Gustave Aimard
The Flying Horseman
CHAPTER X
THE FORAGERS
About ten days had passed between the events that we have just related and the day on which we resume our narrative. The scene is no longer in the Cordilleras, but in the midst of the vast deserts which separate Brazil from the Spanish possessions – a kind of neutral territory, which the two nations had for a long time desperately disputed, and which was held by warlike and independent Indians.
The spot to which we have transported our scene was an immense plain enclosed by high mountains, whose peaks were covered in snow. A large river divided the plain into two nearly equal parts, though with a thousand capricious windings; its silvery waters, slightly rippled by the morning breeze and glittering in the first rays of the sun, reflected changing colours as if thousands of diamonds had been scattered on its bosom.
The calm of this majestic desert was only disturbed at this moment by a numerous troop of horsemen, who skirted at a gallop the left bank of the river.
These horsemen, whose nationality it was impossible to discover so far off, appeared to be warriors.
Whoever they might be, they appeared to be in great haste, and dashed forward with such rapidity that, if they continued thus for a few hours, some of them would be inclined to fall back and lag behind.
The more this troop advanced into the plain the easier it was, through the cloud of dust that enveloped them, which was at times driven away by the wind, to discover the circumstances under which they were travelling. The troop was composed of more than four thousand men. Each horseman of the principal corps had a foot soldier riding on the same horse behind him.
This circumstance was not at all extraordinary.
Arrived at a point of land jutting into the river, the advanced guard stopped.
Two hours later the tents were ready, intrenchments made, sentinels posted, and the corps d'armée was firmly established in an excellent position out of the reach of a surprise.
It was ten o'clock in the morning.
Except the corps d'armée, the immense plain appeared quite deserted.
Nevertheless, several measures of precaution had been taken. Sentinels, placed at certain distances, watched over the common safety, and their horses, which are generally left to browse at liberty during a halt, were attached to pickets fixed in the earth. The bivouac fires were lighted in hollows and fed by an extremely dry wood, which only emitted light and scarcely perceptible smoke.
A remarkable circumstance was that several whites, or rather several persons clothed in the costume of the Spanish-Americans of the Banda Oriental, were among the Indians, and were treated as guests and friends.
Then, on the other side of the river, at the opposite angle of the triangle, of which the corps formed, so to say, the summit, was a third troop of horsemen, also very numerous; but the latter had simply halted among the high grass.
These horsemen were Montoneros, that is to say, partisans.
As to the former, they had not neglected any precaution to escape observation. Concealed behind a thick curtain of shrubbery, they were ambuscaded like hunters on the watch.
The horses, saddled and ready to be mounted, had their nostrils covered with girdles, to prevent them from neighing. Near each horse a lance was struck in the ground, the point downwards.
This last troop evidently knew the precarious situation in which they were, and the disagreeable neighbours that chance or fatality had given them.
Meanwhile the Montoneros, far from showing the least inquietude or the slightest fear of the enemies camped so near them, appeared gay and very unconcerned.
But in all other respects the plain preserved its calmness; no suspicious undulation agitated the grass; the woods preserved their mysterious silence.
Hours passed; it was about two o'clock in the afternoon. A heavy heat oppressed the earth; a heated atmosphere which no breeze refreshed bent towards the ground the half-burnt grass. At this moment some thirty horsemen, amongst whom glittered the golden embroidery of the uniforms of several officers, left the camp of which we have previously spoken, and proceeding in a slanting direction, gained the river.
These horsemen wore the Brazilian uniform. Whether they were persuaded that the plain was really solitary, whether they reckoned on the proximity of their camp to be defended against any dangers which might threaten them, or whether there was any other motive, they marched with very little order, the officers, amongst whom was a general, keeping in advance, and the horsemen forming the escort going on haphazard.
Nearly at the same time, when these foragers or scouts left their camp to make, at so unusual an hour, a trip into the plain, at some distance before them, on the bank of the river, a troop of horsemen, equal in number – that is to say, composed of about thirty men, in the picturesque costume of the Buenos Aireans, appeared marching to meet them.
This second troop marched as rapidly as their horses, harassed by a long journey, could proceed.
The two troops soon found themselves in sight.
"Eh! Eh!" said the Brazilian general, addressing a captain who was riding by his side, "I think those are our people; what do you think of it?"
"I think so too, general," answered the officer; "come, that will set me right with them."
"Yes, they are men of their word; I think it augurs well for the result of our conference. Remember that we are very far from Tucumán, and that they must have made great haste to arrive here on the day."
"Just so, general; we are, if I am not deceived, on the territory of the Indian bravos, on neutral ground."
"Yes, you are right," answered the other, suddenly becoming pensive. "I think I have even a confused remembrance of these parts."
"You, general!"
"Yes, yes, but a long time ago; I was young then; I did not think Of taking service. Impelled by I know not what furious ardour, I traversed these desert regions in search of adventures – for my pleasure," he added.
The captain looked at him for a moment with an expression of gentle pity.
Some minutes thus passed. At last the general raised his head, and again addressing his aide-de-camp – that was the position that the captain occupied towards him:
"These gauchos are rude men, are they not, Don Sebastiao?" he asked.
"It is said, general," answered the officer, "that these men are remarkable for power, skill, and courage. I cannot vouch for it, only having heard so much."
"I know them; I have seen them at work; they are demons."
"It is possible," said the captain smiling; "but I think that, without going very far, it would be easy to find in Brazil men who for bravery, power, and cunning are equal to them, if they are not superior."
"Oh! Oh! You are of course joking, Don Sebastiao?"
"I am not at all joking; I express my conviction."
"A conviction! And of whom do you speak then?"
"Why, the Paulistas, general – the Paulistas whom you know as well as I do – those extraordinary men who have accomplished so many extraordinary things since the discovery of America, and to whom Brazil owes her incalculable riches."
The aide-de-camp would have continued speaking in the same manner, but the general did not listen to him; his countenance had become of a livid paleness; a convulsive trembling had, like an electric shock, run through his body, and he had sunk upon his horse as if he were on the point of losing consciousness.
"Good Heaven! What is the matter with you, general?" cried the officer.
"I do not know," answered the latter, in a choking voice: "I do not feel well."
"The heat, no doubt, general?"
"Yes, that is it, I think; but never mind, I am better – much better; it will be nothing, I hope."
"God grant it, general! You really frightened me."
"Thank you, Don Sebastiao, I know your kindness. For some time I have been subject to sudden faintness, that I do not know how to account for; but as you have seen, the fit is always very short."
The captain bowed without answering, and the conversation ceased.
Meanwhile the horsemen whom Don Sebastiao had perceived, advanced rapidly, and they were soon within fifty paces of the Portuguese.
Then they made a halt, and for a short time they appeared to consult together. Then a horseman separated from the group and set off direct towards the Brazilians.
The general had attentively followed with his eye the movements of the newcomers. On a sign from him Don Sebastiao left his troop, which remained motionless, and spurring his horse, boldly approached the gaucho, after having attached a white handkerchief to the point of his sword.
The two envoys, who were recognised as such, met at an equal distance from the two troops still remaining in the rear, but ready for attack as for defence.
After having attentively examined the man in face of whom he was, Don Sebastiao at last resolved, seeing that the other remained silent, to speak first.
"Caballero," said he in Spanish, slightly bowing his head, "I am Don Sebastiao de Vianna, captain in the Brazilian service, sent to you by my general, who has himself come to meet you to know if you and your companions are enemies or friends."
"The question that you do me the honour to address to me, señor captain," answered the gaucho, "is extremely delicate; I cannot myself answer it, and will leave to others more competent than myself to determine it."
"That is very well put, caballero; however, I have the honour to tell you that, holding this plain with superior forces, we have a right, for our own safety, to exercise a strict watch over the territory which surrounds us. I am pleased to hope that among the persons who accompany you, there is at all events one who is in a position to give me an answer."
"I hope so too, caballero," answered the gaucho, smiling; "nothing is more easy than to assure yourself of that. The heat is suffocating. At a few paces from here there is a woody copse. Let us stop there for an hour, swearing on our honour to separate without striking a blow, if our mutual explanations are not satisfactory."
"¡Vive Dios, caballero! Your proposition appears to me very honourable, and I shall heartily accept it."
The two horsemen then ceremoniously bowed, turned their bridles, and rejoined at a gallop those who had sent them forward.
A few minutes afterwards, the two troops met and mingled with each other; the horsemen alighted, and stretched themselves carelessly on the grass under the shade of the giant trees which skirted the wood; the Brazilian officers and three or four of the gauchos who appeared to be the chiefs of the troop, after politely bowing, without exchanging a word, penetrated the covert, where they soon disappeared from the observation of their people, who had not even turned their heads to see what they were doing.
If these officers had not been so absorbed by their thoughts on entering the woods, they would not have adventured into the covert without having carefully examined the underwood and the thicket which surrounded them. But, thanks to the profound secrecy with which they had kept their intentions – and, more than all, confident in the numerous forces that accompanied them, they were convinced that they ran no danger.
Alter a walk of about a quarter of an hour, the officers reached a rather extensive glade surrounded by thickets almost impenetrable.
The dead cinders of a fire, and some remains of burnt wood, showed that some days or perhaps hours before other travellers had been here to seek a temporary shelter.
"We are not the first who have discovered this glade," said the general, stopping and courteously bowing to the persons who accompanied him; "but never mind, señor, I think the place is well chosen for our conversation that we wish to have, and I think we shall do well to stop here."
"I am thoroughly of your opinion, señor general; let us stay here, it would be difficult to have a better place."
The six officers then formed a group in the middle of the glade, and then commenced the presentations, for those men, who knew each other well by name, and who had come so far to treat on important matters, had never seen one another before that day.
These officers were, on the part of the Spanish creoles – the General. Don Eusebio Moratín; the Duc de Mantone – the Frenchman, who insisted that he should only be called Louis Dubois; and Don Juan Armero, a Montonero officer of the squadron of Zeno Cabral.
The Brazilians were represented by General Don Roque, the Marquis de Castelmelhor; Captain Don Sebastiao Vianna, his aide-de-camp; and another officer of an inferior grade, who plays too insignificant a part in this history for us to present him more formally to the reader.
The Marquis de Castelmelhor was no longer the elegant and handsome cavalier that we have seen in the former part of this narrative. Years, accumulating on his head, had furrowed his face with long wrinkles; the fire of his eye was deadened, so as to leave only a restless expression, sad and almost fierce; his hair had whitened, and his tall figure began to bow under the weight of the incessant fatigues of military life, or perhaps, as his enemies said – and the general had a great many – under the heavy burden of sharp remorse.
M. Dubois was still the same personage of ascetic features, of pale complexion, and of cold and stately manners.
After their mutual presentation, the six men examined each other curiously, secretly studying one another's features, to see where one could the best attack the other.
These officers, silent and sombre, thus looking at each other stealthily before commencing the conversation, rather resembled duellists making ready to fire at each other, than diplomatists assembled to discuss important political questions.
The marquis soon decided that if this silence were prolonged it would become more and more embarrassing for all; so having several times passed his hand over his forehead, as if to chase away some importunate thought, he took upon himself to speak.
"Caballeros," he said, claiming attention by a gesture, "I am glad that we are at last permitted to meet face to face. The occasion that presents itself is too precious for us not to take advantage of it like men of spirit, so as to try and smooth the apparently insurmountable difficult ties which have so long divided us, and which, animated as we are by truly patriotic sentiments, will not, I hope, exist many minutes longer."
"That is well said!" cried a mocking voice, coming from the interior of the wood, "And I should have been much annoyed had I not arrived in time to assist at so philanthropic a meeting."
The officers looked about with astonishment, which almost amounted to fear, on hearing the ironical accents of this voice, and started back, quickly putting their hands to their firearms.
"Is this treason?" cried the marquis, with an inquiring look at General Moratín.
At the same moment the shrubbery was parted, and a man bounded, rather than entered into the glade.
"Don Zeno Cabral!" cried the astounded Buenos Aireans.
"Yes, it is I, señores," mockingly answered the Montonero, removing his hat, and bowing courteously all round; "you did not expect me it seems?" And then, taking a step or two in advance; "I come opportunely, I think. Do not disturb yourselves; go on, I beg. I am sorry I do not know the name of this caballero, but you will inform me, eh?" he added, bowing with an expression of biting sarcasm to the marquis. "The caballero was in the act of saying some very sensible thing which I should be very sorry further to interrupt."
CHAPTER XI
TIGERS AND FOXES
How had Don Zeno Cabral, whom we left in the midst of the Cordilleras, arrived thus unexpectedly to assist at this mysterious consultation? Scarcely had the sun risen, than the Montonero left the tent in which he had watched during the whole night, and ordered a soldier to go and seek Don Juan Armero.
The latter arrived in a few minutes.
"Listen, Don Juan," said Don Zeno Cabral, passing Don Juan's arm through his own, and, taking him on one side, he whispered to him, after assuring himself that no one could hear them, "You are devoted to me, are you not?"
"For life and death, general, as you know."
"Yes, I know, my friend; but the mission which I wish to confide to you is one of such high importance that I wanted to hear you repeat it."
The officer bowed without answering; the general resumed:
"Since I left you to go to the camp of the Pincheyras," said he, "I have learnt several things. While we are here to fight loyally, at the peril of our lives, to secure the independence of the country, it seems that down there, at Tucumán, those who govern us are, at this very time, spreading some very pretty nets. The proofs of their treason are nearly all in my hands; but they are not yet sufficient for the blow that I wish to give them. I have conceived a bold project, the success of which entirely depends on you."
"Good!" said the officer; "Then be tranquil, general; I will answer for all!"
"Look here, Don Juan," added he, handing him a large letter, carefully sealed. "Take this paper; it contains your instructions; I have thought it better to give them to you in writing than verbally, so that you may not forget any circumstance when the moment of action arrives. You understand me?"
"Perfectly, general; when shall I set out?"
"Directly; you will take six men with you."
"What for, general?"
"You will afterwards know."
"Ah! Good! Go on."
"Yesterday there arrived with me in the camp, two loyalist officers, with whom I scarcely know what to do. However, as they are my guests, I wish to treat them with respect; you will accompany them till you see the Spanish advance posts, and there you will leave them. You understand that, during all the time they remain with you, you will pay them the most friendly attentions, and, if needs be, you will defend them."
"That shall be done, general. Well?"
"You will not open the letter containing your instructions till you have reached the plains; you will read those instructions carefully."
"I understand, general. Have you any other orders?"
"No, my friend; it only remains for me to urge you to be brave. I know you too well to doubt your courage, but be prudent; above all, succeed."
"I shall succeed; I swear it, on my honour."
"I rely on your word, my friend; and now, my dear Don Juan, it only remains to me to wish you a safe journey and good fortune, and to shake hands," added he.
"Eh, general? These are my companions during the journey, I suppose?" said Don Juan.
"Yes, they are," answered the Montonero, advancing towards the two Spaniards, who were coming to him evidently with the intention, of saluting him.
After exchanging preliminary compliments, Zeno Cabral frankly told them how the matter stood, certain that they could not be but satisfied with the prospect of so soon safely joining the army of which they formed a part. The Montonero was not deceived in his suppositions in this respect.
An hour afterwards, a little troop of horsemen, commanded by Don Juan Armero, and having with them the two Spanish officers, set out from the camp.
Zeno Cabral, for reasons which seemed to be very grave, remained two days more in the camp. Meanwhile, he was far from being inactive; scouts, chosen carefully from the most agile, brave, and skilful of his men, were continually sent out in all directions, and on their return to the camp they were immediately interrogated by the general.
At last, on the evening of the second day after the departure of Don Juan Armero, one of the scouts who had been absent since the previous evening, returned to the camp.
At the sight of this man the countenance of Don Zeno, who, during the whole day had been sad and uneasy, suddenly brightened. Zeno advanced rapidly towards him, and scarcely allowing him time to alight, he seized him by the arm and dragged him into his tent.
The scout at length went out and rejoined his companions, who, in their turn, wished to interrogate him, but all their efforts were in vain.
He had, probably, received from his chief strict injunctions in this respect, for he confined himself to answering yes or no to all the questions that were addressed to him.
On the next day, before sunrise, Zeno Cabral at last gave the order, so impatiently expected by the Montoneros, to raise the camp; then, when all the men had mounted, the chief called Captain Quiroga to him.
The old officer, whose eyes had been continuously fixed on his commandant, immediately ran to the call.
Zeno Cabral was one of those decided people who have a horror of long speeches.
"Don Sylvio," said he to his subordinate, "certain reasons, which it would be useless to explain, necessitate my entrusting the squadron to you."
"What, general!" cried he; "You have scarcely returned, and you leave us already?"
"It must be so. While we are here, there are occurring in the towns yonder strange things, which it is my duty to watch. I have pointed out to you the route to be followed. Perhaps I shall rejoin you sooner than you think."
"God grant it, general."
"Thank you; good-bye for the present and keep up your spirits."
"Are you setting out alone, general?"
"Pardieu!" he exclaimed, smiling.
The old officer shook his head several times, with a melancholy air.
"Take care, general," he at last said; "these imprudences, I have a presentiment, will someday cost you dear."
"Bah! You are foolish to disquiet yourself thus, Don Sylvio. You will soon see me reappear, gay and in good trim, take my word for it."
And without listening any more to the old officer, who tried still to retain him, the young man drove the spurs into the sides of his horse, which started off at a gallop, and soon disappeared at the turn of the path.
For nearly three hours, notwithstanding the difficulties of the route which he followed, and which, in certain places became almost impracticable, the Montonero kept his horse going at a rapid pace; then, when he thought himself at a sufficient distance from his companions not to risk being overtaken by them, he pulled the bridle, put his horse into a walk, and, allowing his head to fall on his breast, he gave himself up to his reflections.
In thus suddenly leaving his squadron, Don Zeno Cabral acted under the influence of serious thoughts. Since his departure from Tucumán, the political situation had been much altered. The independence of the Buenos Airean provinces – thanks to the treason of several chiefs of the revolutionary movement – was more than ever put in question.
Not that the chiefs had any thought of treating with the royalists, and of again placing their country under the detested yoke of Spain – such was not their intention, far from it. As always happens in critical periods, in a country where people have overturned one government, they seek to establish another; and ambitious designs, at first drowned in the ever-increasing flood of patriotism, already began to float to the surface. Leaders who, until now, had fought with the utmost devotion and enthusiasm for their country, thinking the moment favourable, spread their nets and planted their batteries, in the hope of turning the revolution to their own profit, and of making for themselves a dictator's toga, or a king's mantle from the bloodstained banners of independence, of which they had been the foremost soldiers.
The Montonero had accepted the revolution with that joy and enthusiasm which characterise exceptional natures. The first dangerous squadron which the insurgents had opposed to the royal troops was that which he still commanded, and which he had, with rare devotion and disinterestedness, raised and equipped at his own expense. He had never raised himself up with the political intrigues which, from the first day of the rising, had distracted the colonies. Without personal ambition, deeply loving his country, Zeno Cabral was content to fight for it under all circumstances, and to place himself boldly in the front, generously offering his heart to the first blows of the enemy.
A man of Zeno Cabral's character, then, ought to put in the shade all those people of low ambition, and the vultures in their track, who seek an easy and productive prey in all great popular movements, who, in their sordid selfishness can see nothing but their own interest, and for whom the sacred name of country is but a mere sound.
The bold Montonero, whose daring enterprise had so often re-established the falling fortunes of the revolution – he who had always marched ahead without fear or doubt, when the boldest around him felt their faith fail – also had a number of secret and implacable enemies among men, whom the ever-strange circumstances of a revolution had thrown up from the crowd, and who now thought themselves called on to take the reins of the new government.
Some thought him a man of narrow views, and without political stability; others attributed to him an immeasurable ambition, and thought He was meditating projects, which he wanted only a favourable opportunity to put into motion; while others again thought him a harmless simpleton, ready to fight or to be killed, without knowing why.
All feared him.
Two men especially had towards him a profound antipathy and an instinctive fear which nothing could dissipate.
These two men were the Duc de Mantone and General Don Eusebio Moratín.
Enemies at first, these two persons had not been long in understanding each other, and uniting in one idea the accomplishment of the same project, that they foresaw would at the moment of execution be met with an insurmountable obstacle which the Montonero alone could surmount. These two people, in fact, seemed made to understand one another.
M. Dubois, once an oratorian, and then a conventionalist, having served by turns all the governments which had existed for twenty years in France, and having betrayed one after the other, constrained to abandon Europe, had only sought refuge in America in the hope of regaining a fortune, and a position equivalent to that which he had lost. To attain this end it was necessary for him to fish in the troubled waters of revolution, and the insurrection of the Spanish colonies offered him the occasion that he had so ardently sought.
Resolved to obliterate the past, the fortuitous meeting that he had had with the French painter had been excessively disagreeable to him, on account of the rather edifying histories that Emile could, had he been asked, relate of the past life of Dubois. He had skilfully hidden the annoyance that the meeting had caused him, had feigned the greatest joy at finding a fellow countryman in the land of exile, and under the semblance of great friendship, he had quietly tried to ruin him, in which he had nearly succeeded. The painter had only by a miracle escaped the trap set under his feet with such deep subtlety.
Arrived at Tucumán, and put in communication with General Don Eusebio Moratín, M. Dubois, with that experience of human nature that he possessed in so high a degree, had reckoned him up in a moment, and had said: That is the man who will give me back what I have lost.
His decision was at once made, and he manoeuvred accordingly. Don Eusebio aimed at nothing less than to be named president of the republic. M. Dubois resolved to aid him to arrive at power. A compact was agreed on between the two men, one of whom was a kind of savage animal, spoiled by a false civilisation, and the other a cold, wily, calculating man of ambition.
Zeno Cabral, who by his presence would have disturbed and probably defeated the dark schemes of these two persons, had under a pretext been removed, as well as his squadron, and their negotiations had been commenced.
Unhappily for the projects of Don Eusebio and M. Dubois, Zeno Cabral, although he was at a distance, was not the less to be feared, and perhaps was even more to be feared on account of his absence.
If the Montonero had a great many enemies, he numbered also some friends – honest men, and, like himself, devoted to the public cause. These men, without having succeeded in completely unveiling the secret plots of the general and his acolyte, had succeeded, great as was the prudence of the two latter, in obtaining such an inkling of their projects as had enabled them pretty well to guess to what end their efforts were directed.
Incomplete as was this information, the friends of the Montonero had not hesitated, seeing the gravity of the circumstances, to warn him and tell him all that had passed in the town, at the meeting of the representatives of the ancient viceroyalty of Buenos Aires; but they had also told him all that they had succeeded in learning as to the secret projects of the French diplomatist and of General Moratín.
Zeno Cabral had for a long time had strong suspicions against these two men. His suspicions as to their loyalty had been several times aroused by the advances that Moratín had made towards himself, though they never dared to explain themselves clearly, for fear of disgracefully failing in presence of a man whose inflexible honour they were constrained to acknowledge.
From the evening before, the suspicions of the Montonero had suddenly changed into certainty. The last scout who had arrived at the camp had brought news of such grave importance that doubt was impossible in the presence of undeniable facts – facts the proof of which had been furnished in a decisive manner by the messenger.
General Moratín, thinking himself strong enough to proceed openly, thanks to the support that a hired majority in the congress had given him, had suddenly thrown off the mask, and aimed, not at the presidency, but at the dictatorship of the Buenos Airean provinces, relying on one hand on the majority of which we have spoken, and on the other on the military forces long previously prepared by his agents, who by recent events had been brought about him, and whose aid in a coup de main appeared to him certain.
Without loss of time the general had caused himself to be proclaimed dictator on the marshes of Cabildo, amidst the applause of the populace; then he had dissolved the congress, which would henceforth be useless; formed a ministry, of which M. Dubois had been named president; issued manifestoes in all the provinces of the republic; and, after having placed Tucumán in a state of siege, made his troops camp on all the squares of the town, and imprisoned suspicious citizens – that is to say, those of an opinion opposed to his own. He inaugurated his dictatorship by condemning to death, and executing, in twenty-four hours, six of the most influential and the most justly esteemed men of the province.
