



Produced by Camille Bernard & Marc D'Hooghe at
http://www.freeliterature.org (From images at Hathi Trust.)





THE WHITE SCALPER.

A Story of the Texan War.

BY

GUSTAVE AIMARD,

AUTHOR OF "INDIAN SCOUT," "FREEBOOTERS," "BORDER RIFLES" ETC.

LONDON:

WARD AND LOCK,

168, FLEET STREET.

MDCCCLXI.




ADVERTISEMENT.

With the conclusion of the present series of GUSTAVE AIMARD'S tales, it
may be advisable to inform the readers in what succession the eleven
volumes already published should be read. It is as follows;--

First Series.

    1. BORDER RIFLES.
    2. FREEBOOTERS.
    3. WHITE SCALPER.

Second Series.

    1. TRAIL HUNTER.
    2. PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES.
    3. TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER.
    4. TIGER-SLAYER.
    5. GOLD-SEEKERS.
    6. INDIAN CHIEF.

Third Series.

    1. PRAIRIE FLOWER.
    2. INDIAN SCOUT.

These, three Series are now complete, and in the ensuing volumes the
Author intends to introduce an entirely fresh set of characters.

Encouraged by the unexpectedly favourable reception these volumes have
met with, the Publishers have determined on producing a Magnificent
Illustrated edition. Each volume will contain twelve page Engravings,
drawn and Engraved by the First Artists of the Day, and be published at
a price which will place the series within reach of all classes.

These engravings will necessarily enhance the pleasure of the reader; as
the most careful attention has been paid to correctness of costume and
scenery, and a perfect idea can be at once formed from them of the
peculiarities of the country in which the scene is laid. In all Indian
novels that have hitherto been published with illustrations, this
important point has been neglected; but the purchasers of the
Illustrated Edition of GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works may feel assured that
whatever is offered them in the way of elucidating the text is strictly
true to Nature. When it is stated, for instance, that the Indian dresses
have been obtained from CATLIN'S elaborate work, and the distinctive
costumes of each tribe faithfully adhered to, the Publishers trust this
will prove a sufficient guarantee that no idle boast is intended. At the
same time, artistic value has not been neglected. The engraving has been
intrusted to Mr. EDMUND EVANS, who has surpassed all his former efforts
in the elaboration of these, the most perfect specimens which have yet
issued from his studio.

The Publishers, therefore, confidently anticipate that this enterprise
will render GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works of Indian life the universal
favourites they deserve to be, for the volumes will be appropriate as
gift books at all seasons of the year. For it should not be left out of
sight that, although the Author has thought proper to write his tales in
different series, each volume can be read with equal interest
separately. As he only records the incidents of his own life under
assumed characters, it is but natural that the same Individuals should
appear on the scene in a succession of volumes. But in this GUSTAVE
AIMARD merely follows the example of his master, FENIMORE COOPER, and no
complaint was ever, to our knowledge, raised to his introduction of the
same hero through a lengthened series of volumes. On the contrary, the
readers were pleased at it; and the same kind indulgence is asked for
the present Author, who, if he may have erred in an artistic sense, has
a brilliant example to fall back on.

The first volume of the New Illustrated Edition will be published in
October next, and procurable of all Booksellers throughout the kingdom.
As the demand, however, is anticipated to be very large, intending
Subscribers are requested to send in their orders early, so that any
delay or disappointment may be avoided.

_August_, 1861.




CONTENTS.

   I. A RECONNOISSANCE
   II. A BARGAIN
   III. THE RETREAT
   IV. JOHN DAVIS
   V. BEFORE THE BATTLE
   VI. THE BATTLE OF CERRO PARDO
   VII. TO THE ATEPETL
   VIII. HOSPITALITY
   IX. THE MARRIAGE
   X. RETURN TO LIFE
   XI. THE PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES
   XII. IN THE CAVERN
   XIII. A CONVERSATION
   XIV. TWO ENEMIES
   XV. THE AMBUSCADE
   XVI. THE SCALP DANCE
   XVII. THE MEETING
   XVIII. A REACTION
   XIX. A PAGE OF HISTORY
   XX. THE BIVOUAC
   XXI. SANDOVAL
   XXII. LOYAL HEART'S HISTORY
   XXIII. THE EXPIATION
   XXIV. IN THE DESERT
   XXV. THE LAST HALT
   XXVI. SAN JACINTO

THE WHITE SCALPER




CHAPTER I.

A RECONNOISSANCE.


Colonel Melendez, after leaving the Jaguar, galloped with his head
afire, and panting chest, along the Galveston road, exciting with his
spurs the ardour of his horse, which yet seemed to devour space, so
rapid was its speed. But it is a long journey from the Salto del Frayle
to the town. While galloping, the Colonel reflected; and the more he did
so, the more impossible did it appear to him that the Jaguar had told
him the truth. In fact, how could it be supposed that this partisan,
brave and rash though he was, would have dared to attack, at the head of
a handful of adventurers, a well-equipped corvette, manned by a numerous
crew, and commanded by one of the best officers in the Mexican navy? The
capture of the fort seemed even more improbable to the Colonel.

While reflecting thus, the Colonel had gradually slackened his horse's
speed; the animal, feeling that it was no longer watched, had insensibly
passed from a gallop into a canter, then a trot, and by a perfectly
natural transition, fell into a walk, with drooping head, and snapping
at the blades of grass within its reach.

Night had set in for some time past; a complete silence brooded over the
country, only broken by the hollow moan of the sea as it rolled over the
shingle. The Colonel was following a small track formed along the coast,
which greatly shortened the distance separating him from Galveston. This
path, much used by day, was at this early hour of night completely
deserted; the ranchos that stood here and there were shut up, and no
light gleamed through their narrow windows, for the fishermen, fatigued
by the rude toil of the day, had retired to bed at an early hour.

The young officer's horse, which had more and more slackened its pace,
emboldened by impunity, at length stopped near a scrubby bush, whose
leaves it began nibbling. This immobility aroused the Colonel from his
reverie, and he looked about him to see where he was. Although the
obscurity was very dense, it was easy for him to perceive that he was
still a long distance from his destination. About a musket-shot ahead
was a rancho, whose hermetically-closed windows allowed a thin pencil of
light to filter through the interstices of the shutters. The Colonel
struck his repeater and found it was midnight. To go on would be
madness; the more so, as it would be impossible for him to find a boat
in which to cross to the island. Greatly annoyed at this obstacle,
which, supposing the Jaguar's revelations to be true, might entail
serious consequences, the young officer, while cursing this involuntary
delay, resolved on pushing on to the rancho before him, and once there,
try to obtain means to cross the bay.

After drawing his cloak tightly round him, to protect him as far as
possible from the damp sea air, the Colonel caught up his reins again,
and giving his horse the spur, trotted sharply towards the rancho. The
traveller speedily reached it, but, when only a few paces from it,
instead of riding straight up to the door, he dismounted, fastened his
horse to a larch-tree, and, after placing his pistols in his belt, made
a rather long circuit, and stealthily crept up to the window of the
rancho.

In the present state of fermentation from which people were suffering in
Texas, the olden confidence had entirely disappeared to make way for the
greatest distrust. The times were past when the doors of houses remained
open day and night, in order to enable strangers to reach the fireside
with greater facility. Hospitality, which was traditional in these
parts, had, temporarily at any rate, changed into a suspicious reserve,
and it would have been an act of unjustifiable imprudence to ride up to
a strange house, without first discovering whether it was that of a
friend. The Colonel especially, being dressed in a Mexican uniform, was
bound to act with extreme reserve.

This rancho was rather large; it had not that appearance of poverty and
neglect which are found only too often in the houses of Spanish American
Campesinos. It was a square house, with a roof in the Italian fashion,
having in front an azotea-covered portillo. The white-washed walls were
an agreeable contrast to the virgin vines, and other plants which ran
over it. This rancho was not enclosed with walls: a thick hedge, broken
through at several places, alone defended the approaches. The
dependencies of the house were vast, and well kept up. All proved that
the owner of this mansion carried on a large trade on his account.

The Colonel, as we have said, had softly approached one of the windows.
The shutters were carefully closed, but not so carefully as not to let
it be seen that someone was up inside. In vain did the Colonel, though,
place his eye at the slit, for he could see nothing. If he could not
see, however, he could hear, and the first words that reached his ear
probably appeared to him very serious, for he redoubled his attention,
in order to lose no portion of the conversation. Employing once again
our privilege as romancers, we will enter the rancho, and allow the
reader to witness the singular scene going on there, the most
interesting part of which escaped the Colonel, greatly to his annoyance.

In a rather small room, dimly lighted by a smoky candle, four men, with
gloomy faces and ferocious glances, dressed in the garb of Campesinos,
were assembled. Three of them, seated on butacas and equipals, were
listening, with their guns between their legs, to the fourth, who, with
his arms behind his back, was walking rapidly up and down, while
talking.

The broad brims of the vicuna hats which the three first wore, and the
obscurity prevailing in the room, only allowed their faces to be dimly
seen, and their expression judged. The fourth, on the contrary, was
bare-headed; he was a man of about forty, tall, and well built; his
muscular limbs denoted a far from common strength, and a forest of black
and curly hair fell on his wide shoulders. He had a lofty forehead,
aquiline nose, and black and piercing eyes; while the lower part of his
face disappeared in a long and thick beard. There was in the appearance
of this man something bold and haughty, which inspired respect, and
almost fear.

At this moment, he seemed to be in a tremendous passion; his eyebrows
were contracted, his cheeks livid, and, at times, when he yielded to the
emotion he tried in vain to restrain, his eye flashed to fiercely, that
it forced his three hearers to bow their heads humbly, and they seemed
to be his inferiors. At the moment when we entered the room, the
stranger appeared to be continuing a discussion that had been going on
for some time.

"No," he said in a powerful voice, "things cannot go on thus any longer.
You dishonour the holy cause we are defending by revolting acts of
cruelty, which injure us in the opinion of the population, and authorise
all the calumnies our enemies spread with reference to us. It is not by
imitating our oppressors that we shall succeed in proving to the masses
that we really wish their welfare. However sweet it may be to avenge an
insult received, where men put themselves forward as defenders of a
principle so sacred as that for which we have been shedding our blood
the last ten years, every man must practise self-denial, and forget all
his private animosities to absorb them in the great national vengeance.
I tell you this frankly, plainly, and with no reserve. I