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THE PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES
ADVENTURES IN THE AMERICAN DESERT,
BY
GUSTAVE AIMARD
AUTHOR OF "THE TRAIL HUNTER," "THE TIGER SLAYER," "THE INDIAN CHIEF," ETC.
LONDON
WARD AND LOCK
158, FLEET STREET
MDCCCLXII
PREFACE
The present is the second of the series of Indian tales, commencing withthe "Trail-Hunter," and which will be completed in one more volume,entitled the "Trapper's Daughter." It must be understood, however, thateach of these volumes is complete in itself, although the charactersalready introduced to the reader are brought on the stage again, andcontinue their surprising adventures through succeeding works. For this,Gustave Aimard can quote the example of his predecessor, FenimoreCooper, whose "Deer Slayer," appears in a long succession of volumes,not necessarily connected, but which all repay perusal. I believe thatfew who have commenced with one volume of Cooper's Indian tales, buthave been anxious to follow the hero through the remainder of hisadventures; and I sincerely trust that a perusal of the "Pirates of thePrairies" may lead to a demand for the other volumes by the same author,which have already appeared, and for those which have still to follow.
LASCELLES WRAXALL.
CONTENTS.
I. The Cache II. The Ambuscade III. An Old Acquaintance of the Reader IV. Red Cedar at Bay V. The Grotto VI. The Proposition VII. Ellen and Dona Clara VIII. The Flight IX. The Teocali X. The White Gazelle XI. The Apaches XII. Black Cat XIII. The Great Medicine XIV. The Succour XV. On the Island XVI. Sunbeam XVII. Indian Hospitality XVIII. Love! XIX. The Dance of the Old Dogs XX. A Hand-to-Hand Fight XXI. The Avenger XXII. Explanatory XXIII. Apaches and Comanches XXIV. The Scalp-Dance XXV. The Torture XXVI. Two Women's Hearts XXVII. Shaw XXVIII. The Departure XXIX. The Ambuscade XXX. The Pirate's Confession XXXI. The Rivals XXXII. Fray Ambrosio XXXIII. The Trail XXXIV. The Hunt XXXV. The Combat XXXVI. The Earthquake
CHAPTER I.
THE CACHE.
Two months have elapsed since we left the Trail-Hunter commencing hisadventurous journey, and we are in the heart of the desert. Before usimmensity is unfolded. What pen, however eloquent, would venture todescribe those illimitable oceans of verdure to which the NorthAmericans have in their imagery, given the poetic and mysterious name ofthe Far West? That is to say, the truly unknown region, with its scenesat once grand and striking, soft and terrible; unbounded prairies inwhich may be found that rich and luxuriant Flora, against whose magicgrowth only the Indian can successfully struggle.
These plains, at the first glance, offer the dazzled eye of the rashtraveller who ventures on them a vast carpet of verdure embossed withflowers, furrowed by large streams; and they appear of a desperateregularity, mingling in the horizon with the azure of the sky.
It is only by degrees, when the sight grows accustomed to the picture,that, gradually mastering the details, the visitor notices here andthere rather lofty hills, the escarped sides of the water courses, and athousand unexpected accidents which agreeably break that monotony bywhich the eye is at first saddened, and which the lofty grass and thegiant productions of the Flora completely conceal.
How can we enumerate the products of this primitive nature, which forman inextricable confusion and interlacement, describing majestic curves,producing grand arcades, and offering, in a word, the most splendid andsublime spectacle it was ever given to man to admire through its eternalcontrasts and striking harmony?
Above the gigantic ferns, the _mezquite_, the cactuses, nopales,larches, and fruit-laden arbutuses, rise the mahogany tree with itsoblong leaves, the _moriche_, or pine tree, the _abanijo_, whose wideleaves are shaped like a fan, the _pirijao_, from which hang enormousclusters of golden fruit, the royal palm whose stem is denuded offoliage, and balances its majestic and tufted head at the slightestbreath; the Indian cane, the lemon tree, the guava, the plantain, the_chinciroya_, or intoxicating fruit, the oak, the pine tree, and the waxpalm, distilling its resinous gum.
Then, there are immense fields of dahlias, flowers whiter than the snowsof the Caffre de Perote or the Chimborazo, or redder than blood, immenselianas twining and circling round the stems of trees and vinesoverflowing with sap; and in the midst of this inextricable chaos fly,run, and crawl, in every direction, animals of all sorts and sizes,birds, quadrupeds, reptiles, amphibious, singing, crying, howling androaring with every note of the human gamut, some mocking and menacing,others soft and melancholy.
The stags and deer bounding timidly along, with ear erect and eye on thewatch, the bighorn leaping from rock to rock, and then restingmotionless on the verge of a precipice, the heavy and stupid buffaloeswith their sad eyes; the wild horses, whose numerous _manadas_ make theearth re-echo in their purposeless chase; the alligator, with its bodyin the mud, and sleeping in the sun; the hideous _iguana_ carelesslyclimbing up a tree; the puma, that maneless lion; the panther and jaguarcunningly watch their prey as it passes; the brown bear, that gluttonoushoney-hunter; the grizzly, the most formidable denizen of thesecountries; the _cotejo_, with its venomous bite; the chameleon, whoseskin reflects every hue; the green lizard, and the basilisk crawlingsilent and sinister beneath the leaves; the monstrous boa, the coralsnake, so small and yet so terrible; the _cascabel_, the _macaurel_, andthe great striped serpent.
The feathered flock sing and twitter on the branches, hidden beneath thedense foliage; the tanagers, the curassos, the chattering _lloros_, the_haras_, the flycatcher, the toucans, with their enormous beaks, thepigeons, the _trogons_, the elegant rose flamingos, the swans balancingand sporting in the streams, and the light and graceful gray squirrelsleaping with unimaginable speed from creeper to creeper, from shrub toshrub.
In the highest regions of air, hovering in long circles over theprairie, the eagle of the Sierra Madre, with wide-spread wings, and thebald-headed vulture, select the prey on which they dart with therapidity of lightning.
Then, suddenly, crushing under his horse's hoofs the sand andgold-studded pebbles sparkling in the sun, appears, as if byenchantment, an Indian, with his red skin glistening like new copper,robust limbs, gestures stamped with majesty and grace, and a commandingeye; a Navajo, Pawnee, Comanche, Apache or Sioux, who, whirling hislasso or _lakki_ round his head, drives before him a herd of startledbuffaloes or wild horses, or else a panther, ounce, or jaguar, that flyhis presence with hoarse roars of rage and terror.
This child of the desert, so grand, so noble, and so disdainful ofperil, who crosses the prairies with incredible speed, and knows itsthousand turnings, is truly the king of this strange country, which healone can traverse night and day, and whose countless dangers he doesnot fear. He struggles inch by inch with that European civilisationwhich is slowly advancing, driving him into his last intrenchments andinvading his lands on all sides.
Hence, woe to the trapper or hunter who ventures to traverse theseprairies alone! His bones will bleach on the plain, and his scalp adornthe shield of an Indian chief, or the mane of his horse.
Such is the sublime, striking, and terrible spectacle the Far Westoffers even at the present day.
The day on which we resume our story, at the moment when the sunattained its zenith, the mournful silence brooding over the desert wassudd
enly troubled by a slight sound, which was heard in the tuftedclumps that border the Rio Gila, in one of the most unknown districts ofthis solitude.
The branches were cautiously parted, and amid the leaves and creepers aman displayed his face dripping with perspiration, and marked with anexpression of terror and despair.
This man, after looking around him anxiously, and assuring himself thatno one was on the watch, slowly disengaged his body from the grass andshrubs that conceal it, walked a few steps in the direction of theriver, and fell to the ground, uttering a profound sigh.
Almost simultaneously an enormous mastiff, with a cross of the wolf andNewfoundland, bounded from the shrubs and lay down at his feet.
The man who appeared so unexpectedly on the banks of the Rio Gila wasRed Cedar.[1]
His position appeared most critical, for he was alone in the desert,without weapons or provisions. We say without weapons, for the longknife passed through his deerskin girdle was almost useless to him.In the Far West, that infinite ocean of verdure, an unarmed man is adead man!
The struggle becomes impossible for him with the numberless enemies whowatch his passing, and only await a favourable moment to catch him. RedCedar was deprived of those inestimable riches of the hunter, a rifleand a horse. Moreover he was alone!
Man, so long as he can see his fellow, even though that fellow be anenemy, does not believe himself abandoned. In his heart there remains avague hope for which he cannot account, but which sustains and endowshim with courage.
But, so soon as every human form has disappeared, and man, animperceptible grain of dust in the desert, finds himself face to facewith God, he trembles, for the feeling of his weakness is then revealedto him; he comprehends how insignificant he is before these colossalworks of nature, and how insensate is the struggle he must carry on, inorder to raise only a corner of the winding sheet of sand graduallysettling down on him, and which assails him from all sides at once.
Red Cedar was an old wood ranger. Many times, during his excursions inthe prairies, he had found himself in almost desperate situations, andhe had always got out of them by his boldness, patience, and above all,his firm will.
Still, he had never before been so denuded of everything as he was atthis moment.
Still, he must make up his mind to something. He arose, stifling anoath, and whistling to his dog, the only being that remained faithful inhis misfortunes, he set out, not even taking the trouble to find out hisdirection. In fact, what need had he to choose one? Were not all goodfor him, and would they not all lead within a given period to the sameend--death?
He walked on thus for several hours with drooping head, seeing thebighorns and asshatas bounding round, as if mocking him. The buffaloesscarce deigned to raise their heads as he passed, and looked at him withtheir large melancholy eyes, as if comprehending that their implacablefoe was disarmed, and they had nothing to fear from him. The elks,balanced on the points of the rocks, leaped and sported round him, whilehis dog, who did not at all comprehend this very novel affair, looked atits master, and seemed to ask him what it all meant.
The day passed thus, without producing the least change for the betterin the squatter's position; but, on the contrary, aggravating it. Atnightfall he fell on the sand, exhausted by fatigue and hunger. The sunhad disappeared, and the darkness was already invading the prairie. Thehowling of the wild beasts could be heard as they emerged from theirlair to quench their thirst and go in search of food. The disarmedsquatter could not light a fire to keep them at bay.
He looked around him; a last instinct of preservation, perhaps, or thefinal gleam of hope, that divine spark which is never extinguished inthe heart of the most unfortunate man, urged him to seek a shelter. Heclimbed up a tree, and after tying himself securely, through fear of afall, if, as was very improbable, he fell asleep, he closed his eyes andsought slumber, in order to cheat for a few moments, at any rate, thathunger which devoured him, and forget his deplorable position.
But sleep does not thus visit the unfortunate, and obstinately refusedto come, when most earnestly invoked. No one, who has not experiencedit, can imagine the horror of a sleepless night in the desert! Thedarkness is peopled with mournful spectres, the wild beasts roar, theserpents twine round the trees, and at times clasp in their cold andviscous coils the wretched man half-dead with terror.
No one can say of how many centuries a minute is composed in thisterrible situation, or the length of this nightmare, during which thesickly mind creates the most monstrous lucubrations. Especially when thestomach is empty, and, through that very circumstance, the brain is moreeasily invaded by delirium.
At sunrise the squatter breathed a sigh of relief. And yet, of whatconsequence to him was the appearance of light, for it was only thebeginning of a day of intolerable suffering and frightful torture? But,at any rate, he could see, he could notice, what went on around him; thesun warmed and restored him some slight strength. He came down from thetree in which he had passed the night, and continued his journey.
Why did he go on? He did not know himself; still, he walked as if he hada point to reach, although he was perfectly well aware he had no help toexpect from anyone, and that, on the contrary, the first face heperceived would be that of an enemy.
But the man whose mind is powerfully constituted is so. He never givesup; he struggles to the last moment, and if he cannot trust toProvidence, he hopes in accident, without daring to confess it tohimself.
It would be impossible for us to explain the thoughts that crossed thesquatter's brain while, with uncertain step he crossed silently andsadly the vast solitudes of the prairie.
Toward midday, the heat became so intense, that, overcome by so muchmoral and physical suffering, he sank exhausted at the foot of a tree.He remained for a long time extended on the ground; but, at length,impelled by want, he rose with an effort, and sought for roots and herbswhich might lull the hunger that gnawed his vitals. His search was longin vain, but at last he found a species of _yucca_, a pasty rootsomewhat like manioc, which he devoured with delight. He laid in a stockof this root, which he shared with his dog, and, after a deep draughtfrom the stream, he prepared to continue his journey, slightlyre-invigorated by this more than frugal meal; when all at once his eyeemitted a flash, his face grew animated, and he murmured in a voicetrembling with emotion:
"Suppose it was one!"
This is what had caused Red Cedar's exclamation. At the moment he wassetting out again after looking mechanically around him, he fancied henoticed at a certain spot that the grass was closer and taller thananywhere else. This difference, visibly only to a man long accustomed tothe prairie, did not escape him.
The Indians and hunters, often compelled to make a hurried journey,either to avoid a hostile ambuscade or follow up the game, arenecessitated to abandon a large portion of their plunder or merchandisethey carry with them for trading purposes. As they are not at allinclined to lose it, however, they make what is called in trapperlanguage a _cache_.
It is effected in the following way.
They begin by spreading blankets and buffalo skins round the spot wherethey intend making the cache: then they remove large sods of grass,square, round, or oval, and dig out the soil, being careful to lay it onthe blankets or skins. When the hole is deep enough, the sides are linedwith buffalo hides, for fear of damp, and the articles are laid in it:the soil is then put in again, and the grass laid over it, which iswatered to make it grow, and the rest of the earth is carried to theriver, into which every particle is thrown, in order to hide any traceof the cache, which is so closely concealed, that a man must have anextraordinary skilful eye to discover one, and he often only finds oldcaches which have been ransacked and have nothing left in them.
The objects placed in the caches will keep for five or six years withoutdeteriorating. How many things concealed in this way have been lostthrough the death of their owners who bear with them in the tomb thesecret of the spot where they have deposited their wealth!
We have
said, that the squatter imagined he had found such a cache. Inhis position, such a discovery was of inestimable value to him: it mightoffer him articles of primary necessity he wanted, and restore him, asit were, to life, by supplying him with means to recommence hisexistence of hunting, plunder, and vagabondage.
He stood for some minutes with his eye fixed on the spot where hesuspected the cache, his mind agitated by undefinable feelings. Atlength he moderated his emotion, and his heart palpitating with fear andhope, carefully laid his blanket and buffalo robe by the cache to holdthe earth, with that honesty innate in men accustomed to a prairie life,who, though they may be bandits and plunder the property of othersunscrupulously, still consider it a point of honour not to squander it,or deprive the legal owner of anything but what is absolutely necessaryto themselves; then he knelt down and with his knife removed a sod ofgrass.
It is impossible to describe the quiver and anxiety of this man when hefirst plunged his knife into the ground. He then carefully removed allthe turf that seemed to him to form the outline of the cache. This firsttask ended, he rested for a moment to take breath, and at the same timeto indulge in that emotion so full of pleasure and pain felt onaccomplishing an act from which life or death depends.
After a quarter of an hour, he passed his hand over his dank forehead,and set to work resolutely, digging up the ground with his knife, andremoving it with his hands to the blanket. It was really a rude task,especially for a man exhausted by fatigue and weakened by privations.Several times he was compelled to stop through the exhaustion of hisstrength: the work advanced slowly, and no sign as yet corroborated thesquatter's belief.
Several times he was on the point of abandoning this vain search, but itwas his only chance of safety; there alone, if he succeeded, would hefind the means to become once more a wood ranger: hence he clung to thislast plank of safety which chance offered him, with all the energy ofdespair, that Archimedean lever, which finds nothing impossible.
Still, the unhappy wretch had been digging for a long time; a large holewas gaping before him, but nothing offered him a prospect of success;hence, in spite of the invincible energy of his character, he feltdespair invading his mind once again. A tear of impotent rage brooded inhis fever-inflamed eyelids, and he hurled his knife into the hole,uttering an oath, and giving heaven a bitter look of defiance.
The knife sprung back with a metallic sound; the squatter seized it andexamined it closely--the point was broken clean off.
He began digging again frenziedly with his nails, like a wild beast,disdaining the use of his knife any longer, and he soon laid bare abuffalo hide. Instead of lifting this skin at once, which doubtlesscovered all the treasures whose possession he coveted, he began gazingat it with terrible anxiety.
Red Cedar had not deceived himself: he had really discovered a cache.But what did it contain? Perhaps it had already been ransacked, and wasempty. When he had only one movement to make, in order to assurehimself, he hesitated--he was afraid!
During the three hours he had been toiling to reach this point, he hadformed so many chimeras, that he instinctively feared to see them vanishsuddenly, and fall back rudely into the frightful reality which held himin its iron claws.
For a long time he hesitated in this way; at length suddenly forming aresolve, with hands trembling with emotion, palpitating heart andbloodshot eye, he tore away the buffalo skin, with a movement rapid asthought. He felt dazzled, and uttered a roar like a wild beast--he hadhit upon a thorough hunter's cache!
It contained iron traps of every description, rifles, double and singlepistols, powder horns, bags filled with bullets, knives, and thethousand objects suitable for wood rangers.
Red Cedar felt himself born again: a sudden change took place in him, hebecame again the implacable and indomitable being he had been prior tothe catastrophe, without fear or remorse, ready to recommence thestruggle with all nature, and laughing at the perils and snares he mightmeet with on the road.
He selected the best rifle, two pairs of double-barrelled pistols, and aknife with a blade fifteen inches in length. He also took the necessaryharness for a horse; two powder horns, a bag of bullets, and an elk skingame pouch richly embroidered in the Indian fashion, containing atinderbox and all the necessaries for bivouacking. He also found pipesand tobacco, which he eagerly clutched, for his greatest privation hadbeen the inability to smoke.
When he had loaded himself with all he thought he needed, he restoredall to its primitive condition, and skilfully removed the traces whichmight have revealed to others the cache which had been so useful tohimself. This duty of an honest man performed, Red Cedar threw his rifleover his shoulder, whistled to the dog, and went off hurriedlymuttering:
"Ah, ah! You fancied you had forced the boar in its lair; we shall seewhether it can take its revenge."
By what concourse of extraordinary events was the squatter, whom we sawenter the desert at the head of a numerous and resolute troop, reducedto such a state of urgent peril?
[1] See the Trail-hunter.