Stronghand: or, The Noble Revenge

The Mexican Government did not stop here. Returning to the old errors of the conquistadors, it grew accustomed to regard the Indians as slaves; imposing on them exorbitant tariffs for articles of primary necessity, which it sold to them through special agents, bowing them to any Draconian law, and carrying their injustice so far as to deny them intellect, and brand them with the name of Gente sin razón, or people without reason. The consequences of such a system can be easily comprehended. The Indians, who, at the outset, contented themselves with passively withdrawing, and seeking in the desert the liberty that was refused them, on finding themselves so unjustly treated, and urged to desperation by such insults, thought about avenging themselves, and requiting evil for evil.

Then recommenced those periodical invasions of the Indian borders which the Spaniards had repressed with such difficulty and such bloodshed. Murder and pillage were organized on a grand scale, and with such success, that the Comanches and Apaches, to vex the whites, gave the ironical name of the "Mexican moon" to the month they selected to commit their periodical depredations. The subjected Indians – that is to say, those who, in spite of the constant vexations to which they were victims, remained attached to their villages – revolted several times, and on each occasion the Mexican government succeeded in making them return to their duty by promises and concessions, which were violated and forgotten so soon as the Redskins had laid down their arms. The war, consequently, became generalized and permanent in the Border states of the confederation.

But with the exception of a few invasions more serious than others, the Indians had almost entirely confined themselves to keeping the whites on the alert, when the great insurrection of 1827 broke out, which all but succeeded in depriving Mexico of her richest provinces. This insurrection was the more terrible, because on this occasion the Indians, guided by experienced chiefs, possessing firearms, and carrying out tactics entirely different from those they had hitherto employed, waged a serious war, and insisted on retaining the provinces they had seized. The Redskins elected an emperor and established a government; they displayed a settled intention of definitively regaining their independence and reconstituting their nationality.

The Mexicans, justly terrified by these manifestations, made the greatest sacrifices in order to quell this formidable revolt, and succeeded, though rather owing to the treachery and disunion they managed to sow among the chiefs than by the power of their arms. But this uprising had caused them to reflect, and they saw that it was high time to come to an arrangement with these men, whom they had hitherto been accustomed to regard as irrational beings. Peace was concluded on conditions very advantageous to the Indians and their forces; and the Mexicans, owing to the fright they had endured, were compelled to keep their promises, or, to speak more correctly, pretended to do so.

For several years the Indians, satisfied with this apparent amelioration in the relations between them and the whites, remained peacefully in their villages, and the Mexicans had only to defend their borders against the attacks of the wild or unsubjected Indians. This was a task, we are bound to confess, in which they were not very successful; for the Indians eventually passed the limits the Spaniards had imposed on them, permanently established themselves on the ruins of the old Creole villages, and by degrees, and gaining ground each year, they reduced the territory of the Mexican Government in an extraordinary way.

Still, when the remembrance of the great Indian insurrection seemed to have died out, and the Indios Mansos had apparently accepted the sovereignty of Mexico, the annoyances recommenced. Though at first slight, they gradually became more and more frequent, owing to the apathetic resignation of the Indians, and the patience with which they uncomplainingly endured the unjust aggressions of which they were made the systematic victims. The concessions granted under the pressure of fear were brutally withdrawn, and matters returned to the same state as before the insurrection. The Indians continued to suffer, apparently resigned to endure all the insults it might please their oppressors to make them undergo: but this calm concealed a terrific storm, and the Mexicans would shortly be aroused by a thunderclap.

The Redskins behaved, under the circumstances, with rare prudence and circumspection, in order not to alarm the persons they wished to surprise. They would certainly have succeeded in deceiving the Mexicans as to their plans, had it not been for the treachery of the agents of the Mexican Government, continually kept in their villages to watch them, among whom was Kidd, whom Stronghand had so suddenly unmasked and contemptuously turned out. Still these agents, in spite of their lively desire to make themselves of importance by magnifying facts, had only been able to give very vague details about the conspiracy the Indians were secretly forming. They knew that an emperor had been elected, and that he was a white man, but they did not know who he was or his name. They also knew that the Confederation of the Papazos had placed itself at the head of the movement, and intended to deal the first blow, but no one was aware when or how hostilities would commence.

This information, however, incomplete though it was, appeared to the Mexicans, on whose minds at once rushed the sanguinary memories of the last revolution, sufficiently serious for them to place themselves in a position to resist the first attack of the Redskins, which is always so terrible, and to place their frontiers in such a state as would prevent a surprise – a thing they had never yet succeeded in effecting. The Mexican Government, warned of what was going on by the commandants of the States of Sonora and Sinaloa, the two most menaced of the Confederation, and recognising the gravity of the case, resolved to send troops from the capital to reinforce the border garrisons. This plan, unfortunately, could not be carried out, and was the cause of fresh and very dangerous complications.

It is only in the old Spanish colonies, which are in the deepest state of neglect and disorganization, that such acts are possible. The troops told off to proceed to Sonora, so soon as they learned that they were intended to oppose the Indians, peremptorily refused to march, alleging as the reason, that they were not at all desirous of fighting savages who did not respect the law of nations, and had no scruples about scalping their prisoners. The President of the republic, strong in his right and the danger the country ran, tried to insist and force them to set out. Then a thing that might be easily foreseen occurred: not only did the troops obstinately remain in revolt, but set the seal on it by making a pronunciamiento in favour of the general chosen to command the expedition, and who, we may do him the justice of saying, had been the first to declare against the departure of the troops from the capital.

This pronunciamiento was the spark that fired the powder train. In a few days the whole of Mexico was a prey to the horrors of civil war; so that the governors of the two States, being reduced to their own forces, and not knowing whether they would retain their posts under the new president, were more embarrassed than ever, did not dare take any initiative, and contented themselves with throwing up such intrenchments as they could, though they had quite enough to do in keeping their troops to their duty, and keeping them from deserting. Such was the state of things at the moment we have now reached. This information, upon which we have purposely laid a stress, in order to make the reader understand certain facts which, without this precaution, would seem to belong rather to the regions of fancy than to that of history, as they are so strange and incredible, was reported by Stronghand to the council of the sachems, and listened to in a religious silence.

"Now," he added, in conclusion, "I believe that the moment has arrived to strike the grand blow for which we have so long been preparing. Our enemies hesitate; they are demoralized; their soldiers tremble; and I am convinced they will not withstand the attack of our and the great Beaver's warriors. This is what I wished to say to the council. Still it was not advisable that such important news should reach the ears of our enemies. The sachems will judge whether I have acted well, or if my zeal carried me too far in dismissing from the council a paleface who, I am convinced, is a traitor sold to the Mexicans. I have spoken."

A flattering murmur greeted the concluding remarks of the young man, who sat down, blushing.

"It appears to me," Whistler then said, "that the debate need not be a long one. As war is decided on, the council of the Confederation has only to seek allies among the other Indian nations, in order to augment the number of our warriors, if that be possible. As regards the operations, and the period when the Mexican territory is to be invaded, that will devolve on the military committee, who pledge themselves to the profoundest secrecy about their discussions, until the hour for action arrives. I have spoken."

Thunderbolt rose.

"Chiefs and sachems of the Confederation of the Papazos," he said in his sympathetic and sonorous voice, "and you, warriors, our allies, the moment for dissolving your council has at length arrived. Henceforth the committee of the five chiefs will alone sit. Each of you will return to his tribe, arm his warriors, and order the scalp dance to be performed round the war post; but the eighth sun must see you here again at the head of your warriors, in order that all may be ready to act when the invasion is decided on. I have spoken. Have I said well, powerful men?"

The chiefs rose in silence, resumed their weapons, and immediately left the village, starting in different directions at a gallop. Thunderbolt and Stronghand were left alone.

"My son," the old man then said, "have you nothing to tell me?"

"Yes, father," the young man respectfully answered; "I have very serious news for you."

CHAPTER XIX

THE RANCHO

Before describing the conversation between Thunderbolt and Stronghand, we are obliged to go back, and tell the reader certain facts which had occurred at the Hacienda del Toro, a few days before the majordomo set out for Hermosillo. Mexican girls, born and bred on the Indian border, enjoy a liberty which the want of society renders indispensable. Always on horseback upon these immense estates, which extend for twenty or five-and-twenty leagues, their life is spent in riding over hill and dale, visiting the wretched huts of the vaqueros and peons, relieving their wants, and rendering themselves beloved by their simple graces and affecting goodness of heart.

Doña Mariana, who had been exiled for several years at a convent, so soon as she returned home, eagerly renewed her long rides through forests and prairies, to see again the persons in her father's employ, with whom she had sported as a child, and of whom she had such a pleasant recollection. At times followed by a servant, specially attached to her, but more usually alone, the maiden had therefore recommenced her rides, going to visit one and the other, enjoying her gallop, careless as a bird, pleased with everything – the flowers she culled as she passed, the reviving breeze she inhaled, and smiling gaily at the sun which bronzed her complexion; in a word, she revealed the voluptuous and egotistic apathy of a child in whom the woman is not yet revealed, and who is ignorant that she possesses a heart.

Most usually Doña Marianna guided her horse to a rancho situated about three leagues from the hacienda, in the midst of a majestic forest of evergreen oaks and larches. This rancho, which was built of adobes, and whitewashed, stood on the bank of a stream, in the centre of a field sufficiently cleared to grow the grain required for the support of the poor inhabitants of the hovel. In the rear of the rancho was an enclosure, serving as a corral, and containing two cows and four or five horses, the sole fortune of the master of this rancho, which, however, internally was not so poverty stricken as the exterior seemed to forebode. It was divided into three parts, two of which served as bedrooms, and the third as sitting room, saloon, kitchen, &c. In the latter, the fowls impudently came to pick up grain and pieces of tortillas which bad been allowed to fall.

On the right was a sort of low fireplace, evidently for culinary purposes; the middle of the room was occupied by a large oak table with twisted legs; at the end, two doors opened into the bedrooms, and the walls were covered with those hideous coloured plates which Parisian trade inundates the New World with, and under which intelligent hawkers print the names of saints, to render the sale more easy. Among these engravings was one representing Napoleon crossing the St. Bernard, accompanied by a guide, holding his horse. It bore the rather too fanciful title, "The great St. Martin dividing his cloak with a beggar." A fact which imparts incomparable meaning to this humorous motto is, that the general, far from wishing to give his cloak to the guide, who does not want it, seems to be shivering with cold, and wrapping himself up with extreme care. Lastly, a few butacas and equipales completed the furniture, which, for many reasons, might be considered elegant in a country where the science of comfort is completely ignored, and the wants of material life are reduced to their simplest expression.

This rancho had been for many years inhabited by the same family, who were the last relics of the Indians dwelling here when the country was discovered by the Spaniards. These Indians, who were mansos, and long converted to Christianity, had been old and faithful servants of the Marquises de Moguer, who were always attached to them, and made it a point of honour to heighten their comforts, and give them their protection under all circumstances. Hence the devotion of these worthy people to the Moguer family was affecting, through its simple self-denial. They had forgotten their Indian name, and were only known by that of Sanchez.

At the moment when we introduce this family to the reader, it consisted of three persons: the father, a blind old man, but upright and hale, who, in spite of his infirmity, still traversed all the forest tracks without hesitation or risk of losing himself, merely accompanied by his dog Bouchaley; the mother, a woman about forty years of age, tall, robust, and possessing marked features, which, when she was younger, must have been very handsome; and the son, a young man of about twenty, well built, and a daring hunter, who held the post of tigrero at the hacienda.

Luisa Sanchez had been nurse to Doña Marianna, and the young lady, deprived at an early age of her mistress, had retained for her not merely that friendship which children generally have for their nurse, and which at times renders the mother jealous, but that craving for affection, so natural in young hearts, and which Doña Marianna, restrained by her father's apparent sternness, could not indulge. The maiden's return to the hacienda caused great joy at the rancho; father, mother, and son at once mounted and proceeded to the Toro to embrace their child, as they simply called her. Halfway they met Doña Marianna, who, in her impatience to see them again, was galloping like a mad girl, followed by her brother, who was teasing her about this love for her nurse.

Since then, not a day passed on which the young lady did not carry the sunshine of her presence to the rancho, and shared the breakfast of the family – a frugal meal, composed of light cakes, roasted on an iron plate, boiled beef seasoned with chile Colorado, milk, and quesadillas, or cheesecakes, hard and green and leathery, which the young lady, however, declared to be excellent, and heartily enjoyed. Bouchaley, like everybody else at the rancho, entertained a feeling of adoration for Doña Marianna. He was a long-haired black and white mastiff, about ten years old, and spiteful and noisy as all his congeners. In reality, the dog possessed but one good quality – its well-tried fidelity to its master, whom it never took its eyes off, and constantly crouched at his feet. Since the young lady's return, the heart of the worthy quadruped had opened to a new affection; each morning it took its post on the road by which Doña Marianna came, and as soon as it saw her, saluted her by leaps and deafening barks.

Mariano Sanchez, the tigrero, had for his foster sister an affection heightened by the similarity of name – a similarity which in Spanish America gives a right to a sort of spiritual relationship. This touching custom, whose origin is entirely Indian, is intended to draw closer the relations between tocayo and tocaya, and they are almost brother and sister. Hence the tigrero, in order to be present each morning at his tocaya's breakfast, often rode eight or ten leagues in the morning, and found his reward in a smile from the young lady. As for Father Sanchez, since the return of his child, as he called her, he only felt one regret. It was that he could not see her and admire her beauty; but he consoled himself by embracing her.

It was about eleven o'clock in the morning; the sun illumined the hut; the birds were singing merrily in the forest. Father Sanchez had taken up the hand mill, and was grinding the wheat, while his wife, after sifting the wheat, pounded it, and formed it into light cakes, called tortillas, which, after being griddled, would form the solid portion of the breakfast.

Bouchaley was at his post on the road, watching for the arrival of the young lady.

"How is it," the old man asked, "that Mariano is not here yet? I generally hear the sound of his horse earlier than this."

"Poor lad! Who knows where he is at this moment?" the mother answered. "He has for some days been watching a band of jaguars that have bitten several horses at the hacienda. He is certainly ambushed in some thicket. I only trust he will not be devoured some day by the terrible animals."

"Nonsense, wife," the old man continued, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Maternal love renders you foolish. Mariano devoured by the tigers!"

"Well, I see nothing impossible in that."

"You might just as well say that Bouchaley is capable of chasing a peccary; one thing is as possible as the other. Besides, you forget that our son never goes out without his dog Bigote, a cross between a wolf and a Newfoundland dog, as big as a six months' old colt, and who is capable of breaking the loins of a coyote at one snap."

"I do not say no, father; I do not say no," she continued, with a shake of her head; "that does not prevent his being a dangerous trade, which may one day or another, cost him his life."

"Stuff! Mariano is too clever a hunter for that; besides, the trade is lucrative; each jaguar skin brings him in fourteen piastres – a sum we cannot afford to despise, since my infirmity has prevented me from working. It would be better for my old carcass to return to the earth, as I am no longer good for anything."

"Do not speak so, father; especially before our daughter, for she would not forgive you: for what you are saying is unjust; you have worked enough in your time to rest now, and your son take your place."

"Well, tell me, wife," the old man said, laughingly, "was I devoured by the jaguar? And yet I was a tigrero for more than forty years, and the jaguars were not nearly so polite in my time as they are now."

"That is all very well; it is true that you have not been devoured, but your father and your grandfather were. What answer have you to that?"

"Hem!" the old man went on, in some embarrassment; "I will answer – I will answer – "

"Nothing, and that will be the best," she continued; "for you could not say anything satisfactory."

"Nonsense! What do you take me for, mother? If my father and grandfather were devoured, and that is true, it was – "

"Well, what? I am anxious to hear."

"Because they were treacherously attacked by the jaguars," he at length said, with a triumphant air; "the wretches knew whom they had to deal with, and so played cunning. Otherwise they would never have got the best of two such clever hunters as my father and grandfather."

The ranchera shrugged her shoulders with a smile, but she considered it unnecessary to answer, as she was well aware she would not succeed in making her husband change his opinion as to her son's dangerous trade. The old man, satisfied with having reduced his wife to silence, as he fancied, did not abuse his victory; with a crafty smile he rolled and lit a cigarette, while Na Luisa laid the table, arranged and dusted everything in the rancho, and listened anxiously to assure herself that the footfall of her son's horse was not mingled with the sounds that incessantly rose from the forest.

All at once Bouchaley was heard barking furiously. The old man drew himself up in his butaca, while Na Sanchez rushed to the doorway, in which Doña Marianna appeared, fresh and smiling.

"Good morning, father! Good morning, mother!" she exclaimed in her silvery voice, and kissed the forehead of the old man, who tenderly pressed her to his heart. "Come, Bouchaley, come, be quiet!" she added, patting the dog, which still gamboled round her. "Mother, ask my tocayo to put Negro in the corral, for the good animal has earned its alfalfa."

"I will go, Querida," the old man said; "for today I take Mariano's place." And he left the rancho without awaiting an answer.

"Mother," the young lady continued, with a shade of anxiety, "where is my foster brother? I do not see him."

"Has not arrived yet, niña."

"What! Not arrived?"

"Oh, I trust he will soon be here," she said, while stifling a sigh.

The maiden looked at her for a moment sympathetically.

"What is the matter, mother?" she at length said, as she seized the poor woman's hand; "Can any accident have happened?"

"The Lord guard us from it, Querida," Luisa said, clasping her hands.

"Still, you are anxious, mother. You are hiding something from me. Tell me at once what it is."

"Nothing, my child; forgive me. Nothing extraordinary has occurred, and I am hiding nothing from you; but – "

"But what?" Doña Marianna interrupted her.

"Well, since you insist, Querida, I confess to you that I am alarmed. You know that Mariano is tigrero to the hacienda?"

"Yes; what then?"

"I am always frightened lest he should meet with an accident, for that happens so easily."

"Come, come, mother; do not have such thoughts as these. Mariano is an intrepid hunter, and possesses far from common skill and tact."

"Ah, hija, you are of the same opinion as my old man. Alas! If I lost my son, what would become of you?"

"Oh, mother, why talk in that way? Mariano, I hope, runs no danger. The delay that alarms you means nothing; you will soon see him again."

"May you be saying the truth, dear child!"

"I am so convinced of it, mamita, that I will not sit down to table till he arrives."

"Well, you will not have to wait long, hijita," the old man said, as he re-entered the rancho.

"Is he coming?" the mother joyously exclaimed, as she furtively wiped away a tear.

"I knew it," the maiden remarked.

"There, do you hear his horse?" the old man said. In fact, the furious gallop of a horse echoed in the forest, and approached with the rapidity of a hurricane. The two females darted to the door. At this moment a horseman appeared on the skirt of the clearing, riding at full speed, with his hair floating in the breeze, and his face animated by the speed at which he rode. This horseman, who was powerfully and yet gracefully built, and had a manly, energetic face, was Mariano, the tigrero. His dog, a black and white Newfoundland, with powerful chest and enormous head, was running by the side of the horse, and looking up intelligently every moment.

"¡Viva Dios! ¡Querida tocaya!" the young man exclaimed, as he leaped from his horse. "I am glad to see you, for I was afraid that I should arrive too late. Bigote," he added, addressing his dog and throwing the bridle to it, which the animal seized with its mouth, "lead Moreno to the corral."

The dog immediately proceeded thither, followed by the horse, while Mariano and the two females returned to the rancho. The young man kissed his father's forehead, and took his hand, saying, "Good morning, papa!" and then returned to his mother, whom he embraced several times.