CHAPTER XIII.
THE BEE-HUNT.
The sun was scarcely above the horizon, when the general, whose horsewas already saddled, left the reed cabin which served him as a sleepingapartment, and prepared to set out on his usual daily ride. At themoment when he was putting his foot in the stirrup, a little hand liftedthe curtain of the tent, and Dona Luz appeared.
"Oh! oh! what, up already!" said the general, smiling. "So much thebetter, dear child. I shall be able to have a kiss before I set out; andthat perhaps may bring me good luck," he added, stifling a sigh.
"You will not go thus, uncle," she replied, presenting her cheek, uponwhich he placed a kiss.
"Why not, fair lady?" he asked gaily.
"Because I wish you to partake of something I have prepared for youbefore you mount on horseback; you cannot refuse me, can you, dearuncle?" she said, with that coaxing smile of spoilt children whichdelights the hearts of old men.
"No, certainly not, dear child, upon condition that the breakfast youoffer me so gracefully be not delayed. I am rather in a hurry."
"I only ask for a few minutes," she replied, returning to the tent.
"For a few minutes be it then," said he, following her.
The young girl clapped her hands with joy.
In the twinkling of an eye, the breakfast was ready, and the general attable with his niece. Whilst assisting her uncle, and taking great carethat he wanted for nothing, the young girl looked at him from time totime in an embarrassed manner, and did it so evidently, that the oldsoldier ended by observing it.
"It is my opinion," he said, laying down his knife and fork, and lookingat her earnestly, "that you have something to ask me, Lucita; you knowvery well that I am not accustomed to refuse you anything."
"That is true, dear uncle; but this time, I am afraid, you will be moredifficult to be prevailed upon."
"Ah! ah!" the general said, gaily; "it must be something serious, then!"
"Quite the contrary, uncle; and yet, I confess, I am afraid you willrefuse me."
"Speak, notwithstanding, my child," said the old soldier; "speak withoutfear; when you have told me what this mighty affair is, I will soonanswer you."
"Well, uncle," the girl said, blushing, but determined on her purpose,"I am compelled to say that the residence in the camp has nothingagreeable about it."
"I can conceive that, my child; but what do you wish me to do to make itotherwise?"
"Everything."
"How so, dear?"
"Nay, dear, uncle, if you were always here, it would not be dull; Ishould have your company."
"What you say is very amiable; but, as you know I am absent everymorning, I cannot be here, and-----
"That is exactly where the difficulty lies."
"That is true."
"But, if you were willing, it could be easily removed."
"Do you think so?"
"I am sure of it."
"Well, I don't see too clearly how, unless I remained always with you,and that is impossible."
"Oh; there are other means that would arrange the whole affair."
"Nonsense!"
"Yes, uncle, and very simple means too."
"Well, then, darling, what are these means?"
"You will not scold me, uncle?"
"Silly child! do I ever scold you?"
"That is true! You are so kind."
"Come, then; speak out, little pet?"
"Well, uncle, these means----"
"These means are?"
"That you should take me with you every morning."
"Oh! oh!" said the general, whose brows became contracted; "do you knowwhat you ask me, my dear child?"
"Why, a very natural thing, uncle, as I think."
The general made no reply; he reflected. The girl watched anxiously thefugitive traces of his thoughts upon his countenance.
At the end of a few instants, he raised his head.
"Well, perhaps," he murmured, "it would be better so;" and fixing apiercing look upon his niece, he said, "it would give you pleasure,then, to accompany me?"
"Yes, uncle, yes!" she replied.
"Well, then, get ready, my dear child; henceforth you shall accompany mein my excursions."
She arose from her seat with a bound, kissed her uncle warmly, and gaveorders for her horse to be saddled.
A quarter of an hour later, Dona Luz and her uncle, preceded by theBabbler, and followed by two lanceros, quitted the camp, and plungedinto the forest.
"Which way would you wish to direct your course, today, general?" theguide asked.
"Conduct me to the huts of those trappers you spoke of yesterday."
The guide bowed in sign of obedience. The little party advanced slowlyand with some difficulty along a scarcely traced path, where, at everystep, the horses became entangled in the creeping plants, or stumbledover the roots of trees above the level of the ground.
Dona Luz was gay and happy. Perhaps in these excursions she might meetwith Loyal Heart.
The Babbler, who was a few paces in advance, suddenly uttered a cry.
"Eh!" said the general, "what extraordinary thing has happened, MasterBabbler, to induce you to speak?"
"The bees, senor."
"What! bees! are there bees here?"
"Yes; but lately only."
"How only lately?"
"Why, you know, of course, that bees were brought into America by thewhites."
"That, I know. How is it, then, they are met with here?"
"Nothing more simple; the bees are the advanced sentinels of the whites.In proportion as the whites penetrate into the interior of America,the bees go forward to trace the route for them, and point out theclearings. Their appearance in an uninhabited country always presagesthe arrival of a colony of pioneers or squatters."
"That is something strange," the general murmured; "are you sure of whatyou are telling me?"
"Oh! quite sure, senor; the fact is well known to all Indians, they arenot mistaken in it, be assured; for as soon as they see the bees arrive,they retreat."
"That is truly singular."
"The honey must be very good," said Dona Luz.
"Excellent, senorita, and if you wish for it, nothing is more easy thanto get it."
"Get some, then," said the general.
The guide, who some moments before had placed a bait for the bees uponthe bushes, to which, with his piercing sight, he had already seenseveral bees attracted, made a sign to those behind him to stop.
The bees had, in fact, lighted upon the bait, and were examining it allover; when they had made their provision, they rose very high into theair, and then took flight in a direct line with the velocity of a cannonball.
The guide carefully watched the direction they took, and making a signto the general, he sprang after them, followed by the whole party,clearing themselves a way through interlaced roots, fallen trees, bushesand briars, their eyes directed all the while towards the sky.
In this fashion they never lost sight of the laden bees, and aftera difficult pursuit of an hour, they saw them arrive at their nest,constructed in the hollow of a dead ebony tree; after buzzing for amoment, they entered a hole situated at more than eighty feet from theground.
Then the guide, after having warned his companions to keep at arespectful distance, in order to be out of the way of the falling treeand the vengeance of its inhabitants, seized his axe and attacked theebony vigorously near the base.
The bees did not seem at all alarmed by the strokes of the axe; theycontinued going in and out, carrying on their industrial labours in fullsecurity. A violent cracking even, which announced the splitting of thetrunk, did not divert them from their occupations.
At length the tree fell, with a horrible crash, opening the whole of itslength, and leaving the accumulated treasures of the community exposedto view.
The guide immediately seized a bundle of hay which he had prepared, andto which he set fire to defend himself from the bees.
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p; But they attacked nobody; they did not seek to avenge themselves. Thepoor creatures were stupefied; they ran and flew about in all directionsround their destroyed empire, without thinking of anything but how toaccount for this unlooked-for catastrophe.
Then the guide and the lanceros set to work with spoons and knives toget out the comb and put it into the wineskins.
Some of the comb was of a deep brown, and of ancient date, other partswere of a beautiful white; the honey in the cells was almost limpid.
Whilst they were hastening to get possession of the best combs, theysaw arrive on the wing from all points of the horizon numberless swarmsof honey bees, who, plunging into the broken cells, loaded themselves,whilst the ex-proprietors of the hive, dull and stupefied, looked on,without seeking to save the least morsel, at the robbery of their honey.
It is impossible to describe the astonishment of the bees that wereabsent at the moment of the catastrophe, as they arrived at their latehome with their cargoes; they described circles in the air round theplace the tree had occupied, astonished to find it empty; at length,however they seemed to comprehend their disaster, and collected ingroups upon the dried branch of a neighbouring tree, appearing tocontemplate thence the fallen ruin, and to lament the destruction oftheir empire.
Dona Luz felt affected in spite of herself, at the trouble of these poorcreatures.
"Let us go," she said, "I repent of having wished for honey; mygreediness has made too many unhappy."
"Let us be gone," said the general, smiling; "leave them these few combs."
"Oh!" said the guide, shrugging his shoulders, "they will soon becarried away by the vermin."
"The vermin! What vermin do you mean?" the general asked.
"Oh! the raccoons, the opossums, but particularly the bears."
"The bears?" said Dona Luz.
"Oh, senorita!" the guide replied, "they are the cleverest vermin inthe world in discovering a tree of bees, and getting their share of thehoney."
"Do they like honey, then?" said the lady, with excited curiosity.
"Why, they are mad after it, senorita," the guide, who really seemedto relax of his cynical humour, rejoined. "Imagine how greedy they areafter it, when they will gnaw a tree for weeks, until they succeed inmaking a hole large enough to put their paws in, and then they carry offhoney and bees, without taking the trouble to choose."
"Now," said the general, "let us resume our route, and seek theresidence of the trappers."
"Oh! we shall soon be there, senor," replied the guide; "the greatCanadian river is within a few paces of us, and trappers are establishedall along the streams which flow into it."
The little party proceeded on their way again.
The bee hunt had left an impression of sadness on the mind of the younglady, which, although unconscious of it, she could not overcome. Thosepoor little creatures, so gentle and so industrious, attacked andruined for a caprice, grieved her, and, in spite, of herself, made herthoughtful.
Her uncle perceived this disposition of her mind.
"Dear child!" he said, "what is passing in your little head? You are nolonger so gay as when we set out; whence comes this sudden change?"
"Good heavens! uncle, do not let that disturb you; I am, like otheryoung girls, rather wild and whimsical; this bee hunt, from which Ipromised myself so much pleasure, has left a degree of sadness behind itthat I cannot get rid of."
"Happy child!" the general murmured, "whom so futile a cause has stillthe power to trouble. God grant, darling, that you may continue longin that disposition, and that greater and more real troubles may neverreach you!"
"My kind uncle, shall I not always be happy while near you?"
"Alas! my child, who knows whether God may permit me to watch over youlong!"
"Do not say so, uncle; I hope we have many years to pass together."
The general only responded to this hope by a sigh.
"Uncle," the girl resumed, after a few moments, "do you not find thatthe aspect of the grand and sublime nature which surrounds us hassomething striking in it that ennobles our ideas, elevates the soul, andrenders man better? How happy must they be who live in these boundlessdeserts!"
The general looked at her with astonishment.
"Whence come these thoughts to your mind, dear child?" he said.
"I do not know, uncle," she replied, timidly; "I am but an ignorantgirl, whose life, still so short, has flowed on to this moment calm andpeaceful, under your protection. And yet there are moments when it seemsto me that I should be happy to live in these vast deserts."
The general, surprised, and inwardly charmed at the ingenuous franknessof his niece, was preparing to answer her, when the guide, suddenlycoming up to them, made a sign to command silence, by saying, in a voiceas low as a breath,--
"A man!"