University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.
STORM SUBSIDING—GLEAMS OF SUNSHINE.

The first intelligence of the second arrest of Vasco Nunez
brought the astrologer to the dwelling of the bishop of
Darien, and the latter, immediately after, to the presence of
Pedrarias. The good bishop was not less astonished than
vexed by this new indignity—one that seemed as utterly
unaccountable as shocking. He resolved to keep no terms
with the governor, but to denounce his conduct to his
sovereign with all the harshness which he thought due to offences
that he now could only ascribe to a mean and reckless
jealousy of the superior talents and popularity of his rival.
He found the governor in a fury of wrath, which savoured
much more of madness than of even extraordinary indignation.
Before he would hear the bishop, his lips broke forth
into clamours which for a while prevented any conference.

“Thou hast pleaded for this arch-traitor—thou hast
stepped between him and the just punishment to which,
but for thee, I had doomed him long ago—and now see what
has come of it. This virtuous man, this loyal captain, this
great hero and wondrous genius—this lamb whom the wolf
was seeking to destroy—he whom, in the warmth of thy
benevolence, thou hast styled thy son—thy noble son!—
ho! what canst thou say for him now? what is thy new
plea? what thy pretence? Methinks thou shouldst now
be silent, Quevedo, and forbear all thy opposition to the
course of justice. Thou wilt surely now give me way to
do with this traitor what I please.”

“Of a certainty I will do no such thing, Don Pedrarias.
Even were it not hostile to the general purport of justice,

that thou or any man should do as it pleaseth him in
his evil mood to the prisoner in his bonds, or the subject
within his sway, thy ungovernable temper at this moment
would be sufficient cause to move me to resistance to
thy will. With such a mood upon thee, it were impossible
for thee to do justice—nay, it were not possible for thee to
do aught, with this spirit, which would not be the most
rank injustice. What is it now that thou hast, in the
fever of thy hate, brought against this persecuted man?”

“It is even as I thought. Still, thou thwartest me—still
thou givest help and countenance to the traitor. What
will convince thee, my Lord Bishop of Darien? What
evidence wouldst thou need for the conviction of Vasco
Nunez? Wilt thou have the blessed angels from heaven?
Will Michael and Gabriel and Raphael suffice? Perchance
the Blessed Virgin might answer thee—but, surely, nothing
short of miracle will avail against thy forejudging favour in
this disloyal man's behalf.”

“Beware, Don Pedrarias, that thy madness leads thee
not to blasphemy. It may be that I shall be compelled to
show thee a commission which gives me, as a brother of
the holy office, power even above that of the Governor of
Darien.”

“Dost thou threaten me too, Quevedo, in behalf of thy
favourite?”

“I warn thee, Pedrarias—I warn thee against thy own
passions, which lead thee to wrong me no less than this
man. He is no favourite, only so far as he deserves
my favour. Show me that he merits punishment at thy
hands, and I will speak no more in his behalf. Until
this be done, the passion which thou showest in speaking
against him, is a proof of thy hate and not of his
crime. The judge who pronounces sentence against the
prisoner, having a burning wrath in his heart such as now
works in thine, is the devil's officer and does the work
of hell only. Thou darest not sit in judgment on Vasco
Nunez, hating him as thou dost.”

The energetic language of the bishop at once awed and
irritated the governor anew.

“By the blessed cross, my lord bishop, thou wouldst
have this man change places with me. Thou wouldst
make me criminal like him. What! Can it be that we

may not hate the offender because of his offence? If I
loathe this Vasco Nunez, it is because of his deeds.”

“I fear me, because of his good and great deeds, Don
Pedrarias, since I have seen no other of his performance,
and thou tell'st me of none. Wherefore hast thou again
thrust him into prison?”

“For a newly-discovered treason—one greater than all
the rest. What if I tell thee that he hath secretly despatched
his secretary to Cuba—that he hath brought an
armed vessel into port, and, but that I had timely warning
of his designs, had ere now, perchance, raised the banner
of open treason in Darien, and seized upon the province?”

“A province which thou, in thy sovereign's despite,
withhold'st from his command. But who gave thee this
timely warning?”

“Nay,—this matters nothing. Enough that the proof
is to be found in the fact itself. The vessel is already in
the river of Darien, filled with arms and men, who wanted
only the lead of the traitor to seize upon the government.
But his head or mine before that hour.”

“Thou hast moved rashly, Don Pedrarias, and greatly
do I fear that these doings of thine cannot soon be amended.
Some evil counsellor, who hates Vasco Nunez, and thou
no less, is busy to use thee for his destruction. Hast thou
seen this brigantine—hast thou numbered the men she
brings? Thou dost not deny to the adelantado the right
to bring a brigantine into Darien, having proper objects!”

“Ay,—there it is,—but the objects, as I have shown
thee, are not proper. Have I not told thee that he purposes
to seize upon the government?”

“Thou hast said this thing, but this I believe not. Thou
hast been misled, and but that thou fearest this chief, thou
hadst not so readily hearkened to a story which the facts
themselves disprove. This brigantine is a little bark
scarce large enough to bear an hundred men, and what
would such a force do with thy command in Darien.
Truly, Don Pedrarias, such fear as this shows unseemly in
a commander of such repute in valiancy as thou.”

The swarthy cheeks of the governor grew fiery red as
he replied—

“Dost thou think I fear this man, Quevedo, or is it fitting
that the teacher of peace should taunt the warrior with
words of such scorn as thine? I tell thee, Quevedo, that

but for the duty which I owe my sovereign, which forbids
that I should expose his subjects to unnecessary risk of life,
it were my pleasure to set this traitor free, to bid him
bring on his hireling soldiers, and, foot to foot and face
to face, challenge him to make good against me in mortal
strife, the skill and prowess which it is the boast of his
followers are so much beyond the possession of all other
Spanish cavaliers.”

“I were loth, Don Pedrarias, for thy own sake, that
thou shouldst make so wild a venture.”

“I tell thee,” cried the other, angrily, “thou knowest
me not,—and whatever may be thy fears, I have none.
This moment could it be—ha! what sounds are those,
Quevedo?—Doth it not seem like the tread of martial
men?—And those noises?—they seem like the shouts of
soldiers.”

A rushing sound, like that of a swollen and upwardheaving
sea, came to their ears at this moment, and a
few minutes sufficed to answer the inquiry of the governor.
The cries and clamours below increased, and rushing into
the presence with their drawn swords his affrighted guards
announced the first outbreak of that movement in behalf of
the imprisoned hero, the first preparatory steps for which
we have already followed. Hastily putting on his armour,
Don Pedrarias, who lacked any virtue but courage, put
himself instantly forward, and commanding his officers to
their several places, prepared, as well as the sudden necessity
would admit, to meet the attack of the antagonists.

“Thou seest now!” he cried to the archbishop, with a
scowl of bitter reproach. “Wouldst thou have more proof
of this man's treason than those shouts contain? Dost
thou hear the cries—the insolent threats of these scum
—ha!”

But the bishop was not without his answer.

“Nay, I see no treason of Vasco Nunez in this—I see
nothing but the indignation of his soldiers, driven to fury
at the injustice and the cruelty with which thou hast treated
a popular favourite. It is my wonder that thou hast
not seen this spirit before—I warned thee of its presence.”

“Thou wilt believe nothing!” furiously exclaimed the
governor as he rushed below.

Pedrarias fearlessly put himself at the head of the troops

which had been hastily gathered to his help; and though
he beheld his dwelling environed on every hand, he had
no other thought than one of fight and defiance. The two
parties were nearly equal in strength. The insurgents
were less numerous, but they were men—old soldiers, who
delighted in the prospect not merely of releasing their
leader, but of obtaining a triumph over the more gay and
gallantly-equipped soldiers of Pedrarias. Thus stood the
parties, both ready for blows,—swords drawn-and matches
lighted, and the flame of civil war about to blaze up in a
colony, upon which the vengeful Indian looked down from
the surrounding heights, with the eager solicitude of the
vulture in waiting for his prey. The wisdom of the archbishop,
at this moment, interposed to appease the tumult
and dissipate the storm. He advanced boldly between the
two parties, and implored, with hands uplifted, a brief
pause, in which he proffered himself as a mediator between
them. This was granted, and he drew the still angry but
bewildered governor aside. He pointed out to him, not
merely the injustice of his proceedings—which the other
would not admit—but the evil to the colony of strife
among its citizens—a strife which, sooner or later, would
place both parties at the mercy of the watchful and implacable
savages.

“There is but one remedy for all this—set Vasco Nunez
free.”

“Never!—His head or mine.”

“Madness, Pedrarias—this is the very insanity of hate.
Hear me. Why persist in driving a man to become your
deadliest enemy, when it is in your power to bind him to
your side as your firmest friend.”

“Impossible, Quevedo! This man hates me, and has
ever hated me from the first, and will always hate me as
one who hath superseded him in office and driven him from
power.”

“This is thy jealousy, not his. It was my wonder that,
at thy first coming, he offered thee no resistance, which he
might well have done and safely, since, as it appears afterwards,
our sovereign approved of his authority. This was
thy wonder also. But there are some facts lately come to
my knowledge from the lips of the venerable man, Codro,
the astrologer—”

“A traitor no less than him he serves.”

“Nay, hear me through. This Micer Codro, whom I
hold to be a good though visionary man, hath advised me
of certain facts in the history of Vasco Nunez that fully
account to my mind for his singular forbearance towards
thee.”

“What facts?”

“Know you that he hath once sought your daughter
Teresa in marriage?”

“Ha! Well! Thou know'st this?”

“Ay, ere Ojeda went on his last voyage—he sought her
in Española; and, as it is said to me by this man, Codro,
he sought her with a passionate admiration having no
bounds, heedless of all interest while in the pursuit, and
sacrificing fame and fortune, and leaving them at waste and
riot, in the sole solicitude of that love which he held for
your daughter.”

“Can this be true?”

“I nothing question of the truth, since it so well accounts
for the wondrous forbearance toward thee amid repeated
wrongs and indignities, of a man known to be no
less daring and valiant than cool, ready, and determined.
Besides, it is the assurance of Codro.”

“And what is thy hope from all this?”

“Thou hast sent thy commands to thy daughter to meet
thee here in Darien. Ere this she is on her way hither.
Give her in marriage to this man whom thou countest thy
enemy, and thus bind him to thy interest and side, thy
friend for ever. You will then,” continued the bishop,
“have a son-in-law of great merit and popularity, an hidalgo
born, and a favourite of the king. You are old, he is
in youth and vigour. While you repose from the toils of
the command which you yet enjoy, he will carry on the
enterprises of the colony, and your family and name must
necessarily share in all the successes and the glory of his
arms. Thou hast no wiser course, Pedrarias, than to give
him Teresa Davila.”

“Can this be done? She hath rejected him, thou sayst.
Holds he his favour, think you, for one who hath scorned
him? Methinks, Quevedo, if rightly I comprehend thy
thought, thou wouldst have me, the father of Teresa Davila,
proffer her maiden hand to one, who will only rejoice
to fling it back from him with disgrace.”

“Thou knowest neither the lover nor the man. Vasco

Nunez is a being too noble to regard woman with other
than noble homage; and he who hath ever loved, as it is
assured me this man hath loved thy daughter, will gladly
forget the rejection and the scorn in the compliance which at
last yields the prize that he hath sought. Be thou not afraid
of this. Suffer me to direct this matter, and peace shall be
restored to thy people, and thou, Pedrarias Davila, shall be
bound in friendship and affection with one, worthy of the
best affection, whom hitherto thou hast treated most unworthily
as well for him as for thyself. Am I free to speak
in this business?”

The stubborn father at last consented, since the plan
opened to him new views of safety from one, whom the
open admiration of the soldiers in Darien, evinced in their
present rebellious attitude, invested with powers too dangerous
in a rival, and too valuable in a friend and ally.
The words of the archbishop, whom they knew to be well
disposed to our hero, quelled his angry followers. He assured
them that he went to set Vasco Nunez free, having
the full consent, nor merely the consent, but the approving
favour and cordial kindness, of the governor, in his behalf.
The insurgents received this news with rejoicing, but when
the bishop called upon them to disband, the youth Pedro
whispered in the ears of Arguello, who was their leader,
not to comply until Vasco Nunez were released and present
to command them; and, resolutely maintaining their ground
and weapons, they patiently resolved to await the result of
the bishop's visit to the prison.

The bishop had done much towards pacification, but
there were some difficulties in the way of his object, about
which, like a wise man, he did not seek to deceive himself.
He had been truly advised by the astrologer, of the
nature of the intercourse between Vasco Nunez and
Teresa Davila, and of the intense admiration with which
that cavalier regarded her. Her rejection of his suit was
not shown to the bishop, without being accompanied by a
farther showing which fully revealed to him her cold, capricious
heartlessness of character, and her utter deficiency,
in all those respects, in which a man, devoted and earnest
like Vasco Nunez, would chiefly desire that his wife
might be complete. The immorality of coupling together
two such persons, did not, however, appear so objectionable
to the bishop, when the policy of the proceeding, in a public

point of view, was the subject of consideration; and the
chief difficulty to his mind, in overcoming the objections
of Vasco Nunez, seemed only such as might arise from
the mortified pride and wounded vanity of the latter, who
might not be so ready to forget his previous rejection.
To smooth his difficulties in this respect, the good bishop
took Micer Codro with him to the prison, though, as they
went, the venerable astrologer listened to the scheme of
his companion with a heartfelt sorrow which his lips did
not fail to declare. Their dialogue, as it unfolded the arguments
for and against the measure—regarded only as a
question of policy on all hands—may be briefly stated as
follows:

“This woman hath no affection for Vasco Nunez,” said
the astrologer—“she hath scorned his prayer in the hour
of his adversity, and is utterly unworthy to be his wife.
What trust can be put in her hands that she would maintain.
She would betray him to his enemies, and be hostile
to his friends. Truly, Quevedo, I fear me, that it is a
firebrand thou wouldst bring for soothing.”

“Nay, Codro, thou speakest of the follies of a giddy
girl with too much solemnity. At her age no woman
knows her own mind, and the thing which is her utter hate
to-day, is her cordial love to-morrow. Woman is a thing
of change, proverbially fickle as the moon. If Teresa refused
Vasco Nunez when he was in adversity in Española,
lo! you, she accepts him now when he is in no less adversity
in Darien.”

“Ay, but there is a policy in it here which had not governed
her action there. It is Don Pedrarias that accepts
Vasco Nunez, not his daughter.”

“Well, let me tell you, Micer Codro, the damsel who
heeds her father will be very apt to heed her husband also.
The woman is a good woman enough—a foolish jade, no
doubt—but young enough to grow wiser, and sensible
enough to grow better. Besides, what avails this discussion?
I see nothing better for our friend, and if he has
ever loved the damsel he will be satisfied surely. If this
plan of mine be not taken, what follows? He lies in
prison under suspicion of treason, which, thy own sense
will perceive, is strongly grounded. Lo! his men in arms
—headed by his copartner in schemes of fortune, and

counselled by his secretary. A vessel suddenly, and at
the very moment of the outbreak here, comes into port
filled with soldiers, acknowledging no authority but
that of Vasco Nunez, lying off from shore as fearing or
intending harm, and, as if counselled by himself, her
troops secretly land, join their arms to the insurgents, and
even now clamour in open rebellion around the dwelling
of the lawful governor. I tell thee but for this, Micer
Codro, we had defied Pedrarias. His hate and suspicions
have now some reasonable grounds, and were he now to
send Vasco Nunez to the block, these events would be
ample justification for the deed before the royal council.
Thou wilt say, there must be blows struck ere it come to
this—these old soldiers will not tamely suffer their leader
to perish. Be it so—and what then? Will it give thee
or me pleasure to see these miserable people cutting each
other's throats. The troops of Vasco Nunez may do harm
to those of Pedrarias, but they cannot serve their chief.
One signal from the governor, and his guards will fling the
head of that brave man into the ranks of those who now
strive for his rescue.”

There was too much staggering truth in this representation
to be withstood by the astrologer.

“Yet,” he spoke musingly, “have I read it in the stars
that his chief danger came from a woman.”

The bishop put his hand upon the arm of the old man
while, smiling, he replied—

“It needs not the stars, Micer Codro, to reveal this
truth to any son of Eve. Thy prediction is history, and
may be read for every man that ever walked beneath the
stars. But if there be reason for thy fear in particular, how
shouldst thou know that Teresa Davila is the woman signified.
At present she is the star of his safety, not of his
destruction, and thou wilt do well to second me in the
goodly work of making peace through her medium between
these two leaders, without which there can be nothing but
war and bloodshed in the land. Thou dost not surely prefer
that these soldiers should strive with each other in
deadly combat, that the murderous ambition of their chiefs
should be gratified with an elevation obtained through blood,
and which, if war be chosen, can only end in the death of
one or both. Thou wilt see how greatly the chances are

against him who is already in chains, and whose life hangs
upon the merest whisper of his enemy.”

The astrologer sighed, but made no other answer, as
they went forward to the prison. Long and arduous was
the conflict in the mind of Vasco Nunez, ere he could
be brought to yield consent to a measure for which, at
the same time—strange weakness of the strong man's
heart,—every pulse and feeling in his bosom yearned.
The indignation which the levity of Teresa had aroused
within him, the pang following the rejection of a suit
which she had seemed to encourage, were all forgotten in
the strength of that passion with which he had contemplated
her from the first. The sure suggestions of the
bishop—the annunciation by him of the arrangement
made with Pedrarias, by which Teresa—the long-worshipped
object of his affections—was finally offered to his
acceptance, and at his disposal,—at a moment, too, when
in prison, at the mercy of his bitter rival, he felt hopeless
even of life—produced a tremulousness of heart and
nerve which left him for a time speechless. But if the
scorn and levity of Teresa ceased to be remembered in
the renewing gush of his early love—if the worthlessness
of the object was forgotten—there was yet an obstacle
in the path of the conqueror that he dared not contemplate.
The thought of the poor, devoted Indian damsel
rose in his mind—her form stood before him—under the
instant touch and prompt arrest of his conscience, he
saw the upbraiding sorrow in her eyes, and felt the keen
justice of those reproaches which he fancied were rising
to her lips, but which yet they did not utter. Long and
weary was the struggle—vainly protracted—since the
man was overthrown. Passion triumphed. Life, death!
were before him, and the alternative so presented to his
mind, his heart, his ambition, alike, that he yielded to that
which seemed his fate. To have refused the terms offered
him of freedom, to reject the hand of the woman whom
still he loved with an ungovernable passion, was, in fact,
to invite the stroke of the executioner. To accept, was
at once to spring to freedom, to power, to those conquests
for which his soul pined.

“Do with me as you please,” he cried to them, “do
with me as you please. I need scarcely declare a will,

since I am moved about by fate—its miserable puppet—
wholly insecure, at any moment, of the possessions of the
past.”

The conqueror was freed, but when his eye met that of
the Indian damsel—when, ignorant of the conditions of
his freedom, her eye encountered him with a rapturous
expression of delight, which the screaming joy of her lips
equally attested—his eye sank before her glance—his lips
were glued together, and the high-soaring Christian conqueror
quailed with a conviction of shame in the presence
of the almost adoring, and unsuspecting savage.