THE DEPARTURE.
French emigration, in America or elsewhere, has rarely, or, to speak
more truthfully, has never succeeded.
Whence does this result? The Frenchman is brave to rashness,
intelligent, and laborious. He laughs and sings continually, supporting
with the greatest philosophy the rudest blows of fortune, and carelessly
confiding in the future. All that is true. But the Frenchman is no
coloniser; that is to say, under all circumstances, he remains a
Frenchman, and does not wish to be anything else.
The French emigrant, when he quits his country, retains always, not only
the desire, but the intention of seeing it again some day. All his
efforts tend to acquire the necessary sum to return to the village or
town where he was born. No matter whether chance deserts him, he ever
regards himself as a traveller and not as a sojourner; whatever be the
position he may achieve, his eyes are incessantly fixed on France, the
only country, in his opinion, where men can live and die happily.
Infatuated by his nationality, never willing to make the slightest
concession to the habits, creeds, and manners of the people, with whom
he is temporarily obliged to live, esteeming them as far beneath himself
in intelligence and civilisation, the Frenchman passes through foreign
nations with a sardonic smile on his lips, and a mocking
glance--shrugging his shoulders in contempt at all that he sees, without
trying to explain it, and preferring a sarcasm to a good lesson. Hence
it generally happens that the Frenchman is not only not loved; but in
spite of his open, frank, and merry character, is almost detested, by
foreigners.
At San Francisco, the French emigrants--being without any socialities,
and composed of individuals of every description, who shunned or tried
to injure each other, instead of affording mutual aid--were, we are
forced to confess, very slightly esteemed by the Americans, those
colonisers _par excellence_. A few energetic men had contrived
individually to make the French name respected.
Count de Prébois' expedition was consequently, in every respect, a
blessing for his unhappy countrymen: in the first place by delivering
them from the frightful want that held them in its iron clutches; and
secondly by elevating them in their own eyes, and in those of the
adventurers of every country whom the _mineral yellow fever_ had
attracted to these parts.
The count's enterprise had the result of rendering the French colony, at
first so despised, highly respectable; and the Americans now began to
feel secretly jealous of it. The enlistment of the French company to
work the rich placers of Apacheria, was the important event of the day;
it was spoken of everywhere. A number of adventurers burnt to take part
in the expedition, and employed every means to gain acceptance.
But, as we have said, the count had laid down in this respect a line of
conduct from which he would not deviate: the principal condition of
enlistment was the fact of being a Frenchman; thus any number of poor
fellows was rejected by the count, and many a violent enmity did he
collect on his head, but the count cared little for all the disturbance;
he continued his work imperturbably. Thus, as we have said, when
Valentine arrived at San Francisco, the company was almost complete, and
composed of picked men.
The hunter heard the news from his friend's lips, with the greatest
satisfaction.
"Come," he said; "you have lost no time."
"Have I?"
"By Jove! To form a mining company, and collect a body of men in less
than two months, is no trifle. I congratulate you with all my heart."
"Thank you. Still, without you nothing would have been effected; for
mark the fact, Valentine, that although I have the richest capitalists
and highest men in Mexico as shareholders in the _Atravida_, not one of
them would have advanced me an ochavo to pay the expenses of the
organisation, which I was bound to settle alone."
"That is a clever arrangement, brother. You have to deal with cunning
shareholders."
"All the better. I will soon prove to them that they did wrong in not
giving me all that confidence I deserve."
"I like that way of revenging yourself. But tell me----"
"What?"
"Have you influential men among your shareholders?"
"What do you mean by influential?"
"Why, men whose political position offers you a certain guarantee
against the annoyances which will be inevitably created down there, to
prevent the success of your enterprise, and prepare its failure."
"I fear nothing of the sort."
"All the better."
"Judge for yourself. I have among my shareholders the French envoy at
Mexico, the French consul at Guaymas, the Governor of Sonora, and many
others."
"Did you not say the Governor of Sonora?"
"Yes."
"Ah, ah, ah!"
"Well?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Yes, you mean something; so speak."
"Indeed, why should I make a mystery of it? Do you know this governor?"
"No. I only know that he is colossally rich, that his name is Don
Sebastian Guerrero, and he is a general."
"Is that all?"
"Yes."
"Well, you are mistaken in fancying you do not know him."
"Nonsense."
"Yes; and as it appears, you have even rendered him a great service."
"You are jesting; I never saw him."
"That is your mistake. Like the worthy knight errant, you are, you saved
him from the hands of the miscreants."
"Come, speak seriously."
"I am doing so. In one word, you saved his life and his daughter's."
"I? You are mad."
"Not the least in the world. Indeed the father, and especially the young
lady--who, between ourselves, is delightful--entertain the most
affecting reminiscences of you."
"Who on earth told you that fine story?"
"Who? why the general himself."
"That is a little too strong."
"Come, think a little. About three or four years back, I do not know
exactly which, did you not after leaving Guadalajara----?"
"Wait a minute," the count said hurriedly. "It would be strange if the
person I saved were really the same----"
"Strange or no, it is."
"Well, then, that is famous for us."
"By Jove! We have a powerful friend, who will defend us tooth and nail
against all comers. That is famous. I really believe Providence is
declaring for us."
"I did not know that the Mexicans were gifted with so excellent a
memory."
"I rather think it is the Mexican ladies in this case."
"No matter; the circumstance is of good augury."
"I hope you will profit by it."
"As much as I can."
"Bravo! And now that your affairs are settled, or nearly so, when do you
intend to make a move?"
"I have certain arrangements still to make; so I cannot leave San
Francisco before ten days."
"Can I be of any service to you?"
"None here; but over there, great."
"That is to say----"
"Are you fatigued?"
"Fatigued of what?"
"Why, of riding about in the fashion you have done, for some time past?"
"Once for all, and let that be carefully understood between us, remember
that I am never tired."
"Good! Then you can render me a service?"
"What is it?"
"Though I cannot start for ten days, you can be in the saddle by
daybreak, I suppose?"
"Of course."
"You must return by land to Sonora, to deliver three letters I will give
you, one for Don Antonio Pavo, consular agent at Guaymas, the second for
the Governor of Sonora, and the third for a certain Canadian hunter whom
you will probably find at the Hacienda del Milagro, in the neighbourhood
of Tepic."
"I will do it. Is that all?"
"Yes. You understand that I do not wish to arrive there, before
preparations have been made for my reception."
"You are right: so I start----"
"Tomorrow."
"You mean today: it is now two o'clock."
"By Jove! That is true. How time slips away."
"Where shall I wait for you?"
"At Guaymas."
"That is understood. Write the letters while Curumilla and I saddle the
three horses."
"Will you take your Spaniard with you?"
"Yes, he will be useful to me there."
"As you please."
Valentine and Curumilla went out, while Louis began his letters.
Valentine, after saddling the horses, was conducted to the room where
Don Cornelio was asleep. We must do the Spaniard the justice of saying
that he offered the most obstinate resistance to the hunter, and it was
not till he was compelled, that he left the bed in which he slept so
comfortably. At length, when Valentine had succeeded, part by
persuasion, part by carrying him, in placing him on his saddle and
confiding him to Curumilla, he returned to the room where he had left
his foster brother. The letters were ready; and Valentine took them.
"Now, brother, good-bye," he said, "and may you be fortunate."
The two men remained for a long time in an affectionate embrace. Louis
knew the hunter too well, to try and induce him to take a few hours'
rest; he, therefore, accompanied him to the gate, where the four men
exchanged a parting greeting, and, at a sign from Valentine, the horses
started at full speed. They soon disappeared in the darkness, but the
sound of their horses' hoofs re-echoed for a long time on the hardened
soil. Louis remained motionless in the gateway, so long as the
slightest sound reached his ear, and then went in again, murmuring:--
"A man must be accursed who does not succeed, with such devoted
friends."
The count worked through the whole night, not thinking of taking a
moment's rest. The sun was already high on the horizon, and he still
remained bent over the table, writing figures after figures. The door
opened; and the person we saw talking confidentially with the count on
the previous evening entered. Louis started at the noise, but on
recognising his visitor a smile played over his stern countenance.
"You are welcome, consul," he said gaily, as he offered him his hand;
"you could not have arrived at a better moment. Have you come to
breakfast?"
"Yes, my dear count; for I wish to talk seriously with you."
"All the better, for I shall keep you the longer. Take a chair, and
pardon my being surprised in this state, but I have spent the night in
arranging these documents. Deuce take the man who invented writing and
accounts."
The consul, for the gentleman was no other than the French
representative in California, sat down, smiling; and, by the count's
orders, an appetising breakfast was served almost immediately. The two
gentlemen sat down opposite each other, and began a vigorous attack on
the dishes.
"Well," Louis said presently, "any news?"
"Bad."
"Ah, ah! That worthy Jonathan is yelping, I suppose?"
"Louder than ever."
"Look at that! And why, may I ask?"
"You can guess it."
"Nearly so; but no matter, out with it."
"You are aware that you have made a number of enemies here?"
"Well, it was not my own fault."
"That is true! Well, these enemies are stirring, and making loud
remarks."
"About what?"
"Why, you know people can always find something to turn into scandal.
They say that the expedition will fail, that you are reduced to
expedients, and that you do not know how to escape from your present
position."
"Is that all?"
"No. They add, that you have contracted enormous debts, which you will
never succeed in paying."
"Good again!"
"You understand that these calumnies produce a very bad effect."
"Naturally."
"I have therefore come to you, my dear count. I am not rich,
unfortunately; still, I have at my disposal some 20,000 piastres. I am a
shareholder in the company, and it is therefore my duty to come to its
assistance; so I frankly offer you the money, which may be of some
slight service to you."
The count cordially pressed his guest's hand.
"Thanks!" he said to him, with suppressed emotion, touched by the
delicacy of this noble and generous procedure.
"Yes," the consul continued, ransacking his pockets, and producing a
bundle of notes; "we must silence these scoundrels. Here is the amount."
And he offered the notes to the count, who declined them with a gentle
smile.
"You are mistaken as to the meaning of the word I used," he remarked. "I
thanked you, not because I accept your generous offer, but because it
proves to me the esteem in which you hold me."
"Still----" the consul urged him.
"Again I thank you; but all my debts will be paid within an hour. I have
at this moment nearly 200,000 piastres at my disposal."
The consul looked at him, open-eyed.
"But yesterday----?" he said.
"Yes!" the count interrupted him quietly, "yesterday I had nothing,
today I am rich. I will explain to you this very simple miracle."
When the count ended his narrative, the consul pressed his hand
joyfully.
"Good gracious!" he said, "you do not know, my dear count, what pleasure
you cause me at this moment; you have staunch friends."
"Among whom I may reckon yourself."
"Oh! As for me," he said simply; "that is not astonishing; for am I not
one of your shareholders?"
As soon as breakfast was over, the count set out to settle with his
creditors, or rather those of the company, in order to destroy all
excuse for malevolence, and close the mouth of the envious. After this,
the count lost no time in making his final arrangements, and enlisting
the few men he was still short of.
In a word, as he told Valentine when he left him, ten days had scarce
elapsed since their nocturnal meeting, ere all the preparations were
ended, and the company only awaited a favourable moment to embark and
start.
The day on which the French company embarked for Sonora was a memorable
one for San Francisco. The North American, beneath his cold and
straight-laced appearance, conceals a warm and enthusiastic heart. When
the Frenchmen entered the boats which were to bear them to the ship, for
a moment and as if by enchantment, all enmities were silenced; and an
enthusiastic mob, congregated on the pier, accompanied them with shouts
and wishes for success, while waving their hats and handkerchiefs.
The count, as was his duty, was the last to embark. Several of his
friends, among them being the consul, bore him company. As he leaped
into the boat, the count turned, and pressed the consul's hand in
parting.
"Good-bye," he said. "I will succeed, or Sonora shall be my tomb."
"Good-bye, till we meet again, my friend," the other answered. "I will
not say farewell; I feel convinced that you will succeed."
"God grant it," Louis murmured, as he leaped into the boat and shook his
head sadly.
A formidable shout burst from the crowd. The count bowed with a smile,
and the boat started. An hour later, the white sails of the ship that
bore the adventurers glistened, like a kingfisher's wing, on the
horizon. The consul, who remained on the beach till the last moment,
slowly walked homeward, saying to himself:--
"Whatever may happen, that man is not an adventurer, but a hero. He has
more genius than Cortez. Will he be equally lucky?"