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THE SMUGGLER CHIEF
A NOVEL
BY
GUSTAVE AIMARD
AUTHOR OF "STRONGHAND," "BUCCANEER CHIEF," ETC.
LONDON
WARD AND LOCK, 158, FLEET STREET
MDCCCLXIV
PREFACE
The present is the most powerful story which Gustave Aimard has yetwritten. While there is enough of startling incident and hairbreadthescapes to satisfy the greatest craver after sensation, the plot iscarefully elaborated, and great attention is paid to developing thecharacter of the heroines. If there has been any fault in the author'sprevious works, it is that the ladies introduced are too subordinate;but in the present tale, the primary interest hinges upon them, andthey are the most prominent characters. For this reason I am inclinedto believe that the "Smuggler Chief" will become a greater favouritewith readers than any of its predecessors.
Lascelles Wraxall, Bart.
CONTENTS.
I. THE PROCESSION II. THE COUNTRY HOUSE III. THE CONVENT OF THE PURISIMA CONCEPCION IV. THE SMUGGLERS V. THE INCA OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY VI. THE BANIAN'S HOUSE VII. THE NOVICE VIII. A VISIT TO THE CONVENT IX. ON THE SIERRA X. INSIDE THE TENT XI. THE SONS OF THE TORTOISE XII. A HUMAN SACRIFICE XIII. THE BALAS RUBY XIV. THE RUPTURE XV. A FIRST LOSS XVI. THE PARUMO DE SAN JUAN BAUTISTA XVII. THE ABDUCTION XVIII. AFTER THE COMBAT XIX. THE MANHUNT XX. THE REDSKINS XXI. THE INDIAN CITY XXII. THE JAGOUAS OF THE HUILICHES XXIII. A MIRACULOUS CURE XXIV. THE RUINS OF THE HACIENDA XXV. THE ARREST XXVI. THE SCALP XXVII. THE CAPTURE OF THE CONVENT XXVIII. AN INDIAN VENGEANCE XXIX. THE GREEN ROOM XXX. THE CONFESSION XXXI. THE CAMP OF THE MOLUCHOS XXXII. THE SACK OF SANTIAGO
CHAPTER I.
THE PROCESSION.
America, a land not yet thoroughly explored, and whose immensesavannahs and gloomy virgin forests conceal so many mysterious secretsand unknown dramas, sees at this moment all eyes fixed upon her, foreveryone is eager to know the strange customs of the semi-civilizedIndians and the semi-savage Europeans who people the vast solitudesof that continent; for in the age of transformation in which we live,they alone have remained stationary, contending inch by inch againstthe civilization which invades and drives them back on all sides, andguarding with a religious obstinacy the faith, manners, and customs oftheir fathers--curious manners, full of interest, which require to bestudied carefully and closely to be understood.
It is to America, then, that we invite the reader to accompany us. Buthe need not feel alarmed at the length of the voyage, for he can makeit while comfortably seated in his easy chair by the fireside.
The story we propose to tell has its scene laid at Valparaiso--aChilian city as regards the soil on which it is built, but English andFrench, European or American, through the strange composite of itspopulation, which, is formed of people from all countries, who haveintroduced every possible language and brought with them every varietyof trade.
Valparaiso! the name echoes in the ear like the soft sweet notes of alove strain!
Valparaiso! the city of Paradise--the vast depot of the whole world.A coquettish, smiling, and frolicsome city, slothfully reclining, likea thoughtless Indian maid, at the base of three mountains and at theend of a glorious bay, dipping the tips of her roseate feet in theazure waters of the Pacific, and hiding her broad brilliant foreheadin the tempest-swollen clouds which float along from the crests of theCordilleras to make her a splendid diadem.
This city, the advanced sentinel of Transatlantic civilization, is thefirst land which the traveller discovers after doubling Cape Horn, ofmelancholy and ill-omened memory.
When at sunrise of a fine spring morning a vessel sails round thelighthouse point situated at the extremity of the Playa-Aucha, thischarming oasis is perceived, half veiled by a transparent mist, onlyallowing the white houses and lofty edifices to be distinguished in avague and fantastic way that conduces to reverie.
The atmosphere, impregnated with the sharp scents from the beach andthe sweet emanations of the trees and flowers, deliciously expands thechest, and in a second causes the mariner, who comes back to life andhope, to forget the three months of suffering and incessant dangerwhose long hours have passed for him minute by minute, ere he reachedthis long-desired haven.
On August 25th, 1833, two men were seated in a posada situated in theCalle San Agostino, and kept by a Frenchman of the name of Crevel,long established in the country, at a table on which stood two glassesand a nearly empty bottle of aguardiente of Pisco, and were eagerlyconversing in a low voice about a matter which seemed to interest themin the highest degree.
One of these men, about twenty-five years of age, wore a characteristiccostume of the guasos, a name by which the inhabitants of the interiorare designated; a wide poncho of llama wool, striped with differentbrilliant colours, covered his shoulders and surrounded his bare neckwith an elegant and strangely-designed Indian embroidery. Long bootsof dyed wool were fastened above his knees by silk cords, and armed atthe heels with enormous silver spurs, whose wheels, large as saucers,compelled him to walk on tiptoe whenever he felt an inclination toleave his saddle for a moment--which, however, very rarely happened,for the life of a guaso consists in perpetual horse exercise.
He wore under his poncho a belt containing a pair of pistols, whoseheavy butts could be distinguished under the folds each time that ahurried movement on the part of the young man evidenced the fire whichhe introduced into the conversation.
Between his legs rested a rifle richly damascened with silver, and thecarved boss of a knife handle peeping out of the top of his right boot.
Lastly, to complete this accoutrement, a splendid Guayaquil straw hat,adorned with an eagle's plume, was lying on a table near the one whichhe occupied.
In spite of the young man's swarthy face, his long black hair fallingin disorder on his shoulders, and the haughtiness of his features, itwas easy to recognise by an examination of his features the type of theEuropean under the exterior of the American; his eyes full of vivacitywhich announced boldness and intelligence, his frank and limpidglance, and his sarcastic lips, surmounted by a fine and coquettishlyturned up black moustache, revealed a French origin.
In truth, this individual, who was no other than Leon Delbes, the mostdaring smuggler on the Chilian coast, was born at Bayonne, which cityhe left after the loss of an enormous fortune which he inherited fromhis father, and settled in South America, where in a short time heacquired an immense reputation for skill and courage, which extendedfrom Talcahueno to Copiapo.
His comrade, who appeared to be a man of five-and-thirty years of age,formed the most perfect contrast with him.
He wore the same costume as Delbes, but there the resemblance ended.
He was tall and well built, and his thin, muscular limbs displayed afar from ordinary strength. He had a wide, receding forehead, and hisblack eyes, close to his long, bent nose, gave him a vague resemblanceto a bird of prey. His projecting cheek bones, his large mouth, linedwith white, sharp teeth, and his thin pinched-up lips, imparted to hisface an indescribable expression of cruelty; a forest of greasy hairwas imprisoned in a red and yellow silk handkerchief which covered hishead, and whose points fell upon his back. He had an olive complexion,peculiar to individuals of the Indian race to which he belonged.
This man was well known to the inhabitants of Valparaiso, whoexperienced for him a hatred thoroughly justified by the acts offerocit
y of which he had been guilty under various circumstances; andas no one knew his real name, it had grown into a custom to designatehim by the name of the Vaquero, owing to his great skill in lassoingwild bulls on the Pampas.
"The fiend twist the necks of those accursed English captains!" theFrenchman exclaimed, as he passionately smote the table: "it is easy tosee that they are heretics."
"Yes," the other replied; "they are thieves--a whole cargo of rawsilver, which we had such difficulty in passing, and which cost us thelives of two men."
"It is my fault," Leon continued, with an oath. "I am an ass. We havemade a long voyage for nothing, and I ought to have expected it, forwith the English it is impossible to gain one's livelihood. I am surethat we should have done our business famously at Copiapo, and we wereonly eight leagues from there."
"That's true," said the half-breed; "and I cannot think how themad idea occurred to us of coming, with thirty loaded mules, fromChanoccillo to Valparaiso."
"Well, what is done is done, my friend; but we lose one thousandpiastres."
"_Vaya pues_. Captain, I promise you that I will make the firstEnglishman I catch on the sierra pay dearly for our misadventure. Iwould not give an ochavo for the life of the man who comes within rangeof my rifle."
"Another glass," said Leon, as he seized the bottle, and poured thelast of the spirit into the glasses.
"Here's your health," said the half-breed, and raising his glass, heemptied it at a draught, and then put it back on the table, heaving adeep sigh.
"Now, Diego of my soul, let us be off, as nothing keeps us here anylonger."
"_Caray_, captain, I am ready. I am anxious to reach the mountains, formy health fails me in these poisoned holes which are called towns."
"Where are our lads?"
"Near the Rio Claro, and so well hidden that the fiend himself couldnot discover them."
"Very good," Leon answered. "Hilloh, Crevel!" he shouted, raising hisvoice, "come hither."
At this summons the posadero, who was standing at the end of theroom, and had not lost a syllable of the conversation between thetwo smugglers while pretending to be busy with his household duties,advanced with a servile bow.
He was a fellow of about forty years of age, sturdy built, and with ared face. His carbuncled nose did not speak at all in favour of histemperance, and his crafty and hypocritical manners and his foxy eyesrendered him a complete specimen of one of those men branded in theFrench colonies by the name of BANIANS, utter scoundrels, who swarmin America, and who, in the shadow of an almost honest trade, carryon a dozen others which expose them to the scaffold. True fishers introubled waters, who take with both hands, and are ready for anythingif they are well paid.
This worthy landlord was an old acquaintance of the smugglers, who hadfor a long time been able to appreciate him at his full value, and hademployed him successfully in many ugly affairs; hence he came up tothem with that low and meaning smile which is always found stereotypedon the ignoble face of these low class traffickers.
"What do you desire, senores?" he asked, as he respectfully doffed thecotton nightcap of equivocal whiteness which covered his greasy poll.
"To pay you, master rogue," his countryman replied, as he tapped himamicably on the shoulder; "how much do I owe you?"
"Fourteen reals, captain."
"The deuce! you sell your adulterated Pisco rather high."
"Well," said the other, assuming a pious look and raising his eyes toheaven, "the excise dues are so heavy."
"That is true," said Leon; "but you do not pay them."
"Do you think so?" the landlord continued.
"Why, hang it! it was I who sold you the Pisco we have just beendrinking, and I remember that you would only pay me--"
"Unnecessary, unnecessary, captain," Crevel exclaimed, quickly; "I willnot bargain with a customer like you; give me ten reals and say no moreabout it."
"Stay; here are six, and that's more than it is worth," the young mansaid as he felt in a long purse which he drew from his belt, and tookout several lumps of silver marked with a punch which gave them amonetary value.
"The deuce take the fancy they have in this country of making suchmoney," he continued, after paying the posadero; "a man feels as if hehad pebbles in his belt. Come, gossip, our horses."
"What, are you off, senores?"
"Do you suppose we are going to sleep here?"
"It would not be the first time."
"That is possible, but today you will have to do without us. I havealready asked whether our horses are ready."
"They are at the door, saddled and bridled."
"You have given them something to eat, at least?"
"Two trusses of Alfalfa."
"In that case, good-bye."
And, after taking their rifles on their arms, the smugglers left theroom. At the door of the inn, two richly-harnessed and valuable horseswere waiting for them; they lightly leaped into the saddle, and aftergiving the landlord a parting wave of the hand, went off at a trot inthe direction of the Almendral.[1]
While riding side by side, Leon and Diego continued to converse aboutthe ill success of their last operation, so unluckily interrupted bythe sudden appearance of custom-house officers, who opposed the passageof a string of mules conveying a heavy load of raw silver, which it wasintended to smuggle, on account of certain merchants of Santiago, onboard English vessels.
A fight began between the officers and the smugglers, and two of thelatter fell, to the great annoyance of Leon Delbes, who lost in themthe two bravest men of his band. It was a vexatious check; still, as itwas certain that regretting would not find a remedy, Leon soon resolvedto endure it manfully.
"On my word," he said, all at once, as he threw away the end of hiscigarette, which was beginning to burn his fingers, "I am not sorry,after all, that I came to Valparaiso, for it is a pretty town, whichdeserves a visit every now and then."
"Bah!" the half-breed growled, thrusting out his lips disdainfully. "Iprefer the mountains, where at any rate you have elbow room."
"The mountain has certainly its charm, but--"
"Look out, animal!" Diego interrupted, addressing a fat Genovevan monkwho was bird gazing in the middle of the street.
Before the monk had time to obey this sharp injunction, Diego's horsehad hit him so violent a blow in the chest that he fell on his nosefive or six paces farther on, amid the laughter of a group of sailors,who, however, we must do them the justice of saying, hastened to pickhim up and place him again on his waddling legs.
"What is the matter here?" Leon asked, as he looked around him. "Thestreets seem to me to be crowded; I never saw such animation before.Can it be a festival, do you think?"
"It is possible!" Diego answered. "These people of towns are soindolent, that, in order to have an excuse to dispense them fromworking, they have invented a saint for every day in the year."
"It is true that the Spaniards are religious," Leon muttered, with asmile.
"A beastly race," the half-breed added, between his teeth.
We must observe to the reader that not only did Diego, like all theIndians, cordially detest the Spaniards, the descendants of the oldconquerors, but he, moreover, seemed to have vowed, in addition tothis old hereditary rancour, a private hatred through motives he aloneknew; and this hatred he did not attempt to conceal, and its effect wasdisplayed whenever he found the opportunity.
The remark made by Leon was well founded--a compact crowd occupied theentire length of the street in which they were, and they only advancedwith great difficulty; but when they entered the Governor's square itwas impossible for them to take another step, for a countless multitudeof people on horseback and foot pressed upon all sides, and a line oftroops stationed at regular distances made superhuman efforts to keepback the people, and leave a space of a few yards free in the centre ofthe square.
At all the windows, richly adorned with carpets and garlands offlowers, were grouped blooming female heads, anxiously gazing in thedire
ction of the cathedral.
Leon and Diego, annoyed at being unable to advance, attempted to turnback, but it was too late; and they were forced to remain, whether theyliked it or no, spectators of what was going to take place.
They had not long to wait however; and few minutes had scarce passedafter their arrival ere two cannon shots were heard. At the same timethe bells of all the churches sent their silvery peals into the air,the gates of the cathedral were noisily opened, and a religious chantbegan, joined in by the whole crowd, who immediately fell on theirknees, excepting the horsemen, who contented themselves with taking offtheir hats.
Ere long a procession marched along majestically in the sight of all.
There was something at once affecting and imposing in the magnificentappearance which the Governor's square offered at this moment. Beneatha dazzling sky illumined by a burning sun, whose beams glistened andsparkled like a shower of diamonds, and through the crowd kneeling andpraying devoutly, the army of Christ moved onwards, marching with afirm and measured step, and singing the exquisite psalms of the Romanlitany, accompanied by the thousand voices of the faithful.
Then came the dais, the crosses and banners embroidered with gold,silver, and precious stones, and statues of male and female saintslarger than life, some carved in marble and wood, others sculptured inmassive gold or silver, and shining so brightly that it was impossibleto keep the eyes fixed on them.
Then came long files of Franciscan, Benedictine, Recollet, Genovevan,and other monks, with their arms folded on their chest, and the cowlpulled over their eyes, singing in a falsetto voice.
Then marched at regular intervals detachments of troops, with theirbands at their head, playing military marches.
And after the monasteries came the convents, after the monks the nuns,with their white veils and contemplative demeanour.
The procession had been marching past thus for nearly an hour, and theend could not be seen, when Leon's horse, startled by the movementof several persons who fell back and touched its head, reared, andin spite of the efforts made by its rider to restrain it, broke intoformidable leaps; and then, maddened by the shouts of the persons thatsurrounded it, rushed impetuously forward, driving back the human wallopposed to it, and dashing down everything in its passage.
A frightful tumult broke out in the crowd. Everybody, overcome byterror, tried to fly; and the cries of the females, closely pressed inby all these people, who had only one thought--that of avoiding themad course of the horse--could be heard all around. Suddenly the horsereached the middle of the procession, at the moment when the nuns ofthe Purisima Concepcion were defiling past; and the ladies, forgettingall decorum, fled in every direction, while busily crossing themselves.
One alone, doubtless, more timid than her companions, or perhaps moreterrified, had remained motionless, looking around her, and not knowingwhat resolution to form.
The horse advanced upon her with furious leaps.
The nun felt herself lost; her legs gave way, and she fell on herknees, bending her head as if to receive the mortal stroke.
Leon, despairing of being able to change his horse's direction, orstop it soon enough not to trample the maiden under foot, had a suddeninspiration: driving in both spurs, he lifted the animal with suchdexterity that it bounded from the ground, and passed like lightningover the nun without even grazing her.
A universal shout escaped from every throat on seeing the horse, afterthis exploit, touch the ground, stop suddenly, and tremble in all itslimbs.
The crisis was spent, and there was nothing more to fear. Leon left thehorse in the hands of Diego, who had joined him with great difficulty,and leaping out of his saddle, ran to raise the fainting maiden.
Before anyone had time to approach her, he took her in his arms, andlifted the veil which concealed her face.
The poor girl had been unable to resist the terrible emotion she hadundergone; her eyes were closed, and a deadly pallor covered herfeatures.
She was a delicious creature, scarce fifteen years of age, and herface was ravishing in its elegance and delicacy, through its exquisitepurity of outline.
Her complexion, of a dazzling whiteness, had that gilded reflectionwhich the sun of America produces; long black and silky lashes fringedher downcast eyelids, and admirably designed eyebrows relieved by theirdark hue the ivory features of her virgin forehead.
Her lips, which were parted, displayed a double row of small whiteteeth. Deprived of consciousness as she was, it seemed as if life hadentirely withdrawn from this body.
Leon stood motionless with admiration. On feeling the maiden's waistyield upon his arm, an unknown emotion made his heart tremble, andheavy drops of perspiration beaded on his temples.
"What can be the matter with me?" he asked himself, with amazement.
The nun opened her eyes again; a sudden flush suffused her cheek, andquickly liberating herself from the young man's arms with a gesturefull of modesty, she gave him a glance of indefinable meaning.
"Thanks, Signor Caballero," she said, in a soft and tremulous voice; "Ishould have been dead without you."
Leon felt troubled by the melodious accents of this voice, and couldnot find any answer.
The maiden smiled sadly, and raising her hand to her bosom, she quicklypulled out a small bag, which she wore on a ribbon, and offering it tothe young man, said--
"Farewell! farewell for ever!"
"Oh no!" Leon answered, looking around him, as if defying the othernuns, who, now that the danger was past, hurried up to resume theirplace in the procession; "not farewell, for we shall meet again."
And, kissing the maiden's hand, he took the scapulary.
The procession had already set out again, and the hymns were resoundingonce more in the air, as Leon perceived that the nun had returned toher place among her companions, and was going away singing the praisesof the Lord.
A hand was heavily laid on the smuggler's shoulder, and he raised hishead.
"Well," the half-breed asked him, "what are you doing here?"
"Oh!" Leon answered; "I love that woman, brother. I love her!"
"Come," Diego said; "the procession has passed, and we can move now. Tohorse, and let us be off!"
A few minutes later the two men were galloping along the road to RioClaro.
[Footnote 1: A part of Valparaiso situated at the end of the bay, andso called from the great number of almond trees that grew there.]