CHAPTER IX.
BEFORE THE FIGHT
As soon as they had set foot on the platform, Don Tadeo and the count sank exhausted. Curumilla left them undisturbed for a few minutes to recover their breath, then requested them to look around them. Beneath their feet was the Canyon del Rio Seco, with its imposing granite masses and its thick clumps of verdure.
"Oh!" Louis exclaimed, enthusiastically, "how splendid this is!"
Don Tadeo, accustomed from his infancy to such sublime panoramas, only cast an absent glance over the magnificent prospect. His mind was intent upon his daughter, the beloved child whom he hoped soon to deliver.
"Are we going to remain here long?" he asked.
"For a few minutes," Curumilla replied.
"What is the name of this place?" the count said.
"It is the peak which the palefaces call the Corcovado." said the Ulmen.
"The one upon which you appointed to light the signal fire?"
"Yes; let us hasten to prepare it."
The three men constructed an immense pile of wood.
"Now," said Curumilla, "rest, and do not stir till my return."
And without entering into further detail, Curumilla sprang down the steep declivity of the mountain, and disappeared among the trees. The two friends sat down near the pile, and waited pensively the return of the Ulmen. The troop commanded by Joan approached the defile, simulating all the movements of Indians, and were soon within gunshot of the Canyon. Antinahuel had perceived them, and had for some time been watching their movements. Notwithstanding all his cunning, the Toqui did not for an instant suspect a stratagem. The presence of Joan at the head of the troop, whom at the first glance he had recognised, completed his conviction.
Joan plunged into the defile without evincing the least hesitation; but scarcely had he proceeded a dozen yards when an Indian sprang out of a thicket, and stood in front of him. This Indian was Antinahuel himself.
"My son comes late," said the Toqui, casting a suspicious glance at him.
"My father will pardon me," Joan replied, respectfully; "I had notice only last night."
"Good," continued the chief; "I know my son is prudent. How many lances does he bring with him?"
"A thousand."
As may be perceived, Joan bravely doubled the number of his soldiers.
"Oh! oh!" said the Toqui, joyfully, "a man may be pardoned for coming late when he brings so numerous a troop with him."
"My father knows I am devoted," the Indian replied.
"I know you are; my son is a brave warrior. Has he seen the Huincas?"
"I have seen them."
"Are they far distant?"
"No; they are coming – in less than three-quarters of an hour they will be here."
"We have not an instant to lose. My son will place his warriors in ambush."
"Good! It shall be done; my father may leave it to me."
At this moment the troop of false Indians appeared at the entrance of the defile, into which they boldly entered, after the example of their leader.
"My son will use all possible diligence," said Antinahuel, and hastened back to his post.
Joan and his men went forward at full gallop; they were watched by from a thousand to fifteen hundred invisible spies, who, at the smallest suspicion, created by a doubtful gesture even, would have massacred them without mercy.
Joan, after having made his men dismount and conceal their horses in the rear, distributed them with a calmness and collectedness that must have banished the suspicions of the chief. Ten minutes later the defile appeared as solitary as before. Joan had scarcely gone six paces into the thicket when a hand was laid upon his shoulder. He turned sharply round; Curumilla was before him.
"Good!" the latter murmured, in a voice low as a breath; "let my son follow me with his men."
Joan nodded assent, and with extreme precaution and in perfect silence three hundred soldiers began to escalade the rocks in imitation of the Ulmen. The three hundred men led by Joan, who had escaladed the wall of the defile on the opposite side of the canyon, were divided into two troops. The first had taken up a position above Black Stag, and the second, a hundred strong, were massed as a rear post. As soon as Curumilla had prepared the manoeuvre we have just described, he quitted Joan and rejoined his companions.
"At last!" they cried, both in a breath.
"I began to be afraid something had happened to you, chief," said the count.
Upon which Curumilla only smiled. "Everything is ready," he said; "and when the palefaces please, they can penetrate into the defile."
"Do you think your plan will succeed?" Don Tadeo asked anxiously.
"I hope it will," the Indian replied.
"What are we to do now?"
"Light the fire, and depart."
"How depart? Our friends?"
"They stand in no need of us; as soon as the fire is alight we will set out in search of the young maiden."
"God grant that we may save her!"
Curumilla, after lighting a bit of tinder which he had in a horn box, collected with his feet a heap of dried leaves, placed the tinder beneath them, and began to blow with all his might. The fire, acted upon by the breeze, which at that height blew strongly, was rapidly communicated, and shortly a thick column of flame mounted roaring to the sky.
"Good!" said Curumilla to his companions; "they see the signal."
"Let us begone, then, without delay," cried the count, impatiently.
"Come on, then," said Don Tadeo.
The three men plunged into the immense virgin forest which covered the summit of the mountain, leaving behind them that sinister beacon – a signal for murder and destruction. On the plain, Don Gregorio, fearing to advance before he knew what he had positively to trust to, had given orders to his troops to halt. He did not conceal from himself the dangers of his position, so that if he fell in the battle he was about to fight, his honour would be safe and his memory without reproach.
"General," he said, addressing Cornejo, who as well as the senator was close to him, "you are accustomed to war, are an intrepid soldier, and I will not conceal from you that we are in a position of peril.
"Oh! oh!" said the general; "explain, Don Gregorio, explain!"
"The Indians are in ambush in great numbers, to dispute the passage of the defile with us."
"The rascals! Only see now! Why, they will knock us all on the head," the general, still calm, said.
"Oh! it is a horrible trap!" the senator cried.
"Caspita! a trap, I believe it is, indeed!" the general continued. "But you will be able to give us your opinion presently; if, as is not very probable, you come safely through, my friend."
"But I will not go and run my head into that frightful fox's hole!" cried Don Ramón, beside himself.
"Bah! you will fight as an amateur, which will be very handsome on your part."
"Sir," said Don Gregorio, coldly, "so much the worse for you; if you had remained quietly at Santiago, you would not be in this position."
"That is true, my friend," the general followed up, with a hearty laugh.
"How did it happen that you, who are as great a coward as a hare, troubled yourself with military politics?"
The senator made no reply to this cruel apostrophe.
"Whatever may happen, can I reckon upon you, general?" Don Gregorio asked.
"I can only promise you one thing," the old soldier answered, nobly; "that I will not shrink, and if it should come to that, will sell my life dearly. As to this cowardly fellow, I undertake to make him perform prodigies of valour."
At this threat the unhappy senator felt a cold sweat inundate his whole body. A long column of flame burst from the top of the mountain.
Don Gregorio cried, "Caballeros! Forward! and God protect Chili!"
"Forward!" the general repeated, unsheathing his sword.
CHAPTER X.
THE PASSAGE OF THE DEFILE
While these things were going on in the defile, a few words exchanged between Antinahuel and the Linda filled the Toqui with uneasiness, by making him vaguely suspicious of some treachery.
"What is the matter?" Doña Maria asked.
"Nothing very extraordinary," he replied, carelessly; "some reinforcements have arrived rather late, upon which I did not reckon."
"Good Heavens!" said Doña Maria, "I have been perhaps deceived by an extraordinary resemblance; but, if the man I mean were not forty leagues off, I should declare it is he who commands that troop."
"Let my sister explain herself," said Antinahuel.
"Tell me, in the first place, chief," the Linda continued, "the name of the warrior to whom you spoke?"
"His name is Joan."
"That is impossible! Joan is at this moment more than forty leagues from this place, detained by his love for a white woman," the Linda cried.
"My sister must be mistaken, because I have just been conversing with him."
"Then he is a traitor!" she said passionately.
The chief's brow became thoughtful.
"This has an awkward appearance," he said. "Can I have been betrayed?" he added in a deep tone.
"What are you going to do?" the Linda asked, stopping him.
"To demand of Joan an account of his ambiguous conduct."
"It is too late," the Linda continued, pointing with her finger to the Chilians.
"Oh!" Antinahuel cried, with rage, "woe be to him if he prove a traitor."
"It is no longer time for recrimination and threats; you must fight."
"Yes," he replied, fervently; "we will fight now. After the victory it will be time enough to chastise traitors."
The plan of the Araucanos was of the most simple kind: to allow the Spaniards to enter the defile, then to attack them at once in front and in rear, whilst the warriors in ambush on the flanks poured down upon them enormous stones and fragments of rock. A party of the Indians had bravely thrown themselves both in front and rear of the Spaniards to bar their passage. Antinahuel sprang up, and encouraging his warriors with voice and gesture, he rolled down an immense stone amongst his enemies. All at once a shower of bullets came pattering down upon his troops. The false Indians, led by Joan, showed themselves, and charged him resolutely to the cry of "Chili! Chili!"
"We are betrayed!" Antinahuel shouted, "Kill, kill!"
Some horsemen charged in troops at speed, whilst others galloped at random among the terrified infantry.
The Araucanos did not yield an inch – the Chilians did not advance a step. The mêlée undulated like the waves of the sea in a tempest; the earth was red with blood.
The combat had assumed heroic proportions.
At length, by a desperate effort Antinahuel succeeded in breaking through the close ranks of the enemies who enveloped him, and rushed into the defile, followed by his warriors, and waving his heavy hatchet over his head. Black Stag contrived to effect the same movement; but Joan's Chilian horse advanced from behind the rising ground which had concealed them, with loud cries, and came on sabring all before them.
The Linda followed closely the steps of Antinahuel, her eyes flashing, her lips compressed.
"Forward! – forward!" Don Gregorio cried in a voice of thunder.
"Chili! Chili!" the general repeated, cutting down a man at every blow.
More dead than alive, Don Ramón fought like a demon; he waved his sword, rode down all in his way with the weight of his horse, and uttered inarticulate cries with the gestures of one possessed.
In the meantime, Don Bustamente snatched a sword from one of the soldiers, made his horse plunge violently, and dashed forward, crying with a loud voice —
"To the rescue! – to the rescue!"
To this appeal the Araucanos replied by shouts of joy, and flew towards him.
"Ay, ay," a scoffing voice cried; "but you are not free yet, Don Pancho."
General Bustamente turned sharply round, and found himself face to face with General Cornejo, who had leaped his horse over a heap of dead bodies. The two men, after exchanging a look of hatred, rushed against each other with raised swords. The shock was terrible; the two horses fell with it. Don Pancho received a slight wound in the head; the arm of General Cornejo was cut through by the weapon of his adversary. With a bound Don Pancho was again on his feet; General Cornejo would willingly have been so, likewise, but suddenly a knee pressed heavily upon his chest, and obliged him to sink upon the ground.
"Pancho! Pancho!" Doña Maria cried, with the laugh of a demon, for it was she, "see how I kill your enemies!"
Don Pancho had not even heard the exclamation of the courtesan, so fully was he engaged in defending himself. At the sight of the odious murder committed by the Linda, Don Ramón shouted —
"Viper! I will not kill you, because you are a woman; but I will mar your future means of doing evil."
The Linda sank beneath his blow with a shriek of pain; he had slashed her down the cheek from top to bottom! Her hyena-like cry was so frightful that it even brought to a pause the combatants engaged around her. Bustamente heard her, and with one bound of his horse was by the side of his ancient mistress, whom the wound on her face rendered hideous. He stooped slightly down, and seizing her by her long hair, threw her across the neck of his horse; then plunging his spurs into the animals flanks, he dashed, headforemost, into the thickest of the mêlée. In spite of the efforts of the Chilians to recapture the fugitive, he succeeded in escaping.
At a signal from Antinahuel, the Indians threw themselves on each side of the defile, and scaled the rocks with incredible velocity under a shower of bullets.
The combat was over. The Araucanos had disappeared. The Chilians counted their losses, and found them great; seventy men had been killed, and a hundred and forty-three were wounded. Several officers, among whom was General Cornejo, had fallen. It was in vain they searched for Joan. The intrepid Indian had become invisible.
Don Gregorio was in despair at the escape of General Bustamente. It was now useless for Don Gregorio to return to Santiago; on the contrary, it was urgent that he should return to Valdivia, in order to secure the tranquillity of that province which would, no doubt, be disturbed by the news of the generals escape; but, on the other hand, it was quite as important that the authorities of the capital should be placed upon their guard. Don Gregorio was in great trouble about choosing a person whom he could trust with this commission, when the senator came to his relief. The worthy Don Ramón had finished by taking courage in reality; he actually, and in good faith, believed himself the most valiant man in Chili, and, unconsciously, assumed the most ridiculously extravagant airs. Above all, he burned with the desire of returning to Santiago.
Don Gregorio asked the senator to be the bearer of the double news of the battle gained over the Indians – a battle in which he, Don Ramón, had taken so large a share of the glory – and the unexpected escape of General Bustamente.
Don Ramón accepted with a proud smile of satisfaction a mission in every way so honourable to him. As soon as the despatches, which Don Gregorio wrote at once, were ready, he mounted his horse, and, escorted by fifty lancers, set out for Santiago.
CHAPTER XI.
THE JOURNEY
After his interview with Don Tadeo, Valentine had scarcely taken time to bid the young count farewell, but had instantly departed, followed by Trangoil-Lanec and his inseparable Newfoundland dog.
The morning on which the sanguinary battle we have described was fought in the Canyon del Rio Seco, Valentine and Trangoil-Lanec were marching side by side, followed closely by Cæsar. The two men were talking while they cracked a biscuit, which they washed down from time to time with a little smilax water, contained in a gourd, which hung at the girdle of Trangoil-Lanec.
"Why chief," said Valentine, laughing, "you drive me to despair with your indifference."
"What does my brother mean?" the astonished Indian said.
"Caramba! We are traversing the most ravishing landscape in the world, and you pay no more attention to all these beauties than to the granite masses yonder in the horizon."
"My brother is young." Trangoil-Lanec observed: "he is an enthusiast."
"I do not know whether I am an enthusiast or not," replied the young man, warmly; "I only know this – that nature is magnificent."
"Yes," said the chief, solemnly, "Pillian is great; it is he who made all things."
"God, you mean, chief; but that is all one; our thought is the same, and we won't quarrel about a name."
"In my brother's island," the Indian asked curiously, "are there no mountains and trees?"
"I have already told you, chief, more than once that my country is not an island, but a land as large as this; there is no want of trees, thank God! There are even a great many, and as to mountains, we have some lofty ones, Montmartre among the rest."
"Hum," said the Indian, not understanding.
"Yes!" Valentine resumed, "we have mountains, but compared to these they are but little hills."
"My land is the most beautiful in the world," the Indian replied proudly. "Why do the palefaces wish to dispossess us of it."
"There is a great deal of truth in what you say, chief."
"Good!" said the chief; "all men cannot be born in my country."
"That is true, and that is why I was born somewhere else."
Cæsar at this moment growled surlily.
"What is the matter, old fellow?" said Valentine.
Trangoil-Lanec remarked quietly —
"The dog has scented an Aucas."
So it was, for scarcely had he spoken, when an Indian horseman appeared at the turning of the road. He advanced at full gallop towards the two men, whom he saluted, and went on his way.
Shortly afterwards the travellers arrived, almost without being aware of it, at the entrance of the village.
"So now, I suppose, we are at San Miguel?" remarked Valentine.
"Yes," the other replied.
"And is it your opinion that Doña Rosario is no longer here?"
"No," said the Indian, shaking his head. "Let my brother look around him."
"Well," said the young man, turning his eyes in all directions, "I see nothing."
"If the prisoner were here, my brother would see warriors and horses; the village would be alive."
"Corbleu!" thought Valentine; "these savages are wonderful men; they see everything, they divine everything. Chief," he added, "you are wise; tell me, I beg of you, who taught you all these things."
The Indian stopped; with a majestic gesture he indicated the horizon to the young man, and said, in a voice the solemn accent of which made him start —
"Brother, it was the desert.
"Yes," the Frenchman replied, convinced by these few words; "for it is there alone that man sees God face to face."
They now entered the village, and, as Trangoil-Lanec had said, it seemed deserted. They saw a few sick persons, who, reclining upon sheepskins, were complaining lamemtably.
"Caramba!" said Valentine, much disappointed, "you have guessed so truly, Chief, that there are even no dogs to bite our heels."
All at once Cæsar sprang forward barking, and, stopping in front of an isolated hut, began to munch the ground with his claws, uttering furious cries.
The two men ran hastily towards the hut, and Cæsar continued his howlings.
CHAPTER XII.
INFORMATION
When Valentine and Trangoil-Lanec gained the front of the hut, the door was opened, and a woman presented herself.
This woman had in her countenance a marked expression of mildness, mixed with a melancholy cast; she appeared to be suffering pain. Her dress, entirely composed of blue cloth, consisted of a tunic which fell to her feet, but was very narrow, which makes the women of that country take short steps; a short mantle, called an ichcha, covered her shoulders and was crossed upon her breast, where it was drawn together by means of a silver buckle.
As soon as this woman opened the door, Cæsar rushed so violently into the interior of the hut that he almost knocked her down in his passage. She staggered, and was obliged to hold herself up by the wall.
"I know what troubles the animal thus," the woman said mildly; "my brothers are travellers; let them enter this poor hut, which belongs to them; their slave will serve them."
So saying, the mistress of the hut stood on one side to allow the strangers to enter. They found Cæsar crouching in the middle of the cuarto, with his nose close to the ground, sniffing, snatching, and growling.
"Good God!" Valentine muttered anxiously, "what has been done here?"
Without saying a word Trangoil-Lanec placed himself close to the dog; stretched along upon the ground, with his eyes intently fixed upon it, he examined it as closely as if he thought his glance could penetrate it. At the end of a minute he arose, and seated himself by Valentine, who seeing his companion had got a fit of Indian silence, found it necessary to speak first.
"Well, chief," he asked, "what is there fresh?"
"Nothing," the Ulmen replied; "these traces are at least four days old."
"What traces are you speaking of, chief?"
"Traces of blood."
"Of blood!" the young man cried. "Can Doña Rosario have been assassinated?"
"No," the chief replied, "if this blood belonged to her, she has only been wounded; her wound has been dressed."
"Dressed! come, that is too strong, chief!"
"My brother is quick – he does not reflect. Let him look here."
And he opened his right hand, and displayed an object enclosed in it.
"Caramba!" Valentine replied, quite out of humour, "an old dried leaf! What on earth can that teach?"
"Everything," said the Indian.
"Pardieu? If you can prove that, chief, I shall consider you the greatest machi in all Araucania."
"It is very simple. This leaf is the oregano leaf; the oregano so valuable for stopping the effusion of blood."
"Here are traces of blood; a person has been wounded; and on the same spot I find an oregano leaf: that leaf did not come there of itself, consequently that person's wounds have been dressed."
The woman now entered, bearing two ox horns full of harina tostada; they ate their horn of meal heartily, and drank more than one cup of chicha each. As soon as they had ended this light repast, the Indian presented the maté to them, which they tossed off with great pleasure, and then they lit their cigars.
"My sister is kind," Trangoil-Lanec said; "will she talk a minute with us!"
"I will do as my brothers please."
Valentine took two piastres from his pocket, and presented them to the woman, saying, "Will my sister permit me to offer her this trifle to make earrings?"
"I thank my brother," said the poor woman; "my brother is a muruche; perhaps he is the relation of the young paleface girl who was here?"
"I am not her relation," he said, "I am her friend. I confess that if my sister can give me any intelligence of her, she will render me happy."
"Some days ago," said the woman, "a great woman of the palefaces arrived here towards evening, followed by half a score of mosotones; I am not well, and that is why, for a month past, I have remained in the village. This woman asked me to allow her to pass the night in my hut. Towards the middle of the night there was a great noise of horses in the village, and several horsemen arrived, bringing with them a young palefaced maiden of a mild and sad countenance; she was a prisoner to the other, as I afterwards learnt. I do not know how the young girl managed it, but she succeeded in escaping. This woman and the Toqui went in search of the young girl, whom they soon brought back across a horse, with her head cut. The poor child had fainted; her blood flowed in abundance; she was in a pitiable state. I do not know what passed, but the woman suddenly changed her manner of acting towards the young girl; she dressed her wound, and took the most affectionate care at her. After that, Antinahuel and the woman departed, leaving the young girl in my hut, with ten mosotones to guard her. One of these mosotones told me that the girl belonged to the Toqui, who intended to make her his wife."
"Yesterday the paleface squaw was much better, and the mosotones set off with her, about three o'clock."
"And the young girl," Trangoil-Lanec asked, "did she say nothing to my sister before she departed?"
"Nothing," the woman answered; "the poor child wept; she was unwilling to go, but they made her get on horseback by threatening to tie her on."
"Which way did they go?" said Trangoil-Lanec.
"The mosotones talked among themselves of the tribe of the Red Vulture."
"Thanks to my sister," the Ulmen replied; "she may retire, the men are going to hold a council."
The woman arose and left the cuarto.
"Now," the chief asked, "what is my brother's intention?"
"Pardieu! we must follow the track of the ravishers."
"Good! that is also my advice; only, two men are not enough to accomplish such a project."
"True; but what else are we to do?"
"Not to set out till this evening."
"Why so?"
"Because Curumilla will have rejoined us by that time."
Valentine, knowing that he had several hours to pass in this place, resolved to take advantage of the opportunity; he stretched himself upon the ground, placed a stone under his head, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. Trangoil-Lanec did not sleep, but, with a piece of cord which he picked up in a corner of the hut, he measured all the footprints left upon the ground of the hut.
After carefully tying the end of the cord to his belt, he, in his turn, lay down upon the ground close to Valentine.