Gustave Aimard - The Red Track - A Story of Social Life in Mexico

The prisoners, affected by a vague and undefined terror, waited with secret anxiety, not knowing what fate these ferocious victors reserved for them, but certain that, whatever the decision formed about them might be, prayers would be impotent to move them, and that they would have to endure the atrocious torture to which they would doubtless be condemned.

The president looked round the assembly, rose in the midst of a profound silence, stretched out his arm towards the general, who stood cold and passionless before him, and, after darting at him a withering glance through the holes made in the crape that concealed his face, he said in a grave, stern, and impressive voice —

"Caballeros, remember the words you are about to hear, listen to them attentively, so as to understand them, and not to be in error as to our intentions. In the first place, in order to reassure you and restore your entire freedom of mind, learn that you have not fallen into the hands of Indians thirsting for your blood, or of pirates who intend to plunder you first and assassinate you afterwards. No, you need not feel the slightest alarm. When you have acted as impartial witnesses, and are able to render testimony of what you have seen, should it be required, you will be at liberty to continue your journey, without the forfeiture of a single article. The men seated on my right and left, although masked, are brave and honest hunters. The day may perhaps arrive when you will know them; but reasons, whose importance you will speedily recognize, compel them to remain unknown for the present. I was bound to say this, señores, to you, against whom we bear no animosity, before coming to a final settlement with this man."

One of the travellers belonging to the second caravan stepped forward; he was a young man, with elegant and noble features, tall and well built.

"Caballero," he answered, in a distinct and sympathizing voice, "I thank you, in the name of my companions and myself, for the reassuring words you have spoken. I know how implacable the laws of the desert are, and have ever submitted to them without a murmur; but permit me to ask you one question."

"Speak, caballero."

"Is it an act of vengeance or justice you are about to carry out?"

"Neither, señor. It would be an act of folly or weakness if the inspirations of the heart could be blamed or doubted by honourable and loyal men."

"Enough of this, señor," the general said, haughtily; "and if you are, as you assert, an honourable man, show me your face, in order that I may know with whom I have to deal."

The president shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

"No, Don Sebastian," he said, "for in that case the game would not be even between us. But be patient, caballero, and soon you will learn, if not who I am, at any rate the motives which have made me your implacable foe."

The general attempted to smile, but in spite of himself the smile died away on his lips, and though his haughty bearing seemed to defy his unknown enemies, a secret apprehension contracted his heart.

There was a silence for some moments, during which no other sound was audible save that of the breeze whistling through the denuded branches and the distant murmur Of the invisible torrents in the quebradas.

The president looked round with flashing eyes, and folding his arms on his chest at the same time, as he raised his head, he began speaking again in a sharp, cutting voice, whose accents caused his hearers to tremble involuntarily. And yet they were brave men, accustomed to the terrible incidents of a desert life, and whom the most serious dangers could not have affected.

"Now listen, señores," he said, "and judge this man impartially; but do not judge him according to prairie law, but in your hearts. General Don Sebastian Guerrero, who is standing so bold and upright before you at this moment, is one of the greatest noblemen of Mexico, a Cristiano viejo of the purest blood, descended in a direct line from the Spanish Conquistadors. His fortune is immense, incalculable, and he himself could not determine its amount. This man, by the mere strength of his will, and the implacable egotism that forms the basis of his character, has always succeeded in everything he has undertaken. Coldly and resolutely ambitious, he has covered with corpses the bloody road he was compelled to follow in order to attain his proposed object, and he has done so without hesitation or remorse; he has looked on with a smiling face, when his dearest friends and his nearest relations fell by his side; for him nothing which men respect exists – faith and honour are with him but empty sounds. He had a daughter, who was the perfection of women, and he coldly lacerated that daughter's heart; he fatally drove her to suicide, and the blood of the poor girl spirted on his forehead, while he was triumphantly witnessing the legal murder of the man she loved, and whose death he resolved on, because he refused to palter with his honour, and aid this man in the infamous treachery he was meditating. This human-faced tiger, this monster with the mocking, sceptical face, you see, señores, has only one thought, one object, one desire – it is, to attain the highest rank, even if, to effect it, he were compelled to clamber over the panting corpses of his relations and friends sacrificed to his ambition; and if he cannot carve out an independent kingdom in this collapsing republic, which is called Mexico, he wishes to seize, at least, on the supreme magistracy, and be elected president. If this man's life merely comprised this egotistic ambition and these infamous schemes to satisfy it, I should content myself with despising, instead of hating him, and not being able to find an excuse for him, I should forget him. But no; this man has done more – he dared to lay hands on a man who was my friend, my brother, the Count de Prébois Crancé, to whom I have already referred, señores, without mentioning his name. Unable to conquer the count loyally, despairing of winning him over to his shameful cause, he at first tried to poison him; but, not having succeeded, and wishing to come to an end, he forgot that his daughter, an angel, the sole creature who loved him, and implored divine mercy for him, was the betrothed wife of the count, and that killing him would be her condemnation to death. In his horrible thirst for revenge, he ordered the judicial murder of my friend, and coldly presided at the execution, not noticing, in the joyous deliverance of his satisfied hatred, that his daughter had killed herself at his side, and that he was trampling her corpse beneath his horse's feet. Such is what this man has done; look at him well, in order to recognize him hereafter; he is General Don Sebastian Guerrero, military governor of Sonora."

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