University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
THE HEART SICK WITH HOPE DEFERRED—THE EAGLE PINES IN
HIS PRISON.

But Vasco Nunez was not altogether deserted by his
friends, in the gloom of his evil and overshadowing fortunes.
With the first intelligence of his situation, the faithful
astrologer sought, but was denied, access to his dungeon.
The harsh mandate of Pedrarias had consigned him to utter
solitude, no less than imprisonment. Indignation filled the
soul of the venerable old man, but reflection as to the
modes of redress and relief only taught him his own helplessness.
There was but a single resort left him, and that
lay in an appeal to Quevedo, the chief church dignitary in
Santa Maria, who had been sent from Spain as Bishop of
Darien. Some conferences had taken place between them
already, and a sort of intimacy established, which led the
astrologer to hope for some favour at his hands, and that
he might move the interference of the prelate in behalf of
his friend. Nor was his hope unfounded. His eloquent
yet unvarnished narrative of the great deeds of Vasco Nunez,
his perspicuous array of the noble virtues of his mind,
and the great courage and hardy energies of his body,
awakened the admiration of the bishop, and aroused all his
sympathies. He took the matter in hand, went instantly
to the petty tyrant, who had already shown so much hypocrisy
and injustice in his brief career of authority, and demanded,
as a right, those indulgences for the prisoner,
which could not be withheld, without wanton cruelty, from

even the convicted felon, and which placed on the same
level with him, one who, according to his showing, was not
only not likely to be unconvicted, but actually deserving
the highest rewards in the gift of the Spanish monarch.

“Beware what you do in this business, Don Pedrarias,”
said the bishop, continuing his exhortation, “if this which
I tell you be true, you cannot wrong this gentleman, or
wrong him with impunity. You cannot keep him in
bonds—you must liberate him,—nay, more—it may become
needful that you should do him honour.”

The governor was troubled by what he heard, but his
pride would not suffer him to make such a concession. He
made that one, however, which was demanded of him, and
granted permission that the friends of Vasco Nunez should
visit him in his confinement. The good prelate did not
stop here. He carried his friendly offices still farther, and
having considerable influence over the Licentiate Espinosa,
to whom, as alcalde mayor, the investigation was confided,
the examination of the case was commenced in a manner
most auspicious to the hero. The judge went largely into
the subject, reviewed all his discoveries, and put on record
a true representation of the nature and extent of his great
services. The good bishop was delighted at the confirmation
of his statement, and declared his exultation to the
governor, to whom the facts brought nothing but vexation
and alarm.

“This examination,” said he, “proves hourly more and
more favourable to the Señor Vasco. Truly, it is my wonder
that mortal man could have done so much, under the most
favouring circumstances; and he hath done it against the
most adverse. You will do well, Don Pedrarias, to discharge
the Señor Vasco from custody, for, I tell you, this
investigation will lift him beyond reach in the admiration
of the king, who will regard with corresponding ill-favour,
the man who hath treated him so hardly.”

“Never!” exclaimed Pedrarias, almost furious with rage
—“Thou art deceived in this man, Quevedo. He is a base,
black-hearted, malignant traitor, whom I will confound.
Thou hast heard but half the story—but one side of it.
Thine eyes shall be opened ere many days, when thou wilt
regard him as I do—as one deserving of the axe, which he
shall surely feel.”

“Don Pedrarias,” replied the bishop, mildly, but with

solemnity—“thou speakest in the language of passion and
hate, rather than of justice. Be warned; all this I will be
required to repeat of thee in Spain, if wrong be done to
this brave man.”

The warning, though it prompted the governor to more
reserve in his anger, did not lead to any abatement of it.
Alarmed at the course which the inquiry was taking,
and fearing, as the prelate assured him, that, when made
known in Spain, it would only redound to the elevation
and honour of the man he had resolved to ruin, he stimulated
with increased earnestness that dishonourable course
of conduct, of which a sample has been given, in the brief
interview recorded between Pizarro and the secretary.
Through the means of this and other agents, he suborned
certain base followers of Ojeda and Nicuesa to give testimony
against their late commander, of the kind required.
But this testimony failed entirely, being triumphantly answered
and rebutted by the unsolicited evidence of a hundred
others. The dishonest testimony was spurned by the
alcalde and the bishop, and the active course pursued by
the governor, in his interference with the designs of justice,
brought down upon him the rebuke of the bishop and the
solemn protest of the alcalde. They acquitted Vasco Nunez
of all the crimes which had been laid to his charge.
The fury of Pedrarias at this acquittal knew no bounds.
Haughty and insolent by nature and education, and pre-resolved
against the noble gentleman whom he succeeded,
the opposition of the court which tried the prisoner to the
evident will and wish of his oppressor, aroused all his anger,
which did not keep within bounds even in the presence
of the reverend prelate.

“You have decided that this man is innocent, when I
have shown you by good proofs that he is guilty. Think
you I will confirm your decision? No! I will keep the
beggar, where he should be, in chains, until the brigantine
sails for Spain, when I will send him thither to receive the
reward of his crimes.”

“Do so, and you destroy yourself, Pedrarias,” replied
the bishop, mildly;—“send him to Spain, you send him
to triumph—put chains on his limbs, and Ferdinand himself
takes them off, and may put them on the limbs of him
who dared to do so monstrous an offence, no less to greatness
than to humanity. The clamour of the nation, once

possessed of the facts which may be given-them by the
licentiate, or myself, or an hundred others, will compel the
king, if he would have it otherwise himself, to restore
Vasco Nunez to the government of Darien, and give him
higher honours than you could possibly deprive him of.
Do thus madly if thou wilt, and thou committest a suicide
of thy own sway, and destroyest thyself for ever.”

The angry governor was startled by this new aspect of
the matter, which he could not deny was a reasonable one;
and an unlooked-for ally came to the assistance of the
Bishop in his prosecution of the claims of the hero. This
was no less a person than Doña Isabel, the wife of Pedrarias
and mother of the capricious coquette of Santo Domingo,
the lovely but heartless Señora Teresa. Doña
Isabel, who had received from the Bishop a true version
of the deeds of Vasco Nunez, and had listened with more
faith and charity than her lord, felt nothing but respect
and sympathy for the discoverer. She joined her prayers
and pleadings to those of the Bishop, and, though unsuccessful
in effecting his release, her interposition had some
effect in mitigating the probable severities of the governor.
Unwilling to set him free, and equally afraid of the consequences
of punishing him or sending him to Spain, in opposition
to the decree of the court which had acquitted him,
the perplexities of Pedrarias ended in leaving him where he
was—in prison—until other events forced upon him a different
policy, in which it will be difficult to say whether the
good or evil star of the conqueror prevailed.

Meanwhile, however, secure in what had already been
obtained from fortune, the soul of Vasco Nunez remained
serene, and though sad, it may be, at the denial and restraint
put upon its energies, it was at least as untroubled
by fear as it was utterly unconscious of any guilt, such as
had been charged against him. When the result of the
trial, and the resolution of Pedrarias, by which he sought
to baffle its acquittal, were made known to him by the
astrologer, the communication scarcely awakened any emotion—none
at least, was visible.

“The malignant sign is in the ascendant, Micer Codro.”
he answered with a smile—then, with features instantly
changing to an expression of intense gravity, he concluded
by asking for Careta.

“She only awaits my permission to come to thee.”

“How! thou hast not refused her, Micer Codro?”

“No!—I have but restrained her. Thou knowest we
were all refused by Pedrarias, and but for Quevedo we had
not had permission now. But for him, indeed, thou hadst
been condemned. The alcalde is a youth of feeble spirit
and vain temper, and fickle as the wind. He had gone
against thee but for the authority of the bishop.”

“Ay, ay! it matters not—but wherefore keep Careta
from me? Thou knowest, Micer Codro, that she hath
none to help her in Darien but Vasco Nunez; and the
poor Indian would find but small kindness from Pedrarias
and the brawling cavaliers about him, if they but knew how
close is the tie which I hold with her.”

“It was this thought which moved me to restrain her.
Wouldst thou have had her go to Pedrarias for permission
to share with thee thy prison as thy wife? however
wanting the decree of the church, still, my son, in the
eyes of God and of thy own heart—thy wife.”

“Now God forbid that she should declare this thing to
Pedrarias,” was the devout exclamation of the cavalier.
The astrologer misunderstood the character of the exclamation
and the fear from which it arose.

“Ay, he had spurned her with his foot,” said the old
man. But, at that moment, the only thought of Vasco
Nunez, by a strange and mysterious will of his nature,
that rose in utter defiance of the dictates of his reason, was
of Teresa Davila. It was from Pedrarias, as the father of
the proud beauty, and not as the tyrannical governor of
Darien, that he would have withheld the knowledge of his
commerce with the Indian damsel; and, if this secret could
not be kept, at least, the avoidance of any obtrusion of it
upon his notice.

“She followed thee to the prison door when she first
heard of thy arrest, but Ayora drove her from the entrance.
She would have gone thence to Pedrarias but that I stayed
her on the way. Truly, my son, she hath been as one of
the most wretched among the wretched, until I bade her
await my return this morning, and then I would bring her
to thy dungeon.”

“Poor Careta! It were an evil hour for thee, that which
beholds me on the scaffold. Micer Codro hast thou seen
aught of the boy Pedro?”

“Little. He hath been wandering among the hills. He

loves not the crowd—these gay flaunting cavaliers from
Spain have their sports and tilts daily, yet the boy looks
not on them. He is ever in the solitude of the rocks and
forests.”

“He is another who would lose were I to perish. And
thou too, Micer Codro—”

“Speak no more of sorrows, my son,” replied the old
man, “thy heart grows sad with their contemplation, and
thou should'st hope, as thy friends strive always, for the
better days of fortune. In thy death I should feel my own
as desirable if not nigh. In thy loss I lose the chosen object
of my old and lonely affections—the one companion
to whom my heart has clung, only, for many years. Then
should the doom be a welcome one, shadowed out by the
living stars, many years agone; and mine eyes should turn
down the path whence the grim spectre of death should
come, with a painful solicitude that he might come quickly
and bring me to the final place of rest.”

“Thou hast seen thy own death in the stars, Micer
Codro?”

“Ay, my son, as clearly written as if the hand was
even now upon the wall beside thee. Many times have I
beheld the scene which mine eyes are to survey ere they
close upon the things of earth for ever. A green and
lovely islet shall yield me rest in my dying moment. The
sea shall roll around me with a falling chime and a murmur
that shall soothe me into the sacred slumber, even as the
low song of the mother calms the feverish mood of the
infant. Under the shade of the palm-tree will my form
repose, and the wing of a bird shall pass before mine eyes,
wheeling around me at a great distance in the heavens. It
is my fancy, my son, that thou, and the image of this noble
bird, shall be the same; for now do I know, that thou
shalt go before me into the dim world of gigantic shadows.”

“Ha! thou knowest this then?” exclaimed the hero,
in tones softened almost to a whisper, while his hand
rested gently upon the arm of the astrologer.

“Ay, Vasco—it is written—I know that thou wilt die
many days before me.”

The astrologer was conscious only of an increasing
pressure of the fingers which rested on his wrist, but the
subject of this destiny neither started nor betrayed emotion.

His eyes were fixed with a calm attention upon the white
venerable beard of the astrologer, and the natural thought
in his mind was one of wonder that a man of his great age
should speak with so much confidence of surviving a
youth and vigour such as he felt alike in soul and person.

“It may be as thou sayest, my father. Indeed, my
present position would seem to confirm thy prediction. He
has little security for life from hour to hour, under the
sway of one who is as little moved by justice as by fear
and affection. But he is always secure against the sting of
tyranny who is above the fear of death. Enough—my
father, wilt thou suffer this poor girl to come to me now?
My heart chides me with her apprehensions—my own
troubles have led me to give but little heed to hers; and,
by the Blessed Mother, the girl hath but too much need of
care, she a Pagan, among those who treat a Christian as if
he were one. She were better at Coyba, and, with the first
show of a better fortune, thither shall she go. Micer
Codro, I would see thee at evening. There are thoughts
working in my mind of mighty import, and of these I
would speak to thee. If Pedrarias suffers me to live, he
cannot long keep me in bondage. He will need me ere
long. He is no commander for this people, and he brings
none who can hope to be successful. My deliverance is
sure from this dungeon ere very long, whether my chains
be removed by the friend or the executioner; and if by the
friend, then will it be less easy for Pedrarias to keep me
from conquest than to keep me from freedom. Of this,
to-night. It is a marvel Pedro seeks me not:—the young
love not ill fortune:—yet, suffer Careta to come to me.
She is true—ay, and innocent, and should not be forbidden.”

The tumult of joy with which the poor Indian girl
bounded into the presence of the conqueror touched his
heart to the centre.

“My poor Careta, how they have made thee suffer.
Hast thou feared for me? Didst thou think they had
taken me from thee for ever? What didst thou fear?”

The inquiry of the conqueror brought her back to all her
terrors and griefs.

“Oh, my lord,” she exclaimed, looking around her, as
if she dreaded the presence of an enemy at every turn,
“they will not do thee harm now. The wise man, who

looks by night from the hill-top at the stars—he loves thee
too—he says they will do thee no more harm. He tells
me, they will bid thee go out of the dungeon very soon.
And then, my lord—”

She paused, and again looked around her with an air of
apprehensive caution. Her words, spoken in whispers,
were renewed:—

“And then, my lord, we will steal away by night time,
and go to Coyba. We will hide where the Spaniards do
not come. There are hollows among the hills at Coyba,
and high places, where the water tumbles. There the
woods are thick. The tangled briar is around it—the wild
grape is knotted every where among the small shrub trees,
and the soldier cannot see between the leaves of the thicket,
and thou wilt lie in the shade, and pluck the blue sweet
berries that cluster over thy head. When they come to
seek thee in anger, thou shalt hide in those places, and I
will bring thee cassava, and the oily nuts, and tell thee
when thy people are gone. Oh, my lord, it will be a sweet
place when we are there, for thou wilt be safe, and the
poor Careta will be with thee to watch thee all the while,
and to be happy in thy love.”

The plan of the Indian girl, expressed in her imperfect
Spanish, at once touched the heart and amused the mind
of Vasco Nunez.

“I think thou lov'st me, Careta.”

“Oh, do I not, my lord—do I not? Oh, I was so foolish,
like some idle bird that had nothing to do, but to sing
in foolish song, until I loved thee; and now—and now,
my lord, it is so sweet even to weep, and I care not to sing
now any more; and my heart is happy only when I can
think of my lord, and be sorry when he is sorry, and
be ready to die when the bad men are angry against him.
But when they set thee free, we will not fear the bad men.
We will fly from them to Coyba, and my people shall be
thy people, and they will serve thee better than thy own.”

Fondly the chief caressed her, while he replied, in
mournful language:

“Nay, Careta, thou shalt fly to Coyba, and I will come
thither to see thee at seasons. But I must not leave my
people for thine. I must live with the Spaniard, even
though he hates and may seek to destroy me.”

“Ah!” replied the girl, with a tender reproachfulness

of voice and manner,—“did not Careta leave her people
for the people of my lord? Careta loves my lord more
than all the people of Coyba. She will not leave him.
When my lord would send away the poor Indian girl that
loves him, let him bid the soldier smite her with the sharp
sword. It will be then good for her to die.”

“Thou shalt stay with me to the last!” was the reply.
“Victim or conqueror, chained or free, thou shalt stay
with me, Careta, while it shall please thee to do so. Thou,
at least, art true. If thou art so willing to die for me, it will
be the kinder fate to suffer thee to die with me.”

“But we will not die—thou wilt not die;—the old man
who looks upon the stars,—he tells me thou shalt very
soon be free.”

“Death is freedom!” was the reflection at that moment
of the gloomy chief, but he suffered it not to be heard from
his lips. The hopefulness of heart which the astrologer
had encouraged in the simple Indian, seemed to make her
so happy, that Vasco Nunez felt that it would be cruel
to impair the impressions which she had received on
this subject: and his words were uttered to strengthen
her hope, though, wearied by his own mental excitements,
and that restraint which is the most humiliating of all influences
to the restless and impetuous nature, and made somewhat
gloomy by the predictions of the astrologer to himself,
he had little faith in any of his own promises. Still,
she lacked the art of seeing into his. Her own heart, like
the rivulet that runs along the wayside, revealed all its
depths at a single glance to every eye—was it strange that
she should be satisfied with the surface of all other hearts?
We smile at the guileless and unsuspecting nature, and yet
it has always the best chance of happiness, since the enduring
jealousies of a distrusting heart are always a greater
evil, than the disappointment and sorrow springing up in
the betrayed one. Sorrow may be subdued by time, and
circumstances may soften even grief into sweetness; but
distrust hardens with years, and the heart becomes a mass
of petrifaction, ere the body falls into that corruption which
the melting tendernesses of the affections could alone make
endurable to life. With the inconsiderateness of a child,
the Indian girl forgot all fears for him, and all her own
griefs, not to say all concern of the future, while she hung
upon his neck in the dungeon. Vasco Nunez was not

insensible to her caresses; but though he looked fondly in
her face, and spoke in a tone of mournful sweetness to her
ears, yet his eyes watched, with an inevitable constancy,
the iron bars of the windows; and his ears detected, for
ever more mingling with the accents of her love, the heavy
tread of the soldier in the court of the prison, and the occasional
ring of his arquebus on the rocky earth. The eagle
may not heed the scream of his mate, as she proclaims her
freedom among the hills without, while he is vainly dashing
his wings against the bars of his cage.