself.
The Indians, in lieu of making common cause against their oppressors,
and trying to emancipate themselves from their tyranny, expend all
their courage and energy in fratricidal contests of nation against
nation, tribe against tribe, and thus help those who do all in their
power to keep them down. These contests are the more obstinate, because
they take place between men of the same blood and even of the same
family for originally frivolous causes, which, however, soon attain
considerable importance, owing to the number of warriors who succumb to
the rage and ferocity displayed on both sides.
Hence entire nations, formerly powerful, are gradually reduced to a few
families, and in a relatively short period become entirely extinct,
the few surviving warriors seeking their safety in flight, or going
to claim the protection of another nation with which they soon become
blended.
Hence we may account for the fact that the names of the tribes
flourishing at the period of the discovery of America are now scarcely
known, and it is impossible to recover any trace of them.
The first conquerors, impelled by religious fanaticism and an
unextinguishable thirst for gold were, we allow, pitiless to their
unhappy victims, and sacrificed immense numbers in working the mines.
Still, to be just, we must state that they never organized those
grand Indian hunts which the Anglo-Saxons initiated in North America;
they never offered a reward of fifty dollars for every Indian scalp;
and instead of driving back the Indian race before them, they, on
the contrary, blended the native blood with their own, so that the
number of Indians has been considerably augmented in the old Spanish
possessions, while they will ere long disappear in North America, where
they are hunted down like wild beasts.
According to a census made by the Washington Congress in 1858, the
Indians scattered over the territory of the United States amount to
800,000.
In Mexico, where the population is only seven million, there are five
million Indians and half-breeds; moreover, it is proved that in the
time of Motecuhzoma the population never attained this high figure.
It results then from our remarks that the Spaniards who, during three
centuries, incessantly massacred the Indians, succeeded in increasing
their numbers; while the North Americans who are so philosophical and
such philanthropists have attained a diametrically opposite result, and
during the sixty years since they proclaimed their independence, in
spite of all the efforts made to civilize the Indians, they have nearly
exterminated those tribes which dwell on their territory.
It must be confessed that this is a most unfortunate result! We will
stop here, for every thinking man will be enabled to draw the sole
logical conclusion from our remarks without our dilating on them.
About forty years before the period at which our story begins, two of
the most important tribes of the Comanche nation suddenly quarrelled
after an expedition they had made in common against the Apaches, the
irreconcilable enemies of the Comanches, with whom they alone dare to
dispute the supremacy on the great prairies of the Far West.
This expedition had been completely successful: a winter village of the
Apaches was surprised by night, the horses were carried off, and sixty
scalps raised.
The warriors returned to the gathering place of their nation, singing,
dancing, and celebrating their exploits, as they are accustomed to do
when, in an expedition of this nature, they have killed several of
their enemies without any loss on their own side. This had been the
case on the present occasion. The Apache warriors, aroused from deep
sleep, had fallen like ripe corn beneath the tomahawks of the Comanches
as they sought to escape from their burning lodges without thought of
arming themselves.
In spite of all the care taken in the division of the plunder that
each tribe might be equally favoured, the chiefs did not succeed in
satisfying everybody; the warriors who thought themselves defrauded
gave way to recriminations; tempers were heated, and, as always
happens with men who constantly go about armed, they proceeded almost
immediately from words to blows.
There was a battle; blood followed in streams, and then the two tribes
separated, swearing a deadly hatred, though it was impossible to
discover whence the quarrel originated, or which side was in the wrong.
These two tribes were the "White Horse" and the "Red Buffalo."
Then a war began between these old friends which threatened to be
indefinitely prolonged; but one day the Red Buffaloes, being surprised
by their enemies, were almost entirely exterminated, after a fight that
lasted two days, and in which even the squaws took part.
The vanquished, reduced to about fifty warriors and the same number of
women and children, sought safety in flight, but being hotly pursued,
they were compelled to cross the Indian border, and seek a refuge upon
Spanish territory.
Here they drew breath. The Spanish government allowed them to settle
in the neighbourhood of the Fort of Agua Verde, and granted them the
right of self-government, while recognizing the authority of the king
of Spain, and pledging themselves to be guilty of no exactions of any
sort.
The Red Buffaloes, pleased with the protection granted them,
religiously carried out the conditions of the treaty; they built a
village, became husbandmen, accepted the missionary sent to them,
turned Christians, ostensibly at least, and lived on good terms
with their white neighbours, among whom they speedily acquired the
reputation of being quiet and honest people.
Unhappily, perfect happiness is not possible in this world, and the
poor Indians soon learnt this fact at their own expense.
The ground on which their wretched village stood was surrounded by the
lands of the Hacienda del Barrio, which had belonged, ever since the
conquest, to the Saldibar family.
So long as Don José de Saldibar was alive, with the exception of a few
insignificant discussions, the Indians were tolerably at liberty; but
when Don Aníbal succeeded his father, matters at once altered.
Don Aníbal signified to the chief cacique of the Red Buffaloes, that he
must allow himself to be a vassal, and consequently pay to him not only
a tithe of his crops, and the capitation tax, but also supply a certain
number of his young men to work in the mines and guard the cattle.
The chief answered with a peremptory refusal, alleging that he was only
dependent on the Spanish government, and recognized no other sovereign.
Don Aníbal would not allow himself to be defeated; he organized against
the Indians a system of dull annoyance for the purpose of compelling
them to give way; he cut down their woods, sent his cattle to grass in
their fields, and so on.
The Indians suffered without complaining. They were attached to their
wretched huts and did not wish to quit them.
This patient resignation, this passive resistance, exasperated
Don Aníbal. The Indians let themselves be ruined without uttering
complaints or threats; several of their young men were carried off,
and they did not offer the slightest protest. The hacendero resolved
to come to an end with these men whom nothing could compel to obey his
will.
In spite of himself, he was terrified at the indifference of the
Indians, which he fancied too great not to be affected; he went over in
his mind all he had made the poor people suffer, and the injustice he
had done them, and came to the conclusion that they were preparing to
take some terrible vengeance on him.
He determined to be beforehand with them, but he needed a pretext, and
this Sotavento, his majordomo, undertook to provide him with.
This Sotavento, of whom we have already said a few words, was himself
of Indian race. One of Don Aníbal's friends had warmly recommended him,
and for twelve years he had been in the service of the hacendero, whose
good and bad passions he had contrived so cleverly to flatter, with
that suppleness of character natural to the redskins, that the latter
placed the most perfect confidence in him.
Sotavento, naturally, carried out his master's orders zealously, and
eagerly seized every opportunity to injure the Red Buffaloes, for whom
he appeared to entertain a profound hatred.
After consulting with his master, Sotavento managed matters so that
one day Doña Emilia, Don Aníbal's wife, who had hitherto defended
the poor people of the aldea under all circumstances, and had even
succeeded in saving them from several vexatious acts, was, while taking
a walk, insulted by an Indian, or at least a man wearing their costume,
and was so frightened that she was confined to her bed for several days.
The hacendero made the more noise about this insult, because, as his
wife was _enceinte_, the fright she had undergone might have had very
serious consequences for her.
He proceeded in all haste to the capital of the province, had a long
interview with the governor, and then returned home, certain this time
of gaining the end at which he had so long aimed.
He had been accompanied from the city by a juez de letras, an
insignificant person, to whom we have not yet alluded, and who appeared
but little pleased with the duty confided to him, for he trotted
timidly along upon a scrubby mule behind the soldiers.
Only stopping at the hacienda long enough to bid his wife mount
her horse and come and see what was going to happen, Don Aníbal at
once continued his journey, consenting with great difficulty, upon
the repeated entreaties of his majordomo, to accept the escort the
commandant of the Fort of Agua Verde offered him, for he was so eager
to revenge himself.
The country the travellers passed through was extremely picturesque;
from the elevation they had reached, they surveyed an admirable
landscape closed in on the horizon by lofty forest-clad mountains.
In the west spread out the immense sheet of water, known as the Agua
Verde, which the beams of the setting sun tinged with all the prismatic
hues. Besides this, they could see the Río Grande, which was lost in
infinite windings, the Fort of the Bahia, situated on a point of the
river, and the green prairies of the Indian border, which were agitated
by mysterious movements.
In the meanwhile the Mexicans continued to ascend, we dare not say the
road, for no roads of any sort existed at that period in this savage
country, and we doubt whether any exist now, but the track which led to
the aldea of the Red Buffaloes.
This track, cut by human hands on the sides of the hill round which it
wound, became more and more scarped, and at last resembled a staircase,
which would have mightily staggered a European traveller, but these
horsemen did not even seem to notice the fact.
All at once, Sotavento, who had pushed on slightly ahead during the
conversation between the hacendero and Doña Emilia, uttered a cry
of surprise as he stopped his horse so short, that the noble animal
trembled on its hind legs.
"What is the matter?" Don Aníbal asked as he spurred his horse.
"Look there!" the majordomo replied, stretching his hand.
"_¡Mil demonios!_" Don Aníbal shouted passionately, "What is the
meaning of this? Who has warned the scoundrels?"
"_¿Quién sabe?_" the majordomo said with a grin.
Several trees, to which the branches and roots were still attached, had
been thrown across the track, and formed a barricade about ten feet in
height, which completely stopped the way.
The travellers were compelled to halt before this impassable obstacle.
The hacendero was startled for a moment, but soon, shaking his head
like a lion at bay, he looked around defiantly, dismounted, and drawing
his machete, walked boldly up to the barricade, while Sotavento,
motionless and with folded arms, looked cunningly at him.
The lancers, whom this compulsory stoppage had enabled to catch up the
first party, cocked their carbines at an order from their commanding
officer, and held themselves in readiness to fire at the first signal.
CHAPTER II.
REDSKINS AND WHITESKINS.
Don Aníbal de Saldibar was gifted with a most energetic character and
iron will; obstacles, instead of checking, only impelled him to go on
at all risks, until he had carried out what he once resolved to do.
In no case could any interference, however powerful its nature, have
induced him to hesitate in accomplishing his plans, much less make him
give them up. Possessing great physical strength and unusual skill in
the management of weapons, he was courageous after the manner of wild
beasts, through an instinct for evil and to smell blood. Still he had
as much contempt for his own life as for that of his opponent, and
he never tried to avoid peril, but, on the contrary, felt a secret
pleasure in looking it in the face.
The soldiers who accompanied him had assuredly furnished proofs of
their courage long before. Still it was with a start of terror they saw
him advance calmly and carelessly toward this barricade of verdure,
which rose silent and menacing before them, and behind which they
expected at each moment to see spring up a band of enemies, exasperated
by long sufferings, and resolved to defend themselves to the last
extremity. In the probable event of a collision, the position of the
Mexicans was most disadvantageous.
The soldiers, grouped on a path only three feet in width, having on
their right a perpendicular granite wall, and on their left a deep
barranca, into which the slightest false step might precipitate them,
with no shelter of any description to fight men hidden behind a thick
barricade, were almost certain of being defeated, if a hand to hand
fight began with the Indians. Hence the old officer who commanded the
escort shook his head several times with a dissatisfied air, after he
had hastily examined the probable fighting ground.
The juez de letras and the two alguaciles who served him as a guard
of honour, evidently shared the lieutenant's opinion, for they had
stopped out of gunshot and dismounted, under a pretext of tightening
their mules' girths, but in reality to convert the carcases of the poor
brutes into a rampart.
As for Sotavento, sitting motionless on his horse about ten yards at
the most from the felled trees, he was carelessly rolling a cigarette
between his fingers, while pinching up his thin lips, and letting a
viper's glance pass through his half-closed eyelids.
He seemed, in short, to take but very slight interest in what was going
on around him, and was prepared to be a spectator rather than actor of
the events which would in all probability occur.
The hacendero had approached the barricade. His face was unmoved;
with his left hand resting on one of the branches, and his body bent
slightly forward, he was trying to peer through the intertwined
branches and leaves at some of the enemies whom he supposed to be
ambuscaded there.
Still, although this examination lasted for several minutes, and Don
Aníbal, through bravado, prolonged it far beyond what was necessary,
the deepest silence continued to prevail, and not a leaf stirred.
"Come," the hacendero said in a sarcastic voice, as he drew himself
up, "you are mistaken, Sotavento, there is no one here. I was a fool
to believe for a moment that these brutes would attempt to dispute our
passage."
"Well, well," the majordomo said with a grin, "¿quién sabe? mi amo,
¿quién sabe? These brutes, as you very correctly term them, have not
left their prairies so long as to have completely forgotten their
Indian tricks."
"I care little," the hacendero answered drily, "what their intentions
or the tricks they have prepared may be; dismount and help me to roll
over the precipice these trees which obstruct the path; at a later date
we will proceed to punish the persons who have thus dared to barricade
the king's road."
Sotavento hung his head without replying, and prepared to obey; but
before he had drawn his foot out of the stirrup the branches parted,
and in the space thus left free appeared a man wearing a gold-laced
hat with a military cock, and holding in his right hand a long
silver-knobbed cane.
As this individual is destined to play a certain part in this
narrative, we will draw his portrait in a few lines.
He was a man of lofty stature, with marked features and an intelligent
physiognomy. His black eyes, sparkling like carbuncles, and full of
cunning, had a strange fixity, which gave him, when any internal
emotion agitated him, an expression of cold ferocity impossible to
describe. His complexion, which was of the colour of new red copper,
allowed him to be recognized as an Indian at the first glance; although
he had passed midlife, it was impossible to decide his age, for he
seemed as vigorous and active as if only twenty years old; not a
wrinkle furrowed his brow, not a single gray hair was perceptible in
the thick black masses which fell in disorder on his shoulders.
Excepting his gold-laced hat, and his silver-mounted cane, which were
the emblems of his rank as cacique or alcade of the aldea, his dress
was very simple, and only consisted of worn velvet calzoneras, which
but half covered his bare legs, and a gaily coloured zarapé, which was
thrown over his shoulders.
Still, in spite of this miserable garb, this man had about him such an
air of haughty dignity and innate superiority, that, on seeing him, his
ridiculous attire was forgotten, and involuntary respect was felt for
him.
This person was, in fact, the chief of the Red Buffaloes, their
cacique, to whom the governor of the province had given the title of
alcade.
His name was Mah-mih-kou-ing-atl, not a very euphonious name; but, like
all Indian titles, it had a meaning, and signified literally "Running
Water."
The hacendero and the cacique examined each other for a moment
silently, like two duellists, who, before falling on their favourite
guard, try to discover their opponent's weak point, and thus render
their attack, if possible, decisive.
It was the first time they stood face to face, and hence the fixedness
of their glance had something strange and fatal about it. Still, Don
Aníbal's machete, raised against the barricade, fell without striking.
The cacique, satisfied with this triumph, turned his head away with a
gloomy smile. Each of these men had measured his foe, and found him a
worthy one. The spectators, dumb and motionless, anxiously awaited what
was about to take place. Don Aníbal was the first to break the silence.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, in a voice that betrayed dull
passion; "By what right do you obstruct the king's highway?"
"Who are you, first, who question me in so haughty a fashion, and who
authorizes you to do so?" the cacique answered drily.
"Who I am?" the Spaniard continued passionately, "Do you not know?"
"Whether I know or not is of no consequence; I wish to learn the fact
from you. I am not acquainted with you, and do not wish to have any
dispute with you."
"Do you think so, my master?" the hacendero retorted with a mocking
smile, "If unfortunately you are mistaken, as you will speedily
discover."
"Perhaps so," the Indian replied disdainfully; "but, in the meanwhile,
as you have no right to enter my village with soldiers, in my quality
of magistrate, I order you to withdraw, rendering you and yours
responsible for the consequences of your disobedience in the event of
your refusing to obey my orders."
While Don Aníbal listened to these words, with his arms crossed on his
chest, and head thrown back, a smile of imperceptible meaning played
around his lips.
"I fancy," he said ironically, "that you attach greater importance to
your dignity of alcade than it really possesses, my master; but I have
not come here to discuss with you. Will you, yes or no, let me pass?"
"Why do you not try to force a passage?" the cacique said.
"I am going to do so."
"Try it."
Without replying, Don Aníbal turned to the leader of the escort.
"Lieutenant," he said to him, "order your men to fire on that
scoundrel."
But the old officer shook his head.
"Hum!" he remarked, "What good would that do us? It would only cause us
to be killed like asses. Do you imagine that man to be alone?"
"Then you refuse to obey me?" the hacendero said with concentrated
passion.
"¡Canarios! I should think I do refuse. I was ordered to defend you
from attack; but not to sacrifice the men I command in satisfying a
whim. This individual, the deuce take him! Were he ten times the Indian
he is, has the law on his side, ¡Rayo de Dios! You waste your time in
arguing with him, instead of coming to an end at once."
Don Aníbal listened to this remonstrance with ill-restrained
impatience. When the lieutenant ceased speaking, he said with ironical
deference, as he bowed to him--
"Pray what would you have done in my place, Señor Lieutenant?"
"¡Canarios! I should have acted in a different way. It is evident that
we are not the stronger, and that if we attempt to pass as you propose,
those red devils will only have to give us a push to send us rolling
over the precipice, which, I suppose, would not exactly suit your
views."
"Well?" the hacendero interrupted with an impatient gesture.
"One moment, hang it all! Let us act legally since it is necessary. The
alcade's cane is at times stronger than the soldier's sword, and to
break it you require a stronger cane, that is all. Have you not brought
with you a sort of writer or juez de letras, flanked by two alguaciles?
The scoundrel must have some sort of authority in his pocket. But
what do I know? Well, let the two black birds settle matters between
themselves. Believe me, it is the only thing we can do in the present
posture of affairs; we will see if these pícaros dare to resist a
representative of his majesty, whom may Heaven preserve!"
"¡Viva Dios! you are right, Lieutenant; I perceive that I acted like an
ass, and we ought to have begun with that. Give those persons orders to
come up, if you please."
The cacique had listened to the conversation, leaning carelessly on
his cane in the trench behind the barricade; but, on hearing the
conclusion, which he doubtless had not anticipated, he frowned and
looked anxiously behind him.
At a sign from the lieutenant, several soldiers went in search of the
juez de letras and his two acolytes. But it was no easy task to bring
them to the front: officers of justice have this in common with the
crow, that they smell gunpowder a long distance off.
The poor devils, entrenched, as well as they could manage, behind
their mules, were trembling all over, while waiting for the action to
begin; when they saw the soldiers galloping toward them, they fancied
their last hour had arrived, and they began commending their souls to
Heaven, while repeating all the prayers they could call to mind, and
beating their chests powerfully, as they invoked all the saints of the
interminable Spanish calendar.
At the first moment the soldiers were greatly amused at their terror,
and laughed heartily at their pale faces and startled glances. On
hearing the lancers laugh, the juez de letras, who, apart from his
poltroonery, was a clever and sensible man, began reflecting, and
suspected that the danger was not so great as he had at first supposed
it.
He got up, carefully arranged his attire, and asked the soldiers for
news, which they gave him, laughing most heartily the while. The juez
then drew himself up in a dignified manner, mounted his mule, and
addressed his alguaciles, who were still hidden behind a bend in the
path--
"Well, scamps," he said to them, while attempting to reassume an
imposing air, as became a magistrate of his importance, "what is the
meaning of this? Heaven pardon me, but I believe you are afraid. Is
that the way in which you sustain the honour of the gown you wear?
Come, come, mount without further delay, and follow me smartly."
The alguaciles, abashed by this sharp reprimand, got on their mules,
offering the best excuses they could, and ranged themselves behind
their superior officer.
Still the worthy juez de letras was not so reassured as he wished to
appear, and we are forced to confess that the nearer he drew to the
barricade, the more formidable it seemed to him, and the less at ease
did he feel as to the results of the mission he had to carry out.
Still, hesitation was no longer possible, he must bravely go through
with the affair; and pluck up a heart. No one is so courageous as a
poltroon driven into a corner; fear in him takes the place of bravery,
and he becomes the more rash in proportion to his former terror.
The juez de letras gave a proof of this, for instead of halting a
reasonable distance from the barricade, he advanced till he could
almost touch it. Perhaps, though, this did not result entirely from his
own will, for the soldiers had maliciously given the poor mule several
vigorous blows with their chicotes, so that it pricked up its ears and
dashed madly onward. The fact is, that, whether voluntarily or not, the
juez found himself side by side with Don Aníbal.
The lieutenant's advice was, as he had said, the only mode of putting
an end to the cacique's resistance. At the period when this story takes
place, the liberal ideas which overturned and regenerated the old world
had not yet reached the Spanish colonies, or, if they had reached them,
had not penetrated to the lower classes, who, besides, would not have
understood them.
The King of Spain, owing to the system adopted by the Peninsular
government, was revered, feared, and respected like a god; the lowest
of his representatives, the mere flag hoisted over a conducta de plata,
were sufficient to protect the millions that traversed the entire
length of Mexico to be embarked on board the ships; in a word, it would
not have occurred to anyone in New Spain that it was possible to rebel
against the mother country or disobey the lowest or most insignificant
of the officers of the sovereign beyond the seas.
Still, in spite of the knowledge of their power, the Spaniards were
slightly alarmed by the coldly resolute attitude of the Indian cacique;
the more so, because this man belonged to that haughty Comanche race
which preferred to return to the desert sooner than bend beneath the
Spanish yoke. It is true that Running Water, on settling on this side
the border, had recognized the suzerainty of the King of Spain; but
it was so recently that this fact occurred, that there was reason to
fear lest the Red Buffaloes, driven to extremities by the countless
annoyances they had endured, might be resolved to take an exemplary
vengeance on their enemies, even though that vengeance entailed their
utter ruin.
Such instances as this had already occurred several times in the
colony. Another reason also heightened the apprehensions of Don Aníbal
and his companions; in spite of the secrecy in which his plans were
arranged and his rapidity of action, the Indians had been warned of
what was being prepared against them, which was superabundantly proved
by the measures they had taken to defend themselves against an attack
which nothing could have led them to suspect.
The hacendero had, then, been betrayed; but who was the traitor?
At a sign from Don Aníbal, the juez de letras prepared with
considerable assurance to exhibit his titles and quality. After
securing himself firmly in his saddle the magistrate drew a paper from
a portfolio one of the alguaciles handed him, the contents of which he
read in a loud, firm voice.
This document was to the effect that the Comanche Indians, called the
Red Buffaloes, who had sought shelter on the Spanish territory, and
to whom the government of his majesty had deigned to grant asylum
and protection, had rendered themselves unworthy this protection by
their misdeeds, a long list of which was quoted. The Viceroy of New
Spain, listening to the repeated complaints which were made from all
sides against them, recognizing them as ungrateful and incorrigible
felons, withdrew the hand he had hitherto extended to protect them,
and ordered, in consequence, that they should be compelled by all
legal means at once to abandon their place of residence, and repass
the border, after their village had been utterly destroyed in their
presence. Any disobedience would be punished with death, etc., etc.
This document was listened to in religious silence by the cacique, with
downcast head and frowning brow, but without the slightest mark of
impatience, anger, or sorrow. When the judge had finished he raised his
head, and looked at him like a man awakening from sleep.
"Have you ended?" he asked him in a gentle voice.
"Not yet," the magistrate answered, amazed and emboldened by this
mildness, which he had been far from anticipating.
"Do so," he said.
The judge continued:
"Consequently I, Don Ignacio Pavo y Cobardo, juez de letras of the town
of Mondovo, by virtue of the powers conceded to me by the most serene
Governor of the Intendancy, summon you, alcade of the aldea of the Red
Buffaloes, in the name of his Majesty, whom may Heaven preserve, to
obey this order at once without any resistance."
Running Water drew himself up, gave the spectators a glance of strange
meaning; then, without uttering a word, he took off his hat, which
he threw over the precipice, broke his cane across his knee, let the
pieces fall at his feet, and said to Don Aníbal--
"You wish for war, be it so! I accept. You can now pass, and no one
will oppose you."
He fell back a step, shouted in a thundering voice, "We shall meet
again," and then disappeared.
CHAPTER III.
THE RED BUFFALOES.
The startled Mexicans looked at each other with dumb terror; for
several minutes after the disappearance of the cacique they remained
thus gloomy and hesitating, fearing a trap, and not daring to put faith
in the words of an Indian.
At length the hacendero, ashamed of showing the terror he felt,
haughtily raised his head, and angrily stamped his foot.
"¡Viva Dios!" he shouted, "Are we timid women to let ourselves be
frightened by the threats of a maniac? I will go on, even if I should
be murdered."
And before anyone dreamed of preventing him, he forced his way with
great difficulty through the branches, machete in hand, and ready to
sell his life dearly. But Running Water had told the truth; the passage
was free far as eye could extend, and the path was entirely deserted.
Don Aníbal rejoined his comrades.
"There is nobody," he said, with an accent of regret. "Aid me to throw
these trees over the precipice, and let us continue our journey. Let
us make haste though, for, if I am not mistaken, we shall find the
resistance which is not offered us here at the village."
The path was soon cleared, and the trees hurled into the barranca, down
which they rolled with a sinister noise. They continued their march,
and at the end of an hour reached the plateau on which the village
stood. But they found the huts a pile of smoking ashes, while a long
line of flame was rapidly running along the side of the hill, and
devouring the crops. The Red Buffaloes had not waited for the arrival
of the king's people; they had themselves destroyed everything.
The Mexicans only found shapeless ruins; as for the Indians, they had
disappeared, and it was impossible to discover in what direction they
had fled. The old officer gazed for a moment pensively at this scene of
desolation, and then walked up to Don Aníbal.
"Señor de Saldibar," he said to him solemnly, "take care!"
"Take care! I?" he answered haughtily, "Nonsense, Lieutenant, you are
jesting."
"I am not jesting," the soldier answered sadly, "I have known the
Indians for a long time. They never forgive an insult. For them to
consent to consummate their ruin, and unresistingly abandon a spot
which must for so many reasons be dear to them, they must be meditating
a terrible revenge upon you; so, I repeat, take care."
In spite of his ferocious courage and indomitable pride the hacendero
was struck by the tone in which these words were pronounced by a
man whose courage could not be doubted; he felt a shudder pass over
his limbs and his blood run cold in his veins; for a moment remorse
entered his heart, and he regretted having driven to desperation these
peaceable men, who only asked for their share of air and sunshine.
But stiffening himself almost immediately against this emotion, of
which he had not been master, the haughty Spaniard smiled bitterly, and
answered the officer with a look of defiance--
"What can such wretches effect against me? It is not I who have to
fear; but they will have cause to tremble if ever they cross my path
again; but as we have nothing more to do here, let us be off, for it is
growing late."
The officer made no answer; he bowed, remounted his horse and ordered
the bugles to sound. At the base of the hill the band separated; the
escort returned to the fort of Agua Verde, and the hacendero, only
followed by his wife and his majordomo, started in the direction of the
Hacienda del Barrio. The juez de letras and the two alguaciles, who had
not quite recovered from their terror, preferred to follow the soldiers
in spite of the offer Don Aníbal made them of receiving them into his
house.
The journey was sad, for the hacendero was dissatisfied, though he did
not wish to show it. His plans had succeeded, it is true, but not in
the way he had intended; hence, his vengeance was not complete.
These people, whom he wanted to drive from their hearths, on whom he
wished to inflict chastisement for the insult offered his wife, had
destroyed their village with their own hands, and they robbed him thus
far of the pleasure of doing it.
Doña Emilia was sorrowful and thoughtful; this hatred, accumulated
on her husband's head, which would doubtless fall on her, though she
was innocent, terrified her. She did not dare express her feelings
aloud, but she gave full scope to her thoughts, and with the exquisite
sensibility, and prophetic intuition which loving women possess, she
foresaw a future big with misfortune and gloomy catastrophes.
The majordomo appeared as careless and indifferent on the return as
when he went to the village. Still, anyone who could have examined
him carefully, and seen the wicked flash of his eye when he took a
side-glance at his master, would have suspected that this man was
playing a part, that he had taken a greater share in recent events than
was supposed, that his indifference was feigned, and that he alone of
the three travellers had a glad heart, although his countenance was
sorrowful.
Anyone who had had this idea would perhaps not have been completely
mistaken, for we must not forget that Señor Sotavento was an Indian,
although he appeared a Christian, and almost civilized.
Nothing occurred to interrupt the monotony of the journey, no annoying
accident troubled the tranquillity of the travellers, who reached the
Hacienda del Barrio a little before sunset, at the moment when night
was beginning to hide the valleys in the transparent shadows of dusk,
while the tops of the mountains were still tinged with a pinkish light.
The hacienda was a substantial building of hewn stone, such as the
first conquerors liked to erect to prove to the conquered that they
would never abandon the soil of which fortune had rendered them
masters. This house seemed a fortress, so massive was it; and built
on the top of a rather lofty hill upon a rock hanging over the abyss,
it could only be reached by a narrow, rugged track cut in the rock,
on which two horsemen could not ride abreast. This track wound round
the side of the hill and led to the great gate of the hacienda, which
was defended by a drawbridge, usually down, but which it would have
been an easy task to raise. The walls, which were thirty feet high
and of proportionate thickness, were surmounted by those _almenas_
or battlements which were a sign of nobility, and which the old
Christians, that is to say, the true Castilians, never failed to place
above their houses; for the hacenderos must not be confounded with our
farmers, for that would be a great error.
The hacenderos of New Spain are great landowners, whose possessions
are often more extensive than one of our counties. In the time of the
Spaniards, they led the life of feudal lords in the midst of their
vassals, acting as they pleased, and only accountable to the Viceroy,
who, residing in Mexico, or a great distance off, had something else
to do than look after the way in which these feudatories managed their
estates. The latter cultivated their land, worked their mines, fattened
their flocks, and reared their horses, without anyone dreaming of
asking any account of them as to the means they employed to augment
their fortunes, or the manner in which they treated the Indians who
fell to their share upon the grand division of the Mexican population
among the conquistadors.
On this subject we will hazard a parenthesis. Since Mexico has
proclaimed her independence, slavery is abolished _de jure_ in the
country, but still exists _de facto_. In this way: The rich landowners
whom the philanthropic law utterly ruined, instead of crying out and
complaining as certain slaveholders do in North America, hit on a
clever and successful plan.
The hacenderos assembled their slaves and informed them that slavery
was abolished, and that consequently they were free, and could go
wherever they thought proper. The poor devils were, at the first
moment, stunned by the news, and did not at all know what would become
of them. In fact, while they were slaves, they lived without having
the trouble of thinking. They worked, it is true, but they were fairly
fed, clothed after a fashion, and taken care of when ill. Now they were
free, they would have to seek the food, clothing, and medicine which
they had hitherto ready to hand without the trouble of looking for it.
The question was a delicate one, for they had nothing at all.
The hacenderos appeared to take pity on their hapless fate; they were
moved with compassion, and told them that, as they would require peons
to do the Work the slaves had hitherto done, they would engage them at
the rate of three reals a day, but they would have to feed and clothe
themselves. "Moreover," the hacenderos added, "to facilitate your
getting a start in life, which is rather difficult, we will advance you
all you require, and stop it out of your wages. In this way you will be
free, and you can leave us whenever you think proper, after paying off
the advances we have made you."
The ex-slaves accepted with transports of joy and became peons. Then
it came about that they could never pay off the advances, and as they
still wanted food and clothing, the debt increased like the memorable
snowball, and the peons were forced to give up all thoughts of leaving
their masters, as they had no other than personal security to offer.
The result is, that at the present day they are greater slaves than
ever.
The only persons who gained by the transaction were the hacenderos.
The reason is very simple: it has been calculated that the cost of
maintaining a slave is six reals a day, and the peons cost them three.
Hence there is a clear profit of one half; moreover, the masters
supply the food and clothing, and heaven alone knows what price they
charge the peons.
This is the way in which the Indians, who were slaves in the
Spanish possessions, have become free, thanks to the declaration of
Independence. Is this progress? I do not think so. But to resume our
story.
Days, weeks elapsed, and not a word was heard of the Indians; they
seemed to have disappeared for ever. By autumn the recollection of the
expedition faded away, and then it was utterly forgotten, and nothing
was said about the Red Buffaloes or their threat of vengeance, which
was regarded as braggadocio.
A year passed away, and we reach the second half of 1808. The political
horizon was beginning to grow overcast; in spite of the care the
Spanish government took to isolate the colonies, and prevent European
newspapers entering them, the arrival of French troops in Spain was
vaguely discussed; minds fermented and attempts at revolt were made in
several provinces. Don Aníbal, who at this time was at Leona Vicario,
whither he had taken his wife a few months before for her confinement,
resolved to leave the town and return to his hacienda.
He was the more eager to carry out this resolution because the Indians
of the Presidio de Río Grande, only a few leagues from his estate,
had risen in revolt, and after burning the fort and massacring the
garrison, had spread over the country like a torrent which had burst
its dykes, and were plundering and destroying everything they came
across. An atrocious fact was stated in connection with the capture of
the Río Grande Fort, which heightened the hacendero's apprehensions, by
leading him to suppose that his old enemies, the Red Buffaloes, were
connected with this sudden insurrection.
Count Don Rodrigo de Melgosa, commander of the Presidio, and brother of
the governor of the Intendancy, was detested by the Indians, whom he
treated with the utmost rigour, and it was rumoured that he had several
times been guilty of unjustifiable acts of cruelty and barbarity. When,
after a desperate resistance, the Indians stormed the fort, they killed
Colonel de Melgosa by pouring molten gold into his mouth, saying that,
"Since he was so fond of gold they were determined to make him eat it,"
and the unhappy man died under horrible sufferings.
Then the Indians cut off his head, wrapped it up in a zarapé, and
sent this horrible trophy of their victory to the colonel's wife, who
happened to be staying with her father-in-law at Mondovo. At the sight
of this scalped and fearfully mutilated head, the unhappy woman all but
went mad.
It was in vain that the governor--whose only son, quite a lad at time,
was at the time in the fort with the colonel, and had disappeared,
carried off by the Indians, or, as was more probable, had been
sacrificed to their implacable vengeance--tried by all the means in his
power to discover the man who had undertaken to deliver this horrible
message; all his researches were fruitless, and the unhappy father, a
prey to impotent despair, remained in the most perfect ignorance as to
the fate of his child.
Strange to say, the murderers had designed on the victim's forehead a
buffalo with their scalping knives. Don Aníbal knew that the buffalo
was the totem, or emblem of the Indian tribe which he had so brutally
expelled from his domain a year previously, hence his anxiety was
great, for it was evident to him that the Red Buffaloes were the
authors of the death of the unfortunate Colonel de Melgosa, and of the
rape of his nephew.
He completed his preparations in all haste, said good-bye to Doña
Emilia, whom, in spite of her entreaties, he would not consent to take
with him, and started. Nine days later he reached his hacienda, where
bad news was awaiting him; all was in disorder. This was substantially
what he learned:
Most of his cattle had been carried off, as well as his manadas of
horses; several peons had been killed in trying to prevent the robbery
of his animals; his fields had been fired and his vines uprooted,
indeed the destruction was immense; and in order that the hacendero
might be thoroughly aware who the culprits were, a long pole was
found planted in the middle of a field, from which was suspended a
half-tanned elk skin, on which a buffalo was drawn. This time there
could be no mistake; it was really the totem of the hacendero's
enemies, for the buffalo was red.
The hacendero burst into a frightful passion, and swore to take
exemplary vengeance for this insult. He immediately wrote letters
to several neighbouring hacenderos exposed like himself to the
depredations of the marauders, and sent off couriers in all directions.
The hacenderos, who were as desirous as he was to be freed from these
demons, whose audacity, heightened by impunity, no longer knew any
limits, and threatened, if they were left alone, to ruin the entire
province, did not hesitate about joining Don Aníbal de Saldibar, and a
veritable manhunt was organized against the redskins.
The Count de Melgosa, burning to avenge his brother's death, and,
moreover, hoping to recover his son, placed two squadrons of dragoons
at the service of the confederates, whose numbers were thus
considerably augmented, and Don Aníbal, who took the command in chief
by general acclamation, found himself at the head of a real army.
The hostilities commenced immediately. The confederates divided into
three bodies and set out in search of the Indians. The preparations for
the expedition had been made with such secrecy, that the redskins, who
were far from suspecting what was going on, were surprised only a few
leagues from the Hacienda del Barrio, in a valley on the banks of the
Río del Norte, where they had established their camp.
Although suddenly attacked by an enemy superior in strength, the
redskins did not the less try to defend themselves, and bravely
opposed the white men. The combat was terrible, and lasted a whole
day; the Indians fought with that energy of desperation which doubles
the strength and equalizes chances; they knew they had no quarter to
expect, and hence preferred death to falling alive into the hands of
their implacable foes. The massacre was terrible, and nearly all the
redskins succumbed; some, but they were a small number, succeeded
in escaping by leaping into the Río del Norte. The Mexicans took no
prisoners; men, women, and children were pitilessly sacrificed.
After the battle, Sotavento, who had truly done his duty by his
master's side, brought him a boy of about five or six years of age,
who was crying bitterly, and who had been delivered to him during the
massacre by a Canadian wood ranger. He declared that he had not the
courage to kill the child, the more so because his pale skin might lead
to the supposition that he was the son of a European. The hacendero
shook his head angrily at the sight of the boy; still, not daring to
prove himself more cruel than his majordomo, he consented to the poor
little wretch being spared, and even carried his clemency so far as to
allow him to be taken to the hacienda.
This battle ended the campaign. The confederates separated, satisfied
with having exterminated their enemies and taken such a prompt revenge
for their outrages. The redskins, at least for a lengthened period,
would be unable to take their revenge, and the lesson had been perfect.
CHAPTER IV.
THE CASCABEL.
The French Revolution not only shook the old European thrones, which
it made quiver to their foundations, but the terrible blow it dealt
the world was so violent, that the counterstroke was felt even in the
indolent and voluptuous Spanish colonies.
In response to the echoing footsteps of those generals of the young
French Republic who marched from prodigy to prodigy, improvising
soldiers and organizing victory, a lengthened electric current ran
along all the coasts of the New World, and revealed to the inhabitants
that, like their brethren in North America, they too might someday
become free.
Like a deafening thunderclap, leaping across the Atlantic Ocean, the
echo of the battles of giants of that Sublime epic power called the
Empire, caused the hearts of Americans to beat, and inflamed them with
a noble ardour which the Spanish Viceroys were powerless to extinguish.
The occupation of the Peninsula by French armies, by forcing Spain to
defend her own territory, which had almost entirely fallen into the
enemy's power, obliged her to concentrate all her strength in order to
sustain the extraordinary struggle that was preparing, and compelled
her to abandon her possessions beyond the seas to their own resources,
while she could only form sterile vows that they might not slip from
her grasp.
The colonies, which had long been worn out by the yoke the mother
country implacably made them wear, considered the moment favourable;
generous hearts were affected, and in an instant Peru, Mexico, Chili,
Buenos Aires formed secret societies, whose common branches, passing
through all classes of society, ended by enveloping the colonial
governments in an inextricable net.
Then, when all preparations had been made, when the chiefs had
been elected, soldiers enrolled, and the headquarters of revolt
chosen, a long cry for liberty was raised to heaven on twenty sides
simultaneously; the insurgents rose, calling their brethren to arms,
and the systematic opposition of the conspirators was all at once
followed by an obstinate war without truce or mercy, of the conquered
against the conquerors, of the oppressed against the oppressors, whose
watchword was Liberty or Death!
A holy war, an extraordinary struggle, in which the Americans,
inexperienced, and having no acquaintance with arms, had but one
insatiable desire, to shake off the yoke, an energy which no reverse
could crush; and an unflinching resolution to oppose the old Spanish
bands, hardened by long fighting, and whom the habit of warfare
rendered almost invincible in the sight of these men, in whom they
inspired a species of instinctive and supernatural terror.
We will not describe here the history of this war, which was so grand,
so noble, and so full of heroic devotion, affecting incidents, and
traits of bravery, self-denial, and disinterestedness, worthy the most
glorious days of antiquity; our task is more modest, and certainly more
easy, for we will limit ourselves to penciling a few private details of
this grand drama, which have been neglected by the disdainful muse of
history, but which we believe will serve to complete the magnificent
tableau of the struggle of progress against barbarism in the first
years of the 19th century.
The Mexican revolution had this strange thing about it, that the clergy
gave the first signal of revolt. In the provinces the Curas preached
insurrection to their parishioners, and seizing a sword in one hand, a
cross in the other, led them to the field.
Don Aníbal de Saldibar, although a _cristiano viejo_, that is to say,
belonging to a family originally Spanish, and of which not a member had
become allied with the Indians during several ages, did not consider
himself obliged to join his fellow countrymen, but, on the contrary,
attached himself to the insurrectionary movement.
Father Sandoval, chaplain at the Hacienda del Barrio, was to a great
extent the cause of this determination. In Mexico, where the towns
are far distant from each other, each hacienda has a chapel served by
a priest, whose duty it is to baptize, marry, confess, and guide the
Indians, but, before all, keep them in order by the fear of future
punishment. Father Sandoval, about whom we shall have a good deal
to say during the course of this story, was a simple-hearted, kind,
intelligent man, gifted, with great energy of character, and his
education had not been so neglected as that of the majority of the
priests at this period.
In a word, he was an honest man and true priest before God; the Indians
adored him, and would have gone through fire and water for him. Still
young, belonging to a rich and respected family, possessing that severe
and calm beauty which attracts confidence and excites sympathy, this
man who, had he liked, could have attained the highest dignities of
the church, preferred this obscure position through his devotion to
that persecuted class which Las Casas loved so deeply, and for which he
himself felt immense pity.
As friend and fellow student of the Curé Hidalgo, who was destined to
become so celebrated, he professed liberal principles and hatred of
the Spanish yoke. Don Aníbal, like all weak-minded men, unconsciously
yielded to the influence of this chosen vessel, and had for him a
friendship mingled with respect and veneration. Protector of the
Indians, Father Sandoval defended them under all circumstances, and had
often succeeded, by the mere force of his eloquence, in saving them
from the severe punishments to which Don Aníbal had condemned them in a
moment of passion. He easily proved to the hacendero that it was to his
interest to embrace the revolutionary cause. The latter, dissatisfied
with the Spanish government, against which he had long been carrying on
a lawsuit, raised no serious objections; and as certain natures only
require a lash to make them go faster than is necessary, and pass the
goal for which they are started, so soon as Don Aníbal had consented
to what Father Sandoval asked of him, he wished to force the latter to
place himself by his side at the head of the hacienda peons capable
of bearing arms, and proceed to join the Curé Hidalgo, who had just
raised the standard of revolt, and was preparing, at the head of his
parishioners, armed with bows, arrows, and slings, to face the army of
the Viceroy.
As this project was excessively imprudent, the chaplain combated
it; but the hacendero, one of whose slightest faults was obstinacy,
declared that he must give a pledge to the revolution, and the best
way was to range himself beneath the insurrectionist banners. Still,
by force of reasoning, supported by the entreaties of Doña Emilia,
whom the fear of a separation and the prospect of remaining alone and
unprotected at the hacienda with her child, which was scarce fifteen
months old, filled with terror, Father Sandoval succeeded in modifying
Don Aníbal's resolution, if he did not completely alter it. He made
him understand that his hacienda, situated on the Indian border, close
to several important presidios, ought to serve as headquarters for the
insurgents of this portion of Mexico, who would rally round him and
hold the Spanish garrisons in check, so as to prevent them joining the
troops General Callega and Count de la Cadena were raising to offer
battle to the rebels commanded by Hidalgo, Allende, etc., and who were
preceded by the Virgen de Los Remedios, attired as a generalísimo. In
a country like Mexico, where religion is all in all, and at the head
of an army most of whose generals and officers were priests and monks,
this banner was not inappropriate.
Don Aníbal yielded with great difficulty to Father Sandoval's
objections; but, feeling flattered by the part he would be called on
to play, he at length consented to follow the advice given him by a
man who was wiser and more prudent than himself. The Hacienda del
Barrio was therefore converted into a fortress; Don Aníbal incited
the Indians to revolt, and organized on this frontier a partizan war
against the neighbouring garrisons, after having sent to join Hidalgo a
body of two hundred well-armed and mounted horsemen under the orders of
his majordomo. We see that Don Aníbal thus frankly threw away the mask
and boldly burnt his vessels.
The war soon assumed much larger proportions than had been thought
possible. The government had remained attached to the King of Spain,
and most of the rich landowners followed this example; so that the
insurrection, which was at first formidable, became to some extent
isolated, and reduced to act on the defensive. Don Aníbal was too
greatly compromised to hope for a pardon, which, indeed, he was not
at all inclined to solicit. On the contrary, he suddenly dashed from
his eagle's nest on the Spaniards who scoured the country, and though
not always the victor, he did them sufficient mischief to prevent them
going too far from the presidios or leaving the province. The governor,
at length wearied by the incessant attacks of his unseizable foe,
resolved to finish with him, and besiege him in his lurking place.
Don Aníbal, warned by his spies of what was preparing against him,
resolved on a vigorous resistance; but as he really loved his wife,
and did not wish to expose her to the hazards of a storm, and the
sight of those atrocities which are the inevitable consequence of it,
he arranged with Father Sandoval that he should remove her from the
hacienda as soon as possible, and place her and her child in safety.
When these arrangements were made, the two gentlemen proceeded in
search of the señora, to tell her of the plan they had formed.
Doña Emilia spent a very dull life at the Hacienda del Barrio. Her
husband, who was elsewhere engaged, often left her for days, only
seeing her for a moment at meals, and addressing a few unmeaning words
to her during the quarter of an hour they were together. Fortunately
for the poor lady, the hacienda possessed a magnificent garden. She
spent nearly the entire day in it under an arbour of orange and lemon
trees, reading pious books and watching her child, who was nursed by a
quadroon to whom Doña Emilia was sincerely attached, and had married to
a peon of the hacienda.
On the day to which we allude, at about two in the afternoon, the
warmest hour of the day, Doña Emilia, according to her wont, was
indulging in a siesta in a hammock suspended from two enormous orange
trees, whose tufted crests almost entirely overshadowed the entire
nook. A few paces from her, Rita, the quadroon, was carelessly rocking
in a _butaca_, and giving the breast to the child.
As we have said, the heat was stifling. The burning sunbeams made the
sand on the garden walks sparkle like diamonds; there was not a breath
of air; the atmosphere, impregnated with the sweet exhalations of the
flowers and fragrant woods, was intoxicating, and conduced to slumber.
The birds, hidden under the leaves, had ceased their song, and were
waiting till the evening breeze refreshed the soil; a solemn silence
brooded over nature, and the fall of a leaf would have been heard, so
profound was the calm. Rita, involuntarily yielding to the narcotic
influences that surrounded her, had fallen asleep with the child still
clinging to her breast.
All at once a strange, terrible, frightful thing occurred--a horrible
scene, which we feel a hesitation to describe, although we had the
fact from a credible witness.[1] The branches of a dahlia bush were
gently and noiselessly parted, and in the space thus left free appeared
the hideous and distorted face of Running Water. This man had, at the
moment, something fatal and satanic in his physiognomy, which would
have filled with terror anyone who saw it. After remaining motionless
for an instant, which he employed in looking around, through fear of
being surprised, he laughed cunningly in the Indian fashion, and began
crawling softly till his entire body had emerged from the bush. Then
he rose, carefully repaired the disorder his passage had caused in
the bush, advanced two paces, placed on the ground a rather large bag
he held in his right hand, folded his arms and gazed at Doña Emilia,
who was sleeping calmly and peacefully in her hammock, with a strange
fixedness, and an expression of hatred and joy impossible to describe.
How had this man contrived to penetrate into the hacienda, which was
so strongly guarded, and whose walls were almost insurmountable? Why
had he entered alone the garden of a man whom he knew to be his most
implacable foe? He doubtless meditated vengeance, but of what nature
was it? Running Water, whom the hacendero had strove so hard to injure,
and to whom he had done such hurt, was not the man to content himself
with ordinary revenge. The redskins have refinements of cruelty and
barbarity of which they alone possess the secret. What did he intend
doing? What was his object? The Indian chief alone could have answered
these questions; for the redskins are well acquainted with the proverb,
that "revenge is eaten cold."
I know not what gloomy thoughts agitated this man while he gazed at the
sleeping lady, but his countenance altered every second, and seemed to
grow more and more ferocious. He made a move as if about to seize the
bag on the ground in front of him, but suddenly reflected.
"No," he muttered to himself, "not that; he alone would suffer; the
hearts of both of them must bleed. Yes, yes, my first idea is the best."
Then, after taking a parting glance at the lovely, sleeping lady, he
stooped with a terrible smile, picked up the bag, which he placed under
his left arm, and went away with a step light and stealthy as that of a
tiger preparing to leap on its prey. Still, he only went a few paces.
Turning suddenly to his right, he found himself in front of the nurse.
The latter was still sleeping, intoxicated by the smell of the flowers
which appeared to bend over her, as if to shed sleep more easily upon
her. Rita was sleeping like a child, without dreams or fears. Rita was
young and lovely; anyone but a ferocious Indian, like the man who gazed
at her at this moment, and devoured her with his eyes, would have felt
affected by such confiding innocence.
With the upper part of her body indolently thrown back, with her eyes
half closed and veiled by her long black lashes, and her rosy lips
slightly parted so as to display her pearly teeth, the young quadroon
with her slightly coppery complexion was delicious. We repeat that
anyone but Running Water would have felt subdued and vanquished by the
sight of her. Her two hands, folded over the little girl, held her
against her bosom, and seemed trying to protect her even in sleep. The
infant was neither asleep nor awake. She was in that state of lethargic
somnolency which seizes on these frail creatures when they have sucked
for a long time. Clinging to the breast, on which she had laid her two
small, snow-white hands, the child, with her eyes already closed to
sleep, was imbibing a drop of milk at lengthened intervals.
The Indian regarded this group with a tiger's glance, and for some
two or three minutes, involuntarily fascinated by this picture, whose
innocence and candour no artist would be able to depict, he stood
gloomy and thoughtful, perhaps hesitating in the accomplishment of the
infernal work he had meditated so long, and to execute which he had
treacherously entered the hacienda. But Satan, conquered for a second,
regained his ascendancy in the redskin's heart.
"It is well," he muttered in a hollow voice. "The babe will die. The
death of the child kills doubly father and mother."
And he smiled once again that terrible and silent laugh which would
have caused anyone who saw it to shudder, and which was habitual to
him. He fell back a step, and with a look around him he explored the
neighbourhood in its most hidden corners. Assured at length that no
one could see him he fell back till he reached the hole in one of the
orange trees from which the hammock was hung, and which was exactly
opposite the nurse; then he carefully concealed himself behind a
tree, and laid his bag on the ground. This bag was of tapir hide, and
fastened up with the greatest care.
The Indian stood motionless for a second, then drawing his dagger he
did not take the trouble to cut the leather thongs that closed the bag;
on the contrary, throwing himself back as if afraid of the consequences
of the deed he was about to do, he ripped up the bag its entire length,
and at once disappeared behind the trunk of a tree. The body of a
cascabel, or rattlesnake; appeared in the gaping orifice of the bag.
Indian manners brand as infamous any man who, excepting in Combat,
strikes and kills a child at the breast. Hatred is intelligent, and
Running Water had found the means to satisfy his upon the poor little
creature without breaking the rules of his tribe. He had gone in search
of a snake, which was not difficult to find. He enclosed it in a bag of
tapir hide so that it could not escape, and kept it for several days
without food so as to restore to the animal, which he had surprised
while digesting a gorge, all its original ferocity. When the redskin
supposed that the snake was in proper condition, he entered the garden
as we have seen.
The snake, suddenly liberated from the dark and narrow prison in
which it had been so long confined, began unrolling on the ground its
monstrous coils. At first half asleep and dazed by the bright light of
day it remained for a moment in a state of stupor, balancing itself to
the right and left hesitatingly on its enormous tail, throwing its head
back and opening its hideous mouth till it displayed its awful fangs.
But gradually its eye grew brighter, and breathing a strangled hiss it
rushed with undulating bounds towards poor Rita.
The Indian, with his body bent forward, heaving chest, and eyes
enormously dilated, looked after it eagerly; at length he held his
vengeance in his grasp, and no human power could take it from him. But
a strange thing happened, which filled the Indian himself with horror.
Upon reaching the nurse the snake, after a moment's hesitation, gave
a soft melodious hiss, apparently indicating pleasure; and rising on
its tail with a movement full of grace and suppleness, enwrithed the
nurse's body in its huge folds, gently pushed the sleeping babe aside
without doing it the slightest injury, and seizing the nipple the
little creature had let go, glued its hideous mouth to it.
Running Water uttered a cry of rage, and stamped his foot in
desperation. He had forgotten the frenzied passion snakes have
for milk, especially that of women. This time again the Indian's
calculations were thrown out, and his vengeance slipped from him. What
should he do? To try and tear the snake from the prey it had seized
would be incurring certain death; and then, fascinated by the horrible
spectacle he had before him, the redskin felt incapable of collecting
his ideas. He looked on, suffering from a frightful nightmare, and
awaiting with the most lively anxiety the conclusion of this frightful
scene. Rita still slept on, and the child even had not noticed its
changed position, so gentle and measured had the snake's movements
been, and was still slumbering. The cascabel, however, drank with such
ardour the quadroon's milk that the blood poured down her breast, and
she was aroused by the pain from her deep sleep. She opened her eyes,
and perceived the horrible animal.
Rita endured a second of indescribable agony and despair, for she
felt that she was hopelessly lost. Then, wondrous to relate, this
half-sleeping woman, seeing herself through a mist of blood in the
power of the monster, suddenly formed an heroic resolution. She
recognized with remarkable lucidity her fearful situation, and
completely forgetting herself had but one thought, that of saving the
child.[2] A woman is a mother before all. God has placed in her heart a
flame Which nothing can extinguish.
With her features distorted by terror, her temples inundated with cold
perspiration, and her hair standing on end, she had the immense courage
not to tremble or stir, and held back in her parched throat the cry
of horror ready to burst from it: in a word, she remained in the same
position as if she were still asleep.
The Indian himself, struck with admiration at this sublime emotion,
felt his iron heart melt, and he almost regretted being the cause of
this fearful catastrophe. The snake still enjoyed its horrible repast,
and gorged itself with the milk mingled with blood which it drew from
the breast of its hapless victim. At length its coils relaxed, its eye
gradually lost its fascinating lustre, and with an almost insensible
undulation it left the prey to which it was clinging. Completely
gorged with milk, it rolled off to the ground, and crawled away in
the direction of the shrubs. The mulatto then seized the child in her
clenched hands, sat up straight as a statue, and uttered a fearful cry.
"Mother, mother!" she said with a sob that lacerated her throat, "Take
your child."
Doña Emilia, aroused by this cry, bounded like a lioness from her
hammock, and seized her babe. Rita then fell back, with her breast
bleeding, and her features distorted by pain, and writhed in frightful
convulsions. Doña Emilia leant over her.
"What is the matter, in Heaven's name?" she asked her in horror.
"The snake, see the snake, mother!" the quadroon exclaimed, as she
raised herself with a last, effort and pointed to the reptile which
was quietly gliding along the sand; then she uttered a fearful groan,
and fell back--dead. Don Aníbal and the priest, attracted by the
cries, rushed into the arbour, and at once comprehended the frightful
accident which must have occurred. The hacendero ran up to his wife,
while Father Sandoval bravely attacked the snake and killed it. The
Indian chief had disappeared with the bound of a wild beast, after
exchanging with Doña Emilia a glance of awful purport.
The lady, with calm brow and a smile on her lip, nursed her babe, which
was now awake, while singing one of those touching American tunes with
which these innocent creatures are lulled to sleep. She was mad!
Don Aníbal, crushed by this terrible catastrophe, tottered for a moment
like a drunken man, then raising his hands to his face with a cry of
despair, he fell unconscious on the ground. His rebellious nature had
at last been vanquished by grief.
"It is the finger of God!" the priest murmured, as he raised his
tear-laden eyes to heaven.
And kneeling by the body of the poor quadroon he prayed fervently. Doña
Emilia was still singing and lulling her child to sleep.
Two days later the hacienda was invested by the Spaniards. Don Aníbal
defended himself for a long time with heroic courage, but the Spaniards
at last stormed the fortress, and made a horrible massacre of its
defenders. Don Aníbal, bearing his wife across his horse's neck, and
the priest carrying in his arms the baby and the boy saved a short
time previously upon the defeat of the Indians, succeeded in escaping,
through the courage of some twenty peons who resolutely collected round
them and made a rampart of their bodies.
Hotly pursued by the _tamarindos_, the fugitives wandered for a long
time haphazard in the forests, tracked like wild beasts by their
implacable victors; but at last, after extraordinary privations and
innumerable dangers, they succeeded in reaching Santa Rosa, where the
miners offered them a shelter. The revolt having thus been drowned
in blood in this province by the Spaniards, they had a lengthened
breathing time; for the patriots were dead or so utterly demoralized
that a fresh insurrection need not be apprehended.
END OF THE PROLOGUE.
[1] The person to whom we allude is at this moment in Paris, and could,
if necessary, confirm our statement.
[2] However incredible this fact may appear, we repeat that it is
strictly true.
CHAPTER I.
THE ADVENTURERS.
The daring revolt of the Curé Hidalgo opened against the Spanish
government that era of sanguinary struggles and obstinate contests
which, thirteen years later, on February 24, 1821 was fated to end
in the proclamation of Independence by Iturbide at Iguala. This
proclamation compelled the Viceroy, Apodaca, to abdicate, and the
Spaniards finally to abandon these magnificent countries which they had
ruled with a hand of iron for more than three centuries. But during
these thirteen years what blood had been shed, what crimes committed!
All Mexico was covered with ruins. The unburied corpses became the prey
of wild beasts; towns taken by storm burned like lighthouses, and the
flames were extinguished in the blood of their massacred inhabitants.
The Mexicans, badly armed and disciplined, learning through their very
defeats the art of beating their conquerors, struggled with the energy
of despair; incessantly defeated by the old Spanish bands, but never
discouraged, deriving strength from their weakness and their firm
desire to be free, they ever stood upright before their implacable
foes, who might kill them, but were powerless to subjugate them.
In no country of the New World did the Spaniards offer so long and
desperate a resistance to revolution as in Mexico, for Spain was aware
that once this inexhaustible source of wealth was lost, her influence
and prestige in the Old World would be utterly destroyed. Hence it
happened that the Spaniards quitted Mexico as they entered it, on ruins
and piles of corpses. And their power, inaugurated by Hernando Cortés
by the light of arson, and amid the cries of the victims, slipped in
the blood of millions of murdered Indians, and was stifled by their
bodies. It was a hideous government, the offspring of violence and
treachery, and, after three centuries, violence and treachery overthrew
it. It was a grand and sublime lesson which Providence gave the despots
through the inflexible logic of history, and yet despots have ever
refused to understand it.
We shall resume our narrative on September 20, 1820, between five and
six in the afternoon, at a period when the struggle having been at
length equalized between the two parties, was growing more lively and
decisive. The scene is still laid in the same part of the viceroyalty
of New Spain in which the prologue was enacted, that is to say, the
Province of Coahuila; owing to its remoteness from the centre, and its
situation on the Indian border, this province had suffered less than
the others, though the traces of war could be seen at each step.
The rich and numerous haciendas which formerly studded the landscape
were nearly all devastated, the fields were uncultivated and deserted,
and the country offered an aspect of gloomy desolation painful to
contemplate. The revolution, violently compressed by the Spaniards,
was smouldering beneath the ashes; a hollow fermentation was visible on
the surface, and the Indian guerillas who had not ceased their partizan
warfare, were beginning to combine and organize, in order to deal the
Castilian colossus a decisive blow. The insurrection of the Spanish
liberals, by creating fresh embarrassments for the mother country,
restored Mexico, not its courage, for that had never faltered during
the long struggle, but the hope of success; on both sides preparations
were being made in the dark, and the explosion could not long be
delayed.
Five or six well-mounted and armed horsemen were following a narrow
track marked on the side of a hill in that wild and mountainous country
which separates the Fort of Agua Verde, of which the Spaniards were
still masters, from the little town of Nueva Bilbao. Of these six
travellers, five appeared to be peons, or servants, while the sixth
was a man of some forty years of age, of lofty stature and haughty
demeanour, who kept, as far as the road allowed, by the side of his
servants, and talked to them in a low voice, while looking at times at
the gloomy scenery that surrounded him, and which the encroaching gloom
rendered even more ominous.
All these men advanced rifle on hip, and ready to fire at the
slightest suspicious movement in the chaparral, which they attentively
investigated. This distrust was justified by the state in which this
wild country found itself, for the revolutionary opinions had made more
progress here than anywhere else.
The travellers had reached the highest point of the track they were
following, and were preparing to descend into the plain, but they
involuntarily stopped for a moment to admire the magnificent landscape
and grand panorama which were suddenly unrolled before their sight.
From the lofty spot which the travellers had reached, they embraced a
considerable extent of the loveliest country in the world, rendered
even more picturesque by the numerous diversities of the ground; an
uninterrupted series of small hills rising one above the other, and
covered with luxuriant verdure, were blended in the distant azure of
the horizon, with the lofty mountains of which they formed the spurs,
and supplied a splendid frame for the magnificent picture. An extensive
lake, studded with small plots resembling bouquets, occupied nearly the
entire centre of the plain to which the travellers were preparing to
descend.
A deep calm brooded over the landscape, which the first gleams of dusk
were beginning to tinge with varying hues. Nothing enlivened this
deserted country, and the travellers were on the point of starting
again, when one of the servants turned to his master, and pointed in
the direction of a track that ran along the bank of the lake.
"Stay, mi amo," he said, "I know not if I am mistaken, but I fancy I
can see down there, near that cactus clump, something resembling human
forms. Unluckily, the gloom gathering in the valley prevents me being
certain."
The master looked attentively for some minutes in the indicated
direction, and then shook his head several times, as if annoyed.
"You are right, Viscachu," he said; "they are men, and I can
distinguish their horses tied up a few yards from them; who can they
be?"
"Travellers, like ourselves," remarked the peon, whom his master had
called Viscachu.
"Hum!" the horseman said dubiously, "People do not travel in such times
as these, unless they have very important motives. Those two persons,
for there are two, as I can distinguish them perfectly now, are more
probably spies sent to meet us, and find out the reason of our presence
in these parts."
"With all the respect I owe you, mi amo," Viscachu, who seemed to be
on rather familiar terms with his master, objected, "that does not
seem very likely; if these strangers were spies, they would not expose
themselves so, but, on the contrary, would be careful to keep out of
sight. And then, again, they would not be ahead of us, but behind us."
"You are right, Viscachu; I did not reflect on all that; but we are
compelled to display such prudence, that I yielded involuntarily to my
first impulse."
"And it is often the right one," the peon observed, with a smile; "but
this time I believe the proverb is false, and that these persons are
simply travellers, whom business of some nature has brought across our
path. However, it is an easy matter to make sure; there are only two
of them, while we are six, well armed and resolute men. Let us push
on boldly towards them, because it is probable that they have already
perceived us, and our hesitation, which has no apparent cause, may seem
to them suspicious."
"Yes, we have stopped here too long as it is, so let us continue our
journey. Well, if they are enemies, they will have their work cut out,
that's all. Hang such foolish terror! We can face a larger party than
the one at present in front of us."
"Excellent, Don Aurelio, that is what I call talking," the peon said
gaily; "so let us start without further delay."
Don Aurelio bent down to his servant, after looking round him
anxiously--
"Be prudent!" he said, in a low voice.
"That is true," the peon replied, with a slight smile. "I let myself
be carried away involuntarily; but do not be alarmed, I will be more
careful in future."
Then, at a signal from the leader, the little party began descending
the hill, though not till the peons had assured themselves that their
muskets were in good state, and ready to do service if it came to a
fight. The path followed by the Mexicans, like all those found on the
side of a hill or mountain, formed a countless succession of turns, so
that, although from the height, where they halted for a moment, it was
easy for them to notice the strangers almost beneath them, owing to the
constant turnings they were obliged to take they required a lengthened
period to reach them, the more because the constantly increasing gloom
compelled them to redouble their precautions in order to prevent their
horses stumbling over pebbles, and rolling into the quebradas past
which the track ran.
In the desert, man, being obliged to keep constantly on guard against
the invisible enemies who incessantly watch him, grows accustomed not
only to watch the bushes, grass, and rocks that surround him, but also
to examine the air, water, and sky, as if he expected a foe to rise
before him at any moment. The result is, that the physical qualities
of the individual who is habituated to the normal life of the
savannahs, acquire such perfection, that, by a species of a prophetic
intuition, the wood rangers, who are so praised, and of whom so little
is generally known, foresee the dangers that threaten them even before
those dangers have become realized.
The strangers, perceived from the top of the hill by the Mexicans, had
guessed the presence of the latter before they appeared, and their
eyes had been eagerly fixed on the crest of the hill some moments
before the newcomers crowned it. These two men had set up their
night bivouac near a clump of cactuses, and they quietly continued
to prepare their supper, apparently troubling themselves very little
about the approaching travellers. Still, anyone able to examine them
closely would have perceived that they had made all preparations for an
obstinate defence, in the event of an attack. Hence their rifles lay
ready cocked within arm's length, and their horses were still saddled
and bridled, so that they could be mounted immediately, should it prove
necessary.
As for these two men--whose portraits we shall draw, as they play
a very important part in our story--although they were in no way
related, they bore an extraordinary likeness to each other, not so much
in features, but in general appearance, that is to say, both were tall,
thin, and powerfully built; they were light haired and had blue eyes,
in a word, they displayed all the characteristic traits of the northern
race,--we mean the true Norman, and not the Anglo-Saxon.
In truth, these men were Canadians. At the period of which we are
writing, the United States of America had not attained that degree of
factitious strength and daring confidence they eventually reached. The
King of Spain reigned as lord and master of the colonies as much as
of the Peninsula. No Anglo-American had up to this time dared to leap
across the frontier and hunt in New Spain. The laws were strict and
rigorously carried out; any foreigner surprised inside the frontier was
regarded as a spy, and treated as such, that is to say, mercilessly
shot. Several examples having been made, the Americans took the hint,
and did not attempt to force their way in.
But times had changed; the Mexican insurrection, by rendering the
inhabitants interested accomplices in infractions of the Spanish laws,
favoured this immigration, the more so because the Mexicans, who had
been kept by the Spaniards in utter ignorance of the use of firearms
and of military discipline, wanted to obtain men capable of leading
and teaching them how to conquer their oppressors. Hence the North
Americans, who had hitherto been held in check by the severity of the
Castilian laws, began to inundate the territory of New Spain from all
sides.
The two men to whom we refer at this moment were hardy comrades, real
wood rangers, who, reaching the Mexican border while hunting buffalo
and deer, crossed it in the hope of picking up an honest fortune in a
short time by fishing in the troubled waters of revolution. We must do
them the justice of saying that, in their hearts, they cared but little
for either of the parties quarrelling in Mexico, and were probably
ready to sell their assistance to the one which offered the highest
price and the most tangible hopes of a speedy fortune. Still they were
good fellows, bold and experienced, caring as little for their life as
for a leaf that fell from a tree, and resolved to risk it on a throw of
the dice, if it offered them the hope of advantageous gain.
The first of these two men was called Oliver Clary.
The redskins among whom he had resided for a long time had christened
him the Sumach, in consequence of his extraordinary strength and
boldness; while his comrade had forgotten the name he originally bore,
and only answered to that of Moonshine. These strange and significant
names will save us the trouble of dwelling on the character of their
bearers, the more so as the reader will be able to appreciate it in the
course of the story.
Carelessly reclining on the grass by the side of the fire lit to cook
their supper, they watched with one eye the leg of venison which,
with some batatas, was to constitute their meal, and with the other
attentively followed the march of the Mexicans. The latter, so soon as
they left the track and entered the plain, affected a certain military
air, which did not fail to appear formidable to the Canadians, the
more so as the newcomers were well armed, and moreover seemed resolute
and difficult to intimidate. The hunters waited till they came nearly
within pistol shot, then rose cautiously, and placed themselves with
shouldered rifles in the middle of the road.
Don Aurelio ordered his men to halt, while recommending them in a
low voice to keep on their guard for fear of treachery, and ready to
come to his assistance. Then, giving his horse a slight touch of the
spur, he proceeded a few yards nearer the hunters, who still remained
motionless in the middle of the road. Stopping his horse with one hand,
with the other he raised his hat, while crying in a clear and well
modulated voice, "Who goes there?"
"Men of peace," Moonshine answered in excellent Spanish, though it was
easy to recognize the foreigner from his accent.
"Which side do you belong to?" Don Aurelio continued.
Moonshine looked cunningly at his comrade.
"It is easy to ask, caballero," he said, "on which side we are. Tell us
first which side you are; we are only two against six, and the stronger
party ought to give the first explanation."
"Very good," Don Aurelio replied, "we are for God and independence; and
you?"
The two Canadians exchanged a second look as ironical as the first.
"By Jove, señor," Moonshine said presently, as he rested the butt of
his rifle on the ground, and crossed his hands confidently over the
muzzle, "you ask us a question which we find it rather difficult to
answer. My comrade and I are strangers, as you may easily recognize by
our accent, and hence have no settled opinion upon the subject which
divides your country. On the other hand, you can perceive from our garb
that we are wood rangers, that is to say, men with whom liberty is a
worship, almost an adoration; so that if we must have an opinion, we
should rather be on the side of independence than of royalty."
"And why do you not decide for one or the other?" said the horseman,
who had drawn nearer, though the Canadian did not appear alarmed by the
fact.
"For the reason I had the honour of giving you a moment ago," Moonshine
continued; "we are foreigners, that is to say, entirely disinterested
in the question; and in case we decided to join either side, it would
be the one which offered us the greatest advantages."
"Excellently argued, and like true Yankees," Don Aurelio remarked with
a laugh.
"Pardon me, señor," Moonshine objected seriously, "do not make any
mistake; my friend and I are not Yankees, but Canadians, which, I must
beg you to believe, is by no means the same thing."
"Forgive me, señor," Don Aurelio said civilly, "I did not at all intend
to insult you."
The hunter bowed, and the Mexican continued--
"My name is Don Aurelio Gutiérrez; it is late, and the spot where we
now are is by no means suited for a serious conversation; if you will
consent to accompany me to a hacienda about three leagues from here, I
will guarantee to modify your opinions, and bring you over to my way of
thinking."
"I do not say no, Señor Gutiérrez; but I will propose something better.
I suppose you are not in such a hurry that you could not delay your
arrival at the hacienda to which you allude for a few hours?"
Don Aurelio exchanged a look with Viscachu, who, during this
conversation, had drawn nearer, and was now standing by his side.
"No," he at last answered; "so long as I reach the place I am going to
by tomorrow morning, that will do."
"Well," the hunter continued, courteously, "as you remarked yourself,
the night is dark; accept the hospitality we offer you, and bivouac
with us; the supper is ready and we will eat together: a night in the
open air need have no terrors for you; we will sleep side by side, and
tomorrow when the sun appears on the horizon, my comrade and I will
accompany you wherever you please. What do you say to that?"
Don Aurelio exchanged a second look with Viscachu, who gave him a sign
of assent by nodding his head several times.
"On my honour," he replied with a laugh, as he held out his hand to the
hunter, "your proposition is too hearty for me to decline it. Done
with you then, on one condition, however, that my people add a few
provisions they carry with them to our meal."
"You can add what you please; we will pass the night as good comrades;
tomorrow it will be day, and we will see what is to be done. Of course
it is understood that if your proposals do not suit us, we are at
liberty to decline them."
"Oh, of course."
Don Aurelio ordered his men to come up, himself dismounted, and five
minutes later, all our party, merrily seated round the fire, were doing
justice to the hunters' meal, which was considerably augmented through
the provisions brought by Don Aurelio, and rendered almost sumptuous by
a goat skin filled with excellent _refino de Cataluña_, a sort of very
strong spirit, which put the guests in a thorough good humour.