University of Virginia Library

39. CHAPTER XXXIX.

While these events were in progress, in and about the precincts
of the Indian town of Chiaha, Hernando de Soto was absent from
the place. He had led a portion of his forces in pursuit of the
fugitive red men, who had left their village in consequence of the
brutal requisition to render up their women; and a report of the
gathering of a large body of the savages, in a hostile attitude,
not far off, had aroused all the eager fury of the Spanish governor,
to pursue and punish them. He had pursued with his
usual energy, but without encountering the subtle enemy, who,
when they pleased, could readily cover themselves, in such perfect
concealment in the deeper forests, that the whole army of the
Adelantado could never ferret them out, or bring them to battle.
De Soto rested his troops, after the fruitless pursuit, in a beautiful
wood, about half a day's journey from the town of Chiaha.
Here he waited the return of certain of his officers, whom he had
sent on exploring journeys higher up the country. Nuno de
Tobar was thus absent with twenty lances: Andres de Vasconselos
had been sent forward with his Portuguese, to feel his way
along the banks of the Coosaw, and to prepare for the coming
of the army. There were a few other leaders of the Spanish
host, who, like these, might have had sympathies with Philip de
Vasconselos, who were also most inopportunely absent. There
was probably some design and management in an arrangement,
which, at this juncture, removed from the neighborhood the few
persons who might have resisted the perpetration of a cruel wrong,
and brought back the moods of De Soto to such a condition, as
would, at least, have tempered the severities which he might else
suppose were required by justice.

The star of Don Balthazar de Alvaro was, at this moment,
completely in the ascendant. He had been left in charge of the
village of Chiaha, when De Soto undertook the pursuit of the
fugitive Indians. It was his task to assign the guards to the
Princess of Cofachiqui; to regulate and control, in fact, all the
operations within his command, according to his own discretion.

It was not the purpose of De Soto to return to the village,
but to proceed onward, following the footsteps of the pioneer
force of Andres de Vasconselos to the country of the Alabamas.

With this large discretion in his hands, Don Balthazar was
not the person to forego the gratification of any of his passions.
The persons whom he had appointed to take charge of the princess
Coçalla, were his own creatures, the most despicable of the
common soldiers of his division. Don Balthazar had been
scorned by the princess. He knew the wild licentiousness which
at this time possessed the army. He knew the character of those
to whose tender mercies he entrusted her. He might have predicted
the event, if he did not,—perhaps he anticipated it; perhaps
he anticipated other fruits from the epidemic of license which
prevailed among the soldiers. It is not improbable that when he
was found by the ruffian, Pedro, who fled from the rapier of Don
Philip, conveniently in waiting in a lonely lodge on the edge of
the forest, that he himself had prompted his myrmidons to their
brutality, and that he had other passions to gratify, not less wild
and intense than that of revenge.

Great was the wrath of Don Balthazar when Pedro Martin
made his report. Gil Torres, with a bloody sconce, made his
appearance soon after, which confirmed it. The report was such
that, by their own showing, no good Christians could have been
more innocent of evil, or virtuously set upon doing good. The
subordinates saved their superior from much of the necessity of
invention; and where they failed as artists, he supplied the defects
in their case. They were prepared to affirm it with due
solemnities; and, thus armed, Don Balthazar smote one hand
with the other, and exclaimed exultingly,—

“Now, Señor Don Philip, I have thee at extremity. Thou
canst not escape me now.”

He dismissed the two soldiers. He called up Juan Ortiz, the
interpreter, to a private conference. He had secured the agency
of this simple fellow, who was naturally hostile to the Potuguese
knight, as the latter had so often superseded him in that employment,
from which he derived so much of his importance with the
army. Don Balthazar had tutored Ortiz already to his purposes,
while persuading the interpreter that they were entirely his own.
He, too, had certain evidence to give in respect to the treason of Don
Philip—for this was the serious charge which Don Balthazar was
preparing to bring against our knight of Portugal. For some
time he had been concocting his schemes in secret. Like some
great spider, lurking unseen in obscure corner, he had spread
forth his numerous silent, unsuspected snares, like fine threads,

to be wrought by patient malice into meshes, so strong as to
bind utterly the unwary victim. His meshes were now complete.
The victim was in the toils, and he had now only to proceed to
destroy him at his leisure.

Furious that the Princess Coçalla should escape, he was yet
delighted that the event afforded him evidence so conclusive
against Vasconselos. He prepared his despatches with all care
to De Soto. He set forth the facts in the case, and his inferences.
He suggested the course of procedure. He knew but too well
in what way to act upon the enormous self-esteem of the Adelantado,
already sufficiently provoked with Don Philip, and by
what subtle artifices of suggestion to open to his eyes the most
vast and various suspicions of the guilt of the man he sought to
destroy. Yet all this, though done boldly, was done adroitly,
so that De Soto never fancied himself taught or counselled; and,
acting promptly, on the very suggestions given by Don Balthazar,
he yet fancied, all the while, that he was the master of his
own purposes.

He sent back instant despatches in reply to those which he
received. It followed that, at midnight, Philip de Vasconselos
was summoned, in most respectful terms, to the quarters of Don
Balthazar.

He prepared at once to obey. Juan, the page, would have
followed him; but the summons of the Don had entreated him
to a secret conference, and Philip gave the boy in charge of his
lodge, and commanded him to remain where he was, awaiting
his return. The quarters of Don Balthazar might have been
half a mile from those of Philip; but the latter took horse to
compass the interval. He went in armor also. Such was the
practice; and, in seasons of excitement, and with doubtful friends
around them, such was the proper policy. But Philip was not
at his ease. His instincts taught him to dread treachery. He
knew Don Balthazar too well to put faith in his smooth accents.
He knew that the latter must hate, and would strive to destroy
him. Juan, the page, had like instincts, and an even better
knowledge of the man than had his master. He plucked the
knight by his sleeve, and whispered—

“Beware, Señor:—this summons—this man—”

Philip laid his hand gently on the boy's mouth, and said, also in
a whisper—

“The good knight must be bold, Juan, and being so, must always
beware that he is not too bold. But to caution him at one
hour of a danger which he must confront, by force of duty, at
all hours, is surely an idle lesson. Hear me, boy:—do thou
beware that thou neglectest not the duty which I now assign thee.

I have, for a long while, mediated to give thee a solemn charge,
in anticipation of this danger of death which walks ever, side by
side, with the soldier. There are three letters, sealed with my
signet, and folded in silk, which you will find in the little leathern
case with which I travel. When I have left thee to-night,
detach them from this case, and take them into thy own keeping.
They are addressed, one of them, to my mother, in Portugal:—
another to my brother Andres; and a third to a lady of the
island of Cuba,—whose name—but thou wilt read it on the
missive. These thou shalt, if thou survivest me, in good faith
deliver. All other papers in the case shalt thou this very night
destroy, as soon as I have left thee, and thou find'st thyself alone.
Swear to me, boy, on the Holy Cross, that thou wilt do these
things which I have bidden!”

The knight held up the cross hilted sword as he spoke, and the
boy, with a convulsive emotion, seized and kissed it. Then, with
a sob, he cried—

“Oh! Señor Don Philip, suffer that I follow thee now—that
I go with thee to this meeting with thy enemy.”

“Not so: but I will send thee word how and when to follow,
should I not return before noon to-morrow. For this night, boy,
farewell!”

And he laid his hand gently on Juan's shoulder, and turned
off a moment after. But the boy caught the hand quickly in
his grasp, pressed it fervently in both of his own, then released
it, and turned away. The knight looked at the Moor with almost
loving eyes.

“Verily,” he murmured to himself—“verily, this boy hath a
noble heart and soul, and he is very loving; and with such a
depth of feeling as is seldom witnessed at his years. Where
the heart groweth so fast, and drinks in so much, it is rarely
destined for long life. Life lingers only with the hard, and the
cold, and those who are economical with the affections. The cold
toad, it is said, remaineth—it cannot be said that he liveth—for
a full thousand years, locked up in stone.”

Thus musing, the knight left the lodge, and joined the young
Lieutenant who brought the message from Don Balthazar, and
who awaited him at the entrance. They mounted horse instantly,
and went towards the village; but scarcely had they entered the
narrow streets, when Vasconselos found himself surrounded by a
score or two of horse, from the centre of whom advanced a Captain,
who said, in stern accents—

“Señor Don Philip de Vasconselos, some time of Elvas in
Portugal, and now in the service of His Most Catholic Majesty,

the King of Spain, &c., I arrest thee, by orders of his Excellency,
Don Hernando de Soto, Governor of Cuba, and Adelantado
of Florida, under a charge of High Treason. Yield thysword!”

“Treason!” exclaimed Don Philip indignantly. “Treason!
Where is my accuser?”

“Thou shalt see and hear all in due season! At present, I
am commanded to bring thee, without speech with any one, to
the presence of the Adelantado.”

Resistance,—even if Don Philip had been disposed to offer
any—would have been perfectly idle. He submitted with quiet
dignity.

“Be it so!” he answered, quietly yielding his sword—“conduct
me to the Adelantado.”

The party set off that very instant. The knight of Portugal
did not once see Don Balthazar until they met in the presence
of De Soto. The wily spider had only waited to see Vasconselos
fairly in the clutches of the party placed in waiting for his
arrest, when he set off, with another party of horse, bringing up
the rear, and watchful that the captive should find no means of
escape.

It was nearly noon of the next day when they reached the
army. It was encamped on a pleasant plain, overshadowed
every where with great trees of the forest. De Soto, with pride
and passion equally roused, was impatiently waiting for the
arrival of the offender. No delay was allowed him; and the preparation
for his trial had been made before he came. A rude
scaffolding, upon which the chair of state had been placed in
readiness, had been raised for the Adelantado. His chief knights
were grouped immediately around him. The troops, horse and
foot, including the parties just arrived,—all under arms,—were
dispersed so as to form a half-circle about the dais, in which
every thing could be heard and seen by the meanest soldier.
There they stood, in grim array, with burnished weapons, in
mail and escaupil, banner and banneret flying, and the gorgeous
flag of Spain floating in the midst. De Soto was not the person
to omit any of the blazonry and pageantry, the state and ceremonial,
which belonged to his authority. Seated in his chair of
state, surrounded by his knights, he ordered that the prisoner
should be brought before him.

Philip de Vasconselos, conducted by his guards into the circle,
abated nothing of his dignity or noble firmness, as he stood before
the presence in which he could see none but enemies. He
looked around for the few persons whose sympathies and support

he might have hoped for, had they been at hand. Where
was Nuno de Tobar at that moment? Where was his brother,
Andres? In their absence, he readily divined that no precautions
had been omitted by his enemies, for effecting their object.
He saw that his doom was written.

This conviction, which threw him so completely upon God and
his own soul, raised him, with a strength of will and character, to
face the event, whatever it might be.

“I am here, under bonds, as a criminal, Don Hernan de
Soto,” spoke Philip, in clear, manly tones, his eye fixed brightly
the while upon the face of the Adelantado:—“I demand to know
of what I am accused, and that my accuser shall be set before
me!”

“Thou shalt have thy wish, Philip de Vasconselos. The
charge against thee is that of high treason to His Catholic Majesty,
with whom thou hast taken service.”

“I brand the charge with falsehood. I am no traitor.”

“That shall we see. Thou shalt behold and see thy accusers,
and the witnesses shall be brought before thee, who shall prove
thy offence.”

Vasconselos folded his arms patiently, and looked coldly
around the assembly, while Hernan de Soto, who did not
think amiss of his own eloquence, descanted in a sort of general
speech upon the affairs and necessities of the army; the duties
of a good knight, and faithful subject; the high trusts and confidence
which had been given to the knight of Portugal, and the
imperative necessity for condign punishment, wherever trusts had
been forfeited, and the trusted person had shown himself unfaithful.
Philip smiled scornfully, in a bitter mood, as he listened to
certain portions of the speech; and the cheeks of De Soto reddened
as he noticed the expression. His conscience smote him,
though not sufficiently, when he reflected upon the notorious
slight to which the knight of Portugal had been subjected from
the beginning, and how small had been the trust and favor shown
him.

His speech over, he proceeded to his specifications under it.

“Thou art charged, Philip de Vasconselos, by the noble
Señor, Don Balthazar de Alvaro, with having betrayed to the
Princess of Cofachiqui the secret councils of the conference,
when thou wast present as a member, and when it was resolved
that the safety of the army required that we should take that
person into close custody. It is alleged that thou didst betray
that conference to the Princess, in order to persuade her to escape
from our hands.”

“It is true that I did so endeavor to persuade the Princess
Coçalla to escape, and in this was I faithful to my oath of chivalry.
I were no true knight to have kept silence, when so gross a
wrong was meditated against that gentle and lovely young Princess.
But the council knew my sentiments in reference to that
measure. I did not conceal what I thought, that it was a baseness
which would forever dishonor the Spanish name.”

“That gave thee no right to betray the councils to which thou
wert admitted on the implied condition of thy secrecy. Thy
faith was pledged to us; and the crime, if crime there were, fell
upon our heads, not thine. Thou hast admitted the charge, which
we should ele establish against thee by no less than three reputable
witnesses.”

“It is admitted,” said the knight.

“It is next charged that thou didst recently set upon the two
soldiers appointed for the safe keeping of the princess, didst assault
them with naked weapons, didst wound one of them, and
put in mortal fear the other, and didst succeed in wresting this
princess from their keeping, so that she has made full escape from
our care and custody, thus depriving this army of all the benefits
which grew naturally out of our charge of her person.”

“I found the two ruffianly soldiers to whom the princess had
been confided, setting upon her with brutal violence and foul purpose,
and as true knight and gentleman, I did so rescue her from
their keeping. I had no purpose in this, but the safety and innocence
of the noble woman.”

The two soldiers were brought forward, and loudly protested
their innocence, making affirmation on the Holy Evangel.

“Thou hear'st?” said De Soto.

“I hear, Señor. Is it to be allowed to these wretches, thus
charged with a heinous crime, to acquit themselves by their own
asseverations?”

“It is thy offence, Señor, and not theirs, which is now before
this tribunal.” Such was the interposition of Don Balthazar.

“And it is in answer to the charge against me, that I do accuse
these ruffians and acquit myself.”

“Were such privilege awarded to the criminal, there would
be no witness to be found innocent,” replied De Soto. “Thou
dost not deny the rescue of the princess from her keepers?”

“I glory in the act too greatly to deny it,” was the answer.
“I am proud of the noble service.”

“Ha! We shall see how far thy exultation in the deed will
suffice to acquit thee of its penalties! Hear further:

“It is charged that thou hast been a wooer to this princess for

her love; that the tie of marriage exists between thee, according
to the fashion among the heathen Apalachians, and in despite
of all Christian rites; and that she hath pledged to thee,
and thou hast accepted the gift, of the whole empire of the Apalachian,
which thou mean'st to hold adversely to the crown of
Spain, to which thy sworn faith is strictly held.”

“The charge is no less false than foolish!”

“There shall be proof to confound thee! There are yet other
charges. It is alleged—and this shall be proved by Juan Ortiz,
—that on a certain occasion, when at Cofachiqui, thou wast called
upon as an Interpreter to demand of the princess that her people
be required to bring in supplies of maize and beans; that thou
didst counsel her not to comply with our demands; and didst
tell her that, by this means, she could starve us out of the country,
or so enfeeble us that the very children of the Apalachian
should then be the masters over us in fight.”

“The charge is wholly false! By whom could such charge be
made, seeing that no one of the army but myself understood
the language of the people? Who, then, could say what words
were spoken between the princess and myself?”

“That will not avail thee! Our interpreter, Juan Ortiz, hath
a keen ear and quick comprehension; and so far hath he learned
of this language, that he hath been enabled to follow thee, and
scan thy proceedings, and detect thy treacheries. He asserts
boldly that such was thy speech to the princess.”

“He hath misunderstood me,” replied the knight of Portugal,
“from a too imperfect knowledge of what he heard. What, in
truth, was spoken, was to the effect that the Spaniards were not
a people to be starved out, because of the refusal of the red men
to bring in their supplies—for such had been the nature of the
princess's own speech—and that they would seize them where
found, and, would never suffer themselves to starve, even though
they fed upon the children of the tribe. I was only too faithful
to the Spaniards when I spoke to the princess.”

“Ha! in painting them as heathen cannibals?”

“It was but a threat, your Excellency.”

“A threat! But wherefore, when this princess spoke in threats
to thee, didst thou not repeat her language to us?”

“Of what need! the provisions were brought.”

“But we should have been allowed to judge of the propriety
of thy arguments, Señor. It were a matter to be weighed solemnly,
whether we should suffer thee to depict, even to the
Heathen, the Christian warriors of Castile, as so many cannibals,
eager to feed on human flesh.”

“If your Excellency is pleased to speak of this bold threat
with so much solemnity, I can make no answer to thee.”

“Ay, thou need'st not! Thou hast made answer sufficient for
thy ruin. Thou hast thyself admitted the charges which would
condemn thee; and if thou did it not, here are the witnesses who
should prove thy treachery. Hast thou any who can say aught
in thy defence?”

“None, Señor; since I see that the few gentlemen who have
best knowledge of my nature and performances, are not in this
assembly; it will be for those to answer to their consciences,
by whom they have been sent away at this juncture.”

“Does the Knight of Portugal impute to me a wrong?—for it
was I by whom they were sent away, and by the Holy Cross,
I swear that when they were thus sent away, I had no thought
that thou, or any other, should be arraigned for trial, on these,
or any other charges.”

“Your Excellency is, no doubt, free of offence in this matter,
but there is one person, at least, for whom truth could never say
so much, and who hath wrought this scheme for my ruin. There
is one proof that I might offer—one witness—” and he paused.
De Soto quickly said—

“Speak, Señor, and he shall be brought. I will gladly accord
them all chance of speech and hearing.”

“Nay, Señor, I know not that it will need or avail. It was of
my page, the boy Juan, that I had thought. He knows best of
my acts and motives. Besides, he hath gathered even more of
this language of the Apalachian, than this man, Ortiz, could possibly
have done.”

“The boy is a slave, your Excellency—a wretched Moor,” interposed
Don Balthazar; “he can give no evidence in a case affecting
both Christian knights and Castilian gentlemen.”

“But I would, nevertheless, have had him here, Señor Don
Balthazar,” answered De Soto, with some asperity in his accents.
“Why was he not brought?”

“It was not known, your Excellency, that his presence would
be required as a witness, or for any other purpose. The Señor
Don Philip did not signify any wish upon the subject.”

“And how should I have done so, your Excellency,” answered
Philip, with a scornful look at Don Balthazar, though addressing
De Soto, “when I was not suffered to suspect the strait in which
I stood—when I was beguiled from my lodgings, upon false pretences
of kindness and counsel, and seized without warning or
summons, by a troop of cavalry at midnight? I saw not the
boy after my arrest, and until the moment when I met with him

here, Don Balthazar de Alvaro did not permit that I should see
him.”

“I trust, Señor,” said De Soto to Don Balthazar, “that thou
hast not proceeded in any way in this matter unbecoming a true
knight.”

“It were sorry policy, your Excellency,” was the cool reply,
“to give warning to the traitor of your purpose to tie his hands
till the cord is ready.”

“Surely there is no hardship in such proceeding. The suspected
person is not to be suffered chances of escape; but when
the knight of Portugal was in thy hands, thou shouldst have
seen that he lacked no proper agency in making his defence.
Not that this Moorish boy could serve thee, Señor, for his evidence
could not make weight against the better testimony of
Christian witnesses.”

“And I know not that he could say any thing, your Excellency,
in my behalf. He could only asseverate his own ignorance
of all treachery on the part of Philip de Vasconselos, such
as would discredit knight or gentleman. I have no witnesses but
God and the blessed Saviour. To them I make appeal against
my enemy. But I claim the privilege of combat, your Excellency,
with my accuser, my guilt or my innocence to rest on the
issue of the combat. I throw down my gauntlet in mortal
defiance, and challenge to the field of battle, his body against
mine, with lance or sword, and battle-axe and dagger, or with
any other weapon that he pleases, the foul, base, dishonest,
and perjured knight, Don Balthazar de Alvaro, as one who has
done me cruel wrong, and has sought, by false slanders, suborned
witnesses, to do me to death, and to stain with shame a scutcheon
that has always hitherto been pure and without dishonor. There
is my glove! Your Excellency will not deny me to assert my
truth according to the laws of arms. I claim the wager of battle!”

He advanced calmly and firmly as he spoke, and throwing
down his glove at the feet of Don Balthazar, exclaimed, sotto voce,
but still loud enough to be heard by others than the person addressed—

“Lift it, Señor, if thou wouldst not be known for the dastard,
as I know thee for the villain and the knave!”