The damsel of Darien :: :: University of Virginia Library

The victory gained over Quarequa removed from the
path of Vasco Nunez all farther obstructions from that savage
in his passage onward. That warrior with six hundred of
his followers lay on the field of battle, having paid, in this
manner, the penalty of his impatient valour, and of the
mean and fatal jealousy with which he regarded the progress
of the fugitive cassique in the confidence of his superior.
The next day his conqueror reached the flourishing
village in which Quarequa dwelt, where he found abundance
of those spoils of gold and jewels, which had been sufficient
reward for most Spanish conquerors, and amply compensated
his followers for all their wounds, toils and perils.
To him, however, whose heart was set on schemes of far
higher object, and whose spirit yearned with that audacious
ambition which seeks life beyond man's ordinary limits—
seeks life among men even when the grave has covered
over the feelings, the fears, and the fortunes of his petty
hour and mortal part—the delights shown by his followers at
these acquisitions seemed no less ridiculous than base.
He turned from the glittering heaps as they underwent division
among his soldiers, and his eye watched with anxiety
inexpressible, the only mountain still towering in his
path, which remained for him to overcome. From the
peak of that mountain—so his guide assured him,—might
be seen the placid waters of that secret sea, the sight of
whose waters was to reward him for years of apprehension,
months of toil and peril, constant strifes, and the eating
cares of that often-defeated hope, which had grown sick
under a thousand disappointments, and only revived in the

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compelling fervour of that resolving genius which had sustained
him and it alike, and forced the very stars of destiny
in the direction of its desires. That single mountain, at
the foot of which he stood, lay between him and the object
of his quest. His heart bounded within his bosom
—his spirit, scarcely restrainable, impelled him forward;—
but when he looked round upon his weary and diminished
band, only sixty of whom remained for this last effort, he
felt that the toil was too much to be undertaken, in the exhaustion
of the day, no less than of his soldiers. And still,
—at least for one night longer—his hope was to be baffled.
And what might be the events,—the defeats, the disasters
of that one night! Even now, with the empire within his
grasp which was to crown and render glorious all the previous
toils of his life, it might be plucked from his possession,
and he himself hurled down to that obscurity,
worse than death, which was the antipathy of the fervent
and leading passion of his soul. Such were the thoughts
that kept him wakeful that long and weary night; and apprehensions
which put on the shape of fear that his soul had
never known before, now made him tremble with a weakness,
the result of that superior height of aim and position,
which too often leads to dizziness in the triumphant aspirant.
“Even now,” thought he, “the messenger of Ferdinand
may be on his way, pursuing me, even into these pathless
solitudes. His footstep may sound in my ears ere this
night be over; and if he be of the temper of the base Enciso,
as of too many of those who represent our sovereign
in the new world, then may he, in the insolence of his
mood, deny me even to look upon the wondrous empire
which I have sought out at so much peril.”

This reflection brought with it a new resolve. Once
more his eyes gazed upon the mountain. The stars were
sleeping over head. The winds gently swept down the
precipitous sides of that barrier, which, reduced in the imperfect
starlight to his eyes, seemed easy of ascent, and
almost stooping to his feet. His ear fancied that the murmur
which he heard—that of the breeze at dalliance with
the lofty firs along the steep—was the solemn murmur of
the contiguous ocean.

“I will ascend it while they all sleep. It cannot be
many hours ere I reach the top—ere dawn I must; and
none then may deprive me of the sight. Why should I

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pause? It is not for me now to sleep. I feel no weariness,
but that of this delay; and have no fears. St. John, of the
Wilderness, be my strength and guide! Help me, thou that
hast so long given me thy help, so that this goodly work
of mine, which thou hast greatly favoured, may be made
secure at last! Let me behold the glowing empire which
shall make me forget the scorn of women and the persecutions
of men—which shall enable me to triumph, so that I
may look on the messenger of fate with a smile, and at
least give to Spain the empire which she will not let me
keep! I will go forward—this night, at least, is my
own.”

The tread of a light footstep behind him, touched his
ear, and arrested the soliloquy of the speaker. He turned
and beheld the youth Pedro, his secretary.

“Ha! boy! Is it thou? thou shouldst be at rest. Art
thou not weary? thou shouldst be! I have seen thee do
better service this day than it seemed to me possible for
thy slender arm to accomplish; and it was my resolution
to rebuke thee for a forwardness against which thou hadst
my counsel in the morning. Why didst thou adventure
thyself so rashly?”

“I but followed thee, Señor Vasco. Thy example was
of more authority than thy precept, when the blood was in
fever, and the arrows of the Indians were goading the most
timid forward. Could I have thought at such moment of
thy morning counsel I had not so erred; but, in truth, the
hour of thought had gone by, and I found myself in action,
and the action over, ere I thought again. I trust, as my
offence was involuntary, that it will be forgiven me.”

Courage is any thing but a fault in the eye of the courageous,
and the answer of the chief was approving.

“But thou shouldst be weary now, Pedro—why dost
thou not seek thy rest?”

“It is, señor, because I have something of thy yearning
to-night which keeps me wakeful. I heard from the guide
given us by Ponca, that yonder summit would give us
glimpses of that great southern sea, and though I deemed
not we should gaze upon it this night, I yet desired to
place my feet upon the mountain which stood in our pathway.”

“And how knowest thou, boy, that we shall behold it?”

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replied the chief sharply, “didst thou hear my words ere I
saw thee—didst thou hearken to my secret speech?”

The answer of the youth was prompt and rather rapidly
spoken. There was something in the tones of his voice,
which seemed to denote vexation at the suspicion which
his coming had incurred.

“I heard thee, señor, but with no intent to hear. I
knew not that thou wast near me, till I heard the sound of
thy voice, and I then drew nigh that thou shouldst see me.
I heard nothing but thy expressed determination to ascend
the mountain this night, and thought to pray of thee permission
to go up with thee.”

The entreaty of the boy to accompany him in his proposed
adventure, at once opened the eyes of Vasco Nunez
to the full extent of the wild undertaking which he had
contemplated.

“What!” he said, “thou hast heard then that mad resolution.
I were a boy, Pedro, like thyself, of little wit,
were I to go on this adventure or suffer thee to do so. The
impatient, yearning spirit got the better of the sober reason;
and, perchance, hadst thou not come to awaken my wiser
thoughts, I had in truth, set forth on a journey over ways
unknown, perchance thickly spread with abysses and
cavernous descents, the wild tiger at my head and the
brown serpent with his deadly venom at my foot. Now
that thou cravest the adventure, I see all its danger. We
had fallen in the dim light among pitfalls to which day
never comes—among dens of savage beasts, and nests of
coiling reptiles—and this danger, for no sort of necessity
or use, since the dawn of another day will bring with it the
triumph and the prospect which we cannot now lose, and
which we should but imperfectly behold at night. It is the
boyish impatience of my blood which would have led me
to a folly such as might be becoming in thee, but would be
inex cusable to one having my experience, and the charge
of all these brave soldiers on my hands. Let us to our
rest, boy, subduing our yearning passions for this long
night as best we may.”

At the cool and bracing hour of daybreak, the little army
of Vasco Nunez was in motion. The steeps before their
eyes which the chief, in the heated mood of his spirit,
would have undertaken without guide or companion in the
past night, frowned rudely and discouragingly upon them;

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and the toil, for men already so much wayworn, promised
to be neither light in burden nor limited in extent. The
gloomy forests which, in the starlight of the previous
evening seemed small, if not softened, now opposed a
continual succession of difficulties to their forward progress.
But warmed by the encouraging hopes set before
them in the glowing language of their leader, they persevered
amid their difficulties, and about ten o'clock in the
day, they emerged from the close and difficult forests, and
found themselves upon a level and lofty region of the
mountain. Here the guides pointed out an eminence beyond
them, from which they declared the Great Sea to be
visible. “Upon this,” in the language of the historian,
“Vasco Nunez commanded his followers to halt, and that
no man should stir from his place. Then, with a palpitating
heart, he ascended above the bare mountain top.
On reaching the summit, the long desired prospect burst
upon his view. It was as if a new world were unfolded
to him, separated from all hitherto known by this mighty
barrier of mountains. Below him extended a vast chaos
of rock and forest, and green savannahs and wandering
streams, while, at a distance, the waters of the promised
ocean glittered in the morning sun.”

The heart of Vasco Nunez was in the same instant
lifted and humbled within him. Lifted, as he felt his
triumph, at least secure, and the dream of his soaring genius
realized at last. Humbled, as he surveyed the mighty
and magnificent maze before his eyes—the tangled and
unbroken forest—the boundless and waveless ocean, given
as it were by an indulgent Providence, in compliance with
the prayers of a mortal—one still governed by earthly desires,
and those vain and vexing passions which seem so
utterly unbecoming to the heart whose ambition grasps at
the golden honours of immortality.

“God! I thank thee!” he exclaimed chokingly, as he
sank upon his knees and pressed his lips to the now consecrated
earth. “I thank thee that thou hast honoured me
thus, in giving to my eyes the first look at a realm of wild
and ocean, never before vouchsafed to European. Merciful
and mighty Father, thou hast favoured and blessed me
with a wondrous favour, and most base and wretched were
my spirit should it henceforward turn away from thy paths
and be traitor to the sacred trusts which thou hast confided

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to my care. Here, I pray thee, Father of the heavens
and of the earth—of the new oceans and lands, no less
than of those long known to thy working people—I pray
thee so to strengthen me in thy grace, that I may faithfully
perform my trusts, and deliver them up without hurt
or blemish, whenever it may please thee to require them
at my hands. Here, alone, in thy presence, with my people
afar, I pray thy forgiveness for all and sundry the
errors of my thoughts and heart; those errors wherein I
have suffered, nay, counselled them, to follow me, when
perchance, it was my better part, as in duty bound to my
earthly sovereign, to have awaited his messenger in Darien
and forborne this labour of greatest peril but still greater
triumph. Let it be, I pray thee, Father above all, still a
trust given to my hands, to perfect this mighty conquest;
toiling still in that spirit which shall tend the more perfectly
to thy honour, to the majesty and greatness of my
country, and to the human improvement of the miserable
heathen who runs savage through this land.”

Such are some of the sentiments, expressed in more specific
language, which were preferred to the throne of grace
from that wild mountain peak of Darien. Never was the
true religion of peace and goodwill to men, and humble
allegiance to the only true sovereign, more completely felt,
and more devoutly and earnestly expressed, than by that
single hearted conqueror, in that solemn presence—standing
above the waters of that strange ocean—an ocean
whose slumbers the eye of the European had never before
seen, nor his footsteps broken—which had striven for ages
with the tempest, or given back unnoted melodies to the
lingering zephyr, without a single murmur of its waves
falling upon the ears of those whose busy prows penetrated
to all other waters, and whose angry thunders
affrighted the slumbering echoes of every other land. Having
prayed, Vasco Nunez turned once more to his people
and summoned them to approach him from below.

“Behold, my friends,” said he, “that glorious sight
which we have sought so long, and with such great toil.
Let us give thanks to God, that he hath vouchsafed this
great honour and advantage to us. Let us implore that he
will still guide us in our path of conquest—that he will
give to our arms the sea and land which lie before us, and
in which Christian has never yet set foot to preach the

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Evangelist. For yourselves, be you, as you have hitherto
been, faithful and true, and, by Christ's favour, ye shall become
the most fortunate Spaniards that have yet beheld the
Indies—ye shall have the advantage and eternal glory of
all that is here discovered, conquered, and made convert
to the holy Catholic faith.”

Solemnly the Spaniards promised to follow their gallant
leader to death. The priest lifted up his voice, the people
knelt as by an unanimous impulse, and with one voice
chanted aloud the usual hymn of Spanish discovery—Te
Deum Laudamus. A cross, hewn from a gigantic tree,
was raised upon the spot whence the ocean was first beheld,
and in the name, and for the promotion, of the holy
religion he professed, Vasco Nunez took possession of the
lands he stood on and the seas which he surveyed, as part
of the dominions of the sovereigns of Castile, to whom he
renewed his oath of allegiance in presence of all his men.
All the usual forms practised by Europeans in making
great and unwonted discoveries, were rigidly performed on
this occasion, by which the authority of Spain was supposed
to be rendered legitimate in the regard of other nations.
A mound of stone was raised, inscriptions set up against
the venerable trees of the mountain, and a record made of
the solemn event, and signed by all present. This great
discovery took place on the 26th day of September, 1513,
and was the most memorable event that had yet occurred
in the history of the new world. “The imagination,”
says Irving, with a pencil that appropriately adorns whatever
it touches, and of the guiding lines of which we have
freely availed ourselves in the progress of this illustrative
romance—“The imagination delights to picture forth the
splendid confusion of their thoughts, as this boundless field
of conjecture opened before the wondering Spaniards.
Was this the great Indian Ocean, studded with precious
islands, abounding in gold, in gems, and spices, and bordered
by the gorgeous cities and wealthy marts of the East?
or was it some lonely sea, locked up in the embraces of
savage uncultivated continents, and never traversed by a
bark, except the light pirogue of the Indian?” Time has
solved this inquiry, but imagination has a wing more fleet
and vigorous, more daring and more upward, which ever
advances before the slow but certain progress of time; and

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worlds beyond, and empires of a civilization no less perfect,
but unlike that of the European, grew up before the
eyes of the Spaniards who surveyed that glorious ocean,
bordering its tributary waves, and sending abroad their
fleets of wealth, their stores of treasure, gems of a strange
brightness, jewels of unnamed character and richness, bartering
with rival nations in trade, or striving with them for
supremacy. The no less excursive but better taught vision
of Vasco Nunez, saw much more of the truth, and through
a medium no less glorious and inviting. Already—the waters
of that new sea scarce beheld—his daring spirit meditated
to embark upon them. Already the realms of Atabalipa
were unveiling their splendours to his piercing gaze,—and
Imagination, the great surveyor and architect of man, passing
the broad realms of ocean that lay between, and throwing
open the golden mansions of the sun, had taken her
seat upon the lofty throne of the Incas.

“Nations! nations! strange nations, and a wondrous
people; not savages—not slaves,—yet both. How they
pass,—how they rise before me. Wings now,—wings
now, Francisco,—these are all,—all that we want—to win
empires more wonderful than all that Colon ever gave to
Castile.”

The hand of the conqueror was outstretched, as he spoke,
towards the golden regions of Peru. With gloating eyes
the savage soldier Pizarro, who stood beside him the while,
followed the direction of his finger, and listened to the enthusiastic
outpourings of a thought, which he remembered
in long days after, both to his glory and his shame.

“Yes,” continued the chief, speaking to the astrologer,
“could we now fly, Micer Codro,—could we but follow
the swift thought and the delighted fancy, what wonders
should we win—the spoils of time, locked up in the solitude—the
wonders of ages, unnoted in the waste. But,
even though it be not given to us to win these worlds, this
ocean is ours. This, at least, is mine. It cannot be denied
me this crowning glory, and whether I stand or fall,
whether I live or die, whether my enemies overcome me or
I baffle them, the royal Ferdinand himself, misled by the
malice of Fonseca, cannot wrest this possession from my
grasp. The name of Vasco Nunez belongs as firmly to
this mighty rock on which we stand, as the rock to the

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mightier sea, that sleeps like a giant at its foot. My heart
is light, my friends—very light,—for the triumph of my
soul is sure! Give me your hands, Micer Codro, Francisco,
Colmenares—and you too, boy—give me your hand
too, Pedro. Forget you the last night, boy, and your
dreaming folly, and mine? Let that be secret, Pedro.
Men would laugh in mockery did they know what children
we had been, though for a moment only. Give me
your hands, my friends. We shall all sleep soundly and
happily to-night.”