University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
LOVE REMAINS, THOUGH HOPE FLIES, IN THE CONSTANCY OF MISFORTUNE.

“Ha, Buru! Wherefore hast thou followed me from the
hills where Zemaco keeps, and where is safety? Knowest
thou not that the warriors of Quarequa lie in wait for the
coming of the Spaniard? Knowest thou not that the path
of the Spaniard is upon these hills? Thou hast come where
the storm threatens, Buru—I would thou hadst kept with
Zemaco.”

Such was the salutation of Caonabo when the woman of
Hayti stood before him on the evening of the day which
followed that night when she sought the tents of the Spaniard.
The gentle tones of the cassique's voice, and the
earnest solicitude which he expressed for her safety, smote
her heart sorely, for, after leaving the Spaniard, she grew
half conscious that she had played the traitor to her husband
no less than to Zemaco. It partly reconciled her to
her breach of trust, when she felt that she could declare
with an approving conscience that she preferred to share
the danger with him to the safety which he did not share.

“If the storm is for Caonabo, the storm is also for
Buru. If she feared not the black waters of the sea when
Caonabo was in the canoe, she fears not the black wings
upon the mountain if he be lying beside her. Buru sees
not the danger when she looks on Caonabo.”

“It is well,” replied the fugitive, in melancholy accents,
which as they were unusual to him, went more piercingly
into her heart than any words which he might have spoken
in anger. “It is time that thou shouldst cease to behold
the storm—its black wing has been above our eyes since

the Spaniard first found his accursed yellow god in Hayti.
The storm is on all the hills, and thou hadst found it with
Zemaco as thou wilt find it with Quarequa. What we
must see, that we need see not. It is there—let us not
look. If it destroys,—well. If it spares,—well. If it
threatens,—wherefore should we tremble, when it makes
us not to tremble even when it slays? I have gone from
hill to hill that the storm might not touch me;—and lo!
the very sunshine that I saw afar, had a black storm hidden
in its bosom. I am weary of flight. I will fly no
more. I would have left thee in safety with Zemaco,
Buru, but it is better that thou shouldst be here. When
the keen sword smote the neck of the boy Zemi, dost thou
think he felt pain, Buru? Look! I would take this little
javelin, Buru, and I would make in thy heart a small mark,
no bigger than its point—why dost thou tremble and
shrink?—I will only do so at thy prayer:—and thou
shouldst never see the cloud, nor fear the storm any
more.”

“Ah, father, chief!—thy words are strange and terrible
to the poor, weak woman of Hayti. Oh, speak not thus—
as if thy heart had forsaken thee. Be angry with the
foolish woman—lift thy hand and strike her with thy anger;—but
let not this heavy spirit be in thy speech.
Wherefore shouldst thou lose thy heart, now, when thou
hast warriors at thy bidding, and the great cassique Zemaco
calls thee even to his secret counsels?”

“Ha! ha!” exclaimed the fugitive, with a laugh of bitter
derision—“thou art but a woman, Buru—thou knowest
as little of the hearts of men as of their counsels. Let us
say nothing of the warriors which are led by Caonabo, or
of the counsels that he gives to Zemaco. When the Spaniards
come up the mountain, thou wilt ask after these warriors,
but I know not that they will answer—and if Zemaco
takes counsel from Caonabo, and the counsel be unwise
and unsuccessful, it may be thou wilt then ask, and have
no answer, when thy question is of Caonabo. But thou
hast not said the thing I asked of thee. The sharp sudden
stroke of the Spaniard when it smote the neck of Zemi,
the boy—dost thou think it brought him more pain than
when they put the lash on his back at the Encomienda of
Ribiero?”

“Oh, no! no!” was the prompt reply.

“Thou hast a quick and true thought of it, Buru. The
pain of death is a pain here and here”—touching his head
and heart as he spoke—“and if these care not to live,
there is no pain. If I put this sharp flint into thy bosom—”

“Oh, father, chief, Caonabo, what wouldst thou—
wouldst thou slay the woman of Hayti—the mother of the
boy?”

She shrank back impulsively from his grasp, as, half
baring the swelling bosom which was still beautiful, as she
was still young, he rested the edge of the keen javelin upon
her heart.

“If thou biddest me,—yes!” was the calm reply—still
terrible, though nothing could exceed the mournful tenderness
of his tones. “I would not slay thee, Buru—No!
But thinkest thou to live when the strife rages—when the
Spaniard has put his foot on the neck of Caonabo?”

Her shriek silenced him, and falling on her knees before
him, she implored him to forbear.

“Ha! what is this, woman!” he cried in fierce accents,
as, falling from the bosom where she had concealed it, the
silver cross given her by Vasco Nunez became revealed
to his sight.—“Speak!—say, before I slay thee—why is
it that I find upon thy neck the image that the Spaniard
worships?”

He seized the sacred emblem as he spoke, and tearing it
from her neck, while she vainly endeavoured to arrest his
arm, flung it over into one of the wild abysses of the mountains
where they lay. His fierce demand which received
no answer, was again repeated, and, still incapable of speech,
she sank prostrate upon her face before him, while his
wrath, rising into almost ungovernable violence as he surveyed
her, prompted him to spurn her with his lifted
foot.

“Thou hast fled the gods of the Charaibee and the Haytien
to which thou wast sworn. Thou hast sold thyself and
them to the gods of the Spaniard. It is because of this
that they aid us not—it is because of this that the Spaniard
drives us to the hills and slays our warriors. What
black spirit has possessed thee, woman, to deliver up thy
people to the foes who have slain thy own child? Speak,
that I may be moved with fury to slay—it is because I
look on thee with horror that I cannot strike.”

The moaning, inarticulate prayer for mercy alone
reached his ears; and her eyes were not once uplifted
from the ground. Suddenly the air resounded with the
clamours of an hundred war conchs, a token that the
army of Quarequa was rising into activity, and a summons
that demanded the presence of Caonabo for other duties.
His tone and whole manner suddenly changed. His words
and accents were alike mournful.

“Oh, Buru—woman that has been the mother of the
Charaibean son, and has slept on the bosom of Caonabo,
was there not enough of sorrow for the chief that thou hast
done this thing? Was the grief slow to hunt him that thou
hast invoked a false god to be my enemy? Did I speak to
thee even in anger—did I beat thee with cruel blows—did
I gash thee with flints—did I drive thee forth beneath the
tempest in winter? Why has thou taken the dead god of
the Spaniards to thy bosom and cast from thee the living
god of the Charaibee? It is well for thee that Caonabo has
no anger left him now—it is well that he feels so base that
he can no longer strike any but the Spaniard. He hath
heard the threat of Zemaco in his ear, and he hath spoke
no defiance. He hath beheld the scornful glance of Quarequa,
and he hath lifted no hand to slay. If he spares
Zemaco and Quarequa, shall he not spare the woman?
and yet, Buru, I tell thee that if thou hast taken the god of
the Spaniards to thy heart, thou hast done more harm to
Caonabo than the threat of Zemaco and the scorn of Quarequa.”

He left her prostrate where she lay and went forth to
where the warriors were assembling. There, in the presence
of the host, Quarequa informed him of the messenger
from the Spanish chief and of the fortune which had befallen
the fifty warriors.

“And thus saith Zemaco,” continued the jealous and
malignant savage, with an exultation which gleamed from
his eyes and which he did not seek to hide, “if the
cassique of the Spaniards fall not in the strife to-day, it is
because of thy counsel; and thou shalt atone, on the stone
of sacrifice, to the war-demon of Darien, for the warriors
that have perished.”

Caonabo gave no answer, and the smile of pity which
overspread his countenance as he witnessed the hostile air
of his enemy, was quickly succeeded by a look of wo,

which, however, took its rise from a far different source
than any solicitude for his own fate. The war-conchs
sounded, and the command of Quarequa compelled his
attention to the band of warriors which he was required to
lead. But a moment was left him for speech with the
poor woman, his wife, who had followed, with all the adhesive
attachment of the dog, the steps of the master who
had punished.

“Woman, I now know thy secret. Thou hast been down
the hills and hast spoken with the Spaniard. Thou little
knowest the evil thou hast done. Thou hast saved him,
but thou hast slain thy husband. It is well. I reproach
thee not for this, for I tell thee I am weary of life. But
thou hast given me to a cruel death, and thou hast betrayed
thy people to a more cruel enemy. Lo! I am merciful.
Get thee in readiness to die when the battle is over, for as
sure as the god of the Charaibee is a god of strength and
terror, so surely will I sacrifice thee to his wrath when the
strife is ended with the Spaniard.”

Slowly she followed after his footsteps, as he went to
the spot where his warriors awaited him, but he spoke to
her no other word; and many and mixed, indeed, were
the thoughts of dread and danger in her mind, and of
sorrow in her heart, as she heard the far music of the
Spanish trumpet coming up to the combat on the mountains.

But of the danger to herself she had the most childish
unconsciousness. Though he had spurned and threatened
her, she thought only of his danger, and of that strange
and sad hopelessness of heart with which he had spoken
in their late interview. With an eye that never lost sight
of his person, she followed all his movements; and when
the Spanish files began to appear in sight, winding slowly
on their way up the uneven hills, she sat down upon a
rock which overlooked the ambush of the Indians, resolved
to watch over the fugitive Caonabo, as if her mere watch
could suffice to disarm some of the danger, or defeat
some of the foes which might lurk around his path. It
was the watch of love still lingering, even after the flight of
hope, and no less constant in its devotion than that envious
fortune which had driven from the side of the warrior
all his other and abler friends.