The Adventurers

At length, one day, a numerous troop of Puelches, magnificently equipped and mounted, arrived at Rio-Claro, the town in which Don Antonio resided. The chief of these Indians was the Black Jackal, who came to redemand his wife and son of him to whom he had intrusted them. The interview was very affecting. The chief forgot his Indian stoicism; he gave himself up to the feelings which agitated him, and enjoyed the happiness of finding again, after such a length of time, the two beings he held dearest in the world. When it became necessary to depart, and the children learnt they were to be separated, they shed abundance of tears. They had been accustomed from their infancy to live together, and they could not comprehend why they were not to continue to do so.

Don Antonio had extended his traffic over different parts of the frontiers; he possessed chacras, in which the breeding of cattle was carried on upon a vast scale. The Black Jackal, who had sworn a perpetual friendship, became of great use to him in his business transactions; he often put him in the way of making excellent bargains with his compatriots, and, what was still more serviceable, protected his property from the depredations of plunderers. Every year Don Antonio visited all his chacras in Araucania, and passed a couple of months among the tribe of the Black Serpents, with his friend, the Black Jackal. His daughter accompanied him in all these journeys, on account of the friendship that existed between the children. Things went on thus for many years.

At the period when our history commences, the Black Jackal was dead: he had fallen, like a brave warrior, with his weapons in his hand, in a combat on the frontier; his son, Antinahuel, now about thirty-five years of age, who promised to tread in his footsteps, had been elected Apo-Ulmen in his place, and afterwards Toqui of his Uthal-Mapus or province, which made him one of the principal men of Araucania. Don Antonio had likewise died, shortly after the marriage of his daughter, Doña Maria, with Don Tadeo de Leon, brought to an untimely grave by his grief at her misconduct, which had produced terrible scandal in the upper classes of Santiago.

Doña Maria for some years past had only seen Antinahuel at long intervals; but between them their friendship remained as warm as in the days of their childhood; and, on the part of the Indian warrior, it was carried so far that he obeyed the least caprice of the young woman as an imperative duty. Great, then, was the astonishment of the warriors of the tribe of the Black Serpents, when, in the evening of the day on which we have resumed our story, they saw Doña Maria arrive on horseback, accompanied only by two peons, at their toldería, and go straight towards the rancho of the Toqui. On perceiving her, the usually gloomy face of the chief was suddenly lighted up with an expression of gladness.

"Eglantine of the Woods!" he cried, in a joyous tone, "does my sister then still remember the poor Indian?"

"I have come to visit the toldo of my brother," she said, turning her brow towards him, upon which he impressed a kiss; "my heart is sad, grief devours me – and I have remembered my brother."

The chief cast a look upon her of anxiety, mingled with sorrow.

"Although it be to trouble that I owe the visit of my sister, I am, nevertheless, rejoiced to see her."

"Yes," she resumed, "when we are in trouble we think of our friends."

"My sister has done well in thinking of me; what can I do for her?"

"My brother can render me a great service."

"My life is my sister's; she knows she can dispose of it at her pleasure."

"Thank you! I was certain I could depend upon my brother."

"Everywhere, and at all times."

After bowing respectfully to Doña Maria, he led her into his rancho, where his mother had prepared everything worthy of the visit of one whom for so many years she had loved as a daughter.

CHAPTER XIX

TWO OLD FRIENDS

Antinahuel – the Tiger Sun – was at this time a man of about thirty-five years of age. In stature he was tall, and in his carriage majestic; everything in his person announced a man accustomed to command, and made to rule over his fellows. As a warrior, his reputation was immense, and his mosotones held him in superstitious veneration. Such was, physically, the man whom Doña Maria de Leon came to visit; what he was, morally, we shall soon see.

The cloth was laid in the toldo, – we make use of the expression, the cloth was laid, advisedly, because the Araucano chiefs are perfectly well acquainted with European customs, and almost all possess dishes, plates, and silver spoons and forks. It is true, they only make use of these upon great occasions, and for the purpose of display; for, as to themselves, they carry frugality and plainness to an excess, and when they are alone with their families, are content to eat with their fingers.

Doña Maria seated herself at the table, and made a sign to Antinahuel, who stood respectfully beside her, to keep her company, and to take his place opposite to her. It was clear to the Indian chief that his sister, as he called her, who for some years had completely neglected him, must have been induced by some powerful interest to seek him thus in his remote village. But what could the interest be which led a delicate woman, accustomed to all the luxurious comforts of life, to undertake a long and perilous journey in order to come and talk with an Indian in a miserable toldería, hidden in the midst of the desert?

On her side, the young woman was a prey to still greater uneasiness, for she was anxious to discover whether, in spite of her neglect of the chief, she had preserved the boundless power she had formerly exercised over that Indian nature, which civilization had softened rather than subdued; she feared lest the long forgetfulness in which she had left him had made her lose her prestige in his eyes, and that coolness and indifference might have succeeded to the warm friendship of early days.

When the repast was ended, a peon brought in the maté4 the infusion of the Paraguay herb which, with the Chilians, takes the place of tea, and of which they are very fond. Two chased cups, placed upon a filagree salver, were presented to Doña Maria and the chief; they lit their maize pajillos, and smoked, whilst sipping their maté, reflectively. After a few minutes' silence, which was beginning to be embarrassing to both, Doña Maria, who perceived that Antinahuel was resolved to act on the defensive, determined to open the attack.

"My brother," she said, with a smile, "is surprised at my sudden arrival at his toldería."

"It is true; the Eglantine of the Woods has appeared unexpectedly amongst us, but she is not the less welcome on that account."

And he bowed.

"I am glad to observe that my brother is as gallant as ever."

"No; I love my sister, and I am happy to see her, after being so long deprived of her presence."

"I know your friendship for me, Penni; our childhood was passed together, but it is a long time since that time. You are now one of the caraskens, whilst I am only, as formerly, a poor woman."

"The Eglantine of the Woods is my sister, her least wishes shall always be sacred with me."

"Thanks, Penni! But let us drop this conversation, and talk of our early years, which, alas! so quickly glided away."

"Yesterday exists no longer," he said, sententiously.

"That's true," she replied, with a sigh; "why, indeed, should we talk of times that can never come back?"

"Does my sister intend to return to Chili?"

"No; I have left Santiago for a time; I intend, for a season, to take up my abode in Valdivia; I left my friends to continue their route, whilst I came on to pay my respects to my brother."

"Yes, I know that the man whom the palefaces call General Bustamente, though scarcely cured of a dangerous wound, set off, a month ago, to visit the province of Valdivia, I, myself, intend shortly to visit that city."

"There are many palefaces from the South there at present."

"Among these strangers are there any that I know?"

"Good heavens! how can I tell? Yes, there is one, Don Tadeo, my husband."

Antinahuel raised his head in astonishment.

"I thought he had been shot!" he said.

"He was."

"Well?"

"He escaped death, though grievously wounded."

The artful woman endeavoured to read what impression the news she had so coolly imparted made upon the stoical face of the Indian.

"Listen to me, my sister," he resumed, after a minute's pause; "Don Tadeo is still your enemy, is he not?"

"More so than ever."

"Good!"

"Not content with having basely abandoned me, and having torn from me my child, the innocent creature who alone consoled me and enabled me to support the sorrows with which he has overwhelmed me, he has crowned his insults by publicly paying his addresses to another woman, whom he takes with him everywhere, and who is at this moment his companion at Valdivia."

"Hum!" the chief said, carelessly.

Accustomed to Araucanian manners, which permit every man to take as many wives as he can support, he found the action of Don Tadeo perfectly natural. This did not escape Doña Maria: an ironical smile curled for a second the corners of her lips, and she continued, negligently, but looking earnestly in the face of the chief —

"Yes, the woman is called, as I hear, Doña Rosario de Mendoz; and is, they say, a beautiful creature!"

That name, pronounced with such apparent indifference, produced the effect of a clap of thunder upon the chief; he sprang up, his face inflamed, and his eyes sparkling.

"Rosario de Mendoz, did you say, my sister?" he shouted.

"Good heavens! I hardly know," she replied. "I have only heard her name – I believe that may be it – but," she added, "what interest can my brother take in it?"

"Oh! none," he said, as he quietly resumed his seat. "Why does not my sister avenge herself upon the man who has abandoned her?"

"To what purpose? and, besides, what vengeance can I hope for? I am but a weak and timid woman, without friends, without support; in short, alone."

"And I?" said the chief; "what am I, then?"

"Oh!" she replied, warmly; "I would not on any account that my brother should constitute himself the avenger of an insult which is personal to myself."

"My sister is mistaken; in attacking this man I avenge my own insult."

"My brother must explain himself – I do not understand him."

"That is what I am going to do."

"I am all attention."

At this moment Antinahuel's mother entered the toldo, and, approaching the chief, said in a humble, but sad tone, —

"My son is wrong in thus recalling old remembrances, and opening ancient wounds again."

"Woman!" the Indian replied, "Retire! I am a warrior! My father left me a vengeance. I have sworn, and I will accomplish my oath!"

The poor mother left the toldo with a sigh. The Linda, whose curiosity was excited to the highest degree, awaited impatiently the chief's explanation. Without, the rain fell pattering upon the leaves of the trees; at intervals a blast of night wind, loaded with uncertain sounds, came whistling through the ill-joined boards of the toldo, and caused the flame of the torch which lighted it to waver unsteadily. The two speakers, though absorbed in their own reflections, involuntarily lent an ear to these nameless sounds, and felt a depression of spirits they could not account for. The chief raised his head, and inhaling, one after another, several mouthfuls of smoke from his pajillo, which he puffed out brusquely, commenced in a low voice, —

"Although my sister is almost a child of the nation, as my mother nursed her, she has never been made acquainted with the history of my family. The history I am about to relate will reveal to her that I have against Don Tadeo de Leon an old hatred, ever kept alive; and which, if I have to the present moment appeared to allow to slumber, it has been because that man was the husband of my sister: the conduct of Don Tadeo towards my sister frees me from the promise I had made myself, and leaves me liberty of action."

Doña Maria bowed assentingly.

"When the vile Spaniards," he continued, "conquered Chili, and reduced its cowardly inhabitants to slavery, they dreamt of subjugating Araucania in its turn, and marched against the Aucas, whose frontiers they violated. My sister sees that I take up my recital from the beginning. The Toqui Cadegual was one of the first to convoke a grand council of the nation, on the plain of the Carampangue. Named Toqui, one of the four Uthal-Mapus, he gave battle to the palefaces. The conflict was terrible! It lasted from the rising to the setting of the sun. Many Molucho warriors departed for the happy prairies of the Eskennane, but Pillian did not abandon the Aucas; they were conquerors, and the Chiaplo fled like timid hares before the terrible lances of our warriors. Numbers of palefaces fell into our hands; among them was a powerful chief, named Don Estevan de Leon. The Toqui Cadegual might have employed his rights, and have killed him, but he did nothing of the kind: so far from it, he led him to his toldo, and treated him with kindness, as a brother. But when did Spaniards ever show themselves grateful for a kindness? Don Estevan, forgetful of the sacred duties of hospitality, seduced the daughter of the man to whom he owed his life, and, one day, disappeared with her. The grief of the Toqui was immense at this unworthy and disloyal treachery. He swore to wage from that time a pitiless war against the palefaces, and he kept his oath: all Spaniards taken by them, whatever their age or sex, were massacred. These terrible reprisals were just, were they not?"

"Yes," said the Linda laconically.

"One day, Cadegual, surprised by his ferocious enemies, fell, covered with wounds, into their hands, after a heroic resistance, during which all his brave Mosotones had allowed themselves to be killed by his side. In his turn, as it happened, Cadegual was in the power of Don Estevan de Leon. The Spanish chief recollected the man who had, years before, saved his life. He was merciful. After cutting off the hands, and scooping out the eyes of his prisoner, he restored to him his daughter, of whom he was tired, and sent him back to his nation. The Toqui was led back by his child, whom he pardoned. When he joined his tribe, Cadegual called together his relations, related to them what he had suffered, showed them his bleeding and mutilated arms, and, after having made his sons and all his relations swear to avenge him, he allowed himself to die of hunger, that he might not survive his shame."

"Oh, that is frightful!" Doña Maria cried, affected, in spite of herself.

"That is nothing yet!" the chief resumed, with a bitter smile; "let my sister listen to the sequel. From that time, an implacable destiny has always hung over the two families, and continually brought the descendants of the Toqui Cadegual in contact with those of Captain Don Estevan de Leon. During three centuries, this ardent, inveterate struggle has lasted between the two families, and will never terminate but by the extinction of one, or perhaps both of them. Up to the present time, the advantage has almost always been on the side of the Leons; the sons of the Toqui have very often been conquered, but they have always remained firm and implacable, ready to re-commence the combat at the first signal. At the present day, the family of Don Estevan has but one representative, Don Tadeo – a representative formidable through his courage, his fortune, and the immense influence, he exercises over his compatriots. He, personally, has never injured the Aucas; he seems even to be ignorant of the inveterate hatred which exists between his family and that of the Toqui; but the descendants of Cadegual do not forget it: they are strong, numerous, and powerful in their turn; the hour of vengeance has struck, they will not let it escape! My sister," he continued, in a voice almost rising to a shout; "my sister, my ancestor was the Toqui Cadegual, and I thank you for having warned me that not only my enemy is not dead, but that he is within my reach!"

"Your mother asked you properly, Penni, why should you revive old hatreds? Peace now reigns between the Chilians and the Aucas: let my brother beware; the whites are numerous; they have many warlike, disciplined soldiers."

"Oh," he replied, with a sinister look; "I am sure of succeeding, for I have my nymph."

Indians of high rank all entertain a firm belief that they have a familiar genius, who is bound to obey them.

Doña Maria feigned to yield to this reason; she had succeeded in putting the hunter upon the scent of the game she wished to destroy, and it was of very little importance to her what motive made him obey her. She knew perfectly well that the hatred alleged by the chief was nothing but a pretext, and that the real cause remained hidden in the depths of his heart. Although she had a clear idea of what it was, she affected not to have the least suspicion of it.

She continued talking with Antinahuel for some time longer about indifferent subjects, and then retired to a chamber which had been prepared for her. It was late, and she wished to set out for Valdivia at daybreak. She was sufficiently well acquainted with the companion of her childhood to know that, now the tiger was roused, it would not be long before he started in quest of the prey which she had marked down for him.

As for the Toqui, the whole night passed away without his thinking of taking a moment's repose; he remained plunged in profound and agitating reflections.

CHAPTER XX

THE SORCERER

On the same day, a toldería, situated at some miles from Orano, on the banks of the Carampangue, was a scene of the greatest commotion. The women and warriors assembled in front of a toldo, on the threshold of which was exposed a corpse, lying as it were in state, upon a bed of branches, were uttering cries and groans, which were mingled with the deafening sound of drums and flutes in most dismal discord, and the continuous howling of dogs, whom all this din rendered furious. In the middle of the crowd, by the side of the body, stood a man advanced in years, tall in stature, and clothed in the costume of a woman, who appeared to direct the ceremony, making extraordinary gestures and contortions, accompanied by scarcely human yells. This man, of a ferocious aspect, was the machi, or sorcerer of the tribe; the motions he affected, the cries he uttered, were intended to protect the body against the attacks of the evil genius, supposed to be eager to get possession of it. At a sign from him the music and groans ceased; the evil genius, conquered by the power of the machi, had given up the contest, after a sharp struggle, and abandoned the body which it was beyond his power to obtain. The sorcerer then turned towards a man of lofty stature and commanding countenance, who stood near him leaning upon a long lance.

"Ulmen of the powerful tribe of the Great Hare," he said, in a sepulchral tone, "thy father, the valiant Ulmen, who has been ravished from us by Pillian, is no longer in dread of the influence of the evil genius, whom I have forced to depart; he now hunts in the happy prairies of the Eskennane with the just warriors: all the rites are accomplished – the hour for surrendering his body to the earth has arrived!"

"Stop!" the chief replied, warmly; "my father is dead, but who has killed him? A warrior does not succumb thus, in a few hours, unless some secret influence has weighed upon him, and dried up the springs of life in his heart. Answer me, O machi, inspired by Pillian! Tell me the name of the assassin! My heart is sad, and can only be comforted by avenging my father."

At these words, pronounced in a firm voice, a shudder crept through the ranks of the people assembled in a group round the body. The machi, after having looked searchingly round, cast down his eyes, crossed his arms upon his breast, and appeared to reflect.

The Araucanos only think one sort of death possible – that on the field of battle; they do not suppose any one can lose his life by either accident or disease; in these two cases they always attribute death to the action of an occult power, and are persuaded that some enemy of the defunct has cast the charm upon him that has killed him. In this persuasion, at the period of the funeral ceremonies, the relations and friends of the dead person call upon the machi to denounce the assassin to them. The machi is obliged to point him out; it would be in vain for him to endeavour to make them comprehend that the death of their relation is natural, for their fury would be immediately turned against him, and he would become their victim.

In this hard alternative, the machi takes good care not to hesitate; the murderer is the more easily pointed out through his non-existence, and from the sorcerer being in no danger of being suspected of deception. Generally, in order to make his own interests agree with those of the relations who claim a victim, he gives up one of his own personal enemies to their vengeance; when – but that is rare – the machi has no enemies, he fixes upon someone at hazard. The pretended murderer, in spite of his protestations of innocence, is immolated without mercy.

It may be easily understood how perilous such a custom is, and what an influence it gives the sorcerer in the tribe; an influence we are obliged to admit which he abuses under all circumstances, without the least scruple.

Fresh personages, among whom were Valentine and his friend, had arrived at the village, and, attracted by curiosity, mingled with the crowd collected round the body. The two Frenchmen could not comprehend anything of this scene till their guide had briefly explained it to them; then they followed the different phases of it with great interest.

"Speak!" said the Ulmen, after a short pause. "Does not my father know the name of the man of whom we must demand an account of this murder?"

"I know him," the sorcerer replied, in a solemn tone.

"Why, then, does the inspired machi preserve silence, when the dead body cries for vengeance?"

"Because," the machi said, looking this time the newly-arrived chief full in the face, "there are powerful men who laugh at human justice."

The eyes of the crowd turned to the man whom the sorcerer appeared indirectly to point out.

"The guilty man," the Ulmen cried, in a loud voice, "whatever be his rank in the tribe, shall not escape my just vengeance; speak without fear, priest of fate! I swear that the man whose name passes your lips shall die!"

The machi drew himself up majestically; he raised his arm slowly, and, amidst the general anxious curiosity, he, with his finger, pointed to the chief who had offered such cordial hospitality to the strangers, saying, in a loud, ringing voice —

"Accomplish your oath, then, Ulmen – that is the assassin of your father, Trangoil-Lanec cast the charm upon him which has killed him!"

And the machi veiled his face with the corner of his poncho, as if overwhelmed with grief at making the revelation.

The sorcerer's terrible words were succeeded by the silence of astonishment. Trangoil-Lanec was the last man in the tribe who would have been suspected. He was beloved and venerated by all for his courage, frankness, and generosity. The first sensation of surprise over, a general movement took place in the crowd; all drew back from the supposed murderer, leaving him face to face with the chief of whose death he was accused. Trangoil-Lanec remained impassive, a smile of disdain passed over his lips, he dismounted from his horse, and waited.

The Ulmen walked slowly towards him, and when within a few paces, asked, in a sorrowful voice —

"Why didst thou kill my father, Trangoil-Lanec? He loved thee, and I, was not I thy Penni?"

"I have not killed thy father, Curumilla," the chief replied, with a tone of frankness that would have convinced a man less prejudiced than the one he addressed.

"The machi has said so."

"The machi lies."

"No, the machi cannot lie – he is inspired by Pillian; thou, thy wife, and thy children must die; the law decrees that it shall be so."

Without deigning to reply, the chief threw down his arms, and went and placed himself beside the stake of blood, planted in front of the medicine toldo, which contains the sacred idol. A circle was formed, of which the stake formed the centre; the wife and children of the chief were brought up, and were prepared immediately for the sacrifice; for the funeral ceremony of the chief could not be completed before the execution of his murderer. The machi was triumphant. One man alone in the tribe had ventured to hold up his hand against his robberies and rogueries, and that man was about to die and leave him absolute master. Upon a sign from Curumilla, two Indians seized the chief, and, in spite of the tears and sobs of his wives and children, they prepared to fasten him to the stake.