The Indian Chief: The Story of a Revolution

Unable to vanquish the company, the Mexicans bought it of two scoundrels, by the intervention of a third, whose duty it was to defend it.

Thus the Atrevida Company had committed suicide. It effected its own dissolution without even attempting to see once again that chief who had been its idol, and whom it abandoned writhing on a bed of suffering.

We must mention, to the honour of the French plenipotentiaries that, in the treaty they signed, the liberty of the count was formally guaranteed.

Now let us see by what extraordinary concourse of circumstances the count, when in such a critical position, was thus abandoned by all his friends. How was it that General Guerrero, his obstinate foe, had shown himself so kind and almost generous toward Don Louis during the last events we have narrated?

We will proceed to explain this; but, in order to do so, we must take up events further back, and return to Valentine and his comrades, whom we left galloping at full speed along the road to the hacienda.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE HACIENDA DEL MILAGRO

The road from Hermosillo to the Hacienda del Milagro is perfectly well traced, straight and wide along the entire distance. Although the night was gloomy and unlit by the moon, as the five horsemen galloped on side by side, it would have been impossible for them to pass Don Cornelio without seeing him, had they caught him up; but they reached the hacienda without receiving any tidings of him.

The road had been so trampled in every direction during the last few days, both by French and Mexicans, that it was impossible for these experienced hunters to distinguish or take up any imprint which could serve to guide them in their researches. The traces of horses, wagons, and men were so interlaced in each other, that they were completely illegible, even to the most practised eye. Several times Valentine tried, though in vain, to read this book of the desert. Hence, the nearer the hunters drew to their destination, the more alarmed and anxious they became.

It was about eight in the morning when they reached the hacienda: they had travelled the whole night through without stopping, save to search for traces of the man they were pursuing. The hacienda was tranquil; the peons were engaged in their ordinary labours; the ganado was grazing at liberty on the prairies. When the hunters entered, Don Rafaël was preparing to mount on horse, seemingly to take a ride round his farm. A peon was holding a magnificent mustang, which champed its bit and snorted impatiently at being held so long. When the hacendero perceived the newcomers he ran toward them, playfully menacing them with his chicote.

"Ah!" he said with a laugh, "here are my deserters returned. Good morning, gentlemen."

The latter, astonished at this merry reception, which they did not at all comprehend, remained dumb. Don Rafaël then noticed their gloomy and embarrassed air.

"Hilloh! what is the matter with you?" he asked seriously. "Are you the bearers of ill news?"

"Perhaps so," Valentine answered sadly. "May Heaven grant that I am mistaken!"

"Speak – explain yourself. I was mounting to go and obtain news about you; but as you are here, it is unnecessary."

The hunters exchanged an intelligent glance.

"Of course we will furnish you with all the details you may wish for."

"All the better. In the first place, then, dismount and come into the house, where we shall converse more at our ease."

The hunters obeyed, and followed Don Rafaël into a vast apartment which served as the hacendero's business room. When they entered Valentine opposed the closing of the door.

"In that way," he said, "we shall not have to fear listeners."

"Why such precautions?"

"I will tell you. Where are Doña Angela and Doña Luz at this moment?"

"They are probably still asleep."

"Very good. Tell me, Loyal Heart, have you received any visitor during the last twenty-four hours?"

"I have not seen a living soul since the departure of the Count de Prébois Crancé."

"Ah!" the hunter said, "then a courier did not arrive last night?"

"None."

"So that you are ignorant of the deeds accomplished yesterday?"

"Utterly."

"You are not aware that the count fought a battle yesterday?"

"No."

"That he took Hermosillo by assault?"

"No."

"And that General Guerrero's army is utterly routed?"

"No. Is what you tell me really the truth?"

"The most perfect truth."

"In that case the count is victor?"

"Yes, and is now installed at Hermosillo."

"It is almost incredible. And now, my friend, as I have answered all your questions frankly and without comment, will you do me the kindness to tell me why you asked them?"

"Yesterday, so soon as the count was master of Hermosillo, he thought of you, perhaps of somebody else, and he sent off a courier ordered to give you a letter."

"Me! That is strange. The courier was doubtlessly a native, an Indian?"

"No, he was Don Cornelio Mendoza, a Spanish gentleman, whom you probably remember."

"Certainly – a jolly, excellent companion, who was continually strumming the vihuela."

"The same man," Valentine said ironically. "Well, this jolly, excellent companion, who was continually strumming the vihuela, my dear Loyal Heart, is simply a traitor who sold all our secrets to the enemy."

"Oh, Valentine! you must be very sure ere you bring such an accusation against a caballero."

"Unfortunately," the hunter said sadly, "the slightest doubt on the subject is impossible; the count holds in his hands all the fellow's correspondence with General Guerrero."

"Cuerpo de Cristo!" Don Rafaël exclaimed, "do you know, my friend, this is very serious?"

"I am so fully of your opinion that, in spite of the fatigue that overpowered me, I begged these gentlemen to accompany me, and started at full gallop, hoping to surprise him on the road and seize him; for, beside the letter he had to deliver to you, he had others of a most compromising nature, addressed to several influential persons in the province."

"That is an awkward affair," Loyal Heart said with a pensive air: "it is evident that the scoundrel, instead of coming here, has gone straight to hand the papers to the general."

"There is not, unfortunately, the least doubt of that."

"What is to be done?" Don Rafaël muttered mechanically.

There was a moment's silence: each reflected on the means to be employed in order to neutralise the effects of this treachery. Curumilla and Eagle-head rose, and prepared to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" Valentine asked them.

"While our brothers are consulting," the Araucano replied, "the Indian chiefs will go on the discovery."

"You are right, chief: go, go," the hunter said. "I do not know why," he added mournfully, "but I have a foreboding of misfortune."

The two Indians went out.

"Do you know the contents of the letter the count wrote me?" Don Rafaël asked presently.

"On my faith, no; but it is probable that he told you of the victory, and begged you to conduct Doña Angela to Hermosillo. In any case the letter was most compromising."

"As for that, I am very slightly alarmed, for General Guerrero will think twice before he attacks me.

"What is the use of this long deliberation, and such a loss of precious time? We have only one thing to do, and that is to go to Hermosillo as escort to Doña Angela," Belhumeur said.

"In truth, that is the most simple," Valentine said in confirmation.

"Yes," Don Rafaël remarked; "the count can only be pleased with that course."

"Come, let us carry out the plan without further delay," Belhumeur continued. "While Black Elk and myself make all the preparations for the journey, do you, Loyal Heart, go and inform Doña Angela of the determination we have come to."

"Do so, and, above all, make haste," Valentine said. "I do not know why, but I should have liked to be off already."

Without further words they separated, and the hunter remained alone. In spite of himself Valentine was a prey to the most poignant uneasiness. He walked in agitation up and down the room, stopping at times to listen or look out of the windows, as if he expected to see an enemy rise. At length, no longer able to endure the uncertainty, he went out.

The two hunters were busily engaged in lassoing horses and saddling them, while the peons were bringing in mules to carry the baggage. Valentine felt his disquietude augmented with every moment. He helped his comrades with feverish impatience, and urged each to make haste. An hour passed away. All was then ready, and they only awaited Doña Angela, who arrived, accompanied by Doña Luz and Don Rafaël.

"At last!" Valentine exclaimed. "To horse, to horse! Let us start at once!"

"Let us go," his friends repeated.

Each mounted; but suddenly a great noise was heard outside, and Curumilla appeared with agitated features, and panting violently.

"Fly, fly!" he shouted; "they are coming."

"Forward!" Valentine exclaimed.

But an insurmountable obstacle rose before them. At the moment they were passing through the gate of the hacienda it was suddenly blocked up by the cattle the peons were driving back from the fields, probably to prevent them being carried off by marauders. The poor beasts pressed into the gateway, each anxious to be first, while uttering lamentable moans, and goaded behind by the peons. It was useless to hope getting out before the ganado had entered, and there was no chance of clearing the gateway by driving it back. Hence the fugitives were compelled to wait, whether they would or not. Valentine was half mad with anger.

"I knew it, I knew it," he muttered in a hoarse voice, and clenching his fists in rage.

At length, after nearly an hour (for Don Rafaël possessed numerous herds), the gate was free.

"Let us be off in Heaven's name!" Valentine shouted.

"It is too late," Eagle-head said, appearing suddenly in the gateway.

"Maldición!" the hunter yelled as he rushed forward.

Valentine looked around him, and uttered a cry of alarm. The hacienda was completely surrounded by nearly five hundred Mexican cavalry, in the midst of whom General Guerrero could be distinguished.

"Ah, the wretched traitor!" the hunter exclaimed.

"Come, let us not be discouraged," Loyal Heart said. "Cuerpo de Cristo! it is not so long since I gave up desert life that I should have forgotten all its stratagems. We will not give these troops time to look about them. Let us charge, and make a hole through them."

"No," Valentine said authoritatively; "close and bar the gate, Belhumeur."

The Canadian hastened to obey.

"Stay," Don Rafaël said.

"Loyal Heart," Valentine continued, "you are no longer the master to act as you please, and throw yourself headlong into desperate enterprises. You must live for your wife and your children; besides, can we expose Doña Angela to the risk of being killed among us?"

"That is true," he answered. "Pardon me; I was mad."

"Oh!" Doña Angela exclaimed, "what do I care about death if I am not to see again the man I love?"

"Señorita," the hunter said sententiously, "allow events to follow their course. Who knows if things are not better so? For the present return to the house, and leave us to manage this affair."

"Come, my child, come," Doña Luz said to her affectionately; "your presence is useless here, and perhaps it may soon become injurious."

"I obey you, señora," the maiden said sadly; and she retired slowly, leaning on the arm of Doña Luz, who lavished on her all the consolations her heart dictated. Don Rafaël had given all his servants orders to arm, and hold themselves in readiness to offer a vigorous resistance in case the hacienda was attacked, an event which, from the orders given by the general to his troops, might be expected at any moment. The peons of the hacienda were numerous, and devoted to their master; hence the struggle threatened to be serious.

Suddenly repeated blows were struck on the gate. Valentine, who had been thinking deeply for several moments, bent down to Don Rafaël's ear, and whispered a few words.

"Oh!" the latter replied, "that is almost cowardice, Don Valentine."

"You must," the hunter said obstinately.

And while Loyal Heart proceeded very unwillingly to the gate, he quickly entered the house. Don Rafaël opened a trap door in the gate, and asked who was there, and what was wanted; then, to the great surprise of all, after negotiating for a few moments with the men who demanded entrance in so peremptory a manner, he ordered the gate to be unbarred. In an instant it was thrown open, and the general appeared, accompanied by several officers, with whom he rode boldly in.

"I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting, general, but I did not know it was you," Don Rafaël said to him.

"Caramba! amigo," the general remarked with a smile as he looked round, "you have a numerous garrison here, as far as I can judge."

"After the late events that have taken place in Sonora the roads are infested with marauders," Don Rafaël replied: "it is wise to take precautions."

The general shrugged his shoulders.

"Very good, caballero," he replied dryly; "but it does not please me to see so many men armed without any legal motive. Lay down your arms, gentlemen."

The peons looked at their master; the latter bit his lips, but made them a sign to obey. All the weapons were then thrown on the ground.

"I am very vexed, Don Rafaël, but I am about to leave a garrison in your hacienda. You and all the persons present are my prisoners. Get ready to follow me to Guaymas."

"Is that the reward for allowing you to enter my house?" Don Rafaël said bitterly.

"I should have entered in any case," the general replied sternly. "And now send my daughter here at once."

"Here I am, my father," the young lady said as she appeared at the head of the steps.

Doña Angela came down slowly into the courtyard, walked toward her father, and stopped two paces from him.

"What would you of me?" she said to him.

"Give you the order to follow me," he answered dryly.

"I can do no other than obey you. Still you know me, father: my resolution is inflexible. I have in my hands the means to liberate myself from your tyranny when it appears to me too heavy for endurance. Your conduct will regulate mine. Now let us start."

The only affection that remained warm and pure in the heart of the ambitious man was his love for his daughter; but that love was immense and unbounded. This man, who recoiled before no deed, however cruel it might be, to attain the object he proposed to himself, trembled at a frown from this child of sixteen, who, knowing the tyrannical power she exercised over her father, abused it unscrupulously. On his side, Don Sebastian knew the iron will and untamable character of his daughter. Hence he trembled in his heart on listening to her cold declaration, although he allowed nothing to be seen. He turned away with an air of disdain, and gave orders for departure.

A quarter of an hour later all the prisoners were en route for Guaymas, and no one was left at the hacienda but General Don Ramon and Doña Luz, who were watched by a garrison of fifty men, commanded by an officer, who had orders not to let them communicate with anybody.

Valentine, on seeing the general so speedily recovered from his defeat, judged the position of affairs at a glance. With his usual perspicuity he understood that, owing to Don Cornelio's treachery, the pueblos would not rise, that the hacenderos who had pledged their word would keep aloof, that the revolt would prove abortive, and that the count, ill and abandoned by everybody, would probably soon be reduced to treat with the man he had conquered. This was the reason why he urged Don Rafaël not to attempt a useless resistance, which could only have compromised him; and, at the same time, he persuaded Doña Angela to feign acceptance of her father's conditions, and return with him.

We see that the hunter had reasoned well, and that his previsions were correct. Still he was mistaken in supposing that he would manage to advise his foster-brother of all that had occurred. The orders given by the general in reference to the prisoners were executed with such extreme precision, that it was impossible even to tell the count of his whereabouts. And now that we have recounted the events that took place at the hacienda, we will approach the conclusion of this long drama.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE BOAR AT BAY

We must beg the reader to follow us to Guaymas, about a year after the events described in the last chapter.

A man dressed in a military garb, bearing considerable resemblance to the Mexican uniform, was walking, with his arms behind his back, up and down the sumptuously furnished room. This man appeared to be deep in thought; his brows were drawn together; and at times he turned an impatient glance toward a clock placed on a bracket. This man was evidently expecting somebody who did not arrive, for his impatience and ill-temper increased with every moment. He took up his hat, which he had thrown on a sofa, probably with the intention of withdrawing, when a door opened, and a servant announced, —

"His Excellency Don Sebastian Guerrero."

"At last," the visitor growled between his teeth.

The general appeared. He was in full uniform.

"Pardon me, my dear count," he said in an affectionate tone, "pardon me for having kept you waiting so long, I had infinite difficulty in getting rid of the troublesome people who bored me. At length I am quite at your service, and ready to listen with proper attention to the communications it may please you to make to me.

"General," the count answered, "two motives bring me here today: in the first place, the desire to obtain from you a clear and categorical answer on the subject of the propositions I had the honour of making to you a few days back; and next the complaints I have to make to you on the matter of certain very grave facts which have occurred to the prejudice of the French battalion, and of which I have not the least doubt," he added with a certain tinge of irony in his voice, "you were ignorant."

"This is the first I hear of them, sir. Believe me that I am resolved to do good and ample justice to the French battalion, of which I have had only to speak in terms of praise since its organisation, not only through the good conduct of the men without distinction, but also for the services it has not ceased to render."

"Those are handsome words, general. Why must they be so barren?"

"You are mistaken, count, and I hope soon to prove to you the contrary. But let this be for the present, and come to the grievances of which you have to complain. Explain yourself."

The two persons who were talking in this friendly manner and lavishing smiles were General Guerrero and Count Louis de Prébois Crancé, the two men we have seen in such bitter enmity. What had happened, then, since the treaty of Guaymas? What reason was sufficiently powerful to make them forget their hatred? What community of ideas could have existed between them to produce a change so extraordinary and inexplicable?

We will ask our readers' permission to explain this before going further, the more so as the events we have to narrate throw a perfect light on the Mexican character.

The general, after the success of the treaty of Guaymas, and the way in which, thanks to the treachery of Don Cornelio, the insurrection of the pueblos was prevented, thought he had completely gained his cause, and believed that he had got rid of the count for ever. The latter, sick almost unto death, and incapable of connecting two ideas, had received orders to leave Guaymas immediately. His friends, who were restored to liberty after the signature of the treaty, hastened to join him. Valentine had him carried to Mazatlan, where he gradually recovered; then both set out for San Francisco, leaving Curumilla in Sonora, who was ordered to keep them acquainted with the progress of events.

The general had held up before his daughter as a merit the generosity with which he had treated the count; then he had left her ostensibly free to act as she pleased, hoping that with time she would forget her love, and consent to second certain projects he did not as yet let her see, but which consisted in marrying to one of the most influential persons in Mexico. Still months had slipped away. The general, who built on the count's absence, and, before all, the want of news about him, to cure his daughter of what he called her mad passion, was greatly astonished, when he one day began talking to her about his plans and the marriage he had projected, to hear her answer, —

"My father, I have told you that I will marry the Count de Prébois Crancé: no other will obtain my hand. You yourself consented to that union: hence I consider myself bound to him, and, so long as he lives, I will remain faithful to him."

The general was at first greatly taken aback by this answer; for, although he was well aware of his daughter's firmness of character, he was far from expecting such pertinacity. Still, after a moment, he regained his presence of mind, and bending over to her, kissed her on the forehead, saying, with pretended kindness, —

"Come, you naughty child, I see I must do what you please, though I confess it is a heavy sacrifice. Well, I will try. It will not depend on me whether you see the man you love again."

"Oh, father! can it be possible?" she exclaimed with a joy she could not restrain. "Are you speaking seriously?"

"Most seriously, wicked one; so dry your tears – re-assume your gaiety and your bright colour of former days."

"Then I shall see him again?"

"I swear it to you."

"Here?"

"Yes, here, at Guaymas."

"Oh!" she exclaimed impetuously, as she threw her arms round his neck and embraced him tenderly, at the same time melting into tears. "Oh, how kind you are, my father, and how I will love you if you do that!"

"I will do it, I tell you," he said, affected, in spite of himself, by this love so true and so passionate.

The general had already arranged his scheme in his head – the scheme which we shall soon see unfolded in all its hideousness. Of the reply his daughter had made him Don Sebastian only remembered one sentence: "So long as the count lives I will remain faithful to him."

Poor Doña Angela had, without suspecting it, germinated in her father's brain the most horrible project that can be imagined. Two days later Curumilla started for San Francisco, bearer of a letter from the young lady for the count – a letter destined to have an immense influence on Don Louis' ulterior determination.

The Mexicans had been so magnificently beaten by the French at Hermosillo that they had kept up a most touching and respectful recollection of them. General Guerrero, who, as the reader has been in a position to see, was a man of imagination, had made a reflection full of logic and good sense on this subject. He said to himself that if the French had so thoroughly thrashed the Mexicans, who are very terrible soldiers as we know, a fortiori, they would defeat the Indians, and, if necessary, the Yankees, those gringos, as the Americans of the South call them, whom they hold in mortal terror, and expect at any moment to see invade Mexico. In consequence of this reasoning, General Guerrero had formed at Guaymas a battalion entirely composed of French volunteers, commanded by their own officers, and whose services were for the present limited to acting as police of the port, and maintaining order in the town.

Unfortunately the commandant of the battalion, though an upright officer and good soldier, was not exactly the man to be placed at the head of these volunteers. His ideas, rather narrow and paltry, were not up to the position he occupied, and grave misunderstandings soon broke out between the Mexicans and the foreigners – misunderstandings probably encouraged in an underhand manner by certain influential persons, but which placed the battalion, in spite of the conciliatory temper of its chief, and the attempts he made to restore harmony, in a very difficult position, which naturally became more aggravated with each day.

Two parties were formed in the battalion: one, hostile to the commandant, spoke affectionately of the count, the memory of whom was still maintained in Sonora, regretted his absence, and formed vows for his return; the other, though not devoted to the commandant, yet remained attached to the honour of the flag. But the devotion was lukewarm, and there was no doubt, if any unforeseen event occurred, that these men would let themselves be led away by circumstances.