Gustave Aimard
The Insurgent Chief
CHAPTER IX
THE INDIAN
As we have said at the end of the preceding chapter, at the moment when the painter came out of the gallery in the cavern, he found himself face to face with Tyro, who, having entered by the opposite gallery, and not finding him in the room, was going to seek for him in the stable, where he supposed the painter might be.
The two men remained a short time motionless and silent, facing each other, carefully examining each other, and somewhat embarrassed how to commence the conversation. However, the situation, already very embarrassing, threatened, if it continued much longer, to become critical. The Frenchman saw that he must, at any price, get out of it; so he resolved on speaking boldly, persuaded that this was the best means of escaping from his embarrassment.
"You here, at last, Tyro!" he cried, feigning great joy; "I began to feel uneasy at this seclusion, to which I cannot become accustomed."
"It was impossible for me to come sooner to see you, master," answered the Indian, giving a cunning glance from under his half-closed eyelashes. "You have, I suppose, found everything in order here."
"Perfectly. I must confess that I have passed an excellent night."
"Ah!" said the Guaraní; "You have heard nothing? Has there been no unusual noise to disturb your sleep?"
"Upon my word, no; I have slept right off through the whole night. I only waked about half an hour ago."
"So much the better, master. I am delighted at what you tell me. If you did not tell it to me so decidedly, I frankly confess I should scarcely have believed you."
"Why?" asked he, with feigned astonishment.
"Because, master, the night has been anything but tranquil."
"Ah! Bah!" cried he, with the most natural air that he could assume; "What has happened, then? You understand that, buried here, at the bottom of this hole, I am ignorant of everything."
"A desperate battle has been fought close by here, between the Spaniards and the patriots."
"The devil! That is serious. And this combat has terminated?"
"Otherwise, should I be here, master?"
"That is right, my friend. And who have got the best of it?"
"The patriots."
"Ah! Ah!"
"Yes, and for certain reasons I am very sorry, for your sake."
"For me, do you say, Tyro? What have I to do in the matter?"
"Are you not proscribed by the patriots?"
"Just so, you remind me of a fact; but what does that signify?"
"Why, at this moment the Spaniards are, or at least are supposed to be, your friends."
"That is true; but conquerors or conquered, I should not be able to claim their aid."
The Indian remained a moment silent; then he took a step backward, and, bowing to the young man —
"Master," said he, in a sad voice, "What have I done to lose your confidence? What have I done that you should now wish to keep secrets from me?"
Emile felt that he blushed; however, he answered —
"I do not understand this reproach that you address to me, my brave friend; explain yourself more clearly."
The Guaraní shook his head with a sorrowful air.
"What good will it be," pursued he, "since you mistrust me?"
"I mistrust you!" cried the young man, who felt that he was to blame, but who did not believe himself authorised to give up a secret which did not belong to him.
"Certainly, master. Look at these two glasses and two plates; look, moreover, at these remains of cigars."
"Well?"
"Well, do you think, then, that, if I did not know already, these things would not be sufficient to prove to me the presence of another person here besides yourself?"
"How? What do you know?"
"I know, master, that a man, whose name, if I chose, I could easily tell you, this morning entered the cavern, that you have given him hospitality, and that at the moment I am speaking, he is still here – hidden there – look," added he, stretching out his arm – "in that gallery."
"But then," cried the young man, violently, "since you are so well informed, you have then betrayed me?"
"So, he is really here?" said the Indian, with a gesture of joy.
"Have you not just told me so yourself?"
"True, master, but I feared that he had already gone away."
"Ah! But what does all that mean? I am quite at a loss to understand it."
"It is, nevertheless, very simple, master; call this man; all will be explained in a few words."
"Ma foi!" cried the young man, in an ill-humoured tone; "Call him yourself, since you know him so well."
"You are angry with me, master; you are wrong, for in everything that occurs I should only act for you and in your interest."
"It is possible, but I am annoyed at the position in which fate constantly places me, and at the absurd part I am condemned to play."
"Oh, master, do not complain; for this time, I assure you, Fate, as you call it, has shown rare intelligence; and you will soon have a proof of it."
"I should like nothing better."
"Will you permit me, master?" —
"Are you not in your own place? Do what you like; I wash my hands of it."
After having answered, by this outburst, the young man threw himself on a seat, and lit a cigar with the most careless air he could affect, although he felt himself in reality quite upset by the situation in which he found himself.
The Indian looked at him a moment with an indefinable expression, and then, taking his hand, and kissing it respectfully —
"Oh, master!" said he, in a gentle and somewhat trembling voice, "Do not be unjust towards a faithful servant."
And then he strode towards the gallery.
"Come, Don Santiago," cried he, with a loud voice, stopping at the entrance, "you can show yourself; there are none here but friends."
The sound of a quick step was heard, and the Montonero almost immediately showed himself.
Alter having cast a glance around him, he advanced briskly towards the Guaraní, and, grasping him heartily by the hand —
"¡Vive Dios!" cried he; "My brave friend, I am happy to see you here!"
"And so am I, Señor," respectfully answered the Indian; "but first permit me to ask you a favour."
"What, my friend?"
"In return for the service I have rendered you, render me another."
"If it depends on me, I will do so willingly."
"Will you be good enough to explain to this gentleman, who is my master, what has passed between you and me the last two days?"
"What!" said the Spaniard, with surprise; "This caballero your master – my friend; the meeting is strange!"
"It may be that I had prepared it, or at least tried to arrange it," answered the Indian.
"That's possible, after all," said the Spaniard.
"You know that I do not understand a word of what you are saying," interrupted the Frenchman with suppressed impatience.
"Speak, Don Santiago, I beg you."
"This is what has occurred," pursued the Montonero. "For certain reasons, too long to tell you – and which, moreover, would very little interest you, I am convinced – I am the friend of this brave Indian, to whom I cannot, and do not wish to refuse anything. Two days ago, then, he came to me, at one of my habitual rendezvous that he has long known, and made me promise to come here with some of the men of my squadron, in order to protect the flight of several persons in whom he is much interested, and whom the patriots – I do not know for what reasons – have proscribed."
"Hum!" cried the young man, rising quickly, and throwing away his cigar; "Continue, continue; Señor; it this becomes very interesting to me."
"So much the better; only you do wrong to throw away your cigar on that account. I have come, then. Unhappily, notwithstanding all the precautions that I have taken, I have been discovered, and – you know the rest."
"Yes, but you do not know it, Señor, and I am going to tell you," answered the Indian.
"I should like nothing better."
"One moment!" cried the painter, holding out his hand to the Guaraní. "I owe you an apology, Tyro, for my unjust suspicions. I offer it from the bottom of my heart. You know how soured I must be through all that has happened to me the last few days, and I am convinced that you will excuse me."
"Oh, that is too much, master; your goodness confounds me," answered the Guaraní, with emotion. "I only wished to prove to you that I am still your faithful servant."
"There remains not the least doubt of that, my friend."
"Thank you, master."
"Yes, yes," murmured the Spaniard; "believe me, Señor, these redskins are better than they are generally supposed, and when they once are attached to you, you can always reckon on them; now, my brave friend," added he, addressing Tyro, "tell me what, according to you, I do not know."
"The result – here it is, Señor; you have been betrayed."
"¡Vive Dios! I feared so; you know the traitor?"
"I know him."
"Good!" said he, joyfully rubbing his hands; "you will no doubt tell me his name."
"It is useless, Señor; I intend to chastise him myself."
"As you please. I should, however, have much liked to give myself that pleasure."
"Believe me, Señor – you or me – he will lose nothing," pursued the Indian, with an accent of hatred it would be impossible to render.
"I will not cavil any longer with you on that; let us return to our business; I am sufficiently embarrassed at this moment."
The Indian smiled.
"Do you not know me then, Don Santiago?" said he; "The evil has been repaired as far as it is possible."
"Good! That is to say – "
"That is to say, that I have myself carried the news of your defeat to your friends; that tonight twenty-five horsemen will arrive here, where we shall conceal them, whilst fifty others will await your return to Vado del Nandus, ambuscaded in the rocks."
"Perfectly arranged all that – perfectly, my master," said the Spaniard, in a joyous tone. "But why should I not go myself, just to meet my friends? That would simplify matters very much, it appears to me. I do not expect to be a second time defeated, as I was last night. I do not propose this out of self-love, you know, especially as I hope someday or other to have my revenge."
"All that is just, Don Santiago," answered the Indian, "but you forget that I have asked you to render me a service."
"That is true! I do not know where my brains are at this moment; excuse me, I beg, and be convinced that I am still at your disposal."
"I thank you. Now, master," added he, turning towards the young man, "it is necessary that this very day the ladies that you know should quit San Miguel; tomorrow would be too late. You must go immediately and resume your disguise, and repair to the convent. It is but about two leagues from here to the convent. You will arrive just at sunset, only you must make haste."
"The devil!" murmured the painter, "But how shall I conduct these ladies here."
"Do not let that disturb you, master; at the gate of the convent a guide will await you, who will bring you safely here."
"And that guide?"
"Will be me, master."
"Oh, that will be all right then," said the young man.
"You have not a moment to lose."
"Can I resume my nap?" asked the Spaniard.
"Certainly, nothing will prevent you; especially as I shall return in time to introduce your companions into the cave."
"Very well. Good fortune then."
And he stretched himself comfortably in the hammock, while Tyro aided his master to complete his metamorphosis, which did not take long.
The two men then left the cavern by the gallery through which Tyro had entered, leaving the Spaniard already in a sound sleep.
The gallery by which the master and the servant departed led out to the very bank of the river, and was so completely concealed, that unless anyone had known of its existence, it would never have been suspected.
A boat, run aground on the land, at a few paces off, awaited them.
Tyro immediately went towards it; he set it partly afloat, made his master enter it, stepped into it himself, and then, taking the paddles, launched it into the current.
"We shall arrive quicker thus," he said; "by this means I can put you down at a few paces only from the spot where you are going."
The painter made a sign of assent, and they continued their route.
The idea of the Indian was excellent in this respect, that not only this means of locomotion, which was very rapid, very much shortened the journey that they had to make, but it also had the advantage of freedom from espionage, always to be feared on entering the town, and traversing streets filled with people.
The head of the boat soon grated on the sand of the bank; they had arrived. The Frenchman landed.
"Good fortune!" murmured Tyro, pushing off again.
Spite of himself, on finding himself again in the midst of a town, where he knew he was looked for as a criminal, and tracked as a wild beast, the young man felt some emotion, and felt his heart beat more than usual.
He knew that he was risking his head on a throw of the dice, in an enterprise that many others in his place would have considered as mad, especially in the critical position in which he found himself placed.
But Emile had a generous and intrepid heart; he had promised two ladies to try all he could to aid them; and, notwithstanding the natural apprehension which he felt as to the result of his expedition, he had not for a moment the thought of failing in his word.
Moreover, what had he to fear more than death? Nothing. Exposed already to the hatred of the patriots, in case of surprise, he still had the chance of selling his life dearly. Under his disguise, he was well armed; and, moreover, his course was decided on; the Rubicon was passed; he could not go back. He threw an inquiring look around him, assured himself that the environs were deserted, and, after having a last time touched the pistols placed under his poncho in his girdle, he boldly entered the street.
Like the bank of the river, the street was a desert.
The young man, affecting the somewhat trembling step of an old man, and looking carefully around him, took the side of the street opposite to that of the convent. Then, having arrived before the windows, he twice repeated the signal which he had agreed upon with the marchioness.
"Suppose," said he to himself, "they have placed someone in concealment, and my signal has been perceived!"
Then, after a pause, no doubt employed in still further bracing up his resolution, he crossed the street and approached the gate.
At the moment when he was preparing to knock, the gate opened.
He entered, and the gate shut immediately after him.
"Ouf!" said he, "Here am I in the mousetrap; what is going to happen now?"
A nun – not the same as had the first time opened to him – stood before him. Without uttering a word, she made him a sign to follow her, and proceeded.
They thus traversed silently and rapidly the long corridors and the cloisters, and at last reached the chamber of the superior. The door was open.
The conductress of the young man stood on one side to give him entrance, and when he had gone in, shut the door behind him, remaining herself outside.
One person only was in the chamber; this person was the superior.
The young man bowed respectfully to her.
"Well," she asked, briskly approaching him, "what has happened? Speak without fear; no one can hear us."
"What has happened, Madame," answered he, "is, that if these ladies still have the intention to fly, all is ready."
"God be praised!" cried the superior, with, joy, "And when shall they go?"
"Immediately, if they are disposed; tomorrow, as I am assured, it would be too late for them."
"It is but too true, alas!" said she, with a sigh; "So you can answer for their safety?"
"I can answer, Madame, that I would suffer myself to be killed to defend them; a man cannot engage to do more."
"You are right, caballero; it is, in fact, more than we have a right to ask you."
"Now, Madame, be so kind as to inform these ladies as soon as possible; I do not need to repeat, that time is very precious."
"They are aware of it already; they are now finishing their preparations; in a short time they will be here."
"So much the better, for I am anxious to get in the open country. I confess that I do not breathe freely within these thick walls. You know, Madame, that you have offered me the means of facilitating our quitting this house. I could not by myself undertake this task, in which I should fail."
"Do not distress yourself; what I have said I will do."
"A thousand thanks, Madame; permit me one last observation."
"Speak, caballero."
"When I first came here, I thought I remarked – perhaps I was deceived – that the person who acted as my guide did not possess your entire confidence."
"Yes, Señor, you were not deceived; but," added she, with a significant smile, "you will now have nothing to fear from the indiscretions of that nun; her post is occupied by a reliable person; as to the former, I have given her another position."
The young man bowed.
At the same moment a door opened, and two persons entered.
The darkness which began to prevail in the room prevented the Frenchman at first recognising these two persons, enveloped in thick mantles, and their heads covered with hats, which so covered their faces, that their features could not he distinguished.
"We are lost?" murmured he, taking a step backward, and instinctively putting his hand to his pistols.
"Stop!" sharply cried one of the two unknown, letting fall the lappet of her mantle, "Do you not see who we are?"
"Oh!" cried the Frenchman, recognising the marchioness.
"I thought," she resumed, "that for the hazardous adventure which we undertake this costume would be better than our own."
"And you are most decidedly right, Madame. Oh! now, if there be no unforeseen complications, I think I may almost answer for the success of your escape."
The young girl concealed herself timidly and trembling behind her mother.
"We will leave when you please, Madame," pursued the young man, "only I think the sooner the better."
"Immediately! Immediately!" cried the marchioness.
"Very well," said the superior, "follow me."
They quitted the chamber.
The marchioness and her daughter each carried a light valise under their arms.
The marchioness also – no doubt to add to the correctness of her masculine costume – had a pair of pistols in her girdle, a sabre at her side, and a cutlass in her right polena.
The cloisters were deserted; a death-like silence reigned in the convent.
"You can go without any fear," said the superior; "no one watches you."
"Where are the horses?" asked the marchioness.
"At a few paces from here," answered Emile; "it would have been imprudent to have brought them to the convent."
"That is true," answered the marchioness.
They still walked on.
The painter was very uneasy. The last question of the marchioness, about the horses, reminded him – rather late in the day – that he had never thought of providing them. Carried away by the rapidity with which events had occurred since the arrival of Tyro in the cavern, he had left everything to the Guaraní, without for a moment thinking of this little matter, which was, nevertheless, so important for the success of his project of flight.
"Confound it," murmured he to himself, "suppose Tyro has had no more memory than I! I could not, however, admit this unpardonable forgetfulness; besides, the principal thing is to escape from here."
The four persons rapidly traversed the corridors, and were not long in reaching the gate of the convent. The superior, after having cast a searching look through the grating, to assure herself that the street was deserted, took a key from the bunch hanging at her girdle, and opened the door.
"Adieu, and the Lord protect you!" said she; "I have honourably kept my promise."
"Adieu, and thank you," answered the marchioness. As to the young girl, she threw herself into the arms of the nun, and embraced her, weeping.
"Go! go!" quickly cried the superior; and pushing them gently, she closed the door behind them.
The two ladies gave a last sad look at the convent, and, enveloping themselves carefully in their mantles, they prepared to follow their protector.
"Which way do we take?" asked the marchioness.
"This," answered Emile, turning to the right – that is to say, proceeding to the river.
Was it by chance or intuition that he took this direction? A little of one and a little of the other.
A rather large barque, rowed by four men, was waiting, run aground on the bank.
"Eh!" said one of the men, in whom Emile immediately recognised Tyro; "Here is the master – that is not unfortunate."
The latter, without answering, made his companions enter the barque, and immediately stepped in after them.
On a sign from the Indian, the oars were shipped, and the barque darted rapidly away.
The ladies gave a sigh of relief.
Tyro had thought that it would be better, on leaving, to resume the same mode of travelling, especially on account of the ladies, who, notwithstanding all their precautions, ran the risk of being easily discovered; only, as he had not thought of acquainting his master with his plans, he feared that the latter might have arranged to traverse the streets. He had therefore grounded the barque in such a position that he could see his master on his exit from the convent; and if he had seen him turn in an opposite direction to that which he had taken, he would have run after him so as to bring them back.
We have seen how, this time, Fate – no doubt tired of always persecuting the young man – had consented to protect him in directing him in the right way.
Thanks to the darkness – for the sun had set, and already the darkness was great – and especially to the breadth of the river, the barque keeping to the middle, the fugitives ran very little risk of being recognised.
They accomplished their passage in a very little time, and during all the time they did not meet any other boat than their own, except an Indian pirogue containing a single man, which crossed them on their leaving the town.
But this pirogue passed them too far off, and its course was too rapid, for it to be supposed that the man who was in it could perceive them.
They at last arrived at the entrance of the cavern.
We have said that the barque was rowed by four men.
Of these four men, two were gauchos, engaged by Tyro, and, as the Guaraní had well paid them, he had a right to reckon on their fidelity; let us add that, for greater safety, the Indian had told them nothing about their destination. The third was a domestic of the painter's – an Indian whom the latter had left at San Miguel, without taking any heed of him, when he himself took flight. The fourth was Tyro himself.
When the barque touched the bank, the Guaraní respectfully helped the two ladies to land, and then, going up to the entry of the cavern —
"Will you, ladies," said he, "enter this cavern, where we will speedily rejoin you."
The ladies obeyed.
"And we? – " asked the painter.
"We have still something to do, master," answered the Indian.
The peculiar stress with which these words were pronounced astonished Emile, but he took no notice of it, convinced that the Guaraní must have some serious reason to induce him to answer in so peremptory a way.
