CONVERSATION.
During the few thousand years since the world on which we vegetate
issued from the hands of the Creator, many revolutions have taken place,
many extraordinary facts have been accomplished. How many nations have
succeeded each other, rising and falling in turn, disappearing without
even leaving a trace, after traversing history like dazzling meteors,
and then going out eternally in the night of ages!
But of all the strange facts of which the memory has been preserved,
none in our opinion can be compared with what we have seen accomplished
under our own eyes, with extraordinary audacity and success, during
about three-quarters of a century.
Adventurers bursting from every quarter of the globe--some impelled by
the fanaticism of religious faith, others by a spirit of adventure,
others again, and the large majority, urged on by wretchedness--after
landing as pilgrims on the American shores, asking shelter from the poor
and innocent inhabitants of those hospitable countries, and purchasing
for a song fertile estates, gradually congregated, expelled the first
possessors of the soil, founded cities and ports, built arsenals, and
one day shaking off the yoke of the mother country under whose ægis they
had timidly sought shelter, constituted themselves an independent state,
and founded that colossus, with feet of clay, body of gold, and head of
mud, which is called the United States of America.
Humble at the outset, this poor Republic, singing in a loud voice the
words, "Liberty and Fraternity!"--words whose noble and grand
significance it never comprehended--displaying a rigid tolerance, an
exaggerated virtue and puritanism, stepped insidiously into the councils
of the European powers, climbed cunningly up to the thrones of
sovereigns, and, beneath the mask of disinterestedness, gained
acceptance from all. Suddenly, when the favourable moment arrived, the
United States rose and assumed a haughty posture. They who had laid down
in their Act of Independence that they would never consent to any
aggrandisement, said in a domineering voice to Europe, surprised and
almost terrified by such audacity, "This quarter of the globe is ours.
We are a powerful nation. You must henceforth settle with us."
Unfortunately for themselves, in uttering these proud words, the
Northern Americans did not believe them. On the one hand they were
perfectly aware of their weakness; and, on the other, they knew very
well that a multitude of individuals collected from all sides, without
any tie of family or language among them, cannot form a people--that, is
to say, a nation--in one century, not even in two.
Still, to be just and impartial to the United States, we must allow that
their inhabitants possess to a supreme degree that feverish ardour
which, if well directed, produces great results.
It is evident that these bold adventurers are accomplishing, though they
little suspect it, a providential mission. What it is no one can say,
themselves least of all. These men who stifle on the frontiers, which
their population, though daily increasing, cannot fill; who aspire
continually to leap over the barriers which other nations oppose to
them; who only dream of the unknown, and are perpetually gazing at the
distant horizon--these men, in whose ear a secret voice constantly
murmurs, as to the Jew of the legend, "Onward, onward!"--these men are
destined, ere long, to play a grand, glorious, and noble part in modern
civilisation, if the profound egotism that undermines, and the thirst
for gold which devours them, does not kill in them those regenerating
virtues with which they are unconsciously endowed; and if, forgetting
the spirit of conquest and desire for further aggrandisement, they draw
more closely together the ties between the several states, and practise
among themselves that liberty and fraternity of which they talk so
jactantly abroad, but know so little at home.
No people equals the Americans in the art of founding towns. In a few
days, on the spot where a virgin forest full of mystery and shadow
stood, they lay out streets, build houses, light gas; and in the midst
of these streets and squares, created as if by enchantment, the forest
trees are not yet dead, and a few forgotten oaks flourish with a
melancholy air.
It is true that many of these towns, improvised for the exigencies of
the moment, are frequently deserted as rapidly as they were built; for
the North American is the true nomadic race. Nothing attaches it to the
soil: convenience alone can keep it at any given spot. It has none of
those heart affections, none of those memories of childhood or youth,
which induce us often to endure suffering in a place rather than quit it
for others where we should be comparatively much better off. In a word,
the American has no _home_, that word so endearing to Europeans. To him
the most agreeable and comfortable abode is that where he can pile
dollar on dollar with the greatest facility.
San Francisco, that city which now counts more than 60,000 inhabitants,
and in which all the refinements of luxury can be found, is an evident
proof of the marvellous facility with which the Americans improvise
towns. We can remember bartering, scarce fifteen years back, with
Flat-head Indians, beneath the shade of secular trees, on sites where
splendid edifices now rise. We have fished alone in this immense bay,
the finest in the world, which is at present almost too small to hold
the innumerable vessels that follow each other in rapid succession.
At the period of our story San Francisco was not yet a city in the true
acceptation of the word. It was a conglomeration of huts and clumsy
cabins built of wood, and which afforded some sort of shelter to the
adventurers of every nation whom the gold fever cast on its shores, and
who only stopped there long enough to prepare for proceeding to the
mines, or throw into the bottomless abysses of the gambling houses the
nuggets they had collected with so much difficulty and suffering.
The police were almost non-existing: the stronger man made the law. The
knife and revolver were the _última ratio_, and lorded it over this
heterogeneous population, composed of the worst specimens the five parts
of the globe could throw up.
A population incessantly renewed, never the same, lived in this Hades, a
prey to that constant and fatal intoxication which the sight of that
terrible metal called gold produces in even the strongest-minded men.
Still, at the period of which we are writing, the first fury of the race
to the placers had somewhat cooled down. Owing to the impulse given by a
few resolute men, gifted with lofty intellects and generous hearts, the
normal life was beginning to be gradually organised; the bandits no
longer daringly held the top of the causeway, honest men could at length
breathe and raise their heads, all foreboded better days, and the dawn
of an era of order, peace, and tranquillity had arrived.
About two months after the events we narrated in our preceding chapter
we will lead the reader to a charming house built a little out of the
throng, as if the inhabitants had sought to isolate themselves as much
as possible; and after introducing him into a room modestly furnished
with a few common chairs and a table, on which lay a large map of
Mexico, we will listen to the conversation of the two men who were
leaning over this map.
One of them is already well known to us, for he is the Count Louis; the
other was a man of middle age, with a fine and intelligent face, whose
eye sparkled with boldness and frankness; his manners were also very
elegant. He appeared to be a Frenchman; at least he was talking in that
language. At the moment we joined them the two gentlemen were inserting
black-headed pins into certain districts of the map spread out before
them.
"I am perfectly of your opinion, my dear count," the stranger said as he
rose: "that road is the most direct, and at the same time the safest."
"Is it not?" Louis answered.
"Without any doubt. But tell me--you are quite resolved to disembark at
Guaymas?"
"That is the most favourable point."
"I ask you that question, my dear countryman, because I have written to
our representative in that town."
"Well?" the count said quickly, rising in his turn.
"All goes well; at least he tells me so in his letter."
"He has answered you?"
"Courier for courier. The Mexican authorities will see your arrival with
the greatest pleasure; a barrack will be prepared for your men, and the
principal posts of the town intrusted to them. You are expected with the
most lively impatience."
"All the better, for I confess to you that I feared much annoyance in
that quarter: the Mexicans have such a singular character, that one
never knows how to deal with them."
"What you say is perfectly true, my friend; but remember that your
position is an exceptional one, and can in no possible manner cause
umbrage to the authorities of the town. You are the owner of a placer of
incalculable richness, situated in a country where you will have
continually to apprehend attacks from the Indians; you will, therefore,
only pass through Guaymas."
"Literally so; for I declare to you that I shall set out with the least
possible delay for the mine."
"Another thing, too: most of the men whose hatred or envy you might have
occasion to fear are shareholders in the company you represent. If they
show you any ill will, or try to impede your operations, they will
carry on the war at their own expense, and naturally will be the first
punished."
"That is true."
"And then you have no political object: your conduct is clearly laid
down. Your desire is to find gold."
"Yes, and to insure a happy and independent position for the brave men
who accompany me."
"What more noble task could you undertake?"
"So you are satisfied, sir?"
"I could not be more so, my dear count. Everything smiles on you: the
company is definitively formed at Mexico."
"I knew that before. During my stay in that city I drew up the plans and
prepared everything; besides, I believe I can reckon on the friends we
have there."
"I believe so too. Did not the President of the Republic himself seem to
adopt your views?"
"Enthusiastically."
"Very good. Now, in Sonora, the governor, with whom you will have alone
to deal, is one of our largest shareholders, so you have nothing to fear
in that quarter."
"Tell me, sir, do you know our representative at Guaymas?"
At this question a cloud passed over the stranger's forehead.
"Not personally," he answered, after a certain degree of hesitation.
"Then you can give me no information about him? You understand that it
is important for me to know the character of the man with whom I shall
doubtlessly enter into permanent relations, and from whom I shall be
compelled to ask protection in certain difficult circumstances, such as
may occur at any moment."
"That is true, my dear count. As you observe, you know not in what
position accident may place you; it is, therefore, necessary that I
should instruct you, so listen to me."
"I am giving you the most earnest attention."
"Guaymas, as you are very well aware, is of very slight importance to
our nation in a commercial point of view. During the whole year not a
dozen ships bearing our flag put in there. The French Government,
therefore, considered it useless to send a French agent to that town,
and acted like most of the powers--it selected one of the most
respectable merchants in Guaymas, and made him its representative."
"Ah, ah!" the count said thoughtfully; "then our consular agent in that
port is not a Frenchman?"
"No; he is a Mexican. It is unlucky for you; for I will not hide from
you that our countrymen have several times complained of not obtaining
from him that protection which it is his duty to give them. It seems,
too, that this man is wonderfully greedy for gain."
"As far as that is concerned I do not alarm myself at all."
"The rest need not trouble you either. The Mexicans generally are not
bad. They are children--that is all. You will easily master this man by
talking to him firmly, and not yielding an inch of what you consider
your right."
"Trust to me for doing that."
"There is nothing else to be done."
"Thanks for this precious information, which I shall profit by, be
assured, at the proper time and place. What is his name?"
"Don Antonio Mendez Pavo; but, before your departure, I will give you a
letter for him, which I am sure will prevent your having any vexatious
disputes with the fellow."
"I accept with great pleasure."
"And now another point."
"Go on."
"Are your enlistments completed?"
"Nearly so; I only need ten more men at the most."
"You are organising your expedition in a military manner?"
"I wished to avoid it, but that is impossible, owing to the Indian
tribes through which we must pass, and with whom we shall have
doubtlessly a tussle."
"You may expect it."
"So you see, my dear sir, I take my precautions in consequence."
"You act wisely. What will be the strength of your company?"
"Two hundred and fifty to three hundred men at the outside."
"You are right: a larger force would arouse the susceptibility of the
Mexicans, and perhaps cause them alarm as to the purity and loyalty of
your intentions."
"That is what I wish to avoid at any price."
"Are your men French?"
"All. I do not wish to have any men with me on whose devotion I cannot
calculate. I should be afraid, by mixing strangers among my fellows,
that I might relax those family ties so necessary for the success of an
expedition like mine, and which can be easily established among men all
belonging to the same nation."
"That is extremely logical."
"And then," the count went on, "I only enlist old soldiers or sailors,
all men accustomed to military discipline, and who are familiar with the
use of arms."
"Then your organisation is terminated?"
"Nearly so, as I told you."
"All the better. In spite of the pleasure I feel in your delightful
society, I should like to see you at work already."
"Thank you, but that will not be long first: the vessel is chartered,
and if nothing happen to derange my plans, I shall say good-by to you
within a week. You know that, in an affair like this, speed is the great
point."
"Success depends, above all, on celerity and decision."
"I shall be deficient in neither, be assured."
"Above all, do not forget to take with you two or three men you can
trust, and who are thoroughly acquainted with the country you are about
explore."
"I have with me two wood rangers, from whom the desert has no secrets."
"You can trust in them?"
"As in myself."
"Bravo! I feel a presentiment that we shall succeed."
"Heaven grant it! For my part, I will do all to deserve it."
The stranger took his hat.
"Ah, ah! I have been here a long time, and forget that people may be
waiting for me at the office. I must leave you, my dear count."
"Already?"
"Needs must. Shall I see you this evening?"
"I cannot promise. You know that I am not my own master either,
especially at this moment."
"That is true; still try to come."
"I will."
"That's right. Good-by till I see you again."
The two men shook hands affectionately, and the stranger departed.
So soon as he was alone the count bent again over the map, which he
studied carefully: it was not till night had completely set in that he
gave up his task.
"How is it," he said to himself thoughtfully, "that Valentine has not
yet arrived? He should have been here."
As he finished this monologue he heard a rap at the door.