The Gold-Seekers: A Tale of California

All these suppositions, and many others that offered themselves to the count's perplexed mind, threw him into a state of moral excitement impossible to describe. He knew not what to resolve, what means to employ, in order to acquire a certainty a hundred fold preferable to the doubt that gnawed him. At length, he decided on sending Don Cornelio, in whom he believed he could trust, at full gallop to Guaymas. That gentleman was out, however, and was sought for without being found.

This new obstacle culminated the count's feverish impatience. He mounted his horse, and started with the intention of exploring the environs of the town, in the secret hope of discovering some traces of his comrades, or at least learning some news about them. During the four hours he galloped in every direction, he saw nothing, and heard nothing. He turned back – a prey to a mighty sorrow, and heavy discouragement.

On approaching his house, the sound of a jarana reached his ears, and he hurried on his steed. Don Cornelio, carelessly seated on a stool in the porch of the house, was strumming his guitar, singing, as was his wont, his inevitable romance of King Rodrigo. On perceiving Don Louis, the Spaniard threw his instrument far from him, and rose with a cry of joy.

"At length!" he shouted.

"Why at length?" the count answered. "I consider the exclamation curious, since I have been searching after you, and could not lay my hand on you."

The Spaniard smiled mysteriously.

"I know it," he said; "but this place is not propitious for talking. Don Louis, will you permit me to accompany you to your cuarto?"

"With the greatest pleasure; the more so, as I also wish to speak with you."

"Come, that is a charming coincidence."

On reaching his room, Don Louis turned to his companion.

"Well," he said to him; "what have you to tell me?"

"Listen. This morning, according to my daily custom, I was walking about after breakfast, smoking a papelito, when, at the corner of the Calle de la Merced and the Calle San Francisco, I felt a slight touch on my arm. I turned sharply. A charming woman, or at least I suppose so, for it was impossible for me to distinguish her features, so carefully were they hidden in the folds of her rebozo, made me a sign to follow her. What would you have done in my place, Don Louis?"

"I do not know, my friend; but I entreat you, be brief, for I am in a hurry."

"Well, I followed her. You know that I have an idea about Mexican women, and am convinced that some day or other – "

"In Heaven's name, my friend, come to the point," Don Louis interrupted him, stamping his foot impatiently.

"I am doing so. I followed her then. She entered the church of la Merced, I at her heels. The church was deserted at that moment, which caused me a lively pleasure; because in such a case a man can talk at his ease. Do not be impatient, I have come to it. When I reached a rather dark corner, the young and charming female, for I assert that she is both, turned so suddenly that I almost trod on her toes. 'Are you not Don Cornelio Mendoza?' she asked me. 'Yes,' I replied.

"'In that case,' she said, 'you are a friend of the count.' I guessed at once that the stranger alluded to you. 'I am his intimate friend,' I continued. 'That is well,' she added, drawing from her bosom a small note, which she placed in my hand; 'give him this as quickly as possible, it alludes to very grave matters.' I seized the paper, on which I mechanically fixed my eyes; when I raised them again, my incognita had disappeared, fled like a sylph, leaving no trace. It was impossible for me to catch her up, for the confounded place was so dark."

"Well, and where is the note?" Don Louis asked.

"Here it is. Oh, I did not lose it! It was too warmly recommended to me."

The count took it, and, without deigning a glance, threw it on the table. Since his arrival at Pitic he had received twenty a day, and had not answered one; he did not even read them now, as he felt convinced they all meant the same thing.

"And now," he added, "you have finished, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Then listen to me in your turn," he continued, handing him the letter he had prepared for the hunter during his absence. "You will mount this instant, start for Guaymas; give this letter to Don Valentine, and bring me back the answer. You understand?"

"Of course."

"I can rely on your diligence?"

"I start."

He went out. Ten minutes later, Don Louis heard the hurried footfalls of a horse re-echoing before the gateway.

"Tomorrow, at this hour, I shall know on what I have to depend," Don Louis muttered.

He threw himself on a butaca; and, resting his elbows on a table, he buried his head in his hands, and fell into deep thought. In this position, his eyes were involuntarily fixed on the note Don Cornelio had given him, and which was just in front of him. A sickly smile played on his lips.

"Poor fools!" he muttered, "who only dream of love and pleasure, to whom life is only one long festival. What need have I of your false protestations, to which I cannot respond? Love for me no longer exists. Like all the women who have preceded her, this one, doubtlessly, offers me an eternal love, which she will forget tomorrow. Why trouble myself about such absurdities? My heart is dead to joy – only too dead, alas!"

And he thrust the paper away.

The night was rapidly falling, and the count kindled a lucifer match to light a candle; but, as frequently happens to people deeply engaged, when he held the lucifer to the candle, he perceived that the former was nearly burnt out. Then, mechanically, he took up the note he had spurned, folded it up, and was going to twist it into a spill; but all at once he stopped, threw the match on the floor, lit another, and read this note, so despised a moment previously. The following were the contents: —

"A person interested in the Count Don Louis begs him, for his own sake, to go this evening to the Alameda at ten o'clock, under the first walk on the left. A person seated on the third bench will say to him 'Guaymas,' he will answer 'Atravida,' and follow her at a distance, without addressing other questions to her, to the spot where she is directed to lead him, and where the count will learn matters which, for his own safety and that of his comrades, it is important for him to know."

This strange note was not signed.

"What is the meaning of this?" the count said to himself. "Is it a mystification? For what object? Is it a snare offered me, in which they wish me to fall? By Heaven, I will know the truth! What hour is it – nine? I have still an hour before me. If my mysterious correspondent meditates an assassination, he will find with whom he has to deal. Who knows? Perhaps it is really a warning a good friend wishes to give me? I shall soon see."

While saying this, the count had changed his clothes for others of a dark hue. He put on his waist belt, through an iron ring of which, according to the Mexican fashion, he passed a sheathless machete; he placed two excellent revolvers in his girdle, wrapped himself carefully in the folds of a wide cloak, pulled his broad brimmed hat over his eyes, and prepared to go out.

"By Jove!" he said, as he crossed the threshold of the house, "armed as I am, the brigands who attempt to attack me will have their work cut out."

At the moment the count entered the street, it struck a quarter to ten by the clock of the Cabildo.

"I have just time," he said.

And he began walking quickly. The night was dark, the streets were deserted. As the count had expected, he reached the Alameda exactly as the clock struck ten.

"Let us see," he said.

He then walked with a firm step, though looking carefully around, and with his hand on his arms, in fear of a surprise. Conforming to the instructions of the note, he proceeded toward the walk indicated to him. He soon distinguished a dark form, which he recognised as that of a female seated on a bench. The count was then ashamed of his suspicions, left his hold of his arms, and, after reflection, was on the point of returning, supposing that this rendezvous was not so serious as he had at first supposed. Still, after a moment's reflection, he resolved on carrying out the affair to the end, and walked toward the stranger, who remained perfectly calm. At the moment he was passing her she coughed gently, and the count turned to her.

"Guaymas" she said in a low voice.

"Atravida" the count replied in the same tone.

"Come."

"Go on."

The strange woman rose, and not turning once, proceeded with a firm and hasty step along the Alameda, and turned into a narrow street inhabited by leperos, stopping before a house of rather wretched appearance. She then opened the door with a key she held in her hand, and went in, being careful to leave the door ajar. The count was close at her heels, and entered without any hesitation. He found himself in dense obscurity, and heard the door close behind him with a spasm at his heart.

"It is plain that I am in a wasp's nest," he said to himself.

"Fear nothing," a soft and melodious voice suddenly said, almost in his ear; "you have no occasion to alarm yourself, for these precautions are not taken against yourself."

The affectionate and almost mournful accent of this voice completely reassured the count.

"I fear nothing," he said. "Were I afraid of a snare, should I have come?"

"Listen, moments are precious. I have only a few seconds at my command."

"I am listening."

"You have powerful enemies; one especially has sworn your destruction. Take care! You would not serve his plans and become the agent of disorder, in order to help that man in gaining the object of his ambition; so that man has resolved your death."

"I despise the man's threats, for I know him."

"Perhaps so, I mention no names. Still, he is not alone against you. If you wish to foil your enemy's plans, act vigorously; above all be prudent. Treason is everywhere in Mexico, it is breathed in the air; so trust to none but well tried men. You have traitors even among those who come nearest to you."

"What do my enemies want?"

"To destroy you, I tell you, because you have refused to become their accomplice."

"Oh! I will avenge myself."

"Take care! Above all, do not remain long here. Your enemies can act the more surely in the dark, when, they know you are away from your company. Rejoin your comrades."

"I will do so this very night."

"Yes, start at once for the mines. If you can reach them before your enemies are in a position to raise the mask, you will be saved."

"Thanks for your advice, I will follow it."

"So now, good-by."

"Good-bye," the count said, with an accent of regret.

"We must not meet again."

"What! After the signal service you render me at this moment – "

"It must be. Everything parts us."

"Tell me one thing, pray."

"What?"

"Whence comes the interest you deign to show me?"

"Is the motive for a woman's actions ever known?"

"Oh, you are jesting with me, señora; that is wrong."

The strange lady sighed.

"No, Don Louis," she continued, "I am not jesting with you. What need that you should know me? Sufficient for you that I watch over you. Seek not for the motive."

"On the contrary, I am anxious to know it."

"Were I to tell you that I loved you, would you believe it, Don Louis?" she said, sorrowfully.

"Oh!" he said, with emotion, "I would pity you, madam, if you attached yourself to a wretched being like myself, whose life has only been one long suffering."

"Do you not know, then, that we women love the unhappy before all? Our mission upon earth is to offer consolation."

"Madam, I implore you, do not let me leave you thus. I should carry away in my heart a grief which nothing could cure."

"I was wrong to come," she murmured, mournfully.

"Oh! Say not so, as you have perchance saved my life."

"Farewell, Don Louis," she replied, with an accent of ineffable gentleness; "we must part. Whatever may occur, remember that you have a devoted friend – a sister."

"A sister!" he remarked, bitterly, "be it so. If that is your wish; madam, I do not insist."

"Take this ring, as you wish absolutely to know who I am. My name is engraved upon it, but promise me not to read it for three days."

"I swear it," he replied, holding out his hand in the darkness.

A hand seized on his, pressed it gently, left a ring in it; and then he heard a slight rustling of silk, and a soft voice murmured farewell for the last time. The count heard a door close, and that was all. In a second, the door which had granted him admission to the house opened again. Don Louis wrapped himself in his cloak, and went out, a prey to considerable agitation. He reached his abode at full speed; from a distance he perceived a man standing before his gateway. The count, through a secret presentiment he could not explain, hurried onward.

"Valentine!" he suddenly exclaimed, with marks of amazement.

"Yes, brother," the other answered; "fortunately I met Don Cornelio. Your horse is ready; come, let us start."

"What is the matter, then?" he exclaimed, anxiously.

"Off, off! I will tell you all on the road."

Five minutes later, the adventurers started at full speed on the road from Pitic to Guaymas.

CHAPTER XXII

THE REVOLT

We will leave Don Louis and Valentine galloping on the road to Guaymas, and explain to the reader what had occurred in that town during the count's absence.

The French company formed at San Francisco was not completely made up, when the hunter brought his friend the money he required: about a dozen men were still deficient. Pressed by time and wishful to reach Sonora as soon as possible, Don Louis neglected to employ the same precautions in enrolling these men, as he had with the rest. He accepted almost anybody that presented himself. Unfortunately, among the new recruits were four or five scamps, to whom any restraint was unendurable, and who entered the company solely impelled by that instinct for evil which governs vicious natures; that is to say, with the secret intention of committing every crime that might prove profitable to them, so soon as they reached Mexico.

During the passage from San Francisco to Guaymas, and even so long as the count remained in the latter town, these persons carefully avoided showing themselves in their true colours, justly fearing punishment; but so soon as the count left Guaymas for Pitic, they threw off the mask, and in company with a few scamps of their own stamp, whom they picked up in the slums about the port, commenced a life of disorder and debauchery.

Colonel Florés and Don Antonio did not fail to profit by the irregular conduct of these men, and planted spies upon them, who excited them by all the means at their command to redouble their disorderly conduct. These emissaries cleverly spread the report that Don Louis had purposely deceived his comrades, that the mines of the Plancha de la Plata had no existence, that he had obtained no concession, and that his object was very different from what he had stated to his followers.

These calumnies, at first weak and as it were ashamed to expose themselves in broad daylight, in a short time obtained a degree of consistency; and a great fermentation was visible in the company. The officers, justly alarmed at what was passing, assembled in council, and resolved to warn the count of the alarming state of matters, and the dangers that menaced the expedition. Colonel Florés, as delegate of the government, was present at this council, and gave his opinion that a courier should be despatched to the count at once. The courier was really sent off, but almost immediately intercepted. This happened on the third day after the count's departure. The officer to whom he intrusted the command, reassured by the departure of the courier, and desirous to cover his responsibility by executing the orders he had received, ordered the assembly to be sounded at daybreak of the fourth day, and issued orders for immediate departure.

Murmurs broke out on all sides, cries and yells were heard, and for some time there was an inextricable confusion. Colonel Florés had hurried up, on hearing what was taking place. He insinuated that it would be probably imprudent to leave Guaymas, with the soldiers in their present state of excitement, and that it would be better to await the count's return, who, warned by the courier sent off the previous day, would doubtlessly arrive at once, and a hundred other more or less specious arguments.

But the temporary commandant was an old African soldier, trained in habits of discipline, and who only obeyed his orders. He replied sharply to the colonel that he begged him to attend to his own affairs, for what was occurring in no way concerned him. As for himself he had his orders, and would obey them, whatever the consequences might be.

Colonel Florés finding himself so sharply taken up, and perceiving that he was on the wrong road, immediately changed his batteries, and perfectly coincided with the officer, whom he urged to continue as he had begun, and not yield an inch to the insubordination of his soldiers. The commandant shrugged his shoulders contemptuously at these new suggestions from the worthy colonel, and walking into the middle of the yard, where the soldiers, forming scattered groups, were consulting together, he ordered the buglers to sound the assembly.

He was at once obeyed; but the adventurers yelled at the buglers, and redoubled their shouts and vociferations. The commandant remained motionless on the spot he had selected, with his arms folded on his chest; when the buglers had given the call, he pulled out his watch and coolly looked at the hour. The insurgents watched him closely, the other officers had come up, and ranged themselves round their chief.

"Return to your squads, gentlemen," he said to them in a clear voice, which, though not raised above the tone of an ordinary conversation, was distinctly heard by all. "Your men have five minutes to fall in; we shall start in a quarter of an hour."

A prolonged laugh greeted these words. The commandant returned his sabre to its scabbard, and walked with a measured step straight up to one of the scamps who had been the originator of the tumult, and who appeared to insult him most of all. The man started on seeing his chief walking toward him, and instinctively looked behind him. The shouts had ceased, and the adventurers, were waiting curiously the issue. When the commandant was only two paces from the man, he stopped, and looking him firmly in the face said, —

"Were you laughing at me just now?"

The other hesitated to reply.

"It is not the chief who is speaking to you at this moment," the officer continued, "but the man you have insulted."

The adventurer felt that the eyes of all his comrades were fixed upon him; so he recalled all his effrontery.

"Well, supposing I was?" he said insolently.

"In that case," the officer continued quietly, "you are a scoundrel."

"A scoundrel?" the other retorted, in a passion. "You must be more careful in your language, I advise you."

"You are a scoundrel, I repeat; and I am going to punish you."

"Punish me?" he said, sneeringly; "come on then."

"Give the fellow a sabre," the officer said, turning to the spectators.

"A sabre? What for?"

"To give me satisfaction for your insult."

"I do not know how to use a sabre."

"Ah, that is the case, is it? You insult me because, you fancy yourself supported by your comrades, and that I am alone; but your comrades are brave men; they know me, and would not wish to insult me."

"No, no!" several voices exclaimed.

"While you are a miserable coward, unworthy longer to belong to the company. I dismiss you; you are no Frenchman; be off!"

Then, with a strength he little thought he possessed, the officer seized the man by the collar of his coat, and hurled him twenty paces. He jumped up, and ran off at full speed followed by a general yell.

The officer was not mistaken. The fellow was not a Frenchman. But why need we divulge his nationality? A whole nation must not be responsible for the villainy of a single man.

When the officer turned round again after this summary execution, he saw that all the adventurers had fallen in, and were standing motionless and silent. The commandant reproached nobody, and did not appear to remember any longer the resistance offered to him. All men are alike. To subdue them, you must prove to them that you possess a decided superiority over them.

Colonel Florés was stupefied. He understood nothing of what was taking place.

"Hum!" he muttered to himself; "what energy! What courage! I fancy we shall not find it an easy matter to master men like these."

The commandant, after assuring himself by a glance that the company had really returned to its duty, gave the order for starting. This order, at once repeated by the subaltern officers, was obeyed without the slightest murmur; and the adventurers set out on their march, preceded by a long file of mules, carrying the baggage, and two or three carts, conveying invalids. The guns (for the count had judged it necessary to augment his artillery), were in the centre, dragged by mules. The march was closed by the cavalry, a detachment of ten men having been previously told off to form the vanguard.

The Frenchmen traversed Guaymas at a quick step, amid the shouts and wishes of success of the population collected on their road. Don Antonio accompanied the company to the Rancho de San José, which forms, as it were, a suburb of Guaymas. On arriving there, he took leave of the officers in the most friendly manner, repeating his offers of service; and after pressing the hand of Colonel Florés, who went on with the adventurers, and exchanging a glance with him, he returned to the port.

It was late when the Frenchmen started. The heat was stifling; consequently they could not cover much ground, retarded, as they were, by the mules and carts. At sunset, they encamped at the entrance of a village, about four leagues from the town.

The commandant imagined he had gained everything by inducing the company to leave Guaymas; but he was mistaken. The leaven of discord, artfully spread among the adventurers, was still at work, and was carefully kept up by the men to whom we have alluded. It was by no means the interest of these fellows to bury themselves in the interior of the country, where they would have no chance of finding what they had come to Mexico for, namely, opportunities for robbery and debauch. Thus, far from feeling discouraged by the check they had received that very morning, they intended to begin again, as soon as the occasion presented itself.

Valentine, who carefully watched all that went on around him, took the commandant on one side when the camp was formed, and warned him of the insubordination in the company. The latter, however, attached no great importance to the hunter's observations; for he was persuaded that, after the vigorous manner in which he had behaved, the adventurers would not dare to mutiny again.

Valentine's previsions were only too well founded, as the commandant had proof the next morning, when he wished to start again. The adventurers bluntly refused; threats or prayers were equally unavailing; they remained deaf to every observation. It was no longer mutiny, but a perfect revolt, followed only too soon by utter anarchy. The promoters of disorder triumphed; still they could not succeed in inducing their comrades to return to Guaymas.

Through a remnant of that feeling of duty which never deserts soldiers, the adventurers were unwilling to abandon the count; they returned merely to the old charges that had been suggested to them. They wanted a proof that the mines really existed, that their chief had a regular concession, and that they were not cheated. In addition to these demands they set up another, which would completely compromise the future of the company, were it granted. They demanded that all the officers chosen by Don Louis should be broken, and the company be permitted to choose others by vote.

Valentine remarked to them that they could do nothing during their chiefs absence. They must await his return, or commit a flagrant act of illegality; for Don Louis was at liberty to choose whom he pleased for officers, as he was the sole leader of the expedition, and alone responsible for its conduct.