The Pearl of the Andes: A Tale of Love and Adventure. Gustave Aimard
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the mêlée. In spite of the efforts of the Chilians to recapture the fugitive, he succeeded in escaping.
At a signal from Antinahuel, the Indians threw themselves on each side of the defile, and scaled the rocks with incredible velocity under a shower of bullets.
The combat was over. The Araucanos had disappeared. The Chilians counted their losses, and found them great; seventy men had been killed, and a hundred and forty-three were wounded. Several officers, among whom was General Cornejo, had fallen. It was in vain they searched for Joan. The intrepid Indian had become invisible.
Don Gregorio was in despair at the escape of General Bustamente. It was now useless for Don Gregorio to return to Santiago; on the contrary, it was urgent that he should return to Valdivia, in order to secure the tranquillity of that province which would, no doubt, be disturbed by the news of the generals escape; but, on the other hand, it was quite as important that the authorities of the capital should be placed upon their guard. Don Gregorio was in great trouble about choosing a person whom he could trust with this commission, when the senator came to his relief. The worthy Don Ramón had finished by taking courage in reality; he actually, and in good faith, believed himself the most valiant man in Chili, and, unconsciously, assumed the most ridiculously extravagant airs. Above all, he burned with the desire of returning to Santiago.
Don Gregorio asked the senator to be the bearer of the double news of the battle gained over the Indians – a battle in which he, Don Ramón, had taken so large a share of the glory – and the unexpected escape of General Bustamente.
Don Ramón accepted with a proud smile of satisfaction a mission in every way so honourable to him. As soon as the despatches, which Don Gregorio wrote at once, were ready, he mounted his horse, and, escorted by fifty lancers, set out for Santiago.
CHAPTER XI.
THE JOURNEY
After his interview with Don Tadeo, Valentine had scarcely taken time to bid the young count farewell, but had instantly departed, followed by Trangoil-Lanec and his inseparable Newfoundland dog.
The morning on which the sanguinary battle we have described was fought in the Canyon del Rio Seco, Valentine and Trangoil-Lanec were marching side by side, followed closely by Cæsar. The two men were talking while they cracked a biscuit, which they washed down from time to time with a little smilax water, contained in a gourd, which hung at the girdle of Trangoil-Lanec.
"Why chief," said Valentine, laughing, "you drive me to despair with your indifference."
"What does my brother mean?" the astonished Indian said.
"Caramba! We are traversing the most ravishing landscape in the world, and you pay no more attention to all these beauties than to the granite masses yonder in the horizon."
"My brother is young." Trangoil-Lanec observed: "he is an enthusiast."
"I do not know whether I am an enthusiast or not," replied the young man, warmly; "I only know this – that nature is magnificent."
"Yes," said the chief, solemnly, "Pillian is great; it is he who made all things."
"God, you mean, chief; but that is all one; our thought is the same, and we won't quarrel about a name."
"In my brother's island," the Indian asked curiously, "are there no mountains and trees?"
"I have already told you, chief, more than once that my country is not an island, but a land as large as this; there is no want of trees, thank God! There are even a great many, and as to mountains, we have some lofty ones, Montmartre among the rest."
"Hum," said the Indian, not understanding.
"Yes!" Valentine resumed, "we have mountains, but compared to these they are but little hills."
"My land is the most beautiful in the world," the Indian replied proudly. "Why do the palefaces wish to dispossess us of it."
"There is a great deal of truth in what you say, chief."
"Good!" said the chief; "all men cannot be born in my country."
"That is true, and that is why I was born somewhere else."
Cæsar at this moment growled surlily.
"What is the matter, old fellow?" said Valentine.
Trangoil-Lanec remarked quietly —
"The dog has scented an Aucas."
So it was, for scarcely had he spoken, when an Indian horseman appeared at the turning of the road. He advanced at full gallop towards the two men, whom he saluted, and went on his way.
Shortly afterwards the travellers arrived, almost without being aware of it, at the entrance of the village.
"So now, I suppose, we are at San Miguel?" remarked Valentine.
"Yes," the other replied.
"And is it your opinion that Doña Rosario is no longer here?"
"No," said the Indian, shaking his head. "Let my brother look around him."
"Well," said the young man, turning his eyes in all directions, "I see nothing."
"If the prisoner were here, my brother would see warriors and horses; the village would be alive."
"Corbleu!" thought Valentine; "these savages are wonderful men; they see everything, they divine everything. Chief," he added, "you are wise; tell me, I beg of you, who taught you all these things."
The Indian stopped; with a majestic gesture he indicated the horizon to the young man, and said, in a voice the solemn accent of which made him start —
"Brother, it was the desert.
"Yes," the Frenchman replied, convinced by these few words; "for it is there alone that man sees God face to face."
They now entered the village, and, as Trangoil-Lanec had said, it seemed deserted. They saw a few sick persons, who, reclining upon sheepskins, were complaining lamemtably.
"Caramba!" said Valentine, much disappointed, "you have guessed so truly, Chief, that there are even no dogs to bite our heels."
All at once Cæsar sprang forward barking, and, stopping in front of an isolated hut, began to munch the ground with his claws, uttering furious cries.
The two men ran hastily towards the hut, and Cæsar continued his howlings.
CHAPTER XII.
INFORMATION
When Valentine and Trangoil-Lanec gained the front of the hut, the door was opened, and a woman presented herself.
This woman had in her countenance a marked expression of mildness, mixed with a melancholy cast; she appeared to be suffering pain. Her dress, entirely composed of blue cloth, consisted of a tunic which fell to her feet, but was very narrow, which makes the women of that country take short steps; a short mantle, called an ichcha, covered her shoulders and was crossed upon her breast, where it was drawn together by means of a silver buckle.
As soon as this woman opened the door, Cæsar rushed so violently into the interior of the hut that he almost knocked her down in his passage. She staggered, and was obliged to hold herself up by the wall.
"I know what troubles the animal thus," the woman said mildly; "my brothers are travellers; let them enter this poor hut, which belongs to them; their slave will serve them."
So saying, the mistress of the hut stood on one side to allow the strangers to enter. They found Cæsar crouching in the middle of the cuarto, with his nose close to the ground, sniffing, snatching, and growling.
"Good God!" Valentine muttered anxiously, "what has been done here?"
Without saying a word Trangoil-Lanec placed himself close to the dog; stretched along upon the ground, with his eyes intently fixed upon it, he examined it as closely as if he thought his glance could penetrate it. At the end of a minute he arose, and seated himself by Valentine, who seeing his companion had got a fit of Indian silence, found it necessary to speak first.
"Well, chief," he asked, "what is there fresh?"
"Nothing,"