University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.
HOW RESOLUTION DEFIES DANGER, AND GENIUS FINDS ARMOUR
AGAINST NECESSITY.

Weeks went by after this manner, and Vasco Nunez
remained in Darien. Not that he remained either idle or
inactive. The pleasant employments of his domestic life,
such as we have faintly sketched them in our last chapter,
were not suffered to interfere with his duties to the
colony, nor to produce that luxurious desire of ease which
has overthrown so many of the world's most boasted conquerors.
With the ambition of Alexander, and the tenacious
closeness of purpose, such as marked the career of
the wondrous Carthaginian, he was yet too emphatically
a man of thought and high moral purpose, to be enfeebled
by the oriental delights of an Ecbatana, or to succumb to
the more gross enticements of Capuan sensuality. His
dress, habits and indulgences, were alike simple and
manly. He drank no wine, pursued no sports, and with
a sort of Roman self-denial, such as marked that people
in the earlier periods of the republic, he countenanced no
exercises but such as tended remotely or directly to the
activity and improvement of mind of body. Mere amusements
he refused, on his own part, though he denied them
not to his people. He well knew that the inferior mind,
having no such resources of thought and imagination as
belong to the better taught and more endowed, always
prefers those indulgences which do not task the understanding
in their prosecution, nor require a reason for
their sanction and justification. Such minds, like those
of children, desire little more than the unrestraint which
follows the absence of the governor and the lash; and
though our hero refrained from the relaxing enjoyments

which his men had no such occasion to forego, he neither
denied them their indulgence, nor frowned upon them
while thus engaged. His employments were his sufficient
pleasures, as they always prove to the better-minded of
mankind. His cares for the colony absorbed all his time,
and what with building dwellings, repairing vessels, and
laying out lands for cultivation, not an hour was suffered
to be lost which could be made available towards the
grand object which he had in contemplation. His soldiers,
though sufficiently indulged as we have shown,
were yet kept well drilled, exercised in the use of their
weapons, and employed in occasional adventure. His
favourite captains, Pizarro and Colmenares, were sent out
on expeditions,—at once seeking conquest and supplies.
The rivers adjacent, the islands, and the shores of the sea,
so far as it would have been justified of prudence for him
to explore them, were traced out with an earnestness,
truth, and fidelity, which have not been surpassed, nor
even equalled, in latter days. Indeed, it is no less true
than discreditable to us who admit the truth, that the
Spanish maps of America are, to this day, in many instances
the very best that we have. Nor were these the
only toils and objects which gave our hero employment
in the intervals of his leading actions. Were it our object
to relate the history of his colony, rather than his
own, we could recount a series of struggles with the Indians
of an hundred petty principalities, attended with
various fortune, in most of which, following the commands
of their superior, the course of the Spaniards was
marked by success and good fortune. Domestic troubles
were at hand also for his annoyance,—even insurrection
—in all of which, displaying the wisdom of a master mind,
and the energies of a master spirit, the star of Vasco Nunez
still continued to rise, soaring and spreading as it
grew, until its bright glances glistened with unqualified
lustre over the secret waters of the Pacific ocean. But
we anticipate.

There were trials yet to be overcome—doubts yet to
be dismissed, and dangers passed, before that happy consummation
could be reached. It was while Vasco Nunez
turned his eager but divided glance, at the same moment,
to the seas which led to Europe, and to those frowning
mountains that stood up between him and the mighty

prize for which he was contending—as if resolute to bar
his progress—that the ungenerous fortune, which ever
seems resolute to baffle those who rely rather upon their
own resources of strength and genius, and scorn to pay
blind allegiance to a deity, herself blind—with a malice no
less mean than unreasonable—operated against him in the
court of his sovereign, to the confirmation of all those
fears which for so long a time had vexed his thoughts by
day, and haunted his sleep by night with distressing visions.
By the arrival of a vessel from Hispaniola, he
received private advices from his messenger Zamudio,
whom he had sent to Spain along with his enemy, the
Bachelor Enciso, that the latter by a series of ingenious
misrepresentations, had succeeded in arousing the indignation
of the king against him, and had obtained from the
royal court a sentence in his own favour, involving the
original cost of his expedition, and all the damages which
he estimated to have accrued from the defeat of his plans,
and the usurpation of his government. Not satisfied with
so much gained to himself, the vindictive Enciso had advanced
against him a long list of criminal charges, such
as having tampered with the fidelity of the soldiers,
against the unfortunate cavalier Nicuesa,—the harsh
treatment of the latter which ensued at their hands, and
his subsequent melancholy death. To defend himself
against these latter accusations, Zamudio informed Vasco
Nunez, that he would soon be summoned to repair to
Spain to answer in proper person to his sovereign.

This stunning intelligence, which was, however, unofficial,
and consequently unknown to any in the colony but
himself and such confidential persons as he thought worthy
to be entrusted with the secret, for a time overcame
his spirit and cast him down in strength and heart, leaving
him incapable of thought and action. Bitterly in the
recesses of his chamber, with no eye but that of the Indian
damsel upon him, did he curse his confiding simplicity
that felt shame at the bare idea of having any fear of such
a creature as Enciso.

“He was in my power—my hand could have sealed
his lips for ever, and defied all investigation, had investigation
been a matter of which I had felt afraid. But do I
fear investigation now? No! Would it could be had—
would it were that the royal Ferdinand himself could have

beheld, with his most jealous eyes, the course which I have
taken—the deeds which I have done, and every thought
and feeling of my mind in all this business. It is not too
late. He shall hear me now. He shall know—”

He paused, and a withering smile passed over his
noble but inflamed features.

“What a child am I become! I dream of justice and
truth among men, and among courtiers in particular, as if
the first days of the earth were restored, and man, that
walked with God and with the angels, was still scarcely
less than an angel himself. What justice can I hope now
from Spanish judgment, or in Spain? If I had not done
so much in Darien—if the worst were not already overcome—it
might be that I should have it—that I should be
suffered to pursue my career of conquest, until the future
became sufficiently easy for some sleek favourite of power
to thrust me from the seat, and consign me to a dungeon.
Jesu! can it be that I am reserved for such a fate
as this! and thou—”

With a stealthy tread and closed lips, the Indian damsel
had stolen to his side—where he now stood looking
through the window upon the chafing waters of the bay
—and sinking with the same unobtrusive stealthiness of
movement upon her knees, took one of his extended
hands in her own and carried it to her lips.

“And thou!—ah! my poor Careta, what then would
become of thee?”

“My lord has heard evil from his own country. Has
death gone into the habitation of my lord's mother? Oh,
my lord, tell the poor Careta, that she may have sorrow
too.”

“Thou wilt soon enough have it, my poor girl,” was
the mournful reply,—“when the manacles are on the
wrists of thy protector, and they bear him from thee, perchance,
for ever.”

With some difficulty the untutored Indian was made to
understand the danger to her protector, which his words
expressed. When she did comprehend it, she started to
her feet—as she replied in language still more imperfect
from the impetuosity with which she spoke—

“But who shall take my lord from Careta? Careta
will go with my lord. She will not fear the big waters
when she is in the great canoe—she will not fear any

thing when she goes with my lord. If they are strong to
take my lord away from Darien, they will be strong to
take the poor Indian girl, that loves him very much—she
will turn her back upon Coyba—she will go every where
with my lord.”

Unbidden tears which he strove vainly to restrain and
hide, gathered in the chieftain's eyes at a proof of affection
such as his fortune had not made familiar to his
heart. The memory of Teresa Davila—a memory which
he vainly endeavoured to repel—arose to his mind at this
reflection. How different had been the regard of that
maiden, so long, so tenderly enforced—and we may add,
so ably served in moments of greatest danger—by one
whom she could invite and beguile, only to triumph over
and reject. Still, though Vasco Nunez felt all this, there
was mingled with his indignation a degree of regard and
love, which he could not overcome; and he sighed, with
a strange contradiction of thought, with the vain wish that
the same accents of devotion which had been uttered by
the poor Indian damsel, could have fallen from the lips of
the proud Spanish beauty. How much dearer still, he
fancied, would they have been to his ears, spoken by Teresa.
Still, though thus labouring under the workings of
a divided heart, Vasco Nunez was not the person to do
injustice to the true, through a still lingering attachment
for the false, woman. The very doubt which he felt that
in thinking thus of Teresa, he was wronging the fidelity
of Careta, led him to a still deeper sentiment of gratitude
to the latter; and lifting her from the floor at his feet, he
pressed his lips upon her forehead; then, placing her by
his side, while he seated himself upon a rude bench in the
apartment, he began more clearly to convey to her understanding
the general tenor of those tidings which had
just reached his ears, and had so painfully wrought
upon his feelings. But while the damsel listened in profound
silence to the narrative, which she could only slowly
comprehend, the humility of her devotion was such that
she could not maintain the position in which he had
placed her. Sinking down with a movement so effortless
that her companion, in his excited mood, failed utterly to
perceive it, she was again in a few moments at his feet, and
looking up with eyes in which consciousness was fast
gathering in the shape of tears and a cloudy apprehension.

She heard the narrative of his past career in Darien, his
rise over the colony, and the overthrow and probable punishments
which awaited him. When, at length, the fearful
truth burst upon her, and she learned from him that
the danger even threatened his life, her agitation assumed
a strength and character which her timid and shrinking
deportment hitherto had not seemed to warrant. With
the presence of the necessity, alone, the energies of the
noble soul spring up to contend with it.

“But my lord has warriors. He is strong. Will he
put the chains on his own hand, and go to the King of
Spain, and say `I am come.' Will he not do battle for
his life?”

In broken language, such as we have striven to amend,
it was thus that the Indian damsel expostulated with her
protector against what she inferred to be his resolution.

“Ah, Careta,” replied the chieftain, “to what would you
counsel me? Would you have me defy my sovereign, and
become a traitor to my country? What, if your father,
the cassique of Coyba, summoned one of his warriors to
come to him at Coyba, and answer for his conduct:—
would he not slay him if he refused to come?”

The damsel was not readily confounded, but, after the
pause of an instant, replied thus, in her own imperfect
manner:—

“The cassique of Coyba should not do wrong to his
warrior. If my father designed injustice to his tall men,
it would be foolish in them to come to him when he summoned
them. Wherefore should my lord go to his king,
when he has strong men around him, with weapons that
carry lightning in their mouths, and make the big hills
shake with their thunder. Let him go to my father at
Coyba, and put his feet among the mountains, and bid
his warriors lie in readiness, and say to the king of Spain,
I am here and I will not come to you.”

“Alas! my poor Careta—thou little knowest. For
every warrior of mine, the king of Spain has his thousands,
and even these warriors are not mine but his. Let
him say to them, bring me the head of your chief, and
they will do it.”

“Ah! but they shall carry the head of the poor Careta
too, when they do such things. But my lord speaks thus
only to frighten the poor girl of Darien. The king of

Spain cannot do this—he has no such power. It cannot
be that there is a greater warrior than thou. Hast thou
not driven Zemaco from the hills, and Ponca—no! no!
my father says there is no warrior like to thee.”

A noise at the entrance, and the approach of Micer
Codro, interrupted the farther dialogue between the two.
The astrologer was followed by the youth, Pedro, whom
Vasco Nunez had tacitly adopted as his secretary. As
yet, the unofficial intelligence brought to the cavalier in
his private letter from Zamudio, had been withheld from
the colony; and Micer Codro himself, up to this moment,
was unapprised of the threatening tidings which it contained.
It was not the intention, however, of Vasco
Nunez, to keep the matter from one so entirely his friend,
and at his entrance the communication was put into his
hand. When he read it, the paper fell from his grasp—
his cheeks were suddenly blanched, and tears—big, unrestrainable
tears—such as spring from the heart which
hope has deserted in the moment of its greatest seeming
triumph—burst unbidden from his eyes, while a groan
which seemed to come from the very soul, but no word,
broke from his lips. Perhaps the manner in which the
astrologer received this intelligence, conveyed to the Indian
girl more forcibly than the explanation of her lover,
the true extent of the evil predicament in which he stood.
She clasped her hands, and her cheeks grew to a kindred
paleness with those of the aged man, while, with a vague
absence of purpose, she advanced a few paces towards
him and remained in this posture, stationary in the apartment.
The youth Pedro, alone, to whom the meaning of
all this was a mystery, looked to one and another of the
several persons around him with an air of wonder which
he found it as impossible to conceal, as the rest of the
company the emotions which affected them; and the
face of Vasco Nunez, which, if sad, was firm, conveyed
no explanation to his mind of the engrossing
trouble which distressed them. His humble position, no
less than the imposing solemnity of their aspects, prevented
his making any inquiry into the mystery which
yet filled him with the keenest curiosity. He was not
destined, however, to remain long in ignorance. With a
smile of bitter sadness, Vasco Nunez advanced to the
astrologer.

“Ay, Micer Codro, thou may'st well groan. Thou
shouldst groan as well over thy vain judgments as over
my fortunes. Where now are thy predictions, thy promises,
my hopes? What say the stars to thee now?
These,” crumbling the despatches within his hands, and
hurling them behind him as he spoke—“these speak
another language than thy oracles; ay, Micer Codro,
and a far less questionable language. Which are we to
believe? which”—here his tones were subdued almost to
a whisper—“which will my soldiers believe, think you?
Summon thy wisdom to thy aid, and thy lucent spirits,
for, by the blessed Saint John, it will be marvellous
indeed, if thou wilt not need all their aid ere thou findest
an answer which shall save thy golden prophecies and
solemn judgments from the laughter and vexing scorn of
all who have heard and hearkened to them. Not that the
scorn will fall only upon thy head—no! no! They will
have their laugh also at the ambitious and vain fool, who
hath had a faith in them that hath ruined him.”

“Indeed, my son, but these are sad tidings in truth;
and well mayst thou be shaken with sorrow and vexation
while thou readest them. Yet I know not that thou dost
rightly to fling such reproach upon my head; for whether
the stars be true or false, they had little to do with thy
seduction. Ere my lips opened to counsel thee, thou
wert a voyager with Rodrigo de Bastides, seeking adventures
in strange worlds, and filled with fancies, deemed
no less strange by thy companions than have been the
predictions of Micer Codro. I did but confirm to thee,
by the promises of thy natal star, what the ambition of
thy own heart had promised thee long before.”

“Ay, ay—mine own heart and my own ambition.
Thou say'st well and rightly, Micer Codro, for, of a truth,
had not my own heart too ably counselled, and my own
ambition too fondly urged, be sure thy predictions had
never moved Vasco Nunez de Balboa, to lift foot or
finger on this daring progress. But think not, old man
and old friend, that I reproach thee for thy promises—
think not even that I repent me of this daring, which has
brought me to the verge of a great empire; and which,
whether I win the sight of the great sea of the south or
not, has enabled me to point the pathway to its borders
to the monarch who denies that I shall behold it—”

The flowing and free speech of the cavalier was interrupted
by the astrologer, who, pointing significantly to
the youth, Pedro, spoke in accents of warning:—

“Thou art not alone, my son. Is it wise to give forth
these tidings yet?”

Vasco Nunez looked upon the countenance of the
youth for a brief instant, then exclaimed—

“Nay, let him remain; he hath the soul of a man, if he
be not one, and I fear not to trust him. I would that
I had a thousand followers such as he. I should not then
fear that the injustice of a king should prevent the glory,
or dishonour with his judgments the name of his subject.
Ere long, they will all know what we might conceal
but for a brief season; and I am now in the desperate
mood of the gambler who cares not what eye beholds
that he hath flung his last counter on the board. Hast
thou any counsel, Micer Codro, in this difficulty? I would
have thee speak—I would have thee exhaust thy wisdom
and pour forth thy full phophecy, that I may confound
thee for ever after, by showing thee that I can do without
the star, nay, in spite of it. When thou hast shown at full
thy counsel and thy hope, then will I deliver mine. Meanwhile,
I hear thee—I wait thee.”

With features, the constant working of which showed
the perpetually changing and active mood of the mind
within, Vasco Nunez paced to and fro through the apartment,
his eyes cast upon the ground, and his lips, though
quick with life and frequently in motion, yet giving forth
no sound or accent. There was a fascinating something
in the whole air of the superior, in the tones of his voice,
in his bitter smile, and hurried but firm gesture, that
fixed the eyes of the secretary Pedro, even more than
they did those of the wondering damsel, whose limbs
seemed frozen to the spot to which she had advanced
on witnessing the sudden and confounding effect of
the despatches upon the astrologer. The youth could
readily conceive, from what had been suffered to escape
from Vasco Nunez and Micer Codro, the dangers and
difficulties that hung about the fortunes of the former.
None could know better than himself, the evils to be
feared from a collision in that day between the subject
and his sovereign, particularly when the mind and valour
of the first had opened the pathway to treasures of which

the last desired to avail himself, without being liable to
any of the concessions which justice might esteem the
due of gratitude. He had already been apprised of the
relation in which Vasco Nunez stood to the Bachelor
Enciso—the memorial which he had copied but a short
time before, had sufficiently apprised him on that head.
Besides, he well knew from facts notorious to the colony,
that the Bachelor was urging his specious charges against
his rival, in the royal presence. With the first conviction
that the man against whose life he had so solemnly
sworn, was about to be convicted as a rebel to his sovereign,
and was likely to suffer doom as such, his blood
rose in tumultuous exultation, and his heart triumphed.
But while he gazed and listened—while he looked upon
the proud unbending attitude, the noble grace of movement,
the keen, quick, sparkling eye, and the eloquent
gesture—when, above all, he hearkened to those noble
sentiments and fearless thoughts which gushed forth in
free language from the threatened victim—the victim of
jealous hate and mean rivalry alone—his hostile thoughts
departed. He forgot his feelings of hate and exultation,
and admiration succeeded with a most natural transition,
to the more ungenerous feelings which had possessed
him. The fearless resolution which made Vasco Nunez
himself rise higher and stand more erect, and endowed
his words and voice with a nobler energy, when the venerable
counsellor who stood in no such danger, was cast
down and trembled, had a charm in the mind of the
youth which fascinated his attention, and made him
breathless as he listened to a dialogue, which, as it
involved the future progress of the cavalier, necessarily
involved his fate. Slowly indeed came forth the accents
of the astrologer, in reply to the demand of Vasco Nunez,
and how wanting to the necessity—how vain and unsatisfactory
did they appear! They offered no remedy—
they led to none; nor, did it seem, that the speaker had
striven at any suggestion which should do more than
encourage the cavalier to hope. Hope, without action
or effort of his own, to the proud, fearless, energetic
mind, always resolute upon its own performances, is a
mere mockery; and bitter, almost contemptuous, was the
smile which overcast the face of Vasco Nunez, as the
astrologer spoke to him in some such language as the
following:

“In truth, my son,—I know not what to say, or how
to counsel you. These tidings are most unlooked for.
Surely Zamudio hath done but little, and how could Enciso
make such strange matters appear to our sovereign,
as those of which these despatches tell us? It is truly beyond
my thought and judgment. I know not how to
speak; though, in truth, I do not yet despond—there may
be something yet to come, which shall alter this judgment
of the king, and I trust yet in the promise of the
stars which have befriended us so long. Thou shouldst
not be cast down—thou must still hope, my son. Even
now—”

The impatient cavalier interrupted him.

“Cast down!—dost thou see it in my thoughts—in my
looks—in my actions? Have I not told thee, Micer Codro,
that when thy predictions fail thee, and thy words lack
counsel, thou shalt hear then, that in myself, in my own
heart and resolution, I need them not—nay, will triumph
in their despite? And this is all that thou canst tell me,
Micer Codro—Be not cast down—take heart—hope for
the sunshine, which will come to-morrow! Hast thou
nothing better than this to offer to thy friend in the hour of
his tribulation, when the stars fight against him in their
courses even as they fought against Sisera?”

“But they do not fight against thee, my son—even
now they work in thy behalf with a greater lustre, which
makes it the more wonderful to me those tidings which
have reached thee.”

“Oh, Micer Codro, wherefore wilt thou dream thus,
and speak still of these old-time vanities? It was thus
thou spokest to me even at the moment when the hurricane
swept away to the bottomless ocean, the goodly vessel
in which our joint fortunes had been treasured up.
Hear me now—now that thy counsel fails thee as thy
prophecies have failed me—now that, in thy silence, thou
admittest that thy wisdom and thy stars, alike, avail thee
nothing—know that I have resolved in spite of them and
of these threatening tidings. By to-morrow's sun I set
off for Coyba, and for the mountains and the seas beyond!”

“Surely, thou dost jest, my son. It cannot be that with

such force as thou hast in Darien, thou wilt dream of this
perilous adventure. Thou hast scarce three hundred men-at-arms,”
replied the astrologer, in astonishment.

“I know it; but if I wait for more I shall have none.
It may be that a week will bring me the commands of our
sovereign which I dare not disobey; and take from me
all power in Darien. Shall I linger for these tidings?
No! I can but perish in my search after the life which is
eternal, and if I remain till these summons find me, I
shall not merely lose power, perchance, but life with it.
Not that I dread death. No! By the blessed Jesu that
died for all, I fear not the pang and the parting. But I
would not lose the exceeding fame and the undying glory
that is the first passion and desire of my mind. For that
I would shrink from death. For that I would fly from
these coming tidings, and await them, when they do approach,
on the shores of that new world—that mighty
ocean, which, if I once win, will take the sting from death,
as it will leave to life no greater conquest or desire. But,
that conquest made,—and even Ferdinand would scarce
dare destroy the conqueror. Nay, he could not but confirm
me in the conquest. And with such hope as this before
me—and such a certainty of overthrow, if I seek it
not—shall I linger here in apathy, awaiting the coming of
the summons and the executioner? No! what matters it,
though ten thousand savages beset the path—there is
more glory to the few who yet dare to pursue it and
reach the goal in safety. If the danger has a larger division
among the few, the share of the treasure shall be
great also among them; and this argument to the Spanish
soldier, will give him tenfold strength, and a courage that
will confront danger with a hardy love, so that he will
seek her out even in the forest den where she is ambushed.”

“They will not go with thee, my son, on this wild enterprise,”
said Micer Codro, absolutely confounded at the
audacity of the design. “They will shrink back in terror,
as they may well do, and with no shame, remembering
their strife with Zemaco and Coyba.”

“What, when I tell them that I ask them not to advance,
but to follow! When I tell them that I myself will
lead them at every step! Ha! ha! thou knowest them
not, my father, and thou knowest not me. I tell thee,

these men shall serve me with more fidelity and success
than the stars, which I shall flout with defiance. If I may
not persuade the capricious and cajoling fortune,—by the
Holy Mother. I will force her to my embraces. If thou
canst not wed us fairly, Micer Codro, as her acknowledged
priest, I will compel thee to behold her frailty in
a new light, and thou shalt wink at the concessions,
which she will be no longer in condition to refuse.”

The astrologer was confounded. There was a savage
delight in the eye of the speaker, indicating a drunkenness
of heart, and the phrensies of a mood made desperate by
long denial and the utter hopelessness of ordinary remedy.
While he spoke, his face lighted up with the exhilaration
of certain triumph; and that triumph sweetened too, to
the anticipative mind, by the consciousness that it was to
be wrested from the fates in their own despite, and
against all the ordinary barriers of circumstance. It is
in moments such as these, that genius makes itself obvious
and feared. The common man would have sunk
under the prospect before him. The accustomed hopes
of such men were all withheld from Vasco Nunez. The
probabilities were all in array against him—even the supports
of friendship, and the encouragements of sympathy
were unoffered or denied, in the general stupor which
they felt under the unfavourable aspect of his fortune;
and it is from the very incapability of all ordinary help
and counsel, that the strong man, forced back upon his
own soul, then asserts that native superiority and strength
that can never be entirely known even to himself, till
goaded into activity by the stirring and potential necessity.
The cavalier laughed cheerfully, and as with a
light heart, as he looked at the consternatian of the astrologer.

“Be not afraid, Micer Codro—didst thou not say that
the stars were looking down upon me with favouring
eyes? What then? Shall they be clouded with these
tidings from Spain, which they must have known; and
shall they not brighten when they hear of my resolve, of
which they know nothing? Go forth, my friend—let the
soldiers know that the hour is come, according to thy
nightly observation, when it is decreed that Vasco Nunez
shall achieve his greatest triumph. I will take more care
than the stars seem to have done, that thy predictions be
not belied. Away, my friend, if you love me, and warm

their hearts with the glorious fancies which, for so long a
season, have made green and fruitful thine own.”

Wondering still, and only half reconciled to a scheme
which seemed far too daring for success the astrologer
yet saw that farther expostulation would be altogether
vain; the mood of resolution being so unqualified and decided
in the bosom of the cavalier. Perhaps, too, a little
reflection served to convince him, that this seeming desperation
of his friend was, in fact, the coolest and most
manly policy. He knew how little there was to hope
from the ungenerous judgments of Spain, when once the
royal court of justice had taken consideration of the conquerors
and their conquests. He went forth as he was
bidden accordingly, to confirm among the soldiers that
faith in the fortunes of their leader, which they had long
since yielded to his wisdom and valour. Meanwhile,
Vasco Nunez turned to the youth, Pedro, who still remained
in his apartment.

“Thou hast heard, Pedro,” he began after a brief pause,
in which the ferment of his blood seemed somewhat to
subside—“Thou hast heard something of this business,
and may readily guess the rest. I have toiled here in
Darien against open and secret foes,—I have saved this
colony from utter ruin—I have won treasures that have
greatly helped to fill the treasury of Spain, having reserved
none thereof, such portions alone excepted, as were
despatched to Española, to answer the demands of a few
griping creditors;—and now that my world opens upon
me—now that I have brought my sword to bear upon
new empires, the treasures of which are perchance boundless—new
seas, over which the fleets of Spain shall glide
without rival—behold, I am summoned to surrender them
all to some sleek favourite of the throne or the bishop,
who will enrich himself by my labours, and grow great
and insolent in the prosecution of my designs and
thoughts. Ferdinand will gladly hearken to the base suggestions
of Enciso, as they will yield him a pretence for
seizing upon my achievements, which will yield him new
powers of patronage; and the better to countenance this
wrong, they will doom me, as a traitor, to the sharp and
sudden death, that being the shortest way to avoid the
reproach of innocence, or the vengeance which valour
should be for ever prompt to take. But they shall not deprive
me of my triumph. They may take from me my

treasure and my life; but, by the Blessed Saint crying in
the Wilderness, I will win that sea of the south. I will stand
within its waters, and launch my bark upon its bosom,
and my sword shall point your eyes to the green islands
of other empires, ere they do their will upon me. Thou
hast the soul, Pedro, for such a triumph as this I promise
thee? Thou wilt not shrink to follow me in this march of
danger and of glory?”

Surprised into corresponding enthusiasm with the
speaker, the boy rapidly promised to attend his superior,
and the latter continued—

“Ay, boy, thou hast the soul and the spirit which shall
achieve and shall make achievement glorious; but ambition
is an eating fever, and produces its own pains and
sorrows that come surely with all its tumults and successes.
It will make thee enemies who fear and hate
where they cannot rival—men who, as they lack the
greatness to do greatly, will mock at the soaring of the
nobler wing, which their eyes follow always, but their
souls never. They will aim the shaft, which will strike
a mark to which wings of their own can never rise. They
will content themselves, though pulling down the lofty, to
remain for ever low. But why should I discourage thy
young mind with such doubts as these? Thou wilt run
the race like all others, and wilt not believe, until the
truth is proven in thy own experience, that such can be
the truth. It is the fate of all who aim highly, and will
perhaps console thee in the end, as it will soon be my only
consolation, that greater and wiser and better men have
had no other fortune. And this may be enough. The
smooth way never leads to the eminence;—the good seaman
learns not his craft when the seas are level, and the
winds soft and favouring. So, to my mind, the glory were
not of my getting and but little to my gain, if good fortune
bore me ever forward with a friendly gale, and a bright
star, such as the venerable man who left us but now,
speaks of, hung over the path, to guide me where the
spoils of glory are. Let my own eyes seek out the path,
and I will care not that my feet should stumble, so that
my spirit rose with every fall, even as my body rises after it.
The toils which thou wilt begin to-morrow, Pedro, will be
a service to thee when I am sleeping. Away, boy, and
get thyself in readiness.”