The Adventurers

"Capitally well played," he said, replying by a knowing wink to the triumphant smile of the machi; "now it is my turn. Let my brothers take heart!" he added, in a loud, firm voice. "No misfortune threatens them; this man speaks thus because he is afraid to die; he knows he is guilty, and that Pillian will not protect him."

The machi darted a glance at him gleaming with hatred, seized the sword, and, imitating as well as he knew how what he had seen, with desperate quickness plunged the blade down his throat. A stream of black blood sprang from his mouth, his eyes glared hideously, his arms shook convulsively, he staggered two steps forward, and fell flat upon his face. The people crowded round him – he was dead.

"Let this lying dog be thrown to the vultures," said Curumilla, kicking the lifeless body with contempt.

"We are brothers for life and death," cried Trangoil-Lanec, embracing Valentine.

"Well," the young man said with a smile, to his friend, "I think I have not got very badly through that affair – eh? You see, it is well, sometimes, to have practised many trades; even that of a mountebank may serve at need."

"Do not calumniate your heart and courage," Louis replied, warmly pressing his hand; "you have; saved the life of a man."

"Aye; but I have killed another."

"Oh, he was a guilty wretch!"

CHAPTER XXI
THE OBSEQUIES OF AN APO-ULMEN

The emotion caused by the death of the machi gradually died away, and order was re-established. Curumilla and Trangoil-Lanec, abjuring any feeling of enmity, exchanged a fraternal embrace, amidst the frantic applause of the warriors, who loved both the chiefs.

"Now my father is avenged, we can restore his body to the earth," Curumilla observed. Then, advancing towards the strangers, he bowed to them, saying —

"Will the palefaces assist at the obsequies?"

"We will," Louis replied.

"My toldo is large," the chief continued; "my brothers will do me honour by consenting to inhabit it during their sojourn with the tribe."

Louis was about to reply, but Trangoil-Lanec hastily prevented him.

"My brothers the palefaces," he said, "have deigned to accept my poor hospitality."

The young men bowed in silence.

"Good!" the Ulmen continued. "Of what consequence is that? Whichever be the toldo the Muruches may choose, I shall consider them as my guests."

"Many thanks, chief," Valentine replied; "be assured that we are grateful for your kindness."

The Ulmen then took leave of the Frenchmen, and resumed his place by the side of his father's corpse, and the ceremonies commenced. The Araucanos are not, as some travellers have led us to believe, a people destitute of any faith; on the contrary, their faith is warm, and their religion rests upon bases which are not deficient in grandeur. They have no dogma, and yet they recognize two principles – that of good and that of evil.

The first, named Pillian, is the Creating God; the second, named Guécubu, is the Destroying God. Guécubu is in a state of continual struggle with Pillian, endeavouring to disturb the harmony of the world, and destroy what exists; by which we see that the doctrine of Manicheism was embraced by the barbarians of both the old and the new world, who, being unable to penetrate the causes of good and evil, have imagined two contrary principles. In addition to these two principal deities, the Araucanos recognize a considerable number of secondary genii, who assist Pillian in his contest with Guécubu. These genii are males and females; the latter are all virgins, for – and it is a refined idea which we could not expect in a barbarous people – procreation is not necessary in the supernatural world. The male gods are named Géru, or lords; the females, Amey-Malghen, or spiritual nymphs.

The Araucanos believe in the immortality of the soul, and, consequently, in a future life, in which the warriors who have distinguished themselves on earth hunt in game-abounding prairies, surrounded by everything they have loved. Like all American aborigines, the Araucanos are extremely superstitious. Their worship consists in assembling in the medicine toldo, where there is a shapeless idol, said to represent Pillian. They weep; they utter loud cries, with numberless contortions; and sacrifice to him a sheep, a cow, a horse, or a chilihuegue.

At a signal from Curumilla, the warriors drew back to give place to the women, who surrounded the body, and began to walk in a circle, singing in a low and plaintive tone the noble feats of the deceased. At the expiration of about an hour, the cortege moved off after the corpse, which was borne by the four most renowned warriors of the tribe, and directed its course towards a hill where the place of sepulture was prepared. Behind followed the women, casting handfuls of hot ashes over the traces left by the passage of the funeral train; so that if the soul of the defunct should have any inclination to return to its body, it would not be able to find the way to his toldo, or come and trouble his heirs.

When the body was laid in the grave, Curumilla cut the throats of his father's dogs and horses, which were placed near him, to enable him to hunt in the happy prairies. Within reach of his hand was placed a certain quantity of provisions for the nourishment of himself and the tempulazzy, or boatman, appointed to convey him to the other country, and into the presence of Pillian, where he is to be judged according to his good or evil actions. Earth was then thrown in upon the body. But, as the defunct had been a renowned warrior, a heap of stones was collected, of which a pyramid was formed; then everyone walked slowly once more round the tomb, pouring upon it a great quantity of chica. The relations and friends returned dancing and singing to the village, where awaited them one of those Homeric repasts of Araucanian funerals called cahuins, which last till all the partakers lie upon the ground utterly intoxicated.

Beyond a little natural curiosity, our travellers did not take much interest in the ceremony or feast; they were fatigued, and preferred a short repose. Trangoil-Lanec guessed their thoughts; and, as soon as the procession returned, he left his companions, and offered to conduct the young men to his dwelling. They availed themselves of his kindness with alacrity. Like all Araucanian huts, this was a vast wooden building, covered with whitewashed mud, in the form of a rectangle, the roof being a terrace. This simple, airy residence displayed, in its interior, a perfect Dutch cleanliness.

Trangoil-Lanec, as we have said, was one of the richest and most respected chiefs of his tribe, and had eight wives. Polygamy is allowed among the Moluches. When an Indian is desirous of marrying a woman, he declares his purpose to her parent, and fixes the number of animals he is willing to give. His conditions being accepted, he comes with a few friends, carries off the young woman, throws her on the saddle behind him, and gallops off to the woods, in the depths of which the couple remain three days. On the fourth they return; he slaughters a young mare in front of the hut of the father of his bride, and the marriage festivities begin. The abduction of the bride, and the sacrifice of the mare, take the place of a civil contract. After this fashion an Araucano is at liberty to marry as many wives as he can support. And yet, the first wife, who bears the title of unem domo, or legitimate wife, is most honoured; she has the direction of the household, and is the superior of the others, who are called inam domo, or secondary wives. All inhabit the same toldo, but in different apartments, where they employ themselves in bringing up their children, in weaving ponchos with the wool of guanacos and chilihuegues, and in preparing the dish which an Indian woman is bound to place every day on the table of her husband. Marriage is held sacred, and adultery is considered the greatest of crimes; the man and woman who should commit it would inevitably be assassinated by the husband and his relations, unless they redeemed their lives by means of a compensation imposed by the injured husband. When an Araucano leaves his home, he confides his wives to his relations, and, on his return, if he can prove that they have been unfaithful to him, he has the right of demanding of the guardians all he thinks proper to ask; so that the relations are interested in watching them. This strictness of morals only regards married women; others enjoy the greatest liberty, and take advantage of it without any person presuming to find fault with them.

The two Frenchmen, thrown so suddenly into the midst of these strange manners and customs, were some time before they could comprehend Indian life. Valentine, in particular, was completely at a loss; he was in a state of perpetual astonishment, which, however, he took good care should not appear in his words or in his actions; for the adventure of the machi had raised him so high in the estimation of the inhabitants of the toldero, that he dreaded, with reason, lest the smallest indiscretion should cast him down from the pedestal upon which he maintained his erect position.

One evening, when Louis was preparing, as he frequently did, to visit the various toldos, in order to inquire after the sick, and administer to them all the relief his limited knowledge of medicine permitted, Curumilla came to the two strangers to invite them to be present at the cahuin given by the new machi, who had been elected that day, in place of the dead one. Valentine promised that they would come. From what we have said before, it may easily be comprehended what an enormous influence a sorcerer possesses over the members of the tribe; the choice is therefore difficult to make, and is seldom a good one. The sorcerer is generally a woman: when it is a man, he assumes the female costume, which he wears for the rest of his life. In almost all cases the science is inherited.

After smoking a considerable number of pipes, and making endless speeches, the Araucanos had chosen, as a successor to the machi, an old man, of a mild, kindly character, who, during the course of his long existence, had only made friends. The repast was, as may be supposed, copious, abundantly furnished with ulpo, the national dish of the Araucans, and moistened with an incalculable number of couis of chica. Among the other delicacies which figured at the feast was a large basket filled with hard eggs, which the Ulmens swallowed in emulation of each other.

"Why don't you eat some eggs?" said Curumilla to Valentine. "Do you not like them?"

"On the contrary, chief, I am very fond of eggs, but not cooked in that fashion; I have no inclination to choke myself, thank you."

"Oh! yes," the Ulmen said; "I understand; you prefer them raw."

Valentine burst into a Homeric fit of laughter.

"Not better than these," he said, when he had recovered his gravity; "I like eggs boiled in the shell; I like omelettes, or pancakes, but neither hard nor raw, if you please."

"What do you mean by that? Cooked eggs must be hard."

The young man looked at him with astonishment, and then said to him in a tone of profound compassion —

"Now, really, chief, do you mean to say you are only acquainted with hard eggs?"

"Our fathers have always eaten them thus," the Ulmen replied, quietly.

"Poor people! how I pity them! They have been ignorant of one of the greatest enjoyments of life. Well, my friend," he exclaimed, raising his voice with jocular enthusiasm, "I am determined you shall adore me as a benefactor to humanity! In short, I will endow you with soft-boiled eggs, and with omelettes; at least, the remembrance of me shall not die from among you. When I am gone, and you eat one of those two dishes, you will think of me."

In spite of his sadness, Louis could not help laughing at the burlesque humour and inexhaustible cheerfulness of his foster brother, in whom, at every minute, the gamin prevailed over the serious man. The chiefs welcomed with joy the offer of the spahi, and asked, with loud cries, on what day he would carry his promise into execution.

"Oh, I will not make you wait long," he said; "tomorrow, on the square of the toldería, and before all the assembled tribe of the Great Hare, I will show you how you must set about boiling an egg, and making an omelette."

At this promise, the satisfaction of the chiefs mounted to the highest pitch, the couis of the chica circulated with increased vivacity, and the Ulmens soon found themselves sufficiently intoxicated to begin to sing as loud as they could shout, and all together, – a sort of music that produced such an effect upon the two Frenchmen, that they made their escape, stopping their ears. The feast was kept up long after their departure.

CHAPTER XXII
EXPLANATIONS

We will now return to the chacra of Don Gregorio Peralta, to which Doña Rosario had been conducted after her miraculous deliverance. The first days that followed the departure of the two Frenchmen were sufficiently devoid of incident: Doña Rosario, shut up in her bedroom, remained almost continually alone. The poor girl, like all wounded spirits, sought to forget reality, by taking refuge in dreams, in order to collect and preserve piously in the depths of her heart the few happy remembrances which had so rarely gilded with a ray of sunshine the sadness of her existence. Don Tadeo, completely absorbed in his imperative political combinations, could only see her now and then, and but for a few minutes at a time. Before him, she endeavoured to appear cheerful, but she suffered the more from being obliged to conceal in her own bosom the sorrow which consumed her. She occasionally crept down into the garden; she stopped under the arbour in which her meeting with Louis had taken place, and remained hours together thinking of him she loved, and whom she had driven from her for ever.

This poor child, so beautiful, so mild, so pure, so worthy of being loved, was condemned by an implacable destiny continually to lead a life of suffering and isolation; without a relation, without a friend to whom she might impart the secret of her grief. She was little more than sixteen, and already her bruised heart shrank back upon itself; her colour faded, her step became languid, her large blue eyes, swimming in tears, were incessantly raised towards heaven, as the only refuge that remained for her; she appeared to hold to the earth only by a slight thread, which the least fresh shock of adversity would snap.

The maiden's story was a strange one. She had never known her parents; she had no remembrance of the kisses of her mother – those warm caresses of childhood, which make even mature age tremble with joy. From her earliest days, she could only remember being alone, always alone, in the hands of the mercenary and indifferent. The innocent joys of childhood remained unknown to her; she had known nothing of them but their weariness and sadness, and had ever been deprived of those friendships of early youth which, by insensibly preparing the mind for affectionate expansion, give birth to smiles in the midst of tears, and console with a kiss.

Don Tadeo was the only person who was attached to her; he had never abandoned her, but watched with the greatest care over her material well-being, smiled upon her, and ever gave her good and pleasant counsels: but Don Tadeo was much too serious a man to comprehend the thousand little cares which the education of a young girl requires. She could only entertain for him that profound, yet respectful friendship which forbids those ingenuous confidences which can only be made to a mother, or to a companion of the same age. The visits of Don Tadeo were surrounded by an incomprehensible mystery; sometimes, without apparent cause, he made her suddenly quit people to whom he had confided her, and took her away with him, after ordering her to change her name, upon long tours. It was thus she had been to France: then, he quite as unexpectedly brought her back to Chili, sometimes to one city, sometimes to another, without ever condescending to explain to her the reasons for her leading such a wandering life.

Constrained by her isolation to depend only upon herself, forced to reflect as soon as the first rays of reason enlightened her brain, the maiden, though so delicate and fragile in appearance, was endowed with an energy and firmness of character of which she was ignorant, but which supported her unconsciously; and if the hour of danger arrived, would be of infinite use to her. She had often, urged by the instinct of curiosity so natural to her age in the exceptional position in which she was placed, sought by adroit questions to seize the thread that might guide her in this labyrinth; but all had proved useless – Don Tadeo remained mute. One day only, after having for a long time contemplated her with an expression of sadness, he had pressed her to his heart, and said in a trembling voice, —

"Poor child! I will protect you against your enemies!"

Who could those formidable enemies be? Why were they so inveterate against a girl of sixteen, who knew nothing of the world, and had never injured a human being? These questions, which Doña Rosario was continually asking herself, always remained unanswered. She only caught a glimpse in her life, of one of those terrible mysteries which bring death to the imprudent who persist in endeavouring to discover them; her days, therefore, were passed in continual fears, engendered by her imagination.

One evening, when, sad and thoughtful as usual, and buried in the depths of an easy chair, in her bedchamber, she was turning over the leaves of a book which she was not reading, Don Tadeo entered the room. He saluted her, as he always did, by a kiss on her brow, took a seat, placed himself in front of her, and after looking at her for a moment with a melancholy smile, said quietly, —

"I wish to speak with you, Rosario."

"I am all attention, dear friend," she replied, endeavouring to smile.

But before we report this conversation, we must present our readers with a few necessary explanations. Like all the other countries of South America, Chili, for a long time depressed beneath the Spanish yoke, had conquered its independence, more through the weakness of its ancient master than by its own proper strength. The system followed by the Spanish authorities from the beginning had checked in the people of these countries the development of the philosophical ideas which give man a consciousness of his own value, render him one day apt to achieve liberty, and ripe to enjoy it within just limits. We have said, in a preceding work, that the Americans of the South have none of the virtues of their ancestors, but, to make up for it, they possess all their vices. Destitute of that early education without which it is impossible to do or even to conceive great things, the Chilian nation, free by an unexpected chance, found itself immediately the sport of a few intriguing men, who concealed beneath high-sounding words of patriotism a boundless ambition. The newly-freed country struggled in vain; the innate carelessness of its inhabitants, and the levity of their character, formed an invincible object to any amelioration.

At the epoch at which we have arrived, Chili was labouring under the oppression of General Bustamente. This man, not contented with being minister of a republic, dreamt of nothing less than causing himself to be proclaimed the chief of it, under the title of protector. The realization of this idea was not impossible. From its geographical position, Chili is almost independent of those troublesome neighbours who, in the states of the old world, keep watch over all the acts of a nation, and are, ready to put in their veto as soon as their own interest appears to be threatened. On one side separated from Upper Peru by the vast and almost impassable desert of Atacama, Bolivia alone might hazard some timid observations; but the General cherished secret hopes of including that republic itself in the new confederation; on the other side, immense solitudes and the Cordilleras separated it from Buenos Aires, which had neither the will nor the power to oppose his projects. One people alone could make a war with him, which he should dread, and they were the Araucanos; that little nation, driven like an iron wedge into Chili, disturbed the General's plans seriously. He resolved to treat with the Araucano Toqui, while determined, at the same time, when his projects should have succeeded, to unite all his forces to conquer that country which had so long resisted the Spanish power. In a word, General Bustamente dreamt of creating at the southern extremity of America, with Chili, Araucania, and Bolivia confederated, a rival nationality to the United States. Unfortunately for the General, there was not in him the stuff to make a great man; he was simply a parvenu, an ignorant and cruel soldier.

When America raised the standard of revolt against the mother country, numerous secret societies were formed at all points of the territory, the most redoubtable, beyond contradiction, being that of the Dark-Hearts. The men who placed themselves at the head of this society were all intelligent and well informed, mostly educated in Europe, who, having seen in the field of action the great principles of the French revolution, wished, by applying them in their own country, to regenerate the nation. After the proclamation of Chilian independence, the secret societies, having no longer an object, disappeared. One alone persisted in remaining permanent – that of the Dark-Hearts. This society was not willing that license should assume the mantle of liberty: it felt that it had a great and holy mission to fulfil, and that its task, so far from being terminated, was scarcely commenced. It was necessary to instruct the people, to render them worthy of taking their place among nations, and, above all, to deliver them from the tyrants who wished to enslave them. This mission the society of the Dark-Hearts laboured incessantly to carry out, struggling constantly against oppressive powers, which succeeded each other, and destroying them without mercy. Proteus-like and intangible, the members of this society escaped the most active researches: if by chance some few of them fell in the arena, they died with head erect, confident in the future, and leaving to their brethren the care of continuing their task.

The recovery of General Bustamente caused the Dark-Hearts a momentary stupor; but Don Tadeo, who had caused the news of the miraculous manner in which he had survived his execution to be spread universally, revived their spirits by placing himself again at their head. Not that either courage or hope had failed them. However great the skill of the machinations employed by the General to insure the success of his plans, the Loyal-Hearts, who had confederates everywhere, foresaw and defeated them. They watched all his movements with the greatest care, for they were quite aware that the moment was drawing near when their enemy would throw off the mask. They had heard of the departure of the convalescent General for Valdivia. For what reason, as his health was still so uncertain, and repose so necessary, had he gone to that remote province? That must be learnt at any price, and they must prepare against any eventuality.

In a meeting of the society, future measures were agreed upon; it was moreover resolved that the King of Darkness should at the same time repair to Valdivia, in order, if advisable, to take the initiative in resistance. But Don Tadeo could not think of leaving Doña Rosario behind him, exposed to the unprincipled attacks of the Linda. He alone could defend the young girl; was he not her only support? As soon, then, as the Dark-Hearts had dispersed, Don Tadeo returned to the chacra, and went straight to Doña Rosario's chamber.

"My dear child," he said, "I have sad news to inform you of."

"Speak, my kind friend," she replied.

"Urgent affairs require my presence as soon as possible in Valdivia."

"Oh!" she cried, with an expression of terror, "you will not leave me here, will you?"

"At first I intended to do so, this retreat appearing to me to unite all the guarantees for security; but cheer up, my child! I have changed my mind; I have fancied you would prefer accompanying me?"

"Oh, yes," she said, eagerly; "you are always kind. When do we set out?"

"Tomorrow, dear child, at sunrise."

"I shall be ready," she replied, holding up her pretty face towards him, that he might impress his customary kiss upon her brow.

Don Tadeo retired, and Rosario immediately set about the preparations for her journey. Of what consequence was it to her whether she were in one place or another, since she was doomed to suffer everywhere? And who can say whether the poor girl, without daring to avow it to herself, did not entertain the hope of again seeing him she loved? Love is a divine sunbeam that illumines the darkest nights.