Gustave Aimard
The Adventurers
CHAPTER XVII
THE PUELCHES
"Eh! eh!" said Valentine, whistling sharply to his dog, who immediately came to him; "these fellows do not seem to have friendly intentions; we must be upon our guard: who knows what may happen?"
"They are Araucanos," said Louis.
"Do you think so? Then they are devilish ugly!"
"Well, now, for my part, I think them very handsome."
"Ah, yes; that may be in an artistic point of view. But, ugly or handsome, we will await their coming."
The Indians talked among themselves, and continued to look at the young men.
"They are consulting to determine with what sauce they shall eat us," said Valentine.
"Not at all – "
"Bah! I tell you they are."
"Pardieu! they are not cannibals!"
"No? So much the worse; that's a defect. In Paris, all the savages exhibited in public are cannibals."
"You madman! you laugh at everything."
"Would you prefer my weeping a little? It appears to me that at this moment our position is not so seducing in itself that we should seek to make it more dismal."
These Indians were for the most part men of from forty to forty-five years of age, clothed in the costume of the Puelches, one of the most warlike tribes of Upper Araucania; they wore the poncho floating from the shoulders, the calzoneras fastened round the hips and falling to the ankle, the head bare, the hair long, straight, and greasy, gathered together by a red ribbon, which encircled the brow like a diadem, and the face painted of various colours. Their arms consisted of a long lance, a knife, a gun hanging from the saddle, and a round buckler, covered with leather, ornamented with horsehair and human scalps.
The man who appeared to be their chief was a man of lofty stature, expressive features, hard and haughty, but still displayed a certain frankness, a very rare quality among Indians. The only thing which distinguished him from his companions was a feather of the eagle of the Andes, planted upright on the left side of his head, in the bright red ribbon that confined his hair.
After having consulted with his companions for a few minutes, the chief advanced towards the travellers, making his horse curvet with inimitable grace, and lowered the point of his lance in sign of peace. When within three paces of Valentine, he stopped, and, after saluting him ceremoniously, in the Indian fashion, by placing his right hand on his breast, and slowly bowing his head twice, he said to him in Spanish: —
"My brothers are Muruches – foreigners, – and not Culme-Huinca – despicable Spaniards. Why are they so far from the men of their own nation?"
This question, asked in the guttural accent, and with the emphatic tone peculiar to the Indians, was perfectly understood by the young men, who, as we have before observed, generally spoke Spanish themselves.
"Hum!" Valentine said to his companion, "here is a savage who appears to have a little curiosity about him – what think you?"
"Bah!" Louis replied, "answer him, at all events that will do no harm."
"Why, no, that is true; we cannot easily be more compromised than we are already."
And turning towards the chief, who waited impassibly,
"We are travelling," he said, laconically.
"What! alone, thus?" asked the chief.
"Does that astonish you, my friend?"
"Do my brothers fear nothing?"
"What should we fear?" said the Parisian in a bantering tone. "We have nothing to lose."
"What! not even your hair?"
Louis could not refrain from laughing, as he looked at Valentine.
"Ah! ah! what, he is laughing at the disordered state of my hair, is he, the ugly wretch?" Valentine grumbled, vexed at the observation of the chief, and quite mistaking his intentions. "Stop a bit!" then he added, in a loud voice, "Have the goodness to pass on, gentlemen savages. Your remarks are not pleasant, I can assure you."
He cocked his rifle, and lifted it to his shoulder, as if taking aim at the chief. Louis, who had attentively followed the progress of the conversation, without saying a word imitated the action of his friend, directing the barrel of his rifle towards the group of Indians. The chief had, doubtless, understood but little of the speeches of his adversaries, but far from appearing terrified at the menacing attitude they assumed, he seemed to contemplate with pleasure the martial and firm deportment of the Frenchmen; and putting gently on one side the weapon pointed against his breast, said in a conciliatory tone:
"My friend is mistaken. I have no intention of insulting him. I am his penni– brother – and his companion's likewise. Were not the palefaces eating when I and my young men came up?"
"Faith! yes, chief, you say true," interrupted Louis, with a smile; "your sudden appearance stopped the progress of our humble repast."
"Part of which is very much at your service," continued Valentine, pointing with his finger to the provisions spread upon the grass.
"I accept your offer," said the Indian, cordially.
"Bravo!" cried Valentine, throwing down his rifle, and preparing to resume his seat on the grass; "to table, then!"
"Yes," replied the chief, "but upon one condition."
"What is that?" the young men asked together.
"That I shall furnish my part."
"Agreed," said Louis.
"Well, that is but fair," Valentine added; "and it will be the more acceptable, from our not being rich, and having but meagre fare to offer you."
"The bread of a friend is always good," the chief said, sententiously.
"That is admirably answered! But, at this moment, unfortunately, our bread is only stale biscuit."
"I will remedy that;" and the chief said a few words in the Molucho language to his companions, who began to rummage in their alforjas, and quickly produced maize tortillas, some charqui, and several leathern bottles filled with chica – a sort of cider made of apples and Indian corn. The whole was placed upon the grass before the two Frenchmen, who were wonderstruck at the sudden abundance which had succeeded without any transition to their late short commons. The Indians dismounted, and sat down in a circle round the travellers. The chief, then turning towards his guests, said with a pleasant smile —
"Now, then, let my brothers eat."
The young men did not require the cordial invitation to be repeated, but vigorously attacked the provisions so frankly offered. For the first few minutes silence prevailed among the party, for all were too well engaged to talk; but as soon as appetite was a little appeased, conversation was resumed.
Of all men, Indians, perhaps, understand the laws of hospitality the best. They have an instinct of social conventions, if such an expression may be allowed, which makes them divine at once, with infallible correctness, what the questions are that may be properly addressed to their guests, and the point at which they should stop to avoid committing any indiscretion. The two Frenchmen, who for the first time found themselves in contact with Araucanos, could not overcome the surprise caused by the knowledge of life, and the noble and frank manners of these men, whom, on the faith of accounts more or less false, they were accustomed, in common with all Europeans, to consider as gross savages, almost destitute of intelligence, and quite incapable of any delicacy of behaviour.
"My brothers are not Spaniards?" the chief said, half interrogatively.
"That is true," Louis replied; "but how did you discover that?"
"Oh!" he said, with a disdainful smile, "we are well acquainted with those chiaplos– wicked soldiers. They are too old enemies to allow us to commit an error with regard to them. From what island do my brothers come?"
"Our country is not an island," Valentine observed.
"My brother is mistaken," the chief said emphatically; "there is but one country that is not an island, and that is the great land of the Aucas."
The two young men bowed their heads before an opinion so peremptorily put forth – all discussion became impossible.
"We are Frenchmen," Louis replied.
"Frenchmen! ah! a good brave nation! We had several French warriors in the time of the great war."
"What!" said Louis, with excited curiosity, "have French warriors fought with you?"
"Yes," the chief remarked, proudly; "warriors with grey beards, and breasts marked with honourable scars, which they received in the wars of their island, when they fought under the orders of their great chief, Zaléon."
"Napoleon?" said Valentine, quite astonished.
"Yes; I believe it is so the palefaces pronounce his name. Did my brother know him?" the chief added, with ill-concealed curiosity.
"No," replied the young man. "Although born in his reign, I was never able to get sight of him, and he is now dead."
"My brother is mistaken," said the Puelche, solemnly; "such warriors as he do not die. When they have performed their task upon earth they go to Paradise – to hunt with Pillian, the master of the world."
The young men bowed, as if convinced.
"It is very singular," said Louis, "that the reputation of that powerful genius should have spread to the most remote and unknown regions of the globe, and be preserved pure and brilliant among these rude men; whilst in that France, for which he did everything men invariably seek to lessen it, and even to destroy it."
"Like all their compatriots, who, from time to time, traverse our hunting grounds, our brothers have, doubtless, trading purposes in coming among us. Where are your goods?" said the chief.
"We are not traders," replied Valentine; "we came to visit our brothers, the Araucanos, of whose wisdom and hospitality we have heard much."
"The Moluchos love the French," the chief said, flattered by the compliment; "my brothers will be well received in our villages."
"To what tribe does my brother belong?" asked Valentine, inwardly delighted at the good opinion the Indians entertained of his compatriots.
"I am one of the principal Ulmens of the sacred tribe of the Great Hare," the chief said, proudly.
"Thank you – one word more."
"Let my brother speak; my ears are open."
"We are in search of a Molucho chief, to whom we have a message from a friend of his, with whom he has had much dealing."
"What is the chief's name?"
"Antinahuel."
"Good!"
"Does my brother know him?"
"I know him. If my brothers will follow me they shall see the toldo of a chief in which they shall be received like pennis. When they have rested, if they desire it, I will myself conduct them to Antinahuel, the most powerful Toqui of the four Uthal-Mapus of the Araucano confederacy."
"What province is governed by Antinahuel?"
"The Piré-Mapus, that is to say, the interior of the Andes."
"Thanks, brother."
"Will my brothers accept the offer I have made them?"
"Why should we not accept it, chief, if, as I believe, it is made in earnest?"
"Let my brothers come, then," the chief said, with a smile; "my toldería is not far off."
The breakfast was over, and the Indians were mounting.
"We may as well go," said Valentine, in French. "This Indian appears to speak cordially and honestly, and it will give us a capital opportunity of studying interesting manners and customs. What do you think, Louis? – It may prove very amusing."
"Well, I see no harm that accepting the invitation can do."
"God speed us, then!"
And with a bound he was in his saddle, imitated by Louis.
"Forward!" cried the chief, and the party set off at a gallop.
"Well, it must be allowed," said Valentine, in his cheerful way, "that these savages, if savages they are, have some redeeming qualities belonging to them. I begin to take a warm interest in them. They are true Scotch mountaineers for hospitality. I wonder what my regimental comrades, and more particularly my old friends of the Boulevard du Temple, would say if they could see me now! Houp! After me, the end of the world!"
Louis laughed at this outburst of the incorrigible gamin, and, without further inquiries, the young men gaily abandoned themselves to the guidance of their new friends, who, after leaving the banks of the river, directed their course towards the mountains.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE BLACK JACKAL
In order to make the facts which follow intelligible, we are obliged here to relate an adventure which happened more than twenty years before the period at which our history commences.
Towards the end of the month of December, 1816, on a cold, rainy night, a traveller, mounted on an excellent horse, and carefully wrapped in the folds of an ample cloak, was following at a round trot the road, or rather the blind path, on the mountains which leads from Cruces to San-José. This man was a rich landowner, who was making a journey into Araucania, for the purpose of treating with the Indians for a large number of cattle and sheep. Having left Cruces about two o'clock in the afternoon, he had been delayed on his way by settling some business with various guasos, and he was hastening to gain a hacienda he possessed at some leagues from the spot where he then was, and where he reckoned upon passing the night.
The country at the time was not in a state of tranquillity. For several days past the Puelches had appeared in arms upon the frontiers of Chili, and made incursions into the territories of the republic, burning the chacras, and carrying off the families they surprised. These marauders were commanded by a chief named The Black Jackal, whose cruelty spread terror among the people exposed to his depredations.
It was, therefore, with some anxiety, mixed with secret apprehensions, that the man we have spoken of made all speed along the desolate road which led to his hacienda. Every minute only added to his fears. The storm, which had threatened all day, burst forth at last with a fury of which we have no conception in our climates. The wind roared loudly through the trees, bending some, and uprooting others. The rain fell in torrents, and the lightning became so vivid, that the horse began to plunge and rear, and refused to advance. The rider spurred the restive animal, and endeavoured, as well as the darkness would permit, to discover whereabouts he was. After surmounting immense difficulties, he saw at length, in the distance, the shadow of the walls of his hacienda, and the lights which shone like guiding stars, when suddenly his horse bounded on one side in such a way as almost to unseat him. When, with much trouble, he had recovered his command of the animal, he looked round to see what could have frightened it so, and perceived, with terror equal to the horse's, several men of sinister appearance standing motionless before him. The horseman's first movement was to seize his pistols, in order to sell his life as dearly as he could, for he had no doubt he had fallen into an ambuscade of bandits.
"Keep your hands from your weapons, Don Antonio Quintana," said a rough voice; "we desire neither your life nor your money."
"What do you want then?" he replied, in a tone that showed he was a little reassured by that frank declaration, though he still kept on the defensive.
"Hospitality for this night, in the first place," said the other.
Don Antonio endeavoured to ascertain if he knew the man who was speaking to him, but he could not distinguish his features through the darkness.
"The doors of my dwelling always fly open to the stranger," he remarked; "why have you not knocked at them?"
"Knowing you must come this way, I preferred waiting for you."
"What else do you desire of me, then?"
"I will tell you under your own roof; the open road is a place ill adapted for imparting confidence."
"If you have nothing more to say to me now, and are as willing as I am to get under shelter, we will continue our journey."
"Go on, then; we will follow you."
Without exchanging another word, they directed their course towards the hacienda. Don Antonio Quintana was a resolute man, as the manner in which he had replied to the men who had so rudely barred his passage proved him. In spite of the fluency with which the one who had spoken employed the Spanish language, he had, at the first word, by his guttural accent, perceived he was an Indian; and with him fear had immediately given way to curiosity, and he had not hesitated to grant the hospitality asked, knowing that the Araucano, Puelches, Hueliches, or Moluchos, never violate the roof under which they are welcomed, and that the hosts who shelter them are held sacred.
On arriving at the hacienda, Don Antonio found he was not mistaken; the men who had accosted him in so strange a manner were really Indians. There were four of them, and with them was a young woman with a child at the breast. The hacendero welcomed them to his dwelling with all the minute forms of Castilian courtesy, and gave orders to his peones or Indian domestics, terrified at the savage appearance of the strangers, to assist them with everything they might desire.
"Eat and drink," he said, "you are at home, here."
"Thanks!" replied the man, who had till that time been spokesman. "We accept your offer with as good a will as you give it, as far as regards food, of which we stand most in need."
"Will you not rest till day?" asked Don Antonio; "the night is dark, and the weather frightful for travelling."
"A black night is what we desire; besides, we must depart immediately. Now, allow me to put my second request to you."
"Explain yourself," said the Spaniard, examining the speaker attentively.
The latter was a tall, well-made man, of about forty; his strongly-marked features and his commanding eye proclaimed that he was accustomed to exercise authority.
"It was I," he said, without preamble, "who directed the last invasion made upon the palefaces of the frontiers. My mosotones were all killed yesterday in an ambuscade by your lanceros; the three you see with me are all that remain of a troop of two hundred warriors; the others are dead. I myself am wounded, hunted, tracked like a wild beast; we are without horses to rejoin our tribe, without weapons to defend ourselves if we are attacked on the plain. I come to ask of you the means of escape from our pursuers. I will neither deceive nor surprise your good faith. I am bound to tell you the name of the man whose safety you hold in your hands. I am the greatest enemy of the Spaniards; my life has been passed in contending with them. In a word, I am The Black Jackal, the Apo-Ulmen of the Black Serpents."
On hearing this redoubtable name the Chilian could not suppress a start of terror; but immediately recovering his self-possession, he replied in a calm voice, and in a kind tone.
"You are my guest, and you are unfortunate, two titles sacred with me. I desire to know nothing more; you shall have horses and arms."
A smile of ineffable sweetness lit up the countenance of the Indian.
"One last prayer," he said.
"Speak."
The chief took by the hand the young Indian squaw, who had remained cowering and weeping in a corner, rocking her child in her arms, and presented her to Don Antonio.
"This woman belongs to me; this child is mine," he said, "and I confide them both to you."
"I will take charge of them; the woman shall be my sister, the child my son," the hacendero replied kindly, and after the Indian fashion.
"The Apo-Ulmen will remember!" said the Puelche chief, in a voice trembling with emotion.
He imprinted a kiss upon the brow of the poor little creature, who smiled upon him, cast upon the woman a look beaming with tenderness, and rushed out of the house, followed by his companions. Don Antonio supplied them with arms and horses, and the four Indians disappeared in the darkness.
Many years passed away ere Don Antonio heard anything of the Black Jackal; the woman and the child remained at the hacienda, and were treated as if they had been members of the Chilian's family. The hacendero had been married; but, unfortunately, after a year, which promised to be the commencement of a long and happy union, the wife died when giving birth to a beautiful little girl, whom her father named Maria. The two children grew up together, watched over by the anxious solicitude of the Indian woman, loving each other like brother and sister.
At length, one day, a numerous troop of Puelches, magnificently equipped and mounted, arrived at Rio-Claro, the town in which Don Antonio resided. The chief of these Indians was the Black Jackal, who came to redemand his wife and son of him to whom he had intrusted them. The interview was very affecting. The chief forgot his Indian stoicism; he gave himself up to the feelings which agitated him, and enjoyed the happiness of finding again, after such a length of time, the two beings he held dearest in the world. When it became necessary to depart, and the children learnt they were to be separated, they shed abundance of tears. They had been accustomed from their infancy to live together, and they could not comprehend why they were not to continue to do so.
Don Antonio had extended his traffic over different parts of the frontiers; he possessed chacras, in which the breeding of cattle was carried on upon a vast scale. The Black Jackal, who had sworn a perpetual friendship, became of great use to him in his business transactions; he often put him in the way of making excellent bargains with his compatriots, and, what was still more serviceable, protected his property from the depredations of plunderers. Every year Don Antonio visited all his chacras in Araucania, and passed a couple of months among the tribe of the Black Serpents, with his friend, the Black Jackal. His daughter accompanied him in all these journeys, on account of the friendship that existed between the children. Things went on thus for many years.
At the period when our history commences, the Black Jackal was dead: he had fallen, like a brave warrior, with his weapons in his hand, in a combat on the frontier; his son, Antinahuel, now about thirty-five years of age, who promised to tread in his footsteps, had been elected Apo-Ulmen in his place, and afterwards Toqui of his Uthal-Mapus or province, which made him one of the principal men of Araucania. Don Antonio had likewise died, shortly after the marriage of his daughter, Doña Maria, with Don Tadeo de Leon, brought to an untimely grave by his grief at her misconduct, which had produced terrible scandal in the upper classes of Santiago.
Doña Maria for some years past had only seen Antinahuel at long intervals; but between them their friendship remained as warm as in the days of their childhood; and, on the part of the Indian warrior, it was carried so far that he obeyed the least caprice of the young woman as an imperative duty. Great, then, was the astonishment of the warriors of the tribe of the Black Serpents, when, in the evening of the day on which we have resumed our story, they saw Doña Maria arrive on horseback, accompanied only by two peons, at their toldería, and go straight towards the rancho of the Toqui. On perceiving her, the usually gloomy face of the chief was suddenly lighted up with an expression of gladness.
"Eglantine of the Woods!" he cried, in a joyous tone, "does my sister then still remember the poor Indian?"
"I have come to visit the toldo of my brother," she said, turning her brow towards him, upon which he impressed a kiss; "my heart is sad, grief devours me – and I have remembered my brother."
The chief cast a look upon her of anxiety, mingled with sorrow.
"Although it be to trouble that I owe the visit of my sister, I am, nevertheless, rejoiced to see her."
"Yes," she resumed, "when we are in trouble we think of our friends."
"My sister has done well in thinking of me; what can I do for her?"
"My brother can render me a great service."
"My life is my sister's; she knows she can dispose of it at her pleasure."
"Thank you! I was certain I could depend upon my brother."
"Everywhere, and at all times."
After bowing respectfully to Doña Maria, he led her into his rancho, where his mother had prepared everything worthy of the visit of one whom for so many years she had loved as a daughter.
