University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

The apartment into which Juan now found himself
introduced, was very spacious; and, indeed, had
the height of the ceiling corresponded in proportion
with the length and breadth, would have been esteemed
vast. Without being so low as to be decidedly
mean, it was yet depressed enough to show
how little the principles of taste had extended
among the natives, to the art of architecture; or,
what is equally probable, how wisely provision
was made against the earthquakes and other convulsions,
so naturally to be expected in a land of
volcanoes.

The huge rafters of cedar, carved into strange
and emblematic arabesques, were supported, at
intervals, by a double row of pillars of the most
grotesque shapes. On the walls were hung arras,
on which were painted rude scenes of battle and of
sacrifice, with hieroglyphic records of history, as
well as choice maxims of virtue and policy, selected
from the compositions of that king, who had finished,
and given name to the habitation, long since founded
by his ancestors. It was lighted in a manner
equally rare and magnificent. A considerable space
in the further or western wall, from which the tapestry
was drawn aside, was occupied by stone mullions
of strange forms, between which were fixed large
translucent blocks of alabaster, such as we now
behold in the church windows of Puebla de los
Angelos. Upon these were painted many incomprehensible
figures, which would have deformed the
beauty of the stone, but for the brilliancy and de

licacy of their hues. As it was, the strong glare of
the evening sun, falling upon this transparent wall,
came through it, with the mellow lustre and harmonious
tints of a harvest-moon, shedding a soft but
sufficient light over the whole apartment, making
what was harsh tender, and what was lovely almost
divine.[1]

On the left hand, were several narrow doors,
opening upon a garden, which was seen, sometimes,
when the breeze stirred aside the curtains
that defended them; on the right, were others
leading to certain chambers, and carefully protected
by a similar drapery.

The floor of this hall of audience was covered
with mats stained with various colours.

At the farther extremity of the apartment stood
a group of Spanish cavaliers, surrounding a platform
of slight elevation, on which, sumptuously
dressed, and leaning upon a camoncillo, or chair of
state, stood Hernan Cortes. At his right hand, sitting
and supported by two gallant cavaliers, was his
royal godson, Ixtlilxochitl, now Don Hernan Cortes,
the king of Tezcuco;—a young man of mild aspect; at
whose feet sat his younger and more manly brother,
Suchel, from whom was afterwards derived one of
the noble families of New Spain. On the left of the
general, were two Indians of a far nobler presence,
and known by the singular loftiness of their plumes,
if not by the commanding sternness of their visages,
to be Tlascalans of high degree. They were, in
fact, the military chieftains Xicotencatl and Chichimecatl,
men of renown not only among their
tribes, but the Spaniards. Behind each stood his
page, or esquire, bearing the great shield of ceremony,

whereon were emblazoned, in native heraldic
devices, the various exploits of his master.

Besides these distinguished barbarians, there
were others of note among the cavaliers, at the side
of the platform.

All these several details of a spectacle both romantic
and imposing, were seen by Juan at a single
glance; for, almost at the moment of his entrance,
a movement was made among those who stood on
the left of the platform, in the direction of the
great Conquistador, as if they desired to catch
something that instant falling from his lips. As
they left the view thus open, Juan saw that Cortes,
instead of speaking, was bending his head and
listening with eager interest to the señor Guzman,
who had ascended the platform, and was now
whispering in his ear. At the same moment, a
prodigiously large dog, with shaggy coat, hanging
lips, and ferocious eyes, roused by the motion of
the general, at whose feet he had been sleeping,
raised his head, and stared with the majestic gravity
of a lion, upon the speaker and his master.

There was something in the interested and agitated
eagerness with which the Captain-General
drank in the words of Guzman, that went to the
heart of Lerma. He doubted not, that Don Francisco
was, at that moment, speaking of him,—of
his return to the society of Christians, and to the
arms of his benefactor,—for such had Cortes once
been to him; and he read in the varying play of
Don Herman's features, nothing but refutation of
the malign charges of Villafana, and full proof that
the general was not indifferent to the friend of
former years.

As these thoughts entered his mind, he rushed
forward, under their impulse, with clasped hands,
and with an exclamation that brought the looks of
all instantly upon him. The huge dog raised himself
half up from the platform, and uttered a savage

growl. He advanced yet another step, and the
ferocious beast, with a roar that filled the whole
chamber, dashed furiously from the platform, as
against an enemy not to be doubted. The young
man paused, but not at the opposition of the animal:
he had, that moment, caught the eye of Don
Hernan, and his heart failed as he beheld the frown
of rage, and, as it seemed to him, hate, with which
he was regarded.

“Down, Befo!” cried Cortes, with a voice of
thunder.

But Befo, who had leaped forward with such
ferocious determination, had, that instant, stopped
before Juan, whom he now eyed with a look of
wonder and recognition. Then, suddenly fetching
such a yelp of joy as would have better become the
playmate-cur of a child, than the grim blood-hound
of a soldier, he raised up his vast body, flung his
paws upon Juan's breast, and strove, evidently, to
throw them round his body, in the mode of human
embrace, whining all all the time with the most expressive
delight.

“Down, Befo! Thick-lips! thou cub of a false
wolf!” repeated the general, irefully, yet with an
expression that would have suited better, had he
been commanding him to tear the youth to pieces;
“Down, fool, down! I will stick thee with my rapier.”

As he spoke, he half drew his sword from the
scabbard.

“Harm him not,—call him not away,” cried
Juan, with a thick voice; “for by heaven and St.
Mary, he is all, of a troop of Christian men, once
my friends, who have any joy to see an old companion
return from bonds and the grave!”

As the young man spoke, he flung his arms
round the neck of the faithful beast, and bending
his head upon Befo's face, gave way to a passion
of tears.

“The shame of foul knaves and false companions
be on you all!” cried the flaming Gaspar, without
a whit regarding the presence in which he spake,
His wrath was cut short, before it had been noticed
by any but the Ottomi, who stood gaping, at a distance,
with looks of visible alarm, first excited by
the appearance of the dog.

Among most of the cavaliers now present, Juan
had been once well known; and however their affections
might be chilled and their respect destroyed, by
untoward circumstances, there was something so
painfully reproachful in the spectacle of his tears,
that a strong impression was immediately produced
among them. All seemed, at once, to remember,
that he had been once esteemed, notwithstanding
his youth, of a bold heart and manly bearing; and
all seemed to remember also, that fourteen months'
suffering among unknown pagans, was worthy of
some little commiseration.

But there was one present of more fiery feelings
and determination more hasty than any of the
Christians. The elder and taller of the Tlascalan
chiefs, distinguished as much by a haughty and
darkly frowning visage as by an Herculean frame,
stepped down from the platform, and laid his hand
upon Juan's shoulder; in which position he stood,
without speaking a word, but expressing in his
countenance the spirit of one who avowed himself
a patron and champion. The tall plume rustled
like a waving palm, as he raised up his head, and
the look that he cast upon Cortes, seemed to mingle
defiance with disdain. But this hostile expression
was perhaps concealed by the approach of a cavalier
of gallant appearance, who stepped suddenly
from the throng, and snatching up Juan's left hand
from the dog's neck, cried with hasty good-will,

“Santiago! (and the devil take all of us that
have no better hearts than a cur or a wild Indian!)
I know no reason, certainly, why thou shouldst be

treated like a dog. God be with thee, Juan Lerma!
I am glad thou art alive; God bless thee: and so
hold up thy head. If thou hast no better raiment,
I will give thee my fustian breeches and liver-coloured
mantle, as well as a good sword of iron,
which I have to spare.”

This quick-spoken and benevolent cavalier was
no less a man than the gallant Don Pedro de Alvarado,
at this time called, almost universally, in
memory of his famous leap over the ditch of Tacuba,
in the Night of Sorrow, the Capitan del Salto.
He gave place to another of still greater renown,
who would have been perhaps the first to extend
his hand, had he been as hasty of resolution as his
more mercurial comrade. This was the good
cavalier Don Gonzalo de Sandoval, better esteemed
for his skill in arms than any peculiar elegance of
conversation.

“Juan Lerma,” said he, “I am not sorry thou art
alive and well; and if thou wilt make any use of
the same, to put thee into more Christian bravery,
I will pray thee to take my gold chain, as well as
six good cotton shirts, which an Indian woman
made me.”

To these friendly salutations and bountiful offers,
as well as the advances of other cavaliers who now
bustled around him, Juan replied with a manner
more expressive of indignation than gratitude. He
was ashamed of having exposed his weakness, and
sensible that it was this alone which had obtained
him a charitable notice. He raised his head proudly,
as one who would not accept such compelled kindness,
pushed Befo to the floor, though still keeping
a hand upon his neck, acknowledged the presence
of Xicotencal with a word, and turned towards
Cortes a countenance now quite composed, though
not without a touch of sorrowful resentment.

The emotion which had produced such an impression
among the cavaliers, was not without its

effect even upon the Captain-General. His features
relaxed their angry severity, he stepped forwards;
and when Juan lifted up his eyes, he beheld a hand
extended towards him, and heard the voice of Cortes
say, in tones of concession, though of embarrassment,

“God be with you—you do us wrong in this
matter: as a Christian man escaped from bondage,
we are not unrejoiced to see you: as a soldier returning
from a delayed duty, we will declare our
thoughts of you anon.”

There was nothing very gracious either in the
words or tones of the speaker; but they were unexpected.
They swept away the proud and angry
resolutions of Juan, and restored to him the warm
feelings of affection and gratitude, with which he
had ever been accustomed to regard the general.
He seized the proffered hand, pressed it to his lips,
and seemed about to throw himself at Don Hernan's
feet, when suddenly a noise was heard at a
curtained door hard by, accompanied by what
seemed the smothered shriek of a woman. At this
sound the young man started up, with a look of
fear, and yielded up the hand which was abruptly
snatched from his own. He gazed round him and
plainly beheld the thick cloth before the nearest
passage, shaking, as if disturbed by the recent passage
of some one,—but nothing else. He perceived
no new countenance added to those of the many in
audience, which were directed upon his own, with
an universal stare of wonder. His attention was
recalled by the voice of Cortes. He turned; the
general was seated; a stern and iron gravity had
taken the place of relenting feeling on his visage;
and it was evident to the unfortunate Juan, that the
hour of reconciliation had passed away, and for
ever. The cavaliers retreated,—the Tlascalan and
the dog were all that remainded by his side; and, as
if to make his disgrace both undeniable and intolerable,

the señor Guzman maintained, throughout
the whole scene, his post at the general's side, confronted
face to face with his fallen rival.

“We are ready to hear thee, Juan Lerma,” said
the Captain-General, with a voice at once cold and
commanding: “you went hence, to explore the
lands of the west, and the sea that rolls among
them. We argue much success, and great discoveries,
from the time devoted to these purposes,
and from the discretion you evinced in pursuing
them for a whole year and more, rather than by
returning with your forces, to share in the dangerous
fights of Mexico. What have you to say?
You had some good followers, both Christian and
unconverted.—Stand thou aloof, Gaspar Olea! I
will presently speak with thee.—Hast thou brought
none back with thee but the Barba-Roxa,—Gaspar
of the Red Beard?”

There was not a word in this address which did
not sting the young man to the heart; and the insulting
insinuation which a portion of it conveyed,
was uttered in a tone of the most cutting sarcasm.
He trembled, reddened, clenched his hand in the
shaggy coat of Befo,—who still, though beckoned
by Cortes, refused to leave the exile,—until the animal
whined with pain. Then, smothering his emotions,
like one who perceives that he is wronged, and,
knowing that complaint will be unavailing, is resolute
to suffer with fortitude, he elevated his lofty
figure with tranquil dignity, looked upon Cortes
with an aspect no longer reproachful, and replied,

“Besides Gaspar, who is worthy of your excellency's
confidence and thanks, no one returns with
me save the Ottomi, Ocelotzin,—the Tiger; a man
to whom should be accorded the praise of having
saved the life of Gaspar, which is valuable to your
exceliency, and my own,—which is worthless.”

As he spoke, he pointed to the ancient barbarian,
who stepped forward with the same affectionate

smiles and grimaces which he had bestowed upon
the party at the cypress-tree, and with many uncouth
gestures of reverence, saying, in imperfect
Castilian, after he had touched the floor with his
hand, and then kissed it,

“Ottomi I,—good friend, good rascal; but Ocelotzin
no more. I am Techeechee,[2] the Silent Dog,
—the little dog without voice,—Techeechee!”

As he spoke, he cast his eyes, with less of love
than admiring fear, upon the gigantic beast, whose
voice was to him, as well as to his countrymen,
more terrible than the yell of the mountain tiger.

“I remember thee,good fellow,” said the Captain-General.

Then, without bestowing any further present notice
on him, he turned again to Juan, speaking with
the same cold and magisterial tones:

“And where, then, are the two Christians of La
Mancha, and the seventy warriors of Matlatzinco,
who composed your party? the arms you carried?
and the four good horses entrusted to your
charge?”

“Your excellency shall hear,” said Juan, calmly:
“The two Manchegos were ill inclined to the expedition;
and therein were my followers but unfortunately
selected.”

“They were mutineers!” cried Gaspar, whose
anger was not mollified by being made a witness
to the ill fate of his young captain: “they were
mutineers; and so the devil has them.”

“Hah!” exclaimed Cortes, starting up, with what
seemed angry joy: “didst thou dare arrogate the
privileges of a judge, and condemn a Christian man
to death?”

“I am guiltless of such presumption,” said Juan.
“To their dissatisfaction, to their disobedience,—

nay, to their frequent threats, and open disregard
of the commands your excellency had yourself imposed
upon us, not to provoke the Indians among
whom we might be journeying,—I adjudged no
punishment but the assurance that your excellency
should certainly be made acquainted with their acts.
With much persuasion, I prevailed upon them to
follow me, until we had reached the sea, which it
was your excellency' command I should first examine.”

“Ay!” said Cortes, again starting up, but with
an air of exultation; “thou hast found it then? and
a port that may give shelter to ships of burthen?”

“Not one port only, but many,” said Juan, with
a faltering voice, mistaking the satisfaction of the
leader for approbation. “In a space of seventy
leagues, (for so much of the coast was I able to
survey,) there are many harbours, exceedingly
spacious, deep and secure; and some of such excellence,
that I question whether the world contains
any others to equal them. Near to some, there is
much good ship timber, as well as lands amazingly
fertile and beautiful.”

“This is well,” said the Captain-General, coldly.
“Thou hast well devoted a year of time to the examination
of seventy leagues of coast.”

“Had that been the only subject of your excellency's
orders,” said Lerma, “you should have had
no cause for dissatisfaction. This accomplished, it
became me, as your excellency had commanded,
to explore those gold lands to the northwest, and
discover that kingdom of Huitzitzila, as it was erroneously
called by Montezuma, which bordered
upon his dominions, and had ever maintained its
independence by force of arms.”

At these words, many of the cavaliers looked
surprised, as if made acquainted with this article
of Juan's instructions for the first time, and some

exchanged meaning glances, which were not lost
on Cortes. He frowned, and hastily exclaimed,

“You are wrong; I commanded you not. That
kingdom being at enmity with Mexico, it was not
fit your lives should be endangered, by rashly adventuring
within its confines. You were advised,
if you should find we had been deceived in the
character of those infidels of Huitzitzila, to make
yourself acquainted with them and their country:
but this was left to your discretion.”

“It is true,” said Juan mildly, “your excellency
did so advise me; and the fault which I committed
was in thinking that I should best please you, by
penetrating to that land, without much thought of
difficulty or danger. In this, as in other things, as
Gaspar will be my witness, I was opposed by those
unhappy Manchegos; who deserted from me in the
night, carrying with them, (to replace a horse which
they had lost in a river,) the charger which your
excellency had given to me for my own riding,—as
well as their arquebuses,—which was still more
unfortunate; for Gaspar's piece had been broken
by a fall, and we were thus left without firearms,
with but one horse, and no better weapon to procure
us food, than mine own crossbow, and the arrows
of the Matlatzincos.”

“Now, by my conscience,” said Cortes, “I know
not which the more to admire,—the good vigilance
that allowed these knaves to escape, or the rash-brained
folly which led you to continue the expedition
without them!”

The sarcasm produced no change in Juan's
visage. He seemed to have made up his mind not
only to endure injustice, but to expect it.

“Their desertion was neither unforeseen nor unopposed,”
he answered. “It is my grief to say, that
they forgot the obligations both of discipline and
Christianity, and desperately fired upon Gaspar

and myself; whereby they killed our remaining
horse, and wounded myself in the side.”

“And where then were thy knavish Indians, that
thou didst not slay the false traitors on the spot?”
cried Cortes, with an indignation, which, this time,
had the right direction.

The answer to this added but another item of
mischance to the young man's story. The arts of
the Manchegos had spread disaffection among his
Indian followers, many of whom had deserted with
them. Following after the mutineers, he was,
shortly after, abandoned by the rest; and then
his little party, consisting only of Gaspar and the
Ottomi, was attacked, by hostile tribes, driven back
upon the path, and finally forced to take refuge in
the dominions of that native monarch, whose reputed
grandeur and wealth had so long since excited
the curiosity of Don Hernan.

The relation of Lerma, though of such thrilling
interest that it absorbed the attention of all present,
and even so wrought upon the mind of Cortes, that
he gradually discharged the severity of his countenance,
and even at last ceased altogether to interrupt
it with sarcasm or commentary of any kind, has too
little, or at least too indirect a connexion with the
present history, to require it to be given in the exile's
words, or at any length. With the main facts,—his
long captivity and final escape,—the reader is already
acquainted; and it is not perhaps necessary to add
more than that the kingdom of which so much has
been said, was that of Mechoacan, and that its
capital Tzintzontzan, (the Place of Hummingbirds,)
corrupted by the Mexicans into Huitzitzila, lies yet,
though dwindled into the meanest of villages, upon
the beautiful lake Pascuaro. Juan knew nothing of
the fate of the Manchegos. By a comparison of
dates, it was discovered that the sudden outbreaking
of hostilities, which had driven him into this remote
land, had followed almost immediately upon

the tumults in Mexico, which had resulted in the
death of Montezuma and the expulsion of the Spaniards;
and it was not doubted, that the mutineers
had met a miserable and speedy death. With the
account of lands of unexampled beauty and fertility,
of rivers of gold and hills of silver, we have nothing
to do, except to remark that it determined
the fate of Mechoacan as certainly as if the order
had been uttered for its immediate subjugation. The
whole account might have been omitted, except that
it was necessary, as the means of explaining some
of the feelings with which the young Lerma was regarded
by the general and his chief followers.

There is no eloquence so persuasive as that of
distress, uttered without complaint; and no story
of hardship and peril fails of exciting sympathy,
when recounted with truth and modesty. Accordingly,
the narrative of the exile produced among
the cavaliers a powerful impression in his favour,
which was heightened into admiration by the consciousness
that nothing but the greatest constancy
of purpose, and mental resources beyond those of
ordinary men, could have conducted him through his
long and perilous enterprise. Many of those, who
seemed to remember with most interest the breach
between the general and one who had been formerly
considered almost his adopted son, kept
their eyes curiously bent on Cortes; and they did
not doubt, from the changes of his countenance,
that his better feelings were deeply engaged, and
would perhaps restore the young man to the confidence
and affection which all knew he had lost.
This belief became universal, when, at the close of
the story, the Captain-General arose, and addressing
the throng, said,

“Cavaliers and friends, we will free all present
from the tedium of this audience, saving only the
gentlemen of the Secret Counsel, and these our returned
friends.—Nay, by my faith, Gaspar of the

Red Beard, thou mayst depart likewise, to speak
thy adventures to thine old friends, which thou art
doubtless itching to do; or, if thou likest that better,
get thee to Antonio de Quinones, our Master of the
Armory, and choose thyself a good sword, buckler
and breastplate. Thou art a true soldier, and, by
and by, I have somewhat to say to thee.—The
knave has the gait of an infidel!”

At this signal for breaking up the audience,
which was pronounced with the grave and easy
authoritativeness of one long accustomed to command,
the individuals present, Christian and heathen,
princes, chieftains, and cavaliers, took their
departure, leaving behind them Sandoval, Alvarado,
and a few other officers of high standing.

As Juan stood, embarrassed between hope and
doubt, the señor Guzman descended from the platform,
and, passing him, said with a low voice and
a derisive smile,

“You mount, señor, and Bobadil neighs for
you! It is better—the war is equal.”

So saying, he passed on.