THE DEPARTURE.
As Don Sylva had announced to his daughter, by daybreak all was ready
for the start. In Mexico, and specially in Sonora, where roads are
mainly remarkable for their absence, the mode of travelling differs
utterly from that adopted in Europe. There are no public vehicles, no
relays of post horses; the only means of transport known and practised
is on horseback.
A journey of only a few days entails interminable cares and vexations.
You must carry everything with you, because you are certain of finding
nothing on the road. Beds, tents, provisions and water before all, must
be carried on mule-back. Without these indispensable precautions you
would run a risk of dying from hunger or thirst, and sleeping in the
open air.
You must also be provided with a considerable and well-armed escort, in
order to repulse the attacks of wild beasts, Indians and especially
robbers with whom all the roads of Mexico swarm, owing to the anarchy in
which this unhappy country is plunged. Hence it is easy to comprehend
the earnest desire Don Sylva felt to quit Guaymas at as early an hour as
possible.
The court of the house resembled an hostelry. Fifteen mules laden with
bales were waiting while the palanquin in which Doña Anita was to travel
was being got ready. Some forty steeds, saddled, bridled, with
musquetoons attached at to the troussequins, and pistols in the
holsters, were fastened to rings in the wall while a peon held in hand a
splendid stallion, magnificently harnessed, which stamped and champed
its silver bit, which it covered with foam.
In the street a crowd of people, among whom were Don Martial and
Cucharés, already returned from their expedition to the Rancho, were
curiously regarding this departure, which they could not at all
comprehend at such an advanced period of the year, so unpropitious for a
country residence, and making all sorts of comments on the reason of the
journey.
Among all these people, collected by accident or through curiosity, was
a man, evidently an Indian, who, leaning carelessly against the wall,
never took his eyes off the door of Don Sylva's house, and followed with
evident interest all the movements of the hacendero's numerous servants.
This man, still young, appeared to be an Hiaqui Indian, although an
observer, after a close inspection, would have asserted the contrary;
for there was in the man's wide brow, in his eyes, whose glitter he
tried in vain to moderate, in the haughty mouth, and above all, in the
native elegance of his vigorous limbs, which seemed carved on the model
of the Greek Hercules, something proud, resolute and independent, which
rather denoted the proud Comanche or ferocious Apache than the stupid
Hiaqui; but in this crowd no one dreamed of troubling himself about the
Indian, who, for his part, was careful to attract as little attention as
possible.
The Hiaquis are accustomed to come to Guaymas, and let themselves out as
workmen or servants; hence the presence of an Indian there is not at all
extraordinary, and is not noticed.
At last, at about eight o'clock, Don Sylva, giving his hand to his
daughter, who was dressed in a charming travelling costume, appeared
beneath the portico of the house. Doña Anita was pale as a ghost. Her
haggard features, her swollen eyes, testified to the sufferings of the
night, and the restraint she was forced to place on herself, even at
this moment, to prevent her bursting into tears in the presence of all.
At the sight of the young lady, Don Martial and Cucharés exchanged a
rapid glance, while a smile of indefinable expression played round the
lips of the Indian to whom we have alluded.
On the hacendero's arrival silence was re-established as if by
enchantment; the _arrieros_ ran to the heads of their mules; the servants,
armed to the teeth, mounted; and Don Sylva, after assuring himself by a
glance that all was ready, and that his orders had been punctually
executed, placed his daughter in the palanquin, where she at once
nestled like a hummingbird among rose leaves.
At a sign from the hacendero, the mules, fastened to each other by the
tails, began to leave the house behind the _nana_, whose bells they
followed, and escorted by peons. Before mounting his horse Don Sylva
turned to an old servant, who, straw hat in hand, respectfully stood
near him.
"Adieu, Tío Pelucho!" he said to him. "I intrust the house to you. Keep
good watch, and take care of all in it. I leave you Pedrito and
Florentio to help you, and you will give them the necessary orders for
all to go on properly during my absence."
"You may be at ease, mi amo," the old man answered, saluting his master.
"Thanks to Heaven, this is not the first time you have left me alone
here, and I believe I have ever done my duty properly."
"You are a good servant, Tío Pelucho," Don Sylva said with a smile; "I
start in most perfect ease of mind."
"May God bless you, mi amo, as well as the niña!" the old man continued,
crossing himself.
"Good bye, Tío Pelucho," the young lady then said, leaning out of the
palanquin. "I know that you are careful of everything belonging to me."
The old man bowed with visible delight. Don Sylva gave the order for
departure, and the whole caravan started in the direction of the Rancho
de San José.
It was one of those magnificent mornings only known in these blessed
regions. The night storm had entirely swept the sky, which was of a pale
blue. The sun, already high in the horizon, shot forth its hot beams,
which were slightly tempered by the odoriferous vapours exhaling from
the ground. The atmosphere, impregnated by acrid and penetrating odours,
was of extraordinary transparency; a light breeze refreshed the air at
intervals; flocks of birds, glistening with a thousand colours, flew in
every direction, and the mules following the bell of the _nena
madrina_--the mother mule--were urged on by the songs of the arrieros.
The caravan moved along gaily through the sandy plain, raising round it
clouds of dust, and forming a long twining serpent in the endless
turnings of the road. A vanguard of ten servants explored the
neighbourhood, examining the bushes, and shifting sand heaps. Don Sylva
smoked a cigar while conversing with his daughter; and a rearguard,
formed of twenty resolute men, closed the march, and insured the
security of the convoy.
In this country, we repeat it, where the police are a nullity, and
consequently surveillance impossible, a journey of four leagues--and the
Rancho de San José is only that distance from Guaymas--is a very serious
affair, and demands as many precautions as a journey of a hundred
leagues with us, the enemies who may be met, and with whom you run a risk
of a contest at any moment--Indians, robbers, or wild beasts--being too
numerous, determined, and too greedy for plunder and murder to allow the
traveller to confide with gaiety of heart in the speed of his horse.
They were already far from Guaymas, the white houses of which town had
long ago disappeared in the numerous turnings of the road, when the
capataz, leaving the head of the caravan, where he had hitherto remained
galloped back to the palanquin, where Don Sylva was still riding.
"Well, Blas," the latter said, "what is there new? Have you noticed
anything alarming ahead of us?"
"Nothing, excellency," the capataz replied: "all is going well, and in
an hour at the latest we shall be at the Rancho."
"Whence, then, the haste you showed to join me again?"
"Oh! Excellency, it is not much; but an idea occurred to me--something I
wished you to see."
"Ah, ah!" Don Sylva said. "What is it, my lad?"
"Look, excellency," the capataz continued, pointing in a south-western
direction.
"Ah! What is that? A fire, if I am not mistaken."
"It is indeed a fire, excellency. Look here;" and he pointed
east-south-east.
"There's another. Who on earth has lighted the fires on those scarped
points? What can their object be?"
"Oh! It is easy enough to understand that, excellency."
"Do you think so, my boy? Well, then you will explain it to me."
"I am willing to do so. Stay," he said, pointing to the first fire:
"that hill is the Cerro del Gigante."
"It is."
"And that," the capataz continued, pointing to the second fire, "is the
Cerro de San Xavier."
"I think it is."
"I am certain of it."
"Well?"
"As we know that a fire cannot kindle itself, and as people do not amuse
themselves with a fire when the thermometer is up at a hundred--"
"You conclude from that--?"
"That those fires have been lighted by robbers or Indians, who have had
scent of our departure."
"Stay, stay! That is most logical, my friend. Continue your explanation,
for it interests me enormously."
Don Sylva's capataz, or steward, was a tall, herculean fellow of about
forty, devoted body and soul to his master, who placed the greatest
confidence in him. The worthy man bowed with a smile of satisfaction on
hearing the hacendero's kind remarks.
"Oh! Now," he went on, "I have not much more to say, except that the
ladrones who are watching us know, through that signal, that Don Sylva
de Torrés and his daughter have left Guaymas for the Rancho."
"My faith! You are right. I had forgotten all those details. I did not
think of all the birds of prey that are watching our passage. Well,
after all, though, what do we care if the bandits are at our heels? We
do not hide ourselves. Our start took place in the presence of plenty of
persons. We are numerous enough not to fear any insult; but if any of
those picaros dare to attack us, cascaras! They will find their work cut
out for them, I am convinced. Push on, then, without any fear, Blas, my
boy! Nothing unpleasant can happen to us."
The capataz saluted his master and galloped back to the head of the
column. An hour later they reached the Rancho without any accident.
Don Sylva rode at the right-hand door of the palanquin, talking to his
daughter, who only answered in monosyllables, in spite of the continued
efforts she made to hide her sorrow from her father's clear eyes, when
the hacendero heard his name called repeatedly. He turned his head
sharply, and uttered an exclamation of surprise on recognising in the
man who addressed him the Count de Lhorailles.
"What! Señor conde, you here? What singular hazard makes me meet you so
near the port, when you should have been so far ahead of us?"
On perceiving the count the Doña felt herself blush, and fell back,
letting the curtains of the palanquin slip from her hand.
"Oh?" replied the count, with a courteous bow, "Since last night certain
things have happened to me which I must impart to you, Don
Sylva--things which will surprise you, I am certain; but the present is
not the moment to commence such a story."
"Whatever you think proper, my friend. But say, do you set out again, or
remain here?"
"I go, I go! In stopping here my sole object was to await you. If you
consent we will travel together. Instead of preceding you at Guetzalli,
we shall arrive together--that is the only difference."
"Capital! Let us go," he added, making a sign to the capataz. The
latter, on seeing his master conversing with the count, had ordered a
halt, but now the caravan started again. The Rancho was speedily
traversed, and then the journey commenced in reality.
The desert lay expanded before the travellers in endless sandy plains.
On the yellow ground, a long, tortuous line, formed by the whitened
bones of mules and horses that had broken down, indicated the road which
must be followed so as not to go astray.
About two hundred yards ahead of the caravan a man was trotting along,
carelessly seated on the back of a skeleton donkey, swaying from side to
side, half lulled to sleep by the burning sunbeams which fell vertically
on his bare head.
"Eh?" Don Sylva said, on perceiving the man. "Blas," said Don Sylva on
perceiving this man, "call the Indian over yonder. These devils of
redskins know the desert thoroughly and he can serve as our guide. In
that way we shall run no risk of losing our road, for he will be sure to
put us right."
"Quite true," the count observed; "in these confounded sand hills no man
can be sure of his direction."
"Go to him," commanded Don Sylva.
The capataz put his horse at a gallop. On arriving within a short
distance of the solitary traveller, he formed a sort of speaking trumpet
with his hands.
"Halloh, José!" he shouted.
In Mexico all the _Mansos_, or civilised Indians, are called José, and
reply to this name, which has grown generic. The Indian thus hailed
turned round.
"What do you want?" he asked with a careless air.
It was the man whom we saw at Guaymas, watching so attentively the
preparations for the hacendero's departure. Was it chance that brought
him to this spot? That was a question which none but himself could have
answered.
Blas Vasquez was what is called in Mexico a _hombre de a caballo_,
versed for a long period in Indian tricks. He bent on the traveller an
enquiring glance, which the latter supported with perfect ease. With his
head timidly bowed, his hands laid on the donkey's neck, his naked legs
hanging down on either side, he offered a complete type of the Indian
manso, almost brutalised by the vicious contact with the whites. The
capataz shook his head with a dissatisfied air; his investigation was
far from satisfying him. Still, after a moment's hesitation, he resumed
his interrogatory.
"What are you doing all alone on this road, José?" he asked him.
"I have come from del Puerto, where I have been engaged as a carpenter.
I remained there a month, and as I saved the small sum I wanted, I
started yesterday to return to my village."
All this was perfectly probable; the majority of the Hiaqui Indians act
in this way; and then what interest could the man have in deceiving him?
He was alone and unarmed; the caravan on the other hand, was numerous
and composed of devoted men. No danger was, therefore, to be
apprehended.
"Well, did you earn much money?" the capataz continued,
"Yes," the Indian said triumphantly; "five piastres and these three
besides."
"Why, José, you are a rich man."
The Hiaqui smiled doubtfully.
"Yes," he said, "Tiburón has money."
"Is your name Tiburón (shark)?" the capataz said distrustfully. "That is
an ugly name."
"Why so? The palefaces gave that name to their red son, and he finds it
good, since it comes from them, and he keeps it."
"Is your village far from here?"
"If I had a good horse I should arrive in three days. The village of my
tribe is between the Gila and Guetzalli."
"Do you know Guetzalli?"
The Indian shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.
"The redskins know all the hunting grounds on the Gila," he said.
At this moment the caravan caught up the two speakers.
"Well, Blas," Don Sylva asked, "Who is the man?"
"A Hiaqui Indian. He is returning to his village, after earning a trifle
at the Puerto."
"Can he be of service to us?"
"I believe so. His tribe, he says, is encamped near the Gila."
"Ah!" said the count, drawing nearer, "Does he belong to the White Horse
tribe?"
"Yes," the Indian said.
"In that case I answer for the man," the count said quickly. "Those
Indians are very gentle; they are miserable beggars, often starving; and
I employ them at the hacienda."
"Listen!" Don Sylva said, tapping the redskin's shoulder amicably. "We
are going to Guetzalli."
"Good."
"We want a faithful and devoted guide."
"Tiburón is poor; he has only a poor donkey, which cannot march so
quickly as his pale brothers drive their horses."
"Do not trouble yourself about that," the hacendero added. "I will give
you such a horse as you never mounted, if you serve us honestly. On
arriving at the hacienda, I will add ten piastres to those you already
possess. Does that suit you?"
The Indian's eye sparkled with greed at this proposal.
"Where is the horse?" he asked.
"Here," the capataz replied, pointing to a superb stallion led by a
peon.
The redskin looked at it with the eye of a connoisseur.
"Well, do you accept?" the hacendero said.
"Yes."
"Then get off your donkey, and let us start."
"I cannot abandon my donkey; it is a famous brute, which has done me
good service."
"That need not trouble you; it can follow with the baggage mules."
The Indian gave a nod of assent, but made no further reply. In a few
minutes he was mounted, and the caravan continued its march. The capataz
alone did not appear to place any great confidence in the guide so
singularly met.
"I will watch him," he said in a low voice.
The march went on the whole day without any fresh incident, and the next
day they reached the Rio Gila. The banks of this river contrast by their
fertility with the desolate aridity of the plains that surround them.
Don Sylva's journey, though recommenced at the moment when the sun,
arrived at its zenith, pours down its burning beams perpendicularly, was
only an agreeable promenade of a few leagues, beneath the dense shade of
tufted woods which grow with an amount of sap unknown in our climates.
It was nearly three o'clock when the travellers saw before them the
colony of Guetzalli, founded by the Count de Lhorailles, and which,
although it only had a few months' existence, had already attained a
considerable size. This colony was composed of a hacienda, round which
were grouped the labourers' huts. We will devote a few words to it.
The hacienda was built on a peninsula nearly three leagues in
circumference, covered with wood and pasture, on which more than four
thousand head of cattle grazed peacefully, returning at night to the
parks adjoining the house, which was surrounded by the river, forming an
_enceinte_ of natural fortresses. The tongue of land, not more than
eight yards in width, attaching it to the mainland, was commanded by a
battery of six heavy guns, in its turn surrounded by a wide, wet ditch.
The house, surrounded by tall embattled walls, bastioned at the angles,
was a species of fortress capable of sustaining a regular siege with the
eight guns mounted on the bastions which guarded the approaches. It was
composed of a huge main building, one story high, with a terraced roof,
having ten windows in the frontage, and flanked on the right and left by
two buildings, running out at right angles, one of which served as a
magazine for grain and maize, while the other was occupied by the
capataz and the numerous _employés_ of the hacienda.
Wide steps, furnished with a double iron balustrade, curiously worked,
and surmounted by a veranda, formed the approach to the count's
apartments, which were furnished with that simple and picturesque taste
which distinguishes the Spanish farms of America.
Between the house and the outer wall was a vast garden, exquisitely laid
out, and so covered with bushes that at four paces' distance it was
impossible to see anything. The space left free behind the farm was
reserved for the parks or corrals in which the animals were shut up at
night, and a species of large court, in which the _matanza del ganado_,
or slaughter of the cattle, was performed once annually.
Nothing could be so picturesque as the appearance of this white house,
whose roof could be seen for a long distance, half concealed by the
branches which formed a curtain of foliage most refreshing to the eye.
From the windows of the first floor the eye surveyed the plain on one
side; on the other, the Rio Gila, which, like a wide silvery ribbon,
rolled along with the most capricious windings, and was lost an immense
distance off in the blue horizon.
Since the time when the Apaches all but surprised the hacienda, a
_mirador_ had been built on the roof of the main building, where a
sentinel had been stationed day and night to watch the neighbourhood,
and announce, by means of a bullock's horn, the approach of any stranger
to the colony. Besides, a post of six men guarded the isthmus battery,
whose guns were ready to thunder at the slightest alarm.
Thus the arrival of the caravan had been signalled when it was still a
long distance off; and the count's lieutenant, Martin Leroux, an old
African soldier, was standing behind the guns to interrogate the
arrivals so soon as they were within hail. Don Sylva was perfectly aware
of the regulations established in the hacienda, which were, indeed,
common to all the establishments held by white men; for at these
frontier posts, where people are exposed to the constant depredations of
the Indians, they are obliged to be incessantly on the watch. But the
thing the Mexican could not comprehend was that the count's lieutenant,
who must have recognised him, did not open the gates immediately, and he
made a remark to that effect.
"He would have done wrong," the count replied. "The colony of Guetzalli
is a fortress, and the regulations must be the same for all: the general
welfare depends on their strict and entire observation. Martin
recognised me long ago, I am convinced; but he may suppose that I am a
prisoner of the Indians, and that, in leaving me apparently free they
intend to surprise the colony. Be assured that my excellent lieutenant
will not let us pass till he is quite certain that our European clothes
do not cover red skins."
"Oh, yes!" Don Sylva muttered to himself; "That is true. The Europeans
foresee everything. They are our masters."
The caravan was now not more than twenty yards from the hacienda.
"I fancy," the count observed, "that if we do not wish to receive a
shower of bullets we had better halt."
"What!" said Don Sylva in amazement; "They would fire?"
"I am certain of it."
The two men checked their horses and waited to be challenged.
"Who goes there?" a powerful voice shouted in French from behind the
battery.
"Well, what do you think of it now?" the count said to the hacendero.
"It is perfectly wonderful," rejoined the latter.
"Friends," the count answered. "Lhorailles and freedom!"
"All right--open," the voice commanded. "They are friends. Would that we
often received such visitors!"
The peons lowered the drawbridge (the only passage by which the hacienda
could be entered), the caravan passed over and the drawbridge was
immediately raised after them.
"You will excuse me, captain," Martin Leroux said, respectfully
approaching the count, "but, although I recognised you, we live in a
country where, I think, too great prudence cannot be exercised."
"You have done your duty, lieutenant, and I can only thank you for it.
Have you any news?"
"Not much. A troop of horse I sent out into the plain discovered a
deserted fire. I fancy the Indians are prowling round us."
"We will be on our guard."
"Oh, I keep good watch, especially at present, for the month is drawing
nigh which the Comanches call so audaciously the Mexican moon. I should
not be sorry, if they dared to meddle with us, to give them a lesson
which would be profitable for the future."
"I share your views entirely. Redouble your vigilance, and all will be
well."
"Have you no other orders to give me?"
"No."
"Then I will withdraw. You know, captain, that you intrust the internal
details to me, and I must be everywhere in turn."
"Go, lieutenant; let me not keep you."
The old soldier saluted his chief, and retired with a friendly nod to
the capataz, who followed him with the peons and baggage mules.
The count led his guests to the apartments kept for visitors, and
installed them in comfortably-furnished rooms.
"Pray rest yourself, Don Sylva," he said; "you and Doña Anita must be
fatigued with your journey. Tomorrow, if you permit me, we will talk
about our business."
"Whenever you like, my friend."
The count bowed to his guests and withdrew. Since his meeting with his
betrothed he had not exchanged a word with her. In the courtyard he
found the Hiaqui Indian smoking and walking lazily around. He went up to
him.
"Here," he said, "are the ten piastres promised you."
"Thanks," said the Indian as he took them.
"Now, what are you going to do?"
"Rest myself till tomorrow; then join the men of my tribe."
"Are you in a great hurry to see them?"
"I? Not at all."
"Stay here, then."
"What to do?"
"I will tell you; perhaps I may need you within a few days."
"Shall I be paid?"
"Amply. Does that suit you?"
"Yes."
"Then you will remain?"
"I will."
The count went away, not noticing the strange expression in the glance
the Indian turned on him.