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The Smuggler Chief: A Novel

by Gustave Aimard · English · Gutenberg #44454 · 594,248 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Smuggler Chief: A Novel

Author: Gustave Aimard

Translator: Sir Lascelles Wraxall


        
Release date: December 17, 2013 [eBook #44454]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SMUGGLER CHIEF: A NOVEL ***
THE SMUGGLER CHIEF

A NOVEL

BY

GUSTAVE AIMARD


AUTHOR OF "STRONGHAND," "BUCCANEER CHIEF," ETC.


LONDON

WARD AND LOCK, 158, FLEET STREET

MDCCCLXIV




PREFACE

The present is the most powerful story which Gustave Aimard has yet
written. While there is enough of startling incident and hairbreadth
escapes to satisfy the greatest craver after sensation, the plot is
carefully elaborated, and great attention is paid to developing the
character of the heroines. If there has been any fault in the author's
previous works, it is that the ladies introduced are too subordinate;
but in the present tale, the primary interest hinges upon them, and
they are the most prominent characters. For this reason I am inclined
to believe that the "Smuggler Chief" will become a greater favourite
with readers than any of its predecessors.

Lascelles Wraxall, Bart.




CONTENTS.

         I. THE PROCESSION
        II. THE COUNTRY HOUSE
       III. THE CONVENT OF THE PURÍSIMA CONCEPCIÓN
        IV. THE SMUGGLERS
         V. THE INCA OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
        VI. THE BANIAN'S HOUSE
       VII. THE NOVICE
      VIII. A VISIT TO THE CONVENT
        IX. ON THE SIERRA
         X. INSIDE THE TENT
        XI. THE SONS OF THE TORTOISE
       XII. A HUMAN SACRIFICE
      XIII. THE BALAS RUBY
       XIV. THE RUPTURE
        XV. A FIRST LOSS
       XVI. THE PARUMO DE SAN JUAN BAUTISTA
      XVII. THE ABDUCTION
     XVIII. AFTER THE COMBAT
       XIX. THE MANHUNT
        XX. THE REDSKINS
       XXI. THE INDIAN CITY
      XXII. THE JAGOUAS OF THE HUILICHES
     XXIII. A MIRACULOUS CURE
      XXIV. THE RUINS OF THE HACIENDA
       XXV. THE ARREST
      XXVI. THE SCALP
     XXVII. THE CAPTURE OF THE CONVENT
    XXVIII. AN INDIAN VENGEANCE
      XXIX. THE GREEN ROOM
       XXX. THE CONFESSION
      XXXI. THE CAMP OF THE MOLUCHOS
     XXXII. THE SACK OF SANTIAGO



CHAPTER I.

THE PROCESSION.


America, a land not yet thoroughly explored, and whose immense
savannahs and gloomy virgin forests conceal so many mysterious secrets
and unknown dramas, sees at this moment all eyes fixed upon her, for
everyone is eager to know the strange customs of the semi-civilized
Indians and the semi-savage Europeans who people the vast solitudes
of that continent; for in the age of transformation in which we live,
they alone have remained stationary, contending inch by inch against
the civilization which invades and drives them back on all sides, and
guarding with a religious obstinacy the faith, manners, and customs of
their fathers--curious manners, full of interest, which require to be
studied carefully and closely to be understood.

It is to America, then, that we invite the reader to accompany us. But
he need not feel alarmed at the length of the voyage, for he can make
it while comfortably seated in his easy chair by the fireside.

The story we propose to tell has its scene laid at Valparaíso--a
Chilian city as regards the soil on which it is built, but English and
French, European or American, through the strange composite of its
population, which, is formed of people from all countries, who have
introduced every possible language and brought with them every variety
of trade.

Valparaíso! the name echoes in the ear like the soft sweet notes of a
love strain!

Valparaíso! the city of Paradise--the vast depôt of the whole world.
A coquettish, smiling, and frolicsome city, slothfully reclining, like
a thoughtless Indian maid, at the base of three mountains and at the
end of a glorious bay, dipping the tips of her roseate feet in the
azure waters of the Pacific, and hiding her broad brilliant forehead
in the tempest-swollen clouds which float along from the crests of the
Cordilleras to make her a splendid diadem.

This city, the advanced sentinel of Transatlantic civilization, is the
first land which the traveller discovers after doubling Cape Horn, of
melancholy and ill-omened memory.

When at sunrise of a fine spring morning a vessel sails round the
lighthouse point situated at the extremity of the Playa-Aucha, this
charming oasis is perceived, half veiled by a transparent mist, only
allowing the white houses and lofty edifices to be distinguished in a
vague and fantastic way that conduces to reverie.

The atmosphere, impregnated with the sharp scents from the beach and
the sweet emanations of the trees and flowers, deliciously expands the
chest, and in a second causes the mariner, who comes back to life and
hope, to forget the three months of suffering and incessant danger
whose long hours have passed for him minute by minute, ere he reached
this long-desired haven.

On August 25th, 1833, two men were seated in a posada situated in the
Calle San Agostino, and kept by a Frenchman of the name of Crevel,
long established in the country, at a table on which stood two glasses
and a nearly empty bottle of aguardiente of Pisco, and were eagerly
conversing in a low voice about a matter which seemed to interest them
in the highest degree.

One of these men, about twenty-five years of age, wore a characteristic
costume of the guasos, a name by which the inhabitants of the interior
are designated; a wide poncho of llama wool, striped with different
brilliant colours, covered his shoulders and surrounded his bare neck
with an elegant and strangely-designed Indian embroidery. Long boots
of dyed wool were fastened above his knees by silk cords, and armed at
the heels with enormous silver spurs, whose wheels, large as saucers,
compelled him to walk on tiptoe whenever he felt an inclination to
leave his saddle for a moment--which, however, very rarely happened,
for the life of a guaso consists in perpetual horse exercise.

He wore under his poncho a belt containing a pair of pistols, whose
heavy butts could be distinguished under the folds each time that a
hurried movement on the part of the young man evidenced the fire which
he introduced into the conversation.

Between his legs rested a rifle richly damascened with silver, and the
carved boss of a knife handle peeping out of the top of his right boot.

Lastly, to complete this accoutrement, a splendid Guayaquil straw hat,
adorned with an eagle's plume, was lying on a table near the one which
he occupied.

In spite of the young man's swarthy face, his long black hair falling
in disorder on his shoulders, and the haughtiness of his features, it
was easy to recognise by an examination of his features the type of the
European under the exterior of the American; his eyes full of vivacity
which announced boldness and intelligence, his frank and limpid
glance, and his sarcastic lips, surmounted by a fine and coquettishly
turned up black moustache, revealed a French origin.

In truth, this individual, who was no other than Leon Delbès, the most
daring smuggler on the Chilian coast, was born at Bayonne, which city
he left after the loss of an enormous fortune which he inherited from
his father, and settled in South America, where in a short time he
acquired an immense reputation for skill and courage, which extended
from Talcahueno to Copiapó.

His comrade, who appeared to be a man of five-and-thirty years of age,
formed the most perfect contrast with him.

He wore the same costume as Delbès, but there the resemblance ended.

He was tall and well built, and his thin, muscular limbs displayed a
far from ordinary strength. He had a wide, receding forehead, and his
black eyes, close to his long, bent nose, gave him a vague resemblance
to a bird of prey. His projecting cheek bones, his large mouth, lined
with white, sharp teeth, and his thin pinched-up lips, imparted to his
face an indescribable expression of cruelty; a forest of greasy hair
was imprisoned in a red and yellow silk handkerchief which covered his
head, and whose points fell upon his back. He had an olive complexion,
peculiar to individuals of the Indian race to which he belonged.

This man was well known to the inhabitants of Valparaíso, who
experienced for him a hatred thoroughly justified by the acts of
ferocity of which he had been guilty under various circumstances; and
as no one knew his real name, it had grown into a custom to designate
him by the name of the Vaquero, owing to his great skill in lassoing
wild bulls on the Pampas.

"The fiend twist the necks of those accursed English captains!" the
Frenchman exclaimed, as he passionately smote the table: "it is easy to
see that they are heretics."

"Yes," the other replied; "they are thieves--a whole cargo of raw
silver, which we had such difficulty in passing, and which cost us the
lives of two men."

"It is my fault," Leon continued, with an oath. "I am an ass. We have
made a long voyage for nothing, and I ought to have expected it, for
with the English it is impossible to gain one's livelihood. I am sure
that we should have done our business famously at Copiapó, and we were
only eight leagues from there."

"That's true," said the half-breed; "and I cannot think how the
mad idea occurred to us of coming, with thirty loaded mules, from
Chanoccillo to Valparaíso."

"Well, what is done is done, my friend; but we lose one thousand
piastres."

"_Vaya pués_. Captain, I promise you that I will make the first
Englishman I catch on the sierra pay dearly for our misadventure. I
would not give an ochavo for the life of the man who comes within range
of my rifle."

"Another glass," said Leon, as he seized the bottle, and poured the
last of the spirit into the glasses.

"Here's your health," said the half-breed, and raising his glass, he
emptied it at a draught, and then put it back on the table, heaving a
deep sigh.

"Now, Diego of my soul, let us be off, as nothing keeps us here any
longer."

"_Caray_, captain, I am ready. I am anxious to reach the mountains, for
my health fails me in these poisoned holes which are called towns."

"Where are our lads?"

"Near the Rio Claro, and so well hidden that the fiend himself could
not discover them."

"Very good," Leon answered. "Hilloh, Crevel!" he shouted, raising his
voice, "come hither."

At this summons the posadero, who was standing at the end of the
room, and had not lost a syllable of the conversation between the
two smugglers while pretending to be busy with his household duties,
advanced with a servile bow.

He was a fellow of about forty years of age, sturdy built, and with a
red face. His carbuncled nose did not speak at all in favour of his
temperance, and his crafty and hypocritical manners and his foxy eyes
rendered him a complete specimen of one of those men branded in the
French colonies by the name of BANIANS, utter scoundrels, who swarm
in America, and who, in the shadow of an almost honest trade, carry
on a dozen others which expose them to the scaffold. True fishers in
troubled waters, who take with both hands, and are ready for anything
if they are well paid.

This worthy landlord was an old acquaintance of the smugglers, who had
for a long time been able to appreciate him at his full value, and had
employed him successfully in many ugly affairs; hence he came up to
them with that low and meaning smile which is always found stereotyped
on the ignoble face of these low class traffickers.

"What do you desire, señores?" he asked, as he respectfully doffed the
cotton nightcap of equivocal whiteness which covered his greasy poll.

"To pay you, master rogue," his countryman replied, as he tapped him
amicably on the shoulder; "how much do I owe you?"

"Fourteen reals, captain."

"The deuce! you sell your adulterated Pisco rather high."

"Well," said the other, assuming a pious look and raising his eyes to
heaven, "the excise dues are so heavy."

"That is true," said Leon; "but you do not pay them."

"Do you think so?" the landlord continued.

"Why, hang it! it was I who sold you the Pisco we have just been
drinking, and I remember that you would only pay me--"

"Unnecessary, unnecessary, captain," Crevel exclaimed, quickly; "I will
not bargain with a customer like you; give me ten reals and say no more
about it."

"Stay; here are six, and that's more than it is worth," the young man
said as he felt in a long purse which he drew from his belt, and took
out several lumps of silver marked with a punch which gave them a
monetary value.

"The deuce take the fancy they have in this country of making such
money," he continued, after paying the posadero; "a man feels as if he
had pebbles in his belt. Come, gossip, our horses."

"What, are you off, señores?"

"Do you suppose we are going to sleep here?"

"It would not be the first time."

"That is possible, but today you will have to do without us. I have
already asked whether our horses are ready."

"They are at the door, saddled and bridled."

"You have given them something to eat, at least?"

"Two trusses of Alfalfa."

"In that case, good-bye."

And, after taking their rifles on their arms, the smugglers left the
room. At the door of the inn, two richly-harnessed and valuable horses
were waiting for them; they lightly leaped into the saddle, and after
giving the landlord a parting wave of the hand, went off at a trot in
the direction of the Almendral.[1]

While riding side by side, Leon and Diego continued to converse about
the ill success of their last operation, so unluckily interrupted by
the sudden appearance of custom-house officers, who opposed the passage
of a string of mules conveying a heavy load of raw silver, which it was
intended to smuggle, on account of certain merchants of Santiago, on
board English vessels.

A fight began between the officers and the smugglers, and two of the
latter fell, to the great annoyance of Leon Delbès, who lost in them
the two bravest men of his band. It was a vexatious check; still, as it
was certain that regretting would not find a remedy, Leon soon resolved
to endure it manfully.

"On my word," he said, all at once, as he threw away the end of his
cigarette, which was beginning to burn his fingers, "I am not sorry,
after all, that I came to Valparaíso, for it is a pretty town, which
deserves a visit every now and then."

"Bah!" the half-breed growled, thrusting out his lips disdainfully. "I
prefer the mountains, where at any rate you have elbow room."

"The mountain has certainly its charm, but--"

"Look out, animal!" Diego interrupted, addressing a fat Genovevan monk
who was bird gazing in the middle of the street.

Before the monk had time to obey this sharp injunction, Diego's horse
had hit him so violent a blow in the chest that he fell on his nose
five or six paces farther on, amid the laughter of a group of sailors,
who, however, we must do them the justice of saying, hastened to pick
him up and place him again on his waddling legs.

"What is the matter here?" Leon asked, as he looked around him. "The
streets seem to me to be crowded; I never saw such animation before.
Can it be a festival, do you think?"

"It is possible!" Diego answered. "These people of towns are so
indolent, that, in order to have an excuse to dispense them from
working, they have invented a saint for every day in the year."

"It is true that the Spaniards are religious," Leon muttered, with a
smile.

"A beastly race," the half-breed added, between his teeth.

We must observe to the reader that not only did Diego, like all the
Indians, cordially detest the Spaniards, the descendants of the old
conquerors, but he, moreover, seemed to have vowed, in addition to
this old hereditary rancour, a private hatred through motives he alone
knew; and this hatred he did not attempt to conceal, and its effect was
displayed whenever he found the opportunity.

The remark made by Leon was well founded--a compact crowd occupied the
entire length of the street in which they were, and they only advanced
with great difficulty; but when they entered the Governor's square it
was impossible for them to take another step, for a countless multitude
of people on horseback and foot pressed upon all sides, and a line of
troops stationed at regular distances made superhuman efforts to keep
back the people, and leave a space of a few yards free in the centre of
the square.

At all the windows, richly adorned with carpets and garlands of
flowers, were grouped blooming female heads, anxiously gazing in the
direction of the cathedral.

Leon and Diego, annoyed at being unable to advance, attempted to turn
back, but it was too late; and they were forced to remain, whether they
liked it or no, spectators of what was going to take place.

They had not long to wait however; and few minutes had scarce passed
after their arrival ere two cannon shots were heard. At the same time
the bells of all the churches sent their silvery peals into the air,
the gates of the cathedral were noisily opened, and a religious chant
began, joined in by the whole crowd, who immediately fell on their
knees, excepting the horsemen, who contented themselves with taking off
their hats.

Ere long a procession marched along majestically in the sight of all.

There was something at once affecting and imposing in the magnificent
appearance which the Governor's square offered at this moment. Beneath
a dazzling sky illumined by a burning sun, whose beams glistened and
sparkled like a shower of diamonds, and through the crowd kneeling and
praying devoutly, the army of Christ moved onwards, marching with a
firm and measured step, and singing the exquisite psalms of the Roman
litany, accompanied by the thousand voices of the faithful.

Then came the dais, the crosses and banners embroidered with gold,
silver, and precious stones, and statues of male and female saints
larger than life, some carved in marble and wood, others sculptured in
massive gold or silver, and shining so brightly that it was impossible
to keep the eyes fixed on them.

Then came long files of Franciscan, Benedictine, Recollet, Genovevan,
and other monks, with their arms folded on their chest, and the cowl
pulled over their eyes, singing in a falsetto voice.

Then marched at regular intervals detachments of troops, with their
bands at their head, playing military marches.

And after the monasteries came the convents, after the monks the nuns,
with their white veils and contemplative demeanour.

The procession had been marching past thus for nearly an hour, and the
end could not be seen, when Leon's horse, startled by the movement
of several persons who fell back and touched its head, reared, and
in spite of the efforts made by its rider to restrain it, broke into
formidable leaps; and then, maddened by the shouts of the persons that
surrounded it, rushed impetuously forward, driving back the human wall
opposed to it, and dashing down everything in its passage.

A frightful tumult broke out in the crowd. Everybody, overcome by
terror, tried to fly; and the cries of the females, closely pressed in
by all these people, who had only one thought--that of avoiding the
mad course of the horse--could be heard all around. Suddenly the horse
reached the middle of the procession, at the moment when the nuns of
the Purísima Concepción were defiling past; and the ladies, forgetting
all decorum, fled in every direction, while busily crossing themselves.

One alone, doubtless, more timid than her companions, or perhaps more
terrified, had remained motionless, looking around her, and not knowing
what resolution to form.

The horse advanced upon her with furious leaps.

The nun felt herself lost; her legs gave way, and she fell on her
knees, bending her head as if to receive the mortal stroke.

Leon, despairing of being able to change his horse's direction, or
stop it soon enough not to trample the maiden under foot, had a sudden
inspiration: driving in both spurs, he lifted the animal with such
dexterity that it bounded from the ground, and passed like lightning
over the nun without even grazing her.

A universal shout escaped from every throat on seeing the horse, after
this exploit, touch the ground, stop suddenly, and tremble in all its
limbs.

The crisis was spent, and there was nothing more to fear. Leon left the
horse in the hands of Diego, who had joined him with great difficulty,
and leaping out of his saddle, ran to raise the fainting maiden.

Before anyone had time to approach her, he took her in his arms, and
lifted the veil which concealed her face.

The poor girl had been unable to resist the terrible emotion she had
undergone; her eyes were closed, and a deadly pallor covered her
features.

She was a delicious creature, scarce fifteen years of age, and her
face was ravishing in its elegance and delicacy, through its exquisite
purity of outline.

Her complexion, of a dazzling whiteness, had that gilded reflection
which the sun of America produces; long black and silky lashes fringed
her downcast eyelids, and admirably designed eyebrows relieved by their
dark hue the ivory features of her virgin forehead.

Her lips, which were parted, displayed a double row of small white
teeth. Deprived of consciousness as she was, it seemed as if life had
entirely withdrawn from this body.

Leon stood motionless with admiration. On feeling the maiden's waist
yield upon his arm, an unknown emotion made his heart tremble, and
heavy drops of perspiration beaded on his temples.

"What can be the matter with me?" he asked himself, with amazement.

The nun opened her eyes again; a sudden flush suffused her cheek, and
quickly liberating herself from the young man's arms with a gesture
full of modesty, she gave him a glance of indefinable meaning.

"Thanks, Signor Caballero," she said, in a soft and tremulous voice; "I
should have been dead without you."

Leon felt troubled by the melodious accents of this voice, and could
not find any answer.

The maiden smiled sadly, and raising her hand to her bosom, she quickly
pulled out a small bag, which she wore on a ribbon, and offering it to
the young man, said--

"Farewell! farewell for ever!"

"Oh no!" Leon answered, looking around him, as if defying the other
nuns, who, now that the danger was past, hurried up to resume their
place in the procession; "not farewell, for we shall meet again."

And, kissing the maiden's hand, he took the scapulary.

The procession had already set out again, and the hymns were resounding
once more in the air, as Leon perceived that the nun had returned to
her place among her companions, and was going away singing the praises
of the Lord.

A hand was heavily laid on the smuggler's shoulder, and he raised his
head.

"Well," the half-breed asked him, "what are you doing here?"

"Oh!" Leon answered; "I love that woman, brother. I love her!"

"Come," Diego said; "the procession has passed, and we can move now. To
horse, and let us be off!"

A few minutes later the two men were galloping along the road to Rio
Claro.


[Footnote 1: A part of Valparaíso situated at the end of the bay, and
so called from the great number of almond trees that grew there.]




CHAPTER II.

THE COUNTRY HOUSE.


Between Valparaíso and Rio Claro, halfway to Santiago, stood a
delicious country house, belonging to Don Juan de Dios-Souza y
Soto-Mayor, a descendant of one of the noblest and richest families
in Chili: several of its members have played an important part in the
Spanish monarchy.

The Soto-Mayors are counted among the number of the bravest and
proudest comrades of Fernando Cortez, Pizarro, and all those heroic
adventurers who, confiding in their sword, conquered for Spain those
vast and rich countries, the possession of which allowed Philip II. to
say at a later date, with truth, that the sun never set on his states.

The Soto-Mayors have spread over the whole of South America; in Peru,
Chili, and Mexico, branches of this powerful family are found, who,
after the conquest, settled in these countries, which they have not
quitted since. This has not prevented them, however, from keeping up
relations which have ever enabled them to assist each other, and retain
under all circumstances their power and their wealth.

A Soto-Mayor was for ten years a Viceroy of Peru, and in our time we
have seen a member of this family prime minister and chief of the
cabinet at the Court of Spain.

When the American Colonies raised the standard of revolt against the
Peninsula, Don Juan de Dios, although already aged and father of a
family, was one of the first who responded to the appeal of their new
country, and ranged themselves under its banner at the head of all the
forces and all the servants they could collect.

He had fought the War of Independence as a brave soldier, and had
endured courageously, and, before all, philosophically, the numerous
privations which he had been compelled to accept.

Appointed a general when Spain, at length constrained to recognise the
nationality of her old colonies, gave up the struggle, he retired to
one of his estates, a few leagues from Valparaíso, and there he lived
in the midst of his family, who loved and respected him, like a country
gentlemen, resting from his fatigues and awaiting his last hours with
the calmness of mind of a man convinced that he has done his duty, and
for whom death is a reward rather than a punishment.

Laying aside all political anxieties, devoid of ambition, and
possessing an immense fortune, he had devoted himself to the education
of his three children, Inez, Maria, and Juanito. Inez and Maria were
two maidens whose beauty promised to equal that of their mother, Doña
Isabel de Costafuentes. Maria, the younger, according to the custom
prevalent in Chilian families, was forced into a convent in order to
augment the dowry of her sister Inez, who was nearly sixteen, and only
awaited Maria's taking the veil to solemnize her own marriage.

Juanito, the eldest of the three, was five-and-twenty; he was a
handsome and worthy young man, who, following his father's example,
entered the army, and was serving with the rank of Major.

It was eight in the evening, and the whole family, assembled in the
garden, were quietly conversing, while enjoying the fresh air after a
stifling day.

The weather seemed inclined to be stormy, heavy black clouds coursed
athwart the sky, and the hollow moaning of the wind could be heard
amid the distant mountains; the moon, half veiled, only spread a vague
and uncertain light, and at times a splendid flash tore the horizon,
illumining the space with a fantastic reflection.

"Holy Virgin!" Inez said, addressing the general, "only see, father,
how quickly the flashes succeed each other."

"My dear child," the old gentleman answered affectionately, "if I may
believe certain wounds, which are a barometer for me, we shall have a
terrible storm tonight, for they cause me intense suffering."

And the general passed his hand along his leg, while the conversation
was continued by the rest.

Don Juan de Soto-Mayor was at this period sixty-two years of age; he
was a man of tall stature, rather thin, whose irreproachable demeanour
evidenced dignity and nobility; his grey hair, abundantly on the
temples, formed a crown round the top of his head, which was bald.

"Oh! I do not like storms," the young lady continued.

"You must say an orison for travellers, Inez."

"Am I to be counted among the number of travellers, señorita?"
interrupted a dashing cavalier, dressed in a splendid military uniform,
and who, carelessly leaning against an orange tree, was gazing at Inez
with eyes full of love.

"You, Don Pedro; why so?" the latter said eagerly, as she gave a pout
of adorable meaning. "You are not travelling."

"That is true, señorita; at least, not at this moment, but--"

"What Colonel!" Don Juan said, "are you returning to Santiago?"

"Shortly, sir. Ah! you served at a good time, general; you fought, at
any rate, while we parade soldiers are fit for nothing now."

"Do not complain, my friend; you have your good moments too, and the
war which you wage is at times more cruel than ours."

"Oh!" Inez exclaimed, with a tremor in her voice, "do not feel annoyed,
Don Pedro, at your inaction; I fear lest those wicked Indians may begin
again at any moment."

"Reassure yourself, Niña, the Araucanos are quiet, and we shall not
hear anything of them for a long time; the last lesson they received
will render them prudent, I hope."

"May heaven grant it!" the young lady remarked, as she crossed herself
and raised her eyes to heaven; "But I doubt it."

"Come, come," the general exclaimed, gaily, "hold your tongue, little
girl, and instead of talking about such serious things, try to be more
amiable to the poor colonel, whom you take a pleasure in tormenting."

Inez pretended not to hear the words which her father had just said to
her, and turning to her mother, who, seated by her side, was talking to
her son in a low voice.

"Mamita," she said, coaxingly, "do you know that I am jealous of you?"

"Why so, Inez?" the good lady asked.

"Because, ever since dinner you have confiscated Juanito, and kept him
so closely to you that it has been impossible for me to tease him once
the whole evening."

"Have patience, my pet," the young man said, as he rose and leaned over
the back of her chair; "you will make up for lost time; besides, we
were talking about you."

"About me! Oh, brother, make haste and tell me what you were saying."

And the girl clapped her little childish hands together, while her eyes
were lighted up by curiosity.

"Yes," said Don Juanito, maliciously; "we were talking about your
approaching marriage with my friend, Colonel Don Pedro Sallazar."

"Fie! you naughty fellow," Inez said, with a mocking smile; "you always
try to cause me pain."

While saying these words, the coquette shot a killing glance in the
direction of the colonel.

"What! cause you pain!" her brother answered: "is not the marriage
arranged?"

"I do not say no."

"Must it not be concluded when our sister Maria has pronounced her
vows?"

"Poor Maria!" Inez said, with a sigh, but quickly resumed her usual
good spirits.

"That is true; but they are not yet pronounced, as my dear Maria will
be with us shortly."

"They will be so within three months at the most."

"Ah!" she exclaimed lightly, "before then the donkey and its driver
will die, as the proverb says."

"My daughter," the general remarked, gravely, "the colonel holds your
word, and what you have just said is wrong."

The girl blushed: two transparent tears sparkled on her long lashes;
she rose quickly, and ran to embrace her father.

"Forgive me, father; I am a madcap."

Then she turned to the colonel, and offered him her hand.

"And do you also forgive me, Don Pedro? For I did not think of what I
was saying."

"That is right," the general exclaimed; "peace is made, and I trust
that nothing will disturb it in future."

"Thanks for the kind wish," said the colonel, as he covered with kisses
the hand which Inez abandoned to him.

"Oh, oh!" Don Juan remarked, "here is the storm; let us be off."

In fact, the lightning flashed uninterruptedly, and heavy drops of rain
began beating on the foliage which the gusts continued to agitate.

All began running toward the house, and were soon collected in the
drawing room.

In Europe it is difficult to form an idea of the magnificence and
wealth which American houses contain; for gold and silver, so precious
and so rare with us, are profusely employed in Chili, Peru, and the
entire southern region.

The description of the room in which the Soto-Mayor family sought
refuge will give a sketch of what is called comfort in these countries,
with which it is impossible for us to contend, as concerns everything
that relates to splendour and veritable luxury.

It was a large octagonal room, containing rosewood furniture inlaid
with ebony; the floor was covered with mats of Guayaquil straw of a
fabulous price; the locks of the doors and window fastenings were of
massive silver; mirrors of the height of the room reflected the light
of pink wax candles, arranged in gold candelabra enriched with precious
stones; and on the white and gold damask, covering the space below the
looking glass, hung masterpieces of art signed by the leaders of the
Spanish and Italian schools.

On the credence tables and whatnots, so deliciously carved that they
seemed made of lacework, were arranged China ornaments of exquisite
workmanship--trifles created to excite for a moment the pleasure of the
eye, and whose manufacture had been a prodigy of patience, perfection,
and invention. These thousand nothings,--on which glistened oriental
gems, mother-o'-pearl, ivory, enamel, jasper, and all the products
of the mineral kingdom, combined and mingled with fragrant woods;
feathers, &c.,--would of themselves have absorbed a European fortune,
owing to their inestimable value.

The lustre of the crystal girandoles, casting multicoloured fires, and
the rarest flowers which grew down over enormous Japanese vases, gave a
fairy like aspect to the apartment; and yet, of all those who had come
there to seek shelter from the bad weather, there was not one who did
not consider it quite usual.

The conversation interrupted in the garden had just been recommenced
indoors, when a ring of the visitor's bell was heard.

"Who can arrive so late?" the general asked; "I am not expecting
anybody."

The door opened, and a servant appeared.

"Mi amo," he said, after bowing respectfully; "two travellers,
surprised by the storm, ask leave to take shelter in the house."

At the same time a vivid flash rendered the candles pale, and a
tremendous peal of thunder burst forth. The ladies uttered a cry of
alarm, and crossed themselves.

"Santa Virgin!" Señora Soto-Mayor exclaimed, "do not receive them, for
these strangers might bring us some misfortune."

"Silence, madam," the old gentleman answered; "the house of a Spanish
noble must ever be open to the unfortunate."

And he left the room, followed by the domestic. The Señora hung her
head at her husband's reproach, but being enthralled by superstition,
she kept her eyes anxiously fixed on the door through which the
strangers would enter. In a few minutes the general re-appeared,
conducting Delbès and Diego el Vaquero.

"This house is yours, gentlemen; enter, in Heaven's name;" he said to
them, affably.

Leon bowed gracefully to the ladies, then to the two officers, and
thanked the general for his cordial reception.

"So long as you deign to honour my poor house with your presence,
gentlemen," the latter replied, courteously, "we are entirely at your
service; and if it please you to drink maté with us, we shall feel
flattered."

"I accept your proposal, sir, with thanks."

Diego contented himself with nodding his head in the affirmative; the
general rang, and ordered the maté. A minute later, a butler came in,
carrying a massive gold salver, on which were arranged exquisitely
carved maté cups, each supplied with an amber tube. In the midst of
the cups were a silver coffeepot full of water, and a sandalwood box
containing the leaves. On golden saucers were piled regalias, and husk
and paper cigarettes.

The butler placed the salver on a table to which the company sat
down, and he then retired. After this, Señora Soto-Mayor prepared
the decoction, poured the burning liquid into the cups, and placed
them before the guests. Each took the one within reach, and was soon
drawing up the maté, while observing deep silence and sitting in a
contemplative attitude. The Chilians are very fond of this beverage,
which they have borrowed from the Indians, and they display some degree
of solemnity when they proceed to drink it.

When the first mouthfuls had been swallowed, the conversation began
again. Leon took a husk cigarette from one of the saucers, unrolled it,
rubbed the tobacco for a moment in the palm of his hand, then remade
it with the consummate skill of the inhabitants of the country, lit it
at the flame of a small gold lamp prepared for the purpose, and, after
taking two or three whiffs, politely offered the cigarette to Doña
Inez, who accepted it with a gracious smile, and placed it between her
rosy lips.

Colonel Don Pedro had not seen the Frenchman's action without a certain
twinge of jealousy; but at the moment when he was about to light the
cigarette which he held in his hand, Inez offered him the one Leon had
given her, and which she had half smoked, saying--

"Shall we change, Don Pedro?"

The colonel gladly accepted the exchange proffered to him, gave his
cigarette to the young lady, and took hers, which he smoked with
rapture.

Diego, even since his arrival at the house, had not once opened his
lips; his face had grown clouded, and he sat with his eyes fixed on the
general, whom he observed askance with an indefinable expression of
hatred and passion.

Leon knew not to what he should attribute this silence, and felt
alarmed at his comrade's strange behaviour, which might be noticed by
the company, and produce an unpleasant effect in their minds.

Inez laughed and prattled merrily, and several times in listening to
her voice Leon was struck by a vague resemblance to another voice
he had heard, though he was unable to call to mind under what
circumstances he had done so. Then on scrutinizing Señora Soto-Mayor's
features, he thought he could detect a resemblance with someone he
knew, but he could not remember who it was.

Believing himself the dupe of an illusion, he had to get rid of the
notion of explaining to himself a resemblance which probably only
existed in his imagination; then, all at once, on hearing a remark that
fell from Inez's lips, he turned to recognise an intonation familiar to
his ears, which plunged his mind once more into the same perplexity.

"Madre," said Inez to her mother, "Don Pedro informs me that his sister
Rosita will take the veil at the convent of the Purísima Concepción on
the same day as my beloved Maria."

"They are, indeed, of the same age," the Señora replied.

Leon started, and could not repress an exclamation.

"What is the matter, Caballero?" the general asked.

"Nothing, general; merely a spark from my cigarette that fell in my
poncho," Leon replied, with visible embarrassment.

"The storm is lulling," Diego said, at length emerging from his
silence; "and I believe that we can set out again."

"Can you think of such a thing, my guests? Certainly not; the roads are
too bad for me to let you depart. Besides, your room is prepared, and
your horses are resting in the corral."

Diego was about to refuse, but Leon did not allow him the time.

"Since you wish it, general, we will pass the night beneath your roof."

Diego was obliged to accept. Moreover, in spite of what he stated, the
storm, instead of lulling, redoubled its intensity; but it could be
seen that the Vaquero obeyed against his will the necessity in which
he found himself of remaining, and that he experienced an invincible
repugnance in submitting to it.

The evening passed without any further incident, and about ten o'clock,
after prayers had been read, at which all the servants were present,
they separated.

The general had the two smugglers conducted to their bedroom by a peon,
after kindly wishing them good night, and making them promise not to
leave his house the next morning without wishing him good-bye, Leon and
Diego thanked him for the last time, and so soon as they reached their
apartment, dismissed the servant, for they were eager to cross-question
each other.




CHAPTER III.

THE CONVENT OF THE PURÍSIMA CONCEPCIÓN.


Whatever may be asserted to the contrary, a religion frequently
undergoes, unconsciously, the atmospheric influences of the country in
which it is professed; and while remaining the same fundamentally, the
forms vary infinitely, and make it change its aspect according as it
penetrates into countries where climates are different.

This may at the first glance appear a paradox; and yet, if our readers
will take the trouble to reflect, we doubt not but they will recognise
the justice and truth of our assertion.

In some countries, like Germany and England, where thick fogs brood
over the earth at certain periods of the year, the character of the
inhabitants is tinged by the state of the gloomy nature that surrounds
them. Their ideas assume a morose and mystical hue perfectly in harmony
with what they see and feel. They are serious, sad, and severe,
positive and material, because fog and cold remind them at every
moment that they must think of themselves, take care, and wrestle, so
to speak, with the abrupt and implacable nature which allows them no
respite. Hence come the egotism and personality, which destroy all
the poetry of religion which is so marvellously developed in southern
nations.

If we look further back, we shall find the difference even more
marked. For this purpose it is only necessary to compare Greek
mythology--Paganism, with its smiling images which deified vices and
passions, with the gloomy and terrible worship of Odin in Scandinavia,
or with that even more sanguinary paid to the god Teutates in the Gaul
of olden times, and in the sombre forests of Germany.

Can we deny the influence of the northern ice over the disciples of
Odin? Is not the savage majesty of the immense forests which sheltered
the priests of Teutates the principal cause of the mysteries which they
celebrated? And, lastly, is not the benignity of the Greek mythology
explained by the beauty of the sky in which it sprang up, the mildness
of the climate, the freshness of the shadows, and the ever renewing
charm of its magnificent landscapes?

The Catholic religion, which substitutes itself for all the rest, has
been, and still is, subjected to the action of the temperature of those
countries into which it has penetrated, and which it has fecundated.

In Chili it is, so to speak, entirely external. Its worship is composed
of numerous festivals pompously celebrated in churches glittering with
light, gold, silver, and precious stones, of interminable processions
performed under a reign of flowers, and clouds of incense which burn
uninterruptedly.

In this country, beloved of the sun, religion is full of love; the
ardent hearts that populate it do not trouble themselves at all about
theological discussions. They love God, the Virgin, and the saints with
the adoration, self-denial and impulse which they display in all their
actions.

Catholicism is changed with them, though they do not at all suspect
it, into a sort of Paganism, which does not account for its existence,
although that existence cannot be contested.

Thus they tacitly accord the same power to any saint as to deity; and
when the majority of them address their prayer to the Virgin, they do
not pray to Mary the Mother of our Saviour, but to Nuestra Señora de
los Dolores, Nuestra Señora del Carmen, Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe,
Nuestra Señora de la Soledad, Nuestra Señora del Pilar, Nuestra Señora
de Guatananga, and ten thousand other Our ladies.

A Chilian woman will not hesitate to say, with perfect conviction, that
she is devoted to Nuestra Señora de la Sierra, because she is far more
powerful than Nuestra Señora del Carmen, and so on with the rest.

We remember hearing one day in the church of Nuestra Señora de la
Merced, at Pilar, a worthy hacendero praying to God the Father to
intercede for him with Nuestra Señora del Pilar, so as to obtain for
him a good harvest!

Novenas are kept and masses ordered for the slightest pretext. If a
Chilian lady be deserted by her lover, quick a mass to bring him back
to her side; if a man wish to avenge himself on one of his fellow men,
quick a mass that his revenge may be carried out!

There is also another way of insuring the protection of any saint, and
that is by making a vow. A young man who wishes his beloved lady to
give him a meeting, never fails to pledge himself by a vow addressed to
San Francisco or San Antonio to perform some pious deed, if the saint
will consent to advise the lady in his favour. And these practices must
not be taken for juggling; the people who accomplish them do so in
perfect good faith.

Such is the way in which the Catholic religion is understood in South
America.

In all the ex-Spanish colonies members of the clergy swarm, and we are
not afraid of being taxed with exaggeration when we assert that in
Chili they form at least one-fourth of the population. Now, the clergy
are composed of an infinite number of monks and nuns of every possible
form, species, and colour, Franciscans, Benedictines, Genovevans,
Barefooted Carmelites, Brothers of Mercy, Augustines, and many others
whose names have escaped us. As will be easily understood, these
religious communities, owing to their considerable number, are not paid
by the government, whose resources would not nearly suffice for their
support. Hence they are compelled to create a thousand trades, each
more ingenious than the other, in order to be able to exist.

In these countries--and there will be no difficulty in understanding
this--the clergy are excessively tolerant, for the very simple reason
that they have need of everybody, and if they committed the mistake of
alienating the inhabitants they would die of hunger in a fortnight.
It is worth while seeing in Chili the extension given to the trade in
indulgences. _Agnus Deis_, scapularies, blessed crosses, and miraculous
images; everything has its price, everything is sold. So much for a
prayer--so much for a confession--so much for a mass.

A Chilian sets out on a journey, and in order that no accident may
happen to him on the road, he has a mass said. If, in spite of this
precaution, he is plundered on the high road by the Salteadores, he
does not fail on his return to go to the monk of whom he ordered the
mass, and bitterly complain of his want of efficacy. The monk is
accustomed to such recriminations, and knows what to answer.

"That does not surprise me, my son," the Franciscan, or the
Benedictine, or whoever he may be, as the answer is always the same,
replies; "what the deuce did you expect to have for a peso? Ah, if you
had been willing to pay a half ounce, we should have had the beadle,
the cross, the banner, two choristers, and eight candles, and then most
assuredly nothing would have happened to you; but how could you expect
the Virgin to put herself out of the way for a peso?"

The Chilian withdraws, convinced that he is in the wrong, and promising
not to be niggardly on the next opportunity.

With the exception of the minor trades to which we have alluded, the
monks are jolly fellows, smoking, drinking, swearing, and making love
as well as a man of the world. It is not uncommon to see in a wine
shop a fat monk with a red face and a cigarette in his mouth, merrily
playing the vihuela as dance accompaniment to a loving couple whom he
will confess next morning. Most of the monks carry their knife in their
sleeve, and in a quarrel, which is a frequent thing in Chili, use it as
well, and with as little remorse as the first comer.

With them religion is a trade by which they make the largest profit
possible, and does not at all compel them to live without the pale of
the common existence.

Let us add, too, in concluding this rather lengthy sketch, but which
it was necessary to give the reader, in order that by knowing Chilian
manners, he might be able to account for the strangest of the incidents
which we are about to record, that, in spite of the reproaches which
the light conduct of the monks at times deserves--regard being had to
the sanctity of the gown they wear--they are not the less an object of
respect to all, who, taking compassion on human weakness, excuse the
man in the priest, and repay tolerance for tolerance.

The convent of the Purísima Concepción stands at the extremity of
the Almendral. It is a vast edifice, entirely built of carved stone,
nearly two hundred years old, and was founded by the Spaniards a short
time after their arrival in Chili. The whole building is imposing and
majestic, like all the Spanish convents; it is almost a small town, for
it contains everything which may be useful and agreeable for life--a
church, a hospital, a washhouse, a large kitchen garden, a shady and
well-laid out park, reserved for the promenades of the nuns, and large
cloisters lined with frescoes, representing scenes from the life of the
Virgin, to whom the convent is consecrated. These cloisters, bordered
by circular galleries, out of which, open the nuns' cells, enclose a
sandy courtyard, containing a piece of water and a fountain, whose jet
refreshes the air in the midday heat.

The cells are charming retreats, in which nothing that promotes
comfort is wanting--a bed, two chairs covered with Cordovan leather,
a prie-Dieu, a small toilet table, in the drawer of which you may be
certain of finding a looking glass, and a few sacred pictures, occupy
the principal space destined for necessary articles. In one corner of
the room is visible, between a guitar and a scourge, a statue of the
Virgin, with a wreath of roses on her head and a constantly-burning
lamp before her. Such is the furniture which will be found, with but
few exceptions, in the cells of the nuns.

The convent of the Concepción contains about one hundred and fifty nuns
of the order of Mount Carmel, and some sixty novices. In this country
of toleration, strict nunneries are rare; the sisters are allowed to
go into town and pay or receive visits; the rule is extremely gentle,
and with the exception of the offices which they are expected to attend
with great punctuality, the nuns, when they have once entered their
cells, are almost free to do what they think proper, no one apparently
paying any attention to them.

After the incident which we recorded in our first chapter, the
procession, momentarily interrupted by the furious attack of Leon's
horses, was reorganized as well as it could be; all the persons
comprising it returned to their places so soon as the first alarm was
over, and two hours after the gates of the Purísima Concepción closed
again upon the long file of nuns engulfed in its walls.

So soon as the crosses, banners, and statues of saints had been
deposited with all proper ceremony in their usual places, after a short
prayer repeated in community, the ranks were broken, and the nuns began
chattering about the strange event which had suddenly interrupted them
as they left the cathedral. Several of them were not tired of praising
the bold rider who had so cleverly guided his runaway horse, and saved
a great misfortune by the skill which he had displayed under the
circumstances.

From the midst of a group of about a dozen sisters conversing together,
there came forth two maidens, dressed in the white garb of novices,
who, taking each other's arm, walked gently toward the most deserted
part of the garden. They must have eagerly desired not to be disturbed
in their private conversation, for, selecting the most shaded walk,
they took great care to hide themselves from their companions'
observation behind the shrubs that formed the borders.

They soon reached a marble seat hidden behind a clump of trees, in
front of a basin filled with transparent water, whose completely
motionless surface was as smooth as that of a mirror. No better place
could have been selected for a confidential conversation; so they sat
down, and raised the veil that covered their face.

They were two charming girls, who did not count thirty years between
them, and whose delicate profile was gracefully designed under their
pure and exquisitely white wimple. The first was Doña Maria de Souza y
Soto-Mayor; the other was Doña Rosita Sallazar, sister of the dashing
Don Pedro, of whom we have already got a glimpse as affianced husband
of Inez.

Doña Maria's face displayed visible traces of emotion. Was it the
result of the terror she had felt on seeing herself almost trampled
on by the smuggler's horse, or did a cause, of which we are ignorant,
produce the effect which we have just indicated?

The conversation of the young ladies will tell us.

"Well, sister," Rosita asked, "have you recovered from the terror which
this morning's event caused you?"

Doña Maria, who seemed absorbed in secret thoughts, started, and
hurriedly answered--

"Oh! I am well now; quite well, thank you."

"In what a way you say that, Maria! What is the matter? You are quite
pale."

A short silence followed this appeal. The young ladies took each
other's hand, and waited to see which would be the first to speak.

Maria and Rosita, who were nearly of the same age, loved each other
like sisters. Both novices, and destined to take the veil at the same
date, the identity of their position had produced between them an
affectionate sympathy which never failed them. They placed in a common
stock, with the simple confidence of youth, their hopes and sorrows,
their plans and dreams--brilliant winged dreams, which the convent
walls would pitilessly break. They had no secret from each other, and
hence Rosita was grieved by the accent with which Maria had answered
her when she asked her how she was. The latter evidently concealed
something from her for the first time since she had entered the convent.

"Maria," she said to her, gently, "forgive me if I acted indiscreetly
in asking after your dear health; but I feared, on noticing the pallor
of your face--"

"Dear Rosita, how kind you are!" Maria interrupted, embracing her
companion tenderly; "and how wrong I am! Yes, I am suffering, really;
but I know not from what, and it only began just now."

"Oh! accursed be the wicked man, cause of so much terror!" Rosita
continued, alluding to Leon the smuggler.

"Oh, silence, Rosita! Speak not so of that cavalier, for he has on his
face such a noble expression of courage and goodness that--"

"So you looked at him, sister?" Rosita exclaimed.

"Yes, when I regained my senses and opened my eyes, his were fixed on
me."

"What! he dared to raise your veil? But it is a great sin to let a man
see your face, and you must confess it to dear Mother Superior; the
convent rule demands it."

"I know it, and will conform."

"After all," Rosita continued, with volubility, "as you had fainted,
you could not prevent him raising your veil; hence it is not your
fault, but that young man's."

"He saved my life!" Maria murmured.

"That is true, and you are bound to feel grateful to him instead of
hating him."

"Do you think I can remember him without sinning?"

"Certainly: is it not natural to remember those who have done us a
great service?"

"Yes, yes; you are right," Maria exclaimed, joyfully. "Thanks,
sister--thanks, sister: your words do me good, for I was afraid it
would be wrong to think of him who saved me."

"On the contrary, sister," Rosita said, with a little doctorial tone
which rendered her ravishing, "you know that Mother Abbess daily
repeats to us that ingratitude is one of the most odious vices."

"Oh, in that case, I did right in giving him my scapulary as a pledge
of remembrance."

"What! did you give him that holy object?"

"Oh, poor young man! he seemed so affected, his glance was so full of
sorrow and grief--"

While Maria was speaking, Rosita was examining her, and after the last
words, entertained no doubt as to the feelings which animated her
friend.

"Maria," she said to her, bending down to her ear and speaking so low
that no other but the one for whom it was meant could hear it--"Maria,
you love him, do you not?"

"Alas!" Maria exclaimed, all trembling--"do I know? Oh, silence, for
mercy's sake!" she continued, impetuously. "I love him! But who would
have taught me to love? A poor creature, hurled within the walls of
this convent at the tenderest age, I have up to this day known nought
but the slavery in which my entire life must be spent. Excepting you,
my kind Rosita, is there a creature in the world that takes an interest
in my fate, is happy at my smile or grieved at my tears? Have I ever
known since the day when reason began to enlighten my heart, the
ineffable sweetness of maternal caresses--those caresses which are
said to warm the heart, make the sky look blue, the water more limpid,
and the sun more brilliant? No; I have ever been alone. My mother, whom
I could have loved so dearly--my sister, whom I sought without knowing
her, and whose kisses my childish lips yearned for--both shun me and
abandon me. I am in their way; they are anxious to get rid of me; and
as all the world repulses me, I am given to God!"

A torrent of tears prevented the young lady from continuing. Rosita
was terrified by this so true grief, and tried to restore her friend's
calmness, while unable to check the tears that stood in her own eyes.

"Maria! why speak thus? it is an offence to God to complain so bitterly
of the destiny which He has imposed on us."

"It is because I am suffering extraordinary torture! I know not what I
feel, but I fancy that during the last hour the bandage which covered
my eyes has suddenly fallen, and allowed them to catch a glimpse of
an unknown light. Up to this day I have lived as the birds of the air
live, without care for the morrow and remembrance of yesterday; and in
my ignorance of the things which are accomplished outside these walls
I could not regret them. I was told: You will be a nun; and I accepted,
thinking that it would be easy for me to find happiness wherever my
life passed gently and calmly; but now it is no longer possible."

And the maiden's eyes flashed with such a brilliancy that Rosita dared
not interrupt her, and listened, checking with difficulty the beating
of her own heart.

"Listen, sister!" Maria continued, "I hear an undefinable music in my
ears; it is the intoxicating promises which the joys of the world wake
in me, which I am forbidden to know, and which my soul has divined.
Look! for I saw strange visions pass before my dazzled eyes. They are
laughing pictures of an existence of pleasures and joys which flash
and revolve around me in an infernal whirlwind. Take care; for I feel
within me sensations which horrify me; shudders that traverse my whole
being and cause me impossible suffering and pleasure. Oh, when that
young man's hand touched mine this morning, I trembled as if I had
seized a red-hot iron; when I regained my senses, and felt his breath
on my face, I fancied that life was going to abandon me; and when I
was obliged to leave him, it seemed to me as if there were an utter
darkness around me; I saw nothing more, and was annihilated. His fiery
glance cast eternal trouble and desolation into my soul. Yes, I love
him: if loving be suffering, I love him! For, on hearing the convent
gates close after the procession, a terrible agony contracted my heart,
an icy coldness seized upon me, and I felt as if the cold tombstone
were falling again on my head."

Overcome by the extreme emotion which held possession of her, the
maiden had risen; her face was flushed with a feverish tinge; her eyes
flashed fire; her voice had assumed a strange accent of terror and
passion; her bosom heaved wildly, and she appeared to be transfigured!
Suddenly she burst into sobs, and hiding her face in her hands, yielded
to her despair.

"Poor Maria!" said Rosita, affected by this so simply poignant
desolation, and seeking in vain by her caresses to restore calmness,
"how she suffers!"

For a long time the two maidens remained seated at the same spot,
mingling their tears and sighs. Still a complete prostration eventually
succeeded the frenzy which had seized on Maria; and she was preparing,
on her companion's entreaties, to return to her cell, when several
voices, repeating her name, were heard at a short distance from the
thicket where she had sought refuge.

"They are seeking us, I think," said Rosita.

"They are calling me," Maria continued; "what can they want with me?"

"Well, beloved sister, we will go and learn."

The two maidens rose, and soon found themselves in the presence of two
or three sisters, who were looking for them.

"Ah, there you are!" the latter exclaimed; "Holy Mother Superior is
asking after you, Maria; and we have been seeking you for the last ten
minutes."

"Thanks, sisters," Maria answered; "I will obey the summons of our good
mother."

"Be calm," Rosita whispered to her, with some amount of anxiety.

"Fear nothing; I will manage to hide my feelings." And all returned in
the direction of the convent.




CHAPTER IV.

THE SMUGGLERS.


Three years prior to the events which we have just recorded, that is
to say, about the month of May, 1830, Diego the Vaquero, who at that
period was one of the bravest gauchos on the pampas of Buenos Aires,
was returning to his rancho one evening after a day's hunting, when
suddenly, before he could notice it, a magnificent panther, probably
pursuing him in the tall grass, leaped, with an enormous bound, on his
horse's neck. The animal, startled by this attack, which it was far
from expecting, neighed with pain, and reared so violently that it fell
back on its master, who had not had time to leap on the ground, but was
held down by the weight of his steed.

It was, doubtless, all over with man and horse when Diego, who, in his
desperation, was commending his soul to all the saints in paradise, and
reciting, in a choking voice, all the scraps of prayers which he could
call to mind, saw a long knife pass between his face and the head of
the foetid brute, whose breath he could feel on his forehead.

The panther burst into a frightful howl, writhed, vomited a stream of
black blood, and after a terrible convulsion, which set all the muscles
of his body in action, fell dead by his side.

At the same moment the horse was restored to its trembling feet, and a
man helped the Vaquero to rise, while saying, good-humouredly--

"Come, tell me, comrade, do you think of sleeping here, eh?"

Diego rose, and, with an anxious glance around him, felt all his limbs
to make sure they were intact; then, when he was quite certain that
he was perfectly sound and free from any wound, he gave a sigh of
satisfaction, devoutly crossed himself, and said to his defender,
who, with folded arms and a smile on his lips, had followed all his
movements with the utmost interest--

"Thanks, man. Tell me your name, that I may retain it in my heart along
with my father's."

"Leon," the other answered.

"Leon," the gaucho repeated, "it is well; my name is Diego; you have
saved my life; at present we are brothers, and do with me as you will."

"Thanks," said Leon, affectionately pressing the hard, rugged hand
which the half-breed offered him.

"Brother, where is your rancho?"

"I have none," Leon answered, with a cloud of sorrow over his face.

"You have none? What were you doing all alone, then, in the middle of
the Pampas at this hour of the night?"

The young man hesitated for a moment, and then, regaining his good
spirits, replied--

"Well, if I must confess to you, comrade, I was dying of hunger in the
most philosophical way in the world: I have eaten nothing for two days."

"Caray," Diego exclaimed; "die of hunger! Come with me, brother; we
will not part again; I have some charqui in my rancho. I repeat to you,
you have saved my life, and henceforth all must be in common between
us. You look like a daring fellow, so remain with me."

From this day Leon and Diego never parted again; and the friendship of
these two men grew with time so great that they could not live without
one another; but however great was the intimacy existing between them,
never had a word been exchanged concerning their past life; and this
mutual secret, mutually respected, was the only one that existed
between them.

Diego certainly knew that Leon was a Frenchman, and had also noticed
his great aptitude in bodily exercises, his skill as an excellent
horseman, and, above all, the depth of his ideas and far from ordinary
conceptions.

Recognising of what great use the young man's intellect had been to him
in critical moments to get out of a difficulty, Diego regarded him with
a species of veneration, and endured his moral superiority without even
perceiving it.

With the sublime self-denial of virgin natures whom the narrow
civilization of towns has not degraded, he had grown to regard Leon
as a being placed on his path by Providence, in order that he might
have someone to love; and finding in Leon a perfect reciprocity of
friendship, he felt ready to sacrifice to Leon the life which he owed
him.

On his side, Leon, captivated by the frank advances which the Vaquero
had made him, had gradually come to feel for him a sincere affection,
which was evidenced by a deep and unbounded devotion.

A short time after their meeting, Diego communicated to Leon the plan
he had of going to Chili, and proposed to him to accompany him. The
idle life on the pampas could not suit Leon, who had dreamed of an
active and brilliant existence when he set foot on American soil.
Gifted with an adventurous and enterprising character, he had left his
native land to tempt fortune, and hitherto chance had not favoured his
hopes. As nothing, therefore, prevented him from trying whether Chili
might not be more lucky, he accepted.

One morning, therefore, the pair, mounted on Indian horses, crossed
the pampas, and then, after resting for some days at San Luis de
Mendoza, they entered the passes of the Cordilleras, which they got
through with great difficulties and dangers of every description, and
at length reached their journey's end.

On arriving at Chili, Leon, powerfully supported by Diego, organized
the contraband trade on a vast scale, and a few months later fifty men
obeyed his orders and those of Diego, whom he made his lieutenant. From
this moment Captain Leon Delbès found the mode of life which suited his
tastes.

Now that we have explained the nature of the ties which bound the two
principal characters of our story, we will resume our narrative at
the moment when we left our smugglers in the room which Don Juan y
Soto-Mayor ordered to be got ready for them.

Scarce had the peon left the room ere Leon, after assuring himself that
no one could hear his words, walked up to Diego, who was sitting gloomy
and silent on a folding chair, and said--

"What is the matter with you tonight? Why did you remain so silent? Is
it that General Soto-Mayor--"

"There is nothing the matter with me," the half-breed sharply
interrupted; "but by the way," he added, looking Leon in the face, "you
appear yourself to be suffering from extraordinary agitation."

"You are right; but if you wish to learn the cause, confidence for
confidence, and tell me what you have on your mind."

"Leon, do not question me on this subject. You are not mistaken; I
allow I have been thoughtful and silent ever since I have crossed the
threshold of this house; but do not try to penetrate the motive. It is
not the time yet to tell you the things which you must know some day.
Thanks for the interest you take in my annoyances and my sorrows; but
once again I implore you, in the name of our friendship, do not press
me."

"Since such is the case, brother, I will refrain from any questions,"
Leon answered.

"And now, if you please, tell me why I saw you turn pale and tremble
when a word that fell from the lips of the Señora Inez, and which I did
not catch, struck your ear."

"Brother, do you remember that this morning, after saving from a
certain death the novice of the convent of the Purísima Concepción, I
told you that my heart knew love for the first time in my life?"

"But what is there in common between that girl and Señora Inez?"

"Do you remember also," Leon continued, without answering the Vaquero's
observation, "that I swore to see the maiden again, even if I were
obliged to lay down my life in satisfying my desire?"

"But again I say--"

"Well, know then, brother, that I have learned her name, and it is Doña
Maria y Soto-Mayor."

"What are you saying?"

"And that she is the daughter of our host, Don Juan de Dios-Souza y
Soto-Mayor."

"And you love her?" Diego exclaimed.

"Must I repeat it again?" Leon remarked impetuously.

"Malediction!" said the half-breed.

"Yes, malediction, is it not? for Maria is eternally lost to me; she
will take the veil shortly, and the hopes I entertained of being able
to drag her out of the walls of that convent are blighted."

"To marry her?" Diego remarked, mockingly.

"Nonsense, Leon, my friend: you are mad. What, you, the smuggler, marry
a Señora, the daughter of a gentleman! No, you cannot suppose such a
thing."

"Silence, Diego, silence! for the more that I feel the impossibility of
possessing the girl, the more I feel that I love her."

And the young man, crushed by sorrow, fell into a seat by Diego's side.

"And do you believe," the latter continued, after a moment's silence,
"that there is no hope of delaying her in taking the veil?"

"How do I know? Besides, of what good is it, as you said just now--can
I think of the daughter of General Soto-Mayor? No, all is lost!"

"Remember the Spanish proverb--'Nothing is certain but death and the
tax gatherer.'"

For a moment past, the half-breed's face had become animated with a
singular expression, which would not have escaped Leon, had not the
latter been entirely absorbed in the thought of losing her whom he
loved.

"What do you mean?" he asked Diego.

"Listen patiently, for the question I am going to ask you is intended
to fix an important determination in my mind."

"I am listening," the young man said.

"Do you really love Doña Maria?"

At this question, which might seem, at the least, inopportune after
what Leon had just stated, the latter frowned angrily; but on noticing
the half-breed's serious face, he understood that it was not for the
purpose of making a jest of his despair that Diego had revived the fire
which was burning in his bosom.

"If I do not see her again, I shall die," the young man replied,
simply.

"You shall not die, brother, for within a fortnight she will be at your
knees."

Leon knew the half-breed, and that he was a man who never promised
in vain: hence he did not dare doubt, and merely raised his eyes and
questioned him with a look.

"Within a fortnight she will be at your knees," the half-breed slowly
repeated; "but till then, not a word, not a sign of recollection,
reproach, impatience, or amazement, but passive obedience."

"Thanks, brother," Leon contented himself with answering, as he held
out his hand to Diego, who pressed it in his.

"And now let us sleep, so that tomorrow our foreheads may be less
burning, and we may be able to set to work."

Then, putting out the candles, the two men threw themselves on their
beds, without exchanging another word, for each was anxious to reflect
upon the course he should pursue.

Neither slept: Leon thought of Maria and the means Diego might employ
to fulfil the pledge he had made; while Diego had in his head a
ready-traced plan, whose success appeared to him certain, as it was
connected with a far more dangerous affair.

At daybreak they rose, and kneeling down in the middle of the room,
took each other by the hand, and devoutly said their prayers. Anyone
would have been astonished who had overheard what these two men asked
of God--the God of mercy and goodness! Their prayer ended, they went
down into the garden; the night storm had entirely passed away, the sun
was rising in a flood of transparent vapour, and everything announced a
magnificent day.

Shortly after their arrival, they perceived the general, who came to
meet them with a regular step and a joyous face.

"Well, gentlemen," he shouted to them, so soon as he saw them, "how did
you pass the night?"

"Excellently, general," Leon replied; "and my friend and myself both
thank you sincerely for your kind hospitality."

"At your age a man can sleep anywhere," the general continued, with a
pleasant smile. "Oh, youth!" he added, with a sigh of regret, "happy
time, which flies, alas! too quickly." Then becoming serious; "As for
the slight service which I have had the pleasure of rendering you, you
will disoblige me by thanking me for so simple a thing."

After a few more words from him, dictated by politeness, the three men
walked round the garden several times, and, to Leon's great surprise,
Diego did not allude to their departure; but as the young man did not
know the Vaquero's line of conduct as to the prospects which he nursed,
he waited.

Don Juan was the first to break the silence.

"Gentlemen," he said, stopping at the corner of a shady walk, "be good
enough, I pray, not to take in ill part what I am about to say--you are
smugglers, I believe?"

"Yes, sir," replied Diego, amazed at the old gentleman's perspicuity.

"This discovery does not injure you at all in my opinion," continued
the general, who had noticed the look of surprise exchanged by the
two friends. "I have frequently had dealings with gentlemen of your
profession, and have had always cause to be pleased with them; and I
trust that the relations which may be established between us will prove
advantageous to both parties."

"Speak, sir."

The Vaquero was all ears, and examined the general with a distrust
which the latter did not notice, or feigned not to notice.

"This is the matter, gentlemen. I am obliged, owing to certain family
reasons, to undertake a journey to Valdivia, where my brother Don Louis
resides; now, your arrival at my house has made me think of making the
journey under your escort, and I wish to propose to you, as I shall
take Señora y Soto-Mayor and my whole family with me, that you and your
men should escort us, leaving it to you to fix the price as you think
right."

"General," Leon answered, "you have guessed correctly in regarding us
as smugglers; I have the honour of being the captain of a band of fifty
men, who know how to put down the customs' dues when they are too high;
but you are mistaken in supposing that we can accompany you."

"Why so?" the Vaquero eagerly interrupted, on whose features a strange
gleam of satisfaction had appeared. "It is true that it is not our
habit to undertake business of that nature; but the general has shown
himself too hospitable to us to refuse him our assistance. Captain,
remember, too, that we have something to do within a few days in the
neighbourhood of Valdivia, and hence we shall merely make our journey
the sooner, which is a trifle."

"That is true," muttered the captain, whom a glance of Diego's had told
that he must accept. "I fancied that I must return to Valparaíso; but
what my friend has just said is perfectly correct, so you can dispose
of us as you please."

"In that case, gentlemen," said the general, who had only seen in this
opposition on the part of the captain a mode of demanding a large sum,
"be good enough to step into my study, and while drinking a glass of
Alicante, we will settle money matters."

"We are at your orders."

And all three proceeded to the general's apartments. It was arranged
that, instead of bargaining with an arriero, the captain was to supply
a dozen mules to carry the baggage, and that they should start the
following morning. When this arrangement was made, Leon and Diego asked
the general's permission to go and join their men, and give orders for
the departure; but he would not consent until they had breakfasted.

They therefore waited, and soon found themselves again in the company
of the members of the Soto-Mayor family, as well as of Don Pedro
Sallazar, who had decided on spending the night at the country
house before setting out for Santiago. Leon was dying to turn the
conversation to the Convent of the Purísima Concepción, and could have
most easily done so by telling the event of the previous day; but he
remembered the promise made to Diego, and fearing lest he might commit
some folly injurious to his interests, he held his tongue; still he
learned, on hearing the talk, that the general's major-domo had started
that morning for Valparaíso entrusted with a message for the Señora
Doña Maria.

When breakfast was over, the two friends took leave of their hosts,
and, after finally arranging the hour for starting, they left the
house, and found in the courtyard their horses ready saddled and held
by a peon. At the moment of starting, Don Pedro de Sallazar waved his
hand to them, and disappeared in the direction of Santiago, accompanied
by the general's son.

The two smugglers arrived before midday at the spot where their men,
somewhat alarmed at their prolonged absence, were encamped. It was a
narrow gorge between two lofty mountains, and at a sufficient distance
from the beaten road for the band to be safe from any surprise, of
which there was not much apprehension, by the way, as in this country
smugglers enjoy almost complete immunity, and have only to fear the
excessively rare cases of being caught in the act.

The horses were browsing at liberty, and the men, seated on a hearth
made of two lumps of stone, were finishing their breakfast of charqui
and tortillas. They were mostly men in the prime of life, whose
resolute air sufficiently evidenced the carelessness they felt for
every species of danger.

Belonging to all nations, they formed a whole which was not without
originality, but each of them, whether he were German or Portuguese,
Sicilian or Dutchman, as he found in the existence which he led the
charm of an adventurous life studded with perils, pleasures, and
emotions, had completely forgotten the name of his country, only to
remember the memorable days on which, indulging in his dangerous
profession, he had put the custom house officers to flight, and passed
under their very noses bales of merchandize.

Enemies of a yoke and servitude, under whatever form they might
appear, they obeyed with rigorous exactness the discipline which Leon
Delbès had imposed on them--a discipline which, by the way, allowed
them to do whatever they pleased when not actually engaged with their
smuggling duties. Some were drunkards, others gamblers, and others
libertines; but all ransomed their faults, which they regarded almost
as qualities, by a well-tried courage, and a perfect devotion to Leon
and Diego.

Their dress varied but slightly from that of their chief; all wore a
poncho, which covered their weapons, and the boots of wood rangers,
which, while protecting their legs from the stings of reptiles, left
them perfect liberty of motion. Their hats alone might be regarded as
the distinctive mark either of their nationality or the difference of
their tastes. There were broad-brimmed, pointed, and round hats; every
shape came into strange contact there, from the worn silk hat of Europe
to that of the American Bolivar.

They uttered a shout of joy on perceiving their chiefs, and, eagerly
rising, ran to meet them.

"Good day, gentlemen," Leon said, as he leaped from his horse. "I
am rather behind my time, but you must blame the night storm, which
compelled us to halt on the road. Is there any news?"

"None, captain," they answered.

"In that case listen to me. Ten of you will stay here, and at four
o'clock tomorrow morning proceed with twelve mules to the house of
Don Juan y Soto-Mayor, and place yourselves at the orders of that
gentleman, whom you will accompany to Valdivia." Diego set about
selecting the men whom he thought the best fitted for the expedition;
and after he had done so, Leon addressed the others.

"You will start for Valparaíso and await my orders there; you will
lodge at Crevel's, in the Calle San Agostino, and at Dominique the
Italian's, at the Almendral. Above all," he added, "be prudent, and
do not attract attention; amuse yourselves like good fellows, but do
not quarrel with the señores, or have any fights with the sailors. You
understand me, I suppose?"

"Yes, captain," they all answered.

"Very well. Now I will give each of you five ounces to cover your
expenses, and do not forget that I may want you at any moment, and you
must be ever ready to obey my summons."

He gave them the money, and after repeating his recommendations, he
retired, leaving it to Diego to give the men who were proceeding to
Valparaíso the final instructions which they might need. The smugglers
removed all traces of their meal, and each of them hurried to saddle
his horse. A few minutes later, forty men of the band set out under the
guidance of the oldest among them.

Diego watched them start, and then returned to Leon, who was resting
from his fatigue on a small turf mound, overshadowed by a magnificent
clump of trees. The Vaquero held in his hand the alforjas which he
had taken off his horse; he examined the place where Leon was seated,
and finding it as he wished, he sat down by his side; then taking out
of the bag a clumsy carved earthern pipe, into which he fitted a long
stem, he began to strike a light over a small horn box filled with
burnt rags, which soon caught fire. When his pipe was lighted, he began
smoking silently.

Leon, on seeing these preparations, understood that something important
was about to take place between him and Diego, and waited. At the
expiration of five minutes, the latter passed him his pipe; Leon
drew several puffs and then returned it to him. These preliminaries
completed, Diego began to speak.

"Leon, three years have passed since Heaven brought us together on the
pampas of Buenos Aires; since that moment--and I shall never forget it,
brother--everything has been in common between us--pleasure and pain,
joy and sorrow."

Leon bowed his head in the affirmative, and the half-breed continued:

"Still, there is one point upon which our mouths have ever remained
silent, and it is the one which refers to the life of each of us before
that which we now lead together."

Leon looked at him in amazement.

"It is not a want of confidence," Diego hastily added, "but the slight
interest we felt in cross-questioning each other, which alone is the
cause. Of what use is it to know the past life of a man, if from the
day when you first saw him he has not ceased to be honest and loyal?
Besides, the hours are too short in the pampas for men to dream of
asking such questions."

"What are you coming to?" Leon at length asked.

"Listen, brother. I will not question you about what I care little to
know, but I wish to tell you something you must know. The moment has
arrived to speak; and though the story I have to tell you is gloomy and
terrible, I am accomplishing a duty."

"Speak, then," said Leon.

The half-breed passed his hand over his forehead, and for a moment
collected his recollections. Leon waited in silence.




CHAPTER V.

THE INCA OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.


"Long ago, very long ago," Diego, the Vaquero, began, "all the lands
bordering the bay of Valparaíso belonged to the Indians, whose vast
hunting grounds extended on one side from the lofty peaks of the
Cordilleras down to the sea, and on the other covered the Pampas of
Buenos Aires, of Paraguay--in a word, all the splendid countries from
which they have eternally disappeared, and it is impossible to find a
trace of the moccasins which trod them during centuries."

"The Indians were at that day free, happy, powerful, and more numerous
than the grains of sand in the bed of the sea. But one day strange news
spread among them: it was said that white men, who had come no one knew
whence, and mounted on immense winged horses, had suddenly appeared in
Peru."

"I need not remind you of all that occurred in consequence of this
news, which was only too true, or describe to you the hideous massacres
committed by the Spaniards, in order to reduce the unhappy Indians to
slavery, for it is a story which everybody knows. But what you are
possibly ignorant of is, that during one of the dark and stormy nights
which followed this invasion, a dozen men of majestic demeanour, with
haughty though care-laden brows, were seen to land from a canoe half
broken by the waves and jagged rocks."

"They were Indians who had miraculously escaped from the sack of Quito,
and had come to present themselves as suppliants to the elders of the
Araucano nation. Among them was a man whom they respectfully obeyed. He
was the son of the sister of the valiant Atahualpa, King of Quito, and
his name was Tahi-Mari. When in the presence of the elders, Tahi-Mari
gave them a narration of the misfortunes which had struck him."

"He had a daughter, Mikaa, the purest and loveliest of the daughters
of the Sun. When conquered by the Spaniards, who, after killing two of
his sons, set fire to his palace, Tahi-Mari, followed by his three sons
left home, rushed toward the palace of the Sun, in order to save his
daughter, if there were still time."

"It was night: the volcano was roaring hoarsely, and hurling into the
air long jets of fire, whose lurid and sinister gleams combined with
the flames of the fire kindled by the conquerors of this unhappy city.
The squares and streets were encumbered with a terrified multitude,
who fled in all directions with terrible cries from the pursuit of the
Spanish soldiers, who, intoxicated with blood and carnage, massacred
mercilessly old men, women, and children, in order to tear from their
quivering bodies the gold collars and ornaments which they wore.
Neither tears, prayers, nor entreaties succeeded in moving their
ferocious executioners, who with yells and shrill whistles excited
their dogs to help them in this horrible manhunt."

"When Tahi-Mari reached the Temple of the Sun, that magnificent
edifice, which contained such riches, had become a prey to the flames;
a girdle of fire surrounded it on all sides, and from the interior
could be heard the groans of the hapless virgins who were expiring in
the tortures of a horrible death. Without calculating the imminency of
the peril, the poor father mad with grief and despair, rushed into the
burning furnace which opened its yawning mouth before him."

"'My daughter! my daughter!' he cried. In vain did the flames singe his
clothing; in vain did frightful burns devour his hands and face: he
felt nothing, saw nothing; from his panting chest constantly issued the
piercing cry--"

"'My daughter! my daughter!'"

"Suddenly a half-naked virgin, with dishevelled hair, and her features
frightfully contracted, escaped from the flames; it was Mikaa.
Tahi-Mari, forgetting all that he had suffered, weepingly opened his
arms to the maiden, when a Spaniard, dressed in a brilliant garb, and
holding a sword in his hand, rushed upon Mikaa, and ere her father had
time to make a gesture thrust his weapon into her chest!"

"Oh, it is frightful!" Leon, who had hitherto listened to his comrade's
story in silence, could not refrain from exclaiming.

Diego made no reply, but a sinister smile played round his livid lips.

"The maiden fell bathed in her blood, and Tahi-Mari was about to avenge
her, when the Spaniard dealt him such a fierce blow that he lost his
consciousness. When he regained his senses the officer had disappeared."

"It is infamous," Leon said again.

"And that officer's name was Don Ruíz de Soto-Mayor," Diego said, in a
hollow voice.

"Oh!" Leon muttered.

"Wait a moment, brother; let us continue, for I have not finished yet."

"Though tracked like a wild beast, and incessantly hunted by the
Spaniards, Tahi-Mari, accompanied by his three sons and some faithful
friends, succeeded in getting away from Quito and reaching the country
of the Araucanos."

"After the Inca had recounted his misfortunes to the great Indian
Chief, the latter welcomed the fugitives with hearty marks of
affection; one of them, the venerable Kouni-hous-koui (he who is
respected), a descendant of one of the oldest families of the Sagamores
of the nation, exchanging his calumet with Tahi-Mari, declared to him,
in the name of the Araucanos, that the Council of Elders adopted him as
one of their caciques."

"From this day Tahi-Mari, owing to his courage and wisdom, acquired the
esteem of those who had given him a new country to love and defend."

"Several years passed thus, and no sign led the Araucanos to suspect
that the Spaniards would ever dare to attack them; they lived in a
perfect state of security, when suddenly and without any justification
for the aggression, a Spanish fleet consisting of more than thirty
brigantines sailed into the bay of Valparaíso. They had no sooner
disembarked than they built a city, which soon saw the flag of conquest
floating from its walls."

"Still the Araucanos, although driven back by their terrible enemies,
were aroused by the voice of Tahi-Mari, and resolved to keep the
Spaniards constantly on their defence, by carrying on against them
a war of snares and ambushes, in which the enemy, owing to their
ignorance of the places where they fought, did not always get the best
of it."

"In the course of time, this perpetual war made them lose a great
number of soldiers, and feeling desperate at seeing several of their
men fall daily under the blows of invisible enemies, who seemed to
inhabit hollow trees, the tops of mountains, or the entrails of the
earth, they turned all their rage against Tahi-Mari, whose influence
over all the men who surrounded him they were aware of, and resolved to
get hold of him."

"But it was no easy matter, for the Inca was on his guard against every
attack, and was too well versed in the tactics of his enemy to let
himself be caught by cunning or treachery. And yet this was destined to
happen. There was among the Indian prisoners--alas! it is disgraceful
to say it, but it was so--a man who, given to habits of intoxication
and brought to Peru by the Spaniards, did not recoil before the offer
made him to betray his brothers, on condition that they should give him
as much aguardiente as he could drink."

"The Spanish captain, fertile in expedients, who had proposed this
cowardly bargain to the Indian, induced the latter to go to Tahi-Mari,
give himself out as an escaped prisoner, and, after inquiring into
his plans, urge him to surprise the Spaniards, of whose numbers,
position, and plan of campaign he was to give a false account. Once
that Tahi-Mari was in the power of the Spaniards, firewater would amply
compensate the traitor."

"All was carried out in the way the officer suggested; for could
Tahi-Mari suspect that an Araucano would betray him? He received him
on his arrival among his brothers with transports of joy, and then
questioned him as to the enemy's strength and means of defence. This
was what the Indian was waiting for: he answered the questions asked
him by adroitly dissimulating the truth, and ended by asserting that
nothing was easier than to take the Spanish troops prisoners, and he
offered to guide the expedition in person."

"The hope of a certain victory animated the Araucanos, who joyfully
greeted this proposition, and all was soon arranged for the start.
During the night following the traitor's arrival, five hundred men
picked from the bravest, and led by Tahi-Mari, descended the mountain
under the guidance of the treacherous Indian, and marched silently upon
a Spanish redoubt, in which they expected to find the principal chiefs
of the enemy and surprise them."

"But as they advanced they perceived a dark line which was almost
blended with the darkness, but which could not escape the piercing
glances of the Indians. This line formed an immense circle, which
surrounded them and became more contracted every moment. It was the
Spanish horse coming to meet them and preparing to attack them."

"All at once Tahi-Mari uttered a yell of fury, and the head of the
traitor who had drawn them into the snare rolled at his feet; but ere
the Araucanos had time to retire, a number of horsemen, holding in
leash twenty of those ferocious dogs trained for man hunting, rushed
upon them. They were compelled to fight, and a terrible massacre began,
which lasted all night. Tahi-Mari performed prodigies of valour. In
the height of the action his eyes were injected with blood and a
lurid pallor covered his face; he had recognised among those who were
fighting the Spanish officer who killed his daughter Mikaa on the
threshold of the Temple of the Sun in so dastardly a way. On his side
the Spaniard rushed with incredible fury upon the Inca."

"It was a sublime moment! The two men attacked each other with equal
fury, and the blood that flowed from their wounds stained their
weapons. The axe which the Inca held was already whirling above the
head of the Spaniard to deal him the final blow, when Tahi-Mari
fell back, uttering a yell of pain: an enormous hound coming to the
officer's assistance, had ripped open the Inca's stomach. Taking
advantage of Tahi-Mari's defenceless state, Don Ruíz de Soto-Mayor
despatched him by passing his sword right through his body."

"The next day the Inca's body, frightfully mutilated, was burnt on the
public square of Valdivia, in the presence of a few Indians, who had
only escaped the sword of their murderers to die at a later date in the
punishment of a horrible captivity."

"Oh!" Leon exclaimed, who had felt his heart quiver; "it is frightful!"

"What shall I say, then?" Diego asked in his turn; "I who am the last
of the descendants of Tahi-Mari!"

At this unexpected revelation Leon started; he looked at Diego, and
understood that there was in this man's heart a hatred so deeply
rooted, and, above all, so long repressed, that on the day when it
broke out no power in the world would be strong enough to check the
terrible effects of its explosion. He hung his head, for he knew
not what to reply to this man who had to avenge such blood-stained
recollections. Diego took his friend's hand, and remarking the emotion
he had produced, added--

"I have told you, brother, what the ancestors of Don Juan de Souza
y Soto-Mayor made mine suffer, and your heart has bounded with
indignation, because you are loyal and brave; but what you do not yet
know is that the descendants of that family have faithfully followed
the conduct of the murderers of Tahi-Mari. Oh! there are strange
fatalities in a man's life! One day--and that day is close at hand--you
shall know the details of the existence which I have led, and the
sufferings which I have endured without a murmur; but at the present
day I will only speak of those of my race; afterwards I will speak of
myself."

While uttering the last words, a flash of joy like that which a tiger
feels when it holds a quivering prey under its claws passed into the
half-breed's eyes. He continued--

"My father died a victim to the cruelty of the Spaniards, who put him
to death because he dreamed of the independence of his country; his
brother followed him to the tomb, weeping for his loss."

"Diego! God has cruelly tried thee."

"I had a mother," Diego went on, with a slight tremor in his voice;
"she was the object of my father's dearest affections, and was young
and lovely. One day when she left the mountain to visit my father, who
was expiating within the walls of Valparaíso prison his participation
in a movement which had broken out among the Araucanos, she met on the
road a brilliant Spanish cavalier who wore a lieutenant's epaulettes."

"The Spaniard fixed upon her an impassioned glance; she was alarmed,
and tried to fly, but the horseman prevented her, and in spite of her
prayers and supplications, she could not liberate herself from the
villain's arms. On the morrow Lieutenant Don Juan de Soto-Mayor was
able to boast among his friends, the noble chiefs of the Spanish army,
that he had possessed the chaste wife of Tahi-Mari the Indian."

"Yes, it was again a Soto-Mayor. This accursed name has ever hovered
over the head of each member of my family, to crush it under
punishment, sorrow, shame, or humiliation. Each time that one of us has
reddened American soil with his blood, it was a Soto-Mayor that shed
it. Each time that a member of this family met a member of mine, one
was the executioner, the other the victim."

"And now, brother, you will ask me why, knowing that General Don Juan
de Souza y Soto-Mayor is the man who dishonoured my mother, I did not
choose among the weapons which hung from my girdle the one which should
pierce his heart?--why I have not some night, when all were sleeping
at the hacienda, carried within its walls the all-devouring fire, and
taken, according to Indian custom, eye for eye and tooth for tooth?"

"Yes, I confess it; I should have quivered with pleasure had I seen
all the Soto-Mayors, who live calm and happy a few leagues from us,
writhing in the agonies of death. But I am the son of Tahi-Mari, and I
have another cause to defend beside my own--that of my nation. And on
the day when my arm falls on those whom I execrate, it will not be the
Soto-Mayors alone who perish, but all the Spaniards who inhabit these
countries."

"Ah! is it not strange to dream of enfranchisement after three hundred
years of slavery? Well, brother, the supreme moment is close at hand;
the blood of the Spaniard will again inundate the soil of Peru, and the
nineteenth century will avenge the sixteenth."

"That is the reason why you saw me so silent at the general's house;
that is why I agreed to escort him and his family to Valdivia, for
my plans are marvellously served by this journey. As for the girl
you love, as I told you, you shall see her again, and it will be the
beginning of the punishment which is destined to fall on this family."

Diego had risen, but a moment later he resumed his ordinary stoicism.

"I have told you what you ought to know, in order to understand and
excuse what you may see me undertake against the Spaniards; but before
going further it is right that I should know if I can count on your
help, and if I shall find in you the faithful and devoted friend who
never failed me up to this day."

A violent contest was going on in Leon's heart. He asked himself
whether he, who had no cause of complaint against the Spaniards, had
any right to join those who were meditating their ruin. On the other
hand, the sincere friendship which he felt for the Vaquero, whose life
he had shared during the last four years, rendered it a duty to assist
him, and did not permit him to abandon him in the moment of danger.
Still he hesitated, for a secret anxiety kept him undecided, and
prevented him forming a resolution.

"Diego," he asked the Vaquero in his turn, "before answering you, let
me ask you one question?"

"Speak, brother!" Diego answered.

"What do you mean to do with Doña Maria?"

"I have promised you to bring her to your knees. If she love you, she
will be my sister; if she refuse your love, I shall have the right to
dispose of her."

"And she will have nothing to fear till I have seen her again?" Leon
asked further.

"Nothing! I swear to you."

"In that case," said Leon, "I will take part in your enterprise. Your
success shall be mine, and whatever be the road you follow, or the
means you employ to gain the object of your designs, I will do all that
you do."

"Thanks, brother; I was well aware that you would support me in the
struggle, for it is in the cause of justice. Now I will set out."

"Do you go alone?"

"Yes, I must."

"When shall I see you again?"

"Tomorrow morning, at Don Juan's, unless I am compelled to remain at
the place where I am going longer than I think; in that case I will
join you on the Talca road. Besides, you do not require me to escort
the general: our men will be at their post tomorrow, and you can say
something about my going on ahead."

"That is true; but Doña Maria?"

"You will see her again soon. But start alone tomorrow for the country
house, and I will meet you this day week, whatever may happen, in the
Del Solar wood, at the San Francisco Solano quarry, where you will
order a halt."

"Agreed, and I leave you to act as you think proper. Next Wednesday at
the Del Solar wood, and if you wish to join us before then, we shall
follow the ordinary road."

"Very good; now I am off."

Ten minutes after this long interview, Diego was galloping away from
his comrade, who watched him depart, while striving to conjecture in
what direction he was going. Profoundly affected by the varied events
of the preceding day, and the story which Diego had told him, Leon
reflected deeply as he walked toward the smugglers remaining with him,
and who were engaged in getting their weapons in order.

Although nothing in his exterior announced the preoccupation from which
the was suffering, it could be guessed that he was in a state of lively
anxiety. The image of Doña Maria floated before his eyes; he saw her
pale and trembling after he had saved her from his horse's rush, and
then, carrying himself mentally within the walls of the convent of the
Purísima Concepción, he thought of the barrier which separated them.
Then suddenly the half-breed's words returned to his ear--"If she
refuse your love," he had said, "I shall have the right to dispose of
her!"

An involuntary terror seized on the young man at this recollection. In
fact, was it presumable that Doña Maria loved him? and would not the
Vaquero be compelled to employ violence in carrying out his promise of
bringing him into the presence of the novice? In that case, how could
he hope to make himself loved?

These reflections painfully agitated Leon Delbès, who, obeying that
spontaneity of action peculiar to his quick and impetuous character,
resolved to fix his uncertainty by assuring himself of the impression
which he had produced on the heart of the maiden, whom he loved with
all the strength and energy of a real passion.

Such a sudden birth of love would appear strange in northern
countries, where this exquisite feeling is only developed in conformity
with the claims of the laws of civilization; but in Chili, as in the
whole of South America, love, ardent as the fires of the sun which
illumines it, bursts forth suddenly and displays itself in its full
power. The look of a Chilian girl is the flush which enkindles hearts
of fire which beat in breasts of iron.

Leon was a Frenchman, but several years' residence in these parts, and
his complete adoption of American manners, customs, and usages had
so metamorphosed him, that gradually his tastes, habits, and wants
had become identified with those of the inhabitants of Chili, whom he
regarded as his brothers and countrymen. Without further delay, then,
Leon prepared to return to Valparaíso, and make inquiries about Doña
Maria.

"It is two o'clock," he said to himself, after consulting his watch;
"I have time to ride to Ciudad, set Crevel to work, and be at the
general's by the appointed hour."

And leaping on his horse, he galloped off in the direction of the Port,
after bidding the ten men of the escort to start with or without him
the next morning for the country house.




CHAPTER VI.

THE BANIAN'S HOUSE.


Valparaíso, like nearly all the commercial centres of South America,
is a collection of shapeless huts and magnificent palaces, standing
side by side and hanging in long clusters from the sided of the three
mountains which command the town. The streets are narrow, dirty, and
almost deprived of air, for the houses, as in all American towns,
have a tendency to approach each other, and at a certain height form
a projection of four, or even six feet over the street. Paving is
perfectly unknown; and the consequence is, that in winter, when the
deluging rains, which fall for three months almost without leaving off,
have saturated the ground, these streets become veritable sewers, in
which pedestrians sink up to the knee. This renders the use of a horse
indispensable.

Putrid and pestilential miasmas exhale from these gutters, which are
filled with rubbish of every description, resulting from the daily
sweepings of the houses. On the other hand, the squares are large,
square, perfectly airy, and lined with wide verandahs, which at midday
offer a healthy protection from the sun. These verandahs contain
handsome shops, in which the dealers have collected, at great cost,
all that can tempt purchasers. It is a medley of the most discordant
shops and booths, grouped side by side. A magnificent jeweller displays
behind his window diamond necklaces, silver spurs, weighing from
fifteen to twenty marcs, rings, bracelets, &c.; between a modest grocer
quarrelling with his customers about the weight, and the seller of
massamorra broth, who, with sleeves tucked up to the elbow, is selling
his stuff by spoonfuls to every scamp who has an ochavo to regale
himself with.

The smuggler captain passed gloomily and thoughtfully through the
joyous population, whose bursts of laughter echoed far and wide, and
whose merry songs escaped in gay zambacuecas from all the spirit shops
which are so frequent at Valparaíso. In this way he reached Señor
Crevel's inn, who uttered a cry of joy on perceiving the captain, and
ran out to hold his horse.

"Are my men here?" Leon asked civilly, as he dismounted.

"They arrived nearly two hours back," Crevel answered, respectfully.

"It is well. Is the green chamber empty?"

Every landlord, in whatever country he may hang out his sign, possesses
a separate room adorned with the names of blue, red, or green, and
which he lets at a fabulous price, under the excuse that it is far
superior to all the others in the house. Señor Crevel knew his trade
too well not to have adopted this habit common to all his brethren;
but he had given the name of the green room to a charming little quiet
nook, which only his regular customers entered. Now, as we have said,
the smugglers were very old friends of Crevel.

The door of the green room, perfectly concealed in the wall, did not
allow its existence to be suspected; and it was in this room that the
bold plans of the landlord's mysterious trade, whose profits were far
greater than those which he drew from his avowed trade, were elaborated.

On hearing Leon's question, the Banian's face assumed an expression
even more joyous than that with which he had greeted the young man's
arrival, for he scented, in the simple question asked him, a meeting
of smugglers and the settlement of some affairs in which he would have
his share as usual. Hence he replied by an intelligent nod, and added
aloud, "Yes, señor; it is ready for your reception."

After handing the traveller's horse to a greasy waiter, whom he ordered
to take the greatest care of it, he led Leon into the interior of the
inn. We are bound to confess that if the architect who undertook to
build this house had been more than saving in the distribution of
ornamentation, it was admirably adapted for its owner's trade. It was
a cottage built of pebbles and beams, which it had in common with the
greater portion of the houses in Valparaíso. Its front looked, as we
know, upon the Calle San Agostino, while the opposite side faced the
sea, over which it jutted out on piles for some distance. An enormous
advantage for the worthy landlord, who frequently profited by dark or
stormy nights to avoid payment of customs dues, by receiving through
the windows the goods which the smugglers sold him; and it also
favoured the expeditions of the latter, by serving as a depôt for the
bales which they undertook to bring in on account of people who dealt
with them.

This vicinity of the sea also enabled the Frenchman, whose customers
were a strange medley of all sorts of men, not to trouble himself about
the result of the frequent quarrels which took place at his house,
and which might have caused an unpleasantness with the police, who at
Valparaíso, as in other places where this estimable institution is in
vogue, sometimes found it necessary to make an example. Hence, so soon
as the squadron of lanceros was signalled in the distance, Señor Crevel
at once warned his guests; so that when the soldiers arrived, and
fancied they were about to make a good haul, they found that the birds
had flown. We need scarce say that they had simply escaped through the
back window into a boat always kept fastened in case of need to a ring
in the wooden platform, which served as a landing stage to the house.
The lanceros did not understand this sudden disappearance, and went off
with a hangdog air.

Differing from European houses, which fall back in proportion to
their elevation from the ground, Señor Crevel's establishment bulged
outwards, so that the top was spacious and well lighted, while the
ground floor rooms were narrow and dark. The landlord had always taken
advantage of this architectural arrangement by having a room made on
the second floor, which was reached by a turning staircase, and a
perfect ear of Dionysius, as all external sounds reached the inmates,
while the noise they made either in fighting or talking was deadened.
The result of this was that a man might be most easily killed in the
green room without a soul suspecting it.

It was into this room, then, witness of so many secret councils, that
the landlord introduced, with the greatest ceremony, the captain of
the smugglers, who walked behind him. On regarding the interior of the
room, nothing indicated the origin of its name; for it was entirely
hung with red damask. Had this succeeded a green hanging? This seems to
be a more probable explanation.

It received light from above, by means of a large skylight. The walls
were hung with pictures in equivocal taste, representing subjects
passably erotic and even slightly obscene. A large four-post bed,
adorned with its tester, occupied all one side of the room, and a
mahogany chest of drawers stood facing it: in a corner was a small
table covered with the indispensable toilette articles--combs, brushes,
&c. A small looking glass over the table, chairs surrounding a large
round table, and, lastly, an alabaster clock, which for the last ten
years had invariably marked the same hour between its two flower vases,
completed the furniture of this famous green room. We must also mention
a bell, whose string hung behind the landlord's bar, and was useful to
give an alarm under the circumstances to which we have referred. Leon
paid no attention to these objects, which had long been familiar to
him.

"Now, then," he said, as he took off his hat and poncho, and threw
himself into an easy chair, "bring me some dinner at once."

"What would you like, captain?"

"The first thing ready: some puchero, some pepperpot--in short,
whatever you please, provided it be at once, as I am in a hurry."

"What will you drink?"

"Wine, confound it! and try to find some that is good."

"All right."

"Decamp then, and make haste to bring me all I require."

"Directly, captain."

And Señor Crevel withdrew to attend to the preparation of the young
man's dinner. During this time Leon walked up and down the room, and
seemed to be arranging in his head the details of some plan he was
meditating.

Crevel soon returned to lay the table, which he performed without
opening his lips for fear of attracting some disagreeable remark from
the captain, who, for his part, did not appear at all disposed for
conversation. In an instant all was arranged with that coquettish
symmetry which belongs to the French alone.

"Dinner is ready, captain," said Crevel, when he re-entered the room.

"Very well. Leave me; when I want you I will call you."

The landlord went out. Leon sat down to the table, and drawing the
knife which he wore in his boot, vigorously attacked the appetizing
dishes placed before him.

It is a fact worthy of remark, that with great and energetic natures,
moral sufferings have scarce any influence over physical wants.
It might be said that they understand the necessity of renewing or
redoubling their strength, in order to resist more easily and more
victoriously the griefs which oppress them, and they require all their
vigour to contend worthily against them.

Chilian meals in no way resemble ours. Among us people drink while
eating, in order to facilitate the absorption and digestion of the
food; but in America it is quite different--there people eat without
drinking. It is only when the pastry and sweets have been eaten that
they drink a large glass of water for digestion; then comes the
wines and liqueurs, always in small quantities, for the inhabitants
of hot countries are generally very sober, and not addicted to the
interminable sittings round a table covered with bottles, in an
atmosphere impregnated with the steam of dishes.

When the meal was ended, Leon took his tobacco pouch from his pocket
and rolled a cigarette, after wiping his fingers on the cloth. As
this action may appear improper to the reader, it is as well that he
should know that all Americans do so without scruple, as the use of the
napkin is entirely unknown. Another custom worth mentioning is that
of employing the fingers in lieu of a fork. This is the process among
the Americans. They cut a piece of bread crumb, which they hold in
their hand, and pick up with it the articles on their plate with great
rapidity and cleanliness.

Nor must it be thought that they act in this way through ignorance of
the fork; they are perfectly well acquainted with that utensil, and can
manage it as well as we do when required; but though it is present on
every table, both rich and poor regard it as an object of luxury, and
say that it is far more convenient to do without it, and remark that
the food has considerably more flavour when eaten in this fashion.

Leon lit his cigarette, and fell again into his reflections. All at
once he rose and rang the bell, and Crevel at once appeared.

"Take all this away," said Leon, pointing to the table.

The landlord removed all traces of the meal.

"And now bring me the articles to make a glass of punch."

Crevel gazed for a moment in amazement at the man who had given this
order. The sobriety of the smuggler was proverbial at Valparaíso; he
had never been seen to drink more than one or two glasses of Pisco, and
then it was only on great occasions, or to please his friend Diego,
whom he knew to be very fond of strong liquors, like all the Indians.
When a bottle of aguardiente was served to the two men, the Indian
finished it alone, for Leon scarce wet his lips. Hence the landlord was
almost knocked off his feet on receiving his guest's unusual order.

"Well, did you not hear me?" Leon resumed, impatiently.

"Yes, yes, sir," Crevel replied; "but--"

"But it surprises you, I suppose?"

"I confess it."

"It is true," Leon said, with a mocking smile, "that it is not my habit
to drink."

"That it is not," said Crevel.

"Well, I am going to take to it, that's all. And what do you find
surprising in that?"

"Nothing, of course."

"Then bring me what I asked for."

"Directly, directly, captain."

"On my soul, something extraordinary is taking place," Crevel said
to himself as he descended to his bar. "The captain never had a very
agreeable way with him, but, on the word of Crevel, I never saw him as
he is tonight; it would be dangerous to touch him with a pair of tongs.
What can have happened to him? Ah, stuff, it concerns him, after all:
and then, who knows; perhaps he is on the point of becoming a drunkard."

After this aside, the worthy landlord manufactured a splendid bowl of
punch, which he carried up to Leon so soon as it was ready.

"There," he said, as he placed the bowl on the table; "I think that
will please you, captain."

"Thanks! but what is this?" Leon said, as he looked at what Crevel had
brought--"there is only one glass."

"Why, you are alone."

"That is true; but I trust you will do me the pleasure of drinking with
me."

"I should be most unwilling, captain, to deprive myself of the honour
of drinking with you, but--"

Crevel, through his stupefaction, was unable to complete his sentence,
for the invitation which the captain gave him surprised him beyond all
expression. Let us add that it was the first time such an honour had
been done him.

"In that case bring a glass for yourself."

Crevel, without further hesitation, fetched the glass, and seated
himself facing the captain.

"Now, my dear Crevel," Leon said, as he dipped into the bowl and filled
the glasses to the brim, "here's to your health, and let us talk."

The landlord was all ears.

"Do you know the convent of the Purísima Concepción?"

At this question Crevel opened his eyes to their fullest extent.

"What the deuce can the captain have to do with the nuns of the
Purísima Concepción?" he asked himself, and then replied, "Certainly,
captain."

"Very good; and could you contrive to get in there under some pretext?"

The landlord appeared to reflect for a moment.

"I have it," he said; "I will get in whenever you like."

"In that case get ready, for I want to send you there this very moment."

"What to do?"

"A trifle. I want you to see the Señora Maria," Leon said to him, after
describing the accident of which he had been the involuntary cause,
"and deliver her a message from me."

"The deuce! that is more difficult," Crevel muttered.

"Did you not tell me that you could get into the convent?"

"Yes; but seeing a novice is very different."

"Still you must do so, unless you refuse to undertake the task. I
thought of you, because I believed you to be a clever and resolute
fellow; if I am mistaken, I will apply to someone else, and I feel
certain that I shall find more than one ingenious man who will not be
sorry to earn four ounces."

"Four ounces, did you say?" and the Parisian's eyes sparkled with a
flash of covetousness.

"Tell me if that suits you?"

"I accept."

"In that case, make haste. Have my horse saddled for I shall accompany
you."

"We will start within a quarter of an hour; but in order that I may
take my precautions, tell me what I have to do when I see the Señora?"

"You will hand her this scapulary, and say to her that the cavalier
who wore it is lying at your house in danger of death. Pay careful
attention to the expression which her face assumes, and manage to
describe it to me. That is all I want."

"I understand."

And the landlord went down to make his preparations.

"In that way, I shall know whether she loves me," Leon exclaimed, so
soon as he was alone.

Then, taking up his poncho and montera, he rolled a cigarette in his
fingers, and went to join Crevel in the ground floor room.

"Do not be impatient, captain; I shall be with you in a moment," the
banian said on perceiving him; "I only ask of you the time to run to my
cellar."

"Make haste, for time is slipping away."

"Do not be alarmed; I shall be at the convent within half an hour."

On returning from the cellar the landlord brought with him three
bottles covered with a thick coating of mould, bearing witness to the
long stay they had made in the shadow of the sun, and adorned with a
skullcap of pitch, whose colour time had changed.

"What is that?" Leon asked.

"The keys of the convent of the Purísima Concepción," Crevel replied,
with a crafty smile. "We can start now."

In a moment Leon, on horseback, was going down the Calle San Agostino a
few paces a head of Crevel, who was on foot.




CHAPTER VII.

THE NOVICE.


We left Doña Maria in the garden of the convent, preparing to obey
the summons of the venerable abbess, Doña Madeline Aguirre Frías, in
religion, Sister Santa Marta de los Dolores, the Mother Superior of the
community, not doubting but that she was summoned to give a detailed
account of the morning's events. Doña Maria expected to receive some
reproof for the involuntary fault she had committed by letting her face
be seen by the cavalier who raised her when in a fainting state.

But, in her present state of mind, far from upbraiding herself for not
having quickly lowered her veil so soon as she regained possession of
her senses, she was quite prepared to confess the impression which the
sight of the young man had produced on her, and the present she had
made him of her scapulary, for she had only one thought, one desire,
one wish, and that was, to see again the man whom she loved.

Still, in consequence of the remonstrances which her companion,
Rosita, made to her, and in order not to give anybody the opportunity
of reading in her eyes what was passing in her soul, she removed all
traces of her tears, overcame the feeling of sorrow which had invaded
her whole being, and proceeded with a firm step toward the cell of the
Mother Superior, while Rosita regained her own.

We have described the interior of the cells of the nuns or novices
dwelling in the convent of the Purísima Concepción, which, with but
rare exceptions, are all alike, but that of the Mother Superior
deserves a special description, owing to the difference that exists
between it and those of the other nuns. Nothing could be more
religious, more worldly, and more luxurious than its whole appearance.
It was an immense square room, with two large pointed windows, with
small panes set in lead, on which were painted holy subjects with
an admirable delicacy and surety of touch. The walls were covered
with long gilt and embossed Cordovan leather tapestry; and valuable
pictures, representing the chief events in the life of the patron saint
of the convent, were grouped with that symmetry and taste which are
only found among ecclesiastics.

Between the two windows was a magnificent Virgin by Raphael, before
which was an altar; a silver lamp, full of odoriferous oil, hung from
the ceiling and burnt night and day in front of the altar, which could
be concealed by thick damask curtains when required. The furniture
consisted of a large Chinese screen, behind which was concealed the
abbess's bed, a simple couch of carved oak, surrounded by a mosquito
net of white gauze. A square table, also in oak, supporting a few books
and a desk, was in the centre of the room; and in one corner a large
library filled with books relating to religious matters, allowed the
rich gilding of scarce tomes to be seen through the glass doors. A few
chairs with twisted legs were arranged against the wall. Lastly, a
brasero of brilliant brass, filled with olive kernels, faced a superb
press, whose fine carving was a work of art.

The sunshine, subdued by the coloured glass of the windows, spread a
soft and mystical light, which made the visitor undergo a feeling of
respect and contemplation, by giving this large room a stern and almost
lugubrious aspect.

At the moment when the maiden was introduced to the abbess, the latter
was seated in a large, straight-backed chair, surmounted by the
abbatial crown, and whose seat, covered with gilt leather, was adorned
with a double fringe of gold and silk. She held an open book in her
hand and seemed plunged in profound meditation. Doña Maria waited till
the abbess raised her eyes to her.

"Ah, you are here, my child," the abbess at length said, on perceiving
the presence of the novice. "Come hither."

Maria advanced towards her.

"You were nearly the victim of an accident which cast trouble and
confusion upon the progress of the procession, and it is slightly your
own fault; you ought to have got out of the way of the horse as your
dear sister did; but, after all, though the fear exposed your life to
danger, I see with satisfaction that you have, thanks to the omnipotent
protection of Nuestra Señora de la Purísima Concepción, escaped from
the peril, and hence I order you to thank her by reciting an orison
morning and night for eight days."

"I will do so, buena Madre," Maria replied.

"And now, chica, in order to efface every trace of the emotion which
the event must have caused you, I recommend you to drink a few
spoonfuls of my miraculous water; it is, as you are aware, a sovereign
remedy against every sort of attack. Worthy Don Francisco Solano,
the reverend Pater-Guardian of los Carmelitos Descalzos, gave me the
receipt for it, and on many occasions we have recognised the truly
surprising qualities of this water."

"I will not fail to do so," the young lady replied, with the firm
intention of doing nothing of the sort, as she knew the perfect
inefficiency of the good lady's panacea.

"Good! You must take care of your health, Maria, for you know that my
great object is to watch over the welfare of all our sisters, and to
render their abode in this peaceful retreat in which we live in the
peace of the Lord, full of attractions and sweetness."

Maria looked at the abbess; she had expected some sort of reprimand,
and the honeyed words of the worthy Mother Superior had a tinge of
benignity which was not habitual to them. Emboldened by the abbess's
kind manner, Maria felt a great desire to tell her of the deep aversion
she felt for a monastic life, but fearing lest she might be mistaken
as to the purport of the words which fell from the unctuous lips of
the holy person, she awaited the end of her discourse, and contented
herself with saying, with all the appearance of a submission full of
humility--

"I know, buena Madre, how great your anxiety is for all of us; but I do
not yet merit such kindness, and--"

"It is true that you are but a novice, and the solemn vows have not
eternally consecrated you to the pious destination which Heaven has
reserved for you, but the blessed day is approaching, and soon--"

"Madre!" Maria impetuously interrupted, about to speak and display
the wound in her heart which was painfully bleeding at the thought of
taking the veil.

"What is the matter, my child? you are impatient. I understand the
lively desire which animates you, and am delighted at it, for it would
be painful for me to employ with you, whom I love so dearly, any other
means than those of persuasion to oblige you to take the gown which is
destined for you."

On hearing the abbess speak thus, Maria understood that her fate was
settled, and that no supplication would produce any change in what
was resolved. Moreover, the air of hypocritical satisfaction spread
over the face of the Mother Superior sufficiently proved that the
conversation which she had begun had no other object than to adroitly
sound the young lady as to her feelings about taking the veil, and
that, if necessary, she would employ her right and power to force her
into submission.--

Maria, consequently, bowed her head and made no reply. Either the
abbess took this silence for a sign of obedience, or regarded it as a
manifestation of utter indifference, for a faint smile played round her
lips, and she continued the conversation.

"While congratulating you on the good sentiments which have taken
root in your mind, it is my duty to inform you of the orders which I
received this morning from your father, General Soto-Mayor."

Maria raised her head, trying to read in the abbess's looks what these
orders might signify.

"You are not ignorant, chica, that the rule of our convent grants
novices who are preparing to take the veil, permission to spend a month
with their family before beginning the retreat which must precede the
ceremony of their vows."

Here Maria, who was anxiously listening, felt her heart beat as if it
would burst her bosom. The abbess continued--

"In obedience to this custom, your father, before affiancing you to
God, informed me this morning that he wished to have you near him, and
employ the month which you will spend out of the convent in taking you
to Valdivia to see his brother, that worthy servant of the Lord, Don
Luis."

A cry of joy, restrained by the fear of letting what was taking place
in her mind be seen, was on the point of bursting from her bosom.

"Dear father!" she said, clasping her hands.

"You will set out tomorrow," the abbess continued; "a servant of your
family will come to fetch you in the morning."

"Oh, thanks, madam," Maria could not refrain from exclaiming, as she
was intoxicated with joy at the thought of leaving the convent.

Assuredly, under any other circumstances, the announcement of this
holiday would have been received by the maiden, if not with coldness,
at the least with indifference; but her meeting with Leon had so
changed her ideas, that she fancied she saw in this departure a means
which Providence gave her to escape from a cloistered life. The poor
child fancied that her parents were thinking of restoring her to the
world; then, reflecting on the slight probability which this hypothesis
seemed to possess, she said to herself that, at any rate, she might see
again within the month _him_ whose memory excited so great an influence
over her mind. There was still hope for her, and hope is nearly
happiness. The abbess had not failed to notice the look of pleasure
which had suddenly illumined the maiden's features.

"You are very happy, then, at the thought of leaving us, Maria," she
said, with an attempt at a smile.

"Oh, do not think that, Mamita," Maria said, as she threw herself on
her neck. "You are so kind and so indulgent that I should be ungrateful
did I not love you."

At this moment the maiden's heart, inundated with delight, overflowed
with love. The aversion which she had felt an hour previously for all
that surrounded her had faded away and made room for a warm expression
of joy. A sunbeam on high had sufficed to dissipate the dark cloud
which had formed on the blue sky.

In spite of the lively desire which Maria had to bear the good news
to Rosita, she was obliged to listen to the perusal of General
Soto-Mayor's letter, which the abbess gave her, as well as a long
exhortation which the latter thought it her duty to address to her
about the conduct she should assume when she found herself in the bosom
of her family. Nothing was forgotten, neither the recommendation to
perform her religious vows exactly, nor that of preparing to return to
the convent worthily at the close of the month, animated with the pious
desire of devoting herself to it joyfully, as the trial of the world
would serve to show her the slight happiness which those forced to live
in it found there. Maria promised all that the superior wished; she
only saw through the pompous phrases of the holy woman the temporary
liberty offered to her, and this sufficed her to listen patiently to
the rest of the peroration. At length the harangue was finished, and
Maria rushed towards Rosita's cell; on seeing her companion with a
radiant brow and a smile on her lip, the latter remained stupefied.
Amid the transports of joy, Maria informed her of the happy event which
had occurred so opportunely to calm her anguish, and embraced her
affectionately.

"How happy you seem!" Rosita could not refrain from saying to her.

"Oh! I really am so. Do you understand, Rosita, a whole month out of
the convent, and who knows whether I may not see during the month the
man who so boldly saved me from peril."

"Can you think of it?"

"Yes; I confess to you that it is my dearest wish to see him again and
tell him that I love him."

"Maria!"

"Forgive me, dear Rosita, for, selfish that I am, I only think of
myself, and forget that you, too, might perhaps like to leave these
convent walls in order to embrace your brother."

"You are mistaken, sister; I am happy here; and though my brother loves
me as much as I love him, he will not call me to his side, for he would
be alone to protect me, and what should I do in the world when he was
compelled to remain with his soldiers? Ah! I have no father or mother!"

"Poor Rosita!"

"Hence," the latter said, gaily, "speak no more of me, but let me
rejoice at finding you smiling after having left you so sad."

The maidens soon after separated, and Maria went to make the necessary
preparations for her departure. On entering her cell, her first care
was to throw herself on her knees before the image of the Virgin and
thank her. Then the rest of the day passed as usual. But anyone who
had seen the novice before her interview with the Mother Superior, and
met her after the latter had made the general's letter known to her,
would have noticed a singular change in her. A lovely flush had driven
the pallor from her lips, her eyes had regained their expression of
vivacity, and her lips, red as the pomegranate flower, parted to let
her heaving breath pass through.

The morrow Maria was up at daybreak, still under the impression of the
sweet dreams which had lulled her slumbers. The whole night Leon's
image had been before her, flashing in her ravished eye the dazzling
prism of a new existence. It was striking ten by the convent clock when
General Soto-Mayor's major-domo presented himself at the door of the
house of God.




CHAPTER VIII.

A VISIT TO THE CONVENT.


It was about five in the evening when Leon Delbès left the posada in
the company of Crevel. The great heat of midday had been succeeded by
a refreshing sea breeze, which was beginning to rise and blow softly,
producing an exquisite temperature, of which all took advantage to
rush from their houses, and join the numerous promenaders crowding the
streets, squares, and the shore of the ocean, whose calm and smooth
surface was tinged by the ardent beams of the sun, which had spent
two-thirds of its course. It was a saint's day, and the people, dressed
in their best clothes, whose varied colours offer the eye such a
piquant effect, hurried along with shouts, song, and laughter, of which
no idea can be formed in Europe. In South America a holiday is the
occasion for all the pleasures which it is given to man to enjoy, and
the Americans do not neglect it. Marvellously endowed by nature, which
has given them strength, vigour, and unalterable health, their powerful
organization allows them to do anything. Born for love and pleasure,
the South Americans make of their life one long enjoyment: it is the
ideal of refined sensualism.

The two Frenchmen, with their hats pulled over their eyes, and
carefully wrapped in their ponchos, so as not to be recognised and
delayed, mingled with the crowd, and elbowing and elbowed, pushing
and pushed, they advanced as quickly as they could, moving with great
difficulty through the mob that surrounded them.

The reader will be doubtless astonished to see, in a country so hot as
Chili, Leon Delbès and Crevel enveloped, as we have just said, in heavy
cloaks. In Chili, Peru, and generally in all the ex-Spanish colonies,
the cloak is constantly in use, and almost indispensable! It is worn
everywhere and always in all weathers and all places, at every hour
of the night and of the day. There is a Spanish proverb which says
that the cloak protects from heat and cold, from rain and sun. This is
true to a certain extent, but is not the sole reason why it has become
obligatory.

The South Americans, as well as the descendants of the Spaniards, have
retained the two chief vices which distinguished their ancestors, that
is to say, a mad pride and invincible indolence. The American never
works save when driven into his last entrenchments, when hunger forces
him to lay aside his careless and contemplative habits in order to earn
means to support himself. Hence it follows very naturally, that it is
impossible for him to obtain the fine clothes which he covets, and
whose price is so heavy, that he despairs of ever possessing them.

In order to remedy this misfortune, and save, at the same time, his
pride, which prohibits him from appearing badly dressed, he works just
long enough to save the money to buy himself a Panama hat, a pair of
trousers, and a cloak. When he has succeeded in obtaining these objects
of permanent necessity, he is all right and his honour is saved, for
thanks to the exceptional talent which he possesses of draping himself
elegantly and majestically in a piece of cloth, he can boldly present
himself anywhere, and no one will ever suspect what hideous rags and
frightful misery are covered by the splendid cloak which he bears on
his shoulders.

In addition to the motive which we have just explained, it is fair to
state that, owing to the excessive heat of the climate, the advantage
of the cloak is felt in the fact that it is ample and wide, leaves
the limbs liberty of movement, and does not scorch the body, as
well-fitting clothes do when heated by the sunbeams. Hence rich and
poor have all adopted it.

After a ride interrupted at every moment by the people who encumbered
the streets, the two Frenchmen reached their destination, and stopped
before the church adjoining the convent. There they separated: Crevel
proceeded toward the gate of the community, and Leon, after dismounting
and fastening his horse to an iron ring fixed in the wall, entered the
church, and leant against a pillar to wait.

The church of Nuestra Señora del Carmo, belonging to the Convent of the
Purísima Concepción, is one of the finest and richest of those existing
in Valparaíso. It was built a short time after the conquest of Chili,
in the Renaissance style. It is lofty, large, and well lighted by a
number of arched windows, whose coloured glass is among the finest
specimens of the art. A double row of columns delicately carved,
supports a circular gallery, with a balcony in open work, made with
that patience which the Spaniards appear to have inherited from the
Arabs, and which produced the marvellous details of the great mosque of
Cordova.

The choir is separated from the nave by a massive silver grating,
modelled by some rival of Benvenuto Cellini. The high altar is of lapis
lazuli, and sixteen silver columns support a dome painted blue, and
studded! with gold stars, above the splendid table covered with a rich
pall of English point, on which stand the magnificent golden reliquary
containing the Holy Sacrament.

In the aisles, eight chapels, placed under the protection of different
saints, and adorned with, extraordinary wealth, each contains a
confessional which closes hermetically, and in which it is impossible
to catch a glimpse of the male or female penitent asking remission
of sins. Nothing can be imagined more aërial or coquettish than the
ebony pulpit, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, used by the preacher. This
pulpit is a masterpiece, and it is said that a Spanish workman, finding
himself in great danger, made a vow to Nuestra Señora del Carmen that
he would give her a pulpit if he escaped. Having escaped the danger,
he devoted hourly years of his life to the accomplishment of the work
he had promised, and which he only completed a few months prior to his
death. If we may judge of the danger this man incurred by the finish of
the execution and the merit of the work, it must have been immense.

Lastly, there are at regular distances large holy water vessels of
carved marble, covered with plates of silver. When Leon entered the
church it was full of faithful people. Upwards of two thousand candles
spread a dazzling light, and a cloud of incense brooded over the
congregation, who were plunged into a profound contemplation.

In American churches that impudent traffic in chairs, which goes on so
shamelessly elsewhere during the holiest or more sorrowful ceremonies,
is unknown. There are no seats, but the men stand, and the women bring
with them small square carpets on which they kneel. This custom may
perhaps injure the symmetry, but it certainly imparts to the assembly
of the faithful a more religious appearance. We do not see, as in
France, individuals stretching themselves, taking their ease, throwing
themselves back, or sleeping in their chairs, and we are not at each
movement disturbed by the rattling of wood upon the slabs.

On hearing the chants of the nuns, which rose in gentle and melodious
notes, accompanied by the grave sound of the organ, Leon Delbès felt
himself involuntarily assailed by a melancholy feeling. Gradually
forgetting the motive of his presence at this sacred spot, he let his
head fall upon his chest, and yielded entirely to the ecstasy into
which the mighty harmony that filled his ears plunged him.

In the meanwhile Crevel, after leaving the captain of the smugglers,
took a half turn and proceeded, as we said, toward the gate of the
convent, on which he knocked thrice, after looking around him rather
through habit than distrust, in order to make certain that he was not
followed. The door was not opened, but a trap in the niche of the
upper panel was pulled back, and an old woman's face appeared in the
aperture. Crevel assumed his most sanctimonious look, and giving a
mighty bow, he said, as he doffed his broad-brimmed straw hat--

"Ave Maria Purísima, sister."

"Sin pecado concebida, brother," the old woman replied, who was no
other than the sister porter, "what can I do for you?"

"I am ill, sister, very ill," Crevel repeated in a moaning voice.

"Good gracious, brother, what is the matter with you? But I am not
mistaken," she added, after looking at the newcomer more attentively,
"you are the worthy Frenchman established in the Calle San Agostino,
who brings from time to time a few bottles of old French wine to the
abbess for her cramp."

"Alas! yes, sister, it is myself; and I have brought two under my
cloak, which I beg her to accept." Crevel, like a good many of his
fellow traders, had the praiseworthy habit of giving alms to the rich,
in order to rob the poor with greater facility.

"They are welcome," said the sister porter, whose small eyes glistened
with covetousness; "wait a minute, brother, and I will open the gate
for you."

"Do so, sister, and I will wait as long as you please."

Crevel soon heard the formidable sound of bolts being drawn and locks
turned, and at the end of a quarter of an hour the door was opened
just wide enough to leave passage for a man. The landlord glided like
a snake through the opening offered him, and the door closed again at
once.

"Sit down, brother," said the sister porter; "it is a long way from
your house to the convent."

"Thanks, sister," said Crevel, taking advantage of the invitation; "I
am really extremely tired."

He then took from under his poncho the two bottles, which he placed on
the table.

"Be good enough, sister," he said, "to give these bottles to your
Mother Superior, begging her not to forget me in her prayers."

"I will not fail, brother, I assure you."

"I am certain of it, sister; and stay," he added, drawing out a third
bottle, "take this, which I brought for you, and which will do you
good, for it is justly said in France that wine is the milk of aged
people."

"That is true, brother, and I thank you; but tell me the nature of the
illness you are suffering from."

"For some time past, sister, I have been subject to a sudden dizziness,
and as your convent possesses a miraculous water which cures all
diseases, I have come to buy a phial."

"With the greatest pleasure, brother," the sister porter replied. "I
am sorry that I cannot make you a present of it; but this water is
deposited in my hands, and is the property of the poor, to whom we
must render an account of it."

We will remark parenthetically that the convents of Valparaíso
willingly accept anything offered them, but never give anything away.
Crevel was perfectly aware of this fact; hence, without offering the
slightest observation, he drew four piastres from his pocket, which he
placed in the sister's hand. The latter put them out of sight with a
vivacity which astonished the banian himself: then running to a chest
of drawers, the sole article of furniture which adorned the room, she
opened it and took a small white glass bottle, carefully corked and
sealed, which lay there along with some sixty others, and brought it to
Crevel.

The landlord received it with marks of profound gratitude.

"I hope that this water will do me good," he said, striving to prolong
the interview.

"Do not doubt it, brother."

And the sister porter looked at Crevel in a way which made him
comprehend that nothing need detain him now that he had what he came to
seek. The banian understood it and prepared to rise.

"Now, sister, I will ask your permission to retire, in spite of
the charm which your conversation has for me; but business before
everything."

"That is true," the sister porter replied; "hence I will not keep you;
you know that you will always be welcome to the convent."

"Thanks, sister, thanks. And now I am off."

"Farewell, my brother."

He walked a few steps toward the door, but then hurriedly turned back.

"By the bye," he said, as if remembering something which he had
forgotten, "I trust that the accident which happened to one of your
sisters during the procession had no serious consequences."

"No, thanks to Heaven, brother."

"Ah, all the better; then she has quite recovered."

"So perfectly," said the sister porter, "that she is travelling at this
moment."

"What! the Señora Maria de Soto-Mayor travelling?"

"You know her name?"

"Of course; for I was formerly butler to the general her father."

"Well, then, it was through an order of the general that Sister Maria
left this morning for the country house which he possesses a few
leagues from here."

"Well, then, sister, good-bye, and I hope we shall meet again soon,"
Crevel exclaimed, hurrying this time to reach the gate.

"¡Anda Ve con Dios!" said the sister, surprised at this hurried
movement.

"Thanks, thanks."

Crevel was already in the street.

Now, while he was conscientiously performing the commission which Leon
had entrusted to him, the latter was still waiting for Crevel to rejoin
him. After remaining a quarter of an hour in the church, he left it,
and was beginning to grow impatient, when the landlord's shadow was
thrown on the convent wall.

In a second he was by his side.

"Well?" he asked, on approaching him.

"Come, come," said Crevel, with satisfaction, "I fancy I bring good
news."

"Speak at once."

"In the first place, Doña Maria is perfectly well, and feels no effects
from the terror which your horse caused her."

"Next?"

"That is something, surely."

"Go on, go on! scoundrel," the smuggler cried, as he shook Crevel's arm.

"Good heavens! a little calmness, Señor Caballero; you will never
correct yourself of your vivacity."

Leon's brows were contracted, and he stamped his foot passionately, so
Crevel hastened to obey.

"Learn, then, that this morning the young lady left the convent to
rejoin her family."

"What do you say?" Leon asked, utterly astounded.

"The truth; for the sister porter assures me of the fact."

"In that case, I am off, too."

"Why?"

"What would you have me do here?"

And, not troubling himself further about his companion, the captain
unfastened his horse and leaped on its back. Then, throwing his purse
to the landlord, he said that he should see him again soon, and started
at a gallop.

"Hum!" Crevel said, quite confounded; "the devil's certainly in that
fellow, or he has a slate loose. What a pace he rides at!"

And, after giving a last glance at the rider, who was disappearing
round the corner of the square, the worthy landlord quietly bent his
steps in the direction of his posada.

"For all that, he is a good customer."




CHAPTER IX.

ON THE SIERRA.


The traveller who, proceeding south, leaves one fine morning the city
of Santiago, that magnificent capital of Chili which is destined
ere long (if it be not destroyed by an earthquake, as has already
happened twice), to become the finest city of South America,
experiences--according as he belongs to one of the two classes of
travellers called by Sterne positive or enthusiastic travellers--a
sudden disillusion or a complete charm at the sight of the landscape
spread out before him.

In fact, for a radius of fifty or sixty leagues round the capital,
the country offers, with but few differences, the same appearance as
we meet with when we traverse the smiling plains of Beauce, or the
delicious province of Touraine, so poetically named the garden of
France.

On either side of wide and well-kept roads, lined with lofty trees,
whose tufted crests meet and form a natural arch, which affords a
shelter against the heat of the day, extend for an enormous distance
vast fields covered with crops of wheat, barley, rice, and alfalfa, and
orchards filled with apple, pear, and peach trees, and all the other
fruit trees which grow prolifically in these superb countries. On the
horizon, upon hills exposed to the rising sun, countless patches of
that vine which Chili alone has succeeded in cultivating, and which
produces a wine highly esteemed by connoisseurs, rejoice the eye which
contemplates to satiety these enormous masses of gilded grapes destined
to supply the whole of South America with wine.

In the distance are seen on the prairies horses, mules, vicunas,
viscachas, and llamas, which raise their head on the passage of the
caravans, and regard the travellers with their large eyes full of
gentleness and intelligence. An infinite number of small streams wind
with capricious turns through this country, which they fertilize, and
their limpid and silvery track is covered with formidable bands of
majestic, black-headed swans.

But, after a journey of four days, when you leave the province of
Santiago to enter that of Colchagua, the country assumes a more
abrupt appearance. You can already begin to feel the rising of the
ground which gradually reaches, with undulation upon undulation,
the Cordilleras of the Andes. The soil, ruder to the eye and more
rebellious to cultivation, although it has not yet completely acquired
those sublime, savage beauties which, a few leagues further on, will
cause the blessings of civilization to be forgotten, holds a mid place
between that nature of which man has made a conquest, which he changes
and modifies according to his caprices, and that invincible nature
against which all his efforts are impotent, and which victoriously
retains the independence of its diversified, wild, and imposing scenery.

It was the sixth day after that fixed for the journey projected by
General Don Juan, and on the road that runs from Currio to Talca,
that at about midday, a large party of travellers composed of fifteen
men, both masters and peons, and three ladies whose features it was
impossible to distinguish, as they were careful to conceal them so
thoroughly under their rebozos, was advancing with difficulty, trying
in vain to shelter themselves against the burning sunbeams which fell
vertically.

No shadow allowed the men or beasts to breathe for a moment; there was
not a single tree whose foliage might offer a little refreshment. Ahead
of the horsemen a dozen mules, trotting one after the other, and each
loaded with two heavy bales, followed with a firm step the bell of the
yegua madrina, which alone had the privilege of marching at liberty,
and with no burthen, at the head of the caravan.

All our travellers, armed to the teeth, rode in groups behind the
mules, and were mounted on those capital Chilian horses which have
no equals for speed, and of which we might almost say that they are
indefatigable.

The heat was stifling, and with the exception of the _area mula!_
uttered from time to time by the muleteers, in order to stimulate the
vigour of the poor brutes, no one said a word. Nothing was audible save
the sharp footfall of the animals echoing on the stones, and the clang
of the heavy spurs which each rider had on his heels.

The road wound round a vast quebrada along the brink of which it ran,
growing narrower every moment, which soon compelled the travellers to
ride one by one, having on their right a precipice of more than twelve
hundred yards in depth, down which the slightest slip on the part of
their steeds might hurl them, and on their left a wall of granite
rising perpendicularly to an incalculable height. Still this precarious
situation, far from causing a feeling of terror among the persons of
whom we are speaking, seemed, on the contrary, to give them a sensation
of undefinable comfort.

This resulted from the fact that on this gorge the sun did not reach
them, and they were able to refresh their lungs by inhaling a little
fresh air, which it had been impossible for them to do during the last
three hours. Hence, without troubling themselves about the spot which
they had reached, any more than if they had been in a forest glade,
they threw off the folds in which they had wrapped themselves, in order
to avoid the heat, and prepared to enjoy for a few minutes the truce
which the sun had granted them. Gaiety had returned, the muleteers were
beginning to strike up those interminable complaints with which, if we
may be allowed to use the expression, they seem to keep the mules in
step, and the masters lit their paper cigarettes. They rode on thus
for about half an hour, and then, after having followed the thousand
windings of the mountains, the caravan came out upon an immense plain
covered with a tall close grass, of a dark green hue, in which the
horses disappeared up to the chest, and on which clumps of trees grew
at intervals. The mountains opened on the right and left like a fan,
and displayed on the horizon their denuded and desolate crests.

"Baya Pius, gentlemen," one of the horsemen said, as he spurred his
horse and wiped his forehead; "we shall halt within two hours."

"I hope so, captain; for I frankly confess to you that I am exhausted
with fatigue."

"Stay, Don Juan," the first of the two men continued, as he stretched
out his hand in the direction they were following; "do you perceive a
little to the left that larch tree wood stretching out at the foot of
the mound, down which a torrent rushes?"

"Yes, yes, I see it, Señor Leon," the general, whom our readers have
doubtless recognized, answered the captain of the smugglers.

"Well, general, that is where we shall camp tonight."

"Heaven be praised!" a sweet maiden voice exclaimed, mingling in the
conversation; "but are you not mistaken, Señor Captain, in saying that
we shall not reach that spot before two hours?"

Leon eagerly turned his head, and replied, while accompanying his words
with a look in which the love he felt was seen--

"I have been about the mountains too long, Doña Maria, to be mistaken
as to a thing so simple for us sons of the Sierra as a calculation of
distance; but if you feel too fatigued, señorita, speak, and we will
camp here."

"Oh, no," the maiden quickly replied, "on the contrary, let us go
on; for the great heat has now passed, and the rising breeze is so
agreeable, that I feel as if I could canter thus all night."

Leon bent to his saddle-bow, and after courteously saluting Doña Maria
and the ladies with her, he hurried on and joined Diego, who was
marching ahead, with his eye on the watch and a frown on his brow, in
the attitude of a man who seems afraid he shall not find the traces
which he is in search of. He had rejoined the caravan two days before,
and as yet not a syllable had been exchanged between him and Leon:
still the latter had noticed in the half-breed's countenance, since his
arrival, an air of satisfaction, which proved that he had succeeded in
his plans.

And yet, though Doña Maria was riding a few yards from him, had Diego
brought the two young people together according to his promises?
Evidently not; since at the hour when the Vaquero left Leon, the young
lady arrived under the safeguard of one of her father's servants. Hence
the half-breed's satisfaction must be attributed to some other motive.

While Leon was striving to divine it--while curiously examining his
friend's slightest gesture, let us relate, in a few words, what had
taken place between the captain and the Soto-Mayor family during the
six days which had elapsed since his visit to the Convent of the
Purísima Concepción. Returning at full speed, Leon reached the Rio
Claro during the night, and after two or three hours' repose among the
smugglers, he started at the head of his men for the general's country
house, where the persons whom he had engaged to escort as far as
Valdivia were awaiting him.

At the moment when Leon entered the drawing room to announce that the
mules and the horses were ready to start, a loud exclamation burst
from a young lady whom the captain's eyes had been greedily seeking
ever since his entrance into the house. It was Maria, who recognised
her saviour.

Not one of the persons present, who were engaged with the final
preparations for the start, noticed the cry of surprise uttered by the
maiden. Leon at once felt it echo to his heart, and a flash of joy
escaping from his glance illuminated Maria's soul. In the space of a
second they both understood that they were loved.

The journey they were about to undertake appeared to them a more
splendid festival than their imagination could conceive. They had
scarce hoped to see each other again, and they were about to live side
by side for a week. Was not this such perfect happiness that it seemed
a miracle?

An hour later, the young couple were riding along together. Although
the captain was obliged to remain pretty constantly at the head of
the small party which he commanded, he seized the slightest excuse to
get near Maria, who, forgetting everything else in this world, kept
her eyes incessantly fixed on this man, the mere sight of whom caused
her heart to beat. And there was no lack of excuses: at one moment he
must encourage by a shout or a signal the young lady's horse which was
checking its speed; at another he must recommend her to guard herself
against a whirlwind of dust, or remove a stone from her horse's hoof.
And Maria ever thanked him with a smile of indescribable meaning.

As he was obliged, in order not to excite suspicion, to pay similar
attention to the Señora Soto-Mayor and her other daughter, the
smuggler's manner delighted the general, who applauded himself with all
his heart for having laid his hand on such a polite and attentive man.

During the first night's bivouac, Leon managed for a few moments to
leave the rest of the party and approach Maria, who was admiring the
magnificent spectacle which the moonlight offered, by casting its
opaline rays over the lofty trees which surrounded the spot where they
had halted.

"Señorita," he said to her, in a voice trembling with emotion, "do you
not fear lest the fresh night breeze may injure your health?"

"Thanks, Señor Leon," the maiden replied; "I am about to return to
camp, but the night is so long that I cannot weary of admiring this
superb landscape. I am so happy in contemplating all that I see around
me."

"Then you do not regret your abode in the convent, señorita?"

"Regret it! when I feel as if God had wished to inundate my heart with
all the joy which it can feel! Oh, Caballero, you do not think so. But
why do you say it to me?"

"Forgive me," Leon continued, noticing the expression of sorrow which
had suddenly overclouded the maiden's features; "the fact is, that my
thoughts ever revert to the moment when I saw you, pale and dumb with
terror, leave the ranks of the nuns of the Purísima Concepción."

"Oh, speak not so; and since Heaven has permitted that I should leave
those convent walls to see you again, do not remind me that I must soon
return to them, to remain there till death liberates me from them."

"What!" Leon exclaimed, "see you again and then lose you! Oh; forgive
me, señorita; forgive my speaking to you thus; but I am mad, and
sorrow renders me distracted."

"What do you say?"

"Nothing! nothing! señorita: forget what I may have said to you, but
believe that if I were called on to sacrifice my life to save you any
pain, however slight in its nature, I would do so at a moment," said
Leon.

Maria replied, raising her eyes to heaven, "God is my witness that the
words which you have just uttered will never pass from my mind: but as
I told you, I am happy now, and when the convent gate has again closed
on me, I shall have neither pain nor sorrow to endure, for I shall die."

A dull cry burst from Leon's breast; he looked at the maiden, who was
smiling calmly and tranquilly.

"And now," she said to Leon, "I will join my sister again, for I fancy
I am beginning to be chilled."

And hurriedly proceeding to the tent, under which the principal members
of her family were assembled, she left Leon to his thoughts. From this
moment, Leon abandoned himself with delight to the irresistible charm
of the love which he felt for Maria. This man, with the nerves of
steel, who had witnessed the most terrible scenes without turning pale,
who with a smile on his lips had braved the greatest dangers, found
himself without the strength to combat the strange feeling which had
unconsciously settled in his heart. Hitherto squandering his youth's
energy in wild saturnalia, Leon felt for the first time in his life
that he loved, and he did not question the future, reserved for a
passion whose issue could not be favourable.

Still, and although illusion was almost impossible, the young man, with
that want of logic of love which seems to grow in proportion to the
insurmountable obstacles opposed to it, yielded to the torrent which
bore him away, confiding to chance, which may at any moment effect a
miracle.

In addition to the numberless obstacles which Leon might expect to
find on the road, Diego's plans of vengeance alarmed him more than all
the rest. He knew that the half-breed's will did not recoil before any
excess; that if he had resolved to avenge himself on the Soto-Mayor
family, no power would be strong enough to prevent him. Hence a shudder
passed through Leon's veins when he was rejoined by Diego, and the
latter, on perceiving Leon, had said to him--

"The girl you love is near you without any interference on my part; all
the better, brother, it is your duty to watch over her henceforth, and
I will take charge of the others."

Leon was about to open his mouth to reply, but a look from the
half-breed caused the words to expire on his lips. The reader now knows
why the captain, after saluting the ladies, started to place himself at
the head of the band and watch Diego.

The sun was on the point of disappearing upon the horizon when the
party reached the wood which Leon had indicated to Don Juan as the spot
where they would pass the night. All halted, and the preparations for
camping were made.

In Chili, and generally throughout South America, you do not find on
the roads that infinite number of inns and hostelries which encumber
ours, and where travellers are so pitilessly plundered. In these
countries, which are almost deserted, owing to the tyrannical rule of
the Spaniards and the philanthropy of the English, this is how people
behave in order to obtain rest after a long day's journey.

The travellers choose the spot which appears to them most suitable,
generally on the banks of a river, the mules are unloaded, and they are
left for the night to their own instincts, which never deceive them,
and enable them to find pasture. The bales are placed upon one another
in a circle of sixty or eighty feet; in the middle of this enclosure a
large fire is lit and carefully kept up in order to keep wild beasts at
bay, and each man placing his weapons by his side arranges himself to
pass the night as comfortably as he can.

Our travellers installed themselves in the way we have described, with
this distinction, that as General Soto-Mayor had a tent among his
baggage, the peons put it up in the centre of the camp, and as it was
divided into two parts, it formed sleeping rooms for Don Juan, his
wife, and his daughters. After a supper of jerked beef and ham, the
muleteers, wearied with their day's journey, took a glance around to
see that all was in order, and then lay down, with the exception of one
who remained up as sentry.

Diego, Leon, and the Soto-Mayor family were sitting round the fire and
talking of the distance they still had to go before reaching their
destination. In these countries there is no twilight, and the supper
was hardly over before it became pitch dark.

"Miguel!" the general said to a peon standing close behind him, "give
me the bota."

The peon fetched a large goatskin, which might contain some fifteen
quarts, and was full of rum.

"Gentlemen!" the general continued, addressing the smugglers, "be kind
enough to taste this rum; it is a present made me by General Saint
Martin, in memory of the battle of Maypa, in which I was wounded while
charging a Spanish square."

The bota passed from hand to hand, while the ladies, seated on
carpets, were sipping water and smoking their cigarettes.

"It is excellent," said Leon, after swallowing a mouthful; "it is real
Jamaica."

"I am delighted that it pleases you," Don Juan continued, kindly; "for
in that case, you will not refuse to accept this bota, which will
remind you of our journey when we have separated."

"Oh!" Leon exclaimed, casting a fiery look at Maria, whose cheeks
turned purple, "I shall remember it, believe me, and I thank you
sincerely for this present."

"Say no more about it, pray, my dear captain; and tell me whether you
think we are still far from Talca."

"By starting early tomorrow we shall be by ten in the forenoon at the
mountain of Amehisto, and two hours later at Talca."

"So soon?" Maria murmured.

Leon looked at the maiden, and there was a silence; the general
calculated the distance that separated Talca from Valdivia, the ladies
smoked, and Diego was deep in thought. Suddenly the sound of galloping
horses could be heard, the sound soon grew louder, and the sentry
shouted, "Who goes there?"

In a second everybody was up, the men leaped to their weapons, and the
ladies, by Leon's orders, went into the tent to lie down on the ground
and remain perfectly motionless. No one had answered the sentry's
challenge.

"Who goes there?" he repeated, as he cocked his piece.

"Amigos!" a powerful voice answered, which re-echoed in the silence of
the night.

Every heart beat anxiously; a dozen horsemen could be noticed moving
in the darkness about thirty yards off; but the gloom was so dense that
it was impossible to recognise them, or know with whom they had to deal.

"Say what you want or I fire," the sentry shouted for the third time,
as he levelled his piece.

"Down with your arms, friends," the same voice, still perfectly calm,
repeated; "I am Don Pedro Sallazar."

"Yes! yes!" the general exclaimed, joyfully, as he threw down his gun,
"I recognise him: let Don Pedro enter, my friends."

Four men hastily removed some bales to make a passage for the officer
who entered the camp, while his escort remained outside. The general
stepped forward to meet the newcomer.

"How is it you are here?" he asked him. "I fancied you were at
Santiago."

"You will soon learn," Pedro replied, "for I have important
communications to make to you. But first permit me to give some
instructions to the men who accompany me."

Then turning to his soldiers, he said, "Cabo Lopez, take care that no
one leaves the camp, and post yourself here, and try to be on good
terms with the worthy persons here present."

"Yes, general," the corporal answered, with a bow.

"What? general!" Don Juan asked, with surprise. "Are you really a
general, my dear Don Pedro?"

"I will explain all that to you," Don Pedro replied, with a smile;
"in the meanwhile, however, lead me to your tent, for what I have to
communicate to you does not require any witnesses."

"Certainly; and make haste, that I may present you to these ladies,
who will be agreeably surprised at seeing you."

Don Pedro bowed, and followed the general, who led him into the tent
where the ladies had taken refuge in apprehension of an attack. During
this time the smugglers did the honours of the camp to the soldiers
with all the courtesy they were capable of displaying under such
circumstances. At the end of a quarter of an hour they fraternized in
the most cordial way, thanks to the aguardiente of Pisco, with which
the lanceros were abundantly provided.




CHAPTER X.

INSIDE THE TENT.


When the alarm was given by the sentry, Diego, usually so prompt to go
and meet danger, rose cautiously, and without making a single gesture
which could reveal any anxiety, stood leaning on his rifle with a smile
on his lips. So soon as the Spaniards had disappeared in the tent, Leon
turned to him with an inquiring glance, which the latter only replied
to by a very careless nod.

"Did you know, then, that we should meet Don Pedro?"

"I presumed so," Diego replied, laconically.

"In truth, for some days past, brother," said Leon, "things have
occurred of which you keep the secret to yourself."

"What are they?"

"In the first place, this journey which you consented to make with the
Soto-Mayor family as far as Valdivia."

"What, you complain of it, and your beauty is with you?"

"Certainly not; but after all, we have nothing to do at Valdivia."

"You are right, if you are referring to our commercial trips; but as
regards my personal interests," the half-breed added, his large eyes
flashing in the darkness, "the case is very different."

"What do you mean?"

"That we must go there because we are expected there. However, if you
wish to know more, come, and you will see that the two days I spent in
Valparaíso were put to good purpose."

And leading his friend, and warning him to be silent, he cautiously
passed to the other side of the tent. On reaching that point, Diego lay
down on the ground, invited Leon to imitate him, and gently raising a
corner of the tent, he listened to what was being said inside.

"We are doing wrong," said Leon.

"Silence," the other replied, "and listen."

The captain obeyed, and looked at the persons who were conversing,
while not losing one of the words which they interchanged.

"I cannot imagine," said Don Juan, "how it is that you, whom I fancied
at Santiago, are now only a few leagues from Talca."

"It is because a good many strange things have happened since my
arrival in that city."

"What are they?" asked Inez, whose curiosity was aroused.

"Speak, Don Pedro, I implore you," said Don Juan in his turn.

"I will do so, general. The Chilian government, which, as you are
aware, is unable to cope with the incessant invasions of the Araucano
Indians, reluctantly agreed to treat with them, and supply them
annually with necessaries, such as corn, tools, and weapons which
they might have need of. At various times, however, it attempted to
shake off this disgraceful yoke; and the Indians, beaten and dispersed
in various encounters, appeared to comprehend how ridiculous these
claims were, and have refrained, during the last two years, from
claiming the tribute, and making incursions into the territory of the
republic. Hence, what was our astonishment when, four days ago, we
saw arrive at Santiago a dozen Indian bravos in their war paint, who
marched haughtily in Indian file, and proceeded with the silence that
characterizes them toward the Government Palace."

"'What do you want?' the officer of the guard asked them at the moment
when they passed through the gates."

"'Art thou a chief?' one of the Indians replied, who appeared to
exercise a certain authority over the rest."

"'Yes,' the officer replied, without hesitation."

"'Maitai,' said the Indian, 'tell our great white father that his
Indian sons of the Pere Mapou have held a great deliberation round
the council fire, at the end of which they resolved to send him a
deputation of twelve warriors, chosen from the twelve great Molucho
nations, in order that the dissensions which have, up to this day,
reigned between our great white father and his Indian sons may be
eternally extinguished, and the war hatchet buried so deeply in the
earth that it can never be found again.'"

"The officer then informed the President of the Republic of the strange
visitors who had arrived; and, as the senate was assembled, orders were
at once given to introduce the Indians with all the respect due to
their ambassadorial quality, and the lofty mission with which they were
entrusted."

"When the twelve envoys entered the Senate Hall, which was splendidly
decorated and filled with officers dressed in magnificent uniforms,
they did not appear at all dazzled by the sight of this unexpected
pomp; they slowly advanced towards the foot of the dais on which the
President of the Republic was standing to receive them, and after
bowing they folded their arms on their chests and waited."

"'My Indian sons are welcome,' the President said, in a soft and
insinuating voice."

"'My father is a great chief,' the Indian who had hitherto spoken
replied. 'Guatechu will protect him because he is good.'"

"The President bowed his thanks."

"'What do my Indian sons desire?'" he asked.

"'The Ulmens,' the orator resumed, 'assembled in the seventh moon of
this year round the council fire and asked themselves the following
questions:--'"

"'Why are not our white fathers satisfied with the possession of the
lands which we left to them on the seashore?'"

"'Why do they refuse to pay us the tribute they consented to, as they
have done up to this day?'"

"'Why, instead of kindly treating the Indians whom they capture, do
they use them cruelly?'"

"'Why, lastly, do they wish to compel the sons of Bheman to renounce
the faith of their fathers?'"

"You can understand," Don Pedro continued, "the amazement produced in
the minds of the senate by the Indian's speech, which demanded the
establishment of the Chilian frontiers, the payment of the impost, and
the liberation of the plundering and vagabond Indians. Only one reply
was possible, a pure and simple refusal. This was given; but then the
Indian, whose stoicism had not failed him for a single instant, drew,
without a word, a packet from under his poncho, and laid it on the dais
at the President's feet. It was a bundle of arrows, whose points were
dipped in blood, and which were fastened together by a cascabel's skin."

"Then, taking advantage of the general stupor, the ambassadors
withdrew, and when, a quarter of an hour later, the President ordered
them to be pursued, it was too late; they appeared to have become
suddenly invisible."

"Why, it is war," the old general suddenly interrupted, who had been
listening with sustained attention to Don Pedro's narrative; "war with
the Indians."

"Yes; a war such as they carry on, without truce or mercy, and which,
incredible to relate, has already begun."

"What?" said Don Juan.

"Alas! yes; two hours after the strange disappearance of the Indians, a
courier reached Santiago at full gallop, announcing that the Araucanos,
more than fifty thousand in number, had crossed the Bio Bio, and were
firing and destroying all the villages up to the gates of Valdivia,
while another band had arrived under the very walls of Ports Araucos
and Incapel."

"On hearing this news, the President of the Republic offered me the
command of the province of Valdivia, while ordering me at the same time
to explore the neighbourhood of Talca. I eagerly accepted, and set out
with the rank of general, following at only a few hours' interval your
son Don Juan, who has received orders to defend Incapel."

"What, Don Juan!" the señorita Soto-Mayor interrupted.

"Yes, your son, madam, or, if you prefer it, Lieutenant-Colonel Don
Juan, for lie, too, has received the reward due to his merit; but,
now that I think of it, he must have passed in the vicinity, and I
am surprised that you have not seen him, for as he was aware of your
departure for Valdivia, he hoped like myself, to meet you on the road."

"It is probable," the old gentleman remarked, "that he passed at a
distance during one of your night halts; and yet we have not left the
usual road."

"Oh," said Inez, "I am very sorry that my brother was unable to embrace
us before proceeding to his post."

"I regret it, too, my child; but he did well in avoiding a meeting with
us, if the time he might have given us could be employed in making
speed. The duty of a soldier is superior to family joys. As for you,
Don Pedro, though the news you have brought us is afflicting to the
heart of a Chilian, I thank you for having come to inform me, and I
implore you to continue your journey, while we make sincere vows for
the success of your arms."

"I thank you, general, but I can remain with you without any
inconvenience. As I told you, I am marching at easy stages, in order to
assure myself of the state of the roads as far as Valdivia, and if you
intend to continue your journey as far as that town, I will ask your
permission to join your party with my men."

"Most willingly. My plan is most assuredly to go to Valdivia, and as we
are close to Talca, it would be folly to turn back."

"Pardon me, general, if I insist, but it is because I have not yet told
you all you ought to know."

And Don Pedro seemed to hesitate before proceeding.

"Speak, speak," the general and his wife said in chorus; "what is it?"

"If the reports which have reached Santiago are correct, the Indians
have plundered and burnt your fine haciendas between the Bio Bio and
the Valdivia."

"It is the fortune of war," Don Juan answered in a hollow voice; "and
if I have only that misfortune to deplore, I shall console myself."

"It is also stated," Don Pedro continued, anxious to finish the sad
story he was telling, "that your brother Don Luis has been utterly
ruined by a band of Indian bravos, who suddenly attacked his estates
with fire and sword, and devastated them."

General Soto-Mayor had remained motionless on hearing of the misfortune
which personally affected him, but on learning that which had assailed
his brother, he could not restrain the indignation which he felt
against those of whom he was the victim.

"Oh, these villains! these villains!" he exclaimed, stamping his foot
passionately; "will they never be weary of persecuting my unhappy
family? Oh, you know not, my children, what this accursed race is,
these Indians! Oh, why cannot I crush to the last of these impious
cowards who have done me so much injury? Don Pedro, fight them, make
them perish in the most cruel tortures, and bid my son remember that
the Soto-Mayors have ever been the implacable foes of these obstinate
demons; let him avenge his family, since the sword of his father is now
in his hands."

The old man was suffering from an agitation impossible to describe, his
face was covered with a sallow pallor, and a nervous tremor agitated
his limbs. The remembrance of all the hatreds of former days was
rekindled in his heart. The ladies, terrified at the state in which he
was, strove to calm him.

"Oh, you are right," Don Juan said, a moment later; "I did wrong to
break out thus in empty words, for throughout the wide republic of
Chili there will be no want of arms to crush my enemies under their
blows, and since a Soto-Mayor is fighting, I ought rather to bless
heaven for not allowing me to die ere I had seen the triumph of my
race. My brother has recovered, you say, Don Pedro; hence it is more
than ever my duty to go to him and console him, and offer him one half
of what is left to me. I am still rich enough to relieve one of my
family."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Come," Diego said at this moment to Leon, making him a sign to rise;
"you have heard enough."

"Oh!" the young man exclaimed, sorrowfully, "all this is frightful."

"Why so?" the half-breed said. "As the old man remarked, it is the
fortune of war."

"Oh, ill-fated family!"

"To which do you allude?--to mine or that man's? Yes;" he added, with a
terrible accent, "unhappy is the family which, born to command millions
of men, finds itself reduced to wander about without shelter or friend
among his enemies. Is that what you are pitying, brother?"

"Forgive me, Diego. I swore to help your vengeance because it is just,
so dispose of me."

"Good!"

"But why stoop so low as to wish to torture women?" Leon continued;
"would the noble lion murder timid hares? Avenge yourselves on men,
face to face, chest to chest, but not on women."

"Leon, the woman who loves my brother is my sister, and she shall be
happy and respected, because in exchange my brother has left me at
liberty to dispose of the others. Remember that a Tahi-Mari was the
brother of Mikaa, and that the mistress of Don Ruíz de Soto-Mayor, was
the wife of a Tahi-Mari."

"Enough, brother; I remember it."

The two men had returned to the middle of the camp, and were now
walking side by side; a deep silence had followed the last words of
the smuggler captain. It was hardly nine in the evening; the night was
calm; thousands of stars glittered in the azure of the celestial vault,
spreading over the peaks of the mountains which bordered the horizon a
vaporous light; the moon shone brilliantly, and a light breeze made the
leaves of the large palm trees that surrounded the camp rustle.

Suddenly a shrill whistle traversed the air: Diego startled, stretched
out his head, and with his eyes fixed on the distance, listened
attentively.

"It is a coral snake!" Leon exclaimed, as he looked round him with
instinctive terror.

A few seconds passed and another whistle was heard in the same
direction, but nearer.

"It is a coral snake, I tell you," Leon repeated.

"Silence!" said Diego, seizing his arm.

And taking from his lips the cigarette which he was smoking, the
half-breed shook off the ash, and threw it in the air, where it
described a luminous parabola; then he turned to his friend.

"Come with me," he said to him.

"Where to?"

"There," Diego replied, pointing to the wood, in front of which the
camp was pitched.

"What to do?"

"You will learn."

"But they?" Leon said, hesitatingly, as he pointed to the tent in which
the Soto-Mayor family was assembled.

"Be at rest."

"But really--"

"The moment has arrived, brother," Diego said, fixing his flashing eyes
on the young man; "I have need of you."

"In that case I am ready."

"Thanks, brother."

And the two smugglers, forcing a passage through the trunks and bales
which formed the outer wall of the camp, disappeared unseen by the
sentry, and buried themselves in the tall grass.




CHAPTER XI.

THE SONS OF THE TORTOISE.


After walking for about ten minutes the two smugglers stopped; then
Diego, looking around him inquiringly, imitated the whistle which had
served as a signal to him, with such perfection that Leon at the first
moment could not refrain from starting, although he knew it was his
friend who had uttered it. Almost at the same instant, an Indian in
full war paint rose before them: with his motionless body carelessly
leaning on his rifle, he contemplated them silently, doubtless waiting
to be addressed.

He was a man of about thirty years of age, of a height exceeding six
feet, perfectly proportioned in all his limbs, and who offered the
true type of Indian beauty--strength united to elegance of figure:
his solidly attached and muscular limbs seemed to possess incredible
elasticity and suppleness; his forehead was lofty and open; his eyes
covered by thick brows and fringed with long lashes, were black,
piercing, and restless; his bent nose, and his handsomely chiselled
mouth, lined with teeth of dazzling whiteness, produced an _ensemble_
really stamped with grandeur, but slightly obscured by the expression
of pride, disdain, and cunning, which animated his countenance.

NO tattooing disfigured his face, which was of a dark copper colour.
His dress was extremely simple; his long black hair, drawn up and
fastened on the top of his head by a thong made of a snakeskin, fell
in large curls on his shoulders, while an eagle's feather placed on
the side indicated his rank as chief. He was wrapped up in a poncho,
and through the girdle which served to hold up the wide drawers, which
fell to his knees, were passed an axe, a machete, an ox horn, which
served as a powder flask, and a bullet bag of llama skin. His legs were
covered with boots of oxhide, unassailable by the bites of the reptiles
so dangerous in these countries, round which he wore human scalp locks
as garters. A second poncho, much wider and larger than the other, fell
carelessly from his right shoulder to the ground, and was employed
as a mantle. On seeing the Indian, Diego waved his hand, and said to
him--"My brother is welcome."

The Indian bowed without replying.

"What does my brother desire?" Diego continued.

"Iskarre is growing on the holy Inapere and the hour has arrived; all
the Molucho warriors are assembled; is the descendant of the great
Tahi-Mari ready to answer his brothers?"

"My brother will guide me," Diego replied, without any further remark.

"Matai! my brother can come, then, and he will see the great Molucho
chiefs."

While uttering these words the Indian looked at Leon with marked
suspicion, but whether that he did not dare question Diego about
him, or expected an explanation from the latter, he resolved to show
the road to the two men. The further he advanced the thicker the wood
became, but the Indian marched lightly, without any hesitation, and
like a man perfectly acquainted with the locality. Turning his head
repeatedly to the right and left, he examined the thickets and clumps
of trees, and after half an hour of this rapid and silent march he
halted. They had reached the entrance of a vast clearing, in the centre
of which some forty men were assembled; the Indian made the smugglers a
sign not to advance, and went off with the straightness of an arrow in
the direction of the Indians. A strange spectacle was then offered to
Leon.

The Indians were smoking round a large fire, whose reddish glare
illumined them, and a dozen huts of boughs hastily constructed, proved
that this temporary encampment was not a mere night halt. A few Indians
walked up and down before these huts, while others, rifle in hand,
seemed to be guarding two European prisoners, whose features the
distance and scene prevented the smugglers from distinguishing, and who
were lying at the foot of a tree with their limbs bound.

The Indian who had guided Diego and Leon went up to those of his
brothers who seemed to be the oldest, and spoke to them with great
animation. They soon rose and entered a hut, and then came out again
almost immediately, addressing a few words to the men who were guarding
the prisoners. The latter raised the Europeans from the ground and
carried them into the hut.

"All this is inexplicable," Leon said to his companion; "what mean
these comings and goings?--who are the two men being dragged away?"

And he made a movement as if to rush forward.

"Do not stir," Diego exclaimed, as he held him back: "no imprudence,
for the slightest movement would ruin us; do you not know that we are
surrounded by invisible watchers? Know that behind every one of the
trees that surround us is hidden a man, whose eye is fixed upon us."

Leon made no reply, but continued to observe, till their Indian guide
reappeared.

"My brothers will follow me," he said, so soon as he was a few steps
from the smugglers.

They bowed and obeyed; and Longscalp led them right down the clearing,
and introduced them into the most spacious hut. It to some extent
resembled a beehive, except that its base was square, and might be
thirty feet in depth, by the same in width. The narrow, low door only
allowed passage for one man at a time, and he was obliged to stoop. In
the roof a hole was made for the smoke which escaped from a fire of
dried branches that occupied the centre of the hut.

Twelve or fourteen Indians, gravely squatting on their heels, smoked
while listening in the most religious silence to a Sayotkatta, who
could be easily recognised by his pacific costume, which consisted of
a long white dress of llama hair, fastened round his hips by a blue
and red girdle. His hair, parted on his forehead, fell on his neck,
and he wore on his head a species of diadem composed of a gold fillet
surmounted by an image representing a tortoise supporting the sun. His
features, though grave and stern, had something gentle and majestic
about them which inspired respect.

It was he who pointed out to Diego and Leon a place at the lire, and
without appearing to pay any further attention to the newcomers, he
began speaking, all raising their eyes to him.

"At the beginning of ages," he said, in a guttural and marked voice,
"when Guatechu only reigned over the chaos of the worlds, there existed
but six men, who, tossed about by the winds, wandered on the backs of
clouds, which allowed them to soar over the immensity of space. These
men were sad, because they understood that their race was accursed and
could not be perpetuated."

"One day, when they met, they all passed onto the same cloud, and held
a council, in order to arrange a plan for avoiding such a misfortune.
For a long time they had been talking together and proposing measures
one more impracticable than the other, when suddenly Mayoba appeared in
the midst of them. He gazed at them for a moment in silence, then an
ironical smile curled his upper lip, and he said to them, in a voice
that resembled the hoarse howling of a distant storm--"

"What you are seeking exists; choose the bravest and handsomest from
among you, for he alone can attempt the adventure: let him go to
Paradise, where he will find Ataentsic, the woman; it is she who will
prevent your race from perishing, and that is the reason why Guatechu
keeps her far from you, in order that you may perish, for he repents
having made you."

"After uttering these words Mayoba disappeared with a burst of savage
and shrill laughter, which caused the men to shudder with terror. Our
first fathers held another council, and pointed out one among them, the
handsomest and whitest among them, of the name of Hoquaho, to go and
conquer Ataentsic."

"Hoquaho accepted the mission entrusted to him, and aided by his five
companions, he piled up the clouds on each other in order to scale
Paradise: but, in spite of all their efforts, the distance seemed ever
to remain the same, and they began to despair of succeeding in this
bold enterprise on seeing the inutility of their efforts, when the
birds of heaven that had followed their movements anxiously had pity
on them, and forming into a compact flock, made a convenient seat for
Hoquaho, whom they bore away on their wings."

"On reaching Paradise, Hoquaho concealed himself behind a tree opposite
the wigwam in which Ataentsic was, and he waited till she came out, as
she was accustomed to do every morning, to go and draw water at the
spring. As soon as she appeared, he went up to her and offered her some
grizzly bear's grease to eat, of which he had laid in a stock."

"The woman, surprised and charmed by the appearance of Hoquaho, easily
let herself be seduced, and they soon came to a perfect understanding;
but Guatechu soon perceived what had happened, and furious at seeing
his plans overthrown by the fault of a woman, he expelled the two
unhappy beings from Paradise, and hurled them into space."

"They fell thus for nine days and nine nights, imploring, but in vain,
the mercy of Guatechu, for he had stopped up his ears with wax, and
did not hear. At length a tortoise took pity on the wretched couple,
and placed itself under their feet to stop the fearful fall. Then the
otters, cayonans, and sea fish went to the bottom of the waters to
fetch clay, which they brought up and fixed all round the shell of
the tortoise, and thus they formed a small island, which gradually
increased through their incessant labour, and ended by forming the
earth such as you see it at present."

"Thus, sons of Hoquaho, the first man, you come," said the Sayotkatta,
in conclusion, "to respect and adore Chemiin, who is the soul of the
world, and the centre of the universe, which his shell alone supports
and enables to float in immensity."

"Matai!" cried the Indians, inflamed by their priest's narrative,
"Chemiin Aulon (the Tortoise-sun) is the master of the world."

The Sayotkatta hung his head on his breast, and throwing over his
eyes the corner of the ample poncho which floated from his shoulders,
he remained plunged in deep meditation. After this a gloomy silence
fell upon this strange assembly. Then an Indian, whose great age was
indicated by his noble but worn features, and his long grey hair, took
up a calumet full of tobacco, lit it at the fire, took a few whiffs,
and passed it to his right hand neighbour, who did the same. The
calumet thus went round the circle till it returned to the old Indian,
who seemed to preside over the meeting.

He finished the tobacco, and when the last grain was consumed, shook
the ash out on his hand, and threw it in the fire, saying--

"This is the supreme council at which the great Molucho chiefs are
present. May Agrikoué come to our assistance, for the war hatchet is
dug up, and the Sons of the Tortoise are about to recapture their
territory, unjustly invaded by the palefaces."

"May Agrikoué aid us!" the Indians repeated.

"Which are the nations," the old man continued, "ready to take part in
the struggle?"

Then one of the Indians spoke in reply,

"The Tecuitles of the Curuhi, whose hunting ground extends from the
town of Valparaíso to the Gulf of Guapatika, has raised the war cry,
and six thousand fighting men have answered his appeal. I have spoken."

Another spoke as follows--

"The Tecuitles of the Huiliches has assembled seven thousand warriors."

Then another said in his turn--

"Four thousand Oumas are awaiting the signal."

"Ten thousand Puelches are ready to utter the war cry," said a fourth.

"Eight thousand Tehuels are under arms," continued another.

After the chief who had last spoken rose a man whose features had
a singular blending of the European and Indian tribe. In fact, his
tribe was descended from the crews of three Spanish ships, who, having
mutinied, abandoned their officers, and landed on the American coast,
where they settled. By degrees they became allied with the Indians,
whose religion and customs they adopted, and multiplied to such an
extent as to form a tribe.

"The Aigueles," he said, "have five thousand warriors round the war
stake."

"My brothers the Ulmens have done well," the president replied, "and
the great confederation will be complete; nearly all the nations have
risen, and Guatechu will give us the victory. The Moluchos count thirty
thousand warriors, who, with twenty-five thousand of the sacred tribe
of the great Toltoru, have passed the Bio Bio, and are encamped on the
banks of the Valdivia: one nation, however, has not sent a deputy to
the great council, and the valiant Jaos alone are not represented here."

"My father is mistaken," replied a young Indian of martial aspect,
whose face, bathed in perspiration and clothes covered with dust,
indicated the speed he had displayed in covering the ground which
separated his territory from the place of council. "It is a long
distance from the country of the Jaos to that of the Moluchos, but
twelve thousand men are following me."

A quiver of enthusiasm ran round, the assembly.

"My son is welcome," replied the aged man. "The Jaos honour us by
sending us a chief so celebrated as Tcharanguii, the invincible Ulmen."

A flush of satisfaction passed over the features of the young chief of
the Jaos.

"You see," the old Indian continued, "that one hundred thousand
warriors will march along the war trail, resolved at length to take
back the territory which the Spaniards have so long unjustly held.
Everything is at length ready. The great confederation which has
enveloped them for the last twenty years in its thousand folds is
about to draw closer and crush them. War to the death upon the cruel
invaders, and let us drive them into the sea which vomited them up. No
truce, no pity, and to the courage of the Lion let us add the prudence
of the Serpent."

Then, turning to Diego, who, during the whole period that this scene
had lasted, remained motionless by the side of Leon, whose anxiety was
increasing, he said--

"The hour has arrived for my son Tahi-Mari to rise and give us a report
of the manner in which he has carried out the mission entrusted to him
twenty years ago by the assembled chiefs of the great Molucho nations.
Our ears are open, and all my sons will listen, for it is a great chief
who is about to speak!"

For the first time since Leon had known Diego, the face of the latter
grew animated, and a smile of triumph had taken the place of the cold
expression of indifference which seemed stereotyped on his lips. He
bowed to the chief, whose eyes were fixed on him, and leaning on his
long rifle, he raised his head and answered in a firm voice--

"I am ready to reply to my father, Unacha Cuayac, and to the great
chiefs of the twelve nations. I am the son of the tortoise, and my race
supports the world. Let them question and I will answer."

"My brother will speak, for, as he has said, he is the son of the
Chemiin which supports the world," the Indian remarked, "and the words
that fall from his lips rejoice our heart."

Diego began--

"Twenty years ago the great chiefs, fatigued with the continued
vexations of the Spaniards, formed a vast confederation, and assembled,
as on the present day, in a supreme council to consider the means to
be employed in order to end the struggle which they had supported so
long, and finally free themselves from those sanguinary and perfidious
strangers, who had in one day stolen from us our gods, our hunting
grounds, and our wealth. As at the present day, more than one hundred
thousand warriors dug up the war hatchet, assembled to invoke Guatechu
at the foot of the war post, and took an oath to live free or die. The
signal was about to be given, and Okikiouasa was already waving his
fatal torch ready to bear fire and death among our ferocious enemies,
when a chief rose in the council and asked permission to speak. This
chief was my father, Tahi-Mari, a warrior renowned for his valour in
combat, and an old man revered for his wisdom at the council fire;
he alone, when all loudly demanded war, dared to speak in favour
of peace; but Tahi-Mari was so respected by the other chiefs, that
far from bursting into fury against the man who tried to overthrow
their projects, they listened to him in silence. What he said you
all know, and hence I need not repeat it; the chiefs accepted his
advice, and it was resolved that a young Molucho warrior, chosen among
the most worthy, should leave his tribe and go among the Spaniards,
whose manners and religion he should pretend to adopt; that he should
pass five years among them, trying to surprise all the secrets which
rendered them invincible, and after that period should come and give an
account of his mission to the great council of the nations."

"This mission was delicate and difficult to carry out; continual
dissimulation was imposed on the man who undertook it; an hourly
torture, by forcing him to live with his most cruel enemies, and feign
for them friendship and attachment. The choice fell upon me, not
because I was the most worthy, but because I was the son of Tahi-Mari,
the great beloved Inca chief of the Moluchos. I joyfully accepted
the painful though honourable distinction offered me; I at that time
counted eighteen summers; life appeared to me happy and smiling: I had
a bride to whom I was to be married at the next melting of the snow,
but I was compelled to abandon this sweet dream, renounce the happiness
which I had promised myself, and devote myself to the service of my
country. I left everything without regret, for the chiefs had spoken,
and I ought to feel jealous of the honour they had done me. The five
years passed, then five others, but the hour for deliverance did not
strike; for twenty years, in fine, I wandered about all the countries
subjected to the Spaniards, listening at each step that I took to the
maledictions which fell upon those of my race. My father died, and I
w

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