SWORD-THRUSTS.
In order to make the facts that follow intelligible, we must leave Don
Tadeo and his friend in their critical position, and return to the two
principal personages of this history, whom we have so long neglected.
We saw in a preceding chapter the two foster brothers gaily leaving
Valparaiso, to repair to the capital of Chili, like Bias, carrying all
their fortune with them, but possessing over the philosophical Greek the
immense advantage of being amply furnished with hopes and illusions, two
words which, in this life, have but too frequently the same meaning.
After a rather long ride, the young men had stopped for the night in
a miserable _rancho_ constructed of mud and dry branches, the dismal
skeleton of which stood out on one side of the road. The inhabitant of
this miserable dwelling, a poor devil of a peon, whose life was passed
in guarding a few head of lean cattle, gave our travellers a frank and
hospitable reception. Quite delighted at having something to offer them,
he had cheerfully shared with them his _charqui_--strips of meat, dried
in the sun--and his _harina tostada_--roasted corn--the whole washed
down with cups of detestable _chicha_.
The Frenchmen, who had been literally dying of hunger, were glad of even
these humble viands, however little savoury they might be, and after
ascertaining that their horses were comfortably provided for, they lay
down, wrapped in their ponchos, upon a heap of dry leaves, a delicious
bed for fatigued men, and upon which they slept soundly till morning.
At daybreak, our two adventurers, still accompanied by their dog Cæsar,
who, whatever he might think, expressed no astonishment at this new kind
of life, but trotted seriously beside them, saddled their horses, bade
farewell to their host, to whom they gave a few reals in return for
his hospitality, and set forward again, looking with earnest curiosity
at every object that presented itself to their view, and surprised to
find so little difference between the New World and the Old. The life
they were beginning, so different from that they had hitherto led, was,
for them, full of unexpected charms, and they felt like schoolboys in
holiday time. Their lungs seemed to expand to inhale the fresh, sharp
breeze of the mountains. Everything, in their eyes, wore a smiling
aspect; in a word, they felt they lived.
It is about thirty-five leagues from Valparaiso to Chili, as the people
of the country are accustomed to call the capital of the Republic. The
handsome, broad, and well-kept up road, which was formerly cut through
the mountain by the Spaniards, is rather monotonous, and completely
devoid of interest for tourists. Vegetation is rare and poor; a fine
and almost impalpable dust arises with the least puff of wind. The few
trees, which stand at long distances from each other, are slender,
stunted, dried up by both wind and sun, and seem, by their wretched
appearance, to protest against the efforts at cultivation which have
been made on this plateau, which is rendered sterile by the strong sea
breezes and the cold winds of the Cordilleras which sweep over it.
At times may be seen, at an immense height, like a black dot in space,
the great condor of Chili, the eagle of the Andes, or the savage vulture
in search of prey. At long intervals pass _recuas_ of mules, headed by
the _yegua madrina_, whose sonorous bells are heard to a great distance,
accompanying, well or ill, the dismal chant of the muleteer, who thus
endeavours to keep his beasts going. Or else it is a _guaso_ of the
interior, hastening to his chacra or his hacienda, and who, proudly
mounted upon a half wild horse, passes like a whirlwind, favouring you
as he goes by, with the eternal "Santas tardes, caballero!"
With the exception of what we have described, the road is dull, dusty,
and solitary. There is not, as with us, a single hostelry affording
accommodation for horse and foot; these would be useless establishments
in a country where the stranger enters every house as if it were his
own home. Nothing! Solitude everywhere and always; hunger, thirst, and
fatigue must be expected and endured.
But our young men perceived nothing of this. Enthusiasm supplied the
place of all they wanted; the road appeared charming to them; the
journey they were making, delightful! They were in America; beneath
their feet was the soil of the New World, that privileged land, of which
so many surprising accounts are given; of which so many people talk, and
about which so few know anything. Having landed only a few days before,
while still under the impressions of an endless passage, the weariness
of which had weighed down their spirits like a mantle of lead, they
beheld Chili through the enchanting prism of their hopes; reality did
not yet exist for them. What we have here said may appear a paradox to
many people; and yet, we are satisfied that all travellers of good faith
will acknowledge the exact truth.
At times travelling at a steady foot pace, at others enjoying a laugh
and a gallop, our young men, to whom the political events of the Chilian
Republic were very uninteresting, and who, consequently, knew nothing of
what was going on, arrived quietly within a league of Santiago, at about
eleven o'clock in the evening, just at the moment when the ten Chilian
patriots were falling on the Plaza Mayor, beneath the balls of General
Bustamente's soldiers.
"Let us pull up here," Valentine said cheerfully; "it will give our
horses time to breathe."
"Pull up! what for?" Louis asked. "It is late; we shall not find a
single hotel open."
"My dear friend," Valentine replied, with a laugh, "you are still a
Parisian to the backbone! You forget that we are in America. In that
city, of which the numerous steeples dimly stand out on the horizon
before us, everybody is long since asleep, and all the doors are closed."
"What shall we do, then?"
"Pardieu! why, we will bivouac. The night is magnificent. The heavens
display all their jewelry; the air is warm and balmy; what better could
we desire?"
"Oh, nothing, of course!" Louis replied, laughingly.
"Well, then, we have, as you see, time to chat a little."
"Chat, brother! why, we have done nothing else since morning."
"Pardon me, I don't agree with you. We have talked much, about all sorts
of things, of the country in which we are, and of the manners of the
inhabitants, little as we know about them; but we have not talked in the
manner I mean."
"Explain yourself more clearly."
"Look you, brother; an idea has just struck me. We know not what
adventures await us in that city, yonder, before us. Well! before we
enter it, I should like to have a sort of final conversation with you."
The young men took off their horses' bridles, that the animals might
have the advantage of a few tufts of grass which sprang up here and
there; and, stretching themselves luxuriously upon the ground, they lit
their cigars.
"We are in America," Valentine resumed; "in the country of gold, upon
that soil where, with intelligence and courage, men of our age can in a
few years amass princely fortunes!"
"Do you know, my friend----" interrupted Louis.
"Oh, perfectly!" said Valentine, cutting him short. "You are in love,
and you are seeking the object of your love; that's understood: but that
does not at all interfere with our projects--quite the contrary."
"How is that?"
"Pardieu! that's plain enough. You know, do you not, that Doña
Rosario--that's her name, I think--"
"Yes."
"Very well, then; you know she is rich, do you not?"
"There's no doubt of that."
"Ay, ay! but be it understood, not rich as with us: that is to say, some
fifty thousand francs a year--a paltry pittance!--but rich as people are
here--a dozen times over millionaires!"
"Probably she may be," the young man said impatiently.
"That's capital! You must understand, then, that when we have found her,
for we _shall_ find her, and that soon, you can only demand her hand by
producing a fortune equal to her own."
"The devil! I never thought of that," said the young man.
"I know you did not; you are in love; and, like all other men afflicted
with that disease, you think of nothing but the person you love.
Fortunately, however, I am with you, to think for both; and whenever you
have spoken to me of love, I have replied by reminding you of fortune."
"That is true. But how is fortune to be made so promptly?"
"Ah! ah! you have come to that question at last," Valentine said,
laughing.
"I know no profession," Louis continued, following his own idea.
"Nor I either. But let not that alarm you; people succeed best in things
they don't understand."
"What's to be done?"
"I will think of it; so set your mind at rest. But you must be well
convinced of one thing, and that is, that we have set foot in a land
where the ideas are quite different from those of the country we have
left; where the manners and customs are diametrically opposite."
"You mean to say--"
"I mean to say that we must forget all we have learnt, in order that
we may remember but one thing--our desire quickly to make a colossal
fortune."
"By honourable means?"
"I am acquainted with no other," Valentine replied, seriously. "And
remember, brother, that in the country in which we at present are, the
point of honour is not at all the same as in France, and many things
which with us would appear false coin are here deemed good and passable.
On this point a word to the wise! You understand me, don't you?"
"Nearly, I think."
"Very well! Imagine we are in an enemy's country, and must act
accordingly."
"But----"
"Do you wish to marry the woman you love:"
"Can you ask me such a question?"
"Allow me to act, then, as I see best! But, above all, when chance
throws a good opportunity in our way, let us be careful not to miss it."
"Act just as you please."
"Well, that is all I had to say to you;" and throwing away the remains
of his cigar, he rose from his recumbent position.
They were soon again in the saddle, and, at a foot's pace, resumed their
way towards the city, chatting as they went.
Midnight was striking by the clock of the Cabildo at the moment when
they entered Santiago by the Canada. The streets were deserted and
silent.
"Everybody is asleep," said Louis.
"So it seems," Valentine replied. "Let us look out, notwithstanding. If
we find no door open, we can then but compound for a night's bivouac, as
I suggested."
At this moment two pistol shots were heard, mingled with the gallop of
horses.
"What can that be?" said Louis. "Assassination is going on here!"
"Forward! cordieu!" replied Valentine.
They clapped spurs to their horses, and galloped at full speed in the
direction whence the sound proceeded. They soon reached a narrow street,
in the middle of which two men on foot were bravely contending with five
on horseback.
"Have at the horsemen!" Valentine shouted; "help the weaker party!"
"Be of good heart, gentlemen!" said Louis; "help is at hand!"
And timely help it was for Don Gregorio and his friend. A minute later,
and they must have succumbed. The providential arrival of the Frenchmen
quickly changed the appearance of the fight. Two horsemen fell dead from
pistol shots fired by the young men; while a third, knocked down by Don
Gregorio, was silently strangled by Cæsar. The other two thought it
high time to decamp, leaving their fair prisoner behind them. She had
fainted; and Don Tadeo, leaning against the wall of a house, was upon
the point of following her example. Valentine, with the presence of mind
acquired in his old profession of a Spahi, secured the horses of the
bandits killed in the skirmish.
"Quick, gentlemen! to the saddle!" Valentine said to the Chilians.
Louis had already dismounted, and was attending to the young lady.
"Do not leave us," Don Gregorio remarked; "we are surrounded by enemies."
"Fear nothing!" said Valentine, "we are quite at your service."
"Many thanks!--A little assistance, if you please, to place my friend,
who is wounded, on horseback."
Once in the saddle, Don Tadeo declared he felt sufficiently strong to
keep his seat without help. Don Gregorio placed the still inanimate
young lady before him.
"Now, gentlemen," he said, "nothing remains for me but to thank you most
cordially, if your business will not allow you to remain longer with us."
"I beg to repeat, caballeros, that we are at your service."
"We have no pressing demand upon our time; we will not leave you till we
are assured you are in safety," Louis said, with animation.
"Follow me, then," said Don Gregorio, with a bow; "and do not spare the
horses; it is an affair of life and death."
And the four horsemen set off as fast as their horses could bear them.
"Eh! eh!" said Valentine, in an undertone to his foster brother. "Here
is an adventure that promises something! We are losing no time at
Santiago! What think you?"
"We shall see!" Louis replied, in a more thoughtful tone.
No light had gleamed out, no window had been opened, during the combat.
The streets remained silent and gloomy; the city seemed abandoned.
Nothing was to be heard but the clatter of the horses' feet upon the
rough pavement of the streets through which they galloped. The cathedral
clock struck two as they passed across the Plaza Mayor. Don Tadeo could
not repress a sigh of relief when glancing at the spot where on, only a
few hours before, he had so miraculously escaped death.