Gustave Aimard
The Gold-Seekers: A Tale of California
Several minutes elapsed, and then the peon returned.
"Well?" the general asked him.
"Excellency," the peon answered respectfully, "the caballeros will have the honour of waiting on you. They are following me."
"Very good. Put a bottle of Catalonian refino and glasses on the table. I know from experience that these gentry have no partiality for pure water."
After this new jest the general rolled a papelito, lighted it, and waited. Within five minutes the sound of footsteps was heard in the corridor; the door opened, and two men appeared.
"It is not he!" Doña Angela murmured in a low voice, for her eyes were anxiously fixed on the door.
The two men were Valentine and Don Cornelio.
CHAPTER XI
A COMMERCIAL TRANSACTION
We have mentioned in a previous chapter the object for which Valentine presented himself in his friend's place. He wished to try and discover for what reason Doña Angela desired so ardently to see Louis again. As for Don Cornelio, he was intimately persuaded that his personal merits had done it all, and that the young lady's sole wish was to have another interview with himself.
On the other hand, the hunter, warned by Curumilla, was not sorry to see the man with whom he had been indirectly connected at another period of his life – a connection which might at any moment become more intimate, owing to the general's new position and Don Louis' projects.
The two strangers presented themselves boldly; their manner was respectful, without arrogance or excessive humility; such, in a word, as might be expected from men long tried by the innumerable hazards of an adventurous life.
The general probably expected to see men of low habits and vulgar features. At the sight of the two men, whose masculine and honest faces struck him, he started imperceptibly, rose, saluted them courteously, and invited them to sit down on chairs he ordered to be placed for them.
Doña Angela knew not what to think after Don Cornelio's positive statement. The absence of Don Louis, and the substitution for him of a man she did not know, appeared inexplicable. Still, without exactly understanding her feelings, she guessed, under this substitution, a mystery which she sought in vain to fathom. Violanta was as confused and astonished as her mistress: the captain alone remained indifferent to what passed. The old soldier, profiting cleverly by the fact of the bottle of refino having been placed on the table, had poured out a large glass of aguardiente, which he swallowed in small doses, while patiently waiting till the general thought proper to open the ball.
When the hunters had at length taken their seats, after repeated pressing, the general took the word.
"You will pardon me, gentlemen, for having disturbed you by compelling you to come here, when it should have been my place to go to your cuarto, as it is I who wish to speak with you."
"General," Valentine answered with a respectful bow, "my friend and myself would have been in despair had we caused you the least annoyance. Pray believe that we shall always be happy to obey your orders, whatever they may be."
After this mutual interchange of compliments the speakers bowed again. No people in the world carry to such an extent as the Mexican the feline gentleness of manner, if we may be permitted to employ the expression.
"Which of you two gentlemen," the general continued gracefully, "is Señor Don Cornelio?"
"It is I, caballero," the Spaniard answered with a bow.
"In that case," Don Sebastian went on, turning to the hunter with an amiable smile, "this caballero is Don Louis?"
"Pardon me, general," the Frenchman answered distinctly, "my name is Valentine."
The general started.
"What?" he said in surprise. "And where, then, is Señor Don Louis?"
"It is impossible for him to obey your orders."
"Why so?"
"Because," Valentine continued, casting a side glance at the young lady, who, though she appeared to be very busily talking with her camarista, did not lose a word that was said, "because, general, Don Louis, unaware that he should have the honour of being received by your Excellency this morning, started at sunrise for San Francisco."
Doña Angela turned pale as death, and was on the point of fainting at this news; still she overcame the emotion she experienced, and became apparently calm. She wished to learn all. This emotion, though so transitory, had not escaped Valentine's observation. The general nearly turned his back on his daughter: hence it was impossible for him to see anything that passed.
"That is annoying," he answered.
"I am in despair, general."
"His absence will doubtlessly be of short duration?"
"He will not return."
Valentine pronounced these words dryly. The emotion Doña Angela experienced was so lively that she could not check a slight cry of pain.
"What is the matter, niña?" her father asked her, turning sharply. "What is the meaning of that cry?"
"I cut myself," she answered with the most innocent air possible.
"Oh, oh!" her father said in alarm; "it is not dangerous?"
"No; a mere scratch. I was a goose to be frightened. Forgive me, papa."
The general asked no further questions, but continued his conversation with the Frenchman.
"I am vexed at this contretemps," he said, "for I wished to consult with your friend on very important business."
"No matter; I am here. My friend, on starting, gave me full power to act in his name. You can speak, general; that is to say, if you do not consider me unworthy of your confidence."
"Such a supposition would be an insult, sir."
Valentine bowed.
"Well, caballero," the general continued, "the affair I wished to discuss with your friend is certainly important; but if your full powers extend to commercial transactions, I do not see why I should not treat with you as well as with him."
"Speak openly, then, general, for I am Don Louis' partner."
"This is the affair in two words – "
"Pardon me," Doña Angela suddenly said, with a little air of resolution, which even imposed on the general himself; "before you begin talking about trade, I should like to ask this gentleman a few questions."
The general turned in surprise, and bent an inquiring glance on his daughter.
"What can you have to ask this caballero?" he said.
"You will soon know, my dear papa," she replied with a slight tone of sarcasm, "if you will permit me to ask him two or three questions."
"Speak, then, you little madcap," the general exclaimed with a shrug of his shoulders; "speak, and make a finish as soon as you can."
"Thank you, papa. Your permission is, perhaps, not very graciously granted, but I shall not bear you malice on that account."
"As you permit it, general, I am at the lady's orders."
"In the first place, sir, promise me one thing."
"What is it, señorita?"
"That you will answer frankly and honestly all the questions I may ask you."
"What is the meaning of this folly, Angela?" the general said impatiently. "Is this the moment or the place? Is it befitting for – ?"
"Papa," the young lady boldly interrupted him, "you gave me permission to speak."
"Granted; but not in the way you seemed inclined to do so."
"Have a little patience, papa."
"Bah!" the captain said, interposing, "let her speak as she likes. Go on, my child – go on."
"I am waiting this gentleman's answer," she said.
"I make you the promise you ask, señorita," Valentine answered.
"I hold your word. What is your friend's name, sir?"
"Which one, señorita?".
"The one whose place you have taken."
"His name is Count Louis de Prébois Crancé."
"He is a Frenchman?"
"Born at Paris."
"You have known him a long time?"
"Since his birth, señorita. My mother was his nurse."
"Ah!" she said with pleasure; "then you are really his friend?"
"I am his foster brother."
"He has no secrets from you?"
"None, I fancy."
"Good!"
"Come, come," the general exclaimed, "this is becoming intolerable. What is the meaning of this interrogatory to which you subject the caballero, and to which he has the goodness to yield so complacently? Confound it, niña! I beg the señor's pardon in your name; for your conduct toward him is most improper."
"What is there improper in it, papa? My intentions are good, and I am certain that you will agree with me when you learn why I asked the caballero these simple questions, which, however, appear to you so extraordinary."
"Well, go on. What is the reason?"
"This. Three years back, during your journey from Guadalajara to Tepic, were you not attacked by salteadores at the spot called the Mal Paso?"
"Yes; but what has that in common, I ask – ?"
"Wait," she said gaily. "Two men came to your assistance?"
"Yes, and I am not ashamed to confess that, without them, I should probably have not only been robbed, but murdered by the bandits. Unfortunately these men obstinately refused to tell me their names. All my researches up to the present have been fruitless. I have been unable to find them again, and show them my gratitude, which I assure you vexes me extremely."
"Yes, papa, I know that you have often in my presence regretted your inability to find the courageous man to whom you owe your life, as well as I do, who was but a child at the time."
The young lady uttered these words with an emotion that affected all her hearers.
"Unfortunately," the general said a moment later, "three years have elapsed since that adventure. Who knows what has become of that man?"
"I do, papa."
"You, Angela!" he exclaimed in surprise. "It is impossible."
"My father, the questions I addressed to the gentleman, and which he answered so kindly, had only one object; to acquire a certainty by corroborating through the answers I received certain information I had obtained elsewhere."
"So that – ?"
"The man who saved your life is the Count Don Louis, who started this very morning for San Francisco."
"Oh!" the general said in great agitation, "it is impossible. You are mistaken, my child."
"Pardon me, general, but my friend has frequently told me the story in its amplest details," Valentine observed. "Why seek to hide longer a thing you now know?"
"And to remove all doubts, if any remain, which I hardly suppose, papa, in the presence of this caballero's loyal assurance, look at this man," she added, pointing to the Spaniard. "Do you not recognise Don Cornelio, our old travelling companion, who constantly sang to his jarana the romance of El Rey Rodrigo?"
The general examined the young man attentively.
"It is true," he said presently; "I now recognise this caballero, whom I left wounded, at his own request, in the hands of my generous liberator."
"Whom I have not left since," Don Cornelio affirmed.
"Ah!" the general said. "But why this obstinacy on Don Louis' part to keep his secret? Did he fancy that gratitude was too heavy a burden for me to bear?"
"Do not think such a thing of my friend," Valentine exclaimed quickly. "Don Louis believed, and still believes, that the service he rendered you was too trifling to have such great importance attached to it."
"Caspita! When he saved my honour! But now that I know him he shall not escape me longer. I will find him sooner or later, and prove to him that we Mexicans have a memory as long for good as for ill. I am his debtor, and, by heavens! I will pay him my debt."
"That is good, papa," the young lady exclaimed, as she threw herself into his arms.
"Enough, little madcap, enough. Confusion! You are stifling me. But tell me, little rogue, I believe that in all this you have been playing me a nice little trick."
"Oh, father!" she answered with a blush.
"Would you, miss, have the goodness to explain to me how you obtained all this information? I confess that it puzzles me considerably, and I should like to know."
Doña Angela, began laughing to conceal her embarrassment; but suddenly making up her mind with that decision which marked her character, —
"I will tell you, if you promise not to scold me too severely," she said.
"Go on; we will see afterwards."
"I told you a story this morning, papa," she said, letting her eyes fall.
"I suspect it: go on."
"If you frown in that way, and put on your naughty air, I warn you that I shall not say a word."
"And you will be right, niña," the captain supported her.
The general smiled.
"Come," he said, "you are taking her part, are you?"
"Caspita! I should think so."
"Come, come, be at your ease; I will not be angry, the more so because I suspect that the pretty baggage behind you, with her cunning looks, has something to do with the plot," he said, looking at Violanta, who could not keep her countenance.
"You have guessed it, papa. I slept splendidly last night: nothing disturbed my slumbers."
"Just listen to that, the little deceiver!"
"Last evening, however, I heard the sound of a jarana accompanying the Romance del Rey Rodrigo. I remembered our old travelling companion who never sang anything else. I know not how it was, but I persuaded myself that he was the singer, and so I sent Violanta to invite him to my room. Then – "
"Then he told you all?"
"Yes, papa. As I knew the desire you felt to know your liberator, I wished to surprise you by letting you find him at the moment you least expected. Unfortunately chance has thwarted all my plans, and destroyed my combinations."
"That was right, niña, for it will teach you not to have any secrets from your father. But console yourself, my child; we will find him again, and then he must allow us to express our gratitude to him, which time, far from lessening, has only heightened."
The young lady, without saying anything further, returned pensively to her seat. The general turned to Valentine.
"It is now our turn, caballero. You are the owner of the herd of cattle?"
"Yes, general; but I am not the only one."
"Who are your partners?"
"Don Louis and the caballero here present."
"Very good. Do you wish to dispose of your cattle advantageously?"
"It is my intention."
"How many head have you?"
"Seven hundred and seventy."
"And you are taking them – ?"
"To San Francisco."
"Caramba! That is a tough job."
"We purpose hiring peons to drive the animals."
"But if you could find a purchaser here?"
"I should prefer it."
"Well, I want cattle: most of mine have been stolen by the Apaches – those infernal plunderers! If you consent we will strike a bargain. Your herd suits me. My mayordomo has seen it, and I will buy it in the lump."
"I wish nothing better."
"We say seven hundred and seventy head, I think?"
"Yes."
"At twenty-five piastres apiece: that makes 19,250 piastres, if I am not mistaken. Does that suit you?"
"No, general," Valentine replied firmly.
Don Sebastian looked at him in amazement.
"Why so?" he said.
"Because I should rob you."
"Hum! That is my business."
"That is possible, general; but it is not mine."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that cattle are sold, one with the other, at eighteen piastres in San Francisco, and I cannot sell them for twenty-five here."
"Nonsense! I fancy I know the value of ganado as well as any man; and I offer you the price your herd is worth."
"No, general, it is not worth it, and you know it as well as I do," the hunter objected resolutely. "I thank you for your generosity, but I cannot accept it: my friend would be angry with me for making such a bargain."
"Then you refuse?"
"I do."
"It is perfectly novel for a merchant to refuse to gain a profit on his wares."
"Pardon me, general, I do not refuse an honest profit; but I will not rob you, that is all."
"On my word, you are the first man I ever knew to look at trade in that light."
"Probably, general, because you have never had dealings with a Frenchman."
"I must yield. What do you ask for the beasts?"
"Nineteen piastres per head, which, I assure you, will give me a very handsome profit."
"Be it so. That makes – ?"
"Fourteen thousand six hundred and thirty piastres."
"Very good. If that will suit you, I will give you an order for that sum on Messrs. Torribi, Dellaporta, and Co., at Guaymas."
"That will do admirably."
"You hear, captain, the herd is ours?"
"Good! This night it will start for the hacienda."
"When do you propose leaving, señores?"
"As soon as our business is settled here, general. We are anxious to rejoin our friend."
"In an hour the bill of exchange will be ready."
Valentine bowed.
"Still," the general continued, "you will be good enough to tell Don Louis that I regard myself as his debtor, and if ever he come to Sonora I will prove it."
"Possibly he may soon arrive," the hunter replied, with a side glance at Doña Angela, who blushed.
"I hope so; and now, gentlemen, I am at your service. If I can be of any use to you, remember that you can always apply to me."
"Receive my thanks, general."
After exchanging a few more words they parted. In passing Doña Angela, Valentine bowed respectfully.
"Don Louis still has your reliquary," he muttered in so low a voice that she guessed the words rather than heard them.
"Thank you," she answered; "you are kind."
"She loves Louis," Valentine said to himself as he returned to the cuarto, accompanied by Don Cornelio.
"The man is a fool to refuse a profit of 5000 piastres," the general said to Don Isidro so soon as he found himself alone with him.
"Perhaps so," the latter replied thoughtfully; "but I fancy he is an enemy."
The general shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, not deigning to attach the slightest importance to this insinuation.
The same evening Valentine and his two companions left San José, and proceeded toward Guaymas, without seeing Doña Angela or the general again.
CHAPTER XII
CONVERSATION
During the few thousand years since the world on which we vegetate issued from the hands of the Creator, many revolutions have taken place, many extraordinary facts have been accomplished. How many nations have succeeded each other, rising and falling in turn, disappearing without even leaving a trace, after traversing history like dazzling meteors, and then going out eternally in the night of ages!
But of all the strange facts of which the memory has been preserved, none in our opinion can be compared with what we have seen accomplished under our own eyes, with extraordinary audacity and success, during about three-quarters of a century.
Adventurers bursting from every quarter of the globe – some impelled by the fanaticism of religious faith, others by a spirit of adventure, others again, and the large majority, urged on by wretchedness – after landing as pilgrims on the American shores, asking shelter from the poor and innocent inhabitants of those hospitable countries, and purchasing for a song fertile estates, gradually congregated, expelled the first possessors of the soil, founded cities and ports, built arsenals, and one day shaking off the yoke of the mother country under whose ægis they had timidly sought shelter, constituted themselves an independent state, and founded that colossus, with feet of clay, body of gold, and head of mud, which is called the United States of America.
Humble at the outset, this poor Republic, singing in a loud voice the words, "Liberty and Fraternity!" – words whose noble and grand significance it never comprehended – displaying a rigid tolerance, an exaggerated virtue and puritanism, stepped insidiously into the councils of the European powers, climbed cunningly up to the thrones of sovereigns, and, beneath the mask of disinterestedness, gained acceptance from all. Suddenly, when the favourable moment arrived, the United States rose and assumed a haughty posture. They who had laid down in their Act of Independence that they would never consent to any aggrandisement, said in a domineering voice to Europe, surprised and almost terrified by such audacity, "This quarter of the globe is ours. We are a powerful nation. You must henceforth settle with us."
Unfortunately for themselves, in uttering these proud words, the Northern Americans did not believe them. On the one hand they were perfectly aware of their weakness; and, on the other, they knew very well that a multitude of individuals collected from all sides, without any tie of family or language among them, cannot form a people – that, is to say, a nation – in one century, not even in two.
Still, to be just and impartial to the United States, we must allow that their inhabitants possess to a supreme degree that feverish ardour which, if well directed, produces great results.
It is evident that these bold adventurers are accomplishing, though they little suspect it, a providential mission. What it is no one can say, themselves least of all. These men who stifle on the frontiers, which their population, though daily increasing, cannot fill; who aspire continually to leap over the barriers which other nations oppose to them; who only dream of the unknown, and are perpetually gazing at the distant horizon – these men, in whose ear a secret voice constantly murmurs, as to the Jew of the legend, "Onward, onward!" – these men are destined, ere long, to play a grand, glorious, and noble part in modern civilisation, if the profound egotism that undermines, and the thirst for gold which devours them, does not kill in them those regenerating virtues with which they are unconsciously endowed; and if, forgetting the spirit of conquest and desire for further aggrandisement, they draw more closely together the ties between the several states, and practise among themselves that liberty and fraternity of which they talk so jactantly abroad, but know so little at home.
No people equals the Americans in the art of founding towns. In a few days, on the spot where a virgin forest full of mystery and shadow stood, they lay out streets, build houses, light gas; and in the midst of these streets and squares, created as if by enchantment, the forest trees are not yet dead, and a few forgotten oaks flourish with a melancholy air.
It is true that many of these towns, improvised for the exigencies of the moment, are frequently deserted as rapidly as they were built; for the North American is the true nomadic race. Nothing attaches it to the soil: convenience alone can keep it at any given spot. It has none of those heart affections, none of those memories of childhood or youth, which induce us often to endure suffering in a place rather than quit it for others where we should be comparatively much better off. In a word, the American has no home, that word so endearing to Europeans. To him the most agreeable and comfortable abode is that where he can pile dollar on dollar with the greatest facility.
San Francisco, that city which now counts more than 60,000 inhabitants, and in which all the refinements of luxury can be found, is an evident proof of the marvellous facility with which the Americans improvise towns. We can remember bartering, scarce fifteen years back, with Flat-head Indians, beneath the shade of secular trees, on sites where splendid edifices now rise. We have fished alone in this immense bay, the finest in the world, which is at present almost too small to hold the innumerable vessels that follow each other in rapid succession.
At the period of our story San Francisco was not yet a city in the true acceptation of the word. It was a conglomeration of huts and clumsy cabins built of wood, and which afforded some sort of shelter to the adventurers of every nation whom the gold fever cast on its shores, and who only stopped there long enough to prepare for proceeding to the mines, or throw into the bottomless abysses of the gambling houses the nuggets they had collected with so much difficulty and suffering.
The police were almost non-existing: the stronger man made the law. The knife and revolver were the última ratio, and lorded it over this heterogeneous population, composed of the worst specimens the five parts of the globe could throw up.
A population incessantly renewed, never the same, lived in this Hades, a prey to that constant and fatal intoxication which the sight of that terrible metal called gold produces in even the strongest-minded men.
Still, at the period of which we are writing, the first fury of the race to the placers had somewhat cooled down. Owing to the impulse given by a few resolute men, gifted with lofty intellects and generous hearts, the normal life was beginning to be gradually organised; the bandits no longer daringly held the top of the causeway, honest men could at length breathe and raise their heads, all foreboded better days, and the dawn of an era of order, peace, and tranquillity had arrived.
About two months after the events we narrated in our preceding chapter we will lead the reader to a charming house built a little out of the throng, as if the inhabitants had sought to isolate themselves as much as possible; and after introducing him into a room modestly furnished with a few common chairs and a table, on which lay a large map of Mexico, we will listen to the conversation of the two men who were leaning over this map.
One of them is already well known to us, for he is the Count Louis; the other was a man of middle age, with a fine and intelligent face, whose eye sparkled with boldness and frankness; his manners were also very elegant. He appeared to be a Frenchman; at least he was talking in that language. At the moment we joined them the two gentlemen were inserting black-headed pins into certain districts of the map spread out before them.
"I am perfectly of your opinion, my dear count," the stranger said as he rose: "that road is the most direct, and at the same time the safest."
"Is it not?" Louis answered.
"Without any doubt. But tell me – you are quite resolved to disembark at Guaymas?"
"That is the most favourable point."
"I ask you that question, my dear countryman, because I have written to our representative in that town."
"Well?" the count said quickly, rising in his turn.
"All goes well; at least he tells me so in his letter."
"He has answered you?"
"Courier for courier. The Mexican authorities will see your arrival with the greatest pleasure; a barrack will be prepared for your men, and the principal posts of the town intrusted to them. You are expected with the most lively impatience."
"All the better, for I confess to you that I feared much annoyance in that quarter: the Mexicans have such a singular character, that one never knows how to deal with them."
"What you say is perfectly true, my friend; but remember that your position is an exceptional one, and can in no possible manner cause umbrage to the authorities of the town. You are the owner of a placer of incalculable richness, situated in a country where you will have continually to apprehend attacks from the Indians; you will, therefore, only pass through Guaymas."
"Literally so; for I declare to you that I shall set out with the least possible delay for the mine."
"Another thing, too: most of the men whose hatred or envy you might have occasion to fear are shareholders in the company you represent. If they show you any ill will, or try to impede your operations, they will carry on the war at their own expense, and naturally will be the first punished."
"That is true."
"And then you have no political object: your conduct is clearly laid down. Your desire is to find gold."
"Yes, and to insure a happy and independent position for the brave men who accompany me."
"What more noble task could you undertake?"
"So you are satisfied, sir?"
"I could not be more so, my dear count. Everything smiles on you: the company is definitively formed at Mexico."
"I knew that before. During my stay in that city I drew up the plans and prepared everything; besides, I believe I can reckon on the friends we have there."
"I believe so too. Did not the President of the Republic himself seem to adopt your views?"
"Enthusiastically."
"Very good. Now, in Sonora, the governor, with whom you will have alone to deal, is one of our largest shareholders, so you have nothing to fear in that quarter."
"Tell me, sir, do you know our representative at Guaymas?"
At this question a cloud passed over the stranger's forehead.
"Not personally," he answered, after a certain degree of hesitation.
"Then you can give me no information about him? You understand that it is important for me to know the character of the man with whom I shall doubtlessly enter into permanent relations, and from whom I shall be compelled to ask protection in certain difficult circumstances, such as may occur at any moment."
"That is true, my dear count. As you observe, you know not in what position accident may place you; it is, therefore, necessary that I should instruct you, so listen to me."
"I am giving you the most earnest attention."
"Guaymas, as you are very well aware, is of very slight importance to our nation in a commercial point of view. During the whole year not a dozen ships bearing our flag put in there. The French Government, therefore, considered it useless to send a French agent to that town, and acted like most of the powers – it selected one of the most respectable merchants in Guaymas, and made him its representative."
"Ah, ah!" the count said thoughtfully; "then our consular agent in that port is not a Frenchman?"
"No; he is a Mexican. It is unlucky for you; for I will not hide from you that our countrymen have several times complained of not obtaining from him that protection which it is his duty to give them. It seems, too, that this man is wonderfully greedy for gain."
"As far as that is concerned I do not alarm myself at all."
"The rest need not trouble you either. The Mexicans generally are not bad. They are children – that is all. You will easily master this man by talking to him firmly, and not yielding an inch of what you consider your right."
"Trust to me for doing that."
"There is nothing else to be done."
"Thanks for this precious information, which I shall profit by, be assured, at the proper time and place. What is his name?"
"Don Antonio Mendez Pavo; but, before your departure, I will give you a letter for him, which I am sure will prevent your having any vexatious disputes with the fellow."
"I accept with great pleasure."
"And now another point."
"Go on."
"Are your enlistments completed?"
