 | CHAPTER V.
THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD. The damsel of Darien |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD.
There was no love lost between the parties. If Vasco
Nunez felt scorn for Garabito, the latter requited it with a
hatred equally unqualified, though less fearlessly expressed.
“An insolent upstart—a proud ruffian!” he muttered to
himself when he had passed the two, and was fairly out of
hearing; “one who thinks, because he comes of Los Caballeros,
and has learned the use of his weapon under the
Lord of Moguer, that he is something better than all other
men. He shall learn truer things some day—he shall—
that he shall. I am not slack in the weapon myself; and
in practice with Alameda, he was wont to say I was good
at the thrust, and would become so at the foil. He marked
that I had a keen eye for mischief, and a shrewd stroke. I
trow that I am even better in hand now than when we
played among the iron mountains. Well, there are days
yet, and the hour is to come. If I were in the iron mountains
now, I would practise a stroke or two upon the hardest
skull in the mine: I would that this Vasco Nunez could
behold me strike a blow. Methinks he were more civil
thereafter. There is a day yet—he shall see—he shall
feel me too, perchance. They say he has hope of Teresa
—but he is a fool there—the true hope is mine. She hath
looked as much, and I believe her eyes. Then, she hath
spoken, and great was her admiration at the disposition of
my purple cap. The tassel depending to the left ear, the
loop and diamond button in front, did move her to the freest
language of praise. This Vasco Nunez affects not even
the fashion of the curb and chain; nor doth he wear the
frill! He would work wonders with big speech and
wearisome voyages;—he goes far, and toils hard to suffer
but will grow wiser when he hath lost Teresa.”
Muttering in this sort to himself, and looking down,
with no little complacency as he went forward, to such
portions of his garb, as, in the fashionable nomenclature of
that day had called for his special consideration; and upon
those symmetrical limbs, at the same time, in whose attractions
he equally confided, to work the necessary conquest
over the heart of the damsel in dispute, Garabito
proceeded towards the train of natives, whose descent from
the hills to the great plain of the city, had occasioned the
long dialogue between the cavalier and the astrologer, portions
of which we have thought it not unadvisable to repeat
and record. Burdened with the fruits and provisions
of the country, these poor wretches—a melancholy band,
consisting of both sexes, and of every degree of age, size
and strength—were wending their way to the great market-place,
which was at once the place of traffic, of arms, and
of assemblage for public purposes. They were probably
fifty in number, generally tall and slender of person, with
skins of a clear brown, or rather olive complexion; and of
hue scarcely much darker, and frequently much lighter
and clearer, than that of their conquerors. Their hair,
uniformly black, hung in thick masses about their shoulders,
but among the women was often gathered up and
bound behind the neck by a fillet of yellow grass. This
arrangement was, in some cases, absolutely necessary, from
its excessive length and volume, to protect their eyes and
the free movement of their limbs against its frequent interruptions.
They were all decently clad in loose garments
of cotton—the manufacture of which was known to them
long prior to the arrival of Columbus. This garment descended
from the neck to the knee, and among the women,
a little below it, where it was met by the high tops of their
sandals,—something like the leggin of the North American
savage,—made sometimes of the skins of wild animals, but
more frequently of plaited grasses of mixed colours, green,
purple and yellow. The children, as well male as female,
numbers of whom accompanied their parents, and did little
offices for them as they proceeded,—were entirely naked.
Overloaded with an unmeasured burden, which their cruel
tyrants had accumulated upon their limbs, their frames,
usually slight as they were erect and symmetrical, now
cruel toils under which their limbs were sinking, without
an effect even more distressing upon their wretched faces.
A gloomy despondency, heartless as hopeless, had settled
down, like a continual cloud, upon features that were once
expressive of sunshine and rapture only. Their eyes,
which were said to have streamed with innocent joy and
the most generous good nature, at the first coming of the
Spaniards, were now cast down in gloom, and seldom lifted
from that earth, into the bowels of which they were forced
to grope for those treasures, of which they knew no value,
as they knew no use. Their hearts, which had melted
with compassion, or bounded with pleasant rapture, at the
suggestion of the simplest contrivances of sport, were now
crushed and fettered by the consciousness of a chilling and
merciless tyranny which denied them every indulgence.
The crowding events of strife and conquest, crowned with
wealth, which had filled the land of their conquerors with
joy,—the progress of twenty years,—had been of crushing
consequence to them. Inhabitants of a country which
spontaneously yielded its fruits to supply the wants of life,
—beneath a climate whose benign influences made cold an
utter stranger, their inclinations were gratified without their
own efforts; and the indolence of habit which followed
such allotment, left them open to all the tenderest influences
of the soul. Their sympathies were sudden as the light,
spontaneous in their offerings as the soil with its fruits;
love was the constant employment of their lives, as it was
the chief blessing of their heart. Unlike the savages of
the continent, they knew little or nothing of war. The
dance by moonlight; the areyto, or song of romantic history;
their games of sport, which made their limbs lithe
and active, and taught them an eminent gracefulness and
ease; these were their only employments. It was their
custom, says Herrera, to dance from evening till the dawn,
and sometimes, fifty thousand men and women could assemble
together for this object, keeping, as by a common
impulse, exact time and maintaining responsive motions,
with their heads, feet and person, with the most wonderful
minuteness and felicity. What must have been the effect
of a transition from such a life, to that forced upon
them by their cruel invaders? How dreadful the change!
how destructive to life itself, without regard to its innocent
had accustomed them! No wonder that they perished
soon beneath the dominion of the Spaniards; the
only wonder is, that they could do so much for their tyrants
before death came to their relief. They had soon
enough melted away from those fiery warriors, without
making necessary the use of the smiting sword, the wanton
immolation, the bigoted and brutal sacrifice!
“And yet these people have their pleasures still,” remarked
the cavalier, in reply to the stern reflections of the
astrologer. “See where they draw nigh to Garabito.
One of the women takes steps as if for the voluptuous
dance which they so much love, and though the burden be
still upon her head, yet how graceful are all her movements.
Some of them clap their hands to cheer her; and look
where the little urchin advances with his decorated monkey.
He hath garbed the sportive creature in a fashion not unlike
that of Garabito himself, and the animal hath his
vanity also, that is far more graceful than that of the man.
They can dance and laugh still as before, Codro; they are
not utterly unhappy.”
“They can dance and laugh, but not as before, my son,”
replied the other, “and see you not that they dance and
laugh because of their fears, and not because they have the
desire to do so. They would disarm the wrath of their
rulers; they would soften the moods which destroy them.
I look with no heart upon their merriment, if merriment it
be; their smile is distortion, their movement is all that
they have to show of the sports which they once loved
when they were happy; but it is now a movement of the
limbs and not of the soul. Vasco Nunez, my son, when
thou hast trodden the green shores of that southern sea,
beware what thou doest to the innocent people thereof.
Of a truth thou hast need to bring them to the tasks of
labour, for without this, they can never learn the performance
of those high and holy duties, taught by our religion;
but task them not so that the limbs ache, and the heart
desponds. Give them no tasks beyond their strength
which shall impair their strength; but such only as shall
increase it. Punish them, when thou hast need to do so,
but never in thy passion; and never let thy punishments
go to the taking of life, for life is of all things the most
precious, among the gifts of God to man.”
The grave exordium of the astrologer was arrested by
the progress of events in the quarter to which Garabito
had proceeded; which, for the time, were of a character
quite too lively to permit any spectator, however devoutly
inclined, to enlarge in abstract censure and wise homily.
Garabito, as we have already seen, had approached so
nearly to the train of Indian carriers as to speak to them
and command their attention. It so happened that their
duties were under his present regulation, and that he was,
in fact, the agent for providing the ships with supplies
through their medium. They belonged to the departimiento,
or division of territory, in which he possessed a
sub-authority, not unlike that of the overseer in our own
country; and, it may be well imagined, that knowing him
as the poor Indians must have done, by the terrors of his
wanton practice, such as was well described by the astrologer,
he found instant obedience to his commands. They
were now not far distant from the cluster of palm-covered
huts which formed the place of gathering, or “Plaza de
Armas,” as it was more proudly styled; and just beyond
where it stood, might be seen the tall masts of the ships
which were to receive the provisions which they carried.
But, though thus nigh, and in sight of the spot where their
morning journey was to end, the poor Indians, wearied
with the toils which they had taken, were too glad to rest
themselves after their descent from the hills, upon the first
level which presented itself; and as they reached a little
spot which seemed to form the last of the successive ridges
over which they had come, each in turn put down his
basket, and addressed himself to the momentary rest
which the chance afforded. Some of the more fatigued
and desponding threw themselves down in the shadow of
the little hillock around which they had halted, and closed
the eyes, that could behold, when open, nothing but burdens.
Others might be seen eating their scanty provision
of cassavi bread, while more than one, hidden from the
sight of the passing spectator by the studious interposition
of his companions, swallowed from his long-necked gourd
an unstinted measure of the intoxicating pulque—a beverage
made from mahez, cassavi, or other plants of native
production, and which the Aborigines of all America,
North and South, were accustomed to prepare long before
the coming of the Europeans. While such were the stolen
laying aside their burdens, advanced with more boldness
towards the highway. The object of these was to
display their frail and fleeting, but still persuasive charms
to the spectator; and by appeals to his humour or his
lusts, obtain from him the boon which his charity might
have withheld. These poor creatures had learned the
word—the one of all others which they least knew when
Columbus first came among them,—which denotes the
mendicant; and in lieu of that which the early voyagers
represent them as having had continually in their mouths,
namely, “take, take,” they now cried aloud in Spanish, at
every evolution which brought them to face the spectator,
“give, give!”
“Give Buru, give Buru—give the girl that dances—give
the girl that sings and dances—dances high and sings so
sweetly—give the poor Buru that dances,” &c.
Such was the address, half sung, half spoken, which
one of these frail figurantes made to the rude sailor, Juan
de la Cosa, as she threw herself directly in his path. The
worthy seaman gave her little heed and bade her stand aside,
and not trouble him with her follies. But though she
stopped the dance, the hand was still extended, and her
voice still piteously implored him for charity.
“Give the girl that sings and dances—the poor girl that
has no cassavi—give the girl some bread, my master—the
poor girl that sings and dances.”
The rough seaman, though he had repulsed her at the
first, was not without his share of humanity; and muttering
something about her spending the money which he
gave her upon pulque rather than bread—a suspicion very
like to be well-founded—he threw her a silver coin of little
value, and stopped for an instant to behold the graceful
dance with which, even before she stopped to raise the
money from the earth, she thought it fitting to express her
gratitude. This form of begging, not unlike that which the
wandering Italians and Swiss exhibit daily in our own
times, and country, was one common enough in Santo
Domingo; and was indeed the only privilege which was
left the poor natives by their grave and inflexible tyrants.
They employed it whenever they came into the cities,
though their success was not always the same. Some,
like the rough, frank sailor, rewarded them with a trifle,
smile, which was, perhaps, scarcely less grateful; but
there were many that yielded them no notice, and a few of
the more brutal sort from whom they received a wanton
cuff or kick, rather than a copper. To this variety of treatment
they were quite too well accustomed even for complaint;
nor did it often discourage them from continuing
an exercise which made them liable to the caprices of the
most wanton and worthless among their masters. Scorned
and beaten by one wayfarer, they turned to another, with a
seemingly callous unconsciousness; and if, in a second
trial, they met with better treatment than at first, it was
only one of those turns of the die that make the successful
player forgetful of all the past.
The girl having concluded her dance, in requital of the
gift received from the seaman, the latter was about to turn
away, when the voice of Garabito reached his ears.
“Whither so fast, Señor Juan?—thou hast seen nothing—by
my faith nothing. Stay but a moment while I
choose thee a dancer—one who shall swim in air—who
shall dazzle thine eyes to follow where she goes, and make
thee giddy but to look. Await me, I pray thee, that I may
show thee a dancer.”
“Nay, Señor Jorge, it may not be. I am waited even
now by Don Alonzo, and have no time for these hoppings
which thou speakest of, nor do I desire to be made giddy
when I gaze. Thou shalt tell me of these things, and my
share in them shall be sufficient.”
“Well, as thou wilt, for a surly knave as thou art,” said
Garabito, when the seaman had departed. “I were but a
fool to ask the presence of such as thou to such rare matters;
they were only wasted upon thy peccary head; it is
enough that I look on them myself. Hark ye, Buru,” addressing
the girl who was stealing back in silence to her
company—“where is Azuma? Is she not among you?”
The trembling woman replied in the affirmative, retreating,
as she spoke, backward to the little hill where her
companions were at rest. Her example was soon followed
by all those who had in like manner scattered themselves
abroad with a like object.
“It is well,” said Garabito, as he followed in the same
direction. “Buru is well enough, but who shall dance
against Azuma? I am in the mood to see her now—I
woman in her ears—it would chafe this ruffian Vasco
Nunez, to behold us. Would I had thought of it—I had
vexed him with a sight—I had—that I had!”
With these words he approached the train of Indians
where they were now grouped together about the hills,—
but though willing enough to make sport for their oppressors,
without scruple, and almost without discrimination,
their sports of every description ceased suddenly as the
Spaniard drew nigh. If the story of Las Casas, as related
by the astrologer, lacked other evidence, there was yet a
tacit proof in the terror which his approach inspired, which
gave it partial confirmation. The change was as universal
as it was sudden, among the Indians. Timid and startled,
like their women, the men rose to their feet, and seized
hurriedly upon their several burdens. The children, with
a movement equally prompt, handled their little wicker
baskets; and one little urchin, whose companion was a
marmoset—one of the little sportive monkeys whose tricks
were among the marvels of Hispaniola—laboured diligently
to curb the eccentricities and antics of the animal, which
might seem, in the mind of such a person as Garabito, to
denote a condition of too much enjoyment for such wretched
creatures as themselves. The whole cavalcade exhibited
the confusion and fear of a gang of unruly schoolboys,
caught in the very attitude of insubordination. Not a word
escaped their lips, but silently and hastily resuming their
burdens, they prepared to shorten, with all speed, the few
brief moments of rest which they had promised themselves.
“Now, wherefore do ye take up your baskets as I
come?” demanded Garabito, with that tone of harsh authority
which the petty mind ever loves to display. “Set
them down as I bid ye—it is my pleasure that ye should
not move awhile. Think ye I have no mind for your
sports, like other cavaliers?—Ye should know better—ye
shall resume them, and quickly, lest I teach ye another
dance that you wot of, and have not found so pleasant as
the areyto. Hear you me!—where is Azuma? She is
among ye—let her come forth, and begin. I will see none
but her!”
The trembling group instantly laid down their burdens,
while Azuma, the woman Garabito had called upon, advanced
exquisitely-made person, with a face marked with lineaments
of sorrow, even deeper than the rest. But so gentle
seemed her features in their grief—so sweet withal—that
the harshness of affection was subdued in its expression,
and nothing left but its purity—as if the trials through
which she had passed, like the fire which refines the
metal, had only served to purify and to temper, and not debase
or destroy. Her step, though slow, was light and
graceful, and with her hands meekly folded upon her
breast, she stood immovable as a statue before the Spaniard.
Her sad, expressive silence, and wo-begone features promised
but little for the wild antics which her limbs were
required to perform.
“I would have you dance, Azuma,” said Garabito in
harsh accents; “you are slow when I command. To it,
woman—to it, and do your best; let air feel you, and beat
quickly with your hands.”
Without a word she threw herself into a posture of the
most voluptuous grace and loveliness, such as the Haytien
maiden was wont to assume when she begun the areyto,
and such as would make the fortune of an artiste at any of
the fashionable theatres of our time.
“That will do—that is something like, Azuma,” cried
Garabito with a commendatory chuckle; “keep thy place
for an instant!—I would that Teresa could see thee now:
—ay, it were something to show—it were something to
brag on. By the blessed image! I would that I were one
of those painters now, that give a life upon cloth and paper
—I would carry thee to Spain even as thou standest now,
Azuma, and show thee there to certain eyes, that fancy
there is little grace or charm in these wild countries. The
fools! would I not show them! But begin thy dance,
Azuma,—the people gather—let them see what thou canst
do, woman, and ere thou beginnest, let the shadows fall
from thy face, till it looks free as the light movement of thy
limbs. Let thine eyes show the brightness which melts
and dazzles, while thine arms twine about the air, and thy
foot shrinks from the earth at a touch, as if the element
only were its fitting place of rest. Away, woman, let the
people behold thee.”
Garabito had something of the taste of the artiste, and
might have made an admirable leader of the ballét de corps;
some of his requisitions with which she had neither the
heart nor the power to comply. How could she smile;
how dispel the cloud from her face, and the big tear from
her eye? She made no effort at these objects. Her feet
did, indeed, spurn the earth from which they bounded; and
never yet did form more completely or more lusciously
seem to swim in the air, which her outstretched and fast
waving arms appeared toiling to embrace. The crowd
began to gather and to murmur in their half-suppressed delight.
The idle sailors clustered about, with a pliant mood
always ready for enjoyment, while the busy tradesman
lingered on his way, looked back, halted, and forgot his
purpose in the contemplation of powers which the poor
Azuma, unlike her companions, did not now exhibit, but
in compliance with the commands of one whom she did
not dare to disobey. He, meanwhile,—the tyrant who
commanded,—delighted with any audience, as it flattered
his mean spirit with an exhibition of his power, kept up
a running commentary on every movement:—
“Now, my friends, behold; she hath gone through the
grand querija; she is about to balaz,”—employing phrases
picked up among the Indians, by which they designated
certain movements of their wild dances—“you will see
her, yielding and sinking, till she seems about to fall away,
even into the arms of death himself; but anon, when
she is at the worst—when the earth is about to receive
her,—she will swim you into the very stars, until your
eye blinks, and the water gathers in it. Look!—there!—
ha! ha!—said I not?—well done, Azuma, well done; but
look thy brightest, woman, when thou swimmest the
querija; let the shadow fall from thy countenance, and
smile, as thou shouldst, in coming to the pass: Ha! well
—that was well done, my masters—to it again, Azuma, as
thou didst but now.”
The rapture of Garabito was shared by the gathering
auditory. But, though dancing with all that wonderful
grace and freedom, which the Spanish chroniclers describe
as almost peculiar to the people of the country, and among
whom she was conspicuously known as excelling in the
glowing exercise, it was evident that the movements of the
poor woman were those of the human machine only, and
that there was neither heart nor hope in her various and
spirit, which accustomed only to the benign influences
of their southern clime—a region of fruits and
flowers, and balmy airs and blossoms,—regarded even the
presence of the Spaniards as, at first, a blessing like the
rest. Yet the dance lacked nothing of its animation. On
the contrary, it soon put on an aspect of fearful excitement,
as, wrought upon by the intense physical action which the
commands of Garabito continued to stimulate, Azuma repeated
her efforts, which combined great muscular flexibility
with the most nice and wonderful adroitness. At
one moment every muscle would seem corded to the utmost
point of tension; at the next, relaxing them as by magic,
she would seem to sink away into exhaustion, which, in
the case of a European must have soon followed such exertions.
But, practised as they were from infancy, the capacity
of indulgence among these people in exercises of
this sort, was utterly beyond the belief of those not familiar
with the spectacle. In the present instance, the fear of
Garabito, whose persecutions of the Indians were not only
well known to those before him, but had been felt by many
if not most among themselves, prompted Azuma to unwonted
efforts in her desire to avoid offence. In a little
while her features became convulsed—her eyes glared
wildly, and seemed starting from their sockets; her long
black hair becoming loosed from the grassy string which
bound it, now descended to her heels and floated wildly on
the air; the thick drops gathered and stood upon her
brows, where the veins swelled momently into ridgy lines,
deeply blue and colouring the almost fair skin around them;
and in the swimming and voluptuous whirl which produced
these effects, the blood of the spectator bounded in like
heat and sympathy. Warmed by the exciting beauty of
her movements, their rapidity and grace, and not less by
the remembrances of their own past amusements of the
girl, her companions set down their burdens, half forgot
their cares, and beating time with their hands in air and
upon their sides, crowded around her, muttering at forgetful
moments, little snatches of their next favourite areytos.
The enthusiasm of the elder savages extended to their children,
who, accustomed to fewer restraints than their parents,
soon began to lose their fear of the stern Spaniard, to skip
performances of Azuma.
It happened most unluckily, that the leader of the little
urchins on this occasion, had been entrusted with the decorated
marmoset already spoken of; who, taught to take
a part in all such performances, broke suddenly away from
his restraints, and made his first appearance, running
among the Indians from shoulder to shoulder, and playing
a thousand comic tricks as he ran. The mirth of the poor
savages grew contagious, and Garabito himself was unable
to resist it. With hearty clamour he urged the mischievous
little animal on, and helped, in no small degree, by
his words and cries of cheer, to increase his natural sauciness.
The spectators shouted aloud their admiration, and
clapped their hands, and danced after the little creature
with a delight that threw aside all constraint from their
own deportment, and diminished in some measure that
of the Indians. But the merriment of the latter was arrested
by a little incident that soon changed the whole
aspect of affairs. The monkey, tired of making free
with the heads and shoulders of the poor savages with
whom he was in the constant habit of taking such liberties,
and encouraged by the open applauses of the sailors,
bounced suddenly in among them; and, leaping from head
to head, now pulling off their caps, and now twitching
the hair beneath with no measured fingers, proved himself
quite as much at home among his new acquaintance,
as he ever did among the old. The good-natured sailors,
with few exceptions, took this intrusion in kind part; and
what with their awkward scramblings after the urchin, and
their play at cross purposes with each other, in the unavoidable
collisions which the sudden movements of the
agile creature necessarily occasioned, they found the sport
far greater than before. Nobody enjoyed the scene more
than Garabito while his own person remained sacred; but
what was the consternation of the Indians when they beheld
the monkey dart off in a tangent from the crowd, and
suddenly emerge into conspicuous station, perched on the
very apex of the high steeple-crowned hat which the dandy
wore. There he commenced a dance not dissimilar to that
which Azuma had just finished. The merriment of the
savages was ended in an instant. They had experience of
as Garabito. But the sailors had no such fear or thought;
and regarding the matter as a continuance of the sport,
they were pleased to increase those playful clamours which
had provoked so greatly the natural sauciness of the monkey.
The laughter of Garabito was changed to sudden
fury, particularly as the quickness of the monkey, leaping
from shoulder to shoulder, and to and fro, between back,
shoulder and head, contrived to elude all the efforts of the
bedevilled Spaniard to relieve himself. The Indian boys,
accustomed to manage the creature, came to his assistance;
but the whoops, halloos, and commands which he had been
taught to obey heretofore, now failed to move him in the
slightest manner. He had been, unfortunately, too much
encouraged, by Garabito no less than the rest, beyond his
usual privileges; and was just in that state of intoxication
which, in a man, prompts him to run the full length of his
line, though he well knows there is a halter at the end of
it. The threat of punishment which he well understood,
occasioned not the slightest heed on his part, and he jigged
and bounded aloft upon Garabito's head and shoulders, in
spite of all his struggles, which, indeed, were not very direct
ones, for having some dread that his fingers might be
bitten, he was at no pain to make a hasty use of them.
Taking advantage of this fear, which the cunning animal
very soon understood, he finally plucked off the hat, upon
which he had practised so many gambols, and waved it
aloft with one paw. At times the other was permitted to
amuse itself familiarly with the well disposed locks beneath
him, which he twitched with the most shocking unconcern,
bidding defiance the while to all the efforts of the
dandy, who, stamping on the earth with fury, shouting and
swearing, and throwing up his hands, and leaping from
side to side, succeeded only in compelling his tormentor to
change his position, but never in expelling him from his
perch. The laughter of the crowd added to his fury, which
was not a little heightened by the consciousness that the
whole scene was witnessed by Vasco Nunez, whom he
knew to be approaching. That cavalier, as may be imagined,
was excessively amused by the spectacle.
“A brave monkey!” he exclaimed to the astrologer, as
they paused in their course to survey the scene. “He hath
found his kin, he knows his claim of brotherhood. They
between them. Garabito is but the greater ape of the two,
let them play awhile together—it is rare sport, the affinity
is good.”
And in the heart of the speaker there was an unexpressed
wish that Teresa Davila might also behold it. His unmeasured
laughter reached the ears of Garabito, and increased
his frenzy.
“I will hang you up, ye villains! one and all—I will
hang ye! the red fires shall seize upon ye, dogs, if ye take
not this foul creature from my shoulders.”
A torrent of oaths accompanied this outbreak, and threats
which the Indians well knew were not idly expressed,
prompted several of them to come forward, though slowly,
and with trembling, to his assistance. The boy by whose
neglect the monkey had been suffered to manifest his impertinence,
having armed himself with a whip, succeeded
better than the rest, in driving him finally from his place of
eminence. But the urchin bore off with him the hat of Garabito,
as a sort of trophy of his achievement; while the
latter, whose very reason seemed to be utterly disordered
by the torments and the taunts he had undergone, and having
the jeers and laughter of his own countrymen still
sounding in his ears, drew his sword and made after the
criminal, who now stood upon a little point of rock and
still seemed disposed to chuckle and rejoice in his impudence,
though half conscious of the danger which he had
incurred. But for his agility, he had paid for his insolence
with life; leaping from point to point of the rocks around
him, as Garabito approached, the little wretch, still bearing
the hat in triumph, mocked at the hostility which he was
so easily able to elude, and stretching out his long paws in
the manner of a wicked schoolboy, taunted the infuriated
dandy to renewed efforts at overtaking him. Meanwhile,
the sailors, to whom the whole scene afforded nothing but
delight, urged its continuance after their own fashion.
“All sail, Señor Garabito, you shall overhaul the enemy
soon. You have but to weather the cape and the game is
certain. The chase slackens sail and you shall have him
at short quarters, close in shore.” Such was the language
of one. The encouragement of a second was bestowed
upon the monkey; while a third lent his counsels to the
Indian boy, who, scarcely less active than the marmoset,
sprang up the heights in pursuit—put in practise sundry
well known tricks to persuade him to terms—leaped as
daringly from ledge to ledge of the declivity as himself,
and at length succeeded in compelling him to restore the
hat which he had continued with awkward efforts to confine
upon his own head. Finding he could no longer baffle
his sturdy pursuer with such an incumbrance, he hauled
it to the feet of Garabito who, exhausted with his efforts,
and rendered mad by the ridicule of those around him,
stood red and panting, looking emotions which the Indians
too well understood to venture to approach him, while under
their distracting influence. The hat still lay at his feet,
as the boy, whip in hand, leaped down from the little
height from which he had chased the monkey. Without
speaking a word, Garabito fixed his furious gaze upon the
trembling child, and simply pointed with his finger to the
hat. The sign was understood, and with slow steps, that
seemed to denote a lurking apprehension of danger, the
boy approached, and stooping down as to raise the desired
object from the earth, was seized by the hair by the vengeful
Spaniard; swinging him from his feet with one hand,
Garabito lifted his sword in the same instant with the other.
The act was sufficiently startling and threatening in the
eyes of all who remembered the atrocious notoriety which
his former savage deeds had secured to his name. The
astrologer was the first to cry aloud to his companion.
“God of the martyrs, Vasco Nunez, strike in and stay
his hand; he will slay the child if thou dost not.”
Such also was the fear of Azuma, who was the mother
of the boy. She bounded forward with a shriek, and with
that animation in her fine features now, which she had not
worn during the whole of her picturesque performance,
threw herself before the Spaniard, grasping with one hand
the child, and with the other seconding the piteous prayer,
with which she implored his mercy.
“He will not—he dare not strike!” said Vasco Nunez,
in hoarse accents, but hurrying forward as he spoke, with
a degree of haste which belied his confident speech. “He
will not use weapon upon the child—impossible! He is
not base enough for that—he dare not, before our eyes!”
But the action of Garabito looked full of the direst purpose.
With his fist he spurned the mother from before
arm, while throwing back the hand that held the sword, he
waved the instrument aloft, in order to give force to its descending
sweep.
“Hold, Señor Garabito—hold, Spaniard! wretch, base,
cowardly villain, hold back thine arm. Beware, lest I do to
thee whatever thou dost to the child.”
The words of Vasco Nunez were too late, or only served
to provoke and goad the vindictive monster to the commission
of the deed. The fatal blow was given at the instant.
The keen steel aimed too unerringly, and with all the bitter
force of rage, went through the tender neck of the boy, severing
flesh, gristle, bones, and life. The body of the victim
fell quivering upon the shoulders of the mother, who
still lay, and grovelled at the feet of the murderer; while
the head, hurled from his bloody hands, rolled among the
devoted savages, who, apprehensive of like cruel treatment,
ready to fly, were huddled together in fear and trembling,
at the edge of the rocks.
| CHAPTER V.
THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD. The damsel of Darien | |