The Indian Chief: The Story of a Revolution

"Gentlemen," he said, with that facility of speech he possessed in an eminent degree, "I am the youngest, and certainly the most inexperienced of all present; hence it would not become me to speak at this moment, when such grave interests, and of such great importance, occupy us. Still, perhaps, the confidence the Count de Lhorailles was kind enough to place in me will authorise me in taking the present step of addressing you."

"Speak, speak – you are worthy of that confidence!" the colonists shouted tumultuously.

Thus encouraged, the young man smiled pleasantly and continued: —

"It is true that a great disaster has fallen on us: many of our companions have perished miserably in the great Del Norte desert. The count who brought us here, our chief, is dead too. I repeat it, it is an immense loss for us generally, and for the welfare of the colony. But is the misfortune, though so terrible, irreparable? Ought we, through this death, to lose all our courage, and abandon a task which is scarce commenced? I do not think so, nor do you."

At these words a few slight murmurs were heard. The young man looked calmly around his audience, and silence was re-established as if by enchantment.

"No," he continued forcibly, "you do not think so yourselves. You are undergoing at this moment the influence of the catastrophe that has overwhelmed us: discouragement has seized upon you. It must be so; but you will soon reflect on the consequences of the act you are meditating, and the chance that will result from it for yourselves. What! two hundred Frenchmen – that is to say, the bravest men in existence – would fly through fear of the lances and arrows of those Apaches whom it is their mission to hold in check? What would the Mexicans think, in whose opinion you have stood so high up to the present day? What would your brethren in California say? In the sight of all you would have lost honour and reputation; for you would have betrayed your duties, and not forced that name and title of Frenchmen, of which you are so proud, to be respected in these savage countries."

At these rude words, uttered with that accent which comes from the heart, so suited to move the masses, the colonists began, in spite of themselves to regard the question under a different light, and feel inwardly ashamed of the flight they meditated. Still they were not yet convinced, the more so as the position remained the same; that is to say, excessively critical. Thus the shouts, murmurs, and objections crossed each other with extreme rapidity, each wishing to offer his advice, and have his opinion accepted, as generally happens in popular meetings. One of the colonists succeeded with great difficulty in gaining the word, and addressed the young man.

"There is truth in what you say to us, M. Charles: still we cannot remain in our present situation – a situation which becomes daily more aggravated, and threatens soon to grow insupportable. What is the remedy for the evil?"

"The remedy is easy to find," the young man answered quickly. "Is it my place to point it out to you?"

"Yes, yes!" all exclaimed.

"Well, then, I consent. Listen to me."

There was immediately profound silence.

"We are two hundred strong – resolute and intelligent men. Can we not find among us, then, a chief worthy of commanding us? We have lost the man who has hitherto guided us; but must we say that, since he is dead, no one can take his place? That supposition would be absurd. The Count de Lhorailles was not immortal. We must have expected to lose him sooner or later, and unfortunately that foreseen catastrophe has occurred ere it was expected. Is that a reason to let ourselves be demoralised and downcast? No; let us raise our heads again, regain our courage, and elect as our chief the man who offers us the best guarantees of intelligence and loyalty. Such a man may be easily found among you. Come, comrades, let us have no delay, but vote on the spot. When our chief is nominated and recognised by all, we shall no longer fear perils or sufferings, for we shall have a head to guide us, and an arm to support us."

These words raised the joy and enthusiasm of the colonists to the highest pitch. They broke up into groups of three or four, and agitated the question eagerly of the chief they should select.

During this period, de Laville, apparently indifferent to what was passing, re-entered the house, leaving his companions full and entire liberty to act as they pleased. We will observe that the advice given by the young man was disinterested on his part: he had no intention of taking upon himself the heavy responsibility of a command which he did not at all desire. His object in urging the Frenchmen to elect a chief had been to prevent the ruin of the colony, which had been founded scarce a year, which, owing to their combined efforts and toil, was beginning to give good results, and which, if the colonists did not disperse, would soon enter on a career of prosperity, and repay them a hundredfold for their troubles and fatigue.

The discussion among the colonists was lengthy: in all the groups orators were speaking warmly; in short, there seemed no chance of an agreement. Still, by degrees, the effervescence calmed down; the parties drew nearer; and under the influence of a few men more intelligent or better disposed than the rest, the discussion went on more regularly and seriously. At length, after many disputes, the colonists were unanimous, and selected one among them to tell Charles de Laville the result of their deliberations. The man selected entered the house, while the colonists arranged themselves with some degree of order before the gate.

Charles, as we have said, did not trouble himself at all about what was going on outside. The death of the count, to whom, in spite of the latter's eccentric character, he was really attached, had not only saddened him, but broken the last ties that attached him to this forgotten nook of earth, where he believed that there was nothing left for him to do. He therefore only awaited the election of the new chief to bid good-by to the members of the company, and then separate from them. When the man delegated by the colonists entered the room where he was, he raised his head, and looked earnestly at him.

"Well," he asked him, "have we a new chief at last?"

"Yes," the other answered laconically.

"Who is he?" the young man asked with some curiosity.

"Our comrades will tell you, M. Charles," he replied. "They have authorised me to ask you to have the kindness to be present at the election, and thus sanction it."

"That is only right," he said with a smile. "I forgot that, up to the present, I have been your chief, and that I must hand over to the leader you have selected the power the count delegated to me. I follow you."

The other bowed without a word, and both left the house. When they appeared in the gateway, the colonists, hitherto silent, uttered a formidable shout, while waving their hats and handkerchiefs in signs of joy. The young man turned quite surprised to his companion, but the latter merely smiled. After this explosion of shouts of welcome, silence was at once restored. Then the delegate removed his hat, and after bowing respectfully to the young man, who was all confused, and hardly knew which way to look, said in a loud and perfectly distinct voice, —

"Charles de Laville, we, the colonists of Guetzalli, after assembling, in accordance with your advice, to proceed to the election of a new chief, have recognised that you alone combine all the conditions necessary worthily to fill that post to which the confidence of the chief we have lost called you. In consequence, wishing to honour in you the memory of our deceased chief, at the same time as we desire to prove to you our gratitude for the way in which you have governed us since you have been at our head, we unanimously appoint you captain of Guetzalli, persuaded that you will continue to command us with as much nobility, intelligence, and justice as you have hitherto displayed."

Then, taking from one of the colonists the charter which united all the members of the colony, and which the count had made them all sign when he enlisted them, he unfolded it.

"Captain," he said, "this charter-party, read in a loud voice by me, will be immediately sworn to by all. Will you swear on your side to protect us, to defend us, and give us good and loyal justice toward and against all?"

The young man took off his hat, extended his arm toward the crowd, and said in a firm voice, —

"I swear it."

"Long live the captain!" the colonists shouted enthusiastically. "The charter – the charter!"

The reading commenced. After each article the colonists answered in one voice, —

"I swear it."

There was something imposing in the aspect of this scene. These men, with their energetic features and bronzed faces, thus assembled in the heart of the desert, surrounded by the grand scenery, swearing in the face of heaven unbounded devotion and obedience, bore a striking likeness to the famous filibusters of the sixteenth century preparing to attempt one of their bold expeditions, and swearing on the charter in the hands of Montbars the exterminator, or any other renowned chief of Tortoise Island.

When the reading was completed a fresh outbreak of shouts closed this simple ceremony of the election of a chief of adventurers in the deserts of the New World. This time – accidentally, perchance – the choice of all had fallen on the most worthy. Charles de Laville was really the only man capable of repairing the disasters of the late expedition, and leading the colony back to that prosperous path on which it was progressing previously to the death of Lhorailles.

CHAPTER VIII

THE ENVOY

The election over, all, in appearance, returned to the old routine, or at least seemed to re-assume its normal condition. Still it was not so. The Count de Lhorailles, in dying, had borne with him the hopes of the adventurers, whom he had only kept together through his resolute and enterprising character. With his fall, matters began to change, and difficulties spring up.

The Mexican authorities, in whom the indomitable will of the count had alone inspired an apparent kindness toward the colonists, whom they had never liked to see establish themselves on the territory of the Republic, no longer apprehending the vengeance of the man they had learned to fear while learning to know him, very gently and craftily inaugurated a system of minor annoyances, which was already beginning to render the position of the French difficult, and would soon cause it to be intolerable, unless the latter employed an energetic remedy for this state of things, which grew hourly worse. On the other hand, though the colony was so remote from the seaboard, rumours of what was going on in the rest of the world reached it at intervals. Emigrants in troops passed through Guetzalli: all were proceeding to California, for that was the promised land at the moment.

All these emigrants – gambusinos, or Mexican adventurers – only dreamed of inexhaustible placers and mines of immense wealth. The gold fever – that horrible malady which the English so well stigmatised by energetically calling it the "metallic gold fever" – was at its height. From all corners of the world, Europeans, Asiatics, Africans, Americans, Polynesians, adventurers of every description, settled like swarms of ill-omened locusts on this country, which was destined to prove fatal to them, and swallow them up after unheard-of sufferings.

In this impious crusade of the vilest appetites the watchword was "Gold – gold!" These men, who abandoned country, family, everything, in a word, had only one desire – to amass gold. It was a hideous sight. And these bands succeeded each other at the colony, with their eyes obstinately fixed on the horizon, and only replying two words to the questions asked them: "California – placers." In order to conquer this metal king all means would be good to them: nothing would check them. They were ready for anything – to commit the most odious crimes, the most infamous treachery, the most ignoble acts of cowardice.

Unfortunately for the colonists, the adventurers who passed near their abode all belonged to the most ignorant, corrupted, and ferocious classes of Mexico. In spite of themselves, the Frenchmen, whose object had been, at the outset, to work the mines, felt the desire aroused in them to return to the Eldorado they had left, and demand their share of the spoil. A man, however strong he may be, cannot with impunity hear the word "gold" constantly buzzing in his ears. In the strange connection of these four letters there is an immense attractive power, which sharpens up avarice, and arouses all the evil instincts.

The colonists of Guetzalli were honest and frank adventurers. The majority had quitted Europe with the desire of enriching themselves rapidly in that mysterious country about which they heard such marvels. Subdued by the ascendency the count had managed to acquire over them, they had tacitly accepted the position made for them, and, by the aid of habit, had gradually come, not to forget their past desires, but to consider them as mocking chimeras and unrealisable dreams. The events which afterwards happened in the colony, and the golden halo suddenly spread abroad by California, gave a body to these dreams, and enkindled their covetousness to the highest pitch.

Charles de Laville followed with a shudder the progress of this moral disorganisation of the colony. He understood in his heart that the enemy he must conquer, in order to become once more master of his companions, was that old adventurous leaven which still fomented in their hearts, and caused them to hate the calm and peaceful life they led, instead of that agitated existence, with its strange interludes, to which they secretly aspired, perhaps without suspecting it themselves. For it is a singular anomaly in the human heart that these men, who wished for gold at any price, who coveted it with unequalled frenzy, and who, to possess it, braved the most terrible perils, and suffered the most horrible misery, did not care for it when they possessed it, but regarded it with disdain, and threw it uncounted on the tables of the gambling houses, or of places still more infamous. It might be said that the gold so painfully amassed burned their fingers, and they were anxious to get rid of it. And that was true, especially in the case of the French. Gold with them had no value except in proportion to the difficulties they met with in acquiring it. True adventurers in the fullest sense of the term, what they loved was not the gold for itself, but the struggles it cost them, and the energy and courage they must expend in its research.

Charles was thoroughly acquainted with the character of the men he commanded He knew that, in order to keep them with him, it would be sufficient to supply an outlet for this superabundance of sap, this vivacity of imagination, which filled the hearts and heads of these extraordinary men. But how to obtain this result? What means should he employ? Charles racked his brains in vain: the spark did not strike – there was no light he could throw on the matter.

About this time two Frenchmen, who had formed part of the count's last expedition, and who were believed long ago dead, reappeared at Guetzalli. Great was the amazement of all on seeing them, although so haggard, half naked, and scarce able to stand; but still greater grew that amazement when, two days after their return, on finding themselves slightly recovered, owing to the kind attentions shown them, and able to speak, they commenced the incredible narrative of their adventures.

What had happened to them may be told in fewer words than the men employed. The frightful hurricane that assailed the count's band had surprised them some distance from the spot where their companions had taken refuge, and rendered it impossible to rejoin them. They sheltered themselves as well as they could during the tempest; but when it was over, they perceived, to their horror, that every trace, every footmark, had disappeared.

Before them, behind them, and around them extended the desert, gloomy, naked, and desolate. As far as their eye could reach they perceived on all sides sand – sand everywhere and always. Then they believed themselves lost; despair took possession of them; and they fell back on the ground, resolved to await death, which would doubtless soon arrive to put an end to their misery. They remained thus side by side, with drooping heads and lacklustre eyes, in that state of complete apathy which seizes on the strongest men after great catastrophes, suspends in them the inward feeling of self, and interrupts their thoughts.

How long did they remain in this condition? They were unable to tell. They no longer lived, they no longer felt – they vegetated. They were suddenly aroused from this extraordinary listlessness by the appearance of a band of Apache Indians, who galloped round them, uttering ferocious yells, and brandishing their long lances with an air of defiance and menace. The Indians seized them, as they were incapable of offering the slightest resistance, and led them to one of their villages, where they kept them in a state of the most disgraceful and humiliating slavery.

But the energy of the two adventurers, for an instant crushed, soon gained the mastery again over their hearts. With extreme patience, skill, and dissimulation they made the preparations for their flight. We will not enter into any details as to the manner in which they succeeded in escaping from the watchfulness of their guardians, and managed at length to reach the colony by a roundabout road, crushed with fatigue, and half dead with hunger, but arrive at once at the most important point in their narrative.

These men declared to the colonists that the village to which the Apaches led them was built within gunshot of a placer of incalculable value – that this placer was extremely easy to work, as the gold was on the surface. As a proof of their veracity they showed several nuggets of the finest gold, which they had managed to secure, and pledged themselves to lead to this placer, which was not more than ten days' journey from the colony, any of the adventurers who would consent to take them as guides, assuring them that they would be amply rewarded for their toil and fatigue by the rich harvest they would obtain.

This recital greatly interested the colonists. Charles de Laville, in particular, lent a lively attention to it. He made the men repeat their story several times, and they did not once vary from their original statement. The captain had at length found the means he had been vainly searching so long. Now he was certain not only that his comrades would not abandon him, but that they would obey him blindly in all that he thought proper to order them. The same day he informed the colonists that he was preparing an expedition to go in search of the placer, dislodge the Indians, and work it for the profit of all the paction.

The news was received with transports of joy, and de Laville immediately began carrying out his plan. Although the number of colonists had greatly diminished (for frequent desertions had taken place), still Guetzalli counted nearly two hundred colonists. It was of the utmost importance to the gold-seekers to keep up the colony, as the only place whence they could obtain provisions when at the mine; for, as we have said, Guetzalli, as the advanced post of civilisation, had been founded on the extreme limit of the desert. This position, chosen originally in order to oppose the Indians more effectually, and stop their periodical incursions upon the Mexican territory, became precious in the present instance, through the facility it afforded the adventurers for supplying themselves with all they needed without having recourse to strangers; and this enabled them also to keep the discovery of the placer secret, at any rate long enough, owing to the distance of the pueblos from the frontier, to render it impossible for the Mexican Government to interpose and demand the lion's share, according to its usual custom.

The captain did not wish to strip the colony thoroughly, for he must leave it in a respectable position, and safe from a sudden attack on the part of the Apaches and Comanches, those implacable foes of the white men, ever on the watch, and ready to profit by their slightest oversight. De Laville therefore decided that the expedition should be composed of eighty well-mounted and well-armed men, and that the others should remain behind to protect the colony. Still, to avoid any dissension or jealousy among his comrades, the captain declared that lots should decide who were to go in search of the placer.

This expedient, which rendered everybody equal, was warmly approved, and they proceeded to draw lots. The process was extremely simple: the name of each adventurer was written on a roll of paper and thrown into a vessel, whence a boy drew them one by one. Of course the eighty names that came out first would be the members of the expedition. Thus, as the arrangement was most simple, and at the same time perfectly fair, no one had a right to complain.

All was done as was agreed. Chance, as so frequently happens, favoured the captain by selecting the most energetic and enterprising men. Then all eagerly prepared for the departure; that is to say, they collected provisions of every description, got together mules, and made the tools required for working the mine. Still, in spite of all the activity displayed by the captain, nearly a month elapsed ere all was in readiness.

The frightful catastrophe to which the Count de Lhorailles had fallen a victim in the great Del Norte desert, which the adventurers would have to cross in going to the placer, was a serious warning to de Laville to act with the utmost prudence, and leave nothing to chance. Hence, without listening in the slightest degree to the impatient insinuations of his comrades, who urged him to press on the departure of the expedition, he watched with the most scrupulous attention the construction of the carts intended to convey the provisions, and allowed no detail, however trifling, to escape his careful eye; for he knew that the loss of an hour in the desert, produced by the breaking of a screw, a tire, or a trace, might cause the death of the men placed under his orders.

At last all was ready, and the day for starting settled. Within forty-eight hours the expedition would leave Guetzalli, when, at about five in the evening, just as the captain, after giving a final glance at the wagons already loaded and arranged in the courtyard, was about to re-enter his house, the sentry on the isthmus announced the arrival of a stranger. As soon as the captain felt assured that it was a white man, and that he wore the uniform of a Mexican field officer, he ordered his admission to the colony. The barrier was at once raised, and the colonel (for he wore the insignia of that rank) entered Guetzalli, followed by two lanceros, who served as his escort, and a mule bearing his baggage.

The captain advanced to meet him. The colonel dismounted, threw the reins to a lancero, and bowed politely to the captain, who returned the salute with equal courtesy.

"With whom have I the honour of speaking?" he asked the stranger.

"I am," the latter answered, "Colonel Vicente Suarez, aide-de-camp to General Don Sebastian Guerrero, Governor-General of the province of Sonora."

"I am delighted, Señor Don Vicente, at the chance afforded me of making jour acquaintance. You must be fatigued with the long journey you have had to this place, so I trust you will not refuse to accept some modest refreshment."

"I accept most gladly, caballero," the colonel answered with a bow; "the more so because I have ridden so fast that I have scarce rested a minute since leaving Pitic."

"Ah! you come from Pitic?"

"As the bird flies. I have been only four days covering the ground."

"Hum! you must be terribly fatigued in that case, for it is a long distance, and, as you did me the honour to inform me, you have travelled very rapidly. Be kind enough to follow me."

The colonel bowed in reply, and the captain introduced him into a room where refreshments of every description had been prepared.

"Sit down, Don Vicente," the captain said as he drew forward a chair.

The colonel fell back into the butaca offered him with a sigh of satisfaction, whose meaning only those who have ridden thirty leagues at a stretch can understand. For some minutes the conversation between the captain and his guest was interrupted, for the colonel ate and drank with an avidity which, judging from the well-known sobriety of the Mexicans, proved that he had fasted a long time. De Laville examined him thoughtfully, asking himself mentally what reason was so important as to induce Don Guerrero to send a colonel to Guetzalli, and spite of himself he felt a vague uneasiness weighing on his heart. At length Don Vicente drank a glass of water, wiped his mouth, and turned to the captain.