Gustave Aimard
The Flying Horseman
CHAPTER XVII
ARNAL
Several days had passed since that on which the two gauchos, after leaving the service of the young painter, had gone to ensconce themselves in the thicket, whither a sinister appointment called them. The Guaycurus had continued their journey with that extraordinary rapidity which is a characteristic of the Indians.
We now find them camped in an immense plain, concealed in the midst of an immense forest, the trees of which – a century old – form round them walls of verdure, through which it is impossible for the eye to pierce.
This plain – an advanced post, as it were, of the great chaco, that trackless desert which is the unexplored refuge of the Indian bravos who flee from civilisation – forms a part of the llano de Manso, in the fictitious province of Yapizlaga. We say fictitious, and intentionally; for since its discovery, if the Europeans have succeeded in giving a name to this part of the American territory, they have certainly never succeeded in building towns there, though they have established missions.
This territory is really the sacred soil of the aboriginal Americans; they alone inhabit it, and traverse it in every direction. Even at the present day the whites only find in this immense valley a miserable death, after horrible sufferings, and their whitened bones, – scattered in every direction, appear to warn those whom a mad folly may induce to follow in the same traces, that such is the fate which attends them in this inhospitable region.
But the llano de Manso is not, as might be supposed, a sterile plain like the Pampas of Buenos Aires, or a desolate desert like the Sahara. No country in the world, perhaps, possesses a more luxuriant vegetation, more verdant banks, or forests more woody, or better stocked with game of all sorts. Several rivers, and some of them of considerable importance, wind their sinewy course through the llano (plain) which they fertilise. Of these streams the principal is the Rio Tarifa, an affluent of the Rio Bermejo, which itself is an affluent of the Rio Paraguay, and the Rio Pilcomayo, which, after traversing the llano for its entire length, loses itself in the Rio Paraguay by three embouchures. All these rivers – at first torrents – descend the Cordilleras; their picturesque banks are often inundated to a distance of two or three leagues in the rainy season and then the llano, the low vegetation of which almost entirely disappears under the water, assumes a strange and fantastic appearance.
This immense plain, the natural frontiers of which extend very far from Brazil and the old Spanish colonies, is considered by the greater part of the Indian nations who live in the chaco as a neutral territory where each has the right of trying his fortune – from the hunter's point of view, of course – without anyone contesting his right.
The principal tribes who traverse this desert, or who have temporary habitations there, are the Lengoas, the Zamercose, the Chiriguanos, the Payagoas, and the Guaycurus, the most renowned of all – those to whom the Portuguese, to distinguish them from the other tribes, have given the characteristic name of Indian cabalheiros (cavaliers or gentlemen); not only because their life is passed, so to say, on horseback, but especially on account of their remarkable intelligence, and their manners, which bear testimony to a former civilisation – almost, lest it is true, but which must have been very advanced.
The whites, we repeat, were alone excluded from this sacred territory, where their presence entailed death, with all the refinements invented by Indian imagination.
The war detachment of the Guaycurus – which we have seen at the commencement of this work, set out from the Rincón del Bosquecillo, to fight for the Brazilians in the old Spanish colonies, now completely emancipated – was at last on its return to the territories of its tribe after having traversed enormous distances, penetrated a long way into the Chilian Cordilleras, braved for several months all sorts of perils, and enraged in skirmishes without number.
The joy of the Indians was great; it almost amounted to delirium, for many of them had given up the hope of again seeing those fertile regions where they had been born, and had often shuddered at the thought of dying ingloriously in the midst of the snows of the Cordilleras.
On the preceding evening they had at last reached the goal towards which their desires had so long tended. The llano had appeared to them in its grandiose majesty, and a cry of delight had burst from breasts so long oppressed by fear. The camp had been established in a vast glade, in the midst of an immense forest, the most mysterious recesses of which were well known to the warriors, who often ventured there in pursuit of wild animals.
As soon as the camp bad been installed, and watch fires had been lighted – for the position was so well chosen that it was impossible that the light should be perceived from the plain, so thick was the foliage which surrounded the glade – the Cougar had immediately sent as emissary to Tarou Niom, the first chief of the tribe, who lived in a village about thirty leagues, as the crow flies – a very short distance for the Indians.
The emissary having set off, the captains occupied themselves in obtaining a large supply of dry wood, as producing less smoke, to keep up the fires; and some forty warriors, under the orders of the Gueyma, had started off as a hunting party for two or three days, while the Indians who remained at the camp employed themselves in constructing enramadas, to shelter the warriors, and corals to enclose the horses.
All these labours showed that the detachment, instead of continuing the journey as far as the villages of its tribe, intended to make a pretty long stay in the glade; for, ordinarily, encampments for two or three days do not necessitate any precautions. All that is thought of is to light fires to roast the meat and to keep off the wild beasts during the night.
This new delay to their return had caused the Indians a somewhat acute disappointment, and much diminished their joy, for nearly all had wives and children that they longed to see; but they were constrained to obey, and we may add that they did this with a good grace, convinced that their chiefs wished as much as themselves to see their homes again, and that if they stopped at the moment when they were just at the end of their journey there were probably grave reasons for acting thus.
It was about two in the afternoon. Thanks to the labours executed under the surveillance of the captains, the glade had assumed the appearance of an Indian village, by reason of the enramadas (huts), supported against each other, forming streets, which all radiated from one common centre, where, in the midst of a kind of place, was raised an enramada, larger and made with more care, intended to serve for the hut of the council.
Here and there Guaycurus went and came, some carrying water, others wood, others again leading horses to water at a neighbouring stream. The Cougar had set out since the morning, with the party who were charged to gather brushwood; the only chief who remained in the camp was Arnal, as Gueyma had gone off at daybreak, at the head of the hunters.
Arnal was at this moment walking in the camp, in company with Dove's Eye. The graceful girl was laughing and leaping near the chief, whose grave bearing and knitted eyebrows manifested serious thought.
"Look, chief," said the young girl, looking round her with admiration, "how well everything is arranged. If there were women, we might think it was a village."
"Why do you call me chief?" asked the warrior.
"Why, my brother," answered she, ingenuously, "I thought to please you, by giving you the title which belongs to you."
"You are a foolish child, Dove's Eye; your head is empty."
"Yes, but my heart is not," answered she, impulsively.
"What do you mean by that?" said Arnal, with severity.
"Will Gueyma soon return from the chase, my good brother?" pursued the girl, with a calm voice.
"What does that matter?"
"It matters very much to me, brother; Gueyma is a powerful chief; he loves me."
"Who has told you that?" said Arnal, stopping in his walk.
"Himself, this morning, before leaving for the chase," answered she, without being disconcerted; "oh! It is not the first time."
"Gueyma has acted badly in speaking thus to you," severely answered the chief; "and you have acted unwisely in listening to him. Both of you have failed in your promises."
"Pardon me, brother," replied the young girl, her eyes filling with tears.
"Tell me what has passed between you," said the chief, drawing the girl a little on one side.
"I will do so willingly, brother; but I beg you, change this sad look, which frightens me, for if you do not, I shall not have the courage to tell you anything."
"You will really tell me everything?"
"Oh, I promise you, my brother."
"Come, I believe you. Speak, I am listening," said Arnal, whose brow brightened.
"This, then, is what has happened, my brother," resumed the girl, assuming a coaxing tone, and lowering her eyes, slightly blushing. "Three days ago we had stopped sooner than usual, and the camp had been formed on the bank of a river that we were to cross the next day. You remember it, do you not?"
"Yes, I remember it. Go on."
"Gueyma had been designated by yourself to go with some warriors to seek for a ford. The sun was still high in the horizon; the day's journey had not been long, and I was not tired. Obliged to watch the formation of the camp, you had left me alone, and I became very dull. I at first intended to go and talk with the palefaces, who are so good, and towards whom you manifest so many marks of friendship."
"You would have done well to have paid them a visit," interrupted Arnal, with some emotion.
"I did not dare, my brother; I feared to be blamed by you. Then, as you did not return, and as I became more and more dull, the idea seized me to go and gather flowers on the bank of the river; was it bad?"
"No, if you had no afterthought."
"What afterthought?" asked the young girl, ingenuously.
Arnal bit his lips.
"Nothing, nothing; go on," said he.
"I went then to the river; there was a multitude of beautiful flowers – blue, yellow, white, violet, red – and I don't know what else. I jumped with delight, and I began to gather as many flowers as I could carry; then I sat on the bank of the river to form a coronet; and while I was thus occupied, singing this pretty song – you know, brother – "
"A bird in the sky,
With azure wing.
Doth gently fly
To – "
"I know the song, child, for it was with that that you were cradled."
"I was singing it then," resumed the young girl, "when I heard a slight noise near me. I turned; Gueyma was but two paces off, at the foot of a tree. He looked at me; his eyes were wet with tears."
"You do not know what you say, child," briskly interrupted Arnal.
"Oh, I am indeed quite certain of it, for I saw them. I do not know what I suffered, brother; my chest heaved as if it were about to burst; my heart beat violently; I felt that I was very pale, and I remained quite silent. 'Oh, go on, Dove's Eye,' he said to me, entreatingly; 'sing, sing again.' Then I felt the words coming back to me, and I finished the song. He listened to it without interrupting me; then, when I had finished, he approached me, took my hand, and in a sweet and trembling voice, said: 'You are good, Dove's Eye; thank you for the moment of happiness that you have given me.' I felt my hand tremble in his; I dared not answer, and I remained motionless, my eyes downcast, not knowing how to look at him. 'For whom have you gathered those flowers?' he asked me after a pause. 'For myself,' I answered, confusedly. 'Will you allow me to take one?' he continued, in a voice trembling as my own. 'Oh I take them all!' I cried, giving them to him; and in spite of myself – I don't know how it was – I felt that my heart was full, and I burst into tears. 'Oh! I have given you pain!' cried he, with an accent so piteous that with an effort I smiled through my tears, answering him gently: 'Oh! no, Gueyma – on the contrary.' At these words his countenance suddenly changed and became radiant. You see that I tell you everything, my brother."
"Go on, go on!" cried the latter, with ill-concealed impatience.
"Both of us were silent," resumed the young girl; "we looked at each other without daring to speak, and yet I felt unspeakable happiness in knowing that he was near me. Several times he seemed on the point of speaking to me; his lips half-opened. I listened, but no sound escaped them. At last he leaned towards me, and, in a voice as soft as a sigh, 'I love you, Dove's Eye,' he said to me, 'do you love me?' 'Yes,' murmured I, and this simple word seemed to give him so much pleasure that I do not regret having allowed it to escape me."
"'Dove's Eye,' he then said to me, 'we are now bound to each other by ties of mutual love that nothing can break on earth or in heaven; will you always love me?' 'Always.' 'Thank you, Dove's Eye,' he resumed, 'I have faith in you; none other but you shall be my wife; I will ask you of your brother; in the moon of the eagles we will be united. Good-bye for the present, Dove's Eye; if your brother asks you, do not conceal anything from him; tell him all that has passed between us. There is nothing wrong; he will understand our love, and will consent to make us happy.' I chose a flower – one only among all those I had presented to him. I took that flower, I impressed a kiss on its half-opened cup, and then I offered it to Gueyma. He took it, lifted it quickly to his lips, pressed my hand again, disappeared behind the shrubbery, and I remained alone. Then I pensively retraced my way to the camp. It seemed as if I had lived an age in a few minutes, and that all was changed around me. There is the narrative that you asked of me, my brother; as Gueyma had recommended me, and as I promised you, I have concealed nothing. Do you blame me for what has happened?"
"Eh! Why should I blame you, poor child!" cried Arnal, with sad emotion; "Can I render you responsible for a fault which is not yours? You have obeyed the instinct of your heart; nature has been stronger than my experience, and has upset all my calculations of happiness for you. I will see Gueyma; I will sound his intentions; only promise me not to speak to him except before me. The care of your future belongs to me only, and I wish that you may be happy."
"I will obey you, brother, in whatever you ask of me."
"Good, my girl; I rely on your promise; now dry your tears and follow me. We will go and see the whites that you love so much."
"Ah! So much the better!" cried the young girl, suddenly becoming joyous again at this news.
Contrary to the prejudice which the Indians have against the whites, for whom they profess an implacable hatred, the Guaycurus had treated the French painter and the persons who accompanied him with the greatest consideration, considering their guests almost as if they had been their brothers. As to Emile Gagnepain, the cordiality that the Indians manifested towards him increased, and under all circumstances the captains exhibited a marked deference for him. Several times, indeed, they had invited him to take his place with them round the council fire, appearing to attach great importance to his opinion.
Although flattered by these proofs of sympathy, the young man had constantly declined these advances, fearing, if he accepted them, to give rise to jealousy on the part of certain warriors, and thus to create enemies in the detachment when he only desired friends in view of their influence with regard to the two ladies.
This conduct – at once wise and skilful – far from injuring the young man – had only increased the esteem that the Indians, and especially the captains, had for him. Amongst the latter there was one who appeared to have for him and the two ladies a sincere friendship: it was Arnal.
Every time that he could find an opportunity to withdraw himself from his duties as a chief, either while in camp or on the march, Arnal seized it eagerly to visit – always in company with Dove's Eye – his white friends, as he called them – although his complexion was nearly the same as theirs – and to talk for hours with them.
These thoroughly intimate conversations were full of charms, especially for strangers. Arnal talked well; he had seen much; his experience of life was great. There was, then, a good deal to learn in his company – so much the more as his elevated ideas, and his acquired knowledge, formed a complete contrast to the ignorance of the other Indians.
Strange to say, Arnal had never seemed to notice the disguise of the ladies; he had never made any allusion to the subject, and if he had made the discovery he had carefully concealed it in his own heart.
The artlessness and the native grace of Dove's Eye during these interviews, softened what there was grave and severe in the bearing and the words of her brother. The ladies had taken her into their friendship; they pampered her like a sister, and complacently allowed themselves to be teased by her.
The hours which the brother and sister thus passed with the strangers were the only rays of sunny light which cheered their sad existence. It was, therefore, with a real sentiment of joy that the latter saw them arrive at their enramada if they were in camp, or range themselves near them if the detachment was on the march.
The day on which we resume our recital, Emile awaited with lively impatience the visit of his friends, and it was with the greatest pleasure that he at last saw them arrive.
The conversation was at first general between the five persons; then, by degrees, the two ladies occupied themselves with Dove's Eye, whom they took to the other extremity of the enramada, so that Emile and Arnal remained, so to say, alone.
"I see that you wish to speak to me," said the chief, smiling, "and I think I can guess what you are going to ask me, Señor Don Emile."
"It is true that I wish to speak with you, chief," answered the young man, rather surprised at this abrupt appeal; "but as to what I wish to say, I doubt – unless you are a magician – whether you can guess."
"You shall be able to judge of that," seriously answered Arnal. "Here is the substance – for I do not pretend to know the exact details – of what you wish to say. We are camped nearly in the middle of the llano de Manso, at some forty leagues from the frontiers of Brazil, where you wish to proceed with your friends. The distance which now separates you from your persecutors is too great for you to fear them any longer; you have a great desire to pass the frontier, and at last to reach the Brazilian territory. The protection that we have given you from this time becomes needless. Instead of wasting your time by remaining in this forest, which has no great interest for you, you wish to obtain, thanks to my influence, the right of continuing your journey, under the escort of ten or a dozen of our warriors. Is that it, my friend? Have I told you all? Have I forgotten anything? Speak; I am ready to apologise if I am wrong."
Arnal could easily have continued to speak as long again, without fear of being interrupted by his listener; the latter was literally dumbfounded by surprise. What the chief had told him was exact in every particular. In a long conversation with the marchioness and Doña Eva, the Frenchman had agreed to make this request of the captain at their first meeting; but what he could not understand was, how Arnal had been so well informed as to a secret that he thought he and the two ladies alone possessed.
But Arnal did not intend to let the Frenchman off so easily. He for a time enjoyed his triumph, and then resumed in a gentle and insinuating voice:
"Does it annoy you, my friend, to find me so well informed as to your projects? I possess secrets more important still."
"Chief!" at last murmured the young man, blushing and casting a furtive look behind him.
"Reassure yourself, my friend. As these secrets concern you only, and as I have learned them without your authority, I will keep them in my own breast; I will even forget them if you wish it."
"But how does it happen – "
"Friend," interrupted Arnal, with melancholy, "although my life does not number many years, I have learnt many things; but enough of that – let that suffice you."
"Be it so. But one word. Do you favour my projects?"
"No!" answered he, sharply.
"No!" cried the young man, with amazement.
The two ladies had quietly approached. They listened, and grew pale. With a gesture, Arnal ordered the young girl to go away. Dove's Eye immediately obeyed, and withdrew out of the reach of his voice.
"No," Arnal said in a peremptory tone, which chilled his auditors. "I will not favour your projects. On the contrary, I will use all my power, and all the influence that my friendship gives me, to keep you near us, and that in your own interest."
"In our interest?" cried Emile.
"Certainly – in your interest, poor fool!" cried he, with vehemence; "These enemies, whom you suppose so far off, are here – are only a few paces from the spot on which we now are; they have followed on your track since your flight from San Miguel de Tucumán; you have everything to fear – not yourself, Don Emile, but the Marchioness de Castelmelhor and her daughter Doña Eva."
At this terrible revelation the two ladies concealed their faces in their bands, uttering a piercing cry.
"Do you think," continued the chief, vehemently, "that your disguise has deceived us for a moment?"
"Oh! We are lost!" cried the marchioness.
"Eh, no! you are saved, or at least I hope so; you are our guests. Your enemy himself is powerless to injure you, so long as you remain near us. All his efforts will break against a rock – my immovable will!" said the chief.
"Oh, chief!" cried the marchioness, taking his hand; "It is not for myself that I implore you – it is for my daughter."
"Alas! Chief," said the young girl, "if a victim must be sacrificed, choose me, save – save my mother!"
Notwithstanding his Indian stoicism, Arnal was moved by this sincere sorrow. His brow was pale, and tears rolled down his cheek.
Emile stamped with rage.
"Do not afflict yourselves thus," at last said the chief, "I have promised to save you, and I hope to succeed. I will employ all my power, only allow me to act. Courage and hope."
"Yes, thank God!" cried Emile, who could no longer contain himself, "I have confidence in you. Be comforted, then, Madame, and you also señorita, the position of affairs is improving. Rejoice, instead of weeping like this. Instead of one friend you have two."
By a spontaneous movement, the two ladies held out their hands to the young man.
"Chief!" said the marchioness, "After God, who sees us, and who judges us, all my hopes are in you. I will not speak to you of gratitude."
"Thank you, Madame," answered the chief, with dignity, "Whatever happens, do not despair."
At this moment they heard a great noise in the camp. Dove's Eye ran towards them.
"What has happened?" asked Arnal.
"Brother, the great chief Tarou Niom enters the camp," answered she.
"I will go and receive him. You, child, remain here till I ask for you."
It was, indeed, Tarou Niom, who had arrived at the camp, at the head of a troop of about fifteen hundred warriors, who were all well mounted and armed with guns.
Tarou Niom was received with all the honours usual in such a case. Then, after having given the order to his warriors to instal the camp near that of their brothers, he entered the council hut, preceded by Arnal.
The interview between the two chiefs was long. When, at last, they left the council tent, the brow of Tarou Niom was thoughtful.
The two chiefs traversed the camp, saluted by the warriors, who pressed upon them as they walked, and proceeded to the enramada, where were the marchioness and her daughter.
Warned by Emile of the approach of the captains, the ladies hastened to meet them.
"Here," said Arnal, pointing to the three, "are the persons for whom I have sought the protection of my brother."
"It is granted to them," said Tarou Niom, courteously. "Let my friends be reassured; Tarou Niom loves them; he knows how to defend them."
Then, according to the Indian custom, the two chiefs entered the enramada.
"I am hungry," said Tarou Niom.
Tyco, who followed with an unquiet eye the movements of the two chiefs, immediately appeared with provisions, which he spread before them.
Tarou Niom invited the two ladies to sit near him. Emile sat near Arnal, and the meal commenced.
Dove's Eye had flown off, light as a bird, as soon as she had seen the direction that the chiefs took.
The captains ate with a good appetite, praising the very simple dishes, however, and several times making Tyro pour out some drink.
In about half an hour the chiefs rose.
"I thank my brothers for their hospitality," said Tarou Niom; "if they permit me, I will return to visit their dwelling."
"We shall be happy and honoured by it," answered Emile, for himself and his companions.
After various compliments, the chiefs took leave, and went out.
"You see that I do not lose any time," said Arnal.
The latter grasped his hand with affection, and they separated.
The Indians grouped without had seen their two principal chiefs eat with the strangers. Henceforth the latter were sacred for them; the pact was sealed.
At the end of eight days the number of Indians concealed in the forest amounted to nearly 15,000 men; it was no longer a detachment, but a veritable army.
Tarou Niom had several times visited the foreigners, and shared their meals. The latter, therefore, enjoyed great consideration.
Each day Arnal made them a visit. Only when Emile, uneasy at the movement which he observed around him, tried to address some questions to him, in order to know what passed, the chief closed his mouth.
"Do not disturb yourself about anything; we are preparing for you a charming surprise."
The young man was obliged to content himself with this inconclusive answer.
Tyro, in his capacity as an Indian, ferreted end listened everywhere, but the secret was well kept.
At last, one day after a council, at which all the chiefs had been present, and which lasted all the morning, the various detachments which had come to join that of Gueyma went away, one after the other, in different directions. That of Tarou Niom left the glade the last, divided into three corps of five hundred men each.
Tarou Niom and Arnal, however, remained at the camp, again reduced to its primitive proportions.
