The Gold-Seekers: A Tale of California

"Nearly so; I only need ten more men at the most."

"You are organising your expedition in a military manner?"

"I wished to avoid it, but that is impossible, owing to the Indian tribes through which we must pass, and with whom we shall have doubtlessly a tussle."

"You may expect it."

"So you see, my dear sir, I take my precautions in consequence."

"You act wisely. What will be the strength of your company?"

"Two hundred and fifty to three hundred men at the outside."

"You are right: a larger force would arouse the susceptibility of the Mexicans, and perhaps cause them alarm as to the purity and loyalty of your intentions."

"That is what I wish to avoid at any price."

"Are your men French?"

"All. I do not wish to have any men with me on whose devotion I cannot calculate. I should be afraid, by mixing strangers among my fellows, that I might relax those family ties so necessary for the success of an expedition like mine, and which can be easily established among men all belonging to the same nation."

"That is extremely logical."

"And then," the count went on, "I only enlist old soldiers or sailors, all men accustomed to military discipline, and who are familiar with the use of arms."

"Then your organisation is terminated?"

"Nearly so, as I told you."

"All the better. In spite of the pleasure I feel in your delightful society, I should like to see you at work already."

"Thank you, but that will not be long first: the vessel is chartered, and if nothing happen to derange my plans, I shall say good-by to you within a week. You know that, in an affair like this, speed is the great point."

"Success depends, above all, on celerity and decision."

"I shall be deficient in neither, be assured."

"Above all, do not forget to take with you two or three men you can trust, and who are thoroughly acquainted with the country you are about explore."

"I have with me two wood rangers, from whom the desert has no secrets."

"You can trust in them?"

"As in myself."

"Bravo! I feel a presentiment that we shall succeed."

"Heaven grant it! For my part, I will do all to deserve it."

The stranger took his hat.

"Ah, ah! I have been here a long time, and forget that people may be waiting for me at the office. I must leave you, my dear count."

"Already?"

"Needs must. Shall I see you this evening?"

"I cannot promise. You know that I am not my own master either, especially at this moment."

"That is true; still try to come."

"I will."

"That's right. Good-by till I see you again."

The two men shook hands affectionately, and the stranger departed.

So soon as he was alone the count bent again over the map, which he studied carefully: it was not till night had completely set in that he gave up his task.

"How is it," he said to himself thoughtfully, "that Valentine has not yet arrived? He should have been here."

As he finished this monologue he heard a rap at the door.

CHAPTER XIII
PREPARATIONS

The period at which our story happens was a happy time for desperate enterprises and filibustering expeditions.

In fact, the political commotions that had overthrown Europe some time previously had brought to the surface, and set in motion, a great number of those unprincipled men, whose sole object is to secure from the revolutions that desolate their country very lucrative, if not very honourable, positions, and for whom anarchy is the sole safety valve.

But, after the first convulsions inseparable from a revolution, when the popular effervescence began gradually to cool down, and the overflowing waters returned to their bed – in a word, when society, wearied of paltry struggles sustained for no avowable motives, and merely kept up to satisfy the disgraceful ambition of a few men of no value, understood that the re-establishment of order was the sole path of salvation, all those individuals who had for a season played a part more or less important found themselves cast on the pavement of the towns without resources; for, with that improvidence inherent in their natures, squandering day by day the favours which blind fortune had lavished on them, they had kept nothing for bad times, convinced as they were that the state of things they had produced would last for ever.

For a few months they struggled, not courageously, but obstinately, against adversity, seeking by every means to recapture the prey which they had so foolishly allowed to slip from their grasp. But they were soon compelled to allow that times had changed, that their hour was past, and that the ground which had hitherto maintained them was sinking hourly beneath their feet, and threatened to swallow them up.

Their position was becoming critical. It was impossible for them to resume their humble and peaceful avocations, and return to that nothingness from which a mad caprice of chance had drawn them. The idea did not even occur to them. They had tasted luxury and honour; they could not and would not work again: pride and sloth imperiously forbade it.

Cincinnatus has never found an imitator in history, and that is the reason why his memory has been so preciously kept up by all to the present day. The men of whom we are speaking were far from being like Cincinnatus, though they in so far resembled the Roman Dictator that they claimed to govern nations.

What was to be done?

Fortunately Providence, whose ways are incomprehensible, watched over them.

The discovery of the rich placers of California, the news of which had been almost stifled under the blow of the terrible European political commotions, suddenly returned to the surface, and in a short time assumed a considerable extension. The most extravagant stories circulated about the incalculable riches that lay almost on the ground in the soil of the new Eldorado. Then all the vagabond imaginations began to ferment. All eyes were fixed on America, and the birds of prey that wanted a booty in Europe rushed with a loud cry of joy toward that unknown land, where they fancied they should find in a few days all the joys with which they had been gorged, and which they hoped this time to satisfy.

Unfortunately, in California, as elsewhere, the first condition for acquiring wealth is incessant, permanent, and regular labour.

On landing in America numerous poignant deceptions awaited the adventurers. The mines, indeed, existed – they were rich; but the gold they contained could only be extracted with great difficulty, great fatigue, and, above all, great expense – three impossibilities which our gold-seekers could not overcome.

Many perished either of want, or of a violent death through pot-house quarrels, or through the change of climate, to which they had not the time to grow accustomed. Those who survived, wan and ragged, displayed their starving faces in all the bad places of San Francisco, ready to do anything for the smallest sum of money that would lull their wolfish appetite.

In the meanwhile the first adventurers had been succeeded by others, and still they flocked in. The few, privileged by fortune, who returned to Europe rich in a few months, had naturally aroused the cupidity of the numberless pariahs of civilisation; and San Francisco, that country blessed by Heaven, whose climate is so fine and soil so fertile, threatened to become a vast and mournful cemetery.

At this time it happened that a few enterprising men, seeing their illusions fading away, and perceiving that the gold they coveted so ardently constantly fled before them while they were unable to catch it, turned their glances in another direction, and, despairing of growing rich in the mines, resolved to seize, sword and revolver in hand, those riches which it was impossible for them to acquire otherwise; that is to say, they resuscitated for their own behoof the filibustering expeditions of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

Thus was a new path opened to emerge from the frightful wretchedness in which they languished, and the adventurers eagerly entered upon it. Filibustering enterprises sprang up on all sides with as much regularity as if they had been perfectly respectable financial operations; and the plethora of San Francisco began, to the great relief of the peaceful population, to be diverted on the surrounding countries.

The count had, therefore, arrived at a propitious moment to put in execution the plan he meditated. He belonged to one of the oldest and noblest families in France. He enjoyed, and that justly, a spotless reputation in California; moreover, he was very strict in the selection of the men he enlisted; finally, he offered an honourable scope for their ambition, which is very flattering to men who have nothing to lose. Nothing more was needed to excite the emulation of all the ragamuffins, and urge them to place themselves under his orders.

Among the adventurers were many really estimable persons, who in no way merited the sad fate they were undergoing, and who, seduced by the unknown, had been attracted to California by the fallacious promises of European speculators, and had been the victims of the scoundrels who induced them to emigrate. These men endured their sufferings nobly, awaiting with the patience of well-tempered hearts the opportunity to take their revenge and regain that position which a moment of mad intoxication and credulous simplicity had made them forfeit.

The Count, with that infallible glance he possessed, and the knowledge of mankind which lengthened misfortune had enabled him to acquire, had picked out the best men from the crowd that daily invaded his house so soon as his intention became known, and assured himself of the co-operation of devoted comrades of tried courage, who, regarding the count's enterprise as the sole means of emerging from their frightful position, attached themselves to him with a firm resolve to do or die.

Hence we will assert here that of all the expeditions formed at that period in California, the only really honourable one which contained the elements of success was that led by Count Louis de Prébois Crancé.

We do not go beyond the mark when we say that the count was adored by his comrades. These rude adventurers, so harshly tried by destiny, had guessed, with the ineffable perspicacity of men who have suffered greatly, the inexhaustible kindness, perfect loyalty, and vast intelligence locked up in the heart of their chief, and how much tender solicitude and friendship for them were concealed beneath his mournful countenance and the imposing severity of his liquid blue eye. Thus it was not merely respect he inspired them with, but veneration and devotion, extending almost to fanaticism.

An expedition like that the count was preparing was no easy thing to organise, especially with the scanty resources he had at his disposal; for he only obtained vague promises from his partners, and was forced to seek in himself the means for satisfying all.

The rich placer which Belhumeur and Eagle-head pointed out to him had been worked in the time of the Spanish monarchy; but since the declaration of independence, carelessness and disorder having taken the place of the energy displayed by the Castilians, the Indians soon expelled the miners: the placer had, therefore, been temporarily abandoned. Then gradually the Apaches and Comanches, growing bolder as they perceived the weakness of the white men, advanced and recaptured vast territories, on which they established themselves permanently, knowing that the Mexicans would never attempt to drive them out. In this way the placer to which we allude, formerly situated in the possessions of New Spain, was now surrounded by Indian territory, and to reach it it was necessary to wage a mortal contest with the two most dangerous nations of the desert, the Apaches and Comanches, who would under no pretext suffer the invasion of their frontiers by the whites, but would defend their ground inch by inch against them.

The Mexican government had only authorised the formation of the mining company founded by the count on the express condition that the miners, organised as a military force, should pursue the Indians, attack them whenever they came up with them, and definitively expel them from the territory they had usurped since the proclamation of independence. The count had accepted a rough and almost impossible mission: any other in his place would have backed out and refused to accept such terms. But Count Louis was a man in a thousand, gifted with a rare energy, which obstacles only rendered greater. And then, personally, what did he care for the issue of the affair? It was not wealth, but death, he sought; still he did not wish to fall till he had given his comrades that wealth he had promised them, and rescued them from the stings of adverse fortune.

He accepted the conditions, then, but not blindly, ambitiously, or egotistically. He accepted them as a man of heart, who sacrifices himself for an idea, and for the general happiness; and who, while recognising the almost insurmountable difficulties that oppose the success of his noble projects, hopes to succeed in overcoming them by his courage, perseverance, and abnegation.

The energy, patience, and intelligence which the count had displayed during the two months since his parting with Valentine, no one but himself could have told. One of the clauses in his contract with the suspicious and shifting Mexican government obliged him not to take more than three hundred men with him. The President of the Republic, General Arista, doubtlessly feared the invasion and conquest of Mexico by the French, had they been four hundred in number.

These wretched conditions are so ridiculous, that they would be incredible were they not rigorously true. We could, if we pleased, write down here the words uttered in the Senate of Mexico, in which this fear of invasion is distinctly expressed.

The count, in order to dissipate all doubts on this head, and, above all, not to arouse suspicions, decided on only taking two hundred and sixty men instead of three hundred.

But this company, destined to traverse a country swarming with obstinate enemies, compelled during the journey to fight perhaps several times a day, constrained in this desolate country to supply its own wants (for it had no help to expect anywhere), must receive a powerful organisation.

This was what the count thought of first.

Those persons who have never worn that heavy harness called a military tunic cannot form even a distant idea of the thousand difficulties of detail which arise at every step in the complete organisation of a company, so that the service may be done properly, and the soldier not suffer needlessly.

The count was obliged to improvise. He had never served, and was not at all aware of the nature of such a task as his; but he was a gentleman and a Frenchman, two reasons for inventing what a man is ignorant of when war is the subject. The military genius is so innate in the French nation, that we may say every man is a soldier. At any rate, Louis proved it in an undeniable manner.

Obliged to foresee everything, and provide for all eventualities, he undertook everything; and, on seeing the nature of his arrangements, his men, all old soldiers and connoisseurs in such matters, were convinced that their chief had been long engaged in military affairs.

He made a regular army of his company; that is to say, he had infantry, cavalry, and artillery. In order that the discipline might be strictly maintained the infantry were divided into sections, commanded by tried men selected by himself. A few sailors, accustomed to handle guns, were appointed to serve a small mountain howitzer, which the count carried with him, more for the purpose of terrifying the Indians than in the hope that it would ever prove of use to him.

Lastly, some forty picked men, most of them old Chasseurs d'Afrique, formed the cavalry, and were placed under the orders of an officer for whom the count felt a peculiar esteem, whom he had known a long time, and in whose ability he placed entire confidence.

But what we have described was nothing when compared with what still remained to be done – purchasing arms, provisions, the necessary tools for working the mine, ammunition, and, above all, means of transport.

The count was not discouraged. He improvised a commissariat, and alone – alone we repeat; for he had refused the offer of large American bankers, who at length, recognising his value, had proposed to take an interest in his enterprise – with his scanty resources, he had done everything, organised everything, and now only awaited his foster brother's arrival, in order to pay the balance of his accounts, ship his company, and set sail.

Now that we have fully explained these matters to our reader, which are so important to a proper understanding of what follows, we will resume our narrative at the point where we were compelled to break it off.

CHAPTER XIV
VALENTINE'S RETURN

As we have already said, the count sprang up on hearing a rap at the door of his house.

"Who can come at this hour," he muttered. "I expect nobody."

And he went to the door and opened it. Three men entered, wrapped closely in their cloaks. The darkness in the room prevented Don Louis recognising their features, which were, besides, half hidden by the brims of their sombreros.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said to them. "Who are you, and what would you with me?"

"Oh, oh!" one of the newcomers said with a laugh. "By Jupiter! That is a very dry reception."

Don Louis started at the sound of this voice, which he recognised at once.

"Valentine!" he exclaimed with emotion.

"By Jove!" the other said gaily, as he threw off his cloak, "I suppose you thought I was dead?"

"And do you not recognise me, Señor Don Louis?" the second person said, also throwing off his cloak.

"Don Cornelio, my friend, you are welcome."

"That's right," Valentine went on; "we are beginning to understand one another at last – that is fortunate. Were you going out?"

"Yes, but for no urgent matter."

"I do not disturb you, then?"

"On the contrary, sit down and let us talk."

"All right."

"Have you supped?"

"Not yet; and you?"

"Nor I either. That is capital – we will sup here together. In that way we can say what we like, and not fear listeners, unless you prefer going to the hotel."

"St! Deuce take me if I care about it. Let us sup here, my boy; it will be better in every way."

"That is what I thought. Let me give some orders, and I shall be at your service."

Louis went out.

"Ouf!" Valentine said, stretching himself in an easy chair, "I am beginning to get tired. How do you feel, Don Cornelio?"

"I!" the latter replied with a sigh. "I can move neither arm nor leg; I walk about like a somnambulist."

"Nonsense! Such a stout fellow as you."

"Stout as you please – do you know we have not been to bed or to sleep for seven nights?"

"Do you think so?" the Frenchman said carelessly.

"Capa de Dios! Do I think so? I am sure of it. The proof of it is, that in those seven days we rode three hundred leagues, and killed ten horses."

"On my word, that is true."

"So you see – "

"Well, what do you conclude from that?"

"Why, that you were in a hurry."

"And yet, in spite of all our diligence, my friend thinks that we have been too slow."

"Then I must say he is not reasonable. But are we going to leave the chief kicking his heels at the door?"

"Good gracious! I never thought of him," Valentine said as he rose.

And he walked toward the door.

At the same moment Curumilla appeared at one end of the room, while Don Louis came in at the other, at the head of several servants. Louis placed the candlesticks he held in his hand on the table, and turning to his friend, —

"Where are you going?" he asked him.

"To look for Curumilla, whom I left in charge of the horses; but there he is!"

"Do not trouble yourself about the horses; I have given orders as to them."

"To supper, then, for I am dying of hunger; my comrades and myself have eaten nothing for sixteen hours."

The four men sat down to the table, which had been copiously covered with dishes of every description. The meal began: the guests ate for a long time without exchanging a word. The newcomers had an imperious necessity to recruit their strength. At length, when the edge was slightly taken off his appetite, Valentine poured out some drink, and addressing his foster brother, began the conversation.

"Why, Louis, do you know that you are not difficult to find in this deuce of a city? Your reputation appears to be enormous."

"How so?" Louis said with a smile.

"By Jove! Everybody knows your address: they only call you the general. I did not need to ask many questions to find this house – everybody offered to guide me. It seems as if affairs are going on well, eh?"

The count smiled softly; but, before replying, he made the servants a sign to leave the room, and when the door was closed upon them, —

"All goes on very well," he said; "but now that you have arrived it will go on better still."

"Ah, ah! You think so?" Valentine said, sipping like an amateur the Bordeaux in his glass.

"I hope so."

"Well, you are not mistaken, brother; I hope so too."

Louis gave a start of joy.

"You have been a long time in coming," he said.

"Do you think so?"

"If you knew how impatiently I expected you."

"I suppose so; but believe me, my friend, when you have heard all I have done, only one thing will astonish you – that I am here already."

"What do you mean?"

"Patience! Tell me first what you have been doing during our separation. But one word first – have you beds for us?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, as supper is over, through pity for Don Cornelio, who is asleep in that easy chair, let him be taken to a bed, where he can repose at his ease: he needs it, I assure you."

"The fact is," the Spaniard stammered, "that my eyes will close, in spite of all my efforts to keep them open."

Louis had risen. On a signal he gave, a servant took charge of Don Cornelio, and led him away. Curumilla had lighted his calumet, and was smoking silently.

"Now for us two," Valentine said.

"But the chief," Louis observed: "does he not wish to rest?"

"Do not trouble yourself about him – he is made of iron; but if by any accident sleep comes upon him, you need not be alarmed – he will stretch himself in a corner of this room."

"Very good. Now, then, listen to me."

"I am all attention."

Louis gave his friend a detailed account of all he had done since his return to San Francisco. The narrative was long, for the count had much to tell. Valentine listened with the closest attention, not interrupting him once. The night was far advanced when Louis at length ended his report. Curumilla was still smoking.

When the count stopped there was a moment's silence, and then Valentine took the word.

"You have done miracles. You have accomplished impossibilities."

"Then you are satisfied with me?"

"I admire you. You have displayed in all this business incredible energy and intelligence. Now let us arrive at the financial question."

"Yes, that is the serious point at this moment. Unfortunately it will not be so easy to settle as the others."

"Who knows? Then you owe a deal of money?"

"An enormous sum."

"Oh, oh!"

"Why, you understand I had everything to buy."

"That is right; and you possessed?"

"As you know, nothing."

"Hum, hum! The account is clear. Then you owe for everything?"

"Nearly so."

"Are your accounts in order?"

"Of course, as I only waited for you to start."

"Let us have a look at them."

Louis opened a drawer, from which he took several papers covered with figures. He spread them out on the table with a stifled sigh.

"Why do you sigh?" Valentine asked him.

"Because I am anxious."

"Anxious about what?"

"Why, hang it! About paying them."

Valentine smiled.

"Nonsense!" he said, "let us look all the same."

The count bent over the papers.

"What are you doing?" Valentine said.

"I am calculating."

"What is the good? Tell me the totals only – that will be quicker."

"You are right: 17,533 piastres, 6 reals."

"Good!" Valentine commenced writing the amount in pencil on a piece of waste paper. "Next."

"Twenty-one thousand two hundred and seven piastres, five reals."

"Very good: go on."

"Twelve thousand eight hundred and twenty-three piastres."

"No reals?"

"No."

"Go on."

"Seven thousand six hundred and seventy-five piastres, six reals."

"Six reals. Very good. What next?"

"That is all."

"What! No more?"

"Is not that enough?"

"I do not mean that; but, from the way you spoke, I expected a formidable amount."

"Is not this so?"

"Not so very. Come, let us add it up."

"That is very easy. Here it is: total, 59,239 piastres, 7 reals."

"Seven reals. The total is correct. Have you not a few small debts beside?"

"Of course, I have a few personal matters to pay; and then I should not like to start empty-handed."

"That would be awkward; so that, as far as I can see you will want about eighty or one hundred thousand piastres to be perfectly clear?"

"Oh! Then I should have more than I require."

"It is better to have too much than not enough."

"That is true; but where to find such a sum?"

"Let me tell you a story."

"Eh?" Louis said in surprise. "Are you jesting, brother?"

"I never jest in serious matters. Listen to my story, I am convinced that it will interest you."

Louis could not suppress a movement of ill temper. He fell back in his chair, and crossed his arms.

"Speak," he said, "I am listening."

"Patience!" Valentine said, with a smile.

The count tossed his head.

"I am beginning," the hunter went on. "You remember in what way we parted at the venta of San José?"

"Perfectly."

"The next day I sold the herd in a lump. Another time, I will explain to you in what way; and I shall have certain explanations to ask of you. For the present, suffice it for you to know that I made an excellent deal, and sold it for 14,630 piastres."

"A famous sum! Unfortunately, we are still far from our reckoning."

"Patience! Then the bargain was a good one."

"Excellent: I should not have got such a price here."

"All the better; at Guaymas I took a bill on Wilson and Baker. Do you know them?"

"Very well; it is a substantial house."

"Good! Then tomorrow we will cash it. After selling the herd, I left San José with my two friends, not knowing, I confess, how to procure the money I had promised you, and of which you had such pressing need."

"A need I still have," Louis observed.

"Agreed," Valentine continued; "after galloping about for a long time, without knowing exactly where we were going, I resolved to ask my companions' advice. Of course Don Cornelio could suggest nothing. He contented himself with strumming a melancholy air on his guitar: you know that is his resource in embarrassing circumstances. You have known Curumilla as long as I have: the worthy chief only speaks when he is compelled; but when he opens his mouth, he speaks gold, and this time it really occurred."

While saying this, Valentine could not refrain from smiling. Louis turned to the chief, to whom he offered his hand, which the other pressed with a grimace of pleasure. The hunter continued, —

"From the descriptions you had given me, I knew pretty nearly the position of the mine of which you had become proprietor. Curumilla offered to take us there. 'We shall be very unlucky,' he said, 'we who know the desert so well, if we do not succeed in foiling the Indians and reaching the mine. Once there, we will take as much native gold as we want to satisfy our friend's wants.' As the advice was good, I resolved to follow it."

"What!" Louis shouted, rising hurriedly, "you did that, brother?"

"Of course I did."

"But you ran a risk of assassination at every step."

"I knew it; but I knew also that you must have a large sum."

"Oh, brother, brother!" Louis exclaimed, in great emotion, "so much devotion, while I was accusing you."

"You did not know what I was doing; you were right."

"Oh! I shall never forgive myself."

"Nonsense! Did we not swear once for all, to be entirely devoted to each other?"

"That is true. Oh! You have nobly kept your oath everywhere and ever, brother."

"And have you not done the same? Besides, this time the idea does not belong to me; I only followed the chief's advice."

"Oh, he is like you; you dare not say anything to him, or he would be vexed."

Curumilla laid down his calumet for an instant; and, approaching the count, laid his hand on his shoulder, and looking at him with an expression impossible to describe, while touching the Frenchman's chest and his own in turn, —

"Koutenepi," he said, in a quivering voice, "Louis, Curumilla – three brothers, one heart."

And he sat down again.

There was a long pause. The two white men were admiring the devotion and admiration of this brave Indian, who only lived for and through them, and asked themselves in their hearts, if, in spite of the warm friendship they bore him, they were really worthy of so profound an attachment.

"In short," Valentine went on at last, "no sooner said than done. I will not describe to you the incidents of our journey, for that would occupy too much precious time. Suffice it for you to know that, thanks to our lengthened prairie experience, after surmounting innumerable obstacles, and almost falling into the clutches of the redskins a hundred times, we at length reached the mine. Oh, brother, I know not the riches of the Californian placers, but I doubt whether they can be compared to the one of which you are now owner."

"Ah!" Louis exclaimed; "it is true then, it is rich?"

"Brother, its riches are incalculable; the native gold is found on the surface. Even I, whose, I will not say disinterestedness, but whose indifference for gold you know, was dazzled, so dazzled, that for some moments I could not imagine what I saw was real. I asked myself was I awake, or if I was not dreaming."

While Valentine spoke thus, Louis walked up and down the room, wiping away the perspiration that stood on his forehead.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, much agitated; "now I shall succeed, no matter what may happen."

"Do not defy chance, brother," Valentine replied sorrowfully.