Gustave Aimard
The Insurgent Chief

CHAPTER V
THE ROYAL ARMY

We will abandon for some time the Guaycurus chiefs, to transport ourselves twenty leagues off, in the very heart of the Cordilleras, where were certain personages which have much to do with this narrative, and where, two or three days before that we have reached, events had passed which we must relate.

The civil war, in destroying the old hierarchy, established by the Castilians in their colonies, and in overturning ranks and castes, had brought to the surface of Hispano-American society certain persons very interesting to study, and amongst whom the Pincheyras undoubtedly held the most prominent place.

Let us state who were these Pincheyras, whose name has already several times been mentioned, and from whence came that dark and mysterious celebrity, which, even now, after so many years, surrounds their name with so much horror.

Pincheyra began, like the greater part of the partisans of this epoch – that is to say, that at first he was a bandit. Born at San Carlos, in the centre of that province of Manli whose inhabitants never bowed to the yoke of the Incas, and only submitted to that of the Spaniards, Don Pablo Pincheyra was an Indian from head to foot; the blood of the Araucans flowed almost unmixed in his veins; so that when he was outlawed, and constrained to seek a refuge among the Indians, the latter responded with alacrity to his first call, and came joyfully around him, to form the nucleus; of that redoubtable squadron which afterwards was to be called the royal army.

Pincheyra had three brothers. These men, who had gained but a scanty subsistence in wielding by turns the lasso and the hatchet – that is to say, in working on the farms and as woodcutters – seized the opportunity which their elder brother offered them, and attached themselves to him, in company with all the scapegraces it was possible to recruit.

Thus, the Pincheyras, as they were called, were not long in becoming the terror of the country that they had been pleased to choose as the theatre of their exploits.

When they had pillaged the great chacras, and put the hamlets to ransom, they took refuge in the desert, and here they braved with impunity the powerful rage of their enemies.

In fact, in these far-off regions, Justice, too weak, cannot make herself respected, and her agents, notwithstanding their good will, were obliged to remain spectators of the depredations daily committed by the bandits.

Don Pablo Pincheyra was far from being an ordinary man. Nature had been bountiful to him. To the courage of a lion he added a rare sagacity, a keenness of perception which was uncommon, united to manners full of nobility and affability.

Thus, events aiding, the bold chief of the bandits, far from being disquieted by his incessant acts of brigandage, knew how to make himself acceptable, not only as a partisan, but also to be sought after and solicited by those whose interest it had so long been to crush him, but who now found themselves obliged to claim his aid.

Don Pablo did not allow himself to be dazzled by this new caprice of fortune; he found himself at once equal to the part which chance called on him to play, and he boldly declared for Spain against the revolution.

His troop, considerably augmented by the deserters and volunteers who came to range themselves under his banner, was by degrees disciplined, thanks to some European officers which Don Pablo had succeeded in obtaining, and the old squadron of bandits was metamorphosed almost immediately into a regular troop – nearly an army – since it numbered in infantry and cavalry more than 1,500 combatants, a considerable number at that time in these sparsely populated countries.

When he considered that the royal army, as he emphatically called it, was in a position to take the field, Don Pablo Pincheyra boldly took the offensive, and commenced hostilities against the insurgents, falling upon them suddenly, and defeating them in several encounters.

The Pincheyras knew the most secret hiding places in the Cordilleras. Their expeditions over, they withdrew into these retreats, so much the more inaccessible, as they were defended not only by desolate solitude, but by the terror which these redoubtable partisans inspired. They cared for nothing, and spared neither children, women, nor old men, dragging them after them, attached by the wrists to the tails of their horses.

Another partisan chief – a brave and honest Castilian officer – also fought for the defence of the losing cause of Spain. He was named Zinoxain.

Thus, at the time when South America, from Mexico to the frontiers of Patagonia, rose at once against the odious yoke of Spain, and boldly proclaimed its independence, two isolated men, without any other prestige than their indomitable energy, sustained only by Indian bravos, and adventurers of all nations, heroically struggled against the current which was carrying them away, and endeavoured to place the colonies again under the domination of Castile.

Notwithstanding the misdeeds of these men – the Pincheyras especially, whose savage cruelty often led them into unjustifiable acts of barbarism – there was, nevertheless, something really grand in this determination not to abandon the fortune of their old masters, and to perish rather than betray their cause. Accordingly, even now, after so many years, their names in these countries are surrounded with a kind of halo of glory, and they have become to the mass of the people legendary beings, whose incredible exploits are related with respectful fear, as, after the hard labours of day, they peacefully talk round the watch fire on the Pampas, drinking their maté, and smoking their cigarettes.

At about twenty leagues from the spot where the Guaycurus had stopped till the hottest part of the day had passed – in the centre of a vast valley, crowned on all sides by the snowy and inaccessible peaks of the Cordillera – Don Pablo Pincheyra had established his camp.

This camp, placed near the source of two rivers, was not provisional, but permanent; so it rather resembled a town than a bivouac of soldiers. The huts – made in the Indian fashion, in the form of toldos, with stakes crossed at the top, and covered with leather from the hides of cows and mares – affected a kind of symmetry in their position, forming streets, squares, and crossways, having corrals, filled with oxen and horses. Some of them had little gardens, where were grown, as well as it could be done considering the region of the climate, a few kitchen herbs.

In the centre of the camp were the toldos of the officers, and of the four brothers Pincheyra —toldos, better built, better furnished, and much cleaner than those of the soldiers.

Entrance could only be had into the valley where the camp was established by two narrow canyons, situated one at the east, and the other at the southwest of the camp; but these two canyons were so fortified by means of heaps of wood massed together, apparently pell-mell, but perfectly arranged nevertheless, that any attempt to force the double entry of these canyons would have been vain. The sentinels planted there, however – their eyes fixed on the windings of the defiles – watched attentively over the common safety, while their companions, withdrawn under their toldos, lounged at their occupations with an easy carelessness which showed they were certain they had no serious danger to fear.

The toldo of Don Pablo Pincheyra was easy to recognise at the first glance. Two sentinels paced before it, and several horses, saddled and ready to be mounted, were attached to pickets at some paces from the door, over which, from a long lance fixed in the ground, floated majestically the Spanish flag, in the inconstant play of the fresh morning breeze. Women – amongst whom several were young and pretty, though their features were for the most part tarnished by sorrow and excessive labour – traversed the streets of the camp, carrying water, wood, or provisions; some at the entrance of the toldos were occupied in the cares of the house; and soldiers mounted on strong horses, and armed with long lances, drove the animals out of the corrals, and led them to the pasturage outside the camp. In fact, all was bustle and animation in this strange repair of the bandits, who called themselves the royal army; and yet, through all this excitement and apparent disorder it was easy to recognise a regulating mind, and a powerful will which directed all, without ever meeting objection or even hesitation on the part of the subordinates.

At the moment we enter the camp a man wearing the costume of the Gauchos of the Pampas Of Buenos Aires, lifted the frazada, a covering serving for a door to a toldo, built with some regularity, and after having cast around him a curious and anxious look, he left the toldo, though with some hesitation, and entered the street.

Like all the inhabitants of this singular centre of population, this man was armed to the teeth, with a sabre which hung at his left side, a pair of long pistols passed through his girdle, a knife with a straight blade fixed on his right polena, and the horn handle of which rested on his thigh, and a double-barrelled gun, which was thrown on his shoulder.

Notwithstanding this formidable arsenal which he carried with him, the man of whom we speak appeared by no means at his ease. His hesitating walk, the furtive glances which he continually threw around him – all denoted a misgiving which he tried vainly to conceal, but which he could not succeed in conquering.

"Parbleu!" murmured he, in a low voice, "I am an idiot, upon my honour! One man is as good as another; and if it should come to blows, it must. If I am killed – well, so much the better, for then all will be over. I should like that the more, as this absurd existence begins to weigh heavily on me. Never mind, I doubt whether Salvator Rosa, when he was among the brigands, ever saw such a complete collection of bandits as those with whom I have had the happiness of living for the last two months. What magnificent vagabonds! It would be impossible, I think, to meet their equals. Ah!" added he, with a sigh of regret, "If it were only possible for me to sketch some of them! But no, these fellows have no love for art; it is impossible to trace them for a moment. To the devil with that queer notion which made me stupidly abandon France to come here."

And Emile Gagnepain – for the reader has doubtless already recognised him – gave a second sigh, more profound than the first, and cast upward a despairing look.

Meanwhile, he continued to advance hastily towards one of the outlets of the camp. His step had become by degrees more firm: he had proudly raised his head, and had succeeded – with great difficulty, no doubt – in affecting the most complete carelessness.

The painter had nearly traversed the entire length of the camp; he had reached a rather large toldo, serving as a corps de garde for the soldiers, watching at the entrenchments; and he hastened his pace with the design, no doubt, of escaping the inquisitive questions of some lazy partisan, when he felt himself tapped on the shoulder. Although this touch had nothing aggressive in it, and was, on the contrary, quite friendly, the young man started; but, putting a good face on it, he immediately turned, and, assuming the most amiable look that he could, he held out his hand to him who had thus come upon him unawares, and smilingly saluted him with the buenos días caballero, which is the rule throughout Spanish territory.

"And you, Señor Frenchman," gaily answered his visitor, returning his salute, and gently pressing his hand, "you are well, I hope. It must be by chance like this for me to have the pleasure of glancing at your friendly face."

The painter was for a moment taken aback at this speech, the malicious tone of which did not escape him; but, conquering his emotion, and feigning the most complete friendliness —

"What do you wish, Don Pablo?" he answered; "This apparent negligence of which you complain is by no means my fault. The cares of your command occupy and absorb you so much that you become unapproachable, whatever desire I may have to visit you."

Don Pablo Pincheyra – for it was he – smiled craftily.

"Is that really the motive which makes you avoid me?" said he.

"Avoid you?"

"Well, find another expression if you can – I am agreeable; I will say abstain from seeking me, if you prefer it."

"You make a mistake, Don Pablo," answered the young man, with firmness, who was getting rather warm; "I do not avoid you any more than I have reason to abstain from seeking you, and the proof – "

"The proof?" interrupted Don Pablo, with a searching look.

"It is that today, at this very moment, I was proceeding towards the intrenchments in the hope of meeting you."

"Ah! Ah!" said he; "Then, as it is so, I am happy, caballero, that chance has so well served you in bringing us face to face."

"Chance has nothing to do in the affair, I beg you to believe, Don Pablo."

"It would have been better, however, to have come simply to my toldo."

"That is not my opinion, since I meet you here."

"That is true," said the partisan, laughing; "you have an answer for everything, my dear Sir. Let us admit, then, that you really had the intention of visiting me; and will you acquaint me with the reasons to which I owe the honour of this tardy visit?"

"Believe me, dear Don Pablo, this place is not well suited for such a serious conversation as that which I wish to have with you."

"Ah!" said Don Pablo; "Is it then important business on which you have to speak?"

"It could not be more important."

"If that is the case, I am, to my great regret, compelled to beg you to defer this conference for some hours."

"May I be permitted, without appearing impertinent, to ask you the motive of this delay, which, I admit, annoys me much?"

"Oh! Mon Dieu! I have no secrets from you, my dear sir, you know. The fact is, that I expect every moment the arrival of certain persons with whom I must, as soon as they come, have a conversation of the highest importance."

"Pardon, Seigneur Don Pablo, but these persons to whom you allude – I think I know them, by reputation at least; moreover, if I am well informed, I know on what subject their conversation with you will turn."

The black eye of Don Pablo Pincheyra darted a flashing look, which he immediately controlled, and he answered in a gentle and honeyed tone —

"And you infer from that, my dear Sir? – "

"I infer, Seigneur Don Pablo, that perhaps it would be best, in the general interest, that you consented to hear me first."

The painter, whose mind was made up, and who felt anger working within him, had become severe and sharp, and was resolved to push affairs to an extremity, whatever might be the consequences.

On his side, Don Pablo, under his feigned friendliness, concealed a resolution previously made, and from which nothing would make him depart. Between these two men who spoke thus – with a smile on their lips, but hatred, or at least anger, in their hearts – a strange scene was thus being enacted.

It was the partisan who renewed the conversation, which had been for a moment interrupted.

"So, Señor Frenchman," said he, "you had left your toldo with the intention of paying me a visit."

"Yes, Seigneur."

"To me specially."

"Yes, to you."

"Eh!" said he, with an expressive sneer, pointing to the young man's girdle, which was furnished with arms; "You will admit that you take singular precautions when you come to see your friends."

"We are in a country, Seigneur," coldly answered the painter, "where it is well to be always on one's guard."

"Even with one's friends?"

"Especially with one's friends," said he, sharply.

"Well," coldly resumed the partisan, "follow me secretly, that we may be able to talk without fear of interruption."

"I will do so."

"You will remark, Señor, that I have more confidence in you than you deign to show towards me."

"Because, Seigneur? – "

"Because I am without arms."

The young man shrugged his shoulders.

"You act as you think fit," said he, coldly; "perhaps you are wrong, perhaps you are right – who can say?"

"I do not fear being assassinated."

"If that insult is addressed to me, it fails. If I am taking precautions against you, it does not follow that I am capable of assassinating you, as you insinuate."

The partisan shook his head with an air of doubt.

"People furnish themselves with arms," continued the young man, with a cutting accent, "to defend themselves against the attacks of wild beasts, without having on that account the desire of fighting them."

"Well, well, Señor Frenchman," said Don Pablo, in a melancholy tone, "come without any more words; I have but a few minutes to give you – take advantage of them."

While exchanging these bitter complaints, the two men had proceeded side by side, and had left the camp, saluted on their passage by the sentinels at the entrenchments.

They continued thus to advance into the country till they had reached a rather retired spot – a kind of elbow formed by a turn in the canyon in which they were, and where they could be neither seen nor heard; while they, on the other hand, could see a considerable distance to right and left up and down the road which led to the camp, and on which no one could have appeared without being discovered.

"I think, Señor Frenchman," said Don Pablo, stopping, "that this place will suit you; be so good, then, as to speak without further delay."

"So I will," answered the Frenchman, placing on the ground the butt end of his gun, and leaning his two hands on the end of the barrel, as he cast a suspicious look around him.

"Oh! We are quite alone; come," pursued Don Pablo, with an ironical smile, "you can speak without fear."

"It is not fear which restrains me just now, but I have so many things to say to you that I do not really know how to commence."

"As you like; only, make haste if you wish me to hear you to the end. In a few minutes, perhaps, I shall be obliged to leave you."

"The Spanish officer whom you expect will not be here for an hour at least; we have time, then."

"How do you know that I expect a Spanish officer?"

"What does that matter, if it is so?"

"Señor Frenchman," pursued he, knitting his eyebrows, and with a somewhat threatening tone, "take care how you penetrate my secrets before I should wish you to know them. For two months that we have lived together you have been, I suppose, in a position to know me. It will not be well, believe me, to try and mix yourself up, against my will, in my affairs."

"You would do well to speak thus if these affairs concerned you alone; but as, unhappily, I find myself concerned in them, they are as much mine as yours."

"I do not understand you."

"Are you quite sure of that?" asked the young man, with an ironical smile.

"Come, explain yourself frankly and honourably, as a man, instead of prating like an old woman," pursued the partisan, beginning to be angry.

"It is two months," resumed the young man, "that we have lived together, as you yourself have said. What have you done during these two months? How have you kept the promise you made me?"

"Have I not saved the two ladies, as I promised, from the peril that threatened them?"

"Yes, but to make them fall into one still worse."

"I do not understand you, Señor."

"There are none so deaf as those who do not wish to hear. You understand me very well Unhappily for you, you have not yet reached the point where you think you are. I have sworn to defend these poor ladies, and I will defend them, if it is at the peril of my life."

"You are mad, Señor; no one that I know – I less than anyone – has any intention to injure these ladies in any way. Since their arrival here at Casa-Frama, you cannot deny that they have been treated with the greatest attention and respect. Of what do they complain?"

"They complain of being exposed to misplaced and almost dishonouring attentions on your part; moreover, they say with reason that, far from giving them that liberty that you had engaged to give them, you sequester them, and treat them as if they were your captives."

Don Pablo shrugged his shoulders with disdain.

"The women are all alike," said he, with irony; "nothing will satisfy them. I am in a better position than these ladies are to judge what is fitting for them.

"Besides, if they will keep quiet, they will not have long to remain here, and if the sight of my companions shocks them, they will soon be delivered from it."

"It is not the sight of your companions which shocks them, but yours and your brothers – the ridiculous homage with which you fatigue them every hour of the day, and the pretentions that you do not fear to make everyone acquainted with."

The features of the partisan contracted, a terrified pallor covered his face, and his eyebrows were knitted till they met.

"Take care, Señor," cried he in a sullen and forced tone, repressing with great difficulty the anger which he felt; "take care; you are in my power – do not forget that; and I am the man whom his enemies have called the bear of Casa-Frama."

"What matters it to me the names they give you?" cried Emile, forgetting all bounds: "One only will suit you, if you persist in the fatal course you have entered on – that of bandit."

"Vive Dieu!" cried he, with violence, "This insult deserves blood! A coward only dares thus to outrage a man without arms."

"Nonsense," resumed the young man, with contempt; "without arms!" and with a gesture of nobility, he threw a pistol at the feet of the partisan, at the same time abandoning his gun, and taking his second pistol from his girdle.

"Pardieu! That is a good evasion! If you are as brave as you pretend, here is a weapon – do me justice. You imagine, then, that I am afraid to fight with you?"

"¡Rayo de Dios!" cried the partisan, with rage, "You shall have the pleasure of it!"

And darting at the pistol, he cocked it, and discharged it almost close to the breast of the young man.

The fate of the latter seemed doomed. Considering the little distance which separated him from his adversary, nothing apparently could save him. Happily the partisan, blinded by rage, had not calculated his fire; the ball, badly directed, instead of striking the Frenchman full in the body, only made a slight graze on the arm, and fell harmless.

"Your life belongs to me," coolly said the young man, cocking his pistol in his turn.

"Blow my brains out then, ¡caray!" cried Don Pablo; "Fire, and let all be over!"

"No," replied the young painter, without emotion, "it is well for you to see the difference which exists between a man of your sort and of mine."

"Which means – ?" murmured the partisan, when rage stifled.

"That I pardon you!" said Emile.

"Pardon, you say – pardon?" cried he, with the roar of a tiger, "To me!"

"To you, pardieu! To whom else?"

And coolly pushing away with his wounded arm the partisan, who had darted towards him, he raised his pistol, and discharged it over his head. Don Pablo remained an instant astounded, his eyes bloodshot, his features livid, his hands clinched, incapable of understanding the grandeur of this action, but conquered spite of himself, by the ascendancy that the young man had in an instant acquired over his rude and savage nature.

"Your life, then," quietly resumed the young man "belongs to me; I have given it you back. I only demand in return one thing."

"You demand something of me?" said he, with a mocking sneer.

"Yes."

"Oh! Oh! And if I should not choose to accord you anything?"

"Oh, then," pursued he, with the greatest coolness, "as everything must have an end, and as it is always allowable to rid one's self of a wild beast, I shall blow your brains out, as though you were a mad dog."

While speaking thus, Emile had taken his gun in his hand.

The partisan found himself again at the mercy of his adversary.

The former cast at him a look of hatred, but he could see by the countenance of his enemy that he would not hesitate to put his threat into execution. Then – thanks to that control which he had over himself – he brought back calmness to his features, which had been distorted by rage, and, bowing with a gracious smile —

"Be it so, I will do what you wish, Señor. Your noble generosity has conquered my obstinacy. Speak."

"Swear on your salvation, by Our Lady of Solitude, to be faithful to what you engage to do."

"I swear it, on my salvation, by Our Lady of Solitude."

This virgin, much venerated by the gauchos, the trappers, and other people of that kind, was – at least he thought so – the protectress of Don Pablo Pincheyra; he was very devoted towards her, and no consideration whatever would have induced him to violate an oath made in her name. Emile was aware of this circumstance.

"During three days from this time you will not take any steps against the two ladies confided to my care."

"I swear it."

At this moment a distant gallop was heard, and a troop of horsemen soon appeared at a considerable distance.

"Here are the persons whom you expect," pursued Emile; "I should like to be present at your interview with them."

"Very well, you shall be present at it Do you wish anything else?"

"Nothing."

"What, is that all?"

"Yes."

"You do not stipulate anything for your personal safety?"

"Nonsense," answered the young man, with disdain. "You are jesting, Seigneur; what have I to fear from you? You would not dare to attempt the life of his who, master of yours, has refused to take it."

The partisan stamped his foot with rage, but he did not answer.

The horsemen rapidly approached; a few minutes more, and they would have overtaken the two men who looked at them as they came on, without making any movement towards them.