 | CHAPTER III.
TIDINGS OF THE SOUTHERN SEA—AN ENEMY IN DISGUISE. The damsel of Darien |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
TIDINGS OF THE SOUTHERN SEA—AN ENEMY IN DISGUISE.
With the morning, Vasco Nunez set forth with his
warriors, and attended by the Cassique of Coyba with a
large body of the natives, he advanced upon the neighbouring
territories of Ponca, the enemy of his ally. But
Ponca had been well apprised of the approach of his powerful
foe, and had received the instructions of Zemaco to
fly from before him. He took refuge in the passes of the
mountains, where he busied himself in collecting his men,
and uniting himself with other minor chiefs prepared to
make a stand in situations where it would be impossible
for the Spanish horse to operate. But having left behind
him his chief treasures in his flight, Vasco Nunez did not
care to pursue him. Another and more powerful cassique
named Comagre, next attracted the attention of the invader.
The Cassique of Coyba was not unwilling to display
to his neighbours the great superiority of his ally,
and persuaded Vasco Nunez accordingly to advance upon
his territories also. The approach of the Spaniards was
soon made known to Comagre, who disarmed their hostility
by a timely conciliation. He sent forth a deputation
of his chief men who conducted them to his palace,—a
huge building of wood, described by the historians of that
time as being no less than one hundred and fifty yards in
length, and eighty in breadth, surrounded by a wall of
stone, and, after the manner of that people, admirably
furnished within. There they were welcomed with an
hospitality which considered nothing but their wants and
wishes. Their treatment was, indeed, worthy of a higher
condition of civilization and refinement than was supposed
before them, with various beverages of different flavour
and various degrees of strength, which the Spaniards pronounced
to be nothing inferior to wine. Dancing girls
displayed their agility and charms while they feasted,
and a plentiful supply of provisions for the colony was
placed at their disposal. Nor did the courtesy and liberality
of Comagre rest here. His eldest son, at a signal
given by his father, disappeared from the hall of reception,
but soon returned followed by a train of seventy
slaves. Each of these slaves bore a vessel of gold, and
while the Spaniards looked on, wondering at the profusion
of wealth so suddenly spread before them, the slaves
at another signal of Comagre, advanced each, and laid his
burden at the feet of Vasco Nunez.
“These are for the chief warrior of the king of Spain,”
said Comagre—“Let him be a friend to Comagre henceforward.
The slaves are for the Spaniard and the gold.”
Then, after gratefully thanking the cassique for his gift,
Vasco Nunez bade the treasurer advance and separate
one-fifth of the gold to be set apart for the sovereign.
The rest he gave to his soldiers to be divided among
themselves. This donation, however, was productive of
strife. The soldiers soon quarrelled about the division,
most of them dissatisfied with the share allotted, and
complaining that the best pieces had been partially bestowed
by the treasurer. Vasco Nunez was compelled
to interfere in the language of authority, but his commands,
though productive of instant obedience, would
scarcely have served to soothe and satisfy the discontented,
but for the sudden and strange action of the son of Comagre.
This youth, when he beheld the strife among the
soldiers, with a blow of his fist, struck the scale, full of the
precious metal, from the hands of the treasurer, exclaiming
as he did so:
“Now wherefore should the Christians quarrel for this
yellow stuff? If it is for this that they leave their own
land which they tell us is beyond such a weary waste of
water, let them follow me, and I will guide them to a
country where it grows—where the meanest vessels of
the people are made of it, and the water from the mountains
carries it in masses to the sea.”
“What sea? what sea?” exclaimed Vasco Nunez, with
to be strangely at variance with the true question
which he should have made.
The Indian pointed to the south.
“Ha! said I not!” exclaimed Vasco Nunez, grasping
the arm of the astrologer, with an action that seemed
strange to his followers no less than to the Indians.
“Years agone, when I came with Bastides to the shores
of Darien, a withered Indian assured me of that sea; and
vainly did I seek to persuade Rodrigo to enter upon the
adventure. Years agone!—and in that time how many
have heard my thoughts and counsels. Yet none have
found—noen have sought to find. The conquest is reserved
for me!”
The young savage smiled when he saw the exultation
which gleamed from the eyes of the cavalier—an exultation
which well informed him of the growing purpose in
his mind.
“Why dost thou smile?” demanded Vasco Nunez.
“Dost thou think to conquer the country of which I
tell thee?” was the reply of the youth.
“By the smiles of the Blessed Virgin, under the favour
of the Holy St. John of the wilderness, that will I, if life
and strength be not withheld me.”
“The cassique of that country would laugh at thy warriors.
Thou wilt need a thousand such as thou hast.
He is the ally of Zemaco, and hath a power greater than
Zemaco. His people are like the leaves on the tree, and
they are trained to battle from their boyhood. They
wield the macana, which is hardened by fire, which our
people have not strength to lift, and their young men use
bows and slings, and they have strength enough to send
their arrows through a man so that no part of it shall
remain in. With their slings they can hurl a rock which
shall cleave the head of the bravest warrior.”
“Thou art yet to know the Spaniard,” replied Vasco
Nunez. “Look!” and as he spake these words, he gave
orders for the discharge of one of his pieces, the effect of
which he well knew would be more convincing than any
boast which he could make of the powers of his men.
When the terror and wonder of the Indians had subsided,
Vasco Nunez, by a series of questions, drew from Comagre
all that he desired to know of the people and the
His heart was burning and leaping within him to overpass
these narrow boundaries, and overcome the obstructions
that gathered in his path of greatness. But when
he looked round upon his little band, half of them already
rendered incapable of fatigue or fight by reason of the toils
and exposure they had already undergone, he was compelled
with a sigh to defer the period of his full and final
triumph. But in order the sooner to effect it, he found it
necessary to return instantly to his little government of
Darien. A rash man—one filled with his own unregulated
enthusiasm,—would have marched onward, regarding
nothing but his own desires; but with a daring that
fell nothing short of the most adventurous, Vasco Nunez
possessed an overruling sense, and a judgment of calm,
deliberative, and comprehensive character, which was studious
always to adapt his means to his ends, and to avoid
the injudicious exposure of his little armament, however
great might be the inducement, and however insignificant
the danger. But the danger in the present instance, he
well knew could not be insignificant. He had to overcome
a range of high, untravelled mountains, cutting his
way all the while through the hitherto unbroken forests,
and fighting, as he went, with successive bands of savages,
the subjects of cassiques, most of whom were either
in alliance with, or subject to the control of his implacable
enemy,—Zemaco. Under the most favouring aspects he
was well assured that the little army with him was utterly
inadequate, and the force at Darien was not sufficient
to change materially the aspect of his difficulties.
The world of beauty and delightful promise lay before
his eyes; but a gulf was at his feet; and though passable
by a single plank, the power was beyond him to procure
that plank. His hope lay in supplies beyond the water,
either from old Spain or Espanola, to both of which places
his emissaries had already been despatched. Anxious,
therefore, to hear from these regions, he hastened his return
to the colony. His arrival at Darien was simultaneous
with that of his messenger Valdivia from Hispaniola, who
brought him some small supplies of provisions and ammunition,
and a more important addition, a few soldiers.
Among these soldiers was one, seemingly a mere boy,
who had not yet numbered more than twenty years of human
person, that when Vasco Nunez came to examine the soldiers
brought by Valdivia, he wondered much that he
should have accepted so inadequate a person. But Valdivia
excused himself by saying that he did reject the
application of the youth, but that he persisted so strenuously
in his desire to come, and expressed so great an
admiration for his commander, that he found all his reluctance
overcome, and he at length consented—the youth
being resolute, he said, if Valdivia did not take him, to
find other means for effecting his purpose. When Vasco
Nunez heard this account of the young man, he called
him out from the rest, and questioned him after the following
manner.
“Your name is Pedro de Ulloa?”
“Of Valencia, señor,” was the prompt reply of the
youth.
“You are yet very young to be a soldier—and I think
not strong. Are you used to the weapon?”
“To none other than the dagger, señor.”
“It is not the weapon for the Indian, and an arm so
slender as yours may scarcely carry one more effective.
Your whole frame is feeble. I doubt whether you
have chosen the right profession, Pedro.”
“My heart is resolute in its purpose, señor; if my arm
be weak, and though I may not carry weighty weapon,
or do much harm to an enemy in arms, I am one to serve
a captain. I am swift of foot—I can write a clear hand—
I can bear despatches, and keep counsel.”
“These are all excellent qualities, Pedro,” returned the
cavalier, “but in these heathen lands, it is needful always
that the scribe and the messenger, nay, the priest of God
himself, be ready to lift spear, and use it freely, against
sudden necessity. Wert thou my messenger over these
hills of Darien, and the warriors of Zemaco should environ
thee, thy arm would do little for thy extrication.”
“It would do all that it could, senor; but with keen
eye, and quick foot, and quicker thought, it would not be
so easy for the savages to environ me. If they did, senor,
their tortures should only make me swallow my secret,—
not yield it up.”
“Thou hast the proper spirit; were the strength in thy
arms—but, be it as thou wilt—I will keep thee near my
those iron men. They would destroy thee soon, if they
could provoke thee to follow where they led. Thy face
does not seem strange to mine eyes, Pedro,—have I not
looked on thee before?”
“Never, senor—I am but a month from Spain. I had
a brother senor—a brother that thou might'st have seen
in Santo Domingo, in times past, and to whom it was
said I bore some likeness. It may be thou hast looked on
him.”
The eyes of the youth were fixed on the ground as he
uttered this reply, and a suspicious eye might have remarked
a slight emotion in his frame, as if a tremor
shook it. But Vasco Nunez beheld nothing, while he replied:
“And where is he, Pedro?—if he hath a spirit such as
thine, I were glad to have him in my command. Is he yet
in Hispaniola?—Valdivia will soon return, and shall seek
him.”
“He lives not, senor,” was the quick reply, while a bitter
smile passed over the lips of the speaker, “he lives
not; though, did he, he were scarce the man to serve
thee. He had not the right spirit, else, perchance, he had
been here in place of me, and had been to this day a living
man. If it please thee, senor, we will speak of him no
more. He sleeps in a bloody grave.”
“Was he slain in battle, Pedro? perchance—”
“No! senor!” almost fiercely interrupting his superior
—“that had been a fit finish for a noble life. He fell by
the hand of the midnight assassin; and, shame to me that
I say it, his murderer yet lives, and—”
He paused, his lips quivered and became almost livid,
while his eyes looked a venomous anger, even upon those
of Vasco Nunez, and he clutched the dagger at his girdle
with an almost spasmodic grasp.
“There is no shame to thee, Pedro, in this. Thou art
but a boy; thou art too feeble for strife, and cannot hope
to be the avenger of blood.”
“Ha! think'st thou, senor? Thou art wrong. The
injured hath a strength beyond the vain-glorious imaginings
of the tyrant, though his arm be feeble, and his condition
mean. The day may be far, but it will yet come;
and I despair not of my hour. The God who suffers no
mine. Thou wilt see, senor—by the blessed shrine of
Compostella, thou wilt see.”
“Well, Heaven grant it for thy sake, Pedro,” replied
the cavalier—“the assassin who slew thy brother at midnight
should fitly perish at thy hands. But thou look'st
at me as if I had wronged thee—thine eyes flash with rage
as they meet mine own, and why shouldst thy hand grapple
with thy steel at a time when thy enemy stands not
before thee?”
“Forgive me, senor,” replied the boy—his voice filling
as he spoke, and his eyes sinking to the earth, while his
manner, on the instant, became that of a courteous humility—“forgive
me, but, in the madness of my humour,
methought he did. I pray thee, senor, that thou wilt no
more move me to speak upon this matter. My heart
kindles with a flame like that of a furnace, and the blood
leaps into my brain, when I am minded that mine only
brother—the stay and support of our aged mother in Spain
—was cruelly murdered, and the murderer, not beyond
my reach, I trust, lives yet to glory in his crimes.”
“But thou canst tell me the name of his assassin. Is
he of Spain?”
“Spare me, senor—I can only declare his name in the
hour that lays him at my feet.”
Vasco Nunez surveyed the face of the speaker with a
look of inquiry, that truly indicated the feeling of doubt in
his mind.
“It seems to me as though I must have known thee
before, Pedro—yet it is now many years since I left
Spain, and thou wert then too young to have been much
regarded. But it matters little—I take thee into my service,
since thou art resolute, and will find thee employment
this very day. Thou shalt assist me to prepare my
despatches for our sovereign, and for Don Diego Colon,
who is restored, I see, to the command of Espanola—an
act of justice which doth honour to the king and his royal
council. It will be an hour before I need thee,—meanwhile
take thy pleasure where thou mayst, but beware thou
goest not beyond the barrier. The infidel is lurking about
us, night and day, and whoso ventures single-handed beyond
our defences, must needs have a keen eye to watch
his coming, and a swift foot, such as thou boasteth, to escape
will look to see thee again.”
With these words, Vasco Nunez left him to proceed to
other duties. The keen eye of the boy watched him
closely as he departed, and words, brief and vindictive,
fell from his muttering lips.
“Ay, indeed, my arm is feeble, sayst thou—would it
were not! But though feeble, thanks to the avenger, there
are other modes to strike the foe, to crush the tyrant,
and redress the wrong, than by mere brute-power. The
wit that sharpened the dagger at the forge, hath a thousand
modes of vengeance, and mighty though thou art,
with gigantic limbs, and a skill that man can seldom
match, there is yet—thou shalt find—an art beyond thine
own, which shall bring thee, with all thy might and muscle,
to the earth. Thou prayest heaven that I may win the
vengeance I intend. Fool! Little dost thou imagine that
thou thyself art the victim of thy prayer!”
Having thus spoken, the boy, concealing his bitter
mood under a face of smiling and conciliation, passed
from the apartment where his conference had taken place
with Vasco Nunez, and, leaving the ordinary thorough-fare,
took his way towards the sea-shore, where, in
wandering and melancholy fancies, he consumed the brief
period of time which had been allotted him. He then returned
to the dwelling in which he had been instructed to
await the commands of his superior.
| CHAPTER III.
TIDINGS OF THE SOUTHERN SEA—AN ENEMY IN DISGUISE. The damsel of Darien | |