The Guide of the Desert

by Gustave Aimard

  CHAPTER XVII.

  THE PEONS.

  A strange spectacle, and which he was certainly far from expecting,offered itself to his astonished eyes.

  The platform, or rather the court situated before the rancho,was occupied by some twenty individuals, who were crying out andgesticulating with fury, and in the midst of whom was the painter, hishead uncovered, his hair flying in the wind, his right foot placed onhis gun, which had been thrown on the ground before him, and a pistolin each hand.

  Behind the young man, five or six Indians, his servants, with theirguns at their shoulders, ready to fire.

  At the door of the shed the loaded mules and the saddled horses wereheld by two or three Indians armed with guns and sabres.

  By the light of the torches, the red flames of which threw out astrange reflection, the scene assumed a fantastic appearance of aremarkable character, rudely contrasting with the profound darknesswhich reigned on the plain, and which the varying light of the torchesilluminated at each gust of the night wind.

  The old man, without seeking an explanation of this mournful drama, butinstinctively understanding that something was passing in which he waspersonally interested, darted forward boldly to the side of his youngcompanion.

  "What is it?" he cried. "Are we attacked?"

  "Yes," quickly answered the young man; "we are attacked, but by yourpeons (attendants)."

  "By my attendants!" exclaimed M. Dubois.

  "It would appear that these worthy gauchos have found your baggage suitthem, and that the idea has occurred to them to seize upon it--that isall. It is very simple, you see. But let me act; they are not going tosucceed as easily as they think."

  "Perhaps, if I were to speak to them?" ventured the old man.

  "Not a word, not a gesture; leave that to me. You are my guest; my dutyis to defend you, and, God aiding me, so long as you shall be under myroof, I will defend you, come what may, against everything."

  The old man did not attempt to insist; moreover, he had not the timefor it. The attendants, for a moment taken aback by his unforeseenappearance, in the midst of them, recommenced their cries and theirwild gestures, brandishing their arms with a threatening air, andnarrowing every moment the circle in which M. Dubois and his fewdefenders were compactly standing.

  The struggle, which had been on the point of commencement between thetwo parties, was most unequal, and in the proportion of about one tofour; since, besides the two Frenchmen, only six Indians, of whom threewere holding the horses and mules, were preparing to fight the twentybandits or so who had so insolently revolted.

  However, notwithstanding their small number, the Frenchmen and theirservants resolved to face the danger boldly, and to maintain the combatto the last gasp, considering the conditions that these wretchesthought proper to impose unworthy of their acceptance.

  The painter coolly cocked his pistols, slung his gun by his shoulderbelt, and, instead of waiting the attack of the attendants, boldlyadvanced towards them, after having rejoined his companions, by agesture, to remain where they were, but be ready to defend him.

  A bold action always has its effect on the masses.

  The attendants, instead of continuing to march in advance, hesitated,stopped, and finished by retreating to the wall of the shed, againstwhich they placed their backs.

  They could not at all understand the strange rashness of this man,who thus dared to come alone to face them; and, spite of themselves,by an instinctive sentiment, they felt for him a respect mingledwith fear. Moreover, the combat which had taken place some hoursbefore between the young man and the Spanish captain, by proving theincontestable power and bravery of the stranger, had excited theiradmiration--a circumstance which had considerable weight with them atthe moment--added to the respect which they had for him, and causedthem still further to hesitate.

  The artist had understood the situation at a glance. He felt that hecould not escape from the awkward position in which he found himself,but by boldness and decision. His resolve was the work of a moment,and instead of waiting for the danger, he had bravely anticipated it,convinced that this was the only practicable way of saving his life andthat of his companions, who for the moment appeared to be quite at sea,and rather to depend on chance than on the most skilful of plans.

  "Come, let us make an end of this," said he, in a hard and firm voice,stopping at a couple of paces from the attendants, who were standinghuddled against each other before him; "what do you want?"

  To this question no answer was given.

  "Will you answer yes or no?" pursued Emile. "What do you demand? Nodoubt you have no intention of appropriating to yourselves, purely andsimply, the baggage of the person in whose service you are. That wouldbe the deed of highway robbers, and, low as you may have become in myesteem, I do not believe you have arrived at so base a point as that."

  "And that is just where you are wrong, Senor," said an attendant,taking a couple of steps in advance, swaying himself jauntily about,and laughing.

  The painter did not hesitate. The moment was critical; he aimed at theattendant, and discharged a pistol full in his chest, saying--

  "I do not speak to you; I address myself to these honourablecaballeros, and not to a fellow of your sort."

  The poor devil rolled on the ground without uttering a cry. He had beenkilled in an instant.

  The effect produced by this daring action was electrical. Theattendants, charmed not only at being treated as honourablecaballeros, but also at coming out of the delicate position in whichthey had inconsiderately placed themselves, applauded with enthusiasm,and uttered mad cries of joy at this unwarrantable act.

  "I was saying, then," pursued the painter, in a gentle voice, andcoolly reloading his pistol, "that you are honest people--that isunderstood and agreed on between us. Now that we understand oneanother, explain to me the motives that have induced you to revolt inthis way, and to push matters to such lengths that had I not arrivedyou would have left with the horses, mules, and baggage."

  A unanimous protest was raised to this accusation.

  "Well," continued the young man, "the mules and the horses havebeen saddled and loaded inadvertently, I admit. Without thinkingof doing wrong you would have prepared to take them away with you,still, through a mistake which would be regretted, all that, strictlyspeaking, may be, if not logical, at least possible. But still, inrevolting against a man who has paid you something in advance, and whomyou have engaged to serve honourably for the term of the journey, youhad certain motives. What are these motives is what I wish to know.What are they? Tell me."

  A reaction had worked in the minds of all these uncultivated men. Thebold and honest courage of the young man had carried them away in spiteof themselves. Scarcely had he finished speaking than all protestedenergetically to their loyalty and devotion, pressing round him, andalmost suffocating him as they closed in upon him.

  But he, without losing any of his coolness, and wishing that the lessonshould be complete, pushed them away gently with his hand, and making asign for them to be quiet.

  "One moment," said he to them, smiling; "it is not necessary foranother mistake to come and embroil us anew at the moment when we areon the point of understanding one another. My friends, who are at somelittle distance from us, and who do not know what is passing, wouldsuppose me in danger, and come up to my aid. Let me then prove to themthat all is finished, and that I consider myself perfectly safe."

  And taking his pistols by the barrels, he threw them over his head;unbuckled his sabre, and sent it the same way; and then crossed hisarms carelessly on his breast.

  "Now let us talk," said he.

  This last action of unheard-of boldness literally staggered themutineers. They acknowledged themselves conquered, and, withoutwishing to enter upon new explanations, they humbly bowed before thehaughty young man, and kissed his hands, swearing devotion under allcircumstances, and immediately withdrew with a rapidity which provedtheir repentance.

  Some minutes afterwards the
mules were unloaded, the horses unsaddled,and the attendants, enveloped in their ponchos, were sleeping,stretched before the watch fires.

  Emile rejoined his companions--anxious and stationary at the placewhere he had left them--carelessly twirling a cigarette of maize strawbetween his nervous fingers.

  But his countenance was pale, and his eyes had a sombre expression. Onhis road he found his arms, and again took possession of them.

  "You have done wonders," said M. Dubois to him, grasping his hand withgratitude.

  "No," answered he, with a sweet and calm smile; "only I remembered theword of Danton."

  "What word?"

  "Boldness. It is only with boldness we can tame wild beasts; and whatare men if not savage beasts?"

  "But you risked your life?"

  "Have I not said that a long while ago I made that sacrifice? But donot attach, I beg you, more importance to this affair than it reallydeserves. Everything depended on a firm and prompt resolution. Thesemen were prepared for theft--not for assassination. That is the secretof the matter."

  "Do not seek to lower the value of an action of which I shall preservean ever grateful memory."

  "Bah! What I have done for you today you will do for me tomorrow, andthen we shall be quits."

  "I doubt it. I am not a man for battle. I have only social courage. Inan emeute, I am afraid."

  "Pardieu! So am I; only I do not allow it to be seen. But let us speakno more of this; we have to talk of more important matters--at least,if you would not prefer to resume your sleep, so awkwardly interrupted."

  "It would be impossible for me to sleep now. I am entirely at yourdisposal."

  "Since it is so, let us re-enter the rancho. The nights are cold, thedew frozen. It is of no use for us to be any longer in the open air.You see that our wild revolutionists have taken in good part theirdefeat, and sleep peaceably. Do not let any of them, who may perhapsbe still watching, suppose that we still have any anxiety on theiraccount. Come."

  They re-entered the rancho, the door of which the painter scrupulouslyclosed after him.

  When they had sat down, the young man opened a bottle of rum, pouredout a glass, and, after having tasted it, he gave two or three puffs ofsmoke, and then placing his glass on the table--

  "The situation is grave," he said, throwing himself back in his chair;"do you wish that we should speak unreservedly?"

  "I should like nothing better," answered the old man, casting at him afurtive look from beneath his half-closed eyelids.

  "First and before all, let us understand one another thoroughly,"pursued Emile, smiling; "here we do not talk diplomatically: is it notso?"

  "Why should we?" said his companion, smiling.

  "Why, the force of habit may lead you away, and, believe me, at thismoment it would be a wrong to yourself to allow yourself thus to beled."

  "Fear nothing. I shall be with you as frank as possible."

  "Um!" said the young man, with a half-convinced air; "However, itmatters not, I will risk it; so much the worse for you if you do notkeep your promise, for I have no other interest but yours."

  "I am convinced of it; speak, then, fearlessly."

  "First, one question. You are going to Tucuman?"

  "Have I not told you so?"

  "Just so. A part of the men who accompany you are disguised soldiersthat the government of Buenos Aires has given you to serve you for theescort."

  "How do you know that?"

  "In a way which it is difficult to guess. So you are charged with apolitical mission?"

  "I!"

  "Parbleu! That speaks for itself; only I wish you to observe that itis completely indifferent to me, and that I do not attach the leastimportance to it."

  "But--"

  "Allow me to continue. From what has passed tonight, it is evident tome that a part of your escort is traitorous, and intends to give you upto the Spaniards."

  "Do you think so?"

  "I am sure of it."

  "Matters are serious, then?"

  "You have a mission?"

  "Suppose what you please; but aid me in escaping from my embarrassment."

  "Well, I understand; you need say no more. Now, you will never reachTucuman!"

  "Do you know your opinion is also mine?"

  "Pardieu! I know it well. Now that these fellows are curbed, this iswhat I propose--"

  "Well?"

  "But, take particular notice that it is only in your interest."

  "I am convinced of it."

  "If it is agreeable to you, as these bandits profess a certain respectfor me, I offer to accompany you as far as Tucuman."

  "My dear compatriot, nothing can be more agreeable to me in every waythan this proposition. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You areliterally saving my life."

  "Pardon me--but on one condition."

  "But what is that condition?" said the old man.

  "It is simple; I believe that you will accept it with enthusiasm,"answered the young man, laughing.

  "Tell me, tell me; I am all attention."

  "I must tell you that, without ever having been able to give myself areason for it, I have always felt a profound disgust for politics."

  "There is nothing wrong in that," said the old man, shaking his headwith a pensive air.

  "Is there not? So that, if I consent to escort you as far as Tucuman,and to conduct you there safe and sound, it is on the express conditionthat there shall never be a political discussion between us as long aswe remain together. I have come to America to study art; let us eachenjoy our specialty."

  "I ask nothing better, and subscribe joyfully to that condition."

  "And then--"

  "Ah! There is something else."

  "Consequent on the fear that I have previously expressed, I wish toleave you when we are in sight of Tucuman--that is to say, let usunderstand one another, before entering it; and if some day chanceshould bring us together again, you will never tell anyone whateverthe service I shall have rendered you. Will that suit you?"

  M. Dubois considered for a moment.

  "My dear compatriot," at last said he, "I understand and I appreciate,believe me, all the delicacy of your procedure towards me. I engage,with all my heart, not to trouble your happy artist carelessness bycoming to bore you with political questions that, happily for you,you cannot understand; but your last condition is too hard. Howevergreat may be the danger which threatens me at this moment, I willexpose myself to it without hesitation rather than consent to forgetthe gratitude that I owe you, and to feign towards you an indifferenceagainst which my whole being revolts. We are both Frenchmen, castfar from our country, on a land where all is hostile to us; we areconsequently brothers, that is to say, we are severally answerablefor each other; and you so well enter into this, that all you havedone since our meeting has been done under this impression. Do notdefend yourself; I know you better, perhaps, than you know yourself,but permit me to tell you that your exquisite delicacy causes you justnow to overshoot your mark. It is not for yourself, but for me alonethat you fear all this; I cannot accept this sacrifice of self-denial.Although I am not a man of action, as you are, I nevertheless will inno circumstances consent to compromise my duties; and it is a dutyfor me--a sacred duty ever--not to forget what I owe you, and toacknowledge my deep obligations to you."

  These words were pronounced with so much frankness and simplicity thatthe young man was moved; he held out his hand to the old man, whosepale and severe countenance had assumed, under the feelings whichagitated it, an imposing expression. He answered in a voice which hevainly tried to render indifferent.

  "Let it be so; since you demand it, Monsieur, I give way; to insistfurther would be ungracious. At break of day we will begin the journey,unless you would prefer to pass a day or two here."

  "Urgent affairs call me to Tucuman. If it were not so, the revolt oftonight would induce me to hasten."

  "It will not be renewed, I give you my word. These wild beasts are nowmuzzled, an
d changed into lambs. Better than you I know this mongrelrace, for I have already lived several months in the midst of it. Butwe cannot use too much prudence. It is better, then, that you leaveas soon as possible. There are already three hours of night; takeadvantage of it by getting a little sleep. I will wake you when thehour of departure has arrived. Good night."

  The two men shook hands once more; the painter withdrew, and the oldman remained alone.

  "What a pity," murmured he to himself, installing himself ascomfortably as possible in his mantle, and stretching himself on thetable, "that a man of such ability, and with so brave a heart, shouldlet his life become the sport of fancy, and not consent to devotehimself to a serious career! There is in him, I am convinced, the stuffwhereof to make a diplomatist."

  While he was making these reflections he fell asleep. As to the youngman, as, notwithstanding the assurance he affected, he inwardly had avague misgiving, instead of lying down in the room which he usuallyoccupied, he stretched himself in the open air on the esplanade,across the door of the rancho, and after having cast around him aninquiring look, to assure himself that all was really secure, he sleptpeacefully.

  Scarcely had the stars commenced to pale in the sky, and the horizonto be irradiated with large opal band, than the painter was up andsurveying the preparations for departure.

  The attendants, who had completely resumed their duty, obeyed hisorders with perfect docility, appearing to have quite forgotten theattempt at rebellion so happily frustrated.

  When the mules were loaded and the horsemen in their saddles, the youngman awakened his guest, and they proceeded on their journey.

  From the house of Emile Gagnepain to the town of Tucuman the journeywas rather long. It lasted four days, during which nothing occurredworth mentioning. They camped in the evening sometimes in some Guaranisrancho, abandoned by reason of the war, sometimes on the open field,and left a little before sunrise.

  The attendants did not belie the good opinion that the young painterhad formed of them; their conduct was exemplary, and during all thejourney they did not manifest any tendency to revolt anew.

  On the sixth day, at about ten o'clock in the morning, the white housesand the high towers of San Miguel de Tucuman--to restore to it the namewhich geographers confer upon it--arose upon the horizon.

  The aspect of this city is enchanting; built on the confluenceof the Rio Dulce and the Rio Tucuman, in such a situation as theSpaniards alone knew how to choose at the epoch of the conquest, thetown is traversed by straight and broad streets, with pavements,and intersected here and there by beautiful squares, adorned withsumptuous buildings. The population of Tucuman is about 12,000 souls;it possesses a college, and a somewhat renowned university; while itscommerce makes it one of the most important towns of the Banda Oriental.

  At the time when we take the reader there that importance had furtherincreased by the war. It had been fortified by means of a deep ditch,and by earth ramparts, sufficient to put it in a position to resist anattack.

  For some time strong detachments of troops had been sent to the town onaccount of the events which had happened in Peru, and the approach ofthe Spanish troops.

  These various corps were camped round the town, and their bivouacsoffered the most singular aspect, especially to the eyes of a European,accustomed to that order, symmetry, and discipline which characterisethe armies of the world.

  In these camps all was pell-mell and disorder. The soldiers, lying orsitting on the ground, were playing, sleeping, smoking, or eating,while their wives--for in the entire Hispano-American army eachsoldier is always followed by his wife--led the horses to drink,prepared the meals, or cleaned the arms with that passive obediencewhich is the characteristic of Indian women, and which in some respectsrenders those unhappy creatures so interesting and worthy of pity.

  The travellers, obliged to pass through the bivouacking parties,did not do so without some apprehension. However, contrary to theirmisgiving, they had not to submit to any insult, and entered withoutany obstacle San Miguel de Tucuman.

  The town appeared en fete; the clocks of the convents and of thechurches were ringing a full peal; the streets were full of men andwomen, dressed in their best and handsomest costumes.

  "Have you decided on a spot where to stop?" said the painter to hiscompanion.

  "Yes," answered the latter, "I am going to the portals of the PlazaMayor."

  "But to which? All the square is furnished with portals."

  "To those which front the cathedral. An apartment has been retained forme at the house No. 3."

  "Good, I see that close-by."

  The caravan was then threading an apparently inextricable labyrinth atstreets, but in about a quarter of an hour it came out upon the PlazaMayor.

  "Here we are arrived," said the painter. "Permit me now to take leaveof you."

  "Not before you have consented to accept from me the hospitality I havereceived from you."

  "Why not let me go?"

  "Who knows; perhaps I may still want your assistance?"

  "If it is to be so, I resist no longer, and I will follow you."

  "Let us enter, then, for I believe here is the house."

  They were, in fact, in front of No. 3.