University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

The morn, which by this time was breaking over
the sea, was ushered in with a thousand sounds of
triumph; and the drums of the vanquished rolled in
concert with the trumpets of the victors. In truth,
saving to the wounded and broken-spirited Biscayan,

and some few cavaliers who had remained faithful to
him and to his employer, the change of others from
rivalry to subjection, was a circumstance more of
gratulation than regret; as was proved by the ready
alacrity with which they betook themselves to the audience
of their conqueror.

In the gilded and feather-broidered chair in which
he had first seen the person of the unlucky Narvaez,
Don Amador de Leste now perceived the figure of
the Conqueror, a rich mantle of an orange hue thrown
over his shoulders, his head bare, but his heel resting
on a certain footstool or ball of variegated feathers,
and altogether preserving an appearance of singular,
but superb state. His valiant and well-beloved officers
stood ranked on either side, and on either side, also,
his resolute followers were displayed, as if performing
the duties of a body-guard. In this situation of
pride, he prepared to receive the congratulations or
the griefs of his enemies; and, as if to add still further
to the imposing magnificence of the ceremony,
at that moment, as a wild roar of conches and drums
mingling with the wilder shouts of human beings,
burst over the city, a great multitude of native warriors
from the province of Chinantla, marching in regular
and alternate files of spearmen and archers,
and glittering with feathers and brilliant cotton garments,
strode upon the square, and dividing upon
either side of the pyramid, halted only when they
had surrounded it with their warlike and most romantic
array. The spectacle was no more surprising
to the people of Narvaez than to those friends of
Cortes, who had not before looked upon an Indian
army, among whom Don Amador was one. He regarded
the picturesque barbarians with much admiration;
though his eye soon wandered from them to
dwell upon the leader, and the ceremonious part he
was then enacting. He sat in his chair like a monarch,
and though, at times, when some conquered cavalier
more honoured, or better beloved, than others, approached,
he arose, and even extended his arms with

a friendly embrace, in the greater number of instances
he was content to pronounce some simple
words of compliment, and present his hand to be kissed,—a
mark of homage reverentially rendered by all.

It did not become Don Amador, though he surveyed
these proceedings with some little contempt, as indicating
on the one side, too much arrogance, and on
the other, too much humility, to interrupt them; in
which persuasion, he stood patiently aside, with his
company, watching until such moment when he might
approach with propriety. Being thus a witness of
the degree of friendliness which characterized the receptions,
as well as the many petitions which the
comers made to be accredited and enrolled among
the general's true friends and followers, he began to
lose somewhat of the wonder with which he had regarded
the suddenness and facility of the victory. It
was apparent, that most of the officers of Narvaez
had long made up their minds to devote themselves
to the service of his enemy; and when they had paid
their compliments to Don Hernan, they dropped
among his officers, as if joining old friends and comrades.

It gave the neophyte some pain, when at the conclusion
of these ceremonies, he beheld the Biscayan
led forward in chains, (for he was heavily ironed,) to
salute his rival. His casque was off; a bandage covered
his eye; his face was very pale; and he strode
forward with an uncertain gait, as if feeble from the
loss of blood, or agitated by shame and despair. Nevertheless,
he spoke with a firm and manly voice,
when he found himself confronted with his vanquisher.

“Thou mayest congratulate thyself, Cortes,” said
the fallen chief. “Thy star has the ascendant, thy
fate is superior; and so much do I admire my own
misfortune, that I could compliment thee upon it, did
I not know it was wrought less by the valour of my
enemies, than the perfidy of my friends.”

“Thou doest thyself, as well as all others, a great
wrong to say so, brother Narvaez,” said the victor,

gravely; “and it would better become thee magnanimously
to confess thou art beaten by thine own
fault, rather than to follow the example of little-minded
men, and lay the blame upon others.”

“I confess that I am beaten,” said the captive;—
“and that the shame of my defeat will last longer
than my grave. But I aver to God, and I maintain
in thy teeth, though I am but a captive in thy hands,
that this victory is altogether so miraculous, it could
not have happened unless by the corruption of my
people.”

“To heaven and my good soldiers, it is all owing,”
said Cortes, composedly: “and so little miraculous,
my brother, do I myself esteem it, after having twice
or thrice beaten thirty thousand Tlascalans, at a time,
all valiant men, that I vow to thee on my conscience,
I cannot do other than consider this triumph as altogether
the least of my achievements in Mexico.”

“It must be so, since you say it,” responded Narvaez,
his breast heaving under the sarcasm, with a
bitter and suffocating pang; “yet it matters not. Let
the glory be ever so little, the shame is not the less
notorious; and though thou scornest thy reward of
fame, I will not fly from mine own recompense of
contempt.—What more is expected of me? Dios
mio! I cannot, like the rest, kiss thy hand, and take
upon me the oaths of service. I am thy prisoner!”

“Had I been thine,” said Cortes, gravely, “thou
wouldst have fulfilled thy word, and hanged me,
wouldst thou not?”

“What matters it?” replied the unfortunate man,
with a firm voice. “Doubtless, if the passion that
beset me at the time of the proclamation, had lasted
after a victory, I should have been as good as my
word: for which reason I will anticipate thy excuses,
and assure thee out of mine own mouth, thou wilt
but retaliate fairly, to dismiss me to the same fate.”

“Thou canst not understand the moderation thou
hast not practised,” said Cortes rising, and speaking
with dignity. “The foolish rage that provoked thee

to set a price upon my head, I remember not; the
madness that proclaimed these true and most loyal
men for rebels and traitors, must be passed by, as
other hallucinations: but as, in doing this, thou hast
greatly injured and jeoparded the interests of thy
master the king, thou art worthy to suffer the death
of a rebellious subject, for as such thou hast acted.
Nevertheless, I will do thee a grace thou wouldst not
accord to me; I will conceive, that, however traitorous
have been thy actions, thou mayest have been
faithful at heart,—mistaken, but not disloyal: in
which thought, I give thee thy life, and will recommend
thee into the hands of his majesty for judgment
and mercy.”

The conqueror waved his hand, and Narvaez was
led away:—to terminate, in after years, a life of mischance
by a death of misery, among those ruder
tribes of the North who are but now vanishing from
the borders of the Mississippi, and to add his melancholy
tale to the gloomy histories of De Leon and
De Soto.

“What will my noble and thrice-honoured friend,
Don Amador de Leste?” cried Cortes, as he perceived
the neophyte approaching him. “We should
be good friends, señor; for I owe thee much, and we
have been in peril together.”

“Twice, I thank your excellency,” said Amador,
“you have done me the office of a true cavalier; for
which I will not now trifle the time to thank you, inasmuch
as my arm is henceforth unshackled, and I
can write my gratitude better with it, than with my
tongue. What I have now to require, is that your
excellency will judge between me and this fellow, the
master of a ship, in the matter of a Moor called Abdalla,
otherwise Esclavo de la Cruz, and his son Jacinto;
both of whom being Christian Moors, though
captured in a Barbary vessel, this man doth claim to
be his slaves; I, on the other hand, as their vowed
protector and champion, upholding them to be free,

and in the condition of wards to his majesty the
king.”

“They are my slaves,” said the master—but a
frown from the general instantly closed his lips.

“It is well for the Moor,” said Cortes, as, at his
command, Abdalla approached, followed by Jacinto:
“it is well for the Moor that he has so powerful a
protector as Don Amador; for otherwise, having discovered
it was his accursed hand shot off the falcon
which destroyed me four brave men and maimed as
many more, I had resolved to hang him like a hound,
this very morning!”

“There is no better cannonier in all your excellency's
train,” said the master, who, however likely
to be robbed of his property, could not check the impulse
to praise it.

“I fired the cannon with the fear of death in my
eyes, if I refused,” said Abdalla, humbly; “and my
lord should as well be wroth with the linstock as
with myself.”

“Say not a word, sirrah Moor,” said Cortes; “for
the favour of Don Amador having saved thy life, I
have nothing further to do, but to judge thy claims
to liberty; the which if thou establish, I will not
scruple to employ thee in mine own service.”

“The freedom of these twain,” said Amador,
“was recognised by his excellency, the admiral Cavallero;
and I thought he had satisfied this ship-master.”

“His excellency, the admiral, protested he would
represent the matter to the governor Velasquez,” said
the surly captain; “and I was content to abide his
decision. But my sailors, hearing there was more gold
to be gathered among these hills than on the sea, deserted
me; and not having the means to carry my
ship to Cuba, I was fain to follow after them; hoping
the excellent cavaliers would do me justice, and pay
me for my captives.”

“Sirrah,” said the general, “wert thou with Narvaez,
or with me, in this battle?”

“With neither,” said the sailor. “I arrived at
night-fall; and not being able to make my way to
Narvaez, I slept off my fatigue in a hut below, till
roused by the din of this siege; coming forth to behold
which, I discovered my slaves, and straightway
claimed them: and my sailors yonder will witness I
won them in fair fight.”

“The Moriscos are Christians, and therefore not
thy property,” said the commander; “and if they
were, being taken out of the camp of an enemy, they
should be reckoned spoils of war, and for that reason,
my possessions, and not thine. Cease therefore
thy demands; follow thy sailors, if thou wilt,—for on
the lakes of Mexico, I shall have employment for thy
best skill; and if, in time, I discover thee faithful, and
this Moor as dexterous as thou representest, I will,
without allowing thee any right to the same, give thee
very good guerdon for his services.”

The master, concealing his dissatisfaction, retired.

“I hoped,” said Amador, “your excellency might
be persuaded to send Abdalla and the boy to Spain.”

“I am loath to say to Don Amador, that may not
be,” replied Cortes. “As a good Christian, Abdalla
will doubtless rejoice to fight the infidel; and as for
his boy, if there be no other cavalier willing to advance
him to the honours of a page, I will myself
receive him. I hear he is a good musician; and
I want a playmate for my little Orteguilla, whom I
left dancing boleros before the emperor Montezuma.”

The fame of Jacinto as a lutist and singer, had
already spread among the cavaliers; and his appearance
was at the same time so prepossessing, that
many of them stepped forward, and avowed themselves
ready to receive him into service. Don Amador
himself, now for the first time perusing his countenance
at leisure, and moved as much by its beauty
as by its air of grief and destitution, added himself
to the number; and it seemed as if the claims of the
various applicants might lead to heat and misunderstanding.
The cap of Jacinto had fallen from his

head, and long ringlets, such as greatly stirred the
envy of the younger cavaliers, fell over his fair brow
and exceedingly beautiful countenance. His delicately
chiseled lips, parted in alarm and anxiety, moved
and played with an ever-varying expressiveness;
while his large black eyes, in which brilliancy was
mingled with a pensive gentleness, rolled from general
to cavalier, from Amador to his father, with a
wild solicitude.

The difficulty was terminated at last by Don
Hernan.

“I vow by my conscience,” said he, “I like the
boy's face well; but I will not oppose my wishes to
those of worthier gentlemen here present. In my
opinion, no man hath so fair a claim to the boy as
Don Amador de Leste, who first befriended him;
and not doubting that, herein, the boy will agree with
me, I propose the election of a master to be left to
himself, or, what is the same thing, to his father, as
a measure equally agreeable to all. Choose, therefore,
Abdalla, between these cavaliers and thy benefactor;
for it is not possible the stripling can remain
with thyself.”

Abdalla bent his troubled eyes around the assembly;
and Amador, not doubting his choice, regarded
him with a benignant encouragement. Long did the
Almogavar survey him, now with eagerness, as if
about to throw himself at his feet and beseech his
protection, and now faltering with hesitation and
doubt. Amador, mistaking the cause of his embarrassment,
prepared to reassure him; when the eyes
of the Moor, wandering away from himself, fell upon
the figure of Don Gabriel standing hard by. The
same hesitation that disturbed him before, again beset
him; but it lasted not long. Amid the clouds of dejection
and distraction that characterised the countenance
of the knight of Rhodes, there shone a ray of
benevolence as if the emanation of a fixed and constant
principle; and Abdoul al Sidi, as he remarked
it, forgot that Calavar was the slayer of his people.

“If my lord, my very noble lord,” he said, bending
to the earth, “will hear the prayer of his servant,
and waste his charity on so great a wretch as
Abdoul, there is no one of all this noble assembly to
whose benevolent protection Abdoul would sooner
confide his helpless and sinless child.”

The cavaliers stared; yet Abdalla had not erred,
when he reckoned on the humanity of Calavar.

The knight received the hand of Jacinto from his
father, and regarding him with a paternal kindness,
said,—

“For the sake of Him who did not scorn to protect
little children, I will receive this boy into my
arms, and protect him with my best strength, both
from sorrow, and the sin that is the parent of sorrow.”

“And I may see him sometimes?” said the Moor,
lingering, though the general had motioned him away.

“Surely I keep him from harm, not from the love
of his father.”

“I commend thee to heaven, my child,” said the
Almogavar, embracing him. “Confide in thy master,
remember thy father, and pray often.—Farewell!”

But the boy, with a cry that drew the commiseration
of all present, threw himself into Abdalla's
arms, and clasping him as if forever, wept on his
bosom.

“Thy master waits thee, my child!” said Abdalla,
disengaging his hands, and again leading him to
Calavar. “Be wise and faithful, and remember, if
not always in thy presence, I shall not often be far
from thy side.”

The stripling once more kissed the lips of the Morisco,
and then checking his lamentations, as his father
left him, wrapped his cloak round his head, as if to
hide his tears, and stood by the knight in silence.

While this incident was passing, the attention of
Cortes was attracted by two Indians differing much
in equipment from the warriors of Chinantla, but still
of a soldier-like bearing, who, in company with two
or three of his chief cavaliers, hastily approached

him, and conferred with him through the medium of
an interpreter. A cloud came over his countenance;
he arose, and smote his hands together with fury.

“What, ho, cavaliers!” he cried; “we must think
of other matters than crying babes and jingling pages.
I thank God for this victory, for never came one
more opportunely; and ye, true friends, who have,
this moment, protested your allegiance, prepare now
to make it more manifest. Sharpen your swords,
saddle your horses; for to-day we must march to
Tenochtitlan!”

A murmur of surprise ran through the multitude
that thronged the pyramid; and Amador forgot both
the boy, and the touch of indignation with which
he had seen him transferred to another, though his
kinsman, as he pressed towards the excited general.

“Know ye, friends and brothers!” continued Cortes,
“that the devil has, at last, waked up in the infidel
city; blood has been shed,—the blood of Spaniards
as well as of pagan Mexicans,—and, at this moment,
Alvarado is besieged in the palace by the whole
hordes of the valley; and he swears to me, by these
Tlascalan messengers, that unless I render him speedy
assistance, he must die of starvation, or perish under
the sword of the barbarians. So God speed us to
the Venice of the New World! the Babylon of the
mountains! The gold shall not be snatched out of
our hands, nor the fame blotted from our histories:
we have this good day numbers enow to chase the
imps from the islands, and to tumble the gods from
their temples; and so will we, in the name of God
and St. Peter, Amen!—God speed us to Tenochtitlan!”

The shout that answered this pious and valiant
rhapsody from the pyramid and the square, gave
note of the zeal with which his followers, both old
and new, were prepared to second the resolution of
their leader.