THE CHINGANA.
Valdivia, founded in 1551 by the Spanish conqueror Don Pedro de
Valdivia, is a charming city, two leagues from the sea, upon the left
bank of a river, which large vessels can easily ascend into the fertile
valley of Guadallanguen. The aspect of the city, the advanced post of
civilization in these remote countries, is most agreeable; the streets
are large, uniformly built; the white houses, only one story high,
on account of the frequency of earthquakes, are terrace-roofed. Here
and there rise in the air the steeples of the numerous churches and
convents, which occupy more than a third of the city. It is astonishing
to what an extent convents are multiplied in South America. It might
be supposed that the New World was the land of promise for monks; they
appear to rise out of the earth at every step. Thanks to the extensive
commerce which Valdivia carries on by means of its port, which is
visited by the numerous whalers fishing in those seas, and ships which
come there to refit, after doubling Cape Horn, or before passing
it,--its streets have more animation than is generally to be met with in
American cities.
Don Tadeo arrived in Valdivia, accompanied by Don Gregorio and Doña
Rosario, on the evening of the sixteenth day after his departure from
his friend's chacra. They had used all diligence, and for that country,
where there are no other means of travelling but on horseback, it might
be considered a quick journey. If the two gentlemen had thought proper
to do so, they might have entered the city about three o'clock in the
afternoon, but they deemed it advisable that no one in a place where
so many people knew them should be made aware of their arrival: in the
first place, because the causes which brought them there required the
greatest secrecy; and, further, because Don Tadeo was forced to conceal
himself, in order to avoid the police agents of the president of the
republic, who had orders to arrest him wherever they might meet with
him. Fortunately, in these countries the police never arrest anybody
when not absolutely compelled, unless those whom they pursue come and
deliver themselves up into their hands--an event, we may safely say,
that rarely happens.
As during his sojourn at Valdivia, his manner of living must be
regulated by the affairs which brought him there, he could not openly
keep house or appear in public, Don Tadeo went straight to the convent
of the Ursulines, and committed the young lady he had brought with him
to the care of the abbess, who was not only his relation, but was a
worthy person, in whom he had perfect confidence. Doña Rosario accepted
without hesitation the asylum which was offered to her, and where she
fancied she should be safe from the attacks of her invisible enemies.
Don Tadeo took an affectionate leave of her and the venerable abbess,
and hastened to a house of the calle San-Xavier, where Don Gregorio, who
had left him on entering the city, to avoid observation, awaited his
coming.
"Well?" asked Don Gregorio, as soon as he saw him.
"She is in safety; at least I suppose so," Don Tadeo replied, with a
sigh.
"So much the better, for we must redouble our precautions."
"Why so?"
"After leaving you I made inquiries; I observed, I questioned people as
I walked about and loitered at the port and the Almeda."
"Well, what have you learnt?"
"As we imagined, General Bustamente is here."
"Already?"
"He arrived three days ago."
"What reason could be so important as to bring him here?" said Don
Tadeo, with an uneasy expression. "Oh, I will know!"
"Another thing: who do you think accompanies him?"
"The executioner, no doubt!" said Don Tadeo, with an ironical smile.
"Almost as bad," Don Gregorio replied.
"Whom do you mean, then?"
"The Linda!"
The chief of the Dark-Hearts turned deadly pale.
"Oh," he said, "that woman! for ever that woman! you must be mistaken,
my friend; it is impossible!"
"I have seen her."
Don Tadeo walked about in great agitation for several minutes; then,
stopping short in front of his friend, said, in a husky voice--
"Dear Don Gregorio, are you certain you have not been misled by a
resemblance? Are you quite sure it was she?"
"You had just left me, and I was coming hither, when the sound of horses
made me turn my head, and I saw, I repeat I saw, the Linda; she also
appeared to have just arrived at Valdivia; two lancers escorted her, and
an arriero led the baggage mules.
"Oh!" said Don Tadeo, "will the infernal malice of that demon ever
pursue me?"
"My friend," Don Gregorio remarked, "in the path we have undertaken to
tread, every obstacle must, unhesitatingly, be destroyed."
"What, kill a woman?" the gentleman said, with horror.
"I do not say that, but place her in such a position that she cannot
possibly injure anyone. Remember, we are Dark-Hearts, and, as such, we
ought to be without pity."
"Silence!" Don Tadeo murmured, as two low, quick taps were struck on the
door.
"Come in!" cried Don Gregorio.
The door opened, and Don Pedro showed his polecat face. He did not
recognize the two men whom, in the various meetings he had had with
them, he had always seen masked.
"God preserve you, gentlemen!" he said, with a profound bow.
"What is your pleasure, sir?" Don Gregorio asked, in a coldly-polite
tone, while returning his salutation.
"Sir," said Don Pedro, looking about for a seat which was not offered
him, "I have just arrived from Santiago."
Don Gregorio bowed again.
"On my departure from that city, a banker in whose hands I had placed
funds, gave me several bills; among others this, addressed to Don
Gregorio Peratla, payable at sight."
"That is my name, sir; be so kind as to hand it to me."
"As you see, sir, the bill is for twenty-three ounces."
"Very well, sir," replied Don Gregorio, as he took it, "allow me to
examine it."
Don Pedro bowed in his turn, whilst Don Gregorio, approaching a
flambeau, looked attentively at the bill of exchange, put it into his
pocket, and took some money from his purse.
"Here are the twenty-three ounces, sir," he said, giving them.
The spy took them, counted the gold pieces, examining them attentively,
and then put them into his pocket.
"It is very singular, sir," he said, just as the two gentlemen thought
they were about to be relieved of his presence.
"What is it, sir?" asked Don Gregorio; "do you not find the amount
right?"
"Oh, pardon me, perfectly right; but," he added, with a slight
hesitation, "I thought you had been a merchant?"
"And what leads you to think otherwise?"
"Because I see no desks."
"They are in another part of the house," Don Gregorio replied; "I am a
private trader."
"Oh, very well, sir."
"And, if I had not thought you had pressing need of the money--"
"Very pressing!" the other interrupted.
"I should have begged you to call again tomorrow, for, at this late
hour, my cashbox is closed."
And thereupon he waved his hand, rather haughtily, as dismissing him.
Don Pedro retired, visibly disappointed.
"That is a double-faced fellow, I am sure," said Don Gregorio; "I should
not wonder if he were a spy of the General."
"Oh, I know him!" Don Tadeo replied; "I have about me proofs of his
treachery. He has been a necessary instrument; at present he may injure
us. He must be crushed."
Don Gregorio drew from his pocket the bill which had been presented to
him, and holding it to Don Tadeo--
"Look at this," he said.
This bill, payable at sight, appeared perfectly like others. It was
drawn in the usual form: _At sight, please pay_, &c. &c.; but, in two
or three places, the pen, too hard, no doubt, had spluttered and formed
a certain number of little black spots, of which some were almost
imperceptible. It appeared that these black spots had a meaning for the
two men; for as soon as Don Tadeo had cast his eyes over the bill, he
seized his cloak, and folded himself in it.
"It is Heaven that protects us!" he said; "we must go thither without
delay."
"That is my opinion, likewise," Don Gregorio replied, holding the bill
to the light, and burning it till there was not a particle of it left.
The two men took each a long dagger and a brace of pistols, which they
concealed under their clothes--the conspirators were too well acquainted
with their country to neglect these precautions--they pulled the flaps
of their hats over their faces, and wrapping themselves up to the very
eyes, like two lovers or seekers of adventures, they descended into the
street.
It was one of those splendid nights unknown in our foggy climates; the
sky, of a dark blue, was thickly studded with an infinite number of
stars, among which conspicuously shone the brilliant Southern Cross;
the air was embalmed with a thousand odours, and a light sea breeze
refreshed the atmosphere, which had been heated by the torrid sunbeams
during the past day. The two men passed silently and rapidly through
the joyous groups which traversed the streets in all directions. It is
in the evening that the Americans leave their homes to take the air and
enjoy the freshness.
The conspirators appeared to hear neither the enticing sounds of the
vihuela which vibrated in their ears, nor the refrains of sambacuejas
which flew in gusts from the chinganas, nor the bursts of fresh, silvery
laughter of the black-eyed, rosy-lipped girls, who elbowed them on
their way. They walked thus for a long time, turning round at intervals
to ascertain if they were followed, plunging by degrees into the
lowest quarters of the city, and at length stopped at a house of mean
appearance, from which issued the loud but not very melodious strains of
music eminently national.
This house was a chingana, a name which has no equivalent in French
or English. A Chilian chingana presents so eccentrically droll an
appearance, that it would defy the pencil of Callot, and is beyond all
description. Let the reader figure to himself a low room, with smoky
walls, the floor of which is but beaten earth, and rendered filthy by
the detritus left by the feet of incessantly arriving and departing
visitors. In the centre of this den, lighted only by a smoky lamp called
a _candil_, by which it is impossible to distinguish more than the
shadows of the customers, are seated four men upon stools. Two of them
are twanging wretched guitars, which have lost most of their strings,
with the backs of their hands; the third plays the tambourine with his
thumbs upon a crippled table, striking it with all his might; whilst
the fourth rolls between his hands a piece of bamboo six feet long,
split into several strips, which yield the most discordant sound that
can possibly be imagined. The four musicians, not content with the
formidable clatter made by their instruments, shout, at the very top of
their voices, songs which we can neither venture to repeat nor translate.
All this infernal noise is made to excite the dancers, who flutter
about, assuming the most lascivious postures they can invent, amidst the
hearty applause of the spectators, who writhe with delight, stamp their
feet with pleasure, and sometimes, carried away by the harmony, thunder
out all together, the burthen of the song, with the musicians and
dancers. Amidst this disturbance, these cries and stampings, wind in and
out the master of the establishment and his waiters, armed with couis of
chicha, bottles of aguardiente, and even guarapo, to slake the thirst
of the customers, who, to do them justice, the more they drink the more
thirsty they become, and the more they wish to drink.
Twice or thrice in the course of an evening, it may happen that some
of the guests, more heated than the rest, or seized by the demon of
jealousy, take it into their heads to quarrel. Then knives are drawn
from the polena, ponchos are rolled round the left arm to serve as
bucklers, the music ceases, and a circle is formed round the combatants.
The sanguinary contest begins, and when one of the combatants has
fallen, he is carried into the street, the music is resumed, the dance
recommences, and no more is thought of the poor wounded or dying man.
It was in front of one of these establishments that the chief of the
Dark-Hearts and his friend had stopped; they did not hesitate. Pulling
up the folds of their cloaks so as to completely conceal their faces,
they entered the chingana: in spite of the pestilential atmosphere which
nearly choked them, they passed unnoticed through the drinkers, and
gained the further end of the room. The cellar door stood ajar; they
opened it softly, and disappeared down the steps. After descending ten
of these, they found themselves in a cellar, where a man, leaning over a
barrel, which he appeared to be occupied in putting in its place, said
to them, without interrupting his work--
"Would you like some aguardiente de pesco, some mescal, or some chica?"
"Neither the one nor the other," Don Tadeo replied; "we wish for some
French wine."
The man sprang up as if moved by a spring. The two adventurers had put
on their masks.
"Do you wish to have it white or red?" the man asked.
"Red--as red as blood," said Don Tadeo.
"Of what year?" the unknown rejoined.
"Of that vintaged on the 5th of April, 1817," said Don Tadeo.
"Then you must come this way, gentlemen," the man replied, with a
respectful bow; "the wine you do me the honour to call for is extremely
valuable; it is kept in a separate cellar."
"To be drunk at Martinmas," Don Tadeo remarked.
The man, who seemed only to wait for this last reply to his question,
smiled with an air of intelligence, and laid his hand lightly on the
wall. A stone turned slowly round upon itself, without the least noise,
and opened a passage to the conspirators, which they immediately
entered, and the stone instantly returned to its place.
In the chingana, the cries, the songs, and the music had acquired an
intensity really formidable; the joy of the tipplers was at its height.