CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CONSULTATION.
A man must have lived a long time apart from beings he loves, separatedfrom them by immeasurable distances, without hope of ever seeing themagain, in order to understand the sweet and yet painful emotionsValentine experienced on seeing his mother again. We, the greater partof whose life has been spent in the deserts of the New World, amid thesavage hordes that occupy them, speaking languages having no affinitywith our own, forced into habits not at all agreeing with those of ourcountry--we can remember the tender feelings that assailed us whenever astraying traveller uttered in our presence that sacred name of France sodear to our heart.
Exile is worse than death; it is an ever bleeding wound, which time, inlieu of cicatrising, only increases every hour, every minute, andchanges at length into such a craving to breathe one's native air, wereit only for a day, that exile contracts that terrible and incurabledisease to which physicians give the name of nostalgia. The moment comeswhen a man, remote from his country, feels an invincible desire to seehis country again, and hear his language again; neither fortune norhonours can contend against the feeling.
Valentine, during the many years he had spent in traversing the desert,had always had this memory of his country present to his mind. Duringhis conversations with Father Seraphin he had spoken to him of hismother, that good and holy woman whom he never hoped to see again, forhe had given up all thoughts of returning home for a long time past. Thefeverish existence of the desert had so seduced him, that every otherconsideration yielded to it, especially after the misfortunes of hisearly youth and the wounds of his only love. When, therefore, he sawhimself reunited to his mother, and understood they would never separateagain, an immense joy occupied his mind.
The entire night passed away like an hour, in delicious conversation;the hunters collected round the fire, listened to mother and sondescribing with that accent that comes from the heart the variousincidents of their life during the long conversation. A few minutesbefore sunrise; Valentine insisted on his mother taking rest; he fearedlest, at her advanced age, after the piercing emotions of such a day,such a lengthened absence of sleep might injure her health. Aftervarious objections, Madame Guillois at length yielded to her son'swishes, and retired to a remote compartment of the grotto.
When Valentine supposed his mother asleep, he made his friends a sign tosit down near him; the latter, suspecting that he had a seriouscommunication to make to them, silently obeyed. Valentine walked up anddown the cavern with his hands behind his back and frowning brow.
"Caballeros," he said, in a stern voice, "day is about to break, it istoo late for any of us to think about sleep, so be good enough to aid mewith your counsels."
"Speak, my friend," Father Seraphin replied, "you know that we aredevoted to you."
"I know it, and you more than anyone else, father--hence I shall beforever grateful to you for the immense service you have rendered me.You know I forget nothing, and when the moment arrives, be assured thatI shall pay my debt to you."
"Do not speak about that, friend; I knew the intense desire you had tosee your mother again, and the anxiety that tortured you on the subjectof that cruel separation; I only acted as anyone else would have done inmy place, so dismiss the affair, I beg; I desire no other reward than tosee you happy.
"I am so, my friend," the hunter exclaimed, with emotion; "I am more sothan I can say, but it is that very happiness which terrifies me. Mymother is near me, 'tis true, but, alas! You know the life to which adesert existence, made up of fighting and privation, condemns us; atthis moment especially, when following out our implacable revenge, oughtI to make my mother, a woman of great age and weak health, share thechanges and dangers of that life? Can we, without cruelty, compel her tofollow us on the trail of the villain we are pursuing? No, not one ofyou, I feel convinced, would give me that advice; but what is to bedone? My mother cannot remain alone in this cavern abandoned, far fromall help, and exposed to numberless privations. We know not whither theduty we have sworn to accomplish may drag us tomorrow. On the otherhand, will my mother, so happy at our meeting, consent so promptly toeven a temporary separation--a separation which circumstances mayindefinitely prolong? I therefore beg you all, my only and true friends,to advise me, for I confess that I know not what resolution to form.Speak, my friends, tell me what I should do."
There was a lengthened silence among the hunters. Each understoodValentine's embarrassment, but the remedy was very difficult to find, asall were in their hearts made rest by the thought of pursuing Red Cedarclosely, and not giving him respite until he had been punished for allhis crimes. As usual under such circumstances, egotism and privateinterests took the place of friendship. Father Seraphin, the onlydisinterested person, saw clearly, hence he was the first to speak.
"My friend," he answered, "all you have said is most just; I undertaketo make your mother listen to reason; she will understand, I feelassured, how urgent it is for her to return to civilisation, especiallyat the present period of the year; still, we must spare her feelings,and lead her back quietly to Mexico, without letting her suspect theseparation she fears, and you fear too. During the journey hence to thecivilised frontier, we will strive to prepare her for it, so that theblow may not be so rude when the moment for parting arrives. That is theonly thing, I believe, you can do under the present circumstances. Comereflect; if you have any plan better than mine, I will be the first tosubmit."
"That advice is really the best that can be given me," Valentine said,warmly; "hence I eagerly adopt it. You will consent then, father, toaccompany us to the frontier?"
"Of course, my friend, and further, were it necessary. Hence, do not letthat trouble you; all we have now to decide is our road."
"That is true," said Valentine; "but here lies the difficulty. We mustlodge my mother at a clearing near enough for me to see her frequently,and yet sufficiently distant from the desert to guard her against anydanger."
"I fancy," Don Miguel remarked, "that my hacienda, at the Paso delNorte, will suit admirably; the more so, as it offers your mother allthe guarantees of security and comfort you can require for her."
"In truth," Valentine exclaimed, "she would be most comfortable there,and I thank you cordially for your offer. Unfortunately, I cannot acceptit."
"Why not?"
"For a reason you will appreciate as well as I do; it is much too faroff."
"Do you think so?" Don Miguel asked.
Valentine could not repress a smile at this question.
"My friend," he said quietly to him, "since you have been in the desert,circumstances have forced you to take so many turns and twists, that youhave completely lost all idea of distances, and do not suspect, I feelassured, how many miles we are from the Paso."
"I confess I do not," Don Miguel said in surprise. "Still, I fancy wecannot be very far."
"Make a guess."
"Well, one hundred and fifty miles, at the most."
"My poor friend," Valentine remarked, with a shrug of his shoulders,"you are out of your reckoning; we are more than seven hundred milesfrom the Paso del Norte, which is the extreme limit of the civilisedsettlements."
"The deuce!" the hacendero exclaimed, "I did not fancy we had gone sofar."
"And," Valentine went on, "from that town to your hacienda is a distanceof about fifty miles."
"Yes, about that."
"You see, then, that, to my great regret, it is impossible for me toaccept your generous offer."
"What is to be done?" General Ibanez asked.
"It is awkward," Valentine replied, "for time presses."
"And your mother cannot possibly remain here; that is quite decided,"Don Miguel objected.
Curumilla had hitherto listened to the talk in his usual way, not sayinga word. Seeing that the hunters could not agree, he turned to Valentine.
"A friend would speak," he said.
All looked at him, for the hunters knew that Curumilla never spoke saveto give advice, which w
as generally followed. Valentine gave a nod ofassent.
"Our ears are open, chief," he said.
Curumilla rose.
"Koutonepi forgets," he quietly remarked.
"What do I forget?" the hunter asked.
"Koutonepi is the brother of Unicorn, the great Comanche Sachem."
Valentine struck his forehead in his delight.
"That is true," he exclaimed; "what was I thinking about? On my honour,chief, you are our Providence: nothing escapes you."
"Is my brother satisfied?" the chief asked joyously.
Valentine pressed his hand warmly.
"Chief," he exclaimed, "you are the best fellow I know; I thank you frommy heart: however, we understand each other, I think, and need saynothing about that."
The Araucano Ulmen warmly returned his friend's pressure, and sat down,merely muttering one word, which contained all his impressions--
"Good."
The other persons, however, had not understood this little scene.Although they had been living for a long time in the company of theAucas, they had not yet grown accustomed to his silence or learned totranslate it; they therefore anxiously waited till Valentine gave themthe explanation of the few sentences he had exchanged with his friend.
"The chief," Valentine said quickly, "has found at once what we havebeen racking our brains in vain to discover."
"How so? Explain," Don Miguel asked.
"What, you do not understand?"
"On my honour I do not."
"Yet it is very simple; I have been for a long time an adopted son ofthe Comanches; I belong to Unicorn's tribe; that chief will not refuse,I feel sure, to shelter my mother at his village. The redskins love me;Unicorn is devoted to me; my mother will be nursed and kindly treated bythe Indians, while, on the other hand, it will be easy for me to see herwhenever I have a moment to spare."
"_Canarios!_" General Ibanez exclaimed, "On my honour, chief," he added,as he gaily tapped the Araucanian's shoulder, "I must allow that we areall asses, and that you have more sense in your little finger than wehave in our whole body."
This discussion had lasted some time, and the sun had risen for nearlyan hour, when it terminated. Madame Guillois, entirely recovered fromthe emotions of the night, appeared in the grotto and kissed her son.When breakfast was over, the horses were saddled, and they set out.
"Where are you taking me to, my son?" the mother asked the hunter; "youknow that henceforth I belong entirely to you, and you alone have theright to watch over me."
"Be at your ease, mother," Valentine answered; "although we are in thedesert, I have found you a retreat in which you will not only beprotected from every danger, but where it will be possible for me to seeyou at least once a week."
Valentine, like all men endowed with a firm and resolute character,instead of turning the difficulty, had preferred to attack it in front,persuaded that the harder the blow he dealt was, the shorter time itseffect would last, and he should be enabled to lessen its consequencesmore easily. The old lady stopped her horse instinctively and looked ather son with tear-laden eyes.
"What do you say, Valentine?" she asked in a trembling voice; "Are yougoing to leave me?"
"You do not quite understand me, mother," he replied; "after so long aseparation I could not consent to keep away from you."
"Alas!" she murmured.
"Still, my dear mother," he continued stoically, "you will have toconvince yourself of one fact, that desert life is very different fromcivilised life."
"I know it, already," she said sighing.
"Very good," he continued; "this life has claims which it would take toolong to explain to you, and necessitate constant marches and countermarches, going at one moment here, at another there, without apparentreason, living from hand to mouth, and eternally on horseback."
"Come," my boy, "do not make me suffer longer, but tell me at once whatyou wish to arrive at."
"At this, mother, that this life of unending fatigue and danger may bevery agreeable to a young man like myself, endowed with an ironconstitution, and long accustomed to its incidents; but that it ismaterially impossible for you, at your age, weak and sickly as you are:now you are my only comfort and treasure, mother; I have found you againby a miracle, and am determined to keep you as long as possible. Forthat reason I must not expose you through an improper weakness, tofatigues and privations which would kill you in a week."
"Well, then?" asked the mother timidly, involuntarily conquered by herson's peremptory accent.
"This is what I have resolved," said he insinuatingly, "as I do not wishyou to suffer; we must be together as much as we can, if not always."
"Oh, yes," she said; "I only ask to see you ever, my child; what do Icare for aught else, provided I am near you, can console you in sorrow,and rejoice in your joy!"
"Mother," the hunter said, "I believe I have arranged matters as well aspossible. Father Seraphin will tell you any other plan would be futile."
"Let me hear it," she murmured.
"I am taking you to the village of the Comanches, whose adopted son Iam; their chief loves me as a brother; the village is only a fewleagues off, and you will be there among friends, who will respect youand pay you the greatest attention."
"But you, my child?"
"I will visit you as often as I can, and, believe me, few days will passwithout my seeing you."
"Alas! My poor child, why insist on leading this life of danger andfatigue? If you liked, we could be so happy in a little village at home.Have you forgotten France entirely, Valentine?"
The hunter sighed.
"No, mother," he said, with an effort, "since I have seen you again, allthe memories of my youth have revived; I know now the desire I had tosee France again some day; the sight of you has made me understand thata man cannot voluntarily resign those home joys, whose charm he can onlytruly understand when unable to enjoy them. Hence I soon intend toremove you from this country disinherited by Heaven, and return to ournative land."
"Alas!" she said, with an accent of soft reproach, "We should be sohappy there; why not return at once?"
"Because it cannot be, mother; I have a sacred duty to accomplish here;but I pledge you my word of honour that when I have fulfilled the duty Ihave imposed on myself and am free, we will not remain an hour longerhere. So have patience, mother; perhaps we may start for France withintwo months."
"May Heaven grant it, my child," the old lady said, sadly; "well, yourwill be done, I am prepared to wait."
"Thanks, mother; your kindness renders me happier than I can describe toyou."
The old lady sighed, but gave no answer, and the little party marchedsilently in the direction of the Comanche village, the outskirts ofwhich they reached at about three in the afternoon.
"Mother," Valentine said, "you are not yet used to Indian fashions; donot be frightened at anything you may see or hear."
"Am I not near you?" she said "What can I feel afraid of?"
"Oh!" he said, joyfully, "you are a true mother."
"Alas!" she answered, with a stifled sigh, "You are mistaken, child, Iam only a poor old woman, who loves her son, that is all."