Kitabı oku: «The Trappers of Arkansas: or, The Loyal Heart», sayfa 20
CHAPTER XV.
THE PARDON
The interview between the general and his niece was most touching.
The old soldier, so roughly treated for some time past, was delighted to press to his bosom the innocent child who constituted his whole family, and who, by a miracle, had escaped the misfortunes that had assailed her.
For a long time they forgot themselves in a delightful interchange of ideas; the general anxiously inquiring how she had lived while he was a prisoner – the young girl questioning him upon the perils he had run, and the ill-treatment he had suffered.
"Now, uncle," she said at length, "what is your intention?"
"Alas! my child," he replied, in a tone of sadness, and stifling a sigh; "we must without delay leave these terrible countries, and return to Mexico."
The heart of the young girl throbbed painfully, although she inwardly confessed the necessity for a prompt return. To leave the prairies would be to leave him she loved – to separate herself, without hope of a reunion, from a man whose admirable character every minute passed in sweet intercourse had made her more duly appreciate, and who had now become indispensable to her life and her happiness.
"What ails thee, my child? You are sad, and your eyes are full of tears," her uncle asked, pressing her hand affectionately.
"Alas! dear uncle," she replied, in a plaintive tone; "how can I be otherwise than sad after all that has happened within the last few days? My heart is oppressed."
"That is true. The frightful events of which we have been the witnesses and the victims are more than enough to make you sad; but you are still very young, my child. In a short time these events will only remain in your thoughts as the remembrance of facts which, thanks to Heaven! you will not have to dread in future."
"Then shall we depart soon?"
"Tomorrow, if possible. What should I do here now? Heaven itself declares against me, since it obliges me to renounce this expedition, the success of which would have made the happiness of my old age; but God is not willing that I should be consoled. His will be done!" he added, in a tone of resignation.
"What do you mean, dear uncle?" the maiden asked, eagerly.
"Nothing that can interest you at present, my child. You had better, therefore, be ignorant of it, and that I should suffer alone. I am old. I am accustomed to sorrow," he said, with a melancholy smile.
"My poor uncle!"
"Thank you for the kindness you evince, my child; but let us quit this subject that saddens you; let us speak a little, if you please, of the worthy people to whom we owe so many obligations."
"Of Loyal Heart?" Doña Luz murmured, with a blush.
"Yes," the general replied. "Loyal Heart and his mother; the excellent woman whom I have not yet been able to thank, on account of the wound of poor Belhumeur, and to whom it is due, you say, that you have not suffered any privations."
"She has had all the cares of a tender mother for me!"
"How can I ever acquit myself towards her and her noble son? She is blessed in having such a child! Alas! that comfort is not given to me – I am alone!" the general said, letting his head sink into his hands.
"And I?" said the maiden, in a faint voice.
"Oh! you?" he replied, embracing her tenderly; "you are my beloved daughter, but I have no son!"
"That is true!" she murmured, thoughtfully.
"Loyal Heart," the general continued, "is of too proud a nature to accept anything of me. What am I to do? how acquit myself towards him? how acknowledge, as I ought, the immense services he has rendered me?"
There was a moment of silence.
Doña Luz inclined towards the general, and kissing his brow, she said to him in a low tremulous voice, concealing her face upon his shoulder:
"Uncle, I have an idea."
"Speak, my darling," he replied, "speak without fear; it is, perhaps, God who inspires you."
"You have no son to whom you can bequeath your name and your immense fortune, have you, uncle?"
"Alas! I thought for a time, I might recover one, but that hope has vanished for ever; you know, child, I am alone."
"Neither Loyal Heart nor his mother would accept anything from you."
"That I believe."
"And yet, I think there is a way of obliging them, of forcing them even."
"What is it?" he said, eagerly.
"Dear uncle, since you regret so much not having a son to whom you could, after you, leave your name, why not adopt Loyal Heart?"
The general looked at her, she was covered with blushes, and trembling like a leaf.
"Oh! darling!" he said, embracing her, "your idea is a charming one, but it is impracticable. I should be happy and proud to have a son like Loyal Heart. You yourself have told me how his mother adores him; she must be jealous of his love, she will never consent to share it with a stranger."
"Perhaps she might!" the young girl murmured.
"And then," the general added, "if even, which is impossible, his mother through love of him, in order to give him a rank in society, should accept my offer, mothers being capable of the noblest sacrifices to secure the happiness of their children, he himself would refuse. Can you believe, dearest, that this man, brought up in the desert, whose whole life has been passed among unexpected, exciting scenes, in face of a sublime nature, would consent, for the sake of a little gold which he despises, and a name that is useless to him, to renounce that glorious life of adventures so full of pleasant and terrible emotions, which has become necessary to him? Oh, no! he would be stifled in our cities; to an exalted organization like his our civilization would be mortal. Forget this idea, my dear daughter. Alas! I feel convinced he would refuse."
"Who knows?" she said, shaking her head.
"God is my witness," the general resumed, earnestly, "that I should be most happy to succeed; all my wishes would be fulfilled. But why should I flatter myself with wild chimeras? He will refuse, I tell you! And I am forced to confess he would be right in doing so!"
"Well, but try, uncle!" she said, coaxingly; "if your proposal be repulsed, you will at least have proved to Loyal Heart that you are not ungrateful, and that you have known how to appreciate him at his just value."
"Do you wish it?" said the general, who asked no better than to be convinced.
"I do wish it, uncle," she answered, embracing him to conceal her joy and her blushes. "I do not know why, but it appears to me you will succeed."
"Well, so be it, then," the general murmured, with a melancholy smile. "Request Loyal Heart and his mother to come to me."
"In five minutes they shall be here!" she cried, radiant with joy.
And, bounding like a gazelle, the young girl disappeared, running along the windings of the grotto.
As soon as he was alone, the general hung down his pensive head, and fell into melancholy and deep reflections.
A few minutes later, Loyal Heart and his mother, brought by Doña Luz, were before him.
The general raised his head, bowed with courtesy as they entered, and with a sign desired his niece to retire.
The young girl complied in great agitation.
There only prevailed in this part of the grotto a faint light, which did not allow objects to be seen distinctly; by a strange caprice, the mother of Loyal Heart had put on her rebozo in such a manner that it almost entirely covered her face; so that, notwithstanding the attention with which the general looked at her, he could not succeed in discerning her features.
"You have sent for us, general," Loyal Heart said, cheerfully, "and, as you see, we have hastened to comply with your desire."
"Thank you for your prompt attention, my friend," the general replied. "In the first place, receive the expression of my gratitude for the important services you have rendered me. What I say to you, my friend – I entreat you to permit me to give you that title – is addressed likewise to your good and excellent mother, for the tender care she has bestowed on my niece."
"General," the hunter replied, with emotion, "I thank you for these kind words, which amply repay me for what you think you owe me. In coming to your aid, I only accomplished a vow I have made never to leave my neighbour without help. Believe me I desire no other recompense but your esteem, and I am overpaid for the little I have done by the satisfaction I at this moment experience."
"I should wish, notwithstanding, permit me to repeat – I should wish notwithstanding to reward you in another fashion."
"Reward me!" the fiery young man cried, colouring deeply, and drawing back.
"Allow me to finish," the general resumed, warmly; "if the proposition I wish to submit to you displeases you, well then you can answer me, and answer me as frankly as I am about to explain myself."
"Speak, general, I will listen to you attentively."
"My friend, my journey into the prairies had a sacred object, which I have not been able to attain; you know the reason why – the men who followed me have died at my side. Left almost alone, I find myself forced to renounce a search which, if it had been crowned with success, would have constituted the happiness of the few years I have yet to live. God is chastising me severely. I have seen all my children die around me; one alone would, perhaps, still be left to me, but him, in a moment of senseless pride, I drove from my presence. Now, in the decline of life, my house is empty, my hearth, is solitary. I am alone, alas! without relations, without friends, without an heir to whom I could bequeath not my fortune, but my name, which a long line of ancestors have transmitted to me without stain. Will you replace for me the family I have lost? answer me, Loyal Heart, will you be to me a son?"
Whilst pronouncing these words, the general rose from his seat, seized the hand of the young man and pressed it warmly, his eyes filled with tears.
At this unexpected offer the hunter stood astonished, breathless, and not knowing what to reply.
His mother suddenly threw back her rebozo, and displaying her countenance glowing and transfigured, so to speak, with intense joy, stepped between the two men, placed her hand upon the shoulder of the general, looked at him earnestly, and in a voice rendered tremulous by emotion, exclaimed —
"At length, Don Ramón de Garillas, you recall that son whom twenty years ago you so cruelly abandoned!"
"Woman! what do you mean?" the general asked, in a broken voice.
"I mean, Don Ramón," she replied, with an air of supreme majesty, "that I am Doña Jesuita, your wife, and that Loyal Heart is your son Rafaël, whom you cursed."
"Oh!" the general cried, falling on his knees, and with his face bathed in tears, "pardon, pardon, my son!"
"My father!" Loyal Heart cried, springing towards him, and endeavouring to raise him up; "what are you doing?"
"My son," said the old man, almost wild with grief and joy, "I will not quit this posture till I have obtained your pardon."
"Arise, arise, Don Ramón!" said Doña Jesuita, in an affectionate tone; "it is long since the hearts of the mother and the son have felt anything for you but love and respect."
"Oh!" cried the old man, embracing them closely by turns; "this is too much happiness – I do not deserve to be so happy after my cruel conduct."
"Father," the young man replied, nobly, "it is owing to the merited chastisement you inflicted upon me that I have become an honest man; forget the past, then, which is now nothing but a dream, think only of the future, which smiles upon you."
At this moment Doña Luz appeared, blushing and timid.
As soon as he perceived her, the general sprang towards her, took her by the hand, and led her to Doña Jesuita, whose arms were opened to receive her.
"My niece!" he said, with a face radiant with joy, "you may love Loyal Heart without fear, for he is really my son. God, in his infinite goodness has permitted that I should find him again at the moment when I despaired of such happiness!"
The young girl uttered a cry of joy, and concealed her blushing face in the bosom of Doña Jesuita, abandoning her hand to Rafaël, who covered it with kisses, while he fell at her feet.
EPILOGUE
It was a few months after the expedition of the Count de Raousset Boulbon.
At that period the name of Frenchmen stood high in Sonora.
All travellers of that nation whom chance brought into that part of America were certain, no matter where they stopped, to meet with a most kind and sympathetic welcome.
Urged on by my vagabond humour, without any other object but that of seeing fresh countries, I had quitted Mexico.
Mounted upon an excellent mustang, which a friend of mine, wood ranger, had lassoed and made me a present of I had traversed the whole American continent; that is to say, I had made, by short journeys and always alone, according to my custom, a ramble of some hundreds of leagues, crossing mountains covered with snow, immense deserts, rapid rivers, and impetuous torrents, simply as an amateur, in order to visit the Spanish cities which rise along the coast of the Pacific Ocean.
I had been travelling for fifty-seven days as a mere wanderer, stopping wherever caprice invited me to pitch my tent.
I was, however, approaching the object I had determined on, and I found myself within a few leagues of Hermosillo, that city which, surrounded by walls, possessing a population of fifteen thousand souls, and defended by eleven hundred regular troops commanded by General Bravo, one of the best and most courageous officers of Mexico, had been audaciously attacked by the Count de Raousset, at the head of less than two hundred and fifty Frenchmen, and carried, at the point of the bayonet, in two hours.
The sun had set, and the darkness became greater every second. My poor horse, fatigued with a journey of more than fifteen leagues, and which I had overridden some days before in my endeavours to arrive at Guaymas sooner, advanced with great difficulty, stumbling at every step over the sharp stones of the route.
I was myself excessively fatigued and was dying with hunger, so that I contemplated with very pitiable feelings the prospect of passing still another night under the starry canopy of heaven.
I dread losing my way in the darkness; my eyes in vain scanned the horizon for a light that might guide me towards a habitation. I knew that several haciendas (farms) were to be met within the neighbourhood of the city of Hermosillo.
Like all men who have for a long time led a wandering life, during which they have been incessantly the sport of events more or less contrary, I am endowed with a good stock of philosophy, an indispensable thing when one is travelling, particularly in America, where, for the most part, one is left to one's own industry without having the resource of being able to reckon upon any foreign aid.
I made up my mind, like a brave traveller, renouncing with a sigh of regret the hope of supper and shelter. As the night grew darker and darker, and as it was useless to ride where I could not see, perhaps in a direction diametrically opposite to the one I ought to follow, I looked about me for a suitable place to establish my bivouac, light a fire, and find a little grass for my nag, which, as well as myself, was dying with hunger.
This was not an easy matter in these countries calcined by a devouring sun, and covered with a sand as fine as dust. I, however, after a long search, discovered a miserable tree, in the shade of which a very scanty vegetation had sprung up.
I was about to dismount, when my ear was struck with the distant sound of the steps of a horse, which appeared to be following the same route as myself, and which advanced rapidly.
I remained motionless.
Meeting with a horseman at night in the Mexican plains always suggests ample matter for reflection.
The stranger we meet with may be an honest man, but it would be a safer wager to lay that he is a rogue.
In this state of doubt, I cocked my revolver, and waited.
My waiting was not long.
At the end of five minutes the horseman came up to me.
"Buenas noches, caballero," (Good evening, sir,) said he, as he passed.
There was something so frank in the tone in which this salute was, as it were, thrown at me, that my suspicions vanished instantly.
I replied.
"Where are you going so late?" he said.
"In good faith," I replied, ingenuously, "I should be quite delighted if I knew myself; I think I have lost my way, and, in that doubt, I was preparing to pass the night under this tree."
"A poor bed that!" said the horseman, shaking his head.
"Yes," I remarked philosophically; "but for want of a better I must content myself with it. I am dying with hunger, my horse is knocked up, and we do not either of us care to wander further in search of problematic hospitality, particularly at this hour of the night."
"Hum!" said the stranger, casting a glance at my mustang, who, with his head lowered, was endeavouring to snap a few blades of grass, "your horse appears to be well bred; do you think he is so much fatigued that he could not manage to go a couple of miles, at most?"
"Oh! he would go for two hours if necessary," I said, with a smile.
"Follow me, then, in God's name," the stranger answered, in a jovial tone; "I promise you both a good bed and a good supper."
"Which offer I accept for both with thanks," I said, making my horse feel the spur.
The noble beast, which appeared to understand what was going on, fell into a very fair trot.
The stranger was, as well as I could judge, a man of about forty, with an open countenance and intelligent features; he wore the costume of the inhabitants of the country, a broad brimmed felt hat, the crown of which was encircled by a gold band three fingers broad, a variegated zarapé fell from his shoulders to his thighs, and covered the quarters of his horse, and heavy silver spurs were fastened by straps to his vaquero boots.
Like all Mexicans, he had, hanging at his left side, a machete, which is a sort of short and straight sabre, very much like the sword-bayonets of French foot soldiers.
Conversation soon commenced between us, and was not long in becoming expansive.
At the end of about half an hour, I perceived at some distance before me, issuing from the darkness, the imposing mass of a large house; it was the hacienda in which my unknown guide had promised me a good welcome, a good supper, and a good bed.
My horse snorted several times, and of its own accord mended its pace.
I cast a curious glance around me, and could discern the lofty trees of a huerta well kept up, and every appearance of comfort.
I inwardly rendered thanks to my good star, which had brought about so fortunate a rencontre.
At our approach a horseman, placed, no doubt, as a vidette, uttered a loud challenge; while seven or eight rastreros of pure blood, came yelping with joy, bounding around my guide, and smelling me one after another.
"It is I," my companion replied.
"Eh! come along, Belhumeur," replied the sentry; "we have been expecting you more than an hour."
"Go and inform the master that I bring a traveller with me," cried my guide, "and be sure not to forget to tell Black Elk that he is a Frenchman."
"How do you know that?" I asked, a little annoyed, for I piqued myself upon speaking Spanish with great purity.
"Pardi!" he said laughing, "we are almost compatriots."
"How so?"
"Dame! I am a Canadian, you understand, and I soon recognised the accent."
During the exchange of these few words, we had arrived at the door of the hacienda, where several persons waited to receive us.
It appeared that the announcement of my quality of Frenchman, made by my companion, had produced a certain sensation.
Ten or twelve domestics held torches, by favour of which I could distinguish six or eight persons at least, men and women, coming forward to welcome us.
The master of the hacienda, whom I recognized as such at once, advanced towards me with a lady hanging on his arm, who must have been a great beauty, and might yet pass for handsome, although she was near forty years of age.
Her husband was a man of about fifty, of lofty stature, and endowed with a marked, manly countenance; around them clung, with staring eyes, five or six charming children, who resembled them too strongly not to belong to them.
A little behind them, half concealed, in the shade, was a lady of about seventy and an old gentleman apparently not far from a hundred.
I took in at a glance the whole of this family, the aspect of which had something patriarchal in it that attracted sympathy and respect.
"Sir," said the hacendero kindly, seizing the bridle of my horse to assist me to dismount, "Esa casa se dé a vm (This house is yours); I can only thank my friend Belhumeur for having succeeded in bringing you to my house."
"I must admit, señor," I said with a smile, "that he had not much trouble in doing so, and that I accept with gratitude the offer he was so kind as to make me."
"If you will permit it, señor, as it is getting late," the hacendero replied, "and particularly as you stand in need of repose, we will go at once into the eating room; we were on the point of sitting down to table when your arrival was announced."
"Señor, I thank you a thousand times," I remarked with a bow; "your kind welcome has made me forget all my fatigue."
"We can easily recognise French politeness," said the lady, with a pleasing smile.
I offered my arm to the lady of the house, and we proceeded to the eating-room, where, upon an immense table, was served an Homeric repast, the appetizing odour of which reminded me that I had fasted for nearly twelve hours.
We took our seats. Forty persons, at least, were assembled round the table.
In this hacienda was kept up the patriarchal custom which is now falling into desuetude, of allowing the servants to eat with the masters of the house.
All that I saw, all that I heard, charmed me in this abode; it had a perfume of kindness about it which made the heart beat responsively.
When the sharp edge of appetite was a little blunted, the conversation, which had languished at first, became general.
"Well! Belhumeur," the grandfather asked my guide, who, seated beside me, was vigorously employing his fork, "have you found the track of the jaguar?"
"I have not only found one track, general, but I fear the jaguar is not alone, and has a companion."
"Oh! oh!" said the old man, "are you sure of that?"
"I may be deceived, general, and yet I don't think I am. Ask Loyal Heart; I had something of a reputation yonder, in the prairies of the West."
"Father," said the hacendero, making an affirmative sign, "Belhumeur must be right, he is too old a hunter to be at fault."
"Then we must have a battue, to rid ourselves of these dangerous enemies. Is not that your opinion, Don Rafaël?"
"That was my intention, father. I am glad you approve of it. Black Elk is warned, and everything is ready."
"The hunt may take place as soon as is agreeable, everything is in order," said an individual of a certain age, seated not far from me.
The door opened, and a man entered.
His arrival was saluted with cries of joy. Don Rafaël rose eagerly, and went towards him, followed by his lady.
I was the more astonished at this welcome, from the newly arrived guest being nothing but an Indian bravo, or independent; he wore the complete costume of the warriors of his nation. Thanks to the numerous sojourns I had made among the redskins, I thought that this man must belong to one of the numerous tribes of the Comanches.
"Oh! Eagle Head! Eagle Head!" shouted the children, surrounding him with glee.
The Indian took them in his arms, one after the other, kissed them, and got rid of them by giving them some of those little toys which the aborigines of America cut with such exquisite taste.
He then advanced smiling, saluted the numerous company assembled in the hall with perfect ease, and took his place between the master and the mistress of the house.
"We expected you before sunset, chief," said the lady, in a friendly manner: "it is not right to disappoint your friends."
"Eagle Head was on the track of the jaguars," said the chief, sententiously; "my daughter must not have cause for fear; the jaguars are dead."
"What! have you already killed the jaguars, chief?" said Don Rafaël, eagerly.
"My brother will see. The skins are very handsome; they are in the court."
"Well, chief," said the old gentleman, holding out his hand to him, "I see you are determined always to be our Providence."
"My father speaks well," the chief answered, bowing; "the Master of Life counsels him; the family of my father is my family."
After the repast, I was conducted by Don Rafaël to a comfortable bedroom, where I was not long in falling asleep, though my dreams were very busy with all I had seen and heard during the evening.
On the morrow my host my hosts would not hear of my leaving them; and I must confess that I did not very strongly insist upon continuing my journey. Not only was I charmed with the friendly welcome I had received, but still further, a secret curiosity urged me to stay a few days longer.
A week thus passed away.
Don Rafaël and his family overwhelmed me with kindnesses; life passed with me as if in a continual enchantment.
I do not know why, but ever since my arrival in the hacienda, all that I was witness of augmented that curiosity which had seized upon me from the first moment.
It appeared to me that at the bottom of the happiness which I saw beaming in every face of this united family, there had been a long train of misfortunes.
They were not, as I believed, people whose lives had flowed on calmly and tranquilly; I imagined, though I scarcely know why, that after being a long time tossed about upon the ocean of some trouble, they had at length found a port.
Their countenances were impressed with that majesty which great sorrows alone can give, and the wrinkles which furrowed their brows appeared to me too deep to have been traced by anything but grief.
This idea was so strongly impressed upon my brain that, in spite of all my efforts to drive it away, it incessantly returned, more tenaciously and more incisively.
In a few days, I had become the friend of the family nothing regarding myself was unknown to them; they had admitted me to the closest intimacy. In this state, I had constantly one question on my lips, but I knew not how to shape it, so much did I fear committing a serious indiscretion or reviving old causes of grief.
One evening, as Don Rafaël and I were returning from hunting, when we were within a few steps of the house, he placed his arm in mine.
"What is the matter with you, Don Gustavio?" he said; "you are dull and preoccupied; do you begin to be tired of us?"
"You cannot imagine that," I replied warmly; "on the contrary, I have no words to express how happy I am with you."
"Well, remain then," he cried frankly; "there is still plenty of room for a friend at our hearth."
"Thanks," I said, much affected, and pressing his hand; "I would that it could be so; but, alas! it is impossible. Like the Jew of the legend, I have within me a demon which, incessantly cries 'Move on!' I must accomplish my destiny."
And I sighed.
"Now, come," he resumed, "be frank! tell me what it is that occupies your thoughts; for several days past you have made us all very uncomfortable; nobody has dared to question you about it," he added, with a smile; "but I have taken my courage with both hands, as you Frenchmen say, and made up my mind to ask you."
"Well!" I replied, "as you desire it, I will tell you; but I entreat you not to take my frankness ill, and to be assured that there is at least as much interest as curiosity in the matter."
"Well, then," he said, with an indulgent smile, "confess yourself to me; don't be afraid, I will give you absolution – go on!"
"I really should like to make 'a clean breast of it,' and tell you everything."
"That is the way, – speak."
"I have formed an idea, although I do not know why, that you have not always been as happy as you are now, and that it has been by long misfortunes that you have purchased the blessings you at present enjoy."
A melancholy smile passed over his lips.
"Pardon me!" I cried eagerly; "pardon the indiscretion I have committed! What I feared has come to pass! Let there be no more question between us, I conjure you, of my silly fancy!"
I was really very much hurt at reflecting on my impertinence.
Don Rafaël replied to me with kindness.
"Why not?" he said; "I see nothing indiscreet in your question; it arises solely from the interest you have conceived for us: it is only when we love people that we become so clear-sighted. No, my friend, you are not wrong, we have all undergone a rude trial. Since you desire it, you shall know all; and perhaps you will confess, after having heard the recital of what we have suffered, that we have indeed purchased dearly the happiness we enjoy. But let us go in; they are probably waiting for us to sit down to table."
That evening Don Rafaël retained several members of the family round him, and, after having ordered cigarettes and some wine to be placed upon the table, he said, —
"My friend, I am about to satisfy your excusable curiosity. Belhumeur, Black Elk, and Eagle Head, my father and mother, as well as my dear wife, who have all been actors in the drama of which you are going to hear the strange recital, will come to my assistance if my memory fails me."
Then, reader, Don Rafaël related to me what you have just read.
I must confess that these adventures, told by the man who had played the principal character, and before those who had so great a share in them, – I confess, I say, that these adventures interested me to the highest degree, which cannot be expected to be the case with you; they, necessarily, lose much coming from my mouth, for I cannot impart to them that animation which constituted their principal charm.
A week afterwards I left my amiable hosts, but instead of embarking at Guaymas, as I had at first intended, I set out with Eagle Head on an excursion into Apacheria, an excursion during which chance made me the witness of extraordinary scenes, which I will, perhaps, relate to you some day, if these you have now read have not been too wearisome to you.
