THE BLACK JACKAL.
In order to make the facts which follow intelligible, we are obliged
here to relate an adventure which happened more than twenty years before
the period at which our history commences.
Towards the end of the month of December, 1816, on a cold, rainy night,
a traveller, mounted on an excellent horse, and carefully wrapped in
the folds of an ample cloak, was following at a round trot the road,
or rather the blind path, on the mountains which leads from Cruces to
San-José. This man was a rich landowner, who was making a journey into
Araucania, for the purpose of treating with the Indians for a large
number of cattle and sheep. Having left Cruces about two o'clock in the
afternoon, he had been delayed on his way by settling some business with
various _guasos_, and he was hastening to gain a hacienda he possessed
at some leagues from the spot where he then was, and where he reckoned
upon passing the night.
The country at the time was not in a state of tranquillity. For several
days past the Puelches had appeared in arms upon the frontiers of Chili,
and made incursions into the territories of the republic, burning the
chacras, and carrying off the families they surprised. These marauders
were commanded by a chief named The Black Jackal, whose cruelty spread
terror among the people exposed to his depredations.
It was, therefore, with some anxiety, mixed with secret apprehensions,
that the man we have spoken of made all speed along the desolate road
which led to his hacienda. Every minute only added to his fears. The
storm, which had threatened all day, burst forth at last with a fury
of which we have no conception in our climates. The wind roared loudly
through the trees, bending some, and uprooting others. The rain fell in
torrents, and the lightning became so vivid, that the horse began to
plunge and rear, and refused to advance. The rider spurred the restive
animal, and endeavoured, as well as the darkness would permit, to
discover whereabouts he was. After surmounting immense difficulties, he
saw at length, in the distance, the shadow of the walls of his hacienda,
and the lights which shone like guiding stars, when suddenly his horse
bounded on one side in such a way as almost to unseat him. When, with
much trouble, he had recovered his command of the animal, he looked
round to see what could have frightened it so, and perceived, with
terror equal to the horse's, several men of sinister appearance standing
motionless before him. The horseman's first movement was to seize his
pistols, in order to sell his life as dearly as he could, for he had no
doubt he had fallen into an ambuscade of bandits.
"Keep your hands from your weapons, Don Antonio Quintana," said a rough
voice; "we desire neither your life nor your money."
"What do you want then?" he replied, in a tone that showed he was a
little reassured by that frank declaration, though he still kept on the
defensive.
"Hospitality for this night, in the first place," said the other.
Don Antonio endeavoured to ascertain if he knew the man who was speaking
to him, but he could not distinguish his features through the darkness.
"The doors of my dwelling always fly open to the stranger," he remarked;
"why have you not knocked at them?"
"Knowing you must come this way, I preferred waiting for you."
"What else do you desire of me, then?"
"I will tell you under your own roof; the open road is a place ill
adapted for imparting confidence."
"If you have nothing more to say to me now, and are as willing as I am
to get under shelter, we will continue our journey."
"Go on, then; we will follow you."
Without exchanging another word, they directed their course towards the
hacienda. Don Antonio Quintana was a resolute man, as the manner in
which he had replied to the men who had so rudely barred his passage
proved him. In spite of the fluency with which the one who had spoken
employed the Spanish language, he had, at the first word, by his
guttural accent, perceived he was an Indian; and with him fear had
immediately given way to curiosity, and he had not hesitated to grant
the hospitality asked, knowing that the Araucano, Puelches, Hueliches,
or Moluchos, never violate the roof under which they are welcomed, and
that the hosts who shelter them are held sacred.
On arriving at the hacienda, Don Antonio found he was not mistaken; the
men who had accosted him in so strange a manner were really Indians.
There were four of them, and with them was a young woman with a child
at the breast. The hacendero welcomed them to his dwelling with all the
minute forms of Castilian courtesy, and gave orders to his peones or
Indian domestics, terrified at the savage appearance of the strangers,
to assist them with everything they might desire.
"Eat and drink," he said, "you are at home, here."
"Thanks!" replied the man, who had till that time been spokesman. "We
accept your offer with as good a will as you give it, as far as regards
food, of which we stand most in need."
"Will you not rest till day?" asked Don Antonio; "the night is dark, and
the weather frightful for travelling."
"A black night is what we desire; besides, we must depart immediately.
Now, allow me to put my second request to you."
"Explain yourself," said the Spaniard, examining the speaker attentively.
The latter was a tall, well-made man, of about forty; his
strongly-marked features and his commanding eye proclaimed that he was
accustomed to exercise authority.
"It was I," he said, without preamble, "who directed the last invasion
made upon the palefaces of the frontiers. My mosotones were all killed
yesterday in an ambuscade by your lanceros; the three you see with me
are all that remain of a troop of two hundred warriors; the others are
dead. I myself am wounded, hunted, tracked like a wild beast; we are
without horses to rejoin our tribe, without weapons to defend ourselves
if we are attacked on the plain. I come to ask of you the means of
escape from our pursuers. I will neither deceive nor surprise your good
faith. I am bound to tell you the name of the man whose safety you hold
in your hands. I am the greatest enemy of the Spaniards; my life has
been passed in contending with them. In a word, I am The Black Jackal,
the Apo-Ulmen of the Black Serpents."
On hearing this redoubtable name the Chilian could not suppress a start
of terror; but immediately recovering his self-possession, he replied in
a calm voice, and in a kind tone.
"You are my guest, and you are unfortunate, two titles sacred with me. I
desire to know nothing more; you shall have horses and arms."
A smile of ineffable sweetness lit up the countenance of the Indian.
"One last prayer," he said.
"Speak."
The chief took by the hand the young Indian squaw, who had remained
cowering and weeping in a corner, rocking her child in her arms, and
presented her to Don Antonio.
"This woman belongs to me; this child is mine," he said, "and I confide
them both to you."
"I will take charge of them; the woman shall be my sister, the child my
son," the hacendero replied kindly, and after the Indian fashion.
"The Apo-Ulmen will remember!" said the Puelche chief, in a voice
trembling with emotion.
He imprinted a kiss upon the brow of the poor little creature, who
smiled upon him, cast upon the woman a look beaming with tenderness,
and rushed out of the house, followed by his companions. Don Antonio
supplied them with arms and horses, and the four Indians disappeared in
the darkness.
Many years passed away ere Don Antonio heard anything of the Black
Jackal; the woman and the child remained at the hacienda, and were
treated as if they had been members of the Chilian's family. The
hacendero had been married; but, unfortunately, after a year, which
promised to be the commencement of a long and happy union, the wife died
when giving birth to a beautiful little girl, whom her father named
Maria. The two children grew up together, watched over by the anxious
solicitude of the Indian woman, loving each other like brother and
sister.
At length, one day, a numerous troop of Puelches, magnificently equipped
and mounted, arrived at Rio-Claro, the town in which Don Antonio
resided. The chief of these Indians was the Black Jackal, who came to
redemand his wife and son of him to whom he had intrusted them. The
interview was very affecting. The chief forgot his Indian stoicism; he
gave himself up to the feelings which agitated him, and enjoyed the
happiness of finding again, after such a length of time, the two beings
he held dearest in the world. When it became necessary to depart, and
the children learnt they were to be separated, they shed abundance of
tears. They had been accustomed from their infancy to live together, and
they could not comprehend why they were not to continue to do so.
Don Antonio had extended his traffic over different parts of the
frontiers; he possessed chacras, in which the breeding of cattle
was carried on upon a vast scale. The Black Jackal, who had sworn
a perpetual friendship, became of great use to him in his business
transactions; he often put him in the way of making excellent bargains
with his compatriots, and, what was still more serviceable, protected
his property from the depredations of plunderers. Every year Don Antonio
visited all his chacras in Araucania, and passed a couple of months
among the tribe of the Black Serpents, with his friend, the Black
Jackal. His daughter accompanied him in all these journeys, on account
of the friendship that existed between the children. Things went on thus
for many years.
At the period when our history commences, the Black Jackal was dead:
he had fallen, like a brave warrior, with his weapons in his hand, in
a combat on the frontier; his son, Antinahuel, now about thirty-five
years of age, who promised to tread in his footsteps, had been elected
Apo-Ulmen in his place, and afterwards Toqui of his Uthal-Mapus or
province, which made him one of the principal men of Araucania. Don
Antonio had likewise died, shortly after the marriage of his daughter,
Doña Maria, with Don Tadeo de Leon, brought to an untimely grave by his
grief at her misconduct, which had produced terrible scandal in the
upper classes of Santiago.
Doña Maria for some years past had only seen Antinahuel at long
intervals; but between them their friendship remained as warm as in
the days of their childhood; and, on the part of the Indian warrior,
it was carried so far that he obeyed the least caprice of the young
woman as an imperative duty. Great, then, was the astonishment of the
warriors of the tribe of the Black Serpents, when, in the evening of
the day on which we have resumed our story, they saw Doña Maria arrive
on horseback, accompanied only by two peons, at their toldería, and go
straight towards the rancho of the Toqui. On perceiving her, the usually
gloomy face of the chief was suddenly lighted up with an expression of
gladness.
"Eglantine of the Woods!" he cried, in a joyous tone, "does my sister
then still remember the poor Indian?"
"I have come to visit the toldo of my brother," she said, turning her
brow towards him, upon which he impressed a kiss; "my heart is sad,
grief devours me--and I have remembered my brother."
The chief cast a look upon her of anxiety, mingled with sorrow.
"Although it be to trouble that I owe the visit of my sister, I am,
nevertheless, rejoiced to see her."
"Yes," she resumed, "when we are in trouble we think of our friends."
"My sister has done well in thinking of me; what can I do for her?"
"My brother can render me a great service."
"My life is my sister's; she knows she can dispose of it at her
pleasure."
"Thank you! I was certain I could depend upon my brother."
"Everywhere, and at all times."
After bowing respectfully to Doña Maria, he led her into his rancho,
where his mother had prepared everything worthy of the visit of one whom
for so many years she had loved as a daughter.