University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

When Juan recovered his senses, he found himself
lying in the bottom of a little canoe, urged by a
single boatman, and already far from the conflict.
The blow, inflicted by some blunt weapon, perhaps a
club or paddle, had stunned him, yet had not wounded;
and he became soon aware that he was not
seriously injured. As he raised himself a little on
his arm, his companion, pausing an instant from his
toil, exclaimed, in the well remembered tones of the
Ottomi,

“Izquauhtzin knows his friend: there are none
to do him harm.”

“Techeechee!” cried the youth: “What is this?
where are we going? Have they killed Guatimozin,
the king? If thou art the friend thou hast so often
proved, row me to the shore. Methinks we are in
the middle of the lake!”

“Guatimozin is the Great Eagle's friend,” said
Techeechee, again plying his paddle; “he says the
Great Eagle is his brother; and because of his fear
of the armed people, he says, `Let the Great Eagle
sail alone with Techeechee, the old man, who has
no weapons, and loves the Great Eagle very
much.”'

“I am then again a prisoner?” said Juan, sadly.
“Perhaps it is better,—certainly I cannot control
my destiny, and very surely I perceive that Guatimozin
is friendly to me. But how is this, Techeechee?
I sprang from the prince's boat,—I was

knocked on the head—How comes it that I am in
this canoe?”

“The king picked his brother from the water,”
replied the Indian; “saying, `Why should my
brother drown, when he has escaped Malintzin, him
who eats blood?' `Therefore,' said the king, `take
him to my house, for did he not carry me to his?
Put upon him the robe of a king's son, with the red
crown of a Teuctli, as one who is great among the
nobels and fighting men; and the people shall call
him the king's brother.”'

To this revealment of a fortune so magnificent,
Juan answered only by a deep sigh, muttering
within the recesses of his breast, `The noble's
gown or the victim's shirt,—but I will live and die
both a Christian and Spaniard.'

Then, contenting himself with this resolve, for he
no longer perceived any hope of escape, unless by
killing the old man, and perhaps began to be aware
how useless would be freedom, he cast his eyes
about him, and endeavoured to learn his situation.
The sounds of battle came but faintly to his ears,
and the burning ships, which were still visible,
seemed to be left far behind. Yet in the estimate
he was thus enabled to make of his distance from
the fleet, there was no little deception; for the
flames were expiring, and the wind, blowing from
the west, conspired with the plashing of the water
to deaden the sounds of combat. In every other
quarter, all was silence and gloom. An impenetrable
darkness lay upon the lake. The sky was concealed
by a dense canopy of clouds, and he began
to wonder at the precision and understanding with
which Techeechee impelled the canoe towards a
point indicated by no beacon on earth or in heaven,
until he perceived, immediately over the prow, what
seemed a little star, as red as blood, glimmering on
the very edge of the horizon. But this, he became

soon convinced, was no heavenly luminary. Faint
as it was, it shone steadily, and, once seen, there
was no difficulty in preserving it always in the eye.
He even began to be sensible, after a little time, that
it increased in magnitude as he approached it; and,
by and by, he was at no loss to believe it was a
beacon-light, kindled upon some eminence in the
pagan city, to guide the fleet of canoes on its return
from the battle.

While he was arriving at this just conclusion,
the sounds of contention dying further away in the
background, he was struck by a wailing note behind,
like the cry of some animal, swimming in the
lake. He listened, distinguished it a second time,
and commanded the Ottomi to cease paddling.

“If I know the voice of a friend, that is the whine
of Befo!” he exclaimed, looking eagerly, but vainly
back. “I remember me now, that I heard him
bark on board the ship. Put back, Techeechee, put
back! The dog is following me, and to his destruction,
if we take him not up. Put back, put back!”

“'Tis the big tiger,” said the Indian, very seriously.
“We found him eating you in the water
—he had you by the head; and now he is following,
like a wolf, who never leaves the deer, after
having once tasted of his blood.”

“Good heavens, eating me!” said Juan. “It
was he, then, that held me up, when I was strangling?
I remember to have felt some one pull me by
the hair, before I was utterly senseless. Faithful
Befo! faithful Befo! there is no friend like him!
And I leave him drowning, who saved me from the
same death, and now follows me with affection?
Put back, put back!—Nay, thou art sluggish,—old
and sluggish:—I will paddle myself. What, Befo!
Befo!”

Thus exclaiming, and using the paddle, which he
had snatched from Techeechee, with no little skill,

it was soon clear that he was drawing nigh to the
animal, which, hearing his voice, replied with loud
whinings, that were both piteous and joyful.

“Alas, poor dog, thou art weary enough. Hast
thou not another paddle, Techeechee? the dog is
drowning.”

“Techeechee fears not the ocelotl,” replied the
savage, with a voice somewhat quavering; “he
killed one with his spear, and the great king Montezuma
said, `The Ottomi is brave: he is Ocelotzin.'
The Spanish tiger eats poor Ottomies. Techeechee
has only his arrows and a macana.”

“Use them not, and fear not,” said Juan, already
catching a sight of the struggling beast. “What,
Befo! Befo! true Befo! courage, Befo!”

The dog was evidently wholly exhausted; yet
at the cheery cry of the youth, and especially at the
sight of him, he yelped loudly, and raised himself
half out of the water, while Juan, making one more
sweep of the paddle to his side, caught him by the
leathern collar, and strove to drag him into the
boat. But Befo's great weight and his own feebleness
rendered that impossible; and it was some
time before he could prevail upon Techeechee to
give him assistance, and actually lay his hand on
the dreaded monster.

“Dost thou not see that he loves me?” cried Juan
by way of argument; “He loves me because I have
done him good deeds, and treated him kindly. He
is like a man, not a tiger: he remembers a benefit
as long as an injury. Give him this help, and he
will love thee also.”

Thus persuaded, the Ottomi timorously extended
his hand, and greatly emboldened to find it was not
immediately snapped off, plied his strength, which,
notwithstanding his age, was yet considerable, until
Befo was safely lodged in the boat. The poor dog
had scarce strength left to raise his head to his

master's knee, but devoured his hand with caresses,
while he sank trembling, panting, and powerless,
into the bottom of the skiff.

“Thus it is with the dog, whom you call a tiger,”
said Juan, in a moralizing mood, as he surveyed
his faithful friend: “Black or white, red or olive-hued,
whom he once loves, he loves well. Happy
or wretched, proud or lowly, it is all one: he asks
not if his master be a villain. A tiger in courage,
in strength, and vindictiveness, he is yet a lamb,—
the fawn of a doe,—in the hands of his master.
Feed him, he loves you—starve him, he loves you
—beat him, still does he love you. Once gain his
affection, and you cannot cast it off: the rich man
cannot bribe his love with gold, and bread will not
seduce him away;—nay, he will sometimes pine
away on your grave. His name has been made a
by-word for all that is base and villanous—I know
not why, unless it is because, being the fondest and
most confiding of living creatures, he is thefore the
worst used: but the word is a satire upon our own
injustice. Look at him, Techeechee, and at me:
I have been ever poor and well nigh friendless—I
gave him to one who is as a prince among men:
yet when he—his then master,—struck at me with
his sword, this dog seized the weapon with his
teeth; he came to me when I lay in prison, he
sprang to me when I was dying in the lake, and he
perilled his life, as thou hast seen, that he might
have the poor privilege to follow me. I am a beggar
and an outcast, a man degraded and, it may
be, soon outlawed:—yet does this poor creature
love me none the less. Ay, Befo! it is all one to
thee, what I am, and whither I go!”

To this eulogium, which the desolate youth pronounced
with much feeling, Techeechee answered
not a word; for though the expressions were Mexican,
their purport was beyond his comprehension.

He merely stared with much admiration upon the
good understanding which seemed to exist between
his companion and a creature that was in his eyes
so terrific. But the endearments mutually shared
by two creatures of a race so different, and yet in
heart so much alike, had the good effect to deprive
him of many of his fears, so that he plied his paddle
with good-will, and, the wind abating, rapidly shortened
the distance that still divided them from the
island city.

He had already put a wide sheet of water between
him and the battle, and when the Indian
fleet, beaten off, or satisfied with the mischief done,
began to retreat, followed by such of the brigantines
as were in plight to pursue, it was easy to
preserve so much of the distance gained as to be
beyond the reach of danger. The flash of a falconet
occasionally burst dimly behind, its heavy roar
startling back the breeze; and sometimes a cannon
ball came skipping over the surges close by. But,
the wind being against the Spaniards, it was soon
seen that there were left no Indians upon whom to
exercise their arms, unless such as had, in their
consternation, lost sight of the dim beacon, and remained
paddling about the lake at random.