FATHER SERAPHIN.
"Gentlemen," said Valentine, "this is what I propose. The treachery of
Red Cedar, in surrendering to the Government the secret of your
conspiracy, places you in a critical position, from which you cannot
escape save by violent measures. You are between life and death. You
have no alternative save victory or defeat. The powder is fired, the
ground is mined under your feet, and an explosion is imminent. Well,
then, pick up the glove treachery throws to you--accept frankly the
position offered you. Do not wait till you are attacked, but commence
the contest. Remember the vulgar adage, which is perfectly true in
politics, and specially in revolution--that 'the first blow is half the
battle.' Your enemies will be terrified by your boldness--dashed by this
uprising which they are far from expecting, especially now, when they
imagine they hold in their hands all the threads of the conspiracy--an
error which makes them put faith in the revelations of a common spy, and
will ruin them if you act with skill--above all, with promptitude. All
depends on the first blow. It must be terrible, and terrify them: if
not, you are lost."
"All that is true; but we lack time," General Ibañez observed.
"Time is never lacking when a man knows how to employ it properly,"
Valentine answered peremptorily. "I repeat, you must be beforehand with
your adversaries."
At this moment the sound of footsteps was heard under the vault of the
cave. The most extreme silence at once reigned in the chamber where the
five conspirators were assembled. Mechanically each sought his weapons.
The steps rapidly approached, and a man appeared in the entrance of the
hall. On seeing him all present uttered a cry of joy and rose
respectfully, repeating, "Father Seraphin!"
The man advanced smiling, bowed gracefully, and answered in a gentle and
melodious voice, which went straight to the soul,--
"Take your places again, gentlemen, I beg of you. I should be truly
vexed if I caused you any disturbance. Permit me only to sit down for a
few moments by your side."
They hastened to make room for him. Let us say in a few words who this
person was, whose unexpected arrival caused so much pleasure to the
people assembled in the grotto.
Father Seraphin was a man of twenty-four at the most, although the
fatigues he supported, the harsh labours he had imposed on himself, and
which he fulfilled with more than apostolic abnegation, had left
numerous traces on his face, with its delicate features, its gentle and
firm expression, imprinted with a sublime melancholy, rendered even more
touching by the beam of ineffable goodness which escaped from his large,
blue and thoughtful eyes. His whole person, however, exhaled a perfume
of youth and health which disguised his age, as to which a superficial
observer might have been easily deceived.
Father Seraphin was a Frenchman, and belonged to the order of the
Lazarists. For five years he had been traversing as an indefatigable
missionary, with no other weapon than his staff, the unexplored
solitudes of Texas and New Mexico, preaching the gospel to the Indians,
while caring nothing for the terrible privations and nameless sufferings
he incessantly endured, and the death constantly suspended over his
head.
Father Seraphin was one of those numerous soldiers, ignored martyrs of
the army of faith, who, making a shield of the Gospel, spread at the
peril of their lives the word of God in those barbarous countries, and
die heroically, falling bravely on their battlefield, worn out by the
painful exigencies of their sublime mission, aged at thirty, but having
gained over a few souls to the truth, and shed light among the ignorant
masses.
The abnegation and devotion of these modest men, yet so great in heart,
are too much despised in France, where however, the greater number of
these martyrs are recruited. Their sacrifices pass unnoticed; for, owing
to the false knowledge possessed of beyond-sea countries, people are far
from suspecting the continual struggles they have to sustain against a
deadly climate. And who would credit it? The most obstinate adversaries
they meet with in the accomplishment of their mission are not among the
Indians, who always nearly welcome them with respect, if not joy, but
among the men whom their labours benefit, and who ought to aid and
protect them with all their might. There is no vexation or humiliation
which they do not endure from the agents of Mexico and the American
Union, to try and disgust and compel them to abandon the arena in which
they combat so nobly.
Father Seraphin had gained the friendship and respect of all those with
whom accident had brought him into contact. Charmed with meeting a
fellow countryman in the midst of those vast solitudes so distant from
that France he never hoped to see again, he had attached himself closely
to Valentine, to whom he vowed a deep and sincere affection. For the
same motives, the hunter, who admired the greatness of character of this
priest so full of true religion, felt himself drawn to him by an
irresistible liking. They had frequently taken long journeys together,
the hunter guiding his friend to the Indian tribes across the desolate
regions of Apacheria.
So soon as Father Seraphin had taken his place near the fire, Eagle-wing
and Curumilla hastened to offer him all those slight services which they
fancied might be agreeable to him, and offered him a few lumps of roast
venison with maize tortillas. The missionary gladly gratified the two
chiefs, and accepted their offerings.
"It is a long time since we saw you, father," the hacendero said. "You
neglect us. My daughter asked me about you only two days ago, for she is
anxious to see you."
"Doña Clara is an angel who does not require me," the missionary replied
gently. "I have spent nearly two months with the Comanche tribe of the
Tortoise. Those poor Indians claim all my care. They are thirsting for
the Divine Word."
"Are you satisfied with your journey?"
"Sufficiently so, for these men are not such as they are represented to
us. Their instincts are noble, and, as their primitive nature is not
adulterated by contact with the vicious civilization that surrounds
them, they easily understood what is explained to them."
"Do you reckon on staying long among us?"
"Yes; this last journey has fatigued me extremely. My health is in a
deplorable state, and I absolutely need a few days' rest in order to
regain the requisite strength to continue my ministry."
"Well, father, come with me to the hacienda; you will remain with us,
and make us all truly happy."
"I am going to make that request to you, Don Miguel. I am delighted that
you have thus met my wishes. If I accept your obliging offer, it is
because I know I shall not incommode you."
"On the contrary, we shall be delighted to have you among us."
"Ah! I know the goodness of your heart."
"Do not make me better than I am, father: there is a spice of egotism in
what I am doing."
"How so?"
"Hang it! By labouring at the education of the Indians you render an
immense service to the race I have the honor of belonging to; for I,
too, am an Indian."
"That is true," the priest answered with a laugh. "Come, I absolve you
from the sin of egotism, in favour of the intention which makes you
commit it."
"Father," Valentine then said, "is the game plentiful in the desert just
at present?"
"Yes, there is a great deal: the buffaloes have come down from the
mountains in herds--the elks, the deer, and the antelopes swarm."
Valentine rubbed his hands.
"It will be a good season," he said.
"Yes, for you. As for myself, I have no cause of complaint, for the
Indians have been most attentive to me."
"All the better. I ever tremble when I know you are among those red
devils. I do not say that of the Comanches, who are warriors I esteem,
and have always displayed the sincerest affection for you; but I have a
terrible fear lest those villains of Apaches may play you a wicked trick
some fine day."
"Why entertain such ideas, my friend?"
"They are correct. You cannot imagine what treacherous and cruel cowards
those Apache thieves are. I know them, and carry their marks; but do not
frighten yourself. If ever they ventured on any extremities against you,
I know the road to their villages: there is not a nook in the desert
which I have not thoroughly explored. It is not for nothing I have
received the name of the 'Trail-hunter.' I swear to you I will not leave
them a scalp."
"Valentine, you know I do not like to hear you speak so. The Indians are
poor ignorant men, who know not what they do, and must be pardoned for
the evil they commit."
"All right--all right!" the hunter growled. "You have your ideas on that
score, and I mine."
"Yes," the missionary replied with a smile, "but I believe mine be
better."
"It is possible. You know I do not discuss that subject with you; for I
do not know how you do it, but you always succeed in proving to me that
I am wrong."
Everybody laughed at this sally.
"And what are the Indians doing at this moment?" Valentine continued.
"Are they still fighting?"
"No; I succeeded in bringing Unicorn, the principal chief of the
Comanches, and Stanapat (the Handful of Blood), the Apache sachem, to an
interview, at which peace was sworn."
"Hum!" Valentine said incredulously, "that peace will not last long, for
Unicorn has too many reasons to owe the Apaches a grudge."
"Nothing leads to the supposition, at present, that your forebodings
will be speedily realised."
"Why so?"
"Because, when I left Unicorn, he was preparing for a grand buffalo
hunt, in which five hundred picked warriors were to take part."
"Ah, ah! and where do you think the hunt will take place, father?"
"I know for a certainty, because, when I left Unicorn, he begged me to
invite you to it, as he knew I should see you shortly."
"I willingly accept, for a buffalo hunt always had great attractions for
me."
"You will not have far to go to find Unicorn, for he is scarce ten
leagues from this place."
"The hunt will take place, then, in the neighbourhood?"
"The meeting-place is Yellowstone Plain."
"I shall not fail to be there, father. Ah! I am delighted, more than you
can suppose, at the happy news you have brought me."
"All the better, my friend. Now, gentlemen, I will ask you to excuse me;
for I feel so broken with fatigue that, with your permission, I will go
and take a few hours' rest."
"I was a fool not to think of it before," Valentine exclaimed with
vexation as he struck his forehead. "Pardon me, father."
"I thought for my brother," said Curumilla. "If my father will follow me
all is ready."
The missionary thanked him with a smile and rose, bowed to all present,
and supported by Eagle-wing, he followed Curumilla into another chamber
of the grotto. Father Seraphin found a bed of dry leaves covered with
bear skins, and a fire so arranged as to burn all night. The two Indians
retired after bowing respectfully to the father, and assuring themselves
that he needed nothing more.
After kneeling on the ground of the grotto Father Seraphin laid himself
on his bed of leaves, crossed his arms on his chest, and fell into that
childlike sleep which only the just enjoy. After his departure Valentine
bent over to his two friends.
"All is saved," he said in a low voice.
"How? Explain yourself," they eagerly answered.
"Listen to me. You will spend the night here; at daybreak you will start
for the Hacienda de la Noria, accompanied by Father Seraphin."
"Good! What next?"
"General Ibañez will proceed, as from you, to the governor, and invite
him to a grand hunt of wild horses, to take place in three days."
"I do not understand what you are driving at."
"That is not necessary at this moment. Let me guide you; but, above all,
arrange it so that all the authorities of the town accept your
invitation and are present at the hunt."
"That I take on myself."
"Very good. You, general, will collect all the men you can, so that they
can support you on a given signal, but hide themselves so that no one
can suspect their presence."
"Very good," Don Miguel answered; "all shall be done as you recommend.
But where will you be all this while?"'
"You know very well," he answered with a smile of undefinable meaning.
"I shall be hunting the buffalo with my friend Unicorn, the great chief
of the Comanches."
Hastily breaking off the interview, the hunter wrapped himself in his
buffalo robe, stretched himself before the fire, closed his eyes, and
slept, or feigned to sleep. After a few minutes' hesitation his friend
imitated his example, and the grotto became calm and silent as on the
day of the creation.