THE MEETING.
As the principal incidents of this history are now about to take place in Araucania, we think it necessary to give our readers some account of this people, who alone of all the nations the Spaniards encountered in America, succeeded in resisting them, and had, up to the time we treat of, preserved intact their liberty and almost all their territory. The Araucanos or Moluchos inhabit the beautiful country situated between the rivers Biobio and Valdivia, having on one side the sea, and on the other the great Cordilleras of the Andes. They are thus completely enclosed within the Chilian republic, and yet, as we have said, have always remained independent. It would be a great error to suppose these Indians savages. The Araucanos have adopted as much of European civilization as suited their character and their mode of living, and have rejected the rest. From the most remote times these peoples had formed a national body, strong and compact, governed by wise laws rigorously executed. The first Spanish conquerors were quite astonished to find in this remote corner of America, a powerful aristocratic republic, and a feudalism organized almost upon the same plan as that which prevailed in Europe in the thirteenth century. We will here enter into a few details of the government of the Araucanos, who proudly style themselves Aucas—free men. These details concerning a people too little known, up to this day, cannot fail to interest the reader.
The principal chiefs of the Araucanos are the Toquis,[1] the Apo-Ulmens, and the Ulmens. There are four Toquis, one for each territorial division; they have under their orders the Apo-Ulmens, who, in their turn, command the Ulmens. The Toquis are independent of each other, but confederated for the public good. Titles are hereditary, and pass from males to males. The vassals or Mosotones are free; in time of war alone they are subject to military service; but, in this country, and it is this which constitutes its strength, every man in a condition to bear arms is a soldier. It may easily be understood what the chiefs are when we state that the people consider them only as the first among their equals, and that their authority is consequently rather precarious; and if, now and then, certain Toquis have endeavoured to extend their authority, the people, jealous of their privileges, have always found means to keep them within the bounds prescribed by their ancient usages.
A society whose manners are so simple, and interests so little complicated, which is governed by wise laws, and all the members of which have an ardent love of liberty, is invincible, as the Spaniards have many times found to their cost. After having, in several attempts, endeavoured to subdue this little corner of land, isolated amidst their own territory; they have ended by acknowledging the futility of their efforts, and have tacitly admitted their defeat by renouncing for ever their projects of obtaining dominion over the Araucanos, with whom they have contracted alliances, and across whose territory they now peacefully pass on their road from Santiago to Valdivia.
The Carampangue—in the Araucano idiom, refuge of lions—is a charming stream, half torrent, half river, which comes bounding down from the inaccessible summits of the Andes, and, after many capricious windings, loses itself in the sea two leagues to the north of Arauco. Nothing can be more beautiful than the banks of the Carampangue, bordered by smiling valleys, covered with woods, with apple trees loaded with fruit, rich pastures in which animals of all kinds range and feed at liberty, and high mountains, from the verdant sides of which hang, in the most picturesque positions, clusters of cabins, whose whitewashed walls shine in the sun, and give life to this enchanting landscape.
On the day when we resume our narrative, that is, on a beautiful morning in July—called by the Indians the month of the sun—two horsemen, followed by a magnificent black and white Newfoundland dog, were ascending, at a sharp trot, the course of the river, following what is called a wild beast's track, scarcely marked in the high grass. These men, dressed in the Chilian costume, surging up suddenly amidst this wild natural scene, formed, by their manners and their vestments, a contrast with everything which surrounded them; a contrast of which they probably had no idea, for they rode as carelessly through this barbarous country, abounding in perils and ambushes without number, as they would have done along the road from Paris to Saint-Cloud. These two men, whom the reader has, no doubt, recognized, were the Count Louis de Prébois-Crancé and Valentine Guillois, his foster brother. They had passed in turn through Maulé, Talca, and Concepción; and on the day we meet them again, in the middle of Araucania, they had been full two months on the road, travelling philosophically along with their dog Cæsar upon the banks of the Carampangue. This was the 14th of July, 1837, at eleven o'clock in the morning.
The young men had passed the night in an abandoned rancho which they had fallen in with on their way, and at sunrise resumed their journey; so that they now began to be sensible of the calls of hunger. Upon taking a survey of the spot where they found themselves, they perceived a clump of apple trees, which intercepted the rays of the sun, and offered them a shelter for their repast and a little rest. They dismounted and sat down at the foot of a large apple tree, leaving their horses to browse upon the young branches so abundant around them. Valentine knocked down a few apples with a stick, opened his alforjas—large cloth pockets placed behind the saddle—drew out some sea biscuit, a piece of bacon, and a goat's milk cheese, and the two young men began eating gaily, sharing their provisions with Cæsar in a brotherly way, whilst he, seated gravely in front of them, followed with his eyes every morsel they put into their mouths.
"Caramba!" said Valentine, with a satisfied smile; "it is comfortable to have a little rest, after having been on horseback from four o'clock in the morning."
"Well, to tell the truth, I must own I am a little fatigued," Louis confessed.
"My poor friend, you are not, as I am, accustomed to long journeys. It was stupid of me not to remember that."
"Bah! on the contrary, I am getting accustomed to them very well; and besides," he added, with a sigh, "physical fatigue makes me forget——"
"Ah! that's true," Valentine interrupted; "come! I am happy to hear you speak thus—I see you are becoming a man!"
Louis shook his head sorrowfully.
"No," he said, "you are mistaken. As the malady which undermines me is without remedy, I endeavour to play a manly part."
"Yes, hope is one of the supreme illusions of love; when it can no longer exist, love dies."
"Or he who experiences it," said the young man, with a melancholy smile.
This was followed by a silence, which Valentine at length broke.
"What a charming country!" he cried, with feigned enthusiasm, for the purpose of giving the conversation another direction, as he swallowed, with delectation, an enormous piece of bacon.
"Yes, but the roads are very bad."
"Who knows?" said Valentine, with a smile: "they say the roads to Paradise are of that kind; this may be the way thither." Then addressing the dog, "And you, Cæsar, what do you think of our journey, old boy?"
The dog wagged his tail, fixing his eyes, sparkling with intelligence, upon the speaker's face, whilst he eagerly devoured all that was given to him. But he stopped suddenly in his masticating operations, pricked up his ears, turned his head sharply round, and balked furiously.
"Silence, Cæsar!" said Valentine; "what do you bark in that manner for? You know right well we are in a desert, and that in a desert there is nobody but the devil!"
But Cæsar continued to bark without heeding his master.
"Hum!" said Louis, "I do not agree with you; I think that the deserts of America are thickly peopled."
"Well, perhaps you are right."
"The dog's barking is not usual; we ought to take precautions."
"I will see," said Valentine; and addressing the Newfoundland, "Come! come! hold your tongue, Cæsar! You are tiresome! What's the matter with you? What teases you? Do you scent a stag? Caramba! That would be a glorious godsend for us."
Here he rose, and cast an inquiring glance around, but he immediately stopped, and seized his rifle, making a sign to Louis to do the same, in order to be prepared for whatever might happen.
"Diable!" he said, "Cæsar was right, and I must confess myself a stupid fellow. Look yonder, Louis!"
The other turned his eyes as directed.
"Oh! oh!" he said; "what is this?"
"Hum! I believe we shall soon discover."
"With God's help!" Louis replied, cocking his rifle.
Ten Indians in war costume, and mounted on magnificent horses, were drawn up within twenty paces of the travellers, though the latter were quite unable to comprehend how they had succeeded in approaching so near to them without being discovered. Notwithstanding Valentine's efforts, Cæsar continued to bark furiously, and endeavoured to rush upon the Indians. The American warriors, motionless and impassible, made neither gesture nor movement, but they surveyed the Frenchmen so closely and persistently, that Valentine, not very patient in his nature, began to find himself excessively annoyed.
[1] This word comes from the verb toquin, which means to judge, to command.