The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Indian Chief, by Gustave Aimard.

Although the horses ridden by the count's escort were good, the hunters were mounted on such fast mustangs that they caught up Don Louis within twenty minutes of his leaving the hacienda. On hearing hurried footfalls behind them, the Frenchmen, not knowing who could be coming like a tornado after them, bravely wheeled round; but Belhumeur prevented any misunderstanding by making himself known.

"You are welcome, you and your companions, Belhumeur," the count said to him. "But what urgent reason compels you to gallop so late along the roads?"

"A service! Speak, my friend: whatever it may be, if it depends on me, it is granted before asking."

"My comrades and myself wish to have the honour of fighting by your side tomorrow."

"Then you are mistaken, my friend: you mean to say a service to render me. I heartily accept your proposition, and thank you for it cordially."

Belhumeur informed his friends of the success of his negotiation, and they rejoiced at it as if they had received the handsomest possible present. After this slight incident, the party, increased by the three new recruits, went onwards. The Frenchmen trotted on in the darkness like a troop of silent phantoms, bending over the necks of their horses, eagerly questioning the sounds that rose from the desert, and sounding the gloom in order to obtain some sign that they were approaching their comrades.

Captain Charles de Laville, though still very young, seemed predestined for the part he was playing at this moment. His glance was infallible, both as superior chief and as a subordinate leader: he not only understood with extreme rapidity the orders he received, but seized their meaning and carried them out with rare intelligence.[1] The count had not been in error for a moment about de Laville's brilliant qualities. Hence he had made him a favourite, and, whenever he had a difficult duty to intrust to anyone, he gave it to him, certain that he would perform it with honour. The success surpassed his hopes on this occasion; for De Laville executed the advance movement with such precision and in such profound silence that the count almost found himself up with the rear before he suspected he was anywhere near it.

In order to march more rapidly, and not be in any way detained, the captain had left his wagons and baggage at a deserted rancho about a league from the city, under the guard of the invalids, who, although too weak to fight in the ranks of the company, could yet, behind intrenchments, offer a sufficiently lengthened resistance to allow their comrades to come to their assistance.

The count passed through the ranks, saluted in an affectionate voice by his men, and placed himself at the head of the column. For two months past the fatigue Don Louis had endured, and the constant state of excitement in which events kept him, had seriously injured his health; and it was only by his energy and will that he succeeded in conquering his illness and keeping upright. He understood that if he gave way all was lost: hence he wrestled with his sufferings, and though a fever devoured him, his face remained calm, and nothing revealed to his comrades the sufferings he endured with the courage of a stoic. Still he suddenly felt himself attacked by such a feeling of weakness, that had not Valentine, who guessed his condition, and watched over him like a mother, held him in his arms, he must have fallen from his horse.

"Nothing," he answered, as he passed his hand over his forehead, which was dank with icy perspiration and fatigue; "but," he added, "it has gone off now."

"Take care, brother," he said to him with a sad shrug of his shoulders: "you do not nurse yourself enough."

"Eh? Can I do it? But be not alarmed. I know what I want: the smell of powder will restore me. Look, look! we have reached our destination at last."

In fact, by the first rays of the sun, which rose majestically above the horizon, Hermosillo, with its white houses glistening, now was visible about a cannon shot off. An immense shout of joy from the whole company greeted the so-ardently-desired appearance of the city. The order to halt was given. The city was silent—it seemed deserted: not a sound was heard within its walls. So calm, quiet, and dumb was it, that you might have fancied that you had before you that city in the Arabian Nights which a wicked enchanter struck with his wand and plunged into eternal sleep.

The country was deserted. Only here and there the fragments of arms, uniforms, sandals, the footsteps of horses, and the furrows of carts indicated the recent passage of General Guerrero's troops. The count examined the city for a while with the utmost attention, in order to make his final arrangements, when suddenly two horsemen appeared on the bridge to which we have already alluded, and galloped toward the company, waving a flag of truce.

"What do you want, gentlemen, and who are you?" he said when he came up to them.

"I recognise you, sir. Your name is Thollus, I believe, and you are a merchant at Hermosillo."

"Don Jacinto Jabalí,[2] a juez de letras, I suppose, or something of that sort, a great friend of General Guerrero. Well, gentlemen, I do not exactly see what we can have in common."

"Pardon me, sir, we are sent to you by Señor Don Flavio Agustado, Prefect of Hermosillo, in order to make certain propositions to you."

"Yes, sir, and very advantageous propositions too," the merchant said in an insinuating tone.

"For you possibly, sir, who sell calico and false jewellery, but I hardly think so for me."

"Still, if you would permit me to fulfil my mission, and tell you these conditions, it is possible——"

"What do you say? Why, my good sir, I want nothing better. Acquit yourself of your mission—that is only too proper; still, make haste, for I am pressed for time."

M. Thollus drew himself up, and after consulting for a moment with his companion, he continued his speech, Don Louis standing coldly and like a rock of granite before him.

"Monsieur le comte, Don Flavio Agustado, Prefect of Hermosillo, whom I have the honour to represent——"

"Offers you, if you consent to retire with your army without making an attempt on the city," the negotiator continued—"offers you, I say, the sum of——"

"Enough, sir!" the count exclaimed, red with indignation; "a word more would be an insult which, in spite of your quality as a flag of truce, I might not have the patience to let pass unpunished. And it is you, sir, a man who calls himself a Frenchman, who dares to become the bearer of such dishonouring conditions? You lie, you are not my countryman—I disown you as such."

"Still, monsieur le comte——" the poor fellow stammered, completely taken aback by this galling reprimand, and not knowing how to look.

"Enough!" the count interrupted him; and drawing his watch from his pocket, he said in a peremptory tone, which admitted of no reply, and terrified the negotiators. "It is now eight o'clock. Go and tell your prefect that in two hours I shall attack the city, and at eleven shall be master of it. Begone!"

And with a gesture of supreme contempt he ordered them to retire. The unlucky envoys did not wait to hear the order repeated; they turned back at once, and regained the city with hanging heads. The count galloped up to the head of the column, where the officers were assembled slightly in advance of the ranks, impatiently awaiting the result of the conference.

The news was greeted with a shout of joy, which had the effect of increasing the speed of the negotiators, in whose ears it echoed like a death knell. After this the count, with extreme simplicity and clearness, pointed out to each officer the post he must occupy during the action. He placed the whole of the cavalry under the orders of Captain de Laville; selected Don Cornelio, who had only rejoined the company on the previous evening, as his aide-de-camp; and, at Valentine's request, he placed under the latter's orders the Canadian hunters and the Indians, with authority to act as he thought proper, and in whatever way he considered most advantageous to the common welfare.

De Laville, sent forward with a dozen horsemen to reconnoitre, soon returned, announcing that the city appeared to be in a complete state of defence, that the roofs of the houses were covered with soldiers, that the tocsin was pealing from all the churches, and the drums making a frightful disturbance. At this moment a spy announced that a body of two to three hundred Indians was apparently threatening the baggage, and the count at once sent off ten men to reinforce the small garrison he had left in the rear. This final duty accomplished, he ordered the company to form a circle, and placed himself in the centre. Then he spoke in a voice trembling with emotion.

"Comrades," he said, "the hour to avenge ourselves for all the villainy practised on us during the last four months, and the atrocious calumnies spread about us, has at length struck. But let us not forget that we are Frenchmen; and if we have been patient under insults, let us he magnanimous after victory. We did not desire war; it was forced upon us, and we accept it. But remember that we are fighting for the liberty of a people, and that our enemies of today will be our brothers tomorrow. Let us be terrible during the combat, merciful after the battle. One last word, or rather a final prayer. Leave the Mexicans the responsibility of firing the first shot, so that it may be evident that up to the last moment we desired peace. Now, brothers, long live France!"

The order was executed with marvellous precision. Don Louis drew out his watch: it was ten o'clock. Then he unsheathed his sabre, wielded it round his head, and turning to the company, every man in which had his eyes fixed on the leader, he shouted in a sonorous voice,—

We have mentioned the bridge which alone gave admission to the city: this bridge was barricaded, and at the other end was a house crowded with soldiers from the cellars to the azotea. A silence of death brooded over the plain. The Frenchmen marched on coolly, as if on parade, with heads raised and flashing eyes. On arriving within musket shot the walls were begirt with a line of fire, and a frightful discharge scattered death among the Frenchmen. The company at once broke into skirmishing order, and rushed onwards.

At this moment an unheard-of, incredible thing was seen—a city of 10,000 souls, surrounded by walls, and defended by a numerous garrison, attacked by 250 men fighting in the Indian way; that is, in skirmishing order. The artillery, dragged by its gunners, advanced at the same speed, and only stopped to load and fire.

Even before the Mexicans had time to look round the Frenchmen were on them like a whirlwind, attacked them at the bayonet's point, drove back the defenders of the bridge, and entered without a check the city, sweeping before them, in their irresistible attack, all that opposed their passage. Then the real battle began. The Frenchmen found themselves opposite four guns loaded with grape, which swept the whole length of the street at the end of which they were; while to the right and left, from windows and roofs, a shower of bullets pattered on them. The position was becoming critical. The count dismounted, and turning to his soldiers with the shout, "Who'll take the guns?" he rushed forward.

"We, we!" the Frenchmen yelled, as they chased after him with unexampled frenzy.

The artillerymen were sabred at their guns, the muzzles of which were immediately turned on the Mexicans. At this moment the count perceived, as in a cloud, Valentine and his hunters, who were fighting like demons, and massacring the Indians pitilessly, who tried in vain to resist them.

"Good heavens!" Black Elk said with beatitude at every blow he dealt, "it was a lucky idea of mine to come."

Valentine had turned the city, and taking advantage of a forgotten ladder, escaladed the wall, and, without striking a blow, made prisoners the post stationed there, which was commanded by an officer.

"Thanks for the ladder, comrade," he said to the latter with a grin; and opening the gate of the city, he allowed the cavalry to enter.

Still the Mexicans fought with the energy of despair. General Guerrero, who flattered himself with the hope of giving the French a severe lesson, surprised and terrified by their fury, no longer knew what measures to take in order to resist these invincible demons, as he called them, whom nothing could arrest, and who, without deigning to reply to their enemies' fire, had only fought with the bayonet since their first discharge.

Driven in on all sides, the general concentrated his troops on the Alameda, and protected the approaches by guns loaded with canister. In spite of the enormous losses they had suffered, the Mexicans were still more than six hundred combatants, resolved to defend themselves to the death. The count sent Don Cornelio to Captain de Laville with orders to charge and sabre the last defenders of the city, while he made a flank movement with the infantry. The captain started immediately at a gallop, overthrowing with his horse's chest all obstacles. His pace was so hurried that he arrived alone in front of the enemy.

The Mexicans, terrified at the extraordinary audacity of this man, hesitated for a moment; but at the repeated orders of their chiefs they opened their fire on de Laville, who seemed to mock them, and the balls began whistling like hail past the ears of the intrepid Frenchman, who remained calm and motionless in the midst of this shower of lead. Valentine, frightened by the captain's boldness, doubled his speed, and brought up all the cavalry.

"Hang it, de Laville!" he exclaimed with admiration, "what are you doing there?"

"You see, my friend," the latter answered with charming simplicity, "I am waiting for you."[3]

Electrified by these noble words, the French dashed on the Alameda, and charged to the other end with shouts of "Long live France!" a shout to which the count's infantry responded from the other side of the Alameda, while attacking the Mexicans at the bayonet's point.

There were a few moments of deadly struggling and a horrible carnage. The count, in the height of the medley, fought like the meanest of his soldiers, exciting them incessantly, and urging them forward. At last, in spite of their desperate resistance, the Mexicans, pitilessly sabred by the French, no longer able to organise any effectual defence, and frightened by the ardour and invincible courage of their adversaries, whom they regarded as demons, began to break and fly in every direction. In spite of the fatigue of the horses, de Laville started in pursuit with his cavalry.

Hermosillo was taken—the Count de Prébois Crancé was victorious. Stopping in the midst of the pile of corpses which surrounded him, he drew his watch coldly, and consulted it. It was eleven o'clock, as the count had told the envoys in the morning: he had become master of the city at eleven o'clock exactly. The battle had lasted an hour.

"Now, brothers," the count said, as he returned his sabre to the scabbard, "the city is ours! Enough blood has been shed: let us think of aiding the wounded. Long live France!"

[1] We must be pardoned for laying such stress on the character of the young chieftain of Guetzalli, who has doubtless been already recognised, and whose name we are now authorised, to our great delight, to reveal. After the hapless end of the Marquis de Pindray the colony of Cocospera unanimously chose as his successor Monsieur O. de la Chapelle, a young man whom his eminent qualifications recommended for all suffrages. It is he who figures in our story under the pseudonym of de Laville. Monsieur O. de la Chapelle died at an early age. This premature end was deeply felt by all his friends, among whom the author, though he knew him but very slightly, is happy to call himself, and to testify it by showing the heroic part he played in the glorious expedition which forms the subject matter of this work.—G.A.

CHAPTER XXII.

AFTER THE VICTORY.

Never before had a more brilliant victory been gained by troops numerically so weak, and under conditions apparently so unfavourable. The Mexican array evacuated Hermosillo in the utmost disorder, abandoning three hundred dead and wounded, baggage of every description, guns, ammunition, and flags. The rout was complete.

General Guerrero, shame on his brow and rage in his heart, fled at full speed along the Ures road, pursued closely by the French cavalry. The count had made a large number of prisoners, among whom were several Mexican officers.

The joy of the adventurers bordered on madness. Still the brilliant advantages had not been gained without a sensible loss, regard being had to the numerical strength of the army. It had lost twenty-two men—an enormous amount, which evidenced the obstinacy of the fight, and the courage with which the Mexicans had fought. Among the dead the count had to regret several of his best-beloved officers, brave young fellows, who had fallen at the head of their sections while urging their men on.

The count, although his clothes were riddled with bullets, had not received a scratch: it seemed as if a charm protected him, for no one had spared his life less than himself during the fight. He had ever been in the thickest of the action, in advance of his comrades, encouraging them by word and deed, and only employing his sabre to ward off blows that came too near him.

So soon as the battle was over the count proceeded to the Cabildo, whither the Mexican authorities were convened, in order to settle with him as to the safety of the city. Don Cornelio had not left him during the fight: he had done his duty bravely by his side.

"Don Cornelio," he said to him, "I am pleased with you; you behaved most bravely. I wish to reward you by intrusting to you a mission of the highest importance. Are you too tired to get on horseback?"

"That is true. Here are two letters, one for Don Rafaël, which you will deliver in passing the Hacienda del Milagro: when you get in sight of La Magdalena you will tear the envelope off the other, and carry it to the address you will read on it; but in the event of your being stopped or taken prisoner on the road, that letter must not be found on you, and no one must know its contents. You understand me?"

"Very good. Now get a fresh horse and start without the loss of a moment: it is a question of life and death."

These words were accompanied by a sinister smile, which passed unnoticed by the count. Don Cornelio left the room, and five minutes later his horse's hoofs could be heard echoing on the pavement.

At this moment Valentine entered. The hunter's features, usually so calm, were convulsed, and he seemed suffering from extreme agitation. He looked around him on entering.

"What are you looking for?" the count asked him; "and what is the meaning of the state in which I see you?"

"It means——" Valentine answered. "But stay, better so. Take a glance at these papers which I seized in the house of General Guerrero."

He handed the count a bundle of letters and other papers, which the other rapidly read through.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, stamping his foot passionately, "such great ingratitude after so many acts of kindness! A thousand devils! this land is, then, accursed, that treason should spring up under every blade of grass."

"Fortunately we have the proofs to hand. I will take on myself to arrest the villain."

"He has set out on a mission of the highest importance, which I intrusted to him for the leaders of the malcontents."

"Confusion!" the hunter said; "what is to be done? It is plain that the scoundrel will sell our secrets to the enemy."

"That is true: if only to lull suspicion to sleep, he will do so. I will be off to the hacienda at once."

"It is unnecessary. I swear that if this devil's own Don Cornelio falls into my hands, I will crush him like the viper he is. Good-by."

The hunter hurriedly left the Cabildo, and a few minutes later, followed by Belhumeur, Black Elk, Curumilla, and Eagle-head, he was galloping at full speed along the road to the hacienda.

The count then occupied himself, before taking a moment's rest, in organising the tranquillity and security of the city. As most of the Mexican authorities had taken flight, he appointed others, had the dead buried, and arranged an hospital for the sick, the direction of which he gave to Father Seraphin, whose evangelic devotion was beyond all praise.

Posts and main guards were established, and patrols received orders to march about the city in order to maintain tranquillity—a useless measure of precaution, for the inhabitants appeared as joyful as the French. The streets were hung with flags, and on all sides could be heard shouts of "Long live France! long live Sonora!" repeated with an expression of indescribable satisfaction.

When the count had discharged these imperious duties, his mind being no longer over-excited by the necessity of the moment, nature, conquered for an instant, gained the upper hand with an extreme of reaction, and Don Louis fell back almost fainting into the chair where he had been working without relaxation for nearly eight hours. He remained thus without help until a late hour of the night, for he had not the strength to call for assistance.

At length Captain de Laville entered to make his chief a report about the result of the pursuit of the Mexicans. He was terrified at the state in which he found Don Louis; for the count was suffering from a violent fever, attended by delirium. The captain immediately summoned the company's surgeon, and the count was laid in a hastily-prepared bed.

The surgeon could not be found, and a Mexican doctor came in his stead. This man declared that the count was suffering from an attack of dysentery, and made him drink a potion which he prepared at once. The count fell into a species of lethargic sleep which lasted ten hours. Fortunately the company's surgeon at length arrived. After a glance at the count, and examining the few drops of the potion left in the glass, the doctor immediately had eggs beaten in milk administered to the count, and ordered all his limbs to be rubbed with hot napkins.

"Why, doctor," the captain remarked to him, "what sort of treatment is this? The physician assured me that the count had the dysentery."

"Yes," he said, "he has a dysentery; but do you know what the physician gave him?"

At this moment the physician entered. He was a plump little man, with the look of a frightened cat. The captain seized him by the collar, and dragged him into a corner of the room.

"Look here!" he said to him, pointing to the glass the surgeon still held in his hand. "Of what was that potion composed you gave the count?"

"Poison!" he exclaimed, raising his eyes and arms to heaven. "Could it be possible? Oh, let us see!"

The word appeared so precious to the Frenchmen that, in spite of their anger and alarm, they could not prevent it, but burst into a loud laugh. The little doctor took advantage of this attack of gaiety to escape very quietly, and could never be found again, though carefully sought for: he had probably left the city.

Thanks to the intelligent and affectionate care of the surgeon, however, the effects of the poison were neutralised. The count felt a little better, and gave orders that the company should assemble at once in the patio of the Cabildo. The command was rapidly obeyed, and within an hour the company was drawn up under arms in the courtyard. The count came down, leaning on the arm of Captain de Laville.

"My comrades," he said, "I am ill, as you can see. Still I have called you together to inform you of an engagement I have made in your name with the inhabitants of Hermosillo. I declared that even if you walked over piles of piastres and ounces, you would not stoop down to pick them up. Was I wrong?"

"We are no pirates, whatever they may say," the count continued, "and the hour has arrived to prove it."

The company was dismissed, and carefully kept its promise: not a waist-buckle was stolen by these half-naked men, who for four months had been suffering the most horrible privations.

The count's condition, however, instead of becoming better, grew worse daily, in spite of the anxious attentions of the doctor and Father Seraphin, who had posted himself by his bed, and never left him. In Don Louis the mind wore out the body. Since Don Cornelio's departure he had received no news either of the Spaniard or Valentine. Two faithful men, sent to the Hacienda del Milagro, had not returned, and neither Don Rafaël nor Doña Angela gave a sign of life.

This silence became incomprehensible. On the other hand, the situation of the company was growing daily more serious. The count, master of a powerful city, found himself more isolated than before; the pueblos that should have risen did not stir; the man to whom the count had written, and who had pledged himself to give the signal for revolt, gave no reply to the appeal, and remained indifferent to the repeated entreaties Don Louis made him.

Unfortunately dysentery is one of those frightful diseases which completely annihilate a man's faculties, and for a very long period the count was incapable of attending to anything. Señor Pavo had come at full speed from Guaymas to Hermosillo, ostensibly to felicitate the count on his gallant exploit, but in reality to be able to betray him with greater facility.

Don Louis was alone, without friends in whom he could trust, lying on a bed of pain, internally devoured by a mortal restlessness, and a prey to a profound despair at seeing himself reduced to a state of powerlessness, and losing the fruits of his toil and fatigues.

Captain de Laville, the only man in whom he could have trusted at the moment, was attacked by the same illness as his chief, and, like him, was incapable of acting. Señor Pavo skilfully profited by this state of affairs to sow seeds of disaffection among the Frenchmen. The count was the soul of the company—the only tie that rendered it compact and united: in his absence from his duties all went wrong.

A system was then organised in the shade by Don Pavo. This system consisted in continual demonstrations on the part of the adventurers, who at every hour of the day came one after the other to lay before the count the most absurd grievances, and threaten to leave him. At last matters reached such a pitch that it was necessary to come to some decision.

Two courses offered themselves: the first, to give up the results of the victory of Hermosillo, and retreat on Guaymas. This was suggested to the count by the French representative, Señor Don Antonio Mendez Pavo. The second was to await at Hermosillo, while holding their ground by force and risking a siege, the succours which must speedily arrive from California, where they were being rapidly organised. So greatly had the news of the brilliant victory gained by the count electrified the minds of the adventurers, and inflamed their imagination.

These two courses were equally repugnant to the count. The first seemed to him shameful; the second impracticable. Still the situation was growing every day more and more intolerable, when at this moment a strange event occurred, which, had we been writing a romance instead of a history, would have seemed to us too startling for credibility.

The company, incessantly excited by the hypocritical pity of Señor Pavo, and the dark intrigues he set at work, had fallen into a state of perfect insubordination towards the count, and almost open revolt. Seeing that Don Louis was too ill to act vigorously, and incapable of opposing anything they pleased to do, the men let him know that, unless he consented to give the order for retreat, they would leave Hermosillo and abandon him.

The count was forced to yield. General Guerrero had pledged his word that the retreat should not be disquieted, Don Louis succeeded in obtaining hostages who responded for the safety of the sick he was compelled to leave behind, and with a breaking heart, no strength or courage left, he was borne away in a litter. A reaction took place among the volunteers at the sight of their well-beloved chief, reduced to this miserable state, and almost dead of sorrow. They pressed round him, swearing obedience and fidelity, and promising him to fall to the last man for him. A melancholy smile played round the pallid lips of the dying man, for these proofs of devotion came too late. The count, crushed by a succession of insults, had drunk the cup to the dregs: he no longer put faith in his comrades.

The retreat commenced. In spite of the general's solemn pledge, it was an uninterrupted succession of skirmishes; but a final ray of glory was reflected on the French. The adventurers, aroused by the smell of powder, found all their courage once more to victoriously repulse the attacks of the Mexicans, whom they compelled to retreat pitiably, and give up any further annoyances.

The company camped about three leagues from Guaymas, resolved to force a passage, and enter that port the next day in spite of any opposition. The count, slightly revived by the prospect of an approaching combat, had fallen asleep after making all his preparations, when toward midnight he was aroused by the arrival of a flag of truce.

The envoys were Señor Pavo and a merchant of Guaymas, who came on behalf of General Guerrero. They were bearers of an armistice for forty-eight hours; and a letter from the general, who earnestly begged the count to come to him in order to arrange the terms of peace.

"I consent to the armistice," the count replied. "Let the general send me an escort, and I will go to him."

"For what use?" he said with discouragement. "I am the only person they care for: if a trap is set for me, I will fall into it alone."

"Return to Guaymas, gentlemen, and be good enough to tell General Guerrero that I thank him, and am awaiting his escort."

The escort arrived at daybreak, and the count set out, after a last and melancholy glance at his comrades, who witnessed his departure with aching hearts and tears in their eyes. Henceforth the divorce between the count and the adventurers was accomplished.

General Guerrero, on the count's entrance to Guaymas, ordered the honours due to a commander-in-chief to be paid him. Don Louis smiled with disdain. What did he care for these empty ceremonies?

The count and the general had a lengthened conversation together. The general had not yet given up his projects of seduction; but this time, like the first, the count answered with a positive refusal.

The company was henceforth surrendered defencelessly to the machinations of Señor Pavo. This man lost no time, and by his advice the adventurers sent as a deputation to the count two ignorant sailors, with orders to come to a settlement with him at any price. These two emissaries were selected by Señor Pavo, for the worthy man knew perfectly well what he was about. The two sailors presented themselves at the count's house, who sent out a message to them that he was engaged at the moment, and begged them to wait a little while. The ambassadors, ruffled in their self-esteem, and puffed up with the importance of the mission intrusted to them, left the count's house immediately, swearing at his insolence, and went straight to the palace of General Guerrero.

The latter, advised beforehand, knew what would happen, and was impatiently awaiting them. He ordered them to be admitted at once so soon as they sent in their names, and received them most graciously: then, when he had sufficiently intoxicated them with flattery, he made them sign—that is to say, make a cross at the foot of—a treaty, in which they recognised that, having been deceived and abandoned in a cowardly manner by their chief, they pledged themselves to lay down their arms and quit the country for a sum of eleven thousand piastres.[1] We must confess that General Guerrero made a capital bargain, for the arms came into his possession. Oh! the Mexicans are famous negotiators, and, above all, most crafty diplomatists.

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

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

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

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

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

[1] A little over £2000.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE HACIENDA DEL MILAGRO.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE BOAR AT BAY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In this state of affairs General Alvarez pronounced against Santa Anna, President of the Republic, and summoned the chiefs of all the corps scattered through the provinces to revolt. General Guerrero hesitated, or pretended to hesitate, ere declaring himself. Suddenly it was heard with amazement, almost with stupor, that the Count de Prébois Crancé had landed at Guaymas. This is what had occurred.

Immediately after that conversation with his daughter, of which we have quoted a part, the general paid a visit to Señor Don Antonio Mendez Pavo. This visit was a long one. The two gentlemen conversed secretly together, after which the general returned to his house rubbing his hands.

In the meanwhile Don Louis was at San Francisco, sorrowful and gloomy, ashamed of the result of an expedition so well begun, furious with the traitors who had caused its failure, and burning—shall we confess it?—in spite of Valentine's wise exhortations, to take his revenge. From several quarters simultaneously influential persons invited the count to undertake a second expedition. The money requisite for the purchase of arms and enrolment of volunteers was offered him. Louis had also had secret interviews with two bold adventurers, Colonel Walker and Colonel Fremont, who at a later date was a candidate for the presidency of the United States. These two men made him advantageous offers; but the count declined them, owing to the omnipotent intervention of the hunter.

Still the count had fallen into a black melancholy. The man once so gentle and benevolent had become harsh and sardonic. He doubted himself and others. The treachery to which he had been a victim embittered his character to such a degree that his best friends began to be seriously apprehensive.

He never spoke of Doña Angela—her name never rose from his heart to his lips; but his hand frequently sought on his breast the relic she gave him on their first meeting, and when he was alone he kissed it fondly with many a tear. The arrival of Curumilla at San Francisco produced a complete change; the count appeared to have suddenly recovered all his hopes and all his illusions; the smile reappeared on his lips, and fugitive rays of gaiety illumined his brow.

Two men arrived soon after Curumilla, whose names we will not mention, lest we should sully the pages of this book. In a few days these men, doubtlessly following the instructions they had received, took complete possession of the count's mind, and hurled him back into the torrent from which his foster-brother had found such difficulty in drawing him.

One evening the two were seated in a room of the house they occupied in common, and smoking a pipe after dinner.

"You will come with me, my brother, I trust?" the count said, turning to Valentine.

"Nothing, it is true. My life is a burden to me, as yours is to you; but we have before us the boundless desert, the immense horizon of the prairies. Why not recommence our happy life of hunting and liberty, instead of trusting to the fallacious promises of these heartless Mexicans, who have already made you suffer so deeply, and whose infamous treachery brought you to your present condition?"

"Listen," Valentine went on. "You no longer possess that ardent enthusiasm which sustained you on your first expedition. You lack faith. You do not yourself believe in success."

"You are mistaken, brother. I am more certain of, success now than I was then; for I have as my allies the men who were formerly my most obstinate foes."

"Well, no," he said. "I will conceal nothing from you. My destiny drags me on. I know that I am proceeding, not to conquest, but to death. But no matter; I must, I will see her again. Here, read!"

The count drew from his breast the letter Curumilla brought him, and handed it to Valentine; the latter read it.

"Thanks! Good heavens!" he added sadly, "I do not deceive myself: I know the old Latin proverb which says Non bis in idem: what is once missed is so for ever. I do not allow myself to be deceived by the hypocritical protestations of General Guerrero and his worthy acolyte, Señor Pavo. I know perfectly well that both will betray me on the first opportunity. Well, be it so. I shall have seen again the woman who expects me, who summons me, who is all in all to me. If I fall I shall have a tomb worthy of me. The road I have traced others happier than I will follow, and bear civilisation to those countries which you and I once dreamed of emancipating."

Valentine could not restrain a sad smile at these words, which completely revealed the count's character—a strange composite of the most varying elements, and in which passion, pride, and enthusiasm waged an unceasing contest.

The next day Louis opened a recruiting office, and a week later embarked on board a schooner with his volunteers. The voyage commenced with an evil augury, for the adventurers were wrecked. Had it not been for Curumilla, who saved him at the risk of his life, it would have been all over with the count. The adventurers remained twelve days abandoned on a rock.

"The Romans would have seen a foreboding in our shipwreck," the count said with a sigh, "and would have given up an expedition so inauspiciously begun."

"We should do wisely in following their example," Valentine said sadly: "there is yet time."

The count shrugged his shoulders in reply. A few days later they arrived at Guaymas. Señor Pavo received the count most kindly, and proposed, himself, to present him to the general.

Don Louis allowed him to do so. His heart beat at the thought that he was possibly about to see Doña Angela again, but nothing of the sort took place. The general was extremely gracious to the count, spoke to him with feigned candour, and appeared ready to accept his propositions. Don Louis brought with him two hundred men and arms, and placed his sword at his disposal, if he intended to join the Governor-General Alvarez. Don Sebastian, while not replying absolutely to these advances, still allowed it to be seen that they were not displeasing to him; he even went further, for he almost promised the count to give him the command of the French battalion—a promise which, on his side, the count feigned to hear with the greatest pleasure.