 | Centeola |  |
CENTEOLA;
OR
THE MAID OF THE MOUNDS.
1. CHAPTER I.
I dip deep into the shadowy past. I write of an age,
since which the suns of seven hundred summers have
wheeled over the broad and beautiful prairies of the West.
I narrate the events of an era in the primitive history of
that prolific garden of the continent, which was marked
by the compulsory exodus of one of the different great
races of the Red Men, who have there lived, fulfilled the
periods of their respective destinies, and successively
passed away before the influx of the ruder and stronger
peoples of the North, each appearing and disappearing in
turn — waves in the ocean of Time.
At the northerly extremity of a romantic valley,
lying along the banks of a noble river, and situated then,
as now, about midway between the most south-westerly
of the great lakes and the great river of the West, there
sat on a mossy bank, on the day and hour chosen for the
and seer of his tribe, gazing out wistfully over the
broad expanse stretching away as far as the eye could
reach before him. It was a bright mid-summer morning.
A wide sea of waving verdure everywhere overspread
the flowery prairie. The long chain of encircling
hills, as clothed with its deepest tinted forest foliage;
while beneath coursed the glittering rivers, like cords
of silver thrown around the valley to mark it off
from the bold mountain margin, which everywhere enclosed
it. Prairie, grove and hill-side, were all vocal
with the varied music of the myriad birds, that were gaily
disporting within and around them, and waking their
solitudes to seeming mirth and melody, and all nature
appeared to be rejoicing in the perfection of her young
life and beauty.
But the Sage heeded none of these. His troubled
thoughts were engrossed by the portents of the times
connected with the destinies of his nation, which embraced
the seven confederate tribes of the noted Azatlan and its
proud capital, called the Imperial City; while ever and
anon he sent searching glances over the prairie, expectant
of the appearance of one who had become the light
and hope of his life, and who would, he believed, if any
one could still prove so, become the saviour of her country.
While thus musing his attention was arrested by the
sound of approaching footsteps, and turning, he beheld
him.
“Venerated Sage,” meekly said the young warrior
in reply to the enquiring looks of the other, although “I
have crossed your path unwittingly, I can scarcely say
I regret it, for I find myself in the presence of one
who can impart lessons of wisdom to all, who, like myself,
would gladly receive them.”
“Thou hast seen and heard of me, then?” slowly
responded the old man, fixing a scrutinizing look on the
face of the handsome young warrior.
“Ay; and where shall we find one who has not heard
of the good Alcoan, the Sage and Seer of the Feathered
Serpents, the wisest of the seven tribes that do fealty to
the king of the Imperial City?”
“By that token, young warrior, and the knowledge
that I am now in the vicinity of the place thou hast
named, as well as by thine outward equipment, I judge
thee to be from thence.”
“The Sage has judged rightly, I am from the great
city.”
“Thou mayest, then, be the son of a noble — perchance
of a chief?”
“Again hast thou conjectured correctly, Sage. I am
the son of a chief. My name is Tulozin, and I am the
only heir to the chiefdom of my tribe.”
“Of the chiefdom of what tribe dost thou speak?”
“That of the warlike tribe of the Buffalos, whose
broad lands and hunting grounds, as Alcoan well knows,
extend from the great river on the west, till they meet the
lands of the Feathered Serpents on the East.”
“Ay, and it is a tribe of which thou needest not be
ashamed, young Chief. But what doest thou in the Imperial
City?”
“Not much at present; but Alcoan knows that the
chiefs of the seven tribes and a select number of their
nobles, are required to reside mainly in the Imperial City
to make up the Court and Council of the King. My
father's head has become white with the frosts of years.
He begins to sigh for the tranquility of his old lodge
among the quiet retreats of his trusty and loving people,
and he lately sent for me, that, before he retires, I may
receive his instructions touching the duties of the high
post of honor at Court which he is now soon to vacate
in my favor.”
“I see, young chief, I see. The objects of thy ambition
for place and power are about to be realized; and in
the realization, thou doubtless countest on a bright career
of honor and happiness. So ever calculate the ardent and
aspiring young. They see only brightness in their path,
and that brightness is to last forever. It may be that their
visions of pleasure and power will all be fulfilled. But
hast thou not heard of the black cloud that is rising in
the north?”
“I have; and I know also the uneasiness it is creating
among the people and rulers of the Imperial City. But
still it creates no serious alarm, and why should it, good
Alcoan? Thou doubtless rememberest how ten summers
ago, a similar cloud of war appeared in the same direction,
how greatly were the people alarmed, and how the King
and Council promptly ordered not only their own city to
be fortified, but that all the confederate tribes should provide
against the common danger by raising strong defensive
works in the form and fashion of the Totemic emblems
of their respective tribes, and how all this was
accordingly done, the Buffalos fashioning the defensive
works around their village in the form of a buffalo — the
Panthers theirs in the shape of a panther, the Feathered
Serpents in the shape of a coiled serpent, and thus
through all the seven tribes. And thou also rememberest,
Sage, how then that threatening war cloud suddenly ceased
rolling towards us.”
“I remember it all, Tulozin.”
“And are not all those defensive works still existing,
and even made stronger than before by recent repairs?”
“It may be so, young chief.”
“And again, O Sage, are not our people stronger now
than theirs?”
“In some respects, perhaps; but in the meanwhile have
not the countless horde of our barbarian foes probably
grown stronger in all respects? At their former show of
of the great lake of the North from some cold and sterile
region far beyond. They were then doubtless sadly wayworn,
and without the food and equipments necessary for
offensive campaigns; and they paused and spread themselves
out over that land which divides the rivers running
North, from those running South, to supply their wants,
and gather strength for the onward march for the milder
regions hereabouts, at which they were aiming. And
that needed strength they have doubtless gathered in the
ten years interval which has since elapsed. So at last
they must believe; for they are again concentrated, and in
motion towards us, having already nearly reached, it is
said, the borders of our fair and fertile domains, which
they are intent on seizing. Yes, Tulozin, they are
moving down upon us with the stern resolve of our subjugation,
and with a prospect of success which may well
make us tremble for the result.”
“The infirmities of age, good Alcoan, may have made
you timid and prone to magnify the danger. Even if it
be as you say about the determination of the foe to invade
us, we are prepared for the onset. All the tribes have
their sufficient defenses; while the Imperial City has been
doubly fortified. And besides all this, ever since the former
menaced advance of the enemy, the King and Council
have been propitiating the god of war, the great
Mexitlo, by the yearly sacrifice of a virgin to his honor;
this crisis, and present him an offering which shall be
adequate to his greatest possible requirements, it is proposed,
at the sacred festival, which as you may be aware,
is to be held in his name to-morrow and next day, to sacrifice
to him a whole score of the fairest virgins of the
land.”
“Ah, Tulozin, blinded Tulozin! In the strength on
which thou thus countest for the Imperial City, will lie,
according to my light, its greatest weakness and danger.
There is but one God who has any control over the affairs
and destinies of men. He created all — governs all.
He is the only true and Supreme God; and if there be
any such bloody gods as thou hast named, they have no
power to hurt or help us, for they are all subject to his
will. He is also a just God, prospering or punishing men
and nations according to their deserts, and He, too, is a
good God and cannot but be offended by the sacrifice of
any of his earthly children, all of whom are the objects
of his love, his care and protection.”
“Alcoan, I know, is a wise man, and among the Seers
of the land; but he does not talk like the Seers of the
Imperial City, with whom till now, I had supposed he
agreed. Has he seen and consulted with any of them?”
“Ay, young chief, I have. Not many moons ago, a
deputation of their number, or of higher officials, it may
be, acting for and with them, came to his lodge at the village
beautiful river, where it begins to turn to the west. After
disclosing their own views, they demanded his. He gave
them. But they would heed none of his words of truth
and warning; and they turned scornfully away from his
auguries. Much less would they listen to those of one
to whom he referred them — of her whose light, compared
with his, is as the light of the sun to the torch of
the night-hunters.”
“Who is that of whom thou so highly speakest, good
Alcoan?”
“It is Centeola — the young, the beautiful and the
greatly gifted.”
“Is she not thy daughter, O Sage?”
“Only in the spirit, young chief.”
“What then is her lineage? One so gifted as thou claimest
her every way to be, should surely be of noble blood.”
“She is more than that; but of her lineage I may not
speak. I may have some knowledge on the subject, but
the time has not yet arrived for disclosing the secret,
though it may not now be far distant.”
“Is she not an inmate of thy lodge?”
“It is even so.”
“And has she not always been with thee?”
“Nay — many years, but not always.”
“Whence came she, then?”
“Thou pressest me more closely in this matter, young
tell thee, perhaps, which many others of my tribe know,
that she was left at the door of my lodge, when she was
too young to know whence she came, or of whom she was
the offspring.”
“But hadst thou not thyself means of forming a conjecture
respecting her origin?”
“Yea, young chief, I soon believed I had. Though
the child's outer garment was a coarse one, put on, doubtless
as a disguise, yet her inner garments were of fine and
peculiar texture, which I thought significant of the character
of her parentage. This alone, however, was not
conclusive, but I soon discovered an article which gave
me a direct clue to the mystery. It was a small silver
amulet, marked with a particular device, which being suspended
from her neck beneath all her clothing, had not,
through some inadvertence probably, been removed.
This clue I followed up till I had discovered all; but I
locked up the secret in the deepest recesses of my bosom,
for I believed that to be the better wisdom, and
the better course for the welfare of the child. I knew
she was a castaway, for whom no one had a thought
except to get rid of her. But my philosophy taught me
that the good Providence who must condemn, while
it, for wise purposes, permitted the wrongs she had
unconsciously suffered, would bless the lodge where
she was kindly received. I therefore took her in
in the result. She had come to me as a white-winged
dove, bringing peace and blessings to my lodge. Every
thing began to prosper with me as never before. I
knew the cause, and was anxious for the continuance of the
blessings, and the happiness which the performance of
this duty brought me. I redoubled my efforts for the
welfare and improvement of the beautiful child.”
“And did she improve so as to reward all thy exertions,
good Alcoan?”
“She did, as thou shalt hear, Tulozin. I had ever been
a worshiper of intellect. And why should I not be; for it is,
when not perverted by passion, a part of God himself. And
thus regarding this spark of divinity within us, what wonder
that I should delight to see it developed in one who had
become so dear to me. Having early perceived in her the
marks of an extraordinary mind, I resolved to go on polishing
the gem assiduously and unremittingly, to see to
what degree of brilliancy it might be made to attain. I
therefore trained her mind with the most anxious care, imparting,
as fast as she could be made to receive and comprehend
it, all the learning of which I myself was master, and
then toiled seeking out new treasures of knowledge that
I might add still further to the wondrous progress she
was so obviously making. And by the time she began to
approach the confines of womanhood, I found myself communing
with one, who, as I was daily made conscious, had
Then when she had grasped all the knowledge which men
are generally permitted to possess, she began to soar still
higher and pierce into the mystic future. And it was
then, also, that a great marvel began to appear in the
mind-power of each of us. In proportion as her light increased
in strength and brightness, mine seemed to diminish
and gradually to withdraw itself from the events of
the future into the limits of the present and past; so that
now, as regards us two, she has become the Seer and I
only the Sage.”
“Your words fill me with wonder and admiration.
But is it indeed true that Alcoan, whose fame for auguries
is known throughout all Azatlan, can no longer claim
to be among the Seers of the land?”
“No longer, young chief; his light is absorbed in the
brighter one.”
“I will then ask of him as a Sage what I had thought
to ask of him as a Seer — has he any fears that our proud
and populous Azatlan can ever be overrun and conquered
by the hostile horde now threatening us at the North?”
“He has such fears, Tulozin.”
“Wherefore can such fears arise? Alcoan cannot reason
from anything that can now be discerned by others.”
“That may partly be so, young chief. But Alcoan has
deeply studied the general course of human events, and
seen what constitutes the strength, and what the weakness
their youth, their manhood, their age, and their death or
dispersion. One after another, in the long course of time,
they appear in some goodly land, like this of ours, grow
strong and flourish, till, at length becoming weak or wicked,
they fade away and give place to some stronger race.
They are born and grow hardy in the North, to prepare
them for brighter and perhaps stouter careers in the milder
regions. They appear always to come from the North
and move towards the South, and never in the contrary
directions. And thus, in their different periods, they successively
sweep over the land, like the billows that chase
each other over the great lakes of the North. We know
by tokens we find in the earth, as well as from the traditions
of our fathers, that in early times — the times beginning,
perhaps, soon after Azatlan rose from the broad
waste of waters once extending from our great lake at the
North to the great sea at the South — we know that a
great nation lived here in the land now occupied by us,
fulfilled its period and disappeared. Our nation is here
now, but is it destined long to remain so? The history
of the past bids me to say no! The condition of our
over-ripe nation says no; and finally the portents of the
times all echo back the answer, no! Are not these things
so, Tulozin? Is not the black storm-cloud already throwing
its portentous shadow across our borders in its approach?
And when was such a cloud ever turned back
in its course?”
“Sage, I am sorely perplexed by your strange and boding
discourse. But surely our nation cannot come within
your meaning. Its destiny cannot yet be fulfilled. It
should be still in the strength of the middle age.”
“Ay, should be, but is not. If the head of a middle
aged man becomes diseased, will his body and limbs remain
healthy and strong, or will they become weak and
paralyzed?”
“I know not that I understand thee, Sage. The head
of our nation is the Imperial City; does the Sage deem
that to be diseased?”
“Young chief, I might well say more, but thou art not
prepared to hear it now. Be content with what I have
spoken, and ponder it well.”
“For thy own opinions, then, Sage, I will not now further
press thee. But thou mayst, perhaps, give me those of
another. I would know what is reflected from that bright
light of which you have so warmly spoken. I would
know more of the fair and gifted Centeola. Thou wast
expecting to meet her here about this time, it may be?”
“And, may be, so wast thou, young chief.”
“Sage, thou hast read me closely.”
“Confess thyself freely then. Tell me why thou hast
enquired of me so particularly concerning her, and what
were thy reasons for supposing her to be on her way
hither?”
“I had not foreseen this turn in our communings, wise
now askest me. But as I have pressed thee to tell me
more, perchance, than I had just right to require of thee,
I cannot now, it may be, well refuse to respond to thy
questions. I will therefore tell thee frankly.”
“It were better for thee to do so, young chief.”
“The Sage, doubtless, knows how to make allowances
for the errors of youth, if in me such errors be found.
Let him hear me then forbearingly; forgive, if he cannot
approve, and he shall be told the truth, though it may demean
me in his sight.”
“Alcoan never judges harshly of a man, when he perceives
that truth and sincerity are at the bottom of his
heart.”
“I proceed then, Sage. About twelve moons ago, while
living with my tribe, the spirit of adventure was strong
upon me. It took various shapes, but of one only have I
need to speak. The fame of the great beauty of Centeola,
the marvellous maid of the Feathered Serpents, had
reached me; and I at length resolved to go to her village,
that with my own eyes I might judge of one whose name
had been on so many tongues. And disguised as a poor
vender of female ornaments, I travelled to your favored
village, and called at the door of thy lodge, saw and
had slight speech with thee. But learning from thee that
the one I thought must be her whom I sought, was out
with her maiden companions in the borders of a neighboring
I soon came upon a merry group of maidens, some gathering
wild flowers, some warbling in chorus with the feathered
songsters, and some trying to snare small birds of
rich plumage for their feathered embroidery. They were
all beautiful; but one of them was of such surpassing
loveliness and womanly dignity, that I became as one suddenly
transfixed in speechless admiration before some
bright vision. I knew it was Centeola; for her maiden
companions, gathering round her as if for protection, called
her so. She cast on me a look of mingled rebuke and
inquiry. But such was my confusion that I forgot all
about the excuse of offering my wares, could make no explanation
or apology for my intrusion, and retired abashed
from her presence, at once setting out on my return to my
tribe, but carrying with me the deeply impressed image
of her whose appearance had so overpowered my senses.
Such, Sage, is my confession, and in it thou wilt read the
interest I have ever since felt in Centeola and the reason
why I have inquired about her so particularly. I have
disclosed this with much misgiving, and hardly hope for
thy approbation. But I may at least claim the merit of
having spoken the words of truth and frankness.”
“That much is certainly thine, young chief. 'Tis not
often that youth can be brought to expose their follies so
frankly. But my other question — how thou camest to
expect Centeola here, at this time, remains yet unanswered.”
“What I have already told thee, Sage, was my own secret
to disclose or withhold, as I chose. But what thou
now askest may perhaps involve some of the secrets of the
council, to which I am beginning to have access, but of
which I am not permitted to speak. And as I cannot
promise the same frankness in answering this as in answering
thy other questions, perhaps thou wilt be content
with the statement that our rulers have many means of
knowing what is passing among the tribes, which is not
generally understood.
“Thou admittest then, that those rulers have their
secret emissaries among the people?”
“They do not call them so, Sage. They consider them
as men sent out to see and report the condition of the
nation.”
“And was it from these that thy knowledge of Centeola's
approach to the Imperial City, to-day, was obtained?”
“Tulozin cannot deny it.”
“What then did they believe to be the object of her
coming?”
“To be present at the coming festival, they supposed;
and it appeared to gratify them, that so famed a beauty
was about to grace the ceremonies with her presence.”
“If they suppose Centeola comes to minister to the lawless
gaze of the young nobles, or even the less questionable
curiosity of the gaping multitude, they reason without
knowledge. Centeola comes on a higher mission.”
“What may that mission be, good Alcoan?”
“I may not tell thee, young chief.”
“Not if I might aid her in her purposes?”
“Nay, nay, young chief. And even were I at liberty
to disclose to thee her objects, the disclosure would be
more likely to displease than gratify thee.”
“I cannot fathom thy words, O Sage. Centeola is as
pure and good as she is beautiful, and she cannot be engaged
in aught which is not right; and with what is right
to be done, Tulozin can never be displeased. I have
proved to thee, Sage, I think, how great is my regard and
reverence for her, and you can readily believe from all
my words and actions, how much I should be gratified to
win her favor.”
“I understand thee, young chief, but cannot encourage
thee. With thy present views and feelings in all the matters
which are now most engrossing our care and anxiety,
and with the approbation thou hast shown of measures
which our rulers propose for averting the calamities now
threatening the country, there is a wall between thee and
Centeola as long as Earth and as high as Heaven. Before
letting thy thoughts stray further in the direction, in
which, it seems, thou hast permitted them unwisely to
wander, wait till thou hast seen her, and heard her speak
of the high duties she has undertaken to perform. She
will now soon make her appearance.”
“How soon, O Sage?” asked the young chief, after dropping
and perplexity.
“Look at the shadows,” returned the Sage. “Thine
eyes are clearer than mine. Watch them closely, a moment,
to see whether they are still shortening, or pausing
before they turn to the lengthening?”
The young chief did so, and soon reported that the
shade of the tree he had been inspecting was stationary.
“The time has arrived, then,” said the Sage. “Centeola
was to be here when the shadows were the shortest.
So now send thy gaze along over the mid line of the prairie,
and tell me what thou seest?”
“I see,” said the young chief, after a long and searching
gaze in the indicated direction — “I see quite a number
of moving specks, far out on the prairie. Ay, and
they are coming this way. They move like a band of
travellers.”
“Ah! it is doubtless Centeola and her train,” exclaimed
the sage with an air of animation, rising and
advancing to obtain a view for himself.
2. CHAPTER II.
“She loves but knows not whom she loves.”
Let us here revert to such incidents of previous occurrence
connected with the later career of the remarkable maiden,
whom we have indirectly brought to the knowledge of the
reader, as shall serve more fully to introduce her to him,
and explain all that is necessary to be known for a clear
understanding of what is to follow.
The sage Alcoan at first loved his adopted child, the
beauteous Centeola, for her docile and gentle nature, —
then admired her for her extraordinary powers of intellect,
and finally suffered his admiration to rise to a feeling
of profound reverence from his belief in her superadded
gifts of prophecy. And in his high estimate of her
mental powers, at least he did her but the simplest justice.
Her mind flashed like light over every subject presented
for its contemplation, and intuitively detecting and
rejecting all the false in every view, rested only on the
true in forming its conclusions. And all the more unerring
were those conclusions, because they were reached
by the aiding light of a high moral nature. Pure
matters involving moral principle. It needs the corrective
influence of that inner light which is called conscience,
and which has ever been found planted in the human soul,
since the Creator recognized it at the fall of our first
progenitors, by asking them, — Who told thee thou wert
naked? That inner light and acute moral sense, was
possessed to an unusual extent by Centeola. And while
instinctively shrinking from all that was impure, and revolting
from every form of wickedness and wrong, she
was thus enabled clearly to read all the principles of immutable
justice, and foresee what consequences must necessarily
be visited on all flagrant violations of those principles
by the Great and Good Spirit whom she adored;
and what consequently to her nation must be the result of
the vices and sins which prevailed among the people at
large, and especially of the wickedness and idolatries that
predominated in the Imperial City, the fountain head of
every corruption and wrong. And hence she began, as if
acting under some involuntary impulse, to predict, unless
timely repentance and reformation might avert it, the approaching
doom of the nation, in its destruction by some
signal judgment of Heaven, or in its expulsion from the
beloved Azatlan, where it had risen to such prosperity
and power. Alcoan, therefore, believed her a supernaturally
inspired prophetess. But she did not deem herself
so. She was conscious of the exercise only of the
founded on what she deemed to be the logic of events.
Such was the degree of intellectual and moral progress
to which Centeola had attained, and such the position in
which she stood the year before the opening of our tale.
Up to that time her life had flowed on like some clear and
tranquil stream, whose waters no rude winds had ever
been permitted to ruffle. Her employments were mostly
of an intellectual character, varying from the closest exercises
of the mind, to the lighter contemplation of the beauties
and harmonies of nature. Of the cares of life she
knew nothing; for she had been brought up as one of the
daughters of the nobles; and the passions which usually
agitate her sex in early womanhood as yet slumbered undisturbed
in her guileless bosom. This halcyon period of
her life, however, was now about to be brought to a close.
Events were at hand, which were to teach her that she
was a woman, and that from woman's feelings, and woman's
peculiar trials, she was no longer to be exempted.
It was about this time occurred the forest scene between
the young chief Tulozin and Centeola and her companions,
which has been described in the preceding chapter
as making a deep impression on him, and which, notwithstanding
his misgivings about the effect of his intrusion,
was destined, it would seem, to produce a scarcely
less deep impression on her than it had on him.
The next morning after that pantomimic interview in
altered deportment, which plainly showed that much
of her usual tranquility of mind had forsaken her, sent for
her confidential maiden companion, Mitla, who was also of
noble origin, and of a strong and well cultivated intellect.
The summons being soon obeyed, the two fair friends,
hand in hand, took their way out of the village and along
down the banks of the majestic river which on one side
encompassed it. After proceeding some distance in silence,
they came opposite to a deeply wooded island, lying but a
little way out in the stream; when Centeola hesitatingly
paused and said —
“I would, Mitla, that we were in the deepest recesses
of yon beautiful island, where the pensive silence of the
shaded forest might better harmonize with my feelings, at
this time, than this open field and dazzling sunshine, and
also better comport, it may be, with the character of the
subject on which I would commune with thee.”
“Thy wish can easily be gratified, Centeola,” returned
the other. “We have just passed by a canoe moored
to the bank of the stream; and I will return and row it
down to this place; where we will both embark for the
island.”
Receiving a nod of approbation of her suggestion, the
attentive Milta departed on the proposed errand, and in a few
moments more, she appeared with the promised canoe;
when, having taken in her revered friend, she, with a few
to the opposite shore. Both here disembarking, they leisurely
proceeded through the thickly embowering forest
some distance into the interior of the island; when, at a
gesture from Centeola, they seated themselves on a flowery
bank, which was diffusing its delicate perfume over all
around them. It was a beautiful spot, and one that might
well be consecrated as sacred to solitude. The obstructed
rays of the summer sun broke softly down through the
small wavy openings among the breeze-moved foliage above
to the variegated carpet of flowers beneath, and well
was the scene graced by the two lovely maidens who now
occupied it. They both were favored with an unusual
share of personal beauty; but the types of their beauty
were as diverse as were their characters. That of the peculiarly
intellectual Centeola, with a form in every line, and
a face in every lineament, as fair and faultless as that
claimed for Eve in Paradise, was singularly angelic and
etherial; while that of Mitla, the elder and more practical,
was, like her character, of a less poetical, and more
earthy cast.
On a slender branch of a neighboring tree, and in full
view of the maidens, sat a solitary turtle dove, sending
forth, ever and anon, its liquid notes of mournful melody.
“List! Mitla,” said Centeola, after pensively musing
awhile in silence, “list to yon beautiful bird! How soft
and tender its varied notes, and how sweet their low and
melting cadences!”
“I both see and hear it,” responded the other; “but
the sight and sound of that kind of bird is too familiar
to me to cause any particular emotion.”
“So it might have been with me, at another time,
Mitla. But to-day those notes of charming sadness seem
somehow to touch a chord in my bosom which, I feel sure,
was never thus touched before.”
“Why is that so, Centeola?”
“I scarcely know, myself, Mitla. Something unusual
must have happened to me, or some mysterious change
come over me; for I feel as if I was being dragged down
from the bright realms of the intellectual world, where I
have so long reveled, to the grosser things of earth and
sense. Can I have committed some great sin, Mitla that
this should be so?”
“Nay, Centeola is too intelligent to have done that unknowingly,
and too good to have done it knowingly.”
“Then, I will ask thee, Mitla, whether thou believest
one can commit a sin in a dream?”
“Nay — certainly not, dear Centeola; but why askest
thee that singular question?”
“I must tell thee, Mitla. The scene that occurred yesterday
in the forest, when the young stranger so unexpectedly
appeared, and so silently departed, must be fresh
in thy memory?”
“It is so.”
“And thou didst not fail to note how noble his mein and
how bright and kindly his countenance?”
“I did note his looks, Centeola, and thought them to
be in some measure what thou hast-said of them. But
otherwise there was nothing very attractive about him.
His apparel was certainly of the commonest kind.”
“I scarcely noticed his apparel at all, Mitla. It was
his manly and handsome features, and the fine, intelligent
expression that illumined them, that engrossed my attention.
And if these, as thou sayest, were noticed by thee,
how much more should they be by me, on whom his gaze was
so closely riveted, and on whom, to the last, I felt his looks
to be wistfully lingering.”
“It was thy shining beauty, Centeola, that caused
him thus to single thee out. It is so with all men. But
what of the dream at which thou hinted?”
“I did have a dream, last night, Mitla — a dream of
different aspects but all of similar import. I fell asleep,
thinking, with feelings of lively interest and curiosity of
the stranger we had encountered. And it was not long
before I thought he stood before me, in the same forest
where I saw him and under the same circumstances. At
first, it was the exact scene of yesterday acted over again;
but not as yesterday did he mutely depart. He beckoned
me aside, and in gentle and respectful tones, apologized
for his intrusion, and expressing a hope of seeing me
again, bestowed on me a winning smile and departed, leaving
me with a new and strange feeling at work in my bosom.
An interval of time seemed to elapse, and then
the flowery banks of a beautiful river; when he, the
stranger of the former scene, fell in by my side, took my
hand, which I seemed to have no power to withhold, and
said to me something — I knew not what, but felt it was
that which made me very, very happy. This scene also
soon faded away, and another but briefer interval elapsed,
after which I seemed to be surrounded by new and frightful
objects, with strange, fearful sounds, and the wild
commotion of angry multitudes, who were fast closing up
everywhere around me for my destruction; when suddenly
a deliverer appeared in the person of the same young
stranger, but now clothed in the rich garb of a plumed
chief, who snatched me from the impending danger and
bore me off in triumph — a triumph which I felt to be
more mine than his, and which sent such a thrill of joy
and gratitude through my heart, that the sensation instantly
awoke me.”
“It was surely a strange dream — at least a strange
one for Centeola to dream,” observed Mitla thoughtfully,
but without manifesting much surprise.
“It was so,” responded Centeola with an air of innocent
perplexity; “and I would know, Mitla, the interpretation
thereof; for it is that, I suppose that makes me feel so
different to-day and so fills my bosom with that half pleasing,
half painful sadness, to which the plaintive and tender
notes of yon pretty bird seem to give such fitting
expression.”
“Let that bird, then be the interpreter of thy dream,
Centeola,” said the other with a smile significant of more
than she had expressed.
“Of the feelings in me caused by the dream, it may
be a truthful one,” returned Centeola; “but not of the
seeming events of that dream, nor what they foreshadow.
It is of the hidden meaning of these that I would know
thy opinion, good Mitla.”
“It is not for such as I am to instruct one like Centeola
in things of this kind,” said Milta evasively, “I deal
with the facts of the present, not those to exist hereafter.
And as to the shadowy events of dreams, which have no
real existence, I should place on them but little dependence.”
“But, as I reason, Mitla,” persisted the other, “there
can be no events pictured to us in our dreams except such
as have happened, are happening, or are to happen hereafter.
If we believe, then, that they refer neither to the
past nor present, we may look upon them as types of
things to come, which are shown the mind by the great
all-seeing Spirit in aid of its uncertain gropings after the
truths of the future.”
“That,” rejoined Mitla, who, believing she knew the
cause of the dream in question better than the dreamer
herself, seemed still disinclined to yield the point — “that
may possibly sometimes be so; but generally there is a
much more simple explanation of such dreams as thine;
dreams, like thine follow; while impressions made by actual
events, and the dreams that follow them, often act
and react on each other, till the one is greatly deepened
and the other as greatly magnified. Thus we may be led
to attach undue importance to our dreams and delude
ourselves with the idea that they are prophetic of something
of great moment to ourselves or others, when
they are only the counterparts of scenes witnessed in our
waking hours, which have been reproduced and exaggeratated
by a dreaming fancy. Thou hast sometimes seen a
cloud hanging directly overhead, appearing to occupy a
large space and looking formidable. One hour afterwards
it has sunk away to a speck on the horizon and become a
thing of contempt. So, Centeola, may prove what is now
the burden of thy thoughts.”
Centeola now evidently for the first time seemed to
comprehend herself and the character of the feelings that
were agitating her unaccustomed bosom, and, blushing
deeply, she hastily rose and said,
“Thou art wiser than I am, Mitla. Let us hence to
the village.”
For many months after the occurrence of the scene last
described, Centeola passed her time in dreamy seclusion,
being, for a long while, unable — perhaps unwilling, to
throw off the strange, sweet spell by which she had been
so unwittingly enthralled. At length, however it gradually
the opening of another spring, it had nearly ceased to be
felt or remembered, and her thoughts again became concentrated
in trying to fathom the gloom which she and her
foster-father had long seen to be hanging over the future
of their country, and which from her greater gifts of
prophecy or more active fancy, had filled her with especial
bodings and apprehensions. And if such bodings were,
the year before, warranted, much more so were they becoming
now. For by this time, the country became rife
with the rumor that the dreaded barbarian horde, that
had formerly so alarmed the nation, were again making
the most active preparations for an aggressive warfare.
The Imperial City, as arrogant as it was in its fancied
security, and as dead as it had become from its luxurious
habits, its vices and corruptions, had now taken the alarm,
and its rulers had transmitted orders to every tribe to
repair all their fortresses and put themselves in the best
possible state of defence. But while the attention of the
nation generally was only engaged on these material defences,
there were a large number among the best and
wisest of the tribes, who believed that if the nation was
doomed, it was only on account of the great wickedness
of the Imperial City, and that of such of the people as
had been made sharers and abbettors in that central source
of corruption; and that, consequently, if the impending
calamity was to be averted at all, it must be affected no
influential, but hitherto silent class, confessedly stood the
sage Alcoan and his supposed daughter, the wonderfully
talented Centeola, both known far and wide among the
tribes, one as the wisest of Sages and Seers, and the other
as alike remarkable for beauty of person and growing gifts
of prophecy.
But before any action was taken by Alcoan and Centeola
in futherance of their particular views, another incident
occurred in the usual calm life of the latter, which
disturbed her as painfully as the former one had, for the
time pleasingly, and which, with the new insight it gave
her of the aims and true characters of those in authority,
was destined to quicken the movements which she and
Alcoan had in contemplation for effecting the reformations
that might yet, perchance, turn away the wrath of Heaven
from their offending nation.
One day, as has also been intimated in the preceeding
chapter, a delegation from the Imperial City, of unknown
personages made their appearance, in a private, and almost
stealthy manner, at the lodge of Alcoan. They
were two in number; and, though they did not disclose
their names or rank, they were yet evidently high officials
of some kind sent out to forward the secret schemes of
the government.
The elder of these, who was considerably past the middle
age, assumed the office of chief spokesman; but the
expression about the eyes, obviously possessed the
controlling mind. They claimed to have come to consult
the Sage and his daughter on the auguries of the day in
relation to the impending crisis. But when the opinions
and predictions of the two latter had been expressed, they,
instead of heeding them, sought to show them erroneous
and subversive of the policy which the government at the
Imperial City, with the sanction of all its Seers and Sages,
had decided on pursuing. But to all this, Alcoan had,
like Pilate, but one reply —
“What I have spoken, I have spoken. The record of
my words has already been made by the Great and Good
One above, who changes not as men often change from
unworthy motives; nor will he suffer men so to change
with impunity.”
“But,” persisted the others, “it is commendable in
the sight of all the Gods to change from wrong to right.”
“Ay,” returned the sage, “but never from right to
wrong. Alcoan never speaks with a double tongue, and
he shall never have to answer to a double record.”
Centeola, who was also plied in the same manner, after
a still more brief and cold reply, remained resolutely silent;
for, with a keener penetration, she had already perceived
many things, besides the repugnant sentiments they
had advanced, that led her to doubt the motives and characters
of the Imperial visitants, and especially the younger
she instinctively shrank as from the look of a basilisk.
But the conscientious sage and his pure minded daughter
were not to be suffered thus to escape. The hour of
temptation for the one, and of trial for the other, was not
to be spared them.
On pretence of wishing to inspect the fortress-mounds,
which had been erected around this, as well as around the
chief villages of all the tribes, the elder Emissary induced
Alcoan to go out with him for that purpose, leaving
Centeola, to her extreme dismay, alone in the lodge with
the younger. The two former then proceeded to go the
rounds of the works, which, for reasons before given, were
erected in the shape of the full length coil of a monster
serpent, and made to embrace the entire village in its
extended folds. These works consisted of a continuous
rampart thrown up from the surrounding ditch, so as to
form a perpendicularly faced wall without, about a dozen
feet high, everywhere surmounted along the edge of the
counter-scarp by extremely sharp, thickly laid pickets
made to project out horizontally a full half yard over the
wall, and were firmly confined down in their places by an
unbroken line of ponderous beams. And these high and
curiously picketed ramparts, thus enclosing the whole of
the compactly built village, with two massive wooden gates
opening on different sides of the enclosure, completed
this particular one of those remarkable mound-fortresses,
the puzzle and the wonder of the learned world.
After viewing these works awhile, they retired to a seat
under the shading boughs of a neighboring oak, when Alcoan
was again beset by the attending Emissary, and
strongly urged to change his opinions, and begin to make
smoother and more acceptable predictions; and if he
would do so, he was assured that any reward, any post of
honor be might desire, should be his. But finding, at
length, that the Sage was not to be moved by arguments,
nor tempted by bribes, the persistent Emissary was beginning
to resort to menaces, when the conference was suddenly
cut short by an unexpected apparition. Centeola,
with disordered dress, flushed brow, and a countenance
eloquent with indignation, stood mute before them. The
sage gazed at her a moment with a disturbed and inquiring
look, and then hesitatingly asked,
“Is it well with thee, my daughter?”
“Is it not well with all who pass through fiery trials
and come out unscathed, my father?” replied Centeola.
“Ay,” returned the sage, his look of concern changing
to one of triumph, “Ay, and by that token, I may
say it is well with me also. But whither now, my daughter?”
“To some covert,” replied she, with a look of mingled
detestation and resolve — “to some safe covert, where I
passed away to their own place, and the village of the
Feathered Serpents freed from their worse than dubious
visitors.”
So saying she quickly vanished from the sight; when
Alcoan, turning abruptly to the Emissary, bent on him a
gaze of such withering scorn and rebuke as made him
quail before it. Soon mastering his feelings, however
the Sage rose and said to the other,
“Thy brother is alone now. I must return to my
lodge, lest he think the rights of hospitality violated by
my further neglect.”
The Emissary also now rose, and with an abashed look
left the place with the other. A silent walk of a few
minutes brought them back to the lodge they had left an
hour before on the proposed tour of inspection. Here
they found the baffled Emissary, whom they had left with
the fugitive maiden, hurriedly pacing the room with every
manifestation of vexation and chagrin. The two Emissaries
then went aside, held a brief consultation, returned,
announced their intention of departing, and, bidding the
Sage a cold farewell, at once took their way out of the
village.
This visit of the Emissaries of the Imperial City to
Alcoan and his daughter, produced on the latter effects
just the opposite from what was intended and confidently
in different ways, the views, intentions and practice of
their rulers, which betrayed a state of general depravity
among them far more deplorable than had ever before been
imagined. It was also the means of revealing to them
the startling fact that human sacrifices, the crowning abomination
of all, were, instead of being discontinued to be
largely increased. These discoveries, when added to what
they before knew, filled the Sage and his daughter with
fresh bodings and alarms, and soon led them to fix on a
plan for giving a more practical effect to their preachings
and predictions. And in pursuance of this plan, and with
the additional object of absenting themselves from their
village that they might be out of the reach of annoyances
like those lately experienced, they privately left their
home and spent the next two months in successively visiting
all the leading tribes of the nation, acquainting themselves
with the condition of the people and the wrongs
and oppressions under which the latter were found suffering.
They everywhere communed with the wise and good
— everywhere found strong adherents to the cause to
which they had resolved to devote themselves, and everywhere
received assurances of sympathy and support.
And the result of the extended consultation was the determination
that a deputation should be sent to the Imperial
City, at the head of which, it was decided, that none
Alcoan and Centeola, and accordingly the two latter repaired
to their own village and made the preparations for
the contemplated visit to the Imperial City, which eventuated
in their appearance at the place, and in the manner
described in the first chapter.
3. CHAPTER III.
We now return to the Sage and young chief standing
on the spot where we left them watching the approach of
Centeola and her train seen slowly advancing from the
distant point in the prairie, where they first became discernible.
At length they came within the distance of
half a mile, where the sex and varied characters of those
composing the unusual cortegè became distinguishable to
the keen eye of the young chief who, while the Sage had
fallen back into his seat, never once withdrew his excited
gaze from them after he had learned who was the principal
personage among them.
“They have at last come so near that I can distinctly
make out their number and general appearance, good
Alcoan,” said the young chief in tones almost tremulous
with the lively interest he felt in the advancing party.
“There are as I judge them to be by their costume, seven
maidens; and these seem to be attended by double that number
of men, and one half of them equipped as young warriors,
preceding the maidens; and the other half, older and
unarmed men, following closely in their rear.”
“Thou hast noted them well, and judged of them
correctly,” responded the Sage complacently. “Centeola
does not come unhonored, nor unsanctioned. The seven
maidens, including herself, are the representatives of
the seven tribes, as are also the young warriors and the
elderly men without arms. The train is now full, as I am
gratified to perceive by thy count. Two of them, according
to their promise made me last night at their village of
the Panthers over the river to the east, whither I went
to enlist them, and whence by the nearer route I came here
this morning, have somewhere joined the company on the
way.”
“But there is a strange appearance about one of the
maidens,” resumed the other with a deeply puzzled air.
“She appears to be mounted on some tall white animal.
Who can she be, Alcoan; and what is the animal that
seems to carry her so gracefully?”
“That is Centeola,” replied the Sage proudly; “and
the beautiful animal she rides is the horse.”[1]
“The horse? Ay, that is the name — the horse,” rejoined
the wondering young warrior,” I now mind me I
have heard the old men say, that in the days of their fathers,
there were in their country many of those animals,
which roamed the prairies at will, but which were often
caught, tamed, and made to bear on their backs hunters
and warriors, with the swifteness of the wind in the chase,
or on the war-path. But I thought they had all passed
away, and were no longer known in the land.”
“They have,” responded the Sage sadly, “they have
indeed, all passed away, melancholy types, it may be, of
the fate which awaits our once prosperous and powerful
people, — ay, all passed away, leaving as far as I know,
but one specimen remaining in the whole land. In my
early boyhood there were a few still left; in the boyhood
of my father, they were as plentiful as the deer and buffalo
that now inhabit our forests and prairies. But they
were mysteriously smitten by some fatal disease, which,
spreading far and wide among them, swept them, in a few
by me, and then, as I have always thought, preserved
by the special care and favor of the Great Spirit.”
“How was that, Sage?” asked the other, with the air
of awakened curiosity.”
“I will tell thee, young chief,” answered the Sage.
“When Centeola was a small girl, I made a journey to a
distant forest, where one day I suddenly came upon a very
young foal, standing over its prostrate and evidently dying
dam; I could not but be touched by the distress of the
bereaved little creature as its parent gave the last gasp;
straightened out and died. I therefore gently approached,
laid my hand on its back, and soon brought it to submit
willingly to my caresses. I then put a thong around
its neck, and after many trials, so reduced it to subjection
that I led it home with me, nourishing it on the way with
the milk of the bruised ears of the green maize, which it
quickly learned to suck as eagerly as it would have done
the teats of the mother. When I reached my lodge I
gave it to my little darling, Centeola, who, with eager delight,
took it at once in hand, made it her pet and companion,
trained it at last to bear her proudly on its back;
and thus she reared it to maturity, and all without showing
the least sign of the fatal disease by which the rest of
its kind had perished; for what Centeola loves the Great
Spirit seems also always to love and preserve.”
The spot now occupied by the Sage and young chief
one of the loveliest valleys in the world, lying in the form of
a basin of a length of over ten miles, and of an average
breadth of about five, entirely inclosed with continuous
ridges of lofty hills, and skirted, on the east, by a majestic
river. It was the garden ground of the tribe of the
Feathered Serpents, where, having become in a good degree
an agricultural people, they raised an abundance of
maize, pulse, and many other edible products which, with
the unstinted quantities of fish taken from the rivers, and
the game from the forests and prairies would have, at all
times, placed the inhabitants beyond the contingencies of
want, but for the ruinous tribute yearly wrung from them
by the despotic government of the Imperial City. Besides
this productive valley there was a succession of others
of short intervals, both on the east and the west, and
it was at the point of the convergence of the roads leading
from the last named places, with that in which the awaited
train was advancing, that the opening scene of our story
was located.
As Centeola and her party were nearing this central
point, they suddenly came to a halt, and faced about to
the east, as if attracted by some sight or sound in that direction.
And, at nearly the same moment, the Sage and
young chief were startled by the sounds of loud lamentation,
uttered evidently by some distressed female, who appeared
to be approaching them along the road leading
men coming from that direction, closely guarding a
young female, whom they were urging forward at a
quickened pace, as if to hurry her as fast as possible
out of the view of the halted train, to whom she appeared
to be appealing with wild gestures and piteous outcries.
“What means that, young chief?” exclaimed the Sage
with a severely questioning look. “Who are those men?
and what would they do with that distressed woman?”
Tulozin, who instantly comprehended the true character
of the scene, stood mute and abashed before the searching
glance of the Sage; for the latter, he perceived, comprehended
it also.
“The young chief would be thought a man and a warrior,”
rebukingly resumed the Sage; “Will he go and
rescue her from the hands of her oppressors?”
“Tulozin may not interfere with the orders of his
king,” replied the other deprecatingly. “Those men are
his officers coming in with one of the virgins destined for
the coming sacrifice.”
“What!” responded the Sage, “That reply may be well
for those who have not been yet brought to comprehend
the higher commands of the Great One above, who is
King over all kings, and who would have all His creatures
ready to protect the innocent from wrong and oppression.”
While the attention of Alcoan and Tulozin was thus
engaged, there was a visible but silent commotion going
wake, formed by the agitation of the tall grass, and extending
out in a direct line from the train to a thicket bordering
on the road, through which the captive maiden and her
guard were approaching, became distinctly observable,
plainly indicating that some animal, or man, in a creeping
posture, was rapidly, though invisibly, passing out
through the screening grass in that direction. But this
movement had not been noticed by the Sage and young
chief; and they were therefore taken by surprise by what
then quickly followed. Just as the two men and their
struggling victim were passing by the above mentioned
thicket, a large animal, having the exact resemblance of
a wild panther, suddenly leaped from the bushes, and
striking down the two guards-men with the rapid blows
of one of his huge paws, seized the captive maiden, threw
her over his back, and galloped off with her into an opposite
thicket, leaving the amazed guard, first to stand
aghast, a moment, and then to flee in wild dismay along
the path whence they came.
The young chief witnessed the strange incident with
silent astonishment; and in that astonishment, the Sage,
at first, fully participated; but new light soon broke on
his mind; for knowing that Centeola's guard, of the
Panther tribe, possessed the full skin of a large animal
of that name, in which he sometimes disguised himself, he
suspected the truth. He, however, did not impart his
it wisdom to let the affair pass as it appeared, quietly remarked:
“Tulozin now sees that the rescue which he declined to
attempt, the Great Spirit has found means to accomplish.”
“But the maiden,” said Tulozin, “is rescued from one
death only to meet a speedier one under the rending jaws
of the furious brute that seized her.”
“Even at that,” returned the Sage, “it were far better;
for then her death goes not to swell the measure of
the nation's manifold iniquities nor to hasten the nation's
doom.”
The conversation was here cut short by the arrival of
Centeola and her train. As they came up they changed
front, the warriors stepping aside and falling into the rear,
and the maidens leading the way. At the head of the latter
gracefully rode the queenly Centeola; while by her
side walked her confidential friend, the staid and comely
Mitla. The slightly varying costumes of the maidens
were extremely neat and tasteful, consisting of light featherwork
head-dresses, jackets made of fawn skins, tanned
and softened to the flexibility and whiteness of the finest
modern flannel, and skirts of the neatly woven and well-bleached
fibres of the wild hemp; all falling over tightly
fitting embroidered buskins. Such, with their various ornaments
as variously distributed, were the costumes of all
the maidens; while that of Centeola, with a similar
with fine shell-work and feathered embroidery.
Centeola now motioned her party to halt; when riding
forward to the spot where stood the Sage, she bowed her
beautiful head to him in respectful salutation, and said,
“Centeola keeps her appointment. She is here to greet
Alcoan; but she perceives that he is not alone at the place
of the appointed meeting.”
“Nay, my daughter, I am not. Since I reached here
I have been unexpectedly joined by another, but not offensively,
for he evidently entertains much respect and
friendship for us. He is the young chief of the Buffaloes.
He thinks he once met thee with thy companions
near the borders of our village.”
As the last words of the sage fell on the unexpectant
ears of the maiden, she started almost wildly; the blood
mounted to her cheeks, and she cast a furtive but eager
glance at the young chief, who had modestly retired a few
steps, standing aloof with averted face and eyes bent on
the ground, but who now, at this implied introduction,
raised his head and, with a free and manly step, advanced
to the greeting. He bowed low and reverently to her, and
with the look of adoration which he might be supposed to
have bestowed on some celestial visitant alighting before
him from the skies; while she, with quick heaving bosom,
and a countenance made eloquent by the old and long suppressed
emotions now evidently returning on her like a resistless
The recognition was complete and mutual, but far
too embarrassing on the part of both to admit any interchange
of words. The pause was first broken by
Alcoan, who soon turned to his daughter and remarked
—
“Tulozin, the young chief, if agreeable to my daughter,
would be pleased to join our company on our way to
the Imperial City, of which he has recently become a
resident.”
“We have but one mind in our company,” hesitatingly
responded Centeola, subduing her emotion and summoning
back the dignity and calmness which had so nearly
forsaken her on thus unexpected meeting the unknown
person, who had once been the burden of so many of her
thoughts and dreams — “one mind, one religion, and one
opinion respecting the demands of this alarming crisis in
our public affairs. Is he of that mind, that religion, that
opinion?”
“He seems willing to receive the true light, but is not
yet fully in that light,” said the Sage. “But of his wish
to attend us, he can speak for himself.”
“The Sage has spoken truly of my humble desire to
become one of thy attendants, fair Centeola,” said Tulozin
in tones of profound respect, “and I would esteem
myself greatly favored in being allowed to hold myself
subject to thy wishes, — certainly so in all that shall not
to my obedience. Before thy arrival, the Sage spoke of
thee as of one charged with some special mission to the
Imperial City. If I better knew the character of that
mission, I might be enabled to speak with less qualification.”
“My mission,” said the maiden with some hesitation,
“is not to be disclosed until it can be declared to those
for whom it was intended. But as I would not willingly
suffer the chief to be deceived respecting its general character,
I am compelled to tell him, that I go not to the
great city to speak smooth and flattering words to those
in authority there, but to declare to them those truths to
which they appear to be wholly blind, — to tell them plainly,
that the Great Spirit is offended at their pride and their
practices — that their priests are corrupt, their seers false
prophets, and that they, both the better to exalt themselves
and secure place and power in the government,
have combined in devising for the saving of the city and
nation the very measures, which, if not stayed in the execution,
will surely bring down the judgments of Heaven.
Now is Tulozin prepared to aid a mission like that?”
The young chief made no reply, but stood mute and
sorrowful. And the Sage perceiving that an answer was
not to be expected from the former, turned to Centeola
and said,
“Those who grope in darkness cannot with safety or
Thou hast thrown more on the mind of the young chief
than he can at once receive and comprehend. It only
blinds and bewilders him.”
“It is not that which now troubles me,” responded
the young chief with saddened and anxious look. “It is
the thought of the certain reproaches and, I fear, great
perils, to which the fair Centeola will expose herself if
she goes into the Imperial City and proclaims what she so
boldly proposes. Will the rulers brook such condemnation
of their practices and their policy? And will the
seers and priests, who are the advisers of those rulers,
submit to be called false prophets and to hear their rites
denounced? Rather than incur these hazards, would
not Centeola do well to forego her intention?”
“Nay, chief,” replied the maiden kindly but firmly.
“Centeola can never consent to forego the execution of a
mission, which she feels to have been prompted by the
Great Spirit, and on the success of which, as she thinks
she has been enabled to foresee, hangs the destiny of the
country.”
“Centeola has answered wisely,” observed the Sage,
“The voice of the Great Spirit in the heart is not to be
disobeyed; though kings frown, and the priestly workers
of iniquity denounce and threaten. He who prompted
this mission can protect her who is sent to execute it, and
should she be so protected then will the young chief take that
true God, and be ready to declare his belief accordingly?”
“Tulozin,” replied the young chief, “would gladly be
spared to witness such a test; but he will accept it as
such and abide by it in the manner proposed by the Sage.”
“It is well — I am content,” rejoined the other.
“But does the young chief still entertain apprehensions
for our safety?”
“I wish I could say I do not,” returned Tulozin with
an air of concern. “But I know how some have been
dealt with, who opposed our rulers, and especially those
who offended the Seers and chief priests. There are
deep dungeons under the temple of Mixitli.”
“It may all be as thou sayest,” responded the former;
“but Centeola and Alcoan are not to be deterred from
their duties by any such unworthy fears, even were they
well grounded. But in our case, at least, they are not;
for I, too, may have a mission to execute; and in the execution
I shall be aided by a talisman too potent to be disregarded
by any of those who may have the will and the
power to injure or molest us.”
“The Sage speaks words of mystery, to which I can
say nothing” said Tulozin wonderingly. “But I will
trust that thy faith is not misplaced. I will trust that
both Centeola and Alcoan will be blessed and protected
by her God, and his God.”
“And why not also say Tulozin's God?” asked the
a thrill of emotion through the heart of the other as prevented
him, for the moment, from attempting any reply.
Regaining command of his feelings, however, he slowly
and thoughtfully responded:
“Every word which has fallen from thy lips, beauteous
maiden, has sunk deep in my heart. From the discourse
I held with the wise and worthy Alcoan here, before
thou and thy train arrived, with what thou hast thyself
since expressed, I think I now comprehend thy views
and his, respecting all thou wouldst impress on my mind.
Most of those views are new to me, and different from
what I have believed; but I will ponder them well, with
the honest desire to become convinced of the truth, to become
right and to do right. But true and lasting conviction
is not the growth of an hour. Thou hast opened a
new and bright path before me, leading wide away from
the shadowy one which I was treading. Let me pause
and reflect before I fully enter it.”
“The young chief has spoken like a Sage,” said Alcoan.
“There is much wisdom in his words. Then let us
press him no more on these subjects at present, my daughter;
but, if he still desires it, let us bid him welcome to a
place in our train.”
Centeola graciously nodded her approbation of this proposition;
and the young chief repaid her and the Sage
with a look of the liveliest gratification: for with his intense
corresponding anxiety to gain her good will, of which,
from the first part of her discourse, he had begun to despair,
he was but too thankful for even this uncertain indication
of her favor.
Centeola's maiden attendants had, in the meanwhile,
prepared and spread on the green grass on the well shaded
bank of a sparkling rivulet, a collation of food, consisting
mainly of cooked venison, cakes baked from the
finely pounded maize; and delicious native wines, contained
in gourd shell bottles, which, with the articles of food, had
been brought along with the train by the appointed provider
for the occasion. And they all now, including the
gratified Tulozin, sat down to their sylvan repast. After
this was partaken, the young chief proposed to go forward
in advance to the city to prepare quarters for the train;
which he thought he could obtain in a house adjoining
that of his father. And the proposal being accepted, he
immediately departed for that purpose, proposing to return
and meet them on the way, or at the gate of the city,
while the train, as soon as the heat of the noon-day sun
was abated, should follow at their leisure.
The horse is here introduced under the conviction that he was one
of the indigenous animals of America, and, until a short period before
the date of our tale, plentifully spread over the prairies of the West,
that conviction being founded on the indubitable evidence of the bones
of the animal found among the fossil remains of the country. The
Spanish invaders of Mexico, it is true, found no horses in the regions
they traversed, and hence concluded that there never had been any on
this continent, and subsequent travellers falling in with that notion,
have generally set it down as a fact that the immense herds of wild
horses found in the savannas of the South-west, all sprung from the
horses imported by the Spaniards. But that they should have so multiplied
from that source, in so brief a period, and spread themselves even
to Oregon, as they did, over mountain ranges that horses would never
have climbed, may well admit of a serious doubt. It is far more probable
that the whole valley of the Mississippi was, at one period well stocked
with wild horses, but that they became in that region, at last, wholly extinct
from the ravages of some general pestilence breaking out among
them.
4. CHAPTER IV.
The sun was now fast verging westward. The train
which had been for some time slowly moving along the
ascending road, with Centeola on her steed, and Alcoan
walking by her side both a short distance in advance of
the rest; had at length reached the highest ground, or
table land, which here spread out into a wide, undulating
plain, everywhere covered with an exuberant vegetation
of intermingling forest trees, low coppice, rank grasses and
wild flowers, and extending away to the confines of the
Imperial City. The day had been unusually warm
throughout; and now, though the sun had greatly declined,
the heat seemed to have increased; and there was a strange
sultriness in the atmosphere, which became almost insupportable.
At the instance, therefore, of the Sage, the
whole party came to a halt; and, to rest and refresh themselves,
took refuge in the extended shade of a clump of
wide spreading oaks.
“Does my father perceive anything unusual in the air?”
asked Centeola, after dismounting and taking her stand by
the side of the other.
“He does,” replied the Sage, thoughtfully scanning
the heavens, and then glancing along the earth in
different directions. “The air seems to be full of
portents. He began to perceive them before reaching
the summit level, and now they are more palpable
than ever. The sun appears blood-shot, and all along
the earth glows and quivers the disturbed atmosphere,
which, moreover has become so thick and mephitic, that it
stifles us in the breathing. This is not the air which the
Great Spirit made for us to inhale. One might well fancy
it the air of Mitelan, — that dark abode of the wicked dead
— escaping from their place deep down in the bowels of
the earth.”
“But what does my father think these things may portend?”
asked the former.
“He is not yet able to divine,” answered the other
musingly, “but they doubtless are not without their significance.
They may be portents of something unusual
about to occur.”
The conversation was here interrupted by the exclamations
of one of the company, who, having wandered some
rods out from the road into the adjoining copse, proclaimed
a mysterious and startling discovery. All immediately
hastened to the spot, and plainly discerned faint
puffs of smoke issuing, at brief intervals, from the crevices
of the point of a loose ledge of rocks, which were here
found projecting a few feet above the surface of the
smoke must proceed from the remains of some fire, which
had been kindled in, or over these rock fissures. But
after a close examination, it was ascertained that no fire
could have been kindled there, and that there was no sod
or fuel in any of the crevices on which one could be fed.
And, besides that, the smoke was of a singular, bluish
hue; and, what was still more calculated to produce wonder
and alarm, it gave out a strange, sulphurous odor,
which could not have proceeded from any ordinary fire.
All stood mute in astonishment at this curious developement.
And their astonishment in a few moments more
rose to feelings of awe and dismay as they plainly detected
a tremulous motion of the earth beneath their feet, occasionally
attended with low, deep, and scarcely audible
noises, resembling the soughing of the wind. The eyes of
all, with that common impulse by which the feebler ever
instinctively look to the stronger in intellect in cases of
this kind, at once turned to the Sage and his daughter,
for some explanation of the alarming phenomenon.
“The very earth is shuddering at the wickedness of a
city she is compelled to bear on her bosom,” thoughtfully
observed Centeola as if in response to the inquiring looks
of those around her. “But fear not. The portent is not
meant for us, and should cause us no other anxiety than
to press forward to perform the duties of our mission before
it may be forever too late to avail those whom it was
intended to save.”
“Centeola's words are from on high,” added the Sage
“Let us heed them, and fearlessly go forward in our purpose.”
As the company, in hurrying away from the ominous
locality, were regaining the road, they came upon Mitla;
who had not gone forward with the rest to see the wonder;
conversing with a stout, fine looking young warrior, whom
the Sage recognized as the one of Centeola's guards who
had been missing from the company since the victim virgin
was so strangely snatched from her captors on the border
of the prairie, as described in the preceding chapter,
but who had now just arrived to resume his place in the
train. As soon as the Sage perceived him, he looked inquiringly
at his daughter; when the latter, instead of directly
replying to the implied enquiry, turned to Mitla
and said,
“My father, Mitla, would probably like to know certainly
what I think he now only guesses. Thy warrior friend,
here, will keep no secret from thee — question him on the
subject.”
With a blush that betrayed the fact that the warrior
was an accepted lover, the staid Mitla said to him —
“Wampa, the Sage would know whether the dove that
was snatched from the clutches of the hawks is now placed
beyond their reach?”
“Safe,” replied the other, “safe, but in covert till the
danger is over.”
“It is well,” said Alcoan. “It was a brave and worthy
deed of the young warrior, but not perchance without risk
to him. Let no tongue proclaim it, when we reach the
Imperial City.”
The company then again set forward on their journey,
and for the next hour slowly pursued their way without
further adventure or interruption; when they unexpectedly
encountered a numerous party of rough, swarthy
looking men, approaching them in the road from the opposite
direction. The peculiar kind of tools they carried,
together with their equipments and smoke-blackened faces
proclaimed them to be smiths, or the workers of some kind
of metals. As they neared each other, both parties came
to a halt, according to an established custom of the country,
which, in the absence of any other means than that
of oral communication, had become a necessity for acquiring
news and information, and which, therefore, required
parties meeting each other in the road, to stop and mutually
impart such tidings from their respective sections as
they might have in their possession.
“Travellers, we greet thee,” said Alcoan advancing a
few steps forward of his company, and respectfully bowing
to the strangers.
“Thy greeting we kindly return,” responded one of
the latter in behalf of the rest, “and would like to learn
from whence are thy party, and whither bound?”
“We are from the village of the Feathered Serpents,
turn, we would know whence thy company, and wherefore
journeying Southward?”
“We are a company of unfortunate miners from the
borders of the great lake of the North, where, as is
doubtless well known to thee, the King's copper mines are
mostly situated.”
“Even so; and we may count ourselves highly favored,
at this juncture, in the opportunity of learning the news
from that region; for from thence strange and alarming
reports are everywhere spreading over all this part of the
country.”
“No more alarming than true, as our own sad experience,
and fortunate escape with our lives, will amply testify.
The whole region, where we were lately pursuing our
occupations in peace and good thrift, is now being overrun
by the swarming hordes of a foe, more savage and ferocious
than the wild beasts of prey. We were driven by
them from the mines and our workshops, many days ago,
leaving half our number slain, wounded, or in the hands
of the enemy, reserved for death or torture. The shops
and houses of all the miners, after having been plundered,
were given to the flames. All their provisions, and
all the products of their labors, including thousands of
spears, long knives and axes, made to supply the King's
armies, were seized and carried away. Soon finding that
all who attempted to resist, and even all who fell in their
into the forests; and, avoiding the common routes, which
were full of the enemy making their way, like a pack of
hungry wolves, in this direction, we were enabled to keep
considerably in advance of them, till we reached our first
fortified village — the village of the tribe of the Bears,
lying about one day's march to the North of this place,
where, for the first time, we ventured into the open road,
in which we have since been rapidly pushing hitherward,
and are now soon to separate for our respective homes.”
“Didst thou stop at the Imperial City with the news?”
“No, we did not; but all the King's workmen did.
We, being private workmen, or among those who work
on privileges rented from the government, had no duty to
perform, but to hurry home to make preparations for
defending our families from the common danger, either by
gathering them into the village strongholds, or fleeing with
them to a country where this dreadful enemy will not
reach us.”
“But how near has the van of the invading army reached
by this time?”
“Within a day's march, perhaps.”
“How are they armed?”
“At first when they assailed us, they were armed only
with bows and arrows, and heavy war-clubs; but after
they had plundered our work-shops, all that had been enabled
thus to obtain a supply, armed themselves, as we
of our flight, with knives, spears and axes, the advantages
of which they no doubt at once perceived.”
“How numerous are they?”
“Count the leaves in the forest, or the stars in the sky!”
“What is their general appearance?”
“That of rough, savage monsters. They are much
larger and taller men than our nation, and being clothed
in the hairy skins of wild animals, they look as formidable
as the rushing herds of the buffalo, before which our bravest
and stoutest warriors and hunters would be borne down
and trampled into the earth. Lucky will it be if our village
strongholds can withstand their terrible assaults, and
luckier still for the Imperial City, whose richness in its
vast stores of provisions, of which they have doubtless
heard, and of which they are evidently intent on possessing
themselves, will tempt them to more desperate onsets.
But thy inquiries being now answered, permit us to hurry
on and spread the alarm among the people, and warn them
of the danger now so certainly at hand.”
The Sage and his daughter with their faithful and devoted
attendants now, for some time, pursued their way
with the thoughtful silence which the tidings they had just
heard, added to the strange phenomenon they had previously
witnessed was, for different reasons, so well calculated
to create. It was not long, however, before their attention
began to be attracted by objects immediately
were drawing near a great and populous city became more
and more palpable. Well beaten paths, falling into the main
road from the surrounding country on either side, were
now frequently encountered, and along each of these concentering
avenues, were seen hastening forward, in pairs
or singly, men, women and children, laden with baskets
or sacks of various kinds of provisions, culinary utensils,
pottery, wooden wares and many other articles of traffic;
all pouring into the great thoroughfare on their way to
supply the markets of the Imperial City. Keeping their
company as distinctly separate as possible from the moving
throng before and behind them, Alcoan and Centeola
with quickened pace pressed forward to their destination;
and soon the walls and towers of the city became plainly
discernible in the distance. In a short time they arrived
at the great western gate, which was the most frequented
entrance into the city from the country adjoining it; but
not deeming it expedient to attempt to enter now, they
filed away to a little elevation about a hundred yards distant
and there came to a stand to await the promised coming
of the young chief.
While standing here with their attention generally directed
to the towers, temples and other of the more prominent
objects of the city, they were startled by the sharp
exclamations of surprise of one of their number; and
suddenly turning they beheld Mitla standing a little aloof
pathway, coming in from a rock quarry in plain sight, less
than a half mile to the west.
“Look! look!” she exclaimed, “hills of living, moving
flesh! what are the monsters?”
All eyes instantly followed the direction indicated by
her extended arm; when they saw moving down the
road towards them, two animals so huge as to surpass in
size all other known quadrupeds as much as the largest
buffalo surpasses the lightest antelope. In shape and appearance
they were something between the ox and the elephant
with double and treble the bulk of the latter, and
much longer bodied in proportion than either. To their
snouts was attached a short, stout elephant-like proboscis,
used by them to pull down saplings and the lower limbs
and boughs of large trees, on which they mostly fed.
They were fastened like a yoke of oxen, to a sort of drag,
composed of stout timbers, into which, next the ground,
were framed large wooden rollers to relieve the draft.
On this drag had been placed an enormous stone, weighing
forty or fifty tons, and with this load they were making
their way along the hard beaten road in the direction
of the Western entrance into the city, under guidance of
half a dozen drivers, who, with long lance-shaped goads,
urged them forward and kept them in the road.
“They are mammoths, of which you have all heard,
Sage.[2]
“I have always known,” observed Centeola, “that
these monster animals, which I now for the first time
with amazement behold, had an existence in some parts of
the country; but I did not know that they were so docile
that they could be trained to such uses.”
“They are,” rejoined the Sage; “though immeasurably
the largest and most powerful of all the known animals
of the earth, as kind and manageable as the
cow-buffalos which we tame and keep for their milk.
They are easily trained, not only, like these, to draw huge
stones, which nothing else could remove, but to bear the
heaviest burdens which can be lifted upon their backs.
The kings of the Imperial City have thus employed them,
for many generations, for all heavy drafts; and all the
great stones used in the walls of the city, and in foundations
of the temples have been drawn by them in the
manner we are now witnessing. But they seemed doomed
to follow the fate of the horse, which has already disappeared;
a few now only remain, and it is well that it
should be so. They ruin the forests wherever they move,
more useful animals, like the elk and deer, which have an
equal right to live. And for this, the Great Spirit and
wise Provider for all created animals, has doubtless decreed
that this whole race of monsters shall pass away
and be known no more to man, forever, unless, it may be,
by the huge bones found in the earth which they once
devastated.”
The attention of the amazed company had by this time
become riveted on the passing spectacles of the mastodons
and the stupendous boulder they were drawing, which now
approached and swept by into the city, with the deep,
grinding noise of the rushing avalanche, and with a force
and impetus that made the earth groan and tremble beneath
the heavy tread of those mighty feet, and the crushing
weight of the load that was made to follow them.
This novel spectacle having thus passed out of sight,
the attention of the party was now directed towards the
city, the greater part of which was overlooked by the little
eminence where they were standing. The city, which
was built on a plain, lay in the form of a parallelogram
about two miles long, North and South, and about one
mile broad, East and West. It was enclosed on every
side by massive stone walls, fifteen feet high, which at the
top were thickly studded with sharp spikes of copper,
hardened to the unyielding texture of steel, as were all
the edged tools in use in the country, by the secret arts
of each of the four walls, rose high above their tops,
stony square wooden towers designed both for ornament
and defense, running up into slender pinnacles above,
being pierced all round in the parts next the tops of the
walls with loop-holes for the use of archers and spearsmen.
From every quarter of the compactly built city
rose lofty temples, surmounted by the gilded images of
the particular deities to whose worship the structures were
dedicated; while towering high over all the rest, stood the
great temple of Mixitli, the reputed god of war, the assumed
patron and protector of the Imperial City, and
the chief object of worship among its multitudinous inhabitants.
The private dwellings of the people, like those
of all great towns, were as strongly contrasted as the conditions
of their occupants, varying from the contracted
cabins of the poor laborer to the showy palatial mansions
of the opulent nobles.
Such were the outline views presented at a distance by
the Imperial City, containing an amount of people which,
like the populous No of the Scriptures, had known no
enumeration, but which was doubtless more than enough
to constitute it the greatest native city found existing, at
the period of our tale, anywhere north of the land of the
palm trees.
While our company were occupied in taking note of
the different objects which the city presented, and listening
crowded streets, the long expected Tulozin suddenly appeared
before them.
“I have at length procured for thee, Centeola, and her
attendants, good Alcoan, a fitting establishment adjoining
my father's residence,” he said with a countenance full
of respect and tenderness, but obviously marked with sadness
and anxiety. “But I am not without many misgivings
about thy reception when the objects of thy mission
become known. The city is full of commotion and
alarm in consequence of the news just received of the
rapid advance of the dreaded foe towards us. The King
and Council are in constant consultation in devising measures
and precautions which they may deem best calculated
to meet the demands of the crisis.”
“We met on the way,” responded the Sage, “a company
of private miners and artisans, fleeing to the South,
who imparted to us tidings of similar import, and who
said that the King's workmen also escaped from the foe,
had stopped at the city. Is it from these last that the
news has been received?”
“In part; but later and more particular accounts have
been brought in by the King's runners, who though remaining
nearly two days later in sight of the invaders
than the miners, yet, by their wondrous fleetness of foot,
came in but a few minutes afterwards.”
“And what is their report, young chief?”
“More alarming still. They report that the enemy,
after having followed down the river in this direction, several
days, have left it and diverged to the West, so as to
bring their line of march direct to this city, which they
will reach within a day or two if not successfully resisted.”
“Who is expected successfully to interpose and resist
them between the point they have reached and this place?”
“The warriors of the fortified village of the tribe of the
Bears, which will now fall in their route. The runners say
that those warriors were preparing for a desperate resistance,
and were confident they should be able to stay the
march of the savage invaders, though they have laid waste
the whole country, and driven every thing before them to
the near vicinity of that place. But notwithstanding this
hope that the advance of the foe will be thus stayed, our
rulers and, with them, the whole city, are filled with the
greatest anxiety and alarm.”
The dialogue was here brought to a close by the sounds
of some new tumult within the walls in the vicinity of
the gate; and the loud voice of a man, evidently on the
approach, was heard exclaiming,
“Clear the gate-way! make room there for the King's
messengers!”
“It's the King's sheriff, called out only on important occasions,
and he therefore is doubtless dispatching messengers
to the inquiring looks of those about him.
As the servile throng in and about the gate-way were
promptly falling back, the sheriff, richly accoutred in peculiar
costume, bearing a long polished lance in his hand,
wearing a tall cap faced with a bright bronze eagle, and
having on his person various other ensignia denoting his
authority as a high officer of the King, now issued from
the gate, followed by seven young athletic men, also wearing
the King's uniform, who, on a motion made by the
former, at once arranged themselves in a line in the open
space outside the walls, and stood waiting their instructions.
The officer there produced, and proceeded to deliver
to them the different badges, on which were pictured
the totemic emblems of the tribes, to which they were
severally dispatched, and having thus supplied them all,
he charged them collectively —
“To make all possible speed to the tribes, to which
their different symbols would direct them, order the head
men to summon all their warriors into the field, strengthen
all their defenses, and make every other needed preparation
to meet the enemy, who are coming down like a
prairie fire, from the North. Now go, and fail not,” he
added waving his lance for the departure of the royal messengers,
who instantly hurried away, and, falling into the
long loping trot, to which their class, as well as the common
runners, were trained for the attainment of the greatest
had thus put the messengers on their way he
turned to the guard and gave order for an early closing
of the gate in their charge, and for exercising the utmost
caution and rigidness in guarding it through the coming
night.
“The sun is sinking behind the hills and night approaches
now soon,” observed Tulozin, arousing himself
from the fit of moody abstraction into which he had fallen.
“The Sage heard the order for the early closing of the
gate. Let him and Centeola with their train then at
once prepare for entering the city.”
And Alcoan and Centeola having accordingly notified
their followers to that effect, the whole company were
soon in motion; when, led on by the young chief, they
passed through the gate between the lines of the guards,
who, at a sign from him, readily yielded a passage, and
the gate being thus passed, they at once found themselves
in one of the most crowded streets of this great and farnoted
city. Hundreds, who had come in from the surrounding
country to market their wares and edibles, were
eagerly pressing forward towards this great western entrance
to secure their egress before the hour of closing
the gate. Tradesmen of every description stood clamoring
at their doors for customers. Provision dealers, venders
of wares and trinkets, and various other kinds of
market-men, with baskets in their hands or on their heads,
with their cries and recommendations of the different articles
they carried for sale. From every part of the city
rose the sounds of the noisy war-drums. Bands of armed
warriors, whose burnished spears were glittering in the
rays of the setting sun, were seen marching in different
directions to man the towers for the night, or guard the
intermediate walls, and all, as far as eye and ear could
reach, was one extended scene of commotion and tumult.
The passage of Centeola and her train, as they slowly
made their way through the mingled throng, under the
guidance of Tulozin, who did his best to open a way for
them, seemed everywhere to attract attention and excite
curiosity, and the unwonted spectacle of the white horse,
rode as it was by a maiden of such dazzling beauty, evidently
became a matter of especial wonder and admiration.
Scores of persons of all ages and sexes crowded around
the embarrassed company along their road to witness the
novelties which their unusual appearance presented, and
but for the continued exertions of the young chief, actively
assisted by the bold and stalwart Wampa, they never
would have been able to have effected their passage through
the crowd, and among all the annoying obstacles they were
compelled to encounter every rod of their progress. Finding
this difficulty of advancing to grow greater and greater,
Tulozin suddenly changed his course, and, leading the
party through less crowded streets, at length enabled them
where Centeola and her maidens found a welcome refuge
from the noisy crowd and the various annoyances to which
they had been subjected in this their brief city experience.
The Mammoth or more properly the Mastodon, says Hugh Miller,
though an animal of a very early age in Europe, was of a comparatively
modern age in America. This is confirmed by the fact that their bones
have been found in this country very near, and sometimes almost on the
surface of the ground. It is therefore doing no violence to probability to
suppose they had not become extinct at the period of our story.
5. CHAPTER V.
It was night. But night now, though so generally
coming as the grateful harbinger of rest and quiet, was
yet, for many long and trying hours, to bring no repose
to the weary and anxious Centeola. After the company
had partaken of the refreshments which, through the
care and kindness of the young chief, had been liberally
provided for them all, the Sage, having become more fatigued
than the rest, on account of the infirmities of his
age, retired almost immediately to his bed, which was on
the ground floor of the house, and adjoining the capacious
room thus far occupied by them in common. The attendant
maidens of the train soon manifesting a disposition to
follow the example, also quietly withdrew to the rooms
above, which had been designated for their sleeping apartments,
leaving Centeola, whose mingled disquietudes, occasioned
by the various events of the day, forbade all
thought of sleep, sitting alone in the apartment deeply
immersed in her own peculiar reflections. What a day
had the past one been for her! What a mingling of hopes,
doubts and fears had been hers since she had met Tulozin
forest scene, who had caused her the first great sensation
of her life — the sensation which she had mistakenly
supposed she had effectually extinguished, but which the
meeting of that day had made her deeply conscious had
only slumbered in her bosom. But should he still adhere
to the blind and to her abhorent idolatry, in which he had
been educated, what a war with her antagonistic principles,
and high purposes — what a painful war must she
wage with her own heart. Should he change his false
creed, however, and embrace her own, how bright might
yet be that heart's future; which was destined to occur?
In vain she summoned her reputed powers of prophecy
to enable her to foresee the event. All was dark before
her. All her attempts at such forecasts only left her
where they found her, the prey of the same conflicting
emotions, sometimes filling her with visions of happiness,
and sometimes almost overwhelming her in gloom and despondency.
For awhile, she was permitted to indulge in these moody
reveries without the occurrence of any disturbing sounds
reaching her ears from without. But at length, from the
increasing sounds of footfalls, and the low mingling of
human voices that began to reach her, she became aware
that many people were slowly passing the house, or, for
some unknown reason, lingering in the vicinity. And it
was not long before she distinguished the voice of some
with her guards, stationed near the door, as if he were
demanding admittance into the house. Others also seemed
to be frequently arriving and making similar demands.
But gathering from what she could overhear, that all
such applicants had been repulsed by the guards, and
deeming herself entirely secure from intrusion, she did
not withdraw from the room, or extinguish the resinous
flame that, as darkness approached, had been kindled on
the hearth-stone for lighting the apartment, but, with listless
curiosity, sat listening to the different sounds coming
from without, some little time longer; when she was suddenly
aroused by the sounds of footsteps within the room,
and turning, she beheld, with deep surprise, standing near
the entrance from the street, the muffled figure of a man,
who had found some means of eluding her guards, or
forcing his way through them and entering the house.
“Who is this, that forces his way into my room unbidden,
at this hour of the night?” demanded the startled
maiden, hastily rising and confronting the strange figure.
“It is one,” replied the latter evasively, but with an
assumed tone of respect, “who comes from those in authority
to ascertain what distinguished strangers have arrived
in the city, that they may be suitably provided for,
and honored.”
“That knowledge, methinks,” responded the maiden rebukingly,
“might have been easily obtained from the attendants
at the door.”
“They refused me the information I sought” said the
stranger.
“Then why should I furnish it, especially till I know
by what authority, and by whom I am questioned?” said
the former with increasing doubt and suspicion.
The intruder then thrust aside his muffling head-gear,
fully disclosed his face, and, looking steadfastly at the
the maiden a moment, significantly asked,
“Dost thou know me now, perverse one?”
Centeola looked up, and as her eyes fell on the face of
the unblushing questioner, she involuntarily recoiled. It
was the sinister-eyed Emissary who had, some months before,
in company with a colleague or an accomplice, visited
her father's lodge and there given her so much reason to
remember him with abhorrence.
“Yes, I know thee now, — in character at least, and can
easily conjecture the true motives which prompted this
questionable visit. Leave me, intruder, or I summon my
guards from the street.”
“Do so, and see if they heed thy bidding. Thy
guards are all in safe custody, and guards whom I control
have taken their place.”
“Despicable plotter! But thinkest thou thus to triumph?
I will call my father and my maidens from their
beds to confront thee, and learn thy baseness both here
and heretofore.”
“Do so, if thou thinkest it wisdom for thee — do so,
rushing in here at my signal, will have thee on the way
to my house. But I would not be driven to such measures
— I would have thee listen to the voice of reason
and to what it is thy true wisdom to concede without resorting
to anything so unpleasant. Fair Centeola, I
would gladly be thy friend and protector. Forego thy
wild and vain notions of opposing the policy of our rulers,
and fly with me to my house. I will make thee rich, and
defend thee from the punishment which thy now well
known conduct and purposes will otherwise bring down
on thy head. Wilt thou accept my offer?”
“Never — no, never, wretch! Leave me! Begone!”
“I will not leave thee. Defy me no longer. I have
sufficient evidence of thine, and thy father's doings and designs
to thwart the government, to ensure thine and his
condemnation before the Council. Persist in thy refusal
and I use it — consent, and I save thee, and thy father.
Wilt thou listen to me now?”
“Thy proffered bribes and thy cowardly threats I alike
scorn and despise: — I fear thee not. The good and Great
Spirit, in whom I trust would never have permitted thee
to find thy way hither, without providing some means for
my protection against thy base designs.”
“Then thou wilt persist in setting me at defiance?
We will see who will help thee in thy foolish obduracy,”
said the enraged speaker, turning towards the door to summon
forcible abduction. But his movement was arrested by
an appearance which he was then little expecting. At
that instant an interior door flew open, and the aged Alcoan
hastily came forth from it, and fearlessly advanced
on the shameless intruder.
“Man, I know thee well,” said the Sage sternly.
“Was it not enough for thee to abuse the hospitalities of
my lodge at our village, on a former occasion, by insulting
my daughter, that thou should steal in here to-night to repeat
the indignity? Thy name and station in this city, if
the conjectures I have formed, but never yet expressed,
are correct, might awe some into silence; but they have
no terrors for me; and whoever and whatever thou art, I
bid thee depart, or, to-morrow I will proclaim thy double
villany from every house-top in the Imperial City.”
While Centeola was escaping to her chamber, on the
appearance of her father, her infamous persecutor struck
dumb by this sudden and bold interposition of the Sage,
and alarmed at some of his intimations, shrunk abashed
out of the house, and departed to devise other means to
effect his still unrelinquished purposes.
Centeola was now safe in the solitary room which, in
consideration of her position had been reserved for her
sole occupation for the night. This apartment was an upper
room of the house, fronting the street, and having
one window, which could be opened and closed by neatly
inclination to sleep being now farther removed than ever.
she took her seat, and, partially opening it, peered out
into the street, to catch sight of what might there be passing,
and listen to the nearer mingled sounds or the more
distant hum that still rose from various parts of the city.
Though her persecutor and his minions had all disappeared,
yet others were seen lurking in the streets, and
soon she perceived that this class of persons were greatly
increasing, and what added more to her surprise and uneasiness,
she noted by the light of a stationary, or public
torch, that most of those passing or pretending to pass,
paused against the house, and seemed to be marking its
appearance, or rather acting like spies in attempting to
discover whether any movements were going on among its
inmates. All immediate uneasiness of this kind however
was the next moment removed; for hearing the sounds of
footsteps approaching the house, she glanced down into
the street; and, to her great gratification, she beheld her
own guard, before whom the crowd gave away, returning
and taking their places before her door. In the hope of
learning, from what they might utter to one another, how
they had been driven away, and then permitted to return,
all which would doubtless serve to some extent to explain
the strange movements of the night, she bent down her
ear and listened intently. Soon she noticed some one issuing
from a dark alley on the opposite side of the street,
Panther attendant, who had figured in rescuing the victim
virgin from her impending doom. As he now came forward,
he was hailed by one of his fellow guardsmen and
asked how it happened that he had not been taken prisoner
as well as the rest of them?”
“Because I did not show myself at all to the assaulting
band,” replied Wampa. “Before they appeared, I
had placed myself in the opening of yon narrow alley, that
I might better watch the suspicious movements I had noticed
going on in the street. And when they came and
drove you away, leaving a strong guard in your place, I
plainly saw, though unseen myself, all that took place.”
“And what did take place after we left?” anxiously
enquired the former. “Is Centeola and her company
safe?”
“All safe,” returned Wampa. “But Centeola was
the only one endangered. The plot, which was to entrap
and carry her off, was intended only for her. I saw that
audacious interloper, whom you had repulsed, place his
minions at the door, and then stealthily enter the room,
where Centeola, who had lingered behind, after her father
and her maidens had all retired, sat alone wholly unsuspecting
any intrusion. Soon after that, I gathered from
her indignant words which occasionally reached me from
her clear voice, what he was proposing and threatening;
when I hastily incased myself in my panther skin, and
guards into the house and hurled the villain into the
street. But I was saved the task by the sudden appearance
of the old Sage, who, being fully aroused to anger,
effected with words nearly all I should have done with
deeds, which may be well for me; for I strongly suspect
that the fellow, as base as he has shown himself, is one
of the great men of the city. But now, in turn, let me
inquire what befel the rest of you after being driven off,
and how did you escape from your captors so as to get
back so soon?”
“As you saw,” answered the other, “we were all suddenly
beset by an overpowering number of armed men
and forced along to a distant part of the city; when having
been disarmed, part of our captors retired, leaving us
under the guard of the rest, from whom, after regaining
our arms, which had been incautiously left within our
reach, we soon forcibly broke away, and returned unmolested
to this place. This is all I have to impart except
that, on our way back, we encountered our good friend,
the young chief, returning he said from a short visit to the
Royal Council Chamber; when we told him, as far as we
then knew, all that had occurred.”
“And what did he say?” asked the former.
“He was greatly disturbed and excited,” replied the
other, “and, after questioning us closely about the appearance
of the man, whom we had foiled in his attempts
he hurried away, saying he would go and raise men of his
own to strengthen or relieve our guard, and with them
soon meet us here; when he would enquire into the meaning
and mystery of the outrage.”
Although the speakers had imparted by their conversation,
with the exception of the gratifying account they
gave of the meeting with Tulozin, but little more than
what the fair listener already knew, or had inferred from
the words of her persecutor himself, she had listened to
the details they gave of their adventures with lively interest.
Better than they, however, could she judge of
the motives which had led to the insult she had received.
She believed, therefore, the aggression both within doors
and without, was the work of one individual, But from
all the attendant circumstances, she could not but infer,
that this individual must be a person of no little rank
and power in the city. And she consequently now, for
the first time began to entertain serious apprehensions of
the consequences, which the balked villain in his revenge
might cause to be visited on herself and her father. But
who could he be? was this indeed a true specimen of the
rulers of the Imperial City? If so, well might their
wickedness and corruption call down the vengeance of a
just Heaven. But this train of thought was speedily
broken by the voice of Tulozin in the street below, who
had arrived with three well armed attendants to add to
attention, and it was with a secret pleasure, which
she would have hardly acknowledged, even to herself, that
she heard him first making anxious enquiries for her and
her safety. He then closely questioned her guard about
the character of the intrusion they had reported to him,
the personal appearance of the intruder and all the circumstances
connected with the strange and, even at the
best, most suspicious transaction.
He however seemed to be restrained from giving any
opinion of his own on the subject, and after stationing his
own men, supplying the others with additional arms, and
enjoining on all the closest vigilance in watching the
house, and determination of defending it, if assaulted, he
slowly, and with an air of hesitation and perplexity, retired
to his own quarters. Centeola, however, still remaining
wakeful under the agitating effects of the
strangely contrasted scenes of which she had that day and
evening become cognizant, continued at her post of observation
sometime longer. The nearly full moon was now
struggling up through the lurid haze that hung ominously
along the Eastern horizon, shedding her pale and sickly
light over temple, tower and house-top, and throwing a
singularly dismal aspect over every-thing below, while
glaring meteors were shooting widely athwart the heavens
above. The same mephitic and stifling atmosphere which
the maiden and her party had that afternoon perceived on
then noticed by them, again became, at intervals, plainly
perceptible and everything around, above and below, combined
to presage some awful catastrophe near at hand.
Deeply pondering over these mysteries, which she could
not but regard as of evil omen to the city, and therefore
to be taken by her, who would save it, as monitions to
press resolutely forward to the discharge of the duties she
came there to perform, the maiden now retired to her couch,
and, after invoking the blessings of the Most High on
herself and friends, was soon lost in peaceful slumbers.
6. CHAPTER VI.
While the scenes last described were transpiring, matters
of far greater moment to the public, but still more or
less involving the fate of the leading personages of our
story, were on the tapis in another part of the city, which
was deemed the more peculiar precinct of royalty and
power, and which, therefore, was generally known by the
appellation of the Sacred Enclosure. This place was
separated from the rest of the city by a wall about ten feet
high, embracing an oblong square area of perhaps fifteen
acres. On the East side of this square stood the Great
Temple of Mixitli, who as the God of war, and supposed
protecting deity of the city, received the chief and highest
worship of its idolatrous people. In a line with this
imposing edifice, and on the same side of the square, stood
the lesser temples and sacred pyramids, consecrated to
various inferior deities, the largest and most conspicuous
of which was the temple of the greatly feared Micblanteuct,
the God of Hell. On the West side, and nearly
opposite the Great Temple, was the Royal Council Hall,
the great state edifice of the city. Beyond, and about
of costly structures, the central one of which rose high
above the rest, and terminated in a gilded pinnacle. The
next in size and magnificence, was the residence, or palace
as it might well be called, of the great High Priest of the
God of War, situated in the middle of the northerly end
of the enclosure; while all the intermediate spaces along
the walls on either side, were filled with the mansions of
the more powerful and favored nobles, high officers of
state, and the humbler houses of the Seers, and the numerous
priests and their subordinates, who administered the
religious rites and ceremonies in the temples dedicated to
the different deities of general or partial worship among
the people.
In view of the alarming exigencies of the hour, the
king, with a small retinue of officials and trusty attendants,
had, early that evening, repaired to the Great Council
Hall, there to meet those on whom he most relied for
advice and assistance in administering the government.
The ordinary meetings of the Council were not generally
attended by the king, or if attended by him, it was in his
common apparel, and rather as a spectator than a participant.
But on this important occasion, when the news
last received made all feel conscious that the safety of the
city was at stake, he came attired in his royal robes and
diadem, and took the great chair of state, designed to be
occupied only by the ruling sovereigns. The king was
And the total lack of firmness and resolution which his
looks exhibited showed that his mental and moral faculties
had even preceded his physical energies in the process of
decay. He had been an exacting despot, and, until recently,
he had viewed his Council only as mere creatures
of his will. But all his arrogance had now forsaken him.
He seemed to have lost all confidence in his own resources
in the present emergency, and under the lively apprehensions
of dangers to grow out of it, which had obviously
seized him, he looked helplessly around him for the advice
and support of the very men whose counsel he had been
wont to reject whenever it failed to tally with his wishes.
His councillors, who were also generally past the
middle age, all seemed equally impressed with their royal
master, with the perils of the crisis, and equally anxious
that something shall be done to avert them. But what
that something was no one seemed prepared to indicate.
The minds of all appeared to be undecided and fluctuating.
In the colloquial discussion that now ensued, some suggested
one measure, some another; while none of them
seemed long to adhere to the opinions they had advanced,
but eagerly watched to hear new propositions. In short
it soon became evident, that their counsels were so entirely
distracted that no measure promising any additional
safety to the city could be adopted, or even confidently
proposed; and to add to their fears and perplexities, fresh
of the invading foe were every little while arriving. Runner
after runner, coming from the vicinity of the hostile
array, came in, as the night advanced, each bringing
tidings more alarming than those of the one last preceding
him. And at length, to complete the consternation, one arrived
and rushed in hot haste to the Council Hall with the
startling intelligence, that the enemy had assaulted and carried
the defenses of the warlike tribe of the Bears, scattering
their warriors and people like autumn leaves in a tempest,
before the irresistible onset, and leaving the way
open to the former, if left unopposed, for a victorious
march on the city within the next twenty-four hours.
“It is the duty of the Council to provide full and sufficient
measures for the safety of the city,” exclaimed the
fear-smitten old King, his cracked voice trembling with
agitation, as he thrust out his hands, with half menacing,
half imploring gestures, towards the scarcely less troubled
councillors before him.—“Yes, it is their plain duty; and
yet no one speaks to any purpose. But something must
be done immediately, and I command it to be done.”
“I propose then,” said one of the leading councillors,
thus driven to some kind of action by the absurd mandate
of the King, “I propose that we send out a thousand
warriors to meet the foe and stay their progress, so that
they shall not be suffered to approach the city, and compel
us to place our only hope on the doubtful result of
doubtless make on every part of the walls.”
“Would that be the part of wisdom and prudence?”
asked another leading councillor. “If the enemy are so
strong as to have defeated the Bear warriors, as numerous
and brave as they are, would our less hardy city warriors
be likely to meet a better fate?”
“No,” said a third; “and even should they not be
routed, would not the foe, who are said to be as numerous
as the leaves of the forest, be apt, while part of their army
was engaging our warriors, throw another force round behind
them and cut them off from the city, so that they
could render us no further aid?”
“Then let none of my warriors leave the city,” here
interposed the timid old king. “We shall need them all
to man the walls and towers. The forces of the Imperial
City must not be weakened. As you all know, I am the
last of the Royal family. My sons conspired against me
and were justly put to death. My two wives, the good
one and the bad one, are both dead. My two daughters,
who, by a law of our kingdom, might also, when there
were no sons, have rightfully come to the throne at my
death, have likewise passed away, one early, the other
more recently. I am therefore, a poor lone old man. If
I die, there is none to succeed me, and the kingdom will
be broken up. A people without a head would soon be
scattered and become the prey of every hostile nation
his throne, as the last hope of the nation. The measure
proposed is not a good one, and must be abandoned. Let
the council devise other measures. It is for them, I repeat,
to concert some measure which will secure the safety
of the city and the king. And first, I call on my faithful
old councillor, Huasco, for his opinion. He has never
yet failed me in any emergency. He is wise in all things,
and will not fail to see and tell us what is best to be done.”
The person addressed, who was no other than the elder
of the two emissaries, who had visited the Sage and his
daughter at their village, as described in a former chapter,
now rose in obedience to the call of the king and said —
“Nobody here has yet said anything about the protection
of the Gods. If they are against us, they will make
our warriors weak and feeble-hearted as women in the presence
of the foe. But if they are for us, our warriors will
be strong, and no enemy can prevail over them. Let us
first seek to know, then, how the Gods are affected towards
us in this crisis, and if we find they are adverse, it behoves
us to ascertain the cause, that it may be removed
and their favor be again secured. But I am no Seer or
Priest to decide these momentous questions. I propose,
therefore, that the Seers and Priests be immediately summoned
to appear before us, that we may hear their opinions
and take measures accordingly.”
This proposal being unanimously approved by the king
all the leading seers and priests to give their attendance
forthwith at the Great Council Hall, for the purposes
which the mover of the measure had designated.
And in a short time, nearly a dozen of these professional
dignitaries, who had ever been allowed to exercise an important
influence in the affairs of the government, and
whose opinions, as among all superstitious nations in times
of great public fears and perplexities, were likely to outweigh
those of the wisest councillors, were formally
ushered into the Hall. And after the reasons for summoning
them thus to favor the council with their presence
in this crisis of the city's and the nation's peril, were
explained, they were respectfully invited to offer their
opinions and advice.
“The Gods are evidently angry with us,” said a leading
Seer, in response to the demand, which he now understood
to be made on the professional gifts of himself and
brother Seers. “They have veiled their faces from us
during the last day or two. They have withheld the
light of prophecy. They have shut up the spirit Heavens,
so that we cannot see, as usual, what is, and what is to be.
There is a cloud over the present, and all looks dim and
confused along the vistas of the future. There must be
potent reasons for this; but to me it has not been revealed.”
“Our brother has spoken well,” said a second Seer,
prophecied smooth things to the rulers, assuring them that
the foe were not to advance on the city, but now, in the
face of the developements of the night, dare do so no longer.
“He has spoken the words of truth. His experience
is the experience of us all. The spirit Heavens are
dark to-night. We cannot pierce them so as to read what
is to befall in the future, of which we are left to judge
only by visible signs and portents. And these even are
of such a new and mysterious character that we are much
at fault in determining their significance.”
“Have any such signs and portents been discovered
the past day, or to-night?” anxiously inquired a councillor.
“Ay, many,” returned the former. “They have been
disclosed to me both in the heavens above and the earth
beneath. The moon and stars seem to me to wear to-night,
a very unnatural and ominous appearance. Even
the very air around us seems changed from its natural
condition by some malign influence. But it is now especially
the earth that furnishes the most mysterious omens.
I have heard strange, hollow sounds which seemed to issue
from the ground, and more than once I have distinctly
perceived long quivering vibrations passing through the
earth beneath my feet. This last omen seems to me to
indicate that the dreaded Mictlanteuct, the God of Hell,
whose throne is deep down towards the middle of the
His chief priest, however, is present, and may perchance
be able to tell what disturbs this God, and what will be
required to propitiate him.”
“He requires blood — the blood of a human victim,”
responded the priest thus appealed to, a huge, deformed
and every way repulsive looking being, and for that very
reason deemed all the more suitable representative of the
grim God, to whose service he was devoted. “He is angry
— ay, justly angry at the neglect he has experienced
at the hands of our people. Sacrifices have been made
to other gods, but none to him. He demands that the
sacrifice of a man should be made to him, in the dark, and
at his appropriate hour of midnight. And I am clearly
of the opinion that nothing short of that will propitiate
him, and prevent him from throwing his fearful power in
favor of the invading foe, who are perhaps more naturally
his children than we.”
“But there is another God whom it is a thousand times
more our interest first to propitiate,” here eagerly interposed
a priest of the great temple, “and that is the great
Mixitli, the all potent God of war, who has always been
regarded as the especial guardian of our people, and the
champion spirit of our nation, having conducted us triumphantly
through all our wars, and aided us to establish
and raise our kingdom to its present proud position of
power and glory. Ay, and there is good reason why he
alarming circumstances of the hour, that he, too, gives
unmistakable evidence of being offended.”
“Mixitli offended? how? how? what is that evidence?”
exclaimed several Councillors, starting up with
looks of surprise and alarm.
“A short time ago,” said the Priest in reply, “I ascended
to the sacred floor surmounting the solid part of
the great Temple, and consecrated to the image of Mixitli
and the altars and implements of the worship of the God.
As next in rank to the High Priest himself, it is made my
duty to visit this holy place every night to see that everything
is in order, and especially to note the aspects of
the image, through which the God has been known on
sundry important emergencies to manifest himself to his
accepted priests, and to indicate by signs which they only
are permitted to understand and interpret, the requirements
of his will.
Believing that the present alarming crisis might well
furnish one of those emergencies in which the God makes
the image his temporary tabernacle, I entered the consecrated
room with trembling reverence and anxiety. I was
expecting much in the way of manifestations, but was not
prepared for what I then witnessed. I there beheld Tolpan,
the High Priest, lying prostrate at the feet of the image,
and, through it, in evident communication with the great deity
himself. For awhile he was too much absorbed and agitated
length measurably subsiding, he became apprised of my
presence, motioned me to his side, and bade me watch and
listen. I did so, and soon distinguished strange, low,
hollow sounds, which at length rose to distinct outbreaks
of what seemed to me to be wrathful mutterings, mingled
with the tones of complaint and rebuke, all appearing to
issue from the belly of the image, which the next moment
began to tremble like a man under the excitement of anger
that he is unable to suppress. And the High Priest,
who then shortly arose, told me that these fearful manifestations
had several times been repeated during the
evening.”
“And how does Tolpan, the High Priest, interpret
these mysterious manifestations?” anxiously asked a
Councillor.
“He did not seem prepared, or else deemed it inexpedient
to give them a full interpretation,” answered the
Priest. “He intimated his fears however, that a sacrilege
or some heinous sin against the God must have been
either actually committed, or was being meditated by
some persons belonging to the city, or more likely, some
who have this evening arrived, are conspiring to put
down the worship of the God, and set his power at naught.
Neither Tolpan or myself have ever before witnessed such
marked tokens of displeasure as the God has this evening
sacrifices will propitiate him.”
“Such sacrifices have already been provided,” said
the councillor Huasco, “an order has many days since
been issued to gather in from the different tribes a full
score of fair virgins; and they are all to be duly sacrificed
to the god on the second day of the approaching
festival.”
“Tolpan well knows that such an order has been issued;
and relying on its faithful execution, he has solemnly
promised Mixitli that he would bring that full number
of victims to the altar. But he is fearful that the measure,
as wise and imperiously demanded as it is, at this
alarming crisis, will be, in part, at least, defeated. Of
the score of virgins ordered not over two thirds of the
number have as yet been brought into this city. Some
of those who had been marked for the purpose, having
been apprised of their selection by traitors, as it is supposed,
had, when the officers and runners came for them,
escaped into the forest and were nowhere to be found.
Some of them broke away from their keepers after they
had been taken, and one, it has been just reported, was
seized and carried off by a monstrous wild beast on the
way hither.”
“But it is too soon to say that all will not yet be made
right. New bands of the most trusty and active emissaries
have this evening been dispatched to secure the requisite
lacking ones will all be in and ready for the sacrifice at
the usual time of the ceremony, which has ever been on
the second afternoon of the festival.”
“But may it not then prove too late to secure the great
object in view?” interposed a sagacious old Seer who had
been keenly noting the progress of the discussion. “If
we are to believe the accounts we have just received that the
enemy are within a day's march of us, who does not see
that the city may be assaulted and taken before the hour
of the sacrifices, as now appointed, shall arrive? If we
are to propitiate the offended God in this manner, at all,
it should be done with the least possible delay. I propose,
therefore that the sacrifices take place at an early hour
to-morrow, or on the first, instead of the last day of the
festival.”
“The Seer has spoken the words of great wisdom” —
warmly responded the councillor Huasco. “The proposition
seems to me to come as from the inspiration of a true
Seer. I earnestly approve it. Let it be adopted. Let
the time of the sacrifices be altered, as he suggests, from
the second to the first day of the festival. The urgency
of the case demands it. Mixitli may then be propitiated
in season for our deliverance. Let the King order the
change, and the city may yet be saved.”
“I order it — I decree it!” hurriedly exclaimed the
King, who appeared eagerly to catch at the measure as
mind,” and let the decree be carried into execution.
Let the High Priest promise the god that he shall
not be cheated out of any of his victims; for the whole
power of my kingdom shall be this night put in requisition
to secure the appointed number. But where are the
rest of the Seers, who have so often of late prophecied to
me that the enemy were not to approach the city — why
are they silent now. They have said the spirit heavens
are so dark that they could not see what is coming. Can
they see now? Let them speak.”
“I see now, and so do I, and I and I,” eagerly responded
and repeated, one after another, the whole band of
Seers. “Mixitli will be propitiated. He will interpose
his power between us and the foe, who will be scattered
to the winds. All this is now plainly prefigured in the
spirit heavens, as they open to our view. Rejoice! rejoice!
the city is saved!”
“Ay, the city is saved!” echoed the Priests in full
chorus.
“Especially so, if the God of Hell has his victim the
night following the sacrifice to the God of War,” interposed
the persistent priest of the grim deity he represented,
“and I earnestly recommend that it be so ordered.”
“I order it then,” said the King, “so that the last obstacle
to our salvation may be removed.”
“'Tis done then,” “proclaim it to the people,” the
in with a measure which both seers and priests had so
emphatically pronounced the saving one.
And the whole assemblage then fell to congratulating
each other on what they called the auspicious issue of the
debate; when with a feeling of relief, like that of those
finding themselves in safety after narrowly escaping great
danger, they immediately separated, and, rejoicing in
their self-delusion, hastened home to spread the good news
among the people.
7. CHAPTER VII.
The next morning's sun, as it seemingly rose in blood,
looked down upon a deeply disquieted city. For besides
the omens of evil, which the earth and heavens combined,
in their view, to exhibit, the people had more immediate
and tangible cause of alarm. The startling news of the
past night, had by this time, spread from mouth to mouth,
till the whole population had become apprized of the full
extent of the apprehended danger; and great, in consequence,
was the commotion which now prevailed through
every part of the crowded city. Men, with anxious and
troubled countenances, were seen hurrying through the
streets in all directions; while at every corner small
groups of people were gathered, now discussing, in visible
agitation, the fearful tidings they had heard, and now
speculating on the boding appearance of the heavens,
seeming to take it for granted, that all was referable to
one cause, and that all conspired to portend some great
and terrible calamity at hand.
But at length came the news, that the council, on
whom centred the hopes of all for some important and
which were sure to avert the impending evils; when their
feelings all seemed to undergo a sudden revulsion, and
hope and joy took the place of despondency and fear in
every countenance. And when they understood that
those measures consisted in propitiating the God of war,
who had been discovered to be deeply offended by the
irreverence and meditated desecrations of certain persons
or parties supposed to be now in the city, by the early
sacrifice of the virgins that morning, they became clamorously
impatient for the ceremonies to commence, and
went about vowing vengeance on all those, if they could
be discovered, who by their heresies and impious opposition,
had thus offended and estranged the protecting God
of the endangered city.
But where, in the meantime, was the young chief Tulozin;
and how felt he in view of all that had been transpiring
around him? He had been no idle observer of
what had been passing the preceding night. He had been
to the Council, listened to the discussions and witnessed
what he could no longer conceal from himself was the
worse than impotent result, and having there learned, to
his great surprise and concern, the circumstances of the
bold outrage attempted to be committed on Centeola, he
had left no means untried to trace out and identify the
would be perpetrator, and the discoveries he made about
that transaction and other scarcely less questionable affairs,
grief and amazement. He became convinced that hitherto
he had seen only the surface of society in the Imperial
City, while beneath was concealed all manner of vice and
corruption, and to such an extent, he greatly feared as but
too well to warrant the condemnation which the Sage
and his daughter had bestowed on the city. And yet for
all his doubts and misgivings, he could not yet decide
what part he should take in the coming events of the day.
He well knew it was expected of him to sustain his rulers
in all the measures they had adopted for the public safety,
and at the same time, he knew that should he do so, he
must relinquish all hopes of his idolized Centeola. Could
he do that? His heart told him no. And still if he did
not so sustain these measures, as wrong and futile as he
now began to look upon them, what would be the consequences
to himself? What, too probably, but to make
him an outcast from the high social and political circle,
in which he had been so ambitious to move, and cause him
to be branded as a traitor. Such were the questions
which passed through his troubled mind, while love was
pleading on one side and ambition on the other, and both
combining to make him the complete prey of conflicting
emotions.
While thus disturbed by these distracting reflections,
Tulozin, who had been abroad in the city to gather news
and learn the state of public feeling, reached his father's
of Centeola, to make one effort more to induce her to
forego her purpose of publicly declaring her mission before
the King and council, which he had now become convinced
would not only be utterly useless, but would involve
her personal safety to a far more dangerous extent than
he had at first apprehended. But when he reached her
home, a new and unexpected incident occurred, which but
added to his doubts and perplexities. The old chief, his
father, who had latterly remained mostly at home, taking
no part in public affairs, had risen that morning in unusual
perturbation and alarm. He had been warned, he said,
in a dream to depart from the city that morning, as the only
way to escape some great evil which was about to befal;
and he had resolved to obey the Heavenly vision.
Finding that no arguments could avail in deterring the old
chief from the immediate execution of his purpose, Tulozin
accompanied him through the western gate of the city,
and left him, with a couple of trusty attendants, to set
forth, at once, on his journey to his old home among the
people of his tribe. Having performed this act of filial
courtesy, Tulozin returned, and, deeply pondering on
what he had just heard and seen, which when coupled
with the views and predictions of Alcoan and Centeola,
gave a new turn to his thoughts, and at the same time
filled him with the most painful forebodings, directed his
steps, as he had previously purposed, to the quarters of
the latter.
“Tulozin, what of the past night?” anxiously asked
the Sage, as the former now made his appearance.
“The news of the past night but too well confirms the
words of the Sage Alcoan, when we first met yesterday,
and when he predicted that the march of the dread invaders
would not be stayed. The alarming tidings, indeed,
comes, that they are pressing rapidly on directly towards
the city, which, it is feared, they may reach and assault
before another day's sun shall roll over us.”
“But what of the King and Council? What measures
do they depend on now to save their city?”
“On the sacrifices — still wholly on the appointed sacrifices,
the time for which in the pressing emergency
they have changed, so that they may take place at the
opening of the ceremonies of the Festival this morning;
and all are impatient for their rites to commence, that Mixitli
who is reported to be very angry, may be the sooner appeased
and take sides with us in the impending struggle.”
“And wist they not that, by the butcheries they call
sacrifices, the wrath of the Great God of all may be
kindled to a consuming fire against them?” Wist they
not in the blindness of their vain and wicked idolatry of
their false God, that they are thus but hastening the very
doom they are trying to escape? Will they listen to no
words of true wisdom? Will they heed none of the
warnings which heaven and earth are combining to give
them?”
“None, good Alcoan, none, and so intent are they on
carrying out what they deem their great saving measure,
that they will not even hear the wisdom or expediency of
the measure called in question by any; while any words
of opposition to its execution will surely bring evil on the
heads of those who venture to offer them.”
“They will, nevertheless, hear such words from Alcoan
and Centeola before their wicked and impious designs are
consumated. Tulozin, we shall surely this day appear
before them.”
“Your life may be the forfeit. O, do not go, good Alcoan,
and especially do not allow Centeola to go. Evil eyes are
already upon her, and spies have been watching for you
both.”
“I go; and let them harm the gray-haired old Sage if
they deem it will help their cause. He will speak; for
he has this day more than one duty to perform. Yes, he
will go, but will only answer for one. Centeola can speak
for herself. We will summon her to appear.”
The Sage then rapped several times with his staff on
the table; and in obedience to the well understood summons,
the maiden promptly made her appearance in the
room.
“Tulozin is welcome” she said with a sweet smile and
in tones of respectful tenderness, “and all the more cordially
does Centeola thus greet him, because she is well
aware of all the kind offices he performed in her behalf
during the troublous scenes of the past night.”
“If Centeola knows that, she may also be aware, perhaps
of the snares that are set for her on every side in
this, to her, dangerous city, and she further may well believe
that the object of her coming here, and that of Alcoan
and their train, is more than suspected; and that it
is the secret determination of some of the most influential
of those in power and the official instruments of their
will, to thwart their purposes, and to punish those, I
greatly fear, who shall attempt to execute them.”
“From what she has heard and noted, the past night,
Centeola is not wholly unprepared for Tulozin's announcement.”
“O, why, then, will she not listen to his voice and be
warned not to appear in public as she proposes, and brave
those who have the power to bring her and her father to
much harm?”
“Tulozin, do you believe in the controling power of
one God, the great and good Spirit of heaven and earth?”
“Your words, fair Centeola, and the wise teachings of
your father, yesterday, have filled my mind with new
thoughts. I feel as one bewildered in coming suddenly
from some dark place into a bright and dazzling light.
Let me once be made to feel that the light, which has
thus flashed over my mind, is not some false light, I then
will not only believe, but embrace.”
“Tulozin, look at yon glorious sun now mounting along
it in its place? Who made the starry host of heaven and
keeps them moving in their allotted circuits? Were all
these created and kept moving in such beautiful harmony
by one God, or two or more Gods.
“I suppose by one, and a supreme God; for complete
harmony among the countless orbs of heaven could only
be ensured by one controling, master hand — the hand that
created them. It must be so; — yes, fair and gifted one
it must be so.”
“It is so. Tulozin reasons rightly. But is that Supreme
God a good and consistent deity, or a malign and
inconsistent one?”
“I should think a good and consistent one.”
“Would he, then, destroy or mar what he has created,
whether it be the orbs of heaven or the children of men?”
“Nay, he would not, he could not consistently. Both
alike must therefore receive his constant care and regard.”
“It is so. Tulozin is still right; for his desire to be
right, and his clear mind, will not permit him to reason
otherwise than he does. But if the God, of whom we
speak, is supreme and benevolent, as Tulozin now admits,
will he suffer, with impunity, the earthly children of his
care and regard to be put to death to please an inferior
deity, if, as you seem to have supposed, such a deity
exists in your so called God of war, and even will he hold
remonstrance of such murderous proceedings?”
The young chief stood mute; for he disdained to answer
evasively; and he plainly perceived that to answer
as he might reasonably be expected after the admissions
he had made, would imply the duty, on his part, to take
an open stand in opposition to the decrees of the Council,
a step which he yet greatly hesitated about taking, and
the Sage readily comprehending the cause of his hesitation,
interposed to take up the discourse.
“Tulozin does not answer, because he cannot yet bring
himself to fear men less than Him who created them, and
moulds them to his will — because he does not fully comprehend
the providence of that great and good Being —
because he does not see, that if God would protect the
good among his earthly children, he must punish the bad,
or those who commit wrongs and outrages upon them; and
finally because he does not yet fully know and realize the
manifold wickedness of this city, and that its crowning
abomination is the sacrifice of innocent human beings to
the false gods it has set up for its vain and abhorrent worship.
For years, Tulozin, I have watched the growing
sins of this place, and the foul wrongs which the exacting
and luxurious rulers, and the corrupt nobles have been
heaping on the people of the seven tribes. Whenever they
heard of a young man who, from his capacities and influence,
system of oppression, they would tempt, bribe or in some
way corrupt him till he should become their willing instrument
and take up his residence among them, and if
these means failed, he would be secretly slain, or cast into
one of the deep dungeons under the Great Temple, where
he would be heard of no more. Many of the fairest of
our virgins have been tempted or stolen away from their
homes, and brought here to be corrupted and made to minister
to the base passions of the rulers and nobles, and to
support those rulers and nobles in their luxury and idleness,
tribute upon tribute is yearly wrung from all the
tribes till they have become an impoverished and discouraged
people; while spies have been sent swarming over
the land, to report the names of those found uttering
complaints, and mark them for punishment. Now does
Tulozin believe that a sin-hating and just God will long
suffer such a city to go unpunished without thorough repentance
and reformation?”
I hardly know what to believe, good Alcoan. But I
will confess, that, even as little as I have been admitted
to a knowledge of the secret doings of those who control
here, I have seen many things which have filled me with
pain and surprise, and these, with the still more painful
discoveries of the past night, lead me to fear, that too
much of what Alcoan has said cannot be easily gainsayed
of the evil repent and change their ways? I am too
young and new here to be heeded; and all my endeavors
to that end, would probably only result in causing those
whom I should oppose, to combine against me and make
me an outcast.”
“To be made an outcast from the dens of the wicked,
Tulozin, would be thy greatest honor, and thy surest pasport
to the favor of the Great Spirit.”
“It may be as thou sayest, good Alcoan, and it may be
that there are duties for me, which I shall soon see my
way clear to perform. I would act the wise and good
part; but what wouldst thou have me do?”
“I will tell thee what we would have thee do, Tulozin,”
here warmly interposed Centeola. “We would
have thee follow the guidance of the inner light, which I
know is beginning to illume thy conscientious and truth-desiring
mind. We would have thee do what that teaches
thee is right, and leave the result to the wise ordering
of the Great Spirit, who can and will protect thee in the
honest course, and at the same time grant thee the favor
which is worth more than all that king or council can
ever bestow. Then join us — O join us, Tulozin, in trying
to prevent these wicked sacrifices. This city, reeking
as it is with crimes, has enough to answer for without
these doubly flagitious abominations. If they can be prevented,
it may be that our God will yet pardon, take the
and stay the bolt which, otherwise. I feel will soon fall on
this devoted city.”
“Centeola,” rejoined the Sage “has uttered the words
of truth, the words of prophecy, the words of salvation,
or the words of doom. She and Alcoan will this day appear
before the king and council, protest against the
bloody rites they are contemplating, and warn them of
the consequence of a blind persistence in their unhallowed
designs.”
Instead of responding directly, the young chief after a
thoughtful pause, related the singular circumstances attending
the departure of his father, the old chief of the
Buffalos, early that morning, of which the solemn asseverations
of Centeola and the Sage appeared to remind
him, and concluded by proposing that they should all abstain
from attending the festival, and following the example
of the old chief, immediately leave the city together.
“Nay, it may not be, Tulozin,” replied the maiden
kindly but firmly.” Fear not for me. He, who prompted
my mission here, will never forsake me in my endeavors
to accomplish it. We may not recede from our righteous
purpose now. We must go and face the danger, if danger
there be, fearlessly.”
“If Centeola goes, then Tulozin goes with her and her
train,” promptly responded the young chief. “His heart
is true, and his arm, if need be, will be strong in her defence.
to summon the people to assemble in the second enclosure
to witness the rites and ceremonies of the festival.
I must away to my house to make my few preparations,
and join thy train on the way. May thy God protect
thee Centeola, and be the prompter and guide of thee
and thy father in the hour of trial.”
8. CHAPTER VIII.
The hour of trial, and, with it, the hour of retribution,
was at hand. With feelings of intense solicitude, indeed,
but with no weak relentings, no touch of fear or irresolution,
Alcoan and his gifted and heroic daughter summoned
their attendants, and, with them, set forth for the
scene of action for that memorable day. As in the order
and manner of their march yesterday, Centeola rode on
her beautiful white steed. By her side walked Alcoan
with the peculiar oaken staff generally carried by Sages,
symbolizing, in this instance, his tribe by being carved in
the shape of a serpent. In their rear followed the attendant
maidens, and then all the men, except Wampa, who,
from his great strength and resolution, was placed in front
to take the lead and clear the way for the cortege through
the crowded streets. Scarcely had they left their quarters
before they perceived that they were the objects of general
observation and scrutiny among the multitude. As
they proceeded along the narrow street, in which they had
set forth, throngs of people were continually rushing by
them, or running along by their side, eagerly scanning
and her horse appeared especially to attract their attention,
and elicit their surprise. And when they reached
the great street leading down from the Western gate, the
crowd became an almost compact mass of living bodies,
all pressing eagerly forward towards the Sacred Inclosure,
which was evidently the great point of attraction for the
day. As the train reached this point, it was compelled
to come to a stand; for, at first they found it impossible
to find a sufficient space among the moving mass
to enable them to fall in and move along with the current.
In a few minutes, however, they were relieved from their
dilemma in the most unexpected manner: for, at this
juncture, their ears were saluted by the loud cries of heralds,
who came rushing down the street, brandishing their
long spears, and sternly ordering the crowd to fall back
on either side, to make room for the “Procession of the
Sacred Virgins” which was proclaimed to be approaching.
This procession was regarded as one of the most interesting
and important of all the ceremonies of the Great
Festival of the God of War, for whose honor it was especially
designed. Previous to the day of the Festival,
it was customary for a select band of girls, who thereby
obtained the appellation of the Sacred Virgins, to fashion,
or construct, from the flour of maize and wild rice, mixed
with honey and the pulp of fruits, an idol representing
the God of War, and clothe and deck it out in costly attire
the first morning of the Festival was placed sitting upright
on a litter, and borne in solemn procession through
the principal streets of the city, immediately attended by
those particularly designated as the Sacred Virgins,
followed by a long and splendid array of young girls,
dressed in white and adorned with a profusion of the most
beautiful flowers it was possible to obtain. After moving
through the streets in this manner, this showy cortege
always proceeded directly to the Sacred Enclosure,
there, in front of the Great Temple, to inaugurate the
opening ceremony of the Festival. In the present instance
the procession, having already made their customary
rounds through the streets, was on its way to its final
destination.
In a few minutes after it had been announced and the
way opened for it, as above described, the heralded procession
came sweeping by amidst the loud beating of drums
and the reiterated cheers and shouts of the excited multitude.
Falling in directly in the rear of this procession,
the Sage, his daughter and their train, with Wampa in
front, and Tulozin, who had now overtaken them, following
closely behind them, were hurried rapidly along with
the great human tide, unquestioned and almost unnoticed in
the general rush, till they had entered the Sacred Enclosure.
Here on a slightly raised, broad platform extending
along in front of the Council Hall, sat the King in his royal
and attendant state officials, all showily attired for the occasion.
On the opposite side of the street, and close to
the foot of the Great Temple, had been erected another,
much smaller, but more elevated platform, which was
principally occupied by a vacant throne, designed for the
High Priest of the Temple, who was now reserving his
presence for the most important ceremony of the day.
As the procession of the Sacred Virgins passed between
these two platforms, and, according to custom, there came
to a halt facing the King, Centeola's party, having just
before partially extricated themselves from the mid-current
of the rushing throng, were pressed and crowded up
close to the end of the King's platform, where, hedged in
on every side, and thus involuntarily brought to a stand,
they became involuntary spectators of all that transpired.
The image, which had been borne forward at the head
of the procession, was now, with great formality brought
upon the platform and presented to the King, who, in
turn ordered it to be delivered over to the priests of Mixitli;
when it was at once taken in hand by them, broken into
small fragments and distributed to the crowd, by whom
it was received with shouts of exultation and eagerly
eaten, each repeating — “thus we eat the body of the
God, and thus we shall be made strong to fight his battles,
and to scatter our own foes.”
As soon as this ceremony was concluded, the Sacred
rites, (such as oblations of fruits, flowers, birds and small
quadrupeds, to the sun, the moon and some of the subordinate
acknowledged deities,) which had been usually
made to follow the one that had just taken place. But
all these lighter sacred rites and displays, were lost sight
of by the multitude in their anxiety for the speedy occurrence
of the doubly important chief ceremony of the Festival.
And the loud and prolonged cries of “the Sacrifices!
the Sacrifices of the virgins!” rose from every
quarter of the densely crowded Sacred Arena, till the
thousand times repeated demand filled the heavens with
vociferous clamor; while the lively commotion and the
surging to and fro of the vast throng, with other demonstrations
of their eagerness, plainly testified their angry
impatience at every moment's delay in complying with
their request.
The King then rose, and, waving his official wand towards
the crowd in order to impose silence, thus addressed
the people —
“It has always been our custom to reserve the ceremony
of the human Sacrifices, so important for propitiating
the protecting deity of our nation, to the last; so as to
make a fitting close of the glorious Festival we have so
long and wisely yearly held in his honor. But inasmuch
as our city, and with it the whole nation, is so immediately
threatened by a formidable foe, and as we need the speedy
the sacrifices should take place early on this, the first day
of the Festival, and as soon as the less important ceremonies
which have ever been permitted to follow the beautiful
rite we have just witnessed, are over, the Sacrifices of
the Virgins shall immediately proceed.”
But the temper of the crowd, goaded almost to madness,
as they were, at the thought of the so nearly threatening
danger, would brook no delay, and the eager cry
was again raised, “the Sacrifices! the Sacrifices! The
God is angry and must be immediately appeased. Let
the King permit no delay! The Sacrifices! the Sacrifices!”
And as if to make good the assertion of the anger of the
God by a visible demonstration, as first uttered, at that
moment a strange, deep, rumbling sound was heard, and
the earth shook and vibrated too palpably not to arrest instant
attention. All stood aghast, and were struck dumb
with surprise and apprehension; while the King and his
Councillors exchanged glances of lively concern. A dead
pause succeeded; when the crowd rallying from their surprise,
and now being joined by the whole band of Priests and
Seers, fiercely broke forth anew with the loud and united
cry of, “the Sacrifices! the Sacrifices!” with an earnestness
and determination that plainly evinced they would
brook no futher delay or opposition.
The King, therefore, after a hurried consultation with
some of the leading Councillors, rose and said —
“The wishes of the people shall be heeded. Let the
virgins, who have been consecrated to the God of War, be
brought forth and prepared for the final ceremony.”
In a short time the doomed virgins, heralded by a band
of six subordinate Priests, and enclosed on every side by
armed guards, were led forth from their prison chamber,
opening from one side of the Great Temple, and arranged
in front of the smaller platform beneath it. By the desperate
exertion of the King's emissaries, all but one of
the required twenty virgins, had during the night, been
brought in; and it was announced by one of the priests
that the hunt was still going on for the victim still wanting
to make up the full score that had been decreed to the
God. And here they stood in all the bloom of their
youth and beauty passively but fearfully awaiting their
dreaded fate. Not the first ray of hope lighted a single
countenance, but the looks of all were deeply stamped
with the most painful expressions of anguish and despair;
while convulsive sobs and half suppressed cries of mortal
terror were often bursting from their pallid lips. A large
basket of garlands and flower wreaths was now borne forward
by the servants of the Priests, who, having severally
selected their portions of these flowery ornaments, proceeded
to deck with them the heads and necks of the devoted
band. When they had been thus arrayed, a Priest
formally addressed the poor trembling creatures, telling
them how proud and happy they should feel in the honor
assuring them that they should be all immediately translated
to the House of the Sun, where they would lead
lives of endless delight, hailing that luminary in the morning
with music and dancing, when, as he mounted upward
on his glorious course through the sky, they would be
joined by the innumerable souls of young warriors slain
in battle, and all would attend him with similar festivities
to the place of his sitting.
These ceremonies being over, the King arose and waving
his royal wand towards the multitude, announced that
the all important rites were then about to be commenced,
and enjoined on all to witness them with devout attention,
and with earnest secret prayers to the God, that he would
graciously accept the oblation, become propitiated, and interpose
his potent arm and save the city from the dreaded
foe.
Loud and prolonged exclamations in approval of this
address every where burst forth from the multitudes.
Then a pause and momentary silence ensued, during
which, the clear flute-like tones of the voice of Centeola
rose melodiously and solemnly on the air, causing thousands
of faces to turn in surprise towards the spot from
which such unwonted accents had proceeded, when with
still greater surprise, their eyes fell upon the transcendent
form and face of the gifted maiden, speaking from
her spotless white steed, which, now for the first time attracting
the curiosity and wonder of the throng, who becoming
hushed into silence, were eagerly intent on catching the
words she might be uttering.
“King of the Imperial City,” she began, “I this hour
appear before thee on a mission, which has been prompted
by the Great Spirit, the Supreme God whom I alone worship,
and sanctioned by a large class of the best and most
enlightened of your subjects of the Seven Tribes. In
that great name, and in the name of those dutiful subjects,
I come to protest against the inhuman sacrifices of
these innocent virgins — I come.”
“Who is it, who dares thus to question and oppose the
decrees of the King and Council?” exclaimed a Councillor
starting to his feet with looks of angry excitement.
“Away with her! away with her!” shouted the
priests.
“No, no! It is something more than a woman — it
surely must be a goddess!” cried a dozen voices from
the fickle crowd, who were evidently struck with wonder
at the marvellous beauty of the maiden, at the richness of
her costume, and at the, to them, strange and imposing
animal on which she sat, and which, by many of them,
was taken as part of herself, — “it is a goddess come
among us! Let her not be driven away, let her be
heard.”
The King hesitated and began to consult with his Councillor
former to give any orders in the matter, Centeola resumed
—
“I come, O King, to condemn and denounce these
sacrifices, which are an abomination in the sight of Heaven.
They are proposed to be made to propitiate a God,
if such a God there be, who has no power over the affairs
of men. They are therefore in vain, and worse than in
vain; for they will surely call down the wrath of the
Great God of Heaven and Earth on thee and thy corrupt
and idolatrous city. They will bring upon thee, thy city,
and all our beloved Azatlan, the very doom thou art vainly
thinking to avert by these unhallowed rites and ceremonies.
Release then, these poor trembling victims of
wrong and superstition, forego the whole system of human
sacrifices, and repent thy Heaven-offending purpose;
and it may be that the Good Supreme, in his mercy, will
yet spare and punish not. But if not, if this great
wickedness is consummated, I prophecy that the doom of
this proud city, and, with it, this dynasty, is sealed forever.
I see the avenging bolt suspended over us in the
heavens above, and I hear the deep mutterings of the
coming wrath in the earth beneath. Be warned then, O
King and Councillors, in season. Stay the sacrifices and
hope to live — persist in them and perish.”
This address was hailed by a howl of wrath from the
united vociferations of the Priests and Seers, in which
could be distinguished the fierce demands —
“Away with her! she blasphemes the God! she defies
the King! away with her to the deepest dungeon in the
Temple!”
A half dozen excited Councillors sprang to their feet;
but before they could be heard, the great drum sent forth
its deep, rolling notes from the temple above, to announce
that the High Priest, the great master of the ceremonies
at hand, has issued from his palace and was, with his retinue
on his way to the scene of action. Instantly the
whole crowd was thrown into commotion; and from every
quarter loud rose the commingling shouts and exclamations
—
“Tolpan, the High Priest! The High Priest is coming!
Clear the way for the High Priest!”
All eyes were turned in the direction indicated by these
clamorous demonstrations; when, through the long vista
made by the dividing ranks of the heaving masses along
the way, the august personage in question, gorgeously arrayed,
and in a gilded chair, borne on the shoulders of
four liveried serving men, was seen slowly advancing between
the two living walls of the compressed throng, numbers
of whom were abjectly prostrating themselves before
one who was supposed to become invested for the time
being, with all the attributes of the God of War himself,
and, therefore, equally entitled to the same worship. So
strongly indeed had this notion been impressed on the
minds of the people by the priesthood and Seers, and tacitly
Priest ordered or did, on such occasions, was never allowed
to be countermanded, or questioned even by the
King himself.
As the High Priest, in his conspicuous seat, drew near,
he was seen by the motions he was making with his sacred
staff to his bearers, to be so directing his course as to
bring him directly to the place occupied by Centeola and
her party at one end of the platform, on which sat the King
and Council. Nearer and nearer came the vehicle with
its sacred freight, till it was at length brought to a stand
directly by the side of the horse, on which Centeola was
sitting, her guards on that side having been rudely borne
back and separated from her by the tremendous press of
the rushing crowd.
“Maiden,” said the High Priest, touching her on the
shoulder with his staff, and speaking in a low tone, intended
to reach no other ear but hers, — “maiden turn and
hear me.”
Centeola, wholly unprepared for being thus addressed,
suddenly turned her head round to the speaker; when to
her utter astonishment, she beheld, in the High Priest, no
other than the sinister-eyed emissary who had insulted
her at her father's lodge and renewed his infamous persecutions
at her quarters in the city the preceding evening.
She recoiled at the discovery, but lost not her self possession;
while the object of her loathing indignation resumed
—
“I well know thy purpose in appearing here, and now
know from what has been told me on my way hither, and
from what I read in the angry looks of all around me, in
what manner thou hast declared it. And in those looks,
thou, also, may read what will be thy fate, if thy words
of insult to the God I represent, and contempt and treason
to the King and Council, be not speedily recalled. But
even now, listen to what I last night proposed and thou
shalt be saved. Wilt thou yield?”
“No! I then gave thee my answer; and I now repeat
it in the face of all thy detestable menaces. No!
a thousand times, no!”
“I warn thee then, to prepare for a fate, from which
no power but mine can save thee. On occasions like
this, I am supreme; and I will not be balked with impunity.
Again I say listen and be saved, or refuse and
share the fate of those about to be led up to the altar of
sacrifice.”
“Monster! I alike despise thee and all thy dastardly
threats and intimations. Instantly free me from thy
hated presence!”
The last words of the indignant maiden were uttered
so loud that they were heard, not only by the King and
Council, but a large portion of the surrounding multitude
who, in conjunction with the Priests and Seers quickly
raised the shout —
“She is audaciously reviling the High Priest, while he
to the dungeon!”
Though burning with suppressed wrath, the High
Priest, the better to subserve his infamous purpose which
even now he resolved not to yield, controlled his passion,
and moving to the consecrated chair, which as before stated
had been placed for him on a small, elevated platform
erected at the foot of the Temple, glanced around on the
hushed multitudes with unruffled looks, intended to exhibit
to them his equanimity and forbearance; when waving
his sacred staff to attract and command their attention,
he loudly ordered his assistants to prepare for the immediate
commencement of the sacrifices fully believing that
the witnessing of the dreadful deaths of so many of her
sex would cause the obdurate maiden to relent and beg
for the mercy which, on one condition, he was still ready
to grant her.
9. CHAPTER IX.
The awful rites of sacrificing human beings to false
gods having been thus inaugurated, and ordered to be immediately
commenced, the devoted virgins, two by two,
led by a priest and enclosed by files of guards, armed
with short, sharp lances, were now put in motion, and
goaded and forced along up the broad stair-way winding
round the outside to the top of the Temple, where the
altar, or sacrificial stone stood ready prepared for the abhorrent
immolation. The stairway wound three times
completely round the tall structure in its course upward,
and every time the mournful train came round fronting
the crowd, their ears were saluted by the fresh bursts of
the wails of sorrow and despair from these hapless victims
of superstition and cruelty. At length they all
reached the consecrated area on the summit; when the
devoted innocents were ranged in a circular row in front
of the bloody altar, to await, in turn, their respective
dooms. The great drum then again sounded to betoken
that all was ready; when the High Priest, amidst the
cheers and shouts of the multitude, slowly ascended the
the sacred area, where his presence was awaited to superintend
the ceremony at hand. For a moment, there was
a dead silence above; and the whole vast throng stood
hushed in mute expectation below. Then a sharp, wild
shriek from above, quickly followed by a succession of
less audible cries, apprised all of the fact, that a victim
had been seized, thrown prostrate over the sacrifical stone,
her neck confined down by a yoke or fork made for the
purpose, and her breast laid bare for the fatal blow.
At the tap on the great drum, a Priest, called the Chief
Sacrificer, approached and plunged his knife deep into the
vitals of the victim, who, with one long cry of mortal
agony, subsiding into a gurgling groan, yielded up her
life forever. The sacrificer then ripped open the quivering
breast of the bleeding victim, tore out her heart and
threw it down at the feet of the grim image of the God,
to whom the horrid oblation was made; when the High
Priest loudly exclaimed,
“Accept this, our willing sacrifice, O, Mixitli, forgive
our offences, and interpose thy mighty arm for the salvation
of our imperilled city!”
After this the mutilated body was caught up by two of
the attendant Priests, borne to the battlement and hurled
down from the dizzy height to the ground below. A loud
shout of exultation, the next instant rose from the excited
multitude, the nearest of whom eagerly fell on the body
to those around them, amidst the furious beating of drums
and tymbals, which, mingling with the fresh outbursts of
human voices, made the heavens resound with the wild
uproar.
And thus, for the next two hours, proceeded this ceremony
of accumulating horrors, as victim after victim was
successively thrown on the gory altar, received the fatal
plunge of the knife, uttered her last death scream, and
her remains, torn, mangled and streaming with blood,
sent flying over the battlement to the ground below.
But as horrible as were these infernal rites, they were
witnessed throughout with the most manifest gratification
by the whole populace, who, at the close of each individual
sacrifice, as practically announced by the swift descending
corpse to the ground, testified their delight in the
most wild and jubilant acclamations.
After the last of the nineteen victims had been despatched,
the High Priest followed by his subordinates, descended
the stairway and took his seat in the sacred chair
directly facing the Royal platform, and very near Centeola
and her train. The crowd for the moment were
hushed to silence; and all eyes were turned upon him to
hear what might next proceed from his oracular lips, and
see what might be his next movement. For some time,
however, he remained mute, expecting every moment to
hear the fair object of his infamous machinations, who
at the scenes she had just witnessed, now raise her
voice in recantation of what she had uttered, and in humble
petitions to the King and to himself for pardon and
mercy. But soon growing impatient at her persistent silence,
he turned on her a prolonged, scrutinizing and significant
look of inquiry. But instead of the expected response
of relenting and kind expressions of countenance,
he found himself defiantly confronted by the now doubly
indignant maiden, and his unhallowed glances met with a
look of scorn which he could be at no further loss how to
interpret, and which seemed instantly to fill him with the
deepest, though smothered resentment. He was evidently
conceiving a plan of the most dastardly and deadly revenge,
and accordingly, he soon arose, and, with a voice tremulous
with passion, which was attributed by the spectators
to the intensity of his holy emotions, turned to the
King and said —
“We have anxiously endeavored, O King, to make an
acceptable and sufficient sacrifice. But the Great Mixitli,
on whose interposition the safety of the Imperial city
depends, is not yet satisfied. One full score of fair virgins
were decreed him for a sacrifice on this great occasion.
One is still lacking. It is in vain we have tried to
make him content short of the full number. The God cannot,
and will not be cheated. The lacking victim must be
immediately supplied.”
“Ay, ay!” eagerly responded the subservient Priests
and Seers of every grade. “Let a victim be at once selected
and brought forth.”
“And let her,” resumed the High Priest, growing
more decided by the support thus received, “Let her be
more beautiful than any of those who have been already
devoted to the God, as it will be but a suitable amend to
the offended deity. But who shall she be?” he added
glancing significantly to Centeola.
The crowd instantly comprehending the malicious indication;
and seeing in it the sanction for carrying out, and
more than carrying out their late demand of seizing and
imprisoning the maiden, instantly extended their scores of
menacing fingers towards her and fiercely exclaimed, —
“There she is! there is the one! She, who, an hour
ago, insulted the God, and audaciously put herself in opposition
to the doings and authority of the King and Council.
Let her be the one. Let her at once be delivered
over to the Priests.”
A great commotion now immediately ensued among the
multitude; and even the King and Council evidently
shared in the general sensation. But surprise at the
course things appeared to be taking, together with some
freshly springing doubts on the unexpected proposition
combined to keep the latter silent. Centeola was known
to several of the Council, from her first appearance before
them, to belong to a noble family of one of the most powerful
rest. This had restrained them from joining in the out-side
clamor for her arrest; since, by an established law
of the nation, the persons of nobles and their families
were exempted from seizure and imprisonment, except for
murder and one or two infamous crimes, none of which,
could it be pretended, she had committed, and much
less was it deemed permissible, that the daughter of a noble
should ever be made the victim of a sacrifice. The
King and Council, therefore, remained silent, knowing
not what to say or do, in their surprise and perplexity.
The High Priest, however, burning to revenge himself for
the mortifying repulse he had received in the prosecution
of his base designs, was not to be restrained from his present
deadly purpose by any such scruples, and custom having
made him supreme in all that pertained to the sacrifices,
he determined that nothing should prevent him from
carrying that purpose into execution. But for his own
safety he preferred to shoulder the responsibility on the
people, and through them secure, at least, the acquiessence
of the King and Council. In accordance with his
plan, he rose, and, with an assumed air of dignified calmness
and deliberation, slowly and with solemn emphasis,
proceeded.
“The people have willed it. They have pointed out
the virgin here present whom they deem the proper victim,
and persist in their demand to have her taken for the
obeyed? What victim could be offered to the God that
could so well appease and gratify him as one who has reviled
him and set his power at naught, as yon maiden has
this day done in the presence of the King, and before all
the assembled people? I repeat, then, why should not she
be the one to be selected for the purpose?”
“I will tell thee” here promptly interposed the hitherto
silent Sage Alcoan, in a voice of startling energy — “I
will tell thee, proud Priest, why this exalted maiden may
not be made a victim. If, as thou sayest, the people have
willed it, it is in their ignorance that they have done it.
By the laws and customs of this nation, the nobles, and
the daughters of the nobles, are exempt from seizure and
sacrifice. It is Alcoan, the Sage of the Feathered Serpents
who tells thee this — who is himself of noble blood,
and knows this maiden to be no less so.”
The Councillor Huasco, who had before shown himself
a subservient tool of the High Priest, now, on receiving
a secret sign from the latter, hastily rose, and by way of
coming to the rescue, authoritively exclaimed —
“She is not his daughter. He dare not assert that she
is his daughter.”
“A conspiracy! Behold the conspiracy!” cried the
High Priest. “She is not his daughter; and he is trying
to shield her by claiming her, as such, to be the
daughter of a noble! Shall we suffer the sacred rights
her be brought forth.”
“Stay, thou remorseless Priest!” exclaimed Alcoan,
“I know thy motives, but thou shalt yet be baffled in thy
unholy purposes. I appeal to the King and Council.
Shall a noble, as they all know me to be, fail to be allowed
a hearing?”
The King betrayed tokens of perplexity and indecision,
and became visibly agitated. But finding that a response
was expected of him, he hurriedly consulted with two or
three Councillors sitting nearest to him; after which, with
a deprecating glance to the High Priest, he hesitatingly
said,
“The Sage of the Feathered Serpents is certainly a
noble; and, as it can be no interference with the prerogatives
of the High Priest to allow him at least a hearing.
He is permitted to speak; what would he say?”
“In the first place,” firmly replied Alcoan, “I would
repeat in this presence every assertion I have made respecting
this maiden, of whom I stand the protector.
She is not my daughter by blood, it is true, and for all
that she is the lawful offspring of a noble, and of one too,
far higher in his exalted rank, than the highest nobles
now sitting before me as Councillors.”
“What meanest thou, Alcoan?” exclaimed the King,
starting up in singular perturbation. “Explain — explain
thy words of mystery.”
“I obey,” promptly responded the Sage. “I will fully
reply to thy request: For I perceive that the time has
arrived when the great secret, of which I, among all thy
living, probably, am alone master, should be unfolded.
“Thou, O King, hadst once a wife, most fair to look upon
and graced with every virtue. She died, having borne
thee a daughter as lovely as herself. Thou didst then
take unto thee another wife, who was as evil of heart as
the first one was good. She also soon bore thee a daughter,
that was not fair; and the heart of the evil mother
sickened with envy and spite, as she compared her plain
offspring with the beautiful child of the former wife, and
she conspired with the nurse of that motherless child to
cause it to be carried out of the city and slain. But the
nurse relented and employed a confidant to carry it away
to a distance and leave it secretly at some lodge door,
where its origin would never be known; while she returned
and reported that the child had been seized and
devoured by a wild beast. That child was left at my
door, taken in and tenderly cared for. It had certain
marks on its inner dress, and a silver amulet around its
neck, which gave a direct clue to its origin, and which, for
months, I industriously but secretly followed up, until all
was unmistakably revealed. But I deemed it prudent to
keep the secret of the little castaway to myself, and
reared and adopted her as my daughter. Here, O King,
is that silver amulet, marked with thy royal eagle and a
the King are ever permitted to wear.”
The King, as the Sage proceeded, had become more and
more agitated, until he trembled and shook in his seat,
like the aspen in the wind. He seemed from first, to have
had a presentiment of what was coming; and conscience,
that unescapable chastiser of the wicked, was busy in
bringing up in review before his shrinking mind, the long
catalogue of the wrongs he had inflicted on his people,
and of the vices and crimes that had marked his dissolute
and corrupt career, and especially of his acquiescence,
after discovering the fact as he soon did, in the supposed
murder of his child, which he felt to be the most heinous
of all his offences. And thus it is ever among men, that
through this remarkable principle, which Providence has
implanted in the heart, no crime, however secret, can ever
long be exempted from the punishment which this inward
Nemesis is sure to inflict on the perpetrator by making for
him a life of misery here, or a hell hereafter.
Scarcely had the Sage named, and held up the token
found on the child to the view of the King, before he,
wanting no other confirmation of the truth of the startling
disclosure just made, leaped in terrible agitation to
his feet, and, in tones rising almost to a screech of frenzy,
exclaimed,
“What became of that child? speak! speak! where is
she now?”
“There, O King! replied Alcoan, proudly pointing to
Centeola, who appeared no less surprised than the King
at the development, “there she sits in all her purity and
beauty. She is truly thine own daughter, O King, and,
since thou art bereft of other heirs, the rightful successor
to the Royal throne of the whole of the broad domains of
our beloved Azatlan.”
“I know it, I have felt it!” gasped the feeble and
shattered old King, in tones of strangely mingled joy and
distress, as he sank back into his seat under the force of
his overpowering emotions, while the Council, Priests,
Seers and all the throng around, were thrown into the
deepest commotion.
But over all the noise and confusion, soon rose the
shrill voice of the High Priest, who, besides the danger
of being balked in his purpose of encompassing the maiden's
death, both out of revenge and the fear of her exposing
his iniquities, at once foresaw, that if Alcoan's story
was true, his own doom, after what had occurred, was inevitable,
and who, therefore, was impelled to the most
desperate exertions for the success of his murderous
scheme.
“It is false!” he frantically exclaimed. “It is the
fabrication of a traitor to shield a base and impious traitress.
They are both traitors to the King and revilers
of the God. But all their falsehoods and deceitful devices
shall not avail them. I have solemnly vowed the
King himself cannot dispute, I order her to be seized and
brought forward for the sacrifice. Advance then, guards,
sieze her instantly. In the name of the great God of
War, I command it!”
In obedience to this fierce and imperative command,
which none dare disobey, a half dozen of the Priests and
guards sprang forward, and, with arms extended for the
grasp, had nearly reached Centeola; when their advance
was suddenly arrested by Tulozin, who with a heavy war
club, bounded out from his unnoticed position among the
maiden's attendants, where he had been anxiously watching
the progress of events, and with one powerful sweep
brought several of the foremost of the assailants to the
ground, and caused the rest to retreat in disorder and
alarm.
“Mutiny! treason!” shouted the Councillor Huasco.
“Mutiny! Treason! Sacrilege!” screamed the High
Priest; while every lower Priest and Seer quickly echoed
the cry. “Let the audacious traitor, who has thus assailed
the sacred guards, be overpowered, and especially
let the impious maiden be at once secured. Guards, hesitate
at your peril!”
The guards now strongly reinforced, made a new and
desperate rush upon the gallant young chief who now in
spite of his sturdy and disabling blows, was driven from
the side of the maiden, and the now unchecked assailants
again brought to a pause by the sharp, cracked voice of
the troubled old King, who piteously exclaimed —
“Desist there, guards! Spare, O spare my daughter!”
“Spare her not,” cried the High Priest, fuming with
rage. “I will not yield my rightful authority. The
King is deceived and betrayed. Heed him not; and instantly
sieze that reviler of the God. I again command
it; and the curse of the God be on the head of
every one who shall this time refuse to obey me.”
On hearing this command backed as it was with the
terrible imprecation that accompanied it, the whole body
of the guards, with the assistant Priests, made towards
Centeola a rush against which the arm of Tulozin could
not be expected to prevail. But an arm mightier than his
was about to interpose to save the maiden from her menaced
doom.
At that instant an explosion, louder than the loudest
thunder, burst from the ground at the very feet of the advancing
assailants, filling the air with dust and sulphurous
smoke, disclosing a long opening rent in the earth,
causing the solid structures around to shake and topple,
and striking the whole assemblage dumb with consternation
and dismay.
“Tulozin, our mission is ended,” exclaimed Centeola,
turning to the young chief, who had sprung to her side.
gate of the city. The doom of Heaven is about to
fall on this den of iniquity. Haste thee, haste, brave
Tulozin, lest we perish with them.”
Taking instant advantage of the wild confusion that
reigned everywhere around, the young chief promptly
cleared a passage through the bewildered, and no longer
resisting crowd, and, before either Council, Priests, or the
general throng, had rallied from their amazement, and
collected their senses. Centeola, her father, and their
whole train, led by Tulozin, and closely followed by the
strong armed Wampa, had disappeared from the Sacred
Enclosure, and were well on their way out of the city.
10. CHAPTER X.
Vain would be the attempt to describe the scene of
commotion and alarm that ensued among all ranks, both
of the magnates, and the people of the Imperial city, at
the fearful, and to them in a country where earthquakes
and volcanoes were unknown, incomprehensible phenomena
they had just witnessed. The dense and deeply agitated
living masses thronging the Sacred Enclosure, rushing
hither and thither in their overpowering consternation
and dismay, were seen everywhere swaying and surging
over and around the whole extended area, like the crosswaves
of the ocean in a suddenly smiting tempest, maddened
by the blind impulse to escape, and thus heedlessly
trampling hundreds to death beneath their feet; while
the mingling cries and groans of the wounded and dying,
the shrieks of affright, and the eagerly uttered prayers to
the Gods for deliverance from the something terrible at
hand, though they scarcely knew what, filled the air with
the wildest uproar and tumult.
The High Priest, though at first as much astonished and
dismayed as the rest, was yet not long in regaining
maddening thought of the life-or-death issue, which he
well knew he had now at stake, quickly restored him to
the full use of all his fiendish faculties. With the lifting
of the cloud of dust and smoke, that had filled the air, it
was his first care to peer forward to the spot recently occupied
by his intended victim and her party. And the
instant he discovered their escape, he hastily called several
of his swiftest runners to his side and promptly dispatched
them to close all the gates of the city, and to see
that they were securely guarded.
He then sent different bands of armed warriors to pursue,
intercept, and bring back the fugitives. And this
done, he arose and in a loud voice commanded the attention
of the people.
“Let no one be alarmed,” he said, schooling his features
and voice into looks and tones deemed best calculated
for effect. “It was but a clap of thunder coming
from you cloud,” he continued pointing to the dust and
smoke-cloud that had, by this time, risen above the
city. “Yes, only that; and yet it is a thing to be heeded.
It is to be taken as a token of displeasure of the
God. It was in fact the voice of the Great Mixitli
speaking to us. He had become impatient at our hesitation
and delay in rendering up for his altar the victim
that had been vowed to him. We have incurred a very
great peril in thus trifling with the God. But I have
Though, as you see, the perverse victim and her traitorous
band, as I am prepared to show them to be, have escaped
from the Sacred Enclosure, they have not escaped from
the city. Means have been taken to intercept them; and
they will soon be brought back. Peace, then, ye people!
The God shall be shortly avenged; and then He will again
smile on us, and save us from every danger.
We will now return to Centeola and her fugitive train.
For the first few furlongs, after clearing the Sacred Enclosure,
they found the great street so emptied in consequence
of the general rush of the people to the scene of
the sacrifices, that they encountered few obstacles to prevent
them from making their way with all desired rapidity
through the usually thronged street leading to the
western gate; and they began to congratulate themselves
on the prospect of an easy and speedy escape from what
they all now doubly felt to be, not only a hostile, but
Heaven doomed city. But as they proceeded, they soon
perceived that a crowd was beginning to gather around
them with looks and appearances indicative of any thing
but friendly intent. Large numbers came pouring in
from every cross street and avenue, through which they
had reached the vicinity, in obedience to orders from
headquarters, to impede the advance of the fugitives.
But the intrepid Tulozin, by his menacing attitude, and
the activity with which he swung his ponderous war-club,
crowd to give way before him; while the stout and fearless
Wampa, with a club in one hand and a long spear in
the other, found as little difficulty in protecting the rear
of the train from any dangerous intrusion. But as they
began to draw near the great gate, it grew more and more
doubtful whether the protection thus afforded could be
sufficiently maintained to ensure their escape from the
city; For the crowd were now not only rapidly concentrating
around them; but, pressing closer and closer on
every side, began to utter loud threats and exhibit other
demonstrations of meditated violence. With redoubled exertions,
however, Tulozin and Wampa still succeeded in
keeping the angry multitude at bay while the imperiled
party proceeded rapidly on their way, but not without
many an anxious glance to get sight of the gate, to which
they were anxiously looking as the goal of their deliverance.
That goal at length appeared; but to their dismay,
they at once perceived it to be securely closed: while before
it stood a grim array of armed warriors ready to dispute
their passage and drive them back to the Sacred
Enclosure, and these were flanked on either side by a
dense throng of the common citizens, who, keenly sympathizing
in this movement for their capture, were filling
the air with their shouts of exultation and defiance.
What should the persecuted fugitives do now? Their
means of escape were cut off at every point: For it was
through the ranks of those ferocious looking armed men,
and that heavy, and strongly barred gate, in front; while
in the rear, and on both sides of them, an angry and defiant
crowd completely blocked up the way and precluded
every chance of escape in either of those directions.
The besieged party, however, in despite of all these forbidding
appearances, continued to push their way forward
until they reached a point about fifty yards from the gate;
when they came to a halt for consultation.
“Fear not, my kind friends and protectors,” said Centeola,
looking round on her trusty and revering band,
“fear not — stand firm! My God, who has so signally
protected and guided us thus far, will not desert us now
in this new peril, but will surely again interpose for our
deliverance. Be calm! stand still, and witness His salvation.”
But the sublime faith of the pious and gifted maiden
was not, with the exception of Alcoan, perhaps fully
shared by her party. They could see no avenue for escape,
nor conceive of any way by which it could be
brought about. They consequently gave themselves up
in imagination as certain victims of speedy capture to be
followed, doubtless, by dungeons and death.
That faith however, was not destined to prove false or
delusive. The means of their deliverance were at hand,
as it was unexpected.
Two of the King's mastodons had been kept that day in
the south-eastern part of the city, and when the subterraneous
explosion, which we have described, occurred, these
huge animals, it would seem, at once took the alarm, broke
from their enclosure, and, to gain their native forests, instinctively
made their way in the direction of the western
gate, through which they had been accustomed to enter
the city. Having become bewildered, however, among the
narrow cross-streets abounding in that quarter, they had
been considerably delayed in reaching the point at which
they were aiming. But while thus rushing hither and
thither, and bearing down everything in their way in their
attempts to extricate themselves, they happened to catch
sight of some known object in the vicinity of the gate;
when instantly taking a fresh start, they came with tremendous
force thundering down a cross street which
opened into the main one directly between the besieged
party, and the force gathered before, and around the gate
to oppose and capture them. And the instant the maddened
brutes reached the great street, they turned short
to the left, and heedless of the throng in their way, they
made, side by side, a furious push for the well remembered
entrance, trampling scores of the completely surprised
and screeching guards and the abetting crowd, like
so many feeble worms, into the earth; and breaking
it down, as if it had been some cobweb, before them,
made their way into the open country, leaving a wide
path behind them thickly strewed with the dead and
wounded, the uninjured part of the crowd tumbling over
each other in their wild attempts to get out of the way,
or rushing off and fleeing in the utmost confusion and
affright from the strange, and as yet scarcely comprehended
scene.
“Centeola's God has prevailed!” exultingly shouted
Tulozin. “He has again interposed and again opened a
way for our escape. Let us instantly improve the favored
moment; and on through the gate-way before our discomfited
pursuers can rally from their confusion.”
So saying, he sprang eagerly forward and loudly called
on all the rest of the beleagured party to follow. And in
a moment more the whole company were rapidly threading
their way along the death-strewed pathway, and over
the ruins of the prostrate and nearly demolished gate. In
another, they had safely passed beyond the walls and
gained the little eminence in the vicinity, on which, as before
described, they had taken position before entering the
city on the previous evening; and all this was effected before
the guards and assisting throng, or those of them left
alive and uninjured from the stampede of the mastodons,
had sufficiently recovered from the terrible panic, into
which they had been thrown, to think of interposing any
city.
Here the escaped party supposed, after what had happened,
they would be no further molested, believing that
the signal displays of Heaven, in their repeated deliverances
which must have been noted by their foes, would
deter the latter from attempting any further pursuit. But
in this comforting conclusion they soon perceived they
were to be disappointed; For, in a few moments, a formidable
array of the rallied and freshly reinforced warriors
and guards, swelled by large numbers of the fierce
and determined crowd, all seemingly infuriated at the
strange and unexpected escape of those whom they had
looked upon as already within their grasp, were seen madly
rushing through the cumbered gateway; and, as they
caught sight of their intended victims unexpectedly halted
so near at hand, springing forward, with fresh outbursts
of wrath and exultation for their instant seizure. But
their career was destined to be a short one. At that critical
instant, the senses of all were assailed by the noise
of an explosion, bursting up from the heart of the city,
so loud and deafening as to make both pursuers and
pursued alike recoil aghast, stagger and reel before the
terrible concussion; while, everywhere around, the solid
earth began violently to shake, heave and oscillate, like
the waves of an agitated ocean. There was a brief and
ominous pause, and then, in quick succession, came crash
roar to the echoing vault of the shuddering heavens;
while, at the same time, the long lines of walls, towers,
temples and houses, were seen toppling and tumbling to
the earth, and laying the whole city in one wide, wild
mass of undistinguishable ruin. Again were the terrible
throes of the troubled elements hushed into momentary
silence, during which the mingled cries, shrieks and
groans of the tens of thousands of the mangled and dying
victims, rose in one long, loud wail of agony from
the extended scene of destruction and wo. Then quickly
succeeded another and still more terrific shock of the
volcanic earthquake, accompanied with the roar of ten
thousand thunders and concussions of the earth and heavens
so stunning, and awful, as to throw most of the fugitive
party from their feet, and so over-power their bewildered
senses, as to leave them only dimly conscious that the
ground on which they stood, with the whole adjoining
plain, was being bodily raised and thrown up into broken
swells, and ridges, fifty or a hundred feet above the former
level.
Partially rallying from their consternation, they eagerly
cast their eyes towards the spot where they last saw
their infuriated assailants rushing forward for their capture
or destruction. But those assailants were no where
to be seen. The ground, even, where they stood, together
with the whole line of the walls of the city, had thus
fearful black chasm, from which, with loud, hissing
sounds, convolving clouds of mingling smoke and steam
were fiercely mounting upward to the deeply shrouded
heavens. And in that dark and terrible abyss those
wrathful and blinded minions of superstition and wrong,
together with their whole city, with all its multitudinous
population, had gone down to the common grave forever.
It had been a scene too frightful for language to portray.
But the elements had not ceased their terrible commotion:
for next was heard, beneath the dark, impenetrable
cloud that hung, like a vast pall over the death-devoted
spot, the gushing, boiling sounds, mingled with the cataract
roar of suddenly breaking up fountains, and then all
seemed gradually subsiding into comparative silence. In
a short time that cloud slowly lifted; and, in the brisk
breeze that suddenly sprung up, rolled darkly away to
the south, disclosing a broad, deep, rock-walled chasm,
whose apparent bottom was overspread by the still agitated
and bubbling waters of a newly formed lake, extending
over the whole site of that proud and wicked city which
had so awfully, and mysteriously, just disappeared from
the face of the earth.
“Centeola,” said the young chief reverently approaching
the maiden, who had dismounted, and, with most of
her attendants, stood gazing with fear and wonder over
the dark watery grave of the doomed city; “beautiful
Great is His goodness, as we whom He has saved are the
living witnesses. And great and terrible is His power and
his wrath against the wicked, as the awful fate of yon lost
city so fearfully testifies. It was He who warned my father
in a dream that he might escape the coming doom. And
I bless Him that He has this day turned my heart to become
one of His humble worshippers.”
“The words of Tulozin shed the sunshine of joy over
the heart of Centeola,” responded the other with a gracious
smile. “Her favorable impression of his character,
and her confident predictions that he would soon become
one of the children of light, have all been confirmed.
His deeds, which are only true interpreters of the heart,
have shown him to be all, and more than all he now professes.
He has not only done a great and acceptable
service to the cause of our God, but been the means of
saving Centeola, her father and their party, from the malignant
designs of a wicked priest and his blinded followers.
What shall be his reward? Let him name it and it
shall be his.”
“The heart of Tulozin,” meekly and tremulously responded
the noble young chief, “the heart of Tulozin until
now has known but one wish, indulged but one hope.
But after the surprising revelations of to day, showing the
royal descent of Centeola, so much more illustrious than
naming it.”
“Centeola,” blushingly rejoined the maiden, “claims
nothing from the discovery, to which you allude. She
will feel no pride in having her name associated with those,
however high or regal they may have been, who have this
day so appallingly gone to their last account. She knows
no father, or guide, but the good Sage, Alcoan. Let him
be consulted; and what he may say and sanction, she will
not gainsay, or oppose.”
The old Sage, who had stood wistfully by, and, with
looks of satisfaction, noted all that had passed between
the lovers, now took the willing hand of Centeola, and
placing it in that of the gratified Tulozin, tenderly and
solemnly said to them —
“It is clearly the will of our God that this should be
so. The high wall, which Alcoan yesterday told the
young chief stood between him and Centeola, so long as
the opinions he then appeared to entertain remained unchanged,
has now been wholly removed, leaving, as he
has reason to know, only a genial community of sentiment
between, and a sweet atmosphere of love around
them. I therefore, in the right of a father, which she
has just signified her wish that I should still retain, give
her hand thus away, to one I believe well worthy of it.
And by my authority as chief noble of the tribe of the
Feathered Serpents, I here on this spot, pronounce the
and make thee good and wise rulers; for it must
now be understood, that, by the laws and customs of this
nation, Centeola is the rightful Queen, and Tulozin,
through this union, the rightful King to reign with her
over the seven tribes of our beloved Azatlan.”
“Hail Queen and King of the Seven Tribe of Azatlan!”
joyfully responded the whole company. “Live,
O Queen!” Live, O King! Live long and happily!
Live forever!”
“It is well,” rejoined the gratified Sage. “It is but
a just tribute and fitting salutation. May many a rolling
sun henceforth look down upon a happy, prosperous and
regenerated nation, well and wisely governed by Queen
Centeola and King Tulozin. But let us remain here no
longer looking down upon the dreadful gulf wherein the
wicked perished. The savage hords of the North will
soon be here. Let us hence to our own loved village of
the Feathered Serpents, where the marriage festival
shall be appropriately celebrated; and where, as soon as
the delegates from the other tribes can be assembled, the
noble pair we have just seen united, shall be formally
crowned and proclaimed the Queen and King of Azatlan.
And then, under the blessings of the Great and True
God, whom the people will now soon all cheerfully acknowledge
as such, we will prepare to defend the kingdom
against the common foe.”
The main interest of our brief, but eventful tale, now
ceases; and with that, all tales are expected to draw
rapidly to a close. We shall not, therefore, except in
the briefest summary of the leading events that marked
their subsequent careers, attempt to describe how the
different personages of our story, and the noted people
with whom they were connected, fulfilled the remarkable
destinies which Providence seems to have allotted
them in the near, and distant, future. How, in accordance
with the suggestions of the venerable Alcoan, the
marriage festival of Centeola and Tulozin was brilliantly
celebrated, together with that of Wampa and Mitla, who
were thereupon appointed heads of the household establishment
of their royal master and mistress. How, when
the deputies of the confederate tribes came together, the
noble, and heaven-favored pair were, amidst the joyful
acclamations of a disenthralled people, duly crowned at
the romantic and beautiful village of the Feathered Serpents,
which they henceforward made their royal home,
and the new Imperial city of the nation. How they, and
all the tribes, made the best possible defensive preparations
for the long and relentless war, which, in a short
period, was waged against them all by the dreaded barbarian
horde from the North, that, in countless numbers
began to swarm over the whole length and breadth of the
devoted land. How the brave Tulozin led the serried
lines of his gallant warriors forth to battle with the powerful
victory. How the heroic and heaven-inspired Centeola;
also joined her noble husband in the red fields of battle,
where, mounted on her splendidly caparisoned white
charger, with her snowy plumes streaming in the breeze,
she was seen dashing upon the foe at the head of her
chosen columns, filling the superstitious foe with dismay,
and causing them, everywhere, to give way before her
impetuous onsets. How, for the first five years of the
new reign, those outnumbering (robber) foes were kept at
bay by the many fierce and destructive sorties, that were
repeatedly made by the everywhere closely beleaguered
people, from the well-defended fortress mounds with
which they had studded the land; nor how, — when the
substance of the country at large was consumed by the
all-devouring barbarians, while the limits of safe cultivation
and the hunting ranges were constantly contracting,
so that the strongest positions gave no promise of being
tenable much longer, — the confederate Tribes, one after
another began their exodus to regions where they could
cultivate the land and range the forests for game, in peace,
and enjoy the fruits of their toils without fear or molestation.
How they made their first sojourn, for over six
decades of years, near the banks of the great river of the
West, five hundred miles south of their old home. How,
again beset, and at length driven away by their former
foes, who had been all the while gradually extending
farther distance, and made their second, and much longer,
sojourn in the genial clime of the palm trees. And how,
finally, removing thence, after having lost by death their
idolized Queen and King, they at length reached the
great Valley of Anahuac, where they founded the world-renowned
Aztec Empire, and enrolled the name of Tulozin
as among the best, and wisest, of the Kings of their
ancient dynasty; and, canonizing Centeola, placed her
on the roll of their most beneficent deities, and worshiped
her under the name of Centeotl, the Goddess of Earth
and Corn, and the expected deliverer of the people from
the slavery of false gods, and from the abominations of
human sacrifices.
| Centeola | |