University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.
THE SPANIARDS WITH THEIR GOD.

It was with something of a submissive feeling that the
Spaniards followed their savage captive along the hills.
The native command of a superior spirit, and a mind ennobled
by the mountain walks of liberty, asserted itself
pre-eminently over them, from the moment when they
emerged from the cabin in which they had made the rebel
chief their prisoner; and though without a thought in their
minds of the danger of entrusting so great a degree of freedom
to their captive, they were yet oppressed in spirit
with a conviction, which they declared not to each other,
that he was now far less under their control than before.
Had it become, on a sudden, a resolution with them to despatch
him, though it might not have proved an impossible,
they would yet have found it a more difficult thing than
they could have imagined it at the moment when they had
him actually in their grasp and beneath their daggers.
With a quick superior mind, this consideration would have
been the first, before the prisoner had been released from
his captivity. It is the vulgar mind only which has no
foresight, and never dreams of preparation.

Caonabo was no less conscious of the advantages of his
new position than were his enemies. Indeed, his consciousness
had preceded the proposition by which he had
contrived to persuade his captors into the concession,
through which alone it could be duly felt. Yet he studiously
forbore giving to his enemies any occasion for fear
or suspicion. He walked before them slowly, and with
sufficient humility—paused when they commanded, and in
all respects strove to impress them with the belief that he
himself was utterly hopeless of any escape, except through
their indulgence. In this way he led them towards the

rocks that lay in many places jutting above the sea. At
moments, the torches gave back to the Spaniards the aspect
of grim and gloomy crevices—huge shadows rose suddenly
in the air above them, and they could hear, at places
that seemed almost beneath their feet, the roar and rush
of waters, that were driven in by the swelling tides of the
ocean. The rocks trembled as they went forward, and
without being awakened to any fear of their captive, they
began to be conscious of apprehensions necessarily arising
from the remote, the gloomy, and desolate recesses into
which he led them still deeper at every step. The more
timid Sanchez drew nigh to his companion as he felt this
growing conviction, and communicated his fears in a voice
subdued to a whisper.

“Demonios! But this fellow will lead us into pitfalls,
Pedro, that will carry us down even into the sea, which I
can hear now rushing under the very rock on which we
tread. This promise which he makes us of gold by hatfulls,
he can never perform. He only desires time—he
would lead us into danger, and escape us when we need
him to help us out. Better that we should content ourselves
with the offer of Obando, than lose it all by rashly
trusting to this cunning rebel. Do we not already know
his art? how he baffled Colon, the admiral, and D' Aguilar?
we must not trust him farther.”

“By St. Anthony of the fishes, Sanchez, but thou hast
my very thought. I had but now this notion myself.
There is danger to us, as thou say'st. Look, when I wave
my torch—see what an infernal chasm lies beside me, upon
the very brink of which this savage leads us, and he carries
no light, and his hands are tied, yet he walks as if he never
felt a fear. It were easy for him, practised as he is in
these mountain wanderings, to leap the chasm which we
fall into. Hark ye,—get thy dagger ready while I bid
him await us.”

The waving of the torch displayed a yawning gulf on
the right hand of the speaker, along the edge of which his
companion had been walking ignorantly for several minutes.
The timid Sanchez started back and almost exclaimed
aloud with horror, as the flaring light displayed the black
depths and fragmented jaws of the cavernous abyss, and
his hand trembled with his nervous apprehensions, even
while he grasped his dagger, and put himself in readiness

to use it at the bidding of his comrade. Pedro was about
to call the name of the rebel chief, and to command that he
should halt, when the latter, as if by instinct comprehending
the nature of the whispered dialogue which the two
had just finished, anticipated his speech, and thus addressed
them in broken Spanish:

“Now, my good lords, Spaniards, the place where the
gold lies is close at hand.”

“Ay, that is good news enough; but the way is a rough
one we must travel for it. Is the worst over, or have we
any more of these infernal pits to scramble through? If we
have—”

The speaker concluded what he had to say in a whisper
in the ears of his comrade. The reply of the avaricious
Sanchez betrayed a change of mood and resolution in his
mind.

“Why, as he tells us that the gold is nigh at hand, we
may as well make sure of it first. We can use the steel
when we have got what we came for. I am for going forward.”

“Well—lead on, infidel, but let thy pace be something
slower. I have not been sure of my feet for the last ten
minutes—these are ugly rocks, and you tread quite too
closely upon the hollows that are thick around us, and
seem to lead down into the very bottom of the sea.”

The rebel detached a stone from a precipice on which he
stood, and the sullen plunge which immediately followed,
as, bounding from rock to rock, it found its way at length
into the waters, confirmed the apprehensive conjecture of
the Spaniard.

“The sea lies under the rock, and Caonabo has lived
upon the two. His gold is hidden among the crevices
which lead down to the waters. Your eyes shall behold it
now. Wave your torches before the path, lords Spaniards
—you shall have gold which the governor Obando cannot
win.”

The words of the rebel, still uttered in broken Spanish,
filled the hearts of the adventurers with enthusiasm. They
drew nigh to where the Indian stood, and did as he directed.
The blaze of the torches revealed to them a narrow
fissure, which seemed formed by a rent in the rock, the
consequence, most probably, of some volcanic eruption.
Two ridges of the rock on which they stood, rising in juxtaposition,

revealed to them a sort of mouth, sufficiently
wide for the entrance of one man, or perhaps two, and might
have been the sheltering place for long seasons of the rebel
himself, not less than of his treasure.

“I see nothing but what seems the jaws of some bottomless
pit,” exclaimed the greedy Sanchez. “Beware
how thou triflest with us, savage, or the burning pincers
shall tear thy quivering flesh, and the wild horses shall
draw thy limbs asunder. I see no gold. I see nothing but
the barren rock.”

“Wouldst thou have me hide my gold on the top of the
rock, where the chief of the encomienda may turn it over
with his feet?” was the calm reply of the rebel, in the tones
of whose voice might have been perceived a degree of contemptuous
serenity, which the words themselves failed to
express. “What thou seest,” he continued, “is, indeed,
but the mouth of a cavern only, but in that cavern the gold
lies hidden in greater amount even than I have promised
thee. Suffer me to descend and I will yield it to thee from
below.”

“By the Blessed Virgin, no!” exclaimed Pedro;—
“that were but a fool's act, were we to do this, Caonabo.
Thou shalt not overreach us in this fashion. Do thou stay
where thou art until I descend, Sanchez; keep an excellent
watch over the infidel, and let him taste thy dagger with
the first movement which he strives to make beyond thy
control. I will enter the cavern, and lift the treasure to the
surface. It is not deep, Caonabo?”

“Not twice thy length, my lord.”

“Is the place easy of descent?”

The reply was affirmative, and taking his dagger between
his teeth, and waving his torch before him as he
went, Pedro commenced his downward progress, and was
soon lost to the sight of his comrade from above. But his
occasional inquiries and remarks found their way upward,
and apprised the two of his progress. After a few moments
spent in search, his joyful exclamation announced to his
companion the success of his pursuit, and every succeeding
moment brought new intelligence of the treasure and its probable
value, which led the greedy Sanchez into the most
extravagant antics and expressions of joy. He pressed forward
to the jaws of the cavern—waved the torch before
him, and stooping, strained his avaricious eyes in the

vain hope of piercing the solid earth, and seeing into
the dim recesses through which his comrade had gone.
Meanwhile the keen eyes of the rebel watched his movements,
and his stealthy footstep followed close behind him.

“Canst thou not bring the gold forward, Pedro—let me
look upon it as well as thyself,” was the cry of Sanchez,
whose heart beat, and whose limbs trembled, with an almost
spasmodic anxiety. “Look to the infidel, Sanchez,” was
the counsel of Pedro from below, and for a moment it
commanded the attention of the former so far as to move
him to resume his position and aspect of watchfulness.
Caonabo, with the first movement of Sanchez, sank back
into the inflexible stiffness of the statue, seeming, in eye,
joint, and muscle, to possess as little consciousness or life.
It was not long that the watchfulness of the greedy Spaniard
could be preserved, and the placidity of the Indian
arose from a perfect knowledge of the nature of the race
which he dealt with. His apparent quietude and resignation
soon lulled the suspicions of Sanchez into sleep, and
when his comrade from below brought forward a heap of
gold—for the treasures of a tribe had been stored away in this
place by command of the cassique,—and placed it on a ledge
of rock which formed one of the steps of the descent, he
again stooped over the prize, watching it with a gloating
gaze that betrayed the most intoxicating delight, when every
returning movement of his companion increased the treasure.
By rapid degrees he finally passed into the entrance,
and sinking down on one of the steps, began to handle the
yellow heaps which had seduced him into an utter forgetfulness
of his charge. To attain more perfect freedom in
this new employment, he laid his torch beside him at the
entrance, the blaze illuminating the recess below, and reflected
back from the glittering heaps, almost dazzling his
own and the eyes of his companion. The latter again renewed
his warning, but it came too late. The rebel was
prompt to use the advantage which the indiscretion of Sanchez
had given him. Lifting his foot above the neck of
the stooping Spaniard, he thrust him forward with a single
shove, then, almost in the same instant, placing his corded
hands above the blaze of the torch, he held them inflexibly
in the flame, and though the flesh seethed and scorched,
did not shrink from the torture until his bands were burnt
asunder. This was all the work of an instant. The cry

of Sanchez as he went headlong down into the pit, warned
his comrade of the danger which threatened them both.
He rushed upwards to the light, but the body of the latter,
floundering in his path, obstructed his way, and just then
the torch from above was extinguished by the rebel.

“Ha! thou infidel—beware, I tell thee,” cried Pedro
from below, in accents in which rage and apprehension
might be equally discernible. “Beware what thou doest,
lest I have thee bound to the stake, and make the faggots
feed upon thy flesh.”

“Dog of a Spaniard,—beast and reptile—base and worthless
as thou art!—I defy thee and I spit upon thee. Thyself
and thy companion are now my prisoners, and by the
Horned God of the Charaibée thou shalt perish where thou
art. Didst thou think I had faith in thee to lead thee to
my treasure and think to be set free by thy hand? No!
In your secret souls I saw your resolve. I knew your
falsehood and your baseness, and even when ye whispered
together the fate which ye meant for me—even then had I
resolved upon your own. Ye are in the dwelling with the
only god ye serve—he is around ye,—bright and yellow,
and in abundance! Let him save ye—let him show ye another
pathway out, for never do ye emerge into the light of
heaven by that which carried ye down. I send after ye a
door of rock, through which neither your strength nor your
daggers shall ever force a way.”

With words that were shrieks, the two Spaniards poured
forth threats and entreaties, while they strove together in
their mutual endeavours to reach the entrance before the
rebel could effect the purpose which he declared. In their
efforts, they grappled with each other—their hands were
upon each other's throats.

“Back, Sanchez, ere I strike thee with my dagger.”

“Nay,—back thou, lest I use mine. Am I not before
thee? wherefore should I give thee way?”

The Indian meanwhile had placed his shoulders to the
massive rock that lay on one side of the eavern's mouth,
and which had probably been before employed for the purpose
of securing the entrance. Already it hung upon the
verge, and a moderate force was all that was necessary to
heave it into the yawning chasm. A light hand was laid
upon the shoulder of the chief.

“Ha! what art thou?” he demanded of the intruder.
The voice which answered him was that of Buru, and the
language was that of the Charaibée.

“Spare them, father, chief, let us leave them and fly.
Their torches are gone out—they cannot find the path to
follow us. Spare them!”

“Out hag—traitress,—dost thou speak to me to spare—
spare the Spaniard—spare the bloodhound which has preyed
upon my people, and with a tooth yet dripping with the
blood of thy own child! Back from me, woman, lest I
fling ye after them, and set the rock upon ye all. Back, I
say—thy prayer has proved thy treachery—thou art sold
to the accursed race! Tempt me not further, lest I spare not
even thee.”

The words of anger reached the Spaniards below, and,
though they did not comprehend the language, they yet
found some hope in the circumstance.

“What fools are we to be striving together here,” said
Pedro, “when we stand under a common danger. Go forward,
Sanchez, in God's name, and I will follow thee, but
rise quickly or this infidel will do as he has threatened.
Here, to the left, thou art groping against the rock.”

The reply of Sanchez was silenced by the heaving of the
rock from above, and the mountain shook to its base as
the massy wedge rushed into the mouth of the cavern, completely
sealing up the entrance, and shutting them, in a living
grave, for ever from the sight of day.

Their hollow cries and clamours reached the fierce
cassique, and his wild laugh rose pre-eminently loud over
the plaintive entreaties of his Christian-hearted wife. She
still implored him to spare his enemies—even when his
vengeful act had placed it beyond his own power to do so
—for no single-handed mortal could withdraw the huge
mass which had now become firmly socketed in the yawning
jaws of the cavern.

“Away, fool, if not worse than fool. Away, woman,
I trust thee no longer! Why hast thou betrayed me—why
hast thou sympathies for such as these? Their hands are
even now wet with the blood of thy child.”

“Not these—not these—said I not it was Garabito?”

“They are all Garabitos—they are all Spaniards. Ha! ha!
ha!—hearken to their howling. They plead for mercy, who
have never been known to show mercy. Now, Spaniards,

I tread down your prayers as I tread upon your heads.
Look to your yellow god that is with you—let him help
ye to freedom if he can. I leave ye the gold ye love and
the death ye fear.”

Speaking these words he leapt upon the mass which
he had hurled above their heads, and stamped upon it with
savage intoxication, as if he might thereby more effectually
secure the fastening, already far beyond their power, even
when united with his own, to remove. Then, while their
shrieks and curses rose fast and furiously to his ears, he
bounded away with a light step, which the woman vainly
sought to overtake, in the direction of his cheerless cottage.