The Indian Chief: The Story of a Revolution

  CHAPTER XII.

  FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

  The adventurers' camp had completely changed its character: it had lostthe peaceful appearance of the early days, and assumed a warlike air,perfectly in accordance with the present aspect of affairs. At eachissue from the mission, a gun, guarded by a detachment, was pointed atthe open country, while piled muskets formed a long row, in front ofwhich a guard walked up and down. Sentries posted at regular distanceswatched the approaches, while advanced posts, established in surepositions, prevented any attempt at a surprise.

  In the interior of the camp the greatest activity prevailed; the campforges smoked, and re-echoed the hasty blows of the smiths; furtheron, carpenters were cutting into shape whole trees; the armorers wereinspecting and repairing arms; in short, everybody was working eagerly,in order to get everything prepared with the least possible delay.

  The count and Curumilla, preceded by Valentine, rapidly crossed thecamp, greeted in their passage by the affectionate salutes of theadventurers, who were delighted to see them returned. As they approachedheadquarters, the shrill sounds of a jarana, with which were mingled themelancholy notes of a voice singing the romance _del Rey Rodrigo_, smotetheir ears.

  "Perhaps it would be better, before going further," the count said, "toask some information from Don Cornelio."

  "Yes, especially as it would be very difficult, if not impossible, toobtain it from Curumilla."

  "I am going to him," the latter remarked, having overheard the few wordsexchanged by the friends.

  "Then it is all for the best," Valentine said with a smile.

  Curumilla turned a little to the left, and guided the two men to a_jacal_ of branches which served as the Spaniard's abode, and beforewhich the noble hidalgo was at this moment seated on a stool, strumminghis jarana furiously, and singing his eternal romance, while rolling hiseyes in a most sentimental way. On seeing the two friends he uttered ashout of joy, threw his guitar far from him, and ran toward them.

  "_Capa de Dios!_" he shouted as he seized their hands, "you are welcome,caballeros. I was impatiently expecting you."

  "Is there anything new, then?" Don Louis asked anxiously.

  "Hum! a good deal; but I suppose you are not going to remain onhorseback?"

  "No, no, we will join you."

  And they dismounted. During the few sentences exchanged between thecount and the Spaniard, Valentine had bent down to the Indian chiefsear, and whispered a few words, to which Curumilla replied by noddinghis head in affirmation. The two Frenchmen then entered the jacal atthe heels of Don Cornelio, while the Araucano led away the horses.

  "Sit down, gentlemen," the Spaniard said, pointing to several stoolsscattered about.

  "Do you know that you have puzzled me considerably, Don Cornelio?" thecount said to him. "What has happened, then, during my absence?"

  "Nothing very important in a general point of view: our spies havebrought in most reassuring news as to the movements of the enemy. As,however, the acting commandant will make his report to you, I do notwish to talk with you about those matters."

  "Has anything else occurred peculiarly interesting to me?"

  "You shall judge. You remember that, before your departure, you orderedme to watch over Dona Angela--a singular commission enough for me."

  "How so?"

  "It is enough that I know why. However, I performed my delicate task, Idare to say, with all the gallantry of a true caballero."

  "I thank you for it."

  "Yesterday an Indian arrived at the mission, bearer of a letter for thecommandant."

  "Ah, ah! And you know the contents of the letter?"

  "It was simply a request for a safe-conduct to remain in the camp."

  "Ah! and who was it signed by?"

  "Father Seraphin."

  "What!" Valentine exclaimed quickly, "Father Seraphin, the Frenchmissionary, the sainted man whom the Indians themselves have christenedthe 'Apostle of the Prairies?'"

  "Himself."

  "That is strange," the hunter muttered.

  "Is it not?"

  "But," said the count, "Father Seraphin does not need a safe-conduct tostay with us as long as he pleases."

  "Of course," Valentine confirmed him, "we shall always be happy, myselfin particular, to profit by his advice."

  "The worthy father did not request the safe-conduct for himself: he isvery well aware that his visit could only be agreeable to us."

  "Ah! For whom, then?"

  "For a person for whom he would be bail during the period of his stayamong us, but whose name he kept secret."

  "Hum! that is not clear."

  "That is what I thought, so I urged the commandant to refuse."

  "Well?"

  "He granted the safe-conduct, alleging a reason which, by the way, isnot so illogical--that the man for whom the safe-conduct is requested isevidently a friend or an enemy, and in either case it is good to knowhim, so as eventually to treat him as he deserves."

  The two Frenchmen could not refrain from laughing at this singularlogic.

  "Well, and what is the result of all this?" the count continued.

  "The result is that Father Seraphin arrived this morning at the mission,accompanied by a person carefully wrapped up in a large cloak."

  "Ah, ah! And this person?"

  "You can guess a thousand times before finding out."

  "I think it would be better for you to tell me at once."

  "I believe so too. Well, prepare yourself to hear something incredible.This person is no one less than Don Sebastian Guerrero."

  "The general!" the count exclaimed as he bounded in his chair.

  "Do not confound persons. I did not say General, but Don SebastianGuerrero."

  "A truce with nonsense, Don Cornelio! Let us talk seriously, for whatyou say deserves it."

  "I am serious, Don Louis. The general has come here in his privatecapacity. In a word, it is the father of Dona Angela who is at thismoment in our camp, and not the Governor of Sonora."

  "I am beginning to understand," the count said in a hollow voice, as hewalked in agitation up and down the jacal. "And what took place betweenfather and daughter? Do not be afraid to tell me everything. I will keepthe mastery over myself."

  "Nothing at all has passed, Don Louis, thanks to Heaven!"

  "Ah!"

  "Yes, for the simple reason that Dona Angela, by my advice, refused toreceive her father's visit during your absence."

  "She had the strength to do that?" the count said, as he stopped andfixed a piercing glance on the Spaniard.

  "By my advice, yes."

  "Thanks, Don Cornelio. Then Father Seraphin and the general----"

  "Are awaiting your return in a jacal built expressly for them, where,though apparently free, the general is under such strict surveillancethat I defy him to make the slightest movement without my knowledge."

  "You were right in acting as you have done, my friend. In thesedifficult circumstances you have displayed great prudence, and, aboveall, great perspicacity."

  Don Cornelio, on hearing this compliment, blushed like a girl, and lethis eyes fall modestly.

  "What do you intend doing?" Valentine asked the count.

  "Leave Dona Angela mistress of her will. Go and advise her of my return,dear Don Cornelio: you will at the same time lead her father and themissionary to her. Go: I follow you."

  The Spaniard went out at once to fulfil his orders.

  "When do you expect to start?" Valentine said, so soon as he foundhimself alone with the count.

  "In two days."

  "And you march?"

  "On La Magdalena."

  "Good! I will now ask your leave to go away, accompanied by Curumilla."

  "What! you wish to leave me?" the count exclaimed with regret.

  The hunter smiled.

  "You do not understand me, brother," he answered. "The Indian chiefand myself are almost useless here. How could we serve you? In no way;while I am convinced we can make exc
ellent scouts. Leave us to explorethe road, at the same time as we try to destroy, or at least lessen,the prejudices which the calumnies so sedulously spread about you haveproduced against everybody who bears the name of Frenchman."

  "I did not dare ask you to render me that service; but now, as you offerit so frankly, I will not be so foolish as to refuse it. Go, brother.Act as you please: all you do will be right."

  "Then farewell! I shall start immediately."

  "Without taking a moment's rest?"

  "You know that I never feel fatigue. Come, courage! We shall meet againat La Magdalena."

  The two friends embraced, and then quitted the jacal. On the thresholdthey separated, after a last pressure of the hand, Valentine going tothe right, the count to the left.

  A guard of ten men defended the approaches to headquarters, and asentinel was pacing, with shouldered musket, before the door of themission church, the count's temporary residence. On arriving at hishouse Don Louis saw Don Cornelio, accompanied by two persons, oneof whom wore a clerical garb. They had stopped, and were apparentlywaiting. The count hurried on. Although he had never, till this moment,seen Father Seraphin, he recognised him by the portraits Valentine haddrawn.

  He was still the man with the angelic glance, the delicate and markedfeatures, the intelligently gentle countenance, whom we have presentedto our readers in another work; but the apostolate is severe in America.Years count there as triple for missionaries really worthy of the title;and Father Seraphin, though hardly thirty years of age, already bore onhis body and face traces of that precocious decrepitude to which thosemen fall victims who sacrifice themselves, without any thought of self,to the welfare of humanity. His back was beginning to bend, his hair wasturning white on his temples, and two deep wrinkles furrowed his brow.Still the vivacity of his glance seemed to contradict this apparentweakness, and prove that if his body had grown enfeebled in the contest,the soul had ever remained equally young and powerful.

  The three men bowed politely. The count and the missionary, afterexchanging an earnest glance, shook hands with a smile. They hadunderstood each other.

  "You are welcome, sir," the count said, addressing the general,"although I am surprised that you place such confidence in _pirates_, asyou call us, as to confide yourself so entirely to our honour."

  "The law of nations, sir," the general replied, "has certain recognisedrules which are respected by all men."

  "Excepting by those who are placed without the pale of society and thecommon law of humanity," Don Louis remarked dryly.

  The missionary interposed.

  "Gentlemen," he said in his sympathetic voice, "between you there is noenmity at this moment: there is only a father who claims his daughterfrom a gentleman who, I feel convinced, will not refuse to restore herto him."

  "Heaven forbid, my father," the count said quickly, "that I shouldattempt to retain this man's daughter against her will, even were he athousandfold a greater enemy than he is."

  "You see, general," the missionary observed, "that I was not mistaken asto the count's character."

  "Dona Angela came alone, impelled by her own will, into my camp: she isrespected and treated with all the attention she merits. Dona Angelais free to act as she pleases, and I recognise no right to influenceher. As I did not carry her off from her father, as I did nothing toattract her hither, I cannot restore her, as this gentleman appears todemand. If Dona Angela is willing to return to her friends, nobody willoppose it; but if, on the contrary, she prefers to remain here under theprotection of my brave comrades and myself, no human power will succeedin tearing her from me."

  These words were pronounced in a peremptory tone, which produced amarked impression on the two hearers.

  "However, gentlemen," the count continued, "what we say betweenourselves has no value so long as Dona Angela has not pronounced herselfin one way or the other. I will have the honour of leading you toher. You will have an explanation with her, and she will tell you herdetermination. Still, permit me to warn you that, whatever that decisionmay be, both yourselves and myself are bound to submit to it."

  "Be it so, sir," the general said dryly: "perhaps it is as well that wayas any other."

  "Come, then," the count continued.

  And he preceded them to the hut which served as the maiden's privateresidence.

  Dona Angela, seated on a butaca, and having Violanta at her feet, wasengaged with her needlework. On seeing her father and the persons whoaccompanied him enter, a vivid blush purpled her cheeks, but almostimmediately she turned pale as death. Still she contrived to subdue theemotion she felt, rose, bowed silently, and sat down again. The generalregarded her for a moment with a mingled expression of tenderness andanger; then turning suddenly to the missionary, he said in a stifledvoice,--

  "Speak to her, my father; I do not feel the strength to do so."

  The maiden smiled sadly.

  "My good padre," she said to the missionary, "I thank you for theuseless attempt you are making on me today. My resolution is formed:nothing will alter it--it is impossible. I will never return to myfamily."

  "Unhappy child!" the general exclaimed with sorrow, "what reason urgedyou to abandon me thus?"

  "I do all justice to your kindness and tenderness toward me, father,"she answered with a melancholy air. "Alas! that unbounded tendernessand the liberty you ever allowed me to enjoy are perhaps the cause ofwhat happens today. I do not wish to reproach you. My destiny has takenpossession of me: I will endure the consequences of the fault I havecommitted."

  The general frowned and stamped his foot on the ground passionately.

  "Angela, my well-beloved child!" he continued bitterly, "reflect thatthe scandal occasioned by your flight will dishonour you for ever."

  A contemptuous smile played round the maidens pallid lips.

  "What do I care?" she said. "The world in which you live is no longermine. All my joy and sorrow will be henceforth concentrated here."

  "But I, your father--you forget me, then, and I am no longer anything toyou?"

  The girl hesitated: she remained silent, with downcast eyes.

  "Dona," the missionary said gently, "God curses children who abandontheir father: return to yours. There is still time: he holds out hisarms to you---he calls you. Return, my child. A parent's heart is aninexhaustible well of indulgence. Your father will forgive you: he hasalready done so."

  Dona Angela shook her head, but made no further reply. The general andthe missionary regarded each other with disappointment, while Don Louisstood a little in the rear, his arms folded on his breast, with sunkenhead and thoughtful air.

  "Oh!" the general muttered with concentrated passion, "ours is anaccursed race!"

  At this moment Don Louis drew himself up, and walked a few paces forward.

  "Dona Angela," he said with marked significance, "was it really your ownwill that brought you here?"

  "Yes," she answered resolutely.

  "And you have really decided on obeying neither the orders norentreaties of your father?"

  "Yes," she said again.

  "Then you renounce for ever your position in society, and your fortune?"

  "Yes."

  "You also renounce the protection of your father, who is your naturalguardian, and has every human and divine claim on you--you renounce hisaffection?"

  "Yes," she murmured in a low voice.

  "Then it is now my turn;" and bowing to the general, he continued,"Sir, whatever may be the hatred that sunders us--whatever may happenat a later date--the honour of your daughter must remain pure andunspotted."

  "In order to secure that result," the general said bitterly, "someonemust consent to marry her."

  "Yes. Well, I, the Count de Prebois Crance, have the honour of askingyou for her hand."

  The general fell back in amazement.

  "Do you really ask that seriously?" he said.

  "Yes."

  "Reflect that, while thanking you for your request, I consider it afresh aggriev
ance."

  "Be it so."

  "That this marriage will in nowise prevent the measures I intend takingagainst you."

  "What do I care?"

  "And you still consent to give her your hand?"

  "Yes."

  "Very good. You shall have my answer in four days."

  "At La Magdalena, then."

  "Be it so." The general turned to his daughter. "I do not curse you,"he said, "for God himself cannot free a child from its father'smalediction. Farewell! Be happy."

  And he rushed out, followed by the missionary.

  "My father," the count said, "I shall expect you at La Magdalena."

  "I shall be there, sir," Father Seraphin replied sadly, "for I foreseethat there will be tears to dry up."

  "Good-by, sir," the general said.

  "Good-by till we meet again," the count answered with a bow.

  The general and the missionary then mounted and set out, escorted by astrong detachment of adventurers, who were to accompany them through theoutposts and pickets of the French company. The count looked after themfor a long time, and then walked back slowly to his room.