RETURN TO LIFE.
We are now compelled to go a little way back, and return to one of the
principal actors of our story, whom we have too long neglected; we
allude to White Scalper. The reader of the "Freebooters" will,
doubtless, remember that the terrible combat on the deck of the brig,
between Tranquil and the Scalper, was continued in the sea, into which
the ferocious old man had been hurled by the negro who followed him.
Quoniam had been in too great a hurry in telling the Canadian of the
death of his enemy; it is true, though, that the negro acted in good
faith, and really believed he had killed him. The last dagger stab dealt
by Quoniam was buried deep in the old man's chest; the wound was so
serious that the Scalper immediately left off further resistance; his
eyes closed, his nerves relaxed like broken springs; he loosed hold of
his enemy, to whom he had hitherto clung, and remained an inert mass,
tossed at the mercy of the waves.
The Negro, exhausted with fatigue and half suffocated, hastened back to
the deck of the vessel, persuaded that his enemy was dead; but it was
not so. The Scalper had merely lost his senses, and his inanimate body
was picked up by a Mexican boat. But, when this boat reached the shore,
the crew, on seeing the horrible wounds which covered the stranger's
body, his pallor and corpse-like immobility, had, in their turn, fancied
him dead, and taking no further trouble about him, threw him back into
the sea. Fortunately for the Scalper, at the moment when the crew formed
this determination the boat was close to land, so that his body,
supported by the waves, was gently deposited on the sand, the lower part
remaining submerged, while the head and chest were left dry by the
retirement of the waves.
Either through the fresh night air or the oscillating movement the sea
imparted to the lower part of his body, within an hour the old man gave
a slight start; a sigh heaved his powerful chest, and a few instinctive
attempts to change his position clearly showed that this vigorous
organisation was struggling energetically against death, and compelling
it to retire. At length the wounded man opened his eyes, but profound
gloom still enveloped him like a winding sheet. On the other hand, the
fatigue produced by the gigantic struggle he had sustained, and the
enormous quantity of blood which had escaped through his wounds, caused
him a general weakness, so great, both morally and physically, that it
was impossible for the Scalper, not merely to find out where he was, but
to remember the circumstances that had brought him there.
It was in vain that he tried to restore order in his ideas, or bring
back his fugitive thoughts; the shock had been too rude; the commotion
too strong; in spite of all his efforts he could not succeed in
refastening the broken thread of his thoughts. He saw himself, alone,
wounded, and abandoned on the seashore; he understood instinctively all
the horror and desperation of his position; but no gleam of intelligence
flashed across his brain to guide him in this fearful chaos. He was
angry with himself at the impotence to which he found himself reduced
and the impossibility of attempting anything to get only a few yards
away from the sea, at the edge of which, he was lying, and which would
infallibly swallow him up, if his weakness overcame his will and
betrayed his courage.
Then took place on that desolate shore a horrible drama, filled with
moving and startling incidents--the wild struggles of a half-dead man
striving to reconquer the existence which was ebbing from him, and
struggling with savage energy against the death whose fatal hand already
pressed heavily upon him. The slightest movement the Scalper attempted
occasioned him unheard of sufferings, not only through the numerous
wounds, whose lips were filled with sand and gravel, but also because he
was compelled to confess to himself that all his efforts would lead to
no result, and that, unless a miracle happened, he was infallibly lost.
That miracle, which the wretch did not hope for, the very thought of
which could not occur to him, Providence, whose ways are impenetrable,
and who often only appears to save a guilty man to inflict on him a more
terrible chastisement, was preparing to perform at the moment when the
wounded man, his strength and energy exhausted, was falling back
conquered on the beach, resolved to await coldly that death which he
could not avoid.
The Texans had scattered along the beach several parties of Freebooters,
who were intended to watch the movements of the Mexican cruisers. These
parties were all within hail of each other, and able to assemble at a
given point with extreme rapidity. Chance willed it that when the
Scalper's body was again thrown into the sea it touched shore not far
from a rather large rancho standing close to the beach, and in which the
most influential Chiefs of the Texan army were this night assembled, in
prevision of the great events that were preparing. Naturally the
approaches to the rancho were carefully guarded, and numerous patrols
marched around it in order to ensure the safety of the Chiefs.
One of these patrols had seen the Mexican boats land, and hurried up to
drive them off, which they easily effected, as the Mexicans were not at
all desirous to begin a fresh fight with enemies whose number and
strength they were not acquainted with, and whom they supposed, with
some appearance of reason, to be in communication with those rebels with
whom they had been fighting an hour previously. When the boats got out
to sea again, the Texans began carefully examining the beach, in order
to be certain that all their enemies had retired and left nobody behind
them. The first to discover the Scalper's body summoned his comrades,
and soon the wounded man had twenty individuals round him. At the first
moment they fancied him dead; the Scalper heard all that was said around
him, but was unable to make a move or utter a word. He felt terribly
alarmed for a moment; it was when a Freebooter, after bending over and
carefully examining him, rose again with the careless remark:
"The poor devil is dead, we have nothing to do but dig a hole in the
sand and put him in it, so that the coyotes and vultures may not devour
his corpse. Some of you go and fetch the largest stones you can find
while we dig a hole here with our machetes; it will soon be over."
At this sentence, pronounced in a perfectly calm and careless voice, as
if it were the simplest and most natural thing in the world, the Scalper
felt a cold perspiration beading at the root of his hair, and a shudder
of terror run over his body. He made a tremendous effort to speak or
shriek, but it was in vain. He was in that almost cataleptic state in
which, although the intellect retains all its lucidity, the body is an
inert and insensible mass which no longer obeys.
"Stay," said another adventurer interposing, and checking by a sign
those who were preparing to pick up the stones; "let us not be in such a
hurry. This poor wretch is a creature made after God's own image;
although his is in a pitiable state, a breath of life may still be left
in him. We shall still be in a position to bury him if we find that he
is really dead; but first let us assure ourselves that any assistance is
in vain."
"Nonsense," the first speaker continued; "Fray Antonio is always like
that; were we to listen to him, all the dead would only be wounded, and
he would make us lose precious time in giving them useless care.
However, as there is nothing to hurry us at this moment, I ask no better
than to try and bring this man round, although he appears to me as dead
as a fellow can well be."
"No matter," Fray Antonio answered, "let us try, at any rate."
"Very good," said the other with a shrug of the shoulders.
"And first let us remove him from here. When, he is perfectly dry, and
runs no further risk of being carried off by the waves, we will see what
we have to do."
The wounded man was immediately picked up by four Freebooters, and
gently carried some twenty yards off to an entirely dry spot, where it
was impossible for the sea to reach him. The worthy monk then produced a
large case bottle of rum, which he uncorked, and after explaining his
duty to each, that is to say, after ordering that the temples, wrists,
and pit of the stomach should be vigorously rubbed with rum, he bent
over him, and opening his jaws, which were tight as a vice, with the
blade of his dagger, he poured into his mouth an honest quartern of rum.
The effect of this double treatment was not long delayed. In a few
seconds the wounded man gave a alight start, opened his eyes feebly,
and, gave vent to a sigh of relief.
"Ah, ah," said Fray Antonio with a laugh: "what do you think of that, No
Ruperto? I fancy your dead man is coming to life again, eh?"
"On my word, it is true," the other answered with a grin; "well, that is
a man who can flatter himself with having his soul screwed into his
body; by Bacchus! If he recover, which I did not yet assert, he can say
that he has made a preciously long journey."
In the meantime, the friction was continued with the same vigour; the
circulation of the blood was rapidly re-established; the Scalper's eyes
became less haggard, his features were relaxed, and an expression of
comfort spread over his countenance.
"Do you feel better?" the monk asked him kindly.
"Yes," he answered in a weak, though perfectly distinct voice.
"All the better. With the help of Heaven we will get you out of the
scrape."
By a singular accident, the monk had not yet recognised the man to whom
he had himself owed his life a few months previously. The wounds were
carefully washed with rum and water, and cleared from the sand and
gravel adhering to them; they were then poulticed with pounded oregano
leaves, an extremely effective remedy for wounds, and then carefully
tied up.
"There," the monk continued with an air of satisfaction, "that is
finished. I will now have you carried to a spot where you will be much
better able than here to enjoy that repose which is indispensable for
you after so rude a shock."
"Do what you please with me," the wounded man answered with an effort;
"I owe you too much to offer the slightest objection."
"The more so," Ruperto answered with a laugh, "because it would be
perfectly useless; the reverend Father has undertaken your cure, and,
whether you like it or no, you must follow his prescriptions."
At a sign from Fray Antonio, four powerful men raised the patient in
their arms, and carried him into the rancho. It was he who Colonel
Melendez had seen go in, when led by chance to the same rancho, he had
for some minutes listened to, and surveyed what was going on inside. The
rancho belonged to a rich Texan haciendero, a devoted partisan of the
revolution, and who was delighted to place at the disposal of the Chiefs
a retreat which he had built in happier times for a summer villa. This
house, while agreeably situated, spacious, and well kept up, was
abundantly provided, not only with everything indispensable for
existence, but also with those thousand trifles and luxuries which are
conventionally called comfort, and which rich persons, through
lengthened habit, cannot do without.
The Chiefs were at first rather annoyed at the free and easy way in
which Fray Antonio, without giving them notice, had encumbered them with
a wounded stranger. But when they saw in what a pitiable state the poor
fellow was, they made no further objection, but allowed the monk to
instal him where he thought best. Fray Antonio did not allow the
permission to be repeated. Aided by the master of the rancho, he
transported the wounded man to a spacious and airy room, whose windows
looked out on the sea, and in which the Scalper was placed in an
admirably healthy condition.
So soon as the patient was laid in a bed expressly made for him--for in
these torrid climates the inhabitants are accustomed to sleep on mats,
or at the most in hammocks--the monk handed him a narcotic drink, which
he requested him to swallow. The effect was almost immediate; a few
minutes after he had drunk it, White Scalper fell into a calm and
restorative sleep. The entire night passed without any incident; the
wounded man slept for eight hours at a stretch, and when he awoke, he
was no longer the same; he felt fresh, cheerful, and reposed.
Several days passed thus, during which Fray Antonio paid him the closest
and most affectionate attention. If, at the first moment, the monk was
unable to recognise the White Scalper, it was not long ere he did so by
daylight; after carefully examining this man, whose appearance had
really something strange and remarkable about it, his recollection
returned, and he recognised the hunter so greatly feared on the prairie
by the Redskins, and even by the whites, and to whom himself owed his
life under such singular circumstances; hence, he was pleased at the
opportunity chance afforded him of repaying his debt to this man. But
as, on the other hand, the wounded man, either through obstinacy or
defective memory, did not appear at all to remember him, the monk kept
his discovery to himself, and continued his attentions to the wounded
man without permitting himself the slightest allusion which might cause
the other to suspect that he was recognised.
Things went on thus till the day of the battle of Cerro Pardo. In the
morning, as usual, Fray Antonio entered his patient's room, whose cure
was rapidly advancing, thanks to the efficacy of the oregano leaves. His
wounds were almost cicatrized, and he felt his strength returning.
"My friend," said the monk to him, "I have done all for you I morally
could; you will do me the justice of saying that I nursed you like a
brother."
"I have only thanks to offer you," the wounded man said, stretching out
his hand.
"Much obliged," said Fray Antonio, as he took this hand; "today I have
bad news for you."
"Bad news?" the other repeated in surprise.
"After all," the monk continued, "the news may be good. Still, to deal
frankly with you, I do not believe it; I augur no good from what we are
going to do."
"I must confess that I do not at all understand you, so I should feel
extremely obliged if you would explain yourself more clearly."
"That is true. Indeed, you cannot suspect anything. In two words, this
is the affair: the army has received orders to march forward this very
morning."
"So that----?" the wounded man asked.
"I am, to my great regret," the monk said with a crafty smile,
"compelled to leave you behind."
"Hum!" the White Scalper mattered in some alarm.
"Unless," Fray Antonio continued, "as I dare not hope, we beat the
Mexicans, in which case you are certain to see me again."
The patient seemed to grow more and more restless about the position in
which he ran a risk of being left.
"Did you come solely to tell me that?" he asked.
"No. I wished to make you a proposal."
"What is it?" the other eagerly asked.
"Listen. I picked you up in a most desperate state."
"That is true: I allow it."
"Although some people say," Fray Antonio continued, "that you received
your wounds in fighting against us, and, indeed, some of our men declare
themselves certain of the fact, I would not put faith in their words. I
know not why, but since I have been nursing you, I have grown to take an
interest in you; I should not like the cure I have carried on hitherto
so successfully, to break down. This is what I propose: about one
hundred miles from the spot where we now are, there is an encampment of
white men and half-breeds, over whom I possessed considerable influence
some time back. I believe that they have not yet quite forgotten me, and
that anyone joining them as from me, would meet with a kindly reception.
Will you go there? It is a risk to run."
"How could I perform this journey in my present state of weakness and
prostration?"
"That need not trouble you. Four men, who are devoted to me, will
conduct you to my old friends."
"Oh, if that be the case," the Scalper exclaimed eagerly, "I gladly
accept. If I perished on the road, I would prefer that to remaining here
alone."
"I trust that you will not perish, but reach your destination all right.
So that is agreed. You will go?"
"With the greatest pleasure. When do we start?"
"At once, there is not a moment to lose."
"Good! Give the necessary orders, I am ready."
"I must warn you, however, that the men to whom I am sending you, are
slightly of a scampish nature, and you must not assume any high moral
tone with them."
"What does it concern me? if they were even pirates of the prairies,
believe me, I should attach no importance to the fact."
"Bravo! I see that we understand each other, for I believe these worthy
gentlemen dabble a little in all trades."
"Good, good!" the Scalper gaily answered; "Do not trouble yourself about
that."
"In that case, get ready to start; I shall return in ten minutes at the
latest."
With these words, the monk left the room. The old man, who had not many
preparations to make, was soon in a position to take the road. As he had
stated, within ten minutes the monk returned, followed by four men.
Among them was Ruperto, who, it will be remembered, offered the advice
to bury the wounded man in the sand. The Scalper was still very weak,
and incapable of either walking or sitting a horse. The monk had
remedied this inconvenience, as far as possible, by having a clumsy
litter prepared for the wounded man, carried by two mules, and in which
he could recline. This mode of transport was very slow, and extremely
inconvenient, especially for the guides, in a country such as they had
to cross; but it was the only one practicable at the moment, and so they
must put up with it. The wounded man was carried to the litter, and laid
on it as comfortably as was possible.
"And now," said the monk, "may Heaven direct you; do not feel at all
alarmed, Ruperto has many instructions, and I know him well enough to be
convinced that he will not depart from them, whatever may happen. So you
can trust to him. Good bye!"
And, after giving the wounded man his hand, Fray Antonio made a movement
to retire.
"One moment," said the old man, as he held the hand he had taken; "I
wish to say but one word to you."
"Speak, but be brief. I have the weightiest reasons for desiring your
immediate departure; in a few minutes some wounded men will arrive here,
who have hitherto been kept in the fort, and whom you would probably not
be at all pleased to meet."
"I fancy I can understand to whom you allude; but that is not the
question. I wish, before parting with you, and not knowing whether I
shall ever see you again, to express to you the gratitude I feel for
your conduct toward me, a gratitude which is the greater because I am
convinced you have recognised me."
"And suppose I have?"
"You needed only to say one word to surrender me to my most inveterate
enemies; and yet you did not utter that word."
"Certainly not; for even supposing, as you seem to believe, that I have
recognised you, I was only discharging a debt I had incurred with you."
The old man's face writhed; his eye became moist; he warmly squeezed the
monk's hand, which he had till now held in his own, and it was with
much emotion and tenderness that he added--
"Thanks. This kindness will not be lost; the events of the last few days
have greatly modified my way of looking at certain things; you shall
never regret having saved my life."
"I hope so; but be gone, and may Heaven guard you!"
"We shall meet again."
"Who knows?" the monk muttered, as he gave the guides a signal.
The latter flogged their mules, and the litter began moving. About an
hour after the start, it met a covered cart, in which lay Tranquil, but
they passed without seeing each other. The monk had only spoken the
truth about Ruperto. The worthy adventurer was most attentive to the
sick man, carefully watching over him, and trying to while away the
tedium of the journey. Unluckily, the party had to cross an essentially
primitive country, in which there were no roads, and where the guides
were generally obliged to cut a path with their axes. The litter
advanced but slowly, and with unheard of difficulty, along the
abominable tracts, and, despite the most minute precautions, the wounded
man suffered horribly from the jolting and shakes the mules gave the
litter almost every moment.
Ruperto, to fatigue the patient as little as possible, only travelled by
night, or very early in the morning, ere the sun had acquired its full
strength. They marched thus for a fortnight, during which the country
grew wilder, and the ground gradually ascended; the scenery became more
abrupt and stern, the virgin forests closed in, and they could see that
they were approaching the mountains.
One evening, when the little party had established their night bivouac
on the banks of a rapid stream that flowed into the Arkansas, the
Scalper, who, in spite of the privations and fatigue to which he had
been constantly exposed since his departure from the rancho, felt his
strength gradually returning, asked his guide how many days their
journey would still last--which as yet he had been unwilling to do,
through a feeling of delicacy. At this question, Ruperto smiled
cunningly.
"Our journey has been finished for the last four days," he said.
"What do you mean?" the Scalper asked with a start of surprise.
"The people we are going to see," the adventurer went on, "do not like
to receive visits without being previously advised; surprises do not
agree with them. In order to avoid any misunderstanding, which is always
to be regretted between old friends, I employed the only means in my
power."
"And what is it?"
"Oh, it is very simple. Just look at our camp--do people guard
themselves in this way on the desert? Instead of being at the top of a
hill, we are at the watering place of the wild beasts; the smoke from
our fire, instead of being concealed, is, on the contrary, visible for a
great distance. Do all these acts of imprudence committed purposely
teach you nothing?"
"Ah, ah," the old man said, "then you wish your friends to surprise us?"
"Quite right. In that way the recognition will be effected without
striking a blow. And stay! If I am not mistaken, we are about to receive
visitors."
At this moment the branches of a neighbouring thicket were roughly
parted and several men rushed into the camp, with the machete in one
hand, the rifle in the other.