The Insurgent Chief

"I thank you for your generous offer, chief," answered Don Pablo, "and I accept it with alacrity. Your warriors are brave; your own reputation for courage and wisdom has long since passed the bounds of your territory. The aid you offer me will be very useful to his Majesty. Now, caballeros, permit me to offer you hospitality. You are fatigued with a long journey, and must want to take some refreshments before leaving. As there is nothing to retain us any further here, will you follow me?"

"Pardon, Señor Colonel," said the Portuguese officer, who till then had kept modestly on one side; "before you quit this room I will, if you permit me, acquit myself of a mission to you with which I am charged."

Notwithstanding his self-control, Don Pablo allowed a gesture of dissatisfaction to escape him, which he almost immediately repressed.

"Perhaps it would be better, Señor Captain," he replied, in a conciliating tone, "to postpone till a more fitting moment the communication that you have to make me."

"Why so, Señor Colonel?" quickly answered the Portuguese; "the moment appears to me very suitable, and the spot where we are very appropriate. Moreover; do you not come here to treat of subjects of the highest importance?"

"Perhaps so, Señor, but it appears to me that this meeting has lasted too long already – it is prolonged beyond ordinary limits. You, like ourselves, must want some hours of repose."

"So, Señor Colonel, you refuse to hear me?" drily pursued the officer.

"I do not say that," quickly answered Don Pablo; "do not misunderstand me, I beg, Señor Captain. I address a simple observation to you in your own interest – that is all, Señor."

"If it is to be so, caballero, permit me, while thanking you for your courtesy, not to accept, at present at least, the gracious offer you make me, and, if you will permit me, I will acquit myself of my mission."

Don Pablo threw a stealthy look on the French painter, and then answered with visible repugnance —

"Speak, then, Señor, since you insist on it. Caballeros," added he, addressing the other strangers, "excuse me for a few minutes, I beg. You see that I am obliged to listen to what this caballero so ardently wishes to tell me; but I am glad to think that he will not detain you long."

"A few minutes only, Señor."

"Be it so; we listen to you."

And the partisan resumed with a wearied air the seat that he had quitted. Although he put a good face upon it, an observer would have seen that he felt annoyed. The Frenchman, put on his guard by Tyro, and who, till this time, had seen nothing in what passed that concerned himself, did not allow this circumstance to escape him, slight as it was. Feigning entire indifference, he redoubled his attention, and imposed silence on Don Pablo's secretary, who – no doubt warned by his master – had suddenly felt inclined to talk with the young man, to whom he had previously not condescended to accord the least mark of politeness.

Thus rebuffed, Señor Vallejos felt constrained to subside again into the same silence that had previously distinguished him.

The Portuguese captain, taking advantage of the permission that had been given him, advanced a few paces, and after having ceremoniously bowed to Don Pablo, he commenced in a firm tone —

"Señor Colonel," said he, "my name is Don Sebastiao Vianna; I have the honour to serve, in the capacity of captain, in the army of his Majesty the King of Portugal and the Algarves."

"I know it, caballero," drily answered Don Pablo; "come to the fact, if you please, without further delay."

"I will do so, Señor; but before acquitting myself of the message with which I am charged, I was bound first to make myself officially known to you."

"Very well; continue."

"General Don Roque, Marquis de Castelmelhor, commander in chief of the second division of the corps of occupation of the Banda Oriental, of whom I have the honour to be aide-de-camp, sends me to you, Don Pablo Pincheyra, colonel commanding a squadron in the service of his Majesty the King of Spain, to beg you to explain yourself clearly and fully on the subject of the Marchioness of Castelmelhor, his wife, and Doña Eva de Castelmelhor, his daughter, whom – according to certain reports which have reached him – you retain, against the law of nations, prisoners in your camp at Casa-Frama."

"Ah!" cried Don Pablo, with a gesture of denial, "Such a supposition attacks my honour, Señor Captain; beware!"

"I do not speak on supposition, caballero," pursued Don Sebastiao, with firmness; "be so good as to answer me clearly. Are these ladies, or are they not, in your power?"

"These ladies have claimed my assistance to escape from the rebels, who had made them prisoners."

"You retain them, in your camp – here, at Casa-Frama?"

Don Pablo turned with an air of vexation towards the Frenchman, whose eye he instinctively felt weighed upon him.

"It is true," at last he answered, "that these ladies are in my camp, but they enjoy perfect liberty."

"But on several occasions, when they have entreated you to allow them to rejoin General Castelmelhor, you have always objected to it on some vague pretext."

The situation became more and more embarrassing; the partisan felt rage boiling within him; he saw that he had been betrayed, that his conduct was known, that all denial was useless. The honourable distinction that had been so recently conferred upon him induced him to restrain himself, but he was not sufficiently master of himself to repress all manifestation of annoyance – there was in him too much of the partisan and the bandit for that.

"¡Vive Dios!" cried he, with violence, "One would think that you are now making me undergo an examination!"

"It is so, in fact," proudly answered the officer.

"You forget, it appears to me, where you are and to whom you are speaking, Señor."

"I forget nothing; I do my duty without troubling, myself with the probable consequences that this conduct may have for myself."

"You are jesting, Señor," pursued the partisan, with a wily smile; "you have nothing to fear from me or mine; we are soldiers and not bandits; speak, then, without fear."

Don Sebastiao smiled bitterly.

"I have no fear, Señor," said he, "but that of not succeeding in accomplishing my mission; but I find that I am detaining you longer than I wished; I therefore briefly conclude. My general charges me to remind Don Pablo Pincheyra, a Spanish officer, that his honour, as a soldier, demands that he fail not in his word, loyally given, in retaining against their will two ladies who, of their own accord, have placed themselves under his safeguard. He, consequently, begs him to send them under my escort to the headquarters of the Portuguese army. To Pincheyra, the partisan chief – a man to whom the words, honour, and loyalty are void of meaning, and who only seeks lucre – the Marquis of Castelmelhor offers a ransom of 4,000 piastres, that I am charged to pay on the surrender of the two ladies. Now I have finished, caballero; it is for you to tell me to whom I am now speaking – to the Spanish officer or to the Montonero."

After these Words, uttered with a short and dry voice, the captain leant on his sabre, and waited.

Meanwhile, a lively agitation reigned in the room; the partisans whispered to each other, casting angry glances at the bold officer who dared to brave them in their own camp; some even had their hands already on their arms, and a conflict seemed imminent.

Don Pablo rose, calmed the tumult with an imperious gesture, and, when silence was re-established, he replied to the general's envoy with exquisite courtesy —

"Señor Captain, I excuse the bitterness and exaggeration in what you have just said; you are ignorant of what has passed, and do not know how to acquit yourself of the mission with which you are charged; The tone you have thought proper to take would perhaps, with any other man than me, have serious consequences for you; but, I repeat, I excuse you in wrongly supposing me to have intentions which have always been far from my thoughts. These ladies have asked for my protection; I have accorded it them to the full. They now think they can do without it. Be it so; they are free; nothing prevents them leaving with you; they are not my prisoners. I have, then, no ransom to exact from them. My only reward will be to have been happy enough to have been of service to them in so perilous a position. That is the answer, Señor Captain, that I have to make to you. Will you inform his Excellency the Marquis de Castelmelhor as to the manner in which I have acted with you, and assure him that I have been happy to render to these ladies the services that they have claimed from me on my honour as a soldier."

"This answer fills me with joy, caballero," resumed the officer. "Believe me that I thought it a duty to dispel from the mind of my General the prejudices which he had acquired against you – and with some reason, permit me to say. He does not know you, and your enemies have traduced you to him."

"All is settled then, Señor. I am happy that this grave affair has at last terminated to our mutual satisfaction. When do you wish to leave?"

"As soon as I possibly can, Señor."

"I understand; the Marquis de Castelmelhor must be impatient to see once more two persons who are so dear to him, and from whom he has been so long separated. But these ladies must require some hours to make their preparations for departure; they are not yet informed of it. I venture to hope, then, that you will accept the invitation that I have made these caballeros, and share the hospitality that I offer them."

"With all my heart, caballero, only I should wish that you would permit me to see these ladies without delay."

"I will myself conduct you to them, Señor Captain, as soon as you have taken some refreshments."

The captain bowed; a further persistence would have been in bad taste.

Don Pablo then left the room with his guests and his most intimate officers. On passing the French painter he did not say a word to him, but he looked at him sardonically, and with a smile which much struck the young man.

"Hum!" murmured he to himself; "It is not so clear to me. I believe I must more than ever watch over these poor ladies. Don Pablo has too readily consented to let them go."

And he left the room, shaking his head for some time.

CHAPTER VIII

THE TOLDO

On leaving the reception room, Emile Gagnepain proceeded to the toldo occupied by the Marchioness de Castelmelhor and her daughter. In thus acting, the young man obeyed a presentiment which told him that in what had passed before him a melancholy farce had been played by Don Pablo, and that the readiness with, which he had consented to part with them concealed some perfidy or other.

This presentiment had become so fixed in the young man's mind – it had become so real to him – that, although nothing arose to corroborate this suspicion of treachery, he was perfectly convinced of it, and would have asserted as much had occasion called for it.

Drawn, spite of himself, into a series of adventures very disagreeable to a man who, like him, had come to America to seek for that freedom and tranquillity of mind which his country, torn by factions, refused him, the young man had at last – as always happens – become interested in the anomalous position into which he had been thrown, with the feverish anxiety of a man who sees passing before him the scenes of a stirring drama. Moreover, without his taking any heed of it, a sentiment that he could not analyse had taken possession of his heart. This feeling had grown, unknown to himself, almost insensibly, and finally had acquired such force that the young man – who began to be frightened at the novel situation in which he was suddenly placed – despaired of freeing himself from it. Like all natures not feeble, but careless – not daring seriously to question himself, and sound the gulf which had thus opened in his heart – he allowed himself carelessly to be drifted by the current which carried him along, enjoying the present without caring for the future, and assuring himself that when the catastrophe arrived it would be time enough to face the danger and to take his stand.

He had taken but a few steps in the camp when, turning his head, he perceived Don Santiago Pincheyra at a few paces behind him.

The Montonero was walking carelessly, his arms behind his back, with a vague look, whistling a zambacueca– in a word, all the appearance of a man taking a lounging walk. But the painter was not deceived: he knew that Don Pablo, engaged with his guests, towards whom he was obliged to do the honours of the camp, had deputed his brother to watch his movements and render an account of his proceedings.

The young man by degrees slackened his pace unaffectedly, and, turning suddenly on his heel, found himself face to face with Don Santiago.

"Eh!" said he, feigning to see him for the first time; "What a charming surprise, Señor! You have then left to your brother, Don Pablo, the care of treating with the Spanish officers."

"As you see, Señor," answered the other, rather nonplussed, and not well knowing what to say.

"And you are, no doubt, taking a walk?"

"Upon my word, yes; between ourselves, dear Señor, these formal receptions weary me; I am a plain man, you know."

"Caray, if I know it!" said the Frenchman, with a sly air; "So you are free?"

"Mon Dieu! Yes, completely."

"Well, I am delighted that you have succeeded in disengaging yourself from these proud and haughty strangers. It is very fortunate for me that you are free. I confess I scarcely reckoned on the pleasure of meeting you thus."

"You were seeking me, then?" said Don Santiago, with astonishment.

"Certainly, I was looking for you; only, under the present circumstances, I repeat, I did not hope to meet with you."

"Ah! Why were you seeking me, then?"

"Well, dear Señor, as I have long known that you are one of my best friends, I intended to ask a service of you."

"To ask a service of me – me!"

"Parbleu! Who else? Except your brother Don Pablo and you, I do not know anyone at Casa-Frama."

"It is true; you are a forastero stranger."

"Alas! Yes – all that there is left of a forastero."

"What is the service?" asked the Montonero, completely deceived by the feigned good nature of the young man.

"This is the affair," answered the latter with imperturbable coolness; "only I beg you to keep the secret, for it concerns other persons, and consequently is rather serious."

"Ah! Ah!" exclaimed Don Santiago.

"Yes," pursued the young man, nodding his head affirmatively, "you promise to keep it secret, do you not?"

"On my honour."

"Thank you, I am satisfied. I confess, then, that I begin to be horribly bored at Casa-Frama."

"I can understand that," answered the Montonero, shaking his head.

"I wish to leave."

"What prevents you?"

"Mon Dieu! A multitude of things; first, the two ladies whom you know."

"That is true," said he with a smile.

"You do not understand me."

"How so?"

"Why, you appear to suppose that I wish to remain with them, whereas it is they who persistently demand that I stay with them."

The Montonero cast a stealthy and suspicious look on his companion, but the Frenchman was on his guard; his face was inexpressive as marble.

"Good, continue," said he, after a pause.

"You know that I have assisted at the interview."

"Parbleu! Seeing that it was I who conducted you there. You were seated near the secretary."

"Señor Vallejos – just so – a very amiable gentleman. Well, these ladies are on the point of quitting Casa-Frama. Don Pablo consents to their departure."

"You wish to leave with them?"

"You have not guessed it; I should like to leave, it is true, but not with them; since they go under the escort of Spanish officers, I should be of no service to them."

"Just so."

"Then they will no longer have any pretext for preventing me quitting them."

"That is true; then – "

"Then I desire that you get your brother to grant me – unless you would prefer to give it me yourself – a safe conduct to traverse your lines and regain as quickly as possible Tucuman, which I ought never to have left."

"Is it really to return to Tucuman that you want a safe conduct?"

"For what reason should it be, then?"

"I do not know; but my brother," – he suddenly stopped with ill-concealed embarrassment.

"Your brother!" suggested the young man.

"Nothing – I made a mistake; do not attach to what I say to you a sense which cannot be true; I am frequently subject to make mistakes."

"Are there any difficulties in your granting me the safe conduct?"

"I do not see any; however, I should not dare to do so without informing my brother."

"Do not distress yourself about that; I have no intention of leaving the camp without his authority; if you like we will go together to find him."

"You are then in a hurry to depart?"

"To a certain extent; it would be better, I think, if I could go away without seeing these ladies, and before them. In this way I should avoid the request they would not fail to make, to accompany them."

"That would indeed be better."

"Then come and find your brother, in order to settle the affair as soon as possible."

"Be it so."

They proceeded towards the toldo of Don Pablo; but about halfway the Frenchman stopped, slapping his forehead.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Don Santiago.

"I am thinking there is no occasion for us to go together; you will arrange this matter much better than me. While you go there I will prepare everything for my departure, so that I shall be able to set out immediately after your return."

The young man spoke with such decided good nature – his countenance was so expressive of frankness and carelessness – that Don Santiago, despite all his cleverness, was deceived.

"Very good," said he; "while I see my brother, make your preparations – there is no necessity for you to come."

"However, if you prefer it, perhaps it would be better for me to accompany you?"

"No, no, it is needless; in an hour I shall be at your toldo with the safe conduct."

"I thank you in advance."

The two men shook hands and separated, Don Santiago proceeding towards his brother's house, which was also his own, and the Frenchman apparently going in the direction of the habitation which had been assigned to him; but as soon as the partisan had turned the corner of the nearest street, Emile, having assured himself that no new spy was dogging his steps, immediately changed his route, and took that towards the dwelling of the two ladies.

Pincheyra had lodged his captives in an isolated toldo at one of the extremities of the camp – a toldo with its back to an almost perpendicular mountain, and which for that reason assured him against the probabilities of their flight. This toldo was divided into several compartments; it was clean and furnished with all the luxury that the locality admitted.

Two Indian women had been attached by the partisan to the service of the ladies, apparently as servants, but in reality to watch them and render him an account, of what they said and did; for, notwithstanding all the denials of Don Pablo, the marchioness and her daughter, although treated with the greatest respect, were really prisoners – which they had not been long in perceiving.

It was only with great caution and by stealth that the young painter succeeded in seeing them, and in exchanging with them a few words without any witness.

The domestics incessantly hovered round their mistresses, ferreting, listening, and watching; and if by chance they want away, the sister of Don Santiago, who pretended to manifest a lively friendship for the strangers, came and installed herself near them unceremoniously, and remained there nearly all the day, fatiguing them with studied caresses and lying exhibitions of a friendship which they perfectly knew was false.

However, thanks to Tyro, whose devotion did not slacken, and who knew well how to cope with the two Indian women, Emile had succeeded in pretty well escaping from them. The Guaraní had found means of attracting them by little presents, and of bringing them over a little to the interests of his master, who himself never came to the toldo without offering them some trifle. There remained, then, only the sister of Pincheyra. But today, after having during the morning made a long visit to the ladies, she had withdrawn, in order to assist at the repast that her brother gave to the officers, and to fulfil towards them her duties as mistress of the house, a care with which she could not dispense.

The marchioness and her daughter were then, for some time at least, delivered from their spies, mistresses of their time, and free to a certain extent to converse with the only friend who had not abandoned them, without fear of their words being repeated to the man who had so disgracefully betrayed, in their case, the laws of hospitality.

At a few paces from the toldo, the young man came across Tyro, who, without speaking to him, made him understand by mute signs, that the ladies were alone.

The young man entered.

The marchioness and her daughter, sitting sadly by each other's side, were reading a prayer book.

At the sound which Emile made in crossing the threshold of the door, they quickly raised their heads.

"Ah!" exclaimed the marchioness, whose countenance immediately brightened up, "It is you at last, Don Emile?"

"Excuse me, Madame," he answered, "I can but very rarely come to see you."

"I know it. Like us, you are watched, and exposed to suspicion. Alas! We have only escaped the revolutionists to fall into the hands of men more cruel still."

"Have you to complain of the proceedings of Don Pablo Pincheyra, or of any of his people, Madame?"

"Oh!" answered she, with a significant smile, "Don Pablo is polite – too polite, perhaps, for me! Oh! Mon Dieu! What have I done to be thus exposed to his persecutions?"

"Have you seen my servant this morning, Madame! I ask pardon for interrogating you thus, but time presses."

"Is it of Tyro that you speak?"

"Yes, of him, Madame."

"I have seen him for a moment."

"Has he said nothing to you?"

"Very little; he announced to me your visit, adding, that no doubt you would have important news to communicate to me; so I was anxious to see you. In the position in which my daughter and I are, everything is matter for hope."

"I have indeed, Madame, important news to announce to you, but I do not know how to do so."

"How so?" cried Doña Eva, fixing on him her large eyes, with an undefinable expression; "Do you fear to afflict us, Señor Don Emile?"

"I fear, on the contrary, Señora, to raise in your heart a hope which may not be realised."

"What do you mean? Speak, Señor, in the name of heaven," quickly interrupted the marchioness.

"This morning, Madame, several strangers entered Casa-Frama."

"I know it, caballero. It is to that circumstance that I owe not having near me the bodyguard of a cornet that it has been thought I ought to have – that is to say, the sister of Don Pablo Pincheyra."

"Do you know these strangers, Madame?"

"Your question surprises me, caballero. Since my arrival here, you know that I have scarcely been permitted to take a few steps out of this miserable place."

"Excuse me, Madame; I will put my question more definitely. Have you heard speak of a certain Don Sebastiao Vianna?"

"Yes, yes!" cried Doña Eva, clapping her hands with joy; "Don Sebastiao is one of the aides-de-camp of my father."

The countenance of the young man clouded.

"So you are sure you know him?" pursued he.

"Certainly," answered the marchioness; "how can my daughter and I fail to know a man who is our distant relation, and who has stood godfather to my daughter?"

"Then, Madame, I am deceived, and the news I bring you is really good news for you. I have been wrong in hesitating so long in announcing it to you."

"How is that?"

"Among the strangers who have arrived this morning at Casa-Frama, one of them is charged with claiming your being immediately set at liberty, on the part of the Marquis de Castelmelhor – your husband, Madame – your father, Señora. This stranger is named Don Sebastiao Vianna, wears the costume of a Portuguese officer, and is, he says, aide-de-camp of General the Marquis de Castelmelhor. I ought to avow that in this matter Don Pablo Pincheyra has conducted himself as a true caballero. After having denied that you were his prisoners, he nobly refused the sum proposed for your ransom, and engaged to place you today in the hands of Don Sebastiao, who is, under his escort, to conduct you to your husband."