TWO OLD FRIENDS.
Antinahuel--the Tiger Sun--was at this time a man of about thirty-five
years of age. In stature he was tall, and in his carriage majestic;
everything in his person announced a man accustomed to command, and made
to rule over his fellows. As a warrior, his reputation was immense,
and his mosotones held him in superstitious veneration. Such was,
physically, the man whom Doña Maria de Leon came to visit; what he was,
morally, we shall soon see.
The cloth was laid in the toldo,--we make use of the expression, the
cloth was laid, advisedly, because the Araucano chiefs are perfectly
well acquainted with European customs, and almost all possess dishes,
plates, and silver spoons and forks. It is true, they only make use of
these upon great occasions, and for the purpose of display; for, as
to themselves, they carry frugality and plainness to an excess, and
when they are alone with their families, are content to eat with their
fingers.
Doña Maria seated herself at the table, and made a sign to Antinahuel,
who stood respectfully beside her, to keep her company, and to take his
place opposite to her. It was clear to the Indian chief that his sister,
as he called her, who for some years had completely neglected him, must
have been induced by some powerful interest to seek him thus in his
remote village. But what could the interest be which led a delicate
woman, accustomed to all the luxurious comforts of life, to undertake a
long and perilous journey in order to come and talk with an Indian in a
miserable toldería, hidden in the midst of the desert?
On her side, the young woman was a prey to still greater uneasiness,
for she was anxious to discover whether, in spite of her neglect of the
chief, she had preserved the boundless power she had formerly exercised
over that Indian nature, which civilization had softened rather than
subdued; she feared lest the long forgetfulness in which she had left
him had made her lose her prestige in his eyes, and that coolness and
indifference might have succeeded to the warm friendship of early days.
When the repast was ended, a peon brought in the _maté_[1] the infusion
of the Paraguay herb which, with the Chilians, takes the place of tea,
and of which they are very fond. Two chased cups, placed upon a filagree
salver, were presented to Doña Maria and the chief; they lit their maize
_pajillos_, and smoked, whilst sipping their _maté_, reflectively. After
a few minutes' silence, which was beginning to be embarrassing to both,
Doña Maria, who perceived that Antinahuel was resolved to act on the
defensive, determined to open the attack.
"My brother," she said, with a smile, "is surprised at my sudden arrival
at his toldería."
"It is true; the Eglantine of the Woods has appeared unexpectedly
amongst us, but she is not the less welcome on that account."
And he bowed.
"I am glad to observe that my brother is as gallant as ever."
"No; I love my sister, and I am happy to see her, after being so long
deprived of her presence."
"I know your friendship for me, Penni; our childhood was passed
together, but it is a long time since that time. You are now one of the
caraskens, whilst I am only, as formerly, a poor woman."
"The Eglantine of the Woods is my sister, her least wishes shall always
be sacred with me."
"Thanks, Penni! But let us drop this conversation, and talk of our early
years, which, alas! so quickly glided away."
"Yesterday exists no longer," he said, sententiously.
"That's true," she replied, with a sigh; "why, indeed, should we talk of
times that can never come back?"
"Does my sister intend to return to Chili?"
"No; I have left Santiago for a time; I intend, for a season, to take up
my abode in Valdivia; I left my friends to continue their route, whilst
I came on to pay my respects to my brother."
"Yes, I know that the man whom the palefaces call General Bustamente,
though scarcely cured of a dangerous wound, set off, a month ago, to
visit the province of Valdivia, I, myself, intend shortly to visit that
city."
"There are many palefaces from the South there at present."
"Among these strangers are there any that I know?"
"Good heavens! how can I tell? Yes, there is one, Don Tadeo, my husband."
Antinahuel raised his head in astonishment.
"I thought he had been shot!" he said.
"He was."
"Well?"
"He escaped death, though grievously wounded."
The artful woman endeavoured to read what impression the news she had so
coolly imparted made upon the stoical face of the Indian.
"Listen to me, my sister," he resumed, after a minute's pause; "Don
Tadeo is still your enemy, is he not?"
"More so than ever."
"Good!"
"Not content with having basely abandoned me, and having torn from me
my child, the innocent creature who alone consoled me and enabled me to
support the sorrows with which he has overwhelmed me, he has crowned
his insults by publicly paying his addresses to another woman, whom he
takes with him everywhere, and who is at this moment his companion at
Valdivia."
"Hum!" the chief said, carelessly.
Accustomed to Araucanian manners, which permit every man to take as many
wives as he can support, he found the action of Don Tadeo perfectly
natural. This did not escape Doña Maria: an ironical smile curled for
a second the corners of her lips, and she continued, negligently, but
looking earnestly in the face of the chief--
"Yes, the woman is called, as I hear, Doña Rosario de Mendoz; and is,
they say, a beautiful creature!"
That name, pronounced with such apparent indifference, produced the
effect of a clap of thunder upon the chief; he sprang up, his face
inflamed, and his eyes sparkling.
"Rosario de Mendoz, did you say, my sister?" he shouted.
"Good heavens! I hardly know," she replied. "I have only heard her
name--I believe that may be it--but," she added, "what interest can my
brother take in it?"
"Oh! none," he said, as he quietly resumed his seat. "Why does not my
sister avenge herself upon the man who has abandoned her?"
"To what purpose? and, besides, what vengeance can I hope for? I am but
a weak and timid woman, without friends, without support; in short,
alone."
"And I?" said the chief; "what am I, then?"
"Oh!" she replied, warmly; "I would not on any account that my brother
should constitute himself the avenger of an insult which is personal to
myself."
"My sister is mistaken; in attacking this man I avenge my own insult."
"My brother must explain himself--I do not understand him."
"That is what I am going to do."
"I am all attention."
At this moment Antinahuel's mother entered the toldo, and, approaching
the chief, said in a humble, but sad tone,--
"My son is wrong in thus recalling old remembrances, and opening ancient
wounds again."
"Woman!" the Indian replied, "Retire! I am a warrior! My father left me
a vengeance. I have sworn, and I will accomplish my oath!"
The poor mother left the toldo with a sigh. The Linda, whose curiosity
was excited to the highest degree, awaited impatiently the chief's
explanation. Without, the rain fell pattering upon the leaves of the
trees; at intervals a blast of night wind, loaded with uncertain sounds,
came whistling through the ill-joined boards of the toldo, and caused
the flame of the torch which lighted it to waver unsteadily. The two
speakers, though absorbed in their own reflections, involuntarily lent
an ear to these nameless sounds, and felt a depression of spirits they
could not account for. The chief raised his head, and inhaling, one
after another, several mouthfuls of smoke from his pajillo, which he
puffed out brusquely, commenced in a low voice,--
"Although my sister is almost a child of the nation, as my mother nursed
her, she has never been made acquainted with the history of my family.
The history I am about to relate will reveal to her that I have against
Don Tadeo de Leon an old hatred, ever kept alive; and which, if I have
to the present moment appeared to allow to slumber, it has been because
that man was the husband of my sister: the conduct of Don Tadeo towards
my sister frees me from the promise I had made myself, and leaves me
liberty of action."
Doña Maria bowed assentingly.
"When the vile Spaniards," he continued, "conquered Chili, and reduced
its cowardly inhabitants to slavery, they dreamt of subjugating
Araucania in its turn, and marched against the Aucas, whose frontiers
they violated. My sister sees that I take up my recital from the
beginning. The Toqui Cadegual was one of the first to convoke a grand
council of the nation, on the plain of the Carampangue. Named Toqui, one
of the four Uthal-Mapus, he gave battle to the palefaces. The conflict
was terrible! It lasted from the rising to the setting of the sun. Many
Molucho warriors departed for the happy prairies of the Eskennane, but
Pillian did not abandon the Aucas; they were conquerors, and the Chiaplo
fled like timid hares before the terrible lances of our warriors.
Numbers of palefaces fell into our hands; among them was a powerful
chief, named Don Estevan de Leon. The Toqui Cadegual might have employed
his rights, and have killed him, but he did nothing of the kind: so far
from it, he led him to his toldo, and treated him with kindness, as a
brother. But when did Spaniards ever show themselves grateful for a
kindness? Don Estevan, forgetful of the sacred duties of hospitality,
seduced the daughter of the man to whom he owed his life, and, one
day, disappeared with her. The grief of the Toqui was immense at this
unworthy and disloyal treachery. He swore to wage from that time a
pitiless war against the palefaces, and he kept his oath: all Spaniards
taken by them, whatever their age or sex, were massacred. These terrible
reprisals were just, were they not?"
"Yes," said the Linda laconically.
"One day, Cadegual, surprised by his ferocious enemies, fell, covered
with wounds, into their hands, after a heroic resistance, during which
all his brave Mosotones had allowed themselves to be killed by his side.
In his turn, as it happened, Cadegual was in the power of Don Estevan de
Leon. The Spanish chief recollected the man who had, years before, saved
his life. He was merciful. After cutting off the hands, and scooping out
the eyes of his prisoner, he restored to him his daughter, of whom he
was tired, and sent him back to his nation. The Toqui was led back by
his child, whom he pardoned. When he joined his tribe, Cadegual called
together his relations, related to them what he had suffered, showed
them his bleeding and mutilated arms, and, after having made his sons
and all his relations swear to avenge him, he allowed himself to die of
hunger, that he might not survive his shame."
"Oh, that is frightful!" Doña Maria cried, affected, in spite of herself.
"That is nothing yet!" the chief resumed, with a bitter smile; "let
my sister listen to the sequel. From that time, an implacable destiny
has always hung over the two families, and continually brought the
descendants of the Toqui Cadegual in contact with those of Captain
Don Estevan de Leon. During three centuries, this ardent, inveterate
struggle has lasted between the two families, and will never terminate
but by the extinction of one, or perhaps both of them. Up to the present
time, the advantage has almost always been on the side of the Leons;
the sons of the Toqui have very often been conquered, but they have
always remained firm and implacable, ready to re-commence the combat at
the first signal. At the present day, the family of Don Estevan has but
one representative, Don Tadeo--a representative formidable through his
courage, his fortune, and the immense influence, he exercises over his
compatriots. He, personally, has never injured the Aucas; he seems even
to be ignorant of the inveterate hatred which exists between his family
and that of the Toqui; but the descendants of Cadegual do not forget
it: they are strong, numerous, and powerful in their turn; the hour
of vengeance has struck, they will not let it escape! My sister," he
continued, in a voice almost rising to a shout; "my sister, my ancestor
was the Toqui Cadegual, and I thank you for having warned me that not
only my enemy is not dead, but that he is within my reach!"
"Your mother asked you properly, Penni, why should you revive old
hatreds? Peace now reigns between the Chilians and the Aucas: let
my brother beware; the whites are numerous; they have many warlike,
disciplined soldiers."
"Oh," he replied, with a sinister look; "I am sure of succeeding, for I
have my nymph."
Indians of high rank all entertain a firm belief that they have a
familiar genius, who is bound to obey them.
Doña Maria feigned to yield to this reason; she had succeeded in putting
the hunter upon the scent of the game she wished to destroy, and it was
of very little importance to her what motive made him obey her. She knew
perfectly well that the hatred alleged by the chief was nothing but a
pretext, and that the real cause remained hidden in the depths of his
heart. Although she had a clear idea of what it was, she affected not to
have the least suspicion of it.
She continued talking with Antinahuel for some time longer about
indifferent subjects, and then retired to a chamber which had been
prepared for her. It was late, and she wished to set out for Valdivia at
daybreak. She was sufficiently well acquainted with the companion of her
childhood to know that, now the tiger was roused, it would not be long
before he started in quest of the prey which she had marked down for him.
As for the Toqui, the whole night passed away without his thinking of
taking a moment's repose; he remained plunged in profound and agitating
reflections.
[1] The Chilians borrowed the mate from the Araucanos, who think it a
great delicacy, and have a particular talent for making it. This is the
manner in which they prepare it:--They put into a coffee cup a spoonful
of the Paraguay herb, to which they add a lump of sugar, which they
leave upon the fire till it is a little burnt; they squeeze a few drops
of lemon juice into it, with some cinnamon and a clove; they then fill
the cup up with boiling water. The maté being now ready, they introduce
a silver tube of the thickness of a quill, pierced with small holes at
its lower end, by means of which the maté is drawn up,--at the risk,
be it remembered, of horribly scalding the mouth, as always happens to
strangers when they first partake of the luxury, to the great amusement
of the Chilians. Drinking maté is so common in Chili, as to be what
coffee is in the East; it is taken after every repast, and presented to
every visitor. In ceremonial parties, a single tube serves for all the
persons assembled.