University of Virginia Library

38. CHAPTER XXXVIII.

The effort of Don Philip had been made in vain. The Princess
Coçalla gave herself up to a passion of grief, that resisted
argument and entreaty. She became fully conscious of her
danger (of which even the assurance of Vasconselos had failed
to possess her mind)—of the danger which awaited her, only
when it was too late. It was only when the shrill blast of the
Spanish trumpet, speaking in signal to the co-operating squad,
and the crash of conflicting weapons, had struck upon her senses,
that she consented to make the attempt to escape. But, by this
time, the building was entirely surrounded, and she was seized
by a group of common soldiers, as she strove to steal away from
the rear during the struggle between her warriors and the assailants.
Her people fought desperately, even the old chiefs and
counsellors, but only to be butchered. The dawn saw her village
smoking with blood, and herself a captive.

The Princess was from this moment kept under close restraint,
well watched and guarded, but treated with forbearance, if not
with kindness. She was allowed a litter to be borne upon the
shoulders of her own people, when she was indisposed to walk.
The Adelantado, for awhile, paid her a morning visit, as Cortez
had done to Montezuma, in which he maintained all the most
deferential externals. She did not reproach, nor entreat; but
from the moment when she became a captive, she habited herself
in the stern reserve of character so peculiar to the red men
of America, and haughtily refused communion with her treacherous
and ungrateful guest. But her captivity disarmed her
people. They dared not rebel against the authority whose simple
decree might destroy the head of the nation. They submitted
every where—submitted as Tamenes, or porters, to bear the
luggage of the army, and brought in provisions throughout the
country, wherever the Spaniards came or sent.

The army was set in motion soon after the arrest of the Princess,
and the young and noble Coçalla was borne along with it, unresisting,
as recklessly as the tides of ocean bear away upon their discordant
billows, the beautiful and innocent flower which the tempest

has flung upon them from the shores. In this manner was she
conducted up the Savannah to its sources, passing into that region
of glorious scenery which we now find in the county of Habersham,
in Georgia. Pursuing a direct western course across the
northern parts of that State, the expedition reached the head
waters of the Coosa. From town to town—still submitted to
wherever it came—the Spanish army proceeded to the Conasauga,
the Oostanaula, and other streams. They explored the
country as they went, lodged in the villages, and secured the
submission of the chiefs; some of whom they also kept in captivity,
the better to secure the obedience of their people. Occasionally,
De Soto sent out detachments, right and left, in quest of
gold and silver.

It was while two of these detachments, under the knights,
Villabos and Silvera, had gone forth to explore the mountains
of Chisca, that the Spanish army rested for a space of more than
thirty days, at a populous Indian town, called Chiaha, the chief
of which was a cousin of our Princess of Cofachiqui. This chief,
influenced by the situation of his kinswoman, had received the
Spaniards with a seeming good-will, which left them wholly without
cause of complaint. But, with the rest from their fatigue,
the passions of the invaders passed beyond all ordinary limits,
and they made a formal demand upon the Cassique for a certain
number of the young women of the nation. Hitherto, the men
had not been denied to serve the Spaniards, in the capacity of
Tamenes. The demand for women, implied a reckless disregard
to all the sensibilities of the people; and, in a single night, the
Cassique of Chiaha, who was also held somewhat in the position
of a captive, found himself abandoned by all his followers.
Wild was the rage of the Spaniards at the flight of their destined
victims, and vain were all the efforts of the Cassique to propitiate
their anger. They ravaged his country, with fire and sword,
slaughtering and burning without mercy.

It was at this moment, and while the invaders were showing
themselves most licentious and reckless, that the Princess Coçalla,
still a captive, and still watched, though more carelessly than
usual, attempted to make her escape. She had been confided to
the guardianship of two soldiers, Pedro Martin, and Gil Torres.
Her followers had laid down her litter, and she had descended to
drink at a spring by the wayside. The two soldiers, meanwhile,
had taken advantage of the pause to produce their dice, and were
busily engaged in perilling some of their pearls and other acquisitions,
as was the universal practice, upon the hazards of the
game. Suddenly, they missed the Princess and her followers.

They instantly sought, by a vigorous search in the neighboring
woods, to repair the consequences of their fault. Unfortunately,
they had missed the captive too soon after her flight, to enable
her to escape very far. She was found; her followers gallantly
threw themselves in the path of the pursuers, and armed only
with sticks or billets, hastily snatched up in the forest, endeavored
to defend their mistress. But they were immediately butchered.
Coçalla, who had continued her flight, was soon overtaken, and
violently seized by Pedro Martin. The bold ruffian, goaded by
licentious passions, dragged her into the covert, while Gil Torres
stood by, as if keeping sentry. Her cries rang through the
woods, and not in vain. They called up a champion in the perilous
moment.

Don Philip de Vasconselos had not lost sight of the beautiful
Princess who had so fearlessly shown him how precious he was
in her eyes. But he forbore to trespass upon the indulgence
which she had shown him, and, with a rare modesty and forbearance,
a delicacy of consideration, which had few parallels in that
day amongst these wild adventurers, he steadily rejected the
temptations which were held out to him by the warmth of her
affection and the confiding innocence of her nature. He studiously
forbore her presence, except when specially required to
communicate with her by De Soto himself. In fact, there was
a policy, as well as propriety, in this forbearance. Vasconselos
had discovered that he was watched. Juan, his page, had made
some discoveries to this effect, and had made them known immediately
to the knight. He was watched by the creatures of Don
Balthazar. This was the amount of the discovery: and there
were suspicious circumstances, coupled with the conduct of Juan
Ortiz, the interpreter, whose jealousy had been kindled, at the
expense of Vasconselos, in consequence of the better knowledge
of the Indian tongues which the latter possessed. He had lost
some of his authority with the Spaniards during the period when
the Portuguese knight served wholly as the medium of communication
between the red men and the white. Ortiz possessed,
however, a rare natural capacity for the acquisition of language,
and, with a strong motive to goad his industry, in his pride, his
mortification, and his love of ease—for, when not interpreting,
he was required to serve in the ranks as a common soldier—he
addressed himself to the task of picking up the dialect of the
people of the new regions into which he passed. He had become
to a certain extent successful, so that he was now able to understand
and conjecture the purport of the various conversations
between the Princess and the knight, whenever they took place in

public. On all these occasions, Coçalla freely gave vent to her
affections, and spoke with Vasconselos as frankly in respect to
her love, as if no other ear but his own could comprehend the
purport of her speech. All this matter was reported to Don
Balthazar, who, by the way, had been repulsed by the Princess
in every approach which he had made to familiarity with her.
How Juan, the Moorish page, had ascertained these facts, may
not now be said, but he had learned enough to set his master on
his guard against the subtle Ortiz and other spies employed by
his enemy.

But though cautious, and avoiding as much as possible all intercourse
with the Princess, Vasconselos watched over her safety
as tenderly as if he returned her affection. He had seen the
growing indifference of De Soto to the claims and character of
the Princess, and he strove, whenever he could do so without
provoking suspicion, to lighten her bonds and soften her mortifications.
The boy, Juan, was sometimes sent with tributes to
Coçalla, with delicacies which she might not else procure; and
we may add that, though he obeyed the knight, he yet did so
with some reluctance. More than once he expostulated with
Philip upon the risk which he incurred, by his attentions, and
strove to alarm his fears; but he soon found that such suggestions
only inspired the knight with audacity. He then ventured
to change his mode of attack, and would speak, with a sneer,
about the incapacity of the red woman to appreciate either the
delicacy of his gifts or his attentions. But to this suggestion,
also, the reply of the knight was apt to silence, for awhile, the
presumption of the page.

“Cease,” one day he said to Juan—“cease, boy, to prate of
what thou knowest not. I tell thee that this heathen princess
is a more beautiful soul in my sight, than any that I know
of paler blood. And why shouldst thou, a blackamoor, presume
to sneer at the complexion which is more akin to that of
the Christian than thine own? Go to, for a foolish boy, and say
nothing more in this wise; for verily, sometimes, when thou
speakest thus, I am almost tempted to hold thee an enemy to this
most gracious yet luckless princess; whom I hold in such esteem,
boy, and regard, that if I had yet a heart to give, or a faith to
yield, to woman, I should prefer to trust in her, than to any living
beauty in all Spain or Portugal.”

Such speeches were always apt to humble and to silence the
page for a season. The knight no ways withheld his kindnesses
and protection from the princess, because of the counsels of the
boy. Yet he suffered her not to see that he watched over her;

and now, when the passions of the rude and licentious ruffian
Pedro Martin had dragged her into the deep thickets, and she
shrieked aloud in her last and worst terrors for a champion to
save her, she had little reason to think that the chief whom she
loved before all, would suddenly appear to her rescue.

Philip de Vasconselos was fortunately at hand. He heard
the cries of the captive princess. He recognized the voice. He
knew the present licentious moods of the Spaniards. He had
denounced, as a terrible crime, that requisition upon the Cassique
of Chiaha, which had outraged his people, and driven them away
to the shelter of the woods. His instinct instantly conceived the
danger of the princess; the neglect and disregard of De Soto
tending to encourage the audacity of those who were appointed to
watch over her. He called to Juan, and hurried with sword
drawn into the thickets. He was suddenly confronted by Gil
Torres.

“It is nothing, Señor Don Philip, but the cries of the heathen
woman, the Princess of Cofachiqui, who has been seeking to make
escape from us, and whom my comrade, Pedro, has just secured.”

“Stand aside, fellow—I must see this comrade of thine.”

Martin raised his lance, and caught the knight by the wrist to
detain him. With one blow of his gauntletted fist, Vasconselos
smote him to the earth, where he lay senseless. Philip hurried
into the thicket, where Coçalla still struggled with all her might
against the brutal assailant. But she was almost exhausted.
She could no longer shriek. She could only oppose. Her long
black hair, which swept the ground, was floating dishevelled, her
garments were torn, her hands were bloody. At this perilous
moment she saw the approach of the knight of Portugal. She
knew him at a glance. She could only murmur, “Philip,” and
her strength failed her. She sank down senseless. At the sight
of Vasconselos, the ruffian fled.

The knight raised the princess from the ground.

“Bring water, Juan.”

The boy obeyed, bringing the water in the knight's helmet,
which he threw to him for the purpose. He dashed the face of
the princess with the cooling sprinkle. He poured the grateful
draught into her lips. She opened her eyes. They lightened
with joy. She threw her arms round his neck, and cried—

“Philip! O Philip!”

“You must fly,” he said—“fly, Coçalla. Do not waste the
precious moments now. It is your only chance. Use it. I will
keep off these villains.”

He shook himself free from her, and darted away. She stood
mournfully looking at him for a while, then waved her hand to
him, and cried—

“Philip! Philip!”

He disappeared in the opposite woods; and she turned away,
with clasped hands, and moving with slow footsteps, bending
form, and a very mournful aspect, murmuring as she went, the
one word “Philip.” She too was soon buried, out of sight, in
the sheltering bosom of the mighty forest.