The Insurgent Chief

by Gustave Aimard

"Then we will set out together; for they only wait for you."

The painter exchanged with the Guaraní a last look, to which the latter responded by one not less significant, and, without saying anything further, he left the toldo with Don Santiago.

All was gossip at Casa-Frama; the unforeseen arrival of the strangers had awakened general curiosity; the streets were literally crammed with men, women, and children, who pressed towards the toldo of the colonel.

The two men had much difficulty in threading a passage through the crowd of idlers who obstructed the public way; and had it not been for Don Santiago, known and respected by all, the Frenchman would probably not have succeeded in reaching the spot he wanted.

Although the abode of Don Pablo Pincheyra bore the name of toldo, it was in reality a vast and airy house, built with the greatest possible care for the convenience of its owner. The walls were of clay, plastered and whitewashed carefully. Ten windows, with shutters painted green, and ornamented with climbing plants, which grew in various directions, gave it an air of gaiety which made it pleasant to look at. The door, preceded by a peristyle and a verandah, was in the centre of the building. Before this door a flagstaff was planted in the earth, surmounted by a Spanish flag. Two sentinels, armed with lances, were seated, one at the threshold of the door, the other at the foot of the flagstaff. A battery of six pieces of cannon was pointed a few paces in advance, half hidden at this moment by thirty horses, all harnessed, which champed their bits, and covered them with foam.

At the sight of Don Santiago the sentinels presented arms, and moved aside respectfully to give him passage, while the crowd was kept at a distance by some soldiers, previously placed there for that purpose, and had no other means of slaking their curiosity than that of questioning the attendants of the strangers who were watching their master's horses.

The two men entered the house. After having passed through a hall full of soldiers, they entered a room where several officers were talking in a high voice about the arrival of the strangers. Some of these officers approached Don Santiago to ask him the news; but the latter, who perhaps knew no more than they on this subject, or who had received strict instructions from his brother, only gave them evasive answers, and putting them aside gently with, his hand, he at last entered the council room, followed closely by the French painter, who began to be much interested in all he saw.

The council room was a rather large apartment, the whitewashed walls of which were completely bare, with the exception of a large Christ in ivory, placed at the extremity of the room, above an armchair occupied at the moment by Don Pablo Pincheyra. To the right of this figure a wretched engraving, frightfully illuminated, purported to represent the King of Spain, crowned, and with the scepter in his hand. To the left an engraving, not less ugly, represented, or was supposed to represent, Our Lady of Solitude.

The furniture was mean and primitive; some few benches and stools ranged against the walls, and a small table, formed the whole of it.

Don Pablo Pincheyra, dressed in the uniform of a Spanish colonel, was seated in his armchair; near him was his brother, Don José Antonio, on the right; the place of Don Santiago on his left was for the time vacant; then came Father Gomez, chaplain of Don Pablo—a fat and jovial monk, but whose eyes sparkled with wit; several officers—captains, lieutenants, and subalterns, grouped without order round their chief—were leaning on their sabres, and carelessly smoking their cigarettes, talking in a low voice.