INDIAN DIPLOMACY.
The night passed calm and peaceful. At the moment when the sun appeared
on the horizon, saluted by the deafening concert of the birds, hidden
beneath the foliage, Blue-fox, who had hitherto remained motionless,
extended his right arm in the direction of the monk, who was lying by
his side, and gently touched him with his hand. This touch, slight as it
was, sufficed, however, to arouse Fray Antonio.
There are moments in life when, although the body reposes, the mind
retains all its delicate perceptions and vigilance; the monk was in a
similar situation. The gentleness the Apaches displayed towards him on
the previous night was so extraordinary, and opposed to their usual
habit of treating white men, their inveterate foes, that the monk,
despite the coolness which formed the basis of his character, understood
that the strange conduct of the men into whose power he had fallen must
result from very powerful motives, and that, in spite of the pretended
friendship they showed him, he would do well to keep on his guard, in
order to be able to make head against the storm, from whatever quarter
it might come.
In consequence of this reasoning, while taking advantage of the friendly
feeling of the Indians, he craftily watched their movements, only
yielded to sleep with great circumspection, and then slept with one eye
open, to employ the vulgar expression. Hence at the first signal he was
ready to respond to the Indian's summons with a vivacity that brought an
equivocal smile upon the latter's stern features. The Redskins are
physiognomists by nature; and, in spite of the tranquillity the monk
affected, Blue-fox had, from certain signs that never deceive, guessed
the secret alarm that internally devoured him.
"Has my brother slept well?" the Indian asked in his hoarse voice; "The
Wacondah loves him, has watched over his sleep, and kept Nyang, the
genius of evil, away from his dreams."
"I have, indeed, slept well, Chief, and I thank you for the cordial
hospitality you have been pleased to grant me."
A smile played round the Indian's lips, as he continued:--
"My father is one of the Chiefs of prayer of his nation, the God of the
Palefaces is powerful, He protects those who devote themselves to His
service."
As this remark required no answer, the monk contented himself by bowing
in the affirmative. Still, his anxiety increased; beneath the Chiefs
gentle words he fancied he could hear the hoarse voice of the tiger,
which licks its lips ere devouring the booty it holds gasping in its
terrible claws.
Fray Antonio had not even the resource of pretending not to understand
the dangerous speaker, for the Chief expressed himself in bad Spanish, a
language all the Indian tribes understand, and which, despite their
repugnance to use it, they still employ in their dealings with the white
men.
The morning was magnificent; the trees, with their dew-laden leaves,
seemed greener than usual; a slight mist, impregnated with the soft
matutinal odours, rose from the ground, and was sucked up by the
sunbeams, which with each moment grew warmer. The whole camp was still
sunk in sleep; the Chief and the monk were alone awake. After a moment's
silence, Blue-fox continued:--
"My father will listen," he said; "a Chief is about to speak; Blue-fox
is a Sachem, his tongue is not forked, the words his chest breathes are
inspired by the Great Spirit."
"I am listening," Fray Antonio replied.
"Blue-fox is not an Apache, although he wears their costumes, and leads
one of their most powerful tribes on the war trail; Blue-fox is a Snake
Pawnee, his nation is as numerous as the grains of sand on the borders
of the great lake. Many moons ago, Blue-fox left the hunting grounds of
his nation, never to return to them, and became an adopted son of the
Apaches; why did Blue-fox act thus?"
The Chief interrupted himself. The monk was on the point of answering
that he did not know the fact, and cared very little about learning it,
but a moment's reflection made him understand the danger of such an
answer to a man so irritable as the one he was now talking with.
"The brothers of the Chief were ungrateful to him," he replied with
feigned interest, "and the Sachem left them; after shaking off his
moccasins at the entrance of their village."
The Chief shook his head in negation.
"No," he answered, "the brothers of Blue-fox loved him, they still weep
for his absence; but the Chief was sad, a friend had abandoned him, and
took away his heart."
"Ah!" said the monk, not at all understanding.
"Yes," the Indian continued; "Blue-fox could not endure the absence of
his friend, and left his brothers to go in search of him."
"Of course you have found the person again, Chief, to whom you devoted
yourself?"
"For a long time Blue-fox sought, but did not succeed in obtaining any
news of him; but one day he at length saw him again."
"Good, and now you are re-united?"
"My father does not understand," the Indian answered drily.
This was perfectly correct. The monk did not understand a syllable of
what it pleased the Chief to tell him--the more so, as this obscure
narrative interested him but very slightly; and while the Apache was
speaking, he was cudgelling his brains to discover the motives for this
confidence. The consequence was that most of the words uttered by the
Chief struck his ear, but only produced an empty sound, whose meaning
did not reach his mind; but the peremptory accent with which Blue-fox
uttered the last sentence, aroused him, and while recalling him to a
feeling of his present position, made him comprehend the danger of not
seeming to take an interest in the conversation.
"Pardon me, Chief," he eagerly answered; "on the contrary, I perfectly
understand; but I am subject to a certain absence of mind completely
independent of my will, which I hope you will not feel offended at, for
I assure you it is no fault of mine."
"Good, my father is like all the Chiefs of Prayer of the Palefaces, his
thoughts are constantly directed to the Wacondah."
"So it is, Chief," the monk exclaimed, delighted at the way in which his
apology was accepted; "continue your narrative, I beg, for I am now
most anxious to listen to it."
"Wah! My father constantly traverses the prairies of the Palefaces."
"Yes, for the duties of my office oblige me to--"
Blue-fox quickly interrupted him.
"My father knows the pale hunters of these prairies?"
"Nearly all."
"Very good; one of these hunters is the friend so deeply regretted by
Blue-fox."
"Who is he?" the monk asked.
The Indian did not seem to hear the question, for he went on--
"Very often the Redskin warrior has been led a short distance from his
friend by the incidents of the chase, but never near enough to make
himself known."
"That is unfortunate."
"The Chief would like to see his friend, and smoke the calumet of peace
with him at the council fire, while conversing about old times, and the
period when, as children of the same tribe, they traversed together the
hunting grounds of the Sachem's terrible nation."
"Then the hunter is an Indian?"
"No, he is a Paleface; but if his skin is white, the Great Spirit has
placed an Indian heart in his bosom."
"But why does not the Chief frankly go and join his friend, if he knows
where he is? He would be probably delighted to see him again."
At this insinuation, which he was far from anticipating, the Chief
frowned, and a cloud momentarily crossed his face; but the monk was too
little of an observer to remark this emotion: he had asked the question,
as he would have done any other, unmeaningly, and simply to show the
Chief by replying that he was an attentive listener. After a few
seconds, the Indian reassumed that apathy which the Redskins rarely put
off, and only when taken by surprise, and continued--
"Blue-fox does not go to meet his friend, because the latter is not
alone, and has with him enemies of your Chief."
"That is different, and I can understand your prudence."
"Good," the Indian added, with a sardonic smile, "wisdom speaks by the
mouth of my rather; he is certainly a Chief of prayer, and his lips
distil the purest honey."
Fray Antonio drew himself up, and his alarm was beginning to be
dissipated; he saw vaguely that the Redskin wished to ask something of
him--in short, that he wanted his help. This thought restored his
courage, and he tried to complete the effect he fancied he had produced
on his Machiavellian questioner.
"What my brother is unable to do, I can undertake," he said, in an
insinuating voice.
The Apache gave him a piercing glance.
"Wah!" he replied, "Then my father knows where to find the Chiefs
friend?"
"How should I know it?" the monk objected; "You have not told me his
name yet."
"That is true; my father is good, he will forgive me. So he does not yet
know who the Pale hunter is?"
"I know him, perhaps, but up to the present I am ignorant whom the Chief
alludes to."
"Blue-fox is rich; he has numerous horses; he can assemble round his
totem one hundred warriors, and ten times, twenty times more. If my
father is willing to serve the Sachem, he will find him grateful."
"I ask nothing better than to be agreeable to you. Chief, if it lies in
my power; but you must explain: clearly what I have to do, in order that
I may make no mistake."
"Good; the Sachem will explain everything to his father."
"In that way, nothing will be easier."
"Does my father believe so?"
"Well, I do not see what can prevent it."
"Then my father will listen. Among all the Pale hunters, whose moccasins
trample the prairie grass in all directions, there is one who is braver
and more terrible than the rest; the tigers and jaguars fly at his
approach, and the Indian warriors themselves are afraid to cope with
him. This hunter is no effeminate Yori; the blood of the Gachupinos does
not flow in his veins; he is the son of a colder land, and his ancestors
fought for a lengthened period with the Long Knives of the East."
"Good," the monk said; "from what the Chief tells me, I see that this
man is a Canadian."
"That is the name given, I think, to the nation of my friend."
"But among all the hunters I am acquainted with, there is only one who
is a Canadian."
"Wah!" said the Chief, "Only one?"
"Yes; his name is Tranquil, I think, and he is attached to the
Larch-tree hacienda."
"Wah! That is the very man. Does my father know him?"
"Not much, I confess, but still sufficiently to present myself to him."
"Very good."
"Still, I warn you, Chief, that this man, like all his fellows, leads an
extremely vagabond life, being here today and gone tomorrow; so that I
am in great doubt as to where I should seek him."
"Wah! my father need not trouble himself about that; the Sachem will
lead him to the camp of the Tiger killer."
"In that case, very good; I will undertake the rest."
"My father must carefully retain in his heart the words of Blue-fox. The
warriors are awaking; they must know nothing. When the hour arrives, the
Chief will tell my father what he wants of him."
"As you please, Chief."
The conversation broke off here. The warriors were really awaking, and
the camp, so quiet a few moments previously, had now the aspect of a
hive, when the bees prepare at sunrise to go in search of their daily
crop. At a sign from the Chief, the hachesto, or public crier, mounted a
fallen tree, and twice uttered a shrill cry. At this appeal all the
warriors, even those still lying on the ground, hastened to range
themselves behind the Chief. A deep silence then prevailed for several
minutes; all the Indians, with their arms folded on their chest, and
their faces turned to the rising sun, awaited what the Sachem was about
to do.
The latter took a calabash full of water, which the hachesto handed him,
and in which was a spray of wormwood. Then raising his voice, he
sprinkled toward the four cardinal points, saying--
"Wacondah, Wacondah! Thou unknown and omnipotent spirit, whose universe
is the temple, Master of the life of man, protect thy children!"
"Master of the life of man, protect thy children!" the Apaches repeated
in chorus, respectfully bowing.
"Creator of the great sacred Tortoise, whose skill supports the world,
keep far from us Nyang, the genius of evil! Deliver our enemies to us,
and give us their scalps. Wacondah! Wacondah! Protect thy children!"
"Wacondah! Wacondah! Protect thy children!" the warriors repeated.
The Sachem then bowed to the sun, and then towards the contents of the
calabash, saying--
"And thou, sublime star, visible representative of the omnipotent and
invincible Creator, continue to pour thy vivifying heat on the hunting
grounds of thy Red Sons, and intercede for them with the Master of life.
May this clear water I offer thee be grateful. Wacondah! Wacondah!
Protect thy children!"
"Wacondah! Wacondah! Protect thy children!" the Apaches repeated, and
followed their Chief's example by kneeling reverently. The latter then
took a medicine rod from the hachesto, and waved it several times over
his head, while shouting in a loud voice--
"Nyang, spirit of evil, rebel against the Master of life; we brave and
despise thy power, for the Wacondah protects us!"
All the congregation uttered a loud yell, and rose. When the morning
prayer had been said, and the rites performed, each man began attending
to his daily duties.
Fray Antonio had witnessed with extreme astonishment this sacred and
affecting ceremony, whose details, however, escaped his notice, for the
words uttered by the Chief had been in the dialect of his nation, and
consequently incomprehensible to the monk. Still, he experienced a
certain delight on seeing that these men, whom he regarded as
barbarians, were not entirely devoid of better feelings, and religious
faith.
The expiring campfires were rekindled, in order to prepare the morning
meal, while scouts started in every direction, to assure themselves that
the road was free, and no enemy on the watch. The monk, being now
completely reassured, and beginning to grow accustomed to his new
position, ate with good appetite the provisions offered him, and made no
objection to mount the horse the Chief indicated to him, when they
prepared to set out on the termination of the meal.
Fray Antonio was beginning to find that the savages, who had been
represented to him in such gloomy colours, were not so wicked as they
were said to be, and he was almost inclined to believe that they had
been calumniated. In truth, their hospitality had never once been in
default; on the contrary, they had apparently studied to please him.
They rode on for several hours along tracks marked by the wild beasts,
forced, through the narrowness of the paths, to go in Indian file, that
is to say, one behind the other; and although the monk perceived that
the Sachem constantly kept by his side, he did not feel at all alarmed
by it, remembering the conversation they had in the morning.
A little before midday the band halted on the bank of a small stream,
shadowed by lofty trees, where they intended to wait till the great heat
had passed over. The monk was not at all vexed at this delay, which
enabled him to rest in the cool. During the halt Blue-fox did not once
address him, and the monk made no attempt to bring on a conversation, as
he much preferred enjoying a siesta.
At about four P.M. the band mounted, and set out again; but this time,
instead of going at a walking pace, they galloped. The Indians, by the
way, only recognize these two paces; they consider trotting an
absurdity, and we confess that we are somewhat of their opinion. The
ride was long; the sun had set for more than two hours, and still the
Indians galloped. At length, at a signal from their Chief, they halted.
Blue-fox then went up to the monk, and drew him a little aside.
"We shall separate here," he said; "it would not be prudent for the
Apaches to go further: my father will continue his journey alone."
"I?" the monk said, in surprise; "You are jesting, Chief--I prefer
remaining with you."
"That cannot be," the Indian said, in a peremptory voice.
"Where the deuce would you have me go at this hour, and in this
darkness?"
"My father will look," the Chief continued, stretching out his arm to
the south-west, "does he see that reddish light scarce rising above the
horizon?"
Fray Antonio looked attentively in the direction indicated. "Yes," he
said, presently, "I do see it."
"Very good; that flame is produced by a campfire of the Palefaces."
"Oh, oh! are you sure of that?"
"Yes; but my father must listen; the Palefaces will receive my father
kindly."
"I understand; then I will tell Tranquil that his friend Blue-fox
desires to speak with him, point out where he is, and--"
"The magpie is a chattering and brainless bird, which gabbles like an
old squaw," the Chief roughly interrupted him; "my father will say
nothing."
"Oh!" the monk said, in confusion.
"My father will be careful to do what I order him, if he does not wish
his scalp to dry on the lance of a Chief."
Fray Antonio shuddered at this menace.
"I swear it, Chief," he said.
"A man does not swear," the Chief remarked, brutally; "he says yes or
no. When my father reaches the camp of the Palefaces, he will not allude
to the Apaches; but when the Pale hunters are asleep, my father will
leave the camp and come to warn Blue-fox."
"But where shall I find you?" the monk asked, piteously, beginning to
perceive that he was destined to act as the spy of the savages in one of
their diabolical machinations.
"My father need not trouble himself about that, for I shall manage to
find him."
"Very good."
"If my father is faithful, Blue-fox will give him a buffalo skin full of
gold dust; if not, he must not hope to escape the Chief; the Apaches are
crafty, the scalp of a Chief of prayer will adorn the lance of a Chief;
I have spoken."
"You have no further orders to give me?"
"No."
"Good-bye, then."
"Till we meet again," the Apache said, with a grin.
Fray Antonio made no reply, but uttered a deep sigh, and pushed on in
the direction of the camp. The nearer he drew to it, the more difficult
did it appear to him to accomplish the sinister mission with which the
Apache Chief had intrusted him; twice or thrice the idea of flight
crossed his mind, but whither could he go? And then it was probable that
the Indians placed but slight confidence in him, and carefully watched
him in the gloom.
At length the camp appeared before the monk's startled eyes, as he could
not draw back, for the hunters had doubtless perceived him already; he
decided on pushing forward, while desperately muttering--
"The Lord have mercy upon me!"