LA MAGDALENA.
The village of La Magdalena occupies an important military position, for it commands the three roads that lead to Ures, Hermosillo, and Sonora, the chief cities of the State, and is nearly at an equal distance from all three. This pueblo, in itself of but slight consideration, enjoys, however, a certain reputation in the country, owing to the beauty of its situation and the purity of the air breathed there.
La Magdalena forms a species of parallelogram, one side of which carelessly mirrors its white houses in the limpid waters of the Rio San Pedro, a confluent of the Gila. Dense woods of palma Christi, styrax, Peru trees, and mahogany form an insurmountable barrier against the burning winds of the desert, while refreshing and perfuming the atmosphere, and serve as a refuge for thousands of blue jays, cardinals, and loros, which chatter gaily under the foliage, and enliven the enchanting landscape—this ravishing oasis, placed there by the hand of nature, as if to make the traveller returning from the prairie forget the sufferings and fatigues of the desert.
The festivities in honour of the patron saint at La Magdalena are the most frequented and joyful of all Sonora. As they last several days, the hacenderos and campesinos flock in for a hundred miles round. During this fête, at which rivers of pulque and mezcal flow, there is one succession of jaranas, montes, and bull baits; in a word, amusements of every description, which no crime ever saddens, in spite of the great concourse of strangers. The Mexicans are not wicked; they are only badly educated, headstrong, and passionate children, but nothing more.
Three days after the events we narrated in our previous chapter, the Pueblo de la Magdalena, at the most animated period of its annual festival, was in a state of more than ordinary agitation and excitement, evidently not produced by the festival; for the people had suddenly broken off their sports, and rushed, laughing and pressing, to one of the ends of the pueblo, where, according to the few words whispered by the gossips, something out of the way was taking place.
In fact, bugles soon sounded a call, and a band of armed men debouched on the pueblo, marching in good order, and to military tunes. First came an advanced guard of a dozen well-mounted men; then came a company of men formed in squads of about thirty each, bearing among them a large banner, on which was inscribed, "Independencia de la Sonora." Behind this band came two guns drawn by mules, then a squadron of cavalry, immediately followed by a long file of wagons and carts. The march was closed by a rearguard of twenty horsemen.
This small army, about three hundred strong, marched through the pueblo with heads raised and bold glances, passed the double row of spectators, and stopped, at a signal from the chief, about one hundred yards in front of the village, at a triangle formed by the meeting of three roads. Here the troops were ordered to bivouac.
It is almost needless to tell the reader that this army was the Atrevida Company. The good conduct of the band, and its martial air, had gained the favour of the population of the pueblo through which they marched so boldly. During the passage handkerchiefs and sombreros were waved, and cries of "Bravo!" were heard. The count, on horseback a few paces ahead of the main body, had not ceased for a moment bowing gracefully to the right and left, and these salutes had been returned with usury all along the village.
So soon as the order to bivouac was given, each set to work, and in less than two hours the adventurers, skilfully employing all within their reach, had established the most graceful and picturesque encampment that can be imagined. Still, as the count regarded himself as being in an enemy's country, nothing was neglected not only to protect the camp from a surprise, but also to place it in a respectable state of defence. By the aid of the wagons and carts, reinforced by palisades, the adventurers formed a barricade, still further defended by a ditch, the earth from which was thrown up on the other side as a breastwork. In the centre of the camp, on a small mound, rose the chiefs tent, before which the guns were planted; and from its summit floated the flag to which we have already alluded.
The arrival of the French was a piece of good fortune for the Sonorians whom the festival had attracted to La Magdalena. Indeed, for several days they had been expected hourly; and the inhabitants, in spite of the proclamations of the Mexican Government, which represented the French as plunderers and bandits, had taken no further precautions against them than to go and meet them, and receive them with shouts of welcome—a characteristic fact which clearly proved that public opinion was not at all deceived as to the meaning of the French pronunciamiento, and that each knew perfectly well on which side were right and justice.
When the camp was formed the authorities of the pueblo presented themselves at the gate, asking, in the name of their fellow citizens, permission to visit the Frenchmen. The count, delighted with this measure, which was of good augury for the relations he hoped presently to establish with the inhabitants, at once gave the requisite permission with the best grace possible.
De Laville had joined the count at about ten miles from the pueblo, at the head of eighty horsemen, which supplied the army with a respectable body of cavalry. Don Louis, having long been acquainted with the captain of Guetzalli, appointed him Chief of the Staff, and intrusted to him the annoying details of duty. De Laville eagerly accepted this mark of confidence; and the count, thenceforward free to occupy himself with the political portion of the expedition, retired to his tent, in order to reflect on the means to be employed by which to bring over to his side the population among which he now was.
Since the day General Guerrero presented himself at the mission, accompanied by Father Seraphin, the count, through a feeling of propriety, had not seen Doña Angela again, over whom he watched, however, with the utmost solicitude. The young lady appreciated this delicacy, and, for her part, had not attempted to see him. She had journeyed from the mission to La Magdalena in a closed palanquin, and a tent had been erected for her at no great distance from the count's.
The permission requested by the authorities had scarce been granted ere the adventurers' camp was visited by all the inhabitants. The mob, eager to see more nearly these bold men who, though in such small number, did not fear to declare war openly against the Government of Mexico, rushed in a body to the place occupied by them. The adventurers received their guests with that gaiety which distinguishes Frenchmen, and in a few hours gained the goodwill of the Sonorians, who, the more they saw of them, the more they wished to see, and who never grew weary of admiring their recklessness, and, above all, their imperturbable conviction of the success of the expedition. Night was setting in, the sun was rapidly sinking on the horizon, when Don Cornelio, who performed the duties of aide-de-camp to the count, raised the curtain of his tent, and announced to him that a field officer, who stated he had a message for him, asked to speak with him. Don Louis gave the order for his introduction. The envoy entered, and the count at once recognised in him Colonel Suarez. On his side, the colonel made a gesture of surprise at seeing the man he had met at Guetzalli, though he had not succeeded in finding out who he was. Don Louis smiled at the colonel's astonishment, bowed politely, and begged him to be seated.
"I am requested, sir, by General Guerrero," the colonel said after the usual compliments, "to deliver a letter to you."
"I have already been told so, colonel," the count answered. "I presume that you are acquainted with the contents of the letter?"
"Nearly so, sir; for I have several words to add to it in the course of conversation."
"I am ready to hear you."
"I will not waste your time, sir. In the first place here is the letter."
"Very good," the count said, taking it and laying it on the table.
"General Don Sebastian Guerrero," the colonel continued, "accepts the offer you did him the honour of making him for the hand of his daughter: still he desires that the nuptial ceremony should take place as soon as possible."
"I see nothing to prevent it."
"He desires also that this ceremony, at which he hopes to be present with a large party of his relations and friends, should be celebrated at La Magdalena by Father Seraphin."
"I have a few observations to make on that subject, colonel."
"I am listening to you, caballero."
"I willingly consent that Father Seraphin should marry us; but the ceremony will not take place at La Magdalena, but here in my camp, which I cannot and will not leave."
The colonel knit his brows. The count continued without seeming to notice it:—
"The general can be present at the ceremony, with as many relations and friends as he pleases; but as, unfortunately, we do not stand on such good terms to each other as I should wish, and as I must take care of my own safety, as much as he does of his, the general will be good enough to send me ten hostages selected among the most influential persons in the State. These hostages will be treated by me with the greatest honour, and restored to the general one hour after the nuptial blessing and the departure of the guests from the camp. But I must warn your general that, if the slightest treachery is attempted against myself or one of the men I have the honour of commanding, these hostages will be immediately shot."
"Oh!" the colonel exclaimed, "you distrust General Guerrero, sir, and put no faith in his honour as a caballero."
"Unfortunately, sir," the count replied dryly, "I have learned at my own expense what the value is of the honour of certain Mexicans. I will, therefore, enter into no discussion on that subject. Such are my conditions. The general is at liberty to accept or refuse them; but I pledge you my word of honour that I shall make no change."
"Very well, sir," the colonel answered, intimidated in spite of himself by the count's resolute accent, "I will have the honour of transmitting these harsh conditions to the general."
Don Louis bowed.
"I doubt whether he will accept them," the colonel continued.
"He can do as he pleases."
"But is there no other way of settling the difference?"
"I do not see any."
"Well, in the event of the general accepting, how shall I let you know it, so as to lose as little time as possible?"
"In a very simple mode, sir—by the arrival of Father Seraphin and the delivery of the hostages."
"And, in that case, when will the ceremony take place?"
"Two hours after the hostages have reached my camp."
"I will retire, sir, and submit your reply to my superior officer."
"Do so, sir."
The colonel retired, and the count, who fancied himself sure of the acceptance of his ultimatum, immediately gave the necessary orders for the construction of the cabin intended to serve as a chapel. After this he wrote a note, which was handed to Doña Angela through the medium of Don Cornelio. This note, which was very laconic, contained the following lines:—
"MADAM,
"I have received your father's answer: it is favourable. Tomorrow, in all probability, the ceremony of our marriage will take place. I watch over you and myself.
"The Count de PRÉBOIS CRANCÉ."
After sending off this note the count wrapped himself in a cloak, and went out to visit the posts, and assure himself that the sentries were keeping good guard. The night was bright and clear; the sky studded with an infinite number of brilliant stars; the atmosphere perfumed with a thousand sweet odours; at intervals the strains of the guitars, borne on the breeze, rose from the pueblo, and died out at the count's ear. The camp was silent and gloomy; the adventurers, who had retired under their leafy jacales, were enjoying that rest so necessary after a day's march; the horses, hobbled pell-mell with the mules, were devouring their alfalfa; the sentries, with shouldered muskets, were walking slowly around the intrenchments with their eyes fixed on the plain.
The count, after walking about for some time, and convincing himself that everything was in the most perfect order, was induced by the melancholy and mysterious softness of the night, to lean on the breastwork; and, with his eye fixed on vacancy, not looking at or probably seeing anything, he gradually gave way to his dreams, yielding unconsciously to the mysterious influence of the objects that surrounded him. From time to time, as the sentries called to each other, he mechanically raised his head; then he would yield again to the flood of thought that fell on him, and was so absorbed in himself that he seemed to be asleep; but it was not so.
For several hours he had been thus leaning over the breastwork, without a thought of retiring, when he suddenly felt a hand lightly laid on his shoulder. This touch, light as it was, sufficed to recall him from the ideal worlds in which his imagination was galloping, and to a consciousness of his present situation. The count stifled a cry of surprise and turned round. A man was holding on to the outside of the breastwork, his head scarce emerging over the top. It was Curumilla.
The chief had a finger laid on his lips, as if to recommend prudence to the count. The latter made a sign of pleasure on recognising the Indian, and quickly bent down to him.
"Well?" he said with his mouth to his ear.
"You will be attacked tomorrow."
"You are sure of it?"
The Indian smiled.
"Yes," he said.
"When?"
"At night."
"What hour?"
"An hour before moonrise."
"By whom?"
"Palefaces."
"Oh, oh!"
"Good-by."
"Are you off again?"
"Yes."
"Shall I see you again?"
"Perhaps."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"And Valentine?"
"He will come."
The Indian, doubtlessly fatigued with having talked so much, contrary to his habits, although the sentences he uttered were of no extraordinary length, slipped down the breastwork again, and said no more. Louis looked after him, and saw him crawl away on his knees, and disappear without producing the slightest sound. The scene had taken place so rapidly, the Indian's flight had been so silent, that the count was on the point of regarding it as an hallucination; but suddenly the hoot of the owl, twice repeated, rose in the air.
This signal had long been agreed on between Valentine and the count. He understood that Curumilla, while warning him that he was safe, sent him from a distance a last recommendation to silence. He tossed his head sadly, and returned to his tent pensively, muttering in a low voice,—
"Another piece of treachery!"