GUETZALLI.
Were we writing a romance there are many details we would leave in the shade, many facts we should pass over in silence. Unfortunately we are only historians, and, as such, compelled to the most scrupulous exactitude.
In the first episode of this history we related how the Count de Lhorailles, at the head of 150 Frenchmen, selected from the colony of Guetzalli, which he had founded, let himself be led in pursuit of the Apache Indians into the great Del Norte desert; and how, after wandering about with his party in the midst of this ocean of shifting sand, and seeing his bravest comrades fall around him, he had blown out his brains, while, in a few hours after his death, the few Frenchmen who survived this great disaster succeeded in emerging from the desert and regaining the road to the colony.
The Frenchmen left at Guetzalli beheld the arrival of the relics of the expedition with stupor, and the news of the Count de Lhorailles' death completed their demoralisation. Abandoned without chiefs, so far from their country, in the midst of an enemy's territory, exposed at any moment to the attacks of the Apaches, they gave way to despair, and seriously revolved the question of leaving the colony and returning to the seacoast. The Count de Lhorailles, who founded the settlement, was, in fact, the soul of it. He dead, his companions felt in themselves neither the necessary energy nor strength to continue his work—a work which, indeed, they knew but imperfectly, for the count had no confidants among the men who had joined him. Jealous of his power, and naturally of a reserved temper, he had never confided to anyone his plans or his projects.
The Frenchmen who had followed him—for the most part greedy adventurers, devoured by that inextinguishable thirst for gold which had made them give up everything to go to America—had been cruelly deceived in their hopes, when, on disembarking in Mexico, that classic land of riches, the count, instead of leading them to gold or silver mines, which they would have worked and filled their pockets abundantly, took them to the Mexican frontier, and forced them to, till the soil.
Thus, when the first moment of stupor had passed, each colonist, acting under the impression of his own will, began his preparations for departure, in his heart well pleased at seeing an exile thus terminated which was beset by dangers, while offering none of the advantages of the situation. It was all over with the colony; but fortunately, wherever a number of Frenchmen are assembled, when the indispensable man disappears, another immediately arises, who, impelled by the circumstances, reveals himself suddenly to the great amazement of his comrades, and frequently of himself.
Among the colonists at Guetzalli was a young man scarce thirty years of age, but gifted with an ardent imagination and a far from common intellect. This young man, whose name was Charles de Laville, had left Europe, impelled rather by a certain restlessness of character and secret curiosity than by a desire to acquire the boasted riches of San Francisco. In that city, to which he proceeded with his brother, an older and more earnest man than himself, chance had made him acquainted with the Count de Lhorailles. The count exercised, perhaps unconsciously, an irresistible influence even over those who knew him superficially. When ho organised his expedition he had no difficulty in taking with him Charles de Laville, who followed him in spite of his brother's wise recommendations.
The count, who was a connoisseur in his fellow-men, appreciated at its full value the honourable and disinterested character of Charles de Laville. Thus he was the only one of all his companions with whom he at times spoke almost freely, and imparted to him some of his plans. He knew that the young man would never turn this confidence against him, but that, on the contrary, under all circumstances, he would aid him to the utmost of his power. When the count was on the point of starting on that disastrous expedition from which he was fated never to return—an expedition which de Laville obstinately opposed—it was to the latter gentleman that he intrusted the government and management of the colony during his absence, persuaded that in his hands the affairs of Guetzalli could not but prosper. De Laville accepted the confidential situation against his will. It was a heavy burden for him, so young and inexperienced, to maintain an active surveillance over men to whom any restraint, however slight, was insupportable, and who only obeyed with a secret murmur the will of the count, for whom they experienced a respect mingled with fear.
Still, against his expectations, and perhaps his hopes, Charles de Laville succeeded, in a very short time, not only in securing the unmurmuring obedience of his countrymen, but also in gaining their love. It was owing to this influence which he contrived to gain over the colonists that, when the remnants of the expedition arrived at Guetzalli, he succeeded in restoring some degree of order in the colony, arousing the courage of his comrades, and taking the proper defensive measures in the probable event of an Apache attack.
He gave the first outburst of grief time to calm; he waited the subsidence of the exaggerated anger of one party, and the equally exaggerated fears of another; and when he perceived that, excepting the profound discouragement that had seized on all, and made them desire a speedy retreat, their minds were beginning to regain their ordinary lucidity, he summoned the colonists to a general meeting. The latter eagerly obeyed, and assembled in the large courtyard in front of the main building. When de Laville was assured that all the colonists were assembled, and anxiously awaiting the communication he had to make to them, he claimed a few moments' attention and took the word.
"Gentlemen," he said, with that facility of speech he possessed in an eminent degree, "I am the youngest, and certainly the most inexperienced of all present; hence it would not become me to speak at this moment, when such grave interests, and of such great importance, occupy us. Still, perhaps, the confidence the Count de Lhorailles was kind enough to place in me will authorise me in taking the present step of addressing you."
"Speak, speak—you are worthy of that confidence!" the colonists shouted tumultuously.
Thus encouraged, the young man smiled pleasantly and continued:—
"It is true that a great disaster has fallen on us: many of our companions have perished miserably in the great Del Norte desert. The count who brought us here, our chief, is dead too. I repeat it, it is an immense loss for us generally, and for the welfare of the colony. But is the misfortune, though so terrible, irreparable? Ought we, through this death, to lose all our courage, and abandon a task which is scarce commenced? I do not think so, nor do you."
At these words a few slight murmurs were heard. The young man looked calmly around his audience, and silence was re-established as if by enchantment.
"No," he continued forcibly, "you do not think so yourselves. You are undergoing at this moment the influence of the catastrophe that has overwhelmed us: discouragement has seized upon you. It must be so; but you will soon reflect on the consequences of the act you are meditating, and the chance that will result from it for yourselves. What! two hundred Frenchmen—that is to say, the bravest men in existence—would fly through fear of the lances and arrows of those Apaches whom it is their mission to hold in check? What would the Mexicans think, in whose opinion you have stood so high up to the present day? What would your brethren in California say? In the sight of all you would have lost honour and reputation; for you would have betrayed your duties, and not forced that name and title of Frenchmen, of which you are so proud, to be respected in these savage countries."
At these rude words, uttered with that accent which comes from the heart, so suited to move the masses, the colonists began, in spite of themselves to regard the question under a different light, and feel inwardly ashamed of the flight they meditated. Still they were not yet convinced, the more so as the position remained the same; that is to say, excessively critical. Thus the shouts, murmurs, and objections crossed each other with extreme rapidity, each wishing to offer his advice, and have his opinion accepted, as generally happens in popular meetings. One of the colonists succeeded with great difficulty in gaining the word, and addressed the young man.
"There is truth in what you say to us, M. Charles: still we cannot remain in our present situation—a situation which becomes daily more aggravated, and threatens soon to grow insupportable. What is the remedy for the evil?"
"The remedy is easy to find," the young man answered quickly. "Is it my place to point it out to you?"
"Yes, yes!" all exclaimed.
"Well, then, I consent. Listen to me."
There was immediately profound silence.
"We are two hundred strong—resolute and intelligent men. Can we not find among us, then, a chief worthy of commanding us? We have lost the man who has hitherto guided us; but must we say that, since he is dead, no one can take his place? That supposition would be absurd. The Count de Lhorailles was not immortal. We must have expected to lose him sooner or later, and unfortunately that foreseen catastrophe has occurred ere it was expected. Is that a reason to let ourselves be demoralised and downcast? No; let us raise our heads again, regain our courage, and elect as our chief the man who offers us the best guarantees of intelligence and loyalty. Such a man may be easily found among you. Come, comrades, let us have no delay, but vote on the spot. When our chief is nominated and recognised by all, we shall no longer fear perils or sufferings, for we shall have a head to guide us, and an arm to support us."
These words raised the joy and enthusiasm of the colonists to the highest pitch. They broke up into groups of three or four, and agitated the question eagerly of the chief they should select.
During this period, de Laville, apparently indifferent to what was passing, re-entered the house, leaving his companions full and entire liberty to act as they pleased. We will observe that the advice given by the young man was disinterested on his part: he had no intention of taking upon himself the heavy responsibility of a command which he did not at all desire. His object in urging the Frenchmen to elect a chief had been to prevent the ruin of the colony, which had been founded scarce a year, which, owing to their combined efforts and toil, was beginning to give good results, and which, if the colonists did not disperse, would soon enter on a career of prosperity, and repay them a hundredfold for their troubles and fatigue.
The discussion among the colonists was lengthy: in all the groups orators were speaking warmly; in short, there seemed no chance of an agreement. Still, by degrees, the effervescence calmed down; the parties drew nearer; and under the influence of a few men more intelligent or better disposed than the rest, the discussion went on more regularly and seriously. At length, after many disputes, the colonists were unanimous, and selected one among them to tell Charles de Laville the result of their deliberations. The man selected entered the house, while the colonists arranged themselves with some degree of order before the gate.
Charles, as we have said, did not trouble himself at all about what was going on outside. The death of the count, to whom, in spite of the latter's eccentric character, he was really attached, had not only saddened him, but broken the last ties that attached him to this forgotten nook of earth, where he believed that there was nothing left for him to do. He therefore only awaited the election of the new chief to bid good-by to the members of the company, and then separate from them. When the man delegated by the colonists entered the room where he was, he raised his head, and looked earnestly at him.
"Well," he asked him, "have we a new chief at last?"
"Yes," the other answered laconically.
"Who is he?" the young man asked with some curiosity.
"Our comrades will tell you, M. Charles," he replied. "They have authorised me to ask you to have the kindness to be present at the election, and thus sanction it."
"That is only right," he said with a smile. "I forgot that, up to the present, I have been your chief, and that I must hand over to the leader you have selected the power the count delegated to me. I follow you."
The other bowed without a word, and both left the house. When they appeared in the gateway, the colonists, hitherto silent, uttered a formidable shout, while waving their hats and handkerchiefs in signs of joy. The young man turned quite surprised to his companion, but the latter merely smiled. After this explosion of shouts of welcome, silence was at once restored. Then the delegate removed his hat, and after bowing respectfully to the young man, who was all confused, and hardly knew which way to look, said in a loud and perfectly distinct voice,—
"Charles de Laville, we, the colonists of Guetzalli, after assembling, in accordance with your advice, to proceed to the election of a new chief, have recognised that you alone combine all the conditions necessary worthily to fill that post to which the confidence of the chief we have lost called you. In consequence, wishing to honour in you the memory of our deceased chief, at the same time as we desire to prove to you our gratitude for the way in which you have governed us since you have been at our head, we unanimously appoint you captain of Guetzalli, persuaded that you will continue to command us with as much nobility, intelligence, and justice as you have hitherto displayed."
Then, taking from one of the colonists the charter which united all the members of the colony, and which the count had made them all sign when he enlisted them, he unfolded it.
"Captain," he said, "this charter-party, read in a loud voice by me, will be immediately sworn to by all. Will you swear on your side to protect us, to defend us, and give us good and loyal justice toward and against all?"
The young man took off his hat, extended his arm toward the crowd, and said in a firm voice,—
"I swear it."
"Long live the captain!" the colonists shouted enthusiastically. "The charter—the charter!"
The reading commenced. After each article the colonists answered in one voice,—
"I swear it."
There was something imposing in the aspect of this scene. These men, with their energetic features and bronzed faces, thus assembled in the heart of the desert, surrounded by the grand scenery, swearing in the face of heaven unbounded devotion and obedience, bore a striking likeness to the famous filibusters of the sixteenth century preparing to attempt one of their bold expeditions, and swearing on the charter in the hands of Montbars the exterminator, or any other renowned chief of Tortoise Island.
When the reading was completed a fresh outbreak of shouts closed this simple ceremony of the election of a chief of adventurers in the deserts of the New World. This time—accidentally, perchance—the choice of all had fallen on the most worthy. Charles de Laville was really the only man capable of repairing the disasters of the late expedition, and leading the colony back to that prosperous path on which it was progressing previously to the death of Lhorailles.