IN WHICH THE SALE OF THE HERD IS DISCUSSED.
What Doña Angela had told Don Cornelio was true: her father was really expecting his mayordomo that morning, in order to consult with him about certain improvements he wished to introduce at one of his haciendas, and also about buying cattle to re-stock his prairies, which had been devastated during the last periodical incursion which the Apache and Comanche Indians are in the habit of making upon the Mexican territory.
Still, Doña Angela, like the true Creole she was, had never hitherto troubled herself about her father's domestic affairs, having too much to do in thinking of her toilet and pleasures. Hence she did not know how to bring the conversation gently round to that point, without allowing the interest she took in it to be suspected. But the most simple-minded woman becomes crafty when her interest is at stake. After the Spaniard had withdrawn the girl remained pensive for a few moments; but then a smile played on her rosy lips, she patted her dainty little hands gleefully together, and fell asleep murmuring softly,—
"I have found it."
The Mexicans are early risers, that they may enjoy the freshness of the morning hours. At half past seven Doña Angela opened her eyes, and devoutly paid her matin orisons to the Virgin; then, aided by Violanta, her clever camarista, she proceeded to the charming mystery of her toilet.
Her sleep had been as peaceful as that of a bird: hence she was calm, and gloriously lovely. At the moment that Violanta put in the last pin, intended to hold the long and thick tresses of her magnificent hair, a knock was heard at the door. It was the general.
Don Sebastian was dressed in the rich costume of the Sonorian country gentry; but his masculine and sharply-cut features, his haughty glance, his long moustaches, but, above all, his decided walk, allowed him to be recognised for a soldier at the first glance, in spite of the dress he had assumed. It had been the general's custom for many long years to come thus every morning, and wish his daughter good day: his child's frank and simple smile sent a gentle ray of sunshine into his heart, whose reflection aided him during the rest of the day in supporting the inseparable cares of power.
Violanta hastened to open, and the general walked in. Doña Angela cunningly watched the expression of his face, and she bounded with delight on fancying she saw that he was pleased in spite of the severe appearance he sought to give his features. Don Sebastian kissed his daughter affectionately, and sat down on a butaca which Violanta drew forward for him.
"Oh, my child!" he said, "how fresh and radiant you are this morning! It is easy to see that you have passed an excellent night."
"At any rate, papa," she said with a little pout, "if it was not so, it was not my fault, I assure you; for I was greatly inclined to sleep when I retired last night."
"What do you mean? Was your sleep disturbed?"
"Yes, several times."
"Caramba! Dear little one, it was the same with me. Some scamp persisted in strumming the most melancholy airs on the guitar, that would have frightened the cats themselves, and kept me awake all night Deuce take the musician and his silly instrument!"
"It was not that, papa. I scarcely heard the man of whom you are speaking."
"What was it, then? I was not aware of any other noises last night but that."
"I cannot explain to you positively what I heard; but Violanta was also aroused several times like myself."
"Is that true, little one?" the general asked, turning to the camarista, apparently busy at the moment in arranging the cuarto.
"Oh, señor general," she exclaimed, clasping her hands, "it was a fearful noise—a noise to wake the dead!"
"What the deuce could it be?"
"I do not know," she replied, assuming her most innocent air.
"Did it last long?"
"All the night," she said, trumping what her mistress had alleged.
"Hum! But it must have resembled something, I suppose?"
"Certainly, papa; but I do not know with what to compare it."
"And you, little wench, cannot you make a guess?"
"I fancy I know."
"Ah! Well, then, tell us at once, instead of leaving us in the dark."
"I will, Excellency. This morning, taking advantage of my lady's sleeping, I went down very gently to try and discover the cause of the noise that kept us awake all night."
"And you found it?"
"I think I did."
"Very good: go on."
"It seems that hunters arrived here yesterday with a large herd of novillos, toros, &c., which they are taking, I believe, to California. It was these animals which, by stamping and roaring, prevented us sleeping, for their corral adjoins this house."
"And how did you learn all this?"
"Oh! Very easily, Excellency. Accident willed it that I should address one of the owners of the herd."
"Listen to that! Accident was very kind."
Violanta blushed. The general did not notice it, but continued, "Are you sure they were not vaqueros belonging to some hacienda?"
"O no, Excellency; they are hunters."
"Good; and they want to sell their ganado?"
"The man I spoke with said so."
"I suppose he asks a high price?"
"I do not know."
"That is true. Well, my child," he added, rising and turning to his daughter, "so soon as you are ready we will breakfast, and perhaps I will deliver you from the horrible noise of these animals."
The general kissed his daughter once again, and left the room. So soon as he was gone the two girls began laughing like little madcaps.
We must allow that both had played their part to perfection, and though he little suspected it, had, in a few moments, led the general to do exactly what they wanted, while leaving him persuaded that he was merely acting from his own impulse.
A few minutes later Doña Angela joined her father in the cuarto, which was employed as dining room. The mayordomo had arrived, and the general only awaited his daughter's presence to begin the meal. This mayordomo, already known to the reader, was no other than Don Isidro Vargas, who had accepted this situation as a retiring pension.
The Mexican haciendas, especially in Sonora, are often eight to ten leagues in extent. To watch so large a tract of country, on which immense bands of wild horses and numerous herds of cattle pasture at liberty, a young, robust, and active man is generally selected, who is called in that country a hombre de a caballo. In truth, the profession of a mayordomo is excessively severe: he must constantly be on horseback, galloping day and night, in heat or cold, doing everything and looking after everything himself, and obliging the peons to work, who are the idlest fellows in existence, and the biggest thieves imaginable.
Don Isidro was no longer young. At the period when we bring him again on the stage he was nearly seventy; but this long, thin man, on whose bones a yellow skin, dry as parchment, seemed to be glued, was as upright and vigorous as if he were but thirty: age had gained no power over his body, which was solely composed of muscles and nerves. Thus, by his continual vigilance, his indefatigable ardour, and his uncommon energy, he was the terror of the poor fellows whom their evil destiny had placed under his orders, and who fully believed that their mayordomo had made a compact with the demon, so closely did he watch them, and so thoroughly was he acquainted with their slightest actions.
The mayordomo had retained his botas vaqueras, and his spurs with enormous rowels, which compel the wearer to walk tiptoe. His zarapé and hat of vicuna skin were negligently thrown on a butaca in a corner, and at his left side hung a sheathless machete, passed through an iron ring.
So soon as he perceived the young lady he walked up to her, wished her good day, and embraced her affectionately. The captain knew Doña Angela from the day of her birth, and loved her as his daughter. She, for her part, entertained a great friendship for the old soldier, with whom she had played when a child, and whom she still liked to tease, to which the worthy mayordomo lent himself with the best grace in the world.
They sat down to table; but that expression is somewhat pretentious when applied to a Mexican breakfast.
We have already frequently remarked that the Spanish Americans are the most sober people in the world. The least thing suffices them. Thus the breakfast in question was only composed of a small cup of that excellent chocolate which the Spaniards alone know how to make, of a few maize tortillas, and a large glass of water. This meal, if it be one, is common to all classes of society in Mexico.
The party sat down to table, then, Doña Angela said the benedicite and the chocolate was served. The conversation, at the outset, was completely in the hands of the general and the captain, and turned exclusively on what had happened at the hacienda since the general's last visit; then it gradually veered round to the subject of the ganado.
"By the way," Don Sebastian said, "have you recovered any of the cattle those demons of Apaches took from us in their last attack?"
"Not a head, general, Válgame Dios! You might as well pursue the wind and the tempest as try to catch up those red devils."
"Then we have lost—"
"All that was within their reach; that is to say, about 2500 head."
"That is hard; and how have you repaired the loss?"
"Up to the present I have only succeeded in collecting 1500 head; and if you remember, it was on this very subject that you gave me the meeting here."
"I remember the fact perfectly; still I do not exactly see what we can do, except buy other cattle."
"Hang it! That is the only way we have of completing our herds."
"Have you any in view?"
"At this moment?"
"Yes."
"No, indeed, I have not, for the ganado is growing beyond all price. The discovery of gold in California has caused an enormous number of adventurers from every country to flock there. You know what the gringos are; they must have meat. These miserable heretics are such gluttons that they could not do without it; and thus they have devoured all the ganado they could find in their neighbourhood, and are now obliged to fetch it for nearly two hundred leagues. You can understand that such a thing sends prices up enormously."
"That is annoying."
"And yet, general, only an instant agone, while placing my horse in the corral. I saw the most magnificent herd of novillos that can be imagined. It is evident that the poor animals have travelled at least one hundred leagues, for they appear so fatigued."
Doña Angela gave a sly glance at her camarista, who was standing behind her.
"I have heard of them," the general said carelessly; "they are on the road to San Francisco, I believe."
"What did I say not a moment ago?" the captain exclaimed, striking his fist on the table. "Caray! If those confounded gringos are let alone, they will have devoured all our cattle before ten years have passed."
"Can we not try to purchase these?"
"It would be an excellent business for us, even if we paid dearly; but their owners will not be inclined to sell."
"Who knows? I fancy, on the contrary, that they are willing to get rid of them."
"Rayo de Dios! Buy them, then."
"Yes; but at what price?"
"It is certain that cattle are growing scarcer and scarcer: offer them for each head bought here the price it would fetch at San Francisco."
"Hum! And how is the market down there?"
"About eighteen piastres."
"Oh, oh! That is to say, for six hundred head—"
"Ten thousand eight hundred piastres: offer the even money."
"That is dear."
"What would you have? You will have to do it."
"That is true; but it is hard."
The general reflected for a moment, and then turned to his daughter.
"Angela," he said, "what is the name of the hunter who owns the herd?"
The young lady started.
"Why do you ask me, papa?" she replied, with feigned astonishment; "I really do not know what you mean. I am entirely ignorant whether there is a herd in this hostelry."
"That is true," the general said, recollecting. "Where the deuce is my head gone? It was your camarista, I believe, who spoke to one of the fellows."
"Yes, papa."
"Pardon me. Come, Violanta, my child, can you tell me this man's name?"
The girl approached with downcast eyes, and twisting the hem of her fine muslin apron between her fingers with an embarrassed air. It was evident she was trying all she knew to blush. The general awaited her answer for several minutes, but then lost patience.
"Come, you little fool," he exclaimed, "will you make up your mind to speak, yes or no? People would fancy I was asking you a question unfit for a maiden to answer."
"I do not say that, general," she replied hesitatingly.
"Enough of that mock modesty. What is the name of the owner of this ganado?"
"There are two, general."
"What are their names, then?"
"One is a Spaniard, the other a Frenchman, Excellency."
"What do I care what country the scamps belong to? I only want to know their names."
"One is called Don Cornelio."
"And the other?"
"Don Louis."
"But they have other names beside those?"
Violanta exchanged a rapid glance with her mistress.
"I do not know them," she said.
"Hum!" the general remarked sarcastically, "you only know people, it appears, by their baptismal names. That's worth knowing."
This time the girl really blushed, and retired in great confusion. Don Sebastian made a sign to a peon who was standing respectfully a few paces off.
"Gregorio," he said, "go and present the compliments of General Don Sebastian Guerrero to the Señores Don Louis and Don Cornelio, and beg them to honour him with a visit. You understand me?"
The peon bowed and went out.
"We must be polite with these people," the general observed. "Now that the discovery of the Californian placers has overthrown all classes of society, who knows with whom we may have to deal?"
And he accompanied this remark by a sarcastic laugh, in which the captain, as the worthy Mexican he was, noisily joined.
We will observe parenthetically that General Guerrero, like the majority of his countrymen, professed the most inveterate hatred for Europeans, a hatred which nothing justified, unless it was that superiority which the Creoles are obliged to recognise in the Europeans—a superiority which they submit to unwillingly, but before which they are forced to bow their heads.
Several minutes elapsed, and then the peon returned.
"Well?" the general asked him.
"Excellency," the peon answered respectfully, "the caballeros will have the honour of waiting on you. They are following me."
"Very good. Put a bottle of Catalonian refino and glasses on the table. I know from experience that these gentry have no partiality for pure water."
After this new jest the general rolled a papelito, lighted it, and waited. Within five minutes the sound of footsteps was heard in the corridor; the door opened, and two men appeared.
"It is not he!" Doña Angela murmured in a low voice, for her eyes were anxiously fixed on the door.
The two men were Valentine and Don Cornelio.
CHAPTER XI.
A COMMERCIAL TRANSACTION.
We have mentioned in a previous chapter the object for which Valentine presented himself in his friend's place. He wished to try and discover for what reason Doña Angela desired so ardently to see Louis again. As for Don Cornelio, he was intimately persuaded that his personal merits had done it all, and that the young lady's sole wish was to have another interview with himself.
On the other hand, the hunter, warned by Curumilla, was not sorry to see the man with whom he had been indirectly connected at another period of his life—a connection which might at any moment become more intimate, owing to the general's new position and Don Louis' projects.
The two strangers presented themselves boldly; their manner was respectful, without arrogance or excessive humility; such, in a word, as might be expected from men long tried by the innumerable hazards of an adventurous life.
The general probably expected to see men of low habits and vulgar features. At the sight of the two men, whose masculine and honest faces struck him, he started imperceptibly, rose, saluted them courteously, and invited them to sit down on chairs he ordered to be placed for them.
Doña Angela knew not what to think after Don Cornelio's positive statement. The absence of Don Louis, and the substitution for him of a man she did not know, appeared inexplicable. Still, without exactly understanding her feelings, she guessed, under this substitution, a mystery which she sought in vain to fathom. Violanta was as confused and astonished as her mistress: the captain alone remained indifferent to what passed. The old soldier, profiting cleverly by the fact of the bottle of refino having been placed on the table, had poured out a large glass of aguardiente, which he swallowed in small doses, while patiently waiting till the general thought proper to open the ball.
When the hunters had at length taken their seats, after repeated pressing, the general took the word.
"You will pardon me, gentlemen, for having disturbed you by compelling you to come here, when it should have been my place to go to your cuarto, as it is I who wish to speak with you."
"General," Valentine answered with a respectful bow, "my friend and myself would have been in despair had we caused you the least annoyance. Pray believe that we shall always be happy to obey your orders, whatever they may be."
After this mutual interchange of compliments the speakers bowed again. No people in the world carry to such an extent as the Mexican the feline gentleness of manner, if we may be permitted to employ the expression.
"Which of you two gentlemen," the general continued gracefully, "is Señor Don Cornelio?"
"It is I, caballero," the Spaniard answered with a bow.
"In that case," Don Sebastian went on, turning to the hunter with an amiable smile, "this caballero is Don Louis?"
"Pardon me, general," the Frenchman answered distinctly, "my name is Valentine."
The general started.
"What?" he said in surprise. "And where, then, is Señor Don Louis?"
"It is impossible for him to obey your orders."
"Why so?"
"Because," Valentine continued, casting a side glance at the young lady, who, though she appeared to be very busily talking with her camarista, did not lose a word that was said, "because, general, Don Louis, unaware that he should have the honour of being received by your Excellency this morning, started at sunrise for San Francisco."
Doña Angela turned pale as death, and was on the point of fainting at this news; still she overcame the emotion she experienced, and became apparently calm. She wished to learn all. This emotion, though so transitory, had not escaped Valentine's observation. The general nearly turned his back on his daughter: hence it was impossible for him to see anything that passed.
"That is annoying," he answered.
"I am in despair, general."
"His absence will doubtlessly be of short duration?"
"He will not return."
Valentine pronounced these words dryly. The emotion Doña Angela experienced was so lively that she could not check a slight cry of pain.
"What is the matter, niña?" her father asked her, turning sharply. "What is the meaning of that cry?"
"I cut myself," she answered with the most innocent air possible.
"Oh, oh!" her father said in alarm; "it is not dangerous?"
"No; a mere scratch. I was a goose to be frightened. Forgive me, papa."
The general asked no further questions, but continued his conversation with the Frenchman.
"I am vexed at this contretemps," he said, "for I wished to consult with your friend on very important business."
"No matter; I am here. My friend, on starting, gave me full power to act in his name. You can speak, general; that is to say, if you do not consider me unworthy of your confidence."
"Such a supposition would be an insult, sir."
Valentine bowed.
"Well, caballero," the general continued, "the affair I wished to discuss with your friend is certainly important; but if your full powers extend to commercial transactions, I do not see why I should not treat with you as well as with him."
"Speak openly, then, general, for I am Don Louis' partner."
"This is the affair in two words—"
"Pardon me," Doña Angela suddenly said, with a little air of resolution, which even imposed on the general himself; "before you begin talking about trade, I should like to ask this gentleman a few questions."
The general turned in surprise, and bent an inquiring glance on his daughter.
"What can you have to ask this caballero?" he said.
"You will soon know, my dear papa," she replied with a slight tone of sarcasm, "if you will permit me to ask him two or three questions."
"Speak, then, you little madcap," the general exclaimed with a shrug of his shoulders; "speak, and make a finish as soon as you can."
"Thank you, papa. Your permission is, perhaps, not very graciously granted, but I shall not bear you malice on that account."
"As you permit it, general, I am at the lady's orders."
"In the first place, sir, promise me one thing."
"What is it, señorita?"
"That you will answer frankly and honestly all the questions I may ask you."
"What is the meaning of this folly, Angela?" the general said impatiently. "Is this the moment or the place? Is it befitting for—?"
"Papa," the young lady boldly interrupted him, "you gave me permission to speak."
"Granted; but not in the way you seemed inclined to do so."
"Have a little patience, papa."
"Bah!" the captain said, interposing, "let her speak as she likes. Go on, my child—go on."
"I am waiting this gentleman's answer," she said.
"I make you the promise you ask, señorita," Valentine answered.
"I hold your word. What is your friend's name, sir?"
"Which one, señorita?".
"The one whose place you have taken."
"His name is Count Louis de Prébois Crancé."
"He is a Frenchman?"
"Born at Paris."
"You have known him a long time?"
"Since his birth, señorita. My mother was his nurse."
"Ah!" she said with pleasure; "then you are really his friend?"
"I am his foster brother."
"He has no secrets from you?"
"None, I fancy."
"Good!"
"Come, come," the general exclaimed, "this is becoming intolerable. What is the meaning of this interrogatory to which you subject the caballero, and to which he has the goodness to yield so complacently? Confound it, niña! I beg the señor's pardon in your name; for your conduct toward him is most improper."
"What is there improper in it, papa? My intentions are good, and I am certain that you will agree with me when you learn why I asked the caballero these simple questions, which, however, appear to you so extraordinary."
"Well, go on. What is the reason?"
"This. Three years back, during your journey from Guadalajara to Tepic, were you not attacked by salteadores at the spot called the Mal Paso?"
"Yes; but what has that in common, I ask—?"
"Wait," she said gaily. "Two men came to your assistance?"
"Yes, and I am not ashamed to confess that, without them, I should probably have not only been robbed, but murdered by the bandits. Unfortunately these men obstinately refused to tell me their names. All my researches up to the present have been fruitless. I have been unable to find them again, and show them my gratitude, which I assure you vexes me extremely."
"Yes, papa, I know that you have often in my presence regretted your inability to find the courageous man to whom you owe your life, as well as I do, who was but a child at the time."
The young lady uttered these words with an emotion that affected all her hearers.
"Unfortunately," the general said a moment later, "three years have elapsed since that adventure. Who knows what has become of that man?"
"I do, papa."
"You, Angela!" he exclaimed in surprise. "It is impossible."
"My father, the questions I addressed to the gentleman, and which he answered so kindly, had only one object; to acquire a certainty by corroborating through the answers I received certain information I had obtained elsewhere."
"So that—?"
"The man who saved your life is the Count Don Louis, who started this very morning for San Francisco."
"Oh!" the general said in great agitation, "it is impossible. You are mistaken, my child."
"Pardon me, general, but my friend has frequently told me the story in its amplest details," Valentine observed. "Why seek to hide longer a thing you now know?"
"And to remove all doubts, if any remain, which I hardly suppose, papa, in the presence of this caballero's loyal assurance, look at this man," she added, pointing to the Spaniard. "Do you not recognise Don Cornelio, our old travelling companion, who constantly sang to his jarana the romance of El Rey Rodrigo?"
The general examined the young man attentively.
"It is true," he said presently; "I now recognise this caballero, whom I left wounded, at his own request, in the hands of my generous liberator."
"Whom I have not left since," Don Cornelio affirmed.
"Ah!" the general said. "But why this obstinacy on Don Louis' part to keep his secret? Did he fancy that gratitude was too heavy a burden for me to bear?"
"Do not think such a thing of my friend," Valentine exclaimed quickly. "Don Louis believed, and still believes, that the service he rendered you was too trifling to have such great importance attached to it."
"Caspita! When he saved my honour! But now that I know him he shall not escape me longer. I will find him sooner or later, and prove to him that we Mexicans have a memory as long for good as for ill. I am his debtor, and, by heavens! I will pay him my debt."
"That is good, papa," the young lady exclaimed, as she threw herself into his arms.
"Enough, little madcap, enough. Confusion! You are stifling me. But tell me, little rogue, I believe that in all this you have been playing me a nice little trick."
"Oh, father!" she answered with a blush.
"Would you, miss, have the goodness to explain to me how you obtained all this information? I confess that it puzzles me considerably, and I should like to know."
Doña Angela, began laughing to conceal her embarrassment; but suddenly making up her mind with that decision which marked her character,—
"I will tell you, if you promise not to scold me too severely," she said.
"Go on; we will see afterwards."
"I told you a story this morning, papa," she said, letting her eyes fall.
"I suspect it: go on."
"If you frown in that way, and put on your naughty air, I warn you that I shall not say a word."
"And you will be right, niña," the captain supported her.
The general smiled.
"Come," he said, "you are taking her part, are you?"
"Caspita! I should think so."
"Come, come, be at your ease; I will not be angry, the more so because I suspect that the pretty baggage behind you, with her cunning looks, has something to do with the plot," he said, looking at Violanta, who could not keep her countenance.
"You have guessed it, papa. I slept splendidly last night: nothing disturbed my slumbers."
"Just listen to that, the little deceiver!"
"Last evening, however, I heard the sound of a jarana accompanying the Romance del Rey Rodrigo. I remembered our old travelling companion who never sang anything else. I know not how it was, but I persuaded myself that he was the singer, and so I sent Violanta to invite him to my room. Then—"
"Then he told you all?"
"Yes, papa. As I knew the desire you felt to know your liberator, I wished to surprise you by letting you find him at the moment you least expected. Unfortunately chance has thwarted all my plans, and destroyed my combinations."
"That was right, niña, for it will teach you not to have any secrets from your father. But console yourself, my child; we will find him again, and then he must allow us to express our gratitude to him, which time, far from lessening, has only heightened."
The young lady, without saying anything further, returned pensively to her seat. The general turned to Valentine.
"It is now our turn, caballero. You are the owner of the herd of cattle?"
"Yes, general; but I am not the only one."
"Who are your partners?"
"Don Louis and the caballero here present."
"Very good. Do you wish to dispose of your cattle advantageously?"
"It is my intention."
"How many head have you?"
"Seven hundred and seventy."
"And you are taking them—?"
"To San Francisco."
"Caramba! That is a tough job."
"We purpose hiring peons to drive the animals."
"But if you could find a purchaser here?"
"I should prefer it."
"Well, I want cattle: most of mine have been stolen by the Apaches—those infernal plunderers! If you consent we will strike a bargain. Your herd suits me. My mayordomo has seen it, and I will buy it in the lump."
"I wish nothing better."
"We say seven hundred and seventy head, I think?"
"Yes."
"At twenty-five piastres apiece: that makes 19,250 piastres, if I am not mistaken. Does that suit you?"
"No, general," Valentine replied firmly.
Don Sebastian looked at him in amazement.
"Why so?" he said.
"Because I should rob you."
"Hum! That is my business."
"That is possible, general; but it is not mine."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that cattle are sold, one with the other, at eighteen piastres in San Francisco, and I cannot sell them for twenty-five here."
"Nonsense! I fancy I know the value of ganado as well as any man; and I offer you the price your herd is worth."
"No, general, it is not worth it, and you know it as well as I do," the hunter objected resolutely. "I thank you for your generosity, but I cannot accept it: my friend would be angry with me for making such a bargain."
"Then you refuse?"
"I do."
"It is perfectly novel for a merchant to refuse to gain a profit on his wares."
"Pardon me, general, I do not refuse an honest profit; but I will not rob you, that is all."
"On my word, you are the first man I ever knew to look at trade in that light."
"Probably, general, because you have never had dealings with a Frenchman."
"I must yield. What do you ask for the beasts?"
"Nineteen piastres per head, which, I assure you, will give me a very handsome profit."
"Be it so. That makes—?"
"Fourteen thousand six hundred and thirty piastres."
"Very good. If that will suit you, I will give you an order for that sum on Messrs. Torribi, Dellaporta, and Co., at Guaymas."
"That will do admirably."
"You hear, captain, the herd is ours?"
"Good! This night it will start for the hacienda."
"When do you propose leaving, señores?"
"As soon as our business is settled here, general. We are anxious to rejoin our friend."
"In an hour the bill of exchange will be ready."
Valentine bowed.
"Still," the general continued, "you will be good enough to tell Don Louis that I regard myself as his debtor, and if ever he come to Sonora I will prove it."
"Possibly he may soon arrive," the hunter replied, with a side glance at Doña Angela, who blushed.
"I hope so; and now, gentlemen, I am at your service. If I can be of any use to you, remember that you can always apply to me."
"Receive my thanks, general."
After exchanging a few more words they parted. In passing Doña Angela, Valentine bowed respectfully.
"Don Louis still has your reliquary," he muttered in so low a voice that she guessed the words rather than heard them.
"Thank you," she answered; "you are kind."
"She loves Louis," Valentine said to himself as he returned to the cuarto, accompanied by Don Cornelio.
"The man is a fool to refuse a profit of 5000 piastres," the general said to Don Isidro so soon as he found himself alone with him.
"Perhaps so," the latter replied thoughtfully; "but I fancy he is an enemy."
The general shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, not deigning to attach the slightest importance to this insinuation.
The same evening Valentine and his two companions left San José, and proceeded toward Guaymas, without seeing Doña Angela or the general again.
CHAPTER XII.
CONVERSATION.
During the few thousand years since the world on which we vegetate issued from the hands of the Creator, many revolutions have taken place, many extraordinary facts have been accomplished. How many nations have succeeded each other, rising and falling in turn, disappearing without even leaving a trace, after traversing history like dazzling meteors, and then going out eternally in the night of ages!
But of all the strange facts of which the memory has been preserved, none in our opinion can be compared with what we have seen accomplished under our own eyes, with extraordinary audacity and success, during about three-quarters of a century.
Adventurers bursting from every quarter of the globe—some impelled by the fanaticism of religious faith, others by a spirit of adventure, others again, and the large majority, urged on by wretchedness—after landing as pilgrims on the American shores, asking shelter from the poor and innocent inhabitants of those hospitable countries, and purchasing for a song fertile estates, gradually congregated, expelled the first possessors of the soil, founded cities and ports, built arsenals, and one day shaking off the yoke of the mother country under whose ægis they had timidly sought shelter, constituted themselves an independent state, and founded that colossus, with feet of clay, body of gold, and head of mud, which is called the United States of America.
Humble at the outset, this poor Republic, singing in a loud voice the words, "Liberty and Fraternity!"—words whose noble and grand significance it never comprehended—displaying a rigid tolerance, an exaggerated virtue and puritanism, stepped insidiously into the councils of the European powers, climbed cunningly up to the thrones of sovereigns, and, beneath the mask of disinterestedness, gained acceptance from all. Suddenly, when the favourable moment arrived, the United States rose and assumed a haughty posture. They who had laid down in their Act of Independence that they would never consent to any aggrandisement, said in a domineering voice to Europe, surprised and almost terrified by such audacity, "This quarter of the globe is ours. We are a powerful nation. You must henceforth settle with us."
Unfortunately for themselves, in uttering these proud words, the Northern Americans did not believe them. On the one hand they were perfectly aware of their weakness; and, on the other, they knew very well that a multitude of individuals collected from all sides, without any tie of family or language among them, cannot form a people—that, is to say, a nation—in one century, not even in two.
Still, to be just and impartial to the United States, we must allow that their inhabitants possess to a supreme degree that feverish ardour which, if well directed, produces great results.
It is evident that these bold adventurers are accomplishing, though they little suspect it, a providential mission. What it is no one can say, themselves least of all. These men who stifle on the frontiers, which their population, though daily increasing, cannot fill; who aspire continually to leap over the barriers which other nations oppose to them; who only dream of the unknown, and are perpetually gazing at the distant horizon—these men, in whose ear a secret voice constantly murmurs, as to the Jew of the legend, "Onward, onward!"—these men are destined, ere long, to play a grand, glorious, and noble part in modern civilisation, if the profound egotism that undermines, and the thirst for gold which devours them, does not kill in them those regenerating virtues with which they are unconsciously endowed; and if, forgetting the spirit of conquest and desire for further aggrandisement, they draw more closely together the ties between the several states, and practise among themselves that liberty and fraternity of which they talk so jactantly abroad, but know so little at home.
No people equals the Americans in the art of founding towns. In a few days, on the spot where a virgin forest full of mystery and shadow stood, they lay out streets, build houses, light gas; and in the midst of these streets and squares, created as if by enchantment, the forest trees are not yet dead, and a few forgotten oaks flourish with a melancholy air.
It is true that many of these towns, improvised for the exigencies of the moment, are frequently deserted as rapidly as they were built; for the North American is the true nomadic race. Nothing attaches it to the soil: convenience alone can keep it at any given spot. It has none of those heart affections, none of those memories of childhood or youth, which induce us often to endure suffering in a place rather than quit it for others where we should be comparatively much better off. In a word, the American has no home, that word so endearing to Europeans. To him the most agreeable and comfortable abode is that where he can pile dollar on dollar with the greatest facility.
San Francisco, that city which now counts more than 60,000 inhabitants, and in which all the refinements of luxury can be found, is an evident proof of the marvellous facility with which the Americans improvise towns. We can remember bartering, scarce fifteen years back, with Flat-head Indians, beneath the shade of secular trees, on sites where splendid edifices now rise. We have fished alone in this immense bay, the finest in the world, which is at present almost too small to hold the innumerable vessels that follow each other in rapid succession.
At the period of our story San Francisco was not yet a city in the true acceptation of the word. It was a conglomeration of huts and clumsy cabins built of wood, and which afforded some sort of shelter to the adventurers of every nation whom the gold fever cast on its shores, and who only stopped there long enough to prepare for proceeding to the mines, or throw into the bottomless abysses of the gambling houses the nuggets they had collected with so much difficulty and suffering.
The police were almost non-existing: the stronger man made the law. The knife and revolver were the última ratio, and lorded it over this heterogeneous population, composed of the worst specimens the five parts of the globe could throw up.
A population incessantly renewed, never the same, lived in this Hades, a prey to that constant and fatal intoxication which the sight of that terrible metal called gold produces in even the strongest-minded men.
Still, at the period of which we are writing, the first fury of the race to the placers had somewhat cooled down. Owing to the impulse given by a few resolute men, gifted with lofty intellects and generous hearts, the normal life was beginning to be gradually organised; the bandits no longer daringly held the top of the causeway, honest men could at length breathe and raise their heads, all foreboded better days, and the dawn of an era of order, peace, and tranquillity had arrived.
About two months after the events we narrated in our preceding chapter we will lead the reader to a charming house built a little out of the throng, as if the inhabitants had sought to isolate themselves as much as possible; and after introducing him into a room modestly furnished with a few common chairs and a table, on which lay a large map of Mexico, we will listen to the conversation of the two men who were leaning over this map.
One of them is already well known to us, for he is the Count Louis; the other was a man of middle age, with a fine and intelligent face, whose eye sparkled with boldness and frankness; his manners were also very elegant. He appeared to be a Frenchman; at least he was talking in that language. At the moment we joined them the two gentlemen were inserting black-headed pins into certain districts of the map spread out before them.
"I am perfectly of your opinion, my dear count," the stranger said as he rose: "that road is the most direct, and at the same time the safest."
"Is it not?" Louis answered.
"Without any doubt. But tell me—you are quite resolved to disembark at Guaymas?"
"That is the most favourable point."
"I ask you that question, my dear countryman, because I have written to our representative in that town."
"Well?" the count said quickly, rising in his turn.
"All goes well; at least he tells me so in his letter."
"He has answered you?"
"Courier for courier. The Mexican authorities will see your arrival with the greatest pleasure; a barrack will be prepared for your men, and the principal posts of the town intrusted to them. You are expected with the most lively impatience."
"All the better, for I confess to you that I feared much annoyance in that quarter: the Mexicans have such a singular character, that one never knows how to deal with them."
"What you say is perfectly true, my friend; but remember that your position is an exceptional one, and can in no possible manner cause umbrage to the authorities of the town. You are the owner of a placer of incalculable richness, situated in a country where you will have continually to apprehend attacks from the Indians; you will, therefore, only pass through Guaymas."
"Literally so; for I declare to you that I shall set out with the least possible delay for the mine."
"Another thing, too: most of the men whose hatred or envy you might have occasion to fear are shareholders in the company you represent. If they show you any ill will, or try to impede your operations, they will carry on the war at their own expense, and naturally will be the first punished."
"That is true."
"And then you have no political object: your conduct is clearly laid down. Your desire is to find gold."
"Yes, and to insure a happy and independent position for the brave men who accompany me."
"What more noble task could you undertake?"
"So you are satisfied, sir?"
"I could not be more so, my dear count. Everything smiles on you: the company is definitively formed at Mexico."
"I knew that before. During my stay in that city I drew up the plans and prepared everything; besides, I believe I can reckon on the friends we have there."
"I believe so too. Did not the President of the Republic himself seem to adopt your views?"
"Enthusiastically."
"Very good. Now, in Sonora, the governor, with whom you will have alone to deal, is one of our largest shareholders, so you have nothing to fear in that quarter."
"Tell me, sir, do you know our representative at Guaymas?"
At this question a cloud passed over the stranger's forehead.
"Not personally," he answered, after a certain degree of hesitation.
"Then you can give me no information about him? You understand that it is important for me to know the character of the man with whom I shall doubtlessly enter into permanent relations, and from whom I shall be compelled to ask protection in certain difficult circumstances, such as may occur at any moment."
"That is true, my dear count. As you observe, you know not in what position accident may place you; it is, therefore, necessary that I should instruct you, so listen to me."
"I am giving you the most earnest attention."
"Guaymas, as you are very well aware, is of very slight importance to our nation in a commercial point of view. During the whole year not a dozen ships bearing our flag put in there. The French Government, therefore, considered it useless to send a French agent to that town, and acted like most of the powers—it selected one of the most respectable merchants in Guaymas, and made him its representative."
"Ah, ah!" the count said thoughtfully; "then our consular agent in that port is not a Frenchman?"
"No; he is a Mexican. It is unlucky for you; for I will not hide from you that our countrymen have several times complained of not obtaining from him that protection which it is his duty to give them. It seems, too, that this man is wonderfully greedy for gain."
"As far as that is concerned I do not alarm myself at all."
"The rest need not trouble you either. The Mexicans generally are not bad. They are children—that is all. You will easily master this man by talking to him firmly, and not yielding an inch of what you consider your right."
"Trust to me for doing that."
"There is nothing else to be done."
"Thanks for this precious information, which I shall profit by, be assured, at the proper time and place. What is his name?"
"Don Antonio Mendez Pavo; but, before your departure, I will give you a letter for him, which I am sure will prevent your having any vexatious disputes with the fellow."
"I accept with great pleasure."
"And now another point."
"Go on."
"Are your enlistments completed?"
"Nearly so; I only need ten more men at the most."
"You are organising your expedition in a military manner?"
"I wished to avoid it, but that is impossible, owing to the Indian tribes through which we must pass, and with whom we shall have doubtlessly a tussle."
"You may expect it."
"So you see, my dear sir, I take my precautions in consequence."
"You act wisely. What will be the strength of your company?"
"Two hundred and fifty to three hundred men at the outside."
"You are right: a larger force would arouse the susceptibility of the Mexicans, and perhaps cause them alarm as to the purity and loyalty of your intentions."
"That is what I wish to avoid at any price."
"Are your men French?"
"All. I do not wish to have any men with me on whose devotion I cannot calculate. I should be afraid, by mixing strangers among my fellows, that I might relax those family ties so necessary for the success of an expedition like mine, and which can be easily established among men all belonging to the same nation."
"That is extremely logical."
"And then," the count went on, "I only enlist old soldiers or sailors, all men accustomed to military discipline, and who are familiar with the use of arms."
"Then your organisation is terminated?"
"Nearly so, as I told you."
"All the better. In spite of the pleasure I feel in your delightful society, I should like to see you at work already."
"Thank you, but that will not be long first: the vessel is chartered, and if nothing happen to derange my plans, I shall say good-by to you within a week. You know that, in an affair like this, speed is the great point."
"Success depends, above all, on celerity and decision."
"I shall be deficient in neither, be assured."
"Above all, do not forget to take with you two or three men you can trust, and who are thoroughly acquainted with the country you are about explore."
"I have with me two wood rangers, from whom the desert has no secrets."
"You can trust in them?"
"As in myself."
"Bravo! I feel a presentiment that we shall succeed."
"Heaven grant it! For my part, I will do all to deserve it."
The stranger took his hat.
"Ah, ah! I have been here a long time, and forget that people may be waiting for me at the office. I must leave you, my dear count."
"Already?"
"Needs must. Shall I see you this evening?"
"I cannot promise. You know that I am not my own master either, especially at this moment."
"That is true; still try to come."
"I will."
"That's right. Good-by till I see you again."
The two men shook hands affectionately, and the stranger departed.
So soon as he was alone the count bent again over the map, which he studied carefully: it was not till night had completely set in that he gave up his task.
"How is it," he said to himself thoughtfully, "that Valentine has not yet arrived? He should have been here."
As he finished this monologue he heard a rap at the door.
CHAPTER XIII.
PREPARATIONS.
The period at which our story happens was a happy time for desperate enterprises and filibustering expeditions.
In fact, the political commotions that had overthrown Europe some time previously had brought to the surface, and set in motion, a great number of those unprincipled men, whose sole object is to secure from the revolutions that desolate their country very lucrative, if not very honourable, positions, and for whom anarchy is the sole safety valve.
But, after the first convulsions inseparable from a revolution, when the popular effervescence began gradually to cool down, and the overflowing waters returned to their bed—in a word, when society, wearied of paltry struggles sustained for no avowable motives, and merely kept up to satisfy the disgraceful ambition of a few men of no value, understood that the re-establishment of order was the sole path of salvation, all those individuals who had for a season played a part more or less important found themselves cast on the pavement of the towns without resources; for, with that improvidence inherent in their natures, squandering day by day the favours which blind fortune had lavished on them, they had kept nothing for bad times, convinced as they were that the state of things they had produced would last for ever.
For a few months they struggled, not courageously, but obstinately, against adversity, seeking by every means to recapture the prey which they had so foolishly allowed to slip from their grasp. But they were soon compelled to allow that times had changed, that their hour was past, and that the ground which had hitherto maintained them was sinking hourly beneath their feet, and threatened to swallow them up.
Their position was becoming critical. It was impossible for them to resume their humble and peaceful avocations, and return to that nothingness from which a mad caprice of chance had drawn them. The idea did not even occur to them. They had tasted luxury and honour; they could not and would not work again: pride and sloth imperiously forbade it.
Cincinnatus has never found an imitator in history, and that is the reason why his memory has been so preciously kept up by all to the present day. The men of whom we are speaking were far from being like Cincinnatus, though they in so far resembled the Roman Dictator that they claimed to govern nations.
What was to be done?
Fortunately Providence, whose ways are incomprehensible, watched over them.
The discovery of the rich placers of California, the news of which had been almost stifled under the blow of the terrible European political commotions, suddenly returned to the surface, and in a short time assumed a considerable extension. The most extravagant stories circulated about the incalculable riches that lay almost on the ground in the soil of the new Eldorado. Then all the vagabond imaginations began to ferment. All eyes were fixed on America, and the birds of prey that wanted a booty in Europe rushed with a loud cry of joy toward that unknown land, where they fancied they should find in a few days all the joys with which they had been gorged, and which they hoped this time to satisfy.
Unfortunately, in California, as elsewhere, the first condition for acquiring wealth is incessant, permanent, and regular labour.
On landing in America numerous poignant deceptions awaited the adventurers. The mines, indeed, existed—they were rich; but the gold they contained could only be extracted with great difficulty, great fatigue, and, above all, great expense—three impossibilities which our gold-seekers could not overcome.
Many perished either of want, or of a violent death through pot-house quarrels, or through the change of climate, to which they had not the time to grow accustomed. Those who survived, wan and ragged, displayed their starving faces in all the bad places of San Francisco, ready to do anything for the smallest sum of money that would lull their wolfish appetite.
In the meanwhile the first adventurers had been succeeded by others, and still they flocked in. The few, privileged by fortune, who returned to Europe rich in a few months, had naturally aroused the cupidity of the numberless pariahs of civilisation; and San Francisco, that country blessed by Heaven, whose climate is so fine and soil so fertile, threatened to become a vast and mournful cemetery.
At this time it happened that a few enterprising men, seeing their illusions fading away, and perceiving that the gold they coveted so ardently constantly fled before them while they were unable to catch it, turned their glances in another direction, and, despairing of growing rich in the mines, resolved to seize, sword and revolver in hand, those riches which it was impossible for them to acquire otherwise; that is to say, they resuscitated for their own behoof the filibustering expeditions of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
Thus was a new path opened to emerge from the frightful wretchedness in which they languished, and the adventurers eagerly entered upon it. Filibustering enterprises sprang up on all sides with as much regularity as if they had been perfectly respectable financial operations; and the plethora of San Francisco began, to the great relief of the peaceful population, to be diverted on the surrounding countries.
The count had, therefore, arrived at a propitious moment to put in execution the plan he meditated. He belonged to one of the oldest and noblest families in France. He enjoyed, and that justly, a spotless reputation in California; moreover, he was very strict in the selection of the men he enlisted; finally, he offered an honourable scope for their ambition, which is very flattering to men who have nothing to lose. Nothing more was needed to excite the emulation of all the ragamuffins, and urge them to place themselves under his orders.
Among the adventurers were many really estimable persons, who in no way merited the sad fate they were undergoing, and who, seduced by the unknown, had been attracted to California by the fallacious promises of European speculators, and had been the victims of the scoundrels who induced them to emigrate. These men endured their sufferings nobly, awaiting with the patience of well-tempered hearts the opportunity to take their revenge and regain that position which a moment of mad intoxication and credulous simplicity had made them forfeit.
The Count, with that infallible glance he possessed, and the knowledge of mankind which lengthened misfortune had enabled him to acquire, had picked out the best men from the crowd that daily invaded his house so soon as his intention became known, and assured himself of the co-operation of devoted comrades of tried courage, who, regarding the count's enterprise as the sole means of emerging from their frightful position, attached themselves to him with a firm resolve to do or die.
Hence we will assert here that of all the expeditions formed at that period in California, the only really honourable one which contained the elements of success was that led by Count Louis de Prébois Crancé.
We do not go beyond the mark when we say that the count was adored by his comrades. These rude adventurers, so harshly tried by destiny, had guessed, with the ineffable perspicacity of men who have suffered greatly, the inexhaustible kindness, perfect loyalty, and vast intelligence locked up in the heart of their chief, and how much tender solicitude and friendship for them were concealed beneath his mournful countenance and the imposing severity of his liquid blue eye. Thus it was not merely respect he inspired them with, but veneration and devotion, extending almost to fanaticism.
An expedition like that the count was preparing was no easy thing to organise, especially with the scanty resources he had at his disposal; for he only obtained vague promises from his partners, and was forced to seek in himself the means for satisfying all.
The rich placer which Belhumeur and Eagle-head pointed out to him had been worked in the time of the Spanish monarchy; but since the declaration of independence, carelessness and disorder having taken the place of the energy displayed by the Castilians, the Indians soon expelled the miners: the placer had, therefore, been temporarily abandoned. Then gradually the Apaches and Comanches, growing bolder as they perceived the weakness of the white men, advanced and recaptured vast territories, on which they established themselves permanently, knowing that the Mexicans would never attempt to drive them out. In this way the placer to which we allude, formerly situated in the possessions of New Spain, was now surrounded by Indian territory, and to reach it it was necessary to wage a mortal contest with the two most dangerous nations of the desert, the Apaches and Comanches, who would under no pretext suffer the invasion of their frontiers by the whites, but would defend their ground inch by inch against them.
The Mexican government had only authorised the formation of the mining company founded by the count on the express condition that the miners, organised as a military force, should pursue the Indians, attack them whenever they came up with them, and definitively expel them from the territory they had usurped since the proclamation of independence. The count had accepted a rough and almost impossible mission: any other in his place would have backed out and refused to accept such terms. But Count Louis was a man in a thousand, gifted with a rare energy, which obstacles only rendered greater. And then, personally, what did he care for the issue of the affair? It was not wealth, but death, he sought; still he did not wish to fall till he had given his comrades that wealth he had promised them, and rescued them from the stings of adverse fortune.
He accepted the conditions, then, but not blindly, ambitiously, or egotistically. He accepted them as a man of heart, who sacrifices himself for an idea, and for the general happiness; and who, while recognising the almost insurmountable difficulties that oppose the success of his noble projects, hopes to succeed in overcoming them by his courage, perseverance, and abnegation.
The energy, patience, and intelligence which the count had displayed during the two months since his parting with Valentine, no one but himself could have told. One of the clauses in his contract with the suspicious and shifting Mexican government obliged him not to take more than three hundred men with him. The President of the Republic, General Arista, doubtlessly feared the invasion and conquest of Mexico by the French, had they been four hundred in number.
These wretched conditions are so ridiculous, that they would be incredible were they not rigorously true. We could, if we pleased, write down here the words uttered in the Senate of Mexico, in which this fear of invasion is distinctly expressed.
The count, in order to dissipate all doubts on this head, and, above all, not to arouse suspicions, decided on only taking two hundred and sixty men instead of three hundred.
But this company, destined to traverse a country swarming with obstinate enemies, compelled during the journey to fight perhaps several times a day, constrained in this desolate country to supply its own wants (for it had no help to expect anywhere), must receive a powerful organisation.
This was what the count thought of first.
Those persons who have never worn that heavy harness called a military tunic cannot form even a distant idea of the thousand difficulties of detail which arise at every step in the complete organisation of a company, so that the service may be done properly, and the soldier not suffer needlessly.
The count was obliged to improvise. He had never served, and was not at all aware of the nature of such a task as his; but he was a gentleman and a Frenchman, two reasons for inventing what a man is ignorant of when war is the subject. The military genius is so innate in the French nation, that we may say every man is a soldier. At any rate, Louis proved it in an undeniable manner.
Obliged to foresee everything, and provide for all eventualities, he undertook everything; and, on seeing the nature of his arrangements, his men, all old soldiers and connoisseurs in such matters, were convinced that their chief had been long engaged in military affairs.
He made a regular army of his company; that is to say, he had infantry, cavalry, and artillery. In order that the discipline might be strictly maintained the infantry were divided into sections, commanded by tried men selected by himself. A few sailors, accustomed to handle guns, were appointed to serve a small mountain howitzer, which the count carried with him, more for the purpose of terrifying the Indians than in the hope that it would ever prove of use to him.
Lastly, some forty picked men, most of them old Chasseurs d'Afrique, formed the cavalry, and were placed under the orders of an officer for whom the count felt a peculiar esteem, whom he had known a long time, and in whose ability he placed entire confidence.
But what we have described was nothing when compared with what still remained to be done—purchasing arms, provisions, the necessary tools for working the mine, ammunition, and, above all, means of transport.
The count was not discouraged. He improvised a commissariat, and alone—alone we repeat; for he had refused the offer of large American bankers, who at length, recognising his value, had proposed to take an interest in his enterprise—with his scanty resources, he had done everything, organised everything, and now only awaited his foster brother's arrival, in order to pay the balance of his accounts, ship his company, and set sail.
Now that we have fully explained these matters to our reader, which are so important to a proper understanding of what follows, we will resume our narrative at the point where we were compelled to break it off.