THE BOAR AT BAY.
We must beg the reader to follow us to Guaymas, about a year after the events described in the last chapter.
A man dressed in a military garb, bearing considerable resemblance to the Mexican uniform, was walking, with his arms behind his back, up and down the sumptuously furnished room. This man appeared to be deep in thought; his brows were drawn together; and at times he turned an impatient glance toward a clock placed on a bracket. This man was evidently expecting somebody who did not arrive, for his impatience and ill-temper increased with every moment. He took up his hat, which he had thrown on a sofa, probably with the intention of withdrawing, when a door opened, and a servant announced,—
"His Excellency Don Sebastian Guerrero."
"At last," the visitor growled between his teeth.
The general appeared. He was in full uniform.
"Pardon me, my dear count," he said in an affectionate tone, "pardon me for having kept you waiting so long, I had infinite difficulty in getting rid of the troublesome people who bored me. At length I am quite at your service, and ready to listen with proper attention to the communications it may please you to make to me.
"General," the count answered, "two motives bring me here today: in the first place, the desire to obtain from you a clear and categorical answer on the subject of the propositions I had the honour of making to you a few days back; and next the complaints I have to make to you on the matter of certain very grave facts which have occurred to the prejudice of the French battalion, and of which I have not the least doubt," he added with a certain tinge of irony in his voice, "you were ignorant."
"This is the first I hear of them, sir. Believe me that I am resolved to do good and ample justice to the French battalion, of which I have had only to speak in terms of praise since its organisation, not only through the good conduct of the men without distinction, but also for the services it has not ceased to render."
"Those are handsome words, general. Why must they be so barren?"
"You are mistaken, count, and I hope soon to prove to you the contrary. But let this be for the present, and come to the grievances of which you have to complain. Explain yourself."
The two persons who were talking in this friendly manner and lavishing smiles were General Guerrero and Count Louis de Prébois Crancé, the two men we have seen in such bitter enmity. What had happened, then, since the treaty of Guaymas? What reason was sufficiently powerful to make them forget their hatred? What community of ideas could have existed between them to produce a change so extraordinary and inexplicable?
We will ask our readers' permission to explain this before going further, the more so as the events we have to narrate throw a perfect light on the Mexican character.
The general, after the success of the treaty of Guaymas, and the way in which, thanks to the treachery of Don Cornelio, the insurrection of the pueblos was prevented, thought he had completely gained his cause, and believed that he had got rid of the count for ever. The latter, sick almost unto death, and incapable of connecting two ideas, had received orders to leave Guaymas immediately. His friends, who were restored to liberty after the signature of the treaty, hastened to join him. Valentine had him carried to Mazatlan, where he gradually recovered; then both set out for San Francisco, leaving Curumilla in Sonora, who was ordered to keep them acquainted with the progress of events.
The general had held up before his daughter as a merit the generosity with which he had treated the count; then he had left her ostensibly free to act as she pleased, hoping that with time she would forget her love, and consent to second certain projects he did not as yet let her see, but which consisted in marrying to one of the most influential persons in Mexico. Still months had slipped away. The general, who built on the count's absence, and, before all, the want of news about him, to cure his daughter of what he called her mad passion, was greatly astonished, when he one day began talking to her about his plans and the marriage he had projected, to hear her answer,—
"My father, I have told you that I will marry the Count de Prébois Crancé: no other will obtain my hand. You yourself consented to that union: hence I consider myself bound to him, and, so long as he lives, I will remain faithful to him."
The general was at first greatly taken aback by this answer; for, although he was well aware of his daughter's firmness of character, he was far from expecting such pertinacity. Still, after a moment, he regained his presence of mind, and bending over to her, kissed her on the forehead, saying, with pretended kindness,—
"Come, you naughty child, I see I must do what you please, though I confess it is a heavy sacrifice. Well, I will try. It will not depend on me whether you see the man you love again."
"Oh, father! can it be possible?" she exclaimed with a joy she could not restrain. "Are you speaking seriously?"
"Most seriously, wicked one; so dry your tears—re-assume your gaiety and your bright colour of former days."
"Then I shall see him again?"
"I swear it to you."
"Here?"
"Yes, here, at Guaymas."
"Oh!" she exclaimed impetuously, as she threw her arms round his neck and embraced him tenderly, at the same time melting into tears. "Oh, how kind you are, my father, and how I will love you if you do that!"
"I will do it, I tell you," he said, affected, in spite of himself, by this love so true and so passionate.
The general had already arranged his scheme in his head—the scheme which we shall soon see unfolded in all its hideousness. Of the reply his daughter had made him Don Sebastian only remembered one sentence: "So long as the count lives I will remain faithful to him."
Poor Doña Angela had, without suspecting it, germinated in her father's brain the most horrible project that can be imagined. Two days later Curumilla started for San Francisco, bearer of a letter from the young lady for the count—a letter destined to have an immense influence on Don Louis' ulterior determination.
The Mexicans had been so magnificently beaten by the French at Hermosillo that they had kept up a most touching and respectful recollection of them. General Guerrero, who, as the reader has been in a position to see, was a man of imagination, had made a reflection full of logic and good sense on this subject. He said to himself that if the French had so thoroughly thrashed the Mexicans, who are very terrible soldiers as we know, a fortiori, they would defeat the Indians, and, if necessary, the Yankees, those gringos, as the Americans of the South call them, whom they hold in mortal terror, and expect at any moment to see invade Mexico. In consequence of this reasoning, General Guerrero had formed at Guaymas a battalion entirely composed of French volunteers, commanded by their own officers, and whose services were for the present limited to acting as police of the port, and maintaining order in the town.
Unfortunately the commandant of the battalion, though an upright officer and good soldier, was not exactly the man to be placed at the head of these volunteers. His ideas, rather narrow and paltry, were not up to the position he occupied, and grave misunderstandings soon broke out between the Mexicans and the foreigners—misunderstandings probably encouraged in an underhand manner by certain influential persons, but which placed the battalion, in spite of the conciliatory temper of its chief, and the attempts he made to restore harmony, in a very difficult position, which naturally became more aggravated with each day.
Two parties were formed in the battalion: one, hostile to the commandant, spoke affectionately of the count, the memory of whom was still maintained in Sonora, regretted his absence, and formed vows for his return; the other, though not devoted to the commandant, yet remained attached to the honour of the flag. But the devotion was lukewarm, and there was no doubt, if any unforeseen event occurred, that these men would let themselves be led away by circumstances.
In this state of affairs General Alvarez pronounced against Santa Anna, President of the Republic, and summoned the chiefs of all the corps scattered through the provinces to revolt. General Guerrero hesitated, or pretended to hesitate, ere declaring himself. Suddenly it was heard with amazement, almost with stupor, that the Count de Prébois Crancé had landed at Guaymas. This is what had occurred.
Immediately after that conversation with his daughter, of which we have quoted a part, the general paid a visit to Señor Don Antonio Mendez Pavo. This visit was a long one. The two gentlemen conversed secretly together, after which the general returned to his house rubbing his hands.
In the meanwhile Don Louis was at San Francisco, sorrowful and gloomy, ashamed of the result of an expedition so well begun, furious with the traitors who had caused its failure, and burning—shall we confess it?—in spite of Valentine's wise exhortations, to take his revenge. From several quarters simultaneously influential persons invited the count to undertake a second expedition. The money requisite for the purchase of arms and enrolment of volunteers was offered him. Louis had also had secret interviews with two bold adventurers, Colonel Walker and Colonel Fremont, who at a later date was a candidate for the presidency of the United States. These two men made him advantageous offers; but the count declined them, owing to the omnipotent intervention of the hunter.
Still the count had fallen into a black melancholy. The man once so gentle and benevolent had become harsh and sardonic. He doubted himself and others. The treachery to which he had been a victim embittered his character to such a degree that his best friends began to be seriously apprehensive.
He never spoke of Doña Angela—her name never rose from his heart to his lips; but his hand frequently sought on his breast the relic she gave him on their first meeting, and when he was alone he kissed it fondly with many a tear. The arrival of Curumilla at San Francisco produced a complete change; the count appeared to have suddenly recovered all his hopes and all his illusions; the smile reappeared on his lips, and fugitive rays of gaiety illumined his brow.
Two men arrived soon after Curumilla, whose names we will not mention, lest we should sully the pages of this book. In a few days these men, doubtlessly following the instructions they had received, took complete possession of the count's mind, and hurled him back into the torrent from which his foster-brother had found such difficulty in drawing him.
One evening the two were seated in a room of the house they occupied in common, and smoking a pipe after dinner.
"You will come with me, my brother, I trust?" the count said, turning to Valentine.
"Then you really mean to go?" the latter said with a sigh.
"What are we doing here?"
"Nothing, it is true. My life is a burden to me, as yours is to you; but we have before us the boundless desert, the immense horizon of the prairies. Why not recommence our happy life of hunting and liberty, instead of trusting to the fallacious promises of these heartless Mexicans, who have already made you suffer so deeply, and whose infamous treachery brought you to your present condition?"
"I must," the count said with resolution.
"Listen," Valentine went on. "You no longer possess that ardent enthusiasm which sustained you on your first expedition. You lack faith. You do not yourself believe in success."
"You are mistaken, brother. I am more certain of, success now than I was then; for I have as my allies the men who were formerly my most obstinate foes."
Valentine burst into a mocking laugh.
"Do you still believe in that?" he said to him.
The count blushed.
"Well, no," he said. "I will conceal nothing from you. My destiny drags me on. I know that I am proceeding, not to conquest, but to death. But no matter; I must, I will see her again. Here, read!"
The count drew from his breast the letter Curumilla brought him, and handed it to Valentine; the latter read it.
"Well," he said, "I prefer your being frank with me. I will follow you."
"Thanks! Good heavens!" he added sadly, "I do not deceive myself: I know the old Latin proverb which says Non bis in idem: what is once missed is so for ever. I do not allow myself to be deceived by the hypocritical protestations of General Guerrero and his worthy acolyte, Señor Pavo. I know perfectly well that both will betray me on the first opportunity. Well, be it so. I shall have seen again the woman who expects me, who summons me, who is all in all to me. If I fall I shall have a tomb worthy of me. The road I have traced others happier than I will follow, and bear civilisation to those countries which you and I once dreamed of emancipating."
Valentine could not restrain a sad smile at these words, which completely revealed the count's character—a strange composite of the most varying elements, and in which passion, pride, and enthusiasm waged an unceasing contest.
The next day Louis opened a recruiting office, and a week later embarked on board a schooner with his volunteers. The voyage commenced with an evil augury, for the adventurers were wrecked. Had it not been for Curumilla, who saved him at the risk of his life, it would have been all over with the count. The adventurers remained twelve days abandoned on a rock.
"The Romans would have seen a foreboding in our shipwreck," the count said with a sigh, "and would have given up an expedition so inauspiciously begun."
"We should do wisely in following their example," Valentine said sadly: "there is yet time."
The count shrugged his shoulders in reply. A few days later they arrived at Guaymas. Señor Pavo received the count most kindly, and proposed, himself, to present him to the general.
"I wish to make your peace," he said to him.
Don Louis allowed him to do so. His heart beat at the thought that he was possibly about to see Doña Angela again, but nothing of the sort took place. The general was extremely gracious to the count, spoke to him with feigned candour, and appeared ready to accept his propositions. Don Louis brought with him two hundred men and arms, and placed his sword at his disposal, if he intended to join the Governor-General Alvarez. Don Sebastian, while not replying absolutely to these advances, still allowed it to be seen that they were not displeasing to him; he even went further, for he almost promised the count to give him the command of the French battalion—a promise which, on his side, the count feigned to hear with the greatest pleasure.
This interview was followed by several others, in which, always excepting the numberless protestations the general lavished on the count, the latter could obtain nothing except a species of tacit permission to take the command of the volunteers, in concert with the chief of the battalion. This permission was more injurious than useful to the count, however, as it rendered a great part of the Frenchmen indisposed toward him, for they were angry at the general appointing them a new leader.
During the week the count had been at Guaymas the general had not said a word to him about Doña Angela, and it had been impossible for him to see her. On the day when we find him again at Don Sebastian's house, matters had reached such a pitch between the inhabitants and the French, that immediate repression was urgent in order to prevent great calamities. Several Frenchmen had been insulted—two had even been stabbed in the public streets; the cívicos and inhabitants made growling threats against the volunteers; and there was in the air that something which forebodes a great catastrophe, which no one, however, can explain.
The general pretended to feel deeply the insults offered the French. He promised the count that prompt and full justice should be done, and the assassins arrested. The truth was that the general, before striking the great blow he was meditating, wished for the arrival of the powerful reinforcements he expected from Hermosillo in order to crush the French, and he only sought to gain time.
The count withdrew.
The next day the insults began again, and the French saw the assassins, whom the general had promised to punish, walking impudently about the streets. The battalion began to grow fearfully excited, and a fresh deputation, at the head of which the count was placed, was sent to the general. The count peremptorily demanded that justice should be done, two cannon given to the battalion for its security, and that the cívicos should be at once disarmed; for these men, drawn from the dregs of the populace, occasioned all the disorders.
Once again the general protested his kindly feeling toward the French, and promised to deliver to them two guns; but he would not hear a word about disarming the cívicos, alleging as his reason that such a step might irritate the population and produce an ill effect. While accompanying the Frenchmen to the very door of the saloon he told them that, in order to prove the confidence he placed in them, he would himself come without an escort to their barracks, and hear their complaints.
The step the general took was a bold one, and therefore sure to succeed, especially with Frenchmen, who are good judges of bravery, and correct appreciators of everything that is daring. The general kept his promise; he really proceeded alone to the French quarters, in spite of the recommendations of his officers; he even answered them in a way which proves how thoroughly he was acquainted with the character of Frenchmen.
A colonel, among others, demonstrated to him the imprudence of thus placing himself defencelessly in the hands of men exasperated by the vexations of every description from which they had suffered so long.
"You do not know what you are saying, colonel. The Gauls in no way resemble the Mexicans: with them the point of honour is everything. I know very well that the question will be discussed of keeping me prisoner; but there is one man who will never consent, and who will defend me if necessary: that man is the Count de Prébois Crancé."
The general judged correctly: all happened as he said. It was the count who energetically opposed his arrest, which was already almost resolved. The general left the barracks in the same way as he entered them. No one dared to utter a word of reproach in his presence. On the contrary, thanks to the honeyed eloquence with which he was gifted, he succeeded so well in turning opinions in his favour, that every one overwhelmed him with protestations of devotion, and an ovation was almost offered him.
The result of this audacious visit was immense for the general; for, through the effect he had contrived to produce on the mass of volunteers, a division commenced among them almost immediately after his departure, and they no longer agreed. One party wished for peace at any price; the others demanded war with loud shouts, insisting that he was deceiving them, and that they would be once again the dupes of the Mexicans.
The latter were right, for they saw clearly; but, as ever happens, they were not listened to, and in conclusion they came to a compromise, which is always bad in such circumstances; that is to say, a committee was appointed to come to an understanding with the government, and regulate the affairs of the battalion.
As may be seen, the mine was charged: a spark would be sufficient to enkindle an immense fire.