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."