



Produced by Camille Bernard and Marc D'Hooghe at
http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made
available by the Internet Archive, scanned by Google Books
Project)





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 yet
written. While there is enough of startling incident and hairbreadth
escapes to satisfy the greatest craver after sensation, the plot is
carefully elaborated, and great attention is paid to developing the
character of the heroines. If there has been any fault in the author's
previous works, it is that the ladies introduced are too subordinate;
but in the present tale, the primary interest hinges upon them, and
they are the most prominent characters. For this reason I am inclined
to believe that the "Smuggler Chief" will become a greater favourite
with 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 immense
savannahs and gloomy virgin forests conceal so many mysterious secrets
and unknown dramas, sees at this moment all eyes fixed upon her, for
everyone is eager to know the strange customs of the semi-civilized
Indians and the semi-savage Europeans who people the vast solitudes
of that continent; for in the age of transformation in which we live,
they alone have remained stationary, contending inch by inch against
the civilization which invades and drives them back on all sides, and
guarding with a religious obstinacy the faith, manners, and customs of
their fathers--curious manners, full of interest, which require to be
studied carefully and closely to be understood.

It is to America, then, that we invite the reader to accompany us. But
he need not feel alarmed at the length of the voyage, for he can make
it while comfortably seated in his easy chair by the fireside.

The story we propose to tell has its scene laid at Valparaiso--a
Chilian city as regards the soil on which it is built, but English and
French, European or American, through the strange composite of its
population, which, is formed of people from all countries, who have
introduced every possible language and brought with them every variety
of trade.

Valparaiso! the name echoes in the ear like the soft sweet notes of a
love strain!

Valparaiso! the city of Paradise--the vast depot of the whole world.
A coquettish, smiling, and frolicsome city, slothfully reclining, like
a thoughtless Indian maid, at the base of three mountains and at the
end of a glorious bay, dipping the tips of her roseate feet in the
azure waters of the Pacific, and hiding her broad brilliant forehead
in the tempest-swollen clouds which float along from the crests of the
Cordilleras to make her a splendid diadem.

This city, the advanced sentinel of Transatlantic civilization, is the
first land which the traveller discovers after doubling Cape Horn, of
melancholy and ill-omened memory.

When at sunrise of a fine spring morning a vessel sails round the
lighthouse point situated at the extremity of the Playa-Aucha, this
charming oasis is perceived, half veiled by a transparent mist, only
allowing the white houses and lofty edifices to be distinguished in a
vague and fantastic way that conduces to reverie.

The atmosphere, impregnated with the sharp scents from the beach and
the sweet emanations of the trees and flowers, deliciously expands the
chest, and in a second causes the mariner, who comes back to life and
hope, to forget the three months of suffering and incessant danger
whose long hours have passed for him minute by minute, ere he reached
this long-desired haven.

On August 25th, 1833, two men were seated in a posada situated in the
Calle San Agostino, and kept by a Frenchman of the name of Crevel,
long established in the country, at a table on which stood two glasses
and a nearly empty bottle of aguardiente of Pisco, and were eagerly
conversing in a low voice about a matter which seemed to interest them
in the highest degree.

One of these men, about twenty-five years of age, wore a characteristic
costume of the guasos, a name by which the inhabitants of the interior
are designated; a wide poncho of llama wool, striped with different
brilliant colours, covered his shoulders and surrounded his bare neck
with an elegant and strangely-designed Indian embroidery. Long boots
of dyed wool were fastened above his knees by silk cords, and armed at
the heels with enormous silver spurs, whose wheels, large as saucers,
compelled him to walk on tiptoe whenever he felt an inclination