 | CHAPTER VI.
WINGS AMONG THE MOUNTAINS—THE STRIFE OF EAGLES. The damsel of Darien |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
WINGS AMONG THE MOUNTAINS—THE STRIFE OF EAGLES.
The next day opened in the town of Darien,—which,
by the way, had been called Santa Maria by the devout
Spaniards—with the clangour of trumpet and drum. Vasco
Nunez proceeded to review his troops; and with an increased
audacity which added still more to the astonishment
of the astrologer, contented himself with little more
than one half of his real force in the prosecution of his
meditated enterprise.
“Were you new men,” he said to his followers—“men
of cloth and buckram, just from Seville, I should need a
thousand of you to pass from Coyba to the great southern
sea. But being what you are, I will lead two hundred
of you with greater pleasure, and more profit to all of us.
Nor let those complain whom I leave behind. They shall
share the spoils which we win, equally with those who
undertake the peril; since, well I know with Zemaco
watching them ever from the surrounding hills, they will
have duties of as much toil and danger in Santa Maria,
as we shall encounter in our march beyond the mountains.
Know ye then that I need two hundred volunteers.
Let the men who came with me to Darien from San Sebastian
advance first—then, of those who followed the
Señor Diego de Nicuesa, and came with Colmenares,—
and lastly, of those who came from Nombre de Dios.
The new soldiers brought by Valdivia will remain at
Santa Maria, unless it be that I find not before me ready
to embark on this new enterprise,—one, as I warn ye now,
of the greatest peril,—a sufficient number of the scarred
veterans who have followed me so long. I tell ye nothing,
men, of the great glory, and the vast wealth, the gold and
the pearls which ye may, perchance, gather in this expedition.
ask, wherefore should we take this toil and danger upon
us? If you know me, it will be enough that I tell ye that
I, Vasco Nunez de Balboa, will march at your head, will
guide ye in your true path, and lead the charge in every
conflict. Sound, trumpets, and let the true hearts of Santa
Maria show themselves with the golden burst of your
music.”
Seating himself upon a rock, the cavalier calmly awaited
the result of a speech that was no less artful than
simple, and seemingly unstudied. The proud Spaniards
who had been with him from the first, and claimed precedence
over the new-comers in all times of danger and
all matters of new adventure, were greatly flattered by
the especial preference which had been given them;
while the others beheld nothing in the distinctions made
by the commander, but a proper division of force, according
to the natural pre-eminence and seniority. The
shouts of all were mingled in the air, and rushing forward,
as if fearing to be suspected of lukewarmness, the veterans
surrounded the stone where the chieftain sat, and
laid their long lances at his feet. When he had counted
their numbers, and accepted their services, they ran
about the encampment in a paroxysm of serious joy,
which vented itself in clamorous invocations to the patron
saint, concluding, as by common consent, with the praises
of their leader. With a more decorous movement, but
with no less real enthusiasm, the second and third classes
which Vasco Nunez had designated, approached him in
like number, and he soon found that to accept all who
offered would far exceed his limitation. It was not easy
to soothe those whom he was compelled to reject; but, as
we have already said, and the various chronicles confirm,
the persuasive powers of Vasco Nunez were scarcely less
remarkable than his genius and valour. The discontents
were made to conceive corresponding advantages resulting
to themselves, no less than to the community, from
their stay at Santa Maria; and to disregard the commiserating
looks and speeches of the more fortunate of their
number who had been chosen for the expedition. But
many an invalid veteran wept bitter tears at the bondage
in which fever, or the wounds of previous battle confined
him, and it tasked all the leader's powers of soothing to
as it was inevitable. The enthusiasm of all parties
filled the heart of Vasco Nunez with a grateful triumph.
“What creature courtier of Fonseca, think you, good
Micer Codro, could win such followers to such free-will?
Only two hundred say you; and your heart still beats
with apprehension; but I tell you these two hundred
Spaniards under my conduct are more to me than one
thousand men had been to Ojeda; and, by the holy Saint
John, I will work with them greater things in this wilderness
of Darien than in thy own imagining, even thou,
watcher as thou art of the visionary stars, could ever
have dreamed of. Lo! you—their looks, their voices,—
the madness of their souls, as they fling up their lances
in delight, and leap among the hills. Sawest thou the
grave sullen Spaniard ever in such mood before? If it
were now the time to meet with Zemaco—they would go
like the rage of the red lightning through his naked thousands.
Such a temper would make their battle irresistible,
though it would be fatal on a weary march. I will
school this temper. It is not the wild horse which I need
along the rigorous mountains, but the patient mule, steady
and sure-footed; and thou shalt soon see these wild warriors
become as such. Ho! Francisco”—addressing Pizarro—“I
assign thee twenty crossbows, and ten fire-locks—with
twenty swords and lances. To Colmenares
a like force—ye shall try the favour of these men so that
ye may each have the warriors that most affect you. Let
there be no loss of time—the brigantine is already waiting
us.”
“Now could I spoil this triumph at a word,” was the
unexpressed thought of the youth Pedro, as he gazed upon
the glowing face of Vasco Nunez, and beheld the enthusiastic
devotion of the soldiers. “It needs but to say to
these capricious knaves, or to this envious and ambitious
warrior in whom he so much confides, Francisco Pizarro
—`know ye that this man is a traitor to his sovereign,
under doom as such—that even now the ministers of justice
and of vengeance are on their way to place him in
bonds for judgment;'—and the smooth lips that now honour,
would be roughened with the sharp bitter shouts of
vulgar hostility. And shall I suffer him to triumph thus?
Shall it be that a murderer,—one whom I am sworn to
slay—shall go on from triumph to triumph—shall win
the blood of my brother yet reeking upon
his hands, when a breath of mine can bring him to the
dust? A single word to Pizarro, and Vasco Nunez is cut
down—cast down, like the Philistian Dagon, his head
rolling from his shoulders. Pizarro hath the envy which
would make him glad to overthrow the superior—he
hath the cunning which would move him to its performance
with success. He shall know all. He shall be
counselled to keep him in custody but a few weeks, and
then deliver him in the same moment to the king's minister
and to death. I will speak to him even now—there is
no more fitting moment.”
The youth, as if doubting his own resolution, hurried
towards the spot where Pizarro was choosing his individual
command. As he approached, however, his mind
was busied with the train of thought which this subject
and his design had opened upon him; and though he
strove to continue in the same resolve, he found scruples
gradually rising against it in his reflections, which
cooled his temper if they did not qualify his hostility;
and when, as he drew nigh to the man he sought, he
encountered from him a bitter scowl, the fruit of his unwary
detection of the fierce soldier's want of letters, his
malicious purpose relented. His eye involuntarily put on
a glance of corresponding hostility with that of the savage
captain, and his brow assumed a scowling aspect, scarcely
less stern and fearful than that of Pizarro. He no longer
felt the resolution to destroy Vasco Nunez by such an
agent.
“No!” he muttered to himself as he turned away
slowly and proceeded to retrace his steps—“that the
lion should rend the lion, or the eagle strive with the
eagle unto the death of both, were not ungrateful in the
eyes of valour and true greatness, but that I should arm
the snake against either, were something full of shame.
Besides, have I not sworn that my deed alone shall be
my avenger, and shall I avail myself of so foul an ally as
this? Neither have I sworn against the fame but only
against the life of Vasco Nunez. Let him triumph—let
him win these southern waters which are his dream, and
these new empires which he fancies will reward his
dream — am I not with him—can I not slay him at any
In that moment when his conquest is secure I will strike
for vengeance. I will then destroy him.”
The person of whom he spoke, at this moment called
him to his side.
“I bade thee prepare to go with me, Pedro, on this expedition.
I thought not on the feebleness of thy frame,
and thy lack of skill and practice in fields of peril. It
would be thy death to enter upon the weary march I
purpose, and however great may be thy thirst for glory
it were not fitting that I should suffer thee to risk thyself
so much against thy ability. Thou shalt remain behind
at Darien.”
“Nay, señor, but thou wilt do me great injustice if
such be in truth thy purpose;” replied the youth earnestly,
and with an expression of sorrow in his face which
was truly felt in his heart, and which he could not hide.
“For what have I come to Darien but for the very perils
of which you tell me. These are perils for which my
soul pants, and the life passed without their pursuit were
unworthy a care. It was thy promise, Señor Vasco, that
I should go with thee ever; it was thy further promise
that I should go with thee on this adventure. If thou
dost not seek to put my forehead in the dust, I pray thee
depart not from thy words, on the faith of which I came
into thy service.”
“Be not rash, Pedro,” replied the other, “of a truth, I
would choose to have thee with me ever, even as I have
promised thee; but to take thee with me on a perilous
adventure, such as that before me, were to mislead thy
youth, and do wrong to the very faith which thou hast
put in me; look you, boy”—here he lowered his voice to
a whisper, and led the youth away, as he replied, from
the hearing of all others—“know you not that the
chances are thick against us in the perils which we go
forth to encounter? Hast thou not heard the wisdom
of the venerable man, Micer Codro, warmly awakened
against my project which he pronounces a temerity
savouring of madness? And wilt thou not believe me
when I say to thee, that, even with my own hopes of
final success, which I confess to thee are strong, I yet
greatly fear that one half of the hardy men who go with
me, will perish from over-toilsome marches, or the keen
son; let thy thirst for glory keep pace with thy strength
and experience, both of which thou yet lackest too
greatly for so great a danger as surrounds this enterprise.”
Vasco Nunez pleaded earnestly with the boy, but the
latter remained unmoved.
“If,” said he, “I have hearkened to the words of wisdom
from the lips of Micer Codro, I have yet also listened
to the more grateful answer of wisdom and valour which
fell from thy lips in reply. I have not forgotten the speech
of either, and my resolve is no less the growth of my
thoughts on this subject than a desire of my heart. I
know all the peril; but as there is no glory without peril,
it should be the care of him who seeks the one to be
always foremost in the encounter with the other. Señor,
I have thy promise—shall it be said against thy own well-earned
glory, that thou hast failed to keep thy faith?”
These words, and the tacit reproach with which the
youth concluded his reply, were conclusive with Vasco
Nunez.
“Thou hast the true spirit for fame, Pedro; I would
that thy father had endowed thee with a manhood of body
such as God hath given to thy soul. Thou shalt go with
me—it shall not be from thy lips that Vasco Nunez shall
hear rebuke for broken faith. Get thyself in readiness—
thou shalt have the glory which thou covetest.”
It was on the first of September, says the historian, that
this daring cavalier embarked with his followers in a brigantine
and several large piraguas for the dominions of
the cassique of Coyba; his daughter, Careta, who had acquired
no small influence over Vasco Nunez, accompanied
him in this expedition. Standing to the northwestward,
he reached Coyba without accident in a few days, and
was received with open arms by the cassique of the province.
Here he made his final preparations for the painful
and dangerous journey he was about to take; he
offered up prayers to the Deity, and caused mass to be
performed, with a degree of solemnity which, while it impressed
his own people no less than the savages, with a
feeling of religious enthusiasm, mingled with some little
awe at the perils rising before their path, attested the
soaring and serious resolution of their leader's mind,
the mere commander; and giving him the attitude
and aspect of one of those stern leaders of the people,
under God, commissioned to achieve miraculous conquests,
and assured of the confirming smile of the
Deity in every effort and adventure. It was, perhaps, no
small help to Vasco Nunez, that such became the persuasion
of his followers on this occasion. Nor was it simply
as a stroke of human policy, that our hero imparted this
reverential aspect to his proceedings. His own mind had
been in truth elevated by the lonely and constant contemplation,
amid all the changes of his fortune, of the one
single object. He had gradually discarded from his desires
the accursed thirst for gold, which was converting
his own people rapidly into a more cruel set of savages
than any that they came to conquer. The baser aims of
humanity had all been purged out of his bosom, by the
high, unselfish desire of opening the sealed barriers that
led to another world; and the intentness with which he
contemplated the legitimate purpose of a noble mind, had
produced its natural effect, in bringing him nearer to the
nature, and, consequently, to the knowledge of God himself.
All his movements partook of this influence. All his
words and thoughts were now marked by this triumphant
and rising spirit; and while his mental pride was forgotten,
and a just humility that knows its own make and
measure, and trespasses never beyond the claims and
against the spirit of its fellow, was growing hourly stronger
in his heart, it was evident to all that there was a holy
erectness in his deeds, his air, his manner, and his language,
which insensibly subdued the spirits of those who
beheld him. He showed none of the petty cares and jealousies
that so often impair the grandeur of human greatness,
and embitter its sweetest successes; but, as if the
contemplation of a performance so far above the aims of
his contemporaries, had also uplifted him beyond their ordinary
strifes and enmities, his mood ceased to exhibit
anger or passion, and a gentle and indulgent spirit distinguished
his government, both of Spaniards and Indians,
which formed a feature entirely new in the moral history
of all the parties. It may be added that the boy, Pedro,
was not the last to acknowledge this influence over his
mind, which the high-souled superiority of Vasco Nunez
of all.
Six days after the departure of the cavalier from Darien,
he struck off for the mountains on his bold and perilous
adventure. The Cassique of Coyba provided him
with guides and a number of Indian warriors, who were
used in carrying provisions, and in scouting along their
intricate and toilsome path. Of his own warriors, brought
with him from Santa Maria, he took but one half, the rest
being left at Coyba in charge of the brigantine. But
these were his tried men, chiefly armed with arquebusses,
and they were attended by a large number of bloodhounds—a
foe no less formidable to the Indians than their
masters. On the eighth of September they reached the
dominions of Ponca, the ancient enemy of Careta. He
fled before their coming, as he had been commanded by
Zemaco. But his retreat was discovered, and he sent in
his submission to the invaders, and came, though with
fear and trembling, into the presence of Vasco Nunez.
His terrors gave place to a more subdued, though yet
stronger feeling of reverence for the heroic Spaniard;
and beholding in him a superior, as much distinguished
by benevolence as might, he was soon converted from a
distrustful foe into an obedient and devoted friend. Ponca
revealed to him all the secrets of his native mountains.
He pointed to the wealthiest valleys and waters—informed
him of their grateful fruits, and freely brought him of his
gold and treasures. But when he confirmed to him the
proximity of the great pechry—the wondrous sea of the
south, which lay beyond the mountains; and taking him
to a little eminence, pointed out to his eyes a dim and
distant peak which rose like a thin gray cloud almost
into the heavens,—telling him, from that pinnacle he
should behold the sea for which he searched,—the heart
of the conqueror melted within him with an enfeebling
joy, and once more sinking on his knees, he implored the
Divine Power to strengthen and protect him on the toilsome
ascent which was to yield that blessed prospect to
his sight. Animated by the tidings of Ponca, and strengthened
by prayer, he prepared to ascend the barrier mountains,
under the conduct of fresh guides, which he procured
from the cassique.
The implacable chief, however, who swayed all that
the departure of the Spaniards from Darien, and their appearance
at Coyba, with indifference or unconcern. With
spies at every point, it was not long before he became
possessed of a knowledge of all the movements of the invaders.
The virtual rebellion of Coyba, in forming an alliance
with his foe, was already known to him, and the
defection of Ponca he was apprised of almost as soon as
the latter had made his appearance before Vasco Nunez.
These events embittered his mind and impaired his judgment.
He ascribed them to the very counsel which, perhaps,
had preserved him so long in safety.
“See you not,” he said to the fugitive Caonabo, “see
you not that while we watch like silent dogs along the
hills, the pale faces send their thunders into the valleys.
Why have you counselled me to this forbearance? Shall
it be that they shall go where they please, succouring my
enemies, destroying my friends, and making slaves and
women of my people, while my warriors groan that they
may not fight, and call me a woman like the Haytian?”
“Zemaco hath not been idle, though he hath not gone
down to do battle with the Spaniard. The wisdom of
my counsel hath been shown already. The cassique of
the Spaniard hath also remained in his bohio, and when
he sent out his young warriors were they not met by the
young warriors of Zemaco? Did they not fly before the
keen arrows of thy braves, and were they not despoiled
of their canoes, and the yellow dirt that they worship?
Twice, thrice did the young warriors of Zemaco drive
the pale faces from their path, when they came out in
small numbers to gather gold and provisions.”
“And is it not well, that my warriors should drive
them again from the path? If they beat the Spaniards
being but few, then shall they again beat them when
there are many. Is it not wisdom in the warrior to try?”
“The warriors of Zemaco have never beaten the
cassique of the Spaniard. They have only driven his
foolish young men from the path, when they scattered
themselves without wisdom in the thick woods. Let
Zemaco hear Caonabo, who hath looked down from the
hills of Xaragua on the deeds of this pa'e warrior. Zemaco
hath been successful when the small bands of the
Spaniards were far asunder. Even now they are far
—a few are left with the great canoe, and dwell with the
traitor Cassique of Coyba; the rest follow their chief
warrior among the mountains, under the guidance of
Ponca—”
“Another traitor! It is because of thy counsel, Caonabo,
that the hearts of my people are turned away from
Zemaco. They would have me go down and do battle
with the Spaniard.”
“You have fought,” replied Caonabo gloomily—“twice
have you fought with the Spaniard, and your arrow has
failed to reach his heart, and your war-club has failed to
crush his head.”
“Does the warrior lose heart for ever if he be beaten
by the strange foe, whose weapons he knows not? The
warriors of Zemaco fail not always. They cry aloud for
the battle—it grieves them to look down upon the Spaniards
while they march over the land. They shall go to
battle when the pale faces gather in the paths of the
mountains.”
“It is well,” replied the other. “Caonabo will fight for
Zemaco as if he fought for himself. But the cassique of
the Spaniards is a great warrior. You may not drive
him when you look him in the face. The arrow of Zemaco
may not penetrate the thick armour which covers
his heart.”
“You tell me that I am a woman,” cried the chieftain
angrily. “Thou wouldst have me fly from Darien and
give up my country to the pale faces. Lo! you, Caonabo,
if I show this counsel to my people, they will tear thee in
pieces.”
“It is not the counsel of Caonabo,” said the other
coldly but calmly, “I know that the people are angry
with a warrior who has counselled them to safety, when
they would have gone to death without doing service to
Zemaco. They have grown blind because of misfortune,
and sorrow hath made them unjust. They will think
more wisely when the Spaniard hath his foot upon the
neck of Zemaco.”
“Ha! thou sayst!” replied the other, lifting his macana
in sudden wrath above the head of the fugitive.
“What if I strike thee dead for thy insolence!”
“Caonabo will lose life—a little loss to a brave man—
and Zemaco will lose more than life.”
“How! what meanest thou shall be the loss of Zemaco?”
“Wisdom, and a friend! I tell thee, Zemaco, if thou
send'st thy warriors forth against the Spaniard, they will
perish unless they can slay the cassique who leads them.
If thou canst slay him, thy conquest of the rest is easy.
He is their life as thou art the life of thy people. It is him
thou shouldst seek to slay.”
“Caonabo is wise indeed!” replied the other with a
bitter sneer, “but can warriors be slain save by warriors?
Have I not said, the warriors of Zemaco shall go
forth against the Spaniard? Quarequa shall lead them
against the Spaniard.”
“Quarequa is a brave warrior,” replied the other, “but
he cannot fight against the cassique of the Spaniard. Hear
me!” he said, as Zemaco was about to interrupt him, impatiently,
“hear me, Zemaco. I will counsel thee to better
things. Thou shalt gather thy men in three places, a
thousand in each, and each under a trusty warrior. One
to these shall descend upon the bohios of the Spaniard at
Darien—a second shall fall upon him in the night time
when he sleeps in the dwelling of Coyba—and the third
shall lie in watch along the paths, when the cassique of
the Spaniard ascends wearily the mountains. Yet I
counsel thee not to face him even then in battle. There
are ways to slay the Spaniard and yet not stand before
his thunders. Thou shalt send him messengers of peace
—thou shalt give him help to ascend the mountains of
Darien. Thou shalt tell him Zemaco fears thee as an
enemy, and would have thee as a friend. Lo! he sends
thee tribute of gold and pearls, and here are fifty warriors
to serve at thy bidding. Thou shalt do this,
Zemaco.”
“Ha! wouldst thou have me sell my people to the
Spaniard? Am I to bend my back to his burden? Shall
the woman of Zemaco plant maize for him in the fields,
and bear his stripes when she faints beside the task? and
shall the Cassique of Darien go to the pale face with a lie
on his tongue, and say he fears him? Go! thou hast
counselled dishonour to Zemaco, and wert thou one of
my people thou shouldst die.”
Nothing daunted, the other replied to him calmly—
“Thou art quick, Zemaco—thy bosom is filled with
doubt and bitterness, so that thy ear catches not the true
meaning of my speech. I counsel thee to speak thy fears
to the Spaniard, but I counsel thee not to fear him. I bid
thee send him thy warriors, but I bid them not serve him;
and if thou giv'st him thy treasure, it is rather that he
may have faith in what thou tellest him, than that thou
shouldst give him thy faith. If thou help'st him to ascend
thy mountains, it is only that thou mayst destroy him
when thou hast him there—if thy warriors go from thee
to the Spaniard, it is that they may be the better able to
surround his footstep, and strike at him, and him only, in
battle. Thou hast many braves who would die at thy
bidding. Say to them—`Are there fifty of ye who are
ready to die, that the enemies of Zemaco may perish?'
They will answer thee—`Yea, we stand before thee.'
Let them go down to the Spaniard, and say to him, `We
come from Zemaco. He sends you gold—he sends you
the seedy pearl that is gathered from the sea. He sends
you food and drink for your warriors that are famished,
and he bids us guide you along the mountain paths where
they are easiest. He would be your friend;—he will
come to you when you gather on the mountain.' See
you not, Zemaco? Your warriors will bring the cassique
of the Spaniards into the narrow valleys, and there you
will meet him with all your strength. Your arrows shall
then speak for your friendship, and the rocks that sleep
along the hill-tops shall go down in answering thunders
to the thunder of the Spaniard. This is the counsel of
Caonabo—his last counsel, for well I know, Zemaco,
though you have told me nothing, that the young warriors
of Darien clamour for the life of Caonabo, and will
not sleep till they have drunk the blood from his heart.
They would make him answer for the valour of the
Spaniards,—and would sacrifice him to the war-demon,
that they themselves should become wise and brave.
Caonabo fears not death, but he would have vengeance
on the Spaniard before the day is hidden from his eyes.
See you then to the words he hath spoken, for I tell you.
Zemaco, as one who sees the wing and shadow of death
above him, that the cassique of the Spaniard, whom they
call Vasco Nunez, is one to conquer all lands and all people—before
thick mists that gather in the evening shadows melt and
vanish before the bright eyes of the morning sun. If he
be slain, there are none to take his place, and lead his
people over the mountains. His wisdom is a greater foe
to the power of Zemaco, than all the thunder of his warriors.”
Zemaco was impressed with the sagacity of the fugitive,
and not less with the calm and dignified manner in
which he declared his knowledge of a conspiracy against
his life, to which, however friendly, even Zemaco dared
not entirely oppose himself.
“Caonabo hath spoken truly. The young warriors of
Zemaco hold him an evil counsellor, whose words have
gone more deeply into the heart of his people, than the
Spanish lightning. Even now they seek him that Caonabo
may be given to the war demon as a sacrifice. But
they shall hear what he hath counselled. Zemaco will
declare the wisdom of Caonabo. Let the Haytien warrior
go aside from the path of counsel, while the strong
men gather to Zemaco.”
The fugitive did as he was bidden, and retiring from
the encampment, which now lay contiguous to the mountain
paths over which Vasco Nunez prepared to lead his
little command, he wandered among the rocks, gloomily,
but in calm, brooding over the defeat of his plans, and the
threatening aspect of his fortunes. He was joined by his
wife, the devoted, true-hearted woman, Buru.
“Father, chief, Caonabo,” she exclaimed, as she approached
him—“know you that the chief who leads the
Spaniard is he who would have saved the boy from the
sharp sword of Garabito? I have seen him. It is he—he
would have struck for the poor Zemi.”
“The sharp sword of Garabito was a friend to Zemi—
the cassique of the Spaniard is the foe to Caonabo. He
must die!” was the stern answer of the fugitive.
“Alas! father—Caonabo! let not thy hand touch the
life of the good Spaniard. Spare him! spare him!—Spare
him for the sake of the poor Zemi—spare him for the
sake of the poor Buru. Turn thy arrow from his breast
to the breast of another Spaniard. Slay not him—not
him!”
“Zemaco will slay all—he should spare none, if he
governs the Spaniards. What matter, whose arrow goes
into the heart of the Spanish chief? Will he feel more
pain if the arrow come from the bow of Caonabo or of the
basest warrior of Darien? Go, go! you are a woman—
these things are for the warrior. The Spanish chief must
die, but he will not die by the hand of Caonabo. Zemaco
will send him warriors with good words, and when he
inclines to them his ear, then will they set upon and slay
him. Hear you,—Caonabo will go into battle with the
Spaniard, but he will raise no hand against the chief.”
“Ha! but the warriors who go with a lying word to
the chief?” exclaimed the woman.
“They will set upon and slay him when he thinks not.
Caonabo will be among the hills. He will not strike the
chief.”
“Alas! alas!” were the only words of the woman in
reply, as she comprehended the meditated treachery,
while with her hands she covered her eyes, from which
the tears were streaming in profusion—the tears of the
gentle-hearted Haytien to whom even the destruction of
an enemy was productive of a sorrow scarcely less great
than would have been the sudden bereavement of a
friend.
“It is well that the keen sword of Garabito slew the
boy,” said her lord with more gentle tones than the words
seemed to require—“thou hadst else made a woman of
him like thyself, Buru. But the messenger cometh from
Zemaco. Leave me, woman—I would encounter him
alone.”
When she had gone, he exclaimed—
“He cannot bring life to Caonabo—he may bring death.
If I may no more serve my people, nor harm my foe, it is
well that death should come. I will go forward and meet
the messenger.”
The latter simply brought him a summons to attend
the cassique. When he reached the little hollow of the
hill, where the council had convened around their sovereign,
he met several of the warriors leaving his presence.
From these Caonabo encountered nothing but looks of
suspicion and ill-will. These he did not seem to regard
with any other than a sentiment of pity. Conscious of
having done for them what they never could have done
could not otherwise oppose—he gave himself little concern
as to the estimate which they put upon his conduct. With
that forbearance of soul, which is perhaps one of the highest
proofs of its superiority, his chief, nay, his only feeling
was one of regret, that, though their own ignorance and
vanity, his genius had been all the while labouring for them
in vain. In all probability, the rashness of an hour would
defeat all the toils and the successes of the past. Without a
word or look, either of scorn or hostility, in requital of those
so freely bestowed upon him, he entered the presence of
Zemaco, who received him with a more indulgent aspect
than that which he had shown him before the conference.
He had succeeded in pacifying the hostility of his warriors
for a season, and this little triumph enabled him to bestow
the favour—so he considered it—of prolonged life, upon
one who had freely risked his life in behalf of the warriors
by whom it had been so begrudgingly prolonged.
“Zemaco hath shown the counsel of Caonabo to his
warriors. They love not Caonabo—they believe not in
his wisdom—but they have hearkened to the wishes of
Zemaco. Fifty warriors will go down to the cassique of
the Spaniard with the words of peace, which Zemaco will
put into their mouths; and when they rise among the broken
rocks Quarequa shall lie for them in waiting, and shall
set upon and destroy them. Is this good?—is it spoken
as Caonabo would have spoken?”
“It is good,” was the reply of the fugitive, whose features
did not change, nor put on the appearance of pleasure
which the cassique expected them to assume. He
rather continued with a countenance and manner which
insensibly put on the extreme gravity which marked the
demeanour of the other.
“Zemaco hath declared to them that Caonabo will fight
under Quarequa. Is it good?”
“It is good;” was the almost indifferent response.
“Has Zemaco no other word for the ears of Caonabo?”
was the inquiry of the latter, as he beheld an expression
of anxiety in the face of the cassique, and observed that he
hesitated and faltered in his speech. With something like
an effort, as if he felt some of the pain he expected to inflict,
the cassique thus called upon, responded to the questioner
as follows:—
“There is more, Caonabo. The warriors of Zemaco
will follow the counsel of Caonabo, even as they have
followed it before; but they say—upon his head be it if
we conquer not the Spaniard. He shall die upon the
rock of sacrifice, even upon the altar of the war-demon of
Darien.”
He paused, and his eye sank from before the intent and
earnest but cold gaze of the fugitive. A brief pause ensued
ere the latter replied.
“This too is good, Zemaco. Now let the warriors go
down to the Spaniard, while I join myself to the men of
Quarequa. Caonabo is ready for the Spaniard or for the war-demon.
But, thou, Zemaco!—think'st thou that one warrior
like Caonabo will appease the rage of the war-demon?
No! his tongue shall lap blood, when I perish, from a
thousand necks in Darien, and thine too shall be among
them.”
| CHAPTER VI.
WINGS AMONG THE MOUNTAINS—THE STRIFE OF EAGLES. The damsel of Darien | |