Gustave Aimard
The Pearl of the Andes: A Tale of Love and Adventure

CHAPTER XXXIII.
FIRST HOURS OF CAPTIVITY

Trangoil-Lanec had not been deceived, it was really Don Tadeo whom he had seen galloping by the side of the Toqui. The King of Darkness was not dead, he was not even wounded, but he was the prisoner of Antinahuel.

After Don Tadeo saw his faithful followers fall one after the other by his side, and he was left alone, he still continued fighting. It was then that he heard the cries of encouragement from Valentine and the count. Antinahuel had also heard the shouts of the Frenchmen, and on seeing the incredible efforts they made to succour their friend, he perceived that if he delayed the capture, his prey would escape him; hence he tore off his poncho and threw it skilfully over the head of Don Tadeo, who, blinded and embarrassed in the folds of the ample woollen vestment, was disarmed.

Antinahuel, whilst flying with the swiftness of an arrow, contrived to rally around him a good number of horsemen, so that at the end of about twenty minutes, he found himself at the head of five hundred warriors. The Toqui formed of these warriors a compact squadron, and turning round several times, like a tiger pursued by the hunters, he charged the Chilian horse vigorously. When arrived at a certain distance, and the conquerors had renounced the pursuit, he stopped to look after his prisoner, and allow his troop to take breath.

Since his capture Don Tadeo had given no signs of life, and Antinahuel feared with reason that, deprived of air, and shaken by the rapidity and roughness of the course, he should find him in a dangerous state. He hastened to untie the lasso, the numerous twists of which cut the prisoner in all parts of his body, and then took off the poncho which covered him – Don Tadeo had fainted. Want of air alone caused this result, so that as soon as he breathed freely he opened his eyes. At this happy result a smile of indefinable meaning lighted the features of the Toqui for a second.

Don Tadeo cast around a look of astonishment, and appeared to sink into deep reflection; memory, however, returned by degrees, he recollected what had taken place, and how he came into the hands of the chief. He rose crossed his arms upon his breast, and looking steadfastly at the great chief – waited.

"Does my father feel himself better?"

"Yes," Don Tadeo replied laconically.

"Can we then set on again?"

"Is it for me to give you orders?"

"If my father were not sufficiently recovered to sit on horseback we would wait a little."

"Oh, oh!" said Don Tadeo.

"I should be very sorry if any inconvenience befell my father."

Don Tadeo shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, and Antinahuel resumed —

"We are about to depart; will my father give me his word of honour not to attempt to escape? If he do so, I will allow him to be free amongst us."

"Will you have faith in my word?"

"I am but a poor Indian, my father is a caballero."

"Before I reply, tell me whither you are taking me."

"I am taking my father to the country of the Puelches, my brothers."

A feeling of joy rushed into the prisoner's heart, he should see his daughter.

"How long is this journey likely to last?"

"Only three days."

"I give you my word of honour not to attempt to escape for three days."

"Good," the chief replied, in a solemn voice.

"When my father is ready, we will depart," Antinahuel said.

Don Tadeo mounted, the Toqui followed his example, and the troop set off at a smart pace.

The sun had sunk low in the horizon when the chief commanded a halt. The spot was admirably chosen; it was a narrow valley, situated on the not very high summit of a hill, the position of which rendered a surprise almost impossible.

Antinahuel seemed to have forgotten his hatred for Don Tadeo; he spoke to him with the greatest deference. Confiding in his word of honour, he left him entirely free. As soon as the repast was terminated, sentinels were placed, and everyone sought repose. Don Tadeo in vain courted sleep, for a too powerful anxiety devoured him to allow him to close his eyes. Seated at the foot of a tree, his head reclining on his breast, he passed the whole night in reflecting upon the strange events which for some months passed had assailed him.

The rising sun found him plunged in these sad thoughts, and sleep had not for an instant closed his weary eyelids. But everybody was in motion in the camp; the horses were saddled, and after a hasty repast the march was continued. The day passed away without any incident worthy of being recorded. In the evening they encamped, as they had done the night before, on the summit of a hill; the sole difference was that, as the Araucanos now knew themselves to be beyond the danger of a surprise, they did not take such great precautions as on the preceding occasion; but still they raised entrenchments.

Don Tadeo, overcome by fatigue, sank into a leaden sleep, from which he was not roused till the moment for departure.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE ULTIMATUM

Antinahuel had rejoined the mosotones to whom he had confided Doña Rosario two days previously. The two troops now formed but one. The Toqui had at first entertained the intention of crossing the first plateau of the Andes. But the battle they had lost had produced terrible consequences; their principal tolderías had been burned by the Spaniards, their towns sacked, and the inhabitants either killed or carried away. Such as had been able to fly had at first wandered about the woods without an object; but as soon as they learned that the Toqui had succeeded in escaping, they re-assembled, and sent envoys to him to demand assistance.

Antinahuel rejoiced at the movement of reaction which was going on among his countrymen. He changed his itinerary, and had, at the head of a hundred men only, returned back in the direction of the Bio Bio; whilst by his order his other warriors dispersed throughout the Aucas territory for the purpose of rousing the people to arms. The Toqui had no intention now of extending the Araucanian dominions; his only desire now was to obtain, arms in hand, a peace which might not be too disadvantageous for his country.

For a reason only known to Antinahuel, Don Tadeo and Rosario were completely ignorant that they were so near to each other.

Antinahuel had pitched his camp at the summit of the mountain, where some days before he had been with the whole Indian army, in the strong position which commanded the ford of the Bio Bio.

It was about two o'clock in the afternoon. With the exception of a few Araucanian sentinels, leaning motionless upon their long lances, the camp appeared a desert; silence reigned everywhere. Suddenly a trumpet call was sounded from the opposite side of the river. The Ulmen charged with the care of the advanced posts ordered a reply to be sounded, and went out to inquire the cause. Three horsemen, clothed in rich uniforms, stood upon the bank; close to them was a trumpeter, waving a flag of truce. The Ulmen hoisted a similar flag, and advanced into the water to meet the horsemen.

"What do the chiefs of the white faces want?" the Ulmen asked, haughtily.

One of the horsemen immediately replied —

"Go and tell the Toqui that a general officer has an important communication to make to him."

The wild eye of the Indian flashed at this insult; but he said, disdainfully —

"I will go and inquire whether our great Toqui is disposed to receive you; but I much doubt whether he will condescend to listen to Cheapolo-Huincas."

"Fool!" the other replied angrily; "make haste."

"Be patient, Don Gregorio, in Heaven's name!" one of the two officers exclaimed.

At the expiration of a few minutes a sign was made from the bank that the Chilians might advance. Antinahuel, seated under the shade of a magnificent espino, awaited the officers. They stopped before him, and remained motionless.

"What is your will?" he asked, in a stern voice.

"Listen to my words, and mark them carefully," Don Gregorio replied.

"Speak, and be brief," said Antinahuel.

Don Gregorio shrugged his shoulders disdainfully,

"Don Tadeo de León is in your hands," he said.

"Yes; the man is my prisoner."

"Very well. If tomorrow, by the third hour of the day, he is not given up to us safe and sound, the hostages we have taken, and more than eighty others, will be shot within sight of the two camps."

"You will do as you please, but this man shall die!" the chief replied, coldly.

"Oh! that is the case, is it? Very well! I, Don Gregorio Peralta, swear to you, on my part, that I will strictly keep the promise I have made you."

And turning his horse sharply round he departed.

And yet there was more bravado than anything else in the threat made by Antinahuel. If pride had not prevented him, he would have renewed the parley. He returned to his camp buried in thought, and went straight to his toldo. The Linda, who was seated in a corner upon sheepskins, was as much absorbed in thought as the chief; Doña Rosario had fallen asleep. At the sight of the young girl the chief experienced a peculiar emotion, the blood flowed back forcibly to his heart, and springing towards her, he imprinted a burning kiss upon her half-open lips, Doña Rosario, suddenly awakened, bounded to the extremity of the toldo, uttering a cry of terror.

"What is the meaning of all this?" the chief exclaimed angrily; "Whence comes this terror?"

And he took several steps towards her.

"Advance no further! advance no further! in Heavens name!" she shrieked.

"What is the use of all this folly? You are mine."

"Never!" she said, in an agony of grief.

"Nonsense!" he said; "I am not a paleface, the tears of women have no effect upon me."

And he advanced again towards her. The Linda, still apparently buried in her reflections, seemed not to be aware of what was going on.

"Señora, señora!" the maiden cried; "in the name of all that is sacred defend me, I implore you!"

The Linda raised her head, looked at her coldly, and, with a dry nervous laugh, said —

"Have I not told you what you had to expect?"

Then she thrust her roughly from her.

"Oh!" cried Doña Rosario, in a piercing voice, "maldición on you, heartless woman!"

Again the chief approached, and again his victim darted to the other side of the apartment, but unfortunately as she passed he caught her dress in his iron grasp. And now the noble energy that never deserts virtue in distress returned to her. She drew herself up proudly, and fixed her eyes steadfastly on her pursuer. "Stand back!" she cried, brandishing her dagger. "Stand back! or I will kill myself!"

In spite of himself the demon stood motionless. He was convinced that it was not a vain threat the girl uttered. At that moment the hideous, scarred, grinning face of the Linda was bent towards his ear.

"Appear to yield," she whispered; "I will tame her, leave her to me!"

Antinahuel looked at her with a suspicious eye. The Linda smiled.

"Do you promise me?" he said, in a hoarse voice.

"On my soul I do," she replied.

In the meantime Doña Rosario – her arm elevated and her body bent forward – awaited the denouement of this frightful scene. With a facility which the Indians alone possess, Antinahuel composed his countenance so as entirely to change its expression.

"My sister will pardon me," he said, in a soft voice; "I was mad, reason is restored to my mind."

After again bowing to the young lady, who did not know to what to attribute this sudden change, he left the toldo.

Upon reflection, Antinahuel resolved to strike his camp and depart.

The Linda and Doña Rosario were sent in advance, under the guard of some mosotones. The young girl, weakened by the terrible emotions she had undergone, could scarcely sit her horse; a burning fever had seized her. "I am thirsty – so thirsty!" she murmured.

At a sign from the Linda one of the mosotones approached her, and unfastened a gourd.

"Let my sister drink," he said.

The maiden seized the gourd eagerly, applied it to her lips, and drank a large draught.

"Good!" said the Linda to herself.

"Thank you," Doña Rosario murmured, restoring the gourd almost empty. But ere long her eyes gradually grew heavy, and she sank back, murmuring in a faint voice —

"Good Heaven! what can be the matter with me? I am dying."

One of the mosotones caught her in his arms, and placed her before him on his saddle. All at once she for a moment recovered herself as if by an electric shock, opened her eyes, and cried with a piercing voice, "Help, help!" and relapsed into insensibility.

On hearing this agonised cry, the Linda, in spite of herself, felt her heart fail her, but quickly recovering, she said, with a bitter smile —

"Am I growing foolish?"

She made a sign to the mosotone who carried Doña Rosario to draw nearer, and examined her attentively.

"She is asleep," she muttered, with an expression of satisfied hatred; "when she awakes I shall be avenged."

At this moment Antinahuels position was very critical. Too weak to attempt anything serious against the Chilians, whom he wished to induce to make a peace advantageous for his country, he endeavoured to gain time by moving about on the frontier, so that his enemies, not knowing where to find him, could not force conditions upon him which he ought not to accept. Although the Aucas responded to the appeal of his emissaries, and rose eagerly to come and join his ranks, it was necessary to give the tribes, most of them remote, time to concentrate upon the point he had named.

On their side the Spaniards, whose internal tranquillity was for the future secured by the death of General Bustamente, had very little desire to carry on a war which had no longer any interest for them. They stood in need of peace to repair the evils created by the civil war, they therefore confined themselves to arming their frontiers, and endeavoured by every means to bring about serious conferences with the principal Araucan chiefs. Don Gregorio Peralta had been blamed for the threat he had so hastily made to Antinahuel, and he himself acknowledged the folly of his conduct when he heard of the Toquis departure with his prisoner. Another system had in consequence been adopted. Only ten of the principal chiefs were detained as hostages. The others, well instructed and loaded with presents, were set at liberty. Everything rendered it probable that these chiefs on their return to their respective tribes would employ their influence to conclude a peace, and unmask before the council the proceedings of Antinahuel, proceedings which had brought the nation to the verge of ruin.

The Araucanos are passionate in their love of liberty; for them every consideration gives way to that of being free. Hence it was easy to foresee that the Aucas, in spite of their veneration for their Toqui, would not hesitate to depose him when their chiefs on the one part and the friendly captains on the other, made it clear to them that that liberty was compromised, and that they exposed themselves to being deprived of it forever, and falling under the Spanish yoke if they continued their aggressive policy.

CHAPTER XXXV.
A FURY

After a march of five or six leagues at most, Antinahuel ordered his troop to bivouac. The warriors who accompanied him were almost all of his own tribe. As soon as the fires were lighted the Linda approached him.

"I have kept my promise," she said.

"Then, the young girl – ?" he asked.

"Is asleep!" she replied, with a hideous smile.

"Good," he murmured, joyfully, and bent his steps towards the toldo, erected in haste, beneath which his victim had been transported. "No," he said, "presently!" and then turning to his accomplice added, "For how long a time has my sister sent the young girl to sleep?"

"She will not awake before daybreak."

A smile of satisfaction lit up the chief's features.

"That is well – my sister is skilful, and I should like to show my sister," he continued, "that I am not ungrateful, and that I also keep my word faithfully."

The Linda fixed a searching look upon him.

"Of what word is my brother speaking?"

"My sister has an enemy whom she has pursued for a long time, without being able to destroy him," Antinahuel said, with a smile.

"Don Tadeo?"

"Yes, and that enemy is also mine."

"Well?"

"He is in my power."

"Don Tadeo is my brother's prisoner?"

"He is here."

"At last," she cried, triumphantly. "Then I will repay him all the tortures he has inflicted upon me."

"Yes; she is at liberty to make him undergo all the insults her inventive spirit can furnish her with."

"Oh!" she cried, in a voice that almost made the hardened chief shudder, "I will only inflict one punishment upon him, but it shall be terrible."

"But be careful, woman." Antinahuel replied; "be careful not to let your hatred carry you too far; this man's life is mine, and I will deprive him of it with my own hands."

"Oh!" she said, with a hideous, mocking laugh, "do not be afraid; I will return your victim to you safe and sound. I am not a man – my weapon is my tongue."

"Yes; but that weapon is double-edged,"

"I will restore him to you, I tell you."

"There," the chief replied, pointing to a hut made of branches; "but beware forget not what I said."

"I will not forget," she retorted, with a savage leer.

And she sprang towards the hut.

"It is only women that know how to hate," Antinahuel murmured, looking after her.

A score of warriors waited for their chief at the entrance of the camp. He sprang into his saddle and departed with them.

Although through pride he had allowed nothing to appear, the threats of Don Gregorio had produced a strong impression upon Antinahuel. He had reason to fear that the Chilian officer would massacre his prisoners and hostages. The consequences of this action would be terrible to him, and would make him lose beyond recovery the prestige he still enjoyed among his compatriots; therefore, forced for the first time in his life to bend, he had resolved to retrace his steps, and confer with this man.

Endowed with great finesse, Antinahuel flattered himself he could obtain from Don Gregorio a delay which would enable him to sacrifice his prisoner without being called to an account for it. But time pressed.

It was scarcely eight o'clock in the evening, and Antinahuel had but six leagues to ride; he flattered himself, therefore, that if nothing thwarted his plans, he should arrive long before the time, and even return to his camp ere sunrise.

We have said that the Linda entered the hut which sheltered Don Tadeo. She found him seated upon a heap of dry leaves in a corner of the hut, his back leaning against a tree, his arms crossed upon his breast, and his head drooping on his chest. Absorbed by the bitter thoughts which weighed upon his heart, he did not perceive the entrance of the Linda, who, standing motionless within two paces of him, contemplated him with an expression of rage and satisfied hatred.

"Well?" said a shrill, incisive voice, "What are you thinking of, Don Tadeo?"

He started at the too well-known sound, and raised his head.

"Ah!" he replied, bitterly, "is that you? I wondered I had not seen you before."

"It is strange, is it not?" she replied. "Well, we are once more face to face."

"Like a hyena, the odour of blood attracts you."

"Who – I, Don Tadeo? You mistake my character strangely. No, no; am I not your wife – the woman whom you loved so much?"

Don Tadeo shrugged his shoulders with an expression of disgust.

"You ought to be grateful for what I do," she replied.

"Listen to me," said Don Tadeo, "your insults can never rise to the height of my contempt. Do, act, speak, insult me, invent the most atrocious calumnies your infernal genius can inspire, I will not answer you! Concentrated in myself, your insults, like a vain sound, will strike my ear without my mind making the least effort to understand them."

"Oh!" she cried, "I know well how to compel you to listen to me, my beloved husband. You men are all alike! You arrogate to yourselves all the rights, as you have done all the virtues! We are contemptible beings, creatures without heart; condemned to be your very humble servants, and to endure, with a smile upon our lips, all the insults you please to heap upon us! It was I who was always wrong; you are right; it was I who stole your child from you, was it not?"

At the end of a minute she resumed —

"Come, let there be no feigning between us; let us speak for the last time openly. You are the prisoner of your most implacable enemy; the most frightful tortures await you. In a few instants, perhaps, the punishment which threatens you will fall like a thunderbolt upon your proud head. Well, I can enable you to escape this punishment; that life, which you now reckon only by seconds, I can restore to you, happy, long, and glorious! In a word, I can with one sentence, one gesture, one sign, restore you to liberty immediately! I only ask one thing of you – I mistake, not a thing, a word – utter that word, Don Tadeo, where is my daughter?"

Don Tadeo shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, with a gesture of fury, "this man is a bar of iron; nothing can touch him – no words are sufficiently strong to move him! Demon! demon! oh, with what joy I could tear you to pieces! But no," she added, after a moment's pause, "I am wrong, Don Tadeo; pardon me, I know not what I say; grief makes me mad! Have pity on me! I am a woman – I am a mother. I adore my child, my poor little girl whom I have not seen so long, who has lived deprived of my kisses and my love! Restore her to me, Don Tadeo. See, I am on my knees at your feet! I supplicate you, I weep! Don Tadeo, restore me my child!"

She cast herself at the feet of Don Tadeo, and seized his poncho.

"Begone, señora, begone!"

"And is that all?" she cried, in a choked, husky voice; "Is that all? I implore you, I drag myself panting with grief through the dust at your feet, and you laugh at me. Prayers and threats are equally powerless with you. Beware, Don Tadeo, beware!"

Don Tadeo smiled disdainfully.

"What punishment can you impose upon me more terrible than your presence?" he said.

"Senseless man!" she resumed; "Fool! Do you imagine, then, that you alone are in my power?"

"What do you mean by that?" Don Tadeo cried, starting up.

"Ah, ah!" she exclaimed, with an expression of ferocious joy, "I have hit the mark this time, have I?"

"Speak, speak!" he exclaimed, in great agitation.

"And suppose I should not please to do so?" she replied ironically. And she laughed like a demon.

"But no," she continued, in a bitterly sarcastic tone, "I cannot bear malice: come along with me, Don Tadeo; I will lead you to her whom you have so long sought for in vain, and whom but for me you would never see again. And see how generous I am," she added, jeeringly. "Come along with me, Don Tadeo."

She hastily left the hut, and Don Tadeo followed her, struck by a horrible presentiment.