"Have I spoken well, powerful men?" he asked, looking at the Ulmens.
"Our father, the Toqui of the Inapire-Mapu, has spoken well," the Ulmens replied.
The Indian peons then went to fetch from the chapel, upon the floor of which it lay, a cross of at least thirty feet in height, which they brought to the spot where the conferences had been held. All the chiefs and the Chilian officers ranged themselves around it; the troops forming a vast circle at a respectful distance. After the pause of an instant, of which the priest took advantage to bless the cross with that off-hand carelessness which distinguishes the Spanish clergy in America, it was planted in the ground. At the moment it was about to gain its upright position, Antinahuel interposed.
"Stop!" he said to the Indians armed with spades; and turning towards the General, "Peace is well assured between us, is it not?" he asked.
"Yes, certainly," the General replied.
"All our words are buried under this cross?"
"All of them."
"Cover them with earth then," he said to the peons, "that they may not escape, and that war may not be rekindled between us."
"When this ceremony was accomplished, Antinahuel caused a young lamb to be brought, which the machi slaughtered near the cross. All the Indian chiefs bathed their hands in the still warm blood of the quivering animal, and daubed the cross with hieroglyphic signs, destined to keep away Guécubu, the genius of evil, and prevent the words from escaping from the spot in which they were buried. In conclusion, the Araucans and the Chilians discharged their firearms in the air, and the ceremony was ended. General Bustamente then coming up to the Toqui of the Inapire-Mapu, passed his arm through the chiefs in a friendly manner, saying in an ingratiating tone—
"Will not my brother, Antinahuel, come for an instant in my tent, to taste a glass of aguardiente de Pisco and take maté?—he would render his friend happy."