The Indian Chief: The Story of a Revolution

  CHAPTER VI.

  REPRISALS.

  The two enemies hesitated for a moment; but suddenly the sachem boundedforward. The count remained motionless; but at the moment the Indianreached him, with a movement rapid as thought, he seized the nostrils ofthe chief's horse with the left hand, so that it reared with a shriek ofpain, and thrust his sword into the Indian's throat: the latter's liftedarm fell down, his eyes opened widely, a jet of blood poured from thegaping wound, and he rolled on the ground, uttering a yell of agony,and writhing like a serpent. The count placed his foot on the chief'schest, and nailed him to the ground. Then he shouted to his comrades ina powerful voice,--

  "Forward--forward!"

  The adventurers responded by a shout of triumph, and rushed oncemore on the redskins. But the latter no longer awaited their attack.Terrified by the death of Mixcoatzin, one of their most revered sachems,a panic seized upon them, and they fled in every direction. Then begana real manhunt, with all its hideous and atrocious interludes. As wehave said, the Indians were surrounded: flight had become impossible.The adventurers, exasperated by the long contest they had been obligedto sustain, pitilessly massacred their conquered enemies, who would haveimplored mercy in vain. The distracted Indians ran hither and thither,sabred as they passed, transfixed by bayonets, and trampled underfootby the horses, which, as cruel as their masters, and intoxicated by thesharp odour of blood, stamped on them frenziedly. The corpses were piledup in the centre of the fatal circle which incessantly closed in aroundthem.

  Their courage and strength all exhausted, the wretched redskins hadthrown away their arms, and, with their hands crossed on their chests,they gave up any further struggle for life, and awaited death with thatgloomy calmness of despair and stoicism which characterises their race.

  The count had wished for a long time to arrest this horrible carnage;but, in the intoxication of victory, his orders were not so muchdisobeyed as unheard. Still the Frenchmen stopped, struck withadmiration at the sight of the stoical resignation displayed by theirbrave enemies, who disdained to ask mercy, and prepared to die worthily,without any weakness or bravado. The Frenchmen hesitated, looked atone another, and then raised their bayonets. The count profited by thistruce, and rushed before his men, brandishing in the air his sword,reddened to the hilt.

  "Enough, comrades," he shouted, "enough! We are soldiers, not hangmen orbutchers. Leave to the Mexicans all cowardly acts, and remain what youhave ever been--brave and clement men. Mercy for these poor wretches!"

  "Mercy--mercy!" the Frenchmen shouted as they brandished their weaponsabove their heads.

  At this moment the sun rose gloriously in a flood of vapour. It was ascene at once imposing and full of sublime horror which the battlefieldoffered--still smoking with the last explosions of the firearms, coveredwith corpses, and in the midst of which thirty disarmed men appeared tobid defiance to a circle of men stained with blood and powder, and whosefeatures were contracted by passion.

  The count then returned his sword to its scabbard, and walkedslowly toward the Indians, who watched his approach restlessly; forthey understood nothing of what had just occurred. The Indians areimplacable, and clemency is unknown to them. In the prairies the onlylaw is _va victis_. The redskins, being pitiless, never implore themercy of their foes, and endure unmurmuring the harsh law which it mayplease their conquerors to mete out to them.

  The adventurers had piled their arms, and had already forgotten alltheir rancour: they were laughing and talking gaily together. Valentineand Curumilla had rejoined the count.

  "What is your intention?" the hunter asked.

  "Have you not guessed it?" Louis replied. "I pardon them."

  "All?"

  "Of course," he said with surprise.

  "Then you will restore them to liberty?"

  "Yes."

  "Hum!" the hunter said.

  "Do you see anything to prevent it?"

  "Possibly."

  "Explain yourself."

  "I see no harm in your forgiving the Indians, for that may producea good effect among the tribes, especially as the redskins have anexcellent memory, and will long remember the severe lesson they receivedthis night."

  "Well?"

  "But," the hunter went on, "all those men are not Indians."

  "What do you mean?"

  "That there are disguised Mexicans among them."

  "You are certain of that?"

  "Yes, the more so because I was warned by the man who commands thehorsemen that proved such useful auxiliaries to you."

  "But are not those horsemen Apaches?"

  "You are mistaken, my dear friend: they are white men, and what is more,_civicos_; that is to say, men paid and enrolled by the hacenderos tochase the Indians. You see how honourably they carry out their duties;but that must not astonish you, for you are sufficiently well acquaintedwith the manners of this country to find that perfectly natural, I haveno doubt."

  Louis stopped thoughtfully.

  "What you tell me confounds me," he muttered.

  "Why so?" the hunter replied carelessly. "It is, on the contrary, mostsimple. But we have not to trouble ourselves about the horsemen atpresent--they are beside the question."

  "Certainly. Indeed, I owe them my thanks."

  "They will save you the trouble, and I too. Let us only deal with themen down there."

  "Then you are sure there are white men among them?"

  "Quite sure."

  "But how to recognise them?"

  "Curumilla will undertake that."

  "What you tell me is strange. For what purpose are these men leaguedwith our enemies?"

  "We shall soon know that."

  They then went on, and stood by the group. Valentine made a sign toCurumilla: the chief then approached the Indians, and began examiningthem attentively in turn, the count and Valentine watching him withconsiderable interest. The Araucano was as cold and gloomy as usual--nota muscle of his face quivered. On seeing him examine them thus, theIndians could not refrain from shuddering: they trembled at the sight ofthis dumb and unarmed man, whose piercing glance seemed to try and readtheir hearts; Curumilla laid his finger on an Indian's chest.

  "One!" he said, and passed on.

  "Come out!" Valentine said to the redskin.

  The latter stood apart.

  Curumilla pointed out in this way nine in succession, and then rejoinedhis comrades.

  "Is that all?" Valentine asked.

  "Yes," he answered.

  "Disarm those men, and bind them firmly," the count commanded.

  His orders being obeyed, Don Louis then walked up to the Apaches.

  "My brothers may take their arms and mount their horses again," hesaid. "They are valiant warriors. The palefaces have appreciated theircourage, and esteem them. My brothers will return to their villages, andtell the old men and sages of their nation that the palefaces who haveconquered them are not cruel men, like the ferocious Yoris, and thatthey desire to bury the hatchet so deeply between themselves and theApaches, that it may never be found again for ten thousand years."

  An Indian advanced from the group, and saluted majestically.

  "Strong Heart is a terrible warrior: he is a jaguar during the combat,but he becomes an antelope after the victory. The words his breastbreathes are inspired in him by the Great Spirit--the Wacondah loveshim. My nation was deceived by the Yoris. Strong Heart is generous--hehas pardoned. Henceforth there will be friendship between the Apachesand the warriors of Strong Heart."

  The redskins, according to their custom, had, with that poesy whichdistinguishes them, given Don Louis the name of Strong Heart.

  After this address on the part of the Indian, who was a celebratedchief, and known as the White Buffalo, there was an interchange of goodoffices between the adventurers and Apaches. Their horses and arms werereturned to them, and the ranks were opened to let them pass. When theyhad disappeared in the forest, El Buitre ordered his men to wheel, andretired in his turn. Don Louis for a moment had th
e idea of recallingthis auxiliary, who had been so useful to him during the action; butValentine opposed it.

  "Let those men go, brother," he said to him. "You must not have anypublic relations with them."

  Don Louis did not insist.

  "Now," Valentine went on, "let us finish what we have so well begun."

  "That is right," the count answered.

  The order was at once given to bury the dead and attend to the wounded.The Frenchmen had suffered a serious loss: they had ten men killed andtwenty odd wounded. It is true that the majority of these wounds werenot mortal; still the victory cost dearly: it was a warning for thefuture.

  Two hours later the company, assembled by the bugle call, rangedthemselves silently in the mission square, in the centre of which DonLouis, Valentine, and three officers were gravely seated at a table, onwhich lay sundry papers. Don Cornelio was writing at a smaller table.The count had summoned his comrades, and appointed a court martial, ofwhich he was president, in order to try the prisoners captured duringthe fight. Don Louis rose amidst a solemn silence.

  "Bring forward the prisoners," he said.

  The men previously pointed out by Curumilla appeared, led by adetachment of adventurers, and were freed from their bonds. Althoughthey still wore the costume of Apache warriors, they had been compelledto wash themselves, and remove the paint that disguised them. These menappeared not so much to repent of their detected roguery, but merelyashamed of being made a public spectacle.

  "Bring in the last prisoner," Don Louis commanded.

  At this order the adventurers looked round in surprise, notunderstanding what the count meant, for the nine Mexicans were allpresent. But at the expiration of a moment their surprise was changedinto anger, and a dull murmur ran along their ranks like an electriccurrent.

  Colonel Flores had made his appearance. He was unarmed, and his headbare; but his face, stamped with boldness and defiance, had a gloomilymalicious expression, which gave him a most unpleasant appearance.Curumilla accompanied him. The count made a sign, and silence wasre-established.

  "What is the meaning of this?" the colonel asked in a haughty tone.

  Don Louis did not allow him to continue.

  "Silence!" he said in a firm voice, turning a flashing glance upon him.

  Subdued, in spite of himself, by the count's accent, the colonel blushedand remained silent. Don Louis continued:--

  "Brothers and comrades," he said, "unfortunately for us, circumstanceshave placed us in an exceptional situation. On all sides treacherysurrounds us. By falsehood after falsehood, trick upon trick, theyhave led us onto this desert, where we are abandoned to ourselves, farfrom all help, and having our courage alone to count upon to save us.Yesterday Don Sebastian Guerrero, believing himself at length sure ofthe success of his infamous plans, which he has so long been formingagainst us, decided on raising the mask. He declared us outlaws, andbranded us with the disgraceful epithet of pirates. Scarce two hoursafter his departure we were attacked by Indians. Our enemies' measureswere well calculated, and were within an ace of success. But God was onthe watch, and saved us this time again. Now, do you know the man whomade himself the generals right arm, and carried into effect the odioustreachery of which we were so nearly the victims?

  "This man," he said, pointing with his finger with an expression ofcrushing contempt, "is the villain who, since our departure fromGuaymas, has attached himself to us, and never left us. He pretendedto love and defend us, that he might surprise our secrets, and sellthem to our enemies. It is the wretch whom we treated as a brother--towhom we offered the most delicate and enduring attention. It is theman, lastly, who assumes the title of colonel, and name of FranciscoFlores, and who lied in doing so; for he is a nameless half-breed,surnamed El Garrucholo, ex-lieutenant of El Buitre, that ferociousbrigand who commands a _cuadrilla_ of salteadores that has desolatedUpper Mexico for several years. Look at him! Now that he is detected,he trembles--villain that he is; for he knows that the supreme hour ofjustice has rung for him."

  In fact, at this terrible revelation, thus made in the presence of all,the bandit's boldness suddenly gave way, and an expression of hideousterror contracted his features.

  "See," the count continued, "the men whom our enemies are not ashamedto employ against us; and yet they treat us as pirates! Well, we acceptthis brand, brothers; and these bandits who have fallen into our handsshall be judged according to the summary law of pirates."

  The adventurers warmly applauded their chief's address. Besides, allrecognised the truth and logic of his remarks. In the critical situationin which they found themselves they could forgive nothing: clemencywould have been culpable weakness. They could only regain their positionby boldness and energy, by terrifying their foes, and compelling themto treat with them. The count sat down again.

  "Don Cornelio," he said, "read to the accused the charges broughtagainst him."

  The Spaniard rose, and began a long charge against the colonel,supported by numerous letters written by Don Francisco, or received byhim from various persons, principally General Guerrero, which clearlyand indubitably proved the colonel's guilt. Don Cornelio finished bydescribing the interview on the previous day between Don Francisco, ElBuitre, and the Apache chief. The adventurers listened to this longenumeration of crimes and felonies in the most profound silence. WhenDon Cornelio had ended the count addressed the colonel.

  "Do you recognise the truth of the charge brought against you?"

  The bandit raised his head: his mind was made up, and he shrugged hisshoulders contemptuously.

  "Of what use to deny?" he said. "It is all true."

  "Then you confess that you have betrayed us since the first moment wemet?"

  "_Canarios!_" he said, with a mocking smile, "you are mistaken, senorconde. I betrayed you even before I knew you."

  At this cynical declaration no one present could repress a start ofhorror.

  "Does what I say astonish you?" the bandit continued boldly. "Why so?I consider my conduct perfectly natural. What are you to us Mexicansbut strangers? You are leeches, who come to our country to suck thebrightest of our blood; that is to say, to gorge yourselves with ourriches, deride our ignorance, turn into ridicule our manners andcustoms, and impose on us your tastes, and what you call your Westerncivilisation. By what right do you seize on all that is dear to us?You are only ferocious beasts, to destroy whom all measures arejustifiable. If we are not the stronger in the sunshine, well, we havethe night. Loyalty and frankness would ruin us, so we employ falsehoodand treachery. What next? Who is wrong--who is right? Who will dare tobe judge between us? No one. I have fallen into your hands: you aregoing to kill me. Very good. I shall be assassinated, but not condemnedby you, for you have no authority by which to try me. What more do youwant? Act as you think proper: it does not trouble me. He who sows thewind reaps the whirlwind. I have sown trickery--I have reaped treason.It is but just. I am about to die. Well, you have no right to inflict onme this death which I have deserved. Your verdict will be a murder, Irepeat."

  After pronouncing these words he folded his arms on his chest, andboldly surveyed his auditors. In spite of themselves the adventurersfelt moved by a species of admiration for the savage resolution ofthis man, with his feline and crafty manner, who had suddenly revealedhimself in so different a light from that in which they had hithertoknown him. In speaking with such brutal frankness the bandit had, asit were, raised himself in the eyes of all. His roguery appeared lessvile; he inspired a sort of sympathy in these brave men, for whomcourage and virtue are the first two virtues.

  "Then you do not even try to defend yourself?" Don Louis saidsorrowfully.

  "Defend myself," he said in amazement, "for having acted as I thoughtit my duty to do, and as I should act again if you were such fools asto pardon me! Come, caballeros, that is not common sense. Besides, if Idefended myself, I should to a certain extent recognise the competencyof your tribunal, and I absolutely deny it; so, believe me, you hadbetter finish with me--the so
oner the better, both for you and me."

  The count rose, took off his hat, and, addressing the adventurers, saidin a solemn voice,--

  "Friends and comrades, on your soul and conscience, is this man guilty?"

  "Yes!" the adventurers answered in a hollow voice.

  "What punishment has this man merited?" the count continued.

  "Death!" the adventurers replied simultaneously.

  The count then turned to the colonel.

  "Don Francisco Flores, otherwise called El Garrucholo, you are condemnedto the penalty of death."

  "Thanks!" he said, with a graceful bow.

  "But," the count continued, "as you are convicted of treason, and mustsuffer the death of traitors--that is, be shot in the back--taking intoconsideration the uniform you wear, which is that of the Mexican army,which we do not wish to disgrace in your person, you will be firstdegraded: the judgment will be executed immediately after."

  The bandit shrugged his shoulders.

  "What do I care?" he said.

  At a sign from the count a non-commissioned officer stepped from theranks, and the degradation commenced. El Garrucholo endured thisfrightful humiliation without turning pale: the bandit had in himcompletely gained the mastery over the caballero, and, as he said, hecared little about being degraded--that is to say, dishonoured---becausehonour to him was as nothing. When the subaltern had returned to theranks the count again addressed the condemned man.

  "You have five minutes to commend your soul to God," he said to him."May He be merciful to you! You have nothing more to expect in thisworld from men."

  The bandit burst into a hoarse laugh.

  "You are all fools!" he shouted. "What have I in common with God, ifreally He exist? I had better recommend myself to the demon, into whoseclutches I shall fall, if what the monks say is true."

  At this frightful blasphemy the adventurers gave a start of terror; butEl Garrucholo did not seem to notice it.

  "I have," he continued, "only one favour more to ask of you."

  "Speak!" the count replied, suppressing a gesture of disgust.

  "I wear round my neck, hanging by a steel chain, a little velvet bag,containing a blessed relic, which my mother gave me, telling me it wouldbring me good fortune. Since my birth this scapulary has never left me.I desire it to be buried with me. Perhaps it will be of use to me downthere where I am bound."

  "What you desire shall be done," the count answered.

  "Thanks!" he said with evident satisfaction.

  Strange anomaly of the Mexican character! This people is credulous andsuperstitious, without faith and without belief--a childish people, toolong enslaved, and too quickly liberated, which has not had the timeeither to forget or to learn.

  "The picket!" the count commanded.

  Eight men, commanded by a corporal, stepped from the ranks. The banditknelt, with his back turned to the executioners.

  "Present--fire!"

  El Garrucholo fell, shot in the back, not uttering a sigh: he was starkdead. His body was covered with a zarape.

  "Now," the count said coldly, "for the rest."

  The nine prisoners were brought up to the table: they were trembling,for the summary justice of the adventurers filled them with terror.A great noise was at this moment heard a short distance off, mingledwith shouts and imprecations; and suddenly two females, mounted onmagnificent horses, galloped into the middle of the square, when theystopped. They were Dona Angela and her waiting maid, Violanta.

  Dona Angela's hair was dishevelled; her features were animated,probably by the speed at which she had come; and her eyes flashedflames. She remained for a moment motionless amid the crowd surprisedat her sudden appearance. But, seeming suddenly to form a supremeresolution, she raised her head haughtily, and addressed the attentiveadventurers, who were struck with admiration at so much boldness unitedto such beauty.

  "Listen!" she said in a piercing voice. "I, Dona Angela, daughter of theGovernor of Sonora, have come here to protest boldly, in the sight ofall, against the treachery of which my father makes you the victims. DonLouis, chief of the French pirates, I love you! Will you accept me asyour wife?"

  A thunder of applause greeted these strange words, which were utteredwith extraordinary animation. Don Louis slowly drew nearer the maiden,as if fascinated and attracted by her glance.

  "Come," he said to her, "come, as you do not fear to ally yourself tomisfortune."

  The girl uttered a scream of joy that resembled a yell; and abandoningher reins, she bounded like a panther, and fell into the arms of thecount, who pressed her frenziedly against his manly breast. Then, aftera moment, still holding her in his embrace, he proudly raised his head,and looked commandingly around.

  "This lady is the wife of the chief of the pirates, my brothers. Loveher as a sister: she will be our palladium--our guardian angel."

  The intoxication of the adventurers cannot be described: it wasmadness. This strange scene appeared to them a dream. The count thenturned to the prisoners, who awaited their sentence in tremor.

  "Begone!" he said to them. "Go and narrate what you have seen. DonaAngela pardons you."

  The prisoners left the square, uttering benedictions innumerable. Thepoor fellows, after all that had passed in their presence, regardedthemselves as dead men. Valentine drew near the maiden.

  "You are an angel," he said to her in a low voice. "Will you persevere?"

  "I am his to the tomb," she answered with a feverish energy.